The Sausage Tree (4 page)

During the war years all homes were “blacked out” so that from the air the town could not be seen at night. Lilydale was thought to be on the flight path Japanese planes would use if they came on a bombing raid to Launceston. Every evening at dusk Mum very carefully covered all the windows in the house with dark blankets so that even the smallest chink o flight could not be seen from the outside. Men were rostered to patrol the town at night to make sure that all the “black outs” were effective.

At this time the school playground was a maze of trenches which had been dug in a zigzag fashion. Each day we would have “air-raid practice”. When the school bell rang during lessons everyone had to go to the trenches in an orderly way. Each child was designated a certain area to hide in with their heads tucked onto their knees and their hands on their heads. Some of the older children were given the responsibility of looking after a younger child. Joan had to look after Wilma. All Wilma can remember is thinking that she would surely have one arm longer than the other as Joan dragged her across the yard to the trench where they were to hide.

Some days during the winter time the trenches had a lot of water in them. We still had to have our practice although
we didn't have to get in if more than a few inches of water remained in the bottom.

When the war ended in 1945 a young wife whose husband was in the army was so ecstatic when she heard the news at 11 o'clock at night, she ran to the only church in Lilydale that had a church bell. Everyone was woken up by the noise that continued until the policeman went to see who was causing the disturbance. No action was taken against her—but the policeman gave a few hefty pulls on the bell-rope before calling a stop. Next day we were given a holiday from school and we spent most of the day, out of Mum's hearing, hitting tins with sticks—they were our drums—and singing songs. One song that we sang over and over was “The White Cliffs of Dover”.

We didn't realise the enormity of the war. We only knew what we had read in the newspaper, heard on the wireless and discussed at school. To us the world was a “globe” that sat on the teacher's desk and a map on a roller blind that was above the blackboard and pulled down from time to time so that the teacher could explain where different countries were or used to hide work on the blackboard during a test.

5

Two years after moving to Lilydale, our younger brother Peter was born in 1939. Coming after five girls he was our wonder boy and all his life he was the apple of our eyes until he died of cancer in 1985. We lavished him with love and thought he was someone very special, but despite this he was never spoiled. There was great rejoicing in the entire Johnson family because our two brothers were the only Johnson males of their generation. While Mum was in hospital Valda and the twins stayed with Granma in Launceston (always called town) and although only sixteen miles from home it seemed like the other side of the world, somewhere with pretty coloured fairy lights that twinkled at night, somewhere we hadn't been for two years.

Outstanding in our childhood memories is some of the inventive mischief the twins became known for. In preparation for the stay with Granma, Mum had knitted them each a red jumper. Because they were identical twins Mum
had put a white B on one and an R on the other so that Granma could tell them apart, but they switched jumpers and that was the only time we can remember her being really cross. Poor Granma, she always said she knew there was a difference between the two but she couldn't remember who the difference belonged to! Ever afterwards she referred to them as “you twinnies”.

The differences she couldn't remember were that Barbara is right-handed and Rosalie left-handed. Barbara's hair curled up at the back and Rosalie's curled under.

The next winter on a bitterly cold day the twins complained to Mum that they were cold. She told them to light a fire, so they did. Sometime later Mum sent Geoff to find them. He came back white as a sheet and spluttering that the big shed was on fire. The twins said they wanted their own fire outside because they were cold! The fire not only scorched the back wall of the shed but our dirty washing was burnt because that was where it was kept until washing days which were Mondays and Thursdays.

In the same year Mum had bought the twins a pair of boys lace-up boots each to wear to school. They were selling very cheaply at the shop and were a much better buy than shoes. Two of everything had to be bought so it was always doubly expensive to buy for them. The boots were also much warmer and just the thing for cold rainy days. Valda always wore the boots that Geoff had grown out of, so who could have foreseen the trouble the twins caused over their new boots! They reckoned that the other kids laughed at their boots as they were the only girls in their class who had to wear them.

They had also been in trouble at school for swapping the initialled jumpers. Barbara had also sat in Rosalie's desk and messed up her books by trying to write left-handed. Rosalie sat in Barbara's desk and tried to write right-handed. They had hoped that no-one would notice!

