Once the lines were secure, Christa and I slumped into the cockpit, feeling stressed, and remained there in silence, as if in silent prayer. All the fear and agony we’d endured flashed before our minds’ eyes once more in a fraction of a second. After that brief moment of silence – we felt like people crawling out of a cellar after a bombing raid and realising they were still alive – life returned to both of us.
At the same time, we spontaneously jumped to our feet, hugged each other and performed a little dance in the cockpit. After that, Christa hopped down into the cabin, brought out two glasses of water and some Adlershofer vodka. Then we poured in a few grams. We raised our glasses. “Here’s to freedom!”
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The scene is set in the harbour of Gedser; it is 8 August 1961, five days before the Berlin Wall was built and the GDR was completely sealed off. Klaus Schröder, a sailor from Stralsund, has just moored his boat, the ‘Rugia’, here with his wife Christa. They had been here once before, six days earlier. But they had to turn back; their fellow sailors did not want to flee to the West with them. Looking back, the fact that it worked a second time is nothing short of a miracle. Klaus Schröder is in his late 20s when he finally decides to leave the workers’ and peasants’ state. The engineer has a well-paid job, is happily married and the proud owner of a 75-square-metre ‘National Cruiser’. From the perspective of those around him in the GDR, he led a fulfilling life in every respect. Nor was Schröder an enemy of the system. After the war, he had believed he was helping to build a better Germany; he had joined the SED and described himself as an honest young communist.
1960: The escape plan is drawn up
But by 1960, Schröder knew for certain that he wanted to get out. To the West. Fleeing the Republic was a criminal offence. In his autobiographical account *Kiel – Feuerschiff in Sicht!*, written a few years after the fall of the Berlin Wall, he describes how it came about and what he experienced at the time.
At that time, the GDR was in the throes of a deep crisis. Following the workers’ uprising on 17 June 1953, the Socialist Unity Party had proclaimed a ‘new course’. A few years later, however, this course had changed so drastically that it was leading to a dead end. ‘Real existing socialism’ was caught in a downward spiral. The economic decline of the young state was causing fear amongst GDR citizens. Hundreds of thousands, most of them well-educated, fled to the Federal Republic during those years. This increased the pressure on those who remained at home, such as Schröder, who one day received notification that he had been selected for service with the State Security Service.
“Events unfolded that forced me to make a decision: will you do what they are trying to force you to do, or will you refuse? Do you go your own way, in free self-determination, by your own choice, and remain true to the principles you have lived by so far – justice, human decency, human dignity and humanism – or do you become a pig?”
There is a sense in the air that something is about to happen. On 15 June 1961, Head of State Walter Ulbricht states that no one has any intention of “erecting a wall”. It is now clear that the government will not stand by and watch the country bleed dry for much longer. The inner-German border had, in any case, been fortified with barbed wire since the early 1950s. Rumours were circulating that border police had already used their weapons along this so-called ‘control strip’ between the two German states.
And so, even now, on the eve of the Berlin Wall’s construction, escape seems all but impossible. Only Berlin still offers a few loopholes – and, of course, the Baltic Sea, provided there are no patrol boats nearby. At the end of the summer of 1960, Schröder purchased the 75-square-metre ‘Rugia’, a former National Cruiser that had been refitted into a 50-square-metre sailing cruiser. He and his wife had long been enamoured with this elegant yacht – at 12 metres in length, the second-largest sailing yacht in its home port of Stralsund. Now it was up for sale. From the day of the purchase, the couple began making systematic preparations for their escape.
“Above all, it was essential to get on with the paperwork as quickly as possible, because God’s mills grind slowly, and those of the GDR even more slowly. So we had to apply to the police for a licence to sail on lakes. To obtain this permit, we first needed a letter of recommendation from the sailing club of which we were members.”
