I watched a movie last night called The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas which was about a young boy Bruno (roughly the same age as the Small Child is now) who is the son of a Lt Col who is sent to Auschwitz to be thecommandant of the ‘work camp’. Bruno is a typical small boy who lives cosseted from the war around him. He is niaive, has a tutor (who is a one man propaganda machine) and he likes to go exploring, likes adventure books, gets bored, misses his friends… very typical really. He meets a child his own age who ‘lives at the farm’ that he can see from his bedroom window where everyone ‘wears striped pyjamas all day’.
The movie was about the budding friendship that grows between himself and a boy in the concentration camp who he is eventually aware is supposed to be his enemy. It also explores the relationship between the boys parents when his mother realizes what the chimneys are for at the camp. It was a very poignant, heartfelt and moving film… with such weighty themes running through it that were handled through Bruno’s innocent and niaive eyes. I have not read the novel on which the film was based but I think I will have to track it down.
I don’t remember the day when I learned about World War II, Hitler and the Holocaust etc. I don’t recall learning about these things nor do I remember any occasion where I experienced the sorts of feelings that suddenly hearing of such horrors would invoke. I can only assume that my exposure to the unspeakable terrors that occured throughout Nazi occupied Europe during WWII happened in such small doses and at such a young age that I simply do not remember when I first heard of these things – for I don’t remember a time where I wasn’t aware of the atrocities committed by the Germans during the Holocaust.
I have vague recollections of members of my family expressing a quiet sense of shame… a couple of my great uncles wanted to enlist during WWII but they were of German decent (as am I – both my mother’s parents were born in Germany making myself and my sisters effectively half German) and were unable to join the Australian Army because of their heritage. It wasn’t spoken of much at home, my grandfather fought in the Pacific with ANGAUbut he didn’t speak of that much either when we were young.
Someday in the not too distant future my Small Child will be learning about these (and many other) horrifying episodes throughout history…. part of me wishes he didn’t have to
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