SUSAN SIGNE MORRISON

Schwanenwerder, a Hidden Gem of Berlin: Tracing a Nazi Past

Between the vibrant and storied heart of Berlin and the elegance of Potsdam to its southwest glides the Havel River. On sweltering days, many Berliners hop the S-Bahn to Nikolassee. From there, they stroll through the woods to the Strandbad Wannsee, a huge sandy beach whose entrance reflects the architecture from the days of the Weimar Republic. Most sunworshippers leave the beach, sandy and tired, little thinking to head further through the woods. Were they to do so, the rough dirt pathway descends to a crossways—two yacht clubs sit on either side of a small bridge heading into a settlement on Inselstraße. Do you dare cross the bridge?

It leads onto Schwanenwerder—or “Swan River Island”— once the most exclusive address in Berlin. Developed by the Jewish oil lamp manufacturer Wilhelm Wessel in the 19^th and early 20^th centuries, it was the most expensive property on the German 1936 Monopoly board, until Nazi propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels prohibited the game’s production.

I was fortunate enough to spend the summer of 2024 on the island. Awarded a writer’s residency by a foundation for women artists, the Cordts Art Foundation, my goal was to work on a book about my experiences teaching in East Germany in the 1980s and about my Stasi (secret police) file. Tastefully renovated, the charming 1930s house retains old details, such as a tiny golden lyre in metal decorating the narrow wooden staircase. At the same time, the up-to-date kitchen, skylight, and conservatory allow light to flood in. I sit at my worktable six meters from the water. An expansive view of the Sailing Association 1903 e.V., a boat club, allows me to spy on a panoply of human adventurers: from children on small sailboats called Optis to ever-patient yacht officials rescuing floundering boats. From my private dock, I submerge into the water of Klare Lanke drifting past my garden idyll. After making a liquid tour, skirting millionaire’s homes and even a thatched boat house, I climb onto the bottom step of the dock’s ladder. Up I rise onto the dock and gaze back out over the sheltered cove.

It’s hard to escape the past while swimming beneath the Goebbels property on an island the propaganda minister once insulted as Schweinenwerder—Pig River Island—in a none-too-subtle antisemitic swipe. Once the Nazis took over, snappy and sarcastic Berliners retaliated by calling it Bonzenwerder—Big Wig River Island. On an island like Schwanenwerder, inevitable ghosts rattle their chains.

I take my usual walk around the island. If you had been Goebbels in 1943, you might have been blown up in your car from a bomb planted beneath the bridge linking the island to the mainland. Before the assassination could be carried out, the resistance worker planning the attack—Hans-Heinrich Kummerow— was caught and later guillotined, as was his wife Ingeborg.

I pass the Schertz house, belonging to the former police president of West Berlin during the fall of the Berlin Wall and erstwhile playmate of little Helmut Goebbels. My red-tile roofed house comes next, neat and compact with its ample garden, replete with fragrant lilacs, chives in purple blossom, forget-me-nots, and daisies. As the hill rises, I come upon a house once inhabited by the Soviets at the end of WWII. They fished, sending their daily catch to the Kommandatura in Berlin. The Americans came, giving the Soviets ten minutes to vacate, all the while aiming a tank gun towards the house to encourage their former allies.

On up the steep hill, where on the right sit two pillars. Ruins from the Tuileries sold to the original island owner after the Franco-Prussian war, they were meant to add historic depth to what had once been a mere sandy outcropping.

At the crest of the hill, the road splits into a one-way loop. At Inselstraße 8-10 is the original Goebbels property. Only their cellar remains beneath two white brick low-level buildings, built decades later. I imagine five little girls and a boy running with them. Sadly, they cannot outrun their fate, murdered in the bunker with cyanide by their parents in the closing days of the war.

Next door at 12-14 a substantial fence blocks the casual passerby from glancing in. A modern chalet stands on the hill sweeping down to the water. Here Goebbels showed films and entertained his Czech actress girlfriend. Abutting this property, a massive glass and copper roofed complex belongs to the immensely profitable Würth screw company. One can imagine two American officers—Dwight D. Eisenhower and Lucius Clay—scurrying by, intent on planning the Potsdamer Conference dividing Germany into four occupation zones and later the Berlin Airlift.

The next property, a wide grassy lawn, has been stripped of its wartime house, owned by Albert Speer, designer of propaganda rallies and the future world capital Germania. Further on, an enormous half-timbered house in cream and red was reserved for Hitler. He never lived there, preferring to drop in the Goebbels to dandle a child on his knee. Today, the cheery voices of a diverse set of teenagers echo to the passerby’s delight in a youth camp.

