Chapter 7

During the latter years at the State school a boy of about my age began attending the same class. As his father was down on extended leave from Toowoomba, the son, Garnet Hills, had to go to school at Southport. We became firm friends and played together. We shared a love of sport, so often played tennis together. Now, some 58 years later, we are still friends although there have been gaps of years between our meetings. By chance recently we met, and Garnet has since married Marie.
He told a story from our days at Southport. Apparently we two were playing cricket on the lawn at Bauer St when the family arrived home by car and drove up to the side verandah. Just as Dick got out of the car, Garnet hit the cricket ball, to his horror, straight at the car. Quite unaware, Dick shut the car door, turned with a hand raised into which the ball sped- a perfect catch.
Much cricket practice took place on that patch of lawn which had been a tennis court. Gregory, a previous manager, had had it dug up and planted as a putting green. There was one hole, from which a steel rod and tin flag protruded. The flag was peppered with holes where I had used it for target practice with my Daisy air gun.
When one loaded a Daisy air gun with the little round lead bullet that it fired, the ball was allowed to run down the barrel from the muzzle. To check whether it was held, the gun was pointed to the ground , usually with the finger over the end of the barrel. On one occasion whilst doing this, I inadvertently pulled the trigger, firing the bullet into my left index finger. There was some bleeding and a small slit wound. What was uncertain was whether the bullet had lodged in the finger. In about a week the wound healed, but there was a suspicious bulge in the finger. The indecision was settled after a few more days when I caught a cricket ball with that hand, and felt pain in the finger. Dad took me to the Ambulance officer who confirmed the diagnosis of a bullet, and proceeded to cut it out there and then with no ceremony and certainly no anaesthetic. Dad gave me an ice-cream for not crying. I kept the bullet in a little glass tube for years before common sense overcame nostalgia.
Having mentioned the previous manager, Gregory, (a name with negative vibes for Dad and for me) I must tell this short tale. Amongst the goods in the house I found a shoe brush, which we added to our own, and all were kept in our shoebox. One day while cleaning shoes in the sun, I noticed scratch marks on this brush that I had found. Closer examination showed words scratched on the handle "TO HINTON AND DAMN YOU". As Hinton and Gregory were both batchelors, they had decided to share the manager's house. Presumably Gregory had borrowed a brush from Hinton, who persistently requested that it be returned.
In this house I found a large Atlas of the World. It was one in which each map faced a blank sheet of high quality white paper. There were about 200 pages in the book. Some previous occupant had filled the previously blank pages with drawings. These drawings were mostly caricatures or cartoons of men and women of the period of about 1920 and were extraordinarily well drawn. Each line was definite, graceful and necessary. To this day I regret that we did not keep it (it was not on the inventory) to make sure more people saw it. There seems no doubt that a gifted artist had made the drawings but there were no clues to the identity of that person.
One episode that may have influenced future events occurred in these pre-war years. A dentist named Ashton-Shorter practiced on the second storey of the building on the southern corner of Nerang St and The Esplanade (Gold Coast Highway}. At some stage this building belonged to Nell, Dad's sister. Ashton-Shorter's brother was a pilot in the RAAF. One day when I was near this spot with Don Andrews two "fighter" aircraft in formation flew very low northwards just above the esplanade. The aircraft were possibly Hawker Demons from Archerfield. From one there fell a long ribbon. Don raced over to it and found it was a message container with a ribbon attached. The message was for Ashton-Shorter from his brother and Don had the pleasure of delivering the item to him. Years later, Don gained the rank of Wing-Commander in the RAAF in Britain flying Spitfires.
The sandy shore from the Spit to Coolangatta, some 25 kilometres long, has always been, along with the surf, the main attraction of this area. In these days most local people surfed at Main Beach, the closest beach to the focus of population, all 3000 or so of it. Many locals would have a surf before going about the business of the day. The beaches, being on the eastern coast, were better in the mornings than the afternoons. We tended to see our friends at the beach more on the Sunday than Saturday, because people still worked on Saturday mornings. One institution that had already been formed earlier than the 30's was the Surf Life Saving Association. To see the large surf boat being launched into the breaking waves, and rowed by these sun tanned heroes was a great attraction for young and old alike. Probably many young female hearts were lost to these young men. Surf belt practice was common. In response to a signal from someone in trouble in the surf, the lifesaver would grab the surf belt put it on and run, trailing the white cord, into the surf and swim out to rescue the patient. On arrival at the scene the patient was supported and the cord was reeled in by the other lifesavers, while its passage was facilitated by a line of men holding the cord high in the air and pulling it in to the reel.
Resuscitation of partially drowned people was carried out on the sand, by methods that have been changed over the years. Today much better equipment is available. The surfboat has give way to the use of boards by individuals, and motorised rubber dinghies. No doubt the methods of treating the patient has en upgraded too.
In summer from time to time certain sponsors such as Radio 4BH would hold picnics on the beach. People came, mostly from Brisbane, by rail and road. I cannot be sure of the numbers, but there were thousands on the beach. Various games, competitions and other entertainment were provided all day, and from newspaper reports "a good time was had by all".
When Dad was looking to replace the Chrysler sedan, he booked a test drive with Percy Earl in the latest Ford tourer. We drove over the Jubilee bridge (the earlier one that came straight off Queen St more or less at right angles) to the coast road. On the bridge at the centre was a span that could be raised to allow the passage of boats with high masts. Some road work was in progress, several pick and shovel workers were in action. Our test drive over, we returned towards Southport, with Dad driving. We nosed slowly up the central span, and passed very close to one of the workers. A beefy son of toil, he was bent double, facing away from us. The next thing I knew was that Dad leaned out of the car, gave the worker a whack on his broad bottom with the comment,"Got you that time!",and resumed driving over the bridge. We all sat in stunned silence. Whatever possessed him to do that, I'll never be sure. After a bit we saw the funny side and had a good laugh. It became a family joke.
From the beginning of school in 1939 I attended TSS as a day boy. Differences between this school and the State school were many. It was like going from Australia to England. TSS was for boys only, teachers were masters, afternoon sport was compulsory, a uniform was worn, discipline was strict and there waws no one that I knew going there. Even though I was no stranger to changing schools it was always difficult making friends in an environment where you were the newcomer. There were only four day boys in the whole school at this time. Today the day boys outnumber the boarders. I took 9 subjects for the Junior Public Examination, but had to give up 2.
The school year seems to have gone by with no great dramas. At this time, Dick would have started work at Borthwick's in Eagle St. He boarded at several different places but stayed longer at Mrs Beale's in Westbourne St, Highgate Hill while waiting to join the Air Force.
In December, after learning of Dad's transfer to Suva, we left in the Monterey from Sydney for Fiji.