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It now is one year ago that I have made a trip to the Channel coast in the north of France to follow the Atlantic Wall, build by the Germans during WW2, until L’Orient in Brittany.

Until 2022 war was a word that we used in history lessons or news from abroad. But since 2022 war came close to us here in central Europe. Not (yet) here but not far away anymore and after nearly 5 years of war in the entire Ukraine many of us began to think and to discuss in a new way about war.

My parents were born in the first decade after WW2. And when collecting parts of the history of my family, mainly my grand parents from my father’s side, I often try to imagine life in the early post war time in Europe. 

My grandfather returned after more than 3 years from prison of war in Russia.

Expellees in their Homeland (their former home is now situated in Czech Republic and expulsion was as cruel as everything that happened during the war time in Europe) the rebuilt their lives after 1948. What happened before this moment of personal and social reconstruction never was a topic to discuss with my grand parents, I was too young to be interested in this at the times when they were still alive and as my dad also passed away some years ago its too late to pick up the mosaic stones of my grand parents’ lives.

I think for us, not living in war, it is still nearly impossible to imagine the dimensions of war, especially a world war. In order to get a glimpse of this dimension I decided to spend a week in the North of France and walk on the beaches of Normandy where the fate of history began to change with the human sacrifice of D-Day.

My way from Switzerland to the Channel Coast led me through the region of Verdun. This region in Europe has been the venue for intense battles during both world wars. Some zones are still red zones, not possible to rebuild villages or practice agriculture. Nature claims back those acres of land and trees grow over small and huge bomb craters.

By chance I found a German military cemetery from WW2 just five kilometres east of the small country road that took me north. It was the German Military of Andilly. This was the first real encounter with the traces of war.

It was a beautiful late summer day and I spent more than an hour strolling across the lines of grey stone crosses. Each cross was engraved with 6 names (or „*unknown german soldier“). I found it a ironic that the compact shape of the crosses resemble grey uniformed soldiers all well aligned for a last eternal Parade.

When looking at the tomb stones of these roughly 45000 lost souls I stated that many of them were just 18 years old when they died.

In a last attempt of resistance the Reich sent thousands of teenagers to the slaughterhouse.

But there were also these many unknown soldiers that touched me deeply. So many families had no certainty of the fate of their fathers, sons, uncles in the first decade after the war was finished.

At the bottom of one grave stone was placed a laminated had written card: „Unfortunately we never had the chance to meet. But at least you were blessed to know that I exist. In love, your son Willi. Born 19.07.1944“.

His father died a few weeks after is son’s birth. And the war still had to fought for more than half a year until the capitulation of The Reich.

I stood in front of this tombstone for minutes and had some tears in my eyes. I imagined the 45’000 other families that have been broken by the war. And this is only one of so many military cemeteries. Millions of families all over the world who had to send their husbands & sons to a war that would never had been their decision to begin. History is cruel and so can be humans.

I think it is important to estimate the dimension of war when we discuss in our current days about peace and security. Freedom is worth being defended. And regaining freedom costs unimaginable human sacrifice.