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The Golden West
by Margarete Kuring
This narrative continues from where Margarete’s previous two stories left off: “Living through World War II in Germany” and “Being in – and Sneaking out of – East Germany.” Those two stories are in the April 2008 issue of Pennant Bravo.
The cover photo is from a 1962 article in the Wilson, North Carolina, Daily Times, after the Kuring family returned from a trip to Germany.
A Trip to Divided Berlin – A Trip that Changed My Life
Conditions in East Germany after World War II were extremely bad. Any chance a citizen of East Germany had to get away, even if only for a few days, they could not resist taking it. At that time – 1948 or 1949 – the Berlin Wall was not up. The city was divided into four sectors, American, English, French, and Russian. With proper identification papers one could travel there. Berlin was accessible to the western nations only over specified routes with strict border crossing gates.
I was working as a pediatric nurse in my home town of Zwickau and took some vacation days. Since Berlin, like an island, could be reached by both East and West Germans, many meetings were held there. Our church convention was one of these. Visitors were welcome and many came. The East German visitors did not take much interest in the convention meetings. We went to a few sessions or worship services. Otherwise, we explored “Schlaraffenland” (Land of Plenty). What all could be seen and bought if one had enough West German currency! – fresh fruits like oranges, bananas, and other unheard of fruits and vegetables, as well as the most delicious pastries. Meats in all shapes and forms; raw or cooked, roasted, or grilled.
But the dramatic event that eventually changed my life was the visit of the President of the Australian Lutheran Church. He put in a plug for young people to come to Australia and work there. My father, who was a delegate to the convention, arranged a meeting for me with this president. When my Dad asked me, “Wouldn’t you like to go there?” My immediate reaction was, He can’t wait to get rid of me. But I agreed to talk to the man. He assured me that my R.N. license would be accepted and many nurses were needed.
This got the ball rolling. First of all I had to be living in West Germany before any emigration could even be considered. That step was arranged right there in Berlin. One of my cousins who was a Lutheran Pastor in West Germany said that I could come to his home. They had three small children and his wife was ill. They needed help. This way I would be able to go to West Germany and live and work there. Just like here now with migrant workers, no one was permitted to work and live there. The cities were all bombed and many refugees already lived there. It would only be a stepping stone to get the papers together for the jump around the world. Dad started saying: “I’ll knock on the floor to greet you Down Under.”
In the meantime, of course, I had to go back to my job but never could tell anyone about my plans. It took several years and many obstacles had to be overcome.
With my escape to West Germany in 1952, the first jump was completed but the “Golden West” was not all that golden for a poor newcomer from East Germany. One did not have a choice where to work, or what to work at. West Germany was already filled with refugees from all over the war-town cities and countries, and many houses were still not repaired or livable. Many West Germans did not look very kindly on all these intruders from the East. But I was happy these first fifteen months.
I stayed in my cousin’s house, in Stuttgart. I loved the three children – nine, two and a half, and eleven months old. The young mother was a very good “Haus-Frau” and I learned lots from watching her run her household, with my help in the cleaning department since she was ill and was entitled to have household help. Her husband was a Lutheran pastor of a congregation in Stuttgart but also took care of several small Diaspora groups which lived too far away to attend the services in the city. This made him absent often. Of course I did not travel around; I worked only for pocket money, room and board. When the family obtained new help, I was able to look for and find a job in a hospital. By then I was not a newcomer anymore and my application was accepted.
But already the planned trip to Australia was off. The church official who had tried to get young people to come and live there had learned that my nurse’s license would not be accepted after all. I did not want to go and be just a housemaid in a foreign land where I did not know the language or any people. It was better to stay in West Germany and work as a registered nurse there.
But during the fifteen months’ stay at my cousin’s house, they had a visitor from the U.S.A. She was a retired R.N. and offered to be my sponsor if I wanted to come to America. She started the ball rolling at her end of the line and I got all my papers together and, of course, started to save money for the trip.
