Obergebiete Training Camp (Germany)
November 6, 1943
Dear Mother,
When I waved to you, you seemed scared; you don’t think I’ll be okay? I can tell you think I’m lost forever, your only son. Mother, I’ll be fine I think, two days in and I think I’ll be fine. Have faith, Mother. If you lose faith, then my fate is sealed.
The training is not too difficult, but every night we are asleep almost immediately. It’s mentally challenging, Mother. I have a few more muscles on my tall and skinny body! This is not like the world I have known. The food is not so good. Keep well.
Your loving son
Franz.
Obergebiete Training Camp (Germany)
November 27, 1943
Dear Mother,
There are lots of men here, young men mostly. There is a group of us in a room, about eight or so. Four of us get along well. We are at one end of the room. I bunk with Heinrich, and Johann and Stein are together. Each of the boys is very different. They are not all blonde and blue-eyed as it was in the Hitler Youth.
Heinrich is the oldest and he seems very backwards about the war, no pride at all. He has a wife and children back home in Berlin, whom he’s constantly writing to and worrying about.
Johann is 24 and I’m fairly sure he’s just in it for the glamour and the uniform, not that any of us really had a choice, or needed one. He’s always talking about the girls we’ll meet on leave. Personally I don’t have a lot of time for him. I can only take so much, and then he begins to drive me mad.
Stein is a quiet sort. He walks with us but isn’t as conversational as the others. I’m not entirely sure what his views on the war are, and I’m not likely to find out. I can’t help my curiosity, but in the middle of a war people are careful about what they hear and what they say for fear of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. Or making the wrong face … unless the truth is written all over the face like Johann!
Your loving son
Franz.
Obergebiete (Germany)
December 14, 1943
Dear Mother,
How are you Mother? I wonder are the shops still open, can you still buy Strasbourg and sausage? There is none of that here, although there is enough food. We have another week or two until training is finished, then it’s the real thing. No more tests, no more excusable mistakes; a single shot and that could be it. It all sounds very serious, doesn’t it?
Mail deliveries are erratic, but do please write when you can get stamps. We all wish for letters.
Your loving son
Franz.
(Unknown)
December 25, 1943
Dear Mother,
Well, Mother, it will be a lonely Christmas this year, for all of us.
Do you remember the Christmas of 1941? We were sure it would all be over by now. We gave it a year at the most, but it’s still going on.
Training finished some days ago and we have been thrust unceremoniously into the wide open war. Days pass, nights pass and still this dreadful thing continues. Everywhere shots are fired, still people are crying, still cities are being destroyed, still we’re waiting for the end, but even when the end arrives, there will still be tears, still people will suffer, still there will be sadness. The struggle will not end when the last shot is fired. Sorry to be bleak, Mother, but I am seeing things that shock me now.
So, Merry Christmas, Mother, and a peaceful New Year – I hope. Make it as happy as possible. Sorry I’m not there and father too. I hope you get some good meat for Christmas dinner.
Your loving son
Franz.
(Unknown)
December 31, 1943
Dear Mother,
The last day of the year has arrived and my life as a soldier is a constant and grim reality. We have been moved out and we are travelling. The training was hard and monotonous but it has made me strong.
I couldn’t tell you where we are even if I wanted to; I have no idea. All I know is this war is cold in more ways than one, and my journey within it has only just begun.
Your loving son
Franz.
Stutthof (Poland)
January 27, 1944
Dear Mother,
It must be freezing in Berlin. I hope you can find some warmth. Today it has all begun for us. We have been moved out. If I wrote and said where we are they’d only cross it out so I’ll just tell you that this place is rather a lot colder than home. Not much has happened yet. We took the train to the cold place and here it is we’ll stay I suppose.
Heil Hitler
Franz.
Stutthof (Poland)
February 9, 1944
Dear Mother,
It’s your birthday today, and I’m sorry I’m not there, but I’m with you in spirit and I’m sending you a hug. Papa won’t be home either, I am sure of that. He’s in the north somewhere or so they tell me, we are close he and I, and if I see him we will send a thought to you.
Soon it will be Spring and there will be flowers and some warmth. Happy Birthday, Mother.
