During the European autumn of September 1966, migrants Wolfgang, Sigrid, other young people and paying passengers left Bremerhaven aboard the Angelina Laura bound for Sydney. A journey that would take six weeks. In a fashion like cattle transportation, four men were allocated per small cabin and four women to another. The ship went via the Suez Canal, before the canal’s eight-year closure at the beginning of the Six-Day War. In Port Said, Sigrid and Wolfgang joined a group for a stroll around the harbour. Dark, deeply embedded memories of soldiers infiltrated Sigrid’s consciousness. She felt uncomfortable, ‘I find all these uniformed men here intimidating, especially with their threatening rifles.’
Nonetheless, after some haggling, they ended up buying a red leather pouffe cover. Those were the days when being oblivious about customs declarations did not result in a hefty fine on entering Australian shores.
The ship’s first stop in Australia was Fremantle. It was Sunday, and the area surrounding the harbour and Peter Hughes Drive was deserted.
Sigrid observed, ‘There is no person, dog, anybody or anything. Have we landed on the movie set of “On the Beach?” Wasn’t that made in Australia? It’s so, so post-apocalyptic.’ Wolfgang could not offer an explanation.
Days later they arrived in Melbourne from where they were transported by train in wooden railway carriages to the Victorian town of Bonegilla, which was the collection camp for all new arrivals. From there, people were allocated to various regions in Australia. Wolfgang and Sigrid decided to try their luck in Brisbane, a decision based on a chance meeting with a fellow German traveller, Dieter, on the Angelina Laura. He was married to an Australian woman from Monto in Queensland, ‘This state has a great future. It has plenty of mining resources and construction work. It also has the best climate of all Australian states. That would be the place to go.’
Wolfgang looked at Sigrid, ‘Why not try it there?’
‘Yes, Brisbane is the capital, isn’t it?’
‘Sure is,’ Dieter confirmed.
Sigrid queried, ‘Perhaps we should go there first and see what it’s like. We are more used to life in the city.’
Wolfgang nodded, ‘You’ve got a point there.’
‘As long as they have jazz clubs,’ Sigrid chuckled.
‘I don’t know about that. It’s not really my scene,’ was Dieter’s contribution, leaving Sigrid pondering about a period in her past that had seemed carefree, oh, so long ago.
The Queensland Government was quite selective as to who should be allowed to settle in their state. The prerequisites included: having learned the English language and having a trade or profession that the government deemed worthy. The Schulz couple met these criteria and were allowed to go to Brisbane. First though, they had to partake in the compulsory bus tour of Albury/Wodonga, which was recommended as a place for newcomers to settle and which seemed in need of populating. Disregarding the enticements, Make your future and fortune in prosperous Albury/Wodonga, Wolfgang and Sigrid boarded another wooden train en route to Queensland.
It was a long journey on a slow train, stopping for refreshments at various townships along the way. Sigrid and Wolfgang hopped out of the carriage and collected warm sandwiches made from unfamiliar soggy white bread wrapped in grease-proof paper. As confirmed coffee drinkers, the Schulzes accepted the predictable cup of milky, weak and lukewarm tea with some reluctance. From the carriage window, they saw a landscape enormously different to what they were accustomed to in Germany: parched open plains, undulating hills in faded sandy-brown colours dotted with gum trees, instead of the verdant, modulated greens of the Taunus Forest near Frankfurt. Here kangaroos were hopping beside the track instead of squirrels racing up trees and elegant deer trotting through the woods.
After, what felt like endless travel, they drew closer to the suburbs of the Sunshine State’s subtropical capital. At the sight of many houses on stilts, Sigrid remarked, ‘Look, these wooden houses are on posts. They remind me of the prehistoric settlements on the Bodensee. At a glance, they really look similar, except here, the posts don’t go into the water.’
Pre-historic settlement
The small identically-sized garden sheds at the end of each backyard were equally puzzling to her, ‘Such neat and regimented people live here. They all have the same sized garden sheds. See,’ she pointed her arm towards the window ‘same, same, and same. Do they also possess the same-sized garden tools?’
‘I don’t know. It seems odd, though. I never came across anything like that in South Africa,’ is all Wolfgang could add.
‘Well, to get away from the city, my mother’s friend Astrid has a Schrebergarten out in the suburbs of Frankfurt. On weekends she loves being in the fresh air of her allotment garden. I’ve been there a couple of times. But her little hut is bigger than those. These here are just too identical and much too small. How peculiar.’
They did not know that during the mid-1960s, Brisbane was only just in the process of being piped and sewered. The drains could not cope with the regular afternoon showers in summer, and before the 1974 floods, housing lots were regularly inundated. As for the cute little garden sheds, they turned out to be outside toilets, or dunnies in the Australian jargon. They were being emptied once a week by a dunny man. He came in a truck, carried an empty bin on his shoulder to replace the used one. These were not the only surprises for the couple.
The humidity struck them as they arrived at Brisbane Central Railway Station.
‘You can cut this air with a knife. It is like a sauna. I can’t breathe.’
‘I know, Siggi, it’s worse than South Africa. At least there, the heat is dry.’
‘Oh, Wolfi, what have we done? I want to go home.’
The thought of having to repay the cost of the journey or any monetary outlay incurred by the Australian Government prompted his retort, ‘Let’s wait and see.’
They were transported by bus to the Wacol Migrant Hostel. Inauspiciously, the dwellings and fences from those days are today still at the exact location, and the hostel is now renamed Wacol Correctional Centre.
On Sigrid and Wolfgang’s arrival, the centre’s wooden dwellings were divided into rooms for couples or families, depending on their number. The Schulzes had one room. Another astonishing sight for Sigrid were those weird, corrugated iron huts that were used for accommodation. They looked like upside-down boats. These prompted her reminiscence about her treasured David Copperfield book.
How I loved leafing through the pages when I was young. The book belonged to Heinz, a present from his friend Werner. A 1920 German edition. I’d spend hours studying the illustrations by Phiz. Anyway, I’m glad Mother let me have it. That, the photo of Heini with me, and my ‘Knusperchen’ are the most precious possessions I have in this strange new land.
‘Wolfi, in my David Copperfield book, such an upside-down boat was a home on the beach. Little Em’ly lived there when Master Davy and Peggotty visited Yarmouth to see her brother. As much as I love that book, I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would follow in Davy’s footsteps. Live in an upside-down hut in an upside-down country.’
‘Yes, it is odd to live in them today.’
Resembling the setup of a caravan park, a brick building housed an administration block. Another building contained showers, toilets and communal laundry facilities. There was also a child-minding centre. Like any space that accommodates people from different nationalities, the migrants at Wacol followed a uniform routine: set times for three daily meals in the canteen, set times for the weekly pick-up of linen and towels, set times for this, set times for that—set times for living.
Nowadays, these premises accommodate those who have come into conflict with the law and serve their time at her majesty’s pleasure. Like the migrants before them, they follow a set routine on their path to reformed integration into society. Somewhat ironically, but to their credit, it seems that Australia cares for both, migrants and prisoners, in the same egalitarian fashion.
Information, hints and gossip were spread during washing sessions at the laundry, ‘Did you know Beatrix’s family is moving into an apartment in Rosalie?’
‘No, really? Where is Rosalie?’
Wolfgang and Sigrid arrived in November, a month that traditionally offered limited employment opportunities for tradesmen, as businesses closed for the Christmas vacation. However, there was a position for a painter in Indonesia. After discussing their options, Wolfgang decided to work there. This left Sigrid alone at the Wacol Hostel.
The closest public transport stops to the camp were either the Wacol or Goodna railway stations. To get there involved a fair amount of walking. Reaching Wacol required a hike through a ruggedly bushy and isolated area. Sigrid took that route quite often, thinking of it as her magic scrubland forest, only realising years later the possible danger associated with her long treks alone to the train station. She also learned the various customs of the land the hard way.
While waiting on the platform after one of her trips into town, another person informed her, ‘Lady, there are no trains running. I just found out that there’s a strike.’
‘Whaaat? How will I get home?’
‘Wait till it’s over.’
That is totally unheard of in Germany. Unbelievable. What will I do now? I want to go home now, even if it’s only an upside-down boat at Wacol.
As Christmas drew closer, someone from the Department of Immigration invited Sigrid for Christmas lunch. A Mr Doyle arrived promptly at twelve o’clock and drove Sigrid to his home in St Lucia, where Mrs Doyle had prepared lunch, sumptuous compared to what Sigrid had been accustomed to since her arrival in Australia. Sigrid never found out how she had been chosen, but she always appreciated the kind-heartedness of her hosts.
On the way back, Mr Doyle showed Sigrid the lusciously green grounds on which The University of Queensland stood. He pointed with pride to the arches, the gargoyles, the great courtyard and the sandstone buildings, exuding an aura of enlightenment. He told Sigrid, ‘This is the only university in the state of Queensland.’
This left a lasting impression on Sigrid. She was quite in reverence of the setting and thought with resignation that she would never be able to study there. Would the effect have been as intense had she known what was to happen years later? That is the beauty of life: you never know what it has in store for you. On reflection, one can marvel at the
decisions and directions one makes and takes. What seemed too hard and difficult and perhaps unfair, could, in time turn out to be the only way to move forward in life.
The University
After a brief visit from Wolfgang, Sigrid realised she was pregnant. This put an end to her plans of finding work. It was not easy anyway, being stuck out at the hostel.
Wolfgang’s contract ran for another twelve months. No need to rush back for the baby. Life’s quite good here. Work’s not too bad. Got my mates, got my beer. Better than a screaming kid.
To prepare for maternity, Sigrid felt it best to move out of the camp into a small flat in the suburb of Rosalie. This was partly caused by remembering her mother’s fears about catching spreadable diseases in camps after the war. Moreover, the suburb of Rosalie was relatively close to the hospital, the train, and other amenities. Beatrix Peters, whom Sigrid had already befriended at Wacol, lived there, and provided much support and assistance.
Encountering real Australians had its droll moments, which Sigrid, with her sense of Teutonic precision, could scarcely accommodate.
Sigrid’s neighbour Bev introduced herself, came in for a cup of coffee and then left, ‘Ah well, see ya later.’ What did she mean? Is she going to come back this afternoon? Should I wait for her? Maybe she will invite me back to her place?
It did not take too long for Sigrid to realise that this phrase was just a figure of speech and that the ‘later’ could, in fact, be quite a while later or even never. The workmen across the road indulged in smoko? The mossies were biting fiercely. A cuppa was offered freely. What is a ‘bloke’? Isn’t a man a gent? Could it be a block? Doesn’t make sense. A man? But why? Have a Bex, it will fix everything. What? What will it fix?
Sigrid had not been taught this colloquialism in her English language classes and had never heard of the need for headache fixing powders. Then there was the habitual ‘b’ word usually followed by ‘hell’! I hardly know any swearwords in German, ‘verdammt’ (damned) is the worst I can think of.
Emilie was happy enough to receive the news that she was going to be a grandmother, but her suggestion that Sigrid might want to have the baby in Germany fell on deaf ears. Sigrid felt she had to find her own way in this new country and stand by the decision she made with her husband. You never know, Wolfi might surprise us with a visit. Sigrid was correct about the never. Wolfgang missed Katrina’s birth at the Mater Hospital.
In Sigrid’s case, giving birth occurred in a rather unceremonious fashion, not like today when one in twenty-five births are due to an IVF programme associated with careful planning, much anticipation, and exorbitant costs. When Katrina entered this world, the hospital was overcrowded, everybody was rushed off their feet, and the hospital needed additional beds. Sigrid was allocated a folding bed in a sleepout area. Fortunately, Katrina was an easy and quick delivery.
Beatrix visited, holding the newborn, ‘What a beautiful baby, such nice white plump skin. Look at those big eyes, dashing hither and thither. You are going to be a clever one, aren’t you? Lovely, lovely baby.’
Beatrix assisted the new mother with many considerate tasks. She visited the flat, did some shopping and made sure that Sigrid and her baby daughter could manage.
It was not until November that Wolfgang returned to Australia. By now, the close bond between mother and baby daughter felt exclusionary to him. His weariness was not helped by being in the same situation as when they arrived: the building industry had wound down for the oncoming Christmas season.
He did not take kindly to Sigrid’s suggestion, ‘Perhaps you could have timed your return more wisely.’
Wolfgang started to drink more heavily. He had always been partial to beer, but now added whiskey to his daily dose. To his credit, Wolfgang was fond of Sigrid and his baby daughter, and there were times when he genuinely tried to make an effort to provide for his little family. But perhaps the unsettling turmoil of his upbringing during the war and the ensuing confusing years of his youth in South Africa made it difficult for him to find his footing in Australia and probably anywhere else for that matter.
In the new year, Wolfgang found odd jobs, but was unable to provide long-term stability and, with that, the foundation to build a permanent nest for his family unit. Days of silence were interrupted by arguments. Moreover, every now and again an apparently unprovoked angry streak surfaced. Periodically, Sigrid also found his behaviour towards her strange and she wondered if he had met another woman. There were times when he came home late, inebriated and animated, or intoxicated and aggressive. His mood swings were unpredictable. He started to gamble and was always short of money. Sigrid had real difficulty managing the household. She became wary of him and his volatile moods.
One day in December was particularly stressful for Sigrid. Katrina was teething and suffering from a cold, leaving very little time for Sigrid to attend to other daily chores or prepare dinner. I won’t have enough money to pay the electricity bill. The car registration is also due. Ah, here he is at last, late, and inebriated.
‘What have you been doing all day? I’m hungry. Where’s my dinner? Just so you know, we are not going for camping holidays to Caloundra. I don’t have the money. We’re going to stay here.’
‘But you promised, Wolfgang. I was so looking forward to being on the sea. To get away for once.’
‘Yeah, well, shit happens.’
After this quarrel and with Katrina still irritable in her cot, they went to bed.
Exhausted, Sigrid dozed off. She woke to Wolfgang turning over towards her. He started to grunt and rub his erect penis against her left thigh. He then slid his solid body on top of her, ready for penetration. A yawn and sigh escaped from Sigrid’s mouth. Wolfgang arched his back briskly and slapped Sigrid across the left side of her cheek with such force that stars appeared in her vision of the darkened room. Feeling guilty, she succumbed yet again to his enforced intercourse. In those days, Sigrid’s silent suffering was not an isolated case and only in very recent times has rape in marriage become a punishable offence.
