Vera (18 page)
Authors: Robert; Vera; Hillman Wasowski
In this election, Menzies is out of favour. The Australians scare themselves to death by almost voting in this Calwell of the mismatched socks.
I voted for him, God help me. It was a very, very peaceful election; there were no reports of anyone shot or lynched, no bombs, and there was a masterful acceptance speech by Sir Robert, who understands theatre so much better than Calwell.
And yet, and yet ⦠well, what can I say? Not in the least interesting. Not in the least.
PICTURE SECTION
My mother as a young woman in Lvov. A bland face, not much to be read in it, but then (inset) a lifetime later, the whole world.
After the war, a big group of Jewish kids in a sort of kibbutz, at Eschwege, near Kassel in Germany. No more Nazis, and good riddance. I'm in the picture.
You can find me. Use your wits. Viktor's there, too.
At the University of Warsaw, in 1951; I'm on the left. The girl behind looks like a lady wrestler who is about to put my friend and me in a stranglehold.
We're jumping ahead. It's Werunia in the Melbourne sunshine, 1958. Say what you like about Melbourne in 1958, but the sunshine was fabulous.
In Sopot, Poland, 1954: same sun but not as bright.
In Warsaw, 1953. What on earth am I doing? Adjusting a hairpin, maybe.
With Viktor in Warsaw, 1952. I am pregnant, or possibly about to get pregnant once the photographer leaves.
A studio shot, taken in Warsaw. Not sure about the hat.
In Warsaw in 1964, with Jan, that lovely man.
With Jan again, this time in Melbourne, 1980. Must we use this picture?
We both look as if we've been smoking dope for ten hours.
Marek, my son, at our St Kilda apartment in 1963. He smiled all the time as a kid. He adored Australia.
Marek as a grown man, at New Brighton, north of Byron Bay. He was earning his living making and playing shakuhachi flutes at this time. He was masterful on the instrument.
Pani, my grandson, 1992. Me, a grandmother? Absurd. But deeply enjoyable.
