The Girschiks were expatriates at the beginning of the war. Rudolf was an Austrian engineer working in Iran, and Elfriede, his wife, was German. At the time of their capture by British forces, they had two young children, Helga and Peter. Herbert was born later when they were at Tatura. Rudolf and Elfriede were apolitical; having lived away from Germany and Austria for years, they were aware only at a distance of what was going on there. But they were rounded up along with other Germans and Austrians living in the Middle East, and sent to Australia. 

Griffin is determined to tell a story that does not erase the uncomfortable bits. These include Rudolf’s violence towards his children (from whom he demanded total obedience), Elfriede’s perfectionism and emotionally manipulative behaviour, and the often petty and even pro-Nazi behaviour of some of the inmates in the camp. Recounting some disturbing incidents, Griffin overlays her early recollections with adult reflections in order to make sense of what was inexplicable to the child. The ‘raw’ is thus ‘cooked’ by adult experience to mitigate the pain. Because they were not permitted, after the war, to return to Iran as they wished – all Rudolf’s professional contacts were there – the family stayed in Australia and eventually became Australian citizens.

Although it is never triumphalist in tone, this account of a difficult girlhood testifies to Griffin’s self-belief. She charts the steps she made to ‘fit in’; her struggle with the English language, with the (at first) mysterious religious practices of her convent school and with the alien culture of Australia. Griffin implies that she assumed a persona of meek compliance to avoid ridicule in these early years as a child ‘migrant’. Perhaps, but the narrating subject is no mouse. With an authoritarian father and demanding mother, at a time when children generally had to accept what their parents decided for them, she early made her own decisions. Her serious religious commitment as an adolescent is figured as a rebellion against the casual agnosticism of her parents. To their horror, she became a zealous Catholic and for some years considered becoming a nun. Griffin’s account of her determination to have a university education suggests her strength of purpose. In 1952, for a girl whose parents were not well-off, going to university was a great privilege. Rudolf strenuously opposed it. He had no faith in her ability; she would marry after all, so why waste the money?  Somehow she withstood this assault upon her self-esteem and, with Elfriede’s support, pursued her dream. Griffin describes herself repeatedly as ‘stubborn’, but surely it was more than this. How did she manage to construct such a powerful sense of self?

This question is never addressed, but it asserts itself as the narrative unconscious. At the age of twenty, Helga Girschik married Jim Griffin, whom her father had tried to deflect by informing him of Helga’s perceived limitations. The memoir closes with her wedding in Rome to the man who has been her partner for more than fifty years. We know from the biographical notes that Griffin has lived in New Guinea and Canberra, had six children, completed her tertiary studies, and had a career in further education.

This is a politically astute memoir, reflective and generous, uninterested in blame or self-pity. Griffin is quite clear that her parents loved her as she loved them, and that she and her siblings loved each other. Occasionally, the language is stilted, and there are too many simple sentences; but the writing becomes more assured as it goes on. This is a timely and engaging book.