An Act of Kindness

I looked down at the diary again.

It was an unassuming little book, bound in black leather, worn by years of adventures and stories, the pages stained with ink, aged with drink splatters and blurred with splashes of tears.

I had picked it up for a pretty penny from an antique dealer at the markets in Mauerpark, Berlin, the unassuming cover belying the treasure of the contents. The previous owner, one Lisl Goldschmidt, had documented her life in the diary, up until her final entry where she said she was going to flee her hometown with her son to find her husband and escape the Nazis. The diary began in 1920 and extended to the middle of the Second World War, giving me a first-hand perspective on life as a Jew in Nazi Germany.

Curious as to how the diary had come into the vendor’s possession, I asked her, and she explained that during World War Two, many looters ransacked empty houses, and that she had come across it in a garage sale a few weeks prior.

After avidly reading the diary entries I decided to search for the place where Lisl had lived, so I could better understand the life that had been portrayed to me so lovingly in ink.

******

Parking my hire car on the side of the road near an old stone wall outside the village, I had already followed the wall for five minutes to the top of a hill. I had investigated the town where Lisl and her family had lived, and after looking through some community records and speaking to some of the older locals in the village, I was given directions to where Lisl and her husband had been wedded all those years before.

I walked alongside the stone wall for another kilometre before finally reaching my destination. A large oak tree filled my vision, its ancient branches reaching for the afternoon sunlight that bathed its leaves in brilliant golden hues.

Opening the diary to the page I had marked when I first decided to set upon this venture, I brushed my fingers gently across the page to the words that had inspired me to follow the journey written within the leatherbound cover.

“Was mir am Herzen liegt, habe ich in der Eiche gelassen, wo meine Liebe mich geheiratet hat.”

The words translated to “What is closest to my heart, I have left in the oak where my love married me.” Thankfully studying German in university certainly helped me in this unexpected quest.

To be completely honest, I didn’t know what was hidden within the tree that lay before me, but I was so enamoured with the tragic tale that I had to find out.

Reaching the base of the brilliant oak, I put the diary back into my backpack, gathered my necessities and rested it against a root protruding from the ground. I started my search with the base and trunk of the tree. I had prepared myself for this task, bringing a pocket knife and a bag for whatever I might find in my search. Twenty minutes later, my endeavour remained fruitless, so I began reaching for one of the lower branches to hoist myself into the frame of the tree. I climbed up the main branches, analysing every detail, but still no luck. Half an hour later, I decided to gain a different perspective, climbing as high into the tree as I was comfortable going. I found a spot to perch, a fork in the branches where the leaves weren’t so dense due to my altitude. I had another hour until sundown, and the rays glittered through the foliage to dance on my skin and the immense product of nature that was cradling me high in its canopy. After a few minutes of soaking in the beauty of the German countryside, I took the opportunity to examine the lower branches from above. Five minutes later I found what I was searching for.

About two metres below me, a branch extended from the trunk of the oak, twisting down and out, before splitting into three about eight metres in. Just before the branch divided, there was a hollow, where something rectangular had been lodged.

Descending carefully, placing my feet on one branch at a time, I stopped at the branch that held the hidden shape. Analysing the branch, I noted that one of the lower branches bent upwards towards the hollow. Treading cautiously, I slowly balanced my way along the bough, holding onto the other branches to support me. When I finally reached my destination, I turned towards the hollow and wrapped an arm around the branch. I tentatively reached for the rectangular shape and realised it was a wooden box, about the size of a large cigar box. Examining the box, I pulled at it lightly. It didn’t budge. I realised that due to the years since it had first been placed there, the tree had grown around it, and that it wouldn’t be simple to get it out. Pulling out my swiss army knife I gradually pried it free, all the while becoming very conscious that I was suspended more than ten metres in the air, in the middle of a tree which was probably over a hundred years old – though I don’t know if the age of the oak comforted me or unnerved me even more.

After several minutes of wiggling the knife down the sides of the box, I was able to dislodge it from its hiding place, and momentarily placed it back on the hollow. Reaching into my bra, I pulled out the folded fabric bag that I had brought with me and shook it out, clinging to the tree as I did so. I placed the handle of the bag in my other hand, and picked up the box, commencing a juggling act of trying to use the corner of the box to open the interior of the bag so I could slide it inside. When the box was safely inside the bag, the bag was safely over my shoulder and I was still safely attached to the tree, I made my way back to the trunk and climbed back down until the solid ground met my feet, my chest brimming with hope and excitement to discover the contents of the box, and whether it was Lisl’s possessions.

Using the fabric of the bag to gently rub off over seventy-five years’ worth of moss and dirt, I discovered the box was beautifully made with a dark stain and a small brass latch at the front. Holding the box, I sat down under the tree and took a moment to gaze at the horizon. The sky was painted with pastel pinks, purples and oranges, with a startling scarlet surrounding the setting sun. Looking back down at the box, I gingerly lifted the latch and raised the lid. The hinges were stiff, but it opened to reveal a myriad of items lying on a lining of royal purple velvet. The first items I removed was a small pile of folded paper, bound by a single cord of leather thong. Unfolding the first papers, I found what appeared to be love letters to Lisl from her husband Otto. The rest contained similar missives, excepting one, which was written to her by her son Klaus. A few photos also accompanied some of the letters, and some were added into the back of the pile of communications.

