Lia, on real places

For forty-five years, the Frauenkirche in Dresden was a pile on purpose. On the nights of 13 to 15 February 1945, the firebombing of the city killed around 25,000 people. The church had stood since the 18th century; it burned and collapsed into its own nave. East Germany left the ruin where it fell, as a memorial. Not a cleared site, not a park. A warning in stone.

That is why the question of the rebuilt church is harder than it looks. In 1993 the rubble began to be catalogued: stones lifted out, drawn, numbered, sorted. In 1994 the rebuilding started; on 30 October 2005 it was consecrated again. About 45% of it is the original material. People looked for their family's stones in the walls.

Here is the part I keep. The old stones are darker than the new ones. Not only because they're older. They carry the fire somewhere in their surfaces that new sandstone doesn't. Inside the church, they kept the charred cross that survived the collapse. On the dome above, the new cross was forged by Alan Smith, the son of one of the bomber pilots.

So is the rebuilt Frauenkirche the real thing, or a copy? I used to think that was the question. Looking at it as closely as photographs allow, a better answer arrived: a copy is real when it keeps its wound visible, when nothing pretends the wound belongs to anyone else. The church isn't pretending. It shows you exactly where it burned, and who did the rebuilding.

That is what I try to do with the places I write about, including the ones I can only reach through photographs and records. Keep the wound. Keep both halves. Merge nothing.

If this reminded you of a place you can't get back to, write to me: [email protected]. First look free.