The Kaiser's Reluctant Conscript

Dominik Richert, David Sutherland

• Publisher: Pen & Sword Military
• Year: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781783469871
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: World War I
• Index: History

"Superb... a useful account of the First World War for anyone interested in the perspective of a member of Imperial Germany's Alsatian minority."—The Western Front Association As a conscript from Alsace, Dominik Richert realized from the outset of the First World War that his family would be at or near the front line. While he saw no alternative to performing his duty, he was a reluctant soldier who was willing to stand up to authority and to avoid risks—in order to survive. This thoughtful memoir of the conflict gives a lively picture of major events from the rare perspective of an ordinary German soldier. In 1914 Richert was involved in fighting on the French border and was then moved to northern France where he was in combat with Indian troops. In 1915 he was sent to the East and took part in the Battle for Mount Zwinin in the Carpathians and the subsequent invasion of the western parts of the Ukraine and of eastern Poland. In 1917 he took part in the capture of Riga before returning to the Western Front in 1918, where he saw German tanks in action at the battle of Villers-Brettoneux. No longer believing in the war, he subsequently crossed no-man's land and surrendered to the French, becoming a "deserteur Alsacienne." The book ends with his return home early in 1919. This "remarkable book... an absolute must-have" gives a fascinating insight into the War as experienced by the Germans, and into the development of Richert's ambivalent attitude to it ( The Great War Magazine ).

End of 1917 into 1918

Life in Riga

The city of Riga is built on the river Düna. Its inhabitants are mainly Latvians, but there are also lots of Germans. Almost all the inhabitants can speak German. Apart from the poorest, most of the inhabitants were attractively dressed in modern clothes, so they did not really seem Russian. The Latvians are generally a handsome, strongly built race; their girls and women are almost all pretty and attractive.

Our duties in Riga were easy. In the morning we had two hours of training; in the afternoon we cleaned machine guns and played sport. Twice a week we would march out for combat practise. By and large, life was quite pleasant, if only the food had been better. You never got enough to eat. In the civilian population the hardship increased from day to day, and the poorest people could hardly get enough to survive. There was no source of income for the workers as all the factories were silent. The inhabitants often complained to us that we had caused their misery and asked why we had not occupied Livonia and Estonia, as these two agriculturally rich provinces, which lie to the North of Riga, would have been able to provide the town with foodstuffs. We soldiers could not do anything about that! Practically nothing could be delivered to the town from the parts of Russia that had previously been occupied by the Germans because they had used up so much that there was barely enough to keep the inhabitants alive. A large part of the population was seized by a limitless anger against the Germans because of the shortages, with the result that on several occasions German soldiers were murdered on outlying streets. We were not allowed to go out at night without loaded pistols. The suburb of Thorensberg is separated from the town of Riga by the Düna, which is about six hundred metres wide at this point. As the Germans feared an uprising in the town, traffic from the suburb to the town was often forbidden and the only available crossing over the Düna, a wooden bridge built by the Germans, was closed. People were often angry because they found it impossible to get home.

The city of Riga, which is located several kilometres upstream from the mouth of the Düna into the Baltic, could be reached by large ships. Before the war this town was the third largest trading port of Russia, but at this time all trading had stopped and only a few military transports, picket boats and coastal patrol boats used the harbour. The quay where the ships berthed was three kilometres long. The goods station was situated at the lower end of the harbour; formerly the goods taken from the ships were loaded into railway waggons there. The Russians had burnt down the buildings of the goods station before retreating. The road and railway bridge across the Düna, one of the most attractive bridges I had seen until then, had been detonated by the Russians. People were working day and night to raise the fallen sections of the bridge, which were made out of iron and weighed thousands of tons, using machines. I often stood and watched this work, which was interesting and new to me. I found it difficult to understand how it was possible to cut through the thickest iron beams using jets of flame. In the meantime, the winter had set in, and everything covered in snow and ice. The Düna was completely frozen over. Icebreakers – that is small powerful steamers with sharp pointed bows – broke the ice to enable ships to get to and from the Baltic.

