Jumping off the Devil’S Shovel

By Renate v.K. Ruzich

In early January of 1945, the horror of the Eastern Front inched ever closer to the estate of Stollen, East Prussia. The regional governor refused to allow soldiers and civilians to evacuate as the Soviet Army approached, and orders were given to "shoot on sight" those found fleeing the approaching terror. It was not until January 22 that evacuation was allowed.

Renate von Kuenheim and her brother Gert held hands as they stood in the barns of their ancestral home in Stollen. The thunder of artillery shells echoed in the distance, and fear gave way to resignation. Calmly, they discussed the best ways to die, a common topic among those who had heard the horror stories of the refugees from the east. Their father had been drafted into the army in 1944 and was out there to the east somewhere alive or dead, they did not know. Their fate was now in the hands of a stepmother who despised them. As head of the estate, she was tasked with making decisions for their family and the twenty-three families serving the estate. Their stepmother resolutely refused to leave until, on January 23, nobody was there to take her call at the local Nazi headquarters.

Renate von Kuenheim's terrifying flight westward began the next day. Separated from her family and their villagers by the scheming of her stepmother, the beautiful seventeen-year-old Renate was left alone, with only her horse Tasha, the clothes on her back, a knife, and the pistol her father had taught her to shoot with. Her remarkable flight toward freedom lays before the reader, tales of the horrors of war, the strength of the human spirit and the love that can grow between a horse and master. It is a true story many readers may find unbelievable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524614645

Renate v.K. Ruzich

In Germany, there is a saying that one who cheats death, either through luck or resourcefulness, has jumped off the devil's shovel. Renate Ruzich is such a woman. Renate grew up as the daughter in an aristocratic family in East Prussia, Germany, on an estate that had been in her family for five hundred years. In 1945, at the age of eighteen, she had to join millions of refugees trying to flee from the approaching Soviet Army. Separated from her family two days into their flight, she had only her horse as companion as she struggled westward. During that brutal winter, Renate experienced horrors, deprivations, and looked the devil in the eye many times. In a sea of cruelty, she also witnessed flashes of humanity that gave her the hope she needed to persevere. Mrs. Ruzich did more than just survive the hell of war; she built a new life in the ashes of the old. She even found the love of her life, Rudy, with whom on a clear, sunny morning in 1953, she steamed past the Statue of Liberty into New York's harbor. Renate Ruzich continues to thwart the devil to this day. She has survived a broken back after being thrown from a horse; has beaten kidney, colon, and skin cancer; and has persevered after the loss of her beloved Rudy. Most recently, she survived an automobile accident at the age of eighty-seven. Today Renate lives a quiet life near her beloved Blue Ridge Mountains in Orange, Virginia. She just celebrated her ninetieth birthday. She decided to tell her story that those who have been spared the horrors of war will understand its consequences.

Book preview

JUMPING OFF THE

DEVIL’S SHOVEL

RENATE V.K. RUZICH

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© 2016 Renate v.K. Ruzich. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/15/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-1465-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-1463-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-1464-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016909996

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1 My Childhood In Stollen

Chapter 2 January 1945

Chapter 3 The Journey Begins

Chapter 4 Crossing The Ice

Chapter 5 Starting Out Alone

Chapter 6 After Danzig

Chapter 7 Through The Dead Lands

Chapter 8 Through The Land Of The Kaschuben

Chapter 9 A Small Piece Of Heaven

Chapter 10 Holed Up

Chapter 11 The Last Ball

Chapter 12 The Last Stretch

Chapter 13 The Final Safe Place?

Chapter 14 The Soviets Arrive

Chapter 15 The Polish Camp

Chapter 16 Brussels

Chapter 17 Working On A Farm

Chapter 18 Life In Dannenberg

Chapter 19 Berlin

Chapter 20 Rudy

Dedicated to my brother Gert von Kuenheim auf Stollen, bei Liebstadt - Kreis Mohrungen Ostpreussen East Prussia, Germany

Title explanation: In Germany this saying is used when someone has just escaped a dire happening of sickness, even business or love: So glad you were able to jump off the devil’s shovel.

Acknowledgments

T his book would have never been written without the constant help of Ulrike Mello. Her untold time with me made it easier and possible. Also my thanks to my friend Susan Pell, who for even several years encouraged me to plan and write my story. Thanks to all those who read and edited this for me in my new language.

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This is the approximate route of my escape.

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The front view of our manor Stollen in East Prussia

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Back of the mansion seen from the park on the right the alley

around the park and along a steep and high bank of the river Passarge.

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Official portrait of my father in 1925 in the big entertainment hall of Stollen

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My mother’s official portrait taken in the big entertainment hall in Stollen

CHAPTER 1

My childhood in Stollen

I f I could paint my childhood in a band of colors the beginning would be a lovely sunburst yellow. I grew up on our estate in East Prussia, the north-east part of Germany, all the way up towards Lithuania. In this province we had only one really large town, Kaliningrad it is called today, but then it was the famous Koenigsberg. Otherwise the whole province was used for agriculture with mostly large estates. Some of them, like ours, had been in the hands of the same families since the time of the Teutonic Knights. They came into this part of the world after the crusades were over and the Catholic Church sent them north to the Baltic Sea area to win that land away from the natives and expand the church’s control. When they disbanded around the beginning of 1400 many who had been with them wanted to stay in this beautiful country they had learned to love. My family, at that time, was granted huge areas of land and we were still there when WWII was about to end and the whole country was given to Poland.

