No Television! We didn't get a TV in the house until 1965.

Our entertainment was mostly created by us and our imaginations. We did enjoy listening to the radio in the evening before we went to bed.

Our family had a bakelite valve radio in the kitchen and the children would sit around it and listen intently to "Blue Hills", "The Argonauts" and "Dad and Dave", getting just as involved in the stories as we do over today's television.

My older brother and I were 3 years and more older than the twins and our youngest sister, so were always allowed to stay up later.


Written by Gwen Meredith (1907-2006), "Blue Hills" was an Australian radio serial about the lives of families living in a typical rural Australian location and was set in a town called Tanimbla. "Blue Hills" was the name of the town’s doctor's residence.

"Blue Hills" was broadcast by the Australian Broadcasting Commission (ABC) for 27 years, from 28 February 1949 to 30 September1976. It included a total of 5,795 episodes, and was at one time the world's longest running radio serial. Each segment lasted 30 minutes.

The famous opening theme tune was taken from a short orchestral piece called 'Pastorale' written by Ronald Hanmer. He later re-worked this into a longer orchestral work titled Blue Hills Rhapsody.

Hilda (Nellie Lamport) serves tea to Dr and Mrs Gordon, seated, (Queenie Ashton and Gordon Grimsdale) and Peter Frobisher (Max Osbiston). Australian Broadcasting Commission, 1949.

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The Children's Session, with its "Argonauts Club", ran briefly in Melbourne in 1933-34, and was revived as a national program in 1941. By 1950 there were over 50,000 Club members.

The Club encouraged children's contributions of writing, music, poetry or art and was one of the ABC's most popular children's programs, running six days a week for 28 years, until it was broadcast only on Sundays and was finally discontinued in 1972.

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"Dad and Dave" from Snake Gully first went to air in 1937 and ran for an amazing 16 years. It was created by George Edwards, a radio actor and producer famous for being able to play numerous characters. He was popularly known as 'The Man with a Thousand Voices'. He played Dad until he died in 1953.

The serial was based on Steele Rudd’s book On Our Selection, first published in 1899. The dramatic rights were purchased in 1912 by actor and entrepreneur Bert Bailey who played Dad on stage for almost 20 years, as well as in four films directed by Ken G. Hall in the 1930s.

Australian radio audiences took to the serial with enthusiasm. It achieved extremely high audience ratings, made the mythical Snake Gully a much-discussed place, and had Australians of all ages whistling its theme song, "On the Road to Gundagai".

~ Dad and Dave from Snake Gully. George Edwards, Nell Stirling and Maurice Francis.
(Credit: National Film and Sound Archive)~

Early Life in the Hotham Street

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It took us a while to settle into such an undeveloped area, but the family really blossomed. Mum was full on keeping all our hungry mouths filled, and Dad got up early, had breakfast and walked the quarter mile up to the bus stop to go to work.

I remember lying in bed before it was light and hearing the horse drawn milk cart clanking up the road, delivering us our daily eight pints of milk. The slow shuffling of the horses hooves on the sandy road, his occasional snorts, and the instructions from the milk man to stop or move on, made a peaceful, predictable start to the day. I would hear him pick up all the bottles between his fingers and they would clank together before he put them in a neat row in Dad's specially built letterbox with a tray in front. If the horse dropped a pile of manure, it would be picked up early by an enthusiastic gardener for their roses.

Our bread was also delivered in a red motorised van that opened at the back. Our bread man was dark haired, with his hair greased back neatly, and full of personality. He would come up the path to the front door with a cheery voice and a large rectangular cane basket over his arm, filled with golden, crisp high top loaves. We were good customers.

As there were so many in our street, we kids ran wild. We got home from school, had something to eat and drink, and rushed back to meet our friends. Mostly we all got on pretty well, making special friends with those our own age. I had Margaret over the road, one of five children like us, with English parents - a gentle, softly spoken mother, and a roly poly dad, who loved fine music. I remember him firmly shutting himself in the lounge room with his expensive state of the art stereo, to put his feet up and turn the music up loud.

