I’ve recently read someone else’s PhD thesis. Besides reminding me of the daunting task ahead of me, it’s been useful to me in justifying the approach I’ve decided to take.
Writing about Anglo-German encounters in Hamburg (part of the British zone of Germany) between 1945 and 1949, Frances Rosenfeld describes ‘the great divide between those Germans who participated in Anglo-German activities and the vast majority of Germans on the outside’, those who had no contact with Brits in formal social settings.
Informal relationships were also rare in a city of one million, and the proportion of Brits in the UK who came into contact with Germans in the post-war years must have been even smaller.
My last post explored the powerful influence of direct contact with an ‘other’ on our perception of the national group to which he or she belongs. But Rosenfeld’s thesis proved that my niggling thought in the back of my brain was correct. If I want to study the dominant ideas that British and German people had about each other, personal encounters are of no use to me – the majority had no such encounters.
In my research so far, however, I’ve uncovered a huge assortment of fascinating – sometimes tragic but mostly inspiring – stories of encounters between individual Brits and Germans in those post-war years.
I’d like to share some of these with you over my next few posts. They won’t have a place in my thesis but deserve to be shared.
Many of them emerge from the Kindertransport. In 1938, the British government decided to allow Jewish children from all over Germany and occupied Europe to come to the UK and live with British families.
10,000 children arrived and were taken in by families all over the country, many of whom had too many mouths to feed already and many of whom would soon send sons, husbands and brothers to fight the nation from which those children came. But they welcomed them, fed them and loved them, so much so that many stayed with their foster families after the war.
There’s the story of the 12-year-old girl living in Kensington, desperate to save
her Jewish parents still living in Germany. For many days, she knocks on the doors of large houses in south-west London, asking for help, with no response. Eventually, a woman takes pity on her and offers her parents work in her house. With offers of jobs, the girl’s mother and father are allowed to come to London and they’re re-united.
Another young girl writes to the Home Office, asking for her parents to be saved. So moved by the child’s letter, officials trace her parents and arrange for their safe passage.
One girl has a sister still in danger in Europe. She asks her foster family if they would take her as well. The father asks, “What colour is her hair?” The girl, whose sister has red hair, knows that he despises that colour, so she lies, exposing herself to his wrath! When her sister arrives with flaming red hair, the father is angry but accepts her soon enough.
Such small, but life-saving, acts of bravery deserve to be known. I’ll share more with you as I find them.