Archaeologies of Hitler’s Arctic War: Heritage of the Second World War German Military Presence in Finnish Lapland 9780367138202

Citation preview

Archaeologies of Hitler’s Arctic War

This book discusses the archaeology and heritage of the German military presence in Finnish Lapland during the Second World War, framing this northern, overlooked WWII material legacy from the nearly forgotten ­Arctic front as ‘dark heritage’ – a concrete reminder of Finns siding with the Nazis, often seen as polluting ‘war junk’ that ruins the ‘pristine natural beauty’ of Lapland’s wilderness. The scholarship herein provides fresh perspectives to contemporary discussions on heritage perception and ownership, indigenous rights, community empowerment, relational ontologies and also the ongoing worldwide refugee crisis. Oula Seitsonen (Sakarin-Pentin Ilarin Oula) is an archaeologist and geographer at the University of Oulu and University of Helsinki, Finland.

Material Culture and Modern Conflict Series editors Nicholas J. Saunders, University of Bristol and Paul Cornish, Imperial War Museum, London

The Material Culture and Modern Conflict series adopts a genuinely interdisciplinary approach to re-appraise the material legacy of twentieth and twenty-first century conflict around the world. It offers a radical departure in the study of modern conflict, proving a truly interdisciplinary forum that draws upon archaeology, anthropology, military and cultural history, art history, cultural geography, and museum and heritage studies. Conflict Landscapes and Archaeology from Above Edited by Birger Stichelbaut and David Cowley The Poetics of Conflict Experience Materiality and Embodiment in Second World War Italy Sarah De Nardi Decoding a Royal Marine Commando The Militarized Body as Artefact Mark A. Burchell Rediscovering the Great War Archaeology and Enduring Legacies on the Soča and Eastern Fronts Edited by Uroš Košir, Matija Črešnar, and Dimitrij Mlekuž Material Cultures of Childhood in Second World War Britain Gabriel Moshenska Archaeologies of Hitler’s Arctic War Heritage of the Second World War German Military Presence in Finnish Lapland Oula Seitsonen For more information about this series, please visit: https://www.routledge.com/ Material-Culture-and-Modern-Conflict/book-series/MCMC

Archaeologies of Hitler’s Arctic War Heritage of the Second World War German Military Presence in Finnish Lapland Oula Seitsonen

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 Oula Seitsonen The right of Oula Seitsonen to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Seitsonen, Oula, author. Title: Archaeologies of Hitler’s Arctic War: heritage of the Second World War German military presence in Finnish Lapland / Oula Seitsonen. Other titles: Heritage of the Second World War German military presence in Finnish Lapland Description: London; New York, NY: Routledge/Taylor & Francis Group, 2021. | Series: Material culture and modern conflict | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020027380 (print) | LCCN 2020027381 (ebook) | ISBN 9780367138202 (hbk) | ISBN 9780367138219 (ebk) Subjects: LCSH: World War, 1939–1945—Lapland—Antiquities. | Military archaeology—Lapland. | Lapland—Antiquities. | World War, 1939–1945—Social aspects—Lapland. | Germany. Heer—History—World War, 1939–1945. | Cultural property—Lapland. | Collective memory—Lapland. Classification: LCC D810.A67 S45 2021 (print) | LCC D810.A67 (ebook) | DDC 940.53/48977—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020027380 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020027381 ISBN: 9780367138202 (hbk) ISBN: 9780367138219 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by codeMantra

Dedicated to my family and the memory of Sakari Pälsi and Ari Siiriäinen Without them I wouldn’t be doing archaeology

Contents

List of figures List of tables Series editors’ preface Preface Acknowledgements List of abbreviations Glossary 1 Introduction

xi xxiii xxv xxix xxxi xxxiii xxxv 1

PART I

Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains

13

2 Why an archaeological study of the Second World War? Archaeology of recent conflicts in Finland  20 Digging into the Second World War in Sápmi 2006–2018 23

15

3 Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft: the Northern Brothers-in-Arms, 1940–1945 ‘Arktis ist nichts’: ‘Hermans’ come to Lapland  45 Germans, prisoners and civilians: business as usual  50 Of Nazis and Jews: the most unlikely brothers-in-arms 57 ‘Ragnarök’: the eve of destruction and beyond  63 German Second World War material legacy: from an SS officer’s club to overgrown latrines  68

40

viii Contents PART II

Strangers in a strange land: germans and their prisoners in an alien Arctic landscape 4 Soldiers’ and prisoners’ places and landscapes Dwelling in an alien wilderness  91 Inside and beside the camps  101

87 89

5 Soldiers’ and prisoners’ things and materiality Martial things and civilian things  124 Prisoner’s things  137 Food for thought: faunal remains from the German sites  143

121

6 Entangled with the north: placelessness, disorder and dislocation ‘…if I sent all the madmen from Berlin to Lapland…’  154 In a remote country, in a timeless space  157

151

PART III

Ignored, yet remembered: post-war significance of the German WWII remains

167

7 Heritage past, present and future Past: rising from the ashes and slow decay  170 Past: forgetting and denying the Soviet partisan attacks  173 Past: sweeping the ‘war junk’  176

169

8 Materialities of a haunting past – or present? Now: haunting and haunted heritage  189 Now: ‘Can you love a Nazi?’ or ‘Wir waren Freunde’  192 Now: Dietl-mania 198 Now: Stalkers and metal men  202

187

9 Positive uses for a haunting and difficult past Future: war history trails and reconstructions  212 Future: virtual treasure hunts and public benefits  215

211

Contents  ix 10 Custodians of ‘war junk’: local and global heritage of Second World War in Lapland Shades of dark (heritage)  223 Unsettling reminders and nostalgia  226 Social and heritage value of ‘war junk’  230

221

239 Appendix 1: Interviews in 2009–2017 Appendix 2: L  ist of the German-run PoW and forced labour camps in northern Finland 241 Appendix 3: M  ap of the German-run PoW and forced labour camps in northern Finland 263 Index 267

Figures

1.1 Lapland landscape at the Muotkatunturit (Sámi: Muotkeduottarat) wilderness area. Archaeologists Ulrika Köngäs, Heidi Mehtonen and Kerkko Nordqvist working in the foreground (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2006) 1.2 Original caption: ‘[Finnish] SS men in a celebration at Hanko’ (SA-kuva 131547/Hanko/n.d.) 1.3 A rare colour photograph from 1940s of a Sámi man and children with their reindeer and a sled, somewhere in Finnish Lapland; Original caption: ‘sámi [sic] man and reindeer and children in a reindeer sled’ (NM HK6869:7.10/­ Lapland/1940s; CC BY 4.0) 1.4 Many Laplands: (Top) Northernmost Fennoscandia and discussed localities: (1) Kilpisjärvi, Enontekiö, LyngenStellung; (2) Järämä, Enontekiö, Sturmbock-Stellung; (3) Hetta, Enontekiö; (4) Karigasniemi, Utsjoki; (5) Pulmankijärvi, Utsjoki; (6) Kirkkoniemi (Kirkenes), Norway; (7) Peltojoki, Inari, Muotkatunturit wilderness; (8) Kaamanen, Inari; (9) Inari; (10) Solojärvi, Inari; (11) Ivalo, Inari; (12) Saariselkä and Laanila, Inari; (13) Purnumukka and Tankavaara, Sodankylä, SchutzwallStellung; (14) Vuotso, Sodankylä; (15) Sodankylä; (16) Petäjä-Raatelmaselkä, Savukoski; (17) Savukoski; (18) Kemijärvi; (19) Salla; (20) Kuolajärvi (‘Old Salla’), Russia; (21) Rovaniemi; (22) Karunki; (23) Tornio, Finland and Haparanda, Sweden; (24) Tervola; (25) Kemi; (26) Oulu; (27) Ranua; (28) Kuusamo; (29) Taivalkoski; (30) Hyrynsalmi; (31) Raate Road, Suomussalmi; (32) Murmansk, Russia; (33) Kiestinki, Russia (Background: US National Park Service). (Bottom left) Sápmi, the homeland of Sámi people, and the reindeer herding areas. (Bottom right) Finland’s nature conservation and wilderness areas, and the ski resorts of northern Finland

2 3

6

xii Figures

2.1

2.2 2.3

2.4

2.5

2.6 3.1

3.2

3.3

(Illustration: Oula Seitsonen 2016; Background: US National Park Service) A German WWII guard hut with its roof on, at a beautiful lakeside spot on the edge of a PoW camp at Lake Nangujärvi (7) (Anár Sámi: Naŋŋajävri). The roof caved-in during the snow-rich winter of 2017 (photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2010) German matériel in the wilderness, a rubbish dump outside a PoW camp at Purnumukka (39) (Sámi: Burdnomohkki) (photograph: Oula ­Seitsonen 2015) My father Ilari Seitsonen and my cousin Lauri Seitsonen inspecting a Finnish Civil War-era machine-gun position in the former Seitsola Village during the archaeological survey of the Ahvola battlefield in western Russia (photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2007) My daughter Elsa Seitsonen exploring the reconstructed trenches of the German Sturmbock-Stellung at the Järämä Fortification Area Museum, Enontekiö, in late September (photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015) Sámi cultural landscape at Kilpisjärvi, Enontekiö, Finnish Lapland, in late September. On the foreground are seen the snow-covered remains of German dry-stone walled structures of the Lyngen-Stellung, their last defence line in the north in 1945 high up on the Saana fjell. In the fog on the background is the Pikku-Malla fjell – according to folklore, both Saana and Pikku-Malla are petrified remains of ancient giants (Kaikusalo & Metsälä 1974) (photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015) Public and community archaeology at a German military hospital site in Inari (photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016) Original caption: ‘Traces of the battle at West-Lemetti’ in the Winter War 1939–1940, notice the improvised snow suits and civilian clothing, such as the huopikas felt winter boots and mittens (SA-kuva 4262/Lemetti/01.02.1940; CC BY 4.0) Finnish military archival material, stamped as ‘Secret’, from the Lapland War 1944–1945: aerial photographs, sketch maps and detail drawings of the German field fortifications (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015) Nazi German, Swedish and Finnish flags flying side by side in front of the Parliament House and the National Museum in Helsinki, during the three countries’ athletic games in 1940; Finland was supposed to hold Summer Olympics in 1940, but this plan was stalled by the war

7

17 18

22

24

26 29

41

43

Figures  xiii















(Helsinki City Museum N16255; Pietinen Aarne Oy, Helsinki 1940; CC BY 4.0) 3.4 Wartime cartoon by the famous Finnish cartoonist Kari Suomalainen in a frontal magazine ‘Christmas of the 3rd Btry 1941’: ‘Year 1941–19… Finland, contra Russki, England, Austraalia [sic], New Zealand, South Africa, India etc…’ (Redrawn by Oula Seitsonen, after Suomalainen 1941) 3.5 Frontlines of the Continuation and Lapland War in the north: (a) The advance of the Finno-German offensive in 1941 to the stationary front-lines, (b) The major Russian offensive in south in the summer 1944 and (c) Troop movements during the Lapland War in the fall 1944; dates show the advance of the Finnish troops (Illustration: Oula Seitsonen 2017) 3.6 Arctic Waffenbrüder: German and Finnish officers in the far north. Left: Original caption: ‘Amongst the German troops in Lapland’ (SA-kuva 57121/Salla/n.d.; CC BY 4.0); Right: Original caption: ‘Lieutenant Sopanen brewing coffee’ (SA-kuva 4715/Salla, Märkäjärvi/07.02.1940; CC BY 4.0), seen here melting water from snow in a mess tin on top of a tent stove 3.7 Original caption: ‘Dummy tank out of snow’ (Redrawn by Oula Seitsonen, after Führungsstab 1c 1944: 27) 3.8 ‘There are no roads, but they should be built before any advance is possible.’ (General Eduard Dietl, in Mann and Jörgensen 2002: 70); Original caption: ‘Resupply using mules on the fjells of Litsa’ (SA-Kuva 126930/ Petsamo/10.04.1943; CC BY 4.0) 3.9 Original caption: ‘Motorbike (German and 2 children)’ (SA-kuva 21816/Raate Road/01.07.1941; CC BY 4.0) 3.10 Top: Original caption: ‘The mutilated girl’s body is carried out of the cabin’ (SA-kuva 122052/Suomussalmi/07.07.1943; CC BY 4.0). Bottom: Age and gender of the civilian victims of the Soviet partisan attacks (based on Jatkosodan Siviiliveteraanit n.d.) 3.11 Soviet PoWs digging a grave, overseen by a German non-commissioned officer (NCO, third from the left) and soldiers in work clothing somewhere in Finnish Lapland. Germans appear to be Gebirgsjäger wearing the Bergmütze field caps (Max Peronius, probably September 1941) 3.12 Finnish-Jewish soldiers outside their field synagogue at Svir, Russia. Back: Herman Berman, Leo Epstein, Daniel Wardi (Waprinsky), Bernhard Kapri, Abner Zewi, Jacob Manuel, Ruben Stiller, David Wardi (Waprinsky),

46

47

48

49 51

52 53

55

57

xiv Figures











Samuel Chalupovitsch; Front: Isak Smolar and Abraham Scheiman (Wikimedia Commons; Public domain) 3.13 Original caption: ‘German leader Himmler on a visit in the headquarters of General Hjalmar Siilasvuo’ (SA-kuva 79522/Kananainen (nowadays in Russia)/27.3.1942; CC BY 4.0) 3.14 Marshal Mannerheim’s 75th birthday in 1942.  Top: Original caption: ‘Hitler’s visit to Finland’ (SA-kuva 89780/ s.l. (Imatra?)/04.06.1942; CC BY 4.0). Bottom: Original caption: ‘Marshal Mannerheim’s 75th birthday: address from the Central Committee of the Finnish Jewish congregations’ (SA-kuva 90810/Helsinki/04.06.1942; CC BY 4.0) 3.15 Top: Evacuee caravan on the road to south, notice the young German soldier controlling the traffic (SA-kuva 163062/Sodankylä/17.09.1944; CC BY 4.0). Bottom: ‘… I waved to my parents and young siblings who then climbed to the back of a German truck. It took [them] to Rovaniemi and then with a train south from there…’ (F11), notice the name tags that children have around their necks (SA-kuva 163111/Haparanda, Sweden/19.09.1944; CC BY 4.0) 3.16 Top: Original caption: ‘Whoever understands German may read this’ (SA-kuva 166081/Muonio/31.10.1944; CC BY 4.0), sign says ‘As thanks for not showing comradeshipin-arms’. Bottom: ‘Views on the roadside were mournful, villages had been burnt, only chimneys stood out… all bridges and culverts were exploded…’ (Arrela 1983: 26). Original caption: ‘Dispatch rider on Valtakatu.’ (SA-kuva 165749/Rovaniemi/n.d.; CC BY 4.0) 3.17 A wooden vaulting horse standing on a Soviet soldiers’ gymnastics ground in the forests near Ivalo, next to a Red Army base occupied after the war in 1945 (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015) 3.18 Top: Easily overlooked German barrack foundations at the center of Rovaniemi, partly destroyed by a parking lot of a shopping center. The Sicherheitsdienst des Reichsführers-SS (SD, Security Service) had its base in this area, and these are possibly remains of those buildings. Bottom: German Luftwaffe barrack foundations, immediately behind the Santa Claus Village tourist attractions at the Arctic Circle, Rovaniemi; by 2018 these were overrun by the encroaching tourism infrastructure, without any archaeological investigations and only a cursory mapping before they were destroyed (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015)

58 60

62

64

67

69

70

Figures  xv 3.19 The former SS officer’s club in Alppila (Alpine Village) in Oulu, a prime example of the Nazi Heimatschutzarchitektur (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2018) 71 3.20 Top: Remains of the narrow, roughly shaped PoW bunkbeds inside a log house frame at Inari Nangujärvi Saiholompola (6) (Oula Seitsonen 2011). Bottom: A table along the wall of a collapsed PoW log house at Inari Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 1 (111) (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2010) 73 3.21 Top: A PoW camp barbwire gate drooping on its hinges at Inari Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 1 (111), with a log-built PoW kitchen standing on the background – by 2016 this gate had fallen down (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2010). Bottom: A collapsed German WWII bridge at Sodankylä Huuhkajanpäänpaistama in a sudden snowstorm in early June – still in the turn of 2000s one could drive a car over the bridge (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016). These examples demonstrate the greater pace of decay over the past decade, as also the log house in Figure 2.1 74 3.22 The spatial distribution of WWII localities in the Finnish cultural heritage registers of the National Board of Forestry and the National Heritage Agency (partly overlapping) (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2018; Background: US National Park Service) 77 4.1 German Schneefräse and Gebirgsjäger cleaning a road of snow in the northernmost Sápmi (SA-kuva 126884/ Petsamo/10.04.1943) 91 4.2 Top: Stretch of the Eismeerstraße maintained in its wartime condition as a one-lane ‘museum road’ by the Saariselkä fjells (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016). Bottom: Building the northernmost stretch of the Eismeerstraße. Original caption: ‘Near Kalastajasaarento. Men of Org. Todt build first class road. Road goes so high that there is snow in many places still in July’ (SA-kuva 102489/Litsa/17.07.1942) 93 4.3 Examples of how the various visualising algorithms emphasize differently the archaeological features, in this case dugouts, shooting positions and trenches at a German WWII wilderness outpost in Enontekiö: (a) Lidar pointcloud, visualized by elevation; (b) Analytical hillshading of the Digital Surface Model (DSM) showing the mountain birch vegetation cover; (c) Analytical hillshading of the bare-earth Digital Terrain Model; (d) Hillshading from multiple directions; (e) Sky-View Factor; (f) Local Relief Model; (g) Principal Component Analysis (PCA) of

xvi Figures multiple hillshadings; (h) Openness; and (i) Diffuse solar radiation (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2015) 4.4 Distribution of the German-run PoW, punishment and forced labour camps in northern Finland, including the Organisation Todt (OT) camps, as known in 2018 (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2019). Based on the studies by Pertti Huttunen (1990, 1995a, b), Landscapes of Finnish Conflicts (LOFC), Lapland’s Dark Heritage (LDH), Lapland Society for Military History (LSMH), National Board of Forestry (NBF), Siida, Reinhard Otto (2008, n.d., forthcoming), Sillanpää & Rikkinen (2019) and Lars Westerlund (2008a). See Appendix 3 for a map with the site numbers and Appendix 2 for a list of the sites 4.5 Original caption: ‘Field Railway in the snow’, a German train somewhere along the Hyrynsalmi-Kuusamo Field Railway (Bundesarchiv, Bild 101I-107-1311-33/1943/ CC-BY-SA 3.0) 4.6 Hyrynsalmi-Kuusamo Field Railway (Bahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi–Kuusamo) built by the OT and Wehrmacht and the known PoW and forced labour camps along it. Numbers refer to Appendix 2 (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2018) 4.7 Remains of the gates of the PoW punishment camp (Polarstraflager) at Inari Minnanlampi (131), with barbwire still heavily embracing the posts and living trees used for fencing off the prisoner area (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2017) 4.8 Scene over the Skirhasjohka PoW camp (96) at Kilpisjärvi in late September, snow filled tent placements in the foreground (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015) 4.9 General map of the Inari Peltojoki base (1); Inset: Rubbish pit (S1) full of rusty tins in 2006, before the clearing of surface material by the Pidä Lappi siistinä organization, remains of a concrete kitchen wall on the background (Photograph Oula Seitsonen 2006/Mapping Oula Seitsonen & Kerkko Nordqvist 2009) 4.10 G  eneral maps of two remote PoW camps. Top: Inari Nangujärvi Saiholompola; Bottom: Salla Palojärvi (Illustrations Oula Seitsonen 2010/2016) 4.11 ‘Adolf’s kammi’, a modern turf-covered kammi-hut in the Kaldoaivi wilderness. According to a popular story it is haunted by the ghost of a German soldier named Adolf (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2017) 4.12 General map of the Sodankylä Purnumukka PoW camp; Inset: PoW tent placement dug deeply into ground (Illustration and photograph Oula Seitsonen 2015)

95

96

97

98

100 103

104 106

107 108

Figures  xvii 4.13 General map of the Inari Martinkotajärvi PoW camp; Inset: Orthodox crosses standing on both sides of the narrow path leading to the PoW mass grave (Illustration and photograph Oula Seitsonen 2016) 109 4.14 Enigmatic cobblestone features at Inari Kankiniemi, three of them encircling the bases of pine trees. On the right, leaning against a tree, is a wooden post uncovered next to the stone structures: two posts were found, perhaps used for fencing this area in garden-like fashion. In the background, to the right of the shovel, is a turf-enforced foundation of a German building. The track leads further into the camp, towards the fenced off PoW compound (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015) 110 4.15 Reused and remodelled German barracks in the center of Pelkosenniemi village (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015) 111 4.16 Extremely rare shots from inside a German-run PoW camp, liberated by the Finnish and Soviet troops that met at Ivalo in November 1944, and showing also the interior of a PoW cardboard tent. On the left, notice the famished condition of the PoW inspected by a Finnish doctor, and observed by the Soviet soldiers. On the right, the makeshift footwear of the PoW standing outside illustrates well the conditions; Finnish doctor and a Soviet soldier are climbing out of the tent dug into the ground. Original caption for both photographs: ‘Finnish doctor inspects and brings medicine to a Russian second lieutnants’ camp taken over from the Germans (Prison camp was near Ivalo)’ (Left: SA-kuva 166357; Right: SA-kuva 166358/06.11.1944) 112 4.17 Laughing German soldiers watch as a Russian PoW breathes in the scent of German tobacco. Original caption: ‘A prisoner wounded in hand, caught about 5 min before taking the picture, has received as a first thing a fistful of tobacco from the Germans’ (SA-kuva 102533/ Litsa/27.07.1942) 114 5.1 A burned and broken German military-issue porcelain cup from the Inari military hospital excavations (Photograph: 122 Oula Seitsonen 2016) 5.2 Martial and other matériel: (a) tail of one-kilogram incineration bomb; (b) flare pistol cartridge; (c and d) a screw cap and cracked head of a Model 24 Stielhandgranate; (e–g) exploded bullets; (h and i) buckles; (j–l) uniform buttons; (m and n) melted ether bottles; (o and p) burnt frostbite cream tubes; (q) gramophone record fragments; (r) insect-repellant spray (scale 10 cm,

xviii Figures

5.3

5.4

5.5 5.6

5.7

5.8

5.9

all others 5 cm). Places of origin: (a, c, e–l) Inari Peltojoki (1); (b, m–o, r) Inari military hospital; (d, p and q) Inari Hyljelahti (24) (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2018) 126 Household finds: (a) refitted German military-issue cup, (b) refitted Arabia Pääsky jug, (c) German soup bowl fragment, (d–g) ceramic stamps, (h–l) cutlery, (m–q) tins, (r) fragment of a stoneware bottle, (s–t) cutlery stamps, (u) ‘RK’ scratched on a fork, (v) Delbeck bottle top, (w) Aktiebolaget Vin & Spritcentralen bottle top (10 cm scale: b–c; 5 cm scale: a, h–r; 2 cm scale: d–g, s–w). All from Inari Peltojoki (1) (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2017) 128 Artefacts linked to a manufacturer from the archaeologically documented sites in Finnish Lapland, illustrating the extent of German military logistical network (numbers refer to the Table 5.2), and the maximum extent of Axis-related territories in 1942; notice the modern borders (Illustration: Oula Seitsonen 2018) 130 A Gebirgsjäger column with mules and horses approaching the Laanila guest house, run by Max Peronius, in Inari (Max Peronius 1941–1944) 135 Left: A German officer with ‘Eismeerbart’ in an improvised mishmash of Finnish, German and civilian winter clothing. Original caption: ‘German “panzer lieutenant” as a fjell climber’ (SA-kuva 67457/ Voittotunturi/15.12.1941). Right: Original caption: ‘lotta [sic] marveling the trunk of a well, decorated with cherubs that German Müller has carved’ (NM HK7744: 313/ Tiiksjärvi/Pauli Jänis/1941) 137 PoW-related finds: (a) the ‘Jakov piece’, engraved piece of trench art; (b) a self-made shoesole, carved of rubber (possibly car tyre based on a marking on it); (c) a button of unknown origin; (d) a Soviet Тремасс military button; (e and f) manufacturing waste from making self-made shoesoles of car/motorcycle tyres; (g) a small leather inner-shoesole. Places of origin: (a–d) Inari Peltojoki (1); (e and f) Inari Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 1 (111); (g) Inari 139 Kankiniemi (15) (Illustration: Oula Seitsonen 2016) Two aluminium trench art cigarette cases resembling the ‘Jakov piece’, in the Porsanger Museum collection. At least the top one with Cyrillic text is a PoW-manufactured piece 140 (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2017) A PoW or forced labourer engraved aluminium kettle found at Vika, Rovaniemi, on display at the Salla Museum of War and Reconstruction; Inset: Places engraved into the kettle (1–5): (1) Tosna, Russia; (2) Krasnoye Selo, Russia;

Figures  xix (3) Anola, Russia; (4) Essu, Estonia; (5) Narva, Estonia and (6) Vika, Finland (Illustration: Oula Seitsonen 2017) 5.10 Percentages of the animal species documented in the guard and prisoner contexts at the studied German sites, based on the zooarchaeological analysis; Inset: Heavily butchered cow vertebrae from a German guards’ rubbish pit (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2017) 6.1 Northern influences at the German camps. Top: Outside cooking kota; Bottom: Remains of several vesipasa, horse-drawn water troughs; both at Inari Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 2 (110) (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2010) 6.2 Posing with the ‘exotic’ Sámi. Original caption: ‘Germans photographing the Skolts’ (SA-kuva 81953/Suonikylä/12.04.1942) 6.3 Original caption: ‘Finishing a German dugout dwelling, address is Hansa-Allee 30/Hansa Allee 30 – it is the German captain’s home address also in Frankfurt’ (SA-kuva JSdia766/Alakurtti, Salla/26.09.1941). The builder appears to be a Soviet PoW, with a spoon tucked into his boot shaft 6.4 Pikku Berliini (Little Berlin) pub in Tornio, Lapland, at the place of the WWII German garrison area (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016) 6.5 Speer (on the right) overnighting at a lean-to at the Lake Saaritaimenjärvi, Inari. Original caption: ‘Albert Speer in Finland. December 1943’ (Bundesarchiv, Bild 183J16637/1943/CC-BY-SA 3.0) 6.6 An analogous fantastic scene to that of Speer’s violinist playing in the wilderness, captured by a Finnish military photographer at Liinahamari, Petsamo. Original caption: ‘Violinist of the “Kraft durch Freude” organization plays for the mountain jaegers on the shore of the Arctic Ocean’ (SA-kuva 102507/Liinahamari/27.07.1942) 6.7 Archaeologist Mika Kunnari surveying the scarce traces of Pikku-Helsinki refugee camp housing Lapland’s evacuees in 1944–1945 at Kusfors, northern Sweden (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016) 7.1 A German dugout at Peltojoki used according to the locals by the returning evacuees, and later by fishermen and hunters. The wooden superstructure is a post-war construction, built after the burning of the camp in 1944 (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015) 7.2 Memories of the Soviet partisan attacks. Top: Piispankivi (Bishop’s Stone) memorial raised by the Finnish Evangelical Lutheran Church in 1950 to commemorate

141

144

152 153

155 155

156

158

161

171

xx Figures the partisan attack at Laanila, Inari (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2010); Bottom: Number of memorials and books published in Finland related to the Soviet partisan attacks 7.3 ‘War junk’ in the wilderness in Inari (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2011) 8.1 ‘For the Fatherland’ memorial plaque at the Vuotso school: included are also the three local post-war casualties. Notice the very young and old civilian victims of the Soviet partisan terror attack on 19 August 1943 (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015) 8.2 Father Rauno Pietarinen giving an Orthodox memorial service at the Kankiniemi PoW camp in October 2016 (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016) 8.3 An illustrated love story of a Finnish woman and a German soldier in the ‘Wir waren Freunde – We were friends’ exhibition at the Provincial Museum of Lapland, Rovaniemi (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015) 8.4 A ‘Wir waren Freunde’ matchbox, banned advertisement turned into a collectible (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015) 8.5 An interactive photograph of German mountain jaegers with a Finnish girl during WWII in Rovaniemi (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015) 8.6 Amused General Dietl dressed in a Sámi ‘Four Winds Hat’ (Sámi: čiehgahpir); Original caption: Commander of the German 20th Mountain Army in Lapland, General-Oberst Eduard Dietl (NM HK19830604:390/Lapland/1942) 8.7 According to the local communal memories, General Dietl’s log cabin stood at this place in Oikarainen, near Rovaniemi, seen here in early May. Dietl’s alleged rubbish pit is under the snow on the left (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015) 8.8 Original caption: ‘General Schultz’s house from the outside’ (SA-kuva 147825/Rovaniemi/29.03.1944) 8.9 (Top) Metal detectorists’ ‘excavation’ on the edge of a German WWII barrack foundation (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015); (Bottom) Small finds salvaged from the WWII sites by local history enthusiasts in Vuotso, wartime photographs, maps, and sketches of the German installations drawn by one of our interviewees (M18) (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015); (Inset) A German helmet taken to the Gold Prospector Museum by another interviewee (M17) (Photograph: Gold Prospector Museum) 8.10 Military memorabilia, including metal detectorist finds and weapons, connected to the WWII German military

175 178

188 192

193 194 197

199

200 201

203

Figures  xxi presence in Lapland for sale in an antique shop in Rovaniemi (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016) 9.1 Village history boards at Purnumukka, organized by an enthusiastic, culturally active local reindeer herder and funded by the European Union (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015) 9.2 Reconstruction of a German ‘Heinrich’ shelter on a foggy day at the Lyngen-Stellung in Kilpisjärvi, built by volunteers in 2017 (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2019) 9.3 Exploded remains of German anti-aircraft gun positions at Ivalo, Inari (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015) 9.4 Preliminary augmented reality representation of the Peltojoki military base: a screenshot of the author explaining a ‘spectral’ scene of reconstructed barracks to his daughters, Elvi, Sohvi and Elsa Seitsonen (Photograph: Sanna Seitsonen 2015) 9.5 Original caption: ‘Lotta in lapp [sic] outfit at Kemijärvi’ (SA-kuva 4674/ 02.10.1940/Kemijärvi) 9.6 Scientists searching for a geocache at a German Second World War site; from left, historian Mari Olafson Lundemo and archaeologists Iain Banks, Vesa-Pekka Herva, Gabriel Moshenska, Jaisson Teixeira Lino, Suzie Thomas and Wesa Perttola (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016) 10.1 Shades of German dark heritage in Lapland. A preliminary sketch for a spectrum of dark heritage inspired by Stone’s (2006) spectrum of dark tourism: on the horizontal axis examples of site types from ‘darkest’ to ‘lightest’, and on the vertical axis some features that appear generally connected to the ‘insider’ and ‘outsider’ perspectives on the wartime heritage, such as differences in the worldviews and hauntings (Oula Seitsonen 2017) 10.2 Vast reservoir lake of Lokka, which inundated the homelands and grazing grounds of Sámi herders in the ‘re-destruction of Sompio’, seen from the top of PyhäNattanen fjell (Oula Seitsonen 2015) 10.3 Transnational battle terrain at Lyngen-Stellung in Kilpisjärvi, with Swedish and Norwegian mountains looming on the background (Oula Seitsonen 2019) 10.4 Iconic and sacred Nattaset fjell landscape near Vuotso, Sodankylä (Oula Seitsonen 2015)

204

212 213 213

214 216

217

225

228 231 232

Tables

5.1 Categories of Artefacts from the Studied German Sites in Finnish Lapland 125 5.2 Artefacts Linked to a Manufacturer from the Studied Sites (Numbers Refer to Figure 5.4) 131 7.1 PLS War Junk Project in 2005–2010 and the Amount of Matériel Collected and Sold as Scrap Metal (PLS 2005, 2008, 2010–2013) 177

Series editors’ preface

A colleague who acquired British nationality was bemused by one of the questions in the written test that she was obliged to take: ‘where does Father Christmas live?’ Apparently the correct answer was ‘Lapland’. Obviously this is a slap in the face for the North Pole, but it relates directly to one of the themes addressed in this book: namely, Lapland’s reputation as a liminal region in which magic might occur and where mythical beings (and of course Father Christmas) might dwell. As the author makes clear, Lapland (or imagined versions of it) has a long history of playing this role in the European imagination. Perhaps as a consequence, and also, undoubtedly, because of its geographical marginality, it is one of the last places in which people might imagine the Second World War to have been fought. Yet this is precisely what occurred between 1941 and 1944 in this region ‘completely unsuitable for military operations’. In 1941 Nazi-Germany sent troops to this far-northern outpost of Europe. Their aim was, with the cooperation of their Finnish ‘brothers in arms’, to secure important nickel mines at Petsamo (now Pechenga in Russia) and to mount an offensive to capture the Soviet ice-free port of Murmansk. The second element of this plan failed, leaving Murmansk open as a vital conduit for US and British aid to the Soviet Union. Germany’s ‘arctic’ front became a static backwater. In September 1944, a war of movement returned as Finland – under the terms of its peace negotiations with the Soviet U ­ nion – was obliged to expel German troops from its territory. The Germans were unprepared for war in Lapland, both practically and psychologically. The climate, terrain, distances and lack of infrastructure hampered their operations. The long winter nights, the midnight sun in summer, the endless horizons and trackless land impinged upon their psyche. To fight the war in this environment they needed to build roads and military encampments. Dwarfed as these efforts were by the scale of the landscape, they nevertheless represent a classic example of the ‘Western Gaze’ being applied to a landscape with the intention of establishing ‘control’. As revealed by this book, their efforts (whether acknowledged or subliminal) to impose control and a sense of order were repeated on a micro-scale in the layout and detailing of their encampments – both those constructed for

xxvi  Series editors’ preface German personnel and those built to house the forced labourers who did most of the actual work. The latter were largely Soviet prisoners of war, of whom many died due to the harshness of their captivity. Curiously however, it would appear that Soviet PoWs in Lapland were actually significantly better treated than those unfortunate enough to be held in German captivity elsewhere. They were at least given the opportunity to work and were fed and housed. By contrast, two million of their comrades died within six months of their capture in 1941, from starvation, exposure and disease, due to the wilful neglect of the German Army. This better treatment may have stemmed from the fact that the Germans, as ‘visitors’ could not behave in the same way that they did as ‘conquerors’ in Eastern Europe. In Lapland there were civilians of an allied nation present to witness how these prisoners were treated. Which brings us to the other major theme of this book – the war landscape of Finnish Lapland as a memory-scape. Memory of the Second World War is problematic in Finland. It is easy for Finns to see themselves as the heroic underdogs of the 1939–1940 ‘Winter War’, when their country stood virtually alone against Soviet aggression; but things are not so simple when it comes to the ‘Continuation War’ of 1941– 1944. For in this war Finland fought as a ‘co-belligerent’ of ­Nazi-Germany, leaving a mass of historical baggage to be sorted by succeeding generations of Finns. They have to disentangle a wartime history in which democratic Finland fought alongside Hitler’s racist totalitarian state. It was a war in which Finnish Jews fought for their country; even being able to worship in their own field synagogue. Meanwhile, simultaneously, other Finns were joining the Waffen SS as volunteers with some of them (very probably) participating in the murder of Jewish civilians in the Soviet Union. In Lapland Finnish soldiers fought alongside German Mountain Light Infantry and Waffen SS units; but they ended the war fighting against these same men during their expulsion from Finland in 1944. Lapland’s people faced death and destruction: Soviet Partisans mounted savage attacks on isolated communities, while the regional capital, Rovaniemi, was burned to the ground by the Germans in 1944. The mistreated slave-labourers of the Nazi regime were there for all to see. The illegitimate offspring of German soldiers live there still. This book shows how the material remains of the war in Lapland engage with the shifting and often uncomfortable legacy of memory and forgetfulness that has stemmed from these dramatic events. It also shines a light on how modern Finns relate to the physical remains of the war – something that may vary according to whether they come from Lapland or ‘outside’, or indeed whether they are Finns or one of the region’s original inhabitants, the Sámi. Given the many aforementioned historical issues and material interfaces, this wide-ranging and deeply knowledgeable book is a significant achievement. It shows how archaeology can add new insights into complex issues and indeed add new ones by its own investigations. It is in many respects

Series editors’ preface  xxvii a textbook example of how fruitful and challenging the interdisciplinary approach of modern conflict archaeology can be. Indeed, the Second World War in Lapland with its mix of themes and topics such as occupation, ‘wars within wars’, indigenous beliefs and traditions, memory and material culture, heritage and tourism, and a cast of actors (Sámi, Finns, Germans, Soviet PoWs) demands a muscular and sophisticated response, as all are brought together and reconfigured in the cauldron of industrialized conflict. Identifying, separating out, and investigating these interconnected issues, and tracing their various trajectories across time and space (and down to the present) is a monumental task which is begun with verve and skill in the pages of this book. A core aspect of the challenges met here concerns making archaeological and anthropological sense of the shifting political and military context, such as that which saw Finnish soldiers allying with the Germans against the Russians, then reversing this decision in 1944 – an act which led to the destruction of Lapland villages and the creation of a complex archaeological record. This is a dramatic example of the social and political dimensions implicit in the formation of the archaeological record, its excavation, its interpretation and the choice of whether or not to present it as heritage, and how? Chronicling how a conflict landscape is created, reconfigured and interacted with is another major issue dealt with here, as is the long tail of its various legacies that seem to generate ever more difficult and contested topics to be confronted. As has been shown by other books in this series, the consequences of modern conflicts far outlive the events which created them – and in unpredictable ways. This is certainly true for the events, places and people dealt with here, and includes such small items as souvenirs and trench art, to whole villages and towns, and beyond these to the entire multi-­layered and contested landscape itself. It is characteristic of all wars that intimate details are sometimes revealed by the most mundane objects. Matchboxes created to publicize a 2015–2016 exhibition at the Provincial Museum of Lapland in Rovaniemi, entitled Wir waren Freunde – We were friends. Encounters of Germans and Finns in Lapland 1940–1944, are a devastating example of the power and indeed volatility of even these most diminutive examples of material culture. Coloured black, and inscribed with the blood-red words Wir waren Freunde, they referenced the ‘Burning of Lapland’ by German soldiers during their 1944 retreat. The ‘difficult legacy’ dimension of this event reverberates even in social behaviour where, over recent decades, some Rovaniemi inhabitants provocatively shake matchboxes at German tourists. From the everyday to the supernatural, the conflict landscape of Lapland intercalates with a memoryscape of haunting character, where ghostly German soldiers are said to meet with passers-by. Such ethereal encounters harden, however, when it comes to varying attitudes towards material culture. Where locals can affect an outwardly indifferent attitude yet consider they are custodians of German objects and that these should stay where

xxviii  Series editors’ preface they are as part of their landscape, ‘outsiders’ equipped with ever-cheaper metal detectors see ‘pristine’ natural landscapes replete with ‘war junk’ and needing to be cleared and/or sold to memorabilia collectors. Lapland’s twentieth-century conflict terrain is a prime example of the social construction of landscape, crisscrossed by a spider’s web of visible and invisible connecting threads whose significance may emerge without warning. The lasting contribution of this book is that it shows how such threads can be recognized, investigated and made sense of, not just for Lapland but for many landscapes of modern conflict. Paul Cornish and Nicholas J. Saunders

Preface

This book is an edited and extended version of my 2018 doctoral dissertation at the University of Helsinki, Finland, Digging Hitler’s Arctic War: Archaeologies and Heritage of the Second World War German Military Presence in Finnish Lapland. It builds on the research carried out in Finnish Lapland in 2006–2019 by me and my colleagues from the Universities of Helsinki and Oulu as part of the projects ‘Landscapes of Finnish Conflicts: Conflict Archaeological Studies in Finland and Karelian Isthmus’ (2004–2010), ‘Lapland’s Dark Heritage: Understanding the Cultural Legacy of Northern Finland’s WWII German Materialities within Interdisciplinary Perspective’ (2014–2018), and ‘Legacies of Conflicts’ (2019). Prior to my pioneering work in the early 2000s, archaeologists had expressed little interest in the sites of recent conflicts in Finland. However, the situation has been rapidly changing over the past decade in Finland, as also in the neighbouring countries. More and more people are becoming aware of the importance of the sites from our recent, or contemporary, past, and their intrinsic heritage value. Globally, in the past two decades contemporary and conflict archaeologies have moved from the marginal into the mainstream and become well-established sub-disciplines of archaeological science. This study presents the first wider, problem-oriented and theoretically informed investigation into the archaeologies, materialities and heritage of the German Second World War presence in Lapland. I hope this book will introduce the reader to a little-known theatre of war and its material legacies. In 1940–1944, Finland co-operated with Nazi Germany in the fight against Soviet Union, and then in 1944–1945 fought a brief but destructive war against its former German allies. The German presence as brothers-inarms-cum-enemies in northern Finland has been a debated, difficult and downplayed issue in Finland, and despite a general fascination with WWII history within Finland, there have been few studies on this theme until recently. Also, any question of the heritage status of the German material remains has been raised only very recently. The northern wartime material legacy is framed here as a form of problematic and ambiguous ‘dark heritage’. It has been seen, on national level, as a concrete reminder of Finns siding with the Nazis, and as polluting ‘war

xxx Preface junk’ that ruins the ‘pristine natural beauty’ of Lapland’s wilderness. However, for the indigenous Sámi – Finnish Lapland is part of Sápmi, the homeland of Europe’s only indigenous people – and the northern Finnish settlers, these remains have become deeply embedded into their own ancestral cultural landscapes and act as active agents of transgenerational memories. The neglecting, and even eradicating, of these material traces has become to stand out as one symbol of the continuing north-south confrontations and marginalization of the north. This interweaves with Lapland’s long colonial history and the Finnish State’s slowness in answering the complex and fluctuating colonial and indigenous issues. Heritage is approached in the book through a ‘relational’ reading, which attempts to escape the Cartesian dualistic oppositions of, for instance, nature and culture. Instead, inspiration is drawn from the traditional northern Finnish and Sámi way of seeing the world as an all-encompassing, fluid and cognitively-controlled dynamic unity. The vast differences in approaching, and engaging with, the German material legacy appear to derive from the fundamentally different mental templates with which people approach the landscapes and perceive the subject and its importance, one rooted on a ‘Western’ cosmology, and another on a traditional relational cosmology. Although this book is geographically centred on northern Finnish Lapland, the discussed issues have much wider relevance for a range of past and present issues. This study provides to the ongoing discussion on numerous themes, such as heritage perception, value and ownership, indigenous rights and community empowerment, relational cosmologies and ontologies, and the ongoing worldwide refugee crisis that reached even the northernmost Europe in 2015. In addition, it contributes with empirical and interdisciplinary research to the emerging field of ‘dark heritage’ studies. This book also illustrates Lapland’s place as a mythologized extreme northern periphery of European world, which strongly affected the German performance during the war. The mythologized and Othering views continue to affect the ways with which Lapland and its wartime heritage is approached and perceived in public, both in Finland and abroad. I hope this book can serve also as a textbook, which offers insight into the interdisciplinary approach, and might be of interest for wider audiences beyond the academic circles. Gilbbesjávri, Sápmi April 27, 2019, 74 years after the end of the war in Lapland Oula Seitsonen

Acknowledgements

First and foremost, I want to thank my outstanding colleagues in the best project of them all, Lapland’s Dark Heritage: Vesa-Pekka Herva, Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto and Suzie Thomas. All the other colleagues and friends who have been involved in this great project, in one way or another, deserve huge thanks for the discussions archaeological and beyond, good company on field, and so on. To name but the most important ones, thanks to Áile Aikio, Iain Banks, Lee G. Broderick, Annukka Debenjak, Heli Heinäaho, Anu Herva, Mirkka Hekkurainen, Tuuli Koponen, Hannu Kotivuori, Mika Kunnari, Kalevi Mikkonen, Jaisson Lino, Gabriel Moshenska, Eija Ojanlatva, Maria Persson, Mari Olafson Lundemo, Reinhard Otto, Meaghan Peuramäki-Brown, Sanna Seitsonen, James Symonds, Anni Tolppanen, Wesa Perttola and Juha West. My friends Ulrika Köngäs, Heidi Mehtonen, Kerkko Nordqvist, Áile and Sanna, of course, were digging with me in Inari long before Lapland’s Dark Heritage was even imagined, and already earlier than that at Drozdovka on the Kola Peninsula, Russia, and on the island of Melkøya, Norway. They and these trips contributed significantly to the birth of the wider research project discussed in this book. Through the years Rantamari has given way to PaPaNa, but Anár still is, and will always be, Anarchy. This work would not have been even imaginable without the positive, keen and fascinated attitudes of numerous ‘normal people’, for instance, in Inari, Kilpisjärvi, Salla, Sodankylä, Vuotso and elsewhere! Without an interested, active and communicating public I would never have gotten this far. Most importantly, I owe huge thanks to Marjo Harjula, Eino Havas, Maunu Hetta, Raija Hugg, Erkki Karisaari, Matti Lehtola, Jari Leskinen, Eila Magga, Iisakki Magga, Oula Magga, Pekka Moilanen, Sirpa Mänty, Hans Niittyvuopio, Antti Ohenoja, Leo Onkamo, Seppo J. Partanen, father Rauno ­Pietarinen, Minna Rissanen, Aki Romakkaniemi, Maxi Rödel, Alpo Siivola, Marita Siljanto, Jarkko Sipola, Annette Stenroos, Juha Tornensis, all the Vuotso and Kilpisjärvi villagers and schoolchildren, and many, many others, for sharing their invaluable and interesting memories and information. Important financial, logistical and other support for this research has been provided by the Academy of Finland, University of Helsinki, National

xxxii Acknowledgements Board of Forestry, Sámi Museum Siida, Lapland Society for Military History, National Heritage Agency, Nordenskiöld-samfundet i Finland, Karelian Cultural Fund, Association for Cherishing the Memory of the Dead of the War, and Salla Museum of War and Reconstruction. I also want to thank the series editors and other editorial staff for their efforts. A host of other colleagues and friends from archaeology, geography and beyond should also be mentioned. To name but a few, thanks to Ceri Ashley, Stanislav Belskiy, Mippe and Tom Blencowe, Johanna Enqvist, Mikael Fortelius, Dmitrij Gerasimov, Alfredo González-Ruibal, Petri Halinen, Vladimir Kekez, the ‘Khanuy Beatles’ (Jamsranjav Bayarsaikhan, Jean-Luc Houle, Peter Woodley, and Lee), Olli Kunnas, Liisa Kunnas-Pusa, Vesa Laulumaa, Paul Lane, Mika Lavento, Sergei Lisitsyn, Otso Manninen, Tiina Mikkanen, Teemu Mökkönen, Þóra Pétursdóttir, Lauri Seitsonen, Mikko Suha, ‘Jerry’ Tuvshinjargal, Eero Vahala, Tiina Äikäs, the departed wazee Joseph ­Mutua and Ari Siiriäinen, my parents Mirja and Ilari, my sister Outi and her f­ amily, and everyone else not listed here. You know who you are. Last, but not least, I want to thank Sanna, Sohvi, Elsa and Elvi more than I can express, for tolerating my sometimes-eccentric journeys, for taking part in the fieldwork sometimes through the snow and ice, and for travelling together in Lapland and elsewhere! Sanna, that bear still talks – and sings.

Abbreviations

AOK20 DEM etc. e.g. FDF GIS GPS i.e. LSMH

German 20th Mountain Army, Gebirgs-Armee-Oberkommando 20 Digital Elevation Model et cetera, and so forth exempli gratia, for example Finnish Defence Forces Geographical Information System Global Positioning System id est, in other words Lapin sotahistoriallinen seura, Lapland Society for Military History, Finland NBF Metsähallitus, Finnish National Board of Forestry NHA Museovirasto, Finnish National Heritage Agency NLS Maanmittauslaitos, Finnish National Land Survey NM National Museum of Finland n.d. no date LDH Lapland’s Dark Heritage, heritage project at the University of Helsinki, Finland LiDAR Light Detection And Ranging, laser-scanning data for three-­ dimensional documentation LOFC Landscapes of Finnish Conflicts, conflict archaeological project at the University of Helsinki, Finland OT Organisation Todt, Third Reich work organization PLS Pidä Lappi Siistinä, Keep Lapland Tidy, a Finnish environmental organization based in Rovaniemi PoW Prisoner-of-War PS Project Sturmbock, mapping project at the Second World War Sturmbock-Stellung, Finland SA-kuva Finnish Wartime Photograph Archive, available at www.sakuva.fi s.l. sine loco, without a place Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, i.e. the Soviet Union USSR WWI First World War WWII Second World War Yleisradio, Finnish state-owned broadcasting company YLE

Glossary

Arbeitskommando  German temporary Prisoner-of-War work detachment Bahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi–Kuusamo  major German Second World War railroad building project in Finland, from Hyrynsalmi to Kuusamo Burning of Lapland  German scorched earth tactics in Finnish Lapland in 1944–1945 Čiehgahpir (Four Winds Hat)  traditional Sámi headgear loaded with private meanings Continuation War (jatkosota)  Finnish-Russian war in 1941–1944 alongside the German invasion of Soviet Union (Operation Barbarossa) Einsatzkommando Finnland  Gestapo special command in Finland Eismeerstraße  Arctic Ocean Road in Finnish Lapland from Rovaniemi to Petsamo Endlösung  Final solution to the Jewish question, the Nazi German plan for the genocide of Jews in Second World War Finnish Civil War  internal conflict in Finland in 1918 between the White (right-wing) and Red (left-wing) forces, the former were backed up by Imperial Germany and the latter by Red Russians; the conflict led to a White victory and widespread incarceration of the defeated side Gákti  traditional Sámi clothing loaded with private meanings Gebirgs-Armee-Oberkommando 20 (AOK20)  German 20th Mountain Army Gebirgsjäger  Third Reich Mountain jaegers Geocaching  online treasure hunting game Gestapo  Geheime Staatspolizei, Nazi German security police Heinrich  German corrugated iron military shelter Huopikas  traditional winter felt boots Intermediate Peace (välirauha)  peace between Finland and Soviet Union in 1940–1941 Joik (luohti)  traditional form of Sámi singing Kammi  traditional turf-covered shallow hut Keittokota  traditional tepee-like cooking hut Kota  traditional tepee-like Sámi tent (Sámi  lávvu) Kriegslazarett  German military hospital Lantalainen  southerner, literally meaning ‘cow dung person’

xxxvi Glossary Lapikas  traditional leather boots, also for skiing Lapin Jäte Oy, Lapland’s Waste Inc.  company that collected German military material after the war Lapin sotahistoriallinen seura (Lapland Society for Military History)  local historical society, Finland Lapland War (Lapin sota)  Finnish-German war in 1944–1945 Lotta  Finnish female paramilitary organization Luftflotte  Luftwaffe Air Fleet Luftwaffe  Third Reich Air Forces Lyngen-Stellung  German Second World War defensive line in Norway Museovirasto  Finnish National Heritage Agency Metsähallitus  Finnish National Board of Forestry Nebenlager  German Prisoners-of-War sub-camp Netnography  online ethnographic research Operation Barbarossa  German invasion of Soviet Union Organisation Todt  Third Reich work organization Partisans  Soviet forces that made terror attacks behind the frontlines in Lapland and Eastern Finland Pidä Lappi Siistinä (Keep Lapland Tidy)  Finnish environmental organization based in Rovaniemi Polarstraflager  German punishment camp for Prisoners-of-War in Inari, Finnish Lapland Sámediggi  Finnish Sámi Parliament Sámi  only indigenous people in Europe Sápmi  Sámi homeland covering northern parts of Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Russia Savotta  Finnish logging camp Schutzwall-Stellung  German Second World War defensive line in Finnish Lapland Seitajärvi massacre  infamous massacre of Finnish civilians by Soviet partisans in the Seitajärvi wilderness village in Lapland Sholkas shul  field synagogue established by the Finnish-Jewish soldiers on the front next to their Nazi German brothers-in-arms Siida  National Sámi Museum of Finland in Inari Skolt Sámi  Sámi ethnic group living in Finland, Norway and Russia Stalag, Stammlager für Mannschaften und Unteroffizieren  German ­Prisonerof-War camp for common soldiers and non-commissioned officers Sturmbock-Stellung  German Second World War defensive line in Finnish Lapland Teillager  German Prisoners-of-War sub-camp Third Reich  ‘Nazi Germany’, Germany in 1933–1945 Valpo  Finnish Security Police Vesipasa  horse-drawn water trough Waffenbruderschaft  comradeship-in-arms, used to describe the FinnoGerman relations during the Continuation War

Glossary  xxxvii Waffen-SS  Third Reich military organization, with over 1400 Finnish volunteers War junk  derogatory name for the German Second World War in Lapland Wehrmacht  Nazi German armed forces 1935–1945 Winter War (talvisota)  Finnish-Soviet war in 1939–1940 Wir Waren Freunde  We were friends  Encounters of Germans and Finns in Lapland 1940–1944, temporary exhibition at the Provincial Museum of Lapland in 2015–2016 Zweilager  German Prisoners-of-War sub-camp

1 Introduction

One day the old, silent Sámi man started talking. It was a calm summer evening, and I and my friends had been sitting on a sandy beach by a lake in northern Lapland, watching as our kids played in the cool water, with the rolling rocky fjells rising in the distance, and chatting casually about their reindeer and my archaeological studies (Figure 1.1). The old man was unconcernedly fixing the roofing of a turf covered storage hut next to us. Later, after the kids had run along, I was whittling wooden chips to light a fire when the old man stooped next to me and picked up one of the whittled logs. I had not realized he had been listening to our earlier conversation, but when he started talking, I understood he had actually paid close attention. The old man began slowly and softly, with a confident tone: Well, you can always study things, war and other, but it is a little like this log. The World is like a whole log, but what the scientists see, is like one chip of wood. He snapped one wooden chip off the log and dropped it into my hand, and continued, gesturing with the log to the vast, immersing fjell landscape around us: But it belongs to the log, to the whole. And that is how things have always been. They belong where they are, and they belong together. Then, without adding another word, he placed the log on the ground, turned his back to me and carried on with his work. It is these kinds of surprising and unexpected, often even contradictory, encounters and perspectives that first inspired me to carry out an in-depth study of the German Second World War archaeology of Lapland. Lying on the northernmost edge of Europe, Finnish Lapland is, importantly, also part of Sápmi, homeland of Europe’s only acknowledged indigenous people, the reindeer herding Sámi. It was the local people and their enduring interest in this, often difficult, wartime heritage, that encouraged me to explore the multiple meanings and significances that these materialities carry for various

2 Introduction

Figure 1.1 Lapland landscape at the Muotkatunturit (Sámi: Muotkeduottarat) wilderness area. Archaeologists Ulrika Köngäs, Heidi Mehtonen and Kerkko Nordqvist working in the foreground (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2006).

people and communities. To this day, I am not certain if the old man was simply stating his own perspective or criticizing what he saw as a shallow, un-nuanced worldview particular to scientists. Still, he managed to summarize in a few sentences and with a very striking metaphor some immensely important and big issues associated with relational worldviews, interspatiality, the agency of things, and landscape perceptions. Matters over which anthropological, archaeological and geographical theorists have spilled a lot of ink, in the course of deliberations of great length and prolixity (e.g. Curry 1996; Hamilakis 2017; Herva 2009; Hodder 2014; Ingold 2000; Merleau-Ponty 1962; Moshenska 2010; Relph 1976; Seamon 1979, 2014; Tuan 1974). These and various other mobility, materiality, and landscape-related issues lie at the heart of this book and provide interpretative frameworks through which these German Second World War material remains can be approached. The landscape setting where this unexpected discussion took place was also appropriate for this study and accentuates how readily the memory of the Second World War encircles the people of Lapland even today. The headquarters of several German-run Prisoner-of-War (PoW) and forced labour camps stood by the beach where we were sitting, and the surrounding scenery was once an important German logging landscape. Indeed Albert Speer, Hitler’s chief architect and Minister of Armaments and War Production, visited and spent a night nearby at a lean-to in the winter of 1943– 1944 (see Chapter 6). Furthermore, the remains of German structures by the beach represent a tangible example of how the war’s material remains are still around as active reminders and ever-present parts of the Northern people’s local everyday lifeworld. This book presents the first wide-ranging problem-oriented and theoretically informed investigation into the archaeologies, heritage and materialities of German Second World War presence in Lapland. The material studies approach offers fresh, and even unexpected, perspectives on the theme, which can differ from those offered by

Introduction  3 archival documents or memories. It can also highlight through the material traces neglected, silenced or subaltern narratives, such as indigenous views which differ considerably from the national-level ‘master narrative’ (see Seitsonen & Herva 2017; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). Second World War material remains and stories were also around as part of my own childhood lifeworld in the 1980s. Thus, the traces of war initially had a deceptive sense of familiarity when I began encountering them on archaeological surveys. The overgrown trenches and airplane shelters had been favoured playgrounds for us boys playing war or cowboys and Indians. Our parents used to warn us off venturing too deep into the collapsing dugouts with harrowing ghost stories of hanged German soldiers, and there were plenty of wartime veterans around, always with hair-raising stories about fighting the ‘Russkies’ for anyone who was willing to listen. Besides my great-grandfather and his vivid tales of serving in the cavalry and horsedrawn artillery, another person who made a special impression on me at a young age was one former Finnish Waffen-SS veteran. In his later days, he had become a preacher in eastern Lapland and used to travel up and down the river preaching the gospel – but still relished demonstrating the SS ‘punishment jump push-ups’ on the front porch after a sauna. The legacy of Finnish SS volunteers is one of the continuously debated themes of Finnish involvement in the war and exemplifies the difficult and delicate nature of the history of Finland’s wartime relationship with Germany for many Finns, even today. Altogether over 1,400 Finnish volunteers served in the Waffen-SS on the Eastern Front in 1941–1943 (Figure 1.2; Jokipii 2002;

Figure 1.2 Original caption: ‘[Finnish] SS men in a celebration at Hanko’ (SA-kuva 131547/Hanko/n.d.).

4 Introduction Swanström 2018a, b). The issue raises strong feelings, as illustrated by the heated public debate surrounding a historical study suggesting that the Finnish SS men were well aware of, or even involved in, Nazi atrocities (Muurinen 2018; Silvennoinen 2018; Swanström 2018a, b). As a result, in 2018, after an approach from the Simon Wiesenthal Center, the Finnish Prime Minister’s Office began an official ‘neutral’ study of the involvement of Finnish SS men in the killings of PoWs, civilians and Jews on the eastern front in 1941–1943 (NA 2018). The survey of ‘a considerable body of archival documents and literature’ by the Finnish National Archives concludes that ‘at least some of the cases show that Finnish volunteers did participate in carrying out atrocities against Jews and civilians’ (Westerlund 2019: 202). Publication of the National Archives’ study caused an even more frenzied public discussion (see Agricola 2019, for compilation of these). This even prompted the Finnish Defence Minister Jussi Niinistö, who has a PhD in history (Niinistö 1998), to criticize the research by commenting that he finds ‘it unfair that a shadow of doubt is cast on them [Finnish SS volunteers] without evidence’ and that ‘the accused is innocent unless otherwise proven. I think this is also suitable for historical research’ (Niinistö 2019). Soon after, the Director of National Archives started receiving threats, and 81 relatives of former-Finnish SS men presented an official demand that the National Archives should ‘correct’ the results of their study and present a public apology about it. The National Archives naturally refused to do this. This continuing debate illustrates well how detached from the international Second World War context the Finnish public often sees the local war history, even such themes as the Finnish SS volunteers. The Director of National Archives aptly commented on this, that …while demanding to honour their fathers, the descendants of former SS men have expressed little sympathy for the millions of Jews, civilians, and Prisoners of War who died in the brutal Nazi German invasion of the East… Elsewhere in Europe and especially in Germany the message … is different … ‘Never again!’ In some circles [in Finland] the conclusion seems to be more like ‘[It] Doesn’t concern us!’ Director of National Archives Jussi Nuorteva (2019) Misleading familiarity with the material traces and Second World War histories is doubtless one of the key reasons why this war’s sites, and many others of the recent past in Finland and Sápmi, have become the focus of archaeology only in the twenty-first century. Also, the duration of time passed since the war has had a role in this. For previous generations, Second World War was understandably too close and an integral part of their own and their parent’s life experiences. Also, the war experience in Lapland was completely different from the war experience elsewhere in Finland (e.g. ­Jokisipilä 2005, 2007a; Tuominen 2003). The presence of Nazi German

Introduction  5 troops in northern Finland as allies against the Soviet Union (USSR) has been a debated, difficult, contested and downplayed issue for decades (e.g. Tuominen 2015). Germans held the responsibility for an almost 1,000 km long frontline in Finnish Lapland in 1941–1944. At the height of their military build-up there were more German troops and their multinational prisoners in the area than local inhabitants. However, after Finland signed a cease-fire treaty with the USSR in 1944, a Finno-German Lapland War (1944–1945) broke out between the former brothers-in-arms, under increasing Soviet pressure. This ruptured the earlier friendly relations on the statelevel but not necessarily on the local or personal levels. It culminated in the Germans burning down most of Lapland’s infrastructure during their retreat to Norway (e.g. Ahto 1980). The history of the Second World War relationship with Germany was little discussed in Finland during the Cold War (1945–1991), and virtually until the collapse of Soviet Union (see Kivimäki 2012; Otto 2008; Sääskilahti 2016; Tuominen 2015; Westerlund 2008: 17). As late as my own schooldays in the 1980s–1990s, Finland was typically presented as an involuntary ‘floating log’ in the torrential stream of Second World War, ending accidentally sideby-side with Nazi Germany (see Löfström 2011, 2015; Soikkanen 2007). In recent years, the picture has become more nuanced (see Jokisipilä 2007b; Vehviläinen 2002), but the German presence is still a controversial issue, which provokes strong public feelings (see Alariesto et al. 2015; Koskinen-­ Koivisto & Thomas 2017; Seitsonen et al. 2018; see Hakonen 2014; Vesa 2015, for discussions in public). This has also affected how people have perceived, engaged and interacted with the German material remains found in the landscape, which are the focus of this study. Lapland has for centuries enjoyed a special status both nationally and internationally as a land of natural and supernatural wonders, such as the midnight sun, the Aurora Borealis and the ‘exotic’ indigenous Sámi with their reindeer (e.g. Herva 2014; Länsman 2004) (Figures 1.3 and 1.4). Significantly for Lapland’s reputation as a mythical, ‘enchanted’ land, the Sámi have been perceived by outsiders as powerful witches since the Middle Ages. Since the area is part of Sápmi, the North Sámi place names are given the first time I mention them. In addition, Lapland was the setting for Finland’s own fabled gold rush in the late 1800s and early 1900s, and is often presented, especially for foreign tourists, as the ‘home of Santa Claus’, a magical winter wonderland (e.g. Massa & Snellman 2003; Ridanpää 2016). Accordingly, this distant northern fringe of Europe has been misrepresented since early modern times through a process of colonialist Othering and marginalization (see Herva 2014; Ridanpää 2007, 2016). However, the Nordic countries have been, and to an extent still are, notoriously sluggish in acknowledging their own colonialist pasts (Länsman 2004; Naum & Nordin 2013). Finland has been very slow to answer its ‘Sámi-controversy’ (Lehtola

6 Introduction

Figure 1.3 A rare colour photograph from 1940s of a Sámi man and children with their reindeer and a sled, somewhere in Finnish Lapland; Original caption: ‘sámi [sic] man and reindeer and children in a reindeer sled’ (NM HK6869:7.10/­Lapland/1940s; CC BY 4.0).

2015) and to recognize its own colonialist past in Lapland, and still has not ratified the ILO 169 Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention. Also, cases of appropriation of Sámi cultural elements by others are unfortunately common, constantly recurring and poorly understood by the wider Finnish public. The most visible public example of this is the continuing misuse of the traditional Sámi clothing, gákti (Figure 1.3), loaded with private meanings for the Sámi (see Heikkinen 2016; Paltto 2015; Saijets 2010; Suohpanterror 2017; Toivanen 2017, for ongoing debates in media). The downplaying of Lapland’s Second World War history and the German presence (see Herva 2014; Kivimäki 2012; Paasi 1997; Tuominen 2015) echoes and intertwines in many ways with the continuing – intentional or ­unintentional – side-lining of the North. The local northern Finnish and Sámi wartime heritage represented by the material traces of the German activities have accordingly also been side-lined on a national level, although locally they carry important meaning as an ever-present part of the ancestral cultural landscape (e.g. Sääskilahti 2016; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). It is also one of the main reasons why studying these material remains from a heritage perspective is highly relevant, although not always easy. Northern people typically express strong and personal sentiments about the memory of the German presence and its material legacy, and these issues appear to interlace intimately and subconsciously with myriad other contemporary, and past, issues (see Chapters 7 and 8). The German ruins and finds are viewed in this book essentially as a form of ambiguous ‘dark heritage’ (see Thomas et al. 2019), which has been after the war, and for some still is, unwanted and problematic on many levels. This book builds on the archaeological, anthropological and ethnological field research carried out by me and my colleagues in different parts

Figure 1.4 Many Laplands: (Top) Northernmost Fennoscandia and discussed localities: (1) Kilpisjärvi, Enontekiö, Lyngen-Stellung; (2) Järämä, Enontekiö, Sturmbock-Stellung; (3) Hetta, Enontekiö; (4) Karigasniemi, Utsjoki; (5) Pulmankijärvi, Utsjoki; (6) Kirkkoniemi (Kirkenes), Norway; (7) Peltojoki, Inari, Muotkatunturit wilderness; (8) Kaamanen, Inari; (9) Inari; (10) Solojärvi, Inari; (11) Ivalo, Inari; (12) Saariselkä and Laanila, Inari; (13) Purnumukka and Tankavaara, Sodankylä, Schutzwall-Stellung; (14) Vuotso, Sodankylä; (15) Sodankylä; (16) Petäjä-Raatelmaselkä, Savukoski; (17) Savukoski; (18) Kemijärvi; (19) Salla; (20) Kuolajärvi (‘Old Salla’), Russia; (21) Rovaniemi; (22) Karunki; (23) Tornio, Finland and Haparanda, Sweden; (24) Tervola; (25) Kemi; (26) Oulu; (27) Ranua; (28) Kuusamo; (29) Taivalkoski; (30) Hyrynsalmi; (31) Raate Road, Suomussalmi; (32) Murmansk, Russia; (33) Kiestinki, Russia (Background: US National Park Service). (Bottom left) Sápmi, the homeland of Sámi people, and the reindeer herding areas. (Bottom right) Finland’s nature conservation and wilderness areas, and the ski resorts of northern Finland (Illustration: Oula Seitsonen 2016; Background: US National Park Service).

8 Introduction of Lapland from 2006 to 2019, mostly in the northern Inari (Sámi: Anár), Sodankylä (Sámi: Soađegilli) and Salla regions (Figure 1.3), and the analyses of that material (e.g. Banks et al. 2018; Koskinen-Koivisto & Seitsonen 2019; Seitsonen & Herva 2011; Seitsonen 2017; Seitsonen et al. 2017, 2019; Thomas et al. 2016). It is divided into three major parts. Part I presents an ­overview of Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains in Finnish Lapland. In Chapter 2 the archaeological study of recent conflicts is described in general, and in the northern Finnish setting in particular. A historical outline is provided in Chapter 3, highlighting some of the idiosyncratic themes that illustrate the Second World War on the Arctic Front. Also, the range of materialities left by the German military presence in the northern landscapes and their status is presented. Part II discusses what and how the past materialities tell, through the archaeological studies, of the Germans’ and their prisoners’ experiences in the north. Chapter 4 describes what is known of the German military encampments on landscape and intra-site levels, and how the spatial distribution and configuration of these mirror the dislocation and adaptation of ­German troops in the alien northern landscape. Special focus is on the nearly 200 PoW and forced labour camps that the Germans established in northern Finland. These have been especially poorly known until very r­ecently (­Seitsonen 2018; Westerlund 2008). Chapter 5 focuses closer down and discusses the materialities of soldiers’, civilians’ and prisoners’ things and substances. Chapter 6 sums up the themes related to the past activities and experiences. Part III brings the focus through post-war years towards the present and discusses the importance and agency of wartime material remains after the war, in the past (Chapter 7), present (Chapter 8) and future (Chapter 9). Again, some themes distinctive to the northern war experience and its aftermath through the decades are presented, such as the common stories of hauntings and ghosts. Chapter 10 summarizes some of the most important themes related to the continuing heritage and social value of the Second World War’s material legacy.

References World Wide Web sources Agricola, 2019. Suomalaiset SS-miehet. Agricolan julkaisusarja osa 15. Available at https://agricolaverkko.fi/julkaisusarja/suomalaiset-ss-miehet/ [Accessed 2019-07-29] Hakonen, J. 2014. Suomalaisten ja saksalaisten välit katkesivat Lapin polttamiseen – nyt näyttelyä markkinoidaan tulitikuilla. Ilta-Sanomat December 18, 2014. Available at http://www.is.fi/kotimaa/art-2000000851736.html [Accessed 2015-04-27] Heikkinen, M.-P. 2016. ‘Saamelaisalue on Suomen siirtomaa’, ja siksi saamelaiset pahastuvat, kun suomalaiset käyttävät heidän pukuaan. Helsingin Sanomat

Introduction  9 ­ ctober 30, 2016. Available at http://www.hs.fi/kulttuuri/art-2000002927838.html O [Accessed 2017-10-16] Muurinen, J. 2018. ‘Juutalaisten teloittamiseen riittää kehnompikin ampumataito’, SS-riveissä rintamalle hinkunut Olavi pohti kirjeessään – uutuuskirja kertoo suomalaisista, jotka taistelivat natsi-Saksan puolesta. Iltalehti October  17, 2018. Available at https://www.iltalehti.fi/kotimaa/a/9252e57e-fab6-409a-ad73-02c0dea 5b34a [Accessed 2018-12-06] NA. 2018. Selvitys suomalaisten SS-miesten osallisuudesta juutalaisten ja siviilien surmaamiseen vuosina 1941–1943. Available at https://www.arkisto.fi/fi/kansallis arkisto/hankkeet/slevitys-suomalaisista-ss-miehistä [Accessed 2018-12-24] Niinistö, J. 2019. Syytön kunnes toisin todistetaan. Jussi Niinistö February 12, 2019. Available at https://jussiniinisto.fi/index.php/2019/02/syyton-kunnes-toisin-­ todistetaan/ [Accessed 2019-04-27] Nuorteva, J. 2019. Pääjohtaja Nuortevan avoin vastaus: “He eivät ano lupaa eivätkä pyydä anteeksi”. National Archives of Finland July 18, 2019. Available at https:// arkisto.fi/news/2402/61/P%C3%A4%C3%A4johtaja-Nuortevan-avoin-vastausHe-eiv%C3%A4t-ano-lupaa-eiv%C3%A4tk%C3%A4-pyyd%C3%A4-anteeksi [Accessed 2019-08-01] Paltto, A. 2015. Saami people are trying to stop exploitation of indigenous handicrafts. YLE November 27, 2015. Available at https://yle.fi/uutiset/osasto/sapmi/ saami_people_are_trying_to_stop_exploitation_of_indigenous_handicrafts/ 8485815 [Accessed 2016-12-31] Saijets, M. 2010. Saamenpuvulle vaaditaan kunnioitusta. YLE March 11, 2010. Available at https://yle.fi/uutiset/3-5525123 [Accessed 2016-06-14] Silvennoinen, O. 2018. Särötön kuva ‘tavallisista suomalaispojista’ SS-joukoissa romuttuu vuoden tärkeimmässä sotahistorian teoksessa. Helsingin Sanomat ­October 17, 208. Available at https://www.hs.fi/kulttuuri/art-2000005866918.html [Accessed 2018-12-06] Suohpanterror 2017. Sata kolonialismin vuotta. Häiriköt-päämaja Februry 6, 2017. Available at http://hairikot.voima.fi/blogi/sata-kolonialismin-vuotta/ [Accessed 2017-02-10] Sääskilahti, N. 2016. Konfliktinjälkeiset kulttuuriympäristöt, muisti ja materiaalisuus. Tahiti 1/2016. Available at http://tahiti.fi/01-2016/tieteelliset-artikkelit/ konfliktinjalkeiset-kulttuuriymparistot-muisti-ja-materiaalisuus/#ko3 [Accessed 2016-06-14] Toivanen, R. 2017. Sápmi Saami 100. Voima 6/2017. Available at http://antroblogi. fi/2017/02/sapmi-saami-100/ [Accessed 2017-07-17] Vesa, M. 2015. Mainostemppu oli liikaa – nämä tulitikut Rovaniemi kielsi. Ilta-­ Sanomat April 27, 2015. Available at http://www.is.fi/kotimaa/art-2000000916469. html [Accessed 2015-04-27]

Primary sources Ahto, S. 1980. Aseveljet vastakkain: Lapin sota 1944–1945. Kirjayhtymä: Helsinki. Alariesto, T., Harju, S., Hautala, P., Kotivuori, H., Kyläniemi, H. & Mölläri, J. 2015. Wir waren Freunde – Olimme ystäviä: saksalaisten ja suomalaisten kohtaamisia Lapissa 1940–1944. Lapin maakuntamuseo: Rovaniemi.

10 Introduction Banks, I., Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Seitsonen, O. 2018. Public Engagements with Lapland’s Dark Heritage: Community Archaeology in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Community Archaeology & Heritage 5(2): 128–137. Curry, M.R. 1996. The Work in the World: Geographical Practice and the Written Word. University of Minnesota Press: Minneapolis. Hamilakis, Y. 2017. Sensorial Assemblages: Affect, Memory and Temporality in Assemblage Thinking. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 27(1): 169–182. Herva, V.-P. 2009. Living (with) Things: Material Culture and Relational Ontology in Early Modern Northern Finland. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 19(3): 388–397. Herva, V.-P. 2014. Haunting Heritage in an Enchanted Land: Magic, Materiality and Second World War German Material Heritage in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 1(2): 297–321. Hodder, I. 2014. The Entanglements of Humans and Things: A Long-Term View. New Literary History 45(1): 19–36. Ingold, T. 2000. The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill. Routledge: London. Jokipii, M. 2002. Hitlerin Saksa ja sen vapaaehtoisliikkeet: Waffen-SS:n suomalaispataljoona vertailtavana. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seuran toimituksia 848. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura: Helsinki. Jokisipilä, M. 2005. Napapiirin Aseveljet. In Aseveljet: saksalais-suomalainen aseveljeys 1942–1944, edited by R. Alftan: 9–51. WSOY: Helsinki. Jokisipilä, M. 2007a. ’Kappas vaan, saksalaisia!’ Keskustelu Suomen jatkosodan 1941–1944 luonteesta. In Sodan totuudet. Yksi suomalainen vastaa 5.7 ryssää, edited by M. Jokisipilä: 153–181. Ajatus: Helsinki. Jokisipilä, M. (ed.) 2007b. Sodan totuudet. Yksi suomalainen vastaa 5.7 ryssää. Ajatus: Helsinki. Kivimäki, V. 2012. Between Defeat and Victory: Finnish Memory Culture of the Second World War. Scandinavian Journal of History 37(4): 482–504. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Seitsonen. O. 2019. Landscapes of Loss and Destruction: Childhood Memories of Sámi Elders of the Second World War. Ethnologia Europaea 49(1): 24–40. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Thomas, S. 2017. Lapland’s Dark Heritage: Responses to the Legacy of World War II. In Heritage in Action: Making the Past in the Present, edited by H. Silverman, W. Waterton & S. Watson: 121–133. Springer: New York. Länsman, A.-S. 2004. Väärtisuhteet Lapin matkailussa Kulttuurianalyysi suomalaisten ja saamelaisten kohtaamisesta. Kustannus-Puntsi: Inari. Lehtola, V.-P. 2015. Saamelaiskiista: sortaako Suomi alkuperäiskansaansa? Into: Helsinki. Löfström, J. 2011. Historical Apologies as Acts of Symbolic Inclusion – and Exclusion? Reflections on Institutional Apologies as Politics of Cultural Citizenship. Citizenship Studies 15(1): 93–108. Löfström, J. 2015. Holokaustiopetus huomenna: Muistipolitiikasta sen analyysiin. Niin & Näin 4: 47–55. Massa, I. & Snellman, H. (eds.) 2003. Lappi: Maa, kansat, kulttuurit. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura: Helsinki. Merleau-Ponty, M. 1962. Phenomenology of Perception. Routledge: London, New York.

Introduction  11 Moshenska, G. 2010. Working with Memory in the Archaeology of Modern Conflict. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 20(1): 33–48. Naum, M. & Nordin J.M. (eds.) 2013. Scandinavian Colonialism and the Rise of Modernity: Small Time Agents in a Global Arena. Springer: New York. Niinistö, L.J. 1998. Paavo Susitaival 1896–1993: Aktivismi elämänasenteena. Bibliotheca Historica 29. Suomen historiallinen seura: Helsinki. Otto, R. 2008. Soviet Prisoners of War on the German Lapland Front, 1941–1944. In Sotavangit ja internoidut: Kansallisarkiston artikkelikirja. Prisoners of War and Internees: A Book of Articles by the National Archives, edited by L. Westerlund: 64–113. Kansallisarkisto: Helsinki. Paasi, A. 1997. Geographical perspectives on Finnish national identity. GeoJournal 43(1):41–50. Relph, E. 1976. Place and Placelessness. Pion: London. Ridanpää, J. 2007. Laughing at Northernness: Postcolonialism and Metafictive Irony in the Imaginative Geography. Social & Cultural Geography 8(6): 907–928. Ridanpää, J. 2016. ‘Singing Acts’ from the Deep North: Critical Perspectives on Northern Exotics, Contemporary Ethnic Music and Language Preservation in Sámi Communities. Journal for Cultural Research 20(1): 17–30. Seamon, D. 1979. A Geography of the Lifeworld: Movement, Rest and Encounter. Croom Helm: London. Seamon, D. 2014. Place Attachment and Phenomenology: The Synergistic Dynamism of Place. In Place Attachment: Advances in Theory, Methods and Applications, edited by L.C. Manzo & P. Devine-Wright: 11–22. Routledge: New York. Seitsonen, O. 2017. Crowdsourcing Cultural Heritage: Public Participation and Conflict Legacy in Finland. Journal of Community Archaeology and Heritage 4(2): 115–130. Seitsonen, O. 2018. Digging Hitler’s Arctic War: Archaeologies and Heritage of the Second World War German Military Presence in Finnish Lapland. Unigrafia: Helsinki. Seitsonen, O. 2019. Transnationally Forgotten and Re-remembered: Second World War Soviet Mass Graves at Mäntyvaara, Eastern Finnish Lapland. In Transnational Death: Studia Fennica Ethnologica, edited by S. Saramo, E. Koskinen-­ Koivisto & H. Snellman. Finnish Literature Society: Helsinki. Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2011. Forgotten in the Wilderness: WWII PoW Camps in Finnish Lapland. In Archaeologies of Internment, edited by A. Myers & G. Moshenska: 171–190. Springer: New York. Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2017. ‘War Junk’ and Cultural Heritage: Viewpoints on the Second World War German Material Culture in Finnish Lapland. In War & Peace: Conflict and Resolution in Archaeology. Proceedings of the 45th Annual Chacmool Archaeology Conference, edited by A.K. Benfer: 170–185. Chacmool Archaeology Association, University of Calgary. Available at https://prism.­ ucalgary.ca/handle/1880/52231 [Accessed 2017-02-10] Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P. & Koponen, T. 2019. ‘Lapland’s Roadway’: German Photography and Experience of the European Far North in the Second World War. Photography & Culture: 1–20. Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P. & Kunnari M. 2017. Abandoned Refugee Vehicles ‘In the Middle of Nowhere’: Reflections on the Global Refugee Crisis from the Northern Margins of Europe. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 3(2): 244–260.

