by Ali McNamara
It’s a black and white film about the immigrants, told in their own words. The voices are unbelievably chilling as they recount the tales of what they had to go through to get to Ellis Island: leaving their own countries in northern Europe, then being processed by ticket onto the ships that took weeks to get to New York.
According to the film, they were packed onto the ships like sardines in a can, and not treated much better, it seems. ‘We could see no sky, only water,’ one of the women says, speaking of her time below deck in steerage. ‘If you were lucky enough to have a blanket, you went up on deck to get some fresh air. But the waves crashed over the deck and the seasickness was so bad that some nights I would pray the ship would go down.’
It’s quite shocking to watch, and as I glance over at Oscar I see he’s obviously moved by the film too. I put my hand out to him. And as he turns his head towards mine for a split second to acknowledge my touch, I see tears glistening in his eyes. I wrap my hand tightly around his.
As the film continues, we see the huge entrance hall we’ve stood in just a short while before looking at photos and the exhibition with all the other tourists, as it would have been many years ago, filled with immigrants trying to gain their freedom from the cruel dictatorships and oppressive regimes of their own countries. And what a few moments ago seemed like part of a dusty old museum, now seems incredibly real.
We watch the people having health checks for trachoma and mental health issues, and the unfortunate ones that didn’t make the grade being marked with white chalk and set aside to face the cruellest punishment – a return trip on the boat they’d just made the interminable crossing over in.
‘If I’m made to return, I’ll throw myself off the side into the sea rather than go back to Russia,’ one of the men says hauntingly.
Usually during information films like this at parks and museums there’s a certain amount of fidgeting and noise when people who have just come in for a rest or to pass a few minutes start to become bored. But I can’t help noticing the intense hush that fills the auditorium while the film is being shown. I don’t know if it’s the people’s stories, or the fact that we’re actually sitting in the very building where everything took place, or a mixture of the two, but all I know is that what we are watching and hearing is deeply affecting every single person sitting in this room with us.
And none more so than Oscar.
‘Oh, Scarlett,’ he says, tears streaming down his face as the film finishes and dimmed lighting shows us the way to the exit. ‘I can’t believe what my family had to go through to come here. The conditions on those ships were just horrendous.’
‘I know, I was shocked too.’ I reach into my bag and find Oscar a tissue.
He dabs at his eyes. ‘I get seasick, Scarlett, and the thought of being on one of those ships for weeks going up and down, up and down.’ Oscar actually starts to look a bit green.
‘Shall we get some fresh air?’ I suggest.
Oscar nods and blows his nose noisily on my tissue.
We take a walk outside. I’m surprised at how the film has affected Oscar; I’ve really never seen him like this before. I’d found it moving, yes, but Oscar is in bits.
He pulls a pair of big dark glasses from his satchel and takes gulps of air while he puts them on. Then I know he’s beginning to return to the old Oscar when he looks down at the crumpled tissue still clutched in his hand.
‘Oh my, why am I using this?’ he exclaims. Holding it disdainfully away from him between his thumb and forefinger, he tosses it into a nearby bin as if he’s disposing of a dirty nappy. ‘I have my own monogrammed silk handkerchiefs for just such an occasion.’ With a flourish, he now pulls a square of bright purple silk from his pocket and begins dabbing at his forehead like a nurse mopping a patient’s brow.
‘Drama queen,’ I tut, rolling my eyes. ‘You don’t have to put it on for me, you know.’
‘I’m not putting it on,’ Oscar says, lifting his glasses up. ‘Look how red and puffy my eyes are; it will take hours for these to go down. I wonder if they have any cucumber in that café over there.’ He glances in the direction of the island’s restaurant.
‘Stop worrying about your appearance, for once. Let’s talk about why you were so upset in the theatre.’
Through his glasses Oscar stares at me. ‘I don’t know exactly. It took me by surprise too. It was just the thought of my own family going through all that just to come here to start a new life, a better life. If they hadn’t I probably wouldn’t be here now.’
