g. My grandmother's journal (non-fiction) - Pt 7

Hilda's life during the 1920's was a mixture of joy and disappointment.

Her joy was experienced through motherhood:  She had given birth to Dorothy Kathleen, late in 1921, and Ronald Walter (affectionately known as Ronny), three years later, in 1924.  She adored her children and in loving and caring for them she found delight and happiness in every day. Her children had become the sun around which her life orbited.

Her disappointment came in her marriage to Fred. 

Hilda had married Fred for very practical reasons:  Following the Great War there had been a relative scarcity of young working-class men and she knew that, at 23 years of age, she needed to find a husband soon - without being too fussy - if she ever hoped to get married and have a family of her own. 

Fred had presented himself as a hard working, sober and intelligent 24 year old man. He was quite handsome with dark hair, a slim athletic build, and a clean-shaven attractive face with even refined features.  During the few months of their courtship, in 1920, Hilda had also decided that Fred was 'decent':  He was reliable, respectful, and mature. And, while she hadn't fallen in love with him, she had grown fond of him. So, when he proposed - she had accepted.  She'd hoped that love would develop for both of them with time.

However, as the first weeks of their marriage stretched into months, and the months dragged into years - love hadn't follow for either of them. Instead, Hilda's fondness for Fred changed to resentment and disappointment.  And Fred seemed to have grown simultaneously indifferent and annoyed by Hilda's presence in his life.

Hilda had tried to love Fred early in their marriage.  She had tried very hard to be a helpful friend and a good wife to him. Yet it was no use. Nothing she did seemed to make him happy. He remained steadfastly cool and distant: 

She cooked him delicious meals - not easy to do on his low factory-wage. He made no comment.  She fixed up the run-down worker's cottage he brought her to after their wedding.  Within weeks she transformed it from a squalid mess into a cosy cottage-home:  She stripped the peeling paint from the damp stone walls of the two front rooms, and  from the galvonised-iron walls of the lean-to kitchen at the rear, then re-painted them a cheerful off-white.  She made new curtains for the windows and cushions for the chairs.  For the front sitting-room she saved money, from the weekly house-keeping, to buy a smart woollen rug to place on the hearth. And, to add some cheer, she regularly gathered bunches of flowers and leafy greenery, from the neighbourhood parks and vacant allotments, and placed them in vases or jars in each of the cottage's three rooms. This was especially pleasant given that the house had no rear garden - just a small, crumbling slab of stained cement which looked out over the grim industrial yards of the factory next door.

Yet, in spite of all of this, Fred seemed unimpressed.  He made no comment and Hilda assumed that he either took it all for granted - or he simply didn't care about her or the house. 

Yet, initially, she persevered  in her attempts to build a happy marriage with her new husband.  The template for her 'ideal husband' was her loving father, Nils.  During her childhood, Hilda had spent many evenings sitting beside the kitchen fireplace talking late into the night with her clever and funny father.  They had enjoyed so many wonderful times together and never ran out of subjects on which to converse. With her father, Hilda always felt safe and loved.  Somehow she'd always imagined that her husband would one day step into this role.

Hilda knew that Fred was capable of engaging in interesting conversations if he chose to.  He was quite intelligent.  She'd heard from many sources that he did well in school, regularly coming top of his class.  He'd also stayed on at school for longer than she had, leaving at 14, while she'd been made to leave at only 12. And, every day he read the newspaper from cover to cover - including the financial and business sections - before reading books he borrowed from the State Library each week.  Related to this, his vocabulary was broad as was his knowledge on numerous topics.  Hilda had noticed these things about him while they were courting - when he'd bothered to speak to her.

Yet, frustratingly, whenever she would introduce topics for discussion, as they sat together by the fireplace in the evenings, he would almost always remain silent. He would hide behind his newspaper, or whatever book he was reading, and just ignore her.  He only spoke when he was asked a direct question and even then he'd sigh, roll his eyes to the ceiling, slap his paper or book onto his lap, and finally... after a long pause ... he'd reply with a monosyllabic single-word answer:  Yes; No; Fine; Good.  

The subtext was clear:  'Leave me alone!'

And then - as always - the silence would resume; heavy and thick in the room like a great stone wall between them.  And with time the wall and the distance grew to such an extent that neither of them had the energy nor the ability to break through it: Fred almost never wanted to, and Hilda stopped trying.

Hilda learned to build a life for herself, and their children, separate to Fred.  She lived alongside him - not with him. Her life became that of a single mother sharing a house with a polite but reserved lodger: A man who seemed bored in his life but resigned to work long days in a job he could barely tolerate. He would perform his duties ... and endure his life. He expected nothing more.

