Mother had to learn how to be a parent in a large family whose background was very different from hers, just as we had to adjust to a personality different from anyone we had ever met.
In February 1929, there was the excitement of a new baby in the family. The sweet new baby was named Rosmarie. She had blonde curls and dark eyes. Two years later another baby girl was born. We named her Eleonore, but we called her “Lorli.” Lorli had dark brown curls and very dark eyes. She was the admiration of all who laid eyes on her. We loved and admired both of our new baby sisters. Hedwig, age fourteen, became their nanny under Mother’s supervision. Our two baby sisters had a room together and their own routines. However, there was a big difference; Rosmarie and Lorli were not confined to the nursery the way our “little ones” had been.
Now Mother had to adjust not only to her new ready-made family, but also to new infants of her own. That, together with the new lifestyle, new relatives, and new responsibilities such as housekeeping, made her days very busy.
These were only the first changes introduced by our new mother. Before us lay dramatic changes that neither she, nor Papá, nor any of us could foresee.
Spreading My Wings
I did not see much of my little sisters since I was so busy studying for my high school graduation. In the spring of 1931, Rupert and I graduated from high school. I had studied in Salzburg at a girls’ school, Mädchen Reform Real Gymnasium, while Rupert attended a Benedictine boarding school for boys near Vienna. There was no special celebration to mark our graduation, but Papá arranged a surprise for us. He thought our horizons would be widened with a summer trip to England to visit our British relatives, Mamá’s family. Our great-uncle, Bertie Whitehead, and his wife, Rosie, lived in a beautiful manor house in southern England.
Together, Rupert and I ventured out into the big, wide world. We traveled by train and boat, of course. Rupert had always been interested in everything about trains. He knew exactly what to do and when to do it, from changing trains to deciphering schedules.
From Salzburg we traveled to Cologne, Germany, arriving at midnight. There we had to wait two hours for the next train to Bremen. I suggested that we tour the town to pass the time, so we set out in the dimly lit streets to have a look at the famous cathedral of Cologne. As we wandered around, we saw a vendor of potato pancakes on the side of the street. He fried a huge, round pancake on a little pot-bellied stove. That golden-brown pancake was the only bright spot in the dark city!
From Cologne, we went on to Bremen, where we boarded the boat. When we arrived in England, Rupert found our way to the train station. From the moment we stepped aboard the train in England, we felt the hospitality and the kindness of the railroad personnel. We felt as if we were guests of the railroad, not passengers. That was different from our experiences on the European trains. The English conductor was polite and personable, and although we were not traveling first class, we felt that we were. As the English countryside rolled by, tables were unfolded so the passengers could play games or cards. Before we arrived in London, we were served tea with little biscuits.
Uncle Bertie Whitehead, our grandfather’s brother, met us at the station in London. He was a heavy-set, white-haired man with a kindly look about him. Rupert and I saw glimpses of the great city of London as Uncle Bertie drove us to his estate in Dorset. Aunt Rosie greeted us warmly and showed us to our rooms. To our great surprise and joy, there was our former maid from Austria, Hanni! She now worked for the Whiteheads. Her presence made us feel at home in the house of our English relatives whom we were meeting for the first time. Despite the adventure of traveling alone, Rupert and I were still rather shy.
Uncle Bertie rented bicycles for us, so we would be somewhat independent. This part of England had rolling grasslands, and we enjoyed cycling through the countryside with its long hedges that divided the pastures. Perhaps to give us something constructive to do, Uncle Bertie arranged for us to take typing lessons in a neighboring town.
Rupert and I saw more of England when Uncle Bertie drove us through the countryside. His brother, Bede, was no longer living, but Uncle Bertie took us to his nearby estate anyway. Uncle Bede’s widow still lived there with their son. They invited us to have English tea with them, and then they arranged for their forester to give us a tour through their extensive woodlands.
The forester was an experienced woodsman, who knew exactly what the birds and animals “said” and did. He explained the various birdcalls and demonstrated some of them on a little whistle. As we walked through the brush and woodlands, he suddenly stood still and said, “There is a weasel around here somewhere who is after a rabbit!” How did he know that? The forester told us that the birds “said” it. We saw nothing, but then, after a few minutes, sure enough, the rabbit came running, with the weasel in pursuit. So intent was the weasel on its prey that he didn’t notice us until the forester went after him with a branch. The kindhearted forester did not want Rupert and me to witness a battle between the rabbit and the weasel. The weasel left the scene in a hurry! I recall that walk in the woods as a highlight of our English visit.
Uncle Bertie was determined that we should see the two famous images cut into the hillsides by Phoenicians thousands of years ago. One was the shape of a goat; the other was the shape of a giant. Since the hills were of pure white limestone, overgrown with grass, these white cutouts shone far out into the nearby sea. Uncle Bertie told us that these images had been landmarks for ancient seafarers, in the same way lighthouses on the coasts of Europe and America were used.
We saw the rosy-purple fields of English heather in a place named New Forest. What a breathtaking sight! The New Forest was simply a vast area of blooming heather, with clusters of oaks here and there. There was much wildlife in this natural setting; as we drove through the area, we saw wild ponies peacefully grazing beside the road.
