Who knows what it is like to be new in town?

What is it like to be placed in a completely new environment. New streets. New buildings. New house. New school.

To be surrounded by new people. To be suddenly aware that you are the new person in the room. Surrounded by people you do not know. Not seeing any sympathetic faces. No friends.

We have all experienced this to a smaller or greater extent. We all know that uneasy feeling of feeling shy. Of being very aware that no one knows us. That we are alone in a large group. Where we feel the group is hostile. Where we wish we had a friend we could be with.

But some of us have it easier than others. To be new in town can be very intimidating. Especially if you come from another country. Especially if you are a different ethnic group.

In the 1950’s Australia had an immigration programme. This policy was instituted by the government because Australia had a need for labour. Between the wars all immigrants had come from Great Britain and immigration was self funded. The new policy of assisted migration still brought many migrants from Great Britain but also migrants were brought from war torn Europe and given the official name of New Australians. This policy was considered radical and was not totally popular with the public. People had a set idea of what an Australian was and these New Australians did not always comply with the accepted norm.

I went to several schools during the 50’s. I came into contact with several migrant children. None of them had an easy time. Boys especially. I know this because I was there.

I knew one child who had several black marks against him. Not only did he have a thick accent but he had a single mother as a parent. Also he came to the school in the middle of the term. Also he was poor. If you saw him on weekends at something like the Wangaratta Show he was still wearing his school uniform. He did not have any proper clothes. Early on he tried to join the kick to kick group playing football, but he had little talent and no one would give him the ball so he could have a kick. He was small and his skin was very white. We learned that his mother was a cleaner at the Woollen Mills. Worse, we learned that she worked shift work. I once had a conversation with him and he told me that he listened to the radio every Sunday night when his mother was working. He was always home alone. He knew the serials that were on the ABC. His accent meant that the teacher had trouble understanding him, so he did not get much opportunity to speak in class. He was made fun of by other students at every opportunity.

I knew another boy who told us he came from Poland. He also had a mother as a single parent. She worked at one of the hotels. He lived with her in the Hotel. This surprisingly had some kudos because sometimes adults who frequented the hotel befriended him. Once a star footballer came to our school, recognised him nd made a big fuss of him. Called him out to the front of the class. Called him My Friend Edvard. This was impressive to us children. And Edvard had aspirations to being the class clown. He sometimes got the English wrong which made the clownish behavior more funny.

I never wanted to swap places with immigrant boys.

I always thought that immigrant girls had it easier. They were always good looking. They always had good looking clothes. They always seemed to be sophisticated. They seemed to have a background that protected them from being teased. Where their parents got the money to buy their nice clothes I cannot say. They also were never seemed to be required to speak in public by the teacher. There were always two or more of them and they stuck together in the schoolyard. They did not hesitate to speak in a foreign language and laugh at you. I can never remember any of them being teased by boys. Sometimes girls tried, but it never seemed to affect any of the migrant girls. Australian girls, yes. Every day one girl or another seemed to be crying at the back of the class because she was being picked on.

It was always easier being a girl. It wasn't until I became an adult that I was told this was not the case.

Neville Gibb
​April 2021

​We all heard the gate shut behind us.  I swear I heard the latch catch. It had that clicking sound that can only mean the gate was shut.
 
But we all had our back to it.  Mummy was herding us towards the car.  We were late for church and she hated to be late.  We needed to make a good impression.  We were new in town.
 
We were late because Mummy had spent an awful long time getting dressed.  She couldn’t make up her mind.  She was always like this.  Mummy always wanted to make a good impression.  We two girls had been dressed for hours and we had had to sit for hours doing nothing.  Angus had mussed up his best clothes and was in big trouble with Mummy.  She sat him beside her in the front seat and made him undo his tie and put it on again properly.  He had to take off his coat and brush it. S he took out her hanky and wiped his hair into place with her spit when she was driving.  Mummy had a new outfit which was causing her trouble and she was not in a good mood.  She had new patent leather court shoes which weren’t good for driving.  Her new suit was heavily lined and she didn’t think it showed off her figure properly.  When you touched it all of her skirt moved.  Her jacket didn’t fit her properly.  She didn’t know if she had the right broach for the jacket.  She worried her new suit would crease in the car.
 
We were given a big lecture on how to behave all the way to church.  We had to kneel and pray without looking at each other.  No giggling.  We had to sing properly.  If we didn’t know the hymn don’t sing anything.  Mouth the words.  We had to make a good impression.  We were new in town.
 
Thankfully the service was over quickly but of course Mummy had to stay talking to people after church.  We had to stand quietly and wait patiently.  We had to keep our gloves on and hold our prayer books like we had been told to do.  Angus had it easy. An old man talked to Angus like he knew him.  No one spoke to us.  We had to stand and wait and say nothing.  Finally I could tell mummy was ready to leave because she started brushing her hand down her front as if she was brushing dust off her.  She always did this.  I walked up to her and put my hand in hers.  Thankfully she took the opportunity to say she should be heading home to the lady she was talking to.  I think the lady was relieved.
 
Angus made me sit in the front on the way home.  Mummy still found fault with me.  I should have spoken nicely to the lady she was talking to.  I said I didn’t know her name.  Doesn’t matter said Mummy.  You should always want to make a good impression.  After all we were new in town.
 
We knew this so well by now we almost said it out loud with her.
 
But when we got home the gate was open and Angus’s pet rabbit had escaped. The gate had not shut even though I thought I heard the latch take. We looked everywhere but we never found it. Angus said he wished he had shot it when he had the chance. Mummy said not to worry about it.
 
It would find a new home. She said like us it was new in town. We said we knew. She didn’t have to keep telling us.
 
Uncle Clarrie made the same comment when he heard what happened. He thought he was comforting us. No one cared about the rabbit though. Least of all Angus.
 
Uncle Clarrie thought he was being funny making a joke about being new in town. We didn’t think it was funny. He kept on about it though still thinking it was funny.
 
We had heard it all before. We were new in town. We were sick of hearing it.
 
 
 
Neville Gibb,
February 2017