by Valerie Volk
‘I still do not approve of this wild venture, Mutter Werner.’ He was adamant, and I knew that Hanna had instructed him to stop me. She would be furious that he had given even this assistance. There was no doubt who ruled that household.
She had even brought the children to beg me not to go. But Liesel and Theo were more excited at the idea that I would be travelling on a big ship than concerned over my departure. They had seen too little of me during these years to have formed a close bond, and I could not wonder at their lack of feeling for me.
‘How long will you be on the seas, Oma?’ This was Theo, who had resisted all Hanna’s efforts to make him call me Grandmother and kept to the simple childish name I preferred.
‘If the sea is rough and there are big waves, will you be sick?’ asked Liesel, who had clearly overheard her parents talking.
‘I don’t know, child,’ I answered firmly. ‘I will have to trust in God.’
‘And the ship’s captain,’ Theo suggested. My trip had been much discussed in his schoolroom in Mittelwalde. With emigrating families, many knew the hazards of these voyages.
‘But steamships are fast,’ he added knowledgeably. ‘Before they had motors, it took a long long time.’
‘If the winds didn’t blow the sails, the boat got stuck and couldn’t move,’ Liesel contributed.
‘My goodness.’ I was impressed. ‘You do know about this.’
I was not naïve enough to ask if they would miss me. I was scarcely a part of their lives, though I wondered if I were to stay, to help Hanna with the coming baby, it might be different. But no, I had made my decision.
Secretly, I was glad I would not set off alone. At least for the first days of my journey I would have companions. Lydia had given me the promised sea chest and helped me plan what I would put in it. I valued her advice, even while firmly rejecting her wish to equip me with the clothes that she, still a society lady far out of my sphere, would have wanted.
We planned for the hot weather that she warned me the tropics would bring, and the rugged weather of the early weeks of colder climates.
‘Simple practical dresses, my dear friend. Besides, I can’t afford to buy fripperies I don’t need. No, do not say it—’ for I could see she was about to offer me her purse. ‘You have given me already far too much, and I can’t take more.’
It was a measure of how desperate I was that I could accept so much from her. She had found an agent in Hamburg and arranged for my lodging and voyage, so that when I arrived there all would be organised. I was so grateful.
‘But you can’t set off without sufficient resources for the trip and for your arrival,’ she scolded. ‘Even if you sell the cottage,’ for that was what I was planning, ‘you may not have enough for such a trip.’
I knew the truth of her words, but it was not easy for me to swallow my pride and accept money from Lydia.
‘I have more money than I can spend on dresses and jewels and fans and trinkets. My husband is generous with money. I think—’ her lip curled in a way I did not like, ‘—I think it is compensation.’
I did not ask for what. There were parts of her life, like mine, that we did not talk of.
‘But it’s hard for me to take money from you, no matter how close we are.’
She understood. ‘It is not from me, Anna. You have been a part of my family since childhood. Think of it as from my mother. If she had lived, this is what she would have done.’
Tears pricked my eyes. It was an argument I couldn’t counter. I could not set off penniless, and I did not want to sell the cottage that had been my wedding dowry. With that gone, I would have nowhere to return to. Except Hanna’s. No, that did not appeal.
So somehow my departure was organised. Frau Schmidt would take my cow, horse and hens. The pig I had let go many years before; I could no longer depend on Otto for the slaughtering and sausage-making, so that had been abandoned when Kurt left for Breslau. Once the hearth fire was out, the cottage would be cold and dark while I was gone. For who knew how long before I returned?
‘But what of the Chateau?’ I fretted.
‘The servants there are reliable.’ Lydia, once feather-headed, was now the practical one. ‘I will visit more often. All will be well.’
It was as I had suspected. My work there had been more a way of helping provide for my children than meeting a real need. My pride had not let me pursue the thought.
It was a sad farewell in the cold early morning at the station at Glatz. Frau Schmidt had come in the wagon with her burly husband, and I was glad of his strength when my big chest had to be loaded on the train. Glad also to see that my fellow-travellers included some strong youths. A woman making such a journey on her own would face problems, I could see so well. As the Schmidts said their goodbyes, I felt already the separation from all I knew. The older woman pressed into my hand a small canvas bag.
‘Food for the journey,’ she shook her head in worry. ‘I do not know what provisions there will be, so here are cheese and sausages, and good black bread. You will need to eat.’
I was glad of her thoughtfulness; the others who waited with me had come with bags and crates, and hampers of food for the days on the train. I had met them only once in Mittelwalde but found their advice most useful. But for them it was different; they were making their ways to a new life in a new world, and they carried with them goods and equipment to establish homes and farms. And their destination was different. They had chosen America as their new homeland.
There were two families. The men were brothers and one could see the resemblance at first glance. Both Gottlieb Schramm and his brother Christian were big men, but it was clear that Gottlieb was the head of the family. He and his wife Magdalena spoke for the group; how did Christian and Emilia feel about being in second place, I wondered. It was different with their sons, for the two young men seemed less willing to follow whatever their uncle ordered. I watched as they gathered our goods in a neat pile ready for swift loading, while their mothers tried to keep the small children from dashing around the railway station.
