The Girl with Long Hair.
A True Story.
©
Catherine Glück
P.O.
Box 212 Potts Point NSW Australia 2011.
All
rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a
retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission
of the copyright owner.
Photographs
and documents from the Author’s collection.
Originally
printed in Sydney, Australia.
ISBN
0 646 11959 1
Acknowledgements:
Valuable words of advice and encouragement came from Steven Mitchell and Warren
Duncan.
This book is
dedicated to the memory of my dear and only brother, Frederick, and my dearest
of parents.
Also by the
same author:
A Man and His
Art.
The story of
Frederick B. Lamberger, her brother.
Table of Contents:
Family origin and the City of Pápa
1933 - Mother died - I learn English
Beginning of persecution for Hungarian Jews
German occupation of Hungary – 1944
The first Russian soldier appears
Decided to leave Hungary, 1946
Innsbruck and sleeping with five men
Contact with the French Censor Officer
Robert and his uncles in Strasbourg
Paris, the capital city of the world
Becoming a stamp dealer in Paris
Sydney, capital of New South Wales
Becoming an official court interpreter and translator
I will say what I have to say in my autobiography. It is not ghost
written, I am telling my life story in my own words, holding nothing back. I
believe it will read like a novel, yet it will radiate truth.
I feel that I must hurry for fear that my life will be over before all
the details are put together and the finished product is ready. I keep in mind
the saying by Abraham Lincoln “I do the best I know how, the very best I can,
and I mean to keep it to the end. If the end brings me out alright, what is
against me will not amount to anything. If the end brings me out all wrong,
then angels wearing I was right would make no difference.”
The hardest and most important thing to do at any age is to accept what
you are and not to torture yourself with visions of what you should be. A
person must be judged by what is best about her or him (how hard she or he
works, how devoted she or he is to her or his opinion and how much she or he
loves his fellow man) during his lifetime and not at his funeral.
A good way to find out about a person is to invite five of his or her
friends to dinner and just listen in.
I have a number of friends who have remained true to me. I always seem
to attract new friends. I do not think that you could say that I have forced
myself on anyone, people became my friends because they felt something towards
me.
At present I possess a lot of energy, joie de vivre, a real reason to
see what is important for me. I feel gratitude for my life and still wonder at
my ability to have got through the past. I had to know when to compromise to be
capable of survival. I have to gain tremendous strength to achieve my aims. I
am in possession of a vivid memory. Anyone can tell immediately what I am
thinking or feeling, my voice gives me away.
In general, work is my number one love. I am happy when I am busy. I am
involved in many areas of communal life and service, charities, education and
social activities. When I am asked to
address a meeting I feel confident. I never read my speech, I just speak
without hesitation, enjoying the undivided attention of the audience.
I look back on the importance of my achievements up to date and look
ahead to further my aims. I cannot expect to have many more years left for me
to be active, to travel overseas, see the world before I get too feeble. I have
to face and expect deterioration of the physical body. I still believe in
precautions and fortunately also in wonders, and look ahead to accomplish my
aims.
I was never religious but I have stuck with the religion to which I was
born. The tradition of remembering my dear parents is always in my mind.
My astrological sign is Aries. According to Roy McKie: Aries people are
“high-spirited, self sufficient, they like to be first, are good at removing
obstacles, enjoy using their mind, love to find the truth and forget failure
easily”. Their motto: “The is no point in living for regrets”. They are born
leaders, enthusiastic, honest, vital, possess intense desire to be successful.
They are courageous, blunt and direct. Opposition leaves little impression
Areas, no matter what blows life has in store, they are undeterred and recover
swiftly, ready to battle once more. They are over-achievers, not always
diplomatic but, being honest, the truth is their objective. The enthusiasm of
the Aries compensate for their faults. They possess an outward appearance of
calm. They try to avoid narrow-minded people.
According to Anne-Made “Ce que dissent les prénomes” (It is said in the
name), Catherine derives from Greek. It signifies purity. The name day for
Catherine is 25th November. The diminutives of the name are Caty,
Katy, Kate, Karin and Karen. Catherines have perseverance, loyalty, feeling and
understanding for others. They see things with justice and precision. Their
talisman is the ruby, symbol of observation. The colour for Catherine is white
for open mindedness.
I first met Catherine Glück in
1991, in my then capacity as acting National President of the Australian
Esperanto Association. Catherine, although not an Esperantist herself, had
written to the association as a supporter of the ideals behind the language,
indicating her wish to make a gift in her Will to the Esperanto movement. Since
then we have become friends.
Her biography reveals a rich life that is full of perceptive insights
concerning people, their history, and their problems. She describes what it is
like to look back on a life in which she has personally experienced many of the
turbulent events of this very violent century. She writes of its harshness and
its pleasures. It has been a full life, during which she has made many friends.
Born in Hungary in 1906 of Jewish middle-class parents, she had one
brother, Fred. She survived World War One, and lived through the problems
associated not only with the short-lived Communist government Béla Kun, but
also with the Fascists, until their defeat in 1945.
As students, Catherine and Fred studied languages, as well as shorthand.
Both these talents were to serve her well during the period to come. She
married, but in 1939 her husband, an architect, was sent to a Forced Labour
Camp, and the fami8ly property was confiscated. She was not to see her husband
again until after the War. By good fortune, Fred had left for England to
further his language studies, and he later became an Officer of the American
Army.
Having survived the War, Catherine found herself still in Budapest.
Despite the difficulties involved, she set off for Paris, which she finally
reached after encountering more than the usual share of adventures.
When the Cold War began, she and Fred came to Australia. There, her
stories about landlords, prejudice, and the then basic hostility towards
refugees are all too well known. She describes her work in various fields: in
the insurance industry, in philately, as a Court Interpreter, and as a general
adviser to migrants. As she does no, many well known names appear; among them
those of Clive Evatt, Q.C., John Valder; Rosalie Norton, and Bea Miles.
In 1952, Catherine went to live in The Roosevelt at Elizabeth Bay. She
became an Australian citizen in 1955. In 1965, together with Fred, she moved
into The Gordon, at Potts Point. Fred, who had developed a talent as an artist,
died in 1986. Catherine later wrote and published a book about his life and
work, entitled “The Man and His Art”.
Over the years, Catherine traveled widely, and met her husband again in
Hungary. It seems to have been a somewhat disillusioning experience.
If one looks for a single word to sum up her life, one could, in all
modesty, describe it as heroic. I enjoyed reading her story.
Justice Keppel Enderby
1992
Hungary is famous for a variety of curative baths and hot sulphurous
springs. There are artesian water-cures for a lot of complaints: arthritis,
bladder, stomach, kidney, throat and eye troubles. At many of the curative bath
resorts spread over the country, one can see old and young people who sniffle
and walk along sipping mineral water of out little pitchers in their hands,
this is a well-known sight all over the country.
The Hungarian language originates from Asia, often
referred to as a cousin of the Finnish and Turkish languages. Finno-Urgric is a
language related to the Hungarian language. They are similar only in their
grammar. It does not mean that a Hungarian could follow a Finnish or a Turkish
conversation. However, in the Slavic languages, if you speak Russian, Serbian,
Polish, Yugoslav or Czech, you could easily follow a conversation in either of
these languages. In the Hungarian language every letter if pronounced. The
adjectives are added to the end of a word and not as a separate word.
If a Hungarian text has to be translated into English,
the English text would be much longer (using too many “ofs”). For instance, the
Municipality of Manly instead of Manly Municipality. Just take out a page of a
book written in English and count how many times the word “of” appears. Similar
little words are nowhere to be found in the Hungarian language.
Adolf-Ábraham Lamberger, my grandfather was born in
Pápa on 2nd February 1846. He married Katharine Weys after whom I
was named. My father, Maximilian Lamberger, was born on 7th November
1888 in Vienna, Australia. Thus the family originated from Pápa, Hungary.
Pápa, in the western part of Hungary, was founded in
1061 and may have got its place name from a German knight called Popo who was
in the company of the first Hungarian King, St. Stefan, and his queen. The
etymologists swore on the Pápa nationality. Otto the High Sheriff, acknowledged
in a document that 26 settlements were donated in order to run the monastery
and the watermill. In 1183 King Béla III donated three mills to the Abotship.
In 1255 Pápa became the chief deanery’s official seat. In 1402 it became a
city. In 1483 there were still three mills operating. By 1783 the Reform Religion
College had been established.
In 1792 people who had been exiled by Queen
Marie-Thérésie returned. As a consequence intellectual life resumed and the
city soon prospered again. During the era of reform, Blue Dye Works employed
over 50 people. Twenty-one mills produced glue and the paper mills prospered.
Pottery, earthenware vessels, utensils and crockery factories were established,
i.e. the world famous Herendy porcelain. In 1834 The Casino opened and as a
result cultural and economic development flourished.
Pápa, a commercial city with its picturesque
Bakonyalja was dubbed “The Danube Athens”. Today it is visited by many
tourists. The main attractions are the Eszterházy Centre, the Great Church, the
Benedictian Church, the Benedictine Museum, the Synagogue and the world famous
Jókai Mor Citizens Library.
Count Károly Eszterházy, the Bishop of Eger, studied
in Rome, was highly educated. He gave order to build the Fortress Castle in
Pápa and accordingly to plans of Jozsef Grosman, work started during 1783-84.
Count Károly Eszterházy also used his substantial assets and goodwill to
support his ideas. He employed knowledgeable master builders, supervised their
work and often assisted them with instructions. The Count had good taste and a
friendly and noble personality, which contributed to the achievement of his
projects. There is also a chapel inside the Fortress Castle, its walls are
covered with paintings, the columns are gilded. During his lifetime he also
arranged building projects in the cities of Vác, Eger and Pápa.
The Jókai Mor Citizens Library was restored in 1988-89
and is now used as a reading hall. The wall paintings were restored by Éva Král
and her team. The gilded work was done by the State Art Relic Superintendent
and his team.
It was called a school-city, had a theological school,
two gymnasiums and a collegium before World War Two.
In 1638 the Palos-Bencés Gymnasium was established,
now called Istvan Turr Gymnasium, which celebrated its 350 years jubileum in
1988. This event was reported in the Hungarian press, the radio and even
European newspapers mentioned it.
The city had three teacher-colleges, the State
Teachers Training for Boys, The Women-Teacher Training Institute for Girls,
also the Ranolder Teaching Institute run by nuns, these latter two were for
girls. Besides these, there was a well-known Economical Trades-School, also the
so-called “yarn-thread University”.
These can explain why the city was called “school
city”.
According to legend The Holy Crown was handed over in Pápa
by Abbot Asztric to the Sovereign-Monarch István.
Some famous and well-known people connected with
Hungarian history and literature were born in Pápa, inter alia:
Pál ÁNYOS, poet
Ferenc DEAK, “The wise man of the country”
Istvanh BOCSOR, collegium teacher
Kolozs VASZARY, historian
Moric ESTERHÁZY, Archibishop and Prime Minister
Dr Dezsö SULYOK, politician (after the invasion)
Jeno KOLTAI, whose name is connected with the High
school for Physical Culture and Sport-Training.
My great, great grandfather, Dr Ignácz Lamberger (born
1807) rescued a small child during the 1855 flood. He saved the child but
unfortunately lost his own life in the attempt on 14th September
1855. A plaque in memory of his heroic effort still informs passerby’s of the
event. According to the Pápa Hospital List, he was the head surgeon in 1851 of
the then Municipal Hospital called Clemency-Merciful in Pápa.
The following are extracts from newspapers about Dr
Ignácz Lamberger:
Pápa local newspaper dated 16th
November 1848 As from today, as long as our beloved country is in
danger, a room with 1w beds for the same number of soldiers and a smaller room
for three officers are available in my own house without charge, including
medical service – Dr Ignácz Lamberger.
Sümeg local newspaper dated 19th
September 1848 It cannot be left unnoticed that
the heroic example of love for our fellow beings by Dr Ignácz Lamberger.
Returning from Siklós were 95 sick soldiers, most of them under the care
and treatment of Dr Ignácz Lamberger, who not only supplied medicines and
remedies, but also demonstrated Christian-Jewish love in take care and
providing shelter in his own house.
Kossuth Hirlap dated 27th
September 1848 and Közlöny dated 10th
November 1848 The Historical Section of the City Hospital then called
Clemency-Merciful Hospital, where Dr Ignácz Lamberger practiced, mentioned the
drowning of him. Documentaries can be traced in the Budapest State Archives.
Father’s mother died when he was about kindergarten
age. He was brought up by a nanny. Father followed his father’s profession and
became an electrical engineer. In fact, all of my father’s relatives were
professionals such as doctors, directors, bank managers and insurance brokers.
Uncle Laci, father’s only and elder brother became the
general manager of the Pesti Hazai Bank (State Bank of Pest) in Sarajevo,
Bosnia-Herzegovina, which then belonged to the Austro-Hungarian Habsburg
Empire. He served in the army as an officer during World War One. After he
retired, he lived at the elegant and fashionable Opern Ring (Opera Circuit) in
Vienna and published a book entitled “The Ungar in de Welt” (“The Hungarian in
the world”), written in German, about famous Hungarians and their achievements.
He was foundation member of the Fészek Club (the Hungarian Pen Club).
Father’s eldest sister, Aunt Henritta, married Dr
Sándor Horvát, a medical practitioner who for the summer season was appointed
as the local doctor to Siófok (a famous holiday resort at Lake Balaton). We
children often spent out summer holidays there at their beautiful home. Dr
Sándor Horvát founded the Hungarian CARITAS, a benevolent organisation for
doctor’s widows and their children. Curiously, his widow and two sons were the
first beneficiaries. Their younger son László Horvát, became a world famous
cellist. We were invited to the Budapest Music Academy where our cousin László
Horvát, then a teenager was to have his debut as a soloist. He had already
played at various concerts but it was the first time he performed as a soloist
for a whole night. He always had his eyes closed when he played the cello. The
evening was a great success, reporters and radio critics praised his playing as
that of a unique talent. A few weeks alter, on account of being Jewish, he was
banned from any public performances. During the Hitler era he was deported to
the Yugoslavian salt mines. One fellow in the forced Labour Camp asked the
authorities to relieve László from his duties in the mines, his fingers being
very sensitive. László was then summoned by the mine authorities and they
ordered to have all his fingers cut off. He died soon afterwards at the age of
22. His older brother Béla, after obtaining a diploma at the University of
Vienna became an intelligent and successful business consultant.
Father’s younger sister, Aunt Nelly, became a
brilliant opera singer. Her stage name was Nelly Lamberg. Her first role was
the title role of the Rosenkavalier with the Vienna State Opera Company.
Unfortunately she died in 1922, the victim of the Spanish flu epidemic. A great
career of a promising soprano was lost!
Mother’s father, Samuel Leitner, was married to Juli
Riegler. He died on 24th February, 1892. She died in 18th
November, 1916. Mother was their second child, born on 5th December,
1887 in Kabold-Kobersdorf and was named Julie. According to the Peace Treaty
signed on 10th September 1919 in Saint Germain, France, Kabold was
incorporated into the Burgenland Territory belonging to Australia and was
renamed Kobersdofr. The first Austrian Provincial Officer was the ruler of
Burgenland which soncisted of about 400km2 with a population of
about 270,000 – 89% Germans, 9% Horváts and only 2% Hungarians – with the
capital city of Eisenstadt (Kismárton in Hungarian). It was then just a bus
ride from Vienna but about six hours by train from Budapest. The people of
Kabold-Kobersdorf spoke mostly German. The street names there were also in
German. Mother did not speak Hungarian and even after years living in Budapest,
she had difficulty expressing herself in Hungarian. We spoke German at home.
Father went to school in Budapest and spoke fluent Hungarian, as well as
German.
In Kabold, the Eszterházys dominated the area. They
employed nearly every available man and woman. The Eszterházys Castle was also
a cultural centre. They sponsored composers, musicians, artists, poets and
writers. Regular concerts were held there attracting royals, aristocrats and
nobles. The coat of arms of The Hungarian State is displayed in the castle
courtyard. Statues of Hungarian Saints in the Renaissance style can be seen at
the inner gate of the Eszterházy Castle in Kabold. Since 1960 the landlord of
the Castle has been a Viennese architect. Under his supervision restoration
work is being conducted in the courtyard of the Castle. At present open air performances
and festivals are held there.
When mother’s eldest brother, Max Leitner, enlarged
his retail textile business at Mariahilfer Strasse No. 121, in the commercial
centre of Vienna, he needed a cashier. Who else was there to be trusted other
than my mother? One day a charming handsome tall and elegantly dressed young
customer noticed the shy, young and beautiful cashier. The “flame” had started
then and they soon fell in love. When I visited Vienna in 1930, my mother’s
youngest cousin told me: “Your parents love was said to be “the love of the
century”.
My parents were married in Kabold-Kobersdorf on 31st January 1904. It
was wintertime and on the day of their marriage the streets were covered with
freshly fallen snow and the sun shone brightly. As the young bride and
bridegroom walked slowly along the main street to the synagogue they were
greatly admired as a handsome couple. The wedding celebrations lasted two days,
everybody in the village of Kobersdorf was invited! After their honeymoon, my
parents settled in Budapest, the capital city of Hungary, bought a one storey
house next to the very fashionable part of the city called Fasor (line of
trees) in Józsika utca, opened up an electrical and engineering business, displaying
lamps, chandeliers, lustres, electrical fittings etc.
The first floor became their residence where two years alter, on 16th
April 1906, I was born. I was a sickly child. People used to remark behind my
mother's back that they felt sorry for her because she was "carrying a
dead child in her arms". It seems however that my stubborn instinct urged
me to fight and to survive!
Fred was born 13 months later on 9th may 1907. He, the little gentleman,
always watched over me, holding my hand when we were crossing the street. I
became the centre of his undivided attention and care. We children were always
dressed alike in a so-called sailor suit of navy and white. Me, in a little
skirt and Fred in similarly coloured shorts. People thought we were twins. One afternoon
when Mother took us for a walk, I noticed the umbrellas in a shop window.
Naturally I wanted to have one and ducked away, entered the shop to choose one.
When mother discovered that I was missing and as she had difficulty explaining
in her poor Hungarian that her little girl was lost, she started to cry. Most
likely, in the shop they kept me talking and waited until I was claimed. Very
soon someone noticed the similar sailor suit outfits and called mother. It was
my first disappointment when I found that I was not getting an umbrella. Since
then I prefer to use a raincoat rather than to have to carry an umbrella.
My first memories go back to kindergarten age. I remember when Aunt
Nelly was holidaying in Zebegény at an artist resort on the Danube, (about an
hour's boat trip from Budapest) took my hands in hers and asked me to keep
quiet and to listen to her singing.
Father's father lived with us in a room on his own. As I remember he was
a fatty man with rosy cheeks always happy and smiling and often played cards
with Father.
Father employed electricians to carry out the conversion from gas to
modern electric lighting. One busy day an electrician reported ill and failed
to turn up for work. In spite of being short-handed, father did not wish to carry
out the urgently required conversion himself. he was working in one of the
bedrooms near the ceiling on top of a ladder when the apprentice holding the
ladder lit a cigarette. Consequently gas had escaped into the room and
exploded. Father fell with his back across the end of a bed.
The police came to tell us what happened but mother could not understand
them. The took the three of us in the police car to the hospital. Mother looked
everywhere in the big ward but could not find father until, hearing his
children's voices, he called out. Except for his mouth and eyes and ears he was
covered in bandages like a mummy, even his hands were wrapped. he suffered from
a broken back and severe burns all over his chest, face, arms and hands. After
spending weeks in hospital, and to be able to walk he needed crutches and had
to wear a heavy surgical corset day and night. He became much smaller. it took
him a long time to recover.
In those days there was insurance cover only for employees; for father,
a proprietor of a business, there was no compensation whatsoever. The huge
medical bills had to be paid from savings. Grandfather was little more than a
figurehead. Without father our business suffered and my parents were left with
two small children and no month (I was about five and Fred about four years
old).
A distant relative who owned a stationery and printing business came to
our aid. He told father about a new school in Gyáli-ut, on the outskirts of
Budapest called Ferencvaros, and offered to stock a stationery shop on credit.
Father soon opened his one-man business. the nearby school housed in two
three-storey building, one for girls and the other for boys. He approached the
headmaster of each school, introduced himself and asked their support for his
new business. He proposed to supply the schools with whatever stationery they
needed, according to their specifications in every detail, like the size of
margins or the colour of lines in the exercise books. Father even allowed them
30 days credit. They promised their support.
It became necessary to move from our elegant home into a council flat
about 10minutes walk from the shop and near to the schools. Father had to get
up at five each morning, even in the extreme cold during the severe winters, to
sell newspapers and magazines to people on their way to work. We all helped as
much as we could. Business prospered and the loan, very much on father's mind,
was quickly paid off.
Elementary school, for my brother Frederick and I, was nearby. But to
continue our schooling we had to attend higher schools which were about one
hour walk from home. This was very trying, especially in winter, when we had to
walk on frozen, slippery ice-covered roads, carrying the heavy books, required
for our studies.
After World War One, the Dutch Government invited Hungarian children to
come and stay for a year with private families in Holland to build up their
strength. A lot of parents in Hungary took up the offer and soon their children
were sent to Holland. The "Dutch parents" often wrote letters in
German to the Hungarian parents. Where we lived, near the Cleansing Department
of Budapest, nearly everybody was a manual worker. People were illiterate even
in Hungarian, let alone German.
One day a woman approached me in the street and asked me to translate a
letter for her; written in German and then also to reply to it. She then asked
me how much I would charge. As my father had a stationery shop, I told her that
if she bought the stationery from my father, it would not cost her anything.
The word went around and soon I was more often asked to write letters in German
to the "Dutch parents".
We were a close-knit family and always sat together at dinnertime
discussing the events of the day. One evening father mentioned that he could
not understand why all of a sudden writing paper, envelopes and postage stamps
were in unusually heavy demand (Father as an invalid got a license to sell
postage stamps allowing him half a percent discount). When I told him what had
happened he said that he was very proud of me. That made me happy and I admired
my father even more than every. He always took my side and I was first of all
his little girl.
Mother was a devoted, good wife and an excellent caring parent to us.
She sat with us, went through our home work and also helped us to prepare our
schoolbags for the next day, took us to school and picked us up after
school. We had to be well educated to match our cousins whose parents
were all professionals. In those days to study music was considered an
educational program for students. Accordingly, Fred studied the violin and I
the piano. Fred and I also took up dancing lessons, he always being my partner.
His graceful steps and elegant movements carrying me around were the envy of
the other girls. We often went to the theatre, to concerts and to movies,
always together. I remember with nostalgia that in those days a live pianist
accompanied the silent films. Watching the pianist, the movements of the
fingers fascinated me.
When during the day we complained, like any other children about being
hungry, mother would give us a carrot, an apple or a kohlrabi, but never
sweets. Mother, when cutting up onions summoned us to stand there, the fumes
were supposed to strengthen our eyesight. Soon tears would run down our cheeks.
After the evening meal we often played without parents a game of dominoes, alom
or trendelly.
Mother became gradually more ill and was more often bedridden. Fred and
I, after returning from school had to attend to whatever was necessary in the
household, but first we had to do our homework. Fed was always busy. He cut up
piles of wood for winter, lined the pieces against the wall in our outside
workshop and when needed, carried some inside for the over and fireplace. We
also stocked coal for the winter. he made sure that our two little gardens were
regularly watered. I had to help father in the shop. It was often my job to
fill up and replace goods on the shelves, to write price tags, to deliver
orders, to check incoming accounts, go to the wholesalers and pick up our
orders, do messages etc.
We were always worried and never knew what to expect with mother so ill
and suffering. Father had constant pain in his back, had to take tablets, but
never complained.
In front and also on the back of our flat we had a little garden, where
we grew herbs, lettuce, onions, parsley, capsicums (paprika in Hungarian). At
the end of autumn we filled small wooden boxes with rich blacksoil and buried
potatoes, carrots and parsnips to preserve them for the long winters when only
legumes like lentils and dry beans were available. It became handy to have
fresh vegetables for a change. In summer we bought ripe fruits in quantities,
added sugar, then put the lot in jars to be preserved for winter. Some fresh
apples were laid on top of the wardrobes, the scent deriving from them always
an incentive to do an unexpected deed and deserve a piece of fresh fruit as a
reward.
After World War One in 1916 food became rather scarce. Rationing was
introduced and we had to queue for food and household needs in rain or shine.
Numerous clauses became law, which meant that Jewish students were not allowed
to study at university.
After World War One an appeal was made through the newspapers in
Budapest called the Szurmay Fund for donations to help the invalids, widows and
orphans.
Donations received were published daily. I was about ten years old and
offered my long hair to be cut off, auctioned, and the proceeds used for the
appeal. The newspaper answered in an open letter published on its first page:
"What have to write a letter to a little girl,
Miss Katalin Lamberger first year student, IX. Fuleti utca 6.
Dear Datalin Lamberger wrote to us: she had no
money to contribute to the fund for the relatives and widows of the fallen
soldiers, and their orphans. Her father, being an invalid, does not earn enough
to give his little daughter any money in order to follow her heart's desire.
She decided to donate her cleanly kept 70cm long chestnut coloured hair to an
open auction for the benefit o the Szurmay Fund. She feels this is an act of
loyal citizens duty.
Dear Katalin, your beautiful hair should decorate
your little head much longer. We believe that your intention is a moving
example and that the well-off people will learn by your gesture.
Many business people, bank and entertainment
industries, also civilians made huge fortunes during the war, so there is no
need for a little girl to sacrifice her pretty hair. These well-off people would
realise that it is their duty to help and that their community in Hungary will
look after their returned soldiers, widows and orphans.
"AZ EST" 15th August 1917
At the end of World War One soldiers started to return. The economy of
the country and the conditions of life became very hard indeed, rather
terrible. One day Uncle Schani arrived in a shabby uniform. He was the most
handsome of my mother's brothers. He had been discharged from the army
suffering from frozen toes, some of which had been amputated and he walked
somehow in a funny manner. Before he returned to Sopron, where he owned a
grocery shop, he stayed with us for a few days. he arrived starving,
frustrated, miserable and unhappy, thinking of his children of two boys and a
girl. He asked mother to make some "Marillen Knödl" (apricot
dumplings), his favorite dish. Usually we would be given four Knödles per head
but when they were put on the table my Uncle ate the whole lot, he just could
not resist!
Uncle Michael, junior to my mother, also stayed with us for a while. He
was nearly blind when discharged from the army. He was not yet married then.
Mother's favored brother was Uncle Beni, who owned a textile business in
Vienna. He was nearest in age to Mother. He often supported us with his cheques
during our miserable existence.
One day mother cut my red coloured sweater into strips and used the
strips to "decorate" the windows. It was 1919 when the Communists had
taken over Hungary. We did not have much to eat, there was very little food
available then. I remember we made candles in a shoe-polish tin with a piece of
string placed in the centre and then filled the tin with wax.
