Out of Foreign Parts
Delmenhorst & the Harz Mountains

Out of Foreign Parts.

By H. an F. Rieck, of Coff’s Harbour, N. S. Wales.

Since we settled in old Europe we have had employment enough in growing our own cabbages etc., without troubling and travelling about Foreign Parts. Last year—having returned by our grand bike tour from Lago Maggiore (Italy), via the eternal snows of the Simplon Pass, across Austria, Germany, along the Rhine, and the Alps, through Switzerland, France, via Amsterdam (Holland)—we went to Hamburg, with the intention of crossing the Channel and visiting England, Scotland, and Wales on wheels, and possibly returning to our home on the Pacific Ocean in Australia. But as in Hamburg the rain fell without ceasing, and therefore bicycle travelling being out of the question, also as the See and N.C.S.N. Co.’s influence in N. S. Wales continues to keep down railway building and progress of the North Coast of that State, we hesitated about our departure, and waited for better weather. Then came a nice house property into the market, which we both liked, so yours truly, H.R., purchased the same, and now we have our home in the town of Delmenhorst, which I (H.R.) left about 40 years ago. Our large and beautiful garden gives us plenty of work in summer, but during the midsummer holidays (dog days—hundstage) when the currant and gooseberry wine making was over, and the preserves, etc., made ready for the long winter, we took to our bikes again and made a trip to the Harz Mountains, to the town of Blankenburg. We had visited the Harz before, but this time we went chiefly to pay a visit to the sister of the late Mr. H. C. Hirsch, who used to live at Appila Yarrowie (South Australia), and whose family were neighbours of yours truly F.R., nee Cox. The venerable old auntie, Mrs. Huss, nee Hirsch, lives in Blankenburg, and was there visited by her brother, Mr. Hirsch, about 7 or 8 years ago. The old lady was delighted to hear now about all the family of nephews, nieces, grandnieces, etc., etc. She insisted on us making Blankenburg our head-quarters, and from there we took many very pleasant trips around the neighbourhood with our bikes.

It appears by the news we gather from the “C. and R. Examiner,” which regularly comes to hand, that Australia has not made such progress as old Europe has done and is doing. The reason for this fact appears to be (1) the sitting of the “Labour Party” of Australia on the free competition of labour; (2) the squandering of the people’s money in useless proceedings (sham works), as for instance the surveying and re-surveying since the last 25 years of railway lines, and never building them; (3) the centralisation of the metropolis, luxury and high-life imitation on low moral grounds, thereby coaxing the people out of the neglected country into the overcrowded city, while in old Europe (as before in the countries of the new world) exists now complete free labour, free competition of all classes and nations in the execution of honest work.

In this town of Delmenhorst, for instance, as everywhere in western Europe, there are crowds of working men employed, talking all possible languages, working in free competition, and immigrating and emigrating at their own choice. Darkies, gipsies, Chinese, etc., are not to be found here, but they are not expelled by cruel government of men’s laws, but by the cruelty of the climate: the approach of the winter here keeps the hardy white Northerner to the exertion of the extremest of his muscular and intellectual powers, and to talk here, under such hard pressure by the rough hands of Mother Nature, of legally forcing stirring humanity to work only for a few hours daily would be surely at least—ridiculous. The hard, digestible, very nourishing black rye bread must be hard worked by and for, and the people here in town and country believe in the old and good advice of poor Richard: “Early to bed and early to rise,” etc.

When I—yours truly, H.R.—about 40 years ago went away from here this town of Delmenhurst was inhabited by only 2500 people; when we both, four years ago, arrived here from Australia, the town had 15,000 inhabitants; at present it has 18,500, and new houses, factories, etc., are built in every direction, and endless stretches of hitherto barren heather, sand, and moorlands are slowly but constantly filled up by a prosperous farming population. One can here observe the fact, that the more civilisation the more manure, and the more manure the more civilisation is created, and blessed is that land where both these products are applied in a neat and wise and gentle manner.

The Harz Mountains, formerly a very poor country, has also at present wonderfully improved, not only by the swarms of wealthy outlanders, mainly English and American, many of whom have taken up here their constant abode, but also by numerous manufactories, driven by the force of convenient mountain torrents and waterfalls.

