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All the Days of My Life

By Jo-Anne Berthelsen

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At last they were on their way. It was almost pitch dark in the cabin Heléna and Berta found themselves sharing with six other women from various parts of Europe, the one small porthole high on the opposite wall letting in only a faint glimmer of moonlight. Try as she would, Heléna could not fall asleep, despite the exhausting nature of their day. That morning they had finally left their temporary quarters in the mountains near Naples without regret, all eager to be on their way at last to their new country. The children had been particularly excited to be boarding the ‘big boat’ they had been told so much about, hopping from one foot to another, as they waited impatiently in the long queues that had formed on the wharf. It was so much easier for them in many ways, Heléna reflected, as she lay tossing and turning on her narrow bunk, trying not to disturb the others. They seemed to take all the changes they had been through in their stride, losing themselves in the excitement of seeing new places, making so many new friends, and sleeping in all sorts of different accommodation. It was much harder for the adults to adjust to it all, to accept such altered circumstances in their lives, and to stay strong in the process. So many memories left behind in their homeland. So many loved ones they would in all likelihood never see again.

Yet Heléna was also thankful for many things. And she was certain, even in the midst of the mixed emotions sweeping through her, that God would not forget her, that wherever she went and whatever happened, he would still hold her by the hand and watch over her. She belonged to him – she would always try to remember that, as she had promised Stefan she would. And she would stand tall in her new homeland of Australia – she, Heléna Marek, would try her best to move on with her life, to be all God intended her to be, to continue to perform her music, and hopefully, in time, teach others as well.

As she lay listening to the muffled throb of the ship’s engines, and the regular breathing of the others in her cabin, she wondered how many of them were in the same position as she was, how many of their husbands had given their lives in defence of their homeland, as her Stefan had. She missed him so much, but she was aware there were those on board who had witnessed much more unspeakable horror than she had. Among the hundreds of refugees from so many different parts of the Continent who had converged on this one spot in Italy, she knew there were many Jewish families, some of whom had survived such hellholes as the ghettos of Warsaw and Terezin. Then there were others like herself fleeing their countries more for political reasons, with little else besides what they had on and what they carried in their small, battered suitcases. All had stories to tell – stories of so much tragedy and seemingly senseless loss. Heléna had noticed it in the faces and bodies of many of her fellow refugees that morning, as they had waited their turn to shuffle up the gangplank of the converted ex-German troop carrier – young women with pale faces prematurely lined, holding tightly to the hands of shabbily dressed children, old men with shoulders stooped, thin teenage boys, eyes alert as they protected mothers and younger sisters. Yet there was no denying the fact that there was also a general sense of relief on everyone’s faces – relief that the many months of waiting in Displaced Persons’ Camps in Germany and elsewhere had come to an end, and that their stay in nearby Bagnoli was also over. And there was dawning joy too in the midst of sadness – joy that they were all finally on their way to a fresh start in a new, young country, far away from the turmoil and bloodshed of Europe.

The most joyful and rowdy group among those who had boarded the ship that morning, Heléna knew well, were the single men in their twenties, many of whom were young Czechs. In the camp at Augsburg, and at Bagnoli, a number of them had shown a distinct interest in getting to know her better. She was a very attractive young woman, her beautiful shoulder length blonde hair and the erect way she carried herself causing her to stand out from the crowd immediately. While these days her expressive grey-green eyes mirrored the deep sadness she had experienced in recent years, and her face held even more character and determination that it had when she had first met Stefan, there was still a softness and sensitivity about her that was extremely appealing. Despite the lengthy interruption to her music career and her teaching, Heléna had not lost anything of the gentle warm manner that had always managed to put her less confident music students at their ease, as she sat beside them at the piano.

Heléna closed her eyes, and tried to relax every part of her, yet over and over, a kaleidoscope of images played out in her mind. Faces from the crowd of refugees who had embarked along with them. Little Stefan and the rest of Jan and Simona’s children clinging to Berta and to her, on hearing they would be in separate quarters for the length of the sea voyage. The cautious, tentative smiles of the other women who had joined Berta and her in their small cabin. And like a backdrop to all these images, Heléna could still see that ever-widening expanse of water, as their ship had left port, and the bustling city of Naples gradually disappeared from view. There would be no going back now, no returning to her beloved Tábor, to her apartment and friends in beautiful Prague – and most of all, to her Stefan.