In some ways we were still happy; we had father with us. There were not
many men around, they were all far away in army hospitals or taken as prisoners
of war. Father was exempt from military duty being an invalid. He organized a
"home security unit" with instructions to women and children about
how to deal with daily difficulties. People were always in a panicky
state. He was very popular in giving not only unselfish advice but also in
supporting the sick, the lonely, the poor and the needy and very much concerned
with any problem under the sun. He radiated dignity without pomp even when
suffering from constant back pain.
Our shop was opposite the Military Hospital called Honv’éd Kórház. Very
often a funeral processing starting from the hospital marched along past our
shop with the military band playing Chopin's Funeral March. We, the children of
the area followed the cortege as the only mourners, because the families of the
dead often could not be contacted in time. Sometimes there were up to three
funerals a day. We children, living nearby were eventually allowed to visit
some soldiers in the hospital. We used to sit with them around the flowerbeds,
talking with them and playing games there, like hid and seek. This made their
suffering and loneliness a little more bearable. It was a sad sight, young men
without limbs, some were bandaged all over, head, arms, feet, eyes. Others
walked with crutches or with their arms in slings, some half-blind - all
invalids as result of the war.
The area we lived in was a working class district. People were paid
monthly. The could only purchase on credit. Father would give customers a
little note-book recording details of their purchases. A similar copy was kept
by father. Before the end of each month it was my job to add up the amounts.
Sometimes I had 50 notebooks to work on. It was my first bookkeeping experience
and I was then only about twelve years old!
I envy the generation of today. In those days we did not have mixers,
blenders, vacuum cleaners, washing machines or running hot water. We did not
even have bathrooms. All our tasks had to be done with our two hands. We were
proud to do things properly, even enjoyed it. At school we had to knit socks,
shawls and gloves in khaki colour for the soldiers. It was good training for
alter when my knowledge of knitting came in handy.
In summer we were invited to stay with Aunt Ella, my mother’s younger
and only sister. She was married to Herman Breier. They owned their own one
storey house in O-gabona ter, Sopron, with a fish shop and, on street level the
largest inbuilt fish tank in the country. People would take the net with a long
handle to the tank and scoop out the fish they wanted. When the net was full
with fish they would take it to the scales. The fish they had caught had to be
alive. The busiest days were Fridays. Every year during school holidays Fed and
I would be put on the train in Budapest and Aunt Ella would pick us up at
Sopron train stop. One evening Aunt Ella cried bitterly. I overheard the
conversation. it was about a barrel which arrived with dead fish in it. The
barrel was put at the back of the house waiting to be picked up next day by the
garbage collectors. Next morning I went down to the shop watching the
customers, then sneaked out and took one dead fish out of the discarded barrel
and put it on the scales. I was proud and happy to be able to help my Aunt
and Uncle in their loss. In the evening the barrel was almost empty. But my
"achievement" did not end happily! Next day when people came and
complained bitterly that they had found a dead fish amongst their purchases, Aunt
did not understand how this could have happened. It had never happened before.
She tried to explain that only live fish were in the tank and that customers
used to fish out their choice themselves. Soon Aunt and Uncle found out that
the discarded barrel of dead fish was empty and who the culprit was. next day
Fred and I were sent home and were never invited again.
When I was about 12 years old we had to answer a special test at
school. The question was "What would you like to do when you have
school?" One girl answered "I want to find a husband, a blonde man
with blue eyes etc." Another girl said "I want to marry a doctor and
have lots of children". I answered "I want to have a home which I
will nicely decorate and furnish so my parents would be proud of me". At
home I was spoiled. I was called "Das Kind" (The Child). I only had
to express a wish and my parents and also Fred were eager to fulfill it.
At the age of 14, I was enrolled at the Mester Utca Commercial High
School for Girls. There were three classes at the same level: A, B and C. I was
to join class C. Every year at Matura time, there was one girl who was
nominated as the outstanding student of the year. In1924 it was me who was
chosen and my photo was placed on the corridor wall in chronological order next
to the previous year's winner. It is still there today. I got grade I in all
subjects and was naturally very proud and happy and felt on tope of the world,
jubilant amongst my schoolmates.
Father always liked to please me. Mother looked at me often with worried
eyes to see that I was alright. When father asked his sister, Aunt Lola, to
select a piano for me, I became very excited. I soon got one with a shiny black
body. From then on I had to practice every day. I even made a kelim embroidered
cover for it with various coloured silks. After many weeks of hard work it
looked beautiful.
Fred attended gymnasium the following year. He was not only my brother
but a loyal dedicated friend, my protector and devoted companion. I was the
apple of his eye. He was tall and handsome. People turned their heads to look
twice at him. He was taller than me, full of life, had a well proportioned
figure, a special walk, beautiful hands with well-attended nails. He had a
genuine talent for making people laugh at his jokes.
At school, instead of German we both close French as a second language.
One year at school I won the first prize for being the "champion
shorthand-writer of the year". The following year, Fred became the
"champion shorthand writer of the year". Later we learned shorthand
privately in German, French and English.
Before the final exam for the Matura, some parents approached the
headmistress to give their children private lessons to make sure they would
pass the exam. The headmistress was not interested nor willing to organise
extra lessons to be given by the school. However, she told me about her idea
and recommended me to the parents to help the slow learners for the exams. I
told her I would have to get my parents permission. Father and mother agreed
with the condition that I should only stay for one extra hour after classes.
When I was asked about the fee, I quoted for one hour but to my surprise each
of the girls paid me the fixed amount. I never dreamt that I could get so much
money. Very soon I opened my first savings back account. The money I received
for tutoring paid of a two-week holiday in Erdobenye, a little holiday resort
in the mountains for girls only. I met lots of girls there, made new friends and
soon was invited to their homes to met their parents and families. Fred always
came with me as I was not allowed to go anywhere without him. All the girls
liked him and called him Ramon Novarro after the then well-known and very
popular Hollywood film star.
After the Matura I had to look for a job. I made a lot of calls and
wrote many letters but nothing eventuated. I became desperate and longed to
earn money. I already had some experience in the office work on the
recommendation of my history teach i.e. during the school holidays from 15th
July 1923 to 31st August 1923 I had done relief work for Dr Endre Lengyel, a
solicitor who was the legal adviser to the State Transport Department. With
that job I had received a complimentary travel pass which had enabled me to
travel free anywhere in Budapest on public transport. I exploited that
opportunity fully and traveled a lot, especially on weekends t get to know the
city and its environs.
My second job was with the famous Wertheim Elevator Works. After my
first interview for the position, I was told "We will let you know".
I waited and waited but no invitation to take the position arrived. I went to
see the General Manager again who politely advised me to go home saying again
"We will let you know". I wanted the job very badly. Finally I got it
on a week's trial. I found out later that he took me on with the idea that
after a week I would be dismissed as he felt he could not have got rid of me
otherwise. Perhaps he had not had any confidence in me being then a small
schoolgirl type, shy and inexperienced. But after the first week I even got a
salary increase!
Wertheim Elevator Works consisted of a three storey high building with a
huge workshop, where elevators, paternosters, escalators were assembled and
then installed in places even as far as to the Balkan area. The General Manager
was an Austrian who did not speak Hungarian. he needed someone who was fluent
in Hungarian and also in German. he dictated in German and if letters in
Hungarian had to be translated I was called in. I worked next to the general
manager in a small office with a large window, a desk, a typewriter, a
telephone, a stationery cupboard, a paper basket. There was an upholstered side
door to the General manager's Office for me only. Nobody could contact the
General manager without being interviewed by me. I became excited and I spoke
about this at home. When mother learned that only a door separated me from the
General Manager's office, she became worried that her little daughter could be
alone with a man. A few days later the gatekeeper rang me and said
"Fräulein Kató, your mother is here, please come down." I panicked,
thinking that something must have happened at home, ran down the steps, across
the courtyard to the gate. Mother smiled at me and said that she wanted to see
the General manager. In those days children obeyed their parents without any
questions being asked. We took the lift to the first floor, I knocked at the
General manager's door to tell him that my mother wanted to see him. After a
while mother came out smiling and said "Yes, you can keep your job".
Mother had found out that they both had come from the same Burgenland village
and that he was married, so that everything was alright.
We were isolated and had no social life, our parents being constantly
sick. To give you an example of how naive I was, I went to work on New Year's
Day and found the factory closed. I waited and waited, nobody was even in the
street. Then a man walked along. I asked him if he knew about the firm as I
worked there. he enlightened me that it was a public holiday and that I should
go home, next day the office would be open as usual.
I began working for the firm in March 1926 and held the job until my
marriage in March 1930. At my wedding a cheque from the company for three
months rent for our new flat was one of the many generous presents we received.
That was a small fortune then.
At the elevator works there were about twenty engineers, draftsmen and
designers and about ten ladies in the office. They all needed special
stationery and it was my job to collect their orders. One day I had an idea: I
approached the General Manager and asked him if I could get the stationery
orders quoting lower prices as my father owned a stationery shop. He smiled and
agreed. My father did not have the type of stock, his stock consisted of school
and general public requirements only. I took the orders to the wholesalers and
from then on I delivered the goods by the time I got married I had made a
handsome profit from that side of the business.
I learned a lot of theory about the machine and the mechanics of the
elevator trade, but I never saw the finished stages of the work. I was curious
about how the "moving escalator" worked in practice. When one of
Budapest's greatest department stores, Corvin Áruház, ordered an escalator for
their three-storey high building, I asked the chief engineer if I could see how
it worked. A few days later the foreman rang and asked me to come down t the
workshop. When I arrived there, the chief engineer asked me to stand on the
first step of the escalator so I could see how it worked. He pushed a button
and the escalator started to move. But there were no rails! I started to panic,
shouting "Stop it!". Everyone laughed and I was told "You wanted
to experience how it works; now you can see what a wonderful machine we have
produced".
Every day I would ring Aunt Lola (for Charlotte) to have a chat. One day
we were advised that all private phone calls had to be entered into a book.
Everybody laughed about it. I did not understand why. When the book of
"private calls" was checked, it was full with calls to Aunt Lola.
The commercial sales representative of the firm was a young engineer
called Mr. Selinger. I knew he had a girlfriend whom he rang everyday. One day,
he was away sick as he had supposedly injured his leg and could not walk
without pain. However, nobody believed that the accident was genuine. When Mr.
Selinger returned to work he walked in a "funny" way. My cheeky nature
gave me an idea to catch him out: I called out loudly "Mr. Selinger, phone
for you". He started to run with no sign of a bad leg. Naturally we all
laughed.
My parents were concerned about my future. They wanted me to get settled
and to find a husband. After work on my way home, I would always call first to
see my father in his shop. There was often a young man introduced to me with
the request "Please walk my daughter home". As I liked to be the
independent, I wanted to choose a husband for myself and not to be
"introduced". I placed an advertisement in the daily paper and
consequently managed to met a few young men. But I chose one to be my future
husband, Béla Glück , an architect with a widowed mother whom he had to support.
He had an elder brother Ernest who then lived in Switzerland. Béla was always
well dressed, had a well proportioned figure, beautiful hands and an easy going
attitude. He was a little taller than I. He often waited for me at the entrance
gate of the elevator factory. One day while he waited for me, heavy rain began
to fall but luckily he carried an umbrella. he told me that he wanted to take
me home to be introduced to his mother. I told him that he would have to see my
father first to get permission for me to go out with him. When I introduced him
to my father I was very happy to see that Father and Béla took to each other
immediately. However I had the feeling that it would be mother who would be the
final decision-maker. Unfortunately mother and Béla did not fancy each other,
mostly, I believe, because mother could not converse in Hungarian and Béla
could not speak German.
The courtship began and at Christmas time in 1929 we were engaged and
married on the 2nd March 1930 at the Dohany utca Synagogue, (It is the largest
synagogue in Europe with 5000 seats and perfect acoustics. Joined to the
synagogue is the famous Jewish Museum which displays quantities of the valuable
and rare relics). Béla's mother said that she had two sons but now she also had
a daughter. She loved me dearly.
An architect friend of Béla worked with a firm specializing in building
apartment houses. Through him we obtained a two bedroom flat in Ipar utca 3.
Soon after the wedding ceremony and a visit to the photographer, we left for
our honeymoon to Abbazia, a holiday resort in northern Italy. On the way home
we detoured and visited mother's brothers and their families in Vienna.
Two years later we moved to Erzsébet körut 24, in the city center, into
a two-bedroom flat with a large balcony facing the street.
My husband and a friend of his built a holiday resort in the Budapest
suburb of Római Fürdö on the Danube. It consisted of 120holiday flats, each
named after a Hungarian country town and 120 boat-garages. It also had a
boat-repair workshop and the biggest Olympic fresh water swimming pool. On a
warm weekend we sometimes had more than 5000 swimmers. A landscape gardener
looked after the flowerbeds around the pool and the beautiful floral landscaped
map of Hungary in front of our office. It was called Hungaria Strand (strand
means beach in Hungarian). There was an open-air restaurant on the Danube-side
which employed a five piece band and had the first black drummer then seen in
Budapest. Behind the long row of dressing sheds and cabins, there was a grassed
area with many fruit trees for picnickers, where weatherboard cottages were
erected for families with small children and for people with dogs.
From early April until the end of August each year we lived on the
holiday premises. Béla Glück was the director of the establishment. I was in
charge of the ticket sellers, two at the Danube entrance and two at the Római
Fürdö entrance and there was also a
ticket seller who moved around offering tickets to hire long chairs, towels or
swimsuits.
Wednesday was my day off. I left very early morning for the city and had
lunch at home with Mother. It was a strange feeling to get dressed for the city
after wearing a swimsuit all the time. I would check our flat in two, collect
the mail and return in the afternoon by ferry boat, had a quick swim and
started work again. next to the restaurant on the Danube side we had a music
pavilion run by a married couple. My favorite song then was La Cumparsita and
as soon as the couple saw me returning from the city, they would put on the La
Cumparsita record. That way my husband knew that I was on my way back. Anybody
who asked to listen t that record during my absence was politely given an
excuse.
We often held parties on our yacht called Cinka which could accommodate
32 people. It was our first confiscated loss being a Jewish property.
My "social life" started with my marriage. At home, we were
isolated and deprived of city and social life. We were always just four of us
and did not feel the need to meet anybody else. Soon after my marriage we made
friends with four young couples and organised outings together.
During the winter we enjoyed a busy and very active social life. We
played bride, enjoyed plays at theatres, shows, night clubs, concerts and
skiing in the mountains. It was a wonderful and a happy period of my life. I
liked dancing and won first prize in English Waltz and again in Tango. My
favorite dance was the Hungarian Csardas starting with slow steps, gradually
speeding to really fast steps ending in exhausted hard breathing. I still feel
nostalgic when I think of the music and the rhythm of this unique dance.
One evening we were having a meal at a fashionable restaurant with
friends. There were some people already dining at the next table. At the time
there was a famous court case in progress in Budapest, the outcome depended on
an analysis of handwriting. The case was well reported in the daily newspapers.
There was a need for a graphologist (a handwriting expert) who had no prior
knowledge of the case. A graphologist from Vienna was invited to analyse the
handwriting. He was with the party at the next table. His friends urged him to
analyse some handwriting but it had to be from a stranger to him. he pointed
towards me and said "I will analyse that young girl's handwriting".
He came over our table introduced himself and said that he just wanted my
husband’s consent, then gave me a notepaper without lines or anything else on
it and said "Please write down the word Budapest", which I did. We
were all anxious to her his opinion. he stood up and said "If I were a
leader of a country or if I had a business or a factory I would have this
little lady in charge. She is a born organiser".
My husband wanted to have a dog, but I was frightened of dogs. If there
was a dog on one of the street I quickly ran over to the other side. One day
the door bell range and when I opened the door it was my husband with both his
hands at his back. I asked him if he had lost his keys. He said no and entered
with a little wire-haired terrier puppy. He told me it must have been lost, we
would keep it for a few days, put an ad in the papers and the owner would
richly reward us. Then he gently took my hand and helped me to stroke the
little dog. It was a friendly little puppy. Soon I became very fond of it, but
when my husband lost interest in her, she became my dog, we called it Bobby. I
did not dare to take her out and even did not dare to answer the phone for fear
that the "owner" would claim it.
My husband had a file on his desk drawer marked "private".
Months later I had to look up something in the file when on tope I found the
pedigree of my little Bobby. Our best friend ran a dog kennel and my husband
and I bought it from her. Everybody knew about this, except me.
About two years later I was told that Bobby had to have a boyfriend
otherwise she would go blind. We arranged the introduction and soon she became
pregnant. I bought a miniature white bath tub, filled it with milk (Bobby never
liked milk but during her pregnancy she emptied the tub quickly). The poor
little thing was very frightened, especially nearing birth. Her basket was
placed under the piano. I stayed with her, stroked and talked to her. Looking
at me with her frightened big eyes I tried to console her. For the birth I was
well prepared with cotton wool, scissors etc. as my kennel friend had
suggested. About two in the morning the first puppy arrived in a sort of a
balloon which I had to cut quickly and wrap in cotton wool, then ran into the
bedroom to inform my husband who took the message half asleep and went back to
sleep again. The second and third puppy soon followed. My little Bobby became
weak, exhausted, with the three blind creatures sucking non-stop. Bobby got a lot
of congratulations, even letters addressed to Bobby Glück wisher her well. The three were christened
and the occasion called for a party to celebrate: Chester the oldest one was
given to the owner of the "father dog" as agreed. Bobby was miserable
for days after losing her puppy. I bought a long red-coloured lead with three
shorter prongs and took them for a walk. People would stop and admire the
scene.
Along the Danube there were about 13 other boat-garages, although not
one was opportune for swimming. The owners, managers and staff were a friendly
crowd and every Thursday night we joined each other for an evening meal to
discuss business. We all looked forward to those evenings and had enjoyed
relaxing time away from our premises.
August 20th is St. Stefan day, named after the first king of Hungary
canonized a saint by the then Roman Catholic Pope. Each year the day was
declared a public holiday and among other celebrations a motorboat race was
held on the Danube. All young people worked hard to decorate their boats with
flowers, ornaments and boards of light timber with some funny or interesting
display to celebrate the program was to race down the Danube and then to move
around a large yacht where the judges watched the event with binoculars. One of
our permanent tenants invited me to join him in his motorboat, he needed
somebody lightweight. He though that if a well-known personality like me was on
the boat, he would more likely win a prize. As it was my husband's birthday I
did not want to go. When the young man persuaded my husband I unwilling had to
oblige. It was in Trianon, France where after World War One the peace
treaty taking away part of Hungary was signed, (Hungary consequently lost 2/3rd
of its territory, one part on the west was given to Austria, one part of the
south-west to Yugoslavia, one part of the south-east to Roumania, parts on the
north-east to Poland, Russia and Czechoslovakia). Therefore the slogan Damn
Trianon. (There were also marches, demonstrations and propaganda articles in
the newspaper condemning Trianon). At the last minute a motor engineer jumped
into the boat.
As soon as the starting horn sounded, along we went. The sun was shining
and the rolling of the boat was pleasant. Within a few minutes there was a
sudden change in the weather, with a strong cold wind, heavy waves and our boat
became like a toy, victim in the agitated river. We got near the jury boat but
we could not turn to its front, the wind was against us. Soon the boat
capsized, I fell over to the right, the two young me to the left of the boat.
The cord its motor twisted round my feet and toes. Even with great effort I
could not get up to the surface as the heavyweight of the motor was hanging
from my feet. I do not know how but in those few seconds my whole life came to
mind and I was sure that I would never see land again. Somehow the police
water-rescue squad arrived, took hold of my swimsuit straps and pulled me up. I
was shivering , freezing, shaking on-stop and my inside was filled with sea
water. I was helped to cough up a lot of salt water which took a long while.
At the same time alarm signals went out and naturally my husband, his
mother and all the people were horrified and did not know what to do. My
husband telephoned the water police but they replied that only one little girl
had been rescued, they had given her some brandy and now she was asleep. they
were all sure that I lay on the Danube bottom. When they woke me up and asked
my name they were surprised to hear that I was the wife of Béla Glück ,
director of the popular Hungaria Strand. They tried to ring my husband but the
line was constantly engaged. I asked the police to take me home whatever the
cost. I was not only shivering and cold, but there was blood running down my
legs. Soon I was taken home, wrapped up in two heavy and smelly blankets. There
was a happy crowed cheering to greet me.
Lajos Bakti, one of our neighboring boat-garage owners invited us next
day to celebrate my "rescue". There was a long table laden with food
and some thirty invited people sitting around. In the centre of the table was a
decorated sarcophagus with ribbons, flowers and inscriptions. The host stood up
and made an eulogy: "Here lies our dear departed friend, Catherine" and
then all my virtues were mentioned. We laughed all night. Everyone there kissed
me and wished me long life.
Many years later during one of my travels from Australia to Hungary I
took the ferry from Budapest to visit the place once called Hungaria Strand. It
had been confiscated from us in 1939 according to the law against Jews who were
then not allowed to hold private property. I went to the boat shed where I
found that the place had not changed -it was as it had been when built by my
husband with several shelves up to the ceiling housing the boats. A young man
was there polishing a boat. He looked at me and asked if he could be of any
help. I told him that I just wanted to look. He asked "Why?" Without
thinking and without hesitation I told him that I was "Just reminiscing
because this was once our property". As he was of the younger generation,
brought up under communism, he could not following what I said and answered
"This was never a private property. You must be mad!" I just turned
and left, taking the first ferry back to the city.
Alexander, with my husband as his partner, started a small workshop
introducing the then unknown raw material imported from Belgium, called
Bakelite. They started making small electrical parts like power points,
connectors, switches etc. in brown colour. As a new sensation, they also
produced a powder compact with the motif of an angelic girl with flowers in her
arms on the lid. It was very attractive and the lid fitted well. When the
International Fair was about to take place in Budapest. Alexander hired a stall
but who was there to mind it? He did not have any money and also he did not
trust anybody. It had to be me.
They had about 100 bags of brown Bakelite powder but only about five or
six bags each of other colours. The powder compact was attractive and popular
but who would want a brown one? There was not enough coloured Bakelite powder
in stock then. The electrical items in brown sold all right. Alexander
panicked. When at the opening all the stock was delivered, I put the electrical
items on one side, placing a few brown ones here and there. They stood out
between the reds, greens and blues. As soon as one brown was sold I replaced it
with another brown one. People are funny. They always want something that
nobody else has. At the end of the day all brown compacts had been sold, most
of the coloured ones had been left behind.
One the 23rd June 1933 mother died suddenly. I had lunch at home with
her on Wednesday and on the following Friday she was no more. Poor father, he
held himself strong but inside he must have suffered hell. After my marriage
Fred and mother became very close, he was very much mother's boy. Even though
he had a lot of girlfriends, mother was always first for him. When she died, it
left a lasting sadness on Fred. He could not be consoled, avoided people,
turned more to religion and was never the happy boy as before.
At that time a notice in the newspaper drew my attention. A famous
Hungarian actress had been invited to Hollywood. She had engaged an English
born professor to teach her English. I obtained his address and wrote to him
asking if he could take me on as a student. He said he was a very busy man and
that he was not going to take on any more pupils. He also said he was not cheap
- he charged ten times the usual fee! When I told him that I had just lost my
mother and looked for something to occupy my mind to stop me from remembering
and crying, he said "I will give you a trial lesson and we will see".
After the trial lesson he smiled and said "You are the prototype of an
ideal student, I will take you". A few lessons later he said that it was
not enough for me to take lessons only. I needed practice. Then he said as he
had too many inquiries he could not take, he would recommend those beginners to
me. Thus I would have the opportunity to go through the lessons all over again.
I was only five or six lessons ahead of my beginner students but this
arrangement was meaningful and practical for me. Naturally I charged much less
than my professor!
Alexander, my husband's friend became a representative of a London based
domestic agency which sent household employees from Hungary to England. He
needed an English correspondent and asked me to work for him. I did not like
him - he used some strange shaving lotion which I could not stand. And yet, the
idea of an agency appealed to me. I asked him to change seats with me so that
he could sit on this side and I would sit on the other side of the table. He
did not understand what I meant. I told him then that I was interested in
buying the agency from him. He was surprised but indicated how much he wanted
for the agency. Without hesitation I accepted the price and quickly fixed the deal
without giving him time to change his mind.
That was the beginning of The Glück
Domestic Agency. I soon went to England and succeeded in becoming the
representative of 22 English domestic agencies. From then on I as very busy,
sometimes working up to 18 hours a day but as a result I made a lot of money. I
was constantly corresponding with England, also having to instruct the girls
before their departure, obtaining entry visas from the British and also transit
visas from Belgian Embassies for them.
We bought a new Fiat Topolino car, registration number AI 668. Sitting
for a driving license I was ordered to drive a heavy, large Fiat car. They had
to put some cushions on the seat otherwise I couldn’t reach the steering wheel.
It was winter time and my fingers were nearly frozen. The inspect sat next to
me and gave me various orders. At the end of the driving test he said "All
right little lady, but you need more practice especially when moving
backwards". Then I drove with a private instructor for ten days.
There were very few cars on the road in Budapest then. I would not dare
to drive nowadays in the heavy and hectic traffic. I used the care more often
than my husband, crossing the Margaret Bridge over the Danube Buda to the
Belgian and British Embassies. I had to obtain about fifty visas weekly for the
girls to leave for England as household employees. I also sent some girls to
Jersey and Guernsey in the Channel Islands. These two islands belong to England
but are nearer to the French coast.
Father died on 24th January 1937 of food poisoning. I still believe that
his newly engaged housekeeper was to blame. A few weeks later Fred left his
executive job and went to England, enrolled at the Master Smith Language
Institute in London in order to learn English.
In our city flat we employed a married couple who occupied a room with a
bathroom and toilet next to our flat. The woman did all household chores and
her husband looked after our dog, took messages, cleaned shoes etc... Our windows
faced Erzsebet korut with a balcony along it. When a procession or some
spectacular event took place along our avenue we watched it with friends from
our balcony. There was a private club in the building. They would sent up a
tray with our lunch we chose from their menu. We had only breakfast at home,
most evenings we ate out.
It was well-known that seasonal business did not bring satisfactory
results, unless there were at least thirteen sunny and warm weekends. We had to
struggle financially and very often I had to take on a job to help with the
rent etc. My first part-time job as a married woman was with Mr. Marton
Neumann, to look after his private business. I did his bookkeeping and also
some correspondence. Marton Neumann was a broadminded and clever businessman.
he ran the largest picture-card printing business in Hungary. He was the first
to put some captions on postcards and often asked me to make up poems and
verses to be printed on the cards. There were wedding, birthday and name day
headings to which I would then add verses. Marton Neumann was delighted with my
poems and rewarded me generously. I worked at his home and often sat with his
wife to chat. soon we became real close friends. They imported large quantities
of paper from Sweden and had friendly connections there. When the first trouble
for the persecution of Jews started they decided to leave Hungary for Sweden
and suggested that I should join them. My husband was then in the Forced
Labour. They learned about the Swiss Embassy in Budapest to offer shelter to
Jewish people. When the Neumans decided to go there, they asked me to join
them, but somehow I declined. I was very lucky because unfortunately the next
day they were all gunned down by the Hungarian Arrowcrossmen who did not respect
anything, not even an embassy.
