How To Remember The Country Life

Transcription

1 9. Life in Clarence in the 1920s and 1930s Many people remember living and growing up in Clarence in the 1920s and 1930s, and they tell generally cheerful tales of life in a warm, close community. It was a great place to grow up in. Everyone knew you, it was free and easy, and the city was close when you needed it, recalled Margaret Wertheimer. Few people were particularly well off, but most had a reasonably comfortable way of life by the standards of the time, and support from family and neighbours if times were tough. The Depression was a particularly difficult time, but this is covered in the next chapter. In many parts of the world the 1920s were a time of expansion and novelty, the Roaring Twenties, with life transformed by cars, electricity, new fashions flappers, jazz, speakeasies and so on but in Australia this was concentrated in the big cities. Little of this was seen in Clarence, or Tasmania generally. Electricity did appear, with most houses connected by the end of the 1930s, though it was mainly used for electric lights. Before this, lighting was by smelly kerosene lamps, and people lit a candle when going to bed. Very few houses had refrigerators, and most people tried to keep food cool with a Coolgardie safe, where wet sacking did its best. The Roberts family arrived in Rose Bay from England in 1922, and Mrs Roberts in particular found it difficult to adjust to the conditions the water tanks, the outside toilet with its tarantulas, and cooking on an oil stove. You put kerosene in and turned up the wicks primitive! Betty Hanslow remembered how her mother did the washing. Wood was piled under the copper, which was filled with water, and the fire was lit at 7.30 am. Chores were done while the water boiled, then the clothes were put in and boiled for a good hour. Her mother took them out with a copper stick, rinsed them in the trough, put them through the wringer if you didn t have a wringer, this had to be done by hand, a very heavy job then rinsed them again with a knob of blue, put them through the wringer again, and hung them out on the line. Some items were starched as well, dipped in a bucket of glue-like starch. The clothesline was home made, a line strung between two poles with a T-piece in the middle to keep the clothes from dragging on the ground. Later the clothes were ironed with a flat-iron, heated on the wood stove. You tested to see if the iron was the right temperature by spitting on it. People who did not have coppers boiled the clothes in a kerosene tin of water on the stove. In retrospect, said Don Richardson, he felt sorry for his mother. She had eleven children and after a day working on the farm people came

2 back with their clothes black from the sandy soil and dust. My mother was tough she had to be! 1 A challenge for all families was the water supply, which had to come from rainwater. Basil Cox of Lindisfarne recalled that his family two adults and eight children had to manage with three 1000-gallon water tanks, which drained off the roof. Water never actually ran out, but it did get very low, which meant that the family used less you didn t bath as much. We used to find out how much there was by tapping the tank it made a different sound when you tapped where water was, and the area above where there wasn t any. We d tap the tank to see how it was going. It was possible to buy water, but few people had enough money to do this except in an emergency the Coxes never did, and in Bellerive the Dakins only ever did once. Water was always short, recalled Geoff Dakin. We were very sparing with it, and you d turn off a dripping tap at once. You knew a townie because they didn t know about that. But people were brought up with it and were used to it. We didn t buy water, and we didn t waste a drop, said Betty Hanslow. We didn t have a sink, but used a basin and all the water went on the garden. People did not have hot water systems, and water for the weekly bath was heated in the copper. Saturday night was bath night, recalled Ted Bezzant. We had a tub with a handle at both ends which was brought inside in front of the fire, and the kids then the parents would have a bath in the water. Because of the water shortage, it was difficult to keep a garden through the summer. Household water went on the garden, and only hardy flowers were grown, like geraniums. Flushing toilets were rare, and there were few in the district. In 1935 the Murdochs installed a septic tank at Craigow, and it was hailed as a great innovation. 2 Sanitation was a problem. In Bellerive and Lindisfarne the night cart came round to collect the pans, but in the country most people made do with a bush dunny. Many s the time I ve dug a hole to bury the contents of the toilet! recalled Dal Hyland of Cambridge. Traditional dunnies are generally not remembered fondly, but traditional food is. Mum would cook all day Friday to fill the biscuit tins when the men were in town, said Terry Morrisby of Sandford. His father was fond of meat: he would eat home-grown and home-killed cold meat with home-made tomato sauce for breakfast, a hot dinner in the middle of the day, and cold meat for tea. Betty Griffiths grandmother ran a boarding-house at South Arm, and provided excellent meals for her family and the guests. 1 Information from Betty Marmion, Basil Cox, Don Richardson and Lola Hibberd 2 Information from Basil Cox, Geoff Dakin, Ted Bezzant, Rob Oliver and John Sargent; Murdoch p 23

3 My grandmother was a wonderful cook, and everything came off the property. Roasts and hams, Christmas puddings boiled in the copper, pigs and chooks. Pigs became roast pork and were pickled, and there were big joints. Puddings jam rolypoly, apple rolypoly, real stick-to-your-ribs stuff, and beautiful custards and steamed puddings. Golden syrup dumplings! And there was fruit from the orchard. My grandmother knew the recipes, she didn t use a recipe book. She also made her own bread the house had a bread oven. All the cooking was done on a wood stove. My grandmother wasn t a lady that wasted. You used everything up, and if you didn t have a recipe, you hunted around and thought of something to do with it. In Cambridge, Neil Manning s mother was also a good cook. I remember fried bread, and suet pudding called sinker. She made apple dumplings too. Now they say you can t eat things like that, but in those days you worked hard and you could burn off the fat content. Don Richardson agreed: after a hard morning s work his family would eat a big plateful of dinner, then seconds, then two helpings of sweets. Then they d play cricket, and after a while they would get a funny feeling and go and find some apples. 3 Some women had help with the housework. Wealthy families, like the Murdochs of Craigow, employed servants, in the 1930s a cook and a housemaid. Lola Backhouse began work as a housemaid in the 1930s. Her main job was cleaning, and she worked all morning, had lunch with the cook, then went home. She did not wear a uniform, and she found the Murdochs very nice and friendly. It wasn t like the English films, they weren t real gentry like that, but they were lovely people. Mrs Murdoch was very nice, a real lady, and she treated me well and was nice to everyone. Lola was friendly with the two daughters, and often went for walks with them in the bush. Sixty years later she is still friendly with Helen. 4 Others had help in the house, like the Knights of Montagu Bay. Because her husband was often away with his employment, Mrs Knight found it hard to cope and employed a housekeeper, a young girl who earned 10/- a week and her keep. The first girl stole a garnet ring and some sheets, and blew on the baby s food to cool it, so she was dismissed, but later housekeepers were more successful. Mrs Cox of Lindisfarne had a washerwoman once a week to help with the washing, and many country wives, so busy with housework and helping on the farm, also had a girl to assist them. 5 3 Information from Terry Morrisby, Betty Hulcombe, Neil Manning, Don Richardson and Max Walker 4 Information from Lola Hibberd and Helen Martin 5 Information from Pat Job and Basil Cox

4 Most children grew up in conventional families, where the father went out to work and the mother was kept busy with the housework, cooking, sewing and generally caring for her family, while making the most of the family income. Sometimes married couples were not particularly happy one man at Montagu Bay often slept on his boat, and it was said this was because he did not get on with his wife but they generally stayed married. Divorce and separation were rare. Max Walker was one who was brought up by one parent. His father Alfred was a fisherman, and he married Maisie in They had five children, despite Alfred s absence fighting in Gallipoli and Palestine, but they separated in 1923, Maisie leaving with the baby and the furniture. Dad was left with the four boys. He was wild, but he was a good bloke... Dad had to give fishing away, and to keep the family together and to be there for us, he bought a horse and cart and he carried blue metal from Bellerive to Sorell, for making roads. When he couldn t get work at that, he d cut firewood in the hills and sell it round Bellerive. Mrs Wright next door helped us a bit, but Dad was very independent. He d feed his family and his horse before he fed himself. I reckon he went without food sometimes. But he could cook well. We didn t have an electric stove, we didn t even have electric light, just a kerosene lamp, and a colonial oven which was put on the open fireplace. He used a kero tin to cook sheep s head and pea soup in, and cast iron pots and pans, and a kettle hanging on a hook over the fire. He cooked Irish stews and mixed grills I wouldn t eat lamb s fry because I didn t want to eat little lambs, so they gave me sheep s fry. I was fourteen or fifteen before I woke up to it! I never ate Christmas pudding, so he used to make me golden syrup dumplings. He could make scones, bread, fritters, pancakes, whatever, but he couldn t make a cake. 6 Communities were small and close-knit, even the largest, Bellerive. Everyone knew everyone else, it was a well knit family, recalled Basil de la Bere, whose family arrived in Bellerive in One chap was a baker for Wards and when he died unexpectedly leaving a wife and four or five children, someone got around and got the material, and everyone helped build a house for her. The feuds between families of a hundred years earlier had generally faded. Many people were called by nicknames Terry Morrisby s father, Nugget, called people by their pet sayings Fusty, You Willie, the Roadman and Sparrow. In Bellerive there was Anzac Walker and Taggy Lane, and Max Walker was called Sheamer, because going to school on his first day, aged five, he said to a friend, Look at the big sheamer, meaning steamer. Eighty years later his school friends still call him Sheamer. Derreck Calvert was so 6 Information from Max Walker and Pat Job

5 widely called Snowy, because of his fair hair, that people were surprised when they found out his real name. 7 Community closeness and a settled environment meant that most people s memories are positive. I had a happy childhood, I was well looked after and never wanted for anything, said Terry Morrisby, which is a typical comment. Max Walker also had a happy childhood, even though we had a hard life and my brothers had a hard childhood. We never had very good clothes, though we didn t care. Others in Bellerive were similar, and some were worse off than us. There was some division between the wealthier and the others, especially in the more populous suburbs. Max said Bellerive was divided into three zones socially. The Bluff was richer, and they looked down on people who didn t live on the Bluff. Cambridge Road was middle class, and Max s area along South Street, nicknamed Frog Hollow because of the frogs croaking there, was more working class. Similarly, people at the other end of Lindisfarne, near Koomela Bay, thought they were grander, recalled Jim Lucas. My friend Bassett Dickson used to say, You re down the elite end now! It was called Snobs Point. Some cared about it and some were like us and didn t care. Montagu Bay too had its divisions, with some children not allowed to play with others who their mothers thought weren t quite nice. One man, now a friend of Pat Knight s, worked as a delivery boy for a local butcher, and laughs at the memory of how her mother used to call to the children, Girls, come inside as soon as you get the meat! In the country some of the landed gentry kept aloof from labourers; they thought they were better than the rest of us, and their children didn t go to school with us, but they went to private schools in town. They didn t mix. 8 Almost all people were of Anglo-Saxon origin, but some had different backgrounds, including an Aboriginal (some say Samoan) family, the Browns. They lived at Lindisfarne, where Basil Cox recalled that they seemed to fit in, then moved to Bellerive, where again people felt that they were part of the community. They were quite accepted, part of our life, recalled Max Walker. They lived in Frog Hollow like us, and to me they were just another family. Jack Nicholls, one of the most liked men in the town, was also said to have Aboriginal blood. For a while two Maori boys attended the Bellerive school: they were nice, well liked, and they were a novelty. Overall, however, there were few outside influences in the mainly Anglo- Saxon community, and those who did come from Europe were quickly anglicised. Albert Dobjecki in Bellerive was a tailor, reputed to be the son of a Russian count, and nicknamed Old 7 Information from Basil de la Bere, Terry Morrisby, Clarrie Roach and Snowy Calvert 8 Information from Terry Morrisby, Max Walker, Jim Lucas, Diana Swanton, Pat Job and Betty Hulcombe

