It has been interesting to hear various BBC presenters talking about the roles played by their grandfathers in the Second World War.

My father, who was born in 1890, served in both world wars – there’s a story about how he was accepted, aged 48, to serve in the second one and why on earth he would want to. As a member of the Royal Engineers he was captured in France and incarcerated in a POW camp in Poznan, Poland.

In 1983 I set out, along with my husband and 15-year-old son, to find my father’s POW camp. I prepared a little speech in German to use at the tourist office to explain my quest – the attendant there spoke only French so I tried again. He sent me off to the history museum where the official pored over maps and directed me to the remains of the camp.

We drove to the spot and found a selection of huts matching my father’s description, which now appeared to house light industrial units. Summoning up all my courage, I marched in to the nearest one. With my very basic Russian, the manager’s rudimentary German and a phone call, he worked out some answers.

The site of the camp spread over not only the huts but over a football field towards a fort beyond. ‘Come’, he said, and drove me at break-neck speed in his car towards the fort. In the fort, by then a chemical factory, the manager, who did speak English, showed me round and provided me with a souvenir of the POW camp – some rusty barbed wire.

As I reflected on my visit to the site, which, as you can imagine, was pretty emotional, I thought about the significance of a football field covering most of a site which had once housed British prisoners. My father had been a lifelong Liverpool fan as well as an amateur player. He had never hated Germans, only Nazis. Perhaps it was important that national rivalries should no longer be fought with guns and bombs but on the football field. That indeed would be a fitting memorial to my father.

Rev Dr Maria Hearl

Associate Priest with the Wellington and District Team Ministry