She tried desperately to erase these images, and focus on the truth she believed deep down that God would always watch over her, that he was in fact with her now in the darkness of the cabin. Yet the more she tried, the clearer and more persistent they became, joined now by snippets of conversation that had taken place that day, and now replayed over and over in her tired brain. Particularly persistent were the seemingly endless questions immigration officials had put to her during their final processing that morning.

‘Your name is Heléna Marek – is that Mrs Marek?’

‘Mrs Marek, I see you’re from the Czech Republic. When did you leave there?’

‘Mrs Marek, are you travelling alone, or with a family group? Is this lady Berta here your mother perhaps? No? Oh, an old family friend. So Simona here is her daughter, is that right?’

‘These children – Anna, Kristina, Stefan, and Josef – they are not related to you, then?’

‘Heléna Marek – is that your married name? Oh yes, I see you’ve provided a marriage certificate – 1939, at Tábor, Bohemia. That’s part of the Czech Republic, is it?’

On and on, question after question, sometimes asked in a sympathetic tone, as observant eyes noticed the tears welling up in Heléna’s own, at other times put to her in such a mechanical and unfeeling way.

After what seemed like hours, the voices echoing in her tired brain were finally stilled, and the faces slowly faded, as exhaustion won out. Yet she seemed to sleep fitfully, with troubled dreams full of even more vivid images and terrifying situations, from which escape seemed impossible.

And then the familiar nightmare began once again. She was seated at the grand piano in their apartment, lost in a world of her own, totally absorbed in the passionate music of Beethoven and Tschaikovsky. Then the sharp knocking at the door, followed soon after by impatient pounding, and finally the frightening faces of the German soldiers, hard and cold …

She woke immediately, with Stefan’s name still on her lips, aware she must have been calling out to him in her dream. She was trembling all over as she always was afterwards, her hands pressed firmly over her eyes, sobs wracking her body. Slowly she returned to reality, fighting her way, it seemed to her, through a dark, whirling fog. Eventually she felt the pressure of her body against the hard mattress, and the dampness of her pillow beneath her cheek. She became aware too of Berta standing nearby, roused from her own sleep in the bunk below, and urgently whispering her name.

‘Heléna! Shush, Heléna! It’s all right, dear – Berta’s here. You’re quite safe.’

Heléna lay as still as possible, breathing deeply, as Berta stroked her forehead. Eventually her heart stopped its pounding, and she became conscious again of the movement of the ship beneath them, and the sound of its engines. She truly was safe, she realised. Safe from the Gestapo, safe from the communist officials in her homeland, safe en route to Australia with Jan and Simona and Berta – and best of all, safe in God’s arms.

Soon Heléna whispered her thanks to Berta, who returned to her own bunk, to fall asleep immediately. Heléna listened to her old housekeeper’s regular breathing, relieved to notice that the others in the cabin also seemed to be sleeping soundly. She was sure she would have disturbed them, when she screamed out Stefan’s name – she would apologise in the morning. They would no doubt understand anyway. Most, she was sure, would have lost at least one person close to them as a result of the war or the political turmoil that followed in many parts of Europe. In the darkness, she could just make out the shapes of the other occupants of the cabin, as they lay curled up on the narrow bunks underneath old grey blankets, their small, battered suitcases and pathetic bundles of meagre possessions on the floor nearby. No room in here for much else anyway, she reflected, as she drifted off to sleep at last – just as well I decided not to bring Stefan’s cello with me after all. I hope Franz’s fiancée enjoys playing it – I hope they’ll be really happy together …

No one commented the next morning about her nightmare, but Heléna, sensitive as ever, noticed some sympathetic glances from those in the bunks nearest hers.

‘You are all right?’ one of them, a Polish woman somewhat older than Heléna asked her in hesitant, broken English, smiling kindly.

Heléna nodded, returning the smile. Both could speak German, they later discovered, but the woman was particularly keen to practise her English. Heléna had managed to understand her, but was determined, during the days and weeks on the ship, that she would also try to learn as much English as possible. It would make the time pass quicker, if nothing else.

