1947 - RELAXATION -THE FIRST ROYAL EASTER SHOW SINCE THE WAR

             1947   RELAXATION    THE FIRST ROYAL EASTER SHOW SINCE THE WAR

An odd view inside the old Showground, the lofty clock tower 
of the main Grandstand can be seen in the left background.

Me ( at the same age as the little boy with the beach bucket a few days ago) standing with my Dad at the Moore Park Entrance to the Showground- I had known nothing like this in my life; I had been told that we were going "to the Show", which I gathered would be good, but that was all. Now here we were being shoved through the turnstiles in these pokey little entrance gates with the rest of the crowds from the trams pushing behind.Then :

BAM! IT HIT ME LIKE A HEAVENLY REVELATION! "SHOCK", "AWE", WONDERMENT"I HAD NO TERMS OF REFERENCE : MY MIND REELED:

The ground fell away from the gates down a moderate slope, exaggerating the effect of the wonderful sights confronting me. Could this be real? So much , so pleasing and obviously all dedicated to fun - look : in the distance a huge Ferris Wheel turning, and I could hear a Merry Go Round, and there were people selling all sorts of colourful toys, rattlers, spinning coloured fans and kids everywhere eating ice creams, chocolates, hot dogs, pluto pups and real hot chips AND carrying large paper bags with string handles - in a very possessive manner! WONDERLAND!!

Dad began to instruct me in Show craft - it was neither possible nor desirable to try to see everything at once - we needed a plan of attack. The whole Showground was built around the Main Arena in effect. In the West where we had entered - this had to be the Main Entrance - were the Hordern Pavilion with all sorts of commercial exhibits and South of that was the Show Bag Pavilion. The Plan made this the last port of call before we exited to the Tram.To the East of the Showbags was a rowdy collection of garish, noisy, "rides"and freak shows and Jimmy Sharman's Boxing Troop. From there, further East and round the Eastern boundary Wall were all sorts of animal Pavilions - horses, cattle, sheep, dogs, cats, birds,by the hundred - each with their own intermingling unpleasant smells. Then around further was the Horticultural Pavilion, supplemented by a grand Merry Go Round and then along the Northern Boundary wall was the Wood Chopping. Various other odds and sods were sprinkled around the area - such as new car exhibitions and food stalls, mostly the latter were tucked in under the seating stands for the grand arena. But the two grand features of the Eastern side of the Arena were two truly huge brick Pavilions one in red brick and the other with a rendered surface marked out like stone blocks, The two of them were close together and they soared to a great height via stepped end walls and soaring steel arches supporting each roof.

In the red brick Pavilion we found a Spitfire hanging from the roof arches and a brand new and entirely novel centre aisle AIR-CONDITIONED railway carriage which was about to go into service on the "Newcastle Flyer"the crack inter-city Express.Amazing stuff! One of the key features of the 1947 Show was the British Empire Exhibition. Maybe the Spitfire was part of that - otherwise the B E Ex had no impact on me.

I don't remember what we had to eat or drink, except "Hot Tasmanian Potato Chips"excellent! It was good to know that Tasmania produced something good and useful instead of just Apples and more Apples.Tasmanian Chips were to become a ritual part of every visit to the Show for decades afterwards and I had the pleasure of introducing our three children to them in the 1970's. Sadly, in the early 1980's during some Tasmanian economy drive they ceased appearing - once again "all good things must come to an end".

In time, our day at the Show was coming to an end and Dad guided me back to the Showbag Pavilion. Wonders once again! The showbags were truly very different then and true to their original name : "Sample Bags". They always contained special small versions of the particular company's wares. The one I prized most, apart from the Hoadley's Chocolates Bag with its wonderful "Chocolate Polly Waffle"( which was still being produced until 2010!) , was the Pick Me Up Sauce Bag with about five or six miniature bottles of various sauces ( most of which I'd never tasted) I didn't care about the sauce - I was fascinated by the bottle shapes!As they clinked and clattered together, the bag proved to be a cause for friction on the way home. I think I got about 5 or 6 bags - at two shillings( one florin) and sixpence each [nominally 25 Cents] they were not expensive - as advertising they were heavily subsidised by the companíes and gaudily printed with their characteristic stylised name and colours.

So it was off home by tram to Central Station in Eddy Street,then up the ramp and stairs to the electric trains and home to Berala.

You may note that through this account I have not mentioned my Mum. I can't remember her being with us - which she was in most future years even though I believe she didn't relish the crowded experience. I believe Mum must have stayed home to avoid expected heavy crowding.

A 1947 Florin- two shillings - known as "two bob" nominal equivalent of 20 Cents.Note the Australian Coat of Arms and the Profile of George VI "By the Grace of God"! (D.G.) King of All the Britains "Defender of the Faith"! (F.D.) Emperor of India.

