Victor Ryabinin left Königsberg in 2019 to go back there. There is so much presence in his absence that it is hard to say if he ever went at all.
18 July 2023 ~ Victor Ryabinin Artist Four Years Out of Time
Featured image: Victor Ryabinin with Mick Hart, The London Pub, Kaliningrad, 2015
Our friend, artist, philosopher and local historian, VIctor Ryabinin, who lived out his entire life in Königsberg, died on 18 July 2019. He was, as I and others have written, a most unassuming, but in spite of and because of this, most remarkable man, both intellectually and on the level of humanity.
This is the first year that I will be unable to make the annual homage to his grave, as I am in England at present doing all the things that we people have to do whilst we are alive and which, when we die, mean very little if nothing to anyone. “Is it worth it?” sang Elvis Costello.
Such is not the case with Victor: Victor left behind a concatenation of friends and colleagues who filled the hall at his funeral to pay their last respects to him, who have written heart-felt eulogies to him, enough to fill a book, and who continue to speak of him with great affection and reverence. This is the yardstick of a worthwhile life: to have people remember you for the essence of the person you were and the light that you brought to their life.
It was a small affair, my funeral: There was the vicar, who begrudgingly turned out on a wet afternoon when the pubs were open, Ginger the cat, who had nothing better to do, and two professionals from Rent A Mourner. No one could be asked to dig the grave, so they used a post-hole digger and buried me standing up. My brother, the one who is a carpenter, made the coffin from MDF, his stock-in-trade material and, in order to keep things cheap, cut corners literally so that my feet stuck out one end. Happily ~ purely for the sake of appearances, mind, nothing to do with respect ~ someone found an old pair of wellies, so that took care of that.
Leonard Cohen was played throughout, and a man, chosen because of his serious face and the fact he cost a fiver, read an excerpt from my favourite short story, Ligeia, by Edgar Allan Poe, and then the graveside bystanders, muttering “He always was a miserable bugger.” ~ Ginger the cat said “Meow!” ~ off they went to the nearest pub at a gallop and by the time their first pint had been downed they had forgotten I ever existed.
Victor Ryabinin Artist
Something as ignominious as this could never happen to the likes of Victor Ryabinin, because he was a truly likeable man: admired, respected, loved, revered, warm of company and generous in spirit.
In 2022, we privately and officially celebrated Victor’s life and commemorated his death with a plaque that we had commissioned, and which is now attached to the wall of our dacha. There was talk once, there always is a lot of talk full of good intentions immediately after someone dies, of erecting a plaque in Victor’s honour on the wall of the building where his studio once was. It is a great pity that this idea has never been brought to fruition, as many people ~ poets, architects, historians, artists, museum curators and me ~ were privileged to sit with him there, surrounded by relics from Königsberg and the artworks created in his own hand, artworks which these relics, these haunting pieces of the past combined with his personal memories, had assigned him to compose and pass on for posterity.
Another building that deserves to be endowed with a plaque in memory of Victory Ryabinin is the Kaliningrad Art School, where Victor worked as an art teacher for many years. His former students speak warmly of him, both of the man and the teacher, and it is gratifying to discover that the inspiration that he instilled shines through their sketches and paintings, which are displayed at various times in solo exhibitions and with the works of other artists in Kaliningrad’s art museums.
Today, I am far away and unable to make my annual trip to Victor’s graveside. When he died, I vowed this would never happen, but show me the man who is master of his destiny and we’ll sit together and talk of lies. Fortunately, our minds are capable of travelling far greater distances than any machine, and special people and unique places never stray far from our thoughts. They are a source of great comfort in its ever having been and a source of equal pain in its never to be again.
What happens to the heart? Leonard Cohen asks. And well he might. Whatever it is, we have no choice but to live with it, if only, thankfully, for a little while longer ~ somehow.
Victor Ryabinin Arrived in Königsberg 17th December 1946 Returned to Königsberg 18th July 2019
11 June 2023 ~ Kaliningrad German Helmet in all its Steampunk Glory
On the subject of vintage and antiques, which we were in my last post and are in this one, the object featured today is, in its reincarnated form, neither, but as peculiar and fascinating things go, it has a promising future, and who knows who’s interest it may collect from someone for whom it was destined.
This item, which is a lamp, was made by and purchased from a Kaliningrad metalwares’ sculptor and is yet another example of the talent and creativity which artist Victor Ryabinin spoke of when he talked of the special people who are drawn to, or who have been nurtured within, the ancient Königsberg region.
