On 19 May, over 80 years ago, my father, Eric, recorded my birth in his diary

“……….. the baby, which was a son, was born about 1 o’clock, weight 8lbs. 6¾ozs, length 22½ inches”.

With no phone service at the farm, mother wrote a letter to Dad advising details

“Baby was born somewhere about dinner and weighed 8½lbs. Has jet black hair, rather a dark skin. Not a bit like Yvonne. He is more of a chubby baby than what Yvonne was.”

“Matron came around for the name and I gave her Ivan John. Will that be right. I didn’t know whether it would be Wayne Eric or John and Matron didn’t like Wayne, but John was a favourite and I thought the two names went best together”.

Mum and I left the Queen Victoria Launceston Hospital on Tuesday, 1 June, with Dad paying the hospital account £8-1–0 less Baby Bonus of £5-0-0, leaving £3–1-0 to pay.

I was a sickly baby, regularly bringing my food up after feeding and on 14 June was taken to Dr. Bryan at Longford for his assistance. He ordered me into the Toosey Hospital at Longford where I would remain until 3 September. Eventually, a diet of Vi-Lactogen was found to be suitable. It cost 7s. and 4d. per tin.

While at Toosey, the nursing staff would, at times, carry me down the street and, on meeting friends, would claim me as their own.

Adventurous Nature

From family stories and from my own memories it would seem that I had an inquisitive nature, and was much on the move, and managed to get into a number of scrapes. It was stated on more than one occasion that if I was not going into mischief, I was coming out of mischief.

I commenced to walk at 10 months of age and, when quite young, managed to escape from the small yard around the house into the larger adjoining yard where the stock came for water and were allowed to wander. When Mum discovered me, I was patting the nose of Bill, a big and somewhat flighty Clydesdale horse. Mum knew that any sudden move might cause him to move, possibly crushing me, therefore with some anxiety she quietly but carefully made her way to where I was, before snatching me from danger. 

On another occasion, when still quite young, the wagon was left parked in the farmyard at lunchtime, and while Dad and Ralph Chilcott were eating, Yvonne and I went outside and climbed up on the wagon. While walking along the floor I fell through a gap and was caught by my neck. Yvonne raced inside and raised the alarm and by the time Dad and Ralph got there I was making gurgling sounds and black in the face. Ralph would make claim of saving my life.

Another early memory goes back to the end of the Second World war. Although the term War had little meaning to me, I still remember mention of the event and still clearly remember that people were very happy.

When about four years of age I was attempting to catch birds in the front garden, when I saw a bird in Mum’s gladiola patch. With Mum being a keen gardener, she had placed a wooden peg with attached name at each bulb. I recall rushing at the bird, which not surprisingly got away, but in the process ran a stick into my left leg about halfway between the knee and ankle, Dad and Mum couldn’t get the stick out, so took me to Dr. Bryan at Longford who decided to knock me out with a whiff of chloroform before operating. However, I stopped breathing with frantic efforts then being made to revive me. I left the surgery minus the stick and with the doctor strongly advising that I never again be permitted to have chloroform. A scar remains as a reminder of this close call.

Next to the house at “The Grange”, Bishopsbourne on the southern side, were a number of large Kentish cherry trees and when the fruit was ripe we would go and enjoy a feed of those red juicy cherries. The best and sweetest were often found higher up the trees, but we were forbidden to climb the trees. One day looking at those appealing cherries in the upper limbs, and with no one in sight, decided to make the climb. The fruit was all as good as I expected, but on the way down a limb broke and soon I was falling headfirst towards the ground, the plunge only being stopped when a foot got caught in a fork of the tree. Try as I did to get myself free, it was impossible, and had to call for help. Indeed, I had been caught out in the act.