Franz.
Stutthof (Poland)
March 9, 1944
Mother,
My goodness Mother, Johann just came in and told me about the offensive made on the Belorussian front. I can’t believe you haven’t left. Berlin is in danger from this recent campaign.
This morning I was surprised when one of my comrades came to say I had a letter. It was from Papa! I was overjoyed to read that he is well. Being an Oberst he is well informed about the progress of the war in our part of the country. Although he couldn’t say much, he wrote that there would be more raids and now there’s been a daylight raid.
Mother, I’m telling you, you have to get out of Berlin. Please, Mother, go to the countryside, go and stay with Aunt Hilde. You must take care. Hitler is doing his best to protect Germany, or so they say, and we must all do our bit and keep ourselves as safe as possible, for at the end of the war the rewards will be ours, alongside the losses.
Heil Hitler
Franz.
Stutthof (Poland)
April 6, 1944
Mother,
How is the weather at home? Are the flowers blooming yet? Soon the summer will come. They dropped a bomb near our camp, the ground shook and the sky was quickly filled with smoke. Lots of soldiers jumped and yelled, but I was brave. I stood tall at my post and I did not react, until the Captain said that my shift was up.
This war has killed a friend of mine, Helmut. My sector was on patrol, then four of us went on a drive to the edge of the forest to check our boundaries. Apparently a train going down the track near us had some escapees. Unfortunately we met some Partisans, as well as the escapees from the nearby camp. The Partisans were ready for us. We had to run. They had us severely outnumbered. It was run or be caught. We ran. Helmut did not – he was slow to react and they shot him.
Why? I asked one of the soldiers when we got back to camp. Why did they not let him run away with us? When he answered I was astonished. “Look at what we’re doing to their people, think how many we’ve killed, by the million! Imagine it was the other way around. Imagine if ‘they’ were killing us. How would you feel if they turned and ran from you? You’d shoot them.”
Mother, I had no idea. There is so much they don’t tell us. Mother, I am confused and filled with doubt. I have learned things that trouble me.
Your son
Franz.
Stutthof (Poland)
May 30, 1944
Mother,
I wonder how much things have changed in Berlin? It seems so far away. When I was a boy you called me brave. Am I still your brave boy, Mother? I am fighting for Father’s beliefs. Am I making you proud? Are you boasting, Mother?
I’m not scared. I’m not scared. I know what to do.
We are on the move, where to I’m unsure but the weather is no warmer. I am used to my rifle now; I aim well. My Captain says that I am a credit to my country. He says we’re heroes. I’m not sure why especially except that we are part of Hitler’s army fighting for Germany. Perhaps that is heroic enough. I don’t know if I will get leave.
We are all needed here, every day.
Your brave son
Franz.
Unknown (Poland)
June 19, 1944
Mother,
By now I know you haven’t eaten Strasbourg for a while. Food is scarce everywhere, even for soldiers. Summer doesn’t seem to be changing things much in the food department. I am questioning this war, Mother. Is what I am doing right? Are Father’s beliefs decent? Tell me what I am doing is good. Tell me I am fighting for a cause, for the right cause. I have seen some unkind things.
I’m not sending my letters anymore; it’s impossible – my views are changing so quickly and I would be up for treason with half the things I write. They select letters at random and check. Even now I don’t know how many things they crossed out of my previous letters, or if they have opened them at all.
I am not a coward, Mother, and I am proudly German, I am just trying to figure it all out. I will keep writing and save the letters, carefully hidden, for when I see you. As it is paper is scarce.
Mother, send me faith.
Love Franz.
Unknown (Poland)
June 22, 1944
Mother,
Heinrich and I are getting frustrated with this war. He offered to shoot me in the foot yesterday – in return I should shoot him. I believe he was joking; neither of us are such cowards. He’s still a good Nazi.
I wonder what he would say if he knew I had so many doubts about what we’re doing. Heinrich had a family in Berlin. They’ve been moved, although he didn’t say where. Apparently Berlin is like a black hole of smoke and debris – that’s according to his wife, Lena.
