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Chapter 1(Part sample) The
Early Years
John
William Griffiths, known as the Australian wizard, the man with a thousand scars
and several birthmarks! He can
amuse you, confuse you, and make you laugh or cry the whole day through. I expect to do all this and more if you read this episode.
I
believe and rightly so, that before there can be a finish there must be a
beginning. Therefore, for the beginning of yours truly, I had a father and a mother. I have not personally studied my genealogy; I understand my younger sister Margaret Lewis, nee, Lange, nee Griffiths has. Also my sister-in-law Pauline Snowie has, with far reaching results and interest to some people. I mentally traced the family tree until I discovered that the tree would have been much better had it bore more fruit and fewer nuts! However, I went back as far as some members were not only part of that tree, but if strangers looked up they would see those members swinging about in the top branches throwing bananas at one another. I then terminated any interest I had in genealogy. I
will start with my father’s side, only to my grandfather and grandmother.
I
believe my grandfather was born on a sheep and cattle station in the Goulburn
district of NSW, as was also my grandmother whose maiden name was Ann Cole. Grandfather
was William Griffiths. Both were
illiterate, but very religious, makes you wonder.
I will remember my gran would not even cook a meal on Sunday.
I further believe my paternal ancestors were Welsh and married very
young. My father, also John William
as I am, was born on Carwoola sheep and cattle station at Foxlow, in the
Captains Flat district of NSW. The property is still known as such and on a visit to that
property about 1969 the owner informed me, at the time of visit, that a
particular paddock on that property is still known as the Griffith’s paddock.
My
grandparents had a particularly large family, about 12 children, my father was
the eldest. If gran missed a year
having a child the doctor would send her a reminder notice!
She would have to get somebody to read it for her. My
grandparents moved to the Coolamon district of NSW, about 25 miles from Wagga
Wagga when dad was a baby. Coolamon
later became a very wealthy and productive area.
From records, grandfather was a general farm hand and could earn about
one pound sterling for a 6-day working week, probably daylight till dark.
Even
in my youth, a farm or station hand could not stop work until he could see three
stars shining with one eye shut. My
grandmother cooked for shearers and station hands with dad strapped on her back.
As he became older dad would have been educated up to a point in a very
small public school in a very small area known as Berry Jerry.
Dad would have finished his schooling at age 14 or less; he then became a
butcher of sorts, or worked for a butcher for at most 7/6 a week.
From that job he advanced to dealing in bobby calves and got a start from
that to better things, but more on his ventures later. My
mother Betsy Reid migrated from Scotland at the tender age of 19 years and
unaccompanied. She arrived in
Sydney in 1911 by ship after a 6-week trip and on arrival, was quarantined for
another 6 weeks due to scarlet fever or similar breaking out among the
passengers enroute. My mother did
have an older brother Charles who was at the time resident at Coolamon.
He had migrated much sooner, preceding my mother by some time.
However when you stop to think, why would a 19 year old gal leave home in
Scotland to cross the world and hope for the best with little or no money, it
would sure take some guts. On
arrival she was probably met by Charles and obtained employment at Coolamon as a
housemaid, and for of all people… pommies!
She was probably granted half a day a week off duty, but then had to be
on duty to prepare and serve dinner on her half-day off.
And believe it or not she was paid 2/6d a week and graciously paid
monthly. Time for you capitalists
to now think and work out that 2/6d in those days is today’s equivalent of 30
cents. Where
or when or how my parents met I do not know, but father must have been in the
money and could see prospects ahead to marry mother.
My father had been previously married to a resident of the Ganmain
district named Laura Houlahan. He
became a widower and was left with two children from that marriage, a girl
Gladys and a boy Douglas. Gladys
was about 4 years old and Douglas 2 years younger.
I understand dad’s first wife died as a result of peritonitis due to a
burst appendix, about the year 1910. I
am led to believe dad and mother married on Christmas Eve or New Year’s Eve
1911. I am further led to believe
that I was born on the 11th day of September 1914, the year the First
World War commenced, and I cannot dispute that information because I was to
young to remember the actual occurrence. My
birthday was always celebrated on the 12th of September until 1939
when I obtained my birth certificate and set the matter straight.
I was the eldest of three brats from the union and when I was about 9
months old, mother put in hours teaching me to walk and talk.
I soon mastered both and from then on mother was always telling me to
shut up and sit down! Even at such
an early age I couldn't win. Next
in line was my sister Ann, 2 years my junior and then was Margaret, 2 years
junior to Ann. Therefore at this
stage mother was rearing 5 children. Two
from father’s first marriage plus her own three.
