The miracle of Dresden: How Germany's baroque masterpiece rose from the ashes

My father was born in Dresden during the Second World War and survived its destruction as a toddler, and ever since I was a child I wondered what had happened to his childhood home. After Dresden was bombed by the RAF, my grandmother took my father back to Hamburg, her hometown, to escape the Red Army. Dresden was now in the Soviet sector, far behind the Iron Curtain. My grandmother never went back there, and nor did my father. They told me there was nothing left there. Everything had been destroyed.

In Hamburg, after the war, my grandmother met a British officer called Gerry Cook and followed him back to London, where Gerry raised my father as his own (my German grandfather was in a British POW camp at the time). That’s the reason for my interest in Dresden, and why I’ve been back here so many times. I never imagined it would become a source of interest for so many of my fellow countrymen, yet more and more Britons are travelling to the city, and now Ryanair is launching direct flights from Britain (from October 29). So when those passengers arrive in Dresden, what can they expect to find?

I first went in 1995, six years after the Berlin Wall came down. There were West German cars in the streets and West German goods in the shops but Dresden still felt funereal, like a city just emerging from a long and savage siege. The main landmarks were under scaffolding and there were lots of empty spaces where rows of houses used to be. Here, the war didn’t end in 1945 – it lingered on until 1989. The Communists had put up some ugly tower blocks, but apart from that they’d done next to nothing. For 40 years, the buildings that escaped the bombing had been left to crumble. Like a modern Carthage, Dresden felt like a place whose time had passed.

Yet when I went back again, a few years later, I was amazed by what I found. The city was still a work in progress, but the mood had been transformed. Germanic know-how was achieving what I’d thought would be impossible. Reconstructed buildings were emerging from the rubble. Freed from the inertia of socialism (which made even Germans inefficient) those industrious Teutons were putting Dresden back together, piece by piece.

That was back in 1997, and during the last 22 years Dresden’s renaissance has gone from strength to strength. Each time I return, I see more miracles of reconstruction. Some buildings have been spruced up while others have been rebuilt from scratch, but this revival isn’t merely structural. There are people on the streets again, new bars and cafés  are sprouting. Of course I have a special interest in this place, but the crowds of tourists who come here show you don’t need a family connection to be fascinated by Dresden. It’s thrilling to see a city return to life.

The destruction of Dresden was primarily a human tragedy, the last link in a chain of tragedies which began with the Luftwaffe’s destruction of Coventry. Yet in Dresden the RAF also destroyed a precious monumental heritage, the most perfectly preserved baroque city in Central Europe. That’s why so many people are so excited to see it rising from the ashes.

Ironically, the reason Dresden was so enchanting is due to a distinctly unenchanting despot called Augustus the Strong (no-one seems quite sure whether he got his nickname because of his party trick of breaking horseshoes or because of the hundreds of illegitimate children he sired). As well as being Duke of Saxony, Augustus was also King of Poland, which gave him the cash and kudos to rebuild Dresden as a rococo capital. After Augustus died, his capital became politically inconsequential, so it never grew into a metropolis. Consequently its antique Altstadt (Old Town) was protected from redevelopment. It’s this restored Altstadt which today’s tourists come to see.

But there’s lots more to do in Dresden apart from gazing at old buildings. Augustus and his brood also bequeathed one of Europe’s greatest collections of Old Masters, housed in the Zwinger, a flamboyant baroque relic. Among the museum’s many treasures are the intricate pictures that Canaletto painted of Dresden. Look out of the window: the view he painted is right in front of you. Across the road is the Taschenbergpalais, built by Augustus for his favourite mistress. A burnt shell before reunification, it’s now a luxurious hotel.

The Altstadt can be lively, but for nightlife cross the Elbe and venture into the Neustadt, the 19^th-century New Town where most locals live. It’s not as spectacular, but fewer bombs fell here, and the atmosphere is more authentic. Here you’ll find the best bars and restaurants, and architectural treasures like Pfunds Molkerei, an old dairy decked out in Meissen china, which now sells local cheese and wine (there are vineyards on the edge of town, a tram ride from the city centre).

The medieval town of Meissen is only 15 miles away – an easy trip by train, or (if you’ve got a bit more time) on a boat along the Elbe. You can tour the factory where they make the eponymous porcelain, or hunt for chipped seconds in the curiosity shops in the cobbled streets around the castle. There are two other day trips I’d really recommend: by paddle steamer to Pillnitz, an ornate palace on the Elbe, and by steam train to Moritzburg, a romantic hunting lodge built for our old friend Augustus.

After a lot of searching, I finally found the house where my father was born. The family who live there now were hospitable, though they required some reassurance that I hadn’t come to claim it back (they had no need to worry – my grandmother’s family only ever rented it). They were refugees from further east, from German lands seized by Stalin. They’d lived here for several generations, since the end of the war. Now there was only a middle-aged man and his teenage daughter. I didn’t ask where the others were.

The man sent his daughter to the corner shop to buy some cakes and coffee, and then he showed me the attic room where my father was born, and where my grandmother watched the bombs light up the night sky. She was lucky. My father was lucky. This house was on the outskirts. No bombs fell here. A few years later I went back again. The street was a lot smarter and the house was full of mod cons, but the man seemed sad and out of sorts. He looked a lot older. His daughter had finished school and gone away.

Back in Dresden, a few weeks ago, I revisited the Frauenkirche, Dresden’s most beautiful church, which was reduced to rubble in 1945 and remained so for 50 years. Soon after my first visit, rebuilding began and now it’s finished. The golden cross above the dome was a gift from Britain, made by a man whose father flew in the RAF bombing raid.

Outside this reconstructed church is a big white banner which says ‘Blessed are the Peacemakers,’ and mounted on the wall beneath it is a small bronze plaque. My German is pretty lousy, but I could just about make out what it said: ‘In shame and sadness, we Christians remember the Jewish citizens of this city. In 1933, there were 4,675 Jews in Dresden. In 1945, there were 70. We were silent when their synagogues were burned, when they were disenfranchised and then murdered. We did not recognise them as our brothers and our sisters. We beg forgiveness and Shalom.’

Ryanair’s new route to Dresden launches on October 29. Return fares cost from around £25. Rail travellers can reach the city in around 11 hours with changes in Brussels and Frankfurt. See seat61.com for more advice on train travel to Germany. See Telegraph Travel’s pick of the best hotels in Dresden.