In late October, The Brainy One was working in Holland and we agreed that The Boy Child and I would fly out to meet him in Amsterdam the weekend half-term began. One of the museums I prebooked was Anne Frank Huis. I remember reading The Diary of Anne Frank as a teenager, and when I was in my early 20s, I visited Bergen- Belsen in Germany. Both had a profound effect on me.There wasn’t a lot of choice for the day we wanted to visit, so we opted for a timed-entry of 18.45 hours (we’d been advised to try and visit late in the day). In the end, everything worked in our favour. It was fairly busy, but not enough to cause any additional anxiety for The Boy Child (there was one small bottle neck of people waiting to climb a steep staircase) and we were able to move through the empty rooms at will. (After the war, nothing remained in the hidden annex and Otto Frank, Anne’s father, requested that the rooms stay that way.) Each visitor receives an individual audio handset and there are wall displays, so visitors are able to soak in the atmosphere and attempt to imagine what it must have been like. I enjoyed seeing the Frank family’s photos from before they were forced into hiding and, as a memory keeper, I am so glad that some have survived.
The Boy Child found it interesting and the visit of around an hour is long enough. He has an interest in the Second World War and is aware that children who had autism were considered undesirable by the National Socialists.
Photography isn’t allowed in the Musuem.