Unlocking the stories of the bridge of love
I’M SORRY for last Saturday’s absence — when some of you contacted me through Facebook to say you miss me!
You came into my mind as I examined the vast wall of Love Padlocks on the Hohenzollernbrucke bridge in Cologne — where about 40,000 couples have cast their magic spells.
Buy a padlock, write on it or (classier) have it engraved, attach it to the 409 metre long railing, then throw the little key into the Rhine below. Hey presto! Lasting love . . .
It’s not romantic — the bridge has more than 1,200 trains passing over it daily, the wall is a mess and, of course, nothing lasts for ever. The padlocks have added more than two tonnes to the bridge, causing local officials to shake their heads.
In a couple of places vandals have spray-painted to obliterate names, which strikes me as mean, but just as typical of human behaviour as the ritual of attaching the locks in the first place. All human life is there.
What happened to Mehtap and Hakan after 2008? And ‘David and Larissa Forever’ after they left here in 2014? Kiki and Rob didn’t bother with a date, nor did Julia and Benni, but Sven and Lena threw away their key in 2012.
Among all the padlocks you see different sorts of love such as Marc, Bianca and Lena (2007) and Maria and Lilly BFF (best friends forever) in 2015.
I was touched by one I spotted among the thousands — ‘Josephine 23 Oktober 2012’ — and hoped her padlock symbolised self-sufficiency.
How many of those couples stayed true? How many were like a long-married woman I know who forced her selfconscious husband to give her a kiss and join in? How many broke up soon after and remember the padlock moment with bitterness?
So many unknown stories, so many hopes and dreams — and tens of thousands of tiny keys rusting on the bed of the mighty river below. As Philip Larkin wrote wryly: ‘What will survive of us is love.’
Bel answers readers’ questions on emotional and relationship problems each week. Write to Bel Mooney, Daily Mail, 2 Derry Street, london W8 5TT, or email bel.mooney@dailymail.co.uk. Names are changed to protect identities. Bel reads all letters but regrets she cannot enter into personal correspondence.