12 Introduction Seitsonen, O. & Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2017. ‘Where the F… is Vuotso?’: Heritage of Second World War Forced Movement and Destruction in a Sámi Reindeer Herding Community in Finnish Lapland. International Journal of Heritage Studies 24(4): 421–441. Soikkanen, T. 2007. Objekti vai subjekti? – Taistelu jatkosodan synnystä. In Sodan totuudet. Yksi suomalainen vastaa 5.7 ryssää, edited by M. Jokisipilä: 119–120. Ajatus: Helsinki. Swanström, A. 2018a. Fasismi ja uskonto suomalaisten SS-pastorien ajattelussa ja toiminnassa. Suomen kirkkohistoriallisen seuran vuosikirja 107: 38–74. Swanström, A. 2018b. Hakaristin ritarit: Suomalaiset SS-miehet, politiikka, uskonto ja sotarikokset. Atena: Jyväskylä. Thomas, S., Herva, V.-P., Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Seitsonen, O. 2019. Dark Heritage. In Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology, edited by C. Smith. Springer: New York. Thomas, S., Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2016. Nazi Memorabilia, Dark Heritage and Treasure Hunting as ‘Alternative’ Tourism: Understanding the Fascination with the Material Remains of World War II in Northern Finland. Journal of Field Archaeology 41(3): 331–343. Tuan, Y.-F. 1974. Topophilia: A Study of Environmental Perception, Attitudes, and Values. Columbia University Press: New York. Tuominen, M. 2003. Lapin sodan tuhot, materiaalinen ja mentaalinen jälleenrakennus. In Lappi: Maa, kansat, kulttuurit, edited by I. Massa & H. Snellman: 106–108. Suomalaisen kirjallisuuden seura: Helsinki. Tuominen, M. 2015. Lapin ajanlasku: Menneisyys, tulevaisuus ja jälleenrakennus historian reunalla. In Rauhaton rauha: Suomalaiset ja sodan päättyminen 1944– 1950, edited by V. Kivimäki & K.-M. Hytönen: 39–70. Vastapaino: Tampere. Vehviläinen, O. 2002. Finland in the Second World War: Between Germany and Russia. Palgrave Macmillan: London. Westerlund, L. 2008. Saksan vankileirit Suomessa ja raja-alueilla 1941–1944. Tammi: Helsinki. Westerlund, L. 2019. The Finnish SS-Volunteers and Atrocities against Jews, Civilians and Prisoners of War in Ukraine and the Caucasus Region 1941–1943: An Archival Survey. Finnish Literature Society: Helsinki.

Part I

Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains

2 Why an archaeological study of the Second World War?

Archaeologies of the recent or contemporary past have become an internationally established subfield of archaeology over the last two decades (e.g. Buchli & Lucas 2001; Graves-Brown 2000; Holtorf & Piccini 2009; McAtackney & Penrose 2016; Mullins 2014; Olsen & Pétursdóttir 2014; Pétursdóttir 2016; Pétursdóttir & Olsen 2014a, b; Theune 2018: 14). Alongside this development, such themes as modern conflict, battlefields, institutional incarceration and other ‘darker’ heritage themes have been drawn into the focus of archaeological inquiries (e.g. Bernbeck 2018; Carr 2014; Carr et al. 2018; Casella 2007; Dobinson et al. 1997; Gilead et al. 2009; GonzálezRuibal 2008; McAtackney 2014; Moshenska 2013, 2015a; Myers & Moshenska 2011; Mytum 2014; Saunders 2000, 2012; Schofield 2009; Schofield et al. 2002, 2006; Theune 2010, 2018). My colleagues and I have decided to call the legacy related to difficult, painful and contested themes of war, death and suffering in Lapland as ‘dark heritage’, following the concept of dark tourism coined in the tourism studies since the 1990s (see McAtackney 2013; Stone 2006; Chapter 10). Also other labels, such as ‘difficult’, ‘dissonant’ and ‘negative’ heritage, have been used to describe these kinds of legacies, but dark heritage seems to be gaining currency (Carr & Corbishley 2015; McAtackney 2014; Thomas et al. 2019). The concept is still evolving and appears to be most useful when approached as an umbrella-term covering a wide range of themes related to ambiguous issues which would not traditionally be included in heritage categories (Koskinen-Koivisto 2016; Thomas et al. 2019). These include not only sites of death and atrocities but also other kinds of failures of (super)modernity (see González-Ruibal 2006, 2008; Harrison et al. 2016). These are manifested, for instance, by the enduring material legacies of racism (e.g. Mullins 2013), disaster sites, such as Chernobyl (e.g. Olivier 2013), or pollution of the environment (e.g. Pétursdóttir 2017). Heritage in its widest sense can be understood as ‘a human condition’ and ‘a social process’ (Harvey 2001: 320) of preserving, and also re-forming, inherited aspects of the past that are seen as important, for instance, for communal memory and identity in the present and curating them for the imagined future generations (e.g. Lillbroända-Annala 2014). Perceptions of heritage are nowadays recognized as fluctuating and culturally determined,

16  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains instead of being transparent or universal (e.g. Harrison 2013), and they evolve, and have always evolved, hand-in-hand with other major societal changes (e.g. Harvey 2001; Thomas et al. 2016). It is important to note that as heritage perceptions develop through time in both the academic and public spheres, so does the extent of the ‘darkness’ of the heritage so defined – by some, not necessarily all – as dark. In recent years heritage theorists have increasingly called for more democratized and multivocal readings of heritage (e.g. Enqvist 2014), instead of any single ‘canonised’ officially defined perspective, in line with the ‘postcolonial politics of representation and difference’ (Harrison 2013: 580). This includes realizing that there might be potentially multiple, even contradictory understandings of heritage within outwardly uniform communities (e.g. Koskinen-Koivisto & Thomas 2017; Moshenska 2015b; Waterton & Smith 2010). Heritage theorists remind us that ‘communities’ are complex entities, which can be constructed along various fluid lines and should not be approached as uniform units (Koskinen-Koivisto & Thomas 2017; Moshenska 2015b; Watson & Waterton 2010). They can include myriad perspectives on what is heritage and what is its social value (see Jones 2017), some of which can differ starkly from the professional views (Koskinen-Koivisto & Thomas 2017; Seitsonen 2017). This links closely with the complex processes of heritage creation – what eventually becomes seen as heritage, by whom, and how it becomes valued both socially as well as economically (see Fredheim & Khalaf 2016; Harrison 2013; Harvey 2001; Jones 2017). Heritage interpretation is approached in this study through a relational reading, which attempts to escape the ‘Western’ Cartesian dualistic oppositions of, for instance, nature and culture (e.g. Harrison 2013, 2015; Ingold 2000; Mlekuž 2014a, b; Pétursdóttir 2017). Instead, inspiration is drawn from the traditional northern Sámi and Finnish ways of seeing the world as an all-encompassing, fluid, and cognitively controlled unity (see Herva et al. 2016; Ingold 2000, 2011; Länsman 2004: 99; Ruotsala 2002: 331, 360). The interpretations are theoretically based on a phenomenological construing of people’s environmental embodiment and immersion in the world, as depicted, for example, by the philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty (Merleau-Ponty 1962; Seamon 2013), and on readings of Actor-Network Theory emphasizing the agency of things and their entanglement with people (Herva 2014; Herva et  al. 2016; Jasinski 2018; Pétursdóttir 2017). The methodological and theoretical approaches are discussed more closely in the following chapters as they arise. Maintaining and promoting heritage is based on various forms of remembering, while, on the other hand, memory studies suggest that the process of forgetting is ‘integral to remembering’ (Harrison 2013: 580). This is especially important to acknowledge when dealing with complex, politically loaded and painful matters. Lapland’s Second World War legacy, involving the Nazi presence, is an excellent example – Nazis are often mythologized internationally through a popular culture lens that can easily distort public

Archaeology of the Second World War  17 perceptions (see Kingsepp 2006; Rau 2014), especially for less well informed outsiders. While heritage can at its best maintain and promote, for example, communal memories and ecologically sustained and resilient ideals, it also runs a serious risk of ‘aestheticizing’ the past by selectively forgetting ­unpleasant and negative experiences (Lento & Olsson 2013: 24–25), especially in a conflict context. This encourages acknowledging the multivocality and diversity of the interlinked individual and communal memories and the multiplicity of enduring cognitive relations tied to the material legacy. Contemporary and conflict archaeologies have a vast potential to provide fresh insights especially into little discussed or ignored subaltern histories (Figure 2.1). Based on material culture, they can highlight neglected, unspoken and silenced perspectives, which are often absent from the written and oral sources (e.g. Buchli & Lucas 2001: 171; Harrison & Schofield 2009: 191). In Lapland, these include at least the views and experiences of ordinary German soldiers, Germans’ multinational Prisoners-of-War (PoWs) and forced and slave labourers, Finnish civilians, and Sámi, whose homeland has been subjected to long and enduring colonization by Sweden, Norway, Finland and Russia (Koskinen-Koivisto & Seitsonen 2019; Lehtola 2012, 2015a, b; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). The recent past, or (super)modernity, is characteristically impregnated by various kinds of paradoxes, juxtapositions, contradictions, ambiguities and, in general, heterogenous and messy worlds and temporalities (e.g. Augé 1995; González-Ruibal 2008, 2016; Seitsonen et  al. 2017a). These become especially highlighted in a complex conflict setting such as Lapland during ­Second World War (Chapter 3).

Figure 2.1  A German WWII guard hut with its roof on, at a beautiful lakeside spot on the edge of a PoW camp at Lake Nangujärvi (7) (Anár Sámi: Naŋŋajävri). The roof caved-in during the snow-rich winter of 2017 (photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2010).

18  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains The role of contemporary archaeology has been aptly described as a ‘mediation of the past as a creative engagement with the present and future’ (Harrison 2011: 160), accepting, as defined by the archaeological theorist Alfredo González-Ruibal (2006: 112), ‘that all presents are entangled with a diversity of pasts in a percolating time’. In Lapland, this is shown by the myriad links that tie Second World War heritage in the local landscapes closely to various present-day issues, such as the little discussed colonial past – and present – and the connected postcolonial questions (see Källén 2015; Spangen et  al. 2015). These include continuing land ownership and land-use disputes, such as the complexities of the competing requirements of, on the one hand, the traditional reindeer herding, and on the other, the state-directed exploitation of Lapland’s natural resources and tourism (see Lehtola 2015a, b). These are often linked to the – real or perceived – political and economic north–south confrontations and southern dominance in Finland. These contemporary perspectives also shade how Second World War material and immaterial heritage is memorialized and has become deeply embedded in the longer cultural continuum of various local communities in Lapland (see Seitsonen et al. 2017b). This is manifested by the strong feelings of heritage ownership exhibited by many locals towards Second World War German matériel (Herva et  al. 2016; Seitsonen 2017; Thomas et  al. 2016). Matériel refers here generally to all kinds of military material encountered in the landscape, from weapons, personal belongings and paraphernalia, to empty tins and broken pieces of porcelain and glass (Figure 2.2; see Schofield et al. 2002).

Figure 2.2  German matériel in the wilderness, a rubbish dump outside a PoW camp at Purnumukka (39) (Sámi: Burdnomohkki) (photograph: Oula ­Seitsonen 2015).

Archaeology of the Second World War  19 Archaeologists generally exhibit a strict ethical code in their studies, yet contemporary and especially conflict archaeologies demand an even more rigid ethical approach as these can deal with issues related to living people or their relatives, human suffering and matters of life and death (Moshenska & González-Ruibal 2015; Theune 2018: 23). Conflict, and especially forensic, archaeological studies often target recovering human remains from various contexts, such as the remains of unknown soldiers for identification, repatriation, commemoration and reconciliation purposes (Moshenska & González-Ruibal 2015). As always, exhuming and working with human remains necessitates a high level of ethical respect and overrides other archaeological questions (Moshenska & González-Ruibal 2015; Ranta 2011). In my current research I have avoided working with gravesites beyond mapping them but have also been co-operating with the volunteer search groups looking for fallen Second World War soldiers in Finland and Russia (Seitsonen 2019). In Sápmi, a host of postcolonial questions related to working with indigenous communities also need to be taken ethically into account, especially owing to the generally unsolved colonial pasts of the Nordic countries (see Lehtola 2015a; Naum & Nordin 2013; Spangen et al. 2015). The intertwining of WWII heritage with numerous contemporary issues, such as the different stakeholder communities sometimes differing takes on the heritage issues, illustrate well the ethical responsibilities and challenges of interacting with, and sometimes also involving, these stakeholders (González-Ruibal et  al. 2015; Moshenska & González-Ruibal 2015; Theune 2018: 24). Recognising stakeholders in the different situations is the first step towards achieving this. Although this might sound easy, in practice it can be multifaceted, not least since the war legacy is both local and global in its essence, and often presents ‘orphan heritage’ (Price 2005) which is spatially separated from its origin and descendant communities (Seitsonen 2019). This study is a good example of that, by focusing on the German material legacy, situated on the transnational Sámi lands in Finnish Lapland and connected to the heritage of multinational PoWs and forced labourers. The heritage ownership can also be outwardly hidden and unofficial, and locally maintained and perceived. Also, involving the public in the research through community and public archaeological approaches brings again a different set of professional questions into play, such as considering familial connections, heritage ownership issues and ethical ways of representing violence and atrocities (Moshenska 2015b). This is heightened even more when co-operating with schools and children. I have undertaken this at the Vuotso primary school on several occasions through the years, giving presentations of our studies and just generally interacting with the local community, whose members invited me to work there in 2010 (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). This has often proved beneficial from a research perspective, illustrating the indigenous take on various themes (see Green et al. 2003).

20  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains

Archaeology of recent conflicts in Finland In the early 2000s many of my archaeologist colleagues in Finland were slightly surprised and amused when I started, alongside my primary paid work with prehistoric surveys, to document archaeologically the sites of twentieth century conflicts, related to the First World War (1914–1918), Finnish Civil War (1918) and the Second World War (1939–1945) (e.g. Nordqvist & Seitsonen 2007, 2009; Seitsonen 2011, 2013; Seitsonen & Kunnas 2009). They typically regarded these themes as insignificant and not that interesting for archaeological investigations, beyond illustrating and recapitulating the pre-existing historical narratives, which were (ostensibly) well known from documentary records. However, this sense of familiarity is largely based on a general misconception, especially when it comes to sites such as the German ruins in Lapland’s vast wilderness for which hardly any historical records exist. Most archival material was intentionally destroyed at the end of the Second World War, although some might have also ended up in the closed Soviet archives (e.g. Alftan 2005; Seitsonen & Herva 2011; Westerlund 2008a). Most importantly, archaeological, material culture and spatial approaches open up previously unexplored and potentially unexpected perspectives, which can differ considerably from the views provided by written documents or oral testimonies. These include, for example, glimpses of PoW materialities and mentalities allowed by the material finds, and the human–environmental relations mirrored by the site layouts and settings (Chapters 4 and 5). The archaeologies of the recent and contemporary past and conflicts in Finland were in the early 2000s very much on the margins and in their infancy. Only a handful of sites of recent conflicts had been examined by Finnish archaeologists, yet  already these suggested a significant cultural heritage potential for these localities (e.g. Adel 2009; Kauppi 1994, 2002; Koskela & Pietiläinen 2004; Lagerstedt 2008; Lagerstedt & Saari 2000; Taavitsainen 2012; Takala 1998). The need to conserve at least some of the twentieth century conflict heritage was also becoming recognized by the heritage authorities (Niukkanen 2009; Seitsonen & Herva 2011). Typically, the places initially suggested for protection represented Second World War sites closely related to the established and commemorated ‘national narrative’ (see Kivimäki 2012), such as the celebrated Winter War battlefields at the Raate Road (Niukkanen 2009) or the renowned Salpa Line along the eastern border (Kauppi 1994, 2002; Lagerstedt 2012). In contrast, the German legacy in Lapland carries a more complicated and contested burden of history, not least since they stand out as physical testimonials of Finland fighting alongside the Nazis, and of atrocities and even war crimes (Silvennoinen 2008; Westerlund 2008a). This continues to be a controversial and politically loaded issue from many perspectives (see Alariesto et  al. 2015; Herva 2014; Seitsonen & Herva 2011; Seitsonen 2017; Thomas et  al. 2016; Tuominen 2015; see Chapters 8 and 10).

Archaeology of the Second World War  21 Admittedly, to begin with, my own motivation for investigating the recent past was in getting a respite from the monotonous mapping of dozens of Stone Age lithic find locations that we frequently encountered on survey (e.g. Nordqvist & Seitsonen 2009; Seitsonen et al. 2016). However, while documenting the sites of recent conflicts at various places, first in the Karelian Isthmus, Russia (2003–2009), and a little later in Lapland (from 2006), I became interested in the possibilities offered by a more in-depth archaeological inquiry of these places and material remains. Inspired by these musings, in 2004 I convinced my colleagues to launch a pioneering project ‘Landscapes of Finnish Conflicts: Conflict Archaeological Studies in Finland and Karelian Isthmus’ (LOFC), with a wide-ranging interest in approaching the sites of past conflicts archaeologically, regardless of their type or age (e.g. Seitsonen 2004, 2010a, b; Seitsonen & Kunnas 2009). At the same time, there were also (to begin with subconscious) family ties at play, besides scientific goals, that drew me especially into studying the archaeology of the Karelian Isthmus (now Russia). This area belonged to Finland prior to Second World War and was the birthplace of Finnish Stone Age research (e.g. Nordqvist et al. 2009; Uino 2003). My family’s ancestral Seitsola Village, occupied by my ancestors at least from the sixteenth century to 1944, lies dormant in this area ceded to the USSR. Since one of the iconic battles of Finnish Civil War in 1918 was fought by our village, at the Ahvola battlefield where my forefathers also fought, it became the scene of our first problem-oriented conflict archaeological survey in 2007 (Seitsonen et  al. 2007; Seitsonen & Kunnas 2009). The family connection to the Ahvola battlefield attracted my relatives to take part in the survey (Figure 2.3). Our recent interviews with various stakeholders in Lapland have emphasized that, also in the northern setting, the familial and personal links, and a general sense of heritage and landscape ownership and custodianship, appear as important incentives for studying and safeguarding local history and wartime heritage (Thomas et al. 2016; Seitsonen 2017). In relation to Lapland’s Second World War heritage, I consider myself an ‘informed outsider’ – even though wartime ruins and their exploration have been familiar to me since my early childhood, I have spent all my adult life in the southern half of the country. Still, I have been visiting the north regularly through the years for work, recreation and meeting friends, and kept abreast of local events. My colleagues and I launched the study of German Second World War sites in Lapland as part of the above-mentioned project ‘Landscapes of Finnish Conflicts’. Before our surveys and excavations of these sites, hardly any theoretically informed or problem-oriented archaeological studies of the German presence in Lapland had been carried out (but see Koskela & Pietiläinen 2004). For that matter, also historical studies had been relatively few and limited (see Ahto 1980; Junila 2000; Kaila 1950; Lähteenmäki 1999; Otto 2008; Tuominen 2005; Vehviläinen 2002; Virolainen 1999; Wendisch 2006; Westerlund 2008a, b). In 2006, during a survey in the Muotkatunturit (Sámi: Muotkkeduottar) wilderness area in Inari (Nordqvist & Seitsonen

22  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains

Figure 2.3  My father Ilari Seitsonen and my cousin Lauri Seitsonen inspecting a Finnish Civil War-era machine-gun position in the former Seitsola Village during the archaeological survey of the Ahvola battlefield in western Russia (photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2007).

2009), we unexpectedly encountered the remains of a German Second World War site, the Peltojoki (Sámi: Bealdojohka) military base and PoW camp. This site became the scene for our first conflict archaeological excavation in 2009 (Seitsonen et al. 2017b). Studies at Peltojoki gave us an incentive to delve deeper into the abyss presented by the nationally little known but locally memorized material remains of German presence in northern Finland. From that humble, almost accidental, seed grew our wider, international and multidisciplinary research project ‘Lapland’s Dark Heritage: Understanding the Cultural Legacy of Northern Finland’s WWII German Materialities within Interdisciplinary Perspective’, funded by the Academy of Finland in 2014–2018. In many cases the public was more open and understanding to an archaeological approach to the twentieth-century conflicts than my professional colleagues. The people living in, or originating from, our study areas were extremely interested in our research, since they often perceived it as illustrating their ‘own war history’, long ignored by state-level authorities and historians, especially in northern Finland. Audiences often commented in the public lectures about our studies, that compared with ‘book history’ touching the tangible, artefactual evidence made them more concretely and acutely aware of the presence of the past and forced them to confront it ‘face-to-face’ (see Herva et al. 2016). It has been this positive public response and interest that has kept me going with these archaeological studies and encouraged me to assess more closely the varying public perceptions of,

Archaeology of the Second World War  23 and engagements with, the wartime sites. Of course, there are also opposing public opinions with some people discouraging the recollection of the German presence in Lapland (see Seitsonen & Herva 2017), or neglecting its importance, as shown by a quote about our public excavations in Inari in 2016: ‘After all it is good that someone collects waste from nature. Hardly any treasures to be found there’ (Koskinen 2016). This kaleidoscopic multivocality is but one of the stimulating issues related to the archaeological study of Second World War materialities. Over the past decade, in Finland as elsewhere, investigations of ­twentieth-century conflicts have gradually become an accepted part of mainstream archaeology, and there has been an upsurge in public and professional interest (e.g. Fast 2017; Kauhanen 2012; Lagerstedt 2012, 2015; Takala et al. 2018; Taivainen 2013; Ylimaunu et al. 2013). As an example, the National Board of Forestry (NBF) now habitually documents twentieth-­ century cultural heritage in the areas they control and recently completed a massive survey project of state forests in 2010–2015. This landmark decision was the result of a lengthy development process, and our studies at Peltojoki and elsewhere since 2006 also fed into this. NBF surveys resulted in discovering and documenting hundreds of wartime sites, most of them previously known only to the locals (Taivainen 2013, 2015). Besides the NBF studies, the most extensive location-specific field mappings of the German ruins have been illustratively carried out by enthusiastic local historians for whom history is a passionate hobby. In the Rovaniemi region this has been done since 2012 by historian Kalevi Mikkonen (2016), and at the German defensive line of Sturmbock-Stellung at Enontekiö, connected to the Järämä Fortification Area Museum, since 2018 (Figure 2.4; Sillanpää & Rikkinen 2019). There has likewise been a recent increase of interest in Second World War archaeologies in neighbouring countries Norway and Sweden, which include the western parts of Sápmi (e.g. Axelsson & Persson 2016; Axelsson et  al. 2018; Grabowski et  al. 2014; Figenschau 2016; Grini 2016; Hesjedal 2016a, b; Jasinski 2013; Jasinski et al. 2012; Kosnes & Siira 2015; Olsen & Witmore 2014; Persson 2011, 2014a, b). Comparisons of the northern Finnish wartime legacy with these studies are especially interesting because of the markedly different and contrasting Norwegian and Swedish perspectives on war. Norway was occupied by the Nazi Germany in spring 1940 (e.g. ­Stenius et  al. 2011), and Sweden was outwardly neutral (e.g. Persson 2014a, b) although with very close economic and other ties to Germany, whereas Finland was a Nazi co-belligerent in the fight against the Soviet Union.

Digging into the Second World War in Sápmi 2006–2018 My research into the German tangible and intangible heritage of the Second World War has proceeded through several stages over the past decade. Personally, I have approached my work on this material as a kind of weaving, which is mirrored also by the structure of this book. Beginning from

24  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains

Figure 2.4  My daughter Elsa Seitsonen exploring the reconstructed trenches of the German Sturmbock-Stellung at the Järämä Fortification Area Museum, Enontekiö, in late September (photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

the Peltojoki site in 2006, I started off with the lone, relatively thin threads provided by school history (e.g. Löfström 2011, 2014a, b, 2015), stories and personal experiences. I interwove these with the established threads of military history (e.g. Ahto 1980), and then added, little by little, the diverse, multi-coloured threads of existing social and microhistories (e.g. Lähteenmäki 1999; Otto 2008; Virolainen 1999; Wendisch 2006; Westerlund 2008a, b). Finally, I started to weave-in my and my colleagues’ original threads of research on materiality, spatiality, heritage and memory, hoping to create a multi-shaded (if dark) fabric from the material traces of German presence in northern Finland. Our explorations evolved organically from a more or less purely archaeological inquiry (Seitsonen & Herva 2011; Seitsonen et al. 2017b) into a wide-ranging novel and multidisciplinary enterprise (Herva et  al. 2016; Koskinen-Koivisto & Seitsonen 2019; Seitsonen 2017; Thomas et al. 2016). The wide array of applied research methods mirrors this development. The lack of documentary evidence and the dearth of historical research relating to German presence in Lapland called for an archaeological intervention when we encountered the ruins of a German military base. Since 2006 we have archaeologically surveyed and documented dozens of Second World War sites, carried out more detailed mapping of a considerable sample of these, and excavated several. Both surveys and excavations were carried out also as public and community archaeological endeavours (Banks et al. 2018). The sparse documentary material and the archaeological studies are supplemented by the wartime photographs, most importantly from the Finnish Defence Forces’ archives (SA-kuva n.d.) and in the Finnish propaganda publications intended for the German audience (Koponen et al. 2018). The

Archaeology of the Second World War  25 German wartime propaganda pictures (e.g. Mabre 1943, 1944) illustrate the alienated German views of northern Finland (Kleemola 2014, 2016; Seitsonen et al. 2019). Analogous perceptions are mirrored by many archaeologically documented artefacts and structural remains (Chapters 4 and 5). The various perspectives of place, materiality, time and memory were focused by actually ‘being there’ and ‘being here’, actively present and engaged (see Pétursdóttir 2013: 67–69), by visiting the wartime sites and by discussing them and their meaning and importance with the various stakeholders. The signifying and interpretations of wartime materialities were approached with targeted formal and informal interviews, as well as a netnographic analysis (Kozinets 2010: 4) of media and discussion forum contents (Thomas et al. 2016). I also briefly touch upon the visitor survey that Lapland’s Dark Heritage (henceforth LDH) organized in a temporary exhibition ‘Wir Waren Freunde – We were friends. Encounters of Germans and Finns in Lapland 1940–1944’ at the Provincial Museum of Lapland in 2015–2016 (Alariesto et al. 2015; Seitsonen et al. 2018). The following chapters present some key results from our research in Lapland and place them in a wider framework. I discuss in Chapters 4 to 6 the German and prisoner materialities and spatialities in Lapland. As I have been familiar with these kinds of material remains ever since my childhood, this deceptive familiarity might, to some degree, bias my opinions on the subject. Also, my perceptions and interpretations are influenced by a general interest in, indeed a love for, the material traces left behind by past human activity, no matter how outwardly unremarkable or recent they are, from the earliest prehistory to yesterday’s garbage (see Rathje 1979; Seitsonen et al. 2017a). I am especially fascinated by how these traces illustrate people’s engagements with their things and other forms of material culture; by people’s embeddedness in their lived-in embodied environments; and by what material remains can teach about wider and more diverse issues than merely their own provenance and history. I am particularly interested in, and want to urge, detailed documentation of the various traces of human activity, related to Second World War and beyond, before they are lost. I do not advocate any fundamental preservation, conservation or reconstruction of all the material remains, but their careful documentation and a ‘caressing’ approach towards them (see DeSilvey 2017; Kobiałka 2014; Moshenska 2015a). This should be carried out considering diverse stakeholders’ opinions on them and their importance, and so that we would have at least baseline scientific data on them. Also, using mobile technologies carefully documented traces of past human activity and their gradual deterioration could be presented on-site, even after they have been eradicated and merged into nature, with the help of augmented and virtual realities and three-dimensional modelling (see Haugstvedt & Krogstie 2012). As mentioned, we encountered the Peltojoki site during a 2006 survey and mapped it the following year. Funding for test excavations came in 2009, but meanwhile in 2008 a Rovaniemi-based environmental organization Pidä

26  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains Lappi Siistinä ry (henceforth PLS; ‘Keep Lapland Tidy’) unexpectedly and unknown to us or to any heritage authorities cleaned out all the surface finds from Peltojoki. This was part of their wider goal to keep Lapland’s wilderness areas neat, ‘pristine’ and appealing (see Chapter 7). These ‘war junk collecting’ activities of PLS in 2005–2010 were well intentioned, but ill-informed from a heritage perspective, and caused a sudden fuss and resistance on a local level (see Heinäaho & Rautiainen 2011; Herva 2014; Herva et al. 2016; Seitsonen & Herva 2017; Thomas et al. 2016). PLS activities were seen by the locals as a ‘Southern’ intrusion into their ‘own lands’ (see Länsman 2004: 82), and as a casual destroying of their own local cultural heritage (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017; Thomas et  al. 2016). This elucidates the alluded concept of ‘Southerness’ from the northern Lapland perspective – Rovaniemi is situated on the Arctic Circle, above 66° north. For the people in Lapland the ‘South’ is typically not something geographically demarcated. Instead, it is defined mentally and symbolically as something opposed to their ‘own lands’ of the north (Ruotsala 2002: 18). From a northern viewpoint, these ‘cleaning’ activities were based on a major misconception, on the branding of locals’ lived-in and embodied, ancestral cultural – and sacred – landscapes, loaded with myriad meanings, as an empty, untamed ‘natural’ wilderness by ‘Southerners’ approaching it with a biased ‘western gaze’ (Bender 1999; Salmond 1992) (Figure 2.5). Initially our 2009 excavations were aimed at finding out what, if anything, was left behind at the Peltojoki site after the ‘cleaning’ actions of PLS. Contrary to local author Seppo Saraspää’s cynical prediction

Figure 2.5  S  ámi cultural landscape at Kilpisjärvi, Enontekiö, Finnish Lapland, in late September. On the foreground are seen the snow-covered remains of German dry-stone walled structures of the Lyngen-Stellung, their last defence line in the north in 1945 high up on the Saana fjell. In the fog on the background is the Pikku-Malla fjell – according to folklore, both Saana and Pikku-Malla are petrified remains of ancient giants (Kaikusalo & Metsälä 1974) (photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

Archaeology of the Second World War  27 Collectors of war junk have combed every single place with the minesweepers and dug up all the more significant finds. In summer 2008 the Keep Lapland Tidy association systematically collected war junk away. Sure, there still may be a few army spoon-forks to be found (Kauppinen 2009) we were delighted to locate substantial subsurface deposits unaffected by the clearing activities. Thus, we could move on to inspect what the archaeologically documented finds and features might tell about the lives and experiences of the Germans and their prisoners in this northern periphery (Seitsonen et al. 2017b). Personally, I have been most interested in the multitude of ways in which this matériel mirrors the military mobilities, dislocation and landscape perceptions and relations of the Germans and their prisoners, and the ways of dwelling and building in an alien environment (Chapters 4 to 6). This is approached, in part, through wide-scale spatial analyses of the German military and PoW camps and their environmental settings as documented in the surveys, and through the small finds encountered during our investigations. Most of the camps have been located through transgenerational communal memories. Since many Northerners rely on nature-based livelihoods, they are intimately familiar with everything in their own landscapes. Also, wide-scale Geographical Information Systems (GIS) analyses of airborne LiDAR (Light Detection And Ranging) laser-scanning data have been systematically applied in locating and documenting structures at the sites in my own research and NBF investigations (Koivisto & Laulumaa 2013; Seitsonen 2011, 2013; Chapter 4). LiDAR analysis offers ways for ‘seeing’ through the tree canopy in the forested areas and modelling a ‘bare-earth’ surface based on the laser beam’s return signals. The Peltojoki studies and the intermediate PLS intervention at the site opened new wider questions beyond the importance of understanding past events, especially the hidden histories of war. Most importantly these brought into view a glimpse of the various associations and meanings that German material heritage has in the present. Many conflict sites around the world have revealed this kind of active legacy (e.g. González-Ruibal 2008; McAtackney 2008; Moshenska 2015a). The strong local, and to some extent national, reaction against the cleaning of ‘war junk’ led us to explore evidence of the continuing local importance of these rusting remains in the backwoods. During our excavations at Peltojoki, and the surveys and test excavations in the following years, it became clear how significant and ever-present the Second World War remains are as an embedded part of everyday lifeworlds for region’s current inhabitants – and whose families in many cases lived there during the war years. Chapters 7 to 9 illustrate how the various local and other communities and stakeholders, including the indigenous Sámi and Finnish reindeer herders (Figures 1.3 and 1.4), have perceived, related to and engaged with the

28  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains material remains both during and after the war. We made an initial attempt at exploring these differing perspectives through a netnographic analysis of online contents in 2013 (Thomas et al. 2016). In 2015 we launched the fieldwork part of the LDH project, and took the initial netnographic assessment further, using data from our interviews with different interested parties in 2015–2018 (e.g. Koskinen-Koivisto 2016; Koskinen-Koivisto & Seitsonen 2019; Koskinen-Koivisto & Thomas 2017). These interviews emphasize the multivocality of kaleidoscopic reminiscences of locals who experienced the war, and the enduring importance of German matériel in the present (Banks et al. 2018; Herva et al. 2016). We have undertaken the most in-depth interviews concerning the local perspectives on the German heritage and its importance at the southernmost Sámi village in Finland, Vuotso, Sodankylä, also known as the ‘Gateway to Sápmi’ (Sami poarta) (Koskinen-Koivisto & Seitsonen 2019; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). These discussions illustrate how local viewpoints present a range of indigenous, marginalized and truly subaltern voices that differ from, and challenge, general nationwide perspectives on Second World War heritage, and more generally on the war itself (e.g. Nyyssönen 2013; Ó Gráda 2001; Yurchuk 2012). Different people’s multivocal yet intertwined recollections typically revolve around the most important parts of their lifeworlds and sense of place (e.g. Koskinen-Koivisto 2011; Sääskilahti 2013, 2016; Seamon & Sowers 2008; Tuan 1977). As an example, the reindeer herders’ memories centre on herding-related topics, such as the loss of their families’ reindeer in the Lapland War. In many cases these separate remembrances have evolved together into trans-generational communal memories (e.g. Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). I have also assessed public perceptions more widely from a differing, public crowdsourcing perspective. In 2014 the Finnish state-owned broadcasting company Yleisradio organized a highly successful public crowdsourcing of conflict heritage in Finland (Seitsonen 2017). This inspired me to launch an analogous participatory mapping project on 27 April 2015, the 70th anniversary of the end of Lapland War. Over 300 sites were marked by the public on our online map in 2015–2018 (LDH 2018). Lastly, in Chapter 10 I discuss the concept of ‘dark’ heritage in the context of German presence in Lapland and more widely (Thomas et al. 2019). This presents a baseline for future research and allows possible ideas of putting ‘dark’ heritage to positive uses, for example, in tourism, which provides a vital livelihood in Lapland (see Figure 1.4) (e.g. Länsman 2004; Saarinen 2001). Somewhat paradoxically, Lapland has been a popular destination for German tourists for decades, and in fact some of the German soldiers who served there during the Second World War visited recurrently in the post-war decades (M2; M17; M18). Conceivably, German wartime matériel could be used beneficially in the cultural tourism sector. There have already been initial constructive discussions concerning this in Inari municipality (Suoninen 2016), for which I have been asked to act as scientific advisor.

Archaeology of the Second World War  29

Figure 2.6  P  ublic and community archaeology at a German military hospital site in Inari (photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016).

These plans were instigated by our public excavations and community archaeological studies at a German military hospital site in Inari in summer 2016 (Figure 2.6; Banks et  al. 2018) and at Hyljelahti military, PoW and forced labour camp in 2017.

References Archival sources Koskela, J. & Pietiläinen, S. 2004. Saksalaiset Oulussa 1942–44: Raportti historiallisen ajan sotilaskohteiden arkeologisesta inventoinnista Oulun kaupungin alueella keväällä 2004. Research Report, Archaeological Laboratory, University of Oulu, Oulu, Finland. Lagerstedt, J. 2008 Ensimmäisen maailmansodan maalinnoitteet Suomessa: Sotilaskäytöstä suojelukohteiksi. MA Thesis, University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland. Lagerstedt, J. 2012. Salpalinja. Sotahistoriallisten kohteiden arkeologinen inventointi 2009–2012. Research Report, National Board of Antiquities, Helsinki, Finland. Available at http://kulttuuriymparisto.nba.fi/netsovellus/­rekisteriportaali/ mjhanke/read/asp/r_hanke_rapo_det.aspx?HANKE_ID=9611 [Accessed 201206-14] Seitsonen, O., Kunnas, L. & Louzolo, S. 2007. Ahvola 1918. Taistelukenttäarkeologinen tiedustelukäynti Ahvolan, Seitsolan ja Oravalan kyliin, Karjalankannakselle. Research report, Department of Archaeology, University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland. Sillanpää, E. & Rikkinen, A. 2019. Projekti Sturmbock. Loppuraportti. Research report, National Heritage Agency, Finland.

30  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains World Wide Web sources Kauppinen, E. 2009. Vankileirien saaristossa. Kaleva September 23, 2009. Available at http://www.kaleva.fi/uutiset/kulttuuri/vankileirien-saaristossa/288305/ [Accessed 2016-06-14] Koskinen, P. 2016. Saksalaisten polttama sotasairaala Inarissa osoittautui varsinaiseksi aarreaitaksi – raunioista löytyi kaivauksissa runsaasti tavaraa. Ilta-Sanomat August 2, 2016. Available at http://www.is.fi/kotimaa/art-2000001232102.html ­[Accessed 2017-02-10] Lagerstedt, J. & Saari, M. 2000. Krepost Sveaborg – Helsingin maa– ja merilinnoitus ensimmäisen maailmansodan aikana. Available at http://Www.Novision.Fi/ Viapori/ [Accessed 2009-03-19] SA-kuva n.d. SA-kuva-arkisto. Etulijasta kotirintamalle 1939–1945. Available at http://sakuva.fi/ [Accessed 2015-03-19] LDH 2018. Merkitse kartalle sotahistoriallisia kohteita! / Mark WW2 sites into the map! – Lapland’s Dark Heritage. Available at http://blogs.helsinki.fi/laplanddarkheritage/lapin-sotahistoriallisia-kohteita/ [Accessed 2018-12-01] Suoninen, I.-E. 2016. Toisen maailmansodan sotajäänteet osaksi matkailuelinkeinoa Inarissa? YLE Sápmi August 10, 2016. Available at https://yle.fi/uutiset/osasto/ sapmi/toisen_maailmansodan_sotajaanteet_osaksi_matkailuelinkeinoa_inarissa/ 9082602 [Accessed 2017-01-01]

Primary sources Adel, V. 2009. I maailmansodan aikaisten linnoitusten inventointi Tampereen Pispalassa. Pirkan maan alta. Arkeologisia tutkimuksia 10: 71–81. Ahto, S. 1980. Aseveljet vastakkain: Lapin sota 1944–1945. Kirjayhtymä: Helsinki. Alariesto, T., Harju, S., Hautala, P., Kotivuori, H., Kyläniemi, H. & Mölläri, J. 2015. Wir waren Freunde – Olimme ystäviä : saksalaisten ja suomalaisten kohtaamisia Lapissa 1940–1944. Lapin maakuntamuseo: Rovaniemi. Alftan, R. 2005. Aseveljet: Saksalais-Suomalainen Aseveljeys 1942–1944. WSOY: Helsinki. Augé, M. 1995. Non-Places: Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity. Verso: London. Axelsson, T., Gustafsson, A., Karlsson, H. & Persson, M. 2018. Command Centre Bjorn: the conflict heritage of a Swedish Cold War military installation. Journal of Conflict Archaeology. https://doi.org/10.1080/15740773.2018.1536407 (online first) Axelsson, T. & Persson, M. 2016. Ledningsplats Björn och kalla krigets kulturarv. GOTARC Series C. Arkeologiska skrifter 79. Göteborgs universitet: Göteborg. Banks, I., Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Seitsonen, O. 2018. Public Engagements with Lapland’s Dark Heritage: Community Archaeology in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Community Archaeology & Heritage 5(2): 128–137. https://doi.org/10.1080/20518196. 2017.1383672 Bender, B. 1999. Subverting the Western Gaze: Mapping Alternative Worlds. In The Archaeology and Anthropology of Landscape: Shaping your landscape, edited by P.J. Ucko & R. Layton: 31–45. Routledge: London. Bernbeck, R. 2018. An Emerging Archaeology of the Nazi Era. Annual Review of Anthropology 47: 361–376.

Archaeology of the Second World War  31 Buchli, V. & Lucas, G. (eds.) 2001. Archaeologies of the Contemporary Past. Routledge: London. Carr, G. 2014. Legacies of Occupation: Heritage, Memory and Archaeology in the Channel Islands. Springer: London. Carr, G., Jasinski, M.E. & Theune, C. 2018. The Material Culture of Nazi Camps: An Editorial. International Journal of Historical Archaeology 22(3): 423–429. Carr, J. & Corbishley, M. 2015. Editorial. Conservation and Management of Archaeological Sites 17(1): 1–3. Casella, E. 2007. The Archaeology of Institutional Confinement. University Press of Florida: Gainesville. DeSilvey, C. 2017. Curated Decay. Heritage beyond Saving. University of Minnesota Press: Minneapolis. Dobinson, C., Lake, J. & Schofield, J. 1997. Monuments of War: Defining England’s 20th-Century Defence Heritage. Antiquity 71: 288–299. Enqvist, J. 2014. The New Heritage: A Missing Link between Finnish Archaeology and Contemporary Society? Fennoscandia Archaeologica 31: 101–123. Fast, J. 2017. German Transit Camp at Tulliniemi, Hanko 1942–1944. In Poetic Archaeology/Inside and Beside the Camp, edited by J. Kaila & J. Knuutila: 34–41. The Academy of Fine Arts: Helsinki. Fredheim, L.H. & Khalaf, M. 2016. The Significance of Values: Heritage Value Typologies Re-examined. International Journal of Heritage Studies 22(6): 466–481. Figenschau, I. 2016. Krigsminner som kulturminner: redning eller klam omfavnelse? Primitive tider 18: 199–215. Gilead, I., Haimi, Y. & Mazurek, W. 2009 Excavating Nazi Extermination Centres. Present Pasts 1: 10–39. Green, L.F., Green, D.R. & Neves, E.G. 2003. Indigenous Knowledge and Archaeological Science: The Challenges of Public Archaeology in the Reserva Uaçá. Journal of Social Archaeology 3(3): 366–398. González-Ruibal, A. 2006. The Dream of Reason: Archaeologies of the Failures of Modernity in Ethiopia. Journal of Social Archaeology 6: 175–201. González-Ruibal, A. 2008. Time to Destroy: An Archaeology of Supermodernity. Current Anthropology 49(2): 247–279. González-Ruibal, A. 2016. Archaeology and the Time of Modernity. Historical Archaeology 50(3): 144–164. González-Ruibal, A., Vila, X.A. & Caesar, R. 2015. Ethics, Archaeology, and Civil Conflict: The Case of Spain. In Ethics and the Archaeology of Violence. Ethical Archaeologies: The Politics of Social Justice 2, edited by A. González-Ruibal & G. Moshenska: 113–136. Springer: New York. Grabowski, R., Olsen, B., Pétursdóttir, Þ. & Witmore, C. 2014. Teillager 6 Sværholt: The Archaeology of a World War II Prisoner of War Camp in Finnmark, Arctic Norway. Fennoscandia Archaeologica 31: 3–24. Graves-Brown, P. 2000. Matter, Materiality and Modern Culture. Routledge, London. Grini, K.E. 2016. Krigsminner som samtidsarkeologisk kildemateriale Primitive tider 18: 183–197. Harrison, R. 2011. Surface Assemblages: Towards an Archaeology in and of the Present. Archaeological Dialogues 18(2): 141–161. Harrison, R. 2013. Forgetting to Remember, Remembering to Forget: Late Modern Heritage Practices, Sustainability and the “Crisis” of Accumulation of the Past. International Journal of Heritage Studies 19(6): 579–595.

32  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains Harrison, R. 2015. Beyond “Natural” and “Cultural” Heritage: Toward an Ontological Politics of Heritage in the Age of Anthropocene. Heritage & Society 8(1): 24–42. Harrison, R. & Schofield, J. 2009. Archaeo-Ethnography, Auto-Archaeology: Introducing Archaeologies of the Contemporary Past. Archaeologies 5(2):185–209. Harrison, R., Bartolini, N., Desilvey, C., Holtorf, C., Lyons, A., MacDonald, S., May, S., Morgan, J., & Penrose, S. 2016. Heritage Futures. Archaeology International 19: 68–72. Harvey, D.C. 2001. Heritage Pasts and Heritage Presents: Temporality, Meaning and the Scope of Heritage Studies. International Journal of Heritage Studies 7(4): 319–338. Haugstvedt, A.-C. & Krogstie, J. 2012. Mobile Augmented Reality for Cultural Heritage: A Technology Acceptance Study. 2012 IEEE International Symposium on Mixed and Augmented Reality (ISMAR) 5–8 November 2012: 247–255. Available at http://ieeexplore.ieee.org/document/6402563/ Heinäaho, H. & Rautiainen, P. 2011. Romua vai sotahistoriallisia aarteita? Museo 2/2011: 32–34. Herva, V.-P. 2014. Haunting Heritage in an Enchanted Land: Magic, Materiality and Second World War German Material Heritage in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 1(2): 297–321. Herva, V.-P., Koskinen-Koivisto, E., Seitsonen, O. & Thomas, S. 2016. ‘I Have Better Stuff at Home’: Treasure Hunting and Private Collecting of World War II Artefacts in Finnish Lapland. World Archaeology 48(2): 267–281. Hesjedal, A. 2016a. Krig, okkupasjon, kulturminner og forvaltning. Vitark: Acta Archaeologica Nidrosiensia 10: 78–86. Hesjedal, A. 2016b. Lyngenlinja og Frøylinja. Fra landforsvarslinjer til verdifulle kulturminner. Fortidsminneforeningen. Årbok 2016. Krigens minner, edited by L.W. Borgen: 131–146. Fortidsminneforeningen: Oslo. Holtorf, C. & Piccini, A. (eds.) 2009. Contemporary Archaeologies, Excavating Now. Peter Lang: Frankfurt am Main. Ingold, T. 2000. The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill. Routledge: London. Ingold, T. 2011. Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description. Routledge: New York. Jasinski, M.E. 2013. Reinforced Concrete, Steel and Slaves: Archaeological Studies of Prisoners of World War II in Norway—The Case of Romsdal Peninsula. In Prisoners of War: Archaeology, Memory, and Heritage of 19th- and 20th-Century Mass Internment, edited by H. Mytum & G. Carr: 145–165. Springer: New York. Jasinski, M.E. 2018. Predicting the Past – Materiality of Nazi and Post-Nazi Camps: A Norwegian Perspective. International Journal of Historical Archaeology 22(3): 639–661. Jasinski, M.E., Soleim, M.N. & Sem, L. 2012. ‘Painful Heritage’. Cultural Landscape of the Second World War in Norway: A New Approach. In N-TAG TEN. Proceedings of the 10th Nordic TAG conferenceat Stiklestad, Norway 2009. BAR International Series 2399, edited by R. Berge, M.E. Jasinski & K. Sognnes: 263– 273. Archaeopress: Oxford. Jones, S. 2017. Wrestling with the Social Value of Heritage: Problems, Dilemmas and Opportunities. Journal of Community Archaeology and Heritage 4(1): 21–37. Junila, M. 2000. Kotirintaman Aseveljeyttä. Bibliotheca Historica 61. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura: Helsinki.

Archaeology of the Second World War  33 Kaila, T. 1950. Lapin sota. WSOY: Porvoo. Kaikusalo, A. & Metsälä, Y. 1974. Tarujen tunturit. WSOY: Helsinki. Källén, A. 2015. Postcolonial Theory and Sámi Archaeology – A Commentary. Arctic Anthropology 52(2): 81–86. Kauhanen, R. 2012. Kätköistä kumpujen, mullasta maan: taistelukenttäarkeologisesta tutkimuksesta. Sotahistoriallinen aikakauskirja 32: 9–43. Kauppi, U.-R. 1994. Salpa-asema muistomerkkinä. In Salpa-asema – sodan monumentti, edited by I. Länsivaara & A. Tolmunen: 81–97. SASA: Salo. Kauppi, U.-R. 2002. The Salpa Line: a Monument of the Future and the Traces of War in the Finnish Cultural Landscape. In Material Culture: The Archaeology of Twentieth Century Conflict, edited by J. Schofield, W.G. Johnson & C.M. Beck: 49–57. Routledge: London. Kingsepp, E. 2006. “Nazi fans” but Not Neo-Nazis: The Cultural Community of “WWII Fanatics”. In Returning (to) Communities: Theory, Culture and Political Practice of the Communal, edited by S. Herbrechter & M. Higgins: 223–240. Rodopi: Amsterdam, New York. Kivimäki, V. 2012. Between Defeat and Victory: Finnish Memory Culture of the Second World War. Scandinavian Journal of History 37(4): 482–504. Kleemola, O. 2014. Vihollinen vai liittolainen? Metsä suomalaisten ja saksalaisten itärintaman sotapropagandakuvien elementtinä 1941–1944. Vuosilusto 10: 28–38. Kleemola, O. 2016. Valokuva sodassa. Neuvostosotilaat, neuvostoväestö ja neuvostomaa suomalaisissa ja saksalaisissa toisen maailmansodan sotavalokuvissa. Sigillum: Turku. Kobiałka, D. 2014. Let Heritage Die! The Ruins of Trams at Depot No. 5 in Wrocław, Poland. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 1(2): 351–368. Koivisto, S. & Laulumaa, V. 2013. Pistepilvessä – Metsien arkeologiset kohteet LiDAR-ilmalaserkeilausaineistoissa. In Arkeologipäivät 2012. Suomen muinaismuistolaki 50 vuotta: vetreä keski-ikäinen vai raihnainen vanhus & Arkeopeda – opetusta, opastusta, oppimista, edited by J. Enqvist, J. Ruohonen & M. Suhonen: 51–67. Suomen arkeologinen seura: Helsinki. Koponen, T., Seitsonen, O. & Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2018. “Das ist Suomi”: Photographic Representation of Finland for a German Audience during the Second World War. Ennen ja nyt 4/2018: 1–23. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2011. Disappearing Landscapes: Embodied Experience and Metaphoric Space in the Life Story of a Female Factory Worker. Ethnologia Scandinavica 41: 25–39. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2016. Reminder of Lapland’s Dark Heritage – Experiences of Finnish Cemetery Tourists of Visiting the Norvajärvi German Cemetery. Thanatos 5(1): 23–41. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Seitsonen. O. 2019. Landscapes of Loss and Destruction: Childhood Memories of Sámi Elders of the Second World War. Ethnologia Europaea 49(1): 24–40. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Thomas, S. 2017. Lapland’s Dark Heritage: Responses to the Legacy of World War II. In Heritage in Action: Making the Past in the Present, edited by H. Silverman, W. Waterton & S. Watson: 121–133. Springer: New York. Kosnes, E. & Siira, J.B. 2015. Sør-Varanger. Fangeleirer, andre typer leirer og fengsler i tiden 1940–1944. Sør-Varanger historielag: Kirkenes. Kozinets, R.V. 2010. Netnography: Doing Ethnographic Research Online. SAGE Publications: Thousand Oaks, CA, London.

34  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains Lagerstedt, J. 2015. First World War Fortifications in and around Helsinki: Guide to the Landward Defence Zone of the Sveaborg Fortress. Helsinki City Museum: Helsinki Lähteenmäki, M. 1999. Jänkäjääkäreitä ja parakkipirkkoja. Lappilaisten sotakokemuksia 1939–1945. Historiallisia tutkimuksia 203. Suomen Historiallinen Seura: Helsinki. Länsman, A.-S. 2004. Väärtisuhteet Lapin matkailussa Kulttuurianalyysi suomalaisten ja saamelaisten kohtaamisesta. Kustannus-Puntsi: Inari. Lehtola, V.-P. 2012. Saamelaiset suomalaiset. Kohtaamisia 1896–1953. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura: Helsinki. Lehtola, V.-P. 2015a. Saamelaiskiista : sortaako Suomi alkuperäiskansaansa? Into: Helsinki. Lehtola, V.-P. 2015b. Second World War as a Trigger for Transcultural Changes among Sámi People in Finland. Acta Borealia 32(2):125–147. Lento, K. & Olsson, P. 2013. Muistin kaupunki: tulkintoja kaupungista muistin ja muistamisen paikkana. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura: Helsinki. Lillbroända-Annala, S. 2014. Kulttuuriperintö prosessina ja arvottamisen välineenä. In Muuttuva kulttuuriperintö. Det föränderliga kulturarvet, edited by T. Steel, A. Turunen, S. Lillbroända-Annala & M. Santikko: 19–40. Ethnos: Helsinki. Löfström, J. 2011. Historical Apologies as Acts of Symbolic Inclusion – And Exclusion? Reflections on Institutional Apologies as Politics of Cultural Citizenship. Citizenship Studies 15(1): 93–108. Löfström, J. 2014a. Encountering Painful Pasts – A Finnish Case Study. In Encountering Painful Pasts – Rencontrer les Passés Douloureux. Reports from the project Teaching History for a Europe in Common THIEC. Research Centre for Social Studies Education Research Reports 14, edited by J. Löfström: 106–119. Research Centre for Social Studies Education Research, University of Helsinki: Helsinki. Löfström, J. 2014b. How Finnish Upper Secondary Students Conceive Transgenerational Responsibility and Historical Reparations: Implications for the History Curriculum. Journal of Curriculum Studies 46(4): 515–539. Löfström, J. 2015. Holokaustiopetus huomenna. Muistipolitiikasta sen analyysiin. Niin & Näin 4: 47–55. Mabre (Max Martin Brehm) 1943. Fahrbahn Lappland. Auf winter-einsatzfahrten am Polarkreis. Mens-Verlag: Höchstadt an der Aisch. Mabre (Max Martin Brehm) 1944. Fahrbahn Lappland: Ein Bildbuch von Einsatzfahrten am Polarkreis. Mens-Verlag: Höchstadt an der Aisch. McAtackney, L. 2008. Experiencing the Maze: Official and Unofficial Interactions with Place in Post-Conflict Northern Ireland. In Making Sense of Place: Exploring Concepts and Expressions of Place through Different Senses and Lenses, edited by F. Vanclay, M. Higgins & A. Blackshaw: 190–197. National Museum of Australia Press: Canberra. McAtackney, L. 2013. Dealing with Difficult Pasts: The Dark Heritage of Political Prisons in Transitional Northern Ireland and South Africa. Prison Service Journal 210: 17–23. McAtackney, L. 2014. An Archaeology of the Troubles: The Dark Heritage of Long Kesh/Maze. Oxford University Press: Oxford. McAtackney, L. & Penrose, S. 2016. The Contemporary in Post-Medieval Archaeology. Post-Medieval Archaeology 50(1): 148–158.

Archaeology of the Second World War  35 Merleau-Ponty, M. 1962. Phenomenology of Perception. Routledge: London, New York. Mikkonen, K. 2016. Parakkeja ja piikkilankaa. Lapin maakuntamuseo: Rovaniemi. Mlekuž, D. 2014a. Exploring the Topography of Movement. In Computational Approaches to the Study of Movement in Archaeology Theory, Practice and Interpretation of Factors and Effects of Long Term Landscape Formation and Transformation. Topoi 23, edited by S. Polla & P. Verhagen: 5–21. De Gruyter: Berlin, Boston, MA. Mlekuž, D. 2014b. Touching Images: Thinking through Textures. AARGNews 48: 13–23. Moshenska, G. 2013. The Archaeology of the Second World War: Uncovering Britain’s Wartime Heritage. Pen & Sword Archaeology: Barnsley. Moshenska, G. 2015a. Curated Ruins and the Endurance of Conflict Heritage. Conservation and Management of Archaeological Sites 17(1): 77–90. Moshenska, G. 2015b. The Ethics of Public Engagement in the Archaeology of Modern Conflict. Ethics and the Archaeology of Violence. Ethical Archaeologies: The Politics of Social Justice 2, edited by A. González-Ruibal & G. Moshenska: 167–180. Springer: New York. Moshenska, G. & González-Ruibal, A. 2015. Introduction: The Only Way is Ethics. In Ethics and the Archaeology of Violence. Ethical Archaeologies: The Politics of Social Justice 2, edited by A. González-Ruibal & G. Moshenska: 1–18. Springer: New York. Mullins, P. 2013. Race and Prosaic Materiality: The Archaeology of Contemporary Urban Space and the Invisible Colour Line. The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeology of the Contemporary World, edited by P. Graves-Brown, R. Harrison & A. Piccini: 508–521. Oxford University Press: Oxford. Mullins, P. 2014. The Banality of Everyday Consumption: Collecting Contemporary Urban Materiality. Museum Anthropology 36(1): 46–50. Myers, A. & Moshenska, G. (eds.) 2011. Archaeologies of Internment. Springer: New York. Mytum, H. 2014. Internment and Prisoners of War in Historical Archaeology. Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology, edited by C. Smith. Springer: New York. Naum, M. & Nordin J.M. (eds.) 2013. Scandinavian Colonialism and the Rise of Modernity: Small Time Agents in a Global Arena. Springer: New York. Niukkanen, M. 2009. Historiallisen ajan kiinteät muinaisjäännökset. Tunnistaminen ja suojelu. Museoviraston rakennushistorian osaston oppaita ja ohjeita 3. Museoviraston rakennushistorian osasto: Helsinki. Nordqvist, K. & Seitsonen, O. 2007. Äyräpään ja Pälsin jäljillä – Arkeologisia tutkimuksia Säkkijärvellä ja Vahvialassa. Muinaistutkija 2/2007: 2–19. Nordqvist, K. & Seitsonen, O. 2009. New Mesolithic sites in the Finnish Lapland Wilderness. Research of the Muotkeduoddara doložat project in 2005–2007. Mesolithic Miscellany 19(2): 3–11. Nordqvist, K., Seitsonen, O. & Lavento, M. 2009. Waterways and the Stone Age and Early Metal Period studies on the Karelian Isthmus – The pre-World War II Studies and Research Carried Out by the University of Helsinki in 1998–2006. Quaternary International 203(1–2): 25–32. Nyyssönen, J. 2013. Sami Counter-Narratives of Colonial Finland: Articulation, Reception and the Boundaries of the Politically Possible. Acta Borealia 30(1): 101–121. Ó Gráda, C. 2001. Famine, Trauma, and Memory. Bealoideas 69: 121–143.

36  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains Olivier, L. 2013. The Business of Archaeology is Present. In Reclaiming Archaeology: Beyond the Tropes of Modernity, edited by A. González-Ruibal: 117–129. London: Routledge. Olsen, B. & Pétursdóttir, Þ. (eds.) 2014. Ruin Memories: Materiality, Aesthetics and the Archaeology of the Recent Past. Routledge: Oxon, New York. Olsen, B. & Witmore, C. 2014. Sværholt: Recovered Memories from a POW Camp in the Far North. In Ruin Memories: Materialities, Aesthetics and the Archaeology of the Recent Past, edited by B. Olsen & Þ. Pétursdóttir: 162–90. Routledge: Oxon, New York. Otto, R. 2008. Soviet Prisoners of War on the German Lapland Front, 1941–1944. In Sotavangit ja internoidut: Kansallisarkiston artikkelikirja. Prisoners of War and Internees: A Book of Articles by the National Archives, edited by L. Westerlund: 64–113. Kansallisarkisto: Helsinki. Persson, M. 2011. Skatås – utgrävningen av en minneslucka. Bricoleur Press: Lindome. Persson, M. 2014a. Minnen från vår samtid. Arkeologi, materialitet och samtidshistoria. Doctoral Dissertation, University of Gothenburg, Göteborg, Sweden. Persson, M. 2014b. Materialising Skatås – Archaeology of a Second World War Refugee Camp in Sweden. In Ruin memories: Materialities, Aesthetics and the Archaeology of the Recent Past, edited by B. Olsen and Þ. Pétursdóttir: 435–461. Routledge: Oxon, New York. Pétursdóttir, Þ. 2013. Concrete Matters: Ruins of Modernity and the Things Called Heritage. Journal of Social Archaeology 13(1): 31–53. Pétursdóttir, Þ. 2016. For Love of Ruins. In Elements of Architecture: Assembling Archaeology, Atmosphere and the Performance of Building Space, edited by T.F. Sørensen & M. Bille: 365–386. Routledge: London. Pétursdóttir, Þ. 2017. Climate Change? Archaeology and Anthropocene. Archaeological Dialogues 24(2): 175–205. Pétursdóttir, Þ. & Olsen, B. 2014a. Imaging Modern Decay: The Aesthetics of Ruin Photography. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 1(1): 7–56. Pétursdóttir, Þ. & Olsen, B. 2014b. An Archaeology of Ruins. In Ruin Memories: Materiality, Aesthetics and the Archaeology of the Recent Past, edited by B. Olsen and Þ. Pétursdóttir: 3–29. Routledge: Oxon, New York. Price, J. 2005. Orphan Heritage: Issues in Managing the Heritage of the Great War in Northern France and Belgium. Journal of Conflict Archaeology 1: 181–196. Ranta, H. 2011. Etiikka hautakaivauksilla. In Arkeologisten hautakaivausten tutkimusmenetelmät. Museoviraston rakennushistorian osaston raportteja 22, edited by K. Salo & M. Niukkanen: 8–11. Museovirasto: Helsinki. Rathje, W.L. 1979. Modern Material Culture Studies. Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory 2: 1–37. Rau, P. 2014. Our Nazis: Representations of Fascism in Contemporary Literature and Film. Edinburgh University Press: Edinburgh. Ruotsala, H. 2002. Muuttuvat palkiset. Elo, työ ja ympäristö Kittilän Kyrön paliskunnassa ja Kuolan Luujärven poronhoitokollektiiveissa vuosina 1930–1995. Kansatieteellinen Arkisto 49. Suomen muinaismuistoyhdistys: Helsinki. Saarinen, J. 2001. The Regional Economics of Tourism: A Case Study of the Economic Impacts of Tourism in Salla, Eastern Lapland. Nordia Geographical Publications 30(4): 11–18. Sääskilahti, N. 2013. Ruptures and Returns: From Loss of Memory to the Memory of Loss. Ethnologia Fennica 40: 40–53.

Archaeology of the Second World War  37 Sääskilahti, N. 2016. Konfliktinjälkeiset kulttuuriympäristöt, muisti ja materiaalisuus. Tahiti. Taidehistoria tieteenä. Konsthistorien som vetenskap 1/2016. Available at http://tahiti.fi/01-2016/tieteellisetartikkelit/konfliktinjalkeiset-kulttuuriymparistotmuisti-ja-materiaalisuus/ [Accessed 2017-04-01] Salmond, A. 1992. Theoretical Landscapes: On Cross-Cultural Conceptions of Knowledge. In Semantic Anthropology, edited by D. Parkin: 65–87. Academic Press: London. Saunders, N.J. 2000. Bodies of Metal, Shells of Memory: ‘Trench Art’ and the Great War Re-cycled. Journal of Material Culture 5(1): 43–67. Saunders, N.J. (ed.) 2012. Beyond the Dead Horizon: Studies in Modern Conflict Archaeology. Oxbow: Oxford. Schofield, J. 2009. Aftermath: Readings in the Archaeology of Recent Conflict. English Heritage, Swindon. Schofield, J., Johnson, W.G., & Beck C.M. (eds.) 2002. Matériel Culture: The Archaeology of Twentieth Century Conflict. Routledge: London. Schofield, J., Klausmeier, A. & Purbrick, L. (eds.) 2006. Re-mapping the Field: New Approaches in Conflict Archaeology. Westkreuz-Verlag: Berlin. Seamon, D. 2013. Environmental Embodiment, Merleau-Ponty, and Bill Hillier’s Theory of Space Syntax: Toward a Phenomenology of People-in-Place. In Rethinking Aesthetics: The Role of Body in Design, edited by R. Bhatt: 204–213. Routledge: New York. Seamon, D. & Sowers, J. 2008. Place and Placelessness (1976): Edward Relph. In Key Texts in Human Geography, edited by P. Hubbard, R. Kitchen & G. Valentine: 43–51. Sage: London. Seitsonen, O. 2004. Arkeologinen ekskursio Vuokselan Venäjänsaareen. SKAS 3/2004: 36–39. Seitsonen, O. 2010a. Ahvola: Vapaussodan vähän muistettu suurtaistelu. Vapaussoturi 5/2010: 6–10. Seitsonen, O. 2010b. Vapaussodan konfliktiarkeologiaa. Vapaussoturi 5/2010: 11–15. Seitsonen, O. 2011. Juoksuhautoja ja asumuspainanteita: Kokemuksia Lidar– laserkeilausaineiston käytöstä kenttäarkeologiassa. Muinaistutkija 2/2011: 36–44. Seitsonen, O. 2013. LiDAR–kaukokartoitusaineistojen visualisointi ja analysointi: paikkatietoalgoritmeja arkeologeille. Muinaistutkija 1/2013: 2–16. Seitsonen, O. 2017. Crowdsourcing Cultural Heritage: Public Participation and Conflict Legacy in Finland. Journal of Community Archaeology and Heritage 4(2): 115–130. Seitsonen, O., Hekkurainen, M., Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Thomas, S. 2018. “Voiko natsia rakastaa?”: Lapin Maakuntamuseon Wir waren Freunde – Olimme ystäviä – näyttelyprosessi esimerkkinä vaikeasta kulttuuriperinnöstä. Suomen Museo 2018: 112–132. Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2011. Forgotten in the Wilderness: WWII PoW Camps in Finnish Lapland. In Archaeologies of Internment, edited by A. Myers & G. Moshenska: 171–190. Springer: New York. Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2017. ‘War Junk’ and Cultural Heritage: Viewpoints on the Second World War German Material Culture in Finnish Lapland. In War & Peace: Conflict and Resolution in Archaeology. Proceedings of the 45th Annual Chacmool Archaeology Conference, edited by A.K. Benfer: 170–185. Chacmool Archaeology Association, University of Calgary. Available at https://prism.­ ucalgary.ca/handle/1880/52231 [Accessed 2017-02-10]

38  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P. & Koponen, T. 2019. “Lapland’s Roadway”: German Photography and Experience of the European Far North in the Second World War. Photography and Culture: 1–20. https://doi.org/10.1080/17514517.2019.1594560 (online first) Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P. & Kunnari, M. 2017a. Abandoned Refugee Vehicles “In the Middle of Nowhere”: Reflections on the Global Refugee Crisis from the Northern Margins of Europe. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 3(2): 244–260. Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P., Nordqvist, K., Herva, A. & Seitsonen, S. 2017b. A Military Camp in the Middle of Nowhere: Mobilities, Dislocation and the Archaeology of a Second World War German Military Base in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Conflict Archaeology 12(1): 3–28. Seitsonen, O. & Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2017. ‘Where the F… is Vuotso?’: Heritage of Second World War Forced Movement and Destruction in a Sámi Reindeer Herding Community in Finnish Lapland. International Journal of Heritage Studies 24(4): 421–441. Seitsonen, O. & Kunnas, L. 2009. Ahvola 1918: Archaeological Reconnaissance of a Finnish Civil War Battlefield. Journal of Conflict Archaeology 5(1): 57–80. Seitsonen, O., Nordqvist, K. & Gerasimov, D.V. 2016. Stone Age and Early Metal Period Archaeology and Settlement Patterns in the Lake Pyhäjärvi Micro-Region, Karelian Isthmus, Russia. In New Sites, New Methods. Iskos 21, edited by P. Uino & K. Nordqvist: 116–142. Finnish Archaeological Society: Helsinki. Silvennoinen, O. 2008. Salaiset Aseveljet: Suomen Ja Saksan Turvallisuuspoliisiyhteistyö 1933–1944. Otava: Helsinki. Spangen, M., Salmi, A.-K. & Äikäs, T. 2015. Sámi Archaeology and Postcolonial Theory – An Introduction. Arctic Anthropology 52(2): 1–5. Stenius, H., Österberg, M. & Östling, J. (eds.) 2011. Nordic Narratives of the Second World War: National Historiographies Revisited. Nordic Academic Press: Lund. Stone, P. R. 2006. A Dark Tourism Spectrum: Towards a Typology of Death and Macabre Related Tourist Sites, Attractions and Exhibitions. Tourism: An Interdisciplinary International Journal 54(2): 145–160. Taavitsainen, J.-P. 2012. Terrorin arkeologiaa. Hiiskuttua 2: 1–8. Taivainen, J. 2013. Muinaismuistolain suojelema tai ei – Metsien kulttuuriperintö on moninaista ja arvokasta. In Arkeologipäivät 2012. Suomen muinaismuistolaki 50 vuotta: vetreä keski-ikäinen vai raihnainen vanhus & Arkeopeda – opetusta, opastusta, oppimista, edited by J. Enqvist, J. Ruohonen & M. Suhonen: 26–28. Suomen arkeologinen seura: Helsinki. Taivainen, J. (ed.) 2015. Metsiin kadonneet – Valtion metsien kulttuuriperintökohteiden inventointihanke 2010–2015. Metsähallituksen metsätalouden julkaisuja 73. Metsähallitus: Vantaa. Available at https://julkaisut.metsa.fi/assets/pdf/mt/mt73. pdf [Accessed 2016-01-01] Takala, H. 1998. Taistelu Lahdesta 1918. Lahden kaupunki: Lahti. Takala, H., Häkälä, P., Vadén, A.-R., Repo, P. & Sorvali, E. 2018. Kiveltä kivelle. Sisällissodan taistelupaikat arkeologisena tutkimuskohteena Lahdessa. Muinaistutkija 3/2018: 21–36. Theune, C. 2010. Historical Archaeology in National Socialist Concentration Camps in Central Europe. Historische Archäologie 2: 1–14. Theune, C. 2018. A Shadow of War: Archaeological Approaches to Uncovering the Darker Sides of Conflict from the 20th Century. Sidestone Press: Leiden.

Archaeology of the Second World War  39 Thomas, S., Herva, V.-P., Koskinen-Koivisto, E. and Seitsonen, O. 2019. Dark Heritage. In Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology, edited by C. Smith. Springer: New York. (online first) Thomas, S., Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2016. Nazi Memorabilia, Dark Heritage and Treasure Hunting as “Alternative” Tourism: Understanding the Fascination with the Material Remains of World War II in Northern Finland. Journal of Field Archaeology 41(3): 331–343. Tuan, Y.-F. 1977. Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience. University of Minnesota Press: Minneapolis. Tuominen, M. 2005. A Good World After All? Recovery after the Lappish War. In The North Calotte Perspectives on the Histories and Cultures of Northernmost Europe, edited by M. Lähteenmäki & P.M. Pihlaja: 148–161. Puntsi: Inari. Tuominen, M. 2015. Lapin ajanlasku. Menneisyys, tulevaisuus ja jälleenrakennus historian reunalla. In Rauhaton rauha. Suomalaiset ja sodan päättyminen 1944– 1950, edited by V. Kivimäki & K.-M. Hytönen: 39–70. Vastapaino: Tampere. Uino, P. 2003. Karjalan arkeologiaa 150 vuotta. In Karjalan synty. Viipurin läänin historia I, edited by M. Saarnisto: 117–150. Karjalan Kirjapaino: sine loco. Vehviläinen, O. 2002. Finland in the Second World War: Between Germany and Russia. Palgrave Macmillan: London. Virolainen, K. 1999. Elinikäinen taakka. Ikääntyneiden lappilaisten muistot vuorovaikutussuhteistaan jatkosodan ajan Saksan armeijan sotilaisiin ja neuvostoliittolaisiin sotavankeihin. Lapin yliopisto: Rovaniemi. Waterton, E. & Smith, L. 2010. The Recognition and Misrecognition of Community Heritage. International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–2): 4–15. Watson, S. & Waterton, E. 2010. Community Engagement. International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–2): 1–3. Wendisch, I. 2006. Salatut lapset – Saksalaissotilaiden lapset Suomessa. Ajatus: Helsinki. Westerlund, L. 2008a. Saksan vankileirit Suomessa ja raja-alueilla 1941–1944. Tammi: Helsinki. Westerlund, L. 2008b. The German Strategic Use of POW Labor in the Far North. In Prisoner of War Deaths and People Handed over to Germany and the Soviet Union in 1939–1955: A Research Report by the Finnish National Archives, edited by L. Westerlund: 95–135. Finnish National Archives: Helsinki. Ylimaunu, T., Mullins, P.R., Symonds, J. Kallio-Seppä, T. Heikkilä, H., Kuorilehto, M. & Tolonen, S. 2013. Memory of Barracks: World War II German ‘Little Berlins’ and Post-War Urbanization in Northern Finnish Towns. Scandinavian Journal of History 38(4): 525–548. Yurchuk, Y. 2012. The Nexus between Cultural Trauma, Collective Memory and Social Trust: A Glass Half-Full, Half-Empty or Shattered. The Case of post-1991 Ukraine. In Painful Pasts and Useful Memories: Remembering and Forgetting in Europe. CFE Conference Papers Series 5, edited by B. Törnquist-Plewa & N. Bernsand: 73–90. Centre for European Studies: Lund.

3 Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft The Northern Brothers-in-arms, 1940–1945

The historical background to the presence of Second World War German military material legacy in northern Finland is outlined below. This is based on published military and social histories, scanty archival material, ethnographic interviews with locals in different parts of Lapland – most recently carried out by us in the Lapland’s Dark Heritage project in 2014–2018 (see Appendix 1) – and, implicitly, on the photographic evidence from various sources. Some idiosyncratic features of the era are especially highlighted, such as the close encounters between the Germans, their prisoners, and Lapland’s civilians, and the paradoxical ‘German-Jewish brotherhood-in-arms’. These issues have been recurrently brought up in the interviews with different stakeholders and illustrate well some of the paradoxes, peculiarities and messiness related to the war on the Arctic front and (Super)modernity in general (see González-Ruibal 2008). Germany and Finland have had long-lasting cultural, economic and other relations for centuries, especially from the early twentieth century (Hentilä & Hentilä 2016; Hyytiä 2012). For example, an Imperial German expeditionary force took part in the 1918 Finnish Civil War on the victorious White side after the country’s declaration of independence in 1917, and a German Prince was originally selected to become the King of the newly independent state of Finland (see below). The presence of German Second World War military material in Finland has its roots in the nationally venerated Finno-Russian Winter War (from 30 November 1939 to 13 March 1940). The Winter War resulted in heavy territorial, economic and other losses for Finland, yet it is widely remembered and mythologized as the ‘Miracle of Winter War’ and the ‘105 days of glory’ unifying the country’s population in a common war effort (Kleemola 2015; Mälkki 2008; Paasi 1997; Tepora 2015). It also established the popular image of Finland at war – an underdog fighting against the massive military power of USSR, with agile and adaptable, yet severely under-equipped, ski troops ambushing motorized enemy convoys in the snow-covered wilderness (Figure 3.1). Finns are generally fascinated by their Second World War history. This is manifested by the constant rewriting of, most often gallant, war stories and histories in the public media. Especially the Winter War and the military

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  41

Figure 3.1 Original caption: ‘Traces of the battle at West-Lemetti’ in the Winter War 1939–1940, notice the improvised snow suits and civilian clothing, such as the huopikas felt winter boots and mittens (SA-kuva 4262/ Lemetti/01.02.1940; CC BY 4.0).

actions on the southern Karelian front form an integral part of the acknowledged ‘national narrative’. There is a substantial emphasis on the ‘real’ and ‘honourable’ battle fought against the perceived archenemy, the Soviet Union (e.g. Kinnunen & Jokisipilä 2012; Kivimäki 2012; Paasi 1997). Consequently, the fates of civilian evacuees from the southern ‘Ceded Karelia’, lost to the Soviet Union first in 1940 and again in 1944, have also received most attention in the aftermath of the war, at the expense of the northern evacuees (Willman 2006: 143). Diversions from the established, mostly heroic, national story are typically presented, especially in the popular histories, as anomalous diversions from the norm; ‘sectioning out the evil’, as historian Ville Kivimäki (2005: 4) has described this process. For instance, it is generally forgotten that some infamous Nazis served in northern Finland. As an example, one of the most wanted war criminals SS-doctor Aribert Heim, known as the ‘butcher of Mauthausen’ after the human experiments he carried out at concentration camps, served at least in the Oulu military hospital (Kriegslazarett 3/677), and probably elsewhere in Lapland. After the war Heim evaded capture and never had to answer for his crimes against humanity. Even some academic studies have stated that ‘[T]he military cooperation between Germany and Finland seems to have been in line with the international norms, [and] as clean as warfare can be’ (Jokipii 1987: 399). These kinds of ‘softening’ attitudes and approaches have sidelined many of the more controversial themes of Finland at war, such as the mass-deaths of Soviet Prisoner-of-War

42  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains (PoWs) in both the German-run and Finnish-run PoW camps (Westerlund 2009), or the Finnish-run ‘concentration camps’ that were established for ‘non-ethnic’ civilians in the occupied areas (Kivimäki 2005: 4). For example, these ‘concentration camps’ – internment and work camps established for the local civilians in Russian Eastern Karelia under Finnish occupation in 1941–1944 – have been understudied (Kulomaa 1989; Laine 1982; Westerlund 2009). Only one of the camps was situated within Finland’s modern borders, at Miehikkälä (Laine 1982). However, encouragingly, the public marked and discussed these camps in a recent crowdsourcing of Finnish conflict heritage organized by the State broadcasting company Yleisradio (Aro et al. 2014; Seitsonen 2017). Also, when visiting the ruins of Miehikkälä camp, one can observe that the two mass graves for Soviet civilians are still maintained by somebody, who plants flowers at the gravesites, and the memory of the internees is preserved by the locals. Even war histories dealing explicitly with Lapland often focus on the wide-scale military and political actions and typically place emphasis on the Finno-German Lapland War of 1944–1945, the brief showdown of Second World War in northern Finland (see Ahto 1980; Hyvönen 1991; Kaila 1950; Kulju 2009, 2013). Sometimes even the Lapland War has been side-lined. For example, in a recently published historical study of ‘Finland’s Fateful Decisions’ in the war, written by a retired General Staff Officer (Koskimaa 2016), the northern Finnish military actions, including the Lapland War, were not mentioned since ‘…it no longer contributed significantly to solving the fate of Finland’ (Koskimaa 2016: IX). This kind of side-lining has been quite common at national level throughout the post-war period (see Kivimäki 2012) and still affects the way outsiders approach Lapland’s Second World War legacy, especially the issues related to the Germans. Even if the memory of German wartime presence has been largely ignored in national-level historical narratives throughout the post-war decades, it maintains an important place in the local communal and familial remembrances in northern Finland (see Lehtola 1994, 2015; Sääskilahti 2013, 2016; Tuominen 2003, 2015; Tuominen & Löfgren 2018). Over the past two decades, Finnish historians have started to progressively explore the social, micro-historical and other aspects of the German presence. This has included both academic and popular publications, and has also addressed the under-studied period from 1940 to 1944, before the outbreak of Lapland War; during which the Germans, their prisoners, and the Finnish and Sámi civilians lived as close neighbours (e.g. Aikio-Puoskari & Magga 2010; Airio 2014; Alftan 2005; Jokisipilä 2005, 2007a; Junila 2000; Kleemola 2016; Korpi 2010; Lähteenmäki 1999; Postila 2002; Silvennoinen 2008; Virolainen 1999; Wendisch 2006; Westerlund 2008a, b). Finno-German co-habitation was interestingly – and controversially – presented in the recent exhibition ‘Wir Waren Freunde – We were friends. Encounters of Germans and Finns in Lapland 1940–1944’ at the Provincial Museum of Lapland in 2015–2016 (Alariesto et al. 2015; Seitsonen et al. 2018; see Chapter 8).