6 Dob ; he was well-liked, as was his son Stan who played in the football team and was nicknamed Joffa a real part of the community. 9 Although most people came from the same sort of background, and life in Clarence sounded stable and settled, in fact the population was quite mobile. A comparison of electoral rolls (which list the population over 21) shows that only 40% of the population in 1914 still lived in Clarence in Given that in these fourteen years about 20% of the adults would have died (life expectancy was about 65), this means that 40%, nearly half, would have moved. There were some specific reasons for moving some men left for the war, and some people were said to have left because of the lack of a water supply but this is still a large percentage. Life centred around local affairs, but people had to go to Hobart for various needs to see a lawyer, accountant or dentist, for some entertainment, for specialised shops, and sometimes, if the local shop was inadequate, for groceries. It was a treat, recalled Neil Manning. He would go to Hobart about ten times a year, to the pictures, the Show and so on. Terry Morrisby s mother went to town once a week from Sandford to buy her groceries, and Betty Griffiths mother went from South Arm to Hobart once a month. It was a big thing to have a trip to town. Sometimes Betty went too. My grandmother would hire a hansom cab for the day, and we d buy things and take them back to the car or the boat, if we came by boat, and Dad would be waiting at the boat with the horse and dray. I liked going by boat the Cartela, the Excella or the Nairana. 10 Most community amenities were available locally schools, churches, doctor, post office, police and hotels. Most people have reasonably happy memories of attending schools at South Arm, Sandford, Rokeby, Cambridge, Bellerive, Lindisfarne, and Risdon, and new schools at Clifton (1930) and Montagu Bay (1933). In grade six children could sit the exam which could gain them entry to secondary school in Hobart, but though a number passed, few went, as their parents could not afford the books and travel, or forego the wages their children could otherwise earn. If you lived in the country it was a lengthy trip to Hobart each day, and some children who did go to high school boarded in town, an extra cost. Most children attended the local school until the end of its highest class, Grade 7, then went out to work. An alternative was remaining at school as a monitor, or junior teacher, receiving a small wage and some training. Out of 24 children with Ted Bezzant at the South Arm school, one became a monitor, one went to a private school in Hobart, four went to state high schools, and the other eighteen left after Grade 7. 9 Information from Basil Cox, Max Walker, Geoff Dakin, Clarrie Roach and John Chipman; Alexander You re In Roo Country p 9 10 Information from Neil Manning, Betty Hulcombe and Terry Morrisby

7 In 1919 South Arm gained a new school one room with a raised dais for the teacher and a blackboard behind it. Desks were graded, from small to larger, and with 24 or so children in the school, there were about three in each grade. Teachers had a hard job, teaching all subjects to all classes from grade 1 to grade 7. Caning was the usual discipline, but teachers had to be careful, said Betty Griffiths. One of the teachers was going to clout one of the girls with a cane, and her father came down and grabbed the cane and said, You cane my daughter and I ll cane you! It was in front of us all, sitting there watching. Betty was in a difficult position, for her grandmother ran the local boarding-house where the teachers lived. It was a bit hard having the teacher living with us, and I had to behave myself. Betty s brother put drawing pins on the chair of one teacher, who sat down, but nothing happened. Then she got up and she was walking round, and the pins were sticking out of her dress. She wore corsets, and she hadn t noticed anything! But that was about the worst thing anyone did. Teachers were the object of pranks at the Sandford school as well. One time the teacher got a couple of us bigger boys to clean the chimney, and she looked up, and just as she ducked her head I dropped the hoe, which gave her a shock. Yes, of course I meant to! 11 Teachers varied from good to bad though teaching six grades in one room would be a challenge for anyone. Once there was a particularly inadequate teacher at the Sandford school, and the parents were concerned, including Terry Morrisby s grandfather. [He] knew GV Brooks, the Director of Education, and he told him he wasn t too happy with the teacher his grandchildren had. Oh yes, said Brooks, We send them to the country till people complain and then we move them. Terry failed the qualifying exam for high school, so his parents sent him to board in town where he attended Campbell St school, passed the exam, and went on to the Technical High School. Phyllis Tollard passed the exam from the Rokeby school, which brought her great satisfaction: two children sat and the teacher prophesied that Phyllis would fail and the other student pass, but in fact Phyllis passed and the other failed. It was a happy school, recalled Joy Chipman, who loved her years there. She walked the five miles to school and back, and in bad weather, her gumboots and raincoat were dried in front of the fire, ready for the walk back. 12 The Cambridge school was larger than the other country schools, with about 45 children. For years the teacher was Miss Elizabeth Okines, praised by all her pupils. Miss Okines was a real teacher she could really teach and you learned. She kept firm discipline one or two of the boys were a bit mischievous. I remember one person being caned, and she kept people in quite a bit, but it was to do their work again, or to give them an extra lesson, said Lola Backhouse. 11 Information from Ted Bezzant, Betty Hulcombe and Terry Morrisby

8 Betty McKay also praised Miss Okines. The children used to laugh about Miss Okines and call her Granny, but everyone thought she was a good teacher. Betty went on to Friends School and found that thanks to Miss Okines teaching she was well up to standard, and ahead in some subjects like Maths. Similarly, Cora Hibberd enjoyed school, didn t miss a day for seven years and then didn t want to leave, but passed the exam to go to high school where she did well. Max Hibberd was not so enthusiastic. I didn t like school, I d rather be outside. I skipped as much school as possible! I was sorry for it later. Miss Okines, the teacher, was a nice old lady. When I d only been there a few days she stood me in the corner all day as a punishment, I remember. We used to cut Miss Okines wood for her, I remember, not as punishment we did it anyway. In later years there were men teachers, and Neil Manning remembered tough discipline, with eight to ten lads lined up for six cuts each. There were some children from the Tunnel Hill area, who were a bit hard to control. But the teachers did a pretty good job. When we walked home we passed the apricot orchard at Uplands, and the great trick was to get a swishy stick and put a green apricot on the end, and you could throw it a fair way. Once I hit a girl, accidentally, and she complained to the teacher. He said I was a danger to the other children and he would keep me in ten minutes after school for a month. But the others waited for me anyway. We caught the bus to school in the morning, but there wasn t one in the afternoon and we walked home, three and a half miles, about 10, 12 of us. Even the daughter of the prosperous Murdoch family attended the Cambridge school for a few years, but after that she was sent to school in Hobart, and her younger sister Helen started school in Hobart. She was a weekly boarder at the school, and was very homesick. After her father died she went to Hobart daily, and children at the Cambridge school remember the Murdochs Buick driving past daily as Mrs Murdoch drove Helen to Bellerive, to the ferry. It was rare for rural children in Clarence to go to primary school in Hobart. 13 By the early thirties, there were two groups of children in Clarence who lived at a distance from existing schools. The system was that if only a few children were involved, the Education Department set up a school and paid the teacher s salary and the parents provided a building. Children living on farms around Clifton were some distance from the South Arm and Sandford schools, and Derwent Calvert, one of the farmers, was concerned about the education of his family of five. Derwent and other parents built a small school and lessons began in In Information from Terry Morrisby, Don Richardson and Phyllis Calvert; Adnum p Information from Helen Martin and Dal Hyland

9 the Education Department took the school over as Clifton State School. Seven years later the school came third in the Anzac Day sports B division, defeating two larger schools. 14 Similarly, by the early 1930s there were a dozen or so children of school age in Montagu Bay. Some walked to Lindisfarne to school, some went to Albuera Street in Hobart, but both meant a long walk. The Education Department offered to provide a teacher if parents provided a school, and in 1933 the Montagu Bay school opened in the Congregational church hall. Then the minister wanted to consecrate this and felt that holding school there would not be suitable. For a while school was held in the Knights shed, which Heather Crow enjoyed there was a nice happy little atmosphere. Then the school building from Risdon was moved around, in two halves. Children found this exciting. The local men built the foundations, and Murray Crow, aged ten, helped I ran messages, Go and get some nails, Go and get a bit of timber and so on. Then school started there, about a dozen children with one teacher. The mothers chose the school colours, yellow and brown because it wouldn t show the dirt, and Pat s mother made her daughters yellow blouses and brown skirts. People recall enjoying school, though some were later moved to town schools as parents felt that it was too small. In 1938 parents at Roches Beach also asked for a school, but the Education Department refused, and instead provided transport to an existing school. 15 Much larger than these schools were those at Bellerive and Lindisfarne. At Lindisfarne there was a male head teacher and several female teachers. William Holmes was headmaster when Basil Cox was a pupil, and he was strict, pretty good with the cane! He caned the boys so vigorously that some fought him back and while this was happening, above the mantelpiece was a motto, Manners Maketh Man. Jim Lucas also found things tough: There were some battleaxes among the teachers! One in particular was a wizard with the ruler. You d get the flat or the edge. One teacher caned Jim from one year s end to the other, but Jim won the conduct prize at the end of the year. I ve never worked it out. Diana Swanton had another problem she had an English accent and was teased so much that she hated school. I had to lose my accent very quickly! But the atmosphere in the school improved greatly with a new headmaster, Gustavus Knight, widely admired as a fine teacher and a fine headmaster, and in the 1930s children like Linda Free loved school. I d still be there if I could! Jim recalled that the day started with assembly in the yard, raise the flag, honour the King, show our hands and nails and 14 Cyclopedia of Tasmania 1931 pp 247-8; Mercury , ; CC , Information from Pat Job, Heather and Murray Crow, Rob Oliver; CC ; Statistics of Tasmania 1932, 1939

10 the heels of our shoes, and do a few exercises. A lot of us were not great in footwear. Then we d go into class. 16 Bellerive school was even larger, with children per grade. Again people recall some fierce teachers. We always used to sit there with our hands clasped at school, and we were talked at. We weren t asked to talk back, said Betty Hanslow. We had tough teachers, especially one. She was small and red-headed, and she d walk down between the desks and ask questions, and if you didn t know the answer she d hit you over the knuckles with a ruler, or if you were near the wall she d knock your head against the wall. I shed many a tear in that Grade 4 year. But we only had one teacher like that. Another teacher who was far from ideal was described by Basil de la Bere. She used to do her nails in class. She d give us some work to do, then she d put out all her paraphernalia, a bowl of water and everything else, a thing to polish her nails with, and nearly every day she d sit there and do her nails. But people tend to remember these unusual examples, and most agree that overall, teachers did a good job. Hobart was quite accessible by the ferry, and some children were moved to town primary schools, or private schools. Quite a number went to secondary school, about a dozen from Geoff Dakin s year. Max Walker sat for the qualifying exam for high school, which had some sections that Bellerive children had not studied, like Algebra. He passed the exam, and though his father could not really afford it, he sent Max to high school. Betty Hanslow passed as well, but did not go to high school; her mother said there would be too much homework, but I realised later that it was really the question of money. Most parents thought school lessons were enough and did not encourage their children in other pursuits, but a few learnt music. Mrs Hook at South Arm gave piano lessons, and Betty Griffiths was among her pupils, learning The Merry Peasant and a book of polkas. In the 1920s the only churches in Clarence were the Anglicans and the Congregationalists, one of each at Lindisfarne, Bellerive, Rokeby and Sandford, a Congregationalist church at Cambridge and an Anglican one at South Arm, as well as a shared church at Risdon. So many people did not live near a church of their own denomination, but most Protestants would go to the local Anglican or Congregational church. In Cambridge, for example, both the Backhouses (Anglican) and Murdochs (Presbyterian) attended the Congregational church, and Catholics like the Hylands and the Kerslakes at the pub sometimes went to Richmond but mostly stayed at home. The churches all had good congregations and a range of functions during the year, for social and fund-raising purposes, such as fairs and stalls. Clergymen had their personal quirks but 16 Information from Jim Lucas, Diana Swanton and Basil Cox