In the end, Heléna spent most of the first week of their journey on her back in her bunk, suffering severe seasickness, unable to share in the mealtimes with the other passengers, and certainly unable to forge ahead with learning any English. When she did find her sea legs at last, and could begin to face the thought of food again, she listened with interest to the opinions voiced around her by those of her own age, as to what their new country would be like.

‘I’ve heard it’s called the “land of opportunity”,’ a fresh-faced young man from her own country said to her. ‘I don’t care what work I get there, as long as I make money. And anywhere would be better than Europe right now.’

‘I’m determined to work as hard as I can, whatever the government gives me to do in the first two years, when I’m contracted to them, but after that – well, the sky’s the limit!’ another quickly chimed in.

Others were a little more cautious about what lay ahead of them in their new homeland, and what work they might be asked to do.

‘I hope we can have some say at least in where we’re sent and what we do,’ a girl a few years younger than Heléna said. ‘I just finished my science degree in Prague before we fled to Germany, so I hope I can get a job in a lab, or maybe in a hospital in one of the cities. Besides, I need to be somewhere near the rest of my family.’

‘Well, we might have to swallow our pride at first, and take what we can get,’ and older serious looking girl commented. ‘Plenty of time later to choose what we really want to do. Anyhow, we’ve made our decision – I guess now we have to accept the consequences, and make the best of it.’

‘One thing for sure is we’ll all have to work hard, whatever we do, if we’re going to make anything of our new life. So let’s have as much fun as possible while we still can! Let’s live it up here together, eh?’ the fresh-faced young Czech said again, slamming his fist in the table.

Most of the young people did their best, in the remaining weeks on board, to do exactly that. Often they relaxed together in a large covered area on deck, laughing and joking, playing cards, sharing stories, and, on occasions, singing and dancing with as much exuberance as they could muster. Yet as Heléna listened to their stories, she realised there was great sadness behind the laughter for most of them, especially those who had left parents and other relatives behind in their homeland – even wives and girlfriends. And there were young people too who, like many of the older ones, were still deeply traumatised by their experiences in the war and afterwards, still grieving the loss of partners and parents, brothers and sisters, as well as their homeland itself. These ones sat quietly, smiling now and then, but generally merely looking on. And when they did speak, most expressed how thankful they were that they were free at least. Soon they could try, in their new homeland, to put the past behind them, and to forge a new life for themselves.

Heléna enjoyed the new friendships formed in this time, but she was also eager to attend as many of the English classes she could that were held daily. She had been told at their camp in Germany that it would probably be helpful to try to learn English in the time leading up to their departure, but there had been little opportunity to do so. She had also been informed that the official language in Australia was English, but, like many of the others now on board, had assumed it would not be the only language spoken by at least the majority of the population. Surely, as in her own homeland, there would be many who were fluent in German as well, or perhaps French or Italian? Heléna knew a little French and Italian, largely from her years at the Conservatorium. Now she quickly discovered from the teachers that, without good English, she would be at a very great disadvantage as far as immediate job placements were concerned, and certainly later in pursuing her career. It was essential then for her to make up ground as quickly as possible, and to develop at least a basic working knowledge of the language in whatever way she could.

In her quest to improve, Heléna, along with Jan, deliberately sought out those on board who could speak English, and engaged them in conversation as often as she could. Jan knew it would be up to him to provide well for his family, and take care of Simona’s mother as well – they were his responsibility, and he certainly did not want to let them down. And Heléna, while having no dependents, was nevertheless determined to look after herself, to make her own way in life as soon as possible. She loved Jan and Simona and the children, and especially her Berta, who had been part of her own family ever since she herself was a child. She would stay with them all as long as they wanted her to in their new country, but she knew that sooner or later she would have to move out on her own. In the end, Heléna and Jan managed to find a number of refugees with considerably better English than theirs, but it was the crew who helped them the most. The ship sailed under a Norwegian flag, with many different nationalities represented among the crew, including some English seamen, as well as others who spoke English as their second language, it turned out.

‘They all love to help you, Heléna,’ Jan teased her, after catching her chatting in English to several of the crew. ‘You’ll be fluent in no time!’

After their ship had passed through the Suez Canal and the Red Sea, it put into port briefly in Aden, before crossing the Arabian Sea and heading for Colombo. At that point there was some excitement on board, when the captain announced they were now more than half way to their new country.

