Stephen Anstey

Transcript 

I was born in 1958 in Oamaru, New Zealand to an English father and a New Zealand mother. Dad was a merchant navy ships officer on the England to Australasia route. He spent more time in England than New Zealand so when I was eight months old we moved to England to live.

Eighteen months later my brother was born and Dad, wanting to spend time with us, left the sea and got a job as assistant dock master in the busy Cornish fishing and repair port of Falmouth. His job was to plan and supervise the docking and departure of ships in the harbour. We lived in Falmouth until we left England in 1968. During that time another brother and a sister were born.

My childhood in Falmouth was really happy. We lived most of our time in a comfortable, 1920s house on Western Terrace that backed onto the rolling green fields of a small farm.

My brothers and I would spend hours in these fields, playing fantasy games, building hideouts and tree houses, catching tadpoles and gathering raspberries for mum to make jam and delicious pies. I attended the small St Mary’s Roman Catholic Primary School and had many good friends there. I enjoyed playing soccer, swapping toys, stamps and bubble-gum and Brook Bond Tea cards with friends. While never hard-up we only received toys as presents for Christmas and birthdays so we became good at sourcing further toys through clever trading with other kids.

Falmouth, an ancient port, was steeped in history. Two large fortifications built by Henry VIII, Pendennis and St Mawes Castles dominated the headlands into the harbour. To this day I remember viewing in awe a large stone cannon ball embedded high up in the wall of Pendennis Castle. Dad explained that it had been shot into the castle during a raid on Falmouth by Spanish ships during the Armada of 1588. More modern wars such as the Second World War still loomed large in the 1960s. One of Dad’s best friends, George Wookey, an ex-World War Two frog-man and Royal Navy clearance diver would often visit. At his invitation we were often taken to view the exploding of washed-up old Second World War mines or in one instance the retrieval from the harbour of two German ME109 fighter aircraft shot down during the Battle of Britain.

We loved to accompany Dad to work on weekends and holidays to his work. The dock-master’s office was a Harry Potter-like structure perched out on the end of one of the quays. It had commanding views over the busy port and scenic harbour. We would watch the constant passing of large trans-Atlantic freighters, fishing vessels and Royal Navy and foreign warships through a large ornate brass telescope. Being the English Channel port closest to the Atlantic Ocean we would see stricken ships damaged by fierce Atlantic storms or collision limp past into port. We would regularly go on board ships including Royal navy gunboats and submarines and in 1966 onto towering square rigged sailing ships gathered in Falmouth for the start of the annual Tall-Ship’s Race. We were even taken to see the Royal Air Force bomb the world’s first stricken oil super tanker, the Torrey Canyon that in 1967 ran aground and broke up off Lands End. This was to prevent further oil pouring into the ocean.

This was the swinging sixties. Britain was the world’s ‘fab’ epicentre of ‘grooviness.' Mum looked trendy in her sixties boutique fashions. She and I loved the music. The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who and The Kinks (my favourite) ruled the charts and airwaves. On Saturday night we never missed watching these bands on Top of the Pops on our black and white TV. In the summer of 1967 we marvelled at the sights down the main-street as the spaced out British hippies who couldn’t make it to San Francisco camped out in the beach towns of Cornwall in their ‘hip’ psychedelic  threads.

However, as good as all this seemed to us children, my parents were concerned for our future. The British economy, still with much debt from the War, wasn’t good. While Dad had a secure job, he didn’t earn enough to save greatly and with his boss, showing no signs of moving on, his future career prospects were not good. Also living in Cornwall away from the larger centres, they worried about our high school education in a small and then remote town. They certainly couldn’t afford and didn’t want to send us to boarding school. They looked for greater economic opportunities abroad. Migration seemed to be the answer. Canada was considered but Australia was always the likely choice. Dad had visited the ports of Australia and New Zealand often when at sea. Out of them all he always liked Fremantle. He was attracted to Perth as a city and really enjoyed his time visiting the main tourist attractions of the day, Araluen and Yanchep. More importantly he always thought that Perth would be a fantastic place to raise a family. This combined with the fact that in the 1960s Western Australia was undergoing a mineral boom and well-paying employment opportunities were there meant that Perth was the obvious choice.

So in 1967-1968 my parents applied to migrate to Australia.  At that time the Australian Government was trying to attract suitable British migrants to Australia by offering, a cheap ten English pound ship-fare for a whole family to travel to Australia. This is how the then slightly abusive term ‘A ten pound Pom’ originated. We all scrubbed up and went on our best behaviour for an interview with the Australian Immigration Department. Recently, viewing our official files from the time, it’s clear that we impressed the authorities. However, to our astonishment, we were rejected! Why could this be? My Mum had the answer. She was a New Zealander. Unbeknown to us, some New Zealanders had been rorting the system. Ship fares were then expensive but they were taking advantage of the cheap assisted migration fares to travel to Australia and were then only having to pay the cheap fare back to New Zealand. We were rejected. At the time, only guessing that this was the case, my Father, upset, wrote an excellent letter to the Australian immigration authorities, guaranteeing that it was not our intention to hop across to New Zealand and that we really wanted stay in Australia. We received instant approval to migrate and the family is still here forty five years later.

