When German
troops arrived, Latvian men were actively encouraged to fight at Germany’s side
against an oppressive, communist Red Army.
Every village displayed posters celebrating the arrival of a liberating
German army but my father was not fooled.
During his sixty-six years, he had experienced degradation and
inequality under the rule of German nobility as well as varying Russian
authoritarians in equal portion. Any non-Latvian
administration was bad for the people of Latvia.
My mother,
Anna,believed me too ill for the army, any army. She assured me I was safe at home on the farm
with them.
"The
German army want tall, straight, strong men" she said. "No
German officer will want a 19 year old boy with a twisted, ulcerated leg. No one will want you to go and fight."
My left
leg never fully recovered from that week I spent in my sick bed. Even after almost three years, it stubbornly
refused to straighten fully.
Not
long after my eighteenth birthday on 7 January 1942, I was interviewed by the German
military but dismissed as unfit for military service, just as mother had
promised. I was assigned to compulsory
labour duties along with those of my neighbours also pronounced as either unfit
or too old for military uniform. Mother convinced me the same would happen
again when I attended Ranka
Guard House on 20 March 1943 for a follow up medical but she
was wrong. The draft doctor dismissed my impairment. Apparently,
Hitler likes a challenge.
Although
I did not know it at the time of my assessment, the doctor had a set quota of
Latvian men and boys to conscript into uniform.
I think that is why minor handicaps were overlooked. I have to
wait and see if the army will be good for my left leg; see if the marching
exercises will straighten it out forever.
 |
1941 1st July 1942
Happily towards a common future |
