Growing up in a 3rd floor tenement in Fall River, Massachusetts, our landlord downstairs was a French Canadian who'd lost both his legs fighting in the US Army in WWII.
At some point as I was growing up, I came to know how much, as odd as it seemed, he, too, hated the French. Never got the details of why, though.
The details probably go something like this: his "countrymen" left him to die.