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Helene in Vienna writing to her children, recent arrivals in San Francisco:
Vienna, 14 December 1939
My little sweeties who aren’t assigned to a particular district!
A nag that clops along in a Clipper letter, folds the ribbon and deserves a rap on the fingers - that’s your mother. I have decided to fight on and bombard you with letters until I get an answer. I don't expect any answers at all, because I haven't asked you any questions, expecting that when I receive something, the questions will no longer apply. You know, I am interested in everything that concerns you and every one of our loved ones. I got a saltwater fish yesterday and took a good look at it to see if, like Polycrates, I could find instead of a ring, a letter from you there. But there was nothing like that. Besides the normal innards, he was mostly fish bones. We ate it anyway, but at least we had something to eat. I would be glad to tell you interesting things, but unfortunately nothing happens in my seclusion that is worth writing about. I see a lot of people who are not there, and even if one or the other might have written to us, I have not yet received any mail. Papa had to pay a fine of 220 [little marks] which we’ve taken out of our travel account. Our friends in Ankara haven’t been in a big hurry to deal with our case, but that doesn’t matter. We have found people interested in buying our piano, but it’s too big for some. The price was not the problem because we are willing to sell it for 1mark/cm – 235marks. Even our bedroom might have some takers but we want to wait till we no longer need it. If it were the summer, I’d have given it up, but winter has no mercy.
Our little neighbor Ludwig visited me yesterday with his mother. Since his mother wanted to chat with me, I gave him a couple of chess pieces to play from the set you left here. After a while he thoughtfully shook his said and said “this is a funny chess game – there’s no white horses and no board to jump around on.”
There’s plenty of room to jump around, but for some reason I don’t feel like it. Maybe I’ll do it when there’s a letter from you. Our kitchen has once again costumed itself as a fairy palace and the walls are sparkling for Christmas. I ignore the splendor because I’d rather go in to our less romantic, but warmer, living room. This is all the easier as I have thoroughly weaned our stomachs from their frivolous exotic cravings. Our stomachs are used to not getting such goodies anymore. Papa has a sour grapes philosophy – “We eat too much anyway!” Maybe he’s right, but it sure would be nice to have something.
Now its noon and I have to get dressed quickly and go into the kitchen. In the case of “Tschindern” – Paul will explain this word to you -- I might even win first place in the Olympics. Also, tell him that I’m upset that I can’t even come up with or make any “cheap” presents for anyone this year.
That's enough nonsense for today. Say hello to everybody. I’m mentally bankrupt which prevents me from writing directly to them very often.
I’m kind of crazy about writing, but I send you an untold number of kisses,
Mutti
Helene
Like so often, Helene throws in references that would have meant something to her children, little jokes and wordplay. In the second sentence of the letter, she uses 4 words that sound like “Clipper” when writing about her frustration at not receiving mail - it definitely gets lost in translation! (“Ein Klepper, der in einemfort Clipper-Briefe klappert, das Farbband einkluppt und auf die Finger geklopped verdient, das ist euere Mutter.”) A description of Clipper letters can be found at an earlier post. She likens her desire for letters to the legend of Polycrates.
She uses the word Tschindern, from the Austrian dialect, knowing that her nephew Paul was nearby to translate, bringing him in on the joke. Unfortunately, we don’t have him handy now and I was unable to find a translation.
We see the evolution of Helene’s signature when she writes to her children. In the first few letters from 1939, she signs herself Mutti, which translates to Mom or Mommy. In this letter, she adds her name, Helene. In later letters, she simply signs her name Helen – perhaps acknowledging how mature and distant her children have become, as well as her intention to become an American herself and therefore calling herself by a less European version of her first name.