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.