The crew are not explicitly informed of the evacuation plan
In addition, the ‘Rugia’ requires a registration certificate from the border police, which must be applied for at the Ministry of the Interior. This includes the registration number, which is valid for one year. Then there is a licence to operate the vessel, issued by the GDR Maritime Authority following an inspection of the boat both on land and in the water. The biggest problem, however, is the crew. It does not even occur to the Schröders to sail this six-and-a-half-tonne, motorless vessel with just the two of them. Involving a crew in the scheme is out of the question. The risk of the plan being exposed and everyone ending up in court is simply too great.”
In the end, they hire their cousin Horst and his fiancée Traudi. The couple had often expressed a desire to go to the West, and the Schröders believe they are doing them a favour if the promised ‘summer cruise’ takes them to Denmark – rather than back to Stralsund again.
“However, as ‘fleeing the republic’ was a serious political offence, we were unable to let our fellow sailors in on the real reason behind this year’s summer trip. Absolute secrecy had to be maintained. In conversations between Christa and me, not a single word about our plan was to reach anyone else’s ears. Informers were lurking around every corner. It was worse than during the Nazi era.”
Schröder dropped a few hints to his cousin so that he wouldn’t set off unprepared. They should take some smart clothes and plenty of money with them so they could have a bit of a party whilst on the road. Schröder also mentioned in passing that they might pop over to Denmark. Although trips abroad were strictly forbidden for sailors in the GDR, they did happen from time to time during that period. Afterwards, people would proudly recount such adventures in hushed tones. During the winter, the Schröders give their newly acquired boat a thorough overhaul; after rigging it up, they get to know it under sail. Every weekend they head to Hiddensee; they often have to navigate the narrow channels, and all harbour manoeuvres are carried out under sail.
During the week, the ‘Rugia’ is being fitted out. Getting several weeks’ worth of provisions, personal belongings – and, in the end, the entire household’s contents – on board piece by piece, without arousing the suspicion of relatives, friends and neighbours, and in such a way that no one would suspect anything during an on-board inspection, is a feat in itself. Yet they succeed. And so, on Monday, 24 July 1961, the summer cruise crew set sail from Stralsund’s northern pier.
First attempt to escape from the GDR
With a westerly wind of force 6–7 and rain, the ‘Rugia’ first heads for Kloster on Hiddensee. Schröder and his wife manage, only with great effort, to hide their anxiety from their fellow sailors. Their anxiety is further heightened by the fact that the strong westerly wind keeps them stranded there for a week. ‘But on 31 July 1961, the wind died down and veered north-west, force 4. That was exactly the wind we needed to reach Warnemünde, which was our first destination. At 9.30 am we set sail. Without having to tack, we sailed through the narrow channel towards the northern tip of the island of Hiddensee. There, between the long Bessin peninsula and the coast of Rügen – the Bug peninsula – a coastguard boat was usually anchored, blocking the exit to the open Baltic Sea.”
As the ‘Rugia’ approaches the patrol boat, it comes to a sudden halt, and four armed border guards paddle towards it in a rubber dinghy. As luck would have it, the officer in charge is an old sailing friend of the skipper. A natter about old times takes the place of the inspection of the ‘Rugia’, much to the astonishment of both the officials and the yacht’s crew, who are quickly allowed to continue out to sea. At 7.30 pm, the “Rugia” moors in Warnemünde. Here, Schröder intends to wait for the right conditions to make the crossing to Gedser in Denmark.
Doubts began to creep in as to whether the decision was the right one. “We were also afraid of the unknown; would we be able to settle in and find our feet there? Where the capitalist exploiters were waiting for us – that’s what they’d been drumming into our ears non-stop, like a broken record, every single day. What did we really know about the West? Our destination was Kiel; we had relatives there. We were young and wanted to work; we wanted to work our fingers to the bone and make something of ourselves. I was now 28 years old, Christa 25. The world was still our oyster. If things didn’t work out in West Germany after all, we could always carry on further, to Denmark or Sweden. With our ship, we had every opportunity.”