Another visit to the doctor occurred as a result of crashing off the tricycle while racing along the path on the southern side of the house and hitting my head against the brick chimney, resulting in a graze and bruise on the righthand side of my forehead near the hair line. With the graze becoming infected and a scab growing, I was taken to see Dr. Noak at Longford who prescribed treatment using a blue type of dye this being applied over the infected area. However, this had little effect with the scab continuing to grow, extending down the forehead and reaching into the hair line. After several more visits Dr. Noak finally diagnosed it as being a tropical ring worm, having previously witnessed them while serving as a doctor with the Army in New Guinea, but confessed that he had not expected that these should occur in the cool climate of Tasmania. With changed treatment the infection was soon cleared up but leaving a permanent bald spot in the hair as a reminder.

On one occasion before school age, I went looking for Dad who had been working in the 43 acre paddock grubbing in grips prior to starting cutting the oaten hay into sheeves. It was just on dark with a bright moon shining but couldn’t find him and, in my search, started to walk through the forest of hay which was above my head. I soon became disorientated and lost and couldn’t find my way out and was probably walking in circles. Eventually, the family came looking for me and with voice contact was soon found and taken home.

                                       

Activities Around the Farm

In our early years we did not venture far from the farm, this due to initially not having a motor vehicle and later due to petrol rationing. A further difficulty was that with an eventual family of five children, packing up and getting away would have been difficult. Also there were cows to milk and at times calves to feed as well as the general constant care of the farm and in particular the sheep and cattle which needed regular care and supervision. Consequently, our main outings was weekly to Sunday School and Church, to Mum and Dad’s parents, sometimes to Longford eight miles away, and attend the periodic sports and social events in the township. Launceston, 18 miles away, would be visited around once a year.

But yet our childhood days were happy times and although we had chores to fulfil, we also had time to play and a good environment to learn about life. The farm provided space and freedom and a healthy way of life.

On the farm there was always work to do and as soon as Yvonne and I were old enough, or around six or seven years of age, were taught to milk the cows, and were required to do this at weekends and holiday times, turn the separator and feed the bucket fed calves and orphaned lambs. A particular job for me was the splitting of sticks and bringing them in for lighting the fires.

At around the same age of six or seven years, Dad found himself a workman short when pressing bales with Uncle Trevor’s stationary press and so I was put to work. My job was to push the wires through the groove in the board dividing the bales back to the other side for tying. The dust was stifling, the pay nil, but by the end of the day a good stack of bales had been made and both hands were covered in blisters.

As I grew older and stronger, I was introduced to other activities on the farm, which included a lot of tractor work, particularly over school holidays. Initially, this was cultivating, discing and harrowing paddocks ready for planting, fertilizing pastures, and later grass hay cutting, baling and carting in. Also, over a number of years a considerable amount of time was spent cleaning out ditches, I drove the tractor while Dad operated the former horse scoop.

Dad and Mum were both keen gardeners, with Mum maintaining a large flower garden and Dad an even larger vegetable garden and orchard. At an early age I was encouraged to learn about gardening and to enjoy its fruits. Therefore, at the age of seven Santa Claus at Christmas time gave me a spade, a hoe, and a rake with Dad allocating a section of the garden that was to be mine. This patch was between the house and the well on the western side of a line of cherry trees that Dad had planted. Dad helped me to dig the ground and as we dug, we found rock and bricks which was probably the site of the original dwelling – a hut, and which on the 1842 survey map of the area was shown as being there beside the well.

Another activity for me was rabbiting, which in my younger years was always by trapping, although in my teen years was sometimes by shooting. At the time there was a large population of rabbits around and the skins provided a means of getting some pocket money. I mostly trapped along the gorse hedge between the 21 acre and 43 acre paddocks. The set traps would be inspected in the morning and evening, with rabbits being caught having their necks wrung and taken home for skinning, with the pelts being pegged and allowed to dry. Some of the carcasses would be eaten by the family with the remainder being fed to the dogs.

