Memories of Henley Beach I can still remember Newcombe’s corner store, And Simcock used to bring the milk, right up to our door, The Carnival in summer, in the January heat, The trams that used to run down the middle of the street. Air raid wardens served us all, my poppa he was one. Our windows all had blackouts; we had to foil the Hun. And when the war was over, we thanked him for his task. Among the toys that I enjoyed, was his World War gas mask. In May of nineteen forty-eight, the Barcoo ran aground. And I was there and saw the flames, when Moore’s burnt to the ground. Trams ran on the viaduct, through the paddocks bare. Resplendent in his council robes, old Gurner was the mayor. We started school with Mrs. Triggs, our teachers first were women. And in Grade three we all were taught, by that Mrs. Shimmin. For woodwork, old Spud Murphy, wielding his tee-square, And if you failed, it landed, right on your derriere. We went to school five days a week, and never played the wag, And Fridays in the schoolyard, was saluting of the flag. We drank our free milk every day, but often it was hot. There was no fridge to keep it cool, so cream formed on the top. The common names for many boys were Peter, John and Bob. We all were very equal and no-one was a snob. Among the best known surnames, Smith, Jones and Adams. But never in our school were found Yusefs, Chongs or Saddams. From the time that I was young, Wal Threadgold cut my hair. For boys too small he’d put a plank upon his barber chair. I didn’t have a Mohawk, or a crew cut, and besides, All I was allowed to have, was a short cut back and sides. The churches on a Sunday, all tolled a welcome bell, All the people went along, to save their souls from Hell. While girls and boys swam in the sea, and played upon the sand, The migrants, most from Europe, toiled hard upon their land. When the Queen came to our shores, In nineteen fifty four, Townsfolk flocked from miles around, and held her in their awe. The school kids trained for many weeks, with sheets that they were handed, And in the Showgrounds we did dance, and formed the Royal Standard. When cars came to the servo, they pumped fuel by hand. And every petrol station, did offer every brand.. No Coles or Woolies vouchers to cut the price by cents, When petrol by the gallon was less than twenty pence. Johns and Fry the butchers, competed for our trade, And in the Square the bandstand, where brass bands often played. The petrol station, just nearby, was owned by Henry Hicks, The Ozone, called The Bughouse, screened the latest of the flicks. The iceman brought us blocks of ice, that fitted in the chest. Our baker in his bread- cart ,brought us his very best. Old Sansome driving horse and cart, took every dead marine. Pickaxe bottles coloured brown, and others, shades of green. The local Carnival each year, went on for ‘bout a week. And in the tent for pygmies, we always used to peek. The Penny Arcade, The Hoopla, they’d all been round for years. When Jimmy Sharman called a fight, up strode Billy Spears. The annual swim from pier to pier, from Henley to The Grange, Was held for many, many years, there never was a change. The swimming pool was by the beach, we’d swim there hour by hour. And if we were just game enough, we’d climb the diving tower. The Ramsgate and the Henley, great spots to have a brew. The wine bar, ‘cross from Tivers, some drinkers went there too. Just nearby, the billiard hall, for those with time to give, And O’Brien drycleaners, “the man who dyed to live”. We’d never heard of black bean sauce, or even Sang Choi Bau. Our daily tucker always came from sheep and pig or cow. We never supped on Tom Yum soup, we just had lots of stew, Lots of vegies, good for us, but never vindaloo. My Mum lived life quite frugal, preserved fruit in a jar. For picnics on the weekend, dad packed us in the car. We often wore those hand-me-downs –and no designer label, And gathered around the wireless, to laugh at Dave and Mabel. We used to ride our bikes for miles – no fear of danger there. No mobile phones to call back home. There was no risk I’ll swear. It can be strange how times do change, sometimes for the best. As I look back, we didn’t lack, we really were quite blessed. The memories ne’er fade away, they all come back to me. It’s just like it was yesterday, that I lived by the sea. The good old days are gone for good, I heard it in a speech. But there’s few so good as when I lived, a boy at Henley Beach.
Posted on: Thu, 20 Mar 2014 06:37:42 +0000