The components of the piece are identifiable enough: the shade most obviously is a WWII German military helmet; the stem is a length of shaped and sculpted pipework; and the base, though not so easily categorised, seems to have been taken from an engine of some description.
The industrial look, the interior design concept which continues to dominate cafés, bars, restaurants and nightclubs is simpatico. A close relative of steampunk, it, too, cuts to the basics, wedding and distorting common objects from the industrial past with their future in the present.
Kaliningrad German Helmet goes all steampunk
My lamp, or rather the lamp I am looking after for future generations, is artistically endowed with an evocative bronze patina, which, when the lamp is lit, creates a deep and mellow aura.
Sometimes, when I am alone in the attic regarding the lamp over a beer, a macabre realisation seeps quietly out through the helmet’s ragged holes and makes its way into my mind: “Just think,” it says, “once upon a time the light bulb in this helmet was nothing of the sort; there was a German head inside the helmet.” And I go on to wonder who that German was and what eventually became of him. Did he survive the war?
Hmmm? Pieces from the past do that to you sometimes; they talk to you in your present and make you long to complete the jigsaw.
Published: 15 February 2023 ~ Is the Königsberg Amber Room still in Kaliningrad?
Last seen in Königsberg Castle before the end of the war, ever since the Amber Room went missing ~ missing presumed dead by some, missing presumed purloined by others ~ historians and treasure hunters alike have turned the search for the Amber Room into a latter day Holy Grail that has kept them guessing and occupied for more than three-quarters of a century.
We don’t all love mysteries, but we sure do like to solve them, and so it is with the Amber Room, which disappeared from Königsberg Castle in the final months of World War II. The search for what was once described as the Eighth Wonder of the World has become an historians’ and treasure hunters’ Holy Grail. Numerous theories abound regarding the room’s vanishing act and its whereabouts today.
Recently, my wife Olga attended a lecture delivered by one of these Argonauts, a man who has spent considerable time and energy researching the history of the Amber Room and most of his ambition engaged in a quest to locate it.
Unlike a good many historians, the gentleman in question does not hold with the popular conviction that the Amber Room was destroyed either as a result of the RAF’s bombing raids or by the artillery fire of the advancing Soviet army. Neither does he hold with the myriad theories that would have the room plundered and shipped elsewhere. In his opinion the Amber Room that was, is the Amber Room that very much is. Furthermore, he believes not only is it alive and kicking but kicking about in Kaliningrad.
Is the Königsberg Amber Room still in Kaliningrad?
For those of you unacquainted with the story of the Amber Room, it goes like this:
The Amber Room was a chamber richly decorated with ornate amber panels, elaborately highlighted with gold leaf, complemented by magnificent baroque-framed mirrors and illuminated with flickering candles. Those who had the privilege of beholding it in person were overwhelmed by its singular beauty.
Amber: What it is and why is it so precious?
In order to protect themselves from parasites, harmful insects and to act as a restorative for external damage, trees produce a protective resin. This substance exuded through the bark of the tree, eventually hardens, forming a seal, against which the gnawing activities of harmful insects are rendered inoperable.
Extinct, fossilised tree trunks from primordial forests produce fossilised resin, and this is the substance we now call Amber. The Kaliningrad region on the Baltic Coast contains the world’s largest amber reserves; more than 90 per cent of the world’s amber is located in this region.
Amber has been appreciated for its natural beauty and colour for thousands of years. Its tactile quality and variation in hues from light yellow, dark brown, green, blue and white, the latter referred to as milk amber, make it the perfect gemstone for jewellery and for use in the creation of a wide variety of decorative and functional objects including framed art, vases, paperweights, plaques, pens and elaborate clocks.
Naturally sticky, in its mobile state amber resin would sometimes entrap plant life as well as small insects. Known as inclusions, amber containing organic matter from times of antiquity often command higher prices than pieces that are clean.
The Amber Room was designed and crafted by the German sculptor Andreas Schlüter and the Danish amber artisan Gottfried Wolfram in the early years of the 18th century and completed from 1707 by Gottfried Turau and Ernst Schacht from Danzig (now Gdańsk).
Originally part of the Berlin City Palace, in 1716 the Amber Room, then considered the Eighth Wonder of the World, was gifted by the Prussian King Frederick William I to Peter the Great of the Russian Empire. It was reassembled, renovated and expanded in the summer residence of the Russian tsars, the Catherine Palace, a grand Rococo edifice approximately 30km south of St Petersburg. By the time the room was completed, it is said to have contained over six tonnes of the precious resin, amber.
