We did not have electricity in the village, in those early nineteen-fifties. Some people had gramophones from America, the type that needed rewinding. Most people who had owned battery radios, had to bring them to the village hall in 1944 and never saw them again. When groups of boys gathered in the village, usually classmates born in the same year, they were either sitting in the grass somewhere, or slowly walking through the street, while singing some songs. They sang old folksongs as well as new hit songs, in German and Romanian.

     Like other Swabian villages, our village had a brass band. The War dispersed the musicians; we did not know who had returned home, or who may have been imprisoned or was working in the salt mines. Only a few knew, that some members of the band already played with the “Original Donauschwaben” in Munich.

     On a beautiful New Year’s eve, when we came out of the church, our brass band stood in front of the church and played a few pieces, finishing with the march “Alte Kameraden”. The leader of the band was Stemper Vettr Hans, who had managed to gather enough band members to continue the old New Year’s tradition. At some point in time, there was also a string orchestra and the younger generation started to learn the instruments. It puzzles me even today, that so many children, especially boys, started lessons on playing the various instruments, including me. The children were no longer needed for work in the fields, so they had more time for other things.

     Two of my friends, Mischko and Hilli, took accordion lessons from the Grawisch-teacher. I would have liked to do the same, but the instrument was too expensive. However, we had my father’s violin, which he had once played in a string orchestra. Teacher Grawisch took me on, to teach me the violin. He seemed to know how to play all instruments, but certainly the piano, accordion, and violin. At the start of the lesson, he tuned the violin, using his piano. Then, the two of us played together, sometimes all four of us played together. Of the songs we played during my violin lessons, I especially liked “Kleines Mädchen von Hawaii” (“Little girl from Hawaii”) and I soon learned to play it by heart. Later on we learned to play a few waltzes and polkas. At home I had to practise the many exercises from the book published by Morawetz in Temeswar.

Often I perused my father’s handwritten book of musical notes. I learned at least a couple of pieces: The “Donauwellen Waltz” by Ivanovitch, and “Du schwarzer Zigeuner” (“Little black gipsy”). We also had in our house a song book, with the complete text and notes for many songs. I taught myself to play the song “Schlesierlied”: “Wir sehn uns wieder, mein Schlesierland, wir sehn uns wieder am Oderstrand” ("We’ll meet again, my Silesian Land, we’ll meet again on the Oder strand"). The song made me feel sad, even though I did not know the post-War fate of that land. I learned to play the song “Nach meiner Heimat ziehts mich wieder” (approximate translation: “I long for my homeland”), which could be often heard on the street. I played it mostly after drinking something, which certainly did not happen often.

My father had learned to play the violin from KLei Vetter Matz, like many children in the nineteen-fifties. Many of these children were in the school orchestra, which participated in all school festivities. Once we even played as guests in the village of Bogarosch.

Finally I want to mention that at some point Schandrhaas (Alexanderhausen) even had a chamber orchestra. The members of the quartet were our priest Lamoth (1^st violin), teacher and organist Sieber (Cello), chaplain Nikolaus Muth (lute), and Sepp Brandl (2^nd violin).

It is funny how all this came to mind. At the end of our vacation in Hawaii, we were sitting on the plane, waiting for takeoff. And since this could be our last visit to these lovely islands, I suddenly remembered that old song. It stayed with me during the six hours of the flight to Vancouver, so I marked it all down.

 That’s how life is. After so many years, I finally visited Hawaii, but the “little girl” of the song was now slightly older: my wife of over 40 years. I was happy and sad, all at the same time, because that song somehow related to the whole life: “Little girl from Hawaii, quietly I say good-bye…”