The Scorned Nazi Who Terrorised A German School With A Flamethrower

On the warm morning of 11th June 1964, parents in the Cologne suburb of Volkhoven sent their children off to school — a familiar, everyday ritual, with nothing to suggest it would soon be overshadowed by a post-war horror beyond anyone’s imagination.

What unfolded that day at the Catholic elementary school is now remembered simply as the Cologne school massacre — an atrocity that continues to haunt the town more than six decades later.

The perpetrator was Walter Seifert, a 42-year-old former Nazi soldier. Neighbours remembered him as an eccentric loner who seemed harmless, but behind closed doors, Seifert had grown increasingly paranoid and bitter — a resentment that would soon erupt into violence.

In August 1946, Seifert contracted tuberculosis in his right lung and was soon declared unfit for service, resulting in his dismissal. In the years that followed, his attempts to secure any form of subsistence were repeatedly denied, leaving him embittered and convinced that he had been cheated out of his war pension.

Over the years, his obsession with perceived injustices had hardened into a simmering rage — one that would erupt into a horrifying act of vengeance against society.

At around 9 a.m. on that June morning, Seifert arrived at the school armed with a terrifying array of weapons, including a homemade flamethrower and a modified spear fashioned from a broomstick.

The school consisted of a main building and four smaller surrounding barracks, each housing classrooms. That day, 380 students and eight teachers were on the premises.

As Seifert slipped onto the school grounds, his presence did not go unnoticed — three crossing guards spotted him, but tragically mistook him for a maintenance worker scheduled to repair a broken gate lock. Left unchecked, he was free to carry out his plan.

Seifert first approached a girls’ physical education class taking place in the schoolyard, led by teacher Anna Langohr.

When Anna noticed him advancing rapidly toward the lesson, she called out, asking if she could help. He offered no response. Instead, Seifert ignited his flamethrower, trained it on the teacher and students, and unleashed a sudden, terrifying attack.

As chaos erupted, Seifert stormed into one of the barracks, smashed the windows, and trained his flamethrower on the children seated at their desks, engulfing them in flames.

Panic swept through the classroom as children scrambled and leapt from the burning building. Only then did Seifert realise his flamethrower had run out of fuel.

As Seifert discarded his now-useless flamethrower, he was confronted in the schoolyard by another teacher, Gertrud Bollenrath.

Silent and expressionless, he drew his spear and drove it into her chest, killing her instantly, before moving on to the next barrack.

Alerted by the commotion from the other buildings, teachers Ursula Kuhr and Mrs. Kunz attempted to barricade the doors. Despite their desperate efforts, Seifert forced his way inside.

Amid the chaos, Ursula lost her balance and tumbled down a flight of stairs. Seifert followed her, striking her in the legs and shoulders, killing her before moving on.

Teachers fought desperately to shield their students and evacuate the classrooms. Their courage saved many lives, but the toll was still horrific: eight children and two teachers were killed, while many others suffered severe burns over as much as 90% of their bodies — injuries that left lasting physical and psychological scars.

About fifteen minutes after the attack began, Seifert fled the school grounds and attempted to commit suicide by swallowing E605, a poisonous insecticide.

The poison was diluted in his system, however, and he remained alive long enough to be pursued by a mob of roughly thirty people. Sprinting toward a nearby railway embankment, he tried to fend them off with his spear.

At 9:38am, police arrived at the scene. After Seifert attempted to stab an officer, he was shot in the leg, subdued, and taken into custody. He was transported to the University Hospital in Lindenthal, where he was extensively questioned before finally succumbing to the poison at 8:35pm.

In the aftermath of the attack, the people of Cologne were left to pick up the pieces. Grieving families laid their children to rest, their wails echoing through a city forever scarred. Teachers lingered in empty classrooms, haunted by the faces and voices they would carry with them for the rest of their lives.

Germany was forced to confront a set of uncomfortable truths. How had a man like Seifert slipped through the cracks, unnoticed? How had paranoia and delusion been allowed to harden into catastrophe? A peaceful suburb had been thrown into chaos, a war waged on its streets — without a single siren ever sounding.

In an act of defiance against such evil, the school was rebuilt. Though Volkhoven had been irrevocably changed, life slowly began to return.

Every year since, the community pauses not only to honour the innocent victims but to remember the day the town was forced to confront its own fragility.

The Cologne school massacre now stands as a haunting chapter in the history of mass violence. It delivered a hard lesson long before the world was ready to hear it: that even in the safest places, human darkness can find a way in.