CONTENTS
Acknowledgements ........................................................................................................ 9
Prologue ....................................................................................................................... 11
About reading this book ............................................................................................... 15
Chapter 1 – Childhood 1902 ........................................................................................ 17
Chapter 2 – Mid teens and early 20s ........................................................................... 63
Chapter 3 – Bessie ..................................................................................................... 125
Chapter 4 – Yallourn 1924–1925 ............................................................................... 130
Chapter 5 – Odd Jobs and the railway 1925–1926 .................................................... 143
Chapter 6 – Jeparit 1926–1933 .................................................................................. 154
Chapter 7 – Stawell 1933–1940 ................................................................................. 165
Chapter 8 – Murtoa 1941–1945 ................................................................................ 187
Chapter 9 – Ballarat 1945–1951 ................................................................................ 198
Chapter 10 – Melbourne City Mission 1951–1969 .................................................... 211
Chapter 11 – One hundred! ....................................................................................... 336
Epilogue ...................................................................................................................... 345
Further information ................................................................................................... 353
Prologue
The evening service had just concluded. I
noticed an elderly well dressed gentleman sitting towards the rear of the
middle section of the church.
I was surprised to see one of his age
there as the evening service comprised predominantly of a more youthful
generation. His well-kept white hair and open friendly disposition made him
stand out in a distinguished yet inviting manner.
I thought he might have been a visitor
so went over to introduce myself. I found that he was a regular at the morning
service and sometimes attended the evening service as well.
I was curious as to how an elderly
gentleman got about in Melbourne in the evenings. I could not help but be
astonished when he told me that he usually got around by tram.
Not long later a friend asked if I’d
accompany her to take Jim to his eye appointment. Seeing that parking could be
a problem on busy Commercial Road, she thought that it might be a good idea if
she were to drop us in front of the clinic and I were to walk with Jim to the
appointment while she went in search of parking. She explained that Jim
sometimes required assistance with steps. Little did I realise that this was
the same gentleman whom I’d met previously and that he was in fact ninety years
old!
That day I realised just how close we
lived to each other – although our addresses indicated different suburbs, we
were within easy walking distance.
It is not often easy to trace the
beginnings of friendships but over numerous cups of tea and coffee, walks in
the Royal Botanic Garden
This story has long been in writing –
approximately two decades. While most of the people mentioned in this biography
retain their actual names, a number of names have been changed according to the
wishes of Jim Collett to protect their identity.
Jim’s biography has been compiled from
snippets of recorded conversations on audio tapes, notes taken over numerous
cups of tea or jotted down later, as well as from Jim’s own typed up
recollections – which he started doing in 1995 once he had mastered the
intricacies of Word Perfect on an old IBM donated by a friend! He persisted at
this for quite a number of years. Other pieces of information have been
consolidated from various source materials including aged old newspaper
clippings, Melbourne City Mission reports as well as other preciously conserved
letters from Jim’s old clients. Dorothy Pitt (Jim’s daughter) was also another
valuable source of information.
The process was complicated as most of
the time, his stories were told to me with no chronological order in mind but
emerged spontaneously from any number of ‘triggers’. Very often also, these
stories would resurface at a different time with added detail from which I would
then have to amalgamate with previous accounts. I was most impressed with the
consistency of his recollections however – sometimes right down to the exact
words that he’d used previously!
In relating the First-aid course that
he had taught during his railway years, I was amazed at how he was able to
recite from rote what he had actually said to the class – this amazing piece of
his mental acuity became apparent when I transcribed the various taped
conversations recorded over several years. (I did say it was a very slow
process!)
His memory and capacity for learning
was astonishing. In early 1991, he graduated from the International
Correspondence Institute with an Associate of Arts in Religious Studies. Three
years later, in 1994, at nearly 92 years of age, he graduated with a Bachelor
of Arts in Bible Theology from the International
Correspondence Institute
University (Texas ,
USA
Right up to the year of his going to
be with the Lord in August 2006, at nearly 104 years of age, he was still
fixing clocks for friends. He delighted in creating sound-activated toys from
parts of old dome shaped clocks and bits of wooden toys. He hated waste and was
very resourceful. He frequently salvaged ‘junk’ and created useful pieces of
furniture. He had undertaken an electronics course sometime during his earlier
years.
He was methodical and thoughtful in
his approach to undertaking any task he set himself. Once he had decided on a
course of action, he would proceed to accomplish it bit by bit, and sometimes,
literally, inch by inch – as in the case of moving a heavy dining table. On
another occasion I found that he had removed all the wall-paper from the
bathroom by himself!
Unit 3 of 8–10 Kelvin Grove in Prahran
surely saw more than its fair share of visitors through the front garden-entry
door than any other unit in the block. Visitors of all ages, sizes and racial
representation would pop by morning, noon or night. All could be assured of a
cheery welcome from ‘Uncle Jim’ whose smile seemed to radiate from the depth of
his heart.
During Jim’s final years, although
still sound in mind, his hearing frequently let him down such that I had to
frequently resort to writing on a pad whenever I wanted to communicate
something to him (from holidays to cataract operation arrangements).
Although he once remarked that
‘growing old is no fun’ as he grew increasingly less limber and less able to go
for his daily walks around the neighbourhood, and as he came to terms with his
aging body, he never allowed that fact to affect his attitude negatively. Right
up to the very end, he exhibited the grace, serenity and poise that he had come
to be associated with. As someone once commented in admiration during his 100th
birthday, ‘Jim is so cool and calm’.
What was the secret to his serene
disposition? Keep turning those pages to find out!
Maria Ngo
February 2013
February 2013
About reading this book
The story that you are about to read is in
fact a story within a story. Or more accurately, a compilation of many stories
– after all, our lives are made up of many moments and events. Some events have
distinct beginnings and ends, while others just merge quietly into the next.
Some events in our lives are more
memorable than others while others are made memorable because we choose to
grace them with our attention. As this particular story goes, it is a little of
both …
At the start of each chapter (and
sometimes at the end as well) you will find what I call ‘cameo conversations
and exchanges’ that have to do with more current events in Jim’s life. These
have been added to give you additional insight into Jim’s character and
relationships as well as giving you a peek at some ‘behind the scenes’ stuff.
But, if you are only interested in a
straight forward chronological narrative of this unique, yet typical-of-the-era
Australian, skip those passages typeset in sans-serif text. You can come back
to these later – if you wish. However, if you are up to the challenge, you
could read it as it is … (For those familiar with The French Lieutenant’s
Woman as well as fans of the very popular TV series Lost, and Once Upon a Time, this should not prove
too daunting an approach.)
I’ve tried to allow Jim’s ‘voice’ to
be reflected in his biography as much as possible. As such, minimal editing has
been undertaken in the ‘main’ passages in order to preserve, wherever possible,
the narrative style of an ‘oral tradition’.
Maria
Ngo
Sample pages from the manuscript
Chapter 1
CHILDHOOD 1902 ...
Thursday, 7 July 1994
I was watching L.A.
Law when the phone rang.
‘It’s Jim,’ Lionel said. I took the phone from him.
‘Hello, hello. How are you?’ the cheery voice
greeted me.
‘Hi Jim. Good, thank you. How are you?’
I beckoned to Lionel to record the show for me. He
groaned as he reached for a video tape. We were nearly out of tapes. He managed
to find one and popped that in.
‘I’m going to visit Dorrie in Medina
in Western Australia
next week. Mun Lee has offered me a case that I can borrow. I don’t want a
large one, because then I cannot carry it. I got a letter from Dorrie the other
day – she began it with “Wow! It’s finally happening.” I spoke to her too, and
she was quite over the moon about my going over. I do miss them. I’m going to
try to speak to them about coming to live over here with me when I get the
chance. But I don’t think that they will – they have a nice home each.
‘Betty has a nice four bed-roomed house which she
keeps very nice. She has white sheets in the bedrooms. Victor is staying over
tonight.
‘Judy and Boon Chew are in-charge of buying my
groceries this month. They said that if I need anything, to call them. As I
will be leaving on Tuesday, I don’t think I will need anything ’til then.
Victor ordered some pizza from a place in Glen Huntly tonight for dinner. I
have enough left over for tomorrow night’s dinner.
‘Kim said that she would arrange for everything.
She would see that I got to the airport alright. I’ve had three offers of
transport already. Sally said that she would take me to the airport if I needed
it. But she is only four weeks or less away from having her baby, and then
Natasha offered to take the day off to help me pack and take me to the airport.
‘I’ll catch the flight from Melbourne
to Adelaide and then Betty will join me on the
trip from Adelaide to Perth . Kim tells me that I will be sitting
next to Betty over to Perth .
I am very pleased about that even though I have about one and a half hours to
wait between the two flights. Betty’s daughter Pamela and her husband Bob
Mahoney who live out in Forrestfield will pick us up from the airport in Perth when we get there.
We’ll spend the night with them. The next day we’ll go over to where Dorrie is
in Medina .
‘She tells me that I will like it in Perth . You come from the
West don’t you? How was it?’ he asked in eager anticipation of his trip. It was
really hard to believe that he was nearly 92 years old!
I told him that the winters were warmer there than
Melbourne and that it was quieter and smaller as well. On the whole I liked Perth .
‘These last few days have been very nice. It was
such a beautiful day today that I couldn’t stay inside. I have had three walks
today,’ he continued proudly. ‘It was so cold last week.’
‘I was
helping out at the Prahran City Mission yesterday, repairing heaters and other
electrical items,’ continued Jim. ‘ I saw so many people who came in to buy
things. I don’t see any point in it – buying all those junk. What could people
want with them? I suppose it makes some people feel good to be able to buy
something, even if it is junk. They remind me very much of those men that used
to come to the Mission in the city – many came because of the free breakfasts
that we gave out, and they would then spend their pension money on getting
cigarettes and alcohol instead of real food. I did not understand it, but when
I did, I got browned off. I can tell you, I got very very browned off.
‘When I was with the railways in the early days, we
were placed in small teams. After a few years of working alongside the same
people, you get to know them quite well. After a while though, it would get
quite tiring – the same stories and jokes year after year. Sometimes I felt
like I had nothing to say – the same faces, the same pair of steel rails,
scrub, rocks, picks, shovels, railway trolley, sweaty bodies, smell, faces,
stories…it got rather monotonous then.
‘Sometimes you meet interesting characters. One man
used to be a banker. My, could he write fast. He showed me just how fast he
could write one day, and it was incredible. But he said that the cramp would
get him and then his hands would stiffen and he would not be able to write for
days. He eventually lost his job, and had to find work elsewhere. And the only
work he could get was on the railways. Nowadays of course you have Work Cover,
and you would be alright. In those days, you had to fend for yourself. You
could not depend on any form of welfare to help you along.
‘I’m really excited about going to Perth,’ he
said, returning to the original reason for his call. You could almost see his
beaming smile …
I was born five days after my brother Edgar
was tragically killed right outside our home by a horse-drawn lorry. The
cement-loaded lorry had been his ride home, but he must have lost his footing
when he jumped off and got run over.
So the 25 October 1902 was a day that
held a mixture of emotions for my family.
My parents already had six children.
The oldest was Everline who was about 12 years old (she was born in 1890).
Edgar would have been about 11, and Henry 8. William was 6, Albert 5 and George
was only about 2.
I must have been a scrawny weakling
compared to my older brothers because when I was about four years old, having
just run into the house was stopped short by my grandmother pointing her
spindly finger at me and saying with some vehemence to my mum, ‘Em, you’ll
never rear that child.’
I was rather taken aback by it. I felt
as if I had been punched in the stomach. I must have been rather sickly for her
to say such a direct remark to my Mum. I managed to retort however, ‘I don’t
care, I’ll go back to God. I was very happy there.’ I do not know why I said
what I did about going back to God as I had no idea where that thought came
from.
Well that was over a century ago and
I’m now 101 years old and the year is 2003.
As it so happened, 1902 was ‘The Year
of the Big Drought’. The drought had been going on for about two years by then
and Maryborough, right in the heart of Victoria
My father told me that the drought had
gotten so bad that there were scrappy looking sheep and cattle along the road
that could barely walk. Dead cattle could be seen beside roads.
When I was a child I used to compare
myself to my more robust older brothers. Being the seventh born, I used to look
up in awe at them as they were much bigger than me. They were indeed rough
tough fellows. I felt insignificantly small and weak against them and lamented
that I’d never be strong like them.
Perhaps with hindsight it was just as
well that I did not end up like them. Some were wild and had little conscience.
When Charlie would go into the orchards and fill his shirt up with apples, I
knew that was stealing and would not have a part in that. They nicknamed me ‘Parson
Jim’.
I was nearly three years old when
Charlie was born. Emily was born three years later in 1907. Tennyson followed
in 1910 and Eva came along in 1913 when I was about eleven.
After Edgar’s sad demise, we stayed in that
rented two storey house in High St
In those days there were no
restrictions as to where you could build a house. As it turned out, they had
selected what turned out to be a site that was part of a road! They were
unaware of it for some years but were granted permission to continue living
there after we realised it. My father and grandfather were both skilled
carpenters and capable builders and knew that they would be able to find the
clay and mud they needed to build their family a mud brick home there.
To build the house, my father and
grandfather started out by marking out the locations of walls for the rooms.
They used planks to make troughs for building up walls. They would mix up the
mud and pour them in between the planks and leave them for a day or two. After
that they would return to raise the planks to the next level and do the same
thing with the mud. Gradually the house took shape – doorways, windows,
passageways. In this way the whole house was completed. The chimney was the
only thing that was made from bricks.
The house we lived in was rather large
and comfortable and warm in winter. There was a big dining room and opposite
that was my parents’ big double room. There was another big double room where
four beds fitted. The girls’ room was beyond that followed by the kitchen and
the shed and a spot where my Dad would shave.
What crockery my parents had came from
England
The inside of the walls were limed and
off-white in colour and the flooring was made from timber. I think Dad got them
from cast-off timber from demolition sites.
One day while Dad was pulling up
old floor boards from a rather old building, he saw a bit of rag. Sewn along
the rag were little squares. The rag had a bit of weight in them and whatever
was in there fell out when Dad picked it up as the rag was rather old. To his
surprise, Dad saw that they were sovereigns. Dad became wealthy then for a
while.
Dad made a dam near the house from where he
had dug the mud. In winter the dame became filled to overflowing. It was a
centre for many of our youthful activities. As kids we would spend hours there
amusing ourselves. Yabbies and frogs made their homes there.
We would catch these yabbies by the
canful. These were large four-gallon[1]
tin cans. We would build small fires and cook the yabbies in them. Whenever Dad
was around to supervise our yabbying though he’d tell us when we’d caught
enough and to leave things be for a few months.
We loved listening to the croaking
frogs and dipping our fingers in amongst their slimy eggs. However whenever
there was plenty of rain we would find mosquito larvaes wriggling in the dam
and then we’d have a plague of mosquitoes.
We filled summers with laughter as we
swam in the dam and also pretended that mum’s washing tub was a barge. We never
got far from shore in our ‘barge’ because it was not very steady and would
wobble and tip over quite quickly. That did not bother us because it just made
us laugh all the harder and we would drag it back to shore to try the same
thing again. We never seemed to tire of the game.
The dam provided us with much needed
water for drinking as well as washing. Although we had fun catching and eating
the yabbies, they muddied the water.
There was also a see-saw-swing
which my dad had made which helped keep us out of mischief – some of the time.
Although my father was a skilled a
builder-carpenter, he did other odd jobs as well. He worked extremely hard to
put food on the table for us kids.
As work was not constant for my father
and grandfather, in their spare time they had would work on building the family
home. Sometimes they worked for the government on building projects, and other
times they did private home repairs. My father often found it hard to get money
out of people for work that he had done.
A lady said to him once, ‘I can’t pay
you this week. Come back next week.’
My dad would say, ‘I must have the
money today, I will sit here on your doorstep while you go and get the money,’
he would say as he prepared to make good his word. ‘I have plenty of tobacco,’
he would add as he looked at her side on while taking out his tobacco and pipe.
He would sit there and make himself
comfortable until the lady brought him his money.
Our pets
My dad bought a horse and cart during another
dry spell. A man came along one day with twenty scrawny horses. He was grazing
them on whatever grass he could find and there was still some grass left around
our property.
He saw my father and said to him, ‘You
can pick out any horse you want. Just give me ten shillings.’ That was too good
an opportunity to miss so he bought one of them. The man said that the horse
was lame but he turned out alright. We named him ‘Scobie’ after a racing man in
Melbourne.