1947 RELAXATION - MANLY BEACH AND A CULTURAL ICON PEEPING OUT

WITH MY DAD IN PITT STREET,SYDNEY 
OUTSIDE THE WATER BOARD HEAD OFFICE

 It may seem bizarre, but here I am with my Dad, going to the beach! Yes that was the way we and most others dressed for a casual day out! Did you spot the "Cultural Icon "peeping out? Take a close look at my beach bucket - made in good sturdy tinware - no plastics then. (There was Bakelite - widely used in the ever more popular mantel radios, but it was brittle and far from suitable for any knockabout purposes.) On the bucket you will see the reproduction of the bow of R.M.S. Queen Mary whose image wrapped around the bucket - what more could a boy want! 

"The beach", for us almost invariably meant Manly -"7 Miles from Sydney and 1,000 miles from care!"as the signs inside the stately, steam powered ferries used to say. I loved the trip! The ferries themselves were impressive to me with beach names like "Barrenjoey", "Dee Why", "North Head"and the latest and greatest was "South Steyne"- stories of her sailing out from England ( where else!) were listened to in awe, including the tales of the seating having been burnt when fuel ran low!!These steam ferries had engine rooms that were visible from the passenger decks - looking down onto the tops of the cylinders with glimpses of the great piston rods and the cranks of the driveshaft. Scent of steam, oil, grease, sounds of the engineroom telegraph bell, the hiss of steam and the mechanical throb of the thrusting pistons and turning cranks were all come together most powerfully and enchantingly for this little boy.

As is still the case, nature being what it is, the matter of boarding the ferry was always a changing task as the tides at Circular Quay or at Manly ebbed and flowed. There were pairs of short , simple wooden planks with guard rails on one side only - for the lower or main deck, and very large and heavy steel framed ramps on wheels which the wharfhands moved into place for the Upper Deck.

The scent of the sea water at the Quay was complemented by the salt on the "Smiths Crisps" which were an inevitable complement to the journey.I can taste them now. Calls of "Stand Clear!"and the boarding ramps were withdrawn, the faces of disappointed late arrivers littered the wharf.The engineroom telegraph gave its double ring and gracefully we began to move away as the last of the mooring ropes were being coiled down. Generally we stayed on the Starboard or right side, the better to see the naval vessels at Garden Island Dockyard which is still the largest Naval Dockyard in the Southern Hemisphere, and had and still has, the largest heavy lift crane in the Southern Hemisphere.

As we turned out of Circular Quay and headed East down the Harbour we passed on our right the red brick pile of Fort Macquarie which, its name not withstanding, was a large tram depot.( Someone later had the idea that this would make a fine site for an Opera House....and you know the rest!)

For all my later and continuing interest in the Navy and Naval Vessels, it is a cruel truth that I have no memory at all of the many USN, RAN and even RN ships of all sizes that I must have seen there. However I have a very clear memory of the Hospital Ship "MANUNDA" beautifully white with a green band around her hull and emblazoned with the Red Cross on her sides, passing our ferry on her way back to the war. I can still recall the appalled reaction of my parents when, having heard that "MANUNDA"was her name I, very pleased with my rhyme announced "The "MANUNDA"went under"!.Perhaps it was this audience reaction that led to my disinterest in poetry for very many years.

S.S. SOUTH STEYNE Just past the Heads and running in to Manly Wharf

We swept past the homes of the rich and famous and the next point of interest was the Rose Bay Flying Boat Base - the Flying Boats themselves were sometimes to be seen at their moorings, and joy of joys, very occasionally taking off or landing - quite a show!

Some of the older ferries- still quite large, had internally an opening from the midships section of the Main Deck from which we could look down into the Engine Room and see and hear the  great steam piston engines driving the swiftly turning cranked propeller shafts! Sights , sounds and smells to win a young boy's heart! O how I loved it! And I was continually torn between this great drama and the colourful and varied scenes we were passing and the scent of the sea itself!


A gentle turn to Port (left) around Bradley's Head where I was taught to observe the masthead of HMAS SYDNEY ( I ) and reminded that "the SYDNEY sank the (German) EMDEN"in WW I. No-one mentioned the too-painful mystery of the loss of HMAS SYDNEY ( II ), still unexplained at that time.

Then , by degrees we began to feel the influence of the sea as we ran by the Heads. At times this was almost a non event - a mere tummy tickle, but, at other times the effect could be challenging - everyone looking for a handhold and the occasional person being ill. As the ferry headed some of the heavier waves, water would spray on board , what fun!Sometimes it was necessary to cancel the services due to rough seas. Later, as a teenager, I used to wait for days when the seas were reported rough at the Heads, and go into town (the City) with a friend to make the exciting crossing of the Heads - "exciting"- but safe otherwise the Ferries would be cancelled!

But "all good things must come to an end"and all too soon we were past the Heads and gliding into Manly wharf.Then we walked off down the Corso past the intriguing string of Milk Bars, Fish and Chip shops etc. etc. to the Promenade which gave onto the beach backed by the tall and pleasant Norfolk Island Pines. Looking up to the right we saw the imposing sandstone bulk of St.Patrick's Seminary. There are several points of departure from this point - but I shall take them up on later occasions.

