KIT Vol XXVII No1 - Feb2015 HighRes 4-18MB

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter
Volume XXVII No. 1 February 2015

The KIT Newsletter editorial staff welcomes all suggested contributions for publication in the
Newsletter from subscribers and readers, but whether a given submission meets the criteria for
publication is at the sole discretion of the editors. While priority will be given to original
contributions by people with past Bruderhof connections, any letters, articles or reports which
the editors deem to be of historical or personal interest or to offer new perspectives on issues of
particular relevance to the ex-Bruderhof Newsletter readership, may be included as well. The
editors may suggest to the authors changes to improve their presentation.
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CONTENTS:
Bruderhof Night-Watch Customs, by Elisabeth Bohlken Zumpe.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Nachtwchterlied, as sung in the Bruderhof. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4
19th Century English Translation of the Night-Watchmans Song. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Bruderhof English Translation of the Night-Watchmans Song. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6
Elisabeth Bohlken Zumpe comments. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Remembering our dear ones who have passed from this life:
Luke Believed, by Joel Baer.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Remembering Anne Mercoucheff, by Elisabeth Bohlken Zumpe. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
Hugo Charles Lambach, by Ruth Lambach. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
Ulrich (Ullu) Keiderling, by Erika Keiderling Blair and Elisabeth Bohlken Zumpe. . . . . . . . . . 16
Announcements:
Our Next Bulstrode Gathering, April 2015, by Andy Harries. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
Friendly Crossways Reunion, August 2015, by Al Hinkey, Maeve Whitty and
Virginia Cuenca. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18
KIT Accounts, by Raphael Vowles. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
Address Changes and Corrections. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
A Request from your Editor. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
Contact Details of Volunteers who Produce the KIT Newsletter. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
Separate Flyer: Weekend Registration Form Friendly Crossways Reunion. . . . . . . . . . . 21
Bruderhof Night-Watch Customs

or: Hrt, ihr Leut, und lasst euch sagen The Night-Watchmans Song
by Elisabeth Bohlken Zumpe
In Primavera, the evening Brotherhood meetings used to go until 10:00pm, by which time the
Brother on duty at the sawmill with its power-producing steam engine made our lightbulbs wink
three times, which meant: Everybody go home and to bed, as the lights would be turned off at half
past ten. The hospital had its own power generator.
Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015
By ten oclock, the night-watchman could be heard outside the dining hall, where evening
Brotherhood meetings were held, singing the ten oclock verse of the night-watchmans song:
Hrt ihr Leut und lasst euch sagen, unsre Glock hat zehn geschlagen... which was the sign that
the Brother in charge at the steam engine would very soon wink the lightbulbs, which in turn meant
that the meeting had to come to an end. This was important, as the meeting would otherwise go on
endlessly, and everybody desperately needed their sleep.
The night-watchman watched over us all. It meant that if anyone needed assistance during the
night, he was there to help. This was especially important in times when tropical storms hit, and
our heavy wooden window shutters needed to be lifted from the ground outside the houses and
placed into our wide open windows. We had no glass panes, the wind blew in at one window and
out the other.
Most of the night-watchmen told us they loved the tropical nights, the sounds and perfumes.
Moonlit nights could be so bright, he wouldnt have to carry a kerosene lamp. Whenever I was
sick, the night-watchmans song was a real comfort. Some night-watchmen were better singers than
others. I remember especially Karl Keiderling, Jan and Herman Fros and Leslie Barron as
wonderful singers and their voices carried beautifully through the dark. I shared with many a
feeling of awe and a profound sensation of safety.
During the Paraguayan Civil War in 1947, also known as the Barefoot Revolution, which lasted
from March to August, the country was pretty lawless. Some Paraguayans did steal during that
period, driving away our cattle and horses during the night, helping themselves to bags of dirty
laundry waiting to be washed the next day, and worst of all, one night the potties in the toddlers
house were all gone a near catastrophe!
During such nights, we could hear the barefooted Paraguayans run down the sandy Eucalyptus
road from the Hof to the sawmill and power station. We children would wake each other up and
listen, but we knew that the grownups would let them be, as they had vowed nonresistance.
I do remember that once, in Isla Margarita, there was a break-in at the home of my uncle and
aunt Hans-Hermann and Gertrud Arnold. The house sat at the edge of the Hof overlooking Campo
Dolores, near the Isla Margarita laundry. While the grownups were in a meeting and the children
asleep, soft-footed burglars entered through the open windows. No child was harmed; they didnt
even wake up. But almost everything around them was gone except for their beds and the children
themselves. In those Bruderhof days a family had very little to their name apart from cups and
plates and a set of simple clothes for the next day.
That night Walter Braun had been the evening-watch. When he realized that burglars were
leaving the Arnold house he screamed and ran after them across the campo and through the bushes
and trees of the berlege-Wldchen, [Contemplation woodlet], a small woodlet used to
exclude strong-minded members. Poor Walter was so upset; he lost his pants on the way and his
dentures too, having salvaged only a pair of baby socks.
The incident raised many questions for the Brotherhood: Should the children be told what
happened, or would it frighten them? Ignoring the thieves, would this mean giving in to the sin of
burglary? Should Walter have followed them, because in doing so, he exposed us all to danger?
The Arnold family was not moved out of that house and the parents told not to make a big deal
of it, as the children might get scared. I do know that my aunt Gertrud after that incident found it
difficult to sit through a meeting, fearing that her children could again be in danger. The
instructions were to have faith and trust in our personal safety.
No one was ever harmed during our twenty years living in the jungle. As children we were not
at all afraid but felt safe and thankful to have so much more than the Mennonites or Paraguayans
who lived nearby.
The night-watchman had the special privilege of frying himself mandioca [manioc], and the
night-watchmans egg, a special treat. He had to keep the fires going in the kitchen and at the
hospital, and prepare breakfast for the cowhands, the Brothers who usually left very early at around
3:30 or 4:00am to get on with their work with the cattle before it became too hot.
We did not personally have clocks or watches; it seems unbelievable today. A bell rang to wake
us up in the morning, for work and school, and to gather for mealtimes and meetings. We always
counted on the bell to tell us the time.
Once we reached the age of eleven or twelve we were allowed to join the adults to welcome the
New Year. This was terribly exciting! Naturally we had to go to bed first. At eleven oclock we
were awakened by the evening- or night-watchman. Our fathers and mothers, after a meeting
during which they had reviewed the year gone by and talked of their expectations for the New
Year, had by then already gathered under the big timb tree in the Loma Hoby school-wood which
we used as the morning circle at the start of each school day. We hurried to join them there, where
they greeted us, the big children, with smiles, as we joined them, often sitting on the ground at their
feet, to sing one song after the other.
At something like half past eleven there
was silence. Only those who had a special
wish or message for the New Year spoke up.
I remember Joan Britts who had only
recently lost her husband and was pregnant
with Philip, sitting in a deck-chair within the
circle of the benches. She spoke in a small
voice, asking all to help her so her children
would not miss their daddy too painfully.
This was heart rending and made me cry.
Then there was silence.
The moon lit up the campo, the sky was
covered in sparkling stars, there came the
scent of jasmine and moon trumpet flowers
and the night sounds of the jungle. At
midnight we heard the voice of Leslie
Barron mostly he, in Loma Hoby singing
loud and clear, Hrt, ihr Leut, und lasst
euch sagen, unsre Glock hat zwlf
geschlagen, zwlf, das ist das Ziel der Zeit,
Mensch, bedenk der Ewigkeit.
Then everyone stood up to join Leslie in
singing the refrain: Menschenwachen kann
nichts ntzen, Gott muss wachen, Gott muss
schtzen. Herr, durch deine Gt und Macht,
gib uns eine gute Nacht!
The timb tree in the Loma Hoby school-wood and the
Morning Circle
Shivers ran down my spine. I was in complete

