A Bit of Nostalgia

Hi All,
Owing to all the doom and gloom both here and overseas, thought I would try and lighten up things a little with a bit of light hearted nostalgia when growing up in pre decimal rural NSW. Not really much to do with either transport or plant, just growing up on my late fathers 5 acre “soldier settlement”
There was very little money around in those days, and coming from a large family (noTV!) any pocket money had to be earned away from home, quite normal for the day, something I’m sure many could allude to.
Knocked around with a couple of blokes in similar situations, best mate a son of an Eastern European immigrant family, although he himself was born here. The old bloke was a bit hard to understand, but a damn good worker. Besides his job on the Water Board as a labourer, he also grew about three acres of tomato’s, very labour intensive at the time. He used to go around in an old Austin tipper with removable sides, cleaning out chook sheds for the spoil for his crops. An old grey Fergie with a rear blade was used to scrape the spoil out, for the princely sum of ten shillings, five bob each, we would clean the droppings from around the posts, drag it out side and then be on the shovels. You earned your five bob!
The ten shillings would not be paid until the last shovelful was on the Austin, then we would be off to the nearest general store, a couple of mile away, where a small packet of Rothmans (10) could be had for I think, was about one and sixpence, and a glass gallon jar of Mynor fruit juice cordial, (fizzy drinks were too expensive) and a pie and sauce. High old times!
This son of the tomato grower was pretty cluey with his hands. Always mucking about with cars or motorbikes, in those days an old FX or FJ Holden could be had for 5 or 10 quid, throw a coat of paint on it, most often house enamel sprayed on with his mothers Electolux vacuum cleaner which had a primitive spray gun attached to the outlet side! His mum got Jack of the Electrolux being spotted with paint and promptly banned the use of it.
Undeterred, he made a compressor out of an old grey Holden motor, blanking off No.5 cylinder running it into an old oxy bottle, crude but did work.
Saw the same thing done on a few occasions, bloke used to run Adel-Bris-Adel in an old Flintsone Mack with a VW engine across the chassis behind the sleeper, two cylinders live, two to drive a compressor. Used to do a trip every nine-ten days.
One of the other Roosters knocked about with us had a “Hotted up’ FX, this was a big banger! Had twin Strombergs! And a set of headers! We all thought it was the ducks guts! Rebuilt the bottom end after some mishap or other, went to start it, locked up!
Ah! Bearings must be too tight. Drop the sump, shim the mains, try again! No, maybe the battery’s flat? Get the grey Fergie out, hook on a sling, take her out on the road, only dirt, hadn’t been tarred then, drag her along in second gear , slip the clutch, only went sideways!
Back to the farm, fill the boot up with bricks and lumps of old channel iron, maybe not enough speed up?
Opt for more oomph, get the old blokes Austin out, hook up a chain, back out on the main drag, get a bit of speed up, slip the clutch and promptly screw the tailshaft out! Snapped the uni’s in half. Back to the farm and rethink things!
Had another mate come in who considered himself a bit of a “Bog Merchant”. His forte was when we bought an old banger to “repurpose”. i.e. try and make a quid out of., “Ding” as he was known would spend hours filling in lumps, bumps , holes etc until he had it smooth enough for the “paint shop”.
Where this mates fathers farm was, it was directly opposite the main Nepean- Prospect open water canal, the “Water Race” as it was locally known. Well signposted warning of trespassers being prosecuted, it was in reality a local swimming hole for half the districts kids! In times of flood, or when water demand was high, she used to fairly rip along! Every mile or so there would be steel steps cast into the concrete sloping walls, you could grab hold of them and heave yourself out. There were also sets of bars every couple of mile, usually under a small bridge or crossing stood up vertically to collect any debris, dead stock, etc that may have inadvertently fallen in upstream where there was no fencing.
We had made a few old canoes, usually out of 44 gallon drums cut lengthwise, a bit of rubber garden hose placed on the cut sides to protect your arms. We’d drag these down to a local dam or creek when in flood, on a billy cart and launch them.
Then we decided we’d get really flash!
Split a 44 lengthwise, fold over the two abutting ends, bolt them together with a bit of pitch to seal the bolt holes, a two man conveyance! Too heavy for the billy cart to drag all the way to the creek, we’ll launch her in the water race!
With a bit of rope to launch her gingerly into the canal, she took off on us, the mate haring along until he got in front, jumped into the water and tried to hold it in place until I could get in! No way, current way too fast, couldn’t hold it, took off like a hydroplane with a lone sailor on board. Sailed along merrily for must have been a few miles until approaching the vertical stock bars, the pilot abandoning ship moments before the good ship was swamped and ended up at the bottom.
Looking back it it now, if my two sons had done something as stupid as that, I would kick their butts into next week! But, we thought it was good harmless fun at the time, besides, wasn’t the water purified or at least treated before being piped to the good citizens of Sydney? Right?
I’m sure there would be many who could relate, and have a story or two to tell of your own! How about it,
Cheers Dave_64

Used to swim in a mates small dam when we were kids......was narrow and very deep ,being in steep gully....used to dive off the pumpshed which was well above the water .........warm at the top 6ft or so,freezing cold further down......I nearly drowned there once from the cold water .......anyhoo,the house and pumpshed are long gone,but I noticed the other day ,the dam is still there ,in amongst houses.....still full of water too.

