I thought we were Polish!
I don't want to be 'German'. Because of the war, I was raised to dislike them.
Peter, I’ve heard a lot about the Leyland side of our ancestry, but not much about the Polish — the Wischnowskys. What were they like?
It was like this. Our mother used to take us off to visit her family at the slightest opportunity. But there were things about it that worried me, that puzzled me, for years.
Those were the times when she was in the middle of the feud with our father, and she’d take us away from home in College Street in Palmerston North, and go to her family. It was a distraction from what was happening at home. We liked it.
And up Halcombe way, where her family lived, there were lots of uncles and aunts and cousins. We found them to be good people — entertaining — and they were assets — they taught us stuff. We got on well. No trouble. But the other side of our family, the Leyland side, they wouldn’t have anything to do with them. The Wischnowskys were regarded with suspicion. You see, the war — the First World War — that really influenced things.
I came to realize I wasn’t entirely English and Irish. In fact I was only half of that blend. And the worry was, I was associated with these Wischnowsky people who not only spoke English, but also spoke German. They treated us well — with respect. They were good people. I learned that about them. But oh! They were seen as GERMANS, and Germans were ‘nasty people’, ‘dirty people’, ‘couldn’t be trusted’. So, as boys, we were forced to look at both sides — the British Leylands — and the Wischnowskys –– who were classed as German. That was the legacy of war. It seemed we had a foot in both camps. Where did we stand?
Germans! But I thought we were Polish!
One story I heard was that those people, our ancestors, had lived on the border between Germany and Russia. But everyone there spoke German in those early days. And, for a while Poland ceased to exist, so you couldn’t be Polish, no matter how hard you tried. The Germans swallowed it up. So the Poles who lived there were classed as Germans when they came to New Zealand. They came on a German ship, with German money. When they were naturalised they were said to be Germans who were becoming British Citizens. Eventually Poland was re-established after the war, but the Germans crushed it again, and that started the next war.
Didn’t your mother speak Polish?
No! She spoke German, not Polish. The Polish inheritance was at a distance. Mum tried to teach us her language.
‘Eins, zwei, drei. One, two, three.’
But we were typical boys, we didn’t give a damn about it. Couldn’t be bothered learning German. We could speak English, the local lingo was enough for us. It got us through.
But there was real prejudice around. Very strong. I suppose we had a pretty rugged time, not only were there the personal differences at home between Mum and Dad, there was also this racial animosity.
What were your mother’s parents like?
There was our grandmother — Wilhemina — a pitiful creature in one sense of the word. Very capable in many ways, but she spent most of her life in a wheelchair — a hopeless cripple — tied to her chair. The family had to do everything for her — washing, dressing, all those sorts of things. And because of her condition the family were tied to her. They helped her get up, and they helped put her to bed. That’s what families did.
At first us boys found her to be pigheaded and cross. We didn’t know what she was going through. Rheumatic pain. 24 hours a day.
Then there was our grandfather, Carl Wischnowsky. He tried to make a bit of sense out of his life. I remember the Sundays we were there, at Halcombe, with him and his family. We all went to the Lutheran Church, but Grandmother would stay at home. It was too painful for her to go. But her husband Carl would sit with her, and when we left for church he’d be sitting in a chair by the window, reading the Bible to her. Or he’d read the works of Martin Luther. He read in the German language, Luther’s translation of the Bible. And when we got home after church he’d be sitting there, reading to her. It was his Sunday duty. And you could hear him reading as you approached the house. He was very loud, a big voice. The old grandmother was deaf, quite deaf, and we boys learned to raise our voices. We had to shout when we talked to her.
Did you hear stories about the family origins? Carl’s father was said to have been a Prussian General fighting Napolean in the Franco-Prussian war.
No, there was no talk that I remember. We were kids and never thought to ask. We just liked visiting Mum’s family. They were very comfortable to be with, very helpful. Of course Dad took sides — a true Leyland! He wasn’t in favour of Germans.
Oh, there’s an ancient memory just cropped up in my brain. On one of our many visits — during the school holidays, no doubt — I discovered that a local shop had a strange name. There were very few shops in Halcombe. Halcombe’s a small kind of place — and the name of that shop is something I still remember to this day. STIT and MONK. Whenever we went home with Mum to her family, the first thing we did when we got off the train was go to this shop. A general kind of store it was. They sold everything. We’d stop and get something, perhaps a loaf of bread.
