My Adopted Country: Australia

By Erwin Feeken

The book begins with a chapter on homeland memories, followed by the authors and his wifes first experiences in Australia in 1954. For the first decade they moved from place to place, finally settling down in Canberra. These adventures are expressed in chapters on Tasmania, Darwin, a 15month stay in Canberra, Grafton, and finally Canberra again. The family, now with five daughters, settled in the National Capital where Mr Feeken became permanently employed as a draftsman and cartographer with the Bureau of Mineral Resources (now Geoscience Australia).
Being interested in Australian Exploration, the family travelled year after year, checking out explorers discoveries, culminating in the publication of The Discovery and Exploration of Australia in 1970. Afterwards, the family still travelled, year after year, the vast expanses of the Australian Continent, often checking out explorers routes.

After the untimely death of Mrs Feeken in 2005, the author was encouraged by friends to write up this story. The fascination for travelling the outback continued into the next generation. In 2007, Mr Feeken travelled with his granddaughter Kiah around Australia and to the centre, covering nearly 30 000 km in 6 months.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Feb 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781499028683

Erwin Feeken

Erwin and Gerda Feeken emigrated to Australia from Germany in 1954, the year they were married, in order to pursue their interest in geography and the history of exploration. They lived first in Sydney and then moved to Hobart where Mr Feeken began his career in cartography. In order to explore the country (and accompanied by a fourteen month old daughter) the Feeken family then embarked on a bicycle trip from Hobart through the Central Highlands of Tasmania to the north coast, then from Melbourne via Orbost on the Princes Highway and Canberra to Sydney: this pilgrimage is a good indication of their dedication to the cause of Australian Exploration! After three years in Darwin, they moved to Canberra in 1960 and Grafton in 1961, in 1962 returning to Canberra, where Mr. Feeken became colour designer for geological maps with the then Bureau of Mineral resources, now Geoscience Australia. Erwin and Gerda Feeken became interested specifically in Australian place names in 1960 when they began reading the published journals of Sir Thomas Mitchell. They found that the origins of many place names were hidden in these and other journals and that no gazetteer of them existed. Research into the origin of Australian place names, thus begun, became so absorbing that it took up most of their leisure time and grew in the course of time into the book “Discovery and Exploration of Australia”, in time for Captain Cook’s bi-centenary for discovering the east coast of Australia, in 1970. This book, “European Discovery and Exploration of Australia” is a revised edition.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Erwin Feeken. 633471

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014920919

ISBN:

Softcover 978-1-4990-2860-7

Hardcover 978-1-4990-2870-6

EBook 978-1-4990-2868-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a true story, as seen by the author. The names of persons, characters and localities, as well as incidents are truthfully told and meet with the approval of all involved.

Rev. date: 02/20/2015

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

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This book is dedicated in the first instance to my dear wife with whom I was fortunate to share 54 happy years of my life. Secondly it is written as a means of thanking the Australian people who have welcomed us so warmly into their society.

Erwin Feeken, Crosswinds, Bywong 2621

Year 2014

Contents

Foreword

Preface

Homeland memories

Leaving for Australia

The first months as New Australians

Tasmanian Experience

Darwin Impressions

In the National Capital – Canberra

A year in Jacaranda town

Building a future in Canberra

Creative Years

Distant Horizons

The family is growing up

Lead-ups to Matrimony

A new phase of life

Semi-retirement

More travels, more visitors, and health problems

A potpourri of events

A time of sorrow

Around Australia Tour, 2007

My life’s story to end when I am eighty

Final reflections

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Bibliography

Foreword

My good friend Erwin Feeken, cartographer and indefatigable documenter of the travels of the great. Australian explorers, has now completed this biography: My Adopted Country-Australia. It is a remarkable piece of writing and of great interest as the story of a most unusual man who has done extraordinary things and gathered many friends. His energetic wife, Gerda, was a key part of the Feeken team until her untimely death in 2005.

Erwin and Gerda, after unhappy early lives in Germany, came to Australia in July 1954 on the first migrant flight from Europe, arriving in Darwin with one pound in the pocket and a box of books. In April 1955, Erwin started professional work as a draftsman/cartographer. They had various adventures along the way, but I first met them in Canberra in 1963 when I joined the Bureau of Mineral Resources (BMR), and Erwin was later the cartographer with me on a four-month field season of geological mapping in central Queensland. He produced many beautiful geological maps with his superb hand printing a feature – today’s computer-generated maps completely lack aesthetic character! He and Gerda and their five daughters became firm friends of our family.

