Memories Before and After the Sound of Music Page 12

  We pulled the boats onto the land and laid out our sleeping bags. That was no easy task because the shore was covered with stones the size of large baking potatoes. We had to move the stones to make a smooth place for our sleeping bags. As we ate the evening meal, a peasant woman in native Croatian dress carried a huge bale of hay on her head as she came down the steep rocks. She walked erect, even when ascending the steep rock on the other side of the beach. She greeted us, and Papá replied with a few words of local dialect.

  The von Trapp coat of arms.

  My paternal grandparents, August Ritter von Trapp and Hedwig Wepler, engagement photo, 1875.

  My parents. Georg and Agathe von Trapp, after the wedding, 1911.

  My father, Georg Ritter von Trapp, in uniform, 1916.

  The battleship Zenta.

  Tante Connie von Trapp, Uncle Werner’s wife.

  Our father’s brother, Uncle Werner von Trapp circa 1914.

  Constance von Trapp, our cousin, known as Connie Baby.

  My maternal great-grandfather, Robert Whitehead, inventor of the torpedo, circa 1900.

  My maternal grandfather, John Whitehead (1854–1902).

  My maternal grandmother, (Gromi) Agathe Breuner Whitehead, 1911.

  Gromi and her children. Left to right—John, Agathe (my mother), and Frank (top). Mary, Bobby, and Joan (bottom).

  Castle Grafenegg, Gromi’s childhood home in lower Austria.

  Papá in uniform, circa 1935.

  My mother, Agathe Whitehead von Trapp, 1914.

  Villa Trapp in Pola, the first home of my parents.

  Mamá with Agathe at the Erlhof, 1913.

  Mamá with Rupert and Agathe, 1914.

  Mamá with Rupert and Agathe in Fiume, 1914

  The Erlhof, our home with Gromi during World War I.

  Papá and Mamá Erlhof, circa 1912.

  Gromi, pencil drawing by Tante Joan, 1935.

  Mamá knitting in front of the Erlhof, 1915.

  My first ice-skating lesson with Nenni on Zeller Lake, 1917.

  Mamá and Papá, Winter 1912.

  Mamá on skis, Erlhof, circa 1912.

  Tante Mary with Rupert and Agathe, Zeller Lake, circa 1915.

  Lunch with Nenni holding Maria, circa 1915.

  The four Agathes, 1913. Left to right—Mamá Great-Grandmother Agathe Breuner holding Agathe, and Gromi.

  Agathe and Maria on the occasion of Great-Grandmother Agathe Breuners eighty-fifth birthday, 1918.

  Agathe at age 5, 1918.

  Papá and Mamá with Rupert, Werner, Maria, and Agathe, 1916.

  Nenni with Connie Baby, Agathe, Maria, and Rupert (back), Werner and Hedwig (front), 1918.

  Maria, Agathe, and Rupert dressed for Great-Grandmothers eighty-fifth birthday, 1918.

  Mamá and her children, 1919. Left to right—Hedwig, Agathe, Mamá holding Baby Johanna, Rupert (back). Werner and Maria (front).

  View from the Hotel Kitzsteinhorn.

  The seven von Trapp children in Klosterneuburg, 1922. Left to right—Rupert, Maria, Agathe, and Werner (back). Johanna, Martina, and Hedwig (front).

  The Martinschlössl in Klosterneuburg, our home near Vienna from 1921–1925.

  Our home in Aigen, near Salzburg, 1925.

  We call this photo “The Organ Pipe,” circa 1927. Left to right—Martina, Johanna, Hedwig, Werner, Maria, Agathe, and Rupert.

  Castle Goldegg, the home of our cousins, the Auerspergs.

  Hedwig with her goat in our garden and Gombo watching, Aigen, 1926.

  Agathe, age 18, feeding the chickens with Rosmarie in Aigen, circa 1931.

  Agathe standing next to Gombo with Martina and Johanna in the cart, Aigen, 1925.

  The von Trapp family in St. Georgen, Italy, after leaving Austria, 1938.

  The von Trapp family in Italy, 1938.

  Papá in Aigen, 1927.

  The von Trapp Family in Merion, Pennsylvania, 1941. Left to right—Rupert, Agathe, Maria, Johanna, Martina, Hedwig, and Werner (back). Mother, Johannes, Rosmarie, Papá, and Eleonore (Lorli) (front).

  Georg and Maria von Trapp, circa 1943.

  Trapp Family Singers rehearsing, 1946. Left to right Eleonore (Lorli), Agathe, Maria, Papá, Johanna, Martina, Rosmarie, Hedwig, Mother, and Johannes (standing). Werner playing the viola da gamba and Father Wasner on the spinet (seated). Rupert was in medical school.

  Papá playing the violin at our music camp, circa 1945.

  Dance music at our summer camp. Left to right—My sister Maria, a camp guest, Papá, and Werner, circa 1945.

  Agathe designing linoleum block prints, circa 1941.

  World War II ends; Rupert and Werner return safely to Vermont, 1945.

  Our new home in Vermont after the blizzard, 1942.