Now that’s a name you don’t often hear — STIT and MONK.
It was like this. Our mother used to take us off to visit her family at the slightest opportunity. But there were things about it that worried me, that puzzled me, for years.
Those were the times when she was in the middle of the feud with our father, and she’d take us away from home in College Street in Palmerston North, and go to her family. It was a distraction from what was happening at home. We liked it.
And up Halcombe way, where her family lived, there were lots of uncles and aunts and cousins. We found them to be good people — entertaining — and they were assets — they taught us stuff. We got on well. No trouble. But the other side of our family, the Leyland side, they wouldn’t have anything to do with them. The Wischnowskys were regarded with suspicion. You see, the war — the First World War — that really influenced things.
I came to realize I wasn’t entirely English and Irish. In fact I was only half of that blend. And the worry was, I was associated with these Wischnowsky people who not only spoke English, but also spoke German. They treated us well — with respect. They were good people. I learned that about them. But oh! They were seen as GERMANS, and Germans were ‘nasty people’, ‘dirty people’, ‘couldn’t be trusted’. So, as boys, we were forced to look at both sides — the British Leylands — and the Wischnowskys –– who were classed as German. That was the legacy of war. It seemed we had a foot in both camps. Where did we stand?
Germans! But I thought we were Polish!
One story I heard was that those people, our ancestors, had lived on the border between Germany and Russia. But everyone there spoke German in those early days. And, for a while Poland ceased to exist, so you couldn’t be Polish, no matter how hard you tried. The Germans swallowed it up. So the Poles who lived there were classed as Germans when they came to New Zealand. They came on a German ship, with German money. When they were naturalised they were said to be Germans who were becoming British Citizens. Eventually Poland was re-established after the war, but the Germans crushed it again, and that started the next war.
Didn’t your mother speak Polish?
No! She spoke German, not Polish. The Polish inheritance was at a distance. Mum tried to teach us her language.
‘Eins, zwei, drei. One, two, three.’
But we were typical boys, we didn’t give a damn about it. Couldn’t be bothered learning German. We could speak English, the local lingo was enough for us. It got us through.
But there was real prejudice around. Very strong. I suppose we had a pretty rugged time, not only were there the personal differences at home between Mum and Dad, there was also this racial animosity.
What were your mother’s parents like?
There was our grandmother — Wilhemina — a pitiful creature in one sense of the word. Very capable in many ways, but she spent most of her life in a wheelchair — a hopeless cripple — tied to her chair. The family had to do everything for her — washing, dressing, all those sorts of things. And because of her condition the family were tied to her. They helped her get up, and they helped put her to bed. That’s what families did.
At first us boys found her to be pigheaded and cross. We didn’t know what she was going through. Rheumatic pain. 24 hours a day.
Then there was our grandfather, Carl Wischnowsky. He tried to make a bit of sense out of his life. I remember the Sundays we were there, at Halcombe, with him and his family. We all went to the Lutheran Church, but Grandmother would stay at home. It was too painful for her to go. But her husband Carl would sit with her, and when we left for church he’d be sitting in a chair by the window, reading the Bible to her. Or he’d read the works of Martin Luther. He read in the German language, Luther’s translation of the Bible. And when we got home after church he’d be sitting there, reading to her. It was his Sunday duty. And you could hear him reading as you approached the house. He was very loud, a big voice. The old grandmother was deaf, quite deaf, and we boys learned to raise our voices. We had to shout when we talked to her.
Did you hear stories about the family origins? Carl’s father was said to have been a Prussian General fighting Napolean in the Franco-Prussian war.
No, there was no talk that I remember. We were kids and never thought to ask. We just liked visiting Mum’s family. They were very comfortable to be with, very helpful. Of course Dad took sides — a true Leyland! He wasn’t in favour of Germans.
Oh, there’s an ancient memory just cropped up in my brain. On one of our many visits — during the school holidays, no doubt — I discovered that a local shop had a strange name. There were very few shops in Halcombe. Halcombe’s a small kind of place — and the name of that shop is something I still remember to this day. STIT and MONK. Whenever we went home with Mum to her family, the first thing we did when we got off the train was go to this shop. A general kind of store it was. They sold everything. We’d stop and get something, perhaps a loaf of bread.
Now that’s a name you don’t often hear — STIT and MONK.