Ghosts of Berlin

Oliver Rogers, writer
Oliver Rogers

Guest post by my son, Oliver Rogers aged 19

As an eager young traveller, my time in and understanding of Berlin was defined by my attempt to locate its zeitgeist. Haunted by the idea of going to a city or a country and not really experiencing it, not really experiencing Paris or London or Munich I was determined to find where the essence of the city lay. I wanted to be able to say, “This is Berlin”. Upon arriving in Berlin and exploring the area surrounding the Hotel I was somewhat stumped. I couldn’t find it, and although it seems arrogant to think you could encounter the essence of an entire city on a couple of streets what I immediately encountered was different to what I had expected. We arrived on a warm day, different to the bleak urbanism that characterised my idea of the city, and my initial reference point for the area we explored was Barcelona. The clear skies, flanked on either side by tall walls of buildings, and wide streets; I asked myself “Is this Berlin?”, the German metropolis with the lazy atmosphere of a coastal Mediterranean city? However, as me and my dad explored the city further and began to encounter what I expected Berlin to be I came to understand not only what its zeitgeist was but where it was stored, and how that was unique to Berlin as a city.

Reichstag, Berlin - photo by John Rogers
The Reichstag

One of the first landmarks we visited was the Reichstag. It was a hot day, hotter than I had ever imagined Berlin being and the building stood there with all of its regular significance; The seat of power in Germany, a monument to a long civil history. More than anything however it struck me as this looming epitaph, an epitaph for what Germany had been for the past century. Fittingly not too far away lay an actual epitaph, an epitaph to the soviet soldiers that fell during the battle of Berlin. At first, I thought that the way Berlin embodied and enshrined its past was similar to other cities like London. It enshrined them in monuments, preserved buildings, plaques, museums and so forth. London’s essence is distributed across its entire surface, but certain sites act as a concentration of the city’s essence in sights like these; physical manifestations of history and symbolism and importance. Great monuments like Buckingham Palace, The Tower of London, The British Museum, and St Paul’s Cathedral.  London is an old global artery and it embodies these things proudly. This is what I expected of Berlin. We pressed on and encountered a monument to the homosexuals murdered during the holocaust unassumingly placed in a park- A large grey slab of stone- across the street from rows upon rows of concrete coffins commemorating the Jews murdered in the Holocaust, both of which were sobering in their simplicity and in the weight of their presence.  As a security guard chased children who had been clambering on the coffins as if they were a piece of street infrastructure it began to strike me that Berlin was different. These sites of atonement, sober acknowledgements of the country’s dark past, I realised that these monuments weren’t simply separate from the city, distinct sites embodying a past other attached to the rest of the essence of the city like a benign tumour, these sites constituted the foundation of the essence of the city itself. The children clambered because perhaps they did not view that memorial as a separate entity detached from the city itself but also as a part of Berlin as any street or church or museum. Berlin is defined by its history like any city, but for Berlin, this unavoidably means being a city defined by its crimes. In places such as the holocaust memorial and fragments of the Berlin wall these sites not only serve as historical sites but manifestations of a city in perpetual atonement.  These sites peppered the whole city like old scars, and this feeling of a looming shadow, a shadow of atrocity extends out from these monuments and pervades over the entire city like a fine mist, something I would come to understand more and more as we progressed throughout our trip.

Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, Berlin
Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe

After visiting an exhibition on Karl Marx we encountered preserved bullet holes in the side of the building from the battle of Berlin. Initially I viewed it like any other memorial site or historical monument, but as we progressed and the bullet holes became a common feature in many of the buildings in the centre I realised that this was a feature of the city. This shadow was something the city had kept so that they would not forget, and thus it became a core part of the essence of Berlin. In cities such as London, there is minimal social or governmental atonement for the atrocities of empire despite the fact that the legacy of empire is embedded into the bones and the role of the city, there is no atonement. Architecturally we consecrate our triumphs and bury our crimes. The atrocities of empire are a footnote, an unpleasant fact attached to the overall history of the city like a post-it note. Berlin cannot do this, as its history is completely entwined with its dark past. For Berlin however this confrontation with its own history is embedded into the essence of the city itself, and as such there are no individual sites that act as conduits for the essence of the city much better than any street or square. It is everywhere, all-pervading. Berlin in many ways is a graveyard; it saw the death of the empire, the republic, the Reich and of communism.  Every street was an artery of a past death machine, an archaic empire, a dead experiment and it knows this, it refuses to forget. It preserves its wounds.

