From “Australia’s Foreign Wars: Origins, Costs, Future?!” http://www.anu.edu.au/emeritus/members/pages/ian_buckley/IKBhome.html

Appendix N

‘Biography_AEB, Ian K Buckley

If these reminiscences that deal with early lives from the 1920s and ‘30s appear somewhat ‘unworldly’, it should be remembered that they reflect the fact that then, for most Australians, there was scant if any realisation of the world beyond their immediate surroundings until well into adult life - in many cases persisting throughout. And as for any consciousness of what has long driven and still drives the world’s power-brokers at home and across the world, that came if at all very slowly indeed because most families lacked the means of knowing and most schools (though many claimed to be Christian) had no such learning programmes, nor even the insights for motivation. Hope I’m wrong, but I believe it may be little improved today.

Born September 26, 1925, just 7 years after the end of the 'Great War', ("the war to end all wars") my earliest memories are of our house in Redesdale road Fairy Hills and my family, my mother, father, eldest brother Noel (born 1917, 7 years earlier) eldest sister Joan (born 1919) and Allan, who arrived in 1922, a little under 4 years ahead of me. Of course those memories, especially the earliest, are shrouded in mist, no more than fragmentary recollections. Being isolated images, unconnected events, - often not even set in proper sequence, - they allow but random glimpses through ‘memory's window’!

My mother, very much the carer within the family, was a constant presence in all that went on. Always the concerned one, she saw to the provision of all our meals, our warmth, clothes, consolation following bumps and scrapes, ‘first-aid’ of all sorts and to sensible arbitration between brothers and sisters following disagreements - but always without 'taking sides' - simply trying to 'keep the peace' in as fair a way as possible. My father, although a good companion to my mother and very much the ample and conscientious provider of our material welfare was for this important task inevitably absent at work in his city office for much of the week. Partly for that, but no doubt for other reasons he was a much more distant person, more concerned with 'rules', discipline to be strictly applied, usually from a rather stern and, to me, forbidding distance.

I can remember, however, the occasional and happy contact when, for example, on a Saturday afternoon, the time my father had friends in to play tennis, that during breaks between sets I would be given a ride on his knee - rocking action accompanied by "this is the way the farmer rides, jig-jog, ....." etc., etc., all much to the delight and amusement of Messrs Houghton, Smith, Patsy Eisman and other off-court players.

The court itself was pale green concrete and well located since it was bordered on the upper side by a fine row of large flowering 'gums', eucalypts wonderful to see in bloom with their beautiful red flowers, - and on the lower side a row of golden poplars. And out beyond these we had fine views across the Yarra valley stretching towards Doncaster and the Dandenong ranges.

Although I have no direct recollection of 'Caesar', our pet bulldog, I'm told that I began life with him as very much one of the family (yes, the dog I mean!). This seems to be born out by a number of photographs showing me (or is it Allan? - I can't be sure because Allan too was said to be ‘looked after’ by Caesar, - always standing guard by the pram!). Unfortunately, Caesar did not survive into old age. There was no accident on the road, so maybe he went the way of many bulldogs, the victim of inherited heart disease.

Dorothy Smith, a little girl of my age lived in one of a pair of houses which shared the block directly across the road, the other being the Houghton’s. Dorothy, like me had blond hair - not only longer, but set in curls which her mother did each week, tying them tightly in rags. As I recall, our relationship was altogether ‘platonic’ - we simply enjoyed playing together. One of Dorothy's strict instructions from her mother was on how to carry a long-bladed bread or carving knife either to or from the Houghton's. On no account should she run, but carefully walk, and even so, always keep the tip of the blade pointing down to the ground. Glad to say, Dorothy took all of this on board and never came to grief, at least not from the careless treatment of knives!

However, together with myself she did in a sense come to grief under different circumstances. That was when Allan decided to give Dorothy and me an exciting ride in the family 'rocker', a larger semi-circular wooden toy designed so the weights of 2 sets of children, one at either end, would balance one another while (gently!) rocking. Well ...... on this occasion, Allan decided it would be more fun and exciting to have Dorothy and me together down one end. He then compensated by standing and pushing down hard at the other end....until his end was right on the ground....while we, the two small ones, were perched hight above ground. Then he let go!! Thereupon Dorothy and I rocketed down at quite a bat, indeed with sufficient momentum that the rocker completely overturned, we bumping our little heads. It all seemed pretty traumatic at the time, with lots of tears, swollen bumps on heads that had to be treated by the application of butter (the approved ‘folk remedy’ of the day) and earnest regrets from Allan who, until then hadn't the least idea of the practical consequences of Newton's Second Law of Motion. I don't remember whether Allan was punished in any particular way, though I think it was seen by our parents as an honest mistake with its own built-in remorse - sufficient to prevent a recurrence, as indeed it was.

Of course various naughty things were done by one or other of us from time to time. Since Allan was the older, he was often the first to ‘experiment’ and in any case was commonly considered the 'ring leader'. That may often have been so, but I've no doubt that I thoroughly enjoyed participating, playing my part even if the minor role. One exploit that comes to mind was to take an over-ripe marrow and hurl it at the blank wall of the house diagonally across the street, reachable from an adjacent vacant block. He would have been quite a smallish boy at the time - there was no particular motivation - it was just 'for a bit of a lark' (such runs the thoughts of small boys!). At all events, instead of just falling off and quietly decomposing on the garden beneath, the whole half marrow decided to stay up there on the wall, prominent for all to see. Although the event not witnessed by any one else at the time, ‘investigations’ of the result lead to Allan's 'apprehension' and he was required to apologise to the affronted house-owners and clean off the mess.

Our house, 'Teahroa' was an attractive place in which to grow up. It was located in ‘Fairy Hills’, not far from the Darebin station, some 7 miles from the centre of Melbourne in a quiet, well-treed rather appealing sort of neighbourhood close to the river Yarra. The land, a long block laying east-west and extending from Redesdale road to the Boulevard below, overlooked the river valley. The house, occupying the north-west of the block had a small concrete back yard with external laundry in one corner and an outside garage at the other. The side garden extended through the block, or rather until it reached the tennis court by the Boulevard. The house itself was probably 'late Edwardian', and single level except for the children's bedrooms, beneath a gabled roof, facing west and overlooking the back yard. There were two other gables, one to the east the other to the south, and between these a ‘hip-roofed’ covered verandah bordering our parents bedroom. Next to that a lounge room. A passageway extended from the back door at the yard end to these eastern rooms, at which point it took a right turn to the 'front' door which opened onto a verandah facing the side garden. From the longish east-west passageway, other rooms connected. On the north side, a bathroom with bath, shower and chip heater. Also to the north, the kitchen, close to the back door, with windows overlooking our neighbour’s, the Robert's, side fence and a large loquat tree which in summer provided welcome shade and copious quantities of yellow fruit. Across the passage from the kitchen was the 'breakfast' room, a family room used for most meals and all sorts of general activities. Next, towards the front door, the dining room, reserved for visitor's and Sunday dinners, birthday parties, - especially children’s - and similar special occasions.

My only recollection of my mother's parents, Edward and Levinia (ne Thomas) Bottomly is their arrival at our front door when making periodic visits. It was their custom to bring oranges, and I have but one stored picture, that of grandfather Edward and his beloved Levinia (our Mother always told how close they were) arriving on our front door verandah, complete with warm smiles and the ever- welcome bag of oranges.

As a very young one I used to visit various of the neighbours. Next door, Mr Roberts, a carpenter carried out most of his work at home where he had a workshop beneath the living area of his white-painted timber, well-verandahed, small- windowed (and therefore rather dark) house. There, 'below decks' so to speak, I could spend hours watching this skilled carpenter doing his interesting work, sawing, chiselling and planing to produce great volumes of beautifully thin curly brown and white shavings. Mr Roberts was obviously a gentle and very tolerant man - since he would spend much time answering questions (probably endless) and talking with me in spite of the obvious distraction that that would have entailed. He had a wife (though I cannot picture her) but as far as I know they had had no children.

Mrs Swan lived up the end of the road on the corner of Elphin street. She seemed to appreciate my visits, perhaps because she too had no children of her own - nor even a husband - since in those days they were considered essential for the process. At all events, she was very friendly. She had a real working cuckoo clock that certainly fascinated me. She also kept hens, good layers that produced heaps of eggs and I was always happy to be given a few to take home, my favourites being the warm-coloured brown ones. Then I used to visit the Robertson's who lived around the corner in Elphin St. I don't remember Mr Robertson (he was probably always at work, poor chap) but Mrs Robertson was ever very friendly - and she had two children, Peter and , a lad about my age. So there was a bonus, someone to play with (since Allan would have been at school) as well as a good source of biscuits and other forms of welcome hospitality. However, as I was still very young, and even then lacking a good sense of time's passage, my mother wisely equipped me with a special 'reminder' ticket, a small white cardboard tag on string around my neck, on which she inscribed "please send me home at 12.30 pm" (or similar) a system which seemed to work well for all concerned, - especially for Mrs Robertson, no doubt!

I also used to visit next door, on our south side, the home of the Edwards, a family consisting of Mr, Mrs, Alan, a boy Joan's age, Joyce, a girl of Allan's age - and Phyllis, a podgy girl of about my age (if not size!). Mr Edwards was a somewhat distant figure who I didn’t get to know very well, though I don't think that was due to any unfriendliness, just preoccupation with work and other things. Mrs Edwards was fairly dour, it seems, and whenever Phyllis asked for anything, biscuits or whatever, she would promptly agree, saying she would get them "directly" - which in practice meant that she was in the middle of some task and, as I well remember, they would be a very long time coming!

I don't know that I had such a lot in common with Phyllis in general - but we did seem to have a common interest (or at any rate curiosity) in sex. One day I recall being with Phyllis within the confines of a privet hedge that ran along our northern border of the tennis court. Some sort of 'medical inspection' involving the removal of Phyllis's underpants was carried out by me. In all honesty, I have to admit, I don't remember the reciprocal procedure being insisted on or engaged in - which doesn’t seem at all fair, does it? At all events, I’m sure I learnt something that day about the way girls are made different to boys - a real revelation since there was not the same freedom within the family at that time. However, the added knowledge was not without its cost because some time after Phyllis returned home, her mother noticed that her underpants were on back to front. Questions were asked that inevitably incriminated me. Ah, well, such is the price of knowledge!

In my case that must have continued as an eager quest because I remember a further experience involving Phyllis - who, it seems, was always a willing participant in my search. On this occasion I was aided, indeed urged on by Allan who being older and better educated (no doubt by yet older and more curious boys) seemed to know something of what specifically female parts were for. So, one sunny morning, down by the tennis court, we had a similar unveiling of nether parts (this time mutual) beneath a rug, convenient for shielding the event against unwanted viewers. There, I seem to recall some encouragement that I lie on top of Phyllis as if in THE act that educated schoolboys knew about. Needless to say, although full of interest to all present, being only 5 or 6 at the time, nothing much if anything took place and we all went home for lunch no worse for wear - or anything else!

During the 1930s economic Depression, that other 'Great' event of the era, one of the projects undertaken to keep some of the unemployed occupied (i.e., working without actually paying them properly) was the making and tar-sealing of the Boulevard which passed below our place. This work was carried out by 'sustenance workers', or 'sussos' as I later learned they were called - chaps whose remuneration (or 'dole') such as it was, depended on their working on various public works like the Boulevard. At the time, of course, I was not even aware that there was such a thing as a 'Depression', let alone what effects it was having on so many throughout the world. However, I used to visit and talk with the road workers engaged on the nearby section of the road. No doubt the ‘friendly banter’ that passed between us, whatever it was, would have caused them some amusement - might even have lightened their day!? Whether or not that was so, one incident caused them great hilarity. Knowing that I was never one to turn down an attractive morsel, one lunchtime (which they would have had much earlier than we - and yet not so early that I would not have long since digested my breakfast and, like Winny the Pooh, have begun to feel quite hungry, I was offered and accepted with gratitude a white bread sandwich filled with what I took to be one of my favourites, a generous filling of Marmite (looks just like Vegemite). Naturally, I got into it with some gusto, but only to discover, though all too late, that the filling was in fact good quality road-tar and that my teeth moved apart with great difficulty. This caused a tremendous amount of mirth among the assembled chaps, who appeared to take the joke very well. I am pleased to report, however, that the experience did nothing to alter our good relations nor to prevent my eventually becoming a supporter of the Australian Labor Party - until it lost its way and became a nom-de-plume for the Conservative Party or whatever name it should have these days. (modified 2004, 2010, 2012)

Its not that we were criminal, exactly, nor bent on doing wrong, but as small boys we (I mean Allan and I) were not immediately impressed by the conventional or the 'proper' way of behaving or speaking. Indeed, the acquiring of swear words seemed to have quite some attraction, a sort of badge of being 'grown up'. Allan, of course, through his contact with older boys, was streets ahead of me - but he was a talented teacher and explainer of what every term meant - and I was an avid learner. I remember, as a very small boy (I have to keep stressing that to protect my reputation, don't I?) being confronted by a mixed group of distinctly 'adult' persons who were gathered either at Noel Ferguson's or next door at Folletta's place down the lower end of Redesdale road. For some reason or other the subject of swearing came up and, on questioning, I must have confessed (or boasted!) that I knew how. This was met by some disbelief (almost certainly feigned) and I was challenged to live up to my claim ...... whereupon I let out with a stream of expletives that I think included the sequence "bugger, shit, fuck, damn" which, although resulting in some shock, clearly also caused considerable amusement. Of course that sort of experience could only encourage my further study of the topic. Needless to say, none of this new-found knowledge was repeated in front of my father or mother. I don't recall ever hearing my father using even the term 'bloody'. In fact neither parent ever swore more than a 'damn' or two, at least in our presence.