Hilda, on the other hand, chose to see happiness and beauty in almost everything she encountered. This was a conscious decision for her. She refused to simply exist in a dreary life - even if, like Fred, she was clever and capable of doing more than the repetitive, unchallenging work she had to do.  Her motto became:  'Happiness is found in the little things in life.' She taught this to her children - and, during my own childhood, my mother often recited these words - the words of my grandmother - to me. And, with this philosophy, she found happiness and contentment.

Hilda also chose not to be lonely, in spite of her marriage to Fred. She found companionship and friendships away from him:  Neighbours; local mothers; her children (especially as they grew older); her twin-brother, Walter (whom she would visit in Bow Hill, where he worked as a police sergeant, and he would also visit her in Adelaide); her sister, Annie (who lived in New Zealand - so they exchanged letters); and, of course, her beloved father, Nils, whom she would see every few weeks - either taking the children by train to Bow Hill, or her father would come to the city to visit her.

So, for herself, Hilda adapted to life with Fred.  Yet, for her children, she worried: 

She worried how Fred's withdrawn and cool personality would affect Dorothy and Ronny.  She knew how painful it was for a child to have a parent who didn't love them.  Her own mother, Margaret, had been abusive and cruel towards her during her childhood.  Even as an adult, her mother barely spoke to her. For her children to experience a similar fate, and to carry the sadness and lowered self-esteem associated with such experiences  into their adult lives, concerned her greatly. 

Although, fortunately, unlike her own mother, Fred was never actually cruel to the children. He never yelled at them, hit them, or called them names. He was also a fairly good role model: working hard, earning an income, and returning home sober every night. In these respects he was a 'decent' man. 

The serious problem with Fred, however, was that he behaved in an 'emotionally absent' way with everyone, including his children. He never hugged them, kissed them, chatted to them, or took them on a single outing.  

Hilda assumed that Fred's early life may have contributed to the way he was:  He had lost both his parents by the age of twelve; he'd lived with an abusive,  alcoholic step-mother from the age of five until twelve; and he had lived alone in the city from sixteen - working in a dreary factory where he knew he would remain working for the rest of his life.

So, Hilda assumed that somewhere in these early years, Fred had made the decision to retreat into himself.  He hurt no-one - but he helped no-one much, either:

He had never enlisted in the Great War, like Hilda's brother and so many other young Australian men had done.  'Why go if it's not my fight?' was his reasoning. And for that he'd been presented with many white feathers (a symbol of cowardice) during the war years. The feathers didn't bother him. Later, after the war, he'd been called a 'shirker' by many returned soldiers who resented those men who chose to stay home and avoid fighting.  Those comments didn't bother him, either. It was as if Fred wore a protective armour where hurtful words and painful experiences couldn't touch him, yet, he couldn't touch others much either with kindness or love.

Hilda suspected, however, as the years passed, that Fred's cold and distant personality wasn't only the result of a difficult and abusive childhood.  She began to suspect that his avoidant and cool personality was also genetic.  She thought this because their daughter, Dorothy, was becoming more like her father, temperamentally, as the years went by, while Ronny was becoming increasingly like herself. And, no matter what Hilda did, she couldn't seem to change either of the children in this regard. She simply had to accept and love both of them - just as they were - but also she hoped that  Dorothy would connect with the world and other people more than her father had done. If only for her own happiness.

Dorothy was a pretty little girl with porcelain skin, green eyes and strawberry blonde curls. She looked more like Hilda than she did her darker father. She was chatty and mostly cheerful - although, like Fred, she hated displays of affection such as hugs and kisses and sentimental words.  From infancy, Dorothy would scream and push people away if they tried to kiss her cheek or cuddle her.  And she loved to be left alone.  As she grew she became unusually independent.  She'd insist on walking alone to primary school from the age of five.  Then, when she got home from school, or on weekends, she would leave the house after breakfast and not return until it was dark.  Even then, she wanted to be left alone in the house to read a book or play with her doll.

For Dorothy, her father's emotional absence from her life seemed not to bother her at all.  In fact, if anything, it seemed to suit her.  In time, she  aligned herself more with her father than anyone else. With her father - in their emotional remoteness - they were alike and they could give to each other some degree of understanding and validation - even if that was in separate corners of the house while rarely exchanging any words.

Ronny, on the other hand, was as affectionate and sentimental as his mother - although, in appearance, he resembled Fred with his grey eyes, refined facial features, and athletic build.  Unlike his father, however, his hair was auburn, his skin was fair, and his eyes were as warm and friendly as his mother's.

Unlike his older sister, Ronny loved to spend time with his Hilda. From when he was a toddler he would follow her around the house, while she did her housework, chatting, singing, and laughing.  And, rather than go out with his friends, he often preferred to spend time at home with her.  Although, unlike Dorothy - who was often alone when she went out - Ronny had many friends in the neighbourhood and at school.  He'd always been a popular boy. People tended to flock to him.  He was clever, kind,  funny, and confident.

For Ronny, the cold and distant behaviour of his father upset him greatly.  He would run and hide, wiping tears from his cheeks, when his father told him to 'go away' again after he'd tried to speak with him, hug him, or show him something he'd made in school.  As Ronny got older he tried to hide the pain of his father's rejection; although for Hilda the hurt on his  face was plain to see. She felt her son's despair as sharply as if her husband had slapped her face. She wished that she could shield him from the pain of his father's cold indifference.  She even tried to explain to Fred how his behaviour hurt his son - hoping that he might change.  He didn't.

Finally, Hilda realised that she couldn't change Fred.  She could only change herself and, in this regard, she made every effort to love both her children enough for Fred and herself - if that was possible.

After a few years, Ronny stopped bothering to talk with his father and, as he did so, he grew even closer to his mother. Dorothy, meanwhile, remained somewhere in between both parents.  She tolerated her father's cool nature, and she remained distant to her mother's loving embrace. 


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During the 1920's Australia continued on its path as a rapidly growing western nation - incrementally gaining independence from its British roots and establishing its own identity - although remaining still closely tied to Britain and in its shadow.

The Australian government took advantage of the financially prosperous circumstances of countries like Britain and the United States of America (USA) in the 1920's by borrowing large sums of money (in addition to the loans taken out during the war) to finance many projects to further develop the country.

One project was to develop regional areas. At that time the primary means of income for Australia was from agriculture (ie. wool, wheat) and vast tracks of the outback were still undeveloped.  So, to facilitate this goal, the government did a number of things: 

Firstly, government encouraged British migrants to settle in Australia.  The Australian government paid most of their fare and some were assisted to establish farms.  In all 212,000 migrants came from Britain - although, most ended up in the cities.  Some migrants, for the first time, also came from southern Europe - although only men were accepted initially. (The government was still keen for Australia to be inhabited by British citizens primarily - although, following WW1, some degree of compassion towards the Europeans had formed).

Secondly, a Soldier Settlement Scheme was established.  As soldiers returned from the Great War, many found that there were no jobs or affordable accommodation. The government thought that the soldiers deserved something for their war sacrifice and set up the scheme.  The state governments provided land free to the soldiers for farms, and the federal government provided funds to get them started.  Over 37,000 returned soldiers took up the offer.

However, by 1929 almost half of the 'soldier-farmers,' and many of the British 'migrant-farmers', had walked off their land and returned to the cities.  The experience for them had been very difficult - working seven days a week, from dawn til dusk, and often only surviving on rabbit and parrot stew. Many of these men had little or no farming experience, the land supplied by the government was often too small to produce a sufficient yield, droughts again plagued the decade, and produce prices were falling during the 1920's.  Meanwhile, the government supplied no support for them.

Other projects financed by the Australian government, with borrowed money, included building the nation's capital, Canberra (situated half way between the two largest cities - Melbourne and Sydney); as well as other  infrastructure projects like the Sydney harbour bridge, railways between cities, and freeways.

The idea was that the money would be repaid through high export prices, which they were receiving early in the 1920's, for primary products (wheat and wool).

However, prices for Australian exports began to fall on the world market in the latter half of the decade - due to a fall in demand.  Wool prices dropped steadily from 1925, and wheat prices dropped sharply from 1930.  The value of Australia's wool and wheat exports halved between 1929 - 1930 - and the national income dropped by a third.

By January 1929  London refused to provide any more loans to Australia.  The world economy was in decline and it crashed on October 29th 1929 -  'Black Tuesday'.  Panic set in on the New York stock exchange - which had risen to unrealistic levels through 1929.  The collapse had a domino effect through the economies of the western world - USA, Britain, Europe, and Australia.

Britain and the USA were, at that time, the largest investors around the world.  They were forced to call in repayment of their loans, in an attempt to support their own economies.

Australia, by this time, had huge loans which it would struggle to repay.

Also, Australia's economy was not as 'advanced' as the economies in the rest of the western world.  From the late 19th century other industrialised economies had diversified - moving away from their reliance on agriculture. They had also acquired a broader spread of trading partners so, when the Depression came, they were hit less hard than Australia - with its dependence on agriculture and industrial exports.  Also, Australia was still almost exclusively trading with the Dominions of  the British Empire so when those nations reduced their imports, due to their failing economies, Australia's economy plummeted as well.

The Australian government had no idea what to do. It tried numerous things such as reducing imports and increasing tariffs. None of their ideas helped improve the economy - which was in freefall.

