大象传媒

This story is by Joyce Gibson, and has been added to the site with their permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions. The story was collected by Joyce Gibson, transcribed by Elizabeth Lamont and added to the site by Bruce Logan.
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I have just made a remarkable discovery. For years, the name 鈥淚mperial War Museum鈥� has filled me with horror, and it was only through our U3A WW2 project and the insistence of my daughter-in-law, a history buff, that I at last decided to pay it a visit. The opportunity arose recently when I eventually rolled up at the door of this formidable sounding institution, and what a surprise I got! The outside of the building is imposing to say the least, a huge columned fa莽ade flanked by two gigantic WW1 naval guns. I was interested later to learn that this building was the former Bethlehem Hospital for the Mentally Infirm 鈥� known for short as Bedlam, a name which strikes horror into the bravest of souls. However, the building became a museum in 1936 and all these associations have now been swept away, the inside being every bit as welcoming as the outside. Here a vast expanse of floor greeted me, on which military vehicles of all kinds 鈥� planes, buses, tanks, ships 鈥� were tastefully displayed beneath the beautiful domed roof. Four half-floors stretched above, offering a tantalising glimpse of the variety of interesting exhibits awaiting my perusal.

It was to the basement however that I was primarily attracted as here were the general overall displays of both world conflicts, depicting life at home and on the various wartime fronts. There were ration books, identity cards, gas masks and all the paraphernalia of wartime living 鈥� many of which had been shown to us so interestingly in the Ulster Museum. Memories of my wartime childhood came flooding back as I toured the 1940鈥檚 house with its typically drab utility furniture and huge wireless set in the corner. There on the kitchen table was clamped the Spong mincer and in the garden the Anderson shelter with its four bunks, just like the one we had in suburban London. Several pairs of elastic-legged rayon knickers hung on the line beside it. Nearby a Morrison shelter was not to be outdone, the bars seemingly a lot less rusty than the ones I remember. To complete the trio, I, with ten others, was subjected to a simulated air raid, as experiences in one of the long brick public street shelters (there鈥檚 still one standing in Bangor Park) which, in those days, stood on most street corners. After much flashing and banging of ack-ack guns and falling and exploding bombs, we were treated to a real rocking, representing a very near miss. The all-clear sounded and we emerged into a semi-ruined street still smouldering and then another shock as a gasometer exploded 鈥� not too violently I might add. The disembodied voice of a WVS volunteer kept asking us to have a cup of tea, whilst an elderly man explained that he couldn鈥檛 open his tin of salmon as he was keeping it for an emergency. 鈥淎nd what do you think this is?鈥� was the reply. An old school friend the next day told me that it was reports of this mock-up event which were putting her off visiting the museum: however, I must be made of sterner or less-feeling stuff as I survived and must say appreciated, if not enjoyed, the experience.

Press reports and broadcasts of notable turning points in the war, old news reels of battles and the comings and goings of the various wartime leaders all served to revive many memories and significantly increased my knowledge and understanding of a war in which I, after all, was only a child caught up in a conflict over which I had no control. Other equally realistic sections in the basement allowed me to walk through the trenches in the First World War even recreating the terrible stench and the ever present fear of a gas attack.

Upstairs, specialised sections dealt with Submarine warfare, where I was invited to try to escape through the hatches or to sniff the rancid air of a trapped submarine. M15 and the training and experiences of war time agents behind enemy lines were the subject of another display, with rooms which I had no time to visit dealing with subsequent struggles such as Vietnam and Korea.

On the very top floor is housed, possibly temporarily, a huge and harrowing exhibition on the Holocaust. Through memorabilia, sound tapes, old newsreels and videos of now elderly real-life survivors, we traced the histories of a series of real people from their happy childhoods in pre-war Germany, through the realisation that something was drastically wrong, to their horrific journeys, arrivals and experiences in the concentration camps. It was indeed harrowing but I don鈥檛 regret visiting this very sensitively compiled section of the museum. I left with a lump in my throat, a wiser and more thoughtful citizen.

The Imperial War Museum situated in a magnificent building, but sited in the none too salubrious area of London bordering on Lambeth, (nearest Tube station Elephant and Castle), is a remarkable place. Beautifully conceived, planned and executed with an excellent restaurant, shop and library, it is a must for any inquisitive and thoughtful visitor to London. I heartily recommend it.

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