The very next day, the weather forecast gives cause for hope. For 2 August, a light southerly wind with poor visibility and patches of fog is forecast. After an evening out at his favourite pub in Warnemünde, the skipper pokes his head out of the companionway the next morning and can smell the fog straight away – the air is that damp. Visibility is barely two nautical miles, yet there is indeed a southerly breeze of force two. Schröder realises instantly that fate is beckoning him at this very moment. It is the ultimate opportunity to escape – if not now, then never.
Did contact with an East German passenger ship thwart the escape?
Schröder cannot produce the logbook showing Wismar as the destination at the police station; it has not yet been filled in. Despite this, he sets sail at 9.00 am, in breach of the rules. He has no intention of returning anyway. His cousin Horst and his fiancée Traudi still do not know this. They’re looking forward to an adventurous detour to Denmark. Until they’re out of sight of land, Schröder continues to steer the ‘Rugia’ towards Wismar. But soon a grey fog engulfs the ship, and he sets a direct course northwards, towards Gedser.
And then something unimaginable happens: the outline of an East German passenger ship appears straight ahead. Schröder thinks it’s all over: “After about three hours’ sailing, a passenger ship emerged from the mist ahead of us. I thought, ‘Now they’ve got us; there are people on board who can stop us.’” Sure enough, the ship approaches. It turns out to be the ‘Ahlbeck’, operated by the state-owned shipping company. Every day, it ferries GDR passengers to Gedser, where there is a 15-minute stop, but no shore leave.
“My heart leapt into my stomach. The wheelhouse door opened, and a man appeared on the bridge. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called over to us, ‘Where are you heading?’ ‘To Wismar,’ I called back. Then he pointed his arm at right angles to our previous course, towards the west. He probably thought we’d lost our bearings. I raised my hand to show I’d understood, and changed course.”
Fortunately, the ‘Ahlbeck’ soon disappeared from view and the ‘Rugia’ was back on course for Gedser. It arrived there at 2.30 pm on 2 August 1961. The guest flag had been made from a pillowcase during the voyage and painted with oil paint to read ‘Denmark’. ‘I was now overcome by an indescribable feeling of happiness. We’d done it; we sailed into the harbour at Gedser just like any other sailing tourists.’
Crew wants to return to the GDR
But the quiet jubilation does not last long. Cousin Horst is far from thrilled when, on their very first shore leave, the skipper euphorically announces that he does not want to sail back to the GDR. My cousin said that he, too, had already prepared everything for his escape, but didn’t want to make the crossing until the end of August, via West Berlin. He hadn’t understood the hints and had left all his papers behind. “I was so disappointed that I could hardly think straight. I felt like a child who’d been given a long-awaited toy, only to have it snatched right out of my hands again, with someone saying it had all just been a joke. We were in a right pickle.” So Schröder recounts in his story.
That evening, the crew of the ‘Rugia’ were invited onto a yacht from the Federal Republic. The hosts wanted to celebrate the successful escape. ‘It turned into a boozy evening. Once we’d told our story and explained my cousin’s plan to return to the GDR, the West Berlin sailors told me I’d be mad to take the two of them back. They reckoned I’d be putting my wife and myself at risk of not making it back across the maritime border a second time. They considered my cousin’s and his fiancée’s plan to make a break for it via West Berlin to be extremely risky. As West Berliners, they knew the political situation first-hand, with the ever-growing exodus from the GDR to West Berlin. They assessed the mood to be such that the sector border could be sealed off at any moment. That also meant the closure of the lake borders.”
Together, they try to persuade Cousin Horst and his fiancée to sail further west on the ‘Rugia’. But they fail to change their minds. So what to do? Schröder doesn’t want to force them. Nor does he want to send them home on the ‘Ahlbeck’, as they would then have been treated as refugees fleeing the GDR. To give them time to think it over, the crew sails a further 35 nautical miles north-east to Klintholm on 3 August. Here, too, the crew were invited out in the evening, and several West German sailors tried to persuade them not to take the risk. But to no avail; Vetter Horst wanted to return to the GDR. And Schröder decided to sail them back. “I couldn’t force them to take a step they didn’t want to take. Nor did I want to begin our new way of life by exerting pressure on others. Everyone had to be free to make their own decisions about their lives.”
