From camp barracks to living free in Australia part VI

 Part VI of the Binkevicius journey to Australia on the ship, Nelly.

August 14th – The Long Wait

I woke up early again, just before 5 a.m., and went on deck to check on our progress. The ship was still anchored in Naples, and the view of the city’s grandeur made it clear—we were still very much in Europe. It turned out that the departure had been delayed because the captain had persuaded a mother to stay behind in Naples with her sick, bleeding child, a heartbreaking situation that pushed our departure back further.

Despite the delay, we finally reunited with my wife and daughter after an hour. They had been pleased with their accommodations, and we were all glad to be together again. The excitement of setting off on the journey ahead started to take over, so we headed to breakfast. The pilot boats and smaller vessels were busy around the ship, making it clear that our departure was imminent.

Breakfast was surprisingly hearty—eggs, cheese, butter, marmalade, coffee, and milk. We ate our fill before climbing up onto the deck. By the time we stepped outside, Nelly had finally set sail. We were well beyond the Italian coast by then, heading into the vast Mediterranean. The day was bright, and the sea was calm. There were so many new things to take in—the ship, the endless horizon, the excitement of moving toward a new life. I couldn’t help but feel a little lighter as we sailed on.

It was nice to see some familiar faces on board, like Mr. Pov. Luknas and his “lady of the heart.” They were traveling with us and, as we soon learned, would be married in Australia. We passed between the island of Capri and the mainland, and as the ship turned left to sail along the coast, the reality of what we were doing—what we were leaving behind—started to sink in.

As we sailed further, I couldn't help but notice how many of the other passengers were already showing signs of seasickness. Even in the calm conditions, some were struggling. I heard the snap of cameras as people tried to capture the moment, but one careless passenger lost his camera overboard, and another dropped his green glasses into the Tyrrhenian Sea. We all laughed, but I think we were all secretly relieved it wasn’t us.

As evening fell, we passed the famous volcano of Stromboli, which erupted twice in a dramatic display of power, sending a mushroom cloud into the air as if to bid us farewell. The sight of it was both thrilling and terrifying. By nightfall, we entered the Strait of Messina. From the deck, we could see a cluster of lights shining from a distance, perhaps 10 kilometers away, the only sign of life in the dark stretch of water.

August 15th – The Restless Sea

That night, the ship rocked more than I had expected. Around 3:30 a.m., I woke up to a big sway, and several neighbors of mine did too. At first, we thought it might be a storm, but there was no storm, only a larger set of waves as we sailed deeper into the Mediterranean. The sea was much more restless, and as the day wore on, the waves only grew more turbulent.

The Mediterranean can be unpredictable, especially closer to Crete. The sea was treacherous, and many passengers, including my son and I, started feeling unwell. We felt a little queasy at first, but thankfully, it passed. We heard that the ship, Nelly, was limping along due to only two of its four engines working. Some sailors claimed that three engines were working, but no one was quite sure. Regardless, we noticed that other ships were overtaking us, and we couldn’t keep up with them. We were slowing down, and it was frustrating.

The food situation continued to be... well, excessive. The ship's kitchen was serving us lavish meals—too lavish, in fact. There was so much food that much of it was left uneaten and tossed overboard. Watching so much waste happen right in front of me was hard to stomach. It seemed criminal to see so much food thrown away when so many people around the world were starving. It was especially painful to think of those we had left behind in the camps in Germany, Lithuania, or even Siberia, who were struggling to survive. How I wished I could share this excess with them.

In the midst of all this, tragedy struck. A child died on board, and we had a corpse with us now. The mother’s decision to come on the ship with her sick child seemed like an ill-fated one, and it cost the child’s life. A "script" card was issued to each passenger for purchases at the ship's store—my daughter received $1.50, and the rest of us $4.50. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all some kind of punishment, a reminder that after so many years of starvation, we were now being “rewarded” with too much.

August 16th – The Child’s Funeral

That evening, the sea grew even rougher, and we were rocked by high waves. We were all doing well, but many others were bedridden, unable to keep any food down. I thought it was a strange, harsh reminder of the journey we were on—the constant turmoil, both outside and inside us.

In the afternoon, we had to witness a child’s funeral. The child’s body, wrapped in a Panamanian flag, was lowered into the sea after a short Orthodox service. The ship's engines were stopped during the ceremony, and the ship rocked violently in the waves, making the entire event feel even more surreal. The captain and officers participated in the service, dressed in sombre clothes. The rough sea made the funeral seem like a part of some larger, cosmic event, as though nature itself was marking the occasion.

Some of the sailors laughed and joked about the “fresh wind,” while the passengers, sombre and quiet, watched as a pod of dolphins appeared beside the ship. It was a strange contrast—the beauty of the dolphins, the death of the child, and the tumultuous sea.

August 17th – Slowing Down

The next day, the sea had calmed slightly. Nelly was sailing much slower now, her speed reduced from 18 miles per hour to only 10-12. We had made 280 miles on the first day, but only 230 on the second day. Despite the slower pace, the passengers seemed to be in good spirits, many of them gathering on deck.

In the evening, a group of Lithuanians—about a hundred of us—gathered together and sang Lithuanian songs under the dark sky. As our voices filled the air, it felt like a moment of connection to the past, to the people and the homeland we had left behind. We were scattered across the Mediterranean, but for that brief moment, we were all united.

The weather was getting warmer and more humid as we sailed on, a reminder that we were leaving Europe behind and heading toward a new world. The uncertainty of the journey still loomed, but there was a sense of anticipation building. What would Australia be like? Would we find a new home there, or would we face more hardship?

August 18 – Approaching Port Said

By the morning of August 18, we still couldn’t see land, but there were signs that it was near. A single seagull soared past us, and we could spot the sails of small boats on the horizon. This meant land was close. Onboard, more air conditioners were put into operation to cool the ship, a sign that we were nearing warmer climates.

We had already watched two films on the ship: “Australia Today” and “The Show.” Both films were filled with vibrant images of fruit and food displays—something we had become used to seeing after the plentiful meals on board. These visual representations of a peaceful, abundant life in Australia were not surprising anymore. After a year of starvation and scarcity, seeing so much food felt almost overwhelming, but we had quickly adapted. The films weren’t boring, but they did leave us wondering about the reality of what we were about to encounter. Would Australia be as glorious as the films showed? What awaited us beyond the horizon?

After breakfast, we saw the first signs of land—Port Said appeared on the horizon. The city seemed to float on water, its brick buildings lined up along the low-lying shore. A pilot boat arrived alongside us, and soon the Arabs took over the steering of the ship as we entered the shallow waters. The silt from the sea bed stirred up beneath us, making the water appear murky and dark. A motorboat carrying police officers came to check the ship’s documents, but everything seemed to be in order.

As we sailed past the beach and a prominent monument, we entered the harbor. The scene was busy and colorful, filled with ships from all over the world, and the port was lively with activity. British soldiers waved at us from a military ship as we passed by, and the area felt charged with energy. Small boats filled with Arabs surrounded us, offering all sorts of goods—leather products, carpets, and various trinkets. The prices, especially for foreign currency like dollars, were incredibly cheap compared to Germany. It felt like a bazaar on water.

Most of the Arabs were friendly and polite, but there were exceptions. One fellow traveller, Mr. White, was conned when he tried to buy shoes for his wife. He paid the Arab $10 through a basket on a string, but the Arab returned only $4, pocketing the extra $2. Another traveller, a Pole, was swindled when an Arab sold him a handbag for $3 and then disappeared with both the money and the bag. These incidents were a reminder that, despite the warmth of the people, there was a shadow of opportunism lurking in the harbor.

As the day turned to evening, the view of Port Said from the ship was magnificent, especially with the city lights sparkling across the water. The jazz band on board, which had been improving with every passing day, played music that lifted the spirits of the passengers. Suddenly, a large luxury ship with a glowing dance hall sailed past us, its lights dazzling in the night. Passengers on our ship started shouting, “Umtauschen!” or “Change ships!” in jest, but we all knew it was a fantasy—this was our ship, and we had to make do with what we had.

The Morning of August 19 – Sailing Through the Suez Canal

The next morning, when we woke up, we found ourselves at the 62nd kilometer of the Suez Canal, surrounded by other ships. The ships were moving slowly to avoid causing any accidents or washing up on the banks. We sailed through a narrow channel, passing British military camps and bases along the coastline. British military planes flew overhead, a constant reminder that this was a highly sensitive international zone.

As we moved further through the canal, we passed a camp where a group of camels was grazing. One of our Russian fellow travelers shouted to his wife to see them—apparently, she was a fan of smoking "Camel" cigarettes. The sight of those animals, used as symbols of the desert and the Middle East, was both surreal and fascinating. The entire journey seemed to be a collection of odd, unique experiences that would stay with us for years.

At some point, we entered the largest lake in the canal, which resembled a vast sea. Here, the ships stopped for a while to allow the passage of ships sailing in the opposite direction. It was a strange sight—18 ships gathered in one spot, all of them waiting for clearance to continue. The sun blazed down on us, and we had to shield ourselves from its intensity with hats and sunglasses. The heat was oppressive, but it was also the first real taste of what awaited us in Australia—a land of sun, deserts, and open space.

Despite the physical discomfort, we tried to keep ourselves occupied. On deck, a group of passengers attended English lessons conducted by Mr. Petrauskas, a young man who would later be ordained as a priest in Australia. Rimas, one of the other passengers, contributed to the lessons as well. We were all distracted by the surroundings, the waiting, the heat. Fatigue began to settle in, and the excitement from earlier began to wear off.

