I have written this book to publish facts about the creation of the East Side Gallery because over the last 29 years a false story has been promoted.
This book is dedicated to all those who want a fairer, more caring world and are prepared to do something to achieve it.
All rights reserved
The content of this book is the copyright of Christine MacLean and may not be copied or otherwise reproduced, communicated in any way to third parties, nor stored in any Data Processing System without the express written authority of Christine MacLean.
The author accepts no responsibility for the content of those sections of this book which were written by third parties.
Cover design by Patricia Smart
Cover image taken from a photo of George-Lutz Rauschebart painting at the East Side Gallery. The photo was gifted to the author, photographer unknown.
German National Library bibliographic information: The German National Library lists this publication in the German National Bibliography; detailed bibliographical data can be found on the Internet at www.dnb.de
© 2019 MacLean, Christine
Production and publishing: BoD - Books on Demand GmbH, Norderstedt
ISBN 9783750463370
| BauGB | building legislation |
| CDU – Christlich Demokratische Union Deutschlands | Christian Democratic Union party Germany |
| DM - Deutschmark | West German currency before the Euro |
| FDJ - Freie Deutsche Jugend | Free German Youth, communist youth group |
| FRG | Federal Republic of Germany – West Germany |
| GDR | German Democratic Republic - East Germany |
| Hochschule der Künste | Art College |
| Kaderinstrukteur | Group/unit leader ‘minder’ |
| Magistrat | East Berlin equivalent of the West Berlin Senate |
| Palast der Republik | Palace of the Republic, lovely building which formerly stood in East Berlin |
| PDS – Partei des Demokratischen Sozialismus |
Party of Democratic socialism |
| S-Bahn - Schnellbahn | fast local train which mostly travels overground |
| SED - Sozialistische Einheitspartei Deutschlands | the East German political party (communists) |
| Sekt | German ‘champagne’/sparkling wine |
| SPD – Sozial Demokratische Partei Deutschlands |
German Social Democratic party |
| Stasi - Staatsicherheit | East German state (secret) police |
| U-Bahn - Untergrundbahn | train which mostly travels underground |
Where were you on November 9th 1989 when the Berlin Wall opened? If you are old enough to remember it, then you will almost certainly know your whereabouts. It was one of those amazing, historical events which is easily retrieved from your memory and transports you back to where you were at the time. What happened in Berlin sent ripples of change throughout the world and further reminded us of how we are all interconnected.
Images of joyful people eager to get to the parallel reality which was the West were sent around the world. Their varied emotions of apprehension, curiosity, elation and disbelief at what was taking place were palpable. The throngs seemed to be flowing through openings in the Wall which were too small to accommodate them. There was a sort of rhythm to the movement of so many separate bodies propelled in the same direction flowing like a gentle river. This river brought wave after wave of people to the unknown, uncharted waters of the West. What would they find there?
Where was I? I was there; around 15 minutes walk from Checkpoint Charlie. I had been living in West Berlin since 1979 and feeling unwell, went to bed early on November 9th. Two English friends, Adrian and Peter were visiting and when I got up on the 10th they mumbled something about watching TV and seeing people sitting on top of the Wall. They felt that something important had happened. As they didn’t understand German I assumed they had been watching a film, until I opened one of the windows of my third floor flat in Yorckstrasse. The sound of many car horns assaulted my ears at first and then I noticed the smell, or rather stink, of Trabi. The smell from the East German Trabant cars with their 2 stroke engines is unmistakeable and there appeared to be hundreds of them driving along Yorckstrasse. I knew then that something significant had happened so I switched on the TV to find out that, to everyone’s amazement, the borders were open.
Diary entry 10.11.89
TV and Radio full of the news and reports of people streaming across the border. Traffic on the Kudamm comes to a standstill. The place stinks like East Berlin because of the Trabis. The streets everywhere are fuller but especially the Kudamm. (Note: Kudamm is short for the Kurfürstendamm, probably the most prestigious street in West Berlin).
