by Ian Wedde
It was at the sailmaker’s that she had met Arabella and Victoria. They were laughing as she opened the door that time. It had made her smile to hear them. Oh, good morning, ma’am, please excuse us, said Arabella with her hand over her mouth.
They drove a hard bargain, those two, said the sailmaker. His name was Flitch and she could see he liked to joke with them. They were quite comfortable and familiar in their manner and she wished she could be on the inside of their humour – it could be lonely sometimes on the outside of jokes.
But little by little she began to be there.
After all, a flitch was a piece of wood, said Victoria, and she thought Mister Flitch might catch fire one day.
Arabella gave a burnt-finger shake of her hand.
They had come out on the same ship, in the single women’s quarters. There were some rough sorts there who bribed the matron for brandy. One girl about fifteen, from a place called Dundee in Scotland, had the most beautiful voice – she could make the brandy drinkers weep even though they couldn’t understand what she was singing about. Arabella and Victoria had many stories to tell, and sometimes Josephina told them about her life in the Bauernhaus, and a little bit about the Bloch House in Hamburg.
The sailor Heinrich Wenczel didn’t notice her, and she hurried to get around the corner by the bank. Arabella and Victoria took turns distracting Wolf, who was getting too big for his pram, and he was squawking happily at the top of his voice and pulling his bonnet crooked again. Why should she worry that he might attract the sailor’s attention? In any case, she hurried. Did she worry what her new friends would think if they saw that one of the smoking men by the hotel knew her and thought it proper to greet her across the street? Yes, a little, perhaps, but really, what did she care?
It was Theodora’s bad mood about the scroll and the sailor called Wenczel that made her anxious, but why should she care about that either? The scroll remained where she had put it after the Deutscher Verein because she’d hoped Theodora’s mood would lighten, but then their argument about the letters to Wolf that Theodora had opened and read and answered without talking to her continued to spoil the mood of the house.
Why had Theodora not shown her the letters?
Because they were addressed to Wolf Bloch and concerned the work that he and she had been engaged in.
But who were they from?
Friedrich Engels in London. Josephina didn’t know about him, did she?
But what about letters from people she did know?
There were letters from Herr Aksel Andersen about the arrangement with Behrenberg-Gossler, which had to do with the affairs of the Bürger Zeitung.
But she knew Herr Andersen, he was the uncle of her brother-in-law in Sønderborg! And who else?
Theodora’s nostrils were white. There was a letter from Signor Pasquale Martignetti. From New York. And yes, of course he had asked to be remembered to Josephina, and Alessandra was well. But the letter was mostly a discussion of politics in America.
Mostly?
Well, perhaps Josephina would like to write to the Martignettis herself, Theodora was sure they’d be interested in her work sewing things.
Her tone was sarcastic.
But now she was going to prepare the sweet potatoes she’d been given by Mrs Cornish’s cook, they were good with some butter and parsley, there was parsley at the back still?
But could she please read the letters from Herr Andersen and Signor Martignetti?
Yes, Theodora would get them for her, after the sweet potatoes. Would she mind waiting?
There was no fun to be had there, in Bute Street.
The street where she and her friends were walking hadn’t been cleaned for a while, and she had to wave droning dung flies from Wolf’s face. That was what her life with Theodora was like now – she was always waving away an annoying argument.
But soon they were back at the cottage in Bute Street and had begun to work. They worked at Josephina’s house because of Catharina coming home from school. They were pinning shirt patterns to the cotton lengths, cutting them out and putting them in tidy piles according to size. There were tall, medium and small sizes, and of course some jokes about which dimension each of them might prefer to cut out. The weather was warm enough to open the door to the little yard at the back and Wolf was having his nap there with a piece of shady muslin above his crib. Theodora was away at the house where she taught the children of a wealthy family – she usually returned in a satirical mood and Josephina hoped her friends would be gone before then. They worked at cutting out the shirt pieces and then put them aside in piles to sew the next day. Then there was time for some tea and a piece of Victoria’s cake. It was an apple cake, there was a good young cooking apple tree where she lived in the Aro Valley, and some young peach trees as well. Sometimes the Maoris came to get some, she didn’t talk to them.
Catharina came back from school and had a slice. Wolf was awake and sitting on the floor with Catharina and she was feeding him small pieces of her cake. It was true, they hardly looked like sister and brother, but Josephina skirted around the hint in Victoria’s observation.
But what was that rolled-up thing on the dresser? Victoria thought it looked old. Was it a picture? May we see it?
They moved the cut-out shirt sections to make room for the scroll, and she unrolled it across the table.
But how curious! Look at the little houses and animals! And the man with the fishing rod in the narrow little boat!
But where had Josephina got it from?
A sailor from the ship she came on from Germany had given it to her, he’d told her he was from somewhere in Silesia, they’d met at the Deutscher Verein where some German people in Wellington gathered to celebrate the end of winter. He had travelled to those parts of the world where the scroll came from.
Victoria and Arabella had waiting expressions on their faces. The scroll was spread out in front of them and they were looking at her across it.
