Monday, 6 October 2025

Vytautas Simniškis - Second President of National Council - Sydney 1953 – 1954

 Second President of National Council - Sydney 1953 – 1954

Vytautas Simniškis was born on 2 October 1918, in Marijampolė, into a large family of a wealthy farmers. 

Like many Lithuanians, Vytautas ended up in the Seedorf camp after the end of the war in Germany.  He did not rest here but took up work and was appointed warehouse manager.

Vytautas arrived in Australia on the first transport at the end of 1947.  He served his government required employment in the brown coal mines of Yallourn, Victoria.  At the beginning of 1950, he moved to Sydney, where Vytautas put down his roots and devoted himself wholeheartedly to Lithuanian activities.  He bought a grocery store, which he modernized and expanded.  It was his livelihood until he retired.

In 1955, Vytautas married a fellow Lithuanian.

Since the beginning of 1953 to 1958 Vytautas was a member of the board of the Lithuanian Community of Australia, serving for three terms, and in 1953-4 he was elected chairman of the board. During his leadership, the board established close links with exile organisations of other nations and with Australian political parties. The case of Lithuania was raised everywhere.

In his position as head of social care, he called together the more active women of Sydney in early 1956 with the aim of establishing an aid society.  From this nucleus grew the registered and capable Sydney Lithuanian Women's Social Care Association of which Tanja was a member and served as President.  In the third term of the board, as the treasurer, Vytautas many efforts to improve the difficult financial situation of Mūsų Pastogė, the Sydney Lithuanian newspaper.  Vytautas was the initiator of establishing a united Baltic committee.

For the next two terms, Vytautas served in the National Control Commission. His acquired practice in trade and his extraordinary endurance and stubborn personality, which makes the impossible possible, gave us the community the registered Lithuanian club and one of the most beautiful Lithuanian houses in the entire diaspora. In 1960, Vytautas was elected to the board of the Lithuanian House of Sydney and was immediately appointed to be chairman. He remained in that position without any break until 1983, when he retired from the board.

The path from the old Club at Redfern to the newer licensed club with new buildings was winding and full of obstacles. It was necessary to go to courts with lawyers, handle municipal bureaucrats, construction workers, and to study mainly the laws of this land.  Vytautas overcame all this.  He had neither magical power nor supernatural abilities, but he was straight-thinking, and after patiently listening to mutual arguments, he said with light humour: "...let's get back to work, men, because we have to do it now."

On 8 July 1987 about two hundred Sydney Lithuanians gathered in St. Joseph's Church, in Lidcombe, to accompany Vytautas Simniškis, on his last journey on earth.  Mass was offered by Fr. Povilas Martūzas and after, a long motorcade escorted the coffin to Rookwood Crematorium.

Chairman Vytautas Bukevičius spoke on behalf of the Board of the Lithuanian Club. He urged those present to continue the work of the deceased by committing to maintain the Lithuanian Club and leave it for future generations as an eternal monument. 

Vytautas, you deserve our greatest thanks. Rest in peace, far from your birthplace, and at the same time rejoice in being so close to the creation of your earthly life.

References

Mūsų Pastogė 1978, 10 September, V. Siminiskis, 50 years

Mūsų Pastogė 1987 July 20, Obituary by Anskis Reisgys p,3

National Archive of Australia

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Arlosen Archive


Saturday, 27 September 2025

Justinas Vaičaitis

Justinas Vaičaitis served as the first President of the Australian Lithuanian Community, Sydney 1950 – 1953

Justinas Vaičaitis was born in 1904 in Stakiai, Raseiniai district, into a farming family that lived in relative comfort. He studied in schools at Raseiniai and Kaunas, later enrolling at Vytautas Magnus University, where he pursued studies in the humanities and economics.

While still at university, he became active in public life and organisational work. In 1922, he gave his first speech at the spring festival in Stakiai. Soon after, he became deeply involved in the Vilnius Liberation Union (Vilnių vaduoti sąjunga), a civic organisation that promoted the cause of regaining Vilnius and supported cultural activity among Lithuanians in the Vilnius region. He travelled widely throughout the country, helping establish and strengthen Union branches and delivering speeches. Between 1925 and 1939, when the organisation was dissolved, Vaičaitis gave around one hundred speeches at meetings and conventions.

While teaching at the secondary school in Sėda, he reorganised the local fire brigade, which was later integrated into the local Riflemen’s Unit, with Justinas appointed as its leader. In 1927, he also served on the commission in Kupiškis that organised the erection of a monument to honour the 60 Lithuanian soldiers who fell during the War of Independence in 1919.

