England
Without Prejudice
My parents returned to the Uk Feb 1965. Winston Churchills funeral was in the news, I remember.
We had left the Ellenis in Italy. We then crossed Italy and France by train to Paris and then across the dreaded British Channel by small pitching boat. And then the white cliffs of Dover hove into view and my parents cried. We cried too as we were mainly sea sick and the weather was foul, cold and windy and Dad had bought us giant bars of Cadbury's chocolate momnets before and we brought them all up over the sides of the pitching boat. Such was our misery, other people were sick as well vomiting over the side of the open deck, the wind catching it and depositing it in our hair. The deck was awash with sea water and vomit.
But after we could stand and had vomited enough to be able to, we looked at The White Cliffs and were in awe. All my life our parents had told us of the 2nd world war and how terrible it was. And England had fought the germans and won. We thrilled to the stories of people that were prepared to fight for their country with whatever it took. They told us Of Winston Churchill speeches, "We will fight them on the beaches, we will fight them on the sands",
We will fight them in our backyards, we will never surrender" Mum had been badly injured both physically and mentally by the War. Dad was circumspect as ever, made no big deal of it. That was how Mum and Dad were. She was Ying to his Yang or vice versa.
My parents were very good parents and it is something I come to appreciate the older I get. They were highly intelligent, Mum was a genius. She had a brain that could not be matched, except probably for Ian my oldest brother. But Mum and Dad are a story for another time. I need to focus on England and my first 12 year old sight of her. I was entranced by the White Cliffs, they looked high and imposing and at first dirty looking, in the mist and wind. But as the boat drew closer, the sun shone feebly for one moment and lit the cliffs and I was dazzled. I felt the significance of the moment, the heritage and pride. I had been born here, my parents had fought for here.
"Would I feel like it was home, or would I miss Australia?" was my thought.
The train ride to London was cold and miserable. Looking out from my window I could see patches of snow on the ground. I had never felt such cold, it was a cold that seeped into your very soul, starting at your feet and working all the way up.
WeI had come from the Gold Coast and Adelaide and had 6 weeks of frolicking in the Sun in a fabulous cruise and now the cold. It felt very strange, dark and forbidding then, but soon enough the train slowed and we were out into the heart of London.
All around there were lights and noise and laughter and people, so many people. And I like it, in fact I loved it and would continue to love it, forever
We caught the Flying Scotsman train from london To Wakefield Yorkshire and then I am pretty sure we arrived at My Auntie Pat's that night, unannounced. I have a feeling it was a Sunday night and I am not sure if it was that night or the next we went to meet our maternal grandparents.
I remember snow on the ground in dirty coloured patches, with grass growing through. It didn't look like the picture postcard pretty soft fluffy snow. It looked dirty and untidy and I was not happy that my first glimpse of snow ever was fairly ordinary.
It was also stone cold, motherless last freezing cold. An unbelievable cold that drained your breath away and sunk into your bones. I had never in my life been as cold and we were dressed very inappropriately for the weather.
I think I had a knee length tartan pinafore on with a polo neck underneath it, no stockings, probably only ankle length socks and flat shoes.
Even at 12 I was totally fashion obsessed. We couldn't afford it but while we were in Mount Martha Mum had taken me to Myers Fashion Store in Frankston and bought me the most gorgeous pink dress with a gauzy duster over it caught at the back with a bow.
My first totally grown up dress and a brown and white gingham sleeveless dress with a tiny frill on the hem, cut daringly just above my knee. That particular dress was to get me unwarranted attention of the most sickest kind, shortly after that shopping trip but I will leave that story for another time.
On that shopping trip seeing as I was 12,Mum also allowed me to pick out a pair of "grown up"shoes with a tiny heel and a pair of stockings (No panty hose then ) that came with a white garter belt. I was thrilled to bits. Mum put it all on charge account of course, because we had no money. I'm sure my parents racked up quite a few store accounts before we left for England.
Mum always acted like she knew nothing about dad's debts, maybe she didn't. But she was a super intelligent woman, almost genius level, so I don't see how she could have not known.
Anyway we spent up with great abandon that day like we were rich people and what was even a bigger laugh was at home in Mount Martha (One of the more exclusive suburbs of Bayside Melbourne ) we were literally starving. Ian used to pull up on his army motorbike and bring us Vegemite and Butter and jam and honey, pinched from the Army kitchen and hidden in his great Coat.
We kept many secrets us kids. We could never mention that Mum was ill and we never talked of Jamie for fear of "Upsetting Mum ", so it was like he never existed. That outrage and pain would come back to haunt as adults We could not speak of Dad's debts.
