In Search of Anna

by Valerie Volk

  Davidson’s Oriental Bakery looked promising, though what exactly an ‘oriental’ bakery would provide intrigued me. But there was nowhere to sit there, so I walked on to find something more appealing for this first day in a new land. More promising, number 59, where Caterer and Pastrycook gave hope of better fare. The sign above the entry was inclusive: Afternoon Tea, Light Luncheon, Banquets and Balls, Wedding and Birthday Cakes a Specialty. These were G. Ohlenrott’s offerings, and the name at least was reassuring. It sounded of home.

  If G. Ohlenrott was the baker at the back, he deserved thanks, for the glass display case had familiar cakes. Streuselkuchen and Pflaumenkuchen might have come out of my own kitchen in Lewin. For a brief moment a wave of homesickness swamped me, and the self-doubt I had been battling since arrival. What was I doing here, in Swan Street, Richmond, in the colony of Victoria, instead of comfortably home where I belonged?

  It was a kindly face behind the counter and, above the spotless apron, a welcoming smile. ‘What do you wish?’

  I stood tongue-tied. He tried to put me at ease. ‘Can you speak English, gnädige Frau? Oder sprechen Sie Deutsch?’

  Did I look so clearly German?

  ‘It is the cakes.’ I answered in English. ‘I have not seen such a splendid display since I left home.’

  ‘And from where do you come?’

  ‘A small place. Lewin, south of Glatz. In Schliesen … Silesia,’ I amended it quickly.

  ‘I know the area. My wife and I are from Breslau.’

  How comforting. Here was someone familiar, someone who knew my background, who might almost have been a neighbour. That coffee with Gerhard and Trudi Ohlenrott made me feel, for the first time, at home in this new country, and I shall always be grateful to them.

  They shook their heads when they heard I was at the immigrant hostel.

  ‘It is a useful place,’ said the baker, ‘for many of those who come. But most will be young men, here to find work and make better lives for themselves. And sometimes young women, who have a somewhat different idea of how to make their way in the world …’

  His wife shook her head in reproof. ‘Gerhard, you must not say such things. You do not know what their lives are. And Mrs Murphy will not put up with bad behaviour under her roof. She has sent girls away if she feels they are too forward with the young men.’

  ‘It is a big place, and even Mrs Murphy cannot be everywhere. But you are right, my dear. We cannot know. Frau Werner has paid for one week at the Coffee Palace; after that we will find better lodgings for her. And till then, she can perhaps come to us for dinner and some real food, not Mrs Murphy’s Irish stew.’

  By the end of the week we were good friends, and used the familiar forms of address. So in this place I was Anna, and they were Gerhard and Trudi, and they knew the story of my search for Kurt.

  ‘Just think,’ Trudi marvelled. ‘He may well have come into the bakery during his time in Melbourne. But I find it hard to understand—how he could leave you for so long without word. I can see how close you were.’

  ‘You are right, of course.’ I felt miserable at the admission. ‘But there were circumstances. Probably not good reasons, but they help me to understand.’

  They looked enquiringly at me.

  ‘We had been close, that is true. I begin to wonder if we were too close, and perhaps his boarding the ship for Australia was a way of breaking this tie. Then, having done that, to admit that so much had gone wrong would have been a humiliation for him. And he is proud.’

  ‘Even so,’ Gerhard muttered.

  ‘Then there was the accident. Well, no accident. The beating that he suffered after he deserted the ship. In fact, the captain could have had him arrested for desertion.’

  ‘But from what you have told us, that might have led to more questions than the captain wanted about the way he was endangering the ship. He probably did not want authorities involved any more than your son.’

  ‘Still,’ put in Trudi, ‘to have him beaten and left in the street was a shocking punishment.’

  ‘It was so fortunate that people from the German Club found and helped him. That they have an organisation for care of the sick and needy. I want to find and thank these people. And, of course, to see if they can give me an idea where he is now.’

