As long as a Pole lives…
The first sight of Australia, our new homeland, when on December 16th 1949, our ship reached Port Melbourne, is still before my eyes. We remained on board for an additional two days awaiting further transport. Eventually, we boarded a train to Bonegilla. It seemed to us that we were crossing a desert; all we could see through the train window was a desolate, sun-scorched land dotted with dry bushes, which looked like they grew upside down.
When we got to Seymour we were treated to plates of ham (two slices), lettuce, tomatoes and a slice of beetroot washed down with lemonade and we started seeing the world in brighter colours again. Following the meal buses transferred us to Bonegilla. The day was December 19th. The first memories I preserved from Bonegilla are the intense heat and a crowd of people frantically flailing their arms to fend off the obnoxious flies.
After another meal everybody assembled in a hall where an Australian man warmly welcomed us. He said that Australia was a free country where no one could use us as forced labour and he expressed his hope that we’d come to love our new home. Next, we were assigned our accommodation. Splitting-up of families came as an unpleasant surprise. There were separate barracks for women with small children, mothers and daughters, fathers and sons. We met in the dining hall at meal times. We frequented the canteen where there was always some music – we were after all very young. It was very hard to bear the high temperatures. We also ate lots of lemons; perhaps our bodies craved some substances contained in lemons.
Many Poles obtained jobs very quickly. Men usually found employment as truck drivers and loggers. Women worked in hospitals as cleaners and cooks or on farms picking fruit.
Only several days after our arrival in Bonegilla, on December 27th 1949, we were married in the tiny camp chapel by two priests: a Czechoslovakian and an Australian. I remember crying over my lack of a proper wedding gown; I was dressed in a plain white linen sports dress and a printed shirt bought by my fiancé, Edek, in the canteen. My future husband proved to be a very industrious man – he set a chair in front of a barrack and cut people’s hair for 2 shillings. With his earnings he bought me white sandals for the wedding and an iron. My mum and dad gave us their wedding rings. The ‘wedding reception’ took place in a milk bar; we had milkshakes, buttermilk and ice cream. After the ‘feast’ my mum and me and Edek had to go to our separate barracks. It was the authorities’ policy.
In the New Year people were gradually sent to work. So were we. We found ourselves in a camp in Brooklyn, Melbourne and our first job was at a jam factory in Richmond. I sorted fruit into cans but due to eczema on my hands I didn’t stay there long. I could only say a few words in English, nevertheless I made myself understood and obtained a better position as a seamstress in Footscray. I sewed ladies jackets and men’s sweaters.
At work I met several Australian women; one of them was particularly nice to me. Her name was Elaine and we became very close. She and her husband used to take us to the cinema and to dances; they even visited us at the camp. We somehow managed to communicate, even though at times we had to resort to sign language. I would draw an object I didn’t know a name for on a piece of paper and Elaine would teach me its proper name. Let’s say I wanted to buy a candle to be able to work after the lights in the camp went off at midnight: I drew the candle and Elaine wrote ‘candle’ under my picture. That’s how I was learning the language. Elaine and I remain friends to this day and we often meet to reminisce about old times.
The migrant camp in Brooklyn encompassed two huge halls, which in all probability served previously as wool storage. They were later divided into small compartments and adapted for living quarters. Our rooms lacked privacy; we could hear our neighbours’ every word through the paper-thin walls. The furnishings consisted of a bed and a chest of drawers. Six months into our stay fire destroyed the barracks in Brooklyn and we were relocated to Williamstown. I had to take a bus to work but luckily Footscray wasn’t far away.
At the end of 1950, we offered our savings to my parents for a house deposit. Soon we all moved into their new house in Yarraville. My parents, my sister and her husband and Edek and I occupied separate bedrooms, only my younger brother had to sleep on a folding bed in the dining room. Our only furniture was a large box, which served as a table. Initially, we slept on the floor. Countless fleas pestered us but we managed to get rid of them after a while. It was an immeasurable joy to have our own roof over our heads at last.
Gradually our household improved in comforts. Our Australian friends provided a few chairs, pots, plates and other items, which was a huge help at that time. Dad extended the verandah into a room for my oldest brother, Edward, who was coming from Germany to stay with us with his wife and seven month old daughter, Monika.
In March 1951, I gave birth to a baby girl. We were immensely happy, my dad even wanted to celebrate the occasion by putting up a Polish flag on the roof. We loved our daughter dearly, even though she was born a sickly child and had a hearing and speech impairment.
Slowly we all stood on our own two feet and moved to separate homes. After two and a half years’ stay at my parents’ we too started dreaming of our own home. My husband Edek bought a building lot in St Albans, which came as a great surprise to me because I didn’t even know where this suburb was. We went to St Albans for the first time to visit our friends. They didn’t give us any address but assured us that we’d see their bungalow from the station. True, their bungalow’s red roof was easily discernible, but my God, was it far to walk, and the muck and lack of buses was equally discouraging. My husband went on but I returned with our daughter in a pram.