awe of being part of such surroundings
something I will never forget.
After that there was a free exchange between
everybody, with a little wine in an enamel cup to
share with your family, and sometimes we even
had something like dumplings to go with the
wine.
We did have a primitive but very special
childhood, and my memories of those days are
peaceful and happy ones.
Moon Trumpet Flowers
Nachtwchterlied
Hrt, ihr Leut, und lasst euch sagen:

unsere Glock hat Zehn geschlagen!
Zehn Gebote setzt Gott ein;
gib, dass wir gehorsam sein.

unsere Glock hat Elf geschlagen!
Elf der Jnger blieben treu;
gib, dass wir im Tod ohn Reu!
Refrain.
Refrain.
Menschenwachen kann nichts ntzen,
Gott muss wachen, Gott muss schtzen.
Herr, durch deine Gt und Macht
gib uns eine gute Nacht!

unsere Glock hat Zwlf geschlagen!
Zwlf, das ist das Ziel der Zeit!
Mensch, bedenk der Ewigkeit!
4
Refrain.
Drei ist Eins, was gttlich heit:
Vater, Sohn und Heilger Geist.
Refrain.

unsere Glock hat Eins geschlagen!
Eins ist allein der ewge Gott
der uns trgt durch alle Not.
Refrain.

unsere Glock hat Vier geschlagen!
Vierfach ist das Ackerfeld;
Mensch, wie ist dein Herz bestellt?

unsere Glock hat Zwei geschlagen!
Zwei Wege hat der Mensch vor sich,
Herr, den rechten fhre mich!
Refrain.
Refrain:
Alle Sternlein mssen schwinden
und der Tag wird sich einfinden.
Dank dem Herrn, der uns die Nacht
hat so vterlich bewacht!

unsere Glock hat Drei geschlagen!
+ + +
[Ed. Note: The following English 19th Century translation covers verses Eight to Four.]
Translation of the Night-Watchmans Song, found at
http://www.bartleby.com/270/8/212.html
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Germany: Vols. XVII-XVIII. 1876-79
Miscellaneous: The Night-Watchmans Song, from the German
Anonymous Translation
Hark while I sing! Our village clock

the hour of Eight, good Sirs, has struck.
Eight souls alone from death were kept,
When God the earth with deluge swept:
Refrain:
Unless the Lord to guard us deign,
Man wakes and watches all in vain.
Lord, through thine all-prevailing might,
Do though vouchsafe us a good night!
Ten precepts show Gods holy will;

O, may we prove obedient still!
Refrain.

the hour of Nine, good Sirs, has struck.
Nine lepers cleansed, returned not;
Be not thy blessings, man, forgot!
Refrain.

the hour of Twelve, good Sirs, has struck.
Twelve is of Time the boundary;
Man, think upon Eternity!
Refrain.

the hour of Ten, good Sirs, has struck.

the hour of One, good Sirs, has struck.

the hour of Eleven, good Sirs, has struck.
Eleven apostles remained true;
May we be like that faithful few!
Refrain.
Refrain.
One God alone reigns over all;

Naught can without His will befall.
Refrain.

the hour of Four, good Sirs, has struck.
Four seasons crown the farmers care; -Thy heart with equal toil prepare!
Refrain:
Up, up! Awake, nor slumber on!
The morn approaches, night is gone!
Thank God who by His power and
might
Has watched and kept us through this
night!

the hour of Two, good Sirs, has struck.
Two ways to walk has man been given:
Teach me the right. the path to heaven!
Refrain.
the hour of Three, good Sirs, has struck.
Three Gods in One, exalted most,
The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
+ + +
And here, kindly made available by Melchior Fros, is todays
Bruderhof translation from the German:
Hear, good folk! The hour Im singing:

Ten oclock the bell is ringing.
Ten Commands are Gods decree;
grant, that we obedient be.
Refrain:
Though men watch, it nought availeth;
God must watch, His arm prevaileth;
Lord, by Thy most gracious might,
grant us all a peaceful night!
bears all need and makes us free.

Refrain.
Hear, good folk! The hour Im singing,
Two oclock the bell is ringing.
Two the ways that man can use.
Teach us, Lord, Thy way to choose.
Refrain.
Three oclock the bell is ringing.
Deity is Three in One:
Father, Holy Spirit, Son.
Refrain.
Hear, good folk! Now dark is heaven,

for the clock has struck Eleven.
Christs eleven true remained.
Keep us constant till the end!
Refrain.