11 were generally well-respected, and were often community spokesmen and leaders. Long-serving ministers were the Revs. D. Milne in Bellerive and Owen Lewis in Lindisfarne (Congregational) and Rev. Charles Brammall (Anglican). 17 Ted Bezzant described St Barnabas Anglican church at South Arm as an institution. The minister came from Bellerive once a fortnight, and he took services in Rokeby, Sandford and South Arm and stayed overnight. Sometimes we were first, and sometimes we were last and the service would be at seven, and he d stay the night and visit people the next day. He used a horse and trap in the early days, then a motor bike and side car, then a car. He was a very bad driver, recalled Terry Morrisby, which amused people. In Bellerive the Walker family were Catholics, but like many Bellerive children they went to the Congregational Sunday School. Religious quarrels had no place in Bellerive, said Max, and you didn t say, He s Catholic or whatever. Some went to the Church of England, which I never did, and some to the Congregational, which I did now and then. Max and his father did the painting for the Church of England, and Dad being an old soldier used to swear a bit. The Reverend Brammall was the minister, and he was a fuss-pot. We d be working away painting, and Dad would be saying Bloody this and Bloody that, and up he d come, Alf! Alf! Not in front of the child! He always called him Alf, though everyone else called Dad Anzac. One day when I was nine or ten we were painting the big cross high up on the church, and since Dad was a big solid man it was my job. I went up the ladder, and I had to paint the cross with black paint. I had a safety rope on, one end tied to me and the other end tied to Dad. One day Dad was below and I m painting, and the Reverend Brammall was talking to him and said, Alf, what about the hall? So Dad forgot he undid the rope, and down the roof I went and I ended up flat on my back on the grass. I wasn t hurt but I was winded. Dad let fly with a few phrases and Mr Brammall was really upset. The Reverend Brammall was a very prim and proper little fellow. He kept his car in the garage, and one day he was changing the inner tube, which meant taking the tyre off then putting it back on the rim, a bit of a job. We were working away, and when he put the tyre back with the tyre lever, he caught his hand between the rim and the tyre. He let out a few words! Dad and I ran round, and he was calling out, Get it off! and swearing. Dad said, Reverend, Reverend! Not in front of the lad! Mrs Brammall had come out, 17 Jill Robertson A Church for the Community p 29; Murdoch p 28

12 and she saw the joke, she was laughing and saying, Anzac, Anzac, you re a terrible man, Anzac! 18 The Congregationalists had one minister and from 1922 two, at Lindisfarne and Bellerive. In the 1930s the Bellerive Congregational Sunday School under Alston Miller was so popular that attendances reached a peak of 132 children. The annual picnic was a highlight. It was held on Second Bluff, with a large picnic lunch, races for each age group, and bags of lollies for children. Betty Hanslow s family were great churchgoers. On Sundays we went to the Congregational church [in Bellerive], then we d walk to Montagu Bay to the church there since they had a small congregation, and then we d walk home via Rosny, and we went to church at night, and Sunday School as well. Church could be used for practical purposes. When Mrs Mason of Lindisfarne was travelling to England, fearing the hazards of sea travel she asked the minister if the congregation could sing every week the hymn Eternal Father Strong to Save O hear us when we cry to Thee, For those in peril on the sea. They did, and she returned safely. 19 A few people belonged to unusual churches, such as the Quaker Mays in Sandford, or Mrs Lane of Lindisfarne who was a Christian Scientist. One woman ran her own enterprise. Marie Bjelke Petersen, a well-known romantic novelist and very religious though belonging to no special church, held Pleasant Sunday Afternoons with prayers, hymns and a sermon from herself. I went to one of the meetings but found them a bit too too, wrote Diana Roberts, but others found them uplifting. 20 Though there were many opportunities for healing the soul in Clarence, there were not many for healing the body. There was a doctor in Bellerive, and for much of this time Dr Parker had the practice, a returned soldier who was described as a good bloke. Cambridge people went to the doctor in Richmond, but others could find getting to a doctor difficult. From South Arm the gravel road was narrow, windy and full of potholes, and people only went to the doctor in a real emergency. Ted Bezzant recalled a doctor coming to South Arm only once, to sign a death certificate. Most people had a cupboard full of medicines; Don Richardson recalled a powder for croup, Nazetha which you rubbed on your chest when you had a cold, antiseptic for cuts, Condy s crystals for ulcers, and castor oil, a tablespoon every Sunday morning shocking stuff! As in the nineteenth century, there was the feeling that the Derwent s eastern shore was a healthy 18 Information from Ted Bezzant, Terry Morrisby and Max Walker 19 Information from Basil Cox, Betty Marmion, Pat Job and Diana Swanton 20 Information from Terry Morrisby, Hilda Murfet, Diana Swanton

13 place. Miriam Clements family lived in Hobart, but her father had lung trouble, so they moved to Bellerive because it was thought better for his health. 21 The Council health officer reported the number of infectious diseases in Clarence, which ranged from 17 in 1928 to 81 in They were mostly cases of diphtheria, tuberculosis and scarlet fever, or sometimes typhoid or puerperal septicemia. Patients were taken to the Vaucluse infectious diseases hospital in Hobart, and the health officer would inspect the patient s home and school if appropriate, and powdered sulphur would be burnt to fumigate them. Most other diseases were minor. People could get gastric disorders when their water was low and full of mosquito wrigglers muslin was tied over the tap to strain them out. Sometimes women who were trained nurses, or experienced, helped sick neighbours. Hilda Turner s mother Ada had trained as a nurse in England, and though in Lindisfarne she was not employed as a nurse, she was always ready to help. In fact all neighbours were willing to do what they could in emergencies. Nancy Wilson of Montagu Bay had her tonsils out in a Hobart hospital but when she came home, bleeding broke out in the middle of one night. Jack Knight, who had a car, drove her to Bellerive with his horn blaring, and the crew of the Lurgurena had the ferry ready to go when the car arrived at the wharf. 22 As had been the case since white settlement began, some children were born at home with a local midwife or a doctor to assist, but midwives, without specialised equipment, found it difficult to deal with emergencies, such as when triplets were born to a family in Montagu Bay in All the babies died. Increasingly, babies were born in hospitals. There was a maternity hospital in Lindisfarne, run by Nurse Curtis, and another in Bellerive, run by Nurse Stewart, who had lost her husband in the first world war and had to support herself and her daughter. She turned the two front bedrooms of her house into a hospital, and later enclosed the front verandah for two more bedrooms. Her niece Jean used to come to stay in school holidays, and loved helping her aunt. Women stayed in bed for a fortnight after childbirth it was a lovely rest! said Jean, for many women the only rest they ever had. The doctor would come for the births, though Jean thought her aunt, who was very capable, would have been able to manage. The mothers had to stay in bed at first, where they were waited on Jean was allowed to take in morning and afternoon tea trays. Nurse Stewart s daughter Mavis did the cooking, and she was a very good cook. The babies were in the rooms with their mothers, and Nurse Stewart did the nursing and 21 Information from Betty Hulcombe, Snowy Calvert, Terry Morrisby, Don Richardson, Max Walker, Max Hibberd, Ted Bezzant and Miriam Murphy 22 MCC 41/40, infectious diseases book, Clarence Council; information from Ted Bezzant, Hilda Murfet and Pat Job

14 baby care, washing the babies on the kitchen table near the fire in winter. The mothers seemed happy, said Jean; they would lie in bed and read, or knit or crochet, or sleep, and feed their babies all babies were breastfed. They were allowed visitors in the afternoon. Nurse Stewart also went to women s homes to assist with childbirth and post-natal care, going as far as Sorell. 23 Some women preferred to go to larger maternity hospitals in Hobart. When her baby was due, Clarrie Roach s aunt came from the country to stay with the family in Bellerive so she was near the hospital in Hobart, but her labour pains began in the middle of the night, after the ferry had stopped running. It was, On your bike, Clarrie, and go and get Nurse Stewart. Away I go, and she gets ready and we come here, and on the way I knocked on Dr Milne s door, and by the time we got home Dad had delivered the baby. The ferry crews would be alert when a woman was expecting a baby, and if labour started would take her over after hours. One baby was born on the boat, and there were a few more close calls, said Iris Lane, whose father was a ferry captain. One woman was so close that when she was on the ferry she started squalling. They started to go and Dave O May said, Where s the husband? He d taken the car home, but she was so close they had to go off without him. She just got into an ambulance in Hobart. 24 In this period three rest homes were opened in Clarence. Barbara Barnett was always concerned for the welfare of others, and started to train as a nurse but did not finish, possibly because she was busy with family concerns. In 1922, when she was 43, she started a rest home for the aged, leasing a house in Bellerive. She had little money, and residents had to pay fees and help with chores; in return they received food, accommodation and care by the Barnett family Barbara s father lived with her in the home, and she employed a matron. It had a shaky start on the first night there were only enough blankets for the residents and Barbara and the matron had to sleep under hearth rugs, but it overcame this and flourished. As the number of residents grew it moved to larger houses, until in 1933 Barbara moved to Hobart, where her home eventually became St Ann s. Sister Bennie opened the second rest home in Bellerive, the St Helena Rest Home, which housed from ten to twelve elderly people in a rented house. In 1940 the house was sold and Sister Bennie was forced to close, which meant that the old people had nowhere to live. Council asked the premier for help, but nothing happened. The third rest home was opened in Lindisfarne by 23 Information from Betty Hulcombe, Ted Bezzant, Max Walker, Pat Job, Murray and Heather Crow, Jean Adams and Margaret Rose 24 Information from Clarrie Roach and Iris Lane

