5 August
(UTC+1)
Events on this day in the life of Manfred von Richthofen
MvR writes from Schelmce
Die Erinnerungen der Mutter des roten Kampffliegers Kunigunde Freifrau von Richthofen. Im Verlag Ullstein – Berlin, 1937.??p. 11??
“Manfred wrote from Schelmce, on the other side of the border. The letter was dated 5 August, the day when the church service brought us together on the little parade ground and I was worried about him. While we stood and sang, he probably wrote this greeting to home in some forest clearing south-west of Kalisch, with the distant rumble of the cannons, still tired from the night patrol, which is now his third. Only six men still belong to the small troop of horsemen that has closed in on the enemy. None of them are wounded yet, thank goodness. But things will probably change soon. When I receive this letter, Manfred writes, he may already be on his way to the west. Lothar also wrote a card from Traben about the journey there. We have never been able to say goodbye to either of our sons. That’s a little sad. But how many mothers will feel like that!”
MvR should be dead
Die Erinnerungen der Mutter des roten Kampffliegers Kunigunde Freifrau von Richthofen. Im Verlag Ullstein – Berlin, 1937.??p. 10??
“Today was a day that is still fresh in my mind, but which also moved me deeply. A field service was held for the entire garrison, the soldiers and their families on the small parade ground, which is so pleasantly lined with greenery on two sides, very close to our house. It was a great farewell in the face of the eternal, a togetherness that only fate can create, which must now be borne indissolubly by all. Even before the service began, England’s declaration of war on Germany had become known. There they stood now, our soldiers, who were our pride, like walls they stood on three sides of the square, on the still free flank the men and women in dark clothes, the parents, the sisters of our warriors, who would leave today in grey dress, tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. In the centre stood the field altar, with clergymen speaking, deep seriousness on all faces; one tried to remember this or that image that had become dear to one from happier days. Perhaps you would never see it again. The sky arched blue and cloudless over the solemn, beautiful picture, the light wind carried the humming of the church bells, we all sang ‘We come to pray…’ with great fervour. It was like a pledge, it shone through us all, and everyone felt: for the German people there is only victory – or doom. And now something happened to me that I couldn’t believe. Acquaintances who greeted us did so with such shy cordiality that I was finally taken aback. They asked about Manfred, again and again, with such strange sympathy. Had my son returned from the patrol battles on the other side of the border? ‘Yes, certainly…’ But why was everyone asking so strangely, my God. What had happened? My knees became weak, they pushed me a field chair and I had to sit down. Then I heard that Manfred was dead and that his friend Webel was also missing or killed. Fear tightened my heart, but only for a moment. A certainty, a confidence that was based on nothing but itself, told me: it can’t be, it’s all a mistake, he’s alive. And this trust in the inner voice had the effect that all anxiety fell away from me, that I soon became comforted, even cheerful…”
Third night on patrol
Ein Heldenleben, Ullstein & Co, 1920??p. 176??
“Dear Mum!
How are you all doing in these turbulent times? You are certainly safest in Schweidnitz. I am now on my third night on patrol in Russia. There are no German troops ahead of me, so I am the furthest forward. One becomes brutalised in no time at all. I don’t mind that I haven’t taken off my clothes for four days and haven’t washed since the declaration of war. I sleep very little with my six men – under the open sky, of course. The nights are quite warm, but today, in the rain outside, it was less pleasant. There is little to eat; you have to fight to get anything. None of my men have been wounded yet. By the time you receive this letter, I may already be at the French border. The cannons have just thundered again from the direction of Kalisch, we’ll have to see what’s going on. Warm greetings to you all from nearby Russia
Yours, Manfred.”