The arrival of the train stunned all into silence. I had made this journey only once, to Breslau, but that had been a different affair, travelling with Berthe and taken at arrival straight to our lodgings. This time, as the black monster pulled into the Glatz platform and we hastened to get our goods aboard, it felt like the loss of my known life; a journey to an unknown future.
What must it be like for these two families, farewelling the land that had been home all of their lives? But the engine belched steam and a loud whistle rent the crisp wintry air, and there was no time for idle speculation.
‘Why the choice of America?’ I asked Emilia when we had settled ourselves and were sharing the simple food. She looked at me, a trifle bewildered.
‘Gottlieb said it was the best choice.’ She did not seem to know the reason, but her sons were anxious to put another point of view.
‘We would have preferred Australia,’ the older youth, Hans I think, spoke decisively. ‘But Mutti and Papa wanted to follow Uncle Gottlieb.’
‘As always,’ added his brother. ‘They wouldn’t listen to us.’
‘What did you want?’
‘We wanted New South Wales. There are good opportunities there for young men willing to work. It is easier and cheaper to buy land. Too many people are flooding into America.’
‘But why emigrate at all?’ The question fascinated me. There were so many people leaving our homeland.
‘Why stay? There is no money to be made in farming; the landlord’s rents keep rising, and it is impossible to save enough to buy your own land. It is no wonder that many our age simply walk off the land and look for work in the cities.’
His brother joined in. ‘But that is almost worse. In the last years it has been hard to find work, and there is always the danger of military service again.’
‘Have you not seen these?’ Hans asked, pulling sheets of paper from his pocket.
I took the
m and looked with interest. They were posters and handbills, and they showed the attractions of emigration to the new worlds.
‘Where do they come from?’ I asked.
‘The shipping companies put them out—they tell us everything that is wrong at home and all the opportunities we will have if we travel.’
‘Can you believe this? Surely they are just trying to gain custom.’
‘So our fathers said. But then we read all the letters from others who have gone. Seven families from Mittelwalde have left in the last two years, and they all write that if one is prepared to work, it is possible to buy land very swiftly.’
‘Imagine,’ agreed Johan. ‘At home we could never do this. No land. No chance of work, even if we go to the cities.’
‘But the mills and factories that have taken over production—surely there is work in these.’
‘For low pay and in truly terrible conditions. We had hoped that the Chancellor was going to change this. He has tried to bring in a pension scheme, but nothing seems to help. And when the workers try to organise and protest—well, you see what happens to them.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ten years ago we thought we had an opportunity with the new Social Democratic Party—but look at how he crushed that. No workers’ parties for our Iron Chancellor. You can see why he is called that.’
I had lived with Otto for too long to let this pass unchallenged.
‘But hasn’t he also done much for the workers? I have read about his measures for workers who become ill, and didn’t he just a few years ago provide a scheme for those involved in accidents? There’s even talk about state money being provided for workers over seventy. Surely all of this is good?’
‘Just attempts to keep the socialist movement down, Frau Werner. He’s a ruthless man, but clever. But we had better stop this discussion. Uncle Gottlieb is coming. Mention socialism and he will explode.’
The train journey to Breslau interested us all. We watched familiar countryside disappear as Glatz was left behind, and rolling fields gave way to forests and lakes. Our small local train stopped at little townships while goods and travellers were loaded and unloaded. Strehlen fascinated me with its granite buildings, so different from our own area. But soon we approached Breslau and the first big challenge of changing trains; our trip to Hamburg was not a simple matter of getting on a train at one end and off at another. I could see the famous fortress as we neared what we thought of as a big city and pointed it out to the others. They gasped at the sight of the station as our engine pulled us to a halt.
For me, familiar territory. I recalled my tour of the station under the guidance of Herr Holstmayer and wondered if he was still there. Indeed he was, as was Melita Noske who had come to see me and wish me well for my journey. Though they invited our group to join them in the station restaurant, Gottlieb Schramm would have none of it.
‘We have our food with us, and must save our money for the voyage,’ he announced truculently. The rest of his group looked on enviously as I left with my friends for coffee and kuchen in the comfort of the dining room.
Herr Holstmayer was vocal in his disapproval of my coming trip. It was clear that he and Frau Noske had spent many hours ruminating on my foolhardiness in undertaking such an enterprise, and dire in their forebodings of disaster. While it had been kind of them to come to the station to see me, I could not help feeling that they were providing an ominous start to my travels.
‘It is surely not too late,’ he said with urgency. ‘You can still abandon this enterprise, this foolishness. What can you expect to do when you arrive, a stranger in a strange land?’
‘How will you speak to the people?’ Frau Noske chimed in. ‘Will they speak our language?’
‘I learned to speak English in my early years,’ I tried to reassure her. But in truth their concerns troubled me deeply.
I was not sorry when it was time to board our next train, this time to Berlin, and a delay of some hours. Again I was glad to have the company of the Mittelwalde group and the help of the young men with my goods. It annoyed me to find that I was not self-sufficient, that although I was strong and fit and could manage everything else, the wooden sea chest was beyond my capabilities and I needed help. There is something in me—there always has been—that dislikes being dependent on others, and I looked forward to this part of my journey being over. But then, I thought, what will it be like when I arrive at my destination? I need to steel myself for this.
