One of my favourite photos I own is of mum and dad on Bondi Beach sporting tans, wearing high pants, poker dots and pulled up shin-high brown socks in the late fifties. The socks on a hot Australian beach are usually a dead give-away that migrants have come to town.

The Hungarian Revolution in 1956 was due to the horrible conditions brought upon by the U.S.S.R. after they claimed Hungary and many other countries directly after WWII. My father, Bela Major and his new wife Erzsebet had a choice between America or Australia, as these countries were helping refugees escape via boat. At least I think that’s what happened.

My father was a cartographer for the Hungarian army and my mother was a young girl during the war. He was 18 years her senior. My mum and dad’s families both harboured Jews in their homes and even helped some of them escape. My mum cried often and could not seem to get over all of that trauma. Whenever I asked her about it she would break down.

Many Hungarians landed in Sydney and created a vibrant community. They then moved to Canberra when I was two. My father was a piano teacher and we would often have amazing Hungarian opera singers and musicians around the house. My mum and dad were both artists as well.

They were good people but carried much emotional luggage which made life hard at times. They have both passed away and I miss them dearly. I know how lucky I am, and I owe this to them.