We were taught as children to say Dad was not home when anyone came to the door. Meanwhile he would be hiding behind the curtains in the front room. That behavior would haunt me after I had my second daughter. I obviously had post natal depression, ( a horrible thing) and became literally frozen when anyone knocked on the door. I will save that story for another day.
So we were in the United Kingdom, our birthplace, except for David and Helen who was to be born in England. And we were poor. Poor as dirt mice. Dad borrowed the fare to Scotland from the Station Master at Kings Cross and when we reached the end of the journey at Wakefield, told the relatives his wallet had been stolen. Everything Dad did was for one of his 3 passions, Mum, music and his family. He never wore fancy clothes except when he was playing. He drove old cars that could contain us all. dad was a genius who had ways of making money nobody could fathom. He was smart, savvy, could talk the hind leg off a donkey and would always come up with the goods. he was our hero. we didn't like having to lie about his whereabouts but we did it gladly, because he was our Dad.
His Mason connections were used all the time, if we were truly stuck. Dad could go into any back water town in Australia and visit one or two bank managers and we would have money. Of course dad had no intention of paying it back, but that was beside the point. We knew if we had money the family would get fed. It would be salmon paste and chocolate biscuits for a while then back to steak and kidney pie and cabbage. My Mother was the worst cook. Mum was meant to have a life of leisure I am sure. She smoked incessantly one after the other. A chain smoker, so was dad, but back then cigarettes were cheap. Mum's standard of cooking was truly awful except for steak and kidney pie, the cabbage was just large leaves cooked till they were soggy. I left home at 8 because of them. Refusing to eat them and packing my little school suitcase with clean underwear and Gooby, my doll. The name came from the movie "The Shiralee" which I adored.
We went to see a movie set once, "The Sundowners" with Deborah Kerr and Robert Mitchum. It was being made near Port Augusta. And we went to see Woomera, the rocket site. Other flashes of memory come into my brain, little slivers of light that pop up, unbidden, and whole. Drives on Sundays after Church and galahs in the trees, that would fly up in fright as we motored past. On our way to buy Sunday treats at a shop that stayed open on a Sunday in a nearby town. Sugared almonds and coconut kisses and a sticky thirsty ride home
My parents returned to the Uk Feb 1965. Winston Churchills funeral was in the news, I remember.
We had left the Ellenis in Italy. We then crossed Italy and France by train to Paris and then across the dreaded British Channel by small pitching boat. And then the white cliffs of Dover hove into view and my parents cried. We cried too as we were mainly sea sick and the weather was foul, cold and windy and Dad had bought us giant bars of Cadbury's chocolate momnets before and we brought them all up over the sides of the pitching boat. Such was our misery, other people were sick as well vomiting over the side of the open deck, the wind catching it and depositing it in our hair. The deck was awash with sea water and vomit.
But after we could stand and had vomited enough to be able to, we looked at The White Cliffs and were in awe. All my life our parents had told us of the 2nd world war and how terrible it was. And England had fought the germans and won. We thrilled to the stories of people that were prepared to fight for their country with whatever it took. They told us Of Winston Churchill speeches, "We will fight them on the beaches, we will fight them on the sands",
We will fight them in our backyards, we will never surrender" Mum had been badly injured both physically and mentally by the War. Dad was circumspect as ever, made no big deal of it. That was how Mum and Dad were. She was Ying to his Yang or vice versa.
My parents were very good parents and it is something I come to appreciate the older I get. They were highly intelligent, Mum was a genius. She had a brain that could not be matched, except probably for Ian my oldest brother. But Mum and Dad are a story for another time. I need to focus on England and my first 12 year old sight of her. I was entranced by the White Cliffs, they looked high and imposing and at first dirty looking, in the mist and wind. But as the boat drew closer, the sun shone feebly for one moment and lit the cliffs and I was dazzled. I felt the significance of the moment, the heritage and pride. I had been born here, my parents had fought for here.
"Would I feel like it was home, or would I miss Australia?" was my thought.
The train ride to London was cold and miserable. Looking out from my window I could see patches of snow on the ground. I had never felt such cold, it was a cold that seeped into your very soul, starting at your feet and working all the way up.
WeI had come from the Gold Coast and Adelaide and had 6 weeks of frolicking in the Sun in a fabulous cruise and now the cold. It felt very strange, dark and forbidding then, but soon enough the train slowed and we were out into the heart of London.