It was years later, in 2011, that Sigrid was to reflect on this traumatic incident after reading an Australian women’s magazine that devoted a whole issue to this intolerable situation. She read that, driven by the feminist movement, South Australia was in 1976 at the forefront of reforming laws concerning rape within marriage. Before the 1970s, the foundation of the Australian jurisprudence was based on the seventeenth-century English common law systems. Sir Matthew Hale’s articulation was used for this resolution:
[T]he husband cannot be guilty of rape committed by himself upon his lawful wife, for by their mutual matrimonial consent and contract the wife hath given up herself in this kind unto her husband, which she cannot retract.
To Sigrid, it was not surprising that South Australia was the forerunner in seeking social justice for victims of this criminal act since it was also the first Australian state in 1895 to grant women, albeit only those who were British subjects, the right to vote. Sigrid’s reading in 2011 also revealed that each Australian state has its own legislation for dealing with sexual offences. Some jurisdictions changed the term marital rape to sexual assault.
On further research on this topic, Sigrid was also to find that an Australian Government resource sheet established that approximately eighty-five percent of sexual assaults never come to the attention of the criminal justice system. Of those reported, only a small percentage result in a successful conviction.
Sigrid’s deliberation continued. Women should not accept physical violation of any kind. But far too many still do. And so did I—back then. Times were just so different. Yet, you still read about this far too often. From an early age it should be instilled in children to always treat each other with respect. If tolerance towards violence is eliminated, society must benefit. I have always instilled that in Katrina. The lack of being respectful is the core issue of violence. Fortunately, Isabella too got that message.
After an argument in their apartment in Rosalie in December 1971, Sigrid complained to Wolfgang that they were not getting anywhere. He grabbed a few of his belongings, jumped into his light-green Holden EK Station Wagon and sped off. It was four days before Christmas and Sigrid had only a few dollars in her purse. She felt utterly and totally trapped and absolutely desperate.
What am I going to do? How can I create some normality during this ‘important festive season?’ I think I am going out of my mind. She paced up and down the small living room. How am I going to pay for food? Who could I ask for help? Mother in Germany? But even if I did and admitted Mother’s prediction about Wolfgang, there is no way I would get any money before Christmas.
By now no longer a small baby, Katrina sensed the disharmony and was more niggly than usual. Fortunately, Beatrix called around. She assessed the situation within minutes, bundled Katrina and an unresisting Sigrid into her car, left a note for Wolfgang and drove them to Beatrix’s new home in Inala.
Close to neighbouring Wacol, Inala was a housing commission suburb, a government-funded building project for lower-income earners. Most of its residents were migrants, mainly from England. But in Dutch Beatrix’s house, filled with three noisy under six-year-olds, Sigrid felt safe and at ease. When Beatrix’s husband, the plumber Willem, arrived after work, he did not ask any questions, accepting his wife’s decision to extend their hospitality to his wife’s friend and her little one.
Sigrid spent that Christmas with the Peterses. It was sad and happy. Sad because of her personal circumstances. She still had no idea where Wolfgang was. Happy because of the kindness with which she was treated by her friends. In those days, the seed was established in her mind: I will never again be in a situation of dependence; a situation in which I am left almost destitute. She was unsure how, but she would find work and put Katrina into a kindergarten and create the stability in their lives that Wolfgang could not provide.
Wolfgang reappeared at the beginning of January, somewhat sorry for his behaviour. He had driven to New South Wales, wanting to try his luck in Sydney. He got as far as a caravan park in Coffs Harbour. There he enjoyed bumming around until he ran out of money. His conscience got the better of him, sort of, and he decided to come back to Brisbane, to his wife and daughter.
Sigrid was relieved, and Katrina was happy to see her father again. They all tried to start afresh. Shortly after, on a Saturday morning, just after finishing the morning cleaning routine, Sigrid felt very weak, she was strangely jaundiced, and she instinctively knew she was sick. She lay down on the bed, waiting for Wolfgang to come home. Wolfgang took her to the doctor, who diagnosed, ‘Yellow eyes and jaundiced, you’ve got hepatitis, my dear. You need rest, I can’t give you any medication for that. As for you, Wolfgang, I better give you a shot against the inflammation.’
It took more than two months for Sigrid’s lethargy to disperse and her energy levels to return. Then one day, she received a telegram from Aunt Rosemarie. Sigrid had expected a letter from her mother, to whom she had conveyed her plans to find a job soon. But her aunt’s cable advised Sigrid that her mother Emilie suffered a stroke and had sadly passed away.
Sigrid barely made it to bed. What next? What else could be thrown at her to make her break? It just wasn’t fair. Sigrid had planned for her mother to come and visit them in Australia as soon as they had some stability, preferably not while living in the small flat at Rosalie.
Sigrid got up and looked at her mother’s photograph in the photo album. She also picked up the wooden-framed photo of her brother Heinz and herself in Schwerin, which seemed many lifetimes ago. If only he had survived the end of the war and hadn’t involved himself with some fanatical and misled boys wanting to be heroes. If he were still here, he would help put Wolfgang on the right track. At that moment, Katrina woke from her afternoon nap, ‘Mummy, Mummy.’