Dad got himself a cart after that and
was able to take his tools around more easily with it. He was also able to buy
large bags of sugar and flour too now that he had a horse and cart. For just
£1, Dad was able to purchase lots of things – sixty-pound bags of sugar, flour
and so on.
When dad did not need the horse he
would let us kids ride him. It was my turn to ride Scobie that day. (I was only
about five or six then and was not in school yet.) I thought that it would be
good to ride along the gully, but Scobie stumbled and I fell flat, hard on the
ground. He then nudged me as if to say, ‘Get up you goose.’ I then got up and
got back on to Scobie by standing on a large tree stump.
We loved old Scobie and we learnt to
ride him bare back as we did not have the money for a saddle. We would throw a
bag over his back because he was so bony.
Dad also bought a cow so that we could
have fresh milk daily. We named her ‘Daisy’. We had to learn how to milk Daisy.
She did not like me much and as soon as I touched her, she kicked me and the
bucket a good three feet away. I took a strong dislike to Daisy after that. The
others seemed to get on alright with milking her.
We also had a dog called Darkie who
was almost as old as I was. He had been around for as long as I could remember.
He was almost part of the family and he knew everyone of us. Darkie was a very
gentle dog and we could do anything we wanted with him and he would not hurt us
at all.
When my older brother Bill went away
on military service, Darkie would wait for him on the porch. Finally when Bill
came back on leave, Darkie leapt upon him with great joy and delight.
Water
During the 1908 drought, before our dam dried
up, abandoned cattle would come and drink from it as we did not have a fence
around it. It was pitiful seeing those scrawny cattle being driven by farmers
on their horses along the dry dusty roads in search of whatever grass was left
along the roadside. They would often times be headed to the mine shafts where
they could still obtain some water by lowering buckets down to its very depths.
During the hot dry nights mosquitoes
and other insects came out in what appeared to be swarms. These were extremely
troublesome to especially children.
As the drought continued, our dam
turned into thick mud. It then became my daily chore to fetch water from the
diggings. I was about seven years old then. Dad got a stout four-foot long
stick which could be placed across my shoulders. He fashioned some wires with a
hook to both ends of the tree limb and hung two 3-gallon kerosene tins which
had wooden handles across them. I would then be able to lower each tin one at a
time into the water.
As I was not very big I could not
carry much water and only filled it to about half way.
The water that came from the diggings
was of course muddy and to make it drinkable, we had to seed it by sprinkling a
handful of lime over it and leaving it overnight. It cleared the water but it
tasted terrible even after mum had boiled it. Charcoal achieved the same effect
but sometimes wood fire ash could be used but that left a certain smoky flavour
in the water.
In our kitchen there was an enormous
cast-iron pot with a brass tap coming out of it called the ‘fountain’. This sat
atop the stove and it was always filled with hot water during the day time. It
was just as well that Mum boiled the water as you never knew what might have
been thrown into those diggings – it was not uncommon to find dead cats, dogs
and even livestock in them!
Mum worked hard all day every day
of the week either in the kitchen or at the wash tub using the washing
scrubbing board keeping our clothes clean. An old copper stood in one corner
where mum would boil the sheets. The clothes line out in the big yard had two
props made of dried saplings.
Chapter 8
MURTOA 1941–1945
From: Dorothy Pitt
To: Maria Ngo
Date: Dec 2005
Subject: Jim’s story
I’m not sure what I have talked about already but will
mention a few things that I remember about Murtoa. We arrived in Murtoa in the
winter of 1941. The world was in the terrible grip of World War Two.
This town was home to many German families. The
local doctor was Mr Rabl, the dentist was a Mr Habl. Our nearest deli was owned
by another Mr Habl. Victor had made friends with his son, Leon Habl, and we all
got along together very well.
There was one incident which caused a disruption in
the town. A young German farmer had become traumatised about being at war with
his home country. He climbed onto the roof of the local bank with a gun and
started shouting ‘Heil Hitler!’ very loudly and firing shots into the air. Then
he began pointing the gun at the people in the street. Mum and I were there and
ran away terrified. Soon the police came and his family talked him into coming
down.
We heard later that he had been taken to a
detention camp. We were not so sure about our safety after that incident. The
council held meetings, the papers reported it but after a while, life carried
on as normal.
We were required to obey the ARP (Air Raid
Precautions) officers in the town. Every night at dusk we were to put black
paper up on our windows. The wardens would ride their bikes around town to
check for any cracks of light that might be showing. They had screens over
their lights and torches with a black cover as well. Motor cars had headlight
beam screens too.
If the wardens saw any slivers of light, they would
promptly knock on the door and order that it be rectified immediately, all
accompanied with a very pithy lecture on carelessness and negligence.
Around this time, Dad sent Mum and Victor to
Stawell for a holiday with friends there. Unfortunately Mum got appendicitis
and was hospitalised there for a fortnight.
When they came back to Murtoa, she was very weak
and we needed Betty to stay home from school to manage the family. We had to
apply to the Education Department for Betty to leave school on compassionate
grounds. Although Betty was only around 14 at the time, she was a very capable
and mature girl. After Mum got well, Betty found work in housekeeping for some
of the local business people.
As time went by Betty felt the need for a more
stimulating type of job and applied for a Telephonist position at the Murtoa
Post Office when she was 16. She loved this job, as it was a very busy exchange
with wartime business, telegrams, and all sorts of secret movements of troops
being dispatched here and there.