AUSTRALIA DAY! The warm of heart, the stout of hand,

To-day I re-post with some minor amendment, some thoughts on AUSTRALIA DAY which I have posted in previous years. Since our readers come from many corners of the globe and many have joined the company in the last year, it seems appropriate that they should know something about the Country that has nurtured this Blogger, the product of Irish, German and English ancestry, and his feelings and beliefs about it. It was originally written for, and remains dedicated to, the benefit of a very dear friend from Africa

Right now, as the new President of the United States of America is leading his Country back to its core values and traditions, it is equally a good time to reflect on what I love and value about my Country.

"No shackled slave can breathe the air"

AUSTRALIA

"CORE OF MY HEART, MY COUNTRY"

Today is Australia Day! I thank God for bringing me to Conception and Birth in this remarkable Country.

Not the most beautiful country in the world, not the strongest country in the world, not the leading country in the world. You can have all that.

My Country is a place of real freedom, of real peace, of frank and trustworthy folk, whose friendship isn't feigned. An open, generally trusting people who are nevertheless not too easily fooled. They abhor pretension and if they have a fault it is a desire to ensure that no-one rises too high - it is called the "tall poppy syndrome" - tall poppies get cut down to size!

AUSTRALIANS GATHERED AT ANZAC COVE GALLIPOLI  -   LEST WE FORGET

Australians are a pragmatic people, no doubt a product of the sometimes harsh extremes of weather, and the lack of almost everything except land in early colonial days. As a result, public discourse is not big on principles, but more on what will work. Our political system and legal system are born out of our English colonial origins. Our independence was sought and given, rather than fought for and won. We remain a constitutional monarchy, with the British Monarch's Governor - General (appointed on the recommendation of our democratically elected Government) as our Head of State, but our pragmatic nature makes the majority of Australians see that we are really and factually independent, and advocates of a Republic have been unable to gain traction. The system works - we pragmatists don't need to fix it.

AUSTRALIAN ICONS

Politically, we are fairly evenly divided between political Conservatives and a Labor based group. Each has had a fragile balance of power in the Federal sphere for most of the past decades but has been frequently rolled out of office at the next election. There is an underlying small "c" conservatism in the Australian psyche, which, combined with pragmatism, kills off such ideas as a Republic, identity cards, or anything that excites modern radicals.

One of the best summaries of Australia, the land, is contained in Dorothea Mackellar's 1904 poem "My Country”. It is a fine piece of work, addressed to many of the British citizens of Australia who, at the time it was written, would still speak of "home" and mean England! So it begins:

"The love of field and coppice,

Of green and shaded lanes,

Of ordered woods and gardens,

Is running in your veins.......................

I know, but cannot share it,

My love is otherwise.

I love a sunburnt country,

A land of sweeping plains,

Of ragged mountain ranges,

Of droughts and flooding rains............

Her beauty and her terror,

The wide brown land for me!

AYERS ROCK

An opal-hearted country,

A willful lavish land -

All you who have not loved her,

You will not understand,

Though Earth holds many splendors,

Wherever I may die,

I know to what brown country

My homing thoughts will fly!

AMEN to that!

Yet another lady, this time English - born Caroline Carleton, wrote in 1859 the Song of Australia which was set to music by the German Carl Linger. It won a competition sponsored by the South Australian Gawler Institute, for a patriotic song. It also has things to say, which merit attention, despite some of the flourishes of its time. It begins:

"There is a land where summer skies

  Are gleaming with a thousand dyes,

  Blending in witching harmonies, in harmonies;

  And grassy knoll, and forest height,

  Are flushing in the rosy light,

  And all above in azure bright-

  Australia!

BOUNTEOUS CROP IN WAKE OF DROUGHT BREAKING RAIN

........

  On hill and plain the clust'ring vine

  Is gushing out with purple wine,

  And cups are quaffed to thee and thine-

  Australia!                

  .........

  There is a land, where floating free,

  From mountain top to girdling sea,

  A proud flag waves exultingly,

  And freedom’s sons the banner bear,

  No shackled slave can breathe the air,

  Fairest of Britain's daughters fair,

  Australia!

I love it!  - Australia, Yes - But the Song of Australia too! Oh, I know it's more than a little over the top! But it has the spirit of my country. And any lady who can write about "gushing out with purple wine and cups are quaffed to thee and thine" has got my vote!

There is another patriotic song by Father Maurice Reilly C.M. Which is more subtle and substantive, which I also love, and which I first heard in First Class at my Convent School in 1946:

AUSTRALIAN NATIONAL HYMN

God bless our lovely morning land!

God keep her with enfolding hand

Close to His side.

While booms the distant battle's roar

From out some rude, barbaric shore.

In blessed peace forever more,

There to abide.

............

Land of the dawning! Lo! At last,

The shadows of the night are past;

Across the sea,

Is spreading far the purple light,

The lonely mountain peaks are bright,

And visions crowd upon the sight,

Of days to be.

"THE WARM OF HEART AND STOUT OF HAND"
CREW OF HMAS PERTH - LOST IN THE BATTLE OF SUNDA STRAIT
DEFENDING AUSTRALIA FROM THE EMPIRE OF JAPAN

The future is thine own, loved land,

The warm of heart, the stout of hand,

The noble mind,

Shall build a Nation truly great,

With Christ for King; where love not hate,

Shall be the charter of the State

To all mankind.

