Inspired by another post, my grandfather killed a Nazi in WWII, he took this knife as a trophy

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image showing Inspired by another post, my grandfather killed a Nazi in WWII, he took this knife as a trophy

JWF81 on December 6th, 2021 at 05:14 UTC »

Just an FYI that’s a kids knife.

nealius on December 6th, 2021 at 07:46 UTC »

My grandfather got ripped off. He only came back with PTSD.

brumfidel on December 6th, 2021 at 09:29 UTC »

As others in this thread have said this is a hitler youths knife.

Story time:

My father was born in 1931 and grew up as part of the Hitlerjugend. When was 14 he was conscripted, right before the end of the war. His first assignment was to dig trenches to defend a small village near Berlin.

So him and his comrades (all teenage boys) and their sergeant (an elderly reservist of ww1 with one wooden leg) cowered in those trenches and awaited the arrival of the allied forces. What turned up was a group of US tanks with a company of US infantry. The dozen or so boys and their sergeant had no anti tank weaponry and even if they had it would have been suicide to try to fight. So the sergeant tied a white handkerchief to his rifle, left the trench and hobbled towards the incoming tanks waving his improvised white flag. My father and some others even had to wrestle with one fanatic boy who wanted to shoot the sergeant in the back.

So my father became a prisoner in an American POW camp. After a week the US soldiers gathered all the underaged boys in the camp and let them form a line. The soldiers had huge metal scissors and my father thought with horror "Now they are going to cut off our ears!" Because such was the Nazi indoctrination, that people from other countries were inhuman beasts.

Of course the soldiers did no so such thing. What they actually used the scissors for was to cut off the trousers of all the boys at the knee to mark them as noncombatants. Each and everyone of the boys then received half a bar of chocolate (which was an amazing treasure for the famished boys) and let them go with the words "Go home, boys!". At the time my father didn't understand English but he never forgot those words. He immediately devoured his chocolate and began the long trek home (about 300 km / 185 miles) to his home city of Hamburg on foot.