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

Updated 17 and 19 January 2025

SWANBOURNE, 29.11.47, Saturday.   I slept very well in my white sheets last night, no doubt helped by the long journey and then my walk. On waking I glanced through the open window - the blue sky and the willow tree growing right outside the window remind me strongly of Latvia, the home I haven’t seen for such a long time.

Will the day come that having wandered the world, I’ll once more see the blue skies and willows of home? Or perhaps my destiny is to remain here for all time and one day carry on my chest something similar to those grave monuments, that I saw in the town as we drove past.

I wouldn’t want that; I wouldn’t exchange any sort of monument for a simple wooden cross in a Latvian cemetery. But destiny will decide; after all I’m still young, and besides once you’re dead it doesn’t matter at all where you lie.

In the morning we had our last customs and immigration formalities. I reached the first table quickly, but that’s as far as I got because my cardboard box was apparently sent to another camp by mistake. This afternoon I went to fetch it, after which it was inspected, but I didn’t get the required stamp in my passport - the officials had already left by then.

I went to the office, where my passport was taken and I was asked to return on Monday at nine in the morning. Finally it was all over and I was free to do what I wanted. I couldn’t go for a walk because it was too close to mealtime, so I rested in bed, and when I woke I realised I’d almost missed dinner.

After eating quickly, I walked to the seaside. All around me I saw yellow sand. It’s amazing how varied the flora is, including the bush-like trees. I spotted something white on a hot sand dune, then leaped up and picked up a sixpence, the first Australian coin I can count my own.

Swanbourne Beach

Source, City of Nedlands on Facebook

I sat there for some time watching the ocean, then slowly climbed down again. Evening had come, and it was now a little too cool to be walking around in my shirt. I turned and slowly walked back.

As I dropped off to sleep my thoughts flew to Merry and Alt-Garge, then returned to Australia, the country which has welcomed us so warmly. Nowhere else are the immigrants given a free month to become familiar with the country and its people; only Australia shows such goodwill.

All the newspapers write hospitably about us, and there are banners everywhere with the words: “Australia Welcomes You”. Australians say they wish us all the best, and hope we will settle in quickly and feel happy in this free land.

Nowhere here have I seen the words “damned foreigners”, which is what Germans call non-Germans. After the merciless war years, and the Russian and German terrors, everything seems very strange.

I have found a normal life and it feels strange that I can eat without a ration card, or any recordkeeping. Who knows, perhaps I truly have reached my own “Happy Isle,” where I can rest after the storms of war, and perhaps my wanderlust will finally leave me in peace? (Note: In Latvian folklore there is a play based on a fairytale about Tom Thumb - the story of a small boy who went looking for fortune in strange lands, but came back, and the final scene is a song about “Happy Isle” - when he returns to his widowed mother, grandparents and own country, and is very happy.)

SWANBOURNE, 30.11.47, Sunday.   A glorious morning has dawned, the second in a row here in Australia. After breakfast I went for a walk and for an hour or so sat on the shore of the large ocean, watching the large waves crashing on the beach.

The weather was perfectly calm and sunny, the surface of the sea almost flat, but despite this the strange waves continued to crash against the shore, some even taller than a person, I don’t know where they came from.

I returned to the beach straight after lunch, and this time waded into the water. It was just wonderful bobbing up and down in the large waves. I spent over three hours in the sun, and as a result my face burned.

A group of Estonians enjoyed Swanbourne beach also

Source:  Collection of Reina Roosvald Peedo

When I got into bed my back hurt and I slept badly, tossing from side to side, until one leg of the bed buckled and suddenly I flew out of bed head first. Luckily the night table stopped me falling onto the floor.

SWANBOURNE, 1.12.47, Monday.   I waited for the immigration official all morning, but it wasn’t until midday that my wait was crowned with success, and I was free again. I finished and posted my letters to Reinis, Merry and Tabra, then went into town with Mikelan. We wandered around for a long time, marvelling at the flimsy single-story buildings.

Perhaps the  trip "into town" was by train, explaining why Vaclavs
bought a print of this photograph

Source:  Collection of Vaclavs Kozlovskis

FREMANTLE, 2.12.47, Tuesday.   At five thirty an Australian shook me by the shoulder, saying that it’s time to get up and get ready to leave. He, disturbing my sleep so early, is apparently accustomed to taking a long time to pack, but I was ready in ten minutes. How many belongings does a displaced person have, after all!

At nine the buses arrived and our trip through the town began, this time in the opposite direction. We got onto the ship without having to show our visas at all, simply whoever was there just climbed on.

The ship HMAS Kanimbla, intended for Australian army transport, is much smaller and older than the Heintzelman, and there is rust everywhere. It is also rather dirty, but on the other hand there is more room on the open decks, to take in the fresh air.

The Kanimbla in Fremantle Harbour, 1945

Source:  Wikipedia

We sleep in a large room which holds almost everyone, but to our surprise this room only has a very small toilet and only a few washing tables, as well as only a few showers. Perhaps there’s a larger bathroom somewhere else, but no one has discovered it yet. It’s a bit hard to find our way around these corridors.

Here, the only doors we’re barred from are the officers’ living rooms; we can wander anywhere and look at everything. There are no MPs stationed as there were on the Heintzelman.

