We have heard that the angels sing on Christmas night Glory to God in the highestn, and every Sunday the priest sings the same words at high mass, and that is appropriate. But what do those words really mean? In the following little story we get some help to reflect on it.

Reinhold and Gabriele Münster from Husum were regular guests at Ödevret for many years. They used to rent the smallest of the villas by Lake Vretasjön, Tullgarn, as it was called. We are trying to reproduce the story roughly as it was when we heard it the same Christmas that Joakim Petersson was a priest in Norra Långaryd. The name von Rossewitz appears in the story, but Mrs. Gertrud Fürthner – herself born Countess von Rossewitz – has not been able to verify it. It is possible that it was someone from the Holstein branch of the family. Or it is also a simple misunderstanding. And this is now Reinhold Münster's story. He was a cousin of the story's main character, Erich Münster, and for many years a winter guest with us at Ödevret.

Many people in Husum have heard this story from Erich Münster himself – at least in part – and he was a well-known figure here. Husum is rightly called the capital of Friesland, and we have our great poet, Theodor Storm. If you come here, and you absolutely should, you must not miss the Theodor Storm-Haus, and you can follow the Theodor Storm-Gesellschaft website from anywhere in the world. It was Theodor Storm who wrote the famous words about Husum, the ones that every schoolchild in Germany and Austria knows: “Du graue Stadt am Meer…” But there are also many summer days in Husum, the pearl on the North Sea shore, as they say.

But back to Erich Münster! It was his father, Traugott Münster, who opened the first photo shop here in Husum, and it was there that Erich first learned about the noble art of photography. This was during the interwar period – Erich was born in 1920 – and at first business was going better and better year by year. Yes, there were ups and downs, but the market quickly stabilized, and by 1928 sales were increasing month by month. But then came the stock market crash in New York on October 23, 1929. The depression spread across the world in lightning speed and reached Husum after just one month. At first, the only noticeable change was that demand for the more exclusive items – we are talking about fish! – was decreasing, and little by little the fish cleaning and canning factories became quieter. The customer base in the photo shop was getting smaller and smaller. Who buys cameras and film, who takes family photos when the factories are quiet? At that time, Erich – the eldest of five children – was nine years old. How did they survive? Yes, Traugott Münster hunted seabirds, and Ditlinde managed two allotments, her own and her aunt's, and then there was the cinema. We will remember it in the future, because it became crucial to Erich's life. Gradually, Erich was given more and more responsibility for the cinema, and this was of course reflected in his school grades, but through the film he received a different kind of education and also completely different experiences.

It was when Erich was on leave from his regiment and was a machinist for an evening, that I complain. was shown in 1942. You may not be familiar with that film? It was the culmination of a propaganda project for euthanasia, Gnadentot, as they said at the time. That business had been going on since 1939. Erich had no particular views on the film at the time and thought the theme was interesting – a doctor who gives a terminally ill patient a poison – but it turned out that the matter was more serious than that. The Monday after the screening, one of the priests came to the shop. He had a whole stack of obituaries. Traugott recognized some of the names, they were children with various kinds of disabilities. All the advertisements had the same date of death. The priest only said:

– Last Saturday you showed a film. Keep these obituaries and think about it.

It was of course meant as a protest, and those of you who are now hearing this may think that there was not much to protest. But if you have been through the dark times, you know that this was a big risk. It didn't take much to end up in a concentration camp, especially if you were a priest. And while we are on the subject, you naturally want to know what it was like with the Münster family. We can reassure you there. Traugott Münster was a Zentrum man, which was so unusual in Husum that people noticed. Brüning was the one he trusted, even though Brüning had no other idea after the stock market crash in New York than thrift, and that only made things worse.

And now you are of course wondering how Erich fared? You should know that this time did not only mean street riots and depression, these were also the golden years for die Jugendbewegung. Have you seen the film? Sound of Music? There you have it all: Song and dance, hikes, folk songs, freedom, freedom from conventions and city life – and of course youth, youth, youth, even when you were approaching forty. Erich, like everyone else, was allowed to join the Hitler Youth and there were also hikes, campfires, songs and youth. He led a Jungschar with power and enthusiasm, but soon enough he came into conflict with the higher leaders. He had made a pennant for his group on his own, a bear with its paws on its belly. But look, they weren't allowed to have that. There had to be swastikas on everything. And his hectographed song sheets were banned, it was the printed song book that mattered.

By this time, Erich had left Husum and worked his way up as a miscellaneous worker in Berlin until he was employed as a stagehand at the UFA film studios.[1]. He had also been a machinist at Father Traugott's cinema in Husum, so the environment was not unfamiliar. Over time, UFA became an important cog in the new Germany, and even the Wehrmacht realized the importance of film. They built up an entire organization with well-trained field photographers and naval photographers. You have probably seen the film The Boat, where a naval photographer plays the main role. Since Erich was already at UFA, it was natural for the registration authority to place him as a field photographer, more precisely as a filmmaker. His equipment was of the best quality, by no means the simple film cameras you remember with spring winding, by no means, it was an electrically powered camera, which included an accumulator, which was carried on the back and had to be looked after like a child, especially in winter. It couldn't get cold. The films were used for the Deutsche Wochenschau, the newsreel film that was shown before every feature film, even in military units and in friendly countries. Right now there is a new interest in the Deutsche Wochenschau, and film-makers from half the world are flocking to Berlin to see them. There they also get to see the clips from the films that have been removed but have been properly preserved in bomb-proof archives.

