A MOVING EXPERIENCE

At 9.30am on that Tuesday morning on 30th June, my husband and I were part of the queue waiting to enter the historic museum on the Prinsengracht in Amsterdam. The tongues that permeated the cool morning air told me the whole world was represented in the queue. Like us, they all thought they had come early to avoid the summer crowd making a beeline for the 'museum with a story'. Alas, the queue that we joined was already halfway round the adjacent block. The sky was azure-blue, the mood was light, the voices chirpy with anticipation. But all was about to change the minute we set foot inside.

For this was no ordinary museum. This was the Anne Frank House where a 13-year old Jewish girl chronicled her life in the Secret Annexe in which she, her parents and older sister lived in hiding to escape persecution from the Nazis. The Frank family together with 4 others survived there for just over 2 years before they were finally captured by the Nazis when someone told on them. To this day, we don't know who gave them away; but we know how they 'lived' in their secret hideout within the warehouse building, thanks to a diary written by Anne that was discovered in the Annexe soon after their capture. She wrote almost every day in her diary to an imaginary friend, Kitty, like she would a confidante, to express her joy, fear, frustrations and hopes. It is truly remarkable how one so young could have been so perceptive, and could write with so much insight and forthrightness. That she managed to keep a diary under such an ordeal is indeed inspirational. Seeing the diary in Anne's handwriting was in itself a moving experience.

Remarkable still is the atmosphere of the house that could still convey the prevaling sense of gloom and acute anxiety enveloping the occupants as they tried to live with some semblance of normalcy. To have done so for over 2 years under such dire circumstances belie the imagination. As I touched the walls and pondered the state of the rooms, I was taken back to a time in the past. It was distressing, to say the least. Restricted in their movements even within the confines of the Secret Annexe, Anne and the rest of the occupants undoubtedly felt smothered in their desire to stay alive. Having read her book, I could visualize Anne stealing a peek out the window - the few times that she could - for a glimpse of the sky, the trees and the world beyond the Secret Annexe that was forbidden to her. It was heart-wrenching to see the yellow-ing warped walls pasted with newspaper cuttings and photographs - Anne's own handiwork to liven up the room and bring some cheer to their dismal surroundings. I doubt if anyone visiting the House could remain unmoved at the end of the visit.

Human suffering in whatever form would always affect us, no matter the scale. But Anne's plight in the face of imminent persecution was extraordinary; her death in March 1945 in incarceration a human tragedy. Deprived of a normal childhood, it was her spirit of survival, her fortitude amidst deprivations, and her unflagging optimism that I found so encouraging. In all the photographs that survived, Anne is always smiling, and the most enduring photograph of her is the one chosen for the cover of her book. It is uncannily haunting. If visitors had entered lighthearted and carefree, they left Anne Frank House sombre and deep in thought as we were that day. Her 'story' took place in the early 1940s, but, today, similar issues of humanity continue to plague us.

Equally penetrating were the words of Otto Frank (Anne's father) in an interview he gave before he died in 1980: "You don't really know your daughter" which must have been prompted by his discovery of Anne's innermost thoughts as revealed in her diary. Which surely must have struck a chord with those visitors like me who are parents. Maybe it was a reminder that children - sons and daughters alike - need to be listened to and encouraged to express their feelings so that parents could understand them better.

In the Diary, on 15 July, 1944 Anne wrote: "I see the world gradually being turned into a wasteland, I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us too. I feel the suffering of millions of people and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I somehow feel that this will come right again, that also this savagery will stop, that there will be peace and tranquility in the world once again. Until that time, I must hold onto my ideals. Perhaps the day will come when I'll still be able to realize them". Don't we pray for this too?

So if you get to Amsterdam - which is really worth visiting for many reasons - don't skip the Anne Frank House. Meanwhile - if you haven't already - read the book "The Diary of Anne Frank"- you'll be moved.