Then, in 1930, the states got together and devised the 'Premier's Plan'. This involved deflationary policies: Reducing government spending, increasing federal and state taxation, reducing government debt, and repaying the massive loans to Britain.  A visit by a respected British banker and economist, Sir Otto Niemeyer, at this time supported the plan and he pushed the Australian government hard to honour its loan repayments to Britain.

In hindsight, this was all a catastrophic mistake.  The effect of the policies was devastating - especially for the working class in Australia.  By 1932 one in three Australians were unemployed.

Unable to get jobs and with little government assistance - men were destroyed by feelings of uselessness and despair. Some left cities in search of work.  They traipsed country roads and jumped onto goods trains to travel to the next town. 'Swagmen' packed a swag (or 'matilda') and travelled country areas looking for work (the song 'Waltzing Matilda' refers walking with a swag). Others were assigned to compulsory government relief work - building roads, digging ditches, and such.

Unemployed returned soldiers joined the masses of the unemployed  - living rough, sleeping under newspapers and their old army great-coats.

Many farmers, hit by the droughts of the 1920's, were evicted as the demand for their produce fell, and their income fell with it, such that they couldn't repay their drought loans. They had to walk off their land.

Another tragedy of the Depression was the daily evictions of poverty-stricken families because they had no money to pay their rent or mortgage. In 1932 more than 5000 families in Sydney alone were evicted.  Police were often required to force people from their homes:  Batons, sledgehammers and even guns were used. Many were injured - including policemen.

Many of the homeless moved to shanty towns which sprang up on the fringes of the city.   People lived in crude 'humpies' erected from scraps of corrugated iron, hessian, wood and cardboard scavenged from the local area. The walls of these dwellings were lined with hessian sugar-bags fitted with timber frames and weather-proofed with a mixture of lime and fat boiled in salt water. Corrugated iron sheets were used for roofs and the earth floors were smoothed over and covered with calico flour-bags or hessian sugar-bags. There was often no sanitation or running water.  Some councils, however, helped in this regard. Diseases such as dysentry were common.  Some families even lived in caves.

At this time in Australia, there was no 'safety net' for destitute families.  Support for the unemployed was mostly left to charities and community groups. This, however, was inadequate and resulted in physical and mental illnesses in many:  Some men deserted their families (unable to cope with the pressure and financial stress). Some men left the city to look for jobs in the country, promising to send their wages home, although many never returned. And many couldn't find work anyway. Occasionally it was the women or children who walked out. Many marriages broke down, and many young people chose not to marry - so the national birth rate fell.

From 1930 the government made available 'Sustenance relief' (the 'dole' or  'Susso') in the form of food-coupons given out according to the size and needs of a family.  These were then exchanged for basic food items. The Sustenance relief was only for the truly destitute:  All family members, regardless of age, had to be unemployed.  The family must have no assets, no income, and no savings to qualify.  Long and probing questionnaires had to be completed and assessed by officials at the dole office.

By 1932 over 60,000 people were dependent on sustenance payments just to survive.  If this form of welfare had not been available tens of thousands of Australians would have starved to death.

Once approved, an applicant would need to line up weekly to collect their food-coupons, then walk to another site to get the weekly rations, then walk home.  This could take an entire day.  There were a number of ration depots (or 'dole dumps') in the suburbs as well as the city.

L W, The Sydney Morning herald, 22 February 1930

'Hunger, real hunger, is a fearsome thing ... Worst of all is the bodily weakness, the nausea, the despondence, which follows a prolonged fast, and the uncertainty of when the fast is to be broken ... it is hard, very hard to struggle around for a job on an empty stomach, weak and dizzy, and jostled by the passing throng.'

The staple meal for poor families was 'bread and dripping' served with pepper and salt (beef dripping - is the fat and juices from cooked meat). Also bread and golden syrup; chicken and eggs (kept in the backyard); cheap cuts of meat; bruised fruit and vegetables, and broken biscuits - from markets and factories eager to get rid of spoiled produce.  Fruit and vegetables could also be grown in the backyard - and bartered amongst neighbours.  Newborns were fed dilute condensed milk, and toddlers were fed arroroot biscuits.  Related to the poor diet and poor sanitation of slum housing - scurvy, rickets, tooth decay, whooping cough, and gastroenteritis was prevalent.

In contrast to the suffering and fear and humiliation felt by the working class during the 1930's - the middle and upper classes found this period of time no more difficult than normal - and probably easier. While the average wages dropped, the cost of living fell even more, so the 'standard of living' rose for those with jobs.

In response to the situation in the economy, wealthy men with business and financial knowledge capitalised on the poverty of the poor.  They did this by purchasing cheap land (including farm land) and houses sold by banks for those unable to pay mortgages.  They also bought businesses and belongings from those who had been forced into bankruptcy. In this way larger, wealthier businesses were able to monopolise the market.  Examples include Coles Myer Ltd and Woolworths Ltd - both of which expanded markedly in the 1930's.

