But the camps did grow outside each major city and other areas where there was good soil and water, and a chance to make money either as casual labour picking fruit or vegetables, or, as in the susso camp that was once on the edge of our property, panning for gold. Huts were built from old kerosene tins (there were always lots of those around as kero was still used for heating, lights and cooking and even to run a fridge) or scraps of wood and bark and canvas.
Conditions slowly improved towards the end of the 1930s, especially as prices for wool and wheat rose again, and in most of Australia there was no return to the bad drought of 1930. But, for many families, regular work only began with World War II in 1939, when once again most of Australia’s young men vanished to the AIF and overseas.
THE WIRELESS (OR RADIO, AS IT IS NOW CALLED)
The first radio station in Australia to broadcast was 2SB (later to be called 2BL) on 23 November 1923 in Sydney. 3AR and 3LO went to air on 26 January 1924 and 13 October 1924 in Melbourne. The first ‘wireless sets’ made in Australia could only pick up one station. Tommy Thompson’s, of course, were more sophisticated and could be tuned to whatever channels were in range. On 1 July 1932, the Prime Minister, Joseph Lyons, formally launched the Australian Broadcasting Commission (now Corporation), the ABC, with twelve radio stations — 2FC and 2BL in Sydney, 3AR and 3LO in Melbourne, 4QG in Brisbane, 5CL in Adelaide, 6WF in Perth, 7ZL in Hobart and the relay stations — 2NC in Newcastle, 2CO at Corowa, 4RK in Rockhampton and 5CK at Crystal Brook. A wireless was a necessity now in well-off homes and a luxury in poorer ones, where neighbours would gather to listen to music and voices from far away, and even re-enactments of the cricket matches being played in England — the ABC commentators used cables from London to give them the scores and a running report of what was happening, and used sound effects in their studios to make it seem like they were there at the matches.
SCHOOL
By the 1930s all children were supposed to go to school — assuming there was one nearby. Many in the shantytowns of the Depression had no school to go to. Children could also be exempted from school to work, especially if their father was dead or ill or one of the many men who had returned from World War I shattered in body or mind.
Few Indigenous children were allowed into school, even though there were no official rules barring them. Principals often found an excuse so that ‘white’ kids didn’t have to sit near ‘black’ ones.
In some places Indigenous kids had their own schools, but the teacher usually wasn’t qualified, and they were only taught how to do ‘manual’ jobs or domestic work, or carpentry or blacksmithing, not given the sort of education where they could become a teacher or even work in an office, much less ever go to university. Children were even forcibly taken from their families to be trained as servants or stockmen.
EQUAL PAY AND JOBS FOR WOMEN
It is difficult for anyone born after 1970 to understand just how restrictive life was for Australian women until the 1970s. I worked in a hotel in the months between school and university, working three jobs, housemaid, breakfasts and laundry, fourteen hours a day for seven days a week. I was paid $19.50 a week. A man doing a similar cleaning job was paid $140 a week. The minimum wage at the time was $56 for an eight-hour day, five days a week, plus more money for ‘overtime’ — but only for men. There were few jobs where women had equal pay for equal work. A married woman could not even be a permanent public servant. In some places, like Broken Hill, a married woman was not allowed to work at all. Other trades, like being a mechanic, were barred to women. Unions fought against equal pay for women, on the ground that working women would compete for jobs with men, who had to support their families. But even then, as now, many women were their family’s breadwinners. They did not have it easy.
In wealthier circles women, like some of my mother’s friends, almost never handled money, had no idea of their family’s financial position, or knew how to drive. When they were widowed they were bewildered, having never even written a cheque. A woman cajoled her husband into giving her something expensive she wanted, like a fur coat or a television set — she had no way to save for it herself, except from the housekeeping allowance her husband gave her. Many of the girls I went to school with assumed they’d only work until they got married. Only those who passionately wanted a particular career thought they might work even if they had a husband. We’d talk about how important it was to marry the kind of man who would ‘allow’ us to do the work we loved. Society even as a matter of course blamed a woman who had been assaulted, as much or even more than her attacker.
By and large, women in the 1960s were referred to only by their husband’s names in public — a newspaper would talk of Mrs James Smith, not Jane Smith. Our headmistress told us bluntly that we had to choose between a career, and marriage and motherhood, and that she hoped we’d focus on the fulfilment of a career as she had done, for if she had married she would have had to leave teaching. (This had already changed, due to the shortage of teachers.)
This all changed dramatically in the 1970s. Women’s pay rates and ability to reach the top of their professions still lag behind those of men, and unconscious prejudice still hampers women’s careers. But our society has come a very, very long way in a few decades.
When we criticise societies in which women are oppressed and repressed, it is worth remembering how recently our own society was much the same. It is also worth remembering those who fought — and succeeded — to gain the equality women take for granted today, and how quickly social change can come if you work for it.
ELEPHANTS
Humans live closely with many animals — dogs, who we have domesticated to accept us as the leader of their pack; and cats, who have possibly domesticated us so we invented sofas for their convenience — as well as horses and elephants.
