​The first neighbours I remember were the Misses Brooks. They ran a shop in Theatre Place, and we rented the house behind and above. They sold baby clothes and I only remember venturing into their shop once, marvelling at the fine knitted, frilly bonnets and booties. There were pastel dresses with smocking and tiny buttons – beautiful, but not interesting enough to a six-year old to hold my attention for too long. Miss Brooks and Miss Brooks were sisters, petite and quiet, Mum described them as genteel, which was probably why my single visit was enough.

Living in the middle of the Maling Road shopping strip some of our other neighbours were the Russos who were greengrocers and very friendly; then I don’t remember the names of the others but there was the service station (Neptune fuel), a fish and chip shop and a mixed business (that had exciting items in the window such as pens with nibs and ink in various colours) and of course a milk bar where the eye-level lollies were the focus and not the people who served me on the rare occasion when I had money to spend.

Our move to Glen Waverley into our newly built home gave us new neighbours. On our left was the Erlandson family and on our right was the Jacksons, directly opposite was the Longs and next to them the Brace family. None of their children were my age but we all got together in early November to build a bonfire on Guy Fawkes night and to share fireworks in the empty block on the far side of the Jackson’s house. Other times we would play together in school holidays until we grew old enough to venture further afield with school mates.

Mum and Mrs Jackson soon became the best of friends, and 'us kids' could almost treat next door as our own. Mr. and Mrs. Jackson worked at the Tax Office, while my dad had an engineering business and Mum occasionally worked from home as a seamstress. Anne and Anthony Jackson attended the local Catholic school while we went to the State school. The Jacksons barracked for North Melbourne while we were Hawthorn fans; in the 70s there was great rivalry between the two teams, yet this and the other differences didn’t overshadow the friendship between us. Mum kept in contact with Mrs. J. for nearly 50 years even though we moved away after ten.

Further down our street were the Whites, not my favourite family as Mrs. White once told Mum I was doing something I shouldn’t have been (possibly hanging out with boys). For the younger generation the friendliness in the neighbourhood had its drawbacks but we also knew that we could depend on them if Mum wasn’t about for fixing a grazed knee, providing a restorative drink and biscuit, or helping to catch a run-away dog.

At the head of our street lived Mrs. Marriott, we didn’t associate with her, but Mum was on speaking terms. She had a large block with an established garden having many fragrant roses and a manicured lawn. Mrs. Marriott also owned a pet cockatoo, which I found fascinating, and occasionally I heard him as I walked past. Before our street and the surrounding area was subdivided the Marriotts had market gardens on the site, and our street was named Marriott Parade.

There was a court off our street where the Treasaders lived, not convenient for us kids as Mr. Treasader was our high school principal. Even worse, Mum and Dad became friends with them, which was not cool at school (and didn’t make me immune from detention). As a family we were very involved in the school community, Dad chaired committees and Mum volunteered to sew the curtains for the new hall; we all attended working bees and spent many weekends helping set up the new school camp at Nayook.

We were lucky to have good neighbours and one of the great lessons I learnt from our next-door friends was to accept differences in culture, religion, and lifestyles; also, that a dividing fence shouldn’t be a barrier.


Phiona Rhodes,
​April 2023

​George and Beatie DOHRN

George and “Aunty” Beatie were our backyard neighbours. Our family moved in December 1951, from living in a tent in Bankstown, to the Morris home for the next 55 years in Napoleon St. Herne Bay. The Dohrn’s were domiciled in the next parallel street, Bonaparte St. The suburb was renamed Riverwood in 1959.
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For long as I can remember it was Aunty Beatie and London. Why George was called London, I do not know as he was born in Drummoyne Sydney in 1912. But London he was. There was no back fence, so our back yards became a commune for the two families to have many a social gathering. My elder brother and I were spoilt rotten by Aunty Beatie and we had a plentitude of sneaky biscuits and lollies. Mum would have known, but the genesis of the Morris boys being later accused of being MI6 agents for not passing on family gossip, had fertile roots here.

London and Beatie owned a motor car, a relative rarity then. We were often taken to San Sousi on Botany Bay to have picnic lunches and sometimes after dinner strolls along the waterfront on balmy summer evenings.  London’s car had wide running boards and from memory was an old 1930’s something, but to us it was a carriage fit for the Queen.

One day the sewage was put in. The easement along the back fence was more akin to WW 1 trenches, and it posed a barrier for a short while. I don’t recall, but one suspects Aunty Beatie tossed some goodies over the encumbrance.  But we have the magic of a flushing toilet, built under the roof but still outside – but that’s another story.

Then the back fence arrived, but not to worry, Dad put in a gate, so access was not denied. A few more years passed before Aunty Beatie and London moved to Brisbane for a short while, before purchasing a home on Marine Parade Kingscliffe, about 2 miles in the old money south of the Queensland border. An older two story building it had an uninterrupted view of the Pacific Ocean.

Contact was kept up by letters and Christmas Cards. It wasn’t till I was 15 that I went to visit them in Kingscliffe, an area still not on developer’s radar, a backwater with a bowling club come restaurant and a small grocery come milk bar and hardware store.
 
It was delightful to visit and spend time with these caring couple. It dawned on me that the Morris boys were the vicarious children that Beatie did not have – and that was OK by me.
Aware that Beatie had darker skin than most, I was mildly surprised to learn that Beatie was an aboriginal. It did not matter one iota and, as the years rolled by, I came to the conclusion that racism is taught to youngsters, but not in the Morris home. Meeting Beatie’s mob was so natural and normal.  The skill of how to catch sea worms in the waves sliding back over the sand was passed on to me. My catch was “donated” to the common bucket. The worms were then on sold to fisherman. This resulted in an invitation to a Sunday morning feast with the mob, a sign of acceptance. It was a holiday I’ll never forget.

Sadly, Beatie passed on in her 50’s and my children never met her. London was always pleased to see the family and maintained our friendship with that quietly affable old school manner.  My elder brother called to see London when he was in his 80’s. He was hesitant and asked who he was. Greg said, “If I call you London will that make any difference?” And it did. “The Dohrn’s” have a special niche in the lives of the Morris Families.
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Graeme Morris
April 2023.

​I spent the first 14 years of my life in a very small village, Bishops Itchington, in the Midlands of England. Everyone knew each other. Most of the adult males worked for the same company as lorry drivers. The women were housewives. ‘Us kids’ were all mates.

Everybody knew everybody.  Kids would all play together, Mums and Dads would socialise together when they were able to.

In our village we had annual Fetes, Show days, the Circus.

We had seasons when we would play games including Marbles, Hopscotch and Konkers.

We had our Football and Cricket seasons.

The village Football field was busy whatever the season.  Everything, all the sports, shows and so on, happened at our Football field. It was the meeting place for anything and everything.  It was also our playground, with the usual swings, roundabouts and more.

I lived in three different houses in my village.  The houses got larger as my family got larger. I was the second eldest of eight children.

We had good neighbours most of the time, little old ladies who were very friendly, spoke with us, gave us lollies. In return, we would go to the shop for them, or clear up the leaves around their property. Especially in October and the start of November when we were leading up to Guy Fawkes night. We always had a massive bonfire and fireworks, obviously at the Football field. The Chip van, the Hot Dog van, Doughnuts and more. Loud music would be playing through the speakers, you could hear it all around the village.

But we also had a particularly nasty old neighbour who lived on her own, had never married and hated kids. One day her cat was found all cut and bleeding. The village Policeman came to our house on his pushbike.  He knew ‘all us kids’ and our dads. Sometimes, not very often, if he caught us doing something wrong, like double dinking on a bike, he would stop us, tell us not to do it and threaten to tell our dad. That was scary!

Anyway, he told my Mum that we had been throwing stones at the old lady’s cat and being cruel to it. He also said that the lady had reported us to the RSPCA.  Mum told us off, threatening that dad would belt us when he got home.

We told mum it wasn’t true and that we had done nothing to this neighbour’s cat.  Old Bat.

Anyway, I was a junior RSPCA member, I had a certificate, so why would I hurt or let anyone else hurt the cat?

Later, a different man came to the door in a very flash car.  He explained to Mum he had spoken to the Policeman and told him we hadn’t hurt the cat. He had checked the cat and found it had been attacked by another cat, it hadn’t been hit with stones. So, thankfully, we didn’t get a belt from Dad.

All in all, I grew up in a very close-knit village which I remember quite clearly to this day.


Tom Barnaby
April 2023

​Growing up in the country was one of the best experiences a girl could have.  We had open paddocks and hills to explore.  We had family around us, and very good neighbours.
 