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  43 Archival material related to the German presence in Finland is extremely sparse and fragmented. In the Lapland War, the Germans destroyed not only their military installations and the civilian infrastructure but also their archives (Westerlund 2008a: 22–23). This is demonstrated in material form by the burnt binders often encountered in the excavations (see Chapter 5). Finnish troops captured some German archives, as described in some reports, but the fate of these documents is unknown: ‘Major Heimolainen has told…a German archive ended in his hands…including also previously unknown information… I ask to clarify what archive this is [sic]’ (Hallamaa 1945). Some documents ended up in the United States National Archives, such as German Luftwaffe aerial imagery from Lapland; large batch of these were located in 2019 and are available for future research. Apparently, more languishes in closed Russian archives. Parts of the Finnish military headquarters’ archives and liaison officers’ reports were also deliberately torched at the end of the war (Alftan 2005: 283). This absence of organized archival sources has, doubtless, been a major factor in discouraging historical study of the era. Then again, detailed archival data are available from the Finnish sources from the Lapland War, especially from the Enontekiö region where the Germans lingered until the end of April 1945. Understandably these records deal mostly with military activities and battle lines, but aerial photos, maps and sketches can be used to direct archaeological studies (Figure 3.2).

Figure 3.2 Finnish military archival material, stamped as ‘Secret’, from the Lapland War 1944–1945: aerial photographs, sketch maps and detail drawings of the German field fortifications (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

44  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains The German perspective of the war in Lapland has been described in memoirs published by several German commanders after the war (Erfurth 1951, 1954; Hölter 1953; Kräutler & Springenschmid 1962; Rendulic 1952, 1964; Schreiber 1969). Some Finnish officers also published their memoirs after the war (Halsti 1972; Puroma & Sonck 1958). These accounts and archival materials typically present the rather one-sided and military-oriented views of high-ranking officers. Still, for example, Halsti (1972) offers some interesting remarks on the widespread destruction caused by the retreating Germans. However, the martial standpoint of these memoirs and military histories often leaves out many experiential perspectives that were encountered, for instance, by ordinary German soldiers, PoWs and forced labourers. In particular the events in the wilderness areas and at the PoW cam­ps during the German presence are extremely poorly known. Historical information concerning these places relies largely on scattered Finnish liaison officers reports (Alftan 2005), recollections of some Swedish truck drivers and Lotta Svärd members (Finnish women’s auxiliary paramilitary organisation) (Westerlund 2008a: 43–45, 143), extremely rare PoW memoirs (Mesjentsev 2007; Molka 2007), as well as the kaleidoscopic recollections of local elders and the transgenerational communal histories (see Koskinen-Koivisto & Seitsonen 2019; Sääskilahti 2013; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). A notable exception was Major Wolfgang von Hessen, who oversaw transportation operations on the Eismeerstraße (Arctic Ocean Road). He published a candid personal memoir of the hardships encountered in the far north (von Hessen 1986). Incidentally, his father was the Prince of Hessen who was elected in 1918 to become the first king of the newly independent state of Finland, although this plan collapsed with the defeat of Imperial Germany in the First World War. Some coffee table books with fascinating photographs of the Arctic campaign were published during the war for the German homefront (Mabre 1943, 1944). The Germans also printed frontline magazines for the soldiers, such as the Lappland-Kurier published specifically for the arctic front (Valtonen 2011; also Junila 2000; Mikkonen 2016). These books and magazine articles illustrate well the exotification and Othering of Lapland, its people and landscapes as perceived by the Germans. These publications also appeared to prepare the ground psychologically for German post-war rule of the north, by distancing the locals and presenting Lapland essentially as a ‘blank canvas’, open for the occupation and utilization by the superior German forces (Seitsonen et al. 2019). On the other hand, Finns also published propaganda-oriented books for both a scientific and wider German audience, such as the coffee table book Suomi kuvina. Das ist Suomi. Finnland in Bild und Wort (Finland in pictures. This is Suomi. Finland in pictures and words). These present Finland and Lapland from noticeably differing perspectives to the German books, emphasizing, for instance, the alleged long history of Finland as the final frontier and guardian between the Western civilization and the threat from the East (Koponen et al. 2018).

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  45 Photographic evidence of the Germans and their prisoners in Lapland is publicly available through the Finnish Defence Forces (FDF) photographic archives, opened in 2013 (SA-kuva n.d.; see Kleemola 2014, 2016). Although German-related photos are in a minority amongst about 160,000 digitized wartime images, they supplement the rare archival documents, memoirs and archaeological studies. However, German camps were officially off-limits for most of Finnish soldiers and civilians, except liaison officers. An interesting and rare exception to the dearth of pictorial evidence from inside the German camps is a collection of personal photographs taken by gold panner and Laanila Guest House keeper Max Peronius. He worked as a translator for the Germans during the war and photographed some of their encampments and day-to-day activities. His descendant Antti Peronius has kindly given me permission to use this photograph collection for this ­research. However, these images mostly lack any geographic information. In the summer 2015, I was able for the first time to place some of the Peronius photographs in the landscape at a German PoW camp located at Inari Haukkapesäoja (110; number refers to Appendices 2 and 3; see Chapter 4).

‘Arktis ist nichts’: ‘Hermans’ come to Lapland After the Winter War (1939–1940) Finland deemed that a new conflict with the Soviet Union was just a matter of time in the tense world political setting. Nazi Germany was waging highly successful Blitzkrieg across Western Europe and the USSR was occupying Poland and had annexed the Baltic countries. In this troubled situation Finland turned to the Third Reich for military and material help (Figure 3.3). In 1940, Finland gave Germany a transit permit through the country to occupied Norway, and the Germans – or ‘Hermans’ as the locals often recall them – started arriving in the Rovaniemi (Sámi: Roavvenjárga) and Inari regions in the fall of 1940 (e.g. Mikkonen 2016: 16). In early June 1941 Finland allowed the German troops to move into northern Finland as preparation for Hitler’s coming attack on the Soviet Union, Operation Barbarossa (Mann & Jörgensen 2002; Vehviläinen 2002). German troops launched their assault on the Soviet Union on 22 June 1941, and after massive Soviet air raids targeted at several Finnish cities on 25 June, Finland joined in the attack (Soikkanen 2007). Finland’s ambition in this co-operation was to gain back the territories ceded after the Winter War and to pursue the dream of a ‘Greater Finland’ in the east (e.g. Kinnunen & Jokisipilä 2012; Kivimäki 2012). The German military presence in the north allowed Finns to assemble their own troops on the southern front and to concentrate on re-conquering the ceded areas of Karelia and ‘liberating’ the Russian Karelia, often seen as the main objectives of the Finnish war effort (Mann & Jörgensen 2002: 75–76). Although no formal alliance was signed, Finland became Germany’s close co-belligerent, and a de facto ally, in the fight against the Soviet Union. The term Waffenbruderschaft (comradeship-in-arms) was typically preferred for

46  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains

Figure 3.3 Nazi German, Swedish and Finnish flags flying side by side in front of the Parliament House and the National Museum in Helsinki, during the three countries’ athletic games in 1940; Finland was supposed to hold Summer Olympics in 1940, but this plan was stalled by the war (Helsinki City Museum N16255; Pietinen Aarne Oy, Helsinki 1940; CC BY 4.0).

this co-operation, instead of alliance (Jokisipilä 2007a), as Finland tried to present the Western Allies with the image of a separate war effort. This distancing was sustained through the Cold War and until the last few decades (see Herva 2014; Jokisipilä 2007a, b; Paasi 1997). Owing to continuous Soviet pressure the United Kingdom and a handful of other countries declared war on Finland in 1941 (Figure 3.4). British Foreign Minister Winston Churchill expressed his personal regrets for this to the commander-in-chief of the FDF, Field Marshal Mannerheim (Mannerheim 1952: 366). However, this declaration of war resulted only in some British bombing attacks on the shore of the Arctic Ocean at Petsamo (Sámi: Beahcán) and in the internment of some ships and their crews (Mann & Jörgensen 2002: 84–85; Tovey 1948; Uola 2012: 380; Ziemke 1963: 286). German troops on the northern front consisted mainly of the German 20th Mountain Army (Gebirgs-Armee-Oberkommando 20, henceforth AOK20), commanded by Generaloberst Eduard Dietl, and supported by SS troops, Luftwaffe personnel, Finnish soldiers, and the multinational construction forces known as Organisation Todt (OT). At the peak of the German

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  47

Figure 3.4 Wartime cartoon by the famous Finnish cartoonist Kari Suomalainen in a frontal magazine ‘Christmas of the 3rd Btry 1941’: ‘Year 1941–19… Finland, contra Russki, England, Austraalia [sic], New Zealand, South Africa, India etc…’ (Redrawn by Oula Seitsonen, after Suomalainen 1941).

military build-up they had over 200,000 soldiers in this thinly populated area of about 150,000 locals (Jokisipilä 2005: 19; Kaltenegger 2006: 169–171). They held a front of nearly 1000 km stretching from the Lake Oulujärvi to the Arctic Ocean. However, soon after the Finno-German attack was launched in June 1941, the Germans became bogged down on the roadless fjells and marshlands of Lapland (Figure 3.5a). It became clear that even the best-trained and battle-hardened German Mountain Jaegers (Gebirgsjäger, many of them actually of Austrian origin) were unprepared for the hard field conditions and poor infrastructure of Lapland (Ahto 1974; Alftan 2005). This mirrors an ignorance and arrogance with which many Germans approached the war in the Arctic, most obvious in the well-known quote by German General Ferdinand Schörner: ‘Arktis ist nichts’ (‘Arctic means nothing’; Carruthers 2013: 192). On the other hand, this fulfilled General Dietl’s more cautious and cynical prophesy presented during the planning phase of the attack: ‘War has never been carried out this far north … The area is completely unsuitable for military operations’ (Mann & Jörgensen 2002: 70). Illustratively, during the Winter War the Finns and Russians, familiar with the local conditions, left most of the northern front guarded by ski patrols based at scattered wilderness outposts, sometimes tens of kilometres apart (Mann & Jörgensen 2002: 70, 72). The northern front became effectively stationary by the end of 1941 and remained more or less so until the fall of 1944. The inefficiency of German

48  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains

Figure 3.5 Frontlines of the Continuation and Lapland War in the north: (a) The advance of the Finno-German offensive in 1941 to the stationary frontlines, (b) The major Russian offensive in south in the summer 1944 and (c) Troop movements during the Lapland War in the fall 1944; dates show the advance of the Finnish troops (Illustration: Oula Seitsonen 2017).

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  49 attempts to operate in the northern taiga and tundra – completely alien and intimidating environments to them – caused their Finnish co-belligerents to grow disillusioned with and even contemptuous towards them (Alftan 2005: 174, 192–194; Junila 2000: 104–105; Pipping 2008 [1947]: 10). The contrast between the northern Waffenbrüder (brothers-in-arms) could not have been much more marked, in almost every sense, starting from their external appearance and equipment (Figure 3.6). While Finnish soldiers were generally ill-equipped and relied largely on improvisation and civilian clothing, they were intimately familiar with the landscapes, and experts in wilderness skills since childhood (e.g. Alftan 2005; Pipping 2008 [1947]). The often unsoldierly appearance of Finns caused some German commanders to disparage them in the beginning. However, they were forced to correct their opinions soon after the assault was launched, when the Finnish troops showed their competence in the demanding northern landscapes (Airio 2014: 189). Conversely, the German military machine was well equipped and well groomed. Its martial appearance was outwardly impressive, especially for the local civilians who were accustomed with the casual look of the Finnish troops: ‘That German, when he stood to attention, it was like a statue, nothing moved…’ (Virolainen 1999: 93; also, Alariesto et al. 2015; Mikkonen 2016). However, an envious sounding German Colonel sarcastically, yet aptly, summed up the fundamental difference between the brothers-in-arms: ‘Finns put a slice of bread

Figure 3.6 Arctic Waffenbrüder: German and Finnish officers in the far north. Left: Original caption: ‘Amongst the German troops in Lapland’ (SA-kuva 57121/Salla/n.d.; CC BY 4.0); Right: Original caption: ‘Lieutenant Sopanen brewing coffee’ (SA-kuva 4715/Salla, Märkäjärvi/07.02.1940; CC BY 4.0), seen here melting water from snow in a mess tin on top of a tent stove.

50  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains into the pocket and go [to the forest], whilst for Germans you have to drag along a field kitchen’ (Junila 2000: 104–105). The Germans were greatly impressed by Finnish wilderness skills, such as their seemingly ‘supernatural’ orienteering abilities in the trackless wilderness, whereas German troops lacked even the basic survival skills needed in the north, from cross-country skiing to lighting fires in the woods (e.g. Alftan 2005: 190–192). As an example, a Finnish liaison officer wrote an amused report about how the German soldiers filled backpacks with piles of unnecessary gear, such as firewood and alcohol, for a mere couple of days’ long ski patrol (Alftan 2005: 196–197, 199). Furthermore, German clothing was initially ill-suited to the northern conditions, which offered thriving informal business opportunities for the local civilians supplying the German soldiers with warm clothes (Airio 2014: 235–236). Clothing improved over time and, for instance, warm Finnish civilian clothing, Lapikas skiing boots, and Swedish fur hats can be seen in the wartime photographs (e.g. Franz Repper Collection n.d.; SA-kuva n.d.). In tandem, the German military and wilderness skills also improved as they adjusted to their new surroundings and conditions, and many became adept fighters through active training programmes assisted by Finnish soldiers (Airio 2014: 238–240; Alftan, 2005: 189). This training co-operation became evident in the first archaeological field studies of German military installations in Finland in Oulu (Heikkilä & Tolonen 2009; Koskela & Pietiläinen 2004). The remains of a Finnish-style dugout were uncovered at the former Waffen-SS training grounds, next to what is now the campus of the University of Oulu. This was most likely built during the training exercises guided by the Finnish specialists (Ylimaunu et al. 2013). Official fighting, language and other manuals were also prepared specifically for the northern theatre (e.g. Halter 1942; Merkblatt 18a/17 1942, 18a/26 1944; Wehrmacht 2006 [1943]). Fascinatingly, besides offering guidance in practical matters such as making fire and building shelters in the wilderness, such irregular skills as building fake tanks out of snow were also taught by detailed drawings (Führungsstab 1c 1944: 27) (Figure 3.7).

Germans, prisoners and civilians: business as usual Lapland’s infrastructure was rudimentary in the 1940s, and in many cases non-existent (Figure 3.8). Consequently, large numbers of the German troops were stationed behind the frontlines, for example in garrisons near the northern towns of Oulu, Kemi (Sámi: Giepma), Tornio (Sámi: Duortnus) and Rovaniemi. They soon became entangled in myriad building, maintenance and other projects, such as building roads, bridges, airfields, factories and railways, woodcutting, woodworking, snow ploughing, and so on (e.g. Mikkonen 2016; Otto 2008; Westerlund 2008a). The Germans need for a workforce offered employment and moneymaking possibilities for the locals, and created an important economic boom (e.g. Jonas 2012; Mikkonen

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  51

Figure 3.7 Original caption: ‘Dummy tank out of snow’ (Redrawn by Oula Seitsonen, after Führungsstab 1c 1944: 27).

2016: 34; Westerlund 2008a). As Governor Kaarlo Hillilä described: ‘… Laplanders approached the Germans from a moneymaking perspective’ (Mikkonen 2016: 35). This led to the coining of the term ‘Lapland Mark’ in Finland, referring to the high salaries in the north (Mikkonen 2016: 34). The German presence also essentially introduced the monetary economy to the remotest Sámi-occupied lands (Lehtola 2012: 367). Many locals and Finnish and Swedish entrepreneurs actively participated in business with the Germans, as reminisced by many of our interviewees (F11; M2; M15; M16; M17; M18; M23). Various forms of business developed between the Laplanders and the Germans, from small-scale sales of products from hunting, gathering and agriculture, to the large-scale industrial manufacturing of prefabricated dwellings, and the organising of national and international logistics (Airio 2014: 235, 250–251; Mikkonen 2016: 34–35; Westerlund 2008a). This brought many children of Lapland their first

52  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains

Figure 3.8 ‘There are no roads, but they should be built before any advance is possible.’ (General Eduard Dietl, in Mann and Jörgensen 2002: 70); Original caption: ‘Resupply using mules on the fjells of Litsa’ (SA-Kuva 126930/ Petsamo/10.04.1943; CC BY 4.0).

business experiences, bartering and selling hunted birds, berries and other wilderness goods to the Germans (e.g. Alariesto et  al. 2015; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). As one example of the larger industries, the Finnish freight company Oy Höckertin seuraajat had widespread dealings with German troops. These ranged from conveying various goods, such as barracks, building materials, foodstuff, timber and firewood, to diverse services, such as washing, sewing and tailoring, and arranging female workers for German canteens, clubs and ­ ubious and hospitals. Apparently, some of these services were somewhat d resembled organized prostitution, as criticized by a Finnish liaison officer, Captain Ilander: I inspected the ‘cleaning ladies’ … average age of the girl children is little over 19. Small girls that is, but … hard-bitten, drink alcohol and smoke cigarettes like real men… – I heard yesterday again, that ‘6 bundles of meat’ are headed this way. Salary 8:- [Finnish marks] per hour and 8 hour workday. Full maintenance, new fine barracks, exclusive bed and bed linen … even own toilet… Can a private company practice this kind of ‘traffic’? … that I would call ‘white slavery’. [sic] Captain Ilander (in Alftan 2005: 232–233) Lapland’s civilians lived for nearly four years as close neighbours of the German troops and their prisoners. Mostly the relations were amicable, and locals developed close personal ties with the Germans and some PoWs. The

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  53 Germans organized many public events to win ‘hearts and minds’, apparently successfully, such as Christmas parties for the local children and other forms of charity for poor families. In Rovaniemi, for example, General Dietl and visiting Minister Albert Speer took part in the communal Christmas celebrations with the locals in 1943 (Alftan 2005: 213–214). With much forethought, the Germans deliberately avoided promoting the National Socialist political agenda and ideals in Finland (Jokisipilä 2005: 47). However, at the same time General Dietl was an active Nazi party member, took part in political rallies in Europe, and presented his AOK20 as a prime example of National Socialist activities (Ahto 1974: 188; Mikkonen 2016: 41). The presence of children around military encampments and close interaction with them likely helped psychologically German soldiers, who longed for their own families back in Germany (Koskinen-Koivisto & Seitsonen 2019; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017) (Figure 3.9). There were understandably also occasional clashes, such as when the Germans shot free-range reindeer and damaged personal property, caused traffic accidents through inexperience of winter conditions, and even committed robberies and homicides (see Alftan 2005; Jokisipilä 2005). Tension was also experienced due to the strong presence of Germans on the homefront. The local men serving on the eastern front were often jealous and suspicious of the foreigners living alongside their families, sometimes even in their own homes (Virolainen 1999: 131). There were the darker shades of cohabitation, such as illicit love affairs, divorces, and illegitimate children. These were officially silenced for decades after the war, although locally remembered and known, and caused special suffering for the children born out of these relations (Wendisch 2006; Westerlund 2011).

Figure 3.9 Original caption: ‘Motorbike (German and 2 children)’ (SA-kuva 21816/ Raate Road/01.07.1941; CC BY 4.0).

54  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains The civilians of Lapland, especially in more remote areas, regarded the Germans, and the few Finnish troops stationed alongside them, as guardians against Soviet partisans roaming in the wilderness deep behind the frontlines. Soviet partisan attacks in 1941–1944 were mostly terror attacks, targeted at isolated civilian settlements to tie down the Finnish and German troops behind the frontlines, to spread fear, and to cause economic damage (Erkkilä 1998, 2011; Laurén 2017, 2018; Lähteenmäki 2017; Martikainen 1998, 2011; Martikainen et al. 2002; Tikkanen 1996). Altogether 45 attacks took the lives of nearly 200 Finnish and Sámi civilians, mostly women, children and elders (Jatkosodan siviiliveteraanit n.d.) – about one third of the victims were under 15 years of age and a quarter over 50 years old (Figure 3.10). However, in their own reports the partisans typically forged the targets and inflated the numbers of casualties, reporting the destruction of some 15,000 German and Finnish soldiers and 53 garrisons behind the frontlines (Hakala 2005: 303). The Finnish and German troops established anti-partisan warfare bases in exposed locations, and the civilian men and boys over 16 in the remote homesteads were armed by the Finnish forces (Airio 2014: 231–232; Martikainen et al. 2002: 17). General Dietl expressed to the Finnish authorities his concern for the security of Finnish civilians in the border regions and asked Kaarlo Hillilä, Governor of Lapland, for their evacuation (Hillilä 1943). Plans were prepared, but not enacted for various reasons, such as carrying out much-needed agricultural activities, at least until absolutely mandatory (Martikainen et  al. 2002: 16). Such obligatory circumstances arose in the aftermath of the massacres of tens of civilians at the wilderness villages of Seitajärvi and Lokka in 1944 (Martikainen et al. 2002: 16–17). Still, many people preferred living in their own homes and villages, no matter how threatened and vulnerable they were (Erkkilä 1998: 171; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). Even after the evacuation of women and children in late summer 1944, the men often stayed behind in these remote villages to continue agricultural work, such as reindeer herding (Erkkilä 1998: 187). During the war most of the partisan actions were not publicised, except some especially cruel attacks (Erkkilä 1998: 133–135, 2011: 98–99). The gruesome partisan strikes against the Seitajärvi and Lokka villages received the widest media coverage in the Finnish, German and Swedish press. For instance, the German frontier magazine Lappland-Kurier used them in its propaganda writing (Erkkilä 2011: 99). To the locals’ utter shock, the partisan terror attacks were fundamentally ignored after the war (Havo 2008). This national silencing continued throughout the Cold War, and these incidents became officially recognized only from the mid-1990s onwards after the collapse of the Soviet Union (Erkkilä 1998; Martikainen 1998, 2004). However, on a local level the widespread horror caused by the Soviet partisans and the dangers posed by them often still governs and haunts the transgenerational memories of wartime. These stories of terror have been remembered and retold throughout the post-war

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  55

Figure 3.10 Top: Original caption: ‘The mutilated girl’s body is carried out of the cabin’ (SA-kuva 122052/Suomussalmi/07.07.1943; CC BY 4.0). Bottom: Age and gender of the civilian victims of the Soviet partisan attacks (based on Jatkosodan Siviiliveteraanit n.d.).

decades (Laurén 2017; Koskinen-Koivisto & Seitsonen 2019; Kurki et  al. 2016; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017; Tuomaala 2008; Virolainen 1999: 120–123; F1, M2–3; see Chapter 7). Since northern Finland was extremely thinly populated, the local workers could not fulfil the Germans’ manpower needs for their widespread building and maintenance projects. Consequently, the Germans extensively utilized their PoWs and multinational forced and slave labourers in these projects.

56  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains Officially about 9000 Soviet PoWs were taken at the northern front – and an unknown number was apparently immediately shot on capture during the advance in summer 1941 (Otto 2008, forthcoming; Westerlund 2008a: 62). In addition, the Germans imported some 20,000 PoWs and labourers from the occupied areas, at least from Estonia, France, Ingria, Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Yugoslavia and Ukraine (Airio 2014: 246; Otto 2008, forthcoming; Westerlund 2008a: 96–99, 146–149; F1). They established nearly 200 PoW camps in different parts of Finland to accommodate this mobile workforce, as camps and prisoners were regularly moved to wherever labour was most needed (Otto 2008, forthcoming; Westerlund 2008a). I present in Chapter 4 an updated distribution map of these camps as known by 2018 (also Appendices 2–3); earlier maps and lists as known in 2009 and 2017 have been published in Seitsonen and Herva (2011) and Seitsonen (2018). The rare eyewitness reports, information gathered by the Finnish liaison officers, and the local communal memories all suggest that the living conditions in different camps varied noticeably, from ‘tolerable’ to ‘inhuman’ (Alftan 2005: 117, 122; Lähteenmäki 1999: 150–151; Westerlund 2008a; also F1; F4; F11; M2; M3; M23). Finnish liaison officers in fact sometimes complained that the treatment of prisoners was ‘too soft-handed’, whereas at other places they were treated extremely brutally; the latter is typically emphasized in the local communal memories (Alftan 2005: 117, 122; Lähteenmäki 1999: 148, 150; Suolahti 2015: 306; Westerlund 2008a: 14, 18, 40, 64–69, 85; F11, M14, M23). The German troops in the Arctic, as well as elsewhere on the eastern front, generally disregarded and violated the articles of the Geneva Convention Relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War in their handling of PoWs and forced labourers alike, and treated them, apparently deliberately, as starved and dispensable slave labour (Otto 2008: 111; Westerlund 2008a: 256) (Figure 3.11). The official death rate in the German-run camps in Finland was around 20 percent, slightly lower than in the Finnish-run camps (Westerlund 2008a: 316). However, locally the treatment of PoWs depended largely on the camp authorities. At least some of them made a conscious attempt to keep their workforce effective and in good shape to contribute to the war effort (Westerlund 2008a: 288–291), and there seems to have been occasionally also room for some humanity (Alftan 2005: 110–122; Arvelin 2009: 20; Molka 2007: 42–43; Westerlund 2008a: 259). Local memories in Inari especially highlight the role of reindeer herders in criticizing the poor treatment of prisoners in front of villagers, including children. Locals perceive that this intervention by their parents and grandparents affected the German behaviour and prompted them to move PoW camps away from the villages (M14, M23). It is interesting that at least some Jewish PoWs were imprisoned and used as workforce in Lapland, instead of executing or sending to concentration camps (Westerlund 2008a: 153; see below). This is in clear contrast with the other parts of Eastern Front, where the murderous and inhuman treatment of prisoners and Jews was a norm especially in 1941–1942 (e.g. Snyder 2017).

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  57

Figure 3.11 Soviet PoWs digging a grave, overseen by a German non-commissioned officer (NCO, third from the left) and soldiers in work clothing somewhere in Finnish Lapland. Germans appear to be Gebirgsjäger wearing the Bergmütze field caps (Max Peronius, probably September 1941).

Then again, to begin with in 1941 also on the Arctic Front an unknown number of PoWs were shot on the spot (Westerlund 2008a: 62). The presence of Germans and their multinational prisoners and labourers created an unprecedented air of internationalism and modernity into the northern periphery and had an immense impact on the local communal memories and physical landscapes. Apart from its military dimension, the German presence in Lapland had important modernising and acculturating effects on local infrastructure and businesses, although this is rarely remembered (see Lehtola 1994: 195, 2015; Mikkonen 2016). As an example, many of the modern roads in Lapland trail the German-built Second World War tracks, and the cadastral plans of several northern towns follow those of the German barrack villages (see Ylimaunu et al. 2013).

Of Nazis and Jews: the most unlikely brothers-in-arms One of the most irrational twists in the German-Finnish Waffenbrüderschaft is that the northern front was the only place in the world where Jewish soldiers (of the Finnish Army) fought together with the Nazis as their comrades-in-arms against the Russians (Rautkallio 1989, 1994; Simon 2017). This illustrates well the unexpected confrontations, juxtapositions and paradoxes characteristic for the era of Supermodernity in general, and modern conflicts in particular (González-Ruibal 2008). To complement the absurdity of this situation, in the Syväri area the Finnish-Jewish soldiers

58  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains

Figure 3.12 Finnish-Jewish soldiers outside their field synagogue at Svir, Russia. Back: Herman Berman, Leo Epstein, Daniel Wardi (Waprinsky), Bernhard Kapri, Abner Zewi, Jacob Manuel, Ruben Stiller, David Wardi (Waprinsky), Samuel Chalupovitsch; Front: Isak Smolar and Abraham Scheiman (Wikimedia Commons; Public domain).

serving alongside the Germans founded definitively the only functioning military field synagogue on the Nazi German fronts from Africa to the Arctic Ocean, known as the ‘Sholkas shul’ (Figure 3.12; Westerlund 2008c: 10). German soldiers, some of whom had befriended their Jewish brothers-inarms, reportedly sometimes followed the proceedings at the synagogue and ‘even showed a certain respect for the Jewish service’ (Rony Smolar, in Kendall (2014); also, Rautkallio 1989: 130–132; Simon 2017). At the same time, and at least officially unknown to the Finnish authorities (Westerlund 2008a: 155), the Germans had in Lapland one punishment camp (Polarstraflager), which was apparently used for the Russian-Jewish PoWs caught on the northern front. Jewish PoWs were accommodated separately also at the German-run central PoW camp Stalag 309 (Stammlager für Mannschaften und Unteroffizieren) at Kuolajärvi, Salla (nowadays Russia), inside the ‘pen for dangerous prisoners’ (Pörhölä 2016: 30; see Otto 2008; Westerlund 2008a: 370; Chapter 4). Historians have suggested that Polarstraflager might have been at Inari Hyljelahti (24) (Westerlund 2008a: 153–155). However, our archaeological studies and collecting of communal memories have shown that this is unlikely. Hyljelahti appears to have been instead a German military encampment and labour camp at least for Polish and Norwegian workers. A more likely location for Polarstraflager is the PoW camp at Inari Minnanlampi (131), shown to us by a local community archaeology volunteer in 2017 (Chapter 4). At the moment Polarstraflager is the only known camp that was reserved for housing Jewish PoWs within modern Finnish borders (Westerlund 2008a: 153). It was interestingly also marked in my public crowdsourcing of German

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  59 sites in Lapland (LDH 2018; see Chapter 2). The Jewish–German relations have been relatively little studied and discussed, especially in public, until very recently, and the first popular book on the subject was published only in 2017 (Simon 2017). The unbelievable-sounding Jewish–German relations have also been brought up in the interviews of locals. As an example, one of the collectors of SS memorabilia remarked to us that he is ironically, yet fittingly in the northern context, an active member in both the Veljesapu, the Finnish volunteer Waffen-SS men’s memorial association (due to a family connection to a former Finnish SS man), and in the Finland-Israel Association. Quite understandably, he has decided not to tell one about the other (M23). This illustrates again the distancing from the international context of Second World War with which many Finns approach the subject, by perceiving the local war histories in a vacuum which is disconnected from the events that took place elsewhere at the same time. The ‘German-Jewish comradeship-in-arms’, to use Rautkallio’s (1989: 124) paradoxical term, was a perplexing moral issue for the Finnish Jews already during the war, since they were familiar with Nazi racial policies, yet did not know the whole truth. The soldiers also had persistent fears of their own and their families’ fates, expressed for instance by a rumour that circulated in 1942 that ‘the ships are already waiting’ to transport Finnish Jews to Germany (Rautkallio 1989: 126, 160, 1994). Still, in this complex situation the Finnish Jewish soldiers decided to carry out their military duties as required by their country. Reserve Captain Josef Lefko described afterwards that ‘[W]e were granted an incomprehensible blessing … being able to fight for our freedom and human dignity while our unarmed brethren of the same faith were destroyed…’ (Rautkallio 1994: 53). It must be remembered that the full scale of the horrors of Nazi concentration and death camps was revealed only at the end of the war, as an utter shock to the Finnish-Jewish soldiers and many others. This forced them to re-evaluate their own participation in the war (Rautkallio 1989: 123, 159–160, 195). Mostly the relations between the Jewish and German soldiers in Finland were ‘businesslike’, especially on a personal level, and even friendships were sometimes forged on the front. There were understandably also contrary attitudes shown from both sides owing to Nazi politics, but none of these provoked open conflicts (Rautkallio 1989: 158, 1994). Some of the Finnish Jews carried out acts of intrepidity beyond comprehension in the heat of the battle, such as Major Leo Skurnik, who served as a military doctor for both the Finnish and German troops in Kiestinki. During one especially messy rescue operation he and his men saved the lives of hundreds of wounded Germans, and singlehandedly carried injured German soldiers, including SS men, ‘to safety from the battlefield when the others [medics] didn’t dare’ (Rautkallio 1989: 141). ‘[A] Jewish medic willing to risk his neck to carry German SS men under enemy fire to safety…’ represents a sense of professional responsibility and medical ethics beyond any norms, as Rautkallio (1994: 69) observes. Even though Skurnik later downplayed his own

60  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains role in this evacuation and shrugged it off as a ‘young and foolish’ act, the Germans decorated him with the Iron Cross – which he refused to accept rather harshly with the words ‘I wipe my ass with the Iron Cross’ (Rautkallio 1994: 70). The Germans took offense at this blunt refusal and demanded Skurnik to be handed over, which his commanding officer halted quickly: ‘Must I hand over my best doctor?’ (Rautkallio 1994: 92). Besides Skurnik also two other Finnish Jews, Salomon Klass and Dina Poljakoff of the Lotta Organisation, were awarded the Iron Cross for acts of valour, which both also understandably refused to accept (Kendall 2014; Rautkallio 1994). There were no demands made by the Germans during the war to handover the Finnish Jewish population, even though ethnic cleansings were going on all around. The Finnish government established a firm policy against handing over Finnish Jews which also the Germans realized (Rautkallio 1994). However, if Germany had won the war, their fate would most likely have been the same as that of the millions of murdered European Jews, Roma, homosexuals and others. Finnish Jews were included already in the plans regarding the Final Solution (Endlösung) at the Wannsee Conference of Nazi leaders in 1942 (Rautkallio 1989, 1994). Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler, one of the principal architects of the Nazi genocide, made himself two visits to Finland, the first of them to Lapland in spring 1942 (Figure 3.13; Pörhölä 2016; Rautkallio 1994). During this trip, he rather grotesquely inspected in Kiestinki the SS troops who served there alongside the Finnish Jews, immediately after having set in the motion the first extermination camps in Poland (see Rautkallio 1989: 173, 180). On his second trip in August, Himmler asked from the Finnish Prime Minister Jukka Ragnell in a private

Figure 3.13 Original caption: ‘German leader Himmler on a visit in the headquarters of General Hjalmar Siilasvuo’ (SA-kuva 79522/Kananainen (nowadays in Russia)/27.3.1942; CC BY 4.0).

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  61 conversation about the ‘situation with the Finnish Jews’, to which Ragnell replied famously and apparently resolutely: ‘Wir haben keine Judenfrage’ (We have no Jewish question) (Rautkallio 1989: 186). However, the Finnish State’s protection did not extend to all the foreign Jewish refugees and Soviet-Jewish PoWs (Ylikangas 2004). In the start of the war in the north, in 1941–1942, the Finnish Security Police Valpo co-operated closely with the German Gestapo in the Einsatzkommando Finnland, which screened, for example, commissars and Jews from the captured prisoners at the central PoW camps and sentenced many of them to death (Silvennoinen 2008: 210). It seems that at least some of the Finnish Valpo officials actively took part in this (Pörhölä 2016: 33; Silvennoinen 2008: 267). Also, about ten Jewish refugees from Central Europe, five of whom had already been granted an asylum in Finland, were handed over to the Germans (Ylikangas 2004). All but one died in the concentration camps, including one woman and her two small children who voluntarily joined the father of the family when he was deported – shockingly, the father was the family’s only survivor of the Holocaust (Jakobson 1999: 374; Sana 2003; Ylikangas 2004). On top of this, it has been estimated that amongst some 2500 Soviet PoWs, about 50 Jewish PoWs were transferred to German hands in prisoner exchanges (Suolahti 2015: 61). The fates of the Jewish PoWs involved in these prisoner exchanges are unknown, but it is probable that many of them perished in German PoW camps (Suolahti 2015: 189, 349). Finns received in these exchanges about 2000 PoWs, mostly originating from the Finnic tribes in the Russian territory, whom they planned to use in re-settling the occupied Russian Karelia after the war (e.g. Suolahti 2015: 17–18). There were also some strong anti-Semitic sentiments in Finland: as an example, the decorated Jewish doctor Leo Skurnik had planned a career as a scientist at the University of Helsinki, but the university objected because ‘a Jew will never be appointed as an assistant’ (Rautkallio 1989: 139). Adolf Hitler visited Finland in 1942, on Marshal Mannerheim’s 75th birthday – incidentally, from this event originates the only surviving recording of Hitler speaking in his normal conversational tone, secretly recorded by a Finnish engineer (YLE 2006). The Finnish-Jewish community has fascinating piece of folklore concerning this visit, suggesting that one of their most decorated soldiers, Nathan Maischlich, stood in the honour-guard that saluted Hitler in Imatra (Rautkallio 1989: 125) (Figure 3.14). This is impossible to confirm anymore and might be simply a legend, but Maischlich did indeed act as a liaison officer for the Italian troops in Finland and served alongside the Germans (Rautkallio 1989: 125). At the same time as Hitler was celebrating with – a rather reluctant – Mannerheim in eastern Finland, the Central Committee of the Finnish Jewish congregations, amongst other well-wishers, submitted their own birthday wishes to Mannerheim in Helsinki (Figure 3.14). While the Lapland War was still ongoing, and the Germans were retreating in northern Finland, Mannerheim made an ostensibly carefully considered, statesman-like performance. He visited the Synagogue in Helsinki on Finnish

62  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains

Figure 3.14 Marshal Mannerheim’s 75th birthday in 1942.  Top: Original caption: ‘Hitler’s visit to Finland’ (SA-kuva 89780/ s.l. (Imatra?)/04.06.1942; CC BY 4.0). Bottom: Original caption: ‘Marshal Mannerheim’s 75th birthday: address from the Central Committee of the Finnish Jewish congregations’ (SA-kuva 90810/Helsinki/04.06.1942; CC BY 4.0).

Independence Day on 6 December 1944, to honour the Jewish soldiers killed in the wars. This highlighted his own role and gave ‘an understanding to the Finnish Jews and the world that their “rescue” resulted from Mannerheim’s intervention’ (Rautkallio 1989: 196–197). It also intentionally distanced the Finnish war efforts from the Germans, in the face of the expected Western denunciation of the Nazi crimes against humanity after the war (Rautkallio 1989: 197). In the late 1940s many Finnish Jewish soldiers, some of whom had been fighting first alongside the Germans and then against them in the Lapland War, moved to Israel to take part in the Arab–Israeli Wars. As Rautkallio has hypothesized, this might have been an act of redemption for these

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  63 soldiers (Rautkallio 1989: 156). In the post-war decades, the recollections of the Jewish-German brotherhood-in-arms, the handing over of European Jewish refugees, the treatment of Soviet-Jewish PoWs (Sana 2003; Silvennoinen 2008; Suolahti 2015), the Finno-German security police co-operation (Silvennoinen 2008), and the large-scale prisoner exchanges between the Finns and Germans (Kallatsa 2009; Suolahti 2015) were all fundamentally ignored on a national level, and very little discussed until the twenty-first century (Kivimäki 2012; Löfström 2015). In that sense these issues parallel the lengthy public neglect of the above discussed Soviet partisan terror attacks against the Finnish civilians, and the whole German presence in Finland.

‘Ragnarök’: the eve of destruction and beyond In the fall of 1944, the established local social order of the Lapland civilians, Germans and their prisoners, and Finnish soldiers ended abruptly. A major Soviet offensive on the southern front in summer 1944 forced Finland into a ceasefire treaty with the USSR in September 1944 (Figure 3.4b). This treaty demanded Finns to drive out the Germans on a completely unrealistic schedule, which resulted in the Lapland War between the former brothers-inarms, from 15 September 1944 to 27 April 1945 (Ahto 1980). In the beginning, the Finns and Germans worked together and jointly evacuated the civilians from the anticipated northern warzone (e.g. Lehtola 2003; Rautio et al. 2004) (Figure 3.15). However, some of the reindeer herders and their womenfolk preferred to stay behind on the trackless fjells to look after their animals (e.g. Lehtola 2003; Rautio et al. 2004). Over 70 percent of Lapland’s civilian population was moved in a few weeks southwards to safety in Ostrobothnia, on the western coast of Finland, and in neutral Sweden, which accepted them at very short notice (e.g. Lehtola 2003: 366; Rautio et al. 2004). In western Lapland the evacuation was not carried out as systematically as in the eastern and northern parts, closer to the Eastern Front, which led to spontaneous evacuation across the border-river onto the Swedish side (Rautio et al. 2004: 57). In our interviews with elders – especially in Finland’s southernmost Sámi village Vuotso (Sámi: Vuohčču), where I was invited in 2010 to carry out archaeological and ethnographic work – it became clear that they had relatively ambiguous memories to share of their time spent as evacuees in the south. Time in the south mostly figures in their recollections through the stark landscape contrasts compared to their northern Homeland, such as the flat landscape and murky rivers, and tragic incidents like death of relatives who were buried there, away from Sápmi (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). All of them were children and teenagers in 1944, which needs to be considered when evaluating the memories (F7; M17; M18; M19). This blankness of memories is typical also for the southern Finnish Karelian evacuee memoirs, where people usually tell a lot of the times preceding the evacuation, instead of the evacuation journey itself (Savolainen 2015). However, in some recollections the memories from the evacuation period have also been extremely detailed

64  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains (Sääskilahti 2013). Evacuation was obviously equally traumatizing for all Lapland’s displaced people, of different backgrounds and ethnicities, and evacuated to various places in the south. As an example, Oula Näkkäläjärvi has famously stated that the evacuated Sámi – literally and figuratively – ‘started dying’ when they were torn away from Sápmi, due to an interplay of homesickness and lack of immunity against diseases (Lehtola 1994: 138–139; 2015). About half of the refugees were young children (Figure 3.15) and the death toll was especially high amongst them (Rautio et al. 2004: 131).

Figure 3.15 Top: Evacuee caravan on the road to south, notice the young German soldier controlling the traffic (SA-kuva 163062/Sodankylä/17.09.1944; CC BY 4.0). Bottom: ‘… I waved to my parents and young siblings who then climbed to the back of a German truck. It took [them] to Rovaniemi and then with a train south from there…’ (F11), notice the name tags that children have around their necks (SA-kuva 163111/Haparanda, Sweden/19.09.1944; CC BY 4.0).

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  65 Throughout late September 1944 the Finnish and German troops played at mock war, the so-called Fall Manoeuvre, to please the Russians. However, increasing Soviet pressure turned this conflict real by the turn of October (Figure 3.4c; Ahto 1980; Vehviläinen 2002; Westerlund 2008a). The Germans, disappointed with what they saw as a grave betrayal by their Waffenbrüder, resorted to scorched earth tactics during their retreat to occupied Norway (Figure 3.16). The destruction of strategic infrastructure was part of the German retreat from the beginning near the Eastern Front, to slow down the anticipated Soviet invasion of Lapland. However, the Germans had agreed with the Finnish troops not to proceed with this elsewhere during the initial mock war, which saved for instance the town of Oulu (Kulju 2013: 58). Still, close to the eastern border some villages were burnt already during the ‘Fall Manoeuvre’ (Ahto 1980). However, after the Finnish landing behind the German lines in Tornio on 30 September, German troops amplified their scorched earth tactics. In the end, besides their own military installations, they burnt and destroyed matériel and archives, as well as all the public and private infrastructure within their reach, such as bridges, mile posts, culverts, livestock, and private property (see Ursin 1980). Then 8-year-old eyewitness Viktor Oja compared this to the Viking apocalypse: ‘a chaotic rush of people on the road, bands of soldiers, burning houses and the “rain” of burning paper – Hell that I describe with the word … “Ragnarök”…’ (Rautio et al. 2004: 48). The loss of reindeer distressed many herding families who suddenly lost the means of their subsistence (Lehtola 1994: 144–146, 167; Tuominen 2015), an event that is still remembered by the herder communities (M2; M3; M16; M17; M18; M19). The Germans also planted their retreat routes and the surrounding landscape with hundreds of thousands of landmines and other explosives, which took lives of people and animals after the war. They dumped in the landscape vast piles of all kinds of destroyed military matériel that they could not take during their retreat. For example, they left thousands of bottles of alcohol by the roadsides to slow down, apparently successfully, the Russian advance (Westerlund 2008a: 292). By the autumn of 1944 many German soldiers had become acquainted with the Finnish forest and tundra fighting tactics. By the end of the year, German troops succeeded in the massive operation of pulling most of their troops and equipment out of Finland in the face of the coming winter – which, luckily for them, came late that year – and with the Finnish troops hard on their heels (Mann & Jörgensen 2002: 185). However, the last Germans left the easternmost end of the Lyngen-Stellung fortification line in Kilpisjärvi only on 27 April 1945, when the Red Army troops were already advancing past the Tempelhof airport in Berlin, towards the Reich Chancellery (Reichskanzlei) where Hitler committed suicide a few days later, on 30 April. People of Lapland started arriving back in their homeland as soon as possible, immediately after the military had cleared some of the main roads of

66  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains explosives. In fact, the first reindeer herders had already slipped back northwards while the fighting was still on (F7; M17; M18). The German retreat left vast stretches of Lapland in smouldering ruins (e.g. Ahto 1980; Kulju 2013; Mikkonen 2016): about 80–90 percent of buildings were torched in the worst affected municipalities, such as Rovaniemi, Savukoski (Sámi: Suovvaguoika), Inari and Enontekiö (Sámi: Eanodat) (Seppälä 1980: 197). Upon their return, most people found their homes and property in ashes and had to start over from scratch, reconstructing their lives with whatever matériel could be salvaged (Figure 3.16). Changes in the built environment and infrastructure were substantial, and thus as a side-product of the destruction came an unexpected modernization (Lehtola 1994: 195, 2015). Then again, in other places much less destruction took place: for instance, in the towns of Tornio and Kemi and the municipalities of Ranua, Karunki and Tervola less than 10 percent of the buildings were affected (Seppälä 1980: 197). When the Germans met unevacuated people in the villages, they usually did not burn their houses (Mikkonen 2016: 59), but there were also opposing examples (Rautio et al. 2004). The widespread reputation that the Germans gained in Finland in the aftermath of the Lapland War as ‘church burners’ is mostly based on the intentional post-war mythologizing and distancing from the Nazis. The German troops had direct orders not to destroy churches, hospitals, or buildings where the inhabitants had stayed (Mikkonen 2016: 59). However, also a handful of churches and public buildings were burnt, for instance, in the uncontrolled mayhem which scorched Rovaniemi to the ground (see below). As one example, before their retreat from Kuusamo the German Waffen-SS men hid the church bells, dating from the 1600s, to save them from destruction or from being taken to the Soviet Union (Kulju 2013: 62–63; Mäensyrjä 1959). Both the Kuusamo church and the village were torched in September 1944, although it is unclear whether it was the retreating Germans or the pursuing Russians who burnt them (Kulju 2013: 62). These church bells were recovered only in July 1959 when a German colonel Franz Schreiber, who had retreated from Kuusamo to Norway in 1944, returned there as a tourist. He brought a message from a German veteran about where the bells were hidden: ‘third grave on the third row on the northern edge of the graveyard, half a meter deep’. After six days of metal detecting by the Finnish border jaegers, the bells were uncovered from a grave and restored to their rightful place. According to the memoirs of SS man Johann Voss (2002; Johann Voss is a pseudonym), these church bells were saved on the orders of an SS lieutenant, who had fallen in love with a Finnish girl in the Kuusamo church while the bells were ringing. This love story, besides telling of the saving of local ancient cultural heritage, also touches upon long hushed Finno-German love affairs, deemed for decades as a taboo subject (e.g. Sääskilahti 2015; Väyrynen 2014; Wendisch 2006). The most lastingly resonant image was provided by the destruction of the capital of Lapland, Rovaniemi (Figure 3.16). The town was ravaged by a fire,

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  67

Figure 3.16 Top: Original caption: ‘Whoever understands German may read this’ (SA-kuva 166081/Muonio/31.10.1944; CC BY 4.0), sign says ‘As thanks for not showing comradeship-in-arms’. Bottom: ‘Views on the roadside were mournful, villages had been burnt, only chimneys stood out… all bridges and culverts were exploded…’ (Arrela 1983: 26). Original caption: ‘Dispatch rider on Valtakatu.’ (SA-kuva 165749/Rovaniemi/n.d.; CC BY 4.0).

apparently caused by an exploding ammunition train (Mikkonen 2016). This disaster has since grown to epic dimensions and become the iconic symbol of the ‘Burning of Lapland’ (e.g. Jokinen 2007: 240). This imagery has gained a lasting place in the Finnish public commemorations and mythology of the War in Lapland, and effectively presented Finns as victims of the Nazi terror in post-war perceptions (e.g. Jokisipilä 2007a, b). The dominating images of annihilation by fire and explosion appear to have had an active role on the

68  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains national level as an agent maintaining the memory of Germans in Lapland (Seitsonen & Herva 2017b). However, such strong images easily mask other, subtler and multivocal local perspectives and issues, as has been shown by our recent memory work with the local population (Koskinen-Koivisto & Seitsonen 2019; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). Beyond this imagery of destruction, the real danger presented by the mines and explosives, still found yearly in the landscape, feeds into national memoirs of war in Lapland. A mine clearance organisation operated in northern Finland from the end of the war until 1952 and reported that by 1950 they had already cleared about 80,000 mines, 3000 bombs and over 600,000 grenades (Mikkonen 2016: 67; Seppälä 1980: 200). The first proper study of the deaths caused by these explosives was published only a few years ago (Virkkunen 2012, 2013). Hundreds of people lost their lives and nearly 2000 were injured by the mines and other explosives in the post-war years. Also, large numbers of reindeer were killed in mine explosions. German explosives remain a hazard, something purposefully or subconsciously used to justify the ‘war junk’ clearing project of environmental organisation Pidä Lappi Siistinä (Keep Lapland Tidy; PLS) in 2004–2010 (see Herva 2014; Seitsonen & Herva 2017b; Chapter 7). The recent popularity of metal detecting has heightened this danger, as some detectorists have actively started searching and collecting unexploded ordnance (UXO) from the landscape. This ‘alternative engagement’ with German material remains caused an unfortunate fatal incident in Kemi in September 2013, when a metal detectorist was killed and another seriously injured during an improvised attempt to defuse a wartime grenade in a private garage (Chapter 8; see Daily Mail 2019; Parry 2014, for examples from First World War sites). After the end of the war, some Soviet troops were stationed deep in modern Finnish territory in the northern half of the country until the end of 1945. They established several military camps, for instance, in the Inari and Kuusamo areas, and made reconnaissance trips tens of kilometres further west throughout the summer and fall of 1945. This brief Soviet occupation of easternmost Lapland is another topic that has been practically silenced for decades (Kulju 2014). Only very recently have some material traces of these post-war Soviet encampments been located near the village of Ivalo (Sámi: Avvil) in Inari (Figure 3.17) and in Kuusamo area (Lagerstedt 2012).

German Second World War material legacy: from an SS officer’s club to overgrown latrines One consequence of the decades-long national distancing and toning down of the German wartime presence in Lapland is that the abundant German material remains lack official recognition or heritage status. The matériel in the landscape has been largely ignored – at least outwardly – and on a national level it has typically been viewed as rubbish spoiling the ‘pristine’ natural beauty of the Lapland wilderness. This has left these open to collectors of

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  69

Figure 3.17 A wooden vaulting horse standing on a Soviet soldiers’ gymnastics ground in the forests near Ivalo, next to a Red Army base occupied after the war in 1945 (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

war memorabilia (Herva et al. 2016; Thomas et al. 2016). The question of the cultural heritage status of such sites was raised only very recently, in tandem with the cleaning activities of PLS and the raised public awareness and interest sparked by these activities, and most recently, with the increasing popularity of metal detecting in Finland (Thomas et al. 2016; Wessman et al. 2016; see van der Schriek & van der Schriek 2014, for Central Europe; Chapter 8). Many of Lapland’s landscapes are littered with thousands of Second World War German ruins. Most are in wilderness areas, but some appear unexpectedly in and around larger towns, as the wide-scale mapping work at Rovaniemi by Mikkonen (2016) has shown. A majority of these localities are characterized by inconspicuous, overgrown rubble of burnt and exploded buildings and earthworks, which most people pass by without realizing what they are, even in more populated areas (Figure 3.18). Only in places with more substantial remains, such as stone foundations and surface finds, do casual passers-by notice them. Illustratively, and fittingly related to Lapland’s long-lasting fame as a magical ‘winter wonderland’, the touristic Santa Claus Village at the Arctic Circle, Rovaniemi, is established on top of a German Luftwaffe base. Its inconspicuous remains can be found behind the souvenir shops (Figure 3.18), and as is typical, this wartime-link is not mentioned anywhere (Mikkonen 2016: 209). Santa Claus is threatening these remains as every year the tourist village expands and covers more of them (Forrest 2015). The dearth of German-built constructions is to some extent explained by deliberate post-war attempts to eradicate them from the northern Finnish landscapes and townscapes (Herva 2014; Mikkonen 2016: 151; Ylimaunu

70  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains

Figure 3.18 Top: Easily overlooked German barrack foundations at the center of Rovaniemi, partly destroyed by a parking lot of a shopping center. The Sicherheitsdienst des Reichsführers-SS (SD, Security Service) had its base in this area, and these are possibly remains of those buildings. Bottom: German Luftwaffe barrack foundations, immediately behind the Santa Claus Village tourist attractions at the Arctic Circle, Rovaniemi; by 2018 these were overrun by the encroaching tourism infrastructure, without any archaeological investigations and only a cursory mapping before they were destroyed (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

et al. 2013). As an example, until 1980 the log cabin of the commander of Luftflotte 5 General Julius Schultz, which had survived the burning in 1944, stood in the center of Rovaniemi. It had served as a youth hostel, but finally the city tore it down since it was perceived by some as a token of the Nazi German presence and was linked to local political disputes (see Sääskilahti 2016; Chapter 8). However, there are still a few notable exceptions to the general absence of German remains in the townscapes. The most outstanding exception is a still-standing Waffen-SS officers’ club in Oulu (Figure 3.8; Herva 2014; Ylimaunu et al. 2013), which represents a

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  71 type-example of the Nazi Heimatschutzarchitektur (Homeland architecture). Oulu escaped the destruction of the Lapland War because the Germans had already retreated from there during the mock war of ‘Fall Manoeuvre’. Numerous German buildings were left behind and re-used at first by the FDF as accommodation facilities and supply depots. However, practically all other structures have been eradicated since the 1950s, and the SS Officers’ Club is the last one standing as a conspicuous part of the modern town. This building went through a revealing re-naming as the ‘Mansion of Kaleva’ (Kalevankartano), referring to the Finnish national epic Kalevala and effectively covering its Nazi past, which illustrates well the Finnish post-war attitudes towards the memory of German presence (Herva 2014; Ylimaunu et al. 2013). It served a range of functions through the years, paradoxically for the Germans’ reputation as ‘Lapland burners’ also as a fire station, and was re-opened recently as a rental ballroom ‘Alpine Chalet’ (Alppimaja). A detailed historical review of the Alpine Chalet’s past, including the SS times, can be found on its website (Niskala 2016). Besides this building, various place names are reminders of the German presence in modern Finnish townscapes. Names like ‘Little Berlin’ are still commonplace in areas previously housing German garrisons (see Herva 2014; Ylimaunu et al. 2013). Fittingly, also the Alpine Chalet is situated on the Tirolintie (Tyrol Road) in the Alppila (Alpine village) district, recalling the German Alpine Jaeger presence. There are also occasional surviving German structures in the more remote northern villages: to my knowledge there are German army barracks at least in Vuotso, Sodankylä, and in the centre of the Pelkosenniemi village (Figure 4.15).

Figure 3.19 The former SS officer’s club in Alppila (Alpine Village) in Oulu, a prime example of the Nazi Heimatschutzarchitektur (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2018).

72  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains Geographical remoteness, however, promotes remarkable preservation. This can be seen especially at wilderness locations, such as the isolated woodcutting PoW camps abandoned by the Germans before the Lapland War. At these places one can find partly or fully standing log houses, some still with their roof intact, partly standing barbed-wire fences and gates, rubbish pits and dumps full of everyday waste, overgrown latrines and heaps of abandoned matériel (Figures 2.1, 2.2, 3.20 and 3.21). At these remote sites are also remains of various types of furniture, such as tables, benches, shelves, bunk beds and rifle racks (Figure 3.20; also, Seitsonen & Herva 2017a: Fig. 5). ­Discarded and destroyed military matériel and the foundations of burnt structures can be found everywhere along the German retreat routes. At the more easily reachable places, within about five kilometres from drivable roads, the sites and dumps have offered rich pickings for ‘treasure hunters’, that is for the militaria collectors and the increasing numbers of metal detectorists. Based on our interviews and internet discussion forums, these are known beyond the Finnish borders as anticipated sources of Second World War German matériel (Herva et al. 2016; M1; M4; M12). We have chosen to call the different actors engaging with the sites treasure hunters (Fi.: aarteenetsijä), since this is the name they themselves often use. Owing to the unclear official legal or heritage status of these sites, this activity cannot easily be labelled as ‘looting’, even if this term is widely used to describe identical activities along the First World War Western Front. Labelling these people dismissively as ‘looters’ would risk weakening their motivation to collaborate with academic researchers, which could make it more difficult to elicit from them an understanding of motivations and ontologies behind their activities (Herva et al. 2016; Koskinen-Koivisto & Thomas 2017). In my opinion, a targeted effort is required to record the wartime sites in Lapland and elsewhere in Finland, to obtain a detailed and overarching picture of the range of material and its present stage of preservation. This needs to be done before nature takes over and the last standing remains are lost from view. For example, there has been radical deterioration in the condition of the wooden structures over the past decade (Figure 3.21; Seitsonen & Herva 2017a). This is partly due to ongoing environmental change, such as wetter winters. The effects of climate change have not been studied in this context (see Pétursdóttir 2017). Mapping the range of these wartime sites would provide the necessary baseline data for making decisions about their heritage and social value (Jones 2017) and their need for protection. The recently completed large-scale NBF survey project has done remarkable work towards this in the state-governed forest areas in 2010–2015 (Taivainen 2013, 2015). In addition, the constant merging of objects, structures and landscape, which dissolves the boundaries between natural and cultural heritage, is one of the unique and fascinating aspects of these sites. This contributes to their special ‘aura’, as mentioned by some of our interviewees, such as metal detectorists, and has been pondered upon in public discussions, amongst other places on hiking internet forums (see Herva 2014; Thomas et al. 2016). The

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  73

Figure 3.20 Top: Remains of the narrow, roughly shaped PoW bunkbeds inside a log house frame at Inari Nangujärvi Saiholompola (6) (Oula Seitsonen 2011). Bottom: A table along the wall of a collapsed PoW log house at Inari Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 1 (111) (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2010).

documentation of these sites could be attempted in an accepting, ‘caressing’, co-operative and inclusive way with the interested public. This could be based on Geographical Information Systems analyses of, for instance, the detailed LiDAR elevation data (Seitsonen 2011, 2013), complimented with crowdsourcing and citizen science surveys with volunteers (Seitsonen 2017), supported by mobile mapping applications. I have utilized this approach at selected locations such as the Germans’ last defensive lines in Enontekiö, with encouraging and positive outcomes (also Sillanpää & Rikkinen 2019). Further discussion on how this could be achieved and how the traces of war might eventually be put to positive uses in cultural tourism are explored in Chapter 10.

74  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains

Figure 3.21 Top: A PoW camp barbwire gate drooping on its hinges at Inari Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 1 (111), with a log-built PoW kitchen standing on the background – by 2016 this gate had fallen down (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2010). Bottom: A collapsed German WWII bridge at Sodankylä Huuhkajanpäänpaistama in a sudden snowstorm in early June – still in the turn of 2000s one could drive a car over the bridge (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016). These examples demonstrate the greater pace of decay over the past decade, as also the log house in Figure 2.1.

The vast majority of Finnish twentieth-century conflict heritage currently lacks official status or recognition. On a national level ‘Ancient monuments’ (Fi.: muinaismuisto), as defined and maintained by the National Heritage Agency (NHA), are automatically protected by the Finnish Antiquities Act (295/1963). Importantly, and as a potential precedent for the future, First World War defensive structures are classified as ‘ancient monuments’ by the

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  75 NHA. However, only a handful of other recent past sites are included in this category, although recently the heritage authorities have acknowledged the need to protect at least some of these (see Enqvist 2014, 2015; Seitsonen 2017). Nowadays, selected Second World War sites are recognized as ‘nationally important built cultural environments’ (Fi.: valtakunnallisesti merkittävät rakennetut kulttuuriympäristöt), which are noted in land-use and planning but not automatically protected. These are typically defensive structures and battlefields (e.g. Kauppi 2002; Lagerstedt 2012; Niukkanen 2009), often directly linked to the acknowledged national narrative of the ‘real’ battle against the USSR (Kivimäki 2012). The NBF has indicated one possible way forward with their overarching definition of cultural heritage on the lands that they control. They acknowledge in their heritage registers all material legacies regardless of age or type, including ‘story sites’ connected to local folklore and sacred natural localities (Taivainen 2013, 2015). Their large-scale survey of the government forest regions, directed by Jouni Taivainen in 2010–2015, recorded thousands of Second World War-era structures across the country. This has also changed the other heritage authorities’ views on the abundance, variety and importance of these sites within modern Finnish borders. As an example, the NHA added a new, rather vague ‘other cultural heritage site’ (Fi.: muu kulttuuriperintökohde) category to their Registry of Ancient Monuments (Fi.: Muinaisjäännösrekisteri) largely as a response to the abundant recent past sites documented by the NBF. These are sites that resemble acknowledged heritage sites but are not routinely protected (Enqvist 2014; Seitsonen 2017). This is already an improvement from the situation in 2007 when I was asked by the NHA to reclassify the Peltojoki military base as a ‘tentative site’: …I will change the status of that German base into a ‘tentative site’, since the sites from the wars [Second World War] are not protected by the law – maybe they should be in Lapland, I don’t know, maybe it could be discussed more. (Email from an NHA authority to the author) Johanna Enqvist (2014, 2015) has called for a fundamental re-evaluation of the definitions of (cultural) heritage in Finland, and, in tandem, for a more multivocal ‘democratized heritage discourse’. Figure 3.11 illustrates the current extent of Second World War features in the NBF and NHA registers. The site distribution illustrates well the differential geographical focus of these government agencies. NBF manages the government-controlled lands, most of which are in the north, whereas the NHA operates more in the densely inhabited southern regions. The NHA has paid especial attention to the Salpa Line running along the country’s eastern border. Before the NHA’s large-scale surveys along the Salpa Line in 2009–2012 and the NBF’s in the forestry areas in 2010–2015, there was only a handful of scattered modern conflict sites recorded from the whole country, including the Peltojoki base.

76  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains The NBF decided, based on the rights of the landowner, that it is forbidden to dig, metal detect or collect wartime matériel on government-controlled lands. Finnish ‘Everyman’s right’ (Ministry of the Environment 2016) allows walking, picking berries or mushrooms and camping everywhere, but permission from the landowner is required for digging or lighting a fire. Beyond the rights of the landowner, the ownership of wartime matériel is a difficult and unclear question. Finnish legislation states that all military items on Finnish territory should belong to the State and the FDF, but they have no interest in the humdrum rusting, overgrown remains in the wilderness. In the case of well-preserved guns, badges, insignia or other ‘nicer’ finds, as they phrased it, the National Military Museum has asked me to deliver finds to their collections, but so far I have encountered none of those at the sites we have examined. Altogether, the ownership of wartime matériel needs to be clarified, at least in some form. For our field studies I always apply for research permits from the NHA, NBF, FDF, local Police, local Municipality, the Sámi Parliament (Sámediggi) and also verbally from the local community. Typically, they all present documents stating that they support our research but cannot give any official licence beyond the landowner’s permission to excavate. In addition, the FDF and Police forces always advise on how to act if we encounter UXO – which has luckily never happened beyond the occasional bullet. On an unofficial level, the ownership question is further complicated, and in fact becomes much more interesting, by the local people’s strong sense of custodianship over what they perceive rightly as their own, local heritage on their ‘own lands’ (Herva et al. 2016; Seitsonen 2017). Gaining a general idea of the range of types of the Second World War sites and structures, of their current stage of preservation, and of their social meanings and values for the various stakeholders, is essential before making decisions about their future cultural heritage value. The current situation, based on the wide-ranging NBF surveys and the other actors, including my geographically more restricted yet intensive contributions, is a good starting point. There have been several recent unfortunate incidents in Finland where metal detectorists have illicitly dug at ‘ancient monuments’ protected by the Antiquities Act. This has caused anxiety and bewilderment amongst heritage professionals. Signs of ‘treasure hunting’ – metal detectorists’ ‘excavations’ and ‘test pits’ – are encountered at most of the easily accessible wartime sites. While some detectorists inform the NHA and local museums of their finds, not all do so, especially if they feel they are acting in a grey area (Wessman et al. 2016). Furthermore, in a couple of recent cases municipal and private land-use has destroyed protected conflict sites. For example, Finnish Civil War (1918) trenches were recently obliterated by a new skiing track in the town of Lahti (Lumme 2016), and Crimean War-era (1853–1856) fortifications were levelled in Kokkola – in the latter case the private perpetrator was sentenced to fines of several hundred euros (Vihanta 2016). Due to the continuing lack of official recognition, custodianship, or status

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  77

Figure 3.22 The spatial distribution of WWII localities in the Finnish cultural heritage registers of the National Board of Forestry and the National Heritage Agency (partly overlapping) (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2018; Background: US National Park Service).

Second World War sites in Lapland are vulnerable to treasure hunting and other uncontrolled activities. These issues, related to the cultural heritage status and value of this material legacy, heritage ownership, and the land-use rights, need to be clarified as a matter of urgency, preferably in co-operation and agreement with the appropriate stakeholders.

78  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains

References Archival sources Hallamaa, R. 1945. Sanoma n:o U1282. T-14139/7 Secret Correspondence, Administrative, Monitoring, Personnel etc. Issues. 1. Division. Headquarters Operative Office (Office III). 12.1.–29.4.1945. National Archives of Finland, Helsinki, Finland. Hillilä, K. 1943. Report of a meeting with General Dietl to Minister Henrik Ramsay in the Ministry for Foreign Affairs 19.7.1943. 110 A6. Reports of [Governor of Lapland] Kaarlo Hillilä and Bruno Kivikoski. Archives of the Ministry for Foreign Affairs, Helsinki, Finland. Heikkilä, H. & Tolonen, S. 2009. Kaijonrannan sotilasarkeologinen koetutkimus. Syksy 2007–kevät 2008. Research Report, Archaeological Laboratory, University of Oulu, Oulu, Finland. Koskela, J. & Pietiläinen, S. 2004. Saksalaiset Oulussa 1942–44: Raportti historiallisen ajan sotilaskohteiden arkeologisesta inventoinnista Oulun kaupungin alueella keväällä 2004. Research Report, Archaeological Laboratory, University of Oulu, Oulu, Finland. Pörhölä, M. 2016. ”Miten onkaan maailma oleva järkyttynyt sodan päätyttyä, kun kaikki tulee julki” – Suomalaisviranomaisten tietämys Euroopan juutalaisten kohtalosta Hitlerin Saksan vaikutuspiirissä jatkosodan aikana 1941–1944. MA Thesis, University of Turku, Turku, Finland. World Wide Web sources Finnish Antiquities Act 295/1963. 295/1963 English – Translation of Finnish Acts and Decrees – FINLEX®. Available at http://www.finlex.fi/en/laki/kaannokset/1963/ en19630295 [Accessed 2016-04-01] Aro, J., Liekki, T.-R, Tebest, T., Rissanen, J. & Salminen, J. 2014. Suomen täydeltä sotahistoriaa. YLE October 5, 2014. Available at http://yle.fi/uutiset/kuusi_tarinaa_ suomen_sodista__yleiso_kirjoitti_sotahistoriaa/7502292 [Accessed 2014-10-16] Daily Mail. 2019. Teenage history fanatic, 18, discovers a First World War bomb near his home in France - only for it to blow up, leaving him without a finger and riddled with 50 pieces of shrapnel. Daily Mail July 6, 2019. Available at https://www.­dailymail. co.uk/news/article-7218629/WWI-bomb-teen-explodes-riddles-50-pieces-shrapnel. html [Accessed 2010-06-14] Forrest, M. 2015. 70 Years after the War, Finland Looks Back. Barents Observer. Available at http://barentsobserver.com/en/content/70-years-after-warfinland-looksback [Accessed 2015-07--17] Franz Repper Collection. n.d. Franz Repper collection. Original photos. Available at http://www.gaissmair.net/Repper_collection.htm [Accessed 2010-04-01] Jatkosodan siviiliveteraanit. n.d. Partisaanien siviiliuhrit 1941–1944. Jatkosodan Siviiliveteraanit ry, the National Archives of Finland. Available at http://wiki.narc. fi/portti/index.php/Partisaanien_siviiliuhrit_1941-1944 [Accessed 2016-09-01] Lagerstedt, J. 2012. Salpalinja. Sotahistoriallisten kohteiden arkeologinen inventointi 2009–2012. Research Report, National Board of Antiquities, Helsinki, Finland. Available at http://kulttuuriymparisto.nba.fi/netsovellus/rekisteriportaali/mjhanke/ read/asp/r_hanke_rapo_det.aspx?HANKE_ID=9611 [Accessed 2013-01-07]

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  79 Laurén, K. 2018. Silenced traumas. Narratives about Soviet Partisan Attacks in Finnish Borderland. Poster, University of Eastern Finland, Jyväskylä, Finland. Available at http://www.uef.fi/documents/1132168/1205679/silenced-traumas-klauren. pdf/c0d74dc1-b5a1-407e-8706-799f11888206 [Accessed 2018-12-01] LDH 2018. Merkitse kartalle sotahistoriallisia kohteita!/Mark WW2 sites into the map! – Lapland’s Dark Heritage. Available at http://blogs.helsinki.fi/laplanddarkheritage/lapin-sotahistoriallisia-kohteita/ [Accessed 2018-04-01] Lumme, H. 2016. Hävitys varmistui: MM-hiihtolatujen levennys tuhosi ainutlaatuisia juoksuhautoja Lahdessa. YLE May 10, 2016. Available at https://yle.fi/­ uutiset/3-8870581 [Accessed 2017-01-01] Niskala, K. 2016. Alppimajan historiaa. Alppimaja. https://alppimaja.fi/alppimajanhistoriaa/ [Accessed 2016-06-20] Parry, T. 2014. The First World War bombs that are still killing people in France. Mirror July 14, 2014. Available at https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/world-news/ first-world-war-bombs-still-3862370 [Accessed 2014-07-17] SA-kuva n.d. SA-kuva-arkisto. Etulijasta kotirintamalle 1939–1945. Available at http://sakuva.fi/ [Accessed 2015-03-19] Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2017a. “Last Morning”: Material and Immaterial Memories of Soviet Partisan Raids against Finnish Civilians in Lapland in the Second World War. In Building Bridges. Abstract book of the 23rd Annual Meeting of the European Association of Archaeologists 2017, edited by J. Bazelmans & Klinkhamer Group: 106. Available at http://www.eaa2017maastricht.nl/ [Accessed 2015-12-31] Sääskilahti, N. 2016. Konfliktinjälkeiset kulttuuriympäristöt, muisti ja materiaalisuus. Tahiti 1/2016. Available at http://tahiti.fi/01-2016/tieteelliset-artikkelit/ konfliktinjalkeiset-kulttuuriymparistot-muisti-ja-materiaalisuus/#ko3 [Accessed 2016-02-10] Vihanta, A. 2016. Mies tuhosi Krimin sodan aikaisen puolustusvallin, sai 360 euron sakot. YLE December 8, 2016. Available at https://yle.fi/uutiset/3-9341783 [Accessed 2017-01-01] YLE 2006. Hitlerin salaa tallennettu keskustelu Suomessa. Available at https:// yle.fi/aihe/artikkeli/2006/09/08/hitlerin-salaa-tallennettu-keskustelu-suomessa ­[Accessed 2011-01-01]

Primary sources Ahto, S. 1974. Saksalaisten joukkojen sopivuus sodankäyntiin Pohjois-Suomessa vv. 1941–1945. Tiede ja ase 32: 151–194. Ahto, S. 1980. Aseveljet vastakkain: Lapin sota 1944–1945. Kirjayhtymä: Helsinki. Aikio-Puoskari, U. & Magga, P. (eds.) 2010. Kylä kulttuurien risteyksessä. Vuohču Sámiid Searvi: sine loco. Airio, P. 2014. Aseveljeys – Saksalaiset ja suomalaiset Itä-Lapissa 1941–1944. Docendo: Helsinki. Alariesto, T., Harju, S., Hautala, P., Kotivuori, H., Kyläniemi, H. & Mölläri, J. 2015. Wir waren Freunde – Olimme ystäviä: saksalaisten ja suomalaisten kohtaamisia Lapissa 1940–1944. Lapin maakuntamuseo: Rovaniemi. Alftan, R. 2005. Aseveljet: Saksalais-Suomalainen Aseveljeys 1942–1944. WSOY: Helsinki.

80  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains Arrela, L. 1983. Isokenkäiset yöpyivät Lapin miesten laavulla. Kansa taisteli 1/1983: 22–25. Arvelin, M. 2009. Sodan piikkilangat. Totta ja tarinaa Inarin vankileireistä. Lapin legendat 4. Ukko-Media: Inari. Carruthers, B. 2013. Hitlerin pohjoinen rintama. Saksan armeijan operaatiot Norjassa ja Suomessa 1940–1945. Minerva: Helsinki. Enqvist, J. 2014. The New Heritage: A Missing Link between Finnish Archaeology and Contemporary Society? Fennoscandia Archaeologica 31: 101–123. Enqvist, J. 2015. Suojellut muistot: Arkeologisen perinnön hallinnan kieli, käsitteet ja ideologia. Doctoral Dissertation, University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland. Erfurth, W. 1951. Suomi sodan myrskyssä 1941–1944. WSOY: Porvoo. Erfurth, W. 1954. Sotapäiväkirja vuodelta 1944. WSOY: Porvoo. Erkkilä, V. 1998. Vaiettu sota. Neuvostoliiton partisaanien iskut suomalaisiin kyliin. Arator: Hämeenlinna. Erkkilä, V. 2011. Viimeinen aamu: Neuvostopartisaanien vaietut jäljet. Otava: Helsinki. Führungsstab 1c. 1944. Sonderausgabe. Russische Aushilfen und Findigkeiten. 1944. Oberkommando der Luftwaffe. Führungsstab 1c. Fremde Luftwaffen Ost. Oberkommando der Luftwaffe: sine loco. González-Ruibal, A. 2008. Time to Destroy: An Archaeology of Supermodernity. Current Anthropology 49(2): 247–279. Hakala, I. 2005. Kommentteja kirjan sisällöstä. In Partisaaneja, desantteja, sissejä – rintaman molemmilla puolilla, edited by V. Stepakov, S. Kononov, P. Petrov & D. Frolov: 301–304. Hipputeos: Helsinki. Halsti, W. 1972. Lapin sodassa: JR 11:n mukana Oulusta Kaaresuvantoon. Otava: Helsinki. Halter, H. 1942. Finnland. Wehrmacht tornisterzeitschrift. Scherl: Berlin. Havo, V. 2008. Korvaukset partisaani-iskujen uhreille vuonna 2003. In Sotatapahtumia, internointeja ja siirto sodanjälkeisiin oloihin Kansallisarkiston artikkelikirja Wars, Internees and the Transition to the Postwar Era. A Book of Articles by the National Archives of Finland, edited by L. Westerlund: 379–402. Kansallisarkisto: Helsinki. Hentilä, M. & Hentilä, S. 2016. Saksalainen Suomi 1918. Siltala: Helsinki. Herva, V.-P. 2014. Haunting Heritage in an Enchanted Land: Magic, Materiality and Second World War German Material Heritage in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 1(2): 297–321. Herva, V.-P., Koskinen-Koivisto, E., Seitsonen, O. & Thomas, S. 2016. ‘I Have Better Stuff at Home’: Treasure Hunting and Private Collecting of World War II Artefacts in Finnish Lapland. World Archaeology 48(2): 267–281. Hyvönen, O. 1991. Tornio 1944. Gummerus: Jyväskylä. Hyytiä, O. 2012. Suomi ja Hitlerin Saksa 1933–1939. Minerva: Helsinki. Hölter, H. 1953. Armee in der Arktis. Die Operationen der deutschen Lappland. Schild-Verlag: München. Jakobson, M. 1999. Väkivallan vuodet. 20. vuosisadan tilinpäätös 1. Otava: Helsinki. Jokinen C. 2007. Lapin sota saksalaisten silmin. In Sodan totuudet. Yksi suomalainen vastaa 5.7 ryssää, edited by M. Jokisipilä: 213–248. Ajatus: Helsinki. Jokipii, M. 1987. Jatkosodan synty. Otava: Helsinki. Jokisipilä, M. 2005. Napapiirin Aseveljet. In Aseveljet: saksalais-suomalainen aseveljeys 1942–1944, edited by R. Alftan: 9–51. WSOY: Helsinki. Jokisipilä, M. 2007a. ’Kappas vaan, saksalaisia!’ Keskustelu Suomen jatkosodan 1941–1944 luonteesta. In Sodan totuudet. Yksi suomalainen vastaa 5.7 ryssää, edited by M. Jokisipilä: 153–181. Ajatus: Helsinki.