The elephants who live with humans are genetically the same as wild elephants, but have close bonds with their carers.
Elephants have almost the same life span as a human — sixty to seventy years. We both become adult at about twenty. Elephants are possibly the most intelligent animals that humans work with. They play, have superb memories, and grieve for those who have died or been injured, whether they are elephants or humans. They sulk, hold grudges, play jokes. They also form strong family bonds. Elephants in captivity have been known to form these bonds with humans. Humans bond equally strongly to their elephant companions, possibly because elephants form social bonds very similar to human ones.
An elephant family group of several related females and their young is dominated by the matriarch, who protects and leads her herd. She is usually the oldest and most experienced and she will face danger to protect those she loves. Elephants protect their injured. And, sometimes, when an elephant forms these bonds with people, as Sheba does in this book, she will do the same for them.
Sheba’s habit of removing items of jewellery is based on the habits of a real elephant.
THE HYMN ‘SIMPLE GIFTS’
‘Simple Gifts’ was written by Elder Joseph in 1848 while he was at the Shaker community in Alfred, Maine, USA. The ‘Shakers’ were a Christian sect, so called because one of their forms of prayer involved joyous dancing. They were also known for their superb woodwork and cooking. Each act was held to be a prayer, to be done simply and perfectly. The song has been adapted by many singers since, and other verses added to it by other writers. This one is probably the original, sung to be danced to.
’Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free
’Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
’Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain’d,
To bow and to bend we shan’t be asham’d,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come ’round right.
THE MATILDA SAGA
The Road to Gundagai is the third
book in the series that began with A Waltz for Matilda and continued with The Girl from Snowy River. While all the books can be read by themselves, the thread of the same land, communities and families runs through them all.
A Waltz for Matilda begins in 1894 and ends in 1915, covering the journey to Federation and the acceptance that we were one nation.
The Girl from Snowy River is set from 1919 to 1926, but with flashbacks to World War I and the Snowy River Enlistment March, as well as glimpses into the future when on a rock below her house Flinty McAlpine meets a wounded soldier from 1969, who fought in the Vietnam War.
The Road to Gundagai is set from 1932 to 1935, in the Depression. The next in the series will be set in 1942, in World War II, and the fifth in 1969, where the stories — and the unanswered mysteries that readers may have glimpsed in the books — will come together.
The Joseph McAlpine in this book is the twelve-year-old Joey of The Girl from Snowy River and the ‘Mr McAlpine’, Drinkwater’s manager, is Andy, who had gone droving with cattle when The Girl from Snowy River opens. Matilda and Tommy are the protagonists in A Waltz for Matilda.
‘OOEY GOOEY WAS A WORM, A BIG FAT WORM WAS HE …’
My mother learned this verse as a child in the 1930s, and taught it to her children in the 1950s and ’60s. There are many versions, some of which are claimed by more recent authors. The original author is unknown.
‘ALL FOR ME GROG’
This traditional Irish folk song was adapted to an Australian setting before the early 1900s.
‘MY TWEETY PIE’
This is original, but contains the elements and phrases used in popular songs of the 1920s and ’30s.
MEDICAL ADVICE
Putting butter on a burn was done in the 1930s. Don’t do it. It will make it worse.
Also, these days medical advice suggests keeping a stroke victim cool.
SQUISHED FLIES
There were several biscuits around in the 1930s with similar nicknames, as well as ‘stuffed monkeys’ and ‘elephant ears’ and other vivid monikers. This recipe is based on an ancient one, where butter or fat was rubbed into ground wheat, barley, oats, rice or other grass seeds, sweetened with whatever fresh or dried fruit was available and baked on a hot rock by the fire. It evolved into Welsh cakes as well as pikelets and Singing Hinnies — so called because they ‘sing’ when the dough is poured onto a hot frying pan.
This is a recipe I adapted long ago, when I lived in a shed with no oven and cooked either on a wood fire or (till it blew up in the heat of one summer, luckily when I wasn’t near it) a single-burner kerosene stove. Makes about twenty-five squished flies.
Ingredients
Pastry:
125g butter (or dripping or lard in the 1930s)
2 cups plain flour (can be buckwheat for a gluten-free version)
½ cup brown sugar
Filling:
1 cup currants (or chopped crystallised fruit, dried dates or other dried fruit, including cranberries or blueberries, or a mixture of fruits; these can be soaked in orange juice for an hour, then drained if you like a softer filling)
½ cup jam (can be marmalade — different jams give different flavours)
Method
Rub the butter into the flour and sugar till you can roll it into a firm ball. If necessary, add a little more butter.
Take a walnut-sized piece of dough in your fingers — about as wide as a twenty-cent piece or, back then, a penny. Roll the pastry out between your fingers till it’s about as thin as a twenty-cent piece (or a penny). Put a little of the fillings in the middle, then press the edges together so the filling is wrapped securely inside. Repeat with all the mixture.
