Chapter 5

The local boys swam in the Nerang River at the popular jetty known as Barney Bolton’s jetty, (or just Barney’s) almost opposite the Southport Hotel. The hotel occupied the site of the now defunct Sundale shopping centre. Occasionally horseplay among the older boys would affect the younger children. Not having learned to swim I was content to stay within “my depth” and try to practise the strokes as well as fooling around with other kids. One day as I was standing on the jetty I felt a shove and the next minute I was in deep water. Strangely there was no panic and I struck out for the jetty, at first hurriedly, but then when realisation came that I wasn’t sinking, the next few strokes were smooth and enjoyable. By the time I reached the jetty a great sensation had come over me. At last I had swum properly. No regression occurred and many happy times of swimming have followed. I would have liked to finish with how this incident led on to my great swimming career, but alas I remained an ordinary performer.
Dick and I had been in the Wolf Cubs in Sydney, the second Mosman pack as I recall. The activities were much to my liking, especially the outings to cliff tops around Sydney harbour or to Taronga Park Zoo. When on one occasion we went to Lindfield to a campfire concert, we were entertained by the great Australian baritone Peter Dawson. He seemed to be involved in the Scouting movement. The evening light, the campfire ands the stirring songs made a lasting impression on me, and I have enjoyed many campfires since.

When we arrived back in Southport I did not follow up with cubs, but later at about age 12 joined the Boy Scouts- First Southport Troop. Scouting provided a range of activities to broaden the mind of a growing boy. Baden-Powell, the initiator of the movement was inspired by the “bush’ activities during the Boer War in South Africa. He saw the individual scout as resourceful, prepared and self-sufficient. In the course of training one learned about living in the bush, lighting fires without matches, ropes and knotting, making shelters, first aid, covering long distances efficiently (at Scout’s pace), living a healthy life and so on. These were all positive characteristics. His book “Scouting for Boys” was to me, as a boy, a most enjoyable introduction to self- reliance. The book conjured up thoughts of finding one’s way in the bush (or on the veldt of South Africa), living off the land, being aware of the flora and fauna and of enemies and of course winning through despite difficulties. Not all who joined the Scouts were imbued with high ideals, however, and a Scout Troop was only as good as the members made it. In those innocent days there was no thought of any problems amongst the boys or between the boys and the men-in-charge. Today the ogre of incorrect relations among the members has been raised occasionally. We had certain drills, learned boxing, built towers at Scout camps and at Agricultural Shows and raised money in various ways including gathering and selling boronia, a sweetly fragrant native flower. We went on camps, and at my first on Stradbroke Island I learned to make scrambled eggs, a dish I have always liked and have been prepared to make and eat at almost any time.

One of the arts demonstrated at Shows was that of making fire without matches, using only materials at hand. A leather thong loosely attached to both ends of a curved bow of wood, and encircling a stick or drill was the main implement. This was held vertically by a block of wood into which the stick fitted loosely. At the bottom the drill was directed towards a suitable piece of dry wood. When the bow was drawn backwards and pushed forwards the stick or drill rotated rapidly. The end of the drill and the piece of wood in contact became hotter and hotter, eventually creating particles of glowing wood from which flame could be coaxed by adding fine tinder and blowing gently. The friction in the block of wood that held the rotating drill at its top end was also great so it was necessary to lubricate it. This was done by adding a great dollop of goanna fat. At one show some VIP’s from Brisbane came to watch the demonstration. I think it was the Governor of Queensland and his Aide-de-Camp. In those days you could tell that they were important people by the heavy blue suits with white shirts and ties in which they were sweltering. Their form of dress was not common in the relaxed atmosphere of Southport. The troop leader, a hefty son of toil, began the demonstration ands the circle of watchers drew close. The first attempt failed. At the next, after much furious sawing with the bow, something went amiss. The drill came out of the top of the block carrying a large blob of hot goanna fat that flew unerringly to one trouser leg belonging to the aide-de-camp where it landed and slowly dribbled down the immaculate trouser leg. Many of the Scouts fell about laughing, while those at the front tried to suppress their chortles, but the distinctly aggrieved aide looked very pained and tried to remove the offending grease without much success.

