A Time of Peace (28 page)

That remark filled her with joy. Yes, she was! And she'd fight anyone who said she wasn't. It had taken the trauma of the last few months to bring it to the surface, but the strength and determination had been there all the time.

‘Well,' she said, ‘what do you suggest I do?'

The Chief snorted. ‘Don't tempt me, Kate Freeman, you may be a friend of the big boss here, but I'm under
pressure and I don't give a damn if he kicks me out. So, if you're such a wonderful photographer, why don't you go to Berlin and get some pictures?'

Why not? ‘All right, I will.' As she walked across the newsroom, Andrew bellowed, ‘I want exclusive rights to them.'

‘It will cost you,' she called back.

‘If they're any good, you can name your price, as long as we're the only paper with them.'

Joel gave her a thumbs-up sign and she left with a grin of delight on her face. She'd get his pictures, and make him pay for their new shop.

Pete couldn't hide his worry about Kate's plan. Although she appreciated everyone's concern for her, it was time she came out fighting. She wouldn't budge in her resolve to do this, and Pete had to admit that it might bring in enough money to open the other shop sooner than next year.

‘How are you going to get there?' he asked, sensing that it would be useless to argue with her.

‘Fly if I can. I want to get there as quickly as possible, and, as we're busy on Saturday, I'll see if I can get a flight on Sunday.'

Pete considered this carefully. ‘I'm sure Terry would help out if you want to go sooner.'

‘Do you think he would?' Now she had made up her mind she was eager to get going.

‘He told me on Monday he'd be around if we need him.'

‘That's great!' Kate opened her purse to see how much money she had. ‘I'll pop along to the bank and draw out some cash and then see if I can book a flight for tomorrow.'

‘You take care,' Pete told her, ‘it might be dangerous.'

‘I'll be careful.' She gave a slight shrug. ‘I doubt if anything could be as dangerous as being in that locked room with Derek Howard.'

Pete nodded grimly. ‘Nevertheless, I wish I could go with you.'

‘Don't worry. I'm just going to take some pictures, make Andrew Stevenson pay an exorbitant price for them, and then we'll open another shop. You can start looking for a suitable place.'

It was Wednesday the 9th of August, when Jon arrived in Berlin. The year 1961 was certainly proving to be busy for him. There was still turmoil and conflict in the Congo and Algeria, and now it looked as if a highly dangerous situation was developing in Berlin. It was late afternoon and people were hurrying along, heads down, not talking or smiling. Was Khrushchev going to declare war on the West, or was it just posturing on the part of the Soviets?

He could feel the tension in the city as he walked the streets looking for Gerhard's address. When they'd spent a couple of days together in Paris, Gerhard had said Jon could stay with him if he came to Berlin. He hoped the offer was still open.

He usually arrived somewhere when fighting was already going on, but this was different: the atmosphere was one of worry and waiting. Everyone was sure something was going to happen. But what? The question was so strong in the minds of Berliners it was almost audible. The only ones who didn't seem overly concerned were the politicians.

Ah, this must be it. He walked up to the front door of a large, rather dilapidated building, hoping Gerhard was at home; if not, he would have to find a hotel. This place would be more convenient, though, as it was only about twenty minutes' walk from the Potsdamer Platz, which
was the busiest East–West crossing point. He knocked and waited.

He heard someone running down the stairs, and Gerhard opened the door.

‘Jon!' He shook his hand. ‘I've been expecting you. Come in.' He led the way up two flights of stairs and opened a door. ‘I rent an apartment here, and you're welcome to use the sofa if you want to stay.'

‘Thanks. I hoped your invitation was still open.' Jon walked into a spacious sitting room with a small kitchen area on one side, partitioned off with a row of low units. The sofa was well-worn leather and huge. He'd be very comfortable on that; he'd slept in far worse places.

‘Coffee?' Gerhard asked.

‘Love one.' He sat down on the sofa. ‘It's good of you to put me up.'

‘No trouble.' He put two mugs of coffee on a small table and sat down opposite Jon. ‘I expected you days ago.'

‘How bad are things?' He took a mouthful of coffee and studied Gerhard's worried face.

