CHILDHOOD 1940s FEEDING THE FAMILY

22 SECOND AVENUE, BERALA

Okay! Okay! So you're very clever and you've already latched on to the discrepancy !! 1940s in the heading but the TV Antenna shows the picture is after 1956 -first transmission of TV in Sydney and after about 1959 in our case, when we first got a PYE TV set. Oh! And you've noticed the oval Stop light lens and fins on the Vauxhall Cresta I bought second hand (1963 Model) in about 1967 (?) Go to the top of the Class and please sit quietly while I get on with the story.

In those War time 1940's when I was a little bloke and had blond hair ( why does our hair keep changing colour? Blond, Brown, Grey - oh well!) there wasn't a lot of money around but enough to feed us fairly well.

Things were delivered to the door, the Milkman with his Horse (! True!) and Cart came plodding by very early in the morning taking the Billy Can from the Front Verandah filling it from the Tap on the back of the Cart pressing the lid home and returning the full can to the Verandah. If we wanted cream a note was left with the Billy and the "Milko "would leave a litle tubby jar with a waxed cardboard sealing lid.Once a week we would leave out the Milk money in cash of course with that day's Billy. Exciting Huh?

Later each morning the Baker (the word being suitably short did not need a familiar abbreviation) would drift along the street in his little red Ford Van (English Ford of course Vintage about 1934) and there was variety yes indeed there was! You could have white bread or nothing, and you could choose a Square Loaf or a Round Loaf (Now called High Top) . Boy! How I loved the smell of that hot fresh bread (the bakery was only a block away and Brand Name bread was unknown.In the early 1950's we really got with it and the Baker announced that he would be introducing Vienna Milk Loaf to his product range.

My favourites were the convex first slices of the newly broken Square or Round loaves - that was living! Especially with Cheese ( which only ever came into our house in the pale blue KRAFT box which in latter years we would never deign to buy- muttering insulting words like "soap!"

Less often, perhaps twice a week the ""Ice Man "came to refill the Ice Box . It resembled a small wooden ( if your imagination is that good) refrigerator with a smaller top box for the block of ice and a larger section underneath it for the food to be chilled - not a great deal of room - for milk, meat .butter etc.The whole thing was only about 4 feet high. 

Of course, during the War years, what one could buy was closely controlled by Rationing Laws which the Labor Government tried to keep on even after the War.This was part of the reason for its ultimate fall. Rationing affected such things as Meat, Flour, Sugar, Clothing and Petrol and many more. The Ration Book gradually crept into my consciousness as I saw Mum struggle with it in the nearby "Corner" Grocer Shop and Butcher Shop. The Coupons from the book would often be shared with and from relatives in cases of particular need.
 The Grocer's Shop was not overly large . All the stock was behind the Left Hand and Right Hand Counters. Packaging of goods was minimal, and many things were bought from bulk containers the weighed in the hanging "Daytona" scales or on the Benchtop Weighing Scales by the same manufacturer in the USA. We went to the Grocer's and Butcher's shops with "string bags" (in effect a net forming a moderate sized bag and usually a wicker bag with a plywood base. As I got older , I came to these shops with a note from which I did the shopping.And from time to time I would run errands for my Grandma Dixon around in Third Avenue  who could not get out because of her illness.

Then, in the dawning of a new age, we obtained a Hallstrom "Silent Knight"gas refrigerator, which stood on four legs and caused a frenzy of home ice cream making for a year or so. It was later replaced by an American made Crosley Electric Refrigerator, marvellously well made which lasted until Dad's death on 11th May, 1992.

CHILDHOOD - THE CAMERA AND THE TRUTH

1947  - ME IN KHAKI SHORTS WITH MUM & DAD
AT THE BACK OF OUR WEATHERBOARD HOME

When I retrieved this photo at the time I commenced this Blog, I found it to be very revealing. Now, I was already quite familiar with it. It had been around and accessible since the film had been developed ( how quaint that sounds in the era of the digital camera and the computer!). But now I really looked at it - as if for the first time!

