Bloody Germans

10. The German Occupation

What I always find fascinating about the Germans and the English, is how they both change in their supremacy, when they travel to and from the two different countries.

I notice it everytime I journey on the ferry that goes back n’ forth to England’s Harwich and Hamburg. When the ferry first leaves Hamburg for England, there is always a noisy presence of Germans that appear to be here, there, and everywhere; they clog up and commandeer the ship’s bars, as well as seize all the best seating and tables alongside the ferry deck cafe’s -- all becomes exhaustively occupied by loud bellowing and guffawing Germans. In the evening, the main bar is where the cabaret and dancing entertainment occurs and goes full swing, but as soon as the festivity begins -- the Germans, will once again take up unbroken precedence; they’ll fill up all the best front row seats, capture and manipulate the entire dance floor, and lurk in and out of every attainable corner.

The whole ship turns into a German occupation!

Yet in the morning, as we all wake and turn out from our cabins -- now we are sailing inside English waters. As I aimlessly amble around the decks, I suddenly begin to notice a great deal more English people roaming about. Now it is they who have taken over the ship, and the Germans have slunk into the background, becoming incredibly discreet and immeasurably silent.

It is the same, but the opposite, on the return journey; back from England to Hamburg. Now it is the English who are packing up the bars and hogging all the best seats. If I go to the bars, it is the English who are all grouped around the tables in every corner or nook of the bar  -- they are the ones who are now doing all the jabbering and cackling, and the Germans -- they are hardly noticeable.

Then once again and just as before, the following morning when we all arise and the ferry has sailed past Cuxhafen and into the mouth of The River Elbe; well into German territory -- the English have all suddenly gone missing presumed who knows where.., and out of the woodwork, have once more, sprung all the uprising Germans.

The very same happens when taking a flight to and fro Hamburg Airport to London’s Heathrow. On the flight from Hamburg to London, the Germans have grabbed all the best window seating and are very prominent during the less than one hour travel. But as soon as we have all landed in UK and I observe our flight passengers at the luggage checkout -- those once noisy bustling Germans, have now separated from each other and metamorphosed into hushed and desolate sweet nuns. Yet the English, who are now on their own home ground, have once again, ascended (or is it.., descended?), from their many hiding places. The return journey by plane, is just the same, only as said before -- quite the reverse.

This is something I notice everytime I travel from England to Germany and back again, and is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, something quite bizarre.

When the Germans travel on their buses or on the U-Bahn underground train, many times I get the impression that they want the whole double passenger seat to themselves. They often take up the entire seat and claim if for themselves by sitting on the outside, next to the gangway. If they have any shopping or items in their hand, no matter how large or small -- they will hastily place it on the inner window seat next to them, as if to say..,

“This space is not vacant, it is required!”

In England, when one sits down on a bus or train -- most people, as a habit, will immediately move up to the inner window-seat, even if the interior is completely unoccupied.

When things start to get a bit busy and additional passengers climb aboard,  then filter their way along the gangway looking for a vacant seat -- all the seated passengers will, all at once -- like robots on the same electric circuit, squash up more to the inner side, getting closer still to the window. To allow even more space, they will also begin to draw in their coat tails, bag handles, or even the tiniest bit of their open and outstretched coat belt, that might venture across and invade the empty seat territory; it is as if each time they are saying --

“Sit here -- come on.., there is plenty of room with only little ol’ me sitting here -- I can always flatten my cheek closer to the window if you need more space!”

But not the Germans..,

They will do the same seat-grabbing masterstroke, no matter if the bus is empty, half-empty or bursting over the brim. Many a time, when I have stepped onto a busy German bus, I’ve noticed numerous people having to stand, despite the seating being singly half-occupied. It is amazing to look down the line of a crowded bus and see every seated German, sitting right on the outside of their seat, with not a heart-beating soul sitting next to them. If I should I go up to one sitting at a half-employed seat, and make a gesture that I would like to sit down next to them -- they look at me as if I am a trespasser with no rights to be on their land, if even to be alive. 

