Journey to Salzburg
When my father decided that my sister and I should go to boarding school in England, he had made his decision on the spur of the moment. He did not plan for school holidays. Thanks to friends and relatives in London, winter and spring holidays were arranged for us. He then decided that for the summer holidays, it would broaden our horizon if we experienced going to Salzburg. That year our whole family had spent the Spring holidays in Vienna. Our father had business there at that time. He decided to kill two birds with one stone and make it a family holiday. It was the Persian New Year then. The country celebrated for that whole month. Most people vacationed outside of the country. So it made quite good sense. Nora and I flew in from London, while my parents, my sister Gilda and my brother Jacky flew in from Tehran. We mainly stayed at the Prinz Eugen Hotel near the Schoenbrunn Palace in Vienna and spent some time in the Vienna Woods. We had such a pleasant time that I suppose that it gave him the idea that the coming summer, Nora and I should go to Salzburg. We would be staying with a Professor und Frau Fellner there.
Salzburg was the enchanted birth city of Amadeus Mozart. What could be more special than that? We could learn the German language as we took in the culture. A beautiful city filled with quaint homes and adorned with beautiful historical buildings, the Festspiel Haus and Van Winkler where one could go listen to the divine music of the great masters and frequent theatres and concert halls. This jewel of a city is nestled practically at the foot of the Alps and along the Salzach River in the Salzkammergut region.
Once he made up his mind, he did not any waste time arranging his plan. He had a business associate in London who became our guardian. We never met Mr. Robbins, but it was he who arranged for everything we required in England. He was the one who provided us with pocket money during the holidays. I suppose he was the one who compensated Mrs. Harris for her great care of us during the winter and spring holidays. There was a group of us students in her boarding house located at her home on No. 9 Sheffield Terrace off Church Street in Kensington. We were five girls from the same school and one lone boy. The boy was Greek, four of us girls were from Iran and the other from Iraq. He did not feel too comfortable being the lone species of his sex amongst all these girls. Needless to say, he was there for a short while. But I digress.
My father had arranged for us to pick up our tickets from Thomas Cooke Travel Agents. I now picture in my mind’s eye, my sister and I, two young girls, barely teenagers, if we were that then, going to pick up our tickets from Thomas Cooke. No one questioned us. No one batted an eyelash. We were to board the train from Victoria Station to Dover. From there we sailed across the British Chanel to Calais, where we transferred to another train that carried us across Europe. We must have been twelve and almost fourteen. We were told what to do and we did it. We took it in stride, we never thought that we were too young. Mrs. Harris, bless her soul, drove us to Victoria Station and made sure we boarded onto our wagons lits private cabin and off we went. We trundled through many towns, sped through countless tunnels that cut into the mountains. We seemed to be climbing higher and higher. We went through the Alps and the Black Forest. Although it was summer, the air had become thinner and chillier, clouds hovered just over the train, as we sped by. I felt as if we were going through the land of Hansel and Gretel. And indeed we were! It felt like magic. Some of the stories from Grimm’s Fairy Tales came to mind. We had been traveling from the morning one day all the way onto the next day.
At each border, the train stopped and border officers came on board. We were two little girls. We felt uneasy as they walked into our cabin with their uniforms and heavy boots and brusquely said, ‘’Passports! Passports!’’ It was the late 1950s. It was not too long after WWII. Although we were too young to recall the war, we had read about it and watched films on the subject as well. There was a girl in our school who lost her uncle in the concentration camps. It was only years later that they found him. Her parents had gone to see a film at their local cinema house. It was only a simple outing which turned out to be a momentous and unforgettable event. As they waited for the main feature to start, they sat back and patiently watched Pathe News, a common feature in those days. And there he was, bigger than life, staring at them from on the screen! Her father’s blood rushed to his head. He felt faint then suddenly he cried out, ‘’My brother! My brother!’’ After years of searching for him high and low and finally giving him up as dead, there he was, staring at them from the screen of a cinema on Pathe News!
People still spoke of the unimaginable atrocities of the war. We were very much aware of its horrors. Once the border guards left, we felt more at ease. As night fell, an attendant entered our cabin and turned down our blankets and placed a piece of chocolate on top of our pillows. We changed into our nighties and both climbed onto the top bunk. Lying on our stomachs, we pulled the curtains back and gazed out to the forested mountains and the twinkling starlit skies. It was pure unadulterated magic!
The next morning, after getting dressed, we headed out to the dining cabin. We were unaware that wherever we traveled, we traveled first class. It was only when one of our school chums declared that she never traveled in the same manner, did we realize it. I suppose it stands to reason. Our parents tried to ensure that we were safe. In the dining cabin we breakfasted then returned to our cabin. Once more we looked out of the window. Higher and higher we climbed into the clouds, then gradually we seemed to be descending. Soon there were clouds surrounding us, no more mountains, no forests. We stopped entering long tunnels that cut into the mountains. Picturesque little houses dotted the scenery. Sometimes people waved at us With a happy smile, we eagerly waved back.
At last we arrived in Salzburg. Timidly, we got off the train. How were we going to recognize Professor Fellner? There we were, two young girls standing all alone on the platform. We looked about us anxiously. What if no one came to pick us up? What would we do then? We needn’t have worried. A chubby little man with a cheerful countenance hurried towards us. He was followed by his wife. She was a slight little woman with a kind but anxious face. She had blond frizzy permed hair. I suppose she was thinking how she was going to communicate with these foreign girls. She only spoke German.
