I know a man who was a boy in Germany during WWII. His father sometimes brought home from the nearby camp a POW for dinner. Pierre, a Frenchman, was a favorite.

My friend was 14 and in the Hitler Youth. He was very proud of the uniform that went with it. Each Friday he attended a meeting of the HY and had to pass by the POW camp. Invariably Pierre was outside next to the fence as Artur went by. Pierre would snap off an enthusiastic salute and bark: Sheiss, Hitler!.