THE LEN BARNARD STORY by Len Barnard
THE LEN BARNARD STORY by Len Barnard _______________________________________________________ [This story was serialised in the first seven editions of the Australian Jazz Magazine, 1981-82.] Part 1: Jazz Magazine, January/February, 1981 n a recent conversation with Don Burrows, we both decided that the thirties in Australia were great years in which to grow up. I don’t expect everyone to enjoy I reading reminiscences — but I have the usual wistful hopes. I arrived as the farthing was going out as viable currency, but half pennies were still reasonably capable. Coleslaw was totally unknown, and all the shops were a bit musty by present standards. Perhaps because there was no processed food. L-R, Don Burrows, Bob Barnard, Len Barnard, Kenny Powell: the thirties in Australia were great years in which to grow up…PHOTO COURTESY LORETTA BARNARD One could buy a “ha’porth of specks” from a fruiterer — quite a large bag of apples, pears and bananas that were approaching over maturity. Cheese was cut with wire, butter with butter-pats and weighed on brass scales. Bags of broken biscuits from the grocer for a penny. Were people so fastidious in those days that they shunned speckled fruit and shattered biscuits? 1 My small, pimply friends and I would sit by a canal on Point Nepean Road, eating our ‘specks’ and identifying the traffic. Hupmobiles, Capitol Chevvies, Amilcars, Fiats, Studebakers, Hudson Terraplanes, Plymouths, Pontiacs and the odd Stutz Bearcat. At home we had radio (wireless) and records. Ray Noble and Al Bowlly — Sweet Virginia, By The Fireside, Time On My Hands.
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