Angela and Her Boys

By Helga Parl

As wife of the eminent Professor Zealander and mother of his special twins, Angela thought she had it all. But his death left the young widow struggling. She must now take on a job at the other end of life’s cycle, working in Brisbane’s cemeteries, caring for neglected graves.

Against all odds, it’s here that she meets Newton Oversen. He is fascinated by her as she changes from grubby lad to dishy backpacker look-a-like, to mother of two schoolboys, all in the space of half a day.

Their falling in love is inevitable. Their becoming husband and wife requires a lot of commitment.

A Women's Fiction Romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lorraine Cobcroft
• Release date: Aug 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370564200

Helga Parl

Helga Parl was born during the height of the Great Depression, in a city in East Germany, not far from Berlin. Her childhood memories are punctuated by having to run almost nightly into bomb shelters, and suffering hunger and cold. Yet she managed to keep a sunny disposition, enjoying little things, like a flower at the edge of the footpath, or a pretty piece of glass that caught the sunlight.Through her job, she met her future husband. Trouble was, he lived in Holland, ‘the forbidden West’. Authorities refused to issue a permit for her to accompany him to his home land. But being young and in love and full of hope, she was afraid of nothing. On a gloomy Easter day, when it was raining ‘cats and dogs’ the couple succeeded to escape.As a young bride, living in Holland, she found herself suffering forced separation from loved ones, struggling to master a foreign language (Dutch). and battling seemingly insurmountable financial challenges. Finally, one miserable wet day, the young couple made the ambitious decision to migrate to Australia. There, battling to learn a third language, Helga fought against sexual discrimination to make her mark in a male-dominated world as an engineering draftswoman.Helga came late in life to writing. After self-publishing her first novella, ''Brisbane, Bach and Brandenburg'' in 2006, she joined Fairfield Writers Group. Here she acquired valuable skills and confidence to create new stories, fairy tales and poems.She was a contributor to all five Anthologies of the group — ''Beginnings, Queensland Stories''; ''Life’s a Roller Coaster''; ''Changing Seasons'', ''Crime Stories'' and ''Christmas Stories: A Collection for Adults''. Some of her contributions to these collections shine a light on her fascinating past and life in war-torn Germany.In 2014, to celebrate her 80th birthday, Helga self-published, in conjunction with Rainbow Works, Pottsville, N.S.W., a book of short stories called Pixels.2016 saw the release of her novel, ''Angela and Her Boys'', also produced in conjunction with Rainbow Works and with extensive editing help from Lorraine Cobcroft.Some of Helga's other interests are Code Break puzzles, drawing, and travelling.

Book preview

Chapter One

A Chance Meeting

Hey! What do you think you’re doing? Newton calls out, hurrying through a colonnade of neglected gravestones towards a youth whom he suspects of vandalising a grave.

Instead of escaping Newton’s wrath, the culprit stays put; doesn’t move an inch.

Apart from this newcomer, Angela can’t see another soul in the wide expanse of the cemetery. She, therefore, can guess she’s about to be taken to task. Let him come, I could do with a diversion. Her eyes dance in mischievous anticipation. She pretends not to notice the stranger, and carries on with her work.

Wind, rain, dust and pollution have clogged up and partly obliterated the fine engraving of the head stone. The owners of the plot want it restored. Angela takes her job seriously and does the best she can to make the old head stone and the surrounds of the grave look as good as new. With a small chisel in one hand and a mallet in the other, she now retraces every letter of the prayer that had given comfort and consolation to mourners for more than two decades.

As Newton stands right in front of her, Angela downs tools and stretches her limbs, while straightening up to her full height of a respectable 1.80 metres. Without uttering a sound, she gazes at the stranger. Hmmm… not bad looking.

It’s hard work she does to earn her wages. And today it’s an especially hot October day, aiding jacaranda trees to burst out in full bloom. Purple blossoms fall softly on graves and paths, veiling their shabby appearance and sweetening the polluted air.

