We Are Many – Stories of Australia’s Migrants

We are many Stories of Australia’s migrants

We are many Stories of Australia’s migrants

Acknowlegment of country The Australian National Maritime Museum acknowledges the Gadigal people of the Eora nation as the traditional custodians of the bamal (earth) and badu (water) on which we work. We also acknowledge all traditional custodians throughout Australia and pay our respects to them and their cultures, and to elders past and present.

Cultural warning People of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander descent should be aware that We are many may contain names, images, video, voices, objects and works of people who are deceased. Signals may also contain links to sites that may use content of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people now deceased.

The museum advises there may be historical language and images that are considered inappropriate today and confronting to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples.

Published by Australian National Maritime Museum Wharf 7, 58 Pirrama Road Pyrmont NSW 2009 www.sea.museum Š Australian National Maritime Museum 2020 This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part of this book may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Inquiries should be addressed to the publisher.

The Australian National Maritime Museum is a statutory authority of the Australian Government.

ISBN 978-0-9775471-8-0

Cover image: Dagy Talmet and her daughter Maie on the deck of Oxfordshire in Adelaide, 1949.

See story on page 120.

Editor/project manager Janine Flew Assistant editor Laura Signorelli Designer Jo Kaupe, Austen Kaupe

Previous pages: The Welcome Wall at the Australian National Maritime Museum, 2020.

Image Andrew Frolows/ANMM

Foreword

I AM DELIGHTED TO INTRODUCE this important compilation of stories of migration to Australia.

Our goal with this publication is to bring attention to one of the pillars of our national story – the making of modern Australia by its immigrants. Nearly half of all Australians were born overseas or have at least one parent born overseas, and since 1945 nearly eight million migrants have stepped ashore to infuse modern Australia with more than 200 different cultural and linguistic traditions.

This publication uses the voices and stories of migrants registered on the museum’s Welcome Wall to illuminate Australian history, to demonstrate how various international events have affected migration to Australia and, most importantly, showcase the types of people who have helped shape our national identity.

We introduce migrants from various times and countries of origin, whose stories speak to universal themes such as love, adventure, family, safety and striving for a better life.

And we expose stories of extraordinary courage, resilience, success and celebration, deep despair and injustice.

There is an interesting story behind every name on the Welcome Wall and our intention is to update this publication from time to time as more of these stories are recorded. Our aspiration is to achieve a compilation of stories as diverse as the Australian population.

This publication is a companion to From Across the Seas – Australia’s National Migration Story, which we released in April 2019. From Across the Seas provides an overview of the museum’s achievements in collecting and sharing the national migration story.

Museum Director and CEO Kevin Sumption PSM and the CEO of Multicultural NSW, Joseph La Posta, in front of the Welcome Wall, July 2019.

Image Andrew Frolows/ANMM.

Many people are surprised to learn that the museum’s statutory remit includes migration to and from Australia.

In fact, we are the only museum focused on the national migration story and the only national cultural institution with a permanent gallery dedicated to migration.

Since 2017, it has been a corporate priority to enhance our focus on the national migration story and we are diligently working on several fronts to realise this.

In an age where museums are no longer just repositories of historical and artistic treasures, but function as societal agents for change, it is not surprising that many new migration museums have sprung up in the last ten years, particularly across Europe. Museums with powerful new remits have embraced the challenge of explaining the unprecedented changes taking place in communities around the world today. The Australian National Maritime Museum is doing its best to fill this gap.

We have ambitious plans and look forward to working with, government and corporate partners and, most importantly, with migrant communities to bring them to fruition.

Kevin Sumption PSM Director

Australian National Maritime Museum 5

‘I still remember stepping off the aeroplane at Tullamarine after days alone at sea and months in a refugee camp.

My mother told my sister and I to pat the ground because it was special. She tells us that we did pat it but replied that it did not feel special.

So she told us to make it special in our minds’ Tan Le, Young Australian of the Year 1998

6 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Waves of Migration projection on the museum’s rooftop. Image Andrew Frolows/ANMM

Achievements

There are currently more than 14,450 objects in the national migration collection, as well as more than 50 oral histories, making this one of our largest collecting areas.

In addition to the Passengers Gallery, which is permanently dedicated to the stories of Australia’s migrants, we are custodians of Tu Do, a remarkable Vietnamese refugee vessel, which made landfall in Darwin on 21 November 1977 carrying 31 Vietnamese refugees.

Migration-themed digital artworks, projected onto the museum’s rooftop, have been our signature offer since 2013. The Threads of Migration and Waves of Migration projections have been viewed by more than 260,000 people to date.

We have delivered a diverse range of temporary exhibitions focused on migration issues and history, as well as refugees and people who born Jewish, Greek, Vietnamese, Chinese, Chilean, Italian, Portuguese, Croatian, Dutch, Pacific, British or Norwegian.

We are active in migration scholarship and partnerships, migration-themed digital blogs, online exhibitions and, of course, the articles in Signals magazine, which are the basis of this publication.

We also have a migration education portal for teachers and curriculum-aligned education programs and public programs.

Welcome Wall

The Welcome Wall has almost 30,000 names of people who have travelled across the seas to make Australia home, and more than 50,000 people have attended the ceremonies at which the names are unveiled.

The ceremony involves an acknowledgement of the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation – the traditional custodians of the lands and waters on which the museum is located – as well as speeches by distinguished guests and representatives of the people whose names are being unveiled.

At the first unveiling ceremony, in January 1999, the then GovernorGeneral of Australia, Sir William Deane, said: … perhaps the greatest of our achievements is the multiculturalism which has enabled our diversity of origins, beliefs and backgrounds to be a source of strength rather than of divisiveness and weakness.

The essence of that multiculturalism is inclusiveness. It has enabled us to achieve national unity and to escape most of the old hatreds and old conflicts which have affected some of the lands from which we or our forebears have come.

In recent years, a highlight has been the performance of Bruce Woodley’s song I am Australian prior to the unveiling of the names.

There is rarely a dry eye as the crowd sings ‘We are one, we are many, and from all the lands on earth we come’ and then joins together to view the many names on the wall.

Australian National Maritime Museum 7

8 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Contents

Waves of migration

12

A twist of fate

158

Diversity and unity

14

Living Fairbridge’s dream

162

War child

167

English rose, Dutch sailor

172

Precolonial Exile and oblivion

18

Makassans and Bugis

22

Convicts and colonists Convict transport to colonial mansion

28

La Cella Venezia

30

‘A native of Canton’

34

Algiers to Goulburn

39

A Ghost story

42

A worker in tulle

44

Irish famine orphans

47

Titan of migration

48

To Victoria from the Isle of Man

54

‘Here at the end of the world’

56

The Gocks of Middle Mountain

59

Federation to WWII

Sydney via the Suez

176

Love and sacrifice

182

The Egyptian diaspora

186

From revolution to reunion

188

Twelve of a kind

190

Until we meet again

194

Four ships and a lifeboat

198

From Basque Country to cane country

206

Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match 210 The holiday of a lifetime

212

Far from mother Russia

215

From buckaroo to grazier

218

Australia via the Cape

222

The swinging sixties at sea

226

Las Balsas

229 234

A shipwreck tests a racist policy

66

Third time lucky!

Amazing Grace

69

Me, you and Tucantu 236

From Surrey to the outback

72

Berlin Wall to Welcome Wall

238

As Italian as stonemasonry and grapevines

76

Tim Tam Times

240

Family, farms and feasts

79

Threads of migration

242

Con the fruiterer

83

SS Orontes

86

Populate or perish

Beyond a White Australia The case of Mrs O’Keefe

255

A tale of two migrants

260

A whole world apart

92

War and love

262

The Dunera boys

97

Wine and poetry

270

The era of mass migration

100

In someone else’s shoes

276

US war brides

107

Cultural adjustments

278

A seafaring adventurer

117

Anatolia to Australia

281

As far from Europe as possible

120

Mr Haddad’s hatta

284

Fruits of faith

126

Siblings’ story

286

A Baltic odyssey

133

A fishing boat called Freedom 288

Snowy stories

136

Next stop, Australia!

292

From Russia with love

140

Against a sea of troubles

294

The charmed life of a ‘ten-pound Pom’

143

A family’s flight from Iran

296

On their own

146

Aussie football legend

298

Australian National Maritime Museum 9

Contents by country

Afghanistan Threads of migration

Hungary 242

Austria

From revolution to reunion

188

Threads of migration

242

A whole world apart

92

India

The Dunera boys

97

A shipwreck tests a racist policy

Threads of migration

242

Next stop, Australia!

39

Makassans and Bugis

Barbary States (North Africa) Algiers to Goulburn

The Gocks of Middle Mountain

The case of Mrs O’Keefe 34

Iran

59

A family’s flight from Iran

The era of mass migration

100

Siblings’ story

286

Ecuador Las Balsas

229

Irish famine orphans

Estonia

255

296

47 212

Isle of Man To Victoria from the Isle of Man

186

22

Ireland The holiday of a lifetime

Egypt The Egyptian diaspora

292

Indonesia

China and Hong Kong ‘A native of Canton’

66

54

Italy La Cella Venezia

30

As far from Europe as possible

120

As Italian as stonemasonry and grapevines

76

A Baltic odyssey

133

Family, farms and feasts

79

France Tim Tam Times

240

The era of mass migration

100

Until we meet again

194

Japan

Germany The Dunera boys

97

‘Here at the end of the world’

56

The era of mass migration

100

War and love

262

War child

167

Jordan

Four ships and a lifeboat

198

Mr Haddad’s hatta

Berlin Wall to Welcome Wall

238

Threads of migration

242

Greece Con the fruiterer

10 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

83

284

Lebanon A tale of two migrants

260

Wine and poetry

270

In someone else’s shoes

276

Aussie football legend

298

Malta Four ships and a lifeboat

United Kingdom 198

Mexico Third time lucky!

234

The Netherlands Exile and oblivion

18

English rose, Dutch sailor

172

Twelve of a kind

190

Australia via the Cape

222

Netherlands East Indies The case of Mrs O’Keefe

255

North Africa (Barbary States) Algiers to Goulburn

39

Portugal (Madeira) Love and sacrifice

182

Russia From Russia with love

140

Far from mother Russia

215

Singapore Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match 210 Spain From Basque Country to cane country

206

Syria Cultural adjustments

278

Convict transport to colonial mansion

28

A Ghost story

42

A worker in tulle

44

Titan of migration

48

Amazing Grace

69

From Surrey to the outback

72

SS Orontes

86

A seafaring adventurer

117

Fruits of faith

126

The charmed life of a ‘ten-pound Pom’

143

On their own

146

A twist of fate

158

Living Fairbridge’s dream

162

English rose, Dutch sailor

172

Sydney via the Suez

176

Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match 210 The holiday of a lifetime

212

The swinging sixties at sea

226

Me, you and Tucantu 236 Threads of migration

242

USA US war brides

107

From buckaroo to grazier

218

Vietnam A fishing boat called Freedom 288 Against a sea of troubles

294

Turkey Anatolia to Australia

281

Australian National Maritime Museum 11

Waves of migration

Pre-1788 Estimated 40,000– 60,000 years of Indigenous settlement and civilisation.

Indigenous population estimated at between 300,000 and 1.5 million.

1850s–60s The gold rush brought more than 600,000 immigrants to Australia between 1851 and 1860.

1815–40 Approximately 58,000 free settlers arrived under various migration schemes, of whom many were assisted by government funding.

1788 The First Fleet arrived in Botany Bay carrying more than 1,300 convicts and military personnel.

1905–14 Approximately 390,000 new settlers arrived, predominantly British.

1890s A weakened economy and severe drought resulted in widespread unemployment, poverty and industrial strikes, and brought immigration to a standstill.

1847 First indentured labourers from the Pacific Islands brought to New South Wales to work on private farms.

12 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

1920s More than 340,000 immigrants arrived, two-thirds of them under assisted migration schemes.

1889 Population

1939 Population

3 million

7 million

1880s Immigration increased as a result of a thriving economy.

1914–18 Immigration virtually ceased during World War I.

1901 Federation of the Commonwealth of Australia.

Immigration Restriction Act 1901 introduced, a key part of what became known as the ‘White Australia Policy’, which included a dictation test.

1945 The Department of Immigration was formally established on 13 July 1945, with Arthur Calwell as its first minister.

1947–54 The Australian government signed an agreement with the International Refugee Organization to settle persons under the Displaced Persons Scheme, admitting more than 170,000 Europeans by 1954.

1939–45 World War II brought major immigration to a halt, except for small numbers in need of a safe haven.

1958 The revised Migration Act 1958 abolished the dictation test and reformed entry processes.

1948 The Nationality and Citizenship Act 1948 created the status of ‘Australian citizen’.

1976–81 Between 1976 and 1981, a total of 56 boats carrying 2,059 Indochinese refugees landed on Australian shores.

1971–75 Concerns over increasing unemployment levels led to significant reductions in the planned intake of migrants.

1959 Population 10 million

1999–2001 More than 12,000 irregular maritime arrivals reached Australian shores.

1981 Population 15 million

1963–66 Immigration restrictions on non-Europeans were further relaxed.

1949–75 More than 100,000 migrants worked on the Snowy Mountains Hydro-electric Scheme.

2009–13 More than 50,000 people arrived on boats seeking asylum.

1972–74 The remnants of the ‘White Australia Policy’ were further dismantled under the Whitlam Government, which took a non-discriminatory approach to immigration and provided additional services to migrants.

2019 Population 25 million

2003 Population 20 million

1995 In the 50 years to 1995, Australia accepted more than five million migrants, including over half a million refugees and displaced persons.

2015 Australia resettles 12,000 Syrian and Iraqi refugees fleeing the Syrian Civil War.

2001 The Tampa incident provided the catalyst for a revised border protection regime and the creation of the Pacific Solution.

2019 Around half of Australia’s population was either born overseas or has a parent born overseas.

The top five countries of birth are England, China, India, New Zealand and Philippines.

Australian National Maritime Museum 13

Diversity and unity The Welcome Wall: a memorial to all our migrants

Sir William Deane AC KBE , then Governor General of Australia, unveiled the Welcome Wall in 1999. His great-grandfather is one of the thousands on names on the wall, and Sir William gave a speech that encapsulates what this memorial means, and what migrants have contributed to our country.

The then Governor General, Sir William Deane AC KBE, walks with children of the world to unveil the Welcome Wall.

ANMM image 14 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

‘... as the preamble to our Constitution makes plain, it is the people themselves who constitute our nation. In other words, Australia is the sum of us all.’

Sir William Deane

THE INSCRIPTION on the introductory panel to the Welcome Wall at the Australian National Maritime Museum says: More than six million people have crossed the seas to settle in Australia. They have come from most countries on earth to the lands of the Cadigal, the Burraburragal and beyond.

This Welcome Wall stands as a symbol of our great diversity and our unity.

One of the names inscribed on the wall is that of Sir William Deane’s great-grandfather, Patrick Deane, who arrived from Tipperary, Ireland, in 1851. At the inaugural Welcome Wall unveiling, Sir William said: That inscription eloquently says almost everything that could be said about the wall. For one thing, it draws attention to the diversity of the people, indigenous and non-indigenous, who established the Australian nation.

Apart from the Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders, we Australians are all migrants or descended from migrants.

Directly or indirectly we come from all the regions, races, cultures and religions of the world. At the same time, the inscription stresses our national unity. In doing that, it reminds us of the fact that perhaps the greatest of our achievements is the multiculturalism which has enabled our diversity of origins, beliefs and backgrounds to be a source of strength rather than of divisiveness and weakness.

The essence of that multiculturalism is inclusiveness. It has enabled us to achieve national unity and to escape most of the old hatreds and old conflicts which have affected some of the lands from which we or our forebears have come. That multiculturalism both sustains our nation and symbolises what we are.

The reference in that introductory inscription to the Cadigal and the Burraburragal Aboriginal clans and to the lands that lie beyond their ancestral territory on the different sides of the Sydney heads reminds us of the fact that this country was inhabited long before the arrival of the First Fleet here in Sydney Harbour 211 years ago. Indeed, it had been so inhabited for more than 40,000 years. It is now established, by the decision of the High Court in the Mabo case, that the original inhabitants possessed native title to their ancestral lands on which the migrants whom the wall commemorates, and those descended from them, lived and now live. In its acknowledgment of the prior ownership of the indigenous peoples, the Welcome Wall not only draws attention to historical and legal fact, it invites reflection upon the effects of dispossession and the introduction of hitherto unknown diseases and subsequent events upon the indigenous peoples of our country. By doing that, the Welcome Wall and its inscription serve not only as a proud reminder of our national diversity, it also serves to remind us of the importance for all of us that we achieve true reconciliation between Australia’s indigenous people and the nation of which they form such an important part. And, of course, the wall stands as a memorial to the individual people who have come from overseas to all parts of our continent since the first European settlement here at Sydney, the more than six million of them … Their names and their countries of origin and personal stories … provide a lively grassroots account of an important aspect of our history over the past 211 years.

The migrants whom the wall commemorates and honours came in, and from, all circumstances and conditions of life. Some came to escape from terror and persecution.

Some came simply to seek a better life in a far-off new land.

Some of them flourished here. Some did not. However, they all have one important thing in common. By coming and settling here, they became part of our nation and our people. They are part of Australia. For, as the preamble to our Constitution makes plain, it is the people themselves who constitute our nation. In other words, Australia is the sum of us all. All those who have made and make our nation what it is. All those who have been and are Australian.

Australian National Maritime Museum 15

Illustration of a massacre from Francois Pelsaert’s account of the Batavia story, Ongeluckige Voyagie van’t Schip Batavia nae de OostIndien (‘Unlucky voyage of the ship Batavia to the East Indies’), published in 1647.

ANMM Collection

16 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Australian National Maritime Museum 17

1629 Pre-colonial

Exile and oblivion Castaways in a hostile land

The earliest documented European settlers did not arrive on the First Fleet in 1788, but almost 160 years earlier, on the Batavia. The story of this Dutch ship and its wreck is one of mutiny, massacre and punishment that has fascinated academics and the public alike. Two of the collaborators escaped capital punishment for their acts but were left marooned in 1629 on the coast of Western Australia. Their fate has been the subject of speculation ever since.

WOUTER LOOS AND JAN PELGROM DE BY were marooned on the coast of Western Australia in 1629 as punishment for their involvement in the mutiny on the Dutch East India Company (VOC) trading vessel Batavia and the subsequent massacre of many of its passengers and crew. In the almost 400 years since Batavia was wrecked on the Houtman Abrolhos Islands off Western Australia, its story has become a shared legend for the Netherlands and Australia.

In October 1628 Batavia set sail from Texel, the largest of the Frisian Islands in North Holland, on its maiden voyage to the trading port of Batavia (modern-day Jakarta, Indonesia) in the Dutch colonies. The ship, one in a convoy of seven, was carrying silver coins, two antiquities belonging to the painter Rubens, sandstone blocks for the portico of a gatehouse in Batavia and other goods to trade for a valuable cargo of spices. Officially it carried 341 people, although some last-minute desertions were noted. About two-thirds of those on board were officers and men sailing the vessel; a further 100 were soldiers.

A small group of civilian passengers travelling or returning to the Indies included women and children.

18 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Batavia was under the command of senior merchant Francisco Pelsaert and skippered by Ariaen Jacobsz.

Their already hostile relationship deteriorated further as the voyage progressed. Misfortune struck the convoy early, with terrible storms in the North Sea separating some of the ships. Batavia and two other ships rounded the Cape of Good Hope together but Jacobsz soon veered the ship off course, taking advantage of an illness affecting Pelsaert. He and fellow crew member Jeronimus Cornelisz, an apothecary and merchant with the VOC, had begun a mutinous conspiracy against Pelsaert. But before they could fully enact their plan, the ship hit a reef off the Houtman Abrolhos group of islands, about 35 kilometres off the western coast of New Holland (as Australia was then known) and was wrecked.

Surviving crew and passengers were taken to the various islands, but they had few supplies and no source of fresh water. Pelsaert, Jacobsz and a number of crew set out in search of drinking water. Unsuccessful, they left in the ship’s longboat to sail to Batavia for help. The 268 survivors on the islands were left under the rule of Cornelisz, and what ensued was a horror story. The band of mutineers massacred 125 men, women and children who were perceived as a threat to Cornelisz’s rule or a burden on supplies. Any women who took their fancy were forced into sexual slavery. Other survivors hastily joined the mutinous group, probably to save their own lives. Cornelisz and his conspirators indulged the very worst of their depravity, expecting no repercussions.

A small group of 20 soldiers, led by Wiebbe Hayes, was sent

by Cornelisz to a nearby island and left stranded to die of thirst and starvation. By chance, theirs was the only island in the archipelago with a supply of fresh water; with that, and wildlife caught for food, they managed to subsist.

Some of the survivors fleeing from the violent mutineers reached the soldiers and told them of the massacres.

Anticipating a confrontation, Hayes and his men made weapons out of debris from the Batavia, built a stone fort and posted a watch. This small group managed to survive a series of attacks from the mutineers and eventually captured Cornelisz. The mutineers regrouped under the command of Wouter Loos, this time armed with muskets, and attacked again. By sheer chance Pelsaert then arrived in the rescue ship Saardam and the revolt was quickly quelled.

Pre-colonial 1629

The 268 survivors were left under the rule of Cornelisz, and what ensued was a horror story 01 Left to right: Cast-iron cannonball, brass thimble (with top section missing) and copper powder measure, all made before 1629.

Excavated from the wreck site of the Batavia. ANMM Collection 00016022, 00016340, 00016019 Transferred from Australian Netherlands Committee on Old Dutch Shipwrecks 02 Two trials, on one of the Houtman Abrolhos islands (top) and in Batavia (below), from Francois Pelsaert’s account of the Batavia story, Ongeluckige Voyagie van’t Schip Batavia nae de Oost-Indien (‘Unlucky voyage of the ship Batavia to the East Indies’). ANMM Collection 00006056

01

02

While most of the mutineers were swiftly tried and executed, either on the islands or in Batavia, two were granted mercy by Pelsaert. In his later published account of the disastrous voyage, Pelsaert records a trial held on an island in which Wouter Loos, a 24-year-old soldier, admitted taking part in the murder of a preacher’s family, excepting the preacher himself and one of his daughters, who was kept as a slave. The kindness he reputedly showed two other surviving women stayed Pelsaert’s hand from execution. Jan Pelgrom de By was an 18-year-old cabin boy conscripted into the mutineers’ group after the shipwreck.

Apparently he took up his role with some enthusiasm, murdering one boy, helping to kill another two, and insisting on decapitating another victim. According to witnesses, de By cried when another mutineer was allowed the ‘honour’ instead. Though sentenced to hang, he pleaded for mercy, and due to his youth it was granted.

On 16 November 1629 Pelsaert marooned the two on the mainland of what is now Western Australia. The precise location is debated, but it is thought to be either the mouth of the Hutt River or in the Wittecarra Gully just south of the Murchison River. Pelsaert intended for the two to be retrieved at a later date to ‘know for certain, what happens in the Land’. He instructed the young men: 20 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

… to make themselves known to the folk of this land by tokens of friendship. Whereto are being given by the Commandeur some Nurembergen [wooden toys and trifles], as well as knives, Beads, bells and small mirrors, of which you shall give to the Blacks only a few until they have grown familiar with them. Having become known to them, if they take you into their Villages to their chief men, have courage to go with them willingly. Man’s luck is found in strange places; if God guards you, [you] will not suffer any damage from them, but on the contrary, because they have never seen any white men, they will offer all friendship.

Dutch voyagers to New Holland in 1644 were told to keep an eye out for Loos and de By, but they were never recovered. Later explorers and shipwreck survivors gave accounts of meeting Indigenous people with blue eyes, blond hair and pale skin, who even spoke limited Dutch words. What happened to the two men remains a mystery, though one theory suggests that they were taken in by the local Nhanda people. It is claimed that these two men were the first documented – if quite involuntary – European settlers of Australia, 159 years before the convicts and soldiers of the First Fleet arrived and established the colony of New South Wales.

The gruesome details provided in Pelsaert’s account, published in 1647, proved popular reading and raised awareness in Europe of the existence of a strange southern landmass.

The shipwreck of the Batavia was formally identified in 1963 and is now protected under the Historic Shipwrecks Act 1976. A replica was built at Lelystad in the Netherlands and launched in 1995. The National Maritime Collection holds many objects recovered from the shipwreck site, transferred from the Australian Netherlands Committee on Old Dutch Shipwrecks. Loos and Pelgrom de By were registered on the Welcome Wall by Bill Richards, former media manager of the museum.

Pelsaert intended for the men to be retrieved at a later date to ‘know for certain, what happens in the Land’

Veronica Kooyman

Image depicts survivors from the Batavia on two of the Houtman Abrolhos Islands, with Batavia in the foreground.

ANMM Collection Australian National Maritime Museum 21

1600s–1906 Pre-colonial

Makassans and Bugis Ancient trade links with northern Australia

Pre-colonial 1600s–1906

The seafaring Makassan and Bugis clans of present-day Indonesia had well-established maritime connections with Australia dating from pre-European times. The friendly relationships that developed over the centuries led to intermarriage and migration on both sides, and these links are remembered to this day in the art and oral histories of Aboriginal people.

Macassin Collecting Trapang (2) by Nancy McDinny, before 2006.

ANMM Collection 00042369

1600s–1906 Pre-colonial

Northern Australia and Indonesia have always occupied a common maritime zone. On the southernmost tip of the Indonesian island of Sulawesi is a beach where timber boats have been built in a very similar fashion, right there beneath the coconut palms, for many, many hundreds of years. And it’s a beach that for hundreds of years launched fleets of timber boats to sail across the horizon all the way to northern Australia to harvest sea slugs, known as trepang or teripang, for the China trade.

There’s some controversy about how long that trade had been occurring, with carbon dates from archaeological sites and graves in Arnhem Land suggesting arrivals long before the first historical records occur. There’s no doubt at all that the seafaring skills of Indonesian maritime cultures, combined with favouring monsoon wind patterns, put Australian coasts well within their reach from much earlier times.

The Konjo-Makassan clans were, and still are, famed throughout Indonesia as shipwrights – although they’re just one of the many seafaring cultures of the tropical Indonesian archipelago. Together with sailors from other kingdoms of South Sulawesi – most notably their entrepreneurial trading kinsmen and rivals, the Bugis – Makassans had taken part in seasonal voyages to Australia’s top end in pursuit of one most extraordinary fishery. From at least the 17th century they sailed off each year and worked with coastal Indigenous people of Australia’s northern littoral to gather and preserve slimy, cucumber-sized sea slugs that they call trepang.

Europeans, when they arrived considerably later in this historical tale, would know the ugly invertebrates as Holothuria, bêche-de-mer or trepang.

These voyages of South Sulawesi’s Makassan and Bugis sailing clans, up to 1,000 nautical miles each way, harnessed the great monsoon weather system that stretches from tropical Australia and Asia across the Indian Ocean all the way to Africa. For half the year its winds blow from the eastern quadrants before reversing into the west for the other half. It was this predictable, climatic returnticket that powered the wider international trades in spices and other valuable Eastern products for much of history.

And down in a remote corner of this world of ancient monsoon trade routes – on a distant coast that the sailors from Sulawesi called Marege, the land of black people – was one very specialised trade that connected Arnhem Land and the Gulf of Carpentaria with the courts of Imperial China.

24 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Over the centuries there were complex cultural relations between the Makassan and Bugis visitors and the Indigenous people who received them

For Chinese gourmets the fat varieties of sea slugs or trepang found in shallow, tropical Australian waters were expensive delicacies with medicinal and aphrodisiac properties. In the dry season the Makassans set up annual camps there and with the consent and help of their Aboriginal hosts they collected and then laboriously boiled, sun-dried and smoked the catch, preserving them for the voyage back to Sulawesi’s international trading port called Makassar. Here the trepang were transferred into Chinese junks that came down on a different branch of the monsoon wind system, exchanged for goods such as blue and white Chinese trade porcelain. The rockhard, dried trepang were ultimately soaked, softened and simmered for broths and hot-pots in distant Chinese kitchens.

The story of the Makassans and their Aboriginal associates goes well beyond maritime trade, however, for over the centuries there were complex cultural relations between the visitors and the Indigenous people who received them. The Makassans left legacies that included new technologies, materials and foodstuffs, language and practices. Most importantly, they left descendants and thereby became ancestors. Aboriginal people sometimes sailed back to Sulawesi with the visitors. The Makassans are remembered in Indigenous ritual, performance and art, long after the voyages were forbidden in 1906 by customs officials of the newly federated and determinedly ‘white’ Australia.

Jeffrey Mellefont

Pre-colonial 1600s–1906

01 Makassan Prahu by Nadjalgala Wurramara, 1987. This bark painting depicts a prahu of the type typically used by Makassan traders during the 19th century.

ANMM Collection 00001926 02 Macassin Collecting Trapang (1)

by Nancy McDinny, before 2006.

In her paintings, Nancy McDinny recalls the stories of the Gulf frontier as told to her by her father Dinny McDinny and her grandfather Jim Ross.

The old people use to work for the Makassans collecting trepang around the Sir Pellow Islands group in the Gulf not far from the mouth of the McArthur River mouth. In return for the trepang, Nancy’s dad, mum and uncles to would get tobacco, flour, sugar, tea and other goods.

ANMM Collection 00042367

01

02

Convicts and

26 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

d colonists Detail of The First Fleet storeship Borrowdale by Francis Holman, c1886, depicting the three-masted wooden square-rigged ship in two positions. ANMM Collection 00009033

Australian National Maritime Museum 27

1760 Convicts and colonists

Convict transport to colonial mansion A woman of standing

To celebrate Australia’s early Jewish history, the Sydney Jewish Museum registered the 13 Jewish convicts who arrived in the First Fleet on the Welcome Wall. One of them was the intriguing Esther Abrahams, who flourished as consort and wife of the prominent officer George Johnston.

FIRST FLEET CONVICT ESTHER ABRAHAMS has gained notoriety and admiration as an intriguing character who rose to prominence with her controversial partner, the dashing officer of the New South Wales Corps, Major George Johnston. In later life came family disputes and allegations of mental illness. Although much of her story is unclear, the mystery contributes to our fascination with her.

Although her Jewishness is not disputed, the records show Esther Abrahams was baptised at St Mary the Virgin Church in West Derby, Lancashire, on 3 February 1760, the daughter of Henry and Cicely Abrahams. Her exact age is unknown.

In 1786 at the Old Bailey, Esther Abrahams of St James, Westminster, was indicted before Mr Justice Rose for feloniously stealing 24 yards of black silk lace, to the value of 50 shillings, from the shop of Joseph and Charles Harrop.

The stolen lace was, according to a witness at the trial, concealed in her cloak and fell to the ground from beneath her clothing when she was threatened with being searched.

Esther’s only words in her defence at the trial were: ‘I leave it to my counsel.’ Despite the efforts of this counsel, Mr Garrow, she was convicted of stealing and sentenced to transportation for seven years. She might have fared worse but for the good character witnesses called in her defence.

28 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Only known image of Esther Johnston (née Abrahams), attributed to Richard Read Senior and painted in c1824.

Private collection, image courtesy of the Leichhardt Library Local History Collection

Pregnant with her first child, Rosanna, Esther was imprisoned in Newgate Gaol, avoiding the more unpleasant fate of a prison hulk. A man by the name of Julian may have been the father, since that surname was inconsistently used

by Esther and her daughter at various times throughout their lives. In early 1787, Esther and her newborn were first mustered aboard Prince of Wales, then transferred to the Lady Penrhyn in Portsmouth in May 1787 with around 100 other female convicts. It is thought Esther was aged between 17 and 20.

Aboard the Lady Penrhyn was Marine First Lieutenant George Johnston, from an old and renowned Scottish family. He had a distinguished service record in the American War of Independence, and in the West Indies against the French, and was responsible for maintaining discipline and preventing disorder among the convicts.

He was also reputedly the first British officer from the First Fleet to set foot ashore in Sydney Cove. The female convicts of the First Fleet followed him onto dry land on 6 February 1788.

Whether the relationship between George and Esther began aboard Lady Penrhyn is unknown, though there were many reports of liaisons and prostitution occurring between the officers and the female convicts during the voyage. Nevertheless, their partnership was to survive the many dramas of life in the new colony until Johnston’s death in 1823, and produced seven living children.

Their first son, George, was baptised in March 1790, just before the family sailed to Norfolk Island to help establish desperately needed farmlands for the struggling colony.

Convicts and colonists 1760

Esther’s only words in her defence at the trial were: ‘I leave it to my counsel.’ She was convicted of stealing and sentenced to transportation for seven years

Esther once again ran the estate with assistance from assigned convicts, sold produce to the government, and under the name of Julian received a grant at Georges River to graze cattle. Johnston returned to Australia in 1813, and in 1814 the couple were married by the Reverend Samuel Marsden – probably encouraged by Governor Lachlan Macquarie, who disapproved of the colony’s many unsanctioned unions.

As well as Rosanna, Esther would bear three boys and five girls; one was stillborn and one daughter died at the age of two.

Johnston joined the influential New South Wales Corps and began receiving the land grants that were to bring much wealth to the family. The first, near Parramatta Road, was named Annandale after Johnston’s birthplace in Scotland.

Here they erected a convict-built colonial-style mansion.

By 1800 the estate included a slaughterhouse, butchery, bakery, smithy, stores and an orangerie, supplying fresh produce for the colony. The family name is perpetuated in places such as Johnston Street in Annandale and Georges Hall, near Bankstown, named for their eldest son.

Johnston’s career was as controversial as it was successful.

A quarrel with Colonel Paterson, Commander of the New South Wales Corps, saw him arrested and sent to England for trial. It fell to Esther to manage their properties and raise their many children. The case was dropped, Johnston returned to Australia in 1802 and by March 1804 he was a hero of the colony for crushing an Irish convict rebellion at Rouse Hill near Parramatta.

In 1808, as head of the New South Wales Corps and Magistrate of the County of Cumberland, he intervened in a quarrel between John Macarthur – a former Corps officer and fellow landowner – and Governor Bligh. Johnston led his troops in the infamous ‘Rum Rebellion’ that deposed Bligh, and assumed the title of Lieutenant Governor for six months. He was recalled to England for court martial in 1809, found guilty of mutiny and cashiered.

As the wife of a leading settler and officer, Esther had some standing in the colony. There’s evidence she attended a splendid ball held at Government House on 18 January 1819, and other prominent occasions on the social calendar.

Esther’s sons were sent to England for their education; her second son, Robert, was the first Australian-born officer in the Royal Navy. In 1820 tragedy struck when their eldest son George Jnr was killed in a riding accident.

Tensions arose with Robert who, after his father’s death in 1823, destroyed many of Johnston’s diaries. There are reports of quarrels and violence between Robert and Esther who, owning considerable property in her own right, gave notice of mortgaging them and returning to England.

Robert instigated a writ of de lunatico inquirendo against his mother, to have her declared insane and incapable of administering her properties.

The motivation and truth behind this move, and countercharges of abuse of Esther by family members, even now remain matters of dispute. Witnesses were called to give testimony to her excessive drinking and irrational behaviour. The court found that, while having lucid moments, she wasn’t capable of managing her affairs.

It appointed her male heirs, the litigious Robert and another son, David, as trustees.

Sometime after the verdict Esther moved to her son David’s estate in Georges Hall, where she lived until her death in 1846. Esther has a prominent line of descendants and a reputation as an intelligent, industrious and very capable woman.

Veronica Kooyman Australian National Maritime Museum 29

1800 Convicts and colonists

La Cella Venezia A new Italy In New South Wales

Long before the era of mass migration in the 1950s and 60s, a pioneering group of farmers from northern Italy sought a better life in the South Pacific. The Marquis de Rays expedition in 1880 began in misfortune and adversity, but eventually led to the creation of a prosperous Italian community.

IN JULY 1880, VENETIAN COUPLE Lorenzo Roder (1843–1931) and Maria Regina Roder (née Piai) (1855–1942) were among more than 300 Italian migrants who boarded the steamer India in Barcelona, Spain, bound for an idyllic new French settlement in the southwest Pacific Ocean.

But when they finally disembarked from a disastrous three-month voyage, they were confronted by a desolate, malaria-infested mangrove swamp. They had been deceived by the Marquis de Rays.

De Rays employed a Milanese emigration agent by the name of Edwige Schenini, who journeyed through the impoverished villages of northern Italy to recruit migrants for the venture. Participants were required to either pay 1,800 francs in gold or become indentured labourers for five years, in exchange for a four-room house and 50 acres of arable land, which would be cleared and ready for cultivation. For the contadini (peasants) of the economically depressed Veneto region – including the Roder family from the village of Orsago – this was an appealing prospect. Their farming existence had long been burdened by alternating periods of drought and flood, heavy taxes, and war between the Austrian Empire and the newly formed Republic of Italy.

Born Charles Marie Bonaventure du Breil in Brittany in 1832, de Rays aspired to establish a utopian society at Port Breton on the island of New Ireland (now part of Papua New Guinea). In the late 1870s the ambitious French nobleman launched a scheme to collect subscriptions for his imagined colony, which he called La Nouvelle France (‘New France’).

In early 1880, 27 members of the extended Roder family, including Lorenzo (37) and Maria (25), and their son Antonio (five), were among the 50 families assembled for a fresh start in La Nouvelle France. Complications surfaced early into the endeavour, when the Royal Investigation Bureau of Milan decreed that passports would not be issued to any Italians intending to join the Marquis de Rays expedition, due to concerns about the suitability of the proposed settlement site. But official forewarnings about the sterility of the land and the risk of death from starvation were not enough to deter the group. In April 1880 they managed to reach the French port of Marseilles, from where they were transferred to Barcelona. There they experienced miserable living conditions for several months, until they were finally able to obtain passports from the Italian Consulate.

De Rays was an ardent follower of the journals of European explorers, and had travelled extensively in the United States, Senegal, Madagascar and Indochina during his youth. He regarded the colonising mission as a means of restoring the glorious past of his country, as well as his own privileged social standing, which had now been eroded in post-revolutionary France. Declaring himself King Charles I of New France, de Rays promoted the fraudulent scheme through newspaper advertisements and literature that extolled the virtues of his South Pacific paradise, with its fine buildings, wide roads, fertile soils and agreeable climate.

On 9 July 1880, 340 migrants departed Barcelona on the third of de Rays’ four expeditions to Port Breton.

Sailing on India under the command of Captain Jules Prévost, they were reassured that the passengers from the two earlier voyages of Chandernagore and Génil were already settled. The expedition began badly when Lucietti Buoro (née Roder), a widowed mother of two, died just nine days into the passage. Nine infants, including Agata Roder and Cristina Roder, died before India arrived at Port Breton on 14 October 1880. The migrants were greeted by the sight of Génil at anchor – but the promised settlement was not to be seen.1

30 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Convicts and colonists 1800

De Rays regarded the colonising mission as a means of restoring the glorious past of his country

Maria and Lorenzo Roder in Lismore, New South Wales, c1900. Reproduced courtesy Lorraine Lovitt Australian National Maritime Museum 31

The industrious expeditioners promptly set to work to clear the land and plant crops, but tragedy and suffering soon ensued as food supplies ran short and the inhospitable foreign climate took its toll. Over the next four months, around 100 people died from disease and malnutrition, including Maddalena Roder (73), Giovanni Roder (76) and Giacomo Roder (42).

In December 1880, Captain Prévost sailed Génil to Sydney for provisions, but his return was delayed by engine repairs in Maryborough, Queensland. As the situation at Port Breton deteriorated, the settlers petitioned their interim leader, Captain Leroy, to transport them to Sydney.

He decided to head for the closer French penal colony of New Caledonia instead.

The voyage to New Caledonia in February 1881 was beset by difficulties, and it was only because of the vigilance of passenger Angelo Roder that India avoided being wrecked on a reef. On 12 March 1881 India’s distressed passengers arrived in Nouméa, where they were offered food, water and fresh milk. But they were adamant about travelling to Sydney and appealed to Edgar Layard, the honorary British Consul in New Caledonia, for assistance.

32 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Layard referred the group’s request to Lord Augustus Loftus, the Governor of New South Wales, and Sir Henry Parkes, the Colonial Secretary of New South Wales.

Parkes responded favourably and arranged for the destitute Italians to be transported to Sydney on the steamer James Paterson. The 217 refugees arrived in Sydney on 7 April 1881 and were permitted to enter the colony as shipwrecked mariners. Parkes was later honoured by King Umberto I of Italy with the title of Commander of the Crown of Italy.

The survivors of the de Rays expedition were initially accommodated in the Agricultural Hall of the Exhibition Building in The Domain. They were then dispersed to labouring and domestic jobs throughout the colony – from the suburbs of Liverpool, Parramatta, Campbelltown and Penrith, to as far afield as Goulburn, west of Sydney, and Singleton in the Hunter Valley – in an attempt to assimilate them into the community. The group retained a deep-seated desire to reunite, however.

An opportunity arose in 1882 when Italian settlers Rocco Caminotti and Antonio Pezzutti selected 3,000 acres (1,200 hectares) of land south of the Richmond River, near the town of Woodburn in northern New South Wales.

Convicts and colonists 1800

Going-away party for the wedding of Maria and Lorenzo Roder’s daughter Mary (front row, holding handbag), c1921. Maria and Lorenzo are in the back row, third and fourth from right.

Reproduced courtesy Pauline Lovitt

The New Italians were highly respected throughout the Richmond Valley region for their dedicated work ethic

By the turn of the century a number of butter factories, including Norco, were operating in the area, and cream boats were a common sight on the local waterways.

The New Italians supplied cream to the butter factory in the busy port town of Coraki, located at the junction of the Richmond River and Wilsons River. Lorenzo and Maria Roder owned a dairy farm at Wyrallah, on the east bank of the Wilsons River, which they operated until they retired north to the town of Lismore. The couple lived well into their 80s and raised nine children – Antonio, Lawrence, Theresa, Giovanna, Andrew, James, Minni, Mary and Lucy – all of whom became loyal citizens of Australia.

Their youngest son, James, served in the Australian Imperial Force during World War I. Lorenzo Roder died in 1931 and Maria Roder died in 1942. Lorenzo and Maria’s granddaughter, Nancy Lovitt, registered their names on the Welcome Wall to acknowledge all the hardships her forebears endured to reach Australia.

By the end of 1883, 26 families from the de Rays expedition had relocated to the new settlement, which they named La Cella Venezia (‘The Venice Cell’). This became New Italy in 1884, when an application was made to open a school on the site.

The New Italians were highly respected throughout the Richmond Valley region for their dedicated work ethic.

Using local materials such as bark, clay, and wattle and daub, they constructed their simple dwellings, followed by wells, ovens, cellars, a church, a school and a community hall. Timber-getting provided the cash to raise livestock, while the settlers’ strong agricultural skills saw orchards, vineyards and vegetable gardens quickly flourish on l and that the British deemed barren. The New Italy settlement was self-sufficient and its residents were extremely resourceful, using duck feathers to make pillows, corn husks for mattresses, and spinning and knitting wool on machines built by Angelo Roder. In the early 1890s they experimented with silk farming (one of the specialties of their homeland) and won prizes at international exhibitions in Chicago and Milan. Sericulture supplemented the other main industries in the region, namely timber-getting, cane-cutting, winemaking and dairying.

In the years after World War I, New Italy slowly lost its unique character as the ageing pioneers died and their descendants integrated into the community through schooling and intermarriage. The New Italy School was closed in 1933 and the settlement was abandoned following the death of its last resident, 87-year-old Giacomo Piccoli, in 1955. Today the New Italy Museum and Monument to the Pioneers stand as tangible reminders of the perseverance and resilience of the New Italians, along a stretch of the Pacific Highway between Grafton and Ballina.

And what became of the Marquis de Rays? In 1882 de Rays was arrested in Spain and extradited to France, where he was tried and sentenced in 1884 to four years’ imprisonment. He had amassed a wealth of more than seven million francs through four failed expeditions to the South Pacific. Upon his release from prison in 1888, de Rays engaged in a few more dubious adventures before he died in 1893, having never set foot in La Nouvelle France.

1 Many of Génil’s passengers had already deserted the ship en route to Port Breton, while the survivors of the Chandernagore expedition were rescued by Wesleyan missionaries. See J H Niau, The Phantom Paradise: The Story of the Expedition of the Marquis de Rays, Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1936.

Kim Tao Australian National Maritime Museum 33

1818 Convicts and colonists

‘A native of Canton’ Celebrating two centuries of Chinese immigration

Chinese people were some of the first non-European migrants to Australia. Among them, in 1818, was Cantonese carpenter and publican Mak Sai Ying, one of the earliest recorded Chinese-born free settlers to arrive the colony of New South Wales .

Watercolour by unknown artist titled The entrance of the Bocca Tigris leading to Canton, c1800.

The narrow strait known to Europeans as the Bocca Tigris (meaning ‘tiger’s mouth’, now Humen) was the gateway to the trading port of Canton and heavily fortified during the Qing dynasty. ANMM Collection 00019970

34 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Convicts and colonists 1818

MAK SAI YING (also known as Mak O’Pong, later anglicised to John Pong Shying) arrived in Sydney in 1818, just 30 years after the First Fleet and several decades before the 1850s gold rushes that would bring thousands of Chinese fortune seekers to Australia. John Shying has the distinction of being the first Chinese landowner and publican in Sydney, and also the grandfather of one of the first Chinese– Australian servicemen.

Shying first worked as a carpenter at English settler John Blaxland’s Newington estate on the banks of the Parramatta River. Blaxland later stated, in an 1838 character reference, that ‘John Shying lived with me as a carpenter on his arrival in the colony for three years, and always conducted himself with the greatest propriety, since which I have always heard that he has been an honest, respectable character.’1

Shying was born about 1796 in Canton (now Guangzhou), the southern Chinese port to which all foreign trade had been restricted since the mid-18th century under the Qing dynasty’s Canton System. Shying arrived in Sydney on 27 February 1818 on the Laurel, an Indian-built vessel that sailed between Calcutta, Canton and Sydney. It is not known whether he was a passenger or a crew member on the ship, which was carrying a cargo of tea from Canton to Sydney.

In 1821 Shying was granted 30 acres (12 hectares) of land at Brush Farm, near Parramatta, following a written request to Governor Lachlan Macquarie in which he described himself as ‘a Native of Canton in China … anxious to become an Agriculturalist of this Colony’.2 Shying also worked for the pastoralist Elizabeth Macarthur (who with her husband, John Macarthur, pioneered the wool industry in Australia) at Elizabeth Farm in Rosehill, where he was referred to in daybooks as the ‘Chinese carpenter’.

John Shying has the distinction of being the first Chinese landowner and publican in Sydney

Australian National Maritime Museum 35

1818 Convicts and colonists

Two centuries after Shying’s arrival, more than five per cent of Australia’s population (some 1.2 million people) identify as having Chinese ancestry

John Shying’s grandson, Sergeant John Joseph Shying, 1885. Photographer William H Vosper. Reproduced courtesy Winsome Doyle

On 3 February 1823, Shying married English free settler Sarah Jane Thompson (c1802–1836) at St John’s Anglican Church in Parramatta. The wedding was officiated by the Reverend Thomas Hassall and witnessed by ex-convicts Matthew Todd and Alice Williams.3 Sarah Jane Thompson and her younger stepbrother John O’Neill had arrived in the colony on the Morley in 1820. In Parramatta they were reunited with their convict parents, servant Sarah O’Neill (née McLean, c1762–1839) and gardener Daniel O’Neill (c1773–1842), who had been transported in 1815 for counterfeiting coins. The young Sarah Jane had been implicated in her parents’ crime by attempting to pass the counterfeit coins in Nottingham, but she was acquitted at their trial in 1814.

After Shying’s marriage to Sarah Jane, lands records reveal that he purchased a number of properties and allotments in the town of Parramatta and the district of Bathurst, west of Sydney, throughout the 1820s. He also ran a shop (which was known to supply goods to the Female Orphan School at Parramatta) until he was granted a publican’s licence in 1829 for the Lion Inn. Another licence, issued in 1830, notes that he was ‘a fit Person to keep a Public House’ and authorised ‘to retail wines and malt and spirituous liquors’ at the Golden Lion on Church Street, Parramatta.4 Shying and Sarah Jane had four sons: John James (1823–1885), George Hugh (1826–1893), James Henry (1828–1891) and Thomas Jones (1830–1894). All would become successful businessmen, firstly in Parramatta and later in Sydney town.

36 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

A search of the Sands Directory from the 1860s to the 1880s shows the two eldest, John and George, operated J&G Shying Undertakers, while James was a cabinet-maker (and then a tobacconist) and Thomas was a butcher.

John James Shying was an acquaintance of Mei Quong Tart, the prominent Sydney tea merchant and philanthropist who actively campaigned against the importation of opium. Shying’s son, Sergeant John Joseph Shying (1844–1900), a draper, became one of the earliest Chinese–Australian servicemen when he served with the New South Wales Contingent of the Colonial Military Forces in the Anglo–Sudan War in 1885. Another Shying descendant, Private Christopher John Shying (1896–1980), served with the First Australian Imperial Force during World War I. Shortly after the birth of his fourth son, John Shying returned to China, where he may have been employed as a customs official or port liaison in Canton.5 In October 1831 he granted Power of Attorney to Joseph Hickey Grose, a merchant and auctioneer, and John Foreman Staff, a local schoolmaster, to act generally over his affairs ‘in consideration of the said John Pong Shying leaving the colony’.6 The following month, Sarah Jane Shying wrote to the Colonial Secretary of New South Wales, Alexander Macleay, to request that the title deeds to her husband’s allotments be made out in her name. Her letter was forwarded to the Attorney General, John Kinchela, who replied to Macleay:7

Convicts and colonists 1818

Shying and Sarah Jane had four sons, all of whom would become successful businessmen I have the honour to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 17th instant transmitting to me a letter addressed to you by Sarah Shyong [sic], requesting that the Title Deeds of certain Town allotments in Parramatta claimed by her husband John Shyong [sic], who is a native of China, and not naturalised, may be executed in her name, and requesting by direction of His Excellency the Acting Governor that the same may be returned with my legal Report, whether there is any legal objection to its being done – in reply I have the honour to state, that as the husband of Sarah Shyong [sic] cannot receive a grant of land, I see no legal objection to the Grant being made if His Excellency shall be pleased to do so to Trustees, to the use of the wife, and her children, but as a married woman the Grant cannot be made directly to herself. The Trusts may be for her use solely, or to her for life with such power to dispose of the property to her children, as shall be arranged before the Grant shall be finally made out.

While Shying was in China, his wife Sarah Jane died on 27 March 1836 and was buried in St John’s Cemetery in Parramatta. Shying returned to Sydney on the Orwell a few months later, before the outbreak of the First Opium War between Britain and China, which would result in the abolition of the Canton System and the opening of five Chinese treaty ports to foreign trade. He resumed buying and selling real estate, noting that he had ‘brought capital with him from China’ in a letter to Governor Richard Bourke in 1837.8 Records from this period show that Shying became the publican at the Lamb Inn on Pennant Street, Parramatta, in 1837.9 On 10 October 1842 he married a widowed Irish bounty immigrant, Bridget Gillorley (1813–1845), again at St John’s Anglican Church. The wedding was conducted

by Reverend Henry Hodgkinson Bobart in the presence of James Turner and John Foreman Staff.10 Bridget Shying died in 1845 and was buried in St Patrick’s Cemetery in Parramatta with Daniel O’Neill, the stepfather of Shying’s first wife, Sarah Jane.

In 1844 a number of newspaper advertisements referred to Shying as the proprietor of the Peacock Inn in Parramatta, which was to be sold at auction on 13 March. The Inn was described as having ‘an excellent China-fashioned verandah running the whole frontage, and contains a bar, tap-room, three sitting and three bed rooms, large yard, stables, coach-house, a never-failing well of good water, and cellars’.

The property was situated in ‘the best thoroughfare in the town, and is proverbial as being a LUCKY HOUSE’.11 John Shying made his will in October 1844 and after this period he disappears from the public records. Although a later land transaction refers to John [James] Shying as the executor of the will of John Shying the Elder, the absence of a death certificate suggests that his death may have been documented under a different name.12 Research by two of his descendants, Vanessa Gai Johnson and Valerie Blomer, puts forth the rather intriguing proposition that Shying could have married for a third time under the name of John Shin or Sheen.

Johnson and Blomer discovered that John Shin, a gardener and native of China, married Irishwoman Margaret McGovern at the Scots Church Sydney in 1846 and their children were known as Sheen.13 John Sheen died on 18 June 1880 and was buried at Rookwood Cemetery, in Sydney’s west, by J & G Shying Undertakers. While John Sheen’s death certificate bears information that is consistent with that of John Shying, however, the connection has not yet been conclusively established by his descendants.

Nevertheless, today many of Shying’s descendants still live in Sydney and their family history research papers are held at the State Library of New South Wales.14 John Shying’s name, along with that of his first wife, Sarah Jane Thompson, was registered on the Welcome Wall by his great-greatgranddaughter to honour a pioneering Chinese settler.

Two centuries after Shying’s arrival, more than five per cent of Australia’s population (some 1.2 million people) identify as having Chinese ancestry.

1 Valerie Blomer, An Alien in the Antipodes: The Story of John Shying, unpublished manuscript, 1999.

2 NSW State Archives: NRS 899, Fiche 3001–3162.

3 St John’s Anglican Church, Parramatta: REG/COMP/1, vol 01, no 907, p 404, 1823.

4 NSW State Archives: 14401, [4/61–62], 5049.

5 Blomer, Alien in the Antipodes.

6 NSW State Archives: 1573, 12992, 1825–1842.

7 Blomer, Alien in the Antipodes.

8 Blomer, Alien in the Antipodes.

9 NSW State Archives: 14401, [4/67–68], 5053.

10 St John’s Anglican Church, Parramatta: REG/MAR/4, vol 04, no 238, p 58, 1842.

11 The Sydney Morning Herald, 24 February 1844, p 3.

12 Winsome Doyle, Research papers relating to John Shying (Mak Sai Ying), 1992, State Library of New South Wales MLMSS 5857.

13 Vanessa Gai Johnson, First Families 2001, pandora.nla.gov.au/ pan/10421/20041220-0000/firstfamilies2001.net.au/firstfamily4dc0-2. html; Blomer, Alien in the Antipodes.

14 Doyle, Research papers MLMSS 5857.

Kim Tao Australian National Maritime Museum 37

1838 Convicts and colonists

38 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Convicts and colonists 1838

Elijah Silkman was found guilty and sentenced to 14 years transportation.

He was lucky to have escaped hanging in those harsh times, but his sentence meant that he had to leave behind a wife and three children

Fanny Silkman (1863–1932), Elijah Silkman’s daughter by his second wife, who married to become Mrs Michael.

All photographs courtesy of Ray Palmer and John Hensford

Algiers to Goulburn By way of Sheerness

Building a new life in a new land was the goal of many convicts once they gained their freedom. Nineteenth-century convict Elijah Silkman journeyed from North Africa across Europe and England to his eventual home in the colony of New South Wales.

ELIJAH (ELEAZAR) SILKMAN WAS BORN in about 1804 in Algiers, a city of the Barbary states of North Africa and a colourful, bustling port known in the west for its pirates and slave traders. Although a Muslim city, for hundreds of years Algiers had sustained a thriving Jewish community, which excelled as merchants and traders. The Jewish population substantially increased after 1492 when the Tribunal of the Holy Office of the Inquisition, established in Spain by the Catholic monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella, forced Jews and Muslims to convert or flee. By 1830 the French had conquered the region and created the modern borders of Algeria. It was perhaps this that led Elijah to leave Algiers. It seems he was a shopkeeper in Madrid for a time before making his way to London, where he married in 1832. In 1837 he was arrested for receiving stolen goods and tried at the Old Bailey on 23 October.

The loot he was accused of receiving was significant – 22 necklaces, 11 razors, 159 brooches, 109 seals, 150 breast pins, five pairs of bracelets, 60 pairs of earrings, 17 watch keys, 14 rings, 71 snaps, one pair of scissors, 20 thimbles and a jewel case, valued at the then-substantial sum of £30–40.

A policeman had found the goods stashed in a chest of drawers and a hawker’s box in Silkman’s lodging house.

He was accused of inducing a young Jewish errand boy, Manly Abrahams, to steal them from his employers, the brothers John and Alfred Davis, who were importers and wholesale dealers in hardware. Silkman was found guilty and sentenced to 14 years’ transportation. He was lucky to have escaped hanging in those harsh times, but his sentence meant that he had to leave behind a wife and three children.

He was held on board a prison hulk on the River Thames at Chatham in Kent until a transport ship was ready.

Australian National Maritime Museum 39

1838 Convicts and colonists

01 Annie Silkman (1860–1949), Elijah’s eldest daughter by his second wife, who married to become Mrs Grodner.

02 Betty Palmer (née Silkman) and Marcia Meyjes (née Silkman) at the November 2012 unveiling of new names on the Welcome Wall.

01

02

40 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Convicts and colonists 1838

‘Indeed arrivals, both emigrant and convict, are, like genial showers, long away – long wished for...’

On 24 March 1838, the Bengal Merchant departed Sheerness, Kent, bound for the colony at Port Jackson, carrying six female emigrants, nine children, 29 guards, two lieutenants and 271 convicts. The ship was under the command of Captain William Campbell, with Surgeon Superintendent Isaac Noott caring for the health and welfare of all on board. The prison area was kept as dry and clean as possible and several times a day the prisoners were taken on deck in large groups to walk about and exercise. Nevertheless, on 20 May there was a severe outbreak of typhus that affected the prisoners, crew and soldiers. Three people died during the voyage and two children succumbed after reaching Australia.

In 1838 the colonists in New South Wales were anxiously awaiting the arrival of the convicts, whose labour was badly wanted. One anonymous letter published in The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser, dated 28 July 1838, wrote of the great need: The Bengal Merchant – the first of this season’s convict ships – has brought the first supply of convict labour since Governor Gipp’s arrival on these shores – giving His Excellency an opportunity to alter the lately adopted system of assignment to private service, and to give each just claimant a proportionate share of the men now in harbour.

Much anxiety is felt by flock-owners and agriculturists, as to the distribution of these convicts ... Now, when labour is so scarce, that in many cases the plough is left idle [and] two flocks placed in one – lambings neglected – and our shearing season and harvesting at hand, the arrival of laborers is hailed with pleasure. Indeed arrivals, both emigrant and convict, are, like genial showers, long away – long wished for, and have at length arrived, just in time to save the half perished crops.

The convicts on board were distributed to various regions, including the Hunter Valley. Elijah was sent to Goulburn, a new settlement that could scarcely yet be called a town.

He was assigned to a local barber and worked for him in this trade, continuing the business after his master died.

On 18 July 1845, seven years after his arrival in New South Wales and only halfway through his original sentence, Elijah was granted a ticket of leave on condition that he remain in the Goulburn district. On 24 December 1849 he was granted a pardon and on 12 October 1853 he became a naturalised British subject.

In 1854, his wife in England died. Four years later he married a free settler, Sophia Collins, at the York Street Synagogue in Sydney. Sophia, 26 years his junior, came from a respectable family in England. It is thought the marriage was arranged, which in turn suggests that Elijah had developed a good reputation in his new homeland.

Their first child was born in Goulburn, which by then had a significant and highly regarded Jewish community.

However, the lure of much larger settlements, such as Sydney, proved too strong for some of those living in the inland agrarian town. Around 1859, Elijah, like many others, relocated to Sydney, setting himself up in business as a barber and draper. His new start was financed by the Goulburn Hebrew Association. The couple’s other four children were all born in Sydney. Though Elijah’s business failed, one of his sons, Jacob, learnt the family skills and also became a barber.

Elijah died in 1878, and Sophia in 1900. In Australia Elijah lived an honest life, one inconsistent with the rogue or ‘Fagin’ character portrayed in the original court transcripts.

Though Elijah and Sophia never returned to Goulburn, their descendants continued the family’s association with the oldest inland city in Australia. One of Elijah’s grandchildren was an express locomotive driver stationed in Goulburn during World War II, whose own family worked in local businesses. More recently, two of Elijah’s great-great-granddaughters and one great-granddaughter moved to Goulburn, at the time unaware of their ancestral connection to the city. In November 2012 the names of Elijah and Sophia Silkman were unveiled on the Welcome Wall, along with those of other family members.

Veronica Kooyman Australian National Maritime Museum 41

1839 Convicts and colonists

A Ghost story Convict to colonial matron

The intriguingly named Bathsheba Ghost overcame the stain of a convict past to become one of the most prominent – and best-paid – women workers in the mid-19th-century colony of New South Wales. Her descendants in Australia have added her name to the Welcome Wall.

42 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

ON 19 MAY 1838 AT THE CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT of the Old Bailey in London, Bathsheba Ghost was found guilty of receiving stolen property and was sentenced to 14 years transportation to the colony of New South Wales.

Arriving towards the end of the convict era, she rose to one of the most prominent and well-paid positions a female could hold in the colony: she was the matron of Sydney Infirmary and Dispensary for 14 years.

Christened into the Church of England on 25 December 1809 at Ashcott in Somerset, England, Bathsheba Dominey was the eldest of six children. In 1838, aged about 29, she lived at 338 Oxford Street, London, with her husband Thomas Ghost and their three-year-old son Thomas, and had been working as a ladies’ nursery maid. Transportation records describe her as ‘five feet two inches [1.52 metres] tall, sallow freckled complexion with light brown hair, grey eyes and can read and write’. At the same trial a young neighbour, Michael Woolf, was found guilty of stealing a necklace, two lockets, a seal, seven rings, four slides, two clasps and a pair of snuffers from his own mother and stepfather. Only 17, he was recommended for mercy and sentenced to seven years’ transportation.

Convicts and colonists 1839

Memorial to Bathsheba Ghost now in St Stephen’s Church, Newtown, Sydney. It is engraved on a capstone taken from Sydney Hospital. Photographer Jeffrey Mellefont/ANMM

Six years after her arrival in the colony, while working as a domestic servant at a property in Sydney’s Castlereagh Street, Bathsheba was given her ticket of leave. This allowed her to work as a free woman so long as she remained in the district of Sydney. It is thought that soon afterwards she began working as a nurse at the Sydney Infirmary and Dispensary. Two years later, in 1847, she was granted a conditional pardon and was free so long as she did not return to Britain. Now known as Sydney Hospital, Sydney Infirmary and Dispensary was a prominent public institution at the time, claiming its origins in the first sick tents pitched on the western side of Sydney Cove when the First Fleet arrived. Tents and temporary buildings remained until 1811, when Governor Macquarie moved the infirmary to its present location on Macquarie Street.

In 1852 Bathsheba became the matron of the Sydney Infirmary and Dispensary with an initial annual salary of £80, board and lodging provided. By 1854 this salary was increased to £100, and finally £120, one of the highest salaries for a female in New South Wales.

Trial records relate that Michael had been estranged from his newly remarried mother Eve Jacobson, also of Oxford Street, for some time. Attempting to reconcile the two, Bathsheba took him to see his mother and stepfather and advised Eve that her son lived in distress and poverty. A fortnight after the reconciliation Michael visited the Ghost residence; later the Jacobsons discovered that there were items missing from their residence and called the police. Constable Henry Sherwin from the Marlborough Street station searched the Ghost premises with Mr Jacobson present and found a coral necklace apparently belonging to Eve Jacobson. He also perceived that Bathsheba was attempting to conceal yet more jewellery beneath her apron.

Mr Ghost distanced himself from the crime, publicly upbraiding Bathsheba for having such items on the property, though he himself worked for a jeweller and some of the stones had been removed. Despite several good character witnesses, Bathsheba was found guilty.

This period of transportation was marked by the use of older vessels that had been surveyed as seaworthy but were in poorer condition, since faster and newer private vessels were busily employed in the more profitable trade of transporting migrants to America. Notwithstanding discontent among convicts and sailors, mutinies rarely occurred, although the practice of prostitution on board the female transports was a constant problem.

Despite this, there were fewer deaths from disease during the passage in the late 1830s and exceptionally few reports of serious abuses towards prisoners. After four months at sea, Bathsheba Ghost arrived at Port Jackson in March 1839 aboard the Planter with 170 other female convicts.

Thus began her solitary exile, separated from both her child and husband.

The hospital’s annual reports regularly praised her exertions in maintaining order and cleanliness, and for taking a leading role in training nurses under her care.

Bathsheba worked during a period of significant change in medical practices – including the first use of anaesthetics.

Bathsheba died in August 1866 of a lingering and painful disease of the uterus, relieved only by significant doses of drugs such as opium and alcohol. Maintaining her duties as matron in the last few months of her life would have been extremely difficult. In her will Bathsheba bequeathed £100 to the hospital, a significant sum in 1866. By the time of her death, the hospital had 190 beds and was set to expand further. The infrastructure of the hospital buildings had been inadequate for some time, with crude sanitary arrangements and vermin living in the crevices of the walls.

