Vaclavs Kozlovskis in Pyramid Hill, July 1948

 

PYRAMID HILL, 3.7.48, Sat

Now and then the Australian papers hold some sensible words as well - today’s articles for example - this cutting from Smith’s Weekly.

Note that the Communists illustrating the Smith's Weekly article of 5 June 1948
appear to have the heads of clowns

Source:  Trove

Early this evening I went to the dance with Kukusinski*. We took a bottle of wine to Fred’s, and soon enough we became very talkative and merry. Fred told us that tonight there was a farewell evening for our old foreman, Bill, in progress, and tried so hard to talk us into going that finally we agreed.

On the other side of town, in a building on the football field, a large crowd of men had gathered. All of them were full, one had just climbed onto the table extolling the praises of Bill, who was swaying in some remote corner and smiling, while everyone else was half listening, and half talking in drunken voices amongst themselves.

In one corner the barkeeper sat with a beer cask, handing out free drinks. It was there that Fred dragged us and now we had to enjoy it as well, even though we’d already drunk over our limit. In fact we came into town to go dancing, so we tried to disappear from this boozing company, but the first try failed — Fred caught us and dragged us back.

Our next try ten minutes later met with success and soon enough, breathless from our zigzag running, we were drinking lemonade at Naschke’s café, and then went to the dance. It was already late and after several dances the national anthem played and nothing much came of our much-anticipated dancing. Next time we will definitely have to try to drink less, and dance more.

PYRAMID HILL, 4.7.48, Sun

Those damned sparrows: they’ve found their way into the loft of my cabin and chirp annoyingly, disturbing my sleep. I can’t throw a boot at them for it might rip the paper ceiling, so I was up by eight. Because I happened to be up in time, I went to church at St Patrick’s — the only thing here that is the same as in Latvia.

In the afternoon, Kukusinski and I discovered a new pursuit: we played basketball with the ladies. And so, larking around, the whole afternoon passed, and it was especially pleasant, when you take into account the merry, pretty lasses.

But about the basketball itself I have to say that it’s only the name that is similar to basketball in Europe. First of all the basket is without boards, and is raised on one post. You are not allowed to dribble the ball forward, or run around the whole court, and you have to let the opponents throw the ball without interference from a certain distance. Such basketball I couldn’t have imagined even in my dreams.

But our primary aim isn’t to play, but rather to spend some pleasant time in the company of females, and this is where we find them, for in Australia this game is generally only played by women. The men give precedence to their foolish football, which is supposed to be the most advanced and highest form of football (of course, only in their own minds!).

The 7 from the First Transport, in their best outfits,
 with 2 local women (and a dog) who found them interesting

Source:  Collection of Vaclavs Kozlovskis

PYRAMID HILL, 6.7.48, Tues

The boss showed up, but we didn’t see him all day. It was only after work that he came into my cabin and widened his eyes in amazement at the changes we’ve wrought. Apparently it’s unusual here that a simple labourer organises his dwelling so pleasantly. You can see this when you compare ours with the Australians’. And why wouldn’t he marvel, when I’ve made so cosy and pleasant a room from a simple wooden shed.

Of course, he brought some changes with him. Starting from tomorrow we have a new foreman, who the whole village says is an exploitative, bad person. The boss’s task is to raise production from one hundred and thirty to two hundred or three hundred yards, but I doubt we’ll be able to manage that. We won’t let this foreman pull us around by our noses, after all we’re not slaves and can “escape” at any time back to Bonegilla.

He also said that a sand-digging vehicle will arrive soon along with five more Balts. The new crusher will also be ready soon, and then production will most likely increase, but whether we can reach three hundred yards a day, and how we will get on with the new foreman, I don’t know. Bill, the old foreman, was a very nice person, it’s a pity he has to go to another quarry.

PYRAMID HILL, 17.7.48, Sat

“Time to go for firewood!”, we resolved yesterday as we observed the empty woodpile beside the kitchen, so today we did. Around lunchtime we brought a large truckload home, and so the unpleasant threat of cold meals has been held at bay again.

