My journey to the Promised Land
Right after the World War II ended, none of us - forced labourers with the German bauers - knew what to do next: whether go back to Poland or stay where we were. All we knew was that Poland had been freed from the German occupation only to fall under the communist yoke. Much of former Poland was now declared a part of Russia and the remaining territories became a nominal Polish state under strict Russian control. The new Poland counted amongst the Soviet, communist block. Our fellow Russian labourers had been telling us stories about life under communism and we Poles feared it more than anything. The Soviets were in no hurry to repatriate Russian prisoners of war detained in Germany and accused them of betrayal in the face of the enemy. Those who had returned to Russia were exiled to Siberia or slave labour camps and were never heard of again.
One month after the end of the war, we were told that all foreigners who used to work for bauers must report to refugee camps. We, along with a large number of people of other nationalities, came under the protection of the American Army. They lodged us in a former German ammunition production plant hidden in the woods where we were sorted according to our nationality. My sister and I were moved to a monastery in Zaumberg where we found ourselves among about 250 other refugees, most of them single and under 20 years of age. We were assigned living quarters with a group of other women in a large hall strewn with mattresses. The very next day they put us to work in the kitchen, serving meals and cleaning. I yearned to go back to Poland, despite not having received any news of my family since December 1944.
We didn’t stay long in the monastery because soon we were relocated to another camp. There we were accommodated in barracks with no other ‘luxuries’ but doors and windows; not all of them had windowpanes. There were nine people in my barrack. I was assigned to assist the camp commander with writing out receipts and cleaning. He was Polish and one day he resolved to return to Poland, followed by 150 others. They promised to write to us but we never heard from any of them again. After a while we were sent to another camp called Waldlager (forest camp), which housed around 5000 people. Some of us started families while in the camp, hoping that it would make things easier to bear, especially if it came to emigration. I had a fiancée as well. I sewed a wedding gown out of a lacy curtain and decided to share my life with a man I hardly knew. It was October 13th 1945.
After some time we were moved again, this time to a lovely tourist town of Bad Reichenhall where we lived in former German officers’ quarters. The 10-people rooms were furnished and had bunk beds. We were satisfied with the conditions there and didn’t welcome the order to move again after a nine-month stay.
The new camp we were taken to was constructed out of steel sheets on a strip of desolate land far from any settlement. It was called Altenstadt. The distance to the nearest town, Schongau, was 10 km. Life in this camp was tough, it was overcrowded and we had no heating or medical care. That’s where, on October 7th 1946, I gave birth to my son. When winter came, everyone suffered from cold and hunger. Many children died and as a result our camp became surrounded by graves. It felt like a prison. Our barracks housed two other families and four children; we all suffered from constant noise and a lack of space. Insufficient food and fuel supplies pushed people to go on a hunger strike in protest. In response to the strike we received some Red Cross food parcels but after three days we were ordered out of the camp as ‘rebels’. Loaded onto US army trucks, we felt no regrets leaving this place - nowhere could be as bad as here.
Our next stop was a repatriation camp in Augsburg where we were placed in a room with three other families but at least each family had a little space to themselves. Our little boy gave us a wonderful surprise when he started walking around Christmas time. This was our third Christmas in the camps. We felt immensely happy and planned to stay in this place for as long as we could and then emigrate.
Unfortunately, one day we found ourselves on the go again. In the new camp hundreds of people were awaiting their emigration decisions. We got moved twice more. We heard stories about the happenings in Poland, especially in its eastern regions, and nothing would have persuaded us to return there. We could not accept this new form of captivity - communism.
My knowledge about Australia had been almost non-existent. All I knew was that it was a large island very far from Europe. When intakes for emigration opened, everybody tried to put their names down for the earliest departure possible but priority was given to singles or families with no children. People applied to migrate to United States or Venezuela. Our camp officer advised us, however, to wait for a better opportunity. He thought our best chance had come when the intake for ten families to go to Australia was advertised. The list filled up immediately and people who were still queuing up to put their names down left disappointed, hoping to have more luck next time around. Just like myself, my husband knew nothing about Australia, only what his boss told him about it being similar to United States, or Canada. ‘True, it is far but the climate is warmer there. We’ve got to live somewhere and here it’s becoming harder and harder, especially for you and our baby’ was my husband’s view. With God’s help, I managed to register for an appointment with the Australian qualifying committee. The medical check-ups proved to be the greatest obstacle but I scraped through somehow. Once the permission for my departure had been issued, I thanked God for this ‘happy end’ to our troubles. After a few days we were informed that we’d be taken first by train to Naples, Italy, where a transport ship would await us.
