Sitting outside, under the awning, beneath the orange glow of a heat lamp. It is 7 pm. Boulevard St. Germain is a tyranny of lane changers and horn honkers. The …
Following Gavrilo Princip’s Sarajevo footprints through historyView Post
From Amazon: Paris, 1938. As the shadow of war darkens Europe, democratic forces on the Continent struggle against fascism and communism, while in Spain the war has already begun. Alan …
In Copenhagen, both the Jewish Museum and the Museum of the Danish Resistance make reference to and display a simple artifact: a train ticket. It is funny, the things that really connect with you. The story of the attempt to save the 8,000 Jews living in Copenhagen from the concentration camps is always moving and at times heroic. Yet this simple piece of pasteboard sticks.
Ulla Skorstengaard has been a pastor at Gilleleje Church since 1996. She has learned the story of that night well, partly from historical study and partly from speaking to some of the old-timers in town, many of whom she has buried.
The church dates from 1538, they think. It is plain and beautiful, with brick floors and wood benches. It started because local fishermen petitioned the king for their own church, and it is not even considered to be particularly old by Danish standards. Yet it has been visited by the Queen of Denmark and the Prime Minister of Israel, among others. “It is special,” Skorstengaard says.
Poster hanging at the In Flanders Fields museum in Ieper, Belgium.
Names. Thousands of names. Tens of thousands of names, etched in the stone of a great arch over the road leading into Ieper. The British built the Menin Gate after …
When Alan Furst writes a novel about Europe during the time of World War II, the thing you discover almost immediately is that one of the main characters is always …
“I walked west down Unter den Linden towards Pariser Platz and the Adlon.
“I went through the hotel’s handsome doorway and into the sumptuous lobby with its square pillars of dark, yellow-clouded marble. Everywhere there were tasteful objets d’art; and in every corner there was the gleam of yet more marble. I went into the bar, which was full of foreign journalists and embassy people, and asked the barman, an old friend of mine, for a beer and the use of his telephone.”
— From “March Violets” by Philip Kerr
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