The announcements over the loudspeakers are indecipherable, but on the other hand the music is broadcast loudly, all day long. The air is filled with pleasant melodies, with many familiar tunes amongst them.

By the entrance stands a cupboard with cowboy pistols, a little further on stands a gun rack with guns. On the top deck are two jeeps also belonging to the ship. I looked over the ship, then started thinking about lunch.

I stood on two different queues, pleased they were moving forward so quickly, but both times ended up back at the dormitory, without even having seen the dining room.

The third time I ended up on the right queue and made it down below, but by then the plates had run out and I had to wait another hour or so, until someone brought some out and threw them down on the floor with a loud crash.

After a few more hours of waiting and cursing I finally got to the meal and the dishes. Plate, knife, fork, spoon and cup have to be kept, therefore at supper everything went much faster.

The ship’s sailors have their meals in the same dining room, from which I gather that the American sailors, who eat what they want, are fed much better than the English.

Straight after dinner I hurried out on deck - the ship had started moving, and on the shore was gathered a large group of pretty Australian girls. Many had even brought flowers, so I was sorry there wasn’t time to get to know one of them. Soon little Fremantle harbour with its girls waving farewells was behind us.

The final whistles sounded, and once more we were on the open sea. We were given two blankets, a pillow with pillowcase, and towels, all brand new. The two blankets are necessary, too, for the extensive ventilation system is sometimes so cold we've had to block it with life jackets and paper.

Shortly before bed I lightened my luggage again and threw out through the small window a blanket as well as the dance suit I’d had sewn in Germany out of blankets, which I won’t be wearing any more.

INDIAN OCEAN [GREAT AUSTRALIAN BIGHT], 3.12.47, Wed.   During the night I almost had to hold onto the bars to prevent myself falling out of bed. The ocean waves tossed the old crate sideways somehow, and like it or not I had to sleep on my back or stomach, otherwise I lost my balance. On the left was the Australian shore, and in the afternoon that too disappeared.

After the movie we had a ship’s drill, these things happen here too, although less organised than on the Heintzelman. The wind rose, the waves grew, and water washed inside the open windows so the fellows hurried to screw them closed. Dinner was served by waiters who had now become jugglers, so as not to fall against a wall and spill the food.

After dinner I climbed up to the top deck, where the picture was different again. Several times, when the deck tipped down to a forty-five-degree angle, it seemed that I’d climbed onto a roof, then when we fell into a deep valley, the deck was more like a steep mountain. The women were sick, and we got to see them for once without powder or paint. The strong wind was cold so I went to the dormitory and watched the waves through the windows.

INDIAN OCEAN [GREAT AUSTRALIAN BIGHT], 4.12.47, Thurs.   For the second day the Kanimbla tossed us on the ocean waves. Men staggered everywhere, as if they’d been drinking for two days.

It‘s difficult to walk in these conditions, sometimes you walk leaning against one wall of the corridor, then suddenly the ship tips the other way, you bend down and then stagger against the opposite wall. There’s no thought of sleeping on your side at night, or you tip over, so you have to content yourself with sleeping on your stomach. There’s a constant rattle of dishes on the shelves, and falling cups smash on the floor; you have to watch out they don’t drop on your head.

At two I went to see the movie again. There wasn’t much to see - one film had five corpses in it, the other had fighting and shooting, but at least it was a diversion.

INDIAN OCEAN [GREAT AUSTRALIAN BIGHT], 5.12.47, Fri.   Damn it, I wouldn’t want to become an Australian citizen, for we’ve just discovered that with it comes an obligation of military service, and at the same time so-called plentiful provisions, such as we’re eating now.

Are Australian soldiers chickens then, that for dinner they are satisfied with half a fish, a few potatoes and a slice of bread? Today all the displaced persons on board are cursing, because it looks as though we’ve been tricked.

The sea remains just as it was earlier, nearly tipping the ship over, but I’ve become used to walking both sides of the corridor at once.

INDIAN OCEAN [GREAT AUSTRALIAN BIGHT], 6.12.47, Sat.   It’s only 300 miles to Melbourne. I’m getting tired of this old iron box with its flat bottom and rope enclosures after meals.

Late this evening we had a farewell dance. I went along just to listen to the music, but my legs have become so accustomed to dancing in Germany that they wanted to dance.

But I disappeared to the dormitory as soon as I could. We will have to get up early tomorrow, so there is time to have breakfast and obtain a green card, with which I can be one of the first to leave the ship.

MELBOURNE, 7.12.47, Sun.   As agreed, Peteris woke me quite early. I leaped out of bed straight away and stood on the breakfast queue, so as not to miss the green cards. Although I was one of the first at breakfast, there was no sign of the green cards, I’d been fooled.

After breakfast I climbed up on deck and saw that Lanky was playing poker. The shores could be seen from both sides of the ship. They looked dark and uninviting, but it’s probably only because I was looking at them from the lightness of the sea.

Then it was lunchtime. After lunch a long queue formed, apparently waiting for green cards again. After being fooled this morning, I simply went to have a shower, and only stood on the queue when it was much shorter. This time like a miracle I received the square piece of green cardboard I waited so long for this morning.

