Wilf

GERMANY 1914

On a calm July afternoon in the peaceful town of Neuendettelsau near Nuremberg, Professor Deinzer, the Principal of a small Theological College, stood anxiously in the meeting room. His eighteen students arrived promptly and sat attentively. All aged between 19 and 24 years, these men were training to become Ministers of Religion in the Lutheran Church. Individually endowed with intelligence, faith, virtue, compassion and a desire to do good in the world, this group held great potential to do just that. Among them sat Walter Wilfred Fritsch (Wilf to his friends), John Dohler and Willy Reuther, fellows from the other side of the world – Australia. On this night, the familiar hubbub of eager, intense voices was stilled, the usual smiles, nods and astute bright eyes lacked animation, some heads were bowed and the eyes of others were moist with consternation.

I think we know what’s coming, boys, Dohler, the smallest and youngest of the Australians, whispered.

Well, let’s have it. It’s taken us a lifetime to get here. Nothing would surprise me now, replied Reuther. Here it comes.

Professor Deinzer was trusted and respected by his students even though he was a serious man and often stern. Tonight, he stood with his usual formality, compact and immaculately groomed but more weary than usual. His shoulders drooped a little, his eyes were heavy and his voice wavered. His hands, customarily clasped behind his back, hung limply at the end of flaccid arms, devoid of vigour as he spoke.

My dear young men. This day has brought the news that we have anticipated for some time but hoped and prayed would be averted. The nations are at war. Whether this war will be swift is unknown to us but let us pray for humankind. Let us pray for those who govern all lands that they may pay heed to the ways of the Lord and that their present aggressions will be transformed into peaceful regard. Let us not be consumed with bellicose passion, paralysed by fear, nor sullied with vitriol for those who are now called our enemy. However, the sons of nations have been called to duty and among them you will take your places. May the Lord bless you and keep you, may He protect you and guard you from evil. If in doing your duty you should fall, may His angels cradle you to your eternal rest. The commissions you have received are now activated and I have been instructed that you must attend your regiments with haste. Our school will close. God have mercy. Heaven help us all. With his familiar precision but with an uncharacteristic quiver of voice and a deeply furrowed brow, Professor Deinzer continued, I must ask you now the location of your regiments so that arrangements can be made for your departures in the next hours and days.

Like the sudden greying of light when clouds cover the sun, a heavy sadness wafted over the three young Australians as, one by one, their German friends stood to announce their destiny. Robust and ruddy Wilhelm Hoffmann was first: Fünf Garde-Regiment zu Fuss, Spandau. The refined and athletic, quietly spoken Dieter Muller: Eleventh Mounted Rifles, Saarlouis. Hans Hentschke, well-mannered but with a spontaneous laugh and ready sense of humour, suddenly serious: Lehr Infantry Regiment, Potsdam. Johann Krieg: Second Guard Field Artillery … and as the announcements continued, Wilf’s melancholy thoughts travelled far away to Temora, New South Wales, and rested on his home, ‘Woolshed Farm’.

He thought of his brothers, all five. They passed before him as if on parade from oldest to youngest: Jack, aged 29, inventive and resourceful; Harry, active and observant, a lover of reading; Otto, reserved and shy; Ted, at twelve years old already hard-working, strong and reliable; and Art, the youngest, a bright and beloved boy of six. He thought of his sisters, all seven: Mary, aged 31, with children of her own; Dora, cheerful, goodhearted, gifted with song; Adeline, devout and devoted; Bertha, nineteen, earnest and organised; Emma, concerned for all; Lydia, sociable and alert; and Hilda, even at fourteen, strong in faith. His thoughts rested on his foster siblings, Norman, aged nineteen, and Myrtle, eighteen. Out of his reverie, the final German student had announced his destination when eyes turned with concern and confusion toward the group of Australians. Unspoken thoughts resounded like thunder in the room, lingering awkwardly in every mind:

What will be done with you? You are sons of an enemy. But you are our friends, our brothers in the faith, our fellows, just like us.

