I read the Pearl Buck books I found on the bookshelves in the warm and comfortable living room. Nobody ever was in that room, and I made it my temporary home. After Berlin, this felt like a peaceful heaven. I had no idea what would come next. One day, Mrs. Smit excitedly said that I should have told her that I was supposed to move on to Hein. He was waiting for me to arrive.
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The next step I remember is being delivered to a boarding school in Hilversum. Miss van den Oever and Miss de Coque were the directresses, with various other teachers. A school was attached, and two houses were occupied with living rooms and bedrooms for the young ladies.
I was stunned to be accosted by a beautiful dark-haired girl who spat into my face calling me a fascist murderer. She was Jewish, and my strong German accent provoked her.
I fell ill with a high temperature; the doctor was called who concluded that I had a reaction to the recent experiences of the war. I stayed in bed for a month and then did not speak. Miss van den Oever, a specialist on how to handle damaged souls, moved me into the main house into my own room. She started to work with me, escorting me to the post office to buy stamps, going to stores to buy shoes and a beautiful dress I was allowed to select myself, eating ice cream in an elegant restaurant. Slowly, I accepted that there was still normalcy somewhere in the world, and I was becoming part of it. There was control over life here. My accent stayed with me all through my life. A handicap, making it clear that I was not really from where I happened to be.
Where school was concerned, I had made it in Berlin to the class one year before the finals the Abitur. I first entered and then finished the school attached to the boarding school and received my diploma from it. Miss van den Oever felt I was ready to go to the local HBS, the Dutch equivalent of the Berlin lyceum, just for the last class. The directress of the HBS turned that down; I think she was snubbing Miss van den Oever—a bit of competition between the two ladies. It was decided I should go to a private school in Amsterdam—a bike ride to the Hilversum station, a half-hour train ride to Amsterdam, and then a tram to the de la Raisse Street. I was in good company in a small room at the back of one of Amsterda typical homes. The program was self-study under the leadership of a professor. I tried but the system did not work for me and we gave up. I was tired and mentally not ready for intense and disciplined learning.
Life at the boarding school became very pleasant. I felt protected and cared for. We learned to speak French and English in our daily activities. Each table at mealtimes had a different lady who spoke her language, which we had to follow. A young outside acquaintance of the directress was a designer, and I modeled his clothes. It was fun to know him and his beautiful French wife. We danced ballet together, just for the fun of it.
40
It was decided that I should have a job. In Bussum, a half-hour bike ride from Hilversum, a job was available and I was accepted. I was drawing electric circuits for the Rochester Sign and Railway Company, who tried to sell their product of American rail signals to the European market. The office was bright, located in a handsome villa. I worked with four other people in two rooms and a boss in his own room. I had not the slightest idea why what I drew did what it did. The explanations by my coworkers were not good enough, made no sense to me. I struggled along.
One could take a break in an adjacent small garden. I sat at the pond or rested in the grass and enjoyed the splashing of the water, looking up watching the clouds float by.
41
I still do not understand how deeply I was destroyed, how unusual my life had been. I know it now. Mentioning this is not as an excuse, but a realization.
Here I was in the company of regular persons, working with them day by day. I felt for the first time since my father’s demise, the nearness of men. A new experience, their casualness, their sense of humor. After the closeness of the directress of the all-girl boarding school, this was a new step, new borders to be explored. The persons I came in touch with had no idea of my history and the desperation it had created. A man fell for my outgoing neediness. He, unfortunately, left a family and his children for me.
How young I was and how naïve. We lived an incredibly simple life; the husband gave up his job and found another at the Shell Oil Company whose headquarters was in The Hague. As soon as a divorce was realized, we moved to Scheveningen, the resort of The Hague on the Atlantic. We lived in one room in a villa until an apartment became available. For lunch, I remember eating one herring with a piece of bread. My inventiveness helped us through the meager times. Meager they stayed because he had to upkeep his young family. With the equivalent of a PhD from Delft, he had a good position.
I spent my time at the beach behind the high dunes and taking lessons from the Dutch professional tennis champion. The courts were behind where we lived. We slept in one single bed, and I complained about pains. It was decided that I had a cyst, which needed to be removed. This happened in the hospital of a scientist who believed in the power of color. A cheerful place. All went well. I felt that a new life was, after all, a possibility.
We got married in a civil ceremony I do not remember. There was nobody but us. Mutti could not come, of course, but wished us happiness by letter.
I started to experience me and the life around me. We now lived in an apartment in a respected neighborhood. It had just been built, and I enjoyed the large windows letting in the sun, making the place look cheerful. Those windows with their proximity to the sea had to be washed every week because of salt deposits. There was money now to buy a gray English tweed suit for me at a rather posh store in town. It had a plissé skirt. The jacket was too traditional for my taste, and I had it altered to give it the French cut, rather tight at the middle. Next to the store where I bought the suit was a fashionable shoe store, so shoes were bought as well, fine leather pumps with a two-inch heel. I always wore high heels; every lady did. My friend from boarding school, Ingeborg and I had long discussions about what made a perfect shoe, and that seams on the matching handbags were not allowed. I still have the wooden lasts that came with the shoes with the store’s name on it.