Blankenburg is about six miles from the celebrated mountain cliff by the River Bode, which is called the Witches Dancing Place (Hexen Tanzplatz). Since we were here, four years ago, in addition to many new factories, hotels, private houses, etc., in the town of Thale, which is at the foot of the Hexentanzplatz and the mouth of the Bodethal, a wild forest theatre on top of the Witches Dancing Place, is now the centre of attraction. In a cleft of the hills at the top of this mountain, forming a natural Amphitheatre, an enterprising company have erected wooden seats, sufficient to accommodate 3000 to 4000 people. The stage is on a flat piece of ground, at the foot of which as a background of the stage, is erected a straw-thatched farm-house in the ancient style of the inhabitants of the North German countries Neder Saxony, West falia, and Anglia. This house is surrounded by arbours, walks, and trees. The whole amphitheatre is surrounded by a fence on three sides, and, as the audience sits, they have a splendid panoramic view of the stage and far down the valley, and the whole beautiful, rich, fertile flat landscape towards North, where lie the towns of Thale, Blenkenburg, Halberstadt, etc., the River Bode and its neighbouring corn fields, forests, and gardens. The play—similar to the (in our former letters) described Oberammergan Passion Theatre—can only take place in the early evenings, as afterwards the people have to walk down the high mountain side, about two miles along a narrow zig-zag way to the town of Thale. The play is called “Walpurgis,” and is taken from the Walpurgis night (the night from the 30th April to the 1st of May) dreams, and ancient Saxon Sagas.

This Wald Theatre is very popular, and is on fine days not only densely filled by people living in the neighbourhood, but also by highly distinguished visitors from all parts of the Globe, as the performers on this rural and strange, but highly charming, green, fresh, natural stage are first-class actors from metropolitan theatres of the European Continent.

We have frequently visited with our bikes the many surroundings of this part of the Harz Mountains, too many to mention all, but we must give an account of a very curious old ruin of a mighty and formidable far and wide extended fortification, called the Regenstein. This has certainly been one of the most remarkable strongholds of the world. The whole place was originally an immense sandstone mountain, in which, like the rock of Gibraltar, were bastions, passages, rooms, saloons, cellars, dungeons, stables, wells, churches, etc., excavated. The masonry, which was built on top, has partly by old age, partly by the French-destroying armies in the beginning of the 19th century, and partly by building material searching neighbouring populace been in the run of many centuries almost entirely disappeared. Only a mighty Zwinger Tower and the entrance portico are left.

One of the prettiest places around Blankenburg is the Heidelberg, which contains broad sunny alleys, flanked by highly elegant villas, pensions with golf and cricket grounds, where we noticed German as well as English and other foreign ladies and gentlemen in high glee at play; also there are cool, shady oak and beech walks, with footpaths leading up to a many miles long gigantic rocky ridge, called Teufelsmauer (Devil’s wall). A very rough footway crowns this on both sides precipitous ridge of many hundred feet high boulders and obelisks scattered one on top of the other like a mighty stone fence erected by Cyclops. With greatest care, for the security of visiting strange and foreign tourists, the local authorities have on dangerous parts of this Teufelsmauer (Devil’s Wall) foot path fixed firm iron handrails into the rock, and cut secure steps into the hard silurian sandstone; but in spite of these precautions we would after having finished this trip, not recommend this walk to nervous or giddy people.

The many cart roads in all parts of the Harz Mountains are in a splendid state, a very moderate grade, so that with good breaks on our wheels we could almost everywhere fearlessly and comfortably ride down hill as well as up; but there are several footwalks where wheels are not allowed, even if they are led by hand.

In places where we used to stay on our previous journey four years ago we, almost everywhere, found our old friends again. Having done all the places near Blankenburg: Thale, Rubeland, Treseburg, Elbingerode, Wernigerode, Heimburg, etc., etc., we proceeded to Goslar, the residence of the Saxon Duke Wittekind in the early times of the first century past Chr., which Saxon Duke was conquered and baptized by the first German Emperor Charlemagne. Later on, Goslar was for many hundred years the residence of the German Emperors: Frederic Barbarossa, Henry IV., etcetra. At the time of our arrival at Goslar this venerable old city was gaily decorated for the receival of veterans of a corps of riflemen (Goslar Jager), which corps was formed in times when, as the Hanoverian House got on the throne of England, these parts became united to the British Kingdom, and this Jager batallion, with many other Hanoverian and Brunswick forces fought under Wellington at Waterloo.

After looking at the long parading string of very old and grey, stately fat, richly and poorly dressed, as well as young, gay, and sprig heroes, we mounted the railway train and, by half a day’s journey, we arrived at our homely own grounds again, welcomed by our good housepeople at Delmenhurst, and send this to our many friends in Australia, with hearty greetings.