‘People are pouring out of the Russian sector, and there's an air of desperation about them. From the stories I've heard from those coming to the West, things are pretty bad in the East. People are frightened. They are being watched by the secret police. They can bring very little with them, as coming across with cases would only arouse suspicion and they would be stopped. No one can hazard a guess at what the Soviets are going to do about it. It's obvious they can't sit back and let this go on for much longer.' His expression was haunted. ‘My parents are still over there, but I can't make them leave
their home. My old dad always has been a stubborn devil. I was seventeen when the Russians fought their way into Berlin. When I found out that the city was going to be divided up, I came to the British and American zones. I've been able to go across and see them regularly, but things are getting difficult now. The Soviets must be desperate to stop the flow of people leaving the East. They are losing all their skilled labour and professionals, like doctors, nurses, university lecturers and even train drivers.'

Now Jon understood Gerhard's worry. This wasn't just about his city – it was personal as well. ‘I'm sorry. Don't worry. Perhaps all Khrushchev's threats will come to nothing.' The words sounded hollow even to his ears, because if he believed that he wouldn't be here.

Gerhard ran a hand distractedly through his hair. ‘That's what I hope, but my gut feeling is that something is about to explode. There's growing panic in the air. Families are coming across one at a time so as not to alert the East German police. They can't let it go on. They just can't!'

That was exactly what Jon thought as well, yet he didn't voice his fear because this man was worried enough. ‘Is there any chance of talking to some of the refugees?'

‘Sure.' Gerhard drained his cup and stood up. ‘I'll take you to the Marienfelde Centre – the place is crowded with the poor devils.'

For the next two days Jon prowled around the border crossing points, talking to as many people as he could and standing for hours watching the troop movements on the other side. His unease grew, though he wasn't
sure why. There wasn't anything concrete to indicate that war between East and West was about to break out. But his years working in war zones had made him sensitive to trouble, and the atmosphere here was making the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

He was wondering if he was wasting his time when everything changed on Saturday, the 12th of August. People were streaming across the border carrying what possessions they could. Jon studied the faces as they reached the West, and, although there was relief that they'd made it, there was also grief that they'd left their homes and everything behind. His heart ached for them. By the evening he reckoned that several thousand had come into West Berlin that day.

There was no sign of Gerhard when he arrived back at the flat, so he settled down to try to get some sleep, knowing that the Russians were not going to allow this to continue. They could not afford to, and whatever they intended to do it would be soon.

It was a hot night on Saturday, the 12th of August, and Jon had trouble sleeping. He'd been wandering around all day, watching hundreds of worried, frightened-looking people come through the main crossing points between East and West.

Jon tossed in the stifling heat of Gerhard's sitting room, thumping his pillow. Eventually he drifted off to sleep.

‘Jon!' Gerhard was shaking him. ‘Wake up and get dressed. Something's happening!'

He was instantly on his feet and when he looked at his watch he saw that it was two in the morning, Sunday, the 13th of August. He didn't ask questions and was ready
in a couple of minutes. They hurtled down the stairs and ran towards the Brandenburg Gate.

They watched in disbelief as the crossing point was sealed completely with barbed wire.

‘Oh, my God!' Gerhard was clearly distressed. ‘Are they going to put a barrier around the whole sector? They won't be allowed to do that, surely?'

As dawn began to lighten the sky, only a handful of people watched the work, silent with shock. East-Germans drilled into the road to put up concrete posts, then they strung barbed wire across to make a fence. Soon barbed wire and armed guards stretched for miles across the centre of the city.

Jon placed his hand on Gerhard's shoulder. ‘Let's get some breakfast. Once Berliners wake up to this, all hell is going to break loose.'

Kate forced herself out of bed after a restless night. She hadn't been able to get a flight to Germany until late on Friday evening, and on arrival she'd been lucky enough to find a small hotel quite close to the border. This had been the first time she'd flown and she hadn't cared for the experience much, but it was certainly faster than going overland. The view had been quite beautiful, though, when she'd forced herself to look, and she had taken some photographs of wonderful cloud formations. As she had gazed at the countryside below, she'd suddenly been able to grasp what great courage her Aunt Annie had shown when she'd parachuted out of a plane during the war. Then they had been fighting the Germans. Now she was here because of her country's concern for the residents of Berlin.

She looked at her watch. It was just six o'clock, and, as it was Sunday morning, she hoped it wasn't too early for breakfast. There was a busy day ahead: she'd allowed herself only a couple of days for the assignment; she was due to catch a flight at nine o'clock tonight back to London. She wanted to get the photos to Andrew Stevenson in time for him to include them in Monday's edition.

