Documentary News Letter (1947-1949)

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D()( I MEN I MO I II M M \N S 17 a German visits us English Diary it's hard to believe but it's a fact: here I am in the train for British Ci\il Personnel on my waj to England. I had scarcely finished my last shots for a documentary film— produced by the Junge Film Union, Hamburg, for the Crown Film Unit in London when the director, Mr Graham Wallace and the supervisor, Mr Arthur Elton, asked me if I would like to study film-production in England. What a question! Naturally I said 'Yes' (thinking to myself: 'this may cause you some trouble, to get permission'. And I had no hope at all. I Who will describe my astonishment, when some weeks later I held in my hands a passport with travel-permission and Dutch Visa! And now I find myself really in the CCGTrain, and every passing minute brings me nearer to the Channel. I have now entered a sphere, of which thousands of starving Germans dare not even dream. The first step of the fairy-tale is the dining-car. Tea with sugar and milk, meat, sweets. I feel like in heaven, though somebody next to my table says: "Really nothing particular.' The train stops in Utrecht. No doubt, there is a refreshment-hall. You may step in and buy cakes, real cakes and chocolate — supposing you have Guilders or Sterlings. It was already night when we arrived at Hook of Holland. A brand-new ship, ready to take us over the Channel. My cabin heated, and with warm water and clean towels. We passed through the Customs. This time I had a good conscience. The contents of my handbags, some poor underwear, old shoes and a very old suit could not interest them. • We are now in England, and again I find myself in a dining-car. What a car. While eating I perceive how my undernourished body begins to feel stronger. But what will happen, if the waiter asks for our ration-cards? Mr Wallace shakeshis head Ration-cards? Not in trains or restaurants. The train hastens through fields and meadows. Everywhere I see groups of trees, standing amidst the fields. Before I came to this country I was told the English were dreary businessmen. But Contd. from previous page Priestley pointed out that countries are prepared to spend very much more on propaganda overseas than they subscribe to UNESCO. In 1947, Britain alone spent £6 million on the Foreign Office's overseas information ser\ ices and the British Council. By comparison UNESCO'S total budget for a world programme is a mere £2 million, of which 75 per cent is subscribed by the USA. This financial disparity has been expressed in another way by UNESCO itself. The total cost of UNESCO's programme for world education is equivalent to the price of one light cruiser, or the price of ten bombers. Can the price of peace be assessed at such rates? as I see these people must like nature; they like those I ices. That means a good feeling for the beautj of this world. London — Liverpool St. Station. What a traffic! Buses, buses, — taxisandcars. M\ goodness, what a life! Well-dressed, well-fed people everywhere. But thereat the corner a grey face, bad shoes, a poor overcoat. Those eyes look hungry. They look at me as if they would ask for help. Suddenly I feel ashamed. I should speak to him. Excuse me, good man, I cannot give you anything, I'm a beggar somehow myself, coming from that big Ghetto Germany. And I have to go back there, to be hungry again and with very little hope for m\ future. Maybe you do not know it, but you are enjoying here peace-life, and for you this world is open. You may go where you like to. A cloud of noise sweeps this vision away. Watch your step, Sir!' 'Oh, — sorry!' (This is the first time that an Englishman calls me 'Sir'). Oh, yes. I'm in England now. Look fust right and then left! What an automat a modern person is. AH these seventeen days in England I looked the wrong way, when crossing a street. Somehow I must have been yet under the influence of war-propaganda, before I came to this town; I expected to see at least fifty percent of all buildings fiat. As I insisted upon visiting a place in London where I could see any comparable (with Hamburg or Berlin) devastations, 1 had to make a special trip to the South-East of London. It took mesometime before I becameaccustomed to see shop-windows full of clothes, sweets, foodprovisions, fruits. They told me, that everything was rationed, that's true. But in England you may eat in every restaurant as much as you like without ration-cards. I found the British Housevvives quite nervous about the rationing in their country. I wish each of them could come to spend some weeks in Germany. No doubt, they would feel like in heaven after their return to England. Two questions asked to me made me smile: in a corner of a secret place in London I saw a balance. A sign on its top asked: Have rations altered your weight? — AndinGlasgow a Scottish lady asked me seriously if German rations were much better than those in Britain. As a film-man I am principally interested in film-product ion. On my request I wasshownse\ era I studios. They are quite busy there, and they arc doing remarkable work. The outfit is superior. Maybe they have a bit too main people on the stage while shooting. There is a limit, above which things become too complicated, if there is too much personnel. I saw large studios and I accompanied small groups on exterior-shooting. Everywhere on my way I made the acquaintance of a lady who is much estimated on the British Islands Her name is 'courtesy'. \mt in fact, politeness in public life, as it is piaetised in Britain, is a very agreeable thing It makes dailv life so much easier. People in this country like their personal freedom: the) pretci small houses, each for one family, But at (he same time the) seem not to be interested in an) manifestation of .4 short monthly release made t>\ the ( ol hat fust heen completed ami will he reviewed in mn next issue 'KRO Germany 1947* ma es wst-war film hlstoi i by being the first film made in German)/ by a team oj English ami German technicians. In this article the cameraman oj the Junge Film1 nion gives his impressions <>t a subsequent visit to ind. indh idualism l ondon has an enormous quantity of small family-houses, but the houses ol i whole qua! each otherexactly. To make a I ondon Programme complete one must have slvii a real fog in this town I had it. What the) call here a fog should have a special name. It would be an insult to the 1 ondon Fog to call him just a fog. What I saw that evening, that was a floating white mass. I his was a funis ; something like material, something you could touch with your hands. You could feel it slipping up your legs, permeating your clothes It entered into your body through the nostrils, through your mouth; and some minutes later it was scratching in your throat. It pressed the smoke down from the chimneys, it penetrated through closed doors into the fiats; and you could see it floating in the rooms. This while monster strangulated the tratlic. Drivers had to stop their cars and had to walk home, trains crashed — damage and losses. That night we had to grope our way from the gloomy shine of one lantern to the next, and I felt happy when at last entering the house. Ten hours by train brought me to the cold hills of Scotland, where I paid a visit to a group of the Crown I ilm Unit. I was accepted old friend, we soon were a big family. Film people have a special 'something'. They find the wav to each other quicker than other people do. My way back to London seemed to me likegoing home (Not because of the 'Pubs'. They drink too much beer there.) I like the atmosphere of this big town. It's full of activity, full of optimism. This town is willing to rebuild what war has destroyed, its inhabitants sa) 'yes'tolife, and it is agreeable to deal with them. My last impression of England: the man of the Customs (I felt a bit nervous approaching the long low table). But he asked me kindly about what I had done in his country and how I liked it. and he forgot about looking into my handbags. (Thank vou. friend!) And here I am again m the train on mv way back to Germain lo sa) it frankly: I feel likea prisoner whom they let tor a time oil. on his word. This train has a special car with signs at the windows 'For Germans' I he train-controlman savs with a smile 'Reserved foi you.' I am the only German this time. The other cars are quite packed. Alter the first two hours the last car bieaks down Ml passengers ol thai cai have to move into m> reserved car. We pass the ( ierman bordei Heaps ol i ubbish, rums, begging children at (lie rails Mv heart is full o\ contravening thoughts, it will take some time before all new impressions have settled. But I ma) s.n alread) now thai countr) over the Channel is winking hard to rebuild, it is full ivily, n wants peace I was given the possibihtv to have a look on the "other side I I Ivottci understanding this I hank vou tor having give me this chance! Arndt von Rautenfeld