The hours to Berlin passed quickly. Even the children were fascinated as we watched the passing countryside from the windows of this bigger train. They moved from side to side of the carriage, and passengers smiled indulgently as we steamed through villages and stopped briefly in cities I had only heard about. Liegnitz, with its parks and gardens, and from there to Gorlitz, where the train waited while many passengers took the chance to buy food from station vendors.
The Schramms smiled smugly as they portioned out their supplies of bread and cheese. I ate some of my bread and wurst, thinking with gratitude of Irmtraut Schmidt’s forethought, but would have preferred if there had been time to leave the train and look around a little. After we crossed the Neisse River I knew my homeland in Silesia would soon be behind me. All very well for Bismarck to have united us, all parts of this new German Reich, but for most of us we were, if not Silesian, at least Prussian.
We could see in the distance the flattened top of the Landeskrone, the mountain that overlooked the city sprawled below. It was good to stroll along the platform, free to move for a short time, and I caught sight of the famous Reichenbacher Turm, that massive four-sided tower that looms over the Old Town. I knew it was regarded as one of the treasures of this place. I turned impulsively to Hans, who had established himself as my escort on this platform walk.
‘It would be so good to have time to explore these towns. There is so much history here.’
He was not concerned for the past. ‘Where we are all going,’ he commented, ‘there will be little history. We are going to new worlds.’
Our train was speeding north now, for there were still many hours of travel before Berlin, our stopping place for the night. Through Forst, but not, I was sad to find, to Cottbus, that famous town with its pyramids in the centre of the lake. Cottbus lay to our west and our train forged on, uncaring of the wonders bypassed. Soon we were skirting the Spreewald, with its forests of alder trees and pines, and the flat-bottomed boats on the canals we could see from the train windows. The children, tired and now bored with the journey, were sleeping, but for the rest of us it was all too new to allow for sleep. Except for Gottlieb Schramm, whose head lolled back against the high seat, and whose open mouth gave forth a high-pitched whistling snore.
The day was passing rapidly, and as we journeyed north it became colder, in spite of the coal-burning heaters at the end of the carriage. Still we travelled near the water. At Frankfurt the river was no longer the Neisse, our new friend, but once again the Oder, for this tributary had rejoined its mother river on its journey north from Breslau. We were more and more removed from home and the familiar.
I could not tell you how depressing our arrival in Berlin was. The main station, the Hauptbahnhof, was huge and cavernous and the night air chilly. There was a hint of snow in the air, and we knew we had the rest of the night to get through before the early morning departure to Hamburg. Although the children were fretful and difficult, and their mothers tired and harassed, I was glad to be with others. To have arrived here at night and alone would have been worse.
Yet soon I will have to face this situation. As so many times before, I wondered if I could cope with what I had undertaken. Beyond the platform, and the waiting room where we settled for the night, the sight of lighted streets and shop windows was enticing. I sighed. Oh, to have been with a man and see a little of the city. Instead we bundled the soft bags together to make up beds for the children and sent the men out to buy fresh food for our evening meal.
G
ottlieb Schramm grumbled. ‘We have brought food, mother!’ he insisted. ‘Why do we need more?’
Magdalena was clearly used to him. ‘We will need what we have for tomorrow’s travel. See if you can find a delicatessen. Hans and Johan will tell you what to buy.’
I envied them their foray into the streets, but not their having to deal with their uncle in the shop. It would not be pleasant. Yet they managed, returning with bowls of hot noodles and dumplings, and warm sausages. It was amazing how heartened we were by fresh hot food, it had been a long hard day.
‘There are people in the streets,’ Hans and Johann reported. ‘Many little shops are still open, and we saw people in fancy clothes going into theatres.’
‘A bad place,’ their uncle’s voice carried across the waiting room, and travellers turned to look at our small group in surprise. ‘There is great sin in this place. I have seen it. It is a Sodom and Gomorrah.’
I caught sight of Hans winking at Johann. ‘Our uncle did not approve of the women’s clothing,’ he explained.
To our surprise we slept until the grey light of a cold Berlin morning crept into the station and children awoke, needing trips to the lavatories and something to eat, as well as warmer clothing pulled out of bags. There was much activity before we set off once more, loading cases, bags, chests onto the Hamburg train.
Spirits were higher now. The end of this stage of our journey was in sight. Once the slow creaking exit from the Berlin station was over and the railway yards behind us we travelled through different country.
‘See all the trains!’ marvelled the children, for these little ones had never seen sights like this. Neither had we, I reflected, though by nature we were less likely to exclaim with the same innocent delight.
So we looked out, amazed at the junctions and bridges, fascinated by the broad flat plains of this northern land, dotted with villages, each with its church steeple rising above the steep-gabled houses, the mills and factories in the larger towns.
It was the excitement of knowing that, as the train sped on, we were drawing ever closer to Hamburg, to the sea, and to the next stage of our travels, whatever they might bring.