There is much more, all warm with faith in God and belief in Australia's promise.

PATRONISING  ENGLISH VIEW AT THE TIME OF FEDERATION!
THE AUSTRALIAN COMMENTS MIGHT HAVE SURPRISED THE CARTOONIST AND EDITOR

In fact, at the time of Federation, there was a widespread confidence in Australia's unique character and mission to show the world a new way of true freedom and peace and justice for all. It was a heady idealism, which sadly seemed to be overwhelmed by the tragedy of the First World War, the Great Depression, and the crusade of the Second World War. It still survives in wisps of spirit which are caught here and there. But it is largely lost to the national consciousness.

Let's not get too analytical - it is a day for Fair Dinkum CELEBRATION. With a very great deal to celebrate! We can save the “cerebration" for another day!

And so ,in company with my dear wife - “AUSTRALIA!” as Caroline Carleton would have exclaimed. Hmmmmm perhaps a wee drop of the JAMESON! - To honour those Irish ancestors!

MY GRANDAD'S MEMOIR - DISCOVERY, REMEMBRANCE AND REFLECTION

This post first appeared on 28th April, 2011. Since then the Edward Beckmann Blog has been renovated in order to make the reading of Grandad's original text easy, and to enhance the presentation.

My Maternal Grandparents, Louisa and Edward Beckmann

In early March I received from my long" lost "cousin Faye Beckmann, Email copies of an 81 page Memoir typed by my Grandfather Edward Beckmann in the early to mid 1950s. It had lain among the family papers of a deceased employer/friend of my Grandfather for over forty years after it was given to this gentleman to read. My Grandfather then died, and his former employer /friend died also and there it rested. The gentleman's son started examining the family documents some three years ago . Reading this substantial typescript , he quickly realised how greatly it would  be valued by my Grandfather's descendants. He succeeded in tracking down my cousin.She, through the much - maligned FACEBOOK found me, and through my Blogs "CONRAD BECKMANN"and "CARL DOPMEYER" ( respectively my Great Grandfather , a famous artist and my Great Great Grandfather a renowned sculptor and carver in his day) she realised my keen interest in family history.The Memoir is full of interest covering Grandad's early years in Germany, his adventurous youth in Germany, Poland, Hungary and back to Germany, his migration to Australia , the voyage, his Australian initiation in Melbourne , his settling down in Sydney , his marriage to the fair Louisa, the Bride with Orange blossom in her hair a la Queen Victoria ( who also married a German), his commercial disasters, his long but event filled service as a Railway Signalman and his reflections on his life and times.

To-day , after nearly two months of living with the Memoir and reading and re-reading it and researching leads it contained, I have completed reviewing the 81 pages, page by page in my Blog "EDWARD BECKMANN" : http://edwardbeckmann.blogspot.com.au/2016/04/an-innocent-abroad-my-memoir_22.html

. It has been a labor of love, but no less demanding a task for all that. It has been even more demanding , because various family members , noting the passing of the years, have urged me to "do something similar regarding my own life". . And that is how this present Blog came to be.I am loving the task of preparing and publishing it.

I had always regretted not being able to ask Grandad many things about his life, particularly in Germany. His Memoir answers many of those questions but raises many more - he does not give a thorough background or analysis of the family structure in Germany, but is content to refer to "Grandmother", "my relatives"etc as if presuming the readers' familiarity with everyone, or perhaps their disinterest. He says little about his Father's fame, nothing about his maternal Grandfather's ( my Great Grandfather's) fame. The whole is very rich in other detail nevertheless, even making it clear why he chose to come to Australia when most Germans and others were heading for the United States.

He goes into some detail about his life here, filling out detail of stories my Mother had told me about their persecution as "Germans"during the First World War, even though he had already been an Australian and "a British Subject"for ten years before the War started.There is in the whole work a great deal for anyone to reflect upon - about life itself, our treatment of each other and God's working in our lives for our greater good.

There are still research trails to be followed up from the Memoir and a Summary to be written for the Blog .

For me, the exercise has been a rich experience, and doubly so because I am now just a few years short of the age  which Grandad had reached when he was writing. So, in a lifetime sense, we have a similar point for viewing and reviewing. I only hope that my writing in my own Blog here, which may in time find its final form in a E - Book, will find as enthusiastic reader or readers in my descendants, as Grandad Beckmann has found in my Cousin Faye, her younger Brother Michael and me.

EDWARD BECKMANN is well worth a read I commend it to you. It also provides a great tribute to fidelity, love and respect in Marriage. 

.

1943 - 1945 GOING TO THE "PICTURES"(Later "The Movies" - NEVER "The Cinema")

                  The ARCADIA "Picture Show" at Lidcombe N.S.W.

The nearest "Picture Show"to our home in Berala was the Arcadia Theatre in Lidcombe - a slow thirty, or brisk twenty minutes walk away. There was a regular bus service stopping at the corner of our street, running between Lidcombe and Regents Park. The trains of course went from Berala(on the Main Southern Line) just one stop to Lidcombe - but we did not use them for going to "the pictures". After the show, the bus waited across the way outside the paper shop ( newsagent) next to the Post Office and always left packed full.