While living in Stuttgart, I tried a few times to get a visa to go back into East Germany. That was more difficult than to get the papers together for a trip across the ocean. Always the question was asked: “Why did you leave East Germany?” My aunt in the eastern sector of Berlin whose belongings I helped pack was a halfway reason to go. After waiting and several back and forth letters I was given permission twice. On the border I was invited to come and stay in East Germany to live there again. But I declined. Now I was a West German and had to exchange money into East German currency on a one-for-one basis, even though West Germany money was worth four times as much as East German. When I tried to tell the border guards that I was going to my parents and did not need to pay for room and food they told me what all I would need to buy and pay for. We were expected to use public transportation, and to buy gifts to take back home, all of which would be heavily taxed at the border crossing to the West.
Each visitor had to register with city hall and pay a certain amount for each day of stay. The first morning of each visit was spent going, sitting and waiting at these official places to have the visa and “Kennkarte” (I.D. card) stamped. One had to remember that Communists still ruled there and one had to be careful not to criticize or make any negative comments about the conditions. Also before leaving East Germany, everyone had to personally come and report their departure time. The travel routes and dates were listed in the passport and had to be followed. The visa could not be extended.
Over the New Year holiday in 1955 was my last trip home. I left in January 1955 for the U.S.A.
In the U.S.A.
During the first few months of 1955 I met the man who would later become my husband, Andrew Kuring. On my trip from New York to Chicago I stopped at Cleveland to visit my mother’s sister. She gave me the address of her husband’s sister, who was Andy’s mother. Their family could speak German, so we got together now and then, mainly for church, or mission doings, or a concert. But we didn’t “date” as such. Only when I was planning to go back to Germany for good, Andy showed up again. He had been studying to finally finish his theological studies from years before. Now he was ready to become a pastor, and thought I would make a good pastor’s wife. (All the circumstances of our first meeting, falling in love and getting married are several other long stories.)
Visits Back to Germany
In 1958, after three years in the U.S.A., I tried for the first time to obtain a visa for East Germany. Since I had not been very happy and had no close friends or relatives, I wanted to go back and work in West Germany as an R.N. Of course, I wanted to visit my family which lived in the East, but I was unable to obtain a visa. However, we were able to meet in Berlin. The Berlin Wall was not erected yet and both sides could travel there. Even in Berlin I tried to get a visa for the Communist part of Germany. It had been no trouble to receive permission from the U.S.A. to go to Germany. I was still a German citizen with my German passport but I could not get a visa to visit East Germany.
By this time I really did not want to stay in Germany anymore since my future husband proposed to me, and I had accepted. But this was also a reason for going home once more and telling my parents of our intentions. The telephone lines into East Germany were still not open and the common people had to go to the post office to make long distance calls. Often it took hours for a call to come through.
In 1962 I went as a young wife, new mother, and by now American citizen. We three went on a chartered plane trip to Germany. This time the wall had been up in Berlin since 1961 and we all three needed a visa. It was a hassle to obtain it. My family had to apply for permission to have us come and visit. After a long wait of two or three months this was granted. It had to be mailed to us in Lexington, Missouri, and that took far longer than we expected. We really got nervous about this since we had paid for the trip and did not want to go if we could not meet my family. My husband had never been to Germany before, but his parents had come from there. Finally, two weeks before the plane would leave from New York, we received the visa.
We separated from the tour group for a time and went into East Germany. After a few days Andy rejoined the tour group in Munich and went on to Rome with them. The baby and I stayed behind. At this time hardly anyone had a telephone and many of the public ones were out of order. My father figured out the train trip for Andy to meet his group and also his trip later to Hanover to pick up myself and our child. He could not re-enter East Germany again so we had to meet in West Germany.
This is when a misunderstanding happened. Since Andy was on the tour and at a different place every day we were not in telephone communication. At this time Andy was not used to 24 hour time schedules. He had the times all written out for departure and arrivals and had plenty time in Hanover to wait for us. Before leaving the train station, he made sure that he had the correct arrival time. Yes, the Inter Zone Train from Saxony would arrive at 14:27 on platform 9. Andy always insisted that he made clear with the station master that this time was 4:27 p.m.
Members of the tour group had asked him if he really expected to see his wife and son again. How could you leave her behind in East Germany? The baby and I, with our luggage, arrived at 2:27 p.m. right on the dot. The train was very long and the coach for mothers with children was way up in front. There was no porter, and hardly a living person. The train only stopped two minutes and I was anxiously searching the platform for my beloved husband as the train rolled in. What am I going to do? Put the suitcase out first or the baby in his little seat? And it was raining.