‘All depends which part of Australia they’re taking us to,’ one of the young men, a schoolteacher from Prague, said to Heléna and the others. ‘Australia’s a very big country, compared to our homeland, judging from the maps I’ve seen. In fact, a large part of Europe could probably fit into Australia.’

‘Do you think the captain’s been told which port we’re heading for yet?’ Heléna asked him, knowing that, when they had first embarked, no one – not even the captain – were aware exactly where their journey would end.

‘If he does, he isn’t saying,’ the same young man replied. ‘Apparently it depends on where there’s enough accommodation for us all, and also where workers are urgently needed. And that could change during the weeks we’re on board – so that’s why they can’t tell us any earlier.’

In the last week of their voyage, less than a days’ journey from the coast of Western Australia, the captain finally announced where the ship would dock.

‘I’m pleased to be able to tell you all that our final destination will be Sydney, the capital of New South Wales, on the east coast of Australia, and the largest city in the nation. You’ll be able to see the coastline of your new country soon, when we stop briefly at Fremantle, but I’m afraid we still have a little way to go yet, before reaching Sydney. At least you know you’re now in Australian waters – soon it will all be over.’

Heléna knew from studying the map at the Immigration Mission at Augsburg herself, as well as from conversations with the other refugees, that they were still many hundreds of kilometres from Sydney. Yet she found that nothing had prepared her for the sheer vastness of this new continent, as they crossed the Great Australian Bight, sighted land again along the southern coast of Victoria, and then finally headed up the east coast towards Sydney.

Eventually, early in the morning of 27th January, they slowly entered the most beautiful harbour Heléna had ever imagined, their ship guided carefully through the imposing ‘heads’ at the entrance by several small tugboats. It took time for the ship to dock, and more time for those on board to gather their belongings and assemble for a final briefing, before landing in their new country. They would be disembarking soon, they were told, but must have their paperwork ready to be examined. And they would of course need to answer further questions from Australian Immigration officials, and also complete some additional forms.

And, almost as an afterthought, they were told that Sydney itself was not in fact their final destination for that day. After all the formalities were completed, buses would be waiting to transport them to Central Station, where they would board a train for a two hour journey over the Blue Mountains west of Sydney to Bathurst, where the state’s main reception centre for refugees was located.

‘We’re sorry that all of this will no doubt involve some lengthy waiting periods,’ the officials warned them, ‘but with such a large number of refugees arriving at once, it’s unavoidable, I’m afraid. We’ll do our best to interview you all as quickly as possible, but we have to examine your papers carefully, so you’ll simply have to be patient and wait your turn. As you see, it’s summer here, and today is expected to be particularly hot, so perhaps while you’re waiting to disembark, you might like to remove some of your coats and jumpers. It will be very hot in the buses later on, and at the train station.’

Slowly the process began. As their group was eventually called forward, and they lined up on deck to wait their turn to disembark, Heléna was struck by the vivid blue tones of the sky and the sea, and the brightness of the sun, which from time to time reflected blindingly off the surface of the water. The scene took on something of a surreal tinge, reminding her of a bright painting she had once seen by a modern artist in a gallery in Prague, just after the war. A slight breeze cooled them a little as they stood in line, but despite this, the air around them felt heavy and sticky. Slowly they inched their way forward, until finally it was their turn to climb down the long flight of metal stairs that led from the deck to the wharf below. The children thought it was a wonderful adventure, jumping excitedly from one step to another, so that eventually Simona had to warn them to take more care. As they negotiated the last few steps, Heléna, holding little Stefan’s hand tightly, as always, found herself unexpectedly overcome by the emotion of the moment.

And when her foot finally touched Australian ‘soil’ for the first time, she breathed a sigh of relief, quietly thanking God for their safe arrival.

‘Dear God, you alone know what this new country holds for us all,’ she whispered under her breath. ‘Please hold us firmly in your hands and guide us in every decision we make over the next few months!’