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  81 Jokisipilä, M. (ed.) 2007b. Sodan totuudet. Yksi suomalainen vastaa 5.7 ryssää. Ajatus: Helsinki. Jonas, M. 2012. The Politics of an Alliance: Finland in Nazi Foreign Policy and War Strategy. In Finland in World War II, edited by T. Kinnunen & V. Kivimäki: 93–138. Brill: Leiden. Jones, S. 2017. Wrestling with the Social Value of Heritage: Problems, Dilemmas and Opportunities. Journal of Community Archaeology and Heritage 4(1): 21–37. Junila, M. 2000. Kotirintaman Aseveljeyttä. Bibliotheca Historica 61. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura: Helsinki. Kaila, T. 1950. Lapin sota. WSOY: Porvoo. Kallatsa, M. 2009. Suomen Saksalle luovuttamat sotavangit jatkosodan aikana. Licentiate Thesis, History, University of Tampere, Tampere, Finland. Kaltenegger, R. 2006. Saksan armeijan vuoristojoukot 1939–1945. Koala: Helsinki. Kauppi, U.-R. 2002. The Salpa Line: A Monument of the Future and the Traces of War in the Finnish Cultural Landscape. In Material Culture: The Archaeology of Twentieth Century Conflict, edited by J. Schofield, W.G. Johnson & C.M. Beck: 49–57. Routledge: London. Kendall, P. 2014. The Jews who fought for Hitler: ‘We did not help the Germans. We had a common enemy’. The Telegraph March 9, 2014. Available at http:// www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/museums/10682975/The-Jews-whofought-forHitler-We-did-not-help-the-Germans.-We-had-a-commonenemy.html [Accessed 2015-05-01] Kinnunen, T. & Jokisipilä, M. 2012. Shifting Images of ‘Our’ Wars: Finnish Memory Culture of World War II. In Finland in War II: History, Memory, Interpretations, edited by T. Kinnunen & V. Kivimäki: 435–482. Brill: Leiden, Boston, MA. Kivimäki, V. 2005. Oma maa aina vaan mansikka. Huomioita kansallisen historiankirjoituksen olemassaolosta, tekniikoista ja purkamisesta. Ennen & nyt 1/2005: 1–9. Kivimäki, V. 2012. Between Defeat and Victory: Finnish Memory Culture of the Second World War. Scandinavian Journal of History 37(4): 482–504. Kleemola, O. 2014. Vihollinen vai liittolainen? Metsä suomalaisten ja saksalaisten itärintaman sotapropagandakuvien elementtinä 1941–1944. Vuosilusto 10: 28–38. Kleemola, O. 2015. Talvisota – valkoisten lumipukujen muuttumaton kuvakertomus? Ennen ja nyt 4/2015: 1–13. Kleemola, O. 2016. Valokuva sodassa. Neuvostosotilaat, neuvostoväestö ja neuvostomaa suomalaisissa ja saksalaisissa toisen maailmansodan sotavalokuvissa. Sigillum: Turku. Koponen, T., Seitsonen, O. & Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2018. “Das ist Suomi”: Photographic representation of Finland for a German audience during the Second World War. Ennen ja nyt 4/2018: 1–23. Korpi, K. 2010. Rintama ilman juoksuhautoja. Saksalaisten keskeiset rakentamiset, työmaat ja työvoima Pohjois-Suomessa 1941–1942. Pohjois-Suomen Historiallinen yhdistys: Rovaniemi. Koskimaa, M. 2016. Suomen kohtalon ratkaisut. Talvisota ja jatkosota 1939–1944. Docendo: Helsinki. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Seitsonen, O. 2019. Landscapes of Loss and Destruction: Childhood Memories of Sámi Elders of the Second World War. Ethnologia Europaea 49(1): 24–40. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Thomas, S. 2017. Lapland’s Dark Heritage: Responses to the Legacy of World War II. In Heritage in Action. Making the Past in the Present, edited by H. Silverman, W. Waterton & S. Watson: 121–133. Springer: New York.

82  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains Kräutler, M. & Springenschmid, K. 1962. Es war ein Edelweiβ... Schicksal und Weg der 2. GB. Leopold Stocker Verlag: Graz, Stuttgart. Kulju, M. 2009. Tornion maihinnousu 1944. Gummerus: Helsinki. Kulju, M. 2013. Lapin sota 1944–45. Gummerus: Helsinki. Kulju, M. 2014. Puna-armeija miehitti Kuusamon 1944. Sotaveteraani 6/2014: 33. Kulomaa, J. 1989. Äänislinna. Petroskoin suomalaismiehityksen vuodet 1941–1944. Historiallisia tutkimuksia 148. Suomen Historiallinen Seura: Helsinki. Kurki, T., Laurén, K., Kaskinen, S., Jaago, T. & Tanttu, T. 2016. Traumatized borders: reviving subversive narratives of b/order, and other. Elore February 2016. Available at http://www.elore.fi/projektiesittely-traumatized-borders-reviving-subversivenarratives-of-border-and-other/ [Accessed 2017-01-01] Laine, A. 1982. Suur-Suomen kahdet kasvot. Itä-Karjalan siviiliväestön asema suomalaisessa miehityshallinnossa 1941–1944. Otava: Helsinki. Laurén, K. 2017. ”Siinä katottiin vähän aikaa konepistoolin suuaukkoa”: Traumaattiset kertomukset neuvostopartisaanien iskuista Lapissa ja Kainuussa jatkosodan aikana. Lähde. Historiatieteellinen aikakauskirja 2017: 43–62. Available at https://lahde.journal.fi/article/view/67828 [Accessed 2017-07-17] Lehtola, V.-P. 1994. Saamelainen evakko. Rauhan kansa sodan jaloissa. City Sámit: Helsinki. Lehtola, V.-P. 2003. Tuhon ja nousun vuodet (1939–1965). In Inari – Aanaar. Inarin historia jääkaudesta nykypäivään, edited by V.-P. Lehtola: 350–489. Inarin kunta: Oulu. Lehtola, V.-P. 2012. Saamelaiset suomalaiset. Kohtaamisia 1896–1953. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura: Helsinki. Lehtola, V.-P. 2015. Second World War as a Trigger for Transcultural Changes among Sámi People in Finland. Acta Borealia 32(2): 125–147. Lähteenmäki, M. 1999. Jänkäjääkäreitä ja parakkipirkkoja. Lappilaisten sotakokemuksia 1939–1945. Historiallisia tutkimuksia 203. Suomen Historiallinen Seura: Helsinki. Lähteenmäki, M. 2017. Pahan jälkipuhunta. Partisaanien siviili-iskut Itä- ja PohjoisSuomeen. In Historiantutkimuksen etiikka, edited by S. Lidman, A. Koskivirta & J. Eilola: 200–222. Gaudeamus: Helsinki. Löfström, J. 2015. Holokaustiopetus huomenna. Muistipolitiikasta sen analyysiin. Niin & Näin 4/2015:47–55. Mabre (Max Martin Brehm). 1943. Fahrbahn Lappland. Auf winter-einsatzfahrten am Polarkreis. Mens-Verlag: Höchstadt an der Aisch. Mabre (Max Martin Brehm). 1944. Fahrbahn Lappland: Ein Bildbuch von Einsatzfahrten am Polarkreis. Mens-Verlag: Höchstadt an der Aisch. Mäensyrjä, P. 1959. Kuusamon kirkonkellot löydettiin. Suomen kuvalehti 31/1959:6–7. Mälkki, J. 2008. Herrat, jätkät ja sotataito: Kansalaissotilas- ja ammattisotilasarmeijan rakentuminen 1920- ja 1930-luvulla “Talvisodan ihmeeksi.” Bibliotheca Historica 117. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura: Helsinki. Mann, C. & Jörgensen, C. 2002. Hitler’s Arctic War: The German Campaigns in Norway, Finland, and The USSR 1940–1945. Ian Allan: Hersham. Mannerheim, G. 1952. Muistelmat II. Otava: Helsinki. Martikainen, T. 1998. Neuvostoliiton partisaanien tuhoiskut siviilikyliin 1941–44: Kemi-Sompion kairan Kuosku, Maggan talot, Seitajärvi ja Lokka partisaanihyökkäysten kohteina. Savukoski: Savukoski. Martikainen T. (ed.) 2004. Rauha on ainoa mahdollisuutemme: partisaanisodan kansainvälinen sovitusseminaari. Jatkosodan Siviiliveteraanit ry: Kemi.

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  83 Martikainen, T. 2011. Chimney Forests. Kuosku, Magga, Seitajärvi, and Lokka: The Destruction of Four Villages in Finnish Lapland. North Star Press: St. Cloud, MN. Martikainen, T., Loisa, K. & Mäntyniemi, M. 2002. Partisaanisodan Siviiliuhrit. Värisuora-kustannus: Kemi. Merkblatt 18a/17. 1942. Merkblatt 18a/17. Taschenbuch für den Winterkrieg. Vom 5.8.1942. Oberkommando des Heeres: sine loco. Merkblatt 18a/26. 1944. Merkblatt 18a/26. Waldkampf – und Spähtruppausbildung in Finnland. Vom 14.2.1944 (18a/26). Oberkommando des Heeres: sine loco. Mesjentsev, F. 2007. I fangelseleir nord for Polarsirkelen. Manuscript, Norway. Mikkonen, K. 2016. Parakkeja ja piikkilankaa. Lapin maakuntamuseo: Rovaniemi. Ministry of the Environment 2016. Everyman’s Right: Legislation and Practice. Ministry of the Environment: sine loco. Molka, J. 2007. Sota minun muistoissani. Taivalkosken 4H-yhdistys: Taivalkoski. Niukkanen, M. 2009. Historiallisen ajan kiinteät muinaisjäännökset. Tunnistaminen ja suojelu. Museoviraston rakennushistorian osaston oppaita ja ohjeita 3. Museoviraston rakennushistorian osasto: Helsinki. Otto, R. 2008. Soviet Prisoners of War on the German Lapland Front, 1941–1944. In Sotavangit ja internoidut. Kansallisarkiston artikkelikirja. Prisoners of War and Internees. A Book of Articles by the National Archives, edited by L. Westerlund: 64–113. Kansallisarkisto: Helsinki. Otto, R. forthcoming. Handbuch der deutschen Kriegsgefangenen-Einrichtungen im Zweiten Weltkrieg. Manuscript to be published in 2021. Paasi, A. 1997. Geographical Perspectives on Finnish National Identity. GeoJournal 43(1): 41–50. Pétursdóttir, Þ. 2017. Climate Change? Archaeology and Anthropocene. Archaeological Dialogues 24(2): 175–205. Pipping, K. 2008 [1947]. Infantry Company as a Society. Department of Behavioural Sciences Publication Series 1(3). National Defence University: Helsinki. Postila, T. 2002. Schutzwall – sodanaikainen puolustusasema Urho Kekkosen kansallispuistossa. Sarja A 71. Metsähallitus: Vantaa. Puroma, A. & Sonck, L.Hj. 1958. Sotatoimet saksalaisia vastaan PohjoisSuomessa 1944–1945. In Suomen sota 1941–1945. Sotahistoriallisen tutkimuslaitoksen sotahistoriallisen toimiston julkaisuja IX(8). Kustannusosakeyhtiö Kivi: Kuopio. Rautio, E., Korteniemi, T. & Vuopio, M. 2004. Pohjoiset pakolaiset. Tietoa ja tarinoita Lapin sodasta ja lappilaisten evakkotaipaleelta. Pohjan väylä: Pello. Rautkallio, H. 1989. Suomen juutalaisten aseveljeys. Tammi: Helsinki. Rautkallio, H. 1994. “Cast into the lion’s den”: Finnish Jewish soldiers in the Second World War. Journal of Contemporary History 29(1): 53–94. Rendulic, L. 1952. Gekämpft, Gesiegt, Geschlagen. Welsermühl Verlag: Wels und Heidelberg. Rendulic, L. 1964. Soldat in Stürzenden Reichen. Damm Verlag: Munich. Sääskilahti, N. 2013. Ruptures and Returns: From Loss of Memory to the Memory of Loss. Ethnologia Fennica 40: 40–53. Sääskilahti, N. 2015. Women as Sites for the Contestation of Northern Memories of War. In Novels, Histories, Novel Nations: Historical Fiction and Cultural Memory in Finland and Estonia, edited by L. Kaljundi, E. Laanes & I. Pikkanen: 279–297. Finnish Literature Society: Helsinki. Sana, E. 2003. Luovutetut – Suomen ihmisluovutukset Gestapolle. WSOY: Helsinki.

84  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains Savolainen, U. 2015. Muisteltu ja kirjoitettu evakkomatka. Tutkimus evakkolapsuuden muistelukerronnan poetiikasta. Kultaneito XV. Suomen Kansantietouden Tutkijain Seura: Vantaa. Schreiber, F. 1969. Kampf unter dem Nordlicht. Deutsche-Finnische Waffenbruderschaft am Polarkreis. Die Geschichte der 6. SS Gebirgs-Division Nord. Munin Verlag: Osnabrück. Seitsonen, O. 2011. Juoksuhautoja ja asumuspainanteita: Kokemuksia Lidar– laserkeilausaineiston käytöstä kenttäarkeologiassa. Muinaistutkija 2/2011: 36–44. Seitsonen, O. 2013. LiDAR–kaukokartoitusaineistojen visualisointi ja analysointi: paikkatietoalgoritmeja arkeologeille. Muinaistutkija 1/2013: 2–16. Seitsonen, O. 2017. Crowdsourcing Cultural Heritage: Public Participation and Conflict Legacy in Finland. Journal of Community Archaeology and Heritage 4(2): 115–130. Seitsonen, O. 2018. Digging Hitler’s Arctic War: Archaeologies and Heritage of the Second World War German Military Presence in Finnish Lapland. Unigrafia: Helsinki. Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2011. Forgotten in the Wilderness: WWII PoW Camps in Finnish Lapland. In Archaeologies of Internment, edited by A. Myers & G. Moshenska: 171–190. Springer: New York. http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4419-9666-4_10 Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2017b. ‘War Junk’ and Cultural Heritage: Viewpoints on the Second World War German Material Culture in Finnish Lapland. In War & Peace: Conflict and Resolution in Archaeology. Proceedings of the 45th Annual Chacmool Archaeology Conference, edited by A.K. Benfer: 170–185. Chacmool Archaeology Association, University of Calgary. Available at https://prism.­ ucalgary.ca/handle/1880/52231 [Accessed 2017-02-10] Seitsonen, O. & Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2017. ‘Where the F… is Vuotso?’: Heritage of Second World War Forced Movement and Destruction in a Sámi Reindeer Herding Community in Finnish Lapland. International Journal of Heritage Studies 24(4): 421–441. Seitsonen, O., Hekkurainen, M., Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Thomas, S. 2018. “Voiko natsia rakastaa?”: Lapin Maakuntamuseon Wir waren Freunde – Olimme ystäviä -näyttelyprosessi esimerkkinä vaikeasta kulttuuriperinnöstä. Suomen Museo 2018: 112–132. Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P. & Koponen, T. 2019. “Lapland’s Roadway”: German Photography and Experience of the European Far North in the Second World War. Photography and Culture: 1–20. https://doi.org/10.1080/17514517.2019.1594560 (online first) Seppälä, H. 1980. Suomi Taisteli 6. WSOY: Helsinki. Silvennoinen, O. 2008. Salaiset Aseveljet: Suomen Ja Saksan Turvallisuuspoliisiyhteistyö 1933–1944. Otava, Helsinki. Simon, J. 2017. Mahdoton sota. Kun suomenjuutalaiset taistelivat Natsi-Saksan rinnalla. Siltala: Helsinki. Snyder, T. 2017. Musta maa. Holokausti: tapahtumat, opetukset. Siltala: Helsinki. Soikkanen, T. 2007. Objekti vai subjekti? – Taistelu jatkosodan synnystä. In Sodan totuudet. Yksi suomalainen vastaa 5.7 ryssää, edited by M. Jokisipilä: 119–120. Ajatus: Helsinki. Suolahti, I. 2015. Yhteinen vihollinen, yhteinen etu: Sotavankien luovutukset ja vaihdot Suomen ja Saksan välillä jatkosodan aikana. Historiallisia tutkimuksia Helsingin yliopistosta 40. Unigrafia: Helsinki.

Finnish-German Waffenbrüderschaft  85 Taivainen, J. 2013. Muinaismuistolain suojelema tai ei – Metsien kulttuuriperintö on moninaista ja arvokasta. In Arkeologipäivät 2012. Suomen muinaismuistolaki 50 vuotta: vetreä keski-ikäinen vai raihnainen vanhus & Arkeopeda – opetusta, opastusta, oppimista, edited by J. Enqvist, J. Ruohonen & M. Suhonen: 26–28. Suomen arkeologinen seura: Helsinki. Taivainen, J. (ed.) 2015. Metsiin kadonneet – Valtion metsien kulttuuriperintökohteiden inventointihanke 2010–2015. Metsähallituksen metsätalouden julkaisuja 73. Metsähallitus: Vantaa. Available at https://julkaisut.metsa.fi/assets/pdf/mt/mt73. pdf [Accessed 2016-01-01] Tepora, T. 2015. Sodan henki: kaunis ja ruma talvisota. WSOY: Helsinki. Thomas, S., Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2016. Nazi Memorabilia, Dark Heritage and Treasure Hunting as “Alternative” Tourism: Understanding the Fascination with the Material Remains of World War II in Northern Finland. Journal of Field Archaeology 41(3): 331–343. Tikkanen V. 1996. Partisaanien uhrit. Ville Tikkanen (Author’s edition): Kajaani. Tovey, J. 1948. The Carrier Borne Aircraft Attack on Kirkenes and Petsamo. The London Gazette 38300. Available at http://Ibiblio.Org/Hyperwar/Un/Uk/­ Londongazette/38300.Pdf [Accessed 2009-06-14] Tuomaala, R. 2008. “Kyllähän nyt pitäs olla jo semmonen aika, että pääsis niin kö keskustelemhan näistä asioista.” Tutkimus lappilaisten huutolaisten, sotavankien ja partisaanien uhrien elämänkulusta, voimavaroista, terveydestä ja sairauksista. Annales universitas Turkuensis C274. Turun yliopisto: Turku. Tuominen, M. 2003. Lapin sodan tuhot, materiaalinen ja mentaalinen jälleenrakennus. In Lappi. Maa, kansat, kulttuurit, edited by I. Massa & H. Snellman: 106– 108. Suomalaisen kirjallisuuden seura: Helsinki. Tuominen, M. 2015. Lapin ajanlasku. Menneisyys, tulevaisuus ja jälleenrakennus historian reunalla. In Rauhaton rauha. Suomalaiset ja sodan päättyminen 1944– 1950, edited by V. Kivimäki & K.-M. Hytönen: 39–70. Vastapaino: Tampere. Tuominen, M. & Löfgren, M. (eds.) 2018. Lappi palaa sodasta. Mielen hiljainen jälleenrakennus. Vastapaino, Helsinki. Uola, M. 2012. Petsamo 1939–1944. Minerva: Helsinki. Ursin, M. 1980. Pohjois-Suomen tuhot ja jälleenrakennus saksalaissodan 1944–45 jälkeen. Pohjois-Suomen historiallinen yhdistys: Rovaniemi. Valtonen, M. 2011. Kohti lopullista voittoa. Kansallissosialistinen propaganda Lappland-Kurier-lehden uutisaineistossa kesällä 1944. MA Thesis, Finnish history, University of Jyväskylä, Jyväskylä, Finland. van der Schriek, J. & van der Schriek, M. 2014. Metal Detecting: Friend or Foe of Conflict Archaeology? Investigation, Preservation and Destruction on WWII sites in the Netherlands. Journal of Community Archaeology & Heritage 1(3): 228–244. Väyrynen, T. 2014. Muted National Memory: When the Hitler’s Brides speak the truth. International Feminist Journal of Politics 16(2): 218–235. Vehviläinen, O. 2002. Finland in the Second World War: Between Germany and Russia. Palgrave Macmillan: London. Virkkunen, J. 2012. Miinojen ja räjähteiden siviiliuhrit Pohjois-Suomessa 1944–1949. Juhani Virkkunen (Author’s edition): sine loco. Virkkunen, J. 2013. Lapin sodan aiheuttamat miinojen ja räjähteiden siviiliuhrit. Sotahistoriallinen Aikakauskirja 33: 160–182.

86  Hitler’s Arctic War and its material remains Virolainen, K. 1999. Elinikäinen taakka. Ikääntyneiden lappilaisten muistot vuorovaikutussuhteistaan jatkosodan ajan Saksan armeijan sotilaisiin ja neuvostoliittolaisiin sotavankeihin. Lapin yliopisto: Rovaniemi. von Hessen W. 1986. Aufzeichnungen. Privatdruck: Kronberg, Taunus. Voss, J. 2002. Black Edelweiss: A Memoir of Combat and Conscience by a Soldier of the Waffen-SS. Aberjona Press: Bedford. Wehrmacht 2006 [1943]. Wehrmachtin matkaopas Suomeen. Ajatus: Helsinki. Wendisch, I. 2006. Salatut lapset – Saksalaissotilaiden lapset Suomessa. Ajatus: Helsinki. Wessman, A., Koivisto, L. & Thomas, S. 2016. Metal Detecting in Finland – An Ongoing Debate. Open Archaeology 2(1): 85–96. Westerlund, L. 2008a. Saksan vankileirit Suomessa ja raja-alueilla 1941–1944. Tammi: Helsinki. Westerlund, L. 2008b. The German Strategic Use of POW Labor in the Far North. In Prisoner of War Deaths and People Handed over to Germany and the Soviet Union in 1939–1955: A Research Report by the Finnish National Archives, edited by L. Westerlund: 95–135. Finnish National Archives: Helsinki. Westerlund, L. 2008c. Prisoners of War in Finland in WWII. In Sotavangit ja internoidut. Kansallisarkiston artikkelikirja. Prisoners of War and Internees: A Book of Articles by the National Archives, edited by L. Westerlund: 8–19. Kansallisarkisto: Helsinki. Westerlund, L. 2009. Sotavankien ja siviili-internoitujen sodanaikainen kuolleisuus. Muonahuolto, tautisuus ja Punaisen Ristin toimettomuus 1939–44. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura: Helsinki. Westerlund, L. 2011. Saksalaisten sotilaiden lapset. Ulkomaalasten [sic] sotilaiden lapset Suomessa 1940–1948 Osa I. The Children of German Soldiers. Children of Foreign Soldiers in Finland 1940–1948 Volume I. Nord Print: Helsinki. Willman, T. 2006. Urbanized Karelians. In Passages Westward. Studia Fennica Ethnologica 9, edited by M. Lähteenmäki & H. Snellman: 143–164. Finnish Literature Society: Helsinki. Ylikangas, H. 2004. Heikki Ylikankaan selvitys valtioneuvoston kanslialle. Valtioneuvoston kanslian julkaisusarja 5/2004. Ylimaunu, T., Mullins, P.R., Symonds, J. Kallio-Seppä, T. Heikkilä, H., Kuorilehto, M. & Tolonen, S. 2013. Memory of Barracks: World War II German ‘Little Berlins’ and Post-War Urbanization in Northern Finnish Towns. Scandinavian Journal of History 38(4): 525–548. Ziemke, E. 1963. Saksalaisten Sotatoimet Pohjolassa 1940–1945. WSOY: Helsinki.

Part II

Strangers in a strange land Germans and their prisoners in an alien Arctic landscape

4 Soldiers’ and prisoners’ places and landscapes

Lapland in the 1940s was (and remains) an alien land even for most southern Finnish people, not to mention foreigners who were even more distanced from its diverse landforms and sceneries. For the Germans who were pitched into Lapland in 1941 to wage war, this sudden encounter with Arctic wilderness must have been a cultural shock causing repressive and unreal feelings of ‘existential outsideness’ (Relph 1976; Seamon & Sowers 2008). Even if there were some similar elements to the home-worlds of soldiers from the Alpine region, the differences appear to have been much stronger. Even the battle-hardened veteran Gebirgsjäger were completely unprepared for the harsh realities of this northern periphery compared to Central Europe and marked by a poor or non-existing infrastructure. The vast forests and marshlands of southern and central Lapland, and the open tundra of the north, would have been threatening and unforgiving environments at any time, and even more so during conflict. Lapland’s image as an exotic and charmed periphery was also accentuated by Finnish (e.g. Hustich 1942; Suova 1943) and German propaganda (e.g. Otto 2008; Wehrmacht 2006 [1943]). For example, the onset of Operation Barbarossa on the northernmost front in June 1941 was described by the German media somewhat lyrically: ‘…the German mountain corps attacked on the icy tundra … under the midnight sun’ (Kaltenegger 2006: 169). It appears that images of ‘…crystal clear polar nights, colourful northern lights, icy frost, biting cold, deep snow, wilderness experience, camaraderie, and the lone guard on the edge of the Arctic…’ (von Majewski et al. 1943, quoted in Müller-Wille 2007) played an important part in the visions and understandings of Lapland for German soldiers serving there. Also the southern Finns saw, and often still see, Lapland and especially the remote Petsamo area on the shore of Arctic Ocean as an eccentric, mythical frontier land (Hautala-Hirvioja 2016; Uola 2012), a ‘foreign country’ as described by the archaeologist Sakari Pälsi (1931). Additionally, the indigenous Sámi people have been depicted since early-modern times as ‘primal’ nomads and powerful witches (e.g. Lähteenmäki 2006). The Sámi were regarded and presented as relics from the past, in an example of colonialist Othering (Herva 2014; Said 1978). This stereotypical image of wandering

90  Strangers in a strange land reindeer herders with their seasonal tent camps was reiterated, mythified and strengthened by the German Second World War propaganda (see Wehrmacht 2006 [1943]: 99–101). It was also evident during the 1930s and 1940s, and even in much later twenty-first century, Finnish tourism imagery some of which was intended specifically for the German market (e.g. Londen et al. 2007; Länsman 2004; Finnish Tourist Association n.d.; Tigerstedt n.d.). This caused German soldiers sent to north to expect bleak views, such as pilot Konrad Knabe described: ‘In our imagination we saw already the inconsolable desolation: Lapps [sic] with their skin-furnished tents and reindeer, snow and ice’ (Knabe 1983: 20). Many German soldiers were then pleasantly surprised when they arrived in Lapland and met in the northern towns, especially in Rovaniemi, civilized townscapes with hotels, restaurants, and that ‘[g]irls in flower-decorated Panama hats, airy summer dresses and tasteful high heels walked on the tidy streets’ (Lähteenmäki 2006: 82). On the other hand, troops were also sent outside the towns, to serve on the eastern front and at the wilderness sites behind the frontlines, for example, in the remote Salla, Inari, Sodankylä and Petsamo regions. There they encountered the propaganda stereotypes – unending, threatening taiga forest and open tundra and bogs and fjells, with scattered homesteads often tens of kilometres apart. The German attack was launched during northernmost Lapland’s two-month summer, during which the wet, boggy terrain has few negotiable routes for motorized transport, the air is infested with mosquitoes, and the midnight sun stays above the horizon from mid-April to the end of July, over 70 nights. Conversely, when winter hits, the sun does not rise at all for about two months in the northernmost parts, and the landscape is completely altered by thick snowfall, the bogs, rivers and lakes freeze to form snowscapes and icescapes with passageways traditionally known to the locals, and the temperatures drop below minus 40°C – thermal winter can last over half a year (Figure 4.1). This is aptly described in a poem by Polish forced labourer Josef Molka (2007: 105): ‘It is a Finnish May, Wind blows over the snow and dances on the desolate land, Through the long days and grey nights, Oh, when will that snow die!’ These extremes are also mirrored by the excavation finds (see Chapter 5). Mobilities of various kinds, and hindrances to them, have emerged in our archaeological work as an overarching framework that ties diverse perspectives together, for instance, for approaching human–environment relations (Seitsonen et  al. 2017a). The study of mobilities has recently emerged as a vital interdisciplinary topic across the social sciences, ranging from the abstract notions that life is constant movement and the world is continuously unfolding and dynamically ‘coming into being’, to concrete questions related to the fluid flow of people, things and ideas which bind our modern world together (e.g. Beaudry & Parno 2013; Cresswell 2006; Ingold 2011; Mlekuž 2013, 2014a, b; Seamon 1979, 1984, 2013; Seitsonen et  al. 2017a, b, c; Urry 2000, 2007). Urry’s (2007: 10–11) research into the importance and connotations of different kinds of mobilities identified 12 main types of movement,

Places and landscapes  91

Figure 4.1  G  erman Schneefräse and Gebirgsjäger cleaning a road of snow in the northernmost Sápmi (SA-kuva 126884/Petsamo/10.04.1943).

including ‘military mobility’. Military mobilities are linked in various ways both directly and indirectly to the different kinds of military and other encampments, such as military bases, Prisoner-of-War (PoW) camps and refugee camps (Seitsonen et al. 2017b, c); the twentieth century has been aptly called ‘the era of camps’ (Löfgren 2003: 245, quoted in Minca 2015: 75). Here I evaluate the placement and organisation of German military camps in Lapland. Peltojoki military base and PoW camp is used as a starting point for these assessments, as it was also for our wider research. I assess the camps and their spatial layouts with regard to diverse forms of mobility and as expressions of dislocation in an alien landscape setting. These considerations are also relevant in the context of the twenty-first century refugee crisis, by which even northernmost Lapland has been touched (Seitsonen 2018; Seitsonen et al. 2017b, c).

Dwelling in an alien wilderness Most of northern Finland must have appeared as uninhabited, natural taiga and tundra wilderness for German troops. However, it was and remains an ancestral cultural landscape for the Sámi people and Finnish settlers. It had also long been a hub and meeting zone of cultural contact networks stretching from all cardinal directions (e.g. Lähteenmäki & Pihlaja 2005; Seitsonen et al. 2017a). However, the arrival of over 200,000 German troops, along with around 30,000 PoWs and forced labourers, brought the outside contacts to a direct personal level. Hundreds of military bases, supply depots and PoW camps suddenly and unexpectedly sprung up along German supply and advance routes, simultaneously situated within the locals’ everyday lifeworlds.

92  Strangers in a strange land The German presence also revolutionized the way mobilities and contacts were thought of, practiced and maintained in this area. Traditionally mobility followed river routes and paths traversing the fjells, marshlands and forests, and during Second World War the Finnish road network was still processing northwards. Most important northern transport artery, the 530 kilometers-long ‘Arctic Ocean Road’ (Eismeerstraße) that links Rovaniemi to the shore of the Arctic Ocean at the then Finnish harbour of Liinahamari (Skolt Sámi: Lin’amraš [Tanner 1928]), was only completed about a decade before the war. It had a very limited carrying capacity and was often compromised by extreme weather conditions (Figures 4.1 and 4.2). Consequently, German troops supervised the construction of about 500 km of new roads, nearly 200 km of railways, hundreds of bridges and culverts, and the improvement of over 1000 km of old, rudimentary roads (e.g. Korpi 2010; Westerlund 2008a) (Figure 4.2). One of the best-known examples of German-built roads in the north is the so-called Karigasniemi Road, along which are Peltojoki base and a number of other camps. Work on the road was started by the Finns in the late 1930s but was cut short by the Winter War and was completed by German prisoners and forced labourers during the Second World War. The dirt road sets off from Kaamanen (Sámi: Gámas), where the Finnish-built drivable road ended. At Kaamanen Germans built a military airfield also employing PoW workforce. Other important military airfields in the north were established in the same way at Kemi, Rovaniemi and Vuotso. The Karigasniemi Road navigates northwest through the practically uninhabited taiga and tundra landscapes of western Inari and Utsjoki. It connects to Norwegian village of Karasjok (Sámi: Kárášjohka) at the Norwegian border from Karigasniemi (Sámi: Gáregasnjárga) and continues to Lakselv (Sámi: Leavdnja) on the Arctic Ocean coast. On the Norwegian side of the border the road was built by mistreated and starved Yugoslavian PoWs, mostly Serbians. This route is locally remembered as the ‘Blood Road to Finland’ (Norw. Blodveien til Finland). Norwegian historian Michael Stokke has estimated there was a dead prisoner for every 50 m of this road (Lindi 2014; Stokke forthcoming). The Yugoslavians built also other roads known as Blodveien in Norway, the most infamous of which is in Nordland (e.g. Storteig 1997). The construction of the Lakselv–Kaamanen Road aimed at facilitating the communication and transportation from the Nazi-occupied Norway to the eastern front. The German military command viewed the whole Arctic Front basically as one large theatre of operations, ignoring the national borders between their Waffenbrüder Finland, occupied Norway, and the conquered parts of Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (Otto 2008; Westerlund 2008a: 29, 46). The Peltojoki base was only one of several German military encampments along the Karigasniemi Road. The PoW workforce was kept at most of these sites and moved back and forth along the road as required. Local people have strong communal memories of the harsh and brutal treatment of starved prisoners working on the road, and of their punishments, hangings

Places and landscapes  93

Figure 4.2  T  op: Stretch of the Eismeerstraße maintained in its wartime condition as a one-lane ‘museum road’ by the Saariselkä fjells (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016). Bottom: Building the northernmost stretch of the Eismeerstraße. Original caption: ‘Near Kalastajasaarento. Men of Org. Todt build first class road. Road goes so high that there is snow in many places still in July’ (SA-kuva 102489/Litsa/17.07.1942).

and shootings, and in fact often remember the road as ‘being founded on bodies’ of PoWs buried under the road (M2; M3; also Kallatsa 2009: 20). There is practically no surviving documentary information or photographs from any of these localities, since the camp archives were destroyed during the German retreat in 1944 (Seitsonen & Herva 2011; Westerlund 2008a, b). The German PoW administration had one official PoW camp in Finland, Stalag 309 (Stammlager für Mannschaften und Unteroffizieren), at Kuolajärvi, Salla (nowadays Russia), and two other central camps on the Norwegian side, Stalag 330 at Alta (Sámi: Áltá; later moved to Beisfjord), and Stalag 322 at Kirkkoniemi (Sámi: Girkonjárga). Temporary PoW and labour

94  Strangers in a strange land camps were organized under these central Stalags. Some of the camps in Finnish Lapland were sub-camps of Stalag 322 in Norway, illustrating how the Germans ignored national borders in the north. The number of prisoners organized under these Stalags is poorly known, and surviving archival records offer only ephemeral glimpses of their numbers and ethnicities (Otto 2008; Westerlund 2008a: 34–36, 45). Prisoners were frequently moved around, wherever there was a need for manpower (Westerlund 2008a), a dynamic use of prisoners that might partly explain the dearth of archival data. However, more likely this paucity of records is due to deliberate destruction at the war’s end. Some material might also have ended up in the closed ­Russian archives or elsewhere abroad (Westerlund 2008a). Illustrating this point is, that when Finnish historian Lars Westerlund began studying the German PoW camps at the National Archives of Finland as part of a wider PoW project in 2004, he had only a general idea that there were some German wartime camps in northern Finland (also Lähteenmäki 1999: 147, 155–158). However, how many and where was unknown. By 2006 he had found information on a few dozen camps. In the following years the number increased significantly when the German historian Reinhard Otto joined searching the surviving German archives (Otto 2008; Westerlund 2008a, b). I compiled the first map of camps in 2009 (Seitsonen & Herva 2011) with altogether 95 German-run PoW and forced labour camps, based on Otto’s (2008) and Westerlund’s (2008), Lapland Society for Military History’s (LSMH; a local military history organisation carrying out field surveys, Fi.: Lapin sotahistoriallinen seura), and my own preliminary surveys. Since then new sites have been located on an annual basis, partly due to the local interest in reporting their own knowledge inspired by the archaeological studies covered by media. The large-scale surveys conducted by the NBF in 2010–2015 also contributed to this major increase in known sites. All known sites were mapped again in 2016 for my PhD dissertation, but even more have emerged since. Most camps have been located based on local, transgenerational knowledge. People with wilderness-based livelihoods, such as the reindeer herders, have an intimate acquaintance with everything in their herding landscapes (Thomas et al. 2016). This is often the best available source for finding sites in the vast wilderness areas given the paucity of archival material. Besides local memories, wide range GIS analyses of airborne LiDAR laser-scanning data provided by the Finnish National Land Survey (NLS) have been carried out for prospecting and documenting German sites since 2010 in both my own and NBF studies (Koivisto & Laulumaa 2013; Seitsonen 2011, 2013).1 Analysing and visualising them with various algorithms (e.g. Hesse 2010; Štular et al. 2012; Zakšek et al. 2011) has proven to be an excellent way to locate sites and define their extents, in both prehistoric and contemporary archaeological contexts. For example, trenches, rubbish pits, tent placements, embankments and building foundations can often be visible in the Digital Elevation Models (Figure 4.3). However, LiDAR analyses can never

Places and landscapes  95

Figure 4.3  E  xamples of how the various visualising algorithms emphasize differently the archaeological features, in this case dugouts, shooting positions and trenches at a German WWII wilderness outpost in Enontekiö: (a) Lidar point-cloud, visualized by elevation; (b) Analytical hillshading of the Digital Surface Model (DSM) showing the mountain birch vegetation cover; (c) Analytical hillshading of the bare-earth Digital Terrain Model; (d) Hillshading from multiple directions; (e) Sky-View Factor; (f) Local Relief Model; (g) Principal Component Analysis (PCA) of multiple hillshadings; (h) Openness; and (i) Diffuse solar radiation (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2015).

replace archaeological fieldwork, but only guide it, and ground-truthing of the observed features is always necessary. The 1-m resolution DEMs generated from the LiDAR point-clouds are used as a background for all the following site maps. The most up-to-date map of 183 German-run PoW, punishment and forced labour camps in the northern half of Finland is presented here (Figure 4.4; see

96  Strangers in a strange land

Figure 4.4  D  istribution of the German-run PoW, punishment and forced labour camps in northern Finland, including the Organisation Todt (OT) camps, as known in 2018 (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2019). Based on the studies by Pertti Huttunen (1990, 1995a, b), Landscapes of Finnish Conflicts (LOFC), Lapland’s Dark Heritage (LDH), Lapland Society for Military History (LSMH), National Board of Forestry (NBF), Siida, Reinhard Otto (2008, n.d., forthcoming), Sillanpää & Rikkinen (2019) and Lars Westerlund (2008a). See Appendix 3 for a map with the site numbers and Appendix 2 for a list of the sites.

Places and landscapes  97 Appendices 2–3), and represents the near doubling of known sites in a decade. These include the central PoW camp Stalag 309, various sub-camps of Stalag 309 and Stalag 322 (Teillager, Zweilager, Nebenlager), numerous smaller work detachments (Arbeitskommandos) (Otto 2008, n.d., forthcoming), and Organisation Todt (OT) labour camps. Of the sub-camps, Teillager were typically in the vicinity of the main camp, whereas Zweilager could be considerably further away (Otto 2008; Westerlund 2008a). The ­Arbeitskommandos were more temporary work detachments sent to wherever workforce was needed (Otto 2008; Westerlund 2008a). Presumably there are still more camps to be found in different parts of northern Finland. Some locations are also known by their wartime name but have so far not been located on the field or on maps (see Otto 2008, n.d.; Westerlund 2008a: Appendix 1). The numerous German-run railway building camps along the Hyrynsalmi-Kuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo) have not been included in earlier studies (Figures 4.5 and 4.6). ­Locally this project is remembered as the ‘Railway of Death’ (Die Todesbahn), due to the harsh treatment and poor working conditions of the prisoners (Koivisto 1999). Many of these camps were located by the NBF surveyors (e.g. Kelola-Mäkeläinen & Schultz 2010). However, long stretches of this massive Nazi building effort still lack proper survey and research

Figure 4.5  Original caption: ‘Field Railway in the snow’, a German train somewhere along the Hyrynsalmi-Kuusamo Field Railway (Bundesarchiv, Bild 101I-107-1311-33/1943/CC-BY-SA 3.0).

98  Strangers in a strange land

Figure 4.6   Hyrynsalmi-Kuusamo Field Railway (Bahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo) built by the OT and Wehrmacht and the known PoW and forced labour camps along it. Numbers refer to Appendix 2 (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2018).

along this railway line is still in its infancy. Reinhard Otto’s view is that owing to the mostly stationary frontlines in 1941–1944, there might be more information in the German archives about the PoW camps on the Finnish front than from any other part of the Eastern front. However, these disorganized scraps of information are yet to be pieced together. At the moment, Otto and his colleagues are in the process of writing an encyclopaedia of

Places and landscapes  99 all the Wehrmacht PoW camps (Stalags and Zweilagers), including those in Lapland (Personal communication Reinhard Otto, 21.01.2017; Otto forthcoming). Most of the camps in northern Finland are small logging and other forest sites. These often have only a few log houses or other structures, and some are outwardly hard to differentiate from the pre-war and post-war Finnish logging camps (Fi.: savotta). It is also difficult, and often impossible, to distinguish between the ruins of PoW and OT camps based on survey data alone. Local villagers hardly ever make a distinction between PoWs and forced labourers, often dubbing them all generally as ‘Russians’, and only occasionally referring to other nationalities. Local memories recall some of the ‘prisoners’ as relatively free to come and go, some even went on homeleave to Poland and Estonia, and also had their wives working alongside them (M1; M17; M18; M19; M20). One Estonian couple is remembered by people in Vuotso as having become separated in fall 1944 during the chaotic evacuation preceding the outbreak of Lapland War, and the locals still wonder what their destinies eventually were (F7, M17). Local recollections of relative freedom of movement probably relate to the semi-volunteer OT labourers (see Molka 2007). There are interesting memories that some prisoners were allowed to establish and run small workshops in the villages. Local people acquired different materials, supplies and services from them, often in exchange for food (F11; M1; M2; M17; M18; M19). These might have been OT workers, or trusted PoWs with some special professional skills. Then again, a considerable number of OT workers in Lapland were Soviet PoWs, instead of semi-volunteer or forced labourers. For instance, on the Hyrynsalmi-Kuusamo railway some 30–35 percent of the total OT workforce were PoWs (Westerlund 2008a: 199). In some cases, such as around Lake Solojärvi, it is possible to pinpoint likely OT sites based on spatial plans and structures, such as the lack of barbed-wire or other PoW camp-like features, or the general layout of the log houses. In other cases, tangential mentions in archival material have been found that state the distances to OT camps from the nearest village. Our recent excavations at Inari Hyljelahti (24) illustrate well how archaeological investigations, supplemented by transgenerational memories, help in establishing the character of different camps. As mentioned in Chapter 3, historians had assumed that Hyljelahti was the Polarstraflager punishment camp, where Soviet-Jewish PoWs were held (Westerlund 2008a: 153–155). However, the site plan and the excavated materials, as well as local memories, all suggest that this was not the case. Instead, Hyljelahti appears to have been a German military encampment and forced labour camp, possibly OT camp, and accommodated labourers from the occupied countries, at least from Norway (F12). A more likely location for Polarstraflager was observed in 2017 at Inari Minnanlampi (131), guided by a local volunteer taking part in our public excavations. Again, the locals had known about the site throughout the post-war period and maintained a vague memory of the

100  Strangers in a strange land prisoners and guards stationed there (F13). The structures we documented at Minnanlampi, such as the remains of gates and a barbed-wire-fenced prisoner area for tents, fit a rare PoW description of the Polarstraflager (Mesjentsev 2007; Westerlund 2008a: 66) (Figure 4.7). The PoW and labour camps, like most other German military installations, stretch along Lapland’s main transportation routes (Figures 4.4 and 4.6). This spatial distribution illustrates the importance of the few existing roads and railroads for German military mobility and logistics, often relying on motorized transportation. The German military used the manual ‘Instructions about Space Requirements, Construction, and Outfitting of a Prisoner of War Camp’ when establishing PoW camps in different areas (Otto 2008). However, this was very general, and emphasized, for instance, the availability of clean water, a remote but accessible location suitable for surveillance, and the significance of general hygiene and waste management. Interestingly, when compared with the German troops’ own military bases, garrisons and supply depots, many PoW camps seem to have been situated more rationally in the northern landscape. The vast differences in landscape settings between the German military bases and PoW camps are probably due to the presence of locals at the latter. At the PoW logging sites, Germans and PoWs worked in close contact with, for instance, the Finnish and Sámi forestry professionals and local hauliers. These people, intimately familiar with their surroundings, probably

Figure 4.7  Remains of the gates of the PoW punishment camp (Polarstraflager) at Inari Minnanlampi (131), with barbwire still heavily embracing the posts and living trees used for fencing off the prisoner area (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2017).

Places and landscapes  101 pointed  out the best locations in sensible spatial settings for establishing forestry camps. Conversely, several of the Germans’ own encampments, such as the vast Lautavaara garrison and supply depot area near Rovaniemi and many other localities, are in such soggy and topographically poor locations that locals would never have built in these places. This notable dissimilarity in site locations can be linked to the phenomenological readings of human–environment relations theorised for instance by the anthropologist Tim Ingold (2000). Ingold (2000) elaborated on philosopher Martin Heidegger’s ideas that ‘[o]nly if we are capable of dwelling, only then can we build’ (Heidegger 2001 [1971]: 158) since ‘to build is in itself already to dwell’ (Heidegger 2001 [1971]: 144; see also Seamon 1984, 2000). Ingold (2000: 181) emphasised that worlds must be lived-in before they can become materialized in-built forms, corresponding to architect Amos Rapoport’s (1994: 488) conception that ‘the organisation of space cognitively precedes its material expression; settings and built environments are thought before they are built’. The irrational German choices for siting many of their encampments likely mirrors how lost and dislocated they felt upon their arrival in Lapland. These feelings of existential ‘outsideness’ and being severed from place (Seamon & Sowers 2008) reflected also on their lack of military prowess in the north.

Inside and beside the camps If the often-illogical landscape setting of German encampments illustrates feelings of dislocation and outsideness, their internal organisation further mirrors these feelings. The intra-site organisation and material culture can also, however, show how these sensations of displacement were alleviated. Construction of the Karigasniemi road and the PoW and military camps along it express the material traces of military mobility in its most concrete and straightforward sense. These connected nodes across the German logistical landsca­p e directed the constant flow of people and matériel. However, mobilities also shape human behaviour, dwelling and building in other, more subtle ways. For instance, within the camps man-made structures and the natural features surrounding and connected to them constrain and facilitate movement and are simultaneously shaped by it. Geographical and architectural theorist David Seamon (e.g. 1979, 1984, 2000, 2007, 2014) has throughout his career assessed how people’s everyday environmental experience is directed by their embodied understandings of their lifeworld, ‘the taken-for- granted fabric and dynamic of everyday life that largely happens automatically without conscious attention or deliberate plan’ (Seamon 2006: 55; also Husserl 1970 [1936]: 103pp; Schutz & Luckmann 1973: 3). This concept is based on the phenomenological thoughts of Heidegger (2001 [1971]) and Maurice Merleau-Ponty (1962) in particular. This perspective emphasizes how our lived bodies, our ‘primary means of being in, experiencing and encountering the world’ (Seamon 2014: 205), are

102  Strangers in a strange land inseparably immersed in and intertwined with place (Ingold 2000; Seamon 2013). Thus, human bodies and places ‘interanimate each other’ (Casey 2009: 327), and human ‘perception is “woven” into the landscape’ (Mlekuz 2014b: 14). This phenomenological reading also renders meaningless some of the common ‘western’ binary, Cartesian dichotomies, such as the divides between nature/culture, subject/object, people/world or natural/supernatural (e.g. Herva 2010, 2014; Ingold 2000, 2011; Mlekuž 2014a, b; Seamon 2013). Importantly, these notions correspond closely to traditional Finnish and Sámi cosmologies and environmental perceptions, which are characterized by all-embracing relational worldviews (see Herva 2014; Ingold 2000; Länsman 2004: 99; Ruotsala 2002: 331, 360). This has also importance for assessing the present-day perceptions of and engagements with Second World War remains, as discussed in Chapters 7 to 10 (also Herva et al. 2016; Thomas et al. 2016). Seamon (1979) elucidated three themes which capture the core of people’s everyday environmental experience: movement, rest and encounter. Seamon highlighted two corporeal ensembles providing these: (1) body-routines, sets of coordinated and integrated gestures and actions aiming towards a specific, habitual aim or task at hand, such as driving, cooking or washing and (2) time-space routines, sets of more or less habitual and recurring bodily actions that extend throughout extensive portions of time and space (Seamon 2006, 2013). In a PoW camp setting, the latter could include standing guard, escorting prisoners to work, or supervising them. When different individual’s regular, corporeal time-space routines fuse together, they contribute collectively to the environmental and spatial dynamics of place-making, dubbed by Seamon (2006: 57) as a place ballet, ‘an interaction of individual bodily routines rooted in a particular environment’ (Seamon 2013: 206). These views are in line with the perspective that people are ‘distributed beings’, and their agency is spread out and maintained in time-space through the material remains of their past or ongoing place ballets (Herva 2014; Gell 1998; Strathern 1988). Importantly, all the above can be assessed, to some extent, from the material traces of past activities, the evidence encountered by archaeology. In archaeological contexts, these place ballets, or ‘choreographies of existence’ (Pred 1977), appear as the traces of ‘different “temporalities” … “collapsed” into landscape’ (Mlekuž 2014a: 8; also Ingold 2000; Mlekuž 2013). Thus, ‘…landscape is time materializing: landscapes, like time, never stand still’ (Bender 2002: 103; also Mlekuž 2014a). Time-geography, developed by Torsten Hägerstrand (1970) and his peers from the 1970s, allows a powerful, theoretically informed conceptual framework for approaching past mobility through the potential accessibility of a place (e.g. Hägerstrand 1973, 1975, 1989, Miller 1991, 2005, Pred 1977, 1990). It builds on the empirical constraints and possibilities of human, and animal, movement. These can be approached, for instance, by analysing the ‘potential path areas’, which illustrate the latent accessibility from a certain starting point within a specified

Places and landscapes  103 time-budget and cumulatively form a ‘potential path field’ (Hägerstrand 1970; Mlekuž 2014a, b; Seitsonen et al. 2014). All structures, such as buildings, paths, rubbish pits, fences and so on, encountered at these military encampments, have directed, guided and limited the latent accessibility and the potential path fields within these sites. These then contribute to the place ballet, and control the potential for movement, rest and encounter, for example, between the guards, prisoners and animals at the PoW camps. The intra-site spatiality of German sites in Lapland varies considerably from place to place. It seems that each German camp commandant had relative freedom in designing the location and internal division of their ‘own’ camps (see Otto 2008). This illustrates different kinds of environmental perceptions that have affected, for instance, the placement of sites, their configuration related to the surrounding landscape, and their internal spatial organization, all of which then provided for, guided and shaped the local mobilities. Very few of the camps that we have documented conform to any stereotypical notions of military camps planned in a gridded ‘Prussian order’, and instead most of them merge relatively organically into the surrounding wilderness landscape (Figure 4.8). This is the case also with the Peltojoki military base and PoW camp (Figure 4.9). There are even more extreme examples than Peltojoki, and some sites appear so scattered and haphazard, that some logging camps would be hardly recognisable as military encampments if there were no archaeological finds or communal memories of the German presence. At some sites more regular and geometric plans are evident, for instance, near and inside the northern towns (see Mikkonen 2016; Seitsonen & Herva

Figure 4.8  Scene over the Skirhasjohka PoW camp (96) at Kilpisjärvi in late September, snow filled tent placements in the foreground (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

104  Strangers in a strange land

Figure 4.9  General map of the Inari Peltojoki base (1); Inset: Rubbish pit (S1) full of rusty tins in 2006, before the clearing of surface material by the Pidä Lappi siistinä organization, remains of a concrete kitchen wall on the background (Photograph Oula Seitsonen 2006/Mapping Oula Seitsonen & Kerkko Nordqvist 2009).

Places and landscapes  105 2017; Ylimaunu et al. 2013). Then again, some of the most orderly and gridded PoW camps outside urban centres appear at the most isolated locations. These represent typically lonely logging camps in the wilderness. At these remote places the orderly site layouts perhaps mirrored a conscious attempt to ‘civilize’ the camp area (see Herva et al. 2011) inhabited by German guards and their prisoners. This could have been a psychological strategy to draw a border between the camp and the surrounding, ‘untamed’ and intimidating wilderness. Fascinatingly, in many of these cases, such as at Inari Nangujärvi Saiholompola (6) and at Salla Palojärvi (120) (Figure 4.10), there appears to have been no barbed-wire, guard towers or any other typical prison camp-like elements limiting the movement of PoWs. Perhaps the surrounding wilderness was its own deterrent against escape attempts at Peltojoki and other sites. There is nowhere to escape to, except tens of kilometres of uninhabited and unforgiving fjells. Such isolated environments might also have eroded the established military hierarchies and promoted some sense of camaraderie across the guard-prisoner divisions, as both probably felt equally confined and threatened by the surrounding wilderness (see Olsen & Witmore 2014; Seitsonen & Herva 2011). These potentially more informal interactions between the prisoners and guards might have produced unexpected material representations, as suggested by some PoW-related finds from the excavations (see Chapter 5; Grabowski et al. 2014). Despite the general lack of formal spatial configurations, many German sites appear to have had clear internal divisions of well-defined activity areas, that is, taskscapes related to each other (Ingold 2000). These are mirrored by the distributions of finds and structures and by the treatment of various kinds of waste. Some of these internal divisions can only be assessed through archaeological excavation. As an example, one of our informants had visited the Peltojoki base as a child with his mother on a cloudberry-picking trip, possibly in 1943, and his memories indicate that there were many more structures at the site than are visible today (M2). He stated that around the kitchen and animal shelter (Figure 4.8: S2–S3) were several light-weight kammi-like structures – turf-covered, low huts – which have left few observable traces (Figure 4.11). According to him one of them served as a sauna for delousing the German soldiers – but not for the PoWs. These kammi were probably yurt-shaped cardboard or plywood tents, manufactured by the Finnish woodcraft industry and insulated with turf. Fragmented, vague stone and concrete rubble documented in this area might relate to these, originating possibly from the stove-structures inside the tents. Based on the archaeology it was impossible to identify specific area used for the PoW accommodation at Peltojoki. Local folklore claims that ‘about 200 Russians’ were ‘stored in the ground-cellars’ (Arvelin 2009; M2–M3). Memories of PoWs living in earth scrapes is relatively common around Finnish Lapland, and there are documented instances of this in Norway (e.g. Figenschau 2016). This might have provided initial accommodation for the prisoners when camps were established (see below). Besides

106  Strangers in a strange land

Figure 4.10  G  eneral maps of two remote PoW camps. Top: Inari Nangujärvi Saiholompola; Bottom: Salla Palojärvi (Illustrations Oula Seitsonen 2010/2016).

Places and landscapes  107

Figure 4.11  ‘Adolf’s kammi’, a modern turf-covered kammi-hut in the Kaldoaivi wilderness. According to a popular story it is haunted by the ghost of a German soldier named Adolf (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2017).

this, it is plausible that the PoWs might have been accommodated in the tents in the northwestern portion of the camp, based on the stove foundations in that area and the dumping of the few PoW-related finds into the rubbish pit S27 (see Chapter 5). The fencing systems around German camps seems to have varied greatly. Some German encampments were well-secured behind barbed-wire, especially near villages and towns, whereas other places, even PoW camps, had no fencing at all, or just around parts of the camp. For example, at Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 2 (110) only the rear of the PoW/forced labourer accommodation seems to have had barbed-wire fencing. Equally, the Peltojoki base appears to have been ‘symbolically’ fenced off along the roadside on the eastern edge of the camp in a ‘façade’-like fashion, as evidenced by the row of 45 post stumps and a single standing post (Figure 4.8: S15). Locals told that barbed-wire used in fencing was collected from Peltojoki after the war, analogous to many other camps. Virtually all matériel was collected during the reconstruction period, and even whole log houses were moved, for example, from Inari Kankiniemi (15). At Kankiniemi, barbed-wire fencing had surrounded the PoW compound – and most was later collected by the locals to use as fencing around their homesteads. At Sodankylä Purnumukka (39) (Sámi: Burdnomohkki), the PoW compound was encircled by a double barbed-wire fence, as evidenced by the distribution of post stumps and discontinuous earthen embankments, and after the war it was recycled for reindeer fences (Figure 4.12). Purnumukka illustrates a remote camp with a relatively ordered, tight layout of PoW tent placements. These are deeply sunk into the ground and

108  Strangers in a strange land

Figure 4.12  G  eneral map of the Sodankylä Purnumukka PoW camp; Inset: PoW tent placement dug deeply into ground (Illustration and photograph Oula Seitsonen 2015).

were watched over from outside the fence by a few guards, whose tents were not dug into the ground. The deeply hollowed-out PoW tent placements, besides providing potential insulation and facilitating surveillance between the sunken tents, might have given the prisoner a feeling of descending into the ‘bowels of the earth’ inside a strong double barbed-wire fence, and thus totally severed from the outside world (Figure 4.12, inset). At another site, Inari Martinkotajärvi (170) logging and road-building camp, a PoW mass grave is accessed between two large boulders standing in a gatelike setting along a narrow footpath that runs behind the fenced off PoW

Places and landscapes  109

Figure 4.13  G  eneral map of the Inari Martinkotajärvi PoW camp; Inset: Orthodox crosses standing on both sides of the narrow path leading to the PoW mass grave (Illustration and photograph Oula Seitsonen 2016).

accommodation area. Today, two Orthodox crosses stand on both sides of the path (Figure 4.13, inset), which might have been there already during the war, since such grave markers typically identified the graves of Russian PoWs at that time (see Chapter 8). PoW mass graves are typically found adjacent to camps and might have been stark reminders for the prisoners of the futility of their situation. Barbed-wire is widely recognised as the most archetypical metaphor of twentieth-century incarceration (e.g. Razac 2003). It acts simultaneously as a static and dynamic element in the carceral spatiality and marks a visually permeable perimeter, shadowed by the panoptic gaze (Bentham 1843; Foucault 1977) of the guards from the outside. Barbed-wire simultaneously blocks the incarcerated from entering the outside world and the outer world from approaching them (Razac 2003: 54–55). This might have also served the purpose of providing the German soldiers with a psychological sense of safety and control in the remote camps. Building a symbolic façade for a military encampment might seem at first glance like an absurd idea, but in fact it agrees with some other peculiar features documented at the German sites in Lapland. These appear related, in one way or another, to the general sense of dislocation and placelessness experienced by the Germans and their prisoners, and the spatial and material impacts of this. For example, lining footpaths neatly with cobbles seems to have been a common German

110  Strangers in a strange land custom and might have been aimed again at domesticating the camp area from the surrounding backwoods. This can be observed, for example, at many sites around Rovaniemi, at Vuotso Kolonnenhof and at Inari Kankiniemi (Seitsonen & Herva 2017). At Kankiniemi, a faraway site deep in the forest, four circular cobblestone structures were also located, three of them surrounding bases of pine trees, in a curious garden-like fashion adjacent to what might have been officer’s accommodation (Figure 4.14). In one photograph of Mabre’s (1943) book, the German soldiers are also seen growing vegetables in Lapland. Gardening has been a vastly overlooked, yet recurring characteristic of twentieth century conflicts and has been documented in varying contexts from battlefields to PoW camps (Helphand 2006). Analogous to the gridded layouts of remote wilderness camps, also the stone-lined tracks and the gardening can be seen as attempts to create a feeling of at-homeness, to symbolically domesticate and civilize the ‘wild’ surroundings, and to restore a sense of order. Prefabricated barracks and tents were typical forms of accommodation at the German camps (Figure 4.15). For example, shallow sand-banked foundations at Peltojoki, and many other places, fit the size of readymade barracks that were sold to the AOK20 by the Finnish entrepreneurs (Varjo 2019). These sales offered a lucrative business for the Finnish woodcraft industry during the war, and this provisioning of tents and barracks

Figure 4.14  E  nigmatic cobblestone features at Inari Kankiniemi, three of them encircling the bases of pine trees. On the right, leaning against a tree, is a wooden post uncovered next to the stone structures: two posts were found, perhaps used for fencing this area in garden-like fashion. In the background, to the right of the shovel, is a turf-enforced foundation of a German building. The track leads further into the camp, towards the fenced off PoW compound (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

Places and landscapes  111

Figure 4.15  R  eused and remodelled German barracks in the center of Pelkosenniemi village (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

essentially enabled sustaining the Nazi war effort in the Arctic (Seitsonen et al. 2017a; Westerlund 2008a). Upon arrival, German troops lacked suitable accommodation for themselves and their prisoners. Illustrating this early in the war in the summer 1941 when Stalag 309 (121) was established at Salla Kuolajärvi, Soviet PoWs had to start by building themselves turf huts for accommodation, which were used until September–October 1941 (Otto 2008: 83; Westerlund 2008a: 33). In fact, Russian military manuals had given detailed instructions for constructing turf huts since Czarist times (Lagerstedt & Saari 2000), and these were replicated in Soviet Second World War instructions and indeed, later copied by the Germans in their own winter warfare manuals (Theune 2018: 93). The ability to ‘dwell’ in northern conditions illustrates how at least some Soviet prisoners were more familiar with and adapted to them than the alienated German troops. Besides the prefabricated barracks and plywood and cardboard tents, the remains of log-houses and kota-like structures are also encountered (kota is the Finnish name for a tepee-like Sámi tent; in Sámi goahti or lávvu, depending on the structural details). In fact, the log-built constructions provided adequate accommodation and were analogous to local indigenous building tradition (see Banks 2011). This suggests either relative adaptation to the northern conditions or the local influence at the sites, for instance, through the presence of local workmen. Remains of saunas and outside cooking kota-structures (Fi. keittokota) documented at many German encampments are further examples of this. Based on our surveys and rare wartime photographs, there seems to have been a preference for using differing forms of housing for different groups at the German encampments. The structurally unfamiliar yurt-like tents appear to have been reserved for accommodating prisoners or for storage,

112  Strangers in a strange land

Figure 4.16  Extremely rare shots from inside a German-run PoW camp, liberated by the Finnish and Soviet troops that met at Ivalo in November 1944, and showing also the interior of a PoW cardboard tent. On the left, notice the famished condition of the PoW inspected by a Finnish doctor, and observed by the Soviet soldiers. On the right, the makeshift footwear of the PoW standing outside illustrates well the conditions; Finnish doctor and a Soviet soldier are climbing out of the tent dug into the ground. Original caption for both photographs: ‘Finnish doctor inspects and brings medicine to a Russian second lieutnants’ camp taken over from the Germans (Prison camp was near Ivalo)’ (Left: SA-kuva 166357; Right: SA-kuva 166358/06.11.1944).

and only temporarily for soldiers (Figure 4.16). Conversely, the Germans themselves preferred to reside in the barracks or log houses. This probably mirrors a deliberate attempt to use structurally more familiar buildings whenever possible, to facilitate the sense of at-homeness in an already alienating situation. When both guards and prisoners were accommodated in log-houses with the same basic structure, there were nevertheless differences in their details. Guard huts seem to have consistently been smaller, with internal divisions and outside porches, and better insulation with moss between the wall-logs and turf embankments along the walls. This made them cosier and offered higher levels of privacy for the soldiers. Conversely, the prisoners’ log-houses were typically arranged for accommodating large groups of people. They were often large, with few or no internal divisions, without outside porches, and sometimes their insulation was plaits of straw between the logs. Inside both guard and PoW dwellings, furniture was of rudimentary wooden design made at the front, such as bunk beds and benches along the walls. Prisoners’ furniture was often at the rougher end of the scale, with narrower bunk beds made of roughly shaped wood and few other fittings (see Figure 3.9). Heating arrangements of prisoner dwellings were also poorer quality than those

Places and landscapes  113 provided for the guards. While PoW stoves were often improvised from oil barrels and stacked around with rocks to retain warmth, guard huts could have masonry fireplaces that would have retained the heat longer than the impromptu metal stoves. Indicative of a lack of adequate supplies is that in the fall 1941 initially no factory-built stoves were supplied even to Stalag 309, and prisoners built temporary brick fireplaces in their barracks, although they lacked chimney pipes for them (Westerlund 2008a: 33). Variations to these general trends are encountered at some sites, again emphasizing the diversity in German camp layouts and used structures on the northern front. Taking a cue from their commander General Dietl, the German troops in Finland did not force the Nazi ideological, political or racial views on their Finnish Waffenbrüder (Jokisipilä 2005: 47), a situation which would have been further complicated by the ‘Jewish-German comradeship-in-arms’ on the northern Front. Nevertheless, the segregation of, and discrimination against PoWs and forced labourers can be observed archaeologically through the material remains. The spatial configuration and the taskscapes of German-run PoW camps in Lapland suggests a widespread Othering and sub-humanizing of the prisoners, consciously or unconsciously ­(Figure 4.17). Even if the mutual fate of being stuck in the wilderness might have eroded the usual demarcation lines between guards and prisoners (see Olsen & Witmore 2014; Seitsonen & Herva 2011), the sense of displacement could also have pushed some soldiers’ behaviour in the other direction. The Germans appear to have experienced Lapland as a kind of otherworldly, outlandish and even surreal setting, completely detached from their own, normal lifeworlds. This kind of distancing might have had analogous effects on some soldiers as observed in colonial settings, for instance, at the isolated outposts in Africa. These feelings of alienation and their effects have been famously epitomized for example by Joseph Conrad (1899) in his novella ‘Heart of Darkness’ and updated into a Vietnam War setting in the movie ‘Apocalypse Now’ (Coppola 1979). The detachment from the ‘real world’ was described by a German war correspondent: ‘Wilderness, where human foot has barely stepped, became our battle terrain. Civilization, houses, and people in normal clothes have become distant, unreal concepts to us’ (Lähteenmäki 2006: 84). Also, the famous Italian correspondent Curzio Malaparte portrayed the atmosphere of the German soldiers on the Petsamo front: ‘War was far from us. We are outside it, in a remote country, in a timeless space, outside of mankind…’ (Lähteenmäki 2006: 84). Feelings of being totally severed from world and the Germans’ normal reality might have eroded and abolished sentiments of compassion and endorsed the harsh and inhuman treatment of PoWs (see Glover 2010: 527). This could have been emphasized all the more by the surrounding social space of war, where violence was widely present, permitted and even appreciated (Neitzel & Welzer 2011: 52). The Othering of PoWs is materially represented by the placement of their accommodation at the outer edges of the camps and towards the intimidating wilderness, next to animal shelters, latrines and rubbish dumps (see

114  Strangers in a strange land

Figure 4.17  Laughing German soldiers watch as a Russian PoW breathes in the scent of German tobacco. Original caption: ‘A prisoner wounded in hand, caught about 5 min before taking the picture, has received as a first thing a fistful of tobacco from the Germans’ (SA-kuva 102533/Litsa/27.07.1942).

Seitsonen & Herva 2017). At many sites this pattern has offered a practical template in surveying camps’ internal structure and locating accommodation areas as the lush manure piles, latrines, rubbish dumps and pits are often more conspicuous than other features. It could also have been that spatial connections signal that the prisoners tended the animals, deposited rubbish and emptied latrines. However, this might also suggest that the ­prisoners were, at least unconsciously, paralleled with the beasts of burden, with the disposable and expendable household items and rubbish, or even with the impure and noxious toilet waste. These spatialities appear to mirror the strong influence of State-sanctioned intolerance and segregation which was presented as a scientific standard and an accepted policy (e.g. Glover 2010: 418–419, 474; Neitzel & Welzer 2011: 198). The concentration and death camps are the most extreme example of its consequences. The documentation of the internal configuration of the German PoW camps in Lapland

Places and landscapes  115 can thus illustrate the, possibly subliminal, impacts, which the continued hate mongering and categorical discrimination had on the German public mindset and social code. This is an important lesson to keep in mind, also in relation to the ongoing global refugee crisis and wider political situation (see Seitsonen et al. 2017a, b, c; Chapter 10).

Note 1 The NLS provides open-access point-cloud data with the accuracy of about one point per square meter. These have been processed into one-meter resolution Digital Elevation Models (DEM).

References Archival sources Huttunen, P. 1990. Sodankylä Vuotso Tankavaara. Toisen maailmansodan aikaisen linnoitusvyöhykkeen kohdeinventointi. Syyys-joulukuu 1990. Unpublished report, Erkki Saari oy, National Board of Antiquities, Finland. Huttunen, P. 1995a. Inari. Sotahistoriallisten kohteiden inventointi. Unpublished report, National Board of Antiquities, Finland. Huttunen, P. 1995b. Utsjoki. Sotahistoriallisten kohteiden inventointi. Unpublished report, National Board of Antiquities, Finland. Kelola-Mäkeläinen, H. & Schulz, H.-P. 2010. Taivalkoski pohjoisosa kulttuuriperintöinventointi 2010. Research report, National Board of Forestry, Finland. Otto, R. n.d. Arbeitskommandoliste. Research report, Germany. Sillanpää, E. & Rikkinen, A. 2019. Projekti Sturmbock. Loppuraportti. Research report, National Heritage Agency, Finland. Varjo, A. 2019. Modernin teollisen puurakennuksen arkeologinen inventointi. Tapaustutkimuksena Hangon Tulliniemen kauttakulkuleiri 1942–1944. MA Thesis, University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland. World Wide Web sources Finnish Tourist Association. n.d. Finnish Lapland: A Short Guide for Tourists. The Finnish Tourist Association: Helsinki. Available at http://www.doria.fi/ handle/10024/80863 [Accessed 2016-09-01] Lagerstedt, J. & Saari, M. 2000. Krepost Sveaborg – Helsingin maa – ja merilinnoitus ensimmäisen maailmansodan aikana. Available at http://www.Novision.Fi/Viapori/ [Accessed 2009-03-19] Lindi, M. 2014. Disse fangene bygget «blodveien» – og så ble de henrettet. NRK November 8, 2014. Available at https://www.nrk.no/troms/blodveien-i-karasjok1.12028795 [Accessed 2014-12-24]

Primary sources Arvelin, M. 2009. Sodan piikkilangat. Totta ja tarinaa Inarin vankileireistä. Lapin legendat 4. Ukko-Media: Inari.

116  Strangers in a strange land Banks, I. 2011. Control or Repression: Contrasting a Prisoner of War Camp and a Work Camp from World War Two. In Archaeologies of Internment, edited by A. Myers & G. Moshenska: 111–128. New York: Springer. Beaudry, M.C. & Parno, T.G. (eds.) 2013. Archaeologies of Mobility and Movement. Springer: New York, Heidelberg, Dordrecht, London. Bender, B. 2002. Time and Landscape. Current Anthropology 43: 103–102. Bentham, J. 1843. The Works of Jeremy Bentham, Published under the Superintendence of his Executor, John Bowring. Volume 4. William Tait: Edinburgh. Casey, E.S. 2009. Getting Back into Place. Indiana University Press: Bloomington. Conrad, J. 1899. Heart of Darkness. Elegant ebooks: sine loco. Available at http:// www.ibiblio.org/ebooks/Conrad/Heart_Darkness.pdf [Accessed 2006-06-14] Coppola, F.F. 1979. Apocalypse Now. United Artists: sine loco. Cresswell, T. 2006. On the Move: Mobility in the Modern Western World. Routledge: New York, London. Figenschau, I. 2016. Krigsminner som kulturminner: redning eller klam omfavnelse? Primitive tider 18: 199–215. Foucault, M. 1977. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Vintage Books: New York. Gell, A. 1998. Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory. Clarendon: Oxford. Glover, J. 2010. Ihmisyys. 1900-luvun moraalihistoria. Like: Helsinki. Grabowski, R., Olsen, B., Pétursdóttir, Þ. & Witmore, C. 2014. Teillager 6 Sværholt: The Archaeology of a World War II Prisoner of War Camp in Finnmark, Arctic Norway. Fennoscandia Archaeologica 31: 3–24. Hägerstrand, T. 1970. What about People in Regional Science? Papers of the Regional Science Association 24: 7–21. Hägerstrand, T. 1973. The Domain of Human Geography. In Directions in Geography, edited by R.J. Chorley: 67–87. Methuen: London. Hägerstrand, T. 1975. Space, Time and Human Conditions. In Dynamic Allocation of Urban Space, edited by A. Karlqvist, L. Lundqvist & F. Snickars: 3–12. Saxon House Lexington Book: Farnborough. Hägerstrand, T. 1989. Reflections on ‘What about People in Regional Science?’ Papers in Regional Science 66(1): 1–6. Hautala-Hirvioja, T. 2016. Petsamo – miehinen ja karu Eldorado. Tahiti. Taidehistoria tieteenä. Konsthistorien som vetenskap January 2016. Available at http://tahiti.fi/012016/tieteelliset-artikkelit/petsamo-%e2%80%93-miehinenja-karu-eldorado/ [Accessed 2016-12-31] Heidegger, M. 2001 [1971]. Poetry, Language, Thought. Harper Collins: New York. Helphand, K. 2006. Defiant Gardens: Making Gardens in Wartime. Trinity University Press: San Antonio. Herva, V.-P. 2010. Maps and Magic in Renaissance Europe. Journal of Material Culture 15(3): 323–343. Herva, V.-P. 2014. Haunting Heritage in an Enchanted Land: Magic, Materiality and Second World War German Material Heritage in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 1(2): 297–321. Herva, V.-P., Koskinen-Koivisto, E., Seitsonen, O. & Thomas, S. 2016. ‘I Have Better Stuff at Home’: Treasure Hunting and Private Collecting of World War II Artefacts in Finnish Lapland. World Archaeology 48(2): 267–281. Herva, V.-P., Ylimaunu, T., Kallio-Seppä, T., Kuokkanen, T. & Nurmi, R. 2011. Urban Boundaries. In Physical and Cultural Space in Pre-industrial Europe:

Places and landscapes  117 Methodological Approaches to Spatiality, edited by M. Lamberg, M. Hakanen & J. Haikari: 319–334. Nordic Academic Press: Lund. Hesse R. 2010. LiDAR-Derived Local Relief Models – A New Tool for Archaeological Prospection. Archaeological Prospection 17(2): 67–72. Husserl, E. 1970 [1936]. The Crisis of European Sciences and Transcendental Phenomenology: An Introduction to Phenomenological Philosophy. Northwestern University Press: Evanston. Hustich, I. 1942. Lappland: Das Märchenland des hohen Nordens. Weilin & Göös Aktiebolag: Helsinki. Ingold, T. 2000. The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill. Routledge: London. Ingold, T. 2011. Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description. Routledge: New York. Jokisipilä, M. 2005. Napapiirin Aseveljet. In Aseveljet: saksalais-suomalainen aseveljeys 1942–1944, edited by R. Alftan: 9–51. WSOY: Helsinki. Kallatsa, M. 2009. Suomen Saksalle luovuttamat sotavangit jatkosodan aikana. Licentiate Thesis, History, University of Tampere, Tampere, Finland. Kaltenegger, R. 2006. Saksan armeijan vuoristojoukot 1939–1945. Koala: Helsinki. Knabe, K. 1983. Lapin lentotiedustelijat. Gummerus: Jyväskylä. Koivisto, S. & Laulumaa, V. 2013. Pistepilvessä: Metsien arkeologiset kohteet LiDAR-ilmalaserkeilausaineistoissa. Arkeologipäivät 2012: 51–67. Koivisto, T. 1999. Kuolemanrata. Nimbus-Filmi: sine loco. Korpi, K. 2010. Rintama ilman juoksuhautoja. Saksalaisten keskeiset rakentamiset, työmaat ja työvoima Pohjois-Suomessa 1941–1942. Pohjois-Suomen Historiallinen yhdistys: Rovaniemi. Lähteenmäki, M. 1999. Jänkäjääkäreitä ja parakkipirkkoja. Lappilaisten sotakokemuk­ sia 1939–1945. Historiallisia tutkimuksia 203. Suomen Historiallinen Seura: Helsinki. Lähteenmäki, M. 2006. Terra Ultima: Matka Lapin historiaan. Otava: Helsinki. Lähteenmäki, M. & Pihlaja, P.M. (eds.) 2005. The North Calotte. Perspectives on the Histories and Cultures in Northernmost Europe. Collection of Articles. Puntsi: Inari. Länsman, A.-S. 2004. Väärtisuhteet Lapin matkailussa Kulttuurianalyysi suomalaisten ja saamelaisten kohtaamisesta. Kustannus-Puntsi: Inari. Löfgren, O. 2003. On Holiday. University of California Press: Berkeley. Londen, M., Enegren, J. & Simons, A. 2007. Come to Finland: Posters and Travel Tales 1851–1965. Otava: Keuruu. Mabre (Max Martin Brehm). 1943. Fahrbahn Lappland. Auf winter-einsatzfahrten am Polarkreis. Mens-Verlag: Höchstadt an der Aisch. Merleau-Ponty, M. 1962. Phenomenology of Perception. Routledge: London, New York. Mesjentsev, F. 2007. I fangelseleir nord for Polarsirkelen. Manuscript, Norway. Mikkonen, K. 2016. Parakkeja ja piikkilankaa. Lapin maakuntamuseo: Rovaniemi. Miller, H.J. 1991. Modelling Accessibility Using Space-Time Prism Concepts within Geographical Information Systems. International Journal of Geographical Information Systems 5(3): 287–301. Miller, H.J. 2005. What about People in Geographic Information Science? In Re-Presenting Geographic Information Systems, edited by P. Fisher & D. Unwin: 215–42. John Wiley and sons: London. Minca, C. 2015. Geographies of the Camp. Political Geography 49: 74–83. Mlekuž, D. 2013. Time Geography, GIS and Archaeology. In CAA2010. Fusion of Cultures. Proceedings of the 38th Annual Conference on Computer Applications

118  Strangers in a strange land and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology, Granada, Spain, April 2010, BAR International Series 2494, edited by F. Contreras, M. Farjas & F.J. Melero: 359–365. British Archaeological Reports: Oxford. Mlekuž, D. 2014a. Exploring the Topography of Movement. In Computational Approaches to the Study of Movement in Archaeology Theory, Practice and Interpretation of Factors and Effects of Long Term Landscape Formation and Transformation. Topoi 23, edited by S. Polla & P. Verhagen: 5–21. De Gruyter: Berlin, Boston, MA. Mlekuž, D. 2014b. Touching Images: Thinking through Textures. AARGNews 48: 13–23. Molka, J. 2007. Sota minun muistoissani. Taivalkosken 4H-yhdistys: Taivalkoski. Müller-Wille, L. 2007. Sápmi und die Sámi in den Augen Deutchsprachiger Mitteleuropäer: Zeitlaufte con Vorstellungen, Wissensbildnung und Beruhrungen seit dem 17. Jahrhundert. In Sámit, sánit, sátnehámit. Riepmočála Pekka Sammallahtii miessemánu 21. beaivve 2007. Suomalais-Ugrilaisen Seuran Toimituksia, Memoires de la Societe Finno-Ougrienne 253, edited by J. Ylikoski & A. Aikio: 293–314. Suomalais-Ugrilainen Seura: Helsinki. Neitzel, S. & Welzer, H. 2011. Sotilaat. Taistelemisesta, tappamisesta ja kuolemisesta. Gummerus: Helsinki. Olsen, B. & Witmore, C. 2014. Sværholt: Recovered Memories from a POW Camp in the Far North. In Ruin Memories: Materialities, Aesthetics and the Archaeology of the Recent Past, edited by B. Olsen & Þ. Pétursdóttir: 162–90. Routledge: Oxon, New York. Otto, R. 2008. Soviet Prisoners of War on the German Lapland Front, 1941–1944. In Sotavangit ja internoidut. Kansallisarkiston artikkelikirja. Prisoners of War and Internees: A Book of Articles by the National Archives, edited by L. Westerlund: 64–113. Kansallisarkisto: Helsinki. Otto, R. forthcoming. Handbuch der deutschen Kriegsgefangenen-Einrichtungen im Zweiten Weltkrieg. Manuscript to be published in 2021. Pälsi, S. 1931. Petsamoon kuin ulkomaille. Otava: Helsinki. Pred, A. 1977. The Choreography of Existence: Comments on Hägerstrand’s Timegeography and Its Usefulness. Economic Geography 53: 207–221. Pred, A. 1990. Lost Words and Lost Worlds: Modernity and the Language of Everyday Life in Late Nineteenth-Century Stockholm. Cambridge University Press: Cambridge. Rapoport, A. 1994. Spatial Organisation and the Built Environment. In Companion Encyclopedia of Anthropology: Humanity, Culture and Social Life, edited by T. Ingold: 460–502. Routledge: London. Razac, O. 2003. Piikkilangan poliittinen historia – Preeria, taisteluhauta, keskitysleiri. Vastapaino: Helsinki. Relph, E. 1976. Place and Placelessness. Pion: London. Ruotsala, H. 2002. Muuttuvat palkiset. Elo, työ ja ympäristö Kittilän Kyrön paliskunnassa ja Kuolan Luujärven poronhoitokollektiiveissa vuosina 1930–1995. Kansatieteellinen Arkisto 49. Suomen muinaismuistoyhdistys: Helsinki. Said, E. 1978. Orientalism. Pantheon: New York. Salmond, A. 1992. Theoretical Landscapes: On Cross-Cultural Conceptions of Knowledge. In Semantic Anthropology, edited by D. Parkin: 65–87. Academic Press: London. Schutz, A. & Luckmann, T. 1973. Structures of the Life-World, vol. 1. Northwestern University Press: Evanston, IL.

