17 January 2025

Kazimieras Balkauskas (1921–1986): Aussie farmer and first responder, by Daina Pocius

First Transport refugee, Kazimieras or Kazys Balkauskas grew up on a Lithuanian farm and was able to continue the farming life in Australia. Since he could see the Southern Ocean from his land, he monitored this section of coast for shipping in trouble and trained in first aid. In short, he provided valuable protection to travellers on sea, in the air and on land in his section of Australia.

He had been born in the small town of Gaurė, on the banks of the Šešuvis river in the Lithuanian district of Tauragė. He was the youngest of five sons to Antanas and Pranciška Žičkutė. His family owned a small farm and Kazimieras helped his family work the farm. He grew to love the land and agriculture, a love to which he remained loyal until his last day.

Kazimieras' ID photo from his Bonegilla card

Leaving Lithuania towards the end of the WWII, he found refuge in the Displaced Persons Camp at Gross Hesspe. He indicated on his DP card that his first country of choice for migration was Canada. Instead, he became one of the Lithuanians aboard the First Transport to Australia, the General Stuart Heintzelman, arriving in November 1947.

Jedda Barber has noted already in this blog that he was one of 53 Lithuanian Sea Scouts and Girl Guides on board the Heintzelman.

On arrival in Australia, he told officials that he had been working previously as an auto mechanic but wanted to be a farmer in Australia.   Let's see how he achieved that ambition.

As a 26-year-old, he had seen too much of life already when sent to work at the flax factory at Lake Bolac, a small town in Victoria located near a large body of fresh water known for its abundance of eels. The town was in a rich wheat-growing and cattle-rearing area, 220 km from Melbourne.

One of a number of Commonwealth Flax Mills operated there from 1942 to 1959. Local farmers grew flax for processing in the factory. During WWII, young Land Army women kept the mill going until new migrants could fill the shortage of labour.

Land Army women harvesting flax

Amongst the new migrants were several Lithuanians who were fulfilling part of their two-year compulsory contract: twelve men and one family.  The Lithuanians known to have been there include Albertas Kairys, Vytautas Mulokas, Kazimieras Balkauskas, Vaclovas Jankauskas, Povilas Kecorius and Jonas Svitra, who had all arrived on the First Transport.

Jonas Svitra's sad life story has been told already in this blog.

From their Bonegilla cards, we know that a total of 19 men were sent to the Flax Production Committee, 440 Little Collins Street, Melbourne, but we do not know to which mill the Committee sent the other 13.  

After 20 months in the job, Kazimieras was released from his contract and went to work at the Nestlé factory in Warnambool. While working there he met his future wife, a Ukrainian, Maria Steran. Their son, Antanas (Anthony or Tony) and daughter, Pranciška (Frances or Fran) were named after Kazimeras' parents.  Maria learnt the Lithuanian language and traditions.

With a growing family, Kazimieras and Maria sought better housing, but none could be found. Instead, with their small capital they brought a farm near Lavers Hill, Colac.

At first life their was very difficult. It was necessary to work a lot, and it was hard work. They grew potatoes, kept sheep and cows.

Gaining more experience and learning the secrets of Australian farming, they quickly made a living, buying two neighbouring farms, which even the largest Lithuanian landowner would envy. In 1974 they had 120 cattle, including over 70 dairy cows, grazing in their fields plus a considerable number of sheep and poultry. Their main source of income was milk production.

Frances, Maria, Tony and Kazys Balkauskas with their Ford tractor

Living on the shores of the Southern Ocean and seeing its blue waters through the windows of his house, Kazimieras was like a lighthouse keeper who could see what was happening at sea. He was engaged by the authorities to monitor accidents at sea and, if necessary, to report them immediately.

He joined the civil defence service (now the State Emergency Service or SES) completed first aid courses and was committed to helping those who got into trouble at sea, in the air or even on the main highway that passed through his land.

Although living closer to Melbourne, the family were frequent visitors to Adelaide.  Kazimieras could not fully integrate into Lithuanian life, but he was always interested in it and supported it.  One reason for Adelaide visits was that the Adelaide Lithuanian Catholic priest, Juozas Petraitis, was his cousin.

Kazimieras and Maria were great hosts, with their hospitality was very well known to many.  They loved and respected guests, they waited on them, and everyone found warmth and shelter in their home.

Kazimieras turned 65, the age at which older Australians could start receiving a pension instead of continuing to work, on 4 March 1986.  This meant that he would be able to visit Adelaide, where both of his children lived, more often in his retirement.

Unfortunately, while working on his land, he seriously injured himself shortly afterwards. After three weeks in the hospital, he died unexpectedly on April 12.

Maria died 8 June 1990 in the Royal Adelaide Hospital.  This was at the early age of 67.  She is buried with Kazimieras in Adelaide's Centennial Park cemetery.

Their son, Antanas or Tony, has died already too.  His death came on 26 January 2020, at the age of only 68.  He had been a corporal in the Royal Australian Survey Corps.  He was the father or stepfather of 6 boys and grandfather to 11 grandchildren.

SOURCES

Advertiser, The (2020) 'Death notices' Adelaide, 28 January.

Arolsen Archive, AEF DP Registration Records; Balkauskas, Kazyshttps://collections.arolsen-archives.org/en/document/87880689 accessed 13 January 2025.

Genealogy SA Online Database Search https://www.genealogysa.org.au/resources/online-database-search accessed 13 January 2025.

National Archives of Australia:  Department of Immigration, Central Office; A12508, Personal Statement and Declaration by alien passengers entering Australia (Forms A42); 37/46, BALKAUSKAS Kazimieras born 4 March 1921; nationality Lithuanian; travelled per GENERAL STUART HEINTZELMAN arriving in Fremantle on 28 November 1947 https://recordsearch.naa.gov.au/SearchNRetrieve/Interface/ViewImage.aspx?B=7271559 accessed 13 January 2025.

National Archives of Australia:  Migrant Reception and Training Centre, Bonegilla [Victoria]; A2571, Name Index Cards, Migrants Registration [Bonegilla]; BALKAUSKAS, Kazimieras : Year of Birth - 1921 : Nationality - LITHUANIAN : Travelled per - GEN. HEINTZELMAN : Number - 428 https://recordsearch.naa.gov.au/SearchNRetrieve/Interface/ViewImage.aspx?B=203665698 accessed 13 January 2025.

Vasiliauskas, Jurgis (1974) 'Lietuvis Farmeris Prie Pietų Okeano' ('Lithuanian Farmer by the Southern Ocean', in Lithuanian) Tėviškės Aidai (The Echoes of Homesland), Melbourne, Australia, 26 February, p 6 https://www.spauda2.org/teviskes_aidai/archive/1974/1974-nr07-TEVISKES-AIDAI.pdf accessed 13 January 2025.

