Frederick B. Lamberger.
The Man and His Art.
©
Catherine Glück
P.O.
Box 212 Potts Point NSW Australia 2011.
Text and
images copyright 1990 Catherine Gluck. This book is copyright. Apart from nay
fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or reviews,
as permitted under the copyright act, no part may be reproduced by any process
without the writer’s written permission.
Dedication
This book is dedicated
to the memory of our beloved parents, Julie and Max Lamberger.
“MANAGE your time and space, don’t squander material, strength or work needlessly;
use the simplest possible means, avoid round about routes!”
9th July 1962. F.B.L.
SO wrote, as instruction to himself, Frederick B. Lamberger, J.P.,
member of: Lions International; British Ex-Services; Alliance Francaise; Sydney
Phillumenists Club; W.E.A. Ramblers; B’nai B’rith Albert Einstein Lodge;
Eastern Suburbs Leagues; Friends of the Royal Botanical Gardens; Aquatic Club;
Hakoah Club; man of the world, bon vivant, master of many trades, friend to all
who knew him, son of Maximilian and Julie, my brother, the artist.
Frederick B. Lamberger was born on the 9th May, 1907, in
Pozsony now Bratislava, western Hungary, (our parents and I [the thirteen
months old] were on our way to Vienna) to a Viennese father and a mother from
Kobersdorf-Kabold, in Hungary.
“DRAWING is the structure of painting”, it is fundamental training for
the sculptor and architect. Indeed, its importance to all the visual arts is
universally recognized. The conventional approach to drawing is to study
subjects in light and shade, in line and tone, governed by a knowledge of
anatomy and perspective, such as is preparatory work for painting and a
foundation for painting to be built up. In such a sense drawing seems to be a
blue-print of a project.
But very often we find a master’s drawing more lively that his finished
work. Therefore the true art of drawing must be more than a study and a
preliminary step of painting. It is in itself a distinct art. An artist’s
handwriting is his drawing, in which we are in more direct contact with the
sensibility of the artist.
There are two basic artistic inclinations: intellectual and emotional,
tending to idealistic perfection or romantic expression.
Drawing is not only for the study of nature, it is also for taking notes
of inner feelings in response to nature or recording thoughts and dreams of the
invisible world derived from nature. It is a sort of exercise and technique,
both physical and mental. It develops and forms style. There should not be any
rules to follow in painting and drawing but one thing is certain, that the more
practiced an artist’s drawing the sounder his painting.
q
Frederick was known and respected by many friends and acquaintances.
Here are some reminiscences from two of his friends.
“ I met Fred through his shop, the Kings Cross Museum. I was browsing
there one day and happened across an exquisite desk set from Asia. I asked Fred
about it, and he looked at me carefully … obviously he wondered if I knew
anything about the origins of the desk set. I started to talk about the desk
set and explaining how I had been looking for such an item for some time. Fred,
who did not suffer fools easily, decided I knew what I was talking about and we
became friends.
He was a very knowledgeable man when it came to art and antiques …
particularly antique books. We spent many a long afternoon discussing art, as I
am an artist and filmmaker myself.
I was very sorry to hear of Fred’s death. The Kings Cross community, who
knew him well, suffered a loss when Fred died.”
“DON” RUSSELL BALL Apps. Ed.
MBE.
Author, Artist, Filmmaker.
q
“I knew Fred for a number of years. He was a very cultured person, who
loved the theatre, and had a great feeling for all of the arts. However, his
greatest talent was in the visual arts.
I remember when one day we had lunch in a city park … he was so modest. I had known him for two
years at that time and still did not know he was an artist. He started to
sketch the trees, the buildings … he had tremendous skills.
His shop, the Kings Cross Museum, was filled with interesting little
gifts and curios, something for the person who has everything. He advised on
original items for special gifts – he was an original himself!
His death was a sad loss to all who knew and loved him”
SYLVIA BLATT
Author and Music Teacher.
This (Kobersdorf) was a little Hungarian town near the Austrian border
where the young coupled had been married on the 31st of January
1904. They went to live in the capital, Budapest, but Mother never found the
opportunity to learn Hungarian; we spoke German at home.
Father had an electrical business with his father in a very fashionable
part of the city. All kinds of lamps and chandeliers, as well as the usual
electrical fittings were sold and they employed electricians to carry out the
conversion from gas to “modern” electric lighting.
Until a very busy day, when one of the electricians reported ill and
failed to turn up for work, our lives were comfortable, not to say luxurious.
