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).

Vaclavs Kozlovskis Goes to Kerang, June 1948, translated by Monika Kozlovskis

Updated 21 March 2026.

KERANG, 3.6.48, Thurs

At the start of this week I noticed with fear in my heart that another of my healthy teeth has begun to show an ugly hole in its sides. Instantly, I remembered my last tooth extraction by the local butcher, and also the enormous bill I later received in the mail. I’m not so rich that I can pay one and a half pounds for every pulled tooth. I don’t want false teeth in my mouth either, which in the Australian mind is no bad thing.

Here almost everyone has dentures. From the age of twelve, some of them have all their teeth pulled out and replaced with false teeth. This could be very unpleasant, if you happened to kiss a lady, and in the height of passion you swallowed some of her false teeth. I don’t want to have them either and in some passionate moment to lose them down some lady’s girdled stomach, from where I couldn’t retrieve them ... but it’s not pleasant to live without teeth, so I’ll just have to resign myself to paying a fortune for them.

After weighing up all the advantages and disadvantages of false teeth, I decided to travel to Kerang to see the dentist. This morning I was seated in the dusty driver’s cabin of the truck that carries ground rock from the crusher. Despite the winding, potholed road and the doubtful-looking bridges built over the canals last century, which sometimes fall to pieces under the weight of passing cars, after an hour we reached the point where I had to get out and travel the remaining eight miles by bicycle.

Kerang's main street, 1948

Source:  Historic Photos

I realised that this road was built with my assistance, for some time ago the crusher created the first blisters on my hands to produce many of the small stones pressed into the road, and here and there the sand brought from the quarry was mixed in with the small rocks. This seemed to have been piled here recently, so I would have had a hand in creating those piles as well. Of course, I’ve been paid for doing that, and some of that wage was spent on the bicycle I ride. 

So now, as it turns out, with the fruits of my wages I was riding along the source of my wages, watching the rabbits bolting into the roadside bushes, and occasionally blowing on my hands as they froze in the morning air. The road is good, even better because I’ve helped to build it, and in half an hour the eight miles were behind me and I arrived in the city centre.

There are three dentists in Kerang, all with Melbourne University training. My tooth began itching pleasantly and rejoicing that it would soon be cleaned and mended. But the repairer himself wasn’t that easy to find. 

On ringing the doorbell at the first dentist’s, a red-haired lady, quite young, opened the door. With an ear-to-ear smile, her dentures gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the partly open door, she kindly asked how many teeth I wanted extracted (Australians are not accustomed to only pulling one out at a time!). 

When I replied that I only have the one hole in my tooth and I want that filled, she gave me such a strange look, and with sudden sympathy in her voice and under her slightly overlong nose apologised in a whisper that the dentist didn’t work today. Then her overpainted red lips twisted into a friendly, but argument-excluding smile, and I soon found myself back outside, in the brisk autumn air.

This first setback was soon repeated. The second dentist had gone to Cohuna, and the third wasn’t in, and didn’t do fillings in any case. So the only fruits of my thirty-seven mile journey were the greens I ate for lunch in Kerang and the shilling I spent in a bar to repair my lost mood, and meanwhile the hole in my tooth has not become any smaller.

In 1948, Kerang celebrated its centenary of settlement with a Back to Kerang event:
some of those attending are photographed here

Source:  Kerang's 1948 Settlement Centenary celebrations,

prints by Elsie M Dicker held at the Kerang Museum

(Click once on the image to see a larger version in a new page)

Who knows, maybe I’ll have to have it extracted after all and exchanged for a false one, for what the crowd does, you have to follow. If you’re living with wolves, you have to howl like a wolf. I had another look at the streets and several decorous looking women, then headed back on my bicycle in time to catch the last vehicle going to Pyramid, so that instead of having to ride my bike all the way I could sit in the dusty cabin next to the truck driver. I’m not too concerned about my unrepaired tooth, by now I’m accustomed to the calm English way of dealing with problems.

PYRAMID HILL, 18.6.48, Sat

We’ve waited for the promised cabins for five long months, and started moving into them today. There’s nothing much to them — cement foundation, one layer of thin, holey bricks in the walls and a tin roof, without ceiling or inner walls. But it’s still an improvement — at least we’ve dispensed with the continual driving around in the car, and also the town is nearby, so close that we can almost touch it with our hands. After we’ve hammered paper onto the inside walls, sorted out a cupboard and table, then they will be really nice, cosy rooms: what else could we ask for?

Are these 6 of the 7 cabins in the new barracks?
It's a question because Vaclavs says that they have "holey bricks in the walls",
while these walls clearly are weatherboard,
but in his 6 July diary entry he does write about a "simple wooden shed";
if this is the barracks, note the "ablutions block" to the right

Source:  Collection of Vaclavs Kozlovskis

PYRAMID HILL, 26.6.48, Sat

To our surprise we only today realised that Midsummer had passed unnoticed, so of course we had to celebrate. And how else are bachelors to celebrate a holiday? We bought wine and quietly drank it. But the wine wasn’t calm at all, it climbed into the head, made me put on my recently bought suit and go to the dance. 

I only danced two of the comical Australian dances, the rest of the time was occupied with drinking with my friends, so that in the end I even found it difficult to climb onto my bike and return home along the suddenly smooth-seeming road.

PYRAMID HILL, 28.6.48, Mon

It was my turn to go to the city for the groceries today, so straight after work I sat on my bicycle’s back. I rode home with an unexpected thrill in my heart - I’ve received two more letters from my homeland’s girls. These two envelopes, having measured the long road from distant Latvia, now lie in my pocket rustling and creating this thrill in my heart, quite similar to the first letters.

The whole world has suddenly become so sweet, and my thoughts fly far, far away. Ausma has befriended my youngest sister Erasma; now at last my family will know what’s become of me. Ah, how I would love to be with my loved ones, for no matter how brief a moment! I quickly read both letters, and all evening I was unable to recall my thoughts from home. 