After marriage to mother, father was very prosperous and at this stage he
was a stock and station agent and was also a very successful chaff merchant.
He had at least two full-scale chaff cutting plants in full operation.
The plant operators numbered probably 6 or 7 men with each plant.
Father of course supervisor overall. The
world record load of chaff, and to this day still the world record, left one of
father’s plants with 610 bags of chaff on a wagon.
I have the photos to prove it. I
still do not know how the operators loaded that many bags on a wagon.
I
will remember at least one of the plants operating on his own house property on
the edge of the township. My father
had obviously purchased quite a block in town, from memory it would have
measured about 2 acres. This he
completely fenced with a brick fence about 4 or 5 foot high and within this
boundary he erected a very large brick house and solid brick shed.
The dimensions I have now forgotten but it was very large and also held
many tons of chaff. Also erected
were several brick horse stables, a real show place of the time. I
understand that during the Second World War the old home served for a long
period as the local hospital. I
remember as though it was yesterday when the Griffith’s family took up
residence in our new home; to be precise it was January or early February 1919.
Another good reason to remember the move was due to the fact that there
was no town water supply at that time, so it fell to the labours of my
stepbrother Douglas who would have been 9 years old and myself 5 years old, to
hand pump our overhead tank full of water for house use.
This tank would have held at least 50 gallons and was maybe 10 or 12 foot
above ground level. The water was
pumped from an enormous cement underground reservoir, filled with water run off
from the house. It would have been
many years later that water was laid onto the township, probably from Wagga
Wagga and the Murrumbidgee river scheme. About
1919 or 1920 a large public meeting was called by the Wade Shire Council members
at Coolamon Shire hall, to ascertain the feeling of residents requirements for
town water supply or town electricity supply.
Father was a very strong advocate for water but some other big wig with
plenty of supporters voted for light. This
was due to the fact that the big wig sprouted that the good ‘Lord’ said let
there be light and there was light. That
won the day. My
father was a very strict disciplinarian and what he said went.
For example, at meal times the family sat down together and after the
meal rose together, none of the modern method of families having about 3 or 4
sittings to a meal. For the entire
meal duration one dare not speak at the table unless for example, please pass
whatever was required then a thankyou. We
were never allowed outside the brick wall and never ever had other children in
to play with us. We were all in bed
by 8pm or much earlier if preferred. My
stepsister Gladys had been taught to play the piano, probably by nuns attached
to the convent and our next-door neighbours over the back fence.
There was also a very large Catholic Church and school beside the
convent. Gladys was a good pianist
and my stepbrother Douglas had a very good singing voice but was never taught to
sing. I remember vividly after tea,
as we called it in those days but now known as dinner, the family would adjourn
to the dining/lounge room and sit around and listen to Gladys tickle the ivories
and Douglas sing. Many people from
the street would come down and look over the fence and listen to the
Griffith’s duo, quite a night’s entertainment, finishing at 8 pm, and free! About
this time I knew my dad was a very keen horseman and always had the best horses
of all descriptions in the entire district.
I mean that, and to achieve his horse success he attended the Sydney
Royal show every year, and alway purchased the show winners.
I still remember many of those horses and their names, and they were all
sure champions. He also had a
couple of very good trotters and pacers, one known as Brown Boy trotted or paced
in the Richmond Thousand, the top event on the NSW calendar at the time.
I was to be told that one of his drivers, I think his name was Herbertson,
went over the rail at the Richmond track and broke his neck and died.
Another of his good pacers was a chestnut mare named Actress and another
Gold Wings. Much of the transport
in those days was by horse and buggy with 2 horses.
We had a few visits to Wagga by that means and we were never passed.
Two horse’s names that come to mind were Dopey and Tracey.
I imagine the 25-mile journey one way would be about 1.5 hours, a day’s
shopping or business and then home. Believe
me there was some beautiful horseflesh about in those days. I
had my own pony when I was about 5 years old, I remember it well, a grey mare
named Letty. I also remember Letty
taking off at a canter with me aboard down the middle of our street.
I was screaming with fear with Douglas trying to catch us on foot. I
managed to stay aboard until a shopkeeper down the street, Herb Seckold, must
have heard the screams and was able to get out in time to catch Letty and hand
her over to Doug with me still on board, but now quiet.
As we returned to our yard, dad was at the wide-open iron gate and did
his best to kick Douglas’s arse. Doug
was no doubt anticipating this kind gesture with the result dad missed by a
couple of yards. However, I guess
that ride and many similar was the foundation of my own very successful
horsemanship. More of that later.
