A return to Ernsthausen.

 

By: Kathe Prungel Morin

 

 

My expectations of my return to Ernsthausen were totally unrealistic.  I think I was still looking through the eyes of a child and had a vision of what used to be.

 

It was October 28, 1989, a most spectacular fall day.  As we drove from Setschan towards Ernsthausen, we noticed that in  the area along the Temesch river  between Sartscha and Ernsthausen was a body of water.  As we later learned, the area has been flooded for a  fish hatchery, a way to encourage tourism.

 

My heart was pounding as we took a left at the sign, Bon. Despotovac.  To our right, just before entering the village, some young people were harvesting sugar beets.  As we entered the village, I immediately became aware of the stillness.  It was one o’clock in the afternoon.  The weather couldn’t have been more beautiful.  Where was everyone?  There was no one in the streets, no dogs barking, no children playing, no birds singing. No sounds. Many of the homes were terribly run down. Some of the other villages we had driven through  had beautiful window boxes and gardens with flowers still in bloom.  Not Ernsthausen.  I wrote in my diary:  “The village is unbelievable.  Have never seen such poverty”.  I became overwhelmed with an ominous feeling.

 

We had no trouble finding die Salz Gasse where we played as children.  I was pretty sure that I recognized our home, was very uneasy  though and took pictures from the car.   I decided  to have Leo  drive around the Rundell, where the church once stood.  That little area is now covered with trees and brush, their park, with some paths and benches.  We thought we saw some people through the trees .  As we came around the circle, I saw someone running from one house  into another.  For some reason, I became so spooked that I needed to leave.  At that point, I was totally unaware how uneasy my American husband was.

 

The right we took, thinking it would get us to the main road, led us  on a dead end facing water. As I remembered Ernsthausen, there were no dead ends in the village. Had no idea what street we were on but we must have been facing the fish hatchery .  Leo remembered coming in on a road with a solid white line,  our way out. We had driven through Germany, Austria and  Yugoslavia  without getting lost and had trouble finding our way out of Ernsthausen.  Now that was frightening.

 

I had waited 44 years to revisit my home, spent at most 10 minutes there and left in tears.  One of the saddest moments in our trip.

 

Kathe Prungel Morin