The German students closed books, gathered up papers, put written works of great theological import aside, wrote hasty letters to families, packed their belongings, swept their rooms, offered sincere handshakes and reverent bows. In ones, twos and threes, the first to leave walked or were driven by horse-drawn trap to the railway station. The Australians solemnly farewelled their friends, praying for their safety, shocked at the thought of their colleagues being plunged into life as soldiers. Fortunately for Dohler, Reuther and Wilf Fritsch, the school facilities remained functional for a few days as they considered their immediate futures.

What do you think, Dohler? What about you, Reuther? Are we done for? asked Wilf.

It depends what you mean by ‘done for’, replied the rational Reuther. We should know by now that the path of the Lord is never predictable, but whether we’ll face the sword or be sent home is debatable.

I didn’t sign up for martyrdom, Dohler protested but quickly changed his tune. Aahh! Martyrs! Hardly! We’re small fry, aren’t we Wilf? Insignificant, harmless Aussies in a country too busy to worry about us. We’ll be alright.

I think we’ll be alright, agreed Wilf, but I should have listened to Father. He wanted me to train at the American seminary. He surprised me! He said Australian Lutherans should have services in English, not German, and pastors like us will be the ones to do it. I can hear him saying it, ‘We’re Australians! The German language will have to give way’. He’s right, isn’t he? Especially now! ‘It’s a new century’, he said.

Well, perhaps it’s all my fault, chimed in Dohler. I was the one who pushed so hard for Neuendettelsau over the American Seminary, to follow in my father’s footsteps. He studied here last century!

It’s no-one’s fault, Dohler, we wanted to come here, too. And what a splendid time we’ve had so far, stated Wilf. No-one knew this was going to happen.

Wilf’s thoughts wandered homeward. What would they all be doing? Did they know about the war? Perhaps it was a mistake coming here. Despite his physical strength and enjoyment of hard work, Wilf had spiritual inclinations as a youth and had not questioned his calling to the ministry until now, but those thoughts remained unspoken. The evening at the College passed in quiet conversation and business-like preparations for the final departures next day, until it was time for lights out and the stillness of sleep fell upon them all.

VICTORIA, AUSTRALIA LATE 1800s to 1907

Home life for Wilf was orderly and organised under the indisputable authority of devout Lutheran parents who provided well for their flock of thirteen offspring. A firstborn son named Ernest had died in infancy and, nine years and six healthy children later, another baby named Alfred died. Not to compensate but to help out those in need, Edward Fritsch and his wife Ernestine fostered two children, Norman and Myrtle, the very same ages as their own Bertha and Em, eventually rounding out the number of young folk in the house to fifteen. Work outweighed leisure with the farm to run. Maintaining implements, repairing harnesses, tending animals, growing crops, stacking hay, slaughtering and butchering, mending fences, and chopping wood kept all the boys busy. Housework never ended: cooking, preserving, pickling, cleaning, washing, starching, mending, clothes to sew. German language and English were spoken in the Fritsch household, and German traditions were upheld to honour the family’s heritage. Wilf used to wonder why the German people had come to Australia and his curiosity was satisfied with stories from his mother and interesting information from his father.

German families left their homeland in the 1800s to settle in this new, mysterious land for reasons of liberty and opportunity. King Friedrich Wilhelm the Third of Prussia enforcing the whole population into one state religion motivated many folk to migrate to practise their religion free of interference and persecution. Some came to escape famine as farming land in Germany was overcrowded and over-tilled. Others fled the compulsory drafting of young men into the military. The arrival and settlement of German families intrigued Wilf who even as a youngster, loved a good story. The characters, the places and the reasons recounted by his father engaged his interest. Pioneer George Fife Angas, an astute and wealthy Scottish man, was the first chairman of the South Australian Company. August Kavel was the Lutheran pastor of a village called Klemzig in Eastern Germany where King Friedrich’s oppression was causing unrest. A chance meeting between the two men resulted in invitations and incentives from Angas to Kavel and his congregation, to migrate and start afresh in South Australia. Angas admired the German culture and quickly understood that their values of hard work, wholesome living, religious devotion and respect for education, the arts and charity would make an excellent social foundation for the new state not settled as a penal colony.