But now she was going to get some paper and pencils so Catharina could draw a picture of Wellington for her friend Alex in New York. Her aunt Theodora had recently bought the pencils, some of them were coloured. Perhaps the scroll would give Catha some ideas.
She could see that the scroll had given Josephina’s friends some ideas, but they helped her to move it and make room for Catharina and her pencils. The angry argument she and Theodora had had over Theodora’s letter to the Martignettis in New York, with its suggestion that Catharina might make a picture for Alex, had been somewhat soothed by the pencils, which were a kind thought.
Catharina was sitting on a cushion to make her higher and had begun to draw. From time to time the tip of her tongue crept out to help with the management of the pencil. Arabella was holding Wolf on her lap and avoiding the clutches of his hand at her hair, which was somewhat unpinned.
But now it was time for her friends to go. Victoria would be walking up Aro Valley past her brother’s forge, and Arabella in the opposite direction to the boarding house where she cooked in the evenings. The establishment was called the Willow Bank Boarding House – but there were no willows and no bank, how silly!
Josephina was struggling to understand willow, a new word, and bank, the same as in German, and why were the words making Arabella laugh heartily with her head on one side while Wolf tugged at her hair? – when the door opened with an angry rattle and Theodora came hurrying in. Arabella’s confident laugh stopped in mid yelp and Victoria looked up anxiously from Catharina’s drawing, which already had a ship with three masts, a girl’s smiling face with pigtails on either side, and a star.
These were her friends Arabella and Victoria, they were just starting their shirt-making plan, and this was her sister-in-law Theodora.
Theodora Bloch, said Theodora. She put her hat down on the scroll.
Then small Victoria and large Arabella were leaving perhaps somewhat hastily – they gave Wolf and Catharina quick kisses – of course they would all three be meeting again the n
ext day, would they not, they could begin sewing the pieces together, was that not so?
Yes of course that was so, Josephina was looking forward to it.
But at present she was looking at Theodora’s hat on the scroll, and then also at the expression on her face.
That stupid Cornish woman had told her to leave, Theodora said with a huff of breath. I was influencing the children!
She lifted her hat away from Josephina’s look.
And she was sick of using the Hansen name.
Josephina rolled up the scroll and tied the old yellowed length of tape around it.
If Theodora was sick of the name Hansen then she should stop using it. It was not proper for her to keep using the name if she could not respect it.
‘Oh, my dear sweet Josephina,’ said Theodora in a voice that was rough and unsteady, as though something was caught in her throat. ‘Ich wäre nicht gegangen, nicht für die ganze Welt!’ There were tears on her cheeks that she didn’t bother to wipe. ‘But I am dying here for the loss of Bloch House. What can I do? Who can I talk to? I am Theodora Bloch!’
Catharina was looking at her with big owl eyes.
This was her drawing for Alex, she told her. What did Tante think of it? Of course, it wasn’t finished yet, it would take a while, there were a lot of things to put in it, of course it already had her friend Anna whose pigtails hung down over her shoulders.
Yes, Tante agreed, it would take time, there was no need to hurry. Then she went quickly to sit outside while there was still sunshine in the yard.
Wednesday, 17th November, 1880
Our home at 4 Bute Street Wellington (Catharina has made a picture)
To all My Dear Family
But first Elke and Papa, please send this letter to Greta when you have read it
The road outside our little house is narrow and muddy but when I opened the door this morning to see what the sun was doing I saw its dawn glowing in the muddy ruts. There are birds here with little white napkins under their throats and their songs in the late spring are melodious and like playful laughter. A pair of them chortle to each other in a tree across the road. In early spring it was covered in golden pendant flowers and these birds came and went all day to sip at the blossoms. When the breeze blows from the nearby harbour it is very fresh and clean. The harbour is enclosed by hills and at its far end are mountains that change their colours all the time. It can be stormy here with strong gales and then the harbour turns white with spray. This is a rough unfinished place and the town has only begun to exist on land from which the forest has been scraped but that is what I like about it. It is just starting and there is still an emptiness like a deep breath. There is room to breathe. Now you will say that Josephina is talking nonsense again, so here is some simple news. But first I will tell you that tonight there will be a full moon, the sky is very clear and before bed Catharina and I will walk up the hill to look at the moon’s path on the harbour. From this you may be able to believe that I am still your sister Josephina, the one you used to say was moony.
Our house is very small and narrow with only one floor and made of wood, but there is a room for me and the two children, and another for Theodora, and there is space for a table and chairs in the room where we cook our food. There are other narrow houses in the row, they are close together and all open on to the street, with a small yard at the back with some parsley, but we are lucky to have it thanks to the Deutscher Verein.