When I turned towards the coach again a station master tried to close the door behind me to signal departure again. NO. NO, my baby, I want out, not in! Finally one of these luggage wagons came by and the porter was kind enough to take my suitcase at least up to under the roof. Norman, our son, was crying and hungry, I wanted a “real cup of coffee” (a luxury in East Germany) so I went into the little kiosk to wait for Andy. His train, I thought, must have been delayed or he missed the first one and will come later. I was not worried. But poor Andy – when he came back at 4 p.m. he was told the train arrived two hours ago.
At this time you had to pay extra each time you wanted to go onto the platform. Andy was frantic. Where is his wife? Did the worst scenario really come true? He searched different platforms and asked people if they had seen a woman with a baby in a carrier. At that time these baby seats, which one could put on a regular chair, were new and everyone noticed it. Finally one station master told him, yes, he had seen such a woman on another platform.
I knew where we wanted to go from Hanover and had inquired where that train from Munich would arrive. Just then, when I came out of the little snack bar, Andy came running up and fell crying into my arms (as much as that is possible when you are holding on to a baby in a carrying seat). Andy always blamed the station master for the time mix-up. Well, praise the Lord, we were reunited and joined the tour again in Paris for the return trip.
But I had lost, or rather gotten rid of, my airline ticket in Zwickau, not realizing that I would need it to board the plane. Well, praise the Lord, since it was a chartered plane and no one else claimed our seats and the tour leader vouched for us, we got on and went back to the U.S.A. again.
It took ten years before we were able to go again, in 1972. At this time we were four; a daughter had joined us. We had all the official papers and rented a Volkswagen and drove through West Germany and into East Germany. Of course, there was trouble at the border. Different gates for different people had to be used – one for foreigners, one for West Germans, and one for East Germans. We really belonged to the first group. Yes, even I, since I was an American citizen now. But my Saxony dialect clearly marked me as an East German. The guard would not let me through and sent me to the third gate. They in turn sent me back to the first gate since they could read my passport.
Next we had to fill out papers declaring whatever gifts we had along, how much money, how long would we stay, which route we were to take, etc. We were only permitted to stay in the house which was listed on these papers. When I wanted to go and visit one of my friends in Chemnitz and stay overnight, my relatives were worried but all went well.
Ration cards were no longer needed but food was still scarce. Now there were some stores with extra groceries but unimaginably high prices. The East Germans could not afford these. Since our dollars were worth four times as much as their money, we could help out. In a way, that made a good impression on our behalf. One would not notice the sparseness of food so much and the family enjoyed the good food they could otherwise not afford.
Ten years went by again, before my next trip home, 1982. This time I went alone. My family had a reunion and I wanted to be there also. I had requested a passage from West to East by train and was supposed to receive my visa at the crossing. But then a nephew who lived in West Germany was going with his car and said I could ride along. Again extra arrangement needed to be made to be able to cross on the Autobahn. I was assured the visa would be there when we got to the place. As I feared, it was not. We waited around for hours. It was late when we finally received it and we could leave for Zwickau. But we all had a good time and could enjoy the family together. My nephew and his wife had to leave soon afterwards; I stayed for two weeks with my parents.
The trip back was by train. At the border checkpoint there was a long delay. Each coach was checked and searched. Many suitcases were opened and felt through. No canned goods could be taken out, similar to what it is here now since 9/11. Everywhere terror was expected. One never knew what was being searched for. Only after one had passed the checkpoint on the Western side could one relax and breathe freely.
We made one more trip into East Germany in 1988. Again we had a rented car and crossed via the Autobahn. Besides waiting a long time at the eastern side of the border there were no complications this time. On the way back we had to use the same Helmstedt crossing, but all went well.
That was the last time I visited East Germany. In 1989 the Wall fell, the borders opened and the currency became equal over all of Germany again. Now all of the East Germans, not just seniors, could visit in the West anytime they wanted to.
I am convinced that the Lord wanted me here. I was single when I came, with very sparse knowledge of English and no friends. But I met this good-looking, intelligent bachelor and we eventually fell in love and decided to get married. The Lord blessed us with two healthy children and now two grandsons. We never had many earthly goods but always enough clothing and shelter. As long as my husband was active in the ministry we lived in parsonages. To me they all seemed like castles. Compared to the living standards in East Germany, we were rich.
Edited and published by Bill Boys
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