Living where I lived was a way of life we all experienced; even the parents grew up here, went to the same school.  We knew our neighbours well.  Our neighbours were more than neighbours, they were great friends, they were all there to help out if needed. 
 
We met at the local football matches, we gathered at the local dances.  We played sport at the weekend, be it football in the winter months, or tennis in the summer months.  Tennis and football involved more than immediate neighbours - they involved people from districts all around.  Each district ran successful sports days as well. 
 
The sports days were great fun and were another way of catching up with our neighbours. 
 
Held at the local football ground, the arena held horse events – show jumping and the like - that proved to be very popular.  The arena was also where the foot races were held.  I remember these events clearly as I was a keen competitor. 
 
A man in a red jacket and black cap rode a horse around in the arena making sure things ran smoothly.  His name was Mr Betts, and he had a daughter whose name was Lynette.  Now this girl could run!  The stage was set for a great competition between the young ladies of the districts.  I believed I was a good runner and that I could beat Lynette.  I didn’t always win, but was known to be there, close by, at the end.  Enjoyable days!
 
There was also entertainment outside the arena.  The spinning wheel was very popular.  We bought tickets with numbers, and when they were all sold the wheel was spun.  If our number came up, we got to choose a prize from the shelf, from prizes donated by the shops in our local town.
 
There was also a watering hole known as the bar, which the men frequented.  We got to know which fathers drank more than they should, a lot more than they should.
 
Lunches and afternoon teas served at the grounds were organised by the women of the district, special people, our neighbours.
 
The neighbours around us, as I said before, were the first to come to help out in all kinds of crises, to assist as and when needed.
 
I particularly remember a family crisis when my mother had noticed that my father hadn’t returned from getting the cows home to be milked.  He had left sometime earlier on the tractor to round up the cows and had not returned by the time my brother had come from his house on the property to do the milking.  They heard the tractor still running and found it bogging itself in the swamp.  They back tracked it to find my father dead on the side of the hill.  He had fallen from the tractor, and it had run over him, continuing on to enter the swamp.
 
This tragic event was one of those times in my life that good friends and neighbours came to help out.  My mother and her family needed them, they were there for me.  This was a time when we knew how important family, friends and neighbours are.
 
Growing up on our farm with special neighbours and their families holds great memories for me that I will never forget.  I still see the children of the adults from these farms.  They are still my friends today and are just as important in my life as they were on that tragic day, and other days, many years ago.
 
 
Trish Rogash
April 2023

The Peter Lalor Housing Cooperative

This story originates from the family history that I wrote in 2020. Lalor was my first known ‘community’ for eight years, until my parents moved to Wollert in 1956. I do remember many of the residents, and events where families would share meals in their homes, and also the functions that were held in a Nissan Hut, on the land near the railway station. Many special events were held there, such as birthdays, Christmas and other community get-togethers, with almost all of the community attending.  I do have vivid memories of the tables groaning under the weight of the food that everybody had made especially for the event. I also have vivid memories of the masses of crayfish that were obtained by members of the community. I am not sure which family had the contacts, but there was always more than an ample supply of crayfish at every event.

My father (Allan Murray or ‘Bill’) and his eldest brother (Austin James or ‘Jim’) were experienced woodworkers and carpenters. After the war they became involved with a project involving returned servicemen who were tradesmen.  The group formed themselves into a co-operative, and with assistance from the Government and the local MP, they commenced a project to build each other’s homes.

The co-operative was the brain child of Frank Purcell. Frank Purcell was a member of the Australian Labour Party and planted the first ‘seeds’ for a special committee to assist with the rehabilitation of returned service personnel. The PLC evolved out of a number of years of ‘wheeling and dealing’, which Frank was known for. Whilst he did not hold an executive position in the PLC when it was formed, he remained the public relations advocate for the project. He took over the role of Chairman in 1947, when the current Chairman, Peter Russell, stepped down.

The project commenced in a paddock located on the eastern side of the railway line between Epping and Thomastown. Initially the streets were unmade, the water had been reticulated, but the electricity was not to come until 1952. The lack of electricity added a considerable amount of time to the completion of the early homes, as only hand tools could be used.

