Suitcase of Dreams

by Tania Blanchard

  As I got into the rhythm of painting, I lost myself in the creative process, often bringing photos of the scenery home so I could continue whenever I had time. I found it very therapeutic, and all my worries dropped away as I focused my energy on solving the problems in front of me.

  ‘I can see what you’ve painted,’ Karoline said, squinting at the canvas, ‘and the detail is beautiful, but it looks flat.’ She was brutally honest but somehow encouraging at the same time.

  ‘I know,’ I said, huffing in exasperation. ‘I’m trying to convey depth in the picture while capturing the changing colour due to how the light falls.’

  ‘What is it that you want the audience to see?’

  ‘What I see, not just what’s in the photo,’ I said, pointing to the image lying on the table, ‘but how I remember that scene, what struck me as beautiful, how it made me feel.’

  ‘How it made you feel.’ Realisation hit me as I stared at her. ‘You can have the technique but if you don’t paint from your heart, from your feelings, your painting won’t have that soul you’re looking for.’

  It was exactly what I needed to do.

  As painting became more than a hobby to me, I found myself wondering about my work. I loved photography, but the management of the studio and the repetitive nature of the shoots had begun to wear me down. I wanted something more creative.

  ‘How’s your painting going?’ asked Sabine one day. ‘I haven’t done anything for ages.’

  It was a rare day when both Sabine and Otto were in the studio. I had called them both in to cover the absence of two photographers, one with a sick child and the other who was away attending to a family emergency. I seemed to spend more and more of my day in the office keeping on top of the business side of things rather than behind the camera.

  ‘I’m working on my landscapes. Our trips to the Abercrombie have inspired me but I can’t quite do justice to the bush.’ I pushed the proofs I was looking at to one side for a moment.

  ‘What seems to be the problem?’ asked Otto, bringing in a cup of coffee for us both. He was going to go over the proofs with me with a fresh pair of eyes. I often envied him, able to work occasionally in the studio and spend the majority of his time on his creative projects, often freelancing for magazine location shoots and cutting-edge fashion photography.

  ‘I think it’s getting the play of light right in a bush setting,’ I said sipping at the hot liquid.

  ‘Have you thought about taking the focus off the bush and on a subject in that setting? Sometimes I find that works for me in my photo shoots.’

  I nodded, contemplating his idea. ‘That’s a good suggestion, it might help.’

  ‘I know you’ll work it out,’ said Sabine. ‘You’re a natural. I’ll have to come by and take a look what you’ve done one of these days.’

  ‘Whenever you like,’ I said, smiling warmly. ‘I know you’ve got your hands full with the boys but it will be nice to see you. In the meantime, we’d better get back to work or none of us will ever get home tonight.’

  *

  The National Service law had been amended to allow conscripts to serve overseas, and it was only a matter of time before these young men were sent to Vietnam, so Claudia had joined a group of Sydney women who’d begun protesting against conscription. They called themselves the Save Our Sons movement and were the mothers of boys who had been already conscripted or were eligible for conscription. The women argued that it was morally wrong to send minors to serve overseas, and sending them to Vietnam as part of a military force would be breaking the Geneva Accords of 1954. Not only would their intent be to kill or take away the basic freedoms of other human beings, but to do so was against the wishes of their parents. And they were right – until they were twenty-one, these boys had to seek their parents’ permission to marry, buy a car or obtain a passport to travel overseas. Claudia was petrified that Peter would be called up.

  I agreed that conscription was wrong and I attended some of the meetings with her, to give my support. But it wasn’t only that. I’d never forgotten my feelings of helplessness when the dressmaker who’d made my wedding gown was dragged away by the Gestapo in Munich. I was powerless to do anything then, but now I would help stand up for these young men and their families.