They lingered a long time in that land, now strewn with the marvels of spring, until finally, sleep came to drive off my unneeded pain and longing for the impossible. Who can tell when the strength of the Red tyranny will end and my home will be free again? I search for answers in vain, for even the shadows of the past, roaming through the night’s darkness, don’t know.

Vaclavs Kozlovskis at Pyramid Hill, February-March 1948, translated by Monika Kozlovskis

PYRAMID HILL, 1.2.48, Sun

With our drinking we’ve become good friends with the Australians — today they invited us to go for a drive.  We drove ten miles past Cohuna, then reached a large tree-lined river.  We swam, fooled around, and spent a truly wonderful day; returning home only at ten at night.

A swimming party, possibly at the Murray River or a tributary, like Gunbower Creek:  guessing that the tall man at the back is Lembit Koplus while the 4 standing on the right (none wearing swimming costumes) are possibly other Balts

Source:  Collection of Vaclavs Kozlovskis

If you think about it, there is nothing much here in Australia, even the pencils come from England.  Car tyres might be made in Australia, but the cars themselves come from America or Canada.  The countryside here is monotonous — only yellow grass, hard red earth and a bush here and there.  Most unpleasant of all is the heat and bright sun, which rarely disappears behind clouds.  Even the night air is so hot that you have to toss around in bed for a long time without sleep and soak the blankets in sweat.

Here people put a shovel in your hand, make you break rocks, and can still ask you “How do you like Australia?”  What is there here, that you can like?  The sunshine?  But despite all this, Australia is a true Happy Isle, with good and kind people.  Why does it always seem to me, that the grass is always greener on the other side?  Why is it that the drums of war in Europe have left such deep wounds in me that beginning a peaceful life is almost impossible!  When will I finally have some peace from this longing for distant places and new experiences?

PYRAMID HILL, 10.2.48, Tues

Another difficult day — all sorts of men were barging around today.  First of all the boss arrived, and after he left the head of the employment ministry visited us.   He watched us working for a short while, then asked us if we are happy with the boss and our working conditions, and if we had any complaints.  What is there to complain about?  About the job?  But you have to work wherever you are!  About the sun?  That won’t make it any cooler!  We had no complaints.  He gave us his address and left with the boss who had just returned.  In the afternoon I went to work near the compressor — another change of job.  That doesn’t matter, though it shook my hands a lot and the sound was deafening.  The boss said he would let the work be done on piecework but the big question is, whether we would accept his conditions.

PYRAMID HILL, 14.2.48, Sat

I’ve hoped for rain for a long time, and finally it’s here — this afternoon it began raining in earnest.  The day was pleasant, but unlucky for me — driving into town this morning I didn’t notice the sharp turn across the bridge and as the car turned sharply I felt myself start to fly. I could no longer hold onto Edgars’ shoulders, and didn’t dare to hold onto the rail, for both of my legs were already out of the car and I could have fallen under the wheels.*  

I tried to save the situation somehow by leaping as far as I could out of the car and in this way avoid the wheels.   I hit the road first with my shoulder, then with my head; I turned a half somersault and lay still.  My friends rushed over immediately, took off their jackets and lifted me on top of them, where I remained for about five minutes.  I lay there with stars spinning in front of my eyes, feeling terrible.  I recovered a little, then climbed back into the car and they drove me to the doctor.

I started feeling a lot better while we waited and almost felt I didn’t need to see him after all.  He didn’t do anything much, either, except ask me to lift my arms and legs, examine my head and put a plaster on the scrape.  Then we went to Naschke’s** place and I rested on the bed.  Everyone came to see me in turn, to see if I was feeling better; even the foreman came to visit me and Mary brought me some coffee and cake, but just then I couldn’t eat a thing.   After about an hour I got up, and we drove home.  I don’t feel any particular pain, it’s just that my head aches, and it feels as if every part of my body is broken.

Cafe businesses including Naschke's were on the site of what is now the Lions Park in
Pyramid Hill; the building they were in, at 9 Kelly Street, was demolished in the 1960s
and replaced by the Park in the 1970s, but the remaining buildings show
what could have been the style of Naschke's

Source:  Google Street View

PYRAMID HILL, 13.3.48, Sat

It’s Saturday again, and once more I drove into town to do some shopping.  While I was there I also went to the dentist about my aching tooth, but he was booked out, and told me to go to the hospital at eleven on Monday. I finished the shopping and returned home around one.  The Australian, Kevin, and the friend of his who became legless at our house that time, were there.  They had lunch with us and all the while egged us on to go to the dance.  Finally Vik and I gave in, and lifted our bicycles and ourselves into the vehicle.

Because it was our first time at a dance in Australia, we went into the pub first and fortified ourselves with beer for one and a half hours, until the pub closed.  Outside on the street we were discussing what to do next, when suddenly some ridiculous communist latched onto us and began spouting about exploitation and who knows what else.  We didn’t want to talk to him and turned our backs, but he forced himself into our company and shoved one of our new friends.  There was nothing to do but shove him back, and this started a brawl that lasted several minutes, the result of which was that the communist left with a large bump on his head and a split, bleeding ear.

"The pub" was the Victoria Hotel, run by members of the Kelly family from 1907 to 1951: 
after the original building burnt down in 1926, this one was erected in 1928

Source:  Melbourne Playgrounds, Pyramid Hill Historical Plaques Walk

The rest of us were all right, and we went to Naschke’s for dinner.  After that we went to Kevin’s house, where I collected my wine bottle and the others collected theirs, then we headed off to the dance hall.  We fortified ourselves again on the way, and only got to the hall just as the dancing was beginning. All the dances are quite different to what I’m used to, but I made an attempt anyway, and it turned out fairly well. The dance came to an end, and with that ended also this pleasantly spent day.  We found our bicycles and rode home. B y Wednesday I’ll have to learn these Australian dances somehow, then it will be more fun.

PYRAMID HILL, 15.3.48, Mon

Today I only worked until ten, then went into town to have my decayed tooth extracted.  In the hospital I was shown to a bed, half covered with a white blanket, with a white napkin resting on my chest, and the dentist got to work.  First of all he poured a numbing liquid on my gums and allowed it five minutes to work, then he got to work with the pliers and began marvelling at how strong my tooth is.  The pain became unbearable, even the dentist could see that, and again he tried to numb the tooth and gave me five minutes peace.

