Garmisch-Partenkirchen: The dark history behind Scotland's Euro 2024 base camp and its links to Adolf Hitler

It’s possible some might even date back to 1928, the year the football club were formed. This is notable in itself, since Garmisch and Partenkirchen, two settlements that sit on opposite sides of the River Partnach, did not become a joint entity until seven years later - and not entirely voluntarily.

The football club, who now play in the German sixth tier, were trailblazers in this regard. Gifted pennants line the wall from the obscure and the great, including one from Munich-based FC Wacker and one from the city’s resident giants, Bayern Munich. There will surely be one from the Scottish Football Association hanging there before long to mark that summer when Scotland's elite footballers decamped to their scenic football ground.

With apologies to Fort William FC, Stadion am Groben, as the ground is now known, must be the most breath-taking spot to play football in Europe. The Zugspitze, Germany's tallest mountain, towers over the park and provided a magnificent backdrop for television reporters and photographers recording Scotland’s first training session on German soil yesterday.

The SFA built on the good work of chief PR man Dancin’ John McGinn the previous evening by inviting locals to watch the session. Many school kids took advantage of the offer. Although causing headline news in Scotland, such significant moments as Andy Robertson limping off soon after the start of training might have passed them by.

Something else that some people might have missed, wilfully or otherwise, is the name change to the stadium 18 years ago. It was previously named after Karl Ritter von Halt, president of the organising committee for the 1936 Winter Olympics, hosted by Garmisch-Partenkirchen, and sports minister to the Third Reich. “Ah a tricky topic,” a local tourist official says. “To speak about this is difficult.”

As Spiegel International reported in 2010, “after a tourist complained that the stadium was named after a high-ranking Nazi official, it was rededicated in the summer of 2006.” Gerard Pefeil and Andreas Meyhoff conclude their report, which was headlined “German ski resort suppresses memory of 1936 Olympics”, by reporting that members of the town council were notified in an email about the renaming of the stadium, “which was done on the quiet”. They add: "They were also instructed to 'refrain from discussing the issue in public'."

That seems to hold true now. Neither does anyone seem too keen to explain the reason why Garmisch and Partenkirchen became one settlement either, with the town's 90th anniversary approaching next year.

The unification was ordered by the German government. A decree from Herr Hitler, no less. The desire was to bring the Winter Olympics to the spur of the Alps in what would be a dress rehearsal for the summer games in Berlin later that same year.

Both events were designed to demonstrate the strength of the regime and were ripe to be exploited for propaganda purposes, and duly were. It's been claimed that, even before the politically charged Berlin games, the Olympics "lost their innocence" in Garmisch-Partenkirchen.

Even at this time, opponents of the Nazi regime were being murdered or sent to concentration camps. And yet countries, including Britain, America and Canada, sent athletes to Bavaria, where they were willing, or at least expected, to give the Nazi salute.

The Nazis were intent on presenting themselves as a friendly dictatorship. After a visiting British reporter took a photograph of a "No Jews Allowed Here" sign a few months before the Games started, a clean-up operation was ordered in Garmisch-Partenkirchen.

To quote the aforementioned Halt, "if the slightest disturbance occurs in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, this is something which we are all well aware of, it will not be possible to hold the Olympic Games in Berlin."

All such offensive material was removed – for the duration of the games. Running for ten days from the 6th to 16th of February, the fourth Winter Olympics were deemed a success. It is fascinating to read contemporary reports. The Weekly Dispatch in London provided a gushing account. "Normally Garmisch-Partenkirchen must hold about 20,000 people between them," wrote the sports editor. "This past fortnight, with the Games on and Herr Hitler and General Goring making flying visits, the population has been multiplied to nearer 80,000 ....so many people that even German organisation and German hospitality were hard pushed to find sleeping accommodation. I was lucky to get into the Sonnenbichl, one of the biggest hotels in the place, and even that was miles outside the town...Colleagues had to sleep in sleeping-cars the railway people had rushed into the local sidings, and eat in the dining cars.."

Within three years Germany had invaded Poland, although not before Garmisch-Partenkirchen was again awarded the Winter Olympics by the IOC. These 1940 Games never happened, of course.

Scotland came here for clear air, tranquillity and first-rate facilities. The town's geographic merit in being just over an hour’s bus journey from Munich, where Steve Clarke’s team kick-off Euro 2024 against Germany, was also attractive, one suspects. History is hardly high on the agenda. But it’s hard to escape it – or at least it’s there if you want to look.

Even the Olympic ice stadium, where Scotland held the first of a daily diet of press conferences yesterday, dates to the 1936 Winter Olympics. Indeed, a Scot, James Foster, was goalkeeper when Great Britain won their first and, to this day, only ice hockey gold medal in the very same venue.

Meanwhile, the town’s Golden Book, a hefty ledger that contains the signatures of Alpine skiers and mountaineers, still has Hitler’s name scratched in it from when he opened the Winter Olympics. It’s the very same book that was left open on a lectern for Clarke and his players to sign at the hugely successful welcome reception for Scotland on Sunday night.

All this isn't necessarily history anyone wants to shout about, understandably. However, given that Garmisch-Partenkirchen owes its very name to Hitler, it's hard to ignore some darkness on the edge – and, indeed, middle – of town.