We had of course to go out and join in the excitement of such a momentous event. We headed down to Checkpoint Charlie and wandered along the Wall soaking up the atmosphere and vibrant mood wanting, like everyone else, to be a part of it. There were lots of people standing or sitting on the Wall, some celebrating with bottles of sekt or beer. Many had a dazed look on their faces, as though unable to believe that they were sitting on the Berlin Wall without someone trying to shoot or arrest them. The atmosphere was electric. I am sure there must have been a huge cloud filled with hope and joy floating above Berlin in those early days. Complete strangers would sometimes grab you in passing and pull you into a warm embrace wanting you to share their sheer joy.
People had already started chipping away at the Wall with chisels, screwdrivers, knives, nail files, basically anything which could be used as a tool to break off a bit of the concrete and reward them with a historical souvenir. It didn’t take the capitalist mentality long to set up stands selling tools or even freshly hacked off parts of the Wall. Many parts of the west side of the Wall were very colourful having been painted or covered in graffiti for years. As days went by the paint on some pieces of the “Berlin Wall” being sold was suspiciously very fresh!
Diary entry 10.11.89
The atmosphere at Checkpoint Charlie and the Brandenburg Gate was joyful, triumphant, with people sitting on the wall and some hammering away at it.
It’s odd isn’t it how we speak of the Berlin Wall falling, for it never fell. To say it fell conjures up images of it suddenly keeling over as though unable to fulfil its function any longer; it was too robust to do that. What did fall and also fail was the dictatorship which had brought the Wall into being.
The members of the East German Government didn’t just wake up one morning and decide that they would allow “their” citizens freedom to travel and maybe think about opening the borders or even removing the Wall. It was the Peaceful Revolution as it is called which forced change.
On Monday October 9th 1989 after the Prayers for peace meeting, something which had been taking place since 1982 in the Nikolaikirche (St Nicholas church) in Leipzig, seventy thousand demonstrators took to the streets and this is considered to be the decisive date in the Peaceful Revolution. Gatherings were then held every Monday in all the large cities in East Germany and the numbers attending continued to increase. They demanded freedom of travel and the removal of the Stasi (secret police). They didn’t suddenly lose their fear of the Stasi or what repercussions their actions might have; they just mastered their fears. They never knew how the Stasi would react - whether they would be beaten, arrested, tortured, imprisoned or just disappear so fear was always in the air.
Events in the GDR were preceded by unexpected developments in Hungary. On 19th August 1989, several hundred GDR citizens used the occasion of a picnic arranged by the Austrian Pan-European Union and Hungarian opposition groups to escape. On 11th September 1989 the Hungarians created an opening in the border between Hungary and Austria enabling GDR citizens to go to the West if they chose. The Hungarians hadn’t consulted the GDR government about this move and by the end of September thousands of GDR citizens had used this exit from the East and entrance to the West. The Eastern Bloc border had thus been breached. The Berlin Wall was erected to stop the droves of people leaving for a better future in the West and you could say it came down for the same reason.
The GDR leadership didn’t let these happenings faze them and carried on as usual as though everything in East Germany was wonderful. Dictators and controllers don’t just give up their power it usually has to be dragged away or removed from under them. Thus the 40th anniversary of the GDR was celebrated with the usual display of killing hardware during the yearly military parade on 7th October 1989. While Erich Honecker, the Secretary General of the GDR and his cronies celebrated in the Palace of the Republic (Palast der Republik) after the parade, thousands of GDR citizens demonstrated their discontent outside the doors.
On November 4th 1989 what was deemed the largest post war demonstration in Germany took place as 1 million people gathered at Alexanderplatz (former East Berlin). On the evening of 9th November 1989 an announcement on GDR television declared that all citizens could travel to the West for any purpose. The GDR government could no longer deny reality and conceded that their reign (of terror) was over. The Stasi didn’t however give up easily and were still attempting to carry on “business as usual” in January 1990.
My Berlin adventure started 10 years before the Wall opened, having moved to West Berlin from Scotland in March 1979. When you look back on your life (once you have enough years behind you to do that) from an adult perspective, you notice how often fate takes a hand in your life. The reason I ended up in Berlin in the first place was through a chance meeting with someone on a ferry. Fate definitely had her eye on me.