And those willing to take a risk on the rise of the stock-market bought shares at all time lows.  This would have created a fortune for many investors as the stock-market turned upwards in early 1930 - returning to early 1929 levels by April 1930 (although still almost 30% below the peak of September 1929).

Some companies also exploited cheap labour.  Women and youths were often employed because they were not entitled to the same rates of pay as men.  Even men had to take pay cuts, and work below the fixed rate, in a desperate attempt to keep their jobs - and to feed their families and avoid losing their homes.

Pawnbrokers exploited the poor, as well, by charging interest rates which reached levels of more than 100%.

As many wealthy families grew wealthier - the division between the rich and the poor became stark.  The wealthy indulged in trips to the beach and on holidays - either travelling in motorcars (including Rolls Royce or Cadillacs), or luxuriously-appointed trains.  The very wealthy went on annual trips to London - and they travelled on great ocean liners.

In the affluent homes many new technologies were commonly found:  Wireless radios, electric radiators, electric cookers, vacuum cleaners.  These things assisted the wealthy, who had previously employed numerous domestic servants, with their household chores.

Even the middle class of the 1930's cared little about costs.  They shopped at large department stores like Myer and grace Bothers and enjoyed the reduced cost of living, and the many investment opportunities.

To 'do their bit' to help the poor wealthy women often engaged in charity work. Some wanted to help, others wanted something to escape the boredom at home, and others wanted to boost their 'public image'.  Often it was a combination of these reasons.

In the name of charity it was common for Charity-balls to be held in the city or middle class suburbs on Friday or Saturday nights.  The balls were in aid of the poor, although the poor never attended them.  Instead wealthy patrons and 'flapper's (young women dressed in a boyish style popular at the time) enjoyed these luxurious events - eating lavish food, drinking, and dancing.  In an attempt to defy the wealthy - some of the poor refused to accept their 'charity'.

As a result of the Great Depression, many Australians lost faith in the Australian government - especially given how badly they had managed the economy and the social issues related to the crisis. In the entire western world, Australia had the highest unemployment rate. (In other western countries unemployment peaked at:  Canada - 19%, Britain - 22%, USA - 25%, Australia - 32%). It was only the 'dole' that saved tens of thousands of Australians from starving to death. 

People vowed it would never happen again and following the Depression the Australian government took over 'social welfare' and established greater public housing. No longer would the nation simply rely on charity groups for ad hoc provisions for the poor.

The economy continued to recover through the 1930's - although by 1939, at the start of the Second World War, unemployment was still high at 10%.   A complete recovery from the Depression was not achieved until the war began.

                                
                                              *


During the years of the 1920's Hilda managed the household and the family-budget such that, even with Fred's low factory wage, there was always plenty of food on the table, the children were always warmly dressed, and the couple were still able to save money towards the  purchase of their own home in the suburbs - which had always been  a dream for both of them.

Fred and Hilda agreed that the tiny rented worker's cottage in the industrial part of the inner city was not an ideal home for the children or themselves.  They planned to one day move from the cramped noisy cottage into a more spacious house - with bedrooms for each of the children and a back yard with a garden - in the suburbs.  Hilda would never get used to the crowded, dirty, industrial world of the inner city suburb in which she and Fred lived.  In her memories of her childhood in the Murray mallee the sun shone in an endless azure sky, the air was fresh and clear, and miles of open countryside stretched over distant horizons. She had been born in a rural world and that world would always remain in her blood.  At the very least she craved a garden and an open sky away from the noise and pollution of the city factories.

Finally, by 1929 Fred and Hilda's bank balance had grown large enough to pay for the deposit on a home in the suburbs.  Hilda told the children that they would soon have a bedroom of their very own, and a back-garden to play in.  Such excitement filled the cottage as Fred and Hilda discussed suburbs in which they might like to live.

However, from September 1929 Hilda noticed a worried expression on Fred's face as he read the financial section of the newspaper in the evenings.  Then, on Thursday 24th October, he mentioned his concerns to Hilda; something he almost never did:  The stock market was falling rapidly in the USA.  The share market had been growing unnaturally fast during the course of the year, but now people had lost confidence and they were selling their shares at record levels.  In fact, the sell-off had started as early as  September. 

Finally, on Wednesday 30th October 1929, the Australian newspaper headlines screamed out the disaster in the USA:  The Stock Market on Wall street in New York had crashed!  The papers were calling it 'Black Tuesday'.  In a mass hysteria on Tuesday 29th October - huge numbers of shares were sold and stock prices plummeted.  This set up a self-sustaining chain of panic-selling until stock prices were almost worthless.  The papers were saying that the financial effects would impact the entire industrialised world.