Hand-coloured photograph of the original Amber Room, 1932
Following the invasion of Soviet Russia in WWII, the Amber Room was swifty removed by the Germans, taken to Prussian Königsberg and reconstructed in Königsberg Castle. In early 1944, as Königsberg braced itself for the inevitable Allied onslaught, it is alleged that the Amber Room was dismantled and its components stashed away in the castle basement.
In August 1944, Königsberg came under heavy bombardment by the Royal Air Force (RAF). A large percentage of the munitions used were incendiary by nature and in the conflagration that followed the city was all but consumed.
Extensive damage was further inflicted by Red Army artillery fire in the days and hours immediately preceding Königsberg’s capitulation on 9th April 1945.
Photographs and ciné films taken shortly after the Soviet victory document the extent of Königsberg’s destruction. Both city and castle were gutted, and the Amber Room was never found.
Whilst the simplest and most credible explanation for the disappearance of the celebrated room is that like the rest of the castle and most of the city it had gone up in smoke, absence of hard evidence to nail this theory firmly to fact sparked a plethora of alternatives whose versions of the room’s fate live on to this day. So far, however, none of these would-be explanations have come up with the goods, and thus the Eighth Wonder of the World is currently having to bide its time as one of the world’s enduring mysteries.
It is well to remember, however, that mysteries rarely live alone; they tend to cohabitate in tormented sin, in a hotbed of rampant reveries, many of which over time turn radical or romantic. And the Amber Room is no exception.
Of course, there are conspiracy theories. It is far more palatable to indulge the notion of the Amber Room spirited away, living the life of privileged ease in some Oligarch’s chateau or other, than to accept the unthinkable thought that this irreplaceable work of art has been indifferently obliterated. Nevertheless, the official position seems to endorse this postulate.
This is because once Königsberg had fallen, Soviet soldiers were dispatched post-haste to investigate the castle ruins for the presence of the Amber Room. It is a matter of public record that their report concluded ‘Amber Room not found’, from which intelligence it was inferred that the Amber Room had perished.
However, drawing a line under the mystery with no hard evidence to back it up was and continues to be a red flag to more bullish minds, which persist in bringing into the field of debate alternative theories, speculation and hope.
For example, eyewitness reports place the missing room’s whereabouts in at least two underwater locations: one, that it went down with the Wilhelm Gustloff, a German ship sunk by a Soviet submarine on 30 January 1945; two, that it lies in part at the bottom of the sea, put there by Soviet aircraft when they attacked and destroyed the SS Karlsruhe, a German evacuation ship that sailed from Königsberg in 1945.
Such theories, which provide the basis for the ongoing search, gained particular impetus from the 1997 discovery of one of a series of four stone mosaics, ‘Feel and Touch’, which, once an integral part of the Amber Room, turned up in the family home of a former German soldier, who claimed that he acquired the mosaic whilst helping to pack the dismantled room in crates for transportation. As far as I am aware, however, he did not recall, or did not name, the final destination for which those crates were bound.
A year later, two unrelated teams, one German and the other Lithuanian, stated publicly that they had found the Amber Room. The German team alleged that it was secreted in a silver mine; the Lithuanian team that it was immersed within a lagoon; neither were correct.
Although a detailed assessment of the evidence such as it was, as undertaken in 2004 by two British journalists, concluded that the Amber Room may not have survived the combined devastation of the 1944 air raids and subsequent shelling by Soviet artillery, which was also the official Soviet line, not everyone is convinced.
The Amber Room in the Catherine Palace, 1917
One of the most enticing theories, by virtue of its ongoing nature, is that the Amber Room never left Kaliningrad. This theory postulates that it is either squirreled away in one of the many tunnels that are alleged to form a labyrinth beneath the Royal Castle or is safe and secure in secret rooms beneath the bunker of Otto Lasch, the general who was tasked with the unenviable responsibility of commanding the defence of Königsberg in 1945.
Otto Lasch’s command bunker survives to this day. Known simply as the Museum Bunker, it is situated at the front ofthe Kaliningrad State University, a few minutes’ walk from Victory Square and likewise from Königsberg Cathedral.
From what I can gather, the theory that the last resting place of the Amber Room is but a short distance away from the place where it was last displayed, namely Königsberg Castle, is not new. It has been in circulation for years.
Indeed, in a news report published on 5 December 2022*, it was made public that surveys of the bunker of the last commandant of Königsberg, Otto Lasch, had been resumed ~ resumed meaning that the latest investigations were a continuation of those last undertaken in autumn 2009.
