CHAPTER SEVENTEEN concludes

Our last day of  strolling around the hills above Wolferborn and through the forests was shared by Adolf and Margot. The previous evening when visiting with them I had remarked, “There is still one thing I want to do. I would like to go back into that forest towards Büdingen, where we saw the foxgloves” .

“We will come with you,” Adolf offered. “We can show you a return track so you don’t find yourselves once more sharing the road with traffic.” He chuckled at the memory of encountering us on the road that day.

We walked with Eberhard and Margot leading the way up the hillside and reminiscing about the Wolferborn of their youth when all these farms had been individual plots. Eberhard had already told me that after the war the farms had been amalgamated  into larger holdings and leased out to just four farmers. The lease of Minna’s farm land had provided her with an independent income. At such times Adolf  chose to talk with me about the flowers I had enjoyed photographing on our trip down to Switzerland and return through Bavaria and Baden-Württemberg.

Foxgloves near Wolferborn

When we reached the clearing where the foxgloves were still displaying tall spikes, Adolf fitted a new lens to his camera and appeared to be peering deep into the throat of the bell shaped flowers while Margot wandered up the hill further looking for more of the fingerhut, as she called them. Eberhard and I seated ourselves on a fallen tree. There was an urgency in my request, as we contemplated our return to Australia, that he finish the tale of his first departure from Germany.

“We sailed from Genoa at two o’clock.  The ship, named the Surriento, was a 28,000 tonner of the Flotta Lauro line.”

“What were your quarters like?”

“We finished up in a cabin on E deck, where the portholes were just above the water line. I stayed on deck only until the ship left the pier.  I was lucky to secure a bunk with the porthole just beside me. I didn’t wake until we were entering the harbour of Naples.”

“Did you go ashore?”

“We Germans went ashore for the afternoon.  It was an untidy city full of young boys trying to entice us into the shops, or to other pleasures, and we were constantly surrounded by a hoard of urchins.” Eberhard continued to reminisce about the voyage. He remembered the dark night as the ship passed along the coast of Italy and the sight of bright lava flows down the side of Mt. Etna. At Port Said the water of the Mediterranean sparkled and bright sunlight shone on white painted buildings. The young German men were told they couldn’t disembark as Egypt was still officially at war with Germany.

“Four of us managed to be first off the ship!” Eberhard grinned.

They hadn’t encountered any hostility until they strolled into the native quarter where Europeans were evidently disliked. Bicycle riders harassed them, other people made threatening gestures, but fortunately four Egyptian policemen arrested them for disturbing the peace and they were hastily returned to their ship.

Eberhard recalled the ship entering the Suez Canal, the Egyptian traders boarding the ship to trade their wares and how he had bought a pair of leather sandals that only lasted as long as the trip to Australia. He had spent a long night on deck while the ship floated at a very slow speed towards the mouth of the Red Sea.  He said he would never forget the sight of the sun coming up over large sand dunes that were iridescent with rainbow colours in the early morning light.

“Next stop was Colombo. We were ferried on small boats across the choppy harbour to the city. These ebony-skinned stevedores made us Germans feel particularly welcome.”

“Why?”

“The Ceylonese and Indians hated the British and wanted them out of India. Did you know that there were several Indian divisions in Germany during the war?”

“No!” I was surprised.  “Were they mercenaries?”

“No. They were part of the German army. They were recruited in India and entered Germany via Turkey and Greece. Originally it was intended that they fight on the Russian front, but I don’t think they ever did anything except sit around.”

Adolf slung his camera over his shoulder and once more we resumed our walk. This time, with their guidance, we  descended the steep hill to the roadside and they led the way across and down towards a fast flowing stream.

“Once we get across here, we can take the wanderweg back through the meadow,” Adolf said. “There is no easy crossing. We will have to take our boots off.”

The cool water was refreshing on our feet.

