by Valerie Volk
‘These are lit,’ Herr Eberhardt explained, ‘to expedite the clearing of the land for cultivation.’ He pointed with unusual excitement. ‘But look, see there.’ Children were running to the deck railing with cries of pleasure, while anxious mothers rushed to pull them back, then stayed fascinated.
‘There are pigs in the water,’ a little boy called.
‘Ach, Schweinfisch!’ murmured the woman next to us.
And indeed they did look like pigs, with their soft grey snouts surfacing and diving, and the solid sleek bodies rising glistening from the water. They surrounded the Elberfeld, giving us an acrobatic display any gymnast would have taken pride in. I looked enquiringly at the man beside me.
‘I think they are called dolphins.’ He was hesitant. ‘I have read of them, and I know they are found in these waters.’
We stayed, lost in wonder at these strange new creatures, not really like pigs as we had first thought, but playful and unafraid. Then light drops began to fall, and in the afternoon blinding rain began and lasted until we reached our destination. Melbourne. Here Margarethe and I were to berth off the Railway Pier at Port Melbourne as the cargo was unloaded onto lighters, and we would leave our now familiar home.
We sat for the last time in our cabin, and looked at each other apprehensively.
‘You will, at least, be met by your employers,’ I reassured her.
‘But you, Anna. What are you planning?’
I did not want to confess to the sick feeling in my stomach.
‘I had hoped there might be some traveller organisation to help me, the sort that Captain Sass tells me exists in London and New York. But the colonies do not have such assistance. I plan to find a cheap lodging, and Herr Eberhardt is finding the names of appropriate newspapers where I might advertise for news of my son.’
‘Anna, I am in awe of your courage. This is such an endeavour. You must love your son very much.’
‘I am glad you did not say “fool’s errand” like my family and friends at home. And yes, I do love Kurt dearly. Finding him has become the most important thing in my life.’
‘More than your own chance of happiness?’
‘Ah, but was that happiness, or just comfort? I don’t know.’
We were silent for a while. ‘Perhaps I never will find what I am looking for, but I settled for second-best for too long. No more compromises, even for so fine a man as August Eberhardt.’
‘Well, please don’t leave him to Frau Wandel’s affections.’
‘I don’t think there’s a chance of that. I have far more respect for his judgment. And anyway, we will remain friends. As will you and I, dear Margarethe.’
I was greatly comforted to have at least one friend in this strange city. She had given me the address of the family she was joining, and I tucked it safely in my reticule.
That Captain Sass was concerned for me I had always known, and now I could see him consulting with Herr Eberhardt. A part of me resented the assumption that I needed their protection; another part was more realistic. I had not worked out what I would do on arrival, and now the moment had come.
‘We will not be leaving Melbourne until later tomorrow,’ the captain said. ‘You should stay on board tonight, and we will try to find a contact for you. Someone who might be able to find you a lodging where you will be safe.’
It would have been churlish, and indeed stupid, to have refused this help.
‘There is a very active German Society in Melbourne,’ he assured me. ‘I have had dealings with them on a previous voyage, when my ship was held up here by a dockyard strike. I will give you names of people there, and I am sure they will help you. Perhaps Herr Eberhardt can find them for you.’
They were as good as their word and by the morning they had arranged for two members of the Deutsche Turnverein to help me to a lodging. I suspect that Margarethe parted from me greatly reassured that I was not alone in this strange place.
Saying goodbye to both Captain Sass and Herr Eberhardt was a sad affair, for I had grown in respect and liking for them both. But at least with the latter I knew the contact would survive. He had pressed addresses and contact points upon me, and I was relying on his advice for my next actions.
So I had some starting points, but when I stood on the wharf at Port Melbourne with my wooden chest and my bags I wondered once more what I was doing. Herr Eberhardt, always protective, helped me find Herr and Frau Lindner, who eyed me with some concern. A woman, on her own, with no contacts. I knew they were somewhat shocked. But kindly.
