DAVID
Kitzbuhel. 1973
HILDE GOLDSCHMIDT
I have met, worked with and socialized with many interesting, famous and intriguing individuals. Each brings their own magic and more importantly, their own story. Their stories add to my story.
I do find it difficult to elevate any one person over another. Then Hilde Goldschmidt enters our lives. Hilde inspired both Stephanie and I in different ways. She intrigued us, she encouraged us and she shared her life story with us in a way no other person has. Throughout this tale Hilde appears: in Stephanie’s writing and in my own. There are photographs, paintings and stories that she regaled us with and the direct words I heard when I translated with her the first draft of her biography. Details of our relationship are worth retelling if you will permit the indulgence.
We met Hilde on a beautiful early December day in 1970 at the Post Office in Kitzbuhel Austria. We had been travelling overland through Asia with 5 other people. We were tired, quite unwell and bored with our companions. We decided quite suddenly that we were not going to push on to London, that we were going to stay in Kitzbuhel to rest and recover. I knew Kitzbuhel from having spent 4 months there in the winter of 1965-66. I was what was known in those days as a ‘ ski bum ‘. Skiing on the good days, drinking and mooching about on the not so good days, I made friends and acquainted myself with a good look at another country.
It had been a couple of months since we had had any mail from friends and family. So the Post Office / Poste Restante was our first activity. We were dramatically attired in fur coats which we had purchased in Kabul Afghanistan. We must have caught the eye of an elderly woman who looked pretty cool herself. She approached us and said to Stephanie, ‘ Oh darling, I simply love your coat ‘. An hour later we were in the back room of the Sonne taverna ( owned by my friend Hugo Pickerl ) and there she was again having coffee with one of her friends. The conversation continued to the point where she invited us to stay with her for as long as we wanted. She had a room to rent and we signed on. We stayed for 3 months.
So who was this woman? She grew up in Leipzig. Her father was a wealthy industrialist and a patron of the arts. Her older sisters attracted a circle of artists, writers, poets and dancers. There were Russian emigre families and people like Thomas Mann and Rainer Marie Rilke who wandered in and out of their home. Hilde painted and danced. She never gave much thought that she was Jewish or that the first World War was going on, such was her insulation. She would, however, live through the most tumultuous period one could imagine.
In 1938 Austria was incorporated into the German Reich and Hilde began preparations to leave with her elderly mother. She was given permission to leave in 1939. Penniless, they headed for London where her brother lived. She sewed fur mittens for Harrods, but soon went north to the Lake District as the bombing grew more fierce in London. She stayed there until 1949 when she decided to return to Kitzbuhel and her cosy ‘ Haus in Rain ‘ which the locals had looked after during those 12 years of exile.
In the late 1960’s the Czech art historian Josef Paul ( Pepi ) Hodin wrote Hilde’s biography. It could be said that he ghost wrote her autobiography, but who is to say. Stephanie and I were on our way to Italy and Greece for the summer but decided to drop into Kitzbuhel and visit for a couple of days with Hilde. Walking up the path we heard her say loudly, ‘" Oh darlings you have arrived to save my life ".
The man she had commissioned to translate Hodin’s book into English had got the pip and stormed off leaving her in the lurch. She asked me if I would translate the first draft with her. Going south would have to wait. For the next 2 months we worked on the translation. She would translate each paragraph in rough words. The following morning I would write words into literary English. She would stop to give wider detail and events, people and her take. While we worked on the book Stephanie was banished to the studio to paint, sketch and draw.
Her account of Kristallnacht was eye opening for me. I was aware of the event in 1936 Munich when the Stormtroopers smashed the windows of every Jewish home and business in the city. Hilde was in Munich for some reason, but her chauffer found her, bundled her into the car, covered her on the floor with a blanket and drove through the mayhem back to Kitzbuhel.
Her account of going with a friend to the south of France ( 1926 ) in search of paintings by Gauguin and/or Vincent van Gogh intriged me. They had the address of the doctor who had tended to van Gogh after he cut off his ear and when he was mentally very unwell. They were met by a young man who said he was the son of the doctor who had treated the artist. He did take them to a room where he said van Gogh had died. The room was in darkness, but when it was lit there were 10 paintings hung gallery style. One was the Crows in a Cornfield with the vivid yellow cornfield, the black crows and the azure blue sky which was the last painting he did before killing himself. I was aware of the painting, but here I was talking with someone who had seen the painting before many others had.
I am an amateur historian and a story teller. I have studied the 20th century from all angles and here I was sitting night after night with a woman who had lived it. My last memories of Hilde are at her retrospective exhibition in the Lake District town of Kendall. She and her friends, including Pepi Hodin and Wantee, the long time partner of the Dada artist Kurt Schwitters, made the show classy and so memorable.
In 1973 she began changing her style. One of her first paintings in the new style was ‘ the Robinsons ‘ which depicts Stephanie painting and me writing. It hung in the Kuntzmuseum in Innsbruck and you can view it elsewhere in these writings. I guess that’s how Hilde saw us. Her biography ‘ A Way Of Life ‘ is a book we treasure. Hilde is memorable in so many ways. She remains a major figure in both our lives.
I have met, worked with and socialized with many interesting, famous and intriguing individuals. Each brings their own magic and more importantly, their own story. Their stories add to my story.