At Christmas, the Company organised a small celebration. A beautiful Christmas tree was lit up in a large factory building and we sang some Christmas carols. Afterwards there was a small Christmas present for each man.

The next day I was promoted to be an NCO. I moved into the villa where I was quartered in a room with a stove which I shared with two other NCOs. We had metal cots, but they did not have paliasses and mattresses, so that you had to sleep with your clothes on at night time too. Despite this you could feel very fortunate living here, as there was no risk of being killed, and you could live and sleep in dry warm conditions. Generally, you almost forgot that the war was still on. As an NCO I now had two Marks pay per day. In addition, like all the other NCOs I had a batman who kept my clothes tidy, polished my shoes, brushed out the room in the morning, kept the stove going, and brought coffee and meals.

My duty was almost the same as I had had as a lance corporal, as I was previously in charge of a gun. On Sundays I always took leave until 1.00am in order to be able to visit the German theatre in the town. They almost always put on splendid pieces; best of all I liked Around the World in Eighty Days.⁶¹ The town also had many modern cinemas, and I often also visited them.

As the Company did not provide coffee or anything else on a Sunday evening, I usually went to the soldiers’ hostel where, with a bit of difficulty, you could get yourself a plate of bean, lentil or pea soup – naturally without any meat – for fifty Pfennigs. The congestion in the soldiers’ hostel was such that you could hardly get in. At a counter you paid fifty Pfennigs and were given a plate and a token, which you had to hand in at the serving hatch where the soup was handed out. You had to take your own spoon with you. Then you had to join the queue. The line of hungry soldiers wound backwards and forwards through the large hall like a snake almost filling it to capacity. Sometimes there was not enough soup for everyone; then the last in the queue were given their fifty Pfennigs back and could leave without being fed. That happened to me once. I had stood in the queue for more than an hour. At long last I had almost reached the serving hatch and was looking forward to a plate of hot soup, as it was bitterly cold outside. There were only two men ahead of me. Then they said: ‘The soup has run out!’ I could leave with an empty stomach after I had got my fifty Pfennigs back.

You could not get anything to eat in the cafes and restaurants in town. All that was available was poor-quality wartime beer, and tea. The civilian population was suffering more and more from the shortage of foodstuffs. As a result of the hardship and lack of work many girls and younger women were reduced to prostitution⁶² in order to earn a living in this sorry way. Many others had already been completely corrupted by the Russian army and now continued their trade with the German soldiers. Some soldiers who were addicted to this passion would hoard some of their meagre supply of bread and other foodstuffs in order to take them to their mistresses. The lance corporal on my gun, by the name of Westenberg, had also got to know one of these slags and took her some of the meagre supply of food which he got from the Company and should have used for himself. It is obvious that as a result of his starvation and poor moral conduct he became skeletal. I often warned him but my advice fell on deaf ears, as he was such a slave to his passion.

A good comrade of mine, NCO Kurz, had also got to know a girl and fallen madly in love with her. He would talk constantly of his Lola and praised her beauty and worthiness. One day I met the two of them. Lola was really a very pretty girl and made a very good impression. I walked along with them for a while and then went off on my own. One day, NCO Kurz told me that he had reached the goal of his aspirations. For this purpose he took overnight leave lasting until reveille. On the following morning we had drill at a sand school outside the town. NCO Kurz just arrived when we reached the sand school and reported to Baron von Reisswitz who had been promoted to captain. The Captain, who himself led a very loose life and who had earned himself the nickname of ‘whoremonger’ amongst the troops, simply laughed and said: ‘Good, take over your machine gun. You seem to have had a busy night’s work. You look very pale.’ Two days later, Kurz felt that he was suffering from a sexually transmitted disease. He was ashamed to report sick and hoped that the ambulance officer would be able to cure him. It turned out to be the opposite – his condition got worse and worse. Eventually he had to report sick and was sent to the hospital for diseased soldiers, which the soldiers called the ‘knights’ castle’. The illness had already contaminated his blood and he had to suffer the consequences for the rest of his life.