  One of several concerts we gave in Jordan Hall, Boston, Massachusetts, mid-1940s.

  Program, Peabody Conservatory of Music, Baltimore, Maryland, December 1948.

  The family on tour in the United States, 1946. Agathe is on the far right, first row.

  Agathe holding a koala bear, Australia, 1955.

  International tour, 1950.

  Concert program, Honolulu, Hawaii, 1955.

  Maria and Rupert, Vermont, 1991.

  Agathe with Werner and Mary Lou at Agathe’s eightieth birthday celebration, March 12, 1993.

  Agathe and Mary Lou at their kindergarten in Maryland, late 1980s.

  Agathe’s eighty-fifth birthday, the Martin Beck Theatre, New York City, March 12, 1998. Left to right—Maria, Johannes, Agathe, and Rosmarie.

  Attending The Sound of Music, New York City, December 1998. Left to right—Werner, Maria, Johannes, Agathe, and Rosmarie.

  Agathe and Charmian Carr (Liesl in the movie The Sound of Music), December 1998.

  The von Trapp children in concert, Foy Hall, Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, August 2002. Left to right Amanda, Sofia, Justin, and Melanie. Photo by Ryan Hulvat.

  The Trapp Family Lodge, Stowe, Vermont.

  Agathe and Maria in front of the family cemetery, the Trapp Family Lodge, Stowe, Vermont, 2000.

  As we were about to retire for the night, a sailing ship anchored in the bay. To us, it looked like a storybook pirate ship. Papá was worried; I guess he had visions of a confrontation with these strangers. But to his relief, they remained on board, and in the morning, the ship had left.

  The next day, the water was calm, and we paddled most of the time. By late afternoon, we reached the next town, the small seaside resort of Lovrano. As we approached the town, I saw a group of young men diving from the steep rocks into the deep water below. Before they dove, they made the sign of the cross. This impressed me deeply. Papá bought provisions, but he wanted to move on since the evening was warm and the sea still calm.

  On the beach, we met two German students who offered to tow us out to the deep water. They had an outboard motorboat and were also getting ready to leave. Papá deliberated: Are these young people trustworthy? Perhaps they are fifth columnists? (Adolph Hitler had become chancellor of Germany earlier that year. Youthful supporters were often sent in small groups to stir up support for the Nazi Party. They became known as “fifth columnists.”) After some hesitation, he accepted their offer, and sure enough in no time at all, we were a half mile out at sea. We waved a “thank you” to them and sailed on.

  It was already getting dark, and the island of Kerso stood out as a silhouette against the evening sky. The sea was still calm, the air balmy. Soon the full moon appeared, and the stars came out one by one. We could hear songs coming from fishing boats in the distance as they lit their torches for the night catch. A school of porpoises accompanied us close to our boats on either side. They seemed to enjoy our company. They did not try to overturn our boats or jump over them. Perhaps they thought our boats were some kind of larger dolphin.

  The wind freshened. As it did, the canvas that covered our boats started to vibrate. The wind came from behind, and our boats flew over the waves as if we were surf riding. Later in a light breeze, we wer
e able to set sail. We started to sing and moved our boats closer together for better harmonizing. At 2:00 a.m., we arrived at a small island that was owned by a friend of Papá’s. It was too early in the morning to make our presence known, so we took our boats on land and slept in our sleeping bags on the pier until the sun awakened us.

  Around eight o’clock in the morning, we ventured up the steep path to the house of Papá’s friend. At breakfast he told us that the only other inhabitants of the island were a Croatian peasant family who tended sheep, goats, and the orchard. They all seemed to be content living in this splendid isolation away from virtually all civilization.

  In the afternoon, he introduced us to the peasant family. They were very friendly and invited us into their home. According to their ancient tradition, these people lived the same life and had the same arrangement in their house as their ancestors had a thousand years before them. The animals lived downstairs, and the family lived above the stable, connected by a primitive staircase. The warmth of the stable rose through the cracks of the floorboards.

  The mother of the family showed us their only room, which had beds and some simple pieces of furniture, among them a chest in which she kept their festive attire. She took out the garments of her two daughters for us to admire the intricate embroidery they had done in their spare time. Then she insisted that we try on these clothes. This seemed to be their way of honoring their guests. Of course, Hedwig and I had no choice but to put on these beautiful garments. They consisted of a long black pleated skirt and white linen blouse, embroidered around the wide-open sleeves and around the neck. Over the blouse went a heavily embroidered vest. Every bit of clothing was immaculately clean. The woman took great pleasure in viewing us in her daughters’ clothes. Then we returned them to her.

  She gave us some special goat cheese called “buina.” We took it along to Papá’s friend’s house. He insisted we try it, telling us how wonderful it tasted. It was sweet and soft with a very fine texture and a somewhat nutty taste. Papá, Werner, and Hedwig had no trouble enjoying this specialty. Only to please our host did I take a tiny piece. Usually I dislike cheese! But I was immediately converted. It really tasted good. I can only compare it to cream cheese, except it had more flavor. Papá’s friend also gave us peaches, plums, and grapes from his orchard.