Fred would wait for the girls at London Victoria Station. he would help
them along to their destinations and make them feel at home in their respective
jobs. In a short time Fred had established the “Hungarian household Employees
in England Club". The girls would meet there on their days off. Fred would
assist them in solving their problems like changing jobs, sending money home
etc. The club also celebraed15th march, a public holiday in Hungary and
occasionally some birthdays or to special events. By then Fred spoken perfect
English.
Our next door neighbour in Budapest, Mrs. Rózsi Fried, ran a language
school. We soon joined forces to publish a Hungarian-English cookbook (the
left hand side of the page in Hungarian with the opposite side of the page in
English), listing words of food, household items like brooms, dishes, cups,
over, matches, and verbs like dusting, washing, ringing, ironing, also some
expressions in order to start a simple conversation. The cookbook became very
popular and was in great demand. As the number of the British employers
increased even the Hungarian Embassy in London ordered 100 cookbooks.
consequently the Wiener Schnitzel became a popular dish on English menus.
Unfortunately the success of the Glück Domestic Agency did not last long. On 1st
September 1939 the Belgian Embassy refused to issue transit visas and there was
no other way to reach England from Hungary. This decision by the Belgian
Embassy also affected the future fate of my husband and me. We wanted to
properly finish the summer season as usual in previous years, which involved
dismantling and putting equipment, machinery, linen and other contents of the
holiday flats into winter storage, to clean up, lock up, emptying the swimming
pool, put straw to cover it against the harsh winter climate and thus avoid
cracking, cut off electricity etc.
With the cooperation of my brother in London my money
was cleverly “smuggled” out of Hungary and deposited in the Westminster Bank in
London. My husband did not have any money, the holiday season finished badly.
My money was deposited in joint names with my husband. It seemed a wise step
and a clever idea then. It worked like this: a household employee was supplied
with the fares by the English employer. On my visit to England we agreed with
Fred that if I underlined the name of a girl leaving Hungary when advising him
of her arrival it meant do not send the fare. The £4.10.0 for each girl was
collected and deposited by Fred into the Westminster Bank account, and I would
pay for the ticket in Budapest with Hungarian currency. By this idea I
succeeded in “smuggling” a large amount of money to London. On 5th
September 1939 I had a balance of £4,320 English pounds in the bank account.
This was a very substantial then. Unfortunately as it was in two names, and my
husband still in Hungary, after the war it was treated as “enemy money” and
thus not released. From Australia, incurring a lot of legal expense, many years
later I finally only got about ten percent of it.
The first we learned about the persecution of Jews
came to us as a surprise from Vienna, capital of Austria. Father’s cousin was a
well-known surgeon, often even called to the Habsburg Palace. We got a letter
from him that he was not allowed to practice as a doctor any more on account of
being a Jew. The sing on the entrance to his surgery had to be removed. We in
Hungary then did not believe that such a law could exist. We thought he must
have maltreated someone and therefore his practice had to close. Naturally it
became soon “the norm” also in Hungary – lots of similar orders were issued.
The trouble for Jews in Hungary had already begun and
we decided to leave for London on 3rd September 1939 as we both had
relatives there. Fred and my husband’s brother Ernest, (he had changed his name
to E.G. Luck) both lived in London. We started to liquidate. First went the
piano, then our Persian carpets, paintings, silverware, crystals, radios, photo
cameras etc. Unfortunately, we struck bad luck. On 1st September
1939, the Belgian Consulate refused to issue transit visas. That was the end of
freedom for us! Our future was doomed and it was the beginning of Hell in our
lives.
My husband and I were soon forced to separate. He was
called into the Hungarian Forced Labour, had to wear civilian clothes with a
David Star armband. He was lucky though because they made use o f his
architectural skills and he was placed in charge of the road-making plant far
away in the country. This was the beginning but even this era did not last
long. We did not have much to eat, but I still obtained some chocolates,
sardines, cigarettes on the black market, also socks, gloves, shawls and sent
parcels to him. Suddenly all communications ceased, I did not even know his
whereabouts and soon lost contact with him.
One morning a young army officer called with a summons
to deliver our Fiat Topolino car registration number AI-668 to the Army Depot
the next morning with a driver as it had been a Jewish owned car. I told the
officer that my husband was away in Forced Labour Camp and that I had just
started to learn driving. With a smile I persuaded the officer to grant me a
48-hour extension.
As soon as the officer had left, I contacted the
garage advising to sell the car within 24 hours at whatever price they could
get for it. They argued I should not sell it as my husband had just bought
chains for the wheels and other items so that we could drive safely through the
snow up to the mountains for skiing. I had to insist that I needed to sell the
car immediately. It was sold for a ridiculously low price. I had the feeling
the garage owner bought it. Then I had advised the Army Depot in writing that
my husband had sold the car without letting me know. I think that this event
marked a turning point in my happy life. A friendly non-Jewish neighbor who
knew more about “inside matters” advised me to take up some manual work. So I
joined them. I preferred making ties, the variety of colours, fine silk
materials, lining etc. but they were harder to sell. If you had red stripes
they wanted blue ones, if you had dots they wanted lines. Soon even that
activity ceased.
How absurd
that one should be persecuted because of a religion into which one was born, following the parent’s ways
and respecting their traditions. When one walks around the botanic gardens
there are all the trees, shrubs and plants of different height, variety in the
leaves, diversity of shades of green. They live next and near to each other in
harmony, peace and flourish. Why can’t people do the same?
The following era of my life turned to a very unhappy
one, deprived of the security of a settled married life, without our
comfortable residence, and our possessions taken. Even our valuable stamp
collection of twelve albums and jewellery were “frozen” in the bank safety
deposit box and never seen again! I was left utterly alone without any hope of
leaving the country or any resemblance of a normal life. But nobody even
realized that the existing calm was at its end and a very unhappy future was
going to start. In some ways I was glad that my dear parents were not alive any
more. To care and worry about them would have hindered me from concentrating on
my own life and future.
The German Army walked into Czechoslovakia in 1938l,
into Poland in 1939. Consequently a lot of Czechs and Poles arrived in Hungary
to seek shelter. They obtained documents on the black market in order to escape
persecution. Hungary was the last of Hitler’s expansionist projects. The
Germans marched into Hungary on 15th October 1944 with heavy
artillery, war machinery, guns, tanks etc., a warning sign that even the
existing calm was at its end. The sirens sounded often, people had to leave
their residences and rush down to the basement into the shelters. That was
around December 1944. There were about 800,000 Jews in Hungary then, about
240,000 of them in Budapest.
A huge yellow Star of David sign was put on the
entrance gate of our building which from then onwards was declared a Jewish
House and the entrance doors had to be locked. We were permitted to leave the
building only from 11 to 12 noon to obtain food from the shops. Nothing else
was allowed, no post office visits, no telephone calls, not to go anywhere
besides queuing up for food. We were issued daily coupons for bread, sugar,
oil, milk etc. As all the shops were invaded at the same time, we had to run
fast to get into the queue. More often than not we could not get served in time
and had to return empty-handed. The coupons were dated, the allowed time had
elapsed and thus were of no use on the following day.
I was the youngest resident in the building. There was
a doctor, a solicitor, a banker, a merchant, all old and nearly senile, still
living in their flats. They carried all the time, feeling sorry for themselves,
mostly lived in the past, lamenting and calling for their far away children. I
was the only person facing reality and soon organized a meeting because it was
essential to have food! I suggested that we put all the coupons on the table
and directed that one relatively still able person get into the queue for one
kind of food. For instance, one person was assigned to collect oil and was
given all the oil coupons. Another person was given all the sugar coupons and
so on. People in the building welcomed and accepted my suggestions and thus we
succeeded in using up all our coupons. At least we had our stomachs quietened.
In the early morning hours a few days later we awoke
and heard a loud shout “Inspection!”. We were all ordered to leave our flats,
leave everything except for one change of underwear and one change of clothes,
then gather on the ground floor. Some larger Jewish families from other
buildings were to move into our building. I had to move to the third floor into
a one bedroom flat. A 90 years old man was allocated to share it with me.
Fortunately it had a large kitchen and a bed was placed there. We had to share
the bathroom and the kitchen. I was allowed to have the use of the kitchen for
one hour in the morning and one hour in the afternoon. The old man did not have
any money. I had to pay the rent, electricity, gas, garbage collection etc. and
also to feed him and clean the place. He was not to my liking: he snored
heavily all night and was too embarrassed to take off his clothes. He had a
long dark beard, never shaved and never even had a wash. But I had to shut up
and accept the situation. I think he left his bed only when I was away. I only
saw him in his pajamas. In some of the other flats twenty or more people were
ordered to share, with one toilet only. What a miserable life!
The Budapest ghetto was established. For a short time
I was exempt from moving to the ghetto as my husband served with the Forced
Labour. However even that did not last long.
When my husband had to leave for the Forced Labour,
our concierge promised him that he and his family would look after me. When I
reminded him of his promise, his reply was that he was under observation by the
Germans and that he was also frightened not only for himself but for his wife
and their three teenage children.
Pour telephones were long ago disconnected, our
wireless sets confiscated, no newspaper reached us, we were cut off from any
outside life. Naturally we were keen to know what was going on. As I had some
knowledge of English and longed to find out about the present situation, it was
obvious that I had to find a way to listen to the B.B.C. News from England. I
approached the concierge asking him to let me leave the building as I would
like to go to some friends place in order to listen to the radio news. As he
was also eager to hear the news, he reluctantly obliged. I turned my jacket
inside out, to hide the yellow star, walked out of the Jewish House (as our
building was then called) and slowly proceeded t our friends place near the
Keleti pályaudvar railway station, about a twenty minute walk. I knew that I
was risking my life not only because of leaving the Jewish House, but also by
listening to the “enemy radio”; but I had not yet then experienced the feeling
of fear! I derived courage from the desire to bring some hope into our
unfortunate lives. Naturally it was an advantage that I did not look “Jewish”.
When my Presbyterian friends opened the door, they did not dare to say a word,
pulled me quickly inside and even offered me some delicacies.
I was listening to the news when the Regent, Miklós
Horthy broadcast an optimistic speech about the Hungarian Government decision
to join the Allies against the Germans Alas our optimism soon changed to fear
and agony. The Arrowcross Party headed by the anti-Semitic Szálasi overruled
the government. I needed and enjoyed the walk to my friends. When the concierge
let me in, he made the sign of the cross over his chest and was glad to see me
again. Actually he was also in danger for opening the locked doors for a Jewish
person.
A week later the German soldiers ordered us to come
next morning at eight to the ground floor, carrying all our possessions of
value. We had to put our rings in one basket, our watches in another, then
fountain pens, bracelets, earrings, brooches and other jewellery. Soon the
Germans issued a new notice which appeared on the left doors, informing all
Jewish women to gather next morning when we would have to march to the brick
Factory “for selection”. The whole night we were all busy cutting and tearing
up sheets, pillow slips and towels into strips so that we could make rucksacks
in which to carry as much of our possessions as possible. Only one woman had a
sewing machine, she was kept busy the entire night.
I felt full of goose pimples, a lump in my threat, the
prickling of the hair on the back of my neck. I panicked and decided to escape!
But how? I approached the concierge and his wife again, both also shaking. They
told me they were sorry they could do nothing. The Hungarian Arrowcross and
also the German soldiers were already in charge and in occupation of the building.
The concierge couple were very decent, realizing their delicate state, having
two teenage sons and a beautiful daughter, a popular fashion model. They were
constantly under observation! I was never afraid of anything and realized that
now was the time to prove it. But to whom to prove it? Naturally, to myself.
Next morning we had to listen to a speech, gates were
opened and we were ordered to march along the beautiful streets and avenues of
Budapest towards the brick factory. I realized immediately that even with the
well-known accuracy of the Germans they did not take down the number of women
who were ordered to march together. This fact encouraged me and I made a quick
decision. Eventually, I told the woman walking next to me that my bootlaces had
become loose and that I had to stop but I would join them later. I turned,
walked back to the end of the line, then rushed into a nearby building, took
off my boots and dressed up like a local girl carrying a string bag, with piece
of cauliflower in it. I left my rucksack and boots there, put on sandals,
turned around and walked back along the avenues, over the bridge and up to
Rózsadomb (Rosehill) to my friend Elli, who ran a dog kennel. In winter every
weekend we used to play bridge with her and her husband. She was not Jewish. I
felt that I could ask her to give me refuse. When she saw me she said that she
already had three elderly Jewish women staying with her. She asked me to leave
quickly because she did not wish to be seen with me.
I walked back along the narrow road lined up with
young German soldiers on their stationary motorbikes. They all greeted me with
a few nice words, but I did not dare to stop, avoided any conversation and
moved quickly away. I went to another friend near the Keleti Railway terminal.
When he saw me he took me into his flat to a recess, opened the door of a
cupboard where his mother was hiding. He said that she was Jewish although ho
one knew it. I realized that there was nothing for me to do but to return home.
When the concierge saw me he panicked. He said that the Germans were upstairs
and he quickly hid me in the cellar where the coal was store for our central
heating plant. I was only wearing a summer dress and had already eaten the
cauliflower. But there I was and there I stayed for how long I did not know. It
could have been at least three days and three nights without any food or warm
clothes. Coal dust covered me all over but there was nothing I could do. It was
cold, dark and frightening. I started bleeding heavily, my blood running in all
directions. The wife of the concierge noticed the blood penetrating into the
corridor and urged me in whisper that I needed medical help. No doctor was then
allowed to treat any Jewish person. She told me to go to the so-called Jewish Hospital
which was open for half an hour every day. It was the Wesseleny – utca
Elementary School building, three storey high and just around the corner from
our building.
Entering the “hospital”, there was aw fat,
cigar-smoking fellow at the entrance wearing a T-shirt. I found out later that
he was Professor Benedek, a gynecologist and a devout community. He was in
charge of the then so-called “Jewish Hospital”. He asked me arrogantly what I
wanted. Being still rather shy I replied that I wanted to see a doctor. He was
rather rude and said that you must be one of “those” who did not want to join
the Forced Labour and tried to hide in a hospital. He carried on with abusing
remarks and even used sear words. As I just stood there and waited he must have
noticed blood running down my legs and then told me to go upstairs to the third
floor and wait there. The third floor was the school gymnasium with cement
floors, huge high windows and totally empty. For a while I walked around, then
sat on the floor waited and waited but nobody came.
The wife of the concierge was worried about me not
having returned. Next day she came to the “hospital” to look for me. When she
found me I asked her to fetch one part of the mattress from my flat (we had a
mattress of three parts across in our bed), my doona and a small pillow. As I
am small-built one of those mattresses was large enough for me to sleep on.
The following morning she returned with the mattress,
one small pillow and my doona. She quickly put down everything and without
saying a word ran away. She risked her freedom or even her life “looking after
a Jewish person”. At last I had something to sleep on, still without food or
water or anything else and totally alone. I waited for a doctor or a nurse, but
no one came. I was wearing a summer dress only, and naturally felt cold and
hungry. I knew that the Jews were allowed out from 11a.m. to noon for their
shopping. Next day at 11a.m. I sneaked out and ran to our building which was
only five minutes away.
I range the doorbell, the concierge came and told me
that the German soldiers were on the first floor to “inspect” each flat. I told
him that I desperately needed to go up into my flat on the third floor for just
one or tow minutes and if the Germans were to move he should start the lift and
I would descend by the servant’s stairs. I hastily went up to the third floor.
Before I left I had one set of underwear washed which I put up to dry in the
bathroom. I fetched everything quickly including a small suitcase and then ran
downstairs. However, fortunately, I picked the wrong suitcase, that of my
husband’s instead of my own. (My husband, a heavy smoker, preferred a Bulgarian
cigarettes. Any time when sailors arrived in Budapest he would buy all the tock
they ad. He kept the cigarettes in a small suit case. In my identical suitcase
I kept chocolates, sardines, cotton wool etc. to take with me when the air raid
siren sounded). In my panic I fetched the wrong suitcase! This in the end saved
my life!
I ran back to the hospital. There was still nobody
else on the third floor. I felt exhausted but when I opened the suitcase to get
some food, to my surprise it was filled with cigarettes only. I hid the small
suitcase under the doona and waited and waited until I fell asleep.
According to the newest Order, all Jewish women
whatever their age, were to report and to enroll in the Forced Labour. Suddenly
I heard some female voices. All were young. They had been brought up to the
third floor on a primitive stretcher. In order to avoid joining the Forced
Labour Camp they had cleverly faked suicide. They had phoned the ambulance
reporting a suicide and only then had swallowed some pills. The ambulance had
brought them to the hospital where they had their stomachs pumped and were
quickly restore to health. But they had come prepared. They all had food,
bedding, toiletries and also luckily for me, some cotton wool. When they heard
my story they all asked to have some blood-stained cotton wool to prove that
they were also suffering ill-health.
They were kind and very friendly towards me. They
adopted and cuddled me, also tried to console me. They asked me to rest and
told me that soon I would be well again. Together we played cards, told jokes
and listened to the bombs. We became experts at guessing whether the passing
plane was Russian or German. We did not have any water or the use of toilets
every day I became weaker and weaker and soon I could not even walk. The girls
carried me down the stairs to the second floor toilets.
The sound of the bombing never stopped. Soon bomb
victims joined us in the large gymnasium. There were injured Forced Labour men,
some nearly dead. We were never given any food, water or other assistance and
nobody every came to see us.
During the German occupation the Budapest Ghetto came
into being. It was adjacent to the “Jewish Hospital” which was just outside the
Ghetto area. The Arrowcross youths often came to us with food to barter for
cigarettes. Cigarettes had become the main form of currency. Money was
worthless. I did well, managed sometimes to barter a jar of tomato juice, an
onion or even some bread. I always kept the cigarettes under my doona, nobody
ever guessed how many I really had.
When the roof of the hospital was bombed and made a hole
in our ceiling we all became covered by the falling snow. I made a head cover
of my small pillow, using my belt to secure it around my head. There were now
288 people occupying the third floor. My friends, the young girls were
gradually discovered and taken away by the Arrowcross youth. What destiny
waited for them we only guessed. People around me were talking gibberish to
each other just o hear their own voices. A diabetic young man was in the middle
of a conversation when he just stopped talking and dropped dead. We were all
starving. Soon we were surrounded by dead bodies. The staircase was also
bombed, we were stuck on the third floor. It was not long before there were
only three of us left alive. One of the other two was a young man with an amputated
leg, he cherished a knife which he kept in case he became desperate enough to
commit suicide.
The Jews were the target of hate. Fighting was of
secondary importance. Every night Hews were taken to the bank of the Danube
river, had to get undressed and were shot; the bodies thrown into the river
floating downstream. Budapest was bombed day and night. The Russians slowly
penetrated from the east. The Germans were in Buda, successfully destroying our
six beautiful historical bridges over the Danube. During their retreat they
looted, stealing whatever they could on their way out of Hungary. There was no
electricity, no gas, no light, no water, no toilets working, no transport. The
streets were impassable, covered with broken bricks, heaps of cement from bombed
buildings. The debris was piled up like high mountains, very risky to climb,
with wires, metal, glass and similar rubbish, broken and useless household
items, everything covered in snow and ice. Walking the in streets was
impossible. No possibility to even cross to the other side of the street!
The bombs continued to fall day and night. One dropped
inches away from my bed but fortunately it did not ignite nor explode. I do not
remember how long all that lasted. We did not know whether it was day or night.
The three of us did not care. Bombs fell non-stop. We were in a state where we
felt that we also would soon be dead. However, I always had the feeling that
Our Almighty was looking after me personally. Being an optimist, I did not
panic easily. Praying every night gave me confidence.
Suddenly we heard some strange voices, then a Russian
soldier appeared and distributed some chocolates to the three of us. Later
people carried me somehow on a primitive stretcher downstairs watching their
steps as they descended on a narrow left-over party of the staircase. A
specialist was called to look at me and was amazed to hear what had happened to
me. He said that if I was not such a small build they would have taken me away
too. But it seems they thought that I was only a child. On the other hand I
think the penetrating putrid smell kept everybody away from me.
I smelt like a Hell, of dried blood and an unwashed
body. I had got used to tit but other people there could not tolerate it. The
specialist told me that he would have to operate on me but without any sort of
anesthetic. He also told me that he would not have any assistance of a nurse
because we were not really in a hospital. He only had one small pocket knife he
could use and that I would have to be brave. He told me that my skin was
already like parchment and if I did not undergo an “operation” urgently there
would be no hope for me as I already had lost too much blood and would be dead
within days.
The specialist promised me that he would try to do the
utmost to save my life. He put me up on an ordinary table, took out his knife
and told me to shout, cry, sing or speak as loudly as possible non-stop. That
would be a sign of my being still alive. I asked him to let know when he had
completed half of the operation. But he did not speak at all. Suddenly he stood
up and smiled, telling me that I was a very strong-willed person and also very
lucky. He said the operation was over, I should lie quietly and calmly for a
few hours and promised that he would come back to see me again the next day.
I was unconscious for a long time and can hardly
remember anything after the operation. I only remember very clearly the
singular instance when the wife of our concierge smiled down at me and offered
me some warm water to drink. Her husband carried me in his arms downstairs to
the air-raid shelter and put me down into a long chair there. Then he covered
me with some old torn, smelly pieces of a blanket. Our flat was still occupied
by a stranger. Nobody had any food in those miserable days. This period is
probably one of the most singular instances that comes to my mind now.
The goodwill and care of those people saved me. I also
believe that my strong desire to see my brother Fred again kept me alive. I was
told that in my delirium I called his name several times.
A few weeks after the operation the skin on my face
was suddenly covered in small and large dots, turned light brown, dark brown
and then black. Nobody knew what to do. A conference of skin specialists was
called, all medical men and women looked at my face often with a magnifying
glass. Each examination lasted for about two hours during which time the colour
of my skin had often changed. In the end I was told to go home and do nothing.
I believed that this was the best advice.
Then the fingers on both my hands became swollen,
stiff and were spread out. I could not bend any of them and my hands became
very itchy. Soon my feet also became constantly itchy. What worried me most was
that my fingers could not hold anything, not even a pen, pencil, fork or a
spoon. It was a “unique” case and a wonder of survival. Many medical people
came to examine me. The state of my health turned worse. Finally I was treated
with some sort of X-rays and was warned that I should not have any X-ray
treatment in the future otherwise my bones could be burned. I was told that I
was suffering from acute chilblains.
It took weeks until I gradually got back a little of
my strength. With a lot of police and city council intervention and medical
recommendation, I could soon return to a smaller flat in our building. At that
time you had to be a smaller doctor to get priority status in order to have the
telephone connected. However, with genuine persuasion as I was a wonder
survivor and still in a convalescent state and alone, I succeeded in having a
phone installed and connected. It meant more than a million dollars in those
days.
I had no news about the whereabouts of my husband nor
of his relatives. Two people in marriage living together day after day is a
miracle. Soon I realized that I was going to be deprived of that experience
from then on and that I had to start to live again.
I looked for a job a soon got one with a Mr. Kertesz.
Before the war he had been the largest exporter of agricultural products to
England. He engaged me as an English – Hungarian correspondent. The fact was
that there was nothing yet to correspond. There were no post offices
functioning and only a few local telephones connected. I was employed and yet I
had no work. I sat in the office and did nothing all day.
Everything my husband did interested me too. He
collected stamps and I often accompanied him to the Philatelic Club. Later on
he switched his interest to numismatics (coin collection) but I liked stamps
and became a collector of rate valuable stamps. With the persecution of Jews,
all their valuables were confiscated. I had about 14-15 albums filled with rare
stamps deposited in a safe deposit box at the Bank. All, and everything else in
the safe deposit box, were gone, never to be seen again.
One day I took courage and asked Mr. Kertész to let me
off for the afternoon as I wanted to go to the stamp collectors meeting. Mr.
Kertész kindly told me to go to his flat first where I was to ask his
housekeeper to give me the box on his desk which contained some used postage
stamps. He said he was not a collector but had saved those stamps for no reason
whatsoever. I took the box filled with stamps home, washed and sorted them out.
The philatelic club was housed in the Stamp Exchange House, situated in a
beautiful three-storey building at Andrásse ut No.1. It consisted of several
large halls with antique furniture, heavy decorative curtains, chandeliers,
upholstered chairs and soft Persian carpets on the floors. Only members could
enter. Some people knew me, and invited me to join and to become a member.
I had some stamps of no great value. I thought I knew
only a little about stamps. At one of the meetings a couple were arguing about
the identity of some stamps. I was then asked, as a connoisseur (?), to solve
their dispute. To my surprise it was easy for me to identify the stamps they
had been arguing about. Then one of them suggested that I should obtain a
license to become a dealer as there were very few stamp dealers in Budapest
then, most were lost during the war period. People like me, who miraculously
survived, got priority and did not have any difficulty obtaining a licenses as
a dealer. Soon I became the first woman stamp dealer in Budapest at that time.
Inflation was enormous. Every day we were busy quickly spending our money, it
hardly mattered on what, because within one day the money was not even enough
to buy a box of matches (by the way, matches were invented by Miklós Isrinyi, a
Hungarian).
Every day the postal authorities had to print and
issue new stamps with more and more3 zeros added to the value. The current
banknotes were often overprinted with more zeros added. Most of the postmasters
were also stamp collectors and they knew me. Early morning I would go to
various post offices to order 5, 10 or 20 thousand stamps. By the time I
returned in the afternoon to fetch the stamps the money was worth nearly
nothing. The post-masters being friends, all received their cut from me. Within
a few weeks I had a large quantity of newly issued stamps in sheets of hundred
stored in my flat.
In those days, it was not wise to deal in money.
Everything was calculated and based on a barter system, the barter-base more often
being one kilo of cooking fat. I also did some wages calculations during the
day for small businesses like hairdressers and one-man shop-owners and was paid
on the base of one kilo of cooking fat. I earned enough money by then and soon
made purchases to improve my home.
A remarkable episode I have to mention! Some dealers
sold stamps for U.S. dollars only. This was against the law and punished by
imprisonment. One day the Police invaded the Philatelic Centre. Nobody was
allowed to leave. I was the first (being a woman) to go through the “control”.
They could not find dollars on me. They let me leave, and I walked towards the
“way out”. I felt sorry for my colleagues, I said aloud “I need a handkerchief,
could nay of you lend me one?” They all realized what to do. They put all their
dollars in a hanky, then through it into my carry bag. I left quickly. Arriving
home I put all the hankies into the bath tub. Next day they came and collected
their hankies. I saved not only their money but also their lives. Could you
imagine how I was kissed over and over by wives, mothers and relatives!