One of our earliest 'crimes' I recall was to raid the market gardens of the Chinese gardeners who grew vegetables on the Darebin Creek flats below the Boulevard near the Heidelberg road. The idea was to watch carefully until all was clear, then dash into the field and snatch a couple of carrots by their tops, retrieving them to the safety of the nearby shrubbery. There they were cleaned up, munched and enjoyed, being just so wonderfully fresh, tender, juicy! I don't think this was a frequently repeated operation and it was not done for any ill will towards the hard-working market gardeners who were well liked (and always respected for their honesty) throughout the district. On reflection, we were a touch amoral, not having learnt to appreciate the rights and more difficult lives of others.

On another occasion (seems like its time for more confessions!) - it must have been during a hot summer period because in stealing a coin from our mother's handbag, it was too dark to realise that instead of taking a shilling (to us a very large amount) we had in fact acquired only a halfpenny - which was about the same size. The coin was of course kept safe from view, well hidden in the pocket, where it stayed until, having arrived at Mrs Swan’s lolly shop opposite the Darebin station and - having made elaborate orders on the basis of the rather large planned outlay, the coin was produced. As you can imagine, this caused great consternation and embarrassment all round. I don't know whether Mrs Swan had any idea of what lay behind it all, but in any case Allan and I had to get by with a 'couple of jelly beans' or whatever one could get with a mere half penny! So much for our brief career in embezzlement!!

Another crime to be confessed, begun quite some years later when throwing skills and the freedom of night outings was a possibility, was a group activity undertaken with other boys, - stone throwing at street light bulbs. Why boys would want to pursue such an antisocial wasteful activity may seem a difficult question, but aside from its illegality, the main attraction may have been the very high level of skill required to hit a bulb some 30 feet up with a small stone. Combined with that may have been the attraction of being one of a 'gang' and the 'competitive' element, the urge to be the 'top scorer', the 'ace’ in the game. Thoughts of degraded security for the local residents and of environmental irresponsibility did not seem to occur as far as I recall.

Another group activity was to speed down hills on 'trucks'. These were rather primitive home-made affairs consisting of a long central piece of timber with small seat for the bottom and short cross pieces with metal wheels attached, the front cross piece able to be swivelled and so steered by feet or attached rope. This was an activity that engaged the skills of 'big boys' as well as small. Walter Pridgeon, who lived at the bottom of Redesdale road (another who joined the RAAF, was sent to England and who would not survive the war) was one of those 'older' boys. Because the Redesdale road hill ran across the Boulevard, it was necessary to have one or two boys on watch to warn of approaching traffic. Providing none was in the offing, the 'trucker' could either cross over or do a speedy turn into the Boulevard, usually the more fun and preferred manoeuvre. When a car was approaching, however, the warned speedster had either to mount (or crash) into the gutter or, if skilful enough, do a controlled 'ground loop', thus coming to a standstill and avoiding a collision. Those on watch had to show good judgement in whether or not to signal an oncoming trucker. I'm pleased to say that these watchers did a highly 'professional' job, for to my knowledge, no accident ever occurred. Many years later, after our family moved to Eaglemont, we used to truck down much longer and steeper hills, like Ormond road but here, although much greater speeds were attained, there were no cross streets and so less danger from traffic.

The same group of Fairy Hills boys liked to climb a bent tree, an old Eucalypt growing on vacant public land opposite Walter Pridgeon's house on the Boulevard. As it was such a stout old tree with a very wide trunk, it seemed a thoroughly harmless thing to do. However, the lady who lived in the adjacent house used always to loudly complain, telling the boys: "get down, get down, you boys are hurting the poor tree!" Looking back, its hard to be sure what this lady was 'on about'. Just possibly she had a genuine concern for the tree - but perhaps more likely she just didn't feel comfortable with all those boys playing so close to her property and wished to see them elsewhere.

Quite early on, I remember talk of music lessons being taken by Noel, Joan and Allan. They all went to 'Beana' White, a reputedly forbidding woman who gave lessons nearby. I was 'too young' to be taught. That sounded good news to me because apparently Beana was a hard task master, not so much concerned to promote the love of music, but rather to maintain strict discipline. This she did with the help of a long stout ruler which she used to hit the knuckles of musically erring fingers whenever they faltered. With that in prospect, I imagine faltering was inevitable! So I can well understand how sister Joan learned to "hate Bach and Brahms" with a vehemence which she never lost. Pity they could not have found a better teacher. George Schilling, who lived at the corner of Elphin St. and the Wridgeway was potentially such a one, being a veritable musical genius who was at the same time extremely warm and friendly. We would, say on the way to school, stand on the footpath outside his house simply marvelling at the cascades of wonderful music emanating from George's piano inside. Mozart, Bach, Schubert, Brahms and all the greats. And George was such a very pleasant young man who’s prodigious pianistic skills and natural enthusiasm would have made him such a fine teacher, but that was not to be. My musical career began somewhat later, in the post-Beana era. My parents managed somehow to identify a couple of lady teachers who gave lessons in their house at the foot of Noel street, not far from the Ivanhoe shopping centre. I don't know whether it was my lack of musical talent or their incredibly boring teaching style which, inter alia, involved colour-coding the scripted notes on the page (I seem to remember Middle C as pale blue) but in any case my lessons ceased by mutual agreement about two weeks after they had begun.

Fairly early on in life, I met up with Neville Maxwell, an English grandson of old Mr and Mrs Freemen who lived down on the corner of Redesdale road and the Boulevard. I think the Freemans were Aussies, right enough, but Neville's father (who I never met) must have been English and periodically would return to Australia with Neville's mum on her parental visits. Neville was my introduction to the language and style of English people. He had a classic 'peaches and cream' complexion (I suppose they rarely saw the sun in the 'Old Country'?!) and a real 'upper-class' ‘Pommy’ accent, the first I had ever heard. I used to marvel at this and much enjoyed playing with Neville in his grandfather's garden (which included a large orchard) as well as inside the house. Neville, it appeared had been provided with a large collection of painted lead toy soldiers. However, when it came to playing with these I could never warm to the idea of the make-believe games, involving the victorious feats of the Duke of Wellington, etc.

On a subsequent visit to Australia, by which time Neville was of school age and due to spend some time at Ivanhoe Grammar, I recall his ‘first day’ arrival there. Very neatly dressed, Neville turned up with his rather ‘too long’ hair (this was the Aussie era of ‘short back and sides’) overlapping a white 'bomb-proof' collar and, horror of horrors, shiny patent leather shoes featuring prominent silver buckles! This, coupled to his very 'Pommy' accent lead to his being teased mercilessly by the boys, including those in our class. I believe I did something towards easing the trauma by calling for 'fair play' (or words to that effect) but it was not at all easy for him. Under the circumstances, he coped very well but his mum should have known better!

Mr Freeman I think was usually a reasonably friendly old chap. We used to talk with him while he tended his vegetable garden where he would offer us gooseberries and other treats. Somewhat later (after Neville had returned to England again) quite understandably that changed abruptly one day. You see, Mr Freeman had a well established cypress hedge along his Redesdale road border and I recall one day 'playing with matches’, using these to light some newspaper I’d seen under the hedge. I was alone at the time (so no one else to blame!) and became alarmed when the hedge interior (which of course was tinder-dry!) burst into flame as only a dry cypress must! So, in panic, I immediately ran into Freeman’s place, sounding the alarm. As I ran in I came face to face with Mr Freeman running out, I shouting, “Mr Freeman, Mr Freeman, your hedge is on fire!, your hedge is on fire!! Well Mr Freeman was not only soon aware of that but, knowing it was not due to lightning strike or other ‘act of God,’ promptly put the blame squarely where it belonged. Fortunately, the fire was not so advanced that it could not be quickly extinguished with a hose. However, I’ve no doubt the incident left a scar not only on the hedge and Mr Freeman’s estimation of my common sense and judgement, but on my own self esteem. At all events, I never again repeated the old ‘playing with matches under a hedge’ trick!

Although we did not have an electric hot water service at Teahroa, our bathroom had a gas or chip heater of some sort (I suppose similar to that we used to have at Mossy Point). However, daily showers, compulsory throughout winter as well as summer, had to be cold. Needless to say they were pretty brief. Hot baths were allowed but once a week – or if more often, only in case of special need. One Saturday evening bath stands out. I used to share the bath with Allan, an unhurried affair and always an opportunity for fun. On this occasion, Allan would have been about 10, and I, 6-years old. This time there was even more than the usual amount of horse-play and hilarity. At some stage we had began splashing one another (nothing unusual) but this became more and more boisterous. I must have become very excited, indeed, quite carried away because in my excitement, I picked up the wooden scrubbing brush and hurled it at Allan hitting him on the face. In fact it struck him square across the nose, precipitating a very vigorous nose bleed. Being always a first-rate practical joker, Allan immediately feigned unconsciousness, lying back in the bath, head low in the water, the bath becoming progressively redder and redder. After a minute or so of this (I really don’t know just how long, but it seemed an age) and no doubt in response to my increasingly anxious enquiries as to his ‘state of health’ (“are you alright, are you alright?”) much to my relief, he ‘woke up’ and eventually the nose bleed stopped. We must have cleaned up thoroughly and I don’t think our parents, or anyone else ever knew of the damage done by my ‘friendly fire’. Of course neither of us could have known or (being totally unaware of the idiocy of the international ‘real politick’ of the day) even guessed at the possibility that within a mere 12 years, Allan, together with 10 other members of his RAF Coastal Command crew would perish from the combination of submarine ant-aircraft fire and the ‘friendly fire’ of their own Liberator depth charges.(see Naval Historical Branch’s ‘Coppock’ letter)

……………….. biography_aeb, ikb2 (continuation) Early Days - 'Teahroa -' Fairy Hills/Darebin (As amended 10August 1998

Mrs Fawcett, Mrs Fawcett, a kindly older lady from Fairfield, used to help mother, mainly with clothes-washing and hanging out on a Monday. Since other than boiling in the 'copper' and working the ringer, all washing had to be done in the traditionally laborious way by hand, that help was a great boon for a mum with husband and 5 children, all experts at dirtying clothes and bed linen. So although my memories of her are a little dim, I guess we got to know and very much like our Mrs Fawcett, working away in the little laundry house with its wood-fuelled copper, in the corner of the back yard. Certainly that impression is given by the photograph of the kindly- looking Mrs Fawcett sitting at the entrance of our lattice-wood 'summer house' with the very young Allan on her knee.

The Garden As mentioned, 'Teahroa's block was a fairly large one extending from Redesdale road to the Boulevard. Since the house was set to one side, close to Robert's place, the garden itself extended all the way through, from one street to the other. Although consisting mostly of lawn, there were garden beds along the front fence facing Redesdale road (sometimes featuring 'red-hot pokers') and bordering the path that led from the front gate to the 'front' door - which was actually set on the verandah at the side of the house. Another garden bed, often featuring dahlias, ran down along Edwards’ side fence to a lattice-wood ‘summer house’. And beyond that were more beds with well-established citrus trees which produced plentiful oranges and lemons. Additional garden beds flanked the southern and eastern sides of the house (with hydrangeas, camellias etc). Except for the well-established rows of golden poplars below, and a row of flowering gums above the tennis court, there were few trees of any size. However there was a tall dead Ivy-covered fine old scarred eucalypt standing between the court and the house next to the see-saw, a wonderfully productive old loquat tree which grew outside the kitchen window on Roberts’ side and a large palm, some 20 feet high and sporting elongate (6-8") spines at the base of its fronds, grew near the fence close to Redesdale road.