‘My sweet little darling,’ Sigrid picked up her child. She cuddled and kissed her and looked deep into Katrina’s big blue eyes, ‘Mummy will love you forever and promises to look after you. My sweet precious.’
With such an adorable girl, Sigrid had to pull herself together and not succumb to thoughts of melancholy. Once again, Beatrix played a major part in providing moral support to her friend.
Months later, Sigrid received a touching letter with a monetary transfer from Aunt Rosemarie, who had managed Emilie’s estate. This boost to their economic situation enabled Sigrid to buy a secondhand Volkswagen Beetle. Around that time, the government offered women who had been out of the workforce due to domestic circumstances the option to gain qualifications at the Kangaroo Point Technical College.
Sigrid grabbed the straw that was offered. It meant that Katrina would have to be cared for. Sigrid found a child-minding centre in Whites Hill. Although out of the way, it was the closest and easiest way to get a placement. The mornings were hardest. Katrina hated going to kindergarten. Every morning she cried, and Sigrid struggled to get her little girl, who did not want to be left at childcare, into the car.
But Sigrid was desperate, this was the only way out of her difficult circumstances. If she got herself a reasonable office job, she’d have the financial independence for which she strove and would never again suffer the consequences of Wolfgang’s erratic behaviour. Of course, she loved looking after Katrina, but knew it would be better for her to have one happy parent rather than both being miserable. At least that is what her mother always told Sigrid and she believed it also.
The times Sigrid had spent alone with her mother were wonderful. She thought of that great New Year’s Eve in the 1950s in Frankfurt Bornheimer Landstrasse, when they were drinking Glühwein, listening to the radio and dancing to the song, You do have to travel… That memory always stayed with Sigrid. Indeed, she would have rather wiped-out memories of a number of New Years since her arrival in this new country.
For nine months Sigrid maintained the routine of dropping Katrina at day nursery in the morning, driving to Kangaroo Point and learning Business English, Secretarial Practice, Bookkeeping, Shorthand, Typing and Business Machines. She was conscientious and got good results.
One Friday after lunch, Sigrid had a typing class. The teacher Miss Moffatt asked her how many spaces are required after a full stop. Sigrid’s mind went blank and suddenly, tears welled up, her breath heaved deep from within her chest, she started sobbing. The eyes of the class were on Sigrid. Miss Moffatt asked what the matter was, and what had upset her. This only made it worse. Miss Moffatt approached Sigrid and led her out of the classroom into the principal’s office.
There, both, the principal and deputy principal tried to console Sigrid by asking what had upset her. She could not say and did not know but was still sobbing uncontrollably. After offering her a cup of tea and many tissues, as well as questioning her about how badly she really needed to do this Office Training Course, both ladies suggested it was best for Sigrid to go and see a doctor. Sigrid got herself together as best she could and went to see the doctor at Auchenflower, who asked the same question about her need to do this course. He prescribed Valium.
Sigrid spent that weekend in a daze, but it did not detract from her ambition to find employment. She returned to the college on Monday.
By October 1973, Sigrid had completed all her subjects. She applied for the position of secretary to the accountant of BAG, Bras and Girdles, an undergarment manufacturer in Fortitude Valley. To prepare for the interview, Sigrid bought herself a new outfit: a flared green and red floral skirt with a matching bolero jacket, under which she wore a white blouse. Blue block-heeled shoes completed the outfit. Sigrid felt confident.
Of course, she was very nervous when she was called into Mr Moore’s office. After a couple of inquiries about her experience (or lack of it), and whether she was pregnant (yes, bosses were then entitled to ask that question), Mr Moore gave Sigrid a notepad and a pen before dictating a letter to her. He then accompanied her to another room and asked Sigrid to type the letter.
With jitters, Sigrid handed Julia, the receptionist, the letter, sat down gingerly and waited in Julia’s domain. After what seemed like an eternity, Julia called Sigrid into Mr Moore’s office.
‘Well, Mrs Schulz, you have made a couple of spelling mistakes, like ‘corsetry’ and ‘brassiere.’ However, seeing that these are trade words with which you are obviously not familiar, though you could have done your homework before this interview, well, I’ll let it go this once. As our company is in the process of doing negotiations with a German conglomerate, your German language skills are useful to us. Therefore, you are hired on a probationary basis. You can start next Monday. Just close the door behind you if you don’t mind.’
Sigrid stood up, stupefied. If she had understood correctly, she had the job. With a timid, ‘Yes, thank you,’ she opened, walked through, and carefully closed the door.
For some years, Sigrid settled into the routine of working for BAG in the Valley. She learned to master the odd stupefying confrontation with English idioms, like typing the minutes of the general meeting when attendees ‘move a motion to have matters dropped.’ Why do they all act, as if everything is normal? I only know that expression when the doctor asks me about Katrina’s bodily functions. Here nobody blinks an eyelid. How weird?
Katrina had started school and, against Sigrid’s trepidations, settled well into school life. The relationship between Sigrid and Wolfgang deteriorated with Sigrid’s permanent job.
