Typical Alsace Hof
In 1989 while my daughter was enlisted in the USAF and living in Germany, I visited that country for the first time. Since I was a 3rdgenerationAmericanSherdel, and since no one else had any information about our name, I decided to see what I could find out while in our country of origin. I planned on nothing more than checking phone books or libraries.
While in Munich at a Holiday Inn, I found my first phone book and sure enough, there were 4 Scherdels listed. Our tour guide was kind enough to phone them for me. I explained that I wanted nothing more than to know the origin of our name (since its pronunciation is French rather than German.)
From Roland Scherdel I learned that ours is a very old name. In Europe, that means something to be proud of. Roland pronounces his name in exactly the same way we do. He told us that his father told him the name originated “somewhere south of Strausbourg”…the Alsace region.
From the widow of Wilhelm Scherdel, we learned (again) that the name originated in the Alsace and was very old. Mrs Scherdel’s husband had passed away 4 years before and she did not know his relatives except that some of his cousins had a brewery in “Nuremberg Hof”. I was elated. In Germany, beer is revered and each brewer has a solid history. I was beginning to think I would actually find out something about our history. Neither of those with whom I spoke were aware there were Scherdels in America.
Returning to my daughter’s home, I told her the story; she was excited to learn of the phone conversations. I asked Sharon if there was a German equivalent of “information” where we could get the phone number of the brewery. Sharon told me there was that possibility but only if I had gotten the actual name of the village. It seems that “hof” basically means “a place”. “hof” could be your back yard or a place near another place. In other words, “Nuremberg Hof” literally meant “a place near Nuremberg”.
I then asked Sharon if we could hunt down any Scherdel beer. She again explained that if Scherdel beer is brewed near Nuremberg, there would be no possible way to find it down near Kaiserslautern (where she lived) – or for that matter, any place except where it was brewed. Nearly every town of any size has its own brewery. The beer is named after the town in which it is made. Therefore, you could not buy Richmond beer in Roanoke and you could not buy Roanoke beer in Virginia Beach.
Because Sharon had to work, she loaned me her car and together with a traveling companion, I headed up the left side of the Moselle River toward Koblenz where the Moselle meets the Rhine. We drove through wine country, the river flowed on our right and steep hills of vineyards rose to our left. Most of the little villages were on the other side of the river due to steep hills on the left but there were many bridges that allowed for crossing back and forth. I was coming down with something – felt very feverish and ill. I hoped we could soon stop for the night but the villages were far spaced and when we did see one on the other side of the river we appeared to be far from a bridge. When we saw a bridge, there was no village. Darkness fell and so did the rain. It was pouring and I grew more miserable by the moment. Finally we saw another bridge and the twinkling lights of a small village. We headed straight for it.German inns are wonderful. They are restaurant, bar and rooms to rent. They are clean and comfortable and I was so relieved to know I could lie down. Out of the car, I climbed the few steps onto a concrete “porch” running the length of the building. There were beer lanterns hanging above my head – advertisements which also rant the length of the building. In America they would be akin to the neon beer signs in bar windows. In my feverish state, I didn’t realize the implications of the lanterns. Each one said “Scherdel”.Inside, I made my way to the desk and used one of my 3 known German phrases asking if they had a room free. I must have looked awful because the man came out from behind the desk, put his arm partially around my shoulder and walked me toward the door explaining that they were full but that he knew of a place that did have openings. Germans do not touch strangers. He may have thought I had the plague but he was very kind and once outside gave us directions to a huge stone place where we found shelter for the night. Before I got into the car, I had the presence of mind to ask him “is your name Scherdel?” He said, “No, that is the name of the beer we sell.” I asked “but isn’t that made near Nuremberg?” And he said, “Yes, Nuremburg Hof. Do you know it?” I said “No, my name is Scherdel.” He said “Oh yes? In America? “ I nodded yes and that was that.
On that dark and rainy night I had stumbled upon the only place in Germany that sold Scherdel beer outside its city of production! I felt that was nothing short of miraculous and that I was absolutely meant to find it. We cut our trip short because I was really sick. (it ended up being a miserable 3-day flu) My traveling companion mercifully went home and I recuperated for a few days on Sharon’s couch. Finally Sharon had 3 days off and said we could do something together. Where did I want to go? There was no question about it. I wanted to go back up that river. Sharon was convinced that my high fever had me delirious. She repeated time and again I could not possibly have seen Scherdel beer signs – I must have mistaken the name on them. I would not be swayed and we headed up the river. My daughter’s surprise was real when we pulled up in front of the same inn and she saw for herself that I had not hallucinated the beer signs. Suddenly she was as excited as I and we went inside. It was lunch time. When the waitress came for our order, Sharon asked about the beer and explained the American Scherdels wanted to know about our name.