Perspiration has mingled with dust, leaving unbecoming smudges on Angela’s face. Unhurriedly, she takes off her safety goggles, pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and wipes her face. After removing her back-to-front cap, she shakes her head like a puppy coming out of a puddle and lets her blond hair cascade over her shoulders. The effect this little act has on the man’s expression is delicious. Angela savours every nuance of it: Anger changes into surprise and surprise turns into a veritable question mark.

Oh… I… I thought… you… you were one of those youths, who go around vandalising tombstones. How come a beautiful woman like you works at a man’s job?

I don’t think I have to justify myself to a complete stranger, do you?

Oh sorry. Newton Oversen. Pointing at a plot just a few paces away, he continues, My grandparents are buried over there. Have to inspect the site… see it’s being looked after. Family paid the gardener a year in advance, but now they have their doubts.

So they should. The gardener might be under one of these cement slabs for all you know.

Newton, an uncommon name. I’ve heard it before… but where?

The man’s saddened expression softens Angela’s attitude towards him. From a little pocket in her overalls, she pulls out one of her business cards. Then, with a brilliant smile, she hands it to him. Newton reads aloud:

‘‘A – Z Cemetery Restoration

No job is too big or too small; we do it all.

Contact Angela for a quote at 5504 876 339’’

A to Z, like alpha to omega — from beginning to end? Or Angela — angel of birth and death?

Profound questions. Too early in the day for answers. But maybe I can help you with your grandparents’ grave?

Do you always wear overalls?… Sorry, I’m speaking out of turn, again.

I suppose you like your women in tight skirts and high heels?

Oh no… I mean yes… I mean… you look just fine in those overalls. Pointing at his grandparents’ headstone, Newton blunders on. The thought of an angel in a long gown comes to mind… like that statue over there.

So now you want me to turn into a statue?

Why am I so clumsy? Newton takes a deep breath. No, I don’t. I think that you are a fascinating woman. How about we start all over again? Would you care to join me for a cup of coffee and a bite to eat? It’s already after twelve o’clock. I’m sure you could do with a break. There’s a little café just around the corner from here… of course you’d know it. Can we meet there?

I am hungry. Not the best excuse for a date with a man I just met… Why not?

Okay. Just give me a few minutes to pack up. Angela takes her tools and walks to her four wheel drive. It’s parked next to a shed. She opens the back and front doors, thus creating a little change room. After changing boots for sandals and stepping out of her overalls, she pours water from a bottle over hands and face. Then she grabs a clean T-shirt from the car seat, tossing the sweaty one into the back. Her well-fitted shorts don’t look to have suffered too much under the loose overalls. With spread fingers, she rakes her hair and, voilà, the backpacker’s look-alike can now mingle with any lunch time café clientele.

Newton is waiting for her, standing in the shade of a poinsettia tree near the car park. Wow! I hardly recognised you. Just magic! He shakes his head in disbelief. You look absolutely fantastic! Ready for lunch?

Thanks, but water first. I’m parched.

Sure, what else would you like to drink?

Just water thanks. I don’t do coffee except for breakfast, and I’m not a great lover of tea. But I’d like a toasted sandwich, if that’s alright with you.

Not even a small cappuccino?

Annoyed by Newton’s patronising attitude, Angela merely raises an eyebrow in reply.

Right, got that. What sort of sandwich? Ham, cheese and tomato?… It’s what I’m having.

Thanks. That would be great.

So, Newton resumes the conversation after Angela’s water and his coffee have been brought to their table. What do you do, apart from chiselling tombstones?

Angela reaches for the water bottle, carefully opens the stopper, tops up the water in her tumbler, then sips the ice-cold liquid. Ah, that’s good. I think you ask a lot of questions, Mr Oversen. Don’t you have anything else to say?

Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. It’s just that I’ve never come across a girl as captivating as you. Compared with yours, my life seems rather dull.

