Wolfgang Vetter

The Experiences of a 17 year old German Soldier
in an American Prison of War camp
from April 20 th 1945 to February 28th 1947

As we came out of the house, we were searched for wristwatches first, and then for weapons. One soldier pulled my helmet off and broke my nose. That is why I still have a bump on my nose. Next we were loaded on trucks, and paraded through the streets of Nuremberg. In the late afternoon we were interrogated. While waiting my turn, one fellow said to me: "Don't tell them you are in the Waffen SS. When they ask you what unit you belong to, tell them: Artillery Ersatz Abteilung 10 under Hauptmann Lindner." He explained to me that the Americans knew all the units and their commanding officers. I followed his advice and when they checked under my left arm for the tattoo, which was the sign of a Waffen SS soldier, I had nothing to worry about, since I did not have a tattoo. Then we were taken to the train station in Lauf. Here we spent the first night. There was some water, but we had no food. The following day we were transported to Wuerzburg. Again we received no food, and two hours later we were sent to Worms, where we arrived in the evening.

The camp in Worms was the former drilling ground of the garrison. It was surrounded by a double fence of barbed wire. There was no shelter of any kind. We only had what we wore on our bodies. We had so little space, that half of the 10,000 POWs had to spend the night standing up. That was okay by me, because it was too cold in April to lie on the ground. We huddled together to stay warm and sang songs. In the morning when it got warmer, I lay down and slept. Twice a day we got food; one time it was a cup of coffee made from roasted grain and two small, hard biscuits. The second time it was a cup of cabbage soup, which consisted of mostly warm water with a few pieces of cabbage. Every morning, I was told by the other POWs that 40 or 50 bodies were taken out; soldiers who died during the night. For a toilet there was only a ditch, but with the amount of food we received, we did not have to go very often. From day to day I got weaker, and it took all my strength to get up and get what little food we received. Outside the barbed wire fence, the American soldiers stacked up their excess food, poured gasoline over it, and burned it in front of our eyes. I saw one POW go crazy and try to climb the fence. He was shot dead in front of our eyes. l spent the 6 ½ worst days of my life in this camp in Worms, April 22. to 29. 1945. On the seventh day in the morning when I tried to get up to get my food, I blacked out. When I came to, I had to gather all my strength to make it as the last one to collect my meager ration. At noon on the same day, we were loaded on a train and transported to Epinal, where we were kept in the transition camp for 16 days. We slept in some ruins, and we had at least some water. The food was somewhat better, still not much, but at least we could add some water to make it seem like more.

The next stop was Toul. We arrived there on May 15. This was a work camp and we had at last some primitive bunk beds and blankets. The next day I started to work. My first job was repairing telephone cables. We worked in teams of two. We had to cut open both ends of the lead cable to expose about 150 wires. We had to touch one wire with an electric probe, and then try to find the same wire on the other end. When we touched the right wire, the gadget would make a sound. Then we would bend the wire to the side and start over again, until all wires were good. lf we found some wires that did not make a sound, we had to unwind the cable until we found the damage, and start from scratch. When everything was okay, we sealed both ends of the cable and our 15 ton crane moved the cable roll to a new location.

After working there for several days, we started to get to know our American supervisors, and they got to know us. Since the food we got in the camp was still meager, our American supervisors occasionally brought sandwiches, took one bite, then left it where we would find it, since they were not allowed to give us anything.

One day our crane operator had problems with the cable break. Every time he lifted one of the heavy cable rolls, it would keep sliding down, which was very dangerous. The repair man tried everything, and worked on it for several days but to no avail. When a passing German prisoner saw the slipping cable roll, he said, "Let me fix it." He climbed up in the cab, pulled a little tin with DDT powder from his pocket, sprinkled some of the powder on the break and told the operator to try it. It worked like a charm. Then he gave the tin to the operator, grinned and was gone.

