The Train to East Prussia

Here's one my Dad told me several years ago. Where he got it I'm not sure, but I would guess it was from a buddy of his at the University of Cincinnati, where he worked at the time. It's one of those jokes for which you must choose your audience carefully, because it has a way of going over different people's heads for different reasons.

 

One dismal, rainy night, back during the days when Germany was split between the Federal Republic of the west and the Democratic Republic of the east, the wash-out of a railroad bridge caused an East German passenger train from Berlin to be diverted into Poland. The long detour took the train through East Prussia, an area of land whose rightful ownership was continually and hotly debated between Germany and Poland, and which since the end of World War II had been under Polish control. As the crew drove their train over many kilometers of unfamiliar tracks, the steam locomotive eventually began to run low on fuel. Sighting a coal tower in the distance, the engineman cut the throttle and signaled for an unscheduled stop to refuel.

As the train, brakes squealing, rolled to a stop at the foot of the fueling depot, the facility's night attendant, flashlight in hand, trudged out from his office to see what was going on. Unfortunately the engine crew spoke nothing but German, and the attendant only Polish. Consequently there was much excited shouting and gesturing, but no meaning conveyed either way.

Finally, the coal tower attendant shook his head and went back to his office, leaving the exasperated train crew at a loss as to what to do next, their hungry iron steed panting heavily in the shadowy mist. About that time the train conductor could be heard approaching from the rear of the train, his shoes crunching on the wet gravel. Striding officiously up to the engine crew, he was apprised of the problem.

"I also know only German," the conductor said. "But," he continued after a thoughtful pause, "I know that the train porter speaks both German and Polish. I'll go get him."

Several minutes later the conductor and the valet were seen trudging up along the line of train cars toward the engine, the second man still groggy from an interrupted snooze. The bilingual steward was told of the situation, and instructed to go to the tower office to procure a load of fuel for the engine. Still not fully awake, he nodded vaguely and began walking toward the coal tower office. The rain, mercifully, had let up by this time, and the air had begun to clear. A popular tune from the tower attendant's radio could be heard drifting through the night. As he walked, the valet noticed a pronounced glow at one point on the otherwise dark horizon, and stopped to admire it for just a moment. Idly, he wondered what city it might be.

He turned back to yell at the engineman, "Isn't that Gdansk in the light?"

Tired and impatient, the German engineman was red-faced and doubly furious, both at the growing delay, and now at the steward's insolence in using the Polish name for the city.

 

"NO!" He shouted back.  "THAT'S DANZIG IN THE DARK!  BUY COAL, PORTER!"