Try me. Ah, the sandwiches. Saved by the bell.

The ensuing lack of conversation seems to do them good. Both Newton and Angela gather their thoughts, re-evaluate the situation, and make up their minds as to their next step. Newton finishes his meal first. He takes the last sip from his cup and leans back.

Right… I really haven’t much to report. Divorced for three years… I work as an engineering consultant. Recently, I restored an old house in Bardon and now live there by myself. Apart from going to the gym twice a week, I read a few books and accept the occasional invitation to a barbecue or informal dinner. Otherwise, my days are filled with work-related issues. Meeting you, to-day, makes me realise the tedium of it.

Angela studies him intently. Have you always lived in Brisbane?

Newton tells her that he was born and bred in Brisbane, then moved to Melbourne for his first employment as a newly fledged engineer. From there, he moved to Sydney. Now he lives here, in Brisbane, permanently. And I thought I had lost my Victorian accent. Pushing back his ‘J.F. Kennedy’ lock, he finishes his report with a nervous laugh.

Angela looks at her watch. Oh dear, I’m really sorry Newton, I’ll have to dash. Thanks for the sandwich. Call me, if you like.

A man?

No, kids… have to pick them up. Thanks for lunch. And I did enjoy meeting you.

As Angela gets up, Newton boldly steps towards her and kisses her on both cheeks.

Thank you, Angela, I will ring. Kids? Hers? Friend’s?

Even after reaching the car, Angela can still feel Newton’s kisses. Her legs seem to be a bit wobbly too.

Love at first sight? No, definitely not!

She had found out the hard way that men can’t always be trusted. She’d have to tread carefully. And now she must gather her thoughts before meeting up with her sons. It’s only a little after 2 p.m. — almost an hour before school is out. Angela decides to drive there and park under a tree — as near as possible to her usual spot — to sit and ponder.

Chapter Two

Angela married the Professor

It seemed a lifetime ago that she had felt as giddy. Oh, how naive and ignorant she had been when she had fallen for the sweet talk and kisses exchanged behind their high school gym. Bobby had produced a small bottle of vodka. Taking turns, they drank from it until she lost all inhibitions and disregarded learned rules of behaviour. Bobby, nearly three years her senior, didn’t waste any time getting into her pants. She did nothing to stop him. Afterwards, she had fallen asleep.

When she woke, Bobby was standing near the wooden fence adjusting his attire. Hi, sleepyhead. You’d better get home. Your parents might start worrying and send out a search party, he said. Bobby didn’t even kiss her good bye. He just pointed to her panties in the grass with, Better put those back, and then ambled towards the noise emanating from the hall.

Angela realised she had made a grave mistake. How embarrassing! Voted one of the ‘Three Graces’ of grade ten, only a few months ago, she had lost her virginity to Bobby — to Bobby, the handsome stud, known as the most egotistical jerk of Brisbane State High. She had fallen for his charm and good looks, she berated herself.

The humiliation she had to endure during the next few weeks was almost worse than the fear of pregnancy. Angela found out from the girl’s snickering behind her back, and the boy’s smirks right in her face, that Bobby’s broadcast of his latest conquest had been swift and effective. She vowed solemnly never again to let herself be tricked by any man.

Her parents never even guessed how much Angela suffered. That afternoon, they sat companionably on their sofa in front of the television set, with a small glass of sherry for Myrtle and a stubby of beer for Owen Baker. They were waiting for the first evening news. Afterwards, Mrs Baker would dish out the dinner, she had prepared earlier.

In the meantime, on her bed in her room next to them, laying on her stomach and propped up on elbows, their daughter was pretending to study her biology book. At least fifty pairs of eyes were watching her from every space left on the walls between furniture, window and the open door. The eyes belonged to animal pictures Angela had either photographed, sketched or cut out of magazines. Cats, dogs, monkeys, owls — Angela loved them all. She wasn’t allowed any pets, so the pictures had to do. Her parents didn’t seem to register the loneliness Angela sometimes felt. Now, she eavesdropped on her parents’ conversation. Though Myrtle and Owen kept their voices low, Angela could hear every word.