Mother, if it is so bad why have you not left? Your last letter was postmarked Berlin. The city was black when I was there; I doubt that it has got any better. Did I tell you Heinrich has daughters, Mother? Rachel and Sabine. They are 12 and 13. That’s why he wants the war over, so he can be with his family. He wants to be sure they are safe; he wants very much to protect them.
I want the chance to feel like that about a woman, I want to be in love and protect her. If that’s the only reason to live through this hell then so be it.
Your son
Franz.
Unknown (Poland)
July 3, 1944
Mother,
Well, tomorrow we’re moving out. A section of the 9th Army has been destabilised and the Captain says that he is sending his best men out there to support what’s left of the army. It must be quite a large operation though. I don’t suppose I should be permitted to say what it is called, so we’ll leave it at that, Mother.
By not sending these letters I am protecting us both, Mother, but I feel compelled to keep a record.
I think the Captain said something about the 2nd being there, working alongside the 9th. Oh, how good it would be to see Father and to know that I was with him, though I would not be able to share my doubts with him. Perhaps I am foolish for having doubts. Maybe all soldiers go through this at some time, when they have seen sickening things.
Your loving son
Franz.
Belorussian Front
August 9, 1944
Mother,
I think that I preferred my previous location much more than this one. Even though it is summer, frostbite can happen. There have been whispers from the soldiers here that there was an attempted assassination on Hitler. Mother, is it true? It is just a rumour, isn’t it?
Hope you’re doing well, Mother. Keep your head held as high as you can. Somehow it will be all right.
Franz.
Belorussian Front
September 4, 1944
Mother,
It is with sadness I write today. Johann died this morning, shot on the front line. I carried him to the First Aid post that is a makeshift hospital. As he lay there, clutching my hand, he said to me, “I fought for the glory, because it’s better than fighting for lies.” Then he asked me to write to his mother in Frankfurt and tell her exactly that. His eyes closed and he was gone. I hope you never have to watch another soul die, Mother.
Your loving son
Franz.
Belorussian Front
October 17, 1944
Mother,
This war scares me. I know you don’t like it. You pretend you’re pro-Nazi like Father but now that they’ve taken your husband and your son, perhaps your feelings have changed? You don’t much care for it, but after all, what mother would.
This war has presented to me life, and the people and cultures that walk among us. I have seen a lot of Jews in this war. They aren’t what Hitler said they were; they’re not dangerous. They aren’t violent, just scared and incredibly confused.
I’m questioning who’s doing the right thing, which side is the right side; what I’m fighting for. Why am I fighting, Mother?
Perhaps we are not heroes like they said – perhaps there is no such thing as a hero. Who can know.
Your son
Franz.
Belorussian Front
October 29, 1944
Mother,
The Front is fractured now. Even so we were ordered in for one last effort and to maintain a presence. To no avail. It was a waste of time, and of life. Then, the order was given to retreat. There are so few left of the 9th, and I doubt much is left of the 2nd. I have had no word on father so I am to assume he came through? The Captain says he thinks I have served my duty well for now and he will transfer me to another one of those camps, I think where they keep the Jews. Such horrid places. I would much prefer to stay on with the army here. But no arguments can be put forward to the Captain.
So I shall go to one of the camps, though not back to that same one I was at before, which I see as being a good thing.
Franz.
Sajmiste (Yugoslavia)
November 14, 1944
Mother,
Yesterday I saw a little girl and I just wanted to hold her, protect her, but the fence divides us. She did not look Jewish and I could not tell her age, but she haunts me. The barbed wire pierces more than my hands. This camp is no longer active, as camps generally are. Still there are reminders, things that contain echoes of all that was done here.
I am part of the clean-up operation as the Partisans are closing in on Belgrade and we have to get out of here and leave no evidence. It is unspeakable what has happened here, unspeakable and inhuman. These Partisans aim to free the wretched. This much I have learned.
My God, Mother, what am I doing?
Franz.
Sajmiste (Yugoslavia)
November 19, 1944
Mother,
They told me not to wander from camp but I needed fresh air. The air here is anything but fresh. It is tinged with the smell of death and torture. How many did I bury today? So I wandered away from the boundaries of the camp into the forest. I confess I tried my hardest to get lost but instead I found trouble. As I turned to make my way back I faced a gun – cocked.