Vaclavs Kozlovakis' Time in Bonegilla to 31 December 1947, translated by Monika Kozlovskis with Janis Sakurovs

BONEGILLA, 11.12.47, Thurs. In the morning my lungs were x-rayed, then I went into another room where my English skills were evaluated.  I was put into group 1b, and in the afternoon school began.  The teacher spoke only English the whole time, but I understood him really well.

There's a bit of journalistic fancy in the "man above welcomed an X-ray after years in a Nazi prison camp", since it was more likely to be years digging trenches for the Nazi military, for the men at least, or some time in a Allied prisoner-of-war camp before being released into a DP camp: What's more, all had been X-rayed in Germany before being selected for the Heintzelman
Source:  Courier-Mail, 15 December 1947

We were divided into two groups of sixteen and each group has its own teacher, with only little grasp of the German language.

Sourced from a private scrapbook which, in turn, did not give its source

BONEGILLA, 13.12.47, Sat.   Yesterday it started raining, today again it rained heavily and the sun was constantly hidden behind the clouds. On Thursday I saw a small, cute bear outside the kitchen, and today it climbed up the birch tree by the microphone and gazed around at the crowd which stood there marvelling at it.

The troublemakers arrived too - they just can’t stand there peacefully and watch.  One picked up a stick and poked the little bear, another shook the tree, until it jumped down and ran off.  What people they are.*

In the afternoon we were given five shillings pocket money, so at least I can now buy some tobacco.

BONEGILLA, 14.12.47, Sun.  Today we didn’t have to go to school, maybe that’s why it was a little boring.  All morning I played cards, and in the afternoon I swam in the nearby lake.

Kola and I dived for small white stones which we threw into the water.  The water was so warm I didn’t want to come out.  It could be a wonderful life here, if only there wasn’t such a huge swarm of flies buzzing around.

Early in the evening I went to the shop for tobacco and happened to speak to a young Australian girl, but couldn’t understand a single word she said.  Is it possible that Australians speak differently to our English teachers?

BONEGILLA, 15.12.47, Mon.  No school today either, it was my group’s turn for domestic duties. There wasn’t a great deal to do – sweating in the hot sun we cut the grass around the movie room.  I didn’t return in the afternoon either, instead I spent all afternoon by the lake swimming and diving.  When I returned, I wrote Merry an airmail letter, hoping my pleasant words make her happy.

Late in the evening, when I was already in bed, some men brought in a large tortoise, which had withdrawn into its shell.  I leaped out of bed to have a look at it.  I took it in my hands and lifted it into the air, but I took fright and let it go again when it suddenly poked all four feet out.  The rascal kept its head hidden, though.

Wanting to see its head as well, we put the turtle into a bucket of water.  Despite this it didn’t poke any limbs out, or even move. We weren’t sure whether such a turtle could live in the water after all, so after a few minutes we pulled it out again, in case the rascal drowned.  After another look, we put it back outside and then went to bed.

BONEGILLA, 16.12.47, Tues.  Ever since our first day on Australian shores, newspaper and film reporters have milled around us.  They haven’t ignored us here either, each day you can see them walking around with their equipment.

On arriving in my class this morning, I saw standing in the middle of the room lamps, microphones and cameras.  As soon as we were seated, the reporter appeared and began his job, so my face will soon be seen around Australia in the latest newspapers.

This evening a group of migrants was gathered near the shower room, for the little bear had appeared again.  At first the troublemakers started doing their trick again with bits of wood and water, but then some Latvians arrived and put a stop to this fun.

I fed the little bear some white bread, and he wasn’t frightened at all – he took it right out of my hand. What a charming creature he was, with his bushy tail, red snout and lively eyes. A few times he couldn’t reach the bread with his snout, so, without causing me the least injury, carefully took my finger in his claws, pulled it to his mouth, and took the bread from my hand, then released my finger.

After a while he’d had enough and stopped reaching for the bread, and then I went to bed.

BONEGILLA, 17.12.47, Wed.  Today was very unpleasant.   Arguments began as early as breakfast.   First, due to an oversight no butter came out for Lanky, but he wasn’t too concerned about it, the main troublemaker was another man, who is always complaining about everything.

Some leftover milk was put on the table and several of us had a cupful of it, others didn’t.  This quarrelsome man came to breakfast late, so naturally there wasn’t any milk left over.  He was so angry about this, that all morning he argued about Lanky missing out on the butter, which in fact was nothing to do with him anyway, then about the milk, then about who knows what.

It was unpleasant for everyone – as if we had drunk his milk deliberately.   Most fed up of all was his neighbour at the table, a man past middle age.  In the end the quarrelsome man said “what are you waiting for, Lanky, punch the oldie in the face!”

That was too much, and at being called “oldie” the middle-aged man’s patience was at an end.  He returned to his barracks, and on receiving more accusations from the quarrelsome man, threw a good punch at him. T hus a fight started, lasting several minutes, unpleasant for everyone.  The tension remained and even after lunch there was uneasiness and bad feeling.

Later the immigration minister arrived.  A concert and exhibition were organised in his honour, but I didn’t go to either.  It has been hot all day; then late in the afternoon the sun hid behind the clouds, and as I went to bed it began to rain.

BONEGILLA, 18.12.47, Thurs.   I received an invitation to go to the employment office, so went to register.  I advised them I was a seaman with two years in naval school.

The clerk wrote down that I would prefer to work on a ship, but that I was happy to work in any job, with my first preference being at the harbour.  He told me that seaman work is hard for an immigrant to find, but who knows, maybe I will be lucky?

BONEGILLA, 20.12.47, Sat.  It seems it will be a fruitful summer here in Australia - it’s raining again. Despite the weather, in the evening a busload of Australian girls pulled up for a dance organised in the camp.   I’d like to have gone too, but I don’t have anything suitable to wear.  The Australian girls are showing quite an interest in us.

The first wedding in Bonegilla of two passengers from the Heintzelman took place on
17 December 1947; we say"first wedding in Bonegilla" because we know that there had been at least two marriages before embarkation and another during the Perth stopover 
Source:  this cutting was found unsourced in a private scrapbook 

BONEGILLA, 21.12.47, Sun.  It seems that the Australians sense our desire to return to Europe for they organised a big dance for us, perhaps hoping that we will marry and settle down.

Tonight, a large party of the boys was driven to some dance in the town.  Who knows, perhaps I too will settle here one day and forget about returning?