  It must have been strange to see middle-aged, respectable women finding ways to protest peacefully against the establishment. We were a far cry from anything seen in the newspaper and on TV of the more vocal, less peaceful student movement. We were instructed in the laws surrounding conscription and conscientious objection and quickly learnt everything there was to know about Vietnam, the war that raged there and Australia’s commitment to it. Most of us had no experience in political activism but were open to trying ideas that had previously worked to ensure our voices were heard by the public and to apply pressure to the government to force it to review its legislation. Petitions to the prime minister, and press, radio and television interviews were arranged, as were interviews with federal ministers, to spread the anti-conscription message. Before long, our group had learnt how to efficiently raise funds, publish and distribute information and organise public meetings, teach-ins, rallies and protest marches.

  Claudia and I attended at a silent protest in Martin Place in the centre of Sydney in January 1966. It was my first big public protest and, although we’d been told there was nothing to worry about, I was nervous. What if those who objected to our stance became violent and it got out of hand? Blue and white sashes emblazoned with the words WOMEN FOR PEACE had been distributed to us. As I slipped one on, I noticed that I wasn’t the only one who was anxious and it hit me then how serious this was.

  ‘This is it,’ I whispered to Claudia.

  She nodded. ‘It feels good to do something, doesn’t it?’

  Like Erich, Franz had supported Claudia’s decision to become involved with the group, but Ernst had only ridiculed her. Despite her digging, she was no closer to understanding what was between her husband and his uncle.

  ‘It does. I just hope that the cameras and reporters see more than a group of desperate mothers and portray what we stand for, what we’re trying to achieve.’ I meant it. I glanced down the orderly row of women lining Martin Place, all holding handbags, most wearing gloves and many with hats and sensible shoes. There was not a skirt higher than mid-calf. We certainly couldn’t be mistaken for trouble-making anti-war protesters. It was good to stand up for what we believed in but I wasn’t sure what the Australian public would make of us. Would we be a laughing stock?

  Now I began to really understand Erich and his union activities. I wondered if he had felt like this when he’d first become involved, worried his voice wouldn’t be heard, and that he and his group would be seen as ineffectual and impotent.

  I glanced at the enormous SAVE OUR SONS banner and then at the placards. PARENTS ABOLISH CONSCRIPTION NOW, MAKE ASIAN FRIENDS NOT ASIAN FOES, NOT OUR SONS NOT YOUR SONS NOT THEIR SONS, DON’T DRAFT OUR SONS TO BOMB AND DESTROY, NO CONSCRIPTION WITHOUT REFERENDUM and simply NO CONSCRIPTION OF YOUTH.

  ‘Well, we are a group of desperate mothers, but it doesn’t make what we have to say any less important. If anything, we’re the ones who should be listened to – we’re fighting on behalf of our sons,’ said Claudia, holding her poster firmly with both hands.

  She was right. It was time for women and mothers to have their say and be heard, but the only way to do it was peaceably. The flash from cameras drew my attention to the group of journalists nearby.

  ‘The newpapers are here,’ I said. ‘We should get some good coverage. Maybe even front page.’ The changes that were sweeping the nation altered the way Australians lived and how they were perceived by the world.

  ‘As long as we’re being noticed, any article or photo will be useful whether it’s positive or negative press,’ said Claudia pragmatically.

  There were photos and articles in all the major newspapers but we weren’t front page news. There was no excitement in our silent pr
otest, holding our signs and handing out pamphlets. I hoped that we’d be seen favourably, as respectful citizens, but most of all that we’d be taken seriously. In many cases we were, but some papers painted the SOS as communist inciters and ‘rabble rousers’. But Claudia was right, at least people would read about us and our concerns could only encourage the conscription debate in ordinary households across the country. When we arrived here, I never imagined that we’d play a part in promoting Australia as the land of freedom and opportunity, but it was liberating to take a stand, something I’d never been able to do in Nazi Germany.

  *

  It was a time to embrace the new opportunities for women. Johanna completed her Leaving Certificate in November, which meant both girls had now finished school. Greta had just finished her first year of nursing at Royal Prince Alfred Hospital in the inner city. She loved it. Her face lit up when she talked about her work. We saw her from time to time, when she had a few days off and was allowed to leave the nurses’ home to come for a visit. She always looked tired, dark smudges under her eyes, but she told us she was happy and had made new friends. Erich and I were immensely proud of her.

