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Updated: June 17, 2025
I must learn enough German to suggest that to the Oberforster: Murder, as a preliminary to Theft. I'm afraid he would send me straight back in disgrace to Frau Berg. Good night darling mother. I'll write oftener now. My rules don't count this fortnight. Bless you, beloved little mother. Your Chris. Schuppenfelde, Monday, July 13th. Sweet mother,
The Oberforster met me in a high yellow carriage, drawn by two long-tailed horses who hadn't been worried with much drill judging from their individualistic behaviour, and we lurched over forest tracks that were sometimes deep sand and sometimes all roots, and the evening air was so delicious after the train, so full of different scents and freshness, that I did nothing but lift up my nose and sniff with joy.
We met nobody the whole way except a man with a cartload of wood, who greeted the Oberforster with immense respect, and some dilapidated little children picking wild strawberries.
He said he was leaving his lieutenant at Koseritz for a few days, but that he himself had to get back into harness at once, "While the young one plays around," he said, slapping Herr von Inster on the back this time instead of the Oberforster, "among the varied and delightful flora of our old German forests.
And yet here, even here in the very lap of peace, as we sat in the porch after supper the Oberforster talked ceaselessly of Weltpolitik. The very sound of that word now makes me wince; for translated into plain English, what it means when you've pulled all the trimmings off and look at it squarely, is just taking other people's belongings, beginning with their blood.
"What has the wife of an Oberforster to do with prettiness?" she asked. "It is good for a junges Madchen, who has still to find a husband, but once she has him why be pretty? To be pretty when you are a married woman is only an undesirability. It exposes one easily to comment, and might cause, if one had not a solid character, an ever-afterwards-to-be-regretted expenditure on clothes."
Oh, they are intolerable about their Deutschland! The Oberforster is calling for this he's driving to the post, so good-bye little darling mother, little beloved and precious one. Your Chris. Schuppenfelde, Thursday, July 16, 1914. My blessed mother, Here's Thursday evening in my week of nothing to do, and me meaning to write every day to you, and I haven't done it since Monday.
"And without rebellious thoughts unsuited to her sex," said Frau Bornsted, turning and looking at me. She showed what she was thinking of by adding, "I hope you are not a suffragette?" The Oberforster put on a thin green linen coat for supper, which he left unbuttoned to mark that he was off duty, and we sat round the table till it was starlight.
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