In spite of being short handed, Father didn’t wish to disappoint the owner of a
sanatorium and agreed to carry out the urgently required conversion himself. He
was working in one of the bedrooms on a top of a ladder near the ceiling, when
the apprentice holding the ladder lit a cigarette. Gas that had inevitably
escaped into the room exploded and Father fell with his back across the end of
a bed.
The police came to tell us what happened, but Mother couldn’t understand
them so they took the three of us in the police car to the hospital. Mother
looked everywhere in the big ward, but couldn’t find Father until, hearing his
children’s voices, he called out. Except for his mouth, eyes and ears he was
covered in bandages like a mummy, even his hands were wrapped. He had suffered
severe burns and broken back. It too him a long time to recover.
In those days there was insurance only for employees; for Father, the
proprietor, there was neither cover nor compensation and the huge medical bills
had to be paid from savings. Grandfather was little more than a figurehead.
Without Father the business suffered and my parents were left with two small
children and no money. (I was about five and Fred four.)
A distant relative, who owned a stationery and printing business, came
to our aid. He told Father about a new school in Ferencváros, Gyáli ut on the
outskirt of Budapest, and offered to stock a stationery shop on credit if
Father would open one near there.
In order to walk, Father needed crutches and had to wear a heavy
surgical corset day and night. He found that the school comprised two three
storey buildings, one for girls and the other for boys. He approached the
headmaster of each school, introduced himself and asked for their support for
our new business. He proposed to supply the schools with whatever stationery
they needed, according to their specifications in every details, even to the
size of margins and colour of lines in the exercise books. They agreed and
Father set up shop.
It became necessary to move from our elegant home into a council flat in
Gyáli ut about ten minutes walk from the shop and the schools. Father had to
get up at five each morning, even in the extreme cold of Budapest severe
winters to sell the 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.
q
From the day he was born there was never any doubt in anybody’s mind
that Fred would uphold the family tradition, emulate two uncles and sundry
ancestors, and become a doctor. A plaque to the member of our
great-great-grandfather, Dr. Ignác Lamberger still informs passersby in Pápa, a
Hungarian rural town, that at the age of 48 he jumped into the swollen wild
waters of the usually placid river in the winter flood of 1839 and rescued a
child. Unfortunately, Dr. Lamberger lost his own life.
Father’s sister, Nelly Lamberg, was a famous singer with the Vienna
State Opera. Her debut was in the title role of the Rosenkavalier. All the
children in the family were encouraged to study music. After school I had piano
and Fred violin lessons. One afternoon I said to Fred, “Let me carry the violin
case”. It happened to be a heavy, wooden one, but I was anxious for people to
know that I, too, was among the privileged who studied music! Next day Father
was told by several people how his selfish big son had made his little sister
carry that heavy violin case. Fred gallantly took the blame and said nothing.
Although I was thirteen months older, her treated me as the “little one”. We
had been taught to hold the family as the highest value; Fred, the boy, was
instructed to hold my hand whilst crossing the street and that is what he did –
for the rest of his life.
Including ours, three Jewish families lived in our area in a sea of
anti-semites. The boys often attacked Fred in the street, knocked his glasses
off (a bout of diphtheria had left him weak-eyed) and broke them, taunted him
by calling him “four-eyed Jew” and caused as much mischief as they could.
Sometimes he had to run home hurt and bleeding. Nevertheless, Father continued
to help fill in forms, deal with officialdom, give advice about anything that
cropped up, especially with personal problems, to all who needed him. (A pen
was then an unaccustomed tool in many a workman’s hand in the neighbourhood.).
He was very popular, everyone called him “Uncle Lamby”.
q
Because Father was in invalid, he was one of the few men who stayed home
during the war. He was able to carry n the business as usual until an era of
increased virulent anti-semitism burst on us. Then, the boys-school headmaster
issued a directive that students were not allowed to buy from Jews. This meant
a great loss of trade on the specialised stock. On top of that the winter was
particularly sever. One morning Father found havoc in the shop. The coloured
inks partially froze in the glass containers and burst them during the night.
What wasn’t frozen ran down to the shelves below; green, red; purple, black and
every hue of blue icicles dripped multicoloured destruction onto the lower
shelves and totally ruined the contents.
Until Father extended the stock with new supplies of stationery, note
books, picture postcards, folders, rulers, typing papers, (even obtained a
license to sell postage stamps,) ruin
hovered over the shop.
It made us pull together more than ever.
Fred was always keen to learn whatever he could and to excel at what he
learned. In 1924 he won a shorthand competition and was awarded a diploma.
