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A Failed Strawberry Field

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13 August 1961 – A television broadcast celebrates the sale of the one millionth TV set in the DDR.
22 October 1965 – The Sächsische Zeitung reports that cauliflower is finally on sale again.
9 May 1966 – In Rheinsberg, near Berlin, the DDR’s first nuclear power station goes into operation.
7 December 1970 – Bundeskanzler Willy Brandt acknowledges German war crimes by kneeling before the Warsaw Ghetto monument.
27 April 1973 – Manfred Gertzki is killed by East German border guards at the Wall during an escape attempt.

On a Friday afternoon in August 1961, Brigitte and seven-year-old Sabine are sitting under tall pine trees beside a rusty petrol stove on the ground. The stew in the dented pan is almost ready. Brigitte has swept away last summer’s pine needles from around the cooker, to reduce the risk of fire. Sabine is inside the small tent, gathering up the new-fangled plastic plates and the travel cutlery. Mother and daughter arrived five or so days ago. They have reserved a spot for three weeks at the campsite in Schmöckwitz, a fishing village near Berlin, where time has stood still.

Finding somewhere to stay was not easy, as the holiday plans were made at the last minute. There was no longer any chance of applying for a place at an FDGB holiday home. The only options were staying at a private residence or a spot at the campsite. So camping it was. The Baltic was fully booked, but here, on the capital’s doorstep, Brigitte and her daughter were still welcome.

It is not such a bad place. The lakes around Schmöckwitz are good for swimming. And Sabine is at the age when Berlin starts to become interesting: Unter den Linden, Alexanderplatz, and they might even go and take a look at the new workers’ palaces on Stalinallee. Mother and daughter – this is a summer holiday without Gerd. He has stayed at home, as the marriage is going through a rough patch.

Volgas and the odd Chaika or Tatra

Brigitte and Sabine get up early the next morning. It is Saturday 12 August 1961, and they are going to meet up with Aunt Frieda, the sister of Gerd’s dead mother. When the boy was about twelve years old, she took him in. Brigitte has arranged to go to Frieda’s place in the borough of Neukölln at one o’clock. From there, they want to drive to the allotments in Britz, where they will enjoy the summer evening. Brigitte and Sabine are going to stay overnight and plan to travel back on Sunday to Schmöckwitz, where their tent will remain standing in the meantime.

Neukölln and Britz are in the western part of the city, but DDR citizens can still travel to the BRD within Berlin on the S-Bahn, the Stadtschnellbahn. There are 40,000 East Berliners working in West Berlin. Many people also have family on the other side of the border. When you travel to the western part of Berlin, there are checks, but as long as the border police trust that you will return, this is not a problem.

Unusually large suitcases, as if you might be going away for a long time, are suspicious. And you had better not travel with a lot of money or gold – which is also illegal, by the way – as that, too, could indicate a one-way journey. Brigitte and Sabine have little to fear. The fact that Gerd is staying at home makes it likely that they will return to the DDR.

The reunion with Frieda, whom Brigitte has met once or twice before, is an affectionate one. Gerd’s aunt – her long hair has turned silvery white – gives Sabine a warm welcome too. With big pieces of cake to have with their coffee, the three of them arrive at the little house in the allotment complex on the southern edge of the city.

At that same moment, the residents of Prenzlauer Berg in East Berlin are surprised to see official state vehicles leaving the city along the F-109 and heading north. Volgas drive past, and even the odd Chaika and Tatra. These are the cars of the Party bigwigs: ministers, state secretaries and members of the Politbüro, the SED’s highest political body.

Division of property

No one on the streets of Berlin knows what is going on. And maybe that is just as well. This Saturday, Walter Ulbricht, the Chairman of the State Council, has invited the most powerful men in the country to Groß Dölln, an idyllic village on the wide and almost uninhabited Schorfheide. This is the location of the East German government’s official guesthouse. It is a house with an eventful history.

Hermann Göring, the Nazi number two, had it built as a Gästehaus at his Carinhall estate. The eccentric Reichsmarschall with the fantasy uniforms shamelessly lived out his childhood dreams here: hunting parties in which he, as the Reichsjägermeister, the Reich’s master of the hunt, was allowed to shoot the largest deer; a gigantic model railway in the basement of one of the outbuildings; and lion cubs – supplied by the zoo in Berlin – roaming around the drawing rooms like pet cats. Various events that took place under the roof of Göring’s guesthouse made the newspapers, but what is about to happen today will fill the pages of history books.

At exactly four o’clock, Frieda pours the coffee in Britz and shares out the Kuchen. At that same moment, Ulbricht asks his visitors to take a seat around the large table for a light afternoon meal. No one seems to know why they are all here. Almost everyone of any significance in the SED’s leadership is present. The only one missing is Erich Honecker, the Security Secretary of the Central Committee, the party’s executive organ.

The confusion has still not abated when dinner is served a few hours later. Has Ulbricht really gathered them all together for an informal meeting, a geselliges Beisammensein, as it says on the invitation? Without their wives? And on their free Saturday evening?

