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My family and I escaped our Soviet occupied, war-torn, communist country Hungary, in November of 1947, by posing as ethnic Germans who were being deported at that time, into neighboring Austria. As refugees crossed the border, they were picked up and taken in transport trucks to a refugee camp, called a Displaced Persons Camp. Refugees arrived at the camp cold, hungry, and covered with dust, carrying meager belongings in pillowcase sacks.
The refugee camp was a self-contained world of old army barracks, lined up like soldiers as far as the eyes could see. Inside the barracks there was a long hallway with a large, coal heater in the middle. On both sides of the hallway were tiny, cardboard cubicles, furnished with sleeping cots and horsehair blankets. On the opening to these cubicles was another old blanket used as a door. One of these cubicles became our home for the next four years.
Then the refugee’s were ushered to the barrack in a central location, used as the common kitchen. Here, their tin can “bowls” were filled with warm cabbage soup, to appease their hunger. Next, we were ushered to a barrack used for clothing distribution. Here, we all received warmer clothing donated to the refugee effort by countries like America, England, and others.
The refugee camp had its own school, where the children were taught the regular curriculum, along with the German and English languages. Two barracks were set up as churches; there were some set up as shower and bathrooms, and there was an infirmary, where refugees were checked and vaccinated. Since all the refugee’s were looking for new home countries, the people in charge had to make sure they were able bodied and healthy.
The United States, Canada, Australia, and South America were all open to immigration. My family and I applied for the United States. Since there were quotas, and sponsors had to be found, the process often took several years.
There were some railroad tracks along the camp in Spittal Austria, where we were. People in the trains often waved to the refugee children, as they sped by. Some despondent refugees used those tracks as their means of escaping. There were several suicides on those tracks.
Beyond the train tracks there were farms, and mountains with snow on their peaks even in the summer, and hills where wild blueberries grew in the summer. Since fresh fruit was a luxury, and never offered as camp fare, refugee children would go picking the blueberries. It was the only way for them to get something fresh.
Throughout their stay at the refugee camp, people waited for the news that they could leave it, and go to their new country, to begin new lives. Although their needs were taken care of at the refugee camp, there was no future for them there.
We left the refugee camp in September of 1951, when we boarded an old navy ship at the Port of Bremen, germany, which was to take us to America. Refugee camp would be behind us now, and a new life filled with hope lay ahead. We were all very grateful.
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