I ate quickly, then hurried on deck, for the ship was just tying up in the harbour. Many local people were gathered on the shore, amongst them reporters, busily occupied with filming.

At 3:00 the immigration minister welcomed us and listened to songs sung by the three Baltic nationalities, the press photographers working all the while. The minister left, but we remained waiting for tomorrow, when our disembarkation and journey to the rest camp will begin.

Arthur Calwell, Minister for Immigration, welcomes the new arrivals on the Kanimbla
on 7 December 1947; front row includes Helgi Nirk (with white-framed sunglasses, centre)
and Valeria Mets (two to the right of Helgi, in striped dress)

Source:  Arthur Calwell papers, CL328/9, National Library of Australia   

The Estonian Men's Choir (formed on the Heintzelman and survived for more than 60 years in Australia) entertains the Minister, conducted by Elmar Saarepere (left):  the singers from left
are Arnold Varima, Viktor Valk, maybe Walter Kongats behind the sunglasses,
Erich Talijärv, an uncertain and Sven Kiviväli

Source:  Tiiu Jalak Salasoo collection

BONEGILLA, 8.12.47, Mon.   Another early morning - breakfast started at six. We handed back our blankets, towels, pillows and after eating, our utensils as well. The train arrived and the press towards the exit began.

My group all had the green cards as well, but we calmly sat down and waited until the rush was over and we could make it to the exit comfortably without any pushing. We almost got onto the train as well, when suddenly the queue halted - the train was full.

Apparently some people had forged green cards and the real cardholders were left waiting. It wasn’t such a bad thing after all - when we climbed onto another train several hours later, quite in contrast to the first group we could make ourselves very comfortable.

You've probably seen this photograph several times before, as it's been used so often as to become iconic -- on the left is the Kanimbla berthed at East Princes' Pier, Port Melbourne, with one of the trains carrying men to Bonegilla on the right (Juris Kakis' face is the one closest to us)

Source:  National Archives of Australia 

On the many three-seaters sat only one person, by the window. After some ten minutes the train took us through the Australian countryside.

Here and there were harvested wheat fields, but for the most part it was only meadows with distorted, infrequent trees. I also saw large flocks of sheep, and over it all shone the hot Australian sun.

Everything is quite yellow, so it’s hard to separate the farm fields from the meadows. I quickly tired of watching the monotonous scenery with its infrequent, small houses; in my comfortable seat I became sleepy and dozed off. The train travelled very smoothly, I could hardly feel it moving at all, and on the soft seat sleeping was very good.

When I woke again, the men were climbing out of the train, which had stopped at a station for lunch. There were many small tables set up in the large station hall, at which we had to eat while standing.

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

Source:  Sun News-Pictorial,  9 December 1947

Here and there someone ate an orange with its skin still on it, or a banana with a knife and fork, but overall the meal was swallowed peacefully, for everyone had their own place, and no advantage was gained by shoving.

After another hour or so the train stopped at the small Bonegilla station, where army lorries awaited to take us to the barracks. The camp is very spacious; it appears it housed a large battle unit once. Once again, the beds had white sheets on them, sleeping will be pleasant.

Dinner unfolded in typical English style - I walked away from three already empty kitchens, until finally I got into the fourth. This was due to the troublemakers again, who went to almost every kitchen in turn, so there was hardly anything left over for the last ones. All I ended up with was one slice of bread, but when I tipped the contents of the jam dish onto it, I’d had enough to eat.

SOURCES

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

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

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

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

Vaclavs Kozlovskis reaches Australia and stays in Perth, translated by Monika Kozlovskis with Janis Sakurovs

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.

    

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.

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.

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.

Vaclavs Kozlovskis reaches and leaves Colombo on the "Heintzelman", November 1947, translated by Monika Kozlovskis with Janis Sakurovs

COLOMBO, 18.11.47, Tues. Quite unexpectedly the day has arrived which so closely ties me to Latvia and my best memories. How prettily once, at home, the lighted candles twinkled on the pavements in their containers, how happy we were to be a free people and how gaily were the shop windows decorated! Once again these candles twinkle for me, if only in my memory, but everyone is walking around depressed and uncommunicative.

Instead of joy, the national holiday is accompanied by sorrow about our lost homes, decimated families and loved ones who have been murdered or deported to Russia. These twinkling lights will burn in my memory every 18 November, until one day the red tyranny has ended and we’ll once more walk the flagged streets of our homeland as a free and independent people. Surely the blood of all those Latvian soldiers hasn’t been shed in vain?

All morning I applied myself to my room-cleaning duties, for the third time on this ship. We were to sail into Ceylon at around three, and since lunch people began crowding on the prow, hoping to catch the first glimpse of this island, still hidden behind the horizon.

Suddenly, far in front of the prow, appeared a great number of little white waves; something was thrashing about and moving across the water. As we approached, it turned out to be a large school of dolphins, fins and backs darting through the water in all directions, leaving behind sprays of white foam. Many of them jumped through the air in a slender arch, as though wanting to look at our joyful faces and to show themselves to us in all their splendour.

