Two years later, on January 14, 1911, Georg and Agathe were married, and Georg’s mother, Hedwig Wepler von Trapp, was able to attend the wedding in spite of the fact that she was not well. In October of the same year, she died of consumption at the age of fifty-six. Georg’s brother, Werner, wrote the following letter to his grandmother, Engeline Wepler, and his Aunt Minna, in which he mentioned the arrival of the firstborn to Georg and Agathe, a little boy named Rupert:
November 11, 1911
Dear Nona and Aunt Minna,
Thank you both from the bottom of my heart for your kind and loving words, which Aunt Minna wrote to me.
Of course you knew Mother well, but did you know her as a mother? Did you know what a childhood paradise she created for us?
I remember Mother as so loving, so good, so friendly and gentle, yet so strong and proud. But the greatest was her love, the love for us children. She dedicated her whole life to us, even her health. She lived only for us and the memory of our father. In her boundless humility and selflessness she seemed to say, “Now that my children have entered their life’s careers, I have done my duty; now I want to rest and go to Father.”
Now she is with him and our parents have their quiet little house and they look down on us and protect us.
Poor loving Mother, now at last, that her children could care for her, she goes away.
Georg must have written to you about her last days. Until about ten days before she died I was with her, but then I had to leave. When we said good-bye we both knew—it was for the last time.
Mother had a gentle, peaceful end; she went to sleep. This was the only thing I could have wished for her. When I came back there, she lay so quietly and peacefully, so loving as always. She kept her lovely expression until the end when Georg and I closed the coffin. For this we were alone.
Now finally she is free from her sufferings and the worries of life. However she lives on in us; and how good it is to know that there is a Wiedersehen [we’ll see each other again]. That helps.
Next year I would like to come, but everything is so uncertain about my military service.
I guess by now you know that a little boy “appeared” at Georg’s. Mother would have liked to live to see him—she was so sad that she was not able anymore to sew something for him, but she did crochet a little jacket.
It occurs to me now, that I am alone in the evenings.
May God bless you, adieu. I thank you from my heart and greet you as
Your faithful grandson and nephew,
Werner
A large home was built for the young family of Georg von Trapp to become known as Villa Trapp.7 It was situated outside Pola, where Papá was stationed, near the shore on a hill called “Monte Paradiso” with a magnificent view of the Adriatic Sea. The house was built in the native style of the region and big enough for a large family. However, it was not to be the home of Georg von Trapp’s family for long.
In 1914, a year after my arrival, the First World War began, and the area along the seashore was evacuated. All civilians had to retire to a safer place in the interior of the country. Our mother and her two children—my brother Rupert and I—were invited by her mother to stay in the Erlhof for the duration of the war. The Erlhof, our grandmother’s scenic mountain chalet, was situated on the shore of Austria’s Zeller Lake in the Alps.
Papá was given the command of one of the first submarines in the Austrian Navy. The submarine was still in its experimental stages but was pressed into service at the sudden start of World War I. In his book, Edwyn Gray writes,
Georg’s appointment to the Whitehead factory came to an end in due time, and he was sent off to command Torpedo-boat 52 where he quickly demonstrated his professional ability. He stood high in the esteem of his senior officers and it was apparent that, barring accidents, the young Lieutenant was destined for a top place in the Imperial Navy. To give him further experience, the Admiralty appointed him as captain of the submarine U-5—the boat which his wife had launched before their marriage.
Papá’s experience on the SMS Saida II as well as the rescue action on behalf of the Austrian embassy in China may have awakened in him a spirit of adventure. His willingness to take risks, however, was moderated by his excellent judgment and outstanding presence of mind. Without these two traits, Papá could not have been successful as the commander of his submarine, the U-5.
His most daring move at the beginning of World War I was an underwater torpedo launch at the French battleship Leon Gambetta by night with the rising full moon as a background. It was a one-time opportunity. He took it and succeeded in sinking the ship.
In this particular episode, which occurred on April 27, 1915, Georg von Trapp took a double risk in a maneuver that was beyond the call of duty. If he failed and came back safely, he would have been court-martialed because he maneuvered outside his assigned territory. If he failed and was destroyed by the battleship, he would have lost his own life, the lives of the crew and the submarine.
However risky this maneuver was, the risk was modified by his carefully considered tactics and his full trust in his crew who, in turn, fully trusted him. The Leon Gambetta disappeared in the waves within nine minutes. From the day of the loss of the Leon Gambetta, the enemy refrained from sending more battleships into that area of the Mediterranean; it was assumed that Austria had a far superior submarine fleet than actually was the case. Instantly Georg von Trapp became a hero by the standards of the Austrian Navy and an imaginary threat to the enemy. This heroic maneuver at the beginning of the war earned him the Maria Theresian Cross, the highest award possible in the Austrian Navy. The title of baron also came with the award. Papá would later write a book about his experiences in World War I.8
When the news of his extraordinary accomplishment reached the mainland, Georg von Trapp was considered a hero by the civilian population. Schoolgirls sent him congratulatory letters, and postcards were printed with his photograph and that of the U-5. For him, his naval victory was bittersweet. He thought of the men and officers who went down with their ship. His only consolation was that he helped his country in its fight for survival.