We were due to embark on the Italian Sitmar Line Fairstar passenger liner in April 1968 to travel to Australia. It would take English migrants out to Australia and return to England with fare paying Australian cruise passengers. We then had to go through the long and hard process of selling our lovely house and most of our possessions. Dad spent months fixing the house up for sale and we all had to make some hard decisions about what we wanted to take as we were only allowed a certain amount of luggage. My brothers and sister and I had to leave some of our favourite items behind. This included many of our favourite toys and books and my Grandparent’s World War Two Home-guard and air raid warden’s helmets and gas masks which they had given us to play with. My brother and I really treasured these items and desperately wanted to take these with us as we associated them with our grandparents and we played endless fantasy games with them. But we were not allowed to on account of space. We also left a beautiful Edwardian magic lantern and hundreds of slides behind.

Unfortunately, all us kids came down sick with a stomach upset from poor drinking water at the rental property we lived in shortly before we left. This was tough on our parents who were desperately trying to pack but also for us meant that we couldn’t say good bye to our friends before we left. We just left!

Dad asked a favour from his old shipping company and we had our car, a five year old grey Vauxhall Victor, shipped to Fremantle cheaply ahead of our voyage. When the time came to leave we caught a train to London where we said good bye to some friends and then went up to Sheffield in Yorkshire to say goodbye to our English grandparents. This was really upsetting for all of us as we knew we would never see each other again.

Back in London, friends gave me some money as a going away gift. I went to Woolworths and bought a toy ‘Man From Uncle’ (after the 1960s television series) Luger cap gun pistol and some Airfix small plastic World War One Royal Horse Artillery toy soldiers and horses. This was quite war-like of me looking back on it. These were always something I had wanted but could never afford until that point. I packed these, along with a Look and Learn magazine and a book: King Arthur and the Round Table into my brown leather school satchel (a little like Angus Young’s from AC/DC!) to take onto the ship. These were the items I played mostly with on-board. I still have these items.

We left London by train for embarkation at Portsmouth. Unfortunately at this point my youngest brother came down with what was possibly German measles, although we didn’t have it diagnosed for fear of not being able to embark on the ship. My parents had done so much to get us to that point that nothing would stop us. I vividly remember, aged ten, on the 28^th of April 1968, standing with my parents by the railing of the ship’s deck, waving and throwing streamers to well wishers below as we bade farewell to England. Looking now at the photo of this occasion I can see that my Mother was totally exhausted.

We soon made ourselves at home in our cabins settling in for the near month long voyage. As the Suez Canal was closed due to the 1967 Arab-Israeli War, our route took us down the European and African coast, around the Cape of Good Hope and across the Indian Ocean to Australia. Our family had two separate small cabins on B deck, one level below the ships main deck, close to most of the main amenities. Each cabin was clean and modern with bunks and a small toilet and shower. Having being read the ‘riot act’ by our parents about ship-board safety – things such as not climbing the external rails, it was absolutely thrilling to go exploring what was to be our home for nearly four weeks. We soon discovered all the wondrous things a cruise-ship of the day possessed for children: dining rooms, a milk bar with juke box, picture theatres, swimming pools, souvenir and gift shops, a gymnasium and deck sport areas. We would view endless repeats of movies in the picture theatre or hang out with the teenagers listening to Otis Redding, the Small Faces and other the hit artists of the day on the juke box in the Jungle Room milk bar. However, the main attraction was simply the ship itself. The sheer novelty of ship board life took a long time to wear off. It was the perfect environment for games such as hide and seek or ‘chasey’ that we played with the many other children that we soon befriended. We also played fantasy games using the ship as part of the story. Raised on stories of convoys, U Boats and the Battle of the Atlantic, these were natural themes for such games.

Even though we were assisted migrants and not fare paying passengers, the Sitmar Line organised entertainment for children such as concerts and talent quests. They held a children’s fancy dress competition which my brothers, sister and I won. Mum and Dad made penguin outfits out of cardboard and crepe paper and we waddled in line past the judges. We were really proud to win this but unfortunately came down with a mild stomach upset and couldn’t collect the prize in person.

The best event though was the traditional ‘crossing of the line’ ceremony as we crossed the Equator. The ship’s teenagers seemed to take charge of organising a crowd of us kids to be ‘initiation’ victims for King Neptune. We were hauled in our bathers in front of King Neptune where we had spaghetti stuffed in our bathers and were then thrown in the swimming pool. We were then presented with some soft drinks and cake and a beautiful certificate to mark the occasion. It was great fun!

The voyage wasn’t all fun though. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sick than when the ship went through the Bay of Biscay off the Spanish coast. We were all bed bound for two days with severe sea sickness in this notoriously rough spot. However, this was the only time we were sea-sick on the whole voyage.

