In 1941, director Leo de Laforgue makes a film about Berlin...
..to be called Symphony Of A World Capital.
The sun always seems to shine and life is flourishing.
There's no mention of the Second World War,
no inkling of concentration camps,
no sign of over 300,000 forced labourers in the city,
not a trace of misery and hunger.
Quite the contrary.
This summer, the Reich is at the height of its power.
Half of Europe has surrendered,
and it's basking in the glory of its successes.
But in less than four years, the tide will have turned.
Adolf Hitler will have survived an assassination attempt.
Allied troops will be ready to storm the country and take the city.
The wall will return to its source, Berlin.
And there will be little left of the city but diaries
and memories, files and pictures, ashes and dust.
TRANSLATION: Sunday, New Year's Eve,
a trip to Grunewald forest with Kurt.
It was a splendid walk, deep snow everywhere.
We stopped off for a beer.
We were home by six and celebrated with Schultzes.
It was the end of an eventful year.
What will the next year bring?
We are fearful of 1945.
TRANSLATION: The new year began quietly.
Lieutenant Kutner ordered the whole battalion to listen
to the radio transmission of the Fuhrer's speech.
January 2nd. Back to work.
Everyone talks about how drunk they were on New Year's Eve.
In the evening, to the UFA cinema on Alexanderplatz with Kurt.
We saw Rite Of Sacrifice with Kristina Soderbaum and Carl Raddatz.
It was a wonderful film.
So sad. We were spellbound.
January 4th. Air raid alert from quarter to 12
until quarter to one.
It's been quite a smash-up, another heavy attack.
The capital of the Reich was attacked by 40 fast bombers.
They crossed the city in loose formation.
12 dead, 23 injured, 1324 homeless.
TRANSLATION: January 9th.
Something terrible has happened.
They've implicated Count Moltke in the Hitler assassination attempt
and he will be brought before the People's Court.
And whoever comes before the People's Court -
treason, conspiracy to overthrow the state,
the Nazi regime - it couldn't be worse.
TRANSLATION: The setting was a room packed with people.
The proceedings went like this...
Freisler - talented, brilliant and not bright,
and potent in all three respects,
reads my resume. Details are affirmed or things added.
Then come questions about the allegations.
He ignores what doesn't suit him, dismisses important points.
The name Moltke constantly rang out.
It permeated the proceedings
and it was obvious they wanted to have me killed.
The barracks are wedged between the main street
and the subway next to a sports field.
The station is called Baumschulenweg, a working class
district with small factories, handicraft businesses, tenements.
From above, the barracks look completely alike.
Four Berliners passing by the fences.
It's just a compound, and they couldn't care less anyway.
On the large meadow opposite were several barracks
for prisoners of war and forced labourers.
Most of them are Ukrainians and must have been terribly mistreated.
Screams rang out again and again.
People living nearby ignored them.
That is, when the screams of the tortured were heard,
they all closed their windows as if on command.
TRANSLATION: Homesickness hits me in waves.
At work I try to suppress the sadness,
but when I'm alone it's barely possible.
How many years of my youth have I lost?
We go to the cinema.
After the film, straight to the party offices
to pay my member's fee.
January 11th.
The Moltke trial. Before evening falls,
the prosecution requests the death penalty.
We just had thoughts, just Delp, Gerstenmeier and me.
The NS is so afraid of these solitary men's thoughts
that anything infected by them must be eradicated.
If that isn't a compliment.
It was too late to execute us the same day,
so, if it's the Lord's will, I'll stay alive.
You're still alive, my darling.
Now I fight for you again.
This respite might benefit us.
Kurt came to eat with us.
Mother left us alone.
He played the mandolin and I sang along, and then he kissed me
and was very tender with me.
The visits to the front lines in the east
by our Berlin regional commanders went well.
Our troops in East Prussia are in high spirits,
confident they will repel the coming Soviet offensive.
January 16th. For three days now,
there's been a major Bolshevik offensive.
One of our men, Manfred, cries in his bed at night
because he's worried about his family.
He's from Konigsberg, where the Russians are advancing.
But the battle lines already reach deep into Silesia.
At night when the American and English bombers approach,
we man the guns.
Two days ago, the Volkssturm started enrolling
in civilian jackets and puttees.
Some had never held a gun before. Extras to plug the gaps.
Every day in the darkroom, I see the portraits
of young people who - barely adult - are already dressed
in military uniforms.
Many of them won't live to see the end of the war.
Their uniform will be the only garment worn
in their short adult life.
Kurt picked me up for the last time.
He only took me with him to the station.
Who knows when we'll see each other again?
The first refugees arrived from Silesia.
A wagon filled with dead children arrived
at Berlin's Silesian station.
They'd been standing in the cold for 96 hours,
packed in like pickled herrings in a barrel.
