TRIBUTE TO ANNA

34. TRIBUTE TO ANNA. (1972-1993)



Anna and Annie with Fing, Silvo, Des 1992 celebration

 I’ve been blessed with a marvellous panoply of friends. Prodigally so. And they stretch around the globe, thanks to my mission experience and various courses I’ve done overseas. I’ve been also blessed in being able to maintain the contact and deepen the friendships over the many years. There’s a sad side to this great gift of God, when sickness and death carry such “SAINTS’ off to paradise. I can think fondly of such treasures overseas in countries so scattered, like Korea, Puerto Rico, USA, Scotland, Japan, France, Scotland, Pakistan, England, New Zealand, Ireland, Solomon Islands and more.

I could tell so many stories of heart-warming, magnificent hospitality, “squandered” on me. Swinging into view come the  Nielsons of Honiara and also London, the Ruddys and O’Rodaighs of Ireland, the O’Connors and Flynns of New Jersey, Ishida in Kyoto, Nagoya. And  more.

It has occurred to me in quieter moments that His gift did not consist merely in warm welcome, good company, good food and drink, including some great reds, and beds; but it goes much deeper. Over those many years there has been an ongoing, mutual, reciprocal enrichment and blossoming of gifts. It’s as if we were all potters in the Potter’s hands as She/he shapes us into those extraordinary people we have become in this life’s journey.

Of course this is not to overlook at extraordinary hospitality largessed on me by the whole range of Marists- Sisters, Brothers, Fathers in so many places. Paris stands out where the French Brothers were just so kind. And just last year (2008) I was welcomed by a remarkable Canadian Marist, Sr. Teri O’Brien, who for four days gave me unrelenting kindness and expertise as we ranged out of Belley, following the trail of early Marists in that mountainous east of France.

And yet, in all these towering peaks of goodness there is an Everest. If I might apply “legend” to those named, Anna Muller rises to iconic or mythical. For her hospitality was not a precious aspect of life, for her it was VOCATION. Around this world there is such a crowd of grateful friends of Anna’s who would surely express the same heartfelt thanks and admiration as me. We’d have no problem in canonising her. She worked countless miracles.

The heights struck me powerfully one night while a group of us were staying overnight in her two-bed apartment in Zurich. After a sumptuous and rowdy dinner that went on for several hours it was time to turn in. Anna organised the placements- beds, couches, mattresses. We all staggered off and soon profound peace had descended punctuated by a symphony of snores. At one stage, after several hours, I needed to visit the bathroom. I carefully picked my way among these sprawled bodies and headed for the loo. But there was a body on the mat in the kitchen.

“What the….!”

It was Anna curled up on the mat and sleeping quite soundly!

I had heard much of her before I met her in the mid seventies. Brothers returning from their renewal course in Fribourg, Switzerland, told some incredible stories of this “fairy godmother” living in Zurich, about two hours from the renewal centre. I was to meet her under starlight conditions. A fairy tale occasion.

Br. Brian Horton, a good friend since Mittagong days and also our community at Auburn in 1962-63 rang me to ask a special favour. Now, one could write a book on “Blessed Brian”. Among a halo of virtues, the top most would be kindness. He had returned in 1972 from overseas experience, including the Fribourg experience. Yes, he too had these  amazing stories of Anna Muller.

“Des, I need your help. Two great friends are coming to Sydney and I want to treat them”.

“Well, can I be of any help?”

“Yes, I need some advice. They are Anna and Kalo Muller who are visiting Sydney on their way to NZ and Fiji. I’d like to take them somewhere nice as they have been so kind to us.”

His stories certainly left me gaping and I was convinced we’d have to turn it on. But then I was a little hesitant. I knew Brian had heart, but should I scandalise him with something lavish?

“Brian, there are some very good Catholic Clubs that have good restaurants attached. It would take us only 20 minutes to get to Ashfield. They’re quite reasonably priced as well.”

I’d always known Brian took this poverty commitment very seriously.

He was most unimpressed. Very gently he said:

“Des, I was hoping for something better. And besides I’ve got money left over from the trip. I was thinking of the SUMMIT!”



