Detlef had a difficult life growing up in socialist East Germany. Abandoned by his mother and raised in a children's home, he refused to join the army or cooperate with the state and spent years in prison. Detlef shared his life story with friends in 2005:

I was born in West Berlin on October 30, 1948. My parents were not married, and at the age of two I was brought to a Catholic children's home in East Berlin; I do not remember my parents at all. Along with learning our ABCs we were indoctrinated with socialism so that we would toe the line. In this home, where I spent ten years, all children were treated equally well, regardless of whether they were Catholic, Protestant, or not Christian at all. This was a good time for me. When I was put into a state home at age twelve, my childhood ended. The staff often lacked enthusiasm and sympathy toward us children. The educators didn't care whether we did our homework or not. On the other hand, if someone spoke against the State, he was immediately called into the office. We never learned what happened there.

By the age of fourteen, the children at the state home were given premilitary training and taught to shoot using air rifles. Because I refused to be involved, the staff tied me to a tree and let the boys shoot at me. I still have little balls of lead in my rib cage because of that experience. The stark difference between the Catholic home and this state home convinced me that violence of any kind is wrong. On finishing school, I started an apprenticeship as a shepherd. I finished three years later, but because I developed allergies to sheep and possibly other animals, I had to stop working with animals completely. I took a job at a cooperative farm, but when I received my first paycheque I was shocked at all the membership deductions. The deductions were to be used for the military. When I complained (I was not a member of the cooperative), I was told that “anyone who works for us is a member of the cooperative.” I then asked that they pay me fairly or I would look for work elsewhere, whereupon I was threatened. For a week I didn’t show up for work. I was arrested and accused of withholding my working strength from the Socialist State. My sentence was two years’ imprisonment without probation. This was the first time I came into conflict with the law.

Immediately after I was released at age 19, I received a conscription notice from the military. I wrote a letter to headquarters stating that I would not comply, and gave my reasons. I explained that I would never take a weapon in my hands, would never work in a munitions factory and that I was against all violence. When my orders came I went into hiding because I knew what the consequences would be. Eventually I was caught by the police. I refused to take a state attorney because the representation would be poor. I thought that if I felt strongly about my convictions, I should be able to explain them. At my defence I had an opportunity to do this. The usual prison term for refusing to go to the military was two years, but on the basis of my criminal record I was given three years. In addition, I was stamped as “Enemy of the State No. 1.” Following this imprisonment, I was arrested four other times for refusing to cooperate with the Socialist State, making a total of thirteen years’ incarceration.

Detlef’s experience in prison was extremely difficult. Prisoners were expected to work and because he refused, much of his prison time was spent in solitary confinement. He was put in a small cell with a toilet at one end and a bed built out of brick and finished on top with a coat of plaster which was purposely roughened. He was given only one blanket and so had to decide whether he would lie on it or use it to cover himself. For almost two years he was held by day in a standing cell about 60 cm by 60 cm and not much more than 2 metres high. Because Detlef was not a big man, he was able to move his arms up and down a little, but could not stretch them out. A single 25-watt bulb lighted the cell and was left on all the time; food was served through a small hole. Detlef was in this cell sixteen hours a day, then was brought back to his regular cell to sleep. He was regularly interrogated, but he got so upset at the questioning that he said would rather go back to a standing cell than continue. Detlef also described how for days at a time he was in total darkness in a damp basement-like cell with vermin crawling over him. There were times when for three weeks at a stretch he Detlef’s photo ID from the 1980s was given only half a piece of bread and half a cup of coffee morning and evening. He later reflected that it is amazing what a human being can get used to with time. Sheer will power and determination pulled him through. The harsh conditions were designed to make prisoners lose courage and drive them to suicide. Many of his fellow prisoners did commit suicide, but Detlef said he was not going to do the prison the favour. At one point, Detlef was incarcerated in the infamous prison of Bautzen.This prison had been used by the Nazis, and many of the prison officials and guards were the same people who had been employed there during the Nazi period. The treatment was often very rough. Even while Detlef was there, inmates were sometimes shot. On the cell walls were rings where prisoners had been shackled with their arms and legs outstretched; in this position they were whipped. In one year alone at Bautzen, 3,000 people died of sickness, mistreatment and suicide.