But if I persist with my craving to be seated -- they won’t move across to the inside window seat, as they would instantaneously do in England -- no.., they want me to climb over them, or squash my way through to the inner seat -- and should I happen to knock, bump or even dare tread on the tip of their toes, then its all my fault, despite the fact that they have not budged one inch to allow me easy access through. It’s no wonder that so many stand and suffer when the seats are only half-occupied; a first time experience of endeavouring to seat-share, becomes a definite case of -- once bitten twice shy!

The elderly German, especially the woman, are the biggest offenders in this seat-hogging activity. It seems as if age alone gives them endless rights above everybody else, one being -- to have a bus-seat all to themselves.

Many German people seem to do exactly the same when sitting at tables, inside or outside of busy cafes and restaurants. I see a few tables for four or more, that are only occupied by two or even one isolated German  -- I ask..,

“Ist dieser platz noch frei?”

Which is, “Is this seat free?’”

And ninety-nine times out of ten they will assert..,

“Nein, ist schon Besetzt!”

They are suggesting that although it may look not used, they are soon to be joined by others, who are, at this moment in time, on the toilet or maybe off buying bier at the bar.

But often, they never are -- they don’t even exist on the face of the planet!

Once on a ferry trip, it was very early in the morning and I had just flowered from my cabin, I desperately headed straight for the buffet section and bought myself a much needed cup of tea.

 

Irrespective of it being so early, the passageway lounge seating was hopelessly quite full, except for this one corner where two young German women were sitting, each deeply immersed in a novel. Adjacent to, and around them, were three empty seats. I walked up and asked one of them if I could sit down at their table, to drink my tea. They were both quick off the mark to inform me that all of the vacant seats around them, were already taken. I noticed that neither of them had anything to eat or drink; the table before them, but for an overfilled ashtray, was bare. So I assumed that their partners were up at the bar ordering the coffee, with perhaps some light snacks and a mountain of sausages for them all to eat. So I went away and found a  little tight but very uncomfortable corner to perch myself upon, in order to drink my tea.

That was all I really wanted to do -- quickly drink up my tea, then tour the top deck.

As I sat there, I not only had generous time to finish my hot tea, but I was even able to smoke one whole cigarette. And all of the time, I could see the two women at the table with the still empty chairs around them -- and they too, could easily observe that I was able to view them -- but they cared little about that, or the fact that it was obviously apparent to me, that those seats around them, persisted to remain unoccupied.

It was now crystal-clear to me that those chairs would always remain idle. Several other people also came up and asked the same question, and each time the two women grunted out in unison, the same pre-brained-trained answer..,

“Nein, ist schon Besetzt!” --

“These seats are taken”

Maybe they were telling the truth, perhaps they were saving those empty reserved seats for their children, and were just waiting for them to finally arrive --

It just so happens.., that they were still also waiting for them to be conceived!

My Five Suitcases - plus, Nightmare

I have travelled many times between Germany and Hamburg over the past nine or so years, journeying both by sea and air. The Scandinavian Seaways ferry trek is a lengthy and enormously taxing twenty-one hour haul, that departs Harwich in UK, around four in the afternoon, and arrives at Hamburg in Germany, the next day at 1. p.m. The journey by aeroplane, from Hamburg to Heathrow, takes just under an hour, and is as effortless as simply taking-off, climbing up into the sky -- engaging in something to eat and drink, then back down again, and you’re there.

Of course, the prime difference between the two, apart from having the added luxury of being able to take a car with me when I use the ferry route, is that on my return trip from UK -- I can bring back heaps more UK supplies; tea-bags, cheddar cheese, biscuits etc., than I would be permitted if I travelled by air. This is the true reason that I frequently use the long drawn-out seafarer’s jaunt.

Of all the numerous sea-journeys I have undertaken; some that have been on gentle cool-breezed, sunny-day tranquil seas, and others, where violent winter storms have raged high and bombarded turbulent enraged waves across the top cabins of the ship -- there is no journey so memorable, yet as horrifying, as the one I am about to unfold..,

My story begins around early Spring of 1996. Rolf had travelled ahead of me to Germany and had been living there for almost three months. I remained in dear old England, residing in a temporary flat, within my hometown of Bournemouth. I was patiently waiting for the day to arrive when I could rejoin Rolf, once he had found a home for us to be together again in Hamburg.