In spite of onlookers, he hugged me warmly.
‘Do not forget. If you need anything, you are to call upon me any time. The paper will always know where I am.’
‘I cannot begin to thank you—’ I began, but he cut me off.
‘No, please. But if you should change your mind and decide to come to Sydney, you will be more than welcome.’
I could not bring myself to look back as we set off. If I had, I would not have been able to hold back tears.
Part Three
CHAPTER 18
Melbourne, Victoria, 1889
Such kind people, the Lindners. Even though they were surprised—no, let me be honest—somewhat shocked at my recklessness in travelling across the world to search for my son, they treated me with generosity and friendliness.
When I think of them now, I can see their faces clearly. She was round and rosy-cheeked, a little dumpling of a woman, always fussing over something. Was I perhaps hungry? Had I eaten a good breakfast before departing from the ship? Had I brought appropriate clothing for the warm summer climate, for soon the hot Melbourne summer would commence, even though today was grey and cloudy?
‘Hush, Mother,’ her husband, no taller than his wife, but a thin stick of a man, put a hand on her arm. ‘Let Frau Werner get herself organised, and her goods onto the wagon.’
They had hired a carter and wagon to take me to the lodgings they had found, and as we travelled I tried to get a sense of this strange new place. Everywhere building and activity. Streets crowded with well-dressed people, all moving purposefully through the maze of houses and shops that bewildered my eyes. Smart new carriages and small traps, strange vehicles unlike any I had seen moving on tracks on the streets.
‘Ach, you are surprised at our city. We have seen it grow so much and change.’
‘But what are those conveyances?’ I was marvelling at the number of passengers seated on the benches in the open areas of these vehicles, and I could see many more in the closed interiors. At the ends, top-hatted men stood at the open railings, and even one woman, her long skirt blowing slightly in the breeze as the carriage rolled past our wagon at a steady pace.
‘They are transforming our streets,’ Herr Lindner was happy to explain. ‘They are cable cars, new to our city. This route will take us to Richmond, where the first of these was seen.’
‘Yes,’ cut in his wife, ‘only four years ago, the very first one. A grand occasion. So many people there to watch when the first one set off. Such cheering. Ach, the noise of it.’
‘Have you travelled on one of these contraptions?’
Herr Lindner shook his head. ‘They may be changing our roads, but I will keep to our faithful old Fritzi and the trap. It will get us wherever we need to go. But the cable cars are useful for those who had to wait for the public coaches.’
I had thought little about what this city—this ‘Marvellous Melbourne’—would be like, and I was astounded by its size and the broad public avenues with their imposing buildings.
‘But what is that?’ I found I was gaping like an ignorant country girl, even though I had now seen cities in my homeland. Well, in truth I had not really seen much of the world—though Hamburg had opened my eyes. But this was even more splendid …
The Lindners’ faces lit up with pride. ‘It is indeed something special,’ they agreed, beaming at the vast wedding cake of a building as if they had built it themselves. ‘It was constructed for the spl
endid international exhibition held in Melbourne eight years ago. Such an event. Goods from all over the world, and people visiting from all countries. A magnificent affair.’
‘So too was last year’s!’ Herr Lindner was not allowing his wife to tell the whole story. ‘Just last August another International Exhibition was put on—even bigger. Like a huge trade fair, with the whole world’s products on display.’
‘Wonderful displays.’ Frau Lindner could not contain her enthusiasm. ‘A working dairy! Steam locomotives. A fern gully with a fountain, built in France—and even a German beer hall! More than forty countries sent goods and displays.’
‘It went for months. There were over two million visits to the Exhibition—it is a great pity that it closed at the end of January, otherwise you could have visited it.’
But my mind had focused on the steam locomotives on display. How this would have interested Otto. Otto, I had hardly given him a thought. And yet he had been the centre of my life for more than twenty years. No, I amended the thought quickly. Not Otto. He had never been the real centre of my life. Always the memory of Kurt, my first love. And Kurt, my son, who had replaced him in my heart. How he would have loved such a display, with its show of steam power. And where was he now?