However nothing compensated me for how much I was
missing my brother. I longed to contact him, but there was no way how. I did
not even know his whereabouts. Surprisingly one day a Red Cross letter arrived
giving his Paris address. Immediately I prepared letters addressed to my
brother in Paris, carried some with me in the hope to find somebody who is
leaving for the West. Everyday I handed out some of these letters to anybody
whom I taught would be able and willing to take it. There was no mail or
telephone connection then beyond the border.
There were some French soldiers in Budapest trying to
find their way back to France. I approached one young soldier in the street and
with my poor French asked him to take my letter and to post it in France soon
after his arrival. I took chances and had the feeling that this time my letter
will find its way to France and to my brother.
Many years later Fred told me he had received my
letter by mail. Immediately he took his jeep and went to the sender’s address
in order to find out details. The young man was very much surprised by an
American officer speaking perfect French but he could not say more than it was
from a woman who gave it to him in the street in Budapest.
Early in1946 a lot of people tried to leave Hungary
for the West. There were smugglers who promised to take people from Hungary
over the Australian border of US $50 each. Through the black market I managed
to obtain the money. I gave it to a young man who was recommended as reliable
and honest. I had also to give another man a golden ring (which I had also
obtained on the black market) so that he would take me over the narrow pontoon
bridge to Buda to the Deli Pályauduar Railway Station at one o’clock in the
morning. Arriving there I found myself in a long queue. At last I was pushed
onto the train. Another young man whom I immediately recognized as the son of
our washer woman, shouted at me “Down Frau Glück !” and pulled me off the
train.
I had no option but to return home disappointed,
unhappy and desperate. Fortunately the flat was still mine. If only I had given
the man another US $50 I would have been allowed to depart, but I did not have
another US $50 then. What was I to do? I was still determined to join my
brother in Paris no matter how or at what price! I started to save again and
was soon able to contact another smuggler, whom I gave a gold ring as
“transport money” and US $50 for the trip across the Hungarian-Australian
border. I was sure that I will not have any trouble to travel from Vienna to
Paris. What naiveté! At that time I was successful and lucky. When the train at
last started to move I was given a baby to hold and to keep it in my arms until
we got over the border. I had never had nor every handled a baby and I did not
know what to do with it. I did not even know how to hold one properly in my
arms. The baby started to cry and people asked if it was a boy or a girl. I did
not know the answer, and there was no possible way that I could avoid trouble.
I also started to cry. I had to stand in the draughty corridor with a heavy
baby in my arms. I felt desperate, hopeless and very lonely. Nobody dared to converse.
We had been warned that there were “spies” on the train. Who would do anything
to get money from us.
At last we arrived in the Hungarian-Austria border and
were ordered off the train. There were no smugglers in sight any more. They had
all disappeared quickly and quietly. Russian soldiers stood on one side and the
Austrian border controllers on the other side of the track. Fortunately, I
still had some bread and a few slices of salami left to eat, but no
documentation or identification whatsoever. When the other travelers were asked
where they were going, they all stated that they wanted to go to Israel. I was
naive and told the border controllers that my wish was to go to Paris. Thus I
became the laughing stock. (Nobody wanted to go to Israel but this was the only
opportunity to get through).
The baby had started to cry again. It must have been
wet and hungry. Someone pushed me around and then took the baby from me. At
last I was left alone. The Russian soldiers let our group through, but the
Austrians were more inquisitive. My German language skills were a great asset
as no one else in the group could speak German. I was asked to interpret. This
way I luckily avoided passing through the identification control. We were sent
to a distribution centre called the Rotschield Hospital. From there groups were
assembled, directed onto the train departing towards Linz which was the border
town and the final Russian and Austrian control point. At Linz we had to cross
a narrow little bridge with our identification documents. We knew that we had
arrived somewhere in Australia but we did not know exactly where and also how
to get away from there. Using my good German I managed to bluff my way luckily
again through the identification control. There was so much hustle and a lot of
people and non-one knew what to do next.
It became dark and coolish. Noticing an empty train
carriage nearby with open doors and nobody inside, we quickly ran there and
occupied it. Exhausted and tired, we soon went to sleep on the floor. Then it
was waiting and hoping for a miracle. I had only a carry bag with all my meager
possessions, which served as a pillow.
My Austrian-German accent gave me confidence in my aim
to get away somehow. The following morning I left the railway carriage, looked
around and noticed a farmer far away working on his land. I walked towards him
and started some small talk in order to get some local information. I learned
that a fast train passes through the area around midnight. It seemed the right train
for me to catch. I bartered some cigarettes saved from the ration in Vienna for
Austrian currency, walked to the railway station where I was told that only
first class tickets were available. I quickly bought one. The train arrived,
stopped fro a few minutes and soon puffed away towards to Salzburg. I quickly
jumped on it, it was crowded with people. I had to stand in the corridor but it
did not matter, I felt happy and relaxed to be on the way towards my aim. No
ticket controller came, I felt safe and as always optimistic.
At last the train arrived in Salzburg. After walking
around and talking to people, I learned that the offices of the French
Occupational Forces and the American Occupational Army were stationed there.
Full of confidence I went to the French contingency to organize my trip to
Paris. They informed me that they could not assist because I was not French.
When I went to the American Occupational Army Office I got the same answer, as
not being American.
Salzburg was the city of my dreams. I made the most of
my few days stay there and enjoyed listening to classical music. Trying to find
out how to get away was my main problem. I slept on a bench at the railway
station. A sympathetic cleaning lady let me have a wash while she stood outside
the toilet holding the door so that nobody would disturb me.
There were some soup kitchens for people like me. We
had to queue up to get soup, bread and some cheese. I queued up three times a
day, felling always hungry. Soon I learned how to beg for food. Because of my
perfect German I could also obtain some food as an Austrian from the Town Hall
and again and again at other welfare kitchens. As soon as I learned that food
was being distributed somewhere I rushed and queued up there. I even got some
cigarette coupons for being mistaken as an Austrian, then exchanged those
cigarette coupons for food – sometimes got some bread or cheese or even
sultanas.
I still had no documents of identification whatsoever.
However, my brother Fred had sent me a letter from Paris to Budapest which had
been issued by a hospital in Paris stating that I was a qualified surgical
equipment operator. I cherished this letter believing that it was my only hope
to get through. The letter asked all authorities to grant me priority to get to
Paris without delay. It was written in French with an official translation in
English, hand been rubber-stamped, was properly signed, looked official and
impressive. It gave me a lot of hope.
Having been unsuccessful with the French and the American
authorities, I went next to the Australian authorities to obtain assistance but
they told me that they could not help me because I was not an Austrian citizen.
I still had no identify papers to prove who I was.
Consequently I was without any nationality. My idea and aim was to get some
papers to prove that I belonged to a country. I met other desperate people like
myself walking the streets or sitting all day long on parks. One of those
people, a young Roumanian man, offered to get me some Roumanian identity
papers. I went with him, let him talk as I did not speak Roumanian, pretending
to have a toothache and holding a hanky over my cheek. He finally got me a
“Pass Certificat” from the Roumanian Repatriation Committee, No. 2642, dated 16th
May 1946. The certificate stated that I was allowed to travel. As my husband’s
family originated from Nagyvárad which previously belonged to Hungary,
conveniently my birthplace was put as Nagyvárad, now belonging to Roumania and
renamed Oradea Mare.
The Roumanian Repatriation Committee also informed me
that they could not help me in Salzburg and suggested that I go to Innsbruck to
see the French Consulate, where I might be able to get assistance. I needed a
laissez-passer to travel to Innsbruck and the only authority to issue one was
the French Occupational Forces. I felt that I could not be treated as a beggar
any longer and should not be intimidated. I went again to the French Occupation
Army headquarters, the Gouvernement Militaire Francais in Autriche. They seemed
more humane than the Austrians or the Americans. I asked for the
Officer-in-Charge, and I was told to wait for him. I sat down in an armchair
which was too big for me and very soon had fallen asleep. When the officer came
he touched my shoulder and I woke up. I did not know what to say to him! He
praised my French, read Fred’s letter but said that he could not issue any
document for me. He must have noticed my desperate state and said the only help
he could offer was to instruct the French Officers Canteen to let me \have
regular meals there. Hurrah! From then onwards I had warm meals and even a
glass of wine twice a day. I was given so much food that I took some to my
unfortunate fellow travelers who waited for the helpings outside the canteen.
As soon as they had finished the first helping of the soup I would return to
the canteen with the empty plate for a second helping. The cook there was a
Hungarian lady. She said she was a fortune teller and with her tarot cards made
some extra money. She “looked” into my future and said that I soon would be
with my brother. I trusted and believed her!
To get to Innsbruck was still my Number One problem,
but how? Eventually I went to the Salzburg railway station. I had no money to
buy a ticket and no travel documents to enable me to travel. I noticed further
down the railway line a dirty looking young man cleaning the rails. I
approached him and told him in very frank terms that I was desperate to get to
Innsbruck. He told me that I reminded him of his sister and that he would try
to help me but that I should get away from him immediately as it would have
been dangerous for him to be seen talking to a stranger. He then told me to
come back about midnight when he would try to help me as he knew the refueller
on the incoming train and hoped to succeed to smuggle me on the train.
Sure enough, I was pushed into the coal storage and a
dusty cover was thrown over my small body. Happily the train soon started to
move. Years later I went back to try to trace the young man and to compensate
him for his wonderful action but nobody could tell me what had happened to him
or to give me his address.
Luck was with me!! The train arrived in Innsbruck
without complications. I was the only person to alight there. There was no one
else on the platform not even a ticket controller. When I noticed a man sitting
on a bench opposite the station. I approached him asking if he could recommend
a place where I could get some food. He said “Sit down” and then explained that
there was the Kafé Innsbruck nearby, where I should try to get food but added
that there was very little food available anywhere in Innsbruck and nearly
impossible to find a hotel or a place to sleep. Innsbruck had been heavily
bombed, the population left, no shops were open as there was nothing to sell.
I entered the Kafé Innsbruck and sat down. A young
waitress came, put a newspaper and a glass of water on the table and left. I
started to read the paper and waited for service, when a tall man came, sat
down at my table and started a conversation. He said that he recognized me and
that I should remember him. I told him that he was mistaken, I had never met
him before. He said that he knew what I was after and if I agreed to given him
some money, he could take me over the border to Switzerland. We would climb the
mountains, starting at midnight. I wanted to keep going westwards but I did not
trust anybody. I thanked him for his offer and also told him that I have money;
even asked him to help me to find a hotel where I could get some sleep. I had
not slept in a bed for ages. He informed me that Innsbruck suffered a lot, was
heavily bombed and there were no hotels or beds available. Then he told me that
he shared a room in s a small hotel for men only, with five other men. As it
was public holiday, one man had left for the weekend, and he could smuggle me
into the room. I thought that five men were better than one and I somehow
trusted him.
The man went to the hotel reception window and began
small talk with the receptionist while I crawled on my hands and feet up to the
first floor to his room. After a while, the man entered the room. We did not
dare to speak. Then he indicated which bed I should get into. I hid under the
doona in the large bed, kept my dress on, hid my bag under the pillow and soon
was fast asleep. The man had told me I could stay only for one night there,
because the other man would be returning the next morning. Waking up the
following morning I lifted the doona a little. The man gesticulated that I
would have to wait before I could get out of bed and pointed to a chap who had
a shave facing a mirror near the window. I knew that I had to leave the room
before the cleaner arrived. Eventually, I was smuggled out, crawled again on my
hands and knees down the steps to the street level.
Once outside, I started to look for and found the
French Consulate. Arriving there the gardener told me that the consulate was
closed for three weeks and will not be open for another week. As there was
nothing in Innsbruck he suggested that I take the train to Bregenz and wait
there for about a week and then to come back. As there was no food, no bed, nearly nothing in Innsbruck I followed
his advice.
Bregenz, on the border of France, Austria and Germany,
a very lively and beautiful city on the Lake Constance, (Bodensee). As soon as
I arrived I looked for a hotel room. I needed to sleep and to have a wash. I
inquired at the railway station and was told to go to the Hotel Traube where
they could possibly accommodate me. Entering the Hotel Traube a tall, fat,
bossy woman with a red face and many pimples looked down at me. I got the
feeling that she had been a German collaborator. By that time, I was full of
tricks and ideas and I felt sure that I could handle her. I told her that I was
expecting a phone call from Paris and requested a room for a few nights. (How
this bluff came to my mind I cannot explain.) She became panicky and very
politely told me that there were no rooms vacant. However, as I was small, I
could have a “long chair” in a room sharing with five other girls. I quickly
agreed to this arrangement. She then took me up to a room on the first floor.
There was no one else in there. All the girls had gone out for the day. It was
beautiful sunny day. I locked the door, stripped off my clothes, had a proper
wash and then got dressed and decided to go out for a walk in order to
investigate. As I was walking down the stairs, the hotelier told me that a
French Occupational Army Officer had come and asked her to let me know that I
was to report to the office of the French Occupational Army Forces which was
just opposite the hotel. I began to panic and could not imagine what to do. I
had no identity papers whatsoever, and no choice other than to obey the order
and to go there.
Entering the office of the French Occupational Army
Forces, a nice smiling officer greeted me politely. He reminded me of Maurice
Chevalier and asked what I was doing in Bregenz. I told him that I was waiting
for news from my brother who is a US officer stationed in Paris. The officer
complimented me on my French and told me that he had to take me to his
superior. I did not know what was going to happen but I did not panic and kept
calm.
On entering the office of the superior officer he
invited me to sit down and await his return. There was a typewriter near me
where a young officer started to type very slowly with just one finger. He said
he had to type forms which then had to be duplicated many times (they did not
have photocopy facilities then). I smiled at him, got up and asked him to let
me type and with a gentle gesture pushed him away and took his place. I typed
quickly and when the superior officer came he was impressed. With a smile he
asked if I would like to work for them because they had a lot of urgent typing
to be done. I said that I would but that I have no working permit. He waved his
hands and said I will not need any official papers and I will even get paid. I
told him I rather needed food as there was no food to buy, not even for money.
It was lunch time, he invited me to follow him and soon I was sitting with the
officers in their canteen, eating properly cooked food and enjoying the
conversation. It gave me the opportunity to practice and to improve my French.
The officers offered to take me on a tour and to show me the city. I had a
wonderful time walking along the waterfront in the company of five uniformed
young and handsome French officers, enjoying the beautiful sunshine and taking part
in the conversation.
I still kept my “bed” at the Hotel Traube. The fat
hotelier always smiled suspiciously at me. She was convinced that I was a spy
trying to find out about collaborators. She even invited me one evening to have
dinner with her. After starving for weeks I could have eaten a horse. She
obviously tried to find out more about me, but I was cautious and did not
reveal anything.
The desk the typewriter at the French officers office
was facing the window. Anyone passing could see me working there. One day as I
left the office, a Jewish boy approached me and inquired what I was doing at
the French officers office. I told him that I did some typing there. The boy
then told me that the Rabbi sent him who would like to see me. I told him that if
the Rabbi would like to see me, he could come and talk tome at the Hotel
Traube. The boy said that the Rabbi was over 90 years old and bedridden. He
begged me to accompany him and to meet the Rabbi. I agreed and went with him.
We entered a small bedroom and I saw a white-haired,
white-bearded very fragile Rabbi. He said “Mein Kind, setzte Dich and sag mir
was Due hier machst” (My child, sit down and tell me what do you do here). I
told him that I was waiting for the French Occupational Army and that I was
waiting for the French Embassy to reopen in order to obtain a visa to enable me
to join my brother in France. What I had said appeared to be a “story” to them.
They were sure that I had been sent by the American Joint Organisation to check
on their activities and to find out whether they really helped refugees.
The Rabbi offered me a one-bedroom flat with full pay
and German nationality if I would stay and take on a job as a German
correspondent. I thanked him for the offer and explained that I could only stay
there for a few days and then had to return to Innsbruk to see the French
Consul in order to obtain a visa. The Rabbi said that they very badly needed
somebody to type their reports urgently. I told him that as long as I stayed in
Bregenz. I would help without any payment but only in the afternoons as in the
mornings I had to work for the French.
I had to type long reports for some Jewish
organisation. I took dictations and typed there for nearly six hours a day. As
compensation I was taken to a large storeroom and allowed to take whatever I
wanted from there. There was a lot of food store there – Nescafe, butter, jam,
cheese, sardines, conserves, clothing, shoes etc. My companions of four boys
and a girl benefited by coming to the storeroom with me. They could take
whatever they wanted to satisfy their hunger and to replace their worn outfits
and shoes.
The word spread around that I was a spy for the
American joint Organisation. Everyone became afraid of me and treated me with
suspicion. In the mornings I still typed for the French, also ate with them and
enjoyed their company. They were decent, married men but lonely and happy to
have some female company. As they could not speak German and did not fancy
local girls they appreciated my company and my typing. They felt isolated in
this foreign place with their strange habits. They were also keen to learn what
had been going on in Hungary.
I was becoming more and more worried and impatient. I
counted the days before I could return to Innsbruck to see the French Consul. I
did not have any money for the train ticket and because I was not registered
with any refugee organisation I could not hope for assistance. I asked the
Rabbi for a loan offered to sign a declaration that the loan would be repaid. I
needed a train ticket to return to Innsbruck. I gave the name and address of my
brother was security for the loan to substantiate the declaration. At last I
was given the train ticket to Innsbruck.
At six o’clock one morning I was awakened at the Hotel
Traube to come to the phone, there was a call for me from Paris. It was from my
brother. Here I must explain how my brother knew my address.
When I arrived in Innsbruck, I had explained to the
French officers that I had to send a message to Paris. They told me to go to
the Post Office in order to find out how to get in contact with Paris.
At the Post Office desk there was a sympathetic lady
who told me that unfortunately no private email or phone calls could go through
to France. I asked her advice but she told me that she could dot help. She also
said politely to leave the Post Office immediately as only the military
personnel could use it and she was not allowed to speak to a private person. In
fact she said all mail was censored and I had better give up.
During walks the French Officers I found out where the
censor’s office was. It was on the third floor of the “x” building. I soon went
to “inspect” the possibilities there.
Two young French army boy stood at the entrance gate
preventing any unauthorized or private person from entering the building. I had
learned the name of the censor and bluffed the two young soldiers that I had an
appointment with the censor. They were surprised, very naïve and let me enter.
I went up to the third floor and knocked on the
censor’s office door. When the door was opened and the censor saw me, he nearly
had a fit. He told me to go away saying that he is not allowed to talk to nay
private person. I told him that I only wanted to send a message to his wife in
Paris (Bluff again!! I did not even know if he had a wife). He said that he had
to see the message first. At that time I had not been clever enough to write a
tricky message and told him that I would return shortly with my typed letter.
I went back to the Post Office and approached the
sympathetic lady there. I had written out the message in German and asked her
to translate it into French in a telegraphic style for me. She said that she could
not accept anything from me but I should go over the counter near the window,
take out a telegram form and write my message on it. I should then leave the
written text on the shelf and to come back next day, the translation would be
there on a telegram form. She also warned me that I should not go near her or
talk to her. Next day when I went to the Post Office, sure enough the
translation was there on the shelf. I took it and left hurriedly. Then I went
to eh French Army Office and typed it out. It went: Dear Madam, Could you
please advise your friend, Mr. Frederick B. Lamberger, that his sister is
staying at the Hotel Traube in Bregenz and expects his call soon.
I took the typed message to the censor and when he
read it he promised to send it to his wife in Paris the same day. My bluff had
worked again! So, that was how my brother knew my address. (I already had my
brother’s address through the Budapest Red Cross).
When after so many years I heard the voice of my
brother I started to cry and I could not speak. Fred was naturally also
thrilled to hear my voice. He asked me to stop crying and assured me that he
would immediately arrange to have a visa sent by telegram to the French
Consulate in Innsbruck. I asked him also to confirm this to me in a telegram.
Sure enough, the telegram arrived the very next day through the American
Occupational Army in Paris. I kissed it and kissed it and kissed it. It was my
liberation promising a rosy future. I was the happiest girl then in Bregenz!
As an extra precaution I obtained a “French Zone
Australia” recommendation by the Committee Izraelite de Bregenz issued to the
American Joint Distribution Committee, but if was of no use. The Union of
Political Prisoners issued me with a ration card for the duration of my stay in
Bregenz. (see “Restricted permission” to stay in Bregenz up to the 14th
July 1946).
Next day I returned to Innsbruck and headed straight
to the French Consulate but it was still closed. The nice gardener advised make
to come back the next day and to have my passport ready. Passport??? I did not
have anything like it! I knew I had to produce a passport. Experience in how to
handle authorities came my way again. I also realized that I will need photos.
There was no shop or anywhere else to have a photo take. One boy in our group
met a local girl, who promised to help. It too a few days, we all went to some
suburb and there was a man with an old fashioned camera, who obliged to make
some photos of me.
Then I went to the French Occupational Forces Office.
The officers were well known to me. But they could not issue a passport as I
was not a French citizen. I then went to the Austrian Town Clerk office, the
Bezirkhauptmannschaft in the Bregenz and bluffed my away again. I told them that
the French sent me in order to obtain a passport. They told me that they did
not have any passport forms and that they did not even know how a passport
looked like as they had never ever issued one. They were the typical public
servant type never able to use their brains.
This situation suited me perfectly. If they did not know how a passport
looked like, I will show it to them! Ha-ha!! I asked for a letterhead and the
permission to use one of their typewriters. Then I typed out an Ersatz Passport
containing my name and my personal details. After the typing I asked for an
official rubber stamp and for their signature. When these were all in my hands
I excused myself saying I had to rush back to the French Consulate in order to
obtain a visa. I felt I had to be out of there, before they changed their
minds. I said “aufs Wiedersehen” and rushed out shutting the door behind me.
I returned to the French Occupational Army Office
being aware that I have to get a laissez passer (Let Pass) from them. When they asked for my passport I showed
them the Ersatz Passport. They asked “:What is this?” I told them innocently
that this is what the Australian Town Clerk Office issued, as they had run out
of official passport forms. They looked at each other and finally accepted it.
My bluff worked again! (I knew that the Austrians would not try to check with
the French and the French did not know about what an Austrian document looked
like). Luckily I was the proud holder of a “valid” passport and a genuine and
current laissez passer which was essential for traveling.
It is still beyond my comprehension and I am even now
surprised how brave I was and how much effort and agony resulted from my escape
after the horrors of World War Two. I do not like to talk about my experiences
during that period. However, today, it is even more of a puzzle how I managed
without sleep, food and money. Occasionally I was able to have a wash-up in a
ladies toilet. It was not an easy task to escape and on reflection my great
advantage was that I spoke fluently German and French. It amazes me how many
tricks and lies I invented and applied. It seemed that nothing was impossible
for me in order to succeed. My naiveté, courage and optimism helped me along
during those desperate weeks and Austria. I do not remember all the things I
did during that time in an effort to get to Paris to join my brother.
Finally I got on the train to France with my passport,
laissez-passer, visa and railway ticket. I was not aware that the train went
only to Strasbourg. My fellow companions, four boys and one girl were left
behind and asked me to take their luggage with me on the train to Paris. They
felt it would be easier for them to get over the border into France without
luggage. Thus I had with me: dirty and shabby rucksacks, shoulder bags,
blankets, even some musical instruments, plus my little shopping bag with
nearly nothing in it. At the time to say goodbye to my friends, we all cried –
even so it was a happy event for me. I felt uneasy during the train ride.
Sharing the compartment with me there were French soldiers who looked
suspiciously at my large amount of shabby luggage. I became alarmed and tired
to feign innocence by asking the soldiers to please sing me some French songs
which I had not heard for a long time. It broke the tension and in a few hours
the train arrived in Strasbourg. To my surprise it was the train terminal and I
had to get off with all the luggage and no money. A friendly elderly porter
approached me and asked some questions. I asked him to hold onto my luggage and
that he would get generous compensation in return for his help. In truth, I had
nothing to barter but my stubborn optimism. At last I was in France but not in
Paris. What a mess with all that shabby luggage. But optimism was still my
motto!
I have to side-track now in remembering Robert. During
my return travel in 1939 from London via Paris and Switzerland to Budapest in
connection with my domestic agency business, I met a young man, Robert, whose
uncles were the famous Hirschfeld Freres, distributors of pate de foie gras. It
was on my last trip before the war on the Arlberg Express to Budapest. It took
nearly two days. Robert was the only other passenger in the compartment. He
said that he often visited his relatives in Strasbourg, France, but lived with
his mother in Budapest.
The conversation started all in German and when he
called me “Kinderl” like my dear mother used to, I was taken and so was he.
After the first night alone together in the train we became sentimentally
involved and he urged me to get off the train and to spend a night with him. He
was married and so was I. I resisted for a while but approaching the Hungarian
border I gave in and we left the train together in Gyor, Hungary and spent the
night in a hotel. That was some event I will never forget. I had never felt
anything like it before, we both trembled with excitement. We were in love and
even after returning to Budapest the affair became my only great love in my
life. Robert brought out such passionate feelings I experienced the first time
in my life. From then on my life was diverted from sentimentality to genuine
love. We had problems to arrange meetings, but as lovers all over the world, we
found some hidden spots to meet even if it was only for a few minutes so that
we could hold hands and be together. I never felt the same fulfillment with my
husband. I cannot imagine where all that would have led us but we both did not
care. We met clandestinely as often as possible. His mother liked me very much
and often invited me so Robert and I had a good opportunity to be together at
her home. However he was soon called into the army. From then on only
correspondence followed and my life was diverted from love. Daily problems took
over in order to survive. But I can honestly confess, no other man every
brought out my body responses as Robert had.
Back to Strasbourg: All the so-called “Strasbourg pâté
do foie gras” was made by Robert and his mother in Budapest, put into tins and
exported to France. Luckily I remembered Robert’s uncle’s names. I told the
porter that I had to make a phone call. He gave me a jetton. Soon I found a
telephone directory and looked for the Hirschfelds telephone number.
Fortunately, I quickly got through on the phone. When the Hirschfeld brothers
heard my story they asked me to wait at the station and promised to pick me up
in a few minutes. The Hirschfeld Fréres were four brothers. Their only sister
married a Hungarian and lived in Budapest, having a son called Robert. They had
not had news from their sister and were anxious to meet me and to hear about
life in Budapest. Within minutes they had arrived. They all asked questions
about Hungary and their family there. The Hirschfeld Fréres put all my luggage
into their luxury car and drove me to their home. It was a four-storey
building, on each storey lived one brother with his family. They treated me
like a queen, then asked me what I would like to drink. I asked one of the
wives if I could have a bath first. After I had a clean up I was invited to a
luxuriously set table laden with food, dished of various hot meals, salad,
fruits and cakes which I had not seen for months. When they asked me to start
eating I did not dare to touch anything. They could not realize that I had not
seen real food for months and had lived on food coupons and handouts only.