Fred left for work looking worried.  Almost nothing shook him.  But now Hilda thought that he looked scared.  She didn't really know what this would mean for them, or for any country other than the USA.   Somehow Fred understood the implications of the financial crisis  thousands of miles across the world - when she did not.  However, she did know that there was nothing he could do to change any of it.

Fred worked hard in his job.  He advised Hilda that any plans to buy a house would need to be delayed - as their savings might be needed if he lost his job.  He promised Hilda that he would do all that he could to ensure an income.  They should try to reassure the children and carry on as usual.

Soon after the news of the Wall street crisis, Hilda received a letter from her brother:  Their father, Nils, had become suddenly ill and died. There had been no time to call for her to see him one last time before he passed away.  Without warning his condition had quickly deteriorated.  He had lapsed into a coma ... and never regained consciousness.

Hilda dropped the letter, after she read the shocking words in her brother's familiar hand.  She slumped into a kitchen chair. The words were so hard to comprehend.  Her father couldn't be dead.  Surely not.  He was so strong and constant.  He was the most constant figure in her life.  He was always there.  He had always been there. How could she cope if he wasn't? Even when not together, in her mind ... she knew that somewhere in the world he was laughing or talking or reading his journals or, possibly, thinking of her as well. When she travelled home, to the Murray mallee, he was always waiting for her at the station. Smiling.  His arms open and ready to hug her and the children. He would kiss her cheek and he would tell her that everything would be alright ... and he would always love her unconditionally. 

The pain was like a knife digging into her heart.  Wet tears ran down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. She slumped forward onto the kitchen-table - resting her head on her forearm - and she sobbed.  There was nothing she could do.  She couldn't even visit him to tell him that she loved him so much.  She wondered if he knew that.  But, now ... it was too late. 

Hilda went to the funeral with Fred.  She was surprised that Fred had insisted on going with her.  The children stayed with a neighbour.  Fred held her hand through the service.  Hilda wondered if he thought he could ever fill the shoes of her father.  He couldn't.  No-one could.

The ensuing months, during 1930, proved Fred to be correct in his worries about the economy in the USA.  His pay at the factory was reduced, later in the year, as were his hours.  Hilda appreciated the fact that he spent his days off work walking all around the city desperate to find even a few hours of labouring work.  She also did what she could - taking in laundry and mending - for a few extra shillings each week.  However, even with this, they were needing to use their savings to make ends meet.  The balance in their bank-account began to fall for the first time in the decade over which it had been established.

Hilda made an effort to sound happy and cheerful for the children. She and Fred tried to protect the children from the worries about the economy and their own finances. Ronny was only six years old and he didn't seem to understand much about what was happening.  However, Hilda noticed that Dorothy, now nine years old, well understood the seriousness of the crisis around her, and she worried about it. 

Dorothy would sit with her more than she used to do.  And, while eating the 'bread and dripping' she was given as an after-school snack, she told her mother about the families she saw sitting on the footpaths on her walk home - evicted from their homes.  'Their clothes and boxes were on the ground, Mummy, and the cart came and took them away.  They looked sad.  Will that happen to us?'  

Hilda tried to reassure her daughter many times, when Dorothy repeated similar stories about the children missing from her class-room - when they'd lost their homes,  that their situation was very different and they would be fine.  Although, secretly, Hilda was scared. The streets were so often filled with violence and protests.  Police pulled screaming women and children from their homes while the men fought them.  The panic and fear was palpable on the streets. Hilda was far from sure that things would be alright. She thanked God every day that she had saved the money, regardless of the reason, and now that money was their only buffer between staying in their house and moving into a tent. 

Through it all Fred stepped up to the challenge and he looked after them:  He worked in any job he could find.  No matter how hard, how far away, how early or late in the day, how dirty the job was - he did it. Some weeks he worked three jobs, if he could get them - to make up for the weeks when he could find no work. He also spoke more kindly to Hilda, and to the children, during this time.  And, finally, he told Hilda how grateful he was that she had done such a good job with the children, the house, and the savings in the bank - which had kept a roof over their heads.  

Hilda had always appreciated her husband's strengths.  But never more than during the Depression years.  When other men were turning to drink and deserting their families - Fred never gave up - or gave in to such things.  Hilda had seen these admirable qualities in Fred from the start.  The wall of distance between them began to thin.  They each learned to appreciate the strengths in the other.  And, they even found some topics on which to chat and laugh about in the evenings.

A change of government and policies in 1932 saw improvement in the economy and in  work available for Fred.  The savings for the house in the suburbs was almost completely gone.  However they had managed to stay together; they had not been evicted; and they had kept their children in school.