On 5 August, eight days before the GDR was completely sealed off, the ‘Rugia’ left Klintholm bound for Hiddensee. This return journey proved to be a real nail-biter. For hours, the ship lay in a lull within sight of the border posts off Dornbusch. Night falls, morning breaks, the wind picks up, and at last they can set sail for Kloster. As if by a miracle, the border patrol boat is not at its usual position, and so the ‘Rugia’ is able to sail on unhindered, mooring in Kloster at 5.00 am on 6 August. By 10.00 o’clock, the relatives are already taking the steamer to Stralsund. “We had fulfilled their wish, we had brought them back; our consciences were clear.”
Second attempt to escape
However, Klaus Schröder now has serious doubts about whether the escape will succeed again, and these doubts are tormenting him more and more. “Getting through again now is virtually out of the question. Our sailing permit was only valid until 15 August. Who would believe us when we told the patrol boat that we wanted to make another trip to Wismar in seven days’ time? Our crew list was no longer correct; two people were missing.”
Schröder can now barely think straight. To make matters worse, the people in the neighbouring berths report that they, too, have just returned from Denmark. There had been a thorough check at the patrol boat, and because the officers had found Tivoli admission tickets in their oilskins’ pockets, their skipper had been arrested on the spot. But Schröder’s plan is set in stone. The next day, he intends to leave GDR waters for good. The only problem is that on 7 August, there is a dead calm. The wait becomes an absolute ordeal for the skipper and his wife. Finally, on 8 August, five days before the GDR border is completely closed, Klaus Schröder and his wife cast off from the harbour at Kloster at 7.00 am.
“We’re not looking back now. There’s an easterly wind, force 2.” They have to tack across the narrow channel, get stuck in the process, and, after a gruelling hour and a half, are towed free by a fishing boat once the patrol boat comes into view. Schröder and his wife are lucky in their misfortune. The cutter tows the sailing yacht straight on through the narrow fairways towards the north, whilst the border patrol boat thunders south at full speed for the change of watch. “The wind has now freshened to force 3 from the east – the perfect breeze for us. The cutter casts off the towline, and we’re on our own again. I hoist the sails, and at around 10.30 am we’ve rounded the northern tip of Hiddensee. We’ve made it through without being checked, but the guard post up on the steep bank has surely already spotted us through their binoculars. We set a clear course for Wismar again, which is more or less the same as the one to Gedser.”
GDR helicopters and a dinghy in their wake
Everything seems to be going smoothly until the hum of an East German helicopter becomes audible. The helicopter draws nearer and circles the ‘Rugia’ so closely that the skipper and the pilot can look each other in the eye. Schröder is stunned. Now they’ve got him on the hook. But then visibility deteriorates. The ‘Rugia’ passes through the Baltic Sea compulsory passage and a Danish fishing cutter, but they have not yet reached Danish territorial waters, and through the damp air the sound of a GDR speedboat can indeed be heard, drawing ever closer.
Once again, Klaus Schröder’s heart leaps into his throat. They are being hunted. But the thickening fog offers cover, and the noise fades away again. Out of fear, Schröder sets a course directly over the Gedser Reef. “They shouldn’t catch us, even if it meant we went to the dogs.” The next sound of an engine comes from the railway ferry ‘Theodor Heuss’. The name is a first welcome from the Federal Republic of Germany. “At 5.30 pm on 8 August 1961, we docked in Gedser for the second time. We had now finally reached free Western territory. Our escape was over.”
Diary of an Escape from the GDR
We are publishing this story with the kind permission of Haag + Herchen, the publisher that brought out Klaus Schröder’s autobiography in 1994.