The Summit restaurant Sydney

 And so it was that we were driving over to pick up Carla and Anna to take them to the top of the town, the fifty story revolving restaurant in the middle of the city. For a while Brian was driving. This was hazardous. Brian had lost the sight of his left eye in a fishing accident as a boy. For me it was a bit unnerving when he kept asking:

“Des, how far from the gutter am I?”

I suggested I take over and so we arrived safely in driving our two Pacific Princesses to the Summit. It was a fairytale evening. Our magical city and harbour drifting below and over there provided the most amazing ambience. Our guests  were scintillating company, delighting in every aspect of the experience. Each had a ready laugh and piles of stories. I picked up certain bits of their life story but there was much puzzlement. How come these two Polynesians, from Fiji, where their mum still live .How come they had given so much hospitality to them? And at least a dozen extra  questions.

I was able to put some pieces of the puzzle together and over the years a much fuller picture emerged. The Muller family had indeed been raised in an idyllic setting in Fiji with a Swiss father and Polynesian mother. Thereby hung a rare story of romance.(Well I like to think so anyway) Herr Muller, after graduating as an engineer in Switzerland decided to go adventuring to the distant Pacific along with his brother. I expect that visions connected with the “Bounty” floated into view around those palm fringed beaches with grass skirted sirens cavorting in the surf…and the lure was strong. They steamed to the Pacific out and drank in  the marvels of so many exotic places and people around the different islands. Now, the story obscures a little. It seems they arrived back in Fiji and missed the boat.

But their dad did make it back to Fiji where Cupid had prepared a fatal arrow. It was all written in the stars of course. It was during this time of ‘detainment’ that a fateful encounter took place. Along the beach, under moonlight of course, come swaying this island beauty. Actually, her name was Purcell, indicating that some Irish lad had been similarly pole axed; but mostly it was Samoan blood that predominated. Max’s heart gave a lurch and then several somersaults and with awful clarity realised he was smitten, entrapped, hopelessly in love. Nature took its course of course and he pursued and she chased. Inevitably, they were married in a Catholic Church and settled down. I find it so easy to imagine a bunch of charming Muller girls and boys enjoying life in the village and attending the local parish school and then onto St. Josephs in Suva for high school education. The boys went onto the Brothers as they outgrew the smaller school. Later, they took that great leap to New Zealand where they attended a Marist College before moving onto university to become to professionals.

But what about the girls?

No place was too good or too expensive and so, from the sunshine and smiles of Fiji, Anna and Kalo flew  Switzerland. This was just after the war and Max had decided they should meet the rest of the Swiss family. Kalo was to be a victim just like her mum. Herbert was entranced and they  married and settled down. Anna, the younger sister adapted well and was soon heavily involved in Kuoni, the biggest Travel Agency in the country. She was well equipped. She spoke good English and had quickly picked up German and French. She knew first hand so much of the world to the south. Soon, sheiks and others were beating a path to her door. The company thrived and so did Anna. I wonder how she survived the winters and how often she must have felt like dropping all and returning to the sunshine, the singing, dancing, kava and carefree life of the islands. But how she must have brightened up those reserved, sober gentlemen and reticent women of this very conservative little country.

Anna and friends on Des' 60th birthday

It was in the early seventies that a spark ignited that launched her Anna’s remarkable  career as  world’s best hostess. Brother Felix from NZ, following the renewal course, popped over to visit Anna as he’s taught her brothers and knew the Muller family.  Shortly after, another Brother, Marty Grant, a cousin of Anna’s made solid contact as well, when he visited her in Zurich. That released the floodgates. Groups of Brothers were invited to Anna’s where she utterly indulged them. Anna was invited to Fribourg in reciprocity, always arriving with goodies and where the Brothers responded in kind, delighted to have such lively company. Musical evenings followed with Anna on the ukulele and Marty on the piano. They were memorable Pacific evenings, where their musical gifts and talents sparkled. Then Anna helped the Brothers plan their tours, return journeys and offered accommodation in her small apartment in Zurich. The stories started to flow back to Australia and I would shake my head disbelievingly. It was Br. Frank McMahon who won the jackpot, being one of thirty who crammed into that tiny apartment  one night.

It was 1983 before I experienced it myself.  The whole group of sixteen took the train and were soon bouncing up the steps and stuffing into Anna’s. It was so lively, fun and exhilaration. Marty, now working with British Telecom was there in fine form, being a conduit for goodies from Scotland that he spirited in devious ways into the country. It did strike me that this would have been an expensive occasion, but Anna refused any payment. There was a pattern set with reciprocal visits.

I seem to remember that we celebrated by fiftieth birthday in style as well!

When it came to go our separate ways, after the course we had the assurance of Anna’s expertise in our itineraries. Paul and I took the pilgrim trail to Lourdes for a remarkable few days before some riotous days in Pamplona, Spain where we won a rare first had view from a friend’s balcony to watch the chaos and danger of the Running of the Bulls. A few weeks later, I arrive back in Zurich before heading down to Rome again. There was Anna, come from work, to greet me at the station. It’s so nice to be met and welcomed. This time it was much quieter but Anna still had visitors, including Mimi an old friend, Anne-Marie from her Scandinavian Airline days. And then six Australian Christian Brothers arrived!!! Well, what wonderful ecumenism this was! They were all agog with their renewal and walking in the footsteps of their founder, Edmund Rice.

Zurich

We had many a long chat and a sail around the lake. At one stage I felt moved to ask her a silly question.

“Anna, can you tell me, about how many nights during the year would you not have  guests?”

She thought for a while and quite simply replied:

“About  six.”

Then I realised that this was not just kindness and the tradition of Pacific hospitality.

This was her calling, her VOCATION.

And she embraced it with relish.

Any kindness she received in return was treasured. Her apartment was crammed, festooned, decorated with so many gifts that her guests had sent back from around the world. To me it was pretty obvious that the Brothers had sent an array of the less expensive items. There were wooden carvings from the Pacific, bric-a-brac from all around the world. Yes, there was a glass case featuring some little treasures. I would have dearly loved to consign so much of this dusting collection to the bin. But not Anna. It might have looked less than tasteful but it was all precious. I “tested” her at one stage, picking up various items and asking about the sender. She didn’t have to think, she knew them all, and very well, as she could embellish with stories. I was amazed not just at the range here but others that she might have met briefly on her travels. In fact, this motley collection was somehow sacred to friendship. While it might have appeared a musty museum to me, it was a temple to her.

We were blessed with her visits Down Under to family and friends scattered around the Pacific. I was lucky enough to be in Sydney and along with Brian Horton and others we arranged her “royal route”. Brothers would gather at little celebrations as she needed time with family. Visiting out in western Sydney the wide family came to life when Anna appeared. Music and story sparkled that evening.

Right out of the blue, thinking that my overseas experiences were finished, I got this invitation to a six months course in Rome, to start in 1993. It would focus on Marcellin Champagnat- his spirituality and story. There was a strong recommendation to spend some months in Paris to “perfect” the French. I attacked that challenge with a certain ferocity in late 1992. I was ready for the course.

Those first months in Rome, a fierce winter and a claustrophobic community was near the death of me. Well, let’s say it sorely tried me. Fortunately, I had a great friend at court, Br. Richard Dunleavy, one of Anna’s closest Kiwi friends. He was the lynch pin in an escape as any from my  Colditz. Of World War 2  fame. As luck and God’s grace would have it, I’d enjoyed a memorable Xmas in London, along with Anna and Marty Grant before flying to freezing Rome.  It was there that our plot was hatched. As Anna succinctly put it:

Freibourg where Marists followed Renewal courses

“You just must come to Zurich for your birthday.”

I assured her I would do my best to get up to Zurich, but warned her not to get her hopes up, knowing the restrictions that would be enforced. But she did have a point. It was my 60^th BIRTHDAY. That demanded some extravagance at least. And while I might have been doubtful, Anna’s scheming brain was already running well ahead.