Four oclock the bell is ringing.
Foursquare is the farmers field.
Man, has thine own heart been tilled?
Hear, good folk! Hear from the tower,

Twelve oclock is now the hour.
Time will end, and man must be
mindful of Eternity!
Refrain.
Refrain:
Stars must fade when light is dawning.
Dawn will bring another morning.
Lord, we thank Thee that this night
Thou has kept us in Thy sight!
Hear, good folk! Now hear our singing:

One oclock the bell is ringing.
God is one eternally,
6
Elisabeth Bohlken Zumpe comments:

In the Bruderhof, the night-watchman started to sing verse Ten and ended with verse Four at
daybreak. Further verses were not sung in the Bruderhof. Very often, the Brotherhood or
Gemeindestunde circle would sing verse Ten together with the night-watchman before dispersing
each to their own home.
As usual, the Bruderhof changed the words of the song a little to fit their own feelings of the
time, but mostly they continue the same as in the German tradition of old.
For me personally, starting the song with verse Ten seems to bring back the sounds of the
tropical nights and that solitary mans voice telling us he is watching over us.
Verse Four was sung to confirm that once again God had safeguarded us during the night. Its
closing Refrain has particularly pleasant memories for me, as very often, our cowhands Christoph
Stffli Mathis, Peter and Roland Keiderling, Johnny Robinson, Wilhelm Fischer and Leslie
Barron sang along with the night-watchman before they rode off at dawn for their work with the
cattle on the campo.

Luke Believed
by Joel Baer
Luke believed in me. From 1960 thru 1965, Luke was more my father than my brother. You see,
Allan Baer, our father Papa as we called him was just excommunicated from his last cult, a
commune. Papas final attempt at living in a religious utopia was finally drained from his bones.
Our family Papa, Mama, thirteen children and one on the way landed in Lake Park, Minnesota,
absolutely penniless. For the first half of what I call our familys poverty decade, 1960 thru 1970,
Papa was an absentee father. I didnt know Papa. How could it be any other way? Papa was much
too proud to accept any form of welfare. He worked sunup to sundown and then moonlighted, just
to survive those first years. Papa was always gone. In those early years, I was raised by my brothers
and sisters, and none more influential or important to me than Luke. Luke believed in me.
In 1960, Luke was ten years old, I was four. Luke taught me how to drive a tractor, an A John
Deere. The A was an eighteen horsepower, narrow front workhorse with all the safety features from
the thirties and forties coming as standard equipment. In 1960, the A was a good sized farm tractor;
today its a mid-size lawn mower. I remember sitting proudly on Lukes lap, on the cast iron seat,
with my hands on the steering wheel while Luke did the actual driving. Luke believed in me.
Luke taught me how to milk a cow, by hand, for those of you who think milk comes from a
carton, off the grocers shelf.
Make sure you milk the cow from the south end, when shes looking north, Luke said. The
basics. Luke had a knack of making a stubborn cow give up her milk. He would set down the threelegged stool, place the bucket in position below the udder, and nudge the cow. And when I say,
nudge the cow, I mean Luke pretended he was a calf. With his head, Luke would but the cow,
massaging the area between the stomach and back leg. Even the most stubborn heifer will give up
her milk with that stimulation.
The cats in the barn also waited for Luke to set down that three-legged stool, he was the most
generous. The other boys, Mark, Zenas, Amon, Amos, they just wanted to get the milking done.
Luke made sure the cats were fed. They would sit at the south end of his cow and meow, purr, and
7
beg at Luke. Every fifth pull of the teat was directed not into the bucket but directly into the cats
mouths. Luke was accurate, he practiced on me. Luke believed in me.
Luke taught me how to shear a sheep. He taught me the subtle difference between a ewe and a
wether. Everyone, Luke said, could tell the difference between a buck and ewe: the big sack
hanging between the back legs. How many of you could tell the difference between a wether and
ewe just by looking at them? When shearing sheep, you have to know. If you are the ewe, it really
doesnt matter, but if you are the wether, the difference is anything but subtle. Luke took the time
to teach me the difference. Luke believed in me.
When Luke was a twenty-year-old living in Madison, putting in his two years CO service, I as
a fourteen-year-old got to spend a day with him. What a privilege and honor. How many twentyyear-olds would spend time with a fourteen-year-old hick from the sticks? Luke did. We went to
a nearby park to play catch with a football. Three pretty girls sunbathing on a blanket caught his
eye. With every throw of the ball he made sure we were inching closer and closer and closer to the
girls. I dont believe he got any phone numbers from them, but he taught me not to be afraid. Luke
believed in me.
As a twentyfive-year-old I was just starting my own family, very unsure of my steps, insecure
in my position in life and our large family, and struggling to find my own identity. With five simple
words Luke changed all that.
Luke said, Joel, you really impress me.
Those five words coming from Luke, well, they turned my life around. Luke, with those five
words you gave me the confidence to know that I was headed in the proper direction, that I was
going to be OK. Luke believed in me.
I could fill pages with stories of how Luke helped me, how Luke believed in me; how Luke
taught me to be frugal, to save, and then to invest. Luke taught me how to give, and then how to
be generous. Luke taught me that every position in life is noble as long as you take pride in it. Luke
taught me all of this by his actions more so than his orations.
Luke, you will never know the profound effect you have had on my life, and for that I say,
Thank You.
Luke, you are now not leaving me; you are leading me. Luke, I believe in you.
Joel

