Since the release from camp in 1942 I don’t recall having got any reply from my frequent letters to my parents until sometime after VE day. In early 1946, to my great relief, I finally got a letter through the normal mail saying that they were okay and still in Perigueux.

In the meantime I got myself the sack in Lily Ponds for making too many foreign orders – I was making powder compacts out of solid brass, to give to girls. So I found myself another job closer to home in a factory that made the latest thing to help the housewife- the spin-drier. These were the type that were powered by mains water pressure. They were very good, except they wrecked the concrete laundry tubs because of the vibration. The factory was below street level, and we had windows at footpath level. We had lots of fun watching people go past. We’d put a two shilling piece on a piece of wire and push it onto the footpath, then just as someone bent down to pick it up, we’d pull it in.

Every time I decided to take my car to work I finished up being late, mainly because it didn’t idle too well at intersections. And when it stopped I had to get out, pour a cupful of petrol down the carby, to get it started again emitting a huge cloud of smoke.

My workmates finally convinced me that I needed a driver’s licence. And I got that one without any difficulty from the local Motor Registry, by just driving around the block once for a test. We had a great time with the car. We built a canvas canopy over the front, and put a couple of benches along each side, on the back part.

In winter we to Mount Donnabuang only forty miles away and did some skiing. In summer, we went down the Great Ocean Road to Lorne. Which was somewhat hair raising, as the last few miles had hairpin bend after hairpin bend and was unsealed.

One day quite out of the blue, I got a letter from a Mr. Selby in Sydney. He was my father’s boss in Vienna, many, many years ago, and had heard from him. He had what he called a metal factory in Sydney and was looking for a toolmaker. Enclosed in the envelope was a return ticket to Sydney and vouchers for a week’s accommodation at the Australia Hotel.

I went over to Sydney almost immediately and met the manager of the factory who turned out to be an extremely nice Viennese man called Sandor Ultman – he’s ninety-two now and still drives a car.

We got on extremely well and that’s when I decided to take the job. I went back to Melbourne to wind up my affairs and to wind up the syndicate and the car, which by that time was worth 155 pounds.

I went to Paul to tell him all about it, and to say goodbye and made off for Sydney, where I arrived with 65 pounds in my pocket. I found myself a furnished room in Bondi and started work two days later.

The so-called metal factory was making frames, fittings and catches for handbags which were made in Mr. Selby’s leather factory. Shandau was a very gifted designer and I had to make the dies for whatever he thought up. After making inquiries, I put in an application for my parents to immigrate to Australia, which came through very quickly with the help of a friend of Mr. Selby’s who also guaranteed my father’s employment.

Now all my parents had to do was to wait for allocation of a berth on one of the ships that started to come to Australia fairly regularly.