The dark clouds began to clear and there was hope for a new beginning in their lives.  Hilda and Fred would start again to save for a house of their own.  Although, moving house had ceased to be the important issue that it once was.

Then, early in 1933, Hilda and Fred discovered another reason to smile:  Hilda found that she was expecting another baby.  In October 1933 my mother, Anne, was born. 

The family was now complete.  And Hilda and Fred had come through the crisis of the Depression with a new respect for each other and a renewed friendship.


                                                   *



Next week I will continue with my grandmother's story through the years of the 1930's and then WW2  - when her only son, Ronny, enlists.


But, for now, I will continue with another excerpt from my grandmother's journal - written for her youngest child (my mother), Anne, between the years 1948 - 1963.


HILDA'S JOURNAL


Tuesday July 10th   1951


Had my hair permed yesterday.

It has been cold lately with much more rain than usual, the reservoirs are overflowing.

You have been having a lovely time.  Last Friday night you went with Ian and "the gang" to the Adelaide High School's annual ball.  A debutante ball and had a lovely time. You wore a blue net over blue satin evening dress, blue mittens, diamante earrings, pearls, bracelet to match earrings, a white beaver fur evening coat which I gave you for the occasion, and a spray of carnations and white hyacinths (that way of spelling it looks wrong too) which Ian gave you. You looked lovely.  The weekend before was that terrific hike. Oh! dear! dear! As Mrs Bambton said.

Laurel (Mrs Powell's daughter) had a baby a few weeks ago - a boy.

The garden is very green with few flowers showing. I have some precious stocks in a bowl beside me, blooms from last winter's stocks.  How they existed through the dreadful summer I don't know.  Ian's spray is on the bookcase.

Dorothy is finding the midwifery training very hard but likes the babies.

Margaret Eckersley got married some days ago in a registrar's office, hasn't got the wedding ring yet.

The house looks lovely painted green and cream (Tudor green).

Goodbye darling. I don't know when I will write again.  Perhaps when  I have my hair permed the next time. xxx Bless you DB

PS.  The rumour of Margaret Eckersley's marriage was not true.  Just a silly story that she started herself.



Monday September 17th   1951


Our Place

I love this place, not because the house is beautiful, it is not, but for lots of reasons.  I think if asked to describe this house most people would say "It looks a nice house", but when I first saw it how my spirits sank.  What a drab neglected place it was. 

I well remember that hot day in March nearly twelve years ago.  The house agent took me over to a map on the wall of his office and pointed out the way to get here.  Full of hope I sallied forth.  When I got out of the tram as directed I was very pleased indeed with the locality, I walked down a street and every house in it was nice with pretty well kept gardens.  In the distance, some miles away, I could see the sea, a narrow silver ribbon shining against the sky on the horizon.  Surely here, I thought, I would be free of the dreadful shut-in feeling I had when living in the city.  Around a corner I went and into our street, the houses were still nice, not one poor or neglected one to be seen.  After going a short distance I saw a drab neglected looking double fronted house.  Oh! dear! I thought.  I hope that is not it but sure enough it was. 

It had been painted a dull brown ages before and the paint was peeling off, the garden was neglected, in fact the whole place was a disgrace to the neighbourhood.  However, the house could be painted and a garden made. Neglected as it was the place had a certain dignity about it and it was well built.  An obliging tenant allowed me to look through the house.

It was dirty, poor old house, and the kalsomine was peeling off the walls, but the rooms were airy and the walls dry.  The doors and skirting boards were lovely, finished off in a way one never sees nowadays in new houses. There were hideous and elaborate overmantles in three of the rooms.  We took down the one in the dining room and hid it behind the wardrobe when we moved in a week later.  The other two overmantles were too big to hide so we just let them stay there.  When we bought the place after renting it for some years we took them down and sold them.  By that time I had actually grown fond of them and it was not without a pang or two that I parted with them.

There are houses that to some people have an uninviting and unfriendly atmosphere, but this house always seemed friendly even when it was neglected and dirty.  When it was freshly painted and clean it was inviting and gracious.  It seemed to say, "Come and stay, I will shelter and comfort you for as long as you want me."

So, I said I love this place for lots of reasons and my four almond trees is one of them.  At first I didn't take much notice of them. They were big. The biggest almond trees I have ever seen.  I liked the little apricot tree that grew nearer the kitchen.  I made friends straight away with that little tree.  The almond trees seemed so big I couldn't feel friendly with them as I did with the little apricot tree.  That was thing more than anything else that made me realise how cramped twenty years of living in the city have been for me.  I had been born and bred in the country out in the open spaces where the horizon was marked by the dark blueish green of the Murray mallee.

