It is fast becoming a surreal afternoon. An officer of the Air Force of the Danish Home Guard – no, I didn’t know it existed either, has just given me his speech to read. He is obviously worried about the word democracy. The ‘e’ has been underlined and an acute accent put atop it; thus ‘é’. However, having pressed the piece of paper into my hand, he has climbed aboard a red people carrier and promptly gone missing.
His platoon seem unconcerned. In full uniform of blue berets, green and black camouflage outfits and combat boots they calmly await their leader’s return.
The forest clearing is filling up. We have the mayor, the head of the local museum, a brace of military attachés – one British, one Canadian – and perhaps 60 or so local people. The centrepiece of proceedings is a World War II memorial to British airmen, whose plane came down on this spot 65 years ago today.
An elderly man shows me a pin-badge in the colours of an RAF roundel; red, white and blue. ‘People used to wear them during the war,’ he says, ‘this is a real one from that time.’ Did he wear it himself? ‘Well, I was only six at the time. But children would wear knitted woollen hats in the same colours.’ Didn’t that annoy the occupying forces? ‘Of course…’ He sounds rather proud of his part in the Nazis’ downfall.
The Home Guard officer has returned from his sortie. He recaptures the missing speech with some relief and takes up his position. The soldiers, many of them rather advanced in years, form two lines.
There is a brief pause and then three single-engined Cessna aeroplanes waddle slowly overhead. The guardsmen come to attention, the Danish flag flies, the officer makes his speech – struggling slightly with democracy despite the preparations – wreaths are laid by the military attachés and the carefully prepared ceremony comes to a close.
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