I had been working in France for three months as an au pair and whilst on the ferry on my way home to Scotland I met Steve, an Englishman on his way back to England. Steve mentioned during the crossing that he planned to move to Germany and I asked him to keep in touch and let me know if he did. My stay in France had awakened my interest in travelling and I quite fancied going somewhere else. A few months after my return to Scotland Steve wrote me and said he was living in Berlin and if I wanted to go there we could share a flat until his girlfriend came out to join him a few months later. As I had found it difficult to settle back into life in Scotland, I took up the invitation to head to Berlin soon after receiving Steve’s letter.
Budget airlines didn’t exist then and most flights were returns. If you wanted to fly one-way then you normally had to pay the price of a return and just use one leg of the journey. It seems unimaginable now in these days of cheap air travel and one-way tickets. Flying was not an option for me because of the cost involved. To get to Berlin, I took the train from Glasgow to London and after spending a couple of days in Essex with my cousins Joyce and Bobby, I headed for the ferry from Harwich to the Hook of Holland from where I took the train onwards to Berlin.
When buying my ticket at the railway station in Glasgow I remember the woman behind the counter asking me if it was for East Berlin or West Berlin, “West Berlin” said I in a panic, “I don’t want to go to the East.” She replied that I would have to travel through the East to get to West Berlin. It was at that point that I realised the extent of my geographic ignorance. Like many people, as I later discovered, I imagined that West Berlin was at the edge of West Germany when actually it was completely surrounded by the East and enclosed by the Berlin Wall. It was like an island but instead of being surrounded by water it was surrounded by East Germany and the communist state.
I always remember the train journey after we entered East German territory en route to West Berlin. British Rail trains had conductors to check tickets East Germany had border guards carrying guns. I had never seen a gun up close, and it was quite scary, which was of course the intention. It can be nerve wracking anyway to be alone in a foreign country where you share no common language. Communication is reduced to gestures and reading body language, particularly facial expressions. As none of the other five fellow travellers in my train compartment spoke English most of the journey was spent in silence. Fortunately we were travelling through the night, and more interested in getting some sleep between the interruptions to check our documentation than having a conversation.
The soldier looked confused when handed my passport. He then gave me one of those intimidating looks, often the demeanour of those wearing a uniform. A lot of civil servants or uniformed personnel whom I encountered in Germany seemed to have been chosen for their resemblance to guard dogs as they often had a fierce exterior and snapping manner. I soon learned that if you snapped back at them they tended to jump backwards as they weren’t used to that.
The train travelled through East Germany for about two or three hours in order to get to West Berlin. Driving to West Berlin from West Germany took about the same amount of time or even longer, depending on which route was used but border delays happened frequently if the East Germans decided to be awkward.
You could be held up at the start of the transit route as it was called to have your car searched. A car search wasn’t just merely a rummage through your bags and suitcases. It could involve having to remove the back seat or other structures. They were searching for people attempting to escape. The underside of the vehicle would also be checked to see if anyone was prepared to risk their life to escape by hiding under the vehicle. For this they used a mirror mounted horizontally on small wheels which they pushed under the car.
You could be delayed en route and sit in a “traffic jam” for ages although nothing visible appeared to be causing it. If that happened you were expected to stay in your car.
It was strictly forbidden to stop and get out of your car on the transit route. You were literally at the mercy of the East German Border Guards and they knew it. You needed of course to have proper documentation to be able to travel through the “corridor” as the route between West Berlin and West Germany was also named and aptly so. You were timed at the border control when you left and again when you arrived at the other end. This was to ensure that you didn’t stop and try to smuggle someone out, go off route, or meet up with someone from the East. If the time it took you to drive through the corridor didn’t add up to their satisfaction you could find yourself in a lot of trouble.
All entrance and exit roads off the transit route were under strict surveillance. The Border Guards and their cars were so well concealed at these points that you didn’t notice them. Their presence only became obvious to anyone who dared go off route because they perhaps desperately needed to pee. Everyone who travelled the corridor regularly knew that there would be no such thing as a toilet break so either you had to cross your legs tightly for a few hours or pee into a bottle in the moving car (not so difficult for men but quite a trial for women).