Our boss says we have to shift snow, then dig graves for the dead.
The earth is frozen solid to 50 centimetres down.
We dig through ice and snow, then continue down, battering
with hammers and iron wedges.
It was hard for us before. Now it's even worse.
At three, I visited Muller, head of the Gestapo.
He said he couldn't do anything for you as you're a traitor.
I'm fine, my love. I am ready and determined to happily
place my faith in God's will, knowing he only wants the best
for us, including you, my dearest.
Farewell, my sweetheart.
May the Lord bless you and all of us.
Yesterday at noon, they took Count Moltke from his cell.
By four o'clock he'd been executed.
It was all quite sudden.
The city is teeming with refugees,
all complaining about these cursed times.
Nobody is mincing their words.
For 24 hours, every person can rage about his hardship, his desperation
and terror without inhibition.
Then Goebbels is back in control.
Today is the 12th anniversary of the party's rise to power.
One or two British bombing raids every night.
During the day,
desperate Wehrmacht reports.
The Fuhrer's radio address is a good boost to morale.
SINGING
We went downstairs to Matusack's again.
His wife was also there now.
The Schnapps was flowing until ten o'clock.
Then we listened to the Fuhrer's speech.
Uncle Paul is always drunk.
Stalin is at the gate.
The Russians have crossed the River Oder, advancing on Wriezen
with about 100 tanks.
There is nothing between Berlin and Wriezen, no anti-tank
guns, no barricades, not a single soldier.
People are restless.
My loving wife, you ask what's to be done.
I'm still optimistic on the whole. The more rational voices say
we still have considerable reserves and will still get new weapons.
Berlin can't be considered to be any safer than where you are.
Since there is no adequate means of travel, I think it best
if you stay there.
The four o'clock weather briefing indicated that there would be visual
conditions in the Berlin Magdeburg area.
This was later confirmed by the ten o'clock conference.
In Berlin, the aiming points were
the centre and the heart of the city,
an area bounded by the Lindenstrasse,
the Unter den Linden and the Wilhelmstrasse.
We had to report early to Rosenthaler Platz
to build barricades. We hadn't been working for long.
Everyone was in a good mood,
the lads were singing, but then the air-raid siren sounded.
SIREN WAILS
NEWSREEL: More than 1,000 Flying Fortresses sweep out
from their bases in England to hammer the German capital.
The stern voice of retributive justice comes to Berlin
in the heavy drone of bombers.
From Berlin went the orders
which wreaked havoc in Rotterdam and Warsaw. From Berlin,
also, Germany watched without pity the agony of those millions
of refugees whom war turned into sad armies
of the uprooted and dispossessed.
Today, the wheel has turned full circle. Berliners are undergoing
the ordeal to which they unprotestingly committed
the great cities of Europe.
In 45 minutes, 2,500 tonnes of high explosive and incendiaries rained
down on the government and army administrative offices in the heart
of the city.
The city's in a terrible state.
Through smoke, soot and filth, I reached the publishing house.
The rain's pouring down, binding the smoke and soot, which sticks
to our shoes like thick porridge.
Disaster struck our anti-aircraft unit.
A bomb hit the munitions chamber and all 400 rounds
of ammunition exploded.
All of my classmates are dead.
The districts of Kreuzberg,
Mitte, Horst Wessel and Wedding were hit hardest.
1,130 dead, 738 missing,
1,116 wounded, 102,061 made homeless.
Bayerischer Platz underground station is also
affected. More than 100 bodies are under the rubble.
Men, women and children stand crowded together.
They hang their heads in silence. Grave, speechless, solemnly,
they wait for their dead to be dug up.
Your pick sinks into something soft.
You shout, "Here! I've found someone."
A policeman comes running.
Only a German may touch cold German flesh.
They finally get the body out, grab it by the leg and pull it out.
Sometimes the leg comes off.
Some puke. At least they still have something in their stomachs.
NEWSREEL: In this operation,
the Americans lost 19 bombers and five fighters.
As they head for home,
they leave behind them a reminder to Germans that war doesn't pay.
Berlin, they say, is now a city of dreadful night. As an American
airman said after this trip, "When Stalin's boys get to Berlin,
"they'd better bring a Fire Department, because the place
"is really burning now."
The eighth of February. We reached Stalag VII in Luckenwalde
in the early morning. Due to overcrowding, there are no bunks.
Each man has a filthy blanket.
The latrine for hundreds of men is a deep hole.
If the hole is full, Russian prisoners have to go down and clean
it. They are treated horribly.
Power was cut for two hours today. I received
the first two letters from Kurt.
Air-raid alarm from 8:45 to half past nine.
We've only just learned that during the daytime
attack last weekend, the president of the People's Court, Dr Freisler,
was killed along with most of his staff.
For a moment, I'm torn between horror and joy.
