Suitcase of Dreams

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by Tania Blanchard


  I noticed that he’d finished the page he was reading and handed him a section I was finished with. ‘Surely there are provisions made for people who can’t speak English so well?’

  ‘We both know what should be happening but it’s not and someone has to help them. Some of the Australian mechanics have started to talk to us, although sometimes it’s hard to understand them. They speak so fast and their expressions need explanation. I have to admit there are times I’m totally lost.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I thought that with our good grasp of English, we’d be fine, but there are different ways of saying things here. I let Johanna pay the man at the fruit shop for a few apples and with his broad accent, we misunderstood the price. She gave him the money but worked out herself that what she’d given him was wrong. He saw her confusion and said, “She’ll be right.” We didn’t know what he meant, but when she tried to give him more money he shook his head and smiled and gave her the bag of apples.’

  ‘I know that one.’ Erich smiled broadly. ‘It means it’s all right, don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Yes, I guessed as much. It was nice of him to do that, going out of his way to make sure Johanna didn’t feel embarrassed.’

  ‘Yes, but there are others who stay away from us. We’re called “New Australians”, but it’s a derogatory term. Some people believe that we don’t deserve to be in this country and we should go back to where we came from, especially Germans, who are all Nazis.’

  ‘That’s crazy! If people only listened and got to know us, they’d realise we’re ordinary people just like them,’ I said, remembering how the incident at the train station had left me feeling inadequate and small. I passed him the paper. I didn’t feel like reading any more.

  ‘They blame us for taking their jobs, but they don’t understand that we’re at the bottom of the ladder. Professionals are doing manual labour and factory work, doctors working as hospital cleaners, and many men are sent to remote areas, separated from family, to work on big government projects.’ The muscles in his jaw clenched tight.

  ‘Well, helping with the little things is a start,’ I said, trying to console him. ‘Surely that will show the others that you want the same things that they do – a decent life.’

  ‘I don’t know. I really believed that this was the land of equality, but I’m not so sure now. Some of the men at work urge the new workers to join one of the trade unions, to protect their rights, but I don’t know if it’s the answer for migrant workers.’

  ‘You’re doing what you can.’

  We soon discovered, however, that Erich’s wages were not enough. He made seventeen pounds a week, with a monthly bonus of eight pounds if he worked every day that month and all his hours. Our accommodation and food at the hostel cost twelve pounds a week, two pounds were deducted for Erich’s tools and clothes, and our health insurance and hospital fund came out of the remaining three pounds. Then there were the little extras we never thought about that had become essential here. For example, when it rained, it really rained – heavy storms with thunder and lightning, often in the afternoons – and everything was muddy, sodden and flooded. I’d bought all of us rubber boots – which the Australians called gumboots – so our shoes weren’t ruined. There was very little left to save, and I knew I had to find work very soon to supplement our income and put savings away so that we could find somewhere to rent and set up a proper home. New migrants were given little help in their search for accommodation, we discovered, and housing was expensive.

  *

  The girls started school a couple of weeks after we arrived in Villawood. Although I had been worried about their English being good enough for school, they adjusted well and made new friends very quickly.

  ‘How was your day?’ I asked one afternoon, as we walked back to our rooms after school. The grass either side of the path was brown and shrivelled, baked by the relentless summer sun. I wondered if in winter the landscape would return to the luscious green I was more familiar with. The air was warm and still, like walking through an oven, but I discovered, to my surprise, that I liked it.

  ‘Fine, Mutti,’ said Greta. She was bright and would find her feet quickly.

  Johanna said something to her but I didn’t understand her words. It wasn’t German or English.

  ‘What did you say, Johanna?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s all right, Mutti,’ said Greta. ‘It’s just the words Johanna learnt today from her new Dutch friend.’

  ‘You’re speaking Dutch?’ I was incredulous. ‘Your first new words at school are Dutch, not English?’

