Peter Davidson

Twenty years ago, I listened with dumfounded awe to the news that the Berlin Wall may be broken sometime in the next twenty-four hours. This was history in the making and, being only 600 miles away, it was occurring almost on my doorstep. A friend agreed and having nothing better to do, we climbed into my car, caught the dawn channel ferry to Europe and headed East. By dusk we were in the queue to enter East Germany, flanked by a flock of rusty trabants being pushed (in order to save petrol or broken down, I never found out) by their owners towards the waiting and determinedly surly Stasi boarder-guards. A sense of the end of an era, almost defeat, was palpable in their lackluster approach to the bureaucracy. Our passports were examined, stamped and we were waved away to drive the narrow ‘approved’ corridor to West Berlin and warned of the dire consequences if we ever deviated from this road. Sometime after dawn my John awoke me to tell me he wasn’t sure where we were …

How we became lost in the East Berlin rush hour, illegal and dangerously low on fuel I have no idea to this day. Half-awake East Berliners gazed at us in curiosity from the street and from the surrounding traffic, within their smoky, mud-coloured trabants at our glaringly Western Japanese car. We nervously smiled as they stared back with studied disinterest. As we traveled along the wrong side of The Wall, we counted the Stasi guards, their guns slung over their shoulders, ever watchful, at hundred yard intervals. There seemed no sign of the impending destruction of the wall, from this side at least. Queues of people shuffled obediently, dully, along the wall. No one smiled. When we found ourselves by chance at the Brandenburg Gate, it was eerily empty of people. Beyond the old battle-scarred monument, I could see a tall TV platform on the other side, it’s crew and camera looking over the wall towards us. There were glimpses of flags being waved. Somehow we had to get to West Berlin before we were arrested or ran out of fuel. Or both. West Berlin seemingly didn’t ‘exist’ – there were no road signs acknowledging it’s existence. (more to follow)