After several weeks, when we had all the cables checked, we were sent to a large supply camp. There our job was to stack small cable rolls weighing about 100 pounds, two stories high. ln that camp, we had Polish guards. They did not like us, and frequently some of them beat us and treated us badly. One day I watched a young prisoner trying to lift a cable roll, but he was too weak, and when he did not succeed, a Polish guard hit him several times with a rubber hose over the back. When a passing black American truck driver saw that, he stopped his truck, jumped out, took the rubber hose from the Polish guard, hit him several times over the back, got in his truck and took off. Later the same week, several German prisoners jumped a Polish guard, who had treated everybody badly, like kicking and hitting for no reason at all. When they grabbed him, they pulled something over his head, so he could not see who had jumped him. After they gave him a beating, they took his gun and broke it. One German POW who worked in the office, heard the guard complain about his broken gun. The American officer told him it was his own fault. He should treat the POWs fairly and he would not have a problem. Then he called the M.P. and sent him to the stockade. After this incident, no more beatings took place.

At the beginning of June we had entertainment every Saturday night, put together by the POWs. Some were not bad, and some were quite entertaining. One Sunday, together with my bunk neighbor, I made a calendar and board game. Mid-July every prisoner under 18 years of age was told to pack his belongings. We were to be sent home. Since nobody had been able to communicate with their relatives, everybody gave me their home address, and asked me to tell their families, that they were okay. The next day we were taken to the train station, loaded on a train and send to a holding camp in Ciemingen. l spent 9 boring days there in very hot weather. Then we finally boarded a passenger train, and traveled without guards across France to the debriefing camp, Attichy by Paris (about 17 km east of Compiegne). There they put us in 'Baby Cage #2." The food was much improved. We even got chocolate almost every day. Four days later, we were moved to cage #6. Nothing to do all day long got very boring and when they asked for volunteers to work in the officer's canteen, I volunteered. We had to clean up after a party, and there was all kind of food left. One big pot had something that tasted a little like chocolate, but it was a mixture of peanut butter and jam. That was my first encounter with peanut butter. The time there was nerve wracking, because we waited from hour to hour to be called to get ready to go home, but that call never came. On August 5th, we were loaded on a train with guards and send to a work camp in Reims.

Map of the area of Attichy, where the stockade has been

l arrived in Reims on August 5. 1945, in Prisoner of War stockade #15 (in the Rue de Nice). We were shown to our quarters, which were long barracks made out of raw wood, wire and heavy tar paper. The barracks were divided into sections, each housing about 20 prisoners. Each had one door, and two windows. Inside were 20 bunk beds, made from wood and wire, no mattress, only two blankets, one table and two benches. After we had settled down, we got some food, and had a chance to wash up.

Reims, at red arrow was Stockade 2 and 15                                    Wolgang Vetter in Stockade 15

Officepersonal of PoW at the freightstation

The next morning, after we had breakfast, we were called out to go to work. We had three meals a day, mostly soup and bread. At lunch time they brought the soup from the camp. It was usually vegetable soup. The work we did varied, and we were driven there by truck in the morning and picked up at night. I remember one job, because I hated it. We had to dig a new open air toilet. That is a very large hole, about ten feet by five feet by seven feet deep. The digging was easy, because the ground was chalk and clay, but the smell was awful. It was next to the toilet that was in use. lt was not a W.C. We worked many days in that awful smell, and as the hole got deeper, it got more difficult. When we thought we were finished, we found out the worst part. Since the old toilet was full to the rim, and they did not want to move the building, we were told we had to break through the wall to the old toilet so the contents could flow into the new hole. We each took turns, hoping that the next guy would have to do the final break through. I got lucky. The fellow who was not so lucky sure needed a rinse with the water hose.

Most of the other jobs were not bad, and we did not work too hard when nobody was watching. On days we did not work, we played games, and I learned lots of card games. We played chess, checkers, Aggravation and many other games.

One afternoon about twenty of us were called out to go on a job. We were taken downtown to a large warehouse. There were small rooms with no windows. It was very warm, because of gas heat all along the walls. On the ceiling were hooks, from which stalks of beautiful ripe bananas were hanging. Our job was to remove the ripe stalks, and hang up the green ones. l had the easiest job. When a fellow came in and grabbed a ripe stalk, l had to unhook it so he could carry it away. When the next fellow brought in a green stalk, I attached it to the hook. Our guards were Frenchmen, under the supervision of an American M.P. Sergeant. After a while he came into the room I was working in and motioned to me to give him a banana. l picked a perfect one and gave it to him. When he peeled the banana and started to eat, he looked at me, stopped eating and pointed to the bananas and to me, indicating I was to eat too. I was careful and took one with some brown spots, but he came over, took it out of my hand and threw it in the corner. Then he picked one as nice as the one he was eating and gave it to me. When I started to eat, he smiled at me, after making me understand that I could eat all I wanted. Then he covertly motioned at the French guard, and shook his head, telling me not to give the guard any bananas or I could not eat any more. That day, since I was hungry most of the time and the food in the camp was sparse, I thought, "I’d better eat all I can; who knows when I’ll get the chance again." I ate 72 (seventy two) bananas. When I got back to the camp, l went straight to bed and slept like a log, feeling good the next morning. But we heard the following day that one fellow had eaten 102 bananas, and feeling thirsty, found a bottle with milk. The milk had turned and was sour, but he drank the milk anyway. By the time he got back to the camp, he had a bad stomach ache, and went to the infirmary. But they could not help him, and before they could get some outside help, he died. Later I heard that the sour milk and the bananas had started to react and his stomach burst. It was a sad day in the camp.