Places and landscapes  119 Seamon, D. 1979. A Geography of the Lifeworld. Movement, Rest and Encounter. Croom Helm: London. Seamon, D. 1984. Heidegger’s Notion of Dwelling and One Concrete Interpretation as Indicated by Hassan Fathy’s Architecture for the Poor. Geosciences and Man 24: 43–53. Seamon, D. 2000. Concretizing Heidegger’s Notion of Dwelling: The Contributions of Thomas Thiis-Evensen and Christopher Alexander. In Building and Dwelling [Bauen und Wohnen], edited by E. Führ: 189–202. Waxmann Verlag: Munich, New York. Seamon, D. 2006. Interconnections, Relationships, and Environmental Wholes: A Phenomenological Ecology of Natural and Built Worlds. In Phenomenology and Ecology, edited by M. Geib: 53–86. Simon Silverman Phenomenology Center: Pittsburgh. Seamon, D. 2007. A Lived Hermetic of People and Place: Phenomenology and Space Syntax. In Proceedings – 6th International Space Syntax Symposium, vol. 1, edited by A. Sema Kubat: iii-01–iii-16. ITU Faculty of Architecture: Istanbul. Available at http://www.spacesyntaxistanbul.itu.edu.tr/papers/invitedpapers/david_seamon. pdf [Accessed 2017-12-06] Seamon, D. 2013. Environmental Embodiment, Merleau-Ponty, and Bill Hillier’s Theory of Space Syntax: Toward a Phenomenology of People-in-Place. In Rethinking Aesthetics: The Role of Body in Design, edited by R. Bhatt: 204–213. Routledge: New York. Seamon, D. 2014. Place Attachment and Phenomenology: The Synergistic Dynamism of Place. In Place Attachment: Advances in Theory, Methods and Applications, edited by L.C. Manzo & P. Devine-Wright: 11–22, Routledge: New York. Seamon, D. & Sowers, J. 2008. Place and Placelessness (1976): Edward Relph. In Key Texts in Human Geography, edited by P. Hubbard, R. Kitchen & G. Valentine: 43–51. Sage: London. Seitsonen, O. 2011. Juoksuhautoja ja asumuspainanteita: Kokemuksia Lidar– laserkeilausaineiston käytöstä kenttäarkeologiassa. Muinaistutkija 2/2011: 36–44. Seitsonen, O. 2013. LiDAR–kaukokartoitusaineistojen visualisointi ja analysointi: paikkatietoalgoritmeja arkeologeille. Muinaistutkija 1/2013: 2–16. Seitsonen, O. 2018. Digging Hitler’s Arctic War: Archaeologies and Heritage of the Second World War German Military Presence in Finnish Lapland. Unigrafia: Helsinki. Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2011. Forgotten in the Wilderness: WWII PoW Camps in Finnish Lapland. In Archaeologies of Internment, edited by A. Myers & G. Moshenska: 171–190. Springer: New York. Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2017. ‘War Junk’ and Cultural Heritage: Viewpoints on the Second World War German Material Culture in Finnish Lapland. In War & Peace: Conflict and Resolution in Archaeology. Proceedings of the 45th Annual Chacmool Archaeology Conference, edited by A.K. Benfer: 170–185. Chacmool Archaeology Association, University of Calgary. Available at https://prism.­ ucalgary.ca/handle/1880/52231 [Accessed 2017-02-10] Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P. & Kunnari, M. 2017b. Abandoned Refugee Vehicles “In the Middle of Nowhere”: Reflections on the Global Refugee Crisis from the Northern Margins of Europe. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 3(2): 244–260. Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P. & Kunnari, M. 2017c. Abandoned Refugee Vehicles “In the Middle of Nowhere”: Reflections on the Global Refugee Crisis from the Northern Margins of Europe. In The New Nomadic Age. Archaeologies of Forced and Undocumented Migration, edited by Y. Hamiliakis: 139–155. Sheffield: Equinox.

120  Strangers in a strange land Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P., Nordqvist, K., Herva, A. & Seitsonen, S. 2017a. A Military Camp in the Middle of Nowhere: Mobilities, Dislocation and the Archaeology of a Second World War German Military Base in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Conflict Archaeology 12(1): 3–28. Seitsonen, O., Houle, J.-L. & Broderick, L.G. 2014. GIS Approaches to Past Mobility and Accessibility: An Example from the Bronze Age Khanuy Valley, Mongolia. In Past Mobilities: Archaeological Approaches to Movement and Mobility, edited by J. Leary: 79–112. Farnham: Ashgate. Stokke, M. forthcoming. Yugoslav Prisoners in Norway 1942–1945. From SS-regime to Wehrmacht-regime. Manuscript to be published in 2021. Storteig, O. 1997. Blodveien i Saltdal: krigsfangenes historie. Saltdal kommune: Bodø. Strathern, M. 1988. The Gender of the Gift: Problems with Women and Problems with Society in Melanesia. University of California Press: Berkeley. Suova, M. (ed.) 1943. Suomi kuvina. Das ist Suomi. Finnland in Bild und Wort. WSOY: Helsinki. Štular, B., Kokalj, Z., Ostir, K. & Nuninger, L. 2012. Visualization of Lidar-Derived Relief Models for Detection of Archaeological Features. Journal of Archaeological Science 39: 3354–3360. Tanner, V. 1928. Petsamon alueen paikannimiä 1: Lappalaisia paikannimiä. Fennia 49(2): 20–21. Theune, C. 2018. A Shadow of War: Archaeological Approaches to Uncovering the Darker Sides of Conflict from the 20th century. Sidestone Press: Leiden. Thomas, S., Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2016. Nazi Memorabilia, Dark Heritage and Treasure Hunting as “Alternative” Tourism: Understanding the Fascination with the Material Remains of World War II in Northern Finland. Journal of Field Archaeology 41(3): 331–343. Tigerstedt, Ö. n.d. Climbing in the Arctic Mountains. Finnish Tourist Association: Helsinki. Available at http://urn.fi/URN:NBN:fi-fd2011-pp00000701 [Accessed 2018-01-01] Uola, M. 2012. Petsamo 1939–1944. Minerva: Helsinki. Urry, J. 2000. Mobile Sociology. The British Journal of Sociology 51: 185–203. Urry, J. 2007. Mobilities. Polity: Cambridge. von Majewski, U., Lobenthal, G.O. & Haag, K. (eds.) 1943. Front am Polarkreis: Das Buch eines Korps in Lappland. Deutsche Soldaten im finnischen Urwald. Wilhelm Limpert Verlag: Berlin. Wehrmacht. 2006 [1943]. Wehrmachtin matkaopas Suomeen. Ajatus: Helsinki. Westerlund, L. 2008a. Saksan vankileirit Suomessa ja raja-alueilla 1941–1944. Tammi: Helsinki. Westerlund, L. 2008b. The German Strategic Use of POW Labor in the Far North. In Prisoner of War Deaths and People Handed over to Germany and the Soviet Union in 1939–1955: A Research Report by the Finnish National Archives, edited by L. Westerlund: 95–135. Finnish National Archives: Helsinki. Ylimaunu, T., Mullins, P.R., Symonds, J. Kallio-Seppä, T. Heikkilä, H., Kuorilehto, M. & Tolonen, S. 2013. Memory of Barracks: World War II German ‘Little Berlins’ and Post-War Urbanization in Northern Finnish Towns. Scandinavian Journal of History 38(4): 525–548. Zakšek, K., Oštir, V. & Kokalj, Z. 2011. Skyview Factor as a Relief Visualization Technique. Remote Sensing 3: 398–415.

5 Soldiers’ and prisoners’ things and materiality

The landscapes of German encampments illustrate in many ways their existential outsideness and dislocation, while their internal configuration offers clues on some ways for alleviating this tension, at least metaphorically. A control-based approach to cope with displacement appears to be mirrored by well-defined taskscapes within the camps. The ‘stuff of war’ found at these sites sheds more light on the tension produced by displacement, the various ways of easing that tension, and attempts to create a sense of at-homeness in an alien land. To begin with, in 1941–1942, German troops were ill-prepared for the alien northern conditions and were affected by placelessness and dislocation. As described by a Finnish veteran: When the winter came the German stuff was little [much] worse than ours… They had iron heeled shoes and mess kits clattered loosely on the side of the backpack. We had to now and then tear those off and teach silent moving to the German. [sic]. (Virolainen 1999: 126–127) Before the co-operative Finnish-German training programmes started bearing fruit, the German lack of experience in the wilderness skills and suitable equipment made itself felt. The lack of winter clothing and equipment was disastrous but was soon improved by the adoption of Finnish civilian and Swedish military gear (see Franz Repper Collection n.d.; SA-kuva n.d.). Investigations at German sites have highlighted an interesting tension between the German military-issued gear and civilian things of local origin (Seitsonen et al. 2017). To some extent this is explained by the demand for practicable gear in the northern conditions, yet it does not explain the presence of all the civilian items. Some finds from the German sites in the north are easily identifiable as analogous to those associated with concentration camps. Burnt binders, for example, could be evidence of eradicating the archives at the end of the war (Seitsonen & Herva 2011), or a symbol of German orderliness and bookkeeping, which facilitated the working of concentration camps in the first

122  Strangers in a strange land place. In a similar vein, some of the (at times Volkswagen-made) stoves documented in Lapland are the same as those used at Auschwitz. Pelikan ink bottle sherds recovered from archaeological excavations could be linked to the use of Pelikan ink for tattooing numbers into captives’ arms (e.g. Steinbacher 2006). Fragments of asbestos insulation plates also have a connection to Nazi forced labour camps, where asbestos was manufactured by the inmates in inhuman conditions, even though German scientists were well aware of its dangers (e.g. Proctor 2000). However, even if all the above viewpoints are valid, and the connection of the Lapland sites to Nazi atrocities elsewhere are clear, this approach to the material culture simply validates and colours the historical sources and narratives (Figure 5.1). It offers a narrow and simplistic perspective on the material heritage of war and misses the potential of archaeological and material culture approaches. Instead, by considering, for example, the interwoven relationships of people, their material culture and the arctic landscape, new and unexpected perspectives can be highlighted and made part of the ongoing transnational anthropological discussions (see Saunders 2004, 2007). These include discussions on the ‘dark’, painful and difficult heritage of the twentieth-century conflict (e.g. González-Ruibal 2008; Logan & Reeves 2008), on ecological phenomenology and human–environmental relations (e.g. Ingold 2000, 2011; Seamon 2007), and on the multivocality of interpretations, values and memories added to the seemingly and deceptively familiar sites of the recent past (e.g. Schofield et al. 2002).

Figure 5.1 A burned and broken German military-issue porcelain cup from the Inari military hospital excavations (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016).

Things and materiality  123 The finds from such conflict-related sites are typically factorymanufactured mass-products (e.g. Theune 2018: 124). This obliges archaeologists to make decisions on, for instance, recovery and sampling strategies, as indeed is also the case more generally in historical archaeology. It is often impossible to keep and store all the finds due to the sheer volume of recovered items. Because of their industrial nature, few provide much new information beyond their quantity, and so their curation cannot be justified. Our approach has dealt with this issue by documenting everything encountered in the field, on or beneath the surface, with written notes and photographs. Selective and representative samples from each of the contexts have then been analysed in the laboratories of Helsinki and Oulu universities. Finds that were not selected were reburied in their original contexts. This practice is in accord with the wishes of the local people whose attitude is that these remains stay where they belong, as an embedded part of the multi-layered, ancestral cultural landscape. In their view, these small finds, little-by-little blending with nature, act as reminders of personal, familial and communal pasts and events (e.g. Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). They feel that there is no need to ‘clean’ these rusting items or deteriorating ruins, which explains why the ‘cleaning’ activities of the Pidä Lappi Siistinä (PLS; Eng. Keep Lapland Tidy) organization faced such resistance (see Chapters 2 and 7). My hope is that the finds can eventually be stored and exhibited in Lapland near their places of origin, since that is where they too belong. Currently there are no facilities for doing so (see Chapter 9). Humans are immersed in the material world of things, and things are an inseparable part of human beings, their thought and their societies (e.g. Miller 2005). In recent years, archaeology as a ‘discipline of things’ (Olsen et al. 2012; Pétursdóttir 2013), the application of relational perspectives (Ingold 2000, 2011), and Actor-Network Theory (Jasinski 2018; Latour 2005), have emphasized the agency of objects, and the ever-changing and metaphorically fluid properties of things (e.g. Herva 2014; Pétursdóttir 2017). The philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty (1962) has argued that our pre-reflective awareness of and attunement with our material surroundings is based on our own lived-in bodies, ‘one’s intentional opening to the world, through which alone one experiences meaningful things…’ (Morris 2008: 111; also Seamon 2007). Merleau-Ponty described this close environmental embodiment as essentially dissolving the borders between subject and object, since ‘to move one’s body is to aim at things through it; it is to allow oneself to respond to their call…’ (Merleau-Ponty 1962: 161; also Miller 2005; Seamon 2007). This incessant embodied interplay with our material culture defines and moulds our understanding of an extended self, ‘distributed personhood’ (Gell 1998), and we essentially act as ‘human–object hybrids’ (Edensor 2005: 329). The artefacts also have a potential to have ‘abducted’ qualities of their owners or context (Gell 1998; Herva 2014),1 and thus, the objects can come to mediate the past and its myriad meanings and interpretations in various, also unexpected, ways in the present (see Chapter 8).

124  Strangers in a strange land

Martial things and civilian things Our excavations at the Inari Peltojoki military base provided a starting point for our approach to investigating other German camp and their localities. Since the surface scatter of rusted metal had been cleared from the Peltojoki site in 2008 by the PLS, all finds were recovered from the excavation of structures such as rubbish pits and building foundations. At other sites, where the surface assemblages had not been disturbed by the PLS activities, surface scatters and rubbish dumps were documented and sampled, for instance, at Sodankylä Purnumukka (39) and Inari Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 1 (111). The finds fall into various categories, from martial items and building materials to household waste and clothing remains (Table 5.1). Most of the finds from Peltojoki came from pits used for destroying excess matériel during the German retreat in the fall of 1944. The Inari military hospital, studied in 2016, and Inari Hyljelahti (24), excavated in 2017, are other examples where most of the finds relate to the destruction of the camp. All the supplies that could not be taken to Norway were carefully destroyed and burnt by the retreating Germans. This fits well with the popular image and the national narrative of the havoc wrought during the ‘Burning of Lapland’. The tail-pieces of one-kilogram incendiary bombs, flare pistol cartridges and screw caps from Model 24 Stielhandgranate (hand grenades) from many sites bear witness to this destruction (Figure 5.2a–c). Using hand grenades for igniting fires and destroying things has been documented at both Inari military hospital (Banks et al. 2018) and at Hyljelahti, for instance, in addition to Peltojoki. In the hospital, ether was also used to enhance the burning of storage tents, as evidenced by melted piles of ether bottles (Figure 5.2m–n). From Hyljelahti we uncovered a Model 24 Stielhandgranate head that had been cracked open to remove the explosive powder, most likely for incendiary purposes (Figure 5.2d). Besides being burnt, many items from all the investigated sites such as stoves, stove pipes, oil drums and ‘jerrycans’ (Wehrmacht-Einheitskanister) were perforated with axe blows, to prevent the pursuing Finnish troops from reusing them. At other sites, abandoned for various reasons before the outbreak of the Lapland War and not destroyed by the Germans, the best finds are usually from rubbish pits. Such sites are typically remote logging camps where standing log-houses and other wooden structures have also survived: these include at least Inari Kankiniemi (15), Inari Iso Saarijärvi (176), Inari Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 1–2 (110–111), Inari Jurmurova Karipääjärvi (26), Inari Nangujärvi Saiholompola (6), and Salla Palojärvi (120). Following the war, some of these provided accommodation and supplies for returning evacuees. Many of the Skolt Sámi evacuees, whose homes were left on the Soviet side of the revised post-war border in Petsamo, stayed in the ruins of these German Prisoner-of-War (PoW) camps for years after hostilities ended. Some excavations have revealed how the locals scavenged the abandoned and burned German rubbish pits for any usable materials during the

56 16

Survey 2015, excavation 2016 Survey 2010, sampling 2011, 2016

329 13 412 18 9 7

Survey 2006–2007, excavation 2009 Survey 2014, excavation 2015 Survey 2010, excavation 2017 Survey 2010, sampling 2010, 2015

Inari Peltojoki (1) Inari Kankiniemi (15) Inari Hyljelahti (24) Inari Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 1 (111) Inari Iso Pihtijärvi (112) Inari Nangujärvi Joutavalahti (113) Inari Military Hospital Sodankylä Purnumukka (39) 1005 166

117 62

1177 285 1122 109

39  

1183  

1

13

152 11

1

213

 

176

5

 

203

3

1100 182

137 69

1728 298 2078 127

Military Economic Building Hospital Vehicle Personal Total

Survey 2010, excavation 2015 Survey 2010, sampling 2010, 2015

Studies

Site

Table 5.1  Categories of Artefacts from the Studied German Sites in Finnish Lapland

Things and materiality  125

126  Strangers in a strange land

Figure 5.2 Martial and other matériel: (a) tail of one-kilogram incineration bomb; (b) flare pistol cartridge; (c and d) a screw cap and cracked head of a Model 24 Stielhandgranate; (e–g) exploded bullets; (h and i) buckles; (j– l) uniform buttons; (m and n) melted ether bottles; (o and p) burnt frostbite cream tubes; (q) gramophone record fragments; (r) insect-repellant spray (scale 10 cm, all others 5 cm). Places of origin: (a, c, e–l) Inari Peltojoki (1); (b, m–o, r) Inari military hospital; (d, p and q) Inari Hyljelahti (24) (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2018).

Things and materiality  127 reconstruction period (from 1945 to the early 1950s), so that at Inari Hyljelahti (24), for example, more material was found around the edges of pits than inside them. Finds concerning everyday economic and household activities were most common at Peltojoki, Kankiniemi and Inari military hospital (Table 5.1), and include an abundance of porcelain and glass sherds, cutlery and empty tins (Figure 5.3). The food economy of the German-run camps is discussed in more detail below (Figure 5.3). Porcelain sherds were the most numerous single find category at both the Peltojoki and Inari military hospital excavations. Most of the tableware at Peltojoki was recovered from mess hall and kitchen areas (Figure 4.7: S2), with some of the plates and cups smashed in the bed of the adjacent river. At Inari military hospital, the porcelain finds came from the ruins of a warehouse for medical and other supplies, incinerated in the fall 1944 (Banks et al. 2018). The porcelain sherds at both sites showed an intriguing mix of German military-issued tableware and civilian items of Finnish-origin (Figure 5.3a–g). At Peltojoki civilian products formed about one third of the porcelain. These originated mostly from the Finnish ceramics-maker Arabia and are decorated with flowery and gilded designs. The ratio of military and civilian tableware was roughly equivalent at the Inari military hospital. So far, no other sites have provided sufficient samples of ceramics to provide comparisons for these two assemblages. However, based on surface observations at various sites, it seems that Finnish-manufactured civilian wares also appear to have been conspicuous elsewhere. Besides the porcelain, one spoon found at Peltojoki is a civilian item with a flowery design and another is a Finnish military-issue tea-spoon (Figure 5.3j–k). The rest of the cutlery consisted of German air force (Luftwaffe) items stamped ‘Fl.U.V’ (Flieger Unterkunft Verwaltung, Flight Barracks Administration) (Figure 5.3s–t). The latter kind of cutlery was also found at Inari military hospital. Besides porcelain, sherds of beer, wine and schnapps bottle glass were a common find and indicate that alcohol was easily available and consumed at all sites. At Peltojoki the vast majority of the glass waste was found in a specialized glass dump (Figure 4.7: S31) near one of the barracks, most likely the German soldiers’ accommodation. Two bottle tops show that French Delbeck champagne and the products of the Swedish state-owned Aktiebolaget Vin & Spritcentralen were consumed. Tastes and availability varied however, and at other camps is evidence for German Steinhäger gin, Anton Riemerschmid and French Marnier-Lapostolle liqueurs, as well as products of the Finnish state-owned Oy Alkoholiliike Ab and Sinebrychoff. When they returned home in 1945, some locals also found boxes of Serbian wine left behind by the Germans in Kaamanen, Inari, likely transported along the same logistical lines as Serbian PoWs taken to Norway (Stokke forthcoming; Westerlund 2008a: 78). Our interviewees remember these prisoners were present in Karigasniemi on the Finnish side of the border, working on the Kaamanen-Karigasniemi Road (M2; F14). Interestingly, at times alcohol

128  Strangers in a strange land

Figure 5.3 Household finds: (a) refitted German military-issue cup, (b) refitted Arabia Pääsky jug, (c) German soup bowl fragment, (d–g) ceramic stamps, (h–l) cutlery, (m–q) tins, (r) fragment of a stoneware bottle, (s–t) cutlery stamps, (u) ‘RK’ scratched on a fork, (v) Delbeck bottle top, (w) Aktiebolaget Vin & Spritcentralen bottle top (10 cm scale: b–c; 5 cm scale: a, h–r; 2 cm scale: d–g, s–w). All from Inari Peltojoki (1) (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2017).

Things and materiality  129 bottle sherds are also found in PoW dwellings and rubbish pits, although these bottles could also have been re-used for water (see Grabowski et al. 2014, for Norway). The Finnish liaison officers’ reports (Alftan 2005) and local memories often refer to the Germans’ abundant alcohol supplies (also Steinkamp 2008), which they used as currency to pay for local wilderness products (M17, M17, M28). As in so many conflict landscapes, the copious consumption of alcohol also offered a way to alleviate feelings of dislocation and placelessness by allowing a temporary escape from reality (Seitsonen et al. 2017). Some of the imported porcelain wares, alcohol brands and other finds can be linked to various manufacturers, for instance, in Bavaria and Bohemia. These exemplify the long-range flow of things across Euro­p e during Second World War. The finds from Peltojoki and elsewhere whose manufacturer can be identified, illustrate how these remote outposts on the northern fringe of Europe tie into the wider network of the German war efforts and military logistics and emphasize the movement of things in a global war (Figure 5.4, Table 5.2). Besides household items and foodstuff, military items were transported to Lapland over long distances, such as ammunition from Germany and Calcium Chloride from Belgium. Building materials were brought from various locations, such as the concrete elements used as bases for stoves, and prefabricated concrete chimney elements, both of German origin, whereas the barracks and plywood/cardboard tents were Finnish products. Apart from the international nature of the excavated finds, the role of private entrepreneurs in maintaining and facilitating the German war effort is also highlighted, in occupied countries such as Denmark and Norway, in Germany and Finland and in ostensibly neutral Sweden. These business links were not without their ethical implications. For example, in many of these countries German-held PoWs were rented out as a cheap workforce by businesses and farmers. Lapland’s rudimentary roads struggled to cope with the hundreds of trucks that daily churned their way from south to north and back. Breakdowns and traffic accidents were frequent, as German truck drivers were unaccustomed to the severe conditions (e.g. Alftan 2005: 201– 211; Mabre 1943, 1944). Field workshops and resting places were established in numerous places along the transport routes, for example, at Peltojoki and Vuotso. This movement of things and people provided a lucrative business for Finnish and Swedish transport companies. This era is remembered in northern Sweden as the time of the ‘Petsamo traffic’ (Petsamotrafiken), referring to the movement of supplies from the German supply depots on the Swedish side to the northernmost front by the Arctic Ocean (e.g. Alftan 2005; Björklund 1981; Junila 2000). These business activities facilitated the Nazi war effort, including the atrocities (see Suhonen 2011; Westerlund 2008a–b). Unsurprisingly, individual company histories typically omit the war years. Military material culture is typically homogenous, standardized and anonymous (e.g. Herva 2014), as is the martial behaviour (e.g. Dunivin 1994)

130  Strangers in a strange land

Figure 5.4 Artefacts linked to a manufacturer from the archaeologically documented sites in Finnish Lapland, illustrating the extent of German military logistical network (numbers refer to the Table 5.2), and the maximum extent of Axis-related territories in 1942; notice the modern borders (Illustration: Oula Seitsonen 2018).

facilitated by and embodied through that matériel. Domestic and military routines at Peltojoki and elsewhere are witnessed by sherds of mirror glass, remains of burnt shoe polish containers and razor blades or their wrappers (also Kaila & Knuutila 2017). The toiletry finds made at Peltojoki, Kankiniemi and Hyljelahti show that grooming was practiced even in isolated wilderness settings. This would have nurtured a sense of uniformity

Things and materiality  131 Table 5.2  A rtefacts Linked to a Manufacturer from the Studied Sites (Numbers Refer to Figure 5.4) Nr. Provenience: manufacturer, country

Site

1

Sorsakoski, Finland

Inari Peltojoki (1)

800

2

Arabia, Helsinki, Finland Inari Peltojoki (1)

1000

3

Aktiebolaget Vin & Inari Peltojoki (1) Spritcentralen, Sweden

1200

4

?, Norway

Inari Peltojoki (1)

1500

5

Kolding, Denmark

Inari Peltojoki (1)

1700

6 7

Pelikan, Germany Teuto Metallwerke G.m.b.H., Osnabrück, Germany ?, Bohemia, Czech Republic Johann Haviland, Bavaria, Germany

Inari Peltojoki (1) Inari Peltojoki (1)

2100 2100

Inari Peltojoki (1)

2300

Inari Peltojoki (1)

2400

10

Solvay, Belgium

Inari Peltojoki (1)

2400

11

Delbeck, France

Inari Peltojoki (1)

2600

9

Heinrich & co, Selb, Germany

Inari Tuuruharju

2300

9

Johann Haviland, Bavaria, Germany

Inari Tuuruharju

2300

6

Volkswagen, Wolfsburg, Inari Kaamanen Germany Aktiebolaget Vin & Inari Spritcentralen, Sweden Koppelovaara

2100

8 9

3

Euclidean Type of artefacts distance (stamps in italics) (~ km)

1200

Spoon, ‘Sorsakoski’ Porcelain, ‘Arabia Suomi Finlandia 19’ etc. Bottle top, ‘Aktiebolaget Vin & Spritcentralen’ Fish tin, ‘Norvegia Norway’ Food tin, ‘Danmark 50 Kolding’ Ink bottle sherds Cartridges, ‘P369 S* 7 39’ Porcelain, ‘Fl.U.V. 1942 Bohemia’ Porcelain, ‘Johann Haviland Bavaria’ Barrel lid, ‘Chlorure de calcium, Solvay, Importe de Belgique’ Bottle top, ‘Delbeck ***’ Porcelain, ‘H & co Selb Bavaria Germany Heinrich’ Porcelain, ‘Johann Haviland Bavaria’ Stove, ‘VW OT’ Bottle top, ‘Aktiebolaget Vin & Spritcentralen’ (Continued)

132  Strangers in a strange land Nr. Provenience: manufacturer, country

Site

Euclidean Type of artefacts distance (stamps in italics) (~ km)

12

Marnier-Lapostolle, Neauphle-le-Château, France

Inari Koppelovaara

2600

13

?, Serbia

Inari Koppelovaara

2700

14

Valtion Patruunatehdas, Inari Hyljelahti Lapua, Finland (24) Arabia, Helsinki, Finland Inari Hyljelahti (24)

2

700 1000

15

Viking AS, Oslo, Norway Inari Hyljelahti (24)

1300

16

Schwartauer Werke GmbH, Schwartauer, Germany

1900

17

Inari Hyljelahti Deutsche Waffen und (24) Munitionsfabriken A.-G. (DWM), BerlinBorsigwalde, Germany Telefunken, Celle, Inari Hyljelahti Germany (24)

2000

17

Electrola, Berlin, Germany

Inari Hyljelahti (24)

2000

17

Hugo Schneider A.-G. (HASAG), Leipzig, Germany Brause & co, Iserlohn, Germany

Inari Hyljelahti (24)

2100

Inari Hyljelahti (24)

2200

Zieler, Zieler, Germany

Inari Hyljelahti (24)

2200

17

18

9

Inari Hyljelahti (24)

2000

Liqueur bottle, ‘Marque Deposee, Marnier Lapostolle’ Serbian wine box (found by locals in 1945) Cartridge, ‘VPT 43’ Porcelain, ‘Arabia Suomi Finlandia 19’ etc. Shoe wax container sherds, ‘Viking’ Glass food container sherds, ‘Nur Für nahrungsmittel, Schwartauer, Ovalglas, Eingetr. Warenz’ Cartridge, ‘P131 S* 5 36’ Gramophone record fragments, ‘26366’ Gramophone record fragments, label remains, ‘Elektrola’ Cartridge, ‘P181 Xw 40 7 9’ Steel nib, ‘XINC, Iserlohn No 410F, Brause & co’ Flashlight remains, ‘Zeiler’

Things and materiality  133 Nr. Provenience: manufacturer, country

Site

Euclidean Type of artefacts distance (stamps in italics) (~ km)

9

Zieler, Zieler, Germany

Inari Hyljelahti (24)

2200

12

Marnier Lapostolle, Neauphle-le-Château, France

Inari Hyljelahti (24)

2600

19

?, Italy

Inari Hyljelahti (24)

3000

20

Raufoss Inari Solojärvi Ammunisjonsfabrikker, Haukkapesäoja Raufoss, Norway 1 (111) Arabia, Helsinki, Finland Inari Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 2 (110)

2

9

1000

Inari Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 2 (110) Arabia, Helsinki, Finland Inari military hospital

2300

21

?, Denmark

Inari military hospital

1700

9

Arzberg, Bavaria, Germany

Inari military hospital

2200

9

Concordia, Nová Role, Czech Republic

Inari military hospital

22

Anton Riemerschmid, Munich, Germany

Inari Kankiniemi

2500

23

Kayrel, Vigo, Spain

Inari Kankiniemi

3600

9

Johann Haviland, Bavaria, Germany

Sodankylä Purnumukka (39)

2200

2

Bauscher, Weiden, Germany

1200

1000

Battery, remains of a label ‘Zeiler’ Liqueur bottle, ‘Marque Deposee, Marnier Lapostolle’ Remains of a label, ‘…d in Nap… Siero Italy’ Cartridge, ‘RA 1943’ Porcelain, ‘Arabia Suomi Finlandia 19’ etc. Porcelain, ‘Bauscher Weiden’ Porcelain, ‘Arabia Suomi Finlandia 19’ etc. Food tin, ‘Danmark 850 RJ2’ Porcelain, ‘Arzberg Bavaria 1942’ Porcelain, ‘Concordia 1942’ Anton Riemerschmid liqueur bottle sherds Fish tin, ‘Sardinas en aceite puro de oliva, Marca Kayrel’ Porcelain, ‘Johann Haviland Bavaria Fl.U.V. 1941’ (Continued)

134  Strangers in a strange land Nr. Provenience: manufacturer, country

Site

2

Arabia, Helsinki, Finland Sodankylä Purnumukka (39)

2

Sinebrychoff, Helsinki, Finland

24 2

17 17

9

900

Sodankylä 900 Purnumukka (39) ?, Kaliningrad, Russia Sodankylä 1500 Purnumukka (39) Arabia, Helsinki, Finland Sodankylä Vuotso 900 (123) Metallwerk Odertal Sodankylä Vuotso 1800 G.m.b.H., Odertal, (123) Germany Metallwarenfabrik Sodankylä Vuotso 1900 Treuenbrietzen (123) G.m.b.H, Treuenbrietzen, Germany Rosenthal, Selb, Germany Sodankylä Vuotso 2200 (123) Savukoski 2100 Mätäsaavanmaa (115) 2300 Savukoski Mätäsaavanmaa (115)

9

Victoria, Stará Role, Czech Republic

25

Deutsches Waffen und Munitionsfabriken (DWM), Karlsruhe, Germany Dr Franke & Co, Salla Aitalammit Lüdenscheid, Germany

18

Euclidean Type of artefacts distance (stamps in italics) (~ km)

2

Arabia, Helsinki, Finland Rovaniemi Napapiiri

7

Steinhäger, Steinhagen, Germany

Rovaniemi Napapiiri

2100 700

1900

Porcelain, ‘Arabia Suomi Finlandia 19’ etc. Beer bottle sherds, remains of a label Pen, ‘Königsberg’ Porcelain, ‘Arabia Suomi Finlandia 19’ etc. Cartridge, ‘P207 26 37’ Cartridge, ‘P25 Xh1 1 09’

Porcelain, ‘Rosenthal Bahnhof-Selb’ Porcelain, ‘Victoria Waffen SS’ Cartridge, ‘DWM SS-TV 1938’ Belt buckle, ‘Gott mit uns, Dr. F. & Co’ Porcelain, ‘Arabia Suomi Finlandia 19’ etc. Stoneware bottle sherds, remains of a label

and illustrates a control-based approach for dealing with the dislocation. In Lapland, as elsewhere on the Eastern Front, many standard German military-issued items proved insufficient for, and even worked against, overcoming the extreme demands of the northern conditions. Illustrative of this

Things and materiality  135 are the shortcomings of German field clothing, the reliance on motorized transport, and the use of mules as draught animals. Mules, coming from Greece where some of the German troops had been serving before being sent to Lapland, were completely unsuitable for Lapland conditions, which resulted in the death of scores of animals during the first winter (Westerlund 2008a: 49–50, 55) (Figure 5.5). The inadequacies of standard German military-issued material culture might have favoured some non-military items and irregular appearances. On the Arctic Front, in the isolation of wilderness, the German army tolerated some eccentricities and deviations from their normally strict standards. The so-called Arctic Ocean Beards (Eismeerbart) are evident in many photographs and differ sharply from the stereotypically smooth-shaven German military look (e.g. Kaltenegger 2006; Rottman & Andrew 2007) (Figure 5.6). This probably mirrors both the novelty of serving in this remote and ‘wild’ place, as well as the Special Forces status of the mountain jaeger troops. Non-military things encountered in our excavations are typically domestic objects, such as the gilded and flowery porcelain wares and cutlery recovered at the Peltojoki and Inari military hospital. Generally, very few personal items have been recovered from our excavated sites, with the exception of Hyljelahti, where gaming pieces and dice, as well as hundreds of gramophone record fragments were found (Figure 5.2q). The soundscapes created by the familiar songs at a remote outpost might have been an important factor in coping with the silence of the surrounding wilderness. When the camp was evacuated in fall 1944, at least four different records were smashed in the trash pit we excavated. So far, one of the record fragments with a master number ‘26366’ on it has been recognized, as an outcome of public crowdsourcing and citizen science co-operation with

Figure 5.5 A Gebirgsjäger column with mules and horses approaching the Laanila guest house, run by Max Peronius, in Inari (Max Peronius 1941–1944).

136  Strangers in a strange land gramophone record collectors. This detective work revealed that the Germans stationed at Hyljelahti were listening to Rosita Serrano’s record ‘Eine kleine Mondscheinfahrt’/‘O, Manuela’ recorded by Telefunken in Berlin on 12 March 1942 (Seitsonen 2017). A scrap of label on another record fragment identified it as a product of the Electrola company.2 Hyljelahti and Peltojoki, as also other remote camps, had their own electricity generators, as evidenced by the remains of electric cables, sockets, plugs and light bulbs. This offered another control-based approach of taming the wilderness and increasing the at-homeness for the Germans. Cosiness created by electric lighting would have been especially effective during the long, dark winter months. For the locals electrifying the camps was a wonder, as recalled by several interviewees from the rural areas (F7; M2–3, M16–19). In the 1940s most of the Finnish countryside was without electricity and remained so for decades after the war (Lehtola 2003: 404–407). Some excavation finds reflect the extremes of the northern environment, such as the frostbite cream tubes and insect-repellent spray cans uncovered at Inari military hospital (Figure 5.2o, p, r). There had been massive stores of both substances at this site alone. There appears to have been an ongoing confrontation between, on the one hand, grooming and maintaining at least a performative sense of control, discipline and martial appearance in the middle of nowhere, and, on the other, tolerating the rough unshaven wilderness looks, improvised clothing, and copious use of alcohol. These offer examples of the constant oscillation between the extremes of control and escapism when dealing with the effects of geographical and social isolation. Making trench art – decorative or utilitarian items manufactured by soldiers or PoWs in camps or at the front (e.g. Carr & Mytum 2012; Kimball 2004; McAtackney 2014: 131; Saunders 2003) offered another (metaphorically) control-based way for German soldiers to take their minds off the austere conditions (Theune 2018: 130–137) (Figure 5.6). One German-manufactured fork found in the kitchen at Peltojoki probably illustrates the personalizing and individualization of a standard piece of military kitchenware by an unknown German. This piece of cutlery is roughly engraved with the letters ‘RK’, which may be someone’s initials, or refer to something else, such as Reichskanzlei (Reich Chancellery) or Ritterkreuz des Eisernen Kreuzes (Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross) (Figure 5.3u). Carving initials, names or service and unit numbers on spoons, other utensils and other items has been a commonplace practice by soldiers all around the world, to stamp their ownership and personalize their utilitarian objects (e.g. Kauhanen 2016; Saunders 2007: 173–175; Theune 2013, 2018: 128). The need to gain, at least an illusory, control over one’s own fate in an uncertain setting is most clearly exemplified by items which can be seen as exercising one’s personal agency to ‘make a difference’ by whatever means available (MacKenzie 2015). They can express ownership, identity or simply serve a mark of presence, no matter how symbolic that might be (Theune 2018: 137).

Things and materiality  137

Figure 5.6 Left: A German officer with ‘Eismeerbart’ in an improvised mishmash of Finnish, German and civilian winter clothing. Original caption: ‘German “panzer lieutenant” as a fjell climber’ (SA-kuva 67457/Voittotunturi/15.12.1941). Right: Original caption: ‘lotta [sic] marveling the trunk of a well, decorated with cherubs that German Müller has carved’ (NM HK7744: 313/Tiiksjärvi/Pauli Jänis/1941).

Prisoner’s things Archaeologically documented prisoner-related things have proven to be one of the best indicators of PoW presence at German sites in Lapland and permit unexpected insights into their everyday experiences. In many cases, such scattered material is the only sign of PoW presence, especially at remote wilderness sites lacking archival information or memories. The self-made shoes and shoe soles, improvised from rubber and wood, along with their manufacturing waste have proven to be particularly important (Figure 5.7b, e–f). Such items have been observed at Peltojoki and other sites, such as Inari Iso Pihtijärvi (112), Inari Pienempi Kuivajärvi (133), Inari Illestinkaira (27), Inari Nangujärvi Joutavanlahti (113), Inari Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 1–2 (110–111), Salla Palojärvi (120) as well as at PoW-related sites in northern Norway (e.g. Grabowski et al. 2014). One shoe is an especially vivid reminder of the age of some prisoners. A solitary leather inner shoe sole uncovered from the prisoners’ rubbish pit at Kankiniemi is mere 23 cm long, with an imprint of a foot in it that is 20.5–21 cm from big toe to heel (Figure 5.7g). Although it may have shrunk a little while lying in the deposits, comparison with other uncovered examples

138  Strangers in a strange land shows that it is not from an adult-sized male shoe. Its length equals roughly the European shoe size 34–36 (UK size 2½–3). This suggests that the owner was most likely not older than a teenager. It could also have belonged to a female, since Russians had also female soldiers (Kleemola 2015). However, local memories make no mention of women at this (M15) or any other camps in Inari (F1; M2–3, M16). Nevertheless, at Sodankylä Vuotso, the villagers remember that women, and even couples, served amongst the forced labourers (F7; M17–18). Teenagers and children were also involved, suffering violence, incarceration and forced mobility during Second World War. In Finnish Lapland this occurred with partisan attacks against civilian homesteads and during the evacuations. Towards the end of the war all sides began drafting increasingly younger individuals. Numerous underaged boys also served in the Finnish Army, many of them 17-year old volunteers (Näre 2018: 119). The latter stages of the Lapland War are often commemorated as the ‘Children’s Crusade’, since the older age groups were demobilized by 5 December 1944, according to the cease-fire treaty with the Soviet Union. The remainder of the war against the Germans in the arctic was carried out by Finnish forces consisting mostly of young 20–21-year old conscripts born in 1924–1925 (e.g. Kulju 2013: 323). Boys born in 1926 were the youngest age group who ended up serving on the front. My own grandfather belonged to this cohort, but the war ended before he was sent to fight. On the Soviet-side, both underaged children and female soldiers served in the Red Army (Kucherenko 2011; Kivimäki 2016: 43; Kleemola 2015). The Germans infamously resorted to using teenage members of Hitlerjugend (Hitler Youth) as a last stand against the invading Allied forces (e.g. Kater 2004). According to Norwegian documents the youngest Yugoslavian prisoners that the Germans imported to Norway as a workforce were only 13–16 years old (Rolien 2015: 30). The shoe sole from Kankiniemi might have belonged to one of the teenage combatants or casualties of WWII, who had ended up as the Germans’ prisoner at this isolated logging camp in Finnish Lapland. We have no means of finding out any more information of his or her identity or fate, but this lone object found among kitchen waste is poignantly the only reminder of her or his existence in this remote Inari wilderness. The finds from PoW-related rubbish pits, dumps and other structures give insights into the organization of everyday activities and experiences of the prisoners, which are otherwise missing from the fragmented archival records and only touched upon sporadically in the communal oral histories. These illustrate, for example, the food economies of PoWs as evidenced by discarded faunal remains and tins (Figure 5.3). Fish tins are often chopped in two, perhaps suggesting halved rations, or the use of empty tins for manufacturing something, such as pieces of ‘trench art’ or some other items. Besides the shoe remains, the most fascinating PoW-related find from Peltojoki, and so far from any other German-run site in Finnish Lapland, is a self-made, heavily burnt and twisted piece of aluminium, with a Russian

Things and materiality  139

Figure 5.7 PoW-related finds: (a) the ‘Jakov piece’, engraved piece of trench art; (b) a self-made shoesole, carved of rubber (possibly car tyre based on a marking on it); (c) a button of unknown origin; (d) a Soviet Тремасс military button; (e and f) manufacturing waste from making self-made shoesoles of car/motorcycle tyres; (g) a small leather inner-shoesole. Places of origin: (a–d) Inari Peltojoki (1); (e and f) Inari Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 1 (111); (g) Inari Kankiniemi (15) (Illustration: Oula Seitsonen 2016).

language engraving ‘Oт Якова’ (From Jakov) and rough decoration along its edges (Figure 5.7a). This broken ‘Jakov piece’ was found in one of the pits used to destroy matériel during the German retreat in 1944 (Figure 4.7: S27). The engraving probably refers to the maker of this item, likely a lid for some sort of piece of trench art (e.g. Saunders 2000, 2003). Comparable items in museum collections and amongst the private memorabilia kept by locals in Lapland suggest, that it was a lid for a cigarette case or some other small box (Figure 5.8). The decoration and text were made with the tip of a knife or

140  Strangers in a strange land

Figure 5.8 Two aluminium trench art cigarette cases resembling the ‘Jakov piece’, in the Porsanger Museum collection. At least the top one with Cyrillic text is a PoW-manufactured piece (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2017).

other sharp object and are relatively crudely done compared to some analogous objects. The engraving presents interestingly both personalizing this trench art object and dedicating it to someone. The text suggests it was intended as a gift or memento from this Jakov to someone else, but it is impossible to know who. It could have been made for a German soldier, as being isolated in a secluded base such as Peltojoki might have promoted a certain level of empathy between the guards and PoWs, with a shared destiny of confinement on the northern fringe of Europe (see Grabowski et al. 2014). Then again, it might have been intended for a local civilian who visited the camp, or perhaps another inmate. PoW-made trench art reappears in local reminiscences. Many of our informants who were children during the war

Things and materiality  141 remember that in exchange for the food that their mothers gave them to take to the camps’ inmates they received small pieces of art in return, such as wooden birds that the PoWs had carved with knives (F1; M2–3; M17–19). It is insightful that some prisoners were allowed to carry knives in the camps, perhaps telling of their trusted status. Another interesting and somewhat analogous piece of trench art was discovered in 2009 at Vika, near Rovaniemi, and is now in the collections of the Salla Museum of War and Reconstruction3 (Figure 5.9). In a similar technique to the Jakov piece mainly place names had been carved on a small battered aluminium kettle. These engravings read in Russian: ‘mосна л / памира?н?е / Т Красное сеaло / Анола / Ессу / Нарва’ (Tosna l / dying(?) / T Krasnoe selo / Anola / Essu / Narva). All but one of these are place names in Ingermanland, south of St. Petersburg, Russia, and in Estonia. Inscriptions and context suggest the item could have been made by an Ingrian PoW or forced labourer. Their presence, for example, at Vuotso, has been mentioned by many of our interviewees (F7; M17; M18). The place names might signify an individual’s path to war, the places where he had been fighting or incarcerated, before being transported by the Germans to Finland and ending

Figure 5.9 A PoW or forced labourer engraved aluminium kettle found at Vika, Rovaniemi, on display at the Salla Museum of War and Reconstruction; Inset: Places engraved into the kettle (1–5): (1) Tosna, Russia; (2) Krasnoye Selo, Russia; (3) Anola, Russia; (4) Essu, Estonia; (5) Narva, Estonia and (6) Vika, Finland (Illustration: Oula Seitsonen 2017).

142  Strangers in a strange land up at Vika in Lapland. Alternatively, these place names might represent homes of a group of prisoners, or maybe were carved to commemorate comrade(s) who died in one or all those places, based on the enigmatic second line of the carving with an indistinct reference to dying. It could be that this reference to ‘dying’ might be metaphorical and refer to being captured by the Germans, perhaps at Krasnoye Selo which the Germans conquered in December 1941. The prisoners and forced labourers in Lapland felt the effects of dislocation, forced mobility and powerlessness even more acutely and overwhelmingly than the German troops (see Mesjentsev 2007; Molka 2007). This could have contributed to at least illusory a sense of control gained by leaving behind names on a carved piece of aluminium. Perhaps, as documented elsewhere for such items, there was also a forlorn hope of leaving something personal and identifying of oneself for the future, a statement of presence in the world. In the end, the harsh treatment that the burnt and twisted Jakov piece received during the evacuation and destruction of the Peltojoki base might have had figurative connotations to breaking unofficial bonds that might have been forged between the guards and PoWs (Seitsonen & Herva 2011; Seitsonen et al. 2017; also Olsen & Witmore 2014). The scarcity of personal or other artefacts from PoW-related contexts beyond food waste and self-made shoes and their manufacturing waste is common at all the investigated sites in Finnish Lapland. This indicates that material shortages affected PoWs and necessitated the continued use, maintenance and repair of items they possessed to the very end (see Carr & Mytum 2012; Mytum & Carr 2013; Theune 2013). On the other hand, finds from the torched PoW barrack foundations at the German-run Teillager 6 Sværholt camp in northern Norway show that in some cases PoW find assemblages can be also relatively abundant (Grabowski et al. 2014; Olsen & Witmore 2014). Based on various finds, researchers suggested that at Sværholt this relative wealth originated in ‘camp economies’, that is, from clandestine transactions between the PoWs and guards (Grabowski et al. 2014). These kinds of activities are well documented from various PoW, prison and death camp settings around the world, such as from Auschwitz and other Nazi concentration camps (e.g. Kogon 1946; Myers 2011; Neurath 2004). On the Arctic Front this could have been facilitated by a general sense of mutual destinies, of being lost and stuck on the edge of the world, or even ‘outside of mankind…’ as Curzio Malaparte portrayed the mood of German soldiers in Lapland (Lähteenmäki 2006: 84). Only three other finds from Peltojoki are likely linked to the presence of PoWs, whose abundance is, on the other hand, well remembered, and potentially exaggerated, in the memories of the locals. Two of these are buttons. The first is a tattered, extremely rusty and poorly preserved button of unidentified origin found in the same pit as the Jakov piece. Based on its shape it might originate from Soviet, Polish or even French military equipment (Figure 5.7c). The second is a simple metal, four-hole button found on

Things and materiality  143 the surface in the northwest part of the site by a local man (M2). It has a barely visible stamp ‘Тремасс’ on it, which, according to Russian historians, stands for the ‘Leningrad State Regional Trust of Mass Production Plants’, in St. Petersburg, active in the 1920s–1930s (Figure 5.7d). These kinds of buttons were used in a wide variety of military equipment, such as uniforms, gasmask bags and entrenchment tool covers (Personal information Bair Irincheev, 25 March2019). The third PoW-related find is again linked with PoW-agency and handicraft talents: a self-made shoe sole roughly carved from left-over pieces of rubber and with a self-carved wooden heel (Figure 5.7b). Based on the markings on the rubber, this was probably originally a piece of car or motorcycle tyre (see Grabowski et al. 2014, for Norway). As discussed above (Chapter 4), local people remember that some ‘prisoners’ – most likely trusted POWs, forced labourers or OT workers – had established small craft workshops in Inari and Vuotso. In these they prepared and repaired different kinds of utensils and exchanged them for food with the locals (F11; M1; M2; M17; M18; M19). Finnish liaison officers also paid attention in their reports to the handicraft talents of many PoWs (Alftan 2005: 121–123). In a photographic book presenting Lapland for a German audience (Mabre 1943, pen-name of Max Martin Brehme), there is one image that shows Soviet PoWs trying to sell their engraved wooden-box trench art pieces to a German truck driver. Curiously, the PoW presence in this picture is ignored by the picture caption which makes a completely unrelated comment about springtime in Lapland (Seitsonen et al. 2019). Making everyday utilitarian items was a vital survival skill for the prisoners on the Arctic Front, as elsewhere, especially during the long northern winters. These objects could also be used as currency for acquiring extra food supplies through exchange. However, crafting everyday things and artwork also allowed the prisoners a degree of mental and psychological escape, an opportunity for self-expression and self-assertion (see Theune 2018: 131). This offered at least a brief chance to shut off the external world and the brutal realities of the camp life.

Food for thought: faunal remains from the German sites The basis of the food economy at German military encampments and PoW and forced labour camps appears to have been the German military-issued imported canned products. However, most of the food tins have no identifying features or markings on them – many of the identified ones were produced outside Germany, in occupied countries such as Norway and Denmark, and in neutral Spain and Sweden (Figure 5.4; Seitsonen et  al. 2017). An extreme example of importing foodstuff to Lapland is represented by fish tins of Brazilian origin that were found in a German trash dump near Nellim, Inari. These might have originated from the food aid that several South American countries sent to undersupplied Finland during the Winter War. Argentina, Uruguay, Brazil, Ecuador and Venezuela shipped canned

144  Strangers in a strange land food, wool bales, coffee and wheat across the Atlantic, to support Finns against the Soviet Union (Alsina 2018; Kajaani 1998). Until now, there has been only vague and fragmented information as to how military-issued foods were supplemented locally. According to local memories, reindeer meat and other wild products were sold to the Germans, and some archival sources also tell how the Germans bought extra meat from Finnish suppliers. However, our archaeological excavations provide the first direct evidence of this activity. Over 500 bone fragments were recovered from rubbish pits, dumps and other structures at eight German-run camps in 2009–2017, and faunal analysis carried out by zooarchaeologist Lee G. Broderick of the University of York offers a new perspective on the German presence in Lapland (Broderick 2018; Seitsonen et  al. forthcoming). This facet of twentieth-century conflict heritage has so far been little studied, although one comparable analysis has been published from the Sværholt PoW camp in Norway (Grabowski et al. 2014; Olsen & Witmore 2014; Vretemark 2013; see Ervynck et al. 2018, for a First World War case study). The zooarchaeological analyses provide insights into what animals were used by the Germans and their prisoners and to what extent and throw light on German military logistics. The most abundant of these food waste remains are bones of local free-ranging reindeer (Rangifer tarandus). These form over one-third of the total faunal remains including the unidentified bones (Figure 5.10). Their presence tells of the close interaction between the local herder families and

Figure 5.10 Percentages of the animal species documented in the guard and prisoner contexts at the studied German sites, based on the zooarchaeological analysis; Inset: Heavily butchered cow vertebrae from a German guards’ rubbish pit (Illustration Oula Seitsonen 2017).

Things and materiality  145 German troops, often referred to also in the oral histories. Some of the reindeer bones from Peltojoki and elsewhere show signs of extracting marrow in the traditional Sámi way, and likely relate to local herders butchering the animals and treating the carcasses for the Germans, as highlighted in our interviews with local people (Seitsonen et al. 2017). Reindeer stew was also served to Albert Speer, the leader of Organisation Todt (OT) and Hitler’s Minister of Armaments and War Production, when he inspected several OT work sites in Inari in the winter of 1943 (­Section 6). However, there are notable compositional differences in the reindeer bone assemblages from different contexts: bones from the meatier cuts are consistently found amongst the guards’ food waste, whereas bones from leaner areas, such as phalanges, are associated with PoW waste deposits. After reindeer, most common remains are cattle bones (Bos taurus taurus). These originate from large cows, far bigger than the indigenous northern breed of Lapland cow (see Tervo 2014). The Germans transported thousands of cows from Denmark and Germany to supply their war efforts on the northern front (Pranttila 2006: 62). Other domesticates are present in much smaller amounts, each represented in the assemblage by less than ten bones. These probably originate from the German military supply chain. Some pig (Sus scrofa domesticus) and sheep or goat (Ovis aries/Capra hircus) meat was transported to the north, although sheep were sometimes also sold to the Germans by the locals (M15). Horse (Equus caballus) bones in the assemblage most likely originate from using dead draught animals as an extra food supply. To begin with, German troops in Lapland had more horses and mules than motorized transports – in 1941 some 60,000 draught animals compared to about 25,000 vehicles. However, by the start of the Lapland War in 1944, the number of draught animals had nearly halved owing to the extreme arctic conditions to which the mules were especially ill-suited (Westerlund 2008a: 49). The single fish bone (Gadidae) from a camp guard deposit probably comes from a local burbot (Lota lota) or Arctic cod (Gadus morhua), either locally caught, from fishing in the Arctic Ocean coast, or from canned food. A wild bird bone from a guard deposit most probably indicates the hunting and fishing activities carried out by the local population. The selling of wild birds and other wilderness products to the Germans is often remembered by the interviewees (M17–18; M28). They recall that occasionally the PoWs were also allowed to fish and hunt small animals. Locals remember especially one PoW named Nikolai who was incarcerated at the Inari Haukkapesäoja (110–111): ‘He had even forged a lure from a horseshoe nail … Ptarmigans Nikolai hunted with loops plaited from the horsehair … Birds he roasted over the hot ashes with their feathers’ (Arvelin 2009: 48). The bird and hare bones found in a prisoner dump at Haukkapaesäoja 1 (111) likely originate from Nikolai’s and his fellow inmates’ hunting activities. The specific memory of Nikolai and his fishing and hunting efforts while enslaved in the forests of Inari has become part of the local trans-generational recollections of war in this area. This is an illustrative example how local subaltern voices and histories

146  Strangers in a strange land often maintain and highlight different kinds of memories than the ‘official’ national or even regional narratives (see Chapters 8–10). Faunal analysis of the bones from the Sværholt PoW camp in Norway illustrates an analogous situation, where the official military supply chain was supplemented significantly by local food sources (Grabowski et al. 2014; Olsen & Witmore 2014). However, since Sværholt is situated on the Arctic Ocean coast, the local supplementary food source was fresh and dried fish. Fish bones, originating mostly from cod (Gadidae), with some haddock (Melanogrammus aeglefinus), and possibly some smaller species, contrast with the reindeer bones prevalent at the Finnish camps. A small number of cattle, sheep and pig bones most likely tell also there of the official food supply chain. Fox bones are an unexpected and fascinating addition in the Sværholt assemblage (Olsen & Witmore 2014). These most likely represent a supplement to the diet of the PoWs, either hunted by the prisoners themselves or provided by the Germans or the local villagers. The German military administration in Norway did have plans to start feeding foxes from breeding farms to the prisoners, but it appears that this was never put into action (Lundemo 2010: 46). The orderly treatment of food waste, besides its obvious practical benefits, for instance, for hygiene, provides another example of the control-based approach to creating a sense of orderliness in the ‘untamed’ wilderness. The waste management systems of the different cam­ps differ in detail, but at all sites the various types of garbage, such as food waste, glass and mixed rubbish, appear to have been consistently dumped into separate deposits. This kind of neat and tidy pattern at these remote, isolated and outwardly often ramshackle camps mirrors wider cognitive understandings, environmental awareness and engagements with the everyday lifeworld, such as the need to create and maintain at least an illusion of order in a precarious situation in an alien environment and under disordered wartime conditions.

Notes 1 Gell (1998: 222) proposes that material objects can ‘abduct’ and aggregate agency and qualities linked to their (former) owner’s ‘distributed personhood’ in space and time, and carry it on after the owner has discarded or lost them or even passed away. 2 For the other record fragments, we are working on generating computer algorithms that could read the music from detailed optical scans of the recording grooves, but this is a work in progress (see McCann et al. 2004). 3 Donated to the museum by the Finnish historian Lars Westerlund.

References Archival sources Broderick, L. 2018. Supply and Demand: Assessment of the Faunal Remains from the Second World War German Military Sites in Finnish Lapland. Research report, University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland.

Things and materiality  147 Lundemo, M.O. 2010. The Causes of Mortality of the Soviet Prisoners of War in German Captivity in Norway, 1941–1945. MA Thesis, University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland. Pranttila, A. 2006. Rintamamiesten muonitus Suomessa sotavuosina 1939–1945. PhD Thesis, University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland. http://ethesis.helsinki.fi/ julkaisut/maa/skemi/vk/pranttila/rintamam.pdf [Accessed 2016-10-05] Rolien, P.B. 2015. Forskjells behandling av jugoslaviske fanger? Norske fangevokteres oppfattelse av nasjonalitet og bruken av vold mot jugoslaviske fanger i tyske fangeleirer i Nord-Norge 1942–1943. MA Thesis, University of Oslo, Oslo, Norway. Steinkamp, P. 2008. Zur Devianzproblematik bei der Wehrmacht: Alkohol- und Rauschmit-telmissbrauch in der Truppe. PhD Thesis, University of Freiburg, Freiburg, Germany. Vretemark, M. 2013. Osteologisk analys av djurben från ett tysk fångläger i Svaerholt i Finnmark, Nordnorge. Research report, Västergötlands museum, Skara, Norway. World Wide Web sources Alsina, A. 2018. Una historia olvidada: cuando Uruguay ayudó a Finlandia. La Diaria May 12, 2018. Available at https://findesemana.ladiaria.com.uy/­ articulo/2018/5/una-historia-olvidada-cuando-uruguay-ayudo-a-finlandia/ [Accessed 2018-06-14] Franz Repper Collection. n.d. Franz Repper Collection. Original photos. Available at http://www.gaissmair.net/Repper_collection.htm [Accessed 2009-09-09] McCann, M., Calamia, P. & Ailon, N. 2004. Audio Extraction from Optical Scans of Records. Available at http://www.public.asu.edu/~mamccan1/visionfinal/doc/ [Accessed 2018-04-01] SA-kuva n.d. SA-kuva-arkisto. Etulinjasta kotirintamalle 1939–1945. Available at http://sakuva.fi/ [Accessed 2015-06-14] Seitsonen, O. 2017. First record mystery solved! / Ensimmäinen levymysteeri ratkaistu! Lapland’s dark Heritage. Material Heritage of German WWII Military Presence in Finnish Lapland December 5, 2017. Available at https://blogs.helsinki.fi/lapland-darkheritage/2017/12/05/first-record-mystery-solved-ensimmainen-levymysteeriratkaistu/ [Accessed 2017-12-05] Suhonen, V. 2011. Jäämarssi. Suomen matkaopas 1941–42. Available at http://www. jaamarssi.fi/ [Accessed 2011-01-01] Tervo, M. 2014. Lapland Cattle. Saamelaiskulttuurin ensyklopedia. Sámi kultuvrra diehtosátnekirji. Encyclopedia of Saami Culture. Available at http://senc.hum.­ helsinki.fi/wiki/Lapinlehm%C3%A4 [Accessed 2016-07-17]

Primary sources Alftan, R. 2005. Aseveljet: Saksalais-Suomalainen Aseveljeys 1942–1944. WSOY: Helsinki. Arvelin, M. 2009. Sodan piikkilangat. Totta ja tarinaa Inarin vankileireistä. Lapin legendat 4. Ukko-Media: Inari. Banks, I., Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Seitsonen, O. 2018. Public Engagements with Lapland’s Dark Heritage: Community Archaeology in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Community Archaeology & Heritage 5(2): 128–137. Björklund, E. 1981. Petsamotrafiken. Åkeriförlaget: Danderyd.

148  Strangers in a strange land Carr, G. & Mytum, H. (eds.) 2012. Cultural Heritage and Prisoners of War: Creativity Behind Barbed Wire. Routledge: New York, London. Dunivin, K.O. 1994. Military Culture: Change and Continuity. Armed Forces & Society 20(4): 531–547. Edensor, T. 2005. Waste Matter: The Debris of Industrial Ruins and the Disordering of the Material World. Journal of Material Culture 10(3): 311–332. Ervynck, A., Lentacker, A. & Bracke, M. 2018. Bread and Soup: Simple but Nourishing Food. In Traces of War. World War 1 Archaeology, edited by B. Stichelbaut: 114–123. Hannibal: Brugge. Gell, A. 1998. Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory. Clarendon: Oxford. González-Ruibal, A. 2008. Time to Destroy: An Archaeology of Supermodernity. Current Anthropology 49(2): 247–279. Grabowski, R., Olsen, B., Pétursdóttir, Þ. & Witmore, C. 2014. Teillager 6 Sværholt: The Archaeology of a World War II Prisoner of War Camp in Finnmark, Arctic Norway. Fennoscandia Archaeologica 31: 3–24. Herva, V.-P. 2014. Haunting Heritage in an Enchanted Land: Magic, Materiality and Second World War German Material Heritage in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 1(2): 297–321. Ingold, T. 2000. The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill. Routledge: London. Ingold, T. 2011. Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description. Routledge: New York. Jasinski M. 2018. Predicting the past – materiality of Nazi and post-Nazi camps: a Norwegian perspective. International Journal of Historical Archaeology 22(3): 639–661. Junila, M. 2000. Kotirintaman Aseveljeyttä. Bibliotheca Historica 61. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura: Helsinki. Kaila, J. & Knuutila, J. (eds.) 2017. Inside and Beside the Camp. Unigrafia: Helsinki. Kajaani, M. 1998. “Filadelfian” lähettiläitä ja muuta diplomatiaa. In Kahvi, pahvi ja tango. Suomen ja Latinalaisen Amerikan suhteet, edited by J. Pakkasvirta & J. Aronen: 70–78. Gaudeamus: Helsinki. Kaltenegger, R. 2006. Saksan armeijan vuoristojoukot 1939–1945. Koala: Helsinki. Kater, M.H. 2004. Hitler Youth. Harvard University Press: Cambridge. Kauhanen, R. 2016, Taistelukenttälöydön tutkimusta historiallisen ajan konfliktiarkeologisin keinoin – erään pakinkannen monet tulkinnat. Muinaistutkija 4/2016: 33–47. Kimball, J. 2004. Trench Art: An Illustrated History. Silverpenny Press: Davis. Kivimäki, V. 2016. Rintama. In Sodan särkemä arki, V. Kivimäki & A. Männistö: 19–68. WSOY: Helsinki. Kleemola, O. 2015. “Naisten karkeinta kuonaa?” Neuvostoliittolaiset naissotilaat suomalaisissa ja saksalaisissa toisen maailmansodan propagandavalokuvissa. Ennen ja nyt 4/2015: 1–26. Available at http://www.ennenjanyt.net/2015/10/naistenkarkeinta-kuonaa-neuvostoliittolaiset-naissotilaat-suomalaisissa-ja-saksalaisissatoisen-maailmansodan-propagandavalokuvissa/ [Accessed 2016-06-14] Kogon, E. 1946. Der SS-Staat. Das System der deutschen Konzentrationslager. Frankfurter Hefte; Frankfurt am Main. Kucherenko, O. 2011. Little Soldiers: How Soviet Children Went to War. Oxford University Press: Oxford. Kulju, M. 2013. Lapin sota 1944–45. Gummerus: Helsinki.

Things and materiality  149 Latour, B. 2005. Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory. Oxford University Press: Oxford. Lähteenmäki, M. 2006. Terra Ultima: Matka Lapin historiaan. Otava: Helsinki. Lehtola, V.-P. 2003. Tuhon ja nousun vuodet (1939–1965). In Inari – Aanaar. Inarin historia jääkaudesta nykypäivään, edited by V.-P. Lehtola: 350–489. Inarin kunta: Oulu. Logan, W. & Reeves, K. (eds.) 2008. Places of Pain and Shame: Dealing with ‘Difficult Heritage’. Routledge: London. Mabre (Max Martin Brehm). 1943. Fahrbahn Lappland. Auf winter-einsatzfahrten am Polarkreis. Mens-Verlag: Höchstadt an der Aisch. Mabre (Max Martin Brehm). 1944. Fahrbahn Lappland: Ein Bildbuch von Einsatzfahrten am Polarkreis. Mens-Verlag: Höchstadt an der Aisch. MacKenzie, S.P. 2015. Beating the Odds: Superstition and Human Agency in RAF Bomber Command, 1942–1945. War in History 22(3): 382–400. McAtackney, L. 2014. An Archaeology of the Troubles: The Dark Heritage of Long Kesh/Maze. Oxford University Press: Oxford. Merleau-Ponty, M. 1962. Phenomenology of Perception. Routledge: London, New York. Mesjentsev, F. 2007. I fangelseleir nord for Polarsirkelen. Manuscript, Norway. Miller, D. (ed.) 2005. Materiality. Duke University Press: Durham. Molka, J. 2007. Sota minun muistoissani. Taivalkosken 4H-yhdistys: Taivalkoski. Morris, D. 2008. Body. In Merleau-Ponty: Key Concepts, edited by R. Diprose & J. Reynolds, 111–120. Routledge: Oxon, New York. Myers, A. 2011. The Things of Auschwitz. In Archaeologies of Internment, edited by A. Myers & G. Moshenska: 75–88. Springer: New York. Mytum, H. & Carr, G. (eds.) 2013. Prisoners of War: Archaeology, Memory, and Heritage of 19th- and 20th-Century Mass Internment. Springer: New York. Neurath, P.M. 2004. Die Gesellschaft des Terrors. Innenansichten der Konzentrationslager Dachau und Buchenwald. Suhrkamp Verlag: Frankfurt am Main. Näre, S. 2018. Sotilaspojat ja poikasotilaat maansa puolesta, In Suomen lapset sodassa, edited by J. Kirves, V. Kivimäki, S. Näre & T. Tepora: 94–123. WSOY: Helsinki Olsen, B. & Witmore, C. 2014. Sværholt: Recovered Memories from a POW Camp in the Far North. In Ruin Memories: Materialities, Aesthetics and the Archaeology of the Recent Past, edited by B. Olsen & Þ. Pétursdóttir: 162–90. Routledge: Oxon, New York. Olsen, B., Shanks, M., Webmoor, T. & Witmore, C. 2012. Archaeology: The Discipline of Things. University of California Press: Berkeley, Los Angeles, London. Pétursdóttir, Þ. 2013. Concrete Matters: Ruins of Modernity and the Things Called Heritage. Journal of Social Archaeology 13(1): 31–53. Pétursdóttir, Þ. 2017. Climate Change? Archaeology and Anthropocene. Archaeological Dialogues 24(2): 175–205. Proctor, R. 2000. The Nazi War on Cancer. Princeton University Press: Princeton, NJ. Rottman, G. & Andrew, S. 2007. Gebirgsjäger. German Mountain Infantry. Concord: Hong Kong. Saunders, N.J. 2000. Bodies of Metal, Shells of Memory: ‘Trench Art’ and the Great War Re-cycled. Journal of Material Culture 5(1): 43–67. Saunders, N.J. 2003. Trench Art: Materialities and Memories of War. Berg: Oxford, New York. Saunders, N.J. (ed.) 2004. Matters of Conflict: Material Culture, Memory and the First World War. Routledge: Abingdon.

150  Strangers in a strange land Saunders, N.J. 2007. ‘Killing Time’: Archaeology and the First World War. Sutton: Stroud. Schofield, J., Johnson, W.G., & Beck C.M. (eds.) 2002. Matériel Culture: The Archaeology of Twentieth Century Conflict. Routledge: London. Seamon, D. 2007. A Lived Hermetic of People and Place: Phenomenology and Space Syntax. In Proceedings – 6th International Space Syntax Symposium, vol. 1, edited by A. Sema Kubat: iii-01–iii-16. ITU Faculty of Architecture: Istanbul. Available at http://www.spacesyntaxistanbul.itu.edu.tr/papers/invitedpapers/david_seamon. pdf [Accessed 2017-01-07] Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2011. Forgotten in the Wilderness: WWII PoW Camps in Finnish Lapland. In Archaeologies of Internment, edited by A. Myers & G. Moshenska: 171–190. Springer: New York. Seitsonen, O. & Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2017. ‘Where the F… is Vuotso?’: Heritage of Second World War Forced Movement and Destruction in a Sámi Reindeer Herding Community in Finnish Lapland. International Journal of Heritage Studies 24(4): 421–441. Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P., Nordqvist, K., Herva, A. & Seitsonen, S. 2017. A Military Camp in the Middle of Nowhere: Mobilities, Dislocation and the Archaeology of a Second World War German Military Base in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Conflict Archaeology 12(1): 3–28. Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P. & Koponen, T. 2019. ‘Lapland’s Roadway’: German Photography and Experience of the European Far North in the Second World War. Photography & Culture, 12(1): 5–24. Steinbacher, S. 2006. Auschwitz: A History. Harper Perennial: New York. Stokke, M. forthcoming. Yugoslav Prisoners in Norway 1942–1945. From SS-regime to Wehrmacht-regime. Manuscript to be published in 2021. Theune, C. 2013. Archaeology and Remembrance: The Contemporary Archaeology of Concentration Camps, Prisoner-of-War Camps and Battlefields. In Historical Archaeology in Central Europe. Special Publication Number 10, The Society for Historical Archaeology, edited by N. Mehler: 241–259. Society for Historical Archaeology: Rockville. Theune, C. 2018. A Shadow of War. Archaeological Approaches to Uncovering the Darker Sides of Conflict from the 20th Century. Sidestone Press: Leiden. Virolainen, K. 1999. Elinikäinen taakka. Ikääntyneiden lappilaisten muistot vuorovaikutussuhteistaan jatkosodan ajan Saksan armeijan sotilaisiin ja neuvostoliittolaisiin sotavankeihin. Lapin yliopisto: Rovaniemi. Westerlund, L. 2008a. Saksan vankileirit Suomessa ja raja-alueilla 1941–1944. Tammi: Helsinki. Westerlund, L. 2008b. The German Strategic Use of POW Labor in the Far North. In Prisoner of War Deaths and People Handed over to Germany and the Soviet Union in 1939–1955: A Research Report by the Finnish National Archives, edited by L. Westerlund: 95–135. Finnish National Archives: Helsinki.

6 Entangled with the north Placelessness, disorder and dislocation

Most Germans and their prisoners on the Arctic Front experienced extreme feelings of existential outsideness and displacement. The feeling of ‘being stuck’ and ‘lost’ in a northern, alien wilderness was closely intertwined with their performance and activities in the area and affected their military competence, mobilities, and material culture (e.g. Grabowski et al. 2014; Olsen & Witmore 2014; Seitsonen & Herva 2011; Seitsonen et al. 2017c). Various archaeological and spatial features observed at German sites appear to reflect in material form these feelings of placelessness and dislocation. For the multinational Prisoners-of-War (PoWs) and forced labourers, this would have been worse than for the Germans, owing to their uncertain and vulnerable situation. Finnish soldiers and civilians, intimately familiar with their northern surroundings since childhood, were generally disappointed with the poor performance of their comrades-in-arms, for whom they initially held high hopes. To begin with, in 1940–1941, the Germans had a constant need for guidance and help from their Finnish allies, in what they perceived as intimidating and un-navigable dense taiga-forest and open tundra (e.g. Alftan 2005: 174, 192–194; Pipping 2008 [1947]: 10). This initial inability of even the elite and battle-hardened Gebirgsjäger to act in the arctic Lapland environment is understandable from a phenomenological perspective. This was something entirely outside their lifeworlds, their unconscious, ‘common sense’, and the routine corporeal contexts of everyday activities (e.g. Schutz and Luckmann 1973: 3; Seamon 1979, 2007; also Husserl 1970 [1936]: 103pp). Likewise, Finnish soldiers’ at-homeness in these surroundings and their familiarity with nature-based livelihoods such as hunting, fishing and reindeer herding explains their good performance. The desolate looking forest and tundra environments essentially defined these people’s life-experience. Lapland had been involved in widespread cultural encounters for centuries before the Second World War, but the arrival of Germans and their multinational prisoners elevated this internationalism to an unprecedented level. As a result, close relationships were forged between German troops, their prisoners, and Finnish civilians. This was particularly noticeable in the northern towns, such as Rovaniemi, Oulu and Tornio, where large numbers of Germans were stationed. However, their presence had an even stronger impact

152  Strangers in a strange land in the rural areas, as recounted by many of our interviewees (F2; F11; M17; M18; M20). Visits to German camps allowed the rural children to experience previously unseen wonders, such as foreign people, electric light, candy, and even movies (e.g. Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). The internationalism was emphasized by the extensive importation of foreign consumer goods and other things into Lapland (Chapter 5). Equally, and as we have seen in Chapter 5, local relationships led to large quantities of reindeer bones amongst the food waste and the extraction of bone marrow from bones in a Sámi-style. The adoption of indigenous northern structures, such as conical tepee-like cooking huts (Fi. keittokota), and forest working equipment, such as horsedrawn water troughs (Fi. vesipasa), tells of these close contacts (Figure 6.1).

Figure 6.1 Northern influences at the German camps. Top: Outside cooking kota; Bottom: Remains of several vesipasa, horse-drawn water troughs; both at Inari Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 2 (110) (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2010).

Entangled with the north  153 Sociologist Knut Pipping, who served in the war as an NCO in Lapland, first alongside and later against the Germans, wrote a study of his own ‘[i]nfantry company as a society’ (Pipping 2008 [1947]). He observed that the percentage of people subsisting on rural livelihoods in Lapland was over 83 percent in 1940, and there was a prevailing strong masculine sub-culture in the northern areas, connected with logging camps (Fi. savotta) and the floating of timber (Fi. uitto) (Pipping 2008 [1947]: 218, 254). In the 1940s, Lapland was, and to an extent remains, famed as an exotic land on the northern periphery of Europe (see Herva 2014; Otto 2008; Ridanpää 2016). The area was mythologized as a sublime wilderness, comparable to the Canadian north – a heroic, rugged and manly northern frontier (see Hautala-Hirvioja 2016; Hulan 2002). This was emphasized and even romanticized in Finnish and German wartime propaganda (see Koponen et al. 2018; Seitsonen et al. 2019; also Wehrmacht 2006 [1943]). The north was a ‘foreign country’ (Pälsi 1931) of natural wonders – and nightmares – swarms of mosquitoes, the inescapable silence of wilderness, months-long midnight sun, gloomy polar night and the Aurora Borealis. Even today, Finns from the south adopt an outsider’s ‘tourist gaze’ to this landscape (Urry 2002), and the indigenous Sámi were then, and often still are, represented rather pejoratively as exotic, primal relics from the past, as ‘people of nature’ (Ridanpää 2016: 20) (Figure 6.2). No matter how exotic the surroundings, the sheer monotony for the Germans of being stuck in the middle of nowhere and feeling isolation and displacement were worst of the hardships. This is a prominent theme in Major Wolfgang von Hessen’s (1986) first-hand account. These feelings mediated German soldiers’ perceptions of and conduct in Lapland (e.g. Hessen 1986;

Figure 6.2 Posing with the ‘exotic’ Sámi. Original caption: ‘Germans photographing the Skolts’ (SA-kuva 81953/Suonikylä/12.04.1942).

154  Strangers in a strange land Knabe 1983: 20). It seems that the remoteness and ‘northerness’ – Lapland’s ‘genius loci’ from a German perspective (Norberg-Schulz 1980; Seamon 2012) – affected their material culture and personal appearance (see Herva 2009). This interpretational framework might explain some of the peculiarities concerning camp layouts and structures, such as the superficially meaningless and non-functional ‘façade’-like fences and moats. Since many of the multinational PoWs and forced labourers were non-local (Otto 2008; Westerlund 2008: 96–99), they would have shared the feelings of threatening forest and tundra landscapes with the German soldiers, especially during the long Polar night (see Alftan 2005: 190–194; Jokisipilä 2005: 33). The isolation of places like Peltojoki meant that Germans and prisoners had few opportunities to interact with other people than their peers, and sometimes the occasional visiting Sámi. Feelings of seclusion and dislocation were heightened in the winter months, when the sun did not rise at all, and thick snow covered the landscape, making all physical effort even more demanding. Homely material culture and familiar soundscapes, indicated by the gramophone record fragments from Hyljelahti (24), offered German troops some relief from their claustrophobic surroundings. However, these same familiar items and music might have accentuated the sense of social and cultural isolation (see Naum 2013). An interesting insight from investigations at many German sites is that familiar, house-like barracks were used for accommodating German troops while more alien the yurt-like tents were reserved for housing prisoners (Seitsonen et al. 2017c). In an already unfamiliar setting, an unfamiliar and ‘primitive’ kind of housing might have been psychologically taxing to deal with. Naming things in a familiar way is another obvious approach to deal with placelessness (e.g. Ingold 2011). German troops labelled many of their encampments and other structures with homelike names, such as home addresses or other familiar German names, like ‘Straße der ­G ebirgsjäger’ (Road of the Mountain Jaegers) or ‘Edelweisshütte’ (Edelweiss Hut) ­(Figure  6.3). Some of these survive in the local vernacular, such as ‘Little Berlins’ in several Finnish cities (Figure 6.4; see Ylimaunu et al. 2013) and ‘Rommel’s Field’, a sandy football field in Rovaniemi referencing Rommel’s action with the Africa Korps in the North African Campaign.