News of that day finally arrived early that Spring and I began to make my plans to join him. At that time, I did not have a car but Rolf had previously taken most of our possessions along with him in his car when he first departed. I had considered, at the time, that the items that remained with me, would just about fill one large sensible sized suitcase.

How wrong I was.

My plan was to travel by train from Bournemouth to London’s Waterloo Station, then head over to Liverpool Street Station, where I would catch another train, that would arrive right outside the ferry terminal itself. Once the ferry had arrived and docked into Hamburg Port, Rolf would be there to meet me with his car, and we would both drive back to our new home.

What could be more simpler than that?

I had booked all my train and ferry tickets and after taking good advice, allowed myself one hour to make my train connections in London. I was told that would be more than enough time to cross over from one station to the next.

To make things even more effortless for myself, I purchased for twenty pounds, one of those suitcase trolley things -- the kind I can just pop my heavy suitcase onto, and then happily tow it behind me.

All seemed to be going well, even the weather looked promising for my journey. So a few days ahead of the day of my travel -- I began to slowly pack.

I filled up one suitcase in next to no time, but I still had a good few items left to pack. So I thought..,

“One more suitcase shouldn’t create too much difficulty -- it’s a darn good job I didn’t choose to go by air!”

So I mustered up another large suitcase and began to pack that as well.

I had to sit on the lid to close it -- and I still had loads more to pack!

I couldn’t understand it; when I looked around my small room, long before I had even decided to pack, it really seemed as if I had hardly anything at all -- not even enough to fill one suitcase, but here I was clocking up number three.

So I rallied up another suitcase..,

But that suitcase was still not enough. I began to panic and I finished up giving many of my possessions away to other residents within the flats. But there were so many things that I could not give away or even sell -- I so much wanted them to remain with me forever, so somehow, someway -- they just had to be packed.

When my stuffing, jamming and cramming was at last completed, I had totalled five suitcases and one large holdall bag -- plus I had this stupid, now pretty useless, trolley on two wheels, to my name.

I thought to myself..,

“Well girl, this is going to be a challenge; it’s me and my five suitcases plus -- for Hamburg or Bust!”

I made a quick dash over to the Rail Station; it was only ten or so minutes walking distance away. I went into the Enquiries office and told them of my new situation.

I came away feeling good.

First of all, the extra baggage was not going to cost me one penny more, and I was kindly informed, that somebody would be there at the station, to load all my luggage into the mail/goods compartment of the train. All I had to do was organise a taxi from my flat to the rail station; in both situations there would be somebody present to assist me. On my arrival at Waterloo Station, there would be porters and trolleys to take me to the London taxi cabs, who would then drive me -- a mere five or ten minutes journey away.., over to Liverpool Street Station. Whereupon, more porters and copious amounts of other trolleys, would be lying around idly waiting to take me and all my luggage to my connecting train. And, on my arrival at the Harwich ferry station -- once again, there would be a voluminous amount of fresh porters still, and shiny silver trolleys glittering in the sun -- all at my beck n’ call.

I was so joyous, I think twice I must have gone into a skip and a jump on my way home.

The next morning, the day of travel, I awoke early. As previously -- and so stylishly arranged, my taxi pulled up outside. A few residents of the flats, helped me to lug my baggage down the staircase and the taxi man loaded them all into his cab.

It was a peaches-and-cream crisp morning as we drove the short distance to the rail station. On arrival, again as charted -- the taxi man loaded my suitcases from the taxi to a vacant trolley -- and a porter kindly pushed it into the station. When the train arrived, the same porter freighted it all onto the goods section of the train.

I thought..,

“This is absolutely brilliant! At this rate -- I am not going to have to touch any of my luggage at all, let alone, carry it!”

I felt immensely proud of myself that I had risen and confronted the challenge -- I was also accomplishing it so well.

I tipped both the taxi man and the porter benevolently -- I assumed that I would have to do this everytime, but that was okay and was worth every penny; I just needed to get this lot over to Hamburg, without any fuss. Once there, Rolf would be waiting for me -- and all my worries would be over.

