Polish Refugees in New Zealand 1944-1951

One of the most horrifying stories doing the rounds was that cannibalism was still practiced there. The adults knew only that it was “at world’s end” and only a few volunteered to accompany the children. The orphans were given no choice and were resigned to being taken wherever they were sent. The frequent journeying over long distances was now part of their lives. To them it was important to be together with their new friends, with whom they had formed strong family-like bonds.

The older children were aware of being sent even further away from their native land and that they will have to part with some of their friends. But they understood and accepted the reasons for this. However, many adults experienced a real dilemma of not knowing what to do – to go even further away from Poland or stay put in an uncertain situation? Perhaps the next transports out of Iran will surely not be so far away from Poland? Malwina Rubisz-Schwieters, who was with her mother in Isfahan, recalls:

“After the Battle of Monte Cassino my father wrote to abandon any thoughts of a return to Poland because it will not be the same Poland that we knew. He wrote that New Zealand is a beautiful country – therefore go there. If I survive I will join you there. After my mother showed this letter to other adults, some of the women decided to go to New Zealand.”

In July and August of 1944 rumours began circulating that some of the children – mostly orphans, whose mothers died in Russia from starvation and some of whose fathers and elder brothers joined the Polish army-in-exile – were to leave for New Zealand under the care of approximately 100 personnel. Some adults wanted to leave Iran immediately. Others preferred to stay behind until the war’s end for a speedy return to Poland. Fr Michał wanted to stay, expecting an imminent end to the war and a quick return home. When told that he was to accompany more than 700 children to New Zealand as their spiritual director, he tried to have someone else go in his place. He justified it with the poor state of his health. He reminded the authorities that his friend Fr Franciszek Tomasik, who worked with him in Isfahan, wanted to go with the children. But it was decided to send a younger man and Fr Michał became one of those whose life became linked with the Pahiatua Polish orphans in the “land of the kiwi bird”.

Before leaving, he thanked the benevolent and kind-hearted Armenians for their hospitality to the Polish refugees in Isfahan’s suburb Julfa. The farewell took place in the local church in the presence of the Armenian apostolic administrator Jean-Baptiste Abcar. Addressing the Poles, he spoke of Poland’s martyrdom and of Armenia’s suffering, mentioning the more than one million of its people murdered by the Turks during World War I. In translating from the French, Fr Michał thanked his people for their generosity and welcome to the Poles, mindful that it was the Armenian church of Our Lady of the Rosary which was the centre of the Polish refugees’ religious life in Isfahan and the place of their heartfelt prayers, tears, cries of despair, pleadings to God and where regular novena’s were recited for their beloved and suffering homeland. He once again recalled how the Poles and Armenians joined together in celebrating the holy days at the altar.

The day before departure, on his name-day (in Poland more popular than a birthday), Fr Michał spent his time saying goodbye to the remaining personnel in the various establishments. The following day he was on one of the buses taking more than 700 orphans and accompanying personnel over a 545 km tortuous road from Isfahan to a transit camp in the Iranian town of Ahvaz. A further 131 km journey took them to the Iranian seaport of Khorramshahr. On 4 September 1944 they departed Iran on the British merchant ship Sontay (captured from the French navy, which had sided with the Germans).

The children were accompanied by teachers, educators, medical staff and two nuns of the Ursuline Order (all of whom were also refugees from Russian captivity). The nuns accompanying Fr Michał were Sister Maria Alexandrowicz (Sister Monika) and Sister Anna Tobolska (Sister Imelda), who had run a sanatorium in Isfahan. The medical staff comprised Dr Eugenia Czochańska and the dentist Dr Janina Budzyna-Dawidowska, who were accompanied by seven nurses. To maintain a vibrant and active Scouting movement and not waste the hard work in its establishment in Iran, Stefania Kozera was sent with the children as Scout leader.

Some of the children were told of their destination only in the last moments before departure for New Zealand. One of the girls recalls:

“After some time I found out that I was leaving for New Zealand, which did not make an impression on me, because I had no idea where the country was. I was issued from the store things necessary for the journey – socks, a comb, shoes, sheets, towels, soap, toothpaste, shoelaces and a blanket. I also possessed a nightgown, robe, a woollen hat and a pair of ‘drawers’ in a tiny satchel given to me in the hospital in Tehran. I was greatly enriched after receiving my travel accessories. Someone gave me a cardboard suitcase. I packed my things and waited for departure. For a time, I was transported from one establishment to another and finally to Establishment No. 20, from where transports departed for New Zealand. Buses took us to Ahvaz and then to a seaport where we boarded an English cargo ship. We walked down into a stifling hold with heavy mattresses stacked high in a boxing ring. We dragged these mattresses onto the deck because it was impossible to sleep in the airless cabin below. At six in the morning we were woken by deckhands calling out: ‘Six o’clock, washing deck!’ None of us understood the words but we learned fast when we were hosed down with sea water.”

The Sontay was a small ship, unsuitable for carrying such a large number of passengers, especially children. But it was the fastest mode of transport to Bombay in India. Two of the children on the ship, Stefania (nee Sondej) and Józef Zawada, recall:

“After a few days we were taken by buses to the seaport at Khorramshar where we boarded a British merchant ship the Sontay. We sailed slowly and carefully down the Tigris and Euphrates estuaries into the Persian Gulf, arriving in a war zone. Our ship was armed with only one large gun, which made a huge impression on us. This ship took us to Bombay.”

