Were it not for his cane, you’d have no idea that Mogens Nielsen was a day over 65. In fact, the ruddy-faced former farmhand turned 90 a day ago.
“Would you like some layer cake? We have a lot left,” his wife - only two years his junior, but as busy as a bee - calls from the kitchen. I decline. I don’t consider myself a culinary reactionary, but there’s off-putting something about all that cream. I will take her up on her offer of a coffee, however - in the last two days, I have learned the Danes know how to make a very decent cup of the stuff. Cafetieres seem to be issued by the state to all citizens at birth.
Since saying goodbye to Hans Jøllberg, I’ve traveled up, across the German-Danish border and into Jutland. My journey was to begin a series of interviews in Denmark itself, the first of which is with Kpl. Nielsen, who was part of the 9th Infantry Regiment, one of the first units that took command in the Danskezone in October 1946. Like anyone else in northern Europe, my transport of choice for this distance is rail.
After marvelling at the surprisingly wide train carriage for slightly too long, I took a look at the famously flat countryside I was rolling through. The pennines it ain’t - no wonder the German tanks overpowered Denmark in less than two hours.
“Some of us were veterans of that day,” says Mogens when I - more delicately than above - bring this up, “but most of us had been working on farms, or in the Resistance.”
Was the Resistance a full time job, then? Images of the Danish King wearing a Jewish armband - sadly apocryphal - are more in-keeping with the usual picture of Danish wartime resistance. Certainly more than Sten guns and blown-up railway lines.
“Yes, yes,” Mogens says firmly, his English accented but clear, “my brother left home in 1942 and I did not see him again until 1945. I later learned he had only been living a few miles away, but in total secrecy. My sister’s young husband was killed by the Gestapo.”
Brave men. How many formed part of your unit?
“Not as many as you would expect. I think they were wary of putting armed young men, out for revenge, among the German population.”
That didn’t stop veterans of Normandy and Market Garden being trusted with the care of German civilians. Was this an example of anti-Danish prejudice from the British government?
“No, no. It was the Danish government that made the decision. And what those British boys did was war - they shot at Germans, the Germans shot back. Here in Denmark, we experienced something different. I do not say worse - but it was different. Summary executions, torture of civilians… it hardens the heart in a different way to combat.”
I’m left speechless for a few moments, but luckily Mogens has more to say.
“Many of us were farmhands. I had not been allowed to join the Resistance by my family, so I joined the army the moment the war ended. We were trained and equipped with British uniforms and weapons. I understand there was an expansion once the Flensborg Decision was taken.”
He is correct. The Kristensen government was determined to show that Danes could do their bit for the new Europe, but was daunted by the size of Schleswig-Holstein (‘Danskezonen’). A rapid expansion of National Service was expected to lead to unrest - surprisingly, it did not.
“I think many had decided to show the world that we could be better than the Germans. To march into a defeated nation only a year after that nation marched out of yours… some could have taken it as a chance to wield strength and power. Most saw it as a duty. We took over at the end of October, in ’46. I was stationed in Kiel, which was to be the administrative capital.”
Mogens stops talking for a few minutes at this point. He is not physically tired, but he says his mind needs a rest. A glance from his wife tells me all I need to know. I relent to the offer of cake - and I was a fool ever to question the amount of cream - and we munch, happy and in silence.
Eventually, I try to restart the conversation by pointing out Mogens’ medal on the wall.
“Everyone got one,” he says quickly, slurping his coffee. He is right, but I want to hear more. What did he actually do in Kiel?
“I spent a year as a… road-patroller. It does not translate exactly. You understand?”
I do.
“After that, someone told an officer that I had run my family’s farm when my father took ill during the war. With my brother away in hiding, I had to. My mother, of course, did most of the work. But I had to learn how to keep books.”
And this led to a new job?
“I assisted my unit’s quartermaster, who also had to adjudicate disputes between local bakers, grocers and so on. Sometimes the Germans would argue over the food shipments. Danish and American food parcels arrived quite regularly. The Germans all said the American ones were better, but officially they were all the same. We did not notice if one baker got more American packages than another, as long as everyone got the same weight of flour it was all the same to us. They did not agree, and sometimes fights broke out. I remember a few of my comrades got very angry at the… ‘implication’ that Danish food was somehow unfit for these greedy Germans.”
I nod, having read of this phenomenon in my preliminary research. American food packages, and raw materials, had been negotiated with Acheson in return for a commitment to rearm Denmark from the British exchequer. It meant the Liberals in Copenhagen were able to focus on the occupation force - though it should not be overstated. At no point did the amount of Danish (or Schleswig-Holstein) produced food in the Zone decrease below 40%, even in the winter of 1946-47.
“I was a man who filled out forms. It was not exciting,” Mogens laughs, the first time I have seen him smile, “I am not my brother - he sabotaged the Luftwaffe’s aircraft, you know. Were he still with us, I would send you to him. I do not understand why you are so interested.”
I offer my condolences about his brother - Jens Nielsen passed away, a retired director of a freight company, six years ago - and explain why I’m here.
“I know that, I know that,” he says, “but is there an anniversary? I do not see why this newspaper would be so interested now.”
I can tell Mogens is getting a little tired. I ask him a few more questions - and hear a wonderful story about six Danish soldiers forming a theatre group for children, and one day being called to an emergency drill in full H.C. Andersen costumes. Then, it is time for me to go.
I thank Mogens' wife for the coffee and cake, and shake Mogens’ hand before I leave. On the walk to the station, I replay our conversation in my mind. One thing he said stays with me more than everything else - occupation does not have to be like war.