BONEGILLA, 25.12.47, Thurs.  Christmas is here, the first I’ve ever spent in the southern hemisphere.  You can’t find proper fir trees here, but it seems that nature herself wishes to re-create the familiar holiday feeling for us – this morning it’s become very cold.  It would be very strange to spend Christmas sweating in the heat and looking for relief in the lake.

BONEGILLA, 26.12.47, Fri.   I’ve never yet felt as cold in Australia as I did last night, I even had to get up and pull out my third blanket.  This morning the sun shone again, and the cold and rain disappeared far behind the mountains.

At 10am there was supposed to be a basketball match with the Australians, but they didn’t arrive until eleven, and copped it heavily – the result was 51:12 in our favour. The devil only knows what these Australians are good at – we beat them outright at chess, table tennis, and basketball.

They are friendly and courteous, but have a very narrow education.  All they know is Australian and English geography and history, nothing else.  Also, the sort of clothes they wear aren’t worn in Europe after the age of ten.  Australians marvel that we can speak so many languages and know so much.

Although I must say that the music is wonderful here.  This evening the camp loudspeaker broadcast a Melbourne report of our concert from the day of the Immigration minister’s visit, and now we heard all sorts of marvels; wolves had been transformed into white sheep.  We certainly had no idea that we were so good.

In jumbled disorder rang out the Latvian, Lithuanian and Estonian songs, for the first time in the warmth of an Australian evening.  Meanwhile a team of Australian beauties arrived for our “variety evening,” but they had to stand outside for a long time and listen to the reportage.

We’d tipped over a small pot; nothing had been prepared for the variety evening.  Finally, the school director took the matter into his own hands, and worked something out – the pot was saved.  There was a dance after the performance, but I went to bed instead because I haven’t the right clothes.

Christmas is over, tomorrow we return to school again.  I’ve had enough of school, for I’m keen to start working to earn some money.

BONEGILLA, 27.12.47, Sun.  When you think about it, I should be grateful for this life, it’s just like a rest home here.  We don’t have to work, we’re fed, educated, and on top of that paid pocket money; what more could we want?

After this I’ll be working hard, and looking forward to my days off with longing.  I’ve had enough of living like this without money, but the holiday has to be enjoyed until I’m thoroughly fed up with it, perhaps I shouldn’t have yearned for it so soon.

BONEGILLA, 28.12.47, Mon.  Another boring day.  Nicis has arrived, so after dinner I enjoyed his concert.  After that I went swimming in the moonlight.  The water was pleasantly warm.**

BONEGILLA, 29.12.47, Tues.  Today it was the turn of my class for duty and we were given the job of finding firewood.  We took two loads to the kitchen, and were then told to go to Albury for the supplies.

We climbed into a truck, and soon were watching the agreeable countryside gliding past.   It looks as if Australia really will become my homeland.  I’ve longed for my own home and peace.  I’ve lost enough and suffered enough; I no longer have a home to call my own and my loved ones are now hidden behind the iron curtain, erected by those barbaric, red hands, so haven’t I earned the right to a normal life?

The best years of my youth have disappeared; in these five years I have experienced and lived through more than some others in their entire lives, but I still haven’t got a trade, all I have is a longing for a particular occupation.

It’s just as well there is a maritime trade I aspire to, I’ve no need to stumble in the dark and have less time to think these bitter, painful thoughts of my lost country and home.

After some time the first of Albury’s houses appeared.  This town isn’t anything much, just a largish village with typical Australian one-storeyed houses.  At the station we loaded several boxes, then a milk can from the dairy, then drove back again.   We returned to camp at twelve thirty, and our job was over.

After dinner the Latvian consul appeared and greeted everyone, then we watched the film “Maytime.”   It was enjoyable except that the ending was ruined by the troublemakers with their carrying-on.  Oh, how I wish to be free of this rabble!

BONEGILLA, 30.12.47, Tues   This time a really sultry day has arrived, there’s no thought of resting in bed at all.  I received a coat, trousers, shirt, short sleeved shirt, socks, handkerchiefs and yellow American boots.

The trousers were too long so I toiled all afternoon shortening the hems, until finally they were right.  They will be good for work, and sooner or later I’ll buy some dress trousers when I start earning my own money.

BONEGILLA, 31.12.47, Wed.  The day has come when the old, hopeless year lived in camps is over and a new one begins, promising a brighter future.   I have hopes that the new year will be much better, for I’m now in a free country, little touched by the stupidities of war. 

After the five years the war has whittled from my life I can return to my life again, as if the lost years are only an unpleasant nightmare, dreamed in a long sleep.

FOOTNOTES

* The "bear" may well have been a possum, since others reported them around the camp and koalas are less likely to "run".  The later description of "his bushy tail, red snout and lively eyes" is more possum-like, too.

** Kārlis Nīcis had migrated to Australia in the 1920s and soon made a career as a singer.  He also had become Secretary to the Honorary Consul for Latvia in Australia.  A son, Indulis Nīcis, was among this group of Heintzelman passengers. 



16 January 2025

Vaclavs Kozlovskis travels from Perth to Bonegilla, translated by Monika Kozlovskis with Janis Sakurovs

Updated 17 January 2025

SWANBOURNE, 29.11.47, Saturday.   I slept very well in my white sheets last night, no doubt helped by the long journey and then my walk. On waking I glanced through the open window - the blue sky and the willow tree growing right outside the window remind me strongly of Latvia, the home I haven’t seen for such a long time.

Will the day come that having wandered the world, I’ll once more see the blue skies and willows of home? Or perhaps my destiny is to remain here for all time and one day carry on my chest something similar to those grave monuments, that I saw in the town as we drove past.

I wouldn’t want that; I wouldn’t exchange any sort of monument for a simple wooden cross in a Latvian cemetery. But destiny will decide; after all I’m still young, and besides once you’re dead it doesn’t matter at all where you lie.

In the morning we had our last customs and immigration formalities. I reached the first table quickly, but that’s as far as I got because my cardboard box was apparently sent to another camp by mistake. This afternoon I went to fetch it, after which it was inspected, but I didn’t get the required stamp in my passport - the officials had already left by then.

I went to the office, where my passport was taken and I was asked to return on Monday at nine in the morning. Finally it was all over and I was free to do what I wanted. I couldn’t go for a walk because it was too close to mealtime, so I rested in bed, and when I woke I realised I’d almost missed dinner.

After eating quickly, I walked to the seaside. All around me I saw yellow sand. It’s amazing how varied the flora is, including the bush-like trees. I spotted something white on a hot sand dune, then leaped up and picked up a sixpence, the first Australian coin I can count my own.

