Malcolm Hilgartner

Still, that did not stop a crowd from coming to the services that afternoon. As I arrived, dozens of Germans filed out of rented buses, Volksbund rank and file, who traveled more than three hours from towns in the conservative states Saxony and Thuringia. One group had brought a wreath with the logo of a group called Landsmannschaft Schlesien to Poland.

Still, that did not stop a crowd from coming to the services that afternoon. As I arrived, dozens of Germans filed out of rented buses, Volksbund rank and file, who traveled more than three hours from towns in the conservative states Saxony and Thuringia. One group had brought a wreath with the logo of a group called Landsmannschaft Schlesien to Poland.

The group, I learned afterward, was a so-called German Homeland Association that represented descendants of those expelled from that part of Poland after the Nazi regime's fall. In recent years, its youth wing was expelled for having ties to a neo-Nazi political party. Below us in the pits sat the remains to be buried.

The group, I learned afterward, was a so-called German Homeland Association that represented descendants of those expelled from that part of Poland after the Nazi regime's fall. In recent years, its youth wing was expelled for having ties to a neo-Nazi political party. Below us in the pits sat the remains to be buried.

Each set of bones had been fitted into a tiny black coffin about two feet long, which in turn had been arranged in neat rows on the ground, each with a sprig of fur on top. They were divided between two massive pits, one for soldiers and the other for civilians, roughly half in each group.

Each set of bones had been fitted into a tiny black coffin about two feet long, which in turn had been arranged in neat rows on the ground, each with a sprig of fur on top. They were divided between two massive pits, one for soldiers and the other for civilians, roughly half in each group.

I asked if I could meet the relative the researchers had located and was soon introduced to Ermgard Aust, whose grandfather, Gustav Hiller, was killed during the war's last year at 61. Aust told me she was a Volksbund member herself. She had first seen them as a child in Bavaria, where they collected donations in tin cans. When it called her, she thought it was after another contribution.

I asked if I could meet the relative the researchers had located and was soon introduced to Ermgard Aust, whose grandfather, Gustav Hiller, was killed during the war's last year at 61. Aust told me she was a Volksbund member herself. She had first seen them as a child in Bavaria, where they collected donations in tin cans. When it called her, she thought it was after another contribution.

Instead, it said it had found her grandfather's remains behind the villa. I started crying, she told me. I got emotional. Aust showed me a sepia portrait of Hiller, who looked out with sunken eyes, a middle-aged man who had already lived through one world war. Hiller didn't fight for the Nazis, Aust said, but the regime trusted him with leading food distribution as Breslau fought on.

Instead, it said it had found her grandfather's remains behind the villa. I started crying, she told me. I got emotional. Aust showed me a sepia portrait of Hiller, who looked out with sunken eyes, a middle-aged man who had already lived through one world war. Hiller didn't fight for the Nazis, Aust said, but the regime trusted him with leading food distribution as Breslau fought on.

Finally, in April 1945, Hiller was killed in an air raid. Aust's husband, Gauti, began to show more pictures, but at one point his wife asked him to stop. Gauti closed the photo album and looked up from it with a polite smile. It seemed we had reached something the couple didn't want to be seen. I asked Aust what was in the last photos. She wouldn't say.

Finally, in April 1945, Hiller was killed in an air raid. Aust's husband, Gauti, began to show more pictures, but at one point his wife asked him to stop. Gauti closed the photo album and looked up from it with a polite smile. It seemed we had reached something the couple didn't want to be seen. I asked Aust what was in the last photos. She wouldn't say.

Someone rang a bell signaling the beginning of the ceremony. A sprinkle of rain began to fall, and various officials took to the lectern, speaking about the war in Poland and the need for Germans to acknowledge their responsibility for their crimes. They spoke about Germany's campaigns of extermination against minorities. In the crowd of Germans, I was one of few foreigners there that day.

Someone rang a bell signaling the beginning of the ceremony. A sprinkle of rain began to fall, and various officials took to the lectern, speaking about the war in Poland and the need for Germans to acknowledge their responsibility for their crimes. They spoke about Germany's campaigns of extermination against minorities. In the crowd of Germans, I was one of few foreigners there that day.

No Polish representative spoke at the ceremony taking place in their country, even though some were invited. And it was perhaps because of this environment that a new theme emerged. Not guilt, but grief. Many said that despite the devastation that was inflicted by Germany, their families had been victims too, and wanted closure of their own from the war.

No Polish representative spoke at the ceremony taking place in their country, even though some were invited. And it was perhaps because of this environment that a new theme emerged. Not guilt, but grief. Many said that despite the devastation that was inflicted by Germany, their families had been victims too, and wanted closure of their own from the war.

One spoke of a relative who died on Christmas Day in 1941. The military deacon told the story of his grandmother, who did not know whether to declare her husband dead after he was taken as a prisoner of war into Russia. When we remember the dead in front of God, we don't think about a mass of people. We think about single people, a name, a home, a family, he said.

One spoke of a relative who died on Christmas Day in 1941. The military deacon told the story of his grandmother, who did not know whether to declare her husband dead after he was taken as a prisoner of war into Russia. When we remember the dead in front of God, we don't think about a mass of people. We think about single people, a name, a home, a family, he said.

God of peace, we ask you for the people we have buried here today. We only know a few by name, but we trust for you they are not a number, but your children. There was a moment of silence as the trumpeter played. Later, men with shovels came and buried the 306 bodies for the second time.

God of peace, we ask you for the people we have buried here today. We only know a few by name, but we trust for you they are not a number, but your children. There was a moment of silence as the trumpeter played. Later, men with shovels came and buried the 306 bodies for the second time.