  ‘Mutti, there are so many different languages and nationalities at school,’ said Johanna. ‘At least I could understand Saskia a bit. I’ve taught her some German too.’

  I stared at the girls, not sure what to make of this. Then I burst out laughing. ‘We come to Australia so you can learn Dutch! Wait until I tell your father!’

  ‘Okay, Mutti,’ said Greta, glancing at her sister. ‘We’re going to meet Anna and Peter. They’re helping us with our homework. We’ll be back for tea.’ I was still getting used to the idea that ‘tea’ was the Australian word for dinner. Maybe they were learning after all.

  Our neighbours Franz and Claudia Schneider had become indispensable to us. They were German, too, and had been at Villawood four months longer than us, so they’d taken us under their wing, explaining the way things were done in camp and the differences between Australia and Germany. They had four children: Anna, who was a year older than Greta; Peter, who was the same age as Johanna; and twin girls only three years old. The older two got along beautifully with our girls and they spent hours playing together and exploring the camp. We were at a similar stage in life and found that we had much in common. Claudia was my age and worked in a textiles factory while Franz, now in his late thirties and unable to work as a lawyer, worked in a door factory.

  ‘Only since arriving did we discover that Australia’s in the middle of a recession. Unemployment’s a real problem,’ said Franz one evening, after we’d shared the difficulties we’d been experiencing. We were drinking coffee on our porch. Instant coffee was popular in Australia, and something we were slowly getting used to. Making it was easier than trudging back up to the cafeteria yet again and we could drink it and relax in some privacy.

  ‘I don’t know why nobody told us that in Germany before we left,’ I said. ‘We were seduced into coming here . . . Even on the boat we weren’t told the truth by the Australian representatives.’

  ‘But why is Australia still bringing out immigrants?’ asked Claudia.

  ‘They need us to do the jobs that Australians don’t want to do,’ said Franz.

  ‘Maybe those representatives should come here.’ Erich’s eyes glittered with anger and frustration. ‘The camp residents will tell them what’s really going on. I’d be happy to be the one to organise that visit and show them what life is like for migrants!’

  ‘It’s like nobody cares,’ I said, my cup clinking against its saucer more forcefully than I intended. I felt so helpless, so insignificant, and I’d vowed when I left Germany that I would never feel like that again.

  ‘Nobody does,’ said Claudia, her hand on my arm in sympathy. ‘Franz wanted to write a letter to the government department in Canberra, or even to Prime Minister Menzies himself, and tell them what’s happening.’

  ‘It won’t make any difference. It won’t be taken seriously by the bureaucracy here,’ said Franz, reaching for another spoonful of sugar.

  ‘We have to help each other. Otherwise we’ll never make it,’ said Claudia.

  Erich nodded. ‘It takes so much effort to get anyone to notice anything and then it takes time for them to act on it. We’d be better off using our energy to help ourselves.’

  ‘The only thing the Australians are passionate about is their sport,’ said Franz. He leant back in his chair, long legs crossed.

  I realised with a little start that he reminded me of my old fiancé, Heinrich: ta
ll, blond and athletic. I knew that Mutti and Heinrich still wrote to each other at Christmas but I never enquired after him and Mutti knew better than to talk about him to me. That chapter of my life was closed and I intended it to stay that way.

  ‘I don’t mind that so much,’ said Erich, grinning. ‘I’ve missed my football and although it’s not as popular here as at home, at least there’s still a competition to follow.’

  ‘Everything’s so strange,’ said Claudia, frowning. ‘I’ve seen women walk out onto the street in the mornings in their dressing gowns to buy their newspaper or collect their milk from the milkman, and men half-dressed and barefoot in public. Nobody takes offence. I can’t stop shaking my head. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.’

  Erich looked thoughtful. ‘But there’s a certain kind of freedom. People can do what they like.’

  I sighed. ‘I know what you’re saying, but it’s crazy. How does anything change if nobody cares?’

