Hey guys,
A couple of days ago I found a story which is part of the folkore around the Friedrich Herder knives, which were used for decades here in the northern part of the Netherlands and probably also in other parts of the country and in Germany, where they were made. Here is a picture of my Friedrich Herder; they were made in several sizes, mine is about 19.5 cm long and my parents gave it to me when I was fifteen. It was my second knife, I already had a SAK, but I lost that one.
The background of the story is the country side in the north-east of the Netherlands, somewhere in the 50's or 60's, when land workers were traveling from farm to farm to find work and earn some money. Here it is (I had to translate it from a dialact which is spoken in the north-east of the Netherlands and English is not my first language, so there will probably be spelling and grammar errors):
On the other side of the bridge over the ditch stood a dog, a Dobermann, snarling and barking. Through my 8 year old eyes it looked like a monster. "Come, walk on!", my father said and he stepped upon the bridge. I followed him, with my eyes closed. The dog snarled and growled even harder and slowly walked upon the bridge, towards us. He was ready to jump. I quickly closed my eyes again. Suddenly I heard a splash. I opened my eyes and was afraid that my father fell into the water. But he stood there on the bridge and I saw him closing his knife, his razor sharp Herder, and put it back into his pocket. Beneath, in the ditch I saw the dead dog drifting. The water around it got red.
Then I saw and heard the farmer, he was shouting and ran towards us. When he stood in front of my father he shouted: "What did you do with my dog?!" There was a moment of silence and then my father replied: "I'm here to get my salary for the past week." My father had worked the whole week at this farm to harvest potatoes. He continued: "And who thinks I will not get my earned salary, will also disappear in the ditch." My father had his eyes fixed on the farmer and the farmer turned pale. Then he turned and walked back to his farm. We followed him and in the kitchen my father got his salary. "There will be no work for you here anymore", the farmer said. I saw on the look of my fathers face that he didn't even want to work at this farm anymore.
When my father died forty years later, my brothers and sisters had to divide the things he left. I wanted only one thing: his last Friedrich Herder knife, which now lays on the bottom of a copper box.
A couple of days ago I found a story which is part of the folkore around the Friedrich Herder knives, which were used for decades here in the northern part of the Netherlands and probably also in other parts of the country and in Germany, where they were made. Here is a picture of my Friedrich Herder; they were made in several sizes, mine is about 19.5 cm long and my parents gave it to me when I was fifteen. It was my second knife, I already had a SAK, but I lost that one.
The background of the story is the country side in the north-east of the Netherlands, somewhere in the 50's or 60's, when land workers were traveling from farm to farm to find work and earn some money. Here it is (I had to translate it from a dialact which is spoken in the north-east of the Netherlands and English is not my first language, so there will probably be spelling and grammar errors):
On the other side of the bridge over the ditch stood a dog, a Dobermann, snarling and barking. Through my 8 year old eyes it looked like a monster. "Come, walk on!", my father said and he stepped upon the bridge. I followed him, with my eyes closed. The dog snarled and growled even harder and slowly walked upon the bridge, towards us. He was ready to jump. I quickly closed my eyes again. Suddenly I heard a splash. I opened my eyes and was afraid that my father fell into the water. But he stood there on the bridge and I saw him closing his knife, his razor sharp Herder, and put it back into his pocket. Beneath, in the ditch I saw the dead dog drifting. The water around it got red.
Then I saw and heard the farmer, he was shouting and ran towards us. When he stood in front of my father he shouted: "What did you do with my dog?!" There was a moment of silence and then my father replied: "I'm here to get my salary for the past week." My father had worked the whole week at this farm to harvest potatoes. He continued: "And who thinks I will not get my earned salary, will also disappear in the ditch." My father had his eyes fixed on the farmer and the farmer turned pale. Then he turned and walked back to his farm. We followed him and in the kitchen my father got his salary. "There will be no work for you here anymore", the farmer said. I saw on the look of my fathers face that he didn't even want to work at this farm anymore.
When my father died forty years later, my brothers and sisters had to divide the things he left. I wanted only one thing: his last Friedrich Herder knife, which now lays on the bottom of a copper box.
:thumbup: