My journey from Auschwitz to Australia
Sixty-five years after she arrived in Sydney on Australia Day 1950, Auschwitz and Ravensbruck survivor Eva Grinston expresses her thanks to the country that took her in and changed her life.
EACH year I have been celebrating January 26 – so special a day to me. It is a day to look back, to recall my precious memories of my arrival in Australia.
Leaving behind Slovakia, the country of my birth, was unbelievably sad. It took that realisation that having lost my beloved mother, my little sister, umpteen aunts, cousins and uncles was a memory impossible to step over, to try and rebuild a life on. The question, that plagued many like me, who returned from the camps, as to why I was alive, was later named: survivors’ guilt. It became impossible to live with, in a place where every street, every area was heavily laden with memories.
I was able to receive a permit to come to Australia as my uncle lived here already. The push I needed was when he informed me that my dear father, who had been forced to flee Slovakia on Seder night in 1939, would need me here to request an entry permit for him and his second wife.
My father and I had only been reunited in 1945. Leaving him for Australia in November 1949 was agony.
The first port of call was Holland. It was so welcoming, so different, so new to someone like me, to whom travel was a completely new experience.
In Amsterdam, the small group from Slovakia was being taken care of by the Jewish Welfare. We were ensconced in a pension, the hostess kind, understanding and looking after all our needs. It was the first step on the road to healing for me. The beautiful city with its cultural attractions and rich history was a distraction from my sadness.
After almost two weeks, we were driven to Rotterdam, where we were to meet the liner which would take us to Australia. It was a dull, rainy day, when we spotted her: The Volendam, an ex-army troop ship, so enormous it seemed threatening. I admit to being in a panic. My name was called, there was no other way than to try to put my right foot out first, this having been taught to me by my grandma, whenever we entered a new place.
Single girls had a shared area to sleep in. A dear friend landed the bunk below mine.
The weeks spent on the Volendam were a memory so sweet, so cherished. The weather was, for the most part, lovely. We had left a rather cold Europe behind. As we sailed into the sunshine, we hoped this would be a good omen. Older passengers took us under their wings and there was music, the occasional movie and sport – days of sheer pleasure we hoped would never end.
The Volendam did not make it to Sydney. On arrival at Fremantle, where we met our first Aussie, we were told we would have to disembark in Melbourne, as the ship had serious engine problems.
It was erev Shabbat when we reached Melbourne harbour. Huddled together with my friend, I, suddenly frightened again of the unknown, became aware of this being almost the end of our pilgrimage. But before I could give way to tears, a lovely group of ladies surrounded us. Representatives of WIZO, they brought us food packages for our train trip to Sydney. We were so moved, particularly, when they apologised that the meals they’d provided were cold, as it was erev Shabbat and they had to rush home to their families. What a welcome to our new home!
The train trip to Sydney was slow, an all-night train, that arrived at Central Station on Australia Day.
Panic struck again when we saw the station full of travellers, strangers, making the most of the holiday weekend. But then I spied the dear face of my uncle in the crowd. The tears flowed and I was not afraid any longer.
My dear companion was met by representatives of Jewish Welfare, who assured her that a lovely family was waiting to take her in.
Our friendship never suffered, we were able to see one another when not working. We have shared our lives, the ties forged on the Volendam as tight as ever.
As we left the station, the day awaiting me was sheer magic. Blue skies, sunshine, a vista so unexpected.
The bus ride to the lower North Shore where my uncle lived, took us across Sydney Harbour, across the most wonderful sight I had ever seen. I was so grateful, so happy to have been transported to paradise.
This was 65 years ago.
I was able to secure a permit for my father but it would be another painful decade before he and his wife were able to join me as they were denied exit visas from Bratislava. Nonetheless, he was able to spend quite a few of his best years here, swimming regularly at Balmoral Beach.
Sixty-five years on, I feel it is time, time for me to holler: thank you, Australia. Thank you so much. You made it possible for me to have a new life. A life with a great many experiences, of having learned to stand on my feet, a chance to meet many, many wonderful people. I met a man I dearly loved. We married and were blessed with wonderful children and grandchildren.
It has been my ritual to walk across the Harbour Bridge each Australia Day, to behold the wonderful sights: the boats, the view, the tourists taking photos. As a rule, I find a spot where I can be alone, even if just for a moment, so I can say my private words to Australia.
Thank you. Thank you for opening your doors to me, for allowing me to live here.
This year, I intend to continue the tradition, and to sing with as loud a voice as I am able, the national anthem, Advance Australia Fair.
EVA GRINSTON
Refugees arriving in Australia from Europe. Photo: Jewish Care
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