A few weeks ago, while at a friend’s birthday party, a long conversation emerged on the subject of sites of grim historical significance and their place on tourist itineraries. (Yes, I know, it’s a bit niche – I blame the combination of my own historical nerdiness and a girl recently returned from a year studying in Berlin.) How do you ensure the correct balance of respect, the need for people to know about atrocities and ensuring that plenty of people visit them? Are gift shops appropriate? What about cafes and rest areas? To quote Alan Bennett’s History Boys, ‘…where do they eat their sandwiches?’

Little did I know that just a couple of weeks later I’d actually have a visit to one such site scheduled on my holiday itinerary. I’ve not actually been to many – aged 9 and 12 on trips to Munich, I was deemed too young to visit Dachau; aged 13 I made it to Anne Frank’s House (but got rushed round by a 10 year old sibling who found it dull – guess which of us got to make a return visit 4 years later?!); it was my sister’s year, not mine, that visited the Normandy beaches… For a history geek who took countless 20th century history courses at university, particularly on WW2, I’ve led a fairly sheltered life.

It turned out that not far from Limoges (the city nearest the building site) was a village that had been completely destroyed in 1944 by the SS. Oradour sur Glane was a community of 642 people, which on the 10th June 1944 was surrounded by a Waffen SS unit and destroyed – shops and houses were set on fire and the women and children sheltering in the church were massacred. The reason? The community was thought to have had strong links with the Resistance and the SS therefore decided to use them as an example to others. The atrocity took place just four days after D Day, with the Germans clearly aware of how important the Resistance would be during the Allies’ invasion.

After the war had ended, a campaign began to preserve the ruins of Oradour sur Glane as a memorial to the victims and a reminder to others of the senseless destruction war brings. In addition to the ruins is an exhibition centre (with a bookshop, not gift shop) that puts the events in the context of the war and the war in France particularly. The result is extremely moving, particular when visited on a blazing hot evening, when the sky is vivid blue and all seems idyllic – apart from the presence of burnt-out cars, semi-standing buildings, and signs that remind you of what took place nearly 70 years ago.

Rubble is particularly powerful – enough of an indication of what was, once upon a time, and what is no longer present. It can move you in a way that space cannot. If the buildings had been razed to the ground and the area left empty, I think few would have heard the story and learnt the lessons.

The day we visited was so gorgeous and perfect for photos that it felt almost like a film set from Band of Brothers. However, the atmosphere of silence and the hushed footsteps of people exploring (usually alone), made it dignified and real. It reminded me a lot of a similarly hot and sunny day when I’d explored the ruins of Lifta – a village outside Jerusalem whose Arab inhabitants were forced to leave in 1948. Oradour certainly merited a Flickr set separate to the general hilarity of the building site.

One thing’s for sure, in the debate over the role such sites have as tourist destinations, some thought needs to be given to photography in such contexts. Capturing the mood of a place is fine, but presumably I’m not alone in thinking that group shots are inappropriate? In discussing the merits of visiting Oradour early in the trip, I heard a tale of someone being asked to move from the spot from which they were contemplating Ground Zero in New York so that a family could pose for a photo. Is that crass? There’s one thing such places being important sites to visit, but another if they’re simply another stop on a coach trip.