But this time he had little result and the pain was even worse.  Then he prepared some anaesthetic and jabbed a big needle in my vein, asking me to count.  Gradually everything went misty, my pain disappeared and on the count of seventeen I sank into unconsciousness.  When I woke again the tooth was out and the clock showed two-thirty, so I’d spent three whole hours in a narcotic sleep.  My head was dull, my vision foggy and my legs staggered when I come out of the hospital.  Overall it felt as if I’d drunk a large amount of alcohol.

I visited Naschke, where instantly all the women gathered around and as usual we started to joke around.  Finally he even began to teach me how to dance and so we occupied an hour or so.  My head cleared a little, and I realised that it was time to go back.   Slowly I staggered back to the quarry and saw that I’d arrived just in time to go home.  Today I only worked a few hours, but all my bones were weary.  When I got home I swallowed a few tablets and went to bed straight away.

PYRAMID HILL, 16.3.48, Tues

I slept until midday, but even so my head is dull, and my bones still weary.  The place my tooth was, is burning all the time.  I sat at the table to update my diary — finally my Bonegilla writing job is over, and I’ll have more time to do other things.  This evening, when we’d all returned from work, a familiar car pulled up outside the house and into the room came the boss.  He’s brought a rifle for me, now I’ll be able to shoot those damned sparrows.

PYRAMID HILL, 17.3.48, Wed

As soon as I got home from work I started getting ready for the dance.  Vik and I went into town an hour or so early and for something to do, explored the city streets.  We saw a lot of women, almost all in long dresses down to the ground, so I started worrying that it would be very easy to tread on these skirts if you didn’t know how to dance very well.

We went to Naschke’s and joked around with the women.  Finally we even went into another room and began learning Australian dances to piano music.  While I was doing this, the heel of my shoe came off and I began to hit it on again. A fter many tries I succeeded and we went to the hall, where dancing was already in full swing.  Of course, I couldn’t resist and I danced many times with the Australians in their long dresses so unfamiliar to me.  My mended heel held very well and didn’t break again until right at the end, around two in the morning.  That was no great problem now — I simply put it into my pocket and we left.

I didn’t fall into bed until three, but the day was well spent, and tomorrow’s early rising for work wouldn’t present any great difficulty.  I wonder why my gum, where the tooth was extracted, still aches so much after all this time?

PYRAMID HILL, 21.3.48, Sun

I don’t know what’s happening with my tooth, it’s still unbearably painful, even though it’s been a whole week since my “operation”.  Finally I took two mirrors and had a look at it. In the gap in my gum I saw something white and thought it must be pus, but when I poked it with a match, it turned out to be bone.   And why wouldn’t my tooth still ache, when the dentist has only removed half of it, and now the remaining half is grieving for the missing half?  So the dentist has left two roots behind and in the hole itself two moving fragments of bone, very painful.  I’ll have to go back to the dentist on Monday, so he can finish his “operation”.

After lunch we went swimming and on the way back rode into town.  There we saw almost no one, for it’s Sunday.  It’s a very strange custom — as soon as Sunday arrives, everywhere it’s peaceful and quiet, and the streets are empty.  We quickly tired of such boredom, sat back on our bicycles and rode home.  My tooth aches and it’s very unpleasant thinking that tomorrow I’ll have to let the dentist mess around with it again.  But what else can I do, it’s better to bear a short intense pain, than suffer all the time.

PYRAMID HILL, 22.3.48, Mon

After lunch I went straight to the dentist.  He lay me down in bed and poked around the remaining tooth root a little, but that was all, and asked me to come back after the holiday, when the root will have loosened up more.  Spitting out and swearing to myself I returned to the quarries.  The tooth root has been poked around and is very painful, but this “dentist” hasn’t given me any medicine for it.

PYRAMID HILL, 25.3.48, Thurs

Today a surprise awaited me at work, sprung on me by Reinis in the form of a blue envelope sent from Germany.  With it I found two other letters with Russian postmarks and stamps, and suddenly something inexpressible seized my whole body.  Who knows, perhaps it was happiness, which washed my body in strange excitement, and made these callused hands tremble?  Both letters were addressed to Alt-Garge, and were from Ausma.  

Like a dense black cloud I was overtaken with memories of the long-ago happy days in my homeland, which Destiny allowed me to spend with Ausma, that lovely northern girl.  Although I only met her twice, many years ago, I have pleasant memories of her.  The letters contain only a small fairytale about us both, but they gave me much joy and warmed my soul.  As soon as I came home I took my pen in hand to reply to my lass from home.  What will she say, when she discovers I’ve reached such a distant foreign world?

FOOTNOTES

* "Edgar's shoulders" belonged to fellow Latvian, Edgars Osis.

** "Bill Naschke was the owner of a cafe selling ice cream, sweets, soft drinks in the town of Pyramid Hill, and also provided some meals," wrote Ern Ferris, then Secretary of the Pyramid Hill and District Historical Society, in June 1999 to Monika.  Ern wrote that he was born in Pyramid Hill in 1923, so could remember the arrival of the Baltic quarry workers.

SOURCE

Melbourne Playgrounds, Pyramid Hill Historicaal Plaquest Walk, https://www.melbourneplaygrounds.com.au/pyramid-hill-historical-plaques-walk, accessed 23 February 2026.

Vaclavs Kozlovskis starts work at Pyramid Hill, 8-31 January 1948, translated by Monika Kozlovskis

PYRAMID HILL, 8.1.49, Thurs 

This morning we looked over the quarries, our new workplace. We were quite surprised to see only five Australians working here; apparently it’s not a desirable job.  Work is carried out in two areas - the rock quarry and the sand quarry, where we’ll be working alone.

In the rock quarry holes are bored in the rock with a compressor, then filled with explosives.  The large rocks are always exploded, but the small ones are hit with a hammer into pieces to fit into the crusher.  These pieces are tipped into trucks with some sort of digger, and driven to the crusher. 