Vaičaitis was active in the Association of Lithuanian Teachers, directed youth events, and helped organise commemorations and cultural activities. Later, he took a position in the State Control Office, where he remained until the Soviet occupation. While working at the State Audit Office in Kaunas, he also taught workers’ education courses organised by the Chamber of Labour.

Following the German occupation of Vilnius in 1941, Vaičaitis worked in the Vilnius Committee, taking responsibility for the People’s Commissariat of Education. He was appointed Director of Education Affairs, a position he held until that same year. On 27 June 1941, in his capacity as Head of the Department of Higher Education, he issued an order retroactively dated to 22 June, dismissing or expelling Jewish employees and members of the university community who had supported the Soviet regime during the preceding year of occupation.

He married Brone Plūkaitė, born in 1915.

As the Soviets advanced, the family fled Lithuania, eventually reaching Germany. In Landshut, Vaičaitis joined the Lithuanian Committee and was elected chairman. In early 1945, the family crossed into Switzerland, where he again served on Lithuanian representative committees, eventually becoming vice-chairman and later chairman of the Lithuanian Committee in Yverdon. While living in Bern, he headed the Swiss Lithuanian Department and was active in the Swiss Lithuanian Cultural Centre.

In 1949, the family migrated to Australia. Almost immediately, Vaičaitis became active in community life. On 13 August 1950, he was elected to the Sydney District Board of the Australian Lithuanian Community, serving as its chairman until 1951. At the same time, he was elected to the Regional Board of the Community, also serving as chairman after his re-election in 1951. He attended and supported every Lithuanian gathering, commemoration, and cultural event in Sydney. His duties included maintaining correspondence with central community organisations, district boards, institutions, and individuals, as well as liaising with other ethnic communities. All this was carried out in his spare time while he worked full-time in a factory.

Vaičaitis poured his energy into strengthening Lithuanian life in Australia, especially through the publication Mūsų Pastogė (Our Shelter). On 2 November 1953, however, the family emigrated once again, this time to the United States. His tact, dedication, and leadership left a lasting mark on the Lithuanian community in Australia.

Settling in Boston, Vaičaitis continued his community service. He initiated and organised the annual 8 September commemorations, previously unknown in Boston. He was elected chairman of the Boston Branch of the Lithuanian National Association, a position he held for two years, and also served as chairman of the Lithuanian Teachers’ Association in Boston. For two years he directed the Boston Lithuanian School. In addition, he contributed to Lietuvių enciklopedija, to the major historical work Mūsų Lietuva, and supported Radio Lithuania broadcasts.

For his livelihood, he managed Cosmos Parcels Express in Boston, a company that sent parcels to relatives and friends in Soviet-occupied Lithuania and Poland.

Justinas Vaičaitis died on 25 August 1969.

Sources

Australijos Lietuvis = The Australian Lithuanian (SA : 1948 - 1956)  Mon 18 Apr 1955, p7

Mūsų Pastogė 1958 July 28

https://www.vu.lt/en/about-vu/history/recovering-memory

Monday, 22 September 2025

Australian Lithuanian Federal Council - 75 years


The Australian Lithuanian Federal Council met initially in 1950 in Sydney.   The statutory laws were endorsed at the following meeting in 1952.  Subsequent meetings would be held every two years, with the location rotating between Adelaide, Melbourne and Sydney.

Over the 75 years, 32 presidents have served. Of those, 2 served two terms and one served three terms. Six have been women. For the first twenty years the council was based in Sydney, giving Sydney a total of 17 terms, followed by Melbourne with seven, Adelaide with five and Canberra two.  Over that time, at least 225 people have served on the Federal committee. 

 Over the next few weeks, I will introduce you to the earliest of our presidents.

Sunday, 14 September 2025

The man who preserved the Kupiškėnai dialect

Kazimieras (Kazys) Šaulys was born in the village of Juodžiūnas Šimonys, Panevėžys district, Lithuania, on 26 January 1908.   Šaulys' life is a rare example when a person, without receiving an academic education, devotes himself to science, acquires skills and leaves behind valuable works.

Kazys was a teacher by profession.  After graduating, he returned to his homeland in Šimonys, where until 1943 he was the head of the Gaigaliai-Šimonys schools and belonged to the Young Lithuanians organisation.  

In July 1944, when the Russian army arrived in Lithuania, many people were forced to leave their homeland. The fact that Kazimieras Šaulys was a member of the Lithuanian Nationalist Union, a member of the Lithuanian Riflemen's Union, alone posed a threat to him when the Russians came, and therefore he was forced to emigrate. 

