Bonegilla 1947-1948: Another Two Weeks, from New Year's Day (January 1-13) by Endrius "Andrew" Jankus

This is the fifth 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.  He died in Hobart, Tasmania, on 23 July 2014.  He sent the full memoir to me in 2012.

1 January 1948 

With hope and apprehension we welcomed in the New Year. It poured with rain all day. We stayed inside our hut and occupied ourselves by reading books, with some playing cards and others telling jokes. 

There were a number of drunks wandering around the camp. Those with a permanent job in the camp had money and spent it on plonk, the local wine. Someone gave me a taste. I didn’t like it at all.

2 January 1948 

I attended the English classes today. We had a photo taken by one of our people of the whole class with our teacher Mr Lightfoot from Adelaide. That photo is still in my possession. 

We were told that all of us would be leaving the Camp soon and allocated to our workplaces all over Australia. I stretched out on my bunk and read a book that I had. 

Someone we knew brought in an Australian sausage. We cut it up and all of us had a taste. It wasn’t the standard "Belgium"; it was obviously made by some butcher in Albury or Wodonga. It was quite delicious. Later on in life we had the privilege of tasting Tasmanian Belgium. We thought we were eating sawdust mixed with a bit of mince. It was edible fried up. 

The other horrible product was Kraft Cheese. It looked like a piece of soap and tasted like chewing tobacco. Toasted on a piece of bread with oodles of salt on it, it wasn’t too bad. But there was nothing else. 

3 January 1948 

I spent the day at the English classes. We had to say goodbye to our teacher, Mr Lightfoot, as he was leaving for home. He gave us top marks for our learning ability and the attention we gave him. He got to know us personally very well. He shook hands with everyone when saying goodbye and shed a tear or two. He was a very nice chap who was appreciated by all the class. 

After lunch, we collected our five shillings pocket money. We went to the shop and bought tobacco and cigarette papers. There wasn’t much money left but there was enough for an ice-cream. Naturally, we all smoked as it kept the hunger pangs at bay during the war years, and kept you calm when bombs rained down, or artillery fire harassed you or the Gestapo interviewed you. 

Today, the first list of people being allocated to jobs appeared at the Camp Office. My friend Henry and a few others were being sent to the paper manufacturing industry in Tasmania. In those days it was Boyer plant at New Norfolk. But he ended up working in the bush near Maydena. *

One of the largest groups went to South Australia to some water reticulation scheme. Some others went to the building industry. This was the beginning of the disintegration of the camp. 

4 January 1948 

It was Sunday so we went to the Lake [Hume] for a swim and stayed there all morning. We had a visitor, an emigrant from pre-war Klaipeda. Obviously he was a German national as he had been interned during the war for three years and nine months. **

He told us that in Albury during the night a board had been found painted with a swastika and the words, “We will kill all the Jews here". 

After dinner we went for a walk. We saw the Camp’s flag at half-mast and wondered what had happened. We returned via the Camp Office and were told that on this day Alex Vasiliauskas had drowned at the age of 23. The circumstances of his drowning were a bit sketchy at the time. 

Later we found out what had happened. He had a girlfriend among the girls who used to come to the dances. Apparently, he was invited by the girl’s family to lunch. Afterwards, they all went for a swim and poor Alex drowned. He was the first casualty from the First Transport. 

5 January 1948 

This morning I didn’t go to classes as all the former Scouts went into the bush to get leafy branches to make two wreathes. We made them out of gum trees and decorated them with sashes. One sash had the inscription, "From the Lithuanian Community". The other inscription read, "From the Sea Scouts of Lithuania". 

The Sea Scouts and the Rover Scouts in their respective uniforms went to the Wodonga church where the coffin with Alex’ remains was lying in state. We placed the two wreaths at the base of the coffin and stood by the coffin as an honour guard. Two Sea Scouts and two Rovers carried the coffin out from the church to the hearse. 