15 Bay. 26 Rita O May recalled that there was one public phone in Bellerive, on the end wall of the 1925, when the Nurses Association bought a house on Koomela Bay for returned nurses, presumably from the First World War. It was run by Nurse Dora Baudinet. 25 The post office was an important part of life, and the local postmistress, who often ran the manual telephone exchange as well, was usually a central figure who knew all about everyone. Lindisfarne people who had phones told each other to be careful what they said, as the postmistress was thought to eavesdrop, and could hardly help hearing conversations sometimes. But the postmistress could also be very helpful, as she would know where people were and how they could be contacted. When Jack Knight s wife and children were ill in Vaucluse, the Lindisfarne postmistress spent a whole afternoon trying to contact him when he was urgently needed. People who did not have a phone at home used public phones. Jim Lucas often went to the post office on Saturdays to ring a friend to see if he could go and play, and Mrs Spratt would see him coming and have the friend on the line already when he arrived. At Rokeby, Phyllis Tollard s stepmother was the postmistress, and she would bribe the children with little bags of lollies to deliver messages. A new post office was opened in 1923, at Montagu Bay. For a while it was called Warrane, but this did not stick and the post office was forced to return to Montagu post office. To use it you had to turn a very hard handle on the box, then put the earpiece to your ear and the switchboard attendant would ask you what number you wanted. Her home number was Bellerive 34. Max Walker worked in the telephone exchange at night, which led to some interesting stories. Once a friend of his had taken a girl out, and on the way home decided to ring her from a public phone. Don t ring it too loud, Max, he added after giving the number the operator could vary the tone, and the friend didn t want to wake the girl s parents. The girl answered, and Max told his friend to put the coins in, but as he only had two two-shilling pieces he put them in, so paid four shillings for a tuppeny call, twenty-four times the cost. When the money was collected from the phone box Max explained what had happened, and his friend received the right change. Some people tried to avoid paying for calls, putting washers in the phone instead of pennies, but Max could tell because washers made a louder noise, so he would not connect them. Then people worked out that they could drill a hole through a penny and tie cotton to it, and after putting it in the phone to make the authentic noise, pull it out again. It took the PMG a long time to work it out, until someone dropped the penny with the cotton tied to it 25 Margaret Ball Dreams Realised p 112; Post Office Directories, Lindisfarne, 1929, 1930; Valuation Rolls 1925, 1927; CC Information from Jim Lucas, Pat Job and Phyllis Calvert

16 into the box. So they put the box on its side, which worked for a while until they thought of something else, and then they recessed the hole. 27 Another operator at the exchange was Bill Neilson, a future premier. He sometimes went to sleep on duty at night, and a businessman who relied on early morning calls to get his orders for the day regularly had to send his daughter to the post office to wake up the telephonist. 28 As in all communities, there were some unusual people. Artists were rare, but part of the community. Elinor Robey of Bellerive was a leading figure in the arts and crafts movement, exhibiting leatherwork, embroidery and lace, which often incorporated native flora in the design. She also painted water colours of native flora, and her friend Sarah Todd, also of Bellerive, was a woodcarver. 29 One Bellerive resident was simple. He was a nice person, and he had a little cart and donkey and he d ride about Bellerive in it, said Max Walker. This might be the same man that children used to tease by calling out Russian dingo. For some reason this always riled him and he would throw stones at the children, who would run off screaming in delight. Bellerive s most colourful character, mused Bill Neilson, was Miss Gwen Tibbs, who wended her regular way, summer and winter, to the Bellerive Beach. Embroidered on her jacket were the words Guinevere Riddle Tibbs Sky Colorer, Water Warmer. She was already unusual with her weather-beaten complexion, fuzzy strawberry blonde hair and loose-fitting cotton slacks, amazing for the time, and she would swirl barefoot along the edge of the water quoting passages from the Bible, waving coloured streamers at the sun, and performing wild arm movements and chants, much to the entertainment of local children. Sometimes she repeated the dance at sunset on the wharf in Bellerive. Then she decided there was gold near Bellerive beach, so she obtained a miner s right, pegged out some ground, and she d be out there digging. 30 All these people were accepted as part of the community, even if they were sometimes teased. Then there were hawkers, particularly Mrs One-Eye Brown, well-known round southern Tasmania. An unkempt woman of indeterminate age, wearing an eye-patch, she would arrive with her horse and cart, heralded by the clanking of her merchandise. She was not one to mince words, and if her mangy dogs or anyone else stepped out of line the colourful language would fly. She also kept a whip at hand which was used more to threaten cheeky children than to prompt her old horse. The Mundy family, who lived locally, also sold door-to-door, in their case 27 Information from Max Walker; Rita Sargent s memoirs 28 Information from Mrs de la Bere; de la Bere p Anon Sunbreak pp 46-7

17 honey from their bees. Mr Honey Mundy, as he was called, was reputed to strain the honey through a stocking stretched over the toilet seat, and Mrs Honey Mundy would offer customers a sample by poking her finger in a jar of honey and thrusting it into their mouths. She did not take refusals graciously and would shout abuse that would make even Mrs One-Eye Brown blush. She often crossed on the ferry with a baby at the breast, and if it seemed uninterested in suckling, she would mutter, Come on now, if you don t have it, I ll give it to the man next door. Other door-to-door salesmen sold spices or ointments, and Old Larsket called out his wares: cottons, pins and larsket. It was a while before people realised that he meant elastic. 31 There might be eccentrics, but there was little crime in Clarence, though according to Lindisfarne people there was. Lindisfarne had no resident policeman and residents made many efforts to obtain one. In 1936 a deputation met the Attorney-General, telling him of disgraceful acts of larrikinism by bands of youths who pulled down palings from fences, interfered with milk in cans, stole fruit from orchards, pilfered from boats moored in the bay, wrote graffiti on buildings and used such dreadful language that shopkeepers would not allow women to serve in their shops. Three young people had attached a rope to a possum and swung it around in the main road until blood oozed from its mouth. Residents were intimidated, and women were afraid to go out at night. The Attorney-General said that Lindisfarne sounded like a miniature Chicago, and he was surprised at such a lack of parental control. The Police Department refused to station a policeman at Lindisfarne, and complaints continued: the golf club was broken into, the water tank at the recreation ground was riddled with holes, children deliberately lit fires which burnt down a house, and people used the ferry s waiting shed not only as a dressing room but as a convenience. 32 What made this even more irritating was that Bellerive had two policemen, Sergeant Barker and Trooper Brown, who did not have a great deal to do. They patrolled beaches to ensure decency, issued driving licences and stopped people from riding their bikes on the pavement, and the most serious crime they attended happened outside Clarence; one day in 1939 Dr Parker and Trooper Brown were called to Grass Tree Hill, where three people had been murdered after a domestic argument. The murderer gave himself up to police Information from Max Walker, Clarrie Roach and Phyllis Calvert; Lovibond pp 9-10, 12; Mercury Lovibond pp CC , , , , , ; Mercury , , , , Mercury , ; Murfet p 28

18 Max Walker was often told off for the crime of riding his bike on the footpath. Once he was riding towards a corner along one footpath, and Sergeant Barker was also walking towards the corner, hidden behind a high fence. At the corner I ran into him. We were both skittled. He said, Righto, you re going to the police station, so he took me there with my bike and put me in a cell. I was in prison! I was about twelve, and I was in prison! It was a Saturday or Sunday, since I wasn t at school. The next thing, I hear my father s voice. Where ve you got him, Bill? He s in the cells, Anzac. Leave him bloody there, it ll teach him a lesson. So they left me there till the next day! The sergeant and his wife lived on the premises and they gave me my tea, but still, I was in prison. When I went to school on Monday everyone knew. They called me Jailbird and Convict Where s your broad arrow? There were also a few pranks. Basil de la Bere recalled that some of the lads painted Mr Woods donkey black and white to look like a zebra. Woods reported it to the police, who didn t want to do anything, but Woods insisted, so they found out the culprits and charged them. The accused engaged an excellent lawyer, Mr Ogilvie, who got them off, but while the court was being held, someone bribed someone else a few shillings to get the donkey and bring it to the court, and they tethered it outside. The least impressed was Mr Ogilvie. 34 In the old days pubs had been connected with crime, but by this time they were not so notorious. There were two in Bellerive, the hotel which was the more respectable Clarence Hotel, and the pub, the Bellerive Hotel which was the rowdy one. For many years the Bellerive had a parrot in a cage out the front. He took great delight in biting us in a humorous way, not hard. We d pat him, and he d nip our fingers. He was in a cage but sometimes outside, on a bar, with a chain round his foot, recalled Max Walker. When he arrived he didn t swear and he spoke well, things like Cocky wants a biscuit, but the drinkers taught him to swear. He knew when ladies and gentlemen passed, and when workers passed. When ladies passed he d say, Threepence you ve got no drawers on and when a girl passed he d say, Bloody hell, did you see that? Some ladies went crook at him, and he d know them. Here she comes, bloody hell, here she comes! The Bellerive faced out onto the footpath, and the drinkers put their beer on the sill and looked out as the ferry came in. The third pub in Clarence, at Cambridge, was run by a succession of publicans. Many local people did not drink and had little to do with the pub, said Betty May, and she did not go inside it until Miss Okines was leaving, and I went round the district asking people for a 34 Information from Basil de la Bere and Murray Crow

19 family. 35 Lindisfarne, with its larger population, had more varied shops. The butcher, CT Jacobs, way. 36 Bellerive had by far the most shops in Clarence, and many delivered to people s houses. donation for a gift for her. I went for days and I got to the hotel, so I knocked and knocked and no one came, and finally I walked in. Out came a woman with her hair on end and her eyes standing out, screeching, so I ran out. I was about twelve and I knew nothing about alcohol. Cyril Kerslake was the licensee, a little short tubby man, very popular with the local residents, said Dal Hyland. The hotel was part of the community; Cora Hibberd remembered that she and her friends used to pass the hotel on the way home from school, and on hot days Gill Smith, the licensee at the time, would give them glasses of raspberry cordial, a real treat. Most commercial enterprises in Clarence were shops. South Arm, Sandford, Rokeby and Cambridge all had small general stores which sold everything, with varying degrees of success. The man who owned the Sandford shop was reputed to be so mean he would break a biscuit in half rather than give any extra weight. At South Arm Euclid Vyse s father kept the shop. He had gone to Paraguay with the New Australia group in the 1890s, and he would talk about his experience, and one of the old chaps who mixed up his pronunciation would say, Was that when you were in paregoric? Then Bill Ritchie built the present shop, recalled Ted Bezzant. At first there was just him, then Fred Rose built another shop closer to the beach, and since part of the trade was selling hot water, cordials and sweets to visitors he captured it. So Bill built a second shop between Fred and the beach and staffed it at weekends. He won the battle! Gordon Free delivered the mail: he brought mail for Rokeby, Sandford and South Arm from Bellerive, as well as fresh bread from the baker. Another small shop was at Montagu Bay, where Mrs Cuthbertson turned a room in her house into a small shop, as a way of making a little more money for the had a slaughterhouse at Geilston Bay, and his son delivered the meat on a horse, in a basket. Opposite the shop was Chaffey s general store, which sold everything from a bag of chaff to a needle, and it also had a petrol pump, a bakery and an old dog, Duster, who used to lie in the middle of the road, dig a hole and lie there, and carts or cars would have to shoosh it out of their Barrie Armstrong remembered how the baker, butcher and grocer delivered, and the milkman came round each morning with his two polished milkcans with brass taps attached. He would fill 35 Information from Ted Bezzant, Terry Morrisby and Pat Job 36 Valuation Rolls 1920, 25, 2; Post Office Directories 1920, 23, 25, 29; information from Jim Lucas