The 2022 resumption, which was supervised by the head of the bunker museum, as well as local historian Sergei Trifonov, used echo radar in an attempt to penetrate the voids behind the walls and the ground beneath the bunker.
“Trifonov himself said that the researchers ‘found what they were looking for’, but the press service of the museum noted that the survey report is not yet ready and will be published in the near future.”*
We wait with bated breath.
I hear tell, but don’t quote me on this, that what they found was a considerable depth of concrete, so considerable that anything that might be concealed beneath it fell outside the range and spectrum of the electronic equipment used.
Apart from being a historic treasure, and one of the most beautiful and awe-inspiring interior works of art that the world has ever known, the estimated value of the Amber Room in strictly material terms was quoted as $500 million in 2016. One presumes that in the past eight years its value has appreciated.
The decision to excavate the historic Königsberg bunker presumably rests on the presentation of sufficient credible evidence to justify the disruption and ultimately the cost of the amount of work involved. It is by no means an easy decsion to make. On the one hand, it might unearth a unique historical legacy immense in artistic and material value; on the other, a whole lot of concrete, half a dozen incumbent worms and the odd German helmet or two.
Until that decision is taken of one thing we can be sure, the search for the Amber Room goes on.
On the third anniversary of Victor Ryabinin’s death
Published: 18 July 2022 ~ Remembering Victor Ryabinin, Artist, Königsberg
Photograph: Victor Ryabinin seated on the right at the far end of the table
On 30th June this year, the thought occurred to me that three years ago to this date in less than four weeks we would be deprived of one of the most significant people in our lives.
On this, the third anniversary of Victor Ryabinin’s death, I have rescued from my photo archives an image for this post that was taken in a Kaliningrad restaurant shortly after I moved to Kaliningrad in the winter of 2018.
This restaurant, situated below ground level not far from the Kaliningrad Hotel, had become a popular haunt of Victor’s and his inner circle, his coterie of friends and fellow artists, not purely for its Soviet theme, although this coalesced perfectly with Victor’s love of history, but also for the very practical and very reasonable reason that the food was affordably priced and, more importantly, it was one of those rapidly fading establishments where customers were permitted to bring their own alcohol with them.
In the intervening period between my last visit to Kaliningrad and my return in 2018, a revolution had occurred, not arguably of the magnitude and life-changing tempestuousness as that experienced in Russia in the early years of the twentieth century but nevertheless in drinking circles on the scale of one to 10 somewhere close to 11: Victor and his clan had largely renounced the drinking of vodka and taken to cognac instead.
In the last few months of Victor’s life, and our association with him, the new trend was so evidently established that whenever we would meet, I would refer to those occasions as a meeting of The Cognac Club.
Remembering Victor Ryabinin, Artist, Königsberg
Sadly, not only is Victor no longer with us, but the old haunt, the Soviet café, has also vanished from our living timeline.
For as much as it appealed to me, I am not entirely sorry that the cafe has ceased to exist. Knowing me and memories, it would have been all too tempting to return there and try to close the gap between what once was and nevermore can be. Life, as we grow older, is full of half-way houses where we hope one day we might meet again and mausoleums where if we do at least we won’t be alone, even if none of us know it.
The photograph I have used for this post was taken in the Soviet café at a time before we knew what it would eventually come to mean for us. Not every grain can be counted or heard as the sand runs down in the hour glass. Victor Ryabinin passed away a few months after this photograph was taken.
The memories you painted, all are good my friend …
Published: 29 May 2022 ~ How to make a film based in Königsberg
Lead actress, Elena Borovzova – a lady in red – in Yury Grozmani’s Last Tango in Königsberg
THE LAST DAY OF FILMING as far as we were concerned for Yury Grozmani’s Last Tango in Königsberg (a film made with the support of the Presidential Foundation for Cultural Initiatives)took place today on 26 May at Ivan Zverev’s atmospheric museum in Nizovie.
I was fighting a private battle with a decaying wisdom tooth. “You’re such a hero,” my good lady wife never said, “for ignoring your pain and going ahead with the film.”
How to make a film based in Königsberg
Arthur Eagle, the film’s production enforcer, promised that the filming wouldn’t take long. If I remember rightly, I believe he said ten minutes. Of course, he was rather economical with the truth, and we were there all day, sometimes in the sun, sometimes in the rain but mostly in the wind and cold. It was one of those days that managed to fit all four seasons into one afternoon.
Mick Hart playing a role in Yury Grozmani’s film at Nizovie Museum, Kaliningrad, Russia
My scene came first. It was done in a couple of takes; that’s professional for you! But thereafter came lots of hanging about. My wife, Olga, had agreed to take a part in the production, and unbeknown to us the scene in which she had been cast would not take place until a good while later.
