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Bluey Mahon’s cricket pitch and Fatty’s famous catch

John1 Comment

My friends and I were dead keen on cricket when we were going to school.

After mucking around in various back yards and endangering the family gardens, we started to play cricket on the road in Evan Street.

There were not many cars in Penrith back then and most people made do without them. Penrith was only  small and the built up area didn’t go much past Jamison Road. Kids walked to school and commuters walked to the station or rode bikes to work.

Shoppers too could walk to the shops as the shopping area was mainly confined to High Street, in between Evan Street and Station Street. And as most of the shopkeepers delivered, orders could be left at the store and those who had phones could phone their orders in. There were also neighbourhood shops like the one run by Mr Hamilton in Castlereagh Street or Mrs Morrows’ in Derby Street where groceries and other consumables were sold.

So we would set up a cardboard box  to use as stumps in the middle of Evan Street and when we saw a car coming, we would just move the box and step aside until the car went past. We always had plenty of time. Traffic was sporadic and often ten minutes or so would pass before the game was interrupted.  Less stoppages than a present day Test Match.

A struck ball would occasionally roll along the gutter and disappear down the waste water inlet. With luck, it would roll down into the big storm water drain that ran across the spare paddock next to George Innes’ house in Evan Street. The rule was that the person who had hit the ball had to climb over the fence into the paddock and get down into the drain and find it. Mr Innes always kept one or two cows in that paddock but, luckily for the ball seeker, they were never fierce.

Sometimes the ball got stuck in the inlet and you had to put your hand into the hole to see if you could extract it. Otherwise, you had to wait until the next big storm washed the ball out into the drain and hope that you could find it.

George, the cockie, who watched the games from his cage on the front verandah, soon learned to mimic the word ‘Howzat’. His frequent misdirected appeals were always turned down.

Our parents’ concern about increasing car traffic caused us to eventually move our cricket game to the footpath in Lethbridge Street.

This was not altogether satisfactory as the narrowness of the footpath and its proximity to the fence hampered our ability to play shots to the off side (or to leg if one was a left-hander). A lofted shot across Lethbridge Street was not ‘over the fence is six and out’ but more ‘get the hell out of there’ because it was quite likely to hit a window in Mrs Fitch’s house which was on the corner of Evan Street.  After a couple of broken windows, we had to abandon the hard ball and substitute a tennis ball. And you still had to field on the road. There is now a pathology practice where Mrs Fitch used to live.

We then decided to build our own grass cricket pitch. Bluey Mahon lived in Lethbridge Street and his house had a really big back yard. We cleared the back of the yard and laid down some grass, borrowed a hand roller and we soon had our own cricket ground. We borrowed the roller from the Edwards family who owned a bakery in High Street and who had a clay tennis court at the back of their shop. We had to roll the roller across and up High Street and along Evan Street before turning up into Lethbridge Street. It was hard work.

Being irresponsible, we didn’t keep up maintenance on our fine grass cricket pitch and after a few months of constant use, it was more of a dirt wicket than a turf one. Bluey Mahon bowled  fast off-cutters and at times the ball would rise suddenly off the rough surface of the wicket. You could say that bodyline had come to Penrith.

We never ever had enough players for teams, despite rounding up younger brothers, the occasional sister and a dog or two, so it was all about individual performances.

Unfortunately, the pitch backed onto the Willis’s back yard and there was only a strand wire fence between the two properties. A fast ball missed by the wicket-keeper was likely to end up in Mrs Willis’ vegetable garden which was right next to the fence. Mrs Willis was very tolerant but even her patience had limits and we had to put up some wooden palings to block the ball.

As we treated this as a proper cricket pitch, the ordinary laws of cricket applied rather than the customary rules of backyard cricket – there was no tip and run, you could get out first ball, you could get out LBW, and there was no nonsense about one hand-one bounce. We did however have a limit of six that you could run on any shot because if the ball was hit over the bowler’s head (Wiggy Mort’s favourite shot), it could end up in the long grass in the next paddock and take a long time to find.

One day Fatty Morphett took the world’s greatest catch. His real name was Ray and I  never understood the nickname because he was big and muscular. He was later nicknamed Elo (for elephant), surely more appropriate. Ray was fielding at point, reading a Phantom comic when the ball soared towards him. He reached over his head and plucked the ball from the air, without dropping the comic or even losing his place in it. No Test cricketer before or since, to my knowledge, has even taken a catch while reading a comic.

As a group of us used to walk to school together and Bluey’s house was the last pick up spot, we would occasionally, if Bluey’s parents were not home, make an executive decision to absent ourselves from school that day, and spend it playing cricket. That was called ‘wagging it’.

I think Bluey’s house is still there and I wonder if the pitch still exists. We should put up a plaque or something.

Penrith characters: Charlie, the bookie in the hat

JohnLeave a comment

Another Penrith character was Charlie, the SP bookmaker.

If you strolled down the lane next to George’s Hamburger Shop in High Street, just down from what is now called Lawson Street, you would come to a broken down building. This was the place of business of Charlie, the SP bookmaker. The lane is no longer there but has been built over. I think there may be a nail care place there now.

Before the TAB was created in 1964, off-course betting was illegal. If you wanted to punt on a horse or dog race, you either had to go to the racecourse or find an SP bookmaker. SP stands for starting price and this was how winning bets were calculated. They were paid on the starting price – the price at which on-course bookmakers had the horse or dog at the moment that the race started.

As SP betting was illegal, both the punter and the bookmaker could be charged and fined. Police were very tolerant of bookmaking establishments and they more or less operated with impunity. This could have been because the majority of the community did not consider it as something that should attract penal punishment. Another view was that police inaction resulted from financial inducements given by the bookmakers. Who knows? Perhaps it was a mixture of both community tolerance and the financial needs of police.

Most town and suburbs had at least one SP bookie. Penrith had several well-run SP bookie joints and there were shops and pubs in town that acted as agents of these bookmakers. These bookmakers were well organised and operated like proper businesses.

Charlie was neither well organised nor business-like. He didn’t even appear to have a last name, at least one that anybody knew. On the charm and personal charisma scale, Charlie was in negative territory.

He sat at an old table, always with his hat on, with a telephone next to him and recorded bets in an invoice book with carbon paper. The top copy went to the punter, leaving Charlie with a carbonised record of the bet. The radio was always on: the race broadcasts and starting price information on station 2KY were tools of trade.

Charlie was gruff and his conversation was hardly sparkling. He did offer a couple of advantages over the bigger establishments: he gave credit to out-of-luck punters and never resorted to strong arm methods if they didn’t pay him back. He would write off the defaulting punters to experience but they never got a second chance.

At one stage, Charlie had a side kick named Barry. Barry was a mad punter himself but was very able with figures and quick at calculating bets without the assistance of pen and paper. He was less able in keeping his hands out of Charlie’s cash-box and made off with a couple of hundred quid of Charlie’s takings. So far as is known, Charlie took no punitive action against him and Barry was still seen occasionally around town without any visible signs of post-embezzlement injury.

Not long after the TAB started, Charlie closed the operation down and left town, Another small business lost to emerging technology.

Next Penrith character story: Sister Bartholomew’ a real bone-crusher.

Going to the pictures: the Nepean Theatre, the Avon and the Drive-in.

John1 Comment

In the 1940s and 1950s, people didn’t catch a movie: they went to the pictures or to the ‘flicks’. For many years the only picture show (cinema) in Penrith was the Nepean Theatre situated at 386 High Street, near the corner of Castlereagh Street.

pop spoence
‘Pop Spence’

Owned by the Spence family, it had been started by Lisle Spence, better known as Pop Spence, and later managed by his son Bruce.

Nepean theatre
Nepean Theatre (Cinema Treasures)

At some stage, the Price family of John Price and Sons Funerals must have been involved with the theatre because Mrs Essie Price who lived in Henry Street and who had married into the Price family had a lifetime free admission ticket.

Jim Lonard was the projectionist and Ben Hall was the usher. The job of the usher was to show people to available seats after the lights went out and to keep order. Ben carried a torch to help guide late-comers to their seats after the lights went down. Ben also found the torch useful in curbing misbehaviour in the theatre and would hit kids on the knee with it when they put their feet up on the top of the seat in front or made a noise. Ben had a naturally cranky disposition which suited him admirably for the job of theatre disciplinarian.

The Nepean had front and back stalls sections at ground level and a more expensive dress circle above the back half of the stalls. The dress circle was useful for dropping Jaffas onto the people sitting below during a film’s slower moments.

The back rows of the stalls were favoured by courting couples as they were hidden from people seated in the dress circle. They had to be circumspect however in what they got up to because Ben Hall, the usher and self-appointed guardian of the town’s morals, was always ready to shine his flashlight on a necking couple if he suspected something untoward was going on.

Picture nights

The picture show was open every night except Sunday but Saturday was the big night, followed by Wednesday. Saturday afternoon was for kids and that’s another story.

The picture show would fill up on the two big nights and people came in from outlying areas to go to the pictures. They either drove or came in by buses put on especially for the pictures run. The buses would wait for the pictures to end, parking in a big line in High Street, opposite or adjacent to the theatre. I don’t know what the drivers did while they were waiting – perhaps sleep or have a meal. Possibly, after six o’clock closing ended and pubs could stay open until 10 pm, they would pop up to the Australian Arms for a bracer. Attitudes to drinking and driving were less severe then.

Most people did not care what particular films were showing – they just went on their regular nights to have a night out. Penrith was hardly Las Vegas and there were few competing forms of entertainment. And people dressed up; suits and going out dresses were the normal mode.

The programs

The night sessions kicked off with a trailer of the next attraction, followed by a newsreel. In pre-television days, a newsreel was the only way you could see actual events happening elsewhere and were very popular. In fact, in Sydney, the Globe Theatre showed nothing else but newsreels and the occasional cartoon. Newsreels mainly featured overseas events but Cinesound, made famous for later generations in the film Newsfront,  featured Australian news events.

picture show ad 2
An ad for the Nepean

After the newsreel would come the first film of the night, generally a B grade film. This was a low cost, low-grade film put out by the film studios and was generally in black and white.

Interval

After the B film was over, the lights would come on and there would be an interval (formally called intermission) of some fifteen or twenty minutes.

Theatre patrons would either go to the two milk bars opposite the theatre for drinks and confectionery or buy them from the lolly boys in the theatre. A lolly boy was a young man who carried a tray held up by a cord around his neck. The tray had a selection of confectionery. There were no lolly girls in that less liberated era.

Interval fare consisted of various types of soft drinks as well as lollies and snacks. The big American-based drinks like Coca Cola did not come to Australia until 1964 but Penrith had its own soft drink brand – Penrith Cordials – which had its factory in Station Street. It was later bought out by Shelleys. The alternative to soft drinks was a milkshake or a fruit juice, made from flavoured syrup, sugar and tap water.

The most popular lollies were Fantales, Minties, Scorched Peanut Bars, Vanilla Nougat Bars and the frightful Jaffas. It was expected of any young man escorting a female friend that he buy her a box of chocolates. The most favoured and most expensive of these were Winning Post and Old Gold. Winning Post were milk chocolates put out by Nestles, and Old Gold was a dark chocolate manufactured by Cadbury. It was important that the beau make the right choice of chocolate, particularly if he had snagged back row stalls seats.

The main feature

After the interval, the end of which was signalled by a loud bell, the main feature would be shown, the session generally ending around 11 pm. As the screen closed on the main feature, a recording of the national anthem, then God Save the King (or Queen after February 1952) was played and everybody stood up. It was considered bad form not to stand up, or to leave the theatre while the anthem was playing. Republicans were still in the closet in this very Royalist era.

The program was changed on a weekly basis although particularly popular films were often held over for a second week.

The Avon

The Dungowan was a theatre and concert hall in Station Street originally owned by Mick Horstmann who then sold it to Jim Scott. The Scott family also owned a garage down the bottom end of High Street. The Dungowan was used for balls, dances, concerts and meetings, and sometimes as a roller-skating rink.

mr scott
Mr Jim Scott

Mr Scott obtained a cinema licence and then changed the name of the hall from the Dungowan to the Avon and began showing pictures in opposition to the Nepean Theatre. My recollection is that the most popular films still remained with the Nepean as Mr Spence had locked in exhibition deals with the major distributors.

But the Nepean Theatre had lost its monopoly in Penrith.

And then came television

In 1956, traditional cinemas were threatened by the coming of television. The first television broadcast took place in Australia on 5 November 1956 and our entertainment habits were forever changed.

Change came slowly because most people could not afford a television set at first and broadcasting times were limited, generally not starting until the late afternoon. They finished at about 11 pm with the playing of God Save the Queen, against a background of the Queen reviewing the troops or the flag waving in the breeze. During most of the day, in the absence of programs, the television channels broadcast a ‘Test Pattern’, a diagrammed chart that allowed people to fine-tune their sets.  The stations only broadcast in black and white. Desperate TV fans could pass the time staring at the Test Pattern.

Each of Penrith’s electrical stores, to promote sales of television sets, put television sets in their windows and left them running after they closed for the night. The most popular brands were Admiral and AWA.  Crowds would gather outside the shops, many in pajamas and dressing gowns and with camp chairs and thermos flasks, for a night’s entertainment. Handley’s Electrical at 493 High Street just up from Station Street was a popular night time viewing site.

As the novelty of public television watching wore off and the price of television sets dropped, more and more people got their own sets and the death knell tolled for traditional cinemas like the Nepean and the Avon and they gradually closed down. The sites were sold, the Nepean to the Bank of New South Wales (which became Westpac) and the Avon to Waltons, a chain store that no longer exists but which specialised in cheap furniture.

The Drive-In

Drive-in theatres became a big thing in the late 1960s as they offered the chance of going to the movies in the comfort of your own car. and the novelty of television had long gone.

Families could catch a double feature reasonably cheaply and young courting couples could enjoy the company of each other without the restriction of Mum and Dad observing every move in the lounge room in front of the TV. Also, the films available on television were not new, as the studios did not release them to television channels for at least a year after first release and often longer. DVDs and streaming were not yet on the horizon.

An entrepreneur from Hervey Bay named Bill Elson-Green bought a big tract of land in O’Connell Street Kingswood and built the Starline Drive-In. It opened in 1965. Its name changed to the Skyline after it was sold to Hoyts in 1979. It was very popular at first but by the 1980s Drive-Ins had lost their appeal and it closed in 1984.

Film fans today are spoiled for choice – multiplex theatres with super-comfy seats, great screens and sound systems, I-Max and the occasional film shown in 3-D. They can even stream first release movies onto their own huge television screen with theatre quality sound. But a night out at the pictures at the Nepean Theatre was a community event.

Penrith Primary School

John3 Comments

Penrith Primary School, now Penrith Public School, was and is situated on the corner of Doonmore and High Streets. It now incorporates Penrith Infants’ School.

primary school
Penrith Primary School

The feeder area

Penrith was not then very big. Its urban area extended to Jamison Road in the south, Parker Street in the east, Station Street in the west and Lemongrove in the north, although there were only a couple of streets in Lemongrove, most of the present day streets there being developed later. Anything further out were farms or isolated dwellings. Even streets such as Hornseywood Avenue, Jipp Street and Tornaros and Reddan Avenues were post-war additions.

The other thing is that we all lived in houses. There were no flats other than a few houses that had been converted to what we would today call duplexes. There was also St Aubyn’s Terrace, still standing, a row of terraces (semi-detached dwellings) at the top end of High Street, and a couple of boarding houses but that was about it.

The houses were nowhere near as big as they are now and even the more affluent home would be considered to be moderate by today’s standards. Kids rarely had their own bedroom and shared a room with siblings. When the house began to get a bit over-crowded – the arrival of a new baby, or a relative who came for a short visit but never left – a room might be added or, more likely, a veranda would be closed in. The windows of the new room were often louvred (the predominant brand was Cooper Louvres) to let in whatever breeze was around on a hot day. Unfortunately, they did not quite seal off the outside air when closed, and in winter, the frosty air streamed in.

But we all had yards to play in, mostly big yards at that. There were also lots of paddocks around the town that you could enjoy. Old Mrs Price had a wattle and daub house in Henry Street, just down from what is today the courthouse. Her family had dealt in antiques and she had lots of good things. A particular favourite was an old Cobb and Co coach that she had in her back yard. It was great to play in.

school photo 3a
Class 3A 1949*

The teachers

When I was there, the headmaster was Mr Leithhead, who taught years 5 and 6 alternatively. I had the bad luck to get him both years, or maybe he was unlucky. He was a difficult man. I didn’t like him and he didn’t like me. He thought that I and my friends were smart-arses (and he was probably right) and we thought him an illogical and irrational man who played favourites and non-favourites among his students. I didn’t learn much from him in the two years that he taught me.

He was known to have flown fighter planes during World War II and, on reflection, I think the faults that I perceived in him may have been caused by some form of post-trauma stress disorder, little understood in those days. I say this because he would often just suddenly stop teaching and start to play the Recorder to the class or take us out in the yard to look for birds. He was a dedicated bird watcher and I well remember his excitement one day when he located some rare honeyeater in the schoolyard. I think that he probably used the music and the bird watching as stress relievers.

leithhead
Believed to be Mr Leithhead in his flying days

I didn’t fly fighter planes during a war so perhaps any character flaws he might have had could be excused more easily than mine.

The deputy headmaster was Mr Kesby who taught year 4. Pop Kesby as we used to call him, was beloved by his students even though he was not a great teacher.

When he saw that his class had had probably enough tuition for the moment, he would let his students do their own thing, so long as they were not disruptive to others. Alternatively, he would embark upon his favourite poem – Abou Ben Adhem by Leigh Hunt, which he knew by heart and which, by the time our year with Pop Kesby was over, we could recite it as well.

Pop Kesby went on to teach at Springwood and from discussions with ex-students of that school, I believe that they had the same experiences with Mr Kesby that we did. I can guarantee that in any discussion between Mr Kesby’s ex-students, if his name comes up, a spontaneous cry will spring forth- ‘Abou Ben Adhem, may his tribe increase’, the first line of that poem.

I don’t know what then became of Mr Kesby, but his son, Daryl, ran a fish and chips shop in Station Street for a few years. Some people tell me that Daryl’s fish shop was at the top end of High Street but that is not how I remember it. Maybe he had two sites at different times.

Another popular teacher was Mr Street. Arthur Street was an avid local historian and a lot of his research is in Penrith Library. Mr Street was very bald and lived in Castlereagh Street (before it was renamed Lawson Street), just down from the corner of High Street. He had us work on a research project about the founding of Penrith, and I wish that I still had a copy of it.

mr street
Mr Street

Getting to school

A good thing about going to Penrith Primary School was that most of us could walk there in a few minutes. Just about every house was within walking distance of the school, even on the outskirts of the built-up area. Even from Nepean Avenue, it was only a 30-minute walk. Or they could ride their bike.

We mostly walked to school as a group, the furthest out mate calling at the next friend’s house, they in turn both walking to the next house and so on. This was pretty good and promoted friendship and camaraderie. There was often a dozen in the pack by the time we got to school.

The only students who came by bus were those who lived in outlying districts that did not have a primary school. Nobody was driven to school by a parent.

Times have certainly changed, as much now a matter of safety as of distance.

Bikes

Sometimes, but not often, we would ride our bikes to school, particularly if we were going someplace after school. Just about every kid had a bike. The two most desired brands were Speedwell and Malvern Star, although there were others not as popular. The rivalry was intense amongst the riders of Speedwell and Malvern Star.

Most of us bought our bikes from or had them repaired at Tickner’s Bike Shop, down the bottom end of High Street, past Tatts Hotel. As roads were rough and punctures were common, you had to make sure to carry a repair patch kit and a bike pump. The pump was also handy to ward off an attacking magpie if you were riding anywhere in Orchard Hills or out past Jamison Road, well-known magpie territory, during the breeding season.

The basic bike had a back pedal brake, almost guaranteed to cause a fall if you slammed them on going at top speed down a hill, and no gears. You could add a brake on the handle, gears, a bell, a passenger pillion and a flashing reflector light (not compulsory). Helmets were unheard of.

Doubling was common, the person being doubled either sitting on the pillion, or in front of the cyclist on the front bar. Three on a bike was not unusual. It probably sounds more dangerous than it was because there were not nearly as many cars around then.

As Penrith was a very law-abiding town and bike stealing was rare, you could leave your bike anywhere, even overnight, without securing it.

*Privacy note

If anyone shown in the above class photo objects to their inclusion, they should contact me and I will immediately remove their image, with an apology.

The Chips, the Heron and the Mudgee Mail

John3 Comments

This is a story about three legendary commuter trains running between Penrith and Sydney.

The old steam trains

Before the Western train line was electrified, the carriages were pulled by steam engines, a method of locomotion fondly remembered by railway buffs. They did have their downside: they were noisy and  they were smelly. Because these primarily wooden carriages were neither air-conditioned nor had interior fans, passengers on hot days were left with the choice of either opening the windows and letting the soot blow onto their frequently dry-cleaned travelling clothes, or suffocating.

But the carriages were great. You either had box carriages which were self-contained carriages, seating 8 to 10 people on two opposing bench seats, or corridor type carriages that had two 2 person seats opposite each other with a folding table suitable for playing cards in between on each side of a long corridor.

Entrance to and exit from the platform in a box compartment was through a door opening directly onto the platform and there was a narrow corridor on the other side of each carriage. This led to other exit/entry doors and to the toilet at the end of each carriage. The toilets always had a quaint sign asking passengers to please refrain from using the WC while the train was at a station. The corridor was also a place for people who could not get a seat to stand or sit. Corridor carriages were similar in design to those in use today.

Both types of carriage had overhead luggage racks, sorely missed in today’s trains, and a bottle of water and two dusty glasses on overhead racks. Construction was generally of polished wood and the seats, in an era freer from vandalism, were of comfy leather. The windows were pull-down and had blinds made of fabric.

railway poster
Old railway poster

Each carriage had lots of colourful posters and framed black and white photos of places in the State that the Railway was encouraging people to visit by train. In winter, metal foot warmers covered in cloth were sometimes provided but they were put in further up the line and were generally cold by the time you got to Parramatta.

We liked the box carriages because there were a few of us who travelled together and the first one to get to the train at Central would generally seize the compartment that we preferred and use every trick to keep strangers out until the rest of us arrived.

interior-view-of-a-compartment-inside-an-old-british-railway-carriage-EHWFTH
An old box carriage

All this was to change after the electrification of the railway line and the introduction of the silver carriages.

The old wooden carriages went off the commuter run and were replaced by shiny new silver carriages that were corridor only with sets of four seats on each side. Less legroom and luggage space but they did have cooling and heating to some extent. Compared to the old wooden carriages, these were sterile and lifeless and the communal atmosphere was no longer there. The fun had gone.

The Fish

The Fish was and is a train between Lithgow and Sydney that by-passed Penrith. It was apparently called the Fish after one of its long-serving drivers called Heron but whose name was sometimes pronounced Herring – hence the Fish.

There were all sorts of legends about the Fish – people occupying the same seats for their entire working life, and passengers dying in their seats and their ghosts haunting the train. Maybe they were true.

Still, the Fish was never a Penrith train and is important only in the context of the next two trains.

The Chips

The Chips was added to the railway fleet to cater for passengers who wanted an appropriate commuter train but who could not travel on the Fish. Its name is self-explanatory – Chips goes with Fish.

It was still a mountains train but it began at Mt Victoria. It left Penrith station at 7.14 and got to Sydney at 8.32 after stopping to drop off passengers at Parramatta, Granville, Strathfield and Redfern. If you worked in the city, you got off at Central and caught an electric to Wynyard or St James. If the Chips was running late and you were not going to make work in time, you could always get off at Granville, run hell for leather down the ramp and catch an express train to Wynyard. It was fun to watch suited people with briefcases doing this.

penrith railway 1
Penrith Station (NSW State Archives)

The return journey began at Central at 5.24 pm.

The cheapest way to travel was to buy a yearly ticket which came in the form of a medallion that you could put on your key-ring but, for most people, the cost was too big a sum to pay out. The  best option was to buy a weekly ticket, then known as a Workman’s Weekly. As lots of people used this option, you could not take the chance of  getting a new ticket on the Monday morning because you could still be waiting in a long queue as the train pulled out of the station. The trick was to go down to the station on a Sunday and buy your ticket.

The Chips was fun. If you were a regular traveller, you had lots of friends to travel with. Birthdays and festive occasions were celebrated in party style and although alcohol was frowned upon by the Railway, intoxicating beverages did make the occasional appearance. But you had to keep an eye out for ‘snappers’, ticket inspectors called this because they punched a hole in your ticket after checking it.

Parking was not then a problem for commuters as there was plenty of  room in streets near the station and there was a car park in Belmore Street. Because Penrith occupied then such a small urban area, many people walked to the station.

The Heron

The Railways then decided that the Chips would no longer pick up at Penrith and that they would put on a new train, a companion to the Fish and the Chips. Dedicated Chips travellers who did not want to change spurned the new train and drove instead to Emu Plains, the last pick up station under the new timetable.

But what to call the new train which would start and finish at Emu Plains?

The local Chamber of Commerce held a competition to choose the best name and there were some great suggestions playing on the Fish and Chips combination –  the Vinegar, the Lemon, the Newspaper (fish and chips were then sold wrapped in newspaper).

the heron
The Heron at Central Station (Penrith City Library collection)

With a stunning lack of imagination and sense of humour, the Chamber chose the Heron after the first driver of the Fish and that was it. The Heron started service in January 1960.

The Mudgee Mail

For quite a few years, the last train home to Penrith of a night was the Mudgee Mail which left Central at 10 pm sharp. If you missed this, the next train was the paper train leaving at 4.30 the next morning. It was called the paper train because at one time, the Sydney newspaper publishers would send their newspapers  on it to newsagents on the Western line.

MUDGEE MAIL
The Mudgee Mail

If you wanted a night out in Sydney, you had to either catch the Mail or arrange to stay with a friend. This dampened the opportunities for social intercourse in Sydney and for those who liked to have a few drinks after work with their Sydney based friends.

‘Struth, look at the time, I have to go or I will miss the Mudgee Mail’.

The worst possible result was to leave the pub, and get to Central just to see the Mail pull out. Dossing down at Central for a few hours, particularly on a cold winter night, was not comfortable.

The more dedicated drinkers would bring a couple of bottles of beer on board (theoretically prohibited) and the hungrier amongst them might also bring some hot chips doused with vinegar. The mixed fragrance of beer, fried potatoes and vinegar was a familiar one on the Mail. More sophisticated imbibers might also bring in a bottle of oysters which could be bought in a shop near Central.

A danger for passengers who may have had one too many, and there were lots of those on the Mail, particularly on Friday nights, was to go to sleep and miss one’s station. I do remember a couple of nights waking up at Mt Victoria and having to wait for the morning train back. That station did however have a lovely waiting room with a fire on winter nights.

Exiting the train at Penrith was sometimes difficult as you would have to weave your way past the sleeping bodies in the corridor.

I realise that today’s trains are cleaner, more efficient and have climate control but I do miss the days when catching the Chips to Sydney was fun.

 

 

 

T

 

Jay’s shoe shop: frying the feet

JohnLeave a comment

Mr Jay owned a shoe shop in Penrith. It was in High Street between Lawson Street and Castlereagh Street near the Post Office. This was the place your mother took you to get you Paddle or Robin school shoes, tight-fitting black leather shoes that would never be comfortable no matter how long you wore them.

jays shoes
Back to school shoes from Jays

For a while, Mr Jay had in his shop a ‘shoe-fitting fluoroscope’ to test whether your new shoes fitted or not. It was a wooden box and you stood on a step and put your feet in a slot and you, your parent and the salesperson variously looked through a slot on the top of the box while you wiggled your toes to see if the shoes fitted. The machine worked by bouncing x-rays down onto your feet and showing an image of your foot in the shoe, bones and all.

shoe xray
A shoe-fitting fluoroscope

A yearly or less frequent visit to get blasted with x-rays of course was not enough for us. If you were down the street at a loose end, you could always wander into the shoe shop for another look at your feet, if the shop was not busy and the staff were in a good mood.

There did not appear to be any shielding devices and certainly nobody was wearing leather aprons or anything. I don’t recall how long the machine was in the store but at some stage the government banned these devices because of potential radiation dangers.

We were a lot less risk-averse in those days and certainly a lot more ignorant about potential dangers – playing in old fridges, mucking around with plastic bags, playing in stormwater drains during a storm, doubling and trebling on our bikes. One particular type of insanity was standing on the running board of cars while they were moving, or riding on the bonnet for a bit of a lark. Then, of course, there was the madness of Cracker Night, the subject of a future post.

It’s a wonder we survived into adulthood.

GPS Regatta Day: the private schools invade the town

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GPS schools held their annual regatta in April every year on the Nepean River. Following the British tradition, GPS stands for Great Public Schools although they were all, with the exception of Sydney Boys High, private schools charging big fees. As Penrith High School was a state school, it was not included in this category although we all thought that it was pretty great.

Remarkably, very few Penrith children went to a private school. Parents at every income level either sent their child to a state-run school or to a school in the Catholic education system.

The GPS boys and their families would flock to the river to see which school won the rowing eights and became the Head of the River as the championship was called. As High Street was then part of the Great Western Highway, they had to drive through town in their buses and private cars with their school colour ribbons attached to their vehicles, giving the old school cries. We were accustomed to our own conservative school uniforms, so straw boater hats and military uniforms on schoolkids seemed a bit odd to us.

Most of the town gathered along the road to watch the passing traffic. There was still a sectarian divide in Penrith in those days so a few of the believers, even though they may not have had a son in a GPS school (then all male) would get over-enthusiastic. The Catholics in that category would cheer one of the Catholic private schools – Joeys or Riverview – and the Protestants barracked for Protestant schools like Shore or Scots, even adopting the colours of that particular school. The rest of us didn’t give a damn and just jeered and hooted.

Regatta 1940
Oars on the Nepean River

The procession of vehicles generally took a couple of hours and for most residents that was the end of it. Spectacle over! However, some of the wealthier families who lived in Nepean Avenue which fronted the river held house parties and watched the boat races over cucumber sandwiches and a glass of champagne, or so I imagined. As probably did the poorer plebs who lived across the river in Emu Plains, but with a Sargent’s Pie and a Toohey’s New instead.

H J F Neale regatta Nepean River
Spectators watching Regatta 1932 (Penrith City Library collection)

The more aggressive youths in our community carried on the day by going down to the spectator stands along the river and trying to start a fight with some private school boys, while the bolder girls paraded along the stands hoping to attract the attention of a boy with nobler blood than the locals. These endeavours were mostly unsuccessful.

They still hold the Head of the River each year in Penrith but I suspect that the locals now have more things to interest them than to stand on the footpath watching cars carrying people they don’t know to an event that few of them care about.

Still, in those days, anything happening outside the ordinary was a big event for us.

 

Penrith Infants’ School: the magpies and the spoiled milk

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Penrith Infants’ School was for many years situated on the corner of Evan Street and Henry Street, a site now occupied by commercial premises. It was separate then from Penrith Primary School.

The school comprised kindergarten, first class and second class, or grades as they would now be called. Students in years 3 to 6 moved up to Penrith Primary School on the corner of High and Doonmore Streets, where it still is.

The long time kindergarten teacher was Mrs Curroll, a sweet lady loved by every child she ever taught. Year 1 was taught by Miss Anderson, who wielded the feather duster, the chosen instrument of corporal punishment, ferociously. Her target of choice was the back of the legs. In those days, corporal punishment was considered unobjectionable by parents and community. Today, most of our teachers (and probably our parents) would be doing time.

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The old school

Students in year 2 were taught by Mrs Dunn, who lived with her family on a huge property out beyond Jamison Road, The farm extended almost to Smith Street and, if you were a Mrs Dunn favourite, you could go out there on a weekend and ride their horses. Mr Dunn owned a racehorse named Taunter which was always going to win a race but never did. Taunter at one stage had the distinction of being the oldest maiden (a horse that was yet to win a race) in Australia.

Mrs Dunn was also very handy with the feather duster but she was a great teacher and is fondly remembered.

Charity and learning to save

We were taught at school the benefits of thrift and the need to show charity in a very unusual way. Somebody would bring around a device consisting of the face of a black man with a little hand. A child would place a coin in the hand and by pulling the lever the coin would be transported into the man’s mouth and proceed down the throat. In the racially insensitive spirit of these times, the device was called ‘The Nigger’. Those were indeed different times but surely this should have been unacceptable even then.nigger 2

A favourite charity for school collections was Stewart House, a home providing a safe haven for children in need.

We were also encouraged to open a savings account with the Commonwealth Savings Bank. A representative of the bank would call regularly at the school to collect savings and enter them in a passbook. Many children had a Commonwealth Bank money box at home to store up their savings.

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The famous Commonwealth Bank money box

Good business for the bank and many a person has been surprised in later years when they recollected their Commonwealth Bank history and found a tidy little sum available.

The maggies in swooping season

There were lots of big trees in the play yard in the school that were nested by magpies.

It is well known that August to October is magpie swooping time, the breeding season when magpies are prone to defend their brood by attacking any unsuspecting person who comes within their territorial area, favouring the victim’s head, face and neck. They bite savagely and stitches are often needed after a swoop.magpie

As a result, the back half of the schoolyard was off-limits during swooping season and woe betide any kid brave or foolish enough to wander into enemy territory.

Alfred Hitchcock probably got his inspiration for his horror film The Birds from the backyard of the Penrith Infants’School.

A Hitchcock horror scene or possibly Penrith Infants at play time.

Free but often spoiled milk

At some stage, the government decided that Australian children were undernourished and not getting enough calcium. They brought in a well-meaning scheme to provide free milk to every child at school.

Lining up for the milk (Photo by Pol C)

Great idea, but the problem was that the milk was to be consumed at recess (play time as we then knew it) and it was delivered by the milkman at 9 o’clock in the morning or earlier and left in the yard. The milk was in either small glass bottles with a foil top or cardboard containers.

They didn’t take into account the ferocious Penrith summer, and by recess at 11 o’clock, the milk had well and truly curdled with a big scummy layer on top. Nevertheless, you had to drink it. Some kids tried to covertly pour the milk out but if you were caught, it was the feather duster for you. Of course, in the winter, the milk would often be frozen.

The free milk program was still going on in the 1970s. I reckon a lot of us were put off milk for life as a result.

The big needle

And then there were the vaccinations when we had to line up to get inoculated against Diptheria and other diseases. The injecting doctor or a nurse would stick a bloody great needle the size of a pneumatic drill in you, after swabbing the spot to be punctured with some form of medical disinfectant.

Little regard was paid to the purity of the process and there was no such thing as disposable syringes. One kid would be jabbed and then a lighted match applied to the needle to ‘disinfect’ it before the next kid was inoculated.

Anyhow, we all seemed to survive this process. Maybe we were tougher in those days or perhaps the rancid milk built up our immunity.

Penrith characters: Old Tom, the Count and the one-armed man

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There were many characters in Penrith when I was growing up and they all contributed to the atmosphere of the town. I will be writing short sketches of some of them.

Old Tom

Tom Egan, commonly known as Old Tom, even to those older than him, was a bit slow and fancied a drink or two. Despite all this, he was a hard worker and kept himself going by doing odd jobs around the town and he lived in an old shed. His conversation was limited and consisted mostly of adages that were sometimes hard to fathom.

He had sayings like ‘It ain’t the world, its the people in it’ and ‘You might as well kill a black dog as a white one’ whatever that meant. When the drink got him, which was pretty often, he would make these pronouncements over and over again, until the cops came and got him, and tossed him in the slammer for the night.

In those days of relaxed civil rights, people perceived by the police as a nuisance were often arrested without charge and just left in a cell until someone decided it was time to let them out. Some cynics thought that this was more the result of a copper augmenting his income by rolling an unfortunate miscreant than protecting the public. They may have been right.

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Old Tom

Old Tom favoured GPS Regatta Day as a forum for his public oratory. Regatta Day was a big deal in those days for Penrith, an event that allowed us local hicks to become acquainted with our posh City betters, and more on that in a later story. Any Saturday night was also likely to see a Tom Egan performance. He liked to stand in the middle of High Street just opposite the Nepean Theatre to project his wisdom. This was a convenient spot as it was just down the road from the Australian Arms Hotel, Tom’s preferred pub, and only a short uphill walk to the old Police Station. Sometimes Tom would throw his money on the ground just to make it easier on the police.

Tom had no family that I knew of but he was still around when I left Penrith in the late 60s. I don’t know what became of him. Probably, he just got old and died.

Count O’Meagher

Lancelot C O’Meagher had silver hair and a Hercule Poirot moustache which curled up at the end. The Count, as he was naturally called, had a vintage car, a 1912 Renault, which he drove about the town and which became an integral part of any parade or procession held in the town. There seemed to be a lot of them but I don’t really remember what they all were for.

The Count worked from time to time in the library in the School of Arts building. He was not the shy and retiring type and knew full well the value of publicity. He once drove the Renault to Melbourne and back, averaging 15 miles an hour, and gathered admiring crowds and newspaper articles wherever he stopped.

The Count kept the Renault in the same immaculate condition as his moustache. I suspect he waxed them both on a daily basis. What he did or had done for a living nobody seemed to know. I used to think that he was once an adventurer in the Middle East with lots of stories to tell or a Lothario on an ocean liner, or that maybe he was just a retired grocer who inherited his vintage car from a maiden aunt. Although the truth was different, it turned out that he had led an interesting and exotic life.

The car had a history too. According to the Count, who was reputedly once a car salesman, he had sold it to a doctor somewhere in country NSW but he had subsequently bought it back for 340 pounds and it had never had anything but minor repairs. He did, however, prefer a horse to a car, saying that you had to work hard to keep a car looking good but a horse was much easier to maintain.

The Count was a man of many parts. At one stage, he ran Sunday cruises on the Nepean River leaving the Log Cabin wharf at 1030 in the morning and arriving back in the late afternoon. The cost was four shillings (kids half price) and the Count was both the manager and the ‘skipper’. I don’t know if the price included refreshments or if passengers took their own picnic lunch and ate on board or at some picturesque spot.

The Count and his car. The man sitting next to him may be George Howell (Penrith City Library collection)

Looking back at the Count’s Renault, after all these years, the cars my family drove at that time would probably qualify now as vintage cars. The same comment would apply to my first car which was a 1959 VW Beetle. At the time of writing, it would be 61 years old. In say 1955, the Count’s vintage car would have been only 43 years old. Some comparison. Just think, if I still had it, I could be leading a Penrith procession.

The one-armed man

Long before the television series ‘The Fugitive‘, Penrith had its own one-armed man, or one-handed at least. His name was Jack Bowtell and he disguised his missing hand either with an artificial hand made out of leather or a hook, and he wore these interchangeably. What made him wear one of these on any particular day is a mystery although he probably had his reasons.

He had been a general and mail carrier in Penrith, carrying the mail between the railway station and the post office and operated from a horse and cart as The Pony Parcel Express. Mr Bowtell was very active in community affairs and in charity work. I understand that he sometimes organised dances and musical shows for charity where he would deliver a musical recital of Bye, Bye Blackbird, accompanied by a black rooster in a cage.

The hook was pretty scary to young children but he was a nice man and I suspect that he would have felt bad every time a kid saw the hook and ran.

Next Penrith character story: Charlie, the bookie in the hat.