After the Yom Kippur incident, tensions continued to rise not only between the passengers, but also among the feuding crew who still lashed out at each other. The air at night was thick with conspiracy and hate, as dishes clattered in the kitchen above hurried whispers and meaningful looks were exchanged over platters piled with macaroni, mutton and chocolate blancmange. After the last passengers had straggled out of the dining room and all the plates had been washed and slammed back into the cupboards, the galley doors were closed and the combatants confronted each other with murder in their eyes.
They were advancing towards each other, eyes locked, when an unexpected chink of light widened in the doorway and distracted their attention. It was Captain Papalas. Instead of his usually mild, worried expression, his eyes were hard and his face was set in anger. In his hand was a snub-nosed pistol. The combatants dropped their rigid stance, backed down and slunk away. The stand-off was over and for the time being authority had been restored.
Cheering and shouting broke out as soon as we caught sight of the rugged Australian shore, baked ochre by the brilliance of the sun. In the general scramble for a place against the rail, we craned and twisted our necks for our first view of the great southern continent we had finally reached. The Derna sailed into Fremantle Harbour, edged her way into the channel and berthed. ‘We’re in Australia now!’ my father said in a voice ringing with significance.
‘Thank God!’ my mother sighed.
I couldn’t see anything of interest on the wharf below and wished I could go back to my knitting. My skeins of coloured wool had all been knitted into separate pieces destined to become jackets and skirts, but they looked messy. Before going ashore I wanted to fit them together and stitch them as seamlessly as I could.
Soon after the Derna docked, two immigration officers boarded the ship. Their informality endeared them to the passengers. They had reddish hair and boyish freckled faces, and didn’t throw their weight around or bully anyone. If they were typical of Australians, then we had come to the right country. With good-natured smiles that few of the passengers had ever seen on the faces of government officials, the officers ticked off names from their long lists, made sure that people had the right documents, checked medical records and handed out landing cards. Inevitably, some passengers had mislaid their papers or had no record of vaccination against smallpox or x-rays for TB, and these omissions were reported to Canberra.
Introducing himself as the escort officer appointed by the IRO to accompany the migrants, Colonel Hershaw handed the officers a letter written by one of the passengers in his group.
Dear Sir,
May I bring to your attention the following matter concerning possible infiltration of Communist agents with immigrants to Australia.
1. Background.
Before and during German invasion of Czechoslovakia and Poland, the Jewish element fled to USSR.
During the war, they became ardent Bolsheviks and took active part in Red army as well as in war industry as commissars, political supervisors and NKVD agents, being admitted to Communist Party; the youth to ‘komsomol’ (Communist youth).
After V-Day thousands of these persons returned from USSR to Germany in possession of Polish, Hungarian, Romanian and Czechoslovakian (Soviet satellite government) passports and claiming themselves Displaced Persons.
It may be noted that not a single Christian have left those countries in possession of an official passport!
2. Communist activity among immigrants on board SS Derna.
Information shows: of 451 IRO and AJDC passengers a great majority (about 3/4) are of Jewish origin and most of them with Soviet satellite passports, claiming citizenship of these countries.
Many of these persons during the voyage from Marseilles made Communist propaganda by 1) favouring Soviet regime and totalitarian system, 2) singing Soviet propaganda songs, 3) causing unrest among the crew as well as passengers, 4) making favourable comments concerning foreign policy of Soviet Union, 5) playing Russian gramophone records over the ship’s loudspeaker system.
Who can tell how many Soviet agents are there among these persons? What are their objectives? How they could flee with official passports from behind the ‘Iron Curtain’?
The following facts can be corroborated by many co-passengers who wish to remain unmentioned in this report but are available for any further evidence if required:
1. ORENSTEIN, immigrant Jew, about 25, has been noticed to be a leader of a group about 20 youth, lauding Soviet system, singing Soviet songs, played Russian gramophone records, contacted the crew of Derna for the purpose of Communist propaganda causing unrest among them.
2. FISZMAN, immigrant Jew, about 28, openly declaring and favouring Soviet totalitarian regime, admitting his Communist views. Twice had a quarrel with co-passengers on political ground.
3. Unidentified immigrant Jew, about 40, singing Soviet propaganda songs, caused unrest among co-passengers, afterwards tried to explain these songs being Ukrainian national songs and himself as Ukrainian.
Yours very truly,
Verner H. Puurand. Commander Estonian Navy, ret.
The immigration officer who passed the letter on to his superiors little suspected that it was to create a furore in government circles, create headlines and make the Derna a household name throughout Australia.
Before we were permitted to disembark, two policemen boarded the ship and made straight for the captain’s cabin. Ever since we had entered Australian waters, Captain Papalas had been wondering about the repercussions if Australian authorities discovered the real number of Jews on board, so he had anticipated a visit from immigration officials, but not from the police.
Everyone was mystified by the presence of the policemen. Those who had spent much of their lives waiting for the dreaded knock on the door speculated that they were Australia’s secret police. When a succession of people were seen entering and leaving the captain’s cabin, other theories were put forward. Some surmised that the officers had come to arrest the German with the tattoo, while others wondered whether they had come for the Communists.
Verner Puurand was the first to be interviewed because it was his letter that had triggered the investigation. Questioned at length about his allegations, he reiterated his claims that subversive elements on board had sung Soviet songs, spread propaganda and fomented unrest among the crew. During the interview, he added two more agitators to his list. They were the Polish couple, Guta and Dick, whose crime, in his view, was that they had spent all their time on deck talking to two seamen. But despite their searching questions, the officers were unable to elicit a shred of evidence to substantiate his claims that this couple, or the others he had named, were Communist agents.
Immigration and police officers spent most of the day on the ship. After all the documents had been checked and the passengers cleared for disembarkation, one couple was ordered to remain on board until further notice. The officials decided that the allegations Puurand had made against Sam Fiszman were serious enough to warrant further investigation, but Guta and Dick were permitted to go ashore. Not even in the post-war Communist paranoia that gripped Australia in 1948 did talking to sailors constitute dangerous subversion.
When Guta was informed about the accusation, she was worried in case it placed a black mark against their names even before they had set foot in Australia. Would their names be recorded in the police files forever? And would this cause trouble for their sponsors? It upset her to think that in return for their kindness, they were to be hounded by police or placed under suspicion. To add to her anxiety, someone told her that the Australian Intelligence Service was as implacable as Fouchet’s secret police during the French Revolution, and once they started hounding a victim, they never let up.
Unaware of the problems of some of the other passengers, my parents and I disembarked to find Bronek and Pola Stein waiting for us on the wharf. Although my parents had never met the Steins, they were connected through other distant, and equally unk
nown, connections in Brisbane who had sent our landing permit. While our parents spoke to each other in Polish, six-year-old Gary Stein and I sat in awkward silence on the low wall that ran beside City Beach, swinging our bare legs while a blustery wind whipped my face and neck with needle-sharp grains of sand.
My parents were charmed by Perth, its brick bungalows fronted with neatly clipped lawns and bright gardens that resembled idealised scenes in picture books, complete with a cat or dog on every doorstep. ‘That must be what they mean by saying that “an Englishman’s home is his castle,”’ my father said, quoting a phrase from his English textbook. With obvious pride, the Steins drove us around the sunny town along the banks of the Swan River where they had settled shortly before the war. Any apprehension my parents had felt about coming to Australia melted away with the Steins’ warm welcome and the relaxed atmosphere of this city where people smiled and greeted strangers in the street.
Other passengers were also discovering the delights of Australia. For many youngsters it was literally the land of milk and honey, as they drank frothed-up milk flavoured with chocolate or strawberry, licked ice cream cones and bit into chocolate bars. After the privations of the war and the rationing of post-war Europe, the casual abundance of food in the shops astounded everyone. Inside the butcher shops, men in blue striped aprons smeared with blood slapped great slabs of meat the colour of rubies down on the scales, while at the greengrocers cases overflowed with oranges that cost only two shillings a bucket. A Greek milk bar owner beckoned to shy Mattie Travasaros and her sister and handed them strawberry ice creams. This time they ate them before they melted.
With the ten shillings each of the orphans received from the Australian Jewish Welfare Society, most of them rushed out to buy milk shakes which they had never tasted before. Topka, who received two pounds for herself and her sisters, hovered outside a cake shop, peering at the prices speared into each cake on stiff triangular signs: 2/-, 1/3. What did those numbers mean? As she stood trying to figure out the prices, one of the engineers she knew from the ship walked past, a good-looking young Greek with a glossy black moustache. Speaking in German so she would understand, he asked her to come inside and started pointing to coconut slices, cream buns, cup cakes and lamingtons. When the salesgirl had wrapped them up, he handed the bulging parcel to Topka and refused to let her pay. ‘For you and your sisters,’ he said.
One of the orphans bought several tins of plums and apricots with his ten shillings, only to discover when he later opened them that he had been misled by the illustrations on the labels and had purchased jam instead of fruit. But it made a welcome change from the marmalade they spread on their bread every morning.
When Perth’s Jewish community heard that the ship in the harbour had brought sixty-one orphans to their city, they converged on the Derna with boxes of apples and oranges and distributed them among all the children on board. They invited the orphans into their homes and treated them like long-lost children. It was Sukkoth, the harvest festival, and after the synagogue service a party was given in their honour. They stared at a table piled with white bread sandwiches with the crusts cut off, sponge cakes, fruit slices, cup cakes, chocolate crackles, biscuits, jellies and orange drinks. No one had seen such a spread in the past ten years or met such warm-hearted, generous people who couldn’t seem to do enough for their young guests.