The voyage to India was without serious incident and they didn’t encounter any Japanese submarines. One of the passengers, Dioniza Choroś (nee Gradzik), recalls:

“The deck became our bedroom, dining room and recreation area. We carried our food from the kitchen to the deck. We dragged our mattresses onto the deck and slept under the stars. We sympathised with the small children who were not permitted to sleep outside. After breakfast an English officer showed us how to don the lifejackets properly. One day we were hit by a terrible storm and most of us were sick. Ashen faced and dirty children lay about the deck, not asking for help and not receiving any because our guardians were also ill.”

On 14 October 1944 the Sontay arrived in Bombay and docked near an enormous American troop carrier, the USS General Randall, in which the Poles were to sail to Wellington. This is how one of the children remembers the moment of boarding that ship:

“In Bombay we were almost immediately transferred to that ship which was to carry us to New Zealand. I think it was on that same day. Maria Wypych (nee Węgrzyn), who ministered to the smallest children, told me that there was no barrier up the gangway – the little children, up to five years old, were ill or convalescing and had to be guided by adults, one leading the child by the hand, the other following behind. Many prayers went up to heaven for the safety of the children during those moments.”

The ship sailed on the next day. It carried American, Australian and New Zealand soldiers returning to their countries on leave – many were wounded. The presence of so many Polish children on board was a great surprise to the soldiers, who very quickly made contact with them, from which life-lasting friendships were born, because the small orphans needed male role models and the soldiers (many of them fathers themselves) were reminded of the home life they left behind by going to war. They gave the children their rations of sweets and soft drinks. One girl remembers these moments:

“Gripping tightly our handbags, we walked in pairs behind a sailor of Polish origin with good knowledge of our mother tongue – his name was Chester Wisniewski. He was our interpreter and intermediary. We entered a large hall where we saw rows of four-tier hammocks. The younger children and boys had similar sleeping accommodation. We were given two meals each day, breakfast and lunch. At the entrance to the dining hall lay heaps of steel trays, which we carried along a row of standing cooks. As we went from one cook to the other they piled tons of food onto our trays, which even a wrestler couldn’t eat. Leftovers were put into containers. After our recent hunger in Soviet Russia, and a great respect for food, we couldn’t understand that so many God’s gifts were thrown away. Because the children, especially the younger ones, quickly became hungry again, big cans of milk were put out in the evening from which the children could drink until they could drink no more. The soldiers gave away their rations of chocolate.”

The voyage across the Indian Ocean to Melbourne was for the children a time of relaxation, adventure and making new friends. One of the girls, Henryka Aulich-Blackler, wrote: “We rehearsed a Polish regional dance, the Krakowiak, and took part in a Polish concert for the benefit of the captain.” Much of the entertainment was organised by the children themselves. Some boys were keen to learn mechanics and began “fixing” onboard equipment, causing damage and almost bringing on a crisis. From then on guards were posted around the more sensitive installations. The soldiers and sailors taught the boys many things, among them boxing, in which some of the boys showed great talent.

The New Zealanders returning from the war in Europe spent much time with the children. They played games and taught them English. One soldier took it upon himself to teach some girls New Zealand’s national anthem, which they later sang on the way to Pahiatua, where the surprised locals commented that the Polish children knew the anthem better than their own children.

Among all the joy aboard that troopship there were moments of terror. The war was still being fought and Japanese submarines patrolled the waters of the Indian Ocean. Sister Stella (nee Józefa Wrotniak):

“We sailed under an armed escort that guarded us from Japanese submarines. But our ship was hit by a torpedo. We could hear gunfire and the blare of alarm sirens. There was much terror and uncertainty onboard. The soldiers said that the children’s prayers had saved us.”

Another child remembers those moments:

“A torpedo brushed against the ship’s side. I was near the kitchen and there was a terrible clamour – all the drawers flew out. No one wanted to tell us anything. Some children fell out of their hammocks and chairs were overturned. In the morning the captain confirmed the rumours that we were hit, something which the older girls knew about all along.”

Everyone on board was instructed what to do in case of an emergency. The ship zigzagged over the water and changed direction every eight minutes. Our interpreter announced each evening over the loudspeakers “Time for the blackout!” and everyone had to go below deck and turn out the lights. The ship was veiled in darkness. Passengers were divided into groups and when the alarm sounded everyone had to run to their allotted lifeboats. In those moments of terror the adults had their hands full, constantly checking on the safety of their young charges. Fr Michał was seasick most of the time but continued to celebrate Mass each day and administered the sacraments. A group of the older children with Fr Michał and the nuns often organised collective prayers on the ship.

The convoy accompanying the troopship to Melbourne was large, with four destroyers and another troopship, a twin to the children’s ship. The troopships, one of which carried Australian soldiers to Melbourne, were a safety valve for each other. In case one sank, the other would take the survivors. Fortunately nothing happened and the ships arrived safely in Melbourne where the Australians disembarked. The ships separated at that point and the USS General Randall sailed alone a further 2,500km across the Tasman Sea to Wellington, New Zealand, where it arrived in the evening of 31 October 1944.

A Priest’s Odyssey; p79-83