At
about this time the chaff cutter was in full swing in the yard and I often
watched the operation, from a distance of course.
One day one of the staff was cleaning under the bagger portion in a low
bent position when the large iron weight dropped on his head and split it open.
Other workmen pulled him out and they wanted to take him to the doctor
for stitches etc, but he wouldn’t have any of that and insisted on working.
He was persuaded to at least go home, he was a married man and lived
about 200 yards down our street. He
returned half an hour later and resumed work after telling the mob he was okay. The wife washed the blood and dirt off and poured some turps
on it, mineral turpentine that is. Pour
some on your next injury and see what you think of it.
It
was about this time that dad discovered alcohol; I think he was about 44 years
old. He had never tasted alcohol up
until this age, until he apparently suffered a large financial loss due to a
shipment of chaff bags from Japan being saturated with seawater and rot.
The story is that he hit the bottle and became an alcoholic; I remember
when he used to drink a bottle of Schnapps daily… plus the rest. Prior
to this period of his life he took us or arranged for us as a family to visit
Manly for our annual holidays. Doug
and I used to fish off the Manly wharf for small yellow tail and we caught many.
I of course fell in one day and Douglas saved me from drowning.
Also about that period dad purchased one of the first cars ever in that
district. I remember it quite well,
the ‘in thing’ a new deluxe Model T Ford.
Dad never drove it but had a chauffeur to do that.
Although new, the car would still refuse to perform, probably due to the
fact that nobody knew anything about cars in those days. When it did go it was
good, but it stopped just as often as it went.
I
remember we were all aboard the car and off to Wagga for the day, we passed an
uncle and aunt Frank and June Baldwin who were also going to Wagga for the day
by horse and sulky. We gave then a
grand goodbye and shortly after the car stopped, Frank and June soon passed us
and returned our goodbye, the same thing happened a couple more times, we would
pass them and stop and they would pass us again, however we eventually beat them
to Wagga. There were no bitumen
roads in the early 1920s either, no gravel just dirt surface. During the day in Wagga there was heavy rain, so going home
that night through much scrub, the Ford ringbarked a good many trees, dad as
full as a bull, chauffeur the same. We
eventually slipped into a table drain or similar and stayed put for the night.
We had to walk the last mile, the joys of early motoring no doubt.
I
have also bogged many vehicles since and they weren’t Model T Fords and I
wasn’t drunk either. Dad
was also a bushman, therefore a gunman. How
well I remember when he took Doug and I out for a Sunday, we shot rabbits,
hares, foxes, and quail and yes the native spur-wing plovers.
Dad was very fond of eating the plovers, I have never resorted to that
but I think I have shot and consumed every other type of bird and waterfowl.
It
would have been about 1922 or 23 we were living in Wagga in Kincaid Street, and
attended the Burwood Street Rural School. Douglas
was the dux of that school, which was no mean achievement in those days.
All his schoolbooks were on display at the annual Wagga show and he
received a gold medal. About the same time Gladys very nearly died from peritonitis
due to a burst appendix. She was in
agony for days and dad would not permit mum to get a doctor until in
desperation, mum called a Dr Weldon who examined Gladys and had her admitted to
the Wagga hospital for 12 weeks. She
had a further major operation after an abscess formed after the original
surgery. Gladys later told us she
must have died because she saw angels flying around her bed, but survive she did
and died in 1993 aged about 85 years. Her
brother Doug, my stepbrother of course also died in 1993 aged 83 years.
Whilst
living in Wagga at that period I remember seeing the Murrumbidgee River, which
bisects the city in full flood. The
river significantly overflowed the banks and from the bridge I saw much
furniture, haystacks, dozens of drowned animals of all breeds go floating along
for 2 or 3 days. Miles of low-lying
country, under feet of water, all roads in and out cut and impassable. Probably
early 1924 we returned to live in the old home in Coolamon and were attending
the local public school. There were
a lot of kids from 5 to 14 years at that school and just as many attending the
Catholic school. There was then, as
now a lot of animosity between the RC and Protestant religions. I also remember a civil war about to commence between the 2
schools. One afternoon after school
hours, it was arranged that we meet and fight it out, perhaps a 100 or more
pupils from each school lined up facing each other on a vacant block near the RC
school and our home. Just before
the first punch was thrown, adults from both sides broke it all off, bad luck or
good luck for some. It
was probably about this time that there was a cycle club formed in Coolamon, and
cycle races were staged usually on a Saturday afternoon.