We loved our land and we children grew up with the knowledge of our history and our hearts planted deeply in it, never to be forgotten.

My earliest memories are my riding in front of my father on his saddle as he checked the work or just for a relaxing ride. My brother Gert went the same way to learn about our lands and forests. When we were about 4 years old we were allowed to ride on the older coach horses. We were put on their backs and at first we were led but soon they were turned loose and they became our guardians as they walked with us through the large park and grassed on the large lawns near the main house. So was our life long love for them born.

As we grew older and were secure on their backs at about six and seven years old, we were given large ponies who were fairly old and very experienced in handling the kids on their backs. They deposited us daily on the ground when they decided they had done enough. We rode them every day at all times and, without saddles at that time, became the means for most of our early adventures. So much was there to do, to explore, to experience and we were given so much freedom to do it all.

Of course we had to go to school. But since it was 15 miles to the next town where any schools were, we went to the country school about 2 km away. We went on foot together with the other children from our village and those farms and estates around us. It was a one-room school where the classes from 1 to 6 were taught. What a wonderful mess that often was! We walked each day in all kinds of weather and had great times. My brother and I HAD to wear shoes when we left the house but as soon as we came to an old hollow tree by the river, off they came and as long as the weather was warm enough we went barefoot.

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Renate at about 5 years on ALI. Our first riding horses were the older coach horses Ali and Brunhilde.

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My brother Gert at right on Brunhilde and a friend on my Ali. See, there is no saddle, only a cloth pad

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Renate with her little stepbrother Gilg on the pony Muffeline.  Gert and I graduated [!!!!] to our 2 ponies after we had learned to ride the big gentle horses Ali and Brunhilde.  These ponies knew how to handle kids and bucked us off any time they considered they had worked enough and then made us walk home.

School let out early enough for us to go home for the midday meal but the rest of the day was OURS. Out came the ponies and the places to go to were always far enough to need them. There were the forests to check out, what we could see of the wild game – or play make-believe games on the ancient Germanic grave that was large and held the remains of a grand king of ancient times. Our grandfather had the gravesite and the 6 other smaller ones in a half circle through that part of this forest researched. The HUGE rocks for them were found to have come all the way from today’s Scandinavia during one of the Ice Ages.

One of our best times was going fishing for crayfish in the fairly large river that was the border of one side of our land right behind the main house. They were as big as small lobsters and when we were not catching them for our cook for the family, we cooked them right at the river in an old tin bucket over a small fire just for ourselves. What a feast!

Other almost daily chores or duties were the animals on the farm that had to be looked after or played with, or helped to feed. We learned to milk the cows and helped the blacksmith. Often we got to ride the carriages at the sawmill or were playing in the big hay barn in the hay or straw that was many yards deep and stored away for winter. The latter was strictly forbidden though, because of the danger of suffocation. Naturally that made it even more fun and challenging for us kids. We really did what we wanted and when found out got punished. It was all part of our life there.

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Gert and Renate posing for the family album.

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My brother Gert and I in the park. He is showing off his new Lederhosen.

I also had a pair, but never wore them for photos.

Since all the work on the land was done with horses, they and their care and handling became naturally the theme of our lives. On summer days after work the horses were ridden into the little lake in front of the main house, to swim and get cleaned. Soon we were old enough to join the village boys to ride them bareback, each of us riding on a lead horse with three others on a rope. Then we took them out to their pasture about a quarter mile away. Since we rode these horses bareback we would wear our bathing suits.

When we were out of sight we got confident enough to not only walk. We decided to gallop altogether to the pasture gate and jumped the lowest rail. It was great fun, but really idiotic and dangerous.

Well, after a while we were caught. When we got there that one day our father was standing in the middle of the pasture with his riding crop slowly beating against his boots. Quietly we had to walk behind him to the barns, knowing quite well that this was not going to be pleasant. In the middle of the yard he called for the other fathers and read us all a huge riot act and then first me, the oldest, then my brother got a real whipping with that crop. It hurt like hell and it was the only time in my life that this happened. Then he called on the fathers of the others and they followed his example. Never again did we ever do anything but walk those horses sedately all the way to their weekend pasture!

It made a strong impression on us that the only time my father was ever moved to punish us physically was when we carelessly endangered the health of faithful animals.   One of our special adventures in autumn, during mating season of the deer, was to creep up upon the area where sometimes up to 50 deer would gather. One time my brother and I, out for adventure, wiggled our way through young evergreen trees with their branches reaching all the way to the ground, right up to the edge of their meeting place. Then suddenly one of the largest stags came through the trees behind us calling very loudly almost above our heads. We were scared to death and I don’t know how we got out of there without getting hurt. The stag was not interested in us. He only went eagerly after the females. Our ponies waited tied up by the road and my brother jumped onto his. But we didn’t have saddles and I couldn’t get up causing my brother to fall into a hysterical laughter …a story which he has never let me forget.