One time I was selected to go with twenty other guys to the Pommery champagne cellars, to load one truck with cases of champagne. We all thought, somehow we are going to get at least a taste of the champagne. When we got there, they had two M.P. soldiers watching each of us, and we could not even get a sniff of champagne. What a disappointment.

After several days of camp duty, we were set to building roads and pathways in the camp, using gravel. Whenever it rained, the ground became mud and that made it very difficult to keep our barracks clean. The trucks usually came into the camp in the evening, fully loaded. ln the morning, when they dumped the gravel, the trucks were only half full, and we were wondering what happened to the rest of the gravel? Since some time, our German camp commander had requested larger and better cooking kettles, because our kitchen staff had to work around the clock in order to feed the 10,000 prisoners of war. But the American commander said there was nothing available. The German prisoners worked in all the different warehouses and soon they had located what we needed. Since all the truck drivers were German prisoners, they picked up the kettles, covered them with a tarpaulin and loaded gravel on top. When they came into the camp, the guards only saw the gravel and allowed them to pass them without trouble. At night they unloaded the kettles secretly, and in the morning we got only a small load of gravel. Weeks later, when the American commander made a kitchen inspection, he did not believe his eyes. There were ten brand new soup kettles, and he said, "I don't want to know where they came from."

October 1945 we finally got preprinted cards to send home, to let our families know where we were. In December 1945 I had an answer from my mother and boy, was I relieved. From then on we corresponded regularly.

One afternoon, when I walked through the camp, I noticed that someone had put up a tight rope. Since no one was around, I gave it a try, because I always liked to balance on railings or beams. I did not get very far and had to jump down when I lost my balance. But I was not going to give up and I came back the next day to try again. That went on for several days, but it did not get any better. And when I was finally ready to give up, another young fellow, one I did not particularly care for, laughed at me and told me that I would never be able to walk across the wire. That did it, and l tried that much harder. One day an older fellow watched me, and finally came over and said, "You are not bad at all. All you need are some instructions." He then started to teach me. He told me that he had put up the tight rope so he could practice, because when he was released he was going to join his uncle’s circus. From then on I practiced every free minute, and with Leo's help, I started to get good. Soon we had two more fellows learning to walk the tight rope; Siegfried and Alex.

The four artists: Siegfried, Alex, Leo and Wolfgang in front with the tray

When we heard that the camp commander was arranging a sport festival with athletes from all POW camps in Reims, we decided to put on a show. Leo dressed in white, Siegfried was made up as a girl, and I fixed myself a clown outfit and painted my face. All around our tight rope, they had all the athletic events, and lots of spectators. But when we showed up and started our performance, everybody surrounded our tight rope and watched us. We did all kinds of tricks on the wire and Leo even walked in wooden shoes. I acted like I lost my balance, and was hanging from the wire by my toes, then l got off with a handstand. Leo and Siegfried juggled with three rings while they were both on the wire. I walked to the middle of the wire, then I took off my jacket, and finally I walked back and forth using the umbrella to balance with. At the end we received thunderous applause. The other athletes where somewhat peeved, since they lost their audience.

A few days later a fellow came up to us when we where practicing and showed us pictures from our performance. We were really surprised, because we had no idea that somebody had taken pictures. When the fellow offered us prints, we were only too happy to accept, but the fellow said they would cost money. And now we were in trouble. Where would we get money? He said, "You get some money, and I give you the prints!"