Swanbourne Beach

I sat there for some time watching the ocean, then slowly climbed down again. Evening had come, and it was now a little too cool to be walking around in my shirt. I turned and slowly walked back.

As I dropped off to sleep my thoughts flew to Merry and Alt-Garge, then returned to Australia, the country which has welcomed us so warmly. Nowhere else are the immigrants given a free month to become familiar with the country and its people; only Australia shows such goodwill.

All the newspapers write hospitably about us, and there are banners everywhere with the words: “Australia Welcomes You”. Australians say they wish us all the best, and hope we will settle in quickly and feel happy in this free land.

Nowhere here have I seen the words “damned foreigners”, which is what Germans call non-Germans. After the merciless war years, and the Russian and German terrors, everything seems very strange.

I have found a normal life and it feels strange that I can eat without a ration card, or any recordkeeping. Who knows, perhaps I truly have reached my own “Happy Isle,” where I can rest after the storms of war, and perhaps my wanderlust will finally leave me in peace? (Note: In Latvian folklore there is a play based on a fairytale about Tom Thumb - the story of a small boy who went looking for fortune in strange lands, but came back, and the final scene is a song about “Happy Isle” - when he returns to his widowed mother, grandparents and own country, and is very happy.)

SWANBOURNE, 30.11.47, Sunday.   A glorious morning has dawned, the second in a row here in Australia. After breakfast I went for a walk and for an hour or so sat on the shore of the large ocean, watching the large waves crashing on the beach.

The weather was perfectly calm and sunny, the surface of the sea almost flat, but despite this the strange waves continued to crash against the shore, some even taller than a person, I don’t know where they came from.

I returned to the beach straight after lunch, and this time waded into the water. It was just wonderful bobbing up and down in the large waves. I spent over three hours in the sun, and as a result my face burned.

A group of Estonians enjoyed Swanbourne beach also
Source:  Collection of Reina Roosvald Peedo

When I got into bed my back hurt and I slept badly, tossing from side to side, until one leg of the bed buckled and suddenly I flew out of bed head first. Luckily the night table stopped me falling onto the floor.

SWANBOURNE, 1.12.47, Monday.   I waited for the immigration official all morning, but it wasn’t until midday that my wait was crowned with success, and I was free again. I finished and posted my letters to Reinis, Merry and Tabra, then went into town with Mikelan. We wandered around for a long time, marvelling at the flimsy single-story buildings.

Perhaps the  trip "into town" was by train, explaining why Vaclavs
bought a print of this photograph
Source:  Collection of Vaclavs Kozlovskis

FREMANTLE, 2.12.47, Tuesday.   At five thirty an Australian shook me by the shoulder, saying that it’s time to get up and get ready to leave. He, disturbing my sleep so early, is apparently accustomed to taking a long time to pack, but I was ready in ten minutes. How many belongings does a displaced person have, after all!

At nine the buses arrived and our trip through the town began, this time in the opposite direction. We got onto the ship without having to show our visas at all, simply whoever was there just climbed on.

The ship HMAS Kanimbla, intended for Australian army transport, is much smaller and older than the Heintzelman, and there is rust everywhere. It is also rather dirty, but on the other hand there is more room on the open decks, to take in the fresh air.

The Kanimbla in Fremantle Harbour, 1945
Source:  Wikipedia

We sleep in a large room which holds almost everyone, but to our surprise this room only has a very small toilet and only a few washing tables, as well as only a few showers. Perhaps there’s a larger bathroom somewhere else, but no one has discovered it yet. It’s a bit hard to find our way around these corridors.

Here, the only doors we’re barred from are the officers’ living rooms; we can wander anywhere and look at everything. There are no MPs stationed as there were on the Heintzelman.

The announcements over the loudspeakers are indecipherable, but on the other hand the music is broadcast loudly, all day long. The air is filled with pleasant melodies, with many familiar tunes amongst them.

By the entrance stands a cupboard with cowboy pistols, a little further on stands a gun rack with guns. On the top deck are two jeeps also belonging to the ship. I looked over the ship, then started thinking about lunch.

I stood on two different queues, pleased they were moving forward so quickly, but both times ended up back at the dormitory, without even having seen the dining room.

The third time I ended up on the right queue and made it down below, but by then the plates had run out and I had to wait another hour or so, until someone brought some out and threw them down on the floor with a loud crash.

After a few more hours of waiting and cursing I finally got to the meal and the dishes. Plate, knife, fork, spoon and cup have to be kept, therefore at supper everything went much faster.

The ship’s sailors have their meals in the same dining room, from which I gather that the American sailors, who eat what they want, are fed much better than the English.

Straight after dinner I hurried out on deck - the ship had started moving, and on the shore was gathered a large group of pretty Australian girls. Many had even brought flowers, so I was sorry there wasn’t time to get to know one of them. Soon little Fremantle harbour with its girls waving farewells was behind us.

The final whistles sounded, and once more we were on the open sea. We were given two blankets, a pillow with pillowcase, and towels, all brand new. The two blankets are necessary, too, for the extensive ventilation system is sometimes so cold we've had to block it with life jackets and paper.

Shortly before bed I lightened my luggage again and threw out through the small window a blanket as well as the dance suit I’d had sewn in Germany out of blankets, which I won’t be wearing any more.

INDIAN OCEAN [GREAT AUSTRALIAN BIGHT], 3.12.47, Wed.   During the night I almost had to hold onto the bars to prevent myself falling out of bed. The ocean waves tossed the old crate sideways somehow, and like it or not I had to sleep on my back or stomach, otherwise I lost my balance. On the left was the Australian shore, and in the afternoon that too disappeared.

After the movie we had a ship’s drill, these things happen here too, although less organised than on the Heintzelman. The wind rose, the waves grew, and water washed inside the open windows so the fellows hurried to screw them closed. Dinner was served by waiters who had now become jugglers, so as not to fall against a wall and spill the food.

After dinner I climbed up to the top deck, where the picture was different again. Several times, when the deck tipped down to a forty-five-degree angle, it seemed that I’d climbed onto a roof, then when we fell into a deep valley, the deck was more like a steep mountain. The women were sick, and we got to see them for once without powder or paint. The strong wind was cold so I went to the dormitory and watched the waves through the windows.

INDIAN OCEAN [GREAT AUSTRALIAN BIGHT], 4.12.47, Thurs.   For the second day the Kanimbla tossed us on the ocean waves. Men staggered everywhere, as if they’d been drinking for two days.

