Our shameful Nazi fetish

Saturday, 12th October 2002

Guy Walters anatomises the Englishman's unhealthy interest in the Third Reich

It is a shaming truth that Nigella, Posh 'n' Becks and all the Pop Idols put together can't sell books as fast as a swastika can. Celebrities come and go, but publishers have known for ages that the English male has an unhealthy obsession with the Nazis. It is an addiction on which, as I know to my profit, they are more than happy to capitalise.

When I first told my editor my idea for a thriller, her eyes practically lit up with dollar signs. You mean there was a shadowy unit of the Waffen-SS called the British Free Corps? And it was composed of 57 treacherous British and Commonwealth nationals? Sign here, boy. Whatever my ability as a thriller writer, I was left in no doubt that any future efforts had better be rooted in the war.

In its mildest form, the fascination with the Third Reich can be seen everywhere, from the pinstriped commuter reading Antony Beevor, to his teenage sons who will have wasted the summer playing the second world war Boche-blasting computer game 'Return to Castle Wolfenstein'. In the evening, they will watch Where Eagles Dare for the 57th time, and Dad will still not understand the twist.

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