The little apricot tree was old.  It had been planted I believe at the same time as the almond trees thirty years before at the time that the house was built.  It was dying limb by limb each year.  In a few years it was gone. By that time I had grown to love the almond trees.  We had been living here a year or two before we discovered how pleasant it was to sit under the trees.  We moved the garden seat under them and leaned it against the big trunk of one of the trees, the spreading branched drooped around making leafy bowers in the summer.

I love the trees through all their changes , even in the winter when they are bare for I know it will not be long before they will be covered with masses of lovely sweet scented blossom making my little flower beds look so humble and rising high above the roof tops, the white blossom startlingly beautiful against a blue sky.

Birds we had never seen in the city came to these trees, amongst them wood pigeons with their soft coo - , low and tender, bringing their flocks of happy, hardy little ones with them. 

I have often blesses the man who planted these trees.  He lived quite near us until he died a year or so ago.  I often thought how astonished he would have been had he known that a neighbour he knew only by sight often blessed him for something he did so many years ago.

Some of the hardy things that were growing here when we came are still here.  There is the rosemary hedge that gives that precious little extra bit of privacy in the front and the poinsettia that throws its welcome shade on one end of the verandar in the summer.  The big yellow flowering tree that flowers almost continually throughout the year is here too and the yellow and cream honeysuckle that grows so luxuriantly over the wash house.

There are flowers and vegetables growing in the back garden, mostly flowers.  When we came here it was a mass of weeds and where we walked it was slippery with clay.  We used to slip and fall in the mud and in wet weather there was a mud track on the nice asphalt path from our gate up the street.

How different the house looked after it was painted and how pretty the old-fashioned iron work around the verandar looked painted cream against the Tudor green of the wood.

The house hasn't got all modern conveniences.  Some day I might turn one of the rooms into a modern kitchen and the present kitchen into a modern laundry, but if I do I know I will miss the view I have of my almond trees through the kitchen window.  The room I have in mind for the kitchen has only a brick wall for a view.  Could I stand it? I am not sure that I could.  In the meantime I am very happy in my old fashioned house with my four almond trees greeting me each morning through my little kitchen window.

I hope my little article interested you dear.  It gave me pleasure to write it.Perhaps your grandchildren will read it some day and will get you to walk past here to look at the house with them.  One of them might say, "Is that the place, pretty old fashioned and ordinary isn't it." 
Another might say,"But poor great grandmother loved it," and she (or he) will look rather wistfully for the rosemary hedge, the poinsettia, and of course the almond trees.

(NB:  The house is still in Halstead Street, Fitzroy in Adelaide and it is valued at over $900,000 - as it is so close to the city and the suburb has been gentrified.  The almond trees are gone - replaced by a rear extension on the house.  Little did my grandmother know that her great grandchildren would not need to 'walk' by - just Google the address).


Tuesday February 26th   1952

I had my hair permed yesterday and had an interesting yarn with my old pal Mr "Knight".

You went off to work this morning in a blue floral dress, blue knitted bolero with blue light weight coat, and a long shiny wavy hair do.

You are at Hindmarsh buildings now and loving it there.  There is a happy atmosphere there and good fun with the girls and men.  So nice for you to have work you like too.  How dreary the University seems in comparison.  I am glad you left there.

What news shall I write of? Well! Ian is in Camp and after going to the pictures a few times with him recently you decided you didn't want to go out with him and made excuses for not going.

The front is lovely with Zinneas and blue salvia, like the pictures you see on seed packets.


Wednesday 27th February   1952

This morning you went off to work in your green and brown silk jersey dress with your glamorous pale green bunny  wool bolero.  Plenty of "field equipment" today  - ah! ha!  my lass.  You are enjoying yourself.  There is a little something in the air - I think.


Thursday  28th  February   1952

Here I am again.

The weather has been and is simply lovely.  The bees and the butterflies are busy and happy in my front flower beds of Zinnia and blue salvia.  Every time I go in a front room I have to stop and look at the flowers through the windows.

It is just twelve years since we came here.  Oh that dreadful March when we were first here.  I hope it will not be as hot this March.

You hurried off this morning, very pretty in blue eyelet linen and blue coat.  A young man from work had promised you a lift in his car if you were at the stop at 8.20.  No it is not romantic - he is married.  Besides he is not the kind you like.

A pile of mending awaits me and I must get to it, the evil hour cannot be put off longer.

Goodbye till I write again.  It may be tomorrow, it may be months longer.  I write as the spirit seizes me.

Let me tell you a secret, you have grown into a pretty girl.

It is not a secret, but I write it so that you cannot contradict me.  When I tell you that you are pretty you say vehemently "I am not!"

                           
                                            *




That's all for this blog.  I will continue Hilda's journal and a little about her life and times (1930's and WW2) in the next installment of this blog series (which will consist of ~ 11 blogs in total).