Bricked Up

Shortly after I had moved to Belgrade in Serbia, I heard an incredible family story. It recounted how my wife’s grandfather Branko and his brother Pera had hidden their car, a 1936 Studebaker, from both the fascist Nazis and the communist Partisans by concealing it in a garage, which they then bricked up behind a false wall.

Imagining the rasping sound of the trowel against the mounting red brick, I was instantly struck by the allegorical connotations of this anecdote. I felt like an archaeologist who had just stumbled upon a beautifully preserved artefact, and in my excitement, I knew that there was more to this story lying beneath my feet, just waiting to be excavated.