Memories of Willoughby

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Excerpts transcribed verbatim from Mr Caporn’s handwritten memories

 …By then my father and I would travel up from Lane Cove for the ritual pictures (movies). There were three in Chatswood: Arcadia, Victoria Ave up near the Pacific Highway; Kings, opposite west side of the station; and a Hoyts, Victoria Avenue north side near Archer Street (I see that building is still there). The Arcadia was the favourite, especially with its Wurlitzer organ played before the start, at interval and whilst we left. There were serials, news reels and two feature films all for about 1/6 shillings.

 'Benjamins', Victoria Avenue, west side up opposite 'Arcadia' Theatre (almost) was a large store: groceries, clothing, hardware, where my parents shopped.

Post Office, Victoria Avenue, west side by the station.

The Town Hall had a house beside it where the caretaker lived, a Mr Williams, as they had a son, Ross, who went to Roseville School.

Shopping was all by walking down to Chatswood and returning up that hill in Anderson Street.

I had no pocket money as a kid – occasionally I would help my father on the green grocer run and I would get a penny tip from Mrs Purdie in Violet Street – her husband was a ship’s Captain. Mrs Strudwick would give him three pence in Johnson Street, corner of Tryon Street – her husband was a solicitor. Dad would sometimes make it up to sixpence. That was my reward for 4 hours work. Mind you, a tram to Balmoral was only a penny, a pie was threepence and with a trip back you’d still have change. A plain hamburger was 4 pence, with egg, sixpence. As a child we were given very few toys and made others.

While growing up I made boats to float in the pond in the old quarry in Stephenson’s paddock with my Stephenson cousins and would make kites to fly down near the tanneries with string around the ends of the sticks to form the edge of the kite. My mother would save the brown paper from parcels and make glue out of flour and water. The paper would be cut with a couple of inches extra and then glued and folded over the edge of the string. An old stocking or rag would be used to make a tail. You needed to get threepence from your parents or a generous relative to buy the string with which to fly it.

My mother, being a puritanical Christian, would not allow us to go to the pictures on a Saturday afternoon like all the other kids did because it was the work of the devil. It cost sixpence which I didn’t have. And it wasn’t going to do us any good. She’d much rather we played cricket in the street or went down to the paddock and fly our kites which we’d already built ourselves. What we’d like to do is go down High Street in the billy cart… but that was a bit dangerous. We had no brakes or anything. But you’d run off the road into the scrub if you had to stop. It happened a few times.

Ross Williams, a school friend at Roseville Primary and Mosman High School, lived with his family at the Chatswood Town Hall as his father, Tom Williams, was the caretaker. They lived in a cottage on the eastern side of Town Hall. In the school holidays when we were ten years old we flew our model aeroplanes in the Chatswood Town Hall (his father knew we were doing it). The planes were made by ourselves out of Balsa wood and tissue paper and powered by rubber bands.  At the rear of the Town Hall was the Council Depot which fronted Ferguson Lane. In the Council Depot were the old oil powered rollers used to smooth the roads during resurfacing. Bert Bray was their driver for many years. When coming home from school we’d see Bert and ask him “Give us a blast Bert!” and he’d give us a blast and a wave. The Depot also contained two or three Sentinel Steam trucks parked there that hadn’t been used for years. All sorts of road repairing tools were there and tree lopping gear.

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A hamburger shop opened in Victoria Avenue, Chatswood, in 1936. The shop was owned by Mr Lovett but the short order cook, Mr Jones, made the hamburgers. He bought the lettuce and tomatoes from my father at his green grocers shop that was two doors further east at 373 Victoria Avenue. When the shop first opened we kids would gather outside and watch the cook through the window and sniff the tantalising smells wafting through the door. A plain one cost 4 pence, and with egg it cost sixpence.

I well remember the day I tasted a hamburger for the first time. Mr Jones came into our shop to buy fresh ingredients to make his hamburgers and he asked my father if he had ever tasted one. My father said “no” and Mr Jones said “Well then, I’ll make you one up and it will be on the house” (free). It consisted of a mincemeat patty with cooked onions, lettuce, tomato and beetroot in a soft bun. My mother cut it in four and we had a piece each. It was absolutely delicious. I can taste it now! In those days a hamburger was much larger – about 5 inches in diameter and 2 ½ inches high.