Freisler, the man who sentenced everyone to death,
he died a month too late and many weeks too early to be made
accountable and face retribution.
My little doll, news from here. The night was clear,
the temperature dropped to zero. Tomorrow morning at ten past seven,
I have to go to the Volkssturm,
probably to build tank barriers again.
I'm still hoping the countermeasures announced will turn
the tide. All the best from your dad.
February 15th.
Today I'm alone in the clinic.
Professor Sauerbruch isn't there, nor is his official deputy.
The order was given to move all patients to the shelter,
or at least to the basement. First, children and private patients,
then the women.
In the bunker, I met a half-Jewish biology professor.
He told me there are Jews hiding in Berlin.
They have been living for months or years in cellars and attics,
looked after by friends and acquaintances.
My love,
we've been apart for two years already. This fear
of being hunted, what for?
All my life, I've lived as a decent human being and now I have to hide
like a criminal, like a murderer, and tormented by my thoughts
about the children.
That's the worst of it.
I am so desperate, because I simply know nothing about them.
If things went badly for Miss Muller,
they're no longer alive, but I had no choice, otherwise I would
have had to face the Gestapo with them.
When children sing songs on the radio, it brings tears
to my eyes.
February 25th.
My confirmation in the Church of Jesus Christ in Dahlem.
Daddy came, we were 14 girls and six boys.
Unfortunately, it didn't take place in the church. It was too cold.
Nevertheless, it was very solemn and no siren interrupted it.
For lunch, we had a good pot roast that Daddy had brought
with him. In the afternoon, visitors and real coffee and cake.
February 26th.
Today was the day we were trained for.
I always wanted to bomb Hitler's Berlin.
The city has the toughest anti-aircraft defences
and more enemy fighters than any other target in Germany,
so it's understandable that the crews let out tormented
groans when they heard about it at the briefing.
After take-off, I felt so alone on my position in the rear
of the plane, in spite of the many planes around us.
So terribly alone
and afraid that this could be my last flight.
I cannot describe the emptiness I felt.
Saw Truxa with Liana at the cinema.
Right at the best part,
the sirens started and we ran to the bunker.
After the longest distance we've ever flown, we were right
in the middle of it.
Lurching airplanes. A direct hit sent the one right next to us
up in flames.
I shuddered in anticipation of the steel
that could rip through my body at any second.
Then the bomb bays opened.
A wing of the factory's hit.
Fire breaks out from the incendiary bombs.
As we walk into the shelter,
we have to avoid the burning asphalt.
Alexanderplatz in flames. We have no lights
and no water at home.
After the all-clear, the film continued.
After what felt like hours, we reached the beautiful shores
of England, we had made it.
It was over and I was so glad, I didn't know what to say.
Now the city is dying and can no longer be saved.
Tired, apathetic people.
The doormen at the entrance tells a crying woman,
"Be glad, I tell you, that he's buried in a mass grave.
"At least he's not alone there."
German morale is in freefall, and every
round of bombing reinforces this feeling of depression.
But as critical as the situation may be, it does not in any way
interfere with the normal daily routine.
Police surveillance is being further intensified.
The camp was fenced in with barbed wire, which was electrified.
The guards had dogs and machine guns.
Our strength was waning. We were consumed by work.
One day, the kitchen made soup from dried potato peels.
It was pig swill.
February 28th.
Margot's place has been damaged by bombs again.
Incendiary bombs fell on the doctor's flat, but the fire
was extinguished, only caused minor damage.
He says that's how we'll win the war.
I darn socks in the evening.
March 3rd.
We left Berlin
early in the afternoon. The Fuhrer wanted to see progress on the front
lines for himself to strengthen troop morale
and check ammunition supplies.
The Fuhrer was here.
His visit sharpens our awareness of where we stand, namely to defend
the capital of the Reich.
Basic order for preparations
to defend the capital. Berlin is to be defended to the last man
and to the last bullet.
The struggle must be fought with fanaticism, imagination,
with every means of deception, cunning, deceit,
on and above the ground.
It is necessary that every block, every house, every storey, every
hedgerow is defended to the last.
We build tank traps on Landsberger Allee and in Kniprodestrasse.
We now have daily bazooka firing and rifle training
under SA supervision in Friedrichshain.
Many old men are taking part, from the People's Storm.
The Wehrmacht reports are shocking.
Life is becoming increasingly primitive.
Detergent and soap have to be made to last ever longer.
Items for personal hygiene are a luxury. Sewing material and bits
and pieces are all the clothes ration card allows for.
The less cultured people of the East may still feel comfortable
under these circumstances, but civilised Europeans
suffer and degenerate.
We visited Father. As soon as we were there, sirens sounded.
We stayed in an overground bunker.
I thought I'd long since overcome my fear, but today I trembled, afraid
for my life. A terrible bang.