Mr Mattock Mr Mattock came for a full day's gardening once a week - mainly to mow the lawns and tend the garden beds. Small of stature, he was a well-built man of middling years, always tidy in appearance. He had a neatly trimmed rectangular 'mow' on his upper lip, and well clipt English speech to match. Though not unfriendly, he was not particularly chatty or outgoing to small children - a fact that may have appealed to dad who would have been far more interested in garden tasks satisfactorily accomplished than in keeping small children amused. At all events, our relationship with Mr Mattock was respectful though somewhat distant. One day, however, I must have become more than usually communicative and really got under his skin, so to speak. I had been standing with him below the summer house where he was watering the citrus trees. For some reason I cannot recall, (or perhaps I was just practicing some new-found talent) I must have come out with a stream of swear words. I'm sure they were not directed at him - I think it was just that I liked to display my new-found linguistic accomplishments with any company I thought might be impressed - favourably, I mean. At any rate, as you may have gathered, Mr Mattock was a pretty 'proper' sort of chap, and although undoubtedly impressed, that was not at all favourably so, and he promptly turned the hose on me, giving me a complete wetting, his tongue giving me a thorough scolding for using such 'foul language'. Needless to say, I didn’t complain to my parents about the wetting, and although Mr Mattock continued as family gardener for many years long after we moved to Eaglemont in 1934 (there tending our 'Sunny South' roses etc) I never again ventured to share any more of my newly-acquired ‘linguistic skills’ with him.

Birthday Parties

As you can imagine, birthday parties were always a great event. Before the party proper began, there were games outside, - a chance to ride on the see-saw or swing on the swing, play hide and seek, 'chasey' (whoever is touched next is 'he', then has to touch another) and the ever most popular peanut hunt. But of course the 'main event' was the afternoon tea party held in the dining room - all gaily decorated with coloured streamers, the table replete with cakes, white bread and butter adorned with the multicoloured 'hundreds-and-thousands' and lots of fizzy lemon or orangeade. Everyone had a blow-out 'bleeper' with which to excite (or annoy) his or her neighbour. All excitement, everyone spoke at once. Then the piece de resistance, the birthday cake with the right number of candles - together with ‘sparklers’ that would give off showers of incandescent light. Wonderful fun for all!

Then there were memorable birthday parties of school and other friend outside the family. One I recall especially because it was way out of town on Selwyn Pearson's family property by the Yarra near Warrandyte. Again there was the ubiquitous peanut hunt and also an exciting visit down the hill where we all took turns to peer into a long dark tunnel built in the 19th century to short-circuit and so empty a bend of the Yarra which allowed miners to pan for alluvial gold. That was all very good, but later on I remember being acutely embarrassed when, having distributed invitations to my own birthday party within my school class, I was ever so sadly reproached by Selwyn because he hadn’t got one. I don't recall the exact circumstances, though I think it had to do with the impossibility of arranging transport to and from his place. But whatever it was, I can still remember Selwyn's extreme hurt at being left out and my total inability to give an explanation that satisfied either of us!

I recall also numerous other parties, mainly of class mates (David Lancaster, Bruce Porter, Kelvey Pearson, Howard Barclay, etc.) but for some reason a very early one at Doug Joyce's stands out - or at least one particular image of it remains just so clear. It must have been some time in the early 1930s. Doug's place was in Marshall St., just north of Lower Heidelberg road and the image stuck in my mind is of Doug's ‘old’ grandfather (in fact he may have been no more than 60, possibly less!) ever so enthusiastically leading a long snake-like line of boys, we small children, while he, triumphantly waving a Union Jack high above his head, led the singing of "Rule Brittania, Brittania Rule the Waves”....etc, on and on around the back garden. I don't think he went on to give us that other jingoistic one, "Land of Hope and Glory", (the words of which have to be heard to be believed!) but clearly we were having 'that’ sort of message conveyed by the 'old' to the 'young'.

Horses – Teahroa, and Innisfail

As far back as I can remember, we had 3 horses: 'Natalie', a fine chestnut mare of about 12 hands, 'Beauty', an intermediate-sized, blackish horse of uncertain temper, and 'Darkie', a rather shaggy pony, supposedly docile and suitable for small fry and beginners to ride. The three were enclosed within the fenced paddock below us, between the Boulevard and the billabong below, but which also extended south onto the river flats adjacent to Galbally's and Ferguson's places. Although winters could be cold and frosty and any season wet, these horses lived there (and later in the smaller paddock next to ‘Innisfail’ our Eaglemont house) without any sort of shelter or even horse rugs. Despite that they seemed to keep in remarkably good health.

Although for a time Dora and I were too young, eventually everyone in the family rode the horses. Of the children, Noel would ride Natalie, Joan, Beauty and Allan, Darkie. No doubt essentially for purposes of photography, there is one picture we have, a head-on view of the three horses showing Noel with me in front on Natalie, and Joan with Dora on Beauty, flanking Allan on Darkie in the centre. Another photo, taken in 1932, shows Joan beside the three horses standing in the sloping paddock near the river flats, with tall trees behind. In those early days at Teahroa, the Boulevard, being still unsealed and having almost no traffic, was good for riding as were the wide river flats that extended to Heidelberg and beyond. Of course the ground was often anything but even and in any case there were always numerous rabbit holes to make a horse stumble, yet I don't recall any serious falls.

Later when we moved to Eaglemont in 1934 the horses, which came with us, were held in an empty paddock immediately adjacent to our house. As there were comparatively few houses there in those days, Eaglemont had plenty of open space. Much of that space was grassland, but being for the most part unfenced meant that the horses had to be tethered each day. For this each horse had a wide leather collar to which was attached some ten metres of metal-link chain. So each morning, Allan and I would take the horses with chains attached to some grassy spot on Eaglemont's summit and, with the help of a metal spike driven into the ground, tether them out of range of the others. Needless to say, in the winter the chains were very cold on the hands! Then in the evening, before dark, the horses would be untethered and returned to their fenced paddock for water and extra food in the form of hay or chaff. As mentioned, as at Teahroa, the horses had no shelter or rugs to ward off the cold, though at Eaglemont there were some tall Acasias (black wattles) which gave limited cover. Of course, things were more comfortable for all concerned in the warmer weather.

On one summer evening I remember that on returning the horses at dusk, I decided to hop on Darkie's bare back for the trip. Of course there were no reins for control, only the neck collar to hang on to. Not that there were any worries about what direction Darkie would take at dinner time. Indeed he took off at quite a pace, heading for the paddock gate. Unfortunately neither he nor I realised that the all-but- invisible simple single wire 'gate' was closed - that is, until he was all but on top of it. At that point, however, he put on all four brakes, coming to a stop just in time to prevent him colliding with it. Needless to say that did not prevent me continuing on alone at much the same speed and landing heavily on the ground. Fortunately no serious injury resulted but as you can imagine, after that I took very good care to ensure that the gate was always opened well ahead of time! Periodically the horses had to be re-shoed, so Allan and I would ride up to the forge opposite the cemetery on Upper Heidelberg road. There we would stand within the smithy's old high-roofed tin shed, fascinated by the sights and smells, the furnace's red-hot glowing coals, the smithy taking each of the horse's feet in turn, removing old shoes and nails, rasping away to shape each hoof, gripping the fetlock between his knees, estimating the new shoe size and, one by one, heating these to red heat before hammering them to correct shape. Then the final bit when, accompanied by sizzling noises, the water-quenched yet still-hot shoe was fitted to the hoof and nailed firmly into position. Poor horses! But properly done it didn't seem to give them any more discomfort or concern than us having our own finger or toenails cut!! Then the ride home, taking extra care that the horses didn’t slip as they crossed the sealed roads with their new shoes.

The Eaglemont Scene From Innisfail, we could see the Melbourne city skyline distantly to the south- west, look directly south beyond East Ivanhoe to the houses of Kew, or East across the winding Yarra river valley to the rolling hills of Templestowe and Doncaster, the distant blue Dandenongs or, a little further north, Mount Donna Buang. Close at hand was a large stretch of unfenced open grassy land extending from the Lower Heidelberg road with its imposing line of tall 'sugar gums', down to the unmade Old Boulevard and river flats. For obvious reasons, this grassy stretch was popularly known as 'Scotchman's Golf links'. It was good also for many other forms of recreation, just walking, mushrooming and, of course, ideal for horse-riding - at least when the golfers weren’t around! At its southern limits stood 'Charterisville', built by a Melbourne banker in the 1840s, but in the 1890s used by Tom Roberts, Arthur Streeton and other artists of the 'Heidelberg School' who created "Golden Summer" and many other masterpieces there. Another even earlier house used by the impressionists was David Davies' home in Summit Drive, atop Mount Eagle (see sketch). No doubt both locations were chosen because of their wide-ranging views across the Yarra valley to the hills and mountains beyond. And not just for the distant views, of course, but for the general openness of the foregrounds, the grassy slopes, scattered eucalypts and other native trees (c.f., original paintings of the Heidelberg school members, e.g.,T.Roberts, W.Withers, D. Davies,etc.; also old photographic illustrations in 'Heidelberg Since 1836'- e.g., pp. 57,82,102).

Allan on the Roof I guess it was some time in Allan's mid teens when our parents were out one autumn afternoon. Allan took to climbing over our Innisfail house roof, a cement- tiled surface of moderate steepness. Periodically, he was also leaping from the house roof to that of the adjacent laundry, a gap of some 5 feet above a 'chasm', the base of which was a very unyielding cement path. Although present, I was seemingly unaware of and so unalarmed as to the obvious danger. However, Rose and Wendy who were home helpers/carers and supposedly 'in charge' were clearly alarmed, warning Allan of the terrible consequences of any miscalculation. However, since all such reprimands and cautions were of no avail, with a final warning Rose and Wendy returned inside the house.

It’s hard to understand just what gets into the minds of the 'younger generation' isn't it? Well, presently, unmindful of the mental anguish it might produce, Allan decided on an elaborate 'practical joke'. He would climb down and lie very still, spread- eagled on the concrete path below. I would take a plank of wood and energetically thwack it on the ground, then run into Rose to raise the alarm. This was done. Of course the poor girls, rushing out and being confronted with such an awful sight, were extremely upset, not to say hysterical and simply not reconciled when Allan, returning to life, explained that it was ‘only a joke'. Of course, when they returned, our parents heard all about it from the still distraught girls and responded with appropriate wisdom and dire warnings. Understandably, these girls had been very concerned, very upset. I don't remember the punishment, but that kind of 'practical joke' was never repeated.

Speaking of punishments from our father, he was undoubtedly stern, not all that forgiving, inclined to be totally 'correct' and in those circumstances, humourless. That I think was a problem for him as well as us because not all of our pranks and misdemeanours were of the bizarre 'black' character as the roof ‘incident' (to use Japanese-type military terminology). And on one occasion in particular, physical punishment was rather extreme. I don't remember the sin committed - but I doubt that that is just some convenient sleight of memory. At all events, it must have been a joint misdemeanour because, in turn, Allan and I were summoned to the laundry where father, armed with 2-foot lengths of rubber-sheathed flex wire, laid about him, whipping our bare backs and buttocks, that resulting in much pain and huge red welts. Whatever the sin, we felt a great injustice had been done, later appealing to our upset mother on that score. I believe she agreed, at least that the level of punishment was excessive, but though I'm sure she would have made her case to father in private later, she always attempted to maintain a united front with him while at the same time supporting us in sympathetic ways. As is politics generally, a difficult line to follow, but I think our dear Mum exhibited her love for all of us at all times.

Family Holidays

Family holidays involving the whole family going away together went back as long as I can remember. Early on, the common practice was for our parents to decide the preferred place for the next holiday, then to find a suitable house to rent - in summer time that being nearly always at the seaside. If the house was not big enough, a tent annex would be erected somewhere in its back yard. On one such occasion, Allan and I were located in a roomy white canvas tent at the back of a house close to the centre of Portsea, one favourite holiday location. I must have been very young at the time, perhaps 6 or 7, because on this particular occasion we were booked for the peak holiday period and I remember waking up early on Christmas morning to find, with some wonderment, a miniature toy record player together with record. This, a 78 'Regal Zonaphone' (which I still have ‘filed’) featured two songs, "The Teddy Bear's Picnic" and "Hush, Hush, Hush, Here Comes the Bogey Man" - you know,...."If you go down in the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise… etc"....both performed by "The Rythmic Troubadors”. These fairly awful songs, complete with orchestral accompaniment and 'vocal chorus', we found quite fascinating, so I would play them over and over. Of course, for the rest of the family safe inside the house, such repeated playing outside in the tent annex was a truly excellent arrangement!