On the 5 acres (2 hectares) belonging to the Cable Station, apart from the main office and 4 houses for Cable staff, there were several outbuildings of interest to roving children. There was a large barn-like building separate from the rest that had been used as a gymnasium for the probationers in training. Dick and I went there on the odd occasion with Don Andrews, who also was the son of a Cable employee. I remember trying parallel bars, Roman rings and a horizontal bar. As smallish children we found this adult equipment difficult to use, but I suppose when I finally used the gym at TSS it was not entirely strange.

The electricity supply for the Cable machinery was direct current provided by banks of glass accumulators that were lead acid batteries with glass cases. There was always one set in use and one set being charged, and others being filled with acid, all being looked after by the handyman Ephraim Walters. This room was out of bounds to us, probably because of the danger from the strong sulphuric acid. Of course it was the heart of the whole show, and had to be protected from tampering. Behind the garage at the Manager’s house there was a heap of smelly white crunchy material. As I recall Dad had told me that it was a place where calcium carbide was stored. Apparently acetylene lamps were used at one time before the electricity was put on in the houses, or in sidelights on horse drawn vehicles. The gas that was burned was produced by the action of water on the calcium carbide.

The most exciting place, however, was the library. There were hundreds of books, mostly from the early 1900’s to the late 1920’s. Many were specially bound with gilt lettering on the spine giving title and author and a catalogue number e.g. PCB 3 etc. (PCB= Pacific Cable Board). The authorities had shown commendable for some of the off duty needs of the young probationers, of whom my Dad had been one. This was my introduction to “grown up” novels. I will not use the term adult novels, which has grown to mean novels for adults only. They were mostly romance, spy, crime, thriller or western novels. It was also my introduction to the smell of books held in a confined space, that mustiness that promises stored delights awaiting release.

In the grounds near the library stood a sort of foundation stone a four-sided brick structure facing true north. On the level top surface in inset marble letters was inscribed the latitude and longitude of the site. Whether this still stands in the grounds I do not know, but am tempted to find out.

Among the toys we had as children was a flivver. Such vehicles do not seem to be on sale any more. Riding this three-wheeled contraption was not by pedal power but by pulling the handlebars and stem back towards you and then pushing it forwards away from you. These movements set the tricycle going forwards.

In the 1920’s and early 1930’s when my brother and I were growing up we considered we were quite well off for toys although there were always things that we wished or hoped for, but not so much that we were unhappy with what we had. At various stages we had water pistols and cap pistols and even replica revolvers. We had small realistic daggers made of soft rubber. They were painted to look like steel. The barrel of my gun broke, and all my boyish attempts to repair it were in vain. (We did not have super glue then, perhaps fortunately). Still in my fantasy it was still whole and capable of firing many an imaginary shot at the Indians who were bearing down on me. Being the younger brother, I often was the Indian, who, after being captured, was lassooed and tied to a tree. In this difficult situation I usually feared imminent demise, or at the least torture. The latter sometimes took place, but the scars, mental and physical have healed. In hindsight it was not very damaging.

At a somewhat more responsible age we both had Daisy air rifles that shot small round pellets of lead or copper covered metal. The bullet was projected from the barrel by the release of a spring-loaded piston, which forced a rapid rush of air through a narrow tube on to the bullet. We either did not use these guns in our Wild West games or were sensible enough not to load them if we did.

We had small toy cars, usually stamped out of tin, with a fine axle thrust through the sides at front and back containing the four wheels. The outside of the car was painted to show doors and windows. At about three pence or less these were not dear to buy, and were part of every household. On one occasion I saw on the inside surface of one car, part of the familiar name “IXL” an Australian tinned goods manufacturer. Possibly unused portions or rejected sheets of printed tin were sold to Japan, the source of all these small toy cars. Another possibility is that used tins were recycled in this way.

I also recall that the very effective water pistols that we used came from Japan, were branded “:Turo” or “Turi” and cost 4 pence. Despite the low cost of such items they lasted well if some care was taken.

At the Bauer Street house the floors were raised some 3 to 5 feet off the ground. We easily got underneath and played with cars on roads smoothed out of the fine black soil by hand or even “bitumen” made of mud that dried to a smooth, flat surface.