If your luck was out you could be held up at the transit border for hours without reason. It was just pure intimidation. It could happen that a border guard spent twenty minutes alternately staring you in the face and then looking at your documentation to decide whether you were really the person you claimed to be. The angrier this treatment made you and especially if you let your anger show or even worse, dared to say something, the longer they kept you waiting. If your passport photo was old, or of poor quality then they could keep you waiting for hours or in the worst case, not let you through at all. After all, to the East Germans you were from the wicked, debauched capitalist West and they probably relished the opportunity to hold power over you, however briefly.
I was in my mid-20s and had been assigned a posting attached to the British Forces Education Service in Western Germany. This was at a time about 30 years after Germany's defeat in the Second World War, when the four main allies in Europe - the United States, Great Britain, the Soviet Union, and France – were still engaged in the joint occupation of the German state, with the original understanding that the partitioned country, East and West would eventually be reunified.
I fell instantly head over heels in love with Germany – its cuisine, its work-hard-play-hard culture, the varied scenery from the smoggy industrial Ruhr to the fresh air and snow clad mountains topped in the springtime with myriad Alpine flowers. From my mid-teens, when I chose the German language as a specialist subject in school, I had become enamoured with all things German, supported by many stories from my father who had been a soldier in Cologne during the Second World War and from newspaper reports of cold-war events. At the earliest opportunity after my arrival, I decided not to spend much time associating with people in the British community and instead, to make friends in the German one. I did not want to live out the East/West Division by only associating with my own nationality; we would never bring down die Mauer (the Wall) if we did not build Brücken (bridges.)
Of my many and varied work projects, one took me regularly to Berlin. I lived in what was then the West and so had the excitement of driving through the West/East corridor with all that that entailed; there were severe restrictions on the movement of East German citizens from East to West. For we Westerners, especially those connected to the British military and governments, the border could be crossed legally only through a limited number of air, road, rail and river routes. I always chose to drive via the border point at Helmstedt, and the Marienborn crossing point, checkpoint codenamed Alpha, then skirting Magdeburg in East Germany, entering East Berlin, under Russian control, via the Potsdam crossing point, known as Checkpoint Bravo. Whichever route and means you took each had its own complications. At Marienborn, you signed in by presenting a passport through a small slot in a tiny cupboard-like room at the Russian check-in point; you had no way of seeing who stood or sat behind it though I was always convinced the Russians could easily see me. Even one comma mismatching on documents was enough for you to be denied access.
Papers presented, you were required to immediately return to your car by presenting the papers again to a Russian or was it an East German guard for final checking and a further salute. The look of misery on some of these young soldiers’ faces triggered in me a deep sense of sadness. On misty mornings it was like something out of a spy movie. But it did add to the mystery and excitement.
The return journey required me to check in at the American crossing point, codenamed Bravo, an altogether different kettle of fish, a huge, spacious room with large posters giving advice and warnings. Then an American official came and gave us, in hurried sharp fashion, a briefing about how we were to proceed through the corridor. We were given a set amount of time to make the journey and given an ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival.) If this time had elapsed and we had not arrived at our destination, then all manner of searches would be undertaken until we were found. We were warned that if we stopped our car for any reason, eg to stop for a pee, and were arrested by East German or Russian soldiers, the Russians being in control of Eastern Germany, then we should not speak, we should only ask for the most senior Russian Officer and then wait till either the next British, French, or American search convoy passed and took us away. Other than that, road crossings were fairly straightforward but slow because of these extensive border formalities and inspections. But it was clear drivers were required to stay on designated transit routes across East Germany.