In St Albans, we stayed in a bungalow while Edek built the proper house with our friends’ assistance. We helped one another in the face of numerous difficulties, particularly with obtaining building materials. I used to bring sandwiches in the pram with my daughter for the builders and I would look at the frame of the house and wonder if this was indeed going to be our own, long-dreamed of house. In Main Road, where there is now Coles and the arcade, there was this tiny shop and I fantasized that we would buy it and transform it into a barbershop for Edek. We couldn’t afford it, though. We were hard put to make a living out of only one income and pay a mortgage at the same time. All the more so because I had to look after our daughter and she often required visits to specialists in Melbourne.
St Albans was the end of the world when we commenced building there. It was far to get anywhere. The train station was minuscule and very modest and it was at the end of the line. Nevertheless, more and more people settled there and houses mushroomed.
At the same time men undertook to erect a school and a church. Edek was a so-called ‘block-man’; after work he’d visit people from our block and collect offerings. They gave 2 shillings each and slowly the funds to buy building materials were raised. Labour was all in the form of community work.
Haven’t times changed! I remember my jubilation when I bought our first radio; it was a Phillips and I purchased it by installments of 2 shillings per week. I was so pleased when I bought a small picture I liked that I didn’t know where to put it. In the end it adorned a different wall each week. One appreciated and celebrated the smallest achievement. The joy of joys was naturally to have one’s own house and it constituted every migrant’s dream.
More houses in the area led to more shops and goods to buy, such as small goods; although initially the only available products were ‘Strasburg’, ‘German pork’ and funny-tasting sausages in red casings. The cooked rabbits didn’t taste too good either. Thanks to immigrants, this state of things quickly improved. They produced all their native foods according to original recipes. Continental small goods, cakes and all sorts of other delicacies have made their way into shops.
Finally the roads were made and it put an end to people leaving their muddy boots under a bush in our garden. There would sometimes be a whole heap of them, stored there by people who swapped them for clean shoes before taking a train to the city. Theft was unheard of and we habitually didn’t lock our houses for fear of things going missing.
Edek worked as a hairdresser for McDonalds, while I stayed at home with our sick daughter. I dropped her off and picked her up from school in North Melbourne. The school bus would take her to a special school for the deaf and speech impaired in Kew. When Urszula turned 12 she claimed she was old enough to go to school on her own. I secretly followed her on the same train for two weeks to make sure she’s okay. Eventually, we decided to give her a little freedom, despite the specialists’ assurances that she would never talk normally, live independently or marry. When I first heard this ‘verdict’, my world collapsed but with God’s help I didn’t give in and I suppressed my sorrow and pain.
Freed from the daily duty of accompanying Urszula, I was able to take up a job. I worked part-time as a cashier in Coles in St Albans. Our finances visibly improved.
In 1963, my father passed away. Mum still lived in Yarraville with my younger brother until he got married and moved out. I visited her every Wednesday and helped as much as I could. However, after some time she was no longer capable of living alone and we took her in. I looked after her for the next 18 years; she died aged almost 95.
Life took great steps forward. People improved their houses, replaced weatherboard with brick. Our family underwent changes too. Urszula met a boy and they got married following a several years’ long relationship. I yearned to live close to her but Edek had a sentiment for our first house. He would say: ‘How can you think of selling the house? I built it myself and it’s so conveniently located’.
Only recently, when our son-in-law built a two-unit house, we sold our beloved house and moved in with them. Urszula and I can now help each other again.
My daughter’s husband is a good man and he likes Poles. They have two sons – our pride and joy. The elder, Andrew, is now 30 and James is 28. They understand when we speak Polish. I’m proud of them because in their heart of hearts they preserved their Polish ancestry; they both performed in the Polish Dance and Song Ensemble ‘Polonez’. In ‘Polonez’ Andrew met a girl from a Polish family and they got married. James’s wife too, has Polish background. They recently had a baby girl, Alexis, making Urszula a granny and me a great grandmother. The whole family shares their joy.
Edek and I have for many years now been involved in community work for the Polish Association of Kingsville and Ladies Auxiliary. My husband helped build the Polish House with other members of the Association, of which we’re Committee of Management members. I’ve acted as the President of the Polish Senior Citizens’ Club in St Albans for the past several years. I belonged to the Polish Choir ‘Syrena’ and I preserve some very happy memories of the several years I spent with the choir. I will never forget the day when we were singing for the Polish Pope during his visit in Melbourne. We sang for hours on end - from 2pm to 10pm.
I recall his words on that occasion: ‘In your hearts, be good Poles, uphold Polish traditions and pass them on to your children and future generations. At the same time, be good citizens of the country you live in so that you can always be proud of who you are and where you come from’.
My belief is that as long as a Pole lives, deep inside he’ll retain the Polish spirit.
