The column of light started like a glittering serpent through the avenues, beneath the Brandenburg Gate, across the Pariser Platz and in to the Wilhelmstrasse. All the youth of Germany was on the march that night. Six abreast they came in their brown shirts, each man carrying a flaming torch and there was no break in the procession for five long hours. The torches cast a weird, pink dancing light over the usually austere grey street and huge distorted shadows played on the walls of houses. Blood red banners splashed by crooked swastikas fluttered in their hundreds, from vast ones carried
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