Checkpoint Charlie, Berlin
Checkpoint Charlie

The arrival at Checkpoint Charlie was one of the most striking moments of the entire trip for me. We didn’t quite know what we were expecting, but personally, I found it disappointing. I thought that a site of such historical importance would have some element of grandiosity about it, but it had nothing of the sort. Soon however I realised that Checkpoint Charlie was more than anything a subtle monument to a defeat, a defeat of the communist east and as we browsed and picked through Soviet helmets for sale, kiosks full of hammer and sickle emblazoned hip flasks and pins adorning images of Marx and Lenin it further occurred to me that this is exactly what a capitalist victory over communism would look like. The entire cultural legacy of the Soviet Union and the shadow it cast over Germany were reduced to commodities, commodities to be bought and gawked at and exchanged in hopes that you could purchase a fragment of that long-dead communist zeitgeist. As well as being a monument to defeat Checkpoint Charlie was a victory monument to capitalism, and if a monument to capitalist victory were to be anything it would be precisely what Checkpoint Charlie was; a market. Capitalism displayed its victory through its functioning, its breakdown of the soviet legend into little trinkets you could put on your shelf. As I was buying a chunk of the Berlin wall preserved in resin is when this all became clear to me, and when I realised that far from being a disappointment Checkpoint Charlie was exactly what it should be; banal, friendly, a pastiche, a place you leave with a receipt in your pocket.

Soviet War Memorial

Ultimately, I came to understand Berlin as a city defined by its history more than most because its history is synonymous with its crimes, and unlike most cities, it actively engages with the unfiltered darkness of it. It is a city entrenched in its past. Its past constitutes its very essence and one’s very understanding of it and therefore it is a city defined by its crimes.

It doesn’t concentrate a curated and airbrushed history and essence into sites and monuments, Berlin’s sites are simply nodes in the larger network of its zeitgeist. With all this in mind Berlin is still a beautiful city, one that, due to the embedding of its essence throughout all of its bones, feels vast and varied and rich. East Berlin whilst also engendering a divided Europe engenders the seeds of what Berlin is becoming, of how the city is developing in the wake of its past.  The historical proximity to the epochs that have defined contemporary Berlin is unavoidable, and it is why the shadow of the past looms large, but the cinders of Berlin’s past provide a foundation to develop an identity separate from its past rather than being largely defined by it. However, Germany’s epoch of subjugator and subjugated only ended with the fall of the Berlin wall and therefore that shadow will project its darkness over Berlin and the country for a long, long time. 

Watch the video above

The ‘Unlost’ River of East London

Following the Mayes Brook from Chadwell Heath to Barking

Scanning my list of walks one weekend when heading out to shoot a YouTube video, the Mayes Brook lept out at me. How had I not walked it before. I’d be tracking the tributaries of the lower reaches of the River Roding during the lockdowns of 2020-21 and walks tracing the Cran Brook, Loxford Water and Seven Kings Water, and the Alders Brook had been some of my most memorable walks of that period. Somehow the Mayes Brook had slipped through the net. So one hot day at the end of July I set out to pay tribute to this ‘unlost’ river guided by a blog post by the brilliant Diamond Geezer.

Catching the tube to Newbury Park I walked along the Eastern Avenue, one of London’s great romantic highways. The sky seems wider above the Eastern Avenue – you sense the vast expanse of the North Sea at the end of the road at Lowestoft. It gives the passage into Chadwell Heath a more epic tone than merely passing from Redbridge into Barking and Dagenham. Likewise the art deco glory of the Plessey Factory beside the road, now defunct it seems, but once part of the defence electronics manufacturer from Ilford that’d used the Central Line tube tunnels between Leytonstone and Gants Hill as a wartime factory. You can still see the squat brick lift entrances nestled discreetly between the houses along the Eastern Avenue.

Chadwell Heath bandstand

‘Chadders’, as my friend exclaimed when she saw where my walk started, is where the Mayes Brook rises, just to the north of St Chad’s Park. I wanted to make a link between this eastern spring and the St Chad’s Well at Kings Cross near the banks of the River Fleet. It seems St Chad of Mercia was associated with wells and springs although I couldn’t find a link to the area. But it gave me something to waffle about in the video.