As you might imagine, tents were in those day rather open affairs, open to mosquitos and other insects or even larger animals. That accounts for another memorable event of that particular holiday, for one morning on waking I saw clearly silhouetted against the canvas close above my head, a creature I had never seen before, an enormous stick insect whose extraordinary form and deliberate slow movements we found altogether fascinating.

At Portsea there was the choice of either a 'front' (Port Phillip Bay) or 'back' ocean beach. The front beach, just north of the small township of Portsea (two pubs, a couple of shops and a post office - in those days run by Ken and Robert Knappett's family) was the closest to the house, - only a short walk away. Being sheltered from the ocean and its southerly winds, the front beach was clearly the best for sunbathing and swimming. It also held the option, for the older ones at least, for diving from a springboard half way out along the pier. This Noel, Joan and Allan took full advantage of. The pier also provided the opportunities for people, ourselves included, to promenade along that L-shaped structure, to look at whoever was fishing, the moored boats, to talk to or just observe the other 'promenaders', and looking shorewards, admire the Portsea skyline.

In those days of the 1930s, there were some well-to-do folk with fine houses behind the foreshore and along the cliff-tops - and a number also sported ‘flash’ yachts and cabin cruisers which they moored off the pier. One such family, Paxtons by name, were notorious not only for the opulence of their cruiser, but for their outrageously pretentious behaviour. So while folk were promenading along the pier, stage- whispering Paxton voices could be heard echoing from the bowels of their cruiser with all sorts of crucial messages, such as: "I'm coming up the front hatch, dear" - or, "If you don't mind, would you pass my drink down the rear hatch - oh, thanks awfully darling!"

One day a very small sea plane with floats alighted in the bay just west of the pier, the pilot advertising rides to all interested (and able to pay). Father offered us children a flight and I think Noel, Joan and Allan may all have had a ride. But when it came to my turn, I found myself sitting in a very small cabin with, if not dripping petrol, certainly a very strong smell of same, so I kicked up a fuss until I was allowed to escape to the fresh air and safety of the beach. I'm pleased to say that flights continued without fire or other mishap, but I don't doubt the wisdom of my choice. On another occasion, perhaps a year or so later, we were offered another opportunity of an airplane ride (still an uncommon experience for most young people) - this time out at Essendon, then Melbourne's airport. Again we took it in turns to go up in a small two-seater open cockpit plane - though in my case, to be able to see, I had to be on someone's – I think Joan's - knee. The exhilaration of flying and the experience of being able to look down on the tiny houses and trees I enjoyed - though I seem to remember having got too close to the exhaust pipe (passing back at the level your elbow might rest) and so getting a painful though not serious forearm burn.

Speaking of ‘marvellous inventions' of the day, Peter's ice cream had just introduced the 'Eskimo Pie', a wonderful chocolate-coated ice-cream bar, - and a real family treat was to be indulged in one of these towards the end of a hot morning on Portsea's front beach. Dad, of course, did the 'shouting'. We, as children, were given weekly money ear-marked 'for church', but very limited pocket money. However, I remember one day Allan and I sitting on the sand close by the path that led away from the front beach and suddenly seeing first one then two silver coins of large denomination (I mean two shillings!). That, of course, led to searching and, marvel of marvels, more and more were discovered. Why, there might have been as much as ten shillings in all! That of course meant ‘enormous’ wealth to us and, though I don't recall the details of its fate, I dare say it would have accounted for not a few Eskimo Pies!

I'm not sure whether it was at the time of 'the great money find' or some other, but I remember that it was on this same part of the beach that Allan and I discussed the question of what you would do and how you would feel if you lost a large sum of money or some article of particular value. We agreed that you would search very hard and do your utmost to find it. But then Allan made the very sensible point that, once having done all you possibly could it was important that then "you must not become too preoccupied with such a loss, just put it behind you, ‘forget’ it and let your mind work usefully on other things". He was, of course, seeing how counter- productive it would be to waste time and energy chewing over some such loss when you could instead be doing something positive. I think this was a general proposition - not just about money or material things (he was never preoccupied with such) but about lost things, lost opportunities, lost situations or whatever.

Another clear picture from Portsea days is that of walking eastwards along the beach in company with Allan and his friend Norm Pizzey (second cousin of my friend Ken). Some way along from the pier we came to a steep sandstone cliff which descended to the water leaving almost no exposed beach, it no doubt being high tide at the time. Here the cliff was deeply undercut by wave action to form a shallow cave, just deep enough to crawl into. I have to say that the idea of venturing in beneath a cliff which might collapse on you had no appeal to me. Nevertheless, we did explore this space, lured in by the sight of a bright green object set into the sand at the cave's extremity. From its characteristic appearance, Norm told us with seeming authority, it might well be the fabulously valuable ‘ambergris’, known to be washed up on shores. Because of its size, this ambergris was sure to make us all extremely rich. I'm not sure how impressed we were by Norm's ‘positive’ identification (notwithstanding his false assurance that ambergris was green!) but the green object of our desire (probably algal-covered sandstone) being largish and very firmly embedded in the sand, proved impossible to move and our thoughts of countless riches rapidly faded.

Over many years, I believe, the Tom Pizzeys (Norm's family) had their own house at Portsea. I didn’t ever visit there but some years later, probably early in the war when Joan was studying physiotherapy, she was invited by Marie, Norm's older sister, for a weekend stay, together with other friends at this Portsea house. Of about the same age as Joan, Marie was a pleasant girl, with easy manner, who was a frequent visitor for Sunday afternoon tennis at Innisfail. So Joan knew and liked her very well. However, what Joan did not know in advance, apparently, was that Marie, and I suppose some other of her friends were avid lovers of chamber music. So when Joan returned, I remember her expressions of sheer disgust at having had to endure Brahms quartets and other ‘horrors’ spread throughout the entire weekend! The fact is that as a family our musical education was altogether deficient until quite late. It was not that we were brought up on the pops, but rather on Gilbert and Sullivan and what you might call 'popular classics', mainly excerpts from opera featuring particular singers - Toti del Monti, Dame Clara Butt, Richard Tauber etc. Moreover, Joan’s appreciation of music had had a great setback through her knuckle-dusting ruler days with teacher ‘Beana’ White.

Of course the sound quality of radio, 'wireless' as we knew it in those days, was not at all good, and that of 'records' even less so, especially since we used steel needles mounted in very heavy metal pick-up arms. However, in the early days of WWII, against considerable opposition from Father who could see "nothing wrong with our perfectly good record player" (which, I must say, looked handsome in its beautiful rosewood cabinet) I managed, through 'Les', a friend of Frank Hirst, to come up with a light-weight needle-holding arm which would take the less record-damaging bamboo needles. And, wonder of wonders, about the same time our Mother acquired, (possibly as a gift, though I can't remember from whom) a few absolute treasures: - three Beethoven piano concerti played by Arthur Schnabel and Schubert's (piano) Trout Quintet. At this time Noel was unable to appreciate the benefits, he having stayed in England (following our parent's 1938 trip) to study at Cambridge – and then remaining to serve in the RNVR, Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve for the war's duration) and while Joan and Dad may not have been greatly taken, for Mother, Allan and myself the 'new music' on the modified machine was a complete revelation, absolutely wonderful! Suddenly we were able to experience this altogether 'different' kind of music that, unlike so much popular music of the time (it often being trivial, saccharine, shallowly sentimental, etc) was imaginative, truly exciting and full of genuine feeling. It is interesting to think that our mother, by then in her 50s and who, up until then had been starved of such music, could nevertheless have such instant appreciation, an appreciation which was to grow and be maintained until the last few years of her long life (93) when, sadly, greatly increased fatigue affected all such enjoyment.

But getting back to Portsea, in other years we rented a house on a side road, left off the hill-top just before descending to the village. The house belonged to Syd Anderson who had a boat and was, amongst other things, one of the local fishermen. Indeed it may have been Syd, I think who provided some interest for bystanders and reassurance for the swimmers and divers off the pier when he caught and removed a medium-sized octopus from near one of the pier's pylons. At all events, many years later, when I was a student after the war, I remember encountering a somewhat older Syd one evening in one of Portsea's hotels, the less classy one on the hillside away from the beach. I'm sure Syd did not remember me from earlier years, but in conversation he turned out to be a most interesting character with pronounced views as to the parlous state of our society and the poor character of its leadership - by then Menzies et al.,- he being a frustrated socialist at heart. Talking to Syd while having a few beers cheered me up considerably because people of his age (possibly 60 or so) with those views were rather uncommon.

Other favourite summer holiday places were Point Lonsdale, Phillip Island and Lorne. Like Portsea, Point Lonsdale had both front and back beaches and also good views of the 'rip', that exciting fast tidal stretch between the 'heads'. In addition it had its very own lighthouse on the western head. On occasions it must have had some other excitements for although very young at this time, I recall being with the family on the ocean side at a time when the word got about that someone had ‘caught a shark’, perhaps half a mile down the beach. So all the older children got set to walk down to see the catch - and, of course, I wanted to go too. It was explained not once but many times that it was 'too far', that I would get too tired if I were to try to walk. Well I suppose I did not let up but kept on and on about it, because I remember both the very hard smack my mum gave me with my little wooden spade (no plastic in those days), the pain that that produced and the hurt and injustice I felt about being denied the 'equal opportunity' to see the poor shark!! Except for that holiday, I don't think we had another at Point Lonsdale for many years - and then it was probably the one in 1938 when our parents, Joan and Noel were overseas, since the one 'in charge' of Allan and I was our dear Aunty Gwladys we staying at 'The Terminus', an old guest house.

I suppose holiday venues for us had their fashions and for a while that was Phillip Island which we reached by going on the old car ferry that left from Stony Point, crossing Western Port to the pier at Cowes, the island's township. For a few years we rented a house but later, in the 30s, enjoyed several holidays at 'Erewhon', a guest house at the eastern end of town. Such a place, located just across the road from the beach and the ti-tree lined track known as 'lover's walk' was pretty interesting for keen observers, such as ourselves. The house provided accommodation and three good meals a day - which was pretty good also. Not only that, but its rambling timber structure, wide verandahs and surrounding well-shaded lawns, together with the fact that there were plentiful young folk of various ages giving much opportunity for fun and games of various sorts - from table tennis to ball games and 'tug-of-war' on the beach.

The nearby beach, being sheltered and having few waves was good for swimming while the island's southern shores with their ocean beaches were good for surfing, walking and 'exploring'. They were also interesting in allowing one to see the return of penguins to their burrow nests in the early evenings. Other sights were koala viewing in the trees beside the roads and the occasional exciting voyages on the 'Hollydene', a nice little but fully seaworthy cutter which took us on trips to visit the seal colonies on Seal Rocks. That was particularly exciting because it meant going into the real ocean where the 'Hollydene' would pitch and roll as it circled through the swell as it circumnavigated the Rocks, .

Last Day of Holidays - the 'Town Visit'

Usually, as a special treat before our return to school we were allowed, on the last day of holidays, a trip to town by ourselves, going in by train to Princes Bridge, returning in the late afternoon. While in town, we were provided with pocket money sufficient for lunch and a film or, sometimes, the ’Glaciarium’, ice-skating! For a suitably 'el-cheapo' lunch we usually went to The Victoria Coffee Palace, so called, - a vast unimaginative multi-story building in Little Collins street that provided cheap accommodation and cafeteria-style meals. However, we thought the meals (the forerunner of modern-day junk food) were 'OK' - commonly something like crumbed sausages (with generous supply of tomato sauce) and 2 vegies - scrumptious to us as teenagers, though boring as hell we would think today. But, above all, I guess the prime attraction was the sheer novelty of it all.

Then the real treat, was the 'flicks' at one of Melbourne's seemingly ‘glamorous’ movie houses. These included the ornate 'Regent’, with its foyer's plaster statuettes and subtle lighting, the subjacent 'Plaza', the 'State' with its high deep-blue star- studded ceiling, the extraordinary Burley Griffin-designed 'Capitol', with its complex angled ceiling and walls which were forever changing colours to the accompaniment of popular tunes ‘rendered’ on the theatre's ghastly Hammond organ, a sort of horrible glitzy instrument making equally glitzy sounds. In addition there was the 'Athenaeum' which specialised in British films.