Fred matriculated at eighteen and tried to enroll in the medical faculty
at the university but his application was rejected because of the numerus
clauses law, according to which only a limited number of Jews were admitted to
tertiary education.
He swallowed his keen disappointment – he had really wanted to become a
doctor – and found an office job with the largest rubber manufacturing company
in the Balkans, Magyar Ruggyantaárugyár Részvénytársaság, with more than a
thousand employees. He later became a representative of this firm and was sent
all over the country to call on branch offices and to introduce new products.
Nevertheless, the first money he ever earned was with his art – this
time photography. A Black and white picture of Father sitting at his usual
Sunday afternoon card game in the nearby park was published in the Szinházi
Élet, a Hungarian weekly. The following year he won first prize with a forest
scene in a competition. He had installed a darkroom at home and developed and
printed the photos himself.
One day in 1930 he came home on a motorbike! It was Sunbeam, the first
Sunbeam in Hungary ever. Even the fire brigade stopped to admire it when
passing by. Fred soon filled a workshop at home with tools and cleaning and
polishing products. He took great care of the Sunbeam and it always looked
bright and shiny.
Mother became ill with asthma. Our doctor uncle prescribed injections to
relieve the pain and to reduce the attacks. At first she only needed one
injection a month, but as her condition deteriorated she needed the injections
more often. Uncle soon found it difficult to drop everything and call so often.
After due consideration of alternatives, Fred, then about 20, was taught to
give Mother the injections. Poor Mother was bedridden by this time, her arms
and thighs covered with needle-marks. When Fred and I returned home from work,
we would start on the housework. We would do the cleaning and cooking and
everything else which had to be done each day together, but chopping the firewood
and fetching the coal from the cellar was Fred’s responsibility.
When Mother was unwell, we just had to ring Fred and he zoomed home to
giver her the injection. He had become so well regarded in the firm that the
Staff Manager gave him permission to come and go at any time he needed to. “We
know where you go and we know you will not waste time needlessly,” he was told.
He was popular, respected and had a reputation for doing his work
conscientiously and producing good results for his efforts.
I had more girl friends that anyone else at this period, because all the
girls tried to get closer to Fred through me. They also tried to time their
arrival to the life in the apartment block to coincide with his and in every
other way they could think of, although to no avail, for he was unable to make
a choice. He was the handsomest young man around. They called him Ramon Navarro
after the famous Hollywood film star (he adored his mother and care about his
mall-built sister).
Mother died suddenly in 1933. By this time I was already married but
Fred stayed home with Father until he also died in 1937. Then Fred left for
England to study English in order to further his career. When his passport
expired in 1939 the Hungarian Consulate in London refused to renew it; he was
supposed to return home and join the army. This he didn’t want to do. He
informed the authorities that having been born in Pozsony, part of
Czechoslovak. He was forced to leave England and crossed to France.
But this only gained him a few months. By 1940 the Czechs also wanted
him for the army, but instead he joined the French underground movement the
Maquis, to fight the Nazis. He was arrested a few months later and put in jail
in Amiens, France. The U.S. Army liberated him and engaged him as a liaison
officer. He spoke French and English perfectly besides Hungarian and German.
There is a photo of him on display in a glass cabinet at the Jewish War
Memorial in Darlinghurst, together with the original certificate stating the
foregoing.
Since there were only the two of us left of all our family, I joined
Fred in Paris in 194There is a photo of him on display in a glass cabinet at
the Jewish War Memorial in Darlinghurst, together with the original certificate
stating the foregoing.
Since there were only the two of us left of all our family, I joined
Fred in Paris in 1946 and from then on to the end of his life we remained very
close to each other. Many times he took me out to dinner, the theatre, opera,
concerts whatever. On one memorable occasion he came unexpectedly and announced
that we were going to dinner and a show but asked to use the phone first.
I overheard him explain to three different girls that he could not take
them out that night, because he was taking his “little sister”. One offered to
come with us but Fred declined. He was more handsome than ever, in the U.S.
Army uniform, surrounded by attractive and charming girls.
The show we went to was the Folies Bergere, where we were conducted to
the balcony seats. Fred was oblivious to the attention we seemed to be
attracting, but I, small of stature, craned my neck to see who all the people
were, directing their binoculars to our, or rather, no doubt Fred’s way. It was
only at the interval that I discovered that the next balcony seats were the
focus of attention, where the Duke and Duchess of Windsor were seated.
On another day when we were walking together Fred slipped and nearly
fell over. We heard two ladies remark in Hungarian, what a shame it would be if
this handsome American officer were to break his leg. He turned and thanked
them for their concern, much to their surprise, in perfect Hungarian.
