The Mozūras family - owners of Baltic Bakery (Benalla)(Enhanced with AI from image in MP)
Lithuanian Bread in Benalla
While travelling around Australia,
I passed through Benalla many times. It is a small town in Victoria, known for
its family camp. Driving through in haste, I never noticed the modest sign on
Bridge Street bearing the words “Baltic Bakery.”
One day, while attending a service,
I met several Lithuanians at the family camp. They mentioned that a few
Lithuanian families still lived in the town, among them the Mozūras family. I
joked that a Mozūras could hardly be Lithuanian. In truth, Albertas Mozūras
proved to be a sincere Lithuanian and a true compatriot.
Alvika Mozūrienė woke her husband,
and we spoke warmly about life in Australia. Mr Mozūras rises at three o’clock
each morning, resting briefly in the afternoon so he can begin baking again
before dawn. From Albertas Mozūras’ bakery, I brought home black Lithuanian
bread for the first time in Australia. Made from genuine rye flour and
naturally leavened, it carried the unmistakable sour aroma of village bread
from Lithuania.
Albertas was a modest man of medium
build, with dark eyebrows meeting at the bridge of his nose and lively black
eyes. He was forty-five years old when he told me his story, and with it, the
story of Lithuanian bread in Benalla.
The Beginning of a Life
Albertas learned the trade of baker
and confectioner while still in Lithuania, a craft whose secrets he fully
mastered. After arriving in Australia in 1949, he worked for a time at
Bandiana, in an army kitchen. His wife and children were sent to Benalla, and
Albertas soon followed, finding work with a local baker, Mr Hide.
The work was hard, but he remained
employed full-time while nurturing a dream of independence. Bakers were always
in demand, but establishing one’s own bakery was another matter entirely. At
first, Albertas had no home of his own. His wife was often unwell, and they
were raising three children. Still, in 1952 he managed to buy a small house on
Bridge Street, paying only a deposit.
As he settled into his home, the
idea of opening his own bakery grew stronger. Many plans were made, only to
collapse under financial and bureaucratic obstacles. From conversations with
his employer, Albertas learned that to open a bakery he would need to join the
Bakers’ Union and pay compensation to the baker operating in the same
territory. This seemed an insurmountable barrier.
Yet hardship often carries its own
solution.
Permission to Open a Bakery
One day, weighed down by worry,
Albertas met a Benalla city official and spoke candidly about the difficulties
faced by newcomers. The official explained that the government supported
migrants seeking to establish themselves and suggested that Albertas apply
directly to the city council for permission to open a bakery. Encouraged,
Albertas submitted his application.
Some time later, the local morning
newspaper announced that the council had granted him permission. That same
morning, his employer paid him two weeks’ wages and dismissed him, warning that
unless Albertas paid compensation of six hundred pounds, his bakery would be
shut down within months.
Albertas returned home
disheartened. There was no income, no wages forthcoming, and yet an oven still
needed to be built. What was to be done?
A Lithuanian proverb came to mind: “Kas
bus, kas nebus – dar nežinai.” Whatever will be, will be. And so Albertas
resolved to try.
With his family’s support, he began
building the bakery himself. A sawmill owner supplied timber without demanding
a deposit, bricks were gathered where they could be found, and Albertas first
constructed the oven. Before long, a modern, German-style baking oven stood in
the yard.
Until the bakery was ready, his
wife baked biscuits in the household oven and sold them at a nearby camp. The
family survived on that modest income. Finally, production began in the real
oven. There was no signboard, no advertising, and no customers. The first day’s
takings amounted to five shillings. The first week brought only three shillings
and faith in God’s judgment.
But good bread speaks for itself.
Anyone who bought bread or pastries
once returned again, bringing neighbours with them. Soon, without signs or
advertisements, people flocked to the bakery. Demand exceeded supply, yet the
struggle for survival was far from over.
The Fight for Yeast and Flour
When Albertas refused to pay
compensation, the Bakers’ Union declared him a “black baker.” All bakers and
millers were ordered to boycott him. Once again, ingenuity prevailed. Having
worked in the trade, Albertas knew which millers had themselves fallen out with
the union and began purchasing flour from them. Grateful for his custom, the
millers supported him.
The Bakers’ Union intervened,
forbidding the millers from supplying flour. One miller advised Albertas to
take the matter to the Victorian Parliament, even drafting a petition on his
behalf. Albertas signed it. Parliament ruled in his favour, ordering that flour
be supplied or a commissioner appointed to enforce compliance. The flour
problem was resolved.
Yeast soon became the next
obstacle. Albertas sourced yeast from Melbourne until the union traced the
supplier and cut him off. Undeterred, Albertas prepared to produce yeast
himself, planning a small factory. When Melbourne manufacturers learned of this,
the yeast supply was suddenly restored.
Following these victories, the
Bakers’ Union lifted all sanctions and permitted Albertas to bake and sell
freely. Though inspections continued, checking weight and quality, Albertas
needed no defence. His skill spoke for itself, and the people of Benalla
defended him openly.
“Thanks to you,” they told him, “we
now eat good bread. Before, bakers gave us what they pleased, and we had no
choice. You brought competition, and with it, quality.”
An Untimely End
Mr Mozūras later rebuilt his home,
opened a shop, and modernised his bakery, hoping to ease his workload and
expand production. Fifteen months after this account was written, tragedy
struck. Albertas and his wife were involved in a car accident. Albertas was
killed; Ludvika survived. They left behind four children.
His bread, his perseverance, and
his quiet courage remain part of Benalla’s history, a testament to the
endurance of a Lithuanian baker who refused to give up.
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