War From War

A happy childhood in the Paradise of the Banat. A coming of age, thrown out of the services company, to fight in the Hell of the Russian Front. Purgatory in a foreign land. For, war does not end when the immediate fighting is over and everyone still (more or less) alive has left the battle-field. A man may be brought down instantly by his injuries or, just as inevitably, near the end of a long life. There are also lasting injuries invisible and incalculable in their untoward effects.

My father was descended from German emigrants (to escape the Franco-German wars) settling in Austro-Hungary, caught-up in the Great War, and annexed to Romania. He was conscripted in the second world war, and captured, accepting the offer of work in England, where he was, at first, interned and later naturalised. An artisan by trade, a sportsman by inclination, fighting a long rear-guard action against his war injury.

My fathers story is followed by a kaleidoscope of after-thoughts. I outline answers to the problem of turning war into peace.
A supplement includes a long letter in German by a prisoner of war comrade, on returning home.