PYRAMID HILL, 1.8.48, Sun
I prayed for rain, but as usual when it’s needed it doesn’t arrive, and at ten minutes to two we left home, with me wondering how things will turn out. First of all we met Jan and Barreli going in the opposite direction. They told me to come to the tennis court straight away, and we kept walking. Velma and the other girls had already gathered and so we started playing basketball. Who knows, maybe everything will be all right, I told myself, because the first tennis court was taken and the other didn’t have a net. But unfortunately it wasn’t all right- after some ten minutes Jan and the other girl showed up and, looking in our direction, started putting the net up. I definitely had to go over there, but couldn’t think up a reason to leave. This reason came of its own accord, quite unexpectedly.
Apparently with my nervousness and poor playing I annoyed Velma a little - she went to the other end of the court, and sent the little lass in her place. If that’s how it is - I put Krysis in my place and walked over to the tennis court. I occupied many hours with the racquet and ball, and I must say that this game is better than any other I’ve played in Australia. In future I’ll have to stick with tennis. It doesn’t matter that Velma and the others are annoyed, sooner or later their anger will burn itself out, especially if it peaks next Sunday, when even Vytas is supposed to come and play tennis.
PYRAMID HILL, 8.8.48, Sun
I turned the calendar and judged by the date that the fierce southern wind, which rattles the Australian dentures every morning, is still supposed to be blowing. But not always does what’s written on paper coincide with the truth - an ever-clearer smile is beginning to appear on the sun’s face. Less and less she seeks cover behind the clouds, and more and more surely her warriors engage in combat, hurling brilliant boomerangs and incandescent spears to stab the quickly fleeing strength of winter.
We have sung many songs of praise of winter, and cursed summer too often, therefore these spears attack us too. It seems the time is near when the last of winter’s strength will be beaten, then the brilliant boomerangs and whitehot spears will turn their full force against us, leaving little white water blisters on our skin once more. The sun will smile widely as she tyrannises, while our sweat pours down and we search for relief in the waterhole’s brown water, waiting patiently until the next winter monarch invents an atom bomb and comes to deliver us again. My body weapons factory, with increasing tempo, is desperately attempting to convert my thick northern blood to thin southern blood, but this job, despite the urgency, is occurring damned slowly.
Today I rose at eight. Yesterday I had a drop too much, and as a result of the gin and beer I became completely stupid, but today like a miracle my head is quite clear. At ten thirty I said a few quiet prayers in the church, after that I had lunch with the local schoolmaster, who kindly invited me. He is a very nice person, which perhaps is the reason I feel so comfortable in his company. This afternoon I played tennis again, this time it turned out quite well. I was so carried away by the game that I returned home completely exhausted, but better acquainted with several pleasant people.
The longer I live here, the clearer it is to me that Australia really is becoming my home. Whether I want to or not, now and again I compare both countries, and each time I conclude that it’s better in Australia. What is waiting for me in my distant northern land if I return? Even in peace time it was difficult to find work, the wages were low and the living conditions weren’t much good. Could I earn a bicycle or a wireless there, in one month? And what’s wrong with living here? I don’t have to worry about finding a job, everything is cheap and abundant. Would it really be worthwhile to return now, or even later, to the wreckage, and begin my life all over again? I’m too old for that, and too tired of this constant starting up of new lives.
But despite everything, home is home; it will always pull me, and precious memories will always remain. After all, I spent my happiest childhood days there, and all my family is there. Will Destiny lead me back one day?
It seems as if the wheel of time is somehow turning awry, and all is not right with the change in weather, for on work days the sky is clear and the weather itself is fine without wind, but as soon as Saturday is here, then it’s usually raining. Today instead of rain, a fierce wind blew, considerably testing the strength of the papering inside my cabin. Although it’s difficult riding against the wind on bicycles, the three of us struggled to the tennis court, for after all, we’d promised to play. We had little hope of anyone else turning up, but miraculously a car soon drove up and out of it climbed four girls with their tennis racquets. Might as well: we started playing, but it was too difficult to control the ball in the strong wind, so after an hour we stopped our fruitless running after the balls that we hit over the fence.
On our way home we turned into the local pub for a few beers, but these “few beers” turned into a party, which continued on even after the pub’s formal closing time. By the time the pub’s doors were behind us, a huge swarm of bees had begun humming in my head. At the crossroads we met Jim’s wife, who said that next Saturday it’s her birthday, but she can’t have a party at her house, therefore she’d like to have it in our kitchen, and invited us as well.