At ten o’clock, all becomes clear. Ulbricht asks his guests to be seated at the table once again, and he takes the floor. ‘Tonight,’ he says, ‘we are adopting the security measures that have become necessary.’ The truth is out. Those present immediately understand what is happening: the border between East and West is to be closed in Berlin too. There can no longer be any doubt that a wall will rapidly be constructed. The city is to be divided in two, like property upon a divorce, or family possessions following the death of both parents.

Suddenly it makes sense that it is Honecker who is not in attendance this evening. He has to coordinate activities at the Berlin borders, where almost 20,000 soldiers and policemen will be deployed tonight. There is little that Ulbricht’s dining companions can do, even if they wanted to. It is late in the evening, they are eighty kilometres from the city, and none of them have their own means of communication. It is a brilliant move by their political leader, who is undoubtedly acting with Russian approval.

End of the journey

When Sabine has gone to bed, Brigitte and Frieda sit at the table with glasses of Sekt for a long time. They hear nothing about the hectic situation in the city. On the East Berlin side, just before midnight, the streetlights go out. There is extra security at the border crossings, and heavy army trucks can be heard all around.

They are transporting troops, construction materials and, at this stage, mainly barbed wire. The road surface of Ebertstraße, near Potsdamer Platz, is being broken up, to make it impossible for cars to pass, head-height barriers have suddenly appeared on Pariser Platz, and Bernauer Straße, which is directly on the border between East and West, has been closed.

The S-Bahn also comes to a standstill. The trains to the West stop, the passengers are told to get out and are given a form that will allow them to reclaim the money for their ticket. End of the journey.

When the people of Berlin wake up the next morning, a barrier constructed of rolls of barbed wire, opened out like an accordion, runs from north to south. There are heavily armed soldiers everywhere, and Vopos, agents of the Volkspolizei. From now on, there truly are two Berlins. People who work in the other part of the city will have to look for new jobs.

This comes as a great shock to Brigitte and Frieda. Once again, individual lives are being capsized by the tides of history. An agitated neighbour wakes Frieda and her guests shortly before seven. He tells them that RIAS, the radio station in the American Sector, was the first to report the closed border, at three thirty that morning. Soon, alarming reports start coming through. On the DDR side of the border, tanks and other heavy army vehicles are said to be ready and waiting. Are the Russians planning to invade West Berlin?

Around noon, small crowds gather everywhere. On both sides of the barriers, residents of one and the same city wave desperately at one another. Friends, loved ones, relatives, parents and children.

Only more final

Meanwhile, the residents of the eastern part of the city have realised that the SED dictatorship is responding to the impromptu demonstrations with tear gas and batons. The reaction of the international community is relatively resigned. The American president, John F. Kennedy, for example, happily remembered by Berliners for the famous words he spoke later, in 1963 (‘Ich bin ein Berliner!’), comments laconically on the situation: ‘It’s not a very nice solution, but a wall is a hell of a lot better than a war.’

It is Willy Brandt, the mayor of West Berlin, who comes out with the harshest words. He speaks on the radio about an ‘empörendes Unrecht’, an appalling injustice, comparing the barriers, still provisional for now, to the barbed-wire fences around concentration camps.

This Sunday morning, Brigitte has no idea what to do. She has been shut out of her own country. It is like forgetting the key to your front door, only more final. Frieda asks her to stay. She wants to accompany her nephew’s wife to the Notaufnahmelager Marienfelde, the reception centre for refugees from the DDR. Over the years, many hundreds of thousands of East Germans find new homes in the BRD from this place.

It is hard for Brigitte to imagine not going back. West Germany – that means another life, not only separated from her parents, but also separated from Gerd. It is a bizarre twist of fate. Just as the couple are thinking of splitting up, she finds out what it means not to be together. Gerd is on the other side of the border. She is here, in the West. Is that really what she wants? And what should she tell Sabine?

And so the decision is made to return. Brigitte does not know if it will work, but she wants to try, on the day when many of her compatriots are doing whatever they can to get to where she is: West Berlin. On the radio, Brigitte hears that public transport between the two parts of the city has come to a stop. Maybe she can get a train on the Berliner Stadtbahn, the East–West connection in the heart of the city. A radio reporter suggests that the tracks on this line have not yet been cut, as is already the case on many other routes. Quickly, she packs her belongings and travels with Sabine to the Zoologischer Garten station. There is chaos on the platform.

When an S-Bahn train pulls into the station after a good hour, it feels like a minor miracle. Looking back, it must have been one of the last trains of the day, maybe even the very last one. Brigitte takes the train to Bahnhof Friedrichstraße, where she and the other passengers are ordered to get off. Everyone’s papers are checked, and those with West German documents are told they cannot go any further. However, the border guards allow Brigitte and her daughter to continue their journey. Her East German passport has saved her. Twenty-four hours later, everything has changed, and those who have been locked out have to stay out for good.

The night of 12 August 1961 reminds Brigitte of that Tuesday night in Dresden when Allied bombs wiped out the city. Everything was different afterwards, and today is like that too. As if someone has flicked a switch, drawn a thick line, slammed a door. Six hours ago, Brigitte said goodbye to Aunt Frieda. She gave her a hug, but her mind was already elsewhere. It will prove to be their final farewell; the two women never see each other again.

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De Wintertuin, p. 241-247
Translation: Laura Watkinson

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