Slovakia - The Bunker

What a treat! Our last full day in Slovakia and we visited Bunker BS8, one of many small WW2 bunkers dotted around the countryside, hidden away in some fields. I say hidden away, but it is actually situated next to a war cemetary; housing rows and rows of simple white crosses bathed in dappled light from the surrounding trees. In the centre is a large cross and each section has a list of the fallen men killed in battle.

The bunker is run by a guide who only speaks Slovak, but believe me, that didn't dampen his enthusiasm for recounting the tales from the bunker, nor did it stop his infecting us with his enormous enthusiasm for the place.

It was dark when we entered, and he told Sarah to take her mum's hand. I told him that I wasn't her mum but I don't think he believed me because he repeated the phrase half a dozen times. I told him that I and Lionel were teachers and that the kids were our students but he clearly didn't believe that as he repeated the 'mum' sentence again. He led us in by the hand and after a few stumbling footsteps, flipped the lights on. It was cool in the bunker, in both senses of the word; it was hot outside but also it was a really agreeable place.


He gave us a concise tour which included a Morse Code machine that the students tried out (we studied Morse Code in English in Seconde so it was good that they could actually use a real machine instead of trying to send messages using their phones).

He led us into a room housing outfits and gas masks, which he proceeded to pull onto the kids' heads; and I really do mean pull, he rammed it down on their heads then roughly tugged on the pipe part of the mask to cover their faces; they looked elephant-like but in a bit of a scary Doctor Who episode way.

In another room there were some rather dusty old hats that he plonked on our heads and made us line up - he called me "the Commondant" which was really quite funny, so we all lined up for a photo shoot wearing the hats. Adrian had a metal helmet and the guide whacked him over the head with another helmet. At this point I nearly passed out but managed to rush over to make sure that he was okay and to see if he wanted to sit down. He seemed bizarrely unfazed by the experience and said that he didn't feel a thing, which is lucky really but I suppose they are supposed to be virtually bomb proof.

The guide has a bit of a passion for France; his son lives in Lyon with his French girlfriend and does not often return home. To demonstrate this the guide kept repeating "I love you" and making kissing sounds whilst screwing his face up.

He then proudly showed us photos of famous people; Queen Elizabeth II, Tony Blair and then horror of horrors; Hitler. It wasn't just a photo of him but a photo of him inspecting the bunker. I asked the guide whether it really was Hitler outside on top of this bunker inspecting it and he confirmed it was.

I felt very odd; the UK mainland was never invaded by the Nazi's during the war and so the collective memories and history of the war is different to France. I know of the horrors that happened in my children's primary school, where the Nazi's marched into the village and took away all the men, locking them in the school building to starve before transporting them to their deaths. My daughters interviewed the seniors in the village about their war experiences when they were at primary school, but I have always been removed from it both generationally and distance wise so to actually stand in the same place as where Hitler once stood 80 years ago left me feeling slightly sick and a bit clammy.

There was also an exhibition on Sir Nicolas Winton (AKA the English Schindler) who organised the rescue of over 600 Czechoslovakian children on the eve of WW2.

https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicholas_Winton

There was also a small kitchen for the soldiers, a weapons store (thankfully everything had been replaced by replicas) and war memorabilia on every spare piece of wall. It was just such a cool visit and without doubt, the best cultural visit of the whole trip.

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