Dave

We used to swim in the dams in the orchards around Doncaster in Melbourne (all houses now). Our canoes were a sheet of corrugated roofing iron folded with the ends pinched together and nailed to a board. Late 50's 12 years old everyone bollocky naked. I have scars on my inner arm from edge cuts. Like you we discovered the split hose trick Mum could not understand why her garden hose could not reach the rose garden anymore. We went really upmarket with aircraft fuel drop tanks (belly tanks) which could be bought at disposals. All aluminium and split in half with a hammer and cold chisel gave two of the flashest streamlined canoes you have seen. Hose edging essential as the aluminium was really sharp.

Later after moving to the Gold Coast and about 15 or 16 went out in a mate's dads tinny towing each other on a surfboard. Absolutely forbidden to go anywhere near the Southport Bar (now called the Gold Coast Seaway). Anyhow as we were near the bar the engine stopped, no oars and we were swept out on an outgoing tide, through the breakers and northwards along South Stradbroke Island getting further off shore. We decided to abandon ship and swim for it. The three of us landed about 6 miles up the beach after around two hours in the water. Walked across the island and got a lift from a fisherman on the Broadwater side.

Brian Fairweather told his dad we stopped on South Stradbroke for lunch and didn't tie the boat up properly and it ran away to sea. All of our parents went to their graves without knowing the real story.

I'm a bit (lot) younger than most of you (manufactured a year before the F7 Ovlov), but thankfully grew up on 50 acres in Gingin WA, so I had a fair bit of freedom, and plenty of old machinery and materials for building stuff growing up. Dad was a printer, and a fairly serious DIYer, he is still renovating his house at 80. So I had lots of tools to play with too.

Wasn't a big fan of the water, though I did play in the Gingin Brook that ran along the bottom edge of our property a fair bit in my younger years, building dams, cubby houses etc. I preferred wheels than water (still can't swim), so it was bikes, hill trolleys, motorcycles, then Dad's 175 Massey and the 9G Chamberlain, (wish I had that thing now!), 2 Minis, and other cars and tractors along the way.

I must have been about 14 when I got the idea of building a hand glider, maybe I had watched "The Boy Who Could Fly" or something. I was obsessed for weeks, it was all I could think about at school (which made a change from the cars I was usually thinking about). I could imagine the freedom of running down the hill toward the brook and launching up into the wide blue yonder. I had no idea about aerodynamics. Build a large triangular frame out of aluminium angle riveted together, and taped black rubbish bags to the frame, and I think roped my waist to the centre.

Tried my envisioned take off path down the hill, decided I couldn't get the speed I needed to get lift. Maybe I needed to start off in the air? Managed to get myself and the "glider" onto the rain water tank next to our house, maybe 10 feet off the ground, and took off! It wasn't a particularly spectacular flight, but at least the wind resistance broke my fall and I didn't nose dive. One of my less successful efforts with transportation machinery, went back to wheels and solidish ground after that.

Keep 'em coming guys, love stories from the past, I always reckoned I was born a few decades too late.

Chris

How many of you set up a jump ramp for your bikes and regretted it. A lot of people have told me they did this as well.

Unfortunately 50/60 era bikes were not like modern mountain bikes and I witnessed as well as being on the receiving end of flying off the ramp, making a perfect landing only to have the front forks collapse slamming your family jewels into the cross-bar before propelling you over the handlebars. No fool like a young fool in this case and I remember one day with a really super high ramp three 12 year olds (including me) laying on the ground gripping their crushed anatomy as they followed like lemmings one after the other. Must admit one bloke did not suffer collapsed forks but a pedal snapped off on landing with the same results.

One memory leads to another.

15 years old with a bike no brakes other than the heel on the back wheel method. Giving my girlfriend a lift home with her sitting on the handlebars. Steep hill, brake fade as the heel of my ripple sole shoes disintegrated, passed the sound barrier. Strike gutter on crossroad at the bottom, girl gets airborne and lands in the doggy position removing all skin from knees and elbows, I follow with double twist with pike landing on my back totally winded. Being a gentleman take her home whinging about her injuries. Huge Dad comes out, hears story and picks me up by shirt front and carries me out to the street where I was summarily dismissed from further contact (at 15 there was not much contact anyway).

