Black forest bells echo with tragedy: 90 years since schoolboys’ fatal hike
The haunting clang of bells – once a beacon of hope, now a chilling reminder – marked the 90th anniversary of a devastating tragedy in the Black Forest. On April 17, 1936, the bells of St Laurentius church guided a group of London schoolboys to safety after a harrowing mountain hike turned deadly.
A propaganda coup, a village’s sacrifice
What began as a simple school trip transformed into a chilling example of Nazi propaganda, exploiting a desperate rescue effort to bolster their image. The Hitler Youth swiftly claimed credit, surrounding the coffins of five boys – tragically dubbed ‘Engländerunglück’ by locals – while British newspapers hailed the teacher, Kenneth Keast, as a hero.
But the narrative was a fabrication. The villagers of Hofsgrund, risking life and limb in treacherous conditions, were the true saviors. Driven by compassion and fueled by sledges and lanterns, they braved the lethal weather to rescue the 27 boys and their teacher after the children alerted a startled farmhouse family to their plight.
Douglas Mortifee, one of the survivors,’s daughter, Jenny Davies, spearheaded a long-overdue effort to correct the historical record. “Without your help, we wouldn’t be here today,” she passionately declared, her voice thick with emotion before the congregation. The ceremony, attended by relatives and a village brass band, honored the selfless courage of those who defied the Nazi narrative.
The rescue, however, was shrouded in controversy. Keast, ill-equipped and lacking navigational skills, was initially cleared of blame in Germany, while British newspapers lauded him as ‘the man of the hour’. Yet, his actions triggered a ban on him leading school trips abroad. Ninety years later, relatives and villagers retraced the perilous route, visiting a stark, rune-laden monument erected by the Nazis – a jarring testament to their manipulative propaganda – and a modest stone cross, now recognized as the true memorial.
The investigation unearthed a complex web of events, revealing how the Nazis exploited the tragedy to advance their agenda. Promoters of appeasement sought to legitimize their actions, allowing Keast to escape accountability. The Guardian’s recent research, spearheaded by Bernd Hainmüller, finally exposed the full story, shattering the accepted version and prompting a wave of contact from bereaved families.
The echoes of that night resonate even now. The Dobelhof farmhouse, with its wood-panelled parlour and imposing ceramic oven, stands as a silent witness to the heroism of Ewald Lorenz and his grandparents, who offered refuge to the hypothermic children. Stories abound – tales of Bruno Lorenz, the village cobbler, battling the monstrous snow and wind; of Paula Gnaerhrich, carrying children on a horn sledge; and of Russell Petty, carrying Peter Ellerkamp, one of the deceased.
The memorial, slated for a re-engraving, will finally acknowledge Jack Eaton’s father’s original, damning indictment of the teacher – a phrase swiftly erased by Nazi authorities. As Nancy Whelan, Jack’s niece, touched the lichen-mottled inscription, a collective sigh of closure swept through the crowd. It was a moment of reckoning, a testament to the enduring power of truth and the unwavering spirit of a small German village.
The final words, spoken by Debra Cadee, echoing from Australia, underscored the profound impact: “On family holidays he never took us anywhere it was snowing, and certainly not up a mountain.” The tragedy, once a footnote in History, has finally found its voice – a voice carried on the enduring memory of those bells, and the selfless hearts of those who answered their call.