Cecilia Novy-Wickart

Story

My husband, Jaroslav Anthony Peter Novy, Czechoslovakia, and I, Cecilia Laetitia Martha Wickart, met at a student ball at Zurich University. We decided to get married, which made me Czechoslovakian, and move to Geneva after a brief engagement, seeing the study of Economics in Geneva was shorter. I worked as secretary in Geneva, while my husband continued his studies. After the take-over by the Communists in Czechoslovakia, all citizens were summoned to return to the country. We stayed in Geneva and became ‘stateless’.

Our names had been placed on a waiting list with the American Embassy for immigration to the USA. The Swiss Emigration office notified us that Australia was looking for immigrants. During interviews with officials we learned what great opportunities Australia was offering to people of good health and good education. The journey would be paid. We would be contracted for two years in allocated jobs. We would travel under the auspices of the International Refugee Organization (IRO) on a specially chartered ship. Pioneering in entirely new settlements brought ideas of useful and expansive lives, but if we did not like it there, we could always revert to our plans for America.

The assembly point for us migrants from refugee camps in Germany, Eastern Europe and Switzerland was an abandoned Salt Mine in Rheinfelden. We stayed overnight to take the train to the ‘Free State’ of Trieste early next morning. A small team of Red Cross officials accompanied us on the train, assuring our comfort. Our departure on the SS Goya was delayed due to raging snow storms, while we thousand people were ‘imprisoned’ in a large army barracks building, surrounded by high wire fences and guards with drawn bayonets.

Finally we could get on board of this former troupe transporter, under a Norwegian flag. We slept in hammocks in large dormitories, the men in the stern, the women in the aft. We could meet on deck during the day, ‘camping’ on the bare floors. The air-change system was unsatisfactory, but fresh water for drinking and showering was plentiful. A friendly Escort Officer from the IRO was in charge, assisted by a doctor and an efficient and caring nurse. Unfortunately a young woman, despite all efforts, died at sea, leaving a grieving husband, small son and a sad Goya family.

There was a roster for jobs for each: cleaning our quarters, assisting in the kitchen. As Kindergarten teacher, I was playing games with some children and parents on deck, the only ‘safe’ place. My main job was to be the safety officer during the night in the women’s quarters, if in need, to call upon the sailors or the Escort Officer.

Memorable were the passage through the Suez Canal and for the children the crossing of the Equator with games and sweets, including Hungarian songs and dances. Some days later there was a film of a ship lost in a typhoon with only two children survivors – a sad story for anxious people in the middle of the ocean! Fortunately we experienced only occasional rough seas, except for the passage through the ‘Great Australian Bight’, a night of raging storm and high waves. Our entrance to Port Phillip Bay was on a sunny day. We disembarked, 1st March 1950 and were taken by train up North. The endless stretches of uninhabited county, of dry brown grasses interspersed with many dead trees, dampened our spirits. However, at Seymour Station, when we were told to leave the train, an unforgettable surprise: tables laden with sandwiches and scones, tea served by smiling ladies from the Housewives Association. Their generous gesture touched our hearts. Back on the train later: a different experience. The train stopped suddenly in the middle of a desolate, desert-like area. Roughly we were told to leave. No station, no-one was in sight. Was this going to be the end of our long, arduous journey – being abandoned in this great, boundless void? Seemingly an eternity later, we spied dust-clouds in the distance, indicating approaching buses. What relief! We were driven to Bonegilla, an immigration reception centre and former army camp. After a welcome speech we ate our first plentiful meal in weeks. At last we felt safe.

Again separated, we were to sleep in ‘Nissan’ huts. At the employment office we received identification cards, stamped ‘Labourer’ for men, ‘Domestic’ for women, although women too had to work in factories. Some agreed on the first job available. Next day a bus drove us to Melbourne. From the road we saw 4 large wool-sheds. Hoping to be housed in solid buildings, we wondered why the bus turned towards these unsightly sheds until we read the sign: “Hostel for New Australians”.

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