We often look at old pictures and say, “That was our Tscheb!”

Tscheb was when the ice hit the Danube with a big din. In March we made excursions to the Lamplweide and the oak forest with the many violets and flowers. When the frogs in the Ried croaked their concert, the huge linden trees in the Kirchpark blossomed and the wind blew the scent over the whole village. Tscheb was also hot July days when the farmers use the scythe to earn their annual income. On the Hotter stood true corn forests, in which allegedly the Logosche lived. After the harvest came for the boys the grape slaughter and the “cucumber war” with overripe seed cucumbers. In between, swimming and fishing on the Danube.

All these memories are Tscheb. And if nobody knows any more about it, then “our Tscheb” is dead – even if there are still some old Tscheber houses there!

But there were also stories. Apart from the case Márffy-Ferger and the gypsy wedding at the innkeeper Hengert, suddenly came the message: “A wolf was seen!” The hunters rushed out and killed the wolf. When the Haditsch-Lispesl saw him, she screamed: “That’s our Lordi!” The huge snake in the Riedfeld also appeared again and again. When the women sat spinning in the evenings, the story of Dundjerski was told to his great-grandfather, who, as a shepherd, found a large pitcher of Turkish-age jars in the old, large, rust-tree.

This is all history.