PYRAMID HILL, 15.8.48, Sun
A huge wind is blowing again today, it’s a wonder as to when it will stop. I stayed home all day and pottered around. It’s cold and my head aches a little…
PYRAMID HILL, 21.8.48, Sat
From everything only sadness remains And pale dust and ashes, cover it all My hands are tired - I cannot light the fire My eyes are blinded - they are sore and cannot see. From everything only emptiness remains, And the ash from dying embers drifts onto the ground. What I longed for yesterday - today I don’t desire, The lips I pined for, the kiss will never come. From everything only disappointment remains. You ask yourself and wonder: was that reality? With a dim mirror you exchange glances Like Judas, hating yourself, as you tie a noose around your neck. Only emptiness, disappointment and sadness remain.
One after the other the days rush by, the weeks pass and the months are overlaid with the quilt of the past, and the powerful river of time is unstoppable. Her waters wash away all pain, joy and sorrow; all that remains is an empty person, who walks along the bank against the current, without peace. Another week has flowed past, and so I have also come closer to my own inevitable peace. The remaining months will also pass like this, and then from the Pyramid days as well, only memories, several photos in my album and words in my journal will remain….
After the usual tennis game and short rest at home, Vik and I half-emptied a liqueur bottle and went dancing in a light mood. I happened to dance with the dark-haired lass, and often my eyes met her dark twinkling ones, and her face screwed up in smiles. Can it really be that Fate plans to send her to Melbourne at the start of next month! That’s no good, then there will no longer be any girl left here who I really like. But nothing can be changed - the flow of Time’s river is unstoppable, and it never stops echoing : “From everything only emptiness, disappointment and sorrow remains…”
At tonight’s dance lottery tickets were being sold, this time for the Red Cross. I bought two; who knows, perhaps I’ll win a house, and settle into my life in earnest? The receipt I’ve taped into this book is testimony that I’ve posted two pounds as a payment on a dancing course. Although I now know almost all the local dances, it would still be worthwhile to learn them perfectly. It will be very interesting to see how I can learn by mail, without music or a partner?
PYRAMID HILL, 22.8.48, Sun
Oh, quiet church, your sombre, holy walls let me forget worldly things for a while; they enclose me in peace, why search anywhere else… and Mary, clothed in such a beautiful, holy dress! This afternoon I smiled back at the black-haired lass again as we played tennis. In the late afternoon an enormous wind blew up, driving before it a large pile of sand. The wind came from behind us, so we hastily began our ride home.
PYRAMID HILL, 24.8.48, Tues
Work is work, and play is play - tonight Vytas and I emptied the remaining liqueur and went dancing again. Of course, the liqueur wasn’t enough, and some beer and nice wine joined it from our friends’ direction, and with each glass my mood improved. As usual at a large dance, all the women were wearing long dresses, so it paid to be careful. The schoolmistress’s dress was so long that whether I wanted to or not, I couldn’t dance with her without treading on it, but should I worry about that? If she can’t wear a shorter dress, let her go home!
PYRAMID HILL, 31.8.48, Tues
It’s no good drinking on workdays like that - today I’m sleepy and my head aches. No work has been done in the quarry since the middle of last week because all the vehicles have broken down, so this morning I occupied myself with the old task of restacking the iron. This afternoon I finally returned to the peace of the quarry. The crusher isn’t working and the trucks don’t come, so we crawled into a corner while one of us went up to look out for the boss.
But the rogue obviously wasn’t being careful, for the boss swanned up completely unnoticed and immediately his “blessing” followed. Thus it turned out that we had to practically warn our sentry of the boss’s arrival.
While the boss was in the quarry we applied ourselves industriously, and continued production for an hour or so after he left, until it started raining, and we once more crawled under the shelter until work finished. Around five Father O’Connor came to visit us. He is a likeable man and knows the communists well; on Sunday he will hold a service for our loved ones and families.
This Australian wind is terrible - it comes from I know not where, blows, almost tips us off our feet and tries to wrench my cabin roof into the air. The buffeted cabin walls make the table shake so it’s difficult to write anything, the roof paper flaps, and all the cabin joints rattle.
From this page of Vaclavs' diary but from an unknown newspaper
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