Every picture tells a story; tales from the 1950s.

Once a month, the church that DH and I attend has an informal morning tea; a very relaxed affair with parishioners sitting around talking, sipping tea or coffee. DH is always at golf so it's just me who heads off. We are usually asked to bring an item along for a 'share' session. This month it was 'baby photos'.
I took along 2...this first one isn't a very clear image but it shows my father and I sitting somewhere in the Brisbane City Botanical Gardens...

 So I took another photo which wasn't blurry but I'm not a baby...rather I'm a toddler...

My friends 'picked' me straight away in the second photo but didn't recognise me in the first photo.
This photo was taken at our home when a 'door to door' photographer came around the suburb. My father always wanted photos to send to his brother back in Sicily...this uncle was my godfather. Below is a scan of 4 of the 6 proofs that the photographer left with my parents. They apparently had the 'proof' in the top left hand corner printed and sent overseas. I preferred another one of the proofs and as an adult I had prints made of it.(which is the one I took to the morning tea)

Well you know how 'every picture tells a story', so let me tell the story of these photos.
As I said it was a 'travelling photographer' which was common in those 'earlier times'. (Years later,with my own children we went to Pixie Photos which travelled around to shopping centres/malls and I also had their photos done at Photography Studios.)
Then there is the dress that I'm wearing which was made by my Nanna (mum's mum) who had been a tailoress. Nan made identical dresses for her then 4 granddaughters, made out of light floral cotton with eyelet lace. I know that somewhere there is a photo of 2 of my cousins wearing the 'same' dresses.
And that big bow in the hair! A few years ago, some of my friends and I posted photos on Facebook of our 1950s hairstyles...all very similar and with a BIG bow! lol

Next I draw your attention to the jewellry that my little 3 year old self was wearing. I believe that it was a special privilege to wear all those pieces; they usually were put away in my mum's dressing table. When I started school she let me wear the bangle all the time but there was a reason. I couldn't remember my right from my left as a 6 year old so the bangle went on my left arm  to remind me! lol. It had been a Christening gift to me from dad's niece and her husband.
The chain and pendant was a gift from my uncle in Sicily...it was a beautiful chain with a 'holy medal'...very delicate and typically Italian. When I was in Grade 7 I sneaked this piece out and wore it at school without telling my mother...and lost it. I lived in fear that she would find out but I seemed to have 'got away with' that bit of naughtiness! lol
And then there was the tiny ring which was a Christening gift from my godfather.
And look what I still have tucked away in a dressing table drawer...

They obviously don't 'fit' me any more! Lol

I wouldn't be a teenager again for quids...!!!

In my previous post here about my life story I mentioned how at the end of my primary school days I started treatment for scoliosis. As I wrote about my experience on ‘the rack’, I realised (rather belatedly) that what I had had to endure was quite barbaric but it had never occurred to me at that time to protest which probably would have been useless. I’m pleased to report that later treatments for scoliosis were more thoughtful of the young patients.

Continuing on with my story...When I was in my first year of high school my half sister c ame to Queensland for a reunion with my mother. She was 19 and had last seen her mother when she was 4. I was entranced by this beautiful, sophisticated creature and got on very well with her. My parents did not have a car but some friends of my parents, the Nicols, insisted on taking mum, Margaret and I out on day trips to show my sister around our part of Qld. ( dad missed a few outings as he was at work :-() Unfortunately she and mum did not get on well and there were some shouting matches. Margaret had planned to stay for a fortnight but she left after only a week because of the fights with mum. How sad! I often wonder whether TV shows like ‘Find My family’ ever have situations like my mother and sister as we only see happy reunions in the show.

A picnic with my sister, mum and Allan and Jo Nicol (Allan is taking the photo)On the way to Moogerah Dam

In Grade 8 I started my ‘love affair’ with sewing when I did the school subject Domestic science. I actually hated the classes but picked up enough knowledge to start sewing on my mum’s old Singer. My mother was a keen sewer and her mother was a tailoress so it could have been in the genes. Nanna had worked for Fletcher Jones in her home town of Warnambool. My mother also knitted and crocheted and had taught me to knit when I was 7 as I had pestered her to teach me all that year!

Then things started to not be so good...during my Grade 9 year (1965) my father had a few strange episodes involving his health. Unusual bleeding and lumps developing and bouts of severe vomiting are some of the things that I can remember.  Eventually just after Christmas that year he became so unwell he took to his bed and a young doctor he knew was called. Tony, the young doctor talked with him for quite a while and then told my mother that dad would need some tests done. These tests were done at the public hospital over the coming weeks. My parents did not tell me anything about the results  but something happened one night that still gives me chills all these years later...I was in my room dozing one night when I awoke and heard the voice of a neighbour who had obviously come for a visit later in the evening. I stirred sufficiently to just hear Mr Hardy say, ‘Now tell me Paul...what is actually wrong with you?’...I remember I stopped breathing waiting for dad’s reply. Then it came...’I have leukaemia but we don’t want Mary (me) to know’. The term ‘blood run cold’ really is true! So began 11 months of pretence that I didn’t know. I didn’t tell my friends, I didn’t tell anyone. I learned very effectively to build a shell around myself.