When we were about 10 and 12 we found a motorbike abandoned by the side of the road .........It was a BSA 500 twin ,1951 or 52 ,so quite surprising it was dumped at only 10 years old.......but bikes were worthless in those days ,as the coppers were so down on the bodgies and widgees........never the less we rode that bike all over the place ,.....it taught me mechanics ...and got my brother (and the old man) a stern lecture from the coppers........the old man was frightened of the coppers ,as in those days ,you could easily get a kicking or worse .

Aged about 11 or 12, after several thrill seeker rides down a very steep hill in a local park/estate on my trusty racing bike I decided several days later that I'd try it on my spare bike which had a fixed wheel. :blink:

To get into position I had to lift the bike over a fence placed there to prevent inattentive walkers from falling down the forty five degree incline to the park lake 200 or so yards away amongst many trees. Once the bike was over it was case of hold the fence and back wheel with one hand while aligning the bike down hill (front wheel now well below where it would normally be) AND try mounting said treadly!? Once aboard and ready for your heroic (read: idiotic) ride simply leave go of the fence and head down hill at a ridiculous rate . . .

N.B. The angle here is about right, but the bike and the rider didn't look half as confident or accomplished as this bloke!

All well and good, but for those who have done a downhill on a bike fitted with a fixed wheel will affirm, they can really get wound up and have little consideration of stopping in anything less than a bl#*dy long way! Somehow I survived, I did not hit any trees, and I didn't end up in the lake, BUT I can assure you I never tried it again, you can only escape death so many times in your life!? :pinch: :blush:

Aaaah PDU what a woose. You are not really having fun unless there is some slight chance of dying!

We grew up on the very edge of the state forest in Nambucca Heads, NSW North coast. We had plenty of forest roads to drive on, but being safety conscious, we chose to use the fire trails which pretty much paralleled the roads. One trail led down to the back of the sand dunes near the beach.

One of the old bangers we had a beach buggy was a Ford Prefect. Now to make a decent buggy out of a Prefect, first remove all glass, (with hammer), remove all doors so passenger can hang out like the crew on small sailboat to keep it on its wheels, or nearly, lastly fit dual wheels to the rear. This particular day we were cruising along on the beach and as we rounded the headland to the main surf beach, there was a surf carnival on with people everywhere, including the local copper. We just motored through the crowd and down to the next beach, only to spot the Sarg waiting for us. Quick u-turn and head back. When we got to the beach where we entered, there was Sarg. No worries, just keep heading north towards Valla beach. By the time he gets there, we can double back and head home.

We made it. Off the beach, race home through to fire trails and roads, up our road only to find Sarge having a cup of tea with the old man. HIs comment before giving us a big warning, "Have you young blokes finished stuffing around? The old man took the Prefect to the tip the next day.

Grew up on Bribie Island. Later moved to Godwin Beach, just a few K's inland. Came the time to get my license. 1987.
I had already learned to drive on Bribie beach and around our small acreage and up and down Bestmann Road (the road into Godwin Beach) in various unregistered bombs.
So, my parrents choose a driving instructor so I can pass the test. He is my former grade 6 primary school teacher's husband. Think Arnold Schwarzenegger with the accent, but without the body building. The day comes, the local copper askes me to drive him to South Bribie Marine to see someone. I wait for an eternity (probably 15 - 20 minutes) and he gets back in and directs me to take him back to the police station. He and my instructor have a chat and decide that I can have my P's.
The copper asks me if I would also like my motorcycle license. I stutter and stammer about aren't I supposed to do a test for that, first? He replies it's only a 250, isn't it? Turns out he has seen me riding it up my street to a barbeque at the neighbours' where my parents also attended and presumably I was not being a dickhead. Entirely possible he had also spoken to my parents, since anyone in business knew everyone else (we had the butcher shop - I can still link sausages in my sleep...)
Thus I got my license.
Probably about the same year, one night my parents went out. They did this frequently. I could not resist the temptation and took my dad's newly restored V8 Studebaker Lark out for a spin up and down Bestmann Road. At some point, I decided to see how fast it would go. At around 90 miles an hour (or was it 100, I forget) with a bend approaching, the headlights went out! Miraculously, I judged the corner and managed to put the indicator on, which gave me just enough light to see my way down to a sensible speed.
Nothing happened, nobody ever found out.
I cannot even begin to imagine how much trouble I would have been in......

I now own this vehicle.

Jarrod.