Christmas in East Germany

Normally travel documents came back through the hatch within a couple of minutes, warm from the photocopier and authenticated with a Russian stamp. On this occasion I was kept waiting for about 10 minutes and I began to feel uneasy

The most worrying incident during my tour in Berlin occurred on the early morning of 26 December 1979. I had remained on duty at the RAF Number 26 Signals Unit Teufelsberg until midnight on Christmas Day trying to make sense of a situation developing thousands of miles away to the east that would soon hit the world’s headlines (what turned out to be the eventually ill-fated Soviet invasion of Afghanistan). After a mere couple of hours sleep, I set out for the long drive back to my home in Lincolnshire to spend what was left of Christmas with my family. I left RAF Gatow at 0400 and drove through empty streets to the Allied Checkpoint Bravo at the southern end of the American Sector of Berlin.

For those not familiar with the Berlin situation in 1979, and I find as the years go by that more and more of my readers are not, let me explain that from 1945-1990 the city was governed by the four military powers: France, USA, UK, and the Soviet Union. Each of the four 'Big Powers' had been 'allocated' their own sector within the city at the end of the 1939-45 war. The unfortunate Germans were left out in the cold - which explains why the capital of West Germany was, for many years, located in Bonn and not Berlin. Three of the sectors, the American, British and French, were collectively known as West Berlin while the Soviet Sector was known as East Berlin. It is also important to note that the city of Berlin, all four sectors, was entirely located inside East Germany. East Berlin also functioned as the capital of East Germany (Deutsche Demokratische Republik or DDR). (For a more 'political' explanation try here )

British military personnel wishing to transit between West Berlin and West Germany, and vice versa, had to do so via what was known as the Central Corridor. This started at Checkpoint Bravo and ended 160 kms further west at Checkpoint Alpha near Helmstedt in West Germany. There was a very strict protocol that defined the procedures for military personnel crossing the borders of East Germany by road.

On arrival at Checkpoint Bravo my documentation was checked by British military personnel. I was given the standard briefing, and I signed to confirm that I was familiar with the rules and knew what to do in the event of a breakdown or emergency. I was then booked out for the transit through East Germany. A few kilometres further on, after driving through a bleak no-man's land, I pulled into the Soviet Checkpoint on the East German border near Dreilinden. The huge floodlit area was empty of people and vehicles and it was very eerie. In accordance with the rules, I stopped in front of a solitary Soviet soldier at the only one of the dozen or so traffic lanes that was manned. I got out of my car, closed the door and locked it. Part of the protocol was that military vehicles were not allowed to be searched. The guard and I formally saluted each other together. Rank was not important; the salutes were intended to be friendly gestures between Allies.

The travel document on the left, always known by its Russian name 'pootyovka', (click on the image to download a larger version) actually refers not to my Christmas 1979 trip but to my final transit through the corridor when I had a small trailer containing my personal belongings attached to my car. The trailer was sealed and it was not permitted for the Soviet guards to check the contents although it could, at a squeeze, have harboured an East German defector, but it didn't!

The soldier walked slowly around my car, checked that the registration number matched the details on the pootyovka and then handed the papers back to me. We exchanged salutes once more and then he indicated that I should walk over to a small hut about 200 metres away. Not a word was spoken.

Inside the building I pushed my documents through the familiar small hatchway. The window above the hatch was shuttered as usual but by bending down to slide the papers through, as I always did, I could see that the normally busy office beyond was almost empty but I couldn't see who took the papers. A TV was on in the corner of the waiting room, tuned to the main West Berlin channel which was showing a Christmassy programme. A selection of English and Russian language magazines and newspapers lay on a table. Conscious of the CCTV camera staring down on me from the ceiling in a corner, I ignored the Russian literature and picked up an English magazine and sat down to wait. Normally travel documents came back through the hatch within a couple of minutes, warm from the photocopier and authenticated with a Russian stamp. On this occasion I was kept waiting for about 10 minutes and I began to feel uneasy.

When my papers were eventually thrust back through the hatch, I could see that the person doing the pushing was wearing the uniform of a Soviet Army Lieutenant Colonel rather than the more usual corporal or sergeant. I am quite certain that the officer made sure I could see his rank, one higher than mine, because, quite unnecessarily, he leaned as far forward as the hatchway permitted. He said "thank you, have a pleasant journey" in excellent English and I departed without a word. I showed the documents once again to the guard, he checked that they had been stamped with the Soviet authority to proceed and then handed them back to me. We saluted each other again and I got back into my car. I made a note of the time and then drove on into the German Democratic Republic. The time was important because I could not afford to arrive at the next Soviet checkpoint 160 kms away in less than two hours otherwise I would have exceeded the strict 80kph speed limit somewhere along the route – and that was a crime and contrary to the Allied protocol.

Those next two hours were a worrying time. The road was a single carriageway for most of the way and often passed through forests. It was extremely dark!  I'm sure I spent as much time watching in my rear view mirror as I did watching the road in front but there was absolutely nothing to be seen apart from occasional stationary East German police patrol cars - who were doubtless reporting my progress to someone. We ignored each other because military personnel of the Allied Powers were not subject to East German jurisdiction. After 2 hours 5 minutes I pulled up at the Soviet Checkpoint at the West German border. The procedure was the same as at the Berlin end. After exchanging salutes, I handed my documents over to the Border guard and I could see that he was older than the average Soviet border guard although he wore no badges of rank. He waved me over to the Police Post without even bothering to check my documentation. Now that was very unusual! Inside the hut, my documents were checked and stamped again in a very short space of time and with great relief I went back to my car.

Instead of coming out to stand by my vehicle, the guard remained inside his sentry box this time, contrary to the protocol, and held his hand out for my documents. I handed them over at full stretch. Without looking at them he moved back a further couple of paces into his box and gestured me to move closer. I declined. He spoke to me in Russian. "Have you something you wish to swap?" he asked. I knew that sometimes British servicemen handed over chocolate or cigarettes as a gesture of Allied friendship but that was strictly against the rules. I ignored his question and said in English, "Please check my documents and let me through." He persisted, always in Russian, for what seemed like ages but was probably only a couple of minutes. I assumed that there were hidden cameras and microphones and that they were trying to get a photograph of me handing over something to the Soviet soldier. In the end I snapped at him and said curtly and loudly in English, "Check my documents and hand them back."

Suddenly a voice came over a hidden loudspeaker inside the sentry box. The language was possibly Ukrainian or some other similar to Russian so I could understand only a little of what was being said. It was certainly an order to the guard. He came smartly out of his box, handed over my documents, still not having looked at them, said "Thank you Squadron Leader, Happy Christmas" in English, and saluted.

A few minutes later I was in the safety of the British Checkpoint at Helmstedt. Before leaving my car however, I checked that the black cotton I'd stuck between the body of the car and the boot lid before leaving Gatow was unbroken and then went to book in. Travellers were required to report anything unusual that happened during their transit through East Germany and I had to spend the next couple of hours tediously making a written statement of my little adventure.

When I eventually reached home in Lincolnshire later that day, the whole world was talking about the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan - and I had to pretend to be surprised.

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