In Search of Anna

by Valerie Volk

  ‘I like these Sunday observances,’ confided Clara, as we made our way up the stairway to the upper deck. Thank goodness the old days of rope ladders for steerage passengers on clipper ships were over.

  ‘It is more like being at home,’ I agreed. ‘But I have noticed that you spend much of your time on study of the Bible.’

  ‘It is my life,’ she said simply. ‘It is the work that I plan to do when we arrive.’

  Up to now she had given little information about herself or her reasons for the journey. But then, neither had I, and tact had prevented us all asking too much about each other. Except for Ida, who had no reluctance about asking direct questions. Up to the point where a certain stubbornness made one unwilling to be interrogated—it certainly had that effect on me! I had evaded her questions, as had Clara.

  ‘Would you like to tell me about your plans?’ I hesitated, lest I should seem as inquisitive as Ida. But Clara was happy to talk.

  ‘I have spent the last years in our church’s mission training centre near Nuremberg, a place called Neuendettelsau. It fits people for mission work in various parts of the world.’

  ‘But you are not Catholic, I think.’

  ‘No, this is a Lutheran mission. I have been called to work with the native population at Hermannsburg, a place in the middle of Australia—perhaps not the middle, but well inland from the coastal settlements. It is still very new: only twelve years ago two missionaries went there, but it is growing. The hope is it may expand and they can introduce schools for the children.’

  ‘This is a brave undertaking, my dear girl. I would find it daunting.’

  ‘Oh, so do I, Frau Werner. But I believe, I really do believe, that this is what God wants me to do with my life. And I will not be alone. The missionaries have their wives and children with them.’

  We had reached the upper deck where people were gathering. The singing of the old familiar hymns from home, most of them known to me from childhood, was comforting, and I looked at the young woman beside me with a sense of wonder. To dedicate her life to a strange land and such an enterprise … it made my journey, foolhardy as it was, seem almost trivial in comparison.

  ‘Commit thy way unto the Lord,’ intoned Captain Sass as he read the lesson for the day, and I listened to Pastor Krause, one of the upper-deck passengers, expound on the text. It seemed so apt for the journey I was on and my mind wandered again to thoughts of Kurt and the task I had set myself in finding him.

  Or, a thought had begun to haunt me, what if he did not wish to be found? What if, as Hanna had hinted, this was a way to abandon his former life? And me …

  Others’ attention was also wandering, I noticed, for as our ship progressed southward the weather grew hotter. Oppressively so, and a chair was brought from a stateroom for a pregnant woman who had swayed, near fainting, during the sermon. Soon we would reach the tropics, and we had been warned that the weather would try us. We did not know how far off that time was going to be. Or how much longer our voyage would last.

  CHAPTER 15

  At sea, Elberfeld, 1889

  The next Sunday at the end of the service people were gathering near the noticeboard on the corridor walls. They were reading, with occasional laughter, the week’s broadsheet of ship’s news. I had heard of this little paper put out several times each week, for information and entertainment, but I had not seen it before.

  ‘An excellent idea,’ I commented to Margarethe, who stood beside me. ‘A wonderful way to keep people interested in the life around us.’

  ‘Forgive me for joining your conversation,’ said a man’s voice, ‘but that is exactly the purpose of this little bulletin. I’m delighted that you think it a worthwhile venture.’

  ‘Oh, I do!’ I said enthusiastically as I turned to the man beside me. ‘And I like the range of these articles—some funny, others thought-provoking, all well-written and interesting.’

  ‘Might I introduce myself, ladies?’

  Margarethe answered for us both. ‘Please do.’

  ‘My name is August Eberhardt, and I am the editor of this little newspaper. A small group of us work on it each day, excepting of course for Sunday—a day of rest for us too—and post it here for people to read.’

  By now I had guessed that this small group must be drawn from the nine staterooms and their well-educated first-class passengers.

  ‘How do you produce it?’ I asked, intrigued.

  ‘I have brought a typewriting machine with me. They are being made in America, by a company called Remington, for fifteen years now.’

  ‘And you have one!’

  ‘I purchased one to take with me to the colonies, so this is a chance to practise with it while on the voyage.’

  ‘But how do you make copies?’

  ‘There is another American firm, Underwood, that makes carbon paper enabling us to produce a number of copies.’

  ‘That is so impressive. You are to be congratulated, Herr Eberhardt.’

  ‘But we are limited. We know nothing of what is happening among the majority of passengers. We have often said it would be good to have representatives from those who travel …’ he hesitated, uncertain how to make his point without being insulting, ‘from those who travel in the other areas of the Elberfeld.’

  ‘It would certainly give you a broader range of viewpoints and events, I agree.’

  ‘I wonder if you ladies might be interested in joining us. Am I being presumptuous in suggesting this?’

  The idea had immediate appeal. Years of reading had given me a passion for words. It would be a chance to be in contact with others interested in ideas and writing, and even to try my own skill in the field.

  ‘Margarethe?’ I queried, turning to her.

  She nodded. ‘Yes, I think we would both enjoy that. If you think we can be of use.’