It‘s difficult to walk in these conditions, sometimes you walk leaning against one wall of the corridor, then suddenly the ship tips the other way, you bend down and then stagger against the opposite wall. There’s no thought of sleeping on your side at night, or you tip over, so you have to content yourself with sleeping on your stomach. There’s a constant rattle of dishes on the shelves, and falling cups smash on the floor; you have to watch out they don’t drop on your head.

At two I went to see the movie again. There wasn’t much to see - one film had five corpses in it, the other had fighting and shooting, but at least it was a diversion.

INDIAN OCEAN [GREAT AUSTRALIAN BIGHT], 5.12.47, Fri.   Damn it, I wouldn’t want to become an Australian citizen, for we’ve just discovered that with it comes an obligation of military service, and at the same time so-called plentiful provisions, such as we’re eating now.

Are Australian soldiers chickens then, that for dinner they are satisfied with half a fish, a few potatoes and a slice of bread? Today all the displaced persons on board are cursing, because it looks as though we’ve been tricked.

The sea remains just as it was earlier, nearly tipping the ship over, but I’ve become used to walking both sides of the corridor at once.

INDIAN OCEAN [GREAT AUSTRALIAN BIGHT], 6.12.47, Sat.   It’s only 300 miles to Melbourne. I’m getting tired of this old iron box with its flat bottom and rope enclosures after meals.

Late this evening we had a farewell dance. I went along just to listen to the music, but my legs have become so accustomed to dancing in Germany that they wanted to dance.

But I disappeared to the dormitory as soon as I could. We will have to get up early tomorrow, so there is time to have breakfast and obtain a green card, with which I can be one of the first to leave the ship.

MELBOURNE, 7.12.47, Sun.   As agreed, Peteris woke me quite early. I leaped out of bed straight away and stood on the breakfast queue, so as not to miss the green cards. Although I was one of the first at breakfast, there was no sign of the green cards, I’d been fooled.

After breakfast I climbed up on deck and saw that Lanky was playing poker. The shores could be seen from both sides of the ship. They looked dark and uninviting, but it’s probably only because I was looking at them from the lightness of the sea.

Then it was lunchtime. After lunch a long queue formed, apparently waiting for green cards again. After being fooled this morning, I simply went to have a shower, and only stood on the queue when it was much shorter. This time like a miracle I received the square piece of green cardboard I waited so long for this morning.

I ate quickly, then hurried on deck, for the ship was just tying up in the harbour. Many local people were gathered on the shore, amongst them reporters, busily occupied with filming.

At 3:00 the immigration minister welcomed us and listened to songs sung by the three Baltic nationalities, the press photographers working all the while. The minister left, but we remained waiting for tomorrow, when our disembarkation and journey to the rest camp will begin.

Arthur Calwell, Minister for Immigration, welcomes the new arrivals on the Kanimbla
on 7 December 1947; front row includes Helgi Nirk (with white-framed sunglasses, centre)
and Valeria Mets (two to the right of Helgi, in striped dress)
Source:  Arthur Calwell papers, National Library of Australia   


The Estonian Men's Choir (formed on the Heintzelman and survived for more than 60 years in Australia) entertains the Minister, conducted by Elmar Saarepere (left):  the singers from left
are Arnold Varima, Viktor Valk, maybe Walter Kongats behind the sunglasses,
Erich Talijärv, an uncertain and Sven Kiviväli
Source:  Tiiu Jalak Salasoo collection

BONEGILLA, 8.12.47, Mon.   Another early morning - breakfast started at six. We handed back our blankets, towels, pillows and after eating, our utensils as well. The train arrived and the press towards the exit began.

My group all had the green cards as well, but we calmly sat down and waited until the rush was over and we could make it to the exit comfortably without any pushing. We almost got onto the train as well, when suddenly the queue halted - the train was full.

Apparently some people had forged green cards and the real cardholders were left waiting. It wasn’t such a bad thing after all - when we climbed onto another train several hours later, quite in contrast to the first group we could make ourselves very comfortable.

You've probably seen this photograph several times before, as it's been used so often as to become iconic -- on the left is the Kanimbla berthed at East Princes' Pier, Port Melbourne, with one of the trains carrying men to Bonegilla on the right (Juris Kakis' face is the one closest to us)

On the many three-seaters sat only one person, by the window. After some ten minutes the train took us through the Australian countryside.

Here and there were harvested wheat fields, but for the most part it was only meadows with distorted, infrequent trees. I also saw large flocks of sheep, and over it all shone the hot Australian sun.

Everything is quite yellow, so it’s hard to separate the farm fields from the meadows. I quickly tired of watching the monotonous scenery with its infrequent, small houses; in my comfortable seat I became sleepy and dozed off. The train travelled very smoothly, I could hardly feel it moving at all, and on the soft seat sleeping was very good.

When I woke again, the men were climbing out of the train, which had stopped at a station for lunch. There were many small tables set up in the large station hall, at which we had to eat while standing.

Here and there someone ate an orange with its skin still on it, or a banana with a knife and fork, but overall the meal was swallowed peacefully, for everyone had their own place, and no advantage was gained by shoving.

After another hour or so the train stopped at the small Bonegilla station, where army lorries awaited to take us to the barracks. The camp is very spacious; it appears it housed a large battle unit once. Once again, the beds had white sheets on them, sleeping will be pleasant.

Dinner unfolded in typical English style - I walked away from three already empty kitchens, until finally I got into the fourth. This was due to the troublemakers again, who went to almost every kitchen in turn, so there was hardly anything left over for the last ones. All I ended up with was one slice of bread, but when I tipped the contents of the jam dish onto it, I’d had enough to eat.

Vaclavs Kozlovskis reaches Australia and stays in Perth, translated by Monika Kozlovskis with Janis Sakurovs

Updated 17 January 2025

INDIAN OCEAN, 22.11.47, Sat. Today my head felt quite heavy, it seems such lurching doesn’t do me much good. In the afternoon I received another two hundred cigarettes, no doubt the last issue on this ship — we have only five days left in which to lurch.

    

The front cover of Vaclavs's diary
Source:  Monika Kozlovskis

Late this evening I sat on A deck to watch an enjoyable Scout performance. The wireless segment was particularly entertaining. Onto the deck was carried a stretcher bearing a paper box with a megaphone on one end, and a DP hidden under it.

He lit a match and shoved it into the megaphone. There was a strong wind blowing so one after another the matches blew out, and finally he threw the whole box in, telling the diesel to light itself.

Soon cigarette smoke started blowing from the megaphone and the “wireless” began talking.