Heat a frying pan for about five minutes on a low heat. Add a little butter or oil so the ‘squished fly’ won’t stick. Place the biscuits in the pan. Cook on low until they look brown on one side when you lift them up. Turn them over and brown on the other side. They take about two to three minutes each side to cook. It’s important to keep the heat low or the outside may burn before the inside is cooked.
When both sides are brown lift them out carefully and leave to cool. They will be fragile at first, but firmer as they cool. Keep in a sealed container. They will last for weeks, or even months, especially if you keep the container in the fridge (or freezer), but if they grow mould or get soft spots that show there may be mould inside throw them out at once.
They are very, very good — as long as you don’t think about squished flies when you look at their insides.
Acknowledgements
This book owes much to Angela Marshall, who has guided not just this but many other books of history and historical fiction, turning the mess of a dyslexic into an acceptable manuscript, as well as adding the depth of her own wide historical knowledge.
My enormous gratitude to two of the wonderful ‘Kates’ of HarperCollins: Kate Burnitt, who guided the book through its rewrites, interpreting scrawled notes in the margins, and Kate O’Donnell, who edited it. Kate O’Donnell pointed out critical errors in the first and second drafts of the book, from chronology to failing to communicate who the guilty person actually was. Pam Dunne, as proofreader, picked up the many, many mistakes I had made in the rewrites. I am all too aware that when kids ask me, ‘Is it difficult being a dyslexic writer?’ and I say, ‘No,’ I should really add, ‘But it does mean far more work and squinting at illegible handwritten notes for those who work with me.’
Christa Moffitt designed the ideal cover, ferreting out not just a circus scene from the time but also giving a sense of place and incongruity, the glamour among the brown paddocks and hills.
Lisa Berryman, with her total insight into every book I write, added the perfect quote from one of Paterson’s poems. This book is as much Lisa’s as it is mine. Without her unstinting support, both personally and professionally, the Matilda Saga would not have been written.
The small travelling circuses of my youth and adulthood were magic. Suddenly one morning they’d be there, the Big Top where there was once a bare paddock, the music and the smell of fairy floss. A few days later there’d be nothing to see, except the tramped grass, a little hay and elephant droppings, until they were gathered by a local rose grower for mulch. In my childhood these circuses had animals, and while the performing dogs seemed to delight in showing their skills, it could be a hard life for lions, tigers, camels and elephants. I’m glad that modern circuses can still thrive on the skill of their human performers, with no need of cages. I am glad too that the magic of the travelling circus still survives. Despite TV, internet and vast special effects in movies, I suspect there will always be magic under the Big Top, as long as there are performers.
I’d also like to give my thanks and love to the kids of one of the companies of the Cirque du Soleil, with whom I had the privilege of spending a day, then seeing the small figures and their parents turn into enchantment that night.
And to all the readers who have emailed or written about the preceding books in this series, A Waltz for Matilda and The Girl from Snowy River: a thousand thank yous. A writer never knows if a book works until it is sent out into the world. You give me the confidence, and at times the energy, to keep writing.
About the Author
Jackie French is a full-time writer and wombat negotiator. She writes fiction and non-fiction for all ages, and has columns in the print media. Jackie is regarded as one of Australia’s most popular children’s authors and has won numerous awards. She writes across all genres — from picture books and history to science fiction.
www.jackiefrench.com
Other Titles by Jackie French
Historical
Somewhere Around the Corner • Dancing with Ben Hall
Soldier on the Hill • Daughter of the Regiment
Hitler’s Daughter • Lady Dance • The White Ship
How the Finnegans Saved the Ship • Valley of Gold
Tom Appleby, Convict Boy • They Came on Viking Ships
Macbeth and Son • Pharaoh • A Rose for the Anzac Boys
Oracle • The Night They Stormed Eureka
A Waltz for Matilda • Nanberry: Black Brother White
Pennies for Hitler • The Girl from Snowy River
Fiction
Rain Stones • Walking the Boundaries • The Secret Beach
Summerland • Beyond the Boundaries • Refuge
A Wombat Named Bosco • The Book of Unicorns
The Warrior — The Story of a Wombat • Tajore Arkle
Missing You, Love Sara • Dark Wind Blowing
Ride the Wild Wind: The Golden Pony and Other Stories
Non-Fiction
Let the Land Speak: How the Land Created Our Nation
Seasons of Content • A Year in the Valley
How the Aliens from Alpha Centauri
Invaded My Maths Class and Turned Me into a Writer
How to Guzzle Your Garden • The Book of Challenges
Stamp, Stomp, Whomp
The Fascinating History of Your Lunch
Big Burps, Bare Bums and Other Bad-Mannered Blunders
To the Moon and Back • Rocket Your Child into Reading
The Secret World of Wombats
How High Can a Kangaroo Hop?
The Animal Stars Series
1. The Goat Who Sailed the World
2. The Dog Who Loved a Queen
3. The Camel Who Crossed Australia
4. The Donkey Who Carried the Wounded
Down the Road to Gundagai Page 36
