Wolffs Revier: When the very last voyage is across the stormy North Sea
Steffi von Wolff
· 14.08.2025
As I would like to pre-empt pompous obituaries, here is my own text:
I'm not going over to a better world, nor have I always been devoted and happy to look after my loved ones in my life. They've all really got on my nerves. At 92, I think it's okay to retire; save your hypocrisies: Oh, we'll miss him and he'll always be in our hearts - and you look at each other sadly, but I know you're just waiting for the will to be read so you can scratch your eyes out. Thank God I don't have to witness that. So, guys, I'm off. I won't be back either. I promise!
Helmfried Graf von Lüders-Annencron
born 7.3.1933 of course in Hamburch | died 5.11.2024 of course there, announces his death (long awaited by heir hunters).
My body will be donated to research (I don't know whether the liver and lungs will be used for anything), the rest will be cremated, placed in an urn and then taken away. The date of the funeral has not yet been fixed, but the undertaker has been informed and will announce it in good time. I would like to be buried at sea off Heligoland. By the way: anyone who thinks they don't have to attend should know: Then there's nothing to inherit. The notary Dr Ansgar Wilhelmi is involved. Well then! Let's go!
PS: I would like to be present at the funeral, though. Maybe I'll "look down from above". (irony)
Helmfried has died." I hold the mobile phone with the obituary out to my husband and he reads it and grins. "Ha! Just like we were used to from old Zausel. Always a bit cynical, poisonous and damn honest. I'll miss him." We liked Helmfried. He was on another jetty with his Luffe, but we met up and chatted over a barbecue. Helmfried, the shrewd gobshite. A merchant through and through, widowed, three children that we never got to see. He liked to drink to excess and smoke a chain.
Also interesting:
My mobile rings and it's Birte. "When's the funeral?" she wants to know. "That's where we're going." A week later, I receive an email from the undertaker informing me that the burial at sea off Heligoland will take place a week later. Only a select group is allowed on the ship, and we are one of them. Birte and Hanno too. "That was a great wish of the deceased," the undertaker explains. "He liked you very much. He said that you were all very down-to-earth, nice people." He had simply fallen asleep, just as he had wished. "It's kind of strange to make such a fuss about everything, but that suits Helmfried," my husband realises. "Still, you don't chase a dog out the door in this weather." He's right. A storm has been raging on the North Sea for days. Hopefully the ship will be allowed to set sail at all. It's supposed to get worse.
Nice people
"That's the very worst thing Dad could have done. How could he do this to us?" is the first thing I hear from an elderly lady, and two men nod angrily in time. "Are those the children?" whispers Birte. "I think so. Hello," I hold out my hand to the woman. "We are..." "I don't care who you are," is the snippy reply, and my hand is ignored. Nice people. "Does he really want to go out in this weather?" is the only thing that interests Hanno and my husband. We're wearing wellies and oilskins, the other participants black suits and costumes.
The weather is indescribable. It's storming and raining, the waves are crashing against the boat. "Allow me, Wilhelmi." A tall man with grey hair shakes my hand. "A memorable day. It will be even more memorable." "I see." "Good that you dressed so practically. The children of the different and their children and their children and ... well, they had to dress the way they are dressed." "I see."
Birte is coming. "Honestly, I'm really scared. That's nine gusts of wind, ten in gusts, what are we going to do if we capsize? Can we postpone the funeral?" "I don't know." I don't feel good about the whole thing either.
The relatives have to stand outside dressed for summer
Finally, we get on board and actually cast off. I have no idea how much money the skipper or undertaker was paid to go out in these conditions. The North Sea welcomes us with its mouth wide open and seems ready to swallow us up. The boat bounces around on the waves like a rubber ball, lays on its side, then leaps forwards. Fortunately, there are handholds in the saloon.
I watch in horror as Helmfried's relatives stand unprotected in the stormy rain and I also see that they are all clinging to the railing and coughing in the jet cubes. Oh my goodness. Even the Labrador I've brought with me is coughing. Then the vicar arrives while the ship is bobbing through the waves like a whale on ecstasy. He introduces himself as Sommerland.
"Shall we go to the parlour..." my husband starts, but Doctor Wilhelmi waves him off. "No, no, that's what the will says. The relatives have to stand outside in their summer clothes. No umbrella. No tippet." "They're puking their guts out right now," says Hanno. "That's inhumane." "As I said, the will. Otherwise you go away empty-handed." "But why?" I want to know. "Oh, just listen to the relatives."
The dog is now cross-eyed
"I haven't ruined anything, Katrin!" Casimir shouts at his sister. "You wasted all the money with that deranged chimney sweep." The other brother intervenes. "You've squandered it all." "Shut your stupid mouth, John!" shouts Katrin. "Not you and your bimbo. The great love, don't make me laugh! All your money has been taken away by that cunning piece." There's a brief lull in the conversation as they start to shout again. Casimir slips and lands next to the dog, who is now cross-eyed.
"He takes the urn and lifts it up. Then the ship tilts precariously to one side, the urn smacks into the water and everyone screams."
Pastor Sommerland raises both hands. "This is how we say goodbye with love to our father, friend and companion, our uncle, our friend, our boss, our ..." "All right!" Casimir shouts in agony. "With love, yes, with love, I think I'm on fire." He stands up and tries to pat down his wet suit. "He didn't love us! He kept asking us to do something for our inheritance." "... our skat brother, our chairman of the supervisory board, our ..." Sommerland continues.
"That's enough now!" Wilhelmi intervenes. "You've all had your chance and you've squandered it all. At some point, the money well ran dry." "Doing this to us. Dad knows for a fact that we all get seasick." "If they'd gone sailing, it would have been over quickly," my husband realises. "Then they'd have sea legs now."
Everything must be organised
"Your father did the right thing, which is why I can inform you here and now that all the assets will go to various foundations and all the real estate, etcetera, etcetera, will be sold or made available to foundations. So now we take our leave." He takes the urn and lifts it up. "Goodbye!" Silence. Even the priest is silent. And then the ship tilts precariously to one side, the urn with Helmfried inside smacks into the water and everyone screams.
A week later, there is a message of thanks from Helmfried in the newspaper. With his special charm, he thanks everyone who was there and, above all, his family. There is also a photo - no idea who took it. His children, standing on the side of the boat and pouring buckets.
"Do you know what I'm really happy about?" my husband asks with relief. "That we have virtually nothing to inherit. It's much easier that way. But I'm going to look into the details of a pension plan. It all needs to be sorted out."
Oh. If he has to leave earlier than me, he wants to sort everything out. I'm touched.
"I can't imagine you selling the 'old lady' to someone unappealing. Just thinking about it makes my blood boil again."
The text comes from the new book by YACHT author Steffi von Wolff. Amusing stories from the harbour cinema and on the road in one edition. Delius Klasing, 22 Euro