The postmaster asked me would I like to sleep there
as company for her on night shifts. I said yes, and was paid a dollar a week.
It was called 10 shillings then and sounded a lot more.
Betty, as well as all post office employees, were
sworn to secrecy. Even myself, when employed there as company for her on night
shifts, had to sign a declaration.
Betty was such an expert – quick and efficient. I
think she would be great on a computer. I can’t convince her though, I think
she’d much prefer shopping!!
We used to chat to the boys from nearby exchanges
and rave on till all hours. Great fun, but I was oh so tired next day at
school. I was 14 then.
During this time Dad was kept very busy. He had his
job on the Railways, First-aid lessons to give, the 1st Murtoa Boy
Scouts Troop and the Church
of Christ
Someone brought a small upright pedal organ for
Miss Bates, a blind member of the church, to play at our meetings. She used to
take my fingers and place them on the keys while trying to teach me to play.
Talk about the blind leading the blind!
All this time, the ‘black-out’ regulations had to
be observed. So most meetings were held during daylight hours.
We were all taught what to do in case the air raid
sirens went off. It was imperative to be indoors, and at home after dark. There
were practice runs and everyone was to be accounted for. The head, the wife,
and the children in each family stayed together until checked on the list.
These ‘trials’ could be held at any time day or night. So we were prepared for
instant action.
When I was 12, I became very ill with a respiratory
disease. Mum would not hear of me going to the hospital and so nursed me back
to health at home those three months.
Dad would carry me each time to the best bedroom
for Dr Rabl’s visit. This was a type of pneumonia I had and considered to be
contagious, so it interrupted a lot of Dad’s home meetings. There were no
antibiotics then and they believed that sulphur killed all known germs, and
freely blew the powder down our throats. It was a yellow dry powder and made
you cough and splutter. It was awful stuff! It was also used in vegie gardens
to kill off caterpillars.
Dad would get a cigarette paper, fold it to form a
shute, sprinkle the powder on and say, ‘Open wide’ to me and blow it straight
into my throat. Oh yucks!
There was an article about a court-case where Mum
was sued for starting a grass-fire which swept across dry paddocks and onto a
neighbour’s property. This neighbour was a wealthy farmer, Mr Hateley.
Mum of course was innocent and decided to defend
herself – without a lawyer.
When she was called in court, the judge asked ‘Who
is defending this case?’ and Mum said, ‘I am defending myself.’
He said, ‘You are a very brave woman.’
The judge heard the case and gave her ‘Not guilty’.
That week there was a page in the local paper with
headlines similar to ‘Brave woman defends case and wins’.
I was home with her on the day of the alleged fire
and knew that she had had nothing to do with it. She could have called me as a
witness, but said I was too young for such an ordeal. In fact, we weren’t told
about the pending case till it was all over. Dad couldn’t get time off work, so
Mum really was very brave indeed.
I have written to the Murtoa Historical Society,
and even sent them a $20 donation, but received no answer.. That was over 12
months ago, but they sure banked the cheque. Very disappointing that was.
By the way, I wrote to Dad yesterday, after your
email arrived. He may have it today I hope.
Will catch up again, soon.
Dorrie
We arrived in Murtoa in the dismal winter of
1941. I was the newly promoted ganger for repairing long-neglected railway
lines. While I was busy engaged in ‘constructing,’ other parties were engaged
in quite an opposite pursuit.
1941 was a time of global turmoil. Australia
This time the threat seemed more
immediate as our northern shores were just a skip, hop and a jump from where
the Japanese troops were already sweeping south. Everyone at the time it seemed
was terrified of the Japs taking over Australia
Posters and advertisements appeared,
encouraging people to enlist. Those who were eligible signed up for the war. It
seemed grossly unfair that the world was yet being plunged into another major
war, barely 20 years after the war to end all wars. Australia
For a nation so young, it sent more
than its fair share of young men and not so young, fathers. Mothers, fathers,
sisters, grandparents and younger siblings waved many a son, father or sibling
off at railway platforms and harbours around the country. I had been too young
to join the first war and this time, as I was engaged in railway construction
which was considered ‘an essential service’, I was exempted. This was much to
my and my family’s relief. We had four children by then ranging from 8 to 16
years of age.
Images of reading the news of the war
from the newspaper to my grandfather on the porch returned to me as I relieved
the memory of the first war where so many had lost so much. It had been a time
of great sorrow. We had lost my brother Henry but got back a battle-scarred
brother Bill. I remembered the time when my brother Albert was bullied by those
recruiting officers. It was a trying time and I would not want to wish such a
time again on anyone.
We did what we could for the war
effort. I used my skills in first-aid and bush ambulance to conduct classes for
the Red Cross, Boy Scouts and the railways in the scout hall. I organised the
First-aid Corps and the Ambulance Service for the Victorian Railways. I had
very big classes and by then knew all my material off by heart. I never had to
have any reference material in my hand.
Chapter 10
MELBOURNE CITY MISSION 1951–1969
From: Dorothy Pitt
To: Maria Ngo
Date: Sun, 3 Nov 2002 11:13 AM
Subject: Re: Jim’s birthday talk
Thank you Maria for your reply. I have emailed Pam to send
her address to you. I got married on 28th Jan 1950, and lived with Mum and Dad
for the first few months. I think they left for the mission in that year. Then
Betty and Alec got married and moved in with us later that year. Alec bought
the next-door property and began renovations prior to moving in the next year.
We both had a baby girl only 2 days apart in September
1950, mine was Gayle and Betty’s was Pam. Jim had already moved out, maybe in
1949 or so, and boarded somewhere. Vic of course went to the Mission with mum
and dad.
