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[aussietrekker]

We didn't have a TV, but many of the families had made the crucial investment at great expense, or hire-purchase. I spent several happy hours next door at Margaret's watching a load of new shows that were never screened back home. Most of them were American, but there were a lot of local shows made in Melbourne. The local TV scene was still in its infancy, the first broadcast having taken place only seven or eight years before. There were three channels- the ABC which was the government station and on a par with Britain's BBC; HSV7, and GTV9, which was by far the most popular station. It hosted a number of live variety shows with pioneering legends such as Graham Kennedy and Bert Newton, who to this day are considered TV Royalty. Channel 9 had no trouble filling up a studio audience for the various broadcasts and quiz shows, and anyone could write into the Richmond studio for free tickets.
It was strange adapting to the kids' TV shows, which were so alien to what we'd left behind, and full of unfamiliar strangers. Margaret's favourite show was The Three Stooges which was screened on Saturday morning alongside cartoons. In the afternoon we would watch Saturday Date, which was like a local Top of the Pops, and consisted mostly of badly mimed cover songs, and twee choreography. The boys were very fond of shows such as Zorro and The Cisco Kid. But the universal favourite was screened twice a week after school, and being in the studio audience was every kid's dream- and finally it was within our reach when the committee announced that it had secured a bulk lot of tickets to...THE TARAX SHOW!

[Joy52]

There was one programme in particular that I liked which was on in the afternoon and I think it was called Video Village, a gameshow. I wagged school a few times just to watch it but I also liked The Loretta Young show. Cartoons were a great favourite of course and The Three Stooges. One night I was taken with a friend's family to an outdoor movie which we sat in the car to watch. That just seemed so exotic!

[kate fletcher]

I only once saw a drive-in movie, and was awed by the experience. It had been my ninth birthday the day before, and a family named Banister offered to take me along with them to see Mario Lanza�s last film which was called For The First Time. Mario Lanza had died a few months or so earlier, and I remember Christine asking her parents why the film wasn�t called For The Last Time.

It was a blustery night and, as we arrived, we could see the huge outdoor screen moving in the wind, but I was more interested in the free rides available for children on a carousel beneath the wobbly screen. According to a girl in the queue for our free ride, if the drive-in manager announced a girl�s birthday before the film started, she was given a diamond necklace as a present. Christine�s parents laughed at the idea, but she eventually persuaded her father to go to the manager�s booth and tell him that it was my ninth birthday on that very day, rather than on the previous day, which worried me greatly because it wasn�t the strict truth and, being convent-school educated in hell and damnation, I feared that God would punish me for being part of the conspiracy to obtain a diamond necklace on false pretences.

The shaky screen changed from white blankness to pale blue, and the little box dangling on a wire that came over the car window started to play music and a man�s voice announced that it was my ninth birthday, but no diamond necklace appeared, greatly relieving my conscience.

I don�t recall anything of the film�s plot now, but do remember how cold it got inside the car although we were all wearing coats.

[aussietrekker]

Joy, I will be giving Video Village a mention also, and Kate- you should so write your own memoirs!

[aussietrekker]

When the excursion to The Tarax Show was announced, there was such excitement among the kids. A list was put up on the canteen notice board where the hopefuls could add their name for consideration, and the selection process for the limited places would be by ballot. Those who were successful would be allocated Monday or Wednesday afternoon, with one or two buses leaving for the studios in Richmond after school. I was ecstatic to see my name and Martin and Colette's on the list of the chosen, and still remember vividly the excitement in the line waiting for the busses, and every child dressed in their best clothes. A short list of kids who had missed out had been organised, and they were also waiting on the sideline in the hope that they could take the places of any last minute cancellations, but there was no such luck. The attendance was 100%.
It was maybe a half hour drive to Channel 9 studios in Bendigo Street, Richmond. It was a sprawling complex behind a high gated wall, and had once been a factory like so many other buildings in Richmond. We were led into a carpeted foyer, which had a display of black and white portraits of various TV celebrities, and from there were taken into the studio where all the action would take place. The room was already abuzz with excited children.

[aussietrekker]

