When I was young Easter was always considered a good break. I always looked forward to it. "Four days of Holidays", I thought. Plus, as I worked in a Bank, I also had the Tuesday off as well. Not that I could really enjoy it, because everyone I knew and wanted to hang out with worked on the Tuesday. I was always alone on this day.
My father always insisted that we go to church on both Friday and Sunday. This was a definite minus for me. Did I ever hear an enjoyable or even interesting sermon?
Also, since I was always home with my parents, there was a downside. I had to help with the milking. I could put up with helping in the afternoon, but I always found getting up for the morning milking to be hard - even painful. Getting up early - mostly before dawn - always interfered with my digestion. I always felt strange in the stomach for most of the day. I always had a deep sense of tiredness or even exhaustion that took a long time to recover from. I was tired and wanted to sleep in. But no, it never happened. If I ever did sleep in, I had an overwhelming sense of guilt. My father would guarantee it by saying - "I waited for you, but I had to get your mother up to help with the milking".
My father was pretty good at appealing to my conscience. "How about giving your mother a break", was one of his favourites. In fact this had always been his preferred way of running things. I wanted to take advantage of the situation and wanted to go places. I wanted to visit people. I wanted to go to dances--sometimes two in a night. I wanted to borrow my father's large car. I wanted to go out and sing and play the guitar until late at night. My father always appealed to my good nature. "Do you need to go out? Your Mother doesn't see you that often" was one of his favourites. "We will worry if you are out all night. We cannot sleep until you come home" was another.
The traffic on Thursday night coming out of Melbourne was enormous. You can give it any kind of label and you would always be right. Enormous - amazing - heavy - dangerous - unbelievable. Cars literally drove bumper to bumper. The Hume Highway changed from two lanes to one at the Ford Broadmeadows Factory. Traffic became either stop and start or just plain jammed at this point. Some cars always tried to drive on the right hand side of the road trying to pass the miles of cars in the traffic jam. Some cars tried to drive on the left hand verge to do the same. It took some time for the traffic to clear. It was normally bumper to bumper to Seymour. In fact, it was unrelenting. It was hard driving. This was before the freeway and before daylight saving.
If you look at the traffic accident rate for that period you will be surprised. It was normal for 14 people to be killed on the roads each weekend. Easter was worse.
Nevertheless, I dutifully did it year after year. I wasn't alone though. Pretty well all my relatives went home for Easter. It was a time when families came together. We always went to my Mother's sister for Easter Sunday. This sister had a fairly crude kitchen but she was always able to cook poultry enough to feed at least 15 people with some left over for tomorrow. It was a genuine feast. How she did it I do not know. It was always mouth wateringly delicious. After lunch was a time for relaxation for the men. They sat round after lunch to talk while the women cleaned up. My father liked talking to his sister-in-law's husband. He had slightly different political views than my father and he never went to church. But he had a recording of Winston Churchill's "This was their Finest Hour" and he would play it for my father.
The break always went quickly. Men always visited my father on Easter Monday. They did not stay for lunch and my father always talked to them outside in private. They spoke with serious faces. I took it to be about either RSL matters or Masonic matters.
I didn't have to drive back to Melbourne until Tuesday when the traffic was better. I drove alone. I always had passengers on Thursday night, but they arranged to be passengers with people who returned to Melbourne on Monday.
It was always a relief to get back to the Essendon flat and relax.
Neville Gibb
May 2024
My father always insisted that we go to church on both Friday and Sunday. This was a definite minus for me. Did I ever hear an enjoyable or even interesting sermon?
Also, since I was always home with my parents, there was a downside. I had to help with the milking. I could put up with helping in the afternoon, but I always found getting up for the morning milking to be hard - even painful. Getting up early - mostly before dawn - always interfered with my digestion. I always felt strange in the stomach for most of the day. I always had a deep sense of tiredness or even exhaustion that took a long time to recover from. I was tired and wanted to sleep in. But no, it never happened. If I ever did sleep in, I had an overwhelming sense of guilt. My father would guarantee it by saying - "I waited for you, but I had to get your mother up to help with the milking".
My father was pretty good at appealing to my conscience. "How about giving your mother a break", was one of his favourites. In fact this had always been his preferred way of running things. I wanted to take advantage of the situation and wanted to go places. I wanted to visit people. I wanted to go to dances--sometimes two in a night. I wanted to borrow my father's large car. I wanted to go out and sing and play the guitar until late at night. My father always appealed to my good nature. "Do you need to go out? Your Mother doesn't see you that often" was one of his favourites. "We will worry if you are out all night. We cannot sleep until you come home" was another.
The traffic on Thursday night coming out of Melbourne was enormous. You can give it any kind of label and you would always be right. Enormous - amazing - heavy - dangerous - unbelievable. Cars literally drove bumper to bumper. The Hume Highway changed from two lanes to one at the Ford Broadmeadows Factory. Traffic became either stop and start or just plain jammed at this point. Some cars always tried to drive on the right hand side of the road trying to pass the miles of cars in the traffic jam. Some cars tried to drive on the left hand verge to do the same. It took some time for the traffic to clear. It was normally bumper to bumper to Seymour. In fact, it was unrelenting. It was hard driving. This was before the freeway and before daylight saving.
If you look at the traffic accident rate for that period you will be surprised. It was normal for 14 people to be killed on the roads each weekend. Easter was worse.
Nevertheless, I dutifully did it year after year. I wasn't alone though. Pretty well all my relatives went home for Easter. It was a time when families came together. We always went to my Mother's sister for Easter Sunday. This sister had a fairly crude kitchen but she was always able to cook poultry enough to feed at least 15 people with some left over for tomorrow. It was a genuine feast. How she did it I do not know. It was always mouth wateringly delicious. After lunch was a time for relaxation for the men. They sat round after lunch to talk while the women cleaned up. My father liked talking to his sister-in-law's husband. He had slightly different political views than my father and he never went to church. But he had a recording of Winston Churchill's "This was their Finest Hour" and he would play it for my father.
The break always went quickly. Men always visited my father on Easter Monday. They did not stay for lunch and my father always talked to them outside in private. They spoke with serious faces. I took it to be about either RSL matters or Masonic matters.
I didn't have to drive back to Melbourne until Tuesday when the traffic was better. I drove alone. I always had passengers on Thursday night, but they arranged to be passengers with people who returned to Melbourne on Monday.
It was always a relief to get back to the Essendon flat and relax.
Neville Gibb
May 2024
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