  As the day wore on, the wind became stronger, causing white caps to form on the waves. Papá wanted to continue toward Lussin Piccolo, the small island where the widow of a former navy officer, Mrs. Simonić, lived and operated a small pension. But as Papá and his friend watched the waves getting rougher, they decided it would be unsafe for us to continue our trip. Papá’s friend invited us to stay on his island until the storm subsided. Papá knew we were being delayed on our adventure, and he wanted to communicate with Mother as to our whereabouts. He sent a telegram back to Pola, thinking it would be delivered to our campsite in Veruda where we had left Mother and the rest of the family.

  We spent two days waiting for the wind to calm down, and on the third day, it finally did. We then sailed through another night, arriving early at the pier of Pension Simonić. There we tried to catch a few hours’ sleep. Instead, two Italian policemen tried to arrest us as spies! Papá’s native dialect and his acquaintance with Mrs. Simonić saved us from an unwelcome delay.

  Mrs. Simonić and her daughter, Dori, greeted us like long-lost relatives and gave us a plentiful breakfast. There were other guests at her pension, among them three German students and a young boy who spoke Italian. The three German boys were self-assured, sophisticated, and obviously in sympathy with the Nazi Party.

  After dinner, they suggested that the young people take a walk, so Werner, Hedwig, and I went with the Italian boy and the Germans. We ended up at the swimming beach. It was closed for the night, but despite the locked gates, the Germans said, “Let’s go swimming!” We pointed out that the gates were locked. “Never mind. We can climb over the fence,” they replied. “But we have no bathing suits with us,” we objected. “Never mind. It’s dark and we’ll just go into the water without them.” No one said a word until the Italian boy announced, “That is against our religion.” I was grateful for that boy’s response! With a sigh of relief, the whole group turned and trooped back to the pension.

  Before we could start our trip back to Veruda to return to the rest of our family, we had to wait for calm weather. We left from Mrs. Simonić’s pension with some of her wonderful whole wheat bread. Papá knew of an island with a lighthouse that lay between Lussin Piccolo and Veruda, and we headed for it. It was too far to sail from Lussin Piccolo to Veruda in one day. We arrived at the lighthouse as a thunderstorm was forming. We just made it to the pier before the first raindrops fell.

  The crew from the lighthouse stood on the pier as we arrived. They gesticulated and spoke excitedly in the local Italian dialect. Suddenly one of the men, who had served under Papá’s command, recognized him. All of the faces lit up, and the commander of the lighthouse took us in. Only then did Papá reveal the fact that he had an intestinal virus and was in misery. They brought him some medicine and showed us an empty ammunition storage shed where we could spend the night in our sleeping bags.

  The next morning one of the crew brought us a huge jug of hot coffee, sugar, a small can of condensed milk, and sea biscuits. It was a wonderful awakening. Papá felt much better by then, and we felt refreshed. The storm raged for two more days. Papá sent a second telegram to Veruda to let the rest of the family know that we were safe but delayed due to stormy weather.

  Since we had to wait for better weather, we took a walk around the island. The commander showed us through the tower of the big lighthouse all the way from the bottom to the very top, explaining everything. He also permitted us to look through his telescope, which gave us a full view over the stormy sea. The crew tried to entertain us as well as they could. One member of the crew showed us a tiny seagull standing on his open hand. The men told us that the day we had arrived, they had seen our sails but could not see any boats or people. Their first thought was that we might be spies. They were greatly surprised to see our folding boats, a type of boat they had never seen.

  On the third day, a fishing boat was seen coming toward the lighthouse. It was hailed, and when it reached us, Papá asked in Italian if the owner would take us back across the stretch of sea to Veruda. “Yes,” he said, “that could be done for a fee.” Our boats would not fit on the deck of his boat; however, they could be towed. Papá and Werner manned the folding boats, after tying them to the fishing boat. Hedwig and I were allowed to stay on deck for the voyage back.

  Finally Veruda was in sight. But when we arrived, there was no eager waving to greet us or a joyful welcome. When we saw the rest of our family, we could not understand the somber climate that prevailed until Mother said, “Georg, how could you do this to us?”

  Papá countered, “But I sent you two telegrams!”

  The telegrams were never delivered. The part of our family who had remained behind had been trembling in fear, wondering whether we were dead or alive. Maria later told me that she had prayed fervently for our safety when we did not return on time.

  And so our glorious adventure with Papá ended safely. Despite the worries of the rest of the family, the adventure was one of the most beautiful times I can remember with Papá. It was the best introduction to the land he loved. Today Veruda is a fashionable resort with a hotel and a bridge to the mainland, but in our memories, it is still the “Sleeping Beauty” in the sunshine of the Adriatic Sea.

  We Love to Sing

  It was a momentous day in 1933 when Mother gathered us together to announce that all our family money was gone. It seems that the bank, which held the funds that Mamá had inherited from her father, had failed, and everyone who had entrusted savings to this bank suffered a loss. Papá took this news very hard. But we children, not realizing the consequences, danced around singing, “Our money is gone! Our money is gone!”