From Notting Hill to New York . . . Actually (16 page)

We head for the part of the building where visitors can try tracing family members that might have travelled through Ellis Island before fully entering the ‘promised land’ of America.

It all looks a bit complicated to me, so I ask for help.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ one of the hovering stewards says. ‘How can I help?’

‘It’s kind of complicated,’ I explain. ‘I’m trying to trace the history of this brooch.’ I pull the dragonfly from my bag and show the man. ‘And I think it’s possible one of my relatives might have made it here to New York at the turn of the century. I just wondered if it might be possible to see if any O’Briens came over here then?’

The man smiles at me. ‘Do you have anything else to go on besides that? A year, or a boat they might have travelled on? A first name, maybe?’

‘Er … no.’

‘Ma’am,
do you know how many O’Briens we’re likely to have listed on our books as immigrants at the turn of the century? The Irish community were one of the biggest populations to come here at that time.’

‘Ah, I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘I’m sorry, but if you can find out a bit more information about your family, then you could always come back or maybe go online to trace them. We have a very comprehensive website. What about your friend here, does he have someone he’d like to trace?’

‘Oscar,’ I prompt, nudging him. ‘What about your family?’

Oscar turns his head from his examination of the room and back towards us. ‘You really think you could trace my great-great-grandfather?’ he asks sceptically.

‘If he came through Ellis on his way into New York, we can, yes, sir. I just need a few details from you.’

We spend the next few minutes at a computer with the man inputting details and pulling up old records, and sure enough, a short while later, Oscar has all he needs to know.

‘I can’t believe it, Scarlett,’ he says, staring in awe at a piece of printed paper. ‘This is actually my great-great-grandfather’s signature on this document.’

‘I know, it’s wonderful what they can trace these days, isn’t it?’

‘And to think he came over
here with his brother, and then the rest of his family joined him from Italy later. I never knew that. I thought it was just him.’

Oscar stares in wonder at the sheet of paper. I’ve never seen him like this.

‘Shall we go and watch that film now, Oscar?’ I ask gently. ‘Then we can learn a bit more about how they came to be over here in the first place.’

‘Absolutely,’ Oscar says keenly. He looks at his bright pink Gucci watch. ‘There’s one starting in a few minutes.’

As we take our seats in a large theatre that’s already packed with people, an Ellis Island tour guide appears and spends a few minutes talking us through the film we’re about to see. She spends time giving us lots of background information about what the immigrants went through on their way over to Ellis, and what happened to them once they arrived. Then it’s time for the film to begin.

It’s a black and white film about the immigrants, told in their own words. The voices are unbelievably chilling as they recount the tales of what they had to go through to get to Ellis Island: leaving their own countries in northern Europe, then being processed by ticket onto the ships that took weeks to get to New York.

According to the film, they were packed onto the ships like sardines in a can, and not treated much better, it seems. ‘We could see no sky, only water,’ one of the
women says, speaking of her time below deck in steerage. ‘If you were lucky enough to have a blanket, you went up on deck to get some fresh air. But the waves crashed over the deck and the seasickness was so bad that some nights I would pray the ship would go down.’

It’s quite shocking to watch, and as I glance over at Oscar I see he’s obviously moved by the film too. I put my hand out to him. And as he turns his head towards mine for a split second to acknowledge my touch, I see tears glistening in his eyes. I wrap my hand tightly around his.

As the film continues, we see the huge entrance hall we’ve stood in just a short while before looking at photos and the exhibition with all the other tourists, as it would have been many years ago, filled with immigrants trying to gain their freedom from the cruel dictatorships and oppressive regimes of their own countries. And what a few moments ago seemed like part of a dusty old museum, now seems incredibly real.

We watch the people having health checks for trachoma and mental health issues, and the unfortunate ones that didn’t make the grade being marked with white chalk and set aside to face the cruellest punishment – a return trip on the boat they’d just made the interminable crossing over in.

‘If I’m made to return, I’ll throw myself off the side into the sea rather than go back to Russia,’ one
of the men says hauntingly.