All around there were lights and noise and laughter and people, so many people. And I like it, in fact I loved it and would continue to love it, forever
We caught the Flying Scotsman train from london To Wakefield Yorkshire and then I am pretty sure we arrived at My Auntie Pat's that night, unannounced. I have a feeling it was a Sunday night and I am not sure if it was that night or the next we went to meet our maternal grandparents.
I remember snow on the ground in dirty coloured patches, with grass growing through. It didn't look like the picture postcard pretty soft fluffy snow. It looked dirty and untidy and I was not happy that my first glimpse of snow ever was fairly ordinary.
It was also stone cold, motherless last freezing cold. An unbelievable cold that drained your breath away and sunk into your bones. I had never in my life been as cold and we were dressed very inappropriately for the weather.
I think I had a knee length tartan pinafore on with a polo neck underneath it, no stockings, probably only ankle length socks and flat shoes.
Even at 12 I was totally fashion obsessed. We couldn't afford it but while we were in Mount Martha Mum had taken me to Myers Fashion Store in Frankston and bought me the most gorgeous pink dress with a gauzy duster over it caught at the back with a bow.
My first totally grown up dress and a brown and white gingham sleeveless dress with a tiny frill on the hem, cut daringly just above my knee. That particular dress was to get me unwarranted attention of the most sickest kind, shortly after that shopping trip but I will leave that story for another time.
On that shopping trip seeing as I was 12,Mum also allowed me to pick out a pair of "grown up"shoes with a tiny heel and a pair of stockings (No panty hose then ) that came with a white garter belt. I was thrilled to bits. Mum put it all on charge account of course, because we had no money. I'm sure my parents racked up quite a few store accounts before we left for England.
Mum always acted like she knew nothing about dad's debts, maybe she didn't. But she was a super intelligent woman, almost genius level, so I don't see how she could have not known.
Anyway we spent up with great abandon that day like we were rich people and what was even a bigger laugh was at home in Mount Martha (One of the more exclusive suburbs of Bayside Melbourne ) we were literally starving. Ian used to pull up on his army motorbike and bring us Vegemite and Butter and jam and honey, pinched from the Army kitchen and hidden in his great Coat.
We kept many secrets us kids. We could never mention that Mum was ill and we never talked of Jamie for fear of "Upsetting Mum ", so it was like he never existed. That outrage and pain would come back to haunt as adults We could not speak of Dad's debts.
We were taught as children to say Dad was not home when anyone came to the door. Meanwhile he would be hiding behind the curtains in the front room. That behavior would haunt me after I had my second daughter. I obviously had post natal depression, ( a horrible thing) and became literally frozen when anyone knocked on the door. I will save that story for another day.
So we were in the United Kingdom, our birthplace, except for David and Helen who was to be born in England. And we were poor. Poor as dirt mice. Dad borrowed the fare to Scotland from the Station Master at Kings Cross and when we reached the end of the journey at Wakefield, told the relatives his wallet had been stolen. Everything Dad did was for one of his 3 passions, Mum, music and his family. He never wore fancy clothes except when he was playing. He drove old cars that could contain us all. dad was a genius who had ways of making money nobody could fathom. He was smart, savvy, could talk the hind leg off a donkey and would always come up with the goods. he was our hero. we didn't like having to lie about his whereabouts but we did it gladly, because he was our Dad.
His Mason connections were used all the time, if we were truly stuck. Dad could go into any back water town in Australia and visit one or two bank managers and we would have money. Of course dad had no intention of paying it back, but that was beside the point. We knew if we had money the family would get fed. It would be salmon paste and chocolate biscuits for a while then back to steak and kidney pie and cabbage. My Mother was the worst cook. Mum was meant to have a life of leisure I am sure. She smoked incessantly one after the other. A chain smoker, so was dad, but back then cigarettes were cheap. Mum's standard of cooking was truly awful except for steak and kidney pie, the cabbage was just large leaves cooked till they were soggy. I left home at 8 because of them. Refusing to eat them and packing my little school suitcase with clean underwear and Gooby, my doll. The name came from the movie "The Shiralee" which I adored.
We went to see a movie set once, "The Sundowners" with Deborah Kerr and Robert Mitchum. It was being made near Port Augusta. And we went to see Woomera, the rocket site. Other flashes of memory come into my brain, little slivers of light that pop up, unbidden, and whole. Drives on Sundays after Church and galahs in the trees, that would fly up in fright as we motored past. On our way to buy Sunday treats at a shop that stayed open on a Sunday in a nearby town. Sugared almonds and coconut kisses and a sticky thirsty ride home
