Towards Tomorrow, Jersey War Tunnels, Jersey
Mention the island of Jersey and for most people it will conjure images of doe-eyed cows, new potatoes and tax breaks. Or perhaps sunny summer holidays, where you are almost on the continent but there is a distinctly British feel.
In some ways this is not far from the truth. Jersey still relies on its genteel image as a refined, but not too foreign, holiday destination for the 480,000 Brits who take their pleasure there every year. But there is a bleaker side to the island.
Between 1940 and 1945 Jersey was occupied by the Germans. Less than a year after the beginning of the second world war, Jersey, which sits just 14 miles off the French coast, was under threat of invasion.
In May 1940 the lieutenant governor asked the war office what plans were being made to protect the island. In June the answer came: Jersey would not be defended. It is here, on the eve of occupation, that the Jersey War Tunnels picks up the story.
The narrative of the five-year occupation unfolds in an appropriate setting - inside one of the many tunnel complexes that were built for defence purposes by the Germans.
There are problems with such a location: environmental control, dampness and leaky roofs to name a few. But the benefit of the atmosphere created in the underground galleries far outstrips any of these concerns.
The story begins with the dilemma that faced the population of Jersey in June 1940: to leave or stay? The dinner-table debate about whether to flee - leaving family, friends and possessions behind: or stick it out in the face of almost certain German invasion - is represented by a domestic setting frozen in time in a large glass case.
The static display, with the half-eaten meal and empty seats, conveys the sense of urgent decision-making and of leaving behind all that was familiar. Beyond this case, on either side of a display panel, are the stories of those who stayed and those who left. In the end, although 23,000 registered for evacuation, only 6,500 left: the majority decided to wait and see.
And they didn't have to wait long. The First Contact gallery tells the story of the invasion. After the initial air raids (the Germans had not been told that the islands had been left undefended) occupation was fairly low key and the displays deal with the next dilemma the islanders faced: how to react to the German soldiers in their midst?
At the height of the occupation there was one German soldier to every four islanders - they were impossible to avoid. Questions are posed throughout the display: would you let a soldier buy you an ice cream? Would you take in a German soldier's washing? If a soldier called hello to you in the street would you return his greeting?
Mannequins in Nazi uniforms with TV-screen heads show the clean-cut, smiling faces of young German soldiers. The implication seems to be that good manners would have made it difficult to be openly rude to the occupying force.
But as early as four months into the occupation all Jews on the island had to register and all Jewish businesses had to display yellow notices declaring their Jewish ownership. Although some islanders may have preferred to turn a blind eye to the Nazi's masterplan, there was clear evidence on the island from the beginning.
One factor that did unite islanders during the long occupation was the shortage of food, which is dealt with in the gallery on daily life. A period kitchen range and dresser set the scene with drawers open to display ration books and a breakfast menu of Grape-Nuts and bramble-leaf tea.
The central row of floor-to-ceiling cases provide an aesthetic display of the food and materials of occupation; acorn coffee, sugar-beet syrup and caustic soda toothpaste.
This beautiful social history display provides a break in the pace which is resumed in the next gallery. Whispers and Lies deals with perhaps the most controversial aspect of the occupation: collaboration with the Germans. The atmosphere of mistrust and suspicion is accentuated by a background audio of whispers, accusations and allegations.
The breakdown of trust is symbolised in the darkened gallery by a red letterbox - anonymous letters were often sent by islanders to the Germans snitching on neighbours. The consequences for those exposed could be severe: deportation to work camps.
Although the sensitive issue of collaboration is tackled, there is little mention of the role of Jersey's establishment's during occupation. The civil government and court continued to function during this time: the Bailiff approved German laws, including the First Order against the Jews, which was passed in 1940 by the island's Royal Court.
Resistance is a more comfortable topic. The quiet defiance of some of the locals is illustrated through stories of patriotic teenagers hiding weapons and stealing from German barracks, and families listening to the BBC on their homemade cat's whiskers radio sets. Visitors can even put together a simple version of the radio sets to hear a contemporary broadcast from the BBC.
One high-risk act of resistance was to hide escaped forced labourers. More than 5,000 men were brought to Jersey to dig tunnels and build fortifications. It is impossible to understand their experience of the war until you stand before the section of unfinished tunnel.
This gaping chasm, chiselled from the bare rock, is a fitting memorial to the forced labourers who worked and died here. The tunnel recedes to a darkened vanishing point and as water drips from the ceiling the sound of pick axes is audible.
And the museum does not avoid the uncomfortable fact that some locals also worked on the tunnels for high wages and extra rations.
The story of the occupation culminates with the siege (when Churchill callously decided to 'let 'em starve') and the liberation, which finally came on 9 May.
But the story doesn't end there. The latest part of the permanent exhibition is Towards Tomorrow, a metalwork grid by local artist Wayne Audrain, which includes images of Jersey's occupation.
The artwork allows visitors to draw their own conclusions about living with the enemy, the nature of occupation and the meaning of liberty.