  ‘We may be able to help here, Anna. Gerhard sings in the club choral society, the Liedertafel, and he has many contacts in the club members—though we do not involve ourselves in the social life of the Turnverein.’

  ‘Is there a reason?’ I asked.

  They both laughed. ‘Can you see us in the gymnastics groups? We like our own cakes and pastries too much—and we are getting on in years.’

  I shook my head. ‘You both look in fine health and condition.’

  ‘But we do have another reason. Many of those in the Deutsche Verein are of the Catholic faith, whereas we are Evangelische.’

  ‘Lutheran, she means,’ Gerhard explained. ‘They are fine people in the club, but most of our friends are in the German Lutheran Church, here since 1852—it was one of the first churches built in that area in East Melbourne.’

  ‘Ah, another bond between us. I too belong to the state church, the Lutheran church that the Prussian king demanded as the official religion.’

  ‘And look at the divisions that led to,’ Gerhard reminded me. ‘So many of the old Lutherans refused to accept this, and emigrated to where they could practise their religion as they wished.’

  ‘Here too,’ his wife put in. ‘We have many throughout this land who came here for that very reason. Some in our state, but many in South Australia, where there are whole colonies of these Lutherans.’

  ‘But your church?’

  ‘Ours does not believe in fostering divisions. We follow the official books and liturgies of the state church, and our main interest is in keeping our language alive and teaching our young. So our services are always in German, and there are many whose command of English is very limited.’

  ‘But not yours,’ I laughed.

  ‘We could scarcely succeed in business if we did not speak English to our customers. And we have succeeded.’

  I looked around the spotless shop. ‘That’s very clear.’

  They were as good as their word, and in the weeks that followed I was truly glad that I had followed my instincts into that pastry cook’s shop. Or was I led? I know that Gerhard and Trudi would have said that, for their faith was both simple and profound, and they saw God’s guiding hand in all aspects of their lives. My own was a more fragile and uncertain matter, and I envied them the depth of their conviction.

  ‘We have found you somewhere to live,’ they announced a few days after our first meeting. ‘We have a good friend—you will have seen her shop just down the road from here. We are number 59; she is number 175. She has a business sewing goods and small things—she calls them fancy goods.’

  ‘I think I know it. There’s a fruiterer next door, and on the other side a hatter. Just near Docker Street.’

  ‘You really have learned the neighbourhood in a few days,’ Gerhard said approvingly. ‘Her name is Mrs Clark, and she lets out rooms to ladies in the upstairs section of her house. Her charges are low, about the same as the Coffee Palace, but they say she is an excellent cook.’

  ‘She has a vacant room so we told her about you. At first she thought not, because you might only be there a short time. But when we told her your story and the search for your son, she changed her mind. Would you like us to take you to meet her?’

  I listened with great relief. The Coffee Palace had been adequate as a temporary measure, but the noise of clattering feet and coming and going at all hours had given me little sleep. Too many taverns in this street also, and drunken laughter and girls giggling in the passageways. Sharing bathrooms had not been pleasant.

  I needed to put my efforts into the task I was here for. I needed to find my boy, and there had been little progress. Gerhard and Trudi were arranging for me to see people the
y knew in the Liedertafel, who might have a recollection of events of two years earlier.

  The Lindners also asked questions of others in their circles in the German Club, and I was hopeful that someone might remember the German boy who had been so badly beaten. And I needed to meet workers in the Health and Relief Society. There was much to do, and I hoped that, if Mrs Clark accepted me, I would be free to start the search.

  I had dressed carefully for our meeting, choosing a sober black skirt and jacket with a grey waistcoat for respectability, and my small black hat with ribbons that tied under my chin. I knew that she too was a widow, though I doubted that she would have shared my relief at the end of a marriage.

  The rooms upstairs had a separate entry from the street, and she took me through this door and up the steep narrow stairs. The door through to her private quarters was shut, and I perceived she valued her privacy. That would not bother me.

