

The 1950's - A Time to Grow

By Jon Peasey

Published by Peasey Publications

at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Jon Peasey

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Cover photo: Smithfield Public School - Classes 1 & 2 - Year 1951

Table of Contents

Preamble

Early Recollections

Smithfield

Primary School Days

Changes Afoot

Spot

Scouting Days

Starved

Sunday School Bus

Blackberries And Mushrooms

The Fort

Screaming Stump

The Outing

The Vegetable Gardens

Cave In

The Great Australian Dream

Great Escape

Lawson

The Water Hole

Going To The Flicks

Transition

High School Days

Family Tensions

The Paper Run

The Murder

Tragedy

Micro Midget

The Kart

Willy Willy

Epilogue

About the author

Preamble

The Bible tells us that, "To everything there is a season. And a time to every purpose under the heaven." (Ecclesiastes 3:1). Verses 2-8 lists 28 different occasions in life starting with "A time to be born..." A natural progression from being born is growing up, from a baby into childhood; then into a teenager and finally into an adult.

Cities and nations similarly go through growing phases. The 1950's ushered in a tremendous time of change; as Australia emerged from the post war years and began rebuilding for the future. Migrants flowed into the country from Europe. Factories churned out products, vainly trying to keep up with the demand for goods and services.

The housing industry was booming. Sydney looked to its western areas to house its expanding population. The 'baby boom' which began after World War 2 also fuelled the increasing demand for housing. Jobs were plentiful. The addition of migrants to the workforce allowed for rapid expansion in the manufacturing sector.

As the decade rolled on, outer western Sydney gradually changed from its rural setting and steadily became urbanised. The 1950's and 1960's manifested huge changes. The city of Sydney tried to keep pace with the expanding population's voracious appetite for new housing and infrastructure.

It was in this atmosphere of expansion, I grew up. I watched my home town at Smithfield emerge from its rural setting and transform itself into modern suburbia. As I grew from early childhood into my teenage years, the city of Sydney grew and expanded rapidly.

Some of my recollections of growing up in the 1950's are reflected in the various chapters. These chapters are organised in approximate chronological order. The incidents are real; the stories are based on actual events. Life in the early 1950's moved at a slower pace. As the decade came to a close, the pace of life started to pick up. The 1960's brought enormous changes to Australian society.

The 1950's: an era that moved us into 'rock and roll' and later evolved into the carefree 1960's.

Early Recollections

I was born Jon Ralph Endicott at Helenie Private Hospital, Church Street, Randwick in New South Wales, at 5:05 p.m. on the 31st October 1944. My birth weight was 6 pounds 2 ½ ounces and my height was 18 inches. My parents were Roy and Anne (Nancy) Endicott. I had brown eyes, fair complexion and a small birth mark on my upper left thigh.

My earliest recollections were living in Earl Street, Randwick. The earliest memory I have is being in a cot, and looking through the vertical wooden slats at my Mum and Dad. We lived in an old house with my uncle Jack Endicott, his wife Dulcie and their two small boys Terry and Alan. My nickname was "Spike" because my fine textured hair stood straight up. My sister Lynette was also born at Randwick.

We played either in the backyard, or in the large lounge room. An old abandoned utility truck was in the backyard. We used to climb up on the tray and jump off. Earl Street was on a hill. We would sometimes take our scooters and tricycles out on to the footpath and ride flat out down the hill. If someone had been in the way it could have turned out quite nasty. A Bus Depot was located somewhere up off the top of the street. We often saw buses driving up and down Earl Street.

Centennial Park was located only a few blocks away. Mum used to take Lyn and me to Centennial Park for picnics. Lyn would be in her pram and I would walk with Mum. Occasionally, Mum would take us to nearby Clovelly Beach on a bus. Clovelly Beach was a nice sheltered beach for children. I remember one day eating an ice cream cone, then the wind began to blow very hard and my ice cream cone was covered in flying sand particles. I remember crying because my ice cream tasted horrible and gritty.

Next door to our house was a small shop with a residence behind. Today we would call it a 'Convenience Store'. It was bulk milk in those days, we took a billy can into the shop and had it filled up. Biscuits were weighed out from bulk cartons into brown paper bags. It was cheaper to buy the broken biscuits. Fruit and vegetables were wrapped up in newspaper. String bags, or large brown paper bags, were used to carry items. Parcels were usually wrapped up in brown paper and string.

Meat was only available from the Butcher and was wrapped up in white Butcher's paper. Offal and bones were much cheaper than the meat cuts. There were no large supermarkets back then. Australian currency was in pounds, shillings and pence.

Sometimes, Mum would take us to visit our paternal grandparents Nanna and Pop Natoli at St Leonards. They lived above their Fruit and Vegetables shop on the main road through St Leonards. It was an exciting trip for us. We got on a bus at Randwick and then we caught the electric train from Central Station to St Leonards. The train went underground and came out on to the Sydney Harbour Bridge. There were no huge high-rise buildings and no Opera House. Down below you could see the ships and ferries on the blue water of the harbour. You could also see cars and trucks on the bridge. Electric trams also used the bridge. We got off the train at St Leonards and had a short walk to the shop.

[Neil, Mum, Jon & Lyn]

I don't remember much of my dad Roy, as he didn't seem to be home much. Life for a little boy was happy, and full of fun playing with my cousins. But things were about to change. The reason Roy wasn't home much was that he preferred to be at the horse races or playing golf; rather than working, or being with his family. I did not know it at the time, but Mum was forced to pawn her wedding ring to put food on the table due to Roy's precarious financial position. The last straw came when Mum became suspicious and caught Roy in bed with another woman. Mum was pregnant with my brother Neil at the time. She packed up and moved us to her mother's home at Smithfield. I don't remember the move to Smithfield.

Not long after we moved to Smithfield my brother Neil was born at a private hospital in Fairfield. Our father Roy made one or two visits, after that, I did not see him again until I was a grown man. The reason he never came to see us again was because he never paid any child maintenance; even though there was a Court Order against him. He was never caught because he changed his surname to the name of the woman he was having an affair with. Men got away with non-payment of child maintenance back then. The Government did not have good systems in place to catch evaders.

Nanna Jackson, my maternal grandmother, had a low set, three-bedroom, fibro house on brick piers, with a steel Custom Orb roof. The house had casement windows. The inside walls were fibro. Cement paths went around the house. A cement path ran alongside the driveway to the front gate.

The driveway was grassed and had a large gate which swung inwards. The front fence was a picket fence, the side and back fences were barbed wire fences. Two large Coral trees (with thorns) grew in the front yard. Vegetable gardens and a Chook pen were in the backyard. Bush bordered the fences on the left side and the back of the block. A galvanised iron rainwater tank was located at the front left hand corner of the house. In front of the house was a dirt road, with virgin bush and scrub across the road. The dirt road stopped abruptly three house blocks away and petered out into a cart track through more bush. We walked along bush tracks to access the township of Smithfield.

[Mum & Nanna Jackson in earlier years]

Nanna Jackson's house was built during the Great Depression of the 1930's. The house was furnished in a simple style. The kitchen had a wood fired, slow combustion stove at one end; a large table with six chairs in the middle and a kitchenette with an electric stove at the other end. The fridge was an ice chest. The house had three bedrooms and a lounge room. The boys' bedroom was accessed through Mum's bedroom. The house had a wooden frame which was clad with fibro sheets, inside and out. The laundry was outside, as was the toilet. Both were freezing cold in winter and very hot in summer. If it rained and you forgot your umbrella it was a wet trip.

The laundry also contained the bath. There was no washing machine, just a wood fired copper boiler and cement wash tubs. Clothes were wrung out by hand and put on the clothes line; which were two wires, attached to posts, and propped up with clothes props. The clothes props were two long, tree branches. Each prop had a fork at one end to hold a clothes line off the ground.

A Chip Heater heated the bath water. The chip heater was hollow inside to allow a fire to be made to heat the incoming cold water. The cold water circulated in a spiral pattern, via a double metal skin, from the bottom of the drum to the top of the drum. The cold water tap was turned on at low pressure and the water coming out of the spout at the top of the chip heater was nice and hot. The beauty of this arrangement was that the hot water could be run continually into the bath; so the bath water did not become cold.

Uncle Sid, Auntie Lucy and their family lived three house blocks away, with Aunty Lucy's mother. Initially, there were no other neighbours. Bushfires were a constant threat in the hot, dry years. Mum told us they only had tank water in the early days. Later water was piped to a large tap about a mile away, for residents to use in dry seasons. If you had no form of transport, you had to cart the water by hand. By the 1950's town water was available to every house. Bushfires threatened Nanna's house a few times. We used wet sugar bags or chaff bags to beat out the flames. Fortunately, there were no strong winds fanning the flames.

That was the state of affairs when we arrived in Smithfield. Mum survived on some sort of Government benefit. She also received a small pittance from Child Welfare for her children. Mum was always nervous when a Child Welfare officer came to see her. She would quickly dress us in fresh clothes. If the officer decided Mum was not looking after us properly, Child Welfare would have taken us away! It was not only the indigenous people who had their children taken away.

Smithfield

Smithfield in the early 1950's was very rural, not many houses and plenty of bush. Roads were dirt, or just bush tracks in poor, to very poor condition. People mostly walked or rode bicycles. Some had horses, a few had motor vehicles. Life went along at a relaxed pace, everybody knew each other, either by acquaintance, or by sight.

The town had a few shops and a Post Office. A one-man Police Station was located in the town. Local churches were Church of England, Roman Catholic, Baptist and Methodist. The Baptist church owned the local cemetery. The town also had one pub, a bakery and a milk depot. There was also a State Primary School and a Literary Institute. The Roman Catholic Church later opened a private Primary School. A local Bus company operated bus services from Horsley Park, through Wetherill Park into Smithfield, and then along Horsley Drive to the Railway Station at Fairfield. Another Bus company operated bus services from Bossley Park along Polding Street into Fairfield Heights, down Station Street into the Railway Station at Fairfield. Parramatta or Liverpool could be accessed by motor vehicle, or electric train from Fairfield. The train services also accessed Sydney, via Granville.

We grew up in Charles Street; in the south western corner of Smithfield. Charles Street was then only half of its present length; the western end of the street was bush. The area from Gipps Street across Dublin Street and half way to Bourke Street was dirt road. The remainder was a rutted cart track. On the other side of Bourke Street, the local rubbish dump was located. Bourke Street, along the rubbish dump boundary, (from Brennan Street to Polding Street) was a single file walking track.

A tannery was located on the way to Guildford. When the wind blew from the north east, the smell was extremely pungent and almost overpowering. The rubbish dump also titivated the senses on hot summer days when the wind blew in from the east.

Some of us primary school students had to walk along bush tracks until we reached Brennan Street. The Smithfield State Primary school was located on the corner of Neville and O'Connor streets. It was a brick building with three classrooms and a built in verandah. It was built in the 1890's. The original school dated back to the 1850's. Two more buildings were added by the end of the decade. Today, Smithfield Primary school is a very large school with a plethora of buildings located in its grounds.

Electricity blackouts were common in the post-war years as New South Wales struggled to keep up with the ever-increasing demands for electricity. Blackouts came any time without warning; candles and kerosene lamps were always on standby. There was no TV until 1956; radio was the main means of communications. Newspapers both local and city papers were avidly read. People were friendly neighbours helped each other. Houses were often left unlocked with no fear of intruders, or thieves. Children could walk safely along bush tracks without any fear of danger; although, it could be a bit spooky at night without a torch

Horse-drawn carts delivered bread and milk. Milk was delivered via a bulk milk cart. You bought milk by the billy can, or small bucket. It was real milk with cream floating on the top, not the diluted stuff we get today. Our milk came from local dairies; it was fresh each day, as was our bread. Ice chests were common in homes; blocks of ice were delivered once a week. A block of ice lasted approximately one week; it was touch and go in summer. Refrigerators were very expensive; not many people could afford to buy them in the early 1950's. Some people had kerosene refrigerators which used the heat exchange principle, not a motor driven compressor, to cool the contents.

[Lyn & Jon]

To the north was Prospect Hill, a prominent landmark; a great place for kids to explore. The views from the top were breathtaking. The great expanse of south western Sydney lay before you; sweeping in a broad panorama in an easterly direction, to the top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. There was no pollution or smog to spoil the view.

Below Prospect Hill on its south eastern side dairy farms were scattered about the landscape; looking like panels in a patchwork quilt. The main water supply snaked its serpentine way to Guildford, as did its complementary water canal. In later years a much larger pipeline was constructed alongside the old pipe line to help with the city's ever increasing thirst for water.

Smithfield in the 1950's was surrounded by vast tracts of land called "The Green Belt". This land was never to be built on! Today, with few exceptions, most of this Green Belt consists of suburbs full of residential dwellings.

Early Colonials' named the town after Smithfield Markets in England. It was conceived along similar lines, and it became the fledgling Colony's meat markets. Its long distance from Sydney Town meant the stock became easy prey for bushrangers and cattle thieves. The markets were later transferred to a new site at Flemington, much closer to Sydney Town. The tiny community stayed on and the village was simply known as Smithfield. Smithfield is situated approximately half way between Parramatta and Liverpool. Nearby, Fairfield became the dominant town when the railway line came through that town.

Before my time, a railway branch line used to run from the Goods Yard at Fairfield Railway station, out through Smithfield to a blue metal quarry at Wetherill Park. The quarry was on Prospect Hill, as were two other blue metal quarries. The tracks on the branch line were ripped up and gone, but you could still see where the line used to run alongside Horsley Drive.

Dairy farms and market gardens were the mainstay of the district. Five acre market gardens were common. As the population increased; more and more men turned to the city area for work in factories and shops. The male was the breadwinner in those days. Women were often sacked from their jobs when they married. Divorce took seven long years and was not socially acceptable by a lot of people. Most people in Smithfield grew their own vegetables. Meat was expensive. Rabbit hunting was common during the post-war years, up until the early 1950's. Many local families survived on rabbit meat and home-grown vegetables. Fortunately, bread and milk were fairly cheap.

Local boys and girls looking for a bit of adventure could join the Boy Scouts or the Girl Guides. Every year the State Primary school staged a concert night in the Literary Institute. It was a good fun night for the whole family, with items, skits and short plays. The teachers usually put on good skits, sending themselves up.

The NSW government constructed a public hospital at Fairfield in the mid 1950's. Before this a trip to Liverpool, or Parramatta was necessary. A State high school was built about the same time. It later became one of the largest in New South Wales. The Roman Catholic Church also built a private high school at Fairfield.

Fairfield became the major shopping centre for the municipality. We travelled to Fairfield by bus to do our main shopping. We had to carry all our shopping by hand, in either brown paper bags, or string bags. There were no plastic bags back then. As Fairfield expanded, the shopping centre expanded to cope with the increase in the population.

Smithfield was a good place to bring up a family. Life was simple and moved slowly. Jobs were plentiful in the city areas; most of these jobs reached by train or bus. Land was plentiful and relatively cheap. Many people took advantage of the cheap land and moved to Smithfield. Migrants flocked to the area, most of them from war ravaged Europe.

You could buy land, build a garage; move into it, and later build a house. It was a good way for a family to obtain their own home.

Primary School Days

My sixth birthday was in October 1950. If you were born between the months of January to June you could start school the year you turned six. If you were born between the months of July to December you had to wait until the next year to enrol; so I started primary school at Smithfield Primary School in 1951.

The school photo on the book cover was taken in 1951. It is Smithfield Public School's 1st class and 2nd class group photo. That's me 2nd on the left in the front row. Mr Walker the headmaster is the teacher on the left side of the photo and Mr Wilkinson is the teacher on the right side of the photo.

Smithfield State Primary school is located on the corner of Neville and O'Connor streets. Back then it was just a brick building, built in the 1890s, with three rooms and an enclosed verandah. The old-fashioned individual, combination desks and seats had probably been there since the building had first been opened! A large, unused fireplace was in each room. What a pity, it was a very cold building in winter!

The grounds were mostly fine gravel and dirt, not much in the way of lawns. High paling fences were on the perimeters on Neville Street and O'Connor Streets, the other boundaries were adjacent to bush and had simple wire fences. Huge gum trees were in the north western corner of the school grounds. Shade trees grew around the fence perimeters, inside the fences. The Baptist Church back fence was part of the rear boundary line of the school grounds. The remainder of the school back fence was wire fencing bordering on bushland.

In front of the enclosed verandah was a nice section of lawn. Beyond the lawn was the dirt and gravel assembly area, which had a large school bell on a sturdy post. Beyond that the school ground opened out into a wider area. A concrete cricket pitch was centrally positioned. The boys' toilets were near the back fence. The girls' toilets were over to the left near the north western corner. No sewerage, or septic tanks back then; that's why the toilets were so far from the school buildings. This was the 'night soil' men days!

