A new book on the vintage cars of Königsberg , titled The Steel Ghost of Königsberg, is a nostalgic & historical landmark
A historic moment was recorded today (17 October 2020) when our friend, Yury Grozmani, journalist, historian, vintage car enthusiast and organiser of the Kaliningrad international vintage car festival, The Golden Shadow of Königsberg, presented me with a signed copy of his recently completed book The Steel Ghost of Königsberg. The inscription on the inside front cover reads:
“To an excellent journalist Mick Hart from an equally excellent journalist Yury Grozmani. For a long memory in honor of the best years spent in the beautiful historical city of Kant and Schiller – the city of Königsberg – with respect from the author.”
New Book! Vintage Cars of Königsberg
Yury reminded us that it had been almost a year ago when we discussed the progress of this project over dinner at the Plushkin restaurant, sadly now closed. On that occasion he had brought with him a copy of the book’s proposed front cover, adding that there was still much work to do on the book itself. During that evening we discussed his previous book, The Iron Heart of Königsberg, which was published in 2015. The Steel Ghost of Königsberg is the sequel to this work.
Front cover design to The Steel Ghost of Königsberg
The Steel Ghost of Königsberg, which explores the relationship between the vintage cars of Königsberg and their owners, contextualised within the history of the East Prussian city, was no short time in the making. Yury confided in us that he has been researching, writing and compiling the book for an astounding 29 years!
New Book! Vintage Cars of Königsberg
The book is based on real events. It narrates the stories of people who, after the Siege of Königsberg in 1945, had the honour to own or use the cars that once belonged to the ‘great and good’ ~ kings, heads of state, ministers, bankers, actors and leading Königsberg townspeople.
The book comprises 18 chapters distilled from the memoirs of people from diverse backgrounds and all walks of life, including those who took part in the Battle of Königsberg, famous Soviet generals, doctors, actors, housewives, taxi drivers, traffic wardens, tram drivers and so on. The stories are different — some intricate, some formal, some sentimental, some dramatic and many very amusing.
With its imaginative page designs, detailed accounts and being lavishly illustrated throughout, this landmark publication demonstrates yet again Yuri Grozmani’s top-flight ability as a writer, journalist and editor, whilst the breadth and incisiveness of his research speaks volumes for his love of vintage vehicles, the history of their ownership and the unique city and region upon whose dramatic stage the vehicles’ life stories and the stories of those who travelled in and/or travelled through existence with them have been played out over the years.
To seal the historic occasion, Yuri completed the inscription on the inside front cover by penning in today’s date just before he handed my copy to me ~ 17 October 2020.
Königsberg 9 April 1945 / Kaliningrad 9 April 2020
Published: 12 April 2020
10:30pm: As tired as I am, and I am, I had to write this. In about one and a half hours from now, Otto Lasch, Commandant of Königsberg, sitting in his command bunker at the heart of Kaliningrad, will sign a document the contents of which will change the course of history here forever.
By now he must have been agonising over whether to give the surrender order or not, particularly since Herr Hitler had strictly forbidden him to do so and knowing that whilst further resistance was futile the grim alternative was to hand himself and what was left of his army over to the Soviets, from whom he could expect very little leniency and possibly even less humanity.
This haunting train of thought was set in motion by a chance comment from my wife, Olga, this morning, who happened to mention that today, 9 April, was the last day of the Königsberg Offensive (WWII).
I had other things planned for today, but, thought I, perhaps I should put something together for my blog to acknowledge the historic significance that today’s date has to Königsberg’s demise and Kaliningrad’s existence.
At first, I was not sure what form the essay would take and mulled various options, some quite elaborate, too elaborate. I could write, for example, from the perspective of a time traveller, which would allow me to write a dramatic account and, as a shadowy figure from the future, flit about at will from one location to another over the four-day period that the assault took place. Or, I could write the piece as if I was an on-the-spot reporter, using short, dramatic and punchy sentences (why, now that would be a change!). But what decided against these novelties was time and the need to gen up on the historical facts first. If I wanted the article to be posted on my blog by the end of the day, I would have to read, digest, select, condense and then write.
The form which my modest contribution to this awesome day took in the life and death of Kaliningrad and Königsberg respectively, worked itself out whilst I was taking notes from my readings. After all, I would be content, for the time being, to precis the salient points from the four-day invasion and epilogue it with a time-travelling postscript, enunciating the contrast between this warm, sunny and relaxing day of 9 April 2020 with the noise, mayhem, pandemonium, pain, suffering, horror, fear, bloodshed and death which characterised today’s date 75 years previously.
Königsberg Offensive revisited
In the course of compiling this little work, my research tripped the switch, and, short-circuited emotionally, my imagination stole off to do some unauthorised time travelling of its own.
Apart from odd air raids by the Soviet Air Force, the real terror and horror of war began for Königsbergians in the August of 1944, when two consecutive nights of heavy bombing orchestrated by the RAF blew the guts out of the city. Why it had not occurred to me before I do not know, but the occupants of Königsberg, those who had not been blown to pieces, crushed to death or incinerated in the allied air attacks, would have eight months more of waiting, watching and fearing to do before their worst fears were to be realised.