The five foot six dark haired man bearing glasses stepped onto Australian soil in Melbourne, having arrived on the ship, General W M Black 27 April 1948.  He was single and forty years old. He was transported with the other passengers to the Bonegilla Migrant camp where he would await his two-year work placement. Kazimeras was assigned to work at Woomera, a town being built in the South Australian outback for the Anglo-Australian long-range weapons testing program. The town became a large military and space research testing range, but in 1948 when Kazimieras arrived it was under construction. Woomera is approximately 446 kilometres north-west of Adelaide, with a hot desert climate, with hot summers, mild winters and low rainfall year-round. 

Another Lithuanian Česlovas Dubinskas who lived in Womera wrote of his time there in his book, I was with you always. Written in Lithuania, these are some extracts from his time in Woomera, which mention Kazimieras. 

Life in Woomera was going normally. I had to meet people of different nationalities on a regular basis; many English and Australians worked there also, in addition to migrants.  The whole social life took place in our club, mostly sipping beer.  Fellow workers still lived in the Philips Pond camp. There was also Captain Bennett's camp, where several Lithuanians worked laying cables. 

In Woomera, when I arrived, the first impression was dreadful because the heat in January was awful and hard to bare, especially when during the physical work on railroad, sewer, plumbing, etc. There often were sandstorms, penetrating the mouth, eyes, nose. Cars had to stop because drivers could not see the road. When a storm struck us working outdoors, we had to hide under the floors of future buildings. Wooden houses were built on raised poles, so there was a space to hide under the floor.  Sand was blown into our rooms and administration premises.  After the storm finished, it was necessary to clean, dust the sheets, clothes, and everything else.

Among those at Captain Bennett’s camp was Kazimieras, whom I knew. He could swear very gently: ‘jęczmien’ iežis.  Australians did not understand that this, translated from Polish, meant 'barley', and they complained about it.  Later, Kazimieras was translocated to Woomera West and I used to meet with him frequently.  He read various books and studied a lot of very interesting things.  Previously we did not have a cinema, so we drove to Captain Bennett's camp where the cinema was shown for free.  Later, a territory in Woomera West was surrounded by a high tin fence and an open-air cinema was opened.  Various films were shown four times a week.  I have seen about 4,000 movies for 10 years, because I rarely missed it. When the contractor Matulevičius built a modern cinema in the town of Woomera, I visited it too, but Woomera West was much more comfortable because it was near me.

Despite the hard conditions, the pay would have been quite good and with nothing to spend it on in the Australian outback, Kazimieras became a wealthy man.  He moved to Adelaide and built a house at 38 Third Avenue, Woodville Gardens in 1955.  There were quite a few Lithuanians who also purchased land in this area at that time. He built a solid brick house with generous bedrooms, large lounge, kitchen/meals and several units at the back of the property.  Kazimieras then worked until his retirement for the Australian Postal service. 

Kazimieras was one of the first honorary members of the Lithuanian Society of Adelaide.  He donated money to the Lithuanian press, the Lithuanian community house and the Adelaide Lithuanian parish. He supported the Vasarios 16 gymnasium in Germany and left all his estate to the Lithuanian community of Adelaide. 

Kazimieras was a reticent and withdrawn person. He had almost no friends, and did not seek them out. Rarely did anyone visit him, except for Jonas Bočiulis, who was the late Kazimieras' neighbour in Lithuania and his student.  

Kazimieras died of cancer at the Philip Kennedy Center hospice on 16 December 1993, aged 86.

In his speech at the funeral, Jonas Stačiūnas said: "Today we say goodbye to a Lithuanian whom we knew so little personally. Having chosen a solitary life, he tried to manage his own affairs until the last day. Suffering from a serious illness, he neither complained nor asked for any help and passed away quietly, as he had lived quietly... Rest in peace, having left significant remnants for Lithuania; you will not be forgotten."
 
The late Kazimieras was buried in the Enfield cemetery.  He never married or had children.

Kazys while living in Adelaide wrote a book on the "Juodžiūnai Dialect", from the region he grew up in. The research began as a pensioner in 1968. It is a large work, containing over 500 pages.  It presents phonetic data and a study of the dialect of the village of Juodžiūnai, located 17 km south of Kupiškis.  This is not a detailed description of the dialect, but a certain accumulation of its phonetic data with conclusions and generalisations.  It accurately conveys the sounds of the speech.  Kazimieras did not forget his native speech, but he retained it so perfectly that in his old age he could use it as an object of research.   The linguistic observation of the self-taught researcher is surprising.  The book contains a lot of factual data on the Kupiškis dialect, and beautiful examples of speech. The manuscript was published by the Adelaide Pensioners' Club in 1988.  