Mum and Dad always dressed up to go to "the pictures"and, since it would be past my bedtime, I was in my pyjamas and dressing gown - quite snug in the winter! At Interval after the Newsreel , a cartoon or two, and either a documentary (Lowell Thomas'Travelogues were regulars ( "And so we say FAREWELL to......") or a C Grade movie , Dad(sometimes with me ) would go out to one of the three "Milk Bars"one on either side of the "Picture Show"  and another across the road - his favourite "The Black Cat". We would have a milk shake and /or an ice cream and take something nice back to Mum in the "Picture Show" . The Milk Bars were very heavily crush-packed at interval, and were no place for a lady!.On odd occasions my older brother Pat would accompany us. He was thirteen years older than me, and not much interested in this little kid. The age difference was so great that I looked up to him at all times, though I know I would have welcomed some greater recognition from him. 

The show always commenced with the National Anthem(this was of course War time but I believe it had always been so.) That was of course, "God Save the King"( George VI - Father of the present Queen) the film backing it presented the rolling sea - everyone knew that Britannia ruled the waves - or as some wag later said, waived the rules- then the Naval Ensign was superimposed on the waves and the King's profile brought the whole to a resounding conclusion. EVERYONE stood! I felt proud and justified -we were going to beat those baddies!

We usually sat in the left hand front section toward the back ( come to think of it we still do that to-day).The  second rear section sloped gently back to the entrance doors from the Foyer. Years later when I went to "the pictures"on Saturday Afternoons with my mate Brien Dryden ( who lived opposite us) we usually sat in this area on the right hand side facing the screen.Some kids took advantage of the slope to release an occasional bounty of "JAFFAS"(Chocolate Balls coated with lurid Orange coloured glaze) toward the occupants on the flat area below. Most of the films we saw when the War was on were what we would now so loftily and superiorly call wartime propaganda. Of course our blokes, or the Poms or even the yanks had a tough time , but they ALWAYS came out on top of those nasty Nazies and evil little guys from up North. What else were you going to show people at risk of invasion? The rush to the EXIT was bad enough to catch the Bus - Heaven knows what it might become if people were shown how real the threat was!

My memories of those evenings at "the pictures"with my dear Mum and Dad are all fond, safe and happy - the simple joy of the childhood of those days.

It was in this same "Picture Show"that young , diminutive and beautiful Elsie Georgina Beckmann had met smart, good-looking John (Jack) Joseph Dixon , and had been attracted to him because he had, as she said later, "kind eyes".

1943-1945 CULTURAL ICONS

R.M.S. QUEEN MARY

As I grew up, my mental wallpaper in matters civic was without question British. The great icons , cause of our pride were British -  R.M.S.QUEEN MARY. the steam locomotive "FLYING SCOTSMAN", the world's "best"car the ROLLS ROYCE, British crockery, British manufactured goods. Why not! We were British weren't we ?

Of course as Catholics we were just a tad sceptical of the underpinnings of all this. We knew about the English repression of the Irish before Home Rule. And we knew that the establishment in Australia was largely anti- Catholic. We could handle all that. We just knew that everything that was best and good in civic life was British.Of course it was! All the books we had available were published and printed in England ( save for a very few - not popularly distributed- which were published and printed in Australia).Things and people British were "proper"and to be emulated. On the Wireless, the ABC (Australian Broadcasting Commission) announcers were selected for their rather prim, well modulated British accents.

All of this worked subtly to establish a cultural "client "mentality in most of the population.Many of us felt our cultural isolation and longed to travel "overseas"- but most of the time, this simply meant London or England more broadly.Travel overseas was 98% by ship , and the ships were British ( of course) and such shipping lines as P&O(Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company), Orient Line, Shaw Savill and Huddart Parker were household names.

Oddly, before the War there had been a great number of American cars on our roads . Names such as Chevrolet, Buick, Oldsmobile, Ford, Mercury, Willys,Dodge and De Soto were still quite familiar even though restrictions on U.S. currency transactions had long since stopped U.S. car imports. So our cars were Vauxhalls ( who could forget the glittering chromed flutes down the edges of the bonnets), Austins, Morrises,Rovers(Doctors'cars), Wolseleys,Triumphs,Hillmans, and the rarer Lancasters, Alvises, Armstrong-Siddeleys, Humbers , Lagondas, Daimlers( very big with the Royals) and Bentleys etc.

Still other considerations of English origin, re-inforced our above view of the world. Architecture was a leading factor in this way. Most public architecture had its origins at least in the Victorian era. So it was that Government Buildings were designed and constructed to suggest permanence, authority and strength. Other buildings like Banks had developed out of the experience of hard times past. There were usually friendly glass inner doors , but strong, forbidding outer doors - everyone had in mind the runs on the Banks in the Great Depression - only  11-15 years earlier. Windows were high by to-day's standards, further enhancing protection against external assault.

