World War II from the German point of view
The little man came into the Museum from the desert, dusted himself off, looked around and I attached myself to him and his other German friends just in from Berlin.
Timid, tiny and a little reticent to speak English (as they all are, until I pried him open) he began to talk about B 17s over his city when he was four or five, the bombings, rubble, death and confusion everywhere. He remembered everything, His companions did too. One spoke no English, or at least preferred to let on.
The little fellow was highly intelligent, well educated, and excited to talk about his experiences. He said that all the older men in Berlin were gone when the bombing started: dead, drafted, hiding, in the army, eastern front, in the hospitals wounded, or just out of the way.
It was the mothers, grown sisters, the grandmothers women who cared for the many children homeless during and right after the American, English and Russian bombing.
The Americans were the best, he said. 'Why," I asked, since a lot of Germans in the Museum showed high discontent for the Army Air Corps.
They brought food and shelter, nurses, doctors and opened hospitals almost immediately, the old man told me. We kids loved the GI's. Wherever we saw the Army soldiers, they were good for food and chocolate, and we knew we were safe.
I was totally non-plussed. In three months, I had never heard that before. Hang around long enough and you'll hear everything.
Once, I was sitting alone in the Museum and an old man walked in, grumbling and shaking his fist at the WWII bomber in the middle of the floor. Cursing and jerking his fist at the plane, mumbling, he finally came over to me, signing the register, and I asked him, " why are you so angry?"
" You people bombed and killed my family in Dresden when I was ten. I can still smell the burning flesh of my parents from the fire bombs in my nostrils, you pig.'
Speechless, I finally found my sea legs and replied, " well, thank God you are still alive. He still cursed me.
A bit more firm, I gave him something to think about before he stormed out.
" Sir, think about this, - at least you weren't in London." He left.
The English firebombed Dresden, we didn't. The Germans V-bombed London carelessly for years, killing thousands, with the fore-runners of cruise-missles.
Never mind.
###
Timid, tiny and a little reticent to speak English (as they all are, until I pried him open) he began to talk about B 17s over his city when he was four or five, the bombings, rubble, death and confusion everywhere. He remembered everything, His companions did too. One spoke no English, or at least preferred to let on.
The little fellow was highly intelligent, well educated, and excited to talk about his experiences. He said that all the older men in Berlin were gone when the bombing started: dead, drafted, hiding, in the army, eastern front, in the hospitals wounded, or just out of the way.
It was the mothers, grown sisters, the grandmothers women who cared for the many children homeless during and right after the American, English and Russian bombing.
The Americans were the best, he said. 'Why," I asked, since a lot of Germans in the Museum showed high discontent for the Army Air Corps.
They brought food and shelter, nurses, doctors and opened hospitals almost immediately, the old man told me. We kids loved the GI's. Wherever we saw the Army soldiers, they were good for food and chocolate, and we knew we were safe.
I was totally non-plussed. In three months, I had never heard that before. Hang around long enough and you'll hear everything.
Once, I was sitting alone in the Museum and an old man walked in, grumbling and shaking his fist at the WWII bomber in the middle of the floor. Cursing and jerking his fist at the plane, mumbling, he finally came over to me, signing the register, and I asked him, " why are you so angry?"
" You people bombed and killed my family in Dresden when I was ten. I can still smell the burning flesh of my parents from the fire bombs in my nostrils, you pig.'
Speechless, I finally found my sea legs and replied, " well, thank God you are still alive. He still cursed me.
A bit more firm, I gave him something to think about before he stormed out.
" Sir, think about this, - at least you weren't in London." He left.
The English firebombed Dresden, we didn't. The Germans V-bombed London carelessly for years, killing thousands, with the fore-runners of cruise-missles.
Never mind.
###
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