Yes, Georg von Trapp was a hero, but to us, he was our Papá. When he came home on furlough, Papá came back to a family that was very proud of him. I remember the excitement of those days. I cannot recall how often he came home, but I do know that his visits were quite frequent. Life on the submarine was extremely nerve-wracking because of the cramped conditions, the fumes, and the lack of oxygen. Therefore, frequent rest periods on land were mandatory for the officers and crew.
During that time, Rupert and I did not understand exactly what the war was all about, but we did understand that Papá went out on a ship that could dive underwater to shoot at the enemy. He sank those enemy ships and then came home to see us. When he arrived at the Erlhof, he laid away his navy uniform and put on civilian clothes. After a good night’s rest, Papá loved to play with us. Early in the morning, we knocked on his door and sang our self-invented songs for him.
He often “became” an elephant, allowing us to ride on his back. Sometimes Papá would tell us stories to make us laugh and shiver—stories he invented about dragons, giants, and all sorts of exciting things. Once in the middle of a story, I asked him, “Is this a true story?” He answered truthfully, “No, it is not true.” I asked, “Why, then, do you tell it to us?” With this question the story ended, and I didn’t hear another story for quite a while.
Another time Papá pulled a matchbox from his pocket and laid some matches out on the table. He pointed and said, “This is my submarine, and these are the enemy ships.” Then he explained to us about his sea battles. We could not fully understand all this, but we did realize that our father was in danger and could get hurt in the war.
We let our imaginations run freely. We made him lie down on the large sofa in the living room and told him that he had a very big wound on his head. I was the nurse and I tied up the wound with his big white handkerchief, a
nd Rupert, the doctor, felt his pulse and prescribed bed rest. This seemed a welcome order to Papá, and he promptly fell asleep.
In the mornings, Rupert and I would often go to his door and knock. After we heard him say, “Herein” (come in), we ran in, jumped on his bed, and said, “Good morning, Papá.” Then he picked us up, one by one, and placed us on his knees, with his legs stretched out. As he slowly bent his knees, making a mountain, we rose to the top to be suddenly dropped into a deep valley. We would take this ride into the air again and again, never tiring of the game. In this environment, he could forget the war for the moment and be the loving father he really was.
In The Sound of Music, the Captain was portrayed as stern, distant, and unyielding. In reality the Captain, our father, was gentle, kind, and sensitive. Mamá could not have found a better father for us.
Mamá, Our Sunshine
Our mamá, Agathe Whitehead von Trapp, was a gentle beauty, calm, natural, and quietly effective. My earliest memory is of her wearing a reddish-brown ankle-length skirt with a white blouse trimmed in red Hungarian embroidery around the neckline, shoulders, and wrists. The blouse was most becoming on her. Once I watched her put up her hair, creating an immaculate hairdo. She combed her brown waves up, wound her long hair into a loose bun on top of her head, and pinned it in place. Then she heated a curling iron over a small flame and curled the ends of her hair in the back and around the sides of her face. To a little girl, this was an extraordinary event because we children did not usually see our mother until she was completely dressed and ready for her day. I admired her greatly.
Mamá was able to run a big household with a cook, maids, and other staff members in a quiet and gentle manner. Every person who knew Mamá loved her and remembered her for years, including the staff. She never said a harsh word. She said what had to be said in a kind, but firm, voice. When she entered the room, it seemed that the sun was rising. I am not surprised that for Papá, it was love at first sight.
Mamá was born in Fiume on June 14, 1890, to John and Agathe Whitehead, and she was one of six children: John, Frank, Agathe,1 Mary, Robert, and Joan. In her parents’ home, the Villa Whitehead, Mamá received an aristocratic upbringing. The household included a large staff. Private tutors and a live-in piano teacher provided Mamá’s education.
Papá told me the story of how he first met Mamá at a party after the launching of the submarine U-5 in 1909. He was one of the invited guests at a social event arranged by Countess Alice Hoyos, Robert Whitehead’s daughter and Agathe’s aunt, to be held following the ceremony. After studying and working all week at the factory, young Georg must have been ready to dress up and go to a party. In those days, any of the guests who were able to perform music were asked to provide the entertainment. Mother Whitehead played the piano very well. She and her daughter Agathe, who played the violin, entertained the guests with their music that very evening.
Georg also came from a musical family. His father frequently attended the opera in Zara, and after returning home, he would sit at the piano and play some of the music he had just heard. Georg himself played the violin, the guitar, and the mandolin. At the party, he was delighted with the music he heard, but he also was impressed with Agathe. As she played the violin, he noticed her beauty and calm spirit. At nineteen she was not only beautiful but also mature and self-assured. Later he would tell me that on this evening he knew she was meant for him.
That night they danced, and Agathe’s mother invited Georg for afternoon tea with the family at their villa in Fiume. Eventually Georg was invited to visit at the Whiteheads’ summer home, the Erlhof. Not far from the house, a brook came down the steep mountainside.