The man holding the gun was out of uniform and had a rough appearance. I could tell by his expression that he was no friend to me. He told me to step into the light, said he wanted to see the light leave my eyes when he pulled the trigger. This was my saving grace, for he hesitated. Could he see what a kid I really was? He is a human being and in that brief moment maybe he saw me as that.
I have met men like him before, older, numb and brutal who fight to kill. Fair enough. He was surprised when I did as he told me. Before he pulled the trigger, he asked why I did not try to fight him, why didn’t I call out? My relaxed air seemed to make him uneasy. In fact, I was all out of ideas, so, calmly, I told him, “I’m wrong, my army is wrong, we are led by a man who is mad and only has followers because he is a bully and a tyrant. I have seen the death. You’re fighting to save lives of innocent people who have been put into camps. It’s simple, you’re right, I’m wrong. I surrender to your gun.”
I had intrigued him, I think. He ordered me to sit. We sat together under a tree as the sun went down and he questioned my values, my thoughts and me, all the while the gun cocked in his hand. He came to the decision to either kill me, or I would join him. You know where my loyalties lie, Mother, you know whom I’m fighting for.
This man with the gun also knows, now, where my loyalties lie.
Affectionately
Franz.
Belgrade (Yugoslavia)
November 29, 1944
Mother,
I spy with my little eye, the Allies, and there’s me, standing between them and us. Allies against Germany. Two strangers: the memory of a fresh-faced Nazi youth, and the Resistance man in the mirror staring back at me. Who I was, and who I am.
Mama, I have something dreadful to tell you.
I attacked a platoon as a member of the Resistance and I saw Father! Before I could call out, Mother, he was shot by one of the men fighting beside me. I froze, unable to stop the shooting, unable to save him. Powerless.
As he fell he saw me, and his eyes were filled with nothing but confusion, to see his Aryan son in the clothes of a Partisan. And then they faded, the lights went out, coldly they reflected my defection.
My Papa, your husband, the Oberst, the great German patriot, died.
I know this will break your heart, it broke mine to see him fall and not to be able to run out and hold him while he died. My father is dead, but I want to believe that his dying eyes told me I had done right in defecting.
I’ll be with you soon, Mother. I hope. I love you very much and miss you terribly.
With love
Franz.
Unknown (Yugoslavia)
December 31, 1944
Mother,
Another year is ending and here we are still fighting. Nothing’s changed since last year, aside from my opinions on the war and whom to fight for. There is much talk of ‘liberations’. That is what we Partisans do, we support the liberation of detained people through our actions against Nazi transports.
Merry Christmas, Mother, I hope I see you soon.
Franz.
Unknown (Yugoslavia)
February 1, 1945
Mother,
We’re on the front line now, still fighting, still dying, still crying. The end is beginning; we heard today that Auschwitz has been liberated by the Soviets. I have faith that it will all be over soon, Mother. It will be okay, I just know it! I love you, Mother, I will be home soon.
Your son
Franz.
Unknown (Yugoslavia)
March 16, 1945
Mother,
Things are changing, Mother, we’re getting news about surrenders and take-overs every day. I can’t tell you how the spirits of these men have lifted, and we know we’ll be home soon. My friend Bojan is talking non-stop about getting back to his family. He has children, three or four I think, and he’s only 24. It’s really rather incredible.
Well, I hope you are doing well, Mother, and that it isn’t just us enjoying the end of the war.
Franz.
Belgrade (Yugoslavia)
May 1, 1945
Mother,
We are back in Belgrade. It’s not a bad place to pass through really, and there is a fresh supply of news and interest in the progression of the war.
We read today that Mussolini has been captured and hanged by Partisans, almost two years after he was arrested and the Italians surrendered to the Allies.
Even more unbelievable, HITLER has committed suicide. I hardly dare to believe it, Mother, in the space of three days the two darkest and most powerful takers of life are dead.
It is strange to think that on Saturday they were making plans and by Monday they were gone. Italian Partisans helped the Allies as translators and guides after the surrender. Their country was still full of German soldiers. Now they are with us all the way to peace.