Because of the Suez Canal crisis the Russians in Berlin, serious fears
arose in Western Europe by 1950 that war would break out again, and both of us
felt that we had had enough.
Although we spoke the language and hand reasonable living conditions, we
found life after the Second World War in France far from idyllic and decided to
leave. Fred, the former liaison officer, was invited to migrate to America, but
refused because I had to wait my turn on the Hungarian quota, a possible two
years delay. He feared to leave me behind. We applied to Canada and Australia
for permission to immigrate. Fred had to guarantee that I would not become a
moral or financial burden to the Australian Government. A Landing Permit from
Australian came through first and we soon embarked for Australia. As it
happened we had to travel separately, I on Flotta Lauro’s “Napoli” and Fred on
the luxurious “Roma” a week later. On looking back, that was when I think our
real life began.
When we arrived in Sydney in December 1950 Fred’s first job was a tram
conductor. He cut a fine dash in his uniform riding the outside platforms which
some of the tram-cars still had, also it meant an extra three pence an hour
danger money. The shift work, too, suited him, he was not an early riser. One
day he invited me to rise with him to La Perouse, then the longest trip
available. He paid the three pence fare and handed me my ticket with a
flourish. It was an adventure, a wonderful and happy time we spent together.
Through an ad Fred found out a few weeks later that French-speaking
waiters were required at the French Consulate for a party. He landed the job
and looked suave in his hired dinner suit, serving drinks and food he got lots
of tips. Later he tended bar at the Adams Hotel in the City, one of the very
few teetotalers to do so! He still continued on the trams, though.
Fred’s first solo independent business venture was in the manufacture,
packaging and sale of cosmetics in 1952. “FREDERICK BARAN OF PARIS” (the name
was derived from the Hungarian for lamb) dealt in beauty products of every
kind. The manufacture was easy, as Fred knew everything about it; the marketing
brought the problems. The Australian women were not wise yet in the ways of
cosmetics and only a few continental friends bought the products – not enough
to make a living.
For this reason, Fred then became a representative with Elna Sewing
Machines. Unfortunately, these machines proved terribly heavy to lug about from
house to isolated house in the outer suburbs in the human heat – he was never
really robust – after a while he gave his job away and took a job with the
Registrar General’s Department, where he worked for two years.
He neither drank, smoked nor gambled but saved the money he made from
his various jobs, of which he juggled as many at the same time as he found
feasible. Not having time to keep house, he used to take his meals in a
restaurant opposite the Kings Cross Fire Station. There was a clothing
alteration ship next door to the restaurant, run by an old lady. Fred offered
to buy and she finally consented to sell him the shop and this is where he opened
Sydney’s first espresso coffee lounge., “The Rialto”, with the first Italian La
Carimali espresso machine every seen here. O’Brien’s excelled themselves in
fitting out the place and people came from the North Shore and even from Cooma,
the Snowy Mountains Project, to gaze and taste and enjoy the food there. It was
the talk of Sydney.
Fred would quickly shower and dress as soon as he opened his eyes in the
mornings, in a rush to open up. The first coffee was for himself, to keep him
awake, and he worked through till 3.30a.m. the next day when the taxi drivers
notorious for always being in a hurry, changed shifts. He knew each customer’s
preferences and served them accordingly, whether with omelette or fried eggs,
crisp bacon or without. Cigarettes were still rationed. Fred imported Bulgarian
and French cigarettes, Dutch cigars and tobacco, all of which were much sought
after, even by the passing public. The shop wasn’t big but it was expertly run
as a one-man business. It became a financial success, a real “goldmine”!
He managed to carry on for three years before the strain started to
show. Lack of sleep made him look worn and tired and he put on weight from
eating the wrong food. Following my suggestion he looked around for a buyer for
the shop and soon found one. Within a month he boarded a ship and sailed off,
not to return to Sydney for eighteen months.
The momentous occasion when he started to draw occurred in New York. He
saw a gate, which he thought would interest me (my husband had been an architect)
but could not find a postcard of it to send me. He took a piece of paper and
drew it. He was adamant that I shouldn’t miss out seeing the glories he so
enjoyed. Buildings, monuments, street scenes accompanied his letters regularly
from then on and he went everywhere with his drawing papers and pencils. The
scene of his first exhibition was the salon of the A.O. Line liner, S.S
“Changte”, during an extended cruise in the Far East.
Upon his return he saw that the former “Rialto Espresso” was closed with
a “For Sale” sign in the window. He bought it at once, for half the price he
had previously received for it and opened it again as the “Espresso Ginza”,
named in honour of his recent three months sojourn in Japan where he studied
Japanese. He sold it again a few months later with a good profit.