Joan and Valda had to drag those screaming, kicking girls all the way to school. Instead of taking ten minutes to go to school it now took them one hour to go the same route. All the way to school they were aware that all the housewives were either out the front of their houses or looking through their windows as the performance went past. The twins didn't seem to care that everyone laughed to see them being dragged screaming and kicking all the way to school. It took Joan and Valda fifty-five years to find out what all the fuss was about!

One day both twins lay down on the road outside our house and kicked and screamed so much that Joan and Valda couldn't move them. A fully laden log truck came up the road on its way to the mill and the driver nearly had a heart attack when he realised that they weren't going to move and had to stand on his brakes to stop the truck. He got out of the cab and gave them such a fright with his telling off that they very meekly got up off the road and went to school without any more fuss. That was the turning point. Ever after they went to school in a more ladylike manner.

It was no wonder that one of the twins' class teachers had a nervous breakdown as they were not the only ones to cause trouble in class. At the beginning of a new year the new senior master was checking each child's name. As each child said his or her name they ended with “sir”. One boy omitted to do so and was told to say “sir” when addressing him and ordered to start again. The result was “Sir Marcus Smith”! There was a nervous titter in the room as the teacher stormed at the unfortunate boy who thought he was being clever.

During the war years the senior master held a daily discussion on what developments were taking place “on the front”. Among the casualties of the war were the unfortunate people of Europe who had no home—no country.
They were recognised as refugees or displaced persons. One boy who stuttered badly wasn't paying attention when the teacher looked at him and asked what DP stood for. Quick as a flash the boy answered “d-d-d-d-d dog poo”! The look on the teacher's face was priceless but because punishments in school were harsh, not one student dared to laugh.

A few years later the twins played an ingenious trick on Valda who was absolutely terrified of spiders. One morning Valda was sitting in her bed calling for someone to bring her some clean undies from the washing basket and the twins quickly called back that they would do it for her. They ran to the basket, grabbed the clothing and ran to the sideboard where Mum kept her sewing box. Valda kept calling that she would be late for work if they didn't hurry, but the twins assured her that they were hurrying and that they were still looking. What they were actually doing was finding an old trouser button and threading the four holes with twisted black cotton to roughly resemble a horrible black spider. When they threw the undies to Valda they got the reaction they hoped for. Poor Valda! When the “spider” fell on her bed she nearly had hysterics. So did they—theirs from laughing and hers from sheer terror. That was the twins' idea of fun but it was for their own good that they gave Valda a wide berth for the next few days.

Wilma hated every minute that she shared a bedroom with the twins; she always felt left out and on her own. She slept in a single bed while the twins shared a double bed. They shared lots of secrets and giggled a lot, but would never tell Wilma anything. Later she realised they only did it to upset her.

6

Our mother suffered ill-health after Peter was born and on numerous occasions Valda and the twins went into town to stay with Granma while the rest of the children were sent to various aunts and uncles. While in town we attended Charles Street School with Uncle Jeff and Auntie Shirley who were about the same ages as our brother Geoff and sister Joan. The school was a massive building and it seemed to us that there were thousands of children everywhere, but of course there weren't—it was just that our own school was so small.

One time when Mum was rushed to hospital in a serious condition caused by a burst stomach abscess, we all stayed home because there was no time for arrangements to be made for our care. Peter was still only a few months old and was taken to the hospital with her. The older ones did their best to look after the others. This was a huge responsibility because Geoff was twelve; Joan was just eleven; and Valda
was ten; and they had to look after the seven year old twins and three year old Wilma.

Shopping for the food was no problem as Mum ran a monthly account at the grocery shop and the butchers and we knew what was usually bought because we always went to the shops for Mum. It was the cooking that was the hardest and we couldn't completely master it. Although we used to help Mum with the preparation of everything, there were some things we didn't know, like flour to bind the rissoles together; as a result we had fried mincemeat for tea. How we cried with disappointment—but Dad said “Never mind we'd know next time”. Then there was the pastry we made for a pie. We knew we had to be scrupulously clean so we washed and washed our hands with Lifebuoy soap that had a strong carbolic smell. Our pastry looked wonderful but, oh dear, what a disaster! It tasted just like the soap smelt. One day the lady across the road said if we left a pie dish on the gate post before we went to school she would make us an apple pie for tea. That was a lovely pie and we all ate well that night.

