It's fitting to end the year with a story from Alison Alloway.
She has always been a supporter of CairnsBlog
from it's very early beginnings and has previously scribed for the Saturday SoapBlog
about her misadventures with MediCare. In the early days of CairnsBlog,
Alison recounted stories from her childhood past when in 1961, Princess Alexandra, the Queen's cousin, visited Far North Queensland.
Every Christmas, Alison's gorgeous Cascara (Indian laburnum) flowers and is one of the prettiest flowering trees here in the tropics.
Today she writes again with memories , this time of her Christmas days living with a violent father and a real hard case of a little sister, some 50 years ago. Alison says she has no photos from her childhood.
Looking back, Alison says it was such a different world. People drowned kittens and puppies in backyards, dogs were always kept outdoors, domestic violence was rife, women were still dying from backyard abortions here in the North, men who returned from WW2 struggling with post traumatic stress syndrome, rapes were seldom reported, homosexuals were openly ostracized and no one ever mentioned lesbians. Divorce was rare and frowned upon, Ditto working women, and no-one gave a thought about the environment. Lastly, but not least, aboriginal people were treated with contempt and violence.
How can people ever say it was the "good" old days?
Here's Alison's Christmas with Case.
Christmas 1962.
Menzies was Prime Minister. Frank Nicklin was Premier of Queensland.
Big sister Nerida was sixteen. Gwennyth was ten. I (Allie) was seven. Case was five. Deirdre (DeeDee) was two and baby, beautiful baby, the idol of all, was almost one. Yes, we were a big family.
In 1962 our family comprised six daughters, mum and dad and grandad, all living under the one roof. Children were disciplined with belts, hands or whatever came within reach. We all wore hand me downs, and walked the long distance to school in plastic shoes, envying the kids who rode their horses
past us.
Few families had cars and even fewer had television sets.
Fathers were the head of the family, and none, more so than in our own family, where dad's bad temper and heavy hand were feared by us all. Money was scarcer than it is today and presents were only received on birthdays or at Christmas. No child dared tell their parents what to buy. Christmas was looked forward to with great excitement by all of us kids. For weeks we speculated on what “Santa” would bring us, alternating with bouts of guilt that we had spent our few hard earned shillings on buying by-jingos and cobblers for ourselves instead of buying presents for Mum and Dad.
“You’ve spent all your money on yourself, Allie!” Gwen sneered. “You’re nothing but a little fat, selfish, greedy pig!”
My eyes filled with tears of guilt and self-loathing as Gwen proudly displayed the presents she had bought for mum, dad, grandad and baby, with her shillings. Gwen was always more thoughtful, more caring, more generous and more virtuous than I. And she let me know it.
5.30am, Christmas Day, saw snowy haired Case leaning over pinching mum's cheeks to wake her up. "Mum...Mum," she whispered excitedly. "See what Santa brunged me." Mum opened one eye and sat bolt upright in bed at the sight of Case, festooned in flowery brassieres and panties.
"Santa didn't give you those," mum admonished wearily, trying to grab them. "Yes he did, he did," argued Case. "He brunged these to me."
It seemed Case had been the first to waken and had walked around the house helping herself to whatever she fancied in everyones pillow cases. Exasperated and cranky, mum had to field off Case's endless questions. "How do you know Santa brunged the melodica for Gwen? And how do you know Santa brunged the bras for Nerida?"
"I just know," yelled mum, bending down to box Case around the ears. Case wouldn’t let the matter die. “Santa did brung that bra for me,” she whispered angrily while Gwen and I were making our beds. “No he didn’t,” Gwen answered, “because you don’t have any billies!”
Case was instantly on the defensive. “I do too have billies,” she answered indignantly. “Look!” She opened up her pjama top and displayed two small flat freckle like nipples. “Billies!” she said proudly. Gwen rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Case, they’re not big like Nerida’s!” “Santa doesn’t know that,” persisted Case. Gwen gave up and threw a pillow at Case.
Christmas dinner commenced at one o’clock and everyone was seated while mum retrieved the baking trays from our wood-fired stove in the kitchen. Dad sat at the end of the table and everyone noticed his red rimmed eyes and sour expression. We all knew this meant a hangover and not to make him angry.
Nerida was the last to be seated having spent the morning teasing her hair into a bee-hive and using a tin of Starlet hairspray on the finished hairdo. She had made up her face too so that it was shiny while black lines were drawn across her top eyelids and there were two black “beauty” spots beside her mouth. Nerida was very pretty and I thought she looked like a movie star. Nerida loved to sing and knew all of Connie Francis’s songs which she sang with gusto in the bathroom every night.
“Youse look like one of them tarts what lives in Sydney,” grandad said sternly. “Sydney is full of tarts.” “Tarts?” said Case. “I likes jam tarts.” "And I like jam tarts too,” I said.
“I like passionfruit ones meself,” said Gwen. “Quiet!” roared Dad at the end of the table. Everyone went silent. Mum came out of the kitchen carrying a tray of roast vegetables. “Oh what’s DeeDee got?” she asked, as we all looked in the direction where quiet little DeeDee sat on a cushion at the table. DeeDee was sitting with her eyes closed while her hands were under the tablecloth. Nerida lifted the tablecloth to find DeeDee clutching a little kitten by its neck.
“She still thinks no-one can see her when she closes her eyes,” Nerida laughed, as she retrieved the poor kitten and put it on the floor. We all looked fondly at DeeDee who was looking quite puzzled at being found out. Nerida playfully rumpled her snowy white hair.
We could easily have been a family in mourning this Christmas Day 1962. Yesterday, DeeDee was sitting inside a cardboard box playing at being a “radio” and regaling the world by humming the theme song from “Blue Hills” over and over, when Bill, the bottlo, bringing our Christmas soft drinks, drove fast up our driveway and right over the top of the radio.