1950s CHILDHOOD - SOCIAL REALITIES - WORLD WAR I

MOTHER'S MATE CALLS

I have tried to identify the point in my life at which I began to take the family, community and national memory of World War I seriously , so far without success. Perhaps in writing this post I shall stumble across it.

My earliest memories of the "idea"of the first World War are of images of rather absurd looking flickering figures walking in a jolting fashion in odd uniforms. There was always at my Grandma Dixon's  house among the large depressing photo portraits around the Lounge Room wall a young soldier, left profile ,eyes raised slightly as if gazing on some distant scene. I believe his name was Patrick Boyd and that he was my Grandma Dixon's brother who died in 1919,just after the War.The family spoke as if he had died because of the War, I have yet to prove that.I wonder now if his death had any influence on my Grandad's later heavy drinking and brutish behaviour.There was never any talk of him serving in that War.

Then too, I saw in many places War Memorials, most small with names I came to realise were the dead , inscribed below, and surmounted by a soldier standing at attention and resting on arms reversed , and in the heart of Sydney City the solemn Cenotaph which I always had learned to respect

SYDNEY CENOTAPH  DAWN SERVICE  ANZAC DAY

Even in my early teens,  as other histories more remote came to  attract my reading attention, World War I seemed to strike a stubborn streak in my mind - it was boring, old-fashioned, irrelevant. Perhaps this had something to do with the fact that my early years were spent in the midst of World War II still the great reality of my early teens, filling movie houses, books, magazines . Maybe it made World War I seem as it did. 

Do you know? I think writing in order to think something through, works. That was obviously it. 

Off on my first visit to Canberra ,the National Capital in  1957/58.
The diesel railcar set was the latest thing operating as the Canberra-Monaro Express.
Rail fans of the time spoke of its speed as low flying! Lol! I doubt it passed 80 mph.

But as time went on,WWII 's colours began to fade, and I visited our Nation's Capital Canberra for the first time. There I visited the great War Memorial, which at the time was still principally concentrating on World War I in its magnificent displays.Now, I began to understand the terrible reality of that "War to end all Wars", and what it had meant to the infant Australia and the World.

AUSTRALIAN WAR MEMORIAL, CANBERRA

Australia lost 61,966 Military Deaths or 1.38% of her total population of 4.5 millions at the time.
United States 116,708    "            "       "  0.13%  "  "     "            "        "  92        "       "   "    "  .

That visit drew the veil away ,the psychological barrier in my mind ,and I came at last  to rationally think  about the Great War. I was then about 17 and working for the Solicitor for Railways . I travelled to Canberra on my Railway Employee's once a year free Pass. I got more value out of that journey than I could have hoped for.

As the years have gone by, with the advent of television and growing publishing interest in World War I and then the arrival of the Internet ( how blessed we are to live in the Internet era!) my interest has grown and grown. And I have discovered Private Billy Wilson , my maternal Grandmother's brother , whom I knew had called his beautiful young sister "Doll's eyes", was blown to pieces at Armentieres.

And as if by magic, young Australians and older ones, are flocking to Anzac Day Services around the World each year in GROWING numbers at Gallipoli, Villers Bretonneux and now Fromelles. Just as I have , over the years come alive to that great tragedy,and its significance, so have many others and their children and their children's children.

Truly, of those who gave their lives, it can be said::

                                   'THEIR NAME LIVETH FOR EVERMORE"

MY DAD AND NOW IT IS TWENTY FIVE YEARS

AND NOW IT IS TWENTY FIVE YEARS

TWENTY YEARS HAVE PASSED 

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

To-day , Friday 11th May, 2012 is the Twentieth 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 notbetray 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.

In my twenties and thirties , I could 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.

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.