Drilling a hole into the granite, Pyramid Hill

Source:  Collection of Vaclavs Kozlovskis

In the other place, where for the time being we three Letts* will work, sand is poured into the trucks without the help of a of digger, and by our hands alone.  This sand is ground up with the rock, then carted away to be tipped out where a road is being built, about thirty miles from here.

Afterwards we drove into town, where the boss gave us an advance to buy the necessary clothes, as well as two pounds each for various other trifles.   He also gave us two pounds of tobacco, for it’s difficult to obtain here.

After lunch we changed into our work clothes and drove off to begin our labouring job. The boss himself is pleasant, but not so pleasant is the job.

For four hours we poured sand into trucks, and for four hours we scorched mercilessly in the hot sun; this is no longer just work, it is punishment.  Soon our hands were covered in blisters of unhappiness and protest, and our muscles in pain.

Worst of all, I’d left my water at home so I had to work with a dry throat and get by without a drink, for there’s no water here.

Finally the work hours were over, and we looked for some water to wash in.  Near the quarry there is a pond full of brown water in a gravel pit.  Not worrying overmuch about the leeches and abundant tadpoles we jumped straight in.  It’s amazing how cool this chest-deep water was,  it greatly refreshed us and took out the tiredness put there by the sun.

Our first work day over, we drove home.

PYRAMID HILL, 9.1.48, Fri 

On our second day of work we began throwing sand into the trucks from the morning on, the blisters on our hands becoming more and more unbearable.  We worked hard until lunchtime and it even seemed that we weren’t overly tired, but the picture was quite different that afternoon: on throwing the first shovelful tears almost came into my eyes, from the pain in my muscles and blisters.

We could no longer work as hard or fast as we had in the morning.  The four hours crawled past slowly, we could hardly wait to leave.  I was weary as never before.  My blisters hurt, my arm and stomach muscles ached, and so did even my sunburned back. This job is really terrible; only one year, and not one minute more!

PYRAMID HILL, 11.1.48, Sun 

We went to church. It’s a long time since I’ve been in this quiet place.  Nothing is different here, everything is familiar, even the pictures are the same as in the church in Latvia. The priest’s robes are quite the same that the priest wore in my distant homeland, and it even seemed to me that the grey-haired priest himself, Father O’Connor, was one and the same, except that he spoke a different, more difficult to understand language.

For about half an hour he spoke of the eight hundred Balts who have come to this country, of our lost homeland, and of we seven, who have come to the quarries.  I listened and marvelled — are we really as good as the priest says?  He said we are pleasant and hardworking, and good Catholics.  The priest said even more, but I don’t know the language well enough to understand it all.  The mass was over, we came out of the church and drove home.

PYRAMID HILL, 13.1.48, Tues 

Another work day, and another bone-weary drive home.  I still had dinner to prepare for us all as it was my turn.  Yesterday I caught some rabbits and penned them up to fatten up for Saturday, but today I let them go again, after all they might drop dead because they haven’t touched their food yet.  Late at night, completely exhausted, I went to sleep.

PYRAMID HILL, 14.1.48, Wed 

Today things turned out a little better.  We were very productive in the morning, but to make up for it we had more of a rest in the afternoon. To begin with, half way back from lunch the truck broke down and we had to walk the rest of the way.  The truck was fixed and returned, but when a driver wanted to use it for sand pouring, it broke down again and wouldn’t budge.

So this afternoon we worked with only a small vehicle.  But despite our frequent rests, coming home I was even more tired than before. I  didn’t feel like doing anything, so I went to bed straight after dinner, even though it was only seven o’clock.

One of the trucks, with its driver, maybe 3 Letts and a ring-in,
probably a Lithuanian or Australian

Source:  Collection of Vaclavs Kozlovskis

PYRAMID HILL, 20.1.48, Tues 

This was a really terrible day.  Yesterday afternoon we moved to the rock quarry, and today we worked there all day.  There wasn’t a breath of wind and the sun scorched down, little water blisters forming on our skins from the heat.

I drank a lot of water, but it was warm, and instantly converted into sweat.  Wherever I put my hand, my body became wet straight away, and perspiration dripped in large drops from my hair.  Finally work was over, but we still had to go into town for some bread.

A fire was raging there — the whole street was full of women standing beside belongings that had been carried out of their houses, and the men, thoroughly soaked, were attempting to put the fire out.  After we’d helped to extinguish the fire we took our bread, prised the driver out of the pub, and drove home.

Although it’s night, there’s still no relief from the bone-wearying sun’s heat.  I tried to sit outside, but a hot northerly wind is blowing.  It will be a miracle if I can sleep tonight.

PYRAMID HILL, 22.1.48, Thurs 

This is the worst day I’ve endured here — I couldn’t sleep at all last night and it’s already hot this morning.  Through the day perspiration poured down even when standing completely still, and on top of that we had to work!  My arms tired quickly and my glance moved all too often to my watch. I n the morning the watch hands seemed to move a little, but in the afternoon they even seemed to be moving backwards.

Finally, though, even this hot day reached its end and we drove home completely exhausted.  I went to bed straight after dinner, but it was too hot to fall asleep even sleeping completely naked on top of the blankets.  Suddenly it began to rain and the wind changed, and it cooled down straight away.  I crawled under the blankets and fell deeply asleep.

Vaclavs added these newspaper cuttings to his page on 22 January 1948;
all except the top left are from the Argus, Melbourne, 23 January 1948 

Source:  Collection of Vaclavs Kozlovskis

PYRAMID HILL, 22.1.48, Wed (sic) 

The boss showed up, and from morning his car was parked by the crusher.  The first thing we found out about was the change in our workplace — now the digger would be sent to the sand quarry, and the diggers themselves moved to rock loading.  When the boss arrived he said various things as well.  He said that several of us work well, but others don’t.  The wage we are paid is high, therefore we need to show good progress — the government can’t carry people who don’t do anything.  We’re not in forced labour, but work for our own wage, which is comparatively high, therefore we have to work hard, he said.

