Template for Terror

The tiny towns are pastel plaster like a modern watercolor of a medieval memory. With mastery of image Lee Miller conjures a version of the vision and the mythical truth that it is meant to depict. The line applies as much to the town of Dachau as to any other Bavarian town. Yet the word Dachau invokes many other images. The conentration camp memorial there is something that I’ve never quite had the courage to see. Recently a friend from England came to visit and together we went to the place.


Dachau was the site of the first of the concentration camps, opened in 1933 and intended for political prisoners, which is to say, those who opposed the Nazi regime. The burning of the Berlin Reichstag building in 27 February 1933 was used as an opportunity to introduce new laws which suspended civil liberties for Germans. Dachau was opened a few weeks afterwards.

The prison at Dachau was intended to be a showpiece of the Nazi regime. In the 1930's foreign dignitaries visiting Germany were brought here to visit to be impressed by its beauty and its facilities. The arrangements, from the entry gate with its Work Makes Free, dictum, to the tree lined esplanade were intended to give an impression of humanity and the promise of rehabilitation. In reality the trees lined the route to the cemetery and the only freedom to be found was after being worked to death.

Dachau was never an extermination camp. The Nazis kept those outside Germany. Yet, over 32,000 died at Dachau. Dachau was a prototypical business centre for the Nazi regime. A template for other camps and a source of income. Prisoners who were fit enough to work were employed within the camp or travelled to work in nearby factories. Companies such as BMW and Siemens all hired manpower at bargain prices in the form of those inmates who were fit enough, and suited enough, to the work.


Dachau’s ‘hospital’ was used for various experiments on prisoners. Tests on behalf of the Luftwaffe recorded the time a person, in normal flying gear, could survive in freezing water. Decompression experiments, where live prisoners were subject to abrupt pressure drops, were also carried out.


The euphemism, human resources was never applied so completely as at Dachau. The prisoners were exploited in every way imaginable. Once a prisoner had become too sick to work they were registered as ‘Invalid’ and then executed. In the doublethink logic of Dachau the ‘Invalids’ were deemed beyond rehabilitation. Everything possible was taken from them, each prisoner’s ‘medical’ record notes if they had gold fillings or crowns so that these could later be recovered from the bodies.

The brickwork of the crematorium at Dachau shows a roughness unlike typical German masonry. It was built by slave labour and quickly, and yet the design shows the usual attention to detail and efficiency.

Prisoners entered the building at one end via narrow rooms with overhead pipes where their clothes were hung. Soon, their clothes would be reused by others. Then they entered the ‘shower room’ and the door closed behind them.

This picture shows the exterior of the shower room. The chemical Zyklon B was poured into the cast iron chutes. Between the two chutes, the vertical rectangle, was an armoured glass panel where the condition of the prisoners could be monitored. Death could take up to twenty minutes. Afterwards a ventilation system cleared the room and the bodies were moved either to the ovens or to adjacent storage.

Many of us have some notion of prison life which includes a plucky group of prisoners outwitting the guards and maintaining a sense of dignity. This was not the case at Dachau. The administrators had planned for that and had a system which of all the things at Dachau strikes me has the most ingenious, and the most invidious.

The picture shows part of the Memorial of Badges, one of several artworks which are in place in the camp. These show the different markers that the prisoners wore on their uniforms. We all recognise the Star of David but there were many prisoner badges whih indicated a position within a catalogue of groups. The groups became a hierarchy of privilege and punishment.


The German hardened criminals wore green triangles. Red triangles were worn by the Communists, Social Democrats and other political prisoners, and blue by the foreign workers.  Homosexuals wore pink triangles. There were Brown badges for the Gypsies and Jehovah's Witnesses wore a purple triangle. A bar over the top of the triangle meant that an inmate was a second-timer, or a prisoner who had served time in the camp, been released, and had then been arrested again. The Jews always wore two triangles with a yellow triangle on top of another colour, usually red which signified a political prisoner.