Most films in those days were black and white, though I remember an 'early' American colour nature film, 'The Living Desert' with some very good footage, exhibiting the activities of scorpions, rattle snakes etc., unfortunately marred by 'cute' commentary and equally contrived musical accompaniment. Then there was that other early colour movie from the US, "Gone With the Wind" about the Civil War. More characteristically, though, it would be a film featuring Gary Cooper, Ronald Colemen, Tyrone Power or Errol Flynn in a 'Hollywoodish' B&W production, utterly facile you can be sure, yet to us exciting. One I recall was the notorious Errol Flynn starring as an American WWI fighter 'ace' in "Dawn Patrol". This altogether unreal depiction of the air war featured lots of front-on close-ups of Errol's ever-so- handsome determined face as he, at the controls of his screaming Sopwith Camel (or whatever), doggedly tracked one, (then another) of the enemy's retreating planes as, diving and turning, they desperately tried to escape, before Errol, holding the plane in his sights, shot it down with masterly accuracy. John Wayne, that other celluloid hero, could not have done it better, or any less convincingly!

Its not easy to remember many others by name but they certainly included films about British India, such as "Clive of India" and "When the Rains Came". Also memorable, "The Adventures of Tom Sawer"- most amusing and towards the end, not a little scary with Indian Joe coming closer and threatening 'to get them'! Then of course there were various "Tarzan" adventures, complete with Jane, but more about swinging on vines from tree top to tree top than swinging with Jane, as it might have been these days. Then there was the extraordinary film about "King Kong", the gigantic gorilla which invaded New York, climbing to the very top of the Empire State building and threatening to bring it, along with 'civilisation as we know it' down. And for a bit of light relief, there were the Laurel and Hardy and W.C.Fields comedies

Tasks and Sundry Chores

Aside from school homework, there were always tasks to be done about the house and garden - usually set by 'the Old Man', our Dad. So, in addition to not very successful attempts to keep our own room tidy, regular chores included dish-washing and drying up, chopping kindling and wood for inside fires, stoking our briquette- fuelled hot water furnace, verandah scrubbing and hosing, car washing and mainly 'boring' garden chores, especially weeding.

Veranda cleaning and car washing were regular Saturday morning jobs. The verandah was a rather extensive terrazzo affair bordering the front and all down one side of our rather large grey-'stuccoed' house. Where it was protected by overhanging roof along the Eastern side (facing garden and court) its surface was beautifully smooth and thus easy to clean. Light scrubbing with soap and water did a perfect job and at the same time, made a wonderful slide for our already bare feet (we already knew how to skate, - both roller and ice). The south-facing front verandah, however, was a different story. It was weathered rough, somewhat pitted and ingrained with dirt, no doubt due to surface erosion of both its marble chips and bonding cement. At all events, holding on to its dirt tenaciously, it required extremely energetic scrubbing. So not a lot of fun, especially as we had to follow on and scrub the long wide flight of equally exposed front steps. No sliding and all very boring!

Car-washing of two cars was not a whole lot better - just a bit of a chore, especially as one of them, an all-white 'duco' Morris sedan had the sort of surface which, especially after a good wash, showed up dozens and dozens of black road-tar spots which had to be laboriously removed with eucalyptus oil. However, there was, as in all these tasks, the opportunity to talk endlessly about all sorts of things. In addition, car washing allowed Allan to drive each car, at least to start each and drive it from its under-house garage to some suitable place on the drive-way - and of course to do the same in reverse once the cleaning was done. Always generous and a keen teacher, one day Allan (who would have been, say 16 or 17 - I, but 12 or 13) decided that I (who had never driven a car - other than as a 5 or 6 year-old 'steering' while on father's knee) should be 'allowed' to back our big 8-cylinder Buick from the front steps where we had been cleaning it, back into its garage. That would have entailed reversing up a moderately steep incline into the garage while at the same time negotiating a fairly tight right-angle bend. Not only did I not get it right, but in my effort to make it up the final incline, I accelerated far too enthusiastically and, out of control, slammed the left rear mudguard into the flanking cement pillar. Needless to say Father was not the least bit happy with my driving efforts, further lessons being postponed until I was well over 18 (the then legal age for driving). Indeed, as things worked out, I learned to fly solo (in the RAAF) before I gained my car licence in 1944.

Although not an on-going chore, gardening tasks came up regularly in school holidays, especially the long summer ones. Although Mr Mattock looked after lawns and the planting and tending of garden beds, there were wilder, less visible areas to be attended to - such as the rockery behind the house and the orchard which ran down the east side of the tennis court - both of which required periodic weeding. So in the early morning, before leaving for his office in the city, father would 'brief' us thoroughly on the work he expected us to accomplish that day, we listening with the required attention. Once on our own, we would go to the task, but with limited enthusiasm. During summer holidays, it was frequently very hot January weather and the ground was bare, dry and hard. Yet it was ground that the weeds would thrive in, ground they were extremely reluctant to leave. And in the case of the 'rockery,' it was not made easier by the presence of those rocks and I doubt that anyone in our experience had ever even heard of 'mulch' as a way of retaining moisture and preventing the growth of weeds. In any case, our view was that such hot weather was ideal for swimming in and lazing by the nearby Yarra river - and not at all suitable for sun-exposed parched garden weeding. So we approached the job fitfully, anything but keen, staying as much as possible in the shade of the old apricot and apple trees. Working that way the time dragged slower and the task took just that much longer - which didn't make much sense, though it did provide opportunity to talk about so many things besides the vagaries of parental guidance, the injustices of fatherly discipline, etc!

Another task I recall that was particularly irksome that was assigned for a summer holiday in the 30s was the painting of our tall paling fence which stretched behind the tennis court. The plan was to convert its weathered greyness to 'greenness', perhaps to make it a more agreeable background for tennis players - though I'm not sure that any rationale was given – it being just a part of our DRO’s. Anyhow, it happened to be a particularly hot January and, aside from the seeming pointlessness of it all, there was the frustrating problem that paint applied always seemed promptly to soak into the timber and disappear. So many applications were needed and the extremely slow progress along the fence gave us (and no doubt Father) the impression that the task would never end!!

Of course, it was not the least unreasonable for us as able-bodied youths to be required to contribute a certain amount of manual work on the home and garden we all enjoyed and benefited from. The thing was, though, that being totally preoccupied with either 'business' type work or other paper work tasks, Father in those days rarely got into the garden himself - or, indeed did anything much in the way of manual (e.g.,workshop) work. In particular, he did not work with us, only detailed what was to be done. Had he periodically taken time off to work with us on particular tasks, showing us, encouraging us about what needed to be done, I think we could have gotten to know one another better and he would have attained more cooperation (even enthusiasm) out of us as helpers around the place. This fatherly remoteness, coupled to his ever judgemental, frequently disapproving attitude contrasted with our Mum’s approach. For unlike Papa, who expected unquestioning agreement, obedience, etc., our Mother always engaged us directly with reason and was ever willing to allow full discussion of the issues, whatever they were, on their merits - and the oft saving grace of a leavening of humour and an ability to ‘see the other side'. Not that she did not see herself as older and wiser and therefore bound to provide proper guidance and leadership. But by talking to us face-to-face ‘at our level’, we could see her obvious love and concern for our moral character development and general welfare, so we were impressed and influenced. With hindsight, I can see that Dad had similar concerns for our welfare, but his remoteness, humourless sternness and 'preaching style' simply meant that the messages 'washed over' without soaking in.

Another task, one which almost always turned out to be interesting, was dish- washing and drying. Of course, dish-washing and drying was shared by everyone - except Dad who, (like Uncle Syd., and inefficient at actually getting food off plates) was free to get on with 'more important things'. But for the rest, it was a regular opportunity for free-wheeling discussions - or even arguments about all sorts of things, - anything from day-to-day family affairs to major issues affecting society or the world at large. But, re. the latter two areas, although none of us were well informed on domestic politics or international affairs, our mother was a very great asset for she had strong feelings about social justice and a good sense of what was right and what ‘just had to be wrong’. She had been influenced in that direction by her parents and siblings, but as well strong reinforcement had come from her Methodist background. Not that on ‘morals’ she was in any sense a ‘wowser’, but she well understood the significance of those crucially-important teachings of Jesus of Nazareth, - especially his common sense advocacy of fair dealing (e.g., fair- trading/exchange) and sympathy between all peoples. So no surprise her support of Father Kennedy Tucker (founder of the Brotherhood of St Lawrence and Community Aid Abroad) ‘Save the Children Fund’ and similar causes. In particular, she was altogether passionate about the tragic plight of just so many of the world’s children and what must be done to remedy those tragedies.

As a small illustration, as far back as I can remember, in travelling to Melbourne with our Mum on the train from Darebin station during the Depression years, she had pointed to the dismal slum conditions of just so many families living in the houses and back yards backing onto the rail line we were on – i.e., through Collingwood, Victoria Park, Abbotsford, Richmond, etc. For her it was a sad reflection on the gap in wealth between those who had more than enough and those who had far too little.

…………………………

Here, a short diversion from the biographical account to look at what essential information we as a family lacked when it came to understanding the origins of Europe’s wars (and thus, in effect, Australia’s foreign wars – see IB1, IB2) - and so thereby might have been capable of making appropriate decisions re. circumstances under which one might reasonably volunteer to participate, - and in what role?

Origins of Depressions and Wars? As earlier emphasised, although none of us pretended even rudimentary knowledge of the historical background to Europe’s interminable wars, (e.g. BT, Barbara Tuchman’s wonderfully written account) we were of course aware of what disastrous carnage had occurred through World War 1. As to our ‘knowledge’ of that war’s origin, it was widely pronounced that the prime villain had been an over-armed militaristic Germany which had ‘started it’ when it invaded Belgium in 1914. As if to confirm that, the Treaty of Versailles (produced by the principal ‘victors’) had named Germany the sole guilty party.(MG; JMK) Also that the therefore innocent ‘our side’, ‘we’ were one of the ‘winners’! Yet it should have been screamingly obvious to all including the national leaders of all belligerent nations that the human costs were such that all had lost, it being an absolute catastrophe all round. Moreover, in no sense were there economic victors, - Britain for example never regaining its ‘pre-eminent’ position across the world. (After all, only the US and Japan, neither of which had been ‘fully involved’, could claim to be economically ‘better off’ through it’s outcome)

I raise the issue of the universally disastrous outcome of WW1 because of the victors’ total failure to admit their roles in its causation and then act responsibly to ensure that such could never again occur, - and so to seriously investigate exactly what had driven Europe’s avowedly ‘Christian’ States to such a no-brainer, - that mutually- induced defeat. Moreover, as a most important adjunct to such investigation, to look back at all of Europe’s ‘modern’ wars and ask the same question, - namely why, when the Industrial Revolution held such high promise of universal plenty, should it’s people even think about counter-productive international competition via warfare?! (see IB3)

Yet, not only did the ‘victors’ of WW1 fail utterly to follow that logic, - this failure inevitably misleading them into WW2 - but the same failure followed WW2, such that the world was then further burdened by a combination of, (i) the nuclear- annihilation-threatening so-called Cold War division between the ‘victorious’ WW2 Allies, (ii) their competitive arms-race build-ups and extremely destructive neo- Colonial wars including Vietnam and Korea (iii) their ever-growing industrial assault on Nature, it’s finite resources squandered, widespread pollution, ecosystems devastated, global warming upon us, (iv) their long unstable market economies ever- faltering (v) and by now their self-induced near-total economic collapse. What a strangely illogical counter-productive ‘accomplishment’ which currently threatens the human species!

Strange, indeed, because back in the 18th Century that weird militarised version of industrialised Capitalism responsible for the above long-standing absurdities was very clearly described and severely criticised as being both unjust and unnecessary by Adam Smith in his Wealth of Nations.(AS_WN; JSc) Indeed, within the same work Smith strongly advocated the simple justice trading conditions required for a world- wide system that could (and therefore should) be allowed to work fairly to serve all at home and across the world, - thus promoting economic justice, widespread wealth, contentedness and hence freedom from absurdly unnecessary wars. (AS_WN; see also AS_MS, AS, and Jeffrey Sachs’ 2007 Reith Lectures (JSa) So, as one may well ask, how could the evolution of capitalism have gone so very wrong?! Well again we don’t’ need to go further than Wealth of Nations to find out. For here Smith makes very clear the corrupting effects of Europe’s ‘special interest’ elite traders through their self-serving motivations and malign influence on their home governments. For thereby these elites obtained ‘Royal Charters’ along with many other laws designed to guarantee them grossly unfair trading advantages both in home and foreign markets.(for specific references see IB3) Now should you think that what happened sounds ‘normal’ or at least ‘not too serious’, read on.