As the sun slowly set in the west, Uncle Bertie drove us up a gently sloping hill toward Stonehenge. There, with a setting sun and a fiery red sky as a backdrop, stood the age-old stone circle of rocks. Rupert and I were awestruck, but Uncle Bertie explained in a perfectly matter-of-fact voice, “No one really knows what Stonehenge is. Some say it is a pagan site for human sacrifice; others say that it is an ancient calendar constructed by the Druids. But actually no one can tell with certainty why it was built.”
The site is a complete mystery. It is unknown how the huge stones were brought to this spot; this type of rock is not native to the area. Uncle Bertie speculated that the stones had been brought by sea. Rupert and I, however, wondered how such weight could have been transported, given the primitive technology of ancient times. No matter how or why Stonehenge came into being, it seemed to me totally awesome as we stood gazing in wonder. Even after all these years, Stonehenge is still a fascinating puzzle to me.
When Rupert and I returned to Salzburg after our trip, it was time to make decisions about the upcoming school year. Rupert entered the University of Innsbruck. First, he studied for a career in business, which was Papá’s wish. He later switched to his real interest, medicine.
One day Mother took me aside and bombarded me with questions about what I wanted to do with my life. I was really bewildered by her questions. I felt that she wanted me to make a sudden decision about my future without any guidance. I was not prepared to do that, so the moment was very painful for me. It had never dawned on me that I might be expected to leave my home for a career. I liked languages and art, but how could I make a profession of those interests, especially since I had little experience or knowledge of the outside world?
Before long, Mother made the decision for me. Since she thought I had a talent for languages, she arranged for me to go to France as an exchange student. I was actually looking forward to my visit to France. I already knew a little French and liked the language. However, shortly before my departure date, we were informed that plans had changed, and the French family could not have me visit.
Since languages seemed to be the way
to go, Mother suggested an English interpreter’s course for me. I had always been interested in the English language and was familiar with it from childhood because I had heard English spoken at the Erlhof. I pursued this course in Salzburg, passing with excellent grades. Immediately following this, I was offered a job of teaching English in the same high school from which I had graduated. That prospect scared me. I did not feel like going back into a classroom. I was sure I would become tongue-tied in front of a class of young girls, so I decided against this position. I never told anyone about this offer and never requested my diploma from the interpreter course. My reasoning was that if Mother knew I had the diploma along with this job offer, she would pressure me into taking the teaching job. I felt that I did not have the training to be a teacher. Besides, I was so shy that I knew I would not be able to communicate in a classroom situation.
Mother arranged to have me tutor the daughter of our next-door neighbor because I could not think of an alternative. This fourteen-year-old girl, Minki, had broken her leg in a skiing accident. Her parents were very wealthy, and Minki’s mother was going to Africa on a safari. She was leaving her two daughters, ages fourteen and sixteen, in their country villa with the chauffeur and their cook in charge of the household. I was to live there. I was not enthusiastic about this assignment, but was given no choice.
During my time there, Minki was sent to the hospital in Vienna because her leg needed to be in traction. I was to go with her and tutor her in the hospital room. Some of Mamá’s relatives, who lived in Vienna, provided me with room and board.
While in Vienna, I visited Gromi in Klosterneuburg, which was about a half-hour train ride followed by a twenty-minute uphill walk. When I arrived at Gromi’s house, Uncle Bobby’s wife was also there. The three of us had tea together. I was too shy to enter into the conversation, but I was happy to see Gromi again.
The remainder of this school year was spent trying to teach Minki all of her school subjects. I did my best, but she had become uncooperative when she realized I did not have enough knowledge for the job. At age eighteen, I returned home.
Back at home, I had an idea of what I could do next. I loved to sew but needed further instruction. Mother enrolled me in classes at the Salzburg Home Economics School. There I learned to make patterns for a variety of clothing, including dirndl costumes, which we wore. At that time I had no idea that what I was learning would become very useful in later life. That training enabled me to sew and make clothing for us girls for many years to come, including some of the dresses we wore on stage.
Another one of my interests was drawing and painting. Papá had always tried to encourage us to develop our talents. While I was still in high school, and Papá realized that I liked to draw, he engaged an Italian watercolor artist to give me private lessons. The artist, Mr. Susat, came to our home, bringing along the materials I needed to get started. Being very eager to begin the lessons, I learned how to use a pencil for sketching and to use watercolors effectively.
After a few months, Mr. Susat asked me to stop by his house on my way home from school, to pick up a brush that he had bought for me. When I told Papá that I was to stop at my teacher’s home for the brush, Papá said that I was not to do so. Feeling that it was an improper suggestion by Mr. Susat, Papá dismissed him. I am sure that Mr. Susat had nothing improper in mind and only wanted to give me the brush, but Papá was very protective of his daughters. Then I was on my own concerning artistic endeavors. I had a good foundation, however, and I am very grateful to Mr. Susat for his substantial teaching, which developed into a lifelong avocation.