The next mansion housed Hitler’s doctor, Theo Morrell, a quack prone to giving injections of methamphetamine to his Führer. In post-war West Berlin, Axel Springer, a latter-day Rupert Murdoch and owner of a publication empire, chose this plot for his own relaxation. Further on, the Evangelical Church hosts conferences for the Protestant church. The house itself is dedicated to Adam von Trott, hanged for his role in the failed July 20, 1944 plot to assassinate Hitler.

Traipsing by Porsches and Bentleys, I eventually come to another walled in property, said to look like the home of a James Bond villain. The land once belonged to the Jewish family named Israel, owners of an enormous department store. The son, Wilfrid, inherited his family empire. A homosexual, he was a thinly veiled character in Christopher Isherwood’s Goodbye to Berlin. With a British mother, Wilfrid had two passports, allowing him to pass back and forth between Germany and England. He sponsored hundreds of children in the famous Kindertransport scheme to ferry Jewish children to England and others to reach Palestine. In 1943, he boarded a plane in Lisbon bound for Bristol. Conspiracy theories abound, but the Luftwaffe shot down the plane, also carrying the Hollywood star Leslie Howard. Wilfrid became the only Jew on the island to be killed by the Nazis. The others, all prominent in business and society, abandoned their properties early enough to save themselves, though at reduced prices given Nazi laws.

One of the original houses, Schwanenhof, replete with faux Gothic details and delightful turn-of-the century-charm, sits perched at island’s highest point. Opposite, dilapidated thatched cottages remain empty. A sign directs us to number 38, the derelict Reichsbräuteschule property—the Reich’s Bride School, where young women engaged to SS officers and Nazi higher-ups could be trained to be perfect German housewives and mothers. Next, an extensive abandoned area bought by Albert Speer as an investment property. After Stalingrad, seeing the writing on the wall, he sold it for a nice fat profit.

I return home and secure my wooden gate. Opening the door to the house, I am greeted by an enormous window with its view of the lake, dozens of sailboats, and luxuriant roses in bloom.

The island taught me that to understand my experiences in East Germany in the 1980s, I had to return to Germany’s Nazi past, a time currently reverberating all too clearly in the present united Germany in its recent elections. Next time you are in Berlin, you might visit this fraught yet lushly picturesque microcosm of German history. Reflect on the past and how we got to the idyllic surroundings of today in a story of resilience and redemption: a youth camp defying the efforts of the Nazis to prevent an open society and even a house for women artists to create.

If you visit Schwanenwerder

S-Bahn 1 or 7 to Nikolassee; 30-minute walk to Inselstraße/Schwanenwerder. Many bikers ride to and around the island.

If you are hungry

Between Strandbad Wannsee and Schwanenwerder is Wannseeterrassen, with a spectacular view of the Wannsee. http://www.wannseeterrassen.berlin/

Only a 5-minute walk to S-Bahn Nikolassee, be sure to drink a beer or taste traditional fare like a Curry Wurst at the cheerful and relaxed motorcycle hangout AVUS-Treff Spinner-Brücke. https://spinner-bruecke.de/

Places to visit in the area

Strandbad Wannsee: sandy beach and cool water. Tickets range from 3.50 € for children to 9€ for a group ticket. 15-minute walk from S-Bahn Nikolassee. With snack bar. https://www.berlinerbaeder.de/baeder/detail/strandbad-wannsee/

Liebermann-Villa am Wannsee: House and garden of Impressionist artist Max Liebermann with changing exhibits. Bus 114 from S-Bahn Wannsee. https://liebermann-villa.de/

House of the Wannsee Conference: House and garden with well signed museum about the planning of the Final Solution. Bus 114 from S-Bahn Wannsee. https://www.ghwk.de/en

Ferries on the Wannsee, some accessible with a Berlin public transportation ticket; short walk from S-Bahn Wannsee; the ferry to picturesque Kladow allows a view of Schwanenwerder from the water.

The Cordts Art Foundation: Periodic free public presentations by the women artists sponsored by the Foundation so you can visit the house and grounds. http://www.women-artists-in-residence.berlin/en/index.htm

Writing on topics lurking in the margins of history, Susan Signe Morrison, Regents’ Professor and University Distinguished Professor of English Emerita at Texas State University, has published on medieval literature and culture. Having taught in the former East Germany in the 1980s, she is currently working on a book about her Stasi file which has some unusual (and false) assertions. Her experiences in East Germany have been featured in The Local, Forum, The Ekphrastic Review, The Font, The Vincent Brothers’ Review, and the podcast Cold War Conversations. A broader audience has accessed her work on waste studies through interviews with Slate, Wired, History Channel, American Public Media, and The New Yorker.