After that our only contact was to drive there to show them
our children. They were so busy with a constant stream of men and visitors, the
footpaths outside were lined with queues of sad-looking men just waiting to
speak to their friend and mentor.
As I watched from the upstairs window, you could see them
leave with a new lightness of step, with maybe a new coat or freshly shaven
face. Some even rummaged around in a special drawer for a set of TEETH, with
Dad the fitter-in, amid much laughter and embarrassment. The new smile was well
worth it! Lots of little memories like that as I sit and write.
Anyway Maria, keep going, it is a wonderful life to record,
with a mixture of sad/happy moments and should be a great read for the
generations to come.
Regards,
Dorrie
From: Dorothy Pitt
To: Maria Ngo
Sent: Saturday, 26 May 2007 11:49 AM
Subject: RE: William Collett & boxing
Hello Maria,
From: Dorothy Pitt
To: Maria Ngo
Sent: Saturday, 26 May 2007 11:49 AM
Subject: RE: William Collett & boxing
Hello Maria,
Thank you for all this info, have read all the attachments
and everything is excellent.
Must admit to a few teary moments!
Don't know if you have seen the attached poem written for
and about Dad, by "John" ?
"John" was a special case being a top class
lawyer who had a marriage break-up, and unfortunately turn to alcohol.
Dad took him in at the Mission and watched over him
like a child, and he adored Dad...as did they all.
I met him a few times and he was a real gentleman. When sober
he helped Dad sort out legal problems that cropped up quite often.
I always thought if I ever wrote Dad's story, I would put
this in the preface....
Sounds like a good idea to let it all rest and come back
refreshed later on.
Maria, if you wouldn't mind giving me a postal address I
could send what photos I have to you.
Betty is still very busy, but I will do my best to bring
up the subject of the photos she has.
I was slightly apprehensive and mildly
frightened when I started my first days as the Missioner-in-charge of the
Melbourne Men’s Hostel. Being a country boy, I had never seen so many ugly
faces together. There were so many battered and weather beaten faces in the
place it was hard to comprehend how it could be so. It was hard to believe that
any could become so degraded and neglected – in fact, some of them would refer
to themselves as ‘the last, the least and the lost’.
Not only were my eyes being confronted
by so many new sights, my nose was being tested too. Many of them had not had a
bath in a very long time. My senses were being assaulted big time!
I was not sorry about embarking on
such a big task but felt slightly nervous as to whether I could do what I had
taken on, yet I was confident in God’s power to restore broken lives.
Bessie, uncomplaining as usual, stood
by me and took it all in her stride. She was such a gem. We were thankful
though that our quarters upstairs seemed to have been well-kept and were clean.
In fact, we noticed that the whole place exuded an air of cleanliness in marked
contrast to many of those fresh off the streets – obviously the men who helped
out at the hostel took great pride in their work as evidenced by the polished
stairway and passages etc.
March 1951 marked an important
milestone in our lives.
....
....
‘Hell’s corner’
At the top end of Little Lonsdale Street
was an area with pokey little shops. Before it was turned into a ‘factory
area’, it used to be a well known haunt for gentlemen seeking female
companionship of lesser repute. When people mentioned Little Lonsdale Street,
one image would immediately spring to mind. This section of Little Lonsdale
Street between Spring Street and Exhibition
Street
It was not safe to walk there after
dark. But my pianist, who was a little old lady, would walk that way regardless
if it were summer or winter. She was not afraid for she knew that many of the
men who huddled up in the doorways knew her as the pianist for the gospel
services and would watch out for her and even protect her.
Before my pianist trod those streets,
another brave soul had already ventured there. She came to be called Sister
Grace. Long before the Melbourne City Mission was established, she was already
rescuing young homeless 14 year old girls from unimaginable horrors.
One man told me with much awe and
respect, ‘Sister Grace, was so wonderful, a lady that was beyond description.
That marvellous lady, I knew her.’
When some people from a few
churches became interested in her work, they got together and formed what
became known as the Melbourne City Mission Incorporated Sister Grace’s
Auxiliary. The upper storey of the headquarters of the Melbourne City Mission
was turned into living quarters for these girls. A resident Matron was put in
charge to care for the girls, who became a friend and adviser to them.
When I first arrived at the place and saw
these queues of men, numbering 100 or so, lining up in both directions from a
point about a stone’s throw away from us, some were dressed and some not, I
asked my assistant naïvely ‘What are all those men waiting there? Are they
giving food out?’
He laughed and said, ‘Go-orrn Mr
Collett, go-orrn. Run away will you?’
But I insisted that he tell me, and
when he told me the truth I nearly fainted!
‘Oh! Come in to the office and we’ll
pray that the Lord will stop all these!’ I said to him. As we had so much else
to pray for, we only prayed about that matter the one time together, although I
did ask our prayer supporters later to pray for the removal of that brothel as
well.
Not long later, the owner of the two
houses there approached me and said, ‘I want to see you. You’ll be pleased. Today
I am beginning the work of demolishing that
house up the road.’
‘Oh, are you?’ I replied unbelievingly
although with much relief flooding my heart.
‘Yes. I’m sick and tired of what’s
going on there,’ he replied.
In that slum area were also dilapidated
buildings which the down-and-outs sought shelter in. There were two houses in
the area which were tenanted by two Chinese men. One was an evil man who
operated a brothel from there. We used to hear screams and fights from the
place.
So when the roof of the two houses
were removed and the building pulled down. The two Chinamen had nowhere to go
and sat huddled in the debris day and night. The funny thing about those two
was that the good Chinaman would never face the bad Chinaman who had run the
‘bad house’.