Remembering Anne Mercoucheff
by Elisabeth Bohlken Zumpe
I just received a message from one of Anne and Constantin Mercoucheffs daughters that her
mother, Anne, passed away on Monday, December 15th, 2014.
Anne was born on the 10th of February, 1927 in a village close to the Rhn-Bruderhof in
Germany. As a baby just a few weeks old, Anne came to stay in the Bruderhof with her mother,
Kathrin Ebner, and she later travelled the globe with the Community. Anne grew up in the
childrens house and school and spent most of her time with the Boller girls, Ursel and Lisbeth,
who were slightly older.
She married Constantin Mercoucheff in Primavera in 1951, and they had six lovely children:
Nadia, Sergei, Inez, Teresa, Ivan and Tatiana. Annes children, who left the Bruderhof and live in
different places around the world, were not informed of their mothers death. As usual, this is a
cause of additional pain and heartache for those left behind who feel abandoned. As long as the
Bruderhof keeps up these hard-hearted ways it is impossible to have family relationships between
those living in the outside world and those inside the Bruderhof.
I remember Anne from my earliest childhood and later as a happy person singing away in the
kitchen or wherever she worked. She had a sweet soprano voice. Whenever a baby was born to
some family, at quite a young age she often had to take charge of that family and its many children,
as there were only few girls in her age-group able to do so. She cared for the Zumpe children every
time there was a change in those available for that task, and we loved her. She seemed so much
nearer our own age, especially that of my sister Heidi. She usually did the early morning kitchen
duty. I remember her well from that time. She had an open, happy-looking face and wore her hair,
not like most of us in two braids, but in one large braid at the back of her head which reached down
to her waist.
Constantin and his brother Georg Schorsch were Russian refugees who arrived by train
in Paris after having fled from horrible pogroms and persecutions of the Jews in eastern Europe.
I believe they came from Poland at the time, but they only spoke Russian. They had nowhere to go.
I dont think they were blood brothers, but they had come from the same location, because, once
gone from the Bruderhof, George called himself Vorondez, and not Mercoucheff. The Salvation
Army asked the Bruderhof to help placing the refugee children arriving in France during the 1930's.
In 1936, my uncle Balz Trmpi was sent to bring one child home to the Bruderhof. Little George
was hanging onto Constantine, crying and afraid to let go, so Balz brought both boys to
Liechtenstein.
In 1961, Anne and her six children were taken from Primavera to Woodcrest, but when
Constantin wanted to load his suitcase onto the airplane at the Asuncion airport, to join his family,
he was told that he had not been chosen for the New Community at Woodcrest! This shocked
him deeply, and the pain of this very last-minute decision never left him, nor was he ever able
accept this. He suffered badly. It was Michel Gneiting who managed to get him a dentists
employment at the new hospital in Carmen, Paraguay, together with Dr. Cyril and Margot Davies,
who were able to work there as well. Several ex-Bruderhofers Roger Allain , Dr. Cyril Davies
and Migg Fischli made it a point to visit Constantin, or write on his behalf to Woodcrest asking
for consideration and love towards him because he was heartbroken. Their last baby girl was only
six months old when she left for the United States. He never saw her again.
From their earliest ages, both Anne and Constantin were Bruderhof-raised children, living first
in the Rhn, Germany, then in Liechtenstein, from there to England in the Cotswolds and lastly,
to Primavera. We grew up with them. I remember when they were baptized, their wedding, and the
birth of their first baby, Nadia.
I met Constantin in 1992 in Ming Guaz, Paraguay when he was dying of cancer. He cried
bitter tears about his lost family. It makes me so sad that neither he nor Anne were ever given the
chance for reconciliation and peace! As it happens, my niece Else (my sister Heidis daughter) is
married to Sergei Mercoucheff, so on our visit I was able to give Constantin a few photos of his
family.
These messages upset me a lot when they reach me! What is the use of the Bruderhof publishing
wonderful books on education, faith, family, marriage and children, when the reality turns out to
be so loveless not even passing on the message of a mothers death and this just before
Christmas! What kind of a Christmas message is this?

Hugo Charles Lambach

by Ruth Baer Lambach
Hugo Charles Lambach III was born on January 25, 1925, and died on November 5, 2014.
He was raised in Spokane and Seattle WA, but left his heart in the Pacific Northwest. He was
educated, lived, worked and pursued his hobbies in Chicago overlooking Lake Michigan. Hugo
graduated from Northwestern University in musicology; he was a pianist, photographer,
videographer, ice dancer, ham radio operator, hypnotist, rack jobber, merchandiser, investor and
a 19th Century gentleman.
He leaves behind an ex-wife, Waneta (Wilcox) Reynolds, in Florida, and his wife of forty years,
Ruth Baer Lambach, in Evanston.
The above information was printed in the Chicago Tribune of November 9, 2014 along with a
picture of Hugo. So who was Hugo and how did an ex-Mennonite, Hutterite, Bruderhof young
woman, Ruth Baer get mixed up with this agnostic, seventeen-years older gentleman from a vastly
different culture?
Hugo and I met through bicycling, specifically during American Youth Hosteling bicycle rides
organized by my former husband Gerhardt Steinke and me, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Hundreds
of cyclists came to these rides. Some of the rides were one-day rides of 100 kilometers, others more
strenuous, of 200 or 300 miles in a twenty-four hour period.
Hugo did his first ride from Chicago to Waukesha, WI on
a Saturday in the spring of 1970. He paid his one dollar
entry fee and was registered by me, with my baby boy Karl
on my back. Later in the day, word came of a rider who had
broken spokes and was stuck on the local road. The sag
wagon was nowhere in sight. I immediately sensed that this
must be the man I had noticed that morning putting together
his bicycle from the trunk of his Mustang. I had seen him
out of the corner of my eye, and what had struck me was the
music in his movements. He was athletic and rhythmic in his
actions and I noted the singularity of his presence in contrast
to the rest of the riders. He wore a French beret to cover up
his bald spot. Since the sag wagon was not available, I went
to pick him up. He was gracious, smiling and unconcerned
about the fact that hed been waiting for the sag wagon for
a couple of hours. He had occupied himself by engaging
with the people picking wild asparagus in the ditches. I
drove him back and returned his dollar.
Hugo left for Chicago only to return the next day to do
the ride again. This time he completed the ride and got his
patch.
I was intrigued with this gentleman. Shortly afterwards
we met at a skating event, and I learned that he was an ice
dancer. We skated around the ice rink. Hugo held me securely with a gloved hand while gliding
me around the rink. I was transported into a world Id never been in before: A gentleman was
paying attention to me and treating me like a lady. I felt as though something had gotten under my
skin. It was magical.
10
Soon I found out he was a photographer. He photographed nature. He photographed nudes in