Bathsheba never remarried, and we don’t know what happened to the husband who threw her to the wolves.

Towards the end of her life, however, her son Thomas migrated to Australia and she came to know her granddaughter Eliza. Other family members migrated voluntarily. Her brother Thomas, his wife Lydia and their two sons arrived in Victoria under the Bounty System in 1843. She also sponsored her brother Solomon and his wife Harriet, her sister Bethia and husband John Fry and the two couples’ nine children as free settlers. They arrived just months before her death, some of them working and boarding at the hospital. Fittingly Bathsheba died at her workplace, the place of her reputable re-emergence into society. In 1953 the then Matron Elsie Pidgeon unveiled a memorial stone, taken from the present hospital, in St Stephens Cemetery, Newtown, in honour of Bathsheba.

Veronica Kooyman Australian National Maritime Museum 43

1848 Convicts and colonists

By the early 1840s there were some 1,500 English laceworkers in France, the majority in Calais

A worker in tulle The English lacemakers of Calais

The 1848 Revolution in France led to the exodus of a unique group of refugee artisans now known as the lacemakers of Calais. Edward Lander was chairman of a committee representing nearly 650 English laceworkers and their families, who sought a fresh start in the Australian colonies.

IN MAY 1848, AS THE THREE-MASTED HARPLEY set sail from London down the River Thames, passenger Mary Ann Lander (née Simpson) went into labour with her eighth child. Perhaps it was due to anxiety about the long sea voyage to South Australia, or the thought of bidding a final farewell to Mother England. Regardless, the birth of baby Adelaide at sea was fortunate timing. Had she arrived any earlier, Mary Ann and her husband, English lacemaker Edward Lander, may have been ineligible to emigrate owing to the government’s restrictions on large families with young children. It would be the Lander family’s second migration in less than a decade.

Edward Little Lander (1811–1895) was the youngest of three children born to Captain John Hudden Lander and Mary Ann Little. Captain Lander was a leading English trader, primarily in grains, and his work took him across the Mediterranean, the Levant and the Black Sea. He led a peripatetic existence and was known to have resided at Odessa in southern Russia, Prussia and northern Russia, as well as Valletta in Malta, where Edward was born in 1811.

Although Edward Lander was descended from a long line of seafarers who had made their living on the world’s oceans, he would establish his name in the machine-lace trade in Nottingham, in England’s industrial northern interior.

44 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

In the early 19th century, Nottingham, in the East Midlands, was an important centre for the production of machine-made lace. It was also a densely populated town of crowded tenements, deprivation and disease.

In the early 1830s an outbreak of cholera and smallpox resulted in the deaths of 300 residents. The average age at death among the inhabitants of several Nottingham districts was just 14 or 15 years – the lowest of any city or town within the British Empire. In 1835 Edward and Mary Ann’s second-eldest daughter, two-year-old Harriett, died from a childhood disease, most likely measles.

With such conditions prevailing in Nottingham, it is little wonder that they decided to try their luck on the continent.

In 1816, at the end of the Napoleonic Wars (1803–1815), the Englishmen James Clarke, Robert Webster and Richard Bonnington dismantled a Leavers loom (lace machine) and smuggled the parts from Nottingham to Calais in northern France, where it was reassembled in a house on Quai du Commerce. More lace machines and laceworkers followed, despite the British government enforcing strict sanctions on both the exportation of its complex machinery and the migration of skilled artisans abroad. By the early 1840s there were some 1,500 English laceworkers in France, the majority in Calais, and the French city surpassed Nottingham as the centre of European lace manufacturing.

Convicts and colonists 1848

01

02

01 Edward Little Lander, c1880.

Reproduced courtesy Richard Lander 02 Mary Ann Lander (née Simpson), c1880. Reproduced courtesy Richard Lander

In 1842 Edward, Mary Ann and their four surviving children, Mary Ann, Edward, John and Emma, undertook their first migration, sailing across the English Channel to the port of Calais. They lived at Rue Vauban in the suburb of SaintPierre-lès-Calais, where Edward was employed as an ouvrier en tulle (worker in tulle) for the English lacemaker Mr W Press. Sadly the move to Calais would not shield Edward and Mary Ann from further tragedy. In 1843 their eldest son, eight-year-old Edward, drowned while attempting to recover a gold coin he had dropped into one of SaintPierre’s many canals. The coin is thought to have been given to the young Edward by his grandfather, Captain Lander.

Later the same year, Mary Ann gave birth to a daughter, Rosina. Another daughter, Clara, was born in 1845.

Both Rosina and Clara were born and raised against a background of industrial, economic and political turmoil in Europe, culminating in the French Revolution of February 1848. This resulted in the abdication of the ageing King Louis Philippe I and the establishment of the French Second Republic. For English laceworkers such as Edward Lander, the prospects in France were bleak. The market for lace had collapsed, the Calais factories were closed and their masters returned to England. Return was not feasible, however, for workers such as Edward, because of the already high levels of unemployment and destitution in Nottingham.

On 21 March 1848, as the plight of the lacemakers of Calais became increasingly desperate, a meeting was held at the English Church in Saint-Pierre-lès-Calais, at which Edward Lander was elected as the chairman of a small committee to represent the distressed laceworkers. The committee prepared a petition proposing their ‘emigration to one of the British colonies, South Australia preferred, where workmen are scarce and labour wanted, our experience having shown us the great advantage they possess who live under the protection of the British Government.’1 The petition was accepted by Edward Bonham, the British Consul in Calais, who forwarded it to the British government with a list of 642 men, women and children wishing to resettle in the Australian colonies.

The British authorities expressed some initial reservations about their suitability as emigrants. There was a large number of families with young children – indeed, more than half of the prospective emigrants were children, and a third were under the age of 10. Furthermore, the men practised a trade that was deemed of little value to the colonies, where the immigrants most in demand were agricultural labourers, shepherds and domestic servants. But the government was ultimately persuaded by the support of the British Consul in Calais, and the understanding that the laceworkers would place a significant burden on their own parishes if they went back to England. Nottingham’s workhouses were overflowing with people who were unable to provide for themselves.

An agreement was reached and appeals were launched in London and Nottingham to raise part of the funds required to assist their emigration. Eventually 575 laceworkers and their families were approved for emigration.2 Australian National Maritime Museum 45

1848 Convicts and colonists

The lacemakers practised a trade that was deemed of little value to the colonies, where the immigrants most in demand were agricultural labourers, shepherds and domestic servants

They were transported from Calais to London and Plymouth to prepare for embarkation on one of three vessels: Fairlie departing in April, Harpley in May and Agincourt in June.

Edward, Mary Ann and their five surviving children, Mary Ann (17), John (10), Emma (eight), Rosina (four) and Clara (three), embarked from Deptford, in south-east London, on the square-rigged Harpley on 12 May 1848.

The lacemakers of Calais had made a timely departure from France, just before the second phase of the 1848 Revolution. On 23 June 1848, in a brief but bloody rebellion known as the June Days uprising, French workers staged a massive demonstration at Place de la Bastille in Paris.

Over the next three days, more than 10,000 demonstrators and troops were killed or injured. The Revolution was over, and in December 1848, a new parliament was elected with Louis Napoléon Bonaparte as President of the Second Republic.

By this time, the Landers had settled in South Australia, having arrived at Port Adelaide on 2 September 1848 after 113 days at sea. In Adelaide it is believed that Edward was employed as a school teacher in the suburbs of Birkenhead and Thebarton, before joining the South Australian metropolitan police force in March 1849.

In May 1849, tragedy struck the Lander family once again when one-year-old Adelaide, born on the day that Harpley sailed from England, died from exhaustion related to whooping cough and diarrhoea. In October 1851, Mary Ann gave birth to her ninth child, Herbert, in Thebarton.

In February 1852, Edward resigned from the South Australian police force and spent a few years farming at Thebarton and Riverton, before moving the family to rich farming land in the Western District of Victoria.

By then Edward and Mary Ann had lost three of their nine children: Harriett in Nottingham in 1835, Edward in Calais in 1843, and baby Adelaide in Adelaide in 1849. Their eldest daughter, Mary Ann, married John Ottaway in 1850 and the couple had 13 children. Edward and Mary Ann’s eldest surviving son, John, worked as a bricklayer in the Riverton area and later accompanied his brother-in-law, John Ottaway, to the goldfields in Victoria. John Lander married Eliza Kook and they had 14 children. Eliza was the daughter of German immigrant Hermann Kook, who surveyed and set out the township of Hahndorf in the Adelaide Hills in 1839.

46 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Edward and Mary Ann’s second-eldest surviving daughter, Emma, married Benjamin Boothey in 1861 and they had 13 children. Rosina married Thomas Templeton and had 12 children; Clara married Robert Chapman and had seven children; and Herbert, Edward and Mary Ann’s youngest son, married Christina McIntyre and had one child.

After the passage of the Crown Lands Alienation Act 1861 (allowing free selection of crown land), the Lander family made their final move from Victoria to New South Wales, taking all their personal belongings, livestock and farming equipment. The family probably followed a route from Coleraine through the towns of Hamilton and Dunkeld, around the eastern foothills of the Grampians to Ararat, Maryborough, Castlemaine, Bendigo and Echuca, before crossing the Murray River into New South Wales.

By 1876, the extended Lander family was settled on land at Darlington Point in the Riverina district of south-western New South Wales, where they would make their living over the next century as graziers raising Merino sheep.

Edward Little Lander, lacemaker and grazier, died in 1895.

His name was registered on the Welcome Wall by his great-great-grandson Richard Lander, who is a foundation member of the Australian Society of the Lacemakers of Calais. Richard is forever grateful that his great-greatgrandfather, Edward, had the courage and foresight to emigrate with his family to Australia. His name on the Welcome Wall is a small recognition of that courage.

1 House of Commons, Papers Relative to Emigration to the Australian Colonies, 1848, vol 47, pp 97–98.

2 Authorities made the decision to reject families with three children under the age of seven, or five or more children aged 10 or younger.

Edward and Mary Ann Lander had two children under seven and four children aged 10 or under, and thus satisfied the rule.

Kim Tao

Convicts and colonists 1848–50

Irish famine orphans Pioneering women of the diaspora

More than 10 million emigrants have left Irish shores for a new life, for reasons ranging from transportation and famine to religious and social persecution.

TODAY SOME 80 MILLION people worldwide claim Irish ancestry, including an estimated seven million Australians.

Some of these descended from the destitute Irish orphans who arrived in Australia more than 170 years ago at the height of the Great Famine (an Gorta Mór).

The Famine Orphan Scheme

Between 1848 and 1850, more than 4,000 young Irish women were resettled in the Australian colonies through the Famine Orphan Scheme. The women, aged 14 to 20, had been orphaned by the famine and were recruited from workhouses across the 32 counties of Ireland.

The scheme was devised by Earl Grey, Secretary of State for the Colonies, to relieve overcrowding in the Irish workhouses and to meet the demand for domestic labourers and single young women in the colonies.

The first Irish orphans arrived in Sydney on Earl Grey in October 1848. Many more followed, entering into domestic service and eventually marrying, raising families and settling into colonial society. Today some of their names are inscribed on the museum’s Welcome Wall, as well as the Irish Famine Memorial at Hyde Park Barracks, Sydney, providing a tangible reminder of a courageous group of young female immigrants whose personal stories might otherwise have faded into the unknown.

Mary Ann Duddy

Mary Ann Duddy (1832–1870) arrived in Sydney on Digby in 1849. She entered a workhouse in Galway after the death of her parents, William and Bridget. Mary Ann could not read or write and she had no relatives in the colonies.

After her arrival in April 1849, Mary Ann worked for Mrs Laycock at Heathfield, near Liverpool in New South Wales. In 1850, she married Robert Sindel and they had 1 children, eight of whom survived to adulthood. The family lived in Goulburn and then Queanbeyan, where they ran a large general store. Mary Ann died at the family’s store in 1870, aged 37, and was buried at the Wesleyan cemetery in Queanbeyan.

Mary McDonough

Like Mary Ann Duddy, Mary McDonough could not read or write. She came from the Kilrush workhouse in County Clare and arrived in Port Phillip on Pemberton in May 1849, aged about 15 or 16. Mary spent a year working for the baker James Brindon in Swanston Street, Melbourne, before marrying James Rogers at Burnbank (now Lexton, Victoria) in 1850. Mary had 12 children and died in 1882.

Johanna Goggins

Under the Earl Grey scheme, a total of 4,114 Irish orphans arrived on 20 ships over a two-year period. The scheme was ultimately short-lived due to growing anti-Irish, anti-Catholic sentiment in the colony, where the female orphans were condemned as immoral, unskilled ‘workhouse sweepings’. The last group arrived in Sydney on Tippoo Saib in July 1850.

Among them was 17-year-old Johanna Goggins from Lorrha, Tipperary. Both her parents, Edmond and Bridget, were dead and she had no relatives in the colony.

She could read and write, and was employed as a domestic by Daniel Tierney of Princes Street, Sydney.

Johanna married Henry Barnett in 1852. She gave birth to a daughter, Mary Ann, and was pregnant with her second child when her husband died. In 1854 Johanna married Thomas Nelson Rose and then gave birth to a son named Henry Barnett Rose. Johanna and Thomas had five more children between 1856 and 1865. The family lived at Gerringong, Tasmania, Brisbane and Stanthorpe.

Johanna died in 1906, aged 72, and was buried at Toowong Cemetery in Brisbane.

Her story is one of many pioneering Irish women’s narratives recorded on the museum’s Welcome Wall, ensuring the hardships of famine, displacement and the great Irish diaspora are never forgotten.

Kim Tao Australian National Maritime Museum 47

1850s–70s Convicts and colonists

Titan of migration A stalwart of the Australian run

The SS Great Britain was one of the most significant immigrant ships in Australian history.

In November 1852 it arrived in Melbourne and Sydney on the first of 32 voyages that would convey more than 25,000 passengers – most of them migrants – to this country.

WHEN THE SS GREAT BRITAIN was launched in 1843, it was the largest iron ship ever built. Displacing over 3,400 tons, it combined a number of innovative design components in its construction, including a screw propeller, watertight bulkheads, a double-skinned hull and wire rigging.

Designed by Isambard Kingdom Brunel, SS Great Britain was originally destined for the transatlantic route between Liverpool and New York. After only five voyages to America, however, the vessel was engaged on the Australian run.

The SS Great Britain was arguably one of the most successful passenger vessels on the Australian routes, making 32 voyages and carrying in excess of 25,000 passengers before being sold out of the service.

The ship’s arrival created immense interest both in the colonies and England. In 1852 the colonies were experiencing a great economic and population boom as a direct result of the recent gold discoveries at the Victorian towns of Castlemaine, Bathurst, Bendigo and Ballarat.

As the largest vessel afloat at that time, the SS Great Britain carried nearly 1,000 migrants, farmers, gold prospectors and business entrepreneurs per voyage, quickly and safely.

The vessel would then return to England carrying gold – in the form of nuggets, dust, ingots and, after 1855, Sydney Mint sovereigns – and also tales, newspaper accounts, illustrations, books and journals recording the wealth of the colonies and the success of the diggers.

These tales of riches spurred on others in England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, continental Europe, the Americas and Asia to make the passage to Australia.

48 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

A respected maritime historian and researcher, the late Vaughan Evans (after whom the museum’s research library is named) once estimated in an occasional paper for the Springwood Historical Society that nearly 1.5 million people could directly trace their origins in Australia to the SS Great Britain. The ship can certainly be described as one of the most significant immigrant ships in Australian history.

But how did the largest iron ship afloat, originally intended to serve as a fast and luxurious transatlantic steamer, end up carrying migrants to the Australian colony?

Originally destined to be called the City of New York or the Mammoth, the SS Great Britain was the brainchild of Isambard Kingdom Brunel (1806–1859), one of the foremost engineers and ship designers of the mid-19th century. It was a development on an earlier steamship built by Brunel, the SS Great Western.

Brunel had been approached in the early 1830s by representatives of the Great Western Steamship Company who were impressed by his work on the Bristol Docks in 1832 and 1833. They asked Brunel to design and supervise the construction of what would be the largest wooden steamship afloat, the SS Great Western.

In the face of opposition from other engineers who stated that it would be impossible to build a steamship large enough to carry sufficient coal to cross the Atlantic – let alone cargo – Brunel designed a massive vessel 212 feet (64.61 metres) long with a beam of 35 feet 4 inches (10.77 metres).

In 1838 the Great Western, considerably larger and more powerful than any contemporary naval ship, became the first steam-powered ocean-going transatlantic liner, proving that long distance travel by steam was not only achievable but also commercially viable.

Convicts and colonists 1850s–70s

Nearly 1.5 million people can trace their origins in Australia to the SS Great Britain

This nautilus shell with an incised depiction of SS Great Britain was made by scrimshaw artist C H Wood to celebrate the ship’s launch in 1843. Exotic nautilus shells were treasured collectibles in an age when ‘artificial curiosities’ were all the rage.

ANMM Collection 00006807

Australian National Maritime Museum 49

The success of SS Great Western in the highly lucrative and competitive transatlantic trade led the building committee of the Great Western Steamship Company to examine the possibility of building a second larger, faster and more efficient steam-powered vessel. The committee decided to build in iron which, due to advances in metal-working technology, had finally become cheaper than building in timber. Besides cost benefits, iron had advantages over timber in strength and durability, and allowed a much larger cargo and fuel capacity than a timber-built vessel of similar size.

The keel of the new vessel – the SS Great Britain – was laid down in July 1839. The vessel was an incredible engineering achievement. At a time when there were very few ships of more than 1,000 tons, the new steamship would displace just over 3,400 tons. The hull was 322 feet long on the deck (98.15 m) and a massive 51 feet in the beam (15.543 m).

Because of the sheer size of the vessel Brunel had to use a complex system of ten longitudinal girders more than a meter deep running the entire length of the vessel.

The ship was further strengthened by five watertight bulkheads, additional diagonal deck beams, iron stringers and a cellular bottom.

50 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

As there was so little experience at building ships of iron, almost all of this engineering was experimental. The ship’s history demonstrates that the strength achieved was exceptional.

Originally the SS Great Britain was to be powered by paddle wheels mounted on either side of the hull.

The successful voyage of the screw steamer Archimedes in 1840 demonstrated to the Great Western Steamship Company the advantages of the screw propeller over paddle wheels, which could be vulnerable to heavy seas and impeded a ship’s auxiliary sailing ability.

Brunel modified the plans and engine configuration accordingly, adapting the ‘Triangle Engine’ invented by his father, Marc Isambard Brunel, in 1822. The modified engine comprised two pairs of 88-inch (2.23 metres) diameter cylinders mounted in a V-shaped frame. The cylinders drove an overhead crankshaft at only 18 revolutions per minute. A huge drive wheel 18 feet (5.49 metres) in diameter drove a six-foot (1.83 metre) diameter cog on the propeller shaft by means of chains. The main drive wheel was so large that it extended above the deck and had to be enclosed in a special deckhouse.

Convicts and colonists 1850s–70s

In addition to the engine, the vessel was originally fitted with a radical sailing rig of six iron masts, named after days of the week. All but the square-rigged main mast carried fore-and-aft, boomless gaff sails known as spencers.

The masts were deck-mounted on hinges, which allowed Brunel to introduce a revolutionary wire rigging system that allowed the crew to adjust the rigging in all weather conditions.

Passenger accommodation and facilities were as impressive as the engineering achievements. The designer had allowed for 252 passengers housed in 28 staterooms, 113 double cabins and single berths. Passengers also had access to 26 water closets, two entertainment saloons over 80 feet long (24.38 metres), ‘women only’ saloons and two dining rooms.

The Great Britain’s first voyage was in January 1845 when it steamed from Bristol to London in 60 hours, averaging 9.5 knots. The vessel then steamed to Liverpool where it was to be based, and on 26 July 1845 commenced its first paying voyage to New York.

At the start of each voyage the ship carried live sheep, pigs, fowls, ducks, geese and turkeys, as well as meat, eggs, potatoes and vegetables

The Great Britain steamship leaving Prince’s Pier, Liverpool, for Australia, published in the London Illustrated News, 1852.

ANMM Collection

Australian National Maritime Museum 51

1850s–70s Convicts and colonists

01 The restored Great Western at its berth in Bristol, UK. Image Sion Hannuna/Shutterstock 02 ‘Little Bourke Street’ inside the restored Great Western. Image Electric Egg/Shutterstock 01

In 1838 the Great Western proved that long-distance travel by steam was not only achievable but also commercially viable

52 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Convicts and colonists 1850s–70s

02

Three other voyages were made to New York before the ship ran aground in Dundrum Bay, Ireland, after leaving Liverpool in September 1846. It took nearly 10 months to salvage the vessel from the bay. These operations and subsequent repairs almost bankrupted the Great Western Steamship Company, forcing it to sell the vessel at a fraction of its replacement value to the Liverpool and Australian Navigation Company.

Designed for the Atlantic run, the vessel could not carry enough coal for the passage to Australia or enough passengers to make the voyage viable. To overcome this problem the new owners undertook major modifications.

A more economical but less powerful new engine and propeller were fitted, relegating steam to auxiliary propulsion. The rig, which had already been modified, was further changed to four masts with more square sails to take advantage of the favourable winds on the Australian run. And passenger capacity was nearly doubled.

The vessel made one more voyage to New York before setting off on its first passage to Australia in August 1852 under the command of Captain Barnard Mathews, with 630 passengers and 137 crew.

The Great Britain arrived in Melbourne on 12 November 1852 after a voyage of 83 days – 23 days longer than expected because the captain insisted on following the steam route to Australia rather than the ‘Great Circle’ sailing route. He ran out of coal and had to put in twice to get more. On 25 November the ship made the only call into Sydney that it would ever make.

On return to Liverpool in 1853, the boilers and rig were further modified and the ship made two more voyages to Australia before being chartered by the British government in May 1855 as a troop ship for the Crimean War. In this role Great Britain carried 44,000 people.

When the vessel returned to its owners in 1857 it underwent a further refit, paid for by the government charter. This included the installation of a lifting propeller to reduce drag under sail, and re-rigging as a conventional three-masted, fully rigged sailing ship. Passenger capacity was increased to 730. The SS Great Britain made a further 28 voyages to Australia between 1857 and 1876.

Following the sailing ship route and using the engine as required, passages of 65 days were regularly achieved – faster than any sailing ships up till then.

On board there was a high standard of comfort for first- and second-class passengers. At the start of each voyage the ship carried live sheep, pigs, fowls, ducks, geese and turkeys, as well as a quantity of meat, eggs, potatoes and vegetables. Its fresh water tanks held more than 35,000 gallons (160,000 litres) and fresh water condensers were fitted, capable of producing 1,500 gallons (6,800 litres) a day from seawater.

On the long sea voyages the passengers amused themselves by reading, writing, painting, playing cards and organising dances, debates, theatre productions, musical recitals, concerts and gambling. They had access to a printing press and on a number of voyages produced shipboard newspapers that contained shipboard gossip, matrimonial proposals, lost and found, shipkeeping news, details of distance run, short stories and crosswords.

After 32 voyages to Australia the SS Great Britain was unable to obtain a Lloyd’s classification because of its unique construction and was laid up in Liverpool in 1876 to await a buyer. In 1882 the vessel was finally sold, the engines were taken out, the propeller and passenger accommodation removed and the ship was placed into the South American trade carrying coal and wheat to and from San Francisco.

On its third voyage the vessel was dismasted off Cape Horn and returned to Port Stanley in the Falkland Islands. It was declared a total loss and converted to a coal hulk.

In April 1970 the vessel was repaired, pumped out, floated onto a submersible pontoon and towed to England. It was restored in Bristol by the SS Great Britain Trust in the very same dry dock in which it was built, and is now on display to the public.

Kieran Hosty Australian National Maritime Museum 53

1853 Convicts and colonists

To Victoria from the Isle of Man In a home-made schooner 01

The promise of gold has lured many an adventurer to foreign lands. James Cain was one, sailing from the Isle of Man to Victoria in a purpose-built schooner in the 1850s. A fortune in gold eluded him, but he settled the land and became an ancestor of Australian generations.

GOLD TRANSFORMED THE AUSTRALIAN COLONIES, and it transformed countless lives too, although not always in the ways one might expect. Manxman James Cain embarked on a trim and speedy schooner in 1853, built to carry hopeful prospectors to the Victorian goldfields. For him, the land would yield not gold but an honest farmer’s livelihood, enough to found a dynasty of Australians. His name was added to the Welcome Wall by the family of his grandson, Paul Benjamin, and unveiled in May 2013.

In 1851 Edward Hargraves discovered a grain of gold near Bathurst, New South Wales. According to legend, he recognised geological features similar to those of the Californian goldfields from which he’d just returned.

Within four months, Ophir – the place where he found the gold – was home to more than a thousand prospectors.

Within a year gold was struck at Ballarat and Bendigo in the colony of Victoria, where a £200 reward had been offered for its discovery. News spread around the world and the gold rush was on. Within two years the state’s population exploded from 77,000 to 540,000. Imports and investment boomed, including Australia’s first railway and telegraphs, as Victoria contributed more than one third of the world’s gold. Immigrants arrived from Britain, the United States, France, Italy, Germany, Poland, Hungary and China.

54 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Far away in the Irish Sea, between Ireland and northern England, lies the Isle of Man. Never a part of the UK, it survived on fishing, farming and mining and had suffered potato crop failure and depression in the late 1840s, encouraging emigration. Lured by the stories of gold discoveries, a group of Manxmen determined to make their way to Victoria. They had a schooner named Vixen purpose-built for the long voyage, by H Graves in the port of Peel. The Manx Sun of 6 September 1851 called it ‘one of the finest vessels that has ever been launched in Peel … coppered … 93 tons new measurement, and has proved herself to be what she appears.’ Vixen outsailed several rivals while earning its keep under charter in the years before it sailed for the goldfields.

On 26 January 1853 Vixen sailed from Peel carrying 37 men and no shortage of captains. They have been recorded as Captain Tom Cubbon, Vixen’s navigator Captain Corlett from the Isle of Man Steam Packet Co, with a Port St Mary fisherman named Captain Sansbury rated as the actual commander. Their cargo included picks, shovels, clothing, boots, barrows and chairs – but no spoons to eat their soup with, in one report. The frugal Manxmen carved spoons from beef bones. All, including 14 married men, had left behind their families to prospect for gold on the other side of the world. The complement included three brothers: James, John and William Cain.

Convicts and colonists 1853

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01 Portrait of James Cain. Photos courtesy of his descendants 02 Extended family and descendants of Manxman James Cain, among those shown at a picnic at Natte Yallock, c1910.

They must have sailed swiftly and directly, for it’s reported they crossed the equator on 23 February and reached Port Phillip Heads in only 92 days, arriving in Port Melbourne on 3 May 1853. Vixen was laid up under a watchman and in small parties the adventurers headed for the various goldfields in Victoria.

Mining for gold was hard and dirty work and many prospectors suffered in the hard times. The living conditions were poor, claims were small, competition was fierce and the licence fees were high. Police were deployed on ‘digger hunts’, searching the goldfields for those who had failed to pay their fee. A number of the Manxmen gave up the treasure hunt and returned to their ship, reviving their sailing traditions by starting a venture as a mail boat between Melbourne and Sydney, and lightering for large cargo ships.

James Cain persisted in his quest for eight years, digging at various locations in Victoria. In the early 1860s he walked from the diggings with his shovel and was one of the first men to select an 80-acre block on the rich river plains at Natte Yallock on the Avoca River west of Bendigo, which had recently been opened for land selection. Here he began a new livelihood, initially cultivating onions and potatoes with unexpectedly successful results.

The work was tough, with the settlers hauling their produce on their backs to towns 10 miles away or more, and carrying their purchased supplies back to the settlement.

Descendants say James Cain was the first pioneer in the area to cultivate wheat, grown on half an acre dug with a spade. His first crop of 35 bushels was reaped by hand with a sickle and threshed by hand with a flail. Over time more efficient, capital-intensive methods were employed, and the success of men like James Cain stimulated the development of farming in this rich agricultural district.

James settled in Natte Yallock with his wife, Mary Anne Henderson, who was a widow with three children.

Together they had two sons and a daughter. The farm at Natte Yallock has remained in the Cain family, expanding in size and diversifying.

But what happened to the plucky little Vixen? Ten years after arriving in Australia, 27 of the original Manxmen made the return voyage home aboard the ship they had sailed to Australia. Back in Peel the schooner continued working coastal trades and fishing. In March 1864, after sailing safely half-way round the world and home again, Vixen was caught in a blowing gale and foundered with all hands off a small island close to home, called the Calf of Man. However, the intrepid adventure of the men of Peel inspired another group of local men, only a few years after the departure of Vixen, to build a sloop called Peveril to sail to Melbourne. But that’s another story.

Veronica Kooyman Australian National Maritime Museum 55

1882 Convicts and colonists

01 The sisters whose names are inscribed on the Welcome Wall.

Back row from left: Sr Thekla, Sr Joseph (as a novice), Sr Elizabeth, Sr Cordula, Sr Xavier, Sr Monica, Sr Agnes. Front row from left: Sr Hildegard, Mother Bernard, Sr Ignatius, and Sr Cecilia.

02 Mother Bernard Wippern (1824–95), first mother superior of the Order of St Ursula in Australia. Born Auguste Wippern in Hildesheim, Hannover.

Artist unknown.

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All images courtesy of OSU

‘Here at the end of the world’ Following a vocation to a foreign land

Inscribed on the Welcome Wall are the names of 11 brave Ursuline nuns who helped to pioneer religious education for Catholic girls in rural New South Wales.

ON A DREARY DAY IN MAY 1882, a group of nuns, postulants and an aspirant of the Order of St Ursula boarded a sailing ship in Greenwich, England, bound for Armidale in New South Wales to establish a college for rural Catholic girls. The day was auspicious: it was 24 May, the feast day of Our Lady Help of Christians, the patroness of Australia.

The women had already spent five years in exile in England, forced from their cloister in Hannover by the policies of Prussia’s ‘Iron Chancellor’ Otto von Bismarck. How different their lives would be in faraway rural New South Wales where, at the invitation of the Bishop of Armidale, they would establish the Order of St Ursula and begin a vocation for education in Australia. In 2010, the Ursuline order celebrated the lives of the women who sailed here by placing the names of 11 of these nuns on the Welcome Wall.

56 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

The order originated in a lay organisation founded in 1535

by Angela Merici in northern Italy under the banner of Saint Ursula, a patron of youth and learning. Saint Ursula was a martyr of popular myth, said to have been a fourth-century princess of south-west England betrothed to the pagan governor of Brittany. Sailing to him with an entourage of 11,000 virginal handmaidens, she diverted them on a long European pilgrimage before her wedding. Sadly they reached Cologne as it was being sacked by the Huns, who massacred them all.

The Company of St Ursula developed in a time of unparalleled flowering of literature, art, music and the sciences in Renaissance Italy. Its members were devoted to living a consecrated spiritual life and tending to the needs of others, and teaching catechism to children. By the 17th century the company had spread throughout Italy and to France, where it began educating girls. By 1612 the company had become a teaching order whose members wore a habit, adopted a cloistered life and took solemn vows – one of which was the instruction of girls. It was this vocation that was to send those women on the long journey to Australia 270 years later.

Convicts and colonists 1882 The order spread further across Europe and in 1700 opened a convent and girls’ school in Duderstadt, Hannover.

During the Napoleonic wars the sisters were forced to leave, but they returned and rebuilt from virtual ruins. Later in the 19th century when Bismarck was unifying Germany, he passed laws that bolstered the power of the secular state at the expense of the Roman Catholic Church. The Ursulines dispersed in 1877, some to England where the order continued the education of girls.

In London some of the nuns met a priest who was to turn the course of these women’s lives. Father Elzear Torreggiani from the order of Friars Minor Capuchin, a branch of the Franciscans, was greatly taken by their fate and their devotion to education. Just two years later he was made Bishop of Armidale in New South Wales with a diocese that covered 46,000 square miles.

The colony of New South Wales and its New England region had boomed from the 1850s following discoveries of gold, increased agriculture, industry and migration, but educational opportunities lagged in rural areas.

Since the state had suspended funding for religious schools, Bishop Torreggiani turned to religious orders to provide for his largely Irish-Catholic diocese. While the Irish-originated Sisters of Mercy and the Sisters of St Joseph were already established in the diocese, it was the Ursulines whom he invited to begin a college there.

Thirteen women of the order offered to voyage more than 10,000 nautical miles to a foreign land they knew almost nothing about, knowing they were unlikely ever to see their homeland again. They were Mother Bernard Wippern, Sr Xavier Graën, Sr Hildegard von Hagen, Sr Ignatius Crone, Sr Cecilia Strohmeyer, Sr Cordula Rowland, Sr Elizabeth Heumann (Kirschenbaur), Sr Agnes Paasch, Sr Thekla Frechmann, Sr Monica Baumann, Sr Joseph Montag, Elise Rhodes and Madame Cecile de Percevale.

In their writings they referred to their ship Duchess of Edinburgh as the ‘ark that conveyed the Order to Australia’.

The voyage of 14 weeks included three severe storms.

Sister Ignatius Crone wrote of ‘waves raised mountains high in one part, in another the waters torn asunder like formidable abysses’. Surrounded ‘by the grandeurs of the sea and the terrors of the deep… we were hanging, as it were, between two eternities, the Ocean and the Heavens’.

Nevertheless they arrived safely. Sr Ignatius wrote that ‘we felt instinctively that our feet were about to tread strange new paths; that a future lay before us more wondrous than we ever dreamed of when we pronounced our vows in the quaint old city of Duderstadt, expecting to live and die within the seclusion of the convent walls’.

In Sydney the women attended the opening ceremony of St Mary’s Cathedral, which replaced the original building destroyed by fire in 1865. An overnight steamship passage, a train journey and a very uncomfortable stagecoach ride brought them to the remote town of Armidale, where they began teaching their first classes a week later.

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The College of St Ursula, Armidale, became renowned for the rounded education it offered young women, with a strong emphasis on cultural activities such as languages, music, art and needlework alongside reading, writing, mathematics and natural sciences. The school quickly became the cultural centre of Armidale, with evening musical and dramatic performances, recitals and art shows. By 1883 the sisters were also responsible for the parish school of nearly 200 boys and girls, while the college was accepting both day students and boarders of all denominations.

Over the following century the Order of St Ursula branched out to other locations around New South Wales, the ACT and Queensland––. They adapted to the development of state-based education systems and rode the waves of changes to curricula, funding levels and the debates about public, private and religious education. The sisters still work in education but have diversified their activities to include providing services to refugees, working in parishes and in health services.

For the 450th anniversary of the Company of St Ursula, a new breed of rose was propagated in Belgium and named after the founder Angela Merici. It is a beautiful large pink rose with a sweet fragrance. Samples were sent to the Australian Ursulines from Rome but were attacked by a fungus while in quarantine. Only one survived – the ‘mother rose’ from which all the Angela Merici roses in Australia have been cultivated, wherever the Order of St Ursula is to be found. The mother rose still exists in the garden at Ashbury.

Sr Mary Kneipp wrote a history of the Ursulines in Australia, called Here at the end of the world.

Veronica Kooyman Australian National Maritime Museum 57

1890 Convicts and colonists

Paul Gock Quay in Sydney, c1910.

All images reproduced courtesy Paul Kwok 58 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

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Convicts and colonists 1890

Gock Lok quickly discovered that the streets of Melbourne were not paved with gold

The Gocks of Middle Mountain Honouring a family empire

Paul Kwok belongs to the 25th generation of a family that can trace its ancestry back to the early 13th century, before the Mongolian leader Kublai Khan founded the Yuan dynasty and conquered China. Paul registered his grandfather, Gock Quay, on the Welcome Wall to honour the first member of his immediate family to set foot in Australia in 1890.

GOCK QUAY (1878–1916) was born in the small farming community of Chuk Sau Yuen in Xiangshan county (now Zhuxiuyuan, Zhongshan), in southern China’s Guangdong province. Today Zhongshan (meaning ‘Middle Mountain’) is best known as the birthplace of revolutionary leader Dr Sun Yat-sen, but from the mid-19th century it was also a major source of Chinese migrants and sojourners seeking their fortunes on the Australian goldfields.

Gock Quay was the fourth of six sons, and arrived in Australia at the age of 12 to join his older brothers, Gock Lok and Gock Chuen. Gock Lok, who was the first to land in the New Gold Mountain of Victoria, quickly discovered that the streets of Melbourne were not paved with gold. Without any English, and with little experience beyond that obtained on his father’s farm, Gock Lok headed to Sydney where he worked as a market gardener and then a vegetable hawker. This humble beginning would eventually grow into a multi-billion dollar family empire, Wing On (meaning ‘perpetual peace’) – a diverse group of companies that operated greengrocers, banks, department stores, warehouses, hotels, textile and knitting mills, and insurance offices in a vast commercial network stretching from Sydney to Hong Kong, Macau and Shanghai.

In the 1890s, as the Wing On business expanded, Gock Lok and Gock Chuen were joined in Sydney by their younger brothers, Gock Quay and Gock Son. The four brothers learnt English from a Chinese pastor and converted to Christianity, taking on the English baptismal names James Gock Lok, Philip Gock Chuen, Paul Gock Quay and William Gock Son. Immigration records show that Gock Quay lived in Parramatta, Hay and Sydney, New South Wales, before his arranged marriage to 17-year-old Rose Fok in Hong Kong in 1903. The couple returned to Sydney in 1904 and resided at 8 Mary Street, in the inner-city suburb of Surry Hills.

Their seven children – David, Doris, Ada, Gladys, Violet, Marjorie and Edward – were all born in Sydney.

In 1907 the Gock brothers opened the highly successful Wing On department store in Hong Kong’s Central district.

They also owned godowns (warehouses) and the Great Eastern Hotel in Hong Kong, along with hotels in Canton (now Guangzhou) and Wuchow (now Wuzhou). As their wealth grew, the brothers did not forget their home village of Chuk Sau Yuen, where they helped to build a hospital and school, install irrigation and surface the roads.

Australian National Maritime Museum 59

1890 Convicts and colonists

01 Edward Kwok and Edith Spliid in England, 1935.

02 The Kwok family in Shanghai, Christmas 1955. Edith and Edward are seated with their three children (left to right) Peder, Paul and Pamela.

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With the overthrow of the imperial Qing dynasty in 1911 and the subsequent establishment of the Republic of China, the Gock brothers decided to extend their business to the mainland. Gock Quay was dispatched to the cosmopolitan treaty port of Shanghai to purchase a block of land for a new department store. He then returned to Hong Kong but in September 1916 sent a telegram to the Wing On office in Sydney that read, ‘Tell my family come to Hong Kong’. Within a fortnight, his wife Rose, two sons and five daughters, ranging in age from two to 12, departed Sydney on St Albans. They were accompanied by Rose’s sister-inlaw Flo, the wife of Gock Son, who helped to care for the children. Sadly Gock Quay died of an illness in November 1916, just weeks after his family’s arrival in Hong Kong, and did not see the opening of the grand new Shanghai emporium on Nanking Road (now Nanjing Lu). Following his death, Rose and the children remained in Hong Kong, later moving to Shanghai.

In the years preceding World War II, the Gocks decided to anglicise their surname to Kwok. This reflected the opening of Wing On offices in San Francisco and New York, and also the fact that their children were attending Western educational institutions. In the early 1930s, Gock Quay’s youngest son, Edward Kwok (1914–2003), studied at Queen’s College, Hong Kong, and the University of Hong Kong before enrolling in a textile chemistry course at Manchester College of Technology in England. In 1934, Edward met Edith Spliid (1916–2003), a proud Cockney born within earshot of Bow Bells to a Danish father and an English mother. Before returning to the family textile mills in Shanghai in 1937, Edward informed the Spliids that he wanted to marry Edith.

60 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

In September 1937, a naïve 21-year-old Edith sailed from England on the Comorin, bound for Hong Kong. She arrived on the morning of 14 October and married Edward at St John’s Cathedral the same afternoon. The newlyweds lived with Edward’s sister Gladys and her husband, until Edward was called back to the family business in Shanghai by his brother David. Edith initially found Shanghai to be overpowering and lonely, but she gradually settled into family life with the arrival of three children, Paul (born 1938), Pamela (born 1940) and Peder (born 1943).

On 8 December 1941, Edward and Edith were attending a family birthday party when they heard loud noises coming from the waterfront. An announcement was made that the Japanese were attacking Shanghai. At 10 o’clock the next morning, Edith watched with sadness and fear as Japanese forces entered the city. The Kwok family textile mills were taken over by the Japanese, so Edward went to work extended hours at the Wing On offices in Nanking Road, leaving Edith alone with the children for long periods.

In 1942 residents of the Shanghai International Settlement (formed through the merger of the British and American settlements) were required to register with the police as enemy aliens. Their property was confiscated and assets frozen. The following year, enemy aliens were sent into the internment camps – a fate that Edith narrowly avoided as her father was born in Denmark, which made her a neutral national. She had to wear a red armband marked with the initial of her country and an identification number, and although free to move about with her children, she lived in constant fear. On one occasion, Japanese soldiers armed with rifles entered the family’s home demanding to see their papers, but fortunately no one was harmed.

In August 1945, the war ended and the Nationalist government took control of the International Settlement, the French Concession and other districts of Shanghai.

Life was difficult and food was scarce, and inflation reached a critical point, prompting financial reforms and the introduction of a new currency.

Convicts and colonists 1890

All aspects of daily life in Shanghai were controlled by the Communist government

02 Australian National Maritime Museum 61

1890 Convicts and colonists

This humble beginning would eventually grow into a multi-billion dollar family empire, Wing On

62 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Edward Kwok (third from right) with his six siblings, late 1910s.

Convicts and colonists 1890

In April 1949, Edward and Edith were booked to travel to Hong Kong with their youngest son Peder, leaving Paul and Pamela behind with friends. But when Communist forces crossed the Yangtze River and captured Nanjing, it was decided that the whole family should depart together. In Hong Kong they lived in a house owned by Edward’s brother, David, in Stanley.

In September 1949 David insisted that Edward return to Shanghai. Edith and the children followed in 1950, to a much changed city. With the establishment of the People’s Republic of China under Mao Zedong in October 1949, Wing On was forced to close its banking, insurance and textile businesses employing more than 20,000 people. The iconic Wing On department store in Shanghai was nationalised and renamed Hualian (now Yongan). All aspects of daily life in Shanghai were controlled by the Communist government and people were not permitted to stay away from their place of residence for even one night without seeking prior approval. The popular Chinese game of mahjong was banned, spying was rife and Maoist propaganda blared from loudspeakers across the country.

In 1952 the family began the process of applying for exit permits, which became increasingly crucial in the lead-up to eldest son Paul’s 18th birthday and the looming threat of his conscription into the People’s Liberation Army. The family was finally granted a permit in November 1956 and the following month departed Shanghai for Hong Kong, sailing via Tsingtao (now Qingdao).

In Hong Kong, Edward and Edith arranged a job for Paul in a textile mill owned by friends on Castle Peak Road. Paul did not like the work, however, and found a position with a company that produced window-fitted air conditioning units. Around this time he met Maunie Bones through the Vespa Club of Hong Kong. In January 1959, Paul and Maunie were married at St Andrew’s Church in Kowloon. Their first two sons were born in Hong Kong – Stephen (born 1959) and Christopher (born 1963).

Paul later joined the British firm Gilman & Co, which promoted and exported Hong Kong manufacturing to the world. This was followed by positions in Christchurch, New Zealand, and then Sydney, where Paul and his family have remained since arriving in August 1964. In Sydney, Maunie gave birth to two more sons, Kevin (born 1965) and Derek (born 1969). Paul and Maunie now have 13 grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren.

Paul’s parents and siblings also made the decision to move to Australia – Peder in 1964, Edward and Edith in 1969, and Pamela in 1978. Pamela has two children, three grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. Peder is survived by three children and two grandchildren. The four generations of the Kwok family now living in Australia are proud to have the opportunity to visit Darling Harbour to view the name of their pioneering ancestor, Gock Quay, on the Welcome Wall.

Kim Tao Australian National Maritime Museum 63

Florence Dounis’ wedding in 1948. Pictured are Con and Maria, all seven of their children, nephew John and nieces Sophie and Stella. Photograph courtesy Dounis family. Story on page 82.

Australian National Maritime Museum 65

1909 Federation to World War II Shocked survivors from the wrecked ship Clan Ranald sit among rocks at Troubridge Hill on the Yorke peninsula, South Australia.

A policeman stands with them. Image State Library of South Australia PRG 280/1/43/84

A shipwreck tests a racist policy The lascars of the Clan Ranald

At the heart of the infamous White Australia policy was a discriminatory dictation test designed to keep out ‘undesirable’ candidates, and which was challenged by the fate of 20 shipwrecked Asian mariners in 1909.

The controversial dictation test was a central feature of the Immigration Restriction Act 1901. This was one of three pieces of legislation, together with the Pacific Island Labourers Act and the Post and Telegraph Act, which were passed after Federation in 1901 and colloquially known as the White Australia policy. Together these acts placed restrictions on immigration and sought to remove prohibited immigrants, namely those from Asia and the Pacific Islands, from the new Commonwealth.

The Immigration Restriction Act was replaced by the Migration Act 1958, which introduced a simpler system of entry permits.

The dictation test required non-European immigrants to write out a passage of 50 words in any European language (later any prescribed language) as dictated by the immigration officer. Since the choice of language was at the discretion of the officer, undesirable immigrants were destined to fail the test. They could then be declared prohibited immigrants and deported. One of the most infamous cases of the application of the dictation test dates to 1909 and involved the Scottish cargo ship SS Clan Ranald, its Asian and Indian crew (known as lascars), and one of South Australia’s worst maritime disasters.

66 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

The shipwrecked lascars of SS Clan Ranald

SS Clan Ranald was a two-deck turret ship built in 1900

by William Doxford & Sons in Sunderland, England, for the Clan Line of Glasgow. On the morning of 31 January 1909, Clan Ranald embarked from Port Adelaide with a cargo of wheat and flour bound for South Africa. The ship had been permitted to depart despite a four-degree list to starboard, likely to have been caused by the 170 tons of coal loaded on its top deck. On board were 10 officers and 54 crew, the latter of Asian or Indian origin.

At 2 pm, in deteriorating weather off the southern Yorke Peninsula, Clan Ranald lurched onto its starboard side at a 45-degree angle. It is thought that the ship’s cargo shifted and caused it to become unstable. As darkness fell, the crew desperately tried to signal the shore and nearby vessels for assistance, but at around 10 pm, Clan Ranald capsized and sank off Troubridge Hill, south of Edithburgh.

Forty of the 64 crew members died in the disaster, making it one of the worst shipwrecks in South Australia’s history.

Applying the dictation test

Remembering the lascar victims

On 1 February 1909 Clan Ranald’s 24 survivors were taken to Port Adelaide. The four British officers were accommodated at the Royal Arms Hotel, while the 20 lascar seamen were detained in the basement of the Prince Alfred Sailors Home. Members of the local community had been involved in the rescue and supported the men by providing money and tobacco. But under the terms of the White Australia policy, the lascars’ hand prints were taken and they were given a dictation test in English.

Rescuers later recovered the bodies of 36 of the 40 Clan Ranald victims. The five British officers were buried in the main section of the Edithburgh Cemetery, while the 31 lascar crew members were interred in a mass grave at the rear of the cemetery. They were identified only by a small plaque to ‘31 Asiatic seamen – names unknown’, even though all of their names had been recorded by immigration officials.

On 2 February, the boarding inspector W P Stokes wrote: Nineteen of the colored crew failed to pass the test although some of the men spoke good English. The quartermaster (Lucano Orico) [sic] known as No 18 on examination showed that he not only could read and speak English fluently but could also write the dictation test without any hesitation.

Consequently the test must be put in another language than English and one with which he is unacquainted.

On 31 January 2009, on the centenary of the Clan Ranald tragedy, a new plaque was unveiled at Edithburgh Cemetery naming all of the individual lascar seamen buried in the communal grave. It stands as a tangible, quietly powerful reminder of the workings of the White Australia policy, the intersection of immigration and maritime history, and the impacts of government legislation on human lives.

Kim Tao

Lucano Orocio of Manila duly failed the second dictation test.

The 20 lascar seamen were deemed illegal immigrants and sent to Melbourne to be deported to Colombo on SS Clan McLachlan. Public outcry over their inhumane treatment would eventually force the Commonwealth government to amend its legislation to allow shipwrecked people to land in Australia without restriction.

Australian National Maritime Museum 67

1919 Federation to World War II

Grace Lambert, left, with her mother and sisters at the family home in Kent, England, c1912.

All photographs courtesy Robert Penn

68 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Grace was not yet 18 when war broke out in Europe in July 1914 – an event that would irrevocably change her world and her future

Federation to World War II 1919

Amazing Grace The caring life of an English war bride

A chance meeting and subsequent romance resulted in Grace Lambert becoming one of 10,000 women who disembarked on a strange shore in 1919 as brides of Australian soldiers, all of them taking the courageous decision to travel to the other side of the world for a new life in an unknown country.

GRACE ETHEL LAMBERT was born in September 1896 to John Lambert, a labourer, and his wife Sarah (née Bateman).

She was the youngest of six children, growing up with her three surviving sisters in Cranbrook, Kent, in England, a small and picturesque village surrounded by thatched cottages, watermills, windmills, and rolling green hills.

Grace was not yet 18 when war broke out in Europe in July 1914 – an event that would irrevocably change her world and her future, and those of millions of other people.

Also in 1896, on the other side of the world, George Douglas Gibson was born in the working-class Sydney suburb of Balmain. By 1916, at the age of 21 years and three months, he enlisted with the First Australian Imperial Force and was sent to Liverpool, New South Wales, to train as part of the 20th Battalion, 17th Reinforcements. For George, as for many young Australian men, enlisting provided a rare opportunity for travel and adventure. Few seemed to consider the possible horrors that might await them.

On 25 October 1916 George departed Sydney aboard the troop transport HMAT Ascanius bound for Devonport, England. He spent six months training at Rollestone Military Camp in Wiltshire before departing for the trenches of France in 1917. His battalion had an esteemed military record, having landed at the infamous Anzac Cove in 1915, taken part in the August Offensive, then been sent three months later to the Western Front. In March 1916 the battalion was posted to Armentières, and later to Pozières. By the time George arrived in the trenches of France his battalion was involved in many of the major battles of 1917, seeing action at Bullecourt, Menin Road, Lagnicourt and Poelcapelle, and forcing the German Army back towards the Hindenburg Line. He was lucky enough to survive for 10 months before being wounded in action in April 1918 during the German Spring Offensive.

He was transferred to a field hospital for a few weeks, before rejoining his unit in time for the battles at Amiens and Mont St Quentin in August and the attack at the Beaurevoir Line at Montbrehain in October. These battles were part of the final Allied Offensive, which helped bring about the end of the war.

On 5 February 1919 George was granted leave back to England, where he succumbed to pneumonia and was admitted to an auxiliary hospital. The army, unaware of his illness, listed him as AWL. In 1918–19 Europe was in the grip of the Spanish influenza, an epidemic that killed more people than the Great War and was, unusually, particularly fatal for those under 65. George’s illness may have been related to this, although the records do not make this clear.

Australian National Maritime Museum 69

1919 Federation to World War II

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Grace and George were married just four months after they met, their wedding possibly hastened by the experience of war or George’s impending return to Australia

01 Grace Gibson (centre) with daughters Patricia (left) and Joyce (right) in the Rocks, Sydney, late 1930s.

02 Robert with his mother, Joyce, and grandmother Grace.

70 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

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Federation to World War II 1919

Many women worked in the health system to provide comfort and care for the large numbers of wounded and sick. It is probable that Grace came to London for this reason, though it is unknown when she actually arrived.

But it was during George’s recovery in London that he met the beautiful young Grace Lambert. Just four months later, on 10 June 1919, the couple were married at All Soul’s Church in Marylebone. Perhaps the experience of war or George’s impending return to his Australian home hastened the wedding, but for this couple it was a happy and successful union.

In August 1919 the newlyweds embarked for Australia aboard HMAT Katoomba, one of many troopships struggling to repatriate the thousands of Australian soldiers and accompanying wives and children, whose presence and needs had not been expected or planned for by the Australian government and military. But these families were crucial to rebuild the new nation that had been devastated by the loss of more than 60,000 young men. The trip back to Australia on these troopships was often arduous, with cramped quarters and the few rudimentary facilities shared by many.

On 25 September 1919, Grace and George arrived in Sydney and moved in with George’s mother, in her one-bedroom Victorian semi-detached house in Haberfield. Living space was tight in the small house and the old building was always in need of work, but despite a limited income the family made the situation work for them. They were also lucky enough to own the matching house next door, and the rental payments from tenants supplemented the family’s income. In time Grace and George had two daughters, Joyce, born in 1921, and Patricia, born in 1924. The family of five, including George’s mother, all lived in the house together with the small front living room converted into a second bedroom.

Grace used her talents to help provide for the family.

A keen seamstress, she made most of her own and the family’s clothes. The family never went hungry – grandson Robert remembers delicious lamb dishes and corned beef, but never the expensive luxury of chicken. The family also had one of the best-kept gardens in the street; though small, it had unusual plants for Australia, such as a holly tree that Grace nurtured – perhaps a small reminder of her roots back in the Kent countryside.

George worked at the Sonnerdale engineering workshop on Parramatta Road, Annandale. In his spare time he returned to his original trade as a cabinetmaker, hand-crafting much of the furniture in the family’s house. His workshop in the garden was full of well-loved cabinetry tools passed down from George’s father, and was a place of wonder for his young daughters and their friends, who enjoyed watching George work there.

In 1956 Robert’s mother Joyce, Grace and George’s elder daughter, tragically died. Robert’s father found it a struggle to bring up the young boy alone while also working full time, and both grandmothers shared childcare duties for the remainder of that year. But the next year Grace, recognising that Robert needed support and stability, offered him the chance to live with her and George, and so the Haberfield house became Robert’s permanent home for the rest of his childhood. While the family still lived on a limited income, Grace ensured Robert was loved and well cared for.

He fondly remembers the special treats she provided, such as regular trips into the city to visit museums and galleries, and a walk down to The Domain to watch the development of the avant-garde new Sydney Opera House from a viewing platform. These trips included lunch in the Coles cafeteria in Liverpool Street, a luxury reserved just for Robert and his grandmother. They bought bags of delicious hot jam donuts from street vendors, with some even making it home to share with George. Thanks to Grace’s efforts Robert never felt he was missing out compared with his peers, as she participated in the same way as any mother would in special school events and milestones.

When Robert was a little older his father made sure they shared some time together, taking him out on a Friday night to the trotting races at Harold Park to teach him the tricks of the track.

In 1962, while Robert was still at high school, George died quite suddenly from heart complications. It was a devastating time for both Grace and her grandson. In 1968, when Robert was 21 years old, he left the Haberfield house to make his own way in the world. Grace sold up soon after and moved to a more modern house in Croydon, remaining there until her death on 24 December 1972.

Despite the inevitable homesickness Grace must have felt, particularly after the loss of her husband, she never again saw her sisters or her home village of Cranbrook. She kept in touch with her sisters by letter, and the journals that they sent also brought news from her childhood home. In 1972 Robert visited the family home in Kent and met Sarah, his grandmother’s one surviving sister. His timing was lucky, as Sarah died the following year. Robert’s final connection to his grandmother and mother was his Aunt Patricia, who by this time was married and had three children.

Her son became an engineer with Qantas and Patricia and her husband used the airline’s staff discount fares to travel to many far-flung parts of the world. Sadly, in the 1980s Patricia died suddenly from a heart attack while travelling in Thailand.

In 2013 Robert honoured his indefatigable and loving grandmother by registering her name with the Welcome Wall. It was unveiled in November 2013.

Veronica Kooyman Australian National Maritime Museum 71

1919 Federation to World War II

From Surrey to the outback

01

An English war bride’s life of contrasts

With the advent of war in 1914, the lives of many young women around the world were irrevocably changed. For a young English nurse’s aide, Mabel Lillian Hersey, her wartime work brought her into contact with her future husband and pulled her from the idyll of the English countryside to a harsher land.

MABEL PRESTON WAS BORN IN 1892 IN REDHILL, a semi-rural town in the English county of Surrey, just a short distance south of London. She was one of eight or nine children of a family in comfortable circumstances, which allowed her to board at a finishing school in Belgium to be taught etiquette and social skills in preparation for entering the adult world.

When war broke out Mabel was conscious of her patriotic duties, and took advantage of new and alternative employment opportunities for women. During the war she briefly worked in a local munitions factory making gun shells and explosives – dangerous work in a harsh environment. By 1916, however, Mabel was working as a nurse’s aide in a hospital for injured and convalescing soldiers. One of her patients was a young and spirited Australian man.

Garnet Clarence Eden Preston was born in 1893 in Buchan, Victoria, and worked as a labourer in rural New South Wales before enlisting in the Australian Army in 1915.

72 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

He was first assigned as a private in the 4th reinforcements, 18th Infantry Battalion, embarking on HMAT Argyllshire in Sydney. He served in the Middle East, where he first exhibited the roguish and larrikin behaviour for which some Australians became known, taking advantage of the travel and world experiences provided by war. He was often missing from parade or noted as AWL (absent without leave). Later he served in France with the 61st Battalion, where in 1916 he sustained shrapnel wounds to his knee and leg. He lay for a couple of days, surrounded by fallen comrades, before aid could reach him. He was sent to a hospital in England, directly into the path of Mabel, whom he regularly pestered to let him take her out despite his hospital constraints. Doctors planned to amputate his leg, perhaps as a simpler option than long-term treatment, but Garnet had other ideas. He begged Mabel for help, determined to keep all his limbs intact. He made his escape one night and met Mabel at a prearranged address, where he took shelter.

Federation to World War II 1919

01 Garnet Preston, June 1915.

02 Mabel Preston aged 18, around the time she went to finishing school.

All photographs courtesy Rosemarie Tweedie

When war broke out Mabel was conscious of her patriotic duties

02 Australian National Maritime Museum 73

1919 Federation to World War II

Goats roamed the house, including the bedrooms, and shoes had to be checked each morning for snakes 01 Mabel with daughters Clarice (left) and Stella in Sydney, 1940s.

02 Mabel (right) with (from left) grand-daughter Rosemarie, Garnet, and daughter Stella and her son Alan, aged four, on the Grawin opal fields.

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Federation to World War II 1919

02

Though still enlisted, Garnet’s continued absence from the army while in England is shown in his record, which notes a long list of charges, detentions and sacrificed wages.

Unknown to his superiors, after his escape he found civilian employment, and on 30 December 1916 he married his young saviour. She became one of many war brides who would accompany their husbands back to Australia.

They left England together in August 1919 with their young son Roland, who was only a few months old. Mabel was undoubtedly aware that she was unlikely ever to return or see her family again.

Garnet was soon discharged from the army, and as a returned soldier was granted some land to settle at Corby Hill, near Leeton in the Riverina district of New South Wales, as part of the Soldiers’ Settlement Scheme.

With little other help provided, the couple set about building a dwelling from tin, cardboard and any materials Garnet could lay his hands on. The property was scarcely weatherproof, and not at all wildlife proof; goats roamed the house, including the bedrooms, and shoes had to be checked each morning for snakes. Life for Mabel was a far cry from the comfort of Surrey.

The family lived off the land, with a vegetable garden that Mabel lovingly tended to provide some of the family’s food and a little extra to sell. The family expanded in 1921 with the birth of daughter Stella, followed two years later by Clarice. Life was tough on the land and the bills just kept coming. When the Great Depression hit Australia in 1929, thousands of people lost their jobs, and like many others, Mabel and Garnet were forced to sell their land to raise money.

For a while they lived as squatters on Crown land, later building a slightly less rustic house at Weethalle in the Central West region of New South Wales. It was built of hand-felled timber, with a paper-and-water paste used to block up the gaps in the walls. An open fireplace with a chimney built from rocks and stones provided some warmth, while hessian bags and mats covered the floor.

To help with living costs, Garnet picked up work mining tin and panning for alluvial gold nearby, sending his finds by train to contacts in Sydney and waiting for the return cheque to arrive. For Mabel, it was only the thought of the children that kept her from running away.

After more than 20 years on the land, the family moved to Sydney around 1940. They eventually settled in Undercliffe (now part of Earlwood), in southwestern Sydney, and rented a corner shop with accommodation attached.

Once again Mabel established a vegetable patch, grew lemons and mulberries, and kept goats and chickens.

Much of the home-grown produce was sold through the store. The daughters, now young women, went to work in textile factories and contributed to the household expenses. Garnet travelled to Lightning Ridge for extended periods to mine for opals and became a respected opal cutter. On his return Mabel would travel to King Street in the city to sell the stones to jewellers.

Mabel had always maintained contact with her family in England, slowly exchanging news through letters to her sister, Bee. Unexpectedly Mabel was left £1,200 when Bee died and this allowed the family to purchase the corner store and land. Finally the family was able to pay off their debts and make a decent living.

In her remaining years Mabel continued to run the corner store and nurture her family, helping to rear some of her grandchildren and providing them with a home when in need. She is remembered for her kindness, her skillful chess game and her delicious mulberry pie. She died in April 1960, still married to Garnet. Her name was inscribed on the Welcome Wall by her grandson Alan.

Veronica Kooyman Australian National Maritime Museum 75

1925 Federation to World War II

The arduous journey to Australia by ship took three months, sailing right around Africa to avoid mines already laid on the route via the Suez Canal

As Italian as stonemasonry and grapevines Searching for a better life

With Europe recovering from the First World War and further conflict threatening, many young men and women left Italy in search of a better life. So it was for Vittorio Cecchin and Anna Borgnolo.

01 76 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Federation to World War II 1925

01 Vittorio Cecchin as a young migrant in Sydney, c1928.

Photographs courtesy of Antoinette Tonitto 02 Vittorio and Anna on their wedding day, in 1942.

02

FEW OF US COULD IMAGINE being one of 12 brothers and sisters – much less growing up with another six orphaned cousins in the same household. Yet this was life for young Vittorio Cecchin, born in 1902 in Porcia, Italy, as the eighth of those 12 children. Feeding such a large family was a struggle for his parents, even more so after the death of Vittorio’s uncle and aunt added those extra six cousins to the Cecchin home.

Tradition dictated that only the eldest son would inherit family land or property. Younger boys had to make their own way, while daughters simply hoped they would marry well to secure their future. As eighth in line, with only a rudimentary education and two years’ compulsory military service, there was little opportunity for young Vittorio – as for many of the young men and women in rural Italy during the inter-war years. It’s no surprise, then, that many of the Cecchin children chose to emigrate – to Argentina, the United States, France and Australia.

During World War I, when Vittorio was just a young teenager, he and a friend climbed a tall pine tree, and lay in wait for German soldiers. With the bravado of youth they launched stones at a group of passing soldiers, who retaliated by firing into the trees at their unknown assailants. Bullets whizzed past both young boys, who were very lucky to survive. A few years later, memories like these encouraged Vittorio to get as far away as he could from the troubles and conflicts of Europe. Australia, a young country with no land borders, located on the opposite side of the world, seemed enticing. In November 1925 he and a childhood friend, Lindoro Biasotto, disembarked in Sydney with no knowledge of where they might go; their only plan was to find work somehow. Neither knew if they would ever see their family or homeland again. Vittorio was carrying just one suitcase and £40 borrowed from his sister.

Down at the wharves a taxi driver, clearly familiar with this scenario, established that the young men were Italian and took them to a boarding house that he knew in Darlinghurst where the lodgers were mainly Italian migrants. On his second day in Australia, following his compatriots’ advice, Vittorio approached the construction company Melocco Brothers. He had brought from Porcia specialised skills in stonemasonry, particularly working with marble and terrazzo, and was swiftly hired, establishing his Australian career as a stonemason. In later years he worked as well for companies such as Anslow Marble and Fabrostone, and contributed to many significant projects and structures such as St Mary’s Cathedral, the State Theatre, the State Library of New South Wales, the GPO, Australia Square and Canberra Cathedral. His career gave him the chance to travel to various parts of New South Wales.

Soon after arriving Vittorio had enrolled in night school, eager to learn the language of his chosen new home.

During the hard times of the Great Depression, he and his friend Lindoro opened a fruit shop on Oxford Street in Darlinghurst. This part of inner Sydney was known as ‘Razorhurst’ in the 1920s and 30s, after a favoured weapon of some of its shadier denizens, and some of the fruit shop’s customers were notorious characters in Sydney’s criminal world. A visit from the infamous madam Tilly Devine, or any number of hard-faced gangsters, might result in an equally swift visit from the police enquiring into any business that had been transacted. Vittorio and Lindoro knew enough to avoid trouble and keep well clear of any criminal business.

