Bonzer Words!: The Mud's On Top
...It was 24th June 1952 and I had just disembarked at Station Pier in Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. I took a taxi into Melbourne and as we crossed Princes Bridge, which spans the River Yarra and leads in to the city of Melbourne, the taxi driver retorted 'That's the River Yarra, the only upside-down river in the southern hemisphere—the mud's on top'. I've never forgotten it....
Bob Page recalls his early days.
Bob writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au
It was 24th June 1952 and I had just disembarked at Station Pier in Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. I took a taxi into Melbourne and as we crossed Princes Bridge, which spans the River Yarra and leads in to the city of Melbourne, the taxi driver retorted 'That's the River Yarra, the only upside-down river in the southern hemisphere—the mud's on top'. I've never forgotten it.
I had left England just 28 days before, from Tilbury, on the fifth voyage of the SS Oronsay, as a £10 migrant, to come to this far off land, a place that when my father heard I was leaving to go to said 'So you are going to the colonies, lad'. And proceeded to tell me to watch out for those kangaroos as they could be dangerous. I'm sure he thought they were bounding down every main street in Australia.
Anyway, I'm slightly ahead of myself. In October 1929 I took a deep breath and forced my way in to the world. On that day I was then known as Robin Hellam. My mother was Elizabeth Hellam, my father—well, it was 1929 and although Queen Victoria had been gone some years it was still not talked about in polite society that my father, Jack Jacobs, had been rather absent-minded and had forgotten to genuflect and ask for my mother's hand in marriage.
At age two, I was adopted by George & Florence Page and was thoroughly spoilt by my foster sisters Alice and Ivy and foster brother Geoffrey. Whilst I am referring to them as 'foster' I never then, and even now, thought of them as such.
Whilst I have many happy childhood memories one particular memory is when my mother decided I should learn to dance, sing and act. As you can see I had long blonde curly hair and apparently at that time it was reported in the newspapers that a Mr & Mrs Temple were making a fortune from a daughter named Shirley. Now I can't be certain that was my mother's motivation. but I did attend Mrs Day's Academy of Dance and Song at Peckham Rye in London.
I can't recall what the play was about but on the 'big night' I was dressed up in a white suit and entered the stage in this vast hall (probably not much larger than a 'phone booth) and did a soft shoe dance and sung. Well; I was so nervous I wet myself!! I could imagine every person out in those vast dark recesses could see my predicament. I ran off the stage never to return. The theatre had lost a second Laurence Olivier (or a Boris Karloff).
Another memory was my first ride in a motor car. A relative of my father called at the house and took us all for a ride. I can still smell the leather. I remember waving to people on the pavement as if I was royalty!
On another occasion my mother and I were in shopping at Peckham Rye High Street and I saw my first black man. I could not take my eyes off him. My mother was most embarrassed because I possibly said something stupid like 'Why hasn't he had a bath?' However he must have heard me because he turned around and gave me a very pleasant smile. This would have been about 1936.
In 1939 World War Two started. Mr Chamberlain announced on the radio at 11:00am on the third of September that England had declared war on Germany.
Within a very short time the sirens sounded, which was a warning of an impending attack. We all sat around the kitchen table with our gas mask boxes at the ready in anticipation of an attack (which, thankfully, never occurred). My brother-in-law, who was visiting us, drew the drapes in case shattered glass from the windows entered the room. It was a false alarm—apparently ducks over the south coast were mistaken for enemy aircraft!
© Bob Page