Königsberg in ruins as a result of Allied bombing. (Photo credit: Dylan Mohan Gray. (Public Domain))
As now, with the coronavirus scare, there must have been the usual suspects who were in denial or just plain blasé, but for the realists one can only imagine how the months, weeks, days, hours, minutes and seconds passed as they waited and watched for Hell to announce itself.
Königsberg 6 April 1945
Having sneaked off on its own accord, my imagination arrived in the East Prussian region on the dawn of 6 April 1945. It was sun-up and the artillery onslaught, which would last for three hours, was well underway. Then came the surge of the ground troops.
This was not something that had happened in some far flung corner of the world of which I had heard but little and to which I had never been, it had happened here, in this little corner of the world, and would have taken in and effected the district of Kaliningrad where we now lived, the streets outside these windows and the very house in which I am sitting. And now came the questions, one after the other, following in quick succession. Was there anybody living here at the time of the assault or had they perchance been fortunate enough to have fled on one of the refugee ships? If not, who were these people? What were their thoughts, their feelings, their conversations to one another? What did they hear, smell, see? How did they react? And, of course, did they survive or were they murdered?
The researching and writing part of me toiled on throughout the day, but my imagination was busy elsewhere, amongst the heavy artillery explosions, the echoing chatter of machine guns, the shouts and cries and the screams of pain, the mighty explosions, the sounds of crashing buildings. It was with the Soviet troops as they scrambled through the dust and broken masonry in a fierce endeavor to rout the enemy; it was with the German defenders, each and every one I suspect endowed with the imminence of their own cruel fate; it was here, above all, it was here ~ in this very house, within the four walls of this room, helpless in its observation of the cowering, terrified inhabitants, their own imaginations mercilessly fueled by tales of Soviet barbarity (true or false) which had been unleashed on other towns and other unfortunate victims en route to the great prize itself, Königsberg.
Königsberg ~ the aftermath. (Photo credit: Sendker – altes Foto, Public Domain, <a href=”https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6601474″>Link</a>)
Historical record has it that Otto Lasch, the Commandant of Königsberg, officially surrendered to the Soviet forces in the city’s command bunker a few minutes before midnight 9 April 1945.
For the rest of my evening the two of us, the working me in 9 April 2020 and my temporarily estranged imagination in 9 April 1945, peeped into and hovered around the bunker of Otto Lasch. I looked at the computer clock, and I wrote: In about one and a half hours from now Otto Lasch, Commandant of Königsberg, sitting in his command bunker at the heart of Kaliningrad, will sign a document the contents of which will change the course of history here forever.
I did not wait up for my imagination. Longstanding association and a comprehensive understanding of all my many dualities assured me that this would not be necessary, futile even.
Suffice it to say we would meet tomorrow, when all this would be over, back in the past where it belongs ~ or so the present would have us believe …
9 April is a very significant day in the history of this city and region. It was the last day of a siege that had begun in January 1945 as a successor to heavy bombing by the RAF in August 1944; it was also the first day of Königsberg’s last day ~ if not in spirit, at least in form.
The actual Battle of Königsberg lasted four days only, but it was a bitter and bloody battle. The encircled German forces put up stiff resistance bolstered by Königsberg’s formidable fortifications, a defence system comprising three rings of forts which had been constructed at the end of the 19th century, some modernised and reinforced, and all heavily supplemented with anti-tank systems and landmines.
The assault began at dawn on 6 April 1945. Intense artillery shelling, which followed several days of bombing by the Soviet air force, was the immediate precursor to the first stage of the city’s invasion. By the fourth day of the attack, 9 April 1945, the Soviet army had breached the enemy’s main defences and in a punishing feat of urban warfare ~ building by building, street by street ~ was bearing down on what remained of the enemy entrenched at the heart of the city. Although both in numbers and fire power German resources were not yet totally depleted, Otto Lasch, Fortress Commandant of Königsberg, in direct contradiction of Hitler’s orders, realising that all was lost, initiated his army’s surrender. Negotiations were implemented and the surrender of the defenders of Königsberg and Königsberg itself was finally ratified just before midnight in Otto Lasch’s control bunker.
Battle of Königsberg
By the time the assault was over, 80 per cent of the city had been obliterated, partly as a result of earlier aerial bombing raids, later soviet artillery action and the urban warfare that followed. Whilst statistical records differ it is widely held that the Germans suffered between 40,000 and 50,000 casualties and between 80,000 and 90,000 Germans were taken prisoner. Of Königsberg’s civilian population, estimated pre-war at 300,000, 200,000 survived but were subsequently forced to leave the city and region. Soviet casualties over the four-day assault is said to number around 4000.
Kaliningrad 9 April 2020
It is hard to believe as I sit here on this beautiful spring day in Kaliningrad, buds and leaves returning to the trees, flowers in first bloom, azure blue sky above, birds singing, that 75 years ago the very building that I occupy and the cobbled streets outside would have been ringing with the sounds of gunfire, the last fading echoes of a seemingly apocalyptic onslaught which had left thousands dead, dying and maimed, hundreds of years of history shattered, a once grand city reduced to ruins and an entire culture and its adherents teetering on the brink of expulsion.
Some say history repeats itself, others that it never goes away. One thing is sure, the present is with us a lot less longer than the past. In less than two hours from now, Otto Lasch will put his signature to a document the contents of which will seal the fate of this city and change the course of history here forever.