One day Mother gave me a book about Chinese brush painting. I was impressed by the fact that Chinese teachers would not allow their pupils to paint for twelve years until they had trained their eyes and their powers of observation. In order to imprint on their minds the shapes and outlines of objects worthy of being painted, they had to study without using a brush. After this training, they were finally taught the art of brush painting.
When I read of this method, I thought, This is what I will do, and thus began an everyday habit and my own art technique. Mother suggested that I should spend five minutes drawing a sketch in my book every time I saw something I liked. Sketches of trees, flowers, churches, landscapes, and of my brothers and sisters filled my books. Later on, still relying on Mr. Susat’s instruction, I reworked some of my sketches into watercolors.
Years later, when we were on tour in the United States, we were invited to visit a kindergarten. The teacher showed us some of the children’s artwork. I was especially impressed by the linoleum block prints the children had made, and I thought: If these little children can do this, so can I. I bought the materials I needed and started to cut linoleum blocks and print the design on tissue paper. Later, using art paper, I made Christmas and greeting cards.
When I ran out of ideas for block printing, I went back to my first love—watercolors—and behold! After my first try, all the instructions of Mr. Susat returned. I painted one watercolor after another. I painted landscapes, still lifes, flowers, and buildings. Sketching, painting, and linoleum block printing became my recreation. I did all these things because I enjoyed doing them.
Although I did not realize it at the time, the lessons I received in art as well as the courses that I took in English and sewing, were to become an excellent preparation for my future.
Adventures with Papá
Papá was an enthusiastic and experienced sailor. During his years in the navy, he went sailing whenever he had free time, even taking his mother out on a sailboat to give her the benefit of the healthy sea air. When Papá considered us old enough to enjoy a cruise, he decided to give us a special vacation in the summer of 1932.
Since Italy had finally canceled the black list, it was safe for Papá to return to his “old territory,” which he had called home for most of his life. His plan was to sail along the coast of the Adriatic Sea to introduce us to the area where he had lived since his childhood and where he had spent time when he was in the navy.
The type of vessel that Papá decided to rent for this voyage was a Trabakel. It was a primitive, native cargo vessel, dating back to ancient times, heavily built and decorated on the upper part of the hull with stripes of bright colors. The large sails were mostly bright red, orange, or yellow. The black hull was wide and roomy inside. Some Trabakels had been transformed into tourist sightseeing boats for the warm summer months and could be rented for any length of time. Papá hired the Archimede, complete with an Italian-speaking crew, consisting of the captain, a sailor, and a cook we called “Cogo,” who doubled as a sailor.
A Trabakel
We anticipated this coming vacation with enthusiasm. It was going to be a wonderful summer, full of adventure and beautiful sights to see. The plan was to board the Archimede in Trieste, cruise down the coast, visit Venice, and then return to Trieste. There we would take a train to Pola and spend a few weeks camping on an island before going back home.
Our two little ones, Rosmarie and Lorli, were left at home in the care of a nanny so that Mother could come with us. A young woman and family friend, Renate Ross, and a seventeen-year-old boy, Peter Hanns Paumgartner, were invited to join us. Papá gladly added these two to his already large family; our group totaled eleven. Peter’s father was the director of the Academy of Music in Salzburg. Peter had studied Italian in school, and his father hoped that the trip would give him a chance to practice his newly acquired language. Peter was exceptionally tall and thin with a pale complexion. In order to avoid sunburn, he wore a white linen hat with an unusually wide brim. He was good-natured, but quite awkward. It seemed that he was not yet able to coordinate his long, thin arms and legs. Among ourselves, we called him the “the Praying Mantis.”
Since summer in the Adriatic Sea is warm with little rain, there was no need to take a lot of clothing. We packed our sleeping bags, hammocks, cooking utensils, folding boats,1 and a change of clothing for sightseeing and church. With our kna
psacks on our backs, we headed for the train station, which was just opposite our property in Aigen.
The train took us to Trieste, where we boarded the Archimede. Thus, our adventure began. The red sails went up, and the proud symbol of our commandant unfolded. As I look back, these symbols remind me of the Pennsylvania “hex signs.” Slowly the vessel moved away from the pier as we headed out to sea. The crew was introduced to us, and throughout the trip, they assumed a kind, fatherly attitude toward their passengers—us. We were shown our “bedroom” below in the large, empty hull. We hung our hammocks and left our knapsacks under them, but we never actually slept there. We girls changed into our training suits, which consisted of long, loose-fitting pants made of dark blue cotton knit and blouses with long sleeves and collars made of the same material. These outfits were similar to the sportswear of today. The boys wore shorts and white shirts, their regular summer outfits.
The deck of the vessel was large. As long as we stayed clear of the ropes, we were permitted to place our sleeping bags wherever we wanted and move freely about the ship. At first our only occupation was to look: look here, look there, look everywhere. As we headed south, the land lay on our left, and the sea stretched out on our right. Little fishing villages came into view, allowing us to hear soft sounds drifting over from the land. It was a new feeling for me to be gliding over the water in this open boat, which was larger than any boat I had been on before. The air was fresh and clear with the scent of the sea.
Memories Before and After the Sound of Music Page 10