  So began what was, for us both, the most pleasant part of this shipboard life. Our daily meetings with the production group were, for a time, somewhat intimidating. The others knew what they were doing; we were inexperienced. And they were first-class passengers. As we entered their cabin area we felt conscious of differences in status, and diffident about contributing to discussion.

  But that soon wore off, and I told myself sternly not to be ridiculous.

  ‘You are,’ I said firmly to my reflection in the little cabin mirror, ‘as well-read as any of these others, as is Margarethe.’

  It was an entry to a new world, and I looked appreciatively around these very different surroundings. Room to move, was my first thought, for the cabins were spacious, with large beds and comfortable chairs and day beds. Their washstands were beautifully fitted, with large ornamental basins of flower-painted china.

  The two ladies in the group looked a little askance as Herr Eberhardt explained our presence, and I had the feeling we were not entirely welcome. But the three men were affable and happy to have extra hands for the work, it seemed. They were also members of the social committee, involved in producing the musical evenings that were held occasionally on the main deck. Another group, we found, had been formed to organise games meetings and sporting matches for passenger entertainment. Captain Sass, they told us, understanding the dangers of boredom in the weeks that we would be confined, had called a meeting of interested passengers and asked them to form these committees.

  We were our own little world, a floating world, but it was surprising how many people were willing to contribute short articles to share in our pages. Many had interests or areas of expertise, and Herr Eberhardt proved himself an excellent editor. Not surprising, for he had been a newspaper man in Berlin, and was going to a similar role in a German publication in Sydney.

  Sometimes Captain Sass joined us for a few minutes in Herr Eberhardt’s stateroom, providing an update on progress or information about the ship and the crew. Frau Wandel proved to have a talent for writing pointed and witty verses about life on board, and most issues would feature a poet’s corner for her offerings. I noted that she an
d her sister, the other lady of the newspaper committee, had become a little more friendly when they perceived we were not planning to challenge their rights to the male company in the group.

  Gathering material for the little newssheet proved an interesting exercise. Others became involved as we moved through the different areas of the boat looking for scraps of information about daily routines and personal lives that might give us a paragraph or two. Production of a few copies of this collection several times a week became a highlight of the voyage, not just for those of us who were responsible, but also for the readers who waited its appearance with real enthusiasm.

  It was good to have had this diversion, for the novelty of shipboard life swiftly paled, and as the time passed and the weather became less and less bearable we needed something to occupy our minds.

  I worried about Ida. Clara had her studies and her constant preparing for her future work on the mission station. She seemed to relish this time of freedom, for apart from the rostered cleaning sessions, which we all endured (and then rejoiced when the decks were clear, and our living areas freshened) she was free to continue her reading and learning. Margarethe and I had our work on the newspaper, and the times we joined in deck games or watched the card players at their whist. But Ida? Her days were long, and who could blame her wish for company her own age?

  Frau Schroeder, in her matron role, watched like a hawk over the young women. Woe betide the girl who lingered too long over the bland breakfast serving, for the sight of the young men approaching was ample cause to delay over the bread and butter or oatmeal porridge, or that last cup of coffee. Easy to brush against a young man’s arm as he took his plate to the stewards to have the midday soup ladled into his bowl, or to eye each other as the beef and potatoes were piled on his dinner plate. Surely it was only civil to stop and chat for a moment, though it earned sharp looks from Frau Schroeder and a warning talk later in the cabin.

  ‘There is no harm in being polite,’ Ida said sulkily when we remonstrated with her. ‘The old cat is just jealous because we have friends.’

  ‘I think it is more that she feels responsible for you. To both your father, and also to your fiancé.’

  ‘Klaus would understand,’ she was adamant. ‘He knows I like to have a bit of fun. He knows I belong to him.’

  ‘But would he really be happy about you dancing on the deck yesterday afternoon with Sigmund?’

  Ida pouted. ‘No. But then he won’t find out, will he?’

  Too easy, I was thinking, on a hot tropical night with the bright orange moon above, to forget about the future and the real world waiting. It took me back to those days in the pine forest with Kurt and the seductive slipping into an all-consuming intimacy. I could still feel its lure. Even now, almost thirty years on, I ached for those days.

  Such foolish thoughts for a woman my age. A widow, a mother, a grandmother. And most of all, a woman searching for her son.

  But soon there were more serious things to fill my mind. The Elberfeld had made good time in her progress south, and Captain Sass proved that his reputation was well earned. He seemed never at rest, checking on the wellbeing of his ship and crew and friendly and attentive to his passengers. Not only considerate of the cabin dwellers, but all of us—especially the mothers with children.

  ‘It is a long voyage. The children need an occupation and their schooling should be continued.’

  He knew that both Margarethe and Clara had teaching skills and experience, so soon had drawn them into the small school that was set up on the poop deck five mornings a week. They seemed happy to have an occupation and tried to draw Ida into their work. Without success. She was much more interested in joining in the deck games with the young men. I smiled. Frau Schroeder would find her chaperone duties more time consuming than she had expected.

  Despite our age differences, the four of us were good companions. Ida too, flibbertigibbet as she was. But there were things we didn’t talk about. They knew only that I was planning to visit my son, and I had been vague on his whereabouts.