Australian National Maritime Museum 77

1925 Federation to World War II

Antoinette (left) celebrates the 100th birthday of her mother Anna, in March 2008, with her children Anthony, Renée and Adam and husband Dennis.

In 1935 Vittorio, enthralled with his new country, chose to become a citizen and, as World War II arrived and progressed, was patriotic enough to enlist in the Australian Army. Italy, an ally back in World War I, was now an enemy of his new homeland, and Vittorio had real concerns that his fellow soldiers might take exception to his heritage.

Instead he was treated with respect for his experience and willingness to serve – though his age was sometimes a source of friendly banter. He turned 40 while still doing his training.

During those war years he met the stylish and independent Anna Borgnolo, a fellow Italian migrant. Anna had grown up in a rural town near Udine, less than 100 kilometres from Vittorio’s home town. She too came from a large family, of 10 children, and had developed a strong sense of independence. At the age of 29, shortly before the declaration of war in Europe, she chose to travel to Australia alone. The arduous journey by ship took three months, sailing right around Africa to avoid mines already laid on the route via the Suez Canal. Anna first stayed with a brother who was already living in Griffith, but soon chose to relocate to a boarding house in Sydney, alone, and took up factory work for IXL Jam and Arnotts Biscuits.

Having met through friends, the two Italian migrants married in 1942. Manual labour was in short supply with so many young men away fighting, and Vittorio received an early discharge from the army to support the war effort by working the land, to supply the Australian Army with fresh vegetables. The couple moved to Griffith where Vittorio swiftly had to learn the skills of farming. After six years they returned to Sydney permanently, built their own home and celebrated the birth of their only child, Antoinette, in 1951. Vittorio returned to his well-honed vocation of stonemasonry while Anna worked from home creating custom-made apparel and pottery.

78 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Growing up in the Australia of the 1950s and 60s, Antoinette was aware of her different cultural heritage.

Although there were a number of migrants from different cultures at her school, she always felt slightly apart from her classmates. Unlike her neighbours’ backyards, hers always had chickens, a big vegetable patch and grapevines.

Italian food was still considered strange and foreign. At one birthday party her mother served spaghetti bolognese.

Her classmates slipped the unfamiliar dish out the window.

But no one thought to hide the discarded food and the next day the ruse was detected.

Keenly aware of the hardships of starting a new life in a foreign country, the Cecchins helped to sponsor nieces and nephews who wanted to move to Australia. Vittorio taught them English and helped them find work. Once they had established themselves and bought a house, many of these children would sponsor their own parents to migrate.

In time, more of the family lived in Australia than remained in Italy. Big family picnics and Sunday lunches were regular features of the calendar. The youngest generation, wanting to better understand their heritage, is reviving this tradition.

Antoinette’s parents, like so many migrants, insisted she have a better education than theirs. In 1970 she went to college to study the emerging new area of computer programming and had a successful career in computing.

At the age of 21 she married Dennis Tonitto, whom she had met at a cousin’s engagement party. They have three adult children. Antoinette honoured the memory of her parents by having their names inscribed on the Welcome Wall.

Antoinette Tonitto and Veronica Kooyman

Federation to World War II 1927

He possessed an exotic flair for cooking, serving up wild game, freshwater eels and snails

Antonio Fedrigo: pioneer migrant, advisor and helper.

Family, farms and feasts A land of opportunity

Robert Fedrigo has encouraged many of his extended family to take their place on the Welcome Wall. Here he pays tribute to his uncle Antonio Fedrigo, the family pioneer whose life revolved around supporting and encouraging other migrants from Italy.

WE’RE ALL FAMILIAR with the big wave of post-World War II Italian migration, but fewer know that in the 1920s Italians already viewed Australia as a land of opportunity.

My uncle, Antonio Fedrigo, was one of those. He arrived in Sydney in October 1927 at the age of 30, from Corbolone in the northern Italian province of Venezia. He first shared a modest house at Ryde with two families from his home town, the Crosariols and the Marins. I recall him saying that there was nothing here, just a lot of ‘bosc’ or bush.

Outside the city of Sydney he remembered a lot of rough roads made up of continuous pot holes.

Within months of Antonio’s arrival his first cousin Beppi Fedrigo arrived, disembarking at Melbourne where he settled. Beppi was later joined by his wife Antonietta.

This was not uncommon. The men would find suitable accommodation and get established in the workplace before sending for their wives or fiancées. It also established a Sydney–Melbourne axis for our families, and years later it would become a routine to travel between Sydney and Melbourne at Christmas for holidays and special functions.

In Sydney, Uncle Antonio accepted any work that was available. Regular work was hard to come by, however, so most new arrivals found work on farms. For the next 11 years Antonio lived at Leo Buring Wines at Emu Plains working as a gardener and caretaker until about 1938.

Times were tough so you travelled to wherever the work was available. He later spent two years in Lismore working as a farmhand. On his visits to Sydney he lived with the Crosariol and Marin families at Fairfield, in their large old home that was divided to accommodate a number of families. This was a common practice of the times, offering support to newer arrivals.

Australian National Maritime Museum 79

1927 Federation to World War II

01

My uncle found Australians friendly and welcoming.

His easy-going nature allowed him to build good rapport with locals, and he became an enthusiastic ambassador for his new country. He visited Italy in 1938, assisting other friends and family with their travel arrangements and later returning to Australia in March 1939. He spoke highly of Australia and how it provided stable employment and opportunities, motivating many family and friends to travel to our shores.

During the ensuing war years (1939–45) Uncle Antonio lived and worked at the Christian Brothers Seminary at Campbelltown where he also secured work for a family friend, Toni Martin. This position allowed him to avoid being interned, unlike many other Italian migrants during these years when Australia was at war with Italy.

Around 1948 he moved to Orchard Hills near Penrith, where his brother-in-law Attilio Crosariol purchased a large farm. He helped in the vineyard and as the chef for some 15 nieces and nephews as they worked the farm.

Antonio possessed an exotic flair for cooking, serving up wild game, freshwater eels and snails. Years later Attilio sold this farm to the Zaccaria family whose daughter married the now-famous Sydney chef Beppi Polese, considered the patriarch of Italian restaurants in Sydney where Beppi’s was an institution. Much of its fresh farm produce came from the farm where my uncle had worked.

80 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

In 1952 Antonio joined with his nephews Edovilio and Pasquale Fedrigo (my father) and Guido Calderan to buy a 2.5-acre (1 hectare) farm at St Johns Park near Cabramatta. This allowed each nephew to own part of their own home until they could afford to establish independent households. Although they didn’t yet own a car they built a garage that had a polished timber floor and a separate store room used as a kitchenette. It provided accommodation for newly arrived families until they could save enough to purchase their own homes. Many decades later I got to park my first car in it!

Antonio was an excellent cook and tutored all the new brides who visited the household on how to cook certain provincial dishes, and which ingredients to use. The small dining table regularly sat 13 of us for dinner and lunch over the years. Family gatherings were always exciting and it was a great joy for to him to be surrounded by nephews and nieces.

From about 1955 until he retired he worked for the railways and was stationed at Scarborough near Port Kembla.

His position enabled him to secure employment for many family members who came from Italy. He would commute by steam train back to Liverpool every two weeks and spend the weekends with family.

Federation to World War II 1927

01 Antonio Fedrigo (1897–1983) (second) from left with his brother-in-law Attilio Crosariol (in black shirt), montaged on the liner Citta di Genova that brought them to Australia. Photographs courtesy Robert Fedrigo

Antonio Fedrigo spoke highly of Australia and how it provided stable employment and opportunities

02 Robert Ferigo’s father Pasquale Fedrigo and friend Johnny.

03 An extended family gathering for the annual grape harvest at Penrith in the 1950s.

02

This was the big era of migration for the next generation of Italian citizens, for whom there seemed little scope for employment and prosperity after the war. In his travels back to Italy, Antonio continued to convey stories of hope and opportunity, putting Australia high on the list for many prospective migrants from his extended family.

The early years were undoubtedly difficult for most of the newcomers since they needed to master a new language, learn new skills and adopt a new country with different customs and traditions. The large family unit provided much-needed support and camaraderie for all. As the families expanded with the births of the first Aussie generation, gatherings and family functions were regular.

The most memorable family custom was wine-making.

Every March, six or eight family groups would travel to our Uncle Attilio’s farm near Penrith to pick grapes. We’d arrive on Sunday at the break of dawn and work till about 11 am.

We’d have a break mid-morning and enjoy some lovely food.

The work was accompanied by story telling, some off-key singing, some problem-solving and always plenty of jokes.

The grape-crushing phase began about midday, and with many helpers it was all done by 1 pm and then it was reward time with a huge lunch and a relaxing afternoon.

It was a great adventure and experience for us young kids and a day full of fun and enjoyment for everyone.

03

Uncle Toni was always the focal point of such gatherings and received tremendous respect from all. He was an extremely humble man of simple means, poor in education – he had just four years of schooling – but rich in many other ways. An intuitive man with a store of natural abilities, he was someone who saw a challenge and found a solution.

With no tuition he mastered four musical instruments and kept many people entertained. He was a storyteller and a prankster, an advisor and a helper always ready to pass on his lifelong experiences and knowledge.

Here was a pioneer and adventurer who risked uncertainty for an opportunity in a new land which he adopted as his home, and then became pivotal to many others who came to share that experience of a new life in Australia.

Australian National Maritime Museum 81

1928 Federation to World War II

Con understood that he would need to look further afield for a secure future

01 82 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Federation to World War II 1928

01 (Left to right) John, Maria, Florence and Con in 1936, just after arriving in Australia.

02 Con and his nephew John Dounis in the fruit shop, 1930s.

All photographs courtesy the Dounis family

02

Con the fruiterer From island life to the inner city

Hailing from Evia (or Euboea), the second largest of the Greek islands, Constantine ‘Con’ Dounis migrated from a small fishing village to the bright lights of Sydney’s Kings Cross in the 1930s.

CON DOUNIS WAS BORN IN 1897, the second of six children, and grew up in the village of Raptei on the Greek island of Evia. His seemingly idyllic island life spent fishing in the blue waters of the Aegean Sea was shattered by the early death of both his parents when he was just 12 or 13 years old. His youngest sibling was still a baby and was adopted, never to be seen again, while the eldest children were sent to other families in the district.

In 1925 Con married local girl Maria Kelly, who had a poor education but was quick witted and intelligent. By 1928 they were parents to toddler Florence and baby John.

Con’s eldest brother, Stelianos, had already left the island in search of better opportunities and Con understood that he, too, would need to look further afield for a secure future.

Leaving his young family behind, he followed his brother to Australia, joining Stelianos and a cousin at Thevenard in South Australia, working in the fishing industry off the Great Australian Bight.

Thevenard, near Ceduna on the Eyre Peninsula, is still a small and relatively isolated town. In the 1920s, Greek migrants found work there clearing scrub for agriculture and on construction of the Tod River pipeline. By the late 1920s, most Greeks had turned to fishing for a living. From these origins some large South Australian fish-processing companies developed. Traces of the once-thriving Greek community remain in the town, with a Greek club and Greek Orthodox church still standing in the main street.

In the early 1930s, Stelianos decided to return to Raptei and his wife and children. Tragically he drowned in 1935 in the waters off Evia while transferring animals to another island for pasture. The loss of his brother affected Con greatly – another hard loss in a short life. Around the same time Con made his way to Sydney, settling in Kings Cross, the centre of Sydney’s hustle and bustle and a far cry from his rural and isolated background. He established a fruit shop on Victoria Street with a half-Chinese business partner, giving him direct access to Sydney’s market gardens. By the end of the year he had saved enough money to buy passage for his wife and two children to join him in Australia. They arrived on 26 January 1936 – Australia Day. Australian National Maritime Museum 83

1928 Federation to World War II

01 Eldest daughter Florence and her brother John inside the shop, c1942.

02 The High Class Deli, where Bessie went to work after her father closed his store. January 1966, photographer unknown

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02

84 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Federation to World War II 1928

In the early 1940s they lived in Palmer Street, a place made infamous by their neighbour, the notorious crime boss and brothel madam Tilly Devine

Almost exactly nine months later daughter Bessie was born. In quick succession another four children followed: Nicholas in 1938, Michael in 1940, Steve in 1942 and George in 1944. In the late 1930s the family moved from Kings Cross to a house in Waverley and the fruit shop was sold to an Italian family. By 1939 Con had repurchased the fruit shop to help the new owner, who by then had been interned as an enemy alien due to the outbreak of World War II, and the family were back in the Cross.

In the early 1940s they lived in a narrow terrace house in Palmer Street, a place made infamous by their neighbour, notorious crime boss and brothel madam Tilly Devine.

Bessie affectionately remembers Tilly, wearing a diamond ring on every finger, keeping an eye out for her mum.

The family was protected from the more rugged elements of the area, with Tilly even telling her accomplices, ‘I don’t want you to disturb that woman with all those kids.

Help her out’. Once, when Maria was very sick, Tilly came to the house to arrange for prescriptions to be filled in the middle of the night.

Florence and John worked in the shop with their father and their cousin, also named John Dounis. In 1948, when Florence was 21, she married Andrew Elfes and left the family business. They set up their own fruit shop in Hurstville. Her brother John left home at 18 and moved to Manly, marrying Koula Kontominos in 1951.

Bessie and her younger brothers spent their childhood years playing with local Maltese, Cypriot and Australian kids, attending the prestigious Crown Street Public School in Surry Hills, and helping with the business – visiting the markets in the early morning with Con to buy the day’s produce, or helping their mother to open the shop.

An education beyond the basic high school level was never part of Con’s plans for his children; Bessie was working full time in the shop by the age of 15, and her brothers helped outside school hours.

In 1953, when Bessie was 17, Con decided to sell up and arranged for her to work in the Greek delicatessen nearby.

To her delight, Bessie found the deli a haven of excitement in the centre of a vibrant and cosmopolitan locale.

It catered to a rich variety of customers by both day and night, with regulars from dapper ‘gentleman gangsters’ to creative and interesting radio and theatre people.

Actors Chips Rafferty and Peter Finch were some of her most memorable patrons. Enjoying her worldly education, Bessie stayed for two decades, working for various owners and eventually becoming a part-owner of the business, with her brother George, until 1985.

In the mid-1950s the family moved into a long-awaited large home in Randwick. Con opened another fruit and grocery store, this time in Beverly Hills, which was then a rural area. But within a year the business was struggling and Con, living behind the store with his son Nick, missed the vibrancy of inner-city life. This was followed by a series of failed ventures, including a prawn trawler that sank in Sydney’s Rushcutters Bay. His once affable nature changed, leading to the breakdown of the family. He returned to Kings Cross to run a small fruit stall, living away from home.

In 1963 Nick married, followed by Mike and Steve in 1966 and George in 1967.

Bessie and George would both check on their father, and in late 1969 told their mother that Con was sick and in need of a doctor. Ever kind and generous, Maria and her children decided to bring him home. During the few months he stayed at the family home, Maria and Con made peace with each other despite some very difficult times in the past. Con died in April 1970 and was remembered by many of the migrant Greek and local Kings Cross communities as a good man who always helped other new arrivals to the country. Maria lived to an impressive 96 years of age, fondly remembered by her children for her exceptional home cooking and natural wit. Con and Maria always said that this was the best country in the world, and they left behind three generations of Australians. Bessie honoured her family by registering her parents and eldest siblings on the Welcome Wall.

Bessie Dounis and Veronica Kooyman Australian National Maritime Museum 85

1929–1962 Federation to World War II

SS Orontes arriving in Sydney, 1961. Photo courtesy National Archives of Australia A12111, 1/1961/4/13

SS Orontes Plying the England–Australia route for three decades

In 2017 the museum successfully bid at auction for a remarkable model of SS Orontes. Our interest was sparked by the vessel’s long association with travel between Britain and Australia.

THE ORIENT STEAM NAVIGATION COMPANY, or Orient Line, has been carrying passengers to and from Australia since 1866. By the early 1900s the company had an Australian government mail contract and was sailing from England to Australia every two weeks. As a result, in the early 1900s it commissioned the construction of a number of 12,000-ton ships.

All were commandeered by the military during World War I. Once the war was over, and having lost some vessels, the company commissioned new ships including, in 1929, SS Orontes, one of five Orama class liners built for the England–Australia route.

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1929–1962 Federation to World War II

Over its 33 years of service, Orontes brought more than 75,000 people to Australia

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Federation to World War II 1929–1962

01 Model of SS Orontes, purchased with the assistance of the Australian National Maritime Foundation. Image Andrew Frolows/ANMM 02 The exterior of the Orient Line building, Spring Street, Sydney.

In the display window is the model of SS Orontes.

Samuel J Hood Studio ANMM Collection 00021244

Orontes was built at the Vickers Armstrong shipyard in Barrow-in-Furness in north-west England and launched on 27 February 1929 by Lady Anderson, the wife of the company’s chairman, Sir Alan Anderson. As was customary, the same shipyard built a 1:48 scale model of the vessel for the then significant sum of £856 (approximately equal to $65,000 today) for presentation to the owner.

These models were important promotional tools, designed to provide prospective passengers with a clear idea of the ship’s facilities and enhance the company’s reputation for well-built, comfortable and reliable vessels. The SS Orontes model, which is 4.4 metres long, is beautifully crafted, with great attention to detail, making it just as fascinating for viewers today as it was in 1929.

Following the launch, the model came to Australia and featured in the front window of the company’s office in Spring Street, Sydney. Coincidentally, the National Maritime Collection also includes the Orient Line’s glass display windows from this office.

For the museum, the close links with the history of migration are what make the model particularly significant.

Over its 33 years of service, Orontes brought more than 75,000 people to Australia. For many it was their only experience of sea travel and must have been something they remembered all their lives. Although initially catering for two classes of passengers – 500 first class and 1,112 third class – by 1933, 518 second-class berths had been added.

In 1940 Orontes, together with all Orient Line passenger ships, was requisitioned by the military and refitted as a troop carrier designed to accommodate 3,226 men.

Over the next six years the vessel operated throughout the European and Pacific theatres of war, carrying a total of 124,630 troops and sailing nearly 790,000 kilometres, the greatest distance travelled by any passenger liner during the war.

Released from military service in April 1947, the ship was refitted at Southampton’s Thornycroft shipyard to carry 502 first- and 618 second-class passengers in a higher standard of comfort, including hot and cold running water in all cabins. As a company representative said at the press viewing, ‘By pre-war standards Orontes is no longer a new ship, but … ships must be made to have a longer useful life than before the war’. On 17 June 1947 it sailed for Australia with more than 1,000 people on board.

With post-war reconstruction in Australia, and ambitious projects such as the Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme, Australia’s need for workers led to the introduction of assisted migration schemes, including ‘Bring out a Briton’ and the famous ‘Ten Pound Pom’ programs. Vessels like Orontes provided the necessary transport and in 1953 the ship was converted to have only one (tourist) class, with total capacity of 1,372 passengers.

By the end of the 1950s, however, ship travel was finding it increasingly hard to compete with air travel and, following the company’s 1960 merger with the Peninsular & Oriental (P&O) Line, Orontes was withdrawn from service. Its final voyage to Sydney left Tilbury on 25 November 1961, returning on 12 January 1962. The following year it was sold for £282,000 and broken up for scrap. This model is now the only detailed record of the ship’s remarkable contribution to Australia’s history.

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Populate or p

First group of post-war child migrants from Asturias arrive in Fremantle, Western Australia, 1947. Reproduced courtesy State Library of Western Australia, The Battye Library 816B/C1253

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1939 Populate or perish

A whole world apart A family reunited

Racist hatred tore apart a European family, but human goodness protected its children until they were reunited with their parents in Australia years later, as young adults.

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Populate or perish 1939

Hans and Suse Weber as children in Austria, with their Aunt Helen.

All photographs reproduced courtesy of Suse Mathes and family

WHEN THE NAZIS ANNEXED AUSTRIA IN 1938, many Jewish Austrians fled their homeland in fear of a bleak future, leaving behind businesses and possessions, friends and even family. For Robert and Ernestine Weber, it meant separation from their children Hans and Suse for nine years before reuniting on the other side of the world.

Yet they were among the lucky ones.

Robert Weber was an Austrian Army veteran of the Russian Front in World War I. He lived in the heart of Vienna selling new and second-hand books, antiquarian books, opera libretti and schoolbooks. His wife, Ernestine, ran the business’s lending-library and they lived near their shop with their two young children, Hans and Suse.

Ernestine’s heritage was Eastern European. She was the third child and only daughter of Mordechai Kempler from the border region between Poland and Russia; her mother Josephine was of Hungarian ancestry. Robert Weber was born in rural Austria, the third of four children from a relatively poor family of tailors. They moved to Vienna when Robert was 10, and by 14 he was apprenticed to the bookseller who later made him a partner in the business.

He married Ernestine in 1912 and their children were born in 1923 and 1927.

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Despite the difficulties and sacrifices of building up a business, life for the young family in Vienna was good.

Family memories include sunny Sunday afternoon outings to one of the many beautiful gardens on the edge of the city, and readings to the young children from the wonderful stories that could be found in the family’s bookshop.

This happy family could scarcely guess what was about to hit Europe as Hitler gathered his armies and began the move towards war. In early 1938 the lives of the Jewish population of Austria irrevocably changed with the German declaration of Anschluss (unification). German troops occupied the country to enforce it and Austrian Nazis were installed to run the government. Austria ceased to exist as an independent state and was subsumed into the Third Reich.

Segregation in schools began, money and possessions were confiscated and some Jewish families were forced into shared living spaces, forerunners of the ghettos that were to follow in various occupied countries in 1940.

The Weber family was allowed to continue running their antiquarian business for a short time due to Robert’s status as a war veteran, overseen by a government commissioner who fleeced most of the profits. Then, with no notice, Ernestine and the children were moved to an unknown Jewish woman’s apartment a few streets away, and were instructed they were no longer allowed to go outdoors.

Robert found them several hours later. Fear was spreading and the family knew they had to leave Austria.

With so many of Europe’s Jewish population urgently trying to leave their homelands, passports and visas were extremely difficult to obtain and queues for emigration to popular countries were very long. Robert applied to Brazil and Australia. While waiting for a response, the Webers searched for a quicker way to evacuate their children.

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A former business customer had already reached England and located a family willing to take Hans. In December 1938, Hans left first for England to live with the Venables family in Stafford. The Jennings family, close relatives of the Venables, offered Suse a home and she travelled with the Kindertransport program that evacuated thousands of Jewish children from Germany, Austria and Poland to the United Kingdom. She left in March 1939 for the Netherlands to join a ferry in the Hoek van Holland, and sailed at midnight for Harwich, England. Both children were lucky to have sponsors waiting for them on a railway platform in London, unlike the vast majority of children fleeing on the same trains with foster homes not yet confirmed.

When Robert and Ernestine were granted Australian visas they stealthily left Austria, taking different routes to Paris, from where they travelled to England to see their children.

Reassured by the two kind English families that their children would be cared for, they boarded the Rotterdam Lloyd Royal Dutch Mail vessel MS Balorean at Southampton on 12 May 1939 and sailed for Colombo, Ceylon. Here the couple transferred to the P&O liner RMS Strathaird and disembarked in Melbourne on 13 June 1939.

In Australia the couple went about rebuilding their lives, buying a milk bar and later running a bakery now known as the Monarch Cake Shop in Acland Street, St Kilda.

The business is still an icon in Melbourne, though the Weber family sold it in 1949. Robert and two colleagues went on to establish the Neue Welt, a German-language newspaper, until he retired in 1964 at the age of 80.

Throughout World War II and beyond, the children were separated from their parents on opposite sides of the globe.

With the help of the Jewish Refugee Society, Hans and Suse arrived on the Johan de Witt, a Dutch steamer that completed a single trip to Australia, bringing nearly 1,000 Jewish refugees from post-war Europe and arriving in March 1947.

Populate or perish 1939

01 The Weber family, Hans, Robert, Ernestine and Suse, together briefly in England in 1939. They would not be reunited until 1947.

02 Ernestine Kempler and Robert Weber’s wedding portrait, Austria 1912.

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According to newspaper reports, one of the refugees alleged that a fellow passenger was a German implicated in the war. The suspect was declared a prohibited immigrant and returned to Germany amid a political stir about the screening process for refugees.

By the time Hans and Suse had reached Australia they were in their early twenties, after spending their formative years in a foreign country with a foreign family. War had robbed them and their parents of the chance to share their development as children and teenagers. Yet their survival had been due to the kindness of their foster families, forging a deep bond through an unimaginable experience.

The families in England and Australia never lost contact, though Robert and Ernestine have now died.

This happy family could scarcely guess what was about to hit Europe as Hitler began the move towards war

Hans and Suse settled into yet another new life, here in Australia. Hans began work with the Herald Sun in Flinders Street and remained there for 40 years. Suse finished her nursing training here, marrying and having a family. She has not left Australia since she arrived over 60 years ago.

In 2010 Suse registered her parents Robert and Ernestine on the Welcome Wall, while her daughter Kathie registered Suse and Hans.

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1940 Populate or perish

The squalid ship was effectively a prison in which 2,732 men were held for more than two months

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Populate or perish 1940

The Dunera boys Resourceful refugees

The ‘Dunera Boys’ were German, Austrian and Jewish refugees transported to Australia at the beginning of World War II in the Hired Military Transport ship (HMT) Dunera. This human cargo was without doubt among the richest – culturally, academically and commercially – ever to land on Australia’s shores. Fleeing persecution, they ironically ended up interned in Australia as ‘enemy aliens’.

MOST OF THE MEN who came to be known as the ‘Dunera Boys’ had originally fled to England from Germany to escape persecution. With the outbreak of war, however, the British government, fearing fifth columnists, interned thousands of refugees. With their own internment camps overflowing, the British government looked to its former c­ olonies for assistance.

Members of the 8th Employment Company, 1942, Australia.

Photograph taken at the Railway Yards in Albury. The men pictured were responsible for transporting trainloads of supplies and equipment as part of their involvement with the 8th Employment company, which was created so that internees could help with the war effort.

Jewish Museum of Australia Collection 4149 All images courtesy Jewish Museum of Australia

So on 10 July 1940 Dunera set sail from Liverpool bound for Australia. The refugees had a hard time of it on the voyage. The squalid ship was effectively a prison in which 2,732 men were held for more than two months. Life on board was cramped, unhygienic and perilous as guards routinely robbed and harassed many of the refugees.

On arriving, the men were interned in camps in Hay and Orange, in New South Wales, and later Tatura, in Victoria.

Although these camps were home for just over a year and a half, the men wasted little time in transforming a bleak collection of wooden huts into a thriving community that boasted, among other things, its own theatre company, sporting teams, university courses and camp currency.

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1940 Populate or perish

The men wasted little time in transforming a bleak collection of wooden huts into a thriving community

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Populate or perish 1940

01 Hay Camp, Ludwig Hirschfeld-Mack, 1940–1941, ink on paper, 211 x 170mm. © Estate of the artist 02 No Title [Tatura Camp], Fred Lowen, 1942, gouache on paper, 170 x 250mm © Estate of the artist 03 Former internees reunited at the museum in 1993 to see the Dunera Boys exhibition. Image Jenny Carter/ ANMM

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Among the internees were a number of graphic artists.

One of them, Ludwig Hirschfeld-Mack, had been a painter and teacher at the prestigious Bauhaus school in Germany.

While in the Hay camp he worked to produce strong and evocative woodcut images, many of which are now represented in private, state and national collections both here and abroad.

Of the many professional and amateur artists on the Dunera, Frederick Schonbach was the most prolific, reputed to have drawn at least one cartoon every day of his internment. As there were few, if any, cameras available at the time, his cartoons have served as an important record of daily life. Materials were obviously a problem, especially on board Dunera, and most of Schonbach’s early sketches were executed on postcards, exercise books and toilet paper. These were later copied and reworked at Hay into satirical yet cheerful watercolour cartoons which seem to capture the refugees’ characteristic attitude to life in the camp.

As well as cartoons and artworks, the internees created a variety of documents and materials – including the Hay Camp constitution, painstakingly written on a roll of toilet paper. Perhaps the most controversial of all the material produced in the Hay camp, however, were the camp banknotes. These were designed by George A Teltscher and issued in denominations of two shillings, one shilling and sixpence. The design included a continuous border pattern of coiled barbed wire behind which could be read:

‘We are here because we are here because we are here’.

After a Sydney newspaper published reproductions of the notes, the police stepped in to stop their production.

Some of the internees were released after two years as they possessed specific skills that would help the nation, but others were detailed for the entire duration of the war. After the war many of them remained in Australia to make significant contributions to Australia’s emerging multicultural society. Unlike Ludwig Hirschfeld-Mack, who stayed and later died here in Australia, Frederick Schonbach migrated to Brazil after the end of the war, and later to the USA, where he ran a graphics company.

The Australian National Maritime Museum staged an exhibition on the Dunera Boys in 1993, and the former Dunera refugees and their descendants held annual reunions at the museum for many years afterwards.

The museum has a permanent plaque honouring these men.

The story of the Dunera Boys is not just about persecution.

It is also about the creativity and resourcefulness of the individual who, despite hardship, is able to endure and ultimately triumphs over adversity.

Kevin Sumption

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The era of mass migration Transforming a ‘white Australia’ into a multicultural nation

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Lena Gustin (centre, in white top) and Dino (in striped top) with their children Rosalba and Robert (seated on camel) in Port Said, Egypt, 1956.

Reproduced courtesy Mamma Lena and Dino Gustin Foundation

Populate or perish 1940s and ‘50s

The White Australia policy of the early 20th century was one of the nation’s most infamous pieces of legislation. But change began after World War II, when mass migration was encouraged and immigration rules were relaxed.

Stories from three groups of post-war migrants illustrate the experiences of different groups.

If Australians have learned one lesson from the Pacific War now moving to a successful conclusion, it is surely that we cannot continue to hold our island continent for ourselves and our descendants unless we greatly increase our numbers.

(Arthur Calwell, Minister for Immigration, 1945) WORLD WAR II was without doubt a defining event of the 20th century. It also profoundly affected Australia’s immigration policy, highlighting the necessity of population growth for the nation’s defence, security and economic development.

In July 1945 Prime Minister Ben Chifley established the Federal Department of Immigration and appointed the first Minister for Immigration, Arthur Calwell, who introduced a more coordinated approach to building Australia’s population through mass migration. The first decade after the war would begin transforming this country from a ‘white Australia’ into a multicultural nation.

Lena Gustin became the highly regarded voice of the Italian community in Sydney, and was also one of Sydney’s first baristas

My mother saw a brand new espresso machine [in a coffee shop in the suburb of Bankstown]. She walked in, and as she did not speak one word of English, gestured that she would like an espresso. The owner of the shop had absolutely no idea how to operate the machine. And so Mum showed him.

And not only did she get her good espresso, she was hired on the spot to make proper espresso coffee for his customers – and wash the dishes.

Lena also taught Italian twice a week at Ashfield Evening College and worked as a columnist for the Italian Catholic newspaper La Fiamma (The Flame). In 1957 she helped to establish foreign-language broadcasting on Australian commercial radio by presenting Ora Italiana (Italian Hour) on Sydney Catholic station 2SM. This was followed in 1959 by a daily program on 2CH. Lena’s popular programs, produced by Dino, were one of the few media outlets through which Italian news was regularly reported, alleviating the isolation experienced by many new immigrants before the introduction of ethnic community radio and SBS (the Special Broadcasting Service, which provides multilingual and multicultural radio and television broadcasts) in the 1970s.

The Australian government launched its immigration program with the catchcry ‘populate or perish’, negotiating agreements to accept more than two million migrants and displaced people from war-torn Europe. One of these was renowned radio broadcaster Lena Gustin (1914–2003), who migrated to Australia through the Italian port of Genoa after World War II.

The museum’s collection includes a number of items relating to Lena’s broadcasting career, such as a world clock that she relied on to give her listeners the local and Italian times, and a tape recorder that Dino used to record the Italian news directly from RAI Italia radio in Rome. He would start his day at 4 am to listen to the news and then laboriously transcribe it for Lena to read on air the same evening.

The museum also holds a portable ‘on air’ sign that Dino commissioned for use during Lena’s promotional photo shoots, as a visual reminder of her connection to radio.

Lena, an Italian schoolteacher, married journalist Dino Gustin in 1940 and they had three children. With wartime deprivation costing the life of their elder son, the Gustin family decided to migrate to Australia, arriving in Sydney on Aurelia in May 1956. Lena would become the highly regarded voice of the Italian community in Sydney, but she was also one of the city’s first baristas.

Her daughter Rosalba remembers how Lena’s longing for a good coffee led to her first job in Australia:

Lena’s pioneering radio work, combined with her support of Italian welfare organisations, earned her the affectionate nickname ‘Mamma Lena’ – Mother of the Italians. The Mamma Lena & Dino Gustin Foundation was established in 2001 in order to provide a lasting legacy for Mamma Lena in recognition of the role that both she and Dino played in the Italian and also the broader Australian community since their arrival in Australia in 1956.

As Mamma Lena said: ‘Life passes but good deeds remain’.

Departure from Genoa

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1940s and ‘50s Populate or perish

01 The Ang family in Sydney, 1959.

Reproduced courtesy Ang family 02 Cigarette tin containing Tony Ang’s Australian and US Army badges, 1940s. Lent by Ang family

Chinese seamen

At the same time that the Australian government was promoting mass migration from Britain and Europe, it was engaged in a bitter struggle to deport several hundred Asian evacuees and seamen who had assisted the Allied effort during World War II. Two thousand Chinese seafarers were stranded in Australia following the outbreak of war in the Pacific. They were given temporary refugee status under a special exemption to the Immigration Restriction Act 1901 (colloquially referred to as the White Australia policy), which aimed to prevent the entry of non-European immigrants by making them take a dictation test; those who did not pass – which was most of them – were denied entry. During the war Chinese seamen worked as crew on coastal ships that carried supplies to the war zone and were also deployed on large construction projects around Australia. In 1942, 1,000 men were sent to work on the construction of Warragamba Dam west of Sydney. Another 1,000 went to Bulimba, Brisbane, in 1943 to build landing barges for the US Army invasion of the Philippines.

Tony Ang (1914–1964) landed at Perth in 1942 after his ship was torpedoed and, like many stranded seafarers, he enlisted in the Australian Military Forces (AMF), serving with the 7th Australian Employment Company (Chinese). After an honourable discharge from the AMF, Tony was among the seamen transferred to Bulimba.

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More than 2,000 Chinese seafarers were stranded in Australia following the outbreak of war in the Pacific

While stationed in Bulimba, Tony met Marjorie Pettit, who lived near the army barracks on Apollo Road.

The couple married in 1944. When the war ended, some 300 seamen, including Tony, sought to remain in Australia but Labor minister Arthur Calwell was determined to repatriate them. A legal battle erupted between this ‘recalcitrant minority’ and the government that challenged the basic tenets of the White Australia policy, and established that those who had been in the country for more than five years could no longer be subjected to dictation tests or declared prohibited immigrants.

Calwell responded by introducing the Wartime Refugees Removal Act 1949 to deport them.

By this time Tony had lived in Australia for seven years and had three young sons. He left Australia in June 1949 and Marjorie and the children chose to go with him.

The family’s departure for Hong Kong on Changte was captured in all the newspapers, including The News, which featured a heartbreaking photograph under the headline ‘Another family deported’.

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1940s and ‘50s Populate or perish

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When Gordon was forced to return to Australia after his army discharge, many of Cherry’s friends believed he would not come back for her

01 Cherry and Gordon Parker.

Reproduced courtesy Cherry Parker 02 Cherry and Gordon Parker (centre) and their two daughters depart Japan on Taiping, 1952.

Reproduced courtesy Cherry Parker 03 Child’s kimono belonging to Margaret Parker, 1950s. Lent by Cherry Parker

Populate or perish 1940s and ‘50s

The first Japanese war bride

Another step towards ending the White Australia policy came in 1952, when Immigration Minister Harold Holt lifted the ban on entry for Japanese wives of Australian men who had served with the British Commonwealth Occupation Force after the surrender of Japan in 1945.

Although intermarriage was strictly prohibited, many men, including Gordon Parker, fell in love and lobbied the Australian government for change. Gordon’s wife, Nobuko (Cherry) Parker (born 1929), was the first Japanese war bride to arrive in Australia, paving the way for more than 600 other young women to be reunited with their husbands. These women were the first group of nonEuropean immigrants officially permitted under the White Australia policy.

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With Tony unable to find work, the family was forced to live in a crowded slum area in Kowloon and endure conditions that Marjorie described as ‘filthy and awful’. After five difficult weeks, with her sons ill, Marjorie had no choice but to return to Australia without Tony. Ahead of her arrival in August she wrote: I will never forgive [the officials] for ruining the dearest and most precious thing in my life and Tony’s – our family. I will never forgive them every hour that our sons have lived in this filth and squalor, and every tear that we have shed.

In October Marjorie and her children moved to Hong Kong for a second time after Tony secured a job managing the canteen at Chatham English School on Victoria Peak.

From Hong Kong Marjorie continued her appeals to the Department of Immigration about Tony’s case, which took a fortuitous turn when the Labor Government was defeated in the December 1949 federal election.

The incoming Liberal Immigration Minister, Harold Holt, reversed Calwell’s deportation orders and granted residency to the seamen as a wartime legacy.

In June 1950 Marjorie finally received a letter that gave approval for her husband to enter Australia. In September the family returned to Sydney, where Tony and Marjorie had three more sons. Tony became a naturalised citizen in 1961.

For Tony and Marjorie’s son Raymond, the family’s case represents ‘a turning point in history. From what we’ve heard they were in parliament talking about the poor Ang family, [saying] this is a disgrace’. The story of Tony Ang and the Chinese seamen reveals emerging challenges to the White Australia policy in the post-war period, which would lead to its gradual dismantling during the 1960s and 1970s.

Cherry’s family home in Hiroshima had been destroyed by the atomic bomb in August 1945. In 1946, with food still desperately scarce, she took a job as a housemaid at the Australian army camp in nearby Kure. It was here that she met Gordon, a medical orderly from Victoria. Cherry and Gordon’s daughter Jenny describes the meeting: The first day Mum started on the camp, she was in this room tidying it up, and Dad walked in. So it was the first ‘white person’, as Mum called him, and Mum was the first Japanese person Dad had virtually seen too. Dad was fairly tall, so Mum was absolutely petrified ’cause this big white man has walked in, and she’s cowering in the corner!

Cherry and Gordon married in 1948 and had two daughters. When Gordon was forced to return to Australia after his army discharge, many of Cherry’s friends believed he would not come back for her. But he did. With the influential support of his mother Mabel, a respected social worker, and father Harry, a former mayor, Gordon campaigned for four years until the Australian government gave permission for his family to migrate to Australia.

The Parker family departed Yokohama on Taiping in June 1952. Cherry carried a few mementos of Japan, including her daughter Margaret’s kimono and traditional kokeshi dolls. The family disembarked in Sydney in July and flew to Melbourne, where their arrival attracted much media attention. Cherry and Gordon settled in Ringwood and were married for 62 years, raising eight children together.

Their story provides a wonderful reflection of the power of love to overcome immigration policy. As their daughter Jenny says: Now you look around, we’ve become such a multicultural country. But you sort of think, had Dad not fought as hard as he did, and just given it up as too hard, what could’ve changed? It’s quite amazing …

Kim Tao Australian National Maritime Museum 105

1942 Populate or perish Norma Little on her wedding day, 8 November 1944. Reproduced courtesy Murray Little

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Populate or perish 1942

US war brides New land, new lives, mixed fortunes

Between 12,000 and 15,000 Australian women married American servicemen during World War II. Some made a life in the USA, while others returned to Australia with or without their husbands in the years following the war. Oral histories conducted by the museum give insights into the different experiences of some of these women.

The American arrival

Meeting and courtship

GENERAL DOUGLAS MACARTHUR arrived in Melbourne on 21 March 1942 in order to take up his position as Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces in the South West Pacific area.

Celebration of the American presence soon gave way to concerns among conservative sectors that the moral fibre of Australian society was being eroded by the influence of the ‘Yanks’. Women who associated with Americans were often characterised as ‘good-time girls’. They were accused of being both disloyal to Australian men and easy prey to the lure of the American dollar.

The influx of American troops was swift. By August 1942 there were 99,000 American servicemen stationed in Australia and by November of the same year the number had reached 107,000.1 With so many young men arriving the impact on Australia’s social make-up was profound.

The influence of the visitors was compounded by the absence of so many young Australian men already fighting overseas. Norma Little described Sydney prior to the US arrival as a ’social desert’. Seeing US troops for the first time in Canberra where they were in training, she was excited by the prospect of these young men in uniform. Others were overwhelmed by their sudden prevalence, but there is no doubt that the Americans brought with them an exciting change for Australians who had long been living under wartime conditions.

The much-used phrase ‘overpaid, over-sexed and over here’ showed the growing resentment that many Australian men felt about Americans coming in and ‘taking their wives’. But the sheer number of American troops stationed in Australia during the Pacific campaign, at a time when many of Australia’s own young men were away fighting in Europe and the Middle East, meant that for many Australian women American men provided much needed company. As one Australian war bride remarked, ‘those were the days when you really got fed up with all female company and you just longed for somebody to take you to dinner’.

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1942 Populate or perish 01 The wedding of John and Betty Gones, 19 August 1943.

Reproduced courtesy Betty Gones 02 Mavis and Delno Forbes’ wedding party, 11 December 1944.

Reproduced courtesy Mavis Forbes

Australians really couldn’t avoid the American presence during the Pacific Campaign, especially in a town like Brisbane where the population of young, eligible men exploded overnight. Even in the bigger cities like Sydney and Melbourne it was hard to miss these handsome young men in uniform. Nightclubs like the Trocadero, Romanos and Princes played big band music and were popular places to dance. And, of course, the Americans brought with them the craze for the Jitterbug.

In Sydney the foyer of the Hotel Australia, known as the ‘Snake Pit’, was a well-known pick-up spot, while in Melbourne the Allied Services Club, the ‘Dug-Out’, offered enlisted men a home away from home.

But many women met their future fiancés and husbands in simpler settings; on the street, at work, or even at home where their parents were busily doing their patriotic duty and making a Yank feel at home.

Norma Murray met Lloyd Little when he came to her workplace to deliver a letter from another admirer.

Mavis Dean also met her future husband at work, but in this case she was one of the many Australian women who had taken up the increased job opportunities and better wages the Americans brought with them. Mavis had enlisted in the WRANS and was assigned to work for the US Navy Intelligence Service in Melbourne, but it was some time before Del Forbes convinced her to go out on a date.

When he finally won her over, it was the promise of Artie Shaw tickets that proved too good to pass up.

Joan and Ted Heim met at a dance at the Marrickville Town Hall, in Sydney. Joan had been forbidden to even talk to Americans, so when Ted asked her to the movies she had no intention of going. Something changed her mind, but then of course came the time to introduce Ted to her parents.

Courtship usually began with a visit to the girl’s parents.

Approvals were not always forthcoming, but for many, courtship involved simple pleasures including family dinners, picnics and outings. When Norma brought Lloyd home she was appalled by her mother’s comments about his lovely blue eyes, but the rule in the house was ‘if you meet an American, bring him home’.

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Proposals and paperwork

Inevitably, many relationships developed into a desire to marry. A proposal usually meant the need for parental consent, but in wartime Australia, to marry a GI also meant mountains of military paperwork, interviews and background checks.

Following a spate of early divorces, the US Military was keen to discourage cross-cultural marriages by any means possible. In the second half of 1942 a ‘cooling off’ period was introduced, so that servicemen applying to marry had to wait three to six months, then re-submit their application before final approval could be made.

Betty Gones remembers her interview at the US Quartermaster’s office in Martin Place. She took her father with her, and was horrified by the question of whether she and John ‘had to’ get married. Joan Heim didn’t realise it would be so difficult to get permission, while Donna and Joe Caldwell went ahead and married without official US sanction.

For Mavis Dean, her work with the Women’s Royal Australian Naval Service (WRANS) put her in a good position, as Del’s commanding officer (CO) knew her and was in favour of the marriage. Nevertheless, Del still had to wait out the mandatory six months to resubmit his application, which in turn had to be approved by the Fleet Commander. But things began to look better for the Allies in the Pacific and US troops were progressing further north to the Philippines and on to Japan. Del was given orders to transfer to Hawaii just two weeks shy of the completion of his waiting period. Luckily Del’s CO delayed his transfer orders until permission came through, but when it finally did there was little time to organise the wedding.

Del’s permission to marry came through at 8 am on Sunday 10 December 1944. He was due to ship out at 8 am that Thursday. Frantic preparations followed and amazingly Mavis and her family were able to organise the entire wedding in one day. Mavis and Del were married on Monday 11 December in St Kilda. Not only did they manage to find a venue, but the bridesmaids even had matching dresses, albeit made of curtain fabric.

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‘They were everywhere … it was a big thing for us to see them because they were all so smartly dressed in their uniforms’ 01

Mavis Forbes

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01 Audrey Capuano and the Stars and Stripes jumper she knitted, and which is now in the museum’s collection. Image Andrew Frolows/ANMM 02 A farewell to South Australian war brides, with Audrey Capuano seated in the centre, 1945.

Reproduced courtesy Audrey Capuano.

The ‘make-do’ wedding was a common feature of marriage to a GI. Betty Gones recalls wearing a bridal gown borrowed from a cousin, while Joan Heim’s wedding was made possible by the help of family and friends.

Rationing also had an impact on weddings. Joan’s mother made her wedding cake with produce bought on coupons, while Norma Little had her wedding dress made, but had to pay eight coupons for her shoes.

Many US servicemen were only in town for short periods of time, a fact that added to the hasty nature of many weddings. As Macarthur and his troops moved further north, it became increasingly difficult to get leave in Sydney and Melbourne. Lloyd Little was stationed in Port Moresby when permission came through to marry Norma. He only arrived in Sydney the day before the wedding, and then he was sick with jaundice. Norma comments that he was ‘yellow as a banana’, a shade not complemented by his khaki uniform, but the black and white photographs of the day show a handsome young couple.

The next challenge was to find somewhere for a honeymoon. It was difficult to find accommodation during the war years, and with many hotels occupied by US troops, rooms were scarce. Many couples borrowed flats from friends for a few fleeting days, while those lucky enough to find a hotel faced the challenge of proving they were married. Betty Gones’ father booked a room for her and John at the Wentworth Hotel, but they wouldn’t accept the couple until they produced a marriage certificate.

Likewise at the Hotel Cecil, Norma Little needed her father to attest to her marriage.

For many US war brides, life as a married woman was a solitary experience. Many men, like Del Forbes, had to ship out almost immediately after a brief honeymoon.

John Gones flew north the day after his wedding to Betty, but he was able to visit her on a few occasions, always sending flowers in advance of his leave. Betty, a keen dancer, was accompanied to the Trocadero nightclub by her parents in her husband’s absence. After a three-day honeymoon at the Jenolan Caves in November 1944, Ted Heim reported for duty and within months he was on his way home. It was April 1946 before Joan was able to gain passage to the USA. 110 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

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Waiting for passage

In December 1945 the US government relaxed its visa restrictions, giving those brides already married to US servicemen exemption from the visa requirements.

It would be some time before the courtesy was extended to fiancées.

The next task was to secure transport – not an easy task when commercial vessels had been put to work at the disposal of the military. One-time luxury liners had been transformed into troopships for the duration of the war.

These were now refurbished to accommodate the passage of Australian war brides to the USA in a US government initiative known as ‘Operation War Bride’. But getting a place on one of the ‘bride ships’ was rarely straightforward.

Many women had to wait months, or even years, before they were able to rejoin their husbands. Mavis Forbes didn’t receive word from the US consulate until 18 months after Del’s departure. Married in December 1944, Del had returned to the US only days later. He completed all of the forms required from America and eventually Mavis boarded SS Lurline in March 1946.

Adelie Hurley also travelled on SS Lurline, but she managed to gain passage relatively quickly due to connections she’d made with US officials in her capacity as a photojournalist.

For most, the wait was a long one, though. Audrey Capuano knitted her famous stars and stripes jumper while waiting for her passage on SS Monterey in 1946.

For some the bride ships were simply not an option.

Norma Little was unable to gain passage because she was five months pregnant at the time. She was desperate to reunite with Lloyd, and to have her baby born in America.

Fearing that it would be simply too difficult to leave if her child was born in Australia, she organised private transport on an English freighter, the City of Durham. While the majority of war brides sailed to the US on a bride ship, Norma’s story reveals that in some cases there were alternative means of transport.

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The journey

For many Australian war brides, the journey started long before they reached their ship. Travelling from all over Australia, brides had to make their way to a designated port of departure in Sydney, Newcastle or Brisbane. This might mean a long journey on a bride train. The train from Perth to Sydney was known as the ‘Perth Perambulator’ because it carried so many mothers and babies. Others travelled from Melbourne and Adelaide – not as far as from Perth, but still the start of what would be a very long journey.

Most of Australia’s war brides would never have travelled outside Australia when they boarded a bride ship.

Leaving family and friends was difficult enough, and many had no idea of when they might be able to return.

One bride remembers thinking ‘will I or won’t I?’ before boarding her ship. It was also not uncommon for women to remark that they had given little thought to leaving Australia until the time actually came.

Those who left prior to August 1945 talk of strict conditions on board, blackouts on deck and long voyages as they zigzagged their way through the Pacific trying to avoid Japanese radar. Donna Caldwell waited 9 months for passage on the SS Lurline but was still among the first to leave. That was June 1945. When she looked back in 1991, she wondered how she ever took her baby across the sea during wartime.

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Most of the bride ships departed after August 1945 when the war in the Pacific was finally over. One bride who sailed in 1946 remembers activities on board such as craft classes, movies and a concert. Others recall etiquette classes and specifically being taught how to hold cutlery in the American style. Another tradition upheld on the bride ships was that of ‘crossing the line’. For those who had not yet crossed the equator by sea, all manner of initiation rituals awaited them. Once on the other side of the equator many ships stopped in Hawaii, but the brides were not allowed to go into town, staying on the wharf instead where there was entertainment, including hula girls.

For many women the task of looking after their babies took most of their time. Joan Heim found herself alone with her baby for the first time, but recalls that the girls in her cabin all helped one another. There were three girls and three babies in a 12-berth cabin, and they had their own bathroom.

Donna Caldwell was also one of three in her cabin.

She’d never seen anything so pretty as the mother-of-pearl bathroom in her cabin. There were nurseries on board for looking after the babies while their mothers went to the dining room, and many women talked of how magnificent the food was on board. After years of wartime shortages and rationing the dining room must have seemed heaven-sent.

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‘It was very exciting to be going on this wonderful ship, the Monterey. I was so excited. I really didn’t think about leaving home. All I could think of was how exciting it was going to be to go to this fabulous country’ Joan Heim

01 Caldwell family portrait.

Reproduced courtesy Joe Caldwell

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02 Joan Heim, 1946. Reproduced courtesy Joan Heim

Such luxury was not reported by everyone. Adelie Hurley recalls being ‘packed in like sardines’. With all of the bunks occupied in her cabin, securing a place was difficult.

Cramped conditions, seasickness among both women and babies, endless nappies and sea-water baths made hygiene a challenge.

One bride refused to get off the ship because she failed to recognise the man waiting for her on the docks.

Norma Little describes a ‘most unromantic meeting’.

Seeing Lloyd in a fedora hat and what she describes as orange shoes, she felt that her shock was probably equal to his – he’d never seen her so pregnant.

But it was on arrival in America, adjusting to a peacetime marriage, a new family and a new country, that the journey really began for the Australian war brides.

The scene at the docks was generally frenetic. Betty Gones describes babies crying, husbands meeting wives and Red Cross nurses and officials busily making arrangements for brides’ accommodation and forward transport. The press was also interested in the arrival of so many Australian women and children. Both Adelie Hurley and Audrey Capuano appeared in newspaper articles upon their arrival, with Audrey hailed as ‘Betsy Ross the Second’ because of her stars and stripes jumper.

Married life

After about 20 days at sea, the bride ships finally arrived in San Francisco. Private freighters like Norma Little’s City of Durham docked in New York or Vancouver, but the Matson Line ships organised through ‘Operation War Bride’ made San Francisco their port of call. For those lucky enough to be met by their husbands or fiancées, the meeting was often mixed. Nervous brides didn’t know what to expect in their new country, and despite the helpful ‘A Bride’s Guide’ published by British Good Housekeeping Magazine, many had false expectations of their new country based on images from Hollywood films and cowboy comics.

More than one bride commented about what a rude shock it was to reunite with their husbands. The women were accustomed to the men’s smart pressed uniforms, and many husbands were virtually unrecognisable in civilian clothes.

When the women finally arrived in the USA, many faced long journeys across the country by train before arriving at their new homes. One bride wrote to her family that the US Army, keen to keep transport costs to a minimum, had piled hundreds of brides on the one train, regardless of their final destination. The train company, by contrast, was eager to turn a profit, and took them by the most convoluted route possible. Her journey from San Francisco to Florida took her via Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Illinois, Iowa, Chicago, Kentucky, Tennessee, Atlanta and finally on to Jacksonville.

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01 Joan Heim on her return to Australia, 1954. Reproduced courtesy Joan Heim 02 Twenty-year reunion of Australian Wives’ Club of Pittsburgh, 1966. Gift from Audrey Capuano, ANMM Collection

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The sort of resentment the American men faced in Australia was often experienced by their wives when they arrived in the USA

Cultural differences

Return to Australia

Adjusting to life in a new country was difficult for many women. So far from home, small cultural differences were magnified. Many women commented about difficulty in understanding one another. While the Australian ear was fairly well attuned to the American accent thanks to Hollywood films and the prolonged contact with US servicemen during the war, Americans found it much more difficult to understand the broad Australian accent.

Many women made a life in the USA, but there were also those who returned to Australia.

Reception of the Australian women was mixed. The sort of resentment the American men faced in Australia was often experienced by their wives when they arrived in the USA. But many reported a really friendly reaction from Americans, eager to make them feel at home.

Some found family or religious differences they hadn’t foreseen. It was not uncommon for the couples to have to live with parents and other family members due to the severe shortage of housing in post-war USA. While the variety of experiences was enormous many women found themselves homesick and missing the support of their own family and friends.

One solution was to meet with other Australian women.

In Pittsburgh, Audrey Capuano was one of the founding members of the ‘Australian Wives’ Club’. Local clubs of this sort sprang up in many cities and towns. Norma Little didn’t have access to an Australian club in New Hampshire, but she did socialise with the local British war brides from time to time. Norma also talks about meeting Australian women in the US who became lifelong friends.

Norma’s son, Murray, married the daughter of a war bride friend, so the Australian connection remained strong.

There were cases of women being rejected by their husbands and turned away almost immediately, some being informed by telegram that they were no longer wanted. Their husbands may have been married already, or had just had a change of heart. One woman talked about the absolute poverty she encountered in her husband’s coal mining town, and certainly many felt that they had better economic prospects in Australia where housing and jobs were a little easier to come by.

In 1947 Immigration Minister Arthur Calwell introduced a scheme of assisted passage for Americans wishing to migrate to Australia. Some couples took up this opportunity and chose to settle in Australia. Others made their own way back either in the immediate post-war years or later.

Joan and Ted Heim returned after 30 years, settling back in Victoria in 1974. The reasons for returning to Australia were varied; homesickness, economic opportunities, housing, family obligations and lifestyle.

Whether returning to Australia on holiday or to live, with or without their husbands, Australian women came back to a country forever changed by the experience of World War II and the Americans who fought in the Pacific.

Penny Cuthbert and Lucinda Strauss

1 Rosemary Campbell, Heroes & Lovers: A question of national identity, Allen & Unwin, Sydney, 1989, p 135.

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‘Pit yourself against the forces of nature in such a way that the contest is enjoyable’

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Tony Stewart during his Murray– Darling trip, in the leather outfit he made himself, with his boat Menera. Menera’s mast did double duty as the ridgepole of Tony’s tent.

All photographs courtesy of Gabrielle Stewart and family

A seafaring adventurer The roaming life of an unconventional traveller

A passion for adventure and the sea ran deep in the veins of intrepid wanderer Anthony Stewart.

Naval architect, master mariner and British merchant marine, he also rowed the length of the Murray–Darling river system in a boat (and an outfit) of his own making.

ANTHONY (TONY) STEWART was born in London in 1910 to Walter Stewart, a brilliant if somewhat eccentric barrister, and Mary Roberts. His mother sadly died when he was only four years old and his father was left to raise Tony and his elder sister Marjory. This same year Tony had one of his first sea adventures, crossing the English Channel in a small sailing boat with his father. Tony was swept overboard by rough seas only to be quickly, and fortuitously, washed back on board. A few years later, in 1920, his father built a small timber boat in his chambers at Inner Temple, one of the four Inns of Court in London. Walter gave a tea party attended by close friends and family, and the guests, including a young Tony, helped carry the boat across the embankment and launch the craft into the Thames.

In 1930, when Tony was just 19, his father gave him some money to travel abroad. Tony walked across Europe until his funds ran out, covering 800 miles (1,300 kilometres) and returning to England so gaunt that his father failed to recognise him. With his father’s encouragement and sense of adventure, it is not surprising that Tony had a wanderer’s spirit throughout his life.

Tony extended his seafaring interests through his employment, training in a naval architect’s office.

To subsidise his income he also delivered newly built yachts to their wealthy owners and spent his spare time successfully racing yachts with a group of friends during the inter-war years.

On 3 September 1939 the United Kingdom officially declared war on Germany following the invasion of Poland.

The very next day Tony enlisted. Due to his maritime experience, he was placed on a sailing ship undertaking highly secret reconnaissance work around the islands off the coast of Germany in the freezing waters of the Baltic and North seas, areas he was familiar with through prewar sailing trips. Later in the war he worked in the British Merchant Navy, carrying out salvage work and delivering munitions around the world. Tony was at sea in the Pacific when peace was declared and it was not until his ship docked that the message reached the crew. During the war Tony first visited Australia, enjoying his shore leave as yet another adventure in life.

After war’s end Tony returned to England, a little battered and, like many, traumatised by the terrible things he had seen. He soon gained employment with renowned marine insurer Lloyd’s of London, assessing the balance of cargo in ships. When an opportunity arose for him to work for the company’s Sydney and Melbourne branches he eagerly took the posting and an opportunity to start afresh. He arrived in Australia in 1947 and by 1948 had decided to stay permanently. But the desire for new adventures quickly drew him away from the city and his position with Lloyd’s.

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01 Tony with a three-cornered tent of his own design, in which the oars served as tent poles.

His friend Paddy Pallin – fellow adventurer and owner of the eponymous chain of travel equipment stores – said it would never work. Tony proved him wrong.

02 Tony and Gabrielle in the yard surrounding their general merchants business in Frogmore, New South Wales.

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He moved to Arcadia, on the northern reaches of Sydney, and stayed on a farm, helping the owners, Olive and Ted. In 1949 Olive, Ted and Tony began a long journey in a canvas-covered horse-drawn wagon along the coast between Queensland and South Australia. The trio worked odd jobs, such as mending fences, along the route for money. After the first few years Olive died, and for some time it was just Ted and Tony, until eventually Tony was left travelling alone. By the time he returned to Arcadia he had been away for seven years. Tony wrote an account of this time, naming it The Sailor and the Unicorn – the ‘unicorn’ being the position of his three draught horses, one of which was harnessed in front of the other two.

Tony always returned to Arcadia after his adventures, drawn by the charms of a young woman called Gabrielle Bell. They first met when Gabrielle was a young girl messing about on a dam with her elder brother and their homemade corrugated-iron canoe, the holes plugged with tar scraped off a hot road, and curtains for sails.

Gabrielle, too, had the sea in her blood; her father had been a captain in the British navy, and his peaked cap worked well as the childhood captain’s cap aboard their makeshift boat. Tony regularly camped near the dam and the family often held his mail and stored his possessions while he was away on his adventures. Gabrielle vividly recalls her first sight of Tony, unforgettably astride a beautiful horse.

She asked if she could ride the horse too and they soon became friends. When he was away they wrote to each other regularly and she fell in love with this wandering character. Gabrielle left to study at the National Art School in Sydney, honing such creative skills as painting and drawing. She went on to study at the University of Sydney and teachers’ college to become a high-school teacher, keeping in touch with Tony by letter.

Tony still had the urge for adventure, unable to settle in a single place for too long. He was fascinated by the explorer Charles Sturt and wanted to retrace his steps down the Murray–Darling River system before the land and wildlife changed too much from those first seen by early explorers. A rowboat seemed the perfect solution, as oars would make little sound to intrude on the landscape. Tony hand-built a flat-bottomed boat from ash, with a sailing rig, rudder and centreboard.

He named it Menera, an Aboriginal word meaning ‘we are friends’. The boat was 13 feet 2 inches (4 metres) long and 4 feet 3 inches (1.3 metres) wide, and the oars were unusually long at 8 feet (2.4 metres). When fully loaded with his personal gear and repair equipment it weighed over a quarter of a ton (250 kilograms).

He always returned to Arcadia after his adventures, drawn by the charms of a young lady named Gabrielle

Between 1956 and 1960 Tony completed a number of trips, rowing from the upper reaches of the Murray River on the New South Wales–Victorian border to Lake Alexandrina in South Australia, and along the Murrumbidgee River from Narrandera in southern New South Wales to the Murray. High rainfalls in western Queensland led to severe flooding of the Murray River system in 1956, affecting South Australia, Victoria and New South Wales for many months. The waters of the river spread for kilometres and it was almost impossible to identify the true path of the river. Ingeniously, Tony decided to ‘follow the ducks’, as they would know the fastest and safest way down the river.

He averaged seven hours of rowing a day, often doing longer days in summer, and wore leather gloves for an hour each day to prevent his hands from setting. He went through many pairs of gloves during these trips.

His longest time away was from early February to midAugust 1963. He first tried putting the boat in the water in Queensland, eventually finding sufficient water to begin rowing at Mungindi, on the Queensland–New South Wales border. He rowed the full length of the Darling River – 915 miles (1470 kilometres) – reaching the junction of the Darling and Murray rivers at the end of May. He turned east and rowed upriver to Albury, on the border with Victoria, arriving on 18 August 1963, having rowed a total distance of 2,200 nautical miles (4,000 kilometres). His trip was a solitary one and he could only communicate with his sweetheart by telegram or letter, stopping at larger towns to send them. After his return from the final trip, he and Gabrielle eventually bought a home and general merchants’ business in country New South Wales and had six children.

Tony advocated a simple life filled with wonderful and exciting experiences, living by the mantra ‘Pit yourself against the forces of nature in such a way that the contest is enjoyable’ – advocating courage with a true spirit of adventure. Tony was a skilled navigator and sailor as well as a talented man of letters, publishing a number of short stories and writing several manuscripts. Sadly, he developed Hodgkin’s disease, possibly caused by a war injury. In 1977, within a year of diagnosis, he died, leaving behind his loving wife and children. Gabrielle registered Tony, along with her ancestors, on the Welcome Wall.

Their names were unveiled on 5 May 2013.

Veronica Kooyman Australian National Maritime Museum 119

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As far from Europe as possible The Talmet family from Tallinn

In the aftermath of World War II, many displaced Europeans migrated to far-flung nations, including Australia, in search of a better future. One such family fled Soviet rule to settle in Adelaide, building a new life from very little.

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IN SEPTEMBER 1944, on the eve of the Soviet invasion of Nazi-occupied Estonia, Dagy Talmet (1915–1986) fled her hometown of Tallinn with a small suitcase in one hand and her two-year-old daughter Maie in the other. Her husband Osvald Talmet (1912–2004) was a pilot in the Estonian Air Force (then part of the German military forces), which had withdrawn to Germany ahead of the Soviet advance.

Osvald knew that if his wife and daughter remained in Estonia, they were likely to be deported to a forced labour camp in Siberia. He arranged for them to be evacuated from Tallinn on the German hospital ship Moero.

Maie Talmet in front of the house her father built, Largs North, 1950s.

All photographs reproduced courtesy Maie Barrow

As Dagy did not want to leave on her own, she convinced her sister Olga to go with her. Olga was very practical and packed food and warm clothing for their escape. By the time they reached Tallinn Harbour the hospital ship was already full, carrying more than 1,000 wounded soldiers and civilians. They boarded a smaller ship, Lapland, which formed part of a convoy that made a timely departure from Tallinn on the night of 21 September 1944. The next day the Soviets marched into the capital, re-occupying Estonia for nearly half a century. (Estonia achieved full independence from the Soviet Union in 1991.)