The Sea Scouts and Rover Scouts carry the coffin from the church

Source:  Collection of Endrius Jankus

Then all of us proceeded to the Albury Cemetery for the burial. At the graveside, the priest said his eulogy and the Camp Commandant, Major Kershaw, praised the person now deceased. Our community leader, Jonas Motiejunas, put the gold chain with a cross that Alex wore round his neck on top of the coffin. He added a holy picture found in Alex’ belongings. 

Then the coffin was lowered into the grave. There were wreaths from us, Mr Calwell, Major Kershaw and Alex’s girlfriend. It poured throughout the graveside ceremony. Hurriedly we took some photos and departed for home. 

6 January 1948 

This morning I spent my time at the English or assimilation classes. My issue jacket was somewhat short in the sleeves so I went and exchanged it for a better-fitting one. In the afternoon I did a bit of washing to be ready for my work assignment. At 8 pm I went to the pictures in the Great Hall to see a film called Holidays in Mexico. ***

7 January 1948 

I didn’t get to the classes today, but read my English book. I collected my photos from the wedding. Finally the names of the people who were to depart on the next morning for work on the Adelaide water supply were announced. Four fellows from our hut were amongst them. 

Somebody obtained a bottle of wine from somewhere and we all had a drink. One drink and my head seemed to be swimming in space. It must have been a "good grappa"! 

8 January 1948 

Today, at 7 am, all the fellows selected for work on the Adelaide water supply left the Camp. The remainder of us gathered to say goodbye. 

After seeing them off, we went for breakfast but our table was bare. There was nothing left for us as we were late and others had consumed our share of the breakfast. This problem was always there. You had to send someone fairly early to guard your table rations or you found that nothing was left. Poor organisation. 

After lunch I went for a swim and stayed there till teatime. It was just as well that we had a Lake to help us acclimatise to Australia. 

9 January 1948 

This morning 33 people left for forestry work. Another six went to for mining jobs in South Australia. 

I ordered 10 photos from Alex’ funeral and 21 photos from our trip out from Europe to Australia. I would have to pay 13 shillings them so would have to save up.**** 

My group of friends spent all the afternoon in the Lake, swimming, diving and larking around. 

10 January 1948 

I wrote a letter to a firm in Sydney to inquire about the possibility of sending food parcels to Germany. I had seen an advertisement in the local paper advertising food parcels for Britain. I handed the letter to a friend with instructions to show it to his English teacher and to correct it if necessary. The teacher praised the writing and offered few corrections. 

The No.14 Class recorded its entire lesson into an audio recorder. Then all the pupils were told to assemble in the Big Hall. We had to record a few songs on the recorders. After that we went to collect our five shillings pocket money. 

All of the Lithuanian group decided to donate two shillings each for the cost of the monument for poor Alex Vasiliauskas. The community committee was responsible for arranging and overseeing the construction of the monument. It has withstood the ravages of time and was still there in 1998. Somewhat worse for wear, with an inscription which was hard to decipher, but still there. A surprised local historical society was advised of the monument’s existence and assured us that it will look after it. 

After lunch, one of our chaps decided to drive to Wodonga to get some wine. He returned with two Army chaps, a Major and a Corporal and eight bottles of wine. Two of my good friends got paralytic and it took all my time to get them to bed. They were as drunk as skunks. 

After all that trauma I went to the dance. There I was confronted again by the recording crew. They asked a lot of questions and the answers were recorded. 

One of the Australian girls whom I got to know was there as well. We had a few dances and talked a lot, probably because my time had arrived to depart Bonegilla. She promised to write but I never received a letter. 

11 January 1948 

Somehow, I got up this morning with a great headache. I had drunk only one glass of the plonk. It must have been a poisonous substance. I went for breakfast and then went back to bed and slept till lunchtime. 

I dreamed that I was talking to my mother who had just arrived in Bonegilla. I asked where father was. She told me he couldn’t come as he had duty to perform. And that he was being sent to England. What for, I didn’t know. 

At lunchtime it started to rain. At night we played cards to pass the time. 