Cricket was played in the central area of the grounds. Soccer was played up near the back fence, near the north western corner. The ground in both areas was fine gravel and dirt. School sports in summer were cricket for the boys and vigoro for the girls. In winter the boys played rugby league down at Smithfield Park. The girls played softball in the school grounds. Rounders was a popular game at lunchtime.

There was a school library of sorts. It was run by volunteers. The books were all donations via the Parents and Citizens group. Being a fairly small school there were not a lot of books to go around. We did not have the luxury of a school tuckshop. The State Government ensured a small bottle of milk was delivered for each child each school day. The milk bottle held approximately 250 ml. There was no refrigeration, so the milk had to be kept in the shade until morning tea.

The teaching curriculum had a strong 'White Australia', 'Mother Country' bias. This made it difficult for the many migrant children who flowed into the school during the 1950's. Sometimes, the school would be polarised by a 'them and us' mentality; leading to faction fighting between the 'New Australians' and the Aussies. We would call them Dagos and Wogs. Usually these altercations did not last long; normally we all got along quite well together. Maltese, Italians, Greek, Yugoslavs, Latvians, Danish, Finnish as well as migrants from the United Kingdom made up the bulk of the migrant children. The Maltese kids were probably the largest group. They spoke English fairly well. A lot of the Europeans migrants had learning difficulties with English.

When I started school we had two teachers; the headmaster Mr Walker and another teacher Mr Wilkinson. Mr Walker taught the older schoolchildren and Mr Wilkinson the rest. Within a couple of years a new building was constructed for the children starting off in Kindergarten. Miss Cook joined the teaching staff, followed by Mr Chase. The school was having growing pains! Miss Cook taught the young children, Mr Chase taught 2nd and 3rd classes, Mr Wilkinson taught 4th and 5th classes and Mr Walker taught 6th class.

Mr Chase became famous in later years on Bob Dyer's, Pick A Box, TV quiz show. Charlie Chase won a huge array of prizes including a brand new Volkswagen 'Beetle' car. My fondest memories of him were his recitations of 'The Man From Snowy River', and 'Clancy Of The Overflow'. That man had you on the edge of your seat, as you were drawn into the saga unfolding in each poem. Brilliant, and spellbinding, he deftly and cleverly unfolded the stories. You wanted to hear them again, and again.

Mr Wilkinson and Miss Cook became very friendly and it was no surprise when they were married a few years later. The wedding created quite a buzz in the school and the local community. Teachers were generally held in high regard in the 1950's. It was a big occasion for our school.

In 1954 Queen Elizabeth II came to Australia for her first official visit as Queen of Australia. I remember being in Centennial Park, Sydney with a huge crowd of school children. Our school was allocated an area to stand in, behind a roped off roadway. Young Queen Elizabeth was standing up in the back of an open Land Rover; which slowly drove around through the huge throngs of children and teachers. She was so close you could almost reach out and touch her. It was a surreal experience for us children. We saw our very own, flesh and blood, Queen of Australia. What an exciting moment in our lives!

I was a fairly bright pupil at school. I developed an insatiable appetite for reading. By the time I left primary school, I had read the whole library of books. Some books I had read two or three times. I used to read at home after school and under the blankets at night by torchlight. TV did not arrive until 1956 and TV sets were very expensive. Black and white TV was the only choice. The very early TV sets had a pale bluish tinge to the picture. Crowds used to gather in front of the electrical appliance shops to watch TV. Before the TV era, radio was the main means of communications. The radio stations were AM only; FM stations were decades away, as was colour TV. When you turned the radio on, you had to wait until the valves warmed up before you heard any broadcasts.

[Jon - Grinners are winners]

We walked to school along bush tracks then along dirt roads; motor vehicles were infrequent. We walked down the middle of the road with impunity. It could be stinking hot in summer and down to –2°C in winter, plus the wind chill factor. In winter my hands and feet were numb. I had difficulty writing upon arrival at school. All our pencils, pens (with nibs), paper and schoolbooks were supplied by the Education Department. We learned to use the old pens with nibs. Dipping them into our ink wells and very carefully trying not to drop blobs of ink on our work. It was not easy! Blotting paper was used to dry our writing.

No calculators or computers came to our aid; we used our brains to add up sums. The teachers would put the questions on the blackboard. We copied them down and worked out the answers. We learned our multiplication tables up to 12 x 12. Spelling was very important; we had to learn lists of words and had to be able to spell them accurately. Some of the migrant kids had big problems with spelling.

Every year our school was entered in the District Schools' Eisteddfod at Parramatta. We had a school Choir, plus individual entrants in the poetry section. The headmaster's wife had a beautiful soprano voice. She used to pick out the members of the choir and then coach them. The problem was she used to train us at lunchtime. We had two sections to the choir, the Sopranos and the Seconds. Those who could sing high notes went into the sopranos, the others went into the seconds.

We practised on alternate weeks. The sopranos practised one week, the seconds practised on the alternate week. Jon boy, yours truly, came up with a neat idea. When it was Sopranos' week, I would drop my voice and be sent to the Seconds. No practice that week; however the next week I would sing in a high voice and be relegated to the Sopranos. No practice that week! I got away with it for a whole month; then I was stuck in the Sopranos' practice routine. Our choir got a few 2nd and 3rd places at the Eisteddfods

Because I could read aloud fluently, I was asked to be in a Poetry recitation group, as well as the choir. More practice at lunchtime! Mr Walker ambushed me the year I was in 5th class. He had an individual poem for me to recite at the Eisteddfod. I could not get out of this one. He would coach me after school each day for half an hour or so. Oh boy! Not really wanting to do it, and feeling very unmotivated; I was surprised to come in 2nd place! Mr Walker was very pleased with himself!

One year we did an enactment at school about Captain James Cook landing in Botany Bay. I did not want to be in it. As punishment I was cast as one of the natives whom Captain Cook approached. Worse was yet to come. On the big day at school, we natives had to arrive earlier than the others to be made up. In other words to blacken our fair skins!

Dripping was smeared on our bodies. Except for a pair of black shorts we wore no other clothing. Burnt corks were then rubbed onto the dripping. It was a slow messy job. However, they achieved the look they were after. Getting the rotten stuff off later was very messy. The charcoal mixed into the dripping made it difficult to get us clean again.

The 'bright spark' that came up with the idea to blacken our skins, did not come up with a bright idea to get the muck off us. However, looking back, I can say that overall I enjoyed my years at primary school.

Changes Afoot

It would have been about 1953 when Mum introduced Lyn, Neil and me to a chap whose name was Collyn. He began courting Mum. We became used to seeing him come and go. Mum's divorce from Roy was proceeding slowly through the Court system. This process took seven long years.

Sometime in 1954 Collyn Peasey moved in with us. He and Mum wanted to get married, but they had to wait until the divorce was finally granted. Lyn had been sleeping in Mum's room; she was moved in with Nanna Jackson. Collyn became our stepfather. These were the days when kids were 'seen and not heard', particularly at meal times, and in adult company. Collyn used to have a thick leather strap; he was fond of using. He was a strict disciplinarian.

We all had a difficult time adjusting. Collyn was jealous of us kids. He thought we took up too much of Mum's time; which meant less time for him. It was a steep learning curve for all of us. Years later, we realised why he was like that. Apparently, he was often sick as a child, so was the centre of his mother's attention. He obviously grew up with the notion that he deserved the most attention.

Collyn was genuinely in love with Mum, and had known her for many years; but not as a close friend. He was a hard worker and a good provider. He had a good sense of humour, but was often moody. About 1956, Mum's divorce from Roy came through. Mum and Collyn immediately organised to get married at a Registry Office. Collyn officially became our stepfather.

[Collyn after working in the garden]

Nanna Jackson had given her children blocks of land adjacent to her house. Uncle Jim (the eldest child) had two blocks to the left of Nanna's house; Mum had two blocks to the right of Nanna's house. Uncle Sid (the youngest child) had three blocks at the rear of Nanna's house block. Uncle Jim's and Uncle Sid's blocks were covered in bush and had not been cleared. Mum's blocks had been cleared and had long grass growing. Nanna Jackson had once owned a horse and sulky. The horse used to graze in the long grass.

Mum and Collyn decided to rent a large caravan and set it up on one of Mum's blocks, close to Nanna's house. We lived in the caravan for several months. The caravan had three bunks at the rear for us children. The dinette at the front became a double bed at night. A canvas walled annex housed a kitchen table and chairs, plus wardrobes and dressers. We used Nanna's bath, laundry and toilet. We ran a power lead from Nanna's house to the caravan. Cooking was done on a kerosene stove. It was squeezey in the van. I did not enjoy living in that caravan.

One night a terrific wind sprang up. The caravan began rocking from the buffeting; next thing we heard a loud crash! Mum's kitchen dresser, with lead light doors, had crashed to the ground; breaking her crockery and china, plus the lead light glass panels. Lyn woke up terrified! She said, "My heart is going thump, thump, bang, bang!" It took a while to calm her down. Ruefully, we surveyed the damage. Within a week the caravan was gone.

We moved back into Nanna's house. The experiment had failed!

[Collyn's sister, Aunty Doris & cousin Carol]

Spot

Lots of families have a dog; some have more than one dog. My dog was a male Fox Terrier. Spot was a bit larger than a normal fox terrier. He must have had some other breed in him. Spot wandered into our lives one day and never left us. He had a white coat, with some scattered black spots and patches; hence his name. Someone had docked his tail when he was a puppy. He was my faithful companion for many years. Spot was a good ratter. We didn't have any problems with rats while he was around. His favourite trick was to stand up on his hind legs and beg with his two front legs for food or attention.

Spot loved to go exploring. We didn't have to worry about leashes. You rarely saw a dog on a leash; unless someone had a violent dog, or was walking a greyhound. When we went walking, Spot would rush ahead and wait on the next corner; to see which way we were going. Off he would go again. If I was riding my bicycle he would trot along beside me. If I happened to be riding slowly, he would do his usual thing and rush up to the next corner and wait. Spot was not an aggressive dog he had a placid, fun loving nature. He got along well with the neighbours' dogs. He would do the usual dog things. Throw a stick or a ball and he would chase after them; and bring them back to you.

He liked playing with water. If the hose or the sprinkler was on, he would rush up and try to bite the water. The rotating sprinkler was good fun. Spot would run in and try to bite the water coming out of the rotating arms. Off he would go, then wheel around and rush in again. He didn't do this in the winter months, it was too cold.

Spot even got on well with our cats. Tom and Spot were good friends. Tom would brush against Spot's legs, purring away. Later we got another dog. She was a black dog. Dad had her desexed. Her name was Tuppence which we shortened to Tuppy. Tuppy was a stay at home dog she didn't like exploring, and was content to stay in the close neighbourhood.

Dad decided to go fishing one day at the Georges River at Fairfield. He doubled me there on my bicycle. I sat on the horizontal bar of the bike frame. Our fishing rods were lashed to this bar. Off we went with Spot running beside us.

We did a bit of fishing and caught nothing. Spot had been exploring, he was on the other bank when he saw us so he jumped into the water and 'dog paddled' over to us. We had a small shower when he shook himself dry!

By now it was late afternoon and time to head home. We saddled up and set off on the dirt road alongside the river. Spot ran slightly ahead. He got some dust up his nostrils and began to sneeze. He was running, so each time he sneezed he blew more dust in his face, and sneezed again. On and on he ran sneezing as he went!

Dad and I roared with laughter. We had to pull up, or we would have fallen off the bike. When we stopped, Spot also stopped. That's how he managed to stop sneezing. He was able to get his head up away from the dust. Dad and I continued laughing for a good while after.

Spot was terrified of thunderstorms. He was allowed inside and cowered under the kitchen table. Cracker Night was another time when Spot was terrified. The loud bangs from the firecrackers, the whistle of the rockets and the bright lights had him cringing in abject fear. Uncle Jim's dog Randy was the exact opposite. He would rush up to the crackers and try to bite them. Sometimes they nearly went off in his face! He stirred himself into a frenzy rushing around. Talk about over stimulation! Randy was a big black dog who loved to chase cars, and tried to bite the tyres as the wheels went around. Cars moved a bit slower on the rough gravel roads. Randy had a ball! That's how he met his demise, chasing cars; one day he was hit and killed.

I remember when I was little, that Nanna Jackson also had dogs, a couple of Beagles. They were good hunting dogs. I remember a time when the female beagle, was close to delivering a litter of puppies. She sought a safe place to deliver her pups under Nanna's house. The problem was the house was on brick piers, but very close to the ground. There was only about 6 inches (15 cm) clearance. We couldn't get in to feed her, and we couldn't coax her out.

The only solution was to dig a trench, under the side of the house, up to where she and her pups were. This was a slow, laborious job for the adults. It was difficult lying on their stomachs, one at a time, and trying to carve out a trench under the house. They only had about 6 inches (15 cm) of head room under the house. Vertical work was out of the question.

Under the house they dug a trench approximately 2 feet (60 cm) deep and about 15 feet (5 m) long. The Beagle and her pups were brought out safely and installed in Nanna's shed. The trench then had to be filled in. What a job! It took the best part of a weekend to accomplish it.

Spot was a beaut dog; he rarely got into fights. Most dogs were larger than him. We were down at the local shops one day when a mob of dogs, about a dozen or so, tore into him. Poor old Spot! I waded into the melee, chucking dogs left, right and centre. I began yelling at the top of my voice to scare them. Most of the dogs got a huge fright and took off. Two or three were still attacking Spot. A few swift kicks to the underbelly and hauling them off by the scruff of the neck did the trick. They scurried away!

Spot had a few wounds, but overall he was in good nick. I took him home and cleaned him up. I was fortunate that the dogs didn't turn on me. I had the element of surprise and used it to my advantage.

Spot lived to a ripe old doggy age. Arthritic limbs and cataracts in both eyes slowed him down. Eventually, he died of old age. I couldn't have wished for a better dog.

[Jon & Lyn under the sprinkler]

Scouting Days

When I was a little chap I wanted to be a Boy Scout. I pestered my mother to find out what I needed to become a Cub Scout. I was too young! I had to wait until I was eight years old. What a blow! I had to wait another year. Mum put my name down to join after my eighth birthday. It was a long year!

Finally, the time came around. I got out my new uniform; khaki coloured shirt, shorts and socks. A scarf and a cap completed the uniform. The scarf was rolled into a tubular shape; and placed around my neck. The two ends were then inserted into a sliding clamp arrangement and fastened at the throat.

Boy! Was I excited!

I walked to the Scout Hall, located on the corner of Market and Rowley Streets, Smithfield. We met once a week in the evening. The Scout Hall was an old Railway carriage. I was introduced to our Cub Mistress. I already knew most of the boys from school. I soon learned the "Dib, Dib, Dub," and about the Scout handshake with the three fingered salute. We had a great time learning how to make different kinds of knots, bush lore and lots of action games. Cub Scouts was good, but the next level was where the best action was. They got to go camping on weekends! They could study and earn proficiency badges.

The day I moved up to become a Boy Scout was one of the highlights of my childhood. This was what I wanted to be! Life as a Boy Scout was exciting. I enjoyed the practical side of Scouting, but I was a bit of a larrikin. I didn't gain many proficiency badges, as I was having too much fun. A news Scout Hall was built around this time. The old Railway carriage became a storage area.

Weekend camps came up occasionally. In the 1950's we used Army style canvas tents. We laid out two poles on the ground for uprights. Two horizontal poles were lashed, with ropes, to the uprights. The top pole was for a fly sheet. The uprights were stood up, roped and pegged to the ground. The tent was placed over the bottom horizontal pole; spread out and roped to pegs in the ground. The fly sheet was then spread over the top horizontal pole and also pegged to the ground.

If a strong breeze came up poles were lashed diagonally to the two uprights to stabilise the structure. On hot days we rolled up the bottom walls to allow breezes through the tent. If it rained we dug a shallow trench around the tent to drain the water away. No sewn in tent floors back then. Outside, we would set up a camp kitchen; usually under the shade of a tree. We normally camped near a river, or creek. Cooking was done over a campfire. Bathing was either a swim, or in cold weather a warm wash. The toilet was a hole dug in the ground, in nearby bush.

Firewood was collected from around the camp surrounds, and chopped into required sizes. The campfire was kept burning all weekend. We hung up a meat safe. There was no refrigeration. We used powdered milk, evaporated milk or condensed milk. We baked our own damper. We cooked stews, soups and one pot meals. Bacon and eggs, or sausages and eggs were popular for breakfast.

I remember one chap brought out a huge pumpkin. He cut a lid off the pumpkin, and scooped out all the seeds. Into the hollowed out pumpkin he put in all the ingredients for a hearty beef stew, and popped the lid back on. Hey presto! An instant, natural stew pot! The pumpkin was then placed in the hot coals of the campfire and cooked. The stew was absolutely, delicious!