  No surprise in that. I did not know where I was going, and it was starting to weigh on my mind. Until now I had been able to push aside the inevitable questions, the necessary questions, but they were beginning to loom darkly. Yet I could tell myself it was a long way off, that there were other matters to think of for the time being.

  Perhaps it was the work on the newspaper, and my greater knowledge of this huge floating castle that we inhabited. It had become a regular feature of our production—each issue some aspect of life on board. I could see why Herr Eberhardt would be such a skilful editor of any newspaper; he had a sharp sense of what might be of interest, and how to go about it.

  The men were sent to investigate the engineering of this vessel, and all the various jobs that kept us afloat—all three hundred passengers, and the hundreds of crew members—from the Captain’s role down to the youngest cabin boy. While we, Margarethe and I, interviewed the stewards and stewardesses, and looked at the kitchens and storerooms, talking to those who were responsible for feeding this army of people. Meanwhile Frau Wandel and her sister Ursula discovered how the medical care on the Elberfeld was organised and run.

  I saw the way the ladies’ eyes lit up. More contact with the doctor. Single. Available? It would be a task to their taste. They continued to view me with a coolness I found disconcerting.

  ‘You do know why, don’t you?’ asked Margarethe.

  I was genuinely puzzled, and she could see it.

  ‘Frau Wandel thinks that Herr Eberhardt likes you too much.’

  ‘You are teasing me! Aren’t you?’

  ‘Not at all. I’m sure she had hopes that this long voyage might lead to something for her. After all, he’s a widower; she’s a widow. What could be more comfortable? As for her sister, if you watch her with the doctor, I think you’ll see what I mean.’

  I could feel my face flush. ‘That’s absurd. She couldn’t think that.’

  ‘And why not? You’re also a widow, and just as available. And he clearly likes you very much.’

  ‘But our only contact has been over the newspaper. No, you’re quite wrong. He’s just being courteous and friendly.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Her tone was sceptical. ‘You’re younger than she is, too. And much more attractive.’

  Whatever the reason, Frau Wandel obviously did not like me, and I wondered how I had managed to antagonise her. I could not accept Margarethe’s idea. In fact, I was so unused to thinking of myself as a woman that it bewildered me that anyone could see me in this way.

  Our pleasant routine was soon disrupted, and my days of happy work on the newspaper with new friends and hours spent reading—so many emigrants had books among their baggage that we had created our own ship’s library—were sadly interrupted. It was the first of the disasters on this maiden voyage. One could only feel for Captain Sass. He had been so careful, so attentive to all aspects of the workings of the ship—but there was nothing he could have done to prevent the loss of the propeller off the Portuguese coast. A devastating blow, on a brand-new vessel. He was mortified.

  Not that his apologies stopped the complaints, particularly from Frau Wandel. I was beginning to feel a distinct aversion toward this arrogant woman. Any suggestions I made for our little paper were met with something close to contempt.

  Irritations grew with the disappearance of the propeller. The first decision was to be towed into port at Lisbon. But no repairs could be achieved there. We must return to Cardiff, decided Captain Sass and the owners, so a steamer was sent to tow us there.

  ‘But that is in Wales,’ shrieked Ida, when she heard. ‘I’ll never get to Klaus. We had a wedding date planned.’

  There was general dismay when the decision was announced and we realised how many weeks this would add to our voyage. It took every bit of Captain Sass’s tact and charm to manage the tensions, and he enlisted the aid of Herr Eberhardt to help explain through our newspaper just what was happening.


  ‘Try to reassure them,’ he begged. ‘This is most unfortunate, but it could not have been foreseen. We will make good time afterward.’

  Not an accurate prediction.

  It was as everyone had warned me. Sea voyages are risky. It was over four weeks since we had left Hamburg, and nearly five weeks before a new propeller was fitted and we sailed out of Cardiff. A second start. All breathed a sigh of relief, and even Frau Wandel’s cartoon for the paper had an optimistic note, with a cheerful grin on the bow of the Elberfeld and a joyous smile on our Captain’s face.

  Past Gibraltar and on, but not so happily. We grieved for the young mother whose baby was born dead, and who watched, tears streaming down her cheeks, the small body, wrapped in sailcloth and consigned to the deep as Pastor Krause read a funeral psalm. I spent time with her, understanding what it was like to endure the pains of childbirth without the joy that should have followed. I could talk to her as one who had also borne a dead child, and we wept together. The pain for me was as fresh as nearly thirty years before, for that dead son would now have been twenty-seven. No, I told myself. I could not lose another son.

  But we were, as promised, making good time, though unable to compensate for the time lost. I remember little of the Mediterranean, except for the distant sight of Malta, because our lives had turned inward. It seemed that this world, this floating world, encompassed all we had ever known and all we would ever know. I could believe in Herr Wagner’s Flying Dutchman, doomed to sail the seas forever.

  I could talk of these things with Herr Eberhardt and, while careful to give no cause for offence to his friends, it was good to have someone who would discuss books and music. And yes, if I am honest, it was good to feel admired, perhaps even desirable, for now that Margarethe had opened my eyes, for the first time in many years I thought of myself as a woman.