Kazimieras was not only interested in dialects, but also encouraged teachers to collect - place names, describe native villages, their customs, and jobs. In Šimonis, the curious teacher has a lot of free time - he devotes it to learning languages, teaching himself Russian, English, German and French.

A memorial will be unveiled today at 13:00 in Šimoniai Church, to honour the native educator and folklorist, who preserved the Kupiškėnai dialect, and who did this far from his homeland. 

 

Sunday, 31 August 2025

From camp barracks to living free in Australia - Final

 The final part of the Binkevicius journey to Australia.



What’s Next?

The journey continued, but the atmosphere on board was growing increasingly strained. People were becoming fatigued, sick, and frustrated. With the heat, the illness, and the growing tensions, it was clear that we were all eager for the end of this exhausting journey. The Red Sea was no longer a picturesque body of water but a barrier to the relief we desperately needed.

Would the tensions on board subside? Would the ship continue to make progress, or would it encounter further setbacks? The answers were still unknown, but we all knew we had to press on, no matter the difficulties.

September 9 – First Sight of Australia

We had entered the Indian Ocean, and while the oppressive heat of the Red Sea seemed to be behind us, we were still dealing with the aftermath of the long, sweltering journey. Many passengers, including myself, developed skin rashes from the heat, a reminder of just how taxing the voyage had been. The sun was still intense, but at least it wasn’t quite as suffocating as before.

The Welfare Officer had been organising activities for the children, trying to keep them entertained with dances and games. The men, meanwhile, had begun to take on odd jobs in the kitchen to pass the time, sometimes working long hours, which, while tiring, gave everyone something to do.  With no land in sight for so long, people’s minds began to turn to the future and what awaited us in Australia. Conversations were often about how to settle in quickly and how to start a new, independent life once we arrived.

It was on the evening of September 8 that people began to speculate about our arrival. Word spread that tomorrow we would be off the coast of Australia, and there was a palpable sense of excitement. We had long since stopped seeing any ships along the way. The isolation had been profound, and the long stretch of ocean had felt like an eternity. Our little community on board had grown familiar, and as we all began to think about our new life, we started making small plans, often talking about the land we were approaching.

September 9 – The Long-Awaited Arrival

The morning of September 9 began with a burst of energy. My son, full of excitement, rushed into our cabin and cheerfully shouted that he could see the Australian coast. We hurried up to the deck, joining the other passengers who had gathered, eager to witness the first glimpse of our new home.

What we saw was a breathtaking sight: the Australian mainland, bathed in morning light, stood before us. To the right, we saw a large island with towering lighthouses that gave the impression of a fortress. Another rocky island stood in the distance, and all around us were the birds, signalling that land was near. The air was filled with excitement, and people began to cheer and shout.

Then, we spotted something else on the horizon—a yellow ship. It turned out to be the Dundalk Bay, which had left Naples 36 hours after us, and it was moving at a slower pace. It, like our ship, had raised yellow flags, signalling that there were patients on board, which was a reminder of the struggles we’d all been through. We dropped anchor and paused, waiting for the last leg of our journey.

The Dundalk Bay pulled up next to us, and we were all eager to see the port that awaited us. A small motorboat carrying officers came to our ship. It felt surreal—after such a long time at sea, we had finally arrived at the shores of Australia.

Reflections and New Beginnings

As we waited to be escorted into the harbor of Fremantle, there was a mix of emotions. The long voyage had come to an end, but the challenges were far from over. There was the uncertainty of what Australia would be like, how we would settle in, and what life would look like once we got there. Yet, the hope for a fresh start, the promise of new opportunities, and the thought of freedom kept everyone’s spirits high.

The passengers on board, most of whom had endured hardship in Europe, were now transitioning to a new phase in their journey—one of hope, but also of uncertainty. We all gathered in small groups, talking about the future, about what work we might find, and how to make the best of this new life. It felt like a moment of both exhaustion and anticipation, a bittersweet farewell to one chapter and the beginning of another.

Would you like to continue the journey or delve deeper into what happens next as the passenger’s land in Fremantle?