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From 2012 to 2017 I worked with Lillypilly Indigenous Landscapes and often stayed at the waterfront cottage at 217b Edinburgh Rd.

The home/office has a beautiful outlook onto Sugarloaf Bay that is relaxing and tranquil in all weather conditions. While the cottage is quite small in size, the way that it has been designed with modern living spaces allows it to function for all aspects of work and living. It is easy to cook and entertain in, as the spaces are functional but filled with the outlook of the Bay.

Staying in the cottage at night is very atmospheric, there are powerful owls, wallabies and possums that visit it at night. During the day, in warm sunny weather, many reptiles have been photographed at it - eastern water dragons, green tree snakes, golden arrow head snakes, red belly black snakes, goannas and even a diamond python.

The remote location of the cottage at the foot of a very long winding sandstone staircase gives the cottage a remoteness from the suburb of Castlecrag above it, connecting it to its neighbour of the four bedroom Hudson home across the other side of the track.

The cottage is also surrounded by the landscape of the Eora and has Aboriginal middens and caves on the escarpment above it.

I spent the happiest times of my work life and social life within its walls and bushland setting, connecting me to the environment of Sugarloaf Bay and Harold Reid Reserve, the mangroves and coastal saltmarsh and the view of Sugarloaf Mountain. At night, the constellations of the north eastern Australian sky wheel across the skyline and the western sunsets light the bay with beautiful colours of gold and pink. The sunrises on the bay are even more atmospheric, as are the rare Autumn mornings when Sugarloaf Bay is fog bound.

To wake up within the cottage is to experience the feeling of being back in time and even though the walk to the work ute is steep it is rarely without the beauty of the bush and the sounds of birds and the distinctive feel of the tides and climate of Sugarloaf Bay.

The cottage also imparts a creative stillness that gave me time to photograph its spaces and to write poetry within its walls that I have performed at poetry slams at the Willoughby Arts Workshop and published in e-zines globally. My poems, Transit of Venus and Six Part Requiem were composed there.

15 April 2018

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'Going down the bush' was a popular pastime for primary school age Willoughby boys. The 'bush' was that once glorious rugged forest of tall eucalypts between the Eastern Valley Way and Castle Cove. Most boys carried 'catapults', the home-made forked stick version with a leather pad to hold the ball-bearing or stone 'bullet'. The pads were cut out of old shoe tongues and the 'elastic' was rubber from a discarded bicycle inner tube. Red rubber was regarded as superior to black. Richer boys had air-rifles. The Diana was the preferred rifle though Crack-a-Jack ran a good second.

Contrary to a common adult belief, these 'weapons' were never used on birds. I should imagine that if a boy fired on a bird, he would risk a bloody nose. This was because there was a powerful honour code among the Fellowship of Boys, a fellowship, alas, to which I no longer belong. From what I can remember, the only targets were rocks and trees.

When they reached the rock platforms of Middle Harbour, most boys would crack open the bounty of thousands of rock oysters and they would skim flat stones. The general belief was that the water was full of sharks, so no-one ventured to swim. Everyone talked about the dreaded 'grey nurses' but I expect they meant bull sharks. Across the bay the castle beckoned like a medieval fortress.

In 1936, in the school holidays, the circus came to Chatswood on a special train of flat wagons hauled by a D50 class steam engine. The train had come via Hornsby, so as not to pass through the city tunnels and cross the Harbour Bridge.

Chatswood had an extensive goods yard that was a distribution point for road making materials, flour for the local bakeries, beer for the pubs, cement for the hardware stores and so on. All gone now – such is progress!

The train was placed in the goods yard and the locomotive removed. The wheeled cages of the many and various animals and the caravans of the circus personnel were unloaded down a pair of ramps at the end of the train by Alice the elephant. Alice drew each vehicle to the end of the flat car, and when the wheels of the car started down the ramps she used her head to steady the vehicle until it reached the flat ground. The mahout (elephant trainer) sat astride her neck with his legs dangling behind her ears as she performed her duties to his instructions. These moves were repeated until all of the vehicles were off the train. The cages and caravans were then hooked together into a ‘train’ of about eight vehicles. Alice was attached to the front of the ‘train’ that went out of the goods yard into Railway Street, Help Street, Anderson Street, Victoria Avenue and across Archer Street to Neridah Street North. There was a large paddock here that later became Mark Maynes Dry Cleaning Works. This area is now occupied by Chatswood Chase.

