Our tour bus picked us up – a party of 30, on Wielopole, on the edge of Kraków’s beautiful Old Town. The journey was to take an hour and a half, so we were invited to sit back, relax and enjoy the scenery. There would be no further announcements until we reached Oświȩcim.
We had chosen a beautiful day for our visit, with cloudless blue skies and temperatures in the mid-twenties. One of our two tour guides, Olivia, happened to sit beside me; an elegant young lady, dressed in black, with a pale complexion and raven black hair. She had just returned from a holiday in the forest. She had switched off her mobile and gone for long walks with her dog. How often did she do the Oświȩcim excursion? Three, maybe four times a week. It struck me, even before we had started, that maybe it was not the sort of job you would want to hold down for too long.
In effect, the 60 mile journey took an hour and three quarters. It took a while to negotiate the suburbs of Kraków, and we had a very careful driver – I was much impressed – and in any case it wasn’t a fast route, rather like travelling to St Andrews from somewhere in the West of Scotland, frequently slowing to go through villages and towns. We travelled through forests, and more open countryside, very beautiful. Oświȩcim itself was an attractive town. I wonder why the National Socialists chose it as the hub of their killing machine? I got the answer shortly.
There was a car park, with a few other assembled buses. There were toilet facilities, and you could get a coffee, but the amenities were basic. We split into two groups of 15. I stuck with Olivia. We then passed through security, just as in an airport. We were scanned, and our photo ID and documentation perused. Certain rules were made clear: no sharp objects, no smoking, no eating, no hot drinks; bottled water was OK. Photographs were also permitted, but not everywhere. In some locations, silence was expected. I had had some apprehension that the concentration camp experience might be one of “barbed wire kitsch”. Young people would be whooping and taking selfies. Mugs, T-shirts and other samples of tat might be available on sale. But no. The predominant atmosphere was one of silence. Even the birds were silent.
Next we passed through a transition zone in the form of a long, featureless white tunnel, eventually emerging back into the sunlight and taking us into a different world. We might have travelled back in time 80 years. The facility remained largely as it had been then. We passed through a gate, and under the infamous sign vouchsafing the Big Lie. Arbeit macht frei. We wore headphones, and Olivia spoke to us through a microphone, so she didn’t need to raise her voice.
You try to marry up what you see with what you already know. What is meant by the banality of evil? Auschwitz 1 reminded me of the Barracks in Stirling, which have been converted into a conference centre. Here in Poland, these facilities had also been the barracks of the Polish army, but the Nazis took them over and converted them into a concentration camp. It opened in 1940, and initially housed political prisoners largely from Poland. But then there was an escalation, a degree of mission creep.
So why did the Nazis choose Oświȩcim? A large map in one of the barracks buildings told us. It was deemed to be at the heart, the very epicentre of Europe. The decision bespoke a certain predilection for efficiency. All roads lead to Auschwitz.
Auschwitz is a holocaust museum. The exhibits include human hair, spectacles, children’s clothes, battered suitcases, medical prostheses, and of course, empty canisters of Zyklon B. A “death factory” has been entirely preserved. It comes in three parts – a facility for undressing, then “the showers” – in reality the Gaskammer – and then the crematoria. The last word in ruthless efficiency.
There were all sorts of other indications that I was not strolling through the Stirling barracks. Punishment cells, execution walls, a “medical” facility (its workforce might have called it a scientific research laboratory), and, everywhere, gibbets.
Just when you think you have reached the nadir of human degradation, you find yourself moving to another level. We reboarded the bus and travelled a few kilometres to Auschwitz 2 – Birkenau. Actually there’s not that much to see at Birkenau. With the Russian advance in 1944, the Nazis destroyed most of the facilities. The gas chambers and crematoria are in ruins. But still, one is struck by the sheer scale of the thing. I think Olivia said Birkenau occupied 160 hectares.
Of course, the entrance to Birkenau must form one of the most infamous, notorious images in the world. The railway track carries the cattle trucks through the wooden portal, and then the tracks diverge at “the ramp”, where the commandant made his “Selektion”.
Then there are the huts, row upon row. Most of the huts have been razed, though I did go into one that still stands, and was able to see the appalling conditions under which people lived, or died. By this time I’d just about had enough. Thankfully, it was the last part of the tour. I went back outside and took a few deep breaths of fresh air. I noticed that heavy clouds had formed to the east, and there was a low rumble of thunder. As we headed back towards the gateway to Hell, the storm clouds were amassing, and there was more thunder. Before I left, I took a moment to imprint an image in my memory. I walked over to the railway track, about fifty metres before it passed under the infamous gateway, and I stared in the direction of the ramp. I didn’t actually take a photograph, but in a sense I did. For just as I was taking in the scene, it became illuminated by a single flash of lightning.
jamescalumcampbell 