Reading Christine Hayes’s letter (31 May) on her memories of German prisoners of war reminded me of a formative early childhood experience during the second world war. We lived in Hereford and, one Christmas, my parents invited over two German prisoners from the local camp for the day. They entertained us around the piano, singing carols. Anxious to bring gifts, they found twigs in our wintry garden and carved wooden whistles for my little sister and me.
Polite, heartbreakingly young, handsome and grateful, they made a huge impact on me. Later that night, after they had been collected and returned to the camp, our neighbours threw bricks through our windows.
My shocked parents tried to explain the possible reasons for this attack. I have never forgotten my bewilderment. But what I learned from it, over time, certainly clarified and enriched my view of the world.
Judith Dryhurst
Newcastle upon Tyne
• In the second world war my farmworker father had to supervise a group of Italian prisoners, and he and my mother, unlike many local people, were sympathetic and friendly. Despite being officially warned about the evils of “fraternisation”, Mum continued surreptitiously to share her scanty cigarette allowance, while my sister Maureen and I happily “fraternised” with men badly missing their own children. After repatriation, Sergeant-Pilot Rosario Pistritto, an artist in civilian life, sent us from Naples a beautiful pencil drawing of my mother, signed “eternalli grateful, Rosario”.
Maureen and I think that he was a bit in love with our mum; Dad always maintained that it was the Woodbines.
Martin Minogue
Knighton, Powys
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