This year we will have two week’s holiday around Christmas.  By early February a barracks will be completed for us right here at the quarry and we won’t have to travel so far to go to work.

Petrol is rationed and expensive — each time we are driven into the town on Saturday or Sunday it costs one whole pound.

In fact I would prefer to live at the quarry, for then the town would be close by and we could easily go there whenever we wanted to, and we would no longer have to live in the jungles, where only quite rarely some seventeenth century limousine drives past, entirely without tyres.  Also at lunchtime we wouldn’t have to get in a car every day to drive into town, so we could spend more time resting.

The boss added that on rainy days when it’s too wet to work in the quarries, we still have to show that we’re willing to work and go to the workplace.  In this case we will still be paid whether we work under shelter or sit there all day and do nothing.  That’s all the boss said, the rest returned to work, while I accompanied him to translate to the tall Estonian who works on the trucks.

The tall—and only—Estonian was Lembit Koplus, whose Bonegilla card says that he was 6 ft 3 in or 190 cm tall; note that his two "boxing" companions are standing slightly in front of him
to increase the emphasis on his height, and it looks they are still in their pyjamas

Source:  Collection of Vaclavs Kozlovskis

Now I understood where the boss’s reprimand was aimed — apparently the Estonian is the worst of all.  It seems he often sits and smokes, holding up the trucks with their loads.

Towards evening the boss left to return to Melbourne, so we’ll have some peace again for the next fourteen days.

PYRAMID HILL, 27.1.48, Tues 

Yesterday the drivers had a booze-up, and today they had hangovers so they couldn’t work all day.  The morning passed unusually quickly, and we worked in the shade almost all the time.  We rested after each truckload, until the driver finally got around to exchanging a full truck for an empty one. The afternoon was much hotter, but the work wasn’t heavy at all, for again we rested after each truckload.

I discovered how poor provincial towns such as this must be — I tried to buy sixteen pounds of sugar, but the shopkeeper’s eyes just widened when I asked him for it.  He merely said ‘too short’, and weighed out eight pounds instead.  Who knows, perhaps his shop only carries some twenty pounds of sugar at once?  In the early evening there was a small rain shower, but despite this I was perspiring when I went to bed and tried to sleep.

PYRAMID HILL, 31.1.48, Sat 

First thing in the morning we began our preparations to celebrate our first pay packets. I’d brewed some beer, bought wine and invited all six of the quarry drivers, but whether any of them would show up, remained to be seen.

Around nine thirty the car arrived to drive us into town.  We bought glasses, pickles and all the other necessities for our party, and then waited as usual for the driver to finish his beer.

After a long wait we gave up and went into the pub ourselves to drink beer and toss quoits, as the Australians do.  We discovered that the pub has no tables or even chairs. In the middle of the room is a round bar in the centre of which the publican works, and around which were gathered almost all the men of Pyramid, drinking beer.  In this way they can forget the week’s sweat, and begin work next week with an empty pocket.

Only cold beer is drunk here, other drinks are neither suitable nor valued in this heat. We managed to get the driver out of the pub and drove home, where we put the table in order and began our wait.

We waited from five to six, but no one came.  At seven we decided to start drinking, but had only polished off two bottles of wine and several of beer, when suddenly a truck drove up with two of the drivers and two friends.

Now we let fly in earnest, until one of them fell into a drunken stupor and the others carried him into the truck.

We drank a bit more, then the others prepared to leave.  Only then did they discover that the headlights weren’t working, but this was soon remedied — two of our hurricane lanterns were hung on the car, and they drove off slowly and carefully.

Then we climbed into bed as well, and peace descended over the house.

FOOTNOTE

* Lett is another word for Latvian.  Besides Vaclavs, the other two were Persijs Arndts and Edgars Osis.

CITE THIS AS:  Kozlovskis, Vaclavs, trans by Monika Kozlovskis (2026) 'Vaclavs Kozlovskis starts work at Pyramid Hill, 8-31 January 1948', https://firsttransport.blogspot.com/2026/01/vaclavs-kozlovskis-starts-work-at-Pyramid-Hill-Victoria-8-31-January-1948.html.

Vaclavs Kozlovskis sets off to work, from 3 January 1948, translated by Monika Kozlovskis with Janis Sakurovs

Updated 15 August 2025.

BONEGILLA, 3.1.48, Sat. A man from the employment department spoke to us in the big hall about our work, and answered questions. It turns out that we’ve been a little deceived - in Germany we were told that we would have to work for one year in a place nominated by the government, and suddenly this one year has doubled.

He pointed out that we signed an agreement specifying we would work in such a job for “at least one year”, and that by Australian law that means two years. If that’s so, that means that “at least one” can become even ten years; they’re simply having us on.

When this was revealed, the entire hall erupted in whistles and uproar, and the speaker hurried to clarify that after the first year we could change our workplaces with the permission of the employment ministry, but he didn’t say if we would be able to get this permission.*

Everyone was very upset and promised to stop work after one year. I intend to do so as well; I won’t let them lead me up the garden path. If I’ve signed up for one year, then I will work for only one, and that’s that!

This afternoon a notice was put up in the employment office, notifying the first work nominations, and my name was amongst them as well. It goes as follows:

1. Anglo Nestles Milk Co, Maffra, Victoria - 10,

2. CJ Row Webb & Anderson, Victoria - 10,

3. Moe Brown Coal, State Electricity Comm. Yallourn, Victoria - 50

4. Masonite Co, NSW - 25

5. State Saw Mills, Perth, West Australia - 10

6. Pyramid Hill Quarries, Victoria - 7

7. South Australian Salt Ltd, Victoria - 10

8. Cheetham Salt Works, Victoria - 10

9. Flax Production Committee, Melbourne - 20

10. Ocean Salt Pty Ltd, South Australia - 6

11. State electricity trust Kiewa, Victoria - 25

12. Dept of Woods and Forests South Australia - 33

13. Miller’s Timber and Trading coy. Ltd. Perth - 10

14. Brunning Bros Perth - 10

15. Australian News Print ltd. Tasmania - 12

16. South Australian Railways South Australia - 65

17. Engineering and Water Supply South Australia - 65

18. Electrolytic zinc Co Tasmania - 12

19. Various Employers, not yet determined, NSW - 105

Vaclavs added this newspaper clipping to his diary

Source:  The Argus, Melbourne, 5 January 1948, p 3

The remainder, who haven’t been allocated to a group, will go to pick fruit, and won’t be placed in a permanent job for four to six weeks. My name was amongst the seven going to the rock quarry.