Preparing to cross the stream

It wasn’t until after abend brot that evening, when we were sitting under the Douglas Fir tree behind the new house that Eberhard was able to resume sharing with me his recollections of the long sea voyage.  Werner had bestowed on Eberhard a dusty bottle of sweet white wine, the warm colour of ripening wheat.

“This is mellow,” I said, holding the glass to the evening light.

“He doesn’t drink it himself,” Eberhard muttered. “Bottles like this were gifts from his clients before he retired. Now he waits until we are leaving to offer us a bottle!”

Eberhard spoke of the pleasure he experienced at night when all was quiet on the ship. He had sat alone at the very front, where he could see the water dividing around the bow, with a constant breeze blowing and clouds moving across the moon, and played familiar melodies on a harmonica.

“Did you encounter any animosity from the other passengers because of your German nationality?”

“Some. The bulk of the passengers were from Italy and Greece, but there were a number of Jewish families and several displaced persons all hoping to make a new life for themselves in Australia.”

“So, how did they react to you young Germans?”

“We spent most of our daylight hours in the swimming pool on the upper deck, noisily exuberant in our enjoyment of the cool water during the hot days we spent crossing the Indian Ocean, much to the annoyance of quieter guests. Our group requisitioned the after deck during the afternoons and there we sang to the accompaniment of a piano accordion that one of our members was taking with him to Australia. This singing of German songs became a further annoyance to some of the emigrants, but we always felt there was nothing wrong with classical folk songs or even the more ribald ditties.”

“So you avoided the marching songs of the Wehrmacht?”

“Not exactly. We weren’t looking for a fight, so we limited our singing to traditional songs. Most of our marching songs were love songs. Crossing the Equator was fun! We young men Christened everyone we could catch, obliging them to go through a big canvas tunnel with fire hoses spraying from the top, to drop with a splash into the pool.”

“Did time ever drag for you?”

“Yes, until I befriended a DP family from East Germany who were going to Melbourne. I then occupied some of my time usefully by giving English lessons to their children.”

Eberhard refilled our glasses.

“The trip from Colombo to Fremantle was an uneventful stretch, except for a tremendous storm about five days out from Fremantle, which the ship weathered better than most of the passengers. Of the twelve hundred immigrants there wouldn’t have been more than twenty-five of us at a meal sitting.”

“What was your first impression of Australia?”

“Not good!  Fremantle proved an eye opener for all of us, with its large galvanised iron sheds. They were lined by wharfies, all standing against the shed walls with nothing to do except roll their smokes and holler at us.” Eberhard grimaced with disgust.

Flotta Lauro Liner Surriento www.fremantleports.com.au

“Did you have any time for sightseeing?”

“A little. We went as far as Perth. Everything was totally alien to our concept of European cities.  In this land of milk and honey, as it had been described to us before we left Germany, we discovered we couldn’t even get a good cup of coffee.”

I laughed at his remembered exasperation. I had grown up with Bushell’s coffee and chicory essence to flavour hot milk and had never tasted percolated coffee until my first trip to Melbourne at the age of eighteen.

“An uneventful Christmas Day was spent between Fremantle and Melbourne. We found Melbourne a dull city since most of the shops were closed for holidays between Christmas and New Year. Not to mention the quaint opening and shutting times of the hotel bars, which to us Germans was a cause of bewilderment.”

“And Sydney - was that disappointing too?”

“It was much better. We had a beautiful trip up Sydney harbour on a bright sunny day, December 31, 1950.  The harbour was spectacular! Sydney was the major departure point for most passengers. We had three days to occupy. Luckily, I had brought a letter from my Uncle Paul in Mannheim to a German doctor in Sydney. When I telephoned, he promised to collect Klaus and I next morning and take us to his home.”

“How did you celebrate New Year?”

“Every hotel was closed. After walking around for hours we finished up at a Milk Bar and I had my first milk shake!”

I understood his contempt and melancholic yearning for traditional celebrations. No decent coffee in Perth and no bars open on New Year’s eve in Sydney.