It took three trips from the rail yard to move all the gear. This was facilitated with the able assistance of the Chatswood police who controlled the traffic and the onlookers during the exercise.

A large number of children and adults watched the unloading and then followed the ‘train’ down to the paddock where the cages were arranged around the perimeter and the huge tent was erected in the middle.

Wirth’s was not just a circus but a portable zoo.

That night we all went to the circus. The tent was packed. It was most enjoyable with stunts on horseback, clowns, a lion tamer and trapeze artists controlled by the Ring Master and accompanied by the Brass Band. The elephants and the lions doing tricks were most impressive.

The following day the tent was taken down, the ‘trains’ formed again and the elephant returned the equipment to the steam train that then whistled and departed.

It seemed like an awful lot of work for a one-night show.

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Our family, for as long as I can remember, attended the Congregational Church in Anderson Street, Chatswood, as Mum had switched to this church in 1925 before I was born. I was on the Cradle Roll there. I went to Sunday School there from the time I could walk. The minister was Mr Newbury, and later, Mr Chapman. When we moved to the shop at 373 Victoria Avenue it was a lot closer, as initially we used to walk to the church from Neville Street. Miss Chaffer, who lived on the corner of High Street and Victoria Avenue, was a Sunday School teacher there. The church was built in 1933 and had a magnificent pipe organ. Prior to the new church, services were held in a hall alongside which later became the Sunday School Hall.

I sang a solo at the Harvest Festival there in 1937. The hymn was “I belong to the King” accompanied by Mr Lee Lieber on the pipe organ. I was selected by Mr Brabant, the choir master, to sing as a soloist in the church at both the morning and evening service. I had to learn the words. Mr Leiber, the organist, was a small, dapper man with horn-rimmed glasses and a toothbrush moustache. The minister, Mr Chapman, smoked a pipe and you could smell him before you saw him. When Mr Chapman wasn’t around, Mr Leiber would play tunes from popular musicals with great gusto, much to the delight of the young people.

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When I was a pupil at Roseville Public School I would go swimming with the other boys at Roseville Baths. They were all most amused, as I was getting changed, that my underwear had a picture of a navy destroyer on my backside with the words 'Sydney Flour'. This was because my mother made my underwear out of old Sydney Flour bags and although she boiled the cloth the dye would not come out.

My brother Barry wanted a bike so Dad bought him a beautiful English 24 inch ‘Halford’ that had been in the window of our bootmaker, Ernie Brown’s, shop for £3 ($6.00). While living at our family’s green grocer shop at 373 Victoria Avenue, Chatswood, Barry was given a pup.

Having acquired a bicycle that had a carrier on the back, Barry put a pad on it and trained his dog to ride pillion. He rode all over the district with the dog and even as far afield as Manly. People were asking me about it even 20 years later, long after the dog had died.

On Saturday in about 1941 there was a pet show at Chatswood Oval with various sections such as prettiest and ugliest pet. People turned up in droves with all manner of pets, including my brother, Barry, with his dog riding on the back of his bike. He won 2nd prize for ‘most interesting pet’ and came home with the inscribed red ribbon.

I remember that Billy Hughes, our local Member of Parliament (from 1922 to 1949) was there asking the crowd for money to provide amenities for the soldiers fighting in Europe. Billy Hughes was the longest serving member for North Sydney - 27 years. When the new electorate of Bradfield was created in 1949, he became their member, and later died in office. He was once asked “Billy, you have been a member of every party except the Country Party (now National). Why is that?” He replied “You have to draw the line somewhere”.

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After picking peas for Uncle Bill Bush, my first job after leaving school was at Hallstrom’s Refrigerator Factory. In February 1942 I got my first job there as a welder. Miss Dorothy Downey, sister of Sam Downey, who lived in Lea Avenue, was my Sunday School teacher and held a high up position at the Commonwealth Employment Service. She told me that Hallstrom’s were always looking for workers and organised an interview for me with the company. I was interviewed by Miss Maides, a middle aged woman who was both efficient and officious. I attended the interview with my mother, Alma Day. I was told to report to the supervisor, Mr Richard McWilliam, the following Monday morning to start work. I was living with my parents at 41 Alleyne Street at the time, and rode my bicycle each day to the factory. It was very hard, tiring physical work for a 15 year old. I would ride my bike home each day and after eating dinner would collapse into bed ready to wake up early the next morning to repeat the whole process again. Other workers would catch the tram that stopped right outside the door of Hallstrom’s (Chatswood to Wynyard or Chatswood to Balmoral Tram or, in summertime only, there was a Chatswood to Taronga Zoo tram). Those who lived close by walked to work.