We must have done something right, Myrtle. Our Angela studies like none other. Never goes out dancing or mixing with dubious youths, her father said.

She should though, don’t you think, Owen? How can she meet Mr Right, if she stays all day and night indoors with only her books for company?

Angela wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at her mother’s comment. A brilliant science student, Angela had gathered enough credits to be accepted at university. Paying for it was more of a challenge. Her parents would have her married to a ‘nice young man’ rather than let her study biology. They refused to part with the necessary cash.

We saved it up for your dowry and wedding, darling. You don’t need a degree, just to look after your husband and raise a few children, they argued. Well, Myrtle did, and Owen never disagreed with his wife.



With the stubborn will to succeed, and disregarding her parents’ opposition, Angela found a part-time job in Professor Bentley Zealander’s laboratory. There, she’d earn the money that would pay for her University fees. The lab had been established for the professor’s special interest in human procreation.

Your professional future lies in this new field, Angela. Veterinary science is old hat compared with the progress we are making here, the professor said the very first day he met her. He talked Angela into giving up her dream of becoming a veterinary surgeon. Instead, she became a valued member of the lab team.

More than one young man vied for Angela’s attention. She pretended not to notice, holding on to the promise she had made, and kept to herself. She loved the work with mice and guinea pigs that were used to refine the techniques needed in the fledgling I.V.F. program. She learned to transfer sperm into the tiny egg taken from a prospective guinea pig-mother. It was placed into a Petri dish with a nutrient solution. As soon as the egg cell started to divide and multiply, a doctor inserted it into the guinea pig’s uterus. A little time later, half a dozen perfect pups saw the light of day.

Of course the real work was done in the professor’s private clinic. As Angela very soon became the most proficient technician in the lab, Professor Zealander often asked specifically for her to assist in the intricate procedures of giving a young woman her only chance of becoming a mother.

Sperm donors were recruited from healthy, virile students. They were reimbursed via an account the professor maintained anonymously: a secret the professor shared with nobody.

I wonder how many children will share the same father, Angela said one day to the professor. And if they don’t know this man, how can they avoid meeting up with their half-brothers or sisters, getting married and having children who all become first cousins? Inbreeding could become a serious consequence.

The professor just laughed. Not in this clinic, my dear. As you might have found out by now, we have hundreds of donors, all vetted for health and good breeding stock. Besides, my astute Angela, have you ever heard the saying, ‘It’s a wise child that knows his father’? How many mothers, do you think, tell their first-born that they have a different father from their siblings? And for that matter, do the mothers always know the man who caused their pregnancy? Rest assured, our children have as much impact on the diversity of our population as have the so-called normally conceived babies.

"Thanks professor, for clearing up this point." I wonder how many children Bobby causes to be born before he settles down… if ever.

On one occasion, the professor asked Angela for the ‘straw of sperm’ marked L.B.W. As Angela took it from the freezer, she could not help laughing. A bit ironic under the circumstances, isn’t it, Professor? ‘Leg before wicket’ wouldn’t do just now. What’s the real name of that donor?

It’s classified. Sorry.

The woman, who was only locally sedated, chuckled. I like your attitude, Angela. If the baby is a girl, I’ll name her after you… if you don’t mind.

Sure. I’d be honoured.

Thanks, Angela. You’ll be my angel of life.

Later, Bentley, as he liked to be called off duty, invited Angela for lunch. After draining his wine glass, he touched Angela’s hand lightly. It sent an electric shock through her body. Oh, is he coming on to me?

"Listen Angela, I need an attractive assistant to convince prospective sperm donors they are performing a great service to the community. You’d be my first choice. It’s not the easiest job to interview men and discuss their private issues, collect their sperm, and prepare it for storage. And