Naturally I was overwhelmed by the feast in front of me. The family assured me
that there was enough for everyone and that I should just go ahead and eat. I
could not believe it but their genuine friendliness helped me along. They even
invited me to stay with them for a few days. They could not hear enough of my
story, were eager to find out more about life during the past few years, it was
all an eye-opener for them.
I became impatient and more and more anxious to see my
brother. I asked the Hirschfelds to contact my brother and to let him know that
I had arrived in France. They drove me back to the Strasbourg Railway Station.
The friendly elderly porter was richly rewarded for his assistance and finally
I left towards my dream destination: Paris.
At last I arrived at the gare de l’est in Paris with a
lot of shabby luggage. As I had the address of my brother 263 Boulevard
Voltaire, Paris 11e and with the help of kindly people, I got onto the Metro
and soon arrived at my destination. Boulevard Voltaire is a very long,
tree-lined boulevard with three Metro stations. The flat on the second floor
had three large window-doors looking over the boulevard. It consisted of an
antechamber, two rooms, kitchen, bath and toilet. The concierge there informed
me that my brother was away and handed me the keys to the flat. I was more than
surprised to admire the beautiful sycamore furniture, radio, and the fully
equipped kitchen. My eyes became clouded and I cried with joy. On the kitchen
table was a huge ham and a message from my brother that he was sent on official
duty to Bruxelles bur would return soon. Also, that the flat is mine as he does
not live there. This quieted me down and I started to sing, dance and offered
my thanks to Our Creator who had helped me all along. I felt on tope of the
world! Here I am in Paris, he capital city of the world. It seemed to be a miracle!
There was also some money on the table for me but what
was I to do with it? I tried to get organized but I did not know where to
start. I had ham but no bread. I had coffee and tea but no sugar. There was a
gas over in the kitchen and gas stove in the room but I had no matches. I went
down to see the concierge to find out how I was to obtain some food and fruits.
She informed me I have to get hold of food coupons, but fruit is free. It was
1946. Although the French had won the war, it was only on paper, there was a
lot of misery then in France. The Germans had taken all they could, caused a
lot of damage, and created shortages of nearly everything making life very hard
at that time.
A few days later my dear and wonderful brother
arrived. He looked very attractive in the U.S. uniform and seemed to be happy.
I thanked him for the money and told him that instead of buying clothes or
jewellery I would like to study and to get perfect in the French language. He
said that this made him even more happy and that hew as proud of me and
appreciated my decision. We were both excited and happy and could not hear
enough about the time during our separation.
The classes were for foreigners only, held daily from
10a.m. to noon. There were three grades: beginners, Advanced and Final classes.
Sitting for the entrance exam, because of my fair knowledge of French, I was
accepted into the Advanced class. At the end of each month study, we had to sit
for an exam where it was decided which class to join next month. I finished the
Final class soon and in three months got my Diploma.
There were also classes for Tourist Guides. I
enrolled, it was not cheap, but I liked the idea of becoming a guide. It was an
extremely interesting study. We started to visit places of historical
significance from the 11th century on: gates, bridges, buildings,
monuments, sculptures, paintings, parks, gardens etc. Finishing the class, only
three of us passed. I was the second. When I approached them in order to get a
job as a tourist guide, to my surprise was told that I would never get a job as
a guide. Disappointed, I asked why? Then I was told a guide has to be a tall
person and that I would not qualify being too small. Sure enough I was small
and will be small all my life. I felt sad and became aware that I had to give
up the idea of becoming a tourist guide. However I did manage to get some
private clients, mostly Americans, moving around by taxi, bus and on foot. I
did not like them, always asking questions about how much this or that was
insured for. Anyhow that activity did not last long.
The flat was very comfortable, I could cook, listen to
the radio, enjoying the programs of beautiful classical music, French songs,
the news day and night.
I did not see my brother often. He was away on duty
but popped in whenever he could. He introduced me to a Hungarian born couple,
the husband being a dentist. Soon we became close friends, they gave me lots of
courage and advice and it did not take long before I was adjusted to “Parisian
life”, enjoying freedom tremendously. Visiting all the wonderful art galleries,
museums and exploring the beautiful city of Paris. Shopping at the local
markets gave me also pleasure. I soon acquired a taste for some food until then
unknown to me, first asking a store keeper how to cook it. Rabbits were popular
replacing the more expensive chicken, baked beetroots and other half-cooked
vegetables easily available on the nearly market. Soon I became a real French
citizen overwhelmed by the feeling of security.
Parisian life in 1946 was near misery. We lived with
ration coupons for nearly everything. Once a year we were issued shoe coupons,
valid on our birthday. As I was born in April and winter approached, and me
having only my summer sandals, Fred somehow obtained a pair of brown laced-up
shoes, size 39, (my size being 35). I filled up the shoes with cotton wool,
walked like Charlie Chaplin, fell over several times. But they were a blessing
during the cold winter months in the rain and snow.
However I was still without proper identity papers!
Being still a “Roumanian” worried me. Fred engaged a solicitor to clear my
status. He charged Fred a lot of money believing him to be a “rich American”.
By the way, from the concierge to anybody else I was called “The American
lady”. Fred soon married the solicitor’s sister who was a newly arrived war
widow from Hungary with a small boy. The boy adored my brother and was often
saying “Mummy found my lost daddy”.
One of the boys from the Austrian refugee group
arrived in Paris and stayed with his married sister who did her best to get us
married. (At that time I was still married). I enjoyed the company of the young
man as we had much in common, but I did not want to get married and finally
told him so. He thanked me for my frankness and never called again. I am a
one-man woman, still remembering my husband, also Robert with nostalgia, I did
not need a companion and was not interested in an “affair”. It was my brother I
longed to join, he was Number One in my life! My marriage seemed far away in
the past!
I needed time to get over my tortured and painful
past. I tried to forget those bad experiences although in dreams they often
trouble me. I longed for a secure and settled life. I tried to keep busy and
felt the best is to forget the past, live for the present and look forward to
an unknown but promising future. I was confident and always optimistic! Being
very happy to be near my brother, although I rarely saw him, his wife somehow
being the jealous type. He just popped in, brought me some rarely obtainable
food and rushed quickly away in his small Renault car.
The Magyar Ház (The Hungarian House) in Paris
organized a seven day return trip to Budapest. We had to ravel on a collective
passport and also to return together. It was strictly for people who had lived
in Paris before the war. But at the interview they made a mistake when they
asked if I was in Paris before the war. My quick yes answer resulted in being
accepted and my name was put on the list. I had to pay the membership fee for
many years back. I definitely needed to go to Budapest to find out about my
husband, our flat, our property, the contents of our safe deposit box etc.
In Budapest I met some friends but found no trace of
relatives. With whatever money I had, I bought stamps. It was not allowed for
anything of value to be taken out of Hungary. Robert, my “foie gras” friend was
the only solution. We worked only at night time at his conserve factory to
avoid the workers attention. With the assistance of a devoted philatelist,
Karoly Kovesdy, we put bundles of stamps in tins, sealed and labeled them as
“goulash soup”, “fish soup”, “lecso” and similar Hungarian specialties. Others
smuggled tennis balls, sewing machine needles, even gold, but everything had to
be hidden. As we were like a family, we distributed our goods so nobody had
quantities of the same. I had about 30 tins full with stamps. When I gave one
away to each traveler they said “Are you silly, to take tinned food to Paris?”
I kept only three tins with different labels for myself. The custom officer was
satisfied and luckily I had the basic stock for my future stamp business.
In France the concierge had to stay on the premises.
Having plenty of time, they obtained large bags of used stamps on envelopes,
soaked and dried them, thus increasing their meager incomes. I soon bought a
bag of over 20 kilos of used unwashed stamps still stuck on the envelopes. The
only available vessel in my flat large enough to soak huge quantities of
envelopes was the bathtub. After soaking, they became detached from the
envelopes, had to dry before sorting. It is hard physical work. I also bought
tweezers, a magnifying glass and other items needed in the trade.
My French accent was Parisian as I had learned that
language in France, not like my English which I had studied in Hungary and
spoke with a “special accent”. It made a great difference. When you live and
hear the local language around you, you adapt and follow it easier. A lot of
cunning, maneuvering and mostly my Parisian French and past experience of
bluffing enabled me to get a stall at the Carrée Marigny on the Champs Elysées
philatelic market. It opens on Thursdays (a weekly school holiday in France)
and on Sundays. Stalls were allocated to French citizens only.
I bought a basket which is normally used to hold linen
for washing, put all the stamps I had into it with a note which read: 10 for 10
centimes. People queued up at my stall. One of my neighbors told me that he
held a stall there for many years, but never had people queued up. I also got a
warning that children took 12 stamps and paid for only 10. I laughed! At the
end of the day, my basket was nearly empty and I returned home with a
pocket-full of money. It was not simple or easy at the Carrée Marigny, standing
in the open air from early morning until late afternoon at a draughty corner,
especially in winter or on a windy or rainy day. But I was proud to have
succeeded and thus made a living.
I learnt that stamp dealers met every afternoon at
Café Drouot. When I first went there an old dealer from Hungary greeted me with
open arms and became very helpful. He was dealing in rare collectors item only.
He asked me to come again the next day and then gave me a bag of used stamps
which he said were no use to him. I realized that soon I will be able to start
making money.
Hugo, a stamp dealer colleague I knew, arrived penniless from Budapest.
His widowed sister with a young son did not want him at her place. He was a
decent honest man, hoping that his beloved wife would return from the
concentration camp. As his hopes were fading, he decided to leave Budapest. I
was lonely too; he asked Fred to let him stay at my place. He then moved in and
we started doing up stamp-envelopes in earnest. Through Fed we obtained a long
cutting table from a tailor. This was a necessity for such work. Hugo did not
speak French, and as a keen music lover enjoyed listening to the radio. He
earnestly concentrated on work. He became an honest friend, a hard-working
partner. We shared our living but he did not want to get married.
Making up envelopes with stamps involves hard physical work: bending all
the time, straining the eyesight in selecting stamps, checking their “teeth”
etc. Only lightly cancelled stamps could be used to see clearly the picture on
them. We used only stamps in perfect condition to put into the envelopes. The
cheap price people pay for stamp-envelopes covers mostly the costs of manual
labour and for the envelopes. The stamps inside are worth very little. Only the
envelopes containing larger quantities are worth buying.
I also looked after the household, cooked, did the washing, cleaning,
all the messages, mail, private and business correspondence in various
languages, took parcels to the customs and then posted them at the post office.
I had really no time for anything else. Hugo worked on the stamp envelopes, so
deeply involved in his work that he often even forgot to eat. He was a keen
radio listener and had a vast knowledge of classical music, I had the feeling
he should have been a conductor of an orchestra.
I also went around to the shops, to Café Cadet, where I made lasting and
valuable connections with dealers from Belgium, Spain, Portugal, Holland,
England, Greece and elsewhere. We soon expanded our trade, subsequently our
main exports went to America.
In France only French nationals could get a license to establish a
registered firm. To be able to function and to get a stamp dealer license, I
decided to form a company and called it the Société Inter-Philatelique. But I
needed a French gérant (manager). My dentist friends recommended a young
university student, Robert, who agreed to become the gérant for a sum equal to
his rent. He did not know anything about philatelie. Within a year he got
married to a widow with a child and who soon gave birth to twins. From then on,
Robert somehow used black-mailing tactics to ask and obtain more money from us.
Then he started accusing us of exporting large quantities of stamps for which
he was responsible. As he did not have nay knowledge of stamps he even hinted
that perhaps something else was packed in the large cases for export. He blackmail
tactics got worse and were used more often.
After four years of really hard work, just making a meager living, we
had nothing to show for it. Realising that we could not afford to pay Robert
with his ever increasing demands for more money, there was not much hope to
carry on. A Hungarian born stamp dealer from London visited Paris frequently, I
knew his wife from Budapest and he soon became a close friend. When I talked to
him about our financial status and Robert’s blackmailing attitude, he suggested
that Hugo should leave for London where he would employ him and “You will be
able to manage whatever you do, I am confident of it” he said to me.
After the army Fred founded the firm Société Indeshirable employing
about 50 people. He also represented the Elna Sewing Machine firm and became an
expert in sewing machines and repairs.
He was invited to work for the American Joint Organisation in Paris,
whose main function was to assist Jewish emigrants.
We could have got free passage to Australia through the American Joint
Organisation, but Fred insisted to pay for our passage. This was the reason
that the Sydney Jewish Welfare organisation did not know about our arrival in
Sydney.
The Suez Canal crisis was on the daily news and the Russians were nearby
in Germany. We could not obtain French citizenship (the main reason not having
any children). People like me, without nationality to citizenship, panicked. I
was told the Russians would not let me stay in Paris, they badly needed interpreters
and I would most likely be taken to Russia.
Early in 1950 Fed and I decided to emigrate. Fred could have gone
without delay to the U.S. but I would have to wait for the Hungarian quota to
be accepted. Fred was urged several times to go ahead and promised once he
arrived in the U.S. I could follow him later. But he firmly insisted and said
that now I have found her I will never leave her. We approached the Canadian
and the Australian Embassies in Paris with a view of emigrate. The Australians
replied first, accordingly we decided to try our luck in Australia. We could
not have gone without any difficulty to South America but without the knowledge
of the local language there, we decided against it.
The Australian Embassy did make difficulties for me being over the page
of 35 and single. Luckily we noticed a sign there, that priority was given to a
few professions like nurses, shorthand writers et. I put down shorthand writer
as my profession but was still refused a permit. Then it was suggested that Fred
should sign a statutory declaration that he will vouch for me never becoming a
financial or moral burden to the Australian Government. Of course he
immediately signed the document.
As soon as we returned home Fred dictated to me in order to practice my
shorthand in English. Then we started to liquidate. Fred was divorced by then
and lived alone in his own home unit at 61 rue Roublot in Fonetay Sous Bois. He
liquidated his firm, the Société Indechirable and his office at 8 Bd. Magenta,
paid off his 50 employees and sold his home unit.
When I sold my home unit I received more money then Fred originally paid
for it. The reason being that when the registered office of the philatelic firm
was established, it became “mixed residential and commercial”. Fred did not
want to accept the money for my flat. I argued and said if he did not take the
money I would stay put in Paris. Reluctantly he took it.
We moved for a few weeks into a hotel to wait for the departure date for
Australia. It was the first time we had shared accommodation since our
childhood. It was an emotional departure when we boarded the train in Paris for
Genova. Our friends gathered there with flowers and small gifts. This scene is
still with me. In some way I felt sorry to leave as I had become very fond of
Paris, but realized that I had to face reality and look forward to secure and
sheltered future.
Arriving in Genova, Italy, we were told that there was only one vacancy
on the ship for a woman. It was allocated tome and soon I left on the SS Napoli
of the Flotta Lauro Shipping Company. As there was no vacant cabins for men on
the SS Napoli, Fed had left a week later on the SS Roma of the same company.
Our belongings were packed in Paris by professional people and were shipped
there to Sydney.
I was assigned to a cabin for four. There were two Polish ladies with
two small children already settled in the cabin. Each of the ladies occupied
one bunk and the two small children shared the third bunk in the cabin. I was
to sleep on the fourth bunk. They ate garlic all the time, believing it would
stop sea sickness. The cabin door was always closed which made it worse for me,
the potty for the children was kept on the floor not always empty. They were
decent people, just egotistical and unfortunately in the majority. I had to
accept whatever they decided. I got frustrated and felt miserable. The smell
and the lack of fresh air made me feel sick. I felt I could not share the cabin
with then any longer and approached the purser (ship’s officer) offering to pay
whatever price difference was required to move into another cabin. The answer
was that he was very sorry, the ship was overloaded and there was nothing that
he could do to shift me.
Here I have to stop and report an interesting incident. There was a young
man passenger with his father from Latvia. His name sounded feminine and he was
given a bunk in cabin for women. He also approached the purser at the end he
was put in a cabin with one of the sailors.
I took the situation into my own hands. As it was rather warm, I took my
blanket out of the cabin, leaving only my belonging there, acquired a deck
chair and from then on slept on the open deck, enjoying the clean fresh air.
The ship was full of Italians. I did not know anybody, felt unhappy and
longed for my brother. Then I got an idea. Instead of being idle and lonely, I
decided to give English lessons to the Italian passengers. They were rather
primitive people, trained in agriculture and were specialized betraviers (beetroot
growers) with a working permit for Tasmania. I started forming groups of six
people to give them lessons in English.
When the purser, strolling on the deck noticed a group of Italians
sitting around me he tried to find out what was going on. When I told him that
I ma just giving the Italians free lessons in English to pass the time, he was
most impressed. A little later he came back and asked me to follow him to see
the captain. The captain was very friendly, had a bright smile, shook my hands
and thanked me for my help with the Italians on board. He spoke French without
any difficulty. He then invited me and said from then on I was to join the
officer’s table in the first class restaurant for meals. It reminded me,
although it had happened a few years back, of my experience with the French
Occupational Army in Austria.
After the evening meals one young Italian officer asked me for a dance.
I was an experienced and light dancer. Soon the floor was left to us and people
stood around clapping. I really felt privileged and relaxed, especially when
noticing the Polish women of my cabin glancing jealously towards the dance
floor.
I felt useful and it gave me confidence for the future, realising that
from now on I had to be myself again do the most in order to make a decent
living. I would have to work hard at whatever comes my way!
The ship proceeded southwards. After Naples (Napoli in Italian) the
climate turned warmer. The ship touched Sicily and then traveled to strange,
and to me unknown countries. We stopped at Port Said, some of the passengers
got off but I, along with some others, were not allowed to go ashore being
stateless.
The passage through Aden was an exciting experience for me. We crossed
the Suez Canal at two in the morning. I obtained a “special permission” to stay
on the top desk to be able to witness the uniqueness of that narrow passage. I
was almost chained to the deckchair to make sure I would not fall overboard.
Covered with several blanks I looked like a bundle of rugs. It was a freezing
cold night and even with all the covers I shivered. But it was worthwhile,
witnessing the fascinating traffic-flow in one direction only and for me it
became an unforgettable event. We slowly moved towards the Indian Ocean.
Arriving at Fremantle, the western sea-port of Perth in Western
Australia. Our immigration papers were checked and accordingly we were allowed
to leave the ship. A warm joy, a wonderful feeling gave me confidence for the
future. My heart palpitated heavily as I stepped off the boat on the soil in
Australia. I knelt down and kissed the soil. (The only think I knew about
Australia was that the word “Australia” meant “the south”). With a group of my
Italian friends we took a bus to Perth, the capital of Western Australia to
explore. As I was the only one who could speak English the others were
constantly asking me questions. When we arrived at Perth Railway Station we saw
about a dozen clocks on a board indicating various times. We were puzzled and
did not understand the set-up. I realized much later that the clocks were to
show various departure times.
Next day the ship moved towards Melbourne, the capital city of Victoria,
where most of the passengers got off. The Sicilian betraviers all left to
fulfill their work contract in Tasmania. The ship stopped for three days in
Melbourne. It was again a new experience for me. Some people urged and invited
me to stay there but somehow I was adamant about Sydney. I had the feeling that
my experience of bad times was over and now in Australia the hope of a new
happier life overwhelmed me.
When the ship moved slowing into Sydney Harbour, I ran from one side of
the ship to the other, shouting in excitement, admiring the view and calling
others to come and be amazed. It was something I never experienced before and
could not have imagined! Sydney, the second most beautiful harbour in the
world. (the first being in Rio de Janeiro). I did not know what to say, the
fast moving ferries, the small sailing boats, the Sydney Harbour Bridge
nicknamed the coat hanger, all in front of
me! There are many beaches along the Australian coast, curved with white
sand, cliffs broken by the surf, the eternal blue sky and sunshine which I was
longing to explore!
Shortly we landed. I was the holder f an identity card issued in Paris
to stateless people like me, called Titre de voyage, with an Australian entry
visa. At arrival in Sydney nobody was meeting or waiting for me. As I did not
know anybody, I am sure I must have looked stupid, standing there on my own and
looking around in some sort of anxiety. I did not know where or which way to
go.
At the customs clearance I was asked to open one of my suitcases. The
officer noticed a small box there and inquired about the white tablets in it. I
told him they are aspirins. (I had taken the tablets out of the original box
before leaving Paris – I cannot even new explain why). Then the touched the
tablets with his fingers. I kept saying “don’t touch please”. He still could not
work out what they were for. I tried to explain but without success. He again
held up the box and looked at me suspiciously. I remembered that somebody
mentioned if you do not know an answer in Australia, just say “hobby”. So I
just said this magic word, he soon put the box back into my suitcase, and left
me with a smile. The custom control was over! I learned alter than aspirins in
Australia are called Aspro.
Then one of the passengers from the ship came towards me to say goodbye.
She also asked where I wanted to go. I just said “somewhere to sleep”. She
turned to the others and talked to them. One of the gentlemen with her said he
would just have to make a phone call. Then he returned with a smile and told me
an elderly lady who lived alone in a house in Flemington would gladly let me
stay with her. He then even kindly
offered to take me and my luggage there. The old woman charged me five guineas
per week to be paid in advance. That was aw lot of money then (weekly wage
being about twenty pounds). I felt ashamed that she did not trust me and had
asked for the rent in advance. She also told me, no cooking, no washing not
even stockings, and no key. I had to ring the bell when she would let me in.
The window of the room overlooked the cemetery and the penetrating odor from
the nearby abattoirs was unbearable. I often felt suffocated. I had to close
the windows, pull down the blinds, but even then I was not able to get any
sleep. I was used to sleeping with open windows in summer and winter.
Work was not new to me, it was a way of life and it should be my motto
for the future. My concern was mostly about my weak body. I realized also that
paramount to my cause was the management of time. It was my firm opinion that I
should try to improve from then onwards and to apply my skills more usefully. I
also realised that if I had any problems, I had to try to solve them myself.
When I tried to reassess my situation I realized that I have to adapt
myself to these strange ways in Australia where I am going to live and where I
hoped to belong from now on. I remembered reading somewhere that if you tried
to be an individual in Australia society would crush you. I decided to be
reasonable and to iron out my past and to be ready for the future. I could not
allow myself to be insufficiently prepared for my future social status and
employment.
I asked the landlady to order a bottle of milk for my breakfast. She
said that I am not allowed to use the fridge but she will gladly sell me a
glass of milk every morning. I found out soon that she charged me the price of
a whole bottle. I felt unhappy, desperate, cried all the time, panicked,
remembering my comfortable Paris flat, not to mention the one in Budapest. I
knew I had to stay there at least for a week until my brother arrived and with
him we will make more convenient arrangements.
The week soon passed, until I met my brother at the Sydney overseas
terminal. I told him it would be better if we both returned to Paris. He
explained to me that it is not so simple. First of all I had no identity, no
nationality and no return visa and was still stateless. For the time being we
would have to stay in Sydney.
I then realized that I have to clam down. After all I was with my
brother which meant the world to me. I had to try to make a decent enough
living to feel impressed and be satisfied with whatever is coming my way. I
felt easily tired a lot of times. My will was strong but my body could not
match it. What if my body failed me, a terrible fate! But I soon got over this
pessimistic feeling.
The management of time and the priority how to get along seemed
important and worthwhile, the target should be deeper planning and the fraction
of its true worth. It was clear to me that from now onward I should improve,
apply my existing skill, manage my speech with proper eye contact, to face what
to do expect and never let myself slide back. I also realized that if there was
a problem, to solve it amiably, wait patiently until the unpleasantness went
away and was gone forever. I have to abide by the words of wisdom formed by
ethics.
I tried to find some other accommodation. When I was asked where I come
from I said "from Paris". I did not realize then that in Australia
they thought a single woman from Paris must be a prostitute. I could not get a
room, not even a bed because of this Australian prejudice.
I went to the city by train every day to find a job. I had numerous
interviews, and was often promised "we will let you know" but nothing
came of it. I hated to use up my savings which diminished rather fast. But I
made up my mind not to work for Continental people, even though I could have
got more pay. I wanted to work only with Australians and for Australians!
A few days later the gentleman who got me the accommodation, came over
and invited me to their Christmas Party. I felt human again. They were all born
Australians and rather nice and kind to me. When I mentioned to him about my
difficulties finding a job, he gave me an introductory letter to the largest Australian
insurance company, recommending me as a shorthand writer. He felt sure that I
had a good chance to get a job there. The letter was addressed to the then
general manager, Mr. Adams.
Next day I went there and was interviewed by Mr. Adams who promised me a
job, starting the next day! I ran home and practiced my shorthand until late
that night. Reporting for work, I was introduced to a Mr. X, the manager of the
Workers Compensation Department. My English accent was more a Hungarian-French
mixture, and not to his liking. More than one I had been told "Go home
where you come from! We do not want you!" or "We do not need
you" and similar remarks reflected the attitude of the average Australian
then. They tolerated only English, Irish, Welsh or Scottish immigrants.
Everybody else was not welcome and were not called immigrants but refos. Short
for refugees. Officially we were called "Displaced Persons" and later
"New Australians".
The Workers Compensation Department manager asked me to come to his
office with my shorthand book. He started to dictate but unfortunately I did
not understand even one of his words. He had a very strong Australian accent.
When he said "policy" I thought he had said "police". As I
could not understand his fast sentences I begged him to dictate slowly. He
stood up and shouted at me for my "gibberish English" (at that time I
didn’t even know what he meant). He showed me to the door, pushed me out and
shut it violently behind me. I became desperate and began to cry. It was my
first major experience of racial discrimination in Australia. Everyone in the
office was silently looking at me but nobody dared to stand on my side or said
a word. Then I went to see Mr. Adams, who asked me what had happened. I thanked
him for offering me a job and told him that as I could not fulfill the position
satisfactorily I did not deserve any pay, then started towards the door in
order t leave his office. He called me back saying, "Please stop crying,
and sit down. I will soon be back". He returned with a nice middle-aged
blonde lady and introduced her to me as Mrs. Scott. She comforted me, took out
a handkerchief and wiped my tears away. Then she took my hand and led me
downstairs into the basement to the Motor Department. The manager there, Mr.
Crane, told me that from now on I would work for him as a typist and not as a
shorthand writer and assured me also that I would receive the same salary. He
then told me to go home, have a rest and to start the next day in his
department. Next day I was introduced to a young man called Hugh, who explained
the details f the job I had t do. There were printed slips which I had to fill
in with the registration number of the car, the amount of the claim, the cheque
number etc. and when the slip with the relevant details was completed, to type
out an envelope, put the slip with the attached cheque into the envelope, then
place the whole lot into the outgoing tray.
When a few weeks later I had finished the job I asked Hugh and also
everybody in the office for more work, but was told that there was no work for
me. I also approached the assistance manager who told me to return to my
typewriter and to type whatever I wanted as there was nothing else for me to
do. Next day I came to the office with my address book and some aerogrammes in
order to write to my overseas friends. The girl next to me at the typing pool
asked what I was typing. There was a half-finished aerogramme in my typewriter
when I told her that I was writing a French letter. She began to giggle, ran
around whispering to the girls around me. I did not understand why. How should
I have known what a French letter was?
