My companion’s interest in military history is not one I share and if I am to be brutally honest this is not a destination I would have chosen on my own. Though I respect that WWII happened I didn’t really feel like spending an afternoon reminding myself what shitheads the human race can be especially when my faith in it has already been floundering. But sometimes you just take one for the team… and end up pleasantly surprised.
When we drove up there was a sign for a cobbler sharing the window with the museum entrence posters. My companion looked at me and inquired, “Is this going to be another Titanic Museum, tucked away in the back room behind a shop?” There was only one way to find out.
Inside we were immediately welcomed by multiple staff members (i.e. this place wasn’t run by some lone weirdo out of his basement, which is sorta what I was expecting…) Apparently this place was actually run by a bunch of documentarians who had done a crap-ton of documentaries on various subjects relating to World War II. Some of them were playing as we walked through, others were being offered on a free DVD for patronizing the museum. We were asked if we wanted a guide and we said that was alright, we can poke around by our lonesome. We were then led through the screamy machine (otherwise known as a metal detector.) Not 100% sure if that was to prevent nutjobs from bringing in weapons or sneaking out with them… either way I was only armed with a purse with a metal zipper and had no desire whatsoever to cuddle a grenade within it.
This is when we were met with an army of mannikins, all dressed in various uniforms from the era representing different countries. As I looked closer I noticed some of the mannikins had fake eye lashes on them and one had a Sharpie doodled mustache that was supposed to look like Clarke Gable. I couldn’t contain my snicker at this and of course that’s when a teenage boy appeared, asking us if we’d like a guide. At first we politely declined but then he told us he could “set some things off” if we wanted, a phrase that wasn’t in any way alarming. With raised eye brows and no sense of personal safety we relented and let the teenage boy bring out a big noise maker which he wound until it whirred and screamed. Cool.
I may have wandered off at this point to do some subtle poking on my own. I found a small collection of photos that were the aftermath of the Holocaust. Just stacks of emaciated dead bodies. Honestly, I was expecting more of these soul-crushing images but instead I was met more with a gentle curiosity as in the same area there was a display of folk art made by concentration camp prisoners. For me this is where the connection is, where you find the humanity in the clouds of cruelty. I wandered back to my companion and the guide boy just as he was pointing out Blondie the German Shepard’s diamond swastika bedazzled collar. She belonged to Hitler. I wondered what she did in a previous life to deserve that. “So we’re sending you back to earth as man’s best friend.” “Awesome!” “And your man will be Hitler.” “Seriously?!” As you can see I have taken it upon myself to be ahead of the censors and cover all the swastikas here on out with a begrudgingly AI created poodle because despite having drawn a weekly comic for two and a half years I apparently have forgotten everything I ever learned about how to operate illustration software. SIGH.
After this we wandered with our youthful guide through various rooms with him handing us various grenades, shells, and other implements of war. Eventually we stopped by a mannikin of a Romanian woman in “camouflage” which looked remarkably similar to a floral bedspread. I joked to my companion, with my usual deadpan expression, “It’s not working.” This completely threw our poor guide off as he squeaked, “Why would you say that?” “because I can still see her… I was being silly…” At this point our guide started breathing again and apologized saying he’s autistic and sometimes doesn’t get jokes. I should have probably said it’s OK, I’m also autistic and remember very much what it was like being your age and constantly confused but I didn’t. I just smiled. That’s really all the spoons I had at that moment.
After this our guide got to talking about all sorts of things completely unrelated – horror movies, Disney rides, zombies. Apparently we’d gained his trust. And when we got back on track? Well, that’s when things kinda devolved a bit. First we noticed a heinously racist poster and read it… it was a grotesquely caracturized Japanese man thanking the US troops for not wearing condoms and spreading VD. I guess our guide boy, who had been familiar with most things here, had never looked that hard at this really messed up piece of satire. Honestly, the most racist relics I’ve ever come across on our travels always tend to be anti-Japanese propaganda from WWII. Our boy stuttered a bit as I just commented it was almost as uncomfortable to look as the Donald Duck reel telling soldiers about the horrors of venereal disease.
This wouldn’t be the first or the last time we gave our guide a run for his money. In another room he showed us plastic leeches and snakes hanging off one jungle-beaten manniken but I saw something more interesting peering down at us from a case above my head: a little brick-a-brac of a gleeful infant riding a bomb. “Why is there a baby riding a bomb?” “What? Oh my god, I never noticed that before. What does it say on it?” I looked back at my photo. It read, “Hatched in the USA.” This did not make it any better. More nervous laughter.
Then things really toppled into the weird as we found a case befitting a collection from the Shame Wizard. I’d always though that Nazi dildos were a joke. Nope… here we were face to face with a distressingly wooden dildo with Hitler’s face carved into it. Guess there’s something for everyone here I muttered under my breath. Personally, I couldn’t figure out if the obscene shape of it was more offensive or the fact it could give you splinters. Maybe you’d deserve splinters for that one, I don’t know. I couldn’t help but think about that one manniken in a SS uniform with this crazy shocked expression on his face. I feel like he knew.
And onward we continued to a whole corner of anti-Hitler folk art and propaganda. Really odd things over there, including a little Hitler manniken that our guide boy said no one knew much about but he supposed it was broken because the hand on it was not in the correct position for the Nazi salute it was attempting. This is where us oldies started to feel a bit bad because we couldn’t not tell this poor boy that no, this doll was not broken. It was giving a limp-wristed salute quite purposely. “Oooooh! Like he’s… gay?! I did NOT know that!” Course, then my companion couldn’t help pointing out the pin cushion shaped like Hitler bending over with pins jutting out of his ass. I sighed as the guide boy had another epiphany. This train was thoroughly derailed. And never have I felt older or queerer than in this moment. But I suppose there are worse things.
After this we cycled through on our own again noting different things other than the artillery we got to handle with our guide. I really appreciated a cute little summer dress apparently made by a French woman out of a food supplies parachute. One point for resourceful upcycling. And so we concluded our tour.
