The RA grounds and campground in Ladysmith rang with clinking beer glasses and squeaking sauerkraut as the 40th edition of Oktoberfest Ladysmith took over the village last weekend.

But one sound missing from this festival of German culture was the German language itself. Aside from a few German-speaking visitors and the band flown in from Germany, not much of the tongue remains on the lips of locals. 

For a community once founded in part by settlers from German-speaking regions of Europe, the language has given way to English and French. For many, Oktoberfest is one of the last traces of the region’s heritage — though some longtime volunteers worry about the festival’s future.

Thorne was first settled mainly by Irish immigrants in the late 1800s, with Germans soon following. Names like Schwartz, Steinke and Bretzlaff were among the first in the area, bringing with them their language, culture and traditions, including the famous Ladysmith Wedding — an all-night affair with music, drink, and a roasted calf and pig butchered special for the occasion. 

Early settlers spoke German at home, and the language spread through schools and churches.

According to Up the Hills to Home (1977), published by the Pontiac Printshop, Thorne’s first school was a German school in Ladysmith, which had already closed by 1900. After that, children of German descent went to German school on Saturdays, though this practice was discontinued around the 1960s. 

At St. John’s Lutheran Church, youth once received instruction in German. Starting in 1878, a parsonage housed a German-speaking minister, a tradition that lasted for over 70 years. An article by Gunda Lambton in Up the Gatineau! noted that pastors came from Germany until the 1950s.

“It became increasingly difficult to find a German-speaking minister, and in the late 1950s church services were even discontinued,” Lambton wrote.

At Zion Lutheran Church, pastors preached only in German until 1935, then mixed in English. By the 1950s, German was used at Zion about once a month for older parishioners. Soon, German became less and less of the norm in Thorne as the third and future generations of residents were no longer widely exposed to it. 

“As soon as an English-speaking minister began to serve the congregations, German survived only at home, on tombstones, or in Christmas hymns,” Lambton wrote. 

For Winnifred and Gerald Mielke, descendants of early settlers, the language became a family code.

“We didn’t speak it at home… only if we didn’t want the kids to hear what we were saying,” she said.

Their daughter Jennifer said she’d be lucky to muster a few words. “I never learned it,” she said.

While most of the original settler families have let the language go, it has lingered in part through postwar immigrants like Karl Erfle and Gerda Bretzlaff, who arrived in the early 1960s after fleeing Bessarabia, then part of Romania. They were evacuated to Poland, later moved to Germany, and followed their brother Helmut to Canada.

Gerd Hemken, from northern Germany, came to Canada in 1951 following his uncle, who found farm work near Shawville.

“There were Germans here, so I guess they got connected,” he said, adding that his uncle found work making suitcases in Ladysmith.

In September, the three met with THE EQUITY over Kaffee – coffee – and Kuchen – cake – at Bretzlaff’s kitchen table to discuss the state of the language in Thorne. 

Erfle, who arrived in Canada at age nine, spoke no English. “I learned it in school, but I spoke German with my mom all the time,” he said.

Hemken said when he arrived in Thorne there was a stark difference between the Low German he spoke, and the dialect spoken by residents of Thorne. He said locals were kind despite his different dialect. “They spoke as if I was one of their own,” he said.

Even among newer arrivals, though, the language didn’t survive.

“My kids don’t speak it, Gerda’s kids don’t — it was never really passed along,” said Erfle, who still chats with his sister in “age nine–level” German to try and remember. 

Erfle said while he regrets not being more skilled in his mother tongue, a certain baggage associated with the German language made it part of a history you wanted to forget. 

“When I went to school in Shawville, it’s not something that you wanted to broadcast that you were,” he said. 

Bretzlaff, a self-identified “German-Canadian” who is among the more fluent of the remaining speakers, said she is proud to still speak the language even today despite rarely using it. 

“Ich kann nicht glauben, dass ich immer noch Deutsch spreche, genau wie ich es gelernt habe [I can’t believe I still speak German exactly the way I learned],” she said.

In the 1980s, the language’s decline was already in full force. But volunteers in the community started to organize a festival to honour the German heritage in the community, and they called it Oktoberfest. 

“People wanted something dramatic,” said co-founder Karen Kelly. “It was to bring the municipality to the fore and let everyone know what [Thorne] was all about.” 

Since then, Oktoberfest has become one of the Pontiac’s biggest events, drawing crowds from across Eastern Canada. This year’s 40th edition featured a band from Germany.

But with German voices on the streets of Thorne mostly faded, Oktoberfest remains one of the last signs of German heritage in the community. But some volunteers are saying a recent decline in volunteers could jeopardize the future of the festival. 

Kelly said about 10 years ago organizers began to wonder how many more years they would be able to put it on. “There were a couple of years we weren’t sure we were going to have it,” she said.

Erfle and Bretzlaff are longtime volunteers, Erfle handling setup and teardown; Bretzlaff acting as the village’s sauerkraut expert. “Once the party’s over, everyone just wants to go home,” Erfle said.

Marguerite and Randy Born, who lead the annual meatball- and sauerkraut-making parties, told THE EQUITY in September that recruiting volunteers is tough despite repeated attempts to increase participation. 

Still, Oktoberfest remains a major economic driver. Hemken said he comes for the beer and music, though the German identity has mostly faded. “I wonder if it exists anymore,” he said.

For Erfle, the festival is more about community identity than culture. “It’s something to bring to Ladysmith,” he said. “It brings money back into the community and has put Ladysmith on the map.”

In recent years, Ladysmith native Jennifer Mielke has taken a larger role, securing a spot on CTV Ottawa and booking a German band through the German Embassy.

Kelly said it’s encouraging to see younger volunteers step up, but more are needed to keep it going.

“If you want to maintain the German culture, you’d better make an effort,” she said. 

When the three parted ways from Bretzlaff’s kitchen table, they exchanged Auf Wiedersehens – goodbyes – not knowing how many of those greetings they will have left.

Bretzlaff said it’s tough to see the language and culture slip away, both essential parts of the community that, German or not,  she has come to call home.

For now, she’s going to keep celebrating Oktoberfest every year, volunteering her sauerkraut services and speaking auf Deutsch. 

“It’s part of Ladysmith,” she said.