His drifting now occurred regularly. He went fishing, gambled, drank his beer and was lethargic, meaning—doing nothing. This lack of ambition manifested itself in his inability to keep a job for any length of time. Sigrid increasingly questioned her relationship with Wolfgang. She had had enough. It had been building up for years.
Sigrid sought legal advice to find out how to separate from Wolfgang. The solicitor advised her to live in the same unit for her daughter’s sake and because she had no other option, but not to sleep with, cook, or wash for her husband. After one year, she would be able to file for a divorce.
Sigrid told Wolfgang that she wanted a divorce and proposed the new living arrangement to him. He seemed surprised, but it looked as though he accepted the terms. A while later, he questioned her, ‘And you will not sleep with me?’
‘That’s right.’ Sigrid went to bed. Dozing off she heard the car starting. Where is he off to at this hour? Probably the pub! Ah, too tired.
Still half in slumber, Sigrid was dragged out of bed with inebriated Wolfgang hissing, ‘I am going to kill you.’ He hauled her through the bedroom and threw her onto the couch in the living room. Sigrid could not fight him off. He sat upon her shoulders and upper torso with all his might, holding her down firmly. He kept punching her again and again on the face, in the eyes, and on the mouth, slurring, ‘I am going to destroy you. Your beautiful face. Your eyes. I don’t care about your daughter.’
Sigrid could not move. She was breathless, trapped under his colossal body. He kept punching her and saying over and over, ‘I’ll kill you.’
She expelled a weak gurgling sound, but he kept on punching her. Unable to free herself, her thoughts raced: This is the end. He is killing me. I am going to die. My daughter, my beautiful girl.
The blood had splattered everywhere. Wolfgang hesitated and lessened his grip. This allowed Sigrid to escape to the neighbours across the floor.
Bob Mayne called the ambulance. His son Gavin got out his shotgun in case Wolfgang followed. Alarmed, Bob foresaw another tragedy and argued with Gavin about the gun.
The ambulance arrived, the weapon disappeared, and Sigrid was taken to the emergency department at the hospital. Stitches were inserted under her left eye and over her right eye. Sigrid was treated for split lips and lacerations to the face. She was told to see a dentist about the broken front teeth. The staff’s sympathy and care became somewhat subdued once they heard that it was ‘just another domestic.’ They sent her home, where the police were in the process of taking intoxicated Wolfgang away. He was charged with unlawful assault.
The Registrar at the Supreme Court noted the severity of Wolfgang’s aggravated assault in the Summons. An injunction was issued to restrain Wolfgang from entering the premises in which Sigrid and her daughter might be residing or from assaulting, threatening, molesting, following, harassing, or otherwise interfering with or contacting Sigrid or her child in any manner whatsoever.
Still, Sigrid was frightened for many months. She feared he would try to carry out his threats again and lived secretly with her child at Inge’s home. The psychological scars took many years to heal.
In 1976 counselling was not as widespread as it is today. There were fewer resources. Attitudes often laid the blame on the victim, she must have asked for it, thus excusing the perpetrator of domestic violence. At least in the future, a victim of domestic violence could become Australian of the Year, create awareness and work towards building a society that will not tolerate such inhumane behaviour. A society that aspires to respect the dignity of each and every human being.
Sigrid did not anticipate her marriage ending this way. It did, however, inadvertently help her eliminate any kind of sentimental feelings she may have harboured towards Wolfgang before this trauma. As the incident happened during the Christmas festive and merry holiday season, on her return to work in the new year, her bruised eyes had lost their black, blue and red colouring. The stitches were removed, and the umber swelling was only noticeable within close range of her face.
In due course, Sigrid reverted to her birth name Hermes.
Alistair was a contract computer programmer at BAG. His desk was situated parallel to Sigrid’s, and he too worked closely with Mr Moore. Alistair often told funny jokes to the others working nearby. Sigrid did not really understand them, but everybody laughed, so she joined in. By now, she was used to more Australiana: cossie for swimming costume, having tea for dinner, arvo for afternoon, and she often heard ‘bloody’ and the occasional ‘f’ word.
Alistair spent his time setting up procedures for the staff to supply data and use computer programs. He was rather sweet to Sigrid, and she enjoyed his company. They saw each other from time to time, going to the pub on the corner on a Friday after work, or even seeing a play at the SGIO theatre on a Thursday night, when Sigrid could get her neighbour to mind Katrina. By now, it was rather evident that Sigrid and Alistair spent time outside work and colleagues started to talk about them.
One day Mr Moore called Sigrid into his office, ‘Close the door and sit down, Sigrid. You are doing a good job here, and your German knowledge is certainly useful. But it has come to the attention of management that you are quite close to Alistair. I must ask you to keep your relationship with him strictly professional. Otherwise, I see no other alternative but to hand you your notice of dismissal. Do you understand what I am saying?’
‘Yes, but. Well, alright, Mr Moore.’