The second time I was imprisoned, I was sent to the copper mines. I worked in tunnels 1200 metres underground. The work was hard, but I enjoyed it. One day while we were working there was a loud thundering and roaring sound; a nearby tunnel had collapsed. Fine dust and stones rained down. We had to leave our place of work immediately. As I crawled through the scaffolding I noticed a big mound that puzzled me. With my bare hands I began to clear away the dust and found a man who had been buried; I dug him free and called the pit foreman, who helped bring him out. Above ground we were immediately received by the medical staff. The supervisor shook hands and thanked me for my quick reaction. He said he would put in a word for me so that I might be released earlier. The next day I was honoured before the gathered workers as a life saver and given an envelope with twenty marks inside. I was surprised and upset, and returned the envelope with the comment, “If a man’s life is not worth more than that to you, I don’t want it.” For this I was put in jail. They threatened to prosecute me for leading a mutiny. I wrote a short, clear letter to the East German secret police. After about three weeks a policeman took me to meet with the foreman and two men from state security. I was supposed to tell them what had happened that day. The foreman couldn’t deny my allegations, because the incident had taken place in front of the whole work force. I was released early and in addition received 500 marks; had I been convicted of mutiny, I wouldn’t have gotten away with less than five years. Because I could not and would not change my attitude to supporting the Socialist State, I found myself in prison again and again. In between sentences, I spent a lot of time on the street. This was mainly to hide from the authorities. I was constantly on the run and slept in attics or basements or wherever I found a dry corner. I earned my living by collecting and selling scrap metal. Unfortunately I had begun drinking already at the age of thirteen. After I had been a prisoner my drinking got so bad that I couldn’t survive without alcohol.

I married, but my problems with alcohol and conflict with the State distanced me from my wife. Part of the reason for getting married was that the law allowed me to live a more normal life as a married man. We lived together for five years and then divorced. After my divorce things went downhill. With the falling of the Berlin wall, life on the street became more difficult and dangerous. Thank God nothing serious happened to me. One evening I was at a soup kitchen and saw lights in a church across the street and heard people singing. I was curious so I went in and was invited to supper. There I met the Basisgemeinde, a group living in Christian community. After that evening I came to the church more often. Through the love and care I received there, I was finally able to stop drinking.

In 2003 I moved to Darvell Community in England. When I arrived I was welcomed by all brothers and sisters. I thank God that he prepared the right way for me, that he went with me and will continue to lead me without looking back.

Detlef loved his brothers and sisters with whom he spent the last six years of his life. He initiated an annual kinderfest for the children, threw pizza parties with games for the young people, and got all the older folk together each Christmas. He loved singing and a good time, followed by a drink and cigar. He never wanted to be thanked for what he did. If someone did try to thank him, his answer would be, “Menschenlob ist Scheisse. Ihr sollt Gott danken.” (“Honouring man is shit; you should thank God.”)

Detlef died unexpectedly on 16 November 2009, while visiting in Germany. Jörg, a close friend, spoke at his funeral:

It is an amazing and wonderful thing to have a glimpse into the soul of a person. I feel that in Detlef I was given this opportunity. Detlef was my friend, possibly one of the best friends I have ever had. In many ways he was like a father and grandfather to our family. Detlef had a diffi cult life. Because of the many betrayals that he experienced he did not easily trust people. He tended to be a loner who chose his friends carefully. He was often gruff, his language was coarse and he could be impatient. Detlef was in our family for six years and we always were good friends. But about three years ago, he turned to me while we were on a trip and said, “I think the time has now come when we can be real friends,” and gave me a big hug. Just a day before he died, Detlef reminded me of that incident. It was an affi rmation of the trust between us. We spent a lot of time together and discussed many things. This didn’t mean that we always got it right. Sometimes we disagreed and it took more wisdom than I had to try to help him. We often apologized to one another – more so in the last months – but all these things drew us closer together.

Detlef ’s life is a remarkable story of suffering and forgiveness, though he would not have described it as such. He had no feelings of hatred toward those who had hurt him. He was able to move on – he lived in the present. He had always followed his conscience regardless of cost, though he only came to faith in his middle years.The hallmark of his life was his forgiving attitude, which showed in his love and care for others. This is the legacy that he left us. For Detlef these last six years were like coming home. He loved Darvell. Though he visited Germany often, he was always glad to return. He had found the home and the love that he had never had before. It is remarkable that an ex-con, a man of the streets who couldn’t speak a word of English, came to call a community in southeast England his home. That is the miracle and mystery of his life.