Perhaps the ship became jealous of our happiness, for it quickly sailed past the large school, so our eyes again turned towards Ceylon. Already the highest mountains were discernible, although we could still barely see them. Gradually the island emerged from the horizon, until finally we could even distinguish separate houses on Colombo harbour. From the surrounding greenery rose lovely white towers, which seemed to be growing out of a forest. Apparently this forest consists of tea bushes, for Ceylon is world famous for its tea.

The ship put out the pilot-requesting signal and slowly approached the shore. The gates at the harbour entrance are very narrow, and while we waited for the pilot to appear, the Heintzelman, sailing these waters for the first time, managed to slip so far past the gates that they couldn’t be reached without turning around again.

Slowly turning, she came closer and closer to the shores, until a sailor standing at the prow shouted that it was very shallow there and the prow was almost resting on the bottom. The engines started reversing at full speed, bringing large clouds of silt to the turbulent water surface, and now we could all see just how shallow it was. 

The ship rested for a moment in the shallows, then shuddered, gradually began to move, turned around and then passed through the harbour gates. 

Several ships already stood there, most likely resting after long voyages, even a Russian steamer decorated with red flags. The Heintzelman joined them and anchored by the exit gate.

The first sign from the harbour was a small native boat appearing by the Heintzelman’s side, and the fellows began throwing down cigarettes, which the dark-skinned Ceylonese gathered up quickly. I threw some down too, but didn’t allow for the wind - the packet overshot the little boat and landed in the water, and all the native could do was spread his hands in dismay.

Then he smeared a little white substance onto a light green leaf, wrapped it into a bundle and shoved it into his mouth. No one could tell what sort of foodstuff or chewing thing it was, but we didn’t waste time wondering about it; there were too many other things to marvel at.

Native boats sailed up one after the other with collections of rubber elephants and boxes to sell. I would like to have bought some souvenir, but they wanted American dollars. Few are the DPs who possess any, so the selling was only worthwhile for the boats sailing near the crew, therefore most of them gathered there.

Not "rubber" elephants, but ebony, with ivory eyes and tusks: international trade in both
is controlled now under a Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species
of Wild Fauna and Flora (CITES)

Source:  Ann Tündern-Smith

I stood by the rail and watched an interesting exchange. Well, the natives certainly know how to bump up the price - two small elephants cost four dollars, but a single one three dollars. In the end the parties agreed on one dollar and the native got to work.

First he dexterously threw a rope with a weight tied on the end, onto the ship. At first the DPs weren’t so dexterous and missed the rope, which plunked back into the sea, and the thrower had to try again.

When the end was finally caught, the native tied a bundle of clothes to the other end and watched as it was pulled onto the ship. The dollar was placed into the bundle and lowered again. The native exchanged an elephant for the dollar and the bundle was raised again, emptied and lowered once more. This procedure was accompanied by shouts from the other natives, sometimes so loud and from all directions in such numbers, that it was ear-piercing.

The Colombo traders next to the Heintzelman

Source:  Collection of Vaclavs Kozlovskis

Suddenly, I don’t know from where, a small tanker appeared by the Heintzelman’s side, sunk to its decks in the water. Only its bridge proudly breached the sea, not even reaching as high as our ship’s lowest deck.

Ropes were thrown onto it, which its crew nimbly hitched around much thicker tying ends. Then the Caltex put its lifting crane to work and lifted a fat fuel hose onto the middle deck. Compared to the Heintzelman, the small tanker looked like an Australian rabbit next to an elephant. The tanker crew consisted mainly of natives, who eagerly gathered the thrown cigarettes.

Dinner arrived unnoticed; I left my observation post and made for the hot dining room to eat and to sweat several litres of water.

After dinner I went to my cabin. My neighbour had bought a coconut and was trying to shell it. After many thumps against the iron floor, the large nut broke into two, revealing its white kernel to our curious eyes. Although this nut did taste a little like normal nuts, overall it wasn‘t anything special.

We sat around for a little longer, then I got ready for the 18 November Remembrance ceremony. I arrived in the dining room at five past eight, and the ceremony had already begun. Smugajs spoke encouraging, hope-filled words. No doubt this is the first time the walls of the ship have heard the sound of Latvian hymns.*

After that a representative from the International Refugee Organisation spoke, followed by Lithuanian and Estonian representatives. Our Baltic neighbours haven’t forgotten us, even they celebrated our national holiday with us. Several poems were read, the male choir sang, and the solemn ceremony was over.

I strolled through the Arts and Crafts exhibition produced for the occasion. The exhibition was quite small, but arranged attractively, with the Latvian coat of arms and flag hung on the wall. I then returned to the deck.

The full coat of arms of Latvia

Source: Uploaded to Wikipedia by user Zscout370 

After finding a free space on the upper deck I resumed watching the tanker. This had already emptied its tanks and now its deck stood high above the water line.

The occasional cigarette packet or piece of soap still flew down onto the tanker. Some people who had observed the badly torn shirts of the natives, threw their own shirts down for them.

The tying ends were unhitched, rolled up, and the tanker, freed from its fuelling duty, disappeared into the darkness that had now fallen.

My watch showed ten o’clock already, and it was time to disappear. When I got back to my cabin I was offered a job in the butchery, right at the bottom of the ship near the cold store. Hoping it will be cool there, I’ve agreed to take the job, after all we are sailing towards the equator.

