Being Catholic in the 1950s and 60s (4) – Confirmation

August 31, 2015 at 12:30 am | Posted in Australia, Catholic Church, Family History, Growing up in the 1950s and 60s, Memoir, Religious rites | 10 Comments
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Confirmation was once a part of the baptismal ritual; it took place immediately after baptism, sealing in the Holy Spirit and anointing the new Christian with a threefold ministry as priest, prophet, and king.

Long ago, Confirmation became a separate sacramental rite. For much of history, any priest could baptise and celebrate Mass, but only the bishop administered the sacrament of Confirmation. That was still the case when I was confirmed.

Confirmation is a ritual that involves bishop, priest and congregation bringing someone into a full membership of the Catholic Church. Postulants can be any age of course, but in most cases where a child has attended a Catholic school as we did, or received adequate instruction, they are aged around ten or eleven.

My older sister and I were confirmed towards the end of 1958. She was eleven and I was ten years old. The other children confirmed with us on that day were of a similar age. As with our First Communion, we wore white dresses and veils for the ceremony and sat together at the front of the church.

L to R:  Sheelagh, Pauline with our baby brother David, cousin Judith in front, Peter on the bike, me (Linda) & cousin Philip.

L to R: Sheelagh, Pauline with our baby brother David, cousin Judith in front, Peter on the bike, me (Linda) & cousin Philip.

The ceremony is a short one for each individual, but many children in the parish could be ‘done’ on the same day, making a long morning in church; I don’t remember how many we had. It involves the bishop anointing each person with the Oil of Chrism while saying, “Be sealed with the Holy Spirit”. The person responds with, “Amen”. The bishop then shakes their hand while saying, “Peace be with you”, and the person responds, “And also with you”. Then you sit and he goes to the next person.

We were taught that being sealed with the Holy Spirit turned us into “Soldiers of Christ”. In fact, I think Bishop McCabe actually said the words, “You are a soldier of Christ”, at our ceremony. This was to make us strong, as we may have to suffer hardship, torture and even death in defence of the Faith.

Linda

Linda

We were also given a Confirmation medal. I was proud to become a Soldier of Christ and from then on, one of my favourite hymns was “Faith of Our Fathers”.

We all had to choose a Confirmation Name, that of a patron saint, a friend in heaven, to model ourselves after and rely on for prayers. I chose the name Bernadette, as I loved the story of Bernadette Soubiros of Lourdes. For some time, I added Bernadette as a second middle name. I can’t remember who my sister chose, though it may have been St Agnes.

I received a book about St Bernadette as a Confirmation present from my parents. When we got home after the ceremony and Mass, Mum got out the camera and took three precious photos (they were expensive to buy rolls of film and then to get developed, so they were rationed out for important occasions).

Pauline

Pauline

Two photos were of my sister, then me, by ourselves, taken at the front corner of the house, then of all the children. Mum’s brother’s family lived with us then. On that day, they attended a different Mass because ours took longer. As a result our two cousins were not dressed up. However, they were included in the photo anyway. The motorbike (with a side-car) that we are clustered around was Dad’s work vehicle and, as the photo also shows, he was still building extensions onto the house.

(c) Linda Visman

Three Important Local Facilities in 1950s Albion Park Rail

August 24, 2015 at 4:29 pm | Posted in Australia, Family History, Growing up in the 1950s and 60s, Memoir | 49 Comments
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I thought I would show you a few photos of three places in Albion Park Rail where I grew up – two of which led to the growth of our little village.

Albion Park Rail Post Office & Moane’s shop

Moanes shop&PO APR 1951

Albion Park Rail Post Office & Moane’s shop, Photo dated 1951

This is just how the shop looked when we first lived in Albion Park Rail about 1955/6. Moane’s shop was a small business, situated on the main highway (the Princes Highway) that runs all the way from Sydney down into Victoria. Although the road was tarred, it was just a narrow, two-lane thoroughfare. You can see it at the front of the photo. Apart from the highway, all the streets of the village were dirt, with lots of potholes.

The shop sold basic necessities like bread, milk, canned and packaged goods, some fruit and vegetables, newspapers – and lollies.

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The Illawarra Co-operative Dairy Association Milk and Butter Factory

Albion park Butter Factory 1950s

The Illawarra Co-operative Dairy Association’s milk & butter factory

This factory was on Creamery Rd Albion Park Rail,  situated next to the railway line crossing in the early 1950s. As a dairying area, plenty of milk was delivered to the factory. At that time, farmers poured their milk into steel cans and took them to the farm gate. From there, they were picked up and carried to the factory on the back of flatbed trucks. Each cans had an identification stamp for the farm it came from.

You can see a truck there, and some of the unloaded cans of milk. The factory workers wore white, and you can see two of them on the rail platform.

At the milk factory, the milk was pasteurised (not homogenised then) and then much of it sent in tankers by rail to Sydney for bottling. From there, it would be sent to milkmen and shops all over the state. The rest of the milk made into butter at the factory and sold under the trade name Allowrie.