That day, as the official had rightly warned them from the beginning, certainly was filled with long periods of waiting. Since theirs was one of the first migrant ships to arrive from Europe, some of the necessary procedures had not yet been streamlined, so that many interviewers constantly needed to ask their superiors for advice. Also the language barrier caused great difficulties, with insufficient interpreters available, while those who were present often did not have an adequate enough grasp of English to be able to explain everything. Heléna and the others tried to be patient, as they showed their papers to officials, and were presented with new forms to fill in. Ceiling fans whirred above their heads in the large hall into which they had been ushered, managing to stir the air a little, but making it only slightly more bearable for them all. And as the morning wore on and the sun rose higher, they found their energy levels dropping and their minds functioning much more slowly. By then, everyone was hungry as well, and Jan and Simona’s patience with the children began to wear thin.

At last it was their turn to show their newly completed forms. Again Heléna found herself the target of many questions, as she had when presenting her papers in Naples.

‘Where exactly are you from, Mrs Marek?’

‘When were you married? And for how long were you married?’

‘Mrs Marek, what happened to your husband? And how have you supported yourself since his death?’

‘How did you escape from your homeland? Were you alone?’

‘What sort of work do you hope to do in Australia? How will you manage by yourself?

Heléna had turned thirty the previous September, but despite the suffering she had endured, her fresh young looks and beautiful skin confused many, causing them to judge her to be much younger. Also, when questioned, she naturally spoke clearly and definitely, with an air of culture and refinement, often surprising the officials. Unfamiliar as yet with the terrible stories of grief and loss the refugees had to tell, these officials seemed unsure as to how much of her story to believe, and why in fact she was now a refugee, with no money and few possessions.

She tried to focus, answering the basic questions in English as she was able, but her mind reeled with the effort, so that soon she had to resort to German or Czech, according to which translator was available. The heat did not help, and soon the voices around her seemed to blend in together in a confused wave that threatened to overwhelm her.

Then at last it was over, and they found themselves free to eat the sandwiches provided, and drink the semi-cool drinks available, while they waited until a bus arrived to take them to their train.

Heléna would never forget standing on the crowded platform at Central Station, waiting in the heat while one train was filled to capacity, with no room for all eight of them to stay together, and then again for what seemed an eternity, until a second train arrived. The shaded areas on the platform had become smaller and smaller, as the afternoon wore on and the sun moved further towards the west. They sighed with relief when they eventually found an empty carriage at the rear of the train, and quickly manoeuvred their luggage in under their feet and onto the racks above their heads, while there was still space. Others followed, crowding in as best they could. At first there was laughter and general conversation, but soon the heat, combined with the constant clatter of the wheels on the tracks and the rhythmic swaying of the carriage, caused eyes to glaze over and heads to nod.

Heléna resisted for as long as she could, determined to try to take in this new and different landscape through which they were passing. After leaving the red brick houses of the suburbs behind, they passed through what seemed like small farms, yet there was hardly a green blade of grass to be seen anywhere. Eventually they reached a rocky mountain range, and began to wind their way slowly up the escarpment, until all Heléna could see were hills and valleys covered in green trees, stretching on and on into the distance. At one point, she noticed a large bare, blackened section close to the train line, stretching down into a nearby valley, the result of fierce bush fires that had recently raced through the area, she later discovered. Finally she slept, but woke again as the train began its descent onto the plains beyond the mountains. Here, all she could make out in the dry, arid landscape that met her gaze was field after field of brown stubble and bare earth, interspersed occasionally with shallow waterholes, where small herds of cattle tried vainly to crowd together under the shade of one or two tall trees. A strange, strange land, unlike anything she had ever seen – a land far, far removed from the gentle, green fields around Tábor and the wooded hills and thickly forested areas closer to the German border. How would they survive in this new country, she wondered? How would they fit in here? Had they made a huge mistake – had God not wanted them to come here after all?

As the sun formed a fiery red ball on the horizon, their train finally slowed to a halt in Bathurst. They tumbled onto the station, an exhausted, confused, motley tide of humanity, looking for all the world as if they had been swept up by a huge hand and deposited they knew not where. Outside, buses were waiting to transport them to their camp. And on arrival, just when they thought the day was almost over, they were to find that papers had to be presented once more. Then the questioning began again, on and on, until even Jan was close to tears.

Eventually they were free to join their fellow refugees in the large mess hall, where they gratefully ate a hot stew with large chunks of bread, before being shown to their sleeping quarters. At first, the camp officials had wanted to separate Heléna from Jan and Simona and the rest of the family, allocating her to a single women’s dormitory some distance away.