The hierarchy always placed the Jews at the bottom, with the gypsies immediately above them, and then raising, through some subtle league table, the other groups up to the most privileged and powerful, the green triangles - the hardened criminals. As a result everyone knew who they were and where they were in the pecking order.


With this ‘chain of command’ the SS, who ran the camp, were able to maintain discipline with the minimum of guards. Privileges, and extra rations were handed out to the people at the top of the prisoner hierarchy. These used their power to maintain order.




In the years after the war the camp at Dachau was used for emergency accomodation and with the post war rebuilding the Bavarian government came under pressure to clear the site. This was resisted and over the years the site has been reconstructed in certain areas in accordance with the photographs and the records the SS kept.

At the end Dachau is exactly what it was first intended to be, a showpiece for a regime. A regime which generated terror on an unprecedented scale. 

Lee Miller

Lee Miller was born in 1907 and in her 70 years she was many things: a model, a debutant, a muse, a writer, a photographer, an actress, a mother and a gourmet cook.

To do justice to her life would take a dozen blogs. This is about her time as the world's first female war correspondent.  Lee Miller spent the days after D Day following the US Army as a war correspondent and photographer. Her work, which first appeared in the magazine Vogue, contain many memorable images. Arguably, they have shaped our view of the Second World War and have been the guide track for a dozen war movies.

Lee’s first piece as the Vogue war correspondent was about the 44th Evac, a canvas field hospital where emergency patch up surgery was carried out on wounded troops prior to their dispatch, away from the front, to England. Lee’s images of surgery in progress, captured in her photographs and text, with masked, gowned medics engaged over the bodies of soldiers set the style for the M*A*S*H film and TV show.

Next Lee moved on to St Malo and recorded what was, in the grand scheme of things, a rather minor military action. A German strong hold is being dug out the hard way by the 83rd Division. By accident Lee  finds herself in the thick of it.  Our long-range artillery was etching arcs of sound over my head. It was a temptation to look up each time at these invisible sphere-songs with their trailing rattle. Finally they went crash into the citadel and there would be a salvo from there answering back. I hung around waiting to latch onto someone who would be going somewhere or doing something and would take me. A tank destroyer on caterpillar tracks moved down the street next to us and set up for business. It shed wiremen as it went. Telephonists squatted in the street and the gun belched at the forts. In a very few minutes the enemy counter-battery zeroed in on it with 88s. They went whistle bang whistle bang whistle bang, and broke in the trees, the roofs, the street. The boys on the gun didn’t pay any attention but since I had no business being there anyway I went back to the villa which was only a bit better than the street.

In Lee’s pictures we discover that the war was not exclusively populated by men. There are nurses, naturally, and Russian women soldiers. And there are women who had made the wrong choice and become lovers of the Germans and who were now punished by their neighbours.

There are pictures of Parisian girls flirting with the GIs, and one can only hope that some of them made good on the promise of their pretty smiles. In Lee's writing there is a sense of reality that is missing from contemporary coy British accounts of soldiers and their preoccupations. As Lee puts it, ‘Anyone who has found a pair of girl’s pants for his helmet is envied’. And she has an eye for technical detail, she knows that the artillery needs Observation Points and telephone communications. So the communications boys, as well as the spotters and gunners, get a credit.

Next up is Paris, which Lee knew well from her earlier life and she got to meet some old friends.

Lee and Picasso

Keeping in mind that all this was for Vogue, a magazine about fashion and lifestyle, Lee writes about how Paris style has changed to accommodate the wartime condition.  It’s amazing, after reading about relentless total war, blitz and counter-blitz, and the horrors of the eastern front that 12 weeks after the liberation of Paris Lee had a an actual fashion show to report on.  More remarkable still was a Bitch-a-gram from Vogue head office criticising the quality of the ‘snapshots’ that Lee was sending back, Vogue expected studio posed shots featuring models of refinement!