I don’t know what sort of job awaits me there, but I have peace of mind - I’ll be free at last from the crowd; we are three Latvians, 3 Lithuanians and one Estonian. The only unpleasant aspect is the doubling of the work year, but somehow I’ll get through this unexpected complication.

BONEGILLA, 4.1.48, Sun. Strange indeed is a person’s fate - you live and reach for your aims, when suddenly a completely unexpected wave of Fate’s hands occurs, and you can no longer appreciate the beauty of nature.

Today at Albury the blonde Lithuanian Vasilauskas drowned. I shared a cabin on the Heinzelman with him, and we sometimes partied together. Could this agreeable lad ever have imagined, that he would travel to Australia only to drown?

He was chest deep in the water, and suddenly suffered a stroke and drowned. It’s a pity about the young lad, did he really have to go just at the moment that his new life was beginning, after suffering the hardships and horrors of war-torn Europe?***

BONEGILLA, 6.1.48, Tues. Now soon our pleasant holiday will be over and we will have to start working. My name was announced over the loudspeaker this morning — tomorrow I will have to travel to Pyramid Hill, my new workplace.

I went to the office straight away to fill in the required form, then received a hat, pyjamas, coupons and five shillings; early tomorrow morning we’ll begin the two-hundred-mile bus journey.

BONEGILLA, 7.1.48, Wed. I woke at six-twenty, got ready straight away, handed back my bed linen, then carried my belongings to the loudspeaker. All seven of us ate breakfast, then sat in a small car. We drove to Albury, then we handed over our baggage and sat in the bus.

Bonegilla’s representative farewelled us, signalling the end of our carefree relaxation. Now, embarking on this journey, I’m also embarking on my own life; I’ll earn my own wages, and pay for everything myself. I’ve never lived that sort of life before, will I be able to adjust?

Finally the time has come when I can be my own master and ruler of my own destiny, when I can earn my own bread, and not have to be grateful for the crumbs thrown to me by others, and I will no longer have to burden any charitable institution.

After two hundred miles we reached Cohuna town, where the boss of the quarry came to meet us. We drove a further thirty miles in his car, then we were at our new home. The boss seems a very nice person, and he’d made some preparations for us.

The modern road trip westwards from Bonegilla camp in the east
to Cohuna and Pyramid Hill town takes nearly four hours;
the 1948 bus trip must have taken a hour or two longer on poor roads

Source:  Google Maps

We stopped in front of the farmhouse hired for us, where we’re sharing two rooms. Each man has his own bed, mattress, three blankets and a chair. Apart from these two rooms we also have a bathroom with a bath, a dining room and a kitchen with various utensils as new as if they’ve only just been brought back from the shop, still with the labels on them.

The kitchen table had a pile of food on it, for which we will pay at the end of the month. Food is the only thing we have to pay for ourselves, the house and contents we can use for free. The house even has a telephone, although there’s no electricity - we have to get by with petrol lamps.

The house itself, like all the others in Australia, is very lightly built and consists of only one layer of bricks. The wind blows through the cracks in the walls and floor, but in this heat such ventilation is quite pleasant.

All around our “castle” stretches a field covered in yellow grass. The soil is hard and red; it’s a miracle anything can grow in it. The groundwater, as can be seen from the ponds to water the sheep, is full of mud and the colour of cocoa. That certainly isn’t useable, and our own drinking water is collected in quite a novel way: At the end of the house stand two iron tanks that collect the rainwater from the roof. So, as it happens, we drink roofwater, but I can’t say that it tastes bad. The only thing is that in hot weather it’s warm and unrefreshing, but after all, what water is any good when it’s warm?

The house is five miles from our workplace and six from the nearest town, Pyramid, with its population of four hundred. We’ll eat lunch there in some restaurant, and prepare our own breakfast and dinner at home. We’ll be driven to and from work, and also into the town, even on Saturdays and Sundays, whenever we wish. Our wage is three shillings and threepence for every hour we work.

Everything sounds good so far. We’ll see how it is when we start work.

FOOTNOTES

*  For corroboration of the reception of the news that the contracted work period had been doubled, see Endrius Jankus' report for 20 December 1947.  The difference in dates might be due to Endrius report being based on notes rather than a diary, like that of Vaclavs.  It's also possible that the Latvians like Vaclavs were told separately and later than the Lithuanians, although we might expect such news to travel from one national group to the next via their common German language.

Also, Endrius writes that, "A few days later, we were recalled to assemble in the Great Hall and Dr Crossley informed us of changes. Immigrants from the First Transport would have contractual obligations of 12 months, but immigrants on subsequent transports would have to serve two years."  The few days later might have been 3 January, although that actually is 14 days later.

Of the two reports, perhaps Vaclavs should be favoured as far as the date is concerned since it comes from a diary apparently kept on a daily basis.  Regardless of the date, both reports tell us how upset the men (and probably women) were.

Dr Crossley, by the way, was the German-speaking academic who had organised the English language teachers for the First Transport passengers while they waited in the Bonegilla camp for the assignments announced above.

** The numbers in the employment office notice add up to 495, while there were 727 men in the camp, 726 after the drowning of Aleksandras Vasiliauskas.  Did the difference, 231, go fruit-picking?  No.  From a count of the Bonegilla cards, it was only 185.

That leaves 46 apparently at a loose end.  What isn't mentioned above is that 41 men were known, from the Bonegilla cards, to have been continuing employment in the Bonegilla camp, as kitchen hands, drivers, labourers and the like.  As for remaining 5,  maybe the numbers sent to different employers differed, in the longer run, from the numbers on the 3 January list.  We shall have to see.

