In Lignica, just before Pesach, a child went missing. Immediately the ages-old libel surfaced, that she had been kidnapped by the Jews who needed the blood of a Christian child for their matzah. We had heard of a bloody pogrom in Kielce, where great savagery was vented on the surviving Jews who returned to there former homes there. The Poles were in no mood to surrender what they had taken, and simply slaughtered the returnees. This confirmed that Poland was no place to be, despite the nazis losing the war. We feared that at any time the killing could start again - indeed, even in our own region there were stories of Jews being taken from trains and shot by Poles. So my brother Yechiel and his wife, (who had joined us there), Shmuel and I, decided to leave Lignica as soon as possible. He and I were the only survivors from my large family. My husband was the only one, from his.

A group of Jewish Palestinians (there was no Israel then, of course) called Die Bricha, smuggled us out of Poland, across the mountains to Czechoslovakia to a DP (Displaced Persons) camp in Hofgeismar, near Kassel in the American-occupied zone of Germany. We stayed there between 1946 - 1948. Life was not too bad and my youngest son Robin was born in that camp in 1947.

The kindergarten was in a large hall with big windows - a perfect place, full of light and space for children to play. I was chairwoman of the Kinder Committee at the time. This was a wonderful place where the children felt happy and safe. We had managed to scrounge some colourful furniture and many toys. The children were precious. After all, the hopes of rebuilding a shattered people lay with them.

One day, after the children had gone home, one of the teachers approached me, in a state of agitation and, speaking rapidly, told me some very bad news.

"The Camp Head just told us that he intended to move the kindergarten from the hall because he needs the space for storage. They want to take away all the tables, chairs and play equipment."

In fact, many of theses items had already been removed. I told her to return to the kindergarten, lock the door and not allow anyone in. We lived in the smaller of two DP camps, but the main administrative offices were in the larger one. It was there I went and asked to see the Chief. An audience was granted.

"Are you a newcomer here?' he asked.

"I am not new. In fact, my son was born here and he is already four months old."

"So why did you not register him. You could have had an extra ration and parcel."

"I did not come here for the parcel. I came here to ask why you took away the little stools and tables from the kindergarten."

"The kindergarten must move. We need the hall."

"So what are we going to do with the children?"

"I have two smaller halls"

It is not in my nature to be rude, but I was fighting for my children. Interrupting him, I said "I have a better idea. Use the two smaller halls for storage. Leave us the main hall. The children are our hope for the future. They have to be cared for, nurtured as the precious hopes they represent. Please replace everything immediately so that things can proceed normally in the morning."

He looked sharply at me, displeasure colouring his face.

"Really, Madam, who are you ? These camps are my responsibility and I will tolerate no interference in the way I run them" His voice was steadily rising.

"I am a mother and have a child in the kindergarten. I am also the chairwoman of the Kindergarten Committee, so all the children are my responsibility. If you do not replace everything at once, I will have to go over your head and report you to your superiors. I am doing this for the sake of the children."

His anger was apparent. He looked at me and said nothing. On the following day, all the kindergarten furniture was returned.

I had, however, made an implacable enemy. Some time later, when I needed to go town to meet the president of UNWRA, the organisation under whose jurisdiction the camps fell, this same Chief denied me the required transport and refused my requests repeatedly. In desperation I continued to ask, until finally he turned on me and said, in an arrogant voice,

"So what are you going to do now ? Go over my head and report me to the Head at Kassel?"

I told him that the kindergarten issue was for the children and this was a personal matter. I was sorry that I had bruised his ego so much that he felt compelled to strike back when I was at my most vulnerable.

The DP camps were certainly preferable to trying to survive in the open, amongst a population whose antisemitism had not diminished, but even there, the inmates were treated harshly, thoughtlessly and even exploited at various times. Today, when I look back to those times, it saddens me to think that after such horrific suffering during the Holocaust, such attitudes were still prevalent.

