It seemed that there were uniforms everywhere. Even the newspaper-sellers were wearing SA caps and greatcoats. There was no parade, and certainly there was nothing Jewish on Unter den Linden that could be boycotted. Perhaps it was only now, after Dachau, that I fully realized the true strength of the grip that National Socialism had on Germany.

I was heading towards my office. Situated incongruously between the Greek Embassy and Schultze’s Art Shop, and guarded by two storm-troopers, I passed the Ministry of the Interior from which Himmler had issued his memo to Paul Pfarr regarding corruption. A car drew up outside the front door, and from it emerged two officers and a uniformed girl whom I recognized as Marlene Sahm. I stopped and started to say hallo and then thought better of it. She passed me by without a glance. If she recognized me she did a good job disguising it. I turned and watched her as she followed the two men inside the building. I don’t suppose I was standing there for more than a couple of minutes, but it was long enough for me to be challenged by a fat man with a low brimmed hat.

‘Papers,’ he said abruptly, not even bothering to show a Sipo pass or warrant disc.

‘Says who?’

The man pushed his porky, poorly shaven face at me and hissed: ‘Says me.’

‘Listen,’ I said, ‘you’re sadly mistaken if you think you are possessed of what is cutely known as a commanding personality. So cut the shit and let’s see some ID.’ A Sipo pass flashed in front of my nose.

‘You boys are getting lazy,’ I said, producing my papers. He snatched them away for examination.

‘What are you doing hanging around here?’

‘Hanging? Who’s hanging?’ I said. ‘I stopped to admire the architecture.’

‘Why were you looking at those officers who got out of the car?’

‘I wasn’t looking at the officers,’ I said. ‘I was looking at the girl. I love women in uniforms.’

‘On your way,’ he said, tossing my papers back at me.

The average German seems to be able to tolerate the most offensive behaviour from anyone wearing a uniform or carrying some sort of official insignia. In everything except that I consider myself to be a fairly typical German, because I have to admit that I am naturally disposed to be obstructive to authority. I suppose you would say that it’s an odd attitude for an ex-policeman.