  ‘We’ve done it,’ I said to Erich one Saturday afternoon about a month before Christmas, when Johanna had some friends over to celebrate the end of their schooling. I’d served them coffee and cake and watched with pride from the kitchen as the girls talked excitedly about the future.

  ‘We have,’ replied Erich. ‘Both our girls have done very well. They’re smart and take after their mother.’

  ‘You’re the smart one who was determined to get a good education,’ I said, wiping the benchtop down. ‘Look at all the courses you did.’

  ‘Mmm, well, where did that get me?’

  ‘We wouldn’t have met, for one thing.’

  ‘No, you’re right.’

  ‘And look where we are now,’ I said. ‘Happy, healthy and doing well. Soon we’ll be able to think about bigger premises for your business and that trip back to Germany to see your family.’

  He brushed the hair from my face, caressing my cheek and unable to hide a sudden surge of emotion. ‘I know much of that is due to you and everything you’ve had to endure. I’m a lucky man to have you.’

  I held back my surprise at his words. Our trouble had made him more aware, I realised. It was good to be recognised for all I had done for our family. ‘We’re lucky to have each other,’ I said.

  ‘Mmm. I’m only glad that the girls have the opportunity to do whatever they like. I think that’s what we both wanted, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is and I’m very grateful for that.’ I opened the refrigerator, pulling out the pitcher of cordial and filling two glasses.

  The raucous laughter of teenage girls echoed from the lounge room.

  ‘So, Jo,’ one of the girls said, ‘what are you going to do with yourself?’

  They called her Jo, not Johanna. It wasn’t a girl’s name and yet it was what she called herself these days. Even Greta called her Jo. ‘Get with the times,’ Greta had told me. ‘This is Australia after all, not Germany.’

  ‘I’m going to do some work at the vet’s in Camden over the holidays and then I hope to get into Sydney University to do veterinary science.’

  Johanna had tossed up between becoming a teacher or a vet. Teaching was a good career, Erich had told her. One she could return to after having children if she wanted. In the end we agreed that she should do something she was passionate about. She was aware that the work would be hard, sometimes physically exhausting, but she was young, strong and determined.

  ‘You’ll make a great vet,’ said someone. It sounded like Beth, Johanna’s best friend. She would too. Like her father, Johanna loved animals. She looked after Wolfie, fed Moshi, who was now an old cat, and she rode and exercised the neighbour’s horses every weekend.

  ‘Are there any female vets?’ asked another girl dubiously.

  ‘There are a few,’ said Johanna. ‘But who says women can’t be as good vets as men? Besides, it’s what I really want to do.’

  ‘She reminds me of someone,’ said Erich softly.

  I smiled. I was a similar age to Johanna when my mother crushed my dream of becoming a professional photographer. I had been adamant that I wanted to work for the military as a photojournalist on the front. ‘She has so much of both of us in her.’

  ‘I pity the man who ends up with her, then,’ said Erich.

  I nudged him in the ribs. ‘He should be so lucky.’ But it got me thinking. Johanna had been spending a lot more time at Claudia’s place and I wondered if the reason was Peter. I thought I might ask Greta if she knew anything.

  As far as I knew, Greta had no boyfriend. She was too busy for one, constantly working and studying. Besides, there were strict rules for young nurses – they were only allowed to marry in their fourth year, which was a great deterrent. Greta was still so young and yet to make her mark upon the world. There’d be plenty of time for boyfriends once she was well established.

  Erich sighed. ‘That’s years away anyhow. Right now, I’m content. The girls are happy and doing well and so are we. What more could we ask for?’

  What more indeed, I thought, smiling at him as I joined him at the table. I held my glass up to him.

  ‘To our family,’ I said, clinking glasses with him.

  19

  1967

  There was huge uproar over the visit to Australia of the premier of South Vietnam. Air Vice-Marshal Ky was beginning his tour in Canberra, then going to Brisbane, Sydney and finally Melbourne before heading to New Zealand.