She had some good ones and was sure he'd be pleased. After a few hours' sleep on Friday night, she had set out the next morning with her camera. She had toured the crossing points and was astonished at the number of people coming over to the West. She could have cried for them. How desperate they must be to leave their homes with only what they could carry. She had followed one group to the Marienfelde Refugee Centre, where one of the helpers who spoke good English helped her to interview some of the people. She would be able to add personal stories to the pictures.

She made her way downstairs, planning the day. When she'd left the Marienfelde Centre last night they had been preparing for a huge influx of people today, so she would go there first …

The sight that met her when she stepped into the dining room stopped her. She hadn't expected many people to be up this early, but the room was crowded and people were talking in hushed voices, some crying and others standing around looking helpless.

‘What's happened?' she asked Bernhard, the waiter she knew who spoke English.

Before he could answer, a woman came up to her with tears streaming down her face. She pointed at Kate's
camera slung over her shoulder and said something to her in German.

‘I'm so sorry,' Kate apologized, ‘I don't speak your language.' She held the woman's hand in sympathy; she was obviously dreadfully upset.

‘It's the Soviets,' Bernhard informed her. ‘They have sealed all the border crossings during the night and her daughter is over there. She was going to come out today but now she will not be able to.'

Kate held the woman, who sobbed on her shoulder, telling her all about it. Even though she couldn't understand a word, the anguish was all too evident. Her own eyes filled with tears. ‘What was she asking me when I came in?' Kate said, looking up at the waiter.

‘She asks that you take pictures to show the world the suffering this barbarous act will cause.'

‘Tell her that's what I'm here for.'

When he translated, the woman kissed Kate on the cheek and stepped back, now composed enough to give a brief smile of thanks.

Her instinct was to go out there at once to see what was going on, but Bernhard stopped her. ‘You will eat before you leave. It might not be easy to buy food today.'

She knew he was right, so she sat down and ordered coffee and toast, as that would be the quickest. She didn't want to waste more time than was necessary.

The main crossing was the Potsdamer Platz, so after a hasty breakfast she made for there. West Berliners were staring at the barbed-wire barrier and the line of soldiers guarding it. Kate was stunned. How could they slice a city in half, separating family and friends? Her anger was rising as she took pictures of people over on the other
side, standing around helplessly. Some were crying and trying to talk to loved ones just a few feet away, but with no hope of reaching them. Kate could feel her own tears clouding her eyes. This was terrible! Others were trying to get to their jobs in the West. When the guards turned them away, they looked bewildered and frightened, gazing in disbelief as workmen unloaded fencing and barbed wire.

She stayed there as the residents, now alerted to the barrier, began to arrive. It seemed as if thousands of people were there. It was raining, but no one appeared to notice. She caught a glimpse of the mayor of Berlin, Willy Brandt, walking among the crowds, but she couldn't get near him. There was utter disbelief that a great city could be cut in half. Surely it would be stopped?

By five that afternoon she was tired and saddened beyond belief, as the implications of the Soviet move dawned on her. One distraught man had just told her that the whole of West Berlin had now been sealed off. Those in the East were prisoners, with no hope of seeing loved ones who lived in the West. To her that was an unforgivable crime. If she were separated from her family in this way, the pain would be unbearable. She had been told that even the telephone lines had been cut, so contact that way was also impossible. The heart-rending scenes of people calling across the wire and being driven away by the East German police were almost more than she could bear.

She returned to the hotel and booked in for another week. There was no way she could leave now. With that settled, she found Bernhard. ‘I need somewhere to
develop film and make prints, then a way to get them back to London as quickly as possible.'

He gave hurried instructions to another waiter to stand in for him, then took her arm. ‘Come with me, I know a man who has a photography shop. I'm sure he will help.'

The shop was only ten minutes away, and, although the owner was just leaving, he tossed the keys to Bernhard and hurried away saying something over his shoulder.

‘Mr Braun said you can use anything you want,' Bernhard told her. ‘He has an elderly mother in the East and is trying desperately to see if there is any chance of getting her out, though I fear that is impossible now.'

The darkroom was a shambles, but Kate soon saw that everything she needed was there.

‘Why do you not just send the films to London?' Bernhard asked as she set to work.