On September 5th 1949, we boarded a train to Italy. Our route crossed Austria and the Alps through to a small coastal town of Senigallia. For many of us it was the first encounter with sea and the beach. We were transported to a camp right on the shore. It was a lovely place with golden sand and turquoise water. Soon we were relocated again, to Capua. There we observed how beautiful but at the same time poor Italy was. Beggars abounded during daytime even though at night houses echoed with loud, merry conversations.
We had been staying with eleven other families; most of them were German women who wanted to emigrate and married Poles to be able to do so. Mothers received milk coupons for children; outside the buildings there were brick ovens for cooking. Other goods could be purchased but who had the money for it? You could swap something else for food but we didn’t have too many possessions, only what was necessary. I bartered my husband’s overalls for rice. It was a treat for my son because normally children were given the same meals as adults. Children craved certain foods, especially fruit and vegetables and would sometimes pinch them from one another and eat. When I was feeding my baby boy, other children would sit down next to us and watch hungrily.
Naturally I’d share with them, no matter how much I had struggled to obtain the food. Underwear and clothes were very hard to come by as well and one had to watch their laundry, otherwise it’d disappear from the line.
We stayed three weeks in Capua before they took us to Naples. After two days wait, on December 5th 1949, we boarded the Indian ship ‘Amarapura’ along with 780 others, including the crew. At night we were served dinner but to our dismay it was even more frugal than what we got in the camp in Naples (to be more accurate, in Bagnioli near Naples). Italian port workers would have gladly sailed with us; one of them tried to hide on the deck but was discovered. The first port we called at was Port Said. The place wasn’t large but very significant for maritime traffic. We observed that the port workers struggled while carrying baskets of coal on their heads onto our ship in the unforgiving heat. They were the very picture of slavery but we were assured it wasn’t so: they were free people in their own country.
Our vessel had been an outdated cargo ship, initially built for the India-England route. It comprised two huge halls with minuscule windows so that the centre of the halls was darkened. There were no cabins or other compartments suitable for a large number of passengers, nor bathrooms, except for the crew. We slept on bunk beds: women and children in one hall, men in the other. The former storage area had been converted into a dining room and, as it had windows, it was the only pleasant place to spend time in, provided it wasn’t full. All the other compartments were notoriously overcrowded, dark and stuffy. There was always the deck but it was constantly windswept; besides, the high rails were no protection for the children. Our crew consisted of two groups: British commanders and Indian subordinates who did all the work. They lived on very modest means and were completely shut out by the British who liked to underline their superior position on the ship in every possible way. The food was becoming increasingly poorer. While still in the Mediterranean, it wasn’t all that bad but as soon as we reached North Africa, our supplies were sold to the locals and we were reduced to eating canned food and whatever fish could be caught. Australian authorities had sent provisions for our trip but it was at the British crew’s disposal and they easily sold it for a good price in the hunger-stricken African ports.
In the Mediterranean most passengers felt well but when we crossed the Suez Canal many people became seasick. Men clung to the rails, women to bunks in our ‘cabins’ and sick children were taken to a makeshift hospital. Only one Italian physician cared for all the passengers. My whole family got ill; I suffered from fever, my husband lay on the deck exhausted with vomiting and our boy contracted a skin rash. He turned 3 while on the ship but didn’t look his age; he was pale and skinny. Children were the worst affected and when one of them died, fear fell on all of us. Following the death, other children started receiving powdered milk, which was an improvement. Before, we didn’t even have that and children were forced to eat the same food as adults. Still no fruit or vegetables were available.
I recall one day my boy couldn’t sleep because the ‘cabin’ was too stuffy - one could suffocate in there. To ally his cries I carried him onto the deck where other mothers already sat with their sobbing children. The British officers’ quarters were right next to us. Two of them emerged eating apples the sight of which made the children cry even louder. They yelled at us for being rude and for disrupting their rest and ordered us back inside. We duly obeyed but felt affronted by this lack of understanding and consideration.