Somehow, I was the owner of an old sewing machine, a Singer. It looked like a small suitcase made of wood. One took the hood off and placed the bottom on a table. It worked beautifully. I turned its handle and sewed light green long curtains to cover the windows of the apartment for at nighttime. Nobody in the Netherlands covered the windows with anything in the daytime.
When a party at the Shell Oil headquarters was announced, I sewed myself a fancy mouse gray dress and made a little matching hat. I used a hot pink ribbon around the décolleté and on the little hat. It helped to have rather good figure. I think I looked stunning.
42
Not long after that, my husband announced that he had been promoted. He was put in charge of all the refineries in Indonesia as process-control engineer. This meant our moving to Sumatra where we were to live in a camp because of political reasons. We started to follow the offered course to learn to live in the jungle and to learn the language. Because I had lived with the daughters of plantation owners, now disowned, in the boarding school, I had heard many stories of their lives—the servants and their mysticism, the proximity of tigers and snakes, and the hot tropical climate. Learning about our future was therefore not that foreign to me and held some excitement. We were, however, appalled when we heard that the Indonesians had removed the snake serum from the camp. This not only meant that our lives would be in danger, but it made it quite clear to us that the Indonesians were still carrying a deep hatred toward the Dutch. This was not good. Both of us had just survived a war. We were just starting our lives, working hard toward a peaceful, good future. Living in the Netherlands was not that exciting either; it was a socialist country with a large involvement of the government, which meant when something was needed, a request in the form of the necessary paperwork had to be sent to the government, and after a long t
ime, one got an answer—hopefully positive. There was not much drive; all went along slowly. We wanted more; we were full of energy.
Friends suggested we look in the newspaper and we did. There was an advertisement by Westinghouse in the United States. They were looking for engineers. We got in touch with them, and an appointment in London, England, for an interview was arranged. In those days, one went by sea, crossing by steamer overnight from the “Hook” to Harwich. I will never forget this trip. The sea was incredibly rough.
In London we were booked at the Mandeville Hotel, very British, with lots of flowered wallpaper and plushy chairs. I experienced my first English tea—strong as coffee, with milk. Very flavorful. It became one of those good things making life pleasurable from then on.
We had been accepted, and the trip to the United States was in the planning. The trip was paid for by Westinghouse, and so was the move of the furniture of which we really only owned, a handsome wall unit. To obtain a visa to enter the States was a major undertaking. Fortunately, we lived in The Hague, where all countries had their embassies since it was the seat of the Dutch government. We tried to learn about the United States and especially about Baltimore, our future home. We found two pages on Baltimore in a booklet, with a picture of the Washington Monument on Charles Street.
43
The New Amsterdam, the largest ship of Holland America Line, was to take us over the Atlantic. It was 36,000 tons, a sizable vessel for its time. It would take seven days of travel. We felt that we needed to spoil ourselves and travel in first class, looking forward to a large cabin and the fine restaurant. It is October 1955. Up on the covered promenade deck, deck chairs could be hired, and we did that. Next to me, Professor Boak had his chair booked. The ship surprised me with its displayed artworks, the thick carpets, and the ample staircase. We sailed and said good-bye to Europe, our birthplace, with a lump in our throat. This was a major move into an unknown future and an unknown continent.
The ship, regardless of its size, started to move more than anticipated.
The sea was losing its calm and flat surface. The sky looked ominous. I had to hold on to handrails walking along. I did not enjoy the meals any longer and was told that it was best to be out in the air on the promenade deck in my deck chair. A thick woolen blanket kept me warm. The ocean decided to rise and fall in huge mountains of water, the crest of the waves sometimes as high as eye level. The wind was loud. I started to live in my deck chair. At one time, on my way to my cabin, I stood at the top of the wide staircase looking down when I was lifted up and placed at the bottom without taking a step. Dr. Boak told me that he had a heart problem, and it had been suggested he should go by ship instead of flying. The ship trembled after smashing with a thud into the next wave. The large windows on the main deck forward had been pushed in. At one point, looking aft, I saw a huge wall of water looming way higher than the ship—a rogue wave. I held my breath. The power of it all. Somehow, we were not swallowed up. But I will never forget that moment. We were thrown about like a cork.
It appeared that we were in a hurricane, and the ship could not move much. But we finally reached New York, although two days later than scheduled.
The buildings looked old and run-down; we had docked at Hoboken. Our papers were checked, and we had to wait for our luggage. It was rather late in the evening. It was dark when we finally stood in New York. We hailed a taxi and asked to be taken to the train station to go to Baltimore. We were certainly not prepared to be spoken to in Italian. The driver must have understood us though, and we made it into a train. It was an old type of train with worn-out leather seats. To my delight, a Negro with a white jacket and a cap smilingly supplied us with clean white pillows. It took many hours to arrive in Baltimore; the train made many stops, but we finally, rather tired, arrived in Baltimore at Camden Station. Three taxis stood in front of the station, but no one was paying any attention to our arrival. It was very quiet, nobody around. We walked up to a taxi and made ourselves known, but he did not move—dead, we anxiously assumed. The next taxi took us.