Typically, after retiring as a Chief Draftsman from BMR in 1987, he then worked as a field assistant in four BMR field parties in the outback, the last in 1992. In 1989 he was a Colombo Plan consultant at the Indonesian Geological Research Centre in Bandung, a tribute to his cartographic expertise. Erwin’s greatest love was travelling in Australia in the tracks of the explorers, and he regaled us with stories of driving the old Holden station wagon along creek beds in central Australia with low tyre pressures for the sand, towing a trailer with all the necessities for seven people in it. What particularly appealed to me was the drum of water in the bouncing trailer, which contained their dirty clothes. At the end of each day the clothes were clean and could be dried overnight.

Perhaps the outstanding product of this phase of his life was the superb book The Discovery and Exploration of Australia published in 1970 by Thomas Nelson Australia, with the authorship of Erwin Feeken, Gerda Feeken, and Oskar Spate. This book is one of my most treasured possessions and contains a huge amount of new information dug out and compiled by the indefatigable Feekens. In a foreword by the Governor General, Lord Casey noted that Erwin had created a work of real scholarship. Well-known geographer Professor Spate, who was foundation head of the Research School of Pacific Studies at the Australian National University in the late 1960s and early 1970s, wrote a lengthy introductory essay to the book.

Erwin is also a superb photographer and his work was published in three articles in the 1960s in the respected Walkabout magazine. Their experiences as people who loved Australia from the outset and decided to really enjoy life in their adopted country are really heart-warming. In 2007, in his late seventies, he completed a 30,000 km trip to unusual parts of Australia with his teenage granddaughter, Kiah, in a four-wheel-drive vehicle with 300,000 km on the clock….

This is a wonderful piece of Australiana, telling a very positive story of European migrants who have contributed a great deal to their adopted country, and their story is an uplifting one. Erwin’s photographs of the Australian landscape in out-of-the-way places are all excellent and some are stunningly beautiful. This fascinating book should be widely read by thoughtful Australians.

Professor Neville Exon

Research School of Earth Sciences

Australian National University

Acton, ACT 0200

Preface

The idea of writing a case history of my family’s lives as ‘New Australians’ occurred to me in the early nineteen-eighties, when I had in mind to record our experiences in a book entitled ‘Forty Years as New Australians’. But a decade prior to the intended publication date proved to be an extremely busy one and the project had to be shelved. The intended title was abandoned as it represents a time span I was not able to adhere to. The present title, ‘My Adopted Country - Australia’ is more pliable and could be finalised as time permitted.

My wife’s and my decision to immigrate to Australia was a fortunate one for us. A choice we had made, purely to experience some adventure for a few years, became the permanent lifestyle we enjoyed. The Australian way of life suited us admirably. Neither of us felt very patriotic about Germany of the 1930s and 40s and we had no intentions of joining any ethnic group in Australia. Both of us having arrived here with a basic knowledge of English proved, of course, very beneficial. Integration, mentally and physically into the Australian community, was easy, thanks to the Australian people and the relevant Government authorities.

Six years after our arrival in Australia I was engaged as cartographer at the Geography Department of the National University. Browsing through the history section of the Menzies Library, I came upon the original printed version of Major Thomas L. Mitchell’s ‘Three Expeditions into the Interior of Eastern Australia’. This discovery resulted in reading and taking notes of all Australian explorers’ journals we could find, and in our publication of ‘The Discovery and Exploration of Australia" in 1970, the bicentenary of Captain Cook’s discovery of the East coast of the continent. The associated travels during research with our family throughout Australia during school holidays left us in awe about the vastness and diversity of this country and produced a lasting effect on our extended family.

Our German backgrounds did not cause any adverse reactions. By and large, whenever we came into contact with Australians, we found acceptance and often offers of friendship. For this we are very thankful. We trust that we, my family, have made positive contributions to this great nation. This book, ‘My Adopted Country- Australia’ is hopefully one of them.

Erwin Feeken, Bywong, NSW, 2014

Homeland memories

Without reminiscing in detail about my youth and young adulthood years, I singled out some incidents which were important in the shaping of my character and later, tendencies which contributed to the eventual decision to leave my home country, Germany, forever.

As in most countries, the Great Depression of the early nineteen-thirties caused financial havoc in Germany, and one of the five-and-a -half million unemployed was my father Hermann. He was a North German, born in Wilhelmshaven by the North Sea, in 1905. My mother Sophie, small and of darker complexion, was a year older and came from Aachen in the Rhineland. They were an unlikely pair of widely different nature and interests. They settled in Oldenburg, where I was born on August 6, 1930.

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My Mother Sophie Jacobs, in 1925 at 21 years of age on Holiday in Southern Germany

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My Father, as an employee with the Land registry in Ruhr Valley in 1929, at 24 years of age.

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Mother at 27 years of age in 1931

In 1933, the N.S.D.A.P., (National Sozialistische Deutsche Arbeiter Partei), i.e. the National Socialistic German Workers Party, generally referred to now as the ‘Nazy Party’, took control of the economy. New work projects improved the lives of many people and raised hopes for a better future. It took another five years before the general development was recognised as preparation for a new war. My father, as a survey technician, found employment with the local Survey Department of Oldenburg. He retained this position during World War II when he was seconded to be a soldier from 1939 to 1945, until his retirement. Father became a firm believer in the regime; he could never completely shake off his view.

By 1938 our family with four children lived in a two-bedroom brick duplex: A little crowded but reasonably comfortable. My parents managed to buy their first furniture. But this year also caused some discontent. Father was obliged to spend four weeks in a camp for military service training. Up to this time I was not aware of any problems pending on the horizon.

In 1938, at seven years of age, I was attending second year primary school at a Catholic convent in my hometown. One morning our teacher, a nun, was writing on the blackboard when two civilian-clothed men entered the classroom with a large Hessian bag and under protest from the nun, took the crucifix off the wall and tossed it into the bag. We students found out later that all crucifixes had been collected from the school. Around Easter the following year the school closed and the students were relocated in public schools. Later, on the first of September 1939, I remember I was standing on the footpath in front of our house when small groups of people gathered on the street, whispering: Germany is at war!.

When I reached the age of 10 I was enlisted in the ‘Jungvolk’, the junior Hitler Youth. I learned to despise this organisation for its regimentation and ridicule of things I cherished and the views I held. As a result I was not a cooperative participant in their activities.

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Me, shortly after I joined the Jungvolk (the Junior Hitler Youth) at 10 years of age

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Father as lance corporal in an anti- aircraft unit, 1941.

When I was 11 I entered Junior High School but stayed there only one year. I contracted scarlet fever which kept me out of school for six weeks but, more importantly, I had a visit during my illness while alone at home. Two men , in civilian clothes, no doubt from the Gestapo (Geheime Staats Polizei) or Secret State Police interviewed me, wanting to know personal details. They told me that I would have to return to primary school which provided the usual basic schooling of eight years up to the age of 14. In later years I became convinced that my dismissal from Junior High School was connected with my conduct at the Jungvolk. Returning to sixth year primary school in April 1942 was a mixed blessing. Fortunately I had a class teacher for the following three years who appeared not to be affected by politics. However, as the pupils got older, many began to discriminate between them and as a result, two groups emerged: Those inspired by the Hitler Youth and the propaganda which was disseminated through the radio and the press, and those that were unaffected by or opposed to it. Those who were not involved or opposed were mostly Catholics and so-called other ‘misfits’. This group made up about 10 percent of the population in a region which was politically known as’Gau -Weser Ems, meaning the district between the rivers Weser and Ems. However, apart from one overnight hospitalisation as a result of a stone throw from one of the students, I stayed in one piece during the remaining part of my school days.

It was for a different reason that I was taken to hospital in December of that year. I had developed the nervous habit of twitching my eyes and face, and mother took me to a recommended child specialist. Little did she know what she entered into. It was decided that I spend a few days in hospital for observation and tests. However, as we found out later, I was kept in hospital for experimental purposes – a human guinea pig! I contracted Diphtheria bacilli, but not the disease. I was transferred to an isolation ward, together with those suffering from the disease. No one was allowed to visit me. For the nervous twitching I was given alternate hot and cold wet sheet whole body wrappings, and several injections on most days. During this time I read the entire works of the Brothers Grimm and studied Father’s comprehensive atlas in great detail.

When time dragged on without any change to the daily pattern, and the hated children’s doctor appeared again with his needle, I lost my temper and threw the atlas at his face. A dozen pages came loose and fluttered to the floor. My outburst was answered with two injections instead of one.

It was March 1943 and the swab test for diphtheria at last proved three times negative. I was transferred back to the children’s ward but otherwise there was no change to my treatment. As before, no one was allowed to visit me but at certain times Mother, or Father’s mother, stood on the footpath below, often in snow, waving at me for a while. Closed double-glazed windows made it impossible to speak to each other. Then, a week before Easter during lunchtime, Mother poked her head around the side of the door to my dormitory and when all was clear, she came and rushed me into some clothes. When we were ready to leave, Mother had to support me – I could not walk unaided. But we sneaked along the corridor and down a staircase returning home. Strangely the authorities did not look for me. Mother took me to a naturopath for treatment. After a few weeks my nervous twitching gradually disappeared. Near the end of the war we noticed a news item about the well-known child specialist who had treated me. He was hanged in a Russian German prisoner camp because he could not save the life of a wounded Russian officer.

All these war years my father was a soldier. Mostly he was stationed in the Ruhr Valley in anti-aircraft units. Twice he was buried alive under rubble. Mother had to cope with their four children and also had to deal with Government authorities who were set to make life difficult for Catholics. Fortunately our city did not suffer from serious bomb attacks. Despite the tumult that accompanied the final stages of the war I completed primary school in due time. In April 1945 I began an apprenticeship in surveying and survey drafting with the local Lands and Survey Department. I have no proof, but I suspect that my father had sent in a recommendation to them to consider me.

The entry into my apprenticeship did not pass without drama. I had to introduce myself to the chief personnel officer of the department. I had learned to be scared of male adults and at the age of not quite 15 the situation had not changed. I knocked on the door of the chief’s office. When he called me in I entered and said: Good morning, Sir. He was dressed in the brown ‘Sturm Abteilung’ (S.A), i.e. Storm Division uniform. He looked at me and said: Go outside and enter again. Startled, I walked out, checked my clothes, combed my hair and entered again. In a friendlier tone than I am normally used to I greeted: Good morning Herr …. Again he stared and told me to do it right next time. I was still not enlightened and when I failed to please him with my third attempt he rose from his seat and shouted: Don’t you know the German salute – ‘Heil Hitler’. He raised his arm and clicked his heels together. A few weeks later, upon the arrival of the ‘Allies’, the officer suicided.

When the events of the last days of the war in our region became too chaotic, activities everywhere ceased ‘until further notice’. I was standing, as I was some six years ago, at the front gate of our home on the beautiful morning of May 7, this time watching allied soldiers marching by, in single file, with rifles over their shoulders, smiling and saying Good morning! Many other people turned out and it was my distinct feeling that the invaders were, by and large, not regarded as the enemy but as the ambassadors of piece.

Only a few days had passed when I was called to resume my apprenticeship. I was one of five apprentices and had no reason to complain. But I was not happy. I was restless and could not concentrate on my work. Father had survived the war; he returned home in August 1945 looking an old man at the age of forty. He had been dismissed from a prisoner-of-war camp at Remagen on the Rhine River. When he knocked on our door one of my younger brothers, then aged 12, called Mother, explaining: There is a man at the door. Only Mother and I, as the eldest child recognised him. Apart from a few short visits we had not seen him for six years.

The occupation forces in our region had settled in. A nearby German military airport served to accommodate hundreds of allied soldiers. A curfew was applied to keep the population indoors at night, but otherwise we enjoyed freedom. We were surprised by the number of nationals which made up the forces: There were Americans, Canadians, English and Scots. The Canadians and Americans in particular visited German homes; ours included, to ask for some favours such as washing and ironing their clothes. As payment we were usually given cigarettes, chocolates or soaps: All non-existent in Germany. Some soldiers seemed to take a liking to us and visited more often. They told us about their homes and families and showed us photos. Some of the older and more senior officers became friends of my parents and I, as a teenager, found some young soldier friends. However, we also had the occasional unwanted visitors. Usually intoxicated, two or three soldiers roamed the streets, eventually choosing a house where they could annoy or molest the occupants. On one occasion we did not open the door and consequently had a brick thrown through the living room window. On another occasion we allowed some drunken soldiers into the house, but they were promptly arrested by a Canadian officer who happened to be our guest at the time.

The winter of 1945/46 was exceptionally cold with minimum temperatures ranging around minus 30 to 32 degrees Celsius. Neither coal nor wood was available. Some people burnt portions of their furniture or went into the forest with little hand-drawn carts or wagons and chopped down life pine, beech, or birch trees. The shop windows were empty and food was even more rationed than during the war. A little later, as a seventeen year old I could buy three items freely which I enjoyed: Piano sheet music, cinema tickets and railway tickets. During these years I saw many films: The picture theatres were heated in winter! Esther Williams became my favourite actress and Stewart Granger my favourite actor.

After successfully completing my three years of apprenticeship, only three positions became available and I missed out. The department offered me work without payment. There were no other opportunities, so I accepted.

Railway tickets being available, I began travelling during holidays. Around Easter 1948 I bought a return ticket to Aachen in the Rhineland to visit my favourite aunt: Mother’s sister Gertrud. It was devastating to see the historic city so badly damaged by bombs. One morning I took a tram to a village, some 30 kilometres East from Aachen to roam about in a forest. I found most of the tree trunks snapped or stripped, and many uprooted around numerous small bomb craters. In the undergrowth I came across burnt out vehicles, and even a burnt out tank. Having never seen a tank close by, I was curious. Looking into the interior, I was shocked to see two charred human bodies. I returned to my aunt in a hurry and told her of my experience, made more disconcerting by the fact that three years had passed since the war had ended. She told me that the forest, ‘Hürtgen Wald’, was full of mines and access was prohibited. She reported my discovery to the authorities.

In mid-1948 the German currency changed from Reichsmark (RM) to Deutschmark (DM) and was devalued to 10 % of the value of the RM. Since I had no savings it did not matter to me, but I was amazed when I saw the following morning (I think it was early July), all the shop windows were filled with goods. Everything could be bought, provided one had money: Sparkling new bicycles with dynamo-driven lights and a range of cameras impressed me in particular.

My persistence in working without earnings during the 12 months had paid off. I was offered a position as Survey Technician and, in addition participation in an advanced, special training program that was to give me higher qualifications. Initially I was elated at this offer, but as time went on, work and study suffered during periods of day-dreaming. If anything, I was more troubled than before, even depressed. Not being able to identify my problem, my urge was to simply go away, far from civilisation. Frustration with disrupted school years, trouble with the Hitler Youth, and the general disturbances during and after the war had had their impact on me.

I found some relaxation when I bought a new bicycle (paid off over two years) and went camping on weekends in the forests. In the summer of 1949, with bike and camping gear I toured the Rhine and Moselle river valleys for three weeks with two colleagues. During the following summer I persuaded a friend to undertake a similar tour with me in the same region. On this occasion I met a lovely girl: The daughter of a wine grower on the slopes by the Moselle River, and a friendship developed. These leisure activities revived me somewhat and supplied me with enough motivation to carry out my duties for a while to the satisfaction of my superiors.

In my spare time I read books about the Amazon jungle, particularly about Col. P.H. Fawcett’s adventures, Henry Stanley’s Darkest Africa, and various books on polar explorers. I also focussed on newspaper advertisements offering work of any designation around the globe. Among those I applied for were far-fetched occupations such as assistant for a team of hunters to catch lions in East Africa for a circus, and as a timber feller in Nova Scotia. In my ignorance I even contacted the French Foreign Legion which had advertised training opportunities and service in Indochina. I also applied for assisted immigration to Canada, Brazil, Venezuela, Peru, Argentina, South Africa and Australia. I received an invitation from the Foreign Legion to attend an interview in Paris, but I never went. The letter with the details had disappeared; much later my father admitted that he had burned it.

I joined a table tennis club and found some good company there. A little later my sister Irmgard, four years younger than I also became a member. After some months I played well enough in a team to compete.

In April 1951, after I had successfully completed the special training program and obtained the equivalent of a ‘Diploma for Surveying and Survey Drafting’, my mind began to wander more than ever. I went on another bicycle tour in summer. Apart from my favourite destinations in the Eifel and the Moselle River valley, I extended my tour to include the beautiful mountain forest roads east of Koblenz. I visited my girlfriend, but my approach to her was guarded and non-committal. I was confused.

Shortly after returning home my hopes were raised by a letter from the Argentinean Embassy in Hanover, requesting me to attend an interview and a medical examination. However, later in the year I was informed that assisted immigration had been halted for at least 12 months. In the meantime the South African Consulate advised that I was not regarded as a displaced person and therefore not a ‘preferred migrant’. If I was fluent in either Africaan or English, I could still be considered. I could not fulfil these requisites.

Somehow I underwent a change during the year. I was still eager for adventure, but with a little more caution. Most importantly, I developed a new attitude. I could actually tell myself: I am not going to be discontent in the future; from now on I am going to be a happy person, with positive ideas.

The year 1952 turned out to be a busy one. I applied, unsuccessfully, for a cadetship with the Hydrographic Institute in Hamburg which maintained the sailing ships Pamir and Passat for navigational training purposes. Early in spring I rode my bicycle 30 kilometres through 20 centimetres of snow, just to see the Passat, a four-masted schooner, departing from Brake on the Weser River for Rio de Janeiro. Some years later her sister ship, the Pamir, sank off the Brazilian coast, leaving only a few survivors.

Through the table tennis club an offer was made by the City Council to young persons interested, to register their names for a three week’s youth exchange between the cities of Oldenburg and Swansea in southern Wales. Thus I travelled with a group of some 30 girls and boys via London to Swansea, where we were lodged with different families. We went sightseeing and had parties, or played games with our Welsh counterparts. I was accommodated with a very pleasant family, living on a picturesque coastline with numerous bays and headlands, on the south side of what is known as The Gower Peninsula, just west of Swansea.

Later in the year, a group of Welsh teenagers and young adults came visiting my hometown, bringing into our family the son from the family who looked after me. The highly successful project was enjoyed by all participants. While this occasion was a highlight for me, the relationship with my girlfriend from the Moselle River came to an end. Excited by the recent events and vividly imagining adventures to come, I wrote to her that I was leaving Germany in the near future, precipitating the actual event. Knowing that she was attached to her beautiful town and to her hills of grape vines, I would not persuade her to roam the world with me.

In October 1952 the Water and Navigation Board in Oldenburg engaged in topographic surveys and mapping of the Weser-Ems Canal, and I became a team member to accomplish this task, leaving my previous employer of six years with considerable regrets.

Winter 1952/53 came to an end and the table tennis competition began. Sister Irmgard became friendly with a new girl, Gerda, to whom I soon felt attached. I was chosen as supervisor for our junior boys’ team in a regional tournament, staged in the city of Wilhelmshaven, sixty kilometres by train to the north, while Gerda was asked to supervise the girls. When the competitions in the hall began, we were relieved of our duties for most of the day. We decided to go sightseeing in the city and its foreshore to the North Sea. We got to know each other rather quickly. Gerda had moved from her hometown, Braunschweig, to Oldenburg to join the Federal Institute for the Earth Sciences. Our conversation flowed easily through a variety of topics. Here was someone who shared my interests and had similar plans for the future. We discussed exciting foreign countries and the possibility of travelling to distant places. We talked as if we had known each other for years. Only a few weeks later we decided to have a summer holiday in Italy together. Neither of us could boast a large bank account. We prepared accordingly. We decided on 19 days and bought return train tickets to Trento in upper Italy.

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Gerda, seven years old

We arrived late in Trento and spent the night in the open under some pine trees at the memorial of freedom fighter Cesare Battisti, on a hill above the city. At the Venice railway station next day a young man persuaded us to rent a room in his mother’s guest house. The room was modest, but clean and cheap and the position central. Although at first we were both disappointed by the city’s dilapidated appearance, we had two great days visiting many of the well-known features and farewelled the city with regret, and an address for accommodation in Florence.

At the Venice railway station in the evening, an official tried to convince us that there was a much better, faster train to Florence the following morning for the same price. He could not know that we had chosen the slow, nearly empty night train because it enabled us to lie on the three-seater bench and sleep, free of charge.

After a busy morning in Florence, sightseeing in Palazzos Vecchio and Pitti, we had a substantial meal with a carafe of wine, but when I wanted to pay, I found I had left my wallet in the guest house, some five kilometres away. I was requested to leave Gerda behind as security, until I had returned with payment.

During most days we visited numerous famous sites. In Rome in particular, our next destination, we walked long distances from the Vatican to Santa Maria Maggiore, to the dazzling white monument of King Victor Emmanuel II and to the Castel Sant’Angelo on the Tiber, and of course to the Colosseum.

Lack of sleep eventually caught up with us. We left the Naples railway station at five a.m. one morning and walked with our baggage to the nearest beach to have a little rest. We woke up early afternoon, with sun-burned faces and, with our luggage still in our possession.

In the evenings we often allowed ourselves a little luxury. We would sit outside a pleasant trattoria watching Italian life going by. We might have spaghetti and wine for dinner – mineral water was too expensive – and fresh peaches for dessert. In a resort in Sorrento I was offered a job in a kiosk, but I explained that we were on holiday and declined. Instead, we put chairs and umbrellas out in the mornings and back in at nights for free sleeping space in the change cabins. We sat in the last two chairs until dark, looking across the Gulf of Naples and at the entire cone of Mount Vesuvius, its thin column of smoke rising vertically into the air.

During our travels, our relationship, and our love for each other, grew ever stronger. We already talked about a life together in the near future. We had so many common interests and imagined a wonderful life together. One morning we took a ferry to the isle of Capri, landing in the fishing village. In this romantic setting we decided to become engaged! We entered a trattoria next to some fishermen folding their nets, and ordered a bottle of wine for the event. The owner asked for the occasion of our celebration, congratulated us and insisted that the bottle is ‘on the house’. Our night quarters were again in changing cabins, this time on a jetty, with the gurgling water beneath. Next we wandered to Anacapri, up in the hills, where the villas of many film stars were located along oleander-lined roads and lanes.

After two more days in Sorrento we had to return home. We decided to try hitchhiking between train rides. In Mantua after midnight a large black limosine stopped. The driver asked us where we wanted to go and told us to enter the car. We soon became alarmed when he travelled at high speed towards the city and then the wrong way through a one-way street. Gerda and I thought of gangsters and were both apprehensive and relieved when at the end of the street two policemen walked up to stop us. Our driver squealed to a halt, confronted the police officers and talked to them – loud, fast, and with authority. Then he told us in broken German that the policemen would look after us and hurried off. One of them spoke a little English and explained that the driver of the car was the Police Commissioner of Mantua and had given orders to obtain a lift for us in the direction of Trento. Within minutes they had stopped a semitrailer whose driver and co-driver, quite willingly, took us on our last hitch.

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Gerda’s parents in 1943

Back in Germany we bought our engagement – cum wedding rings. It is customary there to buy gold rings on becoming engaged and slip them on the left ring finger. When the couple marries, the same rings are transferred to the right hand.

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Gerda and I on our wedding day

At home, routine life returned. I informed the Australian authorities in Bremen that I was engaged to be married and that I was hoping for early acceptance for both of us. This happened sooner than expected: The Australian Consulate informed me that our application for assisted passage had been approved, subject to a satisfactory medical examination and police certificate of conduct. As an afterthought, a fortnight later, a letter arrived advising us that we would be wise to get married before arriving in Australia, to avoid separation.

Excitement ran high now. We were not sure how to break the news to our parents but decided to give them one shock at a time. As our wedding was to take place prior to emigration, we announced our intention to marry, first. My parents already knew Gerda and took our announcement calmly, but were surprised that we wanted to marry so soon. I had met Gerda’s parents only once before. When I asked Gerda’s father to let me marry his daughter, he was shocked. He dropped onto a chair and said: Just as well I have had breakfast.

When our parents had calmed down somewhat, we also told them of our plans to migrate to Australia, but that we did not yet know the date. We married in Oldenburg on Easter Monday, April 19, 1954. We invited only a few guests- close relatives and our closest friends.

Leaving for Australia

The Australian Consulate in Bremen had indicated that we would hear from them within a few weeks. That was at the beginning of the year. It was now July, Gerda and I became impatient and our parents full of anxiety. Even our colleagues were curious. Eventually my chief invited me to use his office telephone to ring the Consulate. When I contacted the Australian officer, he said: There are two seats available on the first migrant plane, due to cancellation. It flies to Sydney in nine days’ time and you have to tell me right now, over the phone, whether you are prepared to take these two seats and then confirm your decision in writing. Without asking Gerda I agreed to the offer. When I had replaced the receiver I rang Gerda at her office and told her the news. The rush was on.

Those were nine days of turmoil. The program was: We were to fly from Bremen with normal luggage; our other possessions were to be transported by ship to Sydney. We resigned from work. A carpenter made two wooden boxes for us, one to accommodate our bicycles, the other for the rest of our possessions – some 80 per cent of the contents being books, the rest clothes and odds and ends. The announcement of our sudden departure for Australia was a severe shock to our parents. They still had maintained a glimmer of hope that we would settle down in Germany. To subdue the pain a little, we promised to return within five years, at least for a holiday.

Parting was particularly hard for Gerda’s parents as she was their only child. Having settled with the Taxation Department and closed our bank accounts, we were left with just six Australian Pounds between us. We boarded the DC6 Scandinavian Airline System (SAS) plane on July 23 and as we broke through the clouds into the brilliant blue sky, Gerda and I experienced only exhilaration.

We were about sixty migrants on board. An Australian immigration official who spoke German was our guide throughout the flight to Sydney. This flight, due to the passengers, was something to be remembered for a lifetime. We were scheduled to spend the first night in Rome, land in Beirut and Karachi for refuelling, three nights in Bangkok, and refuelling in Jakarta and Darwin before finally landing in Sydney. The guide informed us that the plane takes migrants to Sydney: That we were the first migrant passengers by plane, and that on its return to Europe it would pick up wounded soldiers from Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City).

Already, on the flight to Rome several people raised their voices in agitation: They were nervous and full of uneasy anticipation. In Rome we were accommodated in a hostel, i.e. females’ and males’ dormitories. Gerda and I obtained permission to spend a little time in the city. We walked over to the plaza where the lovely church of Santa Maria Maggiore stands, and enjoyed the balmy evening as we did almost one year ago to the day. Returning to the hostel, we found most people asleep. Close to midnight there was a commotion in the men’s quarters. A woman was walking through the isles, checking whether her husband was safely in bed.

Back in the air there was renewed bickering, but the stopover in Beirut passed without incident. Gerda and I had a strong brew of mocha at the airport’s restaurant. Over southern Iran the air became turbulent. Several people became ill, including the young lady in front of us who proudly told us that she was the daughter of a factory owner in Hamburg. When her passport fell onto the floor and opened, I could not help reading: Occupation – factory worker.

About every four hours we had a meal. The stewardess tapped one couple, a train driver and his wife, on the shoulders to wake them up. When they received their plates, the woman exclaimed: I am not eating at this hour, it is two a.m.! When her husband said that he was hungry, she pushed her plate across and shouted, for many to hear: Here, you can have mine as well, you pig!

It was early dawn when Karachi came into sight- a thin haze lay over the core of the city by the Indus River Delta, the general spread of the city, the numerous ships in the harbour, and what appeared to be a large oil refinery could be seen clearly. We landed here to refuel. When we were airborne again the city was flooded with sunlight. Moments later, the outer propeller on the side where Gerda was sitting, stopped turning. Immediately after our discovery the pilot announced that there was nothing to worry about, but the plane would return to Karachi Airport. We had been in the air no more than ten minutes. A bus waited for us and, along a road lined with mulberry trees we reached a building where we were taken into a fan-cooled restaurant and given breakfast. The day was well advanced when our guide advised us that a new engine had to be mounted and that we would remain in Karachi for the night. Heckling among some people, particularly between two families, increased, almost exhausting the quiet people’s patience. By mid-morning next day we were en route to Bangkok.

Among the passengers, two factions had formed: Those who were content and interested in their surroundings and those who were quarrelling or complaining. We conspired with our travelling guide to have the two troublesome families accommodated far from each other so that the more cooperative passengers could enjoy the two-night stay in Bangkok in relative peace. Bangkok greeted us with a severe thunderstorm when we landed late in the afternoon. A bus took us to the ‘Park Hotel’ which had a two-storey central building and a number of small bungalows scattered through a leafy park. The hotel manger was very happy to act on our idea, and we saw our quarrelling families only at meal times when we had to listen to their complaints about their allocation.

Gerda and I enjoyed the three day interlude in Bangkok as a special holiday. Free to go where we wished, we visited the markets, the old part of the city, a number of temples, and the boats on the river, mostly using the old and crowded buses that formed the public transport. At the hotel we could use the tennis court, and enjoy the beautiful gardens.

Jakarta airport was primitive in those days. While we waited for the aircraft to be refuelled we amused ourselves looking at the various activities from the shade of an open shed. In the corner, under a bench I saw what I thought was a large mouse. When I picked it up it bit me and I quickly dropped it. A bystander, an ex-colonial Dutchman, told me it was a rat.

It was a long flight to Darwin, where we arrived at one o’clock in the morning of July 27, 1954. Having spent most of our money in Bangkok (on a silver necklace, soft drinks, and bananas) we finally set foot on Australian soil with one Australian Pound to our name. Our last stage by plane was another long journey of eight hours, bringing us to Mascot Airport in Sydney.

Our travel was not yet completed however. By the time we had satisfied the customs officers and carried out all immigration formalities it was evening. We were transported to Sydney’s Central Railway Station and placed onto a train to Albury. All of us were tired and not even the fittest or meanest, were inclined to argue. Travelling through the night, we arrived at the ‘Bonegilla Immigration Centre’ near Albury on the frosty morning of July 28.

The first months as New Australians

As we were queuing at the supervisor’s office at the entrance to the hostel, I had time to glance over the establishment. The pre-fabricated fibro-cement barracks, originally used by the Army, were arranged in a U-shape with an open space in the middle. Magpies were yodelling from the power lines and what sounded to us like ridiculous laughter rang across to us from a pair of kookaburras sitting in a large gum tree. In the office, the polite supervisor welcomed us, took our personal details, and allocated to us a numbered room with a key. We took our luggage and walked to one of the barracks which faced the rising sun. Having closed the door behind us, we breathed deeply and relaxed for a while in the privacy of our simple quarters. The following day we rearranged the two narrow army cots, cupboard, table and two chairs and soon had a cosy retreat.

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Our room in Bonegilla migrant camp from July 29 until August 31 1954

The hostel administration provided rules and privileges: Migrants were allowed to leave the camp during the day, provided they informed the supervisor about their intended destinations and estimated duration of their absence. Each migrant was allocated seven shillings and six pence per week pocket money. Recreation facilities included a picture theatre, a sports oval, and a hall with a table tennis table, a piano, and adequate seating.

The hostel seemed to be filled with people from many different countries. The buildings were pleasantly situated between green hills with little or no timber. We found the toilet and shower blocks, a laundry with washing machines, and a large mess building with two long rows of tables and benches where free meals were provided. We crossed the sports oval and walked to nearby Lake Hume. It was dotted with dead white-stemmed trees. On the opposite shore, twisted life eucalypts were scattered across the grassy slopes of a range of hills. Our first perception of the immediate environment was one of strangeness. Gerda picked up some early wildflowers and grasses to take back to our room. Placing them in a couple of test tubes bound together with raffia, we hung them on a wall and the room looked more homely.

Visiting the toilet or showering at night was a new experience. Latrines were not new to me but when I opened a toilet lid for the first time a rat rushed around inside the cavity, just below the rim, trying to hide. I suppose an unexpected nip in semi-darkness in the tin-roofed shed would produce an unearthly scream. The showers, located under the same roof were in contrast, a delight to use, with their large shower roses and plenty of hot water. The large eyes of possums, which were new to us, gleamed down on us from the rafters. We soon found out that they were used to be fed with bread or fruit.

Life in