The next items I pulled out of the box were military medals, of which kind, I was unsure, but I assumed they were likely from World War One. Remaining in the box were various items of jewellery – a pearl necklace and matching clip-on earrings, a golden chain with a portrait locket hanging from it, a diamond ring and a stunning gold necklace encrusted in diamonds, a large sapphire set into its centre. Bringing the necklace closer to analyse, I startled to realise that the light was beginning to fade and decided to wait to have a closer inspection of the jewellery. Replacing the contents of the box, I found my backpack that I had carelessly dumped at the base of the tree and placed it inside, zipping it up. Pulling the keys to my car out of the front pocket, I began the fifteen minute walk back to the road.

After driving back to my Airbnb, I laid the box on the side table and prepared dinner, determined that in the morning I would begin researching Lisl’s family to discover if there were any living relatives who would be seeking these heirlooms and treasures of their familial past.

******

My efforts proved rewarding.

I took the medals and jewellery to a valuer and a professional antique dealer, who both confirmed that the medals in my possession were from World War One, and that in the collection, alongside the usual medals for service were the Iron Cross and the Wilhelm Ernst War Cross, the latter recognising military valour, awarded by the Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach. The jewellery was all genuine, I was told that pearls were saltwater pearls, and I may have stared gobsmacked at the valuer when he told me the current worth of the necklace and earring set. The sapphire necklace was also given a figure that made my ears ring.

Researching the family proved difficult, but with the internet and snapshots of articles from my research in Lisl’s village, after a few days of digging, I was able to find out that Lisl and Otto’s great granddaughter – Klaus’ granddaughter – was living with her husband in Hamburg. I contacted her through Facebook, and after confirming her identity with a few odd questions about her family history, which I am thankful she answered, I asked her if I could visit her and bring home some objects which I believed belonged to her family.

With her address and her phone number on hand, I booked the next flight to Hamburg, and arrived at my next hotel three hours later.

The next day, after a wonderful morning exploring Elbstrand, Hamburg’s “river beach”, and coveting the beautiful houses overlooking the water, I hired a taxi to drive me to Pinneberg, located just outside of Hamburg.

Knocking on the door of Heidi’s house, I admired the beautiful architecture and meticulously kept front garden. The door opened, and I was quickly ushered in and invited to join Heidi for some tea. After discussing her family history, Heidi picked up some old photo albums from the settee and brought them over to me. We looked through them unhurriedly, Heidi explaining each image and who each individual was. Half way through the first album, I saw a face I recognised. A face I knew, because there was an exact replica of the photograph in the box in my backpack.

“That’s my great grandfather Otto,” she said. “This was taken just before he went to fight in the First World War.”

I got up and walked over to my backpack, coming back to the table with the box. I pushed it across the table to Heidi, who looked at it like it was about to attack her.

I smiled gently, “Open it, it belongs to you.”

Heidi hesitantly opened the box, and uncertainly sifted through the contents of the box, her eyes glazing over with unshed tears as she looked at each article the box held.

Heidi became overwhelmed and overjoyed to see the bounty I had brought home to her family.

She hugged me tightly, a surprising amount of strength in her embrace, despite her delicate frame. Tears running down her face, she pulled back to stare in my eyes.

“You have no idea how much it means to me, to have my great-grandparent’s treasures returned to the family.” She gazed over at her husband and daughter, playing in the garden outside. “Having my great-grand-father’s medals from the first world war, and great-grandma Lisl’s jewellery, diary and letters back in the family means that we can always remember how strong they were in such devastating times, and I can pass these heirlooms on to my children and grandchildren, and help them understand the impact that the world can have on a family, both in regards to the wars, the persecution, and you, the foreigner who followed the life of my great-grandmother just to bring her memory and the things she held dear back to us. Life is full of amazing highs and lows, and I will not be forgetting your generosity.”

She embraced me again, and we chatted a little while longer before I had to head back to my hotel for the evening. She was adamant that she would send me money for the taxi fares from my hotel to her house and back again. She also asked for my address and my phone numbers, so that she could keep in touch with me after I returned home to Australia.

******

I finished up my Europe adventure a month later and flew home, my mother meeting me at the airport in Sydney after 20 hours in the air.

Arriving back at my house, Mum told me she had gathered all my mail for me on the kitchen bench. I reached for the most recent pile, tossing bills one way, and junk the other, until I came across an envelope with my name and address scrawled elegantly across the paper. Opening it, a brief handwritten note was inside,

Eleanor,

I am writing to you to again thank you for the amazing act of kindness you performed for me and my family in your travels last month. I have decided that words are not enough, and I have sent you 20,000 euros with my sincere gratitude to you. You are welcome in my home whenever you desire, and we look forward to your return to Germany.

Regards,

Heidi Meyer

Stunned, I looked at my mother. Her brow furrowed and she reached out to take the letter from my numb hands.

Reading the letter, she turned slowly to face me and carefully articulated, “What did you do in Germany to get a reward like that?”

She guided me to the kitchen table and we sat down. The daze beginning to wear off, I began telling her of my peculiar adventure around Germany.

“Well. It all started with a little black book…”