Living in Germany was abhorrent to us. We desperately wanted to leave the land that had spawned such a reign of hatred and terror, but we had nowhere to go. We, that is, everyone in the camp, would talk wistfully about the places they would like to settle in - Palestine, America, England, Canada - anywhere but in the homeland of those who had butchered our relatives. The more fortunate ones did have family overseas and obtained sponsorship, allowing them to join their kin. The rest of us just talked, sighed and went about our daily routine.

One day one of my teachers approached me in a great state of excitement. Some long-lost cousin in New York had traced him, and was overjoyed that someone had survived the carnage, and had thus written to him saying that, as soon as it could be arranged, he would repatriate my friend to start a new life in America. In the midst of his joy, however, I sensed that he felt a little uncomfortable. I assumed it was the prospect of meeting someone he did not know that was unnerving him, but I was wrong.

"Tell me, Fajga, what will become of you and your family ?".

I shrugged. "God will provide. Other than that, I don't know".

"Is there no-one at all that left Europe before the nightmare began ? No-one to whom you could go ?".

"I had a sister who went to Belgium just before the war. Did she survive ? Who knows. In any case, Belgium is still Europe. Perhaps we can find our way to Palestine via Aliyah Bet (the illegal smuggling of survivors into British-controlled Palestine)".

Even as I said it, I knew it was near impossible, with a babe in arms. However, at that moment I remembered an aunt, one of my mother's sisters, who had emigrated before the war, to a place called Australia, that I knew nothing about.

I told my friend about this, and he immediately smiled.

"Australia, yes. That is a fine place. Always summer, and very friendly people. Where in Australia did your aunt go ?".

"I don't know. We hadn't heard from them in years. Uncle had a knitting factory in Warsaw, but it was not doing well, so he thought he might try his luck overseas".

"And a very lucky decision that was" sighed my friend. "Well, let me make some enquiries. I have a few contacts".

Indeed he did. Only a couple of days later he regaled me with the news that Australia had two major Jewish communities, in Sydney and Melbourne. Within theses communities, committees had been established to seek out surviving relatives of local Jews, and that he had taken the liberty of submitting our names to these committees.

I thanked him, but Auistralia seemed so far away, as did the image of an aunt I had almost forgotten. We dared not hope that the seed my friend had sown would take root.

But it did.

Several weeks later, a letter arrived, with a strange stamp - "Australia". My aunt had been delighted to find that someone from the family had survived, and wrote that the necessary application was in train to bring both my brother's family, and mine, to join them in Melbourne.

So here we were, on a train to Paris where we would await shipping documents to leave Europe, and sponsorship papers allowing us into Australia. It turned out that my sister-in-law also had three cousins in Melbourne who independently sent documents for her family.

However, it was one thing to have the documents sent, quite another to physically obtain them. It was necessary to make an appointment with the head of JOINT and this was virtually impossible. Finally, after a few weeks, we managed to get the papers but found they were for two adults and two children. My aunt did not know that I had given birth to Robin in the camp.

This would require some adjustment, and that meant another visit to JOINT. The ship that was to take us, the Al Sudan, was already in port. A new appointment was impossible if we were to be aboard when she sailed. The papers, too, were not valid indefinitely. We would have to resolve the issue quickly or once again be left destitute.

I entered the JOINT building through a rear door and made my way along a dark passage to a large office. Looking suitably flustered, I announced that I was lost, and that I needed to speak to the President of JOINT urgently. Could someone kindly direct me to his office ?

This gentleman behind the desk rose and inquired as to why I so urgently needed to say the president. I explained that my brother and his family were sailing to Australia on this ship, and we were to have accompanied them, but our papers had not taken into account the recent addition to our family. Consequently we could not board, and we might just as well go back to the DP camp in Germany.

He listened gravely, then told me that he was the president (I had known all along, of course) and he would see what he could do to ensure that my whole family would be aboard Al Sudan when she left in the next day or so.

He was as good as his word. A telegram was delivered that same evening. With shaking hands I opened the envelope and there, in front of my very eyes, were the words allowing us all to board the ship and sail into a brighter future.