The Sweden Bridge lies just off the area popularly called the ‘Bermuda Triangle’, because so many people have disappeared into the narrow streets and alleys. Being Austrian, though the streets are narrow they are spotlessly clean, except of course near the McDonald’s emporium where those horrible cardboard chip-holders always lay littered. Ray and I visited some of the famous cafés and had a game or two of billiards but the Zeitgeist was not with us.
The visit we made to the sewers where Carol Reed had made his masterpiece, The Third Man, was more in keeping with the Vienna I had imagined. When I had started in the film business as a tea boy and then third assistant director, I had worked for a man who had been an assistant director on The Third Man. He taught me all I know of how to handle irascible artistes. One of the things he told me that stuck in my mind was that it was always very wise to wear clothes of the same colour and type each day on a film because it reassured both the crew and rage-blinded creators. Just as a red rag enrages a bull, quiet colours soothe.
The entrance to the main sewers built in Emperor Franz Josef’s day was just off the main road in Karls platz. The men who showed me round, like many people who do slightly unsocial jobs, were very pleased to see me. The smell in the main chambers took a little getting used to, but as we descended through the neat granite masonry the air cleared and we found ourselves in the main sewer. This is in fact the River Wien, which is almost entirely covered in. It was here and in the passages leading off it that Carol Reed had created his nail-biting chase at the end of The Third Man. As a film maker, I was amazed by how he had managed to make so very few locations seem like a vast labyrinth. As we climbed up to the street level again the man who was guiding me, dressed in white overalls and huge leather thigh boots, showed me how some strange secret society had got into the sluice room by cutting through the lock on a steel door and had then conducted some sort of Black Mass amongst the sewage. The wax from their candles was still visible in little worm casts on the floor.
I went to see the nautical musician at the Conservatory of Music and had a marvellous introduction to the world of music as it flourishes in Vienna. The Conservatory has students from all over the world and the numbers from each country fluctuate with the progress of music in those countries. When he started, the Chinese had sent many students but now they have so many trained musicians in China that the students come from other countries. The Principal said he could never understand how students from the Far East, raised on a music with quite a different tonality, could learn Viennese and Western music so rapidly. He told me his greatest challenge was training a group of Arab musicians whom the King of Jordan had sent to Vienna to be trained in Western music. After the first year he said that he had very nearly given up. His staff were in despair but they persevered and at the end of five years they were all playing well enough to give performances to the public. He confided to me that he was far more expert in stellar navigation than he was in counterpoint, which impressed me.
After riding round Vienna on a tram and a bike, eating well and dining at Heurigers, those strange Viennese institutions spread round the edge of the city which sell their own wine and a lot of schnitzels, I decided to ask the Captain to leave his home in Linz and take us up to Korneuburg. Ray and I were eager to get on our way again and so were happy to see our friend the Captain walking along the towpath with his Burberry neatly folded over his arm and carrying a plastic bag containing a delicious cake from Mrs Frolich.
The trip to Korneuburg should have been simple but the Captain said the current would be exceptionally strong, for it had rained in the mountains some days before and the surge had just hit the river at Vienna. As usual, he was right, and we took two hours to struggle up the canal as far as the Danube; once we were in the main river we made absolutely no progress at all. We watched as some Eastern Bloc ships went past but the Captain said there was no way they would help us. Then, as luck would have it, he saw a friend of his churning up the river in a huge barge laden with coal. He called him up and we were soon alongside a 2500-horsepower monster of a barge from Germany which hefted us to Korneuburg in an hour.
We tied up and said goodbye to the Captain, then made our final arrangements for the boats, which were going to be lifted out of the water for the winter and put in a shed, for the river freezes in these parts. Packed and drained, I left the Leo, heroine of so many adventures, alone. I had left our flag flying on the stern and, as I walked up the gangway in the setting sun, I watched it flutter in farewell.
Acknowledgements
I should like to acknowledge the enormous amount of help which I received during the course of my voyage from all those who went out of their way to be of assistance and to make the journey possible. I wish to make special mention of help received from Marion Swaybill of WNET, New York, Richard Creasey and Roger James of Central Independent Television and John Brabourne, partner and friend.
Plates Section
Rotherhithe, London, where it all began.
The Leo girds her loins at Greenwich.
Laurie Tester (left) and Don Grover, the wise men of Whitstable.
Chatham Dockyard, once Britain’s smartest mooring.
Choppy seas off North Forelands, heading into the Channel.
The American ammunition ship Montgomery, too dangerous to demolish.
The competition, Calais.
Layered car cake in Belgium.
The carillon in Bruges, Venice of the North.
An elegant mooring, Bruges.
Belgium’s Côte d’Azur, Dinant.
A 388-wheeler at Ronquières.
The Dames de Meuse in the Ardennes.
A holiday Sunday, Fumay.
The Pont des Arts, Paris.
Dressed over all for Bastille Day, Montbard.
A young accordionist …
and admirers.
A perfect place in Burgundy – where we opened our barrel of Bordeaux!
At summit-level in the Doubs.
A good mooring in Strasbourg.
Bamberg, unscathed by modernity.
The town hall, Bamberg.
Into the Danube at last, Regensburg.
Inset, the Leo keeps the red duster flying on the motorway.
Captain Frolich making do on the Danube.
The blue Danube, Melk.
For copyright reasons, any images not belonging to the original author have been removed from this book. The text has not been changed, and may still contain references to missing images.
This electronic edition published in 2014 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square,
London WC1B 3DP
First published in Great Britain in 1989 by Collins
Copyright ©1978 Richard Goodwin
All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
The moral right of the author is asserted.
eISBN: 9781448214662
Visit www.bloomsburyreader.com to find out more about our authors and their books
You will find extracts, author interviews, author events and you can sign up for newsletters to be the first to hear about our latest releases and special offers.
0%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
Leontyne Page 21