There was plenty of ground around the house for any game whether “cowboys and Indians” or ball games of all types. In fact only part of the front lawn had been a full sized tennis court. (Unfortunately a previous manager who preferred golf to tennis had converted it into a putting green). We regularly climbed most of the seven large trees available and even fell out of them occasionally. Once when I fell, I was heading straight for a large exposed tree root, only to be saved from injury by thew sudden presence of our dog, Blue, who suffered more, but licked me frantically to show forgiveness. As far as mobility was concerned in the early days, we had scooters. When you didn’t know any better they were great fun, around the lawn and out on the road. As wisdom grew, we realised that the small wheel diameter was not suited to rough or stony ground and the pedalling had little mechanical advantage. Two of us “scootered” a long way from home along rough roads to the turn off opposite TSS, and went along the Benowa Road. It was tough going, the only advantage was that in those days cars were infrequent. Imagine today scootering along the side of Bermuda Street. We had our play lunch and an apple tied up in a handkerchief, so we were not troubled by hunger. I do not remember coming home but I guess the reason is that we would have been tuckered out, and a bit frustrated by the big stones or “goolies”. The distance covered must have been about 6 kilometres or so all told.

Our flat surroundings at home were not suitable for billy carts unfortunately, unlike dwellers in Brisbane where the paved roads could well have been prepared just for kids with billy carts. Surfing, swimming, boating and fishing were high on the list of activities for most children in this seaside resort. In our particular case the amount of the latter two activities was minimal. By today’s standards we might have been considered deprived, not having a sailing boat, but we did not feel that way. Dad always talked to us sensibly about the limits of his purchasing power, and anyway with the depression going on through much of this time we realised that we were doing will compared with many others. We had been told of Dad’s own childhood, at the end of the 19th century. He had to do quite a lot of imagining and innovating as he apparently played a lot with wooden cotton reels for trains, and string and rope and sticks. Whenever we thought of our dear Dad having only these toys to play with, we felt sad. When reminded of this, for a short time at least, we gave up hankering for something better than we had. We did not appreciate at the time that there were probably very few toys if any child in those years, irrespective of his status in the community. Also with 9 or 10 children in the family, I guess the available resources were stretched.

Reverting to our own situation, as we grew older, we were fortunate to have one or two of the smaller, low numbered Meccano sets. These have largely been supplanted by Leggo these days, but were great toys in those days. Basically Meccano consisted of small pieces of flat, narrow and thin steel with regular standard sized holes drilled in them. These were of various lengths, and curved pieces and flat plates were also made. Small brass screws and nuts that fitted into the holes were used to clamp pieces together. One could make many objects such as cars, bridges, buildings and cranes. In fact the only limitations were lack of ideas and availability of parts.

A prized possession that we were given later on was a collection of rails and carriages called a Hornby train set. Dad had lived in a household with a close connection to the railway. His father worked as an engineer in the Queensland Railway. Even without that connection we would have rejoiced to have such a set. Using straight and curved rails it was possible to set up a railway system on the floor. The engines were powered by clockwork motors, and could be linked to carriages that carried freight or passengers. One could play for hours with these trains and make up all sorts of programs for them. With two playing, trains could be sent to the end of the line and be returned by the other player. Later more elaborate outfits could be bought, including tunnels, stations and countryside with cattle and fenced paddocks, and the ultimate, electrically driven trains. Such toys as these were great for indoor activities on wet days. The wide verandah commonly available in the Queensland homes of these days was ideal for train sets, giving plenty of room, of better light and cooling breezes for the humid days. The mild, sunny winters and warm summers together with proximity to beaches provided an ideal situation for children.

Although fishing was readily available, and widespread among locals and visitors, we did not fish much. This can be attributed to the fact that Dad did not fish much, spending what spare time his job allowed with the family on picnics, or Saturday afternoon golf, reading or resting. This often came about because Dad had been on “night duty” at work on the previous night. Saturday mornings seemed to occupy him in a weekly cleaning of the car and a monthly polishing. This was overkilil really, but probably provided him with a rhythm of activity during which he could think or maybe even dream. When I come to think of it he was not a dreamer. In any event the local garage proprietor Lindsay Firth told him it was the best kept car in Southport. He was fortunate that he did not have to do the chores common to house owners, such as mowing, painting, gardening etc. the house was owned by the P.C.B. and they took responsibility for its upkeep.

