Berlin at War (19 page)

shortage of coal had been publicly blamed on a lack of delivery lorries.33

More seriously, it was reported in late January 1940 that as many as

sixty trucks had been standing idle at Tempelhof airfield for over two

weeks, instead of being used for the distribution of coal.34

In time, the coal crisis led to a minor crime wave. SD reports

highlighted a ‘considerable increase’ in the theft of coal from cellars,

factories and coal yards. Most tellingly, they concluded, many of the

thefts were committed in broad daylight, with passers-by and eyewit-

nesses failing to intervene.35 Inevitably the Berlin rumour mill was

soon alive with stories of demonstrations across the city, protesting

about the coal shortages and the apparent indifference of the author-

ities. Nazi security sources characteristically suspected that such

rumours were the work of their opponents, attempting to incite the

German populace to revolt.36 This interpretation may have been

accurate, although it is difficult to imagine that feelings of discontent

had not already entered Berliners’ heads.

Beyond coal, two other staples whose scarcity became worrying

were milk and potatoes. Milk was already in short supply, due to an

outbreak of foot-and-mouth disease in Saxony, and transport compli-

cations caused reserves to sink to around half the normal volume.37 In

response, Göring announced a price rise for milk and butter in an effort

80

berlin at war

to spur production, while dairies in the capital responded by distributing

only to their regular customers.38

The shortage of potatoes was more serious, primarily because the

humble potato was a traditional standby for the German housewife

in times of hardship. The problem in this case was the weather. Though

the breakdown in the transport infrastructure that winter did little to

help matters, the shortage of potatoes actually dated to the previous

autumn, when heavy rains and an unseasonal chill had conspired to

ruin much of the domestic crop. Thus, already in December 1939, the

supply of potatoes to Berlin had fallen by about half, and it would fall

by about the same again the following month.39

By that time, new concerns compounded the existing shortages.

Farmers were often unwilling to disturb their stores of potatoes for

fear that they might be ruined by the cold weather. As a result, many

areas – and especially the urban centres – simply went without. Berlin

saw no potatoes for more than two weeks that winter and, when

supplies finally began to trickle through again, many of those that did

reach the capital had already been spoiled by the frost. Though the

authorities claimed that there had only been a tiny disruption to the

supply, it was privately acknowledged that the crop lost that winter

amounted to over 30 per cent of the annual average.40

In response to this crisis, the authorities sought to reassure the

civilian population that everything possible was being done to secure

adequate supplies. It was even claimed that third-class rail wagons

would be requisitioned to transport potatoes to the capital, as they

could be heated so there would be no risk of frost damage.41 Berlin

housewives, meanwhile, were advised on the best way of using pota-

toes that been spoiled by the cold – if soaked in salt water, or vinegar

water, prior to cooking, it was suggested, such stocks could still be

used for human consumption.42

Regardless of these efforts, however, the result for many was a

winter lacking all but the most basic foodstuffs. One diarist summed

up the difficulties experienced by an ordinary Berliner:

‘I couldn’t buy a single potato in this neighbourhood’, she apologised,

. . . ‘Green vegetables won’t be available until the summer and of course

fruits are out of the question. Even salt is hard to get.’ . . . ‘Yesterday,

I waited at the market for two hours and finally got a head of cauli-

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81

flower,’ she continued. ‘Many women waited that long and got nothing.

I was more successful because I told the clerks that I have four chil-

dren and had to have something to feed them.’43

Most were never in danger of starvation; rather, the main peril was

the lack of vitamin-rich fruit and vegetables. Ironically, some Berliners

found themselves putting on weight, as their enforced carbohydrate-

rich diet of pasta and bread took its effect. As one newspaper reporter

noted that winter: ‘The Germans, especially the women, are getting

stouter, rather than the reverse.’44

In the end, nature took its course and the crisis was eased by the thaw

and the consequent restoration of Germany’s transport infrastructure.

At the end of February, snow began slipping from the roofs and the ice

that had accumulated on the city streets started to melt. This, in turn,

brought new challenges: the Berlin fire brigade was employed to remove

icicles – some over four feet long – before they fell to earth of their own

accord. Meanwhile, the police and Hitler Youth were charged with the

job of ensuring that all the city’s gutters, storm drains and culverts were

clear, in anticipation of the flood of meltwater.45

Amid this flurry of activity, William Shirer was dismayed to hear

the air raid sirens sound, once again, over the city on 1 March. He was

relieved to learn that it was merely a test, ordered by the authorities

to see how the system had stood up to the rigours of an extraordinary

winter. ‘Judging by their sound’, he concluded, ‘[the sirens] had stood

it very well.’46 The Berlin public, it seemed, had stood the test, too.

A harsh winter – even the harshest for some decades – should not

have presented too much of a problem to the inhabitants of central

Europe, where snow and freezing winters were very much the norm,

but the winter of 1940
was
exceptional. Not only was it the severest

winter witnessed in northern Germany for over a century, it also

coincided with a German society and economy still finding its feet;

still learning to prosecute a war and still wrestling with the problem

of rationing.