First Impressions of Australia – Fremantle, September 9, 1947

The long journey that began in Europe was nearing its end. After weeks at sea, we had finally entered the Indian Ocean, and the oppressive heat of the previous months seemed to be dissipating. The blistering sun, which had tormented us for so long, was now less intense, but the effects of the heat had already taken their toll. Many passengers had developed skin rashes, a lingering reminder of the unrelenting conditions we had endured. But the arrival of the cooler ocean air was a welcome relief, even if it came with its own set of challenges.

The Welfare Officer, ever concerned with keeping the passengers occupied, organized dance sessions for the children to lift their spirits. There were attempts to bring some normalcy back, especially after so much time spent in the confines of the ship. Some of the men, eager to break the monotony, were often asked to help in the kitchen, which gave them something productive to focus on.

But more than anything, the talk on board was of the future—Australia, the land that had been promised to us. People speculated on what awaited us: how soon we would be able to settle, where we would live, how we could start a new, independent life. These were the kinds of conversations that filled the evenings. I remember discussing these very thoughts with Mr. Ivčius, a fellow passenger, as we wondered how to best establish ourselves once we reached our new home.

September 9: First Glimpse of the Australian Coast

It was early in the morning when my son rushed to our cabin, calling out with excitement. He had spotted the Australian coast. The rest of us quickly climbed onto the deck, eager to confirm what he had seen. There, on the horizon, we could make out the faint outline of land.

Around us, the sea had grown livelier, with birds flying in all directions, signalling that land was near. We could see the shapes of islands off to the right, their towering lighthouses giving them the appearance of fortresses guarding the coast. Directly in front of us, the rugged Australian mainland beckoned.

Not far ahead, we saw a ship: the Dundalk Bay, which had left Naples 36 hours after us. It wasn’t moving fast, but like our ship, it had raised yellow flags, indicating that there were patients on board. Despite the distance between the two ships, there was a sense of solidarity. We both had endured the same journey, the same hardships, and now, both ships were preparing to enter the same harbor.

We dropped anchor, and the ship came to a halt, waiting for the final preparations before entering Fremantle’s harbor. The excitement among the passengers was palpable, but there was also a sense of relief. After so many weeks at sea, Australia was finally within our reach.

Entering Fremantle Harbor

Soon after, a small motorboat approached our ship. Officers from the port arrived, and they began their checks. We all passed one by one, being examined by a doctor who touched each of our left hands and recorded our transport numbers. The process was tedious, but it was part of the routine upon arrival. The tension from the long voyage started to ease as we realized we were finally within Australian waters.

Later, the Lady Mitchell, a tugboat, arrived, bringing more officials—doctors and customs officers. We were still a few hours away from disembarking, but the atmosphere on board had already shifted. There was a calm, almost peaceful energy that filled the air.

After some time, we were joined by the Wyola Fremantle, another large tugboat, which guided us through the final stretch toward the pier. From the Dundalk Bay, we could hear people shouting and waving at us, but it was too far to make out their faces.

As we reached Fremantle Harbor, we could see how much busier it was compared to what we had experienced along the journey. Ships were docked, and we saw a group of Australian workers, or dippers, arriving at the pier. Some of them were former immigrants who had already settled in Australia, and they greeted us warmly, sharing their experiences. It was clear that many had built good lives for themselves here, and that gave us hope for the future.

At the dock, the ship was unloaded with supplies of milk, meat, and vegetables, typical of the provisions that were regularly brought to Australia from other countries. By 5 o’clock in the evening, the ship set off again, continuing its journey to another destination.

Fremantle: A First Glimpse of Australian Life

The first impressions of Fremantle were striking. Compared to the chaotic energy of our voyage, Fremantle felt calm and relaxed, like a place where life moved at a slower pace. It wasn’t what we had expected—it was quieter, less hectic. The people seemed content, going about their daily routines with ease.

Many passengers expressed similar feelings. After weeks of uncertainty, the gentle pace of life in Fremantle was a stark contrast to the frantic journey we had just completed. Australia had seemed like an unknown, a faraway land filled with mystery and possibility. But now that we were here, we could begin to see the first signs of what our new lives might be like.

There was still much to be done, of course. We still had to disembark, go through the necessary paperwork, and begin the official process of settling. But for the first time in what felt like forever, we could begin to imagine a life beyond the ship. The hardship of the past seemed a little more distant, and the future—though uncertain—felt much more promising.

We had arrived. And though there was still much ahead of us, this was the beginning of something new.