The railway gates next to the factory were always supposed to be kept shut in case a train came. Whenever anyone who lived between the line and the lake (that included us) wanted to go through, they had to get out of their car, open the gates, drive through, and then get out to close them again.

The neighbourhood kids would sometimes open and close the gates for the drivers, hoping the drivers would be generous and give us a penny for doing it. We weren’t supposed to, but most kids didn’t get pocket money in those days, and it was a source of a few pennies that would be eagerly spent on lollies at Moane’s shop.

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Albion Park Railway station

Albion Park railway station c.1914

Albion Park Railway station c.1914

Albion Park Railway station is located at Albion Park Rail (which is how the village got its name), just off the Princes Highway. Although the photo dates from a few decades before we lived there, it is almost identical to how it still was then.

The trains ran mainly for the workers, a large number of whom worked at the Steel Works and other supporting industries in and around Port Kembla. The timetable was geared to take them to and from their three daily shifts. You could pretty well set your watch by them.

Others, office workers, shop assistants and so on who worked in Wollongong, our nearest city, caught trains that ran to another timetable. As there was no local high school, students also had to catch the train to either Dapto or Wollongong. In 1961, I caught the train to Wollongong to attend St Mary’s Catholic College. After the polio epidemic, when I had to change schools in 1962, I had a shorter train ride to Dapto High school.

(c) Linda Visman

Photos from Wollongong City Council’s collection, Illawarra Images.

Coal Trucks & Wagging School

August 17, 2015 at 12:30 am | Posted in Australia, Catholic Church, Discipline, Family History, Growing up in the 1950s and 60s, Memoir, Transport | 5 Comments
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When we lived in Dapto, we went to the local Catholic school, St John’s, where Sister Cecilia ruled with an iron rod. Then Dad got a job working on a new concrete bridge for Huntley colliery at Avondale, a few miles from Dapto. They needed a watchman to keep an eye on supplies, so Dad moved our caravan out there.

St John's School and convent

St John’s School and convent in the early 20th century

It was dairy country between wide swathes of forest, in the foothills of the Great Dividing Range, below the Illawarra escarpment. We camped next to a creek, from which we drew our water. The grocer in Dapto would bring a regular order out to us each week, and we would also go to town on Saturday mornings when the shops were open. Dad bought Mum a Baby Brownie camera from McGovern’s Chemist shop.

I loved the general store run by JG Fairley. They had a wonderful contraption for dealing with money. The shopkeeper would put the docket for purchases and the customer’s money into a brass container. He would pull a cord and the container would zoom along a wire up to the cashier’s office on a mezzanine floor. The cashier dealt with the money and gave change, which he sent back in the container to the shop assistant. No money was thus kept in the public area of shop. This process never failed to enthral me. Waters in Wollongong also had these contraptions.

My older brother was nine when we moved out to Avondale, and he loved nothing more than going into the bush with his mongrel terrier, Patch. On their rambles, they would find snakes and kill them. It wasn’t unusual for Mum to come back to the van to find a four-foot red-bellied black snake stretched out in front of the door. She was never amused. Peter led us three younger girls astray too.

We were several miles away from town, with no chance of getting a bus to school and Dad couldn’t take us. But we were right near the road that led down from the coal mine in the steep hills above. Some of the trucks took their coal to Tallawarra power station to the south east, but others went north, through Dapto. Dad arranged with one of the truck drivers, Charlie Keys (who only recently died: RIP), to pick us up on one of his morning runs from the mine and bring us back on an afternoon return run. It was a great adventure for all of us, sitting high up next to Charlie on the huge wide leather seat.

This photo taken about the time we were going to St John’s, though none of us is in it.

This photo taken about the time we were going to St John’s, though none of us is in it.

Peter decided one day that he didn’t want to go to school. Obviously, he couldn’t wag while we three girls went and possibly got him into trouble. So he persuaded us that playing in the town park was a much better option than school. We had quite a few days off school before Mr Shipp, the newsagent, noticed us hanging around the streets and dobbed us in to our parents. I remember that green leather belt Mum used as punishment for major crimes, and she doled it out in good measure that day. I never could accept though that Sister Cecelia also gave us a hiding in front of the school. Two punishments for the same crime seemed unfair. But I never wagged school again.

When the job on the bridge was finished, we went back to Reed Park in Dapto. Not long after, the unwelcome attentions of the farmer from Avondale on my very attractive mother led to Dad looking for an alternative place to live. He bought a block of land on the shore of Lake Illawarra at Albion Park Rail, and moved us and the caravan onto it We loved life there, but I have never forgotten the wonderful time we had living out in the bush at Avondale.

(c) Linda Visman

A New Experience

August 10, 2015 at 12:49 pm | Posted in Australia, Family History, Growing up in the 1950s and 60s, Memoir | 5 Comments
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I am going back a little bit with this story, to when we first arrived in Australia.

