In an effort to preserve Macedonian stories for generations to come, UMD is proud to present the English translation of a Macedonian-language interview on SBS Australia featuring Vasil (Bill) Vlassis (Vlasho), one of the tens of thousands of Macedonian child refugees from the Greek Civil War. Our heartfelt thanks go to UMD Honorary Advisory Council Member Lou Vlasho of Naples, Florida, for commissioning the translation and sharing his cousin Bill’s story with UMD and the wider public. We extend our deep appreciation to Dr. Natasha Garrett for the English translation, as well as to SBS Australia and journalist Margarita Vasileva for airing this impactful interview. A special thank you also goes to Victor Bivell and Pollitecon Publications for initially publishing the interview on August 8, 2024, in celebration of Bill’s 90th birthday.

The life story of Vasil (Bill) Vlassis (Vlasho), shared in this interview on SBS Australia, illuminates his experiences as a child refugee during the Greek Civil War of 1948. Born in Dolna Maala (Lower Neighborhood) of Breznitsa, a village in Aegean Macedonia, Vasil faced challenging conditions marked by economic disparities and class separation within the village’s three neighborhoods. Unlike wealthier villagers in Sredna Maala who received financial support from relatives abroad, Vasil’s family struggled after his father left for Australia in 1938 but was unable to provide consistent assistance. The family relied on subsistence farming and livestock, while Vasil’s mother took on the role of both parents, shouldering the burden of raising her children in difficult circumstances.

The interview captures Vasil’s reflections on village life, including its ethnic composition and a shared sense of community that emerged during major holidays despite deep economic divides. He recalls the strategic significance of his village’s location, which became a passage for Turks, Germans, Bulgarians, and other foreign powers during times of conflict. Vasil’s narrative sheds light on the resilience of his family and the broader plight of Macedonian child refugees during and after the Greek Civil War.

Please click the button below to listen to Vasil’s radio interview, or please take a moment to read Vasil’s story below—a testament to the resilience and the enduring spirit of our Macedonian people. Happy 90th Birthday, Vasil, and many more!

Transcript of the Radio Interview

You are listening to a program in Macedonian on SBS Australia with Margarita Vasileva. The life of Vasil Vlassis was difficult even without the wars and exile. Through this interview, we will hear more about his personal history as a child in exile during the Greek Civil War of 1948 and later on about his experiences in the orphanages in Romania.

He had the misfortune to be born in Dolna Maala [Lower Neighborhood] in the village of Breznitsa, in Aegean Macedonia. Had he been born in Sredna Maala [Middle Neighborhood] he would have been well fed, clothed, and not having to fight for survival, since the villagers from Sredna Maala were much wealthier. The men from that neighborhood traditionally went to work abroad and sent money back home to support their families. Vasil’s dad went abroad in 1938, but he wasn’t able to adequately support his family. The villagers from Sredna Maala did not socialize with the ones from Gorna [Upper Neigbrhood] or Dolna Maala, and their children did not play together. “There was a class separation at the village at that time,” Vasil says. Vasil Vlassis, a child refugee, tells us about the life in Breznitsa before the large exodus of the children in 1948, when it became clear who belongs where. Following is the conversation with Vasil Vlassis.

I would like to start with the earlier years that I have spent in the village where I was born. The name of the village is Breznitsa, in the region of Lerin and Kostur, and it was renamed in Greek to Vatohori. Our family in the village is Vlashovci. Many of the family members moved to the United States and to Canada. For example, my father moved to Australia in 1938, leaving behind my mother with two daughters and one son. She was both a mother and a father for us, and she also cared for her in-laws.

Vasil, can you tell us why your father left for Australia in 1938?

His brothers moved to America and he didn’t want to be left behind with the elderly. Such were the times, people were going to other countries for work so they could help the old and the young in the village. He was supposed to take care of us, but that didn’t happen. Other things happened, wars, crises… my mother was left behind with her in-laws.