September 10: A Strong Wind and Rough Seas

The journey had been long, and by September 10, the sense of excitement was mixed with fatigue. We could no longer see the shores of Australia, but the weather had taken a dramatic turn. The winds picked up, and the sea grew rough. For the first time on this trip, the dining room saw cups and plates topple from the tables. The ship, once a stable sanctuary, was now tossed by the waves, and passengers were reminded that even the greatest of journeys could be filled with unforeseen challenges.

Despite the discomfort, there was still a sense of camaraderie aboard Nelly. In the evening, a children’s performance took place on deck. The ship’s captain, officers, and a large audience gathered to watch. The children danced beautifully, performing folk dances like “Kepurynė” and “Lenciügelj.” The performances were well-received and provided a small, joyous escape from the intensity of the voyage.

September 14: Melbourne – The Long-Awaited Arrival

By September 14, Nelly was nearing its final destination. The Australian continent was once again in view. For many of us, it was a moment of reflection—a long journey from a war-torn homeland, to camps, to this new beginning. As we approached the coast of Melbourne, people were filled with a mixture of awe and exhaustion.

One particularly enthusiastic passenger—a Pole—shouted that he had seen a kangaroo. The excitement, while understandable, seemed somewhat overblown. From the distance we were at, it was hard to imagine spotting such an animal, but the symbolism of the kangaroo was undeniable—it represented the new life ahead. Even after all we had been through, the sight of land was enough to make us feel like we had reached the “Promised Land.”

That afternoon, the ship dropped anchor in the Port of Melbourne. We were told that this would be our last night on board, and the mood on the ship shifted dramatically. The decks and rooms filled with visitors—friends, family, and fellow countrymen. The young Polish women, who had flirted and danced their way through the journey, were reunited with their fiancés, exchanging kisses and promises. The joy of arrival brought a temporary lightness to the air, and no one wanted to sleep. We stayed on deck, looking out over Melbourne’s twinkling lights and the dark streets of the port.

Melbourne was waking up for a night of activity, but for us, it felt like the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. In the early hours of the morning, the “great migration of nations” began. We boarded trains bound for Bonegilla, a migrant camp that would serve as our first stop in Australia.

Three Weeks Later: A New Beginning in Adelaide

The next few weeks flew by in a blur of new experiences. The Bonegilla camp was filled with many different nationalities, all trying to make their way in this new land. My friend Mr. Jasiūnas and I, along with a few other Lithuanians, made our way to Adelaide, looking for work and a new, independent life.

It was in Adelaide that we began to see the life we had dreamed of in Australia. The sun shone brightly, and we found ourselves sitting in one of the green squares of the city, enjoying the warmth and the quiet of the day. People were passing by, going about their business in the peaceful Australian way. It felt like a far cry from the hardships of the war and the long, difficult voyage.

We weren’t wealthy by any means. In fact, our pockets were still light, but we had a few pounds and some silver coins—our travel money. We were hopeful. There were still a million uncertainties, but for the first time, it felt like anything was possible. I had bought a lottery ticket for one and a half shillings, hoping that I might win a house or a car. My friend, ever the realist, called it a bad investment. But I had hope.

As we walked down Rundle Street in Adelaide that evening, I felt a sense of wonder. Here was life as we had once known it—before the war, before the displacement. People walked by in white dresses, hurrying to the theatres and entertainment. We felt like we had entered a world that was familiar and yet completely new. It was the life we had dreamed of, but with so many miles between us and the world we had once known.

We wrote to our families, telling them of our first impressions: “People live well here. Women in white dresses hurry to the theatres and entertainments. Maybe we too will be happy someday. Maybe we too will save a hundred pounds someday.”

Our dreams were simple, but they were full of hope.

Looking Back – A Dream Fulfilled

It’s strange how time works. Those dreams from our early days in Australia? They came true. Many times, over. Our new life in this land was far better than we could have ever imagined back then, as we sat on benches, holding only the hope of a better tomorrow.

But there’s something we never lost, even after all the changes: our loyalty to this new country, Australia. It became home, but we never forgot our roots. We remained proud Lithuanians, embracing the best of both worlds.

In the years that followed, I reflected on those early days. From the crowded ships to the unknown shores of a new continent, Australia gave us the chance to rebuild our lives. Our families came to join us, and we settled into this new chapter, one step at a time. Through hard work, dedication, and the desire to make a new life for us, we became part of the great tapestry of Australia.



Vytautas Simniškis - Second President of National Council - Sydney 1953 – 1954

 Second President of National Council - Sydney 1953 – 1954 Vytautas Simniškis was born on 2 October 1918, in Marijampolė, into a large famil...