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01 Maie and Dagy Talmet on the deck of Oxfordshire in Adelaide, 1949.

02 The Talmet family in Estonia, 1943.

Dagy and Maie made their way across Germany, at times just 20 or 30 kilometres ahead of the front line

During the night Lapland sailed south through the Baltic Sea and in the morning Dagy heard planes flying overhead.

She was accustomed to the sound, as Osvald always flew over their home in Tallinn to let her know that he had returned from each mission. As she went below deck, a number of Soviet planes dropped bombs on their convoy.

Lapland managed to pull out of the way but Moero was hit and it sank, drowning more than 600 people – the majority of whom were Estonian refugees.

Lapland arrived safely into the German port city of Danzig (now Gdansk, Poland) and as Dagy had papers to identify herself as the wife of an Air Force officer, she and Maie were permitted to travel on troop trains. With five other Air Force wives and their children, Dagy and Maie made their way across Germany, at times just 20 or 30 kilometres ahead of the front line. Where the railway tracks had been bombed out, they left the train and walked until they found another railway line, which would eventually take them into Bavaria in southeast Germany. They arrived late at night at a railway hotel, and the next morning Dagy opened the curtains to reveal a panorama of the Bavarian Alps. It was the most beautiful sight she had seen in a long time.

Dagy and Maie remained in Bavaria until the end of World War II, when they were put into a Displaced Persons (DP) camp first in Augsburg, and then Wielandshag, in the American zone of Allied-occupied Germany. Osvald, meanwhile, who had been taken as a prisoner of war, had no identification papers and no way of knowing where his wife and daughter were. Dagy eventually managed to locate Osvald with the assistance of the Red Cross, and the family was reunited at Wielandshag.

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Like many others in the DP camp, the Talmet family had hoped that when the war was over, the Soviets would withdraw from Estonia and they could return home.

By 1946, however, they had realised that this was unlikely, and they aimed to get as far away from Europe, and Soviet influence, as possible.

Osvald applied to emigrate to America, Canada or Australia. The American government didn’t favour applicants who had been in the German forces, while the Canadian government wanted young, single migrants.

The Australian government was receptive to family groups and the ‘beautiful Balts’, with their blond hair and blue eyes, were considered ideal immigrants who would blend in and help build Australia’s post-war population and workforce.

Osvald migrated to Australia first, travelling under a sponsored scheme that required him to work for the Australian government for two years in exchange for an assisted passage. He departed from Bremerhaven, Germany, on SS Svalbard and arrived in Sydney in October 1948. Osvald was sent to the Bonegilla Migrant Reception and Training Centre near Wodonga, Victoria, and was given the choice of three assignments, the first of which was digging trenches for the new sewerage system in Adelaide.

Fearing that the second and third assignments could be worse, Osvald chose to go to Adelaide.

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Osvald waved at a bare sand hill and exclaimed to his wife, ‘I’ve just bought that block of land for our house!’

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Dagy and Maie migrated the following year, having been placed in an Italian transit camp at Bagnoli, near Naples, before embarking for Adelaide on SS Oxfordshire.

For Maie, now seven years old, the voyage through the Suez was a great adventure. Dagy bought a huge bunch of small bananas from Arab traders in the Red Sea and placed them under her bunk. Maie, who had never seen a banana in her entire life, could not resist this sweet temptation. By the end of her mother’s two-hour English class, Maie had eaten all but one of the 200 bananas. She was rushed off to the ship’s hospital and given a large dose of castor oil.

Dagy and Maie arrived at Outer Harbor, Adelaide, in May 1949 and Osvald was there to welcome them, presenting a little doll to Maie across the deck of the ship.

The family boarded a train for the Adelaide Hills and as they passed through Largs North, in Adelaide’s northwest, Osvald waved at a bare sand hill and exclaimed to his wife, ‘I’ve just bought that block of land for our house!’

When Dagy saw how isolated it was, she burst into tears.

In Adelaide Osvald lived in a tent in a work camp while Dagy and Maie spent several weeks at the Woodside Hostel. Before long the family moved to Cheltenham, where they rented two rooms from the local postman.

Maie started school at Woodville Primary in June 1949, not knowing any English, apart from the words to the song ‘Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree’, which she had been taught on board Oxfordshire. By the end of the year she had come top of her class, having learnt English through total immersion at school.

In 1951 the Talmet family moved into their new house at Largs North, which was built with the help of other Estonian migrants. Osvald, who had completed his compulsory work for the government, found a job at General Motors Holden, while Dagy, who had been a weaver in Estonia, worked at ACTIL (Australian Cotton Textile Industries Limited) in Woodville. Osvald and Dagy, like so many migrants, were prepared to labour in the factories and sacrifice their own lifestyles to ensure that Maie and her younger brother Erik (born in Adelaide in 1958) could receive a better education.

Maie studied chemistry at the University of Adelaide, where she met her future husband, Kevin Barrow.

In 1966 the couple moved to London and Maie worked as a research assistant to leading Australian chemist Sir Ronald Nyholm at University College London. They returned to Australia in 1973 and settled in Sydney. Following the birth of her two daughters, Anni and Kristi, Maie returned to work as a research assistant at the University of New South Wales (UNSW). She completed a Masters degree in chemistry, studying fungal metabolites, and later worked in the Chancellery at UNSW, as executive assistant to the deputy principal.

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01 Joint celebration for Osvald Talmet’s 50th birthday and Maie’s 20th birthday, Adelaide, 1962.

02 Maie Talmet (second from left) at Woodside Hostel with the doll her father gave her on arrival in Adelaide, 1949.

In 1994 Maie was attending an Estonian function when she got a tap on the shoulder from community elder Raivo Kalamae, who offered her a voluntary position at the Estonian Archives in Australia in the Sydney suburb of Surry Hills. Not knowing anything about the world of archives, she completed a Masters degree in information management at the University of New South Wales and was the archivist at Botany Bay City Council for 15 years.

She was the honorary archivist at the Estonian Archives for more than 20 years and enjoys preserving the heritage and culture of her homeland and introducing it to Australians.

Reflecting on her family’s life in Australia, Maie says: When my father got here he had to borrow two shillings from a friend so that he could write and tell us that he’d actually arrived. While he was working here, every so often in a letter would be a one pound note he’d managed to save and send to us. We really started from nothing. And that’s why my mother got a job as fast as she could. I don’t think they would complain, I think they would say they had quite a good life here. But it was hard work and it was a hard life to start with.

Maie registered her parents’ names on the Welcome Wall to honour their struggles and successes in Australia.

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Fruits of faith Finding a place to call home

Against the backdrop of the Communist Revolution in China, the Wilson family made a temporary migration from Northern Ireland that would lead to their permanent home in Australia. Victor Wilson Jnr registered himself, his brother Raymond, and their parents Victor Snr and Sarah, on the Welcome Wall to acknowledge faith, family and a warm welcome to Australia.

‘DAD HEARD OF THE NEED FOR WORKERS in China and felt that he had received the call to go to China’, remembers Victor Wilson Jnr (born 1931). His father, Victor Wilson Snr (1904–1978), was a pharmaceutical chemist from Belfast, Northern Ireland, who had a desire to work in a mission hospital in Shanghai. He read publications by the China Inland Mission, a missionary society established by Englishman James Hudson Taylor in 1865 to bring the gospel to the inland provinces of China. With his strong faith, Victor decided to study the Chinese language and prepare his family for emigration.

In 1946, after the Second World War, Victor sold the family’s chemist shop and home in Belfast in anticipation of a passage to China. Although his wife, Sarah Wilson (1902–1962), implored him not to sell the business, Victor believed that God had called him to the mission field. The news filtering out of China, however – of the ongoing Chinese Civil War between the ruling Kuomintang nationalist government of Chiang Kai-shek and the Communist Party of China (which was led by communist revolutionary Mao Zedong) – was not encouraging. While the two parties were temporary allies during the Second Sino–Japanese War (1937–1945), hostilities quickly resumed following the surrender of Japan in 1945.

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Populate or perish 1948 The Burns Philp liner MV Bulolo, 1938.

ANMM Collection ANMS1131[023], gift from Margaret Royds

‘We stood and gazed around us for the last time at the old country, mesmerised, almost in a trance as we suddenly realised we were on our way’

Victor’s thoughts turned to Australia, where he had a distant relative on his father’s side named Victoria Boyd.

He wrote to Mrs Boyd, who lived in the suburb of Concord in Sydney’s inner west, and she assured him of a warm welcome. Over the course of the next 18 months, Victor took locum positions in London, Belfast and Bangor (in greater Belfast), while keeping a watchful eye on the unfolding Communist Revolution in China.

By the late 1940s, the prospects for missionary work in China appeared increasingly bleak, with foreign missionaries driven out of the country or redirected to other parts of east Asia. The Communists eventually defeated the Kuomintang on the mainland, forcing them to retreat to the island of Taiwan, as Mao Zedong proclaimed the establishment of the People’s Republic of China.

After much prayer and sacrifice, Victor decided that the family’s best option was to migrate to Australia and wait for China’s borders to reopen. He wrote once more to his relative Mrs Boyd, who indicated that most housing was occupied by returned soldiers. She hinted that her house could be shared by the Wilsons, but as Victor Jnr says:

Dad would not impose himself on anyone. Nevertheless, he went ahead and enquired about ships going to Australia.

Most of the troopships were being converted into migrant ships and Australia was welcoming people from the UK and some parts of Europe. We applied to go to Australia as immigrants on £10 assisted passages, but were refused on the grounds that Dad had too much money, and so had to go under our own arrangements with any available paying passenger ships.

Then suddenly Dad was informed that in two months the MV Bulolo, which had been an armed cruiser and headquarters for the Allied fleet in the Mediterranean, was almost ready to be returned to the Burns Philp Line and would sail to Australia after refitting. Well this came as a surprise and of course Dad signed up for the vessel.

He accepted this as the hand of God leading us.

The family paid the fares of £110 each for Victor Snr and Sarah, and £50 each for Victor Jnr and Raymond (born 1942), and set to work packing. In June 1948, the Wilsons travelled by taxi from Bangor to Belfast Quay, where a large crowd of friends had gathered to farewell them with a parting hymn. The family boarded a steamer for the overnight crossing to the English port of Liverpool, making their way down the River Lagan past the Harland & Wolff shipyard, where RMS Titanic was built, out to Belfast Lough and into the Irish Sea. In Liverpool, 16-year-old Victor Jnr sat for the London matriculation examination, with passes in mathematics, Latin and botany. On 16 June 1948 the Wilson family was among 234 passengers who embarked for Australia on the Burns Philp liner Bulolo. As they sailed down the River Mersey, the Liverpool skyline and Royal Liver Building receding into the distance, Victor Jnr recalls, ‘We stood and gazed around us for the last time at the old country, mesmerised, almost in a trance as we suddenly realised we were on our way’.

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1948 Populate or perish

Victor Jnr, who turned 17 on board Bulolo, kept a daily journal of the five-week voyage to Australia

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Populate or perish 1948

Victor Wilson Jnr’s journal of a sea voyage from Liverpool to Sydney on MV Bulolo, 1948. ANMM Collection 00055463, gift from Victor Wilson Jnr

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1948 Populate or perish

The Wilson family outside their home in Concord, New South Wales, 1948. Reproduced courtesy Victor Wilson Jnr

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Populate or perish 1948

Victor Jnr, who turned 17 on board Bulolo, kept a daily journal of the five-week voyage to Australia. In an old ledger book that his father used for patient prescriptions, Victor recorded details of port calls, bouts of sunburn and seasickness, and shipboard entertainment. On one occasion, his five-year-old brother Raymond won first place in an obstacle race, collecting a prize of £2 and a box of sweets. Victor also documented Bulolo’s route from Liverpool to Gibraltar, Valletta, Port Said, the Suez Canal, Aden and the Indian Ocean.

On 17 July 1948 Bulolo docked in Fremantle, Western Australia, where officials boarded for mandatory passport and medical checks. The Wilson family made a day visit to Fremantle and Perth, before returning to the ship for the final leg of their voyage east. On the morning of 24 July, Bulolo arrived in Sydney Harbour, passing beneath the Sydney Harbour Bridge and berthing at Pier 4 Walsh Bay. The Wilsons found temporary accommodation in a boarding house on Macleay Street, Kings Cross (known as ‘The Cross’). Victor Jnr recalls how his mother Sarah remarked, ‘You must always start at the Cross if ever you hope to reach home (that is, heaven)!’ The family’s first days in Australia were spent searching for a permanent home, while Victor Snr also went to the Pharmacy Board of New South Wales to register as a pharmacist. After a desperate week had passed, Victor Jnr remembers: Mum had grown weary of roaming the streets of the city and suburbs looking for suitable digs. She said we have got to go home! Dad said we should pray as we thought of our predicament and he too had reached an end of his searching. As he prayed I could hear Mum sobbing, with tears rolling down her cheeks. When he finished all seemed to be calm. Then Dad said we shall go out this afternoon and see Mrs Boyd at Concord.

The family took a train from the city to Strathfield and walked the last few kilometres to Mrs Boyd’s house on Empire Avenue. Victor Jnr recollects: We walked up the path and Dad rang the bell, expecting an elderly woman to come to the door. The door opened and a middle-aged woman came. We looked at her and Dad enquired, ‘Does Mrs Boyd live here?’ She paused and asked, ‘Are you the Wilsons? We were expecting you here a week ago and you did not turn up! Mrs Boyd has taken ill and has gone to live with her sister in Ararat, Victoria, and she has left the house for you if you wish to purchase it’.

Well we were dumbfounded. We had reached the end of our tether, as we say in Ulster, and now the provision of a lovely home was graciously presented to us by our Heavenly Father. Dad had no hesitation in being on the solicitor’s doorstep at 9 am Monday morning with the cash of £2,500 and the house was ours – praise the Lord.

In Sydney, Victor Wilson Jnr passed an entrance examination at the start of the final school term and enrolled at Fort Street Boys High School in Petersham.

In 1957 he graduated from the University of Sydney with a Bachelor of Medicine and Bachelor of Surgery. He spent two years as a medical officer at St George Hospital in the southern Sydney suburb of Kogarah, followed by 18 months as an anaesthetist at the Brisbane General Board of Hospitals.

Raymond Wilson attended Homebush Boys High School and then, like his older brother, completed a Bachelor of Medicine and Bachelor of Surgery at the University of Sydney. He was a medical officer at Royal Prince Alfred Hospital before moving to the United Kingdom, where he gained his fellowship in surgery. Raymond later returned to Sydney and gained his Australian fellowship. Brothers Raymond and Victor Jnr then worked in partnership for 30 years as medical practitioners in the southern Sydney suburb of Blakehurst.

Victor Wilson Snr was a chief pharmacist in Sydney’s west, firstly at the old Liverpool State Hospital and Asylum, and then at the newly built Liverpool Hospital across the road.

He never missed a day of work in 25 years. Sarah Wilson was a homemaker; she and Victor Snr remained in Concord for the rest of their lives. Mrs Boyd had given them a place to call home.

Reflecting on his family’s life in Australia, Victor Jnr says: Day by day, every movement in life was met with the word ‘welcome’. Some years after our arrival in Sydney, and with growing family life, we decided to have our names inscribed on the Welcome Wall as a way of saying thanks for the wonderful welcomes and openings presented to us in every aspect of life in this sea-girt land of Australia. Yes Dad’s deep faith was rewarded and today all our family are recipients of the fruit of his faith.

Kim Tao

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Populate or perish 1949

Vivian and Patrick on their wedding day in 1959.

Images courtesy Vivian Rogers

A Baltic odyssey World refugees find safety

A dangerous, dramatic national and family tale led to a peaceful new life in Australia for the Estonian family of Viivi (Vivian) Viljamaa.

THE ORIGINS AND EARLY HISTORY OF THE ESTONIANS are fascinating and too complex to be easily summarised.

Thousands of years ago a tribe of fair, blue-eyed people moved slowly northwest through uninhabited parts of Eastern Europe, to arrive – these Estonian ancestors – on the shores of the Baltic Sea in about 6,000–4,000 BC. They survived by hunting and fishing.

Towards the end of the 12th century, attempts to Christianise Estonians became more frequent and intense.

In 1193 the Pope proclaimed a crusade to the Baltic countries and under this pretext the German order of the Knights of the Sword and the Danes invaded Estonia, which they divided up. After an uprising in 1343 Denmark sold its share of Estonia to the Teutonic Order, which established a kind of feudal system and ruled until the mid-19th century.

There followed centuries of complicated upheavals, uprisings and invasions (among the attackers was Ivan the Terrible in 1558), with peoples and territories frequently changing hands. Independence was finally declared in 1917 and for a while Estonia was a peaceful and prosperous nation. In 1939, however, the infamous Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact divided Eastern Europe between Germany and the Soviet Union, with Estonia and the Baltic states falling within the USSR’s sphere of influence.

In June 1940 the Soviets seized power in Estonia and installed a puppet government that had Estonia annexed by the USSR in July of the same year. Soon after, public figures and local leaders began to disappear.

Deportation commenced in 1941. The number of Estonians killed, arrested and deported was more than 60,000.

One of the many intellectuals, politicians and public figures arrested was Viivi (Vivian) Viljamaa’s father. The family had a house at Tartu, the university city, and another at Tallinn.

Viivi Viljamaa was born in October 1937 on the Estonian island of Hiiumaa. The family moved frequently to avoid arrest or deportation. In this they were unsuccessful, and Vivian’s father was taken away to Siberia and died.

Vivian’s mother managed to get herself and her two children onto a German troop train heading south away from the Russians. In Berlin in the closing days of the war they were in even more fear for their lives due to daily bombing. Vivian’s mother decided to keep moving, boarding a train to Munich where they survived the war to become displaced persons and, subsequently, world refugees.

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1949 Populate or perish

They arrived on 11 November 1949 with nothing more than a suitcase and the clothes they were wearing

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Populate or perish 1949

01 Vivian Viljamaa’s father in 1943 – a victim of war.

02 Vivian with her mother and brother in Manly, Sydney, 1954.

03 Vivian and daughter Lisa on graduation day.

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Among so many millions of others, for the next four years the family was shunted between refugee camps in Germany, Spain and then Italy. Finally, in October 1949 they were given a piece of paper – still in Vivian’s possession – which stated simply that the family had ‘the right to land in Sydney, Australia’. It was not a visa, nor did they have passports, but they embarked on the US troopship General Blatchford, heading for Sydney, where they arrived on 11 November 1949 with nothing more than a suitcase and the clothes they were wearing.

They had no passports, no birth certificates, no money, no work and no English; but they had already survived many ordeals and felt certain that things would get better.

When they were both just 15, Vivian met Pat Rodgers.

From that time, they were partners in life and in business.

They married when they were both 21, and in January 2009 celebrated their Golden Jubilee. Vivian did not have the opportunity for a higher education, but she encouraged Pat to complete a tertiary degree, and later encouraged their three children to complete higher degrees. Their boys Patrick and Peter have law and economics degrees and their daughter, Lisa, has three degrees, including a PhD in biotechnology. So within one generation, the family has fought back from adversity and recovered their professional status – a not uncommon achievement among refugees.

Immediately after arrival at Sydney, the three were transported to an army camp at Bathurst then (after being deloused) further west to Parkes to another camp, and finally to yet another army camp at Greta, near Newcastle. At this time, Vivian’s elder brother, 18 years old, was separated from the family to do compulsory work in rural Australia. Vivian and her mother were then ‘freed’, in mid-1951, and soon discovered the seaside delights of Manly in Sydney where they decided to make their new home, six years after fleeing Estonia. Vivian’s mother opened a small dressmaking business in Manly and continued to support Vivian, the only child now in her care.

Vivian’s brother too has nurtured his children to academic excellence, and they have gained higher degrees. He did something else remarkable: when the Russians left Estonia after 50 years of occupation he returned, and, through the courts, claimed back the family home in Tallinn where he now lives during the Estonian summers. Vivian and Pat’s children, and those of Vivian’s brother, have all visited Estonia. Vivian’s children have recently been accepted as Estonian citizens and have Estonian passports together with their Australian passports, and so they have made an Estonian footprint in the sand.

In Australia Vivian went to school for the first time in her life, starting in year 7 aged 13. Her English was rudimentary and her first report card shows ‘0’ in her first English exam, though her teacher wrote an encouraging ‘improving’ beside the mark. Three years later she passed her School Certificate with flying colours in every subject.

Vivian herself visited Estonia only once, when she felt compelled to lay her hands on her birth certificate.

This quest, she said, also put some demons to rest.

Vivian is a passionate Australian citizen and treasures the day she swore allegiance to the nation.

Wendy Wilkins Australian National Maritime Museum 135

1949–74 Populate or perish

Snowy stories Migrants build a landmark project

On 17 October 1949, the first blast was fired in the town of Adaminaby in southern New South Wales, officially marking the start of construction on Australia’s largest engineering project – the Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme.

The names of nearly 700 Snowy workers are inscribed on the museum’s Welcome Wall.

The Guthega Dam, part of the Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme. Image Phillip Minnis/ Shutterstock

136 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Populate or perish 1949–74

THE SNOWY MOUNTAINS Hydro-Electric Scheme was designed to divert water from the Snowy River and some of its tributaries, westward through the Great Dividing Range, to provide irrigation water and generate hydro-electric power. It is often regarded as the birthplace of multicultural Australia, as two-thirds of the 100,000-strong workforce were immigrants.

Between 1949 and 1974, the Snowy scheme employed immigrants from 32 countries. Many had endured the hardships of World War II in Europe. Yugoslav miner Nikola Brbot fled the Communist dictatorship after the confiscation of his land and livelihood. He escaped across the Slovenian mountains into Austria and eventually to Australia, where he worked in the pine forests of South Australia before joining the Snowy scheme.

Russian-born Alexander Sariban studied engineering in Germany and worked on the Snowy in the early 1960s. He was married to Olga Popov, whose family had fled from Ukraine to Germany at the height of the Russian Revolution. Olga was a manicurist in a Berlin salon, where her clientele included the German actress Marlene Dietrich. Other Snowy workers inscribed on the Welcome Wall, such as Italian labourer Bruno Caridi and Spanish fitter Roman Torres, settled in Australia first and later married proxy brides in their homeland.

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1949–74 Populate or perish Snowy scheme and Australian dreams

The Snowy scheme realised the great Australian dream of harnessing water from the mountains to irrigate the Murray and Murrumbidgee areas. This required the construction of a complex system of dams, tunnels, aqueducts and power stations. The work was physically demanding and dangerous (121 workers died during the project) and living conditions in the temporary camps were primitive.

Some workers had been specifically recruited to support the scheme, such as German plumber Karl Schmidt. He was one of 800 tradesmen from the cities of Hamburg, Berlin and Hanover, who signed a two-year labour contract in Germany in 1951. Karl notes that they shifted, erected and maintained all the towns, camps and snow huts throughout the scheme.

Meanwhile Dutch carpenter Cornelis Lokker worked as a hawker in the Snowy, driving his van to the camps to sell clothing. He was later joined by his wife Maria and daughter Jannigje, and the family went on to operate a general store in the town of Adaminaby.

Many workers came to the Snowy scheme from seasonal cane-cutting jobs in north Queensland. Radomir Djurovic, a Montenegrin army officer, had survived the horrors of war in Yugoslavia and emigrated from Egypt in 1948 with his wife Milka Petkovic and baby son. Croatian-born Milka was a cleaner and waitress at the scheme headquarters and served Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip during their Snowy visit. Radomir was a truck driver on the scheme and was proud to be able to purchase a piano accordion, bicycle and refrigerator through his hard work.

Others left it to fate. Czechoslovakian electrical engineer Paul Silink emigrated from Java in 1950 with his wife Vera and two sons. Their future was decided on the toss of a coin – heads for Texas and tails for Australia. Australia it was.

Many who headed to the Snowy Mountains would find the climate inhospitable. But for others, such as the Norwegian Nilsen-Hepsoe family who arrived in Cooma in the 1950s, it was wonderful – ‘just like Norway, snow in winter’.

English diesel fitter Dennis Beard had heard about the Snowy scheme after arriving in Melbourne and remembers, ‘Men from all nations worked in harmony in appalling conditions. Sleeping in tents, no water, heating, radio or papers. Yet I enjoyed every minute, the great outdoors, wonderful companions, wonderful memories’.

Cypriot motor mechanic Ypsilandis Koulaouzos arrived in Australia with just ten pounds in his pocket and worked on the Snowy before building a successful business in Sydney.

His son says that like the Peter Allen song, Ypsilandis always called Australia ‘home’. Meanwhile the daughters of Polish carpenter Florian Biniak recall, ‘He always talked about his involvement with the Snowy from 1953 – the mateship with others, the beautiful country of Bonegilla, Cooma, Manuka, Lake Jindabyne and Eucumbene’. He was immensely proud of the part he played in the Australian dream.

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Realising the dream

When completed in 1974, the Snowy Mountains HydroElectric Scheme comprised seven power stations, 16 dams, 145 kilometres of tunnels and 80 kilometres of aqueducts.

Some workers, such as Italian farmer Antonio Diamante, had remained with the scheme for the entire 25 years of its construction. He was employed at a number of locations including Khancoban, Geehi Dam, Talbingo and Tumut 3 Power Station.

Others celebrated with world records – Norwegian miner Arild Sverdrupsen was part of a team that set a mining record on the Eucumbene–Tumut tunnel in 1954, while Italians Dario Sain and Joe Maier were awarded medals for another tunnelling record in 1959.

Many Snowy workers would contribute to major building projects in Sydney, including the Sydney Opera House, Sydney Airport, AMP Centre, Darling Harbour and MLC Centre. Italian lumberjack Giovanni Maccagnan worked on the Harry Seidler-designed MLC Centre in Martin Place.

His son notes, ‘His story is of a typical migrant with no English and with nothing, yet he became Australian, raised a family and contributed to the nation’s growth.

His landmarks will remain on the land’.

Today the Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme provides nearly one-third of all renewable energy for the eastern mainland grid, powering the rush hours of Sydney, Canberra and Melbourne. Giovanni Maccagnan and his fellow Snowy workers have certainly left their mark on Australia.

Kim Tao

Populate or perish 1949–74

01 Workers place concrete reinforcement steel in Cooma–Tumut Tunnel, Snowy Mountains Hydro Electric and Irrigation Scheme, March 1960.

ANMM Collection

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02 The Snowy River blocked by the Guthega Dam, part of the Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme. Image Taras Vyshnya/Shutterstock

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1950 Populate or perish

From Russia with love The long road to safety

Natalia Schlusser née Kamenzeva was tested by the wars of the mid-20th century – World War II, the Korean War and the Cold War – surviving personal tragedy to bring her children to safe, secure new lives in Australia.

IN NOVEMBER 1950 newly widowed Natalia Schlusser arrived in Fremantle with her four children, aged 11 to 21, aboard an American-crewed transport ship, the USNS General M L Hersey. Their voyage to a new life and land had been delayed for six months, in holding camps from Frankfurt to Bremerhaven, as the Korean War flared and migrant ships were recalled to active service. It was during this time that Natalia lost her husband, Paul, his body and mind worn down by more than a decade of fear, persecution and stress. Natalia was determined to complete the family journey that Paul had been so desperate to make.

Born Natalia Kamenzeva to a professional family in Tver, Russia, she studied medicine in the early 1920s at the University of Leningrad where she met a young electrical engineering student, Paul Schlusser. He was descended from German traders who had settled in the newly established Russian city of St Petersburg, in territory annexed from Sweden during the reign of Catherine the Great. This port city, located on a major Baltic Sea trade route, was known as Russia’s window to Europe.

The Schlusser firm, which celebrated its centenary in 1905, was closed by the Bolsheviks in 1917.

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Wishing to continue their studies and work in Berlin, the young couple were married in 1927 in a traditional Orthodox church, satisfying Natalia’s mother as well as the requirements of the Soviet government. The USSR would not grant exit visas to both partners in a marriage, but since the church ceremony was not recognised by the Communist state they were able to leave together. In Berlin, Natalia specialised in bacteriology at the prestigious Robert Koch Institute while Paul gained valuable work experience.

Berlin in the 1920s was a vibrant and sophisticated cultural centre and the couple enjoyed masked balls, theatre performances and nightclubs. In 1929 they moved to Karlsruhe for Paul to enrol in a PhD. By 1936 there were three children, Svetlana, Vasily (William) and Tatyana.

The couple had kept in contact with their families in the Soviet Union, and Natalia’s family was lucky to survive the Great Purge between 1936 and 1938. This was a campaign of political repression and persecution of perceived enemies at all levels, from peasants to the intelligentsia, government officials to military leaders. There was widespread surveillance, imprisonment and arbitrary executions with victims numbering, at the very least, in the hundreds of thousands. In the weeks before Germany invaded Russia in 1941, Natalia’s sister-in-law wrote to warn of the culture of deep suspicion and reprisals that had set in under the Stalinist government and advised that they cease contact unless those left behind initiated it. It would be nearly 35 years before contact was made again.

Populate or perish 1950

The couple had kept in contact with their families in the Soviet Union, and Natalia’s family was lucky to survive the Great Purge between 1936 and 1938

01 Natalia at the Robert Koch Institute, Berlin, 1927.

02 Paul and Natalia in Paris after registering their marriage at the Soviet embassy, before embarking on their honeymoon to Switzerland in 1927.

All photographs reproduced courtesy Eugene Schlusser

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Australian National Maritime Museum 141

01 On board and bound for Australia, October 1950.

Left to right: Natalia, William, Eugene, Tatyana and Svetlana.

02 Natalia buys her first Australian home in the Perth suburb of Subiaco, 1956.

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Rejected by the USA, Canada and Venezuela, the family was finally accepted into Australia’s post-war migration intake. They kept their plans top secret to stop word reaching Soviet ears. Unable to tell their friends, they simply disappeared in the early hours of the morning when the visas came through.

In grief over the loss of Paul, the family finally left for Australia in October 1950 along with 1,370 others on the war-surplus US transport ship. Men and women were segregated and all able-bodied passengers were required to work, Svetlana in the office and William chipping rust off bathroom walls.

Most suffered terrible seasickness during a harsh passage across the Bay of Biscay and a storm in the Indian Ocean.

A small group organised a daily bulletin named New Hope, circulated on board. It included a regular column that told the history of the ports and countries that they passed.

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In 1939 the youngest child, Eugene, was born in Frankfurt just before World War II broke out. This beautiful medieval city, like many in Europe, was flattened by heavy bombing.

Natalia and the children escaped to the rural town of Allendorf and, although no longer working as a doctor, her skills were well respected by the local community; she was called on to assist when planes were shot down.

Paul’s wider family was fragmented by Europe’s political boundaries, with a brother working for the German army as a Russian interpreter, a cousin working for the British Secret Service and others in Paris, Switzerland and England.

After the war the family spent two fearful years in Frankfurt as new borders were drawn across Europe.

Rumours abounded of Russians being forcibly repatriated from Europe and sent to Siberia. The family was fortunate to find itself in the US zone of Germany, avoiding this fate but not the severe food shortages that followed the war.

Their survival was aided by assistance from the family that had accommodated Natalia and the children in Allendorf.

Although keen to leave Europe the family was not eligible for assisted passage. Technically they were not displaced persons; they were illegally out of the Soviet Union, but as they had left in 1927, they were not considered refugees from the 1917 revolution. Paul’s British cousin mailed visas for the family from the British zone of Germany but they never arrived, presumably stolen in the post.

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Although bound for Melbourne, the new immigrants were disembarked at Fremantle and told that the ship was needed to transport troops to Korea. Destination unknown, they were sent by train across a landscape that was a far cry from the fields, towns and cities of Europe, to the small town of Northam where all aboard were placed in ex-army barracks. Here they lived for two years in rooms set up for soldiers, with rows upon rows of beds and little privacy.

A Russian doctor found a position for Natalia as an assistant at the camp hospital, since her medical qualifications were not recognised in Australia. With her savings and a small inheritance from Paul, she was able to purchase a lease on a milk bar in West Perth in 1955. In 1960, aged 60, Natalia courageously moved to Sydney to re-qualify as a medical doctor at the University of New South Wales. She set up a small private practice in Cabramatta and bought a house overlooking the sea at Curl Curl, fulfilling a long-held dream.

Her children all found success in Australia in engineering, teaching, media, photography and private business.

In 1984 there was a phone call from a friend in Sweden who had replied to an advertisement in a Russian-language newspaper, seeking contact with Natalia and her family.

The fear of KGB reprisals for defectors remained throughout Natalia’s life, and she was sceptical that her Soviet family had survived World War II. But finally she made contact with a niece who was searching for the family that had simply disappeared, confirming the Kamenzev family’s survival.

Natalia died in 1985 but close family contact has been maintained ever since. In September 2011 the names of Natalia and her children were unveiled on the Welcome Wall.

Eugene Schlusser and Veronica Kooyman

Populate or perish 1950

Norman, Enid and Vandra Hoiles embark for Australia on SS Otranto in 1950.

All photographs reproduced courtesy Vandra Mellers

The charmed life of a ‘ten-pound Pom’ Taking a chance on a new country

From the 1940s to the early 70s the Australian government subsidised British migrants, charging them only 10 pounds for their passage to a new home. Norman and Enid Hoiles and their daughter Vandra sailed to a new life in 1950 as ‘ten-pound Poms’ on the Orient liner Otranto.

WITH THE SCARS OF WORLD WAR II etched into both the landscape and the people of Europe, many ventured across the world in search of a better life. Australia promoted itself as a young country of opportunity in need of new skills and labour. One Australian government scheme of assisted migration was aimed specifically at the then preferred category of British citizen, and between 1945 and 1972 over one million migrants from the British Isles arrived in Australia as ‘ten-pound Poms’.

Norman ‘Vic’ Hoiles, his wife Enid and daughter Vandra were one family that took a chance.

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1950 Populate or perish

The two families decided to take up the offer of assisted passage to a nation promoted for its climate, space and employment opportunities

01 ‘All my own work plus a Gerry land mine… 10th Feb ’43’ says the inscription on the back of this photograph of Vic Hoiles with his downed Beaufort.

02 Flying Officer Vic Hoiles and his bride-to-be Enid Williams, inscribed ‘To my darling husband, Enid xxxxxxxx’ and dated 15 October 1942.

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144 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Populate or perish 1950

Vic Hoiles met the love of his life, Enid, as a teenager living in the town of Gravesend, in Kent, England, in the 1930s.

Only a few years later, in 1939, Europe plunged into World War II and, like many young men, Vic enlisted. The civilian airport located to the east of Gravesend swiftly became a Royal Air Force fighter base and Vic, who had initially joined the Home Guard, was soon attracted to the RAF. Enid also joined the RAF and worked in the office of the local base.

The first time Vic was shot down, he was piloting a Beaufort bomber while stationed in Cairo. He crashed in the desert, right onto a German land mine, but amazingly he survived.

Later Vic was flying a Beaufighter over Malta and the Mediterranean, attacking capital warships with torpedoes, when he lost an engine to enemy fire. He was trying to steer back to land when a German plane ‘flew right alongside for several minutes’ (in the words of a yellowing news clipping his family treasures to this day) ‘then waved… and cleared off’. Vic’s plane crashed into the sea when its other engine failed and Vic was once again lucky to survive, although the navigator was killed. ‘He had been adrift for some time,’ continues the clipping, until ‘picked up by Air Sea Rescue.

Two days in hospital put him right.’

During Vic’s tumultuous war years he and Enid were married.

They had their first child, daughter Vandra, in 1946.

Leaving the RAF at the end of the war, Vic was keen to gain his commercial pilot’s licence. However, the training site was in Scotland and Enid was unable to stand the extreme cold weather there. Choosing to stay in Gravesend, Vic enrolled instead in a local technical college to study architecture and town planning. Though he gained work, Vic was still unsettled and the after-effects of war, such as food rationing, were still in place. The naturally athletic Vic played cricket for the local team and through this met another young couple who were considering the move to Australia. The two families decided to try their chance in a new country together and take up the offer of assisted passage to a nation promoted for its climate, space and employment opportunities.

On 4 May 1950 the Hoiles family sailed from England aboard the RMS Otranto, transiting the Suez Canal and stopping in ports including Port Said, Adelaide and Fremantle before disembarking in Sydney.

In Australia the Hoiles family travelled to Tamworth in regional New South Wales to work on the turkey farm owned and run by their sponsor. Shortly afterwards they moved to Bullaburra in the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney.

Vandra recalls fondly the recurrent memory of her father, who constantly ran late, sprinting down the road in the early morning towards the railway station with his tie flapping over his shoulder and his jacket half on. The train guard knew of Vic’s habitual tardiness and would leave the rear carriage door open for him to leap aboard as the train pulled away.

The isolation of the small Blue Mountains community proved a trial for Enid, now at home with two children after a son was born in Australia. Like many migrants she suffered from severe homesickness for many years, missing her family and friends with whom the only contact was by post. She wrote to her mother weekly, and the family’s first trip back to England was not until the 1970s.

But Enid knew that her sacrifice allowed her children to have better opportunities and better lives than those on offer back in England.

To help combat the isolation the family once again relocated, this time to bustling Sydney where Vic soon found work as an architect of war-service homes.

He enjoyed this role until the late 1960s when he moved into a private architecture business. Enid was a homemaker with an artistic flair for china painting.

At the age of 39 Vic was diagnosed with bowel cancer, which at that time was almost certainly fatal. Even at this difficult time, he retained the knack of survival that had been with him during the war. He found the one professor in Australia who had recently returned from the required surgical training in the United States, and Vic’s surgery at Prince Henry Hospital was one of the first of its type performed successfully in Australia – though not without some post-operative complications. His friends banded together and paid for a private nurse to care for him and ensure his full recovery.

Both Vic and Enid’s children enjoyed successes that reinforced the parents’ decision to uproot their lives and move to Australia – as for so many migrants. Vandra studied dress design at art school until her father was diagnosed with cancer, when she left her studies to work and help support the family. She later graduated from secretarial school, and worked in this field until she married and had her own family. Since then she has also worked as a social worker and beauty therapist. Vandra’s brother is a pathologist who now lives on Koh Samui, Thailand. One of Vandra’s sons achieved her father’s dream. Having heard from a young age his grandfather’s wonderful stories of flying planes, he went on to hold both commercial and aerobatic pilot licences.

Her father, whom everyone described as a true gentleman, survived to 84 and her mother reached 90. Both had the chance to see and appreciate their children’s successes.

In turn Vandra honoured her parents, their vision of a new life and their sacrifices by putting their names and their stories on the Welcome Wall.

Veronica Kooyman Australian National Maritime Museum 145

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Stewart Lee on SS Strathnaver 1955. Reproduced courtesy Sydney Lee

On their own Britain’s child migrants

A long ocean voyage carried generations of child migrants from the familiar to the unknown, to mixed fortunes and, too often, to suffering and sorrow. Their story was told in On Their Own: Britain’s child migrants, a long-running touring exhibition that was a collaboration between the Australian National Maritime Museum and National Museums Liverpool, UK.

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Child migrants were often labelled as ‘orphans’ even though many simply had parents who were unable to look after them

Child migrants were often labelled as ‘orphans’ even though many simply had parents who were unable to look after them. They were placed in temporary care and later emigrated without their parents’ consent. Some families, such as Stewart’s parents, sought opportunities for their children through these schemes. In 1955 Stewart and his older brothers Sydney, Graham and Ian were sent from Manchester to the Fairbridge Farm School at Molong, near Orange, New South Wales. They were promised a good education and that they could return home in two years if they weren’t happy. This was not to be. They had been deported for life.

DRESSED IN OVERSIZED SHORTS and clutching a deck quoit, Stewart Lee cuts a forlorn figure in a photo taken at sea on his way to Australia. Four-year-old Stewart was one of nearly 110,000 British child migrants sent to Canada, Australia, Southern Rhodesia and New Zealand alone, without their mothers or fathers, from the late 19th century to the 1960s.

These children travelled through government-sponsored schemes that removed them from their homes and families, or from workhouses and orphanages. It was believed that they would have a better life working in the clean expanses of the British Empire, where they were a source of much-needed labour. Instead, many were left to endure years of abuse, decades of loneliness and, in far too many cases, a lifetime of regret.

The children were organised for departure by many different charitable and religious organisations, including Dr Barnardo’s Homes, the Fairbridge Society, the Church of England Waifs and Strays Society and the Christian Brothers.

At the same time, voluntary youth migration schemes were operated by the Salvation Army, Dreadnought Trust and Big Brother Movement, which shared similar aims to the child migration schemes. Youth migrants, however, being older than 16, usually had more control over their lives.

Britain has a sustained history of child migration dating back to 1618, when King James I authorised the transportation of 100 vagrant street children from London to the newly-founded colony of Virginia, where ‘they may be sett to worke … otherwise [they] will never be reclaimed from the idle life of vagabonds’. This notion of reclamation, coupled with the insatiable demand for new settlers to exploit the colonies and consolidate the expanding British empire, would inform child migration policy for the next 350 years.

In the early 19th century Britain experienced rapid social change, resulting in a surplus of destitute and homeless children in growing cities like London, Liverpool and Glasgow. Organisations such as the Children’s Friend Society and Ragged Schools Union began sending these children to new opportunities in Canada and Australia.

Numbers remained relatively small, however, until the 1860s, when a new breed of philanthropists led by Maria Rye, Annie Macpherson, Thomas Barnardo and William Quarrier sought to remove deprived children from the perceived evils of city life to the healthier environments of the British Dominions.

By articulating the economic benefits – it cost £12 per year to maintain a child in an institution but only £15 to send them to the colonies – they promoted mass child migration as a solution to the deprivation, neglect and homelessness that were endemic in Victorian Britain.

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Dr Barnardo became one of the most influential figures in child migration, transporting more than 20,000 children to Canada. Sixteen-year-old Samuel Relf migrated to Ontario in 1894 with the second party from Barnardo’s London home at Stepney Causeway. He was taken to a distributing home in Toronto and then placed on a farm, and was eventually awarded a Barnardo’s good conduct medallion for commitment and loyal service to his employer.

Canada would receive 100,000 British child migrants, or ‘home children’ as they came to be known, many from the Liverpool Sheltering Homes. Fourteen-year-old Frank Bray was sent to Canada by the Sheltering Homes in 1906, having spent several years in the South Stoneham workhouse in Southampton after his father died.

The workhouse, an institution where destitute people lived and worked to earn their keep, was the main form of poor relief during the Victorian era. Frank was posted to a farm in North Clarendon, Quebec, and wrote to his brothers and sister in Southampton to say, ‘I was sorry I came at first, but it soon passed off and now I am as happy as a lark.’ Frank became one of the child migration scheme’s success stories; his master Mr Hodgins bought him a farm of his own to run when he turned 18.

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Not all child migrants were as fortunate as Frank.

An emigrant register book from Annie Macpherson’s Home of Industry in Spitalfields, London, documents the tragic case of 13-year-old Edith Jennings, who was sent to Canada in 1910. Her records show she attempted to take her own life at each of the three situations in which she was placed.

In 1925 shifting attitudes to child migration saw Canada introduce a temporary ban on children under 14 entering the country. This ban was made permanent in 1928 and Australia then became the main destination for Britain’s child migrants.

The shift to Australia was spearheaded by the Fairbridge Society and Dr Barnardo’s Homes, which sought ‘good British stock’ to populate, settle and ultimately maintain a white Australia. The Australian government actively pursued the continuation of the schemes in its post-war ‘populate or perish’ immigration policy, receiving more than 7,000 child migrants until 1967, when the last official party arrived by air with Barnardo’s.

Populate or perish 1890s–1960s

The visual record of these child migration schemes is dominated by promotional photographs of cheering children departing the UK. 01 First party to Fairbridge Farm School, Molong, New South Wales, in 1938. Reproduced courtesy Molong Historical Society 02 The fourth party of children departs Britain for Fairbridge Farm School, Molong, in 1939.

Reproduced courtesy Molong Historical Society

The voyage for many was a time of trepidation but also of excitement and adventure: new friends, new sights, new places 02

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Until the early 1960s most child migrants travelled by sea. Before leaving, children underwent intelligence tests, medical examinations and clothes fittings, and were feted with tea parties, mayoral receptions and even visits by royalty. The migration organisations ensured maximum publicity for the departure to promote their work.

Children were brought from across the UK to board ships at ports such as Liverpool, Glasgow, Southampton and London. The voyage for many was a time of trepidation but also of excitement and adventure – new friends were made, new sights seen, new places found to explore and play in. Twelve-year-old Maureen Mullins recorded all the sights and delights of her 1952 voyage on SS Otranto in her diary – the ‘gigantic’ Rock of Gibraltar, a funicular ride and ‘real Italian spaghetti’ in Naples, bathing in the Mediterranean Sea, and sampling sugar bananas and coconuts in Colombo. The diary epitomises the highpoint of the child migrant’s journey.

Upon arrival children were confronted with harsh realities.

Separated from siblings and friends, they were taken long distances to isolated and strange environments, whether in private farms across Canada or institutions in Australia.

They faced long hard days of labour in extremes of climate without the love of a family. The expectations were that boys would become farmers and girls would be domestic servants or wives on the land. Most received limited education and were set up badly for adult life.

150 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Stewart Lee and his brothers were separated on arrival at Fairbridge Farm School in Molong, their new clothes and shoes removed and replaced with khaki work clothes and bare feet. Molong was one of three Australian farm training schools established under the principles of Kingsley Fairbridge, a South African-born Rhodes scholar who sought to alleviate the plight of disadvantaged British children by sending them to farm schools in the colonies.

With the assistance of the Western Australian government his first school was founded at Pinjarra, south of Perth, in 1912.

Fairbridge Farm Schools were virtually self-sufficient with a dairy, bakery, vegetable garden, poultry, sheep and cattle.

Children lived in small cottages, attended school until the age of 14 and then spent 12 to 18 months training in farm work on the property. Stewart’s brother Ian did not see a future in farm work and ran away from Fairbridge in 1963.

Twelve-year-old David Summerfield, on the other hand, jumped at the chance to undertake agricultural training in Australia. David had been placed in a Barnardo’s Home in Sussex after his mother died of tuberculosis. In 1950 he set sail on SS Maloja, bound for the Barnardo’s Mowbray Park farm school in Picton, south of Sydney. David says, ‘I was happy at Picton. I loved the sunshine and farm work. I thank Barnardo’s for sending me to Australia, away from the wet and cold of England’.

Populate or perish 1890s–1960s

01, 02 Young migrants were put to work as construction labourers to build this block at Christian Brothers’ Bindoon Boys’ Town, WA, 1952. Reproduced courtesy State Library of Western Australia, The Battye Library 004025D, 004026D

03 Child migrants picking peas at Fairbridge Farm School, Molong NSW, in 1949. Reproduced courtesy National Archives of Australia: A1200, L11583 04 Scythe, mattock and sickle used by child migrants at Fairbridge Farm School, Molong NSW. ANMM collection, gift from Peter Bennett. Image A Frolows/ANMM

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David kept in touch with Barnardo’s after leaving Mowbray Park in 1953. One of his letters from Barnardo’s hints at changes in child welfare practice following the sale of Picton, and the trend towards ‘smaller homes with not more than a dozen children … to take away that feeling of belonging to an institution’.

The dangers of institutionalisation became evident after World War II, when the Child Welfare Act 1948 was passed in the UK and child migration schemes came under scrutiny. Two investigations were carried out by British government officials – John Moss in 1952 and a Home Office team led by John Ross in 1956. While Moss was supportive of child migration as a welfare strategy, the Ross Committee was highly critical of the notion of institutional care. The committee’s report singled out five institutions for special condemnation, including the notorious Bindoon Boys’ Town north of Perth, which it concluded had ‘the disadvantage of isolation, unsuitable and comfortless accommodation, and a Principal with no understanding of children and no appreciation of their needs as developing individuals’.

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01 Passenger list for a voyage on the P&O liner Strathaird in 1938, carrying Catholic boys aged seven to 13 to Western Australia.

Reproduced courtesy The National Archives, London

It cost £12 per year to maintain a child in an institution but only £15 to send them to the colonies 01

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02 This was the only information Yvonne Radzevicius could get from the nuns at Nazareth House, Glasgow, when she was trying to locate her birth mother.

Lent by Yvonne Radzevicius 03 Miniature English house bought

by Pamela Smedley with her first wage, to remind her of where she came from. Lent by Pamela Smedley

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04 Pamela Smedley reunited with her mother Betty.

Lent by Pamela Smedley 04

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Many were left to endure years of abuse, decades of loneliness and, in far too many cases, a lifetime of regret

Raymond Brand spent his childhood renovating buildings in primitive, unsafe conditions at Bindoon, one of four institutions operated by the Christian Brothers in Western Australia to keep up with the Protestant Fairbridge scheme.

Raymond’s mother had signed him over for adoption in England, but instead the five-year-old was sent to Australia in 1953. His migration consent form, signed by the administrator of Father Hudson’s Homes in Birmingham, notes he was ‘suitable for migration’ with ‘average build, no visible defects, intelligence reaction favourable’.

Raymond was initially placed in the St Vincent’s home in the Perth suburb of Wembley, before being moved to Castledare junior orphanage, where he was repeatedly physically and sexually abused by his carers. He was later transferred to Bindoon and subjected to further brutality and humiliating verbal abuse. Raymond left Bindoon educated only to Year Five and bearing mental scars which remain to this day.

Few British sending organisations were conscious of the long-term effects of separating children from their families, and the subsequent damage caused by loss of homeland and identity. As an adult, Yvonne Radzevicius spent two years in psychiatric care after discovering she had been lied to when told she was an orphan. Ten-year-old Yvonne was sent from Nazareth House in Glasgow to Geraldton, Western Australia, in 1953 and remembers the nuns saying ‘my parents were dead and I had no brothers or sisters’.

In 1974 Yvonne was astonished to receive a letter from her godmother, informing her that her parents were alive and that she had five siblings. She returned to Nazareth House in Glasgow to find out more about her early life and was handed a tiny piece of paper with brief details of her name, mother’s name and date of birth. Yvonne was also shocked to learn that her mother had lived less than a mile from where she spent her childhood. Yvonne’s mother died two weeks after they were reunited in 1980.

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Like Yvonne, Pamela Smedley grew up unaware of her family connections and was told, ‘Your mother had you in the hospital, walked out of the hospital and left you’.

In 1949 the 11-year-old was sent from Middlesbrough to the Sisters of Mercy’s Goodwood Orphanage in Adelaide.

Pamela left the harsh conditions of Goodwood at 15 and went into domestic service at an isolated shearing station five hours from Adelaide. Although she needed clothing and other items Pamela spent her entire first pay on a miniature English house to remind her of England.

The cherished little house is highly evocative, symbolising a young girl’s longing for family, home and somewhere to belong.

In 1989 Pamela contacted the Child Migrants Trust, founded by Nottingham social worker Margaret Humphreys to reconnect former child migrants with their families. With the help of the Trust Pamela was reunited with her mother Betty. For 40 years Betty had believed Pamela was adopted by a loving family in England.

The general public had little awareness of child migration until the schemes were exposed by the Child Migrants Trust and two television documentaries, Lost Children of the Empire and The Leaving of Liverpool, more than 20 years after the last child migrants arrived in Australia.

Populate or perish 1890s–1960s

01 Girls at a cookery lesson at Fairbridge Farm School, Pinjarra, Western Australia, 1953.

Reproduced courtesy State Library of Western Australia, The Battye Library 010791D 02 Nuffield Hall dining room at Fairbridge Farm School, Molong, New South Wales, in 1948.

Reproduced courtesy Molong Historical Society

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01 Diary of Maureen Mullins’ journey from Britain to Fairbridge Farm School at Molong, New South Wales, in 1952. Lent by Maureen Murray 02 British immigrant children from Dr Barnardo’s Homes at landing stage, Saint John, New Brunswick 1920s. Reproduced courtesy Isaac Erb/Library and Archives Canada/PA-041785 01

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Populate or perish 1890s–1960s

Fairbridge Molong lies derelict – a fitting metaphor for the end of Britain’s child migration schemes

The child migration schemes were no longer viable because of shifting social attitudes, changes to child welfare practice in the UK and Australia and the subsequent dwindling supply of children. With the end of the schemes the institutions began to close from the 1970s. Today many former child migrant institutions have been adapted for educational and family use. The Christian Brothers operate Bindoon as a Catholic agricultural college, while Fairbridge Pinjarra and Mowbray Park offer farm holiday accommodation. Some Canadian distributing homes are used as private residences but Fairbridge Molong lies derelict – a fitting metaphor for the end of Britain’s child migration schemes.

For former child migrants, the legacy of their experience remains. Many have struggled, not only due to the hardships and abuse they endured, but also because of the damage caused by removal from their homeland.

Others were lucky enough to find fulfilment in their lives. Regardless of their experiences, many former child migrants and their descendants value their history and work hard to preserve it.

In 1991 Canadian teacher David Lorente, son of a British home child, established Home Children Canada to help former child migrants locate their records and families.

The International Association of Former Child Migrants and Their Families was launched in 1997 to represent the needs of child migrants and their families. In the late 1990s association members actively campaigned for an Australian judicial inquiry into all aspects of child migration policy, following the British Health Select Committee’s 1998 inquiry The Welfare of Former British Child Migrants, which described child migration as ‘a bad and, in human terms, costly mistake’.

In 2000 the Australian Senate, on the motion of former Rhodesian child migrant Senator Andrew Murray, referred the issue of child migration to the Community Affairs References Committee. Two inquiries were held: Lost Innocents: Righting the Record – Report on Child Migration (2001) and Forgotten Australians: A Report on Australians Who Experienced Institutional or Out-of-home Care as Children (2004).

Lost Innocents concluded that child migration schemes were ‘fundamentally flawed with tragic consequences’, and recommended that the Commonwealth and state governments issue a formal statement to acknowledge the schemes were wrong, express regret for the psychological, social and economic harm caused to children, and provide funding for memorials to commemorate former child migrants. Memorials have since been erected throughout Australia, taking the form of sculptures in Adelaide, Fremantle and Sydney, and an S-shaped love seat in Melbourne that alludes to the plight of former child migrants caught between two countries.

Years of lobbying finally came to a head in November 2009 when Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd delivered an emotional apology to half a million ‘Forgotten Australians’ and former child migrants who suffered in institutional care during the 20th century. Mr Rudd acknowledged the particular pain of child migrants who were ‘robbed of your families, robbed of your homeland, regarded not as innocent children, but regarded instead as a source of child labour’.

The Canadian government designated 2010 as the Year of the British Home Child to recognise the tremendous contribution of former child migrants – and their estimated four million descendants – to the building of Canada.

In February 2010, British Prime Minister Gordon Brown apologised on behalf of the nation to innocent and vulnerable former child migrants who suffered hardship under ‘misguided’ schemes. Mr Brown acknowledged ‘the human cost associated with this shameful episode of history’ and announced a £6 million restoration fund to support travel and other reunion costs, echoing an earlier support scheme established by the UK Health Department to pay for family reunions.

For Stewart Lee, it was 40 years before he returned to the UK and reunited with his five siblings, including a sister he never knew about. ‘I love England,’ Stewart says. ‘We got to Manchester and I was home again.’

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1947 Populate or perish

Jim Stone and his ‘auntie’ Connie at Thurlby House in Woodford Bridge, Essex, UK, 1947.

All photographs reproduced courtesy Jim Stone

A twist of fate The Barnardo boy from Liverpool

During the 20th century, thousands of unaccompanied British children were sent to far-flung parts of the Commonwealth as part of government-sponsored child migration schemes. One of these was Jim Stone, whose childhood hardships in a farm training institution did not prevent him from coming to love his adopted country.

JIM STONE’S JOURNEY TO AUSTRALIA as a British child migrant was determined by a twist of fate during World War II. Shortly before the outbreak of conflict in 1939, the three-year-old and his five-year-old sister Marjory were taken into the care of Dr Barnardo’s Homes in Liverpool, England. Their single mother, Johanna Riding, did not have the means to support two growing children from her meagre income as a hostel worker in the seaside town of Hoylake in Merseyside. When she met and married a widower 20 years her senior, she did not dare to reveal to him that she had two illegitimate children. In the days before the modern welfare state, Johanna had little choice but to hand them over to Barnardo’s, a charity that had been providing residential care to vulnerable children since the late 1860s. Jim and Marjory never saw their mother again.

In 1943 Jim and his sister, like many children from Britain’s war-ravaged cities, were evacuated to the safety of the countryside, where they were placed on separate farms in Tamworth, Staffordshire. It was here, in 1945, that Jim received a severe beating from his foster parent.

Fatefully, the very next day, he was visited by the district nurse for a routine medical inspection. When the nurse found the welts on his back, Jim was immediately removed from Tamworth, and consequently from his sister.

158 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

He was sent to the Barnardo’s home at Stepney Causeway in London’s East End, and then the Dalziel of Wooler Memorial Home at Kingston upon Thames, Surrey, setting in motion a series of events that would culminate in his migration to Australia with Barnardo’s after World War II. Jim’s lasting memory of Kingston was the cold weather, and the rough wool shirts the boys had to wear during the long, miserable winter. It chanced one winter’s day that they were visited by a group of officials looking for boys to emigrate to Canada or Australia. Although Jim had little knowledge of either country, he was aware that Canada was as cold as England, while Australia was significantly warmer. He promptly made his decision and raised his hand for Australia.

From the late 19th century, the mass migration of unaccompanied children from overcrowded orphanages, institutions and children’s homes became part of a broader strategy to consolidate the growing British Empire with ‘good British stock’. The Australian government actively pursued these child migration schemes throughout the 20th century as part of its ‘White Australia’ policy and, later, its post-war mandate to ‘populate or perish’, accepting more than 7,000 children through various philanthropic and religious organisations (including approximately 2,800 from Barnardo’s).

Populate or perish 1947

Jim has often contemplated how his life might have turned out had he not become a ward of Barnardo’s in wartime Britain Australian National Maritime Museum 159

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Children were required to be physically and mentally fit to be approved for emigration. Jim remembers undergoing several medical examinations over a period of 12 months, before becoming one of five boys selected from the Kingston home. In October 1947 they joined a group of child migrants at Thurlby House in Woodford Bridge, Essex, to prepare for departure. While there Jim was visited by his ‘auntie’ Connie, a corporal in the Auxiliary Territorial Service (the women’s branch of the British Army) who had befriended him and taken him on outings to Nottingham Castle, Sherwood Forest and the Kent coast. Connie tried to persuade Jim to change his mind about Australia but, at the age of 11, he was adamant about his decision.

Many years later Jim discovered that she had wanted to adopt him, but was unable to because she was not married.

The children were feted at each Australian port of call, with a reception from the Lord Mayor of Perth and a picnic on the banks of the Swan River, another mayoral reception and picnic on Mount Lofty in Adelaide, and a visit to a large department store in Melbourne.

On 10 October Jim and the other boys, dressed in suits, shirts and ties, travelled by bus to London’s Tilbury Docks, where they embarked on SS Ormonde for their six-week voyage to the other side of the world. The ship was farewelled by a brass band and many publicity photographs were taken of the group, as they were the first Barnardo’s child migrants to depart after the war, and were thus of great political and media interest in Britain and Australia.

Opened in 1929, Mowbray Park was a farm training school for children aged six to 15, who lived in small cottages under the care of a cottage mother. Discipline was strictly enforced and the day began early. Jim recalls that the boys would assemble at 5.45 am for exercises, before returning to their cottages to make their beds, eat breakfast and prepare for school.

Ormonde passed through Port Said, the Suez Canal and Aden, but the children were not allowed ashore because of a cholera epidemic. In Colombo, Ceylon (now Sri Lanka), they were received by dignitaries and treated to lunch and musical entertainment at a grand hotel. While the heat was unbearable for some, Jim relished it and looked forward to their arrival in Fremantle, waking before dawn to wait on deck for his first glimpse of Australia.

160 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

On 18 November the group disembarked in Sydney and attended a wharfside reception with numerous speeches, before finally boarding a bus for the Dr Barnardo’s Farm School, Mowbray Park, at rural Picton, south of Sydney.

This marked the beginning of what Jim describes as a period of incarceration. The smart clothes with which he and the other boys arrived were removed and sent back to Britain for use by the next party of child migrants. They were issued with khaki shirts and shorts and would go barefoot, even in the winter, wearing shoes only on Sundays for church.

The farm school was self-sufficient, with 200 chickens, 70 dairy cows and half a dozen Clydesdale draught horses for land clearing, ploughing and transporting milk.

The children grew their own fruits and vegetables and also supplied them to the Dr Barnardo’s Girls’ Home in the Sydney suburb of Burwood, where girls were trained in domestic skills such as cooking and cleaning. The farm had no refrigeration, and during the summer months, ice was obtained from an iceworks some five kilometres away.

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Jim remembers loading a horse and cart with blocks of ice about one metre in length, which would be diminished to half their size by the time they reached the farm several hours later. This problem was overcome once the school acquired a small Massey Ferguson tractor, reducing the trip to a third of its previous duration.

When they turned 16, children would spend six months as farm trainees, before being sent to remote agricultural regions to become farm labourers. Jim and another student were permitted to remain at school until the age of 17 as they had shown an aptitude for learning and were encouraged to complete the Leaving Certificate. Jim left Mowbray Park in 1953 and spent two weeks on a sheep station in the Wagga Wagga district, where he assisted the grazier in crutching ewes (shearing wool from around the tail and between the hind legs) prior to lambing. This experience spurred his interest in grading and classifying wool and led to his first job as a wool classer at Grazcos in Alexandria, Sydney. In 1957 he became a roustabout (shearing shed hand) for a contractor near Nyngan in central western New South Wales, to learn wool classing in the sheds.

In 1960, with the economy moving into recession, Jim decided it was time for a career change and studied at night to become a chartered accountant. He and his partner Josie relocated to New Zealand, where they later married and lived for 32 years, with Jim operating an accounting practice in the small town of Taumarunui on the North Island. He then worked as a senior investigating accountant and senior technical officer with the Inland Revenue Department in Auckland, while also farming green-lipped mussels in partnership with two friends.

From the late 19th century, the mass migration of unaccompanied children became part of a broader strategy to consolidate the growing British Empire with ‘good British stock’

01 Jim Stone (seventh from right, holding parcel of cakes) on departure from Thurlby House, 1947.

02 Jim Stone undergoing a medical examination in the UK prior to his selection for Australia, c1946.

After his wife died in 1998, Jim returned to the country he loved, retiring to Yamba at the mouth of the Clarence River in northern New South Wales. He was attracted by the warm climate of the region, and the enduring memory of a childhood visit to the Bellingen dairy farm once owned by the son of the superintendent at Barnardo’s Mowbray Park.

Jim has often contemplated how his life might have turned out had he not become a ward of Barnardo’s in wartime Britain, and believes that his chances of success or even survival would have been poor. He says: When I reflect on my past, I cannot help but hold the view that I have been blessed by chance, good fortune and a certain amount of luck. There is not much in my life that I regret having done. If I had to go over my life again, then I imagine I would be happy to repeat it.

Jim’s daughter Penelope registered his name on the Welcome Wall as a proud and tangible reminder of the Barnardo boy from Liverpool for his two grandsons, Ryan and Liam, and future great-grandchildren.

Kim Tao

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Living Fairbridge’s dream New opportunities and success

The names of 65 men and women who came to Australia as child migrants, grew up on Fairbridge Farm Schools and went on to serve Australia in World War II, Korea and Vietnam were inscribed on the Welcome Wall thanks to a grant from the Department of Immigration and Citizenship. Eva Warhurst was the Old Fairbridgian who championed their recognition.

FOR ANY EPISODE IN HISTORY there is no universal experience, but a complex kaleidoscope of stories and voices. The systematic, 20th-century British child migration schemes operating to Australia and other Commonwealth nations gave rise to tales of abuse, exploitation and deep hurt. For these there have been official government acknowledgements and apologies, both here in Australia and in Britain. Some child migrants, however, experienced new opportunities and success in distant lands in spite of family separation and hardships.

Initially, children were recruited from crowded orphanages and homes, but this later extended to broken families and those suffering serious poverty.

Eva Warhurst (née Reid) was born in Washington Station, a small town near Newcastle, England. She was the sixth of a family that would grow to 18 children. The Reid family subsisted on the scanty wage of her miner father, and help provided by extended family. Post-war rationing was still in place, and a hot meal and orange juice were provided at school to stave off scurvy in British children. A social service organisation pointed Eva’s parents towards the London-based Fairbridge Society.

To ease the financial burden of a large family it was agreed that Eva, aged 10, along with four of her (then) 12 siblings, were to be sent to Australia. The three boys and two girls departed Southampton on 31 March 1950 on the SS Largs Bay and arrived in Sydney on 19 May. After a medical check and a trip to the Royal Botanic Gardens, the children were placed on a train to Molong and arrived the following day at Fairbridge Farm School.