One time we were at a District Scout Camp at Fairfield, near the Georges River. We arrived on Friday evening set up our tent then put our camp kitchen under a nearby tree. We soon had a fire going and made some supper. Lots of other Scouts were at this camp. There was a lot of activity until about 11:00 pm. After that we all settled down and went to sleep.

A loud chopping noise had us sitting up in our sleeping bags!

"Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop!"

We got up to investigate.

A nearby group was chopping firewood!

"Hey! You blokes! What are you doing? It's one o'clock in the morning! Are you mad?" we yelled to them.

"We thought it was a breakfast time!"

"Go back to sleep, you donkeys!"

The camp settled down again, and we all drifted off to sleep. Guess what? At five o'clock in the morning, the chopping started again! We gave up this time, and bleary eyed got out of bed to prepare breakfast. The sun's rays were just beginning to light up the sky. We headed over to our camp kitchen to get our breakfast items.

What a shock! Bull ants were swarming all over our food! Bull ants are about 2.5 cm (1 inch) long, with a very vicious bite! There was 'consternation in our camp'! What a nasty job it was, with painful bites the order of the day. We had placed our camp kitchen 'smack, bang' over a Bull ants nest! Half an hour later, we managed to move our camp kitchen to a safe place.

What an inglorious start to the weekend! Fortunately, the remainder of the weekend went well. No further loud chopping in the night; and no more Bull ants in the food.

Another time our troop was camped alongside the river, near the Holsworthy Army Camp. Our Scout Master gave us strict instructions that there was to be no swimming in the river. It was a stinking hot day! So, 'yours truly' came up with a brilliant idea. My mates and I collected dirty clothing from other scouts, and set off down to the river to wash their clothes.

Guess who 'accidentally' fell in the river?

Guess who also 'accidentally' fell in the river?

The loud splashing and laughter soon brought our Scout Master down to investigate! He didn't buy my story that we accidentally fell into the water, washing clothes. We were severely reprimanded and given extra chores.

Hey! The swim was worth it.

This camp was outstanding for the 'Flying Fox' rigged up across the river. We all took turns riding the Flying Fox down an incline and across to the other side. A trailing rope was used to haul you back across the river. It was a fabulous feeling, zooming through the air and skimming over the surface of the water!

The highlight was when our Assistant Scout Master had his turn. Being a fairly beefy sort of bloke, he flew down the incline and went straight into the middle of the river! We were hysterical with laughter! When we finally stopped laughing; we hauled him back to dry land. He sure looked a sight! He was sopping wet with water dripping from his clothes and shoes!

Boy was he 'dirty' on us! Getting dunked was bad enough; but we rubbed salt into the wound when we started laughing. His pride sure took a beating!

Every year the Scouting Movement had its annual 'Bob a Job' week, to raise funds for equipment etc. In the old 'pounds, shillings and pence' days, one bob was equivalent to one shilling; or 10 cents in decimal currency. The idea was to offer your services to people for a bob a job.

Gardening, cleaning, mowing lawns, running errands and suchlike were the usual 'Bob a Job' activities. Some jobs were worth more, so people usually paid more. The event ran for seven days, and a lot of money was raised. Some people took advantage of us 'poor scouts' and worked us really hard; then gave us one bob. Fortunately, the majority of people were generous and looked after us.

Anzac Day was a big day each year. The local Scouts and Girl Guides marched in the Anzac Day March. I can remember wearing grandfather Jackson's medals; which were awarded to him in World War 1. Nanna Jackson wanted me to wear them with pride. I never knew my grandfather; he died long before I was born.

Some of us would go down to the Dawn Service. It was usually quite cold and you had to rug up. As World War 2 was still fresh in a lot of people's minds, a good crowd rolled up for the Dawn Service. Most locals attended the Anzac Day march later that morning.

It was a sad day for me when I became too old to be a Boy Scout. I enjoyed my time as a Scout, and learned a lot of practical skills as well.

The Scout motto 'Be Prepared, is still good in today's world.

Starved

"Hey, Mum there's strange noises in the bush lately." I said.

"Is that right?"

"Yair, sort of a half strangled sound."

"Maybe, it's some sort of animal, Jon."

"Could be, I haven't spotted anything yet."

"Where did you hear the sound?"

"Down the bottom end of Laddie Lee's place, over towards the dump."

"Oh well, you might come across it on your travels."

I had a good think about the noises I had heard. If Mum was right; it might be some sort of animal; but what?

A few days later, I was in the same area. The cries were more strident. 'What was making them?' A grey blurred shape streaked through the bush. 'It looked a bit like a cat! Oh well, maybe I'll see it again.'

About three days later, I was down the bottom of the bush track on Bourke Street, when I met my friend, Fred and his cousin Tony. Fred was slowly riding his bicycle and Tony was walking. I stopped and had a yarn with them. We'd been talking about five minutes, when the strange cries started up again.

Fred and Tony looked at each other.

Terror was on their faces!

More strange cries!

They looked at each other and bolted!

Fred jumped on his bike and pedalled furiously up the track. Tony started running after him. They were looking over their shoulders as if they had seen a ghost, or something!

Then it happened!

Tony was overtaking Fred on his bike!

Amused, I stared at them. I had never seen a person on foot overtaking a bicycle before!

Tony went past the furiously pedalling Fred, and disappeared from view. I laughed and laughed and laughed! Clutching my stomach: I rolled around, helpless with laughter. The sight of Tony overtaking Fred was just too much!

Later, I went up to Fred's house.

"What were you blokes scared of?"

"I didn't know what it was; I wasn't stayin' around to find out." said Fred.

"Me too I was really scared!" said Tony.

"No need to be scared. I think it's a cat in the bush."

Fred shook his head. "I never heard a cat sound like that; I'm not goin' that way again."

"Me neither!" said Tony.

"Boy, you blokes look funny going up the track. I killed me self laughin' at ya"

"We don't care. We're not going back there." said Fred.

Over the next few days the strange cries got closer to the houses.

"Mum, I still reckon it's a cat. It's probably half starved. It looked real skinny."

"Maybe, we can coax it out to eat something, Jon."

That night we left some food on an old saucer near the front gate; and locked our two cats in the shed. Sure enough, next morning the food was gone!

"Let's try again tonight, Mum."

"OK, the poor thing must be starved."

Each night food was put out. It was gone in the morning. About a week later, we noticed a skinny, grey cat near the front gate. It was very malnourished. It ran away as we approached. We put some food on the saucer and went inside to see what would happen.

The grey cat cautiously approached the saucer and gobbled the food down, then bolted off. We put more food out and the scene was repeated. Each day, Mum put out some food and called out.

"Here, Puss, Puss, Puss. Here, Puss, Puss, Puss."

Slowly the cat became bolder; here was a plentiful supply of food. It hung around and watched Mum put out the food.

One afternoon after work, Dad chose a different approach. He took the food out and sat near the saucer. The cat took a long time to decide to approach the saucer. It eyed Dad warily.

Dad spoke softly, "Here Puss, Puss, Puss."

The cat's hunger overcame its fear and it sneaked up to the saucer; and began to eat. Dad remained motionless. The cat ate, watching Dad every moment, and then leaped away.

Next afternoon, Dad went through the same ritual. The cat did not take as long to come to the saucer. Dad continued the ritual for a few more days. The cat began to lose its fear and approached more readily. Dad began putting out his hand and speaking softly to it. The cat eyed him suspiciously and backed away.

Next day the cat approached in an uncertain manner. Its food was on the saucer, but very close to the man! Fear and hunger swayed like a pendulum within the cat. Finally, hunger prevailed! It crouched low to the ground and slithered up to the food. As it began to eat, Dad swooped on the cat and grabbed it by the scruff of the neck. The cat swung wildly about in fear.

"There, there, Puss. I'm not going to hurt you. See how gently I am stroking you. You don't have to be afraid."

With words such as these, and by careful stroking, the cat began to calm down. Dad kept stroking it and talking softly to it. Then he placed it carefully on the ground near the saucer.

The cat had a decision to make. Flee or eat!

The cat began to eat! Dad relaxed, breathing out slowly. When the cat finished eating, Dad put out his hand to stroke it again. The cat was momentarily unsure, and then rubbed up against his hand. Victory at last! Dad's patience had won through. He picked up the cat and began stroking it. The cat snuggled into his arms, contented and purring loudly.

We realised he was a tomcat, so Tom he became. Tom was soon a firm favourite with our family. He was very affectionate. He didn't put on much weight and was always skinny. He had beautiful, soft, grey fur and light green eyes. Funnily enough, his meows sometimes had traces of that half starved sound.

Fred and Tony were quite embarrassed when they realised they had run away from this skinny, grey cat.

Tom lived for many years and died at a ripe old cat age.

Sunday School Bus

Sunday was an interesting day. Sunday lunch was always delicious; roast beef with baked potatoes, baked pumpkin, baked onions and boiled peas. All topped with rich gravy. The aromas from the kitchen had us salivating in anticipation. The vegetables were picked fresh from our garden. The main course was followed by a baked pudding with custard and cream.

In the years we attended primary school, Mum decided that we would attend Sunday School. So, after lunch we would get dressed in 'going out clothes', ready to go to Sunday School. Lyn, Neil and I would then walk to the local Smithfield bus depot; located on the corner of Market Street and the Horsley Drive. Two brothers owned the bus service. Their children also came to Sunday School. The Johnson families would be finishing their Sunday lunch; as we arrived. We usually had to wait 10 minutes, or so.

[Lyn and Jon dressed for Sunday School]

One of the Johnson brothers would get out a big bus from the garage for the Sunday School run. Our Sunday School Superintendent, Mr Tabberner would come along as well. The bus trip was fairly long; we travelled through Smithfield, Fairfield Heights, Canley Vale and finally to Fairfield. Children would be picked up, en route, in front of their houses. Unless it was raining, the kids would be standing on the footpath waiting for the bus. Mr Tabberner knew where they all lived, so it was not a problem to stop in front of the right houses. Some kids, if they didn't want to come to Sunday School that particular day, would hide as the bus approached.

The population in the outer suburbs was quite sparse in the early 1950's. The outer suburbs were not fully developed. In outer, western Sydney, where we lived, some major roads were bitumen; however, dirt roads were the norm.

The bus travelled along the Horsley Drive, turned right into Granville Street and proceeded to Ware Street. At Ware Street we turned left and one block later, turned right into Sackville Street. Sackville Street took us from Fairfield Heights down into Canley Vale. We then turned left at The Avenue, and left again at Railway Parade.

We followed Railway Parade back to Fairfield CBD, into The Crescent, then turned left into Ware Street and proceeded to the Gospel Hall; on the corner of Ware Street and Nelson Street. The building was opposite what is now the entrance to Fairfield Forum shopping complex.

The bus would usually take 45 to 60 minutes, depending on how many pickups we made. By the time the bus got to the Gospel Hall it would be full of children.

Shops were located on the ground floor of the building. We went up a staircase to the upper level. Folding, wooden chairs were set up in rows. The first part of Sunday School was a singing session. We learned a lot of gospel songs and choruses. After the singsong, we split up into age groups with various teachers.

I was in a different group to Lyn and Neil. Miss Priest was my teacher, the Sunday School lesson was always from the Bible. We learned about the heroes in both the Old Testament, and the New Testament. Most of all we learned that God sent His Son, Jesus to be our Saviour; and that by believing in Jesus we could have eternal life. We learned that God loves us individually, and that Jesus loves us so much He died for us on the Cross. The reason that He died was to pay the price for our sins. That's why His blood needed to be shed at the Cross. Through His blood we have forgiveness from God, for our sins.

We did some colouring in of a Bible scene and took home a Bible verse to learn each week. Most of the kids enjoyed Sunday School. After it was finished, we would troop happily downstairs and board the bus for the journey home.

It was a long afternoon for the three of us. When we got back to the bus depot, we still had to walk home. Not for us the luxury of a front door pick up!

The only incident I can recall is the time when I was going up the staircase, and I tripped on a step and banged my face on the steel handrail. The result, a broken front tooth!

We enjoyed our trips on the Sunday School bus and made many friends from different suburbs.

Sunday was an interesting day!

Blackberries and Mushrooms

Blackberry time! We were going black berrying.

Dad got out some small, flat sheets of iron to take with us. We also took containers for the blackberries. Dad, Lyn, Neil and I set off lugging out gear. We didn't have a car, so we had to walk to our favourite spots. The blackberries grew wild along the edges of the local creek. It was a longish walk from home to each place.

Access to the wild, blackberry bushes was easy. Access to the blackberries, not so easy! The bushes were covered in thorns.

It was like picking berries from swirling strands of barbed wire. Berries on the outer edges of the bushes were usually fairly easy to collect; however, some of the locals had beaten us to them. Most of the blackberries were in the middle of the bushes. That's why we needed the sheets of iron. They were Dads 'secret weapon'!

We put a sheet of iron down on a bush and stepped on it. Our body weight would flatten the bush. We then picked the berries we could reach. We progressively used sheet after sheet to flatten more of the wild, thorny bushes.

When we used up our sheets, we carefully backed out and slid our sheets out. If we didn't have enough berries, we started the process over again, in a different spot. It was slow, time consuming work. You had to be careful not to jag your fingers on the thorns. Balancing on the sheets of iron was not always easy, as the bush under the iron was quite springy. The last thing you wanted to do was fall into the blackberry bushes!

Of course, a lot of blackberries found their way into our mouths, such sweet, delicious, sun ripened fruit! Ours for the taking! The blackberry bushes grew in two main areas in Smithfield. One site was off the end of Dublin Street, on the banks of Prospect Creek. The other site was larger, and was located off Smithfield Road, (now the Cumberland Highway) on the Guildford/Merrylands side of the town. This site was near a dairy farm. These blackberries were also located on the banks of prospect Creek.

We usually did each site on a different day. It was tiring lugging the sheets of iron, to and fro. Our reward was the containers bursting with freshly picked blackberries. Mum used the berries to bake delicious blackberry pies. We ate them hot from the oven, with custard and cream. I can still savour the aroma of the pies cooking; then the scrumptious taste, as the first spoonful slid into my mouth.

Mum also stewed some of the berries. This was a delicious desert, with sweetened, boiled rice and custard.

We used our 'secret weapon' for a few years; however the locals worked out what we were doing. It got harder to get a good crop after that!

The other thing Dad liked to do was pick fresh mushrooms. They often grew overnight in our backyard. Dad knew the difference between good mushrooms and poisonous varieties. The mushrooms would be picked early in the morning. Mum would cut them up and fry them in butter. They were delicious on toast! Sometimes, she kept some for our evening meal. She made them into a delectable sauce. This was poured over grilled steak and accompanied with mashed potatoes, boiled pumpkin, boiled peas and grilled tomatoes. A very tasty meal indeed!

Occasionally, Dad would go into town to collect mushrooms. The local Bakery used horses and carts to deliver their bread. The horses were stabled behind the bakery. They had a big paddock to graze on. In this paddock large mushrooms would grow. Dad would get permission to collect some. Some of these mushrooms measured up to 6 inches in diameter, or approximately 150 mm. As the paddock was well manured, the mushrooms had plenty of nutrients.

Although the mushrooms were large, they were wholesome, fresh and nutritious. Their size certainly did not spoil their flavour. Fried in butter, spread on toast and seasoned with salt and pepper, they made an enjoyable meal.

Regrettably, the bakery became modernised and commenced using motorised delivery trucks. The horses and carts were sold, as was the land. Collecting the big mushrooms became a thing of the past.

In later years development caught up with Smithfield and the blackberry bushes also disappeared.

The price of progress cannot always be measured in monetary values.

The Fort

Boys will be boys. School holidays were here again, and we had plenty of time on our hands. It was another beaut day, bright sunshine, and not a cloud in the sky.

"What will we do today?" I asked myself.

"I know, we can build that tree house, in the bush."

I went down to the site; it was in the bush just down the road from home. I had been looking at it for months. There were four, Ti trees fairly close together. They would make good supports for a floor. I knew where to find scrap timber and sheets of iron for side walls. Dad had plenty of old nails. Neil and a couple of mates had promised to help me.

We began collecting material for the job. After a couple of trips, we had enough material to start. I began to nail up the beams for the floor. Four sturdy beams were nailed to the trees. Floorboards were cut to size, and then nailed to the beams. Space was left for a trapdoor. A trapdoor was made to cover the opening. A simple rope ladder was made and attached to the floor.

"Tomorrow, we'll put the walls on." I told them.

"It sure is a great cubby!" said Neil

He looked over the side. It was about 5 feet (1.5 m) above the ground. A small natural clearing encircled the new cubby.

Next day, we rolled up bright and early. We used ropes to haul the sheets of iron up. We nailed the sheets, to the trees, for our walls. Now, we felt safe; no one would fall over the edge.