Strange the way that, in all these last months of travel and hardship, in all the new experiences that life had brought me, Kurt was always present. Had it not been for that would I now, yes right now, be travelling on to Sydney to a new destiny with Herr Eberhardt?
‘But you must visit the building while you are here,’ they were urging me. ‘It is used for theatre performances and for concerts and displays—oh, and often for gymnastics.’
‘Our German Club is called the Turnverein,’ said Herr Lindner with pride. They must have seen the lack of comprehension on my face, for he went on to explain patiently—and at length—the principles behind this activity. And its history. So I learned about the ‘father of gymnastics’, the Turnvater Jahn, who had started a gymnastics movement in the early years of this century during Napoleon’s occupation of Germany. A movement that had spread throughout the land, and now the world, with gymnastic clubs in every place German emigrants travelled to.
‘You must tell her about the four Fs,’ put in his wife.
‘These are the basic principles of Turnvater Jahn. Frisch, fromm, froelich, frei! I am not sure what they would be in English.’
‘I think you could say energetic, respectful, cheerful and independent,’ I suggested.
‘Your command of English is excellent. It has taken me many years to feel comfortable in this language.’
‘That is also why the Club is so important to us. It is a place to relax and speak freely in our own tongue. It is one of the biggest organisations in Melbourne,’ said Frau Lindner.
‘Well, among our countrymen.’
‘And women. There is talk among the younger women of the need for a Ladies’ Gymnastics section. Herr Beer has said he would be willing to organise this.’
I was not really listening as they debated the suitability of gymnastics for ladies, or was it ladies for gymnastics? I was still marvelling at the huge Exhibition edifice we had passed, with its enormous dome and lofty tower (the highest in Melbourne, they assured me) and the complex of elaborate and ornamented buildings spread over many blocks of land, surrounded by green lawns and lavish gardens. When the trees grow to full height, I thought, this would be a sight for future generations to marvel at.
‘But the German Club does many things. We have held some outstanding events with other German societies—’
‘There are eleven different German clubs in Melbourne—music and choral and skittle clubs, and there is for almost thirty years a Sick and Relief Society for our people—and we have enjoyed great celebrations and balls.’
‘A masked ball,’ Frau Lindner reminisced. ‘The Governor came, and his wife and entourage. It was a splendid night.’
‘We could not have done it without the ladies,’ her husband added generously. ‘Your role in these events has been valuable.’
His wife shrugged it off, but I could see she was pleased.
‘But here we are. This is where many immigrants come when they first arrive. Not just Germans, but from many countries. There have been so many that the government established this hostel. The costs are moderate—Captain Sass told us you wish to be economical.’
I was grateful for this; the matter of money was beginning to disturb me. I had spent little of the generous purse Lydia had bestowed on me, but it was not a never-ending supply—much as I would have wished it to be like one of the beloved children’s tales Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm had written, where supplies of gold appear by magic.
‘That is indeed the case. I have been wondering about obtaining work here if I need to stay for some time. I would be prepared to do anything—I mean domestic work.’
‘That will not be a problem. There are many local agencies to find employment for ladies. We can get you the names. And we will take you to the German Club to meet people—you may make contacts there. Many of our members are from wealthier families, who may well know of others needing assistance.’
‘You are very kind.’ To my dismay I felt tears pricking my eyelids. ‘I have been truly blessed in the help that people are giving me.’
‘We know of your search for your son. But we will talk of that later. Let us get you settled in the Coffee Palace.’
‘The Coffee Palace?’ I was taken aback.
They laughed. ‘The name by which this hostel is known by those who live here. Officially it is Richmond House. Come—we’ll show you.’
When I looked back on this early encounter with the Lindners I realise how fortunate I was in their friendship. Without it, my arrival in this strange city would have been challenging. But by evening, settled in my small room in the Coffee Palace, I felt that my search had begun.