Usually during information films like this at parks and museums there’s a certain amount of fidgeting and noise when people who have just come in for a rest or to pass a few minutes start to become bored. But I can’t help noticing the intense hush that fills the auditorium while the film is being shown. I don’t know if it’s the people’s stories, or the fact that we’re actually sitting in the very building where everything took place, or a mixture of the two, but all I know is that what we are watching and hearing is deeply affecting every single person sitting in this room with us.

And none more so than Oscar.

‘Oh, Scarlett,’ he says, tears streaming down his face as the film finishes and dimmed lighting shows us the way to the exit. ‘I can’t believe what my family had to go through to come here. The conditions on those ships were just horrendous.’

‘I know, I was shocked too.’ I reach into my bag and find Oscar a tissue.

He dabs at his eyes. ‘I get seasick, Scarlett, and the thought of being on one of those ships for weeks going up and down, up and down.’ Oscar actually starts to look a bit green.

‘Shall we get some fresh
air?’ I suggest.

Oscar nods and blows his nose noisily on my tissue.

We take a walk outside. I’m surprised at how the film has affected Oscar; I’ve really never seen him like this before. I’d found it moving, yes, but Oscar is in bits.

He pulls a pair of big dark glasses from his satchel and takes gulps of air while he puts them on. Then I know he’s beginning to return to the old Oscar when he looks down at the crumpled tissue still clutched in his hand.

‘Oh my, why am I using this?’ he exclaims. Holding it disdainfully away from him between his thumb and forefinger, he tosses it into a nearby bin as if he’s disposing of a dirty nappy. ‘I have my own monogrammed silk handkerchiefs for just such an occasion.’ With a flourish, he now pulls a square of bright purple silk from his pocket and begins dabbing at his forehead like a nurse mopping a patient’s brow.

‘Drama queen,’ I tut, rolling my eyes. ‘You don’t have to put it on for me, you know.’

‘I’m not putting it on,’ Oscar says, lifting his glasses up. ‘Look how red and puffy my eyes are; it will take hours for these to go down. I wonder if they have any cucumber in that café over there.’ He glances in the direction of the island’s restaurant.

‘Stop worrying about your appearance, for once. Let’s talk about why you were so upset in the theatre.’

Through his glasses Oscar stares
at me. ‘I don’t know exactly. It took me by surprise too. It was just the thought of my own family going through all that just to come here to start a new life, a better life. If they hadn’t I probably wouldn’t be here now.’

‘That’s true.’ I think for a moment. ‘There’s something about discovering more of your family roots, isn’t there? Whether it’s living family or long-lost relatives you never knew.’

Oscar nods. ‘It makes you feel like you belong, somehow. Like you know where you came from.’

I think about Jamie.

‘Come on,’ I say briskly. ‘Do you feel like you can handle some more yet? We’ve still got the rest of the exhibition to look around.’

‘On one condition,’ Oscar says, nodding earnestly.

‘What’s that?’

‘I get to keep my glasses on. I can’t possibly have people seeing me looking like some cartoon mutation of Betty Boo and a little green alien from
Toy Story
.’

I shake my head. ‘Whatever makes you happy, Oscar.’

We go back inside the museum and take a look around the other floors of displays tracing more of the immigrants’ stories through photos and memorabilia. In one room we find cases of clothes and possessions that belonged to families that were processed through Ellis Island, and once more it
all becomes overpoweringly real again.

‘Oscar,’ I try to say in a steady voice as I stand in front of a large glass cabinet. ‘I think you’d better come over here and look at this.’

‘Why?’ Oscar asks, wandering over to stand beside me. ‘What is it?’

The display inside the cabinet contains a large trunk, a long dress on a mannequin, fabric, some shoes, photos, pens and other family effects.

‘Look at the name, Oscar,’ I say, pointing up at the information board at the back of the cabinet. ‘Look at the name.’

Oscar looks to where I’m pointing. ‘But that says … De Costa.’

‘I know, and keep reading. It also says your great-great-grandmother was a seamstress, and when your grandfather couldn’t make a living as an electrician he learned the trade from her. He then went on to run and then own a factory that made dresses, and then …’ but Oscar isn’t listening to me any more – he’s already engrossed in reading the board for himself.

