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.

PULL UP YOUR SOCK DAD!

JOHN JOSEPH DIXON (L of Photo) around 1911
WITH HIS MOTHER        & ALBERT (R)
AND BABY BROTHER BILL WHOM DAD GREATLY ADMIRED

To-day ,Wednesday 11th May, 2016 is the Twenty Fourth Anniversary of my Father's death just three weeks short of his 85th Birthday. He survived the death of my Mother by almost 21 years .

Sent to work at age 11 years in a metal foundry, he had a pretty tough life.

HERE, IN 1927 DAD LOOKS LIKE THE TYPICAL YOUNG BANKER OR CIVIL SERVANT
WHICH HE WAS NOT, HE ALWAYS WORKED IN BLUE COLLAR OCCUPATIONS

His life experience together with his local social network, made him a lifelong Labor Party voter. He persevered in this even after he said he was convinced that the Labor Party was riddled with Communists whom he despised - he just could not bring himself to desert the "working class party". And in fact he did see the world and the nation in those Victorian era Class terms.

My Dad was born a Catholic and educated in a Convent School, but for long periods did not practise his religion. Yet when his "kind eyes"won the heart of Miss Elsie Georgina Beckmann a petite and beautiful,modest girl from a devout Evangelical Protestant family , he required that they be properly married in the Catholic Church. Miss Beckmann was instructed in the Faith and duly became a Catholic, and they were married in 1927.

To-day's cynicism might suggest that he was being hypocritical. But in those days people were honest about doing wrong  - he knew it was wrong not to practise his religion, but he also knew that there are absolutes of such importance that you don't abuse them : he would not betray his Religion, even if he did not practise it - that Truth was bound to him for life.

When I was born, Dad was 32 years old ,he was never unkind to me, but not outgoing or physically demonstrative of his love. ( The Poet James Macauley writes powerfully of his own Father's inability to physically express any affection.) He worked on the construction of the great Garden Island Graving Dock, for the Navy. This was a protected employment category, which stopped him being sent on labour battalions to Darwin when he received the call-up. He could not be in the regular forces because of faulty eyesight resulting from an accident at the Foundry when he was about 13 yrs old.

As I grew up, all my interests were largely alien to my Dad except Politics, and even then we were on opposite sides of the fence!Only after many years did  I hear that Dad was very proud of my progress in Banking  and in other areas and used to regale his regular drinking mates at the hotel in Lidcombe with my latest efforts. We almost never got to talk at any length on  any subject , conversation being limited to brief exchanges of statements never pressed too far lest the heavy crunch of disagreement should wreck things.

Dad worked hard all through his life, and for most of my life after the War, he worked in the hot dirty atmosphere of Potts Hill Water Pumping Station , which he rode to and from on a bicycle in light and dark ( for he was a shift worker) and in summer heat and driving rain.It was about a twenty minutes bike ride each way.

In my twenties and thirties , I could of course, perceive all my Father's faults with clinical efficiency, whilst making every allowance for any tendency  to deficiency on my own part. As the years went by my Dad evolved, particularly after he came to see the devastating effect on my Mum's fragile mental health following a Hysterectomy. He came to see in time how cruel was the effect of stubborn,sullen silences - sometimes lasting 3 days - over some exaggerated "offence", on someone so vulnerable. He was transformed.

He also returned to the practise of the Faith which was very pleasing to see and took great delight in his three grandchildren, Marianne, Justine and Matthew and never ceased urging me to look after my wife!

But still he could not freely and easily communicate either emotions or ideas.Whether or not this disability stemmed from the treatment he received from his brutish and drunkard Father, I cannot say for sure, but if I were a betting man......

Dad's later years were plagued by troubles with his heart - suffering from an "enlarged heart"which caused recurring build-ups of fluid around the heart, these required repeated hospitalisation to relieve them but there could be no cure.

In fact he had just successfully completed one such routine and was about to be released when he suffered a heart attack and died. The Catholic Chaplain to the Auburn Hospital where Dad died was quickly on the spot to minister to  his poor body and pray for his soul. His name was Father Stephen Swift and I was most impressed by the card he left endorsed with all that needed to be done to ensure a proper Catholic burial - for he knew nothing of the family.

