A memorable encounter with an anonymous former enemy.

        It was the 50th anniversary of the declaration of war that started me absorbing World War Two facts like a sponge. It was at about the same time that I first started learning German, revealing that I was something of a skilled linguist. Keenness to get to know the nations themselves had long been a subconscious aim of mine. Therefore, and unsurprisingly, I started a degree in Modern Languages and European Studies shortly after the 50th anniversary of D-Day. Thereby, I became a relative expert in post-war Europe which added to what I had diligently learned about the history of the war - both battles and policies.  

         One key facet of warfare which fascinated me which I got to know well was aerial warfare. It started with documentaries and computer games about the Battle of Britain. From those, I got to know about many aircraft, such as the Spitfire and Hurricane as well as the Luftwaffe's Messerschmidt Bf 109. In addition to fighter planes, the Luftwaffe flew a number of bombers. Besides standard bombers, such as the Heinkel He 111, there were also dive bombers including the notorious JU 87 "Stuka". The other dive bomber, also manufactured by Junkers, was the JU 88. 

         Capable of far more than the JU 87, during the Battle of Britain, the JU 88 was used to attack allied shipping, radar sites, and air fields. It was actually a multi-role aircraft, still best known as a dive bomber. Junkers ended up building three times as many of them than they built of the Stuka. 

         Thus was my knowledge of the aerial war one year into my degree when during a summer break between academic years, I worked as a porter at a hotel in the Black Forest in south west Germany. 

         In addition to carrying guests' suitcases to their rooms, there was plenty to get up to in Triberg-im-Schwarzwald, which is also home of the world's biggest cuckoo clock. It was valuable hands on experience for this trilingual student, as a requirement in the job advertisement was for a French speaker. One key memory of my time as the Hotelportier was when a French guest gave the reception a strict talking-to about having been left a German newspaper, rather than a French newspaper at his room in the morning. Swiftly becoming an impromptu French-German-French interpreter pleasantly surprised everyone, especially myself. 

        Further to this enlivening skill building, there was also variety among the staff of the hotel. Most significantly of all were the housekeepers, 5 of whom were Bosnian refugees from the civil war and insurgencies of the former Yugoslavia. One of them had managed to escape the siege of Sarajevo, carrying her 2-year-old with her. That city is also where World War One began, with the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. They satisfied my curiosity, explaining also that unlike media reports, different groups did get along as there happened to be good Serbs as well. When I asked if that applied to Radovan Karadžić, President of the Bosnian-Serb proto-state Republika Srpska, several of them sternly answered, "nein." Among this, and to a greater extent, there were frequent lighter moments such as dirty jokes about having to clean up newly-weds' rooms and change bed sheets more frequently than in other rooms. They had all been clearly enjoying the most recent year-and-a-half of peace.

      Among all of this and getting on well with the American, British, French, Dutch, and German guests, there is one guest in particular whom I will never forget. One of many guests who were retirees was a septuagenarian or an octogenarian German. He used a walking stick, and when turning to look out of his room's window, he had a brief pinched expression and said, "my leg," while touching his hip. Sensing my concern, he said that his hip had been like that since the War. "The War?" I asked. During the war, he had been a Luftwaffe pilot. "My plane was a Junkers 88." 

         "Junkers 88, the dive bomber?" I asked.

         "Yes, among other things. How do you know this?"

         "I've just learned a bit about it."

         He quickly went on to tell me that during a solo reconnaissance mission over the Mediterranean, he had been shot down. The volley of machine gun fire from "maybe a British, or maybe an American plane" which had blown one his JU 88's engines left his right leg bullet-riddled. Having bailed out, a flying boat spotted the coloured dye he used in the Mediterranean (standard issue to Luftwaffe pilots), and it rescued him from bleeding to death. 

         Patched-up and still in a stretcher, his army hospital was overrun by the US Army after the battle of Montecassino. When G.I.s entered his ward, he said, "Ich ergebe mich." The Americans clearly didn't know that he was telling them that he was surrendering, so he raised both of his hands. After I replied that doing so has a clear meaning to everyone, he became curious about me. 

        "Sie sind nicht Schwarzwalder?" / "You are not from the Black Forrest?"

        "Ich bin Englander." / "I'm from England."

      It was as if a metaphoric pause button had been pressed, as he was extremely surprised to meet someone from one of the former Allied powers. During the post-war period, he had been apprehensive about visiting any one of them, even neighbouring France. "Wieso?" / "How come?" I queried. After having been taken to a POW camp, they were all shown photographs and films which came from recently discovered and liberated concentration camps. If only he had known, he would have stopped flying before having been shot down. 

        Speaking in an exasperated tone, he firmly declared that for roughly 25 years, he had been ashamed of being German. Knowing what began to take place in German society in the late 60s/early 70s reminded me of what I had recently learned: The principle called Vergangenheitsbewältigung. It means "struggle of overcoming the past", which encapsulates the societal and personal self-reflection that took place. I then asked, "then came your own Vergangenheitsbewältigung?" Astonished that I knew about the principle within this German compound noun, "you know so much!" 

       He was probably sticking to this principle when he asked what I still think was an unnecessary question. "Did your family of any of your friends' families suffer?" Even after I answered that I didn't think that any of them had, he still insisted that he was personally sorry for it. As I left to leave him to enjoy his stay and to have my lunch, as we shook hands his parting words were "keine verdammte Kriege mehr!" - "no more damn wars."

         On my way back to the break room where the hotel staff had their joint lunches, I was frankly bewildered. After telling my parents upon returning to England, I ensured myself that I would make the most of it being a good grounding for the sociopolitical parts of my degree. This was invaluable when I lived in Berlin 2 years thereafter doing both work experience and also in writing a research assignment Berlin als Hauptstadt der Bundesrepublik (Berlin as the capital of the Federal Republic). Berlin had become Germany's capital city once again in 1991, and the parliament was due to relocate there from Bonn one year later. 

         Not only have I had an improved approach to observing and analyzing anything, but also it is surely no surprise that nearly 3 decades after speaking with a former pilot of a former national enemy, the entire encounter and conversation is entirely unforgettable.