nature. He made me look good. When he came to visit, he brought along a thermos of hot coffee
and a couple of mugs. He made paella, it was still warm as we ate it in a park. As we drove along
he played tapes of Chopin, Bach and Scarlatti, and talked about the music he knew and loved. It
was exhilarating. I got personal attention and he treated me with respect and love.
Soon there were regular telephone calls and clandestine visits. Hugo met Gerhardt who initially
liked him but when he found out that there was a deeper, already ongoing intimate relationship, he
turned bitter. There was a divorce, and I felt responsible. In any event, I moved to Chicago and
married Hugo.
Hugos father was what one would call a robber baron in some circles and his mother a flapper.
His birth had been announced in the Society pages of the Seattle Times in 1925. Hugo's father
made his money before there was income tax. When Hugo II walked around either Spokane or
Seattle, people saluted him as one of the city leaders with deep pockets. He was successful as a
dental surgeon, an owner of mines, owner of a local theater and investor in the stock market.
Having built one great mansion for his first wife, he built a second one for his second wife too, this
time in a gated community, Broadmoor, on the edge of a golf course. Still today, one has to have
an appointment to get past the gateman to visit anyone in this sequestered community.
Hugo III got his first set of custom-made golf clubs at the age of four. It was private school all
the way. He was tutored on how to live the life of a gentleman. He knew what it meant to be a
gentlemans gentleman. As a child he perceived his German last name, Lambach, as being inferior
to the British aristocracy the family aspired to. English influence was prevalent in the Pacific
Northwest, so close to Vancouver, Canada.
Coming to Chicago to attend Northwestern University, his fathers alma mater, was a letdown
for Hugo, who in all of his years there never
forgot his origins in the Pacific Northwest with its
mountains, pine trees, clear freshwater streams to
fish in and the ocean. He remembered his
enchanted early life with great love and affection
and never bought a house in the Midwest but
remained in the same hovel on the lakefront
because it was a unique place on the northernmost
edge of Chicago with a thirty-foot long deck on
the third floor extending out over Lake Michigan.
He didnt have to mow the lawn. The sun and
moon rose in the east casting a long-lit reflection
on the water. This unobstructed view of sky, lake
and shore as well as the distant horizon was
visible from every room in the apartment. He had
what I have described elsewhere as a womb with
a view. And he never left it willingly, just as he
had not willingly moved into this small apartment
carved out of a larger more elegant three story flat
which had once been occupied by the actress Joan
Crawford. Al Capone, according to some stories,
came to the deck to relax. Hugo, having told his
An October sunrise Ruths favourite photograph, taken by
Hugo, of his place on the lake
11
first wife that if he moved there he would stay there forever, stayed there for fifty-seven years.
In September of 2013, I managed to pack up, give away, sell or haul off to storage or the
Salvation Army all the salvageable remains of his years of hobbies: Tools, wires, enlargers,
inoperable heaps of tin, wood and other usable parts for photography, ham radio operation, large
square enamel pans for developing pictures in the oversized tub where two adults could sit end to
end and take long soaking baths while sipping and setting their drinks on the edge of the tub amid
loving gestures and small talk all of which he had to let go.
The master bathroom was in his part of the original flat. As he sat on his bed in the front, he
could hear the destruction of that tub in which Joan Crawford had bathed. He remarked about it but
did not dare come and see what the bathroom looked like, stripped to its rafters. The tub was too
large to take out of the apartment, so they cut it up and took it out piece by piece. To hide this from
Hugos view, I hung a red flannel bed sheet over the door.
The water was turned off during the last month that Hugo still occupied his slum on the lake,
as he referred to it. During that time, I cooked, washed dishes and used the bathroom in my third
of the former three-story flat with an entrance just inches from Hugos door. Hugo did not move
from his bed unless he had to go to the bathroom. Surely he must have known something was going
on. Nothing registered though and he continued to live in denial of anything other than his regular
meals and distractions he managed to indulge in by reading books I brought from the library
biographies of Queen Elizabeth, Elizabeth Taylor, Glenn Gould, Bach, Chopin as well as books
he hung onto from his past. Among the books he reread during this time were The Tropic of Cancer
by Henry Miller, and Bing Crosby: A Pocketful of Dreams The Early Years 1903-1940, by Gary
Giddons. He felt especially connected to Bing Crosby. The story is that Hugos grandmother and
Bing Crosbys mother talked to each other over their backyard fence in Spokane. Another author
Hugo read repeatedly was Nabokov, and his copy of Lolita was well worn.
As I left for the new apartment with a loaded truck, I advised the movers to let Hugo sit out on
the deck and return to get him after the truck was unloaded. Evidently, by the time the movers left,
one man, not wanting to abandon this old man, brought him downstairs and moved him over to the
new place. Hugo, by this time on crutches, was able to get out of the car and get up to the new place
via the elevator.
Hugo had often told me the story of Sewell Avery, CEO of Montgomery Ward, who had to be
carried out of his office in his chair by Federal troops in 1944 because of his refusal to go along
with FDRs demand that he comply with the newly created Federal Labor Relations Board.
Sewells favorite insult was to call someone a New Dealer. Hugo remained a staunch Republican
capitalist and entrepreneur all his life. He respected his father who disliked the overarching
authority of the government. The way the move was made, Hugo enjoyed the satisfaction of having
stuck to his guns by refusing to be moved from the apartment into which his first wife had moved
him against his will.
It took several months to get Hugo used to living near the lake rather than directly on it. Before
he died though, he got used to calling the new place his home in which he particularly enjoyed
seeing the Oriental rug, from his one and only real home in Seattle, now fully extended in the new
living room.
The deep pain, hole or twisted wrinkle in Hugo was that he never found a suitable profession
throughout his life. He deeply loved, feared and respected his father, Hugo II. Since he was nine
years old he had wanted to become a doctor because his father was a dental surgeon. Having no
siblings, Hugo was attached to both of his parents who provided him with everything he needed
and did not need. His mother regularly referred to him as Your Royal Highness. She referred to
12
her husband Hugo II as Doctor. One can only surmise at what kind of power this only child
wielded in his home, with a maid, a butler and lots of employees who came around repairing the
house and taking care of the lawn. Hugos father had a place of honor at all family events and his
word was law. Hugo expected the same for himself when he grew up. His father lorded it over the
maids by having a button on the floor under the dining room table with which to call them when
he needed his coffee piping hot. One day the maid took out a ruler to make sure she got the
hamburger just the right size. Hugo was trained to wait until the maid came around to serve him
from the left. One of his pet peeves was to have to eat where it was self-service, and there was no
ritual around such things as carving the bird at Thanksgiving or Christmas.
It is sad to think about a human being who could not hear birds sing. And yet, this was the case
with Hugo who was a forceps birth and was partially paralyzed for the first week of his life. The
hearing damage might have happened this early. Or it might have happened when he had a serious
infection and was placed under an ultraviolet lamp with goggles over his eyes which he flicked off