Mother, they say it’s only a matter of days before the white flag is held up and peace is declared.
Franz.
Belgrade (Yugoslavia)
May 9, 1945
Mother,
History has been made today; it has to be over now. Germany finally surrendered on Tuesday. Today it feels like a weight has been lifted. The boys are talking about going home; I suppose that means me as well. I’ve learnt a lot with these men, not only other languages but another way of life. And there are women Partisans too. It’s such a big world, Mother, so many things to see and do, but first I’ll come back, first I’ll stop, first I’ll come home to you.
You will hardly recognize me. Before I went I was young but not strong. Now I am strong and I believe honourable in what I decided in this war. I am lucky to have made it through in one piece. I have seen such awful things, Mother, things that you would not believe and that I will never tell you.
Franz.
Unknown (Yugoslavia)
June 3, 1945
Mother,
I’m writing to you just for the thrill of writing it, maybe writing it down will make it feel more real. IT’S OVER! I’ll be home soon. I can post this letter! To Aunt Hilde, I think.
Franz.
Adriatic Sea (Yugoslavia)
June 23, 1945
Mother,
I’ll be home soon, Mother. These last few months of the war have been awful; passing through Yugoslavia was the worst. An older man whom I met walking through Belgrade told me of an order given in 1941 to kill 50 communists for every wounded German soldier, and for each German killed, 100 communists were to be massacred. From what I have seen, I can believe it. People don’t forget; you can feel the memories everywhere.
Now I’m on the shore of the Adriatic Sea after passing through the Dinaric Alps. Mother, I found a young girl on the shore who had been mixed up in the war, a Russian girl I think. I took her to the Relief Station and kept an eye on her. They told me she has shell shock and she is not very communicative yet, but kindness and time might help. I have her with me. She seems still lost in her own mind. I cannot leave her alone. I feel I must protect her. I’ll be home in a few weeks. I have to deal with some issues that have arisen. After all the killing, after it’s all over; still shots are fired after the last bullet.
Franz.
Vienna (Austria)
July 18, 1945
Mother,
We are in Vienna for a few days before making the next connection with the train to Berlin. There is a lot of hopping on and off trains. It is difficult to move so many displaced people around Europe, and so many are traumatised beyond reach.
My Russian friend is Helga. Her German is not very good, not that she has said much. Neither is my Russian. She is overwhelmed here and I think she craves the company of women; she doesn’t like to be touched. She seems lost in translation, unable to cry out. She just observes in silence, with the occasional word of acknowledgement and her contorted facial expressions.
Her searching eyes are sunken as if she has somehow fallen from grace into a place where nobody hears her. She’s a girl from a faraway place and maybe she’s escaped war, but I sense she’s still in hell. She’s lost and I am bringing her home, Mother, to you. We can mend her.
Franz.
Vienna (Austria)
July 27, 1945
Mother,
Once again we have been delayed in Vienna; quite a long and complicated explanation all to do with the bombing of the railways. I can’t say exactly when we’ll get to Berlin nor can I say when we’ll be home.
Helga Sidorov has quite a story. She talked to me some weeks ago, and told me about her experiences. She spoke in a mixture of German, English and Russian, but it was the tears and the actions she performed that allowed me to understand her. I would never have guessed she had such an involvement in this horrendous war. I thought she was just a lost soul caught up in pain, her mind distorted after seeing and hearing of such horrors, but it seems her trauma comes from her own experience. Helga also fought with a Resistance group, she finally told me through this long journey. It would seem that the innocent-looking woman in front of me has known what it means to take a life.
Mama, my friend Helga lost her best friend, just like you lost yours when Papa died.
I’m bringing her home with me; I have to make her safe again, Mama.
Franz.
Vienna (Austria)
August 31, 1945
Mother,
We leave today. I am just going to come home with the hope that you are still there. Nothing suggests that you won’t be, though I have to wonder if you would have stayed. It will be good to be with family again, Mother, and Helga does so look forward to meeting you.
Well, Mother, I hope to see you soon. Will you be able to get some Strasbourg for us?
Franz.