Then I washed, put this journal in order and, my watch showing one in the morning, went to bed.

INDIAN OCEAN, 19.11.47, Wed. After breakfast I watched the ships in the harbour. Among them was one of our “friends” with the red flag at the mast and hammer and sickle on the ship’s funnel. We joked that it had come after us, and we’ll now have to change our seats.

I watched the bartering with the natives again for a while, then went to the office for instructions about my job. I was taken down to the workplace, right in the bowels of the ship. Although it’s still warm there, it’s much cooler than it is above.

We went into the coolroom, which was so pleasantly cool I didn’t want to come out. Large piles of frozen meat and sausage stood awaiting their turn. Only a small corner of it has been eaten so far, although we’re nearing the end of our journey. The job is easy; now and then I have to pack a meat box, and take empty boxes up in the lift.

After the first such ride in the lift I stopped for another look at the boats. A native was leaping into the water after white metal coins, not allowing a single one to sink, but catching them in the water.

When I went back below, the job was over and until two I could disappear.

At a quarter to twelve the Heintzelman lifted anchor and soon Colombo was behind us.

Far out into the ocean natives were fishing in small sailboats, one even see-sawed on the waves on three narrow logs tied together. I watched Ceylon slide by, then went to lunch although I wasn’t hungry as I’d already eaten at work.

In the evening I watched a coloured American film, of which little could be understood. It was more interesting watching the ship lifting on the waves, and the movie screen rocking in the wind.

The ship was lurching, but it seems that this time it’s not going to make me sick, apparently I’ve become used to this unstable ground.

INDIAN OCEAN, 20.11.47, Thurs. By lunch we were on the second parallel of latitude, and at 23.04 crossed the equator - which I read on the notice laid out in the glass case.

There is nothing unpleasant about being near the equator after all: instead of being too hot, it’s cloudy with occasional drizzle. Large, long waves are dashing against the hard steel sides of the ship, and it’s only small drops that splash as far as the deck to hit the watchers’ faces.

The flying fish have changed their shining silvery colour for dark, almost black; now they resemble swallows which fly right along the ground with the coming of rain.

The wind is blowing, dispersing the heat, and with every passing hour larger waves are rising from the uneasy waters.

INDIAN OCEAN, 21.11.47, Fri. It’s been three days since Colombo sank into the past, and that we’ve rolled on these long, high waves. A few people have been seasick, but such sport occupied relatively few, the others are used to it by now.

I feel a little funny now and again, but then I go on deck and watch nature’s seesaw. My head aches, but I’m still a long way off queasiness.

FOOTNOTE

* Edvards Smugajs was an older Latvian on the voyage, at the age of 39.  He was a qualified teacher, which would have made talking to an audience easier for him than many others.  As his first job was at Iron Knob in South Australia, we hope to bring you a fuller biography soon.

Also, the Heintzelman had made two previous DP voyages, to South America, so it is possible that Latvian hymns had sounded on board already.

Vaclavs Kozlovskis' Journey from Gibraltar to Colombo on the "Heintzelman" translated by Monika Kozlovskis with Janis Sakurovs

MEDITERRANEAN SEA, 4.11.47, Tues. We’re now tossing on the blue waters of the Mediterranean. It’s become so warm that sitting on the deck brings perspiration to my brow. I’ve managed to save some warm weather clothes, and am now walking around in short pants, searching out shade to hide from the sun’s beaming face. 

Now and then the coast of Africa comes into view, particularly where it’s mountainous; in the evenings lights wink back at us from those same mountains.

A huge wind rose this afternoon, almost knocking us off our feet. The sea wasn’t so churned up, but the ship heaved anyway, and my head felt heavy. I’ll be smarter this time and not succumb to seasickness, [since] after all a large part of it is due purely to thought alone — apparently several people began throwing up even as the ship was untied from the German shore.

I washed my shirt and concentrated on learning English, for it never goes astray to refresh your knowledge. Shortly before bedtime we turned our clocks forward one hour, evidence that Europe is falling further behind us.

MEDITERRANEAN SEA, 6.11.47, Thurs. By lunch time we were already 2600 nautical miles from Bremerhaven and 872 from Port Said, which we will reach in several days.

We had another drill and, strapped in our lifejackets once more, assembled at the nominated lifeboats, which this time were lowered to the rails. The ship even stopped for a moment, then the drill was over and our journey continued.

MEDITERRANEAN SEA, 7.11.47, Fri. The sea is semi-calm, and it’s raining a little. The ship is rocking, but I feel it only with my eyes when looking at the far horizon and the edge of the ship together.

A concert was announced for this evening but one of the musicians didn’t show up and the others wouldn’t play without him. By tomorrow evening we should reach Port Said.

PORT SAID, 8.11.47, Sat. This afternoon we received our second cigarette ration, as well as shaving implements, a comb, tooth powder and soap.

After dinner the blue seawater changed colour and became muddy yellow; these were the waters of the Nile now washing against the ship’s sides.

Several hours later the lights of Port Said twinkled in the night, and at seven thirty the Heintzelman dropped anchor at the entrance to the Suez Canal. Soon small boats full of Egyptians offering various trifles surrounded the ship, but as we have no money no great trade came of it. These trifles are too expensive anyway to seriously think about buying any.

