I was swapping life stories with a new friend, Jørn the other day. He’s a Dane who was born in Flensburg, just south of the current border with Germany, in 1938. His family had lived there for many generations, during which time his hometown had been both north and south of the border! But they lived in a Danish-speaking community.
In 1939 his dad was called up by the Wehrmacht and went off to war until 1945. During his war service he fought in Italy and at Utah beach against the US forces during the D-day landings.
He finally returned ‘home’ to Denmark – where his wife and son now lived – in 1947, having been ‘delayed’ as a PoW in Germany. Jørn remembers seeing him when he came home to Flensburg on leave but has always felt uncomfortable with the idea that his dad fought for Germany.
Perhaps not as uncomfortable as his father was!
I once knew a Latvian. Even though he was of German extraction, he wasn’t too impressed with the German occupation of Latvia. He was quite young at the time – and still at school.
He was pulled out of school and told he had to fly for the Germans – he was still young enough to think he had a choice… he rapidly learnt better!
As far as I know, he never returned to Latvia – he always felt exceptionally uncomfortable that he had fought for the Germans.
I recall that during my Austrian period I worked for a Sudetenlander (east Czech Republic now) whose dad had to fight for Germany too, much to his and my boss’s disgust.
It’s not that uncommon, I used to go to Gatwick every year to pick up my Mother In Law after she returrned from her old Panzer regiment annual reunion.
Spare a thought for poor old Alsace Lorraine, its changed nationality more times than one can remember!
I had a Lithuanian uncle that hated the Russians just as much, he watched his parents shot to death on their own doorstep giving him time to escape. Their crime? Being of the landowning class. I think he thought quite well of the receding beaten krauts!
If Hitler had won, I doubt he would have felt remotely guilty.