20 a billycan left on the front step. The rabbit man was a regular visitor, selling rabbits at sixpence each, and each week the night cart man came around and emptied sanitary pans. 37 For children, the most memorable shop was Kime s fruit and vegetable shop, because King Kime made wonderful iceblocks from fruit. Geoff Dakin and Basil de la Bere liked the fruit salad best, Betty Hanslow favoured lime, Clarrie Roach liked banana and passionfruit, and there were also orange, lemonade and pineapple. There was a halfpenny box of lollies, which children would rummage through. Sometimes Betty was given sixpence to buy her lunch at school, and she would buy a pie, an iceblock, fruit and some lollies from the halfpenny box. Kime lived in South Street, and grew fruit and vegetables which he sold in the shop. Another fruit and vegetable shop was run by Raymond Stewart, and his family all helped in the shop, recalled his daughter Doris. We all used to help in the shop and we enjoyed it. We did it all our life. Her father bought fruit and vegetables from Hobart wholesalers, or from farmers at Sandford. Only a few items came from outside Tasmania, like bananas and oranges. As the business prospered, her parents bought a shop next door and turned it into a haberdashery. Jean Fahey grew up at Mitchelmore s shop by Bellerive beach, and recalled helping her parents hand-churn ice-cream and prepare carbonated cordial for bottling. A machine then pushed rubber seals and marble stoppers into the bottles. The shop also hired out bathing attire and accessories. Jean s father died when she was eight, and she, her mother, sister and brother ran the forerunner of the Beach Shop. It had a tearoom which doubled as a dancing studio, where Mrs Brough took lessons, and Jean s mother cooked cakes and scones for the tearoom. 38 Among the grocers, Taylor and Houston stood out. They were returned soldiers who opened a shop together, where they sold everything, and deliveries came through a hole in the pavement and chute to the basement wonderful for games, recalled Betty Hanslow who was friendly with Nina Taylor. Taylor and Houston delivered as far as Montagu Bay and built up a good trade. They were famous for their cheese, which came in huge rounds and was cut with a wire. A different sort of general store was run by the genteel Denholm sisters, who among other things sold needles and cotton and crochet materials to the ladies of Bellerive. Only certain kinds went in there. No way in the world would I have gone in, said Max Walker. Just as aweinspiring was one-legged Mr Atkinson the barber, who frightened children with his cut-throat 37 Armstrong p Lovibond p 8

21 razor, which he used to trim the backs of boys necks. When you were sitting with your head back, he d whip it across your throat. Terrifying! 39 For most shopkeepers making a living was hard work, and some failed there was quite a turnover in shops, especially in Bellerive. Families mostly existed on the father s income or the efforts of the whole family on a farm, and women and children often did other work to earn a little extra. Country boys like Neil Manning, Don Richardson and Terry Morrisby would trap rabbits and sell the skins and sometimes the meat, and Terry also grew lettuces at threepence a head, and picked peas. Clarrie Roach caddied at the golf course, picked apricots, and kept the coppers at Alf Luttrell s beachside shop boiling and stoked with wood, to sell hot water to visitors for a penny a billy. At one Hobart regatta a showman pitched his tent on the Bellerive recreation ground. He had a snake pit and allowed people to see the snakes for sixpence, and gave Clarrie the job of taking the money. It was the hardest 2 I ever earned I had nightmares for months about the snakes. In Lindisfarne, Basil Cox s mother made buns weekly and sold them, and Basil delivered them to her customers; and Hilda Turner used to help her mother pick armfuls of wallflowers which were sold in Hobart, in the Flower Room. Many children would scour beaches and other likely places for soft drink bottles, which you could return to shops for a penny each. South Arm was particularly good for this after boatloads of trippers had gone home. 40 Adults made sure that the family income went as far as possible. Most families grew vegetables, and some kept a cow for its milk and cream and made butter, and chooks for eggs and meat. Fruit would be grown or bought cheaply in season, and women would make jam, preserves and sometimes cordials, and bottle fruit and vegetables. If bottles ran out, you could always tie a string round a beer bottle, soak it in kero, light it, then give the top a tap so that it came off clean to produce a fine jam jar. Many families produced much of their food and only bought staples like flour and sugar. Women often made all the family clothes with their sewing and knitting, and some made other household goods such as soap. Nothing was wasted; all food was used, and children wore clothes made out of adults cast-offs. Children were expected to help, and many had chores to do before and after school chopping wood, feeding animals, emptying the bathwater on the garden, doing the dishes. Every Sunday morning Don Richardson and his brothers would take the horse and cart and go into the bush for a load of firewood, which they 39 Information from Max Walker, Basil de la Bere, Betty Marmion, Clarrie Roach and John Chipman 40 Information from Neil Manning, Terry Morrisby, Basil Cox, Hilda Murfet, Clarrie Roach and Betty Hulcombe

22 then chopped. Some families could earn extra money by picking fruit in season, or by keeping a cow and selling spare milk or cream. 41 Life was not all work, but entertainment had to cost as little as possible. Fortunately plenty of activities were possible. Many people loved the beach, and in summer we spent our lives on the beach at Bellerive, Montagu Bay, South Arm, the beach on Pittwater, Kangaroo Bay and so on. Some wore their bathers under their clothes to school, so they could swim after school and sometimes before school as well, thinking that sitting through school in wet bathers was worth it. They also walked round the rocks or along the beach, collected shells and lay around on the beach. Pat Knight and her friends used to fish off the rocks near Montagu Bay, and cook mussels in an old billy over a fire. Lindisfarne Bay was too muddy for swimming, but Hilda Turner used to paddle there, dodging crabs and mud. Lola Backhouse never learnt to swim, though the family often went to a beach at Pittwater and there was a pair of bathers anyone could use. Terry Morrisby s family never learnt to swim either, but they went for picnics to Cremorne Beach, and fished off jetties. Don Richardson recalled that when the salmon were running off the Cremorne spit, you could put a hook on a hair roller and the salmon would grab it. An enjoyable beach activity for Bellerive children was spying on courting couples. They would lie in wait, and at a passionate moment a stone would land on the embracing couple. 42 Fish were plentiful, and John Chipman used to catch trumpeter in a net off Rosny Point or Bellerive Bluff, rock cod and perch from a line off Rosny, and crayfish from nets off the old tip on Bellerive Bluff. In the season if you were lucky you could also catch a few sea-run trout. People kept dinghies at Bellerive Beach, and fished at Punch s Reef off Droughty Point, or at a special spot just out from shore where you could catch perch. At South Arm people caught cod, flathead, crayfish and flounder. Dal Hyland s father and a friend, Ken Hobden, would get up at 4 am on Saturday mornings, and go to the Sorell causeway to fish. They had the longest stick they could find in the bush, about 10 feet, a sapling, and they d cut it down and tie fishing line on the end, and cut strips of bacon to resemble small fish and put them on hooks on the end of the line, and they d walk backwards and forwards so it was like trolling. When they caught a fish, cocky salmon, they d swing the line round so the fish was on the causeway. I wasn t big enough to be allowed to do that. They d catch a few, and sometimes they d catch a lot. You could also catch flathead, bottom fishing. There wasn t the traffic to make it dangerous. It was the old wooden causeway, and when a truck passed the causeway would rock. 41 Gates p 41; Marmion p 20; information from Don Richardson and Terry Morrisby 42 Information from Betty Hulcombe, Pat Job, Hilda Murfet, Terry Morrisby; Lovibond p 9

23 Many people also enjoyed walks in the bush, and sometimes camping. Hilda Turner s mother used to take the children to the top of Flagstaff Hill where they would camp overnight, and Diana Roberts remembered playing Cowboys and Indians in the bush. Some, boys especially, indulged in pranks, and Blake and Clem Gellibrand of South Arm once put a wet bag on top of a shack chimney. When the owners came down from Hobart and lit a fire, the chimney smoked. They realised that someone was playing a trick, and next time looked to see that there was no bag on the chimney, but the fire still smoked Blake and Clem had put a sheet of glass on instead. 43 For adults, a major entertainment was dances, held in the local hall. When we were kids, our parents would go to dances in a horse and cart, said Snowy Calvert. They held them in the South Arm hall, the Sandford hall, Cambridge, the Rokeby hall. Local people ran them, to raise money for Red Cross or the cricket club. You paid to get in, and the organisers provided music and supper. Orchestras all came from Hobart, but an old bloke had a concertina and he d play for dances, or someone would play the piano if there wasn t an orchestra. At South Arm it was Mrs Marj Calvert on the piano she thumped out a beautiful tune but sometimes organisers brought an orchestra from Hobart. Up to five hundred people would come to dances at Sandford, in busloads from Bellerive, recalled Don Richardson. At first dances at Cambridge were held in the goods shed, but it was hard for dancing, recalled Betty May, because the boards on the floor were laid across with a gap between them, something to do with storing produce, and your shoes would catch in the gap. But people still went. It was better when a hall was built, and here a ball was held once a year. We d be on the go for days, cooking and cutting sandwiches by the basket. Someone played the piano, and we all dressed up, women in long dresses and men in suits. Everyone went, said Cora Belbin. On Wednesday nights the Bellerive Institute had bob hops, where you paid a shilling to enter. All the local families were there, said John Chipman. Sophie Chipman played the piano and someone else the violin, people danced the Lancers, the waltz, the one-step and there were cakes for supper. New dances appeared from time to time; Mrs Brough, who held dancing classes, went to England in the 1930s, and when she returned she performed the latest dance, the Lambeth Walk. This took everyone aback, as she was in her sixties. John Chipman s wife came from Hobart where she did exhibition dancing, and after they were married he took her to a dance in Rokeby, the first country dance she had attended. When we got in, she stopped and said, John, whatever have you brought me to? Look at all those 43 Information from Max Walker, Doris Brakey, Betty Hulcombe, Pat Job, Hilda Murfet, Terry