In November 1838, the first shiploads of German families, with Pastor August Kavel, arrived in South Australia on the Bengalee and the Prince George. Overcoming their dismay at the bleak and unattractive landscape called Port Misery, they disembarked with stoic determination. They travelled ten miles to a point on the north-eastern outskirts of Adelaide, naming it Klemzig. During the 1840s and 1850s, large numbers of German pioneers arrived in South Australia, taking up opportunities of arable land in South Australia’s Riverland, establishing the Barossa Valley and occupying parts of the Adelaide Hills. Others ventured eastward and northward into the other colonies of Victoria, New South Wales and Queensland. Wilf’s grandparents were among a group who settled in Victoria and both his parents were born in the new country. By the time of Wilf’s birth on the 25th April 1892, his mother and father were experienced Australian farmers and experienced parents with seven children.

***

The first farm of Edward and Ernestine Fritsch was located at Winiam, five miles south of Nhill, producing mixed cereal crops and livestock. The older Fritsch children worked hard, the boys in the fields and the horse-yard and the girls in the home and the cow-yard. Everyone knew their duties and disruptions were few. At the age of four and a half, Wilf started school, walking barefoot with his older brothers. He liked it. He felt important sitting among the other seventy pupils in a single weatherboard schoolroom, despite its discomfort. The students were barely warmed in winter by an inefficient wood fire and sweltered in the summer heat, plagued by flies. Wilf liked the lessons in English. He enjoyed the way language was put together to make pictures in his mind and he loved the sounds of rhyming words. He heard of faraway places with names like Venice, Amsterdam, Egypt, Ethiopia and Barcelona. School also gave some physical respite from the labour at home. His main responsibility was turning the barrel-shaft of the washing contraption for fifteen minutes at a time to launder heavy linen and clothing.

School opened a pathway to matters of the mind and imagination, which Wilf embraced, and he comfortably achieved a merit certificate at the end of each year. He was glad to be with other children his own age, laughing with the boys and thinking that the girls were pretty. He was surprised at how blithely they could dance and skip about while he felt somewhat grounded in his already muscular, strong frame. School provided physical drill and Wilf excelled at anything involving strength. The schoolmaster was an expert at improvisation, his canny ways of ‘making do’ impressing Wilf. With no suitable pool or waterhole close by, the teacher was still required to instruct the children in swimming. Lined up in order of size, the children were tutored in a series of movements as Headmaster Tranter called the numbers for each exercise.

Stand at Attention. Number 1: stand on one leg; stand on the other. Number 2: lift both arms to breast. Number 3: execute arm strokes. Number 4: return to attention.

Whether it was the repetition of this drill over a number of years which imprinted the right patterns on the brain or some method in the madness, Wilf was overjoyed when he taught himself to swim in the home dam using that very sequence. Young Wilf, also an improvisor, used any materials available to make toys and one of his favourites was a bow and arrow which proved to be far too effective and efficient.

The Fritsch household erupted into a ruckus one evening when Wilf was six.

Ma! Ma! Ma! Pa! Come quick, come quick, I have killed Harry, Wilf yelled. I have shot him dead, his eye is dead, the blood is coming. Quick, I am a devil. I have killed him.

People ran from everywhere to Harry’s room where he lay in agony on his bed.

My arrow got him, Ma. I am sorry, my arrow killed his eye.

Edward, come quick! Quick! It’s true, affirmed Wilf’s mother after one look at Harry and his bleeding eye. Harry was bundled off to the doctor amid the crying of young ones, the worried mutterings of his mother and a father’s voice, firm and practical. Wilf snapped his bow and arrow made of a prune stick and string in two, feeling an overwhelming and hitherto unknown emotion, identified later on as shame. Harry lost the sight of that eye and young Wilf lost the notion of a perfect world.

***

Eight years later, aged thirteen, Wilf experienced excruciating pain in another accident on the farm. On a frosty morning whilst operating a primitive machine in the paddocks, Wilf’s foot broke through the standing platform and was almost severed by rotating blades. Again, screams of agony deployed the family into a flurry of emergency action as horses and buggy were rigged, rushing the lad to hospital. Fearful not only of losing his foot but also his life as the blood poured form his mutilated ankle, his mother prayed, Dear God, spare him. Have mercy on us. Lord God, keep him alive. Lord, spare our son. Give him strength.

