The stamina of those still on this blog having followed my meanderings, will now be rewarded with yet another serve of nostalgia. The above photo is from the Revesby garage in which we lived for 2 years. Of course the local shire only allowed migrants to live in garages if the name was changed to ‘temporary dwelling.’ After arrival we lived for a short period in a camp and then with A Dutch family in Sydney’s Guildford. They lived opposite us in Rotterdam during the last WW 2 of 40-45. They migrated to Australia about 1950.
If you read Frank’s Story on this blog, you will also know this Dutch family were the ones locking us up in the black coal-shed if we did number 2′ in our pants while at the Montessori pre-school. They unstintingly gave the same treatment to their own children. I don’t think this was typical Dutch child pedagogy of the times. In any case, my parents never did that. All in all, being locked up in dark coal sheds did not seem to have left severe ramifications. I did not turn into a killer or ever went out at night strangling sheep. On the other hand, I did not become a doctor or lawyer, neither a bookmaker or eminent scientist.
What is to become of you, Gerard, was my mother’s oft repeated question? I am still not precise on the subject but joining the army is now far too late.
Here is a picture of the inside of this garage.
My parents are together in a single bed. On the floor between the bunks is my sister Dora The top bunk would be Herman Opposite with the head sticking out is ‘Frank’ of my Frank’s Story story. Below him is Adrian. John on the left at the front. On the empty bed is Gerard (taking the picture for posterity)
God only knows what my parents did about sex or FOR sex. Dad had lots of apples instead or read timetables for transporting the lot off to different schools and.. . Mum… happy to not fall pregnant again!
It was a tight squeeze but we were told that we should just consider that turning around would best be achieved in tandem with all eight of us. Toilet was outside in a drum on top of which was a wooden toilet seat with no water.
These last pictures are of my parents in front of the house that we built after the two years in the garage. They are old now and it must have been taken when they had returned to Holland and came over for a holiday trip to see the rest of the children and grandchildren in Australia.
The last photo inside our kitchen of when we lived in Balmain, Sydney. It was the last time I saw my dad.
That’s how it was.