Herbert Meinl

“When I was young, I didn’t care for my old homeland at all. I didn’t feel like I had anything to do with it. I was six when we were forced to leave, I was interested in completely different things. When we had visitors and there was talk of the old country, I thought to myself, what are blathering on about again, we’re here now – I didn’t understand them at all back then. But it all changed abruptly twenty years ago. At the time, I packed a rucksack, but on my hiking boots, and set out for Nejdek. I traversed the town in the late afternoon. I’m a mountaineer, I always know my bearings. The next day I went up to Tellerer [a nearby settlement in the forest – trans.]. I vaguely remembered where my granddad’s house had stood – it’s thick undergrowth there now. To wipe out the memories, the Czechs let the forest grow over the place. A tangled, deep wood. Suddenly I stood before the house. It was as though I was struck by lightning. That was the house. That wall. The past came rising up, having hidden for sixty years. That is where the kitchen was, that was the dunghill, the drain still worked, you could start farming again. It knocked me breathless. This is where my father was born, all thirteen children. I wasn’t able to take it all in. I pushed through the undergrowth, I almost had to climb. The wall pillars still stood, it was all there bar the wood. It was an extraordinarily powerful experience. The next day I visited the graveyard in Nejdek. I was walking through it when I unexpectedly came upon several German graves. There were actually still in good shape. And suddenly I stood before the tombstone of my granddad from Tellerer. I hadn’t counted on that. I was overcome with emotions once more. For the first time in my life I had a feeling of home, a feeling of homeland, a feeling that I belong somewhere. I had never felt anything like it in my life. A lone wolf who traverses the world but is empty inside. When I stood before my granddad’s tombstone, I felt that the empty space in my soul was finally filled up. I belong here. I am home here.”

“For the most of my life, I myself felt as though I did not belong anywhere. The feeling that I have no homeland, no home. Heimatslosigkeit. I experienced it for the first time during Christmas 1946. We had just arrived in Bavaria and were accommodated in the grand old building of a former court of justice. It was Christmas Eve, dusk had fallen. I ran out of our room, wandered along the corridors, playing. Suddenly, I was lost. I didn’t know where I was – I, at six years of age. I went by a door and noticed light coming out from underneath it. I entered, everything was wonderfully lit, a tree, presents, a cat, a family with three children. I befriended the youngest one later on. But where was I? I didn’t belong here. The family gave me a warm welcome; it was the family of one of the employees of the court, and they were happy to see me, they gave me presents. But I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I didn’t belong here. Then they took me home to my family. I remember it vividly. I don’t belong here, I shouldn’t be here. That feeling stuck with me through my life. I don’t belong here, Heimatlosigkeit.”