Headquarters to the Nazis and then the Soviets, the East German military camp of Wünsdorf was once home to 75,000 Soviet men, women and children. Now ‘Little Moscow’ has been abandoned – but one man keeps the memories alive

Rusty keys jangle as Jürgen Naumann searches for the right one. He has 15 on one bunch, 25 on another. The last caretaker of the Red Army’s former headquarters in Germany, he has access to all the buildings in what was once known as the Forbidden City – and remains a restricted area 23 years after the last Russian troops left for good.

“You get to know the keys over the years,” Naumann says. But it still takes a while to locate the right one. A dull click, and the door creaks open to reveal a dimly lit hall with marble tiles. Naumann’s footsteps echo across the empty space as he switches on the electricity, illuminating two panoramas: one showing Soviet Moscow, the other Alexanderplatz in East Berlin, two huge photos from a world that no longer exists.

Once home to as many as 75,000 Soviet men, women and children, Wünsdorf – located about 25 miles from Berlin – was the high command for Soviet forces in Germany and the biggest Soviet military camp outside the USSR. But it also had shops, schools and leisure facilities, and was known as “Little Moscow”, with daily trains going to the Soviet capital.



Facebook Twitter Pinterest Juergen Naumann in the former Soviet theatre at Wünsdorf. Photograph: Ciarán Fahey

After the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, the reunification of Germany and the dissolution of the Soviet Union, it was only a matter of time before the Russian soldiers would be called home. Nevertheless, when the order came for troops and their families to withdraw, it still came as a shock to many of its inhabitants, who had come to think of Wünsdorf as home.

“It was a mad rush, withdrawal,” recalls Naumann, who was working at the time as a watchman collecting financial deposits from local businesses. “In Sperenberg [an airfield, near Wünsdorf], the shop boss was sitting in the office crying bitterly. She had two small kids. I asked, ‘What’s wrong?’ She had just received word that she had to go back to Russia the day after the next. Talk about short notice!”

Uncertainty contributed to the chaos. Soldiers had no idea where they were going, or whether they’d get accommodation. Some pooled money and bought buses so their families would have some shelter, while helicopter squadrons stripped the insides of their helicopters for the same reason.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Allied prisoners of war exercising at Wünsdorf in 1915. Photograph: Alamy/Bain News Service

When they departed after the final military parade, they left a vast site littered with 98,300 rounds of ammunition, 47,000 pieces of ordnance, 29.3 tonnes of munitions and rubbish, including chemicals, waste oil, old paint, tyres, batteries and asbestos. Shops were left full of electronics, radios, TVs and fridges. Families were in such a hurry they couldn’t take everything. Houses were full of domestic appliances. Even pets were left behind.

The pattern repeated itself throughout East Germany. No country outside the USSR had more Soviet troops: an estimated 380,000 soldiers and 180,000 civilians, spread across 1,062 urban and rural locations, when the union collapsed in January 1991.

They left behind a legacy of abandoned ruins. Near Wünsdorf alone, Sperenberg Airfield is still abandoned, as are airfields at Rangsdorf, Oranienburg and Schönwalde, while military camps at Jüterbog, Kummersdorf, Vogelsang, Bernau, Krampnitz, Grabowsee and elsewhere still await new purpose.

Most of the buildings in these former quasi-urban camps are off-limits, simply rotting from neglect. Authorities have bigger fish to fry: a host of East German enterprises went out of business after the wall fell, leaving a trail of vacant factory and office buildings across the country’s cities.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest One of two Lenin statues to be found in Wünsdorf. The other stands in front of the Soviets’ main headquarters building. Photograph: Ciarán Fahey

Wünsdorf’s military history began long before it became a Soviet garrison town. The whole area was militarised after the German Empire was formed in 1871. During the first world war, Germany’s first mosque was built here, for Muslim POWs – many of whom were coerced into fighting for Germany.

In 1935, Wünsdorf became headquarters for the Wehrmacht, the German Armed Forces. The Nazis’ entire second world war campaign was guided from the Zeppelin underground communications bunker at Wünsdorf, providing direct contact through telex to the fronts at Stalingrad, France, Holland and even Africa.

