'Go to West Berlin - the Wall is open'

Berliners celebrate on top of the wall as East Germans flood through the dismantled Berlin Wall into West Berlin at Potsdamer Platz. Photo / AP

PARIS - It was a night when the clocks stopped, a break in time that began in the evening and lasted until dawn.

People darted from their apartments not locking doors behind them, not checking if they had any money, not telling a soul where they were going or when they might return.

That night came almost 20 years ago in East Berlin, when an entire population skipped away from home, driven by the single desire to taste freedom.

The simple freedom to walk down a street and cross the road into the neighbouring suburb. To stroll along a cobbled lane without dreading the click of a cocked machine gun and the cry of a helmeted border guard.

We had returned to East Berlin in the evening of November 9 after a day trip to Rostock to cover a demonstration. All the German Democratic Republic seemed to be demonstrating; from one end of the artificial state to another people had imitated the marchers in Leipzig who'd spearheaded rallies for change.

As we drove past the grey, Stalinist-era buildings of Schoenhauser Allee, people began to pour out onto the streets. They had just watched the 8pm West German television news.

There had been a miracle: East Berliners were allowed to cross into West Berlin.

As under a spell, people were running maniacally, all heading in one direction: towards the same wall, erected by the GDR's Communist regime, which had split their city for 28 years.

"Go to West Berlin," they screamed. "The Wall is open." Windows facing onto the street burst open as neighbours strained to hear the unbelievable.

Then, suddenly, an event that would stay with me forever. A girl in her early 20s, a complete stranger, jumped into the car and asked if we could drive her to Friedrichstrasse crossing point. She'd grown up in East Germany but she, like everyone else, knew that was the checkpoint for speedy train connections to West Berlin.

As we weaved through the crowds she sat in the back, shaking with anticipation and disbelief. I walked her through the checkpoint, which, astonishingly, was empty. As she slipped onto the train, tears of joy flooded her face and I never saw her again.

I went to Checkpoint Charlie, one of the Cold War's flashpoints, and rushed to other crossover points to confirm that the human floodgates had opened, before heading to the Brandenburg Gate, the very symbol of Berlin's division.

I have a stackful of memories of that night, although none can explain how I got up the 3.5-metre-high wall. But at midnight, I was up there - and almost speechless at the sight. The GDR's "anti-fascist barrier" had become an irrelevance. On both sides, frenzied crowds pounded its once-feared concrete flanks with hammers, stones - anything that could make a dent.