We survived everything because we were young
My husband and I left Germany in the autumn of 1949. We spent Christmas in a camp near Naples, Italy. We arrived in Melbourne in January 1950 to start a new life. After disembarking we were taken by train to a camp in Bonegilla, where I didn't stay for too long as I became pregnant. I was taken to another camp especially for pregnant women, while my husband stayed in Bonegilla. Living in separation was very hard on both of us in this new and strange land.
The camp I was sent to was in Uranquinty near Wagga Wagga in NSW. The barracks we lived in were the remains of barracks where pilots were stationed during WWII. It was very cold, especially at night, as these barracks were not heated. I shared a room with another woman who was also pregnant. If we turned on the electric heater the fuses would blow. Those facilities were certainly not suitable for pregnant women and mothers with young children.
The worst time was when we had to take a shower. The bathroom was one large hall with approximately 20 showers, which had no screens. Whoever walked past always made some nasty comments about our ‘big, fat stomachs’. Sometimes there were many arguments over this. To avoid all this I would take my shower at around midnight. I remember once as I was taking my shower I looked up and on the pipes above my head I saw rats running around.
Life in this camp was very boring. The only thing we could look forward to would be our meals every day and waiting for a letter that may arrive. Nearly all our meals consisted of mutton. We found this vary hard to get used to as we had never eaten lamb before. One day I received a letter from my husband. He wrote that he would visit me the following Sunday. I made up my mind that I would meet him at the station, but it was a two - hour journey. When he arrived he did not recognize me. He remembered me as a slim girl and all he could see now was a fat woman with a very large belly. I approached him and told him that I was his wife. I still remind him of that particular event sometimes.
My husband still lived in Bonegilla and waited to be allocated a job. While waiting, he would do some casual work in Albury to earn a few extra dollars. Occasionally, he could send me some money by mail. I would buy some wool and fabric to make jumpers and tights for my child. On Saturday June 10th, my labour pains began and I went to hospital at 5am. I was prepared for the birth of my child but within 2 hours my pains stopped. At approximately 8pm that night the doctor told me that my pains would probably commence again in the morning. The doctor, who was from Czechoslovakia, left with two Australian sisters to go to a dance. I was left at the hospital with a Latvian midwife who did not have a very good reputation. Once the doctor left, the midwife disappeared and I didn't see her for the rest of the night. I couldn't sleep, as I was very cold. The doctor returned at about 3am. He asked whether the midwife was with me. When I said ‘no’, he was very angry and sent one of the sisters to get her. He severely reprimanded her. He examined me and said that my labour was prolonged which could affect the baby. He gave me an injection to induce the labour. At 5am a different midwife came on duty. She was Hungarian and the mother of 12 children. She seemed to be a lovely person and I immediately felt better. She made me a cup of coffee and every time I felt pain she would massage my legs and spine. Just before 9am she rang for the other sisters who came very quickly in their nighties. They put a mask on my face and by 9am I gave birth to my daughter. The men who worked nearby could visit their wives in hospital but my husband was in Melbourne. A train ticket to Uranquinty cost £3 and his weekly wage was £6. He finally managed to visit our daughter, Sophie, and me after six weeks.
Just before Christmas 1950, we were relocated to another camp in Benalla, Victoria. My husband could visit us more often then, as the train fares were much cheaper. I was not happy there because we lived in steel huts and during the summer they got very hot. In Benalla we had a Polish priest who said Mass once a month in our native language. In 1951, my husband and I attended several Lent retreats, which were held just before Easter.
While in Melbourne, my husband looked for a house for us to live in through a real estate agency. But Australians didn't take too kindly to immigrants and didn't really want to help us very much. We were asked if we had any pets. My husband replied that we had a baby but they didn't want to accept people with small children. Australians often have a habit of saying ‘How are you, love?’ without any meaning.
The happiest moment for me was when my husband told me that he had bought a block of land and that a firm was going to erect a bungalow on it. He was concerned that maybe I would not be happy with that particular block and the bungalow. He came to our camp and sketched it and clearly explained to me that it was in Melbourne's western suburb of St Albans. All I really wanted was for us to be together but I also quite liked the name of the suburb - St Albans.
On Saturday May 24th, my husband arrived to help me pack and on 26th of May we left to live in our own home.
My first observation when we arrived at St Albans station was a pair of old shoes under a bench and some old prams near the station. I didn't dare ask my husband what this was supposed to mean. As we left the platform there was no road, only a paddock with tall grass and a well-trodden path. Because there was a lot of mud people changed their shoes at the station. We arrived at our block after a 10-minute walk. The third block from the main road was ours. It was wintertime and there was just overgrown grass and puddles of water everywhere. My husband pulled out a 15cm long key with a flourish. He opened the door and walked in first and called out: ‘This is your birthday present’. I couldn't believe my eyes. By the wall there stood a bed and mattress. Only a man could buy such practical gifts. In the camps our beds were atrocious, we couldn't get a good night’s sleep. The floor in the bungalow was filthy - there was clay all over it. I didn't know where to start but the baby came first.
Sophie was 11 months old. I lit the primus and heated her food. My husband lit the combustion stove. That acted as a heater and as a cooker. That's how we started our primitive existence, without electricity, water and sewerage. To have electricity connected we had to wait years. I used to have to get my water from three streets away, from an Australian family. We paid them 10 shillings a month for the water we used. The worst thing was that the bucket I used to carry the water in had a small hole and by the time I got home I had only half a bucket of water left. We were very poor and didn't have money to buy a new bucket. To do ironing I would heat my electric iron, which I brought from Germany, over the fire and I ironed like that for one year. The worst problem was with the toilet but necessity is the mother of invention ...
After a short time, my husband got a job at the SEC terminal station in Yarraville. On several occasions he had to work the afternoon shift and I was afraid to be on my own at night. In 1951, the winds were very strong and I often asked my husband not to go to work because I was afraid that our bungalow would be blown away. He laughed at me.
After about six months we paid to have water connected to our block from the main street. Then my husband brought a copper cauldron to wash and bathe in. After a short time we managed to grow a small vegetable garden. We took turns to water it and we were so pleased and proud that everything was growing so well.
In 1952, we had another daughter called Barbara and in 1954 I began to work the afternoon shift in a textile factory. I worked six hours a day there till 1975. Things began to get easier and we were able to buy a few extra things. We saved a little bit of money and my husband started to build our own home, which took five years. Our daughters and I helped where and whenever we could. In June 1959, we moved into our new home - what a pleasure it was to live in civilized conditions.
In our first years in Australia we missed the Polish culture and traditions. We missed Polish books and Polish songs and anything that was Polish. My husband bought a gramophone and whenever we could we brought records and played them day and night. We often asked our friends over and had a great time and reminisced and cried afterwards.
In those days, Australians would ignore us but not all of them. As I could speak several languages I would often speak to other people while travelling to work by train. One particular day, an Australian was travelling on the train with us and he got most annoyed that he could not understand he and us called out: ‘You bloody new Australians, speak English’. Often while we were walking to work in the factory, Australians would call us ‘bastards’. We managed to get through all this because we had faith and our native language and because we had spiritual guardians. We survived all this because we were young, full of vitality and hope.