The farm was organised into children’s cottages, each with a dozen children managed by a cottage mother.

The fairly self-contained farm had a dining hall and kitchen, principal’s house, cottage hospital, staff quarters, chapel, laundry, wood shed and yards containing a dairy, piggery and chicken coop. Many of the buildings were donated by benefactors such as prosperous businesses and wealthy individuals.

This had been founded in the early 20th century by Kingsley Fairbridge, a Rhodes Scholar from Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), in response to the large number of British children living in poverty. Reflecting the values and needs of the British Empire and its settlement, the purpose was to transplant children from overcrowded British cities to the extensive spaces of the colonies, providing a future workforce that, it was thought, would be loyal to Mother England. This scheme was supported by well wishers and the governments of Britain and the Commonwealth.

The first Fairbridge Farm School was established at Pinjarra in Western Australia in 1912, and by 1937 another school was opened by supporters in New South Wales near Molong.

Eva remembers with fondness her childhood at Fairbridge Farm and her connection with the Fairbridge Family – a term used to describe the hundreds of children who passed through the farm. For Eva life was tough but fair; discipline was enforced but treats and rewards were also dealt out. She regularly played sport in town with local children, and was often allowed to stay on weekends at a school friend’s house. Annual holidays were always much anticipated, with Fairbridge trips to Lake Canobolas or seaside Gerroa. Eva excelled at hockey and was selected for the Far West girls’ team that played against the visiting 1956 World Champions and runners-up, Holland and Scotland.

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Populate or perish 1950

01 SS Largs Bay, an ageing Aberdeen & Commonwealth Line Ltd liner of 14,362 gross tons, built in Glasgow in 1921. ANMM Collection 00042047 02 Eva Reid (seated far left, next to her sister Isabel) in the ‘Fairbridge party’ who migrated on Largs Bay in 1950. Standing are her brothers Lawrence and Gordon (left) and Jim (far right).

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Photographs courtesy of Eva Warhurst and Jim Reid

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01 Eva Warhurst and her late husband Ralph.

Advertisement for The Fairbridge Society, published in The Sphere, 13 November 1954. It shows a young boy ‘Left behind!’ in the slums of England while his friends are enjoying the open space of Australia. Image Mary Evans Picture Library

02 Reunion of three of Fairbridge’s Rose Cottage girls, (left to right): Irene Sibbald, Jane Field and Eva Warhurst.

Most children finished school at 15 but would often stay on until 17, assisting and learning skills on the farm.

Rooms were always available for older children who had left the farm to return for holidays, particularly at Christmas. Fairbridge staff helped Eva to find her first job, aged 17, with Woolworths in Orange. She knew if ever she needed help Fairbridge would support her, and she returned regularly to visit. The farm school’s principal Frederick Woods and his wife stayed in contact with Eva once she had left.

In 1965 Eva met her future husband Ralph while working for the Red Cross in the Blue Mountains. In 1966 Eva moved to Melbourne to work as a nurse and Ralph followed.

Later, when Ralph was employed as a safety instructor for Telecom and had to travel around the state, the couple bought a caravan and spent a wonderful time travelling together with their young son Ian. Following Eva’s marriage, her mother and father came out to visit their children in Australia. Her father liked to credit the Australian children’s success to his decision to send them to the other side of the world – defensively, perhaps.

Eva prefers attributing it to their own hard work. Her family had remained in England’s depressed northeast where the collieries declined over the latter half of the 20th century, and never had the chance or support to achieve their potential or much improve their living standards. Eva has visited England three times since the early 1980s; she is always pleased to return to Australia and feels she has won the jackpot in life.

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By 1966 government policies had changed and no more children were sent to Molong. The school briefly housed Australian children but by 1973 it was closed and the property was sold. Eva has been an active member of the Old Fairbridgian Association for many years; her husband Ralph supported this and also became involved. Before his death in 1999, he and then-chairman of the association, Bill Bradfield, worked to compile a Nominal Roll of all the children who came to Fairbridge and went on to Australia’s Armed Services.

Eva registered her own and one sister’s name on the Welcome Wall in early 2011. She has vigorously pursued a grant from the Department of Immigration and Citizenship to have the Old Fairbridgians roll of war veterans listed on the Welcome Wall, appealing directly to the then Minister for Immigration and Citizenship, Chris Bowen.

The grant was initially rejected by the department but Eva’s persistence was rewarded when the minister personally intervened. She feels this is a way of recognising and thanking the children from Fairbridge Farm Molong for their service, and for some, their ultimate sacrifice for an adopted home. Sixty-five names of men and women who served in the Australian Forces in World War II, Korea and Vietnam were unveiled on Sunday 27 May 2012.

Veronica Kooyman

1950 Populate or perish

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Populate or perish 1950

Magdalena (Leni) Janic, aged 15, Katscher, Germany, 1940.

All images reproduced courtesy Annette Janic

Having married a foreigner, Leni automatically lost her German nationality and was now classified as stateless

War child A new life in an alien land

In November 1949, 24-year-old Leni Janic left her German homeland with her husband and baby son, hoping a new life in Australia would help to heal the scars of a childhood plagued by poverty, hardship and the devastating legacy of war.

In 1935 Leni, like most German children between the ages of 10 and 18, joined the Hitler Youth, the juvenile wing of the Nazi Party. In 1939, as she approached the legal working age of 15, she commenced a tailoring apprenticeship with Paul Bannert, a leading member of the Nazi Party in Katscher, who subjected her to systematic sexual abuse for the next five years as the Second World War unfolded.

MAGDALENA (LENI) JANIC (1925–2008) was born in July 1925 to a single mother, Auguste Quaschigroch, in the Upper Silesian town of Katscher (now Kietrz, Poland), centre of the textile industry in eastern Germany.

Auguste’s father Josef, a staunch Catholic, had forbidden her from marrying the child’s father Andreas Bialon, who was a Protestant. At school Leni was bullied and ostracised by her classmates for being illegitimate, which sparked a lifelong search for acceptance. In the early 1930s Auguste had two sons, Paul (Sohni) and Franz (Manni), with communist sympathiser Paul Schatke, as Nazi Germany marched into war under Adolf Hitler.

In January 1945, with the Nazi regime on the verge of collapse, the residents of Katscher were instructed to flee their homes or otherwise risk being captured by the rapidly advancing Red Army. Given just 24 hours to prepare for evacuation, Leni, her mother and two half-brothers assembled with other refugees at Katscher railway station.

They were eventually transported to a small farming village on the outskirts of Prague, where they would remain for an indefinite period. Faced with insufficient food supplies, Leni and several others made a number of daring forays into the Sudetenland (the mainly German-speaking border regions of Czechoslovakia), to buy bread and eggs from a thriving black market. Following an altercation with a Volksdeutscher (ethnic German) guard and the ensuing threat of being sent to the Auschwitz concentration camp, Leni and her family had little option but to escape to the only address they knew – Passau, Bavaria – where tailor Paul Bannert had sought refuge with his brother.

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For her wedding in April 1948, Leni wore a jacket and skirt she had made from an old grey-green army blanket

01 Leni, aged 14, with her mother Auguste and half-brothers Sohni (left) and Manni (right), Katscher, Germany, 1939.

02 Leni and baby Bo, Passau, Germany, 1948.

03 Family photograph taken in Passau just before Leni, Ratko and Bo migrated to Australia, 1949. Left to right: Manni, Ratko, Leni, Bo, Auguste, Paul Schatke and Sohni.

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02

Tailor Bannert procured Leni a job at the local hospital, converting soldiers’ uniforms into civilian clothing.

With a newfound strength forged through her struggle for survival, Leni determined that she would no longer be his victim. She registered with the homeless counter at the Passau council chambers, and they promptly located accommodation for her family in the dying days of the war. By May 1945, the city had become a battle zone, lying directly in the path of the advancing US Army.

In the space of a few days, Hitler was dead, Passau fell and Germany surrendered to the Allies. The war in Europe was over.

With the hospital now closed, Leni took a job in a shoe factory, where she met her future husband Ratko Janic, a Serbian ex-prisoner of war. Ratko was employed as a truck driver for the US Army, and one of his duties was to collect boots from the factory and deliver them to the American soldiers. The couple married in a registry office in April 1948, Leni wearing a jacket and skirt she had made from an old grey-green army blanket. After the wedding Ratko continued to live in the Ilzstadt displaced persons’ camp in the American zone. Leni stayed with her mother, brothers and stepfather Paul Schatke (who had returned to the family after being taken as a prisoner of war in Russia) until she gave birth to her son, Boris (Bo), in September 1948.

03

Having married a foreigner, Leni automatically lost her German nationality and was now classified as stateless.

This caused her significant distress as she had always been a proud German citizen, particularly in the days of the Hitler Youth. With the prospects in post-war Europe appearing futile, and the news that Ratko’s hometown of Razboj had been absorbed into the communist Federal People’s Republic of Yugoslavia, Leni and her husband decided to apply for assisted migration to Australia.

They had heard that Australia was a young country with good employment opportunities, ample land for housing and, most importantly, the promise of a future for their son.

In exchange for their assisted passage, they would have to work wherever the Australian government sent them, but could return to Europe after two years.

In November 1949, with the first stage of their application successful, Leni bade a heartbreaking farewell to her mother and brothers as she, Ratko and Bo boarded a train for the Bavarian town of Landshut. They were taken to the Pinder Kaserne transit camp to undergo further assessment and medical screening. Aware that the Australian government refused entry to those who had suffered from tuberculosis, Leni managed to bribe a medical officer to swap her lung x-ray with that of another applicant. She duly passed her examination and the family was transferred to the Bagnoli transit camp in Naples, Italy, to await their embarkation for Australia.

At Bagnoli the standards of hygiene were extremely poor, and although Leni tried her best to protect Bo’s health, he was hospitalised for five weeks with diphtheria.

This delayed the family’s departure from Naples, and their December 1949 berth was rescheduled to January 1950.

As Leni boarded the former American troopship General W G Haan, she opened the envelope that her mother had slipped into her coat pocket at the railway station in Passau.

Inside was a photograph of Auguste, with a handwritten message on the back in Sütterlin (historical German script) that read, ‘A memory from your dear Mummy aged 53.

Keep it safe’.

As General W G Haan made its way through Port Said, the Suez Canal and Colombo towards Fremantle, Leni spent the entire four-week voyage below deck in the medical centre with Bo, who had contracted a severe case of gastroenteritis. When they finally docked in Port Melbourne in February 1950, Leni’s small bag of camomile tea was confiscated by customs officials as an ‘unknown substance’. Without any understanding of the English language, she had been powerless to explain that she used the tea to soothe her baby.

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1950 Populate or perish

Leni, Ratko and Bo during an early family outing to the Adelaide Botanic Garden, South Australia, 1952.

Leni suffered from debilitating homesickness and the enormous demands of assimilating into a foreign culture

From Melbourne the family travelled by train through the hot, dry Victorian bush, to the Bonegilla Migrant Reception and Training Centre near Wodonga. Leni began to question whether she had made the right decision, as Bonegilla did not bear any resemblance to the idyllic country scene in the ‘Australia, land of tomorrow’ poster she had received from the Red Cross in Passau.

Ratko was sent to Adelaide, where he worked in a glass factory at Kilkenny and lived at the Gawler migrant camp.

Leni and Bo joined him two months later and, through a friend from Ilzstadt, they found temporary accommodation in Adelaide’s west. Leni worked as a domestic before securing a job at the Dutch-owned Philips Electrical Industries, which manufactured electric shavers, infrared ray lamps and radio components. Every morning she would strap Bo into a baby seat on the back of her bicycle, and drop him off to a Polish woman who looked after him during the day.

Leni and Ratko worked hard to save enough money to return to Europe once their compulsory two years in Australia had expired. When they had nearly reached the two-year mark, Ratko announced that he wanted to buy a block of land in Adelaide to build a house. Leni was devastated as she was expecting to reunite with her mother and brothers. Like many German women at the time, however, she had been taught that it was a woman’s duty to support her husband.

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Ratko purchased a small block and the family moved into a tin shed on the property while their home was built.

Life was difficult, and some weeks there was so little money left over that Leni could not even afford a stamp to send a letter to her mother.

Leni suffered from debilitating homesickness and the enormous demands of assimilating into a culture in which the language, food and social customs were completely alien to her. It was her son that kept her going.

In 1957 Leni, Ratko and Bo became naturalised Australians.

Ratko shortened his name to Ray and some of Leni’s neighbours started to call her Madelaine. She regarded this as a welcome sign of the acceptance she had always longed for, now realised among new Australian friends who knew little about her past life in Europe.

Leni’s daughter Annette (born in Adelaide in 1959), who published her mother’s story in War Child (Big Sky Publishing, 2016), registered Leni’s name on the Welcome Wall as a small show of appreciation for the migrants who overcame alienation, isolation and deep-seated trauma to help shape our nation. As she says, their names should not be forgotten.

Kim Tao

Populate or perish 1950 Emigration poster 1948: Australia, land of tomorrow, Joe Greenberg. Museum Victoria, public domain

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1951 Populate or perish

A devastated Europe was struggling to recover, and both parents knew it could not offer their son many opportunities

English rose, Dutch sailor And the life of a boy called Brian

The descendant of early Western Australian boatbuilders and convicts, and of post-war European migrants, Veronica Kooyman shares her own family’s story. It’s a tribute to both her late father and her migrating grandparents from England and Holland, who voyaged out to make new lives in Australia and who now appear on the Welcome Wall.

IN 1940 AN ELEGANT ENGLISH ROSE fell for a tall and dashing Dutchman in the uniform of the Netherlands merchant marine, at a dance in the port city of Bristol, England. Hendrik Kooyman loved jazz music and dancing, visiting dance halls when he came ashore. He struck up a romance with Phyllis Warren, exchanging love letters throughout the war as he sailed the world. Before the war, Phyllis had worked as a secretary for an archaeologist, but her hopes of travelling to a dig in Egypt were thwarted by the outbreak of hostilities.

Holland’s hopes for neutrality were ended in May 1940

by Nazi Germany’s terror-bombing of Rotterdam.

With that strategic port city flattened and the threat of rapidly advancing German forces, the Netherlands surrendered on 15 May. Nazi occupation followed and the Dutch government and royal family went into exile in London.

172 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Rotterdam was Hendrik’s home. He was at sea when it was attacked, and for five years he had no knowledge of the fate of his parents and four siblings. He later learned that the bombing ended a block from the family home. The Dutch merchant marine was subsumed into the Allied merchant navy, convoying loads of munitions and soldiers to various theatres of war.

Once an idealistic young socialist, Hendrik’s views changed when his ship was frozen into the harbour at Murmansk in communist Russia. He saw political prisoners marched past the docks, severely punished and sometimes executed for begging cigarettes or food from the Dutch sailors. He almost starved when the ship’s supplies ran out. The sailors got little from the Russian regime, whose own civilians and soldiers were starving. When he returned to Britain he weighed a little over 40 kilograms and Phyllis walked past him in the street, unable to recognise him.

Phyllis now had a position timetabling trains on the strategic route through Temple Meads Station in Bristol, another vital port city with many supplies and soldiers passing through daily. Like Rotterdam, it suffered heavy German bombardment. One evening the air-raid sirens pealed when she was travelling home. The sky filled with German planes so quickly she barely had time to move off the street, and a man threw her into the gutter for whatever protection it offered. She survived but tragically the kindly man, only a few feet away, did not.

Hendrik and Phyllis married in 1945, just before the end of the war, while he had a short period of leave. He returned to Bristol and in 1948 their only child, Brian, was born.

A devastated Europe was struggling to recover, and both parents knew it could not offer their son many opportunities.

Populate or perish 1951 English rose Phyllis Warren and dashing Dutch seaman Hendrik Kooyman in 1944.

All photographs reproduced courtesy of the Kooyman sisters.

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1951 Populate or perish

01 Brian’s first steps at Leighton Beach, Fremantle, 1949, en route from Bristol.

02 Brian Kooyman and Jenny Mews on their wedding day, April 1974.

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03 Hendrick, Phyllis and Brian at Taronga Park Zoo in 1949, shortly after their first arrival in Sydney.

Populate or perish 1951

03

During the war Hendrik had met many Australian soldiers, ferrying them to war in the Pacific. He had enjoyed their larrikin nature, and found Sydney an interesting city during those war-torn years. He was in Sydney Harbour during that notorious night – 31 May 1942 – when World War II came to its shores. His convoy was still fully laden with munitions when Japanese midget submarines infiltrated the harbour. As the alarm was raised and torpedoes and depth charges exploded, his ship weighed anchor and raced out to sea before it became a target.

At a college party at UNSW Brian met a smart young library student, Jenny Mews. She came from a long-established Western Australian line that included the first boatbuilders on Perth’s Swan River, who arrived on the ship Rockingham in 1830. Also in her ancestry were convicts from that colony’s brief penal period between 1850 and 1868.

Jenny often recalls the moment at this infamous college party when the doorway was suddenly filled by an incredibly tall, fit and loud man who promptly declared his friendship with every person there. ‘Don’t worry,’ someone told her, ‘it’s only Brian.’ Soon she had a friendship with Brian that developed into something special.

Jenny returned to Western Australia to tend to her father in his final illness, and for 16 months was separated from Brian by 4,000 kilometres. But he, ever-inventive, had found a public phone in Marrickville that could be jiggled to make free interstate calls. It was popular among long-distance truck drivers, some of whom became an audience when he chose one evening to formalise his relationship with Jenny. The truckies insisted he kneel in the booth while proposing, and then took him out to celebrate.

The couple enjoyed 39 years of marriage and raised two daughters.

Hendrik, Phyllis and Brian first sailed from Bristol to Australia in 1949, aboard the Ridderkerk. Phyllis found her asthma severely affected by Sydney’s atmosphere and they briefly returned to Europe. But, determined to carve a better life, they came out again in 1951 for the cleaner air of the Blue Mountains. They lived first in a single room that Hendrik built on a small block of land he’d bought in Blackheath. He worked as a supervisor in the Lithgow Small Arms Factory and in his spare time he began to build their simple 1950s fibro home. It took over four years, while they struggled on living in what became the garage.

Brian worked in the NSW Government Architect’s Office, and then in the emerging field of construction project management. He spent 35 years with Tracey, Brunstrom and Hammond on projects that included the Darling Harbour redevelopment for the 1988 Bicentennial and the 2000 Sydney Olympics, becoming director of global business and managing director. Brian was a founding member of the Australian Institute of Project Management and received national and international industry awards. He was an advisor with the Warren Centre at the University of Sydney, and adjunct professor at the University of Technology, Sydney, and Curtin University, Western Australia.

Their son Brian thrived, quickly losing his English accent and going bush. He and his band of close friends played war games with their air rifles in the surrounding valleys and bushlands of the Blue Mountains. A favourite amusement was riding their bicycles down the steep, winding track to Megalong Valley, with only a rubber thong for brakes.

Brian excelled at sport and was the local swimming champion. To his parents’ relief his academic abilities surfaced and led to a cadetship to study architecture at the University of New South Wales (UNSW), where he was known both for sporting prowess and his bright-red 1955 MG TF1500.

Brian mentored many of his company’s junior staff and PhD students, taking great joy in their achievements, and many young people viewed him as their second father.

‘Bigger than life’ is a phrase that has been applied to my father, in every sense. His presence in a room could never be ignored, and he befriended just about every person he met. He combined the larrikin with an incredibly high work ethic, loyalty and moral compass. I am sure that the successes of Brian and my own generation make the sacrifices of his migrating parents, Phyllis and Hendrik, worthwhile. After all, isn’t that every migrant’s hope and desire?

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1953 Populate or perish Michael and Mildred Walker on their wedding day in Bristol, England, July 1945.

All images reproduced courtesy Elizabeth Bissaker

Sydney via the Suez The diary of Michael Walker

The museum holds a rich archive of diaries recording voyages through the Suez Canal, which opened in 1869 to provide a more direct route from Europe to Asia via the Mediterranean and Red seas. Here we share an edited extract from the diary of Michael Walker, a 33-year-old chiropodist who emigrated from England in 1953 with his wife Mildred (aged 32), a teacher, and their children, Nicholas (five) and Elizabeth (three), on the P&O liner Maloja.

176 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Populate or perish 1953

Wednesday 18th March

Approached Malta at 4pm. Town [of Valletta] looked very battle-scarred and seemed to be uninhabited until darkness fell and the lights came on. Heard today that the Captain had had a fall and is going ashore for x-ray – fractured ribs.

Thursday 19th March

Tuesday 10th March 1953

Left Bristol [in south-west England] this morning on the 9.00am London train. Arrived at King George V Dock [in east London] at 2pm. Supposed to sail at 6pm but this later amended to 6.30 tomorrow morning. To bed early.

Children most intrigued with sleeping in the bunks.

Wednesday 11th March

None of us had a very good night. Great activity on the dock – busy little tugs fussing around like hens with chicks.

Cast off 6.45 and passed through locks, which took about an hour.

Thursday 12th March

Entered the Bay of Biscay at 6pm and celebrated by having roast pork for dinner and then dancing. Boat began to roll a little more. Dancing was rather difficult as one minute we would be going uphill and next we would be chasing downhill. I expect we shall get used to it.

Friday 13th March

Expected great things from the day and date, but the day passed quietly enough.

Saturday 14th March

There have been some cases of pilfering on board, so we must be careful to leave nothing lying about. Must let the purser have our cheques.

Sunday 15th March

Had best night so far. Summer dresses and shorts are beginning to appear and most people beginning to colour up. Saw land at about 9.30am on the port bow and this gradually increased until we entered the Strait of Gibraltar at 1.30pm.

Monday 16th March

I spoke too soon. There was quite a heavy sea last night and I became a victim at about 10.30pm. Children all ill this morning. Mildred, so far, has been unaffected.

They are starting school for the children tomorrow and Mildred is volunteering to help.

Tuesday 17th March

Sea much calmer today. Came within sight of North Africa several times during the day and saw snow-capped peaks of the Atlas [Mountains] range.

Had a quick look at part of Valletta. Surprised how cheap a lot of things were – watches in particular. Some lace being made, most fascinating, but couldn’t afford to buy any.

Sailed at 1.30pm having picked up 69 people bound from Malta to Australia.

Friday 20th March

Cloudy with a cold north-easterly wind and the sea becoming more and more rough. Didn’t feel too good after lunch. There has been quite a bit of ‘tummy trouble’ since we left Malta.

Saturday 21st March

Our cabin steward was most concerned about my sickness and laid down the law about what I should and should not eat. Hope to go ashore at Port Said [in Egypt] tomorrow.

Sunday 22nd March [Suez Canal]

Woke to the sound of capstans turning and found ourselves at anchor at Port Said. We were already surrounded by Arab rowing boats selling – or trying to sell – all sorts of stuff to the passengers. The boatmen threw ropes up to the passengers and they were used to pull up baskets with anything one wanted to buy. Most of the stuff looked very attractive at a distance but did not bear very close scrutiny.

We only bought some small things – a wallet for Mildred, a fez each for the children and a hat for myself. We were rather disappointed that we were not allowed to go ashore.

The Egyptian authorities would not recognise our Documents of Identity as they had no passport photograph on them.

We cast off at 1pm and started our slow, five miles per hour journey through the Suez Canal. On account of the wind we had to steer a zig-zag course through the canal to avoid being driven into the bank. The country on either side of the canal is very barren, especially on the east [Arabian side] where it is little more than desert. On the west [Egyptian side] it is a little more cultivated, with occasional clusters of Eucalyptus trees, bushes and Arab villages. At intervals down the canal are ‘gates’ – signal stations which control the passage of ships. Ships travel in convoy through the canal. If two convoys are in the canal at the same time, travelling in opposite directions, the smaller convoy has to pull into the side to let the larger pass; or else tie up while the larger convoy users pass by. We should take about 15 hours to get through the [193-kilometre] canal. Canal dues are terrifically high. For a ship the size of ours it costs something like 3,000 pounds to pass through. Even so it’s cheaper than going round the Cape [of Good Hope in South Africa].

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1953 Populate or perish Monday 23rd March

Tuesday 31st March

Went on deck and saw the town of Suez. A town of white buildings with the tall white minarets, from which the people are called to prayer. At 7.30am we came to the end of the canal and passed Port Tewfik.

Started to write our mail in readiness for posting at Colombo [in Ceylon, now Sri Lanka], which we reach on Thursday morning. Didn’t feel much like writing.

Tuesday 24th March

Still very hot and humid. The children and I are now sleeping with nothing on, and Mildred with just enough in case the steward walks in! I understand the Maloja has three more trips to do before she is broken up – if she lasts that long.

She is really very comfortable though. The Captain, who fell down some steps and broke some ribs soon after we left Tilbury, is now fit again and back on duty.

Played off some rounds of sports competitions. Mildred and I had a win in the mixed quoits, but were both beaten in the singles. I won my game of darts. Heard today that Queen Mary had died. Were rather surprised that no public announcement was made on the ship. Mildred tried to explain to Nicholas how the Israelites crossed the Red Sea. Don’t think she made much headway.

Wednesday 25th March

A very hot day – about the hottest to date – and very little to look at except water! Elizabeth is still off her food and rather ‘grizzly’. This stifling heat is making us all a little irritable.

Thursday 26th March

Saw the lights of Aden [in Yemen] at about 7pm and anchored in the harbour at 8.30pm. Disembarked fairly soon and went ashore in motor launches. As eastern towns go, Aden is fairly clean, but one could still notice that strange, indefinable smell peculiar to towns and villages in the East. We got back to the quayside just after 11 and were entertained by small boys diving for coins. We learnt later that one such boy had been taken by a shark two nights previously.

Friday 27th March

The children on board are getting very noisy and out of hand. If it wasn’t for the school in the mornings it would be bedlam!

Saturday 28th March

Mildred and I were eliminated from the mixed quoits, Mildred lost her mixed tennis. I managed to get into the darts semi-final. Quite a lot of people sleeping on deck these nights, but we haven’t tried it yet. We think we would rather have the comfort of our bunks.

Sunday 29th March

Had our portholes opened at midday and were promptly swamped and had to have all our bedding changed.

On our trip to the cabin our steward presented me with a bottle of Guinness. He seems to take a fatherly interest in us and loves the children.

Monday 30th March

Played my darts semi-final and was beaten. We are now five hours ahead of GMT [Greenwich Mean Time] – and have to go on another five before we reach our destination.

We keep putting the clock back and imagining what they are doing at home or what we should have been doing if we were still there.

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Wednesday 1st April

Thursday 2nd April (Maundy Thursday)

Sighted the coast of Ceylon at 9.00am lying low on the horizon in a veil of mist. We were impressed by the greenness of the grass, trees and shrubs and when we passed the racecourse it might well have been a corner of England.

Next land we sight will be Australia.

Friday 3rd April (Good Friday)

The children were a little ‘touchy’ today. Elizabeth is eating better again and is the better tempered of the two. The children have their meals separately and as there are 355 of them – more than I thought – this is probably a good thing.

Saturday 4th April

The highlight today was the ‘Crossing the Line’ ceremony.

We actually crossed the line at 3.30am but King Neptune didn’t hold court until 10.30am. Several people went through the initiation ceremony, were plastered with flowers and water, and tipped into the pool.

Sunday 5th April (Easter Day)

Mildred went to Communion at 6.00am and I went at 7.00am. The Baptist minister preached and spoke at great length about nothing in particular. He is a missionary so perhaps we don’t understand his style.

Monday 6th April

I think we shall all be glad to get on dry land again.

This is really the dullest part of the journey as we see no land at all from Colombo to Fremantle – over 3,000 miles [4,800 kilometres]. It’s the children’s fancy dress party tomorrow and Mildred has been busy all day making costumes. Nicholas is going as Robin Hood and Elizabeth as a nurse. Had my fortune told. He said we would not settle in Sydney, but would make another short sea trip and then settle down. Mildred had hers told too and apparently is going to have another baby. Let me get a job first!

Tuesday 7th April

Went with a party from our dining room to visit the bridge.

Saw the radar and navigation charts and asked what the crew probably thought were a lot of stupid questions.

Children fancy dress in the afternoon. Nicholas was very upset because he didn’t win a prize, but soon got over it.

Populate or perish 1953

01 Michael and Mildred Walker with their baby son Nicholas in Bristol, 1947

01

02 Nicholas Walker wins a footrace on board the P&O liner Maloja, 1953

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1953 Populate or perish

01 Nicholas and Elizabeth Walker in Belrose, Sydney, 1960.

02 Mildred and Michael Walker celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary in Belrose, Sydney, 1985.

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Wednesday 8th April

Sunday 12th April

Spent part of the day getting our costumes ready.

Mildred went as a window cleaner and I went as ‘got the sack and gone to the dogs’. The winners were two young fellows who wore sacks and were chained together as convicts and called themselves ‘Assisted Passage’.

We went to Divine Service at 10.30am. Just as the service ended we passed the Mooltan, our sister ship, on her way home. Everybody rushed to the side and waved handkerchiefs and took photographs. The two ships dipped their flags in salute, but we passengers were most disappointed that there was no blowing of hooters or some such noisy salutation.

Thursday 9th April

After lunch Nicholas and I threw a bottle containing a letter off the stern of the ship. Our position was roughly 600 miles [1,000 kilometres] northwest of Fremantle. I wonder if the bottle will ever be found.

Friday 10th April

A lovely day again. Warm and sunny and we did some sunbathing. We haven’t done much up till now as until Suez it would be too cold and after Suez it was too hot.

Saturday 11th April – Arrived in Fremantle

The sun was coming up behind Fremantle and it was really a glorious sight. We had to be up early as we had to have a medical inspection to show none of us was showing signs of smallpox. It was only a case of filing past the doctor with arms bared to the elbow, so it did not take long.

We were most impressed [with Perth]. Every house was different – none of the rows and rows of identical houses one sees in England.

180 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Monday 13th April

Nicky’s [sixth] birthday. Gave him a small present and one Mother gave us before we left. He was very thrilled to get a card from the Captain – all children who have birthdays on board get one. This has naturally been a rather quiet birthday for him. We must try to make it up to him when we land. We thought we might take him out to tea while we are at Melbourne.

Tuesday 14th April

Cold and grey today with occasional drizzle. The [Great] Australian Bight, of which we had heard such terrible things, has been very calm.

Wednesday 15th April – Adelaide

Adelaide arranged a heatwave in our honour. We docked in Outer Harbor at 8.15am. After lunch we caught the train into Adelaide. Every so often we would come to a level crossing which had no gates, but with a bell ringing frantically to warn motorists and pedestrians. The train made such a noise that they probably couldn’t hear the bell anyway.

Populate or perish 1953

02

Thursday 16th April

Tuesday 21st April 1953 – Sydney

While we were sitting on the starboard side this morning we saw our first shark – at least we saw its dorsal fin which I suppose counts as seeing a shark.

Passed through the Heads – the entrance to Sydney Harbour – just after six o’clock. What we did see impressed us very much – wooded hills dotted with houses and many small inlets and bays. We first saw the famous Sydney [Harbour] Bridge at 7am. This harbour claims to be the finest and most beautiful natural harbour in the world and I should think the claim is justified. We docked at Woolloomooloo instead of our original berth at Pyrmont so did not pass under the bridge. We caught a taxi and drove to Manly via the bridge.

Went to bed feeling very tired, but happy to be ashore.

I hope I shall soon be able to fix myself up with a job.

Friday 17th April – Melbourne

Arrived at Melbourne at 8am. We found quite a nice little café and had a very welcome tea. Prices seem high at first, but as the prices shown on the menu include a pot of tea and as tipping is not generally practiced in Australia, it doesn’t turn out too badly.

Saturday 18th April

We had a couple of drinks with [passengers] Don and Joyce in the smoke room. Joyce gave us the creeps by telling us she had seen Don’s late father twice in their cabin during the trip. I hope her tales won’t keep us awake tonight.

Sunday 19th April

We had a magnificent send-off [from Melbourne].

Most of the people who had disembarked came down to see us off and I have never seen so many streamers in my life.

There must have been hundreds of them and it was really a lovely sight.

Michael Walker worked as a chiropodist at Farmers department store in the city, while Mildred found a teaching position at Seaforth Public School in northern Sydney.

Contrary to the shipboard fortune teller’s predictions, the Walker family settled in Sydney, living in the Northern Beaches suburbs of Manly, Fairlight, Balgowlah and Belrose.

Michael later started his own chiropody business in the Trust Building in Sydney and Mildred was a principal at various schools in the city’s northern suburbs.

Kim Tao

Monday 20th April

Spent a good deal of the day sorting out and packing.

This has been a most enjoyable trip on the whole. It is hard to believe that we shall be leaving the ship tomorrow.

We shall then have to settle down and try to make some money and get the children to school.

Australian National Maritime Museum 181

1956 Populate or perish

01

Love and sacrifice From Madeira Island to the Snowy Mountains

In 1949, work began on Australia’s largest engineering project – the Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme – which employed many post-war migrants to Australia. Among them were Portuguese newlyweds José and Maria Coelho, who swapped sunny Madeira Island for the isolation of the Snowy Mountains.

ON 17 OCTOBER 1949, construction on the Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme began. This ambitious project was designed to divert water from the Snowy River and some of its tributaries, westward through the Great Dividing Range, to provide irrigation water and generate hydro-electric power. The Snowy scheme employed more than 100,000 people over a 25-year period and is often regarded as the birthplace of multicultural Australia.

José Cristino Fernandes Coelho (1925–2019) emigrated from the island of Madeira, an autonomous region of Portugal situated in the North Atlantic Ocean, known for its mild climate. He was born and raised in a farming family in Lombo das Terças, in the coastal village of Ponta do Sol (meaning ‘Point of the Sun’).

As a teenager, José was awarded a scholarship to study Latin, mathematics and religious studies at the Franciscan Mission School Montariol, located in the ancient city of Braga in northern Portugal. This instilled in him a lifelong love of learning and teaching, and he went on to run a small primary school in Ponta do Sol. In August 1956, José married Boaventura-born nurse Maria Amélia Andrade (1932–2015) in Funchal, the capital of Madeira.

Shortly after their August wedding, José embarked for Sydney from the port of Funchal. Maria would follow eight months later, once her husband had established himself.

182 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

With a suitcase each and hearts filled with hope, the newlyweds endured many hardships in migrating to Australia. José travelled on the Compagnie des Messageries Maritimes cargo–passenger ship Calédonien, which operated regularly between France and its island outposts in the Caribbean and the Pacific. The vessel sailed via the Panama Canal and made port calls in Fortde-France, Pointe-à-Pitre, Papeete, Port Vila and Nouméa.

While in Papeete, Tahiti, José was surprised to find a very important passenger on board – French general Charles de Gaulle, leader of the French Resistance during World War II, and later President of the French Republic.

José took several photographs of de Gaulle in Tahiti, including one showing the general in conversation with a Catholic priest, and another one of him delivering a speech.

On the back of the latter photograph, an impressed José wrote: ‘de Gaulle giving a speech about freedom without pomp and ceremony and without chairs’. José respected the humble leadership qualities displayed by de Gaulle during the Second World War, particularly as Portugal had suffered harshly under the dictatorship of António de Oliveira Salazar since the 1930s. For José, migrating to Australia was as much about political freedom as it was about finding the sort of leadership he admired in Charles de Gaulle.

Populate or perish 1956

01 Maria and JosĂŠ Coelho on their wedding day in Funchal, Madeira, 1956.

All images reproduced courtesy Rose Hills 02 JosĂŠ Coelho is farewelled by his teaching colleagues in Ponta do Sol, Madeira, prior to his departure for Australia, 1956.

The Snowy scheme employed more than 100,000 people over a 25-year period and is often regarded as the birthplace of multicultural Australia

02

Australian National Maritime Museum 183

1956 Populate or perish

Maria and José had traded the temperate climate of Madeira for the freezing cold of the Snowy, but they were in search of a new life

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José docked at Sydney’s Woolloomooloo wharf on Calédonien in September 1956, while Maria arrived in Sydney aboard a Qantas flight in May 1957.

Twenty-four-year-old Maria, who did not speak any English, had bravely travelled on her own from Portugal.

Among her possessions was an unsent postcard of Rome, on which she had written a few lines to her new husband, as well as the word ‘Bangkok’ – likely to have been a refuelling stop for the Qantas VH-EAN aircraft.

José and Maria’s early years in Australia were incredibly challenging. Their first accommodation in Sydney was a small share house in inner-city Darlinghurst, where they had to contend with bedbugs and the loss of their privacy.

José found work as a labourer with Utah Construction at St Marys in Sydney’s west, and then as a labourer at the University of Sydney.

In January 1958, José and Maria moved to the town of Cooma, some 100 kilometres south of Canberra.

José worked as a labourer on the Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme, based at Island Bend – one of the 16 major dams built for the Snowy scheme, along with seven power stations, 145 kilometres of tunnels and 80 kilometres of aqueducts. The work was physically demanding, dirty and dangerous (121 workers died during the construction between 1949 and 1974), and the climate inhospitable. Living conditions in the temporary camps were primitive. José and Maria had very little money and they could only afford to live in a caravan in Cooma.

Maria, who was by then expecting her first child, got a job as a nurse at a small clinic in the town. She was forced to stop working in the later stages of her pregnancy, as she was no longer able to lift her patients.

In the winter of 1958, Maria gave birth to a son, John Cristino, at Cooma Hospital. John was one of more than 500 babies born in Cooma that year – a record number that was attributed to the beginnings of the Snowy scheme. Every morning, Maria would wake to find her newborn son’s nappies frozen on the washing line.

184 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Populate or perish 1956

01 Maria and José Coelho in Sydney, 1970s.

02 José and Maria Coelho with their newborn son John in Cooma, New South Wales, 1958.

She and José had traded the temperate climate of Madeira for the freezing cold of the Snowy, but they were in search of a new life. There was no doubt that these difficulties inspired their dream of having their own home.

Although José was grateful to have secured employment on the Snowy scheme (which by 1959 had reached its peak workforce of 7,300), he found the manual labour to be demoralising. His greatest passion was teaching, fostered during his scholarship with the Franciscan monks in Portugal. After a year in Cooma, José and Maria decided to return to Sydney with baby John. In Sydney, Maria gave birth to a daughter named Rose in 1960, while José found work as a community Portuguese language teacher at St Peter’s Church in the inner-city suburb of Surry Hills.

José and Maria worked hard to put down a deposit on a small terrace house on Phillip Street in Waterloo, then considered a slum suburb bordering working-class Redfern. The area was known for its Indigenous history and this led to a painful encounter with racism and the vestiges of the White Australia policy. While Maria had a fair complexion, José was dark-skinned. One day, after they had moved into their Waterloo terrace, the police knocked on the door and asked Maria, ‘Why are you [a white woman] living with a black man?’ This incident served to further undermine José’s already fragile sense of belonging.

José and Maria endeavoured to give their two children, John and Rose, a better life. Despite their educated backgrounds in Madeira, they took on various menial jobs in Australia – Maria as a cleaner juggling three shifts per day, and José as a labourer, tram conductor, delivery truck driver and taxi driver. In 1967 they finally earned enough money to buy their beloved house in the Sydney suburb of Rosebery. The family relocated there after the state government instigated its slum clearance scheme in Waterloo in the 1960s, during which historic terrace houses were replaced with new high-rise public housing.

In the 1980s, when Maria was in her 50s, she started running marathons and playing the flute. She enjoyed these hobbies until a chronic lung condition (bronchiectasis related to exposure to tuberculosis) took hold. Maria had contracted the disease while working as a nurse in Funchal.

Nevertheless, in her 70s, she acquired a busking permit from Sydney’s Waverley Council and performed at Oxford Street Mall in Bondi Junction. Maria was a strong and compassionate woman, and always appreciated the fact that she could pursue hobbies that might not have been possible had she lived all of her life on Madeira Island.

She eagerly embraced the outdoor lifestyle of Australia, while also preserving the best of her own culture – the Portuguese language, Catholic faith and the emphasis on family.

In the 1980s, Maria helped to put José through the University of Sydney. He gained his teaching qualifications and achieved his dream of becoming a primary school teacher. Maria and José also encouraged their two children to obtain tertiary qualifications. Their daughter Rose studied arts and law at the University of New South Wales and became an artist, while their son John graduated with a degree in electrical engineering from the University of Technology Sydney and became an electrical engineer.

John died of leukaemia in 2001, aged 41. Maria died of bronchiectasis in 2015, aged 83, and Jose in 2019, aged 93.

Reflecting on her family’s life in Australia, Rose Hills (née Coelho) says: I had great parents who suffered many losses, leaving family behind in Madeira and not being able to afford expensive plane fares to return until the mid-1980s. They lost part of their identity and lost their only son. What lives on in me is the love of Portuguese music and language. Most of all they encouraged and supported me to get three university degrees. They were fantastic grandparents to my children, making up for my own lonely childhood when John and I were left home alone before and after school, so that they could work unqualified shift jobs.

Rose registered her parents’ names on the Welcome Wall to acknowledge their love and selfless sacrifice, and to honour their memory for her two sons.

Kim Tao Australian National Maritime Museum 185

1957 Populate or perish

The Egyptian diaspora ‘One way out, never to return’

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In the late 1950s the Danon family left Egypt, their homeland, behind. They knew that if they stayed, they would be persecuted for their European heritage and Jewish faith, as Egypt underwent massive change and upheaval.

Australia proved an ideal choice for the family.

02

IN THE EARLY 20TH CENTURY, Egypt was a melting pot of cultures and religious faiths living in harmony.

Its strategically important assets brought significant trade through the region, and there was a roaring tourist industry due to a worldwide fascination with Egyptology. Jacques and Jeannette Danon married in Cairo in 1926 and had two sons: Eli in 1931 and Albert (Bert) in 1935. Jacques worked as an accountant. By European standards, they were a middle-class family; by Egyptian standards they lived a high life.

The Danons were of Spanish and Italian heritage.

Throughout Bert’s youth, Jewish families with European ancestry became increasingly aware that their days in Egypt were numbered. The formation of the State of Israel in 1948 acted as a catalyst to anti-Semitic demonstrations and violence in the region, including the burning of synagogues.

186 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Growing political tensions between Egypt and Britain over rights to the Suez Canal resulted in spates of anti-Western riots on the streets of Cairo. In 1952 tensions exploded when the Egyptian royal family was ousted and Cairo burned. A new republican government, led by Muhammed Naguib and Gamal Abdel Nasser, took control. It heavily encouraged the Jewish population, particularly those of European descent, to leave Egypt.

The Danon family first looked to migrate to England, until the British consul advised against this move, describing Britain as a ‘spent country’ after World War II. At the time, Australia was strongly promoting immigration, due to its low population (decimated by two World Wars) and the need to expand its labour force. One of Eli’s school friends had migrated there and was prepared to sponsor Eli. In January 1956, Eli disembarked from SS Orontes in Sydney.

Populate or perish 1957 01 Bert and Dinah Danon, centre, on their wedding day in 1964.

On the left are Jacques and Jeanette Danon, and on the right, Gay and Eli Danon.

The wedding dress worn by Dinah was handmade by her mother.

Photographer Gwen Field

Bert’s exit visa was stamped by the Foreign Department: ‘One way out never to return’

02 This silver goblet is one of the few family heirlooms that the Danons were able to smuggle out with them when leaving Egypt.

It is inscribed with a prayer in Hebrew and the wedding date of Jacques and Jeanette Danon, Bert’s parents.

Back in Egypt his parents and younger brother were about to experience a fresh outbreak of violence and hostilities.

In July 1956, Nasser nationalised the Suez Canal and an international crisis broke out. French and British forces bombed Cairo in an attempt to force the hand of the United States. The Danons lived near Cairo’s central station in an area that was heavily bombed. Bert, then aged 20, vividly recalls the air raid shelters, and the added impetus to leave quickly.

In Sydney, Eli had begun the sponsorship process for his family. At the time, Bert was halfway through his pharmacy studies at the University of Cairo. When he and his parents left Egypt, they were only allowed to take some clothes and five Egyptian pounds, and their bank accounts were frozen.

They smuggled out some family heirlooms in their packed clothing, knowing they would be imprisoned if caught.

They were among the lucky ones who left the country virtually without incident. Others were thrown in gaol and tortured for their Jewish faith and European heritage.

Bert’s exit visa was stamped by the Foreign Department: ‘One way out never to return.’

In April 1957, after more than six weeks on SS Australia, the family disembarked in Pyrmont – where the Welcome Wall stands today – and were reunited with Eli. They rented two rooms in Tamarama for three months, then moved to a small unit in Summer Hill, where they lived for three years before buying a property in Bondi. Bert applied to the University of Sydney to complete his pharmacy studies, and was assisted in his application by Professor Wright, head of the department. In 1957 there was a flu epidemic in New South Wales, and Bert picked up a temporary job for a month at a pharmacy in Young – where the boy who grew up in Egypt had his first, unforgettable experience of frost.

Bert’s father Jacques continued to work as a clerk and accountant, and Eli had a job as a sales manager for truck company International Harvester. The cultural transition from Egypt to Australia was perhaps most difficult for their mother Jeannette, who was particularly upset to see her sons washing their own car, when previously servants had done this work for them.

Bert completed his studies in 1960. He did part of his work experience at a pharmacy in Hurlstone Park, where he was the target of thinly-veiled racism, was called ‘gyppo’ and was underpaid for his work. But Bert kept his characteristic dignity throughout the experience.

In 1961 Bert and Eli went into business together, opening their first pharmacy in Villawood. Eli was the financial backer and Bert travelled to Villawood seven days a week for threeand-a-half years to ensure the business grew. In 1964 they sold this pharmacy and opened another in Kingsford, where they stayed for 15 years, before moving to Market Street in the Sydney CBD, where they remained for more than 20 years. Their CBD pharmacy was the first to have a sizeable one-hour photography mini-lab in the city. In total, Bert ran his own business for more than 40 years, enjoying the friendliness and rapport with his customers.

In 1964 also, Bert married Dinah Carpenter, whom he had met through the tight-knit local European and Jewish community. She too had migrated to Australia with her family from Cairo. The Carpenters were of English and Austrian heritage – their ancestors had gone to Egypt in search of work five generations earlier. Dinah’s father Herman, his wife Sabina and their three children arrived in Melbourne in 1951 to start a new life. Ten years later, on a holiday to Sydney, Herman and Sabina fell in love with the city’s cosmopolitan atmosphere and moved their family to Sydney, where Dinah and Bert soon met.

Bert and Dinah were active in their local communities, giving much of their time to contribute to important programs. In 2010 Bert received the prestigious Paul Harris Sapphire Award for his many years of service to the community. Bert and Dinah have two children, Joanne and Jeremy. Both are successful professionals and have also provided Bert and Dinah with four grandsons.

Bert loved performing voluntary work because it gave him an avenue for giving back to the community, in return for Australia’s gifts to him. He never returned to Egypt.

Kim Tao Australian National Maritime Museum 187

From revolution to reunion Warmth and welcome

01 In the news … Gábor’s emotional arrival was covered in one of Sir Frank Packer’s newspapers.

Photographer unknown 02 Gábor Major, 13, reunited with his sister Veronika on the day he arrived in Australia.

Photographer unknown

There are some 400 Hungarian names inscribed on the Welcome Wall. All of their life stories are interesting and some are profoundly moving, like that of Gábor Attila Major.

GÁBOR MAJOR WAS 18 MONTHS OLD when he was separated from his parents Magda and Laszlo at the end of World War II. Caught in communist Hungary, he lived with his grandparents until 1956 when they were granted permission to leave. In 1957, aged 13, he was reunited with his parents and younger sister Veronika, all of whom had migrated to Australia in 1950.

Behind that brief statement of events lies a wealth of experiences, and Gábor Attila Major was generous in embroidering some of the bare facts in our telephone interview. He has the rich, gentle, calm and reassuring voice you would want in a rheumatologist, which is his profession.

He lives and practises in Newcastle, New South Wales.

Gábor and his grandparents sailed on the Lloyd Triestino ship Neptunia. This was the first time Gábor had been at sea; in fact it was the first time he had ever actually seen the sea. Gábor said he had great expectations of the ocean.

He read avidly as a small boy, especially books about the sea, and remembers with special fondness a book by Jules Verne (called The 15-year-old Captain in Hungarian, and Dick Sand: a Captain at Fifteen in the English version).

Gábor gives special mention to embarking at Naples, where he remembers so well the sights and sounds.

‘Everything smells different,’ he says. Like many earlier northern European voyagers he recalls it as a kind of delicious assault on the senses. And the food was so different from Hungarian food. Coca Cola and Coke advertising did not exist in communist Hungary –a repressive regime in 1956 – and this was another revelation.

He recalls seeing and eating an orange and a banana for the first time – an indelible memory. The Neptunia stopped at Messina in Italy, and he was struck by his first sight of palm trees. This was a strange, brave, exciting new world.

188 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

However, while Gábor held romantic expectations about seafaring, once the ship passed Gibraltar and entered the Atlantic, they hit very rough seas and the enduring misery of seasickness meant that Gábor (and many others) lost interest forever in a life on the ocean waves.

The ship eventually stopped at Fremantle, then Melbourne, and then Sydney, where he was finally reunited with his parents and sisters. Did he have many expectations or images of Sydney? Perhaps not, but he has never forgotten that they sailed into the harbour in the early morning and it was breathtaking. To the 13-year-old, too, Luna Park was amazing. It’s still amazing, Gábor says.

There were not too many difficulties settling in, because his parents were already well established in Homebush.

However Gábor found his introduction to school difficult.

At his school – St Patrick’s at Strathfield – he was the only boy who couldn’t speak English, and in those days there were no special classes for new arrivals. Maths was where he was able to make his mark, though, and by the end of his first year he had learnt enough English to sit the exams.

The Christian Brothers were very kind and helpful, Gábor says. There was one particular brother who out of kindness suggested that instead of Gábor, ‘let’s call you Jim’.

Gábor resisted the offer.

Gábor was a child when he left Hungary, so while he remembers vividly some of the scenes of his homeland, he cannot really say he misses too many things. Well, yes, perhaps – the distinctive music and cuisine of Hungary.

Our conversation returned to past happenings in Hungary.

Gábor, his Australian-born wife and two children returned in 1990, when the Iron Curtain was being raised. It was lifted first in Hungary, and on the day the Majors arrived the last Russian troops left. There was an immense optimism in the air, Gábor remembers.

Populate or perish 1957

Once the ship passed Gibraltar and entered the Atlantic they hit very rough seas and the enduring misery of seasickness

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Gábor had in fact left with his grandparents in 1956, the year of the Hungarian Revolution. ‘It was a very emotional time for me’, he said. He was caught up in the whole movement and he was proud of the people’s bravery.

While they were not in Budapest but in a small country town, the movement and feelings were widespread.

Kids his age were acting against the Soviet army and it was a nation able and willing to fight for freedom.

02

He has the very clear recollection that even in a very small town, ‘we were infinitely caught up in it’. There were soldiers and tanks all over the place and while the kids had not the temerity to take them on, they did their best.

Although school was closed, the students wrote pamphlets in Russian addressed to the soldiers asking whether they realised what they were doing. ‘We tried to do our bit’, Gábor said, with sadness and pride in his voice. There was a tremendous feeling of commonality – food was shared, for example – of all working together to achieve freedom.

‘It was the spirit of the whole thing.’

He describes it all so well. It was a bleak autumn, all grey rain – ‘Hungary is not attractive at this time of year’.

There was hope, and no hope. Gábor’s primary happiness was to be leaving to join his parents and sister, and that was the joy above all. But he still felt that in some way he was abandoning the cause. But then: ‘Spring in Sydney, that harbour, the beautiful morning, that Luna Park.

It was uplifting.’

Some stories appeared in the Sydney press when Gábor and his grandparents arrived. People like them were of interest; people who had stood up to the oppressive world superpower that the Soviet Union was at the time.

‘We appreciated the warmth we received. This was a little different from the reception of migrants after the Second World War’, Gábor observes. ‘We felt very welcomed.’

Wendy Wilkins Australian National Maritime Museum 189

Twelve of a kind A family affair

Sylvia Purcell recalls the experience of migrating from the Netherlands to Australia in a large family group – no cheaper by the dozen.

ON 15 SEPTEMBER 1957 my parents Jan van Bockel and Maartje van Bockel-Bijl, and 10 of their 13 children, stepped off the ship Waterman onto the dock in Sydney.

The children were Jan (John), Constance Agnes, Maartje (Mary), Ferdinand (Fred), Arie, Irene Sophia, Lena Constance (Helen), Astrid Charlotte, Ingrid and me, Sylvia. John, the eldest, was 21 and I was the youngest at just 10 months old.

Both my parents were born in 1911, and it was fruit and vegetables that brought them together – my father’s family were fruit and vegetable retailers in Rotterdam, and my mother’s family were wholesale share farmers from ’sGravendeel. Dad’s purchase of an A-model Ford truck made transport between the two towns easier – and it also facilitated a blossoming relationship with my mother.

The investment was the also the beginning of a successful transport business venture. To this day, a company called ‘J van Bockel Transport’ still exists in Holland.

My parents married in Rotterdam on 23 October 1935 and our family grew from there. Before I was born, the devastation of Rotterdam during World War II caused my family to apply for migration to South Africa.

The transport industry that my Dad worked in was booming in South Africa at that time and there was already a large Dutch population there. Political events in South Africa, however, where apartheid laws were enacted in 1948, as well as Mum’s 12th pregnancy with my sister Ingrid, put a stop to that move.

My father was fortunate enough to avoid being conscripted during the war, but the invading Germans needed his business to transport their tanks and other equipment. He had the foresight to disassemble the parts of one of his trucks and hide the them in the houses of his friends and colleagues, so that he could reassemble it after the war and resume his business in peacetime. Once my oldest brother John turned 20, he faced conscription under the Dutch national service system. My parents, having lived through World War II, didn’t want him to become a soldier, and so they decided to migrate to Australia.

190 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Populate or perish 1957 01 Waterman was a US-built Victory ship sold to the Dutch government after World War II. After carrying troops to the Netherlands East Indies, and later repatriating Dutch colonials after Indonesian independence, it was converted to carry Dutch emigrants to Australia, Canada and New Zealand.

Photographs reproduced courtesy of Sylvia Purcell 02 The van Bockel family on Dutch soil for the last time in 1957, in front of the ship that would carry them to Australia.

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Australian National Maritime Museum 191

1957 Populate or perish

We girls slept in the biggest room in wall-to-wall double beds and bunk beds, all of us laid out top to tail

01 Family members at the museum in 2007, celebrating the 50th anniversary of their arrival. Author Sylvia Purcell is on the left.

02 A shipboard menu became a memento of the voyage.

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192 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Populate or perish 1957

The house that my parents ended up buying had only three bedrooms. We girls slept in the biggest room in wall-to-wall double beds and bunk beds, all of us laid out top-to-tail.

Fortunately my oldest brothers and sisters started getting married and moving out, giving us more room.

One of the biggest challenges for my older teenage siblings was starting school when they arrived in Australia.

Because we arrived in Australia in September, they went straight into school and almost immediately had to sit their exams. Because their English wasn’t very strong, and there were no ESL programs in place at the time, it was a pretty tough time for them. I remember my brother Arie getting two marks out of 100 for one test because he didn’t understand the questions. The two marks were for spelling his name correctly.

02

My father had a business contact who had already migrated to Queensland, and migrants were in demand at the time, so out we came.

Of course as a 10-month-old baby I don’t have any memories of my arrival in Australia. I do, however, remember being told of Mum’s first impressions of our adopted country. Once my family arrived in Sydney they settled in the Wollongong area, and as they first travelled down the Bulli pass, Mum was blown away by the spectacular landscape – all the trees and that beautiful view of the ocean from the escarpment were such a contrast to Holland, which is so flat. It was amazing!

The hardest part about resettling in Australia was finding accommodation for our large family when we first arrived.

As we had come out independently as self-funded migrants, there were no government hostels for us to stay in. Mum had made contact with the minister at the Dutch Reformed Church in Wollongong and he asked the congregation whether anyone had any spare rooms to help to house our family while we got settled. As we were such a large family we had to be split up, and groups of two or three van Bockel siblings were sent to live in different homes. Being the baby, I stayed with Mum and Dad. For the first couple of months, until we got a house, the only day that we all got to see each other was on Sunday when we went to church!

When we were growing up we always spoke Dutch at home. It was only when I began going to school that I really started to learn English. Mum used to subscribe to a Dutch-Australian newspaper and at one point there was an advertisement from a school teacher back in Holland requesting people to write to his students so that they could practise their English. I wrote in Dutch to a girl of a similar age who would write back to me in English.

We started writing to each other when I was eight and we recently celebrated our respective 50th birthdays in Australia and Holland!

Of my siblings, I’m the only one in the family who carries on the tradition of ‘Sinterklaas’ (children’s Santa Claus) on 5 December each year. When my children were growing up we would celebrate it with friends and other Dutch families in the area. In 1995, my (Australian) husband, my three children and I went to live in the Netherlands for a year.

We felt that it was important for my children to experience the Dutch culture and my family’s heritage. Flying back to Sydney after that year, however, I truly felt that I was coming home.

On 15 September 2007, exactly 50 years after we landed, our extended family held a 50th-anniversary lunch at Yots Café at the Australian National Maritime Museum. I had registered my parents’ names on the Welcome Wall in 1999, the year after Dad died. Mum had passed away in 1990. There were 32 of us at the lunch, including sons and daughters, nephews and nieces, and great-nephews and nieces. Of the 10 siblings who came out, there were seven of us at the lunch. It was a great opportunity for us to catch up as a group and for those who hadn’t seen the Welcome Wall to have a look at this memento of our family’s journey to Australia.

Australian National Maritime Museum 193

01

Until we meet again An Italian proxy bride’s story

Annarosa Coluccio (née Bova) was one of 12,000 young Italian women who arrived in Australia as proxy brides between 1945 and 1976. Confronted by vast cultural and linguistic barriers, she eventually settled in with the love of her husband and the friendship of their new Australian neighbours.

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Populate or perish 1958 01 Annarosa Coluccio (third from left) with her parents (left) and mother-in-law (fourth from left) at her proxy marriage in Roccella Jonica, Calabria, Italy, 1956. The couple on the right are Annarosa’s sister-in-law Maria and her husband Giuseppe Lo Presti, who stood in as proxy for Giuseppe Coluccio.

All images reproduced courtesy Isabella Coluccio 02 Annarosa and Giuseppe Coluccio’s wedding celebration in Australia, 1958. Annarosa is wearing the gold necklace given by her mother-in-law in Italy.

Marriage by proxy was authorised by the Catholic Church in the 16th century

IN 1956, 15-YEAR-OLD ANNAROSA BOVA accepted a proposal to marry and start a new life in Australia, some 15,000 kilometres from her Italian hometown. She was to marry by proxy Giuseppe Coluccio, an Italian immigrant who had arrived in Australia two years earlier. Wearing a gold necklace that had been given by her mother-in-law as per Italian wedding custom, Annarosa walked down the aisle of her local church to begin her new life. Due to Giuseppe’s absence, Annarosa’s brother-in-law Giuseppe Lo Presti stood in for the groom.

Marriage by proxy was authorised by the Catholic Church in the 16th century. The practice was widespread in Italy in the aftermath of the two World Wars, reaching its peak in the late 1950s. It was particularly common among the Italian community in Australia, where successive government immigration policies to recruit single men for agricultural and manufacturing work had resulted in a gender imbalance. Thus for young Italian men looking for a partner with shared cultural and family values, a proxy marriage in their homeland provided the solution.

The wedding ceremony would be performed in the bridal village, with the groom represented by a substitute, or proxy, usually a brother or brother-in-law. The marriage was registered in Italy and a second celebration was often held after the bride migrated to Australia. For many young Italian women, proxy marriage and migration offered opportunity, adventure and an escape from extreme poverty.

Annarosa Bova (1940–2018) was born in the small coastal town of Roccella Jonica in the Calabria region of southern Italy. She was the fifth of seven children born to Vincenzo Bova, a contadino (farmer), and Maria Rosa Congiusta, a casalinga (housewife). The Bova family lived in a stone house in the mountains, located about an hour’s walk from the township of Roccella. The house had no electricity and only one room, in which the family slept. On their farm the family grew wheat, broad beans and olives, and raised pigs, two sheep, a goat and a donkey, which was used to transport goods and to collect water from a well.

They were self-sufficient, even making their own soap from olive oil, but food was often scarce. The family endured great hardship, with the youngest son, Nicolino, dying at the age of one due to a lack of access to medical attention.

Like Annarosa, Giuseppe Coluccio (1927–2015) was born and raised in Roccella Jonica in Reggio di Calabria. He was the youngest of three siblings. When Giuseppe was two years old, his father fled to Argentina, leaving behind his wife and children. Although there were occasional letters, Giuseppe never saw his father again. During the 1940s, Giuseppe experienced the full impact of the Second World War, economically, physically and mentally.

Seeking a better life away from the devastation of postwar Italy, Giuseppe decided to follow in the footsteps of his older brother, Natale, who had migrated to Australia in 1952. In September 1954, 26-year-old Giuseppe arrived in Sydney aboard the Flotta Lauro liner Sydney. He quickly found employment at the steelworks in Port Kembla, in the Illawarra region on the south coast of New South Wales.

In search of companionship, Giuseppe wrote to his mother back in Italy to ask for her help in finding a wife. Giuseppe was connected to Annarosa through their relatives in Roccella Jonica. Unlike some proxy marriages, where the bride and groom had only met through the exchange of photographs, it is believed that Giuseppe and Annarosa may have met at a younger age in Italy. After accepting Giuseppe’s marriage proposal, Annarosa learnt to sew, as a form of dowry and in preparation for her future role as a wife and mother. Following her proxy wedding in 1956, Annarosa lived with her mother-in-law until her migration to Australia was approved.

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Like so many proxy brides, Annarosa migrated to Australia on a promise, placing her trust in family and the hope of a better future 01

01 Annarosa with her firstborn son, Vince, c1960.

02 Annarosa (right) in the kitchen with her sister Maria Teresa in Wollongong, New South Wales, 1970s.

In September 1958, 17-year-old Annarosa embarked on her own from the Sicilian port of Messina on the Flotta Lauro liner Roma. A young bride, she was excited at the prospect of starting a new life with Giuseppe, yet sad to be leaving her family. Like so many proxy brides, Annarosa migrated to Australia on a promise, placing her trust in family and the hope of a better future. Among her possessions were a new black coat with lace trim, as well as handwoven towels, sheets, blankets and tablecloths that had been made by her family as part of her dowry.

The white linens, embroidered with the initial ‘B’ for her family name Bova, were the domestic necessities to build a new home in a new country. She also carried a photograph of Rosaria (Viola) Multari, a family friend, who would later make her own journey to Australia to marry Giuseppe’s brother, Natale.

In October 1958 Roma docked in Sydney, where Annarosa was greeted by her husband and a new neighbour.

Travelling down Bulli Pass to her new home in Russell Vale, Wollongong, her first impression of Australia was that it was all bush – not dissimilar to her region of Calabria.

Although she did not speak any English, Annarosa was warmly welcomed by her new neighbours, who cared for her as a daughter of their own. When Annarosa was expecting her first son Vincenzino (Vince), her neighbour Mrs Walker would take her to the clinic and ask questions on behalf of Giuseppe, who had solicited English words from his colleagues at the Port Kembla Steelworks.

As time passed, Annarosa learnt English from her neighbours, her husband Giuseppe and her son Vince (born 1959), once he started school. Annarosa and Giuseppe’s two sons, Vince and Frank (born 1962), grew up speaking Italian at home prior to attending school.

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In the 1970s, Annarosa took a job as a machinist at the King Gee textile factory in nearby Bellambi, to help support her family. During this period she made a return visit to Italy, followed by another visit in 1990. Since her migration in 1958, some of Annarosa’s family members have travelled to Australia. Her mother-in-law visited in the 1960s and her eldest sister Elisabetta visited in the 2000s. Annarosa’s second-eldest sister, Maria Teresa, migrated to Australia in 1961. Her brother Giuseppe also migrated in the 1960s, but returned to Italy after six years.

Annarosa was special in the hearts of many. Her story highlights the kindness of neighbours and the importance of a sense of community. Her former neighbours, the Walkers, fondly recall her connection with Mrs Walker, who would help Annarosa to prepare coddled egg for her firstborn son, Vince. Another memory is the ‘vegetable swap’ over the fence, where the two families would grow vegetables, often different, for the purpose of benefitting each other.

Like the Walkers, other former neighbours, the Grahams, warmly remember Annarosa, who introduced them to her Italian home cooking. To this day they still associate sugared almonds with her, as the sweets were served after Annarosa and Giuseppe’s Australian wedding celebration in October 1958, and again at their 50th anniversary as part of the Italian tradition of bomboniere (wedding favours).

The five sugar-coated almonds symbolised health, wealth, happiness, fertility and long life.