The train arrived at London’s Waterloo Station; the next part of my exciting leg. The plan was to have a porter remove my five suitcases plus -- in which remember, also included the stupid two-wheeled luggage trolley.., well, for twenty pounds I was not going to let that go.., for the porter to then shove that lot onto a nearby trolley.., and wheel it away to a nearby taxi rank.

But it was here that my strategy began to agonisingly fall apart..,

First, there was not one porter, living or dead, to be seen anywhere around Waterloo Station, despite it being one of London’s largest and busiest rail stations. But worse than that -- neither were there any luggage trolleys in sight.

A refreshment carriage operator came up alongside the train, pushing a large trolley of food and drink to replenish the stocks on the train. I asked him where I could find a porter, or even a trolley, and his advice was for me to make my way outside the platform barriers and look for either there. He kindly offered to look after my baggage while I was away on this quest.

I went through the main gates, past the ticket collector, and searched the station high and low for either a porter or where they kept the empty trolley’s. I could find neither. Panic began to rapidly cultivate as time moved on; I only had one hour to make my connections and it was fast ebbing on.  Fortunately for me, I noticed that somebody had abandoned an empty trolley in the centre of the busy station -- so I grabbed it quick and rushed back to my waiting luggage.

Now I had to get past the ticket collector and back onto the railway platform. After an accelerated explanation to him of my plight -- he, at long last, let me through. The refreshment guy was still there waiting for me and he helped me to load my luggage onto my prized trolley. I thanked and tipped him, then at breakneck speed, made my way back out through the station barriers, in search of a nearby taxi rank.

In the main hall of the station, I saw a large Exit sign and below it was an arrowed sign that beheld the welcoming words..,

‘Taxi Rank’.

As I bordered the painted line on the deck of the station exit, I noticed that the taxi rank was about fifty yards further on down the road -- and there was a long queue of both people and taxis slowly moving up towards each other; as the people slowly boarded, the taxi’s drove off, and others moved up into line.

But to my horror, I then noticed another sign, that read..,

‘Luggage Trolley’s are not allowed to be taken beyond this exit point’.

Now I had to think and think fast..,

I caught sight of an elderly woman who was standing alone by this exit. I went up to her and asked politely..,

“Could you please watch my luggage for me why I go and get a taxi -- only I am not allowed to take this trolley outside the station!”

I was in such a rush, I don’t even think I gave her time to answer yes or no -- I was off on my heels to grab a black cab.

I had little time to wait in a queue, even though it was always on the move. I dashed down the line, counting as many people as I could -- I made it around forty.., so I counted again -- forty waiting taxi’s behind. Then hurriedly told the taxi driver, of my calculated choice, my dilemma and fortunately for me, he soon understood and drove his taxi out of the line and up to the station side-entrance. I rushed back to get my trolley -- but when I got there, it was surrounded by several uniformed station security guards, who were having concerned conversations on their scratchy mobile phones.

“Is this your luggage?” One asked me.

“Yes!” I replied.., as innocent as butter wouldn’t melt. “I had to leave it here because I needed a taxi and I am not allowed to take it pass this line -- I asked this woman to keep a watch on it for me..,”

But like rail station porters -- she was nowhere to be seen in sight.

“You’re not permitted to leave luggage unattended at this station!” He bellowed out to me. “It causes a bomb scare!”

I’d forgotten about that. It was during the time of the IRA bomb attacks in Britain, London especially -- so I made my apologies and the panic buttons were gladly switched off.

The taxi man then helped me load my five suitcases -- plus, onto his London cab. It was not a real problem for him, as London cabs are built with a large recess at the front; at the would-be passenger side, so he just stacked them up one on top of  the other, inside there.

I gave him of my destination to Liverpool Street Station, where I had to catch a train to make a connection for a ferry to Hamburg. I now had less than a half hour left to make this journey across London, but the taxi driver calmed me down by cheerfully maintaining..,

“Ah that’s plenty of time -- I’ll git yuh there long before that!”

I sat back in that taxi feeling that the worst bit was now over and done with -- now I can relax more, on the almost half-leg of my journey.

Then the taxi hit a traffic hold-up and time was moving hastily on.