I do find it difficult to elevate any one person over another. Then Hilde Goldschmidt enters our lives. Hilde inspired both Stephanie and I in different ways. She intrigued us, she encouraged us and she shared her life story with us in a way no other person has. Throughout this tale Hilde appears: in Stephanie’s writing and in my own. There are photographs, paintings and stories that she regaled us with and the direct words I heard when I translated with her the first draft of her biography. Details of our relationship are worth retelling if you will permit the indulgence.
We met Hilde on a beautiful early December day in 1970 at the Post Office in Kitzbuhel Austria. We had been travelling overland through Asia with 5 other people. We were tired, quite unwell and bored with our companions. We decided quite suddenly that we were not going to push on to London, that we were going to stay in Kitzbuhel to rest and recover. I knew Kitzbuhel from having spent 4 months there in the winter of 1965-66. I was what was known in those days as a ‘ ski bum ‘. Skiing on the good days, drinking and mooching about on the not so good days, I made friends and acquainted myself with a good look at another country.
It had been a couple of months since we had had any mail from friends and family. So the Post Office / Poste Restante was our first activity. We were dramatically attired in fur coats which we had purchased in Kabul Afghanistan. We must have caught the eye of an elderly woman who looked pretty cool herself. She approached us and said to Stephanie, ‘ Oh darling, I simply love your coat ‘. An hour later we were in the back room of the Sonne taverna ( owned by my friend Hugo Pickerl ) and there she was again having coffee with one of her friends. The conversation continued to the point where she invited us to stay with her for as long as we wanted. She had a room to rent and we signed on. We stayed for 3 months.
So who was this woman? She grew up in Leipzig. Her father was a wealthy industrialist and a patron of the arts. Her older sisters attracted a circle of artists, writers, poets and dancers. There were Russian emigre families and people like Thomas Mann and Rainer Marie Rilke who wandered in and out of their home. Hilde painted and danced. She never gave much thought that she was Jewish or that the first World War was going on, such was her insulation. She would, however, live through the most tumultuous period one could imagine.
In 1938 Austria was incorporated into the German Reich and Hilde began preparations to leave with her elderly mother. She was given permission to leave in 1939. Penniless, they headed for London where her brother lived. She sewed fur mittens for Harrods, but soon went north to the Lake District as the bombing grew more fierce in London. She stayed there until 1949 when she decided to return to Kitzbuhel and her cosy ‘ Haus in Rain ‘ which the locals had looked after during those 12 years of exile.
In the late 1960’s the Czech art historian Josef Paul ( Pepi ) Hodin wrote Hilde’s biography. It could be said that he ghost wrote her autobiography, but who is to say. Stephanie and I were on our way to Italy and Greece for the summer but decided to drop into Kitzbuhel and visit for a couple of days with Hilde. Walking up the path we heard her say loudly, ‘" Oh darlings you have arrived to save my life ".
The man she had commissioned to translate Hodin’s book into English had got the pip and stormed off leaving her in the lurch. She asked me if I would translate the first draft with her. Going south would have to wait. For the next 2 months we worked on the translation. She would translate each paragraph in rough words. The following morning I would write words into literary English. She would stop to give wider detail and events, people and her take. While we worked on the book Stephanie was banished to the studio to paint, sketch and draw.
Her account of Kristallnacht was eye opening for me. I was aware of the event in 1936 Munich when the Stormtroopers smashed the windows of every Jewish home and business in the city. Hilde was in Munich for some reason, but her chauffer found her, bundled her into the car, covered her on the floor with a blanket and drove through the mayhem back to Kitzbuhel.
Her account of going with a friend to the south of France ( 1926 ) in search of paintings by Gauguin and/or Vincent van Gogh intriged me. They had the address of the doctor who had tended to van Gogh after he cut off his ear and when he was mentally very unwell. They were met by a young man who said he was the son of the doctor who had treated the artist. He did take them to a room where he said van Gogh had died. The room was in darkness, but when it was lit there were 10 paintings hung gallery style. One was the Crows in a Cornfield with the vivid yellow cornfield, the black crows and the azure blue sky which was the last painting he did before killing himself. I was aware of the painting, but here I was talking with someone who had seen the painting before many others had.
I am an amateur historian and a story teller. I have studied the 20th century from all angles and here I was sitting night after night with a woman who had lived it. My last memories of Hilde are at her retrospective exhibition in the Lake District town of Kendall. She and her friends, including Pepi Hodin and Wantee, the long time partner of the Dada artist Kurt Schwitters, made the show classy and so memorable.
In 1973 she began changing her style. One of her first paintings in the new style was ‘ the Robinsons ‘ which depicts Stephanie painting and me writing. It hung in the Kuntzmuseum in Innsbruck and you can view it elsewhere in these writings. I guess that’s how Hilde saw us. Her biography ‘ A Way Of Life ‘ is a book we treasure. Hilde is memorable in so many ways. She remains a major figure in both our lives.
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Strawberry tart and coffee with Hilde Goldschmidt. 1973. From Left. Our S.S. France travelling mates, David, Hilde's friend, Jeff Willer ( who did the second draft of the translation of Hodin's book on Hilde ( A Way of Life ) and Hilde.
David, Jeff Willer and a friend. Kitzbuhel. 1973. Photograph by Stephanie.