Our village was very small but built in between the main road between Lerin and Kostur that led to Albania. As I remember as a little kid, Turks, Germans, Bulgarians, Brits, Americans, they all passed through our village’s main road towards Albania, and where did they go from there, I don’t know. The village was divided into three sections, Dolna, Gorna and Sredna Maala [Lower, Upper and Middle neighborhood respectively]. Gorna and Sredna Maala, there were Vlachs, Macedonians and a few Greeks living there; the richest villagers lived in Sredna Maala. In Dolna Maala, where I was born, the majority were poor. However, for the main holidays, such as Easter, we would all get together at the village’s square and sing Macedonian songs, especially the women who were good singers. Those were the good years.

Vasil, so there was just one village square for the three neighborhoods?

That’s correct. Those who were richer had gone to America and were sending money to their relatives back home. The poorer families like ours were not receiving any help. We were relying on agriculture – we had an ox, a few goats, a pig, a few rabbits. We lived a good but frugal life, but with no help from anyone. We had one ox, so we had to partner with another family from the village who also had an ox to be able to plow the land.

That’s how you were surviving.

That’s right. We also had a small garden, and we grew some tomatoes, some peppers. We lived a simple life.

Vasil, tell me, how close were you with your mother, as an only son?

As her only son, I was close to my mother until I was a little less than 13 years of age before the Civil War of 1946-49. If you want me to, I can start talking about the politics at that time. When the Civil War started, fascism was spreading in Greece. The Left side as they say, the Communist Party, along with Greeks and Macedonians, said they were fighting for freedom. In the village we were not allowed to speak Macedonian. At school, we studied only in Greek. But when we left the school for home my grandparents did not speak Greek, and my grandma would say “My dear grandson, how was your day at school?” And I had to whisper in Macedonian “Grandma, I had a very good day.” There were inspectors and the police who in the village were listening at the windows to hear what language we spoke. And many people escaped from the village and many people were jailed because we didn’t have the right to speak our mother tongue.

When you say people escaped, what do you mean? How did they do it? Do you remember?

They escaped because they could not stay and work the system at that time between the Macedonians and the Greeks. Some of them escaped to Bulgaria. Some of them ended up in jail, the Macedonian patriots. The politics were such that we didn’t know what was going to happen day to day. Let me give you an example. For Easter, my mum had knitted me a sweater from the wool she had; she had a few chickens, we dyed eggs, and just like the tradition goes, we cracked the eggs. My sweater was white, and my mom soaked it in the water in which she had dyed the eggs to make them red. I wore my red sweater the next day, and the police came and saw me wearing my red sweater and they locked me up for a day. They told my mother “Are you making him a Communist?” They kept me for a day, and when they let me go, they tore up my sweater and told me not to wear red. How can a kid’s sweater bother them? But those were the times.

We had a good life in the village, but we were under a big dictatorship and big discipine. We had a spring in the village with water from the mountains. One of the mountains was green, we collected foliage and wood from there for winter and for the animals. The other mountain was rocky; that’s where mountain tea grew and that’s where we let the donkeys, goats and sheep graze. At the village square, we had a cafe. The elderly would gather and talk, but there was discipline as they were not allowed to speak their language.

So they spoke in Greek?

Yes, in Greek. I would go there as a small boy with my grandfather. In the house, I lived with my grandma and grandpa, my mum and my two sisters. We had a two-storey house with three to four bedrooms, but we didn’t go upstairs because we were afraid of the mice, so we all lived on the ground floor. On one side was a barn for the animals, and we had a cold cellar for storing the food for winter.

My grandpa’s name was Ilo and my grandma’s name was Ristana. One day, I was five or six, my grandpa called me over, and he pulled out a little purse and took out five drachmas and gave them to me. He said “You are the only boy left in the Vlashov family, all the sons have left to live abroad, you are the only man left after me.” I took the five drachmas and gave them to my mum.