This first half of the walk was a classic (sub)urban lost river walk – following hints and clues through the streets and alleyways, or in my case following the course as described in Diamond Geezer’s blog, through Chadwell Heath and Goodmayes and back across the border into Redbridge. There was a wide expanse of water in Goodmayes (Good Mayes Brook) Park which you assume is fed by the Mayes Brook, as the Cran Brook, Loxford and Seven Kings Water all feed park lakes along their course. But the river itself remains hidden until you approach Mayesbrook Park where it’s been successfully daylighted and brought back to the surface.

Roxy Avenue, Chadwell Heath London Borough of Redbridge
Roxy Avenue, Chadwell Heath
Roxy Avenue

Leaving the parched earth of Mayesbrook Park, the brook once more disappeared from view and further on flowed above ground, but was not accessible to the walker for the entire way. A fortunate side-effect of this enforced detour into the fringe of Barking was that it took me past the magnificent Elizabethan Eastbury Manor House, built by Clement Sysley.

I did miss a short open section of the Mayes Brook before it crosses the A13 but picked it up on the other side as it ran wide and free across River Road. The last view I had of the river was as it made its final passage through the industrial buildings towards its confluence with the River Roding. From here those waters that rose beneath the ground in a modest street in Chadwell Heath, would flow into the Thames and out into the wild seas.

Creator of the London Overground Mosaics – Maud Milton

Back in May 2021 I visited artist Maud Milton at her studio in Trinity Buoy Wharf at Leamouth East London where she creates the beautiful mosaic roundels that you can see at railway stations around London. Maud was working on a new roundel for Selhurst Station during the interview.
Among the roundels Maud has created are: Gospel Oak, South Tottenham, Thornton Heath, Walthamstow Central, Leyton Midland Road, Leytonstone High Road, St James Street, Chingford, and Highams Park.

“They’ve got modern twist to them and they they act like signage, but they’re an artwork and they’re made by hundreds of people in the community … when you go close up and you start reading the words and you know some of the words, will make you laugh. Some of the things that they say are really poignant, especially at the moment.”

Maud milton

Shot at Trinity Buoy Wharf, 2021

You can find out more about Maud on her website

Additional roundel images and footage in this video courtesy of Maud Milton

A wanderer in Paris

“I had come to France to do nothing but walk and eat”

– Jack Kerouac, Satori in Paris

The above quote from Jack Kerouac’s Satori in Paris would adequately describe the three days I recently spent in Paris with my youngest son. We walked and walked and ate and ate and it was all so glorious – just like the city itself. We had no other plan, and if there’s a city in which to allow yourself to be drawn by your desires and to simply drift, then it is the city that gave birth to the flaneur in the 19th Century covered arcades – the gaslit passages such as Passage Jouffroy, Passage Verdeau, and Passage des Panoramas.

These enclosed boulevards became the haunts of poets and curious pedestrians alike. The great German sociologist Walter Benjamin dedicated a huge study to the Paris Arcades, The Arcades Project and was inspired to wax lyrically about the wonders they held within; “The innermost glowing cells of the city of light, the old dioramas, nested in the arcades, one of which today still bears the name Passage des Panoramas. It was, in the first moment, as though you had entered an aquarium. Along the wall of the great darkened hall, broken at intervals by narrow joints, it stretched like a ribbon of illuminated water behind glass.”

Paris arcade
Paris arcade

For Benjamin the ultimate figure in the crowded arcades was the Flâneur, for him epitomized by Baudelaire, engaged in “aimless strolling, the ability to lose oneself in the crowd, populating one’s solitude.”

Joe and I aimlessly strolled from Montmartre to the Latin Quarter to browse the shelves in Shakespeare and Company and sat reading on an upstairs sofa while someone tinkered on the piano next door. We took a boat to The Eiffel Tower then walked a diagonal back across the city to Montmartre. We experienced the future of art exhibition at L’Atelier des Lumières and watched the hoards swarm around the Mona Lisa at the Louvre. A scooted through Père Lachaise Cemetery to find the grave of Jim Morrison and watched the illuminated red sails turn above the Moulin Rouge past midnight. But mostly we aimlessly wandered and savoured every meal – duck legs, mussels, lamb fillet, rump steak, croque monsieur, pancakes, panna cotta, caesar salad, country pate, and just the bread was amazing.

Paris people walking

Edmund White noted in his book, The Flâneur, “Paris is a world meant to be seen by the walker alone, for only the pace of strolling can take in all the rich (if muted) detail.” He writes how Benjamin explained that “the flâneur is in search of experience, not knowledge,” and that summarises our approach to this trip. Although we did scoot through some of the tourist hotspots we did so with innocence, seeking not dry facts, but the experience of place. And what a wonderful, magical experience it was.