The next year during each set of school holidays, my parents sent me to my godparents’ farm at Ballandean, outside Stanthorpe.  It gave them some space I guess and my godmother (Patrozza) spoiled me rotten. She must have been upset about my dad’s illness as they had been friends for many ‘many years but she maintained the pretence too).

The dam at Patrozza's farm

Looking across the dam to some of the orchards

My beloved Patrozza hanging out the washing. She always strictly segregated male underwear from female underwear!

The farm had the biggest 'chook yard' I'd ever seen! not only chooks (hens) though; I loved this fellow!!

My dad went back to work for some of the time in 1966 but by October he had had to finish up. I guess he was working at making sure things were in order as he and mum spent a lot of time at the solicitors’ office. By early December dad became gravely ill and was hospitalised. Radium treatment was commenced and left him very weak. Transfusions were hurriedly given also. Apparently the disease had progressed from the ‘chronic’ type to the more serious ‘acute’ phase. He came home for a few hours on Christmas day but he was so ill...He passed away on January 5, 1967 at 58 years of age. I remember coming home and seeing a pair of his PJs on the clothesline...I wrapped my arms around them and sobbed...that was the only time I cried as ‘everyone’ told me I had to be brave/strong etc and look after my mother now as she needed me as she had MS and had been widowed...so I did.

I had a little holiday job at this time working at a local deli and I was grateful to be kept busy. The owners, our neighbours the Hardys were very kind to me and my mother.

So I went back to school after the holidays ended late January with a new serious attitude. The first 3 years of high school it was more about the social side of the place. Now I worked harder and at the end of Year 12 took the teachers’ college scholarship that was offered. I loved teachers’ college and I now had a handsome boyfriend and with him I went to balls and other ‘fancy’ occasions when one dressed up to the nines! Lol. We also used to drive to both the Gold Coast and Sunshine Coast beaches just for day trips of swimming, sunbaking and some surfing for him. However the handsome boyfriend would sulk when I chose to study near exam time so he decided to find someone else...Probably I had a lucky escape, as I think on reflection, he would have been the controlling type.

18 years old and in my first ball dress

One of the many dresses I sewed for myself

At the end of my first year at college I met the son of one of my mother’s army friends. He came from Melbourne but was in Qld for a Scout Jamboree for a week. After he went back to Melbourne, he rang me and we also wrote to each other. Sounding like my parent’s romance isn’t it? Eventually we became engaged in the August of my last year in college. I was 19...

The night of our engagement party

With my BF Linda in the assembly Hall of our college waiting for our first teaching posts. The principal of the college read all the names and schools out.

With my mum just before we left for my graduation ceremony. I remember it as an exciting time of my life. (I also sewed both outfits)

When I finished the course, my first posting was back at my old school, Newmarket. It was scary being graduated and out on my own, but our courses were quite practical and we did lots more practicum sessions as well. I was still only 19 when I stood in front of that first class...My first class was a Grade 5 and there were 38 students in the class. Their ages were 9-11 so I wasn’t that much older than them. By May that year I turned 20 and my teen years were behind me but I still wasn’t an adult. In those days you had to be 21 to be termed an adult.

My first classwith some absences! Most of them are 50 this year; some were 50 last year!!!!

Some more of my story...

Dad and I standing on the front veranda; our house was one of the oldest in the street.

I grew up in a household with books, magazines and newspapers as well as one filled with music. My father played the violin and would often give a little concert for my mother and I. Dad was into classical music and just like in the movies featuring Italian family life, operas blared out from the radio when he was home. Mum also liked classical music but also loved show tunes and the lighter classics. Because I was sent to Sunday school, I also had a repertoire of ‘choruses and children’s hymns’ that I liked to sing as well. I had tried out unsuccessfully for the school choir when I was 9 but finally was accepted in Grade 5! I loved the excitement of eisteddfods but it was only my mother who came to watch.

