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It is a great tragedy that movies like #SixMinutesToMidnight still get made, mainly because there are many more worthwhile, important and fascinating stories to be told about WWII, set in the dark forests and deep valleys of a terrible world far from The Little Island Kingdom.
Thirteen hours later and I’m still seething at the way this cardboard-cut-out, shitely-scripted rush job not only jeopardised my love for Eddie Izzard and Judi Dench, but also took a potentially powerful story and reduced it to a panto version of Murder at Hollycock Manor.
Here’s a story set in the summer of 1942. The fact that you’re looking at this intimate snapshot of six teenagers, basking on a flat roof in Amsterdam, means at least one of them survived the war and saved the picture. 
In May 1943, a 20-year-old Jewish woman was arrested in Amsterdam and transported more than 1000 kilometres by train to be murdered, because the man who had given her refuge was betrayed to the Nazis by his vindictive ex-wife. The man survived Sachsenhausen and Neuengamme, but...
...died at the age of 45 in 1955. The vindictive ex remarried after the war and lived happily (presumably) ever after until the summer of 1981, when she passed away at the venerable age of 73.
If nothing else, writing non-fiction will teach you there is no such thing as karma.
If nothing else, writing non-fiction will teach you there is no such thing as karma.
What interesting to note is that the policeman on desk duty reported the arrest in detail, not only including dates of birth, addresses and full names of all involved, but also the service numbers of the arresting officers, who will have known what fate awaited the young woman.
