[The following is taken from a memoir of Irmgard A. Hunt, who grew up in the mountains under Hitler’s Eagles Nest during the Second World War.]
Yet during that May 1945, instead of dark, gray clouds weeping over millions of shattered lives and bloody deeds, the sun shone brilliantly from a velvety, deep blue sky. The mountain meadows once again gloried in their coats of brightly colored buds and blossoms of an infinite variety, signaling rebirth. But my mother did not sing her spring songs this year. When I tried to sing by myself, I felt sad and empty, for inevitably my father’s favorite songs came to me, and before I got to “und auf den Wiesen Blümen rot und blau” (and on the meadows bloom the little flowers red and blue), I had to hide and cry.
He was buried somewhere in France, and I was sure no one had planted a flower on his resting place. Who would have, for a soldier who had fought for Hitler?
Source:
Hunt, Irmgard A. “The End At Last.” On Hitler’s Mountain: Overcoming the Legacy of a Nazi Childhood. New York: Harper Collins Publishers, 2005. 218. Print.
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