Temporary exhibition | Conscience Matters, National War Museum, Edinburgh

The skyline of Edinburgh’s Old Town is dominated by the castle. Centuries of war have left their stories on, and within, its walls.

As you make your way over the drawbridge and up through the portcullis into this imposing city icon, you can see the old cannons that were once used to protect the capital’s populace. Next to them, at the end of the Argyle Battery of six guns, the One O’Clock Gun continues to keep time, as it has done since 1861. 

The National War Museum sits nestled among the jigsaw of iconic sandstone buildings. A striking statue of field marshall Douglas Haig on horseback greets you and dominates the quiet courtyard surrounded by the museum. 

The glass entrance is unassuming, tucked under a row of sandstone arches. Once past the entrance, it was not immediately obvious to me where to find the exhibition. 

Directed by a member of staff, I made my way through the permanent exhibitions housing more than 400 years of military history, passing cases and objects representing world-changing events and those from the everyday lives that were left behind, changed forever. These treasures tell the stories of the battles won and lost by a nation in arms. 

Towards the end of the visitor route, through the winding cases and spaces, you find yourself walking through an arch and into a small room that I almost missed. This is the beginning of the exhibition and is indicated by a clear change of style to the rest of the museum. The title, Conscience Matters, is emblazoned boldly on the left-hand wall. 

Following the devastation of the first world war, people feared what another conflict would bring, and attitudes changed towards anti-war movements, with organisations such as Peace Pledge Union becoming popular. However, with the onset of the second world war, many signed up to become part of the war effort, whether through conscription or voluntarily. 

But some refused – and this exhibition tells some of the stories of the 60,000 British men and women who legally registered as conscientious objectors for religious, political or moral reasons. 

The first room serves as an introduction to the topic. The interpretation and design clearly guide you around the room – a band of grey arrows surrounds the objects and encompasses the written interpretation, dotted with imagery in a block print style, like an old poster or advert. 

The information is broken down into easy-to-read, thoughtfully written sections, giving visitors a brief but clear understanding of the subject. Objects have been carefully picked, simply framed, and displayed linking to the information. They help to set the context and feelings of the time. 

This lesser-known, emotive and perhaps misunderstood story is effectively explained without dumbing down the content or detracting from the sensitivity of the subject. I found myself really concentrating, wanting to know more and to understand what happened. There were a few areas where the grey block print was lost against a darker grey background, but overall, it worked as a colour scheme. 

Walking through into the second room, the exhibition is brought to life as it follows the stories of several everyday people, artists, writers and poets. The grey banding theme continues around this room, leading the eye into all corners of the space. Each section focuses on an individual story, the grey band framing imagery, quotes and an introduction that are surrounded by personal objects that link to and enhance every account. 

The way that each section is split up, revealing a person’s own story, subtly layers the information very well. From the large header text on the walls, to the more detailed explanations and the objects themselves, it feels as if you are getting a real insight into every person’s experience as a conscientious objector, and you’re left wanting to find out more. 

The information is sensitively delivered and thought-provoking, giving insight into what they went through and how many people contributed to wartime society and culture in less obvious ways. 

I enjoyed understanding more about their lives throughout this period. And by reading their stories I learned more about their humanitarian work as non-combatants, work that was essential to life both in and out of the war, which I felt gave a deeper understanding of the period.

The interactive elements of the exhibition work well, enhancing the journey rather than being used just for the sake of it. One touchscreen, “What would you do?”, lets you be the judge. Visitors can read or listen to real objectors’ cases and decide, with the evidence given, what the outcome of each trial would be. Hearing first-hand people’s reasons for not wanting to join up and seeing the actual outcome is particularly powerful, especially as it shows just how many cases were rejected. I did, however, find myself wanting to know the rest of their stories. 

The film room feels personal, its positioning in a darkened corner with striking quotes on the walls drawing you in. The short film uses audio recordings, imagery and narration to look at some of the creative work inspired by the war and left behind by some conscientious objectors. 

The objects, paintings, poems, letters, music and narratives are highly personal, giving you a reason to connect to each objector, as well as helping to give wider context and an understanding of the time. I watched other visitors as they walked around the rooms; those who stayed did the same as me, reading everything, looking at each object. Children stopped and used the interactives. There were disagreements and debate. 

For me, having a family connection to the second world war made the subject even more poignant and emotive. I began thinking about these stories, linking them to those that I know of my grandparents, and trying to deepen my understanding of what people were going through at the time. 

The exhibition is in small rooms, cases and panels filling all the corners of the space. You do sometimes have to wait for people to move, so that you can continue your own journey, but it is a worthwhile journey and one that I thoroughly enjoyed. 

I have thought about it since, about the questions it raises, and about the people involved. I feel that I understand more, not just about conscientious objectors but about one of the darkest of times in human history.

Beccy Angus is the interpretation manager at the Royal Zoological Society of Scotland