It was a mantra of anguish while Harry and Jack cradled their brother and Father drove. Wilf was conscious for most of the journey, increasingly alarmed more by his mother’s prayer than the throbbing, searing pain shooting up his leg. The boy and his foot were saved, and so began a lengthy stay in hospital followed by months of convalescence at home. At an age when boys are instinctively active with an abundance of energy and stop only to eat and sleep, Wilf was confined to his bed and a chair. As his mother nursed him, his affection for her grew under her soothing and tender care, quite different from his mother’s usual practical manner.

Wilf focused on what he could do rather than lamenting what he couldn’t, assisting with a variety of chores: preparing vegetables, cutting fruit for preserves and jam, folding laundry and yarning wool. He gained pleasure from the tasks usually demarcated as the women’s domain. His reading improved as he browsed through picture books and read storybooks. Edgar Bulwer-Lytton’s epic and tumultuous novel, Last Days of Pompeii, fueled his imaginings of other times and places. He memorised lines of wisdom from the books at hand, some works of Shakespeare and Bulwer-Lytton who wrote, ‘A good heart is better than all the heads in the world.’

Ma, he enquired, not quite trusting the literal equation, if all the heads in the world were put together, how could one heart be better?

Wilf, she replied with little time for lengthy explanations, a heart is full of love and heads are full of brains. And in that simple statement Wilf learnt about metaphors and a little bit about love.

A world of adages and proverbs opened up to him from the pages of the family Bible but, written in German and set in a context of kings and swords and plagues and silver and gold, many of them didn’t make sense. Yet he found some simple verses, addressed to ‘my son,’ which he took to heart and he enjoyed the mental challenge of unraveling metaphors in verses such as, ‘Listen to your father’s instruction and do not forsake your mother’s teaching. They will be a garland to grace your head and a chain to adorn your neck.’ His confidence with the written word, its imagery, symbolism and relevance to life, grew. When he read, ‘To find what you seek in the road of life, the best proverb of all is that which says: ‘Leave no stone unturned’, Wilf’s youthful heart fluttered and he pondered its meaning at length.

Wilf’s slow healing was eventually accompanied by his increasing impatience to be out in the fields again. His foot, now disfigured to the point of deformity, accommodated a wound that was not responding to the ardent prayers of his mother nor the daily saline baths and applications of herbal concoctions. The fiery red rawness of the initial site was replaced with a nagging, amber puffiness persistently seeping an unhealthy discharge into bandages requiring daily changing. Walking was difficult and pain a frequent companion. On a warm, inviting day, Wilf’s mother and sisters visited neighbours while his father and brothers were tending to broken fences in a bottom paddock. Wilf heard a commotion from the horses and struggled to the back verandah where he could see them rearing in distress. The day before, Harry had brought in a new load of sand making conditions in the stable fresh and clean. With no human intruders about, Wilf suspected the cause of the disturbance, took hold of the rifle and limped towards the stable. While the horses became more frantic, he hobbled along, finally reaching the rails and confirmed what he had suspected: the biggest snake he’d ever seen was entwined in the branches of the tree shading the horse yard. Three shots were discharged before the writhing mass of reptile fell as heavily as a sandbag right into the horse yard, causing even more kafuffle than before.

Wilf entered the yard to gather up the snake. What a trophy to show the others! Enjoying his freedom outside for a while, he shovelled manure, turned the straw and filled the trough, at the same time calming the animals with his cheerful whistling and tender chat. For more than an hour he was oblivious to pain and disability but suddenly felt a tremendous throbbing in his foot. Dragging the dead snake behind him, he limped to the house and flopped the thing on the verandah before falling, exhausted, into his chair. He awoke from a snooze with the sounds of hysterical female voices screaming and screeching until Addie’s sensible words, It’s dead – it’s been shot, informed him that the women had been terrified by the sight of the snake.

Almost more terrible was his mother’s reprimand when she took Wilf’s boots off hours later and saw the state of his foot. The bandage was soggy and gritty, the wound aggravated by the sand in the horse-yard. Ernestine spent almost an hour bathing the wound tenderly but admonishing Wilf, muttering emotionally, "mein sorgenkind, sorgenkind, what are you doing to me?"

