Family Migration Story

IT IS 1939.

You are a young boy, of twelve years old.

Born on the 12th of December, 1928, you have spent your life in a village called Sarona, a Templer settlement only a stone’s throw away from the city of Tel Aviv.

Despite your German heritage, your hair and eyes are dark. Your skin has been browned by the warm Palestinian sun; from days spent amongst groves of Jaffa oranges, riding your bike through the village, collecting flowers with your younger sister, Trudel.

Though you have rarely been to Germany, you regard it as your ‘motherland’. It is the language you speak at school, and at home. Much of your family still reside there, though both your parents were born in Palestine, like you.

Your father, Johannes Orth, is a well-known nurseryman. The first Templer to start a commercial nursery in Palestine, he is renowned across the country, with a chain of florist shops and other horticultural ventures under his belt. His passion for the practice is great, and though you do not know it yet, that passion will one day become your own. You also have a mother, Helene, though she is strange to you. A distant woman, less and less present in your life as the years wear on.

Despite this, life is normal. You go to school, you play with friends, you make wreaths for your father’s shop.

Then one day, your mother and sister are sent away, and things begin to change.

Sitting here, across from my now 89-year-old Opa, it is hard to imagine that this was his reality. The start of World War 2 in September 1939, meant that he and his father were no longer safe in Palestine, due to their German nationality. “They (the British) put a barb wire up around Sarona, and all the men were rounded up and taken to a man camp in Acre, and they had to live there. And after a few months, if they weren’t Nazi’s they were allowed to come home,” he says, his leathery brow furrowing at the memory. Luckily, his father, my great-grandfather Johannes Orth, was allowed to return, and for two years they continued life in Palestine. Then, in September 1941, their safety was compromised. They were rounded up and transported to Australia, and Reinhold and his father spent the next five years in an internment camp in Tatura.

ORTHS NURSERY: KEEPING THE LEGACY ALIVE

Initially, business for the two nurserymen had been slow and frsutrating. They tended the sprouts, and began growing vegetables, expecting good revenue at the Croydon and Dandenong markets. However, things did not take off as quickly as they had anticipated. This saw a young and impatient Reinhold leave his father and their property, in hope of a more profitable venture.

During Reinhold's five year hiatus, Johannes had continued to work diligently, becoming well acquainted with the other vegetable vendors.

In 1956, when Reinhold returned to the Ferntree Gully farm, he was informed of an offer almost too good to be true. A stall at the Victoria Market was about to become available, and they were being offered the spot.

Tragically, Johannes Orth did not have long to enjoy the fruits of his labour. He passed away in 1958, after a gallbladder operation, and consequent infection.

By this time my Opa had met the woman he was to marry, my Oma, Gusti Orth, and together they continued toiling on the farm. The Victoria Market had brought with it fantastic new business, and reignited my Opa's passion for horticulture.

In 1975, with two children in tow, the pair upgraded to a bigger block of land in Coldstream, where they still reside. Though they are both retired now the Orth Nursery lives on, and has been taken over by my aunt and uncle, who have added vineyards and ventured into wine making.

Despite his age, my Opa has never abandoned his love for plants. He still spends everyday out in his veggie patch; planting and weeding, sowing and harvesting. This love for horticulture is an unwavering conenction to not only his father, but also his people and his homeland ; a connection to his roots.