Looking back on the women who had a lasting influence on my life, I realise how lucky I have been. I was surrounded by exceptional, strong women. There were too many to mention in this article, but two of them have shaped my life even after their deaths.
My mother
Of course, the first woman to influence my life was my mother. She taught me resilience, adaptability and persistence. My mother had a tough life with constant ups and downs and often seemingly insurmountable challenges.
Born into a rich, land-owning gentry family, she was orphaned at the age of nine. The family lost some of their estates in the 1945 social reform and all of their estates by expropriation by the state by 1947. Then, as a teenager, my mother lived through the Russian occupation of Budapest. She was nearly raped by a Russian soldier, who broke her nose in the attack. A boy from the neighbourhood saved her at the last minute.
Early responsibilities
After her grandfather died, my mother had to look after her widowed grandmother, who as a former ‘lady’ had none of the practical skills needed in the new tough world. She went on adventurous expeditions into the countryside with her neighbour and friend to find food. She also looked after two young children who were orphaned when my mother’s aunt was taken to Auschwitz and never returned.
After the war, aged just 18, she married the neighbour who had saved her from the Russian attack and helped her feed her little family of small cousins and grandmother. She was only 19, and the young couple struggled with the added responsibility of a baby (me) a year later.
Not allowed to study
My mother wanted to become a doctor, to help research into cancer. She had seen her own mother die of cancer at the age of 39. But, after the first year of her studies, my mother was banned from the university by the emerging communist regime. Her family background made her the enemy. She could not find any jobs apart from menial, hard work. For a while, she was taking out a horse and cart delivering coal, which she had to shovel down into chutes that led into basements. Her grandmother looked after me at home but was caught feeding me beef goulash at two months old. Maybe that’s why I have become a vegetarian. She had always had nannies look after her seven children, so she had no experience with babies.
The communists took over the flat my mother and her grandmother lived in, which was the last remaining family property. My family lived in the grand flat in one room, sharing a kitchen and bathroom with two other families put into the flat by the council. My family consisted of my parents and me, my great-grandmother and a great-aunt. It was a large room, but four adults and a newborn were too much. The marriage broke after just over a year due to the stress of the living conditions and utter poverty.
Second marriage at 20
When my mother, aged 19, got a job as a telephonist in the Budapest Radio building, she took me along to work. There, she met her second husband, who was a musician in the radio’s symphony orchestra. He was a lot older than her, but they married after a brief courtship. He was a great stepfather, and his position meant a few years of stability for our family. Sadly, the first child in this marriage died as a two-week-old baby, and the couple struggled with that loss during their relationship of 20 years. The birth of my half-sister and brother did not totally heal the wound.
Then came the 1956 revolution. My mother decided, against the will of her second husband, to flee to Austria while he was at work. She was limping from a shot in the leg, which she had suffered as she tried to get food for us while the fighting was still fierce. She had to leave her beloved ailing grandmother behind, but for the sake of her children’s future in a free society, she set off on the perilous journey to the West. Her husband was forced to follow us but was never really happy with the decision.
My mother spoke perfect German, like all Hungarian aristocrats, and adapted easily to her new life. She studied economics at Vienna University, and it was through the need for an English exam as part of her course that I came to England in 1961 to stay with a host family. You can read the story of our visit to the UK here.
Schwester Johanna, my teacher
Through the numerous schools I attended as our family moved around between Austria and Germany because of my father’s job as a musician, not all teachers stick in my memory. However, my last teacher, who took me to the International Baccalaureate equivalent, has shaped my future life.
I attended a convent boarding school,which took me in on a scholarship. The school was led by ‘Schwester Johanna’, who was also headmistress and mother superior. She taught French, German and History.
We asked her why she had become a nun, and she told us that her fiancé had been killed by the Nazis, after which she had decided to join the convent and dedicate her life to teaching. We all admired her lively way of teaching and tolerant outlook on life. It surprised us that in many ways she was more flexible than some of our parents.
Fighting for what you think is right
I was a bit of a rebel. A difficult teenager who often asked awkward questions, especially during lessons with our old-fashioned priest in religious instruction. Schwester Johanna often called me into her office for private talks and took the time to listen to my arguments. She helped me through a tough time when my stepfather and mother separated.
Schwester Johanna didn’t seem to be scandalised when one of our classmates became pregnant at 16. As an unmarried mother, the girl would have had to leave school. However, Schwester Johanna fought the Ursuline motherhouse and the education department of North Westfalia to allow the girl to stay on to finish her education. Her argument, which won, was that the father of the child did not have to leave school. She showed that it was unfair for the mother to be penalised. Schwester Johanna arranged for the expectant mother to have private lessons at home once she was unable to attend classes. This changed the policy towards teenage mothers in the whole of Germany.
Every class teacher chose a motto for their send-off at their classes’ graduation. For us, she chose the motto: “Be the sand and not the oil in the engine of life.” She wanted us to oppose what we disagreed with and be difficult rather than go with the flow. She didn’t just preach the motto but showed us that one can bring about change with persistence.
I hope I have made both my mother and my teacher proud.
