For the small handful of Holocaust survivors living in Tasmania, the mark of trauma can never be erased.
As a result of the calamity wrought by the Third Reich, these survivors have extraordinary stories to tell.
Felix Goldschmied, an 81-year-old retired orthodontist from Launceston, was just a small child when his Jewish father was put in a labour camp after Germany occupied what was then known as Czechoslovakia.
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A tanner with a leather factory in the city of Brno, Dr Goldschmied's father had a reputation for being a master craftsman.
"The factory was huge," Dr Goldschmied said. "It [had] little trains running through it."
"I know that because in 1941, he would take me to the factory occasionally."
The Nazis eventually took control of Walter Goldschmied's factory and asked him to work for them, which he refused to do.
So he was sent to Theresienstadt, a concentration camp in the north-west of the Czech Republic, where he was made to break rocks.
The young Dr Goldschmied's mother was well-educated and spoke fluent German, which she subsequently exploited to bluff her way out of trouble, protect her family and aid the underground resistance movement being waged against the Third Reich.
Dr Goldschmied recalled a time when he accompanied his mother on a train to Prague, near Theresienstadt.
"She carried these suitcases," he said of his mother. "I didn't know what was in [them]."
"My father and a gang of people were working behind the fence.
"And my mother pushed these suitcases underneath the fence where they were digging and the suitcases disappeared."
Dr Goldschmied said he never found out what was in the suitcases but that he suspected it was either food or medicine.
"I had to keep guard [and] whistle or sing a song if I saw anybody approaching because it was right under the Gestapo's noses," he said.
When the Nazis threatened the wellbeing of his family, Walter agreed to work in the factory again.
In a cunning act of revenge, the adroit tanner made leather for his oppressors in such a way that as soon as it was punctured and moisture got into it, it would begin to disintegrate.
"The Germans got to Stalingrad with their beautiful shiny boots in the snow ... and the boots disintegrated," Dr Goldschmied said.
"So the Gestapo arrested him, of course."
Most of Dr Goldschmied's family ended up at Auschwitz, where they died.
My mother pushed these suitcases underneath the fence [of the concentration camp] where they were digging and the suitcases disappeared.Felix Goldschmied, Holocaust survivor
But his father was one of very few people that managed to escape Birkenau, a camp that had been created to ease congestion at Auschwitz.
Having run into nearby forest, Walter was caught by a group of Jewish partisans.
In disbelief, he asked one of the partisans, 'Is that you, Oskar? Don't you recognise me?'
The man told him he didn't.
"I'm your brother," Walter replied.
It was with the help of Oskar that Walter was able to flee. He was eventually reunited with his wife, who hid him from the Gestapo.
Miraculously, the young Dr Goldschmied, his parents and his younger brother Karel survived the war.
But almost as soon as German rule ended, Stalinist rule took its place.
"[My father] happened to be a capitalist," Dr Goldschmied said. "And a lot of capitalists were disposed of [by the communists]."
"He was going to a convention in the capital Prague by car and a truck ran into him ... and he died subsequently."
In 1948, Dr Goldschmied and his brother were taken by boat to Australia under a Russian initiative to transport Jewish youth from war-torn Europe to other parts of the globe.
When he and Karel set off on their voyage, they had no idea they'd never see their mother again.
After they left, restraints were placed on migration, forcing their mother to remain in the Czech Republic.
Dr Goldschmied said being separated from his mother was a "horrible" experience.
"It's left its marks," he said.
Following a disastrous voyage which saw the SS Derna catch on fire and all its food go off, the Goldschmied boys arrived in Australia, where they were eventually settled in a children's home in Melbourne.
Talented academically, Dr Goldschmied studied dentistry at the University of Melbourne and started his own practice once he'd graduated.
In the late 1960s, he got a job as the resident dentist for employees of the Rosebery zinc mine and so moved to the small town on Tasmania's West Coast with his wife Pam.
After two years, Dr Goldschmied went to Scotland where he completed a master's degree in orthodontics.
He then returned to Tasmania, where he practiced as an orthodontist in Launceston.
Dr Goldschmied isn't the only Holocaust survivor living in the North.
George Goldsteen, 77, of Launceston, was formerly a lecturer at the Australian Maritime College. He was born to a Jewish father and a Dutch mother in the Netherlands at the height of World War II.
Mr Goldsteen's memories of wartime are sketchy but he's stitched together a picture of his late father through interviews and paper trails.
"As a result of interviews I had with my mother and uncle, I've gotten to know him a bit - my father," Mr Goldsteen said. "It's obviously still a big hole in my life that I've never consciously known [my father]."
Like Dr Goldschmied's mother, Mr Goldsteen's father was a member of the resistance.
"He went into the resistance to find hiding places for people and distribution cards so they could get food and money and what have you," Mr Goldsteen said.
"Because Jews were not allowed to make use of any public transport, he had to get a falsified personal identity card, because the one that he got from the authorities had a big 'J' stamp on it."
Mr Goldsteen's father was on a train to Amsterdam when two Dutch Nazi sympathisers, accompanied by a German soldier, began checking people's papers.
Due to how suspiciously new Mr Goldsteen's father's papers appeared, the Dutch Nazis asked the soldier to guard him.
"My father, because he was born in Germany, was fluent in German," Mr Goldsteen said. "So he spoke to that soldier and he said, 'How about letting me go?'"
"And [the soldier] said, 'I would like to let you go, but [with] these damned Nazis, you're scared for your own skin'."
Mr Goldsteen's father's arrest set in motion a chain of events which led to him being placed in the transit camp, Westerbork, in the northern part of the Netherlands.
He went into the resistance to find hiding places for people and distribution cards so they could get food and money and what have you.
Following a brief time at Auschwitz, he was taken to a camp in Austria called Mauthausen-Gusen, where he later died.
Due to intense hunger and continuous hard labour, Mr Goldsteen's father was taken to the sick barracks there in April 1945.
An eyewitness to his father's death gave an account to Mr Goldsteen's mother of what happened to his father.
"Basically, he was beaten to death," Mr Goldsteen said. "Because according to the eyewitness, he was taken in by a kapo."
Kapos were prisoners who aided the Nazis in supervising labour in the concentration camps, among other duties.
The kapo told Mr Goldsteen's father to get in a bunk which already had six people in it, who weren't Jews themselves but prisoners-of-war.
"And these guys were not particularly keen on getting a sixth person there," Mr Goldsteen said.
"They started [saying things] like 'dirty Jew' to my father.
"And then the kapo beat him with a stick and he must have fallen down."
A medic saw Mr Goldsteen's father dying in a bunk later that day and injected air into one of his arteries, causing a bubble of air to hit his heart and kill him.
Mr Goldsteen said his father's contribution to the resistance movement would be his lasting legacy.
"[He knew] he had to do something," Mr Goldsteen said.
The compassionate sensibility of their parents live on in both Mr Goldsteen and Dr Goldschmied.
When Dr Goldschmied was studying at Box Hill High School in 1950s, he befriended an Aboriginal boy named Max who he used to sit next to in class.
"I knew that if he didn't get his intermediate, he had no chance, socially and work-wise," he said. "So I made sure that his exam results were sufficient."
About 20 years later, Dr Goldschmied bumped into Max.
"[He said], 'I'm here representing such-and-such a company' and he was beautifully dressed," Dr Goldschmied said.
"And I thought, 'Well, it was worth it'."
Dr Goldschmied said he used to sit next to Max because "nobody else would".
"I knew what it felt like," he said.