Presently there was a loud cheer when the show's host, Uncle Norman himself appeared. This was encouraged by a mounted illuminated sign which would periodically flash the word APPLAUD, which meant the audience was expected to clap and cheer. For the next hour, we were entertained by all the regulars such as Joffa Boy, Gerry Gee and Patti McGrath. The procedure each programme was to include one lucky child who would be chosen at random from the audience, who would be the stage guest for the remainder of the show, and be showered with toys and prizes as well as the glitz of being on national TV. There wouldn't have been one boy or girl who didn't dream of being the obvious choice. But when the moment of selection arrived, the staff made a beeline for a well-dressed little blonde girl a few rows from the front. I was certain it was rigged. Her Daddy was probably a cameraman or something, as I wanted to believe in my disappointment. But no matter, we had an absolute ball just being there. As the APPLAUD sign lit for the last time, we were herded out again into the foyer, and surprise, each of us was given a goody bag to take home! It was a happy bus trip back to the hostel, with each of us burrowing into our bags to see what treasures they contained. The only things I remember are a blue packet of Cheese Curlies, which were the same as Twisties, and a paper bag containing a cold Four and Twenty meat pie. There was a lot of other stuff which probably included a bottle of Tarax lemonade, but after almost 50 years, the rest of the contents escapes me. The pie looked really enticing but I never got to eat it, thanks to no cooking facilities available at the hostel. It was such a waste. But the whole event had been spectacular, not to mention the ensuing cred among our mates for days to come as we related our adventures, and then gathering a day or two later to watch the pre-recorded show on someone else's TV, hoping we would catch a glimpse of ourselves in the audience. The Tarax Show ran for years, and it was great to have had a piece of the action. It was something special that we would tell our children.

[Joy52]

I do remember a show where children were chosen to take part and they were given goody bags laden with sweets. It must have been the show that you are talking about. Heathcote kids were also chosen to take part and it was when I was at a fitness camp held at Port Macquarie. I was so disappointed that of all the times for Heathcote to be chosen it would have to be when I was not there. Some of my friends went to the show and were abuzz with excitement about it. You are probably right about that little blonde girl!

[aussietrekker]

A few weeks after the Tarax Show, another ballot was held for tickets to Video Village and again, my name was drawn. This time we went to the studios of Channel 7, in Dorcas Street, South Melbourne. Video Village was hosted by Danny Webb, and was a like a walking board game. Two child participants would be chosen to navigate a raised platform of painted strips, with a backdrop of shops and buildings, answering a question on whatever strip they landed on when a number was called. The children would collect prizes along the way, and at the end of the game, everyone would ride around the "village" in a little motorised jeep. It would have been fantastic to be be a participant... the accumulation of toys would have set up a migrant kid for years, but alas, none of us were called.
Other outings for adults were also periodically provided. The one I remember most was a bus trip into the city to see the "Black and White Minstrels." This caused great anticipation among the homesick Brits, who had watched the weekly TV show at home. It was always watched in our own house, and consisted of Anglo entertainers with blackened faces and striped Southern clothes and hats, singing lots of "Mammy" songs. The hostel parents were ecstatic at the prospect of seeing them in a live show, but Mummy was a bit sceptical and said it was probably some local theatre folk dressed up, rather than going to the trouble of bringing them over from England. Whether or not they were the real thing, she had a point. Anyone in the industry could have dressed up accordingly, sang a few Al Jolson's, and no-one would have known the difference.

[aussietrekker]

There was never any shortage of in-house entertainment for all ages, without leaving the hostel grounds, and this was particularly welcome on the many public holidays when we had a day off school and nothing to do. We got Labour Day in March, Anzac Day in April, the Queen's Birthday in June (yes strangely enough, Queen Victoria's birthday is still a national holiday in Australia, with most of us still believing it's for Elizabeth 2 whose birthday is in April!); Show day in September, and Melbourne Cup in November.
On Show Day of 1964, the hostel committee kept the children busy on a treasure hunt. One of the radio stations, 3UZ, had a promotion going at the time called Keymania. It involved following clues to find keys, which could be swapped for cash prizes when found. So we had our own version of Keymania on the day, and there were children wandering all over the hostel grounds searching for the elusive keys.
The "Show" , or the Royal Agricultural Show is held in the last week of September every year . It has competitions and displays of all kinds of livestock and crafts, but for the average schoolchild and adolescent, it's a giant funfair and a place to buy lots of overpriced sample bags. It's tremendous fun for a young person, and although the public holiday was abolished in the 90's, it still borders on disgrace for kids of a certain age not to have attended on one of the days or evenings. Mum and Dad decided to check it out on one of the off-peak days while we were at school, but they weren't impressed. Not being inclined towards carnivals or agriculture, they were a bit underwhelmed, and declared the overpriced showbags a ripoff.
Nothing changes. To take a family to the Show and have a half-decent
time whether in 1964 or 2014 would almost require a second mortgage. But I have many happy memories of going with my mates as a cashed-up adolescent later on. Although our parents gave a lukewarm report, the other kids were singing its praises. Some of the lucky hostel kids even got to go with their schools. I remember hearing the adventures from friends who went to Seaholme school, their only complaint being that they were rationed to buying only one lousy showbag. Regardless, I felt that I had missed something.
Another celebration was "Cracker Night". This was Guy Fawkes night on November 5th, and was primarily an English festivity. Among other things, the hostel committee put on a bonfire and fireworks down by the sportsground, and all the kids were given some home-made treacle toffee which was beautiful. Until the sale of fireworks was banned some 30 years ago, you could buy them at any milkbar. The most popular were Penny Bungers, and Throwdowns, which didn't need to be lit. You just threw them on the ground and they made a loud bang like a cap gun. Even on the Queen's Birthday and other holidays, the milkbars maxed up their stocks of bungers of all sizes and the more elaborate fireworks that cost 3d. or 6d. and any child could buy them, just as they could shop for their parents' cigarettes.

[aussietrekker]

Our first Winter came and went. Sometimes it rained, but it never snowed. It didn't get dark at 4pm. like in Ireland and even though we're inclined to get a blast from Antarctica on a bad day, it was nothing like the Baltic Belfast wind that would literally freeze your face and immobilise your features. There was no "thaw" or slush on the ground, and a freezing winter's day in Australian cities means twelve degrees Centigrade. It is then that we complain loudly for weeks,and stay inside as much as possible with the heaters up full blast.
Two new families arrived together at the hostel. They looked and spoke differently to the rest of us, as they had come from Malta. One family had children in their teens, so their path didn't cross with mine, but the other family had three little boys and I became friends with this family and spent a lot of time in their unit. The eldest boy was an extremely cute little five-year-old called Hector. The others were twins, Gabriel and Franco, who were almost two. Hector joined our school bus to St. Mary's each day, where he was in Prep. I took him under my wing, watching over him on the bus and in the schoolyard. No one ever hassled my little mate, because woe betide them if they did! But I do remember one funny incident. There was a boy in Martin's class in Grade Three- a very well-groomed, well spoken boy, who wore horn-rimmed glasses to match his serious disposition. For the first few days of Hector's arrival, he would come up to us in the yard at lunchtime,
fix his eyes on him curiously, and with the voice of a BBC announcer would
ask "Are you a little ***** Boy?" Well, back then, I suppose he was! That was the term that was used for all Southern European migrants, and we all accepted it, and lived happily together. How things have changed, and what sookibabes the world has become! And I can expect the three-letter word to be censored in this post when it's submitted. That's how things are nowadays.
There was always an exotic smell upon entering Hector's house. In hindsight, it was probably a concoction of tomato, garlic and Bolognaise sauce, which was alien and unknown to the British migrant. There was no stove to cook it on, but I suppose it could have been provided by the canteen by the existing ethnic staff who would understand the dependence on alternative cuisine.
Mr.and Mrs. Perconte were always friendly and welcoming, and where Dad always had a happy smile, Mum was inclined to be more serious. I remember lamenting how much I wished we had a TV, but Mrs. P. had different priorities. "FIRST, THE HOME. THEN, THE CAR. THEN, THE TELEVISION!" In contrast to the English-speaking migrants, the other nationalities left us for dead when it came to "getting on" in a new country. They were resourceful and frugal, and excelled at putting the future ahead
of luxuries and living for the moment.

[aussietrekker]

As a frequent visitor to this Maltese abode, I became accustomed to hearing a new language spoken, and came to recognise the odd word, especially when Mrs. P. would caution the twins when they were getting into mischief or danger. Sometimes they would have visitors, and would speak entirely in Maltese. That's when we would make our exit, and not be in the way. One day there was a boy named Paul who came to visit, and we played in the playground. He was very friendly, and said he lived in East Bentleigh, but I didn't know where that was.
One of the Dutch families got a new kitten, a dear little grey tabby about six weeks old. I knitted her a red hat on my little spool gadget that came in the lucky dip, and asked if I could take her round to show the twins. Most children would be glad to see a kitten, but these toddlers were petrified. They shrank away in terror, shouting "beeg-aneemals!" and I had to take pussy home. Pussy wasn't with us for much longer anyway. Mr. Lawrence saw to its departure, as pets were not allowed.
Around this time, it was the twins' birthday. A birthday cake could be ordered at no cost from the canteen, so I decided to give them a surprise. I took it round to the unit with Martin and Colette, and the family was delighted. It was a nice fruit cake with white icing, and a slice was cut for everyone. It was a happy moment. But we didn't like fruit cake, and after eating a mouthful under sufferance, we said our goodbyes, and as soon as we were out of range, threw the remaining cake on someone's roof.

[aussietrekker]

A big foreign man in a suit and tie came to visit Daddy a few times in the evenings. He spoke "broken English", and may have been Yugoslav or Hungarian. He was a real estate agent, and a few short months after our arrival in Australia, Daddy was in the market to buy some land on which to build a house. In Ireland, only the aristocracy owned land, and everyone had to pay ground rent every year, even if they owned the house it was built on. Things were the opposite in Australia. Anyone could buy as much land as they liked, and there were no long-term land leases. On subsequent weekends, we would drive around neighbouring suburbs such as Sunshine and Avondale Heights, where new estates, populated by new migrants like ourselves were being built. I would have liked to live in Avondale Heights as it was on the flight path to Essendon Airport, and I could have watched the planes all day. I also remember being taken to Wright Street in Sunshine. This was an endless strip of triple-fronted brick veneer clones, every verandah ornamented with lots of wrought iron- a precursor to the white balustrade, plaster lions and knobby objects that would overwhelm housefronts of the region in the 70's, when the migrants became prosperous. Mummy didn't want to live in Wright Street, and in hindsight, we would have been out of place there, as the area was almost exclusively non-English speaking.
In the end, Altona West was decided upon. It was only a short drive to
Daddy's work at the refinery, and was close to the sea. We went for a drive to see our block of land, on which a sign on a stick read "Lot 62 Brook Drive."