Ma, what is a sorgenkind? Wilf asked.

A child who gives us problems, she muttered while Wilf’s hopes of being the hero who had saved the horses and perhaps the whole family from death by snake attack evaporated. Next morning as Ernestine tentatively undressed the foot, expecting a seriously worsened wound, she was astonished by a marked change.

Well, of all the remedies I’ve tried, I never considered sand. Look here, Wilf. The wound is much improved, and from then on, healing progressed rapidly.

***

Physical strength returned and Wilf emerged from the ordeal more a young man than a boy. Having missed work on the farm and school for almost a year, he returned to both with new enthusiasm. There was a new school now. The Evangelical Lutheran Church of Australia had constructed a school in the corner of the Fritsch property. This placed Wilf’s education into a Christian context and enlivened the social lives of the Fritsch children as their farm became a gathering point. Wilf stayed at school a year longer than most due to time lost after his accident. His interest in learning and the wider world was invigorated and the local environment offered plenty of entertainment. The local lads, of whom the Fritsch boys comprised a few, were sometimes permitted a shooting expedition to the fringe of the Little Desert, hunting ducks as a change from rabbit and hare. During one season, the sparrow plague was so severe that the District County of Nhill offered a bounty of four pence a dozen for mature, fully-feathered sparrow, two pence a dozen for young birds and the same price for eggs. The Fritsch boys became entrepreneurial, searching hollow trees, barns and sheds, eaves, stables, haystacks and straw roofs, collecting hundreds of sparrows and, as a result, a tidy penny for their efforts.

Wilf’s farming skills matured and his love of it deepened. His aspirations to be a gun shearer lurked about but his prowess lay in managing the horses where his own temperament was further moulded. Wilf learnt by experience that animals and even implements do not respond well to outbursts of anger and aggressive language. Instead, he found that a measured manner and gentle handling brought about good results for the horses and their handler. He especially loved the placid temperament of the grand Clydesdales as they laboured day after day.

As a boy, Wilf had mastered handling a pair for lighter work on the farm. Now, his father owned six and Wilf was responsible for managing the rotations so that the same two were not worked consecutively. When heavy hauling was required, the excitement of harnessing all six found Wilf in his element. These sturdy beasts, harnessed and hauling in unison, obedient and responsive to his directions, became a unit of singular beauty in both appearance and motion. The proud, powerful team could work for long hours in arduous Australian conditions and, in their company, Wilf found contentment and purpose. He also enjoyed labouring in the blacksmith ‘shop’, making swinglebars, shackles, eye-bolts and shoes for the horses. The fears his mother had expressed during his convalescence that farming might be too taxing for him seemed groundless and her subtle suggestion that he might consider service to the Lord lay well undercover.

1908

With a household of lively offspring maturing into young men and women, the family needed a larger property and the Wimmera district no longer offered such sizeable parcels of land. Edward Fritsch turned his attention to the wheat growing areas of New South Wales and the oldest son, Jack, was sent over 500 miles by bicycle to scout recent land releases and select a property. Jack was also instructed to document a route suitable for wagon travel should the family make the move, an enormous undertaking for a young man of just twenty-three. The family’s prayers for his safety were eventually answered when Jack telegraphed home with news of his arrival and a description of a potential acreage. Edward and his son Otto travelled by train to inspect Jack’s selection of a large property already under production and, once the purchase was made, Edward returned to Winiam, setting his family to prepare for the great migration. Jack and Otto remained at the new property to harvest the current wheat crop. Otto, aged eighteen, stayed on as caretaker while good old Jack cycled home. In a couple of months, after loading up three wagons and spring-carts with most of the family’s belongings, the three brothers, Jack, twenty one year old Harry, and sixteen year old Wilf, embarked on the journey north while the rest of the family intended to follow later by train.