“Klaus and I waited at the wharf gates for the old doctor to collect us in his ancient Austin car. He drove us to his home at Rose Hill, where his wife invited us inside. They had a magnificent garden full of shrubs and flowers. Once we were comfortable, we were urged to give a report on life in Germany during and after the war.”

“When had the doctor left Germany?”

“In 1938.  He was Jewish, as was his wife. It was difficult for them to believe my account of the devastation bombing had caused in Mannheim. Klaus and I were taken on a picnic to one of the National Parks and shown some of the magnificent countryside around Sydney. The next day we enjoyed another day of walks, picnics and long conversations with this elderly couple, who I remember with fondness.”

“Did you stay in touch with them?”

“No, although the old doctor guarantied that I would be back in Sydney within half a year of arriving in Queensland.  His reasoning was, that anything north of the Tweed River was unsuitable for an educated gentleman like me. Off Caloundra, we were stationary for half the night.  Next morning the pilot came aboard and the long slow trip through Moreton Bay and up the Brisbane River began.  I could now understand the reason for the doctor’s comments.  Apart from a few dinghies and two Sunderland flying boats, we saw no indication of a capital city.  Instead, we saw mangrove swamps for hour after hour.”

Redland Bay Flying Boat Base

These were mainly Sunderland Flying Boats travelling from Sydney … Redland Bay was the closest suitable site to Brisbane for a water airport www.ict.griffith.edu.au/~davidt/redlandbay/flyingboatbase.htm

Sunderland flying boat

The tidal mud flats, the dirty brown water and the shabby industrial buildings lining the shore would have created a disagreeable first impression.

“Disembarkation at Brett’s Wharf didn’t take long, but we then stood in a straggling line, stretched out along the hot wharf.  Finally, I entered what I thought was the biggest heap of galvanised iron I had ever seen.  Inside the shed it didn’t look anything like a terminal for overseas shipping!”

“Quite a culture shock.”

“Yes. When the customs officer saw my Reader’s Digest on top of my sea bag, he didn’t search for contraband. As Klaus and I stood outside, I couldn’t believe we were in the capital of Queensland.

“The truck, which picked us up, took us around the outskirts of the city along what I know today was Kingsford Smith Drive, through Eagle Farm, Nudgee, Nundah and on to the suburb of Zillmere where our French firm had contracted to build twelve hundred Housing Commission houses. We were shown our quarters, which were fibro sheds with steel frame beds.”

“You were under a bond to remain for two years, weren’t you?”

“Yes. We had no choice but to accept the conditions. The first evening meal in Australia was so uninteresting that it only added to my feelings of despondency. I was dispirited and knew then that I could never ask Waltraud to come to this harsh land.”

Eberhard had given what was to him a valid reason for breaking his engagement to Waltraud. I wondered though, would Waltraud, if given the chance, have left her home and family and travelled to Australia to be with her lover? Eberhard had made a sympathetic decision, believing that with her health problems Waltraud would be better to remain in a civilised country. Probably he had rationalised that such a lovely looking girl with the prospect of inheriting her Uncle’s construction business would have no difficulty finding another husband.

“With a heavy heart, I wrote to Waltraud and ended our engagement.”

The End

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

I have written The Forgotten Ones to share with younger generations Eberhard’s life story from 1926 to 1950, as told to me by my husband in 1990. It was not written for any commercial purpose. I have used photographs of Germany taken by me, plus others sourced from such internet sites as http://www.panoramio.com/. If I have inadvertently used any photo without giving credit or without permission of the photographer I offer my apologies.

For those readers of The Forgotten Ones who wish to read more about the life Eberhard and I have shared since 1990 you may obtain my book Wildflowers, wilderness and wine on www.australia-book.com.au or on http://strores.lulu.com/strictlyliterary

I continue to write on http://fayhelwig.com concerning our way of life on the Granite Belt of southern Queensland.

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