Above two images: Arab traders beside the Heintzelman at Port Said
Source:  Private collection

SUEZ, 9.11.47, Sun. The ship moved off at three in the morning, but at that time I was still fast asleep and the harbour slid by unnoticed. When I went on deck I saw that the Heintzelman had already sailed into Suez and dropped anchor again. The journey won’t resume until after breakfast.

I had a good look around but there wasn’t much to be seen. On the right side there was occasional greenery, but on the left only emptiness. Here and there were camels, palm trees and small huts with flat roofs. Along both sides of the Canal walked ragged natives, it’s a wonder what they live on. The landscape seems too poor to allow people to live decently. I couldn’t see the smallest crop field anywhere; nothing could grow in that sand.

"Only emptiness" on one side of the Suez Canal, viewed from the Heintzelman

Source:  Private collection

Occasionally I saw some German prisoners, who must feel bad living in imprisonment for so long, far from the shores of their homeland. But who knows, perhaps they are better off here than in war-devastated Germany, where people are forced to live in semi-starvation.

On both sides of the Canal ran a railroad, and in other places was a peculiar mix of colours — red water, several shades of bright yellow sand, light green grass, dark green trees, greenish water, white huts and black highway, all of it sparkling in the sunlight, mingling in colourful confusion. 

The fertile side of the Suez Canal, viewed from the Heintzelman
Source:  Private collection

In the evening we sailed out the other end of the Canal where the ship dropped anchor again. There were many ships, presumably waiting for a free path through the Canal. In the night the anchor was raised again, and our journey through the Red Sea began.

"The other end of the Canal" or is this looking back at the Mediterranean?

Source:  Private collection

RED SEA, 11.11.47, Tues. We’re still sailing through the heat of the Red Sea. It’s already too hot for us to stay in our rooms for long, even in our sports pants. Last night transformed into a little hell, so we played cards until two in the morning, for it was no good trying to sleep. 

During the heat of the previous night I had all sorts of nightmares, even the ventilator which constantly blew air right across me from only a metre above my head didn’t help. 

Today Port Said is already 677 nautical miles behind us, and Colombo 2713 in front.

RED SEA, 12.11.47, Wed. A powerful wind is blowing, making it difficult to keep on your feet on the top deck. We’re in the middle of the sea and the ship is rocking quite nicely. I stood by the gangway on the middle deck and watched the small disturbance in the water. Now and again a larger wave splashed right up to the top deck and threw salty, bitter drops onto my face, but they’re cool and pleasant in this heat.

Large valleys formed in the sea, and as I watched, mountains of water crashed onto the bow, flinging thousands of fine drops into the air. This water play is wonderful, I watched and enjoyed it for a long time.

ARABIAN SEA, 13.11.47, Thurs. We’re now in the Arabian Sea, surrounded by comparatively calm water. Straight after lunch we took part in another ship drill which was followed by a general clean up.

This cleaning went on for two hours, during which everyone primped and tidied whatever they could think of.  After this we received new pillowcases, and it seems that our room has indeed become a little brighter.  Tonight we turned our watches another hour forward.

ARABIAN SEA, 14.11.47, Fri. Last night I slept reasonably well, the vast sea surrounding us and the air coming from the ventilator was so cool that I even had to cover myself with a blanket for a while.

After breakfast I went up to the ship’s prow and gazed at the calm surface of the sea, from which, disturbed by the ship, schools of flying fish occasionally rose and flew some thirty to forty metres before returning to their cool abode. With their spread wings these fish reminded me of dragonflies, skimming the surface with their bellies, leaving a light-coloured furrow in their wake.

After dinner I was once more on deck, this time gazing up at the stars. The Big Bear can’t be seen anymore, and the North Star will soon disappear, for it’s already only some ten degrees above the horizon, as we’re too far south. On the other hand, some of the southern stars not seen in Europe are beginning to make their appearance.

Eventually one of the guards reminded me that it was already ten and time to leave the deck. My legs are perspiring a little at the knees — today I sat for only twenty minutes in the sun while I smoked a cigarette, and in that time I developed red, burning blotches. As I climbed into bed I noticed that my back is perspiring as well — there’s no joking with the sun around here.

INDIAN OCEAN, 15.11.47, Sat. The schools of flying fish have increased in size, and we’ve seen schools of dolphins as well.

Today we received our third cigarette and soap ration; I’ve collected a whole trove of soap now.

There was a ball on the open deck this evening, I listened to the music and watched as the dancers floundered in the darkness, on the moving dance floor. Our own band played, including “When in Capri, the Sun Sets Down by the Sea”.

As I enjoyed the tango music, I remembered the lasses with whom I danced this dance countless times in Germany, and I felt a little nostalgic for those happy times. Will my life path ever lead me back to these girls, to whom so many wonderful memories bind me?

INDIAN OCEAN, 16.11.47, Sun. All around us is only blue water, I can’t even see a passing ship. Beautiful indeed are these sun-shimmered, enticing open spaces with the blue sky above them - here are the vast distances that I’ve longed for all this time.

How long will it be before I cross these seas in the other direction and return to my homeland, travel weary and seeking peace?

