Updated 17 January 2025
INDIAN OCEAN, 22.11.47, Sat. Today my head felt quite heavy, it seems such lurching doesn’t do me much good. In the afternoon I received another two hundred cigarettes, no doubt the last issue on this ship — we have only five days left in which to lurch.
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The front cover of Vaclavs's diary
Source: Monika Kozlovskis |
Late this evening I sat on A deck to watch an enjoyable Scout performance. The wireless segment was particularly entertaining. Onto the deck was carried a stretcher bearing a paper box with a megaphone on one end, and a DP hidden under it.
He lit a match and shoved it into the megaphone. There was a strong wind blowing so one after another the matches blew out, and finally he threw the whole box in, telling the diesel to light itself.
Soon cigarette smoke started blowing from the megaphone and the “wireless” began talking.
First there was news from Diepholz. The DPs had drunk all the home brew before they’d left and now there were requests for donations of cigarettes and food; the audience reacted with loud laughter.
The wireless news from Bremen was about the unusual goods train that had recently travelled from Diepholz to Bremen and strewn the way with Turkish cigarettes. It was later clarified that it had been a DP transport to Australia.
Then Stalin himself spoke: “Oh you stupid and rustic Soviet citizens, where are you running to? After all things are very bad in Australia, you will have to work like slaves in the heat! You will have to lug sacks of sand with the kangaroos, and the work will be divided as follows: a kangaroo will fill the sacks with sand and you’ll have to carry them on your backs, behind the kangaroos!”
Of course, this raised a new gale of laughter, but the loudest laughter was earned by the last transmission, which began with the words: “Achtung, Achtung! Number thirty-nine report to the office immediately, I repeat — it is forbidden!”
This skit poked fun at life on this ship. On the Heintzelman there are one hundred and twenty doors through which passengers are not permitted to pass. It isn’t possible to remember them all, so an MP is stationed before each of the doors to check that the orders are carried out.
It is also forbidden to throw cigarette butts over the rails, otherwise the sea would become full of them. It’s forbidden to be on deck after ten, to take food out of the dining room, to be in our rooms between nine and eleven, and for men to be on the left side of deck C after six.
When one man, perplexed by all the prohibitions, went into the office to ask what actually is permitted on this ship, the office couldn’t answer him for they didn’t know themselves; and answered that the asking of such questions is prohibited.
Another man muddled his head over all the prohibitions so badly that he packed his suitcase and attempted to leap over the rails, but was stopped just in time; after that it was forbidden to muddle your head or to jump over the rails.
There was also a skit depicting four types of passengers - the MP, kitchen worker, painter and “summer resident” with a deckchair.*
The enjoyable show finished late in the evening. The sea is still unsettled, it’s deteriorated since yesterday, and a fierce wind is blowing. It abated for only a moment, then we renewed rolling with double strength, as we did before we reached Colombo. Tomorrow we should see some islands on our route to break the monotony.
INDIAN OCEAN, 23.11.47, Sun. It seems that the Indian Ocean is never calm. Today it resembles a monster again, moving its open jaws trying to upturn the ship. No - it is more like a dear mother’s hand, continually caressing the sides of the ship as it glides along.
The weather is fine and sunny, with a cool wind blowing. By lunchtime we had reached 11 deg 30’ south, this evening we will be halfway between Colombo and Fremantle, where we will disembark. In the early evening, with a strong wind blowing, it became noticeably cooler — a sign that we’re now far south of the equator. I’ve seen people walking around in long pants already.
Before bed I had a cold shower. A shower on board ship is really funny, you stand in a small cubicle and let water on yourself, while the cabin continually moves.**
I went to bed with the sensation that the ship’s prow was again making circles in the air, just like when we were in Biscay. I have been in my room since seven, therefore my head is a little heavy, but soon enough I will fall asleep and everything will be well again.
INDIAN OCEAN, 24.11.47, Mon. By lunchtime we were 1262 nautical miles from Fremantle. We won’t arrive until Friday morning, due to the strong headwind and unruly seas.
After dinner the ship’s command began tying down everything that wasn’t screwed down, apparently expecting a storm. Gradually the wind strengthened, and the waves became mountainous. I stood on the middle deck and watched the heaving seas again. For a moment a deep valley would appear before us, then into it crashed a mass of water, splashing up foam, and an enormous mountain rose in place of the valley.
It became quite cool so I went below to put on long trousers and a woollen coat. A film was to be shown on A deck at seven — I took a place there, although I doubted whether it would be shown under such conditions. A huge wind shook the screen, fine raindrops fell from the sky, and it looked as if it was going to pour.
My doubts were well founded — the film screening was moved to the dining room. The small room filled quickly, and the film began. I’ve never watched a film like this before — the whole room shook, the screen swayed up and down, while the audience staggered and clung to the posts and to each other. It was a wonder that the film’s actors themselves didn’t start vomiting.
After the film, soaked in perspiration, I went on deck. A storm raged, and a strong wind hampered my progress. Fine, refreshing rain drops hit my face. Cooler now, I disappeared into my cabin, for it was time for bed.
INDIAN OCEAN, 26.11.47, Wed. This afternoon the storm rose again, to thoroughly shake us up one last time. This evening, for the first time since my army days, after an interval of many years, I joined a card game to play aciti.
I won three hands in rapid succession, but by the end of the game I had only three packets of cigarettes remaining from my original ten. I’ve now had enough of this sport to last me a long time.