My grandpa passed away later and we were left with grandma Ristana. My grandparents didn’t know a single word of Greek. We had to whisper to one another so that the enemy didn’t hear us.

As kids, we could not find understanding with the kids from Gorna Maala. We would fight like kids do, we would make balls out of socks and grass and play soccer and see who could score more goals. But going from Sredna Maala to Gorna Maala was difficult. They would not let us go there.

Why wouldn’t they let you?

Because they were rich. That’s what I think the reason was.

Who was stopping you? Was some one standing guard?

Nobody was physically stopping us, but those were the times, you just couldn’t go. They were very proud, they were the rich, we were the poor…

They were Macedonians, correct?

Yes, they were all Macedonians. They had family members living abroad for many years who were sending money to their families back in Sredna Maala. I had an aunt in Gorna Maala, her husband had left for Canada, and she was living with her son. She was close to my mother and grandma and they were helping each other.

Did the people from Sredna Maala socialize at all with the other neighborhoods?

Only when we had the annual village fair. We would gather at the square.

What about relatives? Did you have relatives in Sredna Maala?

We didn’t.

Did the people from Sredna Maala help others?

They did not. They minded their own business. They had good meals, they would go shopping in Lerin, bring back whatever the family wanted. We lived mostly from agriculture, firstly some corn, some wheat… We were poor but we had a good life. We had two to three goats for milk, we had an ox for plowing.

Did you play with the kids from Sredna Maala?

Never. Even today, I think, they were more Greek-oriented. Life was different. My mother didn’t have much to give me, she would give me a piece of bread with salt, or maybe a little cheese, just to get by. In Sredna Maala, they ate meat and other things.

Did you reunite with your father? Did he send money home?

He didn’t. He left for Australia in 1938. I was born in 1934. He came to Australia, firstly to Braidwood and worked processing eucalyptus oil. He was with an uncle who had two sons there. Then he returned to Sydney. The wars broke out in Europe [World War 2 and the Greek Civil War] and we couldn’t correspond. It’s as if we forgot about each other. Did we know our father? We lost touch.

You didn’t have any contact?

No. My mother took care of the elderly and she raised three children.

Now for your other question, Margarita. In time the Civil War happened. As little kids, we didn’t know what was going on. We only saw the English planes that were flying around our villages and were bombing and firing.

The people could no longer tolerate the dictatorship, the monarchism and fascism that was in Greece. The Left Wing Communist Party was fighting for civil rights for the Greeks and the Macedonians. They were against the monarchy and fascism in Greece. The partisans rose up. There was educated people, like Marko Vafiadis, and two others who were educated, I think, in Russia about communism, and they returned to Aegean Macedonia. There were around 130 villages. They started a mobilization and raised communism. We suffered by not having any rights. They were saying “If we win, and beat the current Greek system, we will give you rights as Macedonians to speak your language, to be what you want.” But it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all. That was propaganda. People had to leave the villages and go to fight the system. All the youth, 15 years of age and older, had to go to fight. My mother and sister joined the partisans. She was around 15-16 years of age.

One of your sisters?

Yes. One of the sisters. The other one was younger than me, she was born right after my dad left for Australia, she was like a goodbye child. The Civil War started. Around 120-130 men and women from our village, anywhere from 15-16 years old to 60 years old, gathered to fight the system. There were also Greeks who faced the same challenges. The little ones stayed back in the village.

My mother would go to the mountains, she helped transport wounded partisans from one place to another. I still don’t know which places they were. We were little, we didn’t know. She would come back to the village occasionally to check on the in-laws. There was an aunt who was also helping the elderly. Her son was a partisan.

A committee came to the village, one of them was a Greek, a communist. They gathered us all at the school, we were 124 boys and girls. My mother had come back to the village at that time as well. The Greek said “This is a fight for life. To save the children so that they don’t get killed in this Civil War, if you want, let’s send the children for a short time abroad.” We didn’t know anything about living abroad. And the mothers decided to let us go, voluntarily. I think it was March 25, 1948 and we gathered and started our travels away from the village.

