A night ride on an Unimog’s bed
Beatrice: In 1963, when I was 15 years old, the entire family attended the Yehudi Menuhin’s festival in the Mauritius Church in Saanen near Gstaad.
We were as usual on a vacation at the Lenk, my birth place, and got accommodated in an apartment of my grandfather.
On a midsummer day we took the train and traveled to Saanen. Sitting on the gallery in the church we were listening to the famous violinist’s playing. I can only imagine that it was the violin concerto in E minor Op. 64 by Felix Mendelssohn, because still today a few bars of the solo at the beginning suffice to remind me of the magic moment I experienced by the heavenly sound: I felt engulfed by solemn spheres.
After the concert we boarded the train to Zweisimmen, where my uncle, farmer and garage owner, picked us up with his 1956 Unimog (see IMAGE above) and drove us to the Lenk. It was in the deep of night. The parents took their seat in the cab beside the driver, whereas we climbed into the open truck bed. I will never forget the windy ride trough the fresh night on the Unimog’s loading platform.
So far so good, but nothing spectacular – I didn’t know about a heroic event in our Unimog’s past, until I visited my old aunt. She had kept in her desk the almost historic family correspondence but never read it because ‘family’ was not her cup of tea. She lent the letters to me and I found among them the one dated January 24, 1961 written by my grandfather.
Hence, objects of perception build our world and shape our historic mind.