Switching Sides - becoming a Refugee

It is the summer of 1956 and we, Mum and I, are about to 'defect' to the West. It was relatively easy in those days, no Berlin Wall yet. But, one had to contemplate whether to go in just the clothes on ones back or take a few possessions as well.
A bit of background to our 'defection' would, most likely, be helpful to explain our departure from the 'Workers Paradise'.
It was in early autumn 1955, the middle of the evening with storms threatening and rain pouring down, that my sister Gisela turned up at our place with her good friend Dagmar in tow.

The Contraption - very stable!? Tips over at the drop of a hat

Somehow, they had managed to persuade a kind soul who had access to a motor car, what we nowadays call a Ute (see picture on right), to load up Dagmar's possessions and drive the few kilometres to our place.
Naturally, at that point of time I was blissfully unaware of what was going on. I was told the full story once we had 'defected'.
What had happened was this: Dagmar was married at the time and had two ankle biters snapping at her heels. Her darling husband went to the local pub, a few villages away from us, one Friday night and got suitably sloshed - the only entertainment around then, apart from smoking Machorka.
As it so happened there were a few Russian soldiers in the pub that night, seeking the same entertainment and relaxation. Late at night, Dagmar's husband got into a rather heated argument with one of the Russians, to the point where he invited the Russian outside to settle the argument. Nothing unusual for a Friday night at the pub, fights were as easily started then as they are nowadays. However, this fight took a rather nasty turn, Dagmar's husband grabbed the pistol from the soldier's holster, aimed it at him and pulled the trigger.
Not the smartest thing to do! At point blank range the poor bugger, the Russian of course, had about a snowball's hope in hell.
Realising what he'd done, Dagmar's husband sobered up enough to gather his wits. He ran home, told his darling wife what had happened and declared he was out of there. He knew the Russians would be hunting him and his chance of a trial, let alone a fair one, were extremely remote. He simply told his wife "I'm out of here and you are on your own!" End of story, he was gone.
Dagmar spent a rather nervous night at her home with the two kids. Sure enough, next morning Russian military police, accompanied by local police, showed up at her home to enquire as to the whereabouts of her husband. Her claiming to know nothing and their search of the home not revealing a trace of her husband they left. That was the trigger to contact my sister and arrange for her 'escape' to West Berlin. The two girls thought, as far as girls think, that mum's would be a good place to store her belongings since there was only a very remote connection between the Mum and Dagmar.
Luckily her parents lived in West Berlin, so at least her and the kids had somewhere to go.
Well, Mum ended up with Dagmar's possessions since she could not take them and the kids on the suburban train to West Berlin, it would have been cumbersome and too suspicious.
Mum and I spent the next six months ferrying the belongings, bit bit bit, every week to West Berlin. It was all well intended but landed us, Mum and I, in rather hot water. The Gestapo replacement, the Stasi, weren't that dumb. They soon figured out the connection between Dagmar and Gisela (collegaues after all) and Gisela's mum! They had also noted mum and my weekly trips to West Berlin - very suspicious indeed.
Luckily we had a cousin who's husband was a sergeant in the vice squad in Berlin and had access to most records. In late June 1956 he conveyed a message to mum that she had appeared on the wanted list! The Russians weren't going to give up on catching the murderer of one of their own.
Our family member advised that the threat was not imminent as yet, but would escalate over the next few months and we better get out. So, what does my brazen mum do? She applies for another visiting visa to West Germany to spend time, again, with her sister Maria in Munich! Lo and behold, this request was granted in double quick time and we departed in the middle of July from Ostbahnhof, then Berlin Central as far as the East Germans were concerned, bound for Munich.
Doing it this way we were able to take along two large suitcases containing most of our possessions.
The trick was that the train departed Ostbahnhof, ambled though the rest of East Berlin before entering West Berlin for a stop at Berlin Zoo to pick up real paying passengers (West Berliners that payed in convertible currency, i.e. West Mark), before rambling on through East Germany before reaching the East/West German border somewhere in Thuringia.
We got on the train at Ostbahnhof, completed our border control at Friedrichstrasse (the last stop in East Berlin) and promptly got off at Berlin Zoo station. Being West Berlin, and a 'free' country as proclaimed by our Yankee friends, nobody gave a rats arse whether we got off or continued.

Marienfelde Refugee Camp swamped by new arrivals from the East

We lugged our suitcases from the long distance platform down to the suburban electric train and proceeded to Marienfelde, the refugee camp for East Germans escaping and, I believe, still in use today for refugees from much further afield like Iraq and Afghanistan.
We arrived at Marienfelde early in the afternoon. It took forever, in my view anyway, to get processed and allocated a small room with two beds. I was hungry and thirsty and didn't like the change in scenery at all!!
Just in the nick of time, before expiring from starvation and dehydration, I was fed and watered around 6 PM. The food wasn't crash hot, though - same bread as I would have gotten in Munich! All white, fluffy and no substance in it whatsoever. But beggars can't be choosers, you eat what is put in front of you!
Our next dilemma was to let Gisela know that we had safely arrived at the refugee camp and everything was OK.

The border notice then - before the Berlin Wall

Gisela didn't have a telephone then, it would have been diabolical to use it if she had, and sending a letter was out of the question.
Guess what my brilliant scheme mum came up with?
Movement between East and West Berlin being still relatively unrestricted, except for the East Germans patrolling all rail cars coming into or going out of East Berlin. Elsewhere it was just a matter of signs telling people they were now leaving/entering the American/English/French/Russian sector. None of the powers that be were in a position to patrol/control every little street or lane that crisscrossed Berlin. Eventually they build the WALL to stop all these shenanigans.
Mum dispatched me to see my cousin, she who's husband was in the vice squad, to pass on the good news to be conveyed to Gisela.
My instructions were to take the underground to Gesundbrunnen and then walk across the border, there were hardly any controls there at that time - especially not of cheeky 13 year olds, walk to nearest underground station in the East and get close to Prenzlauer Berg. Wasn't it lucky that mum had the presence of mind to take all of her East German money with her when we 'defected'?! Helps immensely with buying train tickets in a 'foreign' country without appearing suspicious, as East Berlin was termed then, doesn't it. It was then a relatively short walk to my cousin's place.
Mission accomplished, message delivered and eventually passed on, I arrived back at the refugee camp in the early evening.  Lucky for me my cousin had the right spirit. She fed and watered me (and very nice gluggy bread and imitation salami it was) before my departure for the return journey.
I did arrive back at the camp just in time for the evening meal - wouldn't have lasted till next morning on the few morsels I'd had during the day.