 

Snowy moors of Oswaldtwistle, 1950s

Snowy moors of Oswaldtwistle, 1950s

We had left a cold, damp and soot-grimed Lancashire cotton town in January 1954, amid the snow of a cold winter. We arrived in east coast Australia, after a six-week sea voyage, in early March at the end of a warm summer. The last few weeks of that trip had given us an idea of the huge difference in climate we would be living in from then on.

Children on the beach, Australia 1950s

Children on the beach, Australia 1950s

At first, we lived with Dad’s sister, Mary, and her husband, Uncle Eric was eager to show us a bit of the country. We would all pile into his big black Buick – four adults, the four of us kids aged almost 4 to 8 years and our cousin, a toddler. There were no seat belts to keep us secure, and we could kneel on the seats to look through the windows.

A pre-WWII Buick similar to that my uncle owned in 1954.

A pre-WWII Buick similar to that my uncle owned in 1954.

On one occasion, he took us to the Wombeyan Caves, situated in the Blue Mountains that rose to the west of the coast area in which we were living. Much of the drive was along a rocky, winding, dirt, sometimes steep mountain road, through eucalyptus forest – country we had never even imagined.

In places, cliffs rose up just a foot or two from one side of the car, while on the other, great forested valleys swept down so close that you couldn’t even see the edge of the road beside you. In most places cars going in opposite directions could not even pass each other. If two cars did meet, one had to back up to a wider bit that had been cut into the hillside and allow the other to go by.

Tunnel on the Wombeyan Caves Road early 1900s and now

Tunnel on the Wombeyan Caves Road early 1900s and now

Mum was petrified the whole time – she had hardly ever been in a car before, and she didn’t have much confidence in my uncle’s driving anyway. She vowed never to go there again.

We had a flat tyre that day too, on the way home. Uncle Eric had no spare. Once he and Dad had taken the wheel off, removed the tube and repaired it, they had nothing to pump it up with. A man driving past stopped to see if he could help. As pumping up a large tyre to a decent pressure would take a long time, he left us his pump. All he asked was that my uncle get it back to him at his home near Wollongong the next day. That was one of the wonderful aspects of life in rural Australia at that time – the helpfulness, trust, honesty and helpfulness of strangers.

Have you had frightening new experiences that you don’t wish to repeat?

Have you been helped by the kindness of strangers?

© Linda Visman.

A Letter to my Grandchildren

August 3, 2015 at 12:30 am | Posted in Experiences, Family History, Growing up in the 1950s and 60s, Memoir | 10 Comments
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June 2005

My dear Grandchildren,

Remember when you’ve been to the museum, where you saw old carts and other old things. You thought that it was very old, and that those days were very long ago. Well, we used to have our milk in one of those old carts

My Mum and Dad and us kids had come out from England when I was five. We didn’t have much money, even though my Dad worked very hard. He did manage to put a deposit on a block of land. Back then, not like it is now, the area was all bush, and our land was on the shore of the lake. There were five or six houses within a few hundred metres of us, and a little store over on the highway. Dad rented a caravan, and we lived in it on our block of land. There was no electricity, but the water was connected to a tap at the front of our block of land.

I remember how we all helped Dad to clear the land, and how we played in the bush around our house and on the lake shore. The only thing we had to watch out for was snakes.

Anyway, back to the cart – well, in a roundabout sort of way! How do you get your milk? In plastic bottles from the supermarket I’ll bet! Well, we didn’t. There were no supermarkets then. There were no plastic bottles either. And, where we lived, there weren’t even any glass milk bottles yet!

Our milk was brought around early every day by a man called Max. Max had a trusty old horse named Fred (now, isn’t that an original name for a horse!). Old Fred was very well trained. Max and Fred and the cart would come along the rough dirt road with a big tank of milk sitting on the back of the cart. As they went along, the people would come out of their houses with their billycans. Max would give a whistle, and Fred would stop, right outside the house – or caravan in our case.

Milk cart&horse

Each of us kids always wanted to be the one to take out the billycan to have it filled up from the tank. At first, we were all a bit wary of Fred the horse, because we weren’t used to such big animals, but we soon got to know that he wouldn’t hurt anyone. It was exciting to give Max our shilling and see the creamy milk splash into our billycan. When our can was full, and we had exchanged a word or two with Max, he would give another whistle, and off Fred would plod to the next house. We had to be really careful carrying the billycan of milk back down to Mum, so that we wouldn’t spill it.

Now, don’t you think that’s a more interesting way of buying your milk?

Mum would put the milk into an icebox because we didn’t have a refrigerator – or even electricity. But that’s another story!

With love from

Grandma

This started off as a letter to my young grandchildren– written over ten years ago when the first of them was only a year old, even though I pretended that he was a lot older. I wrote it to describe how we got our milk when I was a child,

I wanted to show that it wasn’t really so long ago that things were so different. But perhaps I’m having myself on. Even a child of seven or eight would think fifty years (as it was when I wrote it) WAS a heck of a long time ago. It just doesn’t seem that way to me, and now it is sixty years ago!

Anyway, it’s interesting to look back on those changes.

Would you like to share an example that illustrates the changes from when you were a child to now?

©  Linda Visman

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