  ‘I’m sure one day it will, liebchen.’ Erich reached across and squeezed my hand. ‘I think people here fundamentally believe in having their own rights.’

  ‘Maybe it’ll be our children who will make it a country where opportunities are equal for all people,’ added Claudia.

  I smiled a little at the thought of my girls campaigning in this most peaceful yet, strangely indifferent country, and I realised that I wanted them to have that freedom and opportunity. Here, people could stand up for what they believed in, not like when I was a girl growing up in Hitler’s Germany, where even the most innocent comment could be taken as an affront to the Nazi regime. I remembered how my alarmed mother had cautioned me to say nothing after the arrest of my wedding dress designer by the Gestapo. I’d felt so powerless. Being unable – or unwilling – to help her was one of the many things that haunted me.

  Franz leant forward. ‘I’m proud to say that we’ve nearly saved enough to rent a house. Thanks to my beautiful wife working so hard.’ He smiled and kissed Claudia on the cheek, and a deep blush rose on her delicate, pale skin. She was like the voluptuous beauty of a Rubens painting, plump and curvaceous with fine, honey-blonde hair she pulled back into a roll. ‘When we can manage it, I hope to gain my qualifications here and practise law again.’

  My eyes were drawn to a couple of large moths attracted to the light where we were sitting, their wings beating frantically, making the light flicker for a moment until they settled against the warmth of the glass. Perhaps surrender was the answer, acceptance of this new land and all of its strange ways. All we could really do now was to put our disappointments to the side, push on and keep our dreams alive.

  *

  I discovered that there was a vacancy at a textiles factory. It wasn’t photography as I had hoped, but earning money was our priority and I had to take whatever I could get.

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Erich asked. We were walking through the camp after dinner. It was a balmy night, the soft breeze warm on my skin and the droning of cicadas almost deafening.

  Bugs were becoming a way of life for us. It was forty-one degrees Celsius in our rooms some days and we had to leave everything open to get as much air flow through as possible, but we had no screens on our windows and doors and no way to keep out the flies, spiders, ants and mosquitoes. The spiders were a common occurrence but it didn’t stop me shuddering at the sight of them. The first time I saw a massive huntsman spider on the wall above our beds, I screamed with fright, only to discover from one of the neighbours that they were harmless and not at all poisonous like the red-back spiders we’d been warned about. The pump-action fly spray had become our best friend, and I doused the surfaces of our room with it every day, just to keep the creatures at bay.

  ‘You know I have to. The children are settled and happy at school and we’ll never get ahead if I don’t take the job.’

  Erich stopped walking. ‘But this was my responsibility. We agreed that we’d have another child when we got here and you could set up your photography studio. It’s all come to nothing! If only I could work as an engineer – it wouldn’t even have to be with aeroplanes.’

  I caressed his arm. ‘It’s all right, truly it is. We’ll make it work. I know we’ll have the son we’ve always wanted and one day I’ll have that studio, too, but it’ll have to wait a little longer, that’s all.’ I kissed him, feeling his cheek grow hot with shame. I had to be strong for both of us. ‘This way we can save a little and find a place of our own. Everything will look brighter then.’

  ‘I’ll make it up to you. I promise.’

  ‘I know you will.’

  3

  The tedious and monotonous nature of work in the textiles factory came as a bit of a shock. Admittedly I was sitting most of my day sewing, and only getting up to pick up more garment pieces to machine together.

  ‘Is this what we do all day?’ I whispered to the woman next to me after the first morning. We were all female workers, working side by side on industrial sewing machines, cramped together in rows that filled the factory floor.

  She nodded. ‘That’s right. I’ve been doing this job for a year now.’

  ‘With no change in routine?’

  ‘Just different garments from time to time, but I don’t mind. At least I can do it with my eyes closed.’