The name for the area was chosen by the men themselves. The new suburb was named after Peter Lalor of the Eureka Stockade, who later went on to become a parliamentarian. (Just a note on the pronunciation: The older and original residents always called it La(w)lor. The newbies call it La(y)lor).

An area of the suburb Lalor, near the railway line, was allocated for War Service Homes, within which returned servicemen and women could secure finance to build a home. My father, was the nominated builder on these homes, however the owners were to do as much of the work themselves using local specialist tradesmen, with Bill supervising the work.
 
In 1954 there was an issue with the finances of the Peter Lalor Co-op. Whilst Jim and Bill were the nominated builders on the project, they did not have any early involvement in the management or the finances of the organisation. At its peak at the end of 1947, the PLC employed 153 workers. They had a factory set up to make prefabricated walls, which were then transported to site. The plan was to build 1000 homes. The plan was not achieved due to the PLC being placed into voluntary administration in 1954.
 
The Administrators findings are some 30 pages of legal technicality. The bottom line was that the executive of the PLC accepted deposits for land and houses, did not keep an accurate record of the terms of the deposits, did not place the funds in trust, but used them as general revenue.  The exact number of houses that had been built by 1954 is unknown, but from records it appears that there were around 200 homes and a total of 388 rateable properties in Lalor at that time. The failure of the PLC was attributed to a number of additional causes. Some being the fact that early homes were sold for around £400 ($800 or 25%) under the construction cost; there were constant material shortages including cement, roof tiles and timber; decisions were being made on compassionate grounds rather than actual costs; and the obvious lack of support from Whittlesea Shire Council and other Government Departments.
 
The PLC did own some of the land, however the administrator sold it to Coolnong Estates Pty. Ltd. who quickly on-sold the land at an even bigger profit. A search of company records suggests that Coolnong Estates was a company of NSW based investors. It is most unusual for the administrator to have sold the land to people who profited, when many of the shareholders in the PLC actually lost money. It was reported that the PLC held deposits of £25 each for some 800 blocks, which had not yet been built on.

​

​Barry O’Connor,
15th April 2023.

​Bet and Jess were actually friends of my mother. We lived in Hobart – three little girls and a mountain of steps to the front door.

Jess, who came from Queensland, was visiting her sister when my father met her. Within days she was living with us and helping my mother with the family. Jess studied at night, got a job, but still lived with us until we moved to Launceston. We loved her.

Betty came from Penguin and was a trainee teacher in Grade 1 at Elizabeth Street State School. I was very unsure of myself, so much so that I regularly bit the corners off my collars! The teacher didn’t have time to show me any special attention, but Betty encouraged me and gave me confidence. Meanwhile the Penguin Methodist minister got in touch with my Dad to ask him to look out for Betty. She became best friends with Jess and was at our place more often than not.
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‘Auntie Elsie’ lived with us in Launceston. Her real name was Elsie Kemp whose father made Kempo soap. I’m not sure why she lived with us except that she was a member of Moral Rearmament as was my mother. One memory of  Elsie was after the family had arrived home from church one Sunday. She said to Mother, “Beth, the Lord has told me I’m to have pineapple for lunch.” My mother’s reply, “Well Else, the Lord has told me that you are to have custard and stewed apple like everyone else”. When a new baby was due, Auntie Elsie said, “I’ll look after Dorothy and Thais but I won’t have Carmyl!” I might say the feeling was quite mutual.

So dear Bet took me up to Penguin for a fortnight with her family, which consisted of her mother, her white-bearded grandfather and Murray, her 16 year-old brother. Murray only had one arm as he’d been run over by a train when young.  I was about six and my only memory was of Murray showing me a mouse trap and telling me to put my finger in it – and of course I did. Murray later became a Baptist minister and his claim to fame was that when the bridge broke in Hobart, his was the car dangling over the edge.

We moved to a small town near Beaconsfield while Dad was in the army. Bet came to visit and needed to see a doctor. Dr. Suerth was an Austrian Jew, who had escaped to Italy, converted to Catholicism and ended up in Beaconsfield. The long and the short of it was that Betty ended up as Mrs. Suerth. They married at the Ulverstone Catholic church, with broad steps up to the front door. Some Penguin Methodists stood on the steps as Bet entered the church calling out, “It’s not too late to change your mind Betty!”