  Beyond was a passageway with four rooms for her residents. Small, yes, but spotlessly clean, and a bathroom that I would be able to use without fear of disease. I nodded gratefully.

  ‘This would suit me well,’ I told her, trying not to sound too eager. For after a week at the immigrant hostel these rooms looked like paradise.

  ‘You know the costs?’ she asked. ‘And I provide a good breakfast—Frühstuck I think you people call it—and a substantial evening meal. But for the middle of the day you’ll have to find your own food. I have my shop to care for.’

  ‘I would be happy with that arrangement. I will often be out during the day. I think you know why I am here.’

  Her sharp face softened. ‘Yes, your friends have told me. I know what it is to lose a son … but that was many years ago. I understand a little of how you feel.’

  ‘It is the one thing in life that I want—to find my boy.’

  ‘You deserve to have your wish. And if you are in the house during the day and need food, feel free to use my kitchen.’

  A rare concession, I sensed. All I could do was thank her.

  ‘What about your goods? Are they still at the hostel?’

  ‘The Ohlenrotts have offered to help me move them.’

  And so I became a resident at number 175, where once again my wooden chest was carried up the hazardous stairs by Gerhard. By now, I was beginning to view that chest with mingled gratitude and resentment. Sometimes, I had come to realise, what is most useful is also most onerous.

  CHAPTER 19

  Melbourne, Victoria, 1889

  These weeks have passed in a dream. The places I have been, the people I have met. Once, in the Countess’s library, she showed me a small metal cylinder, a kaleidoscope—or something of the sort.

  ‘Hold it up to your eye, Anna,’ she instructed me. ‘Then turn it slowly, and see what happens.’

  ‘It is magic,’ I breathed as I watched the swirling patterns shift and change, the small coloured pieces creating new worlds of beauty. The object fascinated Lydia, too, and we spent happy hours twisting and turning the toy to find new delights.

  These last weeks are, too, a kaleidoscope. The many people who have become a part of this strange life I now lead. Who could have contemplated a year ago that I would be on the other side of a world? A part of this bustling city, filled with energy and activity and ways of life so new to me?

  I wonder at the brash and confident Melbourne, smug in its prosperity in spite of those who foresee an end to such a surging tide, and say it must turn. I talk about this often with Margarethe for, true to her word, she has stayed in touch with me and we spend her free day each week together. It is a relief to her, as it is to me, to have a friend to speak to, someone else for whom this is all new and strange.

  ‘They are very kind, the Bauers,’ she told me. ‘The parents are good people, and they do their best to make me feel included in the family life. But their girls are conceited little minxes; they think because their father has money it makes them superior to the rest of the world.’

  ‘How do they treat you?’

  ‘Oh, like a servant. I swear that what they are looking for is not a governess, but a maid to fetch and carry for them. I am not surprised I am the fourth governess their mother has employed in the last few years. Not too many would want to put up with their airs and graces, and their lack of interest in learning.’

  I was surprised by the bitterness of her tone.

  ‘What do the parents do about this?’

  ‘I doubt they are aware. They are kind, yes, but Herr Bauer is occupied with his business and Frau Bauer is very sociable. She is always busy with friends in the daytime and in the evenings they entertain.’

  I could not see my friend fitting into this household easily.

  ‘Do they take an interest in the girls’ education?’

  ‘Only that they should appear well bred in the eyes of their friends. Theodora and Ernestine are expected to play the piano and sing as part of the evening’s gatherings, and to be able to make polite conversation. But as for having any real learning … no, that is not wanted.’

  ‘So your role is not what you had expected?’

  ‘I tell you, Anna, if I could find other work I would leave the Bauers. But they are good to me and the payment is fair. And what else could I do?’

  ‘Do you have the chance to meet people?’

  ‘Not many. A few through the German Club—Herr Bauer is important there, and he is happy for me to come to the social evenings one night a week.’

