I never knew my grandfather.

He died in '81. A year before I was born. He was a traindriver and a drafted soldier, tasked with driving trains east. A very nasty thing he encountered was driving cattle trains eastward towards Poland, a little town called Auswitch. The thing was, these trains were filled with actual people. Nobody would believe him. I mean, how could they. Nobody would actually order such a heinous thing! He took pictures, at great risk to himself. These pictures ended up in a state archive.

After that he was ordered to the eastern front in Russia and got captured.

As far as I got told the story he came back to his hometown in Damme, Germany in 1946, a broken, traumatized and angry man, and died in '81. He used to play a large number of instruments (clarinet, horns, trumpet, organ, piano and violin) but never touched them after he came back. He was traumatized, angry and agressive towards his children. My nephew who knew him, danced on his grave after his burial. That's how broken he was.

I inherited his violin as I am the only one in my (very large) family who plays the violin. Its battered and bruised and in very need of repair, as I am sure my grandfather was. Which it will receive soon.

It's a sad story on the other side of the conflict which receives very little attention, but deserves to be heard every now and then. Not every German was bad in that period.