Kids today entertain themselves with computer games, play stations, video’s and lots of diverse sporting activities and interests. Back in the 50’s and early 60’s there wasn’t much money around so we mucked around with stuff that didn’t cost anything. Stamp collecting was common and you could start your album off really well by sending a comic coupon to ‘Seven Seas’ or ‘Rocket Stamps’ and get 111 stamps for a shilling. The catch of course was all the ones they sent you ‘on approval’ luring you to purchase them as well. I’m ashamed to say we even took the stamps from the letters in the postbox at the Carmelite Monastery in Box Hill. It was such a bonus because the priests got letters from all over the world. Other kids collected coins which were usually pennies and halfpennies. Everyone knew that the 1930 penny was worth a fortune and we carefully looked at our change each time hoping we would be lucky. As well we kept ourselves occupied on the way to school looking for match box tops. Heaps of people smoked in those days and threw their rubbish anywhere they felt like it such as on the railway platforms, in the carriages and along the roadways. The Redhead Match Company (Bryant and May, Church St. Richmond - now owned by a Swedish company) chose various themes that would run for about a year at a time. I remember collecting the ‘Greek mythology’ match covers in 1963 when I was 14 years old and almost finding the whole set of 64. It was a great feeling to search for weeks and finally come up with a match box top none of your mates had found. Even Wrigley’s chewing gum company was running a competition. For 3d you could buy four white tabs of ‘PK’, ‘Juicy Fruit’ or ‘Arrowmint’. (PK was introduced in America in 1927 and discontinued in 1975, 'Juicy Fruit' was introduced in 1893) When you opened out the packet it revealed letters of the alphabet. By word of mouth we were told that if you got the whole alphabet on the label you would be given a years supply of chewy. Usually the smaller packets only went up to ‘e’ or ‘f’ but you had a much better chance if you purchased the longer packet of spearmint which contained 5 sticks for 6d. I can only remember one kid, Damian Jamieson, getting the full alphabet on his wrapper but we weren’t there when he collected the booty. But our chance to cash in was just around the corner. Icy poles were common and only cost 3d but one company came out with a novel idea – they called their product ‘Jubblies’. They were really orange frozen ice blocks in a triangular pyramid shaped container. Once you tore the cardboard container apart it sometimes revealed a number of ‘free jubblies’. Burnside was one of our mates and he hit the jackpot one day with 50 free jubblies. He had an entourage of about six kids follow him into the café in the main street of Ringwood to collect his prize. We were so helpful piling them into his bag but also making sure that we all got four or five for ourselves.
There was another popular way to make money. In the grade 6 class, our teacher, Br. Duane would ask for volunteers to do lunch duty. We would fall over each other trying to be picked because it meant getting out of the period after lunch, picking up paper in the school grounds and setting fire to the incinerator. A couple of us had the brilliant idea of returning after school and sifting through the ashes to find small change. It proved quite lucrative because lots of kids didn’t check their lunch bags. Of course the money was charred black and even plenty of rubbing and washing didn’t really improve its appearance. Most shops knocked us back when we asked if they accepted ‘burn money’ but ‘Jimmy’s Handy Bar’ in Ringwood never did. It was nothing more than a tiny kiosk but seemed to stock everything you wanted from sweets to food. Jimmy was a short man with a pencil moustache and he was always the happiest guy. He readily exchanged our money no matter how many times we fronted up with our almost unrecognizable coins.
Billy cart races were also fun. Just around the corner from our place was a steep hill called McKay Court which unfortunately finished in a cul-de-sac. We attached wooden fruit box containers to a frame with pram wheels and lined up for races with our neighbours. Generally we were only able to have one race because our flimsy constructions would come apart and cause severe injuries at times.
