For some, the memory of that special bond lasts a lifetime.
Hans-Günter Löwe, a retired teacher in Hamburg, grew up in the ruins of post-war Germany. He still remembers playing in the rubble of bombed-out houses. A photo taken on his first day at school, in 1949, reveals a strenuous effort to present some semblance of normality.
“My mother sewed me a jacket from scraps of fabric, I’m wearing knitted knee-high socks in second-hand boots, and I’m holding a home-made school cone decorated with shiny foil. Somehow, my mother managed to make one,” he says, wondering how she pulled it off. “She must have somehow bartered for the foil, the cardboard, she really tried to rescue this cone. And she crafted it without me realising, even though we lived in a small, cramped flat.”
After a pause, he adds softly, almost to himself: “She must have done it while I was asleep.”
Löwe has collected dozens of antique school cones, which are now housed in a museum, as well as photos documenting the tradition. He has written a book about the custom’s history – including some very poignant…