‘…if I sent all the madmen from Berlin to Lapland…’ Albert Speer made an inspection trip to Lapland around Christmas 1943 and New Year 1944. Speer’s experiences demonstrate well the broader German perceptions of Lapland as an exotic and enchanted Other. His trip has been mentioned to us in informal discussions with local people. It has previously been briefly discussed in some historical accounts (e.g. Mikkonen 2016: 49; Speer 1969; Westerlund 2008: 202–203) and was also described in a memorandum by a Finnish liaison officer who took part in the trip (Krantz 1944).

Entangled with the north  155

Figure 6.3 Original caption: ‘Finishing a German dugout dwelling, address is HansaAllee 30/Hansa Allee 30 – it is the German captain’s home address also in Frankfurt’ (SA-kuva JSdia766/Alakurtti, Salla/26.09.1941). The builder appears to be a Soviet PoW, with a spoon tucked into his boot shaft.

Figure 6.4 Pikku Berliini (Little Berlin) pub in Tornio, Lapland, at the place of the WWII German garrison area (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016).

On first glimpsing of Lapland from Ounasvaara Hill near the center of Rovaniemi, Speer commented in awe that ‘…if I sent all the madmen from Berlin to Lapland, I would get a quick and definitive answer, whether they would be healed or remain insane forever’ (Krantz 1944: 4). He apparently referred to weeding out the people faking madness to avoid military service by sending them to this wild far-off land. Speer’s spontaneous reaction and wonderment when facing the overwhelming northern nature describes

156  Strangers in a strange land

Figure 6.5 Speer (on the right) overnighting at a lean-to at the Lake Saaritaimenjärvi, Inari. Original caption: ‘Albert Speer in Finland. December 1943’ (Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-J16637/1943/CC-BY-SA 3.0).

illustratively how even the immediate surroundings of Lapland’s capital appeared to the Germans as an uninhabited wilderness compared even to the remotest parts of their homeland. The perspective of Othering and exoticism are also emphasized by the photographs taken on Speer’s visit (Figure 6.5). His outlandish, nocturnal skiing trip to the remote logging sites west of Inari and overnighting at a lean-to at Lake Saari-Taimenjärvi (136) were displayed in pictorial reportages published in the magazines Stuttgarter Illustrierte and Der Frontarbeiter OT (Theunissen 1944; Westerlund 2008: 203). This excursion was recalled by Speer in his 1969 autobiography, and by the Finnish forest technician Arrela (1983) who organized the camping. Stuttgarter Illustrierte lyrically described this occasion (also Speer 1969: 320): Stars sparkled between the velvet black pines silhouetted against the blazing polar sky. Men stood silently in the deep snow around the crackling campfire. (quoted in Arrela 1983: 23) Arrela was more prosaic in his description of the events, which the German propaganda omitted:

Entangled with the north  157 A merciless snowstorm came… the smoke that the gust whirled inside the lean-to made breathing difficult… One after another men leapt coughing out of the lean-to… Finally, also the big boss lost his guts: he also scrambled out coughing and ordered us to spread out his reindeer skin sleeping bag in a snow hole. (Arrela 1983: 25) The organization of Speer’s entourage and their activities are also illustrative of some of the bizarre juxtapositions and contradictions associated with the German presence in Lapland, for instance, the unexpected encounters of the modern and the rural, as well as the ‘cultured’ and the ‘wild’. Speer had taken world-class artists to provide entertainment in the wilderness: the first violinist of the Berlin Philharmonic, Siegfried Borries and the president of Bavaria Film Company, Schreiber, who performed as a magician ‘Kalanag’ on the trip (Speer 1969: 318). General Dietl was apparently none too impressed with the latter’s magical acts in Rovaniemi and showed it (Krantz 1944: 1). Speer’s own exotic reminiscence of his visit to the OT headquarters at Solojärvi (25) has an utterly surreal feel to it: In a clearing in the heart of the primeval forest … Lapp [sic] and German woodcutters had gathered around an artfully built wood fire, source of both warmth and illumination, while Siegfried Borries began the evening with the famous chaconne from Bach’s D-minor Partita. (Speer 1969: 319–320) Analogous, dreamlike scenes were apparently not that uncommon at German encampments in the far north (Figure 6.6; see Mabre 1943: 46). At the same time as Speer and his entourage enjoyed classical harmonies around the campfire, hundreds of PoWs, forced labourers, and convicted German soldiers suffered in the freezing temperatures just a few kilometres away, for instance, at the logging and road building camps of Haukkapesäoja (110–111), Pikkupaanteenvaara (18), Illestinkaira (27), and Karipäänjärvi (26). Next morning Speer (1969: 321) complained that he had ‘a darting pain’ in his knee after spending the night in the snowpit. Consequently, he cancelled the planned inspections of the PoW and work camps in the vicinity and left immediately for the south.

In a remote country, in a timeless space Alienation, isolation and dislocation appear to have defined German war experiences in the Arctic. This is often intensely felt also by southern Finns, as expressed by Finnish novelist Pentti Haanpää describing the awe-inspiring landscapes of Petsamo: ‘….the endless, solid waves of the fjells depress and burden. A living image… of the length of eternity’ (Haanpää 1980: 97). Most

158  Strangers in a strange land

Figure 6.6 An analogous fantastic scene to that of Speer’s violinist playing in the wilderness, captured by a Finnish military photographer at Liinahamari, Petsamo. Original caption: ‘Violinist of the “Kraft durch Freude” organization plays for the mountain jaegers on the shore of the Arctic Ocean’ (SA-kuva 102507/Liinahamari/27.07.1942).

importantly, when thinking of wartime events and their traces, the material heritage and spatialities can illustrate and highlight in many unexpected ways the experiential aspects of the German soldiers’ and their prisoners’ existence in an unfamiliar northern environment. From an outsider’s perspective most of Lapland appeared as a threatening, uninhabited and alien wilderness, though it was and is an ancient cultural landscape of the indigenous Sámi, and also Finnish settlers who have adopted some Sámi modes of subsistence such as reindeer herding (e.g. Ruotsala 2002; Thomas et al. 2016). The exoticism of Lapland’s landscapes and its natural wonders was mythologized by German wartime propaganda and illustrated as man’s struggle against nature in this ‘primordial’ borderland, with its ‘primeval’ natives (e.g. Mabre 1943; Seitsonen et al. 2019; Wehrmacht 2006 [1943]: 99– 101). Military histories and local memories highlight how the harsh forest and tundra environment hindered German performance and stalled their advance in the north. Displacement and remoteness caused the Germans to see themselves severed from the rational world and lost in a primordial timeless space. This sense of alienness and displacement took curious material and behavioural forms, as documented by the archaeological investigations of site layouts and material culture (Seitsonen et al. 2017c). The sheer number of Second World War German sites in Lapland is astonishing. There are thousands of ruins, especially in the vast wilderness areas, few of which have even been mapped (see Seitsonen & Herva 2011;

Entangled with the north  159 Seitsonen et al. 2017c; Taivainen 2013, 2015). This is perhaps best illustrated by the significant increase in the number of known German-run PoW and labour camps in northern Finland in little over a decade, rising from a handful of sites to the over 180 camps mapped out in this book, mostly owing to the large-scale NBF cultural heritage surveys, our Lapland’s Dark Heritage fieldwork, and local history enthusiasts focused mapping projects (Appendices 2 and 3). A common feature shared by all German sites in northern Finland is that hardly any of them were established following a rigid ‘Prussian order’ but developed organically according to the surrounding landscape, as seen in the site plans in Chapter 4. Fascinatingly, the most compact, orderly and well-demarcated sites are often the remotest. This most likely mirrors the Germans’ mental need to establish a border between the tame, ‘civilized’ camp area and, from a German perspective, the ‘threatening’ and ‘untamed’ wilderness surrounding them (see Herva 2010). It is noteworthy that for outsiders the traditional land use in North often appears as ‘invisible’ wilderness (Länsman 2004: 90). This resulted in overlapping but differing landscape perceptions for locals and Germans. They shared some common nodes of interaction, such as marketplaces in villages, but at the same time wide expanses of unshared space existed, both figuratively and literally, which was almost exclusively the domain of locals. Besides the landscape-level effects on the spatial configuration of camps, small items of material culture and their use appears to have been influenced by isolation and alienation. The high ratio of Finnish-manufactured, flower-decorated and gilded civilian kitchenware at many sites might be related to creating a familiar home-like atmosphere at these remote outposts. There appear to have been two main approaches to deal with feelings of dislocation through materiality and behaviour. First, a control-based approach, which created at least a symbolic sense of control over the northern conditions, is evidenced by systematic garbage management, specified activity areas within sites, housing of guards and prisoners in different kinds of structures in separate areas, and maintaining a sense of uniformity and soldierly appearance, for instance, by grooming. Second, there appears to have been a habit of forgetting and ‘letting go’, most clearly represented by the copious consumption of alcohol, as evidenced by the abundant alcohol bottle sherds at all the German sites. This escapist approach is possibly also mirrored by a relaxation of military norms and behaviour, such as growing ‘tundra beards’ and wearing civilian clothing. The control-based approach is also represented, at least on a metaphorical level, by expressions of individuality and personal agency in material items. This is most clearly conveyed by the personalized pieces of ‘trench art’ (e.g. Saunders 2003; Theune 2018: 130–137). Articulating agency even on small material pieces could have temporarily alleviated feelings of vulnerability, even more for the PoWs than the German soldiers. An attempt to ‘make a difference’, no matter how symbolic, is most clearly shown by PoW or forced labourer trench art, such as the ‘Jakov piece’ from Peltojoki and

160  Strangers in a strange land the engraved kettle from Vika described earlier. These might represent individual attempts to leave at least a fleeing memory and sign of oneself when facing an uncertain future. The means of securing an illusory grip on one’s life and future in uncertain circumstances has recently surfaced in unexpected modern contexts. Finnish historian Juha Siltala (2017) has analyzed the ongoing social processes behind the rising attractiveness of populism and mindfulness, and, in a specific Finnish context, of traditional berry and mushroom picking and handicrafts, as a middle-class aspiration to take back control of one’s destiny, no matter how symbolically: ‘Finns draw happiness from small things, which they feel can be controlled, but are becoming increasingly skeptical about the big issues, which escape from their own control’ (Berner 2017). This mirrors, in a modern setting, the same processes as the German and prisoner trench art, of doing something coherent, satisfying and controllable, with positive and pleasing visual and tactile results. This human need to express identity and personal agency, a need to gain even illusory measure of ‘control’ over hostile reality would appear to have wider relevance for interpreting ‘non-productive’ behaviour in various past and present settings. The perceptions discussed earlier of Lapland as a threatening and dangerous wilderness for the outsiders surfaced recently in the unexpected and unprecedented refugee flow to Lapland from Russia in the winter 2015– 2016. The fleeting material traces of this northern offshoot of the global refugee crisis have been discussed in detail elsewhere (Seitsonen et al. 2017a,b). These material traces were resonant with themes addressed in this book, notably forced mobility, dislocation, confinement, alienness and placelessness. Comparative study of these two outwardly very different cases, the multinational military and prisoner presence in the 1940s and the multinational refugee flow in the 2010s can in fact provide new beneficial insights on both through a material culture perspective (Seitsonen et al. 2017a, b). The relevance of studying the traces of wartime in the present is provided by the experiences of the Lapland War-era Finnish and Sámi refugees in the Swedish refugee camps (Figure 6.7). Even though Swedish help was well-meaning and indispensable, its execution was not always well-thought out (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). Upon arriving in Sweden refugees were subjected to delousing in a sauna, watched over by Swedish soldiers. Women felt especially vulnerable with this ‘terribly humiliating welcome’ (F11) – ‘[a] tit exhibition for Sweden’s soldiers’ (Rautio et al. 2004: 81). Food was plentiful but odd tasting and unfamiliar for the northern refugees. They became ‘irritated … by the abundant use of sugar and light grains… The homely rye bread and salt-rich diet was missed’ (Rautio et al. 2004: 86). These feelings have parallels to the ongoing twenty-first century global refugee crisis. Multinational asylum seekers in the Finnish reception centres have frequently complained about the plentiful, but strange food that they are offered. This increased their feelings of cultural shock, alienation

Entangled with the north  161

Figure 6.7 Archaeologist Mika Kunnari surveying the scarce traces of PikkuHelsinki refugee camp housing Lapland’s evacuees in 1944–1945 at Kusfors, northern Sweden (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016).

and dislocation, in an already confined and troubled setting, to the extent that their discontent led to public demonstrations criticizing the foodstuff (e.g. Juupaluoma 2015; Olli 2016). One refugee remarked to the media that they were offered in the reception centres what he perceived as ‘dog food’, although it was in fact normal Finnish breakfast porridge (Annila 2015). These cases from the 1940s and 2010s illustrate how important cultural sensitivity is when dealing with displaced people in distressed situations. These examples from Finland’s experience of the recent refugee crisis, although somewhat anecdotal, illustrate how various interpretations of mobility, displacement and place(lessness) demonstrated by Second World War material traces can be useful when assessing modern issues. These illustrate clearly how studies of the recent past can have ‘social relevance and meaning, in ways that may not exist for archaeologies of earlier time periods’ (Harrison & Schofield 2009: 198). Archaeology and heritage studies are, or should be, in a position to find meaningful approaches to discuss broader social topics related not only to refugees but other ongoing social processes (see Giblin 2014, 2017; Hamiliakis 2018; Symonds 2011).

References Archival sources Krantz, E. 1944. Liite 4. Matkakertomus ajalta 24–30.12.1943. T-17217/1 (Willamo to Heinrichs 5.1.1944). National Archives of Finland, Helsinki, Finland.

162  Strangers in a strange land

World Wide Web sources Annila, S. 2015. Suomalainen ruoka ei kelvannut turvanpaikanhakijoille – näin maahanmuuttajat syövät kotimaissaan. YLEX October 1, 2015. Available at https://yle. fi/ylex/uutiset/suomalainen_ruoka_ei_kelvannut_turvanpaikanhakijoille__nain_ maahanmuuttajat_syovat_kotimaissaan/3-8347308 [Accessed 2015-10-10] Berner, A.-S. 2017. Putoamista pelkäävät ihmiset lähtevät marjaan ja äänestävät populisteja – Näin keskiluokalta vietiin identiteetti, kertoo historioitsija Juha Siltala. Helsingin Sanomat March 19, 2017. Available at http://www.hs.fi/sunnuntai/ art-2000005131792.html [Accessed 2017-06-14] Giblin, J. 2017. Counter-Mapping Authorized Developmental Accounts of Experience at an Internally Displaced Persons Camp in Northern Uganda. Conference presentation, October 5, 2017. Heritage Studies: Critical Approaches and New Directions. British Academy, London, UK. Available at https://ahrcheritage.wixsite. com/ahrcheritage/conference-heritage-studiescritica [Accessed 2017-10-17] Juupaluoma, J. 2015. Turvapaikanhakijat valittivat saamastaan ruuasta Oulussa – katso esimerkki ruokalistasta. Kaleva October 1, 2015. Available at http://www. kaleva.fi/uutiset/oulu/turvapaikanhakijat-valittivat-saamastaanruuastaoulussa-katso-esimerkki-ruokalistasta/708426/ [Accessed-2015-10-10] Olli, T. 2016. Vastaanottokeskuksen pomo paljastaa eron taustat: Ruokakiista, Sipilän kehotus ja kirjallinen varoitus. Iltalehti July 8, 2016. Available at http://www. iltalehti.fi/uutiset/2016070721866282_uu.shtml [Accessed 2016-07-17]

Primary sources Alftan, R. 2005. Aseveljet: Saksalais-Suomalainen Aseveljeys 1942–1944. WSOY: Helsinki. Arrela, L. 1983. Isokenkäiset yöpyivät Lapin miesten laavulla. Kansa taisteli 1/1983: 22–25. Giblin, J. 2014. Post-Conflict Heritage: Symbolic Healing and Cultural Renewal. International Journal of Heritage Studies 20(5): 500–518. Grabowski, R., Olsen, B., Pétursdóttir, Þ. & Witmore, C. 2014. Teillager 6 Sværholt: The Archaeology of a World War II Prisoner of War Camp in Finnmark, Arctic Norway. Fennoscandia Archaeologica 31: 3–24. Haanpää, P. 1980. Haanpään kootut teokset 5. Otava: Helsinki. Hamiliakis, Y. 2018. The New Nomadic Age: Archaeologies of Forced and Undocumented Migration. Equinox: Sheffield, Bristol. Harrison, R. & Schofield, J. 2009. Archaeo-Ethnography, Auto-Archaeology: Introducing Archaeologies of the Contemporary Past. Archaeologies 5(2): 185–209. Hautala-Hirvioja, T. 2016. Petsamo – miehinen ja karu Eldorado. Tahiti. Taidehistoria tieteenä. Konsthistorien som vetenskap 1/2016. Available at http://tahiti.fi/012016/tieteelliset-artikkelit/petsamo-%e2%80%93-miehinenja-karu-eldorado/ [Accessed 2016-12-31] Herva, V.-P. 2009. Living (with) Things: Material Culture and Relational Ontology in Early Modern Northern Finland. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 19(3): 388–397. Herva, V.-P. 2010. Maps and Magic in Renaissance Europe. Journal of Material Culture 15(3): 323–343.

Entangled with the north  163 Herva, V.-P. 2014. Haunting Heritage in an Enchanted Land: Magic, Materiality and Second World War German Material Heritage in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 1(2): 297–321. Hulan, R. 2002. Northern Experience and the Myths of Canadian Culture. McGillQueen’s University Press: Montreal & Kingston, London, Ithaca, NY. Husserl, E. 1970 [1936]. The Crisis of European Sciences and Transcendental Phenomenology: An Introduction to Phenomenological Philosophy. Northwestern University Press: Evanston. Ingold, T. 2011. Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description. Routledge: New York. Jokisipilä, M. 2005. Napapiirin Aseveljet. In Aseveljet: saksalais-suomalainen aseveljeys 1942–1944, edited by R. Alftan: 9–51. WSOY: Helsinki. Knabe, K. 1983. Lapin lentotiedustelijat. Gummerus: Jyväskylä. Koponen, T., Seitsonen, O. & Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2018. “Das ist Suomi”: Photographic Representation of Finland for a German Audience during the Second World War. Ennen ja nyt 4/2018: 1–23. Länsman, A.-S. 2004. Väärtisuhteet Lapin matkailussa Kulttuurianalyysi suomalaisten ja saamelaisten kohtaamisesta. Kustannus-Puntsi: Inari. Mabre (Max Martin Brehm). 1943. Fahrbahn Lappland. Auf winter-einsatzfahrten am Polarkreis. Mens-Verlag: Höchstadt an der Aisch. Mikkonen, K. 2016. Parakkeja ja piikkilankaa. Lapin maakuntamuseo: Rovaniemi. Naum, M. 2013. The Malady of Emigrants: Homesickness and Longing in the Colony of New Sweden. In Archaeologies of Mobility and Movement, edited by M. Beaudry & T. Parno: 165–177. Springer: New York. Norberg-Schulz, C. 1980. Genius Loci: Towards a Phenomenology of Architecture. Rizzoli: New York. Olsen, B. & Witmore, C. 2014. Sværholt: Recovered Memories from a POW Camp in the Far North. In Ruin Memories: Materialities, Aesthetics and the Archaeology of the Recent Past, edited by B. Olsen & Þ. Pétursdóttir: 162–90. Routledge: Oxon, New York. Otto, R. 2008. Soviet Prisoners of War on the German Lapland Front, 1941–1944. In Sotavangit ja internoidut. Kansallisarkiston artikkelikirja. Prisoners of War and Internees: A Book of Articles by the National Archives, edited by L. Westerlund: 64–113. Kansallisarkisto: Helsinki. Pälsi, S. 1931. Petsamoon kuin ulkomaille. Otava: Helsinki. Pipping, K. 2008 [1947]. Infantry Company as a Society. Department of Behavioural Sciences Publication Series 1(3). National Defence University: Helsinki. Rautio, E., Korteniemi, T. & Vuopio, M. 2004. Pohjoiset pakolaiset. Tietoa ja tarinoita Lapin sodasta ja lappilaisten evakkotaipaleelta. Pohjan väylä: Pello. Ridanpää, J. 2016. ‘Singing Acts’ from the Deep North: Critical Perspectives on Northern Exotics, Contemporary Ethnic Music and Language Preservation in Sámi Communities. Journal for Cultural Research 20(1): 17–30. Ruotsala, H. 2002. Muuttuvat palkiset. Elo, työ ja ympäristö Kittilän Kyrön paliskunnassa ja Kuolan Luujärven poronhoitokollektiiveissa vuosina 1930–1995. Kansatieteellinen Arkisto 49. Suomen muinaismuistoyhdistys: Helsinki. Saunders, N.J. 2003. Trench Art: Materialities and Memories of War. Berg: Oxford, New York.

164  Strangers in a strange land Schutz, A. & Luckmann, T. 1973. Structures of the Life-World, vol. 1. Northwestern University Press: Evanston. Seamon, D. 1979. A Geography of the Lifeworld: Movement, Rest and Encounter. Croom Helm: London. Seamon, D. 2007. A Lived Hermetic of People and Place: Phenomenology and Space Syntax. In Proceedings – 6th International Space Syntax Symposium, vol. 1, edited by A. Sema Kubat: iii-01–iii-16. ITU Faculty of Architecture: Istanbul. Available at http://www.spacesyntaxistanbul.itu.edu.tr/papers/invitedpapers/david_seamon. pdf [Accessed 2017-10-05]. Seamon, D. 2012. Place, Place Identity, and Phenomenology: A Triadic Interpretation based on J.G. Bennett’s Systematics. In The Role of Place Identity in the Perception, Understanding, and Design of Built Environments, edited by H. Casakin, O. Romice, & S. Porta: 3–21. Betham Science Publishers: London. Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2011. Forgotten in the Wilderness: WWII PoW Camps in Finnish Lapland. In Archaeologies of Internment, edited by A. Myers & G. Moshenska: 171–190. Springer: New York. Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P. & Kunnari, M. 2017a. Abandoned Refugee Vehicles “In the Middle of Nowhere”: Reflections on the Global Refugee Crisis from the Northern Margins of Europe. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 3(2): 244–260. Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P. & Kunnari, M. 2017b. Abandoned Refugee Vehicles “In the Middle of Nowhere”: Reflections on the Global Refugee Crisis from the Northern Margins of Europe. In The New Nomadic Age: Archaeologies of Forced and Undocumented Migration, edited by Y. Hamiliakis: 139–155. Equinox: Sheffield, Bristol. Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P., Nordqvist, K., Herva, A. & Seitsonen, S. 2017c. A Military Camp in the Middle of Nowhere: Mobilities, Dislocation and the Archaeology of a Second World War German Military Base in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Conflict Archaeology 12(1): 3–28. Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P. & Koponen, T. 2019. “Lapland’s Roadway”: German Photography and Experience of the European Far North in the Second World War. Photography and Culture: 1–20. Seitsonen, O. & Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2017. ‘Where the F… is Vuotso?’: Heritage of Second World War Forced Movement and Destruction in a Sámi Reindeer Herding Community in Finnish Lapland. International Journal of Heritage Studies 24(4): 421–441. Siltala, J. 2017. Keskiluokan nousu, lasku ja pelot. Otava: Helsinki. Speer, A. 1969. Diktaattorin työkaluna. Kirjayhtymä: Helsinki. Symonds, J. 2011. Poverty and Progress in the Age of Improvement: Evidence from the Isle of South Uist in the Outer Hebrides. Historical Archaeology 45(3): 106–120. Taivainen, J. 2013. Muinaismuistolain suojelema tai ei – Metsien kulttuuriperintö on moninaista ja arvokasta. In Arkeologipäivät 2012. Suomen muinaismuistolaki 50 vuotta: vetreä keski-ikäinen vai raihnainen vanhus & Arkeopeda – opetusta, opastusta, oppimista, edited by J. Enqvist, J. Ruohonen & M. Suhonen: 26–28. Suomen arkeologinen seura: Helsinki. Taivainen, J. (ed.) 2015. Metsiin kadonneet – Valtion metsien kulttuuriperintökohteiden inventointihanke 2010–2015. Metsähallituksen metsätalouden julkaisuja 73. Metsähallitus: Vantaa. Available at https://julkaisut.metsa.fi/assets/pdf/mt/mt73. pdf [Accessed 2015-12-24]

Entangled with the north  165 Theune, C. 2018. A Shadow of War: Archaeological Approaches to Uncovering the Darker Sides of Conflict from the 20th Century. Sidestone Press: Leiden. Theunissen, G.H. 1944. Winterfarht ins Polargebiet. Erlebnisse auf der Fahrt mit Reichsminister Speer. Der Frontarbeiter OT, February 1944: 3–9. Thomas, S., Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2016. Nazi Memorabilia, Dark Heritage and Treasure Hunting as “Alternative” Tourism: Understanding the Fascination with the Material Remains of World War II in Northern Finland. Journal of Field Archaeology 41(3): 331–343. Urry, J. 2002. The Tourist Gaze. Sage: London, Thousand Oaks, CA, New Delhi. von Hessen W. 1986. Aufzeichnungen. Privatdruck: Kronberg, Taunus. Wehrmacht 2006 [1943]. Wehrmachtin matkaopas Suomeen. Ajatus: Helsinki. Westerlund, L. 2008. Saksan vankileirit Suomessa ja raja-alueilla 1941–1944. Tammi: Helsinki. Ylimaunu, T., Mullins, P.R., Symonds, J. Kallio-Seppä, T. Heikkilä, H., Kuorilehto, M. & Tolonen, S. 2013. Memory of Barracks: World War II German ‘Little Berlins’ and Post-War Urbanization in Northern Finnish Towns. Scandinavian Journal of History 38(4): 525–548.

Part III

Ignored, yet remembered Post-war significance of the German WWII remains

7 Heritage past, present and future

Second World War sites, including those in Lapland, are not currently recognized as protected cultural heritage in Finland and have been long neglected at the national level. However, the enduring trans-generational memories of German military presence along with its material traces are highly significant to the contemporary Sámi and Finnish communities in Lapland. They are subject to varying interests among the local people as part of their lived-in lifeworlds and their own history. In light of this, our pioneering studies at the Peltojoki military base and at some other sites in 2006–2012 (Seitsonen & Herva 2011; Seitsonen et al. 2017) were followed by an investigation of post-war perceptions and uses of the German sites and materialities (see Herva et al. 2016; Thomas et al. 2016). Many theoreticians emphasize that cultural heritage is something created, maintained and constantly evolving (e.g. Carr 2014: 12–15; Lillbroända-Annala 2014). Heritage values are neither transparent nor universal, and they change in tandem with myriad other values in society (see Harrison 2013; Harvey 2001). Traditionally the emphasis has been on the preservation and exhibition of ‘important’, prestigious and ‘nice’ historical sites and objects, typically of national significance (Smith 2006). This is virtually the opposite definition to Lapland’s mostly inconspicuous, unshowy and rusty German material remains, and their somewhat dubious Nazi pedigree. Recent research has recognized that definitions of heritage and its importance cannot be grounded solely in the expert opinion of professional archaeologists and historians. There is a need to acknowledge more widely differing popular, subaltern or alternative perspectives, and to identify the potential existence of multiple, even contradictory, simultaneous concepts of heritage in any given society (e.g. Thomas et al. 2016; Waterton & Smith 2010). From an expert perspective, these include problematic standpoints and public engagements, such as metal detecting or ‘alternative’ interpretations (e.g. Herva et al. 2016; Seitsonen 2017; Thomas 2015; Wilson 2012). The heritage process has been described by Owe Ronström (2007: 2­ 6–27) as a ‘magical act’, particularly appropriate for the ‘enchanted’ Lapland setting (also Lillbroända-Annala 2014). For Lapland’s Second World War

170  Ignored, yet remembered objects, these officially forgotten everyday items and structures, regarded for decades as ‘war junk’ are suddenly, ‘magically’, transformed into something interesting, culturally valuable and desirable once as cultural heritage. This performative process makes cultural heritage objects ‘privileged’ (Harrison 2013: 582) and gives them added value, which increases their value and transforms them into something significant and preservable (e.g. Lillbroända-Annala 2014; Smith 2006). However, in Lapland this process is still in its infancy. We launched our inquiries into collecting and metal detecting activities in 2013, with a netnographic survey (e.g. Kozinets 2010: 4) to map the range of public engagements and connotations (Thomas et al. 2016). In the LDH project in 2014–2018 we carried out over 30 in-depth interviews with various stakeholders related to the subject (Appendix 1). Analyzing the results provided insights into the wide variety of perceptions (Herva et  al. 2016; Koskinen-Koivisto & Thomas 2017; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). In addition, I analyzed the YLE and LDH Participatory GIS crowdsourcing data, which allowed differing perspectives on the public importance of conflict remains (Seitsonen 2017).1 Here I discuss heritage and social values (see Jones 2017) attached to Lapland’s German sites and the diverse engagements with them over time through several case studies, from the end of the war to the present day and beyond. These range from the reconstruction of Lapland after the ‘burning’ to the recollections of commander of German forces General Dietl. I include also such ‘alternative engagements’ as collecting, metal detecting and more generally ‘treasure hunting’, thus addressing and attempting to understand the varying involvement and engagement of local people with the subject (Herva et al. 2016; Thomas et al. 2016).

Past: rising from the ashes and slow decay War in the arctic and the Finno-German Waffenbrüderschaft ended with the widespread destruction of northern Finland, an event which has come to dominate state-level memories and the ‘national master narrative’ of the war in Lapland (see Seitsonen & Herva 2011; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017; Seitsonen et  al. 2017). Numerous archaeologically documented features at the German sites relate to the scorched earth tactics deployed by the Germans during their retreat to Norway in the fall of 1944. These illustrate the thorough and meticulous destruction of even the smallest things, often of no military value whatsoever. The burning and shattering of houses, tools, kitchenware, furniture and fishnets, possibly express one way to deal with dislocation and to vent out the frustration of being, from a German perspective, betrayed by their Finnish comrades-in-arms and stranded on the northern fringe of Europe, while at the same time German cities, homes and families were being destroyed by mass Allied bombing and German homeland itself was facing Allied invasion.

Heritage past, present and future  171 When the people of Lapland began returning from their evacuation places in southern Finland and Sweden, they encountered widespread and often total destruction. For instance, only a single fence post was left standing in the village of Inari when Finnish troops reached it, and many locals lost practically all their property. Finnish troops stationed in the village added to this tragedy by stripping the ruins of everything that could be used as firewood (M16). Entire ways of life were shattered by border changes, worst of all for the semi-nomadic Skolt Sámi who permanently lost their ancestral herding grounds (see Lehtola 2003). Many Skolts, and other Northern evacuees, were destined to endure years of uncertainty in temporary accommodations, such as amongst the ruins of abandoned German Prisoner-of-War camps (Arvelin 2009) (Figure 7.1). Vigorous reconstruction began all over Lapland as soon as its population started coming back. Typically, men came first and started rebuilding their lives from scratch, scavenging building materials, such as bent nails and scraps of wood, from the smouldering ruins left by the Germans. This was done clandestinely in many places, since villagers were uncertain of the ownership status of the material. There were rumours that all the German matériel belonged to the Soviet Union, and at the same time, a waste management company Lapin Jäte Oy (Lapland’s Waste Inc.) was carrying out its own rather aggressive collecting of scrap metal, even from people’s backyards. One of our informants recalled these hostile activities as ‘outright robbery’ (M17). The reconstruction period in Lapland took longer than elsewhere in Finland, partly due to the same harsh environment, which had hampered German wartime activities.

Figure 7.1  A German dugout at Peltojoki used according to the locals by the returning evacuees, and later by fishermen and hunters. The wooden superstructure is a post-war construction, built after the burning of the camp in 1944 (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

172  Ignored, yet remembered Children actively took part in reconstruction and subsistence activities alongside their parents, as was anyway typical in the rural areas at the time. Repeating the scene of the inter-war years in France and Belgium, they came into intermittent contact with landmines and other volatile explosives (UXO). Childhood games with such lethal object left strong and lasting memories – and traumas – as was often eagerly and excitedly related by our elderly male informants (e.g. M2; M17; M19). Women, however, usually recall the tragic incidents related to UXO, such as injuries and loss of life (F7; F11). These dangerous games sometimes had personally cathartic connotations, of coming to terms with and exercising symbolical control over these potentially deadly weapons that had destroyed their homeland (see Carr 2014: 49; Moshenska 2008, 2019). Through these childhood games the children appear to have acted out the widespread destruction that they were forced to witness at a tender age (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). The cultural identity of the Sámi people suffered from the cycle of evacuation, destruction and reconstruction, a process exacerbated by the subsequent growth of state exploitation of Lapland’s natural resources (e.g. Lehtola 1994: 191–224, 2015). The state involvement was enabled by the German-built wartime infrastructure, such as the enhanced road network. Visually the most distinguishable effect of this was the mixing of traditional Sámi clothing (gákti) with the clothes worn by southern ‘lantalainen’ (literally meaning ‘cow dung person’, although originally apparently derived from the Swedish word ‘lant’ = land) (Lehtola 2015). State intervention resulted in generations of boarding schooled Sámi children, who were often forbidden to speak their own language (e.g. Keskitalo et al. 2014; Puuronen 2014: 322). These post-war events tie the Second World War’s German material heritage to postcolonial themes in Sápmi (e.g. Källén 2015; Lehtola 2015; Spangen et al. 2015). Interestingly, and somewhat ironically, Lapland emerged as a major destination for German tourists from the 1950s, when many German soldiers started visiting the places where they had served ‘as children’, as some explained it to the locals (M2). Some of them also visited their former encampments and even stayed amongst the blown-up ruins (M2; M16; M17) (see Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). At first, they had been wary of approaching the local people, owing to the ‘burning of Lapland’, but were surprised by the neutral and even friendly reception they received in most places (F6; F7). Of course, there were also contradictory cases and attitudes, especially in heavily destroyed Rovaniemi area (M10; M11). These themes were touched upon in publicity for the recent exhibition ‘Wir waren freunde – We were Friends’ in Rovaniemi in 2014–2015 (see Chapter 8; Seitsonen et al. 2018). After the initial rush of reconstruction, the German ruins were largely ignored for decades. As one local man described to us: ‘That wood is quite rotten. It is of no use, so I just let it be’ (M15). This ‘letting be’ is a relatively common attitude towards the wartime legacy by Northerners we

Heritage past, present and future  173 have interviewed. This perspective appears to have connotations beyond the practical or monetary value of the material remains and relates to their importance as witnesses of local past and the things that took place there. Nature has reclaimed these abandoned sites, shrouding them from view, as artefacts and landscape have merged and blurred the borders between cultural and natural heritage (see Figenschau 2016, for Norway). Yet, on the other hand, these inconspicuous remains are perceived by local people as an inseparable part of their multi-layered traditional cultural landscapes and have become absorbed into their lived-in and experienced lifeworlds in the decades since the war.

Past: forgetting and denying the Soviet partisan attacks Memory of Soviet partisan attacks against Finnish civilians was largely suppressed both during and after the war, as we have seen in Chapter 2. This official refusal to engage with these shocking events was a shock to the affected local population in northern and eastern Finland. While there were some exceptions during the war, like the vicious ‘Seitajärvi massacre’ that was publicized not only in Finland but also by the Nazi German and Swedish press, such events were mostly kept silenced to avoid panic in the border regions (Erkkilä 2011: 98–99). This policy continued into the post-war years, owing to the changed political situation, in which remembering Soviet war crimes was not possible, at least on a State-level (Havo 2010; Laurén 2019; Martikainen 1998). Immediately after the war, Finnish captain and later US Army lieutenant colonel Olavi Alakulppi, who commanded the anti-partisan troops at Seitajärvi, tried to convince the United Nations War Crime Commission about the nature of the Soviet partisan attacks, but in Cold War setting this proved in vain. At the local level, however, these tragic events were always remembered and retold and became an integral part of the affected communities’ trans-generational memories (e.g. Magga 2010). This despite the fact that in some cases there was practically no memorializing communities left, as some remote wilderness homesteads had been completely overrun by the partisans and all the inhabitants killed. In many cases, due to the enduring national silence, local people and the relatives of partisan victims took charge of the commemoration and reconciliation after the war (Seitsonen & Herva 2017). Likewise, it was surviving victims themselves, their relatives and history enthusiasts, who began to study and publicise the partisan attacks (e.g. Erkkilä 1998; Martikainen 1998; Tikkanen 1996). Their efforts broke the national silence, although only after the collapse of the Soviet Union, and offered the victims belated national recognition. Only recently have historians and ethnographers taken up the subject (see Koskinen-Koivisto & Seitsonen 2019; Kurki et al. 2016; Lähteenmäki 1999, 2006; Laurén 2017, 2018, 2019; Tuomaala 2008; Virolainen 1999). Partisan-related material heritage has also become a focus of interest to heritage professionals only recently,

174  Ignored, yet remembered largely owing to the long period of national disregard. So far, only a handful of partisan battlefields and bases such as the Petäjä-Raatelmaselkä base in Savukoski (Figure 1.2: 16) and some Finnish and German anti-partisan warfare bases have been archaeologically mapped. Local people and organizations have maintained their own memorials alongside their trans-generational memories of the attacks and the victims (Figure 7.2). First of these was raised five years after the war by the Finnish Evangelical Lutheran Church to remember the Bishop of Oulu who was killed in an infamous attack on a mail delivery bus at Laanila, Inari. One of our Sámi informants commented on this little hesitantly: ‘Well of course a southern bishop was remembered with a stone, but not our [Sámi] children and babies.’ It took until the collapse of the Soviet Union before memorials became more common. It was not until the 1970s that the first published references to the Soviet partisan attacks appeared. Two books published then were followed by two more in the 1980s, but it was only by the late 1990s that these events started getting wider recognition (Figure 7.2). Second World War partisan attacks have become an integral part of the trans-generational communal memory (Koskinen-Koivisto & Seitsonen 2019; Magga 2010; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). Locals remember and commemorate the events, and the knowledge has been passed on to new generations. This process is ongoing. For example, in 2014 the Sámi community of Vuotso organized a communal memorial trip to the site of a partisan attack against two Sámi families deep in the wilderness. One of the locals participating in this memorial trip, whose relatives had been killed in these attacks, described how he felt ‘lightened’ by this shared encounter with the communal past (M18). The reason behind organizing this memorial trip was explained by the organizer: So that we wouldn’t forget. The idea was, that we link that place, link the people, link the generations. Take these ways of remembering, that we tell, we joik, we share. Päivi Magga (2014) A joik (luohti) is the traditional form of Sámi singing, a way of storytelling and connecting with the landscape. Sámi artist Mattis Heatta has described that by ‘joiking something’ (juoigan) the subject of the joik is made real for the singer, it comes to him (Heikkilä 1987). The Vuotso memorial trip is an interesting example of using traditional ways of remembering for active trans-generational reconciliation with these traumatic events. These are closely tied to the places where events occurred, which mirrors the locals’ resilient and intimate sense of place, which ties together the past, present and future. Another concrete way of remembering these attacks and trying to reconcile them are the activities of the Finnish search groups, which look for the bodies of missing soldiers and civilians. These searches have been organized under the ‘Association for Cherishing the Memory of the Dead of the War’

Heritage past, present and future  175

Figure 7.2   Memories of the Soviet partisan attacks. Top: Piispankivi (Bishop’s Stone) memorial raised by the Finnish Evangelical Lutheran Church in 1950 to commemorate the partisan attack at Laanila, Inari (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2010); Bottom: Number of memorials and books published in Finland related to the Soviet partisan attacks.

since 1988 (Suominen 2013). Volunteers have been looking for several specific civilian victims of the partisans, including three villagers taken from Seitajärvi. The Seitajärvi case became one of the few to be concluded when, in 2006, the local Salla search group located the lost bodies (M26–27). These remains were reburied in the Savukoski cemetery next to their relatives

176  Ignored, yet remembered buried there during the war. Their descendants have described this as ‘an important step forward … when we could put our loved ones to rest’ (M26). However, there are other cases that have not been resolved, and relatives of the disappeared, some over 90 years old, continue the search for their relatives’ remains (M26–27). One result of the opening up of Finland after the collapse of the Soviet Union was that Finnish partisan victims and their relatives initiated, in 1991, the organization ‘Civilian veterans of the Continuation War’. This aimed at obtaining official recognition from the state. In 2002, they organized an international reconciliation seminar called ‘Peace is our only chance’ (Martikainen 2004). Both Finnish and Russian war historians and civil rights specialists took part, as well as partisan victims and a few ex-partisans. The seminar prepared the so-called ‘Sodankylä announcement’ which concluded that civilians are not legitimate targets in any conflict. Another result of this campaign was that, in 2003, the Finnish parliament approved a law that entitled partisan victims who had lost one or both parents in partisan attacks to 1500 euros compensation. While this was clearly symbolic, there is a feeling among the victims that this finally initiated a process of healing and reconciliation, and that they can now talk about the fate of their families openly and receive some official state recognition. However, at the same time, some did feel that the decision to pay a relatively small lump sum to the partisan victims was a national way of sweeping this difficult history under the carpet, and to regard it as having been dealt with (M26) (Seitsonen & Herva 2017).

Past: sweeping the ‘war junk’ In 2004, the enduring silence of the German material remains in Lapland was unexpectedly interrupted by the launch of an environmental ‘clearing’ operation by the environmental organization Pidä Lappi Siistinä (PLS; Keep Lapland Tidy). This gave a sudden impetus to developments with unexpected consequences. Notably, by raising national awareness of Lapland’s unique wartime heritage, it indirectly contributed to the formation of our ongoing LDH research project, which stemmed from our fascination with the strong public sentiments shown locally and nationally for and against the clearing project. In winter 2015 we attempted to interview the PLS officials about their ‘War Junk Project’ (Sotaromuprojekti), as it was titled in 2004–2010, but to our surprise they told us that they did not have anything to say since all the staff had changed. They merely directed us to consult their previous annual reports and online material (PLS 2005, 2008, 2010–2013). No final report of the War Junk Project is available, in contrast with those prepared for other projects; it is also mistakenly described on their current website as taking place in 2004– 2005 (PLS 2016). Because the War Junk Project has not been discussed elsewhere beyond passing references (e.g. Heinäaho & Rautiainen 2011; Herva

Heritage past, present and future  177 Table 7.1 PLS War Junk Project in 2005–2010 and the Amount of Matériel Collected and Sold as Scrap Metal (PLS 2005, 2008, 2010–2013) Year

Area

Cleared (kg)

2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 Total

Vuotso-Tankavaara, Sodankylä and Enontekiö Kaamanen, Inari Inari Kaamanen-Karigasniemi Road, Inari – Misi, Rovaniemi

32,000 28,000 25,000 23,000 – 10,000 118,000

2014; Seitsonen & Herva 2011, 2017; Seitsonen et al. 2017), I will here take a brief look at the project, its proceedings and consequences (Table 7.1). PLS initiated their project in 2004 after a proposal from Lapland’s Centre for Economic Development, Transport and the Environment (ELY) (PLS 2008) and the NBF (PLS 2013). Their work started with the GPS mapping of matériel in the vast area from Sodankylä in the south to Karigasniemi at Utsjoki in the north. This and the follow-up clearing work was done under the guidance of a local ex-military officer, with whom I have had repeated discussions about the importance and value of wartime material heritage (M4; see Seitsonen et al. 2017). The next year, in 2005, PLS opened its annual ‘war junk clearing camps’ (Alaluusua 2005; PLS 2008). Clearing started around Vuotso and Tankavaara in Sodankylä on 23–31 July 2005, and caused a strong negative reaction from local people (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). Altogether 15 people, mostly from southern Finland, took part in the clearing work, which reminded our local interviewees in Vuotso of the aggressive scrap-collecting of Lapin Jäte oy that took place at the same places after the war (F6; M17). PLS volunteers lived in tents pitched on the site of the former German-run PoW camp of Tankavaara Ylisenvaara (40). The PLS mapping work continued at Ivalo in Inari, where an exploded German ammunition depot was surveyed and later cleared by UXO specialists from the Lapland Jaeger Brigade of the FDF, and also at Enontekiö, where the work was discontinued when the Ministry of the Environment withdrew its funding (PLS 2008). In the first year, two truckloads, totalling 32,000 kg, of matériel was collected and sold as scrap metal to the recycling company Kuusakoski ltd (Table 7.1). PLS reports that cleared items included ‘metal junk, tins, airfield metal plates, burned cars, pontoons, exploded assault boats etc…’ (PLS 2008) (Figure 7.3). In 2006 PLS work moved further north to Inari. They organized next clearing camp in co-operation with the NBF, Kuusakoski ltd, and the Inari municipality on 22–30 July, concentrating at Kaamanen, Inari. An unknown number of volunteers worked daily from 8 am to 5 pm, with an age range between 18 and 69 years, due to the insurance organized by PLS. They camped at the site, and PLS organized food and a tent sauna, and

178  Ignored, yet remembered

Figure 7.3  ‘War junk’ in the wilderness in Inari (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2011).

part of their travel expenses were also reimbursed. Altogether 28,000 kg of metal was cleared (PLS 2008, 2012). The next clearing camp with the same partners was also based in Inari, from 30 June to 8 July 2007. Some 25,000 kg of matériel was cleared (PLS 2012). In 2008 the work continued in Inari between 19 and 27 July and extended to the Utsjoki municipality along the Kaamanen–Karigasniemi Road. At this time the Peltojoki camp was cleared, as witnessed on site by my colleague Kerkko Nordqvist who was working with Sámi heritage in the same area. However, as our Peltojoki excavations showed the following year, significant subsurface deposits could still be found even at the sites that were ‘vacuumed’ clean from the surface. PLS collected about 23,000 kg of metal in 2008 (PLS 2012). Based on PLS annual reports, the War Junk Project did not operate in 2009, and in July 2010 invited by the FDF, their activities were moved south to Misi, Rovaniemi, where they worked in co-operation with the local landowners. At Misi the clearing of a large destroyed German ammunition depot was instigated. Work was slow, ‘because the junk was located over a large area in small fragments’, yet 10,000 kg of matériel was eventually cleared (PLS 2010). The project was supposed to continue in 2011 with another clearing camp at Misi, but ‘[s]urprisingly, however, no collecting permit was gotten…’ (PLS 2011). Ministry of the Environment refused to give a permit in 2011 likely influenced by the local resistance met by the clearing camps elsewhere, especially in Inari, and the consequent incidents. In 2006 the rural police chief (Fi. Nimismies) stopped the PLS clearing work at Kaamanen, alerted by the local history enthusiasts who were worried about the destruction of wartime cultural heritage. This was based on an interpretation of the lost property law

Heritage past, present and future  179 that stipulates all military material left on Finnish soil belongs to the Ministry of the Defence, and the PLS did not have a permit from them. However, the FDF granted the permission later the same day and the clearing work continued (Alaluusua 2006a). This incident incentivized the local history enthusiasts to establish the Lapland Society for Military History (LSMH) in 2006 (M1; M13). The goal of LSMH is to facilitate the documenting of Lapland’s wartime heritage and to prevent its casual destruction by clearing or by selling it abroad (LSMH 2016). Already at this stage there were rumours that PLS or some of its members were collecting and selling more significant and valuable finds at war memorabilia markets, and such stories became more marked in the following years (Rehtonen 2010). In their 2006 permit the FDF demanded that PLS inform them if anything valuable was encountered, and that their representative could check that nothing historically important would be sold as scrap metal (Alaluusua 2006b). Conflict between local history enthusiasts and the PLS occurred again in 2007, and few members of the LSMH stayed all week observing the clearing work of PLS at the Kaamanen airfield (Alaluusua 2007). The confrontations in Inari and Sodankylä probably caused the PLS to move their actions southwards in 2010. These incidents also brought the organization nationwide bad publicity (M1; M4; M13), despite its generally well-meaning aim to keep Lapland tidy. The local resistance and lack of a permit in 2011 finally prompted the PLS to enter discussion with heritage actors in 2012, including myself. PLS wanted to arrange an overarching ‘war junk discussion’ in November 2012, with representatives from the Sámi Museum Siida, the Provincial Museum of Lapland, Tankavaara Gold Prospector Museum, Lapland Society for Military History, National Board of Antiquities, National Board of Forestry, Centre for Economic Development, Transport and the Environment, Finnish Defence Forces, the Reindeer Herders’ Associations, and the Department of Archaeology, University of Helsinki, represented by myself (PLS Meeting invitation 22 May 2012). The motivation of PLS for organizing this was described as: There has been lively discussion about war junk in different medias and forums. Pidä Lappi Siistinä ry (PLS ry) wishes that the interested bodies would discuss in cooperation about the principles of war junk cleaning and end up with a mutually agreed approach and decisions, according to which the concrete actions regarding the war junk will be implemented… to prevent disruptions of already planned actions, as happened with the summer 2011 clearing camp of PLS ry following the decision to ban the cleaning of war junk. (PLS meeting invitation 23.11.2012) In their invitation PLS emphasized that they only clear the ‘metal junk that is worthless but harmful for people and animals’, and ‘[I]f war historically valuable material is found in the landscape, the permit giver is informed,

180  Ignored, yet remembered and can inspect it…’ (PLS meeting invitation 23 November 2012). They also noted that ‘PLS has no interest in cleaning war junk, if the Defence Forces and landowners and other bodies are unanimously against it in the future’ (PLS meeting invitation 23 November 2012; my emphasis). The outcome of the meeting was that PLS decided to hold back from clearing war junk in 2013–2016 to allow the mapping of wartime sites. However, based on our recent discussions with PLS, it seems likely that they have no further interest in war junk clearance. As they expressed it: ‘The organization has enough important work for example in cleaning and maintaining hiking routes and other nature sites’ (PLS meeting invitation 23 November 2012). What both the PLS and FDF missed when launching the clearing project and in their evaluation of what is ‘historically valuable from the war’ (PLS meeting invitation 23 November 2012) is that the local perception of the so-called war junk’s heritage status is very different from the casual national-level interpretation. Local insights have become clear in our interviews with various stakeholders. Villagers in Inari and Sodankylä typically saw the PLS cleaning actions as a southern intrusion, since the organization was Rovaniemi based, and most of the volunteers originated from southern Finland. This chimes with Lapland’s long enduring colonialist past and sidelining. As an example, I was originally invited to several places owing to the local discontent with the PLS activities. The locals hoped that when their wartime legacy was documented, mapped and reported by the heritage authorities, this would protect them from further interference and destruction by outsiders. From a local perspective, this paid off in the long run, since the clearing project was eventually withdrawn. Importantly for the local population, the significance of the wartime material remains regarded by the FDF and PLS as ‘war junk’ is not straightforwardly related to its material or historical value; not, for instance, to its exceptionality or representativeness. Its local value is based on what it stands for symbolically and socially as part of the local cultural landscape and memoryscape (see Ikäheimo & Äikäs 2018). This material heritage acts as a significant agent for local communal memories intertwined with numerous other contemporary issues (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). For example, the spokesmen of PLS in many cases emphasized that the German matériel is dangerous and unwanted in Lapland’s landscapes due to the threat posed by the UXO (Herva 2014; Seitsonen et al. 2017; Thomas et al. 2016; see Chapter 8). This message was reinforced on their website with a photograph of ‘[r]emains of a reindeer that died because of war junk’ (PLS 2012), showing a reindeer skeleton entwined with rusty pieces of metal. This is related to the organization’s wider agenda to keep Lapland’s landscapes (artificially) authentic and pristine. However, this view stems essentially from a colonial, ‘western’ perception of Lapland foremost as a natural wilderness, whereas for the locals it embodies their enduring and lived-in cultural landscape (Thomas et al. 2016). At least some locals perceived (M17;

Heritage past, present and future  181 M20) that the aim of PLS was making their ‘own lands’ more appealing for national and international tourists. This connects, in turn, with ongoing discussions about Lapland tourism: what is used – and ignored – in its promotion, how the indigenous Sámi people and their culture are represented, encountered and incorporated, and how this all ties in with Lapland’s little discussed and downplayed colonial past. Altogether, the strong reactions that the PLS clearing project triggered, illustrate well how this nationally long-ignored ‘war junk’ in fact represents for numerous local people and communities in Lapland their own wartime material heritage. In that sense the PLS clearing project was not entirely useless from a heritage perspective, since it brought these questions and opposing views into the open and initiated the resultant active promotion of documentation and protection of Second World War sites by LSMH (M1; M13). These discussions eventually led the national heritage authorities, especially the NBF, to start thinking about the ‘war junk’ issue and its connections with heritage values. In the aftermath of this debate, the NBF made their landmark decision to protect all recent past material remains on the lands they controlled. Also, the PLS War Junk Project instigated nationwide discussions about the importance and value of the German matériel, and how they linger on the margins of national memory and consciousness as haunting reminders and representatives of downplayed histories and unresolved issues. At a national level it appears that the PLS War Junk Project produced an unanticipated impetus, which pushed Lapland’s wartime material heritage into national and official consciousness. This started an ongoing process of recognition which is still in its infancy and also began a process of reconciliation with the difficult past. However, there have never been any questions about the importance of wartime material remains and memories at the local level, first as a much-needed source of raw material, and subsequently as subliminal, socially valued agents of communal memories, unceasingly conversing and reconciling with the past and keeping it metaphorically alive (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017).

Note 1 The assessment of public participator motivation in these conflict heritage crowdsourcing endeavours highlights some themes that are potentially scalable and transferable to other kinds of citizen science ventures. The following have presented themselves as vital themes, concepts and possible biases to consider when creating citizen participation in Participatory GIS or other crowdsourcing (Seitsonen 2017; also Howe 2008: 280–288): 1 Crowdsourcing forum: Reaching a wide audience interested in the subject – in some cases it might be profitable to also try to attract wider-range of people, including those who are not otherwise interested in contributing to such projects or themes. 2 User-interface: Creating an easy to use, intuitive and reliable interface. 3 Outlining the project: Presenting the project to the public in a meaningful and attractive way – however, this might also direct their contributions.

182  Ignored, yet remembered 4 Active and dynamic promotion: Recurring social or traditional media presence enhances public participation. 5 ‘Pride of place’: Promoting personally important locations to which people are attached is seen as a strong motivator to contribute in citizen science (see Coleman et al. 2009: 343–44; Olsson 2010). 6 ‘Law of the vital few’ (a.k.a. ‘Pareto principle’): In crowdsourcing, as well as in other online activities, a few active contributors characteristically provide most of the input (see Bonacchi et  al. 2014; Chrons & Sundell 2011). 7 Anonymity or authentication: Contributing anonymously can attract some people to contribute more willingly, whereas others are more eager to authenticate themselves – this might be motivated by gaining social and cultural capital within the user-community (see Lietsala and Sirkkunen 2008: 84; Murzyn-Kupisz and Działek 2013). 8 ‘Games with a purpose’: Gamification of user-interfaces can enhance participation by some users (von Ahn & Dabbish 2008), but it has also been criticized as trivializing the user-contribution (Randall 2015). The public crowdsourcing and analyses of other online materials can open fresh and even unexpected perspectives into the recent past heritage. These can differ considerably from the historical, archaeological and ethnographic records. For example, it appears that the relation of places to local personal and familial histories and, especially, ‘Pride of place’ were significant incentives for people to participate in both YLE and LDH crowdsourcing (Seitsonen 2017). This highlights how places gain their importance and heritage value through connected immaterial meanings and stories, through the meanings that they hold for local people (Ikäheimo & Äikäs 2018; Jones 2017).

References World Wide Web sources Alaluusua, K. 2005. Ruostunut sotaromu terästyy. Kaleva July 29, 2005. Available at http://www.kaleva.fi/uutiset/pohjois-suomi/ruostunut-sotaromuterastyy/221825/ [Accessed 2016-12-31] Alaluusua, K. 2006a. Sotaromujen keruu keskeytyi. Kaleva July 27, 2006. Available at http://www.kaleva.fi/uutiset/pohjois-suomi/sotaromujen-keruukeskeytyi/95131/ [Accessed 2016-12-31] Alaluusua, K. 2006b. Sotaromun siivous jatkui Kaamasessa. Kaleva July 2, 2006. Available at http://www.kaleva.fi/uutiset/pohjois-suomi/sotaromun-siivousjatkuikaamasessa/95375/ [Accessed 2016-12-31] Alaluusua, K. 2007. Sotaromun siivouspaikalle tuli rauha. Kaleva July 6, 2007. Available at http://www.kaleva.fi/uutiset/pohjois-suomi/sotaromunsiivouspaikalle-tulirauha/23982/ [Accessed 2016-12-31] LSMH 2016. Lapin Sotahistoriallinen Seura Ry. Available at http://www.lapinsota historiallinenseura.fi/ [Accessed 2017-07-17] Magga, P. 2014. Ihan nurkan takana – Retkellä yhteiseen perintöön. Available at http:// nurkantakana.fi/retkella-yhteiseen-perintoon-kuvaus/ [Accessed 2015-03-19]. Rehtonen, T. 2010. Pidä Lappi Siistinä ry ei tee sotaromulla bisnestä. YLE July 28, 2010. Available at https://yle.fi/uutiset/3-5604143 [Accessed 2015-04-01] Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2017. “Last morning”: Material and Immaterial Memories of Soviet Partisan Raids against Finnish Civilians in Lapland in the

Heritage past, present and future  183 Second World War. In Building Bridges. Abstract book of the 23rd Annual Meeting of the European Association of Archaeologists 2017, edited by J. Bazelmans & Klinkhamer Group: 106. Available at http://www.eaa2017maastricht.nl/ [Accessed 2015-12-31] PLS 2005. Pidä Lappi Siistinä Ry - Talkooleirit 2005–2000. https://web.archive.org/web/ 20160623133543/http://pidalappisiistina.fi/index.php?id=49 [Accessed 2016-04-01] PLS 2008. Pidä Lappi Siistinä Ry - Toiminta 2008–2002. https://web.archive.org/web/ 20160322062643/http://pidalappisiistina.fi/index.php?id=8 [Accessed 2016-04-01] PLS 2016. Pidä Lappi Siistinä ry. http://www.pidalappisiistina.fi/ [Accessed 2016-04-01].

Primary sources Arvelin, M. 2009. Sodan piikkilangat. Totta ja tarinaa Inarin vankileireistä. Lapin legendat 4. Ukko-Media: Inari. Bonacchi, C., Bevan, A., Pett, D., Keinan-Schoonbaert, A., Sparks, R., Wexler, J. & Wilkin, N. 2014. Crowd-Sourced Archaeological Research: The MicroPasts Project. Archaeology International 17: 61–68. Carr, G. 2014. Legacies of Occupation: Heritage, Memory and Archaeology in the Channel Islands. Springer: London. Chrons, O. & Sundell, S. 2011. Digitalkoot: Making Old Archives Accessible Using Crowdsourcing. In Human Computation: Papers from the 2011 AAAI Workshop (WS-11-11), edited by L. von Ahn & P.G. Ipeirotis. Available at: http://www.aaai. org/Library/Workshops/ws11-11.php [Accessed 2012-10-14] Coleman, D., Georgiadou, Y. & Labonte, J. 2009. Volunteered Geographic Information: The Nature and Motivation of Producers. International Journal of Spatial Data Infrastructures Research 4: 332–358. Erkkilä, V. 1998. Vaiettu sota. Neuvostoliiton partisaanien iskut suomalaisiin kyliin. Arator: Hämeenlinna. Erkkilä, V. 2011. Viimeinen aamu: Neuvostopartisaanien vaietut jäljet. Otava: Helsinki. Figenschau, I. 2016. Krigsminner som kulturminner: redning eller klam omfavnelse? Primitive tider 18: 199–215. Harrison, R. 2013. Forgetting to Remember, Remembering to Forget: Late Modern Heritage Practices, Sustainability and the “Crisis” of Accumulation of the Past. International Journal of Heritage Studies 19(6): 579–595. Harvey, D.C. 2001. Heritage Pasts and Heritage Presents: Temporality, Meaning and the Scope of Heritage Studies. International Journal of Heritage Studies 7(4): 319–338. Havo, V. 2010. Korvaukset partisaani-iskujen uhreille vuonna 2003. In Sotatapahtumia, internointeja ja siirto sodanjälkeisiin oloihin, edited by L. Westerlund: 379– 402. Kansallisarkisto, Helsinki. Heikkilä, S. 1987. Joiku tulee tutuksi. Iisalmen Sanomat March 7, 1987. Heinäaho, H. & Rautiainen, P. 2011. Romua vai Sotahistoriallisia Aarteita? Museo 2/2011: 32–34. Herva, V.-P. 2014. Haunting Heritage in an Enchanted Land: Magic, Materiality and Second World War German Material Heritage in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 1(2): 297–321. Herva, V.-P., Koskinen-Koivisto, E., Seitsonen, O. & Thomas, S. 2016. ‘I Have Better Stuff at Home’: Treasure Hunting and Private Collecting of World War II Artefacts in Finnish Lapland. World Archaeology 48(2): 267–281.

184  Ignored, yet remembered Howe, Jeff. 2008. Crowdsourcing: Why the Power of the Crowd is Driving the Future of the Business. New York: Crown Publishing. Ikäheimo, J. & Äikäs, T. 2018. Hanging Tree as a Place of Memories: Encounters at a 1916 Execution Site. Journal of Community Archaeology and Heritage 5(3): 166–181. Jones, S. 2017. Wrestling with the Social Value of Heritage: Problems, Dilemmas and Opportunities. Journal of Community Archaeology and Heritage 4(1): 21–37. Källén, A. 2015. Postcolonial Theory and Sámi Archaeology – A Commentary. Arctic Anthropology 52(2): 81–86. Keskitalo, P., Lehtola, V.-P. & Paksuniemi, M. 2014. Saamelaisten kansanopetuksen ja koulunkäynnin historia Suomessa. Siirtolaisinstituutti, tutkimuksia A50. Siirtolaisuusinstituutti: Turku. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Seitsonen. O. 2019. Landscapes of Loss and Destruction: Childhood Memories of Sámi Elders of the Second World War. Ethnologia Europaea 49(1): 24–40. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Thomas, S. 2017. Lapland’s Dark Heritage: Responses to the Legacy of World War II. In Heritage in Action. Making the Past in the Present, edited by H. Silverman, W. Waterton & S. Watson: 121–133. Springer: New York. Kozinets, R.V. 2010. Netnography: Doing Ethnographic Research Online. Sage: Thousand Oaks, London. Kurki, T., Laurén, K., Kaskinen, S., Jaago, T. & Tanttu, T. 2016. Projektiesittely: Traumatized Borders: Reviving Subversive Narratives of B/Order, and Other. Elore 23(2). https://doi.org/10.30666/elore.79262 Laurén, K. 2017. “Siinä katottiin vähän aikaa konepistoolin suuaukkoa”. Traumaattiset kertomukset neuvostopartisaanien iskuista Lapissa ja Kainuussa jatkosodan aikana. Lähde: Historiatieteellinen Aikakauskirja 14: 43–62. Laurén, K. 2018. From Silence to Recovery: Traumatic Home Front Memories of the Soviet Partisan War in Finland. Etnologia Fennica 45: 4–27. Laurén, K. 2019. Unohtamista uhmaten: Partisaanisodan muistelukulttuuri hiljaisena vastarintama. In Hiljainen vastarinta, edited by O. Autti & V.-P. Lehtola: 269–294. Tampere University Press: Tampere. Lähteenmäki, M. 1999. Jänkäjääkäreitä ja parakkipirkkoja. Lappilaisten sotakokemuksia 1939–1945. Historiallisia tutkimuksia 203. Suomen Historiallinen Seura: Helsinki. Lähteenmäki, M. 2006. Terra Ultima: Matka Lapin historiaan. Otava: Helsinki. Lehtola, V.-P. 1994. Saamelainen evakko. Rauhan kansa sodan jaloissa. City Sámit: Helsinki. Lehtola, V.-P. 2003. Tuhon ja nousun vuodet (1939–1965). In Inari – Aanaar. Inarin historia jääkaudesta nykypäivään, edited by V.-P. Lehtola: 350–489. Inarin kunta: Oulu. Lehtola, V.-P. 2015. Second World War as a Trigger for Transcultural Changes among Sámi People in Finland. Acta Borealia 32(2): 125–147. Lietsala, K. & Sirkkunen, E. 2008. Social Media: Introduction to the Tools and Processes of Participatory Economy. Tampere University Press: Tampere. Lillbroända-Annala, S. 2014. Kulttuuriperintö prosessina ja arvottamisen välineenä. In Muuttuva kulttuuriperintö. Det föränderliga kulturarvet, edited by T. Steel, A. Turunen, S. Lillbroända-Annala & M. Santikko: 19–40. Ethnos: Helsinki. Magga, A. 2010. Elämää sotavuosina. In Kylä kulttuurien risteyksessä, edited by U. Aikio-Puoskari & P. Magga: 64–79. Sine loco: Vuohču Sámiid Searvi.

Heritage past, present and future  185 Martikainen, T. 1998. Neuvostoliiton partisaanien tuhoiskut siviilikyliin 1941–44: Kemi-Sompion kairan Kuosku, Maggan talot, Seitajärvi ja Lokka partisaanihyökkäysten kohteina. Savukoski: Savukoski. Martikainen T. (ed.) 2004. Rauha on ainoa mahdollisuutemme: partisaanisodan kansainvälinen sovitusseminaari. Jatkosodan Siviiliveteraanit ry: Kemi. Moshenska, G. 2008. A Hard Rain: Children’s Shrapnel Collections in the Second World War. Journal of Material Culture 13(1): 107–125. Moshenska, G. 2019. Material Cultures of Childhood in Second World War Britain. Routledge: London, New York. Murzyn-Kupisz, M. & Działek, J. 2013. Cultural Heritage in Building and Enhancing Social Capital. Journal of Cultural Heritage Management and Sustainable Development 3(1): 35–54. Olsson, K. 2010. Cultural Heritage as a Resource in Place Marketing. In Integrating Aims – Built Heritage in Social and Economic Development. School of Science and Technology, Centre for Urban and Regional Studies Publications B98, edited by M. Mälkki & K. Schmidt-Thomé: 251–268. Aalto University: Espoo. PLS 2010. Pidä Lappi Siistinä ry. pidalappisiistina.com. Vuosikertomus 2010. Annual report, Rovaniemi, Finland. PLS 2011. Pidä Lappi Siistinä ry. Vuosikertomus 2011. Annual report, Rovaniemi, Finland. PLS 2012. Pidä Lappi Siistinä ry. Vuosikertomus 2012. Annual report, Rovaniemi, Finland. PLS 2013. Pidä Lappi Siistinä ry. Vuosikertomus 2013. Annual report, Rovaniemi, Finland. Puuronen, V. 2014. Saamelaiset, koulu ja rasismi. In Saamelaisen kansanopetuksen ja koulunkäynnin historia Suomessa. Siirtolaisinstituutti, tutkimuksia A50, edited by P. Keskitalo, V.-P. Lehtola & M. Paksuniemi: 320–339. Siirtolaisinstituutti: Turku. Randall, P. 2015. Purposeful Gaming: Work as Play. Ariadne 74. Available at: http:// www.ariadne.ac.uk/issue74/randall [accessed 2014-12-06]. Ronström, O. 2007. Kulturarvspolitik. Visby: Från sliten småstad till medeltidsikon. Carlsson: Stockholm. Seitsonen, O. 2017. Crowdsourcing Cultural Heritage: Public Participation and Conflict Legacy in Finland, Journal of Community Archaeology and Heritage 4(2): 115–130. Seitsonen, O., Hekkurainen, M., Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Thomas, S. 2018. “Voiko natsia rakastaa?”: Lapin Maakuntamuseon Wir waren Freunde – Olimme ystäviä -näyttelyprosessi esimerkkinä vaikeasta kulttuuriperinnöstä. Suomen Museo 2018: 112–132. Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2011. Forgotten in the Wilderness: WWII PoW Camps in Finnish Lapland. In Archaeologies of Internment, edited by A. Myers & G. Moshenska: 171–190. Springer: New York. Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P., Nordqvist, K., Herva, A. & Seitsonen, S. 2017. A military camp in the middle of nowhere: mobilities, dislocation and the archaeology of a Second World War German military base in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Conflict Archaeology 12(1): 3–28. Seitsonen, O. & Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2017. ‘Where the F… is Vuotso?’: Heritage of Second World War Forced Movement and Destruction in a Sámi Reindeer

186  Ignored, yet remembered Herding Community in Finnish Lapland. International Journal of Heritage Studies 24(4): 421–441. Smith, L. 2006. Uses of Heritage. Routledge: New York. Spangen, Marte, Anna-Kaisa Salmi & Tiina Äikäs. 2015. Sámi Archaeology and Postcolonial Theory – An Introduction. Arctic Anthropology 52(2): 1–5. Suominen, P. 2013. Sotavainajien muiston vaalimisyhdistys ry 1998–2013. Sotavainajien muiston vaalimisyhdistys: Helsinki. Thomas, S. 2015. Collaborate, Condemn, or Ignore? Responding to Non-Archaeological Approaches to Archaeological Heritage. European Journal of Archaeology 18(2): 312–335. Thomas, S., Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2016. Nazi Memorabilia, Dark Heritage and Treasure Hunting as “Alternative” Tourism: Understanding the Fascination with the Material Remains of World War II in Northern Finland. Journal of Field Archaeology 41(3): 331–343. Tikkanen, V. 1996. Partisaanien uhrit. Ville Tikkanen: Kajaani. Tuomaala, R. 2008. “Kyllähän nyt pitäs olla jo semmonen aika, että pääsis niin kö keskustelemhan näistä asioista.” Tutkimus lappilaisten huutolaisten, sotavankien ja partisaanien uhrien elämänkulusta, voimavaroista, terveydestä ja sairauksista. Annales universitas Turkuensis C274. Turun yliopisto: Turku. Virolainen, K. 1999. Elinikäinen taakka. Ikääntyneiden lappilaisten muistot vuorovaikutussuhteistaan jatkosodan ajan Saksan armeijan sotilaisiin ja neuvostoliittolaisiin sotavankeihin. Lapin yliopisto: Rovaniemi. von Ahn, L. & Dabbish, L. 2008. Designing Games with a Purpose. Communications of the ACM 51(8): 57–67. Waterton, E. & Smith, L. 2010. The Recognition and Misrecognition of Community Heritage. International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–2): 4–15. Wilson, J.A.P. 2012. The Cave Who Never Was: Outsider Archaeology and Failed Collaboration in the USA. Public Archaeology 11(2): 73–95.

8 Materialities of a haunting past – or present?

There is a persistent presence of Second World War memories in Finland, both locally in Lapland, mediated by the material remains in the wilderness, and nationally, as maintained by the heroic ‘master narrative’ of the war effort against the Soviet Union (e.g. Kivimäki 2012). This multi-layered engagement with the past raises interesting issues relating to varying understandings of time and presence, and the heterogenous temporalities, characteristic of the messy contemporary past and the supermodern world (e.g. Hamiliakis 2018; Harrison & Schofield 2009). This has been aptly presented by Alfredo González-Ruibal (2008: 262): ‘There is no archaeology of the twenty-first century but only an archaeology of the twenty-first and all its pasts, mixed and entangled’. This refocuses attention on temporalities from precisely defined intervals, such as archaeological periods or historical episodes, to continuous, and often uncertain processes such as the complex issues related to the Anthropocene and its definitions (see Riede et al. 2016). Ostensibly, in a Euro-centric perspective Second World War is easily demarcated by the date range 1939–1945. However, other perspectives emphasize its material remains and living transgenerational memories as being very much of and in the present. In other words, conflicts have afterlives and long-term continuities as the Latvian film director Viesturs Kairišs observed: ‘…for us the Second World War is not really over’ (Rislakki 2016). In Lapland this heterogeneity of temporalities is illustrated by the long-term reuse of the German sites, at first for reconstruction and accommodation, and later by reindeer herders and other wilderness wanderers for temporary shelter. Fatal post-war encounters with unexploded ordnance (UXO) are also important for understanding these diverging perceptions of time. Should those who were injured or died in explosions after the war be seen as casualties of the conflict? On a local level, post-war casualties are indeed regarded as war losses, as illustrated in Vuotso where the individuals who died in such incidents are incorporated into the ‘1939–1944 For the Fatherland’ (Isänmaan puolesta) memorial plaque at the local school. Two immediate post-war

188  Ignored, yet remembered

Figure 8.1 ‘For the Fatherland’ memorial plaque at the Vuotso school: included are also the three local post-war casualties. Notice the very young and old civilian victims of the Soviet partisan terror attack on 19 August 1943 (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

deaths in 1945, and finally a young boy who died in an UXO explosion in 1959, a decade and half after the war ended (Figure 8.1). This policy and practice apply also to war invalid status, as those injured by UXO after 1945 are legally considered to be war invalids. However, the temporal connections of a recent, more controversial incident where one metal detectorist was killed and another badly injured in 2013 when trying to defuse an artillery shell is more complicated. Should these men also be counted as casualties of the war? In theory, they could be seen as such. However, local attitudes towards this issue were made clear to me by three Sámi interviewees at Vuotso, who scoffed: ‘Well hell no. Stupidity has its price. They shouldn’t go around poking and taking things from our land. Let it be. Metal men [metal detectorists] should remember that it is different for our people. We had no choice. They think they know so much of the war, but they know nothing’ (M17; my emphasis). These informants forcefully expressed the view that it would in one sense be an insult towards their own dead if the dead metal detectorist was regarded as a war casualty. The reference to ‘our land’ is also insightful and associates with the sense of stewardship and ownership evinced by the locals towards their ‘own heritage’. This is closely linked with ongoing debates about the northern land ownership, Sámi land use rights, and related issues (e.g. Länsman 2004; Lehtola 2015).

Haunting materialities  189

Now: haunting and haunted heritage The heterogenous temporalities, and in some sense the ‘porous’ past (see González-Ruibal 2008; Witmore 2013), are exemplified by the numerous ghost stories associated with many German sites in Lapland. Many of these localities are literally and figuratively described in local folklore as haunted by the shades of war (see Harjumaa 2009; Herva 2014; also F6; M20; M28). This became evident in the entries that public made in both the ­Y leisradio (Seitsonen 2017) and LDH crowdsourcing (LDH 2018), and has been touched upon in many interviews, for example, in this comment about visiting German ruins in Vuotso: ‘When I walk there, it sometimes feels like someone is peeping at me’ (F6). German material remains haunt the memory of the entire nation as well, as shown by the strong sentiments and animated debate aroused by the PLS ‘war junk’ clearing operations (Herva 2014). The misplaced and ambiguous material remains in Lapland’s landscapes symbolize different things for people with differing backgrounds. For outsiders, these remains can easily appear as the anonymous, faceless mass of Nazi German soldiers. From this perspective, the abandoned military matériel in the wilderness have ‘abducted’ traits linked with the Nazis and are still charged by those, shaping outsiders’ views on them (see Herva 2014: 306). On the other hand, for locals with family ties to the remains they stand out as enduring landmarks of personal connections to the ever-present past (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). This also explains the range of differing attitudes towards, and engagements with, ‘war junk’. For instance, accepting idiosyncratic local perspectives, it is understandable that local people feel a strong sense of custodianship towards what they regard as their own heritage connected to their own communal past on their own lands (M17; M18). The haunting, ambivalent characteristics of German materialities suggest their relevance as physical manifestations of alternative, perhaps undesirable geographies and pasts. These remains reach out from the past to remind us of what they represent and symbolize as upsetting, out-of-place artefacts in the modern-day landscape (e.g. Herva 2014; Pétursdóttir & Olsen 2014a, b), as ‘… a crumbling mixture of all its pasts, jumbled together and still living, never dead but never freshly alive…’ (Brentano 1991: 3). In the context of Holocaust heritage, Barndt (2010) has reflected on the (perhaps subconscious) avoidance of recent pasts related to the Nazi reign and the preference for returning to an (imaginary) archaic past. This view is based on anthropologist Marc Augé’s (2004) notions of cultural memory, recollection and disremembering. For Lapland, this emerges as the apparent decades-long national-level obliviousness to the ideologically uncomfortable and traumatic German presence. Instead, images of the outwardly ‘unpolluted’ prehistoric pasts, the seemingly ‘pristine’ wilderness and the ‘original’ Sámi ‘natives’ and their reindeer are preferred, typically in tourism promotion

190  Ignored, yet remembered and preservation discussions. One tourism promoter recently went so far as to claim that: ‘Nature is Lapland’s Disneyland’ (Morottaja 2016). The character of German sites as haunting reminders of a disturbing and little discussed past takes the form of ghost sightings and paranormal experiences in local folklore (Harjumaa 2009; Herva 2014; Koskinen-Koivisto 2016). Lapland, and also Finland more widely, has long been viewed as an enchanted land of supernatural beings. This reputation has been created and maintained, mostly by outsiders, since early modern times, and nowadays resonates with tourism promotion. Still, traditional northern cosmologies have been characterized by relational worldviews built on animistic and shamanistic foundations (e.g. Herva 2014; Ingold 2000; Thomas et al. 2016). In this sense, ‘haunted’ German sites have been incorporated into local, long-term historical and cultural frameworks and ontologies, in tandem with such places being merged into the local historical landscapes and environmental perceptions (Seitsonen & Herva 2017). Ghosts related to the German legacy illustrate also well how stories of paranormal activity are often connected to unsettled and ambiguous issues (see Carr 2017; Herva 2014). The stories of ghost sightings at German sites in Lapland are typical at places of death and suffering, especially in Prisoner-of-War (PoW) camps and military hospitals (Harjumaa 2009; LDH 2018; Seitsonen 2017; see Carr 2017, for Channel Islands). Nearly one tenth of the total entries in the LDH crowdsourcing relate to ghosts and hauntings (LDH 2018). As one example, an entry placed at the Sámi Museum Siida in Inari, where the German’s had Juutuanjoki PoW camp (13), states that the ‘…inhabitants of the prison camp are said to have been haunting the cape for decades.’ In another fascinating entry a public user marked a place called ‘Money pine’ (Rahamänty) in Kuusamo, with the lengthy description: A tree known as the money pine grew for hundreds of years at Korentokangas, it received its soubriquet on the basis, that according to a story that [renowned Finnish artist] Akseli Gallen-Kallela used it as a model when drawing the tree on [Finnish] Mark coins. The Money pine was already historically an ancient landmark and meeting place, it is told that during the Rappa Wars oppressor Russians [vihavenäläiset] and Swedes negotiated there, one oppressor Russian was even buried near the tree. Its trunk had a large cavity, that offered a hiding place for children and shelter from rain for adults. During the Lapland War a German soldier was buried at the base of the money pine, then when soldiers’ bodies were collected in the 1950s to be taken to Norvajärvi [German Mausoleum] in Rovaniemi, he was uncovered. The body was well-preserved, hand in a sling. Germans also mined the whole area. [sic] User entry in the LDH public crowdsourcing (LDH 2018) This entry illustrates how the German legacy has become an integral part of the longer tradition of local folklore. Money pine in itself is a mythological

Haunting materialities  191 place, as shown by the many stories which have been connected to this place over time: Rappa Wars (Rappasodat) refer in the local vernacular to the Swedish–Russian wars of 1570–1595. There are also at least two other places in Finland known as the ‘money pine’, said to be the model for the tree illustrated on old Finnish Mark coins. Another example of this embeddedness in folklore is an entry marking the PoW forest working site at Kaivoslampi, where according to the writer: Wilderness walkers have heard rattling of bones, howling, Russian language mumbling and a child crying. The story goes that at the cabin a child was born, who was dumped into a swamp grave and now cries there as a liekko. User entry in the LDH public crowdsourcing (LDH 2018) Liekko (or Liekkiö) is an old character in Finnish rural folk beliefs, defined as the howling spirit of a typically illegitimate child who has been killed and secretly buried in a swamp or forest grave (Ganander 2016 [1789]: 90; Harva 1948: 452–454). It is intriguing to observe how deeply the memories and material remains of German and PoW presence have become immersed into the older beliefs (LDH 2018). Indirectly, the same embeddedness is expressed through the caring sentiments and custodianship shown towards German-related material remains by many locals. The strong emotions and experiences that German wilderness sites can generate became evident in summer 2016. Two volunteers from our public excavations in August 2016 visited the Kankiniemi PoW camp (15), which we had excavated in 2015, and experienced something puzzling, which they perceived as a haunting. Regardless of what exactly causes such experiences, it is important from a heritage perspective that people feel something when confronted with Second World War and its material remains. As a result of this incident, and as an unplanned and unexpected public outreach of the LDH project, two months later a Greek Orthodox cross was raised at the site by myself, Vesa-Pekka Herva and the local Orthodox priest father Rauno Pietarinen, and a memorial service held in October 2016 (Figure 8.2). After the service father Pietarinen explained to us the motivation for organising this service: When those who suffered and died at the camp during the war are remembered now, it in fact comforts them during the war when they were still alive. This might sound like a strange way for time to behave, but this kind of spiritual time travel makes sense to us when you think of it. This cross and this service normalize this place to the same level as the surrounding lands. It doesn’t make this place good or holy, but normal. Father Rauno Pietarinen (1 October 2016) Ultimately, this can be seen as an attempt to interfere with the past, and to prevent the location from becoming haunted in the first place (Seitsonen &

192  Ignored, yet remembered

Figure 8.2 Father Rauno Pietarinen giving an Orthodox memorial service at the Kankiniemi PoW camp in October 2016 (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016).

