Showing posts with label Kanimbla. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kanimbla. Show all posts

16 January 2025

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

Updated 17 and 19 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, CL328/9, 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.

Some of the men eating while standing up —
is the distinctive older man in the foreground one of the passengers?

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.

SOURCES

City of Nedlands (2024) Facebook, 4 December https://www.facebook.com/nedlands/posts/swanbourne-beach-is-open-again-thanks-to-the-amazing-efforts-of-our-rangers-team/983954353757909/ accessed 19 January 2025.

National Archives of Australia: Department of Immigration, Central Office; A12111, Immigration Photographic Archive 1946 - Today; 1/1947/3/6, Migrant Arrivals - Displaced Persons from Europe - HMAS Kanimbla arrives at Melbourne with the first group of displaced persons (Dec 1947) from where they will join the train bound for Bonegilla Migrant Camp. They had travelled from Europe to Fremantle on the GENERAL HEINTZELMAN and transhipped to the KANIMBLA https://recordsearch.naa.gov.au/SearchNRetrieve/Interface/ViewImage.aspx?B=7529170 accessed 19 January 2025.

Sun News-Pictorial (1947) 'They'll Like Us — and We'll Like Them', Melbourne, 9 December, p 14 https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/page/31477027 accessed 19 January 2025.

Wikipedia 'HMAS Kanimbla (C78)' https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMAS_Kanimbla_(C78) accessed 19 January 2025.

02 January 2023

Bonegilla 1947-1948: Two More Weeks, from January 14 to Australia Day by Endrius "Andrew" Jankus

This is the sixth part of the recollections of Endrius Jankus, a Lithuanian refugee who arrived in Australia on the First Transport, the General Stuart Heintzelman. Endrius became known as Andrew in Australia. He was born in Draverna in the south of Lithuania on 7 July 1929 and died in Hobart, Tasmania, on 23 July 2014. He sent the full memoir to me in 2012.

14th January 1948 
Apparently, yesterday afternoon a group of our fellows went to Albury and were greeted with the word, Fascists. Obviously from some "Red Ragger” Communist. 

Then they went to a dance and returned at 3 am, drunk and loud-mouthing everyone — until it came to fisticuffs in the bus. The driver stopped the bus and called the police. With that calm was restored and everyone returned home happy. I wasn't there and only recorded what I was told by one of the participants. 

Today three groups of workers left the camp for their assigned places. They have scattered us all over Australia. Why? We have a fair idea why that was done. 

It was a cold day and in the evening was a film shown in the Great Hall. 

15 January 1948 
Today 128 people left the camp for work. My friend Peter and 15 others, who had been found to have various health problems and sent to Heidelberg Hospital for treatment, were all assigned to their workplaces and left the Camp. 

It was my turn for duty in the mess hall. The weather returned to its warmer self. 

Apparently, one of our fellows was photographed having a punch-up in Albury and his picture was plastered over the local paper. But they didn't know that he was a trained boxer. 

In the evening we were shown a film about Canberra and Perth.

16 January 1948 
Twelve more people left the camp today. There weren’t many of us left in the hut and we spent an uneventful day trying to work out a system to keep in touch with one another. 

17 January 1948 
It was Saturday. In the morning I read my book. Then I went to collect my five shillings pocket money. With it I bought two airmail letters and had a haircut. 

We were informed that today there would not be any dances as was usual on a Saturday. The reason given was that one of the girls was supposed to have been raped last Saturday. This was never confirmed. 

The other story making the Camp rounds was that one of the newspapers was offering 100 pounds to the first local girl to marry a foreigner. How true this was, we never found out. 

18 January 1948 
A non-eventful day. 

19th January 1948 
More of our fellows left the camp this morning for their work assignments. The Camp is slowly being emptied. 

At 8.30 am all males were asked to assemble in the Big Hall. We were told to go and clean the rooms where our classes had been held. We did that, (then) most went for a swim as it was beginning to get very hot. 

In the afternoon, I was called to the Office to fill in and sign some papers. 

After the evening meal, most of us went for a swim again and return to the barracks late at night to sleep. Unfortunately, that was denied to us at first, as the mosquitoes were very active. I appeared to be the main target and for some time could not sleep. 

20 January 1948 
This morning I was called to work and once again sent to the kitchen to wash the big steel pans. The kitchen staff had improved since my last experience of work there. This time they gave me a steel putty knife and a ball of steel wool. 

I was fairly certain that those pans had never been properly cleaned right from the beginning. I suggested to the cooks that they sandblast the pans. Naturally, they probably did not know what I meant. 

I told them that I was to going to see the Commandant. I did that and explained the situation with the cooks. He finally listened to me about the problem. I promised to go and do any work as long as it wasn’t in the kitchen. 

