Images courtesy of John Schaffa. Unknown ship at sea.

When I say "ship", you must not expect a nice steamer with cabins etc. It was in fact a coal freighter, which had unloaded its coal in Marseilles and was ordered to pick us up. It was correspondingly dirty, and we were just spread out on the floor of a big bunker under the deck. What made it worse, there was a shortage of water, and we often had to weigh up whether we should use our ration for drinking or washing. In Gibraltar the ship did not land, but waited for three days in midwater for a larger ship to arrive and take us over. The water shortage became more acute during that time, and we were relieved when the ship at last arrived. It was a large troup ship, "Neuralia", which had just come from India and had a mixed English and Indian crew. On it were loaded Czech and Polish troops. This ship was a different proposition from our previous freighter. Very spacious, cabins for one or two people, a large laundry room where at last we could wash our clothes. The weather was warm and we spent a good part of the day on the deck, unless there were readiness exercises. I spent much of my time playing games or telling stories to the children on the boat, and it was then that I wrote a short story for them, which was illustrated by a Polish pilot on board, and later printed in England.

We had no idea where the journey went. We had turned into the Atlantic and went straight on, as if heading for America. It was not without danger, as mines were laid in various places in the ocean, particularly near the coast. We tried to guess: United States, Africa, I thought already of camping out in the open in a tropical climate... Some of the few older people on ship were worried and depressed, one young woman jumped into the sea with her baby in a fit of despair - a tragedy of which I only learned later. But for young people like me, who had no ties, it was like a big adventure. Eventually the news seeped through: Great Britain was to be our aim. The big roundabout way we had taken, was mainly to avoid the sea mines. My heart sank when I heard this. It was an anticlimax to my tropical phantasies, also I imagined England as a country where the rain and fog never stop and the sun never comes out through the clouds. Our first impressions of Liverpool, where we landed after having been three weeks at sea, were apt to confirm the prejudice. The sky was dark and it poured with rain. Yet, this was to prove one of the loveliest summers, to correct my ideas about England.

From Liverpool we were taken by train to our destinations. The civilians were taken to London and accommodated in a large building, the "Empress Hall", Earls Court, which is still an exhibition hall. Small camp beds were put up between the tiers of the arena. Kind society ladies walked around amongst the refugees, handed out meals, made conversation, distributed clothes, which had been collected for that purpose. These could be tried on and I found it rather funny how some girls and young women, whose lives had just about been saved, pranced about in front of the mirror and rejected anything that was not to their taste. I was certainly glad to get anything at all. I forget to mention that when on landing the storeroom of the boat was emptied of cases, mine and some others were not to be found. This was already a much smaller one that the one I had taken along from Belgium, as the non officers were warned that they would be allowed only minimum luggage. Thus all that was left to me was a rucksack with some odd laundry and stockings. The lost clothes did not worry me as much as some photos and letters, which I had carried with me as souvenirs from Czechoslovakia.

In the Empress Hall the papers of everybody were checked and arrangements made for our next steps, which in some cases took several days before it was one's turn. From the start, officials we had met in England were civil and friendly, something we had not experienced in Belgium or France. Nevertheless, I could not visualise that we would be set completely free, I thought it would be a labour camp or similar. I was thus quite incredulous when I was told that I could go my own way. My first abode was, however, organised for me. Socalled "war refugees" could be either paid out L1 a week or "billeted out" with a family, who received the money for our keep, and we received 6d per week, for which we had to go to the Town Hall and get a stamp into a little book.