Reading Christine Hayes’s letter (31 May) on her memories of German prisoners of war reminded me of a formative early childhood experience during the second world war. We lived in Hereford and, one Christmas, my parents invited over two German prisoners from the local camp for the day. They entertained us around the piano, singing carols. Anxious to bring gifts, they found twigs in our wintry garden and carved wooden whistles for my little sister and me.
Polite, heartbreakingly young, handsome and grateful, they made a huge impact on me. Later that night, after they had been collected and returned to the camp, our neighbours threw bricks through our windows.