"It sure is a great cubby!" I said.

"Yair, I reckon we did a good job." said Neil.

Other kids got to hear about the cubby and came to have a look. Many were jealous and wanted to play there as well. I was a bit worried.

"There might be trouble with some of these kids. Maybe, we should turn it into a fort to protect ourselves."

"Sounds like a good idea!" said one of the group.

A group discussion took place.

"I know where there is some fencing wire."

"I know where there is some barbed wire."

"Okay! I said. "We'll do it straight away."

We gathered materials and nailed a perimeter fence to the trees around the clearing. Barbed wire was placed on top of the chicken wire fencing. It looked impressive! It wasn't long before we had our first rock flight. We won easily, as we were protected in our fortress in the trees.

Word spread quickly about our fort! Lots of kids came to see it. Unfortunately, news also reached the ears of the local policeman. He came up on his motorbike, with attached sidecar, to investigate.

He was aghast! When he saw our 'sophisticated' defence system, he became quite angry!

"Who built this?"

I spoke up, "We did, Sir."

"Pull it down immediately! I'll come back in a few days to make sure you have cleared the whole area. Every bit of rubbish is to be taken to the dump. Is that clear?"

"Yes Sir!"

We worked in a frenzied manner. The policeman spoke to our parents. We got into b-i-g trouble!

Two days later the clearing was back to normal. Our beaut cubby cum fort was destroyed forever.

Now it is only a memory.

Screaming Stump

The day was hot. We walked across the dirt road in front of our house. Some of our friends joined us.

"Let's play in the bush today." I said.

"Righto!" said my brother Neil.

We walked along a familiar track. It was shady in the bush; tall gum trees screened out the harsh glare of the sun. The clean, fresh, eucalyptus smell of the gum trees permeated the air. The sounds of chirping crickets and bird calls resonated around us. Small lizards hurried away as we approached. Ants scuttled to and fro in the dusty soil.

The bush was a fascinating place to be!

Today was a great day!

School holidays were on again!

We knew we had to be careful. Old Laddie Lee's sow roamed through this part of the bush. The old pig would charge straight at us if she saw us. His stallion also roamed the bush. He was a big horse. If you were in the way, the safest place was up a tree.

My sister Lyn spoke, "Jon are you sure we will be all right? I'm scared of the old sow."

"Course you'll be alright!" I boasted to her.

"I've been through this part of the bush plenty of times."

It was good fun exploring little-known parts of our domain. We explored happily for a few hours. Growing tired, feeling hungry and thirsty, we decided to head home for refreshments; and then a game of cricket. We trooped back through the bush.

As we neared the road we passed by an old rotten tree stump.

Suddenly! A high-pitched scream came out of the stump!

We looked quickly at each other. Terror was on every face!

We bolted back along the track and out on to the road. We stood panting, our hearts thumping! Our legs had never carried us so fast.

"The stump must be haunted." said Lyn.

"I don't know, but it sure is scary." I said.

"I'm never goin' along that track again." said Neil.

Later that day I decided to have a look at the stump. I was sure it wasn't haunted. Ghosts didn't live in tree stumps, they lived in haunted houses. I scouted around for a good solid stick, and then went across the road again.

I cautiously approached the stump. I could feel my heart rate increasing! I inched closer!

Time seemed to stand still!

I prodded the stump. No noise or movement occurred.

I prodded the stump again.

S-l-o-w-l-y, I craned my neck to peer into the stump, ready to flee in a split second.

I looked inside.

There was a dead frog!

How did it die?

I surmised that a snake must have bitten it, just as we approached the stump. The noise of us fleeing had frightened the snake away, before it could swallow the frog.

I had a hard time convincing the others; and none of them would come and look. They still believed the stump was haunted.

They wouldn't go near the area around the stump for a long, long time.

The Outing

Dad was excited!

He had borrowed Uncle Sid's car for the day. We were going to Burragorang Valley for a day trip. Mum packed a beaut picnic lunch. It was a nice sunny, autumn day, perfect for an outing.

Uncle Sid, Aunty Lucy and their children lived with Aunty Lucy's mother; three house blocks away. Uncle Sid's car was a 1938 Pontiac sedan, with a big six cylinder engine. It had a manual, three speed gearbox. The car was light blue, with a chrome Red Indian figure on the bonnet. Running boards were on the sides of the car. The upholstery was leather. The Pontiac was in good condition and very comfortable to ride in.

Dad, Mum, Lyn, Neil and I piled in and we set off on our trip. There was no city driving involved; outer western Sydney was very rural in the mid 1950's. Dad drove to Fairfield, then out on to the Hume Highway. At the highway he turned right and followed it south through Liverpool to Campbelltown. At Campbelltown we took the road out to Camden; and then drove to Burragorang Valley. The Hume Highway was only two lanes; with no passing lanes. The road to Burragorang Valley was narrow and steep in places

Dad decided to picnic at Cox's River. Cox's River meandered along the valley floor; the water was crystal clear. The river started in the Blue Mountains, near Lithgow, and worked its way down through the mountains to Burragorang Valley. Dad chose a beautiful, peaceful picnic spot. He soon had a fire going, and the billy boiling. Mum spread a couple of picnic rugs out on the soft grass near the river bank. We were soon tucking into a hearty, picnic lunch. It was certainly a great spot. We were on our own, not a soul for miles.

A gentle breeze played in and out among the trees; and rustling leaves made a soft, melodic sound. Gentle, gurgling sounds came from the river, as it flowed gracefully among the rocks and boulders. The smell of pure, crisp country air seeped into our nostrils.

A sense of peace and tranquillity permeated our beings. We stretched out on our rugs, gazing up through the trees into a cloudless, blue sky. We were at one with our surroundings.

After lunch the breeze freshened up. Lyn, Neil and I did a bit of exploring along the riverbank. The river was quite deep in places; none of us children could swim, so we stayed out of the water.

Dad had bought himself a new white, Panama hat for the occasion. He looked quite smart in it and the hat was good protection from the hot sun. Later, we all went for a stroll along the riverbank. It was very pleasant walking along the flat terrain on the soft grass.

While we were walking the breeze suddenly turned blustery. Dad's new hat blew off into the river!

He was very upset! The hat floated downstream and lodged in some rocks out from the shoreline. Dad was wearing a short sleeved shirt, trousers and shoes. He stripped down to his underpants, and waded into the river to get his hat. The current was fairly strong; he had to go cautiously, feeling his way along the rocks and boulders. He was trying not to get the rest of his clothing wet. The retrieval took about 20 minutes.

Dad looked a treat! He came out of the water wearing his wet hat and was sopping wet from the waist down. The water was cold! He was not a 'happy camper'! We stoked up the fire again, so he could dry out and keep warm.

It didn't take much to upset Dad's temperamental equilibrium. He was grumpy the rest of the day. The hat incident delayed our departure time; which didn't help Dad's mood. We drove back in silence; interspersed with Dad's mutterings. The rest of the family knew better than to exacerbate the situation. By the time we got back to the Fairfield turn off on the Hume Highway it was dark.

Dad turned into the corner, which hooked back sharply to the left, and misjudged the road angle. We mounted the dirt gutter and crossed the grassy footpath. By the time Dad stopped the car; we had knocked down a low fence and bent a household gas meter pipe. Fortunately there was no gas leakage

Cars back then were not fitted with seat belts; we were not restrained, and flew forward on impact. We had a few bumps and bruises, but were OK. People from surrounding houses were very kind, giving us cups of tea and warm blankets to put around our shoulders. The night was getting a bit chilly. No emergency services were available to assist. The gas company sent a technician out later to repair the damaged gas meter pipe.

The car was drivable, the damage was minor. Dad backed the car on to the edge of the road. We slowly got back into the Pontiac and Dad drove us home in silence.

Dad had to pay for all the damage; the fence, the gas meter pipe and the car. It was a very expensive outing!

That was our first and last outing in Uncle Sid's car.

The Vegetable Gardens

Dad was a keen gardener, with the proverbial 'green thumb'. His great passion was growing vegetables. We were living with my maternal grandmother, Nanna Jackson when he began his 'passion'. Nanna's backyard was a good size for gardens. A chook pen was at the back fence. We always had plenty of fresh hen eggs.

Dad started with potatoes, peas, spinach, lettuce, rhubarb, tomatoes, pumpkins and rockmelons. He hired a rotary hoe to dig up the soil. After preparing the soil he laid out his garden beds. The rockmelons and pumpkins were placed in small mounds, so the vines could spread easily. Sweet corn was also a big success.

Initially, the gardens were smaller. As Dad's experiment succeeded, the size of the gardens grew. So did the work load! Since, I was the oldest child. I found myself toiling in the gardens after school.

Dad used an old woven wire mattress as a screed to filter out pebbles and hard clumps of soil. The screeded soil made excellent topsoil. He also made his own liquid manure. Nanna's chook pen was a great place to obtain manure. Dad just added water to the manure. The liquid manure was especially good for leafy vegetables, such as lettuce and spinach.

Mum owned two house blocks next to Nanna's place. Nanna had given each of her children blocks of land. When Nanna bought the land it was way out in the scrub and it was very cheap.

Dad had the bright idea that the block next to Nanna's house was an ideal place to grow potatoes. A rotary hoe was hired to till the soil. The subsoil was clay; Dad bought bags of lime to break up the clay soil. When Dad was satisfied the soil was ready, he bought seed potatoes and planted them. The potato patch took up half the block. Poor old 'muggins' had more work to do after school, and on weekends.

Dad had a really good crop of potatoes, he realised there were far too many for us to eat. He decided to sell the surplus. Out came the scales. Out came the old newspapers. He weighed out about three lb. of potatoes (approximately 1.4 kg), and we wrapped them up in the newspapers. That seemed a good sized parcel, so the potatoes were wrapped up in 3 lb. parcels.

"Okay, Jon get your billy cart and load up the potatoes."

Suddenly, I became aware the Dad wasn't going to do the selling!

"Twopence a pound is very good value. Charge people sixpence for each parcel,"

"Where do you expect me to go with these potatoes?"

"Anywhere you like in the area." said Dad.

The billy cart seemed to weigh a ton. Neil was coerced into helping me. Dad gave me some change to start with.

Up and down the streets we went. It was a hot Saturday. The price was so good; some people took two or three lots of potatoes. The houses were quite sparse on some streets. Neil and I covered a lot of ground that day. The last section was a bit hilly, we were glad the cart wasn't full.

Very tired, hungry and thirsty, we arrived home with the money. We sold all the potatoes. Dad was very pleased with himself. We didn't get any praise for our efforts, and were a bit dejected.

That put me off gardening! I still did it, because I had to, but the enjoyment was gone. Occasionally, I didn't mind it, if there was some digging with a shovel or using the mattock. I liked the hard physical work out. I also like hosing, and still do; it is very relaxing.

Dad planted lots of different types of vegetables over the years. The potato patch went when we build our house on the block. Most of the vegetable gardens became lawn; however, Dad still had a few gardens up near the back fence.

Mum loved flowers and we soon had flower gardens in full bloom, around the house and in the front yard. As the years rolled on Dad spent less time in the gardens and sowed more lawn. I was taught to be a good gardener, but I don't enjoy gardening, even today.

[Spot, Jon & Mum in the backyard]

Cave In

The news was out! Laddie Lee had sold his property. He was moving his piggery to Bargo, south of Sydney. They reckoned that they would probably build 80 houses on the property.

Laddie Lee's boundary was just across the road from Nanna Jackson's house in Charles Street. Most of his property was bush. His house and sheds were down on Polding Street. He had a few paddocks and his piggery near his house. His acreage was bounded by Polding Street, Dublin Street, Charles Street and Bourke Street.

Lyn, Neil and I were intrigued and dismayed. Our favourite place to play would disappear. Instead of our bush domain, there would be rows of houses. It did not take long for the developers to start. The first houses went up across the street from us. Much later they bulldozed two streets through the bush. Road graders pushed up huge mounds of clay; and front-end loaders piled it into small hills.

When the workmen finished each day, we went to check out what had happened. All the local kids loved to play on the clay hills. Two big heaps on either side of one of the new streets became forts. We used to hold mock battles! Attacking and counter attacking each other! It was great fun charging up and down the clay hills. The heaps became the 'in' place to be.

Some of the boys used to bring over their small toy cars to play with. One heap in particular was ideal. The base had some intriguing shapes. The boys made roads for their toys in the dry, clay soil. It was not long before someone had the bright idea to build garages in the clay. The big heap had packed down solid. Sticks were used to dig out small tunnels to garage the cars. Digging small tunnels was great fun.

A few days later, someone began to dig himself a tunnel big enough to crawl into. It was hard work, but exciting! Others began to follow suit. They pretended to be miners digging out a mine. Three or four tunnels were soon under construction. Each day the tunnels went a bit further into the base of the heap.

I was becoming dubious. I had not joined in the tunnel digging. I said to them, "I wouldn't dig in too far, it might become dangerous."

"We haven't had any problems yet."

My brother Neil was all for it. This was exciting stuff!

Meanwhile, games on top of the heap went on as usual. Boys and girls chased each other up and down. The miners continued steadily on. They decided to link up two tunnels facing each other. They had dug the main tunnel in about 8 feet (approximately 2.5 m), when it happened. One boy was at the tunnel faced digging away. Two boys ran down the heap directly above the tunnel.

Suddenly, the tunnel caved in!

Their legs disappeared in the loose, dry clay!

The boy at the tunnel face turned around.

He was white as a sheet! He needed to be dug out, frantic digging took place.

The cave in had split the heap about 2 feet (approximately 60 cm) behind him. He could have had most of the heap on top of him!

White faced and serious, he climbed out. About one quarter of the heap had moved with the cave in.

Shock was on every face!

We stood transfixed by the seriousness of the moment!

Stunned by what might have been, each child silently picked up their toys and headed home. The cave in bore mute testimony to the foolishness of digging tunnels in loose clay soil.

We still played on the heaps; but we never dug tunnels there again!

The Great Australian Dream

We had lived with Nanna Jackson for quite a few years when Mum and Dad decided it would be good to have their own house. Mum owned two blocks of land adjacent to Nanna's house. Mum and Dad decided that Mum would get a job, so they could save up and build a house on the nearest block. The 'great Australian dream' was to own your own house. They would build it in stages; as they could afford it. Mum obtained work as a barmaid at a pub in Fairfield.

Dad obtained a loan for £200.00 from the Rural Bank in Fairfield. When the £200.00 was paid off, they would obtain another £200.00 and buy more materials, and so on.

Dad was a Fitter and Turner, by trade, and a Diesel Engineer. He was very handy with tools and very accurate with his work. First he marked out the house site, and then we dug out the footings. We mixed the concrete by hand, in the wheelbarrow. In the afternoons, after he knocked off work, and on weekends, Dad worked on the house. I was his 'gopher' (go for this and go for that) and helped where I could. I was about 10 years old at the time. When the footings were dry on the perimeter, we dug out the footings for the house piers. These were then filled with concrete.

Next step, bricks for the foundation walls and the piers were purchased. Dad laid all the bricks himself. We were now ready to put on the floor bearers and floor joists. The timber bearers and joists were coated with Creosote to stop termites and white ants.

Power tools were very expensive; hand tools were used. Dad cut all the timber bearers and joists by hand saw. This was a big job. The timber was all hard wood! The bearers were bolted to the foundations and the joists were nailed to the bearers. All this was done by hand; there were no nail guns around then. The nail holes were predrilled with a hand drill.

[Neil & Jon in the house foundations]

After this, Dad built a brick chimney for the lounge. Work slowed for a while until the loan was paid off. As soon as the first loan was paid, the next loan commenced. Dad used Oregon timber for the walls and roof rafters.

He cut out the lengths of timber for the walls and laid them on the ground. When he was satisfied they fitted correctly, he nailed them together. Then he cut diagonal braces and nailed them to each wall. When the walls were ready, he got a few neighbours together to help him erect them. They lifted one wall at a time, stood it in place; then Dad nailed braces to the wall, and pegged the braces to the ground, to hold the braces securely in place. When all the walls were in place, he nailed the walls together at each corner. He also nailed each wall to the floor joists.

Next the ceiling joists were cut out and nailed on. This held the framework securely together. Dad then very carefully measured and cut out the roof rafters. Putting the roof rafters together was a tricky operation, as the pitch had to be correct on each section of the roof.

Collyn being Collyn, it was perfect! He always used to say, "If a job is worth doing, it is worth doing well." The framework was complete. The braces were taken off the walls. The house shape was now clearly visible.

[Completed house frame]

The roof tiles were the next phase in the building operation. Dad cut out the roof battens and nailed them to the rafters. The clay roof tiles would be wired on to the battens with copper wire.

Next the family had an exciting day out. We went by train into the city; and went to Wunderlich's tile showroom to choose the roof tiles. We spent a few hours looking at the tiles and making a decision.

