Uncle Harry

Another surrogate uncle, Uncle Harry was my father's business partner. They met when my father was working at a printing firm in Mascot, Sydney. My father worked as a lithographer and Harry was a plate maker. The two hit it off and eventually decided they could make a go of creating their own business, however my father said that Harry needed some more experience of the latest printing techniques so he set off for Europe, mainly Switzerland, where he spent a year researching and learning.

When Harry returned to Australia, speaking quite good German and filled with a whole lot of new knowledge, he and my father set up their firm, Ralfs and Hermsdorf, at Christie Street St Leonards in Sydney.

Uncle Harry was a lovely man. They broke the mould with him. I don't think they make innocents like him any more. Although he was well travelled and well read, Harry was astonishingly naive.

He lived with his mother who looked after him until she became too old and infirm. He was completely incapable of looking after her so she was moved into a nursing home. He used to visit her after work and help with feeding her. One day the matron saw him heading off home. His shoulders were slumped, he was pale and obviously exhausted. "Oh Mr Ralfs," she said, "you poor thing. You obviously need a good dose of TLC." What did Harry do? He went to the chemist and asked the young lady behind the counter for some TLC!!!! She blushed furiously and rushed off to get the chemist who stormed out, saw Harry's open, honest face and quizzed him as to why he had asked his shop assistant for such a thing. Poor Harry had never heard the expression TLC before and had assumed that it was some kind of tonic. He thought his mistake very funny and told everyone! Another time he tried to buy some 'elbow grease'!

After Harry's mother died he continued to live in the flat which they had shared. He confided to my mother that he was having a bit of trouble looking after the place and doing all his own washing etc, so seeing I was at Uni and could do with a bit of extra income (I was already teaching German on Saturdays) I offered to be his cleaning lady.

Harry handed over his key and I went to his place to do the cleaning. Well......it took me weeks to get the place reasonable. The grey carpet was actually green. The opaque front of the sideboard was actually clear glass. The kitchen!!!!!!!! I had to use a knife to scrape the grease off nearly every surface. I had never seen anything remotely so grotty. Luckily my mother had been a good teacher so I knew what to do.

Harry was completely thrilled with my efforts and not even a tiny bit embarrassed about how filthy the place had been. Every day when he got home to his flat he would ring and extoll my virtues as a cleaning lady. He was even more thrilled when I offered to do his washing.

Harry didn't move with the times. His underpants were white cotton boxer shorts with a drawstring at the waist. I bought him new shirts and singlets because his were falling to bits but I just washed and ironed his undies because he would have been too embarrassed if I had ever mentioned them or pointed out that there was a new invention called 'elastic'. Never could you mention body parts below the waist (apart from legs) because Harry would become acutely embarrassed. Our cat must have known, because every time Harry visited, she would immediately sit down lift her hind leg and thoroughly wash her bottom.

Harry fancied my mother. Actually he worshiped her. In her he saw everything that a woman should be. He thought my father the luckiest man in the world to be married to such a goddess. Mutti always treated Harry very kindly and invited him to dinner fairly regularly and as he was diabetic she would especially make him unsweetened 'Apfelmus' (puréed stewed apple) which he adored.

Harry never knew when to go home. I now wonder if he suffered from Aspergers syndrome. The evening would stretch on and on. Eventually my father would put on his pyjamas and announce that he was going to bed. Harry would say, "goodnight Walter." and keep sitting there almost going to sleep himself. Finally my mother would suggest that he looked very tired and that he probably needed to go to bed. Only then would he get up and leave declaring that he was leaving as 'the fat boy of Burton St' having had a wonderful meal.

Harry's mother had looked after him but I don't think there was much love in the home. Harry loved the fact that he was part of our family and joined in any family celebrations with gusto. He loved the German Christmas and was usually part of birthday celebrations as well. He was amazingly touched when we started celebrating his birthday.

Harry had told me how cold he was in bed in winter even though I had put lots of blankets on, so one year for his birthday I bought him an electric blanket which I turned on before I left his flat. His birthday was on one of my cleaning days in June or July. At his birthday dinner I warned him that he would get a bit of a surprise when he went to bed that night. We got a call quite late that night from an ecstatic Uncle Harry. I said he was unworldly. He had heard about electric blankets but had not understood how they worked and had thought it all a bit of a gimmick never even remotely thinking of trialling one. Harry must have rung me every morning for a month saying how well he had slept.

In 1973 I got married and Uncle Harry lost his cleaner. I never visited his flat afterwards and neither did my parents, so I can only surmise what it looked like after a few years.

Uncle Harry visited us in Canberra coming for Christmas as well as on other occasions. Sometimes he was extremely generous with the gifts he brought and then there was the year he had carefully wrapped an apple and an orange which he presented to our girls. Luckily they have always been very polite. Even though he knew I was a good cook one year he brought us a huge box of packaged cakes and ghastly biscuits and was as proud as Punch as he handed them over. I'm polite as well and was able to thank him with the enthusiasm he obviously expected.

Harry never completely filled the car with petrol, so on a trip to Canberra from Sydney he would often stop twice. He recorded how many miles travelled, how much petrol used etc etc. also he would check the tyre pressure with every stop.

The car was very well looked after and when he was too old and infirm to drive anymore he gave it to our elder daughter. Everything was ancient but still pristine. He had cut out cardboard to cover the dashboard and the parcel shelf so the plastic wasn't even cracked or faded. And then there were the volumes of car history!

Harry loved cardboard boxes. He could never throw a good cardboard box out. His whole garage was filled with them and the car had to be parked in the street covered with a car cover. He also kept newspapers. When I did his cleaning I discovered an entire cupboard stuffed from top to bottom with old newspapers. He had marked in red pen the articles he wanted to reread eventually. I threw them all out and he never noticed.

You will be amazed to hear that Uncle Harry married when he was 75. He had known Milba for many years. In fact he he had been going out with her when my father suggested he further his printing experience in Europe. Milba was very cross that Harry had gone and then proceeded to have a very enjoyable life doing whatever she wanted. She got in touch after more than 30 years, they went out a few times, got on well and married in haste. She had always wanted to be married and Harry had romantic ideas of an ideal marriage based on what he imagined my parents' marriage was (all sweetness and light). Sadly Harry's and Milba's marriage was not a success. Both repented at leisure.

Dear Uncle Harry had a stroke. To her credit Milba visited him in hospital every day to help feed him. I visited and held his hand and talked about all the good times we had had. He gave a funny little smile so I guess he knew I was there. He died on 14th March 1998.

Harry was in my life for a long time. He is sure to crop up in future blogs.