We both belonged to the Ramblers Club and went bushwalking every change we had. Somebody had to keep an eye on
Fred all the time, because he was in danger of being left behind so absorbed
did he become in his drawing and the beauty of the bush. He forgot about
everything else. Still, it wasn’t enough to fill his days. He was restless and
needed another outlet for his energies.
He wandered about in Sydney when on a rainy day he dropped in at an
auction sale. Artworks of every kind were on offer and Fred bought the dozen or
so which caught his fancy on that particular occasion. He was a real
connoisseur and was able to sell those, he didn’t wish to keep for himself, at
a good profit. This created an embarrassing incident a while later at a
house-warming party we were invited to
in Dover Heights. Our hostess was showing off her latest acquisition, a
painting for which she had paid a high price. “You’ll find my signature on the
back,” Fred said. It’s one I sold for a hundred pounds a few weeks ago”.
Another time, at an auction for miscellaneous goods, he bought the lot,
and with it stocked the shelves of a shop he opened at Kings Cross, which he
named “The Kings Cross Museum”. The American R. & R. (Rest and Recreation)
men came regularly to Sydney in those days for rest and recreation from
Vietnam. They were mad about gold chains, among other things, and bought them
by the measured length. Fred stocked any number of thicknesses, like spaghetti,
hanging on display. With his tweezers and clips he cut and made up the chains
on the spot, as required. He imported costume-jewellery and beads from
Czechoslovakia and any item, no matter how outlandish, from anywhere else in
the world that took his adventurous fancy.
One year he strolled around at the Royal Easter Show. The wondrous
atmosphere in the Pakistani Pavilion reached out to Fred and we went in.
Besides the usual elephant foot umbrella stands, carved ivory elephants, brass
car-horns and the rest of the eastern bric-a-brac, there was a woven basket
full of beautifully made plaited leather whips, coiled up like so many exotic
snakes. Fred asked the price and when he was told demanded to know how much for
the whole basketful! In the end he bought the entire stock.
We needed three taxis to carry it all to his shop. People came in just
to look, admire and handle the 17-meter length of each whip, because they had
never seen anything like it before. Later, at the Indian Pavilion he bought
every bell, no matter what size or shape, brass vases, urns, incense burners
and sundry other brass wares. It all found keen buyers and Fred was hard put to
it to refill his shelves. He bought stocks of abacus, carved ivory chess sets,
marble Mah Jong sets in hand made leather boxes, car horns, incense burners,
statues, polished brass ash-trays and anything else exotic that caught his eye.
I trusted his impeccable taste and consulted his opinion, freely given,
when buying my outfits – I changed 15 buttons on a garment once at his behest.
When my turn came to travel, Fred telephoned me every morning. He worked
out the time difference and called when he was sure I had not yet left for my
day’s touring. Even so, he had no patience to stay in Sydney witho9ut me. One
day I returned to my hotel to hear the reception clerk greet me with, “Mrs.
Gluck, your brother is here. We put him
in the room next to yours”. I thought there must be some mistake; it seemed
impossible, as I had spoken to him the previous morning when he phoned from
Sydney. As soon as I entered my room there was a knock on the door and he stood
there smiling at me! We were the two happiest people in the whole world! From
then on we always traveled together. Fred had let the shop and we were free.
That trip was made memorable also by the reception we enjoyed in
Helsinki from the local branch of Lions International, where we had been
invited and Fred was asked to address the meeting. All the sumptuous riches
Finland produced by way of edibles were represented on the tables, appealing to
four our of the five senses.
Once back in Sydney, Fred again went to auctions. He bought books and
more books. He became a collector and expert on antique and rare books.
Wherever we traveled, Budapest was always on the itinerary, to visit our
parent’s graves first. On our next trip we continued east and went to Russia.
Fred and I made up a tour-group of two. The Intourist representative met us at
the airport, our luggage already cleared, stowed, and waiting for us in the
car. We traveled all over Russia, to Moscow, Leningrad, Kiev, Yalta, and
Odessa, to mention just the main stops. It was arranged for us to have free
time to be able to walk about and see how people lived, and not only rush about
on conducted tours from museum to monument. In Yalta, Fred noticed a queue
waiting to be served soup. He was a keen soup connoisseur, so we joined. At the
counter, we found that the soup was put on the scales in a bowl and had to be
paid for by weight. It was hot and tasty, so we queued again for another portion.