A big truck loaded with the tiles came out, accompanied by a team of roof tilers. These blokes were like mountain goats, running up and down the ladders; each one carrying up five tiles each time on his shoulder. The roof was finished in one day; even the ridge cap tiles were cemented in place.

We could now work under cover, even if it rained. Dad bought a couple of floor jacks to use on the floors. He purchased tongue and groove floor boards, which were termite proofed. The boards were all neatly stacked inside under cover.

This was a good part of the job. Dad laid the cut boards together about halfway across a room; then he would attach the floor jacks and jack the boards together under pressure. He then nailed the boards to the floor joists. He repeated the procedure for the remainder of the floor. The gap, where the jacks had been, was measured and a floor board was cut to size and nailed in place. What a difference it made, when the floorboards were all in place! Each nail then had to be punched into its board and the hole puttied up. Now we could move freely around inside the house.

Cladding the outside walls was the next big job, using 8'x 4' fibro sheets. Fresh fibro sheets break easily and have to be handled very carefully. Dad had to make wooden scaffolds, so we could reach the higher places on the walls. Mum had to help here; it needed three people on the large sheets. The bottom sheets were nailed on first, then the top sheets. Later, wooden cover strips were nailed over the joins.

One day, Dad, Lyn and I were on the scaffold working on the back wall. Neil was supposed to keep an eye on the pegs holding the trestle type scaffold securely against the wall. If the pegs looked like weakening Neil would let us know, and we would quickly get down and fix the problem.

However, nothing had happened for days and his attention wandered. A peg loosened on one side. The scaffold tilted and we slid down the boards, on top of each other!

Neil bolted off!

No one was hurt; on the contrary, we were almost hysterical with laughter. Fortunately, we had just nailed a sheet in place; so no damage was done.

Dad had the long fibro sheets laid out, on the ground, on flat wooden boards to keep them off the soil. At first glance it looked like a footpath. The inevitable happened; we had visitors and their son ran along the 'footpath' breaking all the sheets!

Dad was ropeable!

He didn't blow up in front of his friends, but afterwards he was a sight to behold!

It was an expensive accident. The new sheets were put inside the house for safe keeping. When the outside walls were finished, Dad ordered the windows; these were wooden sash type windows, which slid up and down on a hidden pulley and rope system. We soon had them installed.

The concrete floors for the bathroom and laundry were the next important step. We hand mixed the concrete and poured it into the wooden form work Dad had built. Next the electricians and the plumbers were called in to do their respective jobs. There was a bit of a lull, while the loan was paid out; then Dad ordered the fibrous plaster sheets for the inside walls and ceilings. The plaster sheets were 8'x 4', and were a lot heavier than the fibro sheets of the same size. Again, care had to be taken in handling them, as they would break easily.

As this was an inside job it could also be done at night. A long power lead from Nanna's house was used for lighting. The ceiling sheets were tricky. Dad made up wooden scaffolds to get the sheets up near the ceiling, then we used wooden props to prop the sheets in position. Dad then nailed the sheets on to the ceiling battens. It was slow work. Later, Dad put the cornices around the wall and ceiling joins. The sheet joins were taped, then plastered with plaster and later sanded smooth.

Now it really looked like a house!

All the rooms were clearly defined. Dad put the doors on next.

We were at the lock up stage!

The laundry and kitchen were fitted out. The hot water system, a 100 gallons, 'off peak' electric, Rheem was installed in the ceiling. The electricity was connected to the house. We could use Nanna's bathroom until we finished our own.

The galvanised roof guttering and down pipes were cut to length soldered together and put on the facia boards.

The outside toilet was built on to a back corner of the house. We dug a huge sullage trench; from the toilet down the back yard. The sullage trench was bricked in, using a lattice pattern and concrete slabs placed over the top. The trench was then covered over with top soil and grass allowed to grow again. The sullage gradually seeped out through the gaps in the brick work and was absorbed into the ground.

The toilet dispersal system worked by moving the lid of the toilet seat up and down; the contents were then swept away on a revolving metal plate and consigned to the sullage trench. A large rubber blade squeegeed the plate clean. Disinfectants and deodorisers were kept in the toilet to keep it clean and smelling OK.

The floor coverings could wait. The painting could wait. The paths and driveway could wait. The front and back patios could wait. The fences could wait.

We couldn't wait!

We moved in!

Great Escape

It was school holidays time in Sydney. The days were sunny and warm. My friends and I had planned a day out at Prospect Hill.

Prospect Hill was a very prominent landmark in western Sydney. It was one of the highest points between Sydney and the Blue Mountains. The huge hill, in the 1950's, had three blue metal quarries operating on it. One side was flanked by Prospect Reservoir; the main water supply for Sydney.

We trekked out along Dublin Street, crossed over Horsley Drive, went past the cemetery and came to the end of the street. In front of us was an old wooden bridge that had fallen into disrepair and was no longer useable. One end was sitting in the creek. The water was only ankle deep and easy to cross. The so called 'road' on the other side of the bridge was in terrible condition; and the sides had become a dumping ground for rubbish.

Main thoroughfares were tarred and sealed, but not in very good condition. Potholes were everywhere, making progress slow. Dirt roads, often in lousy condition predominated. The local council occasionally sent out a grader to smooth them out.

We crossed over the creek and continued along the rubbish strewn track until we came to the base of Prospect Hill. We then walked in a westerly direction until we could see a footbridge over the water canal. We moved to the boundary fence and slipped through the strands of wire. The hill loomed up like a mountain before us. The sides were grassy and quite steep. The privately owned land was off limits; however, we should be safe, it was the weekend. We made our way up to the footbridge over the canal. The water was deep and flowed at a moderate rate.

"Be careful crossing the canal!" I warned the others.

Under my arm I carried my air rifle. It was a BB gun, which fired slugs, pellets or darts. I hoped to do some target shooting at the top of the hill. We crossed the perimeter road above the canal; climbed through another fence and toiled up the steep slope.

I cautioned our group, "Watch your steps! If you slip, you will tumble all the way back to that fence".

It was a hard slog to the top of the hill. We were glad to sit on top and rest for a few minutes.

My brother Neil spoke, "Boy! You can see a long way from here."

Wetherill Park and Smithfield lay before us. Further out we looked across the vast expanse of outer, south western Sydney. The area was still rural, mostly bush.

"Who wants to see the Harbour Bridge?" I said.

"I do!" they all chorused.

"Follow me!"

I set off across the top of the hill, through the bush. About ten minutes later, I pointed towards the city. There on the far horizon, we could just make out the top of the famous 'coat hanger' bridge. We could see the grey colour of the arch. There was no smog or pollution to block the view.

Satisfied, we went back to play on the slides. On a steep part on the top of the hill, we could slide down dirt paths on old sheets of iron. The base of the slide area had thick bushes to stop us. Otherwise, we would keep accelerating at terrifying speed down the hill! We played here for about an hour; then I decided it was time for some target practice. We all took turns shooting slugs at targets we made from tree branches and other objects.

My air rifle was a single shot rifle. It was hinged at the base of the barrel. When you broke it open it compressed air into the firing chamber. You then loaded a slug, pellet or dart into the bottom of the barrel and clicked it together again. It was now ready to fire.

You took aim through the sight, and when you were ready you squeezed the trigger. A slug was sort of bullet shaped, with a blunter nose. A pellet was shaped like a ball bearing. A dart was pointed one end, cone shaped with a tiny, feathery tail. I bought my supplies from the local newsagent in Smithfield.

"Let's do some exploring." someone said.

"OK!"

"Yair!"

"Why not!"

We set off across the top of the hill, in the general direction of the reservoir.

"Look down there! There are some kids coming up the hill." said Neil.

Sure enough, another group was on its way up the hill. They looked like older kids.

"We better keep away from them." I said.

We were a long way from home and I was apprehensive. The other group spotted us. We moved away from them; but they followed us.

"Hey, give us a go of your gun, mate!"

"No!" I shouted to them.

"If you don't give us a go we will take it off you."

"Run!" I shouted.

We raced across the top of the hill towards the reservoir. In and out of the bush we weaved. The other group did not know the area, but managed to keep us in sight. I was worried; we were coming to a part of the hill, near one of the quarries. I looked down the hill. The other group had split up. Some were running along the perimeter road trying to get ahead of us.

We were near the quarry face! Our pursuers would catch us soon!

I thought to myself, 'They will probably bash me up and take my gun. What am I going to do?'

I stopped suddenly! The quarry face was right in front of us! The other mob was only minutes away.

There was nowhere to go!

I approached the quarry face; and looked cautiously over. The quarry floor was hundreds of feet down! I looked at the blasted face; loose dolerite seemed to be all over it. The dolerite was like coarse sand. The face sloped, very steeply to the ground!

It's now, or never! I thought to myself.

"I'm goin' down here!" I said.

They gave me terrified looks!

"It's like sand this stuff. Do you want to be bashed up?"

"No!"

"Well, follow me!"

Holding my gun in my right hand, I plunged down the quarry face. Terrified, the others stared at me!

Fear drove me on!

The others looked behind them. The bigger kids were nearly upon them. Frightened, they also plunged down the quarry face, slipping and sliding. I took a fleeting glance upwards; the others were following me.

Down! Down! Down we slid!

Hearts pounding furiously!

Desperately trying to keep upright; a tumble could mean death!

Our pursuers at the top stared in amazement! None of them were game to follow!

Time seemed to be in slow motion as we slid inexorably down the blasted face. Our shoes filled up with dolerite particles. It was like sliding down a gigantic, extremely steep, sand dune. The crumbly dolerite slowed our descent enough for us to stay in an upright position.

I reached the bottom!

I looked up at the others still sliding down. The immense quarry face loomed up before me! I looked around. Huge mechanical shovels called 'Navvies' were on the quarry floor. The huge quarry was silent.

Rock blasting took place here Monday to Friday!

The others slid to a stop beside me. We could see faces up top.

"Quick, let's get out of here! They might follow us." I said.

The entrance was a fair way off. We ran towards it. As we passed through, the caretaker spotted us.

"Hey, you kids! What are you doing?"

I yelled to him, "Sorry, mister we were chased by some bigger kids who were going to bash us up and take my air rifle."

"How did you get into the quarry?"

"We slid down the face, mister!"

His jaw dropped in disbelief!

We ran past him and down the road to the main entrance. Dazed, he stared at us for a few moments.

"Hey, come back here. You were trespassing. I am going to get the police."

We kept running!

We ran out of the main entrance and down the dirt road towards home. We had outsmarted the big kids! There was no way they could catch us now.

We later stopped for a breather. The enormity of what we had just done caught up with us. We made a pact not to tell our parents, as we would all get into serious trouble.

We went home by a different route!

None of us went to Prospect Hill for a long, long time.

Lawson

Lieutenant William Lawson along with Gregory Blaxland and William Charles Wentworth were famous explorers;. The trio became the first white explorers to cross the Blue Mountains west of Sydney in 1813. Their journey led to the opening up of the western regions of NSW. William Lawson was born on 2-Jun-1774 at Finchley, Middlesex, England. He trained as a surveyor and later bought a commission in the New South Wales Corps. Lawson arrived in Sydney in 1800. In 1809 he received a grant of 500 acres at Prospect, west of Sydney.

Not many people are aware that Lawson built a house on top of Prospect Hill, in outer western Sydney. Apparently, Governor Phillip of 'First Fleet' fame, climbed the hill in 1788 and called it 'Bellevue Hill'; because of its superb views over much of the early colony.

As youngsters in the 1950's we used to climb Prospect Hill and explore it. Lawson's house had been demolished, only the foundations were left. The house was still standing when Mum was at school. She could remember looking through the house.

One day we were exploring in the bush about 100 yards (91 m) from the foundations.

"Look here!" I said.

They scurried over.

"What have you found, Jon?"

"I think it is an underground prison."

"You're joking!"

"No, have a look for yourselves."

We peered over the edge. We could make out an area approximately 10 feet long, about 4 feet wide and about 12 feet deep (3.05m x 1.22m x 3.66m). Two heavy, wooden doors could be seen. Iron bars were set in the doors for viewing prisoners and to let in light. The walls were sheer. Access must have been by a ladder; which would later be pulled away. Even if a prisoner managed to escape out of his cell; he still had 12 feet high, sheer walls to scale to get to freedom.

We found a long, strong tree branch. It had to support our body weight. We pushed it down to the floor. I was the first to try it. I climbed carefully down the branch, testing it as I went.

"It's pretty scary down here."

I waited until someone else joined me before I had enough courage to look inside one of the cells. Cautiously, I swung open the heavy door. Inside was cold and dark! Not a stick of furniture anywhere.

"It must have been freezing down here in winter." I said.

"Boy, I'm sure glad I didn't live in those days." said my mate.

"It sure is spooky!" I said.

The other cell was the same. After a while we decided the others could have a look. Not many took up the offer; it looked so scary down there.

We explored right around the foundations and in the area near the foundations. Near a pathway leading to the foundations we came across a small, raised concrete slab; with a big gap in the centre of the slab. Curious, we had a closer look. Carefully, two of us laid flat on the ground and inched our way up to the gap in the slab. Sure enough, it was another hole in the ground.

"Look at that! It sure is big and deep." I said.

It looked like it might have been an underground food storage area. It was at least 30 feet deep (9.14m). The hole had been hewn out of solid rock. A thick iron bar, or pipe was slung across the middle; about a third of the way down.

"Maybe, they used to hang meat from there."

"Yair, they didn't have iceboxes, or fridges back then."

"Boy, if you fell down there you would kill yourself."

"Sure would!"

"I guess they must have put a heavy cover over this slot."

"I suppose so."

I remembered something my mother told me about the place.

"Mum reckons it was a dangerous place to live back then. The natives killed one bloke. They had to be on their guard all the time."

The area at the back of the house had been cleared. Maybe, Lawson had run some sheep and cattle. Perhaps, he had vegetable gardens. The land sloped away from the foundations; in a northerly direction. The whole area was probably cleared by hand. Slow hard work! The ground appeared to be stony under the surface.

Lawson would have been completely unaware that his home was situated on a hill that would in the future support three full time blue metal quarries. These quarries blasted and crushed blue metal which was then used for road bases and concrete mixes. Most of Sydney has been built using blue metal from the quarries. Sydney's bitumen roads have been built using blue metal from these quarries.

Lawson would be amazed to know that on the Blue Mountains side of his hill, a huge water reservoir would be constructed; to supply the colony with water. He would have had problems obtaining sufficient water to meet their daily needs. Life for Lawson and his household would have been difficult and demanding. In those days Prospect Hill was a very isolated place.

However, the views from the top of the hill would have been absolutely superb, with no smog! From his hilltop abode, Lawson would have been able to see a huge proportion of what is now the modern city of Sydney. Lawson died at Prospect, 16-Jun-1850.

"Let's go over and have some slides before we go home."

"OK!"

"Yep!"

"You beauty!"

Afterwards we all trooped home, tired and happy. Prospect Hill was an exciting place for kids!

The Water Hole

It was my last year at primary school. The summer weather was stinking hot. At lunch time some of the senior boys decided to head down to Prospect Creek, behind Smithfield Park. Smithfield Park was the venue for our school cricket and football teams. We knew the area well. Prospect Creek flowed through Smithfield, then through Fairfield, Carramar, Lansvale and eventually flowed into the Georges river at Chipping Norton.

We had an hour for lunch. Older pupils were allowed to walk to town and buy lunch. There were no 'Tuck shops' in those days! My mate Grape once bought a freshly baked half loaf of bread, a tomato, cheese and cold meat for his lunch. He dug out the centre of the loaf, crammed in the tomato, cheese and cold meat; put the bread back on top, and voila, instant lunch. He ate the lot!

We usually ate our lunch on the way to the creek. The other boys could swim; I couldn't at that time. We stripped down to our shorts and went in for a dip. I stayed close to the bank in water up to my chest. The water was murky, I could not see the bottom; however, it was a very refreshing way to cool off. Our shorts were nice and dry by the time we got back to school.

One particular day stands out vividly in my memory. I was in the shallow water. The others were skylarking around me. My concentration must have lapsed; I stepped into a deep hole.

My feet could not touch bottom!

Supreme panic took hold of me!

I couldn't swim! I couldn't float, or tread water!

I yelled arms flailing wildly as I went under!

It is a terrifying feeling, going under water, knowing you will drown, because you can't swim.

Two of my mates Porky and Rato were close by. They swam over to help me. I nearly drowned one of them in my panic! I tried to scramble up his back and pushed both of us under water.

You cannot think rationally or logically!

Panic takes over completely!

Somehow, the two of them managed to drag me to the bank, where I held on gasping for breath. I had swallowed some water.

Very subdued, we walked back to school. The news soon spread among the kids. The teachers weren't told, or my parents.

