My first correspondence was—as my mother told me—a telegram to me on the day of my birth, November 1, 1926 in Perth, Western Australia:
“Welcome little citizen—“
Possibly two to three years later I remember holding a little enamel mug in my hand up to the teat of a cow which my father was milking and having him fill the mug with warm milk. It was sweet and comforting. Why my father needed a cow has puzzled me in my adult life. True, he was reared as a somewhat farm boy, but after he became a preacher and traveled from city to city he still bought cows and milked them daily for his growing family. When Bernard became old enough it was his job to do the milking while Murray or I held the tail of the cow after roping the rear leg so the cow wouldn’t kick the bucket. We asked no questions —and we were smart kids—having a cow in the city was the accepted thing to do. I can even remember Dad sharing expenses of feeding a cow with a neighboring family—and then sharing milk with them in return. The routine was that after our family moved to a new city Dad would attend a cattle auction, buy a cow and then walk it home to the place where it was to be kept– usually the rear of our house if had a large lot, or an empty lot (preferably grassy) nearby.
When l was about four years old my father was moved from Western Australia to New South Wales, specifically the coal mine area incorporating Cessnock, Maitland and Kurri Kurri. I traveled with him in the train across the great Australian plains where the rails go, at one stage, 200 miles with no curve. The only thing memorable was stopping in the middle of the desert and having people with big black faces look up at us. holding articles for sale. An exotic memory—but that’s all which was imprinted on my mind till Kurri Kurri.
Kurri Kurri was a happy time. Memories of a small cozy house, sunshine through the windows, a piano in the front room, sitting down to a plate of fresh-cooked oatmeal at the kitchen table, followed by my parents going into the front room where Dad would start singing, mother gamely accompanying him on the piano. There were three things of value in their lives—the piano, a new Broadwood, mother’s sewing machine and Dad’s motorbike with side-car. He was preacher in charge of three church communities and the time was the middle of the great depression. I didn’t know what was going on but talk about “the dole” registered in my ears often. There was not work for many coalminers and strikes were common. My father counseled and helped many of his parishioners.. I remember my father waking me one night and carrying me outside to see the sight of a huge fire at the head of one of the coal mines some distance away. Whether the fire was accidental I don’t know, but the firey sight is still in memory. Dad also got me out of bed another night to see Halley’s comet, the significance of which was lost on me.
It was in Kurri Kurri I became ill with whooping cough. It was a dreadful disease which I remember so well, because I couldn’t breathe and this gasping for air and the noise which accompanied—called a “whoop” because of the noisy inhalation was scary. I imagine this was the beginning of my health troubles; at age four. Today’s mothers have benefit of vaccines; I haven’t heard of children having whooping cough for many years.
The next move was Cessnock where I attended public school for the first time. I loved school and did well at it. My mother used to make me a sandwich every day which I remember, since no one else had the same—the filling was date with coconut -yummy—and then a banana. In Cessnock I had my tonsils and adenoids removed; I don’t know why but that seemed to be cure for continued throat infections. The morning of surgery my mother gave me a “good healthy breakfast” to give me strength for the day. The doctor said she nearly killed me. Poor Mum. She had no knowledge of sickness or hospitals.
Cessnock was also the place I began piano lessons. I remember the beginning book. One of the kind which Robert Pace would ridicule in Pedagogy Materials class. In the front was a large page with a picture of the note-value “tree”. The semibreve dividing into 2 minums, then 4 crotchets then 8 quavers, 16 semiquavers, 32 demsemiquavers and I think even 64 hemidemsemiquavers!. Awesome! However, I made sense of it because within a short time I accompanied a group of children at a church fair as they sang a song about flowers. (They were all dressed as flowers in glued-together paper dresses) I can still remember the sound of the phrase: “Won’t you buy my pretty flowers…”
Maitland was a period of more school, this time learning sewing which I have realized was a very important skill for girls and am forever glad that the Australian school system incorporated it in the curriculum. I enjoyed the creativity of making things. I continued to be sick—temperatures, coughs, infections and a dramatic appendicitis for which Mother gave me a hefty dose of castor oil. Then a quick car ride to Doctor McMahon in the next town, emergency surgery and again a report to my mother that she almost killed me with the castor oil. Poor mum again.
All through this period Dad was officially an evangelist. He’d go to a new town, pitch a big tent, advertize and preach on the Revelation and Daniel prophecies. There was always a younger preacher with him—the “tent boy” who assisted him by maintaining the tent, taking care of upkeep, lights, hymn books, piano etc. He always had a little corner behind the stage where he slept and kept personal belongings. Where was his bathroom, kitchen? I don’t know. However, it was considered a privilege to be assistant to my Dad who usually ran successful campaigns which ended in Bible studies and baptisms. I remember several successful preachers in later years commenting on their experiences with Dad. As for Bernard and me—the smell of sawdust, canvas chairs, the charcoal heaters are forever joined up with mockups of the Daniel 2 image, charts of the four-headed beast, the wicked horn with eyes of a man, the four horses, and scary stories of end-time events.
