Trip to Germany: Did air raid sirens pass for church bells in the old DDR?

Christine and Rainer's factory has seen better days after decades of misuse and neglect by Soviet occupiers. Image by Del Stone Jr.

Their names are Christine and Rainer, and they live in what used to be the German Democratic Republic, or East Germany.

Now things are better.

They own a small factory, across the street from their house, which produces rubber parts. About nine people punch a clock there, a huge improvement over the days when Christine and Rainer worked alone.

They have all the conveniences you’d expect in a modern household – telephones, satellite TV, microwave oven, dishwasher. A new Mercedes is on the wish list.

Christine and Rainer’s rubber factory, on a cloudy day in what once was East Germany. The two live about 25 miles out of Leipzig. image by Del Stone Jr.

So they live well – better than a lot of East Germans who were brought up under the dubious oversight of socialism and foundered when capitalism rushed in behind the collapse of the Berlin Wall.

But it was not always so for Christine and Rainer. Rainer’s father, who owned the factory in 1945, was beaten by the invading Soviets so badly he spent the rest of his life in and out of hospitals.

The Russians took away the factory, and took away the house across the street. They rented it to one of the own for 39 marks a month, about $24. When Rainer and Christine came of age, they were assigned apartments. Rainer was conscripted by the military and spent the months immediately after the Cuban Missile Crisis working as a technician at an East German radar site.

Later, he would return to the factory after the Russians could no longer make it work.

When the wall came down, Rainer and Christine, who were together by now, petitioned the government for the return of their property. Enough points of verification existed that they won their case.

But the house had been run down. The factory had been similarly damaged.

So they set about rebuilding.

We stroll the factory grounds on a gray, cool morning. Somehow, the weather captures the mood perfectly.

One building contains the offices, and another houses the machinery that makes the parts. But the other 10 or 12 buildings just sit there – empty, crumbling shells.

It is a scene from “Schindler’s List” – coal-blackened bricks, fractured masonry, weed-overgrown lots, broken widows glaring darkly like empty eye sockets. It should all be in black and white, you think.

Everywhere you smell the decay, underlaid with a strange cocktail of contrasting odors: machine oil and wildflowers, chemicals and dew, about every unlikely juxtaposition of scents you can imagine.

An old-fashioned light fixture soldiers on at the rubber factory of Christine and Rainer, who live in the former DDR. Image by Del Stone Jr.

This place died of neglect, pure and simple. To keep a place like this going, you need loyalty, and determination, and most of all, love. It is plain to see the communist overmasters possessed none of those traits, and the state was certainly not able to bestow them upon their “proletariat.”

As we explore these magnificent and terrifying ruins, we hear something that describes the history of this place.

All across Germany, church bells ring in the top of the hour.

But at this place, as our watches strike 11, we do not hear church bells.

We hear the unearthly wail of an air raid siren.

Is this, I ask myself, what passed for church bells in East Germany?

Is this what passed for communism’s soul?

This column was previously published in the Wednesday, Oct. 9, 1997 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.

About the author:

Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”

Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.

As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.

Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .