Jobs I had as a Kid
Up to about 1973, there was virtually no such thing as unemployment, but things changed then and it was kind of sad that the generations of youth that flowed into the seventies, eighties and nineties never knew the days when there was plenty of work. There are hundreds of reasons for this, and it will no doubt be well documented in some future economics or social history text book.
I feel as though I was one of the first to be displaced by modern technology, for somewhere in the early 50s, I had a job that paid 5 bob an hour, the basic wage rate. It was a mowing the lawn job, took an hour with the hand mower, and gave me a much needed boost to my meager pocket money. Then one day, the lady told me that she didn't need me any more, because Mr So and So had a Victa lawn mower, and could do the job in 30 minutes!
Christmas school vacation jobs were the norm, my first was in 1952 at Mr Kellows general store in Sheridan St. Flour, sugar, salt and whole host of either items came in bulk, and needed to be done up in packets of one or two pounds for sale. This was a very, very monotonous and boring job, and I made a mental note never to do it again. The pay was 2/6 per hour, about £5 a week, an enormous some of money for a 12 year old.
Then in 1953, I had a job at a printers place, type was set in lead, and there was always an awful clanking of machinery. In this job, I first came across "sexual harassment". At 13 I had no idea, still a couple of years away from puberty, I was going to be greased with blue printers ink around the balls, I was told to go and see the girl in the office and get my dick measured (I never did) and told I'd better learn real quick about gonorrhea and syphilis. I really had my eye on an escape route all the time in that job.
The attitude and behavior of the people I worked with changed completely when the boss, a seventy year old man came round on his twice daily tours to check on this and that. I was really pleased when this happened, except one day, he checked on my work, found I had charged out to a customer a full sheet of carbon paper when only 3/4 of a sheet had been used. The correction procedure was time consuming, but guess in a way there was a lesson in that for me.
I had to learn all the paper sizes, Doubly demy, Royal, Crown, F'cap and a couple of others. Never ever had to come back to this knowledge, life after that was foolscap, and then the new sizes, A5, A4 and A3. One nice thing about the job was that on Saturday mornings, I got to work in the shop, running out the back to get things for the shop assistants. In the shop there were these fantastic drawing instruments, just loved looking at them, could never afford to buy them.
In the next four years, 54-57, I worked in Woolworths, in their warehouse which was fun, in the store meeting people, and out the back doing what I swore I would never do again, filling up packets with flour, sugar, salt and a good one, raisins, because they were edible! I have no bad memories of this time, the money was good and probably kept me out of trouble.
When one of my daughters, Roslyn finished school, there was this big graduation thing, presentations and dances and goodness knows what. It was interesting to reflect that on our last day at school, we sort of said see you around and next day went off to work. In my case at Watkins builders where I did a labouring job stacking timber from the mill. Knew all the timbers that there were in North Queensland, knew the stains they put on your hands, but like a lot of things, left the job and lost the knowledge.
We had a couple of farewell activities, three of us took a camping trip to Green Island for a few days, millions of fish, but none took our lines, and then later a mixed group of us went off to the Boulders near Babinda for party, a real tame affair, having lunch, a swim, a walk, and then a trip back home. Times have changed!
18.5.08
Things I Should Not Have Done
The Fire
In Cairns, there was a chap that was a bit simple, Pom Lesina he was known as and he spent of fair bit of his day travelling around in busses with his head out of the window shouting weird remarks to all and sundry.
Now just after brother Douglas was born, a school friend and I went to the local swamp and played with matches. Well you all know what happens when you play with matches, yes, we set the swamp alight. Valiantly we attempted to put the flame out but to no avail, so we scurried back across the railway line and nonchalantly walked home.
Sure enough the sound of the Fire Brigade could be heard, and as we casually strolled back to the scene of the darstardly deed where people were gathering. We spread the word that Pom Lesina must have lit the fire, and nobody seemed to question it.
When my father came home, the fire was not mentioned, and later that night, we went off to the hospital to see Mum. When brother Peter mentioned the fire, my heart thumped, but the topic was not taken any further. I had a fitful night and terrible conscience for the next few days until we decided that “we had got away with it”.
Being Respectful to the Cops
The names of two policemen in Cairns were Bonney and Zuppey. Well, that what they were known as anyway for there was a rhyme;
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
If Bonney don’t get you,
Then Zuppey must.
There was a terrible accident one night in 1958 involving a motorcycle and I assisted the poor chaps till the ambulance arrived. The police also arrived and Zuppey took a statement from me, saying that I would have to see him again to sign the statement.
After a few months, I hadn’t heard anything and being in town one night, I asked a patrolling policeman “Is Zuppy around?” I wish I hadn’t. For the next ten minutes I was given a public lecture by this cop to the amusement to all the other patrons waiting to go back into the theatre. It was Senior Constable Z…….. unpronounceable that I wanted, and in future I was to address members of the police force….etc.
Ah well, the army turned out to be a bit like that.
Blowing up the school
I had a friend in the last year of school, Geoff Steele. He and I did all sorts of things, but the most spectacular was to make some touch powder. We had no idea what to do, but went to the chemistry lab and mixed iodine and ammonia and filtered it out onto a piece of blotting paper and let it dry on the schools first floor verandah.
It can be a bit hot in Cairns and I guess the mixture dried out fairly quickly. We had our after lunch assembly, we were all lined up listening to the hearmaster, Mr Croswell giving us the latest instructions from the first floor verandah, not more than a yard from our touch powder. W H O O M P it went, the noise was tremendous and I vividly recall a gigantic cloud of brown smoke that engulfed the Headmaster as the entire assembly went for cover.
Geoff, my good mate, and also the school champion athlete for that year, bolted, jumped on his motor bike and rode off into the distance. There didn’t seem to be any point in prolonging any investigation, so I admitted to the production of this explosive. Another lecture, it went on and on. Mr Croswell had just signed a reference for my application to Duntroon and I was somewhat relieved he didn’t withdraw that.
And as for my good mate….. oh well.
The Bomb
This is about our car purchased in 1955 for £50. A 1929 Chev which had been converted into a ute. When it was purchaed, it had painted on the back tail board … T.W.H.A.F.S … This was a bit of a mystery till I met up with one of the kids from the family that owned it previously. It stood for “The Wandering Hands and Fingers Society”. I think my father knew as he would occasionally ask, “What does that mean?”. I would just shake my head.
At 15 like most 15 year old kids, I knew everything including all about this truck. So on the first day it was a home, and my father was at work, I got into the drivers seat and pressed the starter button on the floor. The thing was in gear and moved forward with a jolt as the starter motor turned. I panicked and lept out of the ute and skulked back inside.
When my father came home, we were going to go for a drive and all preparations were made, water, oil and tyres checked as per a pamphlet my father had on the Bren Gun Carrier. Phew, no one noticed it had moved forward 2 inches. In we all get and my father presses the starter button. Nothing, what is known as a flat battery problem.
My heart sank, I shut my eyes and waited for the inevitable questioning, but it didn’t come, just a bland statement that the battery was no good and it would have to be cranked. Out came the Bren Gun Carrier pamphlet again, another set of checks, crank handle in, one, two, contact and away it went. That’s what we did for the next three years.
In Cairns, there was a chap that was a bit simple, Pom Lesina he was known as and he spent of fair bit of his day travelling around in busses with his head out of the window shouting weird remarks to all and sundry.
Now just after brother Douglas was born, a school friend and I went to the local swamp and played with matches. Well you all know what happens when you play with matches, yes, we set the swamp alight. Valiantly we attempted to put the flame out but to no avail, so we scurried back across the railway line and nonchalantly walked home.
Sure enough the sound of the Fire Brigade could be heard, and as we casually strolled back to the scene of the darstardly deed where people were gathering. We spread the word that Pom Lesina must have lit the fire, and nobody seemed to question it.
When my father came home, the fire was not mentioned, and later that night, we went off to the hospital to see Mum. When brother Peter mentioned the fire, my heart thumped, but the topic was not taken any further. I had a fitful night and terrible conscience for the next few days until we decided that “we had got away with it”.
Being Respectful to the Cops
The names of two policemen in Cairns were Bonney and Zuppey. Well, that what they were known as anyway for there was a rhyme;
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
If Bonney don’t get you,
Then Zuppey must.
There was a terrible accident one night in 1958 involving a motorcycle and I assisted the poor chaps till the ambulance arrived. The police also arrived and Zuppey took a statement from me, saying that I would have to see him again to sign the statement.
After a few months, I hadn’t heard anything and being in town one night, I asked a patrolling policeman “Is Zuppy around?” I wish I hadn’t. For the next ten minutes I was given a public lecture by this cop to the amusement to all the other patrons waiting to go back into the theatre. It was Senior Constable Z…….. unpronounceable that I wanted, and in future I was to address members of the police force….etc.
Ah well, the army turned out to be a bit like that.
Blowing up the school
I had a friend in the last year of school, Geoff Steele. He and I did all sorts of things, but the most spectacular was to make some touch powder. We had no idea what to do, but went to the chemistry lab and mixed iodine and ammonia and filtered it out onto a piece of blotting paper and let it dry on the schools first floor verandah.
It can be a bit hot in Cairns and I guess the mixture dried out fairly quickly. We had our after lunch assembly, we were all lined up listening to the hearmaster, Mr Croswell giving us the latest instructions from the first floor verandah, not more than a yard from our touch powder. W H O O M P it went, the noise was tremendous and I vividly recall a gigantic cloud of brown smoke that engulfed the Headmaster as the entire assembly went for cover.
Geoff, my good mate, and also the school champion athlete for that year, bolted, jumped on his motor bike and rode off into the distance. There didn’t seem to be any point in prolonging any investigation, so I admitted to the production of this explosive. Another lecture, it went on and on. Mr Croswell had just signed a reference for my application to Duntroon and I was somewhat relieved he didn’t withdraw that.
And as for my good mate….. oh well.
The Bomb
This is about our car purchased in 1955 for £50. A 1929 Chev which had been converted into a ute. When it was purchaed, it had painted on the back tail board … T.W.H.A.F.S … This was a bit of a mystery till I met up with one of the kids from the family that owned it previously. It stood for “The Wandering Hands and Fingers Society”. I think my father knew as he would occasionally ask, “What does that mean?”. I would just shake my head.
At 15 like most 15 year old kids, I knew everything including all about this truck. So on the first day it was a home, and my father was at work, I got into the drivers seat and pressed the starter button on the floor. The thing was in gear and moved forward with a jolt as the starter motor turned. I panicked and lept out of the ute and skulked back inside.
When my father came home, we were going to go for a drive and all preparations were made, water, oil and tyres checked as per a pamphlet my father had on the Bren Gun Carrier. Phew, no one noticed it had moved forward 2 inches. In we all get and my father presses the starter button. Nothing, what is known as a flat battery problem.
My heart sank, I shut my eyes and waited for the inevitable questioning, but it didn’t come, just a bland statement that the battery was no good and it would have to be cranked. Out came the Bren Gun Carrier pamphlet again, another set of checks, crank handle in, one, two, contact and away it went. That’s what we did for the next three years.
Punishment
Tales from my Youth
The commonest for of punishment was to have the bike hung up for a period of time, serious offences drew one month of walking or catching buses. This was meted out to me twice.
In 1949, not too many cars came down our street, so it was a fairly safe place to play, and even fire an air rifle. This weapon belonged to Bobby Bimrose who lived not far away, and after school, we occasionally had a bit of target practice, slamming a slug into a jam tin 30 yards away.
Mr Thompson lived two houses down and pedaled home on his bike a bit earlier than normal one afternoon during target practice. Just as he was entering the gate, I let off yet another pellet… T_W_A_N_G, it ricocheted of the tin and into Mr Thompson's neck.
Did he swear, and to be truthful, I had never heard swearing like it in my life before, and possibly in a fit of terror, we abandoned out jam tin, took the rifle and fled through a couple of houses back to Bobby's place where I hid out till I thought it safe to go home.
All seemed ok when I did get home, but then when my father turned up, so did Mr Thompson, and I could hear him telling my father he better do something about it. One month no bike was the punishment.
What made it worse was that I called his son , Johnny, a "bloody cow" one lunch time at school. He went straight off and told the headmaster, who duly summoned me and gave me four cuts for swearing. I could hardly believe it after what his father had said to me. I kept out of their road after that.
On another occasion, I had just finished school and decided that I would play the highway-man. There was a huge Tee tree just near the school in McLeod Street that I was able to hide with my bike behind it, and await my quarry. It didn't take long before my victim, Ron Candlish, came riding by on his way home.
I drew my ruler, raced out from behind the tree and attacked, he didn't have a chance. His spokes were mangled and he crashed to the ground and I sped off victorious.
Mrs Candlish was a war widow, her husband we understood had been killed flying over Germany. She had migrated to Australia, no doubt hoping for a better life, so the destruction of her sons bike was not an auspicious start for this hope.
She lived a couple of miles away, and walked round and knocked on our door at 7.30 p.m. She had a long conversation with my father, the upshot of which was another months suspension from bike riding. My father also undertook to repair Ronnie's bike which was done the next day at Bill Fulton's1 bike shop.
Fortunately this sentence didn't last too long, my father wanted something done that required me to ride the bike, so I think it ended up being only a couple of weeks.
Guess I must have been a bit of a ratbag as a kid, I first got the strap in 1946 for being in a phalanx of kids hurling rocks at another phalanx of kids, why I was singled out, I have no idea. There after it was the cuts, "hold out your hand", whack!, whack!. The most you could get was six, but four was the most I managed to get.
All these school punishments were recorded in "The Black Book". Often wonder what happened to these books, would have made interesting archival material.
The commonest for of punishment was to have the bike hung up for a period of time, serious offences drew one month of walking or catching buses. This was meted out to me twice.
In 1949, not too many cars came down our street, so it was a fairly safe place to play, and even fire an air rifle. This weapon belonged to Bobby Bimrose who lived not far away, and after school, we occasionally had a bit of target practice, slamming a slug into a jam tin 30 yards away.
Mr Thompson lived two houses down and pedaled home on his bike a bit earlier than normal one afternoon during target practice. Just as he was entering the gate, I let off yet another pellet… T_W_A_N_G, it ricocheted of the tin and into Mr Thompson's neck.
Did he swear, and to be truthful, I had never heard swearing like it in my life before, and possibly in a fit of terror, we abandoned out jam tin, took the rifle and fled through a couple of houses back to Bobby's place where I hid out till I thought it safe to go home.
All seemed ok when I did get home, but then when my father turned up, so did Mr Thompson, and I could hear him telling my father he better do something about it. One month no bike was the punishment.
What made it worse was that I called his son , Johnny, a "bloody cow" one lunch time at school. He went straight off and told the headmaster, who duly summoned me and gave me four cuts for swearing. I could hardly believe it after what his father had said to me. I kept out of their road after that.
On another occasion, I had just finished school and decided that I would play the highway-man. There was a huge Tee tree just near the school in McLeod Street that I was able to hide with my bike behind it, and await my quarry. It didn't take long before my victim, Ron Candlish, came riding by on his way home.
I drew my ruler, raced out from behind the tree and attacked, he didn't have a chance. His spokes were mangled and he crashed to the ground and I sped off victorious.
Mrs Candlish was a war widow, her husband we understood had been killed flying over Germany. She had migrated to Australia, no doubt hoping for a better life, so the destruction of her sons bike was not an auspicious start for this hope.
She lived a couple of miles away, and walked round and knocked on our door at 7.30 p.m. She had a long conversation with my father, the upshot of which was another months suspension from bike riding. My father also undertook to repair Ronnie's bike which was done the next day at Bill Fulton's1 bike shop.
Fortunately this sentence didn't last too long, my father wanted something done that required me to ride the bike, so I think it ended up being only a couple of weeks.
Guess I must have been a bit of a ratbag as a kid, I first got the strap in 1946 for being in a phalanx of kids hurling rocks at another phalanx of kids, why I was singled out, I have no idea. There after it was the cuts, "hold out your hand", whack!, whack!. The most you could get was six, but four was the most I managed to get.
All these school punishments were recorded in "The Black Book". Often wonder what happened to these books, would have made interesting archival material.
12.5.08
More on Ubuntu-8.04
I installed a second Ubuntu-8.04, and it went bad on me big time. The Synaptic Packet Manager, downloading, upgrading, something went horribly wrong.
The thread on the Ubuntu forums is here
Interestingly there are a couple more with the same problem.
The Firefox-3 Beta release that comes with this issue seems to have problems, consumes an awful lot of cpu time when on web 2 sites like Google. Maybe a java problem.
So I will just hang off for a while and will now try a PC-OS 7.10 system which I am downloading at the moment.
Fun and games for the unemployed!
The thread on the Ubuntu forums is here
Interestingly there are a couple more with the same problem.
The Firefox-3 Beta release that comes with this issue seems to have problems, consumes an awful lot of cpu time when on web 2 sites like Google. Maybe a java problem.
So I will just hang off for a while and will now try a PC-OS 7.10 system which I am downloading at the moment.
Fun and games for the unemployed!
4.5.08
For the Want of a Nail
Or maybe a bit more nous!
Anyway, the sliding door to the bathroom was getting hard to slide, the roller had worn down and the door was sliding on the roller axle, which fortunately was made of the same material as the roller.
Removed roller, went to hardware store, confused about the size of the roller, bought a 31 mm roller where as I found out a 29 mm roller was what was needed.
The 31 mm roller went in, but the door retaining lug had to be disabled because it wouldn't fit, just simply rotated it so that it wasn't under the slide. Door slid wonderfully.
Wife come in, gives door an almighty shove to open it as normal and wham! it goes sliding to the end, bounces, knocks off the pelmet, it crashes to the ground, breaking the towel rack and a tile, then bounces and breaks the toilet seat.
Back to the hardware store, and this time bought a new toilet seat and a couple of 29 mm rollers.
This is how the roller and its retaining clip (reaching under the slide) should look like.
Anyway, the sliding door to the bathroom was getting hard to slide, the roller had worn down and the door was sliding on the roller axle, which fortunately was made of the same material as the roller.
Removed roller, went to hardware store, confused about the size of the roller, bought a 31 mm roller where as I found out a 29 mm roller was what was needed.
The 31 mm roller went in, but the door retaining lug had to be disabled because it wouldn't fit, just simply rotated it so that it wasn't under the slide. Door slid wonderfully.
Wife come in, gives door an almighty shove to open it as normal and wham! it goes sliding to the end, bounces, knocks off the pelmet, it crashes to the ground, breaking the towel rack and a tile, then bounces and breaks the toilet seat.
Back to the hardware store, and this time bought a new toilet seat and a couple of 29 mm rollers.
This is how the roller and its retaining clip (reaching under the slide) should look like.
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