Oskar Schäffer and Georg Zeumer dead

    Event ID: 371

    Categories: 

    MvR correspondance
    Deutsch
    Die Erinnerungen der Mutter des roten Kampffliegers Kunigunde Freifrau von Richthofen. Im Verlag Ullstein - Berlin, 1937.

    18 June 1917

    50.866509946054954, 3.2931827393831776
    Bavikhove?
    Bavikhove
    Bavikhove Drieshoek

    Source ID: 10

    Die Erinnerungen der Mutter des roten Kampffliegers Kunigunde Freifrau von Richthofen. Im Verlag Ullstein - Berlin, 1937. p.  122 

    ‘Manfred wrote that he had investigated Oskar’s death. He could establish with certainty that he had indeed fallen. Oskar jumped the last 500 metres out of the burning plane. He fell into the English lines. Manfred tried to find out whether he had been rescued by dropping a note to the English. I read line by line, and suddenly my eyes stiffen. It reads, harshly and inexorably: ‘Unfortunately, Georg Zeumer was killed in action yesterday. It was perhaps the best thing for him, because he knew that the end of his life was imminent. That marvellous, nice man! If he had had to agonise to death so slowly – that would have been terrible…’ So now it has happened after all, now this life filled with struggles has also come to an end. The homesickness of a seeker is satisfied. I didn’t realise that his diabetes had come this far. And it also seems to me that death played the saviour here. I come across a letter written by Georg Zeumer, dedicated to my son’s friendship. I read: ‘…Let’s have a little chat about Manfred. I think about him all the time. A few days ago he was in the army report again. I remember exactly how I met him. It was in the Polish town of Riewiskow. My old observer fell ill, so I had to get a new one from the airfield. I liked Manfred Richthofen so much that I asked him if he wanted to fly with me. With a beaming face, he immediately agreed. We soon became close friends. We were fun, happy and carefree back then! We flew a lot and always grinned at each other. Manfred was still a very young, lively lieutenant back then, and I didn’t know any sorrow either. We slept under my machine. Our beds were next to each other. We always chatted for a long time before going to bed. We always had a bottle of Rhine wine, which I got from Rawa Ruska. We then flew very early. Dear Manfred always asked me to make a break with him because he had never experienced that before. It wasn’t long before I turned the plane upside down during a clumsy landing. Who wasn’t happier than Manfred! So a wonderful period of the war passed very quickly. When we weren’t flying, we were riding. But how we did! Always long through the vast steppes and fields. We always had our shotguns with us. If a poor hare ran into our path, we followed it in a carracho. We never hit anything, always shot past from a galloping horse, of course. We also quarrelled. He always wanted this and that to be different on my bike, which I didn’t agree to. We were always at loggerheads. But the arguments never lasted long. I can’t stop marvelling at Manfred. He’s really good at his trade. If only our Lord God would keep him; sometimes I’m so afraid for him. Why can’t I help him now? I would so like to repay him for rescuing me from a French squadron once (on 11 April 1916). Back then he was already much better than his former teacher. Now I would like to go to school with him. But there’s nothing left to do with me… Died, died…”’

    Comments (0)

    Leave a Reply

    Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

    Back To Top