FT260

The iron gate opened at an unnervingly sluggish pace. The grand villa, which hosted 1942’s notorious Wannsee Conference, stood solemnly before us, framed gracefully by mournful branches. At this very location, against an idyllic fairytale backdrop of wooded suburbs and beautiful lakes, senior Nazis met in splendour to formally seal the fate of Jews across Europe. We ventured down the driveway, which offered nothing more than regimented nature and two stone statues, which would have been cherubic if they hadn’t so uncannily resembled Winston Churchill. As we stood breathing in the potent ambiance of melancholy, we noticed a solitary grey-haired gentleman who appeared to be observing the bleakly poignant building from an apprehensive distance.