Aleksandr Kostenko, commandant, with Olga Hart and Inara Eagle in Yury Grozmani’sLast Tango in Königsberg
As stated in my previous post, famous and even not so famous actors performing for the large or not so large screen are no strangers to hanging around. After a short induction it quickly becomes something of a skill, kicking your heels whilst each scene is repeated umpteen times; first filmed this way, then filmed that way, a camera angle from here, a camera angle from there, a close up followed by a closer close up; and all this without including numerous takes and retakes and the repetition of parts of scenes for homing in on and improving sound quality.
Cameraman at work on Yury Grozmani’s WWII film. Location: NIzovie Museum, Russia
I was not too perturbed about playing the waiting game as Nizovie museum is my kind of place: an old building, imaginatively restored and with the additional bonus of being extremely full of antique and obsolete items ~ including my wisdom tooth (“And the rest!” ~ who said that?).
Mick Hart with actor & Hanomag owner Michail GvozdenkoOlga Hart with Hanomag on the film set of Yury Grozmanl’s Last Tango in Königsberg
Another plus of waiting was that later in the day the last scene to be shot outside would feature the 1927 Cadillac, a Soviet Gaz-67 and also the Hanomag, the car that had a starring role in the film noir, Agnes, recently shown at Waldau Castle.
Gaz-67 and Hanomag
As the weather travelled through its yearly cycle in under six hours, Olga and I took refuge in the Hanomag, where we were able to furnish ourselves with some rather nice photographs of a vintage car so thoroughly German that I could almost feel the Gestapo breathing down my neck. In fact, it was Yury Grozmani, the writer and producer of the film, urging me to take part in a scene for which I had not been scheduled. And so it came to pass.
Coaching for this scene took place behind Mr Zverev’s car. It occurred to me that there was every possibility that this was the first time that I had stood behind a 1927 Cadillac wearing a 1940s’ trilby with a Russian gent waiting to cue me for a film sequence. Before going on he said to me, “Try to look tragic.” What else, I thought.
Mick Hart with Ivan Zverev’s 1927 Cadillac
The last scene of the day was filmed outside on the forecourt and upon the steps leading to the museum. A gale force wind had blown in from somewhere with a rather nasty edge to it, but it was worth getting your wisdom tooth cold for just to see the combination of all three vehicles in close proximity and in the conjoining presence of uniformed Soviet actors.
There are still quite a few scenes left to be shot before the film is in the can, but my bit is complete. My next act, which will take considerably more skill to master, is trying to look brave at the dentists!
*The film is made with the support of the Presidential Foundation for Cultural Initiatives
Obviously attuned to my star quality and having absolutely nothing to do with the 1940s’ period pieces that make perfect props for a film of this era, which we brought with us when we moved from England, Yury offered me an interesting part within his historical drama. I outlined the role in my previous posts along with the film itself.
A film set in Königsberg during World War Two
On Thursday 24 February 2022, the film crew assembled at our home to assess the potential sets where three scenes would be filmed and to undertake various technical tests with regard to the lighting and laying of cables.
I must say that the arrival of the production team was exciting, rolling up as they did in three or four vehicles and a large TV van …“
As today was the precursor to actual filming, our involvement was minimal. We arranged furniture, fetched props and assisted when required, but our main contribution was keeping out of the way.
Filming was due to take place on the 27 February, which gave me three days to polish up my lines.
I would like to gild the lily by saying that come the day not only was I word perfect but also as cool as an agorochek, but let’s not be BBC about this. The truth is that I had been rehearsing my two scenes, five minutes of script, for weeks but was still tripping myself up and was nowhere near not as nervous as I pretended to be.
Before my debut on the silver screen, consisting of two scenes both of which would be filmed in the attic, another scene had first to be filmed downstairs.
They say that film and TV work involves lots of waiting and hanging around. Doesn’t it just! It also requires the ability to keep quiet whilst filming is in progress (or during ‘takes’, as we creative types like to say). Hyped up and killing time, this was no mean feat, especially when Arthur Eagle, the show’s enabler, came barging into the dining room looking all hot and flustered. Apparently, moments before, the female star of the show had changed her costume in front of him. Said Arthur, bashfully: “I didn’t know where to look!” Which was a pity, because if I had been there, I could have advised him.