‘That’s true.’ I think for a moment. ‘There’s something about discovering more of your family roots, isn’t there? Whether it’s living family or long-lost relatives you never knew.’
Oscar nods. ‘It makes you feel like you belong, somehow. Like you know where you came from.’
I think about Jamie.
‘Come on,’ I say briskly. ‘Do you feel like you can handle some more yet? We’ve still got the rest of the exhibition to look around.’
‘On one condition,’ Oscar says, nodding earnestly.
‘What’s that?’
‘I get to keep my glasses on. I can’t possibly have people seeing me looking like some cartoon mutation of Betty Boo and a little green alien from Toy Story.’
I shake my head. ‘Whatever makes you happy, Oscar.’
We go back inside the museum and take a look around the other floors of displays tracing more of the immigrants’ stories through photos and memorabilia. In one room we find cases of clothes and possessions that belonged to families that were processed through Ellis Island, and once more it all becomes overpoweringly real again.
‘Oscar,’ I try to say in a steady voice as I stand in front of a large glass cabinet. ‘I think you’d better come over here and look at this.’
‘Why?’ Oscar asks, wandering over to stand beside me. ‘What is it?’
The display inside the cabinet contains a large trunk, a long dress on a mannequin, fabric, some shoes, photos, pens and other family effects.
‘Look at the name, Oscar,’ I say, pointing up at the information board at the back of the cabinet. ‘Look at the name.’
Oscar looks to where I’m pointing. ‘But that says … De Costa.’
‘I know, and keep reading. It also says your great-great-grandmother was a seamstress, and when your grandfather couldn’t make a living as an electrician he learned the trade from her. He then went on to run and then own a factory that made dresses, and then …’ but Oscar isn’t listening to me any more – he’s already engrossed in reading the board for himself.
I stand silently waiting for him to finish, and when he does, I watch him start at the top of the board and read through it all one more time, as if he can’t quite believe it. Then he turns to me.
‘This says my family went on not only to own a dress factory, but that they designed and made their own dresses – ball gowns and evening gowns, Scarlett, not just any old daywear. My great-aunt did monogramming and another did pattern-cutting, and one of my great-uncles owned a shoe and boot store. At one stage they even supplied the theatre trade, too.’
I smile at him.
‘You know what this means, don’t you, darling?’
I nod. ‘It’s in the genes, Oscar. Your love of clothes, the fact that you run a successful clothes shop and now supply to television, too – it’s all in your family genes.’
Oscar shakes his head and stares into the cabinet again. ‘And to think that these are their actual things.’ He places his hand up against the glass like you see prisoners do in movies when their beloved is on the other side of a partition. It’s such a touching sight, I half expect one of the ladies’ gloves lying over the big wooden trunk to jump up and position itself against his palm. ‘My family’s things.’
I put my hand gently on his shoulder, fearing a teary episode like before. But Oscar simply turns towards me.
‘I’ve got you to thank for this, Scarlett,’ he says, wrapping his arms around m
e. ‘If you hadn’t insisted we come here today I would never have discovered any of this.’
‘Don’t be silly, Oscar. We were always going to visit the Statue of Liberty together, you know that.’
‘The statue, yes,’ Oscar says, leaning back from our hug to look at me. ‘But you were the one that wanted to come here to Ellis Island. I would have just stayed on the ferry and been back in Manhattan shopping or doing something equally frivolous by now. I’ve found my family, thanks to you.’ He looks back into the cabinet again. ‘I’ve found where I come from, and now I feel like I belong.’
We sail back to Manhattan later that afternoon, armed with more souvenirs and photos of Oscar standing in front of the cabinet and outside the Ellis Island Great Hall. Both Oscar and I are very quiet as we watch the Statue of Liberty getting smaller and smaller in the distance.
While Oscar is trying to come to terms with all that he’s learned during our visit, my mind is filled with two thoughts: first, that I’ll never, ever complain about queueing or being delayed when I’m travelling again, after seeing what those poor people were prepared to endure to begin a new life here in the US. And second, after seeing the effect that tracing his family has had on Oscar, and remembering how I felt after finding my own mother, there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind now.