In September 2018, Annarosa Coluccio died unexpectedly at the age of 77. She is survived by her two sons, Vince and Frank, and three grandchildren, Alexander, James and Isabella, to whom she is affectionately known as ‘Nonna’.

Her courage to migrate to Australia provided her future family with many opportunities. Vince went on to complete a Diploma of Education at the Wollongong Teachers College. He was a payroll officer at the Port Kembla Steelworks and subsequently a mathematics teacher before his retirement. Frank studied a Bachelor of Science (Chemistry), worked at the Electricity Commission at Tallawarra Power Station and is now a conservationist.

In 2010 Frank registered his parents Annarosa and Giuseppe Coluccio on the Welcome Wall to thank them for coming to Australia and to value their courage in moving to the other side of the world.

Vince’s daughter Isabella Coluccio reflects: My nonna and nonno were very humble, generous people who were blessed to be accepted and befriended by their neighbours during a time when racism was prevalent.

Their beliefs have helped me to further recognise the importance of education, as they had very little education due to their circumstances.

Nonna’s humility has helped me to become a better person, and someone who wants to help better the lives of others. Nonna was more than gold. Her involvement in the upbringing of myself and my brothers is cherished in our hearts, and she is someone who we will forever love.

The story of Annarosa and Giuseppe exemplifies the significance of face-to-face interaction and sharing with others. The generosity and kindness that they had received from their neighbours is something that our family will always hold close to our hearts.

Kim Tao Australian National Maritime Museum 197

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Four ships and a lifeboat The Skaubryn sinking

The Norwegian liner Skaubryn was the only vessel lost at sea during the era of post-war migration, when it caught fire in 1958 with 1,288 people on board, including more than 200 children. Two of the survivors, who were both eight years old at the time of their ill-fated voyage, told their stories to the museum.

Their names were unveiled on the Welcome Wall 60 years after Skaubryn’s final passage.

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‘Some people had been dressed up for dinner and the movies, while others were in pyjamas. We had nothing except the underwear we had on’

Skaubryn survivors are transferred to Aden in one of Roma’s lifeboats, 1958. ANMM Collection Gift from Barbara Alysen ANMS0214[022].

Reproduced courtesy International Organisation for Migration

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‘I couldn’t swim … I was so frightened of the water. I don’t know which is worse, fire or water. If you get caught in either of those, you’re helpless’

Ute Mahoney (née Gabriel), Germany

I was born in 1950, on Australia Day, in a little village in Niederbachem outside of Bonn in West Germany. I was born during a blizzard – the midwife couldn’t even get there and my father had to deliver me. We lived in an old farmhouse that had been converted into flats. We had an orchard beside us and the forest behind. We used to come down in the sled in winter and I would go to school sometimes on my sled.

My father Kurt Gabriel (1927–2006) had been in the Second World War. He was only 16 and they just conscripted the kids in those days. My grandfather was a prisoner-of-war in Russia for four years, so he suffered greatly there.

But everybody did. My parents had nothing after the war; all their possessions were gone. My mother Johanna Heinrich (1913–1977) didn’t have anything. Her first husband was killed in the war; he was blown up by a hand grenade. My half-sister Sieglinde Winkler was 10 years older than me.

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I didn’t even know where Australia was till we were shown on a map. There were application forms and medical tests.

You couldn’t come into the country without a clean bill of health, X amount of dollars and my father had to have a trade. He was a bricklayer – they were needed in those days.

We went through the Suez Canal, which was closed not long after, and that’s when the boat caught fire [a fire broke out in Skaubryn’s engine room on 31 March]. I was asleep, then all of a sudden the bells started to ring. My sister came racing in. We were separated from our parents – they were off dancing. And then they just gathered us all and put lifejackets on us. We had to stand in line waiting for the lifeboats, which was terrifying. We had an emergency drill earlier that day but it doesn’t help because everyone panics, especially women with their kids. It was just panic trying to get into a boat and climb down these terrible rope ladders, which as soon as someone was on them, they moved. It was really scary because I couldn’t swim. In those days, if you didn’t live near the water, you didn’t learn how to swim. I was so frightened of the water. I don’t know which is worse, fire or water. If you get caught in either of those, you’re helpless.

We stayed with my grandparents, who lived in Essen, for a week before the Skaubryn took off. We sailed from Bremerhaven on 14 March 1958. I remember the oldfashioned streamers thrown from the deck of the ship down to the wharf. It was all a bit frightening going on the ship. I was so seasick, totally seasick. It was all just too much. If I hadn’t had my sister, I would’ve been dead.

I just threw up all the time.

The [British cargo ship] City of Sydney came and picked us up. Everybody was on deck because there were no cabins or anything there. They brought us into Aden [then a British port city, now part of Yemen] again on the Italian liner Roma.

We lived there in a hospital that they’d just finished [the Queen Elizabeth Hospital] and they hadn’t put any patients in yet. We stayed there until they sent a Dutch ship, Johan van Oldenbarnevelt, two weeks later to pick us up.

Life was pretty hard. Food wise, it was still very scarce.

You just couldn’t go and buy a lot. A lot of farms had been bombed. We were lucky that we lived on a farm – at least we got some food there. But anything like meat was impossible.

We migrated to Australia when I was eight. We had a visit from my father’s second cousin, who lived in Kingsford [in Sydney]. My sister and mother went to work on my father to emigrate. It was either Australia or Canada. And so because a cousin was living here, we came here.

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01 Passengers watch from the deck of City of Sydney as Skaubryn burns in the Indian Ocean, 1958.

ANMM Collection Gift from Barbara Alysen ANMS0214[005].

02 Survivors crowd into a lifeboat from Skaubryn, 1958. ANMM Collection Gift from Barbara Alysen ANMS0214[015].

03 Temporary accommodation for Skaubryn survivors on the deck of Roma, 1958. ANMM Collection Gift from Barbara Alysen ANMS0214[063].

These images reproduced courtesy International Organisation for Migration

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01 Five-year-old Ute Gabriel on her first day of school, West Germany, 1955. Ute carries a traditional German Schultüte (school cone), a gift from her parents containing pencils, notebooks, rulers and sweets.

Reproduced courtesy Ute Mahoney 02 Ute’s mother Johanna Heinrich in Australia, c1965. Reproduced courtesy Ute Mahoney

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We lost everything, all our bedding, all our china.

I had a girl and a boy china doll. All gone, the whole lot.

We weren’t insured – we weren’t encouraged to insure.

I had a pair of pyjamas getting off the boat. And my parents were dancing so they had evening clothes on.

The Red Cross put a few clothes together for us.

We arrived in Sydney in May 1958. And it was lucky because, losing everything, my father’s cousin took us in for a few months [in Kingsford] until we could reorganise ourselves. We all lived in one room. My sister went off to nurse, so she didn’t have to live with us.

In those days it wasn’t very popular for German people to be in Australia. As soon as the neighbourhood kids knew that I was German, they weren’t allowed to play with me because of their parents. It was hard times. It was very lonely for the first few months, until we moved to Canley Vale [in southwestern Sydney] and there was a girl my age in my street. We’re still friends these days. If it hadn’t have been for her, I would have been very lonely.

I went straight into school without any English, but I picked it up really quickly and I lost my accent.

My father worked for a German butcher (he rebuilt the shop) and I think he learnt English that way. I had to speak English at home so that my parents would learn the language.

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My parents kept in contact with people off the Skaubryn.

They always had a social group going, living in the same sort of area. They played cards together, or would go and meet at the German Club in [the nearby suburb of] Cabramatta and have dinner together, or shooting competitions. My father was often a winner in the shooting club. He was a bricklayer all his life and moved down to Cooma [in southern New South Wales] when he retired. My mother died of cancer in 1977. I married and had three kids and now have four grandkids.

The Skaubryn is not far from my memory most of the time. I think about it an awful lot. Skaubryn didn’t sink there and then [in the Indian Ocean]; it didn’t sink until they were towing it to Aden [on 6 April 1958]. I don’t watch anything like the Titanic [film]. I’m not keen on watching anything with disasters on ships, I really just don’t like it.

I registered for the Welcome Wall to commemorate the bravery of my parents. I thought it was important for me too and I want my kids and grandchildren to be able to look at it and realise just what we went through to come here. I don’t know if I’d ever have the guts to move to a different country, not speaking the language or having a job to go to. It’s pretty brave and especially in that context where we lost everything. Putting our names on the Welcome Wall was something I always wanted to do.

Populate or perish 1958

‘The Skaubryn is not far from my memory most of the time. I think about it an awful lot’

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It was a £10 passage, like the British [Malta was a British colony until 1964]. We had to go and get checks for the Australian government to accept us. My youngest brother Frank had something wrong with his legs – they were in plaster, there were some issues maybe. They were so picky at that time.

Joseph Cutajar, Malta

I remember the hullabaloo of all the people around the wharf area in Valletta. All these people everywhere.

Skaubryn was a tourist-type ship with a mix of passengers, mostly German and Maltese.

On 22 March 1958, my mother Catherine Cutajar (née de Battista; born 1927), myself aged eight and my two younger brothers, Mario (five) and Frank (three), boarded the Skaubryn in Valletta, Malta. My father, Charles Cutajar (born 1928), was already in Australia – he came out a month earlier. He was a cook in the British Army.

My parents were teenagers during World War II. Mum remembers the air raid shelters they had to go in as kids.

She couldn’t stand it, because people were crying, and she’d rather take her chances outside. Dad was brought up in an orphanage because there were too many children in his family – seven boys and two girls. His father passed away early, in his 40s, with emphysema. Dad tells me stories of eating dried food for the rabbits when the war was happening. He also remembers horses being shot down and German planes coming down close to the ground.

I was born in Pietà [on the outskirts of Valletta] in 1950.

I remember my Holy Communion when I was about five or six, with lots of parties and being dressed up. Then all of a sudden we were moving to Australia. To me it was more of a holiday – I didn’t think it was forever. I remember my aunty Guza saying she was going to miss us, miss me, because I was fairly close to her. I’m still close to her today.

All I remember is her saying, ‘We’ll see each other again.’

But I had no idea why we were going.

The first week was uneventful. Then on 31 March, Mum was at the movies with a friend and we had a babysitter. We boys were woken up by smoke filling our cabin. I think the babysitter went looking for Mum and they must have panicked. Mum grabbed my brothers, Mario and Frank; a man (a family friend) grabbed me. This guy just pulled me out of the bed basically. I was taken and put in a lifeboat, separated from my family. In the lifeboat people were screaming and vomiting. I was terrified. In my eyes, as a child, the lifeboat was overloaded. I could see sharks circling the lifeboat and the Skaubryn burning.

It was a clear night with a calm sea. That’s what really stuck in my mind. It was like daylight – the moon was so bright, the ocean flat. If it was really rough, a lot of people would have drowned. One German man had a heart attack and died. [He was the only casualty of the Skaubryn disaster.]

Some people had been dressed up for dinner and the movies, while others were in pyjamas. We had nothing except the underwear we had on. We lost everything basically until we got to Aden and they gave us money.

People tried to take their bags onto the lifeboats, but the sailors were throwing them overboard into the water and saying, ‘The people before the bags.’ I remember some things floating around in the water. And I definitely remember looking back, seeing the Skaubryn alight.

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Catherine Cutajar with her sons Mario (left) and Joseph (right) in Centennial Park, Sydney, 1958.

Reproduced courtesy Joseph Cutajar

We were first picked up by an oil tanker. I can’t remember how I got up there – I remember feeling the rope but I don’t know whether I climbed or somebody pulled me up there.

And then I didn’t see Mum until she found me. She was on another lifeboat, separate to me, with the other two boys.

I was alone, I don’t know how long for, but it seemed like ages to me. Mum was terrified – she never left our sight again.

On the oil tanker, they gave us food of some sort to eat and blankets to put around us, because we were in underpants and singlet tops. Later we were transferred to Aden on the Italian ship Roma. When we arrived in Aden, we were taken to the local hospital to wash us. The Australian government gave us some clothes and some money, about £50. They gave us food and documentation so we could continue our journey to Australia on the Orient liner Orsova. They had entertainment races and I won one of those pens with a ship in it – when you turned it the ship would float the other way.

We arrived in Sydney in April 1958. It took four ships to get to Australia. Dad’s sister Nina and her husband Joe were living at La Perouse [in Sydney’s south-east], so we stayed with them until we got settled. They had three girls and five boys. And us three boys, so it was a bit crowded!

We went to school in La Perouse. Then we shifted from there to Surry Hills and then Paddington [both in inner-city Sydney]. My aunty Carmen and her husband Edwin came out in 1959 and they lived with us in Paddington. They had two boys. My sister Margaret was born in Sydney in 1960.

My cousin got Dad a job at the Bunnerong Power Station in Matraville [in Sydney’s south-east]. When they closed Bunnerong, Dad chose to be transferred to the Tallawarra Power Station [on the south coast of New South Wales] and we moved to Wollongong.

After school I got a job at Port Kembla Hospital as a kitchen hand. My boss was a single man who left Germany on his own at 19. One day we were just talking about things in history, our backgrounds, and then we discovered we were on the same ship! After that I worked with Dad for 15 years in the power industry, then I went back to the area health service where I have been for 40-odd years. My youngest brother Frank worked in the steel industry and my middle brother Mario worked with the water board.

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My wife Susan is English. Her family also came out as £10 Poms and her father ended up working in the steel industry.

We have two children, Michelle (born 1968) and Michael (born 1969), and four grandchildren.

The Skaubryn fire has affected me somewhere along the line. Before I went on another ship in the 1980s, I kept avoiding it and thinking about it. The first ship I went back on was the older Fairstar. I got on and thought, ‘It can’t happen to me again.’ When I hear about other tragedies, I think about how lucky we were. We might not be here.

On another cruise I met a German fellow and we started a conversation about the Costa Concordia [the Italian cruise ship that sank in 2012]. He was also a passenger on Skaubryn and remembers the water in the swimming pool boiling from the heat of the fire. The fact that that guy was on the same ship really concreted in my mind what I did see that night. It wasn’t a child thing that I thought of – it really did happen.

When the Titanic exhibition was here [at the Australian National Maritime Museum], there was a display on boarding passes and our name was on there, in a section about ships that sank in the past. After seeing our names, I just kept thinking, ‘We’re in history.’ I decided to put our names down on the Welcome Wall as we’re part of history and it’s something for the grandkids to see when I’m gone.

Kim Tao

Skaugen Line to Europe poster, 1950s.

Such posters were a common sight in European shipping agencies. MV Skaubryn was built in 1951 for the merchant trade. After securing a contract with the International Refugee Organisation to carry displaced persons to Australia, the ship’s owner, Isak Skaugen, refitted the vessel as an emigrant carrier. ANMM Collection

1958 Populate or perish

From Basque Country to cane country A bittersweet history

In August 1958, the first contingent of assisted immigrants arrived under the Spanish migration agreement’s Operación Canguro (‘Operation Kangaroo’) to work as cane-cutters in North Queensland. But the origins of Spanish involvement in the Queensland sugar industry date back much earlier, to the introduction of the White Australia policy in 1901.

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Frank Artiach (right) with his older brother Manuel and their parents, Theodore and Segunda, in Nabarniz, Spain, c1949.

Images courtesy Mary-Anne Waddell

Frank was the youngest of three sons born to Basque farmers Theodore Artiach and Segunda Bengoa.

His brothers were Jose, who sadly died of pneumonia at the age of eight, and Manuel. Frank attended elementary school in Nabarniz, where he was educated in his second language of Spanish. He often returned home for lunch, walking through snow without shoes, to eat a few cooked dried beans. At the age of 12 or 13, Frank left school to work on his family’s farm, a small enterprise that would have offered little more than a subsistence livelihood.

Shortly after his 18th birthday, Frank decided to emigrate to Australia. He accepted that there was no future for him in Spain, given the poverty of his agricultural background and the ongoing oppression of the Basque minority by the Franco regime. The Basques had a long tradition of emigration, particularly to the Americas following the discovery of the New World. Frank’s brother, Manuel Artiach (1928–2017), migrated to the American West, to an area near Boise, Idaho – home to one of the largest Basque diaspora communities in the world.

Manuel was employed on a sheep farm for about six years, before he returned to Spain to marry and settle in Guernica.

BETWEEN 1863 AND 1904, more than 60,000 indentured labourers were recruited from the Pacific Islands to work on Queensland’s sugarcane plantations, many through a process of coercion or kidnapping that is referred to as ‘blackbirding’.

After Federation in 1901, the new Commonwealth government enacted legislation known as the Pacific Island Labourers Act to enforce their mass deportation under the terms of the White Australia policy. Substitute sources of white labour were quickly found in Italy, and then the Catalonia and Basque regions of northern Spain.

Basque cane-cutters were held in particularly high regard as they were considered to be strong, hardworking and honest.

By the early 1910s and 1920s, a modest Basque community had been established in the Innisfail and Ingham districts of north Queensland. This was followed by a small but steady chain migration as they sponsored relatives and fiancées from Basque Country (Euskal Herria) to cane country.

Francisco (Frank) Artiach Bengoa (1931–2003) was born in the village of Nabarniz in Biscay, one of a number of autonomous Basque provinces in the western Pyrenees, which form the border between Spain and France.

Nabarniz is located near Guernica, the spiritual capital of the Basque people that was bombed in 1937 during the Spanish Civil War. Much of Frank’s childhood and adolescence was shaped by the military dictatorship of General Francisco Franco, who ruled Spain with an iron fist after the Nationalist victory in 1939. The Basques, who were allied with the defeated Republican forces, were harshly dealt with for their political allegiances, and the distinctive Basque language and culture were banned for many decades.

In 1949 Frank signed a three-year indenture agreement to cut sugarcane by hand in the Burdekin district of north Queensland, located between Townsville and Bowen, and known as the sugar capital of Australia. Under the terms of the labour contract, he would be provided with fares, lodging, food and a small wage. Frank was accompanied by his cousin Geno Lequerica and their friend Geno Barrenechea. The three young men were sponsored by Basque cane farmer Manuel Muguira, who is believed to have been a member of Frank and Geno Lequerica’s extended maternal family. Manuel Muguira had settled in Queensland in 1925 and was operating a cane farm near Ayr in partnership with his brother, Vincente, and one of their fellow countrymen, Jose Gabiola.

On Christmas Day 1949, Frank and his two companions departed Basque Country and journeyed through France to the Italian port of Genoa. On 28 December they embarked for Australia on the Italian liner MV Sebastiano Caboto, which was carrying a large contingent of European refugees and displaced persons who were being resettled after the Second World War. The passage took three and a half weeks, with port calls at Naples, Port Said, Colombo and Fremantle, before docking in Melbourne on 29 January 1950. Sebastiano Caboto was scheduled to continue to Sydney, but the onward voyage was cancelled due to a lack of passengers. Frank and his friends were given economy rail tickets and then travelled thousands of kilometres by train through Victoria, New South Wales and Queensland until they arrived at their final destination, the town of Ayr, on 4 February 1950. Frank’s worldly possessions consisted of the clothes he was wearing and a small suitcase.

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01 Frank slashing the grass at his home in Brandon, Queensland, 2003. The historic Pioneer Sugar Mill is visible in the background at far right.

02 Josie Barbagallo and Frank Artiach on their wedding day, Home Hill, Queensland, 1957.

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Frank developed a reputation as one of the strongest cane-cutters in the Burdekin district

Because of the extreme monsoonal conditions prevailing at the time, Frank was unable to commence work immediately on the Muguira farm, which was situated between Ayr and Brandon. When he eventually started a few weeks later, Frank’s first job was to walk up and down the drills (or furrows) in the bare sugarcane paddocks to spread fertiliser by hand. After labouring in the cane fields all day, he took evening classes in English for adults at the school in Iona, a small village south of Home Hill. Frank had a talent for languages and was ultimately able to speak fluent English, as well as Basque, Spanish, French, Italian and possibly even some Portuguese.

By 1953 Frank had completed his contract as a cane-cutter and farm labourer, but he continued to cut cane by hand for several more years. He developed a reputation as one of the strongest cane-cutters in the Burdekin district.

One story often told is that when the empty narrow-gauge cane railway trucks came off their tracks, Frank could singlehandedly lift them back onto the rails – a feat of strength that could be matched by few others. He learned to drive a tractor and eventually saved enough money to buy his own cane haul-out truck. Geno Lequerica, his cousin and travelling companion who would remain a lifelong friend, recalled that when Frank was learning to drive, others on the farm would take refuge behind buildings or vehicles in fear for their safety. Frank operated the haul-out truck for a few years, before selling it and using the funds to put a deposit on his own sugarcane farm near Giru in 1958.

The Artiach farm was located on Pilchowski Road, on the western side of the Bruce Highway, and bounded on the south by the Haughton River. The farm had some existing cane paddocks as well as unimproved grazing land, which Frank cleared and filled to create level fields for growing cane. He also had two wells dug on the property to provide irrigation water, and laid a network of underground irrigation pipes to distribute this water to all of the cane paddocks.

Frank married Innisfail-born Josie Barbagallo (born 1934) at St Colman’s Church in Home Hill in 1957. Frank and Josie had three children: Mary-Anne (born 1961), Julie (born 1966) and John (born 1972). The young family’s first home was in the old cane-cutters’ barracks on the farm.

Frank’s eldest daughter, Mary-Anne Waddell, remembers learning to speak Basque as a child by mimicking the cane-cutters who lived with them in the barracks during the cane-crushing season. In 1972 Frank and Josie had a new weatherboard house built on their farm.

Frank made his only return visit to Spain in 1977, to see his elderly parents shortly before they died. He spent the rest of his working life growing sugarcane and finally paid off the Giru farm in 1978. He sold the cane farm in 1995, and he and Josie constructed a retirement home in Brandon, not far from where he first began working in Australia in 1950. Tragically Frank died in a tractor accident on the property in 2003. He is survived by his wife, three children and five grandchildren.

Frank’s daughter Mary-Anne notes that he was grateful for the opportunities offered by his adoptive country, especially with respect to education. All three of his children obtained tertiary qualifications – a prospect not afforded to Frank as a first-generation immigrant.

Frank remained proud of his Basque heritage and retained a keen interest in the political struggles of the Basques for autonomy and recognition of their unique culture. He never forgot his roots and was widely known in the Burdekin district by his Basque nickname, ‘Patxi’ (pronounced ‘Patchi’, which translates as Frank in the Basque language).

Mary-Anne registered Frank Artiach’s name on the Welcome Wall to honour his life and his small, but significant, contribution to Australia’s history.

She acknowledges her father’s courage in leaving his family behind to move to a foreign land on the other side of the world, where he knew nobody and couldn’t speak the language, to work as an indentured labourer cutting sugarcane by hand. Mary-Anne says: He perceived Australia as a country of opportunity and wanted to work hard not only for his family but also his community. If he was here today I know he would be humble about his name being placed on the Welcome Wall. He truly was a very fair and honest person who wanted to make a difference.

Kim Tao Australian National Maritime Museum 209

1958 and 1972 Populate or perish

Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match A blind date with destiny

Rosie Chelliah was a young Singaporean nurse from a Sri Lankan Catholic background. Ian Gould was an English-born medical technician from a Jewish background. In an idle moment on nightshift, a matchmaking friend in Australia brought the two together.

Rosie: I arrived in Darwin in March 1972, a day after my 24th birthday, with two friends, Sui Lin and Soon Wah. We were surprised that Darwin was so rural and not like the modern city we were expecting. I remember also being struck by the redness of the earth and the bizarreness of the landscape as we drove into the mining town of Mt Isa. I was also surprised to find how open Australian society was. I recall listening to broadcasters grilling politicians on the radio and thinking: ‘Gosh, this is really quite wonderful and quite scary too’. In Singapore that sort of thing was just unheard of because ministers only read out prepared statements. There was a bit of censorship in Singapore at the time, so I was very impressed by the Australian media which ran some really interesting and provocative articles.

The transition from working in Singapore to working in Australia was relatively easy because both had a British style of nursing. What I thought was most wonderful was that every Friday evening after work the staff would all meet down at the pub. It was not only the nurses who would go, but also the wardsmen, attendants, residents, registrars and the head of the unit – the whole group. In Singapore you had to call everyone Dr Somebody or other, whereas here I was not only on a first-name basis with everyone, but having drinks with them and talking about all kinds of things.

Ian and I had a mutual friend who would ring around when she had nothing left to do during night shift. One day she asked me if I knew Ian Gould. When I said I did, she said: 210 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

‘I was just wondering whether you were interested in going out with him’. I said: ‘No, I’ve only ever met him once’.

Unbeknownst to me however, she had that evening called and spoken to Ian. Soon after, Ian rang me at home to say that a mutual friend had set up a blind date for us. Then he asked: ‘So, would you like to come out with me?’ I thought, ‘Oh dear, the poor guy’, so I said: ‘Look, there’s this really cheap place called Abdul’s in Cleveland Street and don’t worry, I’ll pay for myself’.

After that date Ian and I began to see quite a lot of each other and a few months later he suggested we move in together. I said that it would be like being married. Ian knew I was Catholic and so he said, ‘Then I suppose I’ll have to marry you’. I didn’t realise that this was a proposal. Later on he rang to say ‘Do you know what I asked you?’ and I replied ‘No’. Then he said: ‘I asked you to marry me’. I was shocked and replied: ‘What? But I’m not ready to be married!’

The idea of marriage hadn’t entered my head even though I was already 30. Ian’s response was: ‘One day you’ll marry me. One day you’ll say yes’. And he was right, I did!

Because Ian was from a Jewish background we had to get a dispensation to be married in a Catholic church.

The fact that we are both from different countries and came to a new country has had an impact. If I had married in Singapore, it would have been a different kind of marriage with different expectations and rules. For example, we have a really strong network of friends from a mix of different backgrounds including Chinese, Hungarian, Bolivian, Indian, Australian and English. They have become our extended family here in Australia.

Ian: I was 21 and studying at London University when my parents rang me to ask whether I wanted to migrate with them to Australia. I remember thinking that I’d like to give it a go. So in 1958 I sailed on board the P&O ship the SS Orion with my parents and younger brother. The ship bobbed up and down like a cork throughout the journey, which took four weeks and two days. It was actually one of the best holidays I’ve had because for the first time in my life I could be completely relaxed and not worry about going out or getting a meal or having to travel the next day.

Our first stop was Fremantle and we had five or six hours off the boat. We decided to catch a train to Perth for a look around the city and some window shopping. We were in a furniture shop discussing how prices compared to the UK when a man standing nearby overheard our conversation and came over and asked us ‘Have you just arrived?’

We replied: ‘Yes, we’ve just got off the boat’. He then said ‘Oh, in that case, would you like to come home and have lunch with me?’ I thought: ‘What a wonderful introduction to a country! We’ve only been on dry land for a couple of hours and someone’s already invited us to their house for lunch!’ Unfortunately, we didn’t have enough time, but the experience made quite an impression on me.

I grew up in the war years and my family moved around a tremendous amount. I think I went to about 10 or 12 schools before I was 13 years old. I think that I never put down roots or maybe I’m just a peculiar person because I never actually missed the UK. After three weeks in Australia I felt as though I really loved the place and never wanted to leave. I took to it like a duck to water!

I found that I really liked it here because there wasn’t the class hierarchy there was in the UK at that time and probably still is. Also, when I left, the UK was essentially still a monoculture whereas here there were so many migrants and just the fact that you could walk down the street and see a whole mix of people, I really thought was great.

I worked in a number of hospital labs and managed a couple of private labs as well. I met Rosie through my work with the Women’s Hospital when it was in Paddington.

She was one of the charge sisters in the labour ward.

A mutual friend asked me if I wanted to go out on a blind date. I told her that I didn’t want to go on any dates at all and certainly didn’t want to go on a blind one! It took me a while to guess who it was she was trying to set me up with.

When I finally realised it was Rosie, I felt really awkward and didn’t want to be rude. So I decided to ask her out just once, and finish the whole thing.

When Rosie and I went out for a meal I remember thinking she was really quite interesting and that I was really enjoying her company. I even stretched out the evening by suggesting a coffee afterwards. This was 26 years ago and I can truly say that by the time the evening had finished I was already hooked!

Interviews by Maria José Fernández

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01 Rosie and Ian at the museum, 2006. Photograph Maria José Fernández 02 Rosie and Ian at the time of their engagement, 1979. Photographer Andrew Gould

I really liked it here because there wasn’t the class hierarchy there was in the UK at that time

Orion, which brought Ian Gould to Australia in 1958, was launched in 1934 and was the first British ship to have air-conditioning. Its maiden voyage to Australia was in 1935. Within weeks of war breaking out in 1939 Orion became a troopship, and in 1947 was the first Orient Line vessel to resume line voyages to Australia. These continued until 1963, the year the ship was broken up in Antwerp. Most of its Australia-bound passengers were assisted migrants.

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1959 Populate or perish

The holiday of a lifetime Partying to the far side of the world

In 1959 Joy Black, Mary Norton and Imelda Carey, all aged 23, boarded the Fair Sky in Southampton, England, and sailed out to Australia for a working holiday.

The three longtime friends all ended up living here, and have registered their names on the Welcome Wall.

Joy Black

The three of us met in 1958 when we were 23 years old and all doing our midwifery. My parents had quite a shock when I told them I was going with the girls to Australia on a working holiday. But we were young and ripe for adventure!

Our initial plan had been to go to California in the USA, but to qualify for the program we needed to complete another exam in psychiatric training. As we had already had years of general nursing training followed by midwifery, we decided that we did not want any more exams. So, we were off to Australia, not realising it was literally on the other side of the world.

Mary and I had booked and planned the trip for three months before Imelda decided to come with us two weeks before we were due to go. She went to the immigration office and told them: ‘If you can get me through in time to go with the girls to Australia, then I’ll go as well’. And would you believe that two weeks later, luck of the Irish, there she was on the boat with us! It was incredible because it had taken Mary and I three months of medicals and interviews and all that paper work.

The voyage on the Fair Sky was absolutely fantastic!

We were volunteered for everything from crossing-theline ceremonies to helping with the ship’s concerts. It was really just one happy voyage – five weeks, I think it took.

We boarded on 8 June 1959 from Southampton. I woke up early the following morning as I was so excited at the thought of being out in the high seas. You can’t imagine my disappointment when I realised we were still docked and hadn’t moved an inch!

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We were due to have landed in Fremantle on 3 July which was my birthday, but the ship could not dock due to a strike at the port and so in the end we landed in Melbourne on a cold and rainy winter’s day. It wasn’t till we got to Sydney that we realised wintertime here is like summertime in England, so we instantly took a liking to the place.

It was Peter Burge the great cricketer who inspired us to choose Brisbane as our final destination. My parents were big cricket fans and I remember going with mum to Canterbury to see Australia play in the county cricket.

We thought, ‘look at all these wonderful cricketers, I’m sure that Australia must be a great place to be!’ And so, when we were asked which city we’d like to go to in Australia, we said ‘we really don’t know anywhere but we do know that there is a nice cricketer who lives in Brisbane, so maybe we should start there’. Of course, we never did meet him, but we still follow the cricket.

I really love Australia, and I always will, and I’ve always put Australia before England, but I felt very torn for many years because I had left all my family in England. It took me 36 years to make the decision to become an Australian citizen and I very proudly became one. I talk to a lot of people about this and know it’s very common that after many years they still feel drawn back to the other country.

I have learned that what you have to do is simply accept the fact that you’ll always feel like this and allow yourself to be happy. But it has been difficult because Australia is so very far away.

Gala night on the Fair Sky, nearing Aden. Left to right: Joy, Mary, Vince the first purser, fellow passenger Betina, and Imelda. Photograph courtesy Joy Black.

Mary Lowe (Norton)

Imelda Green (Carey)

I always wanted to travel after I had done my training.

And as I have always fancied the tropics I thought, ‘Gee, it would be lovely in Australia with no cold weather, and all that lovely sunshine all year round’. At the time I didn’t know much about Australia. I know this sounds so stupid now, but I thought Australia was full of kangaroos jumping around and I remember being quite worried about coming here, thinking, ‘Oh my goodness, what am I going to do with my drycleaning and where am I going to get my shoes repaired? I’ll have to send them back to England!’

Yes, I thought it was going to be very rural and so I was most amazed when I saw that it was just like England really.

I got the idea to come to Australia when I was about five years old. I had an uncle who was a priest and had been posted out here. My family lived in Ireland and when we children were playing in the back garden, we would always start digging down to our uncle in Australia. There were 12 of us at this game – I was the youngest – and I can assure you there were many holes dug in that backyard, headed for Australia!

There were a lot of nurses on board the Fair Sky – I understand that there were more than 20 on board.

It was ‘party party’ every night and we really did enjoy ourselves. We were there for a good time because we had been studying since finishing school and then started our nursing training, then midwifery. So this was our holiday – a holiday of a lifetime!

When we first landed I couldn’t understand the Australian accent. I thought they spoke down their nose and I used to think, ‘I wish they’d speak properly!’ Apart from that I got a really good impression of the people here – always very friendly.

I did like Australia but I always had in mind that in two years I was going back home to do further study. It was only meant to be a working holiday. But then I met my husband.

The girls and I had only been here six months when we were asked out to a Halloween party. That’s where I met him. At the time though, I had decided that I really didn’t want to get caught up with one of these Australians!

So we all moved to Mackay and worked at the Mackay Base Hospital. Unfortunately, he had a flying licence and used to fly his plane over to see me. Finally, I called it quits and got engaged at the end of 1960 and we were married in March of 1961. Within three years of having arrived I was married.

We have four children, three boys and a girl. We are now retired and have bought a house in Rockhampton. I must say that we really are very happy with our lives together here in Australia.

There were a few people around where we lived in Tipperary who had been to Australia and came back talking about the macho outback kind of Australian. And so we didn’t know there was a city involved at all. My impressions were mostly of rural Australia and I was happy to come out to that.

I always say, I fell in love with Australia on the trip to Brisbane because it reminded me of Ireland! Now, would you believe that? I was looking out that train window and I might have been just going up to Dublin as far as I was concerned.

In September 1973 I went back to Ireland with my four children for six months. We had no relatives here in Australia. So, when the children went home and met all their aunties and uncles and cousins they just couldn’t believe it.

My husband’s family was from Ireland as well, from Tipperary, quite close to where I was from. I didn’t know him before I came out here although I did know his family.

They were musical and our families used to go dancing together for years. But I had to come 13,000 miles to meet him and marry him!

I go to Ireland every year now – I am six months here and six months there. And even though I still go back to Ireland, I could never make my home there. I think that Australia is definitely the best country in the world.

Maria José Fernández

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Populate or perish 1962

Antonina as a child with her parents Natalia and Ilya Suzdalov.

Family photographs reproduced courtesy of Antonina Borodina

Far from mother Russia Stateless and displaced

Revolution, escape, adaptation, endurance and exodus – this is the story of Australia’s White Russians.

ANTONINA BORODINA (nee Suzdalova), born in China in 1927, was the daughter of White Russians who had fled the Russian Civil War to settle in China. After surviving war and turmoil for 35 years, political turmoil once again forced this family to leave the home they had established and migrate to Australia.

The narrative of White Russian immigration to Australia in the 1950s and ‘60s takes us back several generations to the overthrow of the Romanov dynasty, Russia’s 1917 revolution and subsequent civil war.

When control of the state was seized by the Bolsheviks, many supporters of the murdered Tsar Nicholas II, and others who opposed the Soviet regime, fled the country.

Dubbed the ‘Whites’, in opposition to the communist ‘Reds’, their ranks included military officers, Cossacks, intellectuals, businessmen, landowners and officials from the Imperial government. Hundreds of thousands, possibly millions, left the country between 1917 and 1920 in the wake of a civil war, worsening conditions, food shortages and fear of reprisal for their ideological positions. They took few, if any, of their possessions and little wealth with them.

Many left for European Slavic countries such as Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Poland and Czechoslovakia, or to western countries such as Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Finland, Germany and France. Those living in Siberia and the Russian Far East, however, fled to nearby China, Central Asia and Japan. In China, cities such as Shanghai and Harbin swelled with Russians seeking work and refuge. During this time Harbin, located in Manchuria close to the Russian border, became known as the ‘Moscow of the Orient’. It already had a small Russian population, since the region had once been Russian territory. With this influx of Russian refugees the city became a small-scale replica of old Russia on Chinese soil, with orchestras, ballet companies, tertiary vocational schools and colleges, and many successful businesses.

In the nearby city of Hailar, located just inside the Chinese border, Ilya Suzdalov arrived from Russia in 1919. Once he had secured work with a British company, his wife, Natalia, followed in 1920 with daughter Nadezhda. In 1927 the second child and subject of this story, Antonina, was born in Hailar.

The family settled and life was good. However, this peace was not to last.

From 1924 the stateless White Russians had begun moving south to Shanghai, Peking and Tientsin in small numbers. This was accelerated in 1931 with the sudden invasion of Manchuria by Japan, and their proclamation of its independence. Despite most business being allowed to continue as previously, many Russians feared worse to come and the numbers migrating south continued to rise.

The influx of refugees made it harder and harder to find work in the southern cities, however, and Antonina’s family decided to stay in Hailar where her father had reliable work.

As war swept the world, the stateless Russians were not interned by the Japanese.

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1962 Populate or perish

The family travelled by foot over 170 kilometres to Hong Kong, where they boarded the Dutch liner MS Tjiluwah for Australia

01 In Hong Kong prior to leaving for Australia. Antonina is the adult in the middle surrounded by her five children (left to right): Anfisa, Evdokia, Yakov (on his mother’s lap), Maria, and Nikolai standing behind his mother.

02 The Borodina family sailed for Australia in 1962 on the Dutch passenger liner MS Tjiluwah, 8,675 GRT, built for Koninklijke Paketvaart Maatschappij (KPM) in 1950–51 for its far-eastern service. In 1960 it was transferred to a KPM subsidiary, Royal Interocean Lines (livery shown here), to operate on the service between Australia, Hong Kong and Japan. ANMM collection

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In August of 1945 as World War II drew to a conclusion, the Soviets invaded Manchuria and expelled the Japanese forces. Hailar was the scene of bitter and ferocious fighting.

At the end of the war the British company Ilya had been working for closed, offering to take him and his family to England. He declined and moved his family to the nearby Chinese countryside, to farm the land. Rural life was not easy. The climate was harsh, water and electricity were limited and the diet was basic and unvaried. Even now, over 60 years later, Antonina does not like corn on the cob, a staple of the family’s diet there.

In destabilised China, civil war broke out between the nationalists and the communists. By 1948 the communists had military success in the north in and around Harbin and began a fast-moving drive south to the major cities like Shanghai and Peking. The White Russian community had few choices. Some had elected to adopt Soviet citizenship and either stayed put and accepted Chinese communist government, or began heading back to the Soviet Union.

Others refused the political system they had originally fled in Russia and, facing incarceration, began the exodus to countries such as the United States, South America and Australia as displaced persons in the first wave of post-war White Russian migration.

Antonina stayed with her family in rural China throughout the post-war period and continued to work the land.

During this time she met and married Alexander Borodina, who also worked the land in the same village, and they had five children – Nikolai, Maria, Anfisa, Evdokia and Yakov, all born in the Manchurian village of Trehrechie.

During the turmoil of Cultural Revolution in the early 1960s, however, the Russians still living in the Chinese provinces were evicted from the lands they had occupied for the last three decades. Their choice was to return to the motherland or migrate to the West. In 1962 Antonina, by this time a 35-year-old widow with five children between the ages of 4 and 16, decided to leave China.

The United Nations Refugee Agency assisted in sponsoring a large-scale White Russian migration to Australia, South America and the United States, and the efforts of a man originally from Harbin, Nikolai Ostroumov, helped secure passage to Australia for families from Trehrechie.

Assisted by her brother-in-law and sister-in-law, Antonina and her children started the long journey to Australia, travelling by truck to Hailar then by train to Harbin, Peking and Canton. From here the family travelled to Hong Kong, and Antonina recalls trekking by foot for some of this journey. They stayed in Hong Kong for two weeks until their ship left for Australia. The family travelled on the Dutch liner MS Tjiluwah, which plied between Australia, Hong Kong and Japan. The basic third-class accommodation was described as ‘deck with stretcher’ and was popular among Chinese students and White Russian migrants.

On 30 September 1962 Antonina and her family arrived in Sydney and were transferred to the Bonegilla migrant centre. Despite language barriers, and with the help of the Red Cross and a close-knit Russian community, the family settled into life in a new country. Antonina found work at the Eveleigh Railway Workshops as a cleaner of interstate trains, and worked there for the next 20 years. The family eventually obtained housing in Sydney’s Canley Vale, a home which Antonina was later able to purchase.

On 2 May 2010 Antonina Ilyichna Borodina, who has nine grandchildren and 21 great-grandchildren living across the eastern states of Australia, had her name unveiled on the museum’s Welcome Wall.

Veronica Kooyman Australian National Maritime Museum 217

From buckaroo to grazier Building a cattle station in the Top End

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Populate or perish 1963

Three generations of the Reborse family: Evelyn is in the centre in the red shirt and Lee Snr stands next to her holding his grandson.

Queensland, 1978.

All photographs courtesy Clydel Miller and Evelyn Reborse

Hailing from the arid deserts and spectacular mountain ranges of the US state of Nevada, buckaroo Lee Roy Reborse finally fulfilled his dreams of owning a cattle property when he purchased an undeveloped station in the tropical Top End of Australia.

BORN IN THE WILDS of the Owhyee desert in northern Nevada, USA, Lee Roy Reborse and his younger brother Clyde came with a good buckaroo pedigree. Their father, ‘Powder River’ Lee George Reborse, originally from Maine, arrived in the town of Elko, Nevada, in 1917 at the age of 20 with just a dollar in his pocket. Nevada has a long tradition of gambling, gold and silver mining and ranching.

An expert horseman, ‘Powder River’ Lee (who got his nickname from a former place of employment) soon picked up work breaking in horses and ranching cattle, gaining a reputation as one of the best bronco riders in the region.

In 1918 he married Verna Horn, from the small mining town of Tuscarora, and the births of their two sons soon followed. From 1922 ‘Powder River’ Lee bought a series of run-down ranches for improvement and re-sold them for a substantial profit, before dying of a heart attack in 1953.

Growing up in rural Nevada, brothers Lee and Clyde were introduced to the buckaroo lifestyle as young boys, learning the necessary skills on horseback beside their father before venturing out on their own as young men to make their way in the world. Lee was just 16 when he left home, and by 1941 he enlisted and served in the US Air Force during World War II. In 1946 he married Mona Evelyn Smith (known as Evelyn), a local girl he met at a dance in the small town of Eureka. Their first child, Lee Jr, was born in 1947.

Two daughters followed: Clydel in 1951 and DeLeah in 1958.

The young Reborse family moved frequently as Lee took on various positions as a hand for hire and ranch manager.

With land in Nevada expensive, it seemed unlikely that he would be able to purchase his own property, so he began to look to Australia.

In the two decades following the end of the war, fewer than two per cent of Australia’s migrants came from the United States, but skilled horsemen and cattlemen such as Lee Snr, Clyde and Lee Jr were in demand. It took Lee Snr 10 years to convince his wife that opportunity awaited them in Australia but, with the Australian Embassy eager to assist their relocation, the Reborse family arrived in bustling Sydney aboard a Pan American Airways flight in 1963.

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1963 Populate or perish

The brothers were warned by new contacts in Australia not to go to wild and dangerous Darwin

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Populate or perish 1963

The sights and sounds of life on the station are still vivid in Clydel’s memory all these years later

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01 Lee Reborse Snr, 1970.

02 Deafy, one of the local stockmen, and DeLeah Reborse, 1964.

The brothers were always close, so it was only natural that Clyde and his wife Tony also migrated at the same time as Lee Snr, Evelyn and their three children. They were keen to continue working with livestock, but were warned by new contacts in Australia not to go to wild and dangerous Darwin. They first picked up a short caretaker tenancy in Dubbo, north-west of Sydney, which gave Lee Snr, Clyde and Lee Jr an opportunity to head north to Queensland in search of possible cattle stations.

Conversations with locals uncovered the story of another American family who had established a station in the Northern Territory. Through letters, the brothers were invited to visit the station and began to consider the region despite the previous warning.

In 1965 the Reborse brothers, born and bred in the driest state in the USA, purchased a 1,160-square kilometre station on the Finniss River in the tropical Top End of Australia. The undeveloped station had no roads, no homestead and no fences or yards, just 2,000 head of ‘scrubber’ cattle – once domestic animals that had become feral and inbred, and were unmustered and unused to human contact. Lee Snr, Clyde and Lee Jr soon set about establishing a functioning cattle station. They hired 14 Aboriginal stockmen to help muster the rogue cattle, keeping those animals with any decent breeding and selling off the rest for export meat. Clyde picked up some contract mustering work about 40 kilometres away from Darwin on Humpty Doo station. Money from this and the sale of scrubbers helped purchase quality bulls and build roads, fences and housing.

Despite initially feeling devastated at the thought of moving so far away, daughter Clydel recalls with fondness the teen years she spent growing up on the Finniss River Station.

Around 60 Aboriginal people lived on the station – the extended families of the employed stockmen – and they soon became friendly with the Reborse family. The sights and sounds of life on the station are still vivid in Clydel’s memory all these years later – of being taken on walkabout as a young girl, the sounds of corroboree in the warm evenings, and the happy laughter and camaraderie of the stockmen and her father and brother.

When Lee Snr, Clyde and Lee Jr sold the property in the early 1970s it was a thriving station with 10,000 head of cattle. Lee Snr and Evelyn relocated to Queensland and leased a cattle station until Lee died of liver cancer in 1981, aged 61. Clyde and his wife Tony remained in the Northern Territory for the next three decades. Tony died in 2001 and Clyde in 2008.

In 1968 Lee Jr married a girl from the neighbouring station – the daughter of the American family who first invited the Reborses to their property in the Northern Territory.

Following in the family footsteps, Lee Jr and Marie owned a small station in Queensland before returning to the USA in the 1980s, where the husband and wife team became tandem truck drivers.

Lee Jr died in November 2011, aged just 64. His two children still live in Australia. Clydel married Ray Miller, a Canadian she met while they were both working for an offshore drilling company in Darwin in 1973. The couple spent the next 10 years overseas for work; their first child was born in Scotland, the second in Canada. Clydel always yearned for Australia and in 1982 the family emigrated to Western Australia where they happily remain, though Darwin is an annual holiday destination. Her mother Evelyn, now aged 90, also lives in Perth near Clydel and Ray. DeLeah, the youngest child of Lee Snr and Evelyn, lives on a cattle station in the New England region of northern New South Wales with her husband Mark Morawitz. Their three children also remain in Australia.

Clydel honoured her family’s story by registering the Reborse family members with the Welcome Wall. Their names were unveiled in May 2015.

Clydel Miller and Veronica Kooyman Australian National Maritime Museum 221

01 Klaas and Aafke Woldring on their wedding day, the Netherlands, 1959.

All images reproduced courtesy Klaas and Aafke Woldring 02 Klaas Woldring (back row, far right) with classmates at Hotelschool The Hague, 1959.

Australia via the Cape Apartheid, academia and Dutch-Australian connections

Teenaged sweethearts Klaas and Aafke Woldring have been together for more than 60 years, with their union taking them from the Netherlands to Australia via South Africa and Zambia.

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Populate or perish 1964

Klaas will never forget travelling through the once-great German cities of Bremen and Hamburg and seeing them reduced to rubble

KLAAS WOLDRING was born in July 1934 in the university city of Groningen, in the north of the Netherlands. Aafke van Oostrum was born in Utrecht, in the central Netherlands, in October 1936 and was then adopted by a farming family in Munnekezijl, near Groningen. Both Klaas and Aafke were young children when Nazi Germany invaded the Netherlands in May 1940, marking the beginning of their country’s involvement in the Second World War. During the Nazi occupation, Klaas’ family spent most of their time in Wassenaar and The Hague, where their house in the Bezuidenhoutkwartier was bombed on 3 March 1945. He remembers the Germans launching long-range V-2 rockets against Allied targets in London, and also the Dutch famine during the winter of 1944–45 (known as the ‘Hunger Winter’). In the final months of the war, Klaas lived with his grandparents in Groningen, and endured the onslaught that destroyed half the city in April 1945. Later that year, after the conflict had ended, he was fortunate to be sent on a children’s health transport to Vejle, Denmark, to recuperate for six months under the care of foster parents. Klaas will never forget travelling through the German cities of Bremen and Hamburg and witnessing the once-great centres reduced to rubble as far as the eye could see.

Aafke spent most of the war years at her family’s farm in Munnekezijl, apart from a six-month stay at a sanatorium where she was treated for tuberculosis. Tragically her mother died from the disease in 1943. Aafke has vivid memories of the Nazi soldiers confiscating their farm supplies and searching for her father, who often went into hiding to avoid being sent to Germany. Her proudest memory was when the Canadians liberated Groningen in April 1945 and her father was the only person in the whole village who could speak English.

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Klaas and Aafke met in July 1953, on Klaas’ 19th birthday, and were married in October 1959. In the same year, Klaas completed a diploma in hotel management in The Hague, while Aafke trained in Amsterdam as a registered nurse. She later gained her qualifications in midwifery in Scheveningen, a beachside suburb of The Hague.

Shortly after their marriage, in the face of some difficult family circumstances, Klaas and Aafke decided to leave the Netherlands. They considered several options, including Australia, New Zealand, Canada and the United States, but eventually settled on South Africa because of its interesting history and diverse cultural heritage.

There had been a Dutch presence at the Cape of Good Hope since the 17th century. In 1652 the Dutch East India Company (Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie, or VOC) established a victualling station at Table Bay to supply fresh meat, fruit and vegetables for ships sailing from the Netherlands to the East Indies (now Indonesia). The Dutchspeaking settlers at this station, which became Cape Town, were the forebears of the Afrikaner communities in South Africa.

Klaas and Aafke spent two and a half years in South Africa, during which time they had two children, Hans (born in Durban in 1959) and Eke (born in Cape Town in 1962).

This period had a powerful and enduring effect on their lives. Klaas and Aafke were strongly opposed to apartheid, the system of racial segregation introduced by the governing National Party in 1948, and they were involved in campaigning against the policy for many years.

In 1962 Klaas secured a job as an assistant manager at the new Ridgeway Hotel in Lusaka, capital of the mineral-rich former British protectorate of Northern Rhodesia (which would become the independent Republic of Zambia in October 1964, under the leadership of Kenneth Kaunda).

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1964 Populate or perish

The family immediately felt at home in Sydney and was relieved to discover that Australians rarely discussed politics or race

01 Aafke Woldring at Lismore Base Hospital, NSW, 1984.

02 Woldring family portrait in Lismore, New South Wales, 1978.

From left: Oliver, Klaas, Hans, Aafke, Eke and Karain.

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224 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Populate or perish 1964

Although it was a time of uncertainty, particularly for British colonial public servants, the local Zambian population was optimistic about their future. Klaas remembers playing soccer in the country’s new first division league, which included matches with former England international Jackie Sewell, who had been engaged by the City of Lusaka Football Club as a coach and marquee player.

In 1963 the young family moved north to jointly manage the new Elephant’s Head Hotel in the lead and zinc mining town of Broken Hill (now Kabwe), which was named after a similar mine in far western New South Wales. A year later Klaas and Aafke were invited to take a five-year lease on the hotel, but declined as they felt it was too great a financial risk.

In 1964 the couple met some Australian auditors from the Broken Hill mine, who were guests at their hotel.

The auditors told them about Australia’s successful mass migration program, and how the Dutch were held in high regard. With their encouragement, the family submitted an application to the Australian High Commission in Pretoria, South Africa, underwent a medical examination and completed the formalities for their third migration.

In May 1964 the family joined a long list of passengers in Durban awaiting the sea passage to Sydney. It was only on the morning of their departure that they were able to confirm a cabin for Aafke, Hans and Eke on the Shaw Savill liner Northern Star. A few days later, Klaas boarded a flight from Johannesburg to Sydney, where he found casual work in the banquet department of the Chevron-Hilton Hotel in Potts Point. The voyage for Aafke and the children took nine days from Durban to Perth, and three days from Perth to Sydney. On the ship, Aafke met Englishwoman Patricia Wilce, who was also travelling with two children.

Aafke’s and Patricia’s husbands met them on arrival in Sydney and the two couples remain friends today.

During their first six rainy weeks in Australia, the Woldring family stayed at a holiday apartment in Albert Gardens, Manly. They later paid a deposit on a two-bedroom flat in the beachside suburb of Coogee, where they lived until 1970. The family immediately felt at home in Sydney and was relieved to discover that people rarely discussed politics or race. However they noticed that Australians had little awareness of the situation in South Africa, until the cancelled cricket tour of 1971 opened up the public debate on apartheid. Australia went on to play an important role in the dismantling of the policy, through universities, trade unions and the political intervention of leaders such as Malcolm Fraser and Bob Hawke.

Prompted by his experiences of apartheid, Klaas embarked wholeheartedly on the study of government, race relations and political economy. In 1968 he gained a Bachelor of Arts (through part-time study via distance education) from the University of South Africa, while also employed full-time at the reception desk of the Chevron-Hilton.

Klaas went on to complete a Master of Arts in Political Science (Comparative Federalism) at the University of Sydney in 1969, followed by a PhD on the international relations of Southern Central and Eastern Africa at the University of New South Wales (UNSW) in 1974. He also tutored in political science at UNSW from 1970 to 1975.

At the same time, Aafke obtained further qualifications in nursing and worked as a sister at a baby health clinic.

She gave birth to two more children in Sydney, Karin (born 1969) and Oliver (born 1971). The Woldring family became naturalised Australian citizens in 1969.

In 1975, the family of six relocated to Lismore in northeastern New South Wales, after Klaas was appointed as a lecturer in political and administrative studies at the Northern Rivers College of Advanced Education.

When the college was upgraded to Southern Cross University, Klaas was promoted to senior lecturer and then associate professor. Aafke continued her work as an early infant sister in the Northern Rivers region.

In the early 1980s, the family returned to Zambia, where Klaas taught for two years as a senior lecturer at the University of Zambia. In the 1990s, he became the head of the School of Management and Marketing at Southern Cross and chair of the Business Faculty Board. He retired in 1999 as an associate professor and took on various parttime teaching appointments at the University of Western Sydney, Macquarie University and the Workers’ Educational Association (WEA).

One of Klaas’ fondest recollections from his distinguished academic career is the difficulty that many Australian students had with pronouncing or spelling his name.

He delighted in commencing each year by showing some 50 different misspellings of his name on an overhead projector, which led the students to contribute further variations. Aafke had the same problem with her name and recalls how some of the new mothers who visited her baby clinic would memorise her name as Agfa. When they forgot, they would call her ‘Kodak’.

Klaas and Aafke, who have nine grandchildren, now live on the Central Coast of New South Wales.

Having encountered very few Dutch immigrants during their time in Lismore, they have become involved with organisations like the Dutch Australian Cultural Centre (DACC), which is based at Holland House in the Sydney suburb of Smithfield. Klaas is currently the secretary of the DACC, having served as president from 2007 to 2011.

As keen supporters of the Dutch community in Australia, Klaas and Aafke registered their names on the Welcome Wall to commemorate their own part in the nation’s migration history following their journey via the Cape.

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1968 Populate or perish

The swinging sixties at sea An exciting adventure

In 1968 Ian Wilkinson travelled by sea from London to take up a doctorate scholarship in Sydney. He kept a journal during his trip to record his experiences at sea.

I FIRST STUDIED a Bachelor of Social Sciences (Honours) at the University of Southampton from 1964–67. Once I had finished this degree, I was offered a scholarship at the University of Warwick, Queensland, which I decided not to take up. Nevertheless I was interested in the idea of travelling to Australia – I think it was both the sense of adventure, and the idea of being a ten-pound Pom. It also helped to have an uncle living in Dapto, New South Wales, who would sponsor me. The alternative was a job working for Air Products (a gases and chemicals company) in London.

At the time I had also considered moving to Canada.

In my interview with the Canadian embassy, I was asked if I was religious, and when I said that I wasn’t I was told that most of the entertainment in Canada is based around the church. I thought, ‘Bugger that!’ After that I had an interview at Australia House and decided to emigrate to Australia instead. I sent letters and pre-arranged interviews with companies in Australia, and I was offered a scholarship to do a PhD in marketing at the University of New South Wales in October 1967, which I accepted. But I still came out as a ten-pound Pom. I left England on 26 November 1968.

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I kept a journal of my experiences on the SS Fairsea because sailing halfway around the world was going to be an exciting adventure. And I knew that when I got to Australia I would be walking on streets that I had only ever seen before in maps! It was an amazing life aboard the ship. I shared a cabin with five others, and the liveliest man in the cabin was 70. The others used to go to bed at about 8 pm!

The late 1960s was a time of the great ‘Aussie adventure’, when young Australians were flocking to visit ‘the old country’. On the SS Fairsea Aussies were returning home from their European adventures. English people were relocating to ‘show the colonies how to behave’ and lots of English teachers had been recruited to work in Australia, so there was an amazing cross-section of people on the boat.

The Suez Canal was closed at the time, due to Israel’s Six-Day War the previous year, so we made three stops: the Canary Islands, Capetown and Fremantle (on Boxing Day). We spent about a day in each place and there were two weeks of travel in between.

The first week on the ship I didn’t really meet anyone as we were hit by a typhoon leaving the Bay of Biscay and it was extremely rough. I wrote: Sea sickness appears to be taking its toll. The meal table dwindled in numbers every sitting. Last night I felt a bit queasy myself whilst watching ‘The Pumpkin Eater’ in the fore lounge (note the nautical terminology). The screen kept swaying back and forth and sideways – distorting the picture as it did.

Populate or perish 1968

01 Life is a beach for a newly arrived ‘ten-pound Pom’ getting to know his Antipodean cousin Janet.

Photographs courtesy of the author 02 Whiling away a six-week voyage of migration on board SS Fairsea.

The author is third from the left.

‘I was interested in the idea of travelling to Australia – I think it was both the sense of adventure, and the idea of being a ten-pound Pom’

The big gala welcome dance was even cancelled due to the rough weather.

It was quite a social network – those who weren’t seasick were busy drinking and having fun.

When the bar closes tonight we hope to arrange a party of some kind with beer we have taken away. Someone has a portable record player and several home records.

Could be good!!

Momentous events were happening in South Africa when we had our brief stopover there, and we didn’t even know.

Apartheid was still rife and around the time we were there, there was the infamous sacking of a multicultural street in South Africa. An excerpt from the journal reads: Landed in Cape Town last night at 12.00 am. All rushed off eagerly – in the pouring rain – to take in some of the night life. Strange sensation walking around ... The sign on the taxi first hits you saying Whites only (there are others saying Non-whites only).

I became friends with Mark and Judy Mallam who had just got married and had been given a cabin together, which was unusual in those days. Mark had been to Australia before and was returning to work in an architecture firm.

We still keep in touch.

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One of the first things I remember about arriving in Australia was being at my uncle’s place and wandering around the house for ages trying to find the loo. It was an outdoor dunny and walking out to it reminded me of going to the London Zoo, with all the animals and insects.

I had read all about the dangerous spiders in Australia and mentioned the redback spider to my uncle who asked if I wanted to see one. I said yes thinking he might have an embalmed one, but he took me out to the garage, picked up a shoe and they were underneath!

In January 1969, I signed on at the University of New South Wales for my PhD. The scholarship by itself was worth more than I would have earned working as an investment banker back in the city of London, as the Australian dollar was very strong back then.

Once he completed his PhD in 1972, Ian returned to the UK to work at the Cranfield Business School for a year, then lectured at Temple University in Philadelphia for three years. Since his return to Australia in 1977, he has lectured in Marketing at the University of New South Wales (UNSW); University of Western Sydney, Nepean; and as a visiting professor of economics in Stockholm. In 2001 he returned to UNSW as a Professor of Marketing.

While I was on the ship, I even made notes of Australian phrases in my journal and translated them so that I would understand them. Booma – old kangaroo – fantastic; Rubbishing – taking the piss; and Shout you a beer – buy you a beer!

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The 12 sailors from the Las Balsas expedition in front of the Suntori Motel and Restaurant in Ballina, New South Wales, 1973. Luis Guevara is fourth from left.

All images reproduced courtesy Ballina Naval & Maritime Museum

228 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Populate or perish 1973

Las Balsas The world’s longest raft journey

Twelve men, seven nationalities, three rafts, six months and one epic 14,000-kilometre trans-Pacific voyage – that was the Las Balsas expedition, which completed a record-breaking crossing of the Pacific Ocean from Ecuador to Australia on three balsa-wood rafts. Luis Guevara was one of the intrepid sailors.

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1973 Populate or perish

LUIS ANIBAL GUEVARA WAS BORN IN 1949 in the Ecuadorian capital of Quito, situated 2,850 metres above sea level and far from the Pacific Ocean. He was the eldest of six siblings; his father was a politician and his mother a dressmaker and talented cook who instilled in him a passion for travel and learning something new every day.

In 1966 Luis was a cadet in the Ecuadorian Navy when he crossed paths with the Spanish explorer Vital Alsar.

It was a meeting that would change the course of Luis’ life.

Vital Alsar had been inspired by the story of the legendary Kon-Tiki expedition in 1947, when Norwegian adventurer Thor Heyerdahl and his five crew sailed a primitive balsawood raft from Peru to the Tuamotu Islands in French Polynesia. Alsar aspired to double the 8,000-kilometre distance covered by Kon-Tiki in 101 days. Luis Guevara recalls: I met Vital Alsar the day he was collected from the sea after a failed expedition close to the Galápagos Islands [some 900 kilometres west of mainland Ecuador].

Those days no one would believe it was possible for a balsa raft to navigate the ocean or keep afloat after several months on the Pacific. I asked him to consider me for the next expedition.

Luis’ opportunity would come in 1973. Three years earlier, Alsar and his three crew had successfully sailed a balsawood raft 13,800 kilometres from the Ecuadorian port of Guayaquil to Mooloolaba on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast. This expedition, known as La Balsa (‘The Raft’), took 160 days and, at the time, was the world’s longest recorded raft voyage. Many attributed it to sheer luck, however, prompting Alsar to launch a new expedition in three rafts called Las Balsas (‘The Rafts’), to prove that the ancient civilisations of South America could have navigated fleets of balsa rafts to trade or migrate across the Pacific and settle in Polynesia.

For Las Balsas, Alsar recruited an international crew of 11 men. Two had participated in the 1970 La Balsa expedition – Marc Modena from France and Gabriel Salas from Chile. The others were Hugo Becerra, also from Chile; Jorge Ramirez from Mexico; Fernand Robichaud, Greg Holden and Gaston Collin from Canada; Tom McCormick, Tom Ward and Mike Fitzgibbons from the United States; and Luis Guevara from Ecuador.

In 1973, 24-year-old Luis left the Ecuadorian Navy and joined Las Balsas as a navigator. He says: My navigation skills were not only learnt in the Salinas Naval Academy, but I also went to the Franciscan Order to look at some old manuscripts and learn the art of guiding a raft without rudder across the Pacific. I also felt I needed to prove for myself that my ancestors could use these rafts for long voyages before Cristóbal Colón [Christopher Columbus] discovered the Americas.

230 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

All 12 Las Balsas sailors were involved in building the three rafts Guayaquil, Mooloolaba and Aztlán, which were based on designs used by the indigenous South Americans before the arrival of Spanish explorers and conquistadors in the 15th and 16th centuries. Measuring 14 metres long and 5.5 metres wide, each raft was constructed from nine balsa-wood logs and had a thatched cabin to provide shelter for the crew. Luis remembers: We all went to the jungle at the Hacienda la Clementina and cut the balsa trees in full moon [when sap rises and fills pores, helping to prevent waterlogging] to avoid them being too heavy and sinking during the trip. We also cut bamboo and caña de Guayaquil [a native bamboo]. Then we took the materials to Guayaquil and built the rafts alongside the Guayas River.

Luis notes: It was all done by hand, carved and joined together with manila ropes. The most important part was to cut, by hand, the spaces required for the guaras – long pieces of hardwood used like a centreboard in different positions of the raft, to create stability and used instead of a rudder.

If you lifted the guaras from starboard, the raft moved to port, and vice versa. This was different from the design of Kon-Tiki [now displayed at the Kon-Tiki Museum in Oslo, Norway], and it became quite a skill to move them just enough up or down, in order to navigate in a set direction.

Ahead of their departure in May 1973, the crew packed enough water supplies to last several weeks, after which they would rely on rainwater collected in buckets. In terms of food, Luis explains: Most food was prepared in the same way as the old tribes from the coastal areas of Ecuador. Eggs were immersed in calcium sulphate to keep them good for four months.

