Sligo - Ireland

At Amsterdam last August the Rev Elfan Rees, Director of the Refugee Division of the World Council of Churches, declared that there are today no less than 14,000,000 refugees on the Continent. “These refugees”, Mr Rees said, “are neither the dregs of Europe nor the elite. They range from an Archbishop to a drover, from a medical doctor to a tubercular artisan. I make no special claim to their qualities”, he said, “they are just like you and me”. The truth of these statements has been translated into flesh and blood for the people of Sligo.   We have seen with our own eyes what the refugee problem really means, so that when in future we read the cold statistics of homeless millions, we will be able to understand something of the suffering and the tragedy which they represent.   

It was all brought home to us quite unexpectedly when, on one Wednesday afternoon recently, a small ship of only about 450 tons sailed in from the North Atlantic and tied up at the Sligo Quay.  On board were about 365 refugees from the Baltic, mostly Estonians but also some Latvians, Danes and Poles, one Austrian and one German. They had left their own homes in 1944 to avoid the Russian invasion and had settled temporarily in Sweden.  There they had worked for the past four years, saving up to continue their flight to Canada where they felt they would be at a safer distance.

It had not been easy getting away from the Russians. Many of their friends had failed in the attempt. Some were drowned in the Gulf of Finland , others were still on the far side of the “Iron Curtain”.  One woman told how she had not seen her husband for ten years. He is in a Russian slave-camp and she has little hope of ever seeing him again. With her was her son, a delicate little boy, all she has left in the world apart from a few belongings in a suitcase, lying at the bottom of a pile of similar cases, almost blocking one of the narrow passageways.  About half of the passengers were men, the other half women and children. They were from all walks of life and all classes of society, including farmers, textile workers, medical students and a doctor. The oldest was an old woman of 80, almost blind, and the youngest an eight months old baby. All seemed quite warmly clad. The women wore slacks and many of the men had heavy overcoats with large fur collars. The children, in woolen caps and furs, appeared to be quite happy.

The ship “Walnut” had been built in England and was used as a minesweeper during the war. Afterwards she was sold to Sweden as scrap, where she was purchased by about fifty of those on board. Later, the others joined in the venture and agreed to share the cost.

After leaving the Swedish port of Gothenburg they ran into bad weather and decided to make for Sligo in order to replenish their stocks of food and fuel. For three days they stayed with us and won the sympathy and affection of the whole town. We all felt sorry for them when we learnt something of the tragedy of their lives and saw the conditions under which they were trying to exist on board. Every available room and cabin had been fitted up with row upon row of bunks, so that there was scarcely room to move and little or no privacy. On deck, coal had been piled up in every available space that could be spared, held in by hastily erected wooden barriers, but sending a black dust over everything. But that coal was important. On it their lives depended. They wanted all they could carry, for they could not be sure how long they might have to be at sea. It was impossible to keep themselves clean under such conditions and so they readily accepted the hot baths offered to them by many of the townspeople. They were most grateful too for the gifts of food and clothing, which were generously provided.

For the most part they were Lutherans, and on Friday nearly 200 of them, including the Captain and his family, accepted an invitation to join in the Service of Evensong at the Parish Church of St John the Baptist. An unforgettable sight it was to see so many nationalities crowded into the ancient Irish church. Only a few could understand English, yet many were able to join in the singing and some in the Lord’s Prayer and the Creed. As they left the Church afterwards the Rector shook hands with them one by one.  Some curtsied, some bowed, some clicked their heels sharply to attention. Many had tears in their eyes and one old man, taking the Rector’s hand in his, stooped down and kissed it. The next morning a few of them came again for Morning Prayer. But the most moving Service of all was held that afternoon on the quayside just before they sailed. Standing a few yards from the side of the ship, and surrounded by a large crowd, two Priests of the Church of Ireland, a Presbyterian and a Methodist Minister, each wearing his robes, joined together in a short Service of Prayer and blessing. It touched the heart to see that great crowd on the deck and on shore standing in silence for the prayers and then to hear them singing in different tongues “Now thank we all our God”. It was a solemn occasion, so moving that many of the men wept openly. Indeed, even Nature seemed to be weeping, for just then a cold gray mist began to fall.

It was nearly time to cast off. The tide for which they had been waiting was almost full. The Captain went about busily checking everything over while those on deck began singing again, this time one of their own lovely hymns. As the ship’s siren blew farewell, three rousing cheers rang out and then someone on board started singing, “When Irish Eyes are Smiling”. One more blast from the siren and they were moving off, their voices growing fainter as they moved away down the river, heading for the Ocean and the Land of Hope beyond the horizon. Some of us who had cars hurried to Rosses Point, five miles away, where standing on a rock we waved a last farewell as the ship went past. We could see hundreds of handkerchiefs waving back to us and we could still hear across the water the lovely singing of a hymn. Gradually they vanished into the grayness of a misty November afternoon. The last we could see of them was a small light flashing in response to signals from the headlamps of one of the cars. We turned towards home feeling sad as we thought of those brave pilgrims setting out on their hazardous venture in the hope of rebuilding something of what they had lost.

They have left us a memory, which will not easily fade. During the coming days we will be thinking of them, particularly of the children, and we will be remembering them all in our prayers. They have taught us a lesson, so that next time we read of millions of refugees we will think in terms of human beings and not just of figures on paper. We have seen for ourselves they are indeed “just like you and me”.  

C.C.W. Browne

Courtesy: Heather Browne © Browne Family