It did help me in my appreciation for classical music, and Margaret and I would dress up and dance to Swan Lake, pretending to be famous ballerinas. I thought Margaret was very fortunate when she began ballet lessons, as my parents weren't into fussing over our blossoming ambitions.

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Beaumaris being so undeveloped and just out of the sand dunes, there were bull ants galore.

I remember sitting on a nest of these huge biting ants, and how Dad rubbed bracken fern on the stinging lumps. I'm not sure it worked, but they assured us it did.

We did get back at them, and petrol was sometimes poured down the nearest holes to kill the nests. I do also remember one time catching a lot of ants and dropping them into a tin of boiling water over a small fire we lit. Bull Ant Stew!

We didn't taste it, but those poor ants copped it............

"With a set of formidable jaws, and growing to around 25mm long, bull ants have the respect of most. The weapon these ants use both to defend themselves and to subdue prey, is a venomous sting in their abdomen. Any threat to the nest will result in a large number of ants pouring out to attack any intruder.

As ferocious as they may seem, the adult bull ants actually feed upon nectar and plant juices. Bull ants generally nest deep within the soil, with usually only a few hundred workers protecting the queen, keeping her protected well below ground."

Wash Day

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School began for my older brother and I at Beaumaris State School. We walked the half mile there and back, along with lots of other children until we got bikes. My mother was pretty much house bound looking after the needs of a large young family.

I remember the main wash day was Mondays, and she would pile the week's sheets, towels and clothes on the floor in the small laundry, and crank up the big wrangle washer. The basin was huge, with a large agitator at the centre, and it would grind out an endless rhythm of , "boom-bom, boom-bom", backwards and forwards over the hours it took her.

She would run the first wash through the wrangle at the top, and drop it into the wash trough. Then the water would pump loudly out of the washer, and she would fill it up with cold water, to begin the whole process over again.

Next, the huge loads would be carted out to the super size Hills Hoist, to be pegged out carefully to conserve space, so she could fit it all on.

Our Hills Hoist was much wider than this one.

We loved that big clothesline, and would jump up to grab it and swing wildly around in circles. Eventually it began to sag from the weight of acrobatic kids and the heavy washes, and my father began to mutter darkly about us all ruining it.

My mother made up pink cotton sheets for the entire family, and as they wore out in the middle, she would split them and join the good pieces together, so after a time most would have two or three seams in a single sheet. When they were all hung on the line, we would wind the clothesline down until they nearly touched the ground, then we could make rooms out of them and play house.

My mum had an electric Singer sewing machine, and she taught we girls to use it over the years. We all became quite good seamstresses and learned to make our own clothes. It had a foot pedal, which was very modern, and sewed beautifully, if only in forward and reverse.

The washing would come back inside in huge piles, and what wasn't dried would be hung on the huge wooden 'clotheshorse' to sit by the heater if it was on or in the small laundry.

My grandmother was quite concerned about the huge workload my Mum used to have and came down each week to help iron and mend. She would sew buttons back on, fix back torn hems, and darn our holey socks. She was very expert at this and had a special foot shape over which she would drag the offending sock, then skillfully stitch a woolly patch, pulling the frayed sides together and leaving a comfortable padded heel or toe.

A Brand New Beginning

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Mum's mother didn't approve of my dad, saying he wasn't good enough for her. She was a feisty opinionated lady, made tough by losing the family orchard in the depression and having to move to town.

I don't remember my grandfather, who died when I was very young. Now Mum has gone, I can't even ask her about him. I don't know why we never did, and it's a lesson to us all that family history goes into the ether when that generation is gone unless we make an active effort to pass it on.

My grandmother did offer assistance to the family that had grown so suddenly and unexpectedly, and paid fifteen hundred pounds for a quarter acre block of land at the newly subdivided Beaumaris. My father had available to him a low interest War Service Loan of three thousand pounds and the building of a new house was underway.

In 1956, 'contemporary' style houses were all the rage. Large timber windows from floor to ceiling, and low sloping roofs covered with the dreaded asbestos were considered very stylish. Our new home was twelve squares, with one bathroom, but a separate shower room, toilet, three bedrooms, a kitchen/dining area, and a long lounge area with an open fire place.