Soon after, I was working in a warehouse where American uniforms were stored. We had to load trucks with pants and shirts. One truck arrived just before lunch time. The driver, a German prisoner, was nervous and asked us to please load him up. We said no, it was lunch time and he would have to wait. But he pleaded with us until we loaded him up and he was on his way. Two days later, the same driver came back for another load, and while we were loading for him, he gave each one of our group 2000 Francs. When we asked what it was for, he told us that he had sold the truck and the load to the French black market and he was paying us for working through lunch hour. That made me very happy, because now I could get my pictures.

Wolfgang Vetter as a clown on the rope              Wolfgang Vetter with four rings on the rope

Over the next few weeks I even sent some pictures home in the POW letters to show my mother I was doing okay. Since we had some money, we asked the fellow with the camera if he would come Sunday morning and take some more pictures. When he agreed, we dressed up all in white and gave him a performance which he photographed, while everybody who walked by stopped and watched.

Wolgang Vetter with a tray on the rope                                                                Wolfgang Vetter on the rope

Some time later, our group was sent to the freight yard to load supplies for the troops in Germany. Most of the supplies were food and came in big trucks which were driven by German prisoners. ln order to get at some of the good stuff, it was important to back up the truck in such a way that the door of the freight car was covered. ln that way we had some privacy and many a case got broken and we started to eat a lot better, than what we got from the camp.

ln the freight yard I learned to drive. I drove those big trucks around the yard, learned how to back up and shift gears. Sometimes we got heavy all terrain trucks and they were the most difficult ones to drive, because they were not synchronized and you had to double clutch every gear.

Sometimes we had the night shift, which was one group on stand by, in case a late truck arrived. But most of the time we just waited around, and then marched back to the camp. During a slow week, we heard that soon we were to load 40 freight cars with liqueur; whiskey, cognac, champagne, gin, rum, vodka and assorted wine. Remembering the time we had loaded one truck with champagne, we expected a whole Battalion of M.P. and when the day came, we waited all day, but no trucks arrived. When it was time to go back to the camp, our American Sergeant came running out of the office and ordered two groups to stay, because several trucks were on the way and had to be unloaded. I was in one of the two groups waiting for the trucks. When we finally saw them coming down the street, there were only two M.P. guards. After we had placed the trucks, we started to load the freight cars. My group was loading champagne and the other group, cognac. The two M.P. guards were sitting in front of the trucks on a fence. Some of the guys could not wait to open a case and get to the champagne. Soon a bottle made the rounds, followed by another and another and so on. The other group was doing the same with cognac. At that time, one M.P. guard got up and walked to the truck with the cognac. He asked the checker for a bottle of cognac. Since the checker was already tipsy, he just reached inside the freight car and gave the M.P. guard a bottle of cognac. When he got back to the other fellow and showed him the bottle, he got up and got one too. Now the two guards were having a good time; drinking, laughing and not caring what went on in the freight cars. All of us got more and more tipsy, and we were throwing the champagne cases to each other. Some of the cases were falling to the floor and bottles breaking. Soon we were standing in champagne foam and slipping all over. By then we did not care about anything and when somebody saw a small truck coming down the street, we just watched. As he came closer we saw it was the M.P.Captain driving from one side of the street to the other, finally coming to a stop between the two trucks. He stumbled when he got out of the truck and then he asked for five cases of champagne and five cases of cognac. After we loaded the cases in his truck he took off. When the American soldiers from our office saw this, they came and picked up several cases each and took them back to their office.

When we were finally finished, we were all feeling pretty good and in that condition decided to each take two bottles to the camp. The empty trucks and the M.P. guards took off, and we assembled to march back to the camp. We stuck the bottles in our belt and hid them under our raincoats. One fellow was going to play it real smart. He found a piece of string, tied one end to the neck of the bottle and the other end to his belt. He intended to let the bottle down inside his pant leg to hide it from the guard at the camp. We were searched every time we entered the camp. But in his condition, he slipped it only through the belt and the bottle was hanging outside his pants, swinging like a pendulum. When our American Sergeant saw this, he almost killed himself laughing. Then one other fellow dropped one of his bottles and it shattered. As we marched off swaying conspicuously, our American soldiers cleaned up the mess. When we reached the camp, the first row of prisoners handed each of the Polish guards a bottle cognac, and they let us in without being searched. That evening, I drank one whole bottle of Pommery champagne, and I felt like I could fly. I only had to spread out my arms. I slept wonderfully and when l woke up, my head was as clear as a bell.