  ‘I can’t believe he’s been invited here!’ hissed Claudia. She was overwrought and I understood why. Peter had recently registered for the ballot as this was the year he was turning twenty. He could be called up within months. Like Johanna, he’d only just finished school.

  ‘It looks like there are a few protests planned,’ I said, scanning the SOS newsletter.

  ‘Will you come to the Canberra protest? I’ll make sure I’m going.’

  I checked the dates. ‘No, I can’t, it’s mid-week, but I see there’s a protest organised for Sydney too and it’s on a Saturday. I can make that one.’

  Claudia nodded. ‘That’ll be great.’ She stared out the window for a moment. ‘You know what this man said during an interview?’

  I shook my head but I could guess. Ky was seen as a pro-fascist leader, only marginally better than the communists he was fighting against.

  ‘He said his hero was Hitler. We travelled halfway around the world to get away from the memory of Hitler and all that he did to Germany! I don’t know what country we’re in any more.’

  I was shocked, holding my cup centimetres from my lips. That someone who idolised Hitler would be welcomed here seemed outrageous.

  ‘If nothing else, it’s made people more aware of this war we’re fighting. Many of these young conscripts’ fathers fought Hitler, but I think it’s worse for those of us who happened to fight for him. I know lots of young ones think our troops are doing a good thing in Vietnam, protecting Australia and the world from communism, but they haven’t seen what our generation has seen, what war does.’

  A young waitress walked past our table and frowned as she overheard a snippet of our conversation.

  ‘After what we went through, we vowed to keep our children safe and to ensure they never had to fight in a war in their lifetime,’ I whispered. I put my coffee down, feeling sick at the thought of our children marching off to war.

  ‘Now here they are, being forced to go to war against their will to uphold a fascist leader who aspires to be like Hitler. Is this a nightmare? Can you shake me now so that I’ll wake up and find that Australia is the country we believed it to be?’

  She was furious, and rightly so. My heart broke for her – Peter was just a boy – and for the Australia we’d believed in. There was no turning back now, no return to innocence. All we could do was remind the public of the inherent wrongs that were being per
petrated and highlight the terrible path this country had embarked upon.

  ‘This visit might not be a bad thing,’ I said. ‘They’re expecting huge crowds at the protests and it might be what we need to make people see. Mr Calwell’s called for widespread demonstrations against the visit and he’ll be leading the marches.’ Calwell was the federal opposition leader and leader of the Labor Party. Vehemently opposed to Australia’s role in Vietnam and to conscription, he was a passionate speaker, an effective contributor and a wonderful asset to our cause.

  ‘We can only hope the government listens,’ Claudia said grimly.

  *

  Peter played the cello in a number of string groups and youth orchestras and taught cello to school children, and was hoping to gain selection to the Australian Youth Orchestra. He’d decided to follow a career in music, something his father had been denied. When his number was drawn in the March ballot, we all hoped that he could secure an exemption or even a deferment based on conscientious objection and proof of his acceptance to the Conservatorium of Music in Sydney.

  Claudia and Franz were devastated, but Onkel Ernst had told them that it was just as well he’d been drafted.

  ‘It will make him a man,’ he’d said, ‘and not a sissy, pretending that playing music is a serious career and hiding behind women’s skirts.’

  Claudia repeated that conversation to me in a tremulous voice, trying hard not to dissolve into tears. ‘It nearly brought Ernst and Franz to blows, and Franz threatened to throw him out. They were both so close to losing control – I was so frightened – but then Ernst left in a dark silence, which scared me even more. Franz went straight to the piano and the whiskey bottle. I couldn’t stay there with the children. We had to get out.’ She clasped her hands together to stop shaking. She, Anna and the twins were visiting us, and Johanna was helping Anna get the twins to sleep in Greta’s room. I knew the girls would be up for hours talking and consoling each other. Peter’s conscription was a shock to us all. Thank God that he was on tour with one of the orchestras.