Being a predictably woolly liberal, I am not into war all that much. But I love the Imperial War Museum in south London. A lot of people are put off by the name, envisaging a hall full of dusty old tanks and planes, display cases full of boring old medals and far too much breast-beating nationalism, but I would urge you to give it a go. While it’s true that the main hall is indeed full of tanks and planes and random bits of ammunition celebrating our sometimes dubious victories, there is much to recommend.
Usually I skip past the Lancaster bombers and Sherman tanks and hop straight up to the Holocaust section or the Secret War exhibition, which is all about MI5 and MI6. I love all things spy-related, and particularly antiquated, slightly rubbish spy gadgets, like the very obvious cameras hidden in flower pots you can see at the old Stasi HQ in Berlin. But the other Sunday I was with my war-mad friend, Hans, who loves battles so much he actually has a Favourite War – though to be fair so do I, but it’s the Cold War, and so doesn’t really count.
Anyway, I humoured him and we spent the first hour looking at all the sort of things I never normally give the time of day, and it was unexpectedly riveting. Sometimes I am very easily infected with the enthusiasm of others, and so it was that I enjoyed prodding the dainty British tank to see how measly it was compared with the monolithic German Jagdpanther (essentially the difference between the protection offered by a pack-a-mac and a suit of arms), imagining the Weeeeeeeeeeeee of the Doodlebug and wondering how the hell we ever won the second world war. There wasn’t time on this occasion to live through London’s glory days in the Blitz Experience (again), or to hide in a First World War trench (again), but we did manage to go in the submarine, visit the Steve McQueen installation AND have a slice of first class Victoria Sponge in the cafe.
1 Comment
May 5, 2008 at 11:30 am
You humoured me? Whatever!