The affection was mutual. Many Perth families were so taken with these youngsters that they didn’t want them to leave. Mingled with their admiration and compassion was a twinge of guilt that they had escaped from Europe before the war, while these teenagers had suffered so much. They longed to give them a home and find partners for them among the closely knit Jewish community which certainly needed an infusion of new blood. The warmth of this community was so seductive that some of the orphans wanted to stay there rather than continue on to Melbourne, but Dr Frant reminded them that they had to complete the voyage, as arranged by the Jewish Welfare Society.
Bill Marr was invited home by a family who had migrated from Palestine after World War I and had settled in Perth because they didn’t have enough money to travel further east. As they sat on the balcony, eating oranges that were available here in such marvellous profusion and luxuriating in the sunshine, his hosts advised him to stay in Melbourne instead of going on to Sydney. ‘The Jewish community in Melbourne has a heart, most of them come from Hungary and Poland. They’ll welcome you, but the Sydney Jews are cold, mainly from England or Germany. They won’t help you,’ they warned.
The following day was Sunday, and those who wandered around Perth were amazed to see that the city had become a ghost town. In the suburbs, however, women wearing brightly coloured dresses and hats decorated with bows and flowers were strolling to church. For Elmars Kuplis, arriving in Australia was a milestone he wanted to mark with a prayer of thanksgiving. Inside the Anglican church in town, tears of gratitude misted his eyes as he looked at his little family. He had resolved never to be separated from them again, and God had helped him bring them safely across the seas. For Silva Rae, Fremantle had a special significance, because her little daughter Anneke took her first tottering steps on the wharf.
After having been cut off from friends and relatives for so long, it was thrilling to get letters again. Kurt Herzog received a letter from his sister in Sydney with a crisp five-pound note folded inside. Although this was all the money he owned, he immediately shared his windfall with his friend Elsie Pataky, whose ballooning stomach now made it obvious that confinement could not be far off. She had been waddling around barefoot ever since her flimsy sandals had fallen apart early in the voyage. As he gave her half his money, Kurt said, ‘Buy yourself a pair of shoes.’
Emil Kopel, who turned twenty in Fremantle, also had a stroke of luck. His guardian, whom he had never met before, flew to Perth to meet him. For Emil’s birthday he gave him his first Australian money, a one-pound note that lasted him for three weeks.
Helle’s parents had also been sent five pounds in the mail. Feeling prosperous, Helle set off for the shops with one of her cabin-mates. She knew what she wanted to buy. After finding the English word for brassiere in the dictionary, she repeated it several times to make sure she got it right. Looking into the shop windows, she thought that clothes here were dowdy and old-fashioned, and that the women in their shorter, brightly patterned dresses lacked style.
As they strolled along the street, she noticed a man following them as though trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. Feeling uneasy, she was about to quicken her step when he caught up and started talking to them. He had apparently migrated from Estonia many years before and had almost forgotten the language, but hearing their conversation had stirred his memory. Helle was shocked. How could you forget your own language?
As they turned into a department store, she repeated the word she had learnt in the dictionary before entering the women’s lingerie section. Brassiere. To her dismay, however, the saleswoman couldn’t understand what she was saying, no matter how many times she repeated it. Finally, with a flushed face and cringing with embarrassment, she had to point to what she wanted. ‘You mean a bra!’ the saleswoman exclaimed.
Not all the letters contained good news, however. On their first day in Australia, some passengers discovered that relatives who had promised to take them in had changed their minds. Anna Szput could hardly believe her eyes as she read that her cousin had let them down. He was sorry that he would not be able to meet them when they arrived in Melbourne because he was exhausted and was going away on a holiday, but he had arranged for someone else to meet them instead.
While the rest of us went ashore, Sam and Esther Fiszman were forbidden to leave the ship because of Puurand’s allegation. When Archbishop Rafalsky heard that Sam had been accused of Communist agitation and was being confined on board, he wrote a letter of support, denying that his young friend had engaged in any subversive activities and vouching for his good character. Thanks to the archbishop’s intercession, as
well as to the assurances of the Jewish community who guaranteed that Sam would return to the ship, he and Esther were allowed to go ashore. The authorities decided that there would be time to look into the allegations when the Derna reached Melbourne.
In the meantime, they had other problems to deal with. The master of the Derna reported seven stowaways who had no valid documents or permits to enter Australia. Their thumb prints were taken and forwarded to Canberra, but by the time we sailed from Fremantle, two of them had absconded. Warrants for their arrest were issued and a reward was offered for any information leading to their apprehension.
To the captain’s relief, at the request of the Commonwealth migration officer for Western Australia no action was taken about the number of Jews on board. Better to keep it quiet, they reasoned, than risk controversy and create a public uproar.
Even before the Derna had reached Australian shores, there had been some concern in the Department of Immigration about the conditions on board migrant ships. On the day we sailed for Melbourne, an editorial in the Adelaide News called for an inquiry into the matter, claiming that unscrupulous European shipping companies were exploiting migrants. Although the subject of the article was the SS Napoli, the Department of Immigration suspected that conditions on the Derna were far worse and likely to attract even more criticism.
The Voyage of Their Life Page 23
