Quantcast
Channel: Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle » Bob Primrose
Viewing all articles
Browse latest Browse all 10

Tall Timber – New Prospects & Epilogue

0
0

A sequential extract taken from a childhood memoir, entitled, TALL TIMBER; Brown Paper and Porridge, by Bob Primrose.

Time moved on; it was now well into February 1952 and Franklin’s metal spinning business was on the rocks. Metal spinning (by hand) had become a dying craft trade; gradually being overtaken by improved engineering technology and the emergence of cheaper plastic products. Even had Franklin allowed me my trade tools, there was little future for me in metal spinning. I thought again about enlisting in the Army, and started to seriously enquire around for other possibilities. Then my luck changed; I learnt that Anderson’s Timber and Hardware, whose business premises were in Railway Parade, Maylands, needed a wood machinist for their Saw Mill Joinery Division. I’d always enjoyed working with wood and, through my early involvement in pattern making; I had experience in the operation of most wood working machinery. I went for an interview; demonstrated my ability and was given an immediate start as a First Class Wood Machinist, earning ₤15 a week.

My spirits rose even further when I regained my position as a part time cook at the Bright Spot South Perth Hamburger Bar; and the additional income from this source, added to my wood machinist’s pay, shot my weekly earnings to ₤19. My improved finances made it possible for me, at last, to give my darling an engagement ring formalising our betrothal – although the when and how of our intended marriage was still much of a dream. Young newly weds, in the 1950s, usually lived with parents for a year or two, but neither of us wanted such an arrangement. Although I enjoyed the work at the Furniture factory my work-load fluctuated greatly causing me a lingering unease, as I felt I needed more security of tenure.

Then, a friend, who had recently applied and been accepted to join the West Australian Police Force, suggested that I might do likewise. I’d never imagined myself as a Policeman, but when he discussed the pay and conditions, and the wide range of opportunities offered, my interest heightened. The entry salary, for Police Trainees and Probationary Constables, was ₤19 a week; the minimum age 19 years (my age); and as I weighed 10 stone 6lbs and stood 5′ 9″ in height, I met the minimum age/weight/height criteria. Applicants had to pass an elementary test in English and Maths – neither of which concerned me – and to produce character and other reference details, before being considered; and to undergo a rigid medical examination before final acceptance. However, I saw none of these as a barrier; I had nothing to lose by applying and much to gain if I succeeded. I completed the entrance exams and my preliminary interview with the Police Recruiting Sergeant early in April 1952. But my chances of joining the Police didn’t appear too promising, when the Recruiting Sergeant said, “There’s a chance you could be included in the next call up to go before the Selection Board; but you may have to wait ‘til you’re a little older and put on a bit more weight. However, get your references sorted out and we’ll see.” I was disappointed but, at least my wood machinist job at Anderson’s was in no danger for the present.

Towards the end of the following month a chance meeting with our old neighbour, Pop Pearce, created an amazing opportunity. One Saturday afternoon, I called in for a quick visit with Pop and Nan Pearce, as I sometimes did when in the area. I found Pop alone and a little dejected, and he told me he had had to put Nan in a nursing home. “She kept wandering off, getting herself lost. Her mind’s affected and she has to be supervised all the time.” I was shocked; Nan had appeared to be fine, when I called on them about a month before; I sympathised with him and added, “So what about you Pop; how are you coping?” “Oh, I’m managing alright – more or less” he replied. “But I’ve been looking for a young married couple, to move in with me, on a nominal rent, to look after things and do the house-keeping.”

I could hardly believe what Pop was saying, I thought “Wow! A young married couple; nominal rental and a fully furnished modern home, what an opportunity for June and me”. Pop & Nan’s home was a fine double brick building, with well kept lawns and gardens; there was a gas stove as well as the wood stove in the kitchen; a gas-fired water heater in the bathroom, and (wonder of wonders) a large modern electric refrigerator – it was a palace compared with the homes we’d been brought up in. “Gee Pop!” I exclaimed, “What about June and me? It would suit us just fine. We could marry as soon as we can and move in; it would be perfect for us – please? ” I was almost ready to plead our case. However further persuasion was unnecessary; Pop knew me almost as he would a Grandson, and he had met my June on more than one occasion. So although there would be a delay while we finalised our wedding arrangements, he seemed confident the three of us could live together quite well and readily agreed.

I almost flew to tell June and her parents the news, and we then drove together, to Midvale to also tell my Mum and Dad of our amazing good fortune. Both lots of parents shared our delight, and the race began to complete all formalities as soon as possible, so we could be married and move in with the least delay. It was certainly a rush; we planned just a small wedding, involving only family and close friends, with a 40 person buffet reception to be held at June’s home in South Perth. However – having regard to the urgency of Pop Pearce’s needs – there was still much to be done and little time to do it. The necessary legal and Church documents had to be obtained and complied with; the bride’s wedding dress to be made; the wedding cake made by a family friend; the Church ceremony to organise and a meeting with the Minister beforehand; plus other important incidentals like our honeymoon arrangements; photographs and wedding party transport. Nevertheless, we achieved it all in just five weeks.

I left work early, on Thursday July 10th 1952, and married my starry-eyed sweetheart, late in the afternoon at St Peter’s Anglican Church, Leonard Street Victoria Park.

Bob and June leaving the church.

Our wedding reception went smoothly, and at the end of the evening our well-wishers cheered us on our way in the little Austin 7 car, with Mum Finniss’ treasured home-made kerosene-tin bucket (much to her annoyance) tied to the back and clattering merrily behind.