It was a surprisingly impressive building, and I wondered what it had been before the government took it over. I studied its street façade, the two extra storeys of symmetrical windows with pointed arches above the curving verandah that protected the street-level windows; a small square tower over the elaborate carved pediment, its mini columns topping the central bay window on the third floor. Little chance I would get one of those front rooms; more likely somewhere in the depths of the large building.
Its confident assertive air was typical of many buildings in this main street of Richmond, a suburb near the centre of Melbourne. I was glad to be a little out from the city, especially as it was an easy walk. Fifteen to twenty minutes, and I could be in the heart of Melbourne. Or the excitement of the cable tram, just up the hill in Bridge Road. Here, in Swan Street, I could look toward the city, and the new railway overpass.
An exciting and busy street, this Swan Street, with its mingled shops and taverns, and small workers’ cottages. The constant clatter of carts and traps in the road, and pedestrians picking their way over the open drains at the road’s edge. Heavy porticoed stone buildings, elaborately ornamented with carved garlands and shields, or decorative patterns. This too was Marvellous Melbourne, the years of prosperity at their peak. Little did we know that the crash would start by the end of the year, and the financial disaster that led to the massive Depression was just ahead.
But my street, in 1889, was in magnificent mode, and I looked along the row of shops, the overhanging verandahs with their elaborate wrought-iron lace frills and intricate balcony railings, and the windows filled with a display of goods that made me gasp.
Confectioners and pastry cooks, small goods shops (such sausages and cheeses!), ironmongers and household goods, painters and decorators (‘We have the largest array of imported wall hangings in Melbourne’), photographic studios and fancy goods, newsagents and stationers, butchers and fruiterers, milliners and drapers, a wine and spirits merchant—and all with such an air of confident prosperity that their future seemed certain. And I grew familiar with the names as I walked these s
treets: Sweeney and Howard, the Misses Parry and Nott (dress and mantle manufacturers), Murphy the pawnbroker, Smith the watchmaker, and Roberts, an umbrella manufacturer. Also the grocer and corn dealer Nathaniel Beesley, with his cheerful greeting for everyone who passed.
A maze of small side streets, with livery stables and coal suppliers, artists and music teachers, a military embroiderer, and what on this earth was a pyrotechnist anyway? There were occupations I had never heard of. Bricklayer I could comprehend, but Brooks & Co., with their patent damp course composition factory, left me bewildered.
In the middle of it all, the Coffee Palace, where I read with relief, on the noticeboard above the desk where Mrs Murphy reigned supreme, the City of Richmond notice advertising the scale of charges.
Breakfast, dinner and tea 1 shilling
Board and residence from 21 shillings per week
Tea, coffee or milk, with pastry 6 pence
Hot and cold baths
Club and other rooms to let for Lodge or Meeting purposes
Dinners or parties catered for
Billiards—2 tables
I was reassured by the costs and unsurprised to find that my room, at the lowest rate, was toward the back of this rabbit warren of a building.
‘You’ll be wanting after a cup of tea, I’d think.’ Mrs Murphy’s accent suggested that she’d been in the immigrant role herself not too long ago, but she was a canny businesswoman, and wanted my money before her grim-faced husband battled my wooden chest up the narrow stairs to my room. Maybe some of her immigrant patrons hadn’t been too trustworthy.
A small room, with a narrow iron-frame bed and linen that had seen better days. But it was passably clean, unless one looked in the corners. It seemed better not to look under the bed, but just be grateful for the worn mat and the open hanging space for clothing, as well as a washstand with basin and jug. I sighed. In fact, the Elberfeld had provided more comforts. At street level was a café, where lodgers were confined to a back area while members of the public had the street-front tables. That first cup of tea, weak and lukewarm, was not a good sign and as I looked at the food on nearby tables I vowed to hunt the area for something better.