Authors: Roger Moorhouse
recalled: ‘Then came the great moment when the birthday boy drove
by, standing in his big 7-litre Mercedes. The good company into which
I had so successfully insinuated myself rose, as is proper on the arrival
of a Head of State, and saluted in silence.’18 There, opposite the heavy
Wilhelmine backdrop of the Technical High School, Hitler alighted
from his Mercedes and climbed a few steps to a central dais where a
plush red and gilded chair awaited him. Above him, his personal stan-
dard hung stiffly, and to his rear – behind the grandstand – an enormous
gilded eagle was flanked by six large banners, all bearing the swastika.
He greeted his guests. To his left sat the representatives of his latest
territorial acquisition – the ‘Protector’ of Bohemia and Moravia,
Konstantin von Neurath, and the province’s diminutive President, Emil
Hácha, looking forlorn in a sober dark suit and a top hat. To Hitler’s
right sat the President and Foreign Minister of the newly independent
Slovak republic along with the German Foreign Minister, Joachim von
Ribbentrop. Behind him, the bemedalled commanders-in-chief of
Germany’s armed forces were arranged: Hermann Göring for the
Luftwaffe, Admiral Raeder for the Navy and Generals Brauchitsch and
Keitel for the Wehrmacht. In a large VIP enclosure to the rear of them
sat the serried ranks of the senior military in a mass of grey uniforms,
broken only by patches of black for the Navy, whose white hats gleamed
in the sunshine. Behind and on either side of the military, another
enclosure contained more special guests including the representatives
prologue: ‘führerweather’
9
of foreign powers – military attachés, ambassadors and consular staff
– as well as numerous lesser Party and state functionaries, accom-
panied by their coiffured wives. For the ordinary spectators, gathered
in the grandstands to either side, or across the boulevard, it was all a
most impressive sight.
After a brief lull, the proceedings began with a display of German
air power. Berliners craned their necks skyward as squadrons of
Heinkel bombers and Messerschmitt fighter aircraft droned past in
tight formation. Hitler acknowledged the display, nodding to himself
with satisfaction and sharing a word with Göring.
Following this aerial prelude, the procession proper could begin.
First, the three hundred or so colours and standards of all the partici-
pating regiments were paraded, their bearers marching in step to the
repertoire of the
Leibstandarte
military band. This was followed by
divisions of infantry and marines goose-stepping in immaculate order
past the tribune. When the paratroopers appeared, marching in close
formation wearing their camouflage jumpsuits, a buzz went through
the crowd: this was the first time that this new elite formation had
paraded in public.
Next came the motorised units, first, the panzer-grenadiers, loaded
into Opel trucks that trundled past the podium four abreast. They were
followed by motorcycle sidecar units, each carrying three men and
pedantically arranged in number-plate order. Armoured cars came next,
followed by reconnaissance vehicles and searchlight teams. All the latest
machinery was on display. Panzers followed; some clattered along
churning up the fresh road surface, others were mounted on low-
loaders, their crews – resplendent in black uniforms and berets – perched
on the accompanying trucks. One young spectator was especially
enthused. Watching the soldiers and machinery, he was struck by how
precisely the ranks were drawn up and the tremendous discipline that
was demonstrated as they marched or drove past the reviewing stand.
‘It was a feast for the eyes’, he recalled, ‘and the applause never seemed
to end.’19
Lastly, all manner of artillery filed past. Every type was in atten-
dance, from the smallest horse-drawn field howitzer, to the 88mm
anti-aircraft gun and the massive K-3 cannon, hauled by an equally
massive 18-ton FAMO half-track. For the grand finale, the colours of
the participating regiments were returned to the saluting base and
10
berlin at war
were massed before the Führer. As a commander – precariously
mounted on a skittish grey – gave the orders, the flags were dipped
in solemn salute.
From the first bugle call to the last hurrah, the parade had lasted
almost five hours. If arranged in a single line, its troops and machinery
would have formed a queue over 100 kilometres long.20 It had been
the largest peacetime display of military might ever seen. Throughout,
Hitler acknowledged the passing regiments and divisions in his trade-
mark manner: his left hand resting on the belt buckle at his waist,
while his right arm was outstretched in salute. Only occasionally –
when a lull in proceedings would allow – he would sit for a time and
exchange a few words with those around him. But mostly he stood,
stern-faced, watching his military machine pass by. Hitler liked to boast
of his ability to stand and salute much longer than any of his fellow
Nazis,21 and on this occasion his claims were well proven. Christa
Schroeder was one of those who marvelled at his stamina. ‘It is simply
amazing to me where he gets his strength from’, she wrote. ‘Hours
without a break standing and saluting are damned tiring. Just watching
we got dog-tired.’22
The reaction of the crowd to this martial spectacle, however, was
anything but tired. Those that opposed the Nazis or were unnerved
by such demonstrations of military might would generally have stayed
away, so the vast majority of those present surely felt nothing but a
surge of pride at the very visible restoration of German power, and
– as they saw it – German honour. Their reaction was simply one of
enthusiasm, wonder and occasional amusement. The appearance
of the cavalry squadrons raised a cheer, for instance, not least as the
occasionally wild-eyed horses injected a spirit of glamour and unpre-
dictability into proceedings. At other times, the sheer scale, complexity
or novelty of the military hardware on display prompted exclamations
of amazement. One journalist reported that the phrase ‘Neee . . .