  The electric globes that illuminated the factory hung high above, so many of us hunched over the machines and squinted in the poor light to keep the quality of finish consistent. Luckily for me, my eyesight was good, but I wondered how long it would be before I was squinting too.

  ‘We have to be thankful we have a job at all,’ said the woman, shrugging. ‘At least I can put food on my family’s table.’

  Some days, I wondered if the paltry wage was even worth it. By the end of the day, my body was stiff, my neck and back aching and I was ready to scream with boredom. I vowed that one day when we no longer had to exist hand to mouth, I would make my dream of working as a photographer a reality.

  Erich saw a job in a German newspaper for a mechanical engineer to build new factories and machinery centres for a large company. It was more like the work he used to do for the Americans after the war and certainly better than the work he was doing. He attended the interview dressed in his best suit. Of course he got the job. We were ecstatic – not only was he working as an engineer, something we both worried would never come to pass, but he was going to earn more money and had the opportunity to work his way up in the company. My mind immediately jumped ahead. Maybe then we could finally move out of Villawood and I could find a job in photography and leave the textiles factory. Maybe I could even consider having another child. Suddenly I could see light at the end of the tunnel.

  One evening soon after Erich began his new job, I had the light on, darning socks, while the girls were at the table doing their homework. The days were getting shorter, autumn leaves were falling from the trees, and it was beginning to get dark already. The girls were bickering periodically as was usual, but all it did was set my nerves further on edge. For I had news I needed to share with Erich.

  The door opened and Erich came in a little earlier than expected, his face like thunder. He mumbled a greeting and disappeared to wash before dinner. I glanced at the girls, who had barely noticed the odd behaviour. My heart began to pound and I couldn’t sit still any longer. I put the darning away and straightened the picture on the wall, the sunflower that had graced the parlour wall of my mother’s home when I was young. It reminded me of her and gave our room a homely feeling. I decided I might as well tidy up for the weekly room inspection the following day, so I pulled out the broom and swept the floor.

  We all jumped as the door slammed behind us.

  ‘We have to talk,’ Erich said.

  I gulped down the lump that had formed in my throat. ‘All right, girls, enough homework for one night. Off you go to your room until dinner.’

  ‘Can we go to Tante Claudia’s?’ asked Greta. ‘Anna and Peter are going to help us with our English h
omework.’

  ‘They understand it better than we do,’ added Johanna.

  I wasn’t sure how much homework was going to get done, but sending them out would give me the space to talk to Erich in peace. ‘All right. You can go to the dining hall with them and meet us for dinner, but make sure you take your coats.’

  The girls didn’t waste another minute, gathering up their books and coats and squeezing past their father, who stood rigid in the doorway.

  I sat at the table and straightened the tablecloth, thinking about how I was going to tell Erich about my day as I waited for him to join me.

  ‘I’ve left my job,’ he said as he sank into the chair.

  My head shot up, eyes wide with shock. I began to feel queasy. I couldn’t believe the timing. He’d seemed so happy. ‘What happened?’ I whispered, barely able to get the words out of my dry mouth.

  ‘The company’s a fraud.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘They lure German engineers into their firm, knowing they can’t get an engineering job anywhere else unless they retrain. There’s no big company, only a small room with a few engineers and draughtsmen with a drawing table.’ The vein at his temple was pulsing, a sure sign that he was furious.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked softly, my hand on his arm.

  ‘The first day I was given photos and paper copies of plans of machines and parts. I was asked to complete the calculations and drawings for them. I thought it a bit odd. But it was only the first day. Maybe they wanted to see what I could do or perhaps it was something to do until my job was ready. The same happened yesterday, but I persevered.

  ‘Today, the copies I received were hardly legible and the photos were blurry.’ He leant forward in his seat, eyes blazing. ‘I’d had enough and went to the boss. Nothing made sense to me. I’m not a draughtsman or a structural engineer. I was employed to build and set up workshops. I told him my expertise was in machine and plant engineering and that’s what I was hired to do.’

 

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