Vaclavs Kozlovskis' Journey from Germany to the Mediterranean on the "Heintzelman", translated by Monika Kozlovskis with Janis Sakurovs

Updated 4 January, 5 January and 15 January 2025

NOTE:  Vaclavs* Kozlovskis was just 23 when he kept this diary of his journey to Australia and his first days in the new country.  Another version of the first days of the journey is on this blog also.

Vaclavs Kozlovskis' photo from his Bonegilla ID card

Source:  NAA: A2571, KOZLOVSKIS VACSLAVS

DIEPHOLZ, 29.10.47, Wed.   Tomorrow our journey begins. This afternoon I received 100 Turkish cigarettes and four blocks of chocolate, and exchanged almost everything for vodka, so as to befittingly farewell Germany. The others bartered all their available stores as well, and as our bundles lightened the bottle count grew. 

 In the evening, when there was nothing left to barter with the Yugoslavs and Poles, we seated ourselves at the table and began our party. Drinkers weren’t lacking and the party became quite large, and our loud voices were joined by the shouts from other rooms full of drinkers bound for Australia. 

I went to the hall, where our farewell dance was in progress. As if through a fog I saw many men, but few women, and in a corner somewhere someone was jerkily playing something similar to music. There was no one to dance with, so I went to bed - after all we have to get up early in the morning.

DIEPHOLZ, 30.10.47, Thurs.   We rose at six and hurriedly sorted out our belongings, all the sooner to leave this room which was so reminiscent of the battlefield… 

Diepholz: the journey begins on 30 October 1947

Source:  Kozlovskis collection

One man from our room, Briedis, wasn’t able to come with us, so we gave him a pile of blankets and other leftover goods, and he ended up with a substantial bundle. He accepted them gladly, for Europe is a poorhouse and such items are very useful in Germany. 

The Poles, who wanted the blankets and discarded items for themselves, placed guards everywhere and wouldn’t let anyone leave the camp, so he needed some assistance. Lanky and I went to his aid, but came up against the guards again. 

We showed these hobgoblins our pass, which was signed by the colonel, and one of them held it before his eyes for some time. Right in front of his eyes in fact, but apparently he couldn’t read and took us to the guardroom. We argued with our detainers all the way, then for another half-hour in the guardroom, but without success. 

We decided to leave but another Pole appeared in front of us and wouldn’t let Briedis out. I simply pushed the Pole out of the way and we went out onto the street, heading towards the office.

We were in luck and at the door we ran into the same English colonel who had written Briedis’ pass. I hurried over and immediately, in English, explained our quandary. Angrily he headed for the guardroom and began swearing at the Poles. 

They tried to make out that we hadn’t shown them our pass, but as I understand a little English I hastened to explain we had indeed done so, and twice at that; but that the reader had been more interested in Briedis’ bundle than in the pass. 

The Englishman was annoyed with the Poles, but the Poles were even more annoyed with us for complaining to the colonel. Unconcerned by the Poles’ complaints and long faces, we escorted Briedis to safety in the Yugoslav camp, then raced back, where the rest of the men had already climbed into the cattle cars. 

Having found our car and once more cursing the Poles we climbed in, and at nine the train moved off. No doubt this is the last time I will travel in a cattle car, for I’ll soon reach a land where they are not used to transport people.

Along the way cigarettes and sweets poured from the carriages, meant for the Fritzes standing by the railroad tracks, who gathered them up. 

The train halted at Bremen near a bridge, under which wound the highway. Here we stood for a whole hour, and some of the fellows, overcome by high spirits at our journey, started getting up to all sorts of mischief. 

One group found a trolley and began riding from one end of the track to the other. Another group put some obstacles on the track and just laughed when the trolley bounced off it. The trolley was lifted back in place, and it started all over again. 

Still others gathered on the bridge and threw down confectionery, cigarettes and money, to a large crowd of scuffling children. Even the old women watched …watched … and then suddenly threw themselves into the fray after the cigarettes. One fellow tied some chocolate onto the end of a string and in this way gave some chocolate to whichever child he chose. 

Alongside the halted train walked a bespectacled Fritz railway worker. Finally he got to the handful of cigarette butts someone had thrown out and he started gathering them up. Noticing this the fellows threw cigarettes at him, some singly and even whole packets, and he hurried to put them into the large pockets of his coat. Then the train sounded a long whistle and the journey continued.

Finally, at four in the afternoon, the train halted in front of the American army transport ship USAT General Stuart Heintzelman.  This is a twelve-thousand-ton motor ship, built as recently as 1944, and it seems that travelling on her will be quite pleasant. 

We were immediately transferred from the cattle cars onto the handsome ship. With my belongings in my left hand and my visas in the right, I climbed past the inspectors and military police to my cabin, receiving my ration card on the way.

Vaclavs' "ration card" or meal ticket;
the rear below shows the holes punch for meals on each day of the voyage

Source:  Collection of Vaclavs Kozlovskis

As soon as everyone was aboard, the ship threw off our last tie with Germany, the anchor was raised, and with my watch showing 4.20 pm the journey began. 

Shortly after I began my adieus to Germany and sent my last greetings to her disappearing shores, we headed towards the blue, distant horizon which beckons enticingly from the ship's prow. 