This confrontation dumbfounded Sigrid. What had she done? What business of theirs was it with whom she was friends. Another one of those weird Australian rules. She decided not to take too much notice; surely, they could not decide with whom she was allowed to socialise. And Alistair is such a nice and gentle man. What could they possibly have against him?
A couple of months after her first reprimand, Mr Moore told Sigrid to come and see him in his office at the beginning of the lunch break. This time he was more serious. ‘Sigrid, you have not listened to what I was asking you to do during our last meeting. Now I am really sorry to have to tell you that your work with our company is being terminated. Here is a cheque covering your wages until the end of the month, which is generous on our behalf. Here is a reference for your new employer, which is also complimentary. I must ask you now to pack your belongings and leave our premises. One more thing, your work was always completely satisfactory. You tried hard, and I do wish you the best of luck. I am sorry to have to do this to you.’
Sigrid fought the tears but down they rolled without stopping. Various thoughts raced through her head, but in her emotional state, nothing made much sense. Is that why colleagues talked about joining the union?
To avoid any more drama and further exposing her state of distress, she simply left Mr Moore’s office, rummaged through the drawers of her desk, and grabbed her belongings. Since everyone was on lunch, she left the premises, seen only by Julia, the ubiquitous receptionist.
Nothing made sense, Mr Moore was happy with her work, but she was dismissed for seeing Alistair. What did that have to do with her work? How will she manage if she does not get another job? No, not another horrible pre-Christmas scenario, when I was left without any money.
The phone started ringing at home. Word spread quickly that Sigrid was gone, and colleagues called to ask what happened. They all seemed genuinely upset at her predicament. Alistair rang and was very quiet after she told him about the dialogue with Mr Moore.
The following morning Sigrid went to the employment office to register and look for work. There might be some casual work with a large department store, but she had to come back the next day. Sigrid aimed to start work as soon as possible.
Unexpectedly, Alistair knocked at her door and threw some light on her unfair dismissal. BAG was negotiating a contract with another computer supplier, and Mr Moore was concerned that if Sigrid came across any of the paperwork, she might have imparted this to Alistair. This somewhat eased Sigrid’s pain. She knew now that her termination was not an attack on her ability or work skills. Alistair continued with more news. In five weeks, he was going to work in Canberra on a much bigger project, so BAG and Mr Moore could have saved themselves Sigrid’s sacking.
He also came up with another piece of positive news, ‘You can get any job you like with your skills, Sigrid. For example, there is a new university at Mt Gravatt. They are looking for admin people, and they are full of new ideas and concepts. They are supposed to have good working conditions. Mr Moore would never get away with what he did to you there. I know Mrs Reed, from the secretariat. If you want me to, I’ll have a word with her to see if they can use a good worker like you.’
‘That would be wonderful, Alistair.’
Alistair spoke with Mrs Reed. Sigrid went for an interview and the job of administrative assistant in the professor’s office was hers. Alistair was correct, working at the university was very satisfying. The conditions were better, and there were good opportunities for advancement. Even though Sigrid missed Alistair, who was by now in Canberra, she settled into her new job well. She had no experience with the organisation of universities but quickly grasped the structure of undergraduate and postgraduate degrees, subject outlines, assessments and the correct lettering of PhD, whose ostensibly esoteric concept was to become a theme of personal significance.
One day Professor Morris, the head of the Centre for the Advancement of Learning and Teaching, gave Sigrid some handwritten notes to type for a presentation to graduating Year Twelve students. He congratulated them on their achievement of completing high school, emphasising that this was only the beginning of their journey in their quest for knowledge. ‘Learning is a lifelong process.’ This really struck a chord with Sigrid. She felt inspired.
The university had a generous staff incentive scheme that supported its employees to further their education. A number of mature-age women in the university were undertaking studies through this scheme. Feeling encouraged and remembering her reverence for the only university on her first Christmas in Australia, when generous Mr Doyle had driven her around its grounds, she decided to post an application. Sigrid was accepted and enrolled in a Bachelor of Arts majoring in English and German. The wonderful feeling of walking on those esteemed university grounds did not dissipate on her first day.
A surprise visit from Aunt Rosemarie brought Sigrid immense happiness. Still robust, Rosemarie, having lost her partner in Germany, decided to visit the other side of the globe. ‘I have to see my little niece again and meet my grand-niece Katrina, while I still can.’ There was much to catch up. Sigrid took Rosemarie to tourist spots like Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary. They spent a weekend on the Sunshine Coast, where Rosemarie decided to stay for the week. Sigrid together with Katrina surprised Rosemarie with tickets to the performance of ‘Giselle’ at the Queensland Ballet. Back at the flat, they reminiscent about the times spent in Schwerin during the war. Katrina pored over the faded photograph of Rosemarie as a young dancer in Germany, causing all three to wipe tears from their eyes.