[aussietrekker]

Most weekends we would drive to Altona to inspect the progress of the house, and Daddy would take photos. Our house was going to be brick, rather than the more prolific weatherboard. It started with timber "staples" driven into the ground to mark out where the rooms would go, and concrete 'footings". There were no concrete slabs back then. The next stage would be stumps, then an outline of dark bricks, five high, on which would be erected a timber frame for the walls and floorboards. The cream bricks would follow, then the construction of floors, windows and the tiled roof. At the back of the house was a tiny fibro-cement hut with a corrugated iron roof, which could fit only one person. This was the builders' "dunny", a temporary toilet that existed at the back of every partially built house, in addition to many completed houses that were already occupied by families. It would be many years before sewerage was connected to that part of Altona. We were going to have the luxury of an inside flushing toilet with a septic tank, but many of our neighbours would not. Inside this backyard toilet was a round metal container with handles, topped by a wooden toilet seat. Once a week, the "Dunny Man" would take the can away, which contained the tastefully-named "nightsoil" and replace it with an empty one. They carried the cans on their heads! It was an awful job. Those dunnies stank something chronic by the end of the week, and in the summer, they were surrounded by buzzing flies. This foul trade spawned many a joke. Like the one where the bottom falls out of the can, and the bearer is on the ground, covered in a week's waste. The woman of the house says "Oh you poor man, did you have an accident?" to which he replies "No missus, I'm stocktaking!"

[aussietrekker]

Brook Drive was a long street to a ten year old girl. Daddy said it was three-tenths of a mile long. The lower end and intersecting streets were part of what was known as the Wimpey Estate. George Wimpey and Co. were builders of British origin, and they had taken to building modest one-storey weatherboard houses affordable to working class migrants. These simple two-bedroom structures came in four or five variations, which were repeated up and down the street and its offshoots. They have stood the test of time, and fifty years later, most of them are still standing. About two-thirds of the way up the street, the Wimpey . came to an abrupt stop, and the subsequent houses were built individually to order by other local builders- Simonds, Dewar, Peisl to name a few, on land that had been sold to people like my own parents. The story was that the ground became solid rock at a certain point in the street, and the Wimpey project washed their hands of it. Our house was built by Dewar's of Footscray, whose office was on Geelong Road next to the Plough Hotel. It was the standard triple-fronted brick veneer, which can still be found all over Altona. All the houses would have uniform six-foot timber fences eventually. Back in Bangor, all the houses on our estate had flimsy wire fences which were low enough to be climbed over, in fact you could see through everyone's backyards to the end of the street. This system had mixed blessings. I remember Mummy rejoicing over the idea of a high fence that would be "nice and private", but I didn't like the sound of it at all. As a gregarious child who wanted to be friends with the whole world, it would be an obstacle to socialisation. The house would take four months to build, and would be fit for occupation by the end of November.

[aussietrekker]

With the house construction well under way, it was time to think about furniture. And so began many Saturday afternoon journeys to Footscray Auctions, which was in Charles Street in Seddon. I didn't mind going to the auctions and foraging among the ancient items (none of which were high-end antiques) and when we got bored, there was always the milk bar at the corner to hang around. If nothing else, it was a change of scenery from the hostel.
I remember clearly those early furniture purchases.The major item was a modern lounge suite on short wooden legs. It was two-tone green and white, and made of a stiff, durable vinyl. The settee had the advantage (or disadvantage) of splitting into three separate chairs. Later on, as it came closer to its use-by date, the stiff vinyl would also split, and cause a tear in your legs if you had the misfortune to be wearing shorts. But it served us well for many years. There were also three wicker chairs, which cost a shilling a piece. When Mum grew tired of having them in the house, they were relegated to the back garden, where they eventually faded and desiccated in the harsh elements. Dad took a fancy to an old violin at the auction. He had never had music lessons in his life but he bought it anyway, and taught himself to play scratchy renditions of familiar tunes. The one I remember most went:
"There is a happy land, far far away.
Where we get bread and jam, three times a day".
He gave the violin to Colette when she was a bit older. Colette had never had music lessons either, and when we shared a bedroom as teenagers, that violin became the bane of my life.