Ah, distant places - at last I am heading towards you, and fulfilling the longing you’ve tantalised me with - will I be happy when I reach the other shore? 

Perhaps there will be no peace for me there either, even from there you will call me and entice me, never allowing me to settle before longing to escape again. 

Do you really want me to follow you and wander without peace, or a place to call home, until my final breath?

I glanced back and once the shores of Germany had become a small, grey stripe on the edge of the horizon, I went to my cabin. This is meant for sixteen men, and has white walls with even whiter beds. A large ventilator turns its iron wings, hopefully to provide some coolness once we are in the hot regions. 

Overall this ship is a modern crate, as demonstrated by the many facilities such as bathrooms with mirrors, water closet and shower cubicle with hot and cold water. My cabin is right near the prow of the ship, so I have the greatest prospects of a lot of rocking and seasickness. 

I don’t feel anything yet, but soon enough we will be in Biscay… I showered, and afterwards climbed into my inviting bed and quickly fell asleep.

HEINTZELMAN, 31.10.47, Fri.  I woke around one in the morning and felt the ship rocking heavily, but soon enough fell asleep again. I woke again when the others got up. 

The ship was still rocking, only not as badly as it was in the night and I haven’t seen anyone be sick yet. 

I went in to breakfast and saw food such as I haven’t eaten for a long time. I’ll have to say goodbye to rye bread for a long time, though, after all English countries don’t know about it. 

After breakfast I fulfilled my room duties and, working with broom and scraps of rags, time passed unnoticed and soon it was lunchtime. I went below to the dining room and had a pleasant meal. 

Enjoying such food, and using the showers and other facilities, the past seems only a quickly disappearing dream, the only reality being the gentle shuddering and rocking of the ship. 

After lunch I rested and read books until a ship drill was announced, when I put a lifejacket on and went to the nominated place on the open deck. I learned about such drills at school, and now I’m taking part in them. The drill was soon over and I went to dinner. 

Afterwards I went out on deck to smoke a cigarette and noted that the weather is starting to deteriorate - the wind has risen and fine raindrops are flying through the air. We have already passed by the English coast, and soon we will be in Biscay with its autumn storms.

BAY OF BISCAY, 1.11.47, Sat.  I woke when we were in Biscay and realised that what I’d heard about it was no exaggeration. All night the ship’s prow leaped seven metres high, up and down, into the waves, as if forming large circles in the air, becoming bigger and bigger. 

I went to breakfast and ate too many sweet things, which turned out to be an unpleasant mistake. This sweetness didn’t want to stay inside, and shortly after lunch I went to the toilet and threw up the delicious breakfast. Naturally I didn’t have lunch, in case I was sick in the dining room and ruined everyone’s appetites. 

Shortly before dinner I sought the toilet again, but this time only green liquid came out, and the vomiting itself made me feel bad. To stop my queasiness I ate dinner, but within an hour that went overboard as well. I was only sick once, but even that was enough to feed the fish, and then I went to bed.

This photograph of Heintzelman passengers surely was taken in the Bay of Biscay

Source:  Private collection

ATLANTIC OCEAN, 2.11.47, Sun.  For a second day I’ve suffered this awful queasiness. When it was time to go outside, I leapt out of bed and, to prevent myself being sick again, started running around the ship, along the decks. 

I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, but now and then just had a few mouthfuls of cool, refreshing water. Occasionally I stood at the rails and watched the large waves fighting amongst themselves, then fought my queasiness again with my useful remedy - running around. 

It really works - all day, right until I went to bed, I wasn’t sick and the biscuits I ate for dinner stayed down. Now and then I did come close, but held it at bay by watching the mountainous shoreline of Spain, and also by running around the decks.

GIBRALTAR, 3.11.47, Mon.  The sea is half-peaceful now, and Biscay far behind. It’s still difficult standing in the breakfast queue, especially when the ship takes a higher leap into the air, but after all I have to eat something, so I forced myself to go down to the dining room. 

After this torture I went for a walk on deck, and my queasiness gradually diminished; it seems it’s persisted only because of my empty stomach. I climbed onto the bridgehead and watched the water churning, but by this time my queasiness and headache were completely gone; apparently they’ve swum over to Biscay to seek a new victim. 

Now I felt the desire to smoke and my mood improved. Yesterday I thought I was one of the people who can’t cope with the ocean and that I would never make a seaman, but that was yesterday, and today I’ve changed my mind. After all I won’t wish to spend my entire life in far-off Australia ... 

Today the food tasted delicious, as I discovered when I ate the lunch sausages. Also enjoyable are the Chesterfield A cigarettes I received today; I’ve got a whole carton of them.

After dinner I went onto the middle deck and saw that we’ve sailed quite close to Gibraltar. On the left I saw good old Europe for the last time, and on the right stretched the coast of Africa. Soon the last corner of Europe disappeared from my sight, it seems for a long time to come.

The coast of Africa viewed from Gibraltar with some sea traffic for scale

Source:  Wikimedia Commons

FOOTNOTE

* Vaclavs spelled his name in the Czech manner, without a middle S, but the officials got it wrong in 1947.  They wrote his name as Vacslavs instead, so you will find both spellings in this blog.  The bloggers will use the correct spelling but are stuck with the wrong one in the titles of official documents.