Therefore, after lunch I was assigned to transferring blankets from one store to another. This took all the afternoon until our evening meal. But it made me happy and no doubt the Commandant too. We never saw eye to eye. 

Some 50 years later after my arrival in this country, a friend of ours who was heavily involved in archival research told me that she found my immigration file and another ASIO file on me. This aroused my curiosity. 

I got on the Internet and found my immigration file but the other file was missing. I contacted the Archives and asked to see my two files. The answer came back that there was only one file. Do they even lie in high places?* 

Since one of my best friends was leaving for a work assignment in Tasmania in the morning, we went to the canteen and each bought a portion of ice-cream. We drank some lemonade as a farewell gesture to the end of our friendship. My assignment was still in the lap of the gods. 

21 January 1948
This morning I bade my friend goodbye as he and several others were being sent to Tasmania for forestry work at Maydena. The day turned out to be one of the very hottest. After breakfast, I went swimming in the Lake. Some of our boys had found some 44-gallon steel drums and had built a raft. They christened it Kanimbla after the dirty, filthy, rusty, old bucket that took us from Fremantle to Melbourne. We used that to float about in the Lake. 

We were happily paddling this raft this morning some hundred yards from the shore, when a sudden strong wind kept driving us further out onto the Lake. Four of us kept paddling this unresponsive raft towards the shore, but the wind was just too strong and kept driving us further onto the Lake. Finally, we decided to abandon our Kanimbla by tying her to a tree poking out of the water and all swam back to the shore. 

 On our return, we were going to have our lunch when I accidentally ran into our Commandant, Major Kershaw. My diary doesn’t mention the subject of our conversation and after almost 65 years my memory has failed me. 

After lunch we returned to the Lake for a swim as the heat stifled us and the wind was as fierce as a fire. I got sunburned that day and was in agony for a number of days afterwards. 

23 January 1948 
This morning I was called to the clothing store and given two pairs of pyjamas, a hat and a pair of braces. As I was still suffering from the sunburn, I didn’t do anything but read my book. Only after tea I ventured for a swim.

On my return to the hut, we found one of our friends had returned for a visit. He was one of the fellows who were sent early to work, in the Kiewa valley. He was happy to dig trenches at the project and earning good money. 

He took me and a few others to the canteen to sample the non-alcoholic drinks. He bought us oranges to celebrate our "reunion". It was midnight before we stopped quizzing him about his work, living conditions and pay. 

24th January 1948 
Found my friend P had returned from Heidelberg Hospital. He was one of those people that were found at the Bonegilla x-rays to have damaged lungs. 

The authorities wondered how he got here without being detected in Germany. Well, it was pretty simple. We knew that he had damaged lungs and would not pass the test. In actual fact, he had been shot in the back from an aircraft and the bullet had scarred his lungs. He arrived here with somebody else’s lungs. 

We worried that all those 12-20 people were going to be deported back to the refugee camps in Germany. Instead, they were assigned to jobs like everyone else. Our praise went to Mr Calwell and Mr Chifley. P praised the Heidelberg Repatriation Hospital for terrific kindness, variety of foods and the staff’s expertise. 

25 January 1948 
Today it was my turn to work in the various jobs at the camp but I was still suffering from my sunburn. The chap from our Transport who was in charge of the work group today was a kind fellow and sent me back to the hut to rest. 

He himself ended up being assigned to work in Victoria, in the Kiewa Valley. He married a girl from Albury-Wodonga area. They had two sons who became the local soccer stars. 

26 January 1948 
Today I spent the morning organising my wardrobe and packing it up, not that I had much to pack. 

At lunchtime, our Commandant came to the mess hall and singled out our table as being dirty. He and his offsider wrote down everyone’s names in a little notebook. Our table did not appear as dirty as some of the others. Nevertheless, nothing happened. We expected to be called to his office for a pep talk about hygiene.**

To be continued.

Footnote

* The National Archives of Australia (NAA) online Record Search facility shows that the public now has asked to access 2 files on Endrius, plus 2 other items which are only one page, front and back.  One of the smaller items is his 'Bonegilla card', which I have included in previous blog entries.  The confusion over the one or two files likely arose because his selection papers are held in the NAA's Canberra repository while his citizenship application (which included security vetting by ASIO) is held in the Sydney repository.  Presumably, his enquiry was thought to apply to any Canberra holdings only.