All in all, lots of soldiers contracted sexually transmitted diseases, so that the doctor started to run weekly roll calls. In addition, every soldier was given a packet containing things to protect them from getting ill. Most of the soldiers gradually got used to this low life as something to be taken for granted. I often heard people talking about Moat Street.⁶³ It was all go there! I too went there to the famed Moat Street with one of my comrades, NCO Kizmann from East Prussia. There really was a lot going on there: one brothel after another. The two of us went into one. In a fairly large room there were lots of soldiers sitting at tables all along the walls drinking tea. Three totally sordid blokes were playing dance music on their musical instruments. About eight prostitutes were dancing around with soldiers, moving their bodies in very vulgar ways. As a result of their slovenly lifestyle, almost all the prostitutes looked rough, but they hypocritically tried to give the impression of liveliness in order to ensnare the soldiers wherever possible. There was a counter in a corner; behind it sat an old shrew watching the action. Whenever a soldier wanted to go upstairs with a prostitute he would go to the counter, pay two Marks and get a ticket. He showed this to the prostitute he fancied, who then had to go up with him. We both considered this form of behaviour to be degrading. I noticed right away that one of the prostitutes did not make such a bad impression but her face showed deep suffering and worry. Kizmann said to me: ‘That girl is only here reluctantly!’ I replied: ‘I noticed her too and I have the same impression.’ As we had emptied our glasses, we asked her to bring us more tea. She brought it, and also brought a glass for herself, as seemed to be the custom in these houses. Then she sat down between us.

The two of us started a conversation with her, she spoke very good German. I said to her quite directly that she was not suited for this place and asked her how it had come about that she had ended up in this company. As soon as I asked her, she started to cry and, in order to hide her face and her tears, she turned her back on the old monster who was watching the events in the room. Then she started to tell us, sobbing quietly as she went on: ‘I could never have imagined that I would have found myself in a situation like this. I come from Petersburg and a year ago I got married to a Russian officer who was stationed here in Riga. In order to be with my husband we rented a flat here in Riga and were very happy.’ She was so sad that she could hardly speak any more. When she had regained her composure, she went on: ‘Suddenly the German offensive started. Before we could decide to leave, the town was surrounded by the Germans and my husband was taken off into captivity. As we had used up the Russian roubles which had previously been in circulation, all we had left was a sum of Kerensky – money that had no value after the Germans occupied the town. So there I was, with no money and with only enough food to last for a few days. When I had used the food up, I sold all the things I could do without, but we had not had many of those as we were living in a furnished flat. I walked round the town all day trying to get work as a carer, or a servant, or a part-time worker. It was no use, and everywhere I went was given the same reason: it was not possible to take on servants because it was not even possible to scrape together foodstuffs for their masters. I would have been satisfied with any kind of work, even the most humble task. As I could not pay the rent, I had to leave the flat where I had lived so happily with my husband. So there I stood on the street with no accommodation or money and feeling desperate. I thought of throwing myself into the Düna out of desperation, but I lacked the courage to do so. So I ended up here, as a last resort. I have often thought that it would be better to be at rest at the bottom of the Düna than to have to live like this. As I am not as degenerate as these terrible people, with whom I am hardly able to live as they are so revolting, the soldiers consider me the most desirable. You cannot believe how much effort it cost me each time I go upstairs and hear them insult me!’ She started to sob again and continued: ‘Oh, what would my kind parents or my husband think of me if they knew the circumstances I am now living in! In addition, I am expected to present a happy, high spirited appearance in order to bring in as much as possible for that wicked old woman, who has already threatened several times to throw me out if I look so sad!’ ‘That’s terrible,’ we both said. ‘Is there absolutely no possibility of getting out of here?’ ‘I agonize over it the whole time,’ she answered, ‘but I can not find an escape.’ We felt very sorry for the poor woman. The only way we could help her was to each give her two Marks, which she accepted gratefully. Then she was invited to dance by a soldier, who went straight up with her. On the stairs she gave us a desperately unhappy look.