I’m not too sure of chronology about here. I remember going with Mum and Bernard to Tasmania for a while—maybe a year. We stayed with Aunt Ida and Aunt Lydia during this period. I remember hush-hush talk about a lost baby; maybe Mum had had a miscarriage but it was never talked about to us. However Mother did give birth to Murray while we were there. The little country school at Collinsvale—6 grades to a room—was an experience remembered with pleasure. When I think back on the shadowy images I always remember the story of George Washington and the cherry tree. I think that was a report I must have given to the class while there. Mornings walking to school were very cold. Tasmania was cold—ice on the puddles.
Life became serious when we lived in Sydney. We had a nice large rented house. As usual Dad had the big front room as his “study” with his books, files, notes. The parlor became the parents’ bedroom and we children slept on a porch or behind a screen on the verandah. The third bedroom and/or dining room were rented. Life was penurious. And the conference kept Dad busy. I remember he’d get a sheet every month telling him where he’d preach every week. Every week was a different church (about 30 churches in the city) so there was no opportunity to become well acquainted with individual members of churches.
It was here that I won a position to the elite girls’ school, Fort Street which was adjacent to the road entrance of the Sydney Harbor Bridge at that time. How proud my parents were, that I was chosen to attend and they saw me off daily; I think I rode a tram and an underground train, followed by a walk to school. Discipline included exact uniform, hat brim turned down, gloves, blazer. No chewing gum, no talking loudly. I engaged in the whole program. Introduction to Algebra was interesting. You’d hear about this awesome subject; then the teacher wrote x+x =2x on the board. I understood the logic immediately while my fellow students puzzled. Why? The school motto was “Every girl is the maker of her own fortune”.
From Sydney Dad was transferred to Wollongong. A nice town where we lived on the road which followed the beach—a fabulous location except that World War 2 was declared while we were there and all kinds of prohibitions on lights and activities were put into effect. Gas was rationed, we expected the Japs to invade, barbed wire was rolled along our beaches to discouraged submarine landing! At school we had air raid drills, dug zig-zag trenches in the playground and listened to gruesome news night after night. Worrysome, scary. Dad had a successful evangelistic series in Wollongong and while here he was responsible for building a new church building -arranging the acquiring of land, planning the building and all that goes on with such a project. Dad was quite resourceful, capable and willing to “give-it-a-go”. He was a valuable conference employee. Bernard and I continued to take piano lessons and by this time were becoming proficient. In fact, at this time I became capable of accompanying in church—I was 14-15 years’ old. Lynne was born while we lived in Wollongong. We were crazy for her!
For some reason Dad was sent on to Bathurst, beyond the Blue mountains west of Sydney. The war was still on, shortages of everything. I remember Dad driving at night with tiny slits for headlights; you couldn’t see where you were going so crept along VERY slowly. Mostly we stayed inside at night with blackout curtains on all the windows. Yes, the war was very real to us and the government was continuing to give requirements for this and that. Gas rationing was on and there were shortages of different kinds—food, clothing, building materials etc. Even so, Dad managed to build us a house which was his first effort at improving our family financial health. He borrowed from a Building and Loan Society and somehow we became owners of property. Mother picked up the challenge and, besides renting out rooms, she walked to a canning factory nearby where she worked canning asparagus. The kids accepted it, but now I think of it I’m unhappy that it was necessary. I guess building a house took resources, I guess the war effort was on our minds, I guess she earned good money.
Anyway, we had at least three years in Bathurst and it was here that I graduated from High School. Education finally made sense to me. I relished the study of History, Shakespeare, the Romantic poets and especially Chemistry. I had a terrific teacher—wish I had told him so at a later date—who organized the study of the subject in a logical, understandable way, and I latched on to it as I did Algebra at Fort Street. I read the story of Madame Curie which took me on a romantic vision of what I wanted to do with my life—discover some remarkable cure for cancer, or new element or shake the halls of learning. My parents wanted me to be a school teacher; I wanted to be a research chemist.
From Bathurst Dad was moved to Adelaide, South Australia to be in charge of youth work. I think Dad built a house there, too, on Kensington Road and we continued family routines-music and school. I enrolled in Adelaide University in a Science degree program. I found university a challenge. Students were on their own; they attended classes or not, they studied or not and they were tested at the end of the year with exams in with a hundred or so others massed in the big hall. Tough questions, often essay, definitely not multiple choice.