Our attempts at doing the washing were very poor but we had to have clean clothes so Joan and Valda lit the copper and washed them the best they could.

Mum had been in hospital about two weeks when her condition became critical and the doctor sent for Dad to go immediately to the hospital. Dad received the message in a slow and painful process. The hospital telephoned the Lilydale postmaster who then telephoned the headmaster of the school to tell Geoff to run and find Dad and give him a note that explained what was wrong. That's exactly what he did. He ran the five miles from school up the mountain to the mill that Dad supplied with logs. The men there showed Geoff the deep log track that he was to follow until he found Dad. Geoff had to trudge up the track a long way before he heard Dad driving the six horse team dragging
three logs behind. After Geoff had given Dad the message he collapsed from exhaustion, and because he had to recover his energy and was very distressed, he didn't get home until it was nearly dark.

Dad didn't come home to change—that would have added nearly two hours to his travelling time. He just hopped on his bike and rode as fast as he could to Granma's, walking the bike up the hills. Dad washed and changed into some of his brother's clothes before going to the hospital. He was away a whole week and we were left completely on our own.

The worst time was when night fell. We were all afraid of the dark and only had the candles and lamps which created scary pictures and patterns on the walls and ceilings. We were very fortunate that we didn't burn the house down. The trips to the dunny were a major exercise as we flew two at a time, down the yard because we were convinced the “boogie man” would get us.

When the weekend came Uncle Bob drove Granma out in his car to see that we were all right. We were only little kids and had been doing our best to keep each other healthy, clean and, above all else, safe. We still wonder where all the do-gooders were from the church and why the neighbours didn't offer help.

Arrangements were made for Joan and Wilma to travel on the train to Nabowla to stay with Uncle Alick and Auntie Gladys.

Geoff also went to Nabowla but he stayed with Dad's cousins Keatha and Colin Allenby who were newly-weds. They gave him a real taste of happy childhood, taking him on picnics and to the river to fish. While he was there he attended Nabowla school. He was so happy and contented there that he didn't want to come home when the other children did and so stayed a full six months. When the time finally came to say goodbye to Keatha and Colin, Geoff still
didn't want to come back home. He wanted to stay where he was so happy and had had the opportunity to relish real love and a happy family environment. For the first time in his young life, he had lived the life of a little boy.

The next time Mum went to hospital Geoff again went to Nabowla where he stayed with Dad's Uncle Wal and Auntie Nellie. Before taking Valda and the twins back to her place Granma did a mountain of washing and tidying up. On our back verandah, which we all had to take turns scrubbing, stood “the old black cupboard”. We are a family of hoarders and all the junk imaginable was in that cupboard.

The twins were looking for their gumboots which were in there “somewhere”. They pulled everything out and spread it all over the place. Granma came along with the straw broom in her hands and gave each of them a whack across the bottom with the broom and called them dirty little faggots, told them to put everything back again and said that they wouldn't need their boots in town. They were terribly upset and had to wait nearly three months for Mum to come home before they could tell her that Granma had called them dirty little “maggots”!

Mum and Dad were still paying the medical and hospital expenses in 1949 when, after consultations with the hospital administrator and the intervention of a member of parliament, the last of the outstanding money was waived.

Once in 1942 when Mum was in hospital and Uncle Jeff was away in the army (Granma, who couldn't read, had unwittingly signed Jeffs enlistment papers and, although only fifteen, he'd easily persuaded the recruiting officers that he'd just turned eighteen) the twins slept in his bedroom that was in the back of Granma's house next to the kitchen. There was a double bed so the twins could be together. There was no way they would let anyone separate
them. They had to be together or the whole world would have heard them protesting.