*** For a detailed report on the drowning death of Aleksandras Vasilauskas, please see https://firsttransport.blogspot.com/2021/04/aleksandras-vasiliauskas-lithuanian-drowned.html.

**** The diary appears not have been kept on 1-2 January 1948.  Too busy celebrating the start of his first full year in Australia?

Vaclavs Kozlovakis' Time in Bonegilla to 31 December 1947, translated by Monika Kozlovskis with Janis Sakurovs

Updated 23 February 2026.

BONEGILLA, 11.12.47, Thurs. 

In the morning my lungs were x-rayed, then I went into another room where my English skills were evaluated.  I was put into group 1b, and in the afternoon school began.  The teacher spoke only English the whole time, but I understood him really well.

There's a bit of journalistic fancy in the "man above welcomed an X-ray after years in a Nazi prison camp", since it was more likely to be years digging trenches for the Nazi military, for the men at least, or some time in a Allied prisoner-of-war camp before being released into a DP camp: What's more, all had been X-rayed in Germany before being selected for the Heintzelman
Source:  Courier-Mail, 15 December 1947

We were divided into two groups of sixteen and each group has its own teacher, with only little grasp of the German language.

Sourced from a private scrapbook which, in turn, did not give its source

BONEGILLA, 13.12.47, Sat.   

Yesterday it started raining, today again it rained heavily and the sun was constantly hidden behind the clouds. On Thursday I saw a small, cute bear outside the kitchen, and today it climbed up the birch tree by the microphone and gazed around at the crowd which stood there marvelling at it.

The troublemakers arrived too - they just can’t stand there peacefully and watch.  One picked up a stick and poked the little bear, another shook the tree, until it jumped down and ran off.  What people they are.*

In the afternoon we were given five shillings pocket money, so at least I can now buy some tobacco.

BONEGILLA, 14.12.47, Sun.  

Today we didn’t have to go to school, maybe that’s why it was a little boring.  All morning I played cards, and in the afternoon I swam in the nearby lake.

Kola and I dived for small white stones which we threw into the water.  The water was so warm I didn’t want to come out.  It could be a wonderful life here, if only there wasn’t such a huge swarm of flies buzzing around.

Early in the evening I went to the shop for tobacco and happened to speak to a young Australian girl, but couldn’t understand a single word she said.  Is it possible that Australians speak differently to our English teachers?

BONEGILLA, 15.12.47, Mon.  

No school today either, it was my group’s turn for domestic duties. There wasn’t a great deal to do – sweating in the hot sun we cut the grass around the movie room.  I didn’t return in the afternoon either, instead I spent all afternoon by the lake swimming and diving.  When I returned, I wrote Merry an airmail letter, hoping my pleasant words make her happy.

Late in the evening, when I was already in bed, some men brought in a large tortoise, which had withdrawn into its shell.  I leaped out of bed to have a look at it.  I took it in my hands and lifted it into the air, but I took fright and let it go again when it suddenly poked all four feet out.  The rascal kept its head hidden, though.

Wanting to see its head as well, we put the turtle into a bucket of water.  Despite this it didn’t poke any limbs out, or even move. We weren’t sure whether such a turtle could live in the water after all, so after a few minutes we pulled it out again, in case the rascal drowned.  After another look, we put it back outside and then went to bed.

The first wedding in Bonegilla of two passengers from the Heintzelman took place on
16 December 1947; we say"first wedding in Bonegilla" because we know that there had been at least two marriages before embarkation and another during the Perth stopover 

Source:  this cutting was found unsourced in a private scrapbook

BONEGILLA, 16.12.47, Tues.  

Ever since our first day on Australian shores, newspaper and film reporters have milled around us.  They haven’t ignored us here either, each day you can see them walking around with their equipment.

On arriving in my class this morning, I saw standing in the middle of the room lamps, microphones and cameras.  As soon as we were seated, the reporter appeared and began his job, so my face will soon be seen around Australia in the latest newspapers.

This evening a group of migrants was gathered near the shower room, for the little bear had appeared again.  At first the troublemakers started doing their trick again with bits of wood and water, but then some Latvians arrived and put a stop to this fun.

I fed the little bear some white bread, and he wasn’t frightened at all – he took it right out of my hand. What a charming creature he was, with his bushy tail, red snout and lively eyes. A few times he couldn’t reach the bread with his snout, so, without causing me the least injury, carefully took my finger in his claws, pulled it to his mouth, and took the bread from my hand, then released my finger.*

Might this have the type of "bear" that Vaclavs fed?
The top of ringtail possums' tails are bushy, their eyes are lively, and
their pink snouts might look red:
this one was photographed in urban Melbourne

Source:  John Gardner on Wikipedia

After a while he’d had enough and stopped reaching for the bread, and then I went to bed.

BONEGILLA, 17.12.47, Wed.  

Today was very unpleasant.   Arguments began as early as breakfast.   First, due to an oversight no butter came out for Lanky, but he wasn’t too concerned about it, the main troublemaker was another man, who is always complaining about everything.

Some leftover milk was put on the table and several of us had a cupful of it, others didn’t.  This quarrelsome man came to breakfast late, so naturally there wasn’t any milk left over.  He was so angry about this, that all morning he argued about Lanky missing out on the butter, which in fact was nothing to do with him anyway, then about the milk, then about who knows what.

It was unpleasant for everyone – as if we had drunk his milk deliberately.   Most fed up of all was his neighbour at the table, a man past middle age.  In the end the quarrelsome man said “what are you waiting for, Lanky, punch the oldie in the face!”

That was too much, and at being called “oldie” the middle-aged man’s patience was at an end.  He returned to his barracks, and on receiving more accusations from the quarrelsome man, threw a good punch at him. T hus a fight started, lasting several minutes, unpleasant for everyone.  The tension remained and even after lunch there was uneasiness and bad feeling.

Later the immigration minister arrived.  A concert and exhibition were organised in his honour, but I didn’t go to either.  It has been hot all day; then late in the afternoon the sun hid behind the clouds, and as I went to bed it began to rain.

BONEGILLA, 18.12.47, Thurs.   