I must try and help Jamie find his father.
Sixteen
After we’ve disembarked from the ferry, we head into Battery Park.
‘Shall we get an ice cream?’ Oscar asks, looking around him.
We’ve eaten lunch at Ellis Island, but it’s so hot now in the burning afternoon sunshine that a nice cold ice cream sounds just perfect.
‘Can you get such a thing here?’ I ask jokingly. ‘Isn’t it all hot dogs and bagels at these stands?’
‘Let’s take a look around, shall we?’ Oscar says. ‘In New York you never know quite what you’ll find.’
As we walk around BatteryPark, Oscar becomes increasingly distracted in his search for an ice cream by the many marines that seem to be filling the park this afternoon.
‘Oh my,’ Oscar says, fanning himself as we come across a display of marines doing pull-ups on a high bar, press-ups on a mat and various other physical activities. ‘It’s getting even hotter now.’
They do put on a pretty impressive display in their white vests and khaki camouflage combats, and the muscles on some of them would put Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine to shame.
‘Having a quick perv, are you?’ a voice over my shoulder says.
I turn around. ‘Max! Hi!’
He grins at me. ‘That’s nothing,’ he nods in the direction of the marines. ‘I do that twice over every morning before I go to work.’
I grin. ‘Well, they are asking for volunteers for the pull-up bar, if you want to have a go.’
‘Nah,’ he shakes his head. ‘Wouldn’t want to show them up. So what are you doing here, apart from admiring the view?’
‘We’ve just been over to see the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.’
‘Fantastic, did you enjoy it?’
‘Yes, it was great, Oscar found out loads about his family while we were over there. Didn’t you, Oscar?’
‘Hmm?’ Oscar mumbles, still drooling over the marines. He turns towards us now. ‘I do apologise, I was somewhat distracted there for a moment.’
‘So I see,’ Max says, a smile twitching on his lips. ‘You must be the Oscar Jamie has been telling me all about.’
Oscar eyes him dubiously. ‘What’s he been saying, and who might you be?’
‘I’m Max. I work with Jamie as his cameraman.’
‘So you’re the other half of the gruesome twosome.’
‘What did you just say?’ Max asks in surprise.
‘Oh, don’t mind me, sweetie,’ Oscar says with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘I’ve been out in the hot sun too long today. I’m sure you’re lovely really, and any friend of Scarlett’s is a friend of mine!’ He swivels on his heel and looks keenly around him. ‘Now, I’m off to find ice cream! What is it about this place; sixty-nines I can find no problem, but where’s a cool, fluffy Mr Whippy Ninety-nine when you want one? I shall return forthwith!’
Max watches Oscar skip merrily away along the path with a mixture of horror and disbelief.
‘Is he for real?’ he asks me in amazement.
‘Incredibly, yes he is. But his heart is in the right place, even if his morals aren’t always.’ I turn from Oscar’s departing figure back to Max. ‘So what brings you to Battery Park today?’
‘I’m meeting Jamie in a while, more vox pops.’ He pulls a face. ‘I doubt he’ll be here too early though, he was on a live this morning to the UK and he won’t have had much sleep.’
I look blankly at Max.
‘A live link to the Morning Sunshine studios. Because of the time difference, when it’s early morning over there it’s very early morning here. Between you and me, I don’t know how he does it sometimes; he keeps some very odd hours.’
‘Ah, right, I see.’
‘He told me about bumping into you at the sailors’ party the other night.’
‘Did he?’
Max nods. ‘And about your trip to Central Park.’
‘That’s right, it was after we’d been to see his friend Harry at the museum,’ I hurriedly insist, as though I need a reason to have been with Jamie.
‘So you’ve met Harry, have you?’ Max raises his eyebrows deliberately.
‘Yes …’ I wonder what he’s insinuating.
‘And how is she? Still trying to get her claws into Jamie?’