We were "poor"! God bless Mum & Dad - I never knew it. At that time we rented the house at 22 Second Avenue, Berala. Although Dad had re- painted it internally, externally he left it as the owner kept it. The house was not very old, dating from the immediate pre-Depression period. It was completed as I understand it,  in early 1929 and I believe Mum and Dad and my elder brother Pat were its first tenants.

But "poor"or not, Mum and Dad had that fierce working class self-respect of the time, that ensured that we always "scrubbed up "well when we went out - as the picture of me and my Dad in Pitt Street, Sydney also in 1947 shows. We were photographed by one of the many street photographers who, with their trim Leica 35mm cameras, abounded in immediate post War Sydney.

With my  Dad in 1947 outside the Metropolitan Water Sewerage and Drainage Board's  Head Office in Pitt Street Sydney. Note my Beach Bucket(tin) with the image of the "Queen Mary"on it and Dad's Gladstone Bag 

Either photo, taken by itself would tell a very different story.

Again, when I look closely at the first photo , I am distressed to see how completely worn and even ill, my poor Mum looks. She may in fact have been suffering the problems that led to her having a hysterectomy in about 1951. I knew nothing of these things  until Mum was hospitalised at Saint Joseph's Hospital in nearby Auburn for the operation.

Later still in 1954 the owner of the house died and  the Real Estate Agent came to our home to tell us that the place was to be auctioned. I was there and I can recall Mum being quite upset thinking that we might have to move. The Agent wasn't a bad fellow . He carefully explained the process , stating that he would be standing at the top of the steps on the front verandah, and that bidders would be at the bottom of the steps - "Don't worry he said , there might not be many and I will not call out too loud!"

As it happened, the market then was very quiet it seems. Although there were a few curious neighbours , there were no bidders and the property was "passed in"at auction. So Mum and Dad were able to negotiate to purchase the place for 800 Pounds with the aid of a loan from my maiden Aunt Nell to whom Mum and Dad had always been very kind.

In due course Dad, now a home owner set to work and, totally through his own labour, transformed the property: clearing the blackberry infestation from the Northern side and laying a concrete driveway from the new wrought iron gates he installed,replacing the front fence ,  adding a new kitchen and laundry, closing in the rear verandah , re-furbishing the bathroom and installing first a gas heater at the bath and later a hot water service for the whole house  and finally he opened out the Lounge Room onto the Dining Area freed up by the new kitchen. It was an extraordinary effort for a part time amateur. In the course of those works over the years we went from an Ice Box  to a gas Refrigerator ( Silent Knight brand) to an American Crosley Electric Refrigerator. And the hand operated wringer on the Laundry concrete tubs gave way to a barrel shaped Simpson Electric Washing Machine ( Agitator type) later replace by a Hoover. And finally the clothes lines stretched across the backyard gave way to a Hills Rotary Hoist which was ultimately supplemented by a an electric Clothes Dryer. He also re-roofed the house and re-painted it externally.There seemed to be no practical project he would not put his hand to, and he never failed to achieve a good result. Well done that Dad!
Alas the "practical genes"did not get through to me!

Most of this transformation took place in the second half of the 1950s - a time of great prosperity in Australia as the country found its feet and recovered vigorously after the War under the brilliant Menzies Coalition Government  which ruled for 23 years. The Great Depression and Wartime Austerity were shaken off completely and a new self- confident era  evolved.

In this period we were certainly no longer "poor"  by anyone's standards, rather we had become inhabitants of the burgeoning lower middle class in our lifestyle, and as I came into my 20s I felt few direct inhibitions to my progress in life. Though it must be noted , that given their own backgrounds, my dear Mum and Dad were not so well placed to advise me.Not that it would probably have been possible at that age , when I of course knew everything.   

1957 A NEW BEGINNING "THEIR OWN PRE-OCCUPATIONS"

HOME AGAIN

"Their own pre-occupations” indeed.