Later some people from The Herald brought a policeman to the hostel,
asking me if I would take food to those two Chinamen.
I got the cook to make up some food,
and we both went over to the place and entered the premises. We called out that
the policeman had told us to bring food. They were not interested. The ‘good’ Chinese
man, who had his back towards the other one, said to me, ‘Him got black heart.’
I left the food there even though I
thought it unlikely that they would eat it as it was not their kind of food. I
then rang the man from The Herald and
told them what we’d done and he put a bit in the papers about it.
The next night, the ‘good’ Chinaman
hid himself behind some oil drums off one of the little lanes. Mr Blakely, a
saw doctor (as in someone who fixed saws of all kinds), who lived at that end
of Little Lonsdale Street, came to tell me one night. ‘You know that Chinaman?
He is around there sitting, hiding behind those oil drums. Come with me.’
So I went with him, after grabbing
some food from the kitchen. Mr Blakely led me to where the man was hidden and
pointed towards it. ‘He’s in there.’
‘I can’t see him,’ I said.
‘He won’t come out. He knows we’re
here. Look, have you got any money?’ he asked me.
‘Yes, some sixpences and threepences.’
I gave him those and he rattled them as he approached the drums. ‘Money speaks
all languages,’ he commented as he smiled.
When he had gotten close enough, he
called to the man, ‘Come, look, I’ve got some money for you.’ That got the
man’s attention for he put his head out and gradually we made friends with him.
He had two or three hats on, one on top of the other. He wore tattered
Chinese-style clothes but did not have a queue, unlike his countrymen of my
Maryborough days.
‘Look would you like some food. We’ve
got some for you.’
He nodded for I was sure that he must
have been hungry.
We left the money and the food.
We heard later that this Chinese man had
been run over by a car and killed while walking down Little Lonsdale Street
near the Exhibition Street. I was rather sad. I never found out what happened
to the other Chinese man though.
In the meantime, the owner of the
property pulled the toilets out, cleared out the ground and put a big high wire
fence around it and set a ferocious Alsatian dog on guard in there.
Johnny Kipper
Johnny Kipper was a strange loner who did
not like mixing with the other men. He did not like them and many probably did
not like him either. He was very strong in the arms and there was no stopping
him once his temper was aroused for he could become extremely dangerous then.
The men kept a wary eye on him for they knew that he could get quite vicious
when provoked.
He kept coming back to the hostel
however and was very grateful for all that we did for him. He was one of those
who preferred sleeping out than accepting one of our bed vouchers. With winter
approaching, things were getting tough out in the streets at night.
One day, Johnny asked the cook
upstairs for some bones. He asked the cook to leave a bit of meat on the bones for
he intended to give it to the dog guarding the fenced in property nearby. After
many nightly visits, the dog became friendly towards him.
He then found a weak corner in the
wire fence and enlarged it enough to squeeze inside when he was sure enough of
the dog. So then he would sleep through the cold nights snuggled up next to the
dog for warmth! I guess the dog was glad too for some company and extra warmth.
This went on for some time. The owner
was very much surprised when he saw them together! He was astounded to say the
least. When he told me the story I had a good laugh over it. ‘You don’t know
Johnny like I do,’ I told him.
The owner decided that it was not much
point having the dog there and took it away. He asked if he could provide a bed
for Johnny.
‘You do what you like about that but he
won’t sleep anywhere. He just sleeps out.’
Then one evening, poor Johnny came in
with his sugar-bag in which he kept all his worldly possessions. He looked
rather ill even though he insisted that he was all right. The ambulance people
had recently given us 20 or 30 paliases that they had used, so I got Johnny to
lie down on one of these and covered him over with a blanket. In the morning he
was dead.
We called the police and the ambulance
came in the morning and took him away. The police opened his sugar bag and
found that he had been collecting two pensions under two different names.
I recalled the day when Johnny had
came into my office late in the afternoon. He had had a drink or two to clear
his head and help him along with what he wanted to say. I could tell when they
had had too much to drink and they would start ‘romancing’. But Johnny was not
a romancer.
He said, ‘You know that murder at Brighton Beach
‘Yes, Johnny,’ I replied for I knew
what he was referring to. There was a story at the time about a murder that had
been committed down at Brighton
Beach
‘He didn’t do it you know.’
‘Who didn’t do it?’ I asked.
‘The one they put in jail. He didn’t
do it.’
I thought he was covering something up.
‘How do you know he didn’t do that? He was tried and sent to jail.’
‘Shouldn’t be. He didn’t do it. But I
didn’t do it.’
‘How come you were there?’ I asked
him.
‘I was sleeping in one of those sea
boxes, beach boxes. And I couldn’t’ sleep and I went for a walk.’
Was he trying to confess that he had
done it? I had no way of telling. You could not take everything they said at
face value. Whatever it was that was bothering him, he seemed like he really
wanted to talk, so I let him talk for a fair bit until night-time. Finally I
said to him, ‘You have to get a bed,’ and then I gave him a bed ticket to
Gordon House.
I thought about all that he had said
and wondered if I should tell the police. But I did not think that it would do
any good because they would most likely not believe him anyway. They would just
say that he was an old drunk and that he had gotten it into his brain that he
had something to do with it or was just pulling my leg. Besides, there were no
witnesses and it would all come to naught.
He kept repeating ‘He hadn’t done it’,
and also, ‘I didn’t do it.’