I shrug. ‘Can’t say I noticed, really, I was too interested in finding out about my brooch.’
Max raises his eyebrows in mock surprise this time. He has quite bushy black eyebrows, and they almost perform on their own without assistance from the rest of his face.
‘You didn’t notice Harry when she was in full swing? Either she’s toned it down a lot in recent times, or Jamie is losing his touch with the ladies.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come on, Scarlett, you must have noticed the effect my young companion has on the female members of the population. God, you only have to look at his followers on Twitter to know that.’
‘Jamie is on Twitter?’
‘Yeah, he’s got loads of followers, tons more than me.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘Us guys behind the scenes don’t get any recognition, only the pretty boys up front.’ Max pulls out his iPhone. ‘Look.’ He taps in a few digits and there is the familiar face of Jamie grinning back at me from his Twitter profile.
‘Twelve thousand and four followers!’ I exclaim in surprise. ‘How’d he manage that?’
‘Smiling a bit on TV and holding a mic under people’s noses, generally.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Tell me about it! I bet three-quarters of them are women, too.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, because they’re the ones watching the most breakfast TV, aren’t they? Sorry if that sounds sexist, but it’s true. Generally they’re getting the kids ready for school in the morning before they go to work, or they’re stay-at-home mums.’
‘I guess.’
‘And the other quarter of those followers are likely to be gay.’
‘You can’t say that!’ I give him a reproving look.
‘Just did. Never been that politically correct, me. And I bet it’s true. Come on, Scarlett, it can’t have escaped your notice that my microphone-wielding friend is quite easy on the eye?’
I can feel myself blushing. ‘Well, no … I suppose he’s quite attractive if you go for that type.’
‘What type?’ I jump as I hear Jamie’s voice behind us. ‘What are you two gossiping about? And, more to the point, we meet again, Scarlett!’ He smiles.
‘Ice cream!’ I improvise, seeing Oscar coming up the path towards us carrying two great ice-cream cones. ‘I was just talking about the type of ice cream I hoped Oscar would b
ring me.’
Oscar rolls his eyes as he sees not only Max, but now Jamie as well, standing by my side. He thrusts a cone into my hand. ‘I suppose you two will be wanting one of my Mr Whippy specials now?’ He rolls his tongue around the ice cream melting down the side of the cone. Then he winks. ‘I can recommend them, they’re very tasty.’
‘Suddenly I’ve gone off the thought of ice cream,’ Max says hurriedly. ‘Hadn’t we better get on, Jamie, lots to do and all that?’
‘Nah, what’s the hurry?’ Jamie says casually. ‘I’ve only just got here.’ He looks with disdain at Oscar.
‘What are the two of you filming today, then?’ Oscar asks. ‘The life cycle of a slug, or something equally enthralling?’
‘Almost,’ Jamie says, not taking the bait. ‘We’re interviewing women on why they find men in uniform so attractive. That’s why we’re down here today, so we can catch the women’s reactions to the marines doing their stuff.’
‘Why only the women?’ Oscar asks, looking affronted. ‘What about the men?’
Jamie looks at Max. ‘It would be a different angle, I guess. What do you reckon?’
‘Put this guy in front of the camera and we’re making TV gold right before our eyes,’ Max says, grinning.
After Oscar has complained that he isn’t wearing the right outfit for TV and that his hair is too frizzy from the boat ride earlier, that Max is holding the camera too close and they aren’t filming him from his best side, finally Oscar gets his moment of fame. And boy, does he milk it.
I sit down on a nearby bench and watch him overact for the camera, gesticulating like the conductor at the Last Night of the Proms while Max tries to keep the camera trained on him and Jamie the microphone in front of his mouth.
That was strange, what Max said about Jamie earlier. About the effect he had on women. I’d noticed it, of course, when we were with Harry the other day, and I couldn’t deny that, with his dark chestnut hair and chocolate-brown eyes, he’s an attractive guy. But I didn’t feel like that about him – did I?