You see, as well described by Smith, Europe’s elites, those “exclusive companies of merchants”, (many already significant holders of land in their home countries) were altogether serious in their intention to extend their special advantages in wealth creation abroad. And in practice that meant the deliberate colonisation of others’ lands, their resources exploited, their people made to serve the colonisers. Smith’s description of the Spanish colonisation of the Americas is a heart-rending read.(AS_WN, IV.7.15; see also the Spanish priest, Bartholome de Las Casas BC) But of course not only the Spanish, since these government-sanctioned ‘enterprises’ originated from all of Europe’s maritime trading powers, - Portugal, France, England, Holland, Denmark, etc. And adding to the human cost, such enterprises soon involved the capture, trading, transport, and horrendous exploitation of African and other slaves, - forced to work under hideous conditions in mines and plantations across the world.( Just google: slave routes a global vision, UNESCO) Bear in mind also that the Charters granted by home governments/royalty, like that of the late 19th Century granted to Cecil Rhodes’ South African Company, made clear ‘rights’ to invade, make laws, police populations, and use military force to control the people of many territories including Rhodesia.(AN) All that would seem to be altogether bad enough, but as you can well imagine, from the very outset these militarised conquests of foreign territories by a ‘government-authorised’ Company from one country were always in competition with those of at least one other country. And since very frequently those companies had military support from their home governments, no surprise that such situations accounted for just so many wars of the 18th century. As Smith explained the process leading to these wars, “…. nations have been taught that their interest consisted in beggaring all their neighbours. Each nation has been made to look with an invidious eye upon the prosperity of all the nations with which it trades, and to consider their gain as its own loss. Commerce, which ought naturally to be, among nations, as among individuals, a bond of union and friendship, has become the most fertile source of discord and animosity. The capricious ambition of kings and ministers has not, during the present and the preceding century, been more fatal to the repose of Europe than the impertinent jealousy of merchants and manufacturers. The violence and injustice of the rulers of mankind is an ancient evil, for which, I am afraid, the nature of human affairs can scarce admit of a remedy. But the mean rapacity, the monopolizing spirit of merchants and manufacturers, who neither are, nor ought to be, the rulers of mankind, though it cannot perhaps be corrected may very easily be prevented from disturbing the tranquillity of anybody but themselves.” (AS_WN, IV.3 Part 1. 38) (that is, prevention via the adoption of universally applied fair trade practices as advocated by Smith). Moreover, as well documented by Smith, these wars were the major source of Britain’s rising ‘perpetual’ governmental debt via which its ‘bank-rolling’ cum investing elites gained profit, a situation the government tolerated.(For revealing quotations, see IB3,pp.10-11) Now you might find this depiction of our European heritage (including British) as hard to believe. Yet it fits well not only with what we can learn from Adam Smith, but with Europe’s history of wars ever since. Rather than cooperation, we have seen endless competition, always aggressive in nature and in the end ‘resolved’ by war. Of course never in fact resolved, simply a pause before the next challenge to ‘supremacy’ on the road to the nations’ hoped-for ‘Manifest Destinies’. Thus in no sense did any of this aggressive behaviour exhibit any resemblance to Smith’s concept of universal fair-exchange trading across the world – the kind of trading that could and so should have led to a fair return to all for their contributions.

And just to further convince you of Adam Smith’s perspective of what in fact was happening (c.f., what should have been allowed to happen from the actions of the ‘Christian’ civilised states of Europe), let me include just one more quote from this remarkable historian: “The discovery of America, and that of a passage to the East Indies by the Cape of Good Hope, are the two greatest and most important events recorded in the history of mankind. … What benefits or what misfortunes to mankind may hereafter result from those great events, no human wisdom can foresee. By uniting, in some measure, the most distant parts of the world, by enabling them to relieve one another's wants, to increase one another's enjoyments, and to encourage one another's industry, their general tendency would seem to be beneficial. To the natives however, both of the East and West Indies, all the commercial benefits which can have resulted from those events have been sunk and lost in the dreadful misfortunes which they have occasioned. ….. At the particular time when these discoveries were made, the superiority of force happened to be so great on the side of the Europeans that they were enabled to commit with impunity every sort of injustice in those remote countries.” (AS_WN, IV.7.166)

Yet, since Smith (so frequently through history presented as a ‘Patron Saint of the Greedy’) you may feel that somehow I’ve misrepresented him. But, no, the underlying reality is the unprincipled way that the name of this great thinker has been ‘high-jacked to misrepresent his central messages.(AS_WN; JSc; IB3) And that includes his teachings as to both the origins of true wealth and what fair trading could - and therefore should be allowed to do to satisfy all human need – a situation that if followed could still save humanity from that aggressive commercial competition which has for such a long time led to needless injustice, poverty, environmental wreckage, Depressions and counter-productive wars. (AS_WN; AS_MS; JH;) And if such misrepresentation sounds exaggerated, just think of how a wide range of Christian bureaucracies/orthodoxies have over the centuries misrepresented the intentions of their Sacred Founder to perpetrate the most heinous crimes, including wars on the greatest possible scale, – the Thirty Years War and WW1 as but two examples. ………………………….

Now I know that the above has been rather a lot of diversion, yet I hope it’s been enough to make the point that as a family we should have been on guard for the realities of Australia’s position in the early days of WW2. You see, for one important thing, we were not aware that within 3 months of Menzies’ Declaration of War on Germany in 1939, he had been (easily) persuaded by Britain to commit Australia to the ‘Empire Air Training Scheme’ (sounds good, but wait) which promised the RAF operating from Europe, first choice of RAAF trainees graduating as aircrew.(JMcC) And bear in mind Australia had virtually no operational aircraft of it’s own (a situation that improved only marginally as the war progressed) that ensuring that the vast majority of our trained aircrew ended up in England, - most committed to the area-bombing of German cities. A strategy for which great yet false claims were made that this would shorten, - even ‘win the war’. False, since Britain’s subsequent official assessment made clear that Germany’s war production had continued to climb (to the end of 1944) as its civilian morale (as in bombed Britain) held steady. (W&F, i-iv)

Another thing we were not (but should have been) aware of related to Germany’s idea of repeating it’s WW1 submarine strategy, i.e., to blockade Britain’s vital imports thus forcing it into submission. Indeed, in view of the near strangulation of Britain’s lifelines during WW1 Britain, along with it’s other victors, had enforced strict arms limitations on Germany which included the complete prohibition of submarines. Yet, by 1933 the British government, favouring a re-armed Germany, including the signing with Hitler’s government The Anglo-German Naval Agreement of 1935 which unilaterally ‘allowed’ a German navy, - including submarines to match British strength. Although Churchill (along with Britain’s WW1 Allies) strenuously objected, that Treaty gave a huge boost to Hitler’s sense of Great Power acceptance and thus enormous encouragement towards his well-advanced plans for aggressive expansion. (WC, 126-8)

So all in all, through our gross ignorance we as a family did a very poor job indeed of protecting Allan from his most well-intentioned plan to join the RAAF as the best way to defend our country from the fast-advancing Japanese forces. On reflection, looking back, joining the Australian Navy, which clearly had such a defensive role, would have been a far far better option.

Growing Up Together

So getting back to ‘biographies’, as earlier mentioned I was almost four years younger than Allan, which at the age of 'growing up', say up to 16 years, is a significant age difference in terms of relative stages of development. For me it meant that Allan had been an ever-present person from my birth onwards, even if I have no direct or clear memory of those earliest days. However, as early as I can remember, he was my constant companion, guide and friend. Not that he did not frequently venture forth from home independently with friends of his own age. That he greatly liked to do. Yet, sharing the same household, inevitably we were together a great deal of the time. Being that much older, he was of course 'streets' ahead of me in physical, mental and social skills. That was great for me because he was a natural teacher, always happy to pass on skills (and much else) he had acquired. Aside from that, he exhibited considerable concern for my welfare generally, a watchful attitude towards my safety in various situations and a positive approach to my education and development overall – notwithstanding various episodes related above! Perhaps there was no cause for jealous behaviour, but in any case, he seemed totally free of such or other negative attitudes.

From my viewpoint, I mostly preferred Allan's company to any other of those about my own age. Understandably he liked to get out to talk with and do things with friends of his own age, a desire that grew stronger as he grew through his teens. So if there was tension between us in our Eaglemont days, it had to be with my frequent and no doubt unreasonable wish to 'tag along' when Allan went off to be with his friends - like John Dean, Ron Pitcher ('Pitch'), Sheila May and Norm Pizzey (Tom and Ivy's son, Graham's brother) who lived nearby, across Eaglemont's summit. So I can remember engaging in a deal of special pleading, such as : "Oh, please, Allan, can't I come too?" etc., etc., no doubt promising not to get in the way or be any sort of wet blanket or other trouble! All things considered I was, I suspect, given the 'go ahead' in a rather high percentage of occasions, the response depending considerably, no doubt, on what activities the 'bigger boys' might have had in mind.

At all events, my memories are of frequent walks with Allan (always plenty to talk about) from our back gate across the small Burley Griffin reserve (onto which we backed), past back of Cook's and the (now fallen) 'Canoe Tree', wending our way through the Acasias that grew behind Gill's place onto the old gravel path that stretched over the grassy eastern slope of 'Mount Eagle' towards Pizzey's. In traversing this we could look down to Matcham Skipper's house (of W.B.Griffin design, later owned by Ken and Margaret Knappet) and the old quince and sugar plum trees that grew wild on the adjacent paddock. At the end of the gravel path we came to Norm's house which was half way down The Eire, an unmade steep track lined by huge elm trees. Then to the house's side entrance to be greeted, if not by Norm, then by father Tom's not unkind but gravelly or Ivy's gentler voice. Tom, like many of the Pizzeys (including Ken's father Claude) was in the tannery leather trade and a pretty 'tough' business man. Also by all accounts a tough disciplinarian as father. As a daughter, Marie may have escaped the discipline as, being the youngest, may have Graham. But both Lyell and Norman, we were told, were treated to periodic doses of 'thrashings' by Tom who reputedly used 'green-hide', narrow leather strips having both weight and flexibility. Of course we never witnessed this but were suitably awed at the telling.

Its funny the things you recall about such visits - some not repeatable - but I well remember the dry highly-astringent effect of eating the quinces (we knew as 'quangers') that grew by Skipper's and the much pleasanter effect of the sugar plums that grew in profusion nearby. Then I recall one morning standing in the shade of one of the large elms in front of Pizzey's place within a small group of older boys, which included Allan and Norm - they must have been all of 16. One lad was reading to the group from a set of letters which purported to be from a newly-wed young woman to her girl friend - full of all sorts of graphic detail about her recent matrimonial experiences which were not only repeated many times in the week, but over and over each night! Everyone in the group, including my young self, found these fictitious experiences extremely interesting - and not a little amusing.

Then there were frequent visits to others who lived close by. That meant going out the back, down the gravelled lane, along Summit Drive (wonderful views across the Yarra valley towards Templestowe and the mountains beyond) - talking all the while - to the house of John Dean (a quiet lad we did not see so frequently) or past Mrs Dunwoody's to Pitch's place. 'Pitch' (Ron Pitcher) who didn't always like to rise early, had an older brother (Reg) and sister, a lawyer father (who we saw little of) and a caring somewhat fussy mother who liked to protect Ron from too-early callers. While waiting, however, we could always amuse ourselves by sampling their lovely greengage plums which grew by the court fence or, crossing to their back paddock, visit Reg's 1928 Dodge soft-top 'tourer', a wonderful machine truly to be admired.

In the early days at Eaglemont, Outlook Drive was not paved - just a root-ridged gravel track lined by enormous old cyprus trees. One memory I have of Ron and Allan is being with them walking along Outlook Drive until we got to Glen Drive - at which point we encountered the tall burly frame and surly visage of one, John Lanigan. This was well before the same John developed a reputation as a singer, although long after he was known as an oversize bully. I have no idea of the source of the trouble between Lanigan and Ron. These were the days when on some false 'principle' there was considerable ill feeling between 'Catholics' and 'Protestants' - even if one or other party didn't ‘believe’ or ‘go to church! But whether or not that was a factor, clearly there was ill feeling between these two and sore words were exchanged. I think Ron was accused of some slight or insult and refused to apologise. At all events, there was no fight as such, but finally by way of conclusion the burly 'Irish' Lanigan let go with one enormous punch to Ron's face which totally grounded him. Lanigan strode off, leaving Allan and I to help Ron to his feet and try to comfort him but I don't think we were the least successful.