A film set in Königsberg during World War Two
Numerous cups of tea and mental line-rehearsing later and at last we were ready to do it. But it didn’t just happen. Five minutes of filming required so many different ‘takes’ ~ camera angles, close ups, minor scene alterations and object cutaways ~ that by the time we had finished any illusions of glamour that I may have entertained about work in the film and TV industry had vanished, leaving in their place an honest sense of relief that I had not embarked on an acting career.
Whilst relatively pleased with my performance, I think my most convincing role came later when the completed scenes were ‘in the can’, whereupon I played the part of a person who opens a bottle of vodka to toast a job well done!
Musing later on the day’s events and my role in the forthcoming film, it struck me that Yury Grozmani was not only to be congratulated on his multiple creativities but also admired for his plain-speaking honesty. Asked in Baltic Plus radio’s studio last week why he had chosen me for a part in his film, Yury replied that he wanted someone who was distinguished-looking, noble, intelligent, resourceful and who bore more than a passing resemblance to Hollywood legend Kirk Douglas.
The obvious answer to this is, apart from the old Specsavers’ joke, that when he couldn’t find that person, he turned to me instead. But I remain undaunted. As I said on Baltic Plus radio, I consider this film to be the first step on the ladder to stardom. No sooner will Moscow film producers get a load of my performance than my phone will never stop ringing: “Our advice to you is don’t give up your day job, unless you’d like to audition for sweeping the studio floors …”
Ahh, fame, it’s difficult to live with, but I suppose that I’ll get used to it.
1927 Bootleggers’ Cadillac stars in Last Tango in Kaliningrad
Published: 22 February 2022 ~ 1927 Bootleggers’ Cadillac is the Star in Kaliningrad Film
A couple of days agoI wrote a post in which I recounted a recent interview about a forthcoming film in which I play the part of a wartime MI6 officer. Within that post I practised humility by confessing that the only reason I was interviewed and not the star of the film was because cars can’t talk, and even if it could we would have never got it up the steps and into the studio ofBaltic Plus radio.
The star of the film Last Tango in Konigsberg, conceived and written by journalist, author, historian and screenplay writer Yury Grozmani, is a 1927 Cadillac.
Apparently, this particular model was designed for use as an ambulance, but the elongated, tall and rectangular shape of the body made it highly suitable for servicing hotels, representational functions in embassies and consulates and the final ride to the graveyard.
The current owner of the vehicle, a Mr Ivan Zverev, is a well-known collector. In addition to the Cadillac, he owns an excellent collection of household items from the German era and the Soviet period and is the founder and creator of the historical museum in the village of Nizovie, Guryevsky district, Kaliningrad Oblast.
According to Mr Zverev, bootleggers used the Cadillac to transport illegal alcoholic beverages during the prohibition era in the United States, which possibly explains the presence of several bullet holes in the cabin and the body of the vehicle.
I have it on good authority that the bootleggers had just such a car in Billy Wilder’s famous film, Some Like it Hot.
Technical spec Make: Cadillac Series: 314 (One of the ‘Superlux’ models) Manufacture: Cadillac Motor Car Co, Michigan, USA Date of manufacture: 31 December 1927 Engine configuration: V8 Engine size: 5173cc Engine power: 80hp
Published: 19 February 2022 ~ Königsberg in WWII Nazi Spies and a 1927 Cadillac
On the evening of 15th February 2022, my good lady wife posted this droll comment on her Facebook page: “Michael Hart, who stars as Mick Donovan, а senior MI6 officer in a thrilling new film based in war-torn Königsberg, was given his first exclusive radio interview this morning at the Kaliningrad radio station Baltic Plus. Book early for autographs … “
And why not, indeed?
Possibly because I am not the main protagonist. The real star of this short film, which is being produced in Kaliningrad with the support of the Presidential Fund for Cultural Initiatives, is a 1927 V-8 Cadillac.
Königsberg in WWII Nazi Spies and a 1927 Cadillac
The film chronicles the extraordinary history of this vehicle, which is captured along with Königsberg and the East Prussian region a few hours after Königsberg falls to the Soviet army on 9 April 1945.
The Cadillac, which is discovered by an officer and two soldiers of the Soviet Army, has survived the Battle of Königsberg miraculously intact inside the garage of the bombed-out Consulate of the Argentine Republic.
The Soviet officer offers the car to the first Soviet Commandant of Königsberg, Mikhail Vasilyevich Smirnov, believing that he would be proud to use it as his personal limousine. It turns out, however, that the commandant is less than impressed. He takes one look at the war trophy and exclaims, “A car with wooden spokes! It belongs in a museum!”