‘Please – I stay with them?’ Heléna had pleaded desperately, as best she could in English, clutching little Stefan’s hand tight. ‘I help with children – please?’

Heléna knew she needed them all close by in this strange place, especially Berta and Simona. Apart from anything else, what if her nightmares returned? Noticing the desperate look on her face, the officer involved eventually took pity on her.

‘Very well then,’ she said firmly, trying to speak slowly enough for them to understand, and pointing as she spoke. ‘I’ll put you all together in our family accommodation over there. We try to do our best, but please remember that we can’t always give you what you want!’

They followed her meekly, happy to accept any standard of accommodation, as long as they were close together. Everything was so strange and different – at least being together gave them tangible comfort, and some vague sense of normality. Berta and Heléna and the two girls were allocated to one room, and Jan and Simona, Stefan and little Josef to another across the corridor. Stefan cried, not wanting to be separated from his Aunty Heléna again, as he had been on board, but soon Simona was able to rock him to sleep and settle him on the bunk below her. Heléna climbed into the bunk above Berta, Anna now old enough to manage the other top bunk in the room easily, and soon all but Heléna were fast asleep.

She tossed and turned in the heat, disciplining herself to lie still. Her ears were pricked, alert to every strange sound coming from the nearby waterhole she had glimpsed earlier, as they had made their way to the hut. As on the first night after boarding their ship, she could not seem to switch off, however much she tried to relax. The questions asked of her over and over again during that long day kept flooding her mind, and then her tired brain would fumble for the English words that would provide an adequate answer. Then scene after scene flashed before her eyes – the face of the woman official who would not believe she was thirty, the kindly man who had noticed she was upset at his questions concerning her husband and had given her time to compose herself, the crowded platform at Central Station, the blackened trees beside the railway line as they climbed the mountain range, the seemingly endless bare brown fields as they headed further west. Yet she must have fallen asleep in the end, only to be woken some time later by her own voice screaming, and Berta trying to console her once again.

Heléna forced herself to sit up, deliberately dragging her mind away from the scenes in her nightmare, unable, for the moment, to erase Stefan’s dear, familiar, agonised face from her memory. Slowly her heart settled back into its normal rhythm, and she lay down again. Berta continued to soothe her, singing softly to her and patting her gently for some time, before returning to her own bunk. But long afterwards, Heléna’s eyes remained wide open and staring at the ceiling. Consciously relaxing her body, she tried to call to mind some of the beautiful times she and Stefan had shared together, rather than the moment when they were wrenched apart. The first time they had met, at her home in Tábor, when her father had introduced them … the night Stefan had known exactly what to say to comfort her after her childhood friend Emil’s angry outburst … romantic meals together in the old quarter of Prague … the beautiful music Stefan had played on his cello … their honeymoon in the little farm cottage … the pride on his face as he watched her perform in public. She remembered other occasions too – Stefan reading by the fire, Stefan praying aloud, Stefan coming home so tired from a business trip or from having guided someone out of the city to safety in the course of his partisan work, his face lighting up with love, as he greeted her. So many memories – so many wonderful memories …

At last she slept, deeply and dreamlessly.

The next few weeks at Bathurst proved to be a challenging time of adjustment for them all, as they learned about their new land and its ways. They underwent more medical examinations, with even Berta, now in her late sixties, thankfully passing with flying colours. And all of them, except for baby Josef, were expected to attend English classes – even little Stefan, now almost old enough to begin school along with his sisters in their new country.

Heléna and Jan in particular applied themselves diligently to their English studies once again, spending every spare moment practising conversation with each other. They were well aware that soon they would be allocated jobs by the Commonwealth Employment Office, and that even a rudimentary knowledge of English might well increase their chances of better job placements. With great excitement, and also with fervent prayer, they each prepared for the all-important interview. Officials in both Germany and Australia had told them that this was the moment when their employment potential would be assessed, and their qualifications examined. Then a job would be found for them, commensurate with their background and experience, from among the many job vacancies currently existing in different parts of the country. Jan, a qualified mechanic, and experienced in conducting his own business, was hopeful of obtaining a position in a garage or maintenance workshop that would enable him to save enough over the next two years to branch out on his own again. He had managed to bring with him his trade certificates and various references, which he felt might increase his chances of obtaining satisfactory employment.

