“Do you like plum cake?” the lady who had invited me to her home asked me as she pressed a button on a machine, which whirred to life and began to fill a large mug with coffee. “Of course,” I said, – who doesn’t? In Germany, this is usually a traybake affair with crumble on top and fresh plums that sink into the dough as it bakes. She put a generous slice in front of me and held out a bowl with whipped cream.
The whole situation was so pleasantly nostalgic that I immediately felt transported back in time. And that was just as well – I’d come to this place in the town of Weimar in central Germany to talk about the past. Around me on the table lay faded photographs, handwritten letters, a faded German Imperial naval flag and cardboard folders full of documents and memories. “Shall we begin?” my host asked. “Let’s,” I mumbled through a mouthful of cake.