The factory was on the south-west corner of Artarmon and Willoughby Roads, Willoughby. There were no traffic lights at the intersection at that time. The conditions for workers at Hallstrom’s were very hard. It was a large tin factory with a cement floor with no heating in winter and no cooling in summer. I wore overalls to work (which I supplied myself) as there was no locker room. Hallstrom’s, however, supplied the tools we worked with – welding gear, hammers, etc. Mr Hallstrom did, however, put in a lunch room and canteen. You could buy a plate of meat with salad for one shilling and sixpence. I didn’t use it as I only earned $2.15 for a 44 hour week.

I was employed in the oxy welding section of the factory, which employed approximately twelve staff including the supervisor. I was the youngest in the section at the time, having newly arrived. I made friends with Tiny Rolands, who was a year older than me and liked to fight with his fists. Others in the section were Stan Douglass, Jim Stein, Bob Ross, Ray Thorpe, Jack Gadsby, Archie Pierce and Richard McWilliam, the then supervisor, who worked alongside everyone else. In addition, two girls were employed to weld pipes: Betty Kirk and Betty Jackson. Production was not organised by doing complete ‘jobs’ but by processes, with each section of the factory doing its part of the work in order to make each refrigerator. They were making six to seven refrigerators per week at that time, and as it was during the war, all of their work was for the military, which in the welding section included manufacture of refrigerators, caterpillar tracks for Bren Gun Carriers and fittings for carrying bombs on aeroplanes. Refrigerators were not made available for sale to the general public, the whole of production being for the military and the war effort. We were told to “get on with it, there’s a war on, you know”.

There they taught me how to weld, a skill I was to use for the rest of my working life. At that time we worked an 8 ¾ hour day from 7.30am until 5pm – 44 hours a week. I was paid 21 shillings and sixpence a week. My mother and I were told that I would be paid 25 shillings a week at the interview. However, when I received my first pay packet, I had only earned 21 shillings and sixpence. My mother was concerned that I was being taken advantage of by the company.

After working there a few months I was working alongside and doing as much work as a grown man who was paid £7 a week. My supervisor at the time, Archie Pierce, spoke to the boss about me without my knowledge and suggested that due to the amount and quality of my work, my wage be raised. The boss agreed and my wage was more than doubled to two pounds six shillings a week. Still far short of the £7, but I was delighted.

After 12 months at Hallstrom’s I left to commence an apprenticeship at Cockatoo Dock Yards. I had been able to secure an interview with Mr George Rowe, the work’s manager at Cockatoo Dockyards, a crusty old bachelor, through a member of my mother’s church, Mr Morton, for an apprenticeship to become a boilermaker. I did not hear back for some time and thought I had not secured a position. In mid-January 1943 I received a letter that I had been successful. Being during the war a move to another company needed to be approved so I presented my letter to Miss Maides on a Monday telling her that I was giving my notice and would be leaving on the Friday to start at Cockatoo on the following Monday. The next I knew Mr Hallstrom himself came down to see me on the factory floor and told me I could not leave because I was essential – there was a war on. Mr Hallstrom was a large man who always wore a brown suit and thick glasses, and drove a Ford car. He was known as a hard task master.

Following my discussions with Mr Hallstrom I rode my bicycle to the Commonwealth Employment Service office during lunch time to see Mr Lumsdaine who was fortunately in his office at the time. He listened to my story about Mr Hallstrom not being willing to give me an apprenticeship or to release me to work at Cockatoo Island. Mr Lumsdaine immediately said “if Mr Hallstrom won’t release you, I will!” and he promptly wrote and signed a letter of release. I returned to Hallstrom’s with the letter in hand and waved it in front of them and instructed them to organise my final pay. They were forced to release me to work at Cockatoo and as they say, the rest is history!

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