** Note the lack of any mention of Australia Day celebrations, compared with the modern focus on this national day.

20 December 2022

Bonegilla 1947-1948: The First Five Days (December 7-11) by Endrius "Andrew" Jankus

Endrius Jankus, known as Andrew in Australia, was born on 7 July 1929 in Draverna, a village near the Lithuanian coastal town of Klaipėda in the south of the country.  He died in Hobart, Tasmania, on 23 July 2014.  He was a grandson of the 'Patriarch of Lithuania Minor', Martynas Jankus, a printer, publisher and social activist.  Endrius' memories of his first four months in Australia were written in 2012 but based on a diary he had kept in 1947-48.  You may see something of his grandfather's social activism in his views. I would not be surprised if the Commandant of the Bonegilla Migrant Reception and Training Centre, Major Alton Kershaw, had seen a brash 18-year-old who needed to be trained to obey.  Read on...


7 December 1947
We arrived in Melbourne on the dirty old tub, Kanimbla.  It was like a hell ship out of some fantasy.  Dingy quarters, grime-ingrained bunks with food to match.   It was a big letdown after the General Stuart Heintzelman.*  

At 2.30 pm, the then Minister for Immigration, Mr Calwell, arrived with his retinue on the main deck and welcomed us to Australia.  With newsreel cameras whizzing and camera flashes just about blinding everyone, the whole ceremony was over within the hour.  
Estonian Lucia Maksim thanks the Minister for Immigration, Arthur Calwell,
(centre, in light suit)
on the
Kanimbla at anchor in Port Melbourne, 7 December 1947.
Source:  Private collection**

I had volunteered to help load baggage onto the train. There were not that many pieces. While we were loading, a chap approached us and introduced himself as the First Officer of the Danish ship Java berthed on the other side of the pier. Since I could speak English, he told me what a terrible country this was. The exact conversation escapes me after 65 years. 

It would be better if I joined his crew as they were leaving for Europe in the morning. That was a great temptation as I always wanted to go to sea. He showed me a newspaper called the Tribune. This Australian Stalinist rag had a cartoon of people getting off a ship with swastikas and SS armbands. The caption was, "These people will make good Australians". 

But my first reaction to the proposal was no desire to return to Europe, since we had just arrived in Australia. Secondly, we travelled on international refugee papers and were still regarded as stateless persons. We did not belong to any country, since our country had been swallowed up by the criminal Soviet Union. ”Thanks” to the idiotic US President Roosevelt who sold us out and three-quarters of Europe to the Stalinist butchers. 

I had heard stories of stateless persons on ships travelling the seas who were not allowed to step ashore on any land due to lack of a passport or identification. That thought made me decline the offer. 

It was the days when the White Australia policy was strongly defended. We were lily white but not English, which was unacceptable to the population. Most of them had some black blood cruising through their veins but that was ignored. That was why we were discriminated against for many years to come.

Some groups, particularly in Tasmania, of the isolated, inbred, black-brushed population and the Stalinist unionists made our life a misery. We faced strikes on our arrival organised by the Communist-dominated unions and fights in the pubs. 

This antipathy is still alive today in 2012. It’s more gentle because of laws prohibiting discrimination, but it is still being practised by some idiotic clerks in government departments and in businesses and workplaces. Under our breath, we used to call them Anglo-Saxon Nazis and Australia a country built on bullshit. You never struck that many conmen, crooks and criminals in any country as you did in Australia. 

Just like going through the medical in Germany. They looked at our teeth, like the old horse traders did, to make certain that they were healthy. On arrival in Australia, we found out that most people had no teeth at all but had prostheses. 

8 December 1947 
This morning we boarded trains and our journey began towards Bonegilla. We were divided into two groups, one per train. I was in the first one with all our girls. 

This sparsely occupied land already had sunburned yellow grass as far as the eye could see. It was almost the middle of December, in the summer. The train stopped for lunch at Benalla. Some Red Cross Ladies provided us with a meal. 

After about one and a half hours, we were told to board the train again and proceeded. In the rolling northern hills of Victoria, with no signs of life, the train stopped. Had we arrived? 

The girls, some 120 of them, alighted on the dirt ramp which was level with the floor of the train. The rest of us jumped out into the belly-high grass. There was deathly silence interrupted only every now and again by the locomotives snorting. 

Someone suggested that we had arrived at our execution spot. I countered that they would not have sent us halfway round the world to execute us. The suggestion hadn’t been that far-fetched. Those sorts of isolated places were normally used for mass murder in Europe. 

Suddenly, we could hear the noise of revving motors. Khaki green trucks were slowly working towards us. Only a slight wisp of dust rising from the ground indicated the Army trucks’ position as they laboured to reach us. There was no road, just a miserable track between the high grass and a fence. The girls got preferential treatment and went first to the trucks. 