I received an invitation to go to the employment office, so went to register.  I advised them I was a seaman with two years in naval school.

The clerk wrote down that I would prefer to work on a ship, but that I was happy to work in any job, with my first preference being at the harbour.  He told me that seaman work is hard for an immigrant to find, but who knows, maybe I will be lucky?

BONEGILLA, 20.12.47, Sat.  

It seems it will be a fruitful summer here in Australia - it’s raining again. Despite the weather, in the evening a busload of Australian girls pulled up for a dance organised in the camp.   I’d like to have gone too, but I don’t have anything suitable to wear.  The Australian girls are showing quite an interest in us.

BONEGILLA, 21.12.47, Sun.  

It seems that the Australians sense our desire to return to Europe for they organised a big dance for us, perhaps hoping that we will marry and settle down.

Tonight, a large party of the boys was driven to some dance in the town.  Who knows, perhaps I too will settle here one day and forget about returning?

BONEGILLA, 25.12.47, Thurs.  

Christmas is here, the first I’ve ever spent in the southern hemisphere.  You can’t find proper fir trees here, but it seems that nature herself wishes to re-create the familiar holiday feeling for us – this morning it’s become very cold.  It would be very strange to spend Christmas sweating in the heat and looking for relief in the lake.

BONEGILLA, 26.12.47, Fri.   

I’ve never yet felt as cold in Australia as I did last night, I even had to get up and pull out my third blanket.  This morning the sun shone again, and the cold and rain disappeared far behind the mountains.

At 10am there was supposed to be a basketball match with the Australians, but they didn’t arrive until eleven, and copped it heavily – the result was 51:12 in our favour. The devil only knows what these Australians are good at – we beat them outright at chess, table tennis, and basketball.

They are friendly and courteous, but have a very narrow education.  All they know is Australian and English geography and history, nothing else.  Also, the sort of clothes they wear aren’t worn in Europe after the age of ten.  Australians marvel that we can speak so many languages and know so much.

Although I must say that the music is wonderful here.  This evening the camp loudspeaker broadcast a Melbourne report of our concert from the day of the Immigration minister’s visit, and now we heard all sorts of marvels; wolves had been transformed into white sheep.  We certainly had no idea that we were so good.

In jumbled disorder rang out the Latvian, Lithuanian and Estonian songs, for the first time in the warmth of an Australian evening.  Meanwhile a team of Australian beauties arrived for our “variety evening,” but they had to stand outside for a long time and listen to the reportage.

We’d tipped over a small pot; nothing had been prepared for the variety evening.  Finally, the school director took the matter into his own hands, and worked something out – the pot was saved.  There was a dance after the performance, but I went to bed instead because I haven’t the right clothes.

Christmas is over, tomorrow we return to school again.  I’ve had enough of school, for I’m keen to start working to earn some money.

BONEGILLA, 27.12.47, Sun.  

When you think about it, I should be grateful for this life, it’s just like a rest home here.  We don’t have to work, we’re fed, educated, and on top of that paid pocket money; what more could we want?

After this I’ll be working hard, and looking forward to my days off with longing.  I’ve had enough of living like this without money, but the holiday has to be enjoyed until I’m thoroughly fed up with it, perhaps I shouldn’t have yearned for it so soon.

BONEGILLA, 28.12.47, Mon.  

Another boring day.  Nicis has arrived, so after dinner I enjoyed his concert.  After that I went swimming in the moonlight.  The water was pleasantly warm.**

BONEGILLA, 29.12.47, Tues.  

Today it was the turn of my class for duty and we were given the job of finding firewood.  We took two loads to the kitchen, and were then told to go to Albury for the supplies.

We climbed into a truck, and soon were watching the agreeable countryside gliding past.   It looks as if Australia really will become my homeland.  I’ve longed for my own home and peace.  I’ve lost enough and suffered enough; I no longer have a home to call my own and my loved ones are now hidden behind the iron curtain, erected by those barbaric, red hands, so haven’t I earned the right to a normal life?

The best years of my youth have disappeared; in these five years I have experienced and lived through more than some others in their entire lives, but I still haven’t got a trade, all I have is a longing for a particular occupation.

It’s just as well there is a maritime trade I aspire to, I’ve no need to stumble in the dark and have less time to think these bitter, painful thoughts of my lost country and home.

After some time the first of Albury’s houses appeared.  This town isn’t anything much, just a largish village with typical Australian one-storeyed houses.  At the station we loaded several boxes, then a milk can from the dairy, then drove back again.   We returned to camp at twelve thirty, and our job was over.

After dinner the Latvian consul appeared and greeted everyone, then we watched the film Maytime.***   It was enjoyable except that the ending was ruined by the troublemakers with their carrying-on.  Oh, how I wish to be free of this rabble!

BONEGILLA, 30.12.47, Tues   

This time a really sultry day has arrived, there’s no thought of resting in bed at all.  I received a coat, trousers, shirt, short sleeved shirt, socks, handkerchiefs and yellow American boots.

The trousers were too long so I toiled all afternoon shortening the hems, until finally they were right.  They will be good for work, and sooner or later I’ll buy some dress trousers when I start earning my own money.

BONEGILLA, 31.12.47, Wed.  The day has come when the old, hopeless year lived in camps is over and a new one begins, promising a brighter future.   I have hopes that the new year will be much better, for I’m now in a free country, little touched by the stupidities of war. 

After the five years the war has whittled from my life I can return to my life again, as if the lost years are only an unpleasant nightmare, dreamed in a long sleep.

FOOTNOTES

* The "bear" may well have been a possum, since others reported them around the camp and koalas are less likely to "run".  

** Kārlis Nīcis had migrated to Australia in the 1920s and soon made a career as a singer.  He also had become Secretary to the Honorary Consul for Latvia in Australia.  A son, Indulis Nīcis, was among this group of Heintzelman passengers. 

*** The Internet Movie Data Base (IMDB) entry for Maytime says that it was released in 1937, starred Jeanette McDonald and Nelson Eddy with John Barrymore, and is about an ageing opera singer looking back on her life and some men in it.