We didn’t know that furious warfare was being waged by the media throughout Australia against our arrival. The "Poms" were frightened that a takeover of Australia was under way. We didn’t get any newspapers and only a few of us had radios. The Immigration Minister, Mr Calwell, was under constant attack. 

12th January 1948

I skipped classes to see off the three groups of labourers who were going to their employment placements. At 10 am, my friend T. came and asked me to go to Albury with him. My excuse was that I didn`t have any money, so he offered to pay my fare. The real reason was that he needed me as an interpreter. 

We caught the bus to Albury. With my help T. bought a suitcase and a pair of shoes. After the purchases, we had lunch in a cafe and at 2 pm caught the bus back to Bonegilla. 

I posted my letter to the Sydney firm asking for the details of sending food parcels to Germany. They were sending food parcels to Mother England, but Germany was the pariah and all the convicts and Poms wished that all Germans would die of starvation. Not knowing that they were cousins of the Germans. 

All my previous years of study of the English language had finally paid dividends. I was reading a book in English and interpreting the contents to my friends. 

13th January 1948 

Four groups left the Camp this morning for their work assignments. It was raining and very cold. I stayed in the hut and read my book. 

To be continued.

Footnotes

* Henry probably is Henrikas Juodvalkis, whose obituary written by Endrius was published in this blog on 29 April 2021.  This is confirmed not only by the first name but Juodvalkis' 'Bonegilla card' showing that he was sent to Maydena.

** The visitor probably was David Pallaks.  See Jonas Mockunas' comment below for more on his life, including why he was regarded as a German during World War II.

*** Actually, Holiday in Mexico, a 1946 Technicolor musical, the first film made by 17-year-old Jane Powell and with Fidel Castro as an extra, particularly in some crowd scenes.  More information is in Wikipedia.

**** This record from Endrius confirms what I have written below the entry from Endrius about his first five days (in Port Melbourne, travelling by train and at Bonegilla), that passengers with a camera and some film could run a business selling photos to other passengers.  Thanks to Endrius, we can calculate that 13 shillings for 31 photos means that they cost about 5 pence each.

Bonegilla 1947-1948: Boxing Day to New Year's Eve (December 26-31) by Endrius "Andrew" Jankus

This is the fourth 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.  He died in Hobart, Tasmania, on 23 July 2014.  He sent the full memoir to me in 2012.

26 December 1947 

The second day of Christmas was stinking hot and the sun was burning down on us. Nevertheless, an Australian basketball team arrived to challenge the Lithuanian team. Naturally, the Lithuanian team won. In the late afternoon, the girls from Albury-Wodonga arrived. Someone introduced to us the game of Lotto. Any one who won got 10 shillings, a fortune to us. After that we danced the night away till midnight when the girls left for home. But saying goodbyes took longer, in fact maybe a whole hour. 

27 December 1947

In the morning, I attended English classes until lunch. At lunchtime, Mr Bauza, his wife and a secretary arrived for a visit. Mr Bauza was the President of the Lithuanian Community in Sydney and had migrated to Australia in 1930.* 

We Lithuanians gathered in the Great Hall to hear him welcome us to Australia and describe life in Australia. We had a thousand questions to which we wanted answers. He obliged with clear answers in our own language that everyone understood. 

That night, at 8 pm, the dance started. For some unknown reason, we had a great influx of girls. There were three buses, one truck and a heap of cars full of girls. Well, it was Saturday night when just about everyone in Australia goes out. Or it could have been that the word had spread about our fantastic dancing ability? With the new army boot issue, when you trod on the girl's toes, it made her jump off the floor. At least dancing gave us time to practise our English. 

28 December 1947

It was very hot. Everyone was walking around like a zombie. We spent the day in the Lake (Lake Hume) to get some relief from the heat. At night, at 8 pm, we had a concert. Many luminaries from the area arrived including all the girls whom we had come to know. 