I remember a day when I was about seven years old and Papá took me for a walk near this brook. He was wearing an olive green suit, which I liked very much. He confided in me that this suit was very special to him because he had worn it when he proposed to Mamá. We continued up a little footpath that ran alongside the brook. My father showed me a huge boulder with a clean, flat surface, which stood next to the path. This boulder must have come down from the mountain during the Ice Age. Its rounded edges told the story.
On this rock, Papá and Mamá talked things over and pledged their lives to each other. Soon after this, their engagement was announced. Since Agathe was only nineteen years old, Mother Whitehead suggested that they wait to be married until her daughter was of age. They waited two years. Georg von Trapp and Agathe Whitehead were married in a fairy-tale wedding in Fiume on January 14, 1911.
I recently received a description of this event from the archives in Graz, Austria, that had been written at the time of the wedding by my maternal grandmother, my uncle Franky, and another relative, Margit Kinsky. Written in German, it was a wedding souvenir for the guests. According to this booklet, the wedding festivities took place over a period of three days. My grandmother knew how to organize very well. She was sending her oldest daughter into the world, and it was to be the most wonderful day of her life. Relatives were invited from England, Germany, and Austria. They came by ship across the English Channel and by train from everywhere else. Accommodations had been arranged in the town of Fiume for all the guests.
Papá’s mother, aunt, and grandmother arrived from Pola on January 12. The only function that day was the civil registration for the marriage license.
All the other guests arrived the next day. The harbor was teeming with little boats, known as Barkassen, taking the guests from the train station to the town of Fiume, where the Villa Whitehead was prepared for the wedding festivities. There was great joy and excitement as the guests were greeted. Tea was served at 4:00 p.m. Of course, the trousseau and the many wedding gifts were laid out for all to see.
An administrative official came from the torpedo factory of the bride’s grandfather to congratulate the bride with a cordial address and to present her with a lovely silver jardiniere, or planter. Next, the foreman of the factory workers gave a lovely and meaningful speech to Mamá and brought a beautiful floral arrangement. My grandmother noted that these presentations were for her and her children, a very touching proof of the affection and loyalty shown by the factory staff for the Whitehead family. I am sure that Mamá’s father was greatly missed by his family at this significant event; he had died in 1902.
On the evening of January 13, a delicious buffet was set up in the dining room, and everyone was in high spirits. A party was scheduled for nine o’clock with music and dancing. Twelve members of the navy band, who were selected to entertain with dance music, were placed in the front of the ballroom. Grandmother mentioned that they played as well as the best Viennese band, which is the highest praise any Austrian can give to a band.
The guests were dressed in gala attire. My grandmother, the mother of the bride, wore a white evening dress with a train, a long veil of Venetian lace, and exquisite jewelry. For this affair, the bride-to-be wore a dress of light blue brocade with a train, a diamond tiara (a wedding present from her two older brothers), a diamond brooch, and a pearl necklace. She and the bridegroom in his formal uniform were the most outstanding pair on the dance floor.
All the guests were present, including the representatives from the torpedo factory and many friends from Fiume. The soiree ended at midnight since the wedding was the next day.
During breakfast on the fourteenth, the day of the wedding, a detail of Georg’s submarine crew arrived with a beautiful floral arrangement. Many more flowers and congratulatory notes were delivered for the bride. Grandmother wrote that at 11:00 a.m. the wedding guests assembled at the Austrian Naval Academy. The superintendent of the academy, Captain Schubert, had graciously placed the chapel and the public rooms at the family’s disposal.
Grandmother added that the guests arrived in horse-drawn carriages and wagons of all kinds. The bride and her mother were the last ones to appear at the church. On the way to the church, as they passed the houses of the workers, women and children lined the sidewalks, waving and filling the air with th
eir shouts of joy. Many people from the academy were already assembled outside the church.
My grandmother noted that Agathe looked so young and sweet in her bridal gown and veil. She was calm, natural, and simple.
As the guests entered the church two by two, the organ was played by the multitalented cello teacher of the bride’s brother. The teacher had traveled to Fiume just for this occasion. The bride’s religion teacher, a priest, gave a moving address and performed the wedding ceremony. After the ceremony, the chaplain of the naval academy offered the Wedding Mass. It was truly a solemn celebration that proceeded flawlessly. The bride and bridegroom were a radiant pair.
Georg and Agathe were the first to leave the church. They were met with shouts of congratulations and jubilation. The crew of Georg’s submarine, along with the factory workers, had adorned the pathway from the church entrance to the main road with flagpoles, decorated with garlands of greenery and flowers. British and Austrian flags were flown as well as the coats of arms of both families. The people stood in line on both sides of the garden path, waving their hands and hats. They gesticulated, as only Italians can, and shouted, “Eviva I Sposi!” (Long live the newlyweds!). Grandmother wrote that it was especially touching because the members of the submarine crew and the factory workers had planned and executed this ovation for their commander and his young wife on their own.
Agathe and Georg thanked them, greatly moved by their outburst of affection. The workers and sailors followed them to the villa to get another glimpse of the pair. As the couple went up the steps to be with the family for lunch, they turned and waved to all the enthusiastic well-wishers.
Memories Before and After the Sound of Music Page 2