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.

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

Source:  Border Morning Mail via Trove

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'

Source: National Archives of Australia

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.