Heléna’s future was not quite so clear. She was unsure exactly how her training would match the job vacancies available in her new country, but hoped and prayed that music teachers would be needed somewhere close to where Jan and Simona were to be located. Yet at the same time, they tried not to set their hearts on obtaining jobs in their desired fields. They had heard that, despite their qualifications, they could well be given whatever job the Government chose, in order to satisfy Australia’s current need for unskilled workers.

Eventually the day arrived when their interviews were scheduled. Jan was called in first, his paperwork glanced at briefly, and then several quick questions fired at him in rapid succession. He did his best to answer in English, but eventually resorted to using the services of the Czech translator. And within a few minutes, he discovered what and where his first job in Australia would be.

‘I’m going to assign you to work as a labourer near Brisbane, clearing land and laying the foundations for the construction of a new highway,’ the interviewing officer informed him, via the translator. ‘You and your family will be housed for the present at the migrant camp at Wacol, on the western outskirts of the city, which as you might know, is the capital of Queensland.’

‘But … but I’m a skilled mechanic! I … I ran my own business …’

The interpreter began to speak, but straight away the interviewer held up his hand for her to stop. Obviously, there was to be no negotiating at this point. Almost before Jan knew it, he had been issued with a Certificate of Registration, duly stamped with that day’s date, containing his personal information and passport photograph, and listing his occupation as ‘labourer’.

‘Remember you’re required to remain in this job that the Government has arranged for you for the next two years,’ the officer told him sternly, again through the interpreter. ‘Of course you’re quite free to leave the Migrant Camp at any time, should you be able to find more suitable private accommodation nearby that you can afford, but you must be certain to notify the Immigration Department of your change of address. That’s all for now, thank you!’

Dazedly, Jan left the office, his all-important ‘contract’ clutched tightly in his hand, and he and his family’s future neatly mapped out, to the Government’s satisfaction at least, for the next two years.

Heléna was next. One look at Jan’s face was enough to tell her that all had not gone smoothly for him, causing her to wonder exactly what lay ahead for her, and to breathe another silent prayer to God. As she entered the office, she was greeted with a blank stare and a curt good morning from the interviewing officer, and a somewhat compassionate smile from the Czech translator. She handed over her papers, waiting patiently while the officer read silently, and then consulted further information in front of him.

‘Heléna Marek – is that your name?’ he eventually said. ‘A widow, I see – and you have no children of your own, so are free to be allocated anywhere. Is that correct?’

‘No sir,’ Heléna replied in English, her voice trembling a little, ‘I’m a widow, but I’m with Jan Tesar and his family, and we wish to be together.’

‘We can’t all have the luxury of choosing where we’ll go and what we’ll do,’ the officer said curtly, through the interpreter. ‘I’m sure you understand that, Mrs Marek. Nevertheless, no doubt we can find you a suitable vacancy in Brisbane somewhere, so you can remain with Mr Tesar and his family for the moment. What is your occupation again?’ he said, consulting her papers. ‘Musician? Exactly what did you do?’

Heléna held her head high, looking directly at him as she explained. She did not like the sceptical note that had crept into his voice, nor his patronising manner. However, she did know she was not free to choose, and also that displaying anger would not achieve anything. Taking a deep breath, she spoke in Czech, realising her English would be inadequate for what she wanted to say, and prayed that the interpreter would be sympathetic.

‘Yes, sir, I’m a musician – a concert pianist. I’m a graduate of the Prague Conservatorium, and have also taught piano for several years, to children and adults. I don’t have my graduation certificate, because the Nazis closed down the Conservatorium just as my studies ended. Then later we were unable to obtain any such documentation from the communist authorities. I’d like to continue teaching piano here in Australia, if possible, and eventually take up performing again. If anyone wishes to hear me, I’d be happy to play – I brought as much music as I could carry from my homeland.’

Heléna noticed that the Czech translator was listening carefully, and then became very animated, as she explained Heléna’s situation to the interviewer. Despite that, he seemed to remain unimpressed.