and stared directly into the light causing his retina to be burned. Corneal ulcers were with him for
the rest of his life. He remembered having to walk around with bandages over his eyes for a year,
seeing only slivers of light by looking out from under the bandages at the corners.
These early accidents profoundly affected his life. Due to his hearing and eyesight impairment,
Hugo would curiously cock his head and appear as though he was totally engrossed in listening to
the other person when in fact he was working very hard to see and hear the other person.
Nonetheless, these handicaps gave him a great bedside manner and I know he could have had a
great profession in psychiatry had he not been discouraged by the knowledge that psychiatry, by
the time he graduated in 1946, had become a profession less concerned with talking, listening,
creating rapport with or establishing trust and intimacy, than with drugs. One prescription could
save hours and years of talk.
Among the books I discarded from the back room were the endless heavy books on psychiatry.
Hugo was a voracious reader. One summer he read through all twelve volumes of Marcel Prousts,
Remembrance of Things Past. Another set of twelve volumes, the Richard Burton translation of
The Book of the Thousand Knights and a Night, along with six supplemental Knights with notes,
never got completely read, but Hugo had read enough to be firmly set in his ideas and attitude
toward the fickle nature of women.
Hugo did not harbor any guilt feelings about not working his way through college because hed
always been accustomed to having things provided for him. But his grand, generous-spirited father
died in 1948 before Hugo had even gotten his life together at the age of twenty-three. Hugo and
his mother limped along with the rest of the money from the family estate in an apartment in
Chicago until she died in 1965. Thats when Hugo, adrift and all alone, felt the need to go out and
find work. His mother had lived according to the lifestyle she was accustomed to, except she didnt
have any maids. She did have enough money to buy her son a new car, an Oldsmobile 95 with
electric windows.
By 1974, when Hugo and I were married, Hugo was serious about settling down and making a
living. Through a friend he met in their common involvement with Ham Radio, he was offered the
Southside, the Westside of Chicago, and Gary, Indiana as territory in which to set up accounts to
sell pantyhose to African Americans. These stores were in neighborhoods most white men wouldn't
be seen in. I went out with Hugo on his first run in his 1968 VW bug. He made ten dollars on his
first call and after the first week decided that this rack jobbing/hosiery business might be enough
to make a living. Hugo was on the run after that, and stuck with this business for the next twentysome years. He was free in that he could make his own time provided he got to the accounts early
13
enough in the day to avoid going into the small shops when gang-bangers were hanging about the
entryways. In spite of this precaution he had his Rolex ripped off his arm, a pistol put to his head,
his car broken into and merchandise stolen, but he persisted. He used his charm and consistency
to service the accounts and responded to the calls for The Stockin Man, as he was known. Rain,
blizzard or heat, Hugo picked up his courage, packed up his trunk and went on his daily runs.
Being The Stockin Man freed Hugo once again to pursue his childhood passion for ice
dancing. He joined several clubs and thus was able to be with the class of people he expected to
be with when he was a child. Over the years, Hugo became known as someone interested in helping
to develop the skills of new skaters. He gave of his talents in photography by videotaping skaters
of all ages, and providing them with immediate feedback to their skating. He participated in
National Skating Competitions and got so well known that he was given a badge and could stand
in the restricted spaces to take closeup pictures. He was
on familiar terms with judges; they respected his
opinions, as did the families whose skaters he helped.
His knowledge of music also came in as a valuable
asset as he had a feeling for the kind of music most
appropriate for particular dances. Hugo was a totally
focused ice dancer who organized his life around the
hosiery business, ice dancing and, beginning in the
mid-eighties, financial investments. Because of his
limited hearing and his lack of a respectable solid
profession, his need to focus and be a success in these
areas was important for his ego.
Hugos body was donated to the school that advised
him not to pursue medicine as a career even after he
had studied medicine at graduate level and participated
in medical lab classes in order to become a doctor. His
lack of hearing was given as a reason. Perhaps despite
of this blocking, Hugo kept up with the latest
developments in medicine for the rest of his life. He
kept his medical library card and borrowed books from
Hugo Charles Lambach in June 2014 at Moody's Pub on
Broadway, an outdoor restaurant where you get the best
the library, especially when he was going through
hamburgers in Chicago
complicated procedures such as having a heart valve
replacement, a hip replacement or the loss of two toes
due to diabetes. He kept his old anatomy books as well as huge volumes listing drugs and their side
effects. He read up on each of his procedures and was well aware of the side effects of drugs. When
he talked to a doctor, he was not satisfied until he had convinced the doctor of his expertise and
specific knowledge and could converse with him in the obfuscating language of medicine heavily
loaded with Latin, which Hugo had studied in his private schools.
Hugo even called himself Dr. Hugo Lambach by taking over his fathers phone number. This
lie kept alive the illusion that he really had made it and lived up to the potential he envisioned for
himself. Moving to the new apartment a year ago, he had to let go of his Dr. from the telephone,
from the address, bank accounts, car insurance and from many of the magazines and other printed
information that arrived at the house. But he still clung to the moniker even as late as two months
before he died. At the Skilled Nursing Center, the CNAs got his attention by calling him Dr. Hugo.
14
In sum, he was a hard working perfectionist in whatever he undertook, and he did not suffer
fools very well. I still wonder how he tolerated me, but I realize that he could not readily classify
me. In much the same way that Hugo did not show up on the radar screen for my own selection
process in choosing a man, Hugo could not really understand where I belonged. As two strangers,
we thus gave each other a great deal of freedom.
Over the last year of Hugos life he was in and out of hospital numerous times and spent time
in nursing homes, and had a series of nurses and other professionals coming to the house. It was
a rough last year as he shed the lies and denials for the agony of knowing that his body and mind
were weakening, and that he was almost totally dependent on others. The daily rituals bound Hugo
and me together, and the suffering and endurance of the terminal stages of Hugos life enabled us
both to be affectionate, kind, patient and compassionate in the face of frustration, resentment and
anger at a steadily deteriorating body.
I stayed with Hugo during the last night of his life. The next day I witnessed the release of his
soul from his body. Several times I got up to check on him when I heard noises, coughing or
stirring. Hugo had not been in any pain. He breathed quietly all night, and while he no longer
talked, he responded to my touch as I stroked his forehead and arms. At one point he pursed his lips
and returned a kiss Id planted on his forehead.
At noon the next day I was sitting at the window, some ten feet from his bed, when I heard
shuffling and stirring and then an audible sigh of relief. I looked over and what I became aware of
was a large, irregular, clear liquid loose shape about the size of a grown mans torso, hanging for
a split second just above his head. It hovered, then vanished into thin air. Immediately, Hugos face
turned sallow, as the life force drained from his body.
Hugo was gone.
At that moment, Karl called from Switzerland. The first words Karl heard were an astonished,
Hugo is dyi... He is dead.
15
Ulrich (Ullu) Keiderling