But beneath the surface, there were several subversive streams at work.There had always been American films, movies they called them.As the war effort grew these American films came to be more and more the true mainstream. Their ideas were quite different and...somehow, more ...exciting.The presence of American Soldiers, Sailors, Marines and Airmen in Australia greatly expanded the Americanised way of thinking.The failure of the British to come to our aid ( largely due to inability and the failure of what they did try) was commonly known and resented in reality, no matter what the reason. There was a fairly natural affinity between Americans and Australians based upon openness and a lack of British type Class pretensions. We were more like the Americans then, than we are now I think. That may seem paradoxical given to-day's very free communications. But whilst these modern communications have made our cultural links much stronger, they have, it seems to me, facilitated in each society a more rapid development of particular tendencies which are drawing us further apart in essence, if not in superficialities. Hmmm Getting a bit deep. Might try to come back to this later.

1943-1945 SIRENS AND SEARCHLIGHTS

Air Raid Siren

A monthly , or bi-monthly feature of life in suburban Sydney during World War II, at least in the vicinity of Berala , in what were then Sydney's Western Suburbs ( now the inner Western Suburbs!), was the sonorous wail of the Air Raid Sirens. As far as I am aware the Siren we heard was near the Park in Lidcombe - a brisk 20 minutes walk away. To me it was a marvellous bit of entertainment! We never believed that it could be a genuine air raid, not that that belief was based on any detailed knowledge of the disposition of Japanese Aircraft Carriers - we just knew we were going to be O.K. Similarly, but more irregularly, anti-aircraft searchlights would pierce the night sky - wonderful stuff causing people all around to run onto their verandahs or into their front/back yards to watch the show. There seemed never to be any aircraft around to give the exercise some semblance of reality, and very rarely a second or third searchlight to allow co-ordination exercises.

We had in our backyard a large hole dug as an air raid shelter, but it seemed to me even as a child, somewhat half-hearted and incomplete, and it  was never taken seriously and as time wore on , it was filled in.

WW II Searchlight

The War, so dramatic in the films, and apparently serious in the papers - not that I could read them- was somehow at one remove from our day to day lives.  At least that was true for children like me.

1949 A LUCKY ESCAPE = GUARDIAN ANGEL ON OVERTIME!

                                                    1927 DODGE TOURING CAR

Bear with me a little longer while I'm on this automotive theme.

My best schoolmate in Primary School was Brien Dryden who lived directly opposite our house on the other (Eastern) side of  Second Avenue. Our families knew one another very well, but never did things together as many neighbours do these days. Each of  our parents would speak to us about the other's parents using "Mr." and "Mrs" so , when we operated our little scam to get parental approval of something we wanted to do the dialogue went like this :

Me :  "Mum, if Mrs Dryden says its O.K., can we go to the Pictures to-day?  "

Mum : "Well, if Mrs. Dryden says its O.K. - Yes".

Dash across the street...

Brien: "Mum, can we go to the Pictures to-day? Mrs. Dixon says its O.K."

Mrs Dryden : "Well, as long as Mrs.Dixon says its O.K.. "

DONE DEAL! It could start on either side of the street, and worked very smoothly! should add that none of the projects proposed ever had any inherent risk, until one day... but even then it could not be known.

Mrs. Dryden had a sister named Isobel who had been married, but was divorced  - an extraordinary thing in my experience. But now she had a "boyfriend" - they were both in their late thirties/ forties and his name was "Brian". He was a big fellow tall solid in build, very pleasant without being "outgoing" AND he drove a 1927 Dodge Tourer. That was a big car, especially in comparison with the English cars that had come to dominate our roads in more recent years,when U.S. currency imports were strictly controlled. Brian offered to take Brien, me and I think Isobel's little son, for a drive to the City where he had some business to do. Parental approvals were secured by the usual means and all was ready.

Brian got out the crank handle,gave it a couple of turns and the engine started easily. I was seated on the back seat RH side. It was a magnificent position high and with firm leather seats, I felt great looking down on the world passing by. All went along well once we got used to the rather heavy noise from the gear box common in cars of that vintage, and the driver's busy footwork "" double de-clutching" whenever he changed gears - no synchro-mesh when this old lady was built. However, as we went down the back way towards Pyrmont and crossed Glebe Point Road we entered on the sharp downward slope and curve to the left. Brian was energetically hauling on the HANDBRAKE! "What's up??" We asked.

"Oh! the footbrake doesn't work -  so I have to change down gears and use the Handbrake !"( The brakes on a car of this Vintage were mechanical and not hydraulically assisted in any case) I may have been only  9  years old, but I knew that  was alarming. My feeling of mastery of the Universe in my high seated position vanished. As it happened,the journey, including the return leg was completely incident free.

We pulled up outside Brien's home and big Brian got out of the car and immediately crashed to the ground in an epileptic convulsion. In  a few seconds we got adult help from the house , and in due course the seizure passed and he recovered and rested. We went our separate ways rather badly shaken...what if....only 30 seconds earlier? Mum was horrified at what might have been , and that someone knowing he was epileptic would drive, let alone take a group of children along when he did! The story of the brakes only compounded  the problems. It was obvious I owed my Guardian Angel a huge debt!

But it was a grand car!

