Russia at war 1941-1945

communists were "Moscow" Germans. According to Wolfgang Leonhard, at that time a close associate of Ulbricht's, it was the "Ulbricht Group", working in close co-operation with the Russians, who were chiefly responsible for the appointments. It was also

Ulbricht who insisted, in June 1945, on the dissolution of the "anti-fascist committees"

who had constituted themselves in Berlin spontaneously and "from below", and on their virtual replacement by the political parties, as authorised by Zhukov. It was these parties, especially the Communist Party, which were to provide administrative cadres for the

Soviet Zone. (Wolfgang Leonhard, op. cit., pp. 323-35).]

He said he had lived well till 1942, and had had a large income, but then hard times came, and he had lost 60 lbs. in weight. The constant bombings of Berlin had got him down. Now he was saying all the right things. General Berzarin had "done him the great honour" of appointing him Oberbürgermeister of Berlin. The feeding of Berlin was a terrible problem, since the Nazis had destroyed all the food-stores, saying: "While we are here you'll have food, but when the Bolsheviks take over, you'll starve". But things were not nearly as bad as the Germans—very frightened at first—had expected. The Red Army had presented Berlin with a thousand lorries for clearing the rubble and doing some

reconstruction, and they had placed a car at his (Werner's) disposal, since he lived ten miles from his office and also a bodyguard of six soldiers. He also said: "Marshal Stalin gave us twenty-five million marks, and the Marshal's magnanimous gesture has been

deeply appreciated by all Berliners." By the end of the summer, schools would be opened, "and when I raised the question of religious tuition with General Berzarin, he said, 'You can educate them in a religious spirit for all I care'. I rejoiced at these words, for I and my family are very devout Lutherans."

There was, he said, even a religious department at the Berlin Town Hall, headed by a Catholic priest, Father Buchholz, who had been locked up in a concentration camp after July 20. At Lichterfelde, Werner said, he had a garden, and some lovely rose-bushes, and he hoped he could soon retire; but now he felt it his duty to do whatever he could to rehabilitate the German people in the eyes of the world. They had fallen so fearfully low.

There was something pathetic about this old-time conservative German. Pathetic in a

different way was Herr Geschke, a seedy little man with bloodshot eyes, who seemed in miserable health and almost half-demented. This former German communist deputy had

been in a concentration camp for twelve years. He was now head of the Welfare

Department at the Berlin Town Hall and, as he told his story of torture and gas-chambers, he suddenly broke down and wept.

Germans released from concentration camps—even broken reeds like Geschke—played

an importent part during those early weeks in Berlin in selecting personnel for the

Russian-sponsored administration, and in doing "democratic" propaganda and denazification work. Before the constitution of the four parties authorised by the Russian authorities, an organisation called ANTIFA was active in purging the administration and in running the "cultural life" of Berlin—and particularly the Berlin radio.

In a sense, the Russians were building on sand; for soon the greater part of Berlin was going to be taken over by "the others". The Russians were invariably bitter about it, claimed that they were building up a coherent anti-Nazi Germany, but that, in Berlin, at any rate, "all this good work would go to pot". I was to remember some of these arguments when, three years later, they attempted their abortive Berlin Blockade.

This was a different Berlin from what it had been. Subdued, frightened, grateful for small mercies, grateful even for a revival of some of the old Berlin frivolity. In one of the surviving buildings of the Kurfürstendamm there was a cabaret attended by well-dressed Germans with furtive looks, by tarts and Russian officers. The whole show was

unspeakably vulgar. Some dirty little song about sonny asking Grandpa whether he and Grandma had really made love in their time and granddad replying: "Olala", or some such muck. Then a tall boy with a guitar boomed Russian folksongs in broken Russian

and a "Song of Transylvania" with the refrain: "Deine Augen brennen heisser als Paprika" ("Your eyes burn hotter than paprika"), then there was a tap-dancer, a xylophone player, and a Polish or Jewish female who howled Parlez-moi d'amour. There were no anti-Nazi cracks, but the theme-song was a boost for local Berlin patriotism. It was called Berlin kommt wieder, and the slimy audience kept joining in with great gusto.

At the stall they sold copies of this song, and at the buffet some foul ersatz orangeade.

The managers of the cabaret cringed and bowed deeply to the Russian officers.