Another destination was to May's place, just beyond Pitcher's, at the corner of Summit Drive and The Eire. In the choice of May's it was fortunate because we each had a friend there, Sheila being of Allan's age, John of mine. Sheila was a not-too- demure (already liberated) ‘PLC’, Presbyterian Ladies College girl, bright, friendly, strikingly good looking, complete with trim figure, and she was very good at tennis. Although she and Allan found each other interesting and attractive, they were never romantically linked. It was nevertheless a very firm friendship, mutually stimulating at a generally light-hearted level and one in which confidences could easily be exchanged. Although early on but a school girl, Sheila was pretty mature and soon highly sophisticated in dress, make-up and manner. In a number of ways she was a bit 'wild', in part at least due to the fact that her father, Len, WWI veteran and 'successful' stock broker, and mother (Alice, idle, overweight, often tipsy, bad- tempered) were not in the business of providing family discipline or example. So, even as a school-age girl, Sheila could be seen at week-ends trendily dressed, adorned with lip-stick and, by then well and truly 'liberated', smoking cork tipped 'Craven A's, while conversing in easy style, sometimes while 'having a drink'. That might have been simply Loy's Lemonade on a hot day - but it could just have likely have been beer or whisky, especially in the late afternoon or evening. Indeed the May household was 'set up' in such a way that cigarettes were freely available in boxes on display in various rooms - as was the odd decanter of whisky - with beer kept cold in the 'fridge'.

Notwithstanding all that availability and 'freedom', as Sheila grew older I do not recall that May's was a place for young people's wild parties - or parties at all as far as I know (though Alice certainly held her day-time bridge gatherings at which considerable whisky was consumed). Aside from talking together, which they liked to do about anything and everything, Sheila and Allan's principal common interest was in tennis. Both were very good, Sheila being at least as skilled and powerful at the game as Allan. With a stylish effective serve, a powerful backhand as well as forehand she was a delight to watch and a good match for brother Allan.

Their friendship continued on well past their school days and it must have been in the early years of the war (WW2) that Sheila became attracted to Greg Patterson, a somewhat older bloke (though probably about 28 years, so perhaps by only 5 years) who I used to see occasionally visiting the May’s, playing tennis etc. I suppose he didn't strike me as particularly charming or attractive, having a somewhat jaded look - but then he wasn't trying to attract me, was he?! At all events, after some time, and some little while after Allan had gone away (interstate) training in the RAAF (1942), Sheila married Greg but it turned into a complete disaster - for reasons I never learned. Sheila was, it appears, very soon disillusioned, very upset and within weeks of marriage she parted company with him. I later heard from Allan that she had written to him as confidant to share the sad news of the outcome. A few years later (1945) I heard that Sheila had married Bruce Everett, a man who had happened to be one of my flying instructors in the RAAF (Course 57, Uranquinty, March-June, 1945. Again, tragically for all concerned, this did not work out either because very late in the war, Bruce was killed while attempting a forced-landing in his Wirraway following engine failure on take off.

Looking back one feels that our time together was all too short, as indeed it was. For as I knew then - it remaining still clear today – up to the time Allan enlisted in the RAAF, (the last time he lived at home) we were together a mere 16 years. And although we did meet again, that was for just two very brief periods. Once during 1942 when Allan on a short home leave was brought by our parents to Yea where I was a boarder, - the Ivanhoe Grammar School having ‘evacuated’ there following the Japanese invasion threat. That was a great opportunity to catch up, we all picnicking out by the Goulbourn River for a few all-too-short hours. Then just once more when, after Allan had graduated as Navigator/Observer, Pilot Officer Allan Edward Buckley, for 2 days in January 1943 (which included Allan’s birthday on the 15th) just before he, - along with another large contingent of RAAF boys - went off to Canada on their way to Britain. And for Allan, like just so many young boys, including the other young people in his crew, (almost all late teens or early 20s) his life was soon to be cut so very short, he only just 22.

Introduction to Allan's Last Letters to me

Having given some thought to whether or not to include these very personal last letters to me, I've decided they certainly should be. Reasons for initial hesitation were twofold.

First they contained all sorts of 'rude' language, - ideas and 'swear' words which had long been common currency in our day-to-day conversations over the years, but which might 'give offence' to some and might seem to show Allan 'in a poor light'. Now, certainly, when we were growing up it was definitely 'bad form' to swear in public, so I hasten to point out here that such conversations were never 'open', always private.

Secondly, notwithstanding the letters' sound advice to me on various topics, their 'colourful' language, levity and general tenor might well give an impression of 'immaturity' - a fair enough judgement which deserves comment.

At that time Allan was just 20, - then 21. Now, looking back from our current 'mature' vantage point, its important to remind ourselves that in fact the great majority of those recruited for military service during World War II, especially those who, like Allan, had volunteered, were very young indeed and so of course were immature. As I see it, they were not much more than 'children'. In fact that is what recruiters for the Services have always taken advantage of, that blend of naivete and idealism, the very 'immaturity' which characterises youth, and makes them ‘soft targets’ for politicians/recruiters

(And lets face it, its not that 40-50, or even 60-year olds could not be trained up and made fit enough for the front line. Indeed, since they've had more than half a life and just so much valuable experience', they are the logical ones who, wanting to demonstrate their conviction in the ‘just cause’ of the day (and set an example to the young!) should not only ‘go’, but be the first to go. But as we know, given a free choice, knowing 'too much,' most hold back - 'protected occupation', 'family responsibilities', etc., etc.! So for the Nations' leaders, youths' blend of immaturity, idealism and desire for adventure makes them the obvious choice, - or 'target'.)

And since young men were highly attracted to the idea of flying many (like Allan) decided to join the Air Force. Not that any had any way of knowing what would be involved should they be sent to Europe where most would end up bombing civilians in German cities. And in any case, despite the fact that they had volunteered 'to defend their country', once they had 'volunteered' and ‘signed on’ with the RAAF, no matter what inappropriate ‘duties’ they might be assigned to, even by another country’s government/military Service (namely the RAF) 'un-volunteering' was never an option. All were committed ‘for the duration’.

Allan completed his Leaving Honours year at Ivanhoe Grammar School in 1939 at the age of 17. In September that year, the Second World War began in Europe and Australia declared war on Germany immediately following Britain, 'as a matter of course'. For Britain it was the start of the so-called 'phony war' period, but for Australia, Japan (though still deeply invading China and clearly a potential threat to many more Pacific nations) would not 'strike south' until December 1941. Allan, always a bright scholar, had been accepted into his first year of Mechanical Engineering at Melbourne University, commencing March 1940. That year he volunteered for the Australian Army, serving in the MUR (Melbourne University Regiment) which provided part-time and (periodic) full-time training. But while the MUR functioned to prepare against a possible Japanese invasion by training as many able-bodied men as practicable, Australia also needed to go on producing new generations of skilled young people - as physicists, chemists, doctors, engineers, etc. Thus the MUR was not designed for or subject to overseas service.

At Ivanhoe Grammar Allan had always been a very good student, particularly in mathematics, including such things as Newton's 'Infinitesimal Calculus'. He also did very well in his engineering course, - sailing through to the completion of his second year. As an engineering student he was in a 'protected industry', not liable for overseas service. But understandably, after Japan's Pearl Harbour attack (December 7, 1941) with its simultaneous advances deep into the south-west Pacific ('French' Indo-China, Malaya, Singapore, Indonesia, even into New Guinea) and with the clear possibility that, if not blocked, Australia might be invaded, Allan joined the Royal Australian Air Force, the RAAF. That was in April 1942 at the age of 20.

Of course there were many young lads who responded similarly, including many of Allan's contemporaries from Ivanhoe Grammar, a significant proportion also joining the RAAF. And, like Don Charlwood, they would have done so in the expectation that with the Japanese threat so real, so close, their role would be to defend Australian shores. The same should have applied to the Australian Army - but its major Divisions (6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th) were engaged fighting in support of British forces abroad defending various parts of the Empire in the Middle East, Malaya and Singapore - so that, initially, only inexperienced 'home defence forces’ were available to stem the Japanese advance across New Guinea's Owen Stanley ranges towards Port Morseby. (see David Day, DD) That was one problem, dealt with only when the incoming Prime Minister, John Curtin, against very considerable resistance, had some success in having the British government 'release' them for Australia's defence. Eventually these forces arrived, but even then our 8th Division, diverted in a vain attempt to defend Malaya and Singapore was, in that bungled British effort, taken captive (along with the British forces) for the war's duration.

Of course, in attempting to deal with the invasion threat, air power in cooperation with army operations, could have played a key role in pushing back the Japanese advance. And young recruits to air crew, like Allan, could have expected to play important roles in that task. But, closely related to one another, there were two problems. The first was that Australia had very few aircraft (none 'front line', none a match for the Japanese Zeros and other planes). Also Britain had earlier actively discouraged establishment of an ‘indigenous’ aircraft-manufacturing industry and claimed it had very few available to sell.(DD, 176-178) The second problem was that Britain had a very strong vested interest in having Australian air crew to serve with its RAF in Europe - mostly in Bomber Command's night area-bombing raids on German cities. Since air-crew losses from these operations were great, the British government expected the need for a steady stream of replacements from the Dominions.(JMcC) Hence it was not in the least motivated to supply military aircraft for Australia's defence, - only to supply aircraft suitable for the training of air-crew. The result was that most air-crew went off to Britain under an "Empire Air Training Scheme" ‘Agreement’ which had been negotiated in late 1939 by Lord Riverdale, the industrialist 'steel man' who had so enthusiastically favoured assisting the rearmament of Hitler's Germany. (N-B1,125; & see Churchill, WC, 99-130)

As earlier mentioned, with Allan's strong maths background, no surprise he was chosen to be a navigator. And after training at various stations (Somers, then in South Australia at Mt Gambier, Port Augusta and Nhill) he graduated in December 1942 as a Pilot Officer, Navigator/Observer. Then after brief home leave, during which we all celebrated his 21st birthday, Allan was sent off to Canada (Edmonton, Prince Edward Island) for more training before posting to an Operational Training Unit at Nassau, the Bahamas, to prepare for his ultimate role as navigator in RAF’s Coastal Command. Again this was not too surprising since that job required exceptional 'dead-reckoning' navigational skills over vast expanses of Atlantic ocean - to track down and if possible destroy those German submarines the British government had 'authorised' Hitler to build in 1935. (WC, 123-128)

Indeed not only extraordinary navigational competence but great stamina was needed since the flights/patrols, beginning mid afternoon, extended through the night for some 12 to14 hours. Once airborne, the aircraft's ocean position had to be calculated and plotted purely on the basis of air-speed and compass course - corrected for 'drift' due to ever-variable winds. So calculations had to be carried out continuously, major revisions needed repeatedly for the frequent changes in course throughout the long 'square-search' patrols. These patrols were designed to encounter submarines that normally were on the surface at night. From time to time key submarine position data (from Bletchley Park's code-breakers who were able to read the coded global positions German submarine captains transmitted back to base) would be relayed to them. But of course not only were these transmissions intermittent, but the submarines were always on the move. So 'homing in' on one was not at all simple. Nevertheless, once the navigator was notified of a submarine's reported position - it could be anywhere in their patrol area - he would, using his own estimated current position, calculate a new course to intercept it. Obviously the dead- reckoning navigational task itself, subsequent movement of the submarine and weather conditions made such intercepts extremely challenging. That aside, since the Liberator could patrol anywhere within a 1,000 mile radius of its base, even the navigational work of accurately guiding it back to base in Cornwall (St Eval) was, in itself, no small feat.

(For more detail concerning Coastal Command’s submarine encounters, see BIO2.doc, i.e., Appendix_m.doc)

Allan's Last Letters to me (August 1942 – April, 1944)

418054 L.A.C. Buckley, A.E. Course 27A No.2 Air Observers' School, Royal Australian Air Force, Mount Gambier, S.A. 16/8/42

Dear Grub, (the salt-and-peppery one)

How are you son? All right but you want a piss, eh? O.K Go & have one, and read this later.

I wrote to Betty Nankervis some weeks ago, and got a reply only today. She tells me she has been in bed. Her story is that she had to have her appendix out. Ha! Ha! Do we believe that? I wonder who it was - the dirty bugger.

You should be finished term very shortly. When do you go to Buffalo? I hope you find a couple of wenches there. You should be able to get a bit. Rember Remr (bugger! ) Remember not to show more than half or you'll scare 'em all away. Don't show them less than half either, or they'll look for something bigger.

