I came across an old ‘Benalta’, the Benalla High School magazine from the fifties.  I gazed at the photos of the prefects, house captains and sports teams, recognising many of them.  We looked so young—and we were! 
 
Where did all those young people go?  Did they have happy lives and fulfil their dreams? 
 
I looked at a photo of myself, a shy teenager.  Did I think then that one day I would be over eighty, still farming, feeding chooks, gardening, carting in wood, or that I would have four children and seven grandchildren?  No, our thoughts didn’t stretch that far ahead.  In fact, the year 2000 seemed too far away to even think about.
 
I looked at the others standing there in their uniforms.  Some I’d kept up contact with, others drifted away to work.  Sadly, some died young.  Many probably had achieved their dreams, in careers, sport and family life.  We caught up at reunions, but over the years the numbers dwindled with each successive meet.
 
Now our old Benalla High is in disrepair, probably beyond fixing, but in our minds, we can still see those rooms where we did science, maths or cookery, remember school sports, the House sports (and war cry), and the mischief we got up to.  There were socials in the old Memorial Hall, speech nights in the Town Hall.  The annual fete was held in the school grounds, especially the mannequin parade down the outside stairs to the quadrangle which always provided lots of laughs.
 
Thinking back, despite the times we found modern history boring, or the maths exams difficult, these were happy, care-free days.
 
Margaret Nelson
August 2022

I am looking at a sepia photo of an old woman, wearing an apron, watching three children climbing on the veranda rail.  She is our Nana Pascoe, photographed with my younger brothers and myself, at the front of her house in Lily Street.  It must have been one of the earliest houses in Violet Town, as it is built on the very corner of the block, with a step down from the veranda onto the footpath. Perhaps it had been a shop in earlier times.

I can still visualise that house and yard. To a child the garden seemed so big, with a chook run and woodshed far away on the back fence. The house was small and rather dark, with a detached bathroom and bedroom.  The kitchen opened onto a veranda which housed a Coolgardie safe, a table, Pa’s chair - where he read the paper and smoked his pipe - and a huge plant stand.

The kitchen was very homely, with a black wood stove, a huge black kettle and Mrs Potts’ irons. As children, we loved to go there after school to eat Nana’s endless supply of Gingernut biscuits and make Milo with hot water and condensed milk. Having no refrigerator, the local dairyman, Foster Mackrell, delivered milk several days a week. I remember him riding his huge horse along the side of the house, picking up the billy hanging on the gate, and delivering milk back when he returned the cows to the paddock.

Early photos show Nana as a pretty, petite girl with dark curly hair and dark eyes, but I think she had quite a hard life.  Pa was away a lot working at road building or farm labouring and she raised the children mostly alone.

When my mother was born, Nana Pascoe was over 40, considered a dangerous age to have a baby. She haemorrhaged badly and had to be taken to Wangaratta Hospital by train (no ambulances in Violet Town). To get her to the train, she was put in a cart and several men took the shafts and carefully pulled it to the station.  Times have changed since then!

Later in life Nana slipped and fell, hurting her hip badly. She bravely carried on, refusing to see a doctor, relying on her Bex tablets and making a makeshift crutch from a broom.

Toward the end of her life a burst ulcer in one eye resulting in the removal of that eye, while the remaining eye had a cataract. Her near blindness was difficult, but she did not complain. I clearly remember the day I took Ray along to meet her. To his embarrassment, she pulled him over closer to her, looked him over, and declared he would suit Margaret!

We regularly had Sunday lunch with Nana and Pa Pascoe. I really enjoyed the simple meals of cold corned meat and salad or vegies, followed by fruit and custard, or nana’s plum jam tart (we called it “stone jam”) on the back veranda in summer. Mum would sometimes send us down the street for a Family Brick” of ice-cream.
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I realise now that Nana Pascoe suffered a lot of pain, but I never remember her complaining or being cross.  We were so lucky to have her till she was 84, setting such an example to us.
 
Margaret Nelson
July 2020

A breakfast menu from the Ghan revived memories of a college trip to Alice Springs.

It was 1958 and we joined Melbourne Teachers' College on a 16 day trip, costing £63  all inclusive.  We'd been paying it off all year so there was great excitement when we finally boarded the Overland for Adelaide.  We had a day to look around, then early the next day we headed to board The Ghan, which was quite luxurious for its time.  We were four to a compartment, a bunk bed pulled down at night.  There was a dining carriage, a kitchen and a lounge with a piano, besides an observation area at the rear of the carriage.  It travelled very slowly, taking two days and nights to get to Alice Springs.  The meals, served by waiters in bow-ties, were very good.

Compared with Victoria, the country was so different.  I was amazed by the flatness and vast horizons, the red soil, stunted scrub and trees and the clear blue cloudless sky.

Boarding buses in Alice, we headed off on a circular tour west of Alice, camping in the open in sleeping bags around a camp fire.  The days were hot and the nights very cold.  The bus drivers were the cooks and provided plain, nourishing meals. 

We travelled over cattle stations, crossing dry river beds, sometimes bogging in the sand.  We then turned back to Palm Valley with its oasis like pools and cycads.  From here we visited Hermansburg Mission and Stanley Chasm.  We were lucky to arrive at midday when the sun turns the chasm wall a vivid red.  Namatjira was painting at this timeand his paintings sold for only £50  In the local gallery I was lucky enough to buy an unframed water color of Adolf Inkamals for a few pounds which has since increased considerably in value.  

I felt so lucky to have seen the outback in a relatively pristine state and to see the beauty of the country through the eyes of the aboriginal painters.  Friendships were made on that trip which have lasted a lifetime.

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Margaret Nelson,
​June 2019

Two Olympic Games programs brought back memories of 1956. 

It was my first year away from home.  At 17 and a raw country girl, I found myself at Larnook Teachers' College in the big city.  It was the year of the Olympic Games, and Melbourne was abuzz in preparation of new stadiums and an influx of overseas visitors. 

The Melbourne Cricket Ground was updated, a new big indoor swimming complex was built along with other venues for cycling, wrestling, etc.  There was free entry to the pool and at times we watched the teams practising.

The Opening Day arrived and we were given a day off to join in the festivities.  Swanston Street was closed to traffic.  We found ourselves a spot near the Town Hall, squashed in a crowd, and from our vantage point watched the Duke of Edinburgh arive and wave from the balcony.  As the dense crowd dispersed, we wandered along the route to the MCG.  Sitting on the edge of the road, we ate our sandwiches and awaited another glimpse of the dashing young Duke on his way to open the games. 

Later in the week we had tickets to see two days of the athletics.  I remember seeing Betty Cuthbert and Shirley Strickland winning their heats.  There was great excitement in the crowd, especially amongst the Australians.

The Closing Ceremony fell on a Saturday and we managed to get standing room tickets.  It was a very simple ceremony compared with later years.  A foot ball final, then the athletes marched in.  This was followed by the handovers of flags to the next host country and the extinguishing of the flame, a rather sentimental moment.  The games were over for another four years.  It would be a long time until Melbourne would host them again. 


Margaret Nelson
Jun3 2019