My mother spoke to me. My grandpa had passed away at the time, but my grandma Ristana was still alive. At the entrance of the village, there was a church, St. Dimitrija. Grandma was a good lady, a big lady, and as we were walking by the church she told me “My dear one, where you are going they will give you candy, they will give you sweets and other things.” What did we know about such things, we were just children. I returned and hugged grandma. I want to cry when I think about it. I hugged grandma and I said “Thank you for being such a good grandma to me. It is easy to leave your home, but it is hard to return.” That’s what I told my grandma and that was the truth.

We left in 1948. For every 25 to 30 children, we had a “mother” designated by the Communist Party. We were travelling at night, by moonlight. We were scared to travel by day. There were planes. I still can’t understand to this day what kind of propaganda that was. The Greek system knew that they gathered 28,000 kids from all over Greece. They didn’t stop us. They thought they would destroy our roots, slowly. Let others worry about them.

We walked by night, we arrived at a small village in Prespa, I think it may have been Nivitsi. We ate dinner, and we saw trucks from the Republic of Macedonia. One night, around 11pm, in Bitola they put us on a train. We didn’t have many clothes with us. We were on the train three days and three nights, and we arrived in Romania. We didn’t know where we were going and what our destiny was. We were all very quiet, nobody cried.

Nobody gave you an explanation of what was going on?

No. Everything was done in secret. They said they’d clean out the young ones and then fight for the other ones, the partisans. Me and my little sister went to Romania. The Civil War ended in 1949. My mother and sister were partizans. My sister went to Russia, my mother either went or was sent to Poland. My sister in Russia was in Tashkent, but we didn’t have any contact, neither with my mother, nor my sister, nor my father. There was just me and my little sister in Romania. In Romania there were two big palaces that belonged to the rich people. The communists had kicked them out and the palaces now belonged to the people. They settled the children there. They washed us and gave us some clothes and shoes. There were a lot of young kids there.

As I was saying earlier, 28,000 children in total left Greece, ranging from 1 year old to 13 years old. The Greeks were also fighting for human rights just like we were.

There were 124 children from our village, boys and girls. An organization from Bucharest came and took two groups with them to Bucharest; the rest remained in the little town. We stayed in Bucharest for two years. The Communist Party there took care of us, fed us and helped us. The house where we were staying was large, and inside was only iron and we couldn’t open the doors. There were some Greeks in the area who had moved to Romania a long time ago and they were working in trade and commerce and such areas. They knew that we were refugees and they would come to the front of the building to talk to us, but our designated “mother” would not let us talk to them. She thought they wanted to steal us, but there was no way to escape from there.

I had tonsillitis. There was a doctor there who was trying to help me but I didn’t know the language. It was very hard. I was perhaps 12 years old. They took me to the hospital to get my tonsils removed. They cut out my tonsils with a round knife and tossed them in a basin.

They didn’t give you anesthesia?

No, nothing. At the time, Romania was in a deep crisis. They didn’t have much.

They put me in a room with two old Romanians. It was an early morning, 3 or 4am, and I saw that both of the Romanians have died and I was there with them alone. I was thinking the angels will come, God will come. I jumped out of bed scared and ran down the stairs from the 4th floor, crying.

Tell me again, Vasil, who were those two people?

They were Romanians who were living in the home where we were. They were sick, I suppose. Some doctors saw me crying and got me settled down. After a while, I got an infection from the surgery and I stayed at the hospital for four months, all alone. No mother, no father, nobody.

After two years, they moved us to a different city, where they created a temporary village. There were about 15 or 16 big army barracks. It was for the children in exile from World Word II. There were around 3,000 children gathered there from various parts.

Macedonian children?

