Evening star., 1939-12-05
b|ackout in Berlin
MakesCity an |nky
AbyssEveryNight
Only Their Noises
Save Pedestrians
From Many d Collision
(Tpenty- first OF a SerieS.)
Nv WILLIAM l.. WHITE.

by WILLIAM II. VIII T..
BERLIN (By AirmaiD Yes, I
know you have read about black
outs and so had I. But you have
never been in one and neither had l.
The big Berlin railway station is
comfortably lighted inside and l
walked down a long flight of marble
steps toward its exit. This turns
out to be not a pair of double doors
but a vestibule with heavy drapes
hung from the high ceiling in the
form of maze through which l
must walk in winding S-shaped
path. AS I step out into the city OF
Berlin what do I see? Nothing, and
1t is a shock. I might be standing
on the bottom Of lake of SCOT.
But there are noises in this area.
Footsteps, the occasional sound Of
q motor car. And as my eyes grow
a little more accustomed, even
lights. Out there in what must be
the street pair of them-each no
bigger than the candles on baby's
birthday cake-hoat silently along.
This is a motor car. Such pair
pulls Up to spot in the murky
blackness where the curbing should
be. 1t is taxi, and climbing in
with the aid of the ghostly glow
which filters through the maze of
heavy drapes from the interior of
the station, I give the name of my
hotel. I hear the motor start and
presently we are out into the stream
of traffic, because other pairs of
childrens birthday candles are
either passing us or floating along
side.
At $50 Every Day.
We 60 through blackness in a
high-walled canyon. Its top is an
irregular line of roofs silhouetted
against the not quite so black sky.
But the walls of these buildings are
inky black-not so much as a crack
of light to mark the edge of a WIN
dow.
Then the taxi stops and I make
out another faint glow coming
through a labyrinth of heavy
drapes. 1t marks the door of the
Hotel Bristol, SO dim you cannot
see it 20 feet.
So begins a new way of life. At
$50 every evening the maid comes
In to darken the window of my
room. She lets down an outer
shield of heavy wooden Stats which
dovetail into one another-then she
draws the heavy curtains which
fall from ceiling to floor If, after
dinner I go for walk, must feel
my way along the buildings in inky
darkness and steer by my ears, not
my eyes. I can now tell the light
step of woman from the firmer
one of man. That heavy plunk |!
plunk! plunk! in slow funeral
cadence along the sidewalk can only
be the hobnails of the policeman
patrolling his beat.
Sometimes a car passes. and by
the two tiny cigar shaped Sits of
light in its lamp hoods I can tell
whether that dark object which
looms ahead of me is a stationery
la,nppost or moving storm trooper.
Because I have rubber soles on nv
shoes and make no noise I never go
out at night without a lighted ciga-
ret. This other pedestrians can see
otherwise hearing no sound they
would not slacken their pace but
walk straight into me in the dark
ness.
Extra Care Tonight.
Tonight something is stirring. The
maid comes around early, takes ex .
ira precautions with the window.
They say the police have been going
up and down the watching
for gleam of light, cracking down
on occupants of such houses. I walk
out into the blackness after supper
and here is gorgeous sight-four
giant anti-aircraft searchlights stab
bing up into the sky-no, five-no
eight-a ring of tall columns of light
rising straight up into the air At
the top of each column is a phos-
phorescent blur where the light
strikes a high strata of mist Be-
yond are the dim stars. A gorgeous
sight.
But is it safe to 60 out? Might
not the British be coming with a
load of pamphlets, and is there not
some danger of getting your ear
knocked off by dangling particle.
The searchlights do not move. There
is no rising scream of an alarm siren
Only the lights are there-a ring of
tall, pale, sinister sentinels guarding
the dictator's capital city from the
democracies bombers.
In war-darkened Berlin you soon
learn to count the steps from your
door to the corner-53-and then
you must tumble with your toe for
the low curbing. You are permitted
a flashlight, but first two strips of
black sticking plaster must be pasted
over it's lense leaving bar of light
hardly thicker than the edge of a
quarter.
Yet the life of the town goes on.
You tumble your way to movies,
concerts. coffee houses and the wine
cellars where lights blaze and corks
pop behind the heavy curtains.