Sausages were prepared and immersed in pork lard to keep them for a long period of time. There were lots of grains, dried and fresh; potatoes; lots of different kinds of flour, made mostly from quinoa, corn and red beans; and also a bit of tequila from the Mexican Ambassador.

The bulk of their protein would come from freshly caught fish, such as tuna and dorado (mahi-mahi).

Populate or perish 1973

One of the Las Balsas rafts at sea, with another in the background, 1973.

Photograph by John Carnemolla

‘Those days no one would believe it was possible for a balsa raft to navigate the ocean or keep afloat after several months on the Pacific’

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1973 Populate or perish

01 Crowds watch as two of the Las Balsas rafts make their way up the Richmond River to Ballina, New South Wales, 1973.

Photograph by David Harrison 02 The 12 Las Balsas sailors on board one of their rafts in Ballina, New South Wales, 1973.

Luis Guevara is seated on the starboard side of the spreader on the forward mast. Photograph courtesy Hulbert Collection

On 21 November 1973, after 178 days at sea, Las Balsas arrived at Ballina in the Northern Rivers region of New South Wales 01

232 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Populate or perish 1973

On 21 November 1973, after 178 days at sea, Las Balsas arrived at Ballina in the Northern Rivers region of New South Wales. The expedition had travelled 14,000 kilometres across the Pacific Ocean from Ecuador to Australia, eclipsing the previous record set by La Balsa in 1970.

The rafts Mooloolaba and Aztlán landed safely at Ballina, but as Luis explains, ‘We [on Guayaquil] were the last ones to finish the expedition as our raft was involved in a serious storm just in front of Ballina and broke down. We were collected by the Royal Australian Navy ship [HMAS Labuan].’ 1 Luis continues:

02

We had a great reception on arrival and I later had the pleasure of meeting [then Prime Minister] Gough Whitlam and several of his ministers when we went to [Parliament House in] Canberra. We had the opportunity to exchange stories of our past way of life on the rafts with the ministers and of the new enormous continent we had landed on. We did not know the magnitude of differences between those worlds.

While Luis had never intended to migrate to Australia, he states:

Luis took two pairs of jeans, two sweaters, half a dozen pairs of underwear, a diving suit and three Ecuadorian hats (Panama hats). He also carried a supply of his mother’s home-made chocolate, a photograph of his family, a banner from the Ecuadorian Navy and his passport (which he would subsequently lose during the voyage).

The night before departure, Luis says: I was requested to meet the highest-ranking officers from the port of Guayaquil. They were kind and proper, but literally told me that if I did not succeed for our history, then don’t bother to return. That is how important our expedition was to acknowledge the techniques of the indigenous people in the pre-Columbian era. I knew we will make history.

On 27 May 1973, thousands of people lined the Guayas River in Guayaquil to farewell Las Balsas. Luis recalls, ‘I was so happy to finally leave Ecuador as the preparations took about three months. We all knew that the expedition would not be any shorter than six months.’

Their route across the Pacific passed the Galápagos Islands, Society Islands, Cook Islands, Tonga and New Caledonia: After the Galápagos, there were tropical storms coming from the south, which were quite strong. The whole crew had to work day and night for many days without end to keep the raft going. A raft is a totally different craft to navigate compared to a sailing vessel. It is heavy, lacks control and you are only one foot [30 centimetres] above water at all times, so you are wet most of the time. A storm near Rarotonga [in the Cook Islands] lasted for 10 days and created problems trying to keep the rafts close enough together. One time, my raft became separated from the other two rafts for a period of eight days. However, I knew we will find them further west and kept our bearing 270 degrees west for several days until we saw them as a dot on the horizon and reunited with them.

Ecuador had a military junta and I was not very happy to return. I never accepted the decoration offered to me by the Ecuadorian government. The Australian government was very supportive for us to stay and I gladly accepted their offer to stay in Australia. Now reflecting on this after many years, this was my best decision.

Luis found a job as a tradesman with Civil and Civic in Sydney, before enrolling to study at the University of New South Wales. He became a biomedical engineer, researching knee replacements and cochlear implants. He also became the first Honorary Australian Consul for the Republic of Ecuador.

Luis is married to New Zealand-born Maryanne Barnard and has two children, Elyse and Jean Paul. Elyse, also a keen sailor, studied medical sciences and works in medical research.

Jean Paul joined the Royal Australian Navy and served in Iraq, before moving to the USA to study international relations. He met his partner Fran in the Galápagos and they now have a daughter named Isabela.

Luis Guevara, a self-proclaimed ‘proud Aussie’, was registered on the Welcome Wall by his wife, Maryanne.

Asked to reflect on his role in Las Balsas, the longest recorded raft voyage in history, Luis says, ‘Modern navigation is so completely different to the old timeless navigation used by the pre-Columbian sailors. It is important to acknowledge the link between navigation and migration, and that the two come hand in hand, even these days.’

1 Left to drift, Guayaquil ended up in Newcastle (nearly 600 kilometres south) and was later burned as scrap. Aztlán and Mooloolaba were moored on the Richmond River; the former was secured, while the latter eventually broke apart. Today a composite of these two rafts remains on display at the Ballina Naval & Maritime Museum on the north coast of New South Wales.

Kim Tao Australian National Maritime Museum 233

1976 Populate or perish

Third time lucky!

Dancing to Australia

Rolando Miguel Cano Flores toured the world with the Ballet Folkorico of Mexico as a young man and fell in love with Australia. In 1976 he fulfilled his dream to return here as a dancer, choreographer, teacher and cultural ambassador of all things artistic and Mexican.

I WAS ABOUT 16 WHEN I went to see a performance by the famous Ballet Folkorico of Mexico at the Palace of Fine Arts. It was one of the most wonderful spectacles I have seen and I came out of the theatre thinking: ‘This is it, I know what I want to be. I am going to be a professional dancer!’ I remember calling in sick to work then ringing the Ballet Folkorico to tell them I wanted to be a dancer and join their dance company. I explained that I had been attending dance classes since I was 15. I was so excited when they offered me an audition, even though I had no idea what to expect.

I remember there were about 20 male and female dancers at the audition, and at the end the organisers said: ‘Okay, go to the dressing rooms and we’ll let you know whether you’ve been selected’. Four names were called out, including my own. I thought this meant that I was being dropped from the group. To my amazement they asked all four of us to be understudies for the company.

After the first week of rehearsals I was asked to stay back after class. Again, I thought: ‘Oh, well, that’s it. They want me out of here. I’m history’. But as it turned out, they wanted me to become a dancer in the resident company.

You see, there were two dance companies within the Ballet Folkorico de Mexico – one was the travelling company which toured the world, and the other was the resident company for which I was selected. So, from that day I started learning the repertoire and after about four weeks had my first performance. It was an unforgettable experience.

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When I went to pick up my very first pay cheque, I found a small note attached requesting that I report to the stage.

I remember thinking it must have been a mistake since it wasn’t my rehearsal day. The director at the time was held in very high esteem, even seen by some as a goddess.

So you can imagine how nervous I was when I went up to her and said: ‘I’m very sorry, but I think you’ve got me mixed up with somebody else. Today isn’t my rehearsal day’. She looked at me and said: ‘I am not asking you whether it is your rehearsal day or not. I want you to go and rehearse’. It turned out that they needed a replacement, so from that day on, I was part of the travelling company, and within about six weeks we were on our first international tour.

My parents were very proud of me but also concerned, because I was not even 18 years old and many arrangements had to be made to ensure I would be looked after properly. The Ballet Folkorico was a major international dancing company, with 80 to 85 performers on stage plus other members of the company who took care of costumes and so on. We had specially chartered flights, with a hundred people or more on board. It was all very exciting and I absolutely loved it. It was really the best time of my life. I still thrill to the wonderful memories of my years with the company.

In 1972 we came to Australia to tour all the major cities.

As soon as I got off the plane I remember thinking to myself that it was a wonderful place! I was struck by the immensity of the land, the freedom and warmth of the people.

I loved the fact that many diverse communities formed the country – people from places I didn’t even know existed.

After about five years or so with the company I felt I needed a break and decided to go alone to London.

During my stay there, I took as many classes as I could in modern and classical dance. To make ends meet I had two jobs, one in the costume department of the London Festival Ballet and the other as a dresser in the theatre.

At the time, I still dreamed of going back to Australia and decided to apply for a visa. My application progressed smoothly until my last interview. Suddenly I was told that things in Australia had changed and unemployment (this was around 1973 or 1974) was at its worst. I decided instead to return to Mexico and was lucky that soon after I arrived I was invited to rejoin the dance company, this time as a teacher. I was still determined to get an Australian visa and in 1975 went to the consulate to re-apply. You can imagine how disappointed I was when I heard that applications for immigration to Australia had closed just two weeks prior.

As it happened, two Australians arrived at the dance company for summer school. They didn’t speak any Spanish, so I was asked to help with translation. They were a most charming couple and I pretty much took them under my wing while they were in Mexico, giving them private lessons and extra tuition, showing them around, taking them out for dinner and so forth. When they were about to leave for Australia they offered to write to their former dance company director to see if there was anything she could do to further my Australian visa application. About six weeks later, I received a letter from the director of Dance Concert informing me she planned to apply for a special government grant for me to come to Australia to dance and teach the Mexican repertoire to the company. And the job offer entitled me to a temporary visa! But when I went to pick up my passport and opened it, I read ‘resident visa’.

The Australian consul, it seems, thought I had waited long enough and decided to grant me permanent residency!

When I gave my news to the artistic director of the dance company where I was teaching his response deeply troubled me and caused me to question whether I should leave. He told me he had written a proposal to the director requesting my promotion to assistant artistic director.

In the end, I decided that Australia offered the best opportunities to develop my dancing career and so on 2 February 1976 I arrived in Sydney.

Rolando with Jenny Stauber at the Canberra Folk Festival performing the Mexican Hat Dance, known as Jarabe Tapatio.

His costume is called Charro and hers China Poblana.

Xochipilli is the name of the Mexican Folkloric dance group I started here. It began when one of my students suggested developing the Mexican Folkloric repertoire I was teaching to a small group of students and that perhaps we could put on a performance together. My instant reply was: ‘Yes, let’s go ahead and do it, but don’t dream we’ll ever perform at the Opera House’. Would you believe that only six months after forming the group our first performance was at the Opera House!

I feel very much accepted by Australian society because I’ve always made a conscious effort to do what other people in Australia do in their everyday lives and to mix with Australians and people from all communities. Some may not agree with me, but I feel I couldn’t ever be an Aussie, even though I took up Australian citizenship many years ago. That, I felt, was something I could do to say thank-you to Australia for being so good to me. I didn’t feel I was giving up my identity because I’ll always be Mexican, I’ll always be Rolando and I will always have this accent and this culture that are part of me. I love my country and I love my culture and I’ll always try to promote it whenever and wherever possible.

Australian National Maritime Museum 235

1980 Populate or perish

Proud Brits Robin and JoJo aboard Tucantu. Image courtesy Robin and JoJo Skelcher

Me, you and Tucantu The story of a sea change

In 1980 Robin and JoJo Skelcher left England to sail around the world on their 37-foot yacht Tucantu. Thirty countries and 90 ports and harbours later, they decided Australia was by far the best place they’d dropped anchor in.

Robin: I had been sailing since I was 22 and it had long been my ambition to go on an extended voyage. I had experience sailing around the south coast of England and had done my formal course in navigation and seamanship, and obtained my yacht master’s certificate. When we set off, we didn’t have a definite program or timetable at all except that we had to ensure that we avoided cyclone areas during the cyclone season. We also didn’t have charts or information for anything beyond Australia.

In the Bay of Biscay, we got caught in a frightening storm.

Fortunately, we knew it was coming and kept as far away from the land as possible. Two other yachts didn’t and were lost. You see, boats get into trouble when they hit nasty hard things like rocks. When there aren’t any rocks about it doesn’t matter how rough the weather gets if you’ve got a sturdy boat; you’d be very unlucky indeed to get into any serious trouble.

We kept a 24-hour watch the whole time, each of us doing three hours at the helm. That wasn’t too difficult in the steady trade winds, because the boat had a self-steering mechanism. That meant that the wind direction controlled the steering of the boat and kept its course relative to the winds. But when we got into the doldrums or variable conditions, it was very tiring because the self-steering gear didn’t work so well in those conditions.

I can confidently say that we did everything that a sensible seaman does in preparation for the storm. For example, we ensured that we had only a very small sail so that the boat was not going faster than the waves. We also streamed ropes attached to plastic beer crates to slow the boat down. Once we had snugged everything down, and lashed everything and put on our lifejackets, I said to JoJo, ‘We might as well just sit down and have a Scotch!’

We took all possible precautions as we were well aware that ocean sailing is a hazardous occupation. In my view, ocean sailing is 95 per cent fooling about and five per cent serious. What you have to do is develop the ability to tell where that five per cent starts and to know that it is very serious indeed.

During our voyage we decided that we would maintain our British standards, which we considered to be the proper ones. This meant that I shaved every single day and JoJo put her makeup on every single day, and that when we arrived in a harbour, we always did so with smart attire. We did that just for fun but found it was well worth it.

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Populate or perish 1980

When we got back to England after having sailed around the world, people were proud of us: my first husband was proud, my children were proud – even though I had been the worst mother on earth for a while for going off on the boat. But life is never perfect, lots of things happen during your life that you don’t ask for.

It was only when we got to Australia and learnt that we had to go back to England to apply for our visas that we actually decided to sail around the world. We thought: ‘This is the only chance in our lives that we have to finish this. We’ll never pick it up again if we stop now.’ It was true, so we are very happy that we made that decision.

It took us about 14 months to sail to Australia from England which included stopping in lots of places along the way.

We then spent 10 months in Australia before heading back to England which took us another 14 months. We spent the next year living on the marina in England before setting off once more on the 14-month voyage back to Australia with our residency visas.

We did not leave England because we did not like England.

Indeed, we love England still. I simply felt that it was time for a change. We had decided to move to Australia for various reasons, but the main reason was that we just love the place and the people. I also had a brother who lived in Australia and a twin sister who had lived in Wollongong for years and years. My father had also lived for a time in Australia.

Undertaking this long voyage gave me enormous amounts of self-confidence. I felt that I didn’t have to be frightened of anyone ever again.

It has taken us a long time to get fully into the very laidback way of life in Australia. For example, if a chap like me went out in lycra gear in the UK they would laugh at me, whereas here they don’t. Although for me it’s still the sun shining from the north rather than the south that is by far the most difficult thing to get used to.

JoJo: I was about 31 when I sailed with Robin on Tucantu.

I had never sailed before I met him, and I guess that I just fell in love with the life as I fell in love with him. It was really a wonderful life and we got on extremely well together as we still do.

Going on the voyage was a big step for me to take because I had to leave my two little girls behind in England with their father. But I justified everything because of this great love, and so off I went. I missed the children very much but realised that if you are going to do something great like sail around the world or climb mountains, selfishness does have to come into it. If you set your mind to achieving a goal of that sort, some things have to go the other way.

I did eventually get used to the three-hour watches, but found I needed more sleep than Robin. So I used to often take a nap in the afternoon, probably up on the deck or lying up on the sail. I still had to do the housework and on the last leg I started to do more physical work during my night watches. I used to do exercises and stretching because when you are at sea for four or five weeks, and then go ashore and have to do a lot of walking, as we did, you find that your legs are not up to it. When we got to port, Robin used to only go as far as the first pub to get a beer, whereas I’d be searching around to find the shops.

The Biscay storm was bad. It was the only time we ever put lifejackets on. I remember looking at the liferaft and looking at the enormous waves, and thinking, ‘My god, I hope that I don’t have to get into that!’ It was very frightening, but eventually it all calmed down. Everything on the boat was soaking wet and we had only just left England. That was the only time we really had a frightening experience through the weather. Out of five years sailing, that was definitely the worst time.

You do have to have a sense of humour to be able to cope with this sort of voyage because sometimes it is damn uncomfortable. I think this sort of sailing teaches you a lot about tolerance and I believe it has enriched our relationship tremendously.

I still call myself English, but I am Australian as well. It’s not half and half entirely. I’ve just been back to England recently for a holiday and this time I felt a little bit like a fish out of water even though I was with my family. I would catch myself thinking, ‘What am I doing here?’ I couldn’t wait to get back to Australia because I don’t consider England my home anymore. It would upset my family terribly if I said that to them, but we love the life in Australia and this is home.

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01 Backpack migrant Karin Sosna the day she left Berlin with her children Anna and Max, being farewelled by her stepfather Bodo Kubis.

Photographs reproduced courtesy of Karin Sosna.

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Berlin Wall to Welcome Wall Following a voice from a dream

The Berlin Wall was the forbidding symbol of the Cold War that divided Europe in the decades after World War II. Karin Anni Soßna (Sosna) grew up in a divided Berlin before migrating with her young children to Australia.

KARIN ANNI SOßNA ARRIVED at Melbourne airport in 1981 with two young children, Anna and Max, a pram, two suitcases and a backpack. She had $1,000 in cash.

They spent their first night in Australia in the People’s Palace hostel, the children sharing a single bed and Karin on the floor. The next day they took a bus to Mallacoota in East Gippsland, Victoria. Karin had left behind the two strongest figures in her life, her mother and her grandmother, in a city scarred by a divisive wall – Berlin.

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02 Karin (centre) surrounded by her family. Behind are her son Max (left) and son-in-law Udo Soltwedel.

Front left to right: daughter Anna Soltwedel (SosnaSylvester), daughter-in-law Kirby Gatsfios, and her grandchildren Zara and Milla Soltwedel.

Karin’s desire to migrate to Australia had begun at an early age. Growing up in the 1950s and ’60s in authoritarian Berlin she had only a limited knowledge of Australia, but her desire even permeated her sleep. She vividly remembers a voice in her dreams that told her, aged 12: ‘You will go to Australia because it is an empty land.’

At this time the Berlin Wall – begun in 1948 – was being completed, dividing the city physically, politically and emotionally. Karin remembers when her family had to make the difficult decision about which side to live on.

Initially Karin was to stay on the Russian-dominated East side with her grandmother. Her own mother was young and unmarried. Karin’s father was the only survivor of a Bulgarian family extinguished in the Nazi concentration camps of World War II; he was unable to commit to a family of German origin. Karin’s mother moved to the West side where career prospects were better, consumer goods more available and movement less restricted. Karin’s grandmother looked young enough to pass as her mother, sparing Karin the stigma of being born out of wedlock.

Karin’s grandmother, whose ancestry was Polish and Czech, passed her surname Soßna down through three generations of women. She was a formidable character who had once walked over 1,000 kilometres to Berlin through the Czechoslovakian mountain region known as the Sudetenland, leaving behind a country oppressed by the Great Depression and the burgeoning belligerence of some of its population.

Karin then moved to the West side to live with her mother, only a short time before the final checkpoint of the Berlin Wall was closed by barbed wire on 13 August 1961.

In 1970 she began training as a nurse, in order to apply for a skilled migrant visa to Australia. Soon after gaining her qualifications in 1973 she was granted the visa. She bought a passage on a ship and was told she would be sent to work in Winton, Queensland, for the Royal Flying Doctor Service.

Populate or perish 1981

‘When you are living in harsh conditions you share more, you give more, and you receive more’

Her plans were unexpectedly derailed when she was suddenly detained for observation in a political prison.

Karin’s crime was having associated with people under investigation by the authorities. She was held in isolation in a wing for female political prisoners, including members of the notorious Baader-Meinhof gang. Karin missed the boat to Australia while compelled to attend court as a witness in a case that ran for over a year, though she herself was never charged.

Once the trial was over Karin tried to restore the pieces of her life, working as a nurse and visiting prisons and institutions as a volunteer to support inmates. She became involved in a rehabilitation program for ex-prisoners while living in an apartment-sharing community sponsored by the Berlin Social Democratic Party, which was turning old factories and warehouses into single-room apartments with shared kitchens and bathrooms.

At this time she was asked to take in a former prisoner who had escaped East Germany by swimming through a channel system, and had been detained and interrogated by both Western and Eastern authorities. Upon release he had become caught up with what Karin refers to as ‘the circle’, a group of people involved in criminal activity.

Nevertheless, they formed a relationship and in 1976 Karin became pregnant with her first child, Max. Karin was to learn a lot about trust and how easily it could be broken.

Finding it hard to break the influence of his friends, they moved to Devon, England, in an attempt to forge a fresh life, and also embarked on a trip around Europe, the United States and Australia in 1978. Standing on the beach at Mallacoota, Victoria, Karin’s urge to migrate was reignited.

Back in England she reapplied for an Australian visa and married the father of her children – now including daughter Anna – so they could migrate as a family.

Soon afterwards he disappeared with her savings for the journey. It was 1981 and she was due to leave for Australia.

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Karin made the decision to migrate with her children anyway. They flew via Berlin to visit her mother and grandmother, who between them had raised $1,000 for her.

Returning to Mallacoota, Karin eventually built a simple mud-brick house, working and volunteering variously as a massage therapist, cleaner and gardener. Her husband followed her to Australia, but the marriage was not to survive and they both moved on to new relationships.

Karin did make it to Winton, her intended destination so many years before, but sadly she was not accepted into the Royal Flying Doctor Service.

To celebrate her arrival and survival Karin registered herself and her children on the Welcome Wall. Their names were unveiled in May 2010. For Karin, having her name inscribed on the Welcome Wall will be her lasting memorial since she has chosen not to have a grave, but instead is leaving her body for organ donation and medical science.

Asked how she responded to the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, Karin answered: I have a strong connection … from long ago there was always a candle being lit in Berlin for people on the other side. It was wonderful to see something that separated people coming down. I remember that pain of separation, and I recall this period very vividly, emotionally.

Everything was structured in East Berlin. You would queue for an hour just for a loaf of bread purchased with food dockets. For three hours my whole car was dismantled at a checkpoint when travelling from West to East because I had a copy of a women’s magazine, which was considered capitalist political material. My experience is that when you are living in harsh conditions you share more, you give more, and you receive more in return … both in Germany and Australia.

Veronica Kooyman Australian National Maritime Museum 239

1986 Populate or perish

01 Shirani, Esthel and Juliette set off for their first day at an Australian school.

Photographer Michelle Aththas 02 The Aththas family four years after arriving in Sydney.

Photographer unknown

Tim Tam Times A mix-up leads to migration

At a Welcome Wall unveiling ceremony in October 2007, the guest speakers were drawn from museum staff whose family names are on the wall.

Former museum media officer Shirani Aththas recalled some childhood migration experiences.

WHEN I MIGRATED to Australia from France with my parents and two older sisters in December 1986, I was only five years old. Not surprisingly, my memories of the flight here are a little hazy. I know the flight was long and no doubt extremely boring for a five year old, even though we stopped in Sri Lanka on the way to visit my dad’s family.

Mum has my complete sympathy for putting up with three kids on such long flights!

It wasn’t exactly by mistake that we came to Australia, but we were propelled on our way by a mix-up over visas at the travel agent. My parents were interested in Australia – my dad’s brother had already migrated there and on visits to us in France he told us how great it was. Mum and Dad thought there would be better opportunities for us if we moved to Australia, but they also thought it would be a good idea to visit first. After applying for residency, Mum bought return tickets to Sydney on advice from the travel agent, believing we could still obtain tourist visas.

It turned out, however, that you can only apply for one visa at a time, and we ended up forgoing the visit and moving to Australia sight unseen!

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For my dad, Mohamed Aththas, it was his second big relocation half way round the world. He was born in Sri Lanka and that’s where he met my mother, Michelle Duterte. My mum was born in Lille, in northern France and had been working for a French airline company in the former French colony Niger in West Africa. When she was offered her choice of holiday destinations, she decided on Sri Lanka and ended up staying in a beachside hotel in Beruwela, south of Colombo. It was the same hotel my dad was working at – Confifi Hotel.

Love quickly blossomed and after a second visit to Sri Lanka, Dad followed Mum to France where they married and settled in her hometown of Lille. Initially Mum and Dad only spoke in English to each other as dad didn’t speak French, but he quickly picked up the language thanks to evening French classes. My sisters and I were all born in France and so grew up speaking only French.

One of the first things I remember from when we arrived in Sydney was not understanding much of what anyone was saying – French was the language we spoke and my English was non-existent! At first we stayed at my uncle’s house in St Ives, all of us camped out on mattresses in the lounge room until we found more permanent accommodations.

Between the five of us and my uncle, aunt and three cousins it was pretty crowded, and to make it worse I couldn’t understand what they were saying to me. We shared the house until we found a house in Hornsby.

For me, looking back now, the most interesting part of my family’s journey to Australia was not so much the badly remembered flight here, or the visa mix-up as we left France for Australia, or even settling in our own home in Hornsby after leaving St Ives. The most interesting parts of our story are all the little anecdotes about the cultural differences we all experienced adjusting to a new country, a new language and a new lifestyle. Differences I’m sure most migrants experience.

Populate or perish 1986

‘Despite not knowing a single word of English on my first day of school, my kindergarten report card described me as a “chatterbox”’

They include not knowing a single word of English on my first day of school, but then having my kindergarten report card describe me as a ‘chatterbox’. Discovering the wonders of Australian cuisine such as the chocolate topping Ice Magic on cold ice cream, Tim Tam biscuits, Aeroplane Jelly, meat pies and even Vegemite. And even teasing Mum about her French accent, and her confusion when asked to ‘bring a plate’ to a friend’s morning tea. Do these Australians not have enough kitchenware to go around? Should I bring some cutlery too?

But as much as we can look back and laugh at those first few months and years, it wasn’t easy adjusting – especially with all my mum’s side of the family halfway across the globe in France. I remember painting a portrait of my family in primary school. There we all were standing in front of our house with a plane in the background in the sky and Mum crying. In those first few months she would cry whenever she saw a plane. That’s how much she missed home, her friends and her family.

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But that was a lomg time ago and I think it’s safe to say that now we wouldn’t call anywhere else home, other than Australia. We all have a great circle of friends. Mum and Dad have their own home with a big backyard, a barbeque and a cat. We can now communicate more regularly with family by email, swapping news, stories and photos.

And we even cheer for the Wallabies!

My sister Juliette, who was eight when we migrated, married a Greek–Australian and my other sister Esthel, who was 11 when we arrived, married an Italian. I guess that sort of cultural mixing is in our blood. It’s great to have an overseas heritage and family to stay with when in Europe or Sri Lanka.

But there’s still no better feeling than flying home and seeing the great Sydney skyline through the aeroplane window.

We may all still miss the French food, the wine, the cheese – and of course, the cakes – but our journey here was well and truly worth it. We wouldn’t have it any other way.

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1920s–2009 Populate or perish

Threads of migration Stories of the humble handkerchief

Sentimental keepsake, good-luck charm, protest banner, even a passport to a new life – handkerchiefs aren’t just utilitarian. Tales of loss, war and migration are represented in these seemingly insignificant pieces of cloth.

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Populate or perish 1920s–2009

01 Valerie Lederer’s wedding handkerchief, early 1920s.

ANMM Collection. Gift from Walter and Jean Lederer.

Donated through the Australian Government’s Cultural Gifts Program 02 Identity/Displaced by Sue Saxon and Anne Zahalka, 2003.

ANMM Collection

Handkerchiefs were once so valued that they were included in dowries and wills

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1920s–2009 Populate or perish

Handkerchiefs were once so valued that they were included in dowries and wills

THE HUMBLE HANDKERCHIEF, useful to wipe away tears and wave goodbye, could be one of the most evocative symbols of migration and travel by sea. The sight of a sea of handkerchiefs fluttering in the breeze as a migrant liner, troop carrier or cruise ship pulls away from the wharf is both iconic and unforgettable.

The Australian National Maritime Museum holds a diverse collection of handkerchiefs, ranging from a late-19th-century example issued as part of a sailor’s kit, to a traditional Hazara handkerchief carried by a young Afghan refugee when he escaped to Australia in 2009.

Although modest, practical and unassuming, these handkerchiefs are among the most emotive and intensely personal objects in the museum’s collection. Each one was cherished by its owner before it arrived at the museum and each one has a story to tell, of sadness and joy, loss and hope, love and war.

It’s not surprising that the handkerchief has been invested with so many different meanings nor that it evokes so many different emotions. It has a fascinating history.

The handkerchief has been both functional and fashionable, a signifier of status and class. In the Middle Ages a knight would wear a lady’s handkerchief during a tournament as a sign of her favour. In William Shakespeare’s Othello, the handkerchief was a token of love and fidelity, as well as the source of a misunderstanding that ended in tragedy. Handkerchiefs were once so valued that they were included in dowries and wills, which explains why many British convicts transported to the Australian colonies had been convicted of handkerchief theft. Today heirloom handkerchiefs, often lovingly handmade or passed down through generations, are still carried by brides as the ‘something old’ in their wedding ensembles.

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Valerie Lederer (née Herman) carried a delicate lace handkerchief when she married Arthur Lederer in Austria in the early 1920s. Arthur was a talented Viennese tailor who made gala uniforms for European royalty and high society. On the eve of Adolf Hitler’s march into Vienna in March 1938, Arthur was working on Archduke Otto of Austria’s coronation robes, believing that the exiled monarch would return.

In November 1938, Arthur, Valerie and their 16-yearold son Walter were forced to flee the escalating Jewish persecution in Nazi-occupied Austria. They escaped just before Kristallnacht – the night when the Nazis targeted, arrested and murdered Jews across Germany and parts of Austria and Czechoslovakia.

The Lederers migrated to Sydney on SS Orama in June 1939 with the assistance of Lady Max Muller, wife of the British ambassador to Spain, who helped them through the Quaker relief organisation Germany Emergency Committee. Walter remembered that in Australia his mother ‘always carried the lace handkerchief in her purse’.

For Valerie her wedding handkerchief had become her good-luck charm as well as a poignant memento of a pre-war life she had to leave behind.

Populate or perish 1920s–2009

01 Valerie and Arthur Lederer in Austria, c1915. Reproduced courtesy Jean Lederer 02 Handkerchief decorated by Strathallan passengers between Aden and Bombay, 1939. ANMM Collection 00040050. Gift from Lud Krastins 03 Bandy Szasz and sister Zsuzsi in Hungary, before making their way to Australia, 1948.

Reproduced courtesy Sue Saxon

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1920s–2009 Populate or perish

01 Japanese prisoners from whom Peter Horne acquired two souvenir handkerchiefs in exchange for cigarettes, 1946.

Reproduced courtesy Peter Horne 02 Migrants on Castel Verde depart Trieste, Italy, for Australia, 1954. ANMM Collection ANMS0214[033]. Gift from Barbara Alysen

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246 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Populate or perish 1920s–2009

Anne Zahalka’s mother, Hedy, had fled Austria in 1936 to escape Nazism. Later she and Anne’s father, Vaclav, escaped Czechoslovakia after the Communists seized power in 1950. Sue Saxon’s father, Bandy Szasz, survived the German occupation of Hungary during the war using false papers. His family’s vineyards were confiscated by the Germans and then the Communists. Displaced from their homelands, both families migrated separately to Australia in 1950 on SS Surriento.

In Displaced Persons, Anne and Sue juxtapose photographs and documents from their family albums to locate their personal experiences within a broader narrative of 20th-century migration. In Identity/Displaced, a mosaic of Vaclav and Hedy Zahalka’s papers and medical certificates examines the theme of identity displacement, as enormous numbers of refugees were processed and resettled in the chaotic aftermath of war.

Antipodes/Exile, showing Surriento on its 32-day voyage ‘through monsoons and stifling heat’, is printed with the anecdote: Like Valerie Lederer, 29-year-old law graduate Otto Strauss fled Nazi Europe before the outbreak of World War II. He arrived in Melbourne on SS Ascanius in October 1938 with his family’s most treasured possessions – an exquisite collection of more than 50 lace and silk handkerchiefs and textiles embodying their former life and livelihood in Krefeld, Germany’s ‘city of velvet and silk’.

It was Otto’s association with the German textile industry that guaranteed his entry into Australia. Unable to practise law when Hitler came into power, Otto trained at a textile school in Krefeld, near the Netherlands border, and found work in the silk trade. He obtained an entry permit for Australia as a weaver and was later able to bring his mother Roesle Kahn, sister Karola and brother Franz to join him in Melbourne. Many of the handkerchiefs in the Strauss collection feature the monograms ‘RK’ and ‘KS’ for Otto’s mother and sister. Wonderful examples of lacemaking and embroidery, they were the Strauss family’s passport to a new life in Australia, and were acquired by the museum in 2009 to encapsulate the experiences of displaced persons.

The symbolic connection between handkerchiefs and the displaced was evoked by Sydney artists Anne Zahalka and Sue Saxon in their 2003 work Displaced Persons, which used 20 crisp cotton handkerchiefs as an artistic canvas for exploring the shared history of their families’ migration from Europe after World War II.

They sailed into Sydney Harbour and berthed at Woolloomooloo. ‘What kind of Australian word is this?’ they cried, and, in a variety of ways they attempted to pronounce this strange new word.

The work hints at the vast physical, cultural and emotional distance traversed by so many migrants who travelled from Europe to the Antipodes. Indeed Bandy Szasz regarded Australia as representing ‘the greatest distance between a blood-soaked Europe and a new future’.

One of the most intriguing handkerchiefs in the museum’s collection, recalling shipboard diversions on this long sea voyage to Australia, is a calico one decorated by four passengers on the P&O liner SS Strathallan in 1939.

The handkerchief features a series of drawings in green ink by E Jones, M Lines, H Carter and E Smith, including a particularly well-executed set of caricatures of Hitler, Popeye and possibly Winston Churchill and Joseph Stalin, attributed to E Smith.

The passenger list for this voyage, departing London on 9 June 1939, shows two passengers by that name: Ethel Dixon-Smith, 33, travelling to Karachi, and Eric Smith, eight, travelling with his family to Colombo. The caricatures appear to be too advanced for an eight-year-old, and a portrait of a woman on the left-hand side of the handkerchief, labelled ‘E Smith’ by ‘EJ’, seems to confirm they were drawn by Ethel Dixon-Smith.

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1920s–2009 Populate or perish

Each handkerchief has a story to tell, of sadness and joy, loss and hope, love and war

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01 Handmade bobbin lace handkerchief with ‘RK’ monogram for Roesle Kahn, early 1900s. ANMM Collection 00046629 02 Handkerchief made by Japanese prisoner of war at Rabaul, New Britain, Papua New Guinea, 1946. ANMM Collection 00040894. Gift from Peter Horne 03 Handkerchief painted with East Timor independence slogan, 1990s. ANMM Collection 00045702. Gift from Nancy de Almeida 248 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

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Populate or perish 1920s–2009

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The passenger list shows that the other three passengers were migrating to Sydney: 25-year-old cook Ellen Jones, 22-year-old domestic Marna Lines, and 19-year-old landscape gardener Harry Carter. Ellen, Marna and Harry’s drawings, which include various portraits and two intertwined hearts inscribed ‘ML’ and ‘HC’, provide a charming personal insight into their lives while also alluding to the wider political climate at the time. The references to Hitler and patriotic remarks such as ‘British is best’ reflect growing tensions in Europe and capture a moment in time as the passengers headed to new lives in Australia prior to the outbreak of war. Shortly after this voyage Strathallan was requisitioned as a troopship, and in 1942 it was torpedoed and sunk off the coast of north Africa. The decorated handkerchief takes on even greater significance as a touching souvenir of one of Strathallan’s final passenger voyages.

Two other war-related souvenir handkerchiefs in our collection – albeit made under very different circumstances – were acquired by able seaman Peter Horne in 1946 when he served on HMAS Cowra during post-war mine clearance operations in New Britain, Papua New Guinea.

These handkerchiefs were produced by Japanese prisoners of war interned at Rabaul, the main Japanese military base in the South Pacific until it was neutralised by the Allies in 1944.

One of the handkerchiefs, probably made from remnant parachute silk, features an embroidered representation of the Rabaul volcano, while the other features an enchanting ink drawing of a Japanese lady in a domestic garden setting. Peter acquired them from a working party of Japanese prisoners who would come on board Cowra to clean its boilers and trade their works for cigarettes.

The handkerchiefs illustrate the fine artistic and handiwork abilities of the Japanese men and provide a fascinating insight into exchange relationships between servicemen and prisoners of war in operational areas. They also speak volumes about war and making do, the home front and the sailor’s longing for the comforts of home.

The theme of home and connection to homeland is manifested in a number of handkerchiefs in our collection, including a 1990s calico handkerchief painted with the words ‘East Timor freedom’ and used as a prop in the traditional makikit (eagle) dance. The dance – designed to emulate the soaring movements of the eagle – was a symbolic expression of power and freedom performed

by East Timorese refugees at cultural and political events throughout the long years of struggle for independence from Indonesia.

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1920s–2009 Populate or perish

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The sentimental nature of this handkerchief suggests it must have meant much more to its owner than simply an accessory for taking snuff

01 The Ormonde snuff box and the mysterious hanky embroidered with a red X, or kiss, that it contained. ANMM Collection 02 Hedayat Osyan with his sister’s embroidered handkerchief, 2012.

Image Andrew Frolows/ANMM 03 Hand-embroidered silk handkerchief made by a Japanese prisoner of war at Rabaul, New Britain, Papua New Guinea, 1946. ANMM Collection.

Gift from Peter Horne 250 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

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Populate or perish 1920s–2009

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The handkerchief was donated by Nancy de Almeida, who fled the civil war in August 1975 and arrived in Darwin on the cargo ship Macdili. For Nancy, and for many of the refugees who arrived in this first wave, East Timor’s liberation was a high priority and cultural traditions such as dance and music played an important role in their independence campaign. Believing there is ‘no use having culture without being part of the struggle’, Nancy decided to paint handkerchiefs with pro-independence slogans and use them in makikit performances by the Sydneybased East Timorese Cultural Centre. In this context the handkerchief, an emblem of cultural identity, was appropriated by the East Timorese diaspora as a political statement in support of freedom in their homeland.

Another compelling symbol of freedom is an embroidered cotton handkerchief carried by 16-year-old Afghan refugee Hedayat Osyan when he escaped persecution by the Taliban in 2009. The handkerchief, a handmade gift from his younger sister, was a source of comfort and familiarity during his difficult journey to Australia via Malaysia and Indonesia, which ended with a rescue at sea by the Royal Australian Navy and transfer to Christmas Island. He says: The journey was a hundred per cent dangerous, there’s no hope, how I get to Australia. Hundreds of people were losing their life, sinking their boats between Malaysia and Indonesia, so there’s certain danger for people who came.

But we didn’t have any option; if we stayed in Afghanistan then the Taliban would kill us. So we had to put our life at risk, if we get [to Australia] we will find a better future.

Hedayat was granted a permanent visa and resettled in Sydney in 2010, and donated his handkerchief to the museum in 2012. It represents tangible links to family and home but it also reminds us why the handkerchief has meant so many things to so many people – it is a portable personal effect that has accompanied people through war and upheaval, separation and displacement, sad farewells and hopeful new beginnings. Hedayat’s handkerchief, along with others in the museum collection, reveals just some of the incredible meanings, symbols and stories that have been embedded in this modest piece of cloth throughout history.

One of the stories yet to be revealed is that of a little white handkerchief embroidered with a single red ‘x’ or kiss. It was stored in a sterling silver snuff box from the Orient liner SS Ormonde and made its way to the museum several years ago through an anonymous donation.

The sentimental nature of this handkerchief suggests it must have meant much more to its owner than simply an accessory for taking snuff (ground tobacco).

Who embroidered the tiny red kiss on the handkerchief?

Did it belong to one of the thousands of assisted migrants who left Britain on Ormonde after World War II? Hopefully its story will one day be uncovered, adding to our rich tapestry of stories woven in the threads of the humble handkerchief.

Kim Tao

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Beyond a Wh

Kokeshi dolls belonging to Margaret Parker, daughter of Nobuko (Cherry) Parker, the first Japanese war bride to arrive in Australia. Image Andrew Frolows/ANMM

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hite Australia

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1942 Beyond a white Australia

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Beyond a white Australia 1942

01 The O’Keefe family at Bonbeach, Victoria, 1956. Left to right: Annie O’Keefe, Geraldine, John O’Keefe, Peter and Mary.

Photographer Neil Murray.

Reproduced courtesy National Archives of Australia: A1501, A429/5

The case of Mrs O’Keefe A watershed for White Australia

In the 1940s, a Dutch East Indies family who had been evacuated to Australia during World War II found themselves under threat of deportation. The infamous court case that ensued was an important step towards overturning controversial legislation banning non-European immigrants.

WHEN JAPANESE FORCES INVADED the Netherlands East Indies (NEI, now Indonesia) in 1942, Samuel Jacob (1907– 1944) and Annie Maas Jacob (née Dumais) (1908–1974), along with seven of their eight children, were evacuated to safety in Australia. Both Samuel, a headmaster, and Annie, a domestic science teacher, were Dutch subjects by birth and enjoyed many privileges because of their profession.

Samuel also served as a civil administrator in the eastern Indonesian city of Merauke, a Dutch military post and site of an Allied air base during World War II. While he was decorated for bravery by Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands, Samuel’s support of the Allied forces would also put his welfare and that of his family at risk.

Samuel and Annie’s daughter Johanna (Mary) Burns (née Jacob), who was seven years old at the time of her family’s evacuation from the Aru Islands in August 1942, recalls: My father was a head man, a leader, and he was wanted by the Japanese. When the war came, Father and Mother kept things to themselves, and shielded us from complicated things like war. I can remember when the Australian Air Force came and there was a lot of bombing. My parents got us all, packed our things, and we tried to hide to avoid the bombing. Because my father was a wanted man, we owed a lot to his Indonesian followers who helped us to escape from one island to another, from one village to another.

And all this happened at night time. We were all separated in the canoes. My eldest brother Samuel [then 13 years old] was left behind because he was at school on another island, Ambon. That was traumatic for my parents, especially for my mother, to leave him behind.

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Samuel, Annie and their seven children – Ann (11), Tineke (nine), Mary (seven), Bernadette (six), Therese (four), Patrick (two) and John (one) – were reunited on a yacht in the Arafura Sea and then rescued by the Royal Australian Navy corvette HMAS Warrnambool. They were the only civilian passengers on board. Mary remembers: The Dutch helped transfer us to the warship. They had a call, and the captain said they had to pick up an Indonesian family with some other forces. We were brought to Darwin in September 1942 and settled into a big hospital.

The Australian Army was there too.

Calwell’s controversial deportation order and perceived lack of sympathy for the family attracted widespread criticism

The Jacob family was among 15,000 wartime evacuees (nearly 6,000 of whom were non-European) who were granted temporary refuge in Australia on the understanding they would return home at the end of the war.

Following a short stay in Darwin, the family travelled in a military convoy to Adelaide, via Alice Springs. On arrival they were met by the Red Cross and transported to the Metropole Hotel in Bourke Street, Melbourne, where they shared a floor with the NEI Army. Mary states, ‘My parents began looking for a place for the family to live. A lot of the places they went to, they were rejected because a family with seven children was a bit too much for some owners.’

Eventually they rented the ground floor of a two-storey house in Shenfield Avenue, Bonbeach, in Melbourne’s south-east. Their landlord was a retired postal clerk named John William O’Keefe (1889–1975).

In August 1943, Annie gave birth to her ninth child, Peter.

She continued working with the Red Cross, while Samuel served as an intelligence operative with the NEI Army in the latter stages of the war. In March 1944, Samuel was sent to New Guinea on a mission for the NEI Intelligence Service, and asked his landlord John O’Keefe to look after his wife and children should anything happen to him. Tragically Samuel died in a plane crash near Mossman, in Far North Queensland, while returning from Merauke in September 1944. Mary says: I don’t even remember my father going away. All I remember is my mother telling us you must write a letter to your papa.

My mother got the telegram. My eldest sister Ann was with her. My sister said she cried and cried and cried.

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It was not until 1989 that the wreckage of the Dutch C-47 Dakota was discovered in dense jungle, and Samuel Jacob’s remains were buried in the Cairns War Cemetery, Queensland.

After World War II ended in 1945, the Australian government, under the nation’s first Immigration Minister, Arthur Calwell, sought to repatriate all non-European wartime evacuees. While most departed voluntarily, some 800 wanted to stay in Australia permanently. Among them were the widowed Annie and her children, who had now settled into Australian life, with the children achieving outstanding results at their Chelsea school. In June 1947, in the face of increasing government pressure to leave, Annie and John O’Keefe – known as Uncle Jim to the children – were married at St Joseph’s Church in Chelsea.

Mary recollects: Uncle Jim was a marvellous Irish–Australian. He helped us a lot during our school years with our homework. We’d sit at the big dining table with books everywhere. He helped my elder sister with shorthand. She was a secretary.

But the government maintained that the marriage did not give Annie the right to remain in Australia as a permanent resident. In early 1949 Calwell issued a deportation order for Annie O’Keefe and her children.

Beyond a white Australia 1942

01 ‘Mother and 8 children may be deported’, The News, 26 February 1949, p 1.

Reproduced courtesy National Library of Australia 02 The O’Keefe family in 1949.

Back row, left to right: Annie O’Keefe, John, Mary, Patrick, Therese, Bernadette and Tineke.

Front row: John O’Keefe and Peter. Herald & Weekly Times Limited portrait collection.

Reproduced courtesy State Library of Victoria

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01 Mary Jacob, 21, as a senior staff nurse at the Royal Melbourne Hospital, 1956.

Photographer Neil Murray.

Reproduced courtesy National Archives of Australia: A1501, A429/2 02 Mary Jacob helps her mother, Annie O’Keefe, to prepare afternoon tea, 1956. Photographer Neil Murray. Reproduced courtesy National Archives of Australia: A1501, A429/3

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Beyond a white Australia 1942

‘We were kept shielded from all the nasty things as children.

My memory as a child was really happy’ Reflecting on her childhood memories of this period, Mary reveals: We had no idea – we thought we were here permanently.

We were kept shielded from all the nasty things as children.

My memory as a child was really happy. We had lots of friends and our house was full of kids. When we came to Australia, we lived right on the beach. We used to come home for lunch and go for a swim. The only time we heard what was going on was when the journalists came to our place to interview my mother and some of us. We had no inkling until my mother told us we had to go back.

We asked her why but she didn’t tell us why. We were quite amazed really because we’d lived here for a while before this came up.

Calwell’s controversial deportation order and perceived lack of sympathy for the family attracted widespread criticism in Australia and overseas, and captured the imagination of the media and the public, who rallied behind the O’Keefes. With financial assistance from public donations, the O’Keefe family appealed to the High Court of Australia, mounting what would become the first successful legal challenge to the Immigration Restriction Act 1901 (colloquially known as the ‘White Australia policy’). This policy aimed to prevent the entry of non-European immigrants through the administration of a dictation test. In March 1949, the High Court ruled that Annie O’Keefe could not be deported because she had not been declared a prohibited immigrant on entry in 1942 (as she had not taken the dictation test), nor could she become a prohibited immigrant through application of the test more than five years after her arrival. Mary recalls:

Neighbours and friends had donated money to support our case to pay the court and for our education. The church, the journalists and the papers were very good – they all gathered to organise money. During the case we always had the wireless on. It was to do with the politics in the parliament. And that was the time we used to listen to the politicians talking about immigration. I remember my mother and Uncle Jim coming in and saying we won, we were allowed to stay in Australia.

The infamous case of Mrs O’Keefe helped to pave the way for the gradual dismantling of the White Australia policy throughout the 1950s and 1960s (it was finally abolished in 1973). In 1950 Annie and John had a daughter, Geraldine, but sadly Annie’s eldest son Samuel was never permitted to enter Australia. Annie O’Keefe died in 1974 and John O’Keefe died in 1975.

Today the Jacob siblings, many of whom followed their parents into teaching, are dispersed between Australia and Indonesia. Mary trained as a nurse after completing her secondary education in 1951. She later gained qualifications in midwifery and worked at various hospitals in Melbourne until her retirement in 1995. She has been married to architect Peter Burns for more than 50 years and they have two daughters and a son.

Reflecting on her life in Australia, Mary says: I admire all the people that helped my mother, my parents to escape Indonesia. I give credit to them. I admired my mother a lot too. I miss her. There was no beating around the bush with her. I think she died really of stress.

She was always worrying – about deportation, the court case, how she could survive, coupon days.

On behalf of her siblings, Mary registered Samuel Jacob and Annie O’Keefe on the Welcome Wall with the dedication: To our heroes – our parents. Thank you both for your miraculous escape, through the sacrifices of others, during World War II, which enabled us to grow up in this wonderful country Australia.

Kim Tao Australian National Maritime Museum 259

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A tale of two migrants Together through boom and bust

Margaret Nagmis Shalala was a designer for the family-owned Midford clothing business.

She migrated from Lebanon with her parents and 10 siblings in the 1940s. Tradesman extraordinaire Emile Moussa Shalala married Margaret in Redfern and they had four children and five grandchildren, all born in Australia.

Margaret: Dad was the first to come out to Australia.

He brought three of the children out with him and they all spent the Christmas of 1947 out at sea. They arrived in Melbourne in 1948 and caught the train up to Sydney.

Dad had it hard here. He couldn’t find work and got sick when he came out. Mum was ready to send him the money for the trip back to Lebanon when she got a letter saying, ‘Don’t worry ,I’ve got a job!’ Dad had started working at the glass factory in Redfern.

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As soon as he started working, his friend said, ‘Right!

We’re going to get your family over here now!’, and Dad was like, ‘How am I going to do this? I don’t have a house.’

His friend said, ’Don’t worry. Just send the application and as soon as they come out here we’ll find something.’ I didn’t know anything about it until we were on the ship and my older sister kept telling us, ‘We’re going to a new country and we’ve got to live in a tent!’

The voyage out was terrible, it took 33 days. The worst time was the crossing to Fremantle. We all got sick!

Mum got very sick and she was in hospital on the ship.

I was the skinniest of the sisters and before we came out, my aunty had said to my mother, ‘Leave her here, she won’t make it, she’s going to die!’ I remember my older sister put it in her head that she would not get sick. She’d march up and down the ship. She was so strong willed. If we didn’t want to eat, she made sure we’d get to the table and she sat us all there and made us eat. But we couldn’t swallow, it was terrible and we were sick all the time because we weren’t used to the food. It was all like … spaghetti!

When my mother married, she bought a Singer sewing machine, an old-fashioned manual one with the handle.

I remember she used to sit there at night and sew our clothes. Before coming out, Dad had said, ‘Bring everything you can.’ So we brought out a lot of things from Lebanon including the sewing machine. My sisters worked in factories as seamstresses and they would bring back a little bundle for my mother to sew at home.

After a few years, my parents got a bit of money together and bought a house in Newtown, a double block with a beautiful house and an old factory. We cleaned out the old factory and set up some sewing machines there, it was like a small workshop. As the time went on the family business grew. We bought the Midford factory and made shirts and uniforms and that sort of thing. It stayed as a family business for many years and I was the designer. In the end we had two factories, one in Miranda [Sydney] and one in Malaysia. We employed 500 or 600 people by the time it was sold in 1991.

Beyond a white Australia 1948

01 Margaret and Emile Shalala as young migrants.

Image courtesy Shalala family 02 Margaret and Emile visiting the museum in 2005.

Image M J Fernández/ANMM

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My parents were friends with Emile’s parents in the back county [Lebanon]. So when their family flew out to Australia, we went to pay our respects. When I first saw him and he saw me something just ‘clicked’. A year later, he came and asked Dad for his permission to marry me, but I was still at technical college and only 18. Dad said ‘Look, take it easy.

She’s still young and going to school.’ Emile got upset and went off for about eight years!

Then his brother said, ‘Come on, Emile, you’re single and she’s single, and you still feel for each other. Go back again and ask!’ I remember that time, Emile came and asked me … but I wasn’t ready because I had just broken up with someone else. And so he said, ‘Okay, I’ll give you a couple of months.’

He took to visiting my brother-in-law’s shoe shop every single day. Until my brother-in-law finally said to me, ‘Look, you love him and he loves you and he’s here every day, give us your answer!’ And so I said, ‘Yes, tell him I’ll marry him!’

Emile: I came out in 1955 when I was 20 years old to join my brother in Sydney. He had been here five years before me, working as a fitter and turner. When I arrived, he took me to where he worked to see if I could get a job there too.

The foreman asked me ‘What do you do?’ and I said ‘Fitter and turner, first class!’ I had never worked as a fitter and turner, but I have always believed that if people want to do something they will be able do it. He told me to make 12-inch bearings and left me alone to do the work. I didn’t even know how to turn on the machine or if the plan was the right way up. At the end of the day, the foreman came to inspect my work and he said, ‘Fantastic! You’re a bit slow but the work is good.’ From that day, I started work as a fitter and turner.

After a few years, I bought a block of land to build a house and started working for myself as a builder. First, I built a few units in Sydney and afterwards I went to Wollongong and built some there. By the time I was 45, I had built about 25–30 units. When the Whitlam government came to power, interest rates shot up from two or three per cent to over 25%. No one could get finance from the banks and that sent me broke, well not only me, all the builders.

An opportunity came up to buy a big bakery in Wollongong.

I didn’t know anything about the business and so when I went to the bank they said to me, ‘If you want to buy a bakery, you need to know the work from the top down.’

I decided to work at the bakery without any pay to learn what I could. After about two months, I succeeded and knew how to do things better than anybody! My three sons had the Shalala Patisserie business, there were about 10 or 15 shops. The youngest looked after the factory because he went to tech and he learned how to be a pastry cook, while the oldest one managed the shops. Unfortunately, the businesses went under and we lost everything, we lost the shops, we lost the bakery, everything. We lost about six million dollars! I was in a really bad way and I thank God for my wife. She used to say to me, ‘Look, we are still millionaires – we are millionaires in our children.’ And I believe this is true.

When I first met Margaret, I really liked her because she was a lovely girl. When I proposed the first time and she would not marry me because she was still going to school, I got very upset. I felt rejected. I believe in the Virgin Mary and prayed to her to help me make a good decision. I am glad that I married Margaret because she is a good wife and a wonderful mother!

I have been in Australia now for more than 50 years.

When people ask me ‘Where are you from?’ I say ‘Originally from Lebanon, but I am Australian.’ We are all migrants here. The real Australian people are the Aboriginal people.

Honest, the rest of us all come from some other place!

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1953 Beyond a white Australia Teruko Morimoto and Warrant Officer Bill Blair in Kure, Japan.

Image courtesy Teruko Blair

War and love Japanese war brides

Teruko Blair and Sadako Morris were two Japanese war brides who met and fell in love with Australian soldiers after World War II, and made new lives in Australia – despite strict military ‘non-fraternisation’ rules and condemnation by their families and society.

Teruko Blair

At the end of World War II a defeated Japan – its economy in shreds and many of its cities destroyed – was occupied

by Allied forces to oversee its demilitarisation and the transition to democracy. At first more than 400,000 US troops were stationed around Japan; in 1946 they were joined by the British Commonwealth Occupation Force (BCOF), made up of Australian, British, New Zealand and Indian troops. Most of the 12,000 Australians were based around Kure, not far from Hiroshima, where they were charged with demilitarising the Japanese naval base.

They would remain there for the next 10 years.

The BCOF Commander in Chief, Lieutenant General Northcott, issued firm instructions concerning fraternisation with the locals:

I could not go on living without him. And what I was doing brought disgrace on my parents and my sisters. I got some poison and hid it in a drawer with a suicide letter addressed to Bill and my parents.

In dealing with the Japanese you are dealing with a conquered enemy … You must be formal and correct.

You must not enter their homes or take part in their family life. Your unofficial dealings with the Japanese must be kept to a minimum.

LATER IN LIFE, IN HER MEMOIRS, Japanese war bride Teruko Blair likened herself to the tragic Madame Butterfly, as she recounted how afraid she had been that her husband Bill might be sent back to Australia, and that she would be denied permission to join him. Teruko Blair and Sadako Morris were just two of some 600 Japanese women who fell in love with Australian soldiers and, defying a ban on fraternisation with the ‘ex-enemy’, married them and came to live in Australia.

In spite of these instructions, and the presence of provosts (military police) to enforce them, it was inevitable that servicemen would mix with the local people. Numerous opportunities for interaction arose, particularly through the daily contact between soldiers at the BCOF camp and the thousands of Japanese workers who were employed there.

Many of these were women, who worked as cleaners, office workers, house girls and waitresses.

In doing so, they made Australian immigration history as the first significant group of non-Europeans permitted to settle here under the White Australia Policy – the various regulations that, from 1901 to 1973, deliberately restricted immigration both racially and culturally.

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It was in just this way that Teruko Morimoto met Warrant Officer Bill Blair. Teruko was from Hiroshima, and while miraculously her family had survived the atomic bomb, their home had been destroyed. Life was difficult and food was strictly rationed, so in 1948 Teruko took a job as a waitress in the officers’ mess at Kure.

Beyond a white Australia 1953

... ‘you are dealing with a conquered enemy … you must not enter their homes or take part in their family life...’

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‘I never once doubted that I had made the right decision’

01 Teruko, Bill and Bill junior at home in Australia.

02 Teruko Morimoto and Warrant Officer Bill Blair with other Japanese–Australian couples during the post-war occupation of Japan.

Images courtesy Teruko Blair

Teruko recounts that she and her girlfriends had not liked Bill at first – they called him the ‘tsung tsung junni’ (‘stuckup sergeant major’) when they saw him striding around the base, baton in hand. Her friend Midori invited her to a dance with Bill, however, and she accepted. Teruko soon warmed to him, realising that Bill was not so stuck-up after all. Before long they had sworn their love for one another, but since intermarriage was strictly forbidden, they instead visited a church and a Shinto shrine in June 1950 to pray for their union. Teruko’s only memento of that ‘wedding’ day is a small box of seashells from the Inland Sea. Reflecting on that time, Teruko says: Japanese people disapproved of girls who went out with the ex-enemy. When we walked down the street, I felt the cold eyes. I knew what they were thinking; she must be a street girl, a prostitute.

Teruko was lucky with her own family: despite their initial hesitation, they eventually embraced her Australian suitor.

Other Japanese girls in relationships with foreign soldiers had to conduct their affairs in complete secrecy and many were ostracised by their families. On top of the disgrace of their daughters having relationships with the ex-enemy, at the time there were plenty of stories told of soldiers abandoning women. Often the men would be sent back home, swearing to return, but were never heard from again.

Many children were born and raised in Japan without their fathers, with the added stigma, in this monocultural island society, of being of mixed blood.

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The feelings were reciprocated. Australian Government opposition to its soldiers marrying Japanese women had been most strongly expressed in the words of the thenLabor Government Minister of Immigration, Arthur Calwell, who in 1948 declared: While relatives remain of the men who suffered at the hands of the Japanese, it would be the grossest act of public indecency to permit a Japanese of either sex to pollute Australian or Australian-controlled shores.

But by 1952, with a peace treaty signed and Australia keen to develop a trade relationship with Japan, the immigration minister in the newly elected Menzies government, Harold Holt, lifted the ban on marriage between Australian soldiers and Japanese women. This had come after intense lobbying by many soldiers, who had by then received considerable media coverage of their struggle. Gordon Parker, a young Australian member of the BCOF, was the first to be permitted to marry and bring his wife Cherry and their children to Australia (see page 105). His story inspired many other couples to follow suit. Nevertheless, couples had to go through many bureaucratic hurdles to marry – from submitting detailed application forms to undergoing formal and informal character checks.

Teruko and Bill Blair were married by the British Consul General in February 1953. Teruko, who still felt ashamed of ‘living in sin’, recounts that the wedding enabled her at last to ‘walk tall’. Her son was born seven months later and in November 1953, Teruko and her baby joined over 25 other Japanese brides on the Taiping bound for Australia.

Beyond a white Australia 1953

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The departure was painful for all of Teruko’s family.

Teruko’s sister later confided that her father had been in tears after she left – to him, Australia ‘was the end of the world’ and he did not think he would ever see her again.

The journey on board the ship was uncomfortable, and Teruko knew very little about the country that would soon be her new home. Looking back, however, she says: ‘I never once doubted that I had made the right decision.’

When Teruko sailed into Sydney Harbour, her first impression of Sydney was of ‘beautiful roofs and hills and green. I thought it was a picture book’. Her spirits lifted, and she thought she ‘could be happy in this country’. When Teruko finally arrived in Melbourne, Bill Blair’s family gave her a warm reception. She wrote to her family: ‘Don’t worry – I can survive in this country’. An additional and welcome surprise was a belated wedding gift from Bill – a precious Satsuma coffee set that she had long admired in Japan.

The following years were busy for Teruko, raising her three children and often moving house as Bill was posted to various locations around Victoria and New South Wales.

Teruko recalls that she felt terribly homesick and missed Japanese food, but she never let her family in Japan know how sad she felt. Looking back, Teruko laughs as she tells the story of how she hated the way the Blair family cooked rice.

One day when the family left for a weekend outing, she began preparing some Japanese rice balls, hoping to have a picnic with her baby in the backyard. However, the family surprised her with an early return and she had to hide the plate of rice balls under the bed. She never had a chance to eat them.

Australia in the 1950s was a far cry from today’s multiculturalism – people from all backgrounds were expected to assimilate into Australian society. So Teruko, like other Japanese war brides, had good reason to be apprehensive about racism here. To make sure her children had a smooth time at school, she did not teach them Japanese. She did instil in them Japanese concepts of honour and respect, however, and enjoyed teaching them all the Japanese songs she could remember from her own childhood.

It was 15 years before Teruko was able to visit her family back in Japan. In the meantime, letters sustained her – especially from her younger sister Junko, to whom she had been very close. Junko wrote regularly about family and her university, illustrating her letters with comical sketches of daily life. Teruko cherished each letter, transcribing them into a book, together with Junko’s illustrations.

Although some other Japanese brides were not so lucky, Teruko felt accepted by her new country. In 1991 she published her memoirs in Japanese, titled Embraced by Australia.

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She wondered whether she had made the right decision … going to a distant, unknown land … putting all her trust in one man

Sadako Morris

Sadako Morris was another Japanese war bride who took a leap of faith and came to Australia with her soldier husband John Morris, a signaller in the Australian army.

Sadako Kikuchi was from Kure, and during the occupation worked as a seamstress in a department store. She recalls that life after the war was very hard and she had to survive by scavenging for scrap metal to sell and chipping old cement off bricks for recycling. Gradually natural curiosity, openness and the black market brought the local inhabitants and the servicemen together, despite the rules against fraternisation. Sadako had four brothers: the eldest, Tokuo, proud and patriotic, would have nothing to do with the ex-enemy; however her younger brother, Yasuo, befriended the Australian soldiers, who subsequently became a source of sought-after goods such as tinned foods, cigarettes and chocolate.

John and Sadako met in the department store.

Although Sadako was shy at first, they introduced themselves and soon started dating. Sadako brought John home to meet her family, and he visited a few times, bringing gifts such as food and wool. When the Kikuchi family discovered they were more seriously involved, however, she was banned from seeing him again and her parents threatened to disown her. From then on, Sadako and John kept their meetings secret, using Sadako’s brother Yasuo as a go-between.

Eventually the strong-willed Sadako opted to leave the family home. John found an apartment for her in Kure, and so could visit whenever he was free. And despite ‘disowning’ her, most members of the family continued to visit Sadako – even her father would secretly deliver fish he had caught for her in the Inland Sea. Sadako kept a collection of John’s BCOF memorabilia – service books, badges, Christmas menus signed by mates in his battalion and an army ‘hymn’ – for him as a reminder of those times. She says John was proud of his military service, although he did not march on Anzac Day until later in life.

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She also kept a collection of postcards, poetry, song lyrics and bank notes with handwritten declarations of love – all souvenirs from Sadako and John’s courtship in Japan.

Like Teruko and Bill, unable to marry, John and Sadako exchanged notes declaring their commitment. On one, John wrote: ‘This states that at 2010 hours on 31st Dec ’50 I gave this money as a bond of friendship forever to Sadako Kikuchi.’

Like many couples in Japan, they went to the Izuma Taishya shrine to pray for a long relationship, and Sadako kept a packet of postcards as a memento and good luck token after their visit.

Sadako became pregnant in 1952, but the couple was reminded by the brigadier’s office that the army did not permit marriage. Inspired by the story of Gordon Parker, however, they decided to test the system themselves.

They applied, and were finally given permission to marry in August 1952. The Australian padre and Japanese reverend jointly solemnised their wedding on 16 August 1952 at St Peter’s Garrison Church, Kure. Happily, most of Sadako’s family attended the ceremony. Sadako recalls that at eight months pregnant, she was hot and uncomfortable in her ceremonial kimono.

Their daughter June was born in September, and in April 1953 the couple celebrated their official marriage with a ceremony at the British Consulate in Kobe. Their second daughter was born in October 1953, and two months later Sadako boarded the Changte with her two baby girls. With great sadness, she said goodbye to her family, wondering whether she had made the right decision in going to a distant, unknown land, and putting all her trust in one man.