“I’ll go this way!” He continued in his laid-back, non-caring mood, “It always gets a bit busy ‘round ‘ere this time of day -- I know a back route that will get us there just as quick!”

We went up this road, down the other -- left, right and even at one point, where we crossed some busy traffic lights -- he did a U-turn and drove back down again and into a sharp left turn.

“I ‘ad to do it like that..,’ Said the taxi-driver, turning his head towards me, ‘Only it’s a No Right-turn there!”

I said with panic in my heart, “Do you think we’re gonna make it -- if I miss this train, I’ll miss my ferry to Hamburg!”

“Yeah, we’ll make it no problem -- we’re almost there now!”

And sure enough, there it was.., Liverpool Street Station.

“I’ll wait ‘ere wiv your luggage luv’ while you go an’ getcha yuh’self a trolley!”

I ran up the stairs to the busy station entrance. The next thing I saw displayed in front of me, was several rows of up n’ down moving escalator stairways -- and below that, were ranks of railway platform entrances, numbered from one to ten -- and down amongst that lot, were jostling crowds of queuing people.

I made my way down in a vain search of the sporadic porter. But once again, nil to be found. The station was so hectic, with umpteen queues of people standing behind each platform entrance. I ventured to the front of one queue and quickly asked the gate ticket collector, which platform I required for my Hamburg ferry connection.

“Platform Ten!” He shouted back at me, without even having to look it up..,

“And where can I find a trolley?” I next asked him..,

“Over there by the side entrance -- you’ll find plenty of them parked over there!”

Like a flash, I made my way over to that side entrance -- time was really getting close now.

The first thing I noticed at this side-entrance, were taxi’s pulling up one after the other..,

“How come my taxi-driver didn’t drop me here?” I curiously questioned myself.

No matter, it was far too late for that -- I grabbed a trolley and made my way back to the taxi, via that side entrance route.

When I got back to him, I did enquire why he did not take me to that side entrance, but he made some excuse about not being able to get down that way -- some one-way system or something that prevented him. I did not.., and I still do not, believe that load of codswallop. The only reason that he did not drop me there, was because he could clock-up more money on his meter, by giving me this run-around.

Now, whenever I hear somebody say..,

“No matter where you go -- the London Cab Drivers are the best, friendliest and most helpful cabbies in the world!”

It makes my blood boil!

I hear that statement many times -- well, with my experience, please let me beg to differ; those cab drivers know all the back routes and tricks of London’s busy streets -- he could have got me to that side entrance dropping point if he really wanted too -- just like many other taxi’s did, for all others that I saw.

‘Bloody Taxi drivers!’

So after paying the taxi driver an exorbitant amount -- mostly for waiting-time. I loaded up the trolley with my luggage and quickly made my way back to the station side-entrance.

This route was definitely not designed for this purpose; there were no convenient footpath sloping mounts, and a few times, I had to push my way over large cobbled stones, and then manoeuvre this three wheeled, impractical idiotically-designed trolley, down a very steep and lonely winding slope. On that short part of the journey alone -- my trolley tipped over three times. Each time I had to load it up again and push on.

By the time I had made it back to the station side entrance -- I had but five minutes to go to make my connection. By this time I was hot -- I was very hot.

Ahead of me, the jam-packed crowds of people were all filling up the ten lanes that entered each station platform. I had no time at all to go around them, just mere minutes to go.., so I ploughed through the centre of them all, each time shouting..,

“Excuse me.., sorry.., sorry.., s’cuse me but my train is.., s’cuse me.., about to leave in seconds..!!”

I managed to get through the heart of the crowds, despite many people not moving nor allowing me easy access, so instead, I had to pass around them. I reached the queue at platform nine -- one hair’s-breath station away, when one stupid person got in my way and in my brisk attempt to steer around them -- my trolley tipped right over again -- and all my luggage spilled onto the ground in front of me.

By now.., I was done in. I had not one iota of strength nor will left in my entire body. I knelt down in a depleted heap, in an attempt to once again to pick up my luggage, but instead -- the last of my spirit was given up to openly declare myself to complete and utter hopeless resignation..,

“That’s it -- that’s it.., I’ve missed my train. Now I will never make it to Hamburg!”