The morning of departure saw Wilf’s nerves on edge. A restless night swirling with doubt and excitement provided only a fitful sleep, in which confidence was chased by misgiving and assurance by anxiety. At last, the light of dawn appeared and Wilf began this momentous day with a prayer. Stepping outside, he sucked in the cool dewy air, glanced heavenward and muttered, Lord, help us, before gulping down a hearty breakfast and beginning the farewells. The three loaded wagons with un-hooded spring carts attached, each drawn by two fine, heavy horses, harnessed and standing ready for work, set Wilf’s heart racing, his palms sweating, his breathing accelerating and, much to his embarrassment, tears filling his eyes. The girls fussed around in their loving ways, trying to hide their own trepidation. Six-year-old Ted watched on in awe while the infant Art was still asleep inside, oblivious to everything. Father walked around each wagon pulling ropes here and there, tenderly patting each horse with a whisper of farewell. Finally, Mother declared the departing ceremony over with a firm command of, Off you go then! Gott sei mit dir. God go with you.

Wilf, Harry and Jack jumped into their seats, grabbed their reins, waved heartily and lurched away. It took a while to settle into a rhythmic motion but with each yard Wilf’s nerves settled. Soon he imagined he was one of the intrepid pioneers of the great western expansion of the USA. The Fritsch boys and their trusty dog Maori, however, were heading north-east towards friendly towns settled long ago: Donald, Boort and Kerang. Initially, the wagons rolled smoothly across the familiar, flat Wimmera land. After three days, the terrain changed. Manoeuvring the horses and the heavy wagons across channel after channel of the swampy Murray River irrigation areas near Kerang became a challenge. The patience and skill of the young drivers was tested but the beauty of the evening camps brought rest and delight.

What’re you thinking, Harry? asked Wilf, once cooking, eating and tidying up gave way to the quiet reverie of the campfire at night.

I’m thinking I really like this place, Harry replied. I’m tired and settling in here for the night is just the ticket.

Wilf was already missing the entertaining chatter of his sisters but his tentative efforts to start a fireside conversation with his brothers amounted to nothing.

Anything else? badgered Wilf.

No.

What about you, Jack? persisted Wilf.

Yes, I like this place too.

Wilf became accustomed to his brothers’ reticence. He admired their quiet contentment. Enormous responsibility sat upon their shoulders and the physical demands tested every muscle but they plodded on without complaint. He learnt to sit quietly, just watching nature, finding companionship without the need for conversation. His impressionable eyes followed theirs as they studied giant gum trees, willows and myalls. He kept silent as they watched flocks of water birds and lone waders feeding in the swampy terrain and an unfamiliar, elegant brolga.

***

Food was a constant concern for the three and their initial larder diminished rapidly. Once their stock of meat ran out, they sought other sources of protein. After making camp a few miles short of Barham, where they would cross the Murray River the next day, Jack, the best shot of the trio, took the gun in search of prey.

My word, Jack’s doing alright, Wilf announced, hearing several shots in succession. We might be in for a feast.

We’ll see, muttered Harry in response to a screeching flock of cockatoos flying overhead. He might just be scaring the wildlife, not shooting them. Look at all those rabbits scampering away. He should be here, not out there.

Well, I reckon he’ll come back with plenty…, and before Wilf could name plenty of what, Jack careered back into camp, breathless, wide-eyed and empty-handed except for the gun.

What’s the matter with you? Did the bunyips chase you? teased Harry.

No, worse, panted Jack, still in a state. Snakes! I was sighting up some rabbits, stepped forward, lost my footing and ended up in a slushy pool full of slithering, slimy tiger snakes. Those shots you heard – that was me firing at them. Ohhh! Horrible! No meat tonight, boys.

Wilf noted Jack’s loss of composure with curiosity, realising the power that nature has to unnerve a man, even one of Jack’s calibre. This didn’t make him fearful but more observant of his surroundings and more grateful that he had the reliable company of his older brothers as they trekked on.

***

Jack’s embarrassment over the episode with the snakes soon turned to excitement as he led the convoy over the Murray on the recently built Barham bridge. This wondrous masterpiece of engineering and construction captivated Jack who allowed the group a rare stop to marvel at the vertical lift-span opening bridge. Its state-of-the-art construction just five years prior in 1904 facilitated the transportation of wool, wheat and other commodities out of the southern plains of New South Wales towards the bustling port of Melbourne, ready for export. It also served as a vital entry point for southerners heading north. Jack, however, found its magic