On one such occasion returning from Berlin, I was aware that the briefing by the American soldier was incredibly detailed and as always, in my experience, rushed. Had I not known previously what the briefing was about I would have been hard pressed to remember it. On this notable occasion I was aware that the only others being briefed with me were a young American soldier and his wife. It was blindingly obvious that both were finding it difficult to understand the briefing information and they looked intimidated and shell shocked. In time we set off in our respective cars. I remember as I exited the car to present my papers to the Russians that I had logged the looks of terror in my fellow American travellers’ faces and had made a mental note that, as far as possible, I would travel the Autobahn slightly slower, within permitted limits, until they caught up with me; after all, we had been briefed to look out for each other along the way so that should we see the other in trouble we could report it at the next border crossing point. We had been briefed never to get out of our car during the travel from East to West or vice versa, along the corridor.
After about an hour’s drive I had a gnawing sense of dread in my gut; my American travellers had not overtaken me and were nowhere to be seen behind. I couldn’t travel more slowly, at least not legally. Had they failed at the first hurdle with the checking-in with the Russians? After about twenty minutes worrying about what I should do, I did what we had been briefed not to do – stop at the next layby which allowed me full view of the autobahn so I could look out for my “friends.” I did not get out of the car!
Within seconds my car was surrounded by Russian soldiers and to this day I know not from whence they “emerged” - presumably the ditch. I did as I was told and wound down my window a fraction in order to say, “Ich möchte bitte mit einem hochrangigen russischen Offizier sprechen,” “I want to speak to a senior Russian officer.” No matter the reply from the Russians my instructions were to say only that one sentence which I had to repeat many times for it seemed they either had no Senior Russian Officer present or had no intention of finding him. This charade continued for several hours by which time I was well past the ETA at the next border crossing-point and had been so distracted it would have been impossible for me to notice if my friends had caught up.
In time, a senior Russian officer appeared; I was suddenly allowed to go and continued on my journey, feeling relieved but also disappointed that I had failed in my mission to be a supportive ally. I reached the Marienborn crossing feeling overwhelmingly glad to have arrived back on western soil; but the real drama was only just about to begin.
The British military knew I was late in arriving by hours and so, without any attempt at conversation, I was frog marched into a small dingy room with a desk and chair and a light bulb overhead. “I’m sure it will swing,” I thought to myself whilst wondering what was going to happen next. This wondering was short lived when a rough sergeant major type official landed me a slap on the face and growled out the question, “Did you not get a briefing and were you not told what to do in the event you had a breakdown?” My efforts to explain that I had not had a breakdown and that I had only wanted to help an ally fell on deaf and stupid, “I’m only carrying out my orders,” ears. I became increasingly concerned at successive blows to my body in places where marks would not be made, and where I was left in no doubt a blow had landed. I wondered how long it would go on. Who had given these orders? Was everyone who defaulted treated this way? Why could they not respond to a reasoned tone and calm, rational explanation?
The question as to why I didn't associate with Brits and socialised instead mainly with Germans was asked by 'the voice'. (I thought to myself, “Well if you know that much about whom I associate with then you should know that my socialising carries no risk to cold war connections between East and West.”) But the more reasonable I became, the worse the nightmare. Hours later, when I heard the voice let me go and instruct me “to never do it again,” I noticed, the light bulb was swinging, but only from the energy, the draught from the flying fists.
I thought that was the end of that but in later years both in Germany and in London, I became the subject of enquiry several times over; it seemed that once a suspect, always a suspect. It left me suspicious of our secret service and whilst I understand the need to carry out orders, the low level of intelligence behind the reasoning and the orders, questions, and the “you’re guilty until we find out otherwise” attitude is something I will never understand. I have forgiven, but I will not forget.
I ought to have felt safe arriving at a British military compound on the East-West border and sure of a warm welcome but instead I was treated like a criminal, shouted at and harangued.
Andrew
Christine’s story
On March 21st 1979 after the long journey from my starting point in Glasgow, I finally arrived in West Berlin at the Zoo train station, (Zoologischer Garten). It was around 6am and still quite dark. My first memory after arrival is of walking through the dingy underground tunnel leading from the station, ascending the steps at the other end and emerging onto Hardenbergstrasse to, what was for me, a very alien world.
