There are a few dates in history when the world turned. June 28th, 1914, when shots fired by Govrilo Princip in Sarajevo, set off a train of events which resulted in the outbreak of the First World War. April 19th, 1775, when the first shot fired on Lexington Green, Massachusetts, sparked the American Revolution, memorably described by Ralph Waldo Emerson as 'the shot heard around the world'. November 22nd, 1963, when another shot rang out across Dealey Plaza, Dallas, Texas, killing John F. Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States. 9/11/2001 when two Boeing 767 passenger planes flew into the Twin Towers.
9th November, 1989 is one of those dates: the day, or rather the night, when the Berlin Wall fell.
When these things happen, we immediately recognise their huge significance. Years later, we can say where we were, what we were doing, when we heard the news. In that moment, we can't always see all the ramifications, but we know something very big has happened. The actual causes of the world changing events that follow might be complex, go back years, decades, even centuries, but there is that one thing, one event, which causes the dominoes to fall.
This does not have to be violent, it could be minor, trivial even. As small as the turning of a page...
On 9th November, 1989, at 6pm a News Conference took place in East Berlin...
'The News Conference was due to start at 6pm promptly, live on East German TV. The usual thing. TV cameras ranged round the back and sides of the small rooms. Reporters in the centre, milling about, taking their red plush tip up seats in front of the East German spokespeople, four of them, ranged behind a long press conference desk which was the same drab mid brown as the wall panelling and raised at the front to hide their papers from view. Muddy green floor to ceiling drapes provided the backdrop. Microphone leads trailed from each station but the only one speaking was Günter Shabowski, the East German unofficial spokesman. Middle aged, thick set with heavy features, grey hair, grey suit, he droned in monotone German ... They were about an hour in and, so far, pretty routine, nothing much said, nothing new anyway, just the usual water tread, change was coming but not quite yet .... Someone even reached to switch off the set when Schabowski picked up a sheet of paper and read a statement: East Germans would be able to leave the GDR without preconditions at all border crossings with West Germany. Everyone leaned forward. There was a moment of absolute silence, as if they could not quite believe what they had just heard. On the screen, people looked to one another, as if for confirmation, and then the hubbub started. An Italian journalist stood up and asked the question: When is this going to happen? A collective intake of breath as Schabowski shrugged, shuffled thorough his papers and answered: Das tritt nach meiner Kenntnis... ist das sofort... unverzüglich - As far as I know… this is immediate… immediately.
Schabowski frowned and looked over his glasses stunned, perhaps, by what he’d just said. Over the page was the detail: the need to apply for travel permits, present passports for stamping, beginning the next day. The 10th. But he hadn’t read that.
History turns on such small things.'
This is an extract from my work in progress, provisionally called the Berlin Birdwatchers but the title is likely to change. It's a contemporary spy novel, but the events go back to that night in Berlin. As a historical novelist, it is my task to take myself back to the past, to see with the eyes of those present, to re-create events as they are happening.
From outside, laughter, cheering, shouting. People were already out on the streets, making their way to the neopalladian splendour of the Brandenburg Gate with its four bronze horses pawing the sky. For so long, it had stood in brooding isolation behind a 3.6 metre high line of concrete, separating East and West. It would be attracting Berliners from both sides, like iron filings to a magnet.
‘Come on, let’s go.’ Rob grabbed her hand. ‘We can’t miss this.’
Outside, people were leaving their offices and apartment blocks, coming out of the shops, bars and cafes, joining from every side street and alleyway, all going towards the Brandenburg Gate. And then - there it was.
The Wall.
No guards, no barriers, warning signs rendered meaningless, the crowd was right against it looking up at people standing on the top. East Berliners. Many hands reached to help them down and into the West, welcoming them with Sekt, schnapps and beer. The crowd was laughing, cheering, dancing, many were crying. Perfect strangers kissed and parted in wild celebration. West Berliners were clambering on each other shoulders to be hauled up to join their brothers and sisters. The Wall, hated and feared for so long had suddenly become just a strip of graffiti strewn concrete. People straddled the top, beating at it, chipping away with tools they brought for that purpose. A man wielded a pickaxe. All along the wall, hammer and sickle was giving way to hammer and chisel.’
The rest, as they say, is history…
This is my last post for The History Girls. I was a founder member and, over the years, I’ve made many friends among this group of extraordinarily gifted women. I’m still amazed at the range and depth of their knowledge and their generosity in sharing this with our readers. So, my thanks to my fellow bloggers and of course to Mary Hoffman, who has kept us all going. I am, and will always be, proud to have been a History Girl!
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| A section of the Berlin Wall. Imperial War Museum, London |
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