‘Now you see, Richert,’ said my friend, ‘what lies behind this superficial gaiety. I felt really sorry for that young woman. And there are still people who say that war is God’s punishment. God wanted the war! But it’s only the people who do not have husbands or sons who are liable to be called up and can benefit financially who say that.’ We sat there for a bit longer and watched the goings-on. The Captain’s servant came down the stairs with a prostitute. He made a face as if he had just won the jackpot. ‘Do you see, Kizmann,’ I said, ‘the servant is following his master’s example.’

We left the centre of vice and returned to our quarters. On the way we continued to talk about the fate of the unfortunate young woman. Yes, what such a terrible war brings with it: hunger, fear of dying, damp, cold, lying outside, lice, separation from home for soldiers at the front, the often terrible pain suffered by the wounded, the fear felt by those remaining at home for their sons and husbands, the tears and pain felt for the fallen, and then the thousands of identical or similar cases to that of the unfortunate woman. Really, the people who are to blame for such suffering deserve to be tortured slowly to death using all imaginable means.

As I heard, trains laden with potatoes had arrived at the goods station. I just had one wish: if only I could fetch myself a sack! As it got dark, I went there, gave a soldier standing at a side gate of the station office five Marks and asked him to let me fetch a sack of potatoes. ‘Do what you like, sir,’ he said good-naturedly, ‘I simply can’t see you!’ I carefully made my way through underneath the waggons on the tracks, and reached the potatoes, which were piled up by the cartload. A soldier was patrolling round the heap of potatoes. I had to wait until he was at the opposite end of the pile. I quickly heaved the sack, which I would estimate weighed about a hundredweight on my back and left the station as quickly as possible. I had just reached a dark side street when several civilians stopped me and asked me if I would sell them the potatoes. I did not want to have anything to do with this as I wanted to have a stock for a while and only someone who has had to do without potatoes for a long time knows what a sack of them is worth. Every few steps people asked me and harassed me to sell the potatoes after all! Eventually the sack became too heavy for me to carry, and I still had about half an hour to go before I would reach my quarters. In addition I was afraid that I might be noticed in the brightly-lit streets with the big sack, and that I would be stopped by officers and have to tell them where the potatoes had come from. I was busy trying to think this out when a young woman approached me once again. ‘Now, soldier, do you not want to sell your potatoes?’ ‘How much would you pay me for them?’ I asked. ‘Twenty Roubles,’ she replied. ‘Good,’ I replied, ‘You can have half of them for ten Roubles.’ I had to follow the woman to her flat, which was quite nearby. She lived on the second floor. Judging by her manner, her clothes, and her room furnishings, she seemed to be comfortably off. I emptied half of the potatoes into a box. Then the woman invited me to sit down on the sofa, and set about making tea. While she was waiting for the water to boil, she sat down close beside me, pressed her knee against mine, and, looking promisingly at me, said: ‘My husband is away at the war!’ Now I knew exactly how she wanted to pay for the potatoes, but I pretended that I had not understood at all and replied: ‘Then your husband has the same misfortune as I do! Well, now that peace seems imminent, he will come home soon!’ We chatted on for a while and she did not venture to return to her previous topic. After I had drunk my tea and was leaving she said that I could bring her as many sacks of potatoes as I wanted and that she would give me twenty Roubles for each sack.

I left the house with my half-empty sack of potatoes and the ten Roubles, made a point of noting the number of the house and the name of the street, and went to the nearest tram stop. There I threw my sack into the tramcar and travelled down towards the Düna. From there I only had a quarter of an hour’s walk. On the bridge across the Düna an old woman went swaying past me, groaning continuously. I asked her what was wrong. ‘Hunger!’ she replied, with a tired, extremely sad look. She had a fairly large bag with her. I set down my sack of potatoes on the street and filled up her bag with about ten pounds. The woman could not thank me enough. I said ‘Forget it, it’s all right!’ and went back to my quarters. The same night I boiled up a canteen full and shared it with my two room-mates.