Posted 12th May 2012 by vexilla regis

1954 MY BROTHER UPGRADES - VESTIGIAL CHROMED FLUTES

                                                        1954 VAUXHALL WYVERN
                                            THERE WAS A SECOND VERSION WITH
                                                     A SILLY ABBREVIATED BOOT

In 1954 my older brother Pat bit the bullet and bought a brand new car. A Vauxhall of course, maintaining the link with his earler Tourer. He chose an Olive Green Vauxhall Wyvern which was the 4 Cylinder version of the car . I have very pleasant memories of the car. Which seemed to me at age 14 to be very pleasant and neat and quiet in operation.

It was an interesting offering from General Motors'U.K. operation. If you follow the design outline, it was a shrunken version of the Chevrolet "Fleetmaster"of 1948.

The shrinking process had its costs. It made the car look slightly "Dinky", especiially when there were still plenty of Chev. Fleetmasters on the street, since U.S. Dollar imports had been eased under the Liberal Government elected in 1949. The Vauxhall also looked small when compared to G.M.'s new Australian Car the Holden which had commenced production in 1948. It was yet another shrunken version of the Chev Fleetmaster - but not reduced as far as the Vauxhall.

Even though it featured still a divided windscreen, the Holden result was far happier in appearance than the Vauxhall which  by comparison looked relatively feeble . My brother had I think, been led astray from sensible choice by brand loyalty!

The saddest aspect of the Vauxhall design was the reduction of the traditional and iconic Chromed Flutes on the edge of the bonnet, to mere vestigial traces - the times were a'changin 'even then!

How different the world of automotive manufacturing is to-day! So many of the Brands of those days are gone, the companies that made them are gone and car designs have become truly international with only modest tweaking for vastly different markets.The high cost of developing and manufacturing a new model is now so high,  that economies of scale have had to be achieved even at the cost of mergers and acquisitions and co-operative deals that in the past would have been unthinkable are now routine. In recent years Ford has owned Jaguar, SAAB and VOLVO. VW has owned AUDI etc etc.

My brother's auto adventures continued so stay tuned. Then there have been my own....be prepared!

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.

CHILDHOOD 1947/48 A NO CAR FAMILY....UNTIL...

1928 Buick Business Coupe

Until 1947/48 my family was a no car family. Our neighbours on either side two houses either way were similarly bereft of mechanised wheels, as were the two houses across the street. We did not feel deprived or underprivileged .Mum certainly would never have considered learning to drive, and my Dad died aged 84 never having driven a car.

However, young and restless, my elder brother Pat who had been forbidden to enlist in the Navy in 1944, acquired his license to drive sometime in 1946/47 and after a heavy fall from a Harley Davidson Motor Bike he had bought , he decided he must have four wheels instead of two.He thus occasioned great parental relief. However there was great surprise and not a little consternation when he opened the double driveway gates ( rarely ever opened) and drove up the side level with the back verandah an IMMENSE Buick Business coupe of 1928.It was colossal and Mum was immediately convinced it was vulgar and ostentatious, my Dad had less to say and simply walked away . As for me , my opinion did not count and was not sought.......but that doesn't mean I didn't have one!! YES, YES, YES!!! I loved it  - it was a pale sky blue with dark blue mudguards - big broad mudgaurds and a looong bonnet ( strangely the "hood"to our American cousins) ending in a majestic radiator topped in that distinctive architectural Buick form with the characteristic ornate white "Buick "script on a blue enamel Badge. And topped off with a solid looking chrome radiator cap. The entire front end composition was set off by a pair of headlights each one worthy of a locomotive, and a pair of somewhat smaller parking lights , one at each bottom corner of the windscreen - a nice touch.. The cabin featured an upright windscreen and gave way to a curved boot ( American "trunk"- that at least made sense) lid which opened back to provide a "Dickie"Seat and the whole was concluded by another set of broad mudgaurds connected to those at the front by a set of serious running boards, This was a car to be reckoned with!