The narrative then winds back to the 25 May 1943 to the offices of Britain’s S.I.S. (Secret Intelligence Service), better known as MI6, and the story proceeds from here to depict the part that the Cadillac played in a covert operation to create a rift between Nazi Germany and the Argentine government.
At the end of the film, it is disclosed that in April 1945, the Cadillac, together with any other possessions from the former Argentine Consulate General in Königsberg that survived the storming of Königsberg, was taken to Moscow.
In the autumn of 1946, as a friendly gesture by the Soviet Union to Argentina, some of the property of the former Argentine Consulate, including the Cadillac, was transferred to the Argentine Embassy in Amsterdam.
The Argentine Embassy sold the vehicle to a hotelier, who used it to transport customers, along with their baggage, back and forth from his hotel.
Later, the Cadillac became a museum piece, before passing into the hands of a private collector, where it remained for a quarter of a century.
In 2011, the Cadillac was sold to Mr Ivan Afanasyevich Zverev, a private collector from Kaliningrad, who brought the car back to the city where 70 years ago it had added a dash of style and class to events of intrigue and danger.
Our appointment at the radio station, Baltic Plus, today to discuss the film in which this car stars, The Last Tango in Königsberg, was an early-morning affair. We had to be dressed, motivated and on parade by 8am sharp. I have never had a problem with early mornings, except for falling to sleep at night before they happen, so when we arrived at the radio station by taxi, which is located quite a way from us across the other side of town, I was shell-shocked, bleary eyed and very nearly awake.
To be interviewed live on radio was a first for me, so whilst I was not yet among the living, the adrenaline had started to kick in. It was a double-edged sword, however, for I felt tired and inspired, excited and nervous.
Königsberg in WWII Nazi Spies and a 1927 Cadillac
We made it to the radio station in good time where we rendezvoused with Arthur Eagle (I have used the English translation of his name, because I like it!) and Yury Grozmani.
Arthur is now officially the President of the Kaliningrad Retro Car Club. He is an indispensable fellow. He wears a lot of hats, such as organiser, arranger, enforcer and promoter, sometimes all at once! He also does a great deal of the necessary ‘leg work’, upon which any club or organisation depends.
Yury, who is past President of the Kaliningrad Retro Car Club, continues, nevertheless, to play a large part in the club’s activities. He is a journalist, author and local historian, who can now add script and screenplay writer to his many professional accomplishments, since the film in which the Cadillac stars, Last Tango in Königsberg, was conceived, planned and written by him.
In addition to my two colleagues, my wife, Olga, was also present, dragooned into the fray to act as my translator. As with all radio interviews, we were working to a strict schedule, so my level of spoken Russian, although I am a good student who studies every day, would not, on this occasion, fit the bill.
After some preliminary paperwork and pacing up and down, we were on! We filed into the studio, a small room, and took our respective seats around the table. The situation brought back best-buried memories of university seminars. The old, but not forgotten, intimidation spectre that had stalked me down the years, now, as I took my place in front of what resembled a hedgehog on a pole, which I presumed must be a microphone, jumped back into my apprehension and made itself at home.
As I sat there, trying to repackage myself as someone calm and collected, it occurred to me that there were actually people who loved this sort of thing. In fact, they thrive on it. Whilst I could never be one of them, I suspected that Yury might be. He is such a good wordsmith, a natural speaker, so much so in fact that it is virtually impossible to imagine him doing anything, such as having a shave or riding his vintage bike, without if not actually making a speech at least privately rehearsing one.
It did not surprise me, therefore, that no sooner had the radio presenter counted down the final seconds and stuck his thumb in the air, meaning that we were ‘on the air’, than Yury was away like a greyhound out of the traps.
He spoke at length, which is not unusual, and this gave me time to compose myself. If speech-making or addressing an audience is not your bag, it is never the easiest thing to do; but it is even more difficult when a translator is involved, because of the unnatural pauses that occur in the periodic hand-over from one speaker to another. True, these small intervals can enable you to collect your thoughts, but they can also help you to lose your drift. This, thankfully, never happened today, and by the time Yury had finished expatiating on the concept of the film and the source of his motivation, I was ready to do my bit.
I was not altogether sure whether I should be looking at the interviewer when he asked a question or straight into the mini camera glaring at me from above and behind the large hairy microphone. So, I hedged my bets and did a bit of both. The radio broadcast was live, with, presumably, the videoed version transmitted via the station’s website.