Herva 2017). Without going into details, this was an illustrative example of how the past is still very much ‘alive’ at these sites, at least metaphorically and can affect the present through its material traces. It is another expression of the heterogeneity and porosity of time and past(s) (González-Ruibal 2008; see above), of how past and present can co-exist and overlap through material remains.

Now: ‘Can you love a Nazi?’ or ‘Wir waren Freunde’ A Finnish journalist recently asked in the country’s biggest newspaper Helsingin Sanomat ‘Can you love a Nazi?’. The article addressed the German Second World War presence in Lapland and the long hushed-up love affairs, illegitimate children and friendly co-existence between Finnish civilians and German soldiers in 1941–1944 (Kangasniemi 2016). Such suppressed issues (e.g. Wendisch 2006) are important when investigating the collective silenced traumas of the war in Lapland (Sääskilahti 2015). On a local level they were always known and familiar but not revealed to or discussed with outsiders (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). This again demonstrates how little this period has been studied or reconciled with in Finland even 70 years after the war (see Forrest 2015). This became clear with a recent temporary exhibition organized at the Provincial Museum of Lapland, in Rovaniemi in 2015–2016. Called ‘Wir waren Freunde – We were friends. Encounters of Germans and Finns in Lapland 1940–1944’, it dealt with the little discussed period from 1940 to 1944 when Finns and Germans lived peacefully as neighbours, prior to

Haunting materialities  193 the Lapland War. The exhibition was opened on the 70th anniversary of the end of the Lapland War, 27 April 2015 (Alariesto et  al. 2015; Seitsonen et al. 2018). One of the exhibition’s themes was relationships between Finnish women and German soldiers. These were relatively common, as described by a Rovaniemi civilian: ‘It was just two young people falling in love, you didn’t ask about the nationality’ (Alariesto et  al. 2015: 31). One such Finno-German love story was illustrated in detail in the exhibition, through love letters and other items donated to the museum by the woman’s relatives (Figure 8.3). The exhibition was controversial locally and nationally. In fact, a year before the exhibition opened controversy had been sparked by an ingenious and daring advertising strategy developed by museum employees: simple black matchboxes were produced with the blood-red words ‘Wir waren Freunde’ printed on them (Figure 8.4) (see Harju 2017; Koskinen-Koivisto  &

Figure 8.3 An illustrated love story of a Finnish woman and a German soldier in the ‘Wir waren Freunde – We were friends’ exhibition at the Provincial Museum of Lapland, Rovaniemi (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

194  Ignored, yet remembered

Figure 8.4 A ‘Wir waren Freunde’ matchbox, banned advertisement turned into a collectible (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

Thomas 2017; Seitsonen et  al. 2018). The already mentioned ‘Burning of Lapland’, describing the scorched earth tactics by Germans during their 1944 retreat, is a commonly used proverb in Finland, and the single best remembered event of northern Finnish involvement in Second World War. In the post-war decades, numerous Finnish songs, jokes and TV sketches focused on the Germans, fire and matchboxes, such as, ‘Wollen sie Marlboro oder Lapland rauchen?’ (‘Would you like to light up a Marlboro or Lapland?’), or ‘What do you call someone who burns everything? Pyromaniac. What do you call someone who steals everything? Kleptomaniac. What do you call someone who burns and steals everything? Germaniac (sic)’. Behaviour too activates memory. In recent decades, some people, especially around Rovaniemi (and typically men), provocatively shake matchboxes at German tourists. This illustrates again the power of material culture and gestures; even the smallest and cheapest item can become to embody and symbolize a whole era of death and destruction. The Wir waren Freunde matchboxes ignited immediate national media coverage (e.g. Hakonen 2014; Puoskari 2014), much wider than the museum had ever received before (F3; F4; F9). This was provoked by the strong sentiments concerning Germans in Rovaniemi. The town served as the German headquarters with thousands of German soldiers but was ultimately destroyed in 1944 (e.g. Mikkonen 2016). Some locals still appear bitter about this destruction and loss of property. Museum staff received firsthand ­experience of how these strong public sentiments closely interweave with the modern political divisions, with the majority being negative, but with some being pro-German. Some of these political divisions appear to

Haunting materialities  195 predate Second World War, at least in people’s minds. One interviewee (M10; henceforth ‘Major’, a retired military officer) declared: ‘Our problem [in Rovaniemi] is that some people still haven’t gotten over the Civil War’ – referring to the 1918 Finnish Civil War between the right-wing White Guard, backed by Imperial Germany and Swedish volunteers, and the leftist Red Guard, backed by Red Russians. The Major is an active and wellknown public figure in contemporary Finno-German relations and cultural politics at Rovaniemi. From his perspective, the museum and heritage people typically represent leftist (Red Guard) ideals – he was also slightly suspicious of us at first when we interviewed him – whereas his peers in the military and in local politics represented more patriotic and right-wing (White Guard-related) sentiments. Soon after the promotional matchboxes were introduced in summer 2014, the Major turned them into a political issue. At first, he tried to convince the museum employees that handing out matches was a bad idea for publicity ‘…but he [museum employee] just chuckled that it is a good laugh!’ (M10). In an official statement, the museum director Hannu Kotivuori agreed that the matchboxes presented a polarized marketing strategy, and ‘[I]t is a matter of opinion, whether it represents bad taste. Everybody can make their minds about that themselves’ (Kotivuori, in Vesa 2015; also M22). Kotivuori underlined that the matches were never meant as a joke, and he hoped that they could stimulate active discussion and stimulate people to think more closely about the Finno–German relations during the war, as well as their own stance towards the subject: ‘Whether you feel sympathy or antipathy towards Germans’ (Kotivuori, in Hakonen 2014; also M22). The Major’s reasoning for politicizing the matchboxes was that some museum exhibition employees, such as ticket vendors and guides, had begged for him to take action, since they were afraid of ‘[h]ow they could ever hand these matches to the German tourists!’ (M10; also F5). We have interviewed local guides, and some of them indeed hold the Major in high esteem. Consequently, the Major took the matter to the ‘highest level’ (M10), the mayor of Rovaniemi, to help these employees. As a result, by the time the exhibition opened on 27 April 2015, the matches were officially banned by the town mayor (Vesa 2015). He explained that ‘[f]eedback was received widely and we decided … that there was no point to start inflating the issue anymore. The marketing message had already gone through, so we decided that it would be better to hide the sticks’ (mayor of Rovaniemi, in Vesa 2015). The biggest issue for the adversaries of the matchboxes seemed to be the phrasing: ‘we were’, instead of ‘we are’ (Koskinen-Koivisto & Thomas 2017; M10), a point also raised by a German Embassy official in his speech at the exhibition opening. However, the prohibition had a somewhat contrary effect, as after the ban, the matches again made the national news and became an increasingly interesting item and eventually a collectible. In just a few weeks all the matchboxes were gone from the museum, as people asked for them under-the-counter.

196  Ignored, yet remembered The exhibition itself received mixed feedback. For instance, in internet discussions people accused the museum of whitewashing the German period and the Nazis by representing them in a ‘too’ good light, for example, by describing their commander, and devout Nazi, General Eduard Dietl, as the ‘Hero of Narvik’ – with which most Norwegians would disagree – or passing over the sufferings of PoWs and forced/slave labourers with a few fleeting mentions (see Leisti 2015; Ruotsala 2016). On the other hand, ­German tourists expressed their gratitude for an exhibition where their forefathers’ activities during the war were not condemned, but presented neutrally as mundane relations between normal people, although only presenting a local perspective and one fraction of what happened during the global war (Harju 2017; F3; F4). Museum staff said that it was a very deliberate choice to concentrate on the everyday aspects of the German presence, that had previously received little attention, and to leave aside wartime atrocities such as ‘Burning of Lapland’ (F3; F4; F9). They were afraid that these powerful stories and images of destruction would overwhelm the various more ‘silent’ aspects of German presence, in a similar vein as images of destruction have come to dominate Lapland’s war histories on a national level (see Chapter 2). The burning of Rovaniemi and destruction of L ­ apland are illustrated in detail in museum’s permanent display. The museum staff also emphasized that the visitors should have paid closer attention to the barbed-wire installation and PoW-related artefacts in one corner of the exhibition and to the subtle messages of barbed-wire and a crow shown in the exhibition poster, all telling of the darker aspects of the Finno–German relations and co-habitation (F4). However, to comprehend the messages in the poster you would need to have some background information. The crow makes a reference to the host of local stories about the business transactions between civilians and German soldiers, where the locals outwit Germans by selling them skinned crows as forest birds. A wartime photograph of a small Finnish girl playing a harmonica in the arms of youthful German soldiers was used as the central image in the exhibition poster and was also one of three images that had been inventively turned into haunting digital augmented reality presentations (Figure 8.5). One character in each of these photos has been dramatized by an actor/ actress and with a freely available mobile application (Lapin maakuntamuseo 2015), and turns on screen towards the spectator and tells a short story related to the situation in the photograph. These spectral images put the observer face-to-face with history and bring the past alive, which is especially interesting thinking of the figuratively and experientially haunting character of the German material remains (Herva et al. 2016; Seitsonen et al. 2018). A similar technique has recently been used in the ‘In Flanders Fields Museum’ in Ypres, Belgium. In the end, however, the Wir waren Freunde exhibition became the most popular temporary exhibition ever mounted at the museum and even managed to attract local people, who are more reluctant museum-goers according

Haunting materialities  197

Figure 8.5 An interactive photograph of German mountain jaegers with a Finnish girl during WWII in Rovaniemi (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

to the museum employees (F3; F4; M22). Interestingly, this temporary exhibition was taken down in the early January 2016, just before the onset of Israeli holiday season. Israeli tourists are an important visitor group in the museum, and the staff was afraid of offending them with an exhibition describing cordial relations between Finns and their Nazi co-belligerents, such as the Finno–German love affairs and get-togethers prepared by the Germans for the local children (M22). LDH organized a successful visitor survey in the exhibition (Harju 2017; Koskinen-Koivisto & Thomas 2017; Seitsonen et  al. 2018), which reveals diverse and conflicting opinions in the responses. However, mostly the responses are positive: ‘The first exhibition where “the Germans” are not monsters’ (German male, age 45–54), ‘Very objective and honest presentation’ (German male, age 45–54), or ‘I’m happy to learn from a non politied perspective [sic]’ (Spanish male, age 25–34). Local people were also pleased with the quotidian perspective of the exhibition, like a Finnish man (age 45–55) who commented: ‘…after all pretty ordinary people meet each other in exceptional circumstances’. Understandably opposite views were voiced on this politically loaded subject: An exhibition like yours would be severely criticized in Austria and in Germany, not to speak of Norway, which has a very different memory of Dietl.

198  Ignored, yet remembered For a tourist, to come by such a superficial and reductionist version of a crucial time in European history, it was disturbing, to say the least. [sic] German male (in Harju 2017) Public responses to the visitor survey emphasize how little discussed this subject has previously been in public, especially on a national level. As with local interest in our archaeological investigations, there is a public desire for more information and new perspectives on this and other neglected histories of the Second World War.

Now: Dietl-mania Recollections of the commander of AOK20, Eduard Dietl, have appeared during our interviews, especially in the Rovaniemi area, with numerous living memories related to the legendary reputation he gained in northern Finland. Dietl has been described as a jovial, charismatic, easy-going and cheerful person, who was popular with his own soldiers and Lapland’s civilians (Alariesto et al. 2015; Junila 2000; Knabe 1983; Mikkonen 2016: 42–43) (Figure 8.6). He is still fondly remembered, especially in Rovaniemi where his headquarters were: ‘In my opinion Dietl charmed the civilian population here in Rovaniemi’ (Alariesto et al. 2015: 46). In communal memories and discussions, he is described as a grandfather-like figure, who apparently genuinely loved Lapland, enthusiastically practiced winter sports, and was always nice to the local children. The road that led to his log cabin in Rovaniemi is still remembered as the ‘Pompomstrasse’ (‘Candy Road’) where children waited for Dietl who always had some candy in his pockets (Alariesto et al. 2015; Mikkonen 2016; M2, M24; M25). ‘The Hero of Narvik’ died in a plane crash in June 1944, before the outbreak of the Lapland War. The unclear circumstances surrounding his death in the Austrian Alps have bestowed an aura of mystery on his memory. Many people in Lapland were convinced in the post-war decades, and some still are, that if Dietl had been commanding German troops in the Lapland War, the widespread destruction would not have happened: Hitler … installed a timebomb in the plane that transported the General. If that man had lived, Lapland would not have been destroyed, since Dietl was a true friend of Finland Finnish civilian (Virolainen 1999: 92) Local speculations that Hitler assassinated Dietl are highly improbable, since he was a devoted, longstanding party member, and took great pride in his claim that National Socialist indoctrination had been taken further in his AOK20 than anywhere else in the German armed forces (Ahto 1974: 188; Mikkonen 2016: 41). Despite Dietl’s devotion to the party, he had made the conscious choice that his troops would not advocate their political views in

Haunting materialities  199

Figure 8.6 Amused General Dietl dressed in a Sámi ‘Four Winds Hat’ (Sámi: čiehgahpir); Original caption: Commander of the German 20th Mountain Army in Lapland, General-Oberst Eduard Dietl (NM HK19830604:390/ Lapland/1942).

Finland. Nevertheless, Dietl travelled to and took part in political rallies in Germany (Mikkonen 2016: 41). Following Dietl’s death, the blame for the ‘Burning of Lapland’ fell on the shoulders of his successor, General Lothar Rendulic, whose talents for ‘winning hearts and minds’ were nowhere near as good as Dietl’s. The plans for ‘burning’ were, however, made under Dietl’s command. By the spring of 1944 Dietl had already regretfully informed his good friend Colonel Oiva Willamo – the eccentric commander of the Finnish liaison headquarters in Rovaniemi, known as the ‘Kaiser of Lapland’ – that a ‘scorched earth’ policy would probably be applied if the situation worsened (Mikkonen 2016: 45). Local memories of Dietl also surfaced in the YLE (Seitsonen 2017) and LDH (2018) public crowdsourcings. In both of these projects, a location was identified at which, according to local communal memoirs and Mikkonen’s studies (2016: 163; also Hartikainen n.d.), stood Dietl’s ‘summer house’, a log cabin built at Oikarainen near Rovaniemi (LDH 2018). There is an intriguing yet ambiguous local story of ‘Dietl’s rubbish pit with some unidentified

200  Ignored, yet remembered

Figure 8.7 According to the local communal memories, General Dietl’s log cabin stood at this place in Oikarainen, near Rovaniemi, seen here in early May. Dietl’s alleged rubbish pit is under the snow on the left (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

valuables’ related to this location (M5). Based on local knowledge, we have located both the summer house and the rubbish pit (Figure 8.7). Future excavation of the pit as a case study of ‘digging folklore’ (see Gazin-Schwartz & Holtorf 1999) would be an insightful exercise. If nothing was found, the story still resonates with the internationally common narratives of ‘Nazi treasures’, which have materialized in various forms in the post-war folklore surrounding the Nazis and their activities (e.g. Edsel 2013; Herva et al. 2016; Klein 2013). This could provide a new perspective on local perceptions associated with Dietl, and more widely with the German material legacy in Lapland. An intriguing confusion of German generals in public memory was revealed by our crowdsourcing activity (LDH 2018). Someone marked on the map ‘General Dietl’s lodge’ and described that: Dietl, Willamo and Hillilä often spent their evenings here. The museum had saved parts of the building that was dismantled in the 1970s and those are now on display in the Arktikum [The Provincial Museum of Lapland]. Tearing down the hut that had survived the war was a great sacrilege. [sic] User entry in the LDH public crowdsourcing (LDH 2018) This is an interesting mix-identification of two different German Generals and their log cabins. Dietl indeed had a cabin in Rovaniemi near Willamo’s log house, where he spent time with Willamo and Kaarlo Hillilä, the Governor of Lapland. However, it was in a different place and was burnt in the Lapland War (Mikkonen 2016: 99–100). The cabin that survived the

Haunting materialities  201

Figure 8.8 Original caption: ‘General Schultz’s house from the outside’ (SA-kuva 147825/Rovaniemi/29.03.1944).

burning of Rovaniemi and became known locally as the ‘General hut’ belonged instead to the commander of Luftflotte 5 General Julius Schultz (Figure 8.8). The exact location of this user entry is wrong for both cabins, but it is closer to General Schultz’s cabin’s place. This log house subsequently functioned as a youth hostel until 1980 and was at one point even scheduled to house a war-historical exhibition of the Provincial Museum of Lapland. This plan, however, proved politically controversial, with some fearing that the exhibition would ‘glorify fascism’ (Harju 2017). Finally, the building was ‘…torn down by the city following political pressure from leftists and “defenders of peace”…’ (Mikkonen 2016: 151). Once again this shows the close intertwining of contemporary local politics and Lapland’s Second World War heritage (Seitsonen 2019; Seitsonen et  al. 2018). The Provincial Museum saved some artefacts from Schultz’s cabin before it was demolished, and these were on display in the ‘Wir waren Freunde’ exhibition, prompting the comment quoted above from the crowdsourcing contributor. The most fascinating of our LDH crowdsourcing entries relating to Dietl was marked in the centre of Rovaniemi with the tag ‘Ghosts of a

202  Ignored, yet remembered Midsummer night’, another insightful glimpse of the haunting character of the German-related memoryscape. The description states: It is told that passers-by have met marching German soldiers on Valtakatu and General Dietl himself was receiving the parade. However probably the Midsummer’s drinks contributed to this [sic] User entry in the LDH public crowdsourcing (LDH 2018)

Now: Stalkers and metal men Our investigations revealed two opposing perspectives on German material remains. First is an outwardly indifferent local attitude to the well-known landscape of German remains (albeit that they promote custodianship), and second, outsider views which emphasize ‘pristine’ natural landscapes and the clearing of ‘war junk’. In addition to this dichotomy, recent years have witnessed the evolution of another form of engagement with Lapland’s WWII German sites: that of the hobbyist metal detectorist and memorabilia collector. The latter have existed throughout the post-war decades (M17; M28; Thomas et al. 2016) but recently have significantly increased their activities due to the availability of cheap metal detectors (Herva et al. 2016; Wessman et al. 2016; also van der Schriek & van der Schriek 2014). The signs of fresh unauthorized digging are common at most German sites (Figure 8.9). Such activities are exactly what locals want to resist: outsiders interfering and tampering with their ‘own lands’ (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). Locally, militaria enthusiasts and metal detectorists are often disparagingly labelled as ‘Stalkers’, referring to the hunters of alien paraphernalia in the famous sci-fi novel ‘Stalker’ by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky (1972): ‘Ylimmäinen Kuivajärvi has been a real treasure trove for the ‘Stalkers’ collecting war junk’ (Arvelin 2009: 30). Alternatively, some refer to them simply as ‘metal men’ (metallimiehet) (M17; M19; M28): ‘I know many places with the Hermans’ [Germans’] things…. Metal men [metal detectorists] have offered me a lot of money many times to take them [to the finds]. But I will not do that, I am not that much after money. I keep them there. Where they are and belong. [sic]’ The reluctance of locals to allow outsiders to treasure hunt on their ‘own lands’ ties in with wider issues related to land use and ownership in Lapland. Most importantly, there is an enduring confrontation between, on the one hand, the traditional Sámi land use rights based on the unwritten laws and customs, and, on the other, ‘Western’ ideas of land ownership and the Finnish ‘everyman’s right’ (e.g. Lehtola 2015; Länsman 2004: 171). Some locals also collect militaria, items they find on their land or objects they cherish that were acquired during the war, although their motives differ from the metal detectorists (F7, M17). These mementoes act as important and dynamic reminders of the past for the local population. Some take their finds to the local museums, such as the Gold Prospector

Haunting materialities  203 Museum in Tankavaara, Sodankylä, to secure their curation (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017), and to prevent them from falling into the hands of outsiders and ‘being sold abroad’ (F8; M17) (Figure 8.9). As stated by several locals, outsider metal detectorists and collectors occasionally offer money to be directed to places for metal detecting or try to buy finds the locals have

Figure 8.9 (Top) Metal detectorists’ ‘excavation’ on the edge of a German WWII barrack foundation (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015); (Bottom) Small finds salvaged from the WWII sites by local history enthusiasts in Vuotso, wartime photographs, maps, and sketches of the German installations drawn by one of our interviewees (M18) (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015); (Inset) A German helmet taken to the Gold Prospector Museum by another interviewee (M17) (Photograph: Gold Prospector Museum).

204  Ignored, yet remembered discovered (F6; M13; M17; M18). Our informants say they have refused to do that. Nevertheless, in Vuotso, for example, local people annually witness outsiders sporadically metal detecting at German ruins around the village (F6; M17; M18; M19); something also betrayed by fresh signs of digging. Based on interviews and netnographic surveys, it is clear that there is a lot of activity focused on Second World War German and other remains, involving metal detecting, collecting and trading. Most metal detectorists are outsiders from southern Finland, and sometimes even from abroad where Lapland is regarded as a fabled source of wartime memorabilia (Herva et al. 2016; M12; M13). Trading seems to take place typically from person to person at arms fairs, and increasingly on private internet forums, such as closed Facebook groups. Some sell their metal detector finds and other collectibles at antique shops, for instance, in Rovaniemi (Figure 8.10) (M9; M12; M14; M21; M22). Such cross-cutting webs of national and international collecting and commerce of conflict objects find parallels in France and Belgium as well as Italy, Slovenia and Russia. What seems to be of significance is that in more than 30 interviews with different stakeholders with an interest in Lapland’s Second World War

Figure 8.10 Military memorabilia, including metal detectorist finds and weapons, connected to the WWII German military presence in Lapland for sale in an antique shop in Rovaniemi (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016).

Haunting materialities  205 German heritage, ranging from militaria collectors and traders to museum professionals and local villagers, none has appeared to be (neo-)Nazi sympathizers. Nor did we identify anyone who might be categorized as a ‘Nazi fan’, who might be inspired in their collecting by a fascination with Nazis as mediated and mythologized by popular culture (see Kingsepp 2006; Rau 2014). For most memorabilia collectors, their interest had been sparked by personal ties to their specific interest, such as relatives who served as volunteers in the Waffen-SS during the war (M9; M23). Our interviews and discussions with these stakeholders suggest that ‘treasure hunting’ and militaria collecting and trading in Lapland should be understood in the wider perspective of northern exoticism and as a form of ‘dark tourism’ (e.g. Stone 2006; also McAtackney 2013). They are engaging with the ‘dark’ past and heritage in Lapland’s ‘enchanted’ and mysterious cultural and environmental setting (Herva et al. 2016; Thomas et al. 2016). In light of this, a ‘veteran’ metal detectorist we interviewed, commented on the special ‘aura’ of the sites and how this feeling is lost if the sites are not approached and treated with care (M12). This detectorist’s interest started in the 1980s when there were very few metal detectors in the country, and he complained that the ‘youngsters’ do not honour this and ‘make a mess’, which takes away the ‘spirit of the sites’ (M12). His concerns are echoed by many villagers, especially the reindeer herders, on what should or should not be done to the matériel in the landscape. This veteran detectorist had always taken care to cover the traces of his digging activities to restore the places to their original appearance, taking only small samples of the finds and reburying the rest. For him the hobby was less about the finds than the joy of being the first person in 60 or 70 years to find such objects while wandering in the wilderness, after a winter of searching the archives to locate potential sites: ‘In the summers when I was most active in this respect, I used up to two pairs of rubber boots just walking in the wilderness’ (M12). We have labelled him and his peers as ‘expert-explorers’ in our categorization of the various kinds of enthusiasts engaging with the wartime heritage in Lapland (Herva et al. 2016; Koskinen-Koivisto & Thomas 2017). The aforementioned recent fatal metal detectorist accident in Kemi tragically illustrates the real dangers of this hobby, when engaging with the UXO that is still found (Thomas et al. 2016; see above). One detectorist was killed and another seriously injured while defusing a grenade in a garage. Police investigation revealed they had collected dozens of wartime explosives, including artillery shells and mortar bombs (YLE 2013a, b, c). The survivor told the police that they had collected everything with a metal detector over a period of two years, had no knowledge of the trade in wartime material and planned to use the defused munitions as interior decoration in their homes (Kaleva 2013a). After the Kemi explosion, collecting and selling of UXO received national attention, and the Finnish interior minister asked the police to begin monitoring the internet and other sales of UXO (Kaleva 2013b). The market potential

206  Ignored, yet remembered of wartime explosives appeared also in the headlines: ‘Ammo can be found in the northern forests for sale’ (Kaleva 2013c) and ‘Money attracts people to search for easily exploding wartime ammunition’ (Parkkonen 2013). War historian Mika Kulju has described that he often gets inquiries about where to find guns, ammo and explosives in Lapland: ‘Those are not collected for personal requirements, but for sale’ (Mika Kulju, in Marttala 2014). The diverging perspectives on Lapland’s wartime material legacy are entangled with numerous wider issues both past, present and future, such as land use and ownership. The land-related issues are especially important in the postcolonial context of transnational Sápmi. Different stakeholders’ perceptions illustrate how these traces of past are metaphorically ‘alive’, and the past can affect the present through them. This can be symbolic, as with local ghost stories or the nationally haunting nature of the German remains, or literal, as with the memorabilia collection and metal detecting, and the actual danger posed by the unexploded ordnance.

References World Wide Web sources Hakonen, J. 2014. Suomalaisten ja saksalaisten välit katkesivat Lapin polttamiseen –– nyt näyttelyä markkinoidaan tulitikuilla. Ilta-Sanomat December 18, 2014. Available at http://www.is.fi/kotimaa/art-2000000851736.html [Accessed 2015-04-01] Hartikainen, P. n.d. Saksalaiset Rovaniemen seudulla 1940–1944. Saksalaisten sotilaiden lapset ry: sine loco. Available at http://www.saksalaistensotilaidenlapset.com/ Saksalaiset%20Rovaniemen%20seudulla%201.9.2012.pdf [Accessed 2014-04-01] Kaleva. 2013a. Kemin räjähdys: Autotallissa kymmeniä kiloja räjähdysainetta, myös naapuritvaarassa.KalevaDecember18,2013.Availableathttp://www.kaleva.fi/­uutiset/ pohjois-suomi/kemin-rajahdysautotallissakymmenia-kiloja-rajahdysainettamyos-naapuritvaarassa/651360/ [Accessed 2013-12-25] Kaleva. 2013b. Räsänen MTV3:lla: Ammusten nettikauppa täytyy selvittää. Kaleva September 14, 2013. Available at http://www.kaleva.fi/uutiset/kotimaa/rasanenmtv3llaammusten-nettikauppa-taytyy-selvittaa/641872/ [Accessed 2013-10-16] Kaleva. 2013c. Pohjoisen metsistä voi löytää ammuksia myytäväksi asti. Kaleva September 14, 2013. Available at http://www.kaleva.fi/uutiset/pohjois-suomi/pohjo isenmetsista-voi-loytaa-ammuksia-myytavaksi-asti/641835/ [Accessed 2013-10-16] Kangasniemi, M. 2016. Voiko natsia rakastaa? Natsit ovat meille pakkomielle, sillä ideologia sen takana ei ole kuollut. Helsingin Sanomat February 13, 2016. Available at http://www.hs.fi/kulttuuri/art-2000002885704.html [Accessed 2016-02-28] Klein, C. 2013. $1.35 billion in Nazi-looted art found in Munich. History. Available at http://www.history.com/news/1-35-billion-innazi-looted-art-found-in-munich [Accessed 2014-01-01] LDH 2018. Merkitse kartalle sotahistoriallisia kohteita! / Mark WW2 sites into the map! – LAPLAND’S DARK HERITAGE. http://blogs.helsinki.fi/lapland-dark heritage/lapin-sotahistoriallisia-kohteita/ [Accessed 2018-12-01] Leisti, T. 2015. Natsi-Saksan armeijan ja Lapin väestön hyviä suhteita korostava näyttely herättää tunteita Rovaniemellä. YLE July 24, 2015. Available at https:// yle.fi/uutiset/3-8178950Marttala 2014/ [Accessed 2015-04-27]

Haunting materialities  207 Morottaja, M. 2016. “Luonto on Lapinmaan Disneyland”. YLE December 1, 2016. Available at https://yle.fi/uutiset/3-9325898 [Accessed 2016-12-31] Parkkonen, M. 2013. Raha houkuttaa etsimään räjähdysherkkiä sodan ajan ammuksia. Helsingin Sanomat September 14, 2013. Available at http://www.hs.fi/ kotimaa/art-2000002674196.html [Accessed 2013-09-09] Puoskari, B. 2014. Rovaniemi sytytettiin 70 vuotta sitten – nyt sotanäyttelyä mainostetaan tulitikkuaskilla. YLE October 10, 2014. Available at https://yle.fi/­ uutiset/3-7513315 [Accessed 2014-10-16] Rislakki, J. 2016. Uudet elokuvat kertovat pakkokyydityksistä Latviasta ja Virosta. Helsingin Sanomat November 23, 2016. Available at http://www.hs.fi/kulttuuri/ art-2000004877907.html [Accessed 2016-12-06] Ruotsala, H. 2016. Serendipity. Etnologin työpöydältä ja pöydän alta. Lapin sota – jälleen kerran. http://serendipitybyanethnologisthelena.blogspot.fi/2016/04/ lapin-sota-jalleen-kerran.html [Accessed 2016-04-27] Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2017. Rural Folk Magic and Modern War: Special Features from WWII Prisoner-of-War Camps in Finnish Lapland. Conference presentation, February 23, 2017. War Through Other Stuff Conference. Nonmilitary Narratives, Artistic Interpretations & the Material Culture of Conflict. University of Edinburgh, UK. https://warthroughotherstuff.wordpress.com/conference2017/ programme/ [Accessed 2017-12-25] Vesa, M. 2015. Mainostemppu oli liikaa – nämä tulitikut Rovaniemi kielsi. Ilta-Sanomat April 27, 2015. Available at http://www.is.fi/kotimaa/art-2000000 916469.html [Accessed 2015-04-27] YLE. 2013a. Police uncover heavy arms cache in Kemi following deadly blast. YLE September 14, 2013. Available at http://yle.fi/uutiset/police_uncover_heavy_ arms_cache_in_kemi_following_deadly_blast/6831514 [Accessed 2014-10-16] YLE. 2013b. Kemi survivor suspected of explosives offences, manslaughter. YLE September 14, 2013. Available at http://yle.fi/uutiset/kemi_survivor_suspected_ of_explosives_offences_manslaughter/6831600 [Accessed 2014-10-16] YLE. 2013c. Kemiläisessä autotallissa kymmeniä kiloja räjähteitä – kuolemanvaara jopa 600 metrin säteellä. YLE December 18, 2013. Available at http://yle.fi/uutiset/kemilaisessa_autotallissa_kymmenia_kiloja_rajahteita_-_ kuolemanvaara_jopa_600_metrin_sateella/6990877 [Accessed 2014-01-01]

Primary sources Ahto, S. 1974. Saksalaisten joukkojen sopivuus sodankäyntiin Pohjois-Suomessa vv. 1941–1945. Tiede ja ase 32: 151–194. Alariesto, T., Harju, S., Hautala, P., Kotivuori, H., Kyläniemi, H. & Mölläri, J. 2015. Wir waren Freunde – Olimme ystäviä : saksalaisten ja suomalaisten kohtaamisia Lapissa 1940–1944. Lapin maakuntamuseo: Rovaniemi. Arvelin, M. 2009. Sodan piikkilangat. Totta ja tarinaa Inarin vankileireistä. Lapin legendat 4. Ukko-Media: Inari. Augé, M. 2004. Oblivion. University of Minnesota Press: Minneapolis, London. Barndt, K. 2010. Layers of Time: Industrial Ruins and Exhibitionary Temporalities. PMLA 125(1): 134–141. Brentano, R. 1991. Rome Before Avignon: A Social History of Thirteenth Century Rome. University of California Press: Berkeley, Los Angeles, Oxford.

208  Ignored, yet remembered Carr, G. 2017. The Uninvited Guests Who Outstayed Their Welcome: The Ghosts of War in the Channel Islands. In Modern Conflict and the Senses, edited by N. Saunders & P. Cornish: 272–288. Routledge: Abingdon. Edsel, R.M. 2013. The Monuments Men: Allied Heroes, Nazi Thieves, and the Greatest Treasure Hunt in History. Little, Brown and Company: New York. Forrest, M. 2015. 70 Years after the War, Finland Looks Back. Barents Observer. Available at http://barentsobserver.com/en/content/70-years-after-warfinland-looksback [Accessed 2016-01-01] Ganander, K. 2016 [1789]. Mythologia Fennica. Salakirjat: Helsinki. Gazin-Schwartz, A. & Holtorf, C. (eds.) 1999. Archaeology and Folklore. Routledge: London, New York. González-Ruibal, A. 2008. Time to Destroy: An Archaeology of Supermodernity. Current Anthropology 49(2): 247–279. Hamiliakis, Y. 2018. The New Nomadic Age. Archaeologies of Forced and Undocumented Migration. Equinox: Sheffield, Bristol. Harju, S. 2017. Wir waren Freunde – tunteita saksalaisaikanäyttelyn ympärillä. Kuriositeettikabinetti 1/2017. Available at http://kuriositeettikabi.net/wirwarenfreunde-tunteita-saksalaisaikanayttelyn-ymparilla/ [Accessed 2018-01-07] Harjumaa, P. 2009. Aaveriekkoja – lappilaisia mystisiä tarinoita ja kummituksia. Lapland University Press: Rovaniemi. Available at http://personal.inet.fi/koti/ pentti.harjumaa/pentti_harjumaa_a11-aaveriekkoja.html Harrison, R. & Schofield, J. 2009. Archaeo-Ethnography, Auto-Archaeology: Introducing Archaeologies of the Contemporary Past. Archaeologies 5(2): 185–209. Harva, U. 1948. Suomalaisten muinaisusko. WSOY: Helsinki. Herva, V.-P. 2014. Haunting Heritage in an Enchanted Land: Magic, Materiality and Second World War German Material Heritage in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 1(2): 297–321. Herva, V.-P., Koskinen-Koivisto, E., Seitsonen, O. & Thomas, S. 2016. ‘I Have Better Stuff at Home’: Treasure Hunting and Private Collecting of World War II Artefacts in Finnish Lapland. World Archaeology 48(2): 267–281. Ingold, T. 2000. The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill. Routledge: London. Junila, M. 2000. Kotirintaman Aseveljeyttä. Bibliotheca Historica 61. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura: Helsinki. Kingsepp, E. 2006. “Nazi fans” but not Neo-Nazis: The Cultural Community of “WWII Fanatics”. In Returning (to) Communities: Theory, Culture and Political Practice of the Communal, edited by S. Herbrechter & M. Higgins: 223–240. Rodopi: Amsterdam, New York. Kivimäki, V. 2012. Between Defeat and Victory: Finnish Memory Culture of the Second World War. Scandinavian Journal of History 37(4): 482–504. Knabe, K. 1983. Lapin lentotiedustelijat. Gummerus: Jyväskylä. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2016. Reminder of Lapland’s Dark Heritage – Experiences of Finnish Cemetery Tourists of Visiting the Norvajärvi German Cemetery. Thanatos 5(1): 23–41. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Thomas, S. 2017. Lapland’s Dark Heritage: Responses to the Legacy of World War II. In Heritage in Action. Making the Past in the Present, edited by H. Silverman, W. Waterton & S. Watson: 121–133. Springer: New York. Länsman, A.-S. 2004. Väärtisuhteet Lapin matkailussa Kulttuurianalyysi suomalaisten ja saamelaisten kohtaamisesta. Kustannus-Puntsi: Inari.

Haunting materialities  209 Lehtola, V.-P. 2015. Second World War as a Trigger for Transcultural Changes among Sámi People in Finland. Acta Borealia 32(2): 125–147. McAtackney, L. 2013. Dealing with Difficult Pasts: The Dark Heritage of Political Prisons in Transitional Northern Ireland and South Africa. Prison Service Journal 210: 17–23. Mikkonen, K. 2016. Parakkeja ja piikkilankaa. Lapin maakuntamuseo: Rovaniemi. Pétursdóttir, Þ. & Olsen, B. 2014a. Imaging modern decay: the aesthetics of ruin photography. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 1(1): 7–56. Pétursdóttir, Þ. & Olsen, B. 2014b. An Archaeology of Ruins. In Ruin Memories: Materiality, Aesthetics and the Archaeology of the Recent Past, edited by B. Olsen and Þ. Pétursdóttir: 3–29. Routledge: Oxon, New York. Rau, P. 2014. Our Nazis: Representations of Fascism in Contemporary Literature and Film. Edinburgh University Press: Edinburgh. Riede, F., Vestergaard, C. & Fredensborg, K.H. 2016. A Field Archaeological Perspective on the Anthropocene. Antiquity 90(354): 1–5. Sääskilahti, N. 2015. Women as Sites for the Contestation of Northern Memories of War. In Novels, Histories, Novel Nations: Historical Fiction and Cultural Memory in Finland and Estonia, edited by L. Kaljundi, E. Laanes & I. Pikkanen: 279–297. Finnish Literature Society: Helsinki. Seitsonen, O. 2017. Crowdsourcing Cultural Heritage: Public Participation and Conflict Legacy in Finland. Journal of Community Archaeology and Heritage 4(2): 115–130. Seitsonen, O. 2019. Transnationally Forgotten and Re-remembered: Second World War Soviet Mass Graves at Mäntyvaara, Eastern Finnish Lapland. In Transnational Death, edited by S. Saramo, E. Koskinen-Koivisto & H. Snellman, 178–199. Finnish Literature Society: Helsinki. Seitsonen, O., Hekkurainen, M., Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Thomas, S. 2018. “Voiko natsia rakastaa?”: Lapin Maakuntamuseon Wir waren Freunde – Olimme ystäviä – näyttelyprosessi esimerkkinä vaikeasta kulttuuriperinnöstä. Suomen Museo 2018: 112–132. Seitsonen, O. & Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2017. ‘Where the F… is Vuotso?’: Heritage of Second World War Forced Movement and Destruction in a Sámi Reindeer Herding Community in Finnish Lapland. International Journal of Heritage Studies 24(4): 421–441. Stone, P.R. 2006. A Dark Tourism Spectrum: Towards a Typology of Death and Macabre Related Tourist Sites, Attractions and Exhibitions. Tourism: An Interdisciplinary International Journal 54(2): 145–160. Strugatsky, A. & Strugatsky, B. 1972. Stalker. Huviretki tienpientarelle. WSOY: Helsinki. Thomas, S., Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2016. Nazi Memorabilia, Dark Heritage and Treasure Hunting as “Alternative” Tourism: Understanding the Fascination with the Material Remains of World War II in Northern Finland. Journal of Field Archaeology 41(3): 331–343. van der Schriek, J. & van der Schriek, M. 2014. Metal Detecting: Friend or Foe of Conflict Archaeology? Investigation, Preservation and Destruction on WWII sites in the Netherlands. Journal of Community Archaeology & Heritage 1(3): 228–244. Virolainen, K. 1999. Elinikäinen taakka. Ikääntyneiden lappilaisten muistot vuorovaikutussuhteistaan jatkosodan ajan Saksan armeijan sotilaisiin ja neuvostoliittolaisiin sotavankeihin. Lapin yliopisto: Rovaniemi.

210  Ignored, yet remembered Wendisch, I. 2006. Salatut lapset – Saksalaissotilaiden lapset Suomessa. Ajatus: Helsinki. Wessman, A., Koivisto, L., & Thomas, S. 2016. Metal Detecting in Finland – An Ongoing Debate. Open Archaeology 2(1): 85–96. Witmore, C. 2013. Which Archaeology? A Question of Chronopolitics. In Reclaiming Archaeology: Beyond the Tropes of Modernity, edited by A. González-Ruibal: 130–144. Routledge: London.

9 Positive uses for a haunting and difficult past

People in Lapland, particularly those with an ‘insider’ perspective and personal relationship with the Second World War, ruins that surround them, often ponder the possibilities of using these remains in locally positive ways (F6; F8; M1; M5; M13; M16; M17; M18; M22; M26; M27; M28). Interestingly, this might be because they do not perceive these traces as ‘dark’ as ‘outsiders’ who have few or no direct links to them (see Chapter 10). Many insiders enthusiastically support developing locally beneficial projects based on German sites, such as cultural tourism routes. These ideas are at the planning stage in most places, however, and have not yet materialized. Perhaps counter-intuitively, one German living in Lapland, who has been volunteering in our community archaeological projects, is convinced that the Second World War Prisoner-of-War (PoW) camps and other military sites combined with nature travel would attract also German tourists. Several examples already exist which may guide future creative engagements with Lapland’s war heritage. Lapland’s established museums, such as the Sámi Museum Siida or the Gold Prospector Museum, have been recently reviewed by my colleagues (Thomas & Koskinen-Koivisto 2016) and will not be addressed here. One of the few community-initiated and community-driven projects took place in the small Sámi village of Purnumukka, whose PoW camp has been mentioned earlier. Two information boards covering the history of the village were recently erected, instigated by one culturally active local reindeer herder and poet, and funded by the European Union. Much of this information is dedicated to the PoW camp, German defensive structures and ensuing destruction of the Lapland War – only one log-built sauna was left standing after the torching of the village (Figure 9.1). Unfortunately, these information boards are not signposted from the main road, and to find them insider knowledge is required to drive to the end of a small side road leading to the village. National Board of Forestry (NBF) has recently been signposting selected wartime sites, for instance, at Nellim in the southeastern corner of Lake Inari.

212  Ignored, yet remembered

Figure 9.1 Village history boards at Purnumukka, organized by an enthusiastic, culturally active local reindeer herder and funded by the European Union (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

Future: war history trails and reconstructions The main German fortification lines in Lapland, the Schutzwall-Stellung at Tankavaara, Sodankylä, and Sturmbock-Stellung at Järämä, Enontekiö, are relatively well preserved and recognized also by the National Heritage Agency. Both were built using a PoW and forced labourer workforce. Schutzwall-Stellung, for example, was built by PoWs from Purnumukka camp. At the Sturmbock-Stellung, a small museum was opened in 1997 and some of the trenches and positions were reconstructed as a tourist attraction. The small exhibition is open only in the summer months, but the reconstructed positions can be visited throughout the year (see Figure 3.4). Additionally, in 2013, parts of the Schutzwall-Stellung were included in a nature trail next to the NBF Tankavaara Visitor Centre as a ‘War history trail’, which runs by the adjacent Gold Prospector Museum and Urho Kekkonen National Park. In 2016, a reconstruction of a German log-built Second World War dugout was opened along the trail. In 2017, the Lapland Society for Military History (LSMH) completed another Second World War reconstruction project at Malla Wilderness Area, in Kilpisjärvi. They restored a partly exploded so-called ‘Heinrich’ corrugated iron shelter at the Lyngen-Stellung, Germans’ last defensive line in the North (Figure 9.2). Next year, in 2018, their volunteers built in Inari a life-size replica of German anti-aircraft gun position at the so-called ‘Anti-aircraft gun Hill’ (‘IT-vaara’) near Ivalo Airport, as a potential future tourist attraction. Their original plan was to reconstruct the exploded remains of one of the gun positions on the hill, but after consultation with heritage professionals, they decided instead to build a replica next to the destroyed positions (Figure 9.3) (M13). In the early 2010s, the LSMH attempted reconstructing

Positive uses for a haunting past  213

Figure 9.2 Reconstruction of a German ‘Heinrich’ shelter on a foggy day at the Lyngen-Stellung in Kilpisjärvi, built by volunteers in 2017 (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2019).

Figure 9.3 Exploded remains of German anti-aircraft gun positions at Ivalo, Inari (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2015).

or replicating structures at two well-preserved PoW camps in Inari, going so far as to rent the plots on which they planned to build. However, these plans failed due to unexpected land tenure issues (M1; M13), which commonly cause tensions in Lapland due to the wider problems relating to land ownership and land use rights, such as competing livelihoods (see Lehtola 2015; Länsman 2004).

214  Ignored, yet remembered Many enthusiastic locals regard the building of reconstructions or replicas and organization of small exhibitions as an attractive approach for presenting Second World War sites to the public. This is most likely based on the existing examples that they have as reference for their own plans. However, these could be supplemented or even replaced by non-material approaches, with virtual representations using modern technology. For instance, replicas could be provided as virtual Building Information Modelling (BIM). BIMs could be presented onsite using augmented reality, with desired levels of accuracy. Preliminary augmented reality BIMs of the structures at Peltojoki military base, which can be explored at the site on a mobile device have been created by myself (Figure 9.4). These kinds of BIM visualizations could take the presentation of these wartime sites, and also other archaeological localities, to a whole new level of immediacy and engagement with the past, in a similar vein to the interactive photographs that ‘came alive’ in the ‘Wir waren Freunde’ exhibition. In the preliminary Peltojoki model, the structures are presented as rough sketches, but in theory there is no limit to the level of detail that could be included in virtual models. Virtual signboards could be placed on site, or perhaps even virtual soldiers, as suggested in the Peltojoki test model. By clicking any of these elements on a mobile phone or tablet pop-up windows could be opened exhibiting additional information about the site. This information could be provided via an audio guide, or as film clips visualized with either human actors or animated characters. One local enthusiast has proposed that the whole Inari municipality could be regarded as a large Second World War outdoor museum, with multiple

Figure 9.4 Preliminary augmented reality representation of the Peltojoki military base: a screenshot of the author explaining a ‘spectral’ scene of reconstructed barracks to his daughters, Elvi, Sohvi and Elsa Seitsonen (Photograph: Sanna Seitsonen 2015).

Positive uses for a haunting past  215 stops at various sites along a war history trail (M13). This approach has been implemented with the ‘Walk of Peace’ at First World War’s Isonzo Front in Soča River Valley, Slovenia (Repič 2018; also Flodden 1513 ­Ecomuseum n.d.). A guide for the outdoor museum could be, for example, an open access mobile application with selected wartime localities. The sites could be marked at the stops with signboards exhibiting some basic information. By scanning QR (Quick Response) or other codes on the signs with a mobile device it would be possible to read or listen to more about the sites, and maybe also view virtual and augmented reality reconstructions. Sámi Museum Siida (n.d.) has recently added such QR codes adjacent to Second World War structures in their open-air museum providing information about the area’s military history (see Thomas & Koskinen-Koivisto 2016). Virtual signposts are another possibility so as not to interfere with the local scenery. Selected sites could present an assortment of regional war localities with different levels of accessibility, some suitable for visiting with a car, and some requiring hiking, and also other cultural and natural attractions could be connected to this. In best practice, archaeological finds should be repatriated to the areas that they originate from, to be stored or exhibited there. However, at present, Northern Lapland has insufficient facilities to achieve this. Optimally, all studied artefacts would be exhibited on an open access online database (see Internment Archaeology n.d., for an example of this). One possibility in the future could be establishing a series of small exhibitions of the recovered material in the north nearby their places of origin. This would not necessarily need to be in official museum surroundings, but perhaps in an eco-museum-like fashion. Finds could also be displayed more informally at local guesthouses, schools or other spaces which could be easily visited and not detrimentally change their original locations.

Future: virtual treasure hunts and public benefits Tourism is a vital livelihood in many parts of Lapland, increasingly so since the 1970s, and relies in its present form largely on images of Lapland’s clean and unspoilt nature (Länsman 2004). Despite this, there are conflicts between tourism operators, tourists and locals when expectations do not coincide (Länsman 2004: 133; Ruotsala 2002: 342, 369–370). Southerners often expect to meet a mythological, romanticized North, a distant and foreign land (Länsman 2004: 147; Ruotsala 2002: 358), a ‘Wild West … beyond the Finnish law’ (Länsman 2004: 146). This compares well with Sakari Pälsi’s (1931) pre-war description. Travelling to Lapland represents a geographical journey but also a trip back in time, with expectations of ‘authentic’ Sámi herders, dressed up in traditional costume, travelling with reindeer sleds and living in kota-tents (Länsman 2004: 133; Ruotsala 2002: 358). Metal detecting and treasure hunting, when interpreted as ‘dark tourism’, are associated with such mythical and primordial images (see Chapter 8; Thomas et al. 2016).

216  Ignored, yet remembered Over the decades, the expectations of ‘authenticity’ have led to the selective appropriation of elements from Sámi culture for touristic purposes. For instance, there is a long tradition of misusing traditional Sámi clothing, gákti – loaded with myriad insider meanings – by non-Sámi tourism operators, artists, celebrities and comedians. This often underpins discriminatory representations of the Sámi as a dirty, drunken, eroticized and mythified part of an ethnic natural landscape, ‘uncivilized’ people of nature (Länsman 2004: 22, 169; see Heikkinen 2016a–b; Näkkäläjärvi 2016; Toivanen 2017, for ongoing debates in media). Understandably, such views and activities anger and disillusion the Sámi, creating suspicion towards the (southern) authorities responsible for travel promotion and other outsiders as well. These stereotypes and the abuse of ‘exotic’ Sámi costumes appear to have been common before as well as during war (Länsman 2004: 22). This is illustrated by such images as a portrait of General Dietl dressed in the Sámi Four Winds Hat (Sámi: čiehgahpir) (Figure 8.6), or a Finnish Lotta (female military auxiliary) dressed in a random mixture of Sámi male and female clothing (Figure 9.5). Mixing of gendered costume is another recurring feature in the recent cases of cultural appropriation of Sámi clothing (Roos 2016).

Figure 9.5 Original caption: ‘Lotta in lapp [sic] outfit at Kemijärvi’ (SA-kuva 4674/ 02.10.1940/Kemijärvi).

Positive uses for a haunting past  217

Figure 9.6 Scientists searching for a geocache at a German Second World War site; from left, historian Mari Olafson Lundemo and archaeologists Iain Banks, Vesa-Pekka Herva, Gabriel Moshenska, Jaisson Teixeira Lino, Suzie Thomas and Wesa Perttola (Photograph: Oula Seitsonen 2016).

An example of an innovative approach to exploiting German-run PoW camps was introduced in Inari by a young Sámi reindeer herder involved in tourism (M31). He is a geocaching hobbyist who has placed caches at several PoW camps and other military sites (Figure 9.6) and provides detailed information on local Second World War history on the Geocaching website (Amaskak 2013a, b, 2014a, b, c).1 His hope is that that the virtual treasure hunt of geocaching would attract new and different kinds of visitors to the area. Offering additional ‘tourism packages’ could prove a productive tactic in the future, for instance, by utilizing the wartime sites in cultural tourism to supplement the existing tourism flow, which is based mainly on nature. Many other geocachers have also placed caches at Second World War localities and there is a countrywide geocaching list ‘Finland in World War II’ (Geocaching n.d.) with nearly 500 caches. Geocaching could offer a non-destructive, globally recognized and beneficial approach for engaging with these sites in a positive way. An alternative approach with the same aims is offered by the rising popularity of the Urban Exploration hobby (e.g. Garrett 2015). Urban explorers are dedicated to researching, discovering and exploring various kinds of ruins, often photographing them and sharing the images with the wider explorer community (Garrett 2015: 72). Even if most of Lapland’s war sites are in non-urban environments, this could allow a different kind of non-destructive and non-invasive interaction with heritage places.

218  Ignored, yet remembered Despite the somewhat pessimistic views expressed by some interviewees who doubt that ‘those rusty remains are interesting as tourist attractions’ (M15), it seems that dark wartime heritage could certainly be put into positive use. Nevertheless, while there are many communal and environmental advantages to such cultural heritage activities, there are also dangers of eliding, forgetting and ‘aestheticizing’ the past (Lento & Olsson 2013: 24–25). Various kinds of ‘alternative’ heritage places, such as industrial ruins or conflict sites, have received new kinds of attention and interaction in recent times, for instance, through Urban Exploration or aestheticization of destruction, decline and decay (see Olsen & Pétursdóttir 2014). The risk of eliding unwanted, difficult or ‘painful’ pasts is especially high when dealing with wartime remains associated with suffering and death or, as in Lapland, with Nazi war machine. Therefore, it is vital to recognize the multivocality and heterogeneity of the memories and myriad associations entwined with the Second World War material traces. The positive uses for wartime heritage need to be developed and presented in an ethical, consensual and engaging manner from the beginning. A bottom-up grassroots perspective based on local initiatives and perspectives is the best way to achieve this. The origins of Lapland tourism already had a strong southern bias and it was essentially an outside intrusion into the northern landscapes (e.g. Hautajärvi 2014); and this is still frequently the case. A recent, in many ways problematic issue concerning the tourism industry has been its representation of the North as ‘Lapland of experiences’, something defined and created to meet the needs of tourists, based on the foundations of nature, northern ways of life, and exoticism (Ruotsala 2002: 22). This exoticizing and Othering representation understandably annoys some of the locals, since many of the tourism operators are outsiders. However, if ­local stakeholders were involved from the start in developing and formulating these ‘experiences’ perhaps they could be presented in a mutually beneficial way, providing thrill for the travelers and additional income to the locals.

Note 1 Geocaching is an online treasure hunting game where ‘geocachers’ search with a mobile device or a handheld GPS device for caches hidden by other hobbyists at specific places. Geocaches are often made at or adjacent to interesting and notable natural and cultural landmarks, including heritage sites (e.g. Ihamäki 2012; Rowland 2013).

References World Wide Web sources Amaskak 2013a. GC4Q1TQ Jurmurovan vankileiri (Traditional Cache) in Finland created by Amaskak. Available at https://www.geocaching.com/geocache/ GC4Q1TQ_jurmurovan-vankileiri [Accessed 2016-06-14]

Positive uses for a haunting past  219 Amaskak 2013b. GC4QBKN Saunavuoro @ Haukkapesäjoen vankileiri (Traditional Cache) in Finland created by Amaskak. Available at https://www.­ geocaching.com/geocache/GC4QBKN_saunavuorohaukkapesajoen-vankileiri [Accessed 2016-06-14] Amaskak 2014a. GC555F9 Illestijoen vankileiri (Traditional Cache) in Finland created by Amaskak. Available at https://www.geocaching.com/geocache/GC555F9_ illestijoen-vankileiri [Accessed 2016-06-14] Amaskak 2014b. GC555EH Pikkupaanteenvaaran vankileiri (Traditional Cache) in Finland created by Amaskak. Available at https://www.geocaching.com/geocache/GC555EH_pikkupaanteenvaaranvankileiri [Accessed 2016-06-14] Amaskak 2014c. GC56HT3 Kankiniemen vankileiri (Traditional Cache) in Finland created by Amaskak. Available at https://www.geocaching.com/geocache/ GC56HT3_kankiniemen-vankileiri [Accessed 2016-06-14] Flodden 1513 Ecomuseum n.d. Flodden Field. Flodden 1513 Ecomuseum. Available at https://www.flodden1513ecomuseum.org/places/local/flodden-field [Accessed 2016-12-31] Geocaching n.d. Suomi toisessa maailmansodassa (Finland in World War II) (shared, public). Available at https://www.geocaching.com/bookmarks/view.aspx?guid=93 30fcab-32cb-44c3-9727-72eae0da69e6 Heikkinen, M.-P. 2016a. “Saamelaisalue on Suomen siirtomaa”, ja siksi saamelaiset pahastuvat, kun suomalaiset käyttävät heidän pukuaan. Helsingin Sanomat October 30, 2016. Available at http://www.hs.fi/kulttuuri/art-2000002927838.html [Accessed 2016-12-06] Heikkinen, M.-P. 2016b. Suohpanterror on nuorten saamelaisten vastaisku. Helsingin Sanomat October 30, 2016. Available at http://www.hs.fi/kulttuuri/art2000002927839.html [Accessed 2016-12-06] Internment Archaeology n.d. Kooskia Internment Camp Archaeological Project. Available at https://www.internmentarchaeology.org/ Näkkäläjärvi, P. 2016. Näkökulma: Närkästyneet saamelaiset otsikoissa. YLE May 16, 2016. Available at https://yle.fi/uutiset/osasto/sapmi/nakokulma_narkastyneet_ saamelaiset_otsikoissa/8877876 [Accessed 2016-06-14] Roos, J. 2016. Kun Kiasma kompastui saamenpukuun. YLE September 30, 2016. Available at https://yle.fi/aihe/artikkeli/2016/09/30/kun-kiasma-kompastuisaamenpukuun [Accessed 2016-10-16] Siida n.d. Saamelaismuseo Siida. Tarinasoitin. Available at https://tarinasoitin.fi/ saamelaismuseosiida [Accessed 2015-11-05] Toivanen, R. 2017. Sápmi Saami 100. Voima 6/2017. Available at http://antroblogi.fi/ 2017/02/sapmi-saami-100/ [Accessed 2017-12-06]

Primary sources Garrett, B. 2015. Urban Exploration as Heritage Placemaking. In Reanimating Industrial Spaces. Conducting Memory Work in Post-industrial Societies, edited by H. Orange: 72–91. Routledge: Oxon. Hautajärvi, H. 2014. Autiotuvista lomakaupunkeihin - Lapin matkailun arkkitehtuurihistoria. Aalto University publication series 31. Aalto University: Espoo. Ihamäki, P. 2012. Geocachers: The Creative Tourism Experience. Journal of Hospitality and Tourism Technology 3(3): 152–175.

220  Ignored, yet remembered Länsman, A.-S. 2004. Väärtisuhteet Lapin matkailussa Kulttuurianalyysi suomalaisten ja saamelaisten kohtaamisesta. Kustannus-Puntsi: Inari. Lehtola, V.-P. 2015. Second World War as a Trigger for Transcultural Changes among Sámi People in Finland. Acta Borealia 32(2): 125–147. Lento, K. & Olsson, P. 2013. Muistin kaupunki: tulkintoja kaupungista muistin ja muistamisen paikkana. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura: Helsinki. Olsen, B. & Pétursdóttir, Þ. (eds.) 2014. Ruin Memories: Materiality, Aesthetics and the Archaeology of the Recent Past. Routledge: Oxon, New York. Pälsi, S. 1931. Petsamoon kuin ulkomaille. Otava: Helsinki. Repič, J. 2018. Memorialization of the First World War in the Landscape of the Julian Alps. Folklore 73(3): 27–46. Rowland, M.J. 2013. Geocaching and Cultural Heritage. The Artefact 36: 3–9. Ruotsala, H. 2002. Muuttuvat palkiset. Elo, työ ja ympäristö Kittilän Kyrön paliskunnassa ja Kuolan Luujärven poronhoitokollektiiveissa vuosina 1930–1995. Kansatieteellinen Arkisto 49. Suomen muinaismuistoyhdistys: Helsinki. Seitsonen, O. 2019. Transnationally Forgotten and Re-remembered: Second World War Soviet Mass Graves at Mäntyvaara, Eastern Finnish Lapland. In Transnational Death, edited by S. Saramo, E. Koskinen-Koivisto & H. Snellman, 178–199. Finnish Literature Society: Helsinki. Thomas, S. & Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2016. “Ghosts in the Background” and “the Price of War”: Representations of the Lapland War in Finnish Museums. Nordisk Museologi 2016(2): 60–77. Thomas, S., Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2016. Nazi Memorabilia, Dark Heritage and Treasure Hunting as “Alternative” Tourism: Understanding the Fascination with the Material Remains of World War II in Northern Finland. Journal of Field Archaeology 41(3): 331–343.

10 Custodians of ‘war junk’ Local and global heritage of Second World War in Lapland

The German was efforts in the north would not have been possible without the involvement of local Finns and Sámi, both as advisors, co-belligerents and business partners. However, despite the local involvement and training co-operation, essentially the northern nature and lack of infrastructure stalled the German advance on the Arctic Front. German troops suffered of alienation and dislocation in the northern landscapes, which took many curious material forms that have been uncovered by archaeological studies, such as attempts to ‘civilize’ the isolated wilderness camps. From the inception of my archaeological study of German Second World War remains in Lapland, I became aware of the social value and significance accorded by local people to this officially forgotten and ignored material legacy, and how closely it intertwines with multiple contemporary issues (see Jones 2017). This understanding has been reinforced over the years since our first excavations at Peltojoki in 2009, and especially in 2016–2018 when we arranged public, community archaeological studies of Lapland’s war sites with the Sámi Museum Siida in Inari. A notable manifestation of local engagement has been the interest expressed by the Sámi media in our studies. Furthermore, many local elders have been inspired to share unique memories from their childhood (Appendix 1). This is no surprise since the Sámi war experience has received even less attention in Finland than the other aspects of the northern war, a neglect which has long and enduring colonial undercurrents (see Aikio 2000; Lehtola 1994, 2003, 2015a; Müller-Wille 2007). Finnish public debate about the war has commonly overlooked the strong influence that the German presence in Lapland exerted on both the Sámi and Finnish communities, and on their respective lands and patterns of land use (see Herva et al. 2016; Seitsonen et al. 2017). Many northern Lapland natives, whose families have firsthand experiences and memories of the German presence, often express intimate familial and personal knowledge of the overgrown ruins and objects merging into their landscape (Herva et al. 2016; Koskinen-Koivisto & Seitsonen 2019; Seitsonen 2017). So far, the most intensive interviews about the meanings, perceptions and engagements with German matériel have been carried out in Vuotso, Sodankylä, the southernmost of Finland’s Sámi villages. However,

222  Ignored, yet remembered sentiments analogous to those expressed in Vuotso about the importance of this heritage have also been articulated in interviews undertaken elsewhere; for example, in the Inari, Salla and Enontekiö regions (M15; M16; M20; M26; M27). It appears that for many natives of these northern regions German ruins not only convey memories of destruction and loss in the Lapland War, as might be expected, but also stand as agents for local transgenerational memories of when the villagers, G ­ ermans, and multinational prisoners lived as close neighbours in 1940–1944; a time before the outbreak of Finno-German hostilities, evacuation, and the large-scale destruction by fire and explosives. For the locals, the German material remains embody their own and their ancestors positive and negative war experiences and communal histories, stretching back to the times before WWII, before the Finnish state took a stronger hold of the North (­Seitsonen  & ­Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). Lapland’s population often feel that the official, south-centric histories have overlooked themes important to them, such as the wide-spread terror caused by the Soviet partisan attacks (e.g. Laurén 2019; Tuominen 2003: 105), which as we have seen, are remembered by most of our informants. This is not to suggest, however, that every local has an active engagement with the German wartime heritage. Many maintain a more (outwardly at least) dispassionate perspective, which views it as simply another layer in their ancestral landscape (Herva et al. 2016). This apparently casual attitude becomes more nuanced when it is examined against the traditional, relational Sámi and Finnish worldviews, which escape the Western dichotomies of natural and supernatural. Academics of Lapland origin, both Sámi and Finnish (see Länsman 2004: 99; Magga & Tervaniemi 2018; Ruotsala 2002: 331, 360), emphasize that in understanding Northerners’ comprehension of their environment it is not meaningful to separate ‘nature’ and ‘culture’. Instead, they see such categories as forming a fluid, overlapping, embodied and lived-in unity, and a cognitively controlled web of relations (also Thomas et al. 2016), analogous to what has been encountered among many traditional societies with close connection to their land (e.g. Harrison 2015). These local perspectives in northern Lapland encourage stewardship and protection of ruins and objects as part of the resilient long-term cultural landscape. This does not necessarily happen through intervention, but rather by letting objects be and exist on their own, embedded in their surroundings, itself a form of conscious engagement. At Vuotso, for example, the villagers asserted that they want to discourage outsiders from tampering with their ‘own heritage’ and from removing things from their ‘own lands’ since, ‘…they belong where they are’ (M17) and, interestingly, that the objects ‘…witnessed what happened here’ (F6) (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). Such local views resonate with recent developments in archaeological theories about ‘Things’ and their agency (e.g. Figenschau 2016; Kobiałka 2014; Olsen 2013; Olsen and Witmore 2014; Pétursdóttir 2013; Pétursdóttir & Olsen 2014a, b). They also highlight how in the context of many indigenous

Custodians of “war junk”  223 cultures, a division between the material and immaterial, as well as between cultural and natural heritage is essentially artificial (Harrison 2015; Harrison & Rose 2010). Heritage can be seen ‘as the processes and practices of keeping the past alive in the present…’ through myriad multi-species relationships and connections which ‘…bind time, place and generations’ (Harrison & Rose 2010: 265; also Harrison 2013).

Shades of dark (heritage) To our surprise the naming of our wide-scale research project in 2014–2018, Lapland’s Dark Heritage, was criticized by several interviewees: ‘…everyone who knows… [wartime] things knows that it is not dark at all. Except the Commies and other Green party toddlers [sic]’ (M30). Several of the metal detectorists, memorabilia collectors and history hobbyists expressed opinions that we had not expected to encounter about the use of word ‘dark’. Our intention had been that the name should be free of political or other valuations and decided that the concept of ‘dark heritage’, which has been gaining popularity as an umbrella term which derives from the better-defined term ‘dark tourism’ seemed appropriate (Thomas et al. 2019). The latter is used in tourism research when engaging with sites, landscapes and objects that ‘relate to events which might shock, unsettle, shame, or enrage’ (Carr & Corbishley 2015: 1; Stone 2006), such as concentration camps, execution places, gravesites or even haunted places (Koskinen-Koivisto & Thomas 2017; McAtackney 2013, 2014; Thomas et al. 2016). As we have seen, Lapland’s WWII German legacy has been controversial, ambivalent, difficult, unwanted, even painful, and downplayed on for decades, and to an extent still is (e.g. Koskinen-Koivisto & Thomas 2017). Public discussions referring to these remains dismissively as ‘war junk’ are but the most obvious example of disregarding the value of this heritage. The German legacy is important to local people in northern Lapland as an embedded part of their personal and familial histories, their ‘own lands’ and their cultural landscape. These connections link the German remains with a host of issues, not confined merely to the ‘dark’ ones relating to war. Many dark shades of the pre-war and post-war colonial past are also associated with WWII ruins, such as the building of reservoirs that destroyed whole ways of life. At the same time, the ruins also convey positive memories of the times before and during the war, of the traditional lifeways and relative independence before Finnish state’s involvement, and of the amiable relationships between the locals and German troops and their multinational prisoners stationed on the Sámi lands. Consequently, wartime heritage, even if most directly linked with fear, destruction and loss of life, is not automatically always that dark in people’s minds, and depends on the idiosyncratic perspectives of individuals and their communities. Tellingly it has not been the locals who have criticized the naming of the project. Many Sámi communities regard Lapland’s recent past through

224  Ignored, yet remembered various shades of lingering darkness as mostly related to long-term colonial issues, such as the exploitation of Lapland’s natural resources. Most of the criticism concerning the project’s naming came from those involved in one way of another in Finno-German cultural politics and activities, and who generally promote remembrance of the German presence and value its material legacy historically important. Typically, they come from outside the northern study areas; the northernmost critic that I encountered belongs to a Finnish settler family from Sodankylä. From these critics’ perspective, our project appeared to label the Germans, their actions, and their legacy as ‘dark’ in a politically loaded sense, a ‘Nazis are bad guys’ perspective mediated by Anglo-American popular culture images of ‘evil SS men’ (see Herva et al. 2016; Rau 2014). When we explained that the name of the project was based on connections with ‘dark tourism’ and its theoretical background, most critics understood our intentions of keeping the research politically and otherwise value-free. In the end, only one potential interviewee refused to give us an interview about his and his colleagues’ activities of mapping airplane crashsites. In their view they had nothing to do with ‘dark heritage’. Instead he stated that: …we have decided with my colleagues that… since we don’t deal with dark heritage, but airplane crash-sites… we are not interested in your request for an interview. We simply methodologically document and report the sites, all the data is in our reports at the museums [sic]. (M29) This comment is an interesting example of ‘professional’ distancing and neutralizing, in an amateur context, of their subject of interest in documented and reported data. Nevertheless, crash-sites are often directly connected to the deaths of pilots, and indirectly to various other darker themes, such as the bombing of military and civilian targets. Tourism researcher Philip Stone (2006) has suggested ‘a dark tourism spectrum’ based on various factors affecting the ‘darkness’ of individual tourist destinations. Figure 10.1 is a preliminary sketch of the ‘shades of darkness’ related to German heritage in Finnish Lapland. Here, I have evaluated the darkness of the sites first along a horizontal spectrum based on their historical connections, so that Prisoner-of-War (PoW) and forced labour camps as places of death and suffering appear as the ‘darkest’, whereas memorials and plaques not directly associated with sites of death are the lightest. The vertical dimension is based on people’s worldview and their personal relation to the perceived significance of WWII sites. It appears that there is notable variance in how ‘dark’ German sites appear to different people based on their degree of inside knowledge, familiarity, and even ‘intimacy’, with the sites. Those with personal and familial ties to such places appear to see them in a more multifaceted way, as ‘lighter’ and

Custodians of “war junk”  225

Figure 10.1 Shades of German dark heritage in Lapland. A preliminary sketch for a spectrum of dark heritage inspired by Stone’s (2006) spectrum of dark tourism: on the horizontal axis examples of site types from ‘darkest’ to ‘lightest’, and on the vertical axis some features that appear generally connected to the ‘insider’ and ‘outsider’ perspectives on the wartime heritage, such as differences in the worldviews and hauntings (Oula Seitsonen 2017).

darker shades. For them these traces act as agents of memory, which communicate layers of understanding that go beyond the bare circumstances of war and the German presence. This also appears to be the case with those who approach the remains from a professional or history-enthusiast perspective and have a degree of knowledge about them. Then again, for ‘outsiders’ with little or no relation to or information about these sites, the material remains appear more easily as ‘dark’, threatening and haunting traces of an anonymous past, mirrored against the internationally replicated narratives of ‘evil Nazis’ (Herva 2014; Herva et al. 2016; Rau 2014). There also seems to be a sliding scale of intensity with regard to the haunting character of the sites, depending on the observer’s personal relationship, inside knowledge, and connectedness with the sites. In local folklore, the conflict sites frequently appear as ‘literally haunted’, especially for individuals whose ancestors lived in the area during the war and who have close familial ties to that past. These ties connect them to wider, communal wartime memories, which are themselves haunted, for instance, by the partisan terror attacks and the witnessing of PoWs suffering. On the other hand, ‘outsiders’ with a more generalized view of the material remains, more often perceive them as ‘figuratively haunting’; as harrowing and disconcerting reminders of a past saturated by the Nazi presence. These views are closely associated with the differing environmental perceptions detected behind opposing engagements with, and attitudes towards, the German ruins. On the one hand, traditional Finnish and Sámi insider environmental

226  Ignored, yet remembered awareness is based on a relational ontology, and, on the other, the ‘western’ ontology of outsiders adopts the perspective of a nature-culture divide (Herva 2014; Ingold 2000, 2011; Herva et al. 2016). Due to the fluidity of Sámi environmental perceptions, their land use and cultural landscape has been described as ‘invisible’ to outsiders and is consequently easily overlooked by them (Länsman 2004: 90). During the war and still today, this has resulted in overlapping environmental perceptions and landscapes, with some common nodes of interaction but also with a lot of unshared space, both figuratively and literally. How sites are regarded and understood also changes over time as new information and perspectives appear. This is mirrored by my own immersion in this field of study over the past decade. In the course of this, my engagement with Lapland’s German material heritage has changed radically, as childhood playgrounds have evolved into sites of intense professional interest. Furthermore, the status of many sites can be ambivalent since they went through different phases of social use. As an example, the Peltojoki military base was originally a German-run PoW and labour camp, after that a guard post for an important bridge, then in 1944 a supply depot during the retreat to Norway, and finally accommodation for returning evacuees after the Lapland War (Seitsonen et al. 2017). There could arguably be many other factors and dimensions added to the assessments of ‘darkness’, but Figure 10.1 can serve as a baseline for further evaluations.