The Suerths later moved to Hobart and Jess and Bet were reunited. Both visited us on occasions. Jess came to our wedding and wrote it up for the Geelong Advertiser. She had the knack of describing the fabrics of the dresses in terms only used by a modelling agency!

We visited them both in Hobart a couple of times. These wonderful women died only recently, both well into their 90s. They were pretty special people.

Carmyl Winkler
​April 2023

​I first met Cathy Spence when I started Year 9 at Presentation Convent Windsor in 1958. We both lived in St. Kilda prior to my becoming a boarder at the convent when my parents went to Papua New Guinea for two years. A group of us spent our remaining school years together until we went our separate ways in pursuit of different careers. Cathy became a passionate primary school teacher and I a biochemist. We had one interest above all else which maintained our friendship and that was being passionate supporters of St. Kilda football team in the then VFL. Thus, we remained in contact through our tertiary education and our work lives up until marriages, children, travel and life took over.  Apart from the occasional contact at school reunions, we eventually lost touch completely.
 
However, while attending the Australian Open with some colleagues from work in the 1990s, we met up again. While eating lunch, a woman approached me and said she recognised me by my laugh!  So, we reconnected. With both of us still working and living in different parts of the state, we were still not meeting face to face, but kept in touch via phone calls, emails and Christmas letters. The one part of our lives that had not changed was our continued support of the Saints.

Cathy and her husband always took off to Northern Australia over the winter months. They enjoyed the warmer weather, whereas we enjoyed the four seasons. Also, as my parents were living in Ireland, our travel plans usually included an overseas trip every two years, once our children had fled the nest. We had great plans to catch up properly once we retired as we were sure we would have SO much free time. However, as most people know, life in retirement turned out to be busier than ever and so arrangements made were changed by one or other of us as family demands always come first.

Eventually we decided that 2020 was to be our year and, as the school we had both attended was closing down, we pencilled in various dates throughout the year for various reunions. Of course, as you all know, The Pandemic arrived and one by one these activities were cancelled. A similar pattern reoccurred in 2021.  As I write this, we have still not had a face to face meeting. We continue to stay in touch via phone calls and emails. I realise she is the one friend I made at school with whom I have regular contact. All my other friends are from work situations, sporting or community groups.​

Maybe this year we will make it!  Wouldn't it be nice if we could see our football team win  the Grand Final before our final curtain.


Marg McCrohan
May 2022

I looked around at my fellow students sitting with pens at the ready to tackle the next exam. We were in St. Mary’s hall in Geelong. Of course I knew all the Geelong High Year 12s – we called it Form 6 in those days. The remainder was dozens of private school girls and boys, all strangers to me. In those days, High School students sat external exams in their final year while private schoolers had to sit externally for years 10, 11 and 12. One girl in a Morongo uniform stood out. She was tallish with a long black plait almost to her waist.
The next March I went to live at University Women’s college to start my science degree. The year went by and, before I knew it, I was back ready to start my second year. When the ‘freshers’ came along, here among them was the same girl from Morongo, still with her long plait. I recognised her straight away even though I had no idea of her name. It turned out to be Olive and Olive and I became quite good friends. I finished my degree a year before her but I was aware that she had become a Presbyterian deaconess after she finished hers.
​
Twenty years went by which included, for us, several moves. Now, with four children in tow, we were to move to Tallangatta where Don had a position at the local high school. We had sold our Cobram house so drove over in the September holidays to buy something in our new town. Not a house to buy anywhere! ‘They all sell at the funeral,’ the real estate agent told us.

But the Methodists in Tallangatta had recently joined forces with the Presbyterians so the Methodist parsonage just might be available. We found out where the Presbyterian manse was so we could enquire about the situation. We rang the doorbell and the minister’s wife answered – and yes, it was Olive! She had married a minister with a pilot’s licence and they had spent some time in the north of Western Australia when John was a frontier services chaplain. They had four girls, just a little younger than our children.

We didn’t find a house to buy and rented a school house for ten years before one became available. But we did find a friend to spend two or three years with before they moved on.
Forty years on and I moved to Benalla. One day I was sitting in church and someone a sat down beside me. I knew that face! Olive is hoping to sell her Melbourne home and come to Benalla to live. One of her daughters lives nearby and it turns out that Olive grew up on a farm at Badaginnie. We’re looking forward to resuming our friendship.
 
Carmyl Winkler 
April 2022