“Maple Syrup And Pancakes Today, Girls” — German Women POWs Sob At Canadian Weekend Breakfast

“Maple Syrup and Pancakes Change German POWs’ View of Humanity in Canada”

Gravenhurst, Ontario – January 27, 2026 – On a crisp September morning in 1945, 143 German women prisoners of war sat down at a long dining table in a Canadian camp, expecting the worst. Instead, they were met with something entirely unexpected: pancakes, bacon, and maple syrup. The experience would forever alter their perception of the people they had been taught to hate.

For years, these women had been raised on a steady diet of propaganda. Helga Schneider, 22, from Hamburg, had spent two years as a signals operator in the German military. She had learned Morse code, passed messages, and lived under the constant shadow of fear. In late April 1945, with the Third Reich collapsing, she and hundreds of other women were ordered to surrender to the approaching Allied forces. Helga’s hands instinctively brushed the small glass capsule of cyanide sewn into her coat hem—a last, desperate safeguard she had been taught to use if captured.

Margaret Fischer, 35, a nurse from Munich, and Anelise Hoffman, 19, a farm girl from East Prussia, shared Helga’s fears. The stories they had been told painted the Allies as merciless, cruel, and vengeful. According to their commanding officers, Canadian soldiers would beat, starve, and abuse prisoners, possibly forcing them into deadly labor.

But when the women raised their hands and surrendered near Bremen on April 28, 1945, the anticipated violence never came. A British sergeant approached them and calmly spoke in German, “The war is over for you. You are safe now.” The word “safe” was foreign to them, a concept so alien it barely registered at first.

The journey to Canada further challenged everything they had been taught. Unlike the cattle cars they expected, the women were transported in army trucks with canvas covers, shielding them from rain. Guards offered water and cigarettes, guided the elderly carefully, and treated all prisoners with quiet patience. Red Cross supplies were loaded into ships with care and precision, offering food, medicine, and blankets in quantities the women could scarcely believe.

During the voyage to England, then across the Atlantic, the women were assigned bunks on the transport ship. They were crowded, yes, but the bunks had mattresses, and they received regular, substantial meals—stews with chunks of meat, potatoes, bread, and tea. Helga and her fellow prisoners were astonished. They had expected starvation; instead, they were given enough to eat, and even more than some of their own citizens had seen in months.

Upon arrival at Camp 20 in Gravenhurst, Ontario, the women were confronted with a world utterly unlike the one they had left behind in Germany. Streets were clean, farmhouses painted and well-kept, cows grazing in green pastures. Inside the camp, wooden barracks offered real windows and stoves. Cold, running water flowed freely from taps. Meals were generous. Electricity lit the buildings. Medical care and education were available.

Major Patricia Wilson, a Canadian officer, explained the camp rules: work would be voluntary and paid in camp credits; medical attention was guaranteed; letters could be written home; and education was available. “You are prisoners, not slaves,” she told the women firmly. This simple statement contradicted everything the women had been taught about authority, gender, and the Allied forces.

Life in the camp continued to unravel decades of ingrained propaganda. Helga marveled at electric washing machines, libraries stocked with German books, and bright, well-equipped factories where prisoners could volunteer to work. Young women like Helga and Anelise adapted quickly, learning English, observing, and questioning everything they had believed. Older prisoners were slower to accept these revelations, clinging to doubt and suspicion. Fraud Dresser, a former Nazi party member, insisted repeatedly that all this kindness was a trick, a temporary illusion to manipulate them.

But the turning point came on a Saturday morning in mid-September 1945. The war in the Pacific had ended, and the mood in the camp had shifted. Major Wilson announced a special breakfast to celebrate the harvest season. The women, accustomed to minimal rations, expected something modest—perhaps fruit or porridge. What they found was astonishing: tables covered with white cloths, real plates and cutlery, cloth napkins, and the smell of real, indulgent food.

Golden-brown pancakes, thick and fluffy, were stacked three high on each plate. Crispy bacon sizzled and filled the room with a rich aroma. Fresh butter melted into potatoes, and glasses were filled with cold milk. Then came the maple syrup, poured from glass bottles by Sergeant Mueller, who addressed the women warmly: “Today, girls, today it’s yours too.” The term he used—Mädchen—felt like a father addressing his daughters, not an enemy soldier addressing prisoners.

The first taste of syrup brought tears. Anelise, hesitant at first, poured a small amount over her pancake and bit down. Helga watched her and began to cry. Margaret Fischer, usually composed and strong, buried her face in her hands. For 143 women, it wasn’t sadness—it was a profound confrontation with truth. The ideology that had governed their entire lives crumbled before them. Canadians, these so-called inferior colonials, were showing kindness, generosity, and humanity in ways the women had been told were impossible.

As the women ate, the realization deepened: everything they had been taught about the war, about the enemy, about their own superiority, had been false. The sweetness of the maple syrup contrasted bitterly with the harsh truths of their indoctrination. They had learned that people who are truly humane can extend care even to those who were once enemies. The act of sharing breakfast, simple though it seemed, was revolutionary in its quiet, profound power.

In the weeks and months that followed, the camp became a place of learning and transformation. Younger women embraced new knowledge, attended English classes, read newspapers, and confronted the reality of the concentration camps. Older women, like Fraud Dresser, resisted longer but eventually began to face the truths they had avoided, some struggling with guilt, depression, and disbelief.

The maple syrup breakfast of September 15, 1945, came to be remembered as the day everything changed. In letters, diaries, and whispered conversations, women recalled the moment when kindness, generosity, and food—simple food, shared with respect—unraveled decades of indoctrination. It was proof that humanity could survive even in the midst of war, and that compassion could triumph over hatred.

Today, historians look back at events like those at Camp 20 as evidence of the transformative power of empathy and moral leadership. Major Wilson and Sergeant Mueller, along with countless other Canadian soldiers and civilians, demonstrated that treating others with dignity—even enemies—has the power to reshape hearts and minds in ways that no propaganda or ideology ever could.

For Helga, Margaret, Anelise, and the other women, the taste of pancakes and maple syrup was more than a breakfast. It was a revelation. It was a lesson in humanity. And it was a reminder that, sometimes, the smallest acts—folded napkins, warm smiles, and sticky sweetness—can topple mountains of falsehood and fear.