Lee Miller was as patriotic as Patton but she still found room for some left wing sensibility. Her rationalisation of the roots of Naziism is terse and cuts to the heart of the matter, she speaks of the supporters of Hitler. The type of person who clips his share coupons or reads the ticker tape for marketing profits without asking if the mine is a swindle or the dividends drawn from capital lived there. They bought Hitler on the same terms and they are very shocked to find themselves the ‘widows and orphans’ of a bucket shop scheme. They expect sympathy from us for their having been accomplices of crooks and receivers of stolen goods. 

At Ecternach, on the Luxemburg border with Germany. Lunch is brought abruptly to a halt a few times by Buzzbombs, (V1 Flying Bombs) passing over the building, grinding and changing their lousy gears. They sounded like the death rattles here already. I tried to calculate the ‘something’ divided or multiplied by ‘time’ equals ‘something else’- when you’d be getting it in London, and the little hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention while I auralized the thud and crump of that unbrained monster in Pimlico or Hampstead. In fact, by now the allied advance was such that those early cruise missiles no longer had the range for London, the war was coming to an end.

Lee followed the Army on into Germany. She was a stunning Aryan beauty, usually smoking a cigarette, and wearing a hodge podge of military and civilian clothes. She had a jeep, a camera, a typewriter and a four gallon can into which all the whisky, gin vodka she'd managed to ‘liberate’ was poured.  She was having a whale of a time, but then came Buchenwald and Dachau.

In this case (Dachau) the camp is so close to the town that there is no question about the inhabitants knowing what went on. The railway siding into the camp runs past quite a few swell villas and the last train of dead and semi dead deportees was long enough to extend past them. The cars are still full of skeletal dead, and the path beside the trains are littered with the fleshless bodies of those who tried to get out and walk to their execution.

One of Lee’s pictures shows a couple of grim faced, middle aged German ladies.  One might have worked in a local beer garden while the other could be anyones mother. They’ve been brought, by orders of General Patton, to bear witness to the horrors of the concentration camp at Buchenwald. In Lee's photograph there is a black American GI in the foreground. It's something of a set-up, Lee's vision of how the society of plurality became the victors while the society that aspired to racial purity was defeated.



Lee made it to Hitler’s house in Munich. By now her hatred of all things ‘Kraut’ was relentless and she mocks  Hitler’s taste.  The bookcase that jutted out into the room had as savage an angle as the swastika itself. The art work – sculpture, still wearing prize medals from exhibitions on a string – was mediocre as were the paintings on the walls. I hoped to find one of the masters (Hitler's) own works. There was a plaster cast of Hitler’s hands, and on the desk in the next section of the room a globe of the world. The piano, a Bechstein, was out of tune but the radio was a masterpiece. In the main entrance were cupboards holding crystal and china, linen and silver, all swastika’d and initialled A.H. There was a rubber plant and a black plaster eagle with folded wings.

This is where Lee’s most famous picture was taken, soaping the back of her neck in Hitler’s bath tub. Perched on the side of the bath is a photograph of the Fuehrer, and discharging what seems to be most of the mud they’ve collected since her time at 44th Evac, Lee’s army boots on Hitler’s bathmat.

Finally, Lee finds the Germans baffling.
The tiny towns are pastel plaster like a modern watercolour of a medieval memory. Little girls in white dresses and garlands promenade for their first communion. The children have stilts and marbles, and tops and hoops, and they play with dolls. Mothers sew and sweep and bake, and farmers plow and harrow. ... I’m just like the soldiers here, who look at the beautiful countryside, use the super modern comforts of their buildings and wonder why the Germans wanted anything more.

After the war Lee, at the age of 40, became a mother. As a result of her war experiences she suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. Yet she would never again find as great a subject as the war. What peacetime assignment could compare? Lee was damaged by what she’d seen. However, there could have been only one thing worse than taking a job such as this, and that would have been not taking it.