A Stranger in My Own Country (33 page)

The Führer has spoken. Solemn silence – then the German national anthem followed by the Nazi Party anthem, the Horst Wessel Song. ‘Raise high the flag, close tight the ranks, SA marches on . . .' Silence. The doctor has quickly turned down the volume knob on the loudspeaker to mute the sound. He glances at the people around him, and I do the same: quite a few of them are sporting Party badges in their buttonholes. ‘Another incorrigible chancer', I think to myself. ‘They'll take it out on you for not letting the Horst Wessel Song play out to the end when war was declared.' And I smile at him. It's the same doctor who shares my view that Germany would be better off as a British
mandated territory. Incorrigibly rash, and incorrigibly true-hearted. He whispers to me: ‘All the same, I hope we win. The German soldier . . .' Incorrigibly true-hearted? Incorrigibly German. This
furor teutonicus
that seizes even the best of men when the call to arms comes! Poor, incorrigible Germans!

Notes

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