Oct

A challenging day at Dachau – 18th April 2009

This has been a hard subject to consider and then write about. But I must before the memories and the strength of my emotions and feelings are reduced.

We decided to hook up with a tour guide, not being German speakers and also not being fully cognisant of the story of Dachau. We were instructed to be at the railway station at whatever time – it doesn’t really matter now.

The train was crowded, our group was spread out over the carriage and how the American guide could possibly keep track of us all I do not know. Maybe others hooked up to the group for the free ride. I know that is a silly thought. One would not ever choose to be on a free train ride to Dachau.

We continued our journey by bus through leafy suburban streets.

Then there was the walk up the long drive from the bus stop and parking area to the gates where we had our first viewing of a concentration camp through the iron gates with these words above – “Arbeit macht Frie”

in English “Work will make you free”.

From there we marched onto the parade grounds. We were moved from the parade grounds, through replica barracks, and on around the grounds …. Does this sound like your normal touristy trip – I think not, although information was imparted at every pause, the group was very quiet, very few questions were asked. The head is reeling, the mind is going crazy here, the emotions are held down, firmly shut in.

We were led like …………………. to a long brick building which was surrounded by a lovely garden, birds singing, the sun was shining, and then into the building at one end with the guide quietly talking all the while in a low resonance that kept ones attention. Here, it was explained, one was to undress and enter the shower room through the narrow door. And we just walked in! I was close to the front of the 60 + group – through one narrow door into a room with multiple shower heads on the ceiling and 2 traps in the right hand wall for the gas to be vented into the room – and I just kept walking.

I could not stop and listen.

I already know, or sensed, just what happened here and I do not know if it was the skill of the guide, or the many stories I have heard and read through my life, or if there was a presence here. It was very strong and I couldn’t stand still listening to the screaming and walked out through the only narrow door in the wall opposite to the entry narrow door – directly into the room with the ovens. You know those ones – where they burn the bodies – I continued on into the next room, which was probably an office – as they keep meticulous records

and outside to a place where I could breathe steadily once more.

Out into the sun, into a leafy part of the garden, onto a park bench where I could recover and contemplate, and when I looked up and out, I was still by this building where the others were listening to the guide.

Best Beloved joined me fairly quickly I think. We sat together and observed. There was just nothing to be said.

Outside the building I had just left there was a large group of early teens – and two young girls posed outside the open double doors to the room with the ovens. [I had walked by those doors, I think there was a ramp from the doors to the ground, I didn't see them as I abandoned the group]. A young boy took their photograph outside that room with the ovens in the background!

I assume they were waiting for our group to complete our walk through. But there was something so wrong with what I was watching, and whoever was in charge of this group was totally unaware of what was happening. I wanted to bang their heads together, they were young and innocent, and must have been prepared at their school for this visit, yet they had no understanding whatsoever of what had occurred here. They seemed to simply be on an escape from school.

There is much more to tell, I may not be able to tell it all.

The tour continued – back past the parade ground and into other special cells (for special people), and on into a museum. I didn’t go into the museum with them. I was so chilled. I sat in the parade grounds thinking, watching, looking and aching. Another school group came from a lecture hall I think, they sat, walked around and chattered amongst themselves. Where they were, was under a large sculpture of emaciated people trying to escape across the barbed wire, electrified fence – and dying. These youngsters did not look at it.

I am almost afraid to say it. Did they not look because they couldn’t deal with the idea and the knowledge of what happened here; or, did they not look because they are enured against all of this – it is so remote to them that it is irrelevant, just a history lesson.

What happened here was so evil.

It was done by men and women against men and women.