sowat!’, which roughly translates to ‘Well, I never!’, was a commonly
heard response.23
Naturally, the entire event would be thoroughly exploited for the
purposes of propaganda. Official photographers had lined the route
and dutifully captured every sight and vista, many of which would
later appear in commemorative volumes, a must for every German
prologue: ‘führerweather’
11
coffee table. In addition, Goebbels had selected twelve cinematog-
raphers to record the procession. Their brief was clear. ‘Transcending
the present’, it said, they were to:
create a historic document for the future, to capture in pictures the
greatness of this day for all to see. This parade must become a para-
digm of film reporting. It is not simply a matter of outward form
– the spirit of the hour must be captured also, the whole atmos-
phere of discipline and concentrated power. Every second of the
action must be captured as it occurs.24
They would not disappoint. Between them, they would shoot over eight
kilometres of film,25 material which would be used – accompanied by
appropriately martial music – in the newsreel of the day.
As the parade concluded and Hitler returned to the Reich
Chancellery to receive foreign delegations in a private reception, the
crowds that had thronged the East-West Axis or packed the grand-
stands began to drift away. A few would have moved on to other cele-
bratory events elsewhere. Many with young children, meanwhile,
would have found themselves magnetically drawn to the tanks now
parked up on the East-West Axis, whose crews allowed eager young
boys to clamber aboard and peer inside, wide-eyed. The majority,
however, simply made for home or else sought refreshment in
the crowded bars and restaurants of the city centre. Inevitably, as the
hostelries filled to overflowing, the revellers spilled out into the street
where they sang and danced the night away, restrained only by the
cordons of jovial SS and police, who sought to keep the main thor-
oughfares open. For many of them, the party would only end with
the break of dawn.
The mood among the revellers was optimistic. Germany’s military
and political might had been demonstrated to full effect that after-
noon, and it was all a far cry from the humiliations of Versailles, the
grim years of the Depression and the political chaos of the 1920s.
Hitler, it appeared, had delivered what he had promised and had
restored German prestige and self-confidence. That afternoon, it must
have seemed to the Berlin public as though their Führer had made
good on his prediction expressed in
Mein Kampf
: ‘It shall be a greater
12
berlin at war
honour to be a citizen of this Reich, even as a street-sweeper, than to
be the King of a foreign state.’26 Even William Shirer, not a natural
ally or admirer of the Nazis, would have agreed with that assump-
tion. That afternoon, he recorded: ‘you get the impression from the
people in the street that they feel pretty good about these things, and
certainly proud of them. They seem to feel that they have got some-
where and are going places, as a nation.’27
Such optimism was not misplaced. In the spring of 1939 Hitler’s
Germany was at the very peak of its power. In the preceding few
weeks, German troops had marched into Prague, occupied what had
remained of Czechoslovakia and annexed the disputed Memel terri-
tory from Lithuania. Of course, such events had injected a rather
fraught tone to international relations, but the vast majority of
Germans fervently believed that Hitler was committed to peace and
would be able to negotiate such tensions away.
Greater Germany, therefore, was a reality and – crucially for the
German public – it was at peace. Straddling the continent from
the North Sea to the Danube Basin and from the eastern Baltic to the
Rhine, it was the largest and most populous state in Europe. Beyond
its borders, Germany wielded enormous influence. It had successfully
overcome the worst effects of the Depression. Its economy was
booming – having already reached full employment – and was drawing
much of central Europe into its ‘area of influence’. Germany’s polit-
i cal model, meanwhile, was proving increasingly attractive to those
nations seemingly hamstrung by democracy and struggling with
political extremism and unrest. Even the overt display of military
might seemed to have done little to dampen the enthusiasm. As one
commentator noted that day, the crowd at the parade ‘didn’t strike
you as thinking much about war, even though they were looking at
the men and the machines which will fight it, if it should come’.28
Little wonder, perhaps, that so many Berliners viewed the future
with unbridled optimism.
1
Faith in the Führer
The 1st of September 1939 was a day that began like any other. A bright,
late summer morning had dawned, with a sprinkling of dew on the
ground and a cool breeze blowing down off the Baltic. Early risers opened
their curtains and readied themselves for the day ahead. It was a Friday
and work and school beckoned for most. The morning ablutions would
be completed; clothes for the day would be selected and put on. Children
would be hurried along, encouraged to follow the established routine.
Then there would be breakfast: coffee pots would be placed on hobs,
dark rye bread carefully sliced, and meat or cheese prepared.
Those reading their newspaper over breakfast would have learned little
about the momentous events then unfolding two hundred or so miles
to the east. Though the main dailies would later produce an ‘extra’,
hawked noisily in the heart of the capital, the regular editions carried
no information about the events of that morning. Some printed stories
suggesting that the ongoing crisis with Poland was coming to a head,
listing Polish ‘outrages’ of recent months or giving details of a hand-
grenade attack carried out against ethnic Germans there.1 Some news
stories were rather peculiar, the products perhaps of fevered speculation
or the imagination of a Propaganda Ministry official. One suggested that
the Polish army was moving against Lithuania and Latvia,2 while another
reported that a Polish claim had been made to the city of Berlin itself.3
Most reports in the newspapers, however, portrayed a city in which
life appeared to be continuing very much as normal. The motorway
link to Dresden was declared to be close to completion, and Berlin
Zoo announced that children would be admitted half-price over the
coming weekend. Book serialisations vied for space with small ads
and reports from the financial markets. Entertainment listings were
prominently displayed. The premiere of the film
Die barmherzige Lüge