My Austin 7 with Mum Finniss’ bucket clattering behind.

Following our three-day honeymoon at Chateau Healy, in the idyllic surroundings of Araluen, we returned on the Sunday afternoon and moved in with Pop Pearce – so I could resume work the next morning. Our honeymoon was all too short, but we vowed to continue as sweethearts forever. The live-in arrangement with Pop worked well. He left for the markets before daybreak most mornings; returning at night to join us for our evening meal; he never intruded on our privacy. After we’d settled in we had only ₤10 left from our savings, and, apart from our little car and a few other personal items nothing else mattered, we were together.

Six weeks later I received my call-up notice to appear before the Police Recruitment Selection Board. It was a nerve-racking experience. I felt a little intimidated waiting for my turn before the Selection Board, with the other 100 or so aspiring recruits, in the courtyard behind Police Headquarters. Most of them seemed so confident and much older and more powerfully built than I was, and it didn’t help when, after my interview, the Chairman of the Selection Board, commented “Well young fellah, subject to passing your Medical, you’ll be selected – but you’ve seen how many applicants we have to choose from; we only need 30 for the next school (Recruit training School) and you’re a bit young and small, so you may have to wait a year or two, ‘til you’re a bit older and put on a bit more beef. What do you think about that eh?” My heart sank, but I answered with more confidence than I felt, “Well Sir, if I have to wait, then I will.” However my spirits rose a little, as the Recruiting Sergeant gave me a wink as I left the room, signifying that I need not worry unduly. My medical examination followed almost immediately after the interview, and I had to wait around for another hour or so for the good news that I’d passed and been accepted as one of only 28 recruits selected from the 100 applicants.

I entered the Police Training School on August 28th 1952, as a Probationary Police Constable – on a salary of ₤19 a week. At last I had a really secure future.

Photo of probationary Constable Bob.

* * * *

EPILOGUE.

My wife June and I returned to Carlisle several times in 2008 2009 in the course of my research, and it was always a nostalgic journey. The little weather-board house at 59 Planet Street, where I grew up as a child, is still there; as is Pop and Nan Pearce’s house next door at number 57, where we first lived after our marriage. Apart from some minor internal modifications, and the ravages of time, both houses remain much as they were in the 1940s. With the kind permission of the present occupant at number 59, we were allowed a quick look through.

It was a strangely wistful experience; the little L shape front veranda – the awnings that sheltered our beds long gone – how could we have fitted all three beds in such a narrow space? The small internal passage-way entrance; where I had endlessly practiced my singing-voice scales on the old piano that stood there. The two, high-roofed, tin-lined bedrooms seemed larger than I remember; and part of the passage-way wall, next to the lounge room – where Mum allowed Ron and me to corral our ‘free’ day old cockerel chickens before their sale – had been removed to provide more space; I glanced at the kitchen (where we boys learnt our first dance steps); although there’s now a gas stove in the fireplace where our wood stove once stood, and the kitchen has a sink-basin, with both hot and cold taps, it looked just the same. The enclosed back veranda was as small as I remembered and the bath-room, although no larger, had been modernised and equipped with a shower and hand basin. The wash-copper with its firebox and chimney, and the cement wash-troughs too, were gone from the wash-house close-by; and looking again at the small area between the wash-house and the back door, I wondered how there’d been enough space there for Dad and me to work on Lucy, my old car – I could almost imagine Pop Pearce looking over the neighbouring fence; perhaps making some stickybeak remark, or encouraging comment about whatever I was doing.

The front and back yards seemed smaller than I recall, and are now cluttered with trees or shrubs that were not there before; I wondered how I’d found room there to drive Lucy forwards and back when learning to drive. Three huge trees that have grown since we left now overshadow the small house; two Queensland Box in the front and a smooth barked Sydney Blue Gum, close at the rear; wild creepers are trying to enclose the small veranda-front and the roof.

59 Planet Street Carlisle; the house where I grew up and No.57, Pop Pearce’s house next door, where my wife June and I first lived after we married in 1952. (2009 photo)

During the Great Depression and War years, many families battled, and mine was no different; you often went without and made the best of what you had – like the brown paper which mothers used to fashion vests that helped keep out the winter chill; the make-do meals (and modified porridge). However, never once did I ever feel underprivileged or disadvantaged. On the contrary, I felt fortunate to have parents who cared; who taught me discipline and responsibility; and instilled in me the belief that I could achieve whatever I wished; that I should never be afraid of failure – to learn by the experience and move on; and, like the tall timber of my early childhood, to reach for the sky.

To my darling June.
For all the happiness, the love and precious memories we share.

THE END.

Previously published by this Author
Mister Bob,
1996 (out of print)
On the Beat and in the Bush, 1998 (out of print)
Frontline Policing: On the beat and in the Bush with Mister Bob, 2006 (now a sequel to this publication)

* * * *
An evocative recreation of the way things were for families during the Great Depression and War years – as seen through the eyes of a child.

Born on 10th January 1933 at Nannup Hospital in south Western Australia during the Depression, Bob spent the first eight years of his life living in small mill towns in the South West, before his family moved to suburban Carlisle in 1941. His recollections of an adventurous childhood and teenage experiences provide priceless snapshots of practices and places now lost in the passage of time.

TALL TIMBER; Brown Paper and Porridge, ISBN 978–0–9807062. published in 2010. Available from the author direct – email bobsbook@bigpond.net.au



Viewing all articles
Browse latest Browse all 10

Latest Images

Trending Articles





Latest Images