There were Greek children there as well. We had to speak Greek to them. They did not want to know even one word of Macedonian. We knew both Macedonian and Greek. We were at an advantage. They gathered us all at the school, we had teams, we played soccer. We were hungry. When we went for lunch or dinner they were feeding 3,000 kids so we had to wait in line. We started waiting at lunch time for dinner. We didn’t know if it was lunch, breakfast or dinner.

So you had to wait in line for your meals?

Yes, we had to line up. I was playing soccer and I told one of the people there “I am hungry, I don’t know what to do.” He says “Cause some trouble.” “Like what?” “Tell the doctor that you have a pain in the appendix.” So I do that and I tell the doctor that I am in pain. They took me to the hospital and they removed my appendix. And they gave me a little to eat.

You risked a healthy appendix for a meal?

I didn’t have any appendix problems. But I did that so that I could get a little more food. So that was that. We had a soccer team and we played a lot. After a week, a ball hit me right on my appendectomy incision.

Vasil, when they removed your appendix, did they give you anesthesia?

Yes, that was a proper surgery. But after the ball hit me, I was back at the hospital for three or four more weeks of eating and drinking.

At the village there was a central office, and we had a committee of a few people.

This was still in Romania?

Yes, the place was called Tulghes. We would check the letters that the office would receive and if there were some bad news, we would not tell the kids. We did not want to disturb them. I was there with my little sister – she is still alive – we were around 15 years of age.

I am thankful to Romania, we were sent to school to learn a trade or something to make our lives a little easier. Before that, we didn’t have any learning.

What did you learn?

Many kids, including myself, went to an electrotechnical school, far away from where we were, about 500km away. We studied along with Romanians, Hungarians, Macedonians, Greeks. There were around 3,000 students at that school. We lived at the school, but the Romanians would go back to their villages or the cities, very few of them lived at the school. We lived at the school – eat, sleep, study, all there. There was a factory there that was making large electrical transformers. We had a master, there was a group of 15 or so of us. Other students studied to be plumbers or other trades. I was there for five years. If you are clever, Romania sends you to a higher school, everything paid for. From there they sent us closer to the Hungarian border, myself and two Greek kids. There were about 10 to 12 maybe 15 girls who also joined that school. That was a school that was preparing us for university. We were there for close to two years. In the second year I was passing my exams, and I was supposed to join the Communist Party.

How old were you at this time?

I was 19, maybe 20. I finished my second year and I was getting ready for the university to work for a degree. It was in another city. Everything was paid for. That’s why I can’t forget what Romania did for us.

After a while, I received a letter from my mother. I had not received a letter from her before. Even from my sister, who was in Romania. She was in a different town and I last saw her five or so years earlier.

My mother was not educated, she was not literate. She was born in the village of Gabresh. They were three sisters and three brothers. The bothers had escaped to Macedonia in 1920. She stayed in the village and married my father, and was looking after her two twin sisters. That is how she remained uneducated. One of her sisters became a teacher. In time one left for America and the other one moved to Russia. My mother was left illiterate but she was very smart. In Poland she was working in agriculture, growing potatoes and other produce. A woman from the village helped her with this letter. It said your father has a request to get the family together in Australia. There was a way to reunite families from around the world and my father submitted a request. He knew where my mother was and he knew we were in Romania but he couldn’t get in touch with us. This letter from the lady says your father is inviting your mother to join him in Australia. I agree with thankful heart to that, that she should join her husband, I told her.

I said I’m a grown man, I’ve been given an education, and everything is good. After a while, I also received documents. I wasn’t sure what to do. I responded to my mum via the woman who contacted me and asked her what she thought about this. She said to me “My dear one, if you don’t want to go to Australia so we are all together with your father, I will come to Romania.” But what was she going to do in Romania? I lived in one room there. I was thinking: what should I do? We have been separated a long time. I have been without a father for 18 years. My mother was without her husband for 18 years. My father was separated from his family for 18 years. I signed the documents, for my mother’s sake. On the form it said “Thank you, but don’t come back to this country ever again.” Why? They gave me a second life. They fed me, clothed me, they educated me. I am so thankful for Romania. Yet in the future I can’t give something to thank Romania for what they gave me?

