Monika Müller (née Déhaye)
A legacy of war and a fight for recognition
Born in 1943 to a Franco-German relationship during the Second World War, Monika Müller grew up without her father's name appearing on her birth certificate.
In this testimony, she recounts both the story of her parents, the consequences of the war on her life, and the long administrative battle waged for more than seventy years to have her parentage recognized.
This story is part of post-war family memories and a broader reflection on transgenerational memory , demonstrating how history continues to shape individual trajectories well beyond 1945.
My story
(Testimony of Monika Müller, née Déhaye)
France, Rouen – 1941
Simone, a 17-year-old girl, lost her father, who died of diabetes (insulin didn't yet exist). Adolf Hitler was winning victories in France and displaying large posters with the slogan "Return to the Reich." With France heavily devastated and poverty widespread, the three eldest children considered going to Germany to earn money to help their mother (the family had nine children).
Germany, Mellendorf (near Hanover) – 1941
Willy, aged 18, worked as an intern at the "Benecke" company in Vinnhorst, near Hanover, while studying at the Higher Technical School. Because the company was involved in equipping military vehicles, Willy was exempt from military service (he was also an opponent of the war).
Simone arrived at a camp located right next to the "Benecke" company and later worked in a munitions factory. Unfortunately, living conditions in this camp were far from humane. One day, an unpleasant colleague pushed her down a flight of stairs, and she fell into the arms of Willy, who happened to be passing by on his way to the train station. It was love at first sight. A German man fell in love with a Frenchwoman considered an enemy of the state.
Out of love and compassion, he took Simone to his parents' home in Mellendorf. Because of this, he was denounced and sentenced to go to war. His fate was now sealed.
As a panzergrenadier, he was sent to Russia, where he was seriously wounded and then sent home to recover. Simone and Willy became engaged and wanted to get married. A new problem arose: Simone needed her mother's permission to marry.
In December 1942, Willy had to return to Russia, to the Caucasus. In March 1943, Simonne went to France to obtain her mother's permission. Meanwhile, Willy was killed in action on February 21, 1943, in the Caucasus.
Despite his young age — he was only 19 years old — Willy had shown great foresight: he had written a statement attesting that his fiancée was expecting a child of which he was the father (Simonne was pregnant at the time).
Simonne returned to Germany. If she had stayed in France, she would have risked being stoned for becoming pregnant by a German.
The child, Monika, was born on July 17, 1943. A birth certificate was drawn up, but only the mother was listed on it. At that time, no midwife or civil registrar dared to register a German father for a French mother.
After the war
After the war ended, the grandparents tried to have the father's name added to the birth certificate and give Monika his surname. As a child born out of wedlock, she bore her mother's name, which regularly led to hurtful remarks in the small village.
The efforts were unsuccessful. It was only established that the child was stateless (curiously, she nevertheless received an orphan's pension).
In 1946, Mellendorf was occupied by the British, and Monika was to be sent to an internment camp. Her great-grandmother Wilhelmine hid her, and the British soldiers left.
Monika kept her mother's maiden name; her father was not registered on her birth certificate. At 15, she had to apply for German citizenship. She married very young. The registrar who officiated her wedding was the same one who had refused to register her father at her birth. At the wedding, he promised to rectify this, but he died two days later without having fulfilled his promise.
On several occasions, Monika tried to finally have her father registered on her birth certificate. Strangely, important documents disappeared during the procedures, preventing any progress.
After many years, she made another attempt in 2018, notably to fulfill her grandparents' wish. She felt responsible and deeply wanted her father to have his place in the family record book for her children.
After an interview with the Wedemark registry office, the application was rejected: the letter from his father acknowledging his paternity was not authenticated by a superior and was therefore considered invalid. The registrar explained that she would risk her job by accepting a non-compliant document.
The case was referred to the regional civil registry, which adopted the same position, and then to the family court in Burgwedel.
After a long delay, Monika was summoned by a judge. In the meantime, she had obtained sworn statements from her mother and her father's brother, as well as a genetic test comparing her DNA with that of her uncle.
The judge declared herself dissatisfied with the evidence presented (the test results had not yet arrived) and suggested that her 96-year-old mother attest in writing that she had not had any relations with other men during her relationship with Willy. Monika refused.
Meanwhile, the results of the genetic test arrived: they confirmed that the uncle was indeed related, proving that Willy was his father.
Finally, after 76 years, nine months and six days, Monika received a new birth certificate on which Willy was finally listed as the father.
This process cost €178 in court fees, €10 for the birth certificate, plus the cost of the genetic test.
Regarding the work of remembrance
Regarding the "work of remembrance," I want to say that no one truly knows what happened, how it happened, or the extent of the fear people experienced—a fear that still exists today. It is therefore becoming increasingly difficult to tell the truth and acknowledge it.
I have suffered all my life from growing up without a father. The sometimes destructive and hurtful remarks of certain officials were very painful. Few people understand what it means to not have a father and to have to fight to have him recorded where he belongs: on the birth certificate.
All of this may sound dry and factual, but I can say that it was incredibly difficult and trying.
Monika Müller, née Déhaye
Regarding this testimony.
This text was written by Monika Müller. It is published in its French version, respecting the original text, with the agreement of the people who provided it to the association. It appears in the "Memories" section of the Rencontre Réconciliation website.
The first names and their spelling are respected as they appear in the original testimony.
Documents and photographs
The photographs shown below are from family archives. They accompany the testimony without claiming to be exhaustive.
Monika Müller, 2019.
Portrait of Monika Müller, author of the testimony.
Monika Müller and her daughter Marion, 2023.
Photograph taken during a family outing.
Willy Müller and Simonne Déhaye, 1942.
Photograph taken during World War II.
Simonne Déhaye and her daughter Monika, 1946.
Photograph taken after the war.
Willy Müller and Simonne Déhaye.
Family photograph, date unspecified.
This story is part of the reflection developed by the association around transgenerational memory and the invisible legacies of war in Europe.
This testimony is published in accordance with the words spoken and with the consent of the persons concerned or their relatives.