Rosemarie’s dance
The weekend before Rosemarie’s return flight to Frankfurt, Sigrid had an invite to a party at Benson Street, Toowong. Rosemarie was also welcome; she was keen to meet real Australians. And she did. While everybody, being generally young, was gyrating to the latest groove, Rosemarie sat in a corner sipping on a glass of white wine. The host Russell, observing the still classy lady, gallantly bent down and asked the German guest for a dance. Their dancing was beautiful to watch, and it was most touching to read Rosemarie’s thoughts, ‘This is probably the last time anybody is going to ask me for a dance.’ And it was. She left Australia with very happy memories.
Sigrid studied for six years part-time at night, doing two subjects per semester. She was disciplined and used weekends and free evenings to research. In doing this, Sigrid set a good example for Katrina, who also became studious. Her school progress benefitted.
By the time Sigrid received her Bachelor of Arts, she had decided to become a high school teacher. After a quiet celebratory dinner with Katrina and Alistair, she enrolled in a Graduate Diploma in Education. During the next two years, she often experienced a sense of deep achievement and satisfaction walking in the hallowed grounds of her sandstone university.
On gaining her Graduate Diploma, Sigrid and Katrina went out for dinner to Angelo’s, an Italian restaurant in Toowong to celebrate their respective successes. Katrina commenced an Environmental Studies degree at university.
Sigrid had an offer to teach at Gympie. As Katrina found student accommodation on campus, they put their furniture into storage and left, not without an emotional farewell from Beatrix, Sigrid’s first friend in Australia.
Sigrid spent four years in Gympie. She enjoyed teaching, and as a qualified native speaker, her German language skill was in demand.
Katrina completed her studies, which mother and daughter celebrated with other graduands after her award ceremony. Katrina found employment with the Parks and Wildlife Organisation and Sigrid had finished her country service and was now teaching at Coorparoo.
The years went by. Katrina met Peter and they married in the late 1990s. Sigrid taught at Kenmore and bought a cottage there. Alistair had resurfaced from Canberra, and Katrina saw that Sigrid spent many happy hours with him.
The message of lifelong learning instigated by Professor Morris prompted Sigrid to apply for enrolment in a PhD. Her proposed thesis topic about the emancipatory endeavours of female German writers in the mid-nineteenth century was accepted. She was inspired by Ida von Hahn-Hahn’s daring suggestion in 1834 to send boys to sewing schools and girls to universities to see how different society would be after three generations: an extraordinary proposal, even in present times.
For five years, Sigrid researched and worked long hours. At times when she complained and felt unable to cope, trusty Alistair’s, ‘just keep writing,’ spurred her forward. She presented papers at graduate conferences in other capital cities and New Zealand. Her university grant allowed her to research primary sources and meet scholars in Germany. Wearing her floppy hat to receive her PhD was her apotheosis. She pondered with tears how she, the migrant who arrived with nothing but youth, naivety, no great expectations and only her treasured photograph of Heinz, her linden timbered Knusperchen and David Copperfield, was now receiving her doctorate from the Chancellor of the University many years after she first set foot on this continent.
This conferral led to her lecturing at university. She relished the interaction with her students. Sigrid was in her element imparting the rules of grammar and being immersed in her native language. She always felt invigorated after lively discussions about the culture and traditions of her home country and shared with her students their excitement of a burgeoning career or a forthcoming trip to Germany.
It also led to Sigrid working occasionally at the state art gallery, where she translated intertitles for silent movies and subtitles for movies with sound. During the screenings of those German films, she performed keyboard functions. A hair-raising exercise, when a slow or hesitant pressing of the key results in subtitles being out of sync with the movie’s dialogue. But Sigrid loved all the films with which she worked, from FW Murnau of the 1920s, to Martin Walz’s 1996 horror comedy Killer Condom.
When Katrina gave birth to Isabella, Sigrid was there to support her daughter. She held her granddaughter and was filled with an enormous feeling of affection. ‘You beautiful baby. I am going to be a good oma for you. And I will spoil you. Why?’ Sigrid caressed Isabella’s cheeks, ‘Because I can. Yes, I can. In a few years when you are older, I will take my nicely dressed up granddaughter to cafés, to the Nutcracker ballet at Christmas time, to Peter and the Wolf, and to the children’s activities at the Gallery of Modern Art. I will, I will, oh, yes, I will... You beautiful baby.’
Retiring from her teaching at university, Sigrid anticipated more involvement with her grandchild. Alas, she only had a few years for all the planned outings with her little darling, as Katrina and Peter moved to Gladstone in 2007. Sigrid understood that Peter felt he had a huge responsibility in his new job. With the company workforce amounting to almost two thousand employees, he had to maintain safe workplace conditions and ensure a reduction in injury and environmental incidents. Sigrid heard all about his prevention of ‘any incidents.’ How he constantly applied ‘his three-step: training, inspecting and reviewing.’ How he ‘knew that to maintain the company’s excellent reputation, not only in Gladstone but around the world, he had to do all he could to stay ahead of the pack.’ Yes, Sigrid understood all this extremely well.
Now she enjoyed the occasional visits of her fast-growing granddaughter, only occasionally indulging in her fantasies about proposed precious times together.