BOMBED BERLIN

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume 79, 15 April 1944, Page 3

BOMBED BERLIN

EYE-WITNESS RAID STORY BLITZ HITS BACK AT ITS CREATORS Mr Oscar Jacobi, Berlin correspondent of a Swedish newspaper, lived through one of the heaviest raids on (he German capital. In this article, published by the “New York Times,” he gives a vivid account of his experiences and tells of the reactions of Berliners. The bombs caught me in a district already wrecked in earlier raids, where no modern shelters were available. I ran for Mie nearest cover and threw myself full-length on the floor of something which had once been a basement. Actually there was no cover, but I had no time to think and this hole was as good as any in the neighbourhood. Already incendiaries were falling all around me and soon the terrific roar of exploding bombs shook the earth. If I had had a camera with me I could have taken pictures because although it was a starless night and thick clouds covered the city, the fireworks made it as light, as day. A single bomber ventured through the clouds, glittering like a huge silver fish as it was caught now and again in the searchlight cones. The other bombers stayed above the clouds, safe from the searchlight*, but the drone of their motors was almost ear-splitting. I hardly dared look up. Bombs were raining down continuously now. One hit only a couple of hundred yards from my hole. The air blast was so great that*J was thrown clear out of the basement, landing on the street among burning debris. Unhurt, I ran for another ruin, where I found several people ahead of me. I heard weeping in the basement. My flashlight was not working and no one had any matches. Someone asked whether anybody was hurt down there and from the ruins came the answer: “One man lost a leg and a woman died-” i IN A MODERN SHELTER The raid .’emed to recede to other parts of the city, so another man and I decided to try to reach a modern municipal shelter a few blocks away. By throwing ourselves flat on the ground then stumbling forward over all sorts of debris and burning objects on the hot asphalt, vve managed to reach the big shelter. They didn’t want to let us in at first because it was already full. When we finally squeezed in, huge fires were roaring along both sides of the broad avenues for more than a mile. The ack-ack guns had begun their terrible music and the last thing I saw through the shelter door was a flaming aeroplane describing wide circles as it settled toward the ocean of fire in the distance. Our haven was one of the fivestorey steel and concrete shelters built to accommodate some 10.000 people. Police were directing traffic in the broad corridors, telling people which floors to go to. In addition to kitchens, decontamination and first-aid quarters, and lavatories, the shelter was partitioned into many small rooms. There were no seating accommodations and most of the people were sitting on the floors on such blankets and quilts as they were able to bring along, or else were lined up along the walls. When I reached the shelter, I was exhatisted. My clothes were in rags. The soles of my shoes had come loose, my overcoat was lost, my body was black and blue, but I had saved my life. I was guided to a first-aid room where I sat and waited with hundreds of others to be cared for. Lots of them were suffering from burns and were waiting to be bandaged. TENDING THE WOUNDED Many moaned to themselves, making me feel that perhaps I was not so badly off. Nurses rushed between the rows of benches with bandages and instruments, and the air was heavy with the stench of carbolic acid and swekt. At last it was my turn to have one arm bandaged and then I was shown into another room to wait for the all clear. Through walls a yard thick the ackack fire sounded faint, as though from a long distance away. Now and then we heard the screech of a falling blockbuster—the most chilling sound in the world. In a sturdy shelter such as this the detonation of a blockbuster’s explosion sounds like a clap of thunder. The walls tremble, the lights flicker and bits of plaster fall—that’s all. A hysterical woman tried to rush out into the street. Attendants held her back and there was silence again. Nobody felt like talking. Everybody stared into space, some anxiously, others in an apathetic way. As soon as the thunder of bombs and the roar of guns grew fainter, some people began talking to keep up their courage. Others started card games. A humourist tried telling funny stories and girls giggled with their soldier friends. As the raiders remained overhead and the alert wore on, the atmosphere in the shelter changed. People began to show signs of impatience. Many of them had been sitting here uncomfortably for three or four hours and they were getting hungry and tired. But we had to wait another two hours for the all-clear. STREET A SEA OF FIRE In those two hours I heard many remarks that would not be suitable for Dr. Goebbels’ propaganda. At last, the all clear! As I went out through the gas filter door, my eyes filled with tears from the thick acrid smoke that was everywhere. The entire street in front of me was a sea of fire. People pushing to get out as quickly as possible were startled into