We hadn’t bought any wine for today, but without fortification my legs couldn’t follow the strange movements called “Australian dance” here, so this afternoon we brought home bottles of gin and lemonade. It was nothing special, but climbed into the head well, and by the time we arrived at the hall, life looked pretty rosy.

To my mind these Australian dances are very strange - sometimes dropping onto the knees, sometimes sliding across the floor as if ice-skating, sometimes everyone goes forward at once, then back again, now and then lifting one leg, then the other, and sometimes, it seems, even both at once; how can a man make any sense of it all without a bottle?

Usually a prize-giving dance is held each evening, during which a man waves cards around energetically. The music halts frequently, at which point he sends a large number of the dancers off the floor. The last dancer on the floor wins a prize. This sort of dance, of course, happened tonight as well, and just this evening it happened that I was the last dancer on the floor.

This feeling wasn’t particularly enjoyable, especially because I was dancing with Margot and all the gossips will now start saying that we’re together, but nothing can help that now. After the dance, to a loud ovation, I went to the centre of the hall to receive my prize — a wonderful shaving kit. Soon after that the musicians started playing the national anthem, and it was time to go home.

PYRAMID HILL, 20.7.48, Tues

IIt’s amazing how swiftly the earth turns - it seems that July has only just begun, but the calendar already shows the other end of it … be that as it may, another dance day is here, even though it’s the middle of the week. After work I spruced myself up, but then listening to the fine raindrops clattering on the roof, it seemed that our plans to go to the dance would fall through. As soon as it was dark the boss appeared and helped me to fill in my income tax forms, which are to be sent to Melbourne as soon as possible.

With these forms he’s also sending a courteous letter, pointing out that I am a poor DP, and that for the last three years I haven’t had any income, so now I have hopes of my tax deductions returning to my pocket. It seems that the rain wanted to detain us just long enough for the boss’s visit, for soon after he arrived it stopped, and we renewed our resolve to go to the dance.

We arrived around ten, but there was plenty of time left until two. As usual during this type of dance, it was crowded and all the girls were wearing long dresses, but the empty gin bottle sent to the devil my remaining shyness, and I began dancing the moment we arrived.

I danced a lot this time, even the dances I haven’t been game to try up to now. Suddenly, in the middle of one dance the master of ceremonies appeared beside me, pointed to the coloured balloons above my head, then murmured something in English and slapped me on the shoulder, while the rest of the crowd started their embarrassing clapping, just like last Saturday. It’s not my fault that when the music suddenly stopped I happened to be standing right under the balloons, but I was the winner again, and this time the prize was an ashtray with the words “From Pyramid Hill” inscribed on it.

I didn’t get home until three. It’ll be a hard day at work tomorrow!

PYRAMID HILL, 31.7.48, Sat

I’ve become a student again, and spent the first two hours yesterday sitting on a child’s seat in the local primary school. This time I’m learning English, or should I say, learning how to properly pronounce English words much differently to how I’ve been taught before. The government has given us this opportunity, and it certainly is a good thing, if for nothing else than it will be useful for when I seek a place in one of the local naval schools.

This afternoon Vik* and I emptied the usual wine bottle and went dancing. I happened to dance with Jan, who invited me to play tennis tomorrow afternoon at two — exactly the same time I’ve been invited to play basketball by Velma. I like this tall lass very much, so I accepted her invitation, but after the dance while I was sitting on a chair waiting for a sudden rain shower to pass, I suddenly remembered that I’d promised to show up in two different places at exactly the same time. To make it worse both courts are right next to each other.

Where will I go, and where not? Oh well, I’m sure I’ll work things out tomorrow … but perhaps rain will come and rescue me from this awkward situation? That would really be the best solution.

* Neither Kukusinski nor Vik (Viktor, Viktors or Viktoras?) are names appearing among the 7 from the First Transport sent to Pyramid Hill.  A search for Kukusinski in the records of the National Archives of Australia did not produce any results, which a search for the Vik variations produced too many (1215 from 1947).