An old photo of my dad with his violin. He was still up north when this photo was taken

I also grew up in a household where vegetables and fruit were home-grown and jams, preserves and pickles were homemade. We had a large garden as our yard was ¾ of an acre; my dad was in his element! My mother also sewed, mended, knitted and crocheted constantly. By the time I was 10 my parents had expectations that I would help around the house and garden. I had to set the table and dry the dishes each night. On Saturday mornings I had to sweep/ vacuum and dust. In my early teens I had to pick the strawberries that my father grew in a large number of beds for local shops as well as the city fruit shop where he worked. I absolutely hated all these chores and complained that it wasn’t fair that I had to do everything because I was an only child! lol

Dad working in his large garden

Now even though I was an only child I knew that my mother had ‘another daughter’ who was my half sister. Her name was Margaret and as far as I knew, she lived somewhere down south where my Nanna lived. In her photos I could see she had very curly hair and my parents’ friends would often comment that it was a shame that I didn’t get the same curly hair...Yes, I was jealous but now that I’m a mother I can imagine how painful it must have been for my mother to be parted from her older daughter. I also discovered the concept of divorce from hearing about movie stars, then I found out my dad was divorced from his first wife. None of my friends seem to have similar things happening in their families and I often wondered why there wasn’t a wedding photo of my parents on the sideboard like there was at my friends’ houses...??????



Margaret as a youngster; she was only 5 years older than me



In my previous post I explained that my mother was diagnosed with MS eventually when I was 6. For a number of years she had ‘flare-ups’ of the symptoms on what seemed like an annual basis and spent considerable time in hospital. The year I turned 11 she went into remission and this was to last for almost 10 years. Year 6 was the last year we went for a family holiday at Scarborough where dad spent the 2 weeks fishing. I’ve wondered why we stopped going as it was an annual ritual from when I was 2. I guess I’ll never know. It was on this last holiday that my mother commented to the landlady of the flats (they had become friends over the years) that she thought something was wrong with my back as the clothes she was making for me seem to pull to one side. Mrs Ling in turn asked advice of her friend who was a veterinarian...yes a vet!!!! He looked at my posture, asked me to bend from the waist and then told my mother that she should take me to the hospital when we got home.

One of my mum's blurry pictures but the only one I have showing me wearing the body cast. I'm with my friends, brother and sister,  Donna and Lindsay McPherson.

Eventually I was diagnosed with scoliosis or curvature of the spine. My mother was distraught that she ‘had a crooked daughter’ and insisted it was because I didn’t sit up straight... I carried that guilt until my mid twenties when I read an article which stated that it was something that I was born with. Treatment was a pretty hit and miss affair. Immediately I was sent to physiotherapy a number of afternoons a week after school. I had to do the set of exercises each day before school...naturally I hated doing them. But I was trusted to catch a bus to and from the hospital by myself for these sessions so that made me feel a bit special.

At the end of Grade 7, I started more intensive treatment. (That's me behind the teacher!)

At the end of Grade 7 when I was 12, the orthopaedic specialist decided it was time for some different treatment. So the last week of term 4, I was admitted to hospital and put on a device that stretched me (straps under my chin and a strap around my hips, then the attendant turned the handles that the straps were attached to. I believe these machines had been used as instruments of torture, lol) Then when the doctor was satisfied with the amount of stretch, a body plaster was quickly slapped on then the traction was released. I started high school like this; mum bought me a uniform large enough to fit over the cast...I gained some notoriety at school as a rumour went around that I’d been in a horrific car accident. Everyone was nice to me so even though it was a ‘crock’ to be like that, unable to bend etc I had a lot of fun! The plaster casts went from under my chin to where my legs joined my body. The casts were changed about every 6 weeks and sometimes I would be sent home for a week or two without the a cast on. That was absolute bliss! This was the pattern of my life for 20 months...

See my loose uniform! (I'm 5th from the right, second row) This was one of the rare occasions in Grade 8 when i wasn't in the body cast!

 

On my mind...the memories evoked by sewing machines...

Today, being Friday, I'll depart from my usual 'travelogue' of our holiday in the US and join in the 'Down-to-Earth' Friday feature, 'On my mind..

Nearly 2 weeks ago I posted on Facebook some photos which I took in a shopping mall on 3rd in Santa Monica. A shop which sold clothing, including bespoke clothing items, had a most amazing window display...old, vintage, antique sewing machines on shelves in the window. The shelves went to the top of the shop window, the shop had a frontage that stretched around a corner and the shop front was several metres/yards long. I was just awestruck at how many sewing machines were on display! I even saw examples of my mother's old Singer which she bought in 1946! In the mid 60s I learned to sew on it and sewed shift dresses and even ball gowns on it. I saw machines that hand turned wheels, not electric...it was as I said, amazing!
What was  also amazing was people's reactions to the photo posted on Facebook. I got so many comments about the photos! People recognised their mother's or grandmother's machines...all my friends indicated in their comments that the memories which surfaced after seeing the photos, were all good ones...nurturing, comforting ones of, in some cases, a loved one who is no longer with us...For me, mum's sewing machine was a thing of wonder as I watched her make my clothes and curtains for the house or I watched a beloved elderly neighbour mending sheets on her old treadle machine...such lovely memories. My own machine is actually quite elderly by today's standards...a 1974 Elna TSP. I wonder if my girls, (29 & 26) have fond memories of it!
I have my mother's sewing machine. It has a curved wooden cover on it. The cover is locked and I don't seem to have the key...It has been like this for over 10 years since my mother died. I'm hoping that when I get home to Australia,I can find a locksmith who can open it, because after seeing all those machines in the shop window in Santa Monica, suddenly I want to touch the machine, maybe oil it, thread it and just maybe, sew a seam or two?