It was a strange existence for the field photographer. He was at the forefront of the front, he was at the rope, he was in the barracks, he was present at the orders and staff briefings, but he belonged nowhere. He would see and capture the most characteristic faces and voices, he would point his lens at the greatest drama – but he himself would never be present, never do anything, never say anything – only preserve, protect, care for and use his precious apparatus. He belonged nowhere and yet he would be everywhere. The soldiers disliked him because he was not one of them, and the officers did not see him, because he was not one of them either.

Perhaps today some visiting Japanese filmmaker will see some of the sequences Erich took at Dubno on the Eastern Front in the autumn of 1943. He was then posted as a field photographer at the famous Regiment I 9, the old Guards Regiment from the Kingdom of Prussia. It was said at the time that 95% of the officer corps were counts, the rest were barons. 19 of the regiment's officers were executed before or after July 20, 1944. On his way to his new unit, Erich had gotten stuck in a stage behind the front, and there he witnessed how the SS executed 2000 Jews. He filmed there for 23 minutes and 16 seconds. That was how he told the story the only time the matter came up here at home in Husum, long after 1945. Perhaps it was in Advent 1956, but we want to leave that unsaid. No one noticed him at the mass grave in Dubno, no one stopped him. He filmed the Jews digging the mass grave. He filmed them going into it and when they were shot. New ones went in, it was layer upon layer, and finally a few hundred survivors had to shovel dirt and stones over the grave before they too were shot.

When he arrived at the battalion of I 9, where he was to serve, he was dropped off at a headquarters. It was a half-burnt Russian hut. Inside were five officers waiting for the battalion commander. Erich reported to the one with the highest rank, who replied indifferently:

– Yes, that's good, Münster, sit down over there. Orders will be given here. I am Major von Rossewitz.

Erich sat down on a stool in the corner. No one said anything. He saw that the others were unshaven, some of them nodded again and again. A young ensign came up to him with a thermos.

– Bring out your food container, and you will have some coffee. I am Ensign von Sickingen.

There was silence for a while longer. Erich tasted the lukewarm coffee. A picture of the Führer had been hung on the wall. Someone took out a map. Suddenly Sickingen took out his pistol. He made a movement with his coat, aimed and fired at the picture. There was complete silence, perhaps five minutes or more.

Then von Rossewitz stood up and said:

– We'll have to talk about how to deal with this – before the boss comes. But it shouldn't be said that there was only one person who shot. Follow me!

He quickly picked up his pistol and fired a shot, then one after the other, until everyone had fired. von Rossewitz looked at Erich. Then he fired too. Finally the picture fell to the floor.

Then von Rossewitz turned to Erich.

– Münster, we don't know who you are. But now you know what honor is.

At that moment, a motorcycle stopped outside and someone shouted:

– The Russians have broken through. Tanks on the road! Retreat!

In the confusion that followed, Erich lost contact with the others. The heavy equipment hindered him. But he fought on with the camera in front of him, the accumulator on his back, and he put the film bag over his shoulders. That was how the film from the mass murders in Dubno was saved. The gunfire became intense and he was hit in the back. Many times later in life he said:

– It was the accumulator that saved me that time, that's where the shot got stuck.

Erich Münster never saw Major von Rossewitz again, nor Ensign von Sickingen. But the only time we heard him tell this whole story, he ended by saying:

– I didn't understand what he meant by honor, and I still don't understand it today.

But we think of his story every time we hear those words about glory in the church. What Erich Münster heard – and saw! – that evening, has something to do with the carol on Christmas Eve.

Do you remember Lars Sandman's graduation party at Ödevret? Against many people's expectations, he had entered Karlberg and even received the fine Cardell scholarship. The graduation party was cast in a strange shadow by the death of Father Rolf at the time. He had lived as a pensioner at Ödevret for many years and had complained of fatigue for a week or two. Camilla, who looked after him every day, had wanted to call the district nurse, but there had been so much work with the graduation party, that it had not been possible. Yes, and so he died at his kitchen table, and it was Nikola who found him. But late in the evening Lars told his fiancée Elin that he had been to Father Rolf's house in the morning. They had talked about Erich Münster's story, and Lars had asked what the honor actually was. Father Rolf had a doctorate in Semitic languages ​​and had lived in Damascus for six months as a young man. He knew a lot. The answer he gave to the question about the honor was as follows:

– The corresponding words in various Semitic languages ​​have the basic meaning of weight, in a figurative sense authority. When the concept was transferred to Greek and Latin, words were used that most closely mean brilliance and radiance. In what von Rossewitz did that time, there was a brilliance and a radiance of authority. I sense something of the same radiance in the courage, precisely the kind of radiance that the angels sang about on Christmas Eve. That is why your fine uniform has shiny buttons, but they only shine when illuminated. That is how it is with all real authority. You know what I mean. We have known each other since you were four years old.

That's more or less what he said, and it seems knowledgeable and wise. But we still have the feeling that he didn't say everything.

After Father Rolf's death, a book was found on his kitchen counter, in which he had written:

To Lars

at the officer exam at Karlberg

from the old friend

F. Rolf

The book was Marion Gräfin Dönhoff's For the sake of honor – about the July 20th assassination attempt on Adolf Hitler. Father Rolf had thus climbed the steep stairs to the study on his own and found the book there.

That was exactly what Camilla was often afraid he would do.

The author is a priest in the Church of Sweden, associate professor at Åbo Akademi University and former field chaplain at the Göta Engineer Regiment.
The story is linked to Christian Braw's novel Fate.

Footnote

[1]Universum Film AG, Film company in Berlin.