The second bottle of champagne I sold for 1200 Francs, and with the money I paid for more pictures. Normally we would load about 30 freight cars a day, but the 40 cars of liqueur, took us one whole week. And most of us, including our American soldiers, were tipsy the whole week. What was strange was the fact that some weeks earlier, we had loaded a freight car with bales of hay, and when it arrived, they claimed they were three bales short and we had papers going back and forth for weeks. But with those 40 cars of liqueur, there must have been 100 cases or more missing, and we never had a complaint. I guess they were as drunk unloading, as we were loading the freight cars. Most of us took bottles into the camp during this week. We sold them or traded them for things we needed. We got 1200 Francs for a bottle, but that lasted only one day. Then we had to drop the price to 1000 Francs, because our American camp Sergeant brought several cases of liqueur in the camp, and sold them for 1100 Francs.

One day, one of our American soldiers (Pvt. Grissom) asked me if I could type. I said, "With two fingers." He took me to the office and told me from now on I was to work in the office, doing odd jobs and copying freight papers. Since the weather was cold and rainy, I was quite happy with the new arrangement. Most of the time I was not very busy, and when Pvt. Grissom went inspecting the freight cars, he asked me to come along. As he checked the cars, he found a broken case of k-rations. We looked at it, then he turned around and looked outside. After a while he turned and looked at me, pointing to the large pockets in my fatigues and all the goodies in the broken case. Then he turned again and I stuffed my pockets with chocolate, cigarettes and other goodies. When he saw my full pockets, he smiled and nodded. From then on, every time he went on inspection, he took me along and l could fill my pockets.

On one slow day I sat at a table and he joined me. Even though he did not speak German and I did not speak English, we tried to converse. After a few minutes, he took off his watch and pushed it across the table. I picked it up, looked at it, and gave it back. He shook his head and pushed it back to me. l then asked the German officer who spoke English to help me out and translate. After he spoke to Pvt. Grissom, he told me Grissom wanted to give the watch to me. After I thanked him, I put the watch on. But the next day I left the watch hidden in the camp and when I came into the office, Grissom asked what happened to it. I had the officer explain to him if I would wear the watch, it would be taken away from me, because I did not have one before and the guard would say that I stole it. Grissom then sat down and typed letter to the camp commander, stating that he gave me the watch, because he has another one and has no use for it. In this way l had become a prisoner without a watch, and I was going to go home with a watch. For most German soldiers it was the other way around.

Some prisoners escaped by having themselves hidden inside a freight car. We would pack food cases all around them and they would travel to Germany. During the trip, they would cut an opening in the floor of the freight car, and try to get out before the car was unloaded.

When we got a new American commander, the first thing he did was climb up in the watch towers and inspect the machine guns. When he came down, he called all the Polish officers from the guard unit, and gave them hell. The machine guns were in a terrible condition, rusty and dirty. The Polish officers explained, since they where not familiar with American weapons, they were given German machine guns. They could operate, but not dismantle them, which was necessary to clean them. The new camp commander said, all you had to do, is remove the ammunition and have the prisoners clean the guns. So the next Sunday morning, we had to line up in front of the camp office, where they had placed ten machine guns with gun oil and rags. The commandant asked for volunteers, offering extra food rations. At first nobody stepped forward, why would we clean the guns which were pointed at us? But after some whispering, 20 guys stepped forward and started to clean the machine guns. When they were done, the guns where shining, and the commandant was pleased. But when the 20 guys stepped back in line, everybody jumped on them. Then they secretly showed everybody the firing pins, which they had left out, disabling all ten machine guns.

Since months we had been working on a church hall to be used for all denominations, as well for all kinds of performances. In the evening we heard all kinds of instruments for quite some time. Finally it was announced on the following Sunday evening at 8:00 PM there was a premiere of the symphony orchestra. The first three rows were reserved for the Americans and their spouses or girl friends. I was lucky to get a seat, and before the performance started, the Americans were joking about an orchestra with homemade instruments. But they had a surprise coming. At 8:00 PM sharp, the curtain opened and there was a 50 piece orchestra, musicians dressed in black and even a conductor in tails. With tuba and kettle drums, all professional instruments, they started with Beethoven’s 5th symphony. Those first three rows almost fell out of their chairs, and the concert was a total success. We had several more concerts, but the first one was definitely unforgettable.