There I sat understanding nothing while they held a long discussion. The girl said her father owned the inn and they had an inn over near Nuremburg in HOF but when they moved west to the Moselle, her father, being a loyal customer, refused to sell any beer but the one he’d always sold. Mr. Scherdel made an arrangement with him to deliver beer to his place and that’s how it all happened. We had Scherdel beer on Scherdel coasters in Scherdel pilsner glasses (which were absolutely beautiful – the blue and white checked Bavarian flag in the background). We tried to buy one but they weren’t selling. They did agree to sell a different beer glass – also very beautiful but not as stunning as the pilsner. We bought lunch and drank a bottle of beer (then brought the empty bottle along home). The girl said she would make sure Mr. Scherdel knew we’d been there and gave us the address of the brewery so we could write to the owners to find out what they knew about our name.
Two days later I composed a short letter to the brewery and a few days after that, Sharon translated it and mailed it. Thanks to a man I worked with here at the bank, I was able to continue to correspond with the brewery for awhile. I still have the letters. The man who wrote me (his mother was a Scherdel) told me he’s met several people by that name from both Germany and France but he was stunned that there were any of us in America. He sent me a family tree that his own family had researched. It goes back to 1610. Wow.
In other items sent, there was information suggesting that in ancient times, a group of French people had migrated over to northern Germany to a high, forested place they called “Der Franken”. The Scherdels (he agreed they came from southern France) settled in Der Oberfranken (now Upper Franconia) which is slightly north of the original settlement. That’s where his ancestors came from. The family tree is written in ancient German. Not many people can read it anymore but Fred Scharna (God rest his soul) was one of them. Fred was intrigued with our story and helped me write the letters, the translations of letters received and various articles.
But why the immigration of French people to Germany and vice versa? Fred and several of the older Scherdels who’d done research think it was due to the Great Schism in the Catholic Church. Martin Luther made a lot of good points back in the mid 1500s and many Catholics, deploring the rampant corruption in the church, followed Luther. France stayed Catholic so it would follow that any Germans who wanted to remain true to the Catholic Church, might have migrated to France and any French who believed Luther had it right, would have migrated to Germany. My own grandfather professed to be Lutheran although he didn’t bother much with churches of any name.Because my great grandfather spoke German, it is apparent he and his family came from Germany but we could not find his name on the family tree. (I would not have recognized it anyway because it would not have appeared as “Wilhelm” – the old language being completely different in spelling and appearance). Fred was almost as disappointed as I was.
Meanwhile, I had penpals in several countries and told my story to 2 or 3 of them. From one, a boring guy who lives in Pegnitz, Germany, I got one sentence at the end of one of his boring letters: “…there are some Scherdels who live in this town but I don’t know them.” (and he didn’t offer to introduce them either)
From my pen friend Elisabeth who is French but lives in Munich, I got a LOT more information. E has friends and used all of them to hunt down Scherdels living in France. I was put in touch with a lady whose father had been a butcher. We corresponded for awhile. Her father attempted to search out his roots years ago and came to a dead end in the late 1500s and could trace no more. Christiane did send me a piece of the butcher paper her dad used – it was white with blue print of a little Dutch girl chasing a pig and “Scherdel Boucherie” printed below the picture. I have it framed. Another guy sent me a pen from his Scherdel Office Supply (also in France). And Christiane mentioned “the Spanish Scherdels” but I’ve never met any of them. She also sent me a photocopy of a page from a very old book that shows what may be a coat of arms but the name is not spelled exactly the same. These “coats of arms” were given to a commoner who did a favor or huge service for a nobleman. No one has ever discovered who bestowed this emblem or upon whom it was bestowed or why. Chances are it does not involve any of our ancient ancestors but it’s a cool idea, isn’t it? Every one of the Scherdels contacted spell their name in the German way (with a “c”) but pronounce it in the French way. Every one them was very surprised to find there were Scherdels in America.
While in Germany (in 1989 and 1990), I obtained some excellent maps. When mom gave me the obituary notice for my great grandmother, I looked up the town/village where she was born and was delighted to see that it was a skip and a jump from Pegnitz. My boring penpal Peter had inadvertently given me more information than he knew. Both Pettstadt and Pegnitz are in the area once know as Der Oberfranken and are just southwest of “Hof”. Yes, there is actually a town called “Hof”. Because it is near Nuremburg, it is called “Nuremberg Hof” (to distinguish it from less important hofs I would imagine?).
It is entirely possible that my great grandfather came from Pegnitz – or certainly somewhere near there. In the mid 1800s, one did not go cross country to find a bride. But great grandmother lived in a nearby village. This is circumstantial evidence – but very strong. The continuing mystery is why, if grandfather WAS a Scherdel and lived in the area where Scherdels had lived for hundreds of years, why wasn’t he on that family tree? I would love to know and I’ve dreamed of going back there with my daughter by my side (Sharon speaks excellent German) to do some sleuthing and see what we can find out about our German ancestor.
As for our name, the village of Ste. Marie aux Mines (Saint Mary of the Mines), a beautiful medieval village – south of Strausbourg – is believed by the European Scherdels to be the cradle of our name. It is Alsatian.
THANKS PATRICIA