24 dance. 45 The really modern form of entertainment was the pictures. In 1927 the Regent Theatre people sitting round the hall with rugs on their knees! I said, They re the local audience. What s the music? And in they came old Stanfield with his accordion, and Sophie Chipman on the piano. We got dancing, and no one took any notice of us, we fitted in, and we had supper, and at the end she said, I enjoyed that. So we went quite a few times. They also went to a dance at Cambridge, but here a man who had been drinking tried to bump John out of the way. I could do a football bump, so when he tried it again I hipped him, and he went straight out the door and didn t come back. But we didn t go back either. Betty May had happier memories of dances at Cambridge. For supper we d have sandwiches, fruit salad, pineapple set in jelly, and cakes, cream puffs and so on. Our dances were noted for their suppers and it was unlimited, you ate all you wanted to. A lot of the dresses were made at home. Everyone had a great time. 44 Another way of raising funds and providing entertainment was putting on a concert. During the First World War a group of Bellerive people established themselves as entertainers. It started when Sara Wertheimer and her daughters entertained soldiers with sing-songs around the piano; this grew into a troupe, and the family enlisted many friends to help, such as dancer Beattie Jordan. Known as the Black and White Concert Party after the black and white costumes they often wore, they regularly presented comedy sketches, dramas, operas, ballets, recitations and song and dance numbers, often to raise funds for charity. Over the years they gained a high reputation, and as they married, husbands and wives and eventually children were recruited, as well as talented newcomers to the district. Geoff Dakin, son of Vera Wertheimer, started as placard boy when he was eight, carrying placards round the streets advertising forthcoming shows. He remembered his mother wearing a dress of blue brocade and standing inside a wooden picture screen, while Jack Mitchell sang the song, She Wore a Dress of Blue Brocade, and at the end Vera stepped out of the frame. The troupe continued till the mid-1940s. On a smaller scale, at South Arm Betty Griffiths parents were musical, her father playing the cornet and flute and her mother the piano and euphonium, and they often performed with other local people. Many schools put on concerts; Val Belbin remembered making a Hawaiian costume at the Cambridge school, with a lei and a grass skirt made out of paper, and performing a swaying Hawaiian opened in the Bellerive Town Hall, and showed films on Saturday nights. When Shirley Temple Morrisby, John Chipman, Clarrie Roach and Ted Bezzant 44 Information from John Chipman, Terry Morrisby, Snowy Calvert, Betty Hulcombe, Geoff Dakin and Betty May

25 was on I was allowed to go, and it was wonderful. They had six dolls to give away as lucky door prizes, and I longed for one but I never won one, recalled Betty Hanslow. Clarrie Roach was not so impressed. Going to the pictures was like going into a barn, not like the Strand in town. The society people had their bit roped off, which cost a bit more. Ordinary wooden seats were sixpence, and armchairs were dearer. All seats had to be stored under the stage between showings. In 1935 Alex Eccles, the manager of the Regent, held a Movie Ball, enticing patrons with the promise that a film would be made. The hall was adorned with orange and black paper panels, balloons and soft tinted lights, the Joyspreaders Orchestra played and there was a sumptuous supper, but the highlight was the newsreel taken during the evening. Three hundred people attended, and the Mercury called the ball one of the most successful and brightest held at Bellerive. When country people went to the pictures they tended to bypass Bellerive and go to the city though sometimes this meant leaving before the film was finished in order to catch the last ferry. Occasionally there was a picture show locally, when someone showed a film in a country hall. 46 The Bellerive Town Hall was also used for dances and other functions. Out the back was a row of coppers used to heat water for suppers, into which children used to put Epsom salts, recalled Clarrie Roach. One night there was a kafuffle. Ward s bakery had a fowl run out the back, and there was a poultry breeders ball on at the Town Hall. It was summer and very hot, and they had the three windscoops down the side of the town hall pushed out for ventilation. Some of the local lads got some of Ward s fowls and pushed them through the windscoops into the hall and then they disappeared. Very occasionally the Town Hall would be used for a political meeting, but few people were interested in politics. 47 Then there were organised picnics. In the early 1920s picnics for children were held at Bellerive Beach on Anzac Day. In 1922, the children from Hobart schools were collected in Davey Street, and with their school bands playing and flags flying, marched on to the ferries, then to Bellerive beach, where they were joined by Clarence children 6000 children, 10,000 people in all, a huge crowd for Bellerive beach. The Mercury waxed eloquent. It was the first visit to Bellerive for many children, and they gloried in the joys of surf paddling, castle building and so on. A few daring spirits swam, despite the nippy air and cool water (it was April, after all). The 45 Robertson A Gift to the People... pp 62-3; information from Geoff Dakin, Betty Hulcombe and Val Richardson 46 Information from Betty Marmion, Clarrie Roach, Jim Lucas and Terry Morrisby; Robertson The Bellerive Municipal Chambers p 29

26 Shield. 49 Sport played a major part in Clarence life, and many people played several sports beach was a gay and animated scene, with swings and an ocean wave, a type of sideshow. It was a thorough success, and everyone enjoyed the treasure hunt, football games, running races, musical selections by four bands and refreshment stalls. 48 In 1924 the weather was poor and there were fewer children, only about 2000, but they were just as enthusiastic, especially for the treasure hunt. About eight hundred numbered tickets were buried in a square of sand, which was enclosed by rope fences and guarded by boy scouts and three stalwart policemen. Long before the official starting time, children were pressing against the ropes, asking How much longer? and trying to dig at the edge of the square. Then some crawled under and started to dig, and when one found a ticket there was a wild, irresistible rush. Barriers were flattened and boy scouts pushed aside, police were disregarded and the treasure hunt was on, an hour early. There were no official speeches, no addresses on the meaning of Anzac, the children were in charge. Sand flew in all directions, tickets were found, money was claimed, and when the dignitaries arrived to open the hunt it was all over. But children kept on looking for tickets all afternoon, and when someone found one there was an excited scene. One boy tried to claim a sixpenny prize with a size ticket from someone s hat. The Mercury obviously found the whole scene entertaining, not disgraceful, as might have been the tone a couple of decades earlier. But there were no more Anzac Day picnics at Bellerive beach; instead the major schools competed at well-organised, well-disciplined sports for an Anzac George Free, for example, played cricket and football and rowed for Lindisfarne, and also competed in woodchopping. The oldest sport, cricket, was very popular. There were many cricket teams in Clarence, in every centre, even those as small as Tunnel Hill, Frog Hollow and Bellerive Bluff. Many places, like Lindisfarne, South Arm and Sandford, had two teams. From 1929 there was a Clarence Cricket Association, and that year Sandford played Rokeby in the grand final, and after scoring 305 and 260, won the premiership by 132 runs. Sandford had the great advantage of having Ron Morrisby, who had been selected to play for Tasmania at the age of sixteen. Like several other country families, he had a turf wicket at his home. In 1936 Ron played for Australia in a tour of India, and the Sandford Cricket Club held a welcome home social and dance for him, which attracted a large audience. He said he had been disappointed not to 47 Information from Clarrie Roach and Terry Morrisby 48 Mercury Mercury , , ,

27 reach 1000 runs in first class cricket on the tour, but he had had a heavy cold, and the tour had been strenuous. The Morrisbys were not the only ones who excelled at cricket, for Sandford was also home to the Richardsons. The Richardson family was cricket-mad, said Don Richardson. The children started to play as soon as they were old enough to stand, out on the cement wicket in the back yard, and at school the boys rushed out every dinner hour to see who could grab the bat first. Five of Don s eight brothers and his sister Nancy played for Tasmania and one brother for Victoria, while the others were handicapped because of the war. Many cousins were keen, and they formed the Richardson Eleven. Cousins would come to visit, said Don, and we went out in the backyard with a couple of apple boxes for wickets, and we d play test matches. When they were working on the farm the boys would try to persuade their father to play cricket after lunch, and sometimes he would forget work until mid-afternoon. South Arm had six or more Calverts in the team. Neil Manning, who played for Craigow, said that once when they were playing South Arm the team consisted of ten Calverts and a Gorringe. Then next week you d play Sandford and there d be five Morrisbys and six Richardsons. Snowy Calvert reeled off a list of families who produced good cricketers Calverts, Richardsons, Morrisbys were predominant, and there were the Frees, Youngs and Greatbatches. 50 Around Cambridge there were three clubs, Cambridge, Tunnel Hill and Craigow, the Murdoch estate. They played for a trophy donated by Ken Read, the local bus driver, and there was fierce rivalry, recollected Neil Manning. Other teams enjoyed coming to play at Craigow, which was well set up with a good pitch and excellent afternoon teas. Lack of water in summer was a problem but people were used to playing on bare grounds. Cricket was a real community event, with many spectators and the team at home providing afternoon tea. 51 A well-known cricketer was Snowy Calvert, who played from an early age, on the cricket pitch at home with his father and brothers, and at school at lunch time. He started playing for the South Arm team when he was about eleven, and remembered that in one final, South Arm played Rokeby, and when we went in they got two or three out and they thought they were going to win. My wife s father was at Rokeby, and he said, You haven t got that little snowy-headed bloke out yet and we went on and won. He also played in the Calvert family team, social games against 50 Mercury , , , , , , , , , , , , , ; information from Terry Morrisby and Neil Manning; Cyclopedia of Tasmania 1931, p 265; CC , , , , , ; Armstrong p 23

28 the Richardsons, Morrisbys, the Dennes from Bruny Island, and a team of Brennans and Noonans who came every year from New South Wales. Because of the lack of water, teams from Clarence could not enter the main Hobart league, and good players played with Hobart teams. Ron Morrisby influenced Snowy to do this when he was sixteen. Snowy was soon playing for southern Tasmania, but such players had to be devoted. To get to a game or practice, Snowy would drive to Bellerive, a long trip on the rough road, catch the ferry and either walk or catch the tram, taking up to two hours from door to door. Many Clarence people followed cricket enthusiastically. William Jennings, Bellerive builder, was said to have owned the first wireless in Bellerive, and he would stand on the steps of the church on Sunday morning and read the scores out to the crowd who gathered to hear them. I think it was also probably a way of getting people to church, said his grandson. Once, after reading the lesson in church, Jennings said, Here endeth the second innings. 52 There were not so many football teams it was harder to find eighteen men than eleven but football was popular, with teams at Bellerive, Lindisfarne, Cambridge, Rokeby, Sandford and Craigow. Sometimes Bellerive represented the municipality, and then it was known as Clarence. For several years in there was a Clarence Football Association, but usually teams played for a cup donated by some sports lover. For example, Ted Nash, a Bellerive fisherman, had three sons who enlisted in the First World War. Two died, and when the third, Cyril, came home he found a job at the Zinc Works, but in 1920 died in an accident there. Ted donated the Cyril Nash Cup, for which Clarence played other municipalities. At one stage it was held by New Norfolk. Crowds went there from Clarence to support their team, hiring boats to go up the river or crowding into vehicles. With this support, Clarence won the trophy. 53 On another occasion Bellerive played Scottsdale for the Tasmanian Country Premiership. The game was played at North Hobart as a curtain-raiser to the main League game, and Bellerive lost by one point. Football was so popular that Bellerive started a Seconds team, which had to play social games only as there was no roster. 54 Games could be tough. In 1924 Sir Henry Jones of the IXL factory presented a magnificent shield for a competition between IXL, Cambridge, Lindisfarne and Bellerive. Jones and Co had a team with a few real toughies, who were boxers, and they took their boxing prowess 51 Information from Neil Manning, Geoff Dakin and Basil de la Bere; de la Bere p Jennings p Mercury , , , , , , , ; information from John Chipman, quoted in Alexander You re in Roo Country! p 7 54 Ted Turner, Club Flashbacks in Clarence District Football Club s Roos News vol 3, no 60, and June 1979