Beyond a white Australia 1953

01 Sadako and John at home in Adelaide with their children.

02 Sadako Kikuchi and John Morris with the family of Sadako’s older sister.

Images courtesy Sadako Morris

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1953 Beyond a white Australia

01 Poignant memorabilia formerly on display at the museum, including a hand-painted kimono made for Sadako Morris by her mother, relate tales of love overcoming wartime enmities. Image A Frolows/ANMM 02 Sadako and John’s wedding on 16 August 1952 at St Peter’s Garrison Church, Kure, Japan. Image courtesy Sadako Morris 01

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‘I used to smell the letters and feel the paper to make me feel closer to my family in Japan’

Once on board, the company of other Japanese war brides whom Sadako befriended helped to alleviate the homesickness for them all. When they reached Sydney on 7 January 1954, she was met by her husband and they travelled on together to Adelaide where, on arrival, they were surrounded by local news reporters. In typical tabloid style, the Adelaide News exclaimed ‘Jap brides in SA with soldier husbands. Will settle here.’ The tone was mostly welcoming, however. Sadako carefully kept the clipping and photograph in her family album.

Like Teruko Blair, Sadako was given a warm welcome by John’s family. While surprised at a lower living standard than she had expected, she adapted well to her new country, surmounting difficulties with the language and the occasional schoolyard taunt to her children. Gradually she and John established a home and garden, with their circle of friends including other Japanese couples who had settled in Adelaide. Sadako recalls hosting parties with other Japanese wives chatting around a table piled with Japanese delicacies while their husbands yarned outside over a keg of beer.

Sadako missed Japan. She had only a few precious belongings to remind her, including a stunning purple kimono, a favourite that her mother had made for her during the years of hardship at the end of the war.

She recalls how she savoured every letter she received from home: ‘ I used to smell the letters and feel the paper to make me feel closer to my family in Japan.’

Sadako found contentment, however, raising her two girls and son in Adelaide. John encouraged their children to think of themselves not as ‘half Japanese, half Australian’, but as ‘double’ – that is, they were enriched by both cultures.

After 10 years Sadako finally revisited Japan, where she was warmly welcomed by her family and delighted in the sights and sounds of a newly rebuilt Japan. But while there, she realised how much she missed her husband and children in Australia, and came to understand that ‘she would not have had it any other way’.

By the time the BCOF finally withdrew from Japan in 1956, around 650 Japanese women had left to make a home here with their Australian husbands. For these women, coming to Australia took great courage. They knew no one but their husbands, spoke limited English and had little idea of what life in Australia would be like. Separation from their families was painful, and they had to trust that their in-laws would receive them well. This of course was not always the case – some risked being cut off by their Japanese families and at the same time faced hostility in Australia.

Fortunately, the experiences of Teruko Blair and Sadako Morris were largely positive.

Teruko and Sadako met through the Japanese War Bride Association reunions, which provided an important meeting ground in Australia. They have also met with their counterparts in the USA (where some 50,000 Japanese women migrated as war brides). Like many Japanese war brides in Australia, Teruko and Sadako successfully built their lives in this country – learning English, raising children, making friends and entering the paid workforce.

Their immigration to Australia brought some difficulty, but overall, fulfilment – very far from the ‘gross indecency’ that Arthur Calwell had predicted in 1948.

Sally Hone Australian National Maritime Museum 269

1965 Beyond a white Australia

Wine and poetry A sweet life made with love

Hailing from a Lebanese region known for its grapes, it is fitting that Michel and Marie Nehme established a thriving vineyard in the heart of the Riverina district of New South Wales, which they lovingly tended by hand while raising a young family.

Marie and Michel Nehme at Fairlane Farm, Nehme vineyard, Yenda, 1988.

All images reproduced courtesy Julie Nehme 270 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Beyond a white Australia 1965

They completely immersed themselves in the culture and lifestyle of the lucky country

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1965 Beyond a white Australia

MICHEL NEHME (born 1942) and Marie Nehme (née Ibrahim, born 1954) share a similar background. Both were raised in farming families with seven siblings and both were born in Zahlé, known as Lebanon’s ‘City of Wine and Poetry.’ Zahlé is located about 55 kilometres east of the capital Beirut, in a mountainous district that is renowned for blending the agricultural and the intellectual to produce a significant portion of Lebanon’s grapes, wine, arak and poetry. The area has also been a land of emigration since the 19th century, initially to the South American countries of Brazil, Argentina, Colombia and Venezuela, and then to the United States, Canada and Australia during the Lebanese Civil War (1975–1990).

In the late 1950s, Michel Nehme was working as a mechanic in Zahlé when he heard on the news that Australia was welcoming immigrants. With few job prospects in Lebanon, he regarded Australia as the best opportunity for a better future. Michel asked his sister Nadia, who was already living in Corrimal on the south coast of New South Wales, to sponsor him. In June 1965, the 23-year-old sailed from Beirut to Port Said, Egypt, where he embarked on the Flotta Lauro liner Roma for the four-week voyage to Australia.

Roma docked in Fremantle on 27 June 1965 and then continued to Sydney, arriving on 4 July. Michel headed to Wollongong, in the Illawarra region of New South Wales, where his brother-in-law Joseph helped him to apply for a position at BHP Steelworks in nearby Port Kembla.

Michel worked in the steel industry for four years and eventually obtained a permanent residency visa.

In 1969 Michel visited his hometown of Zahlé for a holiday.

There, at a party, he met Marie Ibrahim, who was a neighbour of his sister Josephine. Michel and Marie fell in love, married in October 1969 and moved to Australia just two months later. Marie left all of her family behind, while Michel already had two brothers and one sister living in Australia.

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In December 1969, Michel and Marie departed from Beirut on a Japan Airlines flight bound for Sydney. The flight took more than 24 hours, with stops in Tehran, New Delhi, Bangkok, Hong Kong and Manila, before landing in Sydney on a hot summer’s morning.

Michel had already purchased a house close to the beach in Corrimal, in the northern suburbs of Wollongong, where he and Marie lived for the next two years. Every second Sunday, the couple would drive to Sydney and sightsee around the south coast towns of Kiama and Nowra.

They remember visiting the famed Kiama Blowhole, eating hamburgers and chips on the beach, and having fresh seafood straight off the wharf in Wollongong.

Once a month in the summer, Michel and Marie would head to the nearby suburb of Dapto to watch the slot-car races.

They also enjoyed going to the drive-in cinema, and although it was sometimes difficult for them to understand the movies, they regarded it as a great way to learn the English language. Marie had spent much of her time in Australia with her sister-in-law Jamal, with whom Arabic was the main language spoken.

Michel and Marie met people of many different cultural backgrounds through Michel’s work at BHP – one of the major employers of post-war immigrants in the Illawarra.

Despite some language barriers, the couple recall that people appeared friendly and they felt welcomed. As Michel and Marie became better acquainted with locals and their Australian neighbours, they would invite them over to enjoy home-cooked Lebanese food and barbecues.

They immersed themselves in the culture and lifestyle of the lucky country, and became naturalised Australian citizens during a ceremony at Wollongong Town Hall in 1973.

Beyond a white Australia 1965

01 Michel Nehme and Marie Ibrahim’s engagement photo, Zahlé, Lebanon, 1969.

02 Newlyweds Michel and Marie Nehme share a kiss on the rooftop of Michel’s family home in Maalaka, Zahlé, Lebanon, 1969.

Despite some language barriers, the couple recall that people appeared friendly and they felt welcomed 02

Australian National Maritime Museum 273

1965 Beyond a white Australia

Michel, Marie and their first-born daughter, Saideh, in Wollongong, New South Wales, 1971.

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Beyond a white Australia 1965

Michel humbly attributed the success of the Nehme vineyard to his wife Marie and her woman’s touch

In 1971 Michel and his two brothers purchased six-and-ahalf acres (2.6 hectares) of land in the suburb of Albion Park Rail in Shellharbour. They subdivided the land and the local council gave them street naming rights to establish Nehme Avenue. In 1972 Michel and Marie sold their house in Corrimal and rented in Wollongong for the next two years, while they built a new home in Albion Park Rail. They moved into their new home in 1974, by which time they had two daughters, Saideh and Marlene.

In 1974 Michel read an article about the town of Griffith in the Riverina region of south-western New South Wales, which was described as the state’s fruit bowl. He decided to take his two weeks’ leave as a working holiday on a farm in Griffith. The following year, Michel returned to Griffith with Marie, on the way home from a driving holiday to Melbourne. The couple fell in love with the area and the landscape, which reminded them of Zahlé, and made the decision to move. Although BHP offered Michel a promotion to remain at Port Kembla, his heart was set on starting his own farming business.

In 1976 Michel, Marie and their two young daughters moved to Yenda, about 16 kilometres north-east of Griffith.

Marie was expecting her third daughter, Mechlene, at the time. The couple bought a vineyard, which they worked on for the next six years. During this time two more children, Julie and Anthony, were born.

In 1983 Michel and Marie sold the vineyard and purchased a nearby block of vacant land in Yenda to fulfil their dream of establishing their own vineyard. They began by planting a number of varieties of red and white grapes. Michel was known for his meticulous care of the grapes, which he referred to as his children, while Marie was always by his side working in the vineyard. There were plenty of trials, but through sheer determination, dedication and committed hard work, the couple built strong relationships with wineries and the Nehme vineyard flourished.

In the late 1980s, Michel started to leave the goldenskinned Semillon variety of grapes on the vine longer than usual to develop botrytis semillon. These are grapes infected by noble rot, the beneficial form of a fungus called Botrytis cinerea, which removes the water from the fruit and concentrates the sugars and flavours within the grape.

Michel became known for producing high-quality berries due to his finesse at cultivating the soil, hand-pruning the vines and handpicking the grapes. As his youngest daughter Julie Nehme explains: It is a tantalising wait to pick the late autumn harvest and suspenseful to watch a fresh crop of Semillon grapes succumb to the ravages of Botrytis. Sugar levels and the Botrytis flavour are monitored daily, to determine the optimum level of ripeness and the desired natural fermentation. The battle of elements is crucial, as humidity, sunlight and a little rain combine to result in the right rot that creates the luscious golden nectar.

The rotted grapes are used to produce complex sweet wines.

Over the following years Michel and Marie replanted their whole vineyard with Botrytis Semillon. They received media attention and accolades from the wine industry for their award-winning Botrytis Semillon grapes. Michel was named the ‘King of Botrytis’ and was even featured on the cover of the leading wine industry magazine, Grapegrower & Winemaker, in 2009. He humbly attributed the success of the Nehme vineyard to his wife Marie and her woman’s touch.

Michel and Marie have four daughters and a son. The eldest, Saideh, works in communications; Marlene is a multicultural officer; Mechlene is a vocal teacher; Julie works in the media and is the general manager for Michel Marie wine; and the youngest, Anthony, is an accountant.

Julie Nehme registered her parents’ names on the Welcome Wall to recognise the life and the journey they made for themselves in Australia, and as the opportunities they opened up for their five children. As Michel Nehme says, ‘Life in Australia is like winning the lottery twice for the opportunities to create two amazing lifetimes, firstly in Corrimal and Wollongong, and then in Yenda.’

Kim Tao Australian National Maritime Museum 275

1968 Beyond a white Australia

In someone else’s shoes Reflections on multiculturalism

Joseph Assaf uttered his first words in Arabic, undertook his schooling in French, migrated to an English-speaking country, married an Italian and is now in the business of communicating to a multicultural audience. He was a guest speaker at a Welcome Wall unveiling in 2009.

JOSEPH ASSAF arrived in Australia from Lebanon in 1967, just 22 years old. With about $6 and no English, he worked in a factory at night and attended university during the day.

By 1972 he had completed his Bachelor of Arts at Sydney University, with a major in social theory. He went on to complete the Diploma in Interpreting and Translating at the University of New South Wales.

Joseph held on to the new words he was rapidly learning, and found that language helped him further each day.

It was his experience of the usefulness of language that led later to his interest in communication. In the factory, he discovered, 99% of the workers were non-Englishspeaking. He himself was offered work in a tannery without knowing the meaning of the word. He turned up on the first day wearing his only suit!

Joseph had come from a Christian village in Lebanon, but went to school with children from many other religions, including Islam. This initiated an enduring appreciation of other cultures. He met and married an Australian-born Italian, Angela Bianca, and they have three children, Daniel, Anthony and David.

276 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Comparing his experience of immigration to the migrant experience of today, Joseph believes that all migrants have something in common simply from having arrived in a new country. The difference now, he says, is the revolution in communications. ‘In the past, you couldn’t just arrive here and call back home.’

In 1977 Joseph Assaf established Ethnic Communications, the world’s first integrated multicultural and multilingual communication agency. In 1981 he launched Multicultural Marketing News, a specialist magazine which at the time was the only one of its kind. In 1985 he announced his theory of the economic dimension of multiculturalism and the benefits of ‘productive cultural diversity’. In 1988 he founded the Ethnic Business Awards, one of the longestrunning business awards in Australia. Endlessly prolific, Joseph in 2003 established Multicall, a multicultural contact centre that provides a full range of marketing, communication and customer management services for clients wishing to reach communities who speak languages other than English at home. In his speech to the 2008 Ethnic Business Awards, Joseph noted: In Australia, each year, our economy gets a very special injection. It comes in the form of a couple of hundred thousand people, some of them in borrowed shoes, some of them with just suitcases and dreams, all of them with a fierce will to succeed.

This input should be measured not just in economic terms, he continued, but in terms also of their skills, their languages, their cultural diversity, their ideas: They also bring their own particular needs, and, in developing the means of servicing those needs, they stimulate the internal economy and create opportunities to export those ideas and commodities to the very places they have left.

Beyond a white Australia 1968

Thousands of people, some in borrowed shoes, some with just suitcases and dreams, all of them with a fierce will to succeed

Reflecting further, Joseph mused that this multicultural model could well serve as an example to world leaders:

Joseph explains the thinking behind In Someone Else’s Shoes:

It seems to me that if you build a house of cards, all of the same suit, all in the same form, all carefully interlocked in the same ways, it needs only one card for the whole thing to totter and collapse. But in a multicultural model, where diverse solutions are sought through diverse means, the house of cards can be more robust. It can be a community of cards: free-standing but mutually supportive, and therefore stronger in every way. Multiculturalism, as I have so often said, is one of Australia’s greatest assets.’

... over time, words accumulate baggage and because of that it might be difficult for educated or opinionated people to agree on the meaning of multiculturalism, globalisation and diversity … I felt it was timely for me to publish this book in an effort to share, inspire, and point towards a better future for business, government and society.

In 1995 Daizy Gedeon, assistant foreign editor of The Australian, described Joseph Assaf as a man who:

The relentless energy and curiosity, and the sense of life’s adventures that originally brought the author from his small village in Lebanon to the other side of the world, is evident in the pages that follow. From a kaleidoscope of cultural influences, Joseph has spent a lifetime drawing strength and lessons.

... has made political leaders, corporate Australia and the international community aware of the value of their multicultural populations. Through his work he has enabled people to understand and appreciate the importance of encouraging and supporting people’s individual ethnicity.

In his own way, this man has single-handedly given people of an ethnic background a tremendous market value.

He is acknowledged as the guru and pioneer of multicultural marketing for his innovative and visionary work.

In 2008 Joseph published In Someone Else’s Shoes, which sums up his own experiences and also crystallises (for the benefit of corporate, political and community leaders) the idea of communicating to a multicultural audience – a handbook, in a sense. In Someone Else’s Shoes is in part a memoir of an immigrant’s life – full of the transforming experiences only available to those brave enough to leave the comfort zone of their own cultural state – and in part a reflection on multiculturalism by someone who has thought about it and worked with it for decades.

In his foreword to Joseph’s book, Allan Gyngell, then executive director of the Lowy Institute for International Policy, wrote:

At the 2008 Ethnic Business Awards, then Prime Minister Kevin Rudd described In Someone Else’s Shoes as ‘a great story writ large about the lives of so many who have come to this country from afar and made this country great’.

Joseph Assaf’s individual stance is marked by grace, optimism and moving forward; the same qualities are characteristic of his business enterprises and, supremely, they belong to the impulse behind migration.

Wendy Wilkins

Joseph Assaf, his wife Angela and sons (left to right) Daniel, Anthony and David. Image courtesy Joseph Assaf Australian National Maritime Museum 277

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Cultural adjustments A free ticket to a new life

Chahin Baker’s name was unveiled on the Welcome Wall on 31 May 2009 when, as a guest speaker, he shared some of his experiences as a migrant to Australia.

01 The Welcome Wall ceremony at which Chahin Baker’s name was unveiled. Image A Frolows/ANMM 02 Chahin Baker addresses the crowd at the ceremony welcoming new Welcome Wall registrants.

Image J Mellefont/ANMM 278 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Beyond a white Australia 1968

Despite being advised by his professors not to migrate, Chahin borrowed $100 from a friend and boarded a plane

CHAHIN BAKER was born near the Kurdish town Kobani in northern Syria in 1946, and as a teenager in 1965 was sent by his father to study at one of the ‘better quality’ European universities. On a visit to the cinema in Vienna, Chahin saw a documentary portraying Australia as the land of opportunity and he liked what he saw. Shortly afterwards he applied for entry and was given both a visa to Australia and an airline ticket – in those days the Australian immigration office gave them away free!

Despite being advised by his professors in Germany not to migrate, since Australia was ‘too far away from the rest of the world’, Chahin borrowed $100 from a friend and in 1968 left for London, where he boarded a plane with a big kangaroo on the tail – his first introduction to an Australian icon. In Sydney he was put on a bus to the Bonegilla migrant camp, and soon after to Villawood Migrant Centre. It was here that culture shock set in, as it does for many migrants.

He remembered the words of his professors and longed to return to Europe.

He rented his first room in Marrickville for $10 a week and soon found employment. In 1970, while working for MAN truck assembly in Kurri Kurri, he met his wife Robyn.

After their marriage in 1971 they settled in Sydney where he was put in charge of a service team at Lanock Motors.

Cultural differences that he grappled with included the casual swear words used by some of his colleagues. They were confronting because he took them as a sign of disrespect. Over time, however, Chahin learned to adapt to the environment and became more used to such ‘Aussie’ customs.

From the beginning his goal was to improve his command of English, which he had studied from year 7 in Syria.

While attending an English language class in Marrickville he was advised that, since his English was much more advanced than the other students, he would do better just to read newspapers with the help of a good dictionary, talk to people and listen to the radio, all of which he did. He speaks Kurdish, Arabic, German and Turkish as well as English.

Chahin’s original plan was to spend a few years in Australia and then return to Germany. In 1973 he did go back to Germany with his wife so that he could finish his studies, but after nine months Robyn was keen to return to Australia.

It was then that Chahin decided to call Australia home.

This meant starting his study all over again at Macquarie University, Sydney, somehow fitting in both work and full-time studies to obtain his Bachelor of Arts and Diploma of Education by 1977. Chahin became one of the pioneers of multicultural programs designed for schools at the New South Wales Department of Education and Training (DET). He also taught languages at Casula High School and Bankstown Girls High School for about 14 years. In all, he worked for DET for 26 years, including his last years there as an attendance officer.

Chahin has been active with the Kurdish community in Australia. In 1979 he became president of the first Kurdish association in Australia, a position he held for five years.

In 1982 he started the first radio program in English and Kurdish on Radio 2SER FM, which lasted about 18 months.

In 1985 he started the Kurdish Language Program on Radio 2EA (later SBS). Chahin is also a prominent Kurdish writer. Seven books, including two novels and volumes of short stories and poems, have been published – in Bonn, Stockholm, Brussels, Duhok (Iraqi Kurdistan), Diyarbekir and Istanbul.

His Kurdish pen name is Shahin Bekir Sorekli – his family is known by the name ‘Sorekli’ in the Kurdish regions of Syria. Chahin’s first name is normally spelled ‘Shahin’ but the French-educated Syrian officer who wrote his name in his original passport substituted ‘ch’. His second name is pronounced ‘Bakker’ in Kurdish and ‘Bakr’ in Arabic but was written as ‘Baker’ by the same officer.

Chahin’s background is rural; his father was a landowner and farmer. He was originally against the idea of the rest of his family migrating because they were well-off where they were, and he was worried that a lack of higher education would impede their success in Australia. He had seen this happen to other migrants. In the end, however, he helped his sister and brother-in-law to migrate to Australia after they pestered him non-stop. As a result he now has eight nephews here in Sydney.

Chahin was expected to return home after finishing his studies in Europe, but it was some 31 years after his departure that he first returned to Syria. His wife and children have also visited. Like many migrants there’s an ever-present feeling of guilt at the back of his mind.

His father, mother and a number of close relatives have now died and he has missed other important occasions.

But Chahin now knows that he will permanently stay in Australia, a country he loves and calls home. He has visited many countries and views Australia as a place where migrants can flourish.

Helen Jones Australian National Maritime Museum 279

1972 Beyond a white Australia

The Australia–Turkey Migration Agreement enabled the first major Muslim community to settle in the country

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Beyond a white Australia 1972

Şükran and Halit Adasal signing their marriage documents, with Şükran’s mother Sultan Salman at far right, Adana, Turkey, 1966.

Anatolia to Australia

All images reproduced courtesy Hale Adasal

More than 50 years of Turkish migration

Turkish migrant Şükran Adasal was just 19 years old when she and her husband Halit embarked on a belated honeymoon to an island continent on the other side of the world. Travelling under the Australia–Turkey Migration Agreement, which was ratified in 1967, the young couple’s thoughts were filled with hope for a new future.

GAZING AT THE black and white photograph from her parents’ wedding day in 1966, Hale Adasal says: My mother Şükran looks very young and beautiful in her 1960s gown. My father Halit is sporting a handsome moustache and looks every bit like a Turkish gentleman. My grandmother Sultan looks so sad at the edge of the photo, as my mother leans forward to sign the papers. From that point on, her daughter would be looked after by another family.

Dudus Şükran Salman was born in 1950 and grew up in Küçük Çamizağli Köy (meaning ‘small water buffalo village’), in the province of Adana in southern Anatolia. She went by her middle name of Şükran, which means ‘gratitude’ in Arabic, as she regarded her first name as old-fashioned.

Şükran’s father Hüseyin Salman, the landlord of the town, was born in Salonica, the same city in which the founder of the Republic of Turkey, Mustafa Kemal (later Atatürk, meaning ‘Father of the Turks’), was born. When Hüseyin died in 1962, his widow Sultan Salman was left to raise 12-yearold Şükran and her four younger siblings on her own.

At the time, it was mandatory for Turkish children to attend primary school, but not high school. Şükran, however, was fortunate to receive a secondary education thanks to the support of her grandmother, Gülfiyet Yildirim. Gülfiyet had survived the devastation of the First World War, which would bring an end to 600 years of Ottoman rule.

She appreciated the value of a woman’s education, not having been able to provide the opportunity to her own daughters. Consequently Şükran became the first girl from her village to attend high school, some 90 kilometres away in the rural town of Çeyhan, where she met Halit Adasal.

Halit was the younger of two sons, born in Adana in 1945 to Hüseyin Adasal and his wife, Emine. Halit’s grandfather Mehmet Atlas, a soldier in the Turkish Army during World War I, was killed at Gallipoli in 1915. When his father died of asthma in 1963, Halit took over the running of the family’s repair shop in Çeyhan, while his brother Nahit completed his compulsory military service.

Halit often noticed Şükran passing by his shop on her way to meet friends after school, and eventually he caught her eye. Over the next few months, Halit and Şükran conducted their courtship through letter writing, using Halit’s shop assistant Ahmet as their middleman. In 1966, when Halit received his conscription notice, the young couple married at the Adana local government office with the consent of their mothers.

In 1968 Halit came across an advertisement in the Çeyhan Weekly that read, ‘Australia would like to offer second citizenship to Young Turks’. In October 1967, the Australian and Turkish governments had signed a bilateral agreement to provide assisted passage to Turkish migrants, to help build Australia’s population and expand the workforce.

Migrants were required to work in Australia for a minimum of two years in return for assistance with their travel and initial accommodation. The Turkish government, meanwhile, encouraged emigration to resolve issues of overcrowding and unemployment. The Australia–Turkey Migration Agreement – Australia’s inaugural agreement with a nation beyond Western Europe – enabled the first major Muslim community to settle in the country, and thus represented a significant step in the gradual dismantling of the White Australia policy.

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1972 Beyond a white Australia

01 The Adasal family with staff at their Bosphorus Function Centre in Auburn, 1990s. Şükran, Halit and Hale are at far left, with Funda in the centre.

02 Şükran and Halit Adasal with their newborn granddaughter Yasemin, 2000.

Having now concluded his military service, Halit saw few opportunities remaining for him in Turkey. His older brother Nahit had taken over the family business and transformed it into a retail outlet selling Adasal logo sporting goods.

Migration to Australia would provide Halit with a chance to assume ownership of his destiny, while Şükran, who had never left Adana, considered it as the adventure of a lifetime.

Like many who travelled under the scheme, they intended to work hard in Australia and save enough money to return to Turkey in two years’ time to start a business and buy a house.

Halit and Şükran submitted their application and within three months they were on their way to Australia, with just one suitcase and US$20 between them. Their journey began in early 1969 with a winding bus ride through the mountainous Anatolian countryside to the Turkish capital, Ankara. Şükran wore her favourite black and white striped dress, while Halit donned a stylish brown suit. In Ankara they boarded a Qantas plane bound for Melbourne, Şükran’s eyes still swollen from the tears she had shed on the bus from Adana.

The Qantas flight carried hundreds of hopeful young Turkish couples and families who were overwhelmed with both fear and excitement. Halit barely ate any food on board, his nerves filling his stomach with knots. Şükran, on the other hand, enjoyed the breakfast of sausage, poached eggs and a hash brown, and was amused by the small portions of food separated into compartments.

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Halit and Şükran landed in Melbourne 24 hours later, welcomed by the scorching dry heat of an Australian summer, and were transported to the Broadmeadows immigration centre in the city’s north. After six weeks, the couple moved into a rental property in the inner suburb of Collingwood. Halit found employment in the nearby Carlton & United Breweries, while Şükran worked from home, caring for neighbourhood children as well as her own two daughters, Hale (born 1970) and Funda (born 1971).

In the early 1970s, when Hale and Funda were toddlers, Halit and Şükran made a return visit to Turkey, but determined that they could no longer live in their homeland. They decided to relocate the family from Melbourne to Sydney to make a fresh start.

In Sydney both Şükran and Halit worked at the Hoover factory in Meadowbank. Şükran took the day shift and Halit the night, so that one parent would always be at home with the children. In the early 1990s the Adasal family opened the first Turkish function centre in Australia, the Bosphorus Function Centre, in the western Sydney suburb of Auburn.

Named after the waterway and bridge that connect Europe and Asia, Bosphorus fittingly catered for all types of events and weddings, from Turkish to Asian and European.

Following more than a decade managing Bosphorus, Halit and Şükran moved on to operate a number of smaller Turkish restaurants in Auburn and then the Central Coast region of New South Wales, before retiring there.

Beyond a white Australia 1972

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Throughout their success with the Bosphorus Function Centre, Halit and Şükran provided generous support to local Turkish community groups and Australian charities.

They taught their daughters to integrate into Australian culture, while also keeping in touch with their Turkish heritage through language, folk dancing and traditional music. Hale believes that she and her sister Funda experienced the best of both worlds, and credits the example set by her parents as her inspiration to volunteer with non-governmental organisations such as Amnesty International. Hale has completed studies in anthropology and sociology at Sydney’s Macquarie University, while Funda studied fine arts at the Australian National University in Canberra.

emotions she felt for the young lives lost on both the Australian and Turkish sides. She was deeply moved by the memorial dedicated to all the foreign soldiers who died at Gallipoli, inscribed with the famous words attributed to Atatürk in 1934:

Like many second-generation migrants, Hale and Funda grappled with questions of identity and their sense of belonging to two cultures. In 2012 Hale published her first book, Gavur: a journey to belong, which recorded the stories of her parents, great-grandparents and ancient Turkic ancestors’ journeys from the Altai Mountains of southern Siberia to modern-day Turkey.

Hale recalls how ‘the plaque meant more to me because I was an Australian Turk,’ and she reflects on the mutual spirit of friendship and peace that also allows her greatgrandfather, Mehmet Atlas, to be remembered on Anzac Day in the so-called enemy’s country that she and her family now call home. On behalf of her family, Hale registered Halit and Şükran Adasal on the Welcome Wall to honour ‘my parents who left all that they knew for a better life with hope and courage. Their migration planted the seeds of their family roots in Australia for future generations of our family. Australia really has been the lucky country for us.’

In 1989 Hale and Funda made their first trip to their motherland with their parents, to meet their large extended family. Hale was 19 years old – the same age as her mother Şükran when she migrated to Australia in 1969. Hale remembers visiting Anzac Cove on the Gallipoli peninsula on a bitterly cold day, and the conflicting

Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives ...

You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country.

Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours ... You, the mothers, who sent their sons from far away countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace.

After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.

Kim Tao Australian National Maritime Museum 283

1974 Beyond a white Australia

‘The hatta wa’e-gal is worn by royalty and Bedouins alike and crosses all boundaries in that regard’

Mr Haddad’s hatta A migrant memento

A simple item of traditional attire, through its very familiarity, provides continuity between the old world and the new. An image of a hatta wa’e-gal – the traditional Arabic head scarf – is part of the museum’s catalogue of the memorabilia that migrants carry from old homelands to new.

MEMORIES AND MEMORABILIA, precious pieces and possessions, treasures and trinkets, tokens, talismans: a common and universal aspect of migration stories is the cherishing of some item from the homeland that captures the essence of the culture, values and traditions of home.

These objects migrate to Australia along with the people themselves and are tokens of high cultural value that can endow strange new surroundings with a sense of familiarity, and assist in comprehending the migration experience.

Towfiq Haddad was born in 1922 in what was then the British mandate of Transjordan and was raised by his older sister and grandmother after his mother’s death when he was two. In his twenties he joined the famous Arab Legion which had been raised by the British Army as an elite force of Bedouin under British command, and which maintained its identity well after Jordan’s independence in 1946.

Towfiq devoted the next 20 years to serving Jordan’s army, in communications and also nursing. He retired as a sergeantmajor in 1970, and established the first bar in Zarka, in Jordan.

Whether the object is a family heirloom, a souvenir of the voyage out, or a special item acquired soon after arrival, it has often been kept for many years and sometimes even generations because of the story it helps to tell – the narrative of migration.

That was a bold move in a mostly Muslim country where alcohol is frowned upon by many. On occasions opponents smashed the windows of his premises, which was a factor in the decision to come to Australia where there would be – at the report of his sons who were already here – freedom and safety. In Sydney, after working for a short time in a paint factory, Mr Haddad opened a milkbar in Granville.

Towfiq Haddad came to Australia in 1974 with his wife Tares and six of their 11 children. One child had died as an infant, and a married daughter remained in Jordan, but followed the family shortly after. The Haddads’ three eldest sons were already here, and successfully employed.

Their bulletins back home went some of the way to persuading Towiq and Tares to migrate with the rest of the family.

284 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Daughter Suad Haddad’s most prized family possession is her father’s hatta wa’e-gal. Hatta wa’e-gal is Arabic for ‘head scarf’ – the traditional head scarf for Arab men.

It’s a square of cloth, usually striped cotton embroidered with traditional patterns, folded and wrapped in various styles round the head. It’s kept in place by weighted coils.

Beyond a white Australia 1974

01 Towfiq Haddad, wearing his hatta wa’ e-gal, with King Hussein of Jordan during the 1976 royal visit to Sydney.

02 Towfiq and his wife Tares in 2002.

Images courtesy Haddad family

Tokens of high cultural value can endow strange new surroundings with a sense of familiarity

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Hatta refers to the scarf, e-gal (or agal) to the weight.

It might be red and white, black and white, or all-white.

Its use is as old as Arab history.

Towfiq Haddad’s hatta wa’e-gal is part of the family’s history.

Suad recalled that he wore it during their memorable journey (on Pan American Airlines) from Jordan to Australia. She said: The hatta is significant to me personally because I have grown up seeing it and at times I too wear it – like many women I wear it as a scarf. Politically it is important to me because it represents a rich Arab history. It is worn by royalty and Bedouins alike and crosses all boundaries in that regard.

This particular hatta is freighted with particular significance because Towfiq wore it when he met the late King Hussein of Jordan in 1976, during the king’s visit to Sydney.

Mr Haddad was at the time president of the Australian Jordanian Society.

Towfiq Haddad brought a hatta (though not that historic one) to the museum to be photographed as part of a catalogue of personal items carried by migrants as they set off on their new lives.

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Towfiq Haddad’s achievements were considerable: his dedication to the Arab Legion of the British Army; the courage involved in bringing a large family to a new land; his influence in the Australian Jordanian Society; the successful groundbreaking bar in Zarka and its almostequivalent, the milkbar in Granville.

His favourite memories of Jordan, he said, are of the beauty and antiquity of the landscape, especially the Roman ruins near Jaresh. Suad and the other children concurred. Their clearest joint memory of the experience of migration – the fondest and funniest first impressions of Australia – was of seeing the endless expanses of tiled roofs of suburban Sydney as the family flew over the city in 1974.

‘We thought they were tents,’ said his son Sammy Haddad.

‘We were expecting skyscrapers, but instead saw what we thought were tents.’

Suad Haddad put her mother’s and father’s names on the Welcome Wall in 2003.

Wendy Wilkins

Australian National Maritime Museum 285

1975–78 Beyond a white Australia

01 Lewis, Lisa, Eddie and Lawrence in 1978.

02 Siblings Lawrence and Lisa in 1982, with Lisa’s son Leonard.

Images courtesy Fung family

Siblings’ story

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Lisa and Lawrence

In 1975 Lisa Fung travelled from Hong Kong to Australia to take in the sights of Sydney, and never went back. Within five years she had married and been joined by her mother and five siblings, including her younger brother Lawrence.

My husband and I started a business mass producing oil and acrylic paintings. The most popular ones were the landscape paintings which we would produce by going out to the countryside and taking sketches and photographs, which we would then use to paint the full compositions back in our studio. The business was very successful and provided me with full employment so I didn’t have to go out and look for work. I know that finding suitable work can be a big challenge for many new migrants so I considered myself lucky in that regard.

Lisa: I came to Australia in May 1975 to visit my boyfriend’s family, who had all migrated from Hong Kong about a year earlier. I was only 21 and the trip over was great fun because it was my first time on an aeroplane. We flew Qantas and I remember feeling so excited and wanting to collect a whole lot of souvenirs. Because we arrived in late May, the weather was quite chilly even though it wasn’t yet wintertime.

In Hong Kong, we had been approaching summer, so I really felt the cold and went around wearing a big coat. I was so amazed to see the Australian girls just wearing singlet tops.

I didn’t really get homesick because I was soon joined by my mum and three younger brothers, Eddie, Lawrence and Lewis in 1978. Lawrence and Lewis were still studying, so they were very happy to have the opportunity to finish their education here. My two older sisters Cindy and Joanne followed within a couple of years, so that in the space of about five years all the family had come out from Hong Kong. Mum emigrated in order to help out the family and provide support for us all. I have to say that she did a really wonderful job.

During this visit I married my boyfriend and settled in Sydney. The way of life was surprisingly easy for me to get used to. I really liked Australia because it was so much quieter than Hong Kong and the air was so fresh and there was so much more open space. I was very young when I first arrived which made it a lot easier for me to adapt to all the aspects of my new life in Australia. It also really helped that people were very friendly and would often ask me ‘Do you need any help?’ when they saw me walking around with a map in my hand. Sydney was a different place in those days and on weekends the city was so empty that you could play badminton in the middle of Chinatown!

Our only child Leonard was born here and he is definitely very Aussie in the way he acts and mixes with people.

I would like him to have some Chinese language skills because as the world becomes smaller it’s very useful to have a second language, as you can’t always predict whether you will have to travel or even relocate. It would also be great for the younger family members to have an awareness of our Chinese traditions, such as the Chinese New Year celebration, so that they can keep the customs alive down through the generations. Otherwise, it is possible to get to a point where all trace of a family’s cultural heritage has been lost.

286 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Beyond a white Australia 1975–78

‘My English was not that good so I had to go back and study the last year of high school again’

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I’ve been back many times to Hong Kong and mainland China and have noticed many changes particularly in the last 20 years. As soon as I arrive at the airport I can feel the difference in the air quality and the rush of people and cars. When I travel, I get homesick for Australia and I miss my family here, particularly now that I have spent the majority of my life in Australia. I would say that although in many ways I still feel Chinese, Australia is definitely my home.

Lawrence: I was 18 when I came to Australia. Sydney in the late 70s was quite a different city compared to today and also very different from Hong Kong. When I first arrived, I found people to be really friendly and they would often smile and wave and say hello. Sydney was not as crowded as Hong Kong and so it was a much quieter sort of place with a better lifestyle and environment.

I had been undertaking my first year studies at the Chinese University in Hong Kong, but on arrival in Australia, my English was not that good so I had to go back and study the last year of high school again. This was a small step backwards for me at the time but I didn’t think it was big deal. Having to leave my friends behind in Hong Kong was probably the most difficult thing for me at that age.

Today my wife Anita and I have a daughter named Hannah who was born in Australia. Although I would like Hannah to learn about Chinese culture and to know about my background, I wouldn’t like to force this on her. If she decides that she would like to learn to speak Chinese then I would support her. I basically want to try to teach my kids as much as I can to help them develop themselves, but it would have to be at a time when they are ready to learn.

On weekends the city was so empty that you could play badminton in the middle of Chinatown!

The biggest change that I have noted in Australian culture since I arrived is the way in which Australia has become a very global country. I would say that Australia has lost some of the old ways that made it unique and that people now lead busier lives than ever before. In this regard, you could say that Australia has become just like all the other modern countries, including Hong Kong.

In my opinion, it’s a lot harder for people migrating to Australia today than it was for us back in the 1970s.

The pace of modern living is much faster and unless migrants come from a country with a similar way of life, I think they are going to find it a challenge to settle in and make a new life.

For me, I know that there are certain things that you learn and experience as a child that you cannot go back and re-learn when you migrate as an adult. I grew up in Hong Kong and had all my schooling there, so I missed out on those early years in Australia. Nonetheless, I would say that Australia feels more like home to me than Hong Kong and I feel really lucky to be in Australia because this country is one of the best in the world.

Australian National Maritime Museum 287

1977 Beyond a white Australia

A fishing boat called Freedom The journey of Tu Do

Tu Do made an intrepid 6,000-kilometre voyage from Vietnam to Darwin in 1977, carrying refugees. Its captain, 30-year-old Tan Thanh Lu, used a simple compass and a map torn from the lid of a school desk to guide the vessel to Australia. As they neared Darwin, a golden beach with two sunbathers appeared like a beacon of hope.

Tan was so relieved that he hurled himself into the water, swimming two kilometres to the shore with the aid of a buoy.

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Beyond a white Australia 1977

Tan Thanh Lu (left, in white shirt), daughters Dzung and Dao (standing and sitting on the hatch) and wife Tuyet (in spotted shirt), shortly after arriving in Darwin.

Australian National Maritime Museum 289

1977 Beyond a white Australia

01 Tuyet Tran’s frying pan, brought to Australia on Tu Do, c1970s 02 Tu Do is relaunched by the Lu family after its restoration by the museum, 2005. Tan Thanh Lu built this 18.25-metre boat in 1975 on Phu Quoc Island, Vietnam. Pictured (from left) are his sons Quoc and Mo, daughter Dzung and, at extreme right, wife Tuyet and daughter Dao, throwing rose petals to bless the boat that carried them to freedom.

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290 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Images Andrew Frolows/ANMM

Beyond a white Australia 1977

‘When I think about leaving Vietnam I’m still scared. There were storms and many times waves as big as Tu Do crashing down and I thought, “That’s the end of it”’

AFTER THE FALL OF SAIGON to Communist forces in 1975, thousands of Vietnamese fled their country, many in overcrowded, leaky boats headed for Australia. The exodus coincided with a major shift in Australia’s immigration policy – which had previously favoured British migrants – and most were allowed to stay.

In 1975, Tan Lu owned a thriving general store on Phu Quoc Island in Vietnam’s south. With three friends he pooled resources and built a boat that he named Tu Do, meaning ‘Freedom’. Although built specifically for the voyage, to keep it inconspicuous it was constructed like typical fishing craft used on the island. Tan initially used it for fishing to avoid suspicion and to help pay for crucial supplies which were hidden in his fellow voyagers’ homes.

When he was ready to escape, Tan staged an engine breakdown so that surveillance of Tu Do would be relaxed.

He installed a more powerful replacement engine by night and his group of 38 passengers set off in the dark on 16 September 1977, pushing the boat across kilometres of tidal shallow water to maintain silence before starting the motor. The children had been given cough medicine to keep them quiet, but, as they reached deeper water, a head count revealed that Tan’s six-year-old daughter Dzung had been left sleeping on the shore. They returned to fetch her and the voyage began. On board were Tan’s pregnant wife Tuyet, 27, their other infants Dao and Mo, and relatives, friends and neighbours.

With gold and cash hidden about the vessel, Tu Do outpaced the notorious Gulf of Thailand pirates who preyed on boat people. Turned away from one port in Malaysia, the group managed to land in Mersing, where eight exhausted passengers disembarked as refugees. After a month, and unsuccessful approaches to US Embassy officials, Tan bought more supplies and sailed for Australia with his remaining 30 passengers. Off Flores in Indonesia they rescued another Vietnamese refugee boat that had run aground and towed it across the Timor Sea, landing near Darwin on 21 November.

The Lu family was then transferred to the Wacol Migrant Centre in Brisbane, where son Quoc was born. Years later Tuyet said: When I think about leaving Vietnam I’m still scared.

There were storms and many times waves as big as Tu Do crashing down and I thought, ‘That’s the end of it’. To leave Vietnam was a big risk but now I see the future for my children is much better.1 While at Wacol, Tan arranged to sell Tu Do, and was charged import duty. The museum acquired the boat in 1990, extensively overhauled it and replaced planking as required (more than 80 per cent of the original timber survives). Tu Do is one of just three refugee boats held in Australian museum collections, and the only one that is floating and operational.

The Tu Do collection – including oral histories of the Lu family, photos of their arrival in 1977 by photojournalist Michael Jensen, and possessions they took on the voyage, such as Tuyet’s favourite frying pan – personalises the Vietnamese exodus, giving museum visitors a powerful insight into refugee journeys. With Tan’s help, the museum has also sourced replicas of crockery, clothing and provisions taken on board.

Tan Lu died in 2003. His son Mo reflects: My Dad named the boat Tu Do to remind everyone about where they were going and what they were going to. I didn’t realise how much my parents experienced. That is a story I want passed on to my son.2 Kim Tao, Lindl Lawton and Helen Trepa

1 Tuyet Tran, interviewed by Lindl Lawton, 2005, video recording, Australian National Maritime Museum.

2 Mo Lu, interviewed by Lindl Lawton, 2005, video recording, Australian National Maritime Museum.

Australian National Maritime Museum 291

1977 Beyond a white Australia

Next stop, Australia!

An impulsive migration

In 1977, during a stopover in Singapore on a flight back home to India, it dawned on Vijay Kant Khandelwal that he and his family should migrate to Australia. He persuaded his wife Sudha Khandelwal to have their bags redirected and their flights changed to the new destination of Sydney, Australia. Days later, Vijay, Sudha and their two daughters Seema (aged 9) and Aarti (aged 12) landed in their new home.

Vijay: Originally, I came out to Australia as a student in January 1965 to do my PhD at the University of New South Wales. Well, actually I came out here on a Commonwealth scholarship. I still remember when Sudha read the letter to me over the phone, I was at work, it started by saying, ‘We would like to offer you a scholarship’ and it went on to finally conclude with, ‘we look forward to seeing you in Australia’. And I thought, ‘This is it!’. I came and studied here for five years, and during that time Sudha came over from India and stayed with me for two.

In 1975 I was posted to Indonesia and the family lived there for two years. When we were on our way back to India we had a two-day stopover in Singapore. It was during this period that I had this very strange idea – ‘why don’t we go to Australia instead?’. And to cut a long story short, that is how we ended up here! I guess, I felt that the family was already on the move, we were relocating ourselves back to India, and we thought that if we were ever going to migrate anywhere that this was as good a time as any. I don’t know exactly what went through Sudha’s mind, but I know she did not think it was a crazy idea. So, that’s how it came about.

Our baggage was already headed towards India so we had to organise to get it back. When we arrived in Australia it was winter, but because we had packed for South East Asia and India, we only had summer clothes.

292 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

The other thing we had to sort out was finding somewhere to live. As it happened, we found a place to rent quite quickly but there was the initial problem of trying to fill in application forms without any references, without anything really. For example, ‘How long in the previous address?’ and I had to write ‘just arrived’. It asked ‘employer?’ and I wrote ‘unemployed’, and there were a whole lot of similar questions: bank account?, credit cards? And I just kept having to write ‘no, no, no’. When I finished filling in the form, I realised it was meaningless, and I had to find another way.

In the early days when someone would ask me ‘Where are you from?’, I would say ‘from India’ and I would have no hesitation in saying this because that was what I depict, physically, culturally and so on. But in the past few years, I’ve been saying something like, ‘I’m from Sydney’.

We travel a lot and it’s interesting that up until 10 to 15 years ago if someone would ask ‘Where are you from?’ we would have to explain the whole thing. On our most recent trip overseas to South America, when people would ask that we would say, ‘We are from Australia’, and nobody questioned us about it. Because I guess two things have happened, one is that people have come to expect that you can have all different types of people in Australia, and the second is that this is now the way I feel.

Interestingly, my younger daughter, Aarti, having lived almost all her life outside of India – she was only about five or six when she left – gives a very distinct sort of Indian feel when you talk to her, much more so than my elder daughter. Yes, although she is a qualified analyst with an MBA she teaches yoga and Bollywood dancing. She really loves Indian music and culture.

Beyond a white Australia 1977

Vijay, elder daughter Seema, Sudha and younger daughter Aarti in 1983.

Image courtesy Khandelwal family

‘When we arrived in Australia it was winter, but because we had packed for South East Asian and India, we only had summer clothes’

Sudha: When Vijay left India to come and study in Australia, I was already expecting our first child. So, when I came out here in 1966 our daughter was just 10 months old. The scholarship allowance was not much, but we really enjoyed ourselves. It was an exciting time for us. I mean, we were just married and we were so young. We even had a car that we used to drive to Canberra for holidays. I never regretted having come for the two years because I always had a positive feeling about this place.

During my stay, I did some demonstrations in Indian cooking.

At that time there was not much Indian food available.

I think in fact there were only about 200 or 300 Indians living here, mostly just students. The one person who was importing Indian goods at the time contacted me to find out if I would go to David Jones and Farmers, as it was called at that time, to do cooking demonstrations. I used to dress up in my Indian sari and people would be very interested in the different ingredients I would use to cook the traditional meals. I later went on to do demonstrations in Newcastle; it was very enjoyable.

In 1977 when Vijay and I were in Singapore on our trip back to India, he explained to me what would be the situation if we decided to migrate to Australia and what it would be if we went back to India. Because you see in India, Vijay had a job waiting for him but in Australia we had only two suitcases. Fortunately though, we had made a few friends here in Australia during the time Vijay was a student. One Australian couple had become very close to us. They had even come to India to visit. So, when we made the decision to migrate here, we contacted them and let them know that we were coming and that we had only summer clothes.

It was winter in Australia so at the airport they came to see us and they brought a lot of clothes and helped us book a motel for a few days, while we looked around for an apartment. We were very excited because we did not know what was in the future.

I think that when we came here the thought that ‘If we don’t like it, we will go back’ was not on our minds. For us this was definitely our new home. So when people ask me ‘Where are you from?’, straight away I think, ‘I am from Australia’.

But sometimes people will question ‘Originally?’ and I say, ‘Originally from India, but I have lived here for a long, long time, so I am Australian’.

I speak in Hindi to both of my grandchildren. My granddaughter understands me completely when I speak to her in Hindi and sometimes she speaks back to me in Hindi.

She also knows some of the Indian religious ceremonies.

And my son has always encouraged me to speak in Hindi to my grandson so that he will have it as a second language.

Many times I have also been asked, particularly as I get older, ‘Do you want to go back to your country?’. And really, there is only one answer I can give and that is, ‘No, this is my home’. I am one of those fortunate persons who has been able to go and visit my family and they have been able to come and visit us. They have seen how we live and that we are comfortable here. Our children and grandchildren are here and so mentally and physically, I do not feel as some people do that maybe in old age, I’ll go back. This has never been my thinking, because Australia is my home.

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Against a sea of troubles A dangerous journey

After the Vietnam War unified the country’s north and south, thousands of Vietnamese tried to escape the communist regime.

The resulting flood of seaborne refugees gave rise to the term ‘boat people’. One of them, Kevin Tran, shares his memories.

01 Kevin as a child in Saigon during the Lunar New Year in 1972.

02 Kevin, wife Tracy and daughter Victoria at his graduation from the University of Technology, 2002.

Images courtesy Tran family 294 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

THE LIVES OF THE SOUTHERN VIETNAMESE changed irrevocably with the fall of Saigon to communist forces in April 1975. Tens of thousands of people associated with the former government were instructed to present themselves at re-education camps to learn about the new order.

Welcome Wall registrant Kevin Tran’s father Tam, a public prosecutor in the old government, was one. Educated in the USA, he had spent many years abroad, but despite the chaos in post-war Vietnam he chose to stay with his wife Ngoc Nguyen, two children and extended family. Like many others, after entering a camp in order to reconcile with the new regime he was neither seen nor heard from for more than 15 years. The re-education camps were in reality political prisons, places of indoctrination and revenge.

Tam’s son Quoc Khanh (Kevin) was 16 years old when they claimed his father.

The revenge also extended to the children of these men and women. Opportunities such as tertiary education were denied and manual labour was enforced, often on peasant farms. When Kevin finished his secondary studies with excellent results his only option was to study agricultural economics with the expectation of eventually working on the land. For an intellectual city boy this was an anathema.

With no future in Vietnam, his mother convinced him to leave in 1979 – knowing that if she had not heard from him within six months then he would not have survived the journey. Thousands had already left, the lucky ones reaching overcrowded refugee camps in South-east Asia.

Kevin and members of his extended family paid high fees to a syndicate to take the dangerous sea journey, with no idea of their destination and fully aware of the high risk of capture and punishment by police, or death at sea.

Beyond a white Australia 1980

While those around him prayed, cried and said their goodbyes, Kevin remained calm, accepting his fate.

They floated until 4 am that night, when the leaking boat struck a rock and sank. He vividly recalls the pervading darkness, the rapid sinking, the dim figures of those around him. Kevin and his cousin Tony clung to buoyant plastic fish sauce containers and as the first streaks of daylight broke they saw the shore of a remote island off Malaysia.

Reaching the deserted beach, the group trekked into the mountains until they stumbled across villagers armed with machetes. But at last they found real help, as the villagers led them to a village and gave them food and water. That afternoon a team from the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees arrived by boat to collect them.

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Kevin obtained a government permit to leave Saigon on the pretence of visiting a sick relative. He remembers wading through paddy fields and swimming through canals at night to avoid capture, virtually blind. Kevin had myopia but, since country people had no access to health aids, wearing glasses would have raised suspicion. In the Mekong Delta, sampans known as ‘small fish’ would collect two or three people each and carry them to ‘big fish’, wooden vessels up to 30 metres long. They carried containers of fresh water to swap for fish sauce from the larger vessel, so as to appear to be involved in legitimate trade. Only Kevin and his young cousin Tony reached the rendezvous; other extended family members didn’t make it. On board the ‘big fish’ were more than 30 friends and relatives of the syndicate. In the harsh light of day it emerged that most of the containers on board the crowded vessel held undrinkable fish sauce; there was insufficient drinking water and no food. Surviving on one small sip of water a day, Kevin quickly realised he was in trouble.

Piracy was rife on the South China Sea and on the third day as they voyaged southwards the group was attacked by Thais who separated the men and boys from the women and girls and robbed them, looking for the gold, gems or jewellery that refugees often carried to help establish new lives. Kevin carried nothing but the sandals and thin clothing he wore. The pirates then humiliated and raped most of the women on board – although surprisingly they gave the refugees some food. The next day another pirate vessel attacked. They too assaulted the women.

Convinced valuables were being concealed they ripped up planks to find any hiding places. They found nothing but left a ruined shell of a vessel that began to leak, forcing those on board to start bailing.

Kevin, his cousin and the other refugees were taken to a crowded, makeshift refugee camp on the tiny island of Pulau Bidong. Immigration officials from western countries visited to interview and resettle the refugees. Kevin, fluent in French, applied for resettlement in France and Canada where other extended family members had migrated.

His cousin Tony, desperate to leave the rudimentary camp, approached the Australian delegate. Tony was too young to travel alone so Kevin, at 19, was also interviewed by the Australians. Neither spoke any English nor had any family here, but both were accepted under the Australian government’s humane policy towards refugees from the war it had entered as an ally of the USA. Soon afterwards, Kevin was told he had been accepted by France and Canada, too. Not wanting to disappoint the Australian case workers who had spent their time helping him, he chose Australia. Following medical checks they flew from Kuala Lumpur to Australia, in 1980.

Kevin arrived in Sydney with nothing but the clothes he wore. The government provided six weeks of hostel accommodation and English language classes, and after that he was on his own. Tony, 15, was placed with a guardian and enrolled in school. Kevin quickly found work and completed high school through TAFE. Since then he has pursued his academic dreams, achieving a degree in computing science, masters degrees in business administration and information management, and a doctorate in business administration. He met Tracy Nguyen, also a refugee from Vietnam, while they were both studying at the University of Technology, Sydney. In 1992 they married and their daughter, Victoria, was born six years later. Kevin has held senior and executive positions in the public service and private industry and has set up his own IT consulting company and a tutoring school in Sydney.

His father Tam was finally released in 1990 and now lives in Oregon, USA, with his wife and daughter. In 1995 Kevin and his family reunited; it was the first time he had seen his father in almost 20 years. In May 2010 Kevin’s name was unveiled on the Welcome Wall at the museum.

Veronica Kooyman Australian National Maritime Museum 295

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A family’s flight from Iran Pursuing a better life

In 1982, a chance for a better life in Australia inspired Kamal and Nina Dastyari to escape from their homeland Iran, via Turkey, with their two young children.

01 Family celebrations safe in Sydney, 1982.

02 The family in Tehran, 1980: Kamal (rear), Behzad, Nina and Banafsheh.

Images courtesy Dastyari family 296 We are many – Stories of Australia’s migrants

Beyond a white Australia 1982

When the time came, they were led on a journey fraught with danger and stress through the mountains and into Turkey

ON 8 AUGUST 1982 Kamal and Nina Dastyari and their two children, daughter Banafsheh and son Behzad, landed at Sydney airport having fled their country of origin, Iran.

Life in their homeland had become unbearable since the Iranian revolution of 1979, which installed an Islamic republic under Ayatollah Khomeini. Despite the great risks they would have to take to plan an escape, and the thought of leaving family and friends weighing heavily upon them, Kamal and Nina finally decided to pursue a better life elsewhere.

But where would they go? Nina didn’t want to move to England, and nor did Kamal want to move to America.

By chance a friend of Nina’s saw that the Australian embassy was looking for nurses and, as Nina was a nurse, she decided to apply. It was only when she got a second interview that she and Kamal began to think seriously about moving to Australia. They knew very little about this country on the other side of the world, but in the end it seemed to be a good compromise.

Kamal took numerous risks to secure the documents they would need for their escape, as well as an escort.

When the time came, they were led on a journey fraught with danger and stress through the mountains and into Turkey, where they were held in detention for a time.

Finally, though, and with the help of the Australian Embassy in Turkey, the Dastyaris obtained passports to Australia.

On their arrival in Sydney, the Dastyaris faced a swift and surprising education in Australian cultural life.

Their first night, on the recommendation of an agent at Sydney airport, was spent in a hotel in Kings Cross, in the heart of the red light district. The next day, having quickly relocated to Bondi, they were stunned by the sight of masses of people wandering around in singlets and shorts in the middle of winter. As it turned out, the City-to-Surf fun run was on. In these first few weeks, Nina also recalls her surprise at the outfits worn by Sydney bus drivers – shorts and long socks was a fashion she had certainly not encountered before!

Despite these culture shocks, Nina in particular was taken with Sydney’s natural beauty and she and Kamal quickly focused on their priorities – to settle their children, find a place to live and get a job. They found a secure unit in North Sydney and a school for the children, soon discovering that both Behzad and Banafsheh were advanced compared to Australian kids of the same age.

Behzad was top of the school in maths at the end of their first year. The matter of finding a job was rather more difficult. Nina’s masters degree in nursing from an American university wasn’t recognised by the Nurses’ Association, but she eventually overcame this hurdle and was employed as a nursing educator at Manly Hospital.

Kamal, however, struggled to find a job within his field of chartered accounting. After three months, a chance meeting with some Iranian entrepreneurs looking to invest in Australian agriculture led him to a job on a farm in Northern Queensland. But eight months later, with floods having destroyed their crop, he returned to Sydney.

Kamal then decided to go into business for himself, and took over an Angus and Robertson bookstore franchise.

In another risky move, he took over a second store in a better position in North Sydney. This was to be the start of a very successful enterprise, and within 10 years the Dastyaris had created a $3 million business and eventually owned five stores.

The Dastyaris have made the most of life in their new home, but Kamal and Nina are very proud of their Iranian heritage. They still celebrate the Iranian New Year, with all the generations enjoying traditional food, and on the second Friday of every month they host a group of about 30 people at their house to discuss a broad range of topics such as Iranian literature, history, alternative medicine, love, death and current events, all in Farsi.

Though some of the second generation are reluctant to participate in Iranian customs, their daughter, Banafsheh, insisted on having a traditional Iranian wedding.

Taking advantage of the Hawke Labor government’s family reunion policy, Kamal and Nina sponsored their family members to come out to Australia. Kamal’s family decided to stay, but after a short time Nina’s mother, father and sister moved back to Iran. When Nina returned to Iran to visit them in the early 1990s, her passport was confiscated at the airport and she spent four anxious weeks attempting to get it back before she was able to return to Australia.

It is a source of pride to Kamal and Nina that they have been able to give something back to Australia by employing a wide variety of employees in their stores over the last 25 years, and that they ‘haven’t taken a cent from the Australian government’. Their names were engraved on the Welcome Wall in 2008.

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Aussie football legend Swapping Lebanon for rugby league

Many names on the Welcome Wall come with inspirational stories of triumph over the trials of war and displacement. One of the is local rugby league football hero Hazem El Masri.

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Beyond a white Australia 1988 Hazem El Masri and his wife Arwa at the Welcome Wall unveiling, 27 September 2009.

Image Gennelle Bailey/Bailey Photography

In 1994 he was spotted by talent scouts from the Canterbury Bulldogs while playing for his school side, and was invited to trials. Just two years later, at the age of 19, he made his debut in the Bulldogs’ first grade team and by 1998 he was a regular member of the squad.

CHAMPION NATIONAL RUGBY LEAGUE player Hazem El Masri’s name was unveiled on the Welcome Wall on 27 September 2009, just two days after his retirement from the sport he loves. He was one of the speakers who addressed a crowd of over 1,000 people – family and friends of new subscribers to the Welcome Wall who came along to see their names cast into the new bronze plates.

Affectionately known as ‘El Magic’, Hazem El Masri was born in 1976 and grew up in war-torn Lebanon. The second of six children, he remembers waking up at night to the thunder of shelling and loud bombs and praying with his family for their safety. It was too dangerous to venture out during the day for fear of shelling and shooting, and Hazem remembers accompanying his father on late-night journeys to the bakery to obtain food supplies, because it was the only time that shopkeepers dared to open their stores. For the young Hazem, soccer provided an important and temporary escape from the surrounding terror and destruction.

Arriving in Australia in 1998 when Hazem was 12 years old, his family settled in south-western Sydney. Those early years in Australia were challenging for Hazem’s parents, Khaled and Amal. They had five children and little money and faced language barriers in their new home.

They derived comfort and support from their local community and their Muslim faith. Hazem says of his first years in Australia: ‘The biggest aspect of it all is that you’re actually safe – you are in your own home and no-one can come and say, “Get out!” for no reason.’

Hazem was first introduced to rugby league by his cousins at a family barbecue. He was handed an oddly shaped ‘ball’ and given a brief rundown on the rules of the game.

It was 1988, and the Canterbury Bulldogs had recently won the National Rugby League (NRL) grand final.

Hazem remembers the buzz and excitement of the win, and that all anyone talked about in his new country was rugby league. To his parents’ dismay, Hazem switched from playing soccer to this new and (to them) unfamiliar code, joining his local club, the Enfield Federals.

Hazem went on to carve a stellar professional career with the Bulldogs. He played his entire club football career with the team and appeared 317 times over 14 seasons for the club. He holds the Bulldogs club career points record, the record for the most goals scored in a single match, and the NRL point-scoring record for a single season. He is the second-highest point scorer in NRL premiership history.

Hazem’s representative career included playing as a New South Wales State of Origin winger, and playing for the City side in the annual City versus Country fixture.

He captained the Lebanese team in the 2000 Rugby League World Cup, as well as playing for Australia against New Zealand in 2002.

In June 2009, Hazem announced his retirement from rugby league, playing his last game against the Parramatta Eels in the preliminary final on 25 September. He is remembered with great affection and admiration by his Bulldogs fans as a legend of the game.

He met his first wife, Arwa, when she interviewed him as an English and Arabic literature student for the University of Western Sydney’s newspaper. Arwa had arrived in Australia in the mid-1980s from Saudi Arabia with her Palestinian-born parents. Hazem and Arwa have three children, Lamya, Zayd and Serene.

Hazem El Masri is widely admired and respected for his extensive work in the community as a role model for young people, and as a representative of our Lebanese and Muslim communities.

Unveiling the new names on the Welcome Wall, Hazem said: Coming to this country and the things that this country provided to me is just unbelievable. You always want to be thankful and you always try to give back as much as you can, and along the way I found rugby league, and I guess in a way it touches the hearts of people, because sport just unifies people … I’ve loved every single minute of it, because it’s been the opportunity to give back something to the community, to these teenagers and kids, give them some inspiration, something they can strive for.

Karen Worsfold Australian National Maritime Museum 299

The Migration Heritage Fund The Migration Heritage Fund supports the museum’s efforts to share the national migration story. The current priority is raising funds for the exhibition A Mile in My Shoes in January 2021.

The Australian National Maritime Museum is uniquely placed to tell the story of Australia’s migration history, located within sight of the docks where new arrivals first set foot on Australian soil for more than 100 years.

Census data reveals that in 2016 nearly half of all Australians were either born overseas or had at least one parent who was born overseas. With more than 300 languages spoken in our homes, over 100 religions and more than 300 different ancestries, Australia’s cultural diversity is rich.

Migration stories are currently told at the museum through permanent galleries, collections, exhibitions, education programs (onsite and online), the Welcome Wall, an active research and publications program, and the critically acclaimed rooftop video projection Waves of Migration.

Please donate now

The museum plans to enhance the national migration story through acquisitions, exhibitions and a substantial upgrade to its permanent galleries.

These enhancements will be assisted by the Migration Heritage Fund, which ensures our migration stories are told meaningfully and through as wide a range of media as possible.

Foundation Manager Phone: 02 9298 3619 Email: foundation@sea.museum

Your generous gift will allow development and expansion of our migration programs to strengthen visitors’ understanding of our rich migration history.

For more information contact

Migrants on the MV Toscana at Trieste, Italy, January 1954.

ANMM Collection ANMS0214[047]

Register on the Welcome Wall The Welcome Wall is one of the museum’s most important and visible tributes to our migration heritage.

More than 30,000 names already appear on the 81 bronze panels that run down the northern promenade of the museum, facing Pyrmont Bay. The museum’s Welcome Wall has stood for more than 20 years and is accepting new registrations. Adding a name to the Welcome Wall involves donating $500 to the museum, which will go towards preserving our Australian maritime and migration heritage.

As an acknowledgement of your tax-deductible gift of $500, your name, or that of a family member, relative, co-worker or friend, will be etched in bronze onto the Welcome Wall in recognition of their journey across the seas to make Australia their new home.

To recognise your support, you will receive: • a personal inscription in bronze on the Welcome Wall • a dedicated online profile page • a profile that can be securely managed and shared with friends and family • research functionality: search other names who may have arrived via the same vessel or at the same time • exclusive invitation to an unveiling ceremony for new inscriptions on the wall • a tax-deductible receipt.

Information For more information, or to register a name on the Welcome Wall, visit sea.museum/discover/welcome-wall/register