Ten years ago the Berlin Wall came down. Which brought to mind stories that an old colleague used to tell of a journey he made in 1946 or 1947 into the Soviet Zone of Germany. The country was then divided into four zones: American, British, French, Russian (later to be East Germany). Our man was writing from Berlin, and wanted to get into the Russian Zone. He was told: "Get to know some of the Russians: they don't work to rule." He got hold of a name. Call him G. Rang the Russian office. "Where did you get G's name?" Then one question after another, ending with, "Well, G isn't in." He never was. Cat and mouse. However, after weeks he gets permission, largely he believes, because of a favourable article about the Zone in the London Times. So, with a Liverpool Irishman as driver (our man was then in the British sector of Berlin) and a man, Leo let us call him, in civvies, an information or intelligence official from the Russian office, off trundled our team on a week's visit.
What does he most remember? To start with, the breakfasts. About 8 am: a bottle of vodka and a bottle of red wine were plonked on the table; the breakfast was more of a dinner, with soup and meat and spuds and cake and coffee. It was expected that the bottles be emptied. He doubts if they were, even though at each stopping place a fourth man joined them: usually in civilian clothes. There was a scene in one city when Leo came back from a foray into a bookshop with an old, heavy, ornate Bible. Our friend didn't know any Russian but the local colonel had a thing or two to say to Leo. Another time our friend went out alone in Leipzig. Furious row in the hall on return. "Don't you know some Nazi might have attacked you?" Of course our man might also have been getting a real picture of life in the Zone, for he spoke German well.
There was Weimar. Could he see Buchenwald, the concentration camp? No, it was being destroyed. In fact it was very likely full of the Russians' enemies. Then again he was being shown over farmland. "We have divided the land among the peasants. Land Reform," said a colonel. "Yes," said our reporter, "we had that in Ireland at the end of the last century." Said the Colonel: "You did not, and if you go on saying such things, you can go back to Berlin straight away." Our man insisted and was not sent back. Finally - not everything was stormy - when they got back to Berlin our friend said he'd like to take Leo and his wife out to dinner. He'd ring that night. He rang and asked for Leo by full name. "There's nobody of that name here."