Project data
Cost:£3m (Captive Island exhibition)
Funder: Jersey War Tunnels
Exhibition design: Event Communications
Mention the island of Jersey and for most people it will conjure images of doe-eyed cows, new potatoes and tax breaks. Or perhaps sunny summer holidays, where you are almost on the continent but there is a distinctly British feel.
In some ways this is not far from the truth. Jersey still relies on its genteel image as a refined, but not too foreign, holiday destination for the 480,000 Brits who take their pleasure there every year. But there is a bleaker side to the island.
Between 1940 and 1945 Jersey was occupied by the Germans. Less than a year after the beginning of the second world war, Jersey, which sits just 14 miles off the French coast, was under threat of invasion.
In May 1940 the lieutenant governor asked the war office what plans were being made to protect the island. In June the answer came: Jersey would not be defended. It is here, on the eve of occupation, that the Jersey War Tunnels picks up the story.
The narrative of the five-year occupation unfolds in an appropriate setting - inside one of the many tunnel complexes that were built for defence purposes by the Germans.
There are problems with such a location: environmental control, dampness and leaky roofs to name a few. But the benefit of the atmosphere created in the underground galleries far outstrips any of these concerns.
The story begins with the dilemma that faced the population of Jersey in June 1940: to leave or stay? The dinner-table debate about whether to flee - leaving family, friends and possessions behind: or stick it out in the face of almost certain German invasion - is represented by a domestic setting frozen in time in a large glass case.
The static display, with the half-eaten meal and empty seats, conveys the sense of urgent decision-making and of leaving behind all that was familiar. Beyond this case, on either side of a display panel, are the stories of those who stayed and those who left. In the end, although 23,000 registered for evacuation, only 6,500 left: the majority decided to wait and see.
And they didn't have to wait long. The First Contact gallery tells the story of the invasion. After the initial air raids (the Germans had not been told that the islands had been left undefended) occupation was fairly low key and the displays deal with the next dilemma the islanders faced: how to react to the German soldiers in their midst?
At the height of the occupation there was one German soldier to every four islanders - they were impossible to avoid. Questions are posed throughout the display: would you let a soldier buy you an ice cream? Would you take in a German soldier's washing? If a soldier called hello to you in the street would you return his greeting?
Mannequins in Nazi uniforms with TV-screen heads show the clean-cut, smiling faces of young German soldiers. The implication seems to be that good manners would have made it difficult to be openly rude to the occupying force.
But as early as four months into the occupation all Jews on the island had to register and all Jewish businesses had to display yellow notices declaring their Jewish ownership. Although some islanders may have preferred to turn a blind eye to the Nazi's masterplan, there was clear evidence on the island from the beginning.
One factor that did unite islanders during the long occupation was the shortage of food, which is dealt with in the gallery on daily life. A period kitchen range and dresser set the scene with drawers open to display ration books and a breakfast menu of Grape-Nuts and bramble-leaf tea.
The central row of floor-to-ceiling cases provide an aesthetic display of the food and materials of occupation; acorn coffee, sugar-beet syrup and caustic soda toothpaste.
This beautiful social history display provides a break in the pace which is resumed in the next gallery. Whispers and Lies deals with perhaps the most controversial aspect of the occupation: collaboration with the Germans. The atmosphere of mistrust and suspicion is accentuated by a background audio of whispers, accusations and allegations.
The breakdown of trust is symbolised in the darkened gallery by a red letterbox - anonymous letters were often sent by islanders to the Germans snitching on neighbours. The consequences for those exposed could be severe: deportation to work camps.
Although the sensitive issue of collaboration is tackled, there is little mention of the role of Jersey's establishment's during occupation. The civil government and court continued to function during this time: the Bailiff approved German laws, including the First Order against the Jews, which was passed in 1940 by the island's Royal Court.
Resistance is a more comfortable topic. The quiet defiance of some of the locals is illustrated through stories of patriotic teenagers hiding weapons and stealing from German barracks, and families listening to the BBC on their homemade cat's whiskers radio sets. Visitors can even put together a simple version of the radio sets to hear a contemporary broadcast from the BBC.
One high-risk act of resistance was to hide escaped forced labourers. More than 5,000 men were brought to Jersey to dig tunnels and build fortifications. It is impossible to understand their experience of the war until you stand before the section of unfinished tunnel.
This gaping chasm, chiselled from the bare rock, is a fitting memorial to the forced labourers who worked and died here. The tunnel recedes to a darkened vanishing point and as water drips from the ceiling the sound of pick axes is audible.
And the museum does not avoid the uncomfortable fact that some locals also worked on the tunnels for high wages and extra rations.
The story of the occupation culminates with the siege (when Churchill callously decided to 'let 'em starve') and the liberation, which finally came on 9 May.
But the story doesn't end there. The latest part of the permanent exhibition is Towards Tomorrow, a metalwork grid by local artist Wayne Audrain, which includes images of Jersey's occupation.
The artwork allows visitors to draw their own conclusions about living with the enemy, the nature of occupation and the meaning of liberty.
Project data
Cost:£3m (Captive Island exhibition)
Funder: Jersey War Tunnels
Exhibition design: Event Communications
