Walter Kempowski

God, what a mess! The Kröpeliner Strasse was not that bad, in places even rather nicely re-done, but in front of and behind it: ugh! In the side streets dilapidated houses with collapsed roofs, piles of rubbish, the streets full of potholes, puddles. And over it all, smog from brown coal, poisonous stuff that settles in your lungs.

My father ‘loved his hometown’, as he always said. On Sundays, while my mother basted the roast, he went out walking with us. His right hand on his back, his left hand guiding his walking stick, now forwards, now backwards. As he knew many people, he was always tipping his hat.