Three of the Lithuanian women, with Viltis Salyte on the left
seated on one of the Army trucks at the Bonegilla railway stop

We followed some time later and got a bumpy ride across some paddocks to the main highway. Once we reached the highway, our vision of the countryside improved. We could see Lake Hume and a large conglomeration of barracks on its foreshore. The Hall, a massive barn, stood out amongst the corrugated iron huts, our accommodation. 

Our group from the Flensburg Camp (close to the Danish border) and a few friends had stuck together throughout the journey and now were allocated accommodation on the outskirts of the camp in Block 18, Barrack 33. 
Endrius Jankus as a sea scout in Flensburg, 10 September 1947,
just 3 months before his arrival at the Bonegilla camp
Source:  Europeana

The corrugated iron huts were stinking hot like a sauna. The beds were tubular, folding iron and fencing mesh constructions made up with white sheets. Twenty-two of us took up our accommodation, threw our few belongings under the beds and bolted outside. 

It was cooler there. A group of kangaroos watched us in dumb silence from the High Hill, keeping a respectable distance. 

At 5 pm a loudspeaker blared out that it was teatime and all should proceed to the mess hall. What we ate, I didn’t record in my diary, only that it was sufficient and tasted bland. That seemed to be the norm in this country. We always maintained that the good food was spoiled because of the lack of tasty ingredients. 

9 December 1947 
We were shown a film about the Australian environment. After that we had to hand in our International Refugee Organisations documents. We were told that we had to be photographed for new documents, which never materialised.***  This left us only a red card for identification. 
This is likely to be the photograph of Endrius 
taken in the Bonegilla camp on 9 December 1947,
for use with his 'Bonegilla card'

10 December 1947 
Everyone had to have an x-ray of their lungs. The strict medicals that we went through in Germany were partially checked again. There seemed a suspicion that somehow people had escaped health scrutiny. 

It made the camp authorities and Immigration Department scratch their heads when they found almost 30 people with lung damage, mainly injuries from bullets. We knew about some of our fellows who we had helped smuggle into the country. They arrived here with someone else’s lungs. How it was done shall remain a mystery. Several had only one good eye, but they too were discovered. 

Actually out of 839 passengers this wasn’t such a great number of fraudulent immigrants. We had expected that all of them would be deported back to Germany and discussed what action we could take to prevent this or at least convey our displeasure. 

A few days later, they all were rounded up and sent to Heidelberg Repatriation Hospital. They returned to camp about a week or so later and the whole affair was “swept under the carpet”. They all stayed here. 

In the meantime we just rested, went for walks to the kangaroo vantage points, the hills, and discovered the multitudes of rabbits — black, brown and brindle. The hills seemed alive with rabbits. Someone in our group had a camera and we photographed ourselves on the walks to the hills and the Hume Weir. What happened to these photos, I am unsure. 

11 December 1947
We were called to the camp office and asked what sort of work we wanted to do. This was a strange question as in Germany we had been told that unless we signed up as labourers, we would not be accepted for the interviews. Just like the medical where they scrutinised the status of our teeth. And on arrival here we found that most Australians did not have any but chewed on their falsies. 

This was payday for us. The unemployment benefit at this time was one pound and five shillings. The camp kept the one pound for our keep and handed us the five shillings as spending money. We had to sign that we had received it. 

I spent three shillings at the shop down the road a bit on tobacco, cigarette papers and a box of matches, plus an ice cream. I had one shilling left. These days, the anti-tobacco or anti-smoking campaigns amuse me. I began to smoke at 14 years of age. I found out, like millions of others, that smoking calmed you down and suppressed your hunger pangs. 

In four years of warfare, I can well remember being hungry day after day. It was just like a rat gnawing at your empty stomach. It may be dangerous to your health, but no little Hitler should have the power to ram his ideas down other people’s throat. In my book, they are the “perverts of democracy”. Besides, I stopped smoking 30 years ago. 

To be continued.


Footnotes
* Endrius was not alone in this recollection.  Several of the women have told me too that they regarded the Kanimbla as filthy, and not just in comparison with the General Stuart Heintzelman.  The captains (Army and Navy) of the Heintzelman had figured out, probably through the experience of other troop transports of the same class built before her, that the best way to keep their soldier passengers out of mischief on the high seas was to give them work to do.  Much of it has to do with keeping the ship clean, but there were other tasks as well, such as helping in the kitchen and bakery or the ship's library.  Australia's first post-WWII refugees on the Heintzelman had been subject to the same regimen, but benefited from a clean and orderly voyage.

** There are so many copies of this image in public and private collections that I think it was taken by one of the Heintzelman passengers with their own camera.  These photographers could run something of a business, selling or bartering their prints to cover their costs, and probably make a small profit as well.

*** The new documents were quite likely to have been the 'Bonegilla cards', National Archives of Australia series A2571.  They were for the use of the administration, not the Centre residents.