We did not go swimming again at lunch time!

The upshot of this was I decided to learn how to swim. I asked Mum and Dad to teach me, both of them could swim. The nearest Municipal Swimming Pool was at Granville. The whole family would go for the day to Granville. We didn't have a car at the time. We caught a bus to Fairfield Railway Station, then an electric train to Granville. The Pool was about ten minutes walk from the railway station.

Mum would take a picnic lunch; which we had on the lawns, or the poolside seats. Dad taught me how to hang on to the side of the pool, straighten my back, and kick my legs. Next step, I learned to float on my back. I sank quite a few times before I got the hang of it.

The next phase was to learn how to 'dog paddle' across the pool in the shallow end. I sank a lot during this phase. When I mastered the 'dog paddle', I began to learn the 'Australian Crawl', or freestyle as it is now known.

I became more confident in the water; I began to venture into the deep end. It was not without trepidation! I overcame my fears, and was no longer afraid of deep water. However, to this day, I am happier in water where I can touch bottom.

In my adolescent years I took up snorkelling and spear fishing. Body surfing became my thing in summer. I was never interested in board riding preferring body surfing.

Later, Fairfield Municipal Council built a Swimming Pool complex at Canley Vale. This was accessible from either Canley Vale, or Cabramatta railway stations. The local kids would ride there on their bicycles and stay all day.

Today back yard pools proliferate. The number of small children drowning each year is a national tragedy. Small children usually drown silently! I was old enough to start yelling!

It is a memory I would prefer to forget; however I learned from my foolishness and learned how to swim.

Going to the Flicks

Because I was older than Lyn and Neil; I was allowed to go to the Matinee at the local cinema, some Saturday afternoons. The programs were definitely aimed at us kids. The main movie was either a good Western or, an Adventure type movie. After interval, cartoons or a comedy movie was shown. "Going to the flicks" is an old term. It originated back when the silent movie cameras were cranked by hand. When the machine driven projectors came along the old silent movies tended to flicker; hence the term "going to the flicks" came about.

The Matinee started about 12:00 noon and finished about 3:00 p.m. It cost sixpence (5 cents) to get in. I would have an early lunch and then catch a bus into Fairfield. The bus would drop its passengers in front of the railway station on The Crescent. It was just a short walk to the cinema, which was situated at the north eastern end of the Railway goods yard.

In those days there was no road overbridge on Horsley Drive. All traffic to the Hume Highway had to pass through the railway gates adjacent to the cinema. A railway employee had to manually open and close the gates when the trains passed through. There was no pedestrian crossing; you just waited for a break in the traffic, to cross over what is now Court Road, to the cinema.

Hordes of kids turned up for the weekly matinee. There was no TV until 1956 and then it was black-and-white only. Lots of movies were still in black-and-white, but the newer ones were in full colour. My sixpence got me into the main (lower) section of the cinema. You could sit upstairs if you paid more. It was a picture theatre only; there was no provision for live theatre. The amenities' blocks were outside the cinema down the left-hand side, towards the rear of the cinema; (no sewerage back then). You had to obtain a pass out, so you could get back inside. The refreshment areas were on either side of the Foyer. It was a busy place at Interval time. You could buy ice cream cones, popcorn, potato chips, nuts, lollies, drinks and suchlike.

The aisles were carpeted, but the floors between the rows of seats were not. Many a Jaffa lolly has been sent rolling down the wooden floors. Every time they dropped from one row to the one below they made a clicking, rolling sound.

Western movies were in vogue. Stars such as Gene Autry, John Wayne, Gary Cooper and Robert Mitchum were our heroes. They were the good guys who always won out over the bad guys. And then there were the Cowboys and Indians' movies; which usually involved chases on horseback with lots of fighting. Exciting stuff on the big screen!

Pirate movies and sailing ship adventure movies were very popular. I particularly remember Errol Flynn in Captain Blood. Errol Flynn, swinging about the ship on ropes, and sword fighting his opponents was heady stuff. We would come out of the cinema all hyped up; find some sticks, and start sword fighting each other. Near where we caught the bus home was a park with date palms; we used to pick up the dates and throw them at each other. We normally had to wait twenty minutes to half an hour for the bus home. On the way home, we would sometimes sit on the back seat of the bus and have a friendly wrestle.

When Lyn and Neil were a bit older, they were allowed to come along. I remember at one afternoon matinee a scary movie was in progress. We were sitting in the back row. The cinema crowd was silent, we were holding our breaths. The scene was a room in a haunted house. The whole room was panned into our view. It was deathly quiet. We felt something horrible was about to happen. Silently, I put my arm behind Lyn's head and tapped her on the opposite shoulder.

Lyn let out a blood curdling scream of fright. Every female in the cinema instinctively joined in for a truly awesome, sound spectacular! For me, it was the highlight of the movie! Everything after that was an anti-climax.

Another time, I needed to go for a comfort break. I obtained my pass out and went down to the male toilets. On the way back, I noticed one of the male ushers was changing the advertising posters out front. He asked me to hold the glass doors of the poster windows. They were hinged and swung outwards. I held each door as required. It was easy work. He then gave me sixpence for helping him. I recouped my entrance fee for ten minutes work!

They were good times.

The advent of TV and the Drive-in movie theatres was the death knell of this cinema. It closed down in the 1960's and was turned into a small shopping mall.

Transition

My primary school days were over. Next year I was off to High school. Sydney was expanding to its north, west and south. Smithfield was opening up; the bush blocks were being sold to land developers and new housing estates began to appear.

The Korean War had come and gone. Britain had exploded two nuclear bombs to the west of the Woomera rocket range in South Australia. Queen Elizabeth II accompanied by her husband Prince Philip had toured Australia on her first official visit as our new Sovereign. We were reminded of the Cold War when a Soviet diplomat Vladimir Petrov defected and was granted political asylum in Australia. His wife was dragged off a plane at Darwin airport when Soviet officials tried to force her to return to the Soviet Union.

In 1955 NSW pubs were allowed to stay open until 10:00 PM and the 'six o'clock swill' disappeared. (A year later the NSW Cabinet legalised Poker machines.) The Circular Quay loop of the Sydney underground railway opened. A milestone in post war migration was reached when the 1,000,000th migrant arrived in Melbourne. A lady from England, named Barbara Porritt claimed the honour. 'Rock and Roll' commenced in the USA with a hit song, 'Rock around the clock' by Bill Haley and the Comets. What a phenomenon this pop song started!

We could now catch an electric train at Fairfield Station, change trains at Wynyard Station and travel to Circular Quay Station where the ferry terminals were located. We could then board a ferry to Taronga Park Zoo or go to Manly for the day. A ferry trip on Sydney Harbour was a very special treat for our family.

1956 was a big year for Australia. TV broadcasting commenced in Sydney and soon spread to the other States of Australia. TV was only in black and white until 1974, when colour TV was introduced. What a sensation TV caused in the early days of broadcasting. Crowds would flock to watch it in the store windows. Australia hosted the Olympic Games in Melbourne. Australian athletes did us proud. The events were broadcast over the new TV stations. Live coverage was unavailable as TV was in its infancy.

Australia was beginning to feel growing pains as the steady influx of migrants to our shores placed a heavy load on infrastructure and resources. The nation was moving into a period of growth and prosperity. Jobs were plentiful and wages were stable. Prices of food and commodities were also stable. Credit was not easy to obtain and the credit excesses of later decades were not yet looming on the horizon. It was cash based merchandising for the man in the street. If you wanted a big ticket item you had to save up for it. Wages were paid in cash; there was no EFTPOS, or ATM machines. If you had a cheque account with a bank it could take up to ten days for your cheque to clear. Interstate cheques had a stamp duty impost on them; for which you paid extra. The average Aussie could not afford the telephone.

It was a good time for Australian manufacturing. The economy was sound and people generally had a positive outlook about the economic future. The major concern centred on the Cold War, particularly the Soviet Union and the USA. The possibility of a nuclear war was a terrible prospect to consider.

Locally, signs of change were evident. The Smithfield State Primary School had two new buildings built to accommodate increased enrolment; particularly from migrant children. The Roman Catholic Church had begun a local primary school. Smithfield shopping centre expanded with the opening of new shops across Horsley Drive. Fairfield Municipal Council began a slow improvement to the main roads in the municipality.

Developers were forced to put in kerb and channelling then lay bitumen on the streets in their developments. The two local bus companies added extra services to their bus schedules. NSW Railways also added extra train services in peak hours to handle the demand for workers travelling to the city.

Shops closed at 12:00 noon on Saturday and did not reopen until Monday morning. Pubs were not allowed to open on Sundays. Sport was not allowed to be played on Sundays. Sunday was a day of rest; of going to church, or a day spent with the family. Sunday was 'sleep in' day and a time for leisurely reading the Sunday newspapers. Lunch on Sunday was a traditional baked dinner for Aussies of Anglo-Saxon descent. The 'Mother Country' mentality was still prevalent in the 1950's. Australia was still tied to 'Mother England's' apron strings at this point in time.

Radio programs were still dominant; TV was only just starting and TV sets were very expensive. In Sydney radio personalities such as Bob Dyer and Jack Davey were extremely popular. Jazz, Country & Western, Contemporary, Blues and Classical music was played over the air waves; by the end of the decade 'rock & roll' was having a major impact.

Smithfield's rural setting was changing; progress was catching up with this sleepy, outer Sydney suburb.

High School Days

I left primary school at the end of 1956. I was a good scholar at primary school and graduated Dux of the school. In January 1957 I fronted up to Fairfield Boys High School on the Horsley Drive, Fairfield. The school was in its infancy. The year I started, education only went to 3rd year standard; as new buildings were added it went to 5th year standard, which was then the senior year at high school.

Fairfield Girls High School was located, in its own precinct, at the rear of the Boys High School. A common bitumen road serviced both schools.

I was slated to start in class 1B. This would allow me to do woodwork or metalwork classes, as well as the core subjects. This class also did a foreign language, which in this case was French. As I am mechanically minded, I was happy with this; and working in the Manual Arts classes could lead to a possible apprenticeship later.

So with high expectations I turned up for my class. Boy was I surprised! They did not have enough students for the "A" class and I was forcibly enrolled in class 1A due to my good marks at primary school. My protesting was to no avail! Now I had two languages to learn, Latin and French; a higher standard of maths and no woodwork or metalwork.

This first day set the pattern for a rapid decline not only in my morale, but also my previous good marks. The teachers were generally tough and hard-bitten. It was the toughest teaching neighbourhood in Sydney at the time. Discipline was strict and severe. Every teacher was well versed in the use of the cane for punishment. The Headmaster was a short, evil tempered man who was fond of alcoholic beverages.

Life at high school was vastly different to primary school. My subjects were: Maths 1, Maths 2, English, History, Geography, Science, Latin, French, Technical Drawing and Physical Education. Except for Physical Education (PE), I was given homework and/or assignments each night on whatever subjects I had that day. The day was broken up into units of 40 minute periods, with half an hour for Recess and one hour for Lunch.

Class 1A was known as a travelling class. We had no designated room of our own. Each period we moved from one class room to another. Occasionally we were able to stay in the same room for two consecutive periods. It was a real pain, moving from class room to class room; constantly packing and unpacking our school cases.

I was good at English, History and Geography, reasonable at Science and so-so, in Maths. I hated Latin and managed a pass in French. I was average in Technical Drawing and did alright at PE.

I was a couple of months into my first year at high school and Collyn decided to change my surname from Endicott to Peasey. So, Jon Peasey I became. This caused confusion for a while. My class mates changed my nickname from "Apricot" to "Peaseycot".

I rode my bicycle to school for a couple of years, and then decided it was easier to catch the special school bus, which dropped us off in front of the high school. Another special school bus picked us up in the afternoon. If we were on detention, as sometimes happened to me, I would have to walk into the Fairfield CBD and catch a normal bus home.

There was no fraternising between the boys' school and the girls' school during school hours. It was a strict "No, no".

In my second year they dropped the Technical Drawing class and gave us another two Latin periods. Joy oh joy; more Latin to study, and try to make sense of. Just what I needed! My marks went into a further decline as the year went on. I barely scraped through the second year. My marks were so bad in the third year; I was forced to repeat Year 3. I was now on official Department Head lists for bad behaviour in classes.

Circumstances at home were not going smoothly. Dad was always telling me to leave school and get a job. The final straw came on my sixteenth birthday. I could now officially leave school. I went straight to the Headmaster and left school the same day.

That same week I applied for a job and two days later joined the work force. My school days were over! No regrets and a working career in front of me.

[Aunty Lucy, Nanna Jackson, Janelle, Pauline & Uncle Jim

at the wharf to see Nanna Jackson off to England for a visit]

Family Tensions

After the caravan experiment failed, Dad decided he would go to Papua New Guinea to work in the mines as a fitter and turner. The mines offered very high wages and Papua New Guinea was still an Australian Protectorate in the 1950's. He duly signed up and was flown to Port Moresby. Mum and Dad hoped this would be a good short cut to get a hefty deposit to build their own home.

Unfortunately, he contracted Yellow Jaundice (Hepatitis) and was flown home again about one month later. He was quite sick for several months and had no income coming in. Our financial status was a bit grim.

Dad loved fatty foods and sweets. He was also a heavy smoker. Dad was a bit of a 'prima donna' type of patient. The world had to revolve around him. He also knew how to feign being sicker than he actually was. This caused some tense moments from time to time. It taught us to pick feigned bouts of sickness from the real bouts of sickness.

Dad's eating regime, combined with his love of fatty foods, plus his heavy smoking caught up with him in his mid 30's. He suffered a Cerebrovascular Accident (CVA), otherwise known as a 'Stroke'. This left him weaker on the left side of his body. From then on he walked with a slight limp on his left leg. He now had noticeable mood swings and was often angry for no apparent reason. He became distrustful of our actions. Life at home became more stressful. Mum copped a lot of verbal abuse.

Dad recovered well enough to resume work as a fitter and turner; his mood swings lessened and life was a bit more relaxed. The house building period followed and Dad's health was good most of the time. With his mind focused on building the house, life for us kids was less stressful.

A few years later he suffered another CVA. As he recovered his behaviour became erratic and threatening. He accused Mum of having an affair with another man. Mum was working as a barmaid to keep the family going financially. Dad became extremely possessive of Mum, and hated having her out of his sight. He made life difficult for her and us kids.

As Dad's rehabilitation progressed he regained strength and put the family under lots of pressure. As children we felt constantly threatened. I was at high school but not yet fully grown. I was always concerned that in one of his irrational moods he might physically harm Mum.

I remember a particular incident, when he was in a really bad mood swing. Mum called his doctor. His doctor arrived and Dad knocked the medical bag out of the doctor's hand then stormed out of the house dressed in his pyjamas and dressing gown. The doctor was very concerned as he had not seen him in one of his wild moods. Dad was what you could say "a street angel, but a home devil"; when Dad returned home, he was in a really foul mood. We ended up taking refuge at a neighbour's house up the road, until he calmed down. By this time it was evening. Mum copped a lot of verbal abuse over the next few days.

Eventually, Dad regained a more normal outlook on life and went back into the workforce. As he was not as physically fit or as mentally sharp, he ended up with a Storeman/Packer's job at the Amco Jeans factory at Yennora. The mood swings lessened, but life was not relaxed at home.

I found the situation hard going. Dad was always at me to leave school and get a job, so I could contribute money for board and lodgings to the household finances. I could not legally leave school until I was sixteen, nevertheless, the tirades continued. This had a further detrimental effect on my school work. I was not enamoured with high school; plus my homework and assignments' load was considerable. Every school day I was loaded up with homework, which had to be done before the next school period of whatever subject I had that day.

Life became a constant grind. I came home from school and had to cook the evening meal. Mum did not finish her shift until 8:00 p.m. Dad arrived home at 5:00 p.m. and expected his dinner to be on the table as soon as he arrived home. When dinner was over Dad watched TV, while us kids did the washing and wiping up. Then I would get out my homework and get stuck into it. Mum arrived home about 8:30 p.m.; her dinner was kept warm in the oven.

Sometimes, I would not finish my home work until 11:00 p.m. or midnight. On a typical school day there was always Maths, English and Latin home work. Some days there was History, Geography, French and Science homework as well. It even extended into the weekend. The burden was onerous. If Dad was in an irrational mood it was very hard to concentrate on homework.

As my sister Lyn grew older and went to high school, Dad became very picky with her and gave her a hard time. As she blossomed and came into puberty, he became over protective with her. She was not allowed to even think about having a boyfriend. As Lyn was not in an "A" class, thankfully, her homework load was considerably less than mine.

[Lyn, Jon dressed for work & Neil]

The year I left high school my brother Neil commenced high school. He was in a lower class and did not receive much home work. The constant pressure from Dad did not ease up until I left school and started employment at a local Jewellery Store in Fairfield. It was a similar story with Neil; however, Lyn continued to have problems with Dad even when she started work. Eventually, she left home when she could no longer stand the situation.

