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.
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| 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
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
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.
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