We were paid fortnightly on Thursdays. At lunchtime on payday all the
girls went shopping. After lunch they all showed items they had bought, discussed,
complimented or criticized the purchases. I naturally took a silent part in the
discussion and also had a look at the displays. During my first weeks there,
one girl showed around her purchase. When I asked her where did she buy it, she
said D.J.'s (meaning David Jones, the famous department store). I did not know
what D.J. stood for and asked her. Naturally whispering and giggling followed
and I was called stupid. Another time the girls asked, "Catherine, show me
what did you buy today?" I showed the six oranges I had bought. (At home
we had been told to buy only when the need is there.) Also I had to watch my
budget as my rent was high and because I was not allowed to use the kitchen, I
had to eat out. I could not then afford to buy on impulse. I had to be careful
and spend money only when it was necessary.) On another occasion I heard that
one of the girls had bought oranges at the cost of about £40. I asked her what
kind of oranges cost so much? They all giggled again when she told me that she
had purchased a railway ticket to Orange, a country town in New South Wales. It
shows that it is not enough for a newcomer to speak the local language.
It was not to my liking to sit around doing no work and to get paid for
it. I took courage, knocked at the office door of Mr. Crane and told him that I
was not given any work. He asked me to bring my shorthand notebook and said
that he would dictate slowly to me. He assured me that if I needed something
repeated just to let him know. He informed me that from then onwards I was to
work for him as his secretary. My desk with the typewriter was moved away from
the typing pool into a corner. I was told never to leave my typewriter
uncovered and when the work was done to take all into his office and if he was
not there to leave it on his desk because it was confidential.
I was the happiest girl then, but all the girls avoided and even hated
me, especially those who had done the secretarial job previously. Some became
so jealous of my upgraded position that they behaved nastily towards me. For
example, they put cigarette butts into my typewriter and also took out my cup
from my drawer and put it into the wastepaper basket. What they did to me was
annoying and childish. In the office I did not have anybody to talk to. A few
weeks later I was admitted to the Scottish Hospital with a nervous breakdown as
a consequence of the girls silly behavior. I spent six weeks there. My pay
cheque was sent to me regularly. The company’s generosity towards me was
wonderful. It shows that not everyone was antagonistic towards newcomers. From
then on I just worked and concentrated on the job.
At the end of each month the Accounts Department needed an extra typist
to help with the monthly statements. Most Australian girls dislike typing
figures for hours. Roger, who was in charge, approached me and asked if I was
willing to work overtime for him because he needed someone urgently. I told him
he should ask Mr. Crane first who soon agreed that when I had finished my
work I was allowed to go to the Accounts Department on the fourth week to type
statements. This was a more friendly place, everybody talked to me, I even made
a lasting friendship with one of the girls there. After years we are still friends
and meet often.
Overtime workers were given dinner money too. Most of them had dinner at
the nearby elegant Australia Hotel. However, I did not go out for dinner, I
bought sandwiches with me or ate in the office canteen. I had to save money in
order to find more convenient accommodation. I had other expenses to consider
too. The cost of transport to and from Flemington to the city was not cheap,
plus the cost of eating out and paying the weekly rent. Fortunately, my wage
was very generous, 19 guineas, (£18.18.0d) per week.
Fred managed to find new accommodation for me. People whom he had met on
the boat lived in Double Bay. They offered him a room in a house owned by a
Hungarian family. He did not want to move, and leave his comfortable room, but
arranged everything for me and soon I moved. My new hosts were a very friendly
and charming couple, with a small son who suffered from asthma; who, because I
was at the same height as him, soon became my good friend. The husband liked to
do the cooking. There was always more food than for three of them, consequently
I was often invited to share their dinner. I would walk to work every
morning to save money. It took me about an hour but it did me good.
A few months later when I had saved enough money I started to look for a
flat, soon I received a phone call informing me that if I am still interested
to rent a one bedroom flat, to contact so and so. I made the contact and was
shown a flat in a building called "The Roosevelt" at Elizabeth Bay,
consisting of an antechamber, a bedroom, a dining room, a bathroom and a
kitchen. I was thrilled and took it immediately. My host couple in Double Bay
treated me as a friend, were happy to hear about me getting a place on my own
and soon found another tenant. I still keep in touch with them.
The rent was 18sh 6d a week. My salary then amounted to £18.18.0d per
week plus overtime money. I was told to pay the rent to the original tenant who
had a shop at Wynyard Station. They only paid 13sh 6d to the landlord and kept
the rest for themselves. It did not concern me, I was happy to have a place for
myself. However, one day the manager of The Roosevelt knocked at my door and
accused me of being a trespasser and told me I have to vacate the flat within a
fortnight. The following morning he told me that if I was prepared to pay £500
key money plus the weekly rent of 13sh 6d monthly in advance, I could stay. I
was frightened and decided to investigate the legitimacy of key money. When I
was told that it was usual to pay key money, the next morning I went to the
manager's office but found only wife there. I gave her the £500 plus the rent
for a month. She gave me a receipt for the rent only. When I asked for a
receipt for the £500 I was told that it was normal practice to pay cash and I
should not worry about a receipt.
To my surprise a week later, "Notice to Quit" was put under my
door advising me to leave the flat within a week. I did not sleep that night.
Next morning I asked my manager for the advance. He told me to go and see the
legal officer of the company. There I was asked to pay a fee of £10.
Unfortunately they could not do anything and I was told I have to quit.
A few days later on my way home a hand pulled me into a shop opening and
indicated to be quiet. It was The Roosevelt manager's wife who had taken the
£500 from me as the key money. She hurriedly gave me the address of a solicitor
to see, named Mr. Black who was then over 80 years old, a fatherly type, a wonderful,
charming and friendly man. He always wore a black suit, white shirt and smiled
all the time. He assured me not to worry and that everything was under control.
He started proceeding against The Roosevelt manager on my behalf. My manager at
the insurance company let me off to attend the court case whenever I had to. I
offered to work overtime for the time I was away but he told me not to worry
about it. He also advised me not to tell the girls where I went.
At the Insurance Company I was very often called away from my typing to
the Plate Glass Department, to the Marine Department, or to the ground floor to
the Fire Department, as they required an interpreter. As a consequence, it was
not difficult for me to leave my typewriter and go to Court for the hearing.
Mr. Black repeatedly assured me that there was nothing to worry about.
One day arriving home, I found that the electricity had been disconnected. Next
day the gas supply and the water was cut off. Mr. Black contacted the health
department and the water was soon restored; but neither the gas nor the
electricity was connected again. Mr. Black advised me to stay in the flat, and
most of all not to panic. This went on for weeks during which time The
Roosevelt manager changed his solicitor three times. Mr. Black informed me that
according to the Fair Rent Board if one stayed in a flat for a minimum of 13
weeks she or he would become a "protected" tenant. As the landlord
did not accept the rent from me, Mr. Black advised me to pay the rent regularly
on the due date into a separate bank account. The case was adjourned and
adjourned and adjourned with varying excuses each time. One day after the Court
case Mr. Black told me with a smile that "the case was withdrawn". I
did not understand what was meant by "withdrawn". When I asked him,
he laughed and assured me that everything would be fine from now on. I took a
taxi, ran home to my flat and eagerly looked up the word "withdrawn"
in the dictionary. When I found out the meaning of the word I felt satisfied
and thanked Our Lord.
In those days, liquor in Australia could only be sold by dozen bottles.
I rang a friend of mine who represented the Italian Fiorelli Wines and ordered
a dozen bottles, each of a different brand and asked her to send them to Mr.
Black. He was most impressed with the gift. A few weeks alter I was invited to
a party to join him celebrating his 60 years legal practice in Sydney. It
was held at an elegant China Town restaurant in the city.
Mr. Black specialized in divorce and tenancy cases. The people invited
to his party were all his clients. I sat between Mr. Black and a middle-aged
man. The man started talking to me and told me how satisfactorily Mr. Black had
conducted his case. He then questioned me about my case. He constantly spoke
about "the other party in his cases a dirty party. I said that my
other party was also a very nasty man who made the last few months like Hell
for me. Mr. Black laughed his head off. The man was referring to a divorce case
but his remarks were appropriate to my case with the landlord too.
I was happy having a flat to myself at last. I bought some furniture,
curtains etc, decorated the place really nicely. Soon I invited some friends to
celebrate. My social life in Sydney started to pick up from there. I became
rather popular then and soon invitations followed not only from Continental
people but also from Australians.
At a social gathering a bank manager who knew me as an interpreter said
to me: "Mrs. Glück you work too
hard. You know how to work and how to make money. Would it not be better if you
let money work for you?" I did not understand what he intended to tell me
and I told him so. He then said, "I will enlighten you, listen
carefully". He started to explain how to buy shares in the Stock Exchange
and consequently to get the dividends quarterly without any trouble, thus
increasing my income without working for it. My answer was "No thank
you!" I had an uncle in Budapest who was a stockbroker. During the depression
in 1932 lots of people had committed suicide losing all their possessions
during the market crash. The bank manager smiled at me and said "But this
is Australia and it is safe to invest in shares".
I forgot all about this discussion when I read an advertisement about
evening classes entitled "Stock Exchange and Shares". I soon enrolled
for a term of three months with classes once a week on Tuesday evenings. At the
end of the term, I sat in front of my mirror saying to myself: "You stupid
girl. You spent all those 13 evenings learning nothing."
A few weeks later, there was another advertisement by the New South
Wales Education Department about evening classes on shares to be held at the
Wellington Street Public School, Bondi, for a term of three months, fee 30 shillings.
The lecturer was Mr. John Valder, who later became the President of the
Sydney Stock Exchange and was also involved in the Liberal Party in Australia.
At the conclusion of those classes there was always question time. There
I was surprised to find out how much I had picked up at the previous classes. A
third opportunity to attend classes about shares was held at the Sydney Stock
Exchange. Those classes were more expensive but as I had become interested in
the subject I enrolled. I handout yet bought any shares. Eventually I started
studying the relevant pages in the Sydney newspapers re investment. After
nearly a year of studying the share market I decided to start investing, but
only in industrial and not in speculative shares. Ladies at the classes had
recommended some brokers they had known or had dealt with. I took a note of the
names and made appointments with three brokers. I had decided to invest L100
and told each broker about it. Each broker had suggested amongst others Farmers
Departmental Store shares at L5 each. That was a very high price. I bought 20
shares. A few weeks alter Farmers were taken over by Myers for 22 million
pounds. I made quite a nice profit out of the deal and as a consequ4ence took a
two-week holiday at the Barrier Reef and also bought a mink fur wrap out of the
profit. It was fashionable then to attend concerts wearing furs. I also bought
a season ticket and enjoyed the classical music evening concerts held at the
Sydney Town Hall wearing my new fur wrap.
I decided that in future all monies I made on the Stock Exchange I will
invest in shares. I studied the share market regularly, also the financial
columns in the daily newspapers and slowly increased my portfolio.
On weekends I taught English. One of my students was a well-known
chiropodist who had practiced in Budapest for over 20 years. He needed to sit
for an exam to enable him to get a license to practice in Australia. I made out
a dictionary for him detailing the words necessary for his trade in order to
pass the exam, (words like: skin, scissors, blood, nails, bunions, swollen,
infected etc.). He was a low learner but his memory was amazing! It took
him three months to learn, but he passed the exam favorably. This was also a satisfying
feeling for me. He could not converse in English at social gatherings but his
professional skill brought him lots of clients and his popularity grew. He
soon became a well-known chiropodist in Sydney.
Another one of my students was a baker born in Hungary. I made out a
dictionary for him containing words like: flour; water, salt, over, heat,
yeast, degree etc. He also passed the exam and became a well-known baker. Today
his products are on the shelves of all chain stores and supermarkets.
I also started to assist people in completed their yearly tax returns. I
was not sure if this was legal and approached the Income Tax Department with a
view to getting a tax agent license. They advised me that as an official
interpreter I was permitted to assist people in preparing their tax returns. My
reputation spread and soon I became very busy in this field.
An English-born lady had her household contents insured through my
agency. She range and asked me to come and see her. I thought she wanted to
discuss a claim. Then she said she had won first prize in the lottery, and had
decided to sell her home unit and return to England. She said she did not want
to have anything to do with estate agents and asked me to find a buyer and quoted
L3,200 as the price, promising me the customary commission. Returning home I
suddenly had the idea that instead of finding a buyer, I should buy the home
unit for myself. But I did not have enough money. My wonderful brother came to
my rescue again and lent me some money without interest which I accepted as a
loan. By then he had a shop and I knew he had to keep ready money in order to
replenish his stock.
It was on 24th December 1960 when I became the owner of the home unit. I
had the pace painted, bought some furniture and soon got a tenant. The rent I
received went to my brother plus an amount from my wages. I worked overtime
three nights for the Motor Department and two nights for the Accounts
Department which was enough to cover my weekly living costs. Soon the loan was
repaid and I was free of debts. I still did stamp-envelopes, taught English and
even Hungarian to a lady who was married to a Hungarian. As her husband often
invited his Hungarian friends with their Hungarian born wives, she was not able
to follow the conversation. She decided to learn Hungarian even though it was
hard for her to master the Hungarian accent.
In summer I went swimming at Readleaf Pool in Double Bay where I met a
lot of people, mostly Hungarians. Some even knew me from our holiday resort in
Budapest. Between swims we would sit and talk. New friendships were soon
formed. One day a young couple whom I had met at the pool, Mr. and Mrs. Révai,
asked me to look after their two teenage daughters as they had to get away for
an hour or so on business. We met often at the pool and soon became real
friends. They often invited me to have lunch with them at their flat. They were
both working and wanted to give their beautiful daughters the best education
available.
When Mr. Révai told me that they were thinking of buying a small
residential house and that a solicitor had prepared the contract of sale which
they were reluctant to sign without understanding its contents. They asked me
to translate the contract for them. I agreed to do it but I needed to know if
they wanted a translation word for word or just an extra. Mr. Révai preferred
to have the contract translated word for word. The translation took me an
entire weekend. Soon I was invited to the house-warming party.
Some time alter a solicitor rang asking if it was me who had done the
translation of the contract of sale for Mr. and Mrs. Révai. I felt shaken and
panicky but I had to say yes, I had. He complimented me on the translation and
said it had been perfect and also he had many Hungarian clients but he did not
have time to explain details of documents to them. The he asked me if I would
be willing to do translation work for him. Then as an after-thought he said: "By
the way, are you on the panel of court interpreters?" I told him that I
had no idea about what he was trying to say and I do not know anything about
it. He then told me that with my perfect knowledge of English and Hungarian I
should find out how to become an interpreter. I soon contacted the Government
Interpreter's office, filled out an application form and was given a date for
an interview. Few weeks alter I was informed that I had to site for the test in
order to become an official court interpreter and translator.
The word translation or translating is often wrongly used. Interpreting
means oral, translating is in writing from one language into another one.
Interpreting even goes back to the Middle Ages. In Toledo, Spain's
ancient capital, the old school of Translators, where Jewish, Christian and
Moslem scholars worked together in translating classical Greek or Arabic
philosophical and scientific texts into Latin. Alba Bible of 1422 was the first
text translated from Hebrew into Spanish.
At the insurance company I asked to be allowed to have time off to sit
for the test. The manager wished me good luck with a smile. The exam was not a
simple procedure. I was given only 20 minutes to translate a written text of
two foolscap pages, one from English to Hungarian and a different text from
Hungarian to English. For the test I was seated in a noisy place - people were
running in and out, there were loud telephone conversations, and even hefty
discussions around. It was hard to concentrate.
When the official appointment to become a Court Interpreter arrived, my
manager congratulated me and advised me also that it would be wise not to quit
my present secure job until I was sure that interpreting and translating work
would give me enough income to live on. He said that if there was an
interpreting job to do at Court, just let him know and he would let me have the
time off. When his wife visited the office, the only girl she shook hands with
was me. Jealously reared itself amongst the others in the office. I wished and
decided to leave the unfriendly crowd soon but I had to realize that I had to
have patience and wait until later.
Interpreting is an interesting job. Each case and each client is
different. As soon as I got my accreditation I decided to study court cases. I
went to the local library and borrowed some books on legal matters. The Sixty
Famous Trials by Richard Hudson was my first book to read. I recommend it to
anybody as an informative "eye opener" how court cases are conducted.
The story of Brandeis who from humble beginnings became the Chief Justice of
America was fascinating reading. Then the life of Lebo it’s born in the New
York ghetto from a poor Polish background, to become one of the most successful
lawyers of America. Many similar books gave me hints and inspirations.
Interpreters who are not fully employed at the Government Interpreters
and Translators Office are called "Part Time Interpreters" and as
such had to wait for a call to do a job. Our names are listed as "panel
interpreters" and displayed at Police Stations, hospitals, institutions,
etc. Some interpreters do not like to travel long distances as traveling time
is not paid. Only the time spent on the job, however travel fares are refunded.
I never said no to a job, even if it meant long hours of travel. I enjoyed
the train travel, it gave me the opportunity to relax. Once I got a job in
Queanbeyan, had to fly to Canberra and then travel by taxi to Queanbeyan. I
spent only two hours on the job. The traveling took a whole day. It seems
ridiculous to have an interpreter flown from Sydney to Canberra but it had to
be a State interpreter.
It did not take long before I got private clients too. One interesting
situation involved a young Hungarian man who had met an Australian
girl he liked very much but he could not communicate with her as his
English was not good enough. He asked me to write several letters to the girl
on his behalf. The end result was that they got married. I was even invited to
the wedding.
I remember my first Court case very well. I had a client who worked in a
factory where all employees came from Hungary. One day he rang and talked about
a Yugoslavian worker whose wife wanted to commit suicide. She had
been persuaded to see me first. I told him that if she wants to kill
herself, let her do it, because when people say so, they never do it. Anyhow,
she promised that she would see me first. When they came she told me the
following story: With her husband they had only been in Australian for a few
months. They had both worked hard, did a lot of overtime, also worked on
weekends and had soon saved enough money to buy a car. They had even sent a
photo of the car back to relatives in Yugoslavia. When they were
booked for fast driving, the husband had tried to bribe the policeman. She was
sure that they would be sent to prison, knowing about prison life in
Yugoslavia, she panicked. A long conversation followed; soon the woman changed
her mind and decided to forget about suicide.
In Court the charges were: speedy driving; not stopping for
police; and bribery.
The man had driven fast and had not stopped when a police motorcycle
signaled to him. At last he stopped, took out a L20 note and asked the
policeman to forget about booking him. The policeman refused to take the money
so he took out another L20 note which was also refused.
A solicitor cannot be an interpreter in Court, but an interpreter can
represent a case on a client's behalf.
The couple did not engage a solicitor. I attended the Court hearing
with them. It was my very first Court case and I did not know whether it was
better for the husband top lead guilty or nor guilty. We were early and
waited outside the small western suburbs courthouse, the gates still being
locked. There was a tall elegant very respectable looking man who was walking
up and down while waiting for the courthouse gate to open. I took courage,
approached him and asked his advice. He said to plead guilty. I thanked him, he
lifted his hat and politely assured me that it was his pleasure. On entering
the courtroom I nearly collapsed when the Magistrate said "Alright, Mrs.
Interpreter, present the case". He was the gentleman who had given me
advice earlier that morning!
First offence: guilty of speedy driving, fine £50.
Second offence: not
stopping for police, fine £50.
Defence: my wife was ill, she needed
medical attention, I was worried and
wanted to get her to see a doctor urgently.
Third office: bribing a policeman.
Defence: in Yugoslavia the custom is
to pay the fine directly to the
policeman (it was my suggestion with the idea that they would not be
able to check whether it was correct or not). When the policeman refused to
accept the £20, my client thought it was not enough and took out another £20
note.
The total fine was £150. When the couple was asked how long it would
take to pay the £150, they said they would pay it then and there to get it over
with and to forget the matter. When they asked me how much they owed me I did
not have any idea and said "I leave it to you". They gave me £100
(the weekly wage was then about £20).
It is strange but somehow people prefer women interpreters to men, but
they do.
The story went around and brought me many more clients with a variety of
problems. They had confidence in me.
When they came to see me they got a cup of coffee, talked about a lot of
things and felt relaxed because of the friendly atmosphere in a private home as
opposed to the uptight feel of a lawyer's office.
Dr Clive Evatt, Queen's Counsel, once called out in a Court corridor to
a group of legal men standing around him "Do you see this little
lady?" pointing towards me. "She is a mini-solicitor". From then
onwards I became known to barristers and solicitors as mini-solicitor.
Attending divorce cases in Court made me wonder: two people who most
likely were in love, but felt they cannot live together any longer, got
separated. Why can't they just depart and go on their own way, forgetting the
past? They should not have been so bad, when they first met. Why not keep calm
and look forward to a new beginning and give up hate and abusing one another.
There was a Court case involving a German couple who had a little
daughter of about three years of age and had decided to divorce. Each parent
wanted to keep the child. After the divorce the parents had married again and
had only a boy child. Some years alter their second marriages led to a divorce
and both parents had married again, only having boy children again! They fought
viciously for the custody of the little girl. Several witnesses had to be
called and the case had been adjourned thirteen times! By the end of the Court
case the little girl was five years old. She had been brought up in several
homes with a variety of "daddy’s" and "mummy’s". What kind
of a life for a little girl?
At the Queens Square Barracks the Courtroom was huge and high. My voice
did not carry well up to the Judge, who sat on a higher level. He could not
hear me and said: "Madame Interpreter, I cannot hear you, could you please
raise your voice". I replied, "I already have and I cannot do
more". He adjourned the hearing for 15 minutes and a desk was taken up
near him for me. Everybody smiled. When I left the Courtroom the sheriff
whispered in my ear "Next time you come here, better wear your wig".
There are some places, mostly hospitals who do not call for an Official
Court Interpreter at times when they should. Instead they call the gardener or
the kitchen hand who speaks the same language as the patient and use them as
interpreters. Consequently there are often mistakes made in an the
interpretation and tragedies follow. Here is an example: A woman gave birth to
an autistic child. When she was informed about it, she did not understand so
the hospital staff called in a young cleaner, an employee of the hospital, who
spoke the same language. Evidently the cleaner did not know what autistic means
and told the mother that she has given birth to a colored child. The mother
insisted that a mistake must have been made, her child is white and she wants
nothing to do with a colored child, refused to even see it. Later the husband
arrived and was told the same story. He ran out of the hospital shouting and
abusing his wife and immediately started divorce proceedings.
Actually, anybody whose peaks another language besides his mother tongue
can be an interpreter. Even a child can be an interpreter. It can be all right
at a social gathering or while shopping, but it does not bear any
responsibility. However it is not the same as being a Court interpreter which
requires a lot of dignity and responsibility.
Walking home late one night about 11p.m. along William Street, there
were three untidy dirty looking men, singing, shouting at each other, with
spread out legs over the pavement, beer cans in their hands and empty ones
around on the footpath. I moved towards the outside of the pavement and hurried
quickly on my way when I heart "don't be afraid Mrs. Glück , we know you
well." I soon realized they were three policemen on duty, watching a
building on the opposite side of the street.
The German Government was handling Hungarian war claims. There were
plenty of Hungarian-English and English-Hungarian translators, but as it
involved translations of Hungarian documents into German, I approached the
German Consulate in Sydney and as a result of being a Justice of the Pace and
an Official Court Interpreter and as there were no Hungarian-German
translators, they accepted my translations if I put a rubber stamp over my
signature. I soon became very busy translating birth, death, marriage and
school certificates, witness declarations etc.
I decided to find out about philatelie in Australia. In 1950 Melbourne
was the philatelic centre, until then everything was imported from Europe. When
I first attended a meeting at the Philatelic Club in Sydney I found it strange
that women sat separately from men. I felt it was some sort of discrimination.
When the word went around about my experience of making up stamp envelopes,
the owner of one of the Royal Arcade stamp shops suggested that I work for him.
He would supply the stamps and the accessories and I should make up the
envelopes, I worked two or three hours in the evenings at home. Some envelopes
had to be filled with various stamps depicting animals, coat of arms, religious
scenes, sport events etc. This was a new line at that time, but soon became
very popular in Sydney.
It is not as simple as it seems to make up stamp envelopes. The stamps
have to be in perfect condition with no teeth (perforations) missing. The
postal cancellations should be light enough for the picture on the stamp to be
clearly seen. Finally, large picturesque stamps had to be placed at the front
of the envelopes. I would deliver the finished product to the Royal Arcade shop
every morning ad at the same time pick up material for the next lot. When the
postal clerk at the insurance company let me have the stamps on the incoming
mail I built up some stock for myself.
Philatelie in Australia in the 1950's did not have great appeal.
Australian stamps were not attractive in those days. They were mostly of the
Queen's head in various colors. Stamp collecting is more popular in
cold-climate countries, where people have to spend more time indoors.
Australians are lucky to have a climate more suitable for outside activities.
It is well known that philatelic husbands spend more time at home and have
reputation of being better husbands. Children are fascinated by stamps
depicting scenes of far away countries. There is a saying: "Once a
philatelist, always a philatelist" and I believe there is some truth in
this.
The extra income I was able to earn from making up stamp envelopes was
substantial enough to cover my weekly rent. I still worked at the insurance
company and also specialized in typing menus for restaurants, which is a very
painstaking task and not well paid, despite the demands for accuracy and exact
spacing. I also typed hundreds of addressed on envelopes for an advertising
firm.
My self-confidence returned, I was always busy and felt useful.
Australia had given me a secured and settled life. I had soon built up close
intimate and lasting friendships. How I had to turn my thoughts to fin out how
to become an Australian citizen.
Nearing five years of residency I was eligible to become an Australian
citizen. The ceremony took place at the beautiful old Sydney Town Hall with the
then Lord Mayor, Alderman Harry Jensen officiating. It happened on the day of
his birthday which added to the festivity. His mother and the Danish Consul
stood with him as he shook hands with all the New Australians, as we were then
called. I was honored by the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Crane, (my insurance
company manager) who had accepted my invitation to attend the ceremony. But,
even more, I appreciated the company of my brother on this important occasion.
He became an Australian Citizen a few weeks later.
Most of those taking out their citizenship were people from Italy, who
spoke little English. It fell on me to speak also on their behalf and to convey
our gratitude to the Lord mayor. Imagine the Lord Mayor, who stood twice as
tall as me bending down to shake my hand! He declared that I was "the best
English speaking New Australian of the year", and invited my brother and
me to sit at the official table following the ceremony.
Finally I had to give notice to the insurance company and left my
position there. The behavior of the girls at the office who had never met a
migrant before was terrible. Their childish attitude and the prejudice towards
me consisted of making funny remarks about me. Their constant criticism of my
every movement antagonized me. Just before I left, the General Manager asked me
to see him. He told me that he had heard I was very interested in insurance
matters. This true! I had been curious to know why certain people had to pay
more for home insurance than others i.e. why one person had paid 20d per £100
for his home insurance cover and another 30d per £100. I had learned that one
covered a brick building and the other a weatherboard house. The General
Manager explained that they had never appointed an employee of the comp-any to
become an agent and never before had an agent been an employee, but he will
appoint me as an agent and emphasized that it was not because the company
needed business, but rather because it would help me financially. This is how I
became an insurance agent.