On my mind...pupils through the years

On my mind today is the number of children who have been in my classes since 1971. Sometimes I get emails or Facebook messages from former students saying how I influenced their lives. Many share memories of books that I read to the class or they remember particular life skills that I emphasized. It’s a lot of power and influence but, like most teachers I didn’t teach because of that power. It was something innate and something I knew I wanted to do even as a little girl. It still gives me so much pleasure to meet up with ex pupils and hear how their lives are going. Some of them are already grandparents while my turn still has to come! The students in my first class are 51-52 y/o this year!!

Today I attended the leaders’ Induction ceremony at the school where I have been teaching the last 7 years. In Queensland year 7s are still in primary school and this year’s yr 7 class were my Year 6 class last year. I’ve known nearly all of them since they started in Yr 1 as I taught Yr 3 in the ‘Early Years Block (Yrs1-3)’ then. I also taught most of them when they were in Yr 4 in 2008. I had promised them last year that I would come back for this occasion. Bless them! They were so excited to see me as I parked my car near the school hall. I got lots of hugs and smiles!

The new school hall built with funds from the federal government. The school community has been saving to build a hall for many many years, without much success. So all are very grateful for the funding!

A group of students making their way past the tuckshop(canteen), uniform shop and cafe complex. All part of the hall project.

For the last 4 years at our school we have had a Leadership programme in Semester 2 for the Year 6 class. It’s great to see their growth as they work through the modules. Last year under my guidance the class ran the Remembrance Day Ceremony on November 11 as well as the Year 7 graduation as part of the leadership program. They did very well, just as they did this morning. After the ceremony this morning the class became the most attentive waiters for the assembled guests.

Nearly time for the ceremony to start

The question I got asked continually this morning was,’How are you enjoying retirement’?  I’m sure you can imagine my answer!

Boxes

Today I went to a shop/warehouse in the next suburb as I'd seen their ad in the local paper which claimed they had all the packaging ideas needed to handle Christmas. As I'm planning to give some homecooked gifts this year, I was thrilled to find some very cute cardboard boxes and some cellophane bags. I bought 2 boxes which were very 'Christmassy' and a pack of 10 plain white boxes with little clear windows. I'm going to decorate the plain ones with some Christmas stickers I later bought at one of 'the cheap shops' (Bargain City) I also bought some Christmas ribbons with which to tie up the boxes when they are filled with brandy truffles, choc nut slice, fruit slice, old English matrimonials etc. I have never ever made shortbread and it's a traditional Xmas thing...I keep thinking it's difficult but people tell me otherwise. Maybe I need to find a recipe and 'have a go'.

Well anyway, on the way home from buying these boxes and other things I started thinking about the 'boxes' of my childhood...wooden fruit boxes! My dad worked as a fruiterer and my godparents had a stone fruit orchard and a vineyard...we were surrounded by boxes! There seemed to be 2 sizes that I can remember and the smaller one was probably about 2foot 6in by about 10inches and probably about 12 inches high. We had lots of this size at home and I used them to make dolls' houses, cubby houses , play tables and seats, storage bins etc. The larger cases were wider and higher and my parents made a makeshift storage cupboard in the old laundry under the house, by nailing some of these larger boxes together on their side. A quick search on the internet before revealed that those old fruit boxes are now worth money being sought after by collectors of all things old. Fruit has been packed in cardboard boxes for years now and I'm wondering whether some time in the future these boxes will become collectables too! It would mean some new packaging would have to come in.

Each year my family would go to the seaside for 2 weeks holiday. The cat would come too in his 'pet carrier'. You guessed it! he travelled in one of the larger fruit boxes. There were flat strips of timber which were the top of these boxes. To remove the fruit these slats would be levered up. When the cat was put in the empty box, the slats would be nailed into place for the short journey, and then the top would be levered off again.

My dad was a keen fisherman as well and often went fishing with friends who had boats. He carried his fishing gear in an old wooden box which had originally had bottles of brandy packed in it. (I don't think my dad got the box until it was empty!lol) His friends had fancy cane fishing tackle baskets but dad loved the box as it did the job. When my parents bought my childhood home it had some furniture left in it. One item was like a stool which had a padded seat with fabric gathered around the seat which went to the floor. Years later, we took the fabric off and what should be underneath...? a wooden brandy box!!
When my husband and I sometimes talk about our childhoods when people were frugal and quite ingenious at re-using and recycling my husband usually reminds me that most people did not have much money; it just wasn't our parents who struggled...and I think he is right.