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.
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