In July 1918, Erich Posselt wrote a poem. “It wasn't a very good poem,” he would write later, “and it was decidedly not for publication.” But it landed him in an American internment camp for 17 months. It began like this.
Six little aviators
Went flying out one day;
They wished to go to Coblenz,
And never came away.
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My grandparents were all immigrants from Germany in the 1880s and 1890s. Although they never spoke much about the time during WWI. My one grandfather did mention how he was treated a little. He talked about being beaten for being German. Also, many of the merchants would not allow or sell to Germans. My memories of these stories are vague. I was probably only seven to ten when we talked, and that was over 50-years ago.
ReplyDeleteI do know that during WWII, my father and uncles being first-generation Americans were not allowed in the European Theater until late in the war. Only my one youngest uncle was in Europe. The rest of my family was all in the Pacific. My dad was a strong man, but what he did in the war disturbed him, his whole life. He never spoke about it, ever. I remember evening when they all sat around talking. My uncles would talk about their experiences, but never dad. In his later years, I ask him once what he did. He just teared up, shook his head, and walked away. I do know from talk from my uncles, he cleared Japanese tunnels on several islands. Whatever he did, troubled him, the rest of his life.
Badger
Thanks for the wonderful stories and I'm sure you have this and more saved for those we leave behind.
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