The questions put to me were not at all difficult to answer. I was asked what it was that attracted me to the project and was able to contextualise my answer within my obsession for history in general and specifically my interest in the 1940s’ period, as illustrated by the UK vintage emporium which my wife and I once owned and ran, where we specialised in 1930s’~40s’ clothing, both civilian and military, along with furniture from that era, military accessories, deactivated weapons and other vintage commodities. I explained that our involvement in this field also took us into the living history world of large and small 1940s’ events staged each year throughout the UK. Result: fascination with the 1940s’ era.
I was also asked whether or not I had any acting experience, and answered truthfully, not a lot, but that my wife was constantly telling me that my whole life was a drama.
There was enough time to delineate my role in the film and to mention how Yury Grozmani and I had met, which came about when he interviewed me in autumn 2019 for an article in his magazine. He was curious to know ‘why an Englishman had come to live in Kaliningrad?’
For a first-time radio interview, I think we did quite well. Mind you, there was a collective sigh of relief when it was all over!
With that out of the way, all that we have to worry about now is making the actual film!😊
Published: 6 January 2022 ~ The Terrible Doubt of Weeping Flowers Victor Ryabinin
The Terrible Doubt of Appearances or the Terrible Doubt of Weeping Flowers? ‘Whenever sad, draw a flower’, Victor Ryabinin wrote. If only he was here to show us how
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Recently, a friend of Victor Ryabinin’s visited the flat where he used to live, she wrote:
“Yesterday we were at V. Ryabinin’s house. I looked at his diaries — amazing documents of the life of not one person, but of a country. Today I read poetry on one of the pages [of his diary] , and my heart sinks.”
It would appear that Victor had found the words he needed to express his own thoughts and feelings in a poem by the American poet Walt Whitman, Of the Terrible Doubt of Appearances.
The following extract, translated into Russian by Victor, appeared in his diary:
Of the terrible doubt of appearances, Of the uncertainty after all, that we may be deluded, That may-be reliance and hope are but speculations after all, That may-be identity beyond the grave is a beautiful fable only, May-be the things I perceive, the animals, plants, men, hills, shining and flowing waters, The skies of day and night, colors, densities, forms, may-be these are (as doubtless they are) only apparitions, and the real something has yet to be known, (How often they dart out of themselves as if to confound me and mock me! How often I think neither I know, nor any man knows, aught of them,)
My wife, Olga, wrote on her Facebook page on the same day as she read the above:
“Whether we have it all or we have nothing, we are all faced with the same obstacles: sadness, loss, illness, dying and death. It has always been the same. My friend Victor Ryabinin, who was not only a great artist but a great philosopher, invented a simple cure for depression. His motto was: “Whenever sad, draw a flower”.
The Terrible Doubt of Weeping Flowers ~ Victor Ryabinin
The photographs below are of the building where Victor lived and some of his stored artwork. They are reproduced here with the kind permission of Valentina Pokladova, who wrote:
“The shrubbery along the fence seems to remember the owner and sheds pearly tears …”
Published: 21 December 2021 ~ Victor Ryabinin Art Exhibition Kaliningrad opens December 2021
An art exhibition devoted to the works of our late friend Victor Ryabinin opens at The Kaliningrad Regional Museum of History and Arts on 23 December 2021. The exhibition will run until 31 December 2022.
He [Victor Ryabinin] was a breath of fresh air in my understanding of art. He was so alive in comparison with many of the other teachers. He ignited our imagination. He was not backward in pointing out our mistakes, but he inspired! And he took a sincere interest in our artistic development, which extended beyond the classroom.
Stanislav Konovalov, friend & art student of Victor Ryabinin
Details of Victor, the man and artist, can be found by accessing the links below:
“When I wrote the draft to {Victor Ryabinin’s biographical essay}, I wrote that I believe there is no equal to him in Kaliningrad — I still believe he has no equal.”
Boris Nisnevich, author
Victor Ryabinin Art Exhibition Kaliningrad
The Kaliningrad Regional Museum of History and Arts is located close to the bank of Kaliningrad’s Lower Pond.
Originally Königsberg’s city hall (Stadthalle) and also a performing arts centre, the impressive, multi-roomed building was constructed in 1912 by the Berlin architect Richard Zeil.
In its pre-war glory days, the Stadhalle boasted three concert halls, a restaurant and a well-appointed garden cafe that looked out over the castle pond, Schlossteich.
As with most of Königsberg, the building suffered extensive damage during the Allied bombing raid that took place on 26 August 1944. It took five years to restore the building, from 1981 to 1986.
The museum has five halls, each one devoted to a different theme: Nature, Archaeology, Regional History, War Room & the Post-war History of the Region.
Essential details:
The Kaliningrad Regional Museum of History and Arts 236016, Kaliningrad, St. Clinical, 21
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