It just so happened that Richard had some clout in that General House with its battlements and high walls. He was a Councillor General no less. And while his boss, the Superior General, Charlemagne, or Br. Charles, an Aussie, a former teacher and a good friend might have dismissed such frivolities as birthdays, Richard had a much better developed sense of celebration and “appropriateness”. Besides, he was an artful conspirator. So between Anna and him they laid their plans. Now, the key played in all this was the director of our course, an admirable Mexican Brother, who had studied in the States. Aurelio de Brambilla had a kind and understanding heart as well. And he was concerned about me. Well, I had been a week in bed to start the course and I had launched various actions to move us from a smelly little chapel and showed obvious signs of stress! When Richard approached him he could see that a few days in salubrious Switzerland, possibly at a spa, would help restore me. But we must not say a word.

With precision  in the early morning I was spirited out through the huge gates, ( or was it over the wall?) was whisked down to Fermi railway,  sped into Termini and was soon heading north through a soft spring landscape. The relief was huge and the prospect was inebriating.

Anna was at the station as part of a royal welcome. I don’t recall all as there was a happy haze that hung like some blessed cloud. The big day started with champagne breakfast, and got even better as we danced the hours away. Until dinner- a masterpiece that would make Susan Alexander green with envy even as she salivated at the prospect. The wines were also appropriate and of fine quality for 60 years of modest achievement. With Anna, Marty, Anne Marie and Swiss friends this was a certain pinnacle of celebration made even more memorable by the frisson of danger and daring. Were the police searching? Was Interpol put on high alert?

Certainly those three days of “freedom” were worth the possible unmasking and humiliation!

There were multiple BULA VINAKA – Fijian for “Cheers’, “Slante”, “Salut”, “Nostrovia”, “Down the Hatch”, “here’s looking at you”, and “here’s mud in your eye”.

Rolling back through the Alps and down to the plains of Lombardy and further with the mountain ridges with hilltop towns shadowing on the left I was in a delightful daze. No trouble breaching the walls, taking the bold step of striding through the main gate with a cheery greeting. The timing was perfect, as that same afternoon, Br. Charles had returned after a quick visit to Brazil…or was it Uruguay? With his hawk eyes and enquiring …suspicious mind, he would surely have noted by absence even among the 60 or so living there at the time. As for my companions, they swallowed the bait beautifully. I didn’t even have to be inventive. The word had gone around, sort of a press statement. And so I was so pleased with their concern.

Nobody can celebrate like Fijians

“Welcome back Des. I hope the few days have been good for you and you’ve recovered from you illness”.

As for the hero of the piece, Richard, I showed by deep gratitude by delivering warmest greetings from Anna along with a bottle of finest quality Black Label Johnny Walker.

Now, sadly Anna is festival director in paradise. It’s so easy to see her smile and hear her greeting and her everlasting “Bula vinaka”.

2. THUNDER CLAPS TO SIGHING LEAVES IN NOTRE DAME (1992)



Liz Kwan popped in and we revelled in Paris



In my two months (November-December 92) in Paris, in preparation  for a six months course in Rome the following year I grabbed some great opportunities to indulge in French culture. Yes, getting “my” French up to speed was necessary as we would live as a French-speaking community of some thirty Brothers from all over and the course lectures and papers would be all in that lovely language. It was a challenge, attending classes at Ecole Berlitze and then scampering back to my “garret” at Rue Dareau to bash the books. But it did have some compensations and remarkable experiences.

The most uplifting, verging on awesome occurred in Notre Dame Cathedral on a cold November Sunday. How many centuries it had stood as a beacon  through great upheavals and dramas as well as times of peace? Not to mention the searing times of the French Revolution when the ultimate sacrilege had been perpetrated. Declaring the “old religion” dead, the great haters had declared it a pagan temple and even installed a “goddess of reason”.

This Sunday, two hundred years later, was to be historical. Cardinal Lustiger was to be the bless and inaugurate the grand cathedral organ, after nearly three years of painstaking and very expensive restoration.

I realised that there would be a crowd for this rare event, and so I arrived an hour earlier. Maybe two hours earlier might have been a better plan. As I entered the great portals I was aghast. The congregation/audience, all well rugged up, was a solid mass of Parisians who  had  planned better than I.