First there was news from Diepholz. The DPs had drunk all the home brew before they’d left and now there were requests for donations of cigarettes and food; the audience reacted with loud laughter.

The wireless news from Bremen was about the unusual goods train that had recently travelled from Diepholz to Bremen and strewn the way with Turkish cigarettes. It was later clarified that it had been a DP transport to Australia.

Then Stalin himself spoke: “Oh you stupid and rustic Soviet citizens, where are you running to?  After all things are very bad in Australia, you will have to work like slaves in the heat!  You will have to lug sacks of sand with the kangaroos, and the work will be divided as follows:  a kangaroo will fill the sacks with sand and you’ll have to carry them on your backs, behind the kangaroos!”

Of course, this raised a new gale of laughter, but the loudest laughter was earned by the last transmission, which began with the words: “Achtung, Achtung! Number thirty-nine report to the office immediately, I repeat — it is forbidden!”

This skit poked fun at life on this ship. On the Heintzelman there are one hundred and twenty doors through which passengers are not permitted to pass. It isn’t possible to remember them all, so an MP is stationed before each of the doors to check that the orders are carried out.

It is also forbidden to throw cigarette butts over the rails, otherwise the sea would become full of them. It’s forbidden to be on deck after ten, to take food out of the dining room, to be in our rooms between nine and eleven, and for men to be on the left side of deck C after six.

When one man, perplexed by all the prohibitions, went into the office to ask what actually is permitted on this ship, the office couldn’t answer him for they didn’t know themselves; and answered that the asking of such questions is prohibited.

Another man muddled his head over all the prohibitions so badly that he packed his suitcase and attempted to leap over the rails, but was stopped just in time; after that it was forbidden to muddle your head or to jump over the rails.

There was also a skit depicting four types of passengers - the MP, kitchen worker, painter and “summer resident” with a deckchair.*

The enjoyable show finished late in the evening. The sea is still unsettled, it’s deteriorated since yesterday, and a fierce wind is blowing. It abated for only a moment, then we renewed rolling with double strength, as we did before we reached Colombo. Tomorrow we should see some islands on our route to break the monotony.

INDIAN OCEAN, 23.11.47, Sun.   It seems that the Indian Ocean is never calm.  Today it resembles a monster again, moving its open jaws trying to upturn the ship.  No - it is more like a dear mother’s hand, continually caressing the sides of the ship as it glides along.

The weather is fine and sunny, with a cool wind blowing.  By lunchtime we had reached 11 deg 30’ south, this evening we will be halfway between Colombo and Fremantle, where we will disembark.  In the early evening, with a strong wind blowing, it became noticeably cooler — a sign that we’re now far south of the equator.  I’ve seen people walking around in long pants already.

Before bed I had a cold shower. A shower on board ship is really funny, you stand in a small cubicle and let water on yourself, while the cabin continually moves.**  

I went to bed with the sensation that the ship’s prow was again making circles in the air, just like when we were in Biscay.  I have been in my room since seven, therefore my head is a little heavy, but soon enough I will fall asleep and everything will be well again.

INDIAN OCEAN, 24.11.47, Mon.  By lunchtime we were 1262 nautical miles from Fremantle.  We won’t arrive until Friday morning, due to the strong headwind and unruly seas.

After dinner the ship’s command began tying down everything that wasn’t screwed down, apparently expecting a storm.  Gradually the wind strengthened, and the waves became mountainous.   I stood on the middle deck and watched the heaving seas again.  For a moment a deep valley would appear before us, then into it crashed a mass of water, splashing up foam, and an enormous mountain rose in place of the valley.

It became quite cool so I went below to put on long trousers and a woollen coat.  A film was to be shown on A deck at seven — I took a place there, although I doubted whether it would be shown under such conditions.  A huge wind shook the screen, fine raindrops fell from the sky, and it looked as if it was going to pour.

My doubts were well founded — the film screening was moved to the dining room.   The small room filled quickly, and the film began.  I’ve never watched a film like this before — the whole room shook, the screen swayed up and down, while the audience staggered and clung to the posts and to each other.  It was a wonder that the film’s actors themselves didn’t start vomiting.

After the film, soaked in perspiration, I went on deck.  A storm raged, and a strong wind hampered my progress.  Fine, refreshing rain drops hit my face.  Cooler now, I disappeared into my cabin, for it was time for bed.

INDIAN OCEAN, 26.11.47, Wed.   This afternoon the storm rose again, to thoroughly shake us up one last time.  This evening, for the first time since my army days, after an interval of many years, I joined a card game to play aciti.

I won three hands in rapid succession, but by the end of the game I had only three packets of cigarettes remaining from my original ten.  I’ve now had enough of this sport to last me a long time.

INDIAN OCEAN, 27.11.47, Thurs.  Our last day on the Heintzelman has arrived, with only 201 nautical miles to Fremantle.   Tonight at 10:20 we reached our destination, the west coast of our new home.

How will our lives unfold in our new land?  Such questions each asks himself, but seeks answers in vain, for only the future will tell.  The latest news is that tomorrow we will disembark for several days in Fremantle, then sail to the transition camp on another vessel.

SWANBOURNE, 28.11.47.   I leaped out of bed at five-thirty, for breakfast was at six.  On deck afterwards I saw the ship was anchored at the roadstead.

A little beyond that was a light brown, sunlit country — this is Australia, my new home. Once I’d only seen pictures of it on cards, now it’s in front of my eyes, almost a stone’s throw away.  In the middle of the coastline is a small bay with houses dotted along the shore  Fremantle harbour, our disembarkation point.

Medical officers boarded the ship and checked us for scabies, and I soon noticed the difference between the quick and decisive Americans and the slow English.***  The ship raised anchor and slid slowly into the small harbour, joining several others already tied up at the posts.

On the shore was gathered a large crowd of local people, watching the Heintzelman as she was pulled slowly to the shore and fastened.  I didn’t see any natives amongst them. The steps were lowered, down them went the captain and the medical officers, and up them came the reporters.  Our baggage had been placed at the prow, and now the cranes went into action, lifting it all out.

A ticket for the larger luggage
Source:  Collection of Reina Peedo Roosvald

Gradually our own disembarkation began, starting with numbers 1 to 41.   I rested on my familiar bed one last time until my number was announced, and then went onto C deck.  At exactly midday I took my first step on Australian soil.

Carefully spaced, the new arrivals leave the Heintzelman in Fremantle
Source:  Collection of Vaclavs Kozlovskis

We passed through a brief check, then stood waiting our turn for the autobus.  It came soon enough, swaying on its old-fashioned springs, with extremely old-fashioned wheels.  At ten past twelve our ride through the town began and I gazed at the countryside of my new home with interest.