To show my gratitude towards the company I first acquired small
household and fire insurances. Later when those people acquired a car or bought
some jewellery, I was asked to fix the insurance cover for them. My reputation
as a thorough agent became well known as I had given good service, went to the
people's homes, sat down discussing details of valuables and only then
completed proposal forms it was not wise for new clients to just sign the
papers. I had to see their homes, make a list of the contents, of their
valuables, or inspect their business premises.
I badly needed some time off. After a lot of interviews I took a job as
a shorthand writer with one of Sydney's daily newspapers, although it meant a
drop in salary. However, after my first day there I was offered a position as a
French correspondent with an engineering firm at triple salary. My newspaper
boss was not pleased to hear that I am not staying, but when I offered to
complete the work I had begun at no cost, he offered me a reference and the
promise of future employment of ail ever needed one.
At the engineering firm, which imported heavy machinery and the
equipment for ships from France, I had to transcribe from the dictating machine
the boss used as he flew around the country. I started work at six in the
morning to have the typing ready before he caught his plane, and worked from
the dictating machine again in the late afternoons so that he could sign the
letters then. Everything was always urgent, it was a hectic time. During my
first month I did not even have time to bank my cheques. It was a well-paid
job, but exhausted me. I could not relax, never slept or ate in peace. I
admired the young boss, he was only about 30 years old, but after four months I
had decided to quit, even though he offered me more money if I would stay. The
tension was too great, my health had to come first. I slept for days after
leaving the job.
I was still working as a Court interpreter, as well as an insurance
agent. One day a solicitor offered me commission on any deal resulting from
introducing clients who needed mortgage. Instead of receiving commission I said
that I would rather have the insurance on the property. This way the number of
my insurance clients grew rapidly.
One day my wonderful brother Fred asked me to come with him as he would
like to show me something. He took me to see a home unit in The Gordon and
asked me if I liked it. I had a view over Fitzroy Gardens and the attractive
Alamein Fountain. I told him that I liked it very much. "Why don't you buy
it?" he inquired. I said that I would but I had not enough money. He told
me not to worry; he would give me whatever money I needed. Soon I bought it; it
is where I am still living. Within a short time I had paid off the loan to my
dear brother.
The place was very dirty, and in a neglected condition. There were
old-fashioned dilapidated pieces of furniture, scratched, smelly and useless.
Ink marks and dead fish under the carpet. I felt that wall-to-wall carpets were
unhygienic and had parquetry laid instead. As a result the floor looked like a
mirror. Electricians put in new lights, several more power points and also an
air conditioner. Painters, plumbers and carpenters were busy to make the place
comfortable.
By the time I moved in, I had no money left. I bought a mattress and
slept on the floor. A cord was stretched from one door handle to another to
hang my dressed on. We had been brought up to "never buy anything on
credit, never sign a promissory note and buy only for cash. Save first and
spend later". I stuck to this sound advice and gradually was able to have
some furniture made to order. My brother gave me several paintings. He had an
antique bookshop then and selected books for me, bought bookshelves, armchairs
and some Persian rugs. With some pot plants on the windowsill, the place looked
better.
I do not have curtains so I can have a view over Fitzroy Gardens. The
sound of early birds makes me feel as if I live in the country. I get the
morning sun shining through both windows. Fred acquired an antique writing desk
for me with six drawers and shelves for books. Later I bought a washing
machine, also had the kitchen and bathroom remodeled. It can be asked of
"Liebchen was willst du noch mehr?" (a German saying, meaning -
Darling, what more do you want?). I felt like a millionairess, happy, free, and
contented by the constant companionship of my dear brother.
Once over the age of sixty, being eligible for the aged pension, we both
refused to accept it. I decided to continue work as an insurance agent, do
translations and interpreting and look after my investments. Fred always found
ways to make a decent honest living. Finally we both enjoyed a secured, safe
and steady income. Our income tax had increased but we both would rather pay
income tax than get a pittance called pension.
Fed and I enjoyed a happy life. He worked really hard. He did not drink,
did not smoke. He had started his working life in Australia as a tram conductor
(in those days most trams had an outside platform where the conductors have to
move around, received 6d. extra per hour for it). He worked also at the
Registrar General's office at the basement, which was not airy enough for him
and after two years he resigned. Then he became a representative of Elna sewing
machines and an expert in repairing these. Some French organization advertised
for French speaking waiters. Fred applied and became a water. Consequently the
Adams Hotel employed him as a barman. He could mix drinks without consuming.
Then he started manufacturing cosmetics for ladies, but it was not doing well.
Most Australian women did not fancy using cosmetics in those days. When he
saved enough money, he bought a two bedroom furnished with rare items of art
and artic rafts. He also collected coins and had a large number of albums
filled with rare stamps.
Then he opened the first espresso in Australia and called it Rialto
Espresso Coffee Lounge. It was a one-man business, on the wall along the seats
were large mirrors and on the shelves a variety of espresso machines for
household use. He also kept imported cigarettes and cigars. He opened the shop
early morning for breakfast and about 3 a.m. served taxi drivers before the
change over. When a cab stopped outside his espresso he already started
preparing food which each individual driver fancied.
After have it for about three years, a buyer took interest in the
espresso. Fred sold it and went overseas for a year. After retuning he bought
back the espresso, renamed it The Ginza which he sold again a year later. But
soon he became restless and a few weeks alter opened an antique bookshop,
filled with artic rafts and collectors items. He named it the Kings Cross
Museum. He had a friendly way and chatted with connoisseurs as well with
educated people and antique experts. The shop was a great success and people
enjoyed to spend time in looking at the variety of good. He met a lot of
charming people, became very popular, donated generally to charities.
The time in Australia for both of us passed without a trace of being
sorry to have left Europe. On the contrary, I feel I am not unreasonable to
admit that we were content and happy with our lives in Australia. In 1982 the
next-door home unit to mine was up for sale. I persuaded Fred to sell his home
unit and to move and thus he became my next-door neighbor.
He gave me the key to his place and told me that I could enter his place
any time I liked. However if his key was in the lock he did not want to be
disturbed. He was very discreet and treated his lady friends with much privacy.
I often felt and it seemed correct the Fred read my mind. He surprised me with
deeds and thoughts I dread of. I believe and had the feeling his spirit is
still with me.
With Fred next door to me, I could not wish for a happier life. We went
together to the theatre, concerts, and attended opera performances, joined some
clubs like Lions International (I became a Lioness), the WEA Ramblers Club
where we took part in Sunday bushwalking, the Phillumenists Association, the
Friends of the Royal Botanic Gardens, the Australian Natural Hygiene Society,
the Health Society, The Salvation Army Red Shield Club, Kings Cross Chamber of
Commerce, The Aquatic Club, the Gallery First Nighters, Toastmasters and many
others. We both supported "The Forgotten Tribe" (the survivors of the
Nazi era still in Hungary) with parcels and money. I was the first and only one
from Australia who went to Hungary, made contact with them to find out their
needs and then referred my findings to the head quarts of the organization in
Switzerland.
During our travels one night in London in 1970 we were walking home to
our hotel. As we passed a theatre, and as it was too early to go to bed we
decided to see whatever was on the program. We rushed in, the cashier told us
that there was only standing room available and that we had better hurry
because the performance was about to start. We ran up the stairs and could only
distinguish some "puppets" doing ballet dancing on the stage. At
interval we descended to the buffet, when a well-dressed gentleman offered us two
seats saying that he was a doctor and had been called away. The seats were in
the third row in the stalls. Only then did we realize that we were
witnessing a ballet performed by Rudolph Nureyev and Dame Margot Fonteyn.
What a chance! It must have been our lucky day!
In Sochi, Russia, near Simferopol (which had no airport, being a cure
resort for lung and respiratory diseases) we noticed people waiting in a queue.
Fed soon found out that it was a shop serving soup. It looked like goulash
soup, very inviting. When our turn came, we got a plate which he salesgirl
filled up with the soup and then weighed it. The price was according to the
weight. The soup was tasty and warm, we both liked it and even queued up for a
second helping.
In Kiev we walked along the tree-lined alley for about half an hour to
the vegetable and fruit market. When the purchase concluded I opened my bag to
fetch my purse. I always carried some soap in my bag. When the seller woman saw
the small "sample" soap in silver foil she begged me to have it for
her babushka. She did not accept any money for our purchase , the soap made her
happy! We attracted considerable admiration around the stalls there and shared
their great affection for us having come on our own, to visit their country.
With Fred we took part in a two-week tour in Morocco. On the bus
everybody spoke French. The guide approached me and asked me and asked if I
would be willing to have a young man sitting next to me as he speaks only
English. Fred politely obliged and moved to another seat. The young man was
excellently groomed, luxuriously dressed with exquisite kid skin shoes,
manicured nails, and gave the impression of an educated person. He was from
Saudi Arabia, one of the rich Arab countries. When I asked him if there were
any Jews in his country, he got very excited, almost upset, and replied
"Jews!, never ever in our country". I asked "Why?" He used
many derogatory words saying "Because they are no good, swindlers,
robbers, drink the blood of Christian children etc." I then asked him
"Did you ever meet a Jewish person?" He said "Never and nobody
in my family wants to have anything to do with that rotten crowd". Then I
said "What would you say if I tell you that I am Jewish". He smiled and
said "You, a decent smart lady? No, it is impossible!". I mention
this incident just to prove how prejudice is planted even in young children all
over the world.
Fred and I happened to be in Egypt during the historical visit of
President Sadat to Israel. When asked, we always said that we are Jewish.
Consequently we were embraced, cuddled and even offered free fruit juices etc.
They cited similarities like Shalem-Shalom, we both do not eat pork, and also
said they feel that they are cousins to the Jews. When visiting the papyrus plantation,
the word got around that we were Jews. The manager presented me with a
beautiful scene on papyrus asking to accept it on behalf of the Egyptian people
for us to remember our visit to Egypt.
Distances did not seem insurmountable nowadays. During my long distance
travel to meet ex-Hungarian friends in several faraway places, I was told it
was me, the only connection who brought news from one another.
Since coming and living in Australia I have done substantial traveling
overseas. The following is a list of the places:
In 1967 I traveled to:
Bangkok, Denmark, France, Germany, Hong Kong, Hungary, Israel, Japan,
Mexico, Norway, Portugal, Rhodesia, Roumania, Russia, Span, USA.
In 1970
Australia, China, France, the Greek Islands, Japan, Hungary, Mexico,
Portugal, Rhodesia, South Africa, Spain, Switzerland.
In 1973
Bangkok, Czechoslovakia, England, Greece, Hungary,.
In 1975
British Columbia, Canada, Norway, Hungary, Israel.
In 1977
Canada, Denmark, England, Finland, Germany, Hungary, Iran (then Persia),
Israel, Singapore, USA, Yugoslavia.
In 1978
Argentina, Brazil, Boliva, Czechoslovakia, China, Colombia, Egypt,
France, Greece, Hong Kong, Hungary, India, Indonesia, Jersey, Guernsey, Macao,
New Hebrides, Noumea, Panama, Peru, Portugal, Singapore, USA.
In 1979
Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Colombia, Egypt, Ecuador, Hungary, Panama,
Peru.
In 1981
Egypt, Guernsey, Jersey, Hungary, Norway, Sweden.
In 1982
Bangkok, Belgium, England, Germany, Gibraltar, Hong Kong, Hungary,
India, Israel, Malaysia, Malta, New Zealand, Portugal, Roumania, Russia,
Singapore, Spain, Turkey, USA.
In 1983
England, France, Hungary, Malta, Russia, USA.
In 1984
Germany, Hungary, Roumania.
In 1985
England, Gibraltar, Hungary, India.
1986
France, Hungary, Ireland.
I had just been naturalized when I booked a package tour to New Zealand.
On collecting my ticket I was informed that I needed a visa. (I was surprised
because on the brochure it said that no visa was required for Australians.) But
because I had not been born in Australia I was told I needed a visa. I asked,
"Who else on the tour has to obtain a visa?" I was told only me
because all the others had been born in Australia. Next day I went to see the
New Zealand high Commissioner and I told him that I needed a visa because I had
not been born here I would cancel my trip, as I felt this discriminating! He
made polite excuses and said my complaint was genuine and valid and from then
onwards there will not be made any difference where one is born if they
possessed a valid Australian passport.
There was an advertisement about a one-day flight over the Antarctic. I
decided to go. The price of a seat was $100 or $200. The ticket seller, a nice
lady, advised me to take the $200 seat or nothing because the $100 seats were
inside and I would not be able to see anything. I let my head go and booked as
she had advised, a $200 first class window seat. She was right, I had the best
view. People came along asking to let them kneel at my seat to be able to take
photos and offered to invite me to see the film in Sydney. Sure enough I had
invited all my neighbors who were impressed by seeing the unique and
unforgettable scenery. On the place we were offered souvenir stamp envelopes.
The price was pretty high and nobody was interested. I bought the lot. In
Sydney I sold them all, profiting nearly as much as my expenses.
Melbourne Olympic Games, 1956
I took a three-week holiday and went to Melbourne for the Olympics. This
was also the year of the Hungarian uprising against communism. Some of the
Hungarian athletes did not even get their gear and were competing in street
clothes. As I had fenced in Budapest many years ago, I particularly wanted to
attend the fencing competition with the Hungarians. Although I booked for many
of the events before leaving Sydney, I overlooked this one and there was
no way to get even one ticket. With the kind assistance of the policeman at the
gate and by asking him "for a seat for a small lady", I was able to
occupy the best front seat. The Hungarians won! I was glad to be an Australian,
but could not help feeling sentimental to hear the Hungarian national Anthem at
the closing ceremony.
During my travels I took a day tour to the Tulip Fields near Bruxelles
in Belgium. I was the only foreigner. When we got off the bus, the field of
yellow, purple, red and white colored tulips in immense quantity took my
breath. I just felt out of this world and stood there admiring the scene and
breathing in the scent. Under the blue sky the calmness and stillness let me
forget about the outside world. The others moved into the tearoom. I was
spellbound by the beauty and the silence, seeing the flowerbeds in color. Time
seemed immaterial. Watching the sun depart from above and the play of the
sunset colors, the canopy of grey, purple and gold was like feeling the
presence of the Almightily. I could have stayed there indefinitely but when it
became dark I turned to get on the bus. But there was no bus and nobody was
around but me. I did not panic, just started walking back along the only road
following the bus route. I was sure that somebody would notice I was missing
and the bus would return to pick me up. After about two hours walk a car came,
stopped, and the driver asked if I needed a lift to the city. He was the French Consul
in Belgium who took me straight back to my hotel. I was lucky!
I spent three weeks in China. Hang Zhou is the city of the craft centre.
One young girl embroidered a large-sized canvas spread out on a frame, with a
peacock pattern. The work took usually about three years, the various colored
silks had to be applied so that no knots can be seen on either side.
Most of these go to export.
Traveling on my own in South American, I stayed put in one place and
then took daily excursions. According to my schedule I had another free day
before leaving for the USA and decided to make a half-day tour, acquired all
the details of the tour, and kept enough money to pay for it. They did not
accept my cash, saying I had better pay next day to the bus driver. Alike to
sit in the front seat and therefore always arrive much earlier. Due to
inflation the price increased to double that quoted the previous day. After
some arguing the ticket seller advised me to go to the first floor and see the
manager. Sure enough he was there, elegant, well groomed, stretching his feet
on his desk, cigar in house mouth and rather arrogant. I told him of the quoted
price and the increased amount the ticket seller wanted. He said he could do
nothing and with a smile continued: You pay the increased price or nothing. As
I had the alternative offer I quickly said, "I will take the
nothing". He said O.K., gave me the numbered first seat ticket and up I
went. This is amazing but true.
One of the most memorable places I have been is to Easter Island the
easternmost stronghold of Polynesian culture in the South Pacific, half way
between Sydney and Santiago in Chile. The population is only about 2000; it has
seven hotels and twelve guesthouses, and a very dry and hot climate. There are
a series of giant statues without legs facing inwards. One very vivid memory I
have of Easter Island is when I rode on a motorbike to the market, my arms
holding onto a naked young native and speaking like hell.
Jairpur, India is in the desert south-west of Delhi. It is called the
pink city, constructed on the mountain topes with beautiful pink bricks. The
Maharajah of Jaipur (called Your Highness) possesses great wealth; his famous
palace was built by slave labor. There is also an artificial lake there.
When I traveled by train from London to Ireland I met two young nuns.
The conversation involved Jews and non-Jews I was amazed by how much more they
knew about Judaism than I did. We became friends and for many years afterwards
exchanged Christmas greetings.
My travels have made me realize that politics and wars bring strange
results. When I visited England before the Second World War I had to queue up
at the "Alien" passport control. Since becoming an Australian citizen
I have got through the "British subject" control very quickly.
Strange but true; in reality I am the same person.
My first extended tour was actually to Israel. As I do not speak the
local language I took bus tours. On one of the tours when we stopped for lunch,
a tall American lady approached me saying: "Excuse me, but this is the
third tour we have taken part in. Naturally you did not notice me because I
always sit at the back. But I remember that you don't take lunch in the
restaurant. Please be my guest today". I thanked her very much saying that
I had fruit and almonds with me and would sit under the tree to eat. She said
as soon as she had finished her lunch she will join me as she was interested in
my "diet". Her name is Gigi, she taught Esperanto at Harvard
University in San Francisco. We became really good friends and made several
tours afterwards together. She even invited me to stay at her place if ever I
come to San Francisco.
I had booked a room from Sydney at the YWCA in Washington and also in
San Francisco. I stayed three weeks in Washington from where I wrote to the
YWCA in San Francisco to confirm my booking. As no reply arrived, I got
worried. I wrote to Gigi asking her to contact the Y about my booking. Back
came an answer with a receipt for a deposit payment for $10 saying that the Y
did not take reservations without a deposit. Naturally I was very grateful for
her help and advised her the time of my arrival. In her reply she assured me
that she will meet me at the airport. Arriving at San Francisco airport, I
waited and waited in vain. I thought perhaps I had misunderstood her and she
would be waiting for me at the city air terminal. I took a cab, but she was not
there either. When I arrived at the YWCA the receptionist gave me a note with a
phone number saying that I should ring that number immediately. As soon as I
got into my room I rang her. It was Gigi saying she was sorry but she had
broken her leg and was not able to keep her promise to wait for me at the
airport. She asked me to take a piece of paper and pencil and to write down
what she will tell me as "I know what you are interested in. It is not
necessary taking a tour as you speak the language. Take down the
following". She then gave me the exact bus number, how much to pay, where
to get off, what to see etc. etc. and "ring me after your return",
which I did. She again gave me details for the next day program. This went on
for five days. On the sixth day she again asked me to get a pencil and paper
ready. I said "No, give me your address, I want to see you". She said
"What do you want to see, as I am an old woman with her leg in
plaster?" Anyhow I did not give in and at last she gave me her address and
details about how to get there. Arriving there, the door was unlocked; she was
in bed, with her leg in plaster. "It is very hot" she said. "Go
to the wardrobe, fetch a nighty then take some watermelon from the
fridge". I laid down on the other bed and soon fell asleep. Only then did
I realize how much I needed that rest, after walking non stop for five days. We
talked for most of the day, she showed me photos, I made a light lunch and
since then we have become really close friends and correspond frequently. She
later spent a few weeks visiting Australia.
I am of the belief that the Esperanto language should be more popular.
It has no grammar, easy to learn, is widely spoken, more so in smaller
countries in Europe, South America etc. If Stalin and Roosevelt at Yalta could
have spoken Esperanto, perhaps world events would have turned out differently?
Because of my interest in Esperanto I changed my Will to support Esperanto and
my wish that it be taught in schools. I wrote about this decision to Gigi. As
the Esperanto people are like a family, they visit and invite each other to
their homes etc. When an Australian lady of the Esperanto community visited
Gigi in San Francisco, Gigi must have mentioned my Will contributing to the
promotion of the language. One day I got a phone call in Sydney asking for the
Executor of Catherine Glück 's Will. I asked the caller of he were sitting or
standing. He was sitting. I told him to whom he was speaking. Poor fellow,
there were not enough words for him to express his apologies.
In about 1970 I spent a few days in Paris and paid a visit to my
ex-colleagues at Carre Marigny. One of them asked if I could do a favor for a
young couple who had recently arrived from Hungary. The husband, a stamp
dealer, being unfortunately taken to hospital with a heart attack and his wife
unable to attend to several letters and orders because of her poor French, my
colleague asked me to go and help her as I knew a few languages and also knew
about stamps. I told him that I was on holidays and did not want to work, even
for payment. But after a while I gave in and offered my help for one afternoon
only.
Sure enough, I had to answer letters in Hungarian, German and English.
One letter written in Hungarian was from Lisbon, Portugal. After perusal of and
answer to the letter I asked the wife if she would allow me to attach a note to
the Hungarian man as I intended to be in Lisbon in about a fortnight. She had
no objection. As I do not speak Portuguese and I did not know anybody there I
asked the man if he could oblige by booking a hotel room for me. In his reply
he said that he had booked a single room and also that he would fetch me at the
airport and asked me to buy some French cosmetics at the duty free shop for his
wife.
Arriving in Lisbon, he took me in his luxury car to the hotel and said
that his wife had arranged a small party for the next day and would like me to
come along. I thanked him for the invitation and sure enough the next day I
waited for him at the hotel lobby with a bouquet of fresh cut flowers. He then
took me to their home. It was a beautiful villa. Some elderly servant in
uniform took my wrap and the flowers. There were already about ten men there,
all dressed in dinner suits, black bow ties speaking Hungarian and when being
introduced, all kissed my hand in Hungarian fashion. They were mostly dukes and
princes; the only one without a title and of humble origin was my host, but his
wife as a Hungarian princess. He was the only one actively working; the others
were not allowed to work not travel and lived on a pittance from some Hungarian
aristocratic organization based in Switzerland. All of those men were
aristocrats. They had lost everything in Hungary and now lived alone in
Portugal. I had never had the opportunity to meet aristocrats and felt somehow
not to belong there. They were highly educated, intelligent people, all proper
masters of several languages. They treated me with respect, even so they were
aware of my being Jewish. They were amazed to hear details of my sad experience
during the war years but even more so about the present life in various
countries. Surprisingly they were most eager to hear about Israel. I was the
centre of attention and was glad to enlighten them in their isolated lives.
Now I come to an amazing fact about their lives: The meager financial
support which each man got was not enough even to buy cigarettes or a pair of
socks. They needed money and they needed it badly. The ingenious way they had
of making a decent living surprised me and made me smile. The real story is as
follows: Each of those elegantly dressed intelligent men, speaking faultless
English, spent some time in elegant hotel foyers or restaurants. It was easy
for them to start a conversation with tourists, who were glad to have someone
to converse in English or French or German. After the “warming up time” our
good Hungarian aristocrat would confidentially mention that an old friend of
his, a Hungarian nobleman is in financial trouble and had to sell his original
antique bedroom suite (or table or armchair) because unfortunately he has
become broke. The furniture could be had for a bargain. Soon the aristocrat was
on the phone inquiring if the furniture could be inspected, as there was an
interested American buyer who had to leave Portugal shortly. Then he took the
American to the home of my philatelist host. The deal was soon satisfactorily
concluded, and the packing and transport arranged. I was wondering and said,
“How did you manage without a bed?” They assured me that within hours new
furniture had arrived. To my amusement I learned they employed Hungarian
cabinetmakers, carpenters and upholsterers, experts in “antiques”. Consequently
the missing piece of furniture was soon replaced. It was the only way they had
of making extra money. What a clever trick!
I had always been keen to visit the islands of Guernsey and Jersey.
While staying in Paris in 1978, I made arrangements to spend a week on each of
these islands. The flight to each one was on alternate days. I booked to go
first to Jersey but on arriving at Paris airport I was told the flight to
Jersey was on the next day. After some inquiries nothing could be done to
change my flight to Jersey because I had booked a “package deal”. My
reservation for a hotel room was in accordance with the flights. They informed
me that I definitely could not fly even to Guernsey that day. I did not know
what to do, “no exchange, no refund, and no flight”.
One young airport employee must have felt sorry for me – sitting there
on my suitcase and looking miserable. He approached me and asked what my weight
was. I thought it was some sort of a joke and told him 7 stone with the idea of
getting rid of him and avoiding any further silliness. He ran away, then came
back smiling and breathless to ask me to come with him and even carried my
suitcase. He introduced me to a tall heavily-built man, about 14 stone in
weight, a private pilot who was willing to take me on his small private
aircraft but he needed enough sandbags to balance our weight. Luckily there
were enough sandbags and the two men started to carry them into the aircraft. I
had no seatbelt and there was no glass on the window and the noise was
unbearable. He repeatedly said “Hold on, you will be alright”. I felt stupid to
have accepted the invitation. The flight seemed an eternity to me. The wind was
so strong that I sometimes had the feeling we would be blown away. But thanks
to Our Creator everything went well. I arrived shaking and shivering but safe
to Jersey.
When Victor Hugo was forced into exile he chose Guernsey and stayed
there at Hauteville House. Juliet Drouet, his voluptuous raven-haired companion
and secretary for the next fifty years moved into a cottage nearby. Hugo had a
daily routine: he rose each morning at dawn, took a quick dip in the sea, then
returned to his study on the tope floor of the villa, to write until noon.
Jersey is where the famous sheep come from. It is the smaller, quieter
island of the two. I was told that there was a “little church” which is a must
to see. The us took about one and a half hour to get there. The church is
really worthwhile visiting. The very interesting story of the “Little Church”
is as follows: Centuries ago a monk decided to build a church on the island. He
had no money but his will to realize his dream was strong. He had collected
pebbles, broken glass pieces and started on the foundation. He soon ran out of
materials. Visiting monks and people brought him colored pieces of glass and
the “Little Church” was eventually finished. It has the shiny colors of blue,
white, green, red, brown, and yellow. It is very small, holds only two people
and the priest. I was built on top of a hill; the view from there to the calm
waters of the channel makes one spellbound. There is nothing else there to see
beside a small souvenir shop. There was only one winding road to the city
centre and nobody around. I decided to start walking and not to wait for the
next bus to arrive in about two hours. I was sure I would not get lost. After
about an hour walk there was still no busy in sight. Suddenly, from one of the
villas, a car was leaving. The driver stopped and asked if I needed a life. I
was lucky again! When he asked me where I come from and I told him that I come
from Australia. He said “But you do not have an Australian accent”. I said,
“No, I learned English in Budapest where I was born”. He started to laugh
non-stop. Then he said “I am the only Hungarian on the island.” He explained
that he was the chef of a restaurant and that day was his day off, otherwise he
would have invited me to dinner at the restaurant. So, you see, Hungarians and
Hews are all over the world!