Although there were times of tension and conflict, there were plenty of light hearted moments and laughter as well. As the years rolled on, Dad mellowed a bit as we grew into adulthood.

The Paper Run

I had just started High school. I wanted to earn some pocket money. Mum and Dad were flat out keeping us fed, clothed and paying off the roof over our heads. We rarely got pocket money. I asked around for odd jobs. One chap offered to pay me to walk his greyhounds after school each day. I agreed to give it a try. I was not big and brawny, just an average build for my age.

The first couple of days went well. I had 3 greyhounds on leashes. Each dog was muzzled. They were strong dogs. If another dog barked at them they would try to go for it. It took all of my strength to hold them back.

The third day was a bit of a disaster. A cat walked across the road in front of us. The dogs took off after the cat. I was pulled along with them, vainly trying to pull them up. The largest dog broke his leash, near his collar, and raced after the cat.

I was distraught!

The other two dogs kept pulling at their leashes. I could not let them go to chase the runaway dog. Fortunately for me, a chap noticed my predicament and rounded up the runaway dog. He tied its leash temporarily to its collar. I was apprehensive all the way back. The dogs were worth a small fortune.

I gave up that job the same day!

I was still keen to get a job. Some of the local boys had paper runs after school. I made enquiries at the newsagency. The owner didn't have any vacancies, but he said I could try out as a reliever; in case someone got sick. I was given a bundle of afternoon papers to sell across the road in the hotel. I did OK; some of the crude remarks were a bit off putting. I soon learned to answer back with a smart reply.

The paper runs were all done via bicycles. Each boy had luggage racks fitted over the wheels on his bike. Hessian packs were slung over the racks.

Each pack had a deep pocket on each side. Masonite boards or stiff cardboard was placed in each pocket to keep the pack away from the wheel spokes. The papers were then loaded into the pockets. Each boy was given a leather money bag to wear around his waist.

The afternoon papers were the Daily Telegraph and The Mirror. They cost sixpence each. Once a week, a local paper The Biz was published, it cost twopence. The morning papers were home delivered by the newsagent. The Sunday morning papers were delivered by the paper boys.

I had to go with each boy and learn his paper run. I did not receive any money for this. If I filled in for someone who was sick, I got paid for it. Payment was via a commission, based on the number of papers sold each day. We were paid once a week. We didn't earn big money, but it was good pocket money.

One day one of the boys chucked his job in; it was offered to me. It was the longest paper run, but with the least number of papers. The run took in my home area, as well as a few other areas. I had the worst roads in Smithfield to ride over. It was a challenge!

If we ran out of papers we headed back to the shop for another load. By dint of hard work, and good customer service, I gradually built up my paper run. When I left a couple of years later, I had built my run into the second best paper run.

We went out in rain, hail or shine; in high winds, driving rain and often with muddy roads and tracks. My run was especially bad in wet weather. We baked in summer and froze in winter.

Sunday mornings were the biggest challenge. We had three morning papers to sell. Some people took all three. My run being the longest meant I had to do three separate loads. My enterprise in building up my run, eventually led to me leaving the job.

I was getting back to the shop on Sunday after the boss had closed at noon. He was not happy about this as he wanted to go out with his family.

I told him if he wanted me to sell the quantity of papers I was selling; I could not get back any earlier. If he was not happy about this he could get someone else to do the job. He was a bit uptight, accepted my offer on the spot and paid me off.

The bloke, who took over from me, soon had it back to the worst paper run again. I hope my old boss was happy!

They were interesting days; I met a lot of nice people. On cold winter nights we would come back to the shop, and then go to the Fish & Chips shop for some hot potato chips to warm us up. I went through a lot of tyres and tubes on my bike due to the atrocious condition of the roads in my area.

I had a few nasty dog bites along the way. The pedals going around seemed to irritate some dogs. The worst bite occurred on an afternoon run. I rode into a place on Polding Street and was chatting to the owners; their Alsatian dog ran down the road into their yard and lunged at me. He gave me a very painful bite on my bottom. His owners were as shocked as I was! Every other time I had delivered their papers, the dog had been very friendly! It was a painful ride for the rest of the paper run.

When I was learning other paper runs, one of the customers had a place with a large Great Dane puppy. He would be so excited to see you he would stand up on his hind legs and put his front legs on your shoulders. He stood over six feet tall, and his weight pushed you and the bike over!

Another time, I was relieving and I went to the front door of a house. A cockatoo on the front verandah said, "They're not home."

I knocked again. The cockatoo repeated, "They're not home!"

It then swore at me in foul language!

The people weren't at home.

I left in a bit of a daze!

My time as a paper boy was interesting. I met all the newcomers to my area, made lots of new friends and was able to buy the things I wanted.

The Murder

Smithfield in the 1950's was a quiet, peaceful suburb in outer western Sydney. Crime was practically non-existent. Except for the occasional drunken brawl and a robbery here and there, the local policeman had a peaceful time. Imagine our surprise one morning to hear on the radio that a taxi driver had been murdered in his taxi, near Prospect Hill.

I decided to go and have a look at the crime scene. I hopped on my bicycle and rode out to the base of Prospect Hill. I did not tell anyone where I was going! I tried to figure out where the taxi would be.

A dirt road ran along the base of Prospect Hill. This seemed to be a likely place to check out. I was nervous as I got closer to the area. I had never been at, or near a murder scene before. It was a spooky feeling! As I rode up to the road at the base of the hill, I became apprehensive. I did not know what to expect! I turned left on to the dirt road. Nothing here! I rode along, my eyes peering into the distance. Still nothing!

I rode around a slight bend. Sure enough, a white, FC or FE, Holden taxi was pulled off to the side of the road. Two police cars were nearby. Plain clothes detectives were searching around the car for clues. As I rode 'innocently' by, I noticed one policeman had made a plaster cast of an impression made by a shoe, or boot; near the rear of the taxi.

This was an isolated spot, even more so at night. There were no houses in the area. It was an easy spot to escape from. Nobody would have noticed the taxi until morning. Probably a worker on his way to work, at one of the quarries, would have made the grisly discovery.

The body of the taxi driver had already been taken to the morgue for a post mortem examination.

It was just the police, and a kid on a bicycle, at the crime scene.

It was an eerie feeling riding past that taxi; knowing that a man had been murdered in it! I rode slowly by and kept going. I could tell that the police were not in the mood for a 'nosy parker' kid hanging around. The murderer could still be in the area!

As my initial curiosity was satisfied, I rode home again.

A crime scene today would be different. The crime scene would be cordoned off. The road would be blocked off. TV news crews and radio news crews would attend. A constant stream of news updates would be issued. A heavy influx of police would swarm into the area, searching for the murderer.

The story emerged later that the taxi driver had picked up a fare that night in Fairfield, to go to Wetherill Park. The passenger had pulled out a knife, murdered the driver and robbed him of his takings.

I don't think the murderer was ever apprehended.

The local taxi drivers called on the State Government for better protection for taxi drivers. Not long afterwards the taxi companies came up with special emergency call codes for its drivers to use on their two-way radios. Other taxi drivers could then respond as a group to a colleague's call for help. If necessary, they would offload their passengers on to the side off the road, and respond immediately. Obviously, the police were also notified.

The murder certainly shook up our local communities!

Parents were not as casual as to their children's' whereabouts, after the murder. It was too close to home!

Tragedy

There it was, glistening in the sun! Sunlight reflecting off the water; how cool and inviting it looked! It was our local swimming hole; a dam on a dairy farm.

We swam there at our own risk. If the dairy farmer caught us we were in big trouble. On hot summer days, we considered the risk worth it. The dam was downhill from the farm house. The raised edge of the dam prevented the farmer seeing us, unless he came half way down the hill. The edges were fairly shallow, but it was quite deep in the middle. The dam was oval shaped, and quite close to the road. Escapes through the wire fence were made quickly and easily.

The bottom was muddy and the water quickly became murky. His cattle drank from the dam. We did not swim when they were around. A lot of muck and debris was strewn around the bottom of the dam. It was not the greatest place in the world to swim, but there was nowhere else in our locality. At least we could get cool and have a bit of fun.

My mate Grape, his older brother Bill and I often popped in for a swim after school, unless we saw the farmer on the horizon.

"Grape, let's go for a swim in the dam. It's real hot today." I said.

"OK!"

"Yair, I reckon the water will be just right."

"I s'pose. Hang on I'll see if Bill wants to come."

"Bill!" he shouted at the top of his voice.

"What's up!" shouted Bill.

"We're goin' for a swim. Want to come?"

"Yair, I'll be there in a minute."

Five minutes later we set off across the road to the dam; which was quite close to Grape's house.

My younger brother Neil and his mates, Sixpence, George and Peter also liked to frolic in the dam; when the bigger boys were around to keep an eye on them. Not everyone could swim, so it was a safety precaution to be with a group.

An abandoned fuel tank from a World War 2 fighter bomber made a good makeshift canoe. We had to stay close to the edge with it. If we were in the middle the farmer would probably have enough time to catch us. The tank was fairly heavy; we used to hide it in the bush nearby.

Being fairly adventurous types we would sometimes find the dam boring and set off on other adventures. Boys will be boys!

Really hot days would act like a magnet and draw us back to the dam. Our clothes would be dry again by the time we went home. Mum and Dad did not know about our swimming escapades. They would not have let us swim there.

The feel of the cool water enveloping your body, was pure pleasure. Who cared if the water got a bit murky, and the bottom was muddy; and your feet got stuck in the mud? Just to be able to float around was great; as long as someone kept an eye out for the farmer. The smaller boys frolicked in the shallow water at the dam's edge. They had a great time together!

Many pleasant afternoons were spent at the dam. Sometimes the farmer would hear the shouting and come striding down the hill; yelling at us to clear out.

"Hey! You boys get out of my dam. If I get hold of you, I'll wring your necks!"

One afternoon, Neil and I were at home when a shock wave went through the neighbourhood.

"Have you heard the news?"

"No! What?"

"Sixpence is dead! He drowned in the dam about half an hour ago! The police won't let anyone near the place."

"How did it happen?"

"No one's sure! Apparently he and one of his mates decided to go for a dip at the water's edge. Neither of them could swim. He must have got into deep water and drowned. The other kid wasn't able to rescue him."

We were all stunned by the news. Sixpence had been at our place yesterday playing with Neil.

The farmer was very distraught! From then on, if he saw anyone on his property he would fire a .22 rifle bullet over their head, as a warning.

The whole story came out about the local boys swimming in the dam. Our parents gave us what for!

Sixpence was only nine years old. A tragic waste of a young life; and it could have been anyone of us! Oh, the foolishness of youth! None of us ever went swimming there again.

Micro Midget

Fred and I were good mates. Fred lived two houses up the street. I often spent time at Fred's house after school and on weekends. Fred's father was an interesting chap. He worked as a truck driver and was very mechanically minded. He liked going to the Speedway and would often take Fred with him.

Fred would come back starry eyed! He would be full of stories about the Solo bikes, the Sidecars and the Speedcars. I would listen fascinated! It sounded tremendously exciting!

I wished I could go! I could not afford it and they had no room on their motorbike.

One day, Fred's father came home with some exciting news.

"Fred, I have a surprise for you."

"You have, what is it?"

"I am building you a midget car to race around the back yard. It will be powered by a small motorbike engine."

Fred was ecstatic!

"Wow my own car! Dad, when will it be finished?"

"In about three weeks. The frame is ready; I have to fit the engine and wheels, and then test it."

"Thanks, Dad you're terrific!"

Fred talked about his car for weeks. We were all excited. We could hardly wait to have a go. This would sure beat billy cart rides! We sat and dreamed and talked about this exotic car.

"Fred, do you reckon it will be fast?" I asked.

"Of course it will!" replied Fred.

"My Dad wouldn't build a slow car."

"What do you think it will look like?"

"I dunno, I s'pose it will be a frame with an engine, a seat and wheels. Dad won't tell me; he said it would spoil the surprise."

The big day finally came. Fred's dad had arranged for a friend to bring the car home after work. They lifted it off the friend's utility vehicle.

We stood in wide eyed wonder!

The car was shaped like a midget speedway car. It gleamed and glistened in the sunlight. Its low bonnet sloped gently upwards to the driver's seat. Behind the driver's head the high back curved gracefully down to the rear of the car. Its blue paint shone with a deep lustre. Its chromed, spoked, wire wheels sparkled in the bright light.

What a glorious picture it made! We could hardly contain our excitement! We stared at this marvellous car!

Fred spoke, "Dad where is the engine?"

"It's behind the driver's seat, Fred."

He undid the engine cowling and there it was; a Villiers two stroke engine with a two speed gearbox. The fuel tank was mounted up high behind the driver's head. It had a valve underneath to shut off the fuel supply. A chain drive transmitted power to the rear wheels. The clutch and accelerator pedals were mounted in the front of the car under the low bonnet. The clutch was on the left and the accelerator was on the right. The steering wheel was black; it was a genuine car steering wheel.

"OK, let's give it a go." said Fred's dad.

"I'll have a go first Fred, and show you what to do. Then you can have a go."

He squeezed into the car; fortunately he was not a big man.

"When I say go, push me until the motor starts."

We gladly gave him a push. We pushed hard for about twenty feet; he dropped the clutch, the motor sprang into life and he roared around the backyard. What a great sight the little blue car made as it sped around the yard. It looked like a real speedcar. Fred's dad tried both gears, but decided high gear was too fast for us kids. He left it in low gear. After about ten laps he pulled in to give Fred a turn.

Fred slid down into the driver's seat. His dad explained what to do.

"Push the clutch down hard. When I say now; let the clutch up gently and at the same time very carefully press the accelerator down a bit. Drive slowly until you get used to the car and the corners. There are no brakes. When you want to stop take your feet off the accelerator and the clutch. The car will roll to a stop."

Fred nodded that he understood. We pushed him quickly.

His dad said "Now!"

Fred slowly let in the clutch, the motor turned over. He gently pressed down on the accelerator. The car took off, he pushed the accelerator further. The car leaped forward! He quickly backed off! After a few slow laps he began to feel comfortable and growing more confident he began to lap faster and faster.

As the car went faster, the grin on his face got bigger. This was stuff dreams were made from! What more could a boy want? Around and around he went; he was so happy.

The sun began to sink in the western sky. "Fred that's enough driving for today."

"OK! Dad."

"Stop over here."

The little blue racer slowed down and stopped.

"Stay in the car, push the clutch in and we'll push you."

Fred steered his car to the place it was to be garaged. He hopped out.

"Thanks, Dad! It's a great car."

"That's OK, I'm glad you like it."

Next day after school, Fred got out the car again. We gave him a push start and off he went around the yard. After about 30 laps he pulled in.

"Want a go, Jon? It's easy, as long as you are careful."

"You bet!" I said; barely able to contain my excitement.

I eased myself into the car. It felt strange! I could not see my feet. I tried out the clutch and the accelerator. The steering wheel felt good in my hands. Fred ran through the starting technique.

"Let's go!" I said.

They pushed the car quickly.

"Now!" said Fred.

I gently let in the clutch, the motor turned over. I gingerly pressed the accelerator. The car gathered speed. I was on my own! I came to the first corner. The steering was very direct. I oversteered and had to quickly correct it.

Slowly I lapped the backyard circuit. I did not want to crash Fred's new car. Gaining confidence, I increased my speed. The car sounded great! I soon learned to speed up on the longer bits and slow a little on the corners.

This was living!

Fred called me in; he wanted another drive. I slowed the car and then took my foot off the accelerator. The car sputtered to a halt. I felt great! It was a fantastic feeling driving the blue racer.

Over the next few months Fred gave his cousins and friends a turn in his car. The only incident occurred when my sister, Lyn went wide on a corner, could not stop the car in time and banged into the neighbour's fence. Fortunately it was a mild collision. Except for a small dent in the bonnet the car was OK. Lyn gave herself a fright and never drove the car again.

What great fun it was to race Fred's car around the yard. The little blue racer went faster and faster. The back yard began to look like a speedway circuit, as the car tore up the grass and a dirt track emerged. The only time it was dangerous was after rain. The track became too slippery. We had to wait for it to dry out. The car was very reliable and rarely had engine trouble. When problems occurred, Fred's dad quickly sorted them out.

One day Fred's dad came home with a big grin on his face.

"I've got a surprise for you Fred! I've arranged for you to drive your car at the Speedway on Saturday night."

Fred was speechless! He stared at his father.

"You will be able to do a few laps in between events."

Fred could hardly believe his ears; he was going to drive his car at a real Speedway circuit!

"You will have to practice changing gears. You will need top gear around the speedway."