Did the letter say you can’t go back to Romania?

Correct. What use am I to Romania if I am leaving after everything it has done for me? That was the times.

Right. They are saying they have invested so much into you.

Yes. That I couldn’t pay it back. But I was concerned for my family to get together. My mother decided to go to Australia, my sister and I signed the Romanian documents. My mum flew on a plane from Poland directly to Sydney. That was 1956. We were trying to get a passport in Romania. That was the time of the communist system so we had to go to Austria. There was a large group of young men and women there, some of them heading to Melbourne, some to Perth, Queanbeyan, Sydney. So we got Austrian passports. I still have it. I’ll take it to the grave with me. From Austria we headed to Italy. We waited for a couple of weeks for the boat from Trieste. The journey took 38 days; the boat was older than me. It only went 13 knots an hour. There were a lot of Italians on the boat, they were also escaping a political situation. We ate a lot of macaroni on the boat. There were these long tables, and when the sea got choppy, our plates would slide from one end to the other.

After 38 days, we arrive in Fremantle. Australia! We imagined Australia as fascist. We didn’t know any better. From there, we headed to Melbourne. We were supposed to spend the night there and the next day get a boat to Sydney. Meanwhile, a guy showed up, his name was Done Filipov. He lived in Fitzroy.

Done Filipov? I knew him well.

He was a tall man. He got on the boat and was asking around, who are Vasil and Tsana? We didn’t know him. It could have been anybody. I wasn’t sure if I should answer. I am in a foreign country. Was it propaganda? But I said “I am Vasil, and this is my sister.” He said “Your father spoke to me and I want you to stay with me tonight, have dinner, and early tomorrow you can continue on to Sydney.” I wondered – Good? Bad? So we went to his house. It was a semi-detached little house.

Was it in Fitzroy?

Yes, in Fitzroy. It was around 5 o’clock in the evening, and my father called from Sydney. He asked Done if his children were there. Done said “They are here, your son and your daughter. Do you want to talk to your son?” He said “Yes, I do want to speak with him.” I didn’t know what to call him. For 18 years I hadn’t heard “father”. He said “This is your father. Your mother is here.” I said “We will see you tomorrow. But I have one problem-how will I recognize you?” He said “I haven’t changed.” Done Filipov had a pack of cigarettes on the little table so I told my father “When you get to the Sydney port, hold up a pack of cigarettes.”

The next day, we left Melbourne and got to Sydney. Not too many people disembarked in Sydney, everyone had gotten off before, in Melbourne, Perth and such. There were only a small number of child refugees for Sydney. We got off the boat and I saw this tall man raising his hand. He had a pack of cigarettes in his hand. There was a woman standing next to him. I said to my sister “He is our father.” My sister said “I don’t remember my father.” She was born after my father had left the village. I told my sister “And that’s our mother. It has to be.” My mother as I knew her was very skinny, skin and bones. So I wondered if she was my mother. But from working Poland and eating potatoes she had put on weight.

Your mother got to Sydney before you did?

Yes, she flew to Sydney. We took the boat.

My father had a little house and a shop in Glebe. He was a cobbler. The bedrooms had wallpaper and cobwebs. I went in one of the rooms and started crying. What am I doing here? My mother came to me and said “My dear one, we should be thankful that we are all together. Bad, good, we’ll get by.” With mum I went downstairs. We had some guests, from Newcastle, an uncle and aunt.

And that was our arrival in Sydney, in 1957.

And I forgot to tell you, my sister who was in Russia, she married there and had two children. After 12 years of us arriving in Sydney, she joined us there.

And you finally all ended up together?

Yes, finally.

Vasil, thank you for this emotional account of your life story at that historical period when you were a child in exile. It is obvious that the experience left an indelible mark on you. Thank you again.