by Erika Keiderling Blair and Elisabeth Bohlken Zumpe
Erika writes:
On Wednesday, November 12th, 2014, Joe
Keiderling called Erika to tell her that her
brother Ulrich known as Ullu passed
away on Sunday, November 9th, and that his
funeral had already taken place on the
following Monday. Joe asked Erika for Ben
Keiderlings phone number, which she gave
him. Joe then called Ben to pass on the sad
news.
Elisabeth remembers:
Ullu arrived at the Wheathill Bruderhof in
the autumn of 1957. The farm was in need of 10th May 1958: At the registrars office in Bridgnorth, England. L-R:
strong men, and Ullu was good at practically Ellen und Ullu Keiderling, Heidi (Zumpe) and Klaus Barth, Marianne
(Freiburghaus) and Ben Zumpe.
The wedding procession through the Wheathill Bruderhof.

L-R: Audry-Anne Jefferies and Gabriele von Borries, Janet and David
Mason, Christine Rimes and Kilian Zumpe, Elske Fros and Marili
Friedemann.
everything he was asked to do. I recall a

cold, windy day in autumn, very foggy,
chilly and uncomfortable. It was lunchtime.
Ellen and I were crossing the Hof when Ullu
turned up, barefoot, the clay squeezing up
between his bare toes. I said, quite startled:
But Ullu, here, we have to wear shoes! You
will catch a very bad cold like this!
Ullu smiled somewhat forlornly and
replied: You know, Bette, my feet have
never been acquainted with shoes. I simply
cant get them inside any!
Ellen half died laughing, she had not seen
or heard anything like it before. Being the
only daughter of a well-known Jewish

surgeon in New York City, she had
wanted for nothing financially.
She admired big and strong Ullu,
and maybe this encounter Ullu
walking barefoot in the cold clay
was the early beginnings of a great
romance. Ullu loved and adored his
Ellen and Ellen admired and loved her
physically so big and strong Ullu. She
felt safe with him.
The big wedding was on 14th May,
16
The newly-weds at Wheathill:

L-R Heidi and Klaus, Marianne and Ben,
and Ellen and Ullu.
1958. I had just returned home from my

training and took the above photographs
with my small Kodak camera.
To see big Ullu during Brotherhood
meetings knitting very tiny blue woollen
baby socks, and even one of the so-called
Swiss baby jackets, was simply adorable.
Ullu and Ellen were quite lovely together
and despite all the Bruderhof crises, they had
a good marriage, a good family, and always
helped each other along mutually.
The wedding procession:
L-R Ellen and Ullu, Marianne and Ben, and Heidi and Klaus. 2nd little
girl from the left: Erika Keiderling

Our Next Bulstrode Gathering Date: Saturday, April 25th, 2015
by Andy Harries
To all ex-Bruderhofers and friends:
I have been able to once again book the room at Bulstrode Manor which we had last year and
a few times before. It is available from 11:00am to 5:00pm.
WEC International have kindly allowed us
the use of the dining room at the back, with
access to hot water so we can prepare our own
drinks. We will bring the basics: milk, sugar,
tea, coffee and juice. We recommend bringing
some food along, which we usually share. As
we did last time, we can sit outside on the
veranda with free access to the lovely
Bulstrode Park and grounds. No smoking
indoors, please, no alcohol, and do not leave
litter anywhere.
We will have a collection for a voluntary
Bulstrode Manor
contribution for WEC, as a thank you for their
kindness of allowing us once again the use of
their room and grounds.
They have asked me to put out a sheet of paper at reception for everybody to sign on arrival.
This is a legal requirement, in case of fire. If you enter through the main front door, reception will
be on the right. Before that, also on the right, are the toilets.
Please pass this information on to anybody who might not hear or read about it.

17
RE:
Where?
When?
Who?
2015 Friendly Crossways Reunion

Friendly Crossways Retreat Center Harvard, MA (Boston)
Friday, August 21 early afternoon through Sunday afternoon, August 23
Former Bruderhofers with their friends & family any age/ideology
We are happy to announce the upcoming ex-Bruderhof get-together at Friendly Crossways outside of
Boston. We are hoping as many of you as possible can come: young; old; single; with or without family
members. There will be time to share our lives, both past and present, as well as cook, eat, hike, sing and
play together.
We need a commitment ASAP from those of you who are definitely coming. A $80 (USD) deposit
from at least 20 people by mid-February will hold our exclusive reservation
at the Friendly Crossways Hostel for August 21-23. Remaining reservation deposits are due by
May 30, 2015. US residents please make checks payable to Allen Hinkey and mail your check
and registration form to: 1901 John F. Kennedy Blvd Apt. 923, Philadelphia, PA 19103
In the UK, please contact Raphael Vowles at raphaelvowles@yahoo.co.uk
For those who are able and so inclined, extra donations are much appreciated and needed for
folks requiring financial assistance to attend the reunion.
No one wishing to attend should feel excluded because Reunion costs exceed his or her budget.
The location is a rambling farmhouse, with access to swimming, canoeing, volleyball/soccer and hiking.
The Atlantic Ocean beaches are an hour's drive away, as are the Green and White Mountains of Vermont
and New Hampshire. Historic Concord, home of the American Revolution, as well as the city of Boston
are close by.
Friendly Crossways is a 45-minute drive from Logan Airport in Boston and accessible by subway and
local trains as well. For taxi or rental car transportation information please contact Maeve.
Weekend registration forms are included herewith. Please email Al
to request Single-day registration forms (no overnight stay); more details
will also be posted on facebook later this year. Anyone wishing to arrive sooner
or stay longer, ask Maeve; to enquire about other activities in the area,
click this hyperlink: http://friendlycrossways.com/about-us/things-to-do/
Your organizers:
Maeve Whitty -maevepwhitty@yahoo.com

