After the Second World War, the housing shortage in the bombed-out cities was so great that the first working-class families with many children and possibly also destitute refugees populated the house.
At that time, the washroom was booming, and its use had to be regulated by plan. In the last decade, the washing machine finally sent the laundry room into irrelevance, but I wasn’t going to let that happen.
After two years, when the unpleasant smell had finally dissipated, we diligently transformed the former stinking cesspool into a cozy basement bar.
For years, the residents and neighbors met there for merry celebrations. The construction measures had welded the majority of tenants in the house together into a community of purpose.
The decay of the venerable villa had stopped, and that benefited everyone. For Chris and me, this was a necessary prerequisite for further decorating our apartment.
I maintained a trusting relationship with Chris’s parents and her siblings. Andreas was the proud owner of a 250cc MZ and often visited us with his future wife Kerstin.
Everything seemed to turn to the good, only from Thomas still a message was missing. Also to Jacky my divorcee blocked every contact. I sent congratulations on holidays and gifts by messenger, although we lived only a few streets away from each other.
I was powerless against this hatred. Finally, after months, a sign of life from Thomas: Andreas had received a postcard from Wuppertal, if I remember correctly.
How had the boy come to the Federal Republic? I found no answer to this question. The Stasi had certainly checked my mail, too, but I remained unmolested because there was not the slightest connection to Thomas.
Andreas, too, had no idea that his brother was planning to flee to the West. We only found out years later how Thomas had managed to escape to West Germany.
Nobody had to go hungry in the GDR, but almost everything that went beyond basic human needs became a problem. For foreign currency, the state had to sell off everything, from machine tools to Spreewald gherkins.
Not much was left over for the population, and people bought pickled Polish silver onions or a can of pineapple at inflated prices in specially set up ‘delicatessens.’ The procurement stress took on unimagined proportions.
That’s why my self-built roof racks remained permanently mounted on the car, because what didn’t fit in the trunk could immediately be transported on the roof without any problems. For the extension of the apartment I could use everything, from squared timber to plywood and boards.
The Lada was my packhorse, without a car I would never have been able to finish the apartment. When the first successful false ceiling was finally installed in the living room, we got hold of a quite acceptable wall unit by pure chance.
Chris wanted a matching corner couch to complete the look, but despite an intensive search, we couldn’t find one. We tried a private upholstery shop.
After we had expressed our wish, the master lamented his suffering: He would like to help us, but he himself had great difficulty in obtaining materials because his van was no longer roadworthy: the chassis urgently needed to be repaired and replaced with the two front fenders.
Without further ado, I repaired the van at my friends’ motorcycle repair shop, and we received a corner couch in light brown leatherette whose chic was unparalleled.
We remained on friendly terms with the expert upholsterer, and he made some more simple but very practical box furniture for us. 𝓣𝓸 𝓑𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓾𝓮𝓭…
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