We saw the Waxworks exhibits in Yalta, complete with life size figures
of Roosevelt, Stalin and Churchill, surrounded by figures of French soldiers in
attendance, all displayed in an immense glass case.
Next day we were visiting Sinferipol a holiday resort for lung cases. It
had no airport, no cars to avoid air pollution. Since it was lovely
sunshiny weather we walked about and
found a beach. I went back to the hotel for my swimsuit. Fred waited for me with
a towel while I swam.
We visited the botanical gardens there, our guide happened to be an
internationally recognized botanist who made the tour of the extraordinarily
beautiful botanical gardens both enjoyable and informative, especially as
exhibits were introduced by their common English names as well.
Odessa had been built by the Duc Richelieu, a Frenchman. The stairs
leading down to the quay appear to narrow to a point, a very clever optical
illusion that fools everybody to this day. We enjoyed our visit to the Odessa
Opera House also.
Then, we sailed on a Russian ship for Cairo. The service on board was
thoughtful, fast and courteous. There would be extra towels waiting for me in
my cabin after my swim! Fred usually lazed by the pool. One afternoon, to his
amazement, he noticed an English book on the floor next to a deck chair. It was
entitled The Golda Meir Story.
Besides us there were only Arab workers on board, many of them from
Egypt returning home; or Russians, the latter merely there for the cruise. They
were not allowed to disembark in any of
the ports. Fred was most curious about the owner of the book and we
waited by the chair until a man came out of the pool. Fred started to take to
him in French. He was the retiring Egyptian Consul to Russia, returning home
with his family at the end of his term. He and his wife were also hungry for
company and invited us for drinks straight away. We became friends and they
even asked us to stay with them in their home in Alexandria but we had our
schedule and had to refuse with regret.
The food was superb on board, French dishes of delicate flavour, served
love and attention. We were so thrilled with the treatment we had received that
I wrote a thank-you note at the end of the trip in both our names, addressed to
the captain and head steward. They had never received such a letter and were so
appreciative that they all came to shake hands with us and wished us the very
best for the rest our journey. A small gesture like that had made them very
happy.
Fred had been to Egypt before and knew Cairo well. He was my guide. We
stayed at the newest Hilton Hotel and went across to the Cairo Museum for our
first sightseeing trip. We admired the exhibits for some time, but then Fred
remembered that there was an Australian boomerang among the artifacts, so nothing
would do but we had to see it. He asked an attendant, who didn’t know what we
were talking about, but took us to the Curator’s office. The Curator very
happily guided us around the museum and even insisted on posting some mail for
me when I inquired for the post office to buy stamps. He wouldn’t accept any
money.
We couldn’t have struck a more exciting time. The Egyptian President,
Mr. Anwar Sadat, was in Israel offering peace! Fred urgently inquired for the
TV room but was told, “There isn’t one. Why do you ask?” We explained that we
were Jewish and wanted to watch Mr. Sadat in Israel. The manager promised to
have a TV set in Fred’s room within ten minutes, and kept his word. Any Jew was
treated like a V.I.P. in Egypt just then – after each arduous day’s touring we
relaxed with the TV till the end of our stay.
Even though neither of us gambled, we enjoyed especially our visit to
Macao, the Monte Carlo of Asia. It was then under Portuguese administration. We
stayed at the Hotel Lisboa, named for Portugal’s capital, the most luxurious
and beautiful hotel we had ever been in. We had the corner suite of rooms with
a common sitting room between, overlooking a spectacular view. The boat in
which we crossed was filled with gambler from Hong Kong there for the weekend,
to indulge in roulette, baccarat, flies crawling up the window and every other
gambling game anyone cared to name. They would sleep on board and return in
time for work on Monday.
By ten in the morning the air was up to the second level of Turkish
bath. We spent out time riding about in the unbelievably cheap rickshaws
admiring the scenery, looking for local matchboxes to add to Fred’s already
large collection (he was a long time member of the Phillumenists Club in
Sydney) and watching the action. We sympathized with the losers and exulted
with the winners – it was easy to tell by the faces even from afar, what was
going on.
I had an upset stomach on the flight home from Hong Kong and I felt
awful. Fred lifted the armrest between our seats, made a sort of bed for me
with cushions, and stood up in the back of the plane or walked around during
the entire flight to enable me to stretch out and rest!
