There may well be people living in and around Kinsale today who remember the day 60 years ago (January 19th, 1946 to be precise) when "the Germans landed" in their town.
It was a tiny invasion, not of aggressive forces but of a small band of refugees, members of the German navy who had escaped from post-war internment in France. The 1939-45 war was over but its after effects were being felt all over Europe - and, in this case, in neutral Ireland.
On that January day in 1946, two local men - Dick Hegarty, a solicitor and Denis McCarthy of Clonakilty, Kinsale's town clerk - were out for a walk along the quays. To their astonishment they were approached by two strangers in full Kriegsmarine uniform with appropriate decorations who asked the way to the nearest Garda station.
Behind them at the quayside were 12 other uniformed men. All had just landed from a 60-ton fishing vessel which, it was later learned, was a former German mine-sweeper.
The German in charge was Lieut Commander Martin Clemen and the group included five other officers, eight other ranks and one civilian. They were immediately placed under protective custody in Kinsale, then taken to a local hotel and succoured by the Red Cross. They then were allowed back on their vessel which by then was under guard.
Their story, told to government agents and soon making headlines in the national papers, was a tale of daring and ingenuity. Martin Clemen had been commander of a flotilla of mine-sweepers operating off Norway, in the North Sea, the English Channel and the Bay of Biscay. Clemen had chosen to serve in the least militant of the wartime services of the Third Reich, hoping to save lives rather than destroy them. When the war ended in 1945, he and his crews were taken prisoners of war at St Nazaire, France and interned there.
They were recalled to duty by the French, however, to clear mines laid by the Germans off the French coast and were thus able to use one of the mine-sweepers to escape to Ireland.
Their arrival in Kinsale created an unusual test for the Irish government's policy of neutrality and a diplomatic battle began over the fate of the refugees. Meanwhile they were to taste Irish hospitality as local people brought them gifts and extended invitations to parties and tea in local houses and the Department of Justice obliged by ordering that they be provided with prisoner of war rations.
One of the many invitations received by the Germans was from a Mrs Pamela Kenneth of Rampart House, Kinsale, whose brother, a captain in the British army, had been captured by the Germans in Italy and held there as a prisoner of war. He attempted to escape, was recaptured and then sent to a special POW camp in Germany itself. He was well treated there and Mrs Kenneth responded by inviting Martin Clemen and his fellow officers to tea.
Such gestures, however, cut no ice with the French authorities, which succeeded in persuading the Irish government to agree to send the Germans back to France. A French corvette arrived in Cobh on February 7th, took the refugees on board, landed a naval party which retook the stolen mine-sweeper and all returned to France.
Martin Clemen and his companions were not forgotten in Ireland. He kept in touch with people who had befriended him here. In letters from French camps he described how he began to study Greek and Hebrew with the objective of becoming a clergyman and in that way to try to repay a little bit of the moral debt owed by his country from the war.
In the midst of hunger, poverty and ruin he enrolled at the University of Gottingen. His wife went to work in a factory; they queued for ounces of sausage for hours and they lost all their former possessions in Potsdam to the Russians.
He struggled through and was ordained, beginning his ministry in a small town named Saltzgitter, near Hanover. Shortly afterwards he was transferred to a bigger parish in Braunschweig, but his wife died, leaving him in sole charge of a family of five. I saw Martin Clemen for the last time in 1966, breaking an air journey to Berlin and taking a taxi from Hanover airport to meet him at his home. He was overjoyed to hear about Ireland. "The friendship and understanding which we received there," he said, "gave me new faith in mankind at a time when I needed it badly". He told me about his ministry, his plans for the future in a peaceful Germany and showed me over his church, only partially damaged in the war. He took me through the town, introducing me to many of his parishioners, all of whom obviously held him in high esteem.
He must at that time have been suffering from the cancer which led to his death in a Swiss hospital only a year later. He never referred to his illness - his chief concern was how best he, a humble pastor, could bring a little love, goodness and charity into a world badly in need of these virtues. His short life proved at least one thing - that there were good people on all sides in the last great war.