Allen Hinkey - alhinkey@gmail.com
18
KIT Accounts Year End FY 2014-15

by Raphael Vowles
The last year saw the issue of 4 KIT Newsletters with increased uptake of email
subscriptions.
Of the 200+ subscribers, 54 contributions were gratefully received.
Your regular contributions support the Newsletter.
1,643.15 GBP Opening Balance 2014-15
1,039.73 GBP Contributions (54)
7.84 GBP Contribution Pic CD (1)
9.30 GBP Contribution Sendbrief (2)
0.30 GBP Bank Interest (11)
cr 1,401.20 GBP Production Costs Incl p&p (15)
cr 54.58 GBP Other charges/Adjustments
Total 1,244.54 GBP Carried forward
Susan Suleski:
new email address:
susansuleski@hotmail.com
Susan has moved to temporary rented
accommodation. Her old address is no
longer valid.
Address changes & corrections:

Hannah (Goodwin) Johnson
7622 Cheyenne Street, Apt C
Swissvale, PA 15218, USA
412 466 0332
Address correction:
Friedemann Stephan & Karola nee
Klver:
Lauenburger Strasse 70
21502 Geesthacht
GERMANY
Vince Lagano
290 Beachview Ave., Apt. 38
Pacifica, CA 94044, USA
Hector (Duffy) Black:
email address: Duffie1925@gmail.com
A Request from your Editor:

Dear Readers KIT needs your submissions in whatever form you wish to present them:
Photographs, drawings, paintings, poetry all are welcome.
So pick up your pen, sit at your old typewriter, go switch on your computer or tablet or iPod
and write, write, write then watch your tale, your story, short or long emerge on paper or on
the screen. Send it off see where to send under Contact Us and make this more YOUR
Keep-In-Touch Newsletter!
19
Contact Us The Volunteers who produce the Keep In Touch Newsletter

Susanna Alves Editor and Layout
susannaalves@arnet.com.ar
+54-(0)3757-422017 Puerto Iguaz, ARGENTINA.
Send your ideas and articles to any of the volunteers below.
Charles Lamar Copy-Editor
rastus@mindspring.com
+1-415-235-3623 c/o SFCR, 755 Frederick St. 1st floor, San Francisco, CA 94117, USA
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lord.linda7@gmail.com
7 Severn Street, Longridge, Lancashire, PR3 3ND, UK
+44(0)1772-784473 or (mobile) +44(0)7703-133369
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7774 Level Run Rd, Long Island, VA 24569, USA (mobile) +1-434-942-1386
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Address Corrections: Please advise Margot Purcell
The Newsletter is available via:
Email full colour (the preferred method). Please confirm email receipt to
Linda Lord Jackson.
Printed Paper monochrome
Large A3 monochrome. For the vision impaired
Subscriptions: Suggested annual contribution: USA $20, UK 10 or Euro 15
Donations: Depending on which currency you use, please send your donation:
North America: US$, Cash or Check payable to Tim Johnson
timchowki@comcast.net
+1-404-373-0633
155 Garden Lane, Decatur, GA 30030, USA
Europe (Euro Zone Euro only): Bank Transfer or Eurocheque
payable to Anthony Lord, Johann-Finken-Str. 35, 41334 Nettetal,
GERMANY. nalord44@googlemail.com
+49(0)21 57 3109
Bank transfer: VOBA KREFELD. Ref: KIT !New! Euro only please.
IBAN: DE66 3206 0362 2201 0520 10 BIC: GENODED1HTK
From other countries: !New! See UK for other currencies.
UK: Bank Transfer or Cheque payable to Raphael Vowles
raphaelvowles@yahoo.co.uk UK, PayPal UK
+44(0)777 391 0044 Reading, Berkshire, UK
Bank transfer: Sort code: 40-47-58 Account: 85757290
First Direct Bank, 40 Wakefield Road, Leeds, LS98 1FD, UK
From other countries: Currency converted to UK can be deposited into the
account using: IBAN: GB75MIDL 404758 8575 7290
BIC: MIDLGB2172O (field 57) or Swift Code: MIDLGB22XXX HSBC
International (First Direct) (field 56)
Resources
Yahoo Group: KIT-exBruderhof-CCI A members only archive.
Scribd Web: Open archive - KITexBruderhofCCI
Anyone can view its free, anonymous and easy
see The Universal Copyright Convention Geneva 1952
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KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No. 1 February 2015

Bruderhof Night-Watch Customs

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015

Shivers ran down my spine. I was in complete

Hrt, ihr Leut, und lasst euch sagen:

Hrt, ihr Leut, und lasst euch sagen:

Hrt, ihr Leut, und lasst euch sagen:

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015

Hrt, ihr Leut, und lasst euch sagen:

Hrt, ihr Leut, und lasst euch sagen:

Hrt, ihr Leut, und lasst euch sagen:

Hrt, ihr Leut, und lasst euch sagen:

Hark while I sing! Our village clock

Ten precepts show Gods holy will;

Hark while I sing! Our village clock

Hark while I sing! Our village clock

Hark while I sing! Our village clock

Hark while I sing! Our village clock

Hark while I sing! Our village clock

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015

One God alone reigns over all;

Hark while I sing! Our village clock

Hark while I sing! Our village clock

Hear, good folk! The hour Im singing:

bears all need and makes us free.

Hear, good folk! Now dark is heaven,

Hear, good folk! The hour Im singing:

Hear, good folk! Hear from the tower,

Hear, good folk! Now hear our singing:

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015

Elisabeth Bohlken Zumpe comments:

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015

Hugo Charles Lambach

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015

Soon I found out he was a photographer. He photographed nature. He photographed nudes in

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015

KIT The Keep In Touch Newsletter

Volume XXVII No.1 February 2015

Ulrich (Ullu) Keiderling

The wedding procession through the Wheathill Bruderhof.

everything he was asked to do. I recall a