Unsettling reminders and nostalgia The local population’s resilient, corporeal and intimate sense of place, enhanced by their nature-based livelihoods, is vital for defining communal identities and collective spatial imaginations, past, present and future (Koskinen-­Koivisto & Seitsonen 2019; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017; see Korjonen-Kuusipuro & Kuusisto-Arponen 2012). These qualities have facilitated incorporating German heritage into the longer local cultural historical continuum. In Vuotso, as elsewhere, this has been boosted by the living storytelling tradition closely tied to the local landscape, which has transformed WWII material traces into active reminders of transgenerational communal memories. Soon after the war, the elders started recapitulating their wartime experiences and stories (Aikio-Puoskari 2010; F7; M17). To my surprise, I found that many present-day schoolchildren at Vuotso’s local school are also familiar with the German ruins and what they stand for. They told us they visit the sites surrounding their village in the course of wilderness-based activities, such as reindeer herding, berry picking and fishing, accompanied by parents and grandparents who pass on traditional stories related to these material remains (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). The maintenance, endurance and stability of a place and its materialities may be seen as analogical to cherishing personal as well as communal

Custodians of “war junk”  227 memories (Lento & Olsson 2013: 22). From this perspective, the importance of ancestral land use, long-term continuity and the transmitting of oral traditions becomes emphasized in traditional societies. What matters are the meanings attached to the landscape and specific places in it (Ruotsala 2002: 330; also Ikäheimo & Äikäs 2018). Importantly, in the context of the inconspicuous traces of WWII, this landscape can also be invisible, a memory, or a metaphoric space (Koskinen-Koivisto 2011). A metaphoric dimension can be connected through its material traces to a host of other issues, beyond what it stands for (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017), such as the traditional lifeways and changes in them. One example of such an ‘invisible’ site of memory is the memory of a prisoner execution place next to the PoW camp of Purnumukka. A now fallen ‘hanging pine’ is still remembered by the villagers as an ‘unsettling reminder’ (Million 1992) of the wartime past. Before it fell, it is said to have acted as a concrete site of memory in an almost ritualistic manner, with repetitive actions such as briefly halting alongside, and touching its trunk (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). This place and other invisible or inconspicuous localities that have importance on the local level were revealed in our crowdsourcing (LDH 2018). The Purnumukka PoW camp and the hanging pine were described by a public user as: pow camp. in the corner of the camp was a hanging pine, into which a sickle and hammer were carved. creepy place, where travellers used to stop and touch the tree, I don’t know why, but so was the habit [sic] User entry in the LDH public crowdsourcing (LDH 2018) Another example is an inconspicuous pit nearby in the forest, which was shown to me by one interviewee. This small dip in the land can easily go unnoticed by many passers-by, yet represents the tragic memory of a villager who stepped on a German mine after the war and was killed (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). Both examples illustrate well the locals’ lasting sense of place and their intimate attachment to it. During the post-war reconstruction period, and in the aftermath of the forced mobility and destruction, the Finnish State took a stronger hold on Sápmi, which was largely facilitated by the German-built wartime roads. One consequence was that the Sámi culture experienced an unprecedented rupture of traditional lifeways and an (involuntary) acculturation (Lehtola 1994: 191–224, 2012, 2015b). Those who originated in that part of Lapland ceded to the Soviet Union suffered especially badly. The semi-nomadic reindeer herding and foraging Skolt Sámi from Petsamo were hit particularly hard when they lost their ancestral herding grounds and most of their animals and were forced to stay in temporary accommodation for years (e.g. ­Tuominen 2003). The reindeer herders were also badly hit in the post-war years as the extensive state-directed exploitation of Lapland’s natural resources spread to their herding grounds (Lehtola 1994: 224, 2015b). For  instance,

228  Ignored, yet remembered

Figure 10.2 Vast reservoir lake of Lokka, which inundated the homelands and grazing grounds of Sámi herders in the ‘re-destruction of Sompio’, seen from the top of Pyhä-Nattanen fjell (Oula Seitsonen 2015).

another  cycle  of  forced mobility was experienced in the northern parts of Sodankylä, as the remote Sámi homesteads and their herding grounds were inundated in the 1950s to 1960s by the large reservoir lakes of Lokka and Porttipahta and the inhabitants resettled in Vuotso (Figure 10.2). Some of these places had already suffered with the Soviet partisan attacks in the war. The building of these post-war reservoirs by the Finnish government is remembered locally as the ‘re-destruction of Sompio’, with the first destruction referring to the German army’s 1944 depredations (Lehtola 1994: 223–224). In the 1970s, some herding families were again forced to resettle in Vuotso as the result of new state-imposed reindeer herding-laws. It appears that the overgrown German ruins and rusty objects can also engender nostalgia (Cashman 2006; Carr 2014: 52) for the pre-war days of independence and traditional lifeways, before the widespread destruction of property and lives, and before the more stringent state intervention and assimilation of the Sámi into Finnish society that characterized the postwar decades. This is a vivid reminder of the power and agency that even outwardly insignificant and imperceptible material traces can play in shaping communal and individual identities and embodied recollections. These can then be linked with numerous other pressing issues beyond the direct meanings of the traces themselves (e.g. Koskinen-Koivisto 2011; Macdonald 2006). Local perspectives emphasize personal and family memories related to material remains which act as dynamic agents for these links. This promotes curatorial, caring and protective engagements, which resiliently embed the material remains into the local, interrelated long-term cultural

Custodians of “war junk”  229 landscape. This also explains why many locals discourage and resist altering the remains or removing them from their place. Conversely, for outsiders the German matériel often appears as unwanted, out-of-place and potentially dangerous ‘war junk’ that embodies the evils of Nazism and spoils the beauty of Lapland’s ‘pristine’ wilderness (Herva 2014). Its dangers have often been emphasized by these outsiders and also by the Pidä Lappi Siistinä (PLS) ‘War Junk Project’ (see Chapter 8; Seitsonen & Herva 2017). These outsiders can also include people living in Lapland, especially settlers and others who moved into the area after the WWII. In the Rovaniemi region, which was thoroughly destroyed in the Lapland War, there are more critical voices concerning the German presence. Based on the responses to our visitor survey in the ‘Wir waren Freunde’ exhibition, these might simply be a ‘loud minority’ (Chapter 8; Seitsonen et al. 2018). This minority might be implicated in the destruction of the ‘General hut’ as late as 1980, owing to its haunting presence as a reminder of the Nazis in Rovaniemi (Mikkonen 2016: 151). These perspectives are closely linked with strong local political factionalism, which had taken root in the minds of many even before WWII (M10). Importantly, the German ruins represent, for these people too, powerful agents of memory, analogous to their function for people in northern Lapland and mediate broader pre-war and post-war issues. Opposing perspectives on and interpretations of the material traces of German presence enable different engagements with them. The outsider perception of Lapland as an untouched wilderness that needs to be cleaned of potentially dangerous ‘junk’ becomes understandable as an expression of a kind of detachment from nature. Tim Ingold (2004: 329) has described this as a ‘leitmotif through the recent history of Western societies’, as an attempt to leave nature unmarked and unscathed by the human presence or activity. These differing perceptions on environment and heritage ownership and custodianship touch closely upon, and indeed build upon, the marginalization of northern Finland (Herva 2014; Herva et al. 2016; Länsman 2004; Lehtola 2015b; Seitsonen 2017). From the northern standpoint, the ‘south’ is demarcated as something mentally and symbolically opposite to the north (Ruotsala 2002: 18), and the ‘southern lords’ (etelän herrat) have ‘the power to act and dominate…’ and to threaten the northern lifeways and livelihoods (Ruotsala 2002: 370; also Länsman 2004; Lehtola 2015b). Conversely, from a southern perspective the north is often perceived as peripheral and backward, yet romanticized, and has been subject to colonial practices for centuries (e.g. Lehtola 2015b; Naum & Nordin 2013). The latter were most blatantly demonstrated by the exhumation of Sámi skeletons from graveyards in the 1800s and early 1900s, to add to the anatomical collections of the University of Helsinki. The last of these were returned only in 2001 (Harlin 2008: 11; Söderholm 2002). Another insightful example emerged when we asked one of our informants how she experienced the arrival of Germans in Vuotso in 1941. She

230  Ignored, yet remembered casually mentioned that the ‘big world’ and foreigners were nothing new to her, since her family and other Sámi families had been exhibited with their herding dogs, reindeer and kota-tents at fairs in southern Finland and the Baltic countries during the 1930s (F7). Displaying ‘savages’ in this way was a relatively common and widespread phenomenon in many western countries into the early 1900s (e.g. Andreassen 2015: 9–11; McKay & Memmott 2016). The Finnish nation has been very slow at acknowledging and recognizing these and other fluctuating colonial issues, deeply entwined with questions of land use rights and ownership (Länsman 2004; Lehtola 2015b). Set against this background of colonialism and marginalization, the strong local sense of stewardship and urge to act as custodians of their ‘own heritage’, their ‘own war junk’, on their ‘own lands’ makes sense as an indigenous act of self-identification (Nyyssönen 2013; Seitsonen & Koskinen-­ Koivisto 2017; also Friedmann 1992; Jones 2005, 2017). This might also be mirrored, for instance, by the inaccuracies in public entries on the crowdsourcing maps. Some people speculated in Facebook discussions whether the YLE and LDH crowdsourcing maps might be abused by ‘treasure hunters’ (Seitsonen 2017). Only a fraction of the public entries is placed anywhere near to actual site locations. Although this might be partly due to the schematic background maps, it might also represent one conscious way of trying to prevent outsiders from tampering with local heritage, while at the same time bringing them to wider recognition. Such attitudes highlight the need to acknowledge the kaleidoscopic multivocality and diversity of perspectives when discussing Lapland’s WWII heritage, whether different indigenous Sámi groups or Finnish settlers. These material remains also represent a transnational subaltern and orphan heritage (Price 2005); the legacy of German soldiers, their Soviet, Ukrainian, Polish, Ingrian and other multinational prisoners and forced labourers, and that of Swedish and other volunteers (Figure 10.3; Seitsonen & Herva 2011). This transnational nature of Finland’s war heritage has been largely overlooked in the past and has only recently come into focus (see Koskinen-­ Koivisto 2016; Kurki et al. 2016; Laurén 2019; Seitsonen 2019).

Social and heritage value of ‘war junk’ ‘Where the Fuck is Vuotso’ is a raw rhetorical question posed by a Vuotso-­ based Sámi rock band SomBy (2014), and mirrors aptly the sentiments expressed by the villagers about their own wartime heritage: ‘…Vuotso is never remembered’ (M17). It also resonates more widely with the expressions of the marginalization and side-lining of the north, which arise in conversations with the locals (Koskinen-Koivisto & Seitsonen 2019; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). For the Sámi, and also for the reindeer herding Finnish settlers who have lived in the area for hundreds of years, their lived-in, embodied relationship with their ancestral lands is vital for maintaining their self-identity and sense of place (e.g. Länsman 2004: 99;

Custodians of “war junk”  231

Figure 10.3 Transnational battle terrain at Lyngen-Stellung in Kilpisjärvi, with Swedish and Norwegian mountains looming on the background (Oula Seitsonen 2019).

Ruotsala 2002: 331, 360; see Jones 2017). This is rooted in their traditional relational environmental perceptions, which evade the simple Cartesian oppositions and ‘Western’ dichotomies as discussed previously (Herva 2014; Ingold 2000; Thomas et al. 2016). The locals’ resilient sense of place, folklore, traditional stories, belief systems and ancestral spirits all secure people to their ‘own lands’ through personified corporeal landscape biographies (see Harrison 2011; Lähteenmäki 1999: 210; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). This explains, for instance, the emphasis of our Vuotso Sámi informants that despite the loss of lives and material in the Lapland War, what matters most was that they still retained lands to which they could return (F7; M16; M17; M18; M19; M20; M28) (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). This intimate connection to land explains the difficulties faced by those, such as the semi-nomadic Skolt Sámi, who lost their lands when they were ceded to the Soviet Union at the end of the war. Many enthusiastic locals appear to see themselves as custodians of their local past, which includes the legacy of the WWII. This is understandable based on their personal and familial ties to these material traces and they often wish to control access and engagement with these places (Herva et al. 2016). However, at the same time many are eager to develop positive uses for their own conflict heritage and would like to see it more widely acknowledged nationally and internationally. These feelings emphasize the social value (Jones 2017) of this legacy and explain, for instance, the strong local reactions expressed against the ‘clearing of war junk’ by the PLS in 2005–2010.

232  Ignored, yet remembered Curiously, it was the PLS ‘War Junk Project’, which gave the unexpected impetus for initiating an active, wider process of recognition of the northern WWII legacy. Until then, local people typically had an outwardly indifferent attitude towards the overgrown wartime ruins. However, at the same time these traces had become an embedded part of the enduring long-term cultural landscape and appear to have been acting, mostly subconsciously, as important agents maintaining communal memories of wartime, and beyond. This illustrates how the myriad meanings associated with heritage ‘… may not be obvious in the fabric of the place, and may not be apparent to the disinterested observer’ (Johnston 1994: 10; see Jones 2017). This is consistent with the recent notion by Siân Jones that the importance of material heritage for local communities can remain latent ‘in daily practices and longterm associations with place, only crystallizing when threatened in some way’ (Jones 2017: 26). In the Lapland case, this outside threat was the ‘War Junk Project’ and instigated unexpected processes, including indirectly my own heritage work that broadened into our ‘Lapland’s Dark Heritage’ research and into this book. The social importance of wartime remains as an integral, embedded part of the local historic landscape has been heightened in Sámi communities, such as Vuotso, by the strong bonds which tie people to their ancestral lands and landscapes (Figure 10.4). This close connection to the inherited lands is illustrated by the lyrics by Ravggon, a Sámi folk group from Vuotso: ‘I wander to the fjells, I wander to find the old foundations of ancestors’ huts, the reindeer birthing grounds, the mountain of helping hands, the wolverine slaying grounds’ (‘Mun váccán duoddarii, váccán ja ozan máttuid goahtesajiid,

Figure 10.4 Iconic and sacred Nattaset fjell landscape near Vuotso, Sodankylä (Oula Seitsonen 2015).

Custodians of “war junk”  233 áldduid guottinsajiid, veahkkejoavkkuidvári, geatkki goddinbáikkiid’) (Ravggon 2016). In many parts of Lapland, an active storytelling tradition is still maintained and has enabled the preservation of communal memories of wartime and beyond (Aikio-Puoskari 2010; Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017), and which ties these memories to the living landscapes surrounding the local communities (see Nergård 1997). Transgenerational memories have facilitated, and continue to facilitate, the embedding and integrating of the war traces as active mediators of the past(s) into the longer continuum of ancestral cultural landscapes (Seitsonen & Koskinen-Koivisto 2017). The continued revisiting and reuse of the sites in the locals’ everyday lifeworld, and their close familial and personal bonds to the ruins, has enabled the past and present to metaphorically co-exist and overlap through these material traces. This expresses well the heterogeneity of time which is typical for sites of recent past (González-Ruibal 2008; Witmore 2013). The ‘porosity’ of past and present and the integration of German material remains into northern mythology are well demonstrated by the figuratively and literally haunting character these have in the local folklore of ghosts and hauntings (Chapter 8). All in all, from a local perspective, the social value of wartime heritage outweighs its historical or material value. What appears to mean most are the wider concepts, which are mediated through the material remains and interwoven into them; namely, what they symbolize and mean for the locals. Since the impetus for the active recognition of these WWII remains was imparted by the PLS ‘clearing of war junk’, an action perceived by locals as thoughtless destruction of their own cultural legacy by ‘Southerners’, the traces of German presence have emerged as a symbol of continuing north– south confrontations and the marginalization of the North (Herva et al. 2016). This is based on the perception of the ‘South’ as mentally opposite to Lapland and its people, and with the power to dominate Northerners and threaten their way of life (Ruotsala 2002: 18, 370; also Länsman 2004; Lehtola 2015b). The ‘war junk’ question thus ties in with Lapland’s long colonial history, and the Finnish State’s slowness in answering, or even recognizing, the complex colonialist issues; intertwined, as they are, with multifaceted questions of land ownership and land use rights in Sápmi (e.g. Länsman 2004; Lehtola 2015b). This stems from the Finnish nation’s inability to ratify the ILO 169 Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention. Recently however, the encouraging news was announced that the Finnish National Museum will be repatriating its Sámi collections to Siida (NM 2017). This might well represent a sign of rising cultural awareness of Sámi rights and Finland’s colonial past. As we have seen, there are wide variations in people’s engagement with German WWII remains in Lapland. This is normally coupled with the inability of people with opposing perspectives to engage in meaningful dialogue. This situation appears to derive from fundamentally different mental templates with which different groups perceive the northern landscape, the German WWII presence, its material traces, and their importance. Those

234  Ignored, yet remembered who support and carry out the ‘clearing’ appear to approach the subject and the landscape with a ‘Western’ gaze, by drawing a division between ‘nature’ and ‘culture’ (e.g. Herva 2014; Ingold 2000). This ultimately labels the locals’ lived-in historical landscape as a natural wilderness. Conversely, local people’s northern environmental awareness of landscape, and the German remains, perceive it as an overarching web of relations and meanings, which ties the past, present and future together into a cognitively controlled and embodied unity (Länsman 2004: 99; Ruotsala 2002: 331, 360; Thomas et al. 2016). It appears that before a fruitful dialogue can be instigated, different stakeholders must recognize and accept the fundamentally different worldviews and perspectives from which they engage with the subject. This is a m ­ ajor challenge for future discussions concerning the heritage value of WWII’s material legacy in Lapland and beyond and the connected issues of ownership and custodianship. These need to be somehow elucidated, preferably in agreement with all the involved stakeholders to grant official recognition, heritage status and protection to German and other wartime remains. Paradoxically, the Peltojoki military base where this research began is now recognized as a State-protected cultural heritage site, owing to the few Prehistoric stone tools encountered during the 2009 excavations. This illustrates, unintentionally, a ‘return to an ancient past’ (Barndt 2010: 138), reaching beyond the dubious Nazi pedigree of the site to the ‘pristine’, ancient and natural Stone Age past. Whether Peltojoki, and the other German sites in Lapland, will eventually be officially acknowledged and protected as WWII-era cultural heritage remains to be seen.

References Archival sources Harlin, E.-K. 2008. Recalling Ancestral Voices. Repatriation of Sámi Cultural Heritage. Sámi Kulturárbbi máhcaheapmi. Saamelaisen kulttuuriperinnön kartoitus. Återföning av samiskt kulturarv. Tilbakeføring as samisk kulturarv. Interreg IIIA-­ projektin loppuraportti. Research report, Siida / Áitte/ Vájllat Sámi musea, Sápmi. Söderholm, N. 2002. Den anatomiska bensamlingen vid Helsingfors universitet. MA Thesis, University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland. World Wide Web sources LDH. 2018. Merkitse kartalle sotahistoriallisia kohteita! / Mark WW2 sites into the map! – LAPLAND’S DARK HERITAGE. Available at http://blogs.helsinki.fi/ lapland-darkheritage/lapin-sotahistoriallisia-kohteita/ [Accessed 2018-12-01] NM. 2017. Kansallismuseo lahjoittaa merkittävän saamelaiskokoelman Saamelaismuseo Siidaan. Available at http://www.kansallismuseo.fi/fi/kansallismuseo/ tiedotusvalineille?Article=6358 [Accessed 2017-07-17] SomBy. 2014. Where the F*ck is Vuotso. Available at https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=8KsroV3kiEk [Accessed 2015-12-24]

Custodians of “war junk”  235

Primary sources Aikio, N. 2000. Liekkejä pakoon: saamelaiset evakossa 1944–1945. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura: Helsinki. Aikio-Puoskari, U. 2010. Saamelaisesta elämänmuodosta saamelaiseen kulttuuriin – Isoäidin elämä muutoksen mittatikkuna. In Kylä kulttuurien risteyksessä, edited by U. Aikio-Puoskari & P. Magga: 108–124. Vuohču Sámiid Searvi: sine loco. Andreassen, R. 2015. Human Exhibitions: Race, Gender and Sexuality in Ethnic Displays. Routledge: London, New York. Barndt, K. 2010. Layers of Time: Industrial Ruins and Exhibitionary Temporalities. PMLA 125(1): 134–141. Carr, G. 2014. Legacies of Occupation: Heritage, Memory and Archaeology in the Channel Islands. Springer: London. Carr, J. & Corbishley, M. 2015. Editorial. Conservation and Management of Archaeological Sites 17(1): 1–3. Cashman, R. 2006. Critical Nostalgia and Material Culture in Northern Ireland. Journal of American Folklore 119 (472): 137–160. Figenschau, I. 2016. Krigsminner som kulturminner: redning eller klam omfavnelse? Primitive tider 18: 199–215. Friedmann, J. 1992. The Past in the Future: History and the Politics of Identity. American Anthropologist 94(4): 837–859. González-Ruibal, A. 2008. Time to Destroy: An Archaeology of Supermodernity. Current Anthropology 49(2): 247–279. Harrison, R. 2011. Surface Assemblages: Towards an Archaeology in and of the Present. Archaeological Dialogues 18(2): 141–161. Harrison, R. 2013. Forgetting to Remember, Remembering to Forget: Late Modern Heritage Practices, Sustainability and the ‘Crisis’ of Accumulation of the Past. International Journal of Heritage Studies 19(6): 579–595. Harrison, R. 2015. Beyond ‘Natural’ and ‘Cultural’ Heritage: Toward an Ontological Politics of Heritage in the Age of Anthropocene. Heritage & Society 8(1): 24–42. Harrison, R. & Rose, D. 2010. Intangible Heritage. In Understanding Heritage and Memory, edited by T. Benton: 238–276. Manchester University Press in association with the Open University: Manchester, Milton Keynes. Herva, V.-P. 2014. Haunting Heritage in an Enchanted Land: Magic, Materiality and Second World War German Material Heritage in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 1(2): 297–321. Herva, V.-P., Koskinen-Koivisto, E., Seitsonen, O. & Thomas, S. 2016. ‘I Have Better Stuff at Home’: Treasure Hunting and Private Collecting of World War II Artefacts in Finnish Lapland. World Archaeology 48(2): 267–281. Ikäheimo, J. & Äikäs, T. 2018. Hanging Tree as a Place of Memories: Encounters at a 1916 Execution Site. Journal of Community Archaeology and Heritage 5(3): 166–181. Ingold, T. 2000. The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill. Routledge: London. Ingold, T. 2004. Culture on the Ground: The World Perceived Through the Feet. Journal of Material Culture 9(3): 315–340. Ingold, T. 2011. Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description. Routledge: New York.

236  Ignored, yet remembered Johnston, C. 1994. Early Medieval Sculpture and the Production of Meaning, Value and Place: The Case of Hilton of Cadboll. Historic Scotland: Edinburgh. Jones, S. 2005. Making Place, Resisting Displacement: Conflicting National and Local Identities in Scotland. In The Politics of Heritage: ‘Race,’ Identity and National Stories, edited by J. Littler & R. Naidoo: 94–114. Routledge: London. Jones, S. 2017. Wrestling with the Social Value of Heritage: Problems, Dilemmas and Opportunities. Journal of Community Archaeology and Heritage 4(1): 21–37. Kobiałka, D. 2014. Let Heritage Die! The Ruins of Trams at Depot No. 5 in Wrocław, Poland. Journal of Contemporary archaeology 1(2): 351–368. Korjonen-Kuusipuro, K. & Kuusisto-Arponen, A.-K. 2012. Emotional Silences: The Rituals of Remembering the Finnish Karelia. In Painful Pasts and Useful Memories. Remembering and Forgetting in Europe. CFE Conference Papers Series 5, edited by B. Törnquist-Plewa & N. Bernsand: 109–126. Lund: Centre for European Studies. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2011. Disappearing Landscapes. Embodied Experience and Metaphoric Space in the Life Story of a Female Factory Worker. Ethnologia Scandinavica 41: 25–39. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2016. Reminder of Lapland’s Dark Heritage – Experiences of Finnish Cemetery Tourists of Visiting the Norvajärvi German Cemetery. Thanatos 5(1): 23–41. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Seitsonen. O. 2019. Landscapes of Loss and Destruction: Childhood Memories of Sámi Elders of the Second World War. Ethnologia Europaea 49(1): 24–40. Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Thomas, S. 2017. Lapland’s Dark Heritage: Responses to the Legacy of World War II. In Heritage in Action. Making the Past in the Present, edited by H. Silverman, W. Waterton & S. Watson: 121–133. Springer: New York. Kurki, T., Laurén, K., Kaskinen, S., Jaago, T. & Tanttu, T. 2016. Projektiesittely: Traumatized Borders: Reviving Subversive Narratives Of B/Order, and Other. Elore 23(2). https://doi.org/10.30666/elore.79262 Lähteenmäki, M. 1999. Jänkäjääkäreitä ja parakkipirkkoja. Lappilaisten sotakokemuksia 1939–1945. Historiallisia tutkimuksia 203. Suomen Historiallinen Seura: Helsinki. Laurén, K. 2019. Unohtamista uhmaten: Partisaanisodan muistelukulttuuri hiljaisena vastarintana. In Hiljainen vastarinta, edited by O. Autti & V.-P. Lehtola: 269–294. Tampere University Press: Tampere. Lehtola, V.-P. 1994. Saamelainen evakko. Rauhan kansa sodan jaloissa. City Sámit: Helsinki. Lehtola, V.-P. 2003. Tuhon ja nousun vuodet (1939–1965). In Inari – Aanaar. Inarin historia jääkaudesta nykypäivään, edited by V.-P. Lehtola: 350–489. Inarin kunta: Oulu. Lehtola, V.-P. 2012. Saamelaiset suomalaiset. Kohtaamisia 1896–1953. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura: Helsinki. Lehtola, V.-P. 2015a. Saamelaiskiista: sortaako Suomi alkuperäiskansaansa? Into: Helsinki. Lehtola, V.-P. 2015b. Second World War as a Trigger for Transcultural Changes among Sámi People in Finland. Acta Borealia 32(2): 125–147. Lento, K. & Olsson, P. 2013. Muistin kaupunki: tulkintoja kaupungista muistin ja muistamisen paikkana. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura: Helsinki. Länsman, A.-S. 2004. Väärtisuhteet Lapin matkailussa Kulttuurianalyysi suomalaisten ja saamelaisten kohtaamisesta. Kustannus-Puntsi: Inari.

Custodians of “war junk”  237 Macdonald, S. 2006. Undesirable Heritage: Fascist Material Culture and Historical Consciousness in Nuremberg. International Journal of Heritage Studies 12(1): 9–28. Magga, P. & Tervaniemi, S. 2018. Belonging to Sápmi – The Sámi Conceptions of Home and Home Region. In Knowing from the Indigenous North. Sámi Approaches to History, Politics and Belonging, edited by T.H. Eriksen, S. Valkonen & J. Valkonen: 75–90. Routledge: Abingdon. McAtackney, L. 2013. Dealing with Difficult Pasts: The Dark Heritage of Political Prisons in Transitional Northern Ireland and South Africa. Prison Service Journal 210: 17–23. McAtackney, L. 2014. An Archaeology of the Troubles: The Dark Heritage of Long Kesh/Maze. Oxford University Press: Oxford. McKay, J. & Memmott, P. 2016. Staged Savagery: Archibald Meston and His Indigenous Exhibits. Aboriginal History 40: 181–203. Mikkonen, K. 2016. Parakkeja ja piikkilankaa. Lapin maakuntamuseo: Rovaniemi. Million, L. 1992. ‘It Was Home’: A Phenomenology of Place and Involuntary Displacement as Illustrated by the Forced Dislocation of Five Southern Alberta Families in the Oldman River Dam Flood Area. PhD Thesis. Saybrook Institute Graduate School and Research Center, San Francisco, CA, USA. Müller-Wille, L. 2007. Sápmi und die Sámi in den Augen Deutchsprachiger Mitteleuropäer: Zeitlaufte con Vorstellungen, Wissensbildnung und Beruhrungen seit dem 17. Jahrhundert. In Sámit, sánit, sátnehámit. Riepmočála Pekka Sammallahtii miessemánu 21. beaivve 2007. Suomalais-Ugrilaisen Seuran Toimituksia, Memoires de la Societe Finno-Ougrienne 253, edited by J. Ylikoski & A. Aikio: 293–314. Suomalais-Ugrilainen Seura: Helsinki. Naum, M. & Nordin J.M. (eds.) 2013. Scandinavian Colonialism and the Rise of Modernity: Small Time Agents in a Global Arena. Springer: New York. Nergård, J.I. 1997. De samiske grunnfortellingene: en kulturpsykologisk skisse. In Filosofi i et nordlig landskap. Jakob Meløe 70 år. Ravnetrykk 12, edited by A. Greve & S. Nesset: 68–80. Tromsø: Universitetsbiblioteket i Tromsø. Nyyssönen, J. 2013. Sami Counter-Narratives of Colonial Finland: Articulation, Reception and the Boundaries of the Politically Possible. Acta Borealia 30(1): 101–121. Olsen, B. 2013. Reclaiming Things: An Archaeology of Matter. In How Matter Matters: Objects, Artifacts and Materiality in Organization Studies, edited by P.R. Carlile, D. Nicolini, A. Langley & H. Tsoukas: 171–196. Oxford University Press: Oxford. Olsen, B. & Witmore, C. 2014. Sværholt: Recovered Memories from a POW Camp in the Far North. In Ruin Memories: Materialities, Aesthetics and the Archaeology of the Recent Past, edited by B. Olsen & Þ. Pétursdóttir: 162–90. Routledge: Oxon, New York. Pétursdóttir, Þ. 2013. Concrete Matters: Ruins of Modernity and the Things Called Heritage. Journal of Social Archaeology 13(1): 31–53. Pétursdóttir, Þ. & Olsen, B. 2014a. Imaging Modern Decay: The Aesthetics of Ruin Photography. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology 1(1): 7–56. Pétursdóttir, Þ. & Olsen, B. 2014b. An Archaeology of Ruins. In Ruin Memories: Materiality, Aesthetics and the Archaeology of the Recent Past, edited by B. Olsen and Þ. Pétursdóttir: 3–29. Routledge: Oxon, New York. Price, J. 2005. Orphan Heritage: Issues in Managing the Heritage of the Great War in Northern France and Belgium. Journal of Conflict Archaeology 1: 181–196. Rau, P. 2014. Our Nazis: Representations of Fascism in Contemporary Literature and Film. Edinburgh University Press: Edinburgh.

238  Ignored, yet remembered Ravggon. 2016. Mannet mánnui. Song on the album Ráji ravddas. Tuupa Records: sine loco. Ruotsala, H. 2002. Muuttuvat palkiset. Elo, työ ja ympäristö Kittilän Kyrön paliskunnassa ja Kuolan Luujärven poronhoitokollektiiveissa vuosina 1930–1995. Kansatieteellinen Arkisto 49. Suomen muinaismuistoyhdistys: Helsinki. Seitsonen, O. 2017. Crowdsourcing Cultural Heritage: Public Participation and Conflict Legacy in Finland. Journal of Community Archaeology and Heritage 4(2): 115–130. Seitsonen, O. 2019. Transnationally Forgotten and Re-remembered: Second World War Soviet Mass Graves at Mäntyvaara, Eastern Finnish Lapland. In Transnational Death, edited by S. Saramo, E. Koskinen-Koivisto & H. Snellman: 178–199. Finnish Literature Society: Helsinki. Seitsonen, O., Hekkurainen, M., Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Thomas, S. 2018. ‘Voiko natsia rakastaa?’: Lapin Maakuntamuseon Wir waren Freunde – Olimme ystäviä – ­näyttelyprosessi esimerkkinä vaikeasta kulttuuriperinnöstä. Suomen Museo 2018: 112–132. Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2011. Forgotten in the Wilderness: WWII PoW Camps in Finnish Lapland. In Archaeologies of Internment, edited by A. Myers & G. Moshenska: 171–190. Springer: New York. Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2017. ‘War Junk’ and Cultural Heritage: Viewpoints on the Second World War German Material Culture in Finnish Lapland. In War & Peace: Conflict and Resolution in Archaeology. Proceedings of the 45th Annual Chacmool Archaeology Conference, edited by A.K. Benfer: 170–185. Chacmool Archaeology Association, University of Calgary. Available at https://prism.­ ucalgary.ca/handle/1880/52231 [Accessed 2017-12-26] Seitsonen, O., Herva, V.-P., Nordqvist, K., Herva, A. & Seitsonen, S. 2017. A Military Camp in the Middle of Nowhere: Mobilities, Dislocation and the Archaeology of a Second World War German Military Base in Finnish Lapland. Journal of Conflict Archaeology 12(1): 3–28. Seitsonen, O. & Koskinen-Koivisto, E. 2017. ‘Where the F… is Vuotso?’: Heritage of Second World War Forced Movement and Destruction in a Sámi Reindeer Herding Community in Finnish Lapland. International Journal of Heritage Studies 24(4): 421–441. Stone, P.R. 2006. A Dark Tourism Spectrum: Towards a Typology of Death and Macabre Related Tourist Sites, Attractions and Exhibitions. Tourism: An Interdisciplinary International Journal 54(2): 145–160. Thomas, S., Seitsonen, O. & Herva, V.-P. 2016. Nazi Memorabilia, Dark Heritage and Treasure Hunting as “Alternative” Tourism: Understanding the Fascination with the Material Remains of World War II in Northern Finland. Journal of Field Archaeology 41(3): 331–343. Thomas, S., Herva, V.-P., Koskinen-Koivisto, E. & Seitsonen, O. 2019. Dark Heritage. In Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology, edited by C. Smith: 1–11. Springer: New York. Tuominen, M. 2003. Lapin sodan tuhot, materiaalinen ja mentaalinen jälleenrakennus. In Lappi. Maa, kansat, kulttuurit, edited by I. Massa & H. Snellman: 106– 108. Suomalaisen kirjallisuuden seura: Helsinki. Witmore, C. 2013. Which Archaeology? A Question of Chronopolitics. In Reclaiming Archaeology: Beyond the Tropes of Modernity, edited by A. Gonzáles-Ruibal: 130–144. Routledge: London.

Appendix 1

Interviews in 2009–2017 (interview records and notes will be stored in the National Sámi archives, Inari, and in the Lapland Provincial Archives, Oulu) Code Place

Date

Interviewers

F1 F2 F3

Inari Vuotso Rovaniemi

2009-09-12 2010-10-06 2015-04-28

F4

Rovaniemi

2015-04-30

F5 F6

Rovaniemi Vuotso

2015-06-03 2015-06-07

F7

Vuotso

2015-08-09

F8

Tankavaara 2015-08-11

F9 F10 F11 F12 F13 F14 M1 M2 M3 M4 M5 M6

Rovaniemi Rovaniemi Kusfors, Sweden Inari Kaamanen Inari Inari Inari Inari Vuotso Espoo Vantaa

2017-08-17 2018-08-11 2018-08-14 2009-08-09 2009-08-11 2009-08-18 2010-10-06 2015-03-12 2015-03-27

M7 M8 M9

Jyväskylä Jyväskylä Rovaniemi

2015-04-07 2015-04-16 2015-04-28

M10

Rovaniemi

2015-04-29

M11

Rovaniemi

2015-06-03

M12

Rovaniemi

2015-06-04

Oula Seitsonena Oula Seitsonena Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto, Oula Seitsonen and Suzie Thomas Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto, Oula Seitsonen and Suzie Thomas Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto Vesa-Pekka Herva, Eerika KoskinenKoivisto and Oula Seitsonen Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto and Oula Seitsonen Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto, Oula Seitsonen and Suzie Thomas Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto and Suzie Thomas Suzie Thomas Mika Kunnari, Oula Seitsonen and Maria Perssona Oula Seitsonena Oula Seitsonena Oula Seitsonena Oula Seitsonena Oula Seitsonena Oula Seitsonena Oula Seitsonena Oula Seitsonena Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto, Oula Seitsonen and Suzie Thomas Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto, Oula Seitsonen and Suzie Thomas Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto and Oula Seitsonen Vesa-Pekka Herva, Eerika KoskinenKoivisto and Oula Seitsonen Vesa-Pekka Herva, Eerika KoskinenKoivisto and Oula Seitsonen

2015-11-26 2015-11-27 2016-06-11

(Continued)

240  Appendix 1 Code Place

Date

Interviewers

M13

Inari

2015-06-06

M14

Rovaniemi

2015-06-08

M15

Inari

2015-08-06

M16

Inari

2015-08-07

M17

Vuotso

2015-08-09

M18

Vuotso

2015-08-10

M19

Vuotso

2015-08-10

M20 M21 M22

Kilpisjärvi Rovaniemi Rovaniemi

2015-09-30 2015-11-27 2016-03-21

M23

Rovaniemi

2016-03-23

M24

Rovaniemi

2016-03-24

M25

Rovaniemi

2016-03-24

M26

Salla

2016-08-08

M27

Salla

2016-08-08

M28 M29 M30 M31

Inari -

2017-05-03 2015-04-01 2016-06-14 2017-05-12

Vesa-Pekka Herva, Eerika KoskinenKoivisto and Oula Seitsonen Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto and Oula Seitsonen Vesa-Pekka Herva, Eerika KoskinenKoivisto and Oula Seitsonen Vesa-Pekka Herva, Eerika KoskinenKoivisto, Oula Seitsonen and Suzie Thomas Vesa-Pekka Herva, Eerika KoskinenKoivisto and Oula Seitsonen Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto and Oula Seitsonen Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto and Oula Seitsonen Oula Seitsonena Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto, Oula Seitsonen and Suzie Thomas Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto and Oula Seitsonen Vesa-Pekka Herva, Eerika KoskinenKoivisto and Oula Seitsonen Vesa-Pekka Herva, Eerika KoskinenKoivisto and Oula Seitsonen Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto and Oula Seitsonen Eerika Koskinen-Koivisto and Oula Seitsonen Vesa-Pekka Herva and Oula Seitsonena Declined interview, email to the author Email interview with a metal detectorist Email interview

a Interview not recorded according to the interviewees wish, written notes.

Appendix 2

List of the German-run PoW and forced labour camps in northern Finland, as known in 2018 (including the Organisation Todt (OT) camps; based on the studies by: Pertti Huttunen [1990, 1995a-b], LOFC, LDH, LSMH, NBF, Siida, PS, Reinhard Otto [2008, n.d.] and Lars Westerlund [2008a]a)

Inari

Inari

Inari

Inari

Inari

Inari

Inari

Inari

Inari

Inari

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

Logging (LW) and other work

Survey 2010 (NBF)

Survey 1995 (PH), Kaamanen2006–2007, Karigasniemi excavation 2009 Road, bridge (LOFC) building, road maintenance, supply depot (PH, LW) Bridge building (LW)

Airfield building and maintenance (LW) German name Logging, road Survey 1995 (PH), ‘Parkisoja’ (RO) building (LW) 2010 (NBF), 2015 (LDH) Nangujärvi Logging Survey 1995 (PH), Saiholompola 2010 (NBF), 2011 (LOFC), 2015 (LDH) Nangujärvi (southern Logging, Survey 1995 (PH), end of the lake) headquarters for 2010 (LOFC), 2011 several logging (NBF, LOFC), 2018 sites (LDH) Nangujärvi Logging Survey 1995 (PH), Kettujärvi 2010 (NBF), 2011 (LOFC) Survey 2011 (NBF), Nellim Paksuniemi Paksuvuono saw mill, logging 2016 (LDH) Paloselkä

Törmänen Ivalo airfield Palkisoja

Ivalo Rajankangas Saarineitämöjärvi

Ivalo

Peltojoki

ca. 220 PoWs in December 1943 (LW)

According to the locals ca. 200–250 PoWs (MA)

ca. 200 PoWs (LW), ghost stories

According to the locals ca. 100 PoWs (MA) PoWs were also borrowed as workers to the local farms (MA)

According to the locals ca. 200 PoWs (MA)

242  Appendix 2

Inari Inari

Inari

Inari

Inari

Inari

Inari

Inari

11 12

13

14

15

16

17

18

Pikkupaanteenvaara (Kotaoja)

Nukkumajoki

Mahlatti (Kivisalmi)

Kankiniemi (Korppivaara pohjoinen)

Ranta-Antti beach

Sarminiemi Kaamassaari Andreasnuora Juutuanjoki

Logging

Road building (MA)

Logging

Logging

Survey 1995 (PH), 2011 (LOFC), 2015 (LDH)

Survey 2015 (LDH)

Survey 2009 (Siida)

Survey 2008 (Siida), 2010 (LOFC), 2011 (NBF), excavation 2015 (LDH)

Punishment camp for Survey 2015 (LDH) German soldiers (Straflager) (ML, LW)

Bridge building

Logging Logging

(Continued )

According to the locals ca. 200 PoWs (MA) At the place of Sámi Museum Siida, ghost stories At the place of the Näkkäläjärvi souvenir shop, according to the locals ca. 50 PoWs (MA); camp moved first to Jurmurova Saari-Taimenjärvi (136) and later to Jurmurova Karipääjärvi (26) (ML, PH) Commanded by a ‘big thin Sergeant Major’ (PH), according to the locals ca. 200 PoWs (MA), ghost stories, Orthodox cross According to the locals ca. 100 PoWs (MA) According to the locals ca. 100 PoWs (MA)

Appendix 2  243

Inari

Inari

Inari Inari

Inari

Inari

Inari

19

20

21 22

23

24

25

Solojärvi logging headquarters

Hyljelahti

Sikovuono

Hanhijärvi Kaamanen Haaraldinjärvi

Vuontisjärvi (Koppelovaara 1–3) Kielajoki

OT camp? (PH) ZL Kamanen (Stalag 309), command for founding 31.03.1942 (RO)

OT camp (PH, LW)

Headquarters for several logging sites, also OT

Logging (LW), road building (MA) Logging and road building (PH)

Road building Airfield building (PH)

KaamanenKarigasniemi Road

Survey 2010 (LOFC), 2015 (LDH), excavation 2017 (LDH) Survey 2007–2008 (LOFC)

Ghost stories, parts of barbed wire maintained by the locals as a memorial

Survey 1995 (PH), 2010 (LOFC), 2016 (LDH)

Minister Speer visited the site in 1943, according to the locals ca. 200–300 PoWs worked at the camps of the area (MA)

According to the locals ca. 50 PoWs (MA) According to the locals ca. 50–100 PoWs (MA)

Metal detectorist activity since early 1990s (PH), according to the locals ca. 200 PoWs (MA)

Survey 1995 (PH), 2010 (LOFC), 2018 (LDH)

OT work camp and Survey 1995 (PH), headquarters (LW) 2011 (LOFC)

244  Appendix 2

Inari

Inari

Utsjoki

Utsjoki

Sodankylä

Sodankylä

Sodankylä

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

Seipäjärvi Myllyvaara (Myllyvaara 1)

Seipäjärvi (Sokerilampi 1)

Seipäjärvi Saarijärvi

Luomusjoki Sulaoja

Kaamasmukka

Illestinkaira (Venerepimäjärvet)

Jurmurova Karipääjärvi

ZL Seipäjärvi (Stalag 309) (RO) ZL Seipäjärvi (Stalag 309) (RO) ZL Seipäjärvi (Stalag 309) (RO)

KaamanenKarigasniemi Road, Russian officers? (PH) KaamanenKarigasniemi Road

Logging, OT?

Survey 2013 (NBF)

Survey 2013 (NBF)

Survey 1995 (PH), Survey 2011 (LOFC), 2015 (LDH) Survey 1995 (PH), 2011 (LOFC), 2018 (LDH)

Punishment camp for Survey 1995 (PH), German soldiers 2011 (LOFC), 2015 (Straflager), (LDH) logging (LW), road building

(Continued )

Commander ‘First Lieutenant Tutshar’, deputy commander ‘Sergeant Major Boscheit’, camp moved here from Jurmurova SaariTaimenjärvi (136) (PH) Commanded by the ‘hard-handed Teodor Autti’ from Rovaniemi? (PH)

Appendix 2  245

Sodankylä

Sodankylä

Sodankylä Sodankylä

Sodankylä Sodankylä

Sodankylä

Sodankylä

Sodankylä

Sodankylä

33

34

35 36

37 38

39

40

41

42

Tankavaara Peuravaara

Tankavaara Pikku-Tankavaara

Tankavaara Ylisenvaara

Tankavaara Purnumukka

Sattanen Siltaharju

Eismeerstraße 93 km Eismeerstraße 96 km

Eismeerstraße 86.5 km

Vuojärvi ZL Vuojärvi (Stalag 309), in function 30.11.1941 (RO) Ukrainian PoWs (armed and uniformed by the Germans), later Sonderlager (special camp), a punishment camp for PoWs (LW)

Wood chopping factory (LW) Schutzwall-Stellung, fortification building (PH) Schutzwall-Stellung, fortification building Schutzwall-Stellung, fortification building (PH) Schutzwall-Stellung, fortification building

Wood chopping factory (LW)

Logging (LW)

Survey 2016 (LDH)

Survey 1995 (PH), 2016 (LDH)

Survey 2011 (LOFC), 2015 (LDH) Survey 2010 (LOFC), 2015 (LDH)

Ghost stories

Aska?

246  Appendix 2

Sodankylä

Sodankylä Rovaniemi Rovaniemi Rovaniemi

Rovaniemi Rovaniemi

Rovaniemi

Rovaniemi Rovaniemi

Rovaniemi Rovaniemi Rovaniemi

Rovaniemi

43

44 45 46 47

48 49

50

51 52

53 54 55

56

Hirvas Muurola Kuusivaara Rovaniemi-Kemijärvi Road 59 km Kulus Olkkajärvi

Saarenkylä Pallari, Road to Oikarainen 5 km Eismeerstraße 61,5 km Haukivaara Mukkala

Jokelaisenaapa Korkalovaara Ounasvaara Ounasjoki

Tankavaara Vosavaara

Saw mill, gathering point for PoWs intended for the XIX GebirgsArmeekorps in Petsamo (RO)

Logging, train station (LW)

Logging Logging (LW) ZL Mukkala (Stalag 309), camp for so-called ‘Volksdeutch’ (racial Germans)/ Volga Germans, 30.11.1941 (RO)

ZL Rovaniemi (Stalag 309), in function 11.09.1941 (RO)

Schutzwall-Stellung, fortification building

(Continued )

‘Little Berlin’

Appendix 2  247

Rovaniemi

Enontekiö Enontekiö Enontekiö Enontekiö

Kemijärvi

Kemijärvi

Kemijärvi

Kemijärvi

Kemi

57

58 59 60 61

62

63

64

65

66

Vallitunsaari

Korpijärvi

Ketola, RovaniemiKemijärvi Road 71 km Joutsijärvi

Rovajärvi

Misi, Railway 42 + 7 km Iitto Siilasjärvi Siilastupa Palojoensuu Kilpisjärvi Malla

Airfield building and maintenance (LW)

ZL Joutsijärvi (Stalag 309), from June 1942 (RO), Ukrainian PoWs (LW) ZL Korpijärvi PoW camp run by the (Stalag 309), SS (RO, LW) founded by SS-Div. Nord 10.12.1941 (RO) Logging (LW)

ZL Rovajärvi (Stalag 309), 2 km N of the road, founded 27.11.2941, active on 28.12.1941, relocated to Kielajoki April 1942 (RO)

Lyngen-Stellung, fortification building (LW)

OT camp (LW) Survey 2009 (LSMH), 2015 (LDH)

Large PoW cemetary

Ghost stories

248  Appendix 2

Alatornio

Kuusamo

Kuusamo

Kuusamo Kuusamo Kuusamo

Taivalkoski

67

68

69

70 71 72

73

German name Pentilä, 1./BAB 191, OT (RO)

ZL Kuusamo (Stalag 309), 2./ BAB 191 (RO) OT (RO)

Korvua (Palokumpu) Field punishment camp (Feldstraflager) II (LW)

Kaikkonen Sänkikangas Penttilänvaara (Kellarikunnas 2)

Kuusamo-Kiestinki Road 20 km

Kuusamo

Kalkkimaa

HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo), OT camp (RO) HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo), wood chopping factory, punishment camp (RO, LW)

HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo), OT camp (RO)

Train loading point (LW)

Survey 2009 (NBF), map (TM)

Survey 2014 (NBF)

(Continued )

Also SS troops (TM)

Appendix 2  249

Taivalkoski

Taivalkoski

Taivalkoski

Suomussalmi

74

75

76

77

HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo), Ukrainian PoWs (LW) Metsäkylä Isokumpu Field punishment Hyrynsalmicamp Kuusamo (Feldstraflager) Field Railway III (LW), OT (Feldbahnstrecke (RO) Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo), punishment camp, OT camp, Polish forced labourers (RO, LW) Inkee (Satasaari) 1./BAB 191, OT Hyrynsalmi(RO) Kuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo), OT camp, Polish forced labourers (RO, LW) Rapuanvaara German name Hyrynsalmi‘Rapuvaara’, Kuusamo Ukrainian Field Railway PoWs (RO, LW) (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo)

Tervajoki

Survey 2010 (NBF)

Survey 2017 (LDH), map (TM)

250  Appendix 2

Suomussalmi

Hyrynsalmi

Petsamo

Petsamo

Petsamo

Petsamo

Petsamo

Petsamo Petsamo

78

79

80

81

82

83

84

85 86

Näsykkä Titowka

Parkkina

Kap Romanow

Nurmensätti

Peuravuono

Liinahamari

Kerälänkylä, E end of Lake Sakarajärvi Hyrynsalmi

ZL Peuravuonotal- Road building, Parkkina punishment camp? (Stalag 322), (LW) burnt down in 1943 (RO) Fortification building (LW) Fortification building (LW) ZL Parkkina Road and house (Stalag 322) building, OT (LW) section? (LW, RO)

ZL Liinahamari (Stalag 322) (RO)

Field punishment camp (Feldstraflager) III (RO)

Logging, so-called ‘Napina’ logging site (LW) HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo), punishment camp (RO) Barracks and fortification building, OT section? (RO)

(Continued )

230–280 PoWs (LW)

ca. 300 PoWs (LW)

ca. 300 PoWs (LW)

OT built 85 barracks at the camp, ca. 700 PoWs in the camp and 1500 PoWs more expected in November 1943 (LW) Field punishment camp (Feldstraflager) I situated somewhere at Peuravuono (LW)

Appendix 2  251

Petsamo

Petsamo

Petsamo

Petsamo

Petsamo

Salla

87

88

89

90

91

92

Alakurtti

Jäniskoski

Nautsi Heteoja

Salmijärvi Jäkälävaara

Kolosjoki

Ylä-Luostari

Railway and airfield ZL Alakurtti building and (Stalag 309), maintenance, train founded loading (LW) 10.09.1941, still active on 08.08.1942 (RO), Ukrainian PoWs (LW)

Field punishment camp (Feldstraflager) II (LW) Airfield building and ZL Heteoja, maintenance (LW) 387 km (from Rovaniemi) / 144 km (Stalag 309 or 322?), from 31.03.1942, to 16.08.1942 (RO) Power plant, fortification building (LW)

Festung Kolosjoki (Kolosjoki Fortress) (LW)

Airfield maintenance, fortification building, OT section? (LW, RO) Nickel mine and smelting plant, fortification building (LW) Logging, punishment camp

293 PoWs in December 1941, 275 forced labourers from Ingria (LW) 300–500 PoWs (RO)

60 PoWs (LW), according to the locals ca. 200 PoWs (MA)

ca. 300–360 PoWs in 1941–1942, ca. 1200 other workers (LW)

252  Appendix 2

Lyngen-Stellung, road and fortification building

Ryssänlampi Viitaköngäs Pajakkalammit

Logging Logging Logging

Enontekiö

97

Lampela Skirhasjohka

Road building (RO)

102 Rovaniemi 103 Rovaniemi 104 Rovaniemi

Salla Enontekiö

95 96

Nurmi

ZL Kairala (Stalag 309), 30.11.1941 (RO) ZL Nurmi (Stalag 309), road building 07.11.1941, disbanded August 1942 (RO)

Logging Logging Logging

Salla

94

Kairala

Muotkatakka/ Muottkáluokta (Muotkkáluokta itä) 98 Sodankylä Mäntypää 99 Pelkosenniemi Pikkutunturi 100 Rovaniemi Ylipäänjänkä 101 Rovaniemi Hiukanniittu

Salla

93

Survey 2016 (LDH) Survey 2014 (NBF) Survey 2012 (NBF) Survey 2014 (NBF), 2016 (LDH) Survey 2011 (NBF) Survey 2011 (NBF) Survey 2011 (NBF), 2016 (LDH)

Survey 2010 (NBF), 2015 (LDH)

Survey 2010 (NBF), 2015 (LDH)

(Continued )

PoW mass grave, prisoner barrack at Muotkatakka

Appendix 2  253

Hiltusenmurto

Kaupinkoski

Iijoki

Pihlajakorpi

Perkkiönpuro

Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 2

Solojärvi Haukkapesäoja 1 (Haukkapesäjoki 1)

105 Taivalkoski

106 Taivalkoski

107 Taivalkoski

108 Suomussalmi

109 Suomussalmi

110 Inari

111 Inari

OT?

Logging

PoW mass grave (camp?) Logging, OT?

HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo) HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo), OT camp? HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo) Road building

Survey 1995 (PH), 2010 (LOFC), 2015 (LDH) Survey 1995 (PH), 2010 (LOFC), 2013 (NBF), 2015 (LDH), surface collection 2015 (LDH)

Survey 2014 (NBF), 2015 (LDH) Survey 2014 (NBF)

Map (TK)

Survey 2010 (NBF)

Survey 2009 (NBF)

254  Appendix 2

Joutavalahti

Kannusselkä Mätäsaavanmaa

Iso Lusikkavaara

Puikkola Isokylä Hautaniemi Palojärvi Stalag 309

113 Inari

114 Sodankylä 115 Savukoski

116 Savukoski

117 118 119 120 121

Jänisvaara Rasthaus Vuotso

OT Lager Vuotso

Luftwaffe camp OT Lager Rovaniemi Savojärvi

122 Salla 123 Sodankylä

124 Sodankylä

125 Rovaniemi 126 Rovaniemi 127 Inari

Kemijärvi Kemijärvi Salla Salla Salla

Iso Pihtijärvi

112 Inari

2016 (LDH)

Survey 2010 (LOFC), 2015 (LDH) OT camp Survey 2010 (LOFC), 2015 (LDH) Airfield maintenance Survey 2012 (HM) OT camp KaamanenSurvey 1995 (PH) Karigasniemi Road

Logging Central PoW camp (RO, LW)

Survey 2011 (LOFC), 2015 (LDH), excavation 2015 (LDH) Punishment camp for Survey 2010 (LOFC), PoWs 2015 (LDH) Logging Survey 2013 (NBF) Logging Survey 2011 (NBF), 2016 (LDH) Logging Survey 2014 (NBF), 2016 (LDH) Railway building

Saw mill

(Continued )

Trusty prisoners?

Selfmade shoes

Selfmade shoes

Appendix 2  255

Laanjavääri Hanhijärvi

Joukhaisvaara Palovaaranjänkä Minnanlampi

Iso Kuivajärvi

Pienempi Kuivajärvi

Ruohokangas Pitkäjärvi

Länkivaarat

128 Inari

129 Inari 130 Inari 131 Inari

132 Inari

133 Inari

134 Inari

135 Inari

Polarstraflager (‘Polar punishment camp’)?, Jewish PoWs?

Logging (PH)

Logging

Brick factory

Saw mill, OT? (PH), Volga Germans (MA)

Logging Logging Punishment camp? Road building and maintenance, forestry?

KaamanenKarigasniemi Road, OT camp? (LW)

2008 (LSMH), 2015 (LDH) Survey 2010 (NBF), 2015 (LDH)

Survey 1995 (PH), 2018 (LDH)

Survey 1995 (PH) Survey 1995 (PH) Survey 2017 (LDH)

Survey 1995 (PH), 2015 (NBF), 2016 (LDH)

According to the locals ca. 30–50 PoWs, socalled Pommilampi (Bomb pond) (MA) Pit full of selfmade shoes (LSMH) According to the locals ca. 30–50 PoWs (MA)

Temporary shelter?

Possibly OT camp, altogether ca. 700 PoWs working for the OT on the KaamanenKarigasniemi Road (LW)

256  Appendix 2

Kiestinki Niska Tuhkala 7 km from Kiestinki 11 km from Kiestinki Kuusamo-Kiestinki Road 107 km Kangasvaara

137 138 139 140 141 142

Salmijärvi airfield

Iso Niemenmaa Pesiökylä

144 Petsamo

145 Pudasjärvi 146 Suomussalmi

143 Kiestinki

Kiestinki Kiestinki Kiestinki Kiestinki Kiestinki Kiestinki

Saari-Taimenjärvi

136 Inari

Airfield building and maintenance (LW) Logging Survey 2010 (NBF) Survey 2014 (NBF) HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo)

Radio listening post (LW)

Road building (LW)

Road building (LW)

Punishment camp for Survey 1995 (PH), German soldiers 2018 (LDH) (Straflager), logging, road building

(Continued )

Four Ukrainian trusty prisoners and one German guard (LW)

Camp moved here from Ranta-Antti beach (14), and later to Jurmurova Karipääjärvi (26) (ML, PH); Minister Speer overnighted in the immediate vicinity at a lean-to in 1943 Polish officers (LW)

Appendix 2  257

Mustanlinnunlampi

Salmisenkangas 3

Kukkarovaara

Sarvikangas 1

Sarvikangas 2

147 Taivalkoski

148 Taivalkoski

149 Suomussalmi

150 Suomussalmi

151 Suomussalmi

HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo), saw mill, OT? HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo), saw mill, OT? HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo) HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo) HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo), saw mill Survey 2014 (NBF)

Survey 2014 (NBF)

Survey 2014 (NBF)

Survey 2010 (NBF)

Survey 2010 (NBF)

258  Appendix 2

Airfield

Railway yard Seaplane base Olga, Olkkajärvi Sinettä

Eismeerstraße 10 and 11 km

Syrjä

Vääkkiö (Hauta-Aho)

Lippo

153 Kemi

154 Kemi 155 Rovaniemi

157 Rovaniemi

158 Suomussalmi

159 Suomussalmi

160 Suomussalmi

156 Rovaniemi

Röyttä

152 Tornio

German name ‘Vekyö/Vääkiö’ (RO)

German name ‘Syriö/Syrie’ (RO)

Luftwaffe 224 (RO)

Ship loading point, harbour (LW) Airfield maintenance (LW) Building (LW) Ttimber floating harbour? (LW) OT transition camp (LW) OT transport base and fuel storage (LW) Map (TK) HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo) Survey 2014 (NBF), Hyrynsalmimap (TK) Kuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo) Map (TK) HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo) (Continued )

Appendix 2  259

Harjajoki (Peuralampi 1–2)

Sturmbock-Stellung Lätäseno

Iso-Sieppijärvi Rättiaapa

Ylilamminkangas

Alajärvi Alttoniemi

163 Taivalkoski

164 Enontekiö

165 Salla 166 Rovaniemi

167 Rovaniemi

168 Inari 169 Inari

Eismeerstraße 34,6 km? (RO)

Leino-Süd (Saarinen) Leino-Süd (RO)

162 Suomussalmi

Leino-Nord (RO)

Leino-Nord (Saarivaara)

161 Suomussalmi

Survey 2010 (NBF), map (TM)

Survey 2014 (NBF), map (TK)

Survey 2014 (NBF), map (TK)

Survey 2012 (NBF), 2015 (LDH) Supply depot (NBF), Survey 2011 (NBF) road building (RO) Logging Supply depot (PH), Survey 1995 (PH), road building 2015 (LDH, NBF) (MA)

Logging

HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo) HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo) HyrynsalmiKuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo), OT? Sturmbock-Stellung, fortification building

PoWs (MA)

ca. 200 PoWs (LW)

260  Appendix 2

Akujärvi Vellivaara

Mustola Nellim

Virtaniemi

Iso Saarijärvi (Stuorrâ Suollusjävri) Syväjärvi

Aitajärvi

Karigasniemi

Kaivoslampi

171 Inari 172 Inari

173 Inari 174 Inari

175 Inari

176 Inari

178 Inari

179 Utsjoki

180 Pudasjärvi

177 Inari

Martinkotajärvi

170 Inari

German name ‘Nellimö’, PanzerjägerAbteilung 55 stationed in the area (RO)

KaamanenKarigasniemi Road, bridge building Logging

KaamanenKarigasniemi Road (PH)

KaamanenKarigasniemi Road (PH)

Road building, logging (MA) Logging

Logging (MA) Saw mill (MA)

Road building (MA)

Logging? (MA)

Survey 1995 (PH), 2015 (NBF), 2016 (LDH)

Survey 2010 (Siida), 2017 (LDH)

Survey 2008 (Siida), 2015 (LDH)

Ghost stories (Continued )

According to the locals ca. 200 PoWs (MA) According to the locals ca. 50–100 PoWs (MA) Originally Finnish-run camp, handed over to the Germans after summer 1942 (MA) Originally Finnish-run camp, handed over to the Germans after summer 1942 (MA)

According to the locals ca. 100–200 PoWs (MA)

According to the locals ca. 100 PoWs (MA)

Part of the same PoW unit as Kankiniemi? (MA), Orthodox crosses

Appendix 2  261

Vuoggásnjavvi Čohkkajávri

182 Enontekiö 183 Enontekiö

Logging, tractor repair shop? (PH) Fortification building Fortification Survey 2018 (PS), 2019 building? (LDH)

a MA = Markku Arvelin (2009); PH = Pertti Huttunen (1990, 1995); TK = Tuomo Kalliomäki (2013); LDH = Lapland’s Dark Heritage; LOFC = Landscapes of Finnish Conflicts; LSMH = Lapland Society for Military History; ML = Matti Lehtola, personal communication; NBF = National Board of Forestry; RO = Reinhard Otto (2008, 2006, n.d.); Siida = National Sámi Museum Siida; PS = Project Sturmbock (Sillanpää & Rikkinen 2019); TM = Taivalkoski Municipality (n.d.); LW = Lars Westerlund (2008a)

Note: Some of the names have been corrected from the earlier compilation, but the numbering of sites 1–95 follows that in Seitsonen & Herva 2011: Appendix. Reinhard Otto has kindly provided his unpublished datasets for research use. MA = Markku Arvelin (2009); PH = Pertti Huttunen; ML = Matti Lehtola; RO = Reinhard Otto; LW = Lars Westerlund. All surveys and excavations by LOFC and LDH carried out by Oula Seitsonen in 2006–2019.

Konesjärvi

181 Inari

262  Appendix 2

Appendix 3

Map of the German-run PoW and forced labour camps in Northern Finland

264  Appendix 3

Appendix 3  265

Index

accommodation of prisoners 105–114, 226 accommodation of soldiers 71, 110–111, 127, 226 airfield 50, 92, 177, 179 airplane crash 198, 224 Alakulppi, Olavi 173 alcohol 50, 52, 65, 127, 129, 159 alienation 25, 111–113, 157–160, 221 Alpine jaeger (Gebirgsjäger) 47, 57, 71, 89, 91, 135, 151, 154 American 143, 224 anatomical collection 229 anti-aircraft 212–213 anti-partisan 54, 173–174 Arbeitskommando 97 Arctic cod (Gadus morhua) 145 Arctic Front 8, 40, 44, 57, 92, 135, 142–143, 151, 221 Arctic Ocean 46–47, 58, 89, 92, 129, 145–146, 158 Arctic Ocean beard (Eismeerbart) 135, 137 Arctic Ocean Road (Eismeerstraße) 44, 92 artillery 3, 188, 205 asbestos 122 augmented reality 25, 196, 214–215 Auschwitz 122, 142 Austrian 47, 197–198 Baltic 45, 230 Barbarossa 45, 89 barbed-wire 72, 74, 99–100, 105–109 Barrack 52, 57, 70–71, 110–113, 127–129, 142, 154, 203, 214 Bavaria 129, 131–133, 157 beer 127, 134 Belgium 129, 131, 172, 196, 204

Berlin 65, 132, 136, 154–155, 157 berry picking 105, 160, 226 binder 43, 121 Blood Road (Blodveien) 92 Bohemia 129, 131 bombs 46, 68, 124, 126, 170, 198, 205, 224 bone 144–146, 152, 191 Borries, Siegfried 157 bridge 50, 65, 67, 74, 92, 226 brothers-in-arms 5, 40, 49, 57 burbot (Lota lota) 145 burning of Lapland 67, 124, 172, 194–196, 199 cardboard tent 105, 111, 129 cattle (Bos taurus taurus) 145–146 champagne 127 children 6, 19, 51–56, 61, 63–64, 138, 140, 152, 172–174, 192, 197–198, 226 Church 174–175; bells 66; burning 66 Civil war 20–22, 40, 76, 195 clothing 6, 41, 49–50, 57, 121, 124, 135–137, 159, 172, 216 Cold War 5, 46, 54, 173 collectors 27, 59, 68, 72, 136, 202–205, 223 colonialism 5, 18–19, 89, 113, 172, 180–181, 206, 221–224, 229–233 commemoration 19, 67, 173 communal memories 15–17, 27–28, 42–44, 56–58, 92, 103, 123, 138, 174, 180–181, 189, 198–200, 222–233 concentration camp 41–42, 56, 61, 121, 142, 223 conflict heritage 20, 28, 42, 74, 144, 181, 231 correspondent 113, 142 cosmology 102, 190

268 Index cow (Bos taurus taurus) 144–145; dung person 172 crowdsourcing 28, 42, 58, 73, 135, 170, 181–182, 189, 190, 191, 199–202, 227, 230 cultural heritage 20, 23, 26, 66, 69, 72, 75–78, 159, 169–170, 178, 218, 234 cultural landscape 6, 26, 91, 123, 158, 173, 180, 222–226, 232–233 custodianship 21, 76, 189–191, 202, 229, 234 cutlery 27, 127–128, 131, 135–136, 155 dark heritage 6, 15, 22, 25, 28, 40, 159, 223–225, 232 defensive line 23, 73, 212 Delbeck 127–128, 131 Denmark 131–133, 145; occupied 129, 143 Der Frontarbeiter OT 156 Dietl, Eduard 46–47, 52–54, 113, 157, 170, 196–202, 216 draught animal 135, 145 dugout 3, 50, 95, 155, 171, 212 Eastern Front 3–4, 53, 56, 63, 65, 90–92, 98, 134 Ecomuseum 215 economy 16, 18, 23, 40, 50–54, 125–127, 138, 142–143 Einsatzkommando 61 Eismeerbart see Arctic Ocean beard Eismeerstraße see Arctic Ocean Road electricity 136 Enontekiö (Eanodat) 7, 23–24, 26, 43, 66, 73, 95, 177, 212, 222 entrepreneurs 51, 110, 129 environmental perception 102–103, 190, 225–226, 231 Estonia 56, 99, 141 ether 124, 126 ethnography 40, 63, 173, 182 evacuation 54, 60, 63–64, 99, 138, 142, 171–172, 222 evacuee 41, 63–64, 124, 161, 171, 226 excavation 21–29, 43, 76, 90, 99, 105, 122–129, 135–136, 144, 178, 191, 200–203, 221, 234 execution 56, 223, 227 exhibition 25, 42, 160, 169, 172, 192–197, 201, 212, 214–215, 229 existential outsideness 89, 101, 121, 151 exoticism 5, 89, 153–158, 205, 216, 218

fascism 201 fencing 72, 100, 103, 107–108, 110, 154, 171 Field railway (Feldbahnstrecke) 97–99 Finnish liaison officer 43–45, 50, 52, 56, 61, 129, 143, 154 Finnish settler 91, 158, 224, 229–230 Finnish troops 43, 48–49, 54, 65, 124, 171 fishing 145, 151, 226 folklore 26, 61, 75, 105, 189–191, 200, 225, 231, 233 food waste 142, 144–146, 152 forced labour 2, 8, 19, 29, 44, 56, 90–99, 107, 113, 122, 138, 141–143, 151, 154, 157–159, 212, 224, 230 forestry 100–101 fortification 23–24, 43, 65, 76, 212 France 56, 131–133, 172, 204 French 127, 142 frostbite 126, 136 gákti 6, 172, 216 garage 68, 205 garrison 50, 54, 71, 100–101, 155 gasmask 143 Gebirgs-Armee-Oberkommando 20 (AOK20) 46, 53, 110, 198 geocaching 217–218 German tourists 28, 172, 194–196, 211 German troops 4–5, 8, 45–46, 49–59, 65–66, 91–92, 100, 111–113, 121, 135, 142–145, 151, 154, 198, 221–223 Gestapo 61 ghost 3, 8, 107, 189–190, 201, 206, 233 Geographical Information Systems (GIS) 27, 73, 94–95 glass 18, 127, 130, 132, 146 Gold Prospector Museum 179, 203, 211–212 gold rush 5 gramophone 126, 132, 135–136, 154 Greece 135 grenade 68, 124, 205 guard 17, 47, 54, 61, 89, 100–105, 108–109, 112–113, 140–145, 159, 226 haddock (Melanogrammus aeglefinus) 146 handicraft 143, 160 Haukkapesäoja PoW camp 45, 73–74, 107, 124–125, 133, 137, 139, 145, 152, 157 haunting 8, 54, 107, 181, 187, 189–196, 202, 206, 211, 223, 225, 229, 233

Index  269 headquarters 2, 43, 60, 157, 194, 198–199 Heim, Aribert 41 Helsinki 46, 61–62, 131–134; University of 61, 179, 229 heritage ownership 18–19, 77, 229 hiking 72, 180, 215 Hillilä, Kaarlo 51, 54, 200 Himmler, Heinrich 60 Hitler, Adolf 2, 45, 61–62, 65, 145, 198 Hitlerjugend 138 Holocaust 61, 189 Homeland architecture (Heimatschutzarchitektur) 71 homestead 54, 90, 107, 138, 173, 228 horse (Equus caballus) 3, 135, 145, 152; vaulting 69 hospital 66; military (Kriegslazarett) 29, 41, 52, 122, 124–127, 133, 135–136, 190 Hyljelahti PoW camp 29, 58, 99, 124–127, 130, 132–133, 135–136, 154 Hyrynsalmi 7 Hyrynsalmi-Kuusamo Field Railway (Feldbahnstrecke Hyrynsalmi– Kuusamo) 97–99 illegitimate children 53, 191–192 Illestinkaira PoW camp 137, 157 ILO 169 5, 233 Imperial Germany 40, 44, 195 incarceration 15, 109, 138 incendiary 124 industrial 51–52, 105, 110, 123, 218 infrastructure 5, 43, 47, 50, 57, 65–66, 70, 89, 172, 221 Ingrian 56, 141, 230 inhuman 56, 113, 122 internment 42, 46, 215 Iron Cross (Eisernes Kreuz) 60, 136 Iso Pihtijärvi PoW camp 125, 137 Israeli 62, 197, 59 Italian 61, 113 Ivalo (Avvil) 68–69, 112, 177, 212–213 Jews 4, 56; Finnish 40, 57–63, 113; PoWs 56, 99 joik 174 Jurmurova PoW camp 124 Juutuanjoki PoW camp 190 Kaamanen 7, 92, 127, 131, 177–179 Kalevankartano (Mansion of Kaleva) 71

kammi 105, 107 Kankiniemi PoW camp 107, 110, 124–127, 130, 133, 137–139, 191–192 Karelia 42, 45; ceded 21, 41, 45, 63 Karigasniemi 7, 92, 127, 177 Karigasniemi Road 92, 101, 177–178 Karipäänjärvi PoW camp 124, 157 keittokota cooking hut 111, 152 Kemi 7, 50, 66, 92; explosion 68, 205 Kemijärvi 7, 216 Kiestinki 7, 59–60 Kilpisjärvi 7, 26, 65, 103, 212–213, 231 Kirkkoniemi (Kirkenes) 7, 93 kota (tepee-like Sámi tent, Sámi: lávvu/ goahti) 111, 152, 215, 230 Kuolajärvi 7, 58, 93, 111 Kuusakoski ltd 177 Kuusamo 7, 66, 68, 97–99, 190 Laanila 7, 45, 135, 174–175 labour camp 2, 8, 29, 58, 94–100, 122, 143, 159, 224, 226 Lakselv 92 Lapland Society for Military History (LSMH, Lapin sotahistoriallinen seura) 94, 96, 179, 212 Lapland War 5, 28, 42–43, 48, 61–63, 66, 71–72, 99, 124, 138, 145, 160, 190–193, 198–200, 211, 222, 226, 229, 231 latrine 68, 72, 113–114 Lautavaara 101 Lefko, Josef 59 LiDAR 27, 73, 94–95 Liekkiö/liekko 191 lifeworld 2–3, 27–28, 91, 101, 113, 146, 151, 169, 173, 233 Liinahamari (Lin’amraš) 92, 158 Little Berlin 71, 154–155 log house 72–74, 99, 107, 111–112, 124, 200–201 logging 2, 99–100, 103–105, 108, 124, 138, 153, 156–157 logistics 51, 100–101, 127–130, 144 Lokka Reservoir Lake 228 Lokka Village 54 Lotta 44, 60, 137, 216 Luftwaffe 43, 46, 69–70, 127, 201 Lyngen-Stellung 7, 26, 65, 212–213, 231 Mabre (pen-name of Max Martin Brehme) 25, 44, 110, 143 Malaparte, Curzio 113, 142

270 Index Mannerheim, Carl Gustaf Emil 46, 61–62 manual 50, 100, 111 Martinkotajärvi PoW camp 108–109 matchboxes 193–195 meat 52, 144–145 memorabilia 59, 69, 139, 179, 202–206, 223 memorial 59, 174–175, 187–188, 224; association 59; service 191–192 metal detecting 66, 68–69, 72, 76, 169–170, 188, 202–206, 215, 223 Miehikkälä concentration camp 42 militaria 72, 202, 205 Minnanlampi PoW camp 58, 99–100; see also Polarstraflager Misi 177–178 mobility 2, 91–92, 100–102, 138, 142, 160–161, 227–228 Molka, Josef 44, 90 money 50–51, 202–203, 206; monetary value 173, 206; pine 190–191 monument 174, 224; ancient 74–76 mosquitoes 90, 153 mule 52, 135, 145 multivocality 16–17, 23, 28, 68, 75, 122, 218, 230 museum 23–25, 42, 46, 76, 141, 179, 190, 192–197, 200–203, 205, 211–215, 221, 224, 233; collection 139–141; road 93 mythological 16, 40, 66–67, 153, 158, 190, 205, 215, 233 Nangujärvi Lake 17 Nangujärvi PoW camps 17, 73, 105, 106, 124–125, 137 Narvik 196, 198; National Archives of Finland 4, 94 National Archives of United States 43 National Heritage Agency (NHA) 74, 77, 212 Nazi Germany 5, 23, 45 Nellim 143, 211 Netnography 25, 28, 170, 204 1918 20–21, 40, 44, 76, 195 nomadic 89, 171, 227, 231 Northern Front 46–47, 56–58, 113, 145, 153 Norway 5, 7, 17, 56, 94, 105, 124, 127, 131–133, 137–138, 142–146, 170, 173, 197, 226; occupied 23, 45, 65–66, 92, 99, 129, 143 nostalgia 226–228 Näkkäläjärvi, Oula 64

occupation 21, 42, 44, 51, 56, 61, 68, 69 Oikarainen 199–200 Organisation Todt (OT) 46, 96–97, 145 Ostrobothnia 63 Oulu 7, 41, 50, 65, 70–71, 151, 174; university of 123 Ounasvaara 155 Palojärvi PoW camp 105–106, 124, 137 paranormal 190 partisan 54–55, 63, 138, 173–176, 188, 222, 225, 228 Pelikan ink 122 Pelkosenniemi 71, 111 Peronius, Max 45, 57, 135 Petsamo (Beahcán) 46, 52, 89–91, 113, 124, 129, 157–158, 227 Petsamotrafiken (Petsamo traffic) 129 phenomenology 16, 101–102, 122, 151 photographs 40, 45, 143, 153, 217 Pidä Lappi siistinä (Keep Lapland Tidy) 68, 104, 123, 176–181, 229 pig (Sus scrofa domesticus) 145–146 Pikku-Helsinki 161 Pikkupaanteenvaara PoW camp 157 Pipping, Knut 153 placelessness 109, 121, 129, 151, 154, 160 plywood tent 105, 111, 129 Poland 45, 56, 58, 60, 90, 99, 142, 230 Polarstraflager (Polar punishment camp) 58, 99–100 police 63, 76, 178, 205; Finnish security (Valpo) 61, 63; German secutiry (Gestapo) 61, 63 porcelain 18, 122, 127–129, 131–135; Arabia 127–128, 131–134 Porttipahta Reservoir Lake 228 postcolonial 16, 18–19, 172, 206 post-War 8, 28, 42, 44, 54, 63, 66–71, 99, 124, 169, 171–173, 187–188, 194, 198–202, 223, 227–229 PoW camps 17–18, 22, 27, 42, 44–45, 56, 58, 61, 72–74, 91, 93–114, 124, 144, 146, 171, 177, 190–192, 211, 213, 217, 227 Prince of Hessen 40, 44 propaganda 24–25, 44, 54, 89–90, 153, 156–158 Provincial Museum of Lapland 25, 42, 179, 192–193, 200–201 Purnumukka PoW camp 18, 107–108, 124–125, 133–134, 211–212, 227 Purnumukka (Burdnomohkki) 7 Pälsi, Sakari 89, 153, 215

Index  271 Ragnarök 63, 65 Ragnell, Jukka 60–61 railway 50, 92, 97–99 Railway of Death (Die Todesbahn) 97–98 Ravggon 232–233 reconstruction period 107, 127, 171, 227 refugee 61–64, 91, 115, 160–161 reindeer 1, 5–7, 28, 53, 65, 68, 90, 144–146, 152, 157, 180, 189, 215, 230, 232; fence 107; herder 27–28, 56, 63–66, 90, 94, 179, 187, 205, 211–212, 217, 227; herding 18, 54, 151, 158, 226–228, 230; meat 144–145 roads 44, 47, 50, 52, 57, 64–67, 71–72, 91–93, 100, 101, 107–108, 127–129, 154, 157, 161, 172, 177–178, 198, 211, 227; Raate 7, 20, 53 romanticized 153, 215, 229 Rommel, Field of 154 Russia 7, 17, 19, 21–22, 40, 42–43, 45, 47–48, 57–58, 60–61, 65–66, 93–94, 99, 105, 109, 111–114, 134, 138, 141–143, 160, 176, 190–191, 195, 204 Saari-Taimenjärvi PoW camp 156 Saiholompola PoW camp 73, 105–106, 124 Salla 6–7, 49, 90, 105–106, 124, 134, 137, 155, 175, 222; museum of war and reconstruction 141; old (Kuolajärvi) 7, 58, 93, 111 Salpa Line 20, 75 Sámediggi (Sámi Parliament) 76 Sámi Museum Siida 179, 190, 211, 215, 221 Sápmi 1, 4–7, 19, 23, 28, 63–64, 91, 172, 206, 227, 233 sauna 3, 105, 111, 160, 177, 211 Savotta (logging camp) 99, 153 Savukoski (Suovvaguoika) 7, 66, 134, 174–175 schnapps 127 Schutzwall-Stellung 7, 212 Schörner, Ferdinand 47 scorched earth 65, 170, 194, 199 Seitajärvi Massacre 54, 173–175 Seitsola village 21–22 Serbian 92, 127, 132 settlers 91, 158, 229–230 sheep or goat (Ovis aries/Capra hircus) 145–146 shoe soles 121, 137–139, 142–143 Siida see Sámi Museum Siida Sinebrychoff 127, 134

Skis 50, 76, 156 Skolt Sámi 92, 124, 153, 171, 227, 231 Skurnik, Leo 59–61 Slovenia 204, 215 snow 17, 26, 40–41, 49–51, 74, 89–93, 97, 103, 154, 156–157, 200 Sodankylä 6–7, 28, 64, 71, 74, 90, 107–108, 124–125, 133–134, 138, 176–180, 203, 212, 221, 224, 228, 232 Solojärvi PoW camps 7, 73–74, 99, 107, 124–125, 133, 137, 139, 152, 157 SomBy 230 Sotaromuprojekti (War Junk Project) 176–182, 229, 232 soundscape 135, 154 Soviet partisan attacks 54–55, 63, 173–176, 188, 222, 228 Soviet Union 4–5, 23, 41, 45, 54, 66, 138, 144, 171, 173–176, 187, 227, 231 Spanish 133, 143, 197 spatiality 2, 8, 19–20, 24–27, 77, 91, 99–105, 109, 113–114, 151, 158–159, 226 Speer, Albert 2, 53, 145, 154–158 spoon 27, 127, 131, 136, 155 Stalag 58, 93–94, 97–99, 111, 113 Stalker 202 Stammlager see Stalag Stielhandgranate (hand grenade) 124, 126 stove 105–107, 113, 122, 124, 129, 131 Stuttgarter Illustrierte 156 subaltern 3, 17, 28, 145, 169, 230 supernatural 5, 50, 102, 190, 222 Sværholt PoW camp 142, 144–146 Sweden 7, 17, 23, 63–64, 129, 131, 143, 160–161, 171 synagogue 58, 61 taiga 49, 90–92, 151 Tankavaara 7, 177–179, 203, 212 Teillager 97, 142 temporality 17, 102, 187, 189 Tervola 7, 66 timber 52, 153 tins 18, 104, 127–128, 138, 143, 177 Tornio (Duortnus) 7, 50, 65–66, 151, 155 tourism 5, 15, 18, 28, 66, 69–70, 73, 90, 172, 181, 189–190, 194–198, 211–218; dark 205, 215, 223–225; gaze 153 townscapes 69–71, 90 training co-operation 50, 221 transgenerational memories 54, 99, 187, 222, 233 transportation 44, 92, 100

272 Index traumas 64, 172, 174, 189, 192 treasure hunters 72, 230 trench art 136–143, 159–160 trenches 3, 24, 76, 94–95, 212 tundra 49, 65, 89–92, 151, 154, 158–159 uitto (floating of timber) 153 uniform 126, 143 Utsjoki 7, 92, 177–178 UXO (Unexploded ordnance) 68, 76, 172, 177, 180, 187–188, 205 Valtakatu (street in Rovaniemi) 67, 202 Vietnam 113 Vika 141–142, 160 virtual reality 25, 211, 214–215, 217 von Hessen, Wolfgang 44, 153 Voss, Johann (pseudonym) 66 Vuotso 7, 19, 28, 63, 71, 92, 99, 110, 129, 134, 138, 141, 143, 174, 177, 187–189,

203–204, 221–222, 226, 228–232; Kolonnenhof 110 Waffenbrüder see brothers-in-arms Waffen-SS 3, 41, 50, 66, 70, 205; Finnish volunteers 3–4, 59; memorial organisation 59 Wehrmacht 50, 89–90, 98–99, 124 wilderness skills 49–50, 121 Willamo, Oiva 199–200 Winter War 20, 40–41, 45, 47, 92, 111, 143 witch 5, 89 Yleisradio (YLE) 28, 42, 189; crowdsourcing 170, 182, 189, 199, 230 Yugoslavia 56, 92, 138 zooarchaeology 138, 143–146 Zweilager 97, 99