Playtime and Other Activities

With television having not arrived and children’s programs fairly limited on the radio, we had to make our own fun and generate our own interests. We received a few toys to play with which included a truck which spent a lot of time on the white concrete gravel heap, and along pretend roads I carted much gravel from one place to another. A blue painted sailing boat was also received one Christmas and many an hour was spent at the horse trough sailing the boat along its waters. As time went by, I made other boats and fitted them with sails and rudders and eventually quite an armada would be sailing the length of the trough, which had been made by hollowing out a tree trunk.

When about six received a pop gun and I still recall pointing it around the door at “Mayfield” and firing at Grandma Page (Rose Alice Rebecca Page) who joined in with the fun. Aunty Joyce Page one Christmas gave all the older grandchildren water pistols, and what a wonderful time was had by all until our parents stepped in and confiscated them, but by this time we were pretty much soaked to the skin.

The making of bows and arrows and using them in shooting was popular. The best material for making the bow was a springy length of green hawthorn wood trimmed to remove the thorns and with each end having a groove cut around so as to secure the string and prevent if from slipping. The arrows were mostly made by splitting a piece of straight-grained board, pointing one end, smoothing the shaft so as not to get splinters in the hand when shooting, with the non-point end being split to enable a piece of cardboard to be inserted so as to give the arrow trajectory. Sometimes the cardboard fletch would be bent, and the arrow would spin as it travelled. Targets were made for shooting at or we would just see how far an arrow would travel. Most of the cutting and trimming was done with the aid of a sharp pocketknife and I still carry a number of scars on my hands from gashes received when the knife slipped. 

One of the regular family outings was the yearly visit to the Longford Show which was held in mid-October on the weekend following the Launceston Show. To us, it was a much looked forward event. We were always allocated spending money, which never seemed enough and after a time I would supplement this with Christmas monies received and saved for this special event. Immediately on arrival, we would head off to sideshow alley taking rides on those hirdie-girdies that most appealed to us, the dodgem cars, the ferris wheel, the testing of our shooting skills by knocking over the moving ducks in the shooting tent, the feeding of the head moving open mouthed clowns with ping pong balls, the aim being to get certain numbers for the best prizes but never seemed obtainable, the throwing of rings over watches or other valuables and although looking possible, but again always without result. There was always the dart games and the knocking over of blocks, Harry Paulson’s boxing tent where those who fancied themselves in the ring were invited to strip off, don the gloves and have a go. At some shows there was the ghost house and the maze to negotiate oneself through.

The eats and drinks were a highlight of show day: the hot dogs dripping with tomato sauce, the fairy floss which was made as we waited but melted away to nearly nothing in our mouths, all supplemented with lots of ice cream, sweets and cordial.

By the end of the day, we were usually flat broke, our stomachs suffering from an overload of junk food, and as we left for home, we would be carrying a bag or more of near worthless items that we had won at some side show tent yet feeling well satisfied with the outing.

Another periodic outing was to attend the picture shows that for several years were screened on a monthly basis at the Bracknell Town Hall by the Bye brothers from Campbell Town. The screen was a large white sheet hanging at the platform end, with seating the hard wooden benches with the only padding being one’s backside or a cushion that some of the older people would bring and for warmth, particularly in the winter months, a heavy overcoat in addition to normal winter clothing, with some also bringing rugs to cover their legs.

On reaching our teenage years, a group of us local boys would sometimes make up a party and ride our bikes the four miles to Bracknell, Tasmania. The bikes were a motley collection, some new and some old, some had lights and brakes, while others had none. For lighting I had a dynamo set with a headlight and taillight, but no brakes apart from back peddling on the fixed wheel system. The ride home held some trepidation as if travelling via the Oaks Road we had to pass the cemetery, which was on top of a hill, while along the road over the Bracknell hill there was supposed to be a ghost, that of a headless women draped in a cloth and carrying her head under one arm and a ladder over her shoulder. To young teenage boys neither place was desirable to dawdle about at, therefore which route we took home, the hill was ridden at the fastest speed possible, only easing off and out of wind when well past each spot.

Written by Ivan Badcock – 25 July 2024