Stinker’s History: Life on Marsh Road part two

THIS is part two of a recollection of growing up on Marsh Road in the 1950s, as told by Patricia Hawkins (nee Maslin).

DAD was a market gardener sharing with his brothers Cyril, Keith, Alan and my grandfather Herb.

He had four children to feed so, to supplement the income, he took a job on the building site when Courtaulds was being constructed at Heatherbrae.

Unfortunately, our life changed as dad was killed in a work accident in 1953.

At the time I was almost eight, John six, Barbara four and Glenda nearly two.

He lingered for some time, even making it home for a while, but eventually succumbed to his head injury.

Dr Walsh from Nelson Bay used to come out frequently to check on dad; he was a lovely man.

I think that during this time we had the telephone installed.

It was a party line affair where you picked up the phone and Lucy Upton, who operated the exchange and ran the Post Office, would put you through to the person you required.

After dad passed away, mum received Social Security payments and a Legacy cheque which brought us to the poverty line.  After Glenda started school mum used to go and work on surrounding farms to supplement our income a little, plus get our vegetable supply.

Even though she only earned a meagre amount we were told: “If anyone asks, I am only working for some vegetables”.

I guess it would have interfered with her Social Security payments.

She had a hard life, working very hard.

We did not have any luxury but we were never hungry.

Mum was a good manager.

Our baked lunch on Sundays was baked vegetables and sausages but we were lucky.

No empty tummy!

On the other side of the windbreak were the boundary tennis courts.

This was at the bottom of the property of Fred Maslen, Herb’s brother.

Saturday afternoon tennis was a major social and sporting event in Port Stephens.

The club either hosted or travelled to another club in the area.

The afternoon teas were a delight with the host club providing all sorts of beautiful home cooked cakes.

We did not have to worry about weight issues then, everybody worked too hard and there was no take-away.

Our other entertainment was dances at Bobs Farm Hall.

Everybody went, children and all.

As soon as they could, children joined the dancing and between dances we used to slide up and down the hall on the slippery dance floor.

Bobs Farm school used to have a Christmas concert and Christmas tree.

We practiced for the concert for weeks to put on a show and our parents made our costumes.

Barbara, Glenda and I would get a new dress for the Christmas concert.

Bobs Farm School was one classroom from Kindergarten to 6^th class, with 26 pupils when I was in 6^th class.

During recess and lunchtimes we all played games like rounders, red rover cross over, skipping, hopscotch etc.

When the district carnival got close, we started practicing all the team ball games, relays, high jumps, etc.

We had our green tunics with a red sash – Bobs Farm colours.

Sometimes it was held in Jacko Upton’s paddocks, opposite the school.

For food supplies other than locally grown vegetables and fruit which mum used to spend hours preserving, we had a delivery from the Bobs Farm General store for pantry essentials.

Mr Merritt used to come through on a Wednesday in his old converted bus.

Our bread was delivered three times a week and left in a bread box at the edge of the road.

A little unrefrigerated van used to come from a butcher in Stockton and bring meat three times a week.

When I first started high school in Newcastle, I had to catch the 7am bus into Newcastle and it used to arrive back at 5pm.  For the first six months, the bus driver refused to come along the Marsh Road in the morning as it was only tarred to Thompson’s corner (half way).

I  rode my bike, along with a couple of other people, to the end of Marsh Road where we left our bikes in Upton’s roadside milk shed and caught the bus from there.

In the afternoon the bus came along the Marsh Road past my house but we had to go to our bikes and ride them home to be used the next day, and do it all over again.

By John ‘Stinker’ CLARKE