I stand silently waiting for him to finish, and when he does, I watch him start at the top of the board and read through it all one more time, as if he can’t quite believe it. Then he turns to me.

‘This says my family went on not only to own
a dress factory, but that they designed and made their own dresses – ball gowns and evening gowns, Scarlett, not just any old daywear. My great-aunt did monogramming and another did pattern-cutting, and one of my great-uncles owned a shoe and boot store. At one stage they even supplied the theatre trade, too.’

I smile at him.

‘You know what this means, don’t you, darling?’

I nod. ‘It’s in the genes, Oscar. Your love of clothes, the fact that you run a successful clothes shop and now supply to television, too – it’s all in your family genes.’

Oscar shakes his head and stares into the cabinet again. ‘And to think that these are their actual things.’ He places his hand up against the glass like you see prisoners do in movies when their beloved is on the other side of a partition. It’s such a touching sight, I half expect one of the ladies’ gloves lying over the big wooden trunk to jump up and position itself against his palm. ‘My family’s things.’

I put my hand gently on his shoulder, fearing a teary episode like before. But Oscar simply turns towards me.

‘I’ve got you to thank for this, Scarlett,’ he says, wrapping his arms around me. ‘If you hadn’t insisted we come here today I would never have discovered any of this.’

‘Don’t be silly, Oscar. We were always going to visit the Statue
of Liberty together, you know that.’

‘The statue, yes,’ Oscar says, leaning back from our hug to look at me. ‘But you were the one that wanted to come here to Ellis Island. I would have just stayed on the ferry and been back in Manhattan shopping or doing something equally frivolous by now. I’ve found my family, thanks to you.’ He looks back into the cabinet again. ‘I’ve found where I come from, and now I feel like I belong.’

We sail back to Manhattan later that afternoon, armed with more souvenirs and photos of Oscar standing in front of the cabinet and outside the Ellis Island Great Hall. Both Oscar and I are very quiet as we watch the Statue of Liberty getting smaller and smaller in the distance.

While Oscar is trying to come to terms with all that he’s learned during our visit, my mind is filled with two thoughts: first, that I’ll never, ever complain about queueing or being delayed when I’m travelling again, after seeing what those poor people were prepared to endure to begin a new life here in the US. And second, after seeing the effect that tracing his family has had on Oscar, and remembering how I felt after finding my own mother, there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind now.

I must try and help Jamie find his father.

After we’ve
disembarked from the ferry, we head into Battery Park.

‘Shall we get an ice cream?’ Oscar asks, looking around him.

We’ve eaten lunch at Ellis Island, but it’s so hot now in the burning afternoon sunshine that a nice cold ice cream sounds just perfect.

‘Can you get such a thing here?’ I ask jokingly. ‘Isn’t it all hot dogs and bagels at these stands?’

‘Let’s take a look around, shall we?’ Oscar says. ‘In New York you never know quite what you’ll find.’

As we walk around BatteryPark, Oscar becomes increasingly distracted in his search for an ice cream by the many marines that seem to be filling the park this afternoon.

‘Oh my,’ Oscar says, fanning himself as we come
across a display of marines doing pull-ups on a high bar, press-ups on a mat and various other physical activities. ‘It’s getting even hotter now.’

They do put on a pretty impressive display in their white vests and khaki camouflage combats, and the muscles on some of them would put Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine to shame.

‘Having a quick perv, are you?’ a voice over my shoulder says.

I turn around. ‘Max! Hi!’

He grins at me. ‘That’s nothing,’ he nods in the direction of the marines. ‘I do that twice over every morning before I go to work.’

I grin. ‘Well, they are asking for volunteers for the pull-up bar, if you want to have a go.’

‘Nah,’ he shakes his head. ‘Wouldn’t want to show them up. So what are you doing here, apart from admiring the view?’

‘We’ve just been over to see the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.’

‘Fantastic, did you enjoy it?’

‘Yes, it was great, Oscar found out loads about his family while we were over there. Didn’t you, Oscar?’

‘Hmm?’ Oscar mumbles, still drooling over the marines. He turns towards us now. ‘I do apologise, I was somewhat distracted there for a moment.’