Fred took over the Kings Cross Museum again when we returned from
overseas. People used to come in just to chat to him, to get information on
subjects as varied as Greek mythology, Asian china, ceramics, old manuscripts
and books, or just to listen to him telling jokes and anecdotes. He could go on
for hours. (My favorite was the one about the two disputants who went to the
Rabbi to have their case adjudicated. The learned old man listed to the first
claimant and having heard him through, gave his opinion, “You’re right”. He
then heard the second man’s version and found it so convincing that he again
said, “You’re right”. That night his wife took him aside. “Listen,” she said,
“you told the first man, ‘you are right’ and you told the second man, ‘you are
right’. How can that be?” The old Rabbi thought and considered and then
delivered his judgment: “”Do you know what, you’re right too!”
He met a great many people through being a Justice of the Pace and also
through his art and extensive and versatile knowledge. Having once met him,
people looked him up again and again.
Not only was Fred generous with his time but also with his money. He was
the manager of two multistory buildings and also on the body corporate of the
one we lived in. He kept the records, books and accounts in perfect order,
prepared quarterly statements and yearly balance sheets until his last days.
Thanks to his devotion and efforts the maintenance fees were halved, an unheard
occurrence! He dealt with tenants, owners, tradesmen and authorities with equal
patience. He was a good all-round handyman and was able to carry out quite a
bit of the repairs himself, without charge. There was something forever going
wrong, (still is) something needing to be fixed and someone needing assistance
or reassurance. His phone rang day and night.
A stranger came up to me in the street and reproached me after Fred’s
death for not having informed him of the funeral arrangements. “How could I”, I
excused myself, “I don’t even know your name?” He then told me how he had met
Fred on the day he had lost his job and didn’t have $50 to pay his rent. Fred
had taken the $50 out of his pocket and had given it to him, saying, “Don’t’
worry about it, it’s not a loan, just forget it!”
Another man, married, with children, kept ringing me for months after
the funeral just to ask me how I was. It made me wonder, so I asked him the
reason straight out. “It is not you, it is because your brother helped me so
much over the years, I feel it’s the least I can do to see whether you need
assistance”.
Fred was the most easy going person I knew. I had to be careful how I
admired something in a shop-window for he was as likely as not to pop in and
buy it for me. “Why shouldn’t you have it if you like it?” he used to ask. He
always gave me money for my birthdays but I had the greatest difficulty making
him accept anything from me. Yet, he was fond of boasting of the watch, a Jean
Clouvet quartz, then still unknown in Australia, which I had bought for him in
Hong Kong. “Look what my sister got for me,” he used to say.
He just liked people and people liked him.
We both enjoyed live plays. Fred would just tell me to book, without
asking questions. Once, during an evening at the Q Theatre, Penrith, Fred got a
bigger hand than the actors. As part of the performance portraying the life of
Bea Miles, a well-known Sydney ‘character’, the female lead was called upon to
‘beg’ for money after a long Shakespearean recitation, exactly as Bea was wont
to do. Fred took a dollar coin from his pocket and threw it on the stage. He
was thanked, very graciously, and his contribution was picked up. Nobody else
would have thought of such a gesture and the audience appreciated it with
applause.
Fred was a sociable character and never stayed at home unless he had to
work to do, maybe a report to finish or a submission of an idea to write up,
but then he carried on until all hours, sometimes his lights were on till 3
a.m. When he tired of working, he would study something, or just read for
pleasure.
We were neighbours for the last twenty years. Our windows overlooked Fitzroy
Gardens and we could hear the water splashing in the famous El Alamein
Fountain. Whenever he cooked something especially tasty he brought it over and
we ate together. He loved to have guests to eat with him too, and often invited
company for meals.
Towards the end of his fear of fire intensified. Also, the increase of
muggings used to bother him and he deliberately dressed “down” not to become a
target. He was always neat and clean but wore “bohemian” style clothes and
looked like the artist he was.
Until he became ill the two flights of stairs up to his apartment never
worried him, but the last few weeks wee trying. He found it difficult to
breathe and once he even fell in the street from sheer weakness, as I found out
from his diary after he died.
I managed to persuade his doctor to put him into St. Vincent’s Hospital
for a checkup. I didn’t like the excessive amounts of medication he was taking,
up to 15 tablets a day! After a few days there he got in the ward – he
preferred to go down to the cafeteria to eat – and, all in all, he longed for
the ambience of his home. He insisted on bringing the books of the buildings he
managed up to date in every detail. He agent who took over the management after
him was amazed at how well the books had been kept, every column written up,
balanced and ready for audit.
My remaining alone also worried him. I saw paid, suffering and
hopelessness reflected in his beautiful eyes during his last week at home,
although he tried to mask it. He was reluctant to let me see him suffer and
didn’t want to let me into his flat. His breathing became more difficult, his
feet were swollen and he was so think that every rib could be counted, even
through his singlet. In spite of his pleas to remain at home, I called the
ambulance once again and he was admitted to St. Vincent’s Hospital where he
died two weeks later.