Once Fred was invited to a party when he asked the hostess if he could
bring his “little sister” along. Naturally, the invitation was extended to me.
When we arrived the hostess opening the door nearly collapsed. The family had
gone out of their way to have one room filled with toys for my brother’s
“little sister”.
One day I met in the street a Hungarian businessman whom I knew vaguely.
He asked me not to be offended but said that he often sees me but always alone.
He said that he knows a man who is also alone, a very decent and intelligent
person who also speaks perfect French. He suggested that he could introduce us,
believing that it would work out satisfactorily for both of us. I told him that
I was not at all offended and that he could go ahead, I was really grateful
that he was trying to help another human being. Then I questioned him about
that man – how old is he, where does he live, what does he do? He replied that
the man lived in Macleay Street, his age would suit me but he did not know what
the man did for a living. He said that the man is very generous, well-dressed
and kindly. I asked him the man’s name. I nearly fell down when he said, “His
name is Fred”. I laughed, thanked him again for his concern, then told him that
Fred was my brother.
We met many colorful people like artists and theatrical characters
around Kings Cross. One such notorious person was Rosaleen Norton nicknamed
“the wicked witch”. She was born in 1999 and died in 1979. Frequently she was
seen at Fred’s espresso lounge. She was always broke. However, Fed offered her
food any time she passed his lounge. Soon she became a familiar figure there. I
often met her and found her sad and lonely, shy and rather ugly. The Hullabaloo
Theatre Company presented a play bout her, entitled
”Wicked Witch of the Cross” by Barry Lowe. We were invited to the opening
night. Fed was greeted by her with a hug and she introduced him to the others
as “my very good friend and benefactor”. Recently a novel called Pagan has been
published about the “Witch Norton” and the scandal linking her with the
renowned music conductor Eugene Goossens.
Bea Miles was an Australian legend who belonged to the romantic world of
Sydney bohemians, and was very popular. She knew every Sydney taxi-driver by
name, sued to climb into occupied taxis reciting any speech from Shakespeare’s
work for sixpence a pop. She was a big fat woman, carried heavy bags filled
with poetry, seemed always happy and contented. Everybody loved her. After he
death the Q Theatre in Penrith performed a play about her, the American born
actress, Tony Lamond, playing the role of Bea was magnificent. The play
revealed episodes in the life of this extraordinary and interest woman. When
the legendary inspector of Bondi Beach, Aub Laidlaw, apprehended Bea Miles for
brining a sheep on the beach, pointing out that there was no grass anywhere
around, Bea replied that the sheep wanted to sunbathe, ignoring the sign that
“Dogs Are Not Allowed”.
We booked front-row seats to see the play. During a street scene the
actress strolled around reciting poems and holding out her hands for donations.
The new two dollar coin had just came into circulation. Fred threw one at her
feet. The actress bowed, took the money and with a smile said “Thank you”. The
audience applauded. This was the way Fred dealt with impromptu occasions.
Fed was very handsome and girls and women tried “to get” him. In Paris
he took me to the Follies Bergere. We occupied the best balcony seats. Soon I
noticed that from the audience many binoculars were directed towards us./ My
handsome brother looked smashing in his US uniform. I sat up so that people
could see me too. At interval I realized that the Duke of Windsor and Mrs.
Simpson had occupied the seats next to us!
Waling in the streets of Paris with Fed, he must have stepped on
something slippery because he nearly fell over. Two ladies walking toward us,
when one said to the other in Hungarian “It would be a pity if this handsome
young American officer break his leg”. Fred turned back to them and said in
proper Hungarian “Thank you ladies”. They nearly fell over to hear an American
offers speaking Hungarian.
Fred became ill suffering from asthma. He had fait in his doctor who
prescribed too many tablets for him to take. I did not trust that doctor but
could not persuade Fred to get another opinion or to contact a specialist. When
his health deteriorated he was admitted to St Vincent’s Hospital but after a
couple of days he just walked out and came back home. I felt relieved but it
did not last long. Soon he behaved like a hermit, did not let me into his flat,
became rather antagonistic, and was very ill.
On New Year’s Eve 1985/86 we were invited out. As Fred did not feel
well, we left our friends home half an hour later. From then on he became more
ill, could not breathe properly and became very weak. He had to sit up, could
not sleep, did not eat. I had to call an ambulance; they treated him with some
instruments to help his breathing, and then took him away. He called out “Let me
stay. I don’t want to leave”. I felt guilty to act against his will but he
needed help and I was lost about how or what to do. He was admitted to the
intensive care unit of St Vincent’s Hospital. He must have been conscious
because he made a Will in my favor, witnessed by two nurses. When I was allowed
to see him I was struck by the many wires attached to his nose, arms and body,
distorting his beautiful face. He fretted constantly with both his hands over
the bed sheets. He did not look up and I did not dare to talk to him. I knew he
was very sick but did not realize that he was dying. I blame myself even to
this day that I was just sitting nearer to his bed and did not talk to him. How
stupid of me!
Suddenly he began shaking vigorously. I ran out for help. The nurses
came, took off the wires and told me he was gone. When they laid him flat, his
face became peaceful without any troubled lines, he was again beautiful, his
body still warm. I stood there watching him, grieved that my beloved Fred had
gasped for the last time, real sing that he would never come or to see me
again. I kissed his head and said goodbye to him, realizing that I have to face
life alone with determination and with extraordinary courage. I was left alone
and nobody ever could take his place. Then I slowly moved away, carried myself
erect and left. Left alone, I did not and could not cry.
The funeral parlor was not big enough for friends and acquaintances,
people were even standing outside. The local newspaper remembered him as the “last
gentleman of our generation” and the “gentleman of Kings Cross”.
He was buried at the Jewish section in the Botany cemetery, third row,
grave No. 85. I secured the next grave for myself. Botany cemetery is the
oldest in Sydney, where the first burial took place in 1893. Since then there
have been about 100,000 burials.
This was one of the moving letters I received after Fred’s death.
Catherine Darling
I learned with much sorrow of the
death of your brother – sorrow for you, and my gentlest thoughts go out to you
in your grief and sense of loss. It is now some years since my own brother, Sam
Rosenberg, died, and I am hoping it may help a little if I share with you some
of the things which helped me then. First, a kind, wise friend told me that
whilst time will not help me to forget, it will make the remembering easier.
This has surely happened to me, and I know it will be so for you, too. As the
months turn into years, you will find yourself remembering the good times you
had together, and the not-so-good times too,. You will recall how much you
meant to each other’s lives, how you learned from each other and help to
influence each other’s ways of thinking. Please believe me, when this time
comes, you will remember your brother without the pain and sadness you
experience now. To grieve can be therapeutic, and it is not a bad thing, just
now. Later, your brother’s spirit – a strong, but gentle spirit – will not only
be with you even more than when he was here: Sometimes, you may even feel, as I
often do, that your brother’s spirit is helping you to face the rough patches
we all experience in life. Please accept my wishes for a long, peaceful life,
spared from my further sorrow.
Sincerely
yours, Louise Rosenberg.
I miss him and will miss him forever and pray for him every night. He
was a noble soul, a wonderful brother and a truly unselfish friend to those who
knew him. I felt his death had given me motivation, strength and energy,
enriched my feelings and enabled me to write a book about his life and art. It
is entitled The man and His Art incorporating 100 of his pen drawings depicting
historical scenes around Australia, Europe, the USA, Japan and other countries.
Some of his drawings are displayed in various art galleries and institutions. I
worked for nearly two years on the book. It was launched at Sydney University
on 24th November 1990. Newspapers, TV and radio people were all
there. Since then several exhibitions of his pen drawings have been arranged.
The book can be read at most leading libraries in New South Wales, Canberra,
even New York, Washington and Dublin libraries have it on their shelves. The
book was well received and had impressed many people. Congratulations poured in
and one note concluded with the comment “Good luck for your future as an
author”. This encouraged me to start my second book entitled The Girl with Long
Hair on which I have worked for about a year. I do hope that you find it
interesting.
Shortly after Fed died, some friends called and tried to persuade me to
move into a nursing home now that I was left alone. I thanked them for their
concern but said a definite no and never! My idea is to stay in my comfortable
habitat and if the time comes, have a nurse to take care of me. I do hope to
remain active for at least another five years.
I decided that Fed’s estate should be used to keep his memory. I bought
the library at the B’nai B’rith Centre in Sydney. It was named the Frederick B.
Lamberger Library. I planted 3000 trees in Israel Martyr Forest where a
“Frederick B. Lamberger Grove” was established and dedicated in his name. His
pen drawings are exhibited in various places.
I assume my readers would like to know about my marriage to Béla Glück .
I did not forget to mention it, but somehow felt it was better to leave it to
the end of my story. I believe that Our Omnipotent decides our lives and as
such we have to follow and to accept it.
My husband was a charming person, handsome, intelligent and clever,
interested in a lot of things, always popular and often the centre of
attention. Everybody liked him, whether in business or at social gatherings.
After World War Two and during the early days of the Russian occupation
he had to wear an armband saying in Hungarian and in Russian “Number One
Architect”. As Budapest was heavily bombed (the German bombs destroyed this
beautiful city during their retreat) consequently there were heaps of bricks
and remnants of buildings, furniture, machinery, cars etc. everywhere; streets
were closed, danger points all around. Demolition and restoration work had
started. They did not have enough experts to advise on what and how to do it.
My husband, as a well-known architect, became very busy and had everything
going for him.
In 1947 I left Paris for Budapest in order to meet my husband. He looked
well and seemed happy. I asked about the future fur us, what to do, whether the
chose to come to Paris to be with me or wanted me to come back to Hungary. He
was frank, held my two hands, looked straight into my eyes and with a smile
told me that he was in love with my best friend Tutsi and that he would like to
marry her. I asked him whether it was an affair only. No, he said, it is
serious on both sides and suggested a divorce. I asked him if he would be
really happy with her. He said that this time he felt that he could never live
without her whatever happened. I told him that if it would make him happy I
would consent to a divorce. Then he invited me to see his latest architectural
achievement. To my surprise he also invited his secretary and of course Tutsi.
Tutsi kissed me all over and said she still felt our friendship was strong.
When the builder on the site came along, my husband introduced us to him with a
great smile and said: “My wife” then to Tutsi “my fiancé” and then pointed to
his secretary saying “The mother of my child”. We all laughed. I realized then
that even during our marriage he had had an affair with her. When we finally
said goodbye, my husband said he wanted to keep in touch with me as he felt
that I was like a sister to him. We kept out correspondence alive regularly
after that. He always wanted to know how I managed. Many years later to show
him how I managed I had invited him to come to Australia, and sent him the
return air ticket. He stayed in Sydney for a month complaining bitterly about
his life, wishing to be able to run the clock back and saying he should never
have let me go. He said he admired me, missed our intellectual partnership, my
practicality and envied my security feeling. Until then I thought I loved him
but to my surprise I did not feel anything any more towards him. I realized how
much better it was for me to accept my fate. From then onwards I became really
contented. He had not been an “open book”. I remembered his frequent absences
to “inspect the building works”, excuses of a “weak heart” about his sexual
behavior towards me. In my naiveté I had believed him and supported him. I am
contented now that he is out of my mind and I feel relieved.
Shortly after I arrived in Australia I had a close relationship with a
man at the insurance company where I worked. The relationship began as follows:
Close to my desk were the letterboxes for internal mail to the Branch Offices.
Very often an elderly man came to put some mail in the boxes. He was neatly
dressed, well groomed, very polite, always greeted me with a smile and often
exchanged a few words with me. Soon he asked me to call him Egon. I thought he
was a messenger. At the office I felt very lonely as nobody talked to me there.
I enjoyed the occasional short chats with Egon.
When I moved into my first flat in Sydney I asked my manager to arrange
insurance cover for my belongings He advised me to see the manager of the Fire
Department on the ground floor. I nearly fell over when I saw that the manager
was Egon. He suggested that it was best if he came to see the flat and its
contents. In those days men worked in the office on Saturday mornings. The
following Saturday Egon came straight after work. He liked the espresso coffee
and the homemade cake I served him. He behaved like a gentleman. During the
conversation I learned that he was married with two small boys. On the day that
I had started work at the office his newborn baby had been buried. He blamed
his wife the tragedy. Both of them were keen on their two small boys so there
was no question of divorce although he said that he no longer had anything in
common with his wife.
When Egon learned about my unhappiness at the office he decided that he
would look after me, a strange newcomer, as some sort of a good Samaritan,
helping himself at the same time to overcome the loss of his baby. I realized
years later that it was me who had fallen into the trap and believed him and
his story. It became his habit to see me on Saturdays after work; he liked the
wiener schnitzel and pancakes I served him. Afterwards we would drive around
exploring Sydney and its surroundings. I learned a lot from him, he was
intelligent, well read, did not smoke nor drink. He was a champion chess
player, keen on classical music. He also had a nice singing voice. He said that
he had fallen in love with me. I liked him, enjoyed his company; we had a lot
in common to talk about. I was satisfied with the way it was but I did not feel
inclined to start an affair with a married man. Egon said he would be patient
and would wait until I was ready. But I never had the desire for anything more
than having him as a friend.
When my first holiday was due I asked Egon to recommend a place where I could
spend a fortnight. He suggested Leura in the Blue Mountains and offered to
drive me there. He even visited me there on weekends and later drove me back to
Sydney. We spent out lunchtimes together at the nearby Royal Botanical Gardens.
Then he suggested arranging our next holidays together, visiting Queensland.
For the occasion he bought a new car. He was an extremely mean man, and asked
that I pay half o f the petrol and half of everything else. However it was very
convenient for me to go with him to see my new country as I felt I might not
have another opportunity. I agreed but insisted that we should have separate
rooms. Egon was a cautious driver and his car was always spotless. The holiday
along the Gold Coast was an eye-opener for me. The weather was perfect and as
we had booked separate rooms I enjoyed restful nights. I gladly paid for my
room. We had taken books out from the local libraries and usually left one
place about 6a.m. and drove on, stopped about noon, booked accommodation,
enjoyed swimming, explored the area, often bought fresh eggs, vegetables and
fruits from farmers stalls on the road.
Fred liked Egon; they got on very well, had a lot in common to talk
about like economy, politics, finance, world affairs etc. Fred was glad that
somebody was kind enough to take care of me. What annoyed me about Egon was his
meanness. It made me realize how generous my brother and also my husband were.
He never gave me anything. I felt often bitter about his pettiness. He ate at
my place four times and then once we ate out. He counted the occasions
thoroughly, it had to be four times me to one time him. I somehow felt sorry
for him to have to live with an obsession about not spending money when we were
together. He was highly paid as a manager and had many other sources of income
too. An example of his meanness follows: We were invited to one of my Hungarian
friends house-warming party. Before leaving home my friend rang and asked me to
get something from the chemist for her. I stayed in the car while Egon did the
purchasing. When I gave the chemist parcel to my friend adding that it was Egon
who had bought it. She thanked him and he said, “Yes, I paid (something like a
dollar) for it” and then held out his hand to get the money. I really felt
ashamed. Another example: For Christmas he gave me a small, actually the
smallest bag of nuts. I wanted to give him back the nuts but for peace sake I
just smiled. I gave him an expensive mat for his car.
One day at work I was called to the phone. It was Egon’s wife. She
begged me to come to their house after work because Egon was very sick and
wanted to see me. I made some excuses but she was very worried, as he had
indicated that he did not want t live. He was weak and had asked her to have me
to come. I agreed to come but said no dinner please! She waited for me at the
railway station embraced me and thanked me for coming. I was shocked to see
Egon unshaven, weak and really sick. He did not speak his blue eyes constantly
staring at me. When his wife left us alone he slowly took my hand. He sad that
he did not want to live without me. I did not stay long; his wife took me back
to the station. She was grateful that I had come and said “O do not want to
lose him”.
Soon Egan was back at the office and we carried on as before. He was
still the perfect gentleman although everybody in the office knew about us.
They let his wife know about us but apparently she told them that she already
knew. I admired his wife, her concern for the family and her unselfishness. She
even looked after Egon’s mother who was a bedridden invalid and lived with
them. What a noble soul and what a selfish stubborn husband! Egon took the
trouble to study Hungarian in secret and wrote me love letters in Hungarian. I
still did not give in, preferred him as a friend and not as a lover. After work
he often came, liked to sit with me listening to classical music. I had to tell
him gently to go home because I needed restful nights and sleep. It took him
more than an hour’s drive to get home. As soon as he got home he would ring me
just to wish me good night again!
He did not leave me alone. Because of him I neglected my social life. He
expected that every free minute I had, should be spent with him. I was still
young, rather attractive with a well-proportioned figure, interested in a lot
of things, made friends easily, was invited out often and also liked to invite
people over to my place. He spent all his free time with me. All my friends
liked him too.
He often took me to Elli, a seamstress in Double Bay. Everything I
bought had to be altered to suit my small figure. She was a cripple, her hip
being not normal, had a hump on her back and a very short and stiff neck. She
had to walk with outstretched arms for balance. She had no family or friends in
Australia and worked at home. I felt sorry for her, she seemed always unhappy
and lonely.
Suddenly Egon stopped coming to see me. I did not try to find out why,
but it puzzled me. After a few days my keys were found in my letterbox without
any explanation. Somehow I was even glad. A long while later my brother and I
went to Blackheath in the Blue Mountains for a holiday. On arriving there we
were looking for a taxi when a car just stopped there. It was Egon and Elli. I
knew that he had bought a piece of land there, as we often went to see it. He
most likely built a house on it. One of the girls who worked in his department
told me that his mother had died, his boys had got married and that he left his
home. I just felt that my precious years with him were wasted. C’est la vie!!
Luckily my brother and I became even closer. We spent a lot of happy
times together and I felt independent and free. I enjoyed the blessing of an
unselfish generous companion, as he always spoiled me. I would just have to mention
something about a show, a play or a concert and he would soon have the tickets
booked. Nothing was too expensive or troublesome for him to please me. He would
even cancel an appointment with a lady friend so that he could be with me, the
number one in his life!
When you look down from a tall building, it is not the height, it is the
distance.
If people resent you, it must be that you remind them of somebody
unpleasant. It seems to be their weakness. The hell with them!
It is a puzzle to me, why some people use “we” instead of “I”. Is this
not the privilege of royalty only?
The ten words of the Australian song “The road to Gundagai”, were
written by a Jewish bushranger.
Life is a compendium of love, passion and will. The passion of an
individual for work and his nature is the miracle of life itself.
I heard that “she is not a bad person, just an annoying one”. If a
person seems to enjoy something strange to us, it does not mean that he or she
is mad or bad.
My husband told me that when he was a little boy his uncle from America
spent some time in Budapest. He mentioned that they put a wire into the wall
and music could be heard. It must have been around 1910. They thought that he
was pulling their legs. Radio was a new invention then.
Partings are stupid – best to get them over as fast as possible.
Mother removed 10 matches from a matchbox asking us to break them.
Naturally it was impossible. Then she handed a single match to us – it broke
easily. She tried to demonstrate that we should stick together – and that we
did.
I often became ill, my head got swollen, had high temperature, could not
eat or sleep, my lips and even my ears were swollen and sore. The doctor gave
me penicillin injections; consequently within a couple of days I was all right
again. But the high fever returned more frequently, first monthly, then weekly
and I became weaker and weaker. I consulted a lot of Macquarie Street (like
Harley Street in London) dental, nose, throat, ear and eye specialists. Each
gave me different advice, hot oil in the ear, gargle etc. One said I must have
picked up some Asian germ during my swim and did not know what to do about it.
One day my doctor warned me I could no longer get penicillin, it had lost its
effect on me as my body had had enough.
Fed and I were keen bushwalkers. I met Tasman in the street, a 90 year
old man who was also a member of The Ramblers Club – a club for bushwalkers. He
asked me why I did not come on bush-walks anymore. I told him about my
recurring feverish condition and that I did not want to leave the walk half-way
because of a sudden fever attack. Tasman took out a piece of paper and gave me
an address to go and seek help. I talked to my doctor about it and she said as
I had tried every avenue available to me, why not try one more and that I had
nothing to lose. That is how I became a hygienist and since then, touch wood, I
do not believe in medicines. At first I had to fast for 39 days. About half way
though the fast a lot of rubbish left me smelling like Hell. I was told than
that all of the accumulated poisonous substances lad left my body and I should
look forward to better health from then on. Hurrah! It worked, and will always
work!! People should not be frightened to fast. Naturally it has to be done
under expert supervision.
Natural hygiene can trace its history as far back as the time of
Hippocrates – the father of medicine. It is practiced all around the world by
people who enjoy healthy, disease-free and long life. The body is
self-cleansing, self-healing and self-maintaining. One experiences ill-health
only when one breaches the natural laws of life. If you have a weight problem
it is evident that the food you put into your body is the contributing factor. It
is a pity that Natural Hygiene, a simple practical successful source of
healthcare is not better known and or followed. “Health is produced only by
healthful living” is the motto of T.C. Fry, the Dean of the American College of
Health Science.
Becoming a hygienist was one of the most significant decisions in my
life; it means freedom from colds, coughs, running nose, sore throat, stomach
pains, headaches, constipation etc. Many of my friends expressed their views
about my “frugal diet”. I keep away from cooked food. I prefer food, which has
been ripened in the sun, grown in unsprayed soil. I steam my vegetables or bake
them in the over without water or oil: backed potatoes, onions, apples,
beetroots, pumpkins etc. have a different flavor. The liquid from the steamed
vegetables makes a tasty drink next morning with some lemon juice squeezed in.
I particularly enjoy a plate of green salads, steamed vegetables, fresh ripe
fruits in season and naturally all sorts of raw unsalted nuts. All of these are
abundantly available in Australia.
Since I have taken up yoga, people remark that I look younger than my
age. I do not think that I look my age and I do not feel it. The human body is
self-recuperating; it does not store traumas forever. I speak my mind and
remember my parent’s efforts to give Fred and me a good basic education so that
we could try to achieve all this is necessary to make us healthy, happy and
contented.
To have read a book by the log fire is to know what contentment is.
Because we have perceived these things, we know what wealth is.
On turning 86 I did not like to hear how I am on the way to the
infirmary, lose my abilities and wait for death. For me turning 86 is not
different from turning 84. Really nothing has changed. In the morning I get up,
have my shower, plan my day. To me 86 is only a state of mind. One is only as
old as one feels. I have restful nights without dreams and I do not feel bad at
all. If only the medical profession could resist reminding people that they are
not as young as they used to be. Even a baby gets older every day! I follow my
routine program, did not change my way of life and carry on, occasionally even
taking on new ventures. My motto being – keep active!
I think back on what I have accomplished and look forward to the future,
to keep being active in all my programs with the same vigor as ever. I am
always busy, having to attend to my vast correspondence, keeping in touch with
local and overseas friends. Friendship is important to me! It seems that I have
some measure of influence in assisting the needy and lonely, also sometimes I
have had to use harsh words in an effort to show pessimistic people that life
is here to enjoy, be happy and satisfied, and that there is no benefit in
feeling sorry for oneself. I still like to travel and try to get away
frequently for short intervals. Visiting friends in hospital becomes a more
frequent activity. I also visit Fred’s tomb on family birthdays and on the
anniversary of his death. I do not know why I cannot stay at his grave longer
than a few minutes. After whispering a few words into the solid marble I feel
the urge to leave.
I do a lot of walking, my motto is “Walk, be healthy and happy”.
Hippocrates said, “Walking is man’s best friend”. Thomas Jefferson, third
president of the United States said “Take a two mile walk every morning before
breakfast”. William Shakespeare wrote in King Henry the Eighth “We will walk a
while and ease our legs”. Leonardo da Vinci did extensive studies on the human
movement of walking. Jean Jacques Rousseau, French philosopher “Walking his
something in it which heightens and animates my ideas”. Friedrich Nietzsche
“Only those thoughts that come by walking have any virtue”. Tao Te Ching “The
longest journey beings with the first step”. When I walk I am an astute
observer, noticing and admiring what is going on around and about the wonderful
creations of nature.
Being over 80 has its advantages. My decisions are based on instinct.
Moments of inspiration come from peculiar sources. It is difficult for me to do
nothing, my mind works too fast. When I decide on something I go to the limit.
The saying “If you do not find oil in five minutes stop boring” does not apply
to me. I am an activist with organizational abilities. I do not take notice of
die-hard opponents who will remain skeptical no matter what one says or does. I
am often invited to address a meeting. My most popular subjects , “Stamp
collecting”, “Life of a hygienist”, “Historical homes of famous people” and
“Travel anecdotes”. My everlasting inspiration is to carry on forever.
I still swim, take part in social and charitable activities. I look
after my insurance clients, my investments, go to see films, plays concerts,
operas, lectures and shows. I am happy in my home unit. I like to be alone, go
to bed early and read. I have all the comfort, enjoy the early morning hours
looking out of my windows over the park and listening to the birds. I look
after the few plants sitting on my window sill, play around with stamps meet
and invite people. But I have no time to play cards which is surprising when I
remember what devoted bridge players we were in Budapest. We used to play twice
a week, once at friends home, once at our place.
I feel, that like most autobiographies, mine is also flattering. But I
am not perfect and I know it. I am aware of my shortcomings. I lose my temper
very easily, which often places me in a false position. As I am very quick,
“slow people” irritate me, so do smokers. Sometimes I rudely avoid them even
being aware of their weakness to give it up. I don’t like it if people speak of
their illnesses, describing them all in details. I have to learn from now on
how to handle my emotions; there is no use bottling them up under stress. It
also makes me impatient when grandmothers open their handbags, smilingly taking
out photos of their “unique and wonderful grandchildren”. They all start with
“It is not because they are mine, but they are the most …so and so…” As soon as
the photos have all been shown, they “have to rush” because they are running
late etc.
I am always busy; my ambitions have driven me through school at high
speed, trying to be the best at everything. Now I should slow down, realizing
that I do not have to live all my years left to me in the latter part of my
life. I am often tired and feel frequently exhausted! Still I am invariably
busy, so boredom does not have a change with me. It makes me upset when people
complain, “You are never at home”. Naturally I am not always at home, but who
is?
Six million Jews including children perished and were lost because of
the idea of one man, Adolf Hitler. Being of the three of 288 people to have
survived The Holocaust, I feel privileged and lucky to be as I am. I have
tremendous faith in Our Almighty. I am not afraid of death; it comes to all of
us. My only regret is that I have just one life. I realist I am what I am, not
very different from Socrates “Know yourself”. I analyze and check my feelings
after going to bed, remembering my youth, my past. The faces of my dear
departed ones makes me sentimental. Then realizing how proud my parents and
Fred would have been of me, I calm down and decide t live for the present time.
One cannot change the past; the future is unknown, so make the best of the
present.
It is not death that is frightening, it is the dying, the loss of
control, the fear of abandonment, pain, disorientation; just thinking “how long
do I have”. But courage, strength, faith overrule this feeling.
Do not stand
at my grave and cry,
I am not
there, I did not die!
Amen!