‘I’m sure you are an extremely excellent pianist,’ he said, still patronisingly, ‘but unfortunately we aren’t looking for musicians. We’re looking for workers! You want to stay with your friends? Then I’ll give you a job placement in a factory in Brisbane. They need female staff for a variety of roles, including cleaning. Here is your Certificate – make sure you take care of it and that you report any change of address to the Immigration Department. Perhaps when you become a famous concert pianist, you’ll want to move from Wacol, eh?’

The man let out a harsh laugh at his own joke, which was largely lost on Heléna. Later, as she reflected on the interview, she realised that what she had sensed in his tone was not so much scorn or disbelief, but ignorance and disinterest. There in his office, however, she picked up her Certificate of Registration, now officially stamped, as if she had been duly dealt with and classified, and read her own personal details, including a description of her occupation – ‘factory worker’. Slowly looking up, she again met his eyes, her own beautiful grey-green ones speaking volumes.

‘Sir, I’m willing to do anything in my new country to stay with my friends, at least until I can make my own way. I’m not afraid of manual work – I’ve cooked and cleaned for my own family and for friends on a farm – but surely here I can do more? Are there no teaching positions available?’ she asked bravely, inwardly quaking.

Again her interviewer was unmoved, and by now more than a little irritated. Looking past her towards the door, he intimated that there were others waiting to be assessed.

‘My advice to you, Mrs Marek, is to work hard at the job you’ve been allocated for the next two years. Study your English in the evenings and your music, if you like, and then you can choose what you do after that. No doubt you’ll be married again by then anyway. Here are the details of where you’ll work – as you’ll see, it’s a biscuit factory,’ he said, handing over another piece of paper. ‘You and your friends will leave next week, and you are to report immediately, ready for work, at the address you’ve been given.’

He stood then, to terminate the interview. The interpreter also scrambled to her feet, obviously flustered, but unable to assist any further.

At first, Heléna could not move. She felt suddenly powerless and somehow ashamed, as if she did not deserve to be listened to or taken seriously. His words had hit her like a blow. A biscuit factory, of all places – when Stefan had owned a string of them across the Czech Republic! She stayed where she was a few moments longer, her mind in shock and turmoil. Eventually she rose, standing as erect as possible, and deliberately squaring her shoulders. Her interviewer had already turned away from her, in his haste to move towards the door, but Heléna stood firm, her Certificate of Registration held tightly in her hand.

‘Thank you for your time, sir,’ she then said in her halting English, her voice courteous, yet filled with passion and determination. ‘I’ll work hard – and one day you can be sure I’ll play my music again, and teach others too!’

She moved swiftly from the room then, wanting to be somewhere by herself, away from everyone – even her friends. Almost unseeingly, she walked across the bare ground towards her sleeping quarters, and continued on to the fence that separated the ex-military base from the bushland beyond. Gripping the wire with both hands, she steadied herself, aware of so many emotions rising within her. She stood there for a long time, until the turmoil inside her lessened and she was able to think more clearly. Unbidden, the words of Psalm 121 came to her – words that the fellowship group in Prague had sung to her after Stefan’s arrest.

I lift up my eyes to the hills –
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

They echoed now in her mind across the wide expanse of both time and distance. Such comforting words – words that she needed to hear, if she was ever going to achieve her dream of playing again, as she had told the interviewer she would do. The Lord would help and strengthen her, wherever her future took her, whatever she was called on to do. He would watch over her and protect her spirit, however menial the work, and however long she had to persevere at it. She would do her best to learn English quickly. And as soon as possible, she would find somewhere to practise the piano. She had not forgotten little Anna’s plea on her last day at Tábor that she ‘mustn’t ever stop playing’, and also her teacher Sergei’s final words to her – Sergei, who had not believed in her God, so he said, but who had made her promise to keep on playing ‘wherever he take you’.

Gradually her eyes began to take in the scene in front of her. Nearby, at the edge of the waterhole, was a clump of trees, still green despite the aridness of the surrounding landscape. Later she was to discover their names – flowering gums, casuarina, banksia, and grevillea. She reached out her hand and picked some small silvery leaves from a bush growing just across the fence – such different foliage from the trees and shrubs around Tábor. She would press them later, she decided, as she slowly made her way back to the others. She would keep them as a reminder of her agreement that day with God, to work hard and give of her best in this new country, so different from her homeland, and to take up her music career again as soon as she was able.

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