  ‘Margarethe, what about the people you meet there? Are they congenial?’

  ‘Not particularly. They seem overly concerned with fitness and sporting activity—this is, I gather, one of the purposes of the club. And they seem to think I am fortunate to be with the Bauers living in their grand house in Toorak.’

  She took me there one day when she was free. The family had gone for an outing with friends in the nearby Dandenong mountains. There had been several carriages at the family home before departure, and packing of elaborate picnic boxes and lavish hampers for the coachmen to load.

  ‘A free day,’ Margarethe exulted, for the outing had included younger family members. ‘They did ask me if I would like to join them, but I think were relieved when I said I had a friend to meet. So come. Let me show you the house and my room.’

  I think sometimes of that splendid house; the lavish reception rooms with their heavily curtained windows and elaborately carved furniture—though I was intrigued by the draped legs on the tables and chairs …

  ‘Why?’ I asked Margarethe, as we sat with Cook over morning tea in the spacious sunny kitchen. ‘Even the piano legs are curtained with wrappings.’

  The young housemaid sitting next to Cook giggled. ‘They say it’s not decent to show legs,’ she explained. ‘That’d be disappointing for my Harry.’

  ‘Hush, Tilly. Enough of that,’ Cook rebuked her. ‘But that’s the explanation. All the big houses drape the lower parts of furniture. Mind you, I can’t see it m’self. I doubt that seeing a table leg is going to drive a young man mad!’

  ‘Not like the real thing,’ put in Tilly, with another giggle. Margarethe and I looked at each other; we knew what we were thinking. It was like being with Ida.

  The WC fascinated me the most. Three of them in this house, each with its own flushing cistern and a long chain to pull. And new-fangled special paper to use. I thought of the long treks on cold nights to the little shed at the bottom of Mrs Clark’s garden, and the pail of ashes to tip with the small enamel pannikin into the tin bucket way below the wooden seat.

  ‘They do live well,’ I commented to Margarethe.

  ‘In some ways,’ she said dryly, as we tied our bonnets and set off for the horse-drawn tram that would take us to the city and our planned walk in the Botanic Gardens. The Ohlenrotts had told me about these gardens with great pride.

  ‘It was,’ said Gerhard, ‘one of our own church members, Baron von Mueller, who created these splendid gardens.’

  ‘He is one of our most res
pected members,’ put in Trudi. ‘He paid for his own pew in the church—for life. Even though it cost him •10—and he is not a wealthy man.’

  I looked confused and she quickly explained. ‘We pay a pew rent for our regular place to sit in the church; it costs us •1 a year, but he has bought his for life!’

  ‘But we are telling Anna about his gardens, Trudi, not the church. Over twenty years von Mueller was in charge and even though another man took over the job fifteen years ago, the Baron is still the government botanist for our colony, and watches over his gardens like a father.’

  ‘If you go there,’ advised Trudi, ‘you must see the giant waterlily. You will not see it flower, but oh, the sight when it does.’

  ‘It is one of the most amazing spectacles of the world, but it flowers only at night. The first year it flowered, when they brought it from the Amazon—’

  ‘Twenty years ago now,’ she interjected.

  ‘—crowds queued for hours to see it!’

  Margarethe and I wandered the gardens for hours, stopping for lunch at the wooden kiosk, near the splendid classical Greek building completed only a few years earlier.

  ‘I know this,’ I told her. ‘The Ohlenrotts said it is a rarity in the world. A Museum of Economic Botany. We must look inside. Not only is the interior magnificent, but also the displays. Especially—and of course they were proud of this—the model fruit display.’

  Margarethe looked curious, so I went on.

  ‘So many fruits, and all perfectly made. They are papier mâché models, made in Germany, and there to teach farmers about possible crops they might grow.’

  ‘But of course.’ Mararethe’s smile was impish. ‘If they were made in our homeland …’

  We grinned. It was good to have a friend with whom I could laugh at the fierce nationalism of our countrymen.