exclamations of fright and horror at the spectacle. The roar of fires raging all around us made it impossible to hear what people were saying. Sirens screamed continuously as fire engines raced between the walls of fire which lined both sides of the street I must pass through. It was hotter than in a steam bath, although it was mid-winter, and elsewhere the mercury was below freezing. I decided to make for park near by, but my way Lay between burning buildings and through clouds of smoke. Suddenly I realised I had left my gas mask at home. I cursed my negligence and. covering my mouth with a handkerchief. started to run for the park. But before I could cover more than a couple of hundred yards a new alert was sounded. I turned back, running as fast as my legs would carry me to the shelter I had just left; hundreds of others did the same and there was such a jam at the entrance, such shoving and pushing that there was real danger of being trampled to death. PEOPLE IN PANIC The first bombs of the new attack fell before everyone was inside the building. People outside the shelter ran for cover in panic, their faces paralysed with fear. Once more inside the municipal shelter, the Berliners appeared to move in a stupor, as ail*' raid wardens ushered them about. Standing, sitting or lying down, with ashen faces, they looked completely apathetic. No one spoke. We were not so numerous this time. Many of those who had been here before probably had not had time to get back and some of them, no doubt, had perished under crumbling houses and in bomb craters. It was 10 p.m. and I wondered how long I woidd be obliged to stay this time. I felt my nerves beginning to give way. As it turned out, we had to stay there all night, and then only those who had to report for work or who wanted to get out on their own responsibility were permitted to leave at 6 a.m. I decided to take a chance and leave, for after eight hours of it anything was better than to remain in that shelter. It was still pitch-dark outthe heavens, but fires everywhere provided illumination. Air-raid wardens and amateur fire-fighting personnel were trying to put out or limit the conflagrations. I saw no professional fire brigades anywhere on my way home. After two hours of stumbling and groping I reached the spot where my boarding house had stood the day before. The only thing remaining now was the twisted iron frame, still red hot, and a crumpled wall. Rescue squads already were digging for people trapped in the basement shelter, although it appeared hopeless to do so. Ghastly as my experiences were, they are commonplace to-day in Berlin. Millions of Berliners have had and still are having similar ordeals. It is not difficult to imagine the despair into which these people are thrown after such nights, when, their homes and everything they have been able to accumulate durinj their lives is lost in one blow. Up to the time the Battle of Berlin began they managed to tell themselves that things would brighten in the end —in spite of stricter rationing, military call-ups, compulsion to receive lodgers sent by authorities, and the thousand other tribulations of war. But the German’s existence always has been anchored to his home, and when the home is no longer there, everything looks hopeless. REAL TROUBLES BEGIN While Berlin’s inhabitants have their worst moments during the raids, their real troubles begin only when the raids are over. Then stark distress confronts them. More than three million people are estimated to be homeless and in need of relief. One can walk for half an hour through certain Berlin districts and see nothing but heaps of ruins and smoke-blackened houses completely uninhabitable. Berlin —and Germany—has a new social layer, created, and growing because of the raids. It is a layer of destitute and desperate people, who will in time become a great danger to the regime if it cannot either take care of them or keep them down through terror. The Nazis are fully aware of this danger, and the authorities are doing what they can to speed up evacuation. Consideration of public health is another reason why thv. Nazis are anxious to get as many people as possible out of Berlin. Sanitary conditions in the capital are a constant danger to health; there is the ever-present threat of epidemics. Drinking water is polluted. Gas and electricity are lacking in many districts. It is impossible to obtain fuel, and the food supply is so poor that people queue up for hours to get their bread ration from such emergency stores as have been opened. RESTORATION WORK The clearing and restoration work proceeds unceasingly during the day, but is suspended at dusk. Then the war prisoners used for this work are marched back to their camps and the fires are put out in the field kitchens set up in the worst-stricken districts to feed homeless Berliners. At dusk, too. Berlin experiences a mad rush on all its transit lines. Fist fights occur for standing room in a bus t- at is already jammed to bursting. None of the passengers knows where the bus goes, for it carries no route sign, but they figure it will take them some distance along the way they want to go. The majority of Berliners are obliged to walk, taking hours to reach home in the by then totally blacked-out city. And by 7 p.m. bomb-devastated Berlin is a dead city.