INDIAN OCEAN, 27.11.47, Thurs. Our last day on the Heintzelman has arrived, with only 201 nautical miles to Fremantle. Tonight at 10:20 we reached our destination, the west coast of our new home.
How will our lives unfold in our new land? Such questions each asks himself, but seeks answers in vain, for only the future will tell. The latest news is that tomorrow we will disembark for several days in Fremantle, then sail to the transition camp on another vessel.
SWANBOURNE, 28.11.47. I leaped out of bed at five-thirty, for breakfast was at six. On deck afterwards I saw the ship was anchored at the roadstead.
A little beyond that was a light brown, sunlit country — this is Australia, my new home. Once I’d only seen pictures of it on cards, now it’s in front of my eyes, almost a stone’s throw away. In the middle of the coastline is a small bay with houses dotted along the shore — Fremantle harbour, our disembarkation point.
Medical officers boarded the ship and checked us for scabies, and I soon noticed the difference between the quick and decisive Americans and the slow English.*** The ship raised anchor and slid slowly into the small harbour, joining several others already tied up at the posts.
On the shore was gathered a large crowd of local people, watching the Heintzelman as she was pulled slowly to the shore and fastened. I didn’t see any natives amongst them. The steps were lowered, down them went the captain and the medical officers, and up them came the reporters. Our baggage had been placed at the prow, and now the cranes went into action, lifting it all out.
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A ticket for the larger luggage
Source: Collection of Reina Peedo Roosvald |
Gradually our own disembarkation began, starting with numbers 1 to 41. I rested on my familiar bed one last time until my number was announced, and then went onto C deck. At exactly midday I took my first step on Australian soil.
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Carefully spaced, the new arrivals leave the Heintzelman in Fremantle
Source: Collection of Vaclavs Kozlovskis |
We passed through a brief check, then stood waiting our turn for the autobus. It came soon enough, swaying on its old-fashioned springs, with extremely old-fashioned wheels. At ten past twelve our ride through the town began and I gazed at the countryside of my new home with interest.
Trees and plants I’ve never seen before slid past my eyes in a colourful line, and the houses are quite different to those I’m used to seeing in Europe. Palms grow along the sides of the streets, the yellow colour of the sand jumbles with the varied colours of the houses, and over them all beams the warm southern sun.
After a ten-minute drive we reached Swanbourne camp. Inside the flimsy tin barracks are pleasant rooms and soft beds with white sheets, and bathrooms with hot and cold water, all of which added to my happy frame of mind. Straight away we were shown to our rooms, and those who had arrived before us were already eating lunch.
In the dining room were tables clad in white cloths, the food was put onto plates for us, and again we had to accustom ourselves to dealing with an array of eating utensils. One man found this a little more difficult. He poured a glassful from the sauce bottle on the table in front of him and took a sip, thinking it was wine, but the taste woke the man from his dream and the glass was replaced unemptied.****
After the long soldier, prisoner and exile years I’ve become an emigrant, once more a worthwhile person in the eyes of myself and others.
I took a shower, planning to rest afterwards on my bed, but when I went outside for another look around, I met the lanky one, who ruined my good intentions — and instead of resting we walked into Fremantle.*****
The shop windows are full of various goods with the prices attached, and they can be bought without a ration card. The prices are fairly low, all I need now is money, and then I could live well.
The flora is very prolific, even though all the trees are more like large bushes. The birds sing, although very little, the flowers don’t have much of a scent, and some plants have crosswise leaves, as I read in Germany somewhere.
I’ll have to get used to the unfamiliar left-side traffic, for several times I almost collided with people walking the other way, and when I cross the road I don’t know which way to look to avoid being run over by a car. Our drivers will find it difficult when they come to a corner, and suddenly have to drive on the left side, as does a train.
Tired, we returned to the camp just in time for dinner. Again I washed off the marks the gumboots had made on my feet, and finally crawled into bed.
FOOTNOTE
* Ann Tündern-Smith knows from talking to a number of the passengers that all were allocated tasks on board, just as the previous US Army passengers would have been kept from boredom and mischief by helping to operate the ship. Therefore, some of the DP passengers were allocated to MP (Military Police) roles, others helped in the "kitchen" (galleys on board), bakery or, like Vaclavs, the coolroom and, naturally, everyone tried to spend time in a deckchair when the sailing was smooth. As for the painters, this task certainly was used to punish anyone who had broken badly the ship's rules being parodied, such as those caught mixing with the opposite sex after hours.
** A DP from a later Heintzelman voyage explained to Ann that, unlike many ships at the time, the General Squier class had been built to provide freshwater showers, not showers with seawater.
*** As reported by the Immigration official in "General Stuart Heintzelman Passengers Reach Australia: the Official Report", the Medical Officer and any assistants were checking for a lot more than scabies.
**** Elmar Saarepere's recollection of the first meal is also in "General Stuart Heintzelman Passengers Reach Australia: the Official Report".
***** The Swanbourne Army barracks, where more than half (441) of the passengers were accommodated, are in a coastal suburb of Perth some 11 kilometres north of the Fremantle shops. Google Maps estimates that this is a two and a half hour walk, meaning that the men would have spent five hours altogether walking. Vaclavs probably would have reported the walk in more detail if it was this long. The nearest shops to the Swanbourne barracks are 1.6 kilometres away on Claremont Crescent, Swanbourne, so this is more likely to have been the destination.