Robbie Whitford lived up the hill from us and he came from a large ‘battling’ family but he had a passion for model aircraft. Robbie was a tall kid, a year or two older than us and we couldn’t wait to try out his planes. They were controlled by two long wires attached to the end of one of the wings and Robbie could make them fly upside down and even do loops. He usually had the distinctive smell of engine fuel and his index finger was quite battered and dark with ingrained oil from propping the propeller. Robbie could impressively turn in circles for a half hour at a time without getting the slightest bit giddy.
But of all the activities we tried, we had our greatest fun on our bikes. The best birthday present I ever got was a new Malvern Star 26” from Grandpa Kane when I was ten. We decorated our bikes with stickers and attached flattened cigarette containers with a peg to the back wheel to create a loud engine like sound which annoyed our neighbours. We travelled as far away as Warrandyte which was probably a round trip of 15 miles and various other locations including apple orchards, creeks and tracks through tee tree bush. But our favourite trip was the long haul up the Dandenong Ranges to the TV towers. We’d set out with a posy of kids including Leeamakers, Curran, Enright and Burnside. Burnside was always a reliable choice because he came from a large family and his dad was in the navy so he was constantly able to come with us. Burnside had a large head and usually had a very short basin cut style haircut.
On one fateful day we all set out early. We had quite a few miles to ride across relatively flat roads until we reached a small place called the ‘Basin’. There wasn’t much there besides a Milk Bar, Post Office, fish and chip shop, butchers shop and a Community Hall. Once we were on the Mountain Highway it was impossible to ride anymore except for a few stretches of a hundred yards. It was generally about three hours of solid slog before we reached a spot high enough for our descent. We only got to the towers on one occasion because we were usually too exhausted to go the whole way and it would have been too late in the afternoon for our return. The mountain air was always so crisp and we drank from the crystal clear water by the sides of the road. At last we decided that we could go no further so we turned our bikes around and lined up across the narrow road for the race down. The winner was decided by the first person to make it to the Basin. In no time we were away and the cool air became more intense as we gathered momentum. It was exhilarating to travel at speeds we had only dreamed about and we could move even faster if we rode with our heads down to avoid wind resistance. We were travelling at such a rate we were even passing cars on our descent. None of us had hand breaks and we relied on our foot pedal brake to slow us enough to negotiate some of the hair pin bends. In probably 15 minutes we reached our goal and finally screeched to a halt outside the Milk Bar at the ‘Basin’. Eventually everybody pulled up but Burnside was unaccounted for. We waited and waited but still he didn’t appear. “Did anyone see Burnside on the way down?” I asked. Everybody shook their heads so my brother Kevin and I decided to trudge back up the mountain so see what had happened to him. We seemed to walk forever until we turned a bend and came across the forlorn figure of Burnside. We were shocked to see the state he was in. He was smattered with blood and dirt, his clothes were torn, and there were cuts and scratches everywhere on his body. He was dragging his mangled bike which had the handle bar turned around horizontal to the frame, many of the spokes were busted and the front wheel had a buckle. “Jeez, what happened Burnside?” we asked. He sorrowfully replied. “The chain came off as I rounded a corner and I went straight over the side and into a tree. We helped him carry the bike for all it was worth and I think it was the last time Burnside was allowed to come with us.
Probably the low light of my bicycling career was the day I almost killed my little brother Brendon. We were belting along Philip Street in a race with our neighbours that had me out in the lead. As we rounded the bend at Cruickshanks corner into Lee Court I noticed to my horror that Brendon had stepped out on to the road. He must have been only two years old and he was dragging a shawl cloth behind him. I yelled out frantically “Get off the road” and it was then that I had to make a snap decision. Would he turn around or would he keep coming and this would determine my path. I decided that he would turn back but to my astonishment he kept coming. There was no way to avoid him so I skidded sideways and hit him full on. I immediately went straight over the handlebars and tumbled off into the distance. I was too frightened to ascertain the state of my injuries as I looked back at the scene of the accident. Brendon lay motionless in the centre of the road and I thought. “Oh, no, I’ve killed my brother.” I staggered back to Brendon but to my utter amazement he got to his feet and he was completely unscaved. I think God was smiling on me that day.
