In the Charlottenburg district of Berlin, not far from the zoological garden, stands one of the symbols of the German capital: the Memorial Church. If you glance at it distractedly, it will look like just a ruined church. In reality this building was the grand memorial to Emperor Wilhelm, and the war devastated it, reducing it to pieces.
The Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtniskirche was commissioned by Wilhelm II in honour of his grandfather, Emperor Wilhelm I. It was designed by the architect Franz Schwechten in the Neo-Romanesque style, taking its cue from the ancient imperial cathedrals of the Carolingian and Ottonian periods.
Just think: consecrated in 1895, it was the tallest church in Berlin, with a tower of 113 metres. Inside it had almost 2,740 square metres of mosaic narrating the life and deeds of Wilhelm I.
And then what happened?
The Second World War simply devastated it, so much so that today it has earned the nickname of the “hollow tooth” (Hohler Zahn).
Today, unlike many other buildings in the city such as the Reichstag, the Memorial Church was deliberately left in ruins, as a warning to future generations: to show the horrors of war and not repeat them.
I like to think it isn’t only a memorial to Wilhelm I, but also to the historical memory of what happens during a war.
Would you like to know a little more?
Off we go!
A little history of the Memorial Church
If you think about it, the Memorial Church (Gedächtniskirche) is a relatively recent building: its construction began in 1891 in memory of Emperor Wilhelm I, founder of the German Empire. This is why it’s also known as the “Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church”.
If you stroll through the Charlottenburg district, you’ll recognise it immediately thanks to its old tower, deliberately left half-destroyed.
But why leave it in this state?
Simple: after the bombings that struck Berlin, its ruins were merely made safe, and it was decided to leave it this way, as a warning against war.
In short, what remains of the Memorial Church has above all a symbolic value, but the original building was truly impressive: inside was a majestic mosaic of almost 3,000 square metres, depicting the life and works of the emperor.
But what remains today?
Sadly, not much. A figure of Christ made by Hermann Schaper survived the bombings and, above all, a cross built from the nails recovered among the ruins of Coventry Cathedral in England, itself destroyed by bombing in 1940: it’s the famous Cross of Nails, a symbol of reconciliation between the two peoples. In the bell tower (Glockenturm) beside the church, the so-called “bell of freedom” is kept.
How the Memorial Church was destroyed
As you may know, Berlin suffered very heavy bombings, especially towards the end of the war. After years of conflict, the Allies reached the heart of Germany and spared not even the civilian population.
So it was that, from 1943, the capital began to suffer ever more frequent attacks by the British air force: in November 1943 the bombs fell right on the Memorial Church. The whole building caught fire in an instant and the flames soon reduced it to a ruin.
After the war, the West Berlin government debated at length what to do with these remains. It was proposed several times to rebuild the Memorial Church but, in the end, the tower was only consolidated and a completely new church was built beside it.
What remains of the old church
Although it looks precarious, since the 1980s it’s been possible to enter the remains of the Memorial Church, where a small Memorial Hall has been set up. On the ceiling you’ll find only a surviving fragment of the mosaic, depicting members of the imperial family and their ancestors.
A real shame, if you consider the original approached 3,000 square metres.
Along the walls there are still remains of marble decorations, while on the floor a beautiful depiction of Saint Michael defeating the dragon survives.
Outside, the tower you see today measures “only” 71 metres, against the 113 of the original. And it’s precisely the truncated shape of the roof that gave the church its nickname: “hollow tooth”.
The new church
For the new building an architectural competition was held, won by Egon Eiermann, who chose to collaborate with the French artist Gabriel Loire.
Eiermann’s project was built between 1959 and 1963 and consists of modern buildings of glass, steel and concrete. Berliners nicknamed the new bell tower “the lipstick”, and the church “the powder box”.
The hall of the new church is lit by over 21,000 pieces of coloured glass, inspired by the windows of Chartres Cathedral (where Loire had his workshop). This is why blue is the dominant colour of the light filtering inside, creating an intimate, almost hypnotic atmosphere.
Here’s a curiosity not everyone knows.
Inside, besides the suspended figure of the Risen Christ, you can see the Madonna of Stalingrad: a charcoal drawing made by the German doctor and pastor Kurt Reuber during the tragic siege of Stalingrad, at Christmas 1942. That city too was destroyed and rebuilt: another thread linking Berlin, Coventry and Stalingrad in the sign of reconciliation.
I must say that, despite the enormous differences between the old Memorial Church and the new one, a certain harmony is felt in this square. It’s the typical atmosphere of “rebuilt” Berlin, as in Düsseldorf or other German cities. If the artists’ idea was to make people reflect, they fully succeeded.
From the rubble of war a new future arose: let’s just hope we remember it, so as never to have to relive the past.
How to get to the Memorial Church and visit it
If you’re strolling through the Charlottenburg district, you can reach the Memorial Church on foot and recognise it without effort: it’s in Breitscheidplatz. Otherwise you can arrive by metro, getting off at Zoologischer Garten (U2, U9, S-Bahn) or Kurfürstendamm (U1, U9).
Both the remains of the old church (with the Memorial Hall) and the new church have free entry. It’s still an active place of worship, so remember to respect the silence and the services.
Since it’s a free but history-rich monument, the best way to really understand it is to fit it into a walking tour of 20th-century Berlin, between the Third Reich and the Cold War: the “hollow tooth” takes on a whole new meaning.
And you - would you stop before this “hollow tooth” to reflect on what it means to rebuild without forgetting?