29 on to the football field, recalled Ted Turner. I remember watching the two Shea brothers having a fight after one game to see who was going to fight Geoff Turner [the Bellerive coach]. They were that rough. And they didn t fight Geoff in the end he got sick of it and went home. Gavin Luttrell remembered another match where Shea did hit Turner, and this developed into a running fight from the football ground to the ferry, with bruises and black eyes everywhere. In 1929 there was no roster and the Bellerive team played social games, and ended the season with a trip to Port Arthur, about which many lurid tales were told. 55 People did not often stay away from home in the 1920s, and when they did, they enjoyed themselves. In 1930 the South-East Association was formed, with teams from Bellerive, Richmond, Craigow, Cambridge and Sandford. Gavin Luttrell played for Bellerive, whose colours were blue and green, green for the grass and blue for the river. Good crowds would come to support the team, and supporters included the goal umpire, Pat Kelly, the local roadman. He was one-eyed, said Gavin. If there was any doubt about a goal [from the opposition], he d be looking away, or the sun would get in his eyes, and he d only see a point. We always got the benefit of the doubt with Pat. Bellerive won the premiership in 1930, and in 1931 John Chipman became captaincoach. It was a funny old set-up in those days, he said. There was one training table, and you took your own lighting, a candle or hurricane lamp. There was no training in the week, as most players worked in Hobart and by the time they came home it was too dark to train there were no lights. Sometimes there was a run on Sunday morning, or players might do some training by themselves. The ground was rough and rather stony, without much grass since there was no water to spare. By way of amenities there was a shed. Jack Williscroft the trainer would be there with his equipment of a candle, a towel, some liniment and a board for players to lie on. There was no cover for spectators; quite possibly they kept warm by dodging the fights, said Ted Turner. Fights were frequent, and in one game there were seventeen. Not only was no one reported, but the umpire joined in. Later a little stand was built, painted green with a pagoda-like roof, but it blew down in a storm. Arnold Wertheimer, aged about ten, kept the scoreboard, and enjoyed the job of putting up the tin numbers. The Club s finances were hand-to-mouth. Players paid a shilling and sixpence for a home game, and two shillings for an away game to include the cost of the bus. The rest went to pay umpires and for Club finances. Some players could not afford these, and those in work subsidised those who were not. Bellerive, with the largest population base in the Association, won the premiership in 1931 and again in 1932, when Ossie Heather kicked Clarence s entire score, nine 55 Alexander You re in Roo Country! p 8; Mercury ; article by Ted Turner, Roos News

30 goals from nine shots. A specialist of the Torpedo punt, he seemed to find openings at the most acute angles, and his fast leads played havoc with the opposing back men. This was also the first game Ted Turner played for Bellerive. He became one of Bellerive s main players, and often took his alsatian dog Asha to games. One day when the club was playing away, Ted went into the back door of the Clarence Hotel to round up the players for the bus, leaving Asha outside, but forgot him and went out the front door and on to the bus. Asha guarded the door so well that no one could go in or out all afternoon until Ted returned. In 1934 Bellerive joined the Southern Districts Association, the strongest country group, and won the premiership in The Club minutes show the committee as very busy, organising the ground, coach, trainer, goal umpire, scorer, gatekeepers, footballs, selection committee, goalposts, practice matches and clearances, washing and repair of guernseys, transport, publicity and trophies. They bought guernseys, oranges and chewing-gum for half time, first-aid equipment and occasionally brandy. In really hard times they bought second-hand footballs, and they also provided footballs for local schools. For all this spending, fundraising was vital, and the Club held raffles, dances, card evenings and Lucky Poke Board sessions. In 1937 they decided to charge sixpence for spectators, and wasn t there a growl! said Ted Turner. It was the people s ground! They also levelled the ground, which was a great improvement, though it still had such a hump that people on the lower side of the ground were only visible from the waist up. 56 Football and cricket were the main sports, but there were many others. With the establishment of the Hobart Golf Club at Bellerive this game was prominent, though not many local people played. In 1922 the golf club had 327 members, men and women, who played not only golf but croquet and tennis. The club was extended to eighteen holes, but water was a problem. An irrigation plant did not give entire satisfaction, and in 1926 prolonged drought meant the greens were almost unfit for play for long periods. The major task, ran the Annual Report, was to obtain an efficient water supply as so many people had said in Bellerive for decades. The Lindisfarne Golf Club, which contained mainly local people, continued successfully, though there were ruffled feelings in 1923 when a passer-by was struck by a golf ball on Lindisfarne Road beside the greens. 57 Tennis was enjoyed as a social sport, with teams in Lindisfarne and Sandford among others. A Bellerive Bowling Club existed in the 1930s, with George Bignell, the Council Clerk, June Alexander You re in Roo Country! pp Mercury , , , ; CC

31 secretary and captain. 58 The Sandford and Bellerive rifle clubs continued keen, and Sandford in particular did well in competitions. In 1926 the Tasmanian team included Roy Calvert in second place, with Owen Lazenby also in the team. Calvert won the Tasmanian championship that year, and the club took part in fourteen interclub and competition matches with excellent results. People also played casual golf and other sports, and they recall walking in the bush, and playing rounders in school lunch hours. There was an old racecourse at Sandford, where the local farmers raced their draughthorses. 59 Athletics and cycling were mainly seen on sports days. For some years there was an annual sports meeting in Sandford on New Year s Day, a rallying point for the social life of the district. Everyone rolled up to the new sports ground, beside the school, in crowded drays, wellpolished sulkies and serviceable motors, wrote the Mercury. There were trotting and cycling races, and a picturesque scene at lunch time, with hundreds of picnickers among the grasses and bracken and a backdrop of sheoaks and flowering Christmas trees. The ladies of the district provided lunch, and there was a dance in the evening. The Sandford sports died out by 1924, when the Bellerive Progress Association held sports at Bellerive instead. Fifty prizes were buried in an area of the beach for a treasure hunt for children, and on the recreation ground there were running and cycling races, trots, woodchopping, a trial of hunters, a potato race on horseback and an obstacle race. The day was so successful that a Bellerive Sports Association was formed, and held many similar functions. 60 A few people, mainly in Bellerive, trained horses for racing. The Chandlers ran a horse stud on flat land behind the beach. They were landed gentry, and the character of the family was Miss Chandler, who was a typical horse-riding English dame, manly-looking, walked and spoke like a man, and a magnificent horse rider. She was a nice person, but they never mixed with anyone. The Chandlers champion at this time was Macaroni, who won two Hobart Cups and broke down in a third when he was leading the field. The Bellerive football oval had a trotting track round the outside, where Dick Ward the blacksmith trained his pacer, Wild Flame, who became Tasmanian champion. 61 As before, people who lived near the coast enjoyed water sports. Bellerive was a centre for sailing. In 1926 the Bellerive Yacht Club was formed, and converted a shed belonging to the O Mays into a comfortable clubhouse, with a hall decorated with photos of yachting, a yachting 58 Mercury , , , Mercury , , , , , , , ; information from Lola Backhouse and Don Richardson 60 Mercury , , ,

32 library, a small but useful bar, and several ante-rooms. At the opening ceremony the Commodore, Harry Hood, said a club had been proposed for years, but it had proved hard to find premises until the O Mays had come to the rescue. The club filled a long-felt social need, and helped the youth of the district by teaching them to sail cadet dinghies. There was loud applause for the O Mays, and the evening finished with songs and recitations. 62 Geoff Dakin was a keen member of the Club, and the longest active member, starting to sail in 1931 and giving up in I started with scrubbers, a motley collection of boats of different rigs, mostly open centreboard boats, with crews varying from three to four or five. We d race at Bellerive, and two or three would come over from town. Our starting line was at the esplanade, and in the river were two conical buoys, one at the Sandy Bay outfall, Blinking Billy, and the other at Macquarie Point. Those were our marks. I started as bailer boy and worked my way up. Basil de la Bere was another keen yachtsman. When I was about eleven, boating became the big thing. Dad bought an old boat with a sail which was very slow, but we enjoyed that. Later on he had another boat, and we crewed for others as well, and went in races and regattas. We d go out at the weekend and race each other, nothing organised, just for fun. Then Captain Harry O May got on to it, and he said to his friend Mr Ferguson who was also in the local yacht club, We ought to do something for these kids. They started the Bellerive District Dinghies, and we raced every Saturday afternoon. We really enjoyed it, and on Sunday we d sail the race again like yachties always do! The Bellerive Regatta was a highlight for sailors, more important than the Hobart regatta for us... you met all the people from Sandford, Rokeby, South Arm, Sorell, Richmond, Cambridge. Special ferries brought people from Hobart, there were races for yachts, scrubbers cadet dinghies and skiffs, as well as stalls, sideshows and entertainments. One year there was even camel rides Pat Knight was too scared to have a turn, though her younger sister and brother did. In 1926 there was poor visibility due to bushfires on the western shore, and the city was hot and unpleasant with a northerly wind, but these were at a minimum in Bellerive, reported the Mercury. There were good fields in all races and the large crowd included the Governor. Bellerive Bay was an excellent starting place as everyone had a good view, and there were races for yachts, cruisers, cadet dinghies, trading vessels, naval cutter and naval gigs, with some spectacular finishes. Swimming, rowing and motor boat races were of a high standard, and there were sports like the greasy pole, and side-shows such as the hoop-la and Aunt Sally, as well as music from the Hobart Citizens Band. (In the greasy pole, competitors balancing on a greased 61 Information from Max Walker and Clarrie Roach

33 barrel had to work their way out along a ten-foot long greased pole to seize the flag at the end. It was very entertaining as they often fell off.) Even when the weather was poor, the regatta went well: in 1935 there were leaden skies and a cold southerly wind, but it was still an outstanding success with races, refreshment stalls and novelty events such as the high dive, duck hunt, mop fight, pillow fight, dog race, egg and spoon swimming race and obstacle swimming. Then 1937 saw camel races and a hurdy gurdy, and excellent weather so that the yachts could carry full canvas. There was another regatta in Clarence, on Ralphs Bay canal, where boats raced in the late 1930s. 63 Sailing did have its disasters. A Sea Scout troop was formed in Lindisfarne, but in August 1926 three of its members, teenage boys, took a sailing dinghy out in strong wind and heavy seas, and it capsized. One of the boys, a poor swimmer, drowned, and the others clung to the upturned boat. Tasman Jordan of Lindisfarne set off in his boat and rescued them, and Mary Irby, who had seen the accident and rang the police, took them in, gave them nourishment and put them to bed. The Scout troop disbanded after this dreadful accident. 64 The importance of learning to swim was recognised, and the Bellerive Amateur Swimming and Life Saving Association was formed in 1926 to teach children to swim and give classes in lifesaving. When there was an accident at the ferry pier a club member, Syd Burton, jumped into the water and saved a young woman s life. The Club held races and championships won by Syd Burton and held exhibitions of fancy diving with aerial flights. Geoff Dakin learnt to swim there with a later teacher, Geoff Turner, also the football coach. You d go into the water about waist deep, and he d be on the pier with a long pole with a belt on the end, and you learnt to swim while he was holding on to you. In 1929 the Lindisfarne Swimming Club was formed and also held learn-to-swim classes and races. 65 The old Bellerive baths were still in use in the years after the war John Chipman s uncle Alf took him swimming there, and he said the baths weren t bad but they fell into disuse. If Bellerive was the centre of sailing, Lindisfarne was the centre of rowing. The rowing club, formed in 1904, was strong, and as well as organising rowing coaching and races, held an annual regatta. By 1923 this was regarded as one of the most important rowing events in the State. That year, despite a strong wind, everything went well. There were nine rowing events, naval races and a motor boat race, and the Derwent Sailing Squadron held sailing races at the 62 Mercury Mercury , , , , , ; information from Geoff Dakin, Max Walker, Pat Job, Basil de la Bere, Jim Lucas and Don Richardson 64 Mercury ,

