What did the Axis occupation smell, taste and look like?

A few days ago, we visited Smells like Butter!, an audiovisual exhibition exploring the memories of children who grew up in the 1940s during the Axis occupation of Greece. It was held as part of Columbia University’s Stavros Niarchos Foundation Public Humanities Initiative in collaboration with the Athens School of Fine Arts and the Department of Communications & Media Studies of the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens. Following our visit, we each documented our experience in our own way.

Entering the exhibition space and even before the start of the introductory tour, the material we are about to watch is already on continuous playback. Without even realizing it, the war sirens begin to sound in conjunction with the narratives. It feels strange; the sirens almost sound as if they are coming from Tositsa Street. And at that moment, we think about how strange it must have felt when they were ringing in the ears of the interviewees on the screen.

The people interviewed grew up during the occupation in the 1940s, and are recounting the sensorial memories they have carried with them into their old age—from the sounds of the airplanes, the bombings and the boots of the German soldiers to the actual smells that accompany a war period, but also the subconscious pleasant smells that had a calming effect on the thoughts of the children who experienced the war.

At the same time, a different collection of scenes is projected on the adjacent wall. This presentation is harsher and more representative of the time, including secretly recorded footage from the same period. According to Eva Stefani who introduced us to the site, this archival material was recorded through a tin can, as it was very dangerous to record, since most of the footage that survives from the war period comes from English, Italian or German sources.

Quite often and during the screening, the sirens sound in sync with the words coming from the speakers as the people describe their thoughts and experiences. All of the media playing in tandem, the narratives, the secret footage and the sirens strike a chord, transporting the viewer into the difficult conditions of wartime as vividly as possible.

Just after 10 in the morning, we all meet up at a corner in Exarcheia. Eva, Zafos, and Fotis greet us with a smile and show us around the exhibition, explaining their project. The video starts playing, the first interviewee starts talking and, at the same time, the first siren sounds from the adjacent installation. Speakers succeed one another and the themes change along with them. They talk about games, about shelters, about food, about sensations. The entire meaning is concentrated there, in the senses. The key to understanding what you are seeing is to imagine these people as children. They describe how they experienced the occupation and the remarkable thing is that they don’t talk about policies, strategies, or plans. One lady talks about the melody her mother used to play on the piano, another about her mother’s teary eyes, about the games in the National Garden, the feathers on the hats of the Italians, the texture of the precious few raisins they ate for lunch, a book given as a gift by a German general. 

As I walk away, I can’t help but think that this is where the meaning of the story lies; in the testimonies and narratives of people, both named and anonymous, that remain timeless. In a world where violence, hostilities, and difficulties have all but become empty headlines, it is important to remember that there are always people behind them. There are always children who will carry these experiences with them forever. I remember one lady’s words: “We didn’t eat anything. I would lie down and try to remember the smell of butter.” And I know full well that somewhere in the world a child is trying to do the same thing right now.