The ports of call were another highlight of the voyage. All sea sickness was forgotten as we steamed into the Spanish island port of Las Palmas. I well remember on a warm sunny day going ashore, attentively taking in what to us were the exotic Spanish sights. Sandy beaches, square, flat roofed white painted homes with bright coloured flower beds in front and a holiday atmosphere. I remember Dad waving his hands helplessly to a non-English speaking Spanish policeman trying to ask where a toilet was for my young sister. In desperation Dad pointed to her bladder, upon which the policeman’s face lit up in a huge knowing smile as he proudly marched us off to the bathers shop!

The last port of call was Cape Town on the southern tip of South Africa. We were overwhelmed with the sheer beauty of the setting. The sun shone brightly off the sparkling, turquoise water and white surf rolling onto white beaches below the spectacular Table Top Mountain and a row of peaked mountains. We went ashore, ascended the steep Mountain by cable car and went on a sight-seeing bus tour around the city. I was impressed by the huge white mansions along the foreshore overlooking the beach. Why weren’t we going there? Nevertheless, even as a ten year old I remember the sense of unease I felt seeing obviously poorer black residents and literally the signs of the Apartheid system that operated in this country at this time. Blacks were clearly kept apart from the whites. Mum had to explain to me why it was I had to go into the ‘whites only’ toilet and not the ‘blacks only’ toilet or sit in the park on the ‘whites only’ bench not the ‘black only’ bench. I felt sorry for the Indian taxi driver going back to the ship.

This was our last stop before Australia. As we crossed the Indian Ocean towards Western Australia our excitement mounted. The weather got cooler and the seas rose. Eventually we sighted land. We soon passed what to this day I would swear was a low sandy island with a large lighthouse and tall coconut palms. This was Rottnest Island, our first sight of Australia. I think my excited imagination of the time may have got the palm tree bit wrong.

On May 23^rd 1968 we steamed into Fremantle in the late afternoon, berthing alongside the then modern looking Fremantle passenger terminal, crawling with a large crowd to welcome us. We were being met by George Wookey, who had migrated to Perth two years before us. We spotted him in the crowd but also to my absolute astonishment, I saw our car, sitting on the adjoining wharf waiting for us.

By the time we cleared customs it was night time. Coming from a small town in Cornwall, I was expecting that Perth was of a similar size. I didn’t understand that Fremantle, about the size of Falmouth, wasn’t actually Perth but rather the port of Perth. This confusion continued when we were taken by car up Stirling Highway to George’s home in Cottesloe. I wasn’t familiar with suburbs. I went to bed and I remember being woken up by the warbling sounds of magpies. Eager to view Australia in daylight for the first time, I went outside and was immediately struck by the brightness of the light and the space. The homes weren’t the terraced houses or close semi-detached housing I was used to, but comfortable looking low bungalows set well back from the street with expanses of fenceless rolling lawn in front.

After two days at George’s house we moved temporarily into accommodation at Westhaven House, an old set of beachside apartments opposite North Cottesloe Beach. My parent’s decided that it was time for us to brave going to school.

We fronted up to North Cottesloe Primary School. I was struck by how the Australian classroom was very different from my British classroom. For a start there was no carpet, it was just raw floor boards. The seats were all very basic but we had a fantastic teacher who made us really welcome. My mum had sent us along in our old English school uniform, which consisted of rolled woollen socks with stripes along the top, a surge dark grey heavy woollen uniform and ties and school caps.

Now most of the Australian kids I noticed as we came out for morning play were wearing shorts, no shoes and white t-shirts or football jumpers. We obviously stuck out.

And very soon we had a large circle of kids around us who started to tease us, calling us “pommies” and so forth. And then they started to make fun of our uniforms.

One boy came up and with absolute mockery in his voice, grabbed my tie and pulled it hard and said ”Do you know what they do with ships down in Fremantle? They …” and he tugged on my tie “They tie them up!” And of course very quickly a scuttle resulted.

This kind of welcome wasn’t all that welcome! It was not one of my nicest memories of arriving in Australia. It was initially fairly hard for us to adjust to that kind of thing.

Very soon though, mum sent us along to school in our summer clothes without our uniform.

Three days after we arrived though on a better note, dad secured a job straight away.

He took a job with Fremantle Stevedoring company helping to supervise the loading of ships. We moved to a house in East Fremantle which was a wonderful house, located on Preston Point road. It had fantastic views over the Swan River. And for the next year we led a very, very happy life. My brothers and I spent endless amounts of time fishing in the river, riding our bikes along the river, swimming in the river. This was a wonderful and truly fulfilling welcome to our time in Australia.

Mum and dad unfortunately couldn’t afford to buy a house there, so eventually they bought a block of land out in the then new suburb of Kardinya. And really this was out in the sticks at that time. But again this was also a wonderful environment.

We would spend a lot of time riding our bikes around, going into the bush and discovering for the first time the wonders of the Australian bush.

Taken overall I would have to say that our time in Australia has been an overall most positive experience. For a start migrating to Australia secured an economic future for my family. They were able to provide for us really well and put all us kids through private schools, which we would not have been able to afford to do in England. All of us children went onto successful careers and to raise our own families in Australia. We had a wonderful lifestyle and one would look at as a really good standard of living and we all feel very proud to call ourselves Australian. And to live in a safe secure country with fair laws and good government. I really thank my parents for bringing us to Australia.