Our ship made very slow progress across the vast Indian Ocean. When we reached Colombo, everyone was hopeful to get some fruit for our children. To our disappointment, only a few baskets of green lemons were brought onto the ship, completely unsuitable for children. At sea we received mail from the passing ships along with the news that we’d put down the anchor in Perth, Western Australia, only three days away. We celebrated the nearing end of this tedious journey, which had already dragged on for 32 days. But as our ship approached land it was announced that we must carry on to Sydney. Everybody was crushed by this disappointing news and many people felt bereft of all will to go on. There was nothing we could do, however, and we resigned ourselves to our fate. The British crew brought lambs to allay our discontentment with the way they’d been handling the food provision during our journey. In Perth, an Australian man boarded our ship. He must have been a solicitor and he was deeply interested in our life stories and reasons for leaving Europe and coming to live in arid Australia. His view of Europe was that it was this highly cultured place, steeped in history, with universities priding themselves on producing world-famous academics, explorers and artists while in Australia everything had to be started anew and technology and industry were only just taking root. He seemed to know so much about Europe, except for one thing: while Europe really abounded in all those things, it abounded to an even greater extent in devastating conflicts and warfare. The majority of migrants got fed up with constant war and were prepared to flee to the other side of the world never to experience it again. My homeland had been occupied first by the Germans and now by the Soviets and couldn’t be considered a free country.
On sleepless nights I watched the starry skies, realising that with each passing moment we drifted further and further away from Europe, our home country, our families and friends. At this thought, my heart shrunk in my chest and I felt homesick. Just like my fellow passengers, I couldn’t be sure if I’d ever see my homeland again.
All this time we dreaded a storm. We’d pray before going to sleep that we’d live to see the next morning. A tiny bird had somehow reached our ship and became the children’s entertainment, a friend and great joy. They collected breadcrumbs for it and it would come up very close to peck at them. One day when we were far away from the Western Australian coast, the sky clouded over, the wind picked up and the waves swelled. The ship was being tossed so strongly that we all got really frightened. Children were tearful and the women panicked. It was impossible to remain standing or even lying in bed. The crew couldn’t help us as they struggled to save the ship. We could only pray and hope for this nightmare to end. People threw up or relieved themselves where they stood because they couldn’t move. The swinging made everybody sick and the dining room was deserted at meal times. I didn’t notice until several hours later the stench that accompanied us through this night. We now sailed along the coast of South Australia. The sea still didn’t calm down and obstructed our progress so that instead of 38, the journey took 45 days.
After eight more days of being tossed on the nauseating waves, land finally came into view. All passengers emerged onto the deck to catch a glimpse of this Promised Land after all we’ve been through. The ship slowly entered the bay on its way to Sydney. But our joy on finally reaching the journey’s end was soon replaced by the feelings of dismay and disappointment as we looked at the shrub-clad shore. We were expecting a rather different landscape bearing in mind the images presented to us by the Australian immigration officers: well-ordered towns, pretty country houses, wide pastures grazed by cattle and sheep and their owners’ lovely cottages.
Especially that last image was every refugee’s dream. But as far as we could see there were only shrubs and the sea.
We slowly entered the port. It was 8am on Sunday October 20th 1949. The crew disembarked immediately while we waited not knowing what for or for how long. Apparently the authorities had no means to accommodate the growing numbers of immigrants. They were placed in warehouses, military barracks and any other roofed space.
One could rent individually but that came at a very high cost and the quarters were not always suitable for human habitation. As we arrived on Sunday and all the offices were closed we had to wait and wait. Come lunchtime the children started crying for a meal. The Australian lawyer was joined by his wife and left the ship, waving us goodbye while turning the corner.
After a few hours of anxious waiting a charity brought us food that was distributed to children and their mothers. Men had to wait several more hours for their turn. Around 4pm we were informed that we’d be transported to an interim camp in Bathurst. Army trucks transferred us from the ship to the railway station, which took a very long time because of the large number of people.
I remember the moment when I finally left that ship. A military man helped me down the gangway. Overcome with emotions, I felt weak and nearly lost control of myself. I could’ve kissed the Australian soil if there weren’t so many people around.
On our way to the railway station we drove along wide streets lined with merchandise-filled shops. Colourful street lights dispersed the early night’s twilight. My husband and I realised we could buy everything we wanted: fruit, sweets, soft drinks for our boy, provided we had money, which we didn’t. We boarded a train and waited again because it took four hours to bring everybody on. There was no way to prepare a meal for such a great number of people. Our child cried with hunger, after all he only got to eat twice that day. News came that there was to be a meal at the end of the journey. We spent almost all night on the train. By next morning everybody felt chilled and exhausted as the rugged terrain obstructed our passage. We couldn’t wait to reach our destination. At a railway station all the passengers were transferred onto army trucks and headed for the camp.