Johnny used to stand at the doorway at
night at our gospel meetings and if there was anyone that he thought should not
join the meetings he would just push them under the chin and straddle them on
the ground and hold them in a vice-like grip with his hand over their mouth. I
could imagine him doing that to the poor girl. All the same, I did wonder if
that poor man was innocent. It was too late to do anything anyway as he had
already been sentenced.
Some people had testified that he was
a good man while others had said the opposite and that he had a fiery temper.
Who would know? Besides, what was the girl doing on the beach.
There were so
many questions that came up that had no answers. Some speculated that it was a
previous boy friend or something and others something else. Everyone seemed to
have some sort of opinion about it. It caused a bit of bother and it was much
talked about. There was not the competition that you have today with television
and world coverage of ‘newsworthy events’ so whatever was in the papers was
‘The News’ so it was natural that a tragedy like that which happened almost
right on our door step would gain much prominence.
Every now and then men would come
along whose life would change for the better when given a chance. But you could
never be sure. There was once a chap whom I thought would be a good man. He
spoke very well and I thought that if I gave him a chance, his life might turn
around. I said, ‘If I give you accommodation at the hostel would you get a
job?’ He said he would and he did.
One morning at breakfast a
policeman came in. A terrible thing had happened in the city which involved a
woman who had been brazenly abused by a man. The city was in shock. As I was
showing the policeman the hall where the men were having their breakfast, the
policeman said, ‘I must tell you that that is a man who would do that sort of
thing.’ He was referring to the man I had just helped and given accommodation
to. What a shock I got. I kept this knowledge to myself though and didn’t
mention it to the man as the policeman had told me this in confidence.
Fighting a brick wall
I heard a commotion from my window one
night after I had gone to bed so I poked my head out of the window to look.
I saw a man having a fight with the
corner of the brick wall. He was cursing and swearing as he hit the wall with his
fist. His knuckles were red raw and blood was everywhere.
I rang the police and told them, ‘For
goodness sake. Come quick.’
They came round promptly and went over
to him. He wrestled with the two policeman who eventually over-powered him
after some struggle. They had a job holding him – one to each arm. He did not
give up easily and was still struggling, cursing and spitting into their faces.
Their own arms were covered with the man’s blood. They asked me to come over
and sit on his feet which I did.
They eventually picked him up and
threw him like a sack of potatoes into the back of their van with much
colourful language.
Six months later, a rather well
dressed man came round to see me. I did not recognise him as the same man, but
he had come to apologise and tell me his story, ‘I’m so sorry about that time,’
he said and then showed me his knuckles. He seemed such a different man
altogether and was rather nice and told me about some war or other that he had
been in. Before he left, I offered him a New Testament which the Bible Society usually
kept us well supplied with.
Monty Millions
Late one afternoon after I had closed the
door to another long day of interviews, a man came running up to the front
steps.
I opened the door and he pushed his
way in. He was puffing and panting away and his nose was wrinkled up like a
snarling dog caught in a frenzy of anger.
As I moved to shut the door, a
policeman ran up the steps. He was about to enter but seemed to change his mind
and said, ‘Okay, he’s yours. I can wait,’ he said and went back down the steps.
I started to talk to Monty and he
pulled out a bank book and showed it to me. I looked at it and pointed to the
name Monty Millions. I asked him, ‘Is that your name “Monty Millions”?’
He replied, ‘Yes, that’s my name.’
‘That’s a funny name,’ I commented.
‘Do you think I’m funny?’
‘No, you’re not. Come into the office
and write your name Monty Millions into my book.’
I found out later that he was a
notorious and highly feared man who was more often in jail than not. As with
many of the men with reputations that preceded them, it was business as usual
for me as far as helping them in my usual way. He was one-of-a-kind though and
I’d never met anyone quite like Monty.
Then one day my wife and I went to Adelaide
Monty came in looking for him. When he
saw us there he said, ‘Oh you’re here too are you?’ I replied, ‘Yes.’ Then he
asked me ferociously if I knew where the Salvation Army officer had gone to. I
told him, ‘He was here just a minute ago.’ Monty added gruffly in a rage, ‘I
want him. I’ll find him,’ and stormed out.
After a little while, the man peeped
out from behind the wardrobe and asked us, ‘Is he gone?’ I told him, ‘Yes.’ He
appeared rather relieved that Monty was gone.
Monty later came back to Melbourne
I replied in surprise, ‘Is that so?’
as I could not imagine what I had done to have upset him so.
‘Yes. I’m going round to the shaving
department.’ There would be about 30 good shavers there at a time. He was
ambidextrous and he also liked to scare the men by bringing the shaver down on
his tongue and not draw blood. I thought, well, there is no one around, I would
be quite helpless if he did anything.
While he was gone, I closed the door
and rang the police. They had told me before that if anyone were to threaten my
life, I was not to hesitate in calling them. In no time at all, six policemen
came. I told them where Monty was and went back to my desk.
They found Monty sharpening a razor
and they grabbed him one on each side. They brought him to the office and swung
him around to face me. He had no expression on his face, just a blank glazed
look.
I looked at Monty and he looked at me
and I asked him why. He did not say anything, and the policemen took him away.
Now in those days The Sun news used to have court reports on its
second page. It was reported in ‘Around the courts’ that day that the magistrate
had asked Monty about his bad behaviour towards a certain gentleman. ‘That,
your Honour, I cannot understand. That man has always done good things for me.’
Monty was in jail for a long time for
his other offences and while there, he wrote to me apologising in his own gruff
way saying, ‘You, Sir, will be very pleased that I have accepted Christ as my
saviour and you will see a different Monty from now on.’
And to think, I had no idea that he
had been listening at all; but he had. I never saw him again after that.
