The Sower of Black Field is widely recognized as “Fr. Viktor’s story.” However, it belongs just as much to the people of Schwarzenfeld.
After meeting eyewitnesses in Schwarzenfeld, I knew I wanted to highlight one family in the novel—especially the father and husband, Herr Norbert Gindele. Given what I had learned, I wanted to make a point of honoring them.
If you’ve been following the posts I’ve released thus far, it’s abundantly clear that the Nazis did not tolerate criticism against Hitler or the regime, and speaking one’s mind came with devastating consequences. Norbert Gindele had a single card to play, and he played it well. During the war years he ran a bakery, and thus during a time when food supplies were stretched thin by wartime hardships, he provided a vital, yet fragile lifeline of sustenance for the people of Schwarzenfeld.
What made it into The Sower:
His daughters Liebharda and Josefine told me that he fought on the front early in the war, just as Germany was invading France and Poland. He returned home in February 1941 to recover from wounds. At age 41, he was also deemed too old to serve in the German army, and remained in town to run the bakery. He healed quickly from the physical wounds, but the emotional and spiritual ones he sustained on the front ran far deeper. Just what he experienced in France and Poland, his daughters could not say (and this is one instance where I used fiction to fill a historical gap). But one thing is certain. He returned deeply scourged, and completely incapable of staying silent on how much he loathed the Nazi regime.
(As you process that, reflect upon posts I shared previously on the sense of fear and a woman arrested over a comment made in public. This was a time and place where simply speaking one’s mind was an act of courage!)
Nazi loyalists frequently complained about Norbert’s remarks to police, and they summarily hauled him to the station for interrogations that stretched for hours. They wanted to arrest the man, but they couldn’t. The food supply would suffer, casting a bad light on Nazi leadership.
“Tell him not to speak anymore,” the bakery’s patrons implored Norbert’s wife Maria. “He’s putting himself in danger!”
Maria had no more control over her husband than the police. As it turns out, she was engaged in her own effort of conscientious protest—one less obvious, but even more dangerous than Norbert’s public rants. I won’t reveal that spoiler here. You have to read the book!
What I left out:
When I reached the chapters covering events in April 1945, I had to get to the third act of the novel as quickly as possible. As a result, I left this true story in the history book.
Right around this time 80 years ago, Nazi officials were forcing able-bodied men between ages 16 and 60 to pick up rifles and prepare to defend Germany from an imminent Allied invasion. This militia was known as the “Volkssturm,” or “People’ Storm.” Once again, the police were called upon to visit Norbert Gindele’s house. He had staunchly refused to pick up a weapon.
To the Nazis, this was the absolute last straw. They went to the extent of setting up gallows in front of the Gindele house and threatened to hang Norbert. To his fortune, he was away from home. History records that he was suffering from a kidney infection and enjoying a few days’ bedrest in a clinic near the neighboring town of Schwandorf. He returned to witness the American arrival—and the vanquished Nazis had no time to make good on their threat.
Useful reminders
This post is part of a month-long series reflecting upon historical events that contributed to my debut historical fiction novel, The Sower of Black Field. Visit the “Latest News” area on my website for a recap »
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