Eventually my group was moved to stockade # 2, because we worked the same shift and since they had started to send prisoners home, there was room. There I met three fellows from my hometown. They arranged that I could bunk down with them. We had a lot to talk about and the time passed quickly. Only soon stockade # 2 was closed, and we moved back into stockade # 15. There we spent the rest of the time working, until the last job was finished. When stockade # 15 closed, we were moved to stockade # 1 in the city of Reims. After a boring week, there was nothing to do. I awoke in the middle of the night. It was unusual, but there was a light on, and half asleep, I saw two young girls in their teens standing in the middle of our barrack. They were dressed in pink and light blue pajamas. The light went out and I went back to sleep. When I woke up, I was sure I had dreamed it. But then a commotion started. We all had to assemble outside and the American commander held a speech. Then some soldiers brought in 7 French girls, who had been caught in the camp. The commander asked all the men who slept with the girls to step forward, because he said we were soon going home, and those girls could be sick. How would our wives and girlfriends feel then? But nobody stepped forward. He then told the girls to go and identify the men they slept with. lf they wouldn't, he told them, they would get their heads shaved. Now we were really worried, because the girls could pick anyone, just to save their hair. But they walked through our lines twice and did not pick anyone. The commander had their heads shaved and sent them out of the camp. We had to stand there for another hour in the cold, before we could go back to our barracks.

By now it was getting close to Christmas, and finally we were told to get ready to leave. A few days later we marched to the train station, boarded a train and were moved to the transition camp, Attichy near Paris. We were still hoping to be home for Christmas, but the days passed and we were still waiting. This was only the beginning. When we were finally taken to the train station, some fellows said that we were going to Heilbronn, the camp, from which all POW’s were released. We arrived in Heilbronn on Jan.10. 1947. In the camp "Berlin," l spent 14 days, waiting daily to be called and sent home, only to be disappointed. Then we were moved to camp "Fulda." We listened day and night to popular music, mainly "Rudy Schurike" and songs like "Caprifischer," "Im Hafen von Adano," and many more. In between, the songs were interrupted and names were read of guys to be released the next day. There was no system to it, and from the 20 guys in our tent, two had to listen with a list of our 20 names. We switched every hour, but this went on day and night. If your name was missed, it apparently was moved to the end of the master list and it could take possible months before your name came up again. lt was nerve wracking and I spent 30 days like that, waiting every minute to hear my name and being constantly disappointed. When my name was finally called, instead of going home, I moved to the third camp "Aachen." I found out that this was the final stage before being sent home. I now had to listen again for my name, and finally after six days, it was my turn. On February 28. 1947 I had to pass a final inspection. I was given a train ticket to my home town. With my release papers I received a certificate for $381.80 US Dollars, which was the money I had earned at 80 cents a day, while working in the POW-stockade.

One thing I remember, the fellow who passed inspection in front of me had a whole box full of soap which he had collected. The inspector asked him what he intended to do with all that soap. The fellow answered, "You see, Sir, my sister had a black baby, and I am going to wash it white." The inspector laughed and sent him on his way. What a great feeling, to finally be free. I could not walk fast enough away from the camp and only when I reached the train station and boarded the train, did I really feel free.

The train took me to Stuttgart, where I had to change trains, and then l was on the final stretch home. In Geislingen, when I walked home, nobody recognized me. When I reached our house and rang the bell, my mother looked out the upstairs window and could not believe her eyes. When she came down to open the door, she was overwhelmed to finally have me home after almost three years. The next few days we had so much to talk about. I heard about all the fellows who did not come home, and I realized then how lucky I had been.

Copyright by the author - Druckrechte beim Autor
Als Manuskript des in Kanada lebenden Autors (für seine Nachfahren) gedruckt
Kontakt per ePost Vetter@Collasius.de

Unser Dank gilt dem Autor für Text und Bilder sowie die Genehmigung, sie hier zu veröffentlichen. Wir danken hier auch Herrn Gerhard Friedrich Dose, der die OCR Scannung korrigierte, die Bilder der Landkartenausschnitte wie auch die Bilder des Autors scannte und in den Text integrierte.

Walther Kerner

Copyright der Internetausgabe 2003 Collasius