29 December 1947 

I got up early as I had orderly duties in the mess hall at breakfast, lunch and dinner. At lunchtime, I and many others went swimming in the Lake. In the afternoon, it was payday. Each of us collected our five shillings pocket money. I even managed to attend the English classes as well. 

30 December 1947 

On this day our whole English class had been rostered for duty at various places in the camp. I was assigned to the kitchen to wash up the big roasting pans. That was one hell of a job, trying to clean the burnt parts of the pans with no proper implements. All I was handed was a knife and a wash-up rag. 

The kitchen was dominated by pushy Latvians who claimed to be cooks. We thought of them as a bunch of crawlers with very little cooking experience. 

Some of the Latvian kitchen staff with friends, 
probably photographed after Endrius left Bonegilla —
do you recognise any of them? **

At the beginning of my duties, I was allowed to have a meal of whatever I wanted. I chose a pudding, apples and oranges. 

Friendly relations soon deteriorated as one of the cooks kept telling me that the pans were not clean enough. I asked him to show me how it was done. He declined. 

There was a stack of pans, probably more than twenty. In the end, after one more criticism, I threw the pan at him. I told him to clean the pans himself and walked out. 

Naturally, I was reported to the Camp Commandant for shirking my duties. I was told to report to him through the loudspeaker. I ignored the request for most of the day, going for a swim in the Lake and spending some time there. 

Towards evening, the announcer changed his tactics and asked me to come to the office as there was an urgent matter to discuss. Well, I thought, maybe there is some bad news for me. 

I fronted up to the Office and Major Kershaw jumped at me. After raving on for some time, he tweaked my ear and told me that if I had been in his unit, he would have fixed me, whatever that meant. 

That night a furious storm descended on Bonegilla. The barracks rocked and creaked and most of us thought that they might overturn. I think that it was just to frighten us. 

Talking about the kitchen crew comprising mainly of Latvians, I had previous experience with the Commandant. I was asked to be part of a delegation to him with a complaint when three-quarters of the camp was suffering from diarrhoea. 

The Commandant met us outside his office and went into great detail about "a little fly in Australia" that was the cause of it. One fellow elbowed me in the side and asked me to ask the Commandant if you could get VD from this fly. 

The Major went ballistic. He harangued us for some time about how ungrateful we were for their effort to accommodate us. You would think that they had rescued us from certain death. 

We knew what the problem was. The cooking staff drank plenty of milk that was supposed to be for our breakfast and made up the shortfall by adding water to the remainder. We came away from the confrontation shaking our heads.

31 December 1947 

There were English lessons as usual during the day. At 9 pm there was another dance with the usual crew. Our girls and those from Albury-Wodonga arrived and a great time was had by all. It ended at 2 am. Since I was one of the orderlies I had to help to restore and clean the hall. I got to bed at 4 am.

To be continued.

Footnotes

* For more on Antanas Bauže and his wife, Ona, see various Early Lithuanians in Australia blog entries by Jonas Mockunas at https://earlylithuaniansinaustralia.blogspot.com/search/label/Bauze.  In particular, this blog reproduces some text from another Heintzelman passenger, Kazys Mieldazys, who recorded his memories as First Steps in Australia.  Mieldazys wrote that, 

"A large surprise came from the President of the Australian Lithuanian Society, Antanas Bauze.  He had already greeted us by letter at Fremantle.  [At Bonegilla, late December 1947]  he visited us with Mrs Bauze and Mr Kuodis.  A meeting of all the Lithuanians was called, at which Mr Bauze greeted the newcomers, provided some details about life in Australia, and invited all to become members of the Australian Lithuanian Society.  The invitation was warmly embraced and Mr Bauze left with a list of about 400 new members."  [There were 437 Lithuanians among the 839 First Transport passengers who initiated the Bonegilla migrant camp.]

** Kitchen staff photo:  Standing, 5th from left, standing, is Galina Vasins, later Karciauskas; 8th from left, is Irina Vasins, later Kakis, both cleaners.

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.