It is now many months since I sent a letter to my old home and my sisters and Papa and the children, I am very sorry to have taken so long. I wrote that one some weeks before we arrived here at Wellington after those events that have changed me so much from the sister you knew that now you might not recognise your little sister, and I can no longer recognise that person either, even though I am still the moony one. As you will know from my letter I lost my dear husband Wolf whose body was dropped into the sea, and for a long time after that I think lost myself as well as though I was drowned. Then came a blessing, it was the son that should have been Wolf’s and mine together. His name is Wolf Bloch Hansen and he is now eleven months old. He is a strong and wilful child after having a hard start to his life, perhaps that is why he is obstinate. His hair is very thick and dark, he has dark eyes and is a sturdy walker for his age. Catharina is a good big sister to him, I am proud of her. Her English is much better than mine!
I began to write letters after he was born but did not finish them as I was in an unhappy state for some time and did not want to worry you. Now as I told you the children and I are living with Wolf’s sister Theodora in our small cottage in this strange town. We have been helped by Wolf’s friends in Hamburg but are now living mostly by our own work. Catharina goes to the school nearby and so I have some time to make shirts and other things with two other sewers. Both speak English and so as well as earning my living I am learning that language more every day. I can earn more than in Hamburg when I lived at Herr Andersen’s house but my sewing companions fear this will not last and so they are hoping to find good husbands.
I do not know if Theodora will stay here much longer, she loves little Wolf with all her heart and is his kind Tante but she doesn’t care for the town or the tree with yellow flowers or the rough bareness, and I think she will decide to go somewhere else one day. Perhaps she will go to Australia, or to America where some of her friends are now and where Catharina’s friend Alessandra is living in New York. If that happens my life with the children will become more difficult but until it does I will go on cultivating my opportunities and enjoying my new life.
With this letter I will send you a photograph of two streets here in Wellington. It was taken last year by a man called Bragge, Theodora found his print shop in the town and bought one for me to send you. In the picture you can see two rough streets, they are called Lambton Quay and Customhouse Quay, they are near the harbour. The small two-floor building on the corner is the chief bank of this town, so you can see that nothing very grand has been built here. To the right of this bank is a small shop that is where I get cloth for my work and also where it is sold. As you can see there are not many people, I can see ten, and one horse-drawn cart! Catharina thinks she can see some ghosts in the picture, one of them is standing between the two policemen, she thinks it looks like her Papa Wolf, but she hardly remembers him, which I find sad. Are the policemen arresting him she asks! The hills all around are mostly quite bare, so you can see that the town has space to grow, as it is doing quickly since most buildings are made of wood of which there is a large supply from nearby forests. Can you picture your sister and her new friends walking in these streets? It is along the one on the left that I go with Wolf in his pram to get cloth from the draper and sailmaker’s shop in the street on the right.
Now I will finish, but not before begging you for long letters with news about what is happening by Kieler Förde and Sønderborg, and how is our papa, and of course after a year how is my sister Elke with the handsome Franzose!
Now after my kisses Catharina will write something as well.
Your loving sister and daughter
Josephina
Dear Tante Greta and Tante Elke
and Opa and Finn and Otto
Our house is small but bigger than the ship which was smelly. Wolf is a noisy baby. My friend at school is Anna she has long pigtails. You can see them in my picture. Last night we saw the big moon it has a face. Mutti said it’s the man in the moon and he has a little dog but I couldn’t see it. There were many stars. When are you coming to see us? Please come soon I can teach Finn English.
Here are my kisses there are many of them like stars
Catharina
Part 3
_______________
‘the fresh airs of time to come’
Beth and Frank
The otherwise tidy little FedEx box from Australia had a picture of a gaudy galah with upraised crest pasted flauntingly on it and was sealed with a sheet of plastic affixed with slapdash silver m
asking tape. Inside, on top of some things in cardboard folders, was an envelope containing a letter and a postcard featuring the aquamarine waters of Nudey Beach on Fitzroy Island, Queensland. The hasty writing on the postcard read, What are you waiting for? Frank.
Beth poured herself a glass of the ‘cheap but good’ Chilean cab sav that Joe had left and took the letter to a chair with strong light – Frank’s handwriting was forceful but erratic with occasional lurches of altitude as if he’d needed to adjust how his arm and hand were aligned. He’d made the capital ‘F’ of his signature into a galah with the top horizontal as a crest and the one below as a beak.
Snapper Court
Cungulla
QLD 4816
Australia
8 April 2017
My Dear ‘Comes Second’ Cuzzie
What do you call a farting Aussie? Ned Smelly. No, didn’t think you’d appreciate that and I will do better.
I can’t begin to tell you how lovely it was to see you again ‘after all these years’ and to venture into the past I thought I’d left behind me. It’s not that I want to reopen that old Pandora’s Box, but being with you at least allowed me to come along for the ride and on the way to recover something I’d forgotten about or had wilfully sealed off. I’ve no idea why we do that sealing-off since what harm (or good) can the past do and I for one don’t believe we learn much from it except easy stuff like don’t play with fire. But then ‘play with fire’ probably works as a metaphor for all kinds of deep shit, so don’t listen to your cousin who is ageing into ill-tempered prejudice and idées fixes. And I have to admit I was looking for a way to get some space between where I am and wherever Helen’s gone and so the reunion was a good enough opportunity, though perhaps a misnomer now I think about it.