Although I didn’t realize that he was dying, I remained with him for the
last three days and nights. I so wanted him to recover that I firmly believed
he would. I wish I had talked to him. I stupidly sat there and watched him.
His hands fretted constantly over the sheets, then he was shaken, as if
by an electric shock. I ran to call for help. When the nurse cam I was told,
“He has gone”.
It was 11a.m. on the 23rd January 1986. He is buried in the
Jewish section at the Botany Cemetery.
q
CREDENTIALS
FREDERICK B. LAMBERGER, Artust, 1907-1966
Alec Chisholm, General Secretary. Royal Australian Historical Society
20.02.62.
The drawings all reveal considerable merit and are in their own way so
distinctive as to be virtually unique. The certainly warrant preservation.
Ure Smith, Publisher 16.02.62.
It was most interesting to see your drawings, I feel myself that the
drawings show extraordinary talent and this opinion is shared by MERVYN HORTON,
chairman of this company and a wellknown collector, and Mr. LEONARD HESSING,
the artist. I would like to show some of your books of drawings to . CEDRIC
FLOWER, the artist.
Daniel Macmillan, University Archivist. University of Sydney 05.04.1962.
Mr. Frederick B. Lamberger, a Sydney artist, whose pen sketches have
recently caused a good deal of interest. I was very much taken with some of the
sketches, especially some which showed new buildings under construction in the
central part of the city. I am very impressed with them as I feel that
Lamberger has caught the essential feeling of modern Sydney under construction
and that the drawings have a lot atmosphere and that the original drawings are
valuable.
University of Sydney 07.05.1962.
I believe that the work of Mr. Lamberger are of unusual merit and that
everything should be done to save them.
University of Sydney 05.04.1961.
Mr. Frederick B. Lamberger, a Sydney artist, whose pen sketches have recently
caused a good deal of interest here. Miss Alison Forbes, Melbourne University
Press. Please look after these original drawings very carefully. As you will
understand, they are valuable, as I feel in fact that the drawings have a lot
of atmosphere.
University of Sydney 18.08.1960.
I send my very warm thanks for the contribution which you made to the
University Open Day by your exhibition of drawings. I was very grateful for
your kindness in making your drawings available and in personally arranging
them.
Allan Gamble, Public Relations Officer. University of Sydney 28.08.1960.
I should like to thank you for having lean to the University the fifty
or so pen drawings which were EXHIBITED at the University on Open Day and
included in the display set up by the DEPARTMENT OF ORIENTAL STUDIES. We were
very pleased to have these and every grateful for your kindness is lending them
to us.
Daniel Macmillan, University Archivist. University of Sydney 04.02.1962.
Your drawings have certain merit and are far and away the best thing of
their kind that I have seen since my arrival in this country. Should you secure
a publisher or contact someone to help in this direction, I shall be too glad
to do some small descriptive pieces of text for you.
|
1960 |
Exhibition A-O Line S.S, Changte |
|
1961 |
Exhibition of pen drawings at Sydney University Great Hall, Sydney |
|
1971 |
Exhibition of 6o travel sketches of pen drawings SEASCAPE, “Britanis” |
|
1988 |
M.M.I. “Insight” Magazine |
|
1989 |
Prouds Art Gallery, Sydney |
|
1990 |
Wycombe Street Art Gallery, Neutral Bay |
q
Extract from the Wentworth Courier (local newspaper) 19th
February 1986
Mr. Frederick Lamberger (Freddy or Fred), died on January 23 at the Cameron
Wing in St. Vincent’s Hospital.
His funeral was attended by more than 100 of his friends and
acquaintances.
Mr. Lamberger has been a resident of Potts Point since arriving in
Australia in 1950 from Paris.
He was a well-known businessman and artist.
He opened the rialto Espresso Coffee Lounge, which was a showpiece with
mirrors, aquarium and decorations.
His customers were artists, businessmen and tourists. He spoke fluent
French, German, Hungarian and English.
Very Popular
He later opened the Kings Cross Museum which attracted many customers.
He was with the US Army, could have migrated there after the war but did
not want to leave without his sister Catherine.
He was a very popular figure at The Cross, walking the streets and
inviting people for a cup of coffee or tea.
He was very generous, helped the needy, the unemployed and the poor.
He had a genuine drawing talent. His work was exhibited at the Sydney
University and The Bulletin published an article on him.
He was buried at the Botany Cemetery and his survived by his sister
Catherine.
q