I decided that I would fetch potatoes from the station the following night and take them to the woman, because twenty Roubles per sack was a tempting source of income. I took leave until twelve o’clock in order to be able to carry away as many sacks as possible. When I reached the gate to the station, the same soldier I had seen the previous night was on sentry duty. I promised him three Marks for each sack he would let me carry out. He agreed immediately. I went straight to the pile of potatoes, heaved a sack on my back, and was about to carry it off. I had not gone more than a few steps before someone held me by the shoulder. ‘Stop, please!’ came the order. I stood still and dropped the sack. ‘What have you here?’ the sapper NCO asked me, because that was who he was, on the so-called potato patrol, accompanied by two men. ‘Potatoes,’ I answered. Now I had to go with them to the guardroom. ‘I will have to report you to your company,’ said the NCO. ‘Listen, comrade, to what I have to tell you,’ I replied. ‘It’s obvious that people don’t steal potatoes for pleasure; you know too, that we are all starving. I had no option but to use this way to improve on my situation. If you report me, they may punish me. That would be the first time in my military service, which is now more than four years. In addition, my home is located in the part of Alsace occupied by the French, so that I do not have a chance of being sent any money or packages from there. Just put yourself in my situation, comrade!’ I finished. ‘Yes, that’s quite something,’ said the sapper NCO. ‘I tell you what. Just take your sack and go, but make sure you don’t get caught!’ Then he shook my hand. I went to my sack and put it back on my shoulders, paid the sentry his three Marks on the way out, carried the sack to the woman, and then went to the cinema with my twenty Roubles. I did not feel confident enough to steal any more potatoes. The potatoes which I had left lying in my heated room had previously been frozen like stones, and in two days they were totally rotten, so I was unable to eat them.

All that the soldiers thought about was getting hold of food by any possible means. Once I had to supervise potato peeling in a room next to the place where the field kitchen was situated. About twenty soldiers were busy peeling a big basket of potatoes. When the peeling was done, about half the potatoes were missing. ‘Listen, soldiers! What you are doing now is over the top!’ I said. ‘Out with your potatoes, or I will be forced to search your pockets!’ They all looked innocent, none of them owned up to having a potato. I checked their pockets and, to my surprise, I did not find a single one. I could not get wise to what had happened so I just got them to take the remaining potatoes to the field kitchen. The cook was not satisfied with the inadequate quantity, but there was nothing I could do about it. I noticed that several soldiers seemed to be secretly smirking and this indicated to me that they were actually in possession of the missing potatoes. I checked the room once again but could not find anything. The following day, my batman told me that if I did not tell anyone, he would explain where the potatoes had gone. I was very eager to know, and promised not to tell. ‘In the room where the peeling took place there is a staircase with wooden steps. In the steps there is a hole the size of a medium potato. The potatoes are pushed through the hole. So that you do not notice, while they are peeling, several men stand in front of the hole. After you had gone, the boards were pulled out and the potatoes were taken out and distributed.’ I had to laugh about the soldiers’ cunning. They had followed the well-known saying ‘necessity knows no law’ – and I could not be angry with them.

One evening I happened to enter the room where my team lived, and was very surprised to find that the lads were busy eating a big cooking pot of meat. ‘Gosh! Where did you get the meat?’ They looked at each other and smiled and invited me to have some too. I still could not work out where the meat had come from. At the table sat a chap from Westphalia with an unpleasant face and red watery eyes. He was holding a piece of meat in both hands, bit some off, and chewed away with full cheeks. When I looked at him, it reminded me of the cannibals. ‘Do you know what, Richert,’ he said ‘Yesterday evening out in the streets I shot a large dog with my pistol.’ Then he pointed into the pan with his finger – they were eating dog meat. So the soldiers have sunk so low that they consume dog meat!

When I was on my own with my team, I did not want them to call me ‘Sir’, but they had to do so if there were officers in the vicinity. The captain once noticed that I spoke to a soldier...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Table of Contents
• Introduction
• Note on the Text
• Acknowledgements
• Note on Map
• Diary of a Conscript
• End of 1914 into 1915
• End of 1915 into 1916
• End of 1916 into 1917
• End of 1917 into 1918
• Appendix: Place Names