Spring And No Flowers: Memories of an Austrian Childhood

164 Pages·2005·1.45 MB·English

by  Albertine Gaur

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spring and no flowers r SPRING AND
memories of an austrian childhood

by albertine gaur
Albertine Gaur shares with the reader her childhood memories of the
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period just before, and during, the Second World War in Austria, her p NO FLOWERS
homeland. She relives this time of great social and political upheaval, r
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depicting it through the eyes of a child as she passes from infancy to n
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adolescence. It is a unique story, full of naïve poignancy, told with

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a poetic simplicity which helps us have a better understanding of
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how events were seen and interpreted by a young person, struggling d
memories of an austrian childhood
with the many diverse problems of growing up. Incidentally, the n
book gives us an insight into child psychology and how children o
came to terms with fear, horror and violence but were to bear the f
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scars of the trauma throughout their lives. o
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It is a moving narrative, individual but, at the same time, universal in its e
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appeal. She relates a personal drama, often with tragic implications, in s

which the characters are ‘ordinary’ people but who, in their different m
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ways, portray the very passions and emotions which motivate society. m
To read about it is an enriching experience. o
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Albertine Gaur was born and raised in Austria, before moving to e
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England in 1955. She has worked for the British Museum and as o
Deputy Director of the British Library. Albertine has written books f

on a variety of topics including women’s studies, calligraphy and the a
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history of writing.
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ISBN 1-84150-943-4
9 781841 509433 albertine gaur
www.intellectbooks.com
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gaur.qrk 14/11/05 12:55 pm Page 1
Spring and No Flowers
Memories of an Austrian Childhood
Albertine Gaur
Bristol, UK
Portland, OR, USA
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First Published in the UK in 2006 by
Elm Bank , an imprint of Intellect Books, PO Box 862, Bristol BS99 1DE, UK
First Published in the USA in 2006 by
Elm Bank, an imprint of Intellect Books, ISBS, 920 NE 58th Ave. Suite 300, Portland, Oregon 97213-
3786, USA
Copyright ©2006 Intellect Ltd
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise, without written permission.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 1–84150–943–4
Consulting Editor: Keith Cameron
Cover Design: Gabriel Solomons
Cover illustration from a woodcut by Raimund Zotl.
Printed and bound in Great Britain by 4edge, UK.
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Contents
Chapter One: The Time in the Garden 5
Chapter Two: Jesuits and Nazis 39
Chapter Three: 1945 – Endgame 83
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The Time in the Garden
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The first thing I remember clearly is a dream. The dream came at
regular intervals when I was about two or three years old. Not later. The
dream never varied. I was in Aunt Paula’s room, it was late in the
afternoon and the sun was shining. There was a big wardrobe full of
beautiful clothes. Aunt Paula opened the door and allowed me to look at
them. I remember how I reached out and spread the skirts of the
dresses, felt the fine texture of the material, admired the beautiful
colours. We did not talk. Talk was something I had not yet fully mastered.
We communicated our delight entirely without words. These looking-at-
her-clothes seemed to be a well-established ritual, known only to Aunt
Paula and myself. Eventually Aunt Paula closed the door of the wardrobe.
I clearly remember standing there, with my back to the room, Aunt Paula
no longer within my vision, the top of my head just touching the door
handle. And then everything changed. Froze. The light, so beautifully
golden, took on a deadly white, colourless quality. I took a deep breath
and at this moment I knew that if I touched the door handle I would
breath out. And then I would begin to scream and go mad. I had a full
and absolute comprehension of the meaning of madness. The
unspeakable, irrevocable isolation it would bring about. Sanity was only
a thin wall of glass, which the scream would scatter. I would pass through
it into another dimension, another reality. I thought, but I am only a
child, I should not know this, it is too early, something has gone wrong.
The grown-ups will punish me if they find out I already know about
madness. And at this moment the dream would simply fade away and I,
presumably, woke up. But this is something I do not remember.
I was not frightened of the dream in the daytime. If I remembered it
at all, I remembered it as something I did not fully understand, and that
was therefore of little consequence. But every night the dream returned.
Then I also remembered that I had been through it before. There was a
particular type of recognition, guilty recognition. Only, as far as I could
see, there was no reason for guilt. Just disbelief and shock at my powers
of recognition. I realized that my understanding in the dream
outstripped my waking capabilities, that in my dream I was transcending
the prescribed dimension of my existence.
I have sometimes wondered what could have provoked this wholly
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premature, abstract recognition of madness. On the surface, our h
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household was secure. The place where I was born was a small baroque T
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town, forty miles west of Vienna. We lived at its southern edge in a
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rambling house with a large garden. On a clear day one could see in

mountain ranges from the first floor windows at the back of the house. th
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They were just a gentle blue line in the distance. When I was born my G
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parents, my mother’s parents and my mother’s younger sister, Paula, d
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lived with us. Not an isolated nuclear, but an extended family, one could
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