CLOSE YOUR EYES....THINK ABOUT WHEN LIFE WAS SIMPLE

My Childhood Home - Picture taken in 1960s can be dated by TV Antenna
Which definitely puts it after the introduction of TV in 1956 and we did not get a TV until about 1961
AND my car a second hand 1961 VAUXHALL CRESTA ( Panoramic Windscreen! Leather Upholstery and a Radio !!!), so I think this is about 1964/65. 

When life was simple......for most children, little children that is, life is simple. It may be delightful,dull,harsh, even, hurtful but it is usually simple, due to the limitations of the little child's developing brain. A piece of cake can induce ecstasy, a teaspoon of peas may induce reactions of tragedy.

My pre- school years were mostly centred around my parents of course and lived out in our small , two bedroomed home pictured above. I was not conscious of being in any way deprived . I was always well-fed with the prudent necessities of food and regularly enjoyed delights beyond the necessities - including Mum's sponge- cakes: from time to time  true delights.

The weatherboard ( what Americans call "clapboard "I believe), house had a corrugated iron roof, which could produce a not unpleasant noise when rain was soft, but was  totally deafening in heavy rain, let alone hail. It did not look the way it does in the photo ( taken in the late 1960s) . The house had been built in the mid 1920s , and when I was very young we did not yet own it.In those early 1940s its paintwork looked more than a little tired, the front fence was in need of repair, there was no concrete driveway (and as I have said, no car in any case), the double gates for car entrance were wooden , and not well built so that they sagged and had to be lifted to open. Of course there was no TV aerial seen in the photo. That came several years after the introduction of T.V. in  1956, around 1959 I think .

My Dad worked Shiftwork in those years at the Garden Island Dockyard.In fact he worked Shiftwork even when he later worked for the Metropolitan Water Sewerage and Drainage Board at nearby Potts Hill Pumping Station and later at Ryde Pumping Station for the few years before his retirement.Dad's Shiftwork meant that he was not as significant a factor in my bringing up as he might otherwise have been,He worked Morning , Afternoon and Night Shifts in weekly succession with a break of about four days at the end of each cycle. Night Shift was the worst week for me because Dad left home about 7.30 to 8.00 p.m. to start at 9.00 p.m. When he arrived home about 6.00 - 6.30am he went straight to bed and would not be up until about 2.00 p.m. This meant "SHHH!Remember Dad's asleep!" Echoing in my ears whenever I wanted to do anything amusing.Especially in the small house with its timber floors and linoleum floor coverings of the time.
I subsequently learned that the War had prevented us enjoying a lot of things such as chocolates, sweets and soft drinks, and Ration Books ruled the domestic economy - a Socialist's heaven. But now and then Dad's work at the Dockyard paid off. Servicemen were not denied these little luxuries and some were happy to trade their issue or sell it. So, coming off Night Shift and arriving home as I was having breakfast he would often reach into his pocket , and with feigned surprise "find"a small bar of chocolate or some other treat for me.

Dad used to travel to and from Garden Island by a workers Ferry from Circular Quay, then walk to or from Wynyard underground Railway Station to home. At Circular Quay on the Eastern Corner of Pitt Street was Plasto's "SHIP INN"a regular port of call and centre of "devotion"on his way home. Each year we used to have brought home the large format Calendar of the "SHIP INN" which always featured large black and white prints of sailing ships that had frequented Sydney Harbour and in many cases, Circular Quay itself.
Afternoon Shift was not so bad family wise,. Dad left after an early Lunch and got home about 11.00 p.m.
Morning Shift was almost like a normal family , though Dad was gone before I got up he was home in time for Dinner or "Tea"as we always called it ."Dinner"was the Lunchtime Meal.

My Mother was the constant loving presence, the true "hub"of the little family. For my Dad, though he was never cruel or harsh, was not good at any display of affection. I have no recollection of him hugging me, lifting me up or kissing me.It was a not uncommon phenomenon amongst men of the time as literature now shows.( Indeed the Poet James McAuley in the poem "Because"relates the extreme case of his own father :

"Having seen other fathers greet their sons,
I put my childish face up to be kissed
After an absence. The rebuff still stings."

Mum, God bless her, was the very model of loyalty, love and kindness , thinking always of others, ever ready to blame herself for whatever went wrong. Dad's mealtimes were always rigidly observed as if by the most sacred Rubrics. And it didn't matter if this meant her getting up in the depths of Winter to get his breakfast at some ungodly hour when dawn was still a long way off, or having a very late Dinner on the table when he came home at 11.00 pm on the relative Shift. When he came home at night she always had the external light at the back burning bright "to welcome him home".

We all dressed simply, Wartime Clothing Rations ensured that was the case.But there was always a set of "Best"clothes for going out, which would mean perhaps a visit to Grandma Beckmanns (interesting - I typed that automatically, but that was what I called it - Not Grandma & Grandad Beckmann's)or to nearby Auburn which had several important shops, or further afield to Burwood , Parramatta Road to the North and Liverpool and Canterbury Roads to the South .Then again there were trips, sometimes weekly, to the City.