The piles of snow at the side of the road bore witness to a long white winter and it was bitterly cold. I had never encountered such cold in Scotland. There seems to be a strange notion that Scotland is freezing cold in winter and we have lots of snow which just isn’t true. In Berlin winters it wasn’t unusual for the temperature to drop as low as -30°C, as I soon discovered. However, unlike Scotland the cold in Berlin is a dry cold which is far preferable to the damp cold in Scotland which seems to make even your bones shiver.
Fortunately I had the advantage of being met at the station by Steve. Although I had only met him fleetingly, it gave me an easier start in Berlin than if I hadn’t known a soul. At that time Steve was renting part of an apartment in Schlüterstrasse in the Charlottenburg district which was in the British sector. Part of an apartment sounds a bit weird and it certainly was weird to me but the landlady had divided her apartment and Steve was renting what we would probably call two rooms, a makeshift kitchen and bathroom within the apartment. That was where I spent the first three months of my new life in West Berlin, sharing Steve’s half of a half apartment.
I fell in love with Berlin when I saw it in the light of day. I can’t explain it but I just felt at home. I loved the wide streets and broad pavements which gave the feeling you had room to expand, could spread your wings, open out and be whatever you wanted.
Although a big city, there was lots of greenery as many streets were graced by beautiful trees and throughout Berlin there were many parks. The old apartment buildings were beautiful and although some ugly modern buildings had been erected between rows of elegant flats because the original building was perhaps destroyed in the war, this didn’t detract from the grand overall effect. Obviously there were some districts which were more attractive than others but the city in its entirety still impressed. West Berlin was divided into districts each one being well supplied with shops removing the need to go to the centre. This meant you got to know your neighbours quicker as it was inevitable you would meet whilst food shopping which you could do on foot.
I really took to the German people and the way of life in Berlin. Noticing the number of pubs and chemists made me initially wonder if this was a nation of drunken hypochondriacs. I had never seen so many chemists anywhere else. Some chemists sold homeopathic remedies along with pharmaceuticals and there were health food shops selling health supplements, organic cosmetics and toiletries long before they became fashionable elsewhere.
Most Germans I met often asked two questions: How old are you? and How many people live in your home town? I found the second question really odd because first of all that isn’t something I or most people I know are even interested in but it seems that a German will judge the size of your town or city by the number of inhabitants. With that they might also suss you out as a townie or country bumpkin. How quaint I thought! You just never stop learning and having the chance to view things from another perspective.
On entering small shops such as bakers it was common for everyone to say good morning or good afternoon. I am not sure if it was addressed solely at the assistants or at the waiting customers as well but it was a nice touch. This was a contrast to the often gruff manner of true Berliners. They even have a name for it “Berliner Schnauze” (Berlin snout)! It took a bit of getting used to but if you gave as good as you got then that was usually respected.
As my accommodation for a few months was sorted the next priority was to find employment. With little knowledge of German, I found my first job as an office worker in one of the British Army stores in Spandau.
A native English speaker in Berlin in the late 70s and 80s easily found work if English was a requirement. Germans didn’t speak English very well in those days, (since then the use of computers has promoted the universal learning of the English language). It was a pretty boring typing job but it was a start. The only downside for me was travelling from Charlottenburg to Spandau every day for a 7am start, a journey which took over an hour. There isn’t much pleasure in leaving the house at 5.30am on cold, dark mornings. Travelling by underground most of the way to work meant that it took me months to figure out where I was when above ground until I started going about by bus or on foot. It was a bit like joining up the dots but in this case the dots were the underground stations and the world above them. After a year I quit that boring job and flew to Greece for adventure on the high seas returning to Berlin a few months later.
West Berlin, probably in common with most big cities, was a transient city where people came and went. Some stayed a few months others several years before either returning to their roots or moving elsewhere.
As under Allied Law (passed after the Second World War) it was forbidden for West Berlin to have its own army it made the city very attractive for those West Germans who disagreed with conscription. A number of them moved to West Berlin to avoid having to serve in the West German army taking advantage of West Berlin’s special status under Allied control. Despite this special status however, some of those opposed to serving in the army were still arrested and jailed by the Berlin Police.
Nikolaus