‘’Stella? Nora?’’ Herr Fellner asked.
Relieved, Nora and I both smiled and nodded our heads vigorously. A smile appeared on both Herr und Frau Fellner’s faces. He came closer, took both our hands into his and vigourously shook them, to the point where all our bodies began to vibrate from the enthusiastic shake.
‘’Wilkommen! Wilkommen!’’ they both exclaimed in unison. Without further ado, Herr Fellner picked up our luggage and marched us towards their car. We obediently followed.
Their home was a tidy little house. Very plain, very unassuming. However, what I loved was their garden. There was a door in the back of the house that opened to a tiny patio. A few steps down and one walked down a narrow but long cobbled pathway flanked on each side with lush and aromatic flowers and foliage. It was serene and quiet, except for the sound of birds cheerfully warbling away from amongst the trees. At the end, the path widened to a small seating area. There was a group of chairs and a table. In good weather there were few books on top of the table, an ashtray with a half smoked pipe nestled in it and a pair of reading glasses. It seemed to be a favourite place for them to relax. The garden was quiet and serene. The breeze wafted the aroma of the various flowers throughout the garden and headily permeated the air. I immediately felt an affinity to that garden, so much so that all these many years later, the older woman that I have become, sometimes closes her eyes, smiles to herself and goes back in time into that garden. And then, I feel a great sense of calm and peace.
Herr Fellner was supposed to teach us German. He did no such thing! Instead, he introduced us to Helga and Wally (Waltraut), identical twins. They lived in the area. Their mother was a gorgeous looking woman whose passion was concerts, operas, and plays. Almost every evening, she and her husband would dress up and do the evening rounds of the theatres, opera, dining out with friends. She had one thing that I truly desired. She owned a pair of opera glasses that were divine! They were truly magnificent! They were the height of elegance! They were exquisite, a work of art. One day, when I am a grownup, I promised myself, I will own opera glasses such as these. Although I did attend many concerts, plays and operas in later years, I never obtained opera glasses such as those, never. Never! I did not even find opera glasses that compared to them.
The parents made a very handsome couple. They seemed to only have eyes for each other. To my mind, the twins were an afterthought to the parents love for each other. The parents did not set rules for them. The twins seemed to do as they pleased. That is not to say they were wild. Definitely not! They were gentle and well-mannered girls. They just lacked the supervision and attention that we were accustomed to. For the next two summers, we became constant companions to each other. Every summer there were concerts at the Mozart Festpiel Hall. Music lovers from all over the world flocked to the Salzburg’s concert halls to listen to the divine music. Some evenings, the four of us would stand by the Festpiel Haus square and watch all the elegant couples enter the concert halls.
It was summer and the sun set much later. We knew to get back before dark. The Fellners had no children. Perhaps that is the reason they were not strict. However, we had set times when we were expected to return home. Those were in time for lunch and supper. We did not go out after dark unless we were accompanied by them. I still hear Frau Fellner call out for each meal, ‘’Stella, Nora, essen bitte!’’ Her meals were quite interesting. Except for Wiener Schnitzel, which we had at our home, the food varied from what we ate. One day, I could not recognize the meat. It tasted different, so I asked what it was. I wish I had not! I was told it was horse meat. There still was a shortage of certain foods. It stemmed from the effects of WWII. It was the late fifties. There still was rationing on certain products, but I was unaware of rationing on meat. That experience remained indelible in my mind. I have never heard of anyone eating horse meat before. After that, I cautiously asked what kind of meat was being served. I am not sure, but I do not think she served horse meat to us after that.
We never got to learn German. We did not have any formal language lessons. Somehow, we managed to communicate with each other. The professor was quite happy to sit in his little garden reading his books and contentedly sucking at his Meerschaum pipe. We were quite as happy to roam around the Salzkammergut region exploring with Helga and Wally. Salzburg and its environs were quite famous for its elegant coffeehouses and pastries shops. A few times we went into a konditorei and we were seated at a table by bowing and scraping waiters. They did not object to serving such young ladies. We, on the other hand, did not feel comfortable. At first, we felt that any minute, someone would come and usher us out without undue ceremony, after asking us where our parents were. They never did and we truly enjoyed the delicious pastries and ice cream.
Soon the summer holidays trickled to an end. As the song says, ‘and the days dwindled down to a precious few…’ At last our holiday was over. Once more Herr und Frau Fellner drove us to the train station, this time we were accompanied by Helga and Wally. We hugged, we kissed, we teared, we said our fond farewells and boarded the train for the journey back. We ascended the Alps, went through the long tunnels in the mountains and through the Black Forest. The train steadfastly chugged its way across Europe, stopping at borders where we were once more asked to produce our passports. Twenty-four hours or so later we were back at Victoria Station. There was dear sweet Mrs. Harris, standing on the platform, waiting to take us back to No. 9 Sheffield Terrace.
During the coming week, all our schoolmates returned to Mrs. Harris’ boarding house. School was about to start. This time Mrs. Harris drove all of us to Paddington. We were going back to boarding school in Malvern, Worcester. The fun was over. I am sure that many of us girls climbed into the train with dragging feet. Never mind! We will be back for the Christmas holidays. Mrs. Harris will hold a sumptuous feast for Christmas, with roasted pheasants and other game, chestnut stuffing, mulled apple cider, mince pies, Christmas pudding, a huge decorated Christmas tree, and lots of delightful presents. That was something to look forward to…