As much freedom as we had outside, as soon as we entered the house our life changed instantly; we were not allowed to speak the local dialect and had to clean up as soon as we entered. Every meal had to be utterly proper. When guests came we had to greet them, always with not only a handshake, but by kissing every ladies hand and I had to courtesy and my brother had to bow. We were always part of any official dinners and from the time that we went to school my brother Gert and I had to present a short welcome speech to our guests. The first ones were short, but it was a good way for us to learn to speak in public.

We enjoyed a childhood with lots of freedom and yet learned responsibility and social etiquette. Although being the children of the owner we were required to take part in every phase of farm work, whether it was with the animals or in the fields. My father believed that it was important to personally learn what all this work is like. Later in life we would then know and treat our workers correctly

Although we were not always agreeable to work when we could have gone riding, we realized that what we learned here surely would come handy sometime in our lives. Besides that, we got paid 50 cents a day. I saved up enough that when I wanted a bicycle I was told I have to buy it myself. Of course, a new one was out of the question, but we found an old used one with very thin tires and old fashioned frame. It was not comfortable, but did its’ job and I was proud to have paid for it myself.

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My first bicycle that I bought myself from wages earned in our fields.

In our part of the world was getting dark early in the winter months and by 5 in the evening it was deep night. One day, when the family was in different parts in the house I was upstairs in my room doing homework. We always had our evening meal at 7 pm and this time was getting close.

Sitting there peacefully I suddenly heard footsteps racing down the hallway. My brother’s and my rooms were at the very end of a long corridor that had two huge pillars down the middle where the chimneys from the woodstoves from that part of the house are contained. My door bursts open and my brother rushed in out of breath. Slamming the door shut behind him, he leaned against it and in a screechy exited voice told me that he just made it here in time before a ghost got him in the hall!

No! Really! Don’t laugh! Really!! And by the way, dinner is ready and I’m supposed to get you.

Of course I laughed and told him that his imagination was getting the best of him.

Alright, let’s see what happens when we go together!

Although the house was very large, more a Manor, we did not have electricity until later. Every evening the butler and the upper maid lit a kerosene lamp for almost every room in the house. But for the upstairs hallway there was only a fairly small lamp like a wall scone that threw deep shadows into corners and behind those pillars.

So we quietly and carefully stepped out of my room onto the wooden floorboards of the hallway. Listening intently, we heard nothing. Slowly we started to walk – and there it was!!! With every step we took we heard the swishing sound!! For a few seconds we froze. But when it started to follow us with the next steps, we flew down the hallway, down the winding stairs and into the living room, where our father was reading the newspaper. Exited and out of breath we told him about the ghost that is upstairs and has followed us right down the steps. Could he, please, come and see what it was?

Thoughtfully he listened to the whole story. Looking closely at us, checking us over, he started to laugh. We were shocked at this reaction and assured him that our story was really true! Then he pointed at my brothers boots and with a smile suggested that he remove a long piece of straw that was stuck on his heel and had been dragging on the wooden floors with every step, making that scary noise!

At first we felt like idiots but then realized how really funny it had been. From then on when we wanted a good laugh, we would only make that sound in a scary voice to cause us to break out into howls of laughter.

We were forever curious and sometimes went to great lengths to find out what had aroused our attention. But this one time it did not quite turn out as expected. Behind the room where we spent our indoor playtimes was another small one that was always locked. Of course that was a red flag for us. Our father had been making his special wine from current berries each year down in the basement. But a few years ago those BIG bottles were moved into that room. So we waited for the moment when some of the wine was taken out into some bottles or pitchers. As soon as we found that moment and the door was open we watched the whole process with fascination. Now came the question how to get in there and try this out ourselves. Beside that, we had been allowed to taste it at the last party and thought it quite tasteful! So my brother came up with the brilliant idea to get in by the window that was often open for fresh air.

That day came!

Outside was a large tree that conveniently had a large branch close to the house. He organized a long board from our sawmill, climbed up the tree and together we managed to push it from that branch to the window sill. Hurray—we did it!

We had watched how the wine was sucked up through a small but long hose. No problem – and it tasted really good. So after a few more sips from a glass that was always there for tasting, we realized that we had not learned how to stop the flow!!! We tried to hold it shut but that only worked while doing that. By then we were quite hilarious and after a few more swallows we passed out.

In the meantime we were missed at the noon meal. Nowhere was a trace of us until the nanny came into the playroom and noticed a red flow coming from under the door of the other room. When the door was opened a couple of sleeping, no-, passed out kids were sitting in a sea of red wine with happy smiles on their faces. The result was not pleasant. The huge hangover and a whole week of house arrest was never forgotten and for many years told as a joke on us. Even today my brother and I still laugh about it.

The largest get together for every one of our 2 villages, including neighbors and friends, extended families and guests from the next town, was the yearly Harvest Festival! A traditional Umpha Band, barrels of beer and other drinks, mountains of food always made this day a festival and holiday for all. I must not forget to mention the