My brother Pat did not feature largely in my life. He was born in 1929 , and so was 11 when I came on the scene, During the War-years he was completing his High School to 3rd Year and then went off to work - not exactly the years he might want to be involved with a baby brother. But in any case I have no memories of him at that time. Interesting really, in later years when his life started going wrong, he would always, or often anyway, reproach Mum & Dad for his shortcomings with the refrain : "He (me) was always the favourite"  now that I reflect on it, I wonder how far back his resentment went . Maybe the arrival of baby me was to him wholly unacceptable. Mum and Dad always spoke of Pat having been "spoiled" by Grandma Dixon and the Aunts and Uncles around in Third Avenue. Even to the extent of giving him a pushbike Mum and Dad had said he couldn't have; whatever he couldn't get at home, he got at Grandma's.Ah, well....

Almost all of my toys were War themed. My pride and joy was a sheet tin toy  - a tank with a little plane attached to it by a wire arm. When you wound the tank up it would go along and the plane would rise up on its wire arm until the tank shot at it with friction sparks! There were the usual lead soldiers and I had a small fort which I think was desert/Foreign Legion themed.Later there was a very small HORNBY most basic wind-up train Red Engine and two carriages I think and a simple circle of track. When Santa came at Christmas he left my few presents in a Pillow Case always left at the foot of my bed for his convenience and he was always provided with a hefty chunk of Mum's delicious Christmas Fruit Cake and a small bottle of Beer! Good old Santa!

So, I had a very nice early childhood thank you Mum & Dad. Whatever your troubles, and photos show the strain of those post Depression War years, you did not let them get to me - models of parental care - thank you!

P.S. I used to play in the dirt under the house when I could, building roads and dirt houses, but always close to the side which in later years had the driveway, the Northern side which let the Sun shine in there. I discovered my brother's much earlier diggings under there too - gave the effort something of an archeological flavour. The discovery of some Red- Back spiders later made the spot forbidden.

STIMULATED BY LIBRARY EXPERIENCES

Long before my time - the Western side of the Queen Victoria Markets as it was originally known, the York Street frontage looking South to the Town Hall.

Also long before my time- the Assembly Hall Building on Margaret St viewed from across York Street .The picture evidently taken from near the entrance to the present Wynyard Station..The picture is full of interesting detail, note the early 1800's residences next door.These are occupying the site where new buildings were to later receive as tenants the USIS LIBRARY and the always exotic ( in my youthful mind )PFAHLERTS HOTEL. Note also in the R.H. corner the paling fence(!) - this suggests that the "cut and cover"excavation and construction for Wynyard Station had begun ( early 1920's).

Yesterday's post "1955 -1956 LIBRARY EXPERIENCES"stirred up a few quite varied thoughts:

THE QUEEN VICTORIA BUILDING

For all of my childhood and youth, the QVB stood virtually empty, save for the City of Sydney Library and their Cellar at the Northern end and a few shops and a Cafe on the George Street frontage. Access to the interior was not available to the public.

The great building, originally the Queen Victoria Markets, had not been a commercial success and , no doubt, the Great Depression finally set the seal on that. So it stood there like a great sandstone question - "what will you do with me?". There were many answers as I was growing up - most of them not respectful. Like its rival Melbourne, Sydney lacked, and still lacks , a fitting civic Square ( Melbourne's recently fabricated "Federation Square" still doesn't fill the bill and is just an eyesore.) Numerous "visionaries" wanted to demolish the QVB to create a Civic Square beside the Town Hall!Fortunately the inherent good sense of Sydneysiders of the time rejected the idea. Besides, the suggestion crystallised in the public mind the thought that we really liked and admired the old girl, We just needed to find a suitable use for her! Urban shopping was evolving and in due course, that evolution and the QVB's potential crossed paths.

To-day the QVB with improved access via a Tunnel to Town Hall Station and under George Street at either end of the building, has created a pulsing, vibrant shopping heart thronged by local and overseas tourists alike.It is always great fun for a wander  each time we return to Sydney for a visit. The Metropolitan Museum of Art Shop on the top level is always a favourite and on several occasions our daughter Justine has taken us to High Tea in the grand restaurant in what was originally a Ballroom on the upper level at the Northern end.

MARGARET STREET

The sandstone houses in Margaret Street in the photograph above, were typical of houses of the vintage of 1840 onwards that were still common around Sydney into my early twenties  and could still be spotted here and there in one or two place until much later, I am thinking of Castlereagh Street near Park Street for example. Earlier a very nice group on the corner of Phillip Street,King Street and Macquarie Street was demolished to make way for the ugly multi storey Courts Building.

LIBRARY IN MY POCKET?

Reflecting on those Libraries and their influence on my development, I came again to marvel at the phenomenon of the Kindle 3G E Reader which holds thousands of books in the size and weight of a small paperback, and offers the capacity to search in a particular book or across its whole library and make notes! The impact of this on my work will be brilliant, when I realise my goal and get one. How much more brilliant for a student in secondary studies  and tertiary studies. No doubt many not limited to a Retiree's means will even have the greater capacities of an I Pad! The acceleration in the rate of learning should be immense - but what of the depth of learning?Will they use the full potential of the E-Reader? Or simply skim further and faster?

Despite all the advances in technology, and the changes in the patterns of teaching, it is surprising how little many young people to-day know about history, even the modern history of our own society.And relatively few seem interested to find out.