I did not have long to dwell on these subjects before I arrived home to some shocking news.

My Dad had lost his eye to Glaucoma which is a buildup of fluid behind the eye. Nothing had been said to me, no inkling of this was given by letter. Lest it should cause me to return home! Or lest it should disturb my mind! What amazingly selfless action on the part of my Mum and Dad, who in the first instance had not wanted me to go. They had endured this traumatic event with their own quiet stoicism. The event had been entirely sudden and without warning. Dad had been riding his bike the several miles up to his work at Potts Hill Pumping Station along the road toward Bankstown, one evening for the Night Shift. He had worked at Potts Hill for many years since the War. It was then steam powered by coal-fired boilers and he was an Engine Room Attendant - hot, dirty work. A sudden stab of intense pain in the eye caused him to fall from his bike. He thought a passing car had thrown up a stone and struck him. By sheer grit he got himself to the Station where help was called and at the Hospital the Doctor gave him the grim news. The operation was prompt - his left eye was gone- replaced by a temporary glass eye, until a tailor made "eye" could be prepared.

This permanent eye had not been produced, when I arrived home, the whole trauma was not much more than a week or so old.

MY DEAR MUM & DAD A VERY INFORMAL PHOTO EARLY IN THE MORNING
ONCE ONE KNOWS THE DIFFERENCE AROUND DAD'S ARTIFICIAL EYE (HIS LEFT) CAN BE DISCERNED

I have endless admiration for the courage with which Dad dealt with this distressing development. I never once heard him complain or ask for consideration in any way, yet the disorientation, inconvenience and no doubt pain and discomfort must have been immense. Jack Dixon was made of steely stuff!

Not many days after arriving home, I was to receive another shock. I said to Mum and Dad that I had better go around the block into Third Avenue and visit Grandma's house (as we still called the former home of Dad's Mother who had died in 1948. I wanted to see my maiden Aunt Nell (Ellen) and Dad's Brother Bill particularly. Under the terms of Grandma's Will, the house was to be a home for the two unmarried people as well as Grandma's Brother Tom "Wingy" (for his withered arm-result of a childhood accident) and Abby (Albert) who, for all his constant presence in the family in my childhood days, I do not understand his relationship. Dad's Mother only had two children, my Dad and his younger brother Bill. Her husband, my Grandfather was a sometimes violent alcoholic and had not lived in the family home for years. Grandma had taken in a number of "strays" including her brother Tom, Abby, my maiden Aunt Nell (daughter of Grandma's other Brother Jack whose wife had died giving birth to Nell - during or after the First World War he re-married to an English woman who would have nothing to do with the daughter of his first wife) Grandma also took in two sisters Thelma (Joan) and Anne who were relatives in some way, but from the country- around Goulburn I think.

But I digress (in grand style!) So I walked around to the old house at 34 Third Avenue. It was a rambling old 1890's house built in several stages. I was chatting to Nell in the kitchen when in walked Abby. I was appalled and horrified to see that there was in his neck a large hole. When he breathed or attempted to speak, the most ghastly noises resulted. I felt physically sick, my mind was reeling. The poor fellow had, of course, had one of those distressing cancer of the throat operations which normally result in the person adopting the wearing of a special cravat. He was not the most sensitive of souls and had not yet been convinced of that necessity, though he was to do so not long after.

1911 MY GRANDMA DIXON WITH MY DAD ON THE LEFT  AND POOR ABBY ON THE RIGHT
DAD'S ONLY SIBLING, HIS YOUNGER BROTHER BILL IS ON GRANDMA'S KNEE
WHO ABBY WAS I DO NOT KNOW

There was no way I could "stay calm and carry on”, I could not get out of the place quickly enough and tried to make some pathetic excuse as I left. Not one of my more glorious moments.

When I got home, Mum and Dad were mortified that in all our pre-occupation with our own problems, they had forgotten to forewarn me.

