Together with colleagues at the Freiberg University of Techology's Mining Academy,

Scheffler regularly measures the massive stone structure. To do this he has set up a network
of around a dozen measuring points, which he uses to determine the degree to which the
steeple is tilting. And each year, he and his colleagues determine that the tower is leaning by
yet a few additional centimeters. "But it's not a uniform process," Scheffler explains, "it is
dependent on what is happening underground."

The Ground in Bad Frankenhausen Just Opens Up

Rainy days can be particularly treacherous because the extra water also washes the plaster out
of the ground. Most of all, though, it is the subterranean salt deposits beneath the city that are
causing problems. They date back 250 million years to a time when an ocean slowly dried up
here under the heat of the primordial sun. Salt layers meters high remained to be covered with
sand, gravel and clay later on. Then, around 95 million years ago, the Kyffhäuser hills rose
here. Bad Frankenhausen is located on the edge of the range. And where the hills rose, the
ground formed cracks and water started to find its way into the deeply buried salt deposits.

Springs started to flow and they brought with them geological problems for the region --
including sinkholes, which occur when subterranean hollows collapse. "We have to deal with
a massive amount of leaching," says geologist Frank Rey, a soils expert who has been
researching the leaning church tower since the mid-1960s. According to Rey's calculations,
the springs at Bad Frankenhausen carry away around 250 tons of salt each day. "I don't even
want to think about the implications," the geologist quips.

Bärbel Köllen knows only too well what the porous underground means. The resolute city
councilor heads an association that is trying to save the church. At the end of a long, linden
tree-lined avenue she waits at the gates of the gothic church. At the moment nobody is
actually allowed in, but today Köllen is making an exception.

An unusual sight awaits people who pass through the church's doors. One can look straight
up into the cloudless sky and directly at the leaning tower, because the church has been
without a roof since 1961. It was removed when it fell into disrepair and has never been
replaced. Art treasures, the pulpit and the baptismal font are all long gone, and grass is
growing in the nave. Earlier, concerts were given here as well as open-air services under a
blue metal crucifix, but they are no longer permitted today. A yellow sign posted right next to
the church bears warns: "Danger Area -- Danger of Collapse."

"Time is getting short," Köllen says. Nobody knows how much further the tower can actually
lean before it tips over completely. Theoretically the building should be able to withstand a
tilt of around six meters. So there should still be time to save it. But what happens if the
foundations of the building suddenly give way? Or if the old walls simply collapse?

In the 1990s, several hundred thousand marks were spent stabilizing the tower, and another
couple of hundred thousand euros are being spent this century. At first glance, one can see
little of the results of this work. There are four steel cables -- each as thick as a human arm --
securing the tower at the moment, but these won't last forever.