Heinz Kuznik, from the ordeal of war
to a love of France

Who remembers Kuznik?

By Christian Morisot
Heinz Kuznik was one of those former legionnaires whose story leaves no one indifferent, due to the sheer number of his various commitments throughout a life rich in twists and turns and adventures of all kinds…

Born on July 19, 1928, in Zwochau, Germany, at the age of 16 he was conscripted into the German army. In 1944, he was taken prisoner on the Russian front, a captivity that lasted four long years.

Upon returning home, Heinz worked for a German farmer in northern Germany. He quickly became dissatisfied with the treatment he received and, disheartened and abandoned, found himself in the Black Forest, in the French zone. There, a man offered him a position in the French Foreign Legion; he had little choice…
This interview sheds some light on the atypical life of this man who has known far too many wars throughout his life. Proud to be French not by birth but by blood shed, he holds three Croix de Guerre medals, the Médaille Militaire, and is a Knight of the Legion of Honor. Heinz Kuznik has been at the Legionnaire's Home since September 1979.

I obtained his account some time ago, and it now stands as a cherished memento of a particularly interesting veteran.

“I enlisted in May 1952. I came from my hometown of Zwochau, near Leipzig in Germany. I had some military experience, having been forcibly conscripted into the German Army at the age of 16 as a Panzergrenadier, ‘the man who follows the tanks on foot.’” However, I didn't serve long, as a few months later I was taken prisoner by the Red Army in Northern Russia. Four years of harsh captivity, in incredibly difficult conditions, working on railway construction. We were guarded by veritable demons, uncompromising, tough, and merciless women—worse than the men.

Back in Germany, I found a country in ruins. I had no family left, and I needed to find work quickly to secure the essential shelter and food I needed. I was offered seasonal work with a farmer in Westphalia, but it turned out to be even worse than with the Russian matronly women. After another four years of "punishment," I decided to leave it all behind and embark on a new adventure, to go in search of some peace and quiet.

That's how I found myself somewhere in the Black Forest, in the French zone, where I met a curious fellow, dressed all in black, who offered me a nice little job, easygoing and very well paid: I had found what I was looking for.

Indeed, I was sent to Landau in 1952 where a sergeant major received me. He was the first French soldier I had ever seen. At first sight, an indefinable feeling overwhelmed me. I found the French uniform rather plain; I was used to more style, more class, with the German uniform. Training followed in Saïda, where I quickly understood that one shouldn't dwell too much on the aesthetic quality of the clothing alone, and then I boarded the ship "S.S. Calais" for Indochina. After two years in this magnificent country, a nasty injury forced me to return to Algeria, where I remained until the end of hostilities in 1962. Finally, I was fortunate enough to end my Legionnaire career in Djibouti in 1969, the year of my retirement.

After my discharge and retirement, I drifted from place to place for almost ten years. I knew the Legionnaire's Home from my time with the Military Police in Aubagne; every Friday, I escorted the officer who came to show a film for the residents.

Nostalgic for the past and plagued by a profound loneliness, I rejoined my Legionnaire family in Auriol in July 1979. Recently, the Director appointed me standard-bearer, which often gives me the opportunity, during commemorative ceremonies, to listen attentively to the speeches of former French soldiers. I understand their concern about not letting this horrific episode in human history, the last world war, fade from memory.

But what I understand above all is their devotion to France, a land of liberty that is also mine today.

To die for her would have been a true honor for me.

I do not deny my past, while remaining very proud to be French: "Long live France!"