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Westinghouse had made reservations for us at the Lord Baltimore Hotel for the next two weeks. The hotel was located in the heart of town, close to department stores, shoe stores, and specialty shops selling elegant bed linens and things fancy.
A young man from Westinghouse picked us up with his car to look for housing for us. My heart sank when I saw what he thought where we should be living. I had other ideas. I remember driving through an area of villas and seeing an apartment building. These apartments had just been built and were in what was called Guilford and Roland Park. This was more like it. We rented a one-bedroom apartment. It had a large living room with dining extension, a large bedroom, bath, and kitchen. It was also air-conditioned. Here it was October, and the clothing I had available were heavy tweeds and woolen pullovers, the sort of thing one wears in October where we came from.
We needed a car to get my husband to Westinghouse. York Road had several car dealerships, and I took a fancy to an Oldsmobile. But reason prevailed, and we decided on a new light green Plymouth. I think it cost $8,000. The Oldsmobile would have cost $12,000, too much.
A driving school was called, and I was picked up at the hotel and learned how to drive in downtown Baltimore. I still drive like a taxi driver when in the busy center of a town. Once when I drove through the intersection of Lexington and Howard Street, I was stopped by a rotund policeman. “You entered the intersection on yellow,” he said. “But officer, I just came to this country,” I tried. “Well, you are not going to be here for long if you do not obey the rules.” He smiled and sent me on. Still, today, I stop at a yellow traffic light, keeping an eye though on the mirror, to make sure I am not being rammed by someone not remembering the rule. I drove my husband the eight miles to Westinghouse at the airport in the morning, and picked him up in the later afternoon. I liked driving.
Some furniture needed to be bought. I do not remember how I found the stores. I think we had to be very careful again with money. This store was around the corner from Howard Street, going west. I bought a pink modern sofa. The salesman was extremely friendly; he seemed happy even. I also found a chair, an imitation of the Baughman-design chair, very modern too and comfortable. The cocktail table had been made before, to my specification, in the form of a Y in metal with round ball feet and a glass top. This, together with the wall unit we had brought from Holland, all looked rather good together. For a dining table, we had decided on a black metal table with cushioned chairs. It became clear later that this metal furniture was used as garden furniture.
We met a nice couple and invited them over. They declined the cake I had baked. I found an excuse to go to the kitchen and fell into my husband arms. What a disaster. But I kept my cool. This must be an American thing, I thought with a sinking heart. In Germany, you see, the cake your hostess has baked, you eat it and you give compliments. This was not my only experience. Another couple, this time for dinner, I thought they expected something typically German, and I made Kohl Rouladen, the recipe I found in my mother’s cookbook. In her household, this was considered an exotic Polish dish. Later I found out that the Polish immigrants had brought this dish with them to the States, and it had turned into an ordinary American meal known as stuffed cabbage.
There was no holding me back. The next dish was tongue in a wine sauce. I served this to a colleague of my husband’s and his wife. He excused himself after a short time, and I heard what I thought were retching noises.
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So here I was in the apartment of my liking. There were really no people around to make friends with, and I felt that I needed to get into action. An interview with the department of labor in town was interesting. My dexterity was tested. I had to place blocks of all shapes into the holes of the matching shapes. That was completed rapidly. The interviewer had doubts about my working in a factory, and what about the five languages I sp
oke? “I know the librarian at Johns Hopkins, how about my making an appointment for you?” she suggested. The interview there must have gone well. I was added full-time to the staff of the history and geography department of the Johns Hopkins University to help Miss Lough, a certified librarian. I made 55¢ per hour. The library was located in the most historical building, creating a U shape with buildings on each side facing a wide lawn, all built in colonial architecture, with a white tower holding a bell on top of the library building. Inside, the professor’s offices looked out over the front lawn.
The history library on the second floor was located toward the back, around a shaft providing daylight. It smelled of old books and was very warm, no air moved; large standing fans provided some relief. Students who needed their books for their courses approached a desk, supplied the number of the book, and I then had to go into the stacks, which were off-limits to anybody else, and find the book, which then had to be stamped with a due date. I did not understand a word the students, with their various accents, were saying. Now what? There were racks with small drawers in them, containing the records of the books the library had, with their title, author, and where they were to be found in the stacks. Each student from now on had to supply me with that information by writing on a little piece of paper I supplied to get the material they needed. It worked to my great relief. I was so happy when I found the item asked for in the high stacks full of dusty books, no complaints, and Miss Lough went along with it too. She was a prim and good-looking lady, with a small sweet smile, and very helpful, but one knew to do as asked right away.
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