Trees and plants I’ve never seen before slid past my eyes in a colourful line, and the houses are quite different to those I’m used to seeing in Europe.   Palms grow along the sides of the streets, the yellow colour of the sand jumbles with the varied colours of the houses, and over them all beams the warm southern sun.

After a ten-minute drive we reached Swanbourne camp.   Inside the flimsy tin barracks are pleasant rooms and soft beds with white sheets, and bathrooms with hot and cold water, all of which added to my happy frame of mind.  Straight away we were shown to our rooms, and those who had arrived before us were already eating lunch.

In the dining room were tables clad in white cloths, the food was put onto plates for us, and again we had to accustom ourselves to dealing with an array of eating utensils.  One man found this a little more difficult.   He poured a glassful from the sauce bottle on the table in front of him and took a sip, thinking it was wine, but the taste woke the man from his dream and the glass was replaced unemptied.****

After the long soldier, prisoner and exile years I’ve become an emigrant, once more a worthwhile person in the eyes of myself and others.

I took a shower, planning to rest afterwards on my bed, but when I went outside for another look around, I met the lanky one, who ruined my good intentions — and instead of resting we walked into Fremantle.*****

The shop windows are full of various goods with the prices attached, and they can be bought without a ration card.  The prices are fairly low, all I need now is money, and then I could live well.  

The flora is very prolific, even though all the trees are more like large bushes. The birds sing, although very little, the flowers don’t have much of a scent, and some plants have crosswise leaves, as I read in Germany somewhere.

I’ll have to get used to the unfamiliar left-side traffic, for several times I almost collided with people walking the other way, and when I cross the road I don’t know which way to look to avoid being run over by a car. Our drivers will find it difficult when they come to a corner, and suddenly have to drive on the left side, as does a train.

Tired, we returned to the camp just in time for dinner. Again I washed off the marks the gumboots had made on my feet, and finally crawled into bed.

FOOTNOTE

*  Ann Tündern-Smith knows from talking to a number of the passengers that all were allocated tasks on board, just as the previous US Army passengers would have been kept from boredom and mischief by helping to operate the ship.  Therefore, some of the DP passengers were allocated to MP (Military Police) roles, others helped in the "kitchen" (galleys on board), bakery or, like Vaclavs, the coolroom and, naturally, everyone tried to spend time in a deckchair when the sailing was smooth.  As for the painters, this task certainly was used to punish anyone who had broken badly the ship's rules being parodied, such as those caught mixing with the opposite sex after hours.

** A DP from a later Heintzelman voyage explained to Ann that, unlike many ships at the time, the General Squier class had been built to provide freshwater showers, not showers with seawater.

*** As reported by the Immigration official in "General Stuart Heintzelman Passengers Reach Australia: the Official Report", the Medical Officer and any assistants were checking for a lot more than scabies.

**** Elmar Saarepere's recollection of the first meal is also in "General Stuart Heintzelman Passengers Reach Australia: the Official Report".

***** The Swanbourne Army barracks, where more than half (441) of the passengers were accommodated, are in a coastal suburb of Perth some 11 kilometres north of the Fremantle shops.  Google Maps estimates that this is a two and a half hour walk, meaning that the men would have spent five hours altogether walking.  Vaclavs probably would have reported the walk in more detail if it was this long.  The nearest shops to the Swanbourne barracks are 1.6 kilometres away on Claremont Crescent, Swanbourne, so this is more likely to have been the destination.


15 January 2025

Vaclavs Kozlovskis reaches and leaves Colombo on the "Heintzelman", November 1947, translated by Monika Kozlovskis with Janis Sakurovs

COLOMBO, 18.11.47, Tues. Quite unexpectedly the day has arrived which so closely ties me to Latvia and my best memories. How prettily once, at home, the lighted candles twinkled on the pavements in their containers, how happy we were to be a free people and how gaily were the shop windows decorated! Once again these candles twinkle for me, if only in my memory, but everyone is walking around depressed and uncommunicative.

Instead of joy, the national holiday is accompanied by sorrow about our lost homes, decimated families and loved ones who have been murdered or deported to Russia. These twinkling lights will burn in my memory every 18 November, until one day the red tyranny has ended and we’ll once more walk the flagged streets of our homeland as a free and independent people. Surely the blood of all those Latvian soldiers hasn’t been shed in vain?

All morning I applied myself to my room-cleaning duties, for the third time on this ship. We were to sail into Ceylon at around three, and since lunch people began crowding on the prow, hoping to catch the first glimpse of this island, still hidden behind the horizon.

Suddenly, far in front of the prow, appeared a great number of little white waves; something was thrashing about and moving across the water. As we approached, it turned out to be a large school of dolphins, fins and backs darting through the water in all directions, leaving behind sprays of white foam. Many of them jumped through the air in a slender arch, as though wanting to look at our joyful faces and to show themselves to us in all their splendour.

Perhaps the ship became jealous of our happiness, for it quickly sailed past the large school, so our eyes again turned towards Ceylon. Already the highest mountains were discernible, although we could still barely see them. Gradually the island emerged from the horizon, until finally we could even distinguish separate houses on Colombo harbour. From the surrounding greenery rose lovely white towers, which seemed to be growing out of a forest. Apparently this forest consists of tea bushes, for Ceylon is world famous for its tea.

The ship put out the pilot-requesting signal and slowly approached the shore. The gates at the harbour entrance are very narrow, and while we waited for the pilot to appear, the Heintzelman, sailing these waters for the first time, managed to slip so far past the gates that they couldn’t be reached without turning around again.

Slowly turning, she came closer and closer to the shores, until a sailor standing at the prow shouted that it was very shallow there and the prow was almost resting on the bottom. The engines started reversing at full speed, bringing large clouds of silt to the turbulent water surface, and now we could all see just how shallow it was. 

The ship rested for a moment in the shallows, then shuddered, gradually began to move, turned around and then passed through the harbour gates. 

Several ships already stood there, most likely resting after long voyages, even a Russian steamer decorated with red flags. The Heintzelman joined them and anchored by the exit gate.

The first sign from the harbour was a small native boat appearing by the Heintzelman’s side, and the fellows began throwing down cigarettes, which the dark-skinned Ceylonese gathered up quickly. I threw some down too, but didn’t allow for the wind - the packet overshot the little boat and landed in the water, and all the native could do was spread his hands in dismay.

Then he smeared a little white substance onto a light green leaf, wrapped it into a bundle and shoved it into his mouth. No one could tell what sort of foodstuff or chewing thing it was, but we didn’t waste time wondering about it; there were too many other things to marvel at.