Our near neighbour, Peter Cosgrave, had a sailing boat about 12 feet long. I well remember that it cost one pound per foot of length in or about 1934. Only people “with money” could have afforded a pleasure craft when wages were around 3 pounds per week, and one was fortunate to have a job. We played together fairly often, as Peter was an only child. He asked us to go out in the boat quite often and we were grateful for this. Often this would be on a Sunday morning, after church. We would be driven to Mitchell’s jetty where the boat was kept, stopping on the way for Mrs. Cosgrave to make a particular purchase. After an hour or two of sailing and swimming we would dry off and get into the little Ford roadster with a dicky seat. At this stage the “purchase” which was a large block of Griffith’s chocolate was passed around. This was the best part of the morning.

Later on we had bicycles. This was the ultimate. It meant to us what having a car meant later on. It opened new possibilities of rapid movement to friends who were too far away to be reached on foot in the time at our disposal. First Dick has been given a cycle for Christmas, and I had a tennis racquet on that day. A year or two later I was given a bike. What a day that was! The bike was branded “Bosker” and was made in Brisbane, and cost about 7 pounds. Thinking about it now gives me a warm feeling. After using a scooter for so long while Dick rode around on his bike, it was just great to have a bike. Not very long after this the old saying “it never rains but it pours” or “to those that hath shall be given” became a reality for us. This was the winning of the Malvern Star bicycle competition of which I wrote earlier.

Cable Station employees were trained within the service and my father was no exception. At the Pacific Cable Board (PCB) complex in Bauer Street, Southport young men taken on as probationers (apprentices) were trained in the large house at the southern end. As the house appeared to have about 8 bedrooms, this was probably the number of probationers taken on at one time. Incidentally, Mother’s brother Selwyn also joined the service at about the same time as Dad. I had always had the idea that Dad had left school and home at age 13, which has to be considered rather young . However, while writing this I remembered that we had a copy of Charles Kingley’s “Westward Ho” that was awarded by the Brisbane Grammar School to Dad as a school prize. In the inscription was the date 1904! This would have put his age at 16 in the October of that year. Presumably this is the earliest that he would have left school. The firm feeling that he left home at 13 must have been wrong. Reflection on other events that happened when he was thirteen reveals his father died in that year, and was undoubtedly the event that I should have been associating with that time.

After the training period the young men were moved to other offices to be “operators” involved in sending and receiving cables worldwide and maintaining the equipment. As an operator, Dad was apparently very proficient. One ex-cable colleague, Fred Andrews, left the service and bought one of the cable houses becoming our neighbour. He told me that Dad was one of the fastest and most accurate senders of Morse code in the Cable service. He could send and receive Morse at 60 words per minute. I learned Morse code in the Scouts and again when in the Air Training Corps at TSS. It happened that Fred Andrews was the person chosen to teach the students in this group to send and receive Morse, and to my embarrassment (but secret pride) he spoke at some length of my Dad’s achievements in this direction.

I remember going into the local Post Office at Southport in the days when the old building was still in use. Some distance from the counter where we stood, but still in the same room, were the desks where the Telegraph operators tapped out their telegrams in Morse. The sound of incoming messages could be heard at the counter. To most listeners this was an unintelligible noise. This day Dad heard an amusing message and laughed, catching the eye of the man receiving the message. He got up and came over, expressing amazement that anyone “off the street” could have understood. Dad introduced himself as being a Cable operator, which was an entrée into the world of telegraphists. They chatted away about shared friendships and interests. The Post Office people, however, as I understand, were not trained to the exacting standards of the PCB and hence were somewhat rougher in the style of sending Morse. This fine distinction would be recognised only by experts. In Dad’s office, where I often went to watch, the sound of messages was constant. Even so, Dad and others could recognise idiosyncrasies in the style of sending, to the extent that they would sometimes comment on who it was tapping out the message from some other part of the world. Generally speaking Morse would be used today only by amateur radio exponents. Automatic transmissions have taken over from hand sending to achieve the high speeds necessary to send the vast amounts of data contained in media messages.

Fred Andrews became a successful grocer in Southport opening a store on the south-east corner of Nerang St and Scarborough St. His son, Don, was a pal of ours and we three did various things together, despite Don being several years older. Don became a Wing Commander in charge of three Spitfire squadrons in UK during World War 2, and was awarded the DFC.