My school- Ecole Berlitz, third floor

 What to do? I decided to brazen it. I proceeded, with some gravitas, down the centre aisle, peering left and right. Surely, there would be some spot unclaimed, even a gap I could squeeze into. No dice; it was jam- packed and generating lots of body heat.  Reaching the sanctuary I genuflected and moved over to the right aisle. As I rounded a gigantic pillar, the miracle happened! There was this unoccupied place at the end of the seat. I swooped on it, feeling oh so grateful. Once seated, I got a shock. This massive column soared skyward and blocked all viewing,  apart from the far left corner of the sanctuary. I quietly fumed and reassessed.

Just then the congregation arose as Cardinal Lustiger, in full regalia and accompanied by a long line of clerics  proceeded down the aisle, to much ovation. After genuflections and  bowings the clerics arranging themselves in the sanctuary, the cardinal about -turned and moved back half way down the church to the pulpit, which commanded a view over the expectant congregation. Suddenly I realised I had a perfect view as I swivelled around. Thank God for my blunder.

But how do you, re-install, call a magnificent, centuries -old  monarch of instruments back into life to proclaim the wonder and glory of God in this most sacred space? I thought there would be an appropriate prayer along with the blessing and add a hymn or two.  Nothing so pedestrian as that! What happened next was really a wonderful dialogue between the cardinal and this awesome instrument. Or maybe, more like a litany which showed off, in coruscating brilliant style the world, universe of sound of this triumph of musical invention. Obviously, the large crowd would be expecting this and would not be disappointed..

The Cardinal gave a command to the organ, calling forth its power.



Br. Gilbert was a most helpful tutor

 “In the name of God the Father, the creator of heaven and earth, I command you, grand organ to respond.”

The response was overwhelming. A grand  harmony came thundering forth with such power and wonder that you could sense the world being shaped by a mighty hand. It brought images of Michelangelo’s  masterpiece in the Sistine chapel. Though it lasted but a minute or two our the spirits soared and  eyes sparkled.

Another command: In the name of Jesus, Word before time began, Son of God whom Father sent out of love to redeem mankind and bring the utter fullness of life, I command you ,great organ to proclaim.

Again, a brief masterpiece of magnificent blast cascaded down from the heights. There was the kingly power as well as Christ’s overwhelming love communicated. I felt transported to Galilee, journeying with Jesus, in his preaching, healing mission to bring Good News to the poor and freedom from all oppression.

In the name of the Holy Spirit, the Paraclete, the comforter who remains with us.  This loving Spirit continues to inspire, to embrace us with his marvellous gifts and guide us to hope and peace.

The response was almost tremulous. A light breeze wafting through the great building and then swelling to some glorious harmony  that breathed peace and love and joy.

And so the litany continued:

In the name of Mary, mother of Jesus, who’s YES to the angel’s request began the great transformation of our world and in her pondering in her heart leads all of us, her children in our pilgrimage of hope.

Would Mozart have composed anything so beautiful which spoke of the faith of the people of France who found such love and inspiration in their NOTRE DAME?

There was more as various saints took briefly centre stage and called for some beautiful response.

Certainly the new organ triumphed and displayed in such bravura style the immense range the possibilities as a grand instrument of praise to God.

I must say, I felt  breathless through most of this performance.

What next?

The cardinal moved down the centre aisle to the altar to celebrate a grand Mass. Well, I would be walled off that that drama, behind my column. Ah, no! There was some shuffling and movement around the cathedral. And also in my pew. It seems that now the “show” was over, many had not intended to attend Mass? How wonderful! With three or four leaving from my row I was able to shuffle along until I had a perfect view of the sanctuary, just six rows back.



A Marist Mix - Far Left, Br.Cyprien, an old master from 1947!

 Who said “fortune favour the brave”?

Or “Knock and it shall be opened to you.”?

I had time to be playfully distracted. If only I could have replayed some of the great chapters of momentous events acted out here. How many kings were crowned here, was it here that Napoleon in a fit of hubris had snatched the crown from the pope to crown himself emperor. Or at another level, how many distressed mother, fathers and simple people had poured out their hearts to beg a favour from a Mother afflicted. 

My heart was singing for days. I took the metro back to St. Jacques and was in time to join a bunch of Brothers at lunch. In my less that flawless French but with an impressive Parisian accent I was able to regale them with my prize story.