We were living in Brisbane at the time and I received a call from my Brother Pat telling me of Dad's death and saying that the Hospital  wanted to perform an autopsy. I was on the first plane down next morning and went straight to see the Doctor in Charge -  a young Asian gent. He was prompt to offer condolences and almost as prompt to proffer a form authorising an autopsy for signature. When I objected that they clearly knew the cause of death, and that  this was unnecessary, the form quickly disappeared into the pocket of his white coat. I informed him that after the long periods of my Dad's health problems, I did not want his body used for training purposes. This is a matter which I believe the Hospital handled very badly to say the least.

1947 WITH MY DAD IN PITT STREET SYDNEY

So John Joseph "Jack"Dixon I love you dearly and hope we have the opportunity to understand each other far better in Paradise.My prayers for the repose of your soul and of Mum's are daily made, because time is irrelevant in eternity.

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

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.

*1944 THE WAR AT SEA COMES HOME

H.M.S. Repulse British Battle cruiser ( in 1916) sunk with H.M.S. Duke of York Battleship on 10th December, 1941, when attacked by 350 Japanese land based Aircraft.The giant ships had been sent without escort to shore up defences in the East.

The war at sea was very much in the mind of Australians during WW II - and rightly so. The phrase "tyranny of distance"had yet to be coined, but if any phrase covered our situation it might have been "splendid isolation" - so that our safety depended on sea power, and our Royal Australian Navy was fairly large in relation to our small population of only 3.5 Million.Even so, given our enormous coastline, it was really inadequate and we relied heavily on our "great and powerful friends""Mother"Britain and our American "cousins".

As time would tell, "Mother"did not succeed in "coming to our aid"until the show was almost over and the British Pacific Fleet was formed late in the war. It was not lost on the Australian public that Australian ships, soldiers and airmen had , from 1939 served with the British throughout the European and North African theatres.The bulk of them were not withdrawn until the Japanese threat was revealed.

But the War at Sea came home to Berala in 1944. My brother Pat finished his secondary schooling at Marist Brothers 'Lidcombe in 1943 at the end of Third Year as was the custom for most young fellows of the time - very few went on to Matriculate and go to University. The famed Parish Priest of Lidcombe was Father Lloyd who was a legend in Sydney for his ministry to the Boxing fraternity. He was equally famous in the Parish of Lidcombe for getting young fellows leaving school at the Brothers ' jobs. The Great Depression never really ended in peacetime and getting jobs was a tough assignment. Well, Father Lloyd did it regularly , and he got young Pat Dixon a job with the American owned JANTZEN ( "the Trademark is the Jantzen Diving Girl"said the jingle on the wireless) swimwear factory out on Parramatta Road, Lidcombe as a machine mechanic apprentice.This suited the young 16 years old for some months, but in 1944 he got the idea in his head that he wanted to join the Navy.

And so the War at Sea came to our home. By this stage of 1944 it was clear that we - the Allies- were winning the war and that nothing could reverse that trend.( In fact I grew up with the moral certainty that we would win the War , and except at the end of 1941 in the East, and a little later in Europe, I gather that was the case with adults as well.) My Mum and Dad were firmly opposed to their 16yrs old Pat, who had a good job, going needlessly into the Navy. The battle was largely engaged in the evenings , after I had been put to bed.The salvos were then fired back and forth. Sometimes pleading, sometimes angrily on either side. This went on for weeks it seems to me.It was so memorable because ours was normally a very peaceful household. Then a decisive intervention took place. Pat's boss at JANTZEN, a very nice fellow apparently , with the exotic name of Andy Ortega - himself an American I think, wrote a letter to Mum and Dad saying how pleased he was with Pat's work and what a bright future he had with JANTZEN, and urging them not to consent to their son enlisting (a  consent that was necessary for anyone under 18yrs). That put Pat's case back several paces and steeled Mum and Dad's resolve. I have an idea that Brother Loyola, the tough little Headmaster at Lidcombe was also pressed into service on Mum and Dad's side at some stage. Finally it was over. The family was to have no association  with the Navy. At least, not until I joined the R.A.N. Reserve in the 1960's.But that is another story.