Plainly, others had greater and more traumatic problems than I had.

As the days passed, the question of what I should now do came sharply into focus. Having planned and hoped for so many years to work directly for the Saviour of the World, all other things seemed like so much dross- all equally mundane and unimportant. But that was my choice. I wanted time to sort things out. But Mum and Dad were concerned that this would result in mere brooding and advocated that I should promptly seek work. The euphemistically titled "gap year" had yet to be invented. We could not have afforded it in any case!

At the end of Junior High School (Third Year in 1954) along with all my Classmates, I had undergone the State Government’s Vocational Guidance testing. This was obviously a fruit of the new "scientific age" and the limitless ambitions of modern Psychology, which, naively accepted, did so much to destroy many Religious Orders in the post Conciliar turmoil.

So I did all the marvellous scientific Rohrsach tests etc. staring into images of coloured circles to see what numbers I could discern, all the multiple choice questions and so on. I don't think we got to examining the entrails of animals- perhaps there wasn't time. Then I answered all the "cleverly designed" questions about what I would do if, and what I would choose if, to covertly discern my inclinations etc., etc. And, having laboured mightily, with careful analysis, the highly qualified Psychologist delivered himself of my Report and the judgment that I was suited, to "Arts, Law and Economics......really anything that you choose."

The wonders of Science!

My family had always voted Labor and so I had been brought up with an admiration for the Federal Government and particularly, Prime Ministers Curtain and then Ben Chifley. And occasional exposure to Frank Capra movies only reinforced those attitudes. On my own account, I had developed an admiration for the then Prime Minister the Liberal (in our own perverse way, by "Liberal" Australians mean "Conservative") Sir Robert Menzies.All of this, led to me in my immaturity, thinking that it would be good to work for the Federal Government. So I applied, sat for the examination, and was accepted and then appointed to the Bureau of Statistics!!! NOTHING COULD HAVE BEEN LESS APPEALING. Sure, it was adequately paid, secure and all that, but it was soul-destroying and brain-deadening and the published seniority lists rubbed in my face the vast numbers of people who would have to resign, retire or die before I could move up through the thousands of them.

The Bureau of Statistics was located near or perhaps in the same building as the large DYMOCKS bookshop, still in the same premises in George Street, Sydney, between King and Market Streets. My co-workers consisted of two Greek chaps in their forties, one quiet and pleasant, the other goggle-eyed, sex-obsessed and bitterly anti-Catholic. There was also a fat young Anglo fellow who considered himself a free thinker, but that did not seem to have been to any great purpose. The boss was a moustachioed ex-Army War veteran whom the others ( behind his back )regarded as a fool, and his contempt for them was pretty clear. I was on a train to nowhere.

I had gradually decided that I wanted to be a Lawyer and preferably a Barrister. This seemed to be a way to do good, to argue for what was right and to defend the innocent and all that. But my family could not afford to send me to University.

At the same time, my Dad recalled a friendship with a gentleman he greatly revered. A real gentleman that is, not abusing the term in any way. Mr Howsley Farnsworth, to whom I was introduced by Dad, was a very Senior Executive in the New South Wales Department of Railways administration.(The Railways have, in the intervening years undergone numerous ludicrous name changes and organizational changes, to give the appearance of real progress.)

RAILWAY HOUSE YORK STREET ABOVE WYNYARD STATION WHICH ALSO EXTENDS UNDER THE PARK IN THE FOREGROUND - IT WAS KNOWN AS "THE GREEN HOUSE" FOR OBVIOUS REASONS

The result of this happy introduction was that I was appointed to a clerical position in the Solicitor for Railways office in the Green House above the underground Wynyard Station in the heart of the City.

The Solicitor for Railways was one Sydney Burke, not an endearing character, and there were about 16 solicitors in the Office supported by about 12 Legal Secretaries and  5 clerks of whom I was the least. I had found a "home", or so it seemed.