Native boats sailed up one after the other with collections of rubber elephants and boxes to sell. I would like to have bought some souvenir, but they wanted American dollars. Few are the DPs who possess any, so the selling was only worthwhile for the boats sailing near the crew, therefore most of them gathered there.

Not "rubber" elephants, but ebony, with ivory eyes and tusks: international trade in both
is controlled now under a Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species
of Wild Fauna and Flora (CITES)
Source:  Ann Tündern-Smith

I stood by the rail and watched an interesting exchange. Well, the natives certainly know how to bump up the price - two small elephants cost four dollars, but a single one three dollars. In the end the parties agreed on one dollar and the native got to work.

First he dexterously threw a rope with a weight tied on the end, onto the ship. At first the DPs weren’t so dexterous and missed the rope, which plunked back into the sea, and the thrower had to try again.

When the end was finally caught, the native tied a bundle of clothes to the other end and watched as it was pulled onto the ship. The dollar was placed into the bundle and lowered again. The native exchanged an elephant for the dollar and the bundle was raised again, emptied and lowered once more. This procedure was accompanied by shouts from the other natives, sometimes so loud and from all directions in such numbers, that it was ear-piercing.

The Colombo traders next to the Heintzelman
Source:  Collection of Vaclavs Kozlovskis

Suddenly, I don’t know from where, a small tanker appeared by the Heintzelman’s side, sunk to its decks in the water. Only its bridge proudly breached the sea, not even reaching as high as our ship’s lowest deck.

Ropes were thrown onto it, which its crew nimbly hitched around much thicker tying ends. Then the Caltex put its lifting crane to work and lifted a fat fuel hose onto the middle deck. Compared to the Heintzelman, the small tanker looked like an Australian rabbit next to an elephant. The tanker crew consisted mainly of natives, who eagerly gathered the thrown cigarettes.

Dinner arrived unnoticed; I left my observation post and made for the hot dining room to eat and to sweat several litres of water.

After dinner I went to my cabin. My neighbour had bought a coconut and was trying to shell it. After many thumps against the iron floor, the large nut broke into two, revealing its white kernel to our curious eyes. Although this nut did taste a little like normal nuts, overall it wasn‘t anything special.

We sat around for a little longer, then I got ready for the 18 November Remembrance ceremony. I arrived in the dining room at five past eight, and the ceremony had already begun. Smugajs spoke encouraging, hope-filled words. No doubt this is the first time the walls of the ship have heard the sound of Latvian hymns.*

After that a representative from the International Refugee Organisation spoke, followed by Lithuanian and Estonian representatives. Our Baltic neighbours haven’t forgotten us, even they celebrated our national holiday with us. Several poems were read, the male choir sang, and the solemn ceremony was over.

I strolled through the Arts and Crafts exhibition produced for the occasion. The exhibition was quite small, but arranged attractively, with the Latvian coat of arms and flag hung on the wall. I then returned to the deck.

The full coat of arms of Latvia
Source: Uploaded to Wikipedia by user Zscout370 

After finding a free space on the upper deck I resumed watching the tanker. This had already emptied its tanks and now its deck stood high above the water line.

The occasional cigarette packet or piece of soap still flew down onto the tanker. Some people who had observed the badly torn shirts of the natives, threw their own shirts down for them.

The tying ends were unhitched, rolled up, and the tanker, freed from its fuelling duty, disappeared into the darkness that had now fallen.

My watch showed ten o’clock already, and it was time to disappear. When I got back to my cabin I was offered a job in the butchery, right at the bottom of the ship near the cold store. Hoping it will be cool there, I’ve agreed to take the job, after all we are sailing towards the equator.

Then I washed, put this journal in order and, my watch showing one in the morning, went to bed.

INDIAN OCEAN, 19.11.47, Wed. After breakfast I watched the ships in the harbour. Among them was one of our “friends” with the red flag at the mast and hammer and sickle on the ship’s funnel. We joked that it had come after us, and we’ll now have to change our seats.

I watched the bartering with the natives again for a while, then went to the office for instructions about my job. I was taken down to the workplace, right in the bowels of the ship. Although it’s still warm there, it’s much cooler than it is above.

We went into the coolroom, which was so pleasantly cool I didn’t want to come out. Large piles of frozen meat and sausage stood awaiting their turn. Only a small corner of it has been eaten so far, although we’re nearing the end of our journey. The job is easy; now and then I have to pack a meat box, and take empty boxes up in the lift.

After the first such ride in the lift I stopped for another look at the boats. A native was leaping into the water after white metal coins, not allowing a single one to sink, but catching them in the water.

When I went back below, the job was over and until two I could disappear.

At a quarter to twelve the Heintzelman lifted anchor and soon Colombo was behind us.

Far out into the ocean natives were fishing in small sailboats, one even see-sawed on the waves on three narrow logs tied together. I watched Ceylon slide by, then went to lunch although I wasn’t hungry as I’d already eaten at work.

In the evening I watched a coloured American film, of which little could be understood. It was more interesting watching the ship lifting on the waves, and the movie screen rocking in the wind.

The ship was lurching, but it seems that this time it’s not going to make me sick, apparently I’ve become used to this unstable ground.

INDIAN OCEAN, 20.11.47, Thurs. By lunch we were on the second parallel of latitude, and at 23.04 crossed the equator - which I read on the notice laid out in the glass case.

There is nothing unpleasant about being near the equator after all: instead of being too hot, it’s cloudy with occasional drizzle. Large, long waves are dashing against the hard steel sides of the ship, and it’s only small drops that splash as far as the deck to hit the watchers’ faces.

The flying fish have changed their shining silvery colour for dark, almost black; now they resemble swallows which fly right along the ground with the coming of rain.

The wind is blowing, dispersing the heat, and with every passing hour larger waves are rising from the uneasy waters.

INDIAN OCEAN, 21.11.47, Fri. It’s been three days since Colombo sank into the past, and that we’ve rolled on these long, high waves. A few people have been seasick, but such sport occupied relatively few, the others are used to it by now.

I feel a little funny now and again, but then I go on deck and watch nature’s seesaw. My head aches, but I’m still a long way off queasiness.

FOOTNOTE

Edvards Smugajs was an older Latvian on the voyage, at the age of 39.  He was a qualified teacher, which would have made talking to an audience easier for him than many others.  As his first job was at Iron Knob in South Australia, we hope to bring you a fuller biography soon.

Also, the Heintzelman had made two previous DP voyages, to South America, so it is possible that Latvian hymns had sounded on board already.