Mum was quite artistic, and had a leaning towards Edna Walling Style gardening. She designed a beautiful garden around the house, taking in all the native tea trees and gums. On a sloping block, they built assorted stepped levels, linked by slate covered steps. The soil was very sandy and drained too quickly, and my grandmother would bring bags of mulched soil from her home in the Dandenongs, so they could dig it into the garden beds.

Beaumaris was completely undeveloped then and we were the second house in the street, which was just graded gravel and sand. The street rapidly filled up with young families, until the child head count reached fifty six. We made friends rapidly, and our leisure time was spent playing marbles in the dirt, tiggy, hide and seek, and many other carefree games of that era. No time for today's computer games and television; we were out climbing trees, and playing make believe with the now politically incorrect cowboys and Indians. I always loved horses and my 'pretend' horse was always 'Hi Yo Silver' from the Lone Ranger, so I would call out,

"A fiery horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty 'Hi-yo Silver!' The Lone Ranger!"


... which was the beginning of the radio show. Embarrassing, huh? But we were so innocent.

The Lone Ranger began in the 1930's and went on as movies, a radio show, and then a television series. He was the quintessential masked hero, who had a 'faithful Indian companion' called Tonto.

I loved that beautiful white horse, and I drew him and others endlessly in my room, filling sketch pads with horses in every position. A beautiful horse can still take my breath away, and only yesterday I was watching a performance of El Caballo Blanco, Australia's dancing stallions, and same that feeling still washed over me.

Spots and a New Wig

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At four years old, I caught the dreaded measles, and became very ill for a few days. I was placed under special care in the lounge room with the light and heater on. These days, having a measles temperature means cooling down not warming up, but I survived.

Being one of five meant that we rarely got special attention, so I really remember being bedded down on the lounge divan.


I woke in the night and by the red gold light of the radiator, I could see my walking doll sitting on the end of the divan, and she had a new wig! I was so delighted....................

I must have pulled at her hair as young children can, until she looked like a plucked chook.

I had that doll for many years until my father, in a fit of tidiness, got rid of all our childhood treasures without telling us.

Oh, to have some of them now.

I remember that doll was a 21 inch walker, and her legs swung from the hips. If you tipped her forward, she would say 'Mama!' Her eyes even closed if she was laid backwards. She was the 50's equivalent of 'cool'.

First Taste of School

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I started school at just over 4 years old, which was very young. I think my mum, after having five children under five, needed to get some of us out of her hair to give her some peace.

My parents intended a family of three children, so my older brother and I came first, then unexpected twins, and lastly a daughter who 'just happened'.

My brother and I began school at Oakleigh Primary School in 1955.

It's funny, but I drove past there recently over 50 years later, and sensed rather than saw that I had been there before. It was a large brick building which remains intact to this day.

As such a tiny, vulnerable child, I remember that the playground was being asphalted soon after I started. The teachers told us to stay away from the machines because they 'could kill' us. I still remember my fear of that stinking machine oozing black poison. To this day, I have an ingrained disquiet when I pass one working on the roads.

Scraped Siblings

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When I was a babe in arms in the 1950s, my mum was traveling in a taxi with my older brother and I. He apparently opened the taxi door and fell out! He survived.

Further on, when we were a family of five kids, my dad had what was possibly a Morris Minor Tourer, which was a convertible. We often drove around with the top down and the wind blowing in our hair.

Our parents rode up front and we children were loaded into the rear. There were no seat belts then, and we would bicker and play together, with an occasional stern call to order from the front seat. My younger sister Pam, who was around three at the time, stood up on the seat and promptly fell out over the boot onto the road.

Fortunately she survived too, with bruises and grazes, but my father sold that car and we were confined in a solid roofed version from then on.

My dad had been a bit of a lad when a young man, and he is pictured with sports cars of various kinds before he married after the war. Sadly, I have no photos, as they are lost to me now.

The wedding photo above is one of few I do have and has been extensively restored in Photoshop.