In memory of Richthofen. By v. B.

‘Captain Freiherr von Richthofen has not returned.’ So reports the army bulletin, succinctly and bluntly. So it has happened after all! What no one dared to think about has come to pass, what every German felt with quiet trepidation when Richthofen’s aerial victories reached the eerie height of eighty. The greatest flying ace of the World War died undefeated, a glorious death for the Kaiser and the Fatherland. An unspeakable pain pierces the hearts of our people at the loss of this bravest of the brave. As a true soldier, he rests in foreign soil where he fell. We were not granted the privilege of firing three volleys of honour over his grave. When I see the mighty towers of the venerable monastery church of Wahlstatt glimmering in the distance today, old, long-forgotten images come to mind. Richthofen and I wore the king’s uniform at the same time and were cadets at Wahlstatt. I had just joined the corps, a cheeky ten-year-old boy. Manfred Richthofen was several grades above me, and as a puny newbie, as the cadets called the newcomers, I would hardly have come into closer contact with him. But it did happen once – in a rather rough manner, which is now a fond memory for me. My room elder was a close friend of Richthofen’s, and he often sat in our room in the evenings. However, this friendship was clouded for some reason, so that both had pax ex, as we called it. Our room elder now tried to annoy Richthofen at every opportunity. Carnival had arrived, and the parcels from home with the eagerly awaited pancakes had arrived. The senior member of our room had had a huge jumping jack sent to him in the form of a life-size Negro, which aroused our greatest astonishment, for there were no carnival jokes or masquerades. But we soon guessed what was going on. One of us was supposed to secretly hang the Negro on Richthofen’s locker door. My blood was boiling at the time, and I was looking for an opportunity to distinguish myself. The bright red, grinning mouth of the negro, which stretched from ear to ear, was intended to provoke Richthofen – that was the main point! Manfred Richthofen had a full, strong mouth, which our dormitory leader always teased him about. We were sitting down to supper, so I sneaked out of the dining room as quickly as possible. I scurried across the company quarters with the negro I had fetched to the room where Richthofen was lying. Soon the snarling black man was dangling from the cupboard door, Richthofen’s nameplate emblazoned above his woolly head like an explanation. But the consequences were inevitable. Richthofen guessed where the negro had come from and also found out who had brought him. And then in the evening, I can still see it today, the door opened. Richthofen stood in the room, his steel-blue eyes, which meant nothing good for me at the time, searching the room. Now he had spotted me. The next moment he was standing in front of me – there was a crash on the left, a crash on the right – and then, as calmly as he had come, he left the room amid the respectful silence of his comrades. It is a strange memory! – That was the hand that later held the controls so firmly and sent eighty enemies to their deaths!”