The first thing that awaited us upon arrival was a proper repast. After the trip the plentiful food didn’t agree with many people’s stomachs, including myself, who as a result fell seriously ill.
My husband and I were assigned a barrack room with two beds, which we had to assemble. We soon fell asleep exhausted by the long road and feelings of great uncertainty. That’s how we spent our first day in Australia.
People hardly talked on that first day. The morning after, when everybody had a look around, a wave of complaints broke out: ‘In Germany we had lived in barracks and here we must live in barracks again’. In the way of welcome we were told that this would be our interim home, possibly for as long as two years for women and children who’d stay in the camp while men served out their two-year contracts. These contracts constituted the main part of the agreements that allowed us to migrate to Australia. We experienced deep disappointment; no one expected to have to live in barracks again. In Germany we had heard about Australia being the size of Europe but with a population of only seven million people. Therefore, we hoped to be met with respect and well cared for, at least immediately after arrival. Not one of us could speak the language, so - despite being free to leave the camp - we had nowhere to go. If we left the camp, we wouldn’t be allowed to return. Renting was out of the question for lack of money to pay for it as well as for clothes, food and other expenses. Men could get a job but too far from the camp for them to be able to see their family. Besides, only the fathers worked to support themselves and their families. We found this strange as husbands and fathers were being sent thousands of miles for their contracts but many single men got employed at the camp. Quite a few husbands wouldn’t agree to part with their families.
However, we needed means to support ourselves and my husband enlisted when the first job placements were advertised for labourers in Townsville despite it being 2,500km away. He was to work on a new military airport construction that required no qualifications. We found it heartbreakingly hard to say goodbye to each other. My husband received 7 shillings 6 pence; this was the first money we got in Australia. He left me 5 shillings, took the rest with him and was on his way.
I was overtaken with grief and longing. There were no familiar faces around me as migrants in the camp came from all over Germany and hardly any of them were Polish. They were predominantly Ukrainians, Czechs and Balts.
I used to take my son in my arms and carry him to a nearby clearing with a few trees. I often recall those moments of great solitude but also hope that things would work out in this our new country and that one day we would be able to live normal lives. Only when would that day come? Here I was, on my own, during those most difficult first days and months. I knew Władzio missed us just as much as we missed him.
A little later, I was informed that I’d have to move to a new camp for women and children whose husbands were serving their contracts in distant parts of the country. It was 100km away in a town called Parkes. The camp barracks were situated within a small airport grounds. Women from the camp attracted the attention of men working in the vicinity and it wasn’t unusual for them to get together as the women were not willing to wait for their husbands to return. This was usually the case with German wives of Polish men and so many of those men found themselves single again as they came back after their two-year contracts.
Bills for our stay in the camp consumed more than half my husband’s weekly wages. I had to pay also the bill from the previous camp but my husband hadn’t sent me any money yet and I was in dire straits. I couldn’t afford toothpaste, soap or washing powder, let alone an ice cream or a lollipop for my boy – ‘luxuries’ other children enjoyed because their fathers had already been working for some time. All this time I felt really sad because I was alone with a small child and had no one to confide in. Our material needs were being taken care of so if it weren’t for this acute loneliness I would have no reasons to complain. Very soon evening English language courses were made available to us but I couldn’t attend because there wasn’t anyone to baby-sit with my son. He wouldn’t stay at home on his own and I wouldn’t allow it anyway for I was scared of the native animals; once a large possum had jumped in through the window, another time some oversized green frogs tried to make a nest in our barrack. I had heard stories about snakes and spiders and greatly feared them, too. I remember the first time I heard a kookaburra I thought some people were quarrelling. Also, the countless crickets in the trees frightened me with their unbelievable racket. We were never forewarned about those little surprises and discovered all by ourselves what Australia had in store for us.
When several weeks had gone, I was faced with a move to yet another camp. This time it was to be near Brisbane and I looked forward to seeing my husband. Unfortunately, this proved impossible because the monsoon rains flooded the rail tracks between Brisbane and Townsville. My son and I travelled from the town to the camp, which was built in the bush during the war as a military base. The barrack we were to stay at was terribly filthy, which surprised me because the two previous ones we had lived in had been tidy and clean. Exhausted and disheartened, I sat on my suitcase and cried feeling utterly helpless.