We had been on this ship for a while now, and the journey was beginning to feel like an endless passage. But at the same time, we were getting closer—closer to that unknown land of Australia that loomed in all our minds.

August 20 – Struggling in the Red Sea

We entered the Gulf of Suez, and at first, our ship, the Nelly, was making good speed. But it wasn’t long before things took a turn. After a few hours, the ship stopped. The engines cut off, and we found ourselves stranded in complete darkness. The lights went out, and the air conditioning, which had already been a luxury in the heat, stopped working too. The cabins quickly became as hot as an oven, and the air felt thick with the weight of the stifling heat.

Large waves pushed us toward the distant shore. It was a chaotic situation—panicked passengers, a ship stuck in the dark, and a crew trying to fix whatever had gone wrong. This tense and uncomfortable period lasted from 9 to 11 PM. During that time, all we could do was sit and sweat, trying to stay calm while the ship seemed helpless in the vast expanse of water.

Then, suddenly, the engines started back up, and the ship began to move again, slowly at first, but then at a normal speed. The sighs of relief from the passengers were almost audible as the Nelly regained its motion.

August 21 – Surrounded by Water

On the 20th, we left the last landmass behind, and by the next day, we found ourselves completely surrounded by water. There was no sign of land in any direction. The real journey was now underway, the full isolation of the sea setting in.

That day, we had a test alarm. A "manoeuvre" was carried out to show everyone how to react in case of an emergency. The ship was now only moving at 11 miles per hour, and people were starting to joke about it, calling the Nelly an "old woman"—no longer the sprightly vessel it once was.

The heat was unbearable. We passed the Two Brothers—two small islands in the middle of the Red Sea. It felt like we were passing through a furnace. The sea was growing hotter, the air thick with humidity, and everyone was drenched in sweat.

Flying fish darted past us, looking like flashes of silver in the sun, and we joked about them being flying herrings. To combat the oppressive heat, we were given more salted food, which we had learned was a way to replenish what we were losing in sweat. But this only made many of us feel more frustrated and impatient with the situation.

August 22 – No Escape from the Heat

The next night, the heat became unbearable. My sheets and pillows were soaked through by morning, and it was clear that many others were suffering too. People avoided going to the dining hall, where the heat was suffocating. Instead, many of us spent time on deck, hoping to catch a breath of cooler air. But there was little to be found. The ocean around us was calm, but the heat remained unrelenting.

Dolphins appeared in the distance, performing acrobatics in the water. We watched, fascinated by their grace, but even the sight of dolphins couldn’t relieve the exhaustion. Everyone seemed to be growing tired of the Red Sea, longing for it to be over. We were stuck between two hot deserts—trapped in a literal and figurative oven.

Some passengers, desperate for any relief, took to sleeping on the deck. The evening air wasn’t much cooler, but it was a break from the oppressive heat below. It became a strange sort of community ritual—people bringing their mattresses and blankets up to the deck, searching for whatever coolness they could find. A few even climbed into the lifeboats to try and get some sleep, while others scrambled onto the roof above the deck, trying to escape the heat below.

August 23 – Strained Atmosphere

The captain wasn’t pleased with the situation. He ordered all the ship’s property to be taken back inside. The passengers were being too unruly, and the sight of people crowding the deck and climbing into strange places must have seemed like disorder. But when the police (some of whom were spies from the International Refugee Organization) came to move people back inside, a confrontation nearly broke out. The police gave up after a brief standoff, realizing that the passengers were too restless to be controlled.

As the night wore on, the situation continued to worsen. More people fell ill, some from fever, others from the heat. The ship’s hospital became a haven for the sick, with even Lithuanian Mr. Točka helping out. The dining room, once a place for socializing and eating, had become a literal hot oven. Many passengers avoided it altogether.

Twice, the Nelly had to stop for about half an hour—once for an 83-year-old woman who had fallen seriously ill and passed away. The ship stopped again for her funeral, a sombre event that added to the tension on board.

August 24 – A Dangerous Turn

By August 24, the ship finally seemed to regain some of its former strength. The engines appeared to be working again, and the Nelly was able to move faster. But the relief was short-lived. As the ship’s speed increased, we began to notice sparks flying from the chimneys, signs of burning oil. A fire risk loomed over us, and the ship’s firefighters had to act quickly, using water jets to extinguish the flames before they could spread. Fortunately, the danger passed, but it was a reminder that our journey was far from smooth sailing.

That evening, the ship's officers gathered the passengers to give a warning. There had been rising tensions between different national groups on board. The Poles and Ukrainians, in particular, had been clashing, and the officers cautioned against further animosity. It was a reminder that the stress of the journey was starting to unravel the civility of the passengers.

Image is AI generated.