Yes, we lived in Manly

 Manly, an interlude

 

I began Year 3 at Bowning, but early in the year we were on the move again, and we left the Commercial Hotel on 19 May 1955. It’s somewhat surprising to realise that we only stayed 14 months in Bowning, close to relatives and countryside that dad would have known well. Mum always got on well with dad’s side of the family. I can understand why Tallimba would not have been a long term proposition, with its heat and isolation, but not Bowning. The hotel itself may have been the problem, and possibly a financial struggle. Tooths Company file notes from the early 1960’s indicate that the license was transferred about every 12 months from 1960 onwards. One short-lived licensee, coming from running another hotel (in Barmedman) was described as “a really good type but with little cash”.  Perhaps that buy-in fee of £20,000 was just too much.

 

For the next 2 months, or a substantial part of them, we lived in Manly. It was a ground floor flat, in one of those little streets that run off North Steyne, the main street running alongside the stretch of beach from Manly  to Queenscliff. We were literally just over the road from the beach. Manly has much changed from those days, and I can’t identify the building or the area we lived, although I think it was more to the Queenscliff end. There’s a building just around the corner from where Olive and Stan lived, just opposite Queenscliff Surf Club, that stirred long forgotten memories, but I can’t be certain.

 

We were there long enough for me to be enrolled in the Christian Brothers’ primary school, which in those days was in the grounds of the Manly Catholic Church. The Catholic Parish primary school was also there, but it was for girls only. Years later, in the early 2000’s,  when I was running a Registered Training Organisation on behalf of Stella Maris College, I spent many hours in this same former Christian Brothers  building, which we hired to run a number of our courses.

 

The Christian Brothers approach to schooling was unlike anything I had experienced. Boys only, big class, wearing a tie, and strict. I don’t remember the cane being flashed – although it would have been highly unusual if it wasn’t a feature - but discipline was unquestioning. I didn’t like it. I didn’t need that level of regimentation in order to engage with whatever the learning was. In the Public Schools which had previously been my only experience of school, all learning materials were supplied – writing books, textbooks, pencils, craft materials, and so on. Now, my family was expected to provide all the writing implements and the exercise books to write in, and to supply a Catechism – the textbook for Religious Education. This was a small, green-covered book, which consisted of questions and answers on the basic doctrines of the Catholic faith, expressed in simple, straight-forward language. One became a good Catholic by learning these answers by heart : Q. “What are the marks of the Catholic Church”? A. “The Catholic Church is one, holy, catholic and apostolic”.  (I’ve written this from memory, and while there may be minor inaccuracies, it shows how strong rote learning can be. Some would say indoctrination.)

 

One memory in particular stands out. We were instructed that before turning over to write on a new page in a writing book, the correct procedure was to raise your hand, and when Brother gave you permission to speak, to politely ask : “Brother, can I please now turn over and write on a new page?” Even as an 8 year old, I questioned (to myself) why I had to ask Brother’s permission for something that I had never had to do before, and, most galling of all, to gain permission for writing in a book which was mine, which my parents had purchased. It didn’t make sense – then or now. But I went along with it. My rebellion has mostly been silent to most things I disagree with!

 

One stormy day, I travelled with dad from the city to Manly, on the Manly ferry. On days such as this, a big swell can run in the Harbour, particularly as the ferry traverses between the Heads. On this particular day, the swell was HUGH. As the ferry rocked from side to side, I was certain it would tip over. It was a terrifying experience. Of course seasoned ferry travellers would now say that it would have been a standard ride in a heavy swell. Well, yes……but for this country kid it was an unwelcome new experience.

 

Neil, Helen and I made good use of the beach just over the road. It was in effect our playground. None of us knew how to swim and the most we would have done was paddling in the shallows. At that stage of our lives, we would have never seen a swimming pool, let alone been so daring as to jump into the water. Although I had lived as an infant in Newcastle, I had no recollection whatsoever  of the sand and the ocean. We really were country kids having a great adventure in a place that in those days was one of the big holiday areas, drawing summer holiday crowds from all over the state, and indeed from the inner and western suburbs of Sydney.