One night Barbara woke Rosalie and whispered to her that there was a big bear in the bed with them. Rosalie was too frightened to even open her eyes and told her sister to go and get Granma. Naturally she wouldn't because she was terrified that the bear would get her. They both had all sorts of visions about a wild bear. How did it get there? How big was it? Would they be eaten if they moved or talked louder than a whisper? Towards daylight Rosalie had a quick peep, but couldn't see any bear. Barbara gently patted her side of the bed and whispered that it was still there. In the full light of day it was completely different. The top sheet had moved and left the very rough heavy blanket uncovered. The twins can't remember if they told Granma or not, but think it highly unlikely that they would because they felt so silly.

Granma was a very special person and we have some lovely memories which are woven around her. One memory is of her standing at her big kitchen table that was laden with delicious biscuits and cakes. One of her specialties we all enjoyed was her custard tarts. Another memory is of her lovely big home with the huge sitting room at the front where the big pianola with the music rolls were. We'd sit for hours pumping the peddles as hard as our skinny legs would go, reading the words as we sang along, forgetting for a while the reason that we were staying at Granma's.

Then there was the carpet-sweeper. We would grab it and race up and down the long passage “cleaning” the carpet. On one occasion the twins were tearing up and down when the dirt and dust kept dropping out of the sweeper. They thought they had broken it so they shoved all the dirt back
through a crack and put it away. They didn't know that it was full of dirt and it could be opened and emptied.

Wilma's earliest memory is back when she was about three years old and Granma arrived at our house in Lilydale and gave her a doll. It had a rubber head, a rag body and was dressed in a beautiful green dress with a matching bonnet with lace on it. She still has fond memories of that episode but doesn't know whether it was in a line-up when us older kids decided to see how many dolls we could jump over. We do know that the twins rag “Dutch dolls”, a couple of other rag dolls and some celluloid dolls belonging to the girls over the back fence were carefully laid on the ground and we took it in turns jumping over the line. As we got more confidence we spaced the dolls further apart. It was a disastrous pastime as one of us didn't make the distance and the celluloid dolls were never again fat and nicely shaped. Once again we were in terrible trouble.

Granma loved poppies. Whenever we see those fragile, brightly coloured flowers we always think of her because when they were in bloom there were always two vases of them on her mantelpiece with more on the big sideboard and the dining room table.

One thing we didn't like about staying at Granma's was having our hair combed. She and all her family had thick coarse curly black hair that needed a large wide-toothed comb to control it. We had inherited our mother's fine mousey hair that Granma called cotton hair. When we grizzled and complained that the comb hurt our heads she told us we should have grown proper hair. No amount of “ouching” stopped that relentless bang, bang on our poor scalps.

Although we spent such a lot of time at Granma's we hardly ever saw Grandad as he left home early every day to work in the kitchen at the Launceston General Hospital.

Granma had her own cures for all ailments and the one
we remember most of all was “ooka-tiptus” as Granma called it (eucalyptus) and jam. She'd mix that awful stuff in a teaspoon of raspberry jam and we had to swallow it. She was convinced that it cured colds, sniffles and upset tummies, but it did cure something. It cured Rosalie of eating raspberry jam—and to this day is it any wonder she prefers not to eat it.

Although we hated Granma's cure-all, it was much better than our parents' cure-all for everything including misbehaviour: one tablespoon of warm castor oil. Yuk! To make sure we really swallowed it, Dad would hold our nose while Mum tipped the oil in our mouth and made sure it really went down. We had been known to just pretend and run outside and spit it out. The holding the nose bit made sure this couldn't happen. Mum said she'd make sure we were too busy the next day to get into mischief again.

One memorable day we older kids went over the back fence to Harry Brook's farm to steal apples from his storage shed. Valda was made lookout, but when she saw Mr Brooks coming she got scared and instead of telling us she ran away and hid. We were marched home and Mum was told what we'd been up to. Would you believe that after having a feed of green apples we were given castor oil? Well, that was one time we wished for, and indeed needed, a second dunny. Even now after all these years we cannot stand the sight or smell of castor oil, but wish we had all of those purply-blue bottles that we gladly smashed on the rubbish heap behind the dunny.

Years later Valda went to work in the big general store and when a customer asked for castor oil they couldn't understand why she would get a strange look on her face, take a piece of paper and make a blind grab for the bottle
on the shelf. She couldn't bring herself to touch it. The castor oil cure was used over fifty years ago and just recalling it makes us shudder.