I have found rather a pretty girl in the local township. Unfortunately she is a bit young - 17. However, they learn early, these days. I met another girl also. The second time we happened to be at the same dance I took her home in her own car and had a session in the garage. Lovely.

Next weekend a few of us will be going to Naracoorte, a town some 70 miles north of here. I hope I can get into the party, as only 50 are going & I am well down the list. We shall leave on Sat. morning, and go to the train by bus. On the train for a couple of hours and then met by the locals of Naracoorte. A dance in the evening, and a visit to the caves (whatever they are) next day. We will be billeted in the people's homes overnight. Here's hoping I strike a house with some talent in it. Fuck-all chance I suppose.

I heard from Sheila last week. She is thriving and full of the local scandal. She tells me Pat Gill was kicked out of her job. Also Pat took some American out in Frank's car and got lost, ran out of juice, (the car, not the American) and ran the battery flat trying to start it. There was a big row as a result. That's all for now old man. You had better tear this up when you have finished with it.

Remember me to the Chinese lads. Cheers, Allan. Aus 418054 P/O A.E. Buckley c/o Auspost Ottawa Canada

8/5/43

Dear Ian,

How are you, you old shit? And how do you like the Tech? It should be a good course for you, although I suppose parts of it are not so good as others. I know that at the Shop, the course was good as a whole, but parts were 'k'n'awful. If I may hurl a little bullshit let me advise you a little. When you are working, think of nothing but work, and when you are not working, forget it completely. You will realize in time how bloody futile it is to sit at a table with books open in front of you, and be thinking most of the time of something else. Anyhow, thats enough hot cock.

You must write & tell me how you are doing with the women. Tell me what you are doing with them, too.

Which reminds me that I nearly got raped by a W.A.A.F. when we were coming over here on the train.

Did you hear of the little girl who thought that the Baltic was an insect?

I flew today for the first time in months, & bloody nearly got lost. We are on Prince Edward Island which you will find on the East coast of Canada. It is good for flying, sometimes - that's about all. The local town is as destitute as hell, but may improve with the coming summer. This place is a well known holiday resort in peace-time.

I am going to a dance tonight, (the only one in town). It is known amongst the boys as the gonorrhoea race-track. I shall have to be careful.

Winter hasn't left this country yet. Although it is officially spring, I saw ice on the sea this afternoon, from the air - and large parts of ground are covered with snow still. Bastard of a place.

Well I have to rush off now for a shit.

Cheerio,

Allan.

Phi Gamma Delta Club, 106 West Fifty-Sixth Street, New York, N.Y. 15/6/43

Dear Ian,

I am having a hell of a good time here in New York. With dozens of night clubs, (in one of which I saw & heard Duke Ellington play) and the bars open 24 hrs a day; as well as all the sights to be seen, I'm wondering (missing card) including the women.

They are no better than our girls in dress, and far inferior in natural looks.

I hope you don't think the tie I have enclosed is too loud.

Cheers, Allan

"Auspost" Ottawa" 30/6/43 (on postcard showing Casa Loma, Toronto)

Dear Grub,

How do you like this architecture? It is really a magnificent castle and cost 10 million dollars. If you try to pick its style, be careful, as it is something of a mixture. I am going back to dance there tonight with one of the girls who acts as guides in the place. I hope she can! Cheers, Allan.

Aus 418054 P./O A.E.Buckley Auspost Ottawa Canada 23/7/43

(on 2 postcards, one showing Poinciana Regia, the other Paradise Beach, on the north side of Nassau Harbour, Hog Island, the Bahamas)

Dear Ian, I was very glad to hear from you & get the progress scores concerning your local lady friends. How is Rita anyhow? I shall try to send you some shirts, and I hope you don't mind waiting a while, as things are a prohibitive price here.

You asked about the meanings of a couple of words. They have no general meaning anyhow. This place is very interesting. The old native villages and the remains of the plantations which were worked by slaves in the old days. The British came in 1729 & before that it was used by the pirates, particularly the famous Blackbeard, whose stone lookout tower still stands in ruins on a hill by the shore.

Did you know that a mistress is something between a mister and a matress. Cheers, Allan

Aus 418054 P/O A.E.Buckley c/o Auspost Ottawa Canada 6/9/43

Dear Ian, Thanks a lot for your letter, and I'm glad you like the tie (that's if you were not just being polite).

You will have to let me know how your exams went (mid term). Here's hoping you do well.

I am sorry that I can not tell you about my girl friends as I have not been over interested in any one so far. (although one nearly seduced me one night in the train when we were crossing Canada). There are three girls (sisters) here - they look about 1/4 native, 3/4 white - and they have between them more sex-appeal than the rest of the girls on the island put together. One of them has (to use a phrase of another chap) "a nice little arse like two apples in a paper bag." Anyhow they expect too much, including a lot of liquor (and a length of python) and in any case the competition is too keen for me.

I hope you are making some headway with young Shirley - its time you did. She may become more considerate if she gets to like you. If you find in the end that you have been wasting time, then its all good experience.

As you ask me which you should join, navy or air force, I'm afraid I can't be of much help. You must decide, after finding out what you would be doing in each place. Don't let yourself into something without imagining what the job would be like in reality. The cock you read in the papers about "our airmen winging their way to the target" & so on gives a wrong impression. You don't just get into an aircraft & fly over a target, dodging A.A. fire and the enemy fighters. You have to prepare for such a trip, getting all kinds of information into your head, and on your way over the pilot has all his time taken holding the aircraft straight, level, and on an accurate steady course. He watches his instruments all the time, and has no let up. The navigator is going like hell all the time plotting, calculating, taking readings and using them all to find out where he is - or where he ought to be. The wireless operator is busy on his set all the time, listening for any message he can pick up.

In short, the whole business is just a job, a series of problems, where mistakes won't do, and you have long since got tired of thinking how wonderful it is to be in the air, and travelling so fast.

But although it is a job, it is an interesting one, and I for one like it a lot.

It is rather like your drawing some geometric design, calculating and drawing with care, until finally the pattern is completed, and that is the reward, just as ours is to see what we are heading for looming up ahead when we were due to arrive.

Do you get the idea or am I making a mess of it?

The same thing applies to most jobs, although less so to fighter pilots. Even they have to study their own aircraft design and engine, know which ways to turn under certain adverse circumstances, and use their heads equally as much as their piloting skill. They don’t just race about, shooting whenever they get anyone in the sights.

As to the navy, I imagine you have to do more paper work and hard thinking, than climbing the rigging.

I repeat what I said before, that this is a war, not of groups of men, as previously, but of individuals, each pitting his wits against the other - and if you want to do well, you really have to do a lot of brain work.

Well, I've shot shit long enough. If it only confuses you tear it up, or hang it on the roll "round the corner".

I heard tonight of an instructor at a flying school. When a new pilot was able to fly without aid, the instructor used to attract his attention, then threw out his (the instructor's) joystick, leaving the pupil only in control.

One day a pupil, wise to this trick, took up a spare joystick secretly. When the instructor threw his stick out, the pupil nodded and threw his out also (the spare). The instructor, expecting immediate disaster, took about a fifth of a second to bail out, and after circling him once or twice, the pupil took the aircraft home. (sounds tall to me!) Love,

Allan

Nassau, Bahamas 2/10/43

Dear Ian, You lucky b r! You must have had a great time at Buffalo. Did you see Margaret Anderson there?

I am surprised - almost shocked, by your comments on the women. You are too young even to think of them yet.

How are you making out with Shirley? Is she still proving difficult? I think perhaps you are still showing too plainly what you think of her. Keep it on a friendly, familiar, basis, but rather on the platonic side, much as you would behave with another boy, until you see signs of something more - but don't try and force things to the second stage. Take my relations with Sheila and Pat for example, and compare it with the position which existed between Helen and me. You see the difference? With many girls you won't get past the first stage, although I suspect that you will with Shirley - in time. It is not surprising that she likes Jack Page as well. I have seen you toss up between her and Mary what's-her-name? So much for that.

I hope you flash through at the end of the year. The subjects passed should stand to your credit for ever, then - you can continue later from where you left off.

Love,

Allan Aus 418054 P/O A.E. Buckley c/o RAAF Base P.O. London 20/11/43

Dear Grub,

I wish you could see the Houses of Parliament for yourself. It really is a wonderful building, and the detail involved is simply fuckin' amazing. There are hand modelled stone heads of kings and queens as small as 5" along some of the outside walls. Westminster abbey is another wonderful place, if you like stained glass. Westminster cathedral is hardly worth seeing except for its size, and a mother o' pearl inlaid pulpit, and large areas of 1/4" mosaic. Elaborate, but lacks any taste. If you really want beauty (combined with utility) you should see the English women!

Cheers, Allan

P.S. I owe you an apology, old cock. I have not been able to send you any of the clothes you asked for. I could have got them in the U.S.A., but thought I should have time to do it in Canada - which I hadn't. I am hoping that as you will be called up soon, you won't need them very badly AB

(on 3 postcards showing Buckingham Palace, the Houses of Parliament and a Chelsea Pensioner)

A 418054 F/O A.E. Buckley c/o RAAF BASE P.O. London

England 19/3/44

Dear Ian,

I have had two letters from you - one long delayed en route, written in October or November - and a more recent edition from ACII Buckley I.K., written 9th Jan from Bradfield.

How do you like the air force, Ian? It was a mixed blessing being sent to Sydney. A long way from home and yet a city worth seeing - especially when the surf is running. You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself with Dad's business friends anyhow.

I had a letter from Ron Pitcher just recently. He is training in Ontario, Canada, on single engine aircraft. He says the women are easy to get, but hard to get at. Ron also included a short story - about a woman who tried to buy a corvette in a chemist shop because she had been told it was a baby destroyer.

By the time this reaches you, you will be under training for whatever you were chosen by the C.S.B. I hope you got what you wanted, but whatever it was, work hard at it. For three reasons. 1. It keeps you interested in the airforce, and it's a bugger of a life if you're not interested - and a good one if you are. 2. It means promotion - which brings with it more interesting jobs, better living conditions, less restraint from higher authority, - and more pay. 3. Perhaps most important -- a well- trained man lives longest.

One other thing before I stop giving you a lecture! There is much to be gained from service life - and in spite of what anyone says, much to be lost. Its up to you to keep your mind agile and distinguish between the good lessons and the bad, and with any luck you'll find yourself at the end of the war intact, still able to think for yourself and mentally and morally equipped to take civilian life well and truly by the balls.

" Here endeth the second lesson" I suppose I shouldn't write all this hooey. Pitch writes to me - "The thought of you being a godfather and responsible for a child's spiritual welfare struck me as rather diverting and the possibilities of the eventual moral character of the infant certainly gives one food for thought." Very unkind. I intend teaching Clare Jane "The Ball of Karrymore" and "Ivan Skavinski Skavar" on my first visit.

I haven't been doing much flying lately. We fly now and then and maybe don't see land for half a day or so but it always turns up in the end.

I have met one or two WAAF officers on the station, and there is promise of an interesting sideline in the near future. You know after you've been away for a few months at some school, Shirley may realise how madly in love she is with you and on your return give you a real (no, I was only going to say) give you a real welcome. Of course she might not too!

Best of luck, Ian Love Allan.

(editorial note: Allan's comment that ...... "I haven't been doing much flying lately…." .etc was at a time when his log book shows that he and his crew, had been on air/sea operations over the Bay of Biscay/Spanish coast three times within the first half of the month, (each one extending over some 14 hours+), the last of which was only 6 days earlier. The log book shows also that they went off on a further A/S patrol (Biscay - Coruna ) lasting over 14 1/2 hours, on the evening of the day Allan's last letter (to me) was written. They then had a break from operational flying until April 16th, the date of their last operation. Those lost on the flight were:

F/L F,M. Burton, Captain, 45810 F/O E.J. Hagen, Second Pilot, (RCAF, J24491) F/O A.E. Buckley, First Navigator, (RAAF, AUS.418054) F/O K.K. Edwards, Second Navigator, 124726 F/O L.H. Abbott, WO/AIR, 126090 Sgt. R.L.M. Pierre, WOM/AG, 1385581 Sgt. W.A. Hallett, WO/AG (RCAF, R166246) Sgt. C.R. Newell, WO/AG (RCAF, R153296)) Sgt. L.G. Reilly, F/ENG, 1566202 Sgt. T.R. Mc Dennon,.WO/AG (RCAF, R162261 F/O A.D. Critchlow, (passenger) Pilot, 150507

………………………………

References

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