We lived on Kensington Road and I commuted to the University by tram, which had a regular stop about a block away. I worked part-time at the Sanitarium Health Food factory to earn money for my daily needs—perhaps two or three days or afternoons a week. The job was filling boxes with candy, dried fruit and nuts for sale in the retail store. Not intellectually stimulating but a little help for the family budget.
War was still on everyone’s mind. Battleships being sunk, bombing of London, the king and queen visiting Coventry Cathedral were all big stories. The Coventry story especially created a reverberation of patriotism, and together with speeches by Winston Churchill, and the bombing of German cities we were sure we were going to win the war. I remember well the newspaper headlines “JAPAN ATTACKS ON PACIFIC FLEETS” which brought the US into the war, the June landing on France, Dunkirk, allied armies sweeping across Europe and the creeping of the Japs south as they progressed through the Pacific Islands towards Australia. This occurred when we were in Wollongong and I think we were glad to be away from the coast line of Wollongong with it’s nearby munitions factories and attractive little harbor.
One day as I was waiting for my tram ride home after University classes I looked at the headlines on my neighbor’s newspaper. Big print about US dropping an atomic bomb on Nagasaki and subsequent devastation. Then two or three days later came another biggy about another bomb on Tokyo and an immediate ending to the Pacific war. The memories of those times are vivid. At this time there were soldiers everywhere—Yanks (as we called them) and Australian. Every Saturday night they had a big dance for them and any others who wanted to join. I desperately wanted to participate—it looked so much fun and I was the impressionable age, about 18 or 19. But my relationship to the family and church kept me just watching. However we did see my airman cousin—Geoff Brandstater— occasionally and I was proud of him. A handsome guy in an airman’s uniform, and he was my cousin.
When I graduated from University with a major in Bacteriology and Organic Chemistry I looked for future prospects. I said “no” to a government job in New Guinea and decided to go to Avondale for a year to enjoy music and art which it offered. I loved it and made terrific friends while there. On top of that I was given a job teaching math—an early morning class if I remember and worked in the food research laboratory. The food research was to monitor the amount of vitamins which were in batches of cereal. The work was petty routine, but earning money to pay my room and board.
Memorable contacts while at Avondale were George and Hazel Greer, and Yvonne Howard who had come from the US to set up a viable music department, such as existed in American Adventist colleges. The experiment was successful—Greer’s choir becoming well-known and Yvonne Howard nurturing piano students and teaching music history and theory. I expect it was the influence of the US connections, with the glamorous idea of overseas travel and experience that finally induced me and my fellow musicians Heather Sprengel and Zelma Harris to eventually travel to the US.
By this time Maurice and I had developed a friendship. I had noticed him first as he walked to the chapel with a book of Bacon’s essays under his arm — extraordinary for an ordinary first-year Avondale student. Then on another morning I approached a conversational group on the sidewalk, proudly showing off an orange that one of my early morning math students had given me. Maurice said: “Did he say to you, ‘I give you the orange, you give me the pip?’” That was a beauty and I sought his company after that.
At Avondale, besides working at the SHF laboratory and teaching Math, I took a few classes. Daniel and Revelation from N.C. Burns (“Nubby”, who was a dramatic violin soloist), History of Education from Mc— and an Art class from Howard Totenhofer, who painted and sold many lovely oil and watercolor paintings of Australian landscapes. I think he was the person who started me on my life-long experimental art journey. Of course, my mother took me to art galleries and there was conversation about the artists’ shows; so I guess that also entered into my interest in the whole field. And, come to think of it, how many high school students in Wollongong or Bathurst had mothers who took them to art galleries for pleasure?
Maurice and I were married in the Avondale church; Bernard as best man, Neridah and Lynne as bridesmaids. We had the reception in the Greer’s home, brief honeymoon in Sydney and lived with Cam and Joan Myers (Joan was Maurice’s sister) while we were waiting for our visas to go to the US where Maurice wanted to do graduate study. Maurice’s goal was to get a graduate degree in the US and return to Australia to teach—maybe at Avondale; I don’t remember that detail. I remember that we were very short of funds and I don’t know how we survived the next year or two. But we were in love and had stars in our eyes and some friends who believed in us—Neridah’s mother helped us with our boat fares. We hoped to get jobs in the US for a year in order to save the money for education.
The boat passage from Sydney to Vancouver was a pleasure but uneventful except for the break in Honolulu where we were met by a resident physician and given a tour of the city. His driving on the right side of the road was terrifying! I must say that the experience of leaving one’s home country and getting an objective look at it from afar is sobering—I had never jumped out of my comfortable patriotic position in my world-view thinking. This was my first change of orientation to the future which awaited us.