That proved to be too true. For my brother quickly started to complain about its reluctance to go around corners - weighing in at about 50% more than a large sedan to-day, and built about 25 years before power steering became common, it was apparently rather like steering a large ship . But Oh! how I would love to have the chance to drive that wonderful monster of a car!

Sadly, my young and restless brother tired of the steering battle and soon sold it , only to acquire..... but that is another story.

TWENTY YEARS HAVE PASSED

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

To-day , Friday 11th May, 2012 is the Twentieth 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.

In my twenties and thirties , I could 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.

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.

CHILDHOOD SOCIAL REALITIES - WORLD WAR I

CHILDHOOD        SOCIAL REALITIES OF WORLD WAR I

MOTHER'S MATE CALLS

I have tried to identify the point in my life at which I began to take the family, community and national memory of World War I seriously, so far without success. Perhaps in writing this post I shall stumble across it.

My earliest memories of the "idea" of the first World War are of images of rather absurd looking flickering figures walking in a jolting fashion in odd uniforms. There was always at my Grandma Dixon's house among the large depressing photo portraits around the Lounge Room wall a young soldier, left profile,eyes raised slightly as if gazing on some distant scene. I believe his name was Patrick Boyd and that he was my Grandma Dixon's brother who died in 1919,just after the War. The family spoke as if he had died because of the War, I have yet to prove that.I wonder now if his death had any influence on my Grandad's later heavy drinking and brutish behaviour. There was never any talk of him serving in that War.

Then too, I saw in many places War Memorials, most small with names I came to realise were the dead, inscribed below, and surmounted by a soldier standing at attention and resting on arms reversed, and in the heart of Sydney City the solemn Cenotaph which I always had learned to respect

SYDNEY CENOTAPH  DAWN SERVICE  ANZAC DAY

Even in my early teens,  as other histories more remote came to attract my reading attention, World War I seemed to strike a stubborn streak in my mind - it was boring, old-fashioned, irrelevant. Perhaps this had something to do with the fact that my early years were spent in the midst of World War II still the great reality of my early teens, filling movie houses, books, magazines. Maybe it made World War I seem as it did. 

Do you know? I think writing in order to think something through, works. That was obviously it. 

Off on my first visit to Canberra ,the National Capital in  1957/58.
The diesel railcar set was the latest thing operating as the Canberra-Monaro Express.
Rail fans of the time spoke of its speed as low flying! Lol! I doubt it passed 80 mph.

But as time went on,WWII 's colours began to fade, and I visited our Nation's Capital Canberra for the first time. There I visited the great War Memorial, which at the time was still principally concentrating on World War I in its magnificent displays.Now, I began to understand the terrible reality of that "War to end all Wars", and what it had meant to the infant Australia and the World.

AUSTRALIAN WAR MEMORIAL, CANBERRA

Australia lost 61,966 Military Deaths or 1.38% of her total population of 4.5 millions at the time.

United States 116,708    "            "       "  0.13%  "  "     "            "        "  92        "       "   "    "  .

That visit drew the veil away, the psychological barrier in my mind, and I came at last, to rationally think about the Great War. I was then about 17 and working for the Solicitor for Railways. I travelled to Canberra on my Railway Employee's once a year free Pass. I got more value out of that journey than I could have hoped for.

As the years have gone by, with the advent of television and growing publishing interest in World War I and then the arrival of the Internet ( how blessed we are to live in the Internet era!) my interest has grown and grown. And I have discovered Private Billy Wilson, my maternal Grandmother's brother, whom I knew had called his beautiful young sister "Doll's eyes", was blown to pieces at Armentieres.

And as if by magic, young Australians and older ones, are flocking to Anzac Day Services around the World each year in GROWING numbers at Gallipoli, Villers Bretonneux and now Fromelles. Just as I have over the years, come alive to that great tragedy, and its significance, so have many others and their children and their children's children.

Truly, of those who gave their lives, it can be said::

                                   'THEIR NAME LIVETH FOR EVERMORE"