Fred's dad drove around the yard, shifting between low and high gear. Fred listened carefully to the engine revs. His dad pulled in to explain what he was doing.

"On the circuit, you will only need to change into high gear once. When you have finished your laps you will be able to coast into the pits by slipping the clutch."

Fred practised shifting between gears. Soon he was able to do it smoothly. His dad explained he needed low gear for acceleration, and then he was to change into high gear for maximum speed.

I wanted to see Fred race. I begged my parents to let me go to the Speedway on Saturday night.

"Please, Dad I'd like to see Fred race his car. Can I go?"

"If I let you go, how will you get there?"

"I can catch a train to Parramatta and walk to the Speedway."

"What if you get lost?"

"I will ask directions."

Dad reluctantly agreed. I could go just this once to see Fred race his car. I was very pleased!

Saturday arrived! Fred's car was cleaned and polished. It looked fabulous! Fred's father borrowed a friend's utility vehicle for the night. The blue racer was loaded and tied down. I could not go with them as there was no room in the ute.

"I'll leave early and catch the train. I hope I will see you there."

I rugged up, it was a cold night in Sydney. I caught the bus into Fairfield, then a train to Granville. At Granville I changed trains to Parramatta. I had never been to Parramatta by myself at night. I was not sure where the Speedway was located. I set off hoping I was heading in the right direction. I walked for about 15 minutes, then realised I must be going the wrong way. I stopped in front of a cafe. Two men on powerful motorbikes pulled up.

"What's up mate? You look lost."

"I'm going to the Speedway, but I don't know where it is."

"Don't worry, we're going there. We'll give you a lift. I just have to buy something in this shop."

I waited for a few minutes.

"Hop on mate and hang on tight. Don't let go until I tell you."

I clambered up behind him. The fellow kick started the big bike. I was nervous. The bike moved swiftly away from the kerb. I hung on grimly. It was a very cold night and I did not enjoy the ride.

Five minutes later they rode into the speedway car park. I thanked the men and went to pay my way in.

The first race was about to start! I could see the solo bikes lined up. The riders were blipping their throttles. As the revs soared, an angry crescendo of sound echoed around the grandstands.

They were off! Accelerating wildly, sliding into the corners and roaring down the back straight. Dirt was flying from the block tread, rear tyres. The smell of racing fuel drifted through the air. The crowd roared its approval! They cheered their favourites and urged them on to victory. This was heady stuff!

I was caught up in the excitement! Race after race; solo bikes, sidecars and speedcars sped around the circuit. I drank it all in. What a tremendous night!

The loudspeakers crackled.

"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have something very special for you. Parramatta Speedway is proud to present to you, our very first Micro Micro Midget!"

There it was!

Fred's car rolled out of the pits and on to the track. The little blue racer picked up speed. Fred changed into high gear. The little car accelerated smoothly. The crowd urged him on, shouting their approval!

Fred completed one lap, and then increased his speed. The car was fairly flying! He powered down the back straight, eased off slightly around the bottom turn and raced down the main straight. He set the car up for the top turn, backed off the throttle, then powered into the turn.

Suddenly, the car slewed, rolled slightly sideways and flipped, end for end, a couple of times! The crowd let out a big "Ooooooh!"

It looked grim!

Ambulance bearers rushed on to the track and put Fred on a stretcher. He was carried into the pit area. The crowd was worried. Time seemed to stand still!

About ten minutes later the loudspeakers came to life.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the young man is all right. He has not broken any bones. He is a bit dazed."

A tremendous round of hand clapping and whistling broke out! Relief was on every face. Fred deserved the ovation.

The race program continued. I watched the races in a subdued fashion. I was worried about Fred. I hoped he was OK. The trip home was a bit of a blur. I worried about Fred all the way home.

Early next morning, I went to check on Fred's condition.

"I'm all right, just a few bruises. The car went end for end. I wasn't crushed or anything."

The reason the car slewed was easy to see. The right rear wheel was broken. The wire spokes had given way under the tremendous cornering forces. The car had dropped on to its axle, causing the back to drop and the front to lift. The axle had dug into the dirt, the car started to roll sideways. Because the car was still accelerating, the back end lifted and became airborne. The car then flipped end for end.

The little blue car looked battered and forlorn. Mechanically it was OK. The body panels needed some work and stronger wheels needed to be fitted.

That was the car's first and last appearance at the Speedway. Not long after the Parramatta Speedway closed down.

The Kart

Fred's blue racer had been repaired. It looked almost new again. Steel wheels had been fitted for strength. The car went just as well as ever. It was a huge favourite with Fred's friends and cousins. The little backyard track reverberated again to the sounds of the little blue racer.

Fred's dad was very concerned when Fred had his accident at the Speedway. He decided to build Fred a stronger car. In the meantime, the little blue racer would keep Fred occupied. He did not tell Fred what he was doing.

About three months after the accident, Fred's dad came home from work and said,

"Fred I've built you a bigger, more powerful racer with three gears and a bigger engine. I'll bring it home soon."

Fred was amazed!

"Another car Dad! Boy, we will be able to have some races'"

"This car will be much faster than the blue car; it won't be much of a race, Fred."

"When will you bring it home, Dad?"

"In a couple of weeks."

The day arrived. The car was sitting on the utility vehicle under a canvas tarpaulin. Fred's dad lifted off the tarp. It sure was different! It was just a frame without any body panels. It looked like a motorised billy cart! After the smooth lines of the blue racer, this looked like a monstrosity! Today, we would call it a Go Kart; however, this was pre Go Kart days.

The car was lifted off the ute. Fred's dad turned on the fuel valve, and then tickled the button on the carburettor.

He climbed aboard and said, "Give me a push."

Willing hands pushed the car. The engine sprang into life with a powerful roar. The car accelerated rapidly. Around and around the track it went. It was certainly more powerful than the blue racer.

Fred was eager to have a go. He signalled to his father to give him a turn. The car slithered to a halt. Fred changed places with his dad. We pushed the car, Fred grinned from ear to ear. He felt the surge of power from the more powerful engine. The new car was slightly wider and more stable in the corners. It felt good! He quickly got the feel of the car and was overjoyed at the way it handled.

He realised the backyard track was too small to get the best out of the new car. He clocked up about 30 laps and coasted in to give his father another turn.

"Dad, do you reckon we could find a place with more room to try out the new car?"

"I dunno, maybe there is somewhere around here. I'll ask around."

Fred's dad hopped into the Kart and took it for some more laps. He was pleased with his craftsmanship. He was happy with the way it handled, and it had plenty of power. The next few weeks were great fun. Both cars circulated around the backyard track. It was a bit difficult to actually race each other, but it felt like a race. We were all thrilled! What a great way to spend your afternoons and weekends.

"Fred I heard there is an old motor bike dirt track in the bush at Fairfield West. I'll see if I can find it."

Fred was excited about this bit of news.

"Boy, I hope you can find it, Dad."

"Well, they used to race motor bikes there years ago. The track would still be there, but the bush may have grown over the track."

A few weeks passed, Fred's dad continued to make enquiries. He was sounding more hopeful. He had been given the name of a man who used to race bikes at the track.

"Fred, I've found the track. It's not in real good condition, but the back straight is not too bad."

"When can we try it out?"

"On Saturday, I've arranged to borrow a ute. We'll go over after lunch and spend the afternoon running your car."

Saturday came around. We piled into the ute, and a car, and drove to Fairfield West. The roads were gravel, or dirt, with very little traffic. We drove out of Charles Street, left into Dublin Street, swung right into Polding Street and then left into Isis Street, where we turned right into Liverpool Road and drove out to the scrub at the back of Fairfield West.

We pulled up at the entrance to the old motor bike track. It was a single lane dirt track winding through the scrub. Funny, we had ridden past this entrance a few times, on our bicycles, but we thought it was the entrance to a private property. We drove slowly inside. Bush had grown over the old parking area. The track was sort of oval shaped and rutted in many places from wind and rain. The track was banked slightly on the corners. It would have been a good track in its day. The inside perimeter was covered in small trees and bushes. The back straight could hardly be seen from the front of the track.

We unloaded Fred's Kart and Fred's dad climbed aboard. The car was soon under way. The revs soared as the engine pushed the car rapidly around the track. The ruts made driving dicey in parts. The car had to be driven slower around corners as the ruts were deeper there. By driving higher on the corners the worst ruts could be avoided. The back straight was in fair condition and the accelerator could be flattened. The engine pulled strongly and the little car flew along the back straight.

Fred's dad had a ball! He changed up and down through the gears searching for optimum performance through the corners. Around and around he went enjoying himself immensely! Fred signalled him to give Fred a go. The car pulled in. Fred's dad left the motor running and the gears in neutral. Fred hopped in, selected second gear and drove off.

He drove slowly at first to check out the track. Next lap was a very fast lap! He was enjoying himself; his grin said it all! The track was a challenge; how to avoid the worst ruts and still drive quickly. The back straight was the longest and the fastest. The car handled beautifully. What a great place for his car!

Fred drove around for quite a few laps then pulled in to give me a go. I was really excited! A real track to drive around! Fred had left the car in second gear. I was OK changing from second to third gears, but not so good changing down to second gear. I signalled that I was ready to go. The familiar roar from the exhaust as the car accelerated was gratifying. The car handled the conditions well.

Big ruts had to be avoided; they threw the car off line. The ruts in the track jolted the car; it did not have any suspension. It was physically demanding driving on this track. I took the first lap cautiously. I liked the long back straight. Next lap I went much faster.

On my third lap I decided to see how fast I could go down the back straight. The car was still in second gear as I came out of the front straight into the first corner. I negotiated the corner, went high, stayed high on the bend and accelerated hard into the back straight. I then changed into third gear and floored the accelerator. The car surged forward. The car seemed to leap down the straight! Faster and faster it went! The revs soared; the little car seemed to be low flying!

"I wonder how fast I am going. It feels like a hundred miles an hour."

The corner at the end of the straight loomed up. I took my foot off the accelerator, the car slowed. I made a fast entry and exit into the corner and let the car continue to slow. As I came into the front straight they signalled me in.

Fred's dad was really excited!

"I reckon you were doing 65 miles an hour down the back straight!"

"It felt like a hundred miles an hour."

"That's because you are sitting so low to the ground. It seems as if you are going faster than you actually are."

"I want to have a crack at it." said Fred.

I climbed out and Fred climbed in. The little car roared into life again. Fred drove his car very fast, but was unable to match my speed down the back straight. Fred's dad also had a crack at it, but was unable to match my speed; 65 miles per hour is equivalent to 104.6 kilometres per hour. Highway speed on a rutted, dirt bike track!

Fred's dad had to have the ute back by 4:00pm. We loaded the kart back on to the ute and headed home. It had been a great afternoon; with plenty of excitement and action.

We would remember this afternoon for a long time to come.

As it so happens in life, we were not able to go back to the bike track again. Later, Fairfield Golf Links was built on the site and the track disappeared into oblivion.

Willy Willy

Smithfield was growing; new houses and housing estates were sprouting up here and there. A lot of the bush had been cleared away. Dirt tracks were being made into streets. Gravel roads still predominated. Bitumen roads began to appear with the new housing estates.

The majority of houses were timber framed and clad with fibro sheets. Roofs were either corrugated iron, or glazed clay roofing tiles.

The two local bus companies had to expand their fleets, to cope with increased passenger demand. A small shopping centre was built on the corner of Dublin and Brennan Streets, to service our area in Smithfield.

In the late 1950's I was attending High School in Fairfield. Class rooms were still being built each year that I attended. There were separate boys and girls high schools. No co-education for us back then! I caught the bus from the corner of Dublin Street and Polding Street. A couple of School specials went directly to the high school. In the afternoon we would be picked up in front of the school. It was about five to ten minutes' walk from the bus stop to home; depending on how fast you walked.

One afternoon I got off the bus as usual and walked up Dublin Street to my street, Charles Street. I turned right into Charles Street.

My jaw dropped in disbelief!

It looked like a scene from a war movie!

Houses had gaping holes in them, roofs were damaged, and wreckage and debris were strewn all over the street. Power lines were also down.

I stood transfixed for a few moments; hardly believing what my eyes were showing me.

What had happened!

I walked very slowly up to our house, meanwhile surveying the damage to neighbours' houses.

Our house had lost half of its roof. The roof tiles were on the ground. Fibro walls had holes in them. We had water damage from the open roof. Water had poured through the damaged plaster ceilings. The front and back yards had debris and wreckage everywhere. Our Hills hoist clothes line, looked like an upturned umbrella which had been speared into the ground.

Neighbours' houses around us had varying degrees of damage. One chap had had an outside toilet blown through the walls of his kitchen!

There was no State Emergency Service (SES) in those days to give us a hand. No emergency crews came to our aid. A TV news crew from the ABC arrived to do some filming of the damage. It was black and white TV back then and very early days of television.

There was no live transmission from the disaster area.

The clean up and repairs took weeks, and in some cases months!

When Dad arrived home that day we rounded up the roof tiles and wired them back on with copper wire. It was a quick overnight patch job, in case it rained again. The side of the house where the roof lifted off happened to be where the bedrooms were situated. Everything was either dripping wet, or damp. We had to make do by sleeping on the floor in the lounge room. Fortunately, the linen cupboard did not get wet!

Next day in fine weather, we repaired the roof properly. We rewired the tiles again, and then had to cement the ridge capping tiles into place. It took all day. The next big job was the damaged fibro sheets on the outside walls. Dad bought new sheets of fibro, which he cut to size. It was a slow job, as the wooden mouldings had to be carefully prized off; then we removed the old fibro. The new sheet was attached and the wooden mouldings nailed back on. The driveway side of the house and the rear of the house had copped the brunt of the damage. Both yards needed a big clean up as well. We also had to buy a new Hills hoist clothes line. All the junk and debris then had to be carted to the dump, in wheelbarrows.

A Willy Willy had formed at the base of Prospect Hill and cut a very narrow swathe of destruction through parts of Wetherill Park, Smithfield and on to Fairfield Heights, where it blew itself out. The Fairfield Heights Primary School even had water in its light fittings.

One house was completely demolished; another was blown off its stumps. Everywhere the Willy Willy went it wreaked havoc.

My mate Fred and his Dad were home, and were so terrified when they saw it coming, they dived underneath the floor of their house! Fred's kart was garaged in an old 3,000 gallons (13,500 litres) metal water tank. The tank was picked up like a toy, and dropped the kart on to the ground. We never saw the tank again.

A Willy Willy is similar in action to a Tornado!

After the Willy Willy flashed through it was followed by heavy rain. The rain also caused a lot of damage. The Willy Willy cut a path only 100 yards (about 30 metres) wide. Houses on either side of the path of destruction were not even touched!

When I was walking up from the bus stop, everything was normal. That's why it was such a shock to me, when I turned the corner into our street. The Willy Willy had crossed over Polding Street on open ground. We saw no signs of damage while we were in the bus.

Funny thing was I remember Nanna Jackson telling me that when she first moved to Smithfield in 1932 the local indigenous tribe told her it was a bad place to build.

"Big winds, missus!"

Many years later it came true! It could happen again, in the same area!

###

Epilogue

As the decade rolled on to its final conclusion, I found myself repeating 3rd year at Fairfield Boys High School. I was under a lot of pressure from my dad to leave school and start working for my living. As much as he wanted me to leave school, I could not legally leave until I turned 16 years of age. This could not take place until 31-Oct-1960. The years 1959 and 1960 were very stressful years for me with pressures at school and emotional pressures and verbal abuse at home.

Thankfully, I left school on my birthday on 31-Oct-1960 and started work two days later at a local Jewellery store at Fairfield. I felt like a concrete slab had been lifted off my head. A new phase in my life had begun.

Did I regret leaving high school before the end of the school year? No I did not, it was a relief! Perhaps if I had been placed in a Manual Arts class when I first enrolled at high school it may have turned out differently. Years later I enrolled at Fairfield Evening College and brought my education up to date; but this was on my terms not theirs.

About the Author

I am a retired male nurse, married with three sons, who have grown up and left home. I live with my wife at Innisfail in tropical North Queensland, Australia. The main agricultural crops of the region are sugar cane, bananas and paw paws. Innisfail is situated at the confluence of the Johnstone and South Johnstone rivers; adjacent to the Great Barrier Reef. The closest major city is Cairns about 88 km further north.

I am a committed Christian and I fellowship with like minded Christians at a Gospel Hall in Innisfail. I enjoy writing and reading my Bible and Christian books. I also enjoy reading other non-fiction books in my spare time, particularly biographies and autobiographies

You are invited to check out my other books.

'Port Robe' http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/208837

'Iron In His Soul' http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/217935

I also blog on my two blogs:

Biblical Perspectives blog http://www.jon-peasey.blogspot.com

Words of Life blog http://www.jrpeasey.blogspot.com

Email: jon.peasey@gmail.com

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