The Nazis’ buildings were of such strong construction, with walls over a metre thick, that they proved very difficult to damage – a fact evidently appreciated by the Soviets after the SS had fled. After sufficiently damaging the bunker complexes to make them unsuitable for military use according to the Potsdam Agreement, the Soviets settled in.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest The abandoned swimming pool in Wünsdorf. Photograph: Ciarán Fahey

They immediately provided a boost to the local economy, and relations with the East Germans were good, even if locals usually needed special permission to enter what later became known as Die Verbotene Stadt – the Forbidden City.

“There were also illegal ways in,” says Naumann, who remembers how soldiers were bribed by East German consumers to be allowed in to shop at the new miniature city’s stores. “There were some things you couldn’t get outside. A lot was cheap, because the Soviets didn’t pay VAT. So cigarettes were cheap, schnapps was cheap.

“You could get in but, of course you had to be careful to be back out again punctually. So if you went in in the morning you had to be out by around 4pm at the latest. Anyone who missed it had bad luck. You’d be held for 24 hours and made to peel potatoes for the troops.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Soviet artwork in Wünsdorf. Photograph: Ciarán Fahey

Soviet soldiers and their families also left the garrison, to go shopping, eating or socialising in nearby Zossen. “They could party no problem,” Naumann says. “You just had to be careful. When there was ski jumping at New Year’s – the Russian athletes were still good at the time – you had to be careful when you spoke, not to go against them. You had to find a middle way, or they’d get offended pretty quickly. But it never lasted long. It was actually quite normal, just that they spoke Russian.”

When the Soviets handed the Forbidden City back to the federal government, the buildings fell into bureaucratic neglect. Weather has also taken its toll. Naumann is now the only person left, taking care of an area he estimates to be around 200 hectares. His job now is to check for damage caused by heavy rain or unwanted visitors, and to arrange for repairs. A co-worker helps out in the mornings.

“Companies come in that I have to oversee, or investors to look at the place. It’s not lonely,” he says. “But yeah, there could be a little more going on at times. It’s fine. Sometimes there’s lots to do, you don’t know where to start.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest A stairway in the Haus der Offiziere main building. Wünsdorf was a military camp for the German empire, the Nazis and then the Soviets. Photograph: Ciarán Fahey

After so many years in their service, Naumann has formed a bond with the old buildings. He speaks enthusiastically of the architecture dating back to the German empire, the workmanship, and the enduring quality of the main building’s wooden roof, now more than 100 years old.

“I don’t want to say you fall in love with it, but I’m the type who has more of a thing for older buildings,” he says. “You form a certain connection, and there’s a connection with the architecture.”

For now, the abandoned city plays host to video artists, wedding photographers or camera buffs with a penchant for abandoned buildings. Photographers can make appointments to visit for a small fee.

“When you get a ‘thank you’ from visitors for looking after the place, that it’s so well preserved, then you’re also a little bit proud,” Naumann says.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest A monument to a Soviet soldier stands watch through the trees at Wünsdorf. Photograph: Ciarán Fahey

He imagines a small university could provide an ideal use for the buildings, particularly with the old swimming pool beside the main building and the theatre opposite.

The government’s regional development company is looking for suitable investors to bring the remaining buildings back to life. In the meantime, Wünsdorf also receives visits from former soldiers or guests retracing their old steps.

One woman who had performed as a child in a theatre for the Soviet soldiers came back years later to find the old stage where she danced.

Another man told Naumann that he’d worked in the communications bunker for the Nazis, where he had struck up a relationship after exchanging messages with a German woman in Stalingrad at the other end.

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“They always communicated through telex at night when there was nothing going on. He said he tried to find her after the war but he couldn’t find her anymore. Probably killed or something, you don’t know,” Naumann says. “He himself sat in the bunker to the end. He sent the last telex to Berlin: that the Russians were there now.”

Russian soldiers have returned, too, including one former commander who brought her daughter. The commander stood on the stage again, took pictures and breathed it all in.

“A few of them told me that a Russian soldier is compelled once in his lifetime to go back to where they once served and fought. Many soldiers go back to Afghanistan to visit and see something where they once served,” Naumann recalls. “There was a soldier here, a Russian bear of a man – he broke out in tears.”

We stop in the former fencing hall.

“Think about it. The fencing hall!” he says. “There were soldiers running around here with sabres once, practising, training. You just have to imagine it, everything that’s happened here.”

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