Well, what else is there? And his playthings: maps, a short dagger, a little dangerous-looking revolver, a few tin soldiers, a bust of the Fiihrer, a gas mask. Gas masks have just been distributed among children, and the boy has been having fun with his. He did frighten her with the ugly thing; she found him, his face covered by the gas mask and its trunk, lying on the floor one day as though he were dead. When she ran up to him, fearful and calling, he jumped up and laughed. “What nerves you have, Mother! What in the world will you do when the serious things begin to happen?” he cried, and, swinging the gas mask, went out.
She stands there, unable to walk away from her little sleeping son. What odd children, she thinks, what curious, strange children! He was five when Hitler came in; now he knows nothing but Hitler’s world that has swallowed us all. Can he like it? Can he enjoy living like this? But none of the children know any other way. They don’t play; they don’t understand what playing is. All their imagination is made use of to one end: war and conquest.
She has to. conceal these thoughts. No one must suspect them. Sink them, send them deep and secret down! But, as a matter of fact, they can be found among the high lords. Baldur von Schirach, for example, writes: “The toy-store keepers have complained to me that these babies have no desire for toys. They are interested exclusively in tents, javelins, compasses, and maps. I cannot help the toy-store keepers, because I too firmly believe with the Pimpfe (Juniors — a new German word) that the time for playing Indians is definitely past. What is a trapper in the American Wild West, compared with our standard-bearers?… Take a look at the ten-year-old Pimpf. See how he marches in front of the band, holding his banner. Compare him with the child of pre-war times. What a tremendous change!”
These proud words written by the Leader of the Reich Youth are the judgment from which there is no appeal. Parents are out-moded authorities.
One boy’s family tried to recall their child. They gave him a birthday party, with ordinary, normal, “civilian” presents: a paintbox, a picture puzzle, a shining new bicycle — and lit twelve candles on his birthday cake. How they looked forward to that party! And it went off like a political conference. Six boys had been invited, and five of them came right on time.
“Who’s missing?” the mother asked.
“Can’t you see?” said the boy, “HE’s missing — Fritzekarl!”
“What a pity!” she answered. That it should be just Fritzekarl! Two years older than her son, he was the leader in the Jungvolk, and his presence at the party was of great importance. If he did not appear, it was a sign of disfavor; the whole thing would be spoiled.
The boys, in their Hitler Youth uniforms stood around the birthday table, not knowing quite what to do with the toys. The bicycle pleased all of them, with its bell (which they took turns ringing) and its rubber tires, which were so hard to get nowadays, and which the father had finally been able to obtain after using all of his contacts in the Party, paying a high cash price, and emphasizing the fact that this was a wheel for a boy, a Jungvolk boy, and not for a girl who would never go to war! Now it stood there, complete with instructions and a copy of the German Cyclist, saying: “Boys on bicycles must try to remember the names of towns, rivers, mountains and lakes as well as the material and type of architecture of bridges, etc. They may be able to make use of this knowledge for the good of the Fatherland.”
The bell rang, and the son dashed to the front door. A sharp voice came through, crying “Heil Hitler!” and the five boys at the table turned on their heels as the answer came in a voice already breaking, “Heil Hitler!” Their superior officer was received with the “German salute,” five hands raised, great composure, solemn faces. Solemnly, Fritzekarl gave the host his birthday present — a framed photograph of the Leader of the Reich Youth, Baldur von Schirach, with a facsimile autograph! The son clicked his heels as he received it.