Nazi Germany had introduced rationing a few days before the

outbreak of war, on the morning of Sunday 27 August 1939. From that

point on, the supply of most foods, as well as clothing, footwear and

coal, would be strictly controlled. It had been a controversial, if not

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berlin at war

daring move. For many of the older generation of Berliners, rationing

brought back uneasy memories of the First World War, in which

nearly a million Germans had perished on the home front from

malnourishment. Thus, its reintroduction in 1939 had to be handled

with considerable sensitivity. The announcement was accompanied,

therefore, by a flood of government-sponsored newspaper articles

giving fulsome details of Germany’s (largely mythical) food reserves.47

Some were even less subtle – one report, for instance, proclaimed

with trademark Teutonic directness that ‘Starving is impossible!’48

The rationing system was infernally complex and inevitably un -

popular. As one commentator noted, during the first winter of the

war: ‘the Germans are saying that even if they do survive the war,

they will undoubtedly end up in a lunatic asylum as a result of the

rationing system. Trust the Germans to devise the most complicated

system possible.’49

All German citizens and permanent residents were categorised.

Adults were divided into three categories, based on the physical inten-

sity of their work: an office worker, for instance, would be classed

as a ‘normal consumer’, while a train driver might be classed as a

‘heavy worker’ and a coal miner would fall into the category of ‘very

heavy worker’. Additional categories were established for infants, chil-

dren and youths.

All such individuals were registered with the municipal authorities

and then issued with seven colour-coded ration cards, which were valid

for four weeks. There were blue cards for meat, yellow for fat and cheese,

white for sugar and marmalade, pink for flour, rice, tea and oatmeal,

orange for bread, green for eggs, and purple for sweets and nuts. Ration

cards were printed on stiff paper, which was perforated into small, tear

out coupons – known as
Marken
– each of which carried the name of

the product and the quantity allocated.

Berliners could exchange these
Marken
– along with the necessary

payment – for their allocated ration; receiving, for instance, 500 grams of

meat, 270 grams of fats and 290 grams of sugar and jam per week. In

this way, it was calculated that a ‘normal consumer’ would receive 2,400

calories per day, while supplements would provide a ‘heavy worker’ with

an additional 1,200 calories daily, and a ‘very heavy worker’ would receive

a daily total of 4,200 calories.50 Ration cards would be reissued every

month, thereby giving the authorities the chance to revise allocations

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83

according to supply. Special arrangements were made for temporary resi-

dents and for shops, canteens and restaurants.

Germany’s Jews, too, were subjected to special arrangements. Their

ration cards – overprinted with red ‘J’s – allowed only a vastly reduced

allocation and permitted their holders to shop only at certain times,

normally the half-hour before the store closed, by which time most

goods had been sold. The result, as Berliner Rachel Becker noted, was

that ‘hunger became a permanent bedfellow’. Despite her mother’s

best efforts to find food for the family, she recalled that ‘turnips and

a few potatoes usually had to suffice for supper’.51

A few Berlin Jews were fortunate enough, however, to have amenable

shopkeepers. One of the latter was the so-called ‘Vegetable Lady’ of

Lichterfelde, whose Jewish customers were permitted to hang a bag

on the back of the shop door in the morning, which could then be

collected – complete with their order – at the allotted time. In this

way a few Jewish families were able, temporarily at least, to stave off

the worst ravages of hunger.52

In addition to food, soap, footwear and clothing were also rationed.

The latter was arranged by a points system. Each consumer was allo-

cated a fixed number of points – 100 for an adult, 60 for teenagers

and 70 for a small child – which were available to them for purchases

during an average period of around eighteen months. The items

rationed all had a points value; 80 points, for instance, for a suit, 18

for a skirt, 14 for a child’s pullover and 10 for a pair of underpants.

Whatever one purchased, however, the total points value could not

be exceeded. On this basis, it was envisaged that a ‘normal’ wardrobe

would consist of the following:

Men: 1 suit, hat or cap, shirt, tie, collar, vest, pair of underpants, night-

shirt or pair of pyjamas, pair of socks, and 3 handkerchiefs.

Women: 1 dress, petticoat, shirt, pair of knickers, brassiere, nightgown

or pair of pyjamas, pair of stockings, and 3 handkerchiefs.53

Shoes, too, were strictly controlled, with only two pairs generally

permitted to each consumer, and with a permit for a new pair only

being issued upon submission of a declaration that one of the older

pairs had worn out.

The system was both onerous and unpopular. It is certainly not

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berlin at war

surprising that the first thing Berliners did when they mistakenly

believed that peace had been restored in October 1939 was to ignore

the restrictions and dispose of their ration cards. But in spite of its

inevitable unpopularity, the rationing system worked tolerably well;

Berliners got on with their lives and, most importantly, no one

starved.

The generosity of the system should not be overstated, however.

Although examining the bare statistics, it would be an easy conclu-

sion to make. It has been said, for instance, that in some cases ration

allocations actually exceeded the average pre-war consumption.54

Certainly, allowances were comparable to those available under the

British rationing system; and though bread was rationed (which it was

not in Britain), the German fat allowance, for instance, exceeded the

British until 1945.55 At first sight, at least, it also appears that the German

system held up rather well until the end of the war. There were fluc-

tuations in the allocations permitted, and the general trend is a down-

ward one, but beyond those two caveats one might conclude that

supplies were maintained throughout.

This is certainly the story that the official statistics tell. At the begin-

ning of the war, the weekly ration allocation for a ‘normal consumer’

was set at a generous 2,400 grams of bread (approximately two and

a half loaves), and a less than generous 500 grams of meat, 270 grams

of fats and 290 grams of sugar. And, according to archival records,

these figures subsequently dropped, but only very slowly. The weekly

bread ration, for instance, dropped to 2,250 grams late in 1940, then