Since my arrival in Australia I was being moved from place to place, had nothing I could’ve called my own and never knew what tomorrow would bring for my family and me while my husband was 1,000 km away. I thought my husband and I would at least be able to share the hardships of exile in this foreign country, which seemed to us to be a promised land. Maybe it would have been better if we’d stayed in Germany, where at least we wouldn’t have to part from one another? This regretful state of mind didn’t last long, though, and soon I started cleaning. Slowly I managed to tidy things up.
My first Christmas in Australia approached fast. Our camp canteen shone with bright decorations, Santa presented children with small gifts and adults had coffee and cake with catholic nuns. After the Christmas feast I returned with my son to the barracks and thought sadly that it would be Christmas Eve tomorrow, a time when families all over the world get together.
By a lucky chance, I came across a Polish priest in the camp who put me in contact with a Polish couple and their child. They soon became my very dear friends and mentors. We went to the Vigil Mass and spent Christmas together. We sang Polish carols - it meant the world to us that we could celebrate the Polish way despite being so far away from our homeland.
In few days, it became possible to take a train to Townsville. It was a happy moment to think that I would be able to take my son and join my husband. Women with children crowded the train. Outside the heat was extreme; after all, we were in one of Australia’s hottest states. The landscape behind the window emanated beauty but I was surprised by the lack of towns or even houses; the train didn’t stop all night long. We had no drinking water and I couldn’t move to another carriage due to overcrowding. I eventually managed to get some tea for my son but it was so strong he wouldn’t drink it. I didn’t know then that, while I had to pay for the tea, the milk and sugar were free. I tipped the disgusting beverage out.
With God’s help we arrived in Townsville. I was unsure whether our boy would recognise his father after his four months absence but he did. My husband told me about his work: he was in a team of 120 men, all of whom were missing their families, too. He had rented a room for us to stay in even though he couldn’t join us there because he had been stationed on the military base but we would be able to see him every Saturday and Sunday. Our room was one of several in a house all rented out to different people. Each of them had their own bedroom with bed, wardrobe and a washstand; however, the kitchen amenities were shared. I enjoyed finally staying in a proper room instead of tin-roofed barracks. We bought some food and two days later my husband left for work on a pushbike. I cannot imagine how he’d put aside enough for that bike. A few weeks later I managed to find a cleaning job in a large hotel-like building, from 6 to 2. I scrubbed and polished floors and hallways and then quickly ran back. I would leave my son in the care of our neighbour but soon we developed a conflict and I decided to move out. I stayed with an old lady, her cousin and family. Several more weeks passed and it was the first anniversary of my husband’s work in Townsville. It turned out that with the army works an employee could be fired at will when he became redundant - and so my husband got the sack despite earlier assurances of a two-year contract.
A Polish acquaintance working for an employment agency obtained a job for him at a quarry but that posed a problem in terms of accommodation. Again, with some help my husband eventually landed a job with the botanic gardens in Townsville. The wages there were modest but at last we could all live together and that was decisive. We planned to move to Melbourne in two years time hoping that the weather and economic conditions there would prove more encouraging.
I chose a stretch of land in Melbourne’s western suburbs where we built our house. Right from the start we became involved in the construction of a Polish community house. My husband would transport the materials and help with the foundations. I was running a Youth Club: around 20 young people used to come to our house each Friday. They liked me to tell them about Poland and listened in complete silence.
We would do anything to bring a little bit of Poland into our lives, be it in the form of a Polish Centre or a church. Only there, we felt at home and happy. And that’s how it is to this day.
Following my husband’s passing my life became empty. I manage to fill it in by continuing with my community work. I find it very rewarding despite the occasional unpleasant moments and expenses. It gives the satisfaction of the heart, conscience and mind. One feels useful and helpful and builds up one’s self esteem. We shouldn’t be ashamed of being Polish. We’ve got every means here of being both Poles and good citizens of Australia. That should be our message to our children.
[On Australia Day, 2004 Krystyna Gruba received a Civic Award from the City of Maribyrnong. She’s currently a member of the Polish Senior Citizens Club in Kingsville. She’s also been assisting with Polish Mass for the last 50 years and used to run a choir at the club]