34 same time on the Lindisfarne course. Lindisfarne Bay was ideal for rowing, ran the report, for it was well sheltered with smooth water despite the weather, and excellent areas for spectators. Unfortunately the Lindisfarne Club did not win any of the nine races, which were dominated by Hobart clubs, but in 1924 several thousand people watched Lindisfarne win the Junior-Senior Eights, one of the crew being the energetic club secretary, Syd Hammond. The weather was brilliant, the Derwent Band played, the grounds of the Convalescent Home were thrown open to the public, and a good time was had by all. 66 Each year saw a similar report; in 1935, for example, local crews won four races, there was a big attendance with many picnickers and novelty events, the Derwent Concert Band was again in attendance, and there was a dance in the evening. In 1939, a women s rowing race was included. 67 In the 1920s interest grew in beaches outside Bellerive and Lindisfarne. Since the turn of the century the beaches at South Arm, which could be reached by water, had also been popular, but in the 1920s several of Clarence s other magnificent beaches are mentioned for the first time. Families who owned cars could now go further afield, and a few people in Hobart and some locals did so. In 1922 the warden said a road to Seven Mile Beach was needed, as it could be a most attractive resort, but at present access was only through private property. Councillor Lewis gave land for a road, as did other landowners, money was obtained from a Federal grant for roads, and the road was finally built by The numbers at these beaches were limited, however, because few people had cars. The Shone family at Risdon had a Buick car, recalled Basil Cox, and if you saw it driving along, it was something. It was something when tradesmen brought goods by truck, instead of horse and cart. Gradually a few more people bought cars, especially in the country, but people in Bellerive and Lindisfarne who relied on the ferry did not need them. They were still quite rare in Special events tended to be local, with no travel needed. On Bonfire Night (Empire Night, 24 May), people built bonfires and let off crackers. Geoff Dakin remembered scrounging bits and pieces of wood and old tyres for weeks before, and making a bonfire. We didn t worry about pollution then! Christmas was of course a time for celebration. Neil Manning s family used to go to his maternal grandparents, the Hanslows at Greenfields, and have Christmas dinner with all the family, up to forty people. My grandmother used to make a big Christmas pudding on 65 Mercury , , , , ; CC Mercury , Mercury, , Mercury , , ; CC , , , , , , Information from Basil Cox, Jim Lucas and Terry Morrisby

35 Christmas morning, and they d serve home brew that had been made the Christmas before and put down, and there was chicken and ham, and presents we hung up pillow slips beside the table and the aunties would put the presents in. Not everyone stayed at home for some, Christmas was the only opportunity to go away. John Chipman, a keen sailor, would leave early on Christmas morning, with a crew of four. Our first stop would be Port Esperance for the Dover Regatta, then the Southport Regatta if it was on, then we d go to Port Cygnet for their racing day, then it was off to Shipwright s Point for their New year s Day Regatta, then home to work the next day. 70 At this period there were not as many community groups as there were later. The Sea Scouts in Lindisfarne have been mentioned, and in the 1930s Brownies, Cubs, Scouts and Guides appeared in Bellerive. They were started by the Rev. Scandrett who had seven children of his own, hence his interest in youth groups. There were also many sporting clubs, but any other community groups kept a low profile. Nevertheless, there was a strong community feeling, and when trouble struck, people were quick to help. This was needed, as there was little social security. John Chipman s father died suddenly, when John was sixteen. One Boxing Night he was sitting with his wife on Bellerive esplanade, watching the traffic going to and from the ferry, and remarked on how well he felt. The next thing, he was in hospital, and he died on 13 January, from a brain tumour. He was aged 32. John took on his work, and Mrs Chipman took in boarders to make ends meet. John s Uncle Alf was a clerk at Roberts and Co in Hobart. One day Mr Roberts told him his job was finishing at the end of the week. Why? asked Uncle Alf. Look at my work there s nothing wrong with it. And there wasn t. But Mr Burton said, You re growing old, you know. Do you realise you ve been working here fifty years without a holiday? There are machines now that can do what you re doing. So Uncle Alf had to leave. 71 There were other dangers, especially fire, and Max Walker remembered the night Read s garage burnt down. I was working in the telegraph office on the switchboard, and the Lurgurena was tied up at the wharf and Rocky Whelan was on night watch. I saw a big sheet of flame dart from under the garage door and across the street, in and out. When I realised what it was I rang up Sergeant Barker who lived above the police station. His number was Bellerive 4. I rang him up and said Read s garage is alight. A joke s a joke, Max, he began, and he gave me a lecture. Finally I convinced him and he came out in his pyjamas. I rang Rocky and told him to get the ferry stoked up, then I rang the skipper who came down, and the fire brigade in Hobart. The Lurgurena usually took fifteen minutes to cross to Hobart but they did it in seven, like a 70 Information from Geoff Dakin, Betty Marmion, Neil Manning and John Chipman

36 motor boat. By then people were evacuating buildings, doing what they could, and the top of the pub catches alight. Next to the garage was Bignell s big timber house, and that was saved. The fire brigade came and put their hoses in the river for water, and saved the bottom of the pub. Hilda Turner also recalled this fire. She and her brother had bikes which they used to ride to the ferry in the morning on their way to school, then home at night, but one afternoon they were offered a lift. Well, you didn t refuse a lift in a car, so we put our bikes in Read s garage. Next day we had to walk to the ferry we knew we d have to, but the car trip was worth it and as we came near Bellerive someone said to us, Did you hear the news? There was a big fire and Read s garage was burnt down. And our bikes were in it! Bush fires were not a great threat in this period, though Diana Roberts recalled fighting a fire on Natone Hill with gum boughs. It could be terrifying to see bad fires on Mt Wellington, and one year they were so fierce that Pat Knight at Montagu Bay could see the flames. Burnt gum leaves were coming in to Montagu Bay, and Dad rang from town and said to Mum, Take the children down and sit in the water. So all the women did this. Lindisfarne s Best-selling Romantic Novelist One of Clarence s more unusual citizens was Marie Bjelke-Petersen. Born in Denmark in 1874, she emigrated to Tasmania with her family in At first she helped her brothers to teach physical education, but later she moved to Lindisfarne with her friend Sylvia Mills and became an author, first of religious tracts, then from 1917 of nine best-selling romantic novels which breathed throbbing passion and pulsating emotion. In that long motionless kiss it seemed as if the burning deeps in him had found the tortured deeps in her, and as they came together they gloriously united, bringing the man and woman who caressed a delirious satisfaction... One of the novels, Jewelled Nights, was filmed in But it is hard to find anyone who admits to reading them. Typical is Basil Cox s remark: I m sure my mother would have read her novels. I tried to read one once, but I didn t finish it! Marie Bjelke-Petersen had other interests. She and Sylvia Mills were charitable and helped the unfortunate in missions in Hobart and at the asylum at New Norfolk; and Marie was interested in health food, eating such novelties as grapefruit, raw fruit and vegetables, and Russian Milk Culture, a forerunner of yoghourt. Once money from the books was available she always spent the winters on the mainland, away from the rigours of the Tasmanian climate. After Sylvia s death in 1927 a succession of women lived with Marie, who, the neighbours thought, 71 Armstrong p 23

37 took advantage of them; they were horrified when one became pregnant to a Norwegian ship s captain and Marie turned her out. Marie lived in various houses, two in Lindisfarne, two in Bellerive, at a house she built in Lindisfarne, on the shores of Koomela Bay, and later at her final house, Moon Gate at Geilston Bay. Dignified and rather remote, she was thought a little peculiar by the locals, but she was also felt to be a celebrity, especially when she had a film star to visit, and, later, when her nephew became premier of Queensland. 72 The Irby case: sexual abuse? Llewellyn Irby and his family lived in Lindisfarne in the 1920s. He was the head of the Forestry Department, and he and his family were valued residents. In 1923 Irby opened a fair to raise money for the local Sea Scout troop. In 1928 Irby was dismissed from his job after an eighteen-year-old youth accused him of interfering with his private parts four years earlier. Irby demanded an enquiry, which decided that the youth was telling the truth. There was considerable sympathy for Irby, and an Irby Defence Committee argued that the youth s uncorroborated story should not have been accepted over that of Irby, who had been ruined. Two hundred and fifty people, including many residents of Lindisfarne, signed a petition supporting Irby, to no avail. In the 1920s such a case was rare, and extremely shocking. 73 A family grows up in Bellerive Chapter 6 described the life of a Bellerive family, the Hanslows, during the First World War. After Teen Hanslow s husband Joe Blight returned from the war, like many such couples they had a house built through War Service Homes. Constructed of weatherboard by local builder William Jennings, in the popular Californian bungalow style, it was called Crofton, by Teen, to honour her Scottish background. The weatherboard was stained brown with creosote, with a cream trim, typical of the times, and there was an elaborate front fence with a pergola over the gate, and leadlight in the front windows. After a battle with Jennings, Teen succeeded in having hot water piped to the bath, from the copper in the kitchen. The once-a-week bath nights were a pure luxury, recalled Teen s daughters Mabs and Lyn. Out the back there were the vital water tanks, a vegetable garden and clothes line, and Joe built a summerhouse, and for the children a playhouse, a sandpit, and a Ford car made of boxes 72 Alexander A Mortal Flame passim. The quotation is from Dusk (1921) 73 AGD 1/68/ ; Mercury ,

38 from the Shell Company, where he worked. Discussing this, Mabs and Lyn recalled the fun they had growing up in Bellerive at a time when pleasures were simple and traditions were upheld. 74 A con man fails in Sandford This story comes from the memoirs of Terry Morrisby, who grew up in Sandford. In the days when there was a direct shipping link between Sydney and Hobart, con men used to come to Tassie to pick up a few easy pounds. This particular con man was selling suit lengths which were in actual fact the leftovers on a roll of cloth too small to actually cut a suit out of. He had hired a horse and trap from the livery stable at Bellerive and set out to sell his wares. His first port of call was to Bill Richardson who lived up Forest Hill Road. He tried to sell a suit length to Mrs Richardson who sent him off to see her husband, who was not interested. However on his way back to the trap he saw Mrs Richardson and said, Your husband said to pick out a length and pay me for it. The next we hear of the con man was at great grandfather s where he was trying to sell his last suit length at a big discount. While this was going on Uncle Tom or one of his brothers waved a piece of newspaper in front of the horse, who promptly took off down the lane, spilling suit lengths all the way down to the left hand turn at the bottom, where the trap tipped over, parting company from the horse. The con man picked up his suit lengths, righted the trap, only to find the shafts broken and the harness in a mess. He set off pulling the trap himself with the horse tied behind, but he didn t get far down the lane when he met Bill Richardson breathing fire and demanding a refund, and as Bill Richardson was a large angry man there wasn t much of an argument. 74 Goodwin and Leach pp 44-45