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For You, the War Is Over
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February 25, 2015
Impossible to put down this is a great read: fast-paced, cheeky, gripping, factual, informative, fascinating, and wickedly funny THROUGHOUT.
In Cambrai barracks, in 1940, Kydd was perplexed by the resentment shown to the British by the French, who by bringing their cooking stoves and all, had, in their fatalistic Gallic mentality born from their history, clearly expected, and come prepared for, capture! Alas, after just six days in France, capture (“Oh Christ. … Sorry, fellows – it’s bloody hopeless”) was the fate of D Company of the Queen Victoria Rifles, on 27th May 1940. The Germans mistook Kydd to be Southern Irish (he was Northern (British) Irish), and unsuccessfully sought his collaboration.
Life as a prisoner of war (POW) in the non-commissioned ranks was very, very different to that experienced by officers (think of Colditz). Fraught by the misery of sickness and infections (diarrhoea is by no means the worst described in these pages), hard menial labour threatened and claimed life & limb, as men in the ranks were required to work on various Nazi war projects in situations where prisoners commonly (though not always), stole from their fellow prisoners, and personal survival invariably turned on quick-wittedness and luck.
Kydd eventually reached and was imprisoned in Stalag 20A, at Torún (Thorn) in Poland. His literate, pragmatic and wry sense of humour bolstered his will to survive. He records the absurdities he saw in almost, though not quite everything. One of the most keenly felt hardships was the acute shortage of ‘available’ women (see pp 196-203 for a very funny episode); though it was sheer, acute pains of hunger that very often took a practical priority over lust.
At Stalag 20A Kydd discovered a passion of another ilk; the escape of the mind, through theatrical performance on the stage. So smitten was he that he deliberately turned down an opportunity of early repatriation back to Britain, preferring instead to use and further develop his acting skills in keeping up the morale of his fellow prisoners in the camp. This shaped his post-war career in films.
His own escape from imprisonment, when it finally came in 1945, delivered him into the hands of the Russians, who, alarmingly, he describes as being in the habit of drinking petrol! Quite how Kydd managed to avoid being shot is difficult to guess. Thoughts cannot help but turn to the present day and the sense of insecurity, posturing and self-aggrandisement of the Russian President, in place of toleration, understanding, and trading across borders; …. let alone that annual ‘cultural’ madhouse party that is called the Eurovision Song Contest! The world we live in today is extraordinarily different ... yet? Lest we forget, that is precisely why Sam Kydd’s “For You, The War Is Over, crys out to be read.
In Cambrai barracks, in 1940, Kydd was perplexed by the resentment shown to the British by the French, who by bringing their cooking stoves and all, had, in their fatalistic Gallic mentality born from their history, clearly expected, and come prepared for, capture! Alas, after just six days in France, capture (“Oh Christ. … Sorry, fellows – it’s bloody hopeless”) was the fate of D Company of the Queen Victoria Rifles, on 27th May 1940. The Germans mistook Kydd to be Southern Irish (he was Northern (British) Irish), and unsuccessfully sought his collaboration.
Life as a prisoner of war (POW) in the non-commissioned ranks was very, very different to that experienced by officers (think of Colditz). Fraught by the misery of sickness and infections (diarrhoea is by no means the worst described in these pages), hard menial labour threatened and claimed life & limb, as men in the ranks were required to work on various Nazi war projects in situations where prisoners commonly (though not always), stole from their fellow prisoners, and personal survival invariably turned on quick-wittedness and luck.
Kydd eventually reached and was imprisoned in Stalag 20A, at Torún (Thorn) in Poland. His literate, pragmatic and wry sense of humour bolstered his will to survive. He records the absurdities he saw in almost, though not quite everything. One of the most keenly felt hardships was the acute shortage of ‘available’ women (see pp 196-203 for a very funny episode); though it was sheer, acute pains of hunger that very often took a practical priority over lust.
At Stalag 20A Kydd discovered a passion of another ilk; the escape of the mind, through theatrical performance on the stage. So smitten was he that he deliberately turned down an opportunity of early repatriation back to Britain, preferring instead to use and further develop his acting skills in keeping up the morale of his fellow prisoners in the camp. This shaped his post-war career in films.
His own escape from imprisonment, when it finally came in 1945, delivered him into the hands of the Russians, who, alarmingly, he describes as being in the habit of drinking petrol! Quite how Kydd managed to avoid being shot is difficult to guess. Thoughts cannot help but turn to the present day and the sense of insecurity, posturing and self-aggrandisement of the Russian President, in place of toleration, understanding, and trading across borders; …. let alone that annual ‘cultural’ madhouse party that is called the Eurovision Song Contest! The world we live in today is extraordinarily different ... yet? Lest we forget, that is precisely why Sam Kydd’s “For You, The War Is Over, crys out to be read.
Displaying 1 of 1 review