“These forged wartime identity papers show a passport sized photograph of my grandmother Kryszia with freshly dyed blond hair staring straight ahead. A new and necessary look to heighten her Aryan credentials, along with her acquired, nondescript Polish name and unlikely declared profession of ‘typist’.  How to measure the fear and desperation in those eyes, hiding from a regime programmed to turn you, your family and your culture into ash.”  Extract from The Objects of Love, by Oliver Sears.