But as like.., an Angel Out of Heaven, this small lady in her advanced years, cried out loud to my depleted soul..,

“What train are you trying to catch?”

“The one at platform ten!’ I replied in my despair, -- ‘The train that’s just about to leave right now!”

She quickly conveyed to her husband.., “Help the lady pick up her cases!” Then grabbed one nearby suitcase of mine and made off in leaps and bounds -- like a bat out of hell, towards and down the entrance of platform ten.

My ardour hastily returned. After her husband and I had swiftly reloaded my trolley, I followed after her like the wind. When I reached the entrance of platform ten -- I could see that the train was still motionless at the platform, but the guard had his mobile radio up to his mouth.., and was just about to give his instructions to the engine driver to move off.

“Waaaaaaaait!!!”

The woman shrieked out loudly, as she ran clumsily up to him, lugging along one of my heavy suitcases.

The guard halted his expected intentions, turned his head around and listened, as my soul-saver explained to him that I was following on close behind.

I soon caught up with them both and the guard loaded my cases onto the train.

“You’re in First Class!” He cheerfully informed me.., “But don’t worry about it, as there are hardly any passengers aboard this train!”

I could not thank that woman enough -- nor even had the time to say all I wanted too..,

“Thank-you.., you saved my life!” Was all I had time to exhale -- and the train was off on it’s journey.

As I sat there in that first-class rear compartment -- I just could not believe I was really sitting there. It was surely a miracle -- and that unknown lady was indisputably, my Guardian Angel, who had wondrously performed it for me.

I was so hot and thirsty, I pulled one canned drink from my holdall and drank it down in one large gulp.

I was on my way to Harwich.., almost there with this nightmare all but over.

When the train pulled in at Harwich Ferry Terminal, as the station porter had pointed out, not many people alighted. Alongside the platform, there were not any porters to help me, but there were plenty of tall sack-truck type trolleys and besides, now I had plenty of time to slowly make my way into the Scandinavian Terminal, and board the ferry to Hamburg.

So once again, I loaded up my five cases plus, onto the station trolley and pushed my way inside the terminal. At first, I panicked -- I saw a mountain of steps before me.., but no need to worry.., because, almost right next to it, was a lift to carry me, my trolley and luggage, up to the next floor.

Once there, I showed my tickets and then collectedly pushed my trolley along the gangway that led onto the ship. I must admit, I felt a bit of a fool with that load -- but what did I care, after what I had just been through -- and made it.., nothing but nothing was going to ruffle me now.

As I came up to the ship's entrance, I wondered for a few minutes how I was going to get this lot down the stairs to my cabin. But my fears were not warranted, because at the large ferry entrance doorway, I was asked by the hostess if I wanted to store my luggage in the hold right next to the doorway. In which of course, I delightfully agreed. Both the trolley and my luggage were then taken away from me -- it was so gratifying to be parted from their company. The Scandinavian hostess also told me that when we reached Hamburg, to ask at reception for somebody to help me to offload it.

I went down to my cabin -- I needed both a long cold drink and a cold shower -- I did not know which I required the most. I chose the cold shower first, then after getting freshly dressed, I made my way to the bar and sank down one long heavenly ice-cold bier.

The overnight journey was both relaxing and pleasurable. The following morning, I was up early and breakfasted. Then, as the ferry sailed from the North Sea and into the mouth of River Elbe; on it’s five or six hour trek towards the Port of Hamburg, I first sat, then walked around the top deck of the ship, taking in all the scenery and absorbed the intoxicating fresh sea air and warm morning sun.

When the ferry docked into Hamburg Port, I did as the lady suggested when I first boarded the ship. I went up to reception and asked for help with my luggage that was in the hold. The receptionist, called for a ship’s porter. A little Filipino guy arrived. When he took one look at all my luggage, he told me he would look for more porters to help him.

I guess he was a lot better or luckier in this than I had been, because more help is surely what he procured.

As I stepped off the ferry at Hamburg -- in front of me, walked five porters; each carrying one of my five suitcases. Then one more arrived on the scene, and offered to carry my smaller, but still heavy, hand luggage holdall and -- not forgetting, my stupid useless, small two-wheeled trolley.