The bunker sways, the lights go out, people screaming.
The attack lasted two hours.
We saw the tremendous glow of fire on Prenzlauer Berg.
Opposite, house number 15 was hit and collapsed.
Half Berlin was in flames and in ruins.
It's enough to drive you insane when you walk the streets.
Our Berlin, the Berlin I loved so much.
Even though it disgusts me that its inhabitants allowed us
to be excluded from their community just because we're Jews,
I still love my hometown.
March 20th.
We face the toughest challenge in our history,
Battalion chief Kuckner told us this morning.
We are to stand firm with religious fanaticism.
At the shop at 9am, had to walk home, went for a walk
with Kuzi in the evening and fetched water.
Got a wonderful letter from Kurt, read some of the most beautiful
parts to Kuzi.
Went to the cinema with Margot.
ORCHESTRAL PIANO MUSIC PLAYS
Saw Soloist Anna Alt.
Some comrades no longer know where their relatives are.
East Prussia, Silesia. Without a home,
the war becomes pointless.
I can't imagine that Berlin would be lost.
Today, it is they who are deprived of their last possessions
and their homes, whose relatives face an uncertain fate in endless
treks and refugee trains.
I well know what it means to live in permanent uncertainty
about your nearest and dearest and all the people close
to you in need and misery and hunger and agony without hearing
anything from them.
I, we, we Jews, we have long lived through this.
Am I now supposed to feel pity for them?
63rd Transport was scheduled to Sachsenhausen
and Ravensbruck. Destination - Theresienstadt.
Date of departure - March 27th, 1945. For the evacuation of Jews
from the territory of the Reich to the Theresienstadt ghetto,
the following regulations apply.
Transportation is to take place in single carriages on a regular
train servicing the Theresienstadt route. Each person is to take 50
Reichsmark, a complete set of clothing,
bedsheet and blanket, eating
utensils, plate or pot with spoon, rations for eight days.
Prohibited items are stock certificates, currencies, savings
account documents, etc, animals or ration cards.
Before departure, the carriages are to be searched for weapons,
ammunition, explosives, poison, currencies, jewellery, etc.
Without exception, all assets are to be confiscated.
Easter Sunday. We slept in very late, reading during the day
and telling each other scary stories in the evening. We did some
exercises and then we went to bed.
SIRENS WAIL
I'm sick of war.
Every night, fast bombers attack Berlin.
We are always tired and weary.
And those miracle weapons, where are they?
Once again, a hostile attack
on the capital by Mosquito aircraft. One has already got so used to them
that they've become part of the daily routine.
If they don't come, the Berliners feel something's missing.
My comrade, Udo,
received a letter from the Pankow NSDAP branch. His mother
and little sister, Elke, burned to death in the north of Berlin.
He has no-one now.
He stood still for a long time, then suddenly jumped on a stool,
tore the large portrait of the Fuhrer from the wall, spat
on it and stamped on Hitler's head.
When the on-duty sergeant came, he locked Udo in a cell.
April 12th. The Russians and Americans
have advanced across the borders of the Reich.
The situation has markedly deteriorated.
In the office, we only do the most
urgent work. We are burning most of our files in case Berlin falls.
My dearest love,
the day before yesterday was your birthday.
Will there ever be another one we spend together?
I don't believe it any more.
And the children. Yesterday Weimar was taken by the Allies.
How will I ever find a trace of them if things have gone wrong?
I will listen to American radio today to hear
what happened in Weimar.
BIG BEN CHIMES
This is London calling.
RICHARD DIMBLEBY: I have just returned
from the Belsen concentration camp.
I find it hard to describe adequately the horrible things
that I've seen and heard, but here, unadorned, are the facts.
There are 40,000 men, women and children in the camp,
thousands of them Jews.
In the last few months alone, 30,000 prisoners have been killed
off or allowed to die.
Dead bodies, some of them in decay, lay strewn about the road
and along the rutted tracks.
Inside the huts, it was even worse.
I have seen many terrible sights in the last five years, but nothing,
nothing approaching the dreadful interior of this hut at Belsen.
I picked my way over corpse after corpse in the gloom
until I heard one voice that rose above the gentle, undulating
moaning. I found a girl.
She was a living skeleton.
She was stretching out her stick of an arm and gasping something.
It was, "English, English, medicine, medicine."
Got my STEN gun.
RICHARD DIMBELBY: The SS guards,
who shot several of the prisoners after we'd arrived in the camp
when they thought no-one was looking, are now gathering
up all the bodies and carting them away for burial.
May I add to this story only the assurance that those officers
and men who've seen these things have gone back to the Second Army,
moved to an anger such as I have never seen in them before.
A lot of time has passed since we started marching through Germany.
The Baltic Sea comes to mind, where we drowned the Fritzes.
Now victory is in our grasp.