My uncle Charles’, mother’s brother was a capable rider and had his
share of road race wins. What the
distances were is now beyond my memory if I ever knew, due to my then tender
years. I
do remember one particular race the Reid family and Griffith’s family were
spectators watching the event together. My
cousin Jock, Charles’ son who was 2 months older than I was, (7 years old at
the time) said his father would win the race.
I said he wouldn’t. After
an argument we came to fisticuffs, which I won, making Jock cry, but he won the
argument as his dad did win the race. At
the finish he didn’t stop but kept cycling up to Bamford’s Hotel about 200
yards farther on, to quench his thirst no doubt.
Not much later whilst at school, another kid our age hit Jock Reid and
ran. I took after him, the pommy
lout by the name of Percy Knox, and about 400 yards later I caught him under the
P.O. verandah where I belted him. This
caused quite a stir and terrified mum. The
lout’s mother, a Mrs Potts, a pommy with the usual arrogance in mum’s
reasoning, would call at our house and threaten to deal out to her what I dealt
out to young Percy. However that
event did not eventuate and after a lot of rumours the incident was forgotten. Douglas
had finished school and was employed in the largest general store owned by Nadan
and Iverach. That particular store
was the equivalent of today’s supermarket; the only difference was each
customer was personally served. In
those days in the country areas, the local storekeeper had a lot of yearly
customers, which meant that customers paid their accounts once a year, and there
were no bad debts. I think it must
have been about this time that dad really hit the bottle and it didn’t do his
health much good either. I seem to
have a slight mental block covering a short period at this time, so I will move
on to the night dad died, I remember that so clearly. Dad
was sick in bed and I was also in bed with the flu or what was then termed
croup. The rest of the family were
down visiting grandfather and grandmother who were also sick with the flu.
This may have been the after effect of the pneumonia flu that raged
throughout the world including Australia, and which killed millions of the
population worldwide. I remember
hearing dad open a bottle of something and have a drink from it.
I have no idea what the contents of that bottle was, but it was quite
early. When the rest of the family
returned and went into dad’s room, they found he had died.
I remember mum’s words to him were “wake up daddy, wake up”.
Douglas immediately left and rode his bicycle up for Dr Buchanan who came
and said there was nothing he could do but pronounce life extinct. The
next morning we left the house, we were invited to view dad for the last time. I was the only member of the family to decline.
I cannot remember anything of the funeral; although I was ten years old I
did not attend. I understand mum did not go to the funeral either.
This caused quite a stir amongst the relatives, but I understand it was a
Scottish custom that women did not attend funerals in those days at least. Others say she did not go as he was buried beside his first
wife. For some time after that mum
was ostracised by dad’s relatives. Now
at that time the family split up. Gladys
and Douglas went to live with our grandparents whilst mum, myself, Ann and
Margaret went to live with Uncle Charles and his family.
That was to be a temporary arrangement but would you believe it,
Charles’ wife Mary died about a week or so later in childbirth.
The child named Ivor survived okay.
However, that changed things around quite a bit.
Charles was now a widower with 3 children, a boy John, always known as
Jock, just two months older than me, a daughter Elizabeth, 6 years, known always
as Peggy and baby Ivor. Then with
mum a widow with us 3 kids shacked up together. We
lived like this for maybe 2 years; in the meantime another family by the name of
Craigill migrated from Scotland. Mary
Craigill was Emma Reid, ie Charles’ wife’s sister.
Her husband was David Craigill, they also brought with them a son Melvin,
probably aged 8 or 9 years. A real
frail looking kid, very red cheeks and of course a Scottish accent. He was in my opinion a real horror and was a mummy’s boy.
He couldn’t even go to the toilet until ‘mummy’ as he called his
mother, assisted by unbuttoning him. When
she took him to school he was of course attired in a kilt etc, you can imagine
the reception he received at the Aussie school.
The kilt was soon left at home. Melvin
always had to have his wilful way ably assisted when possible by mummy, with the
result he got a lot of thumpings from yours truly and then that brought trouble
with the adults. I
remember playing cricket with a few kids near the house and I was batting. Melvin wanted the bat and I wouldn’t surrender it, mummy
tried to get it for him and when that wasn’t successful, my mother had to
intervene and said she would take it off me for Melvin.
I still dug my toes in and told my mum in no uncertain manner, if she
tried it I would kill her with the bat. The
result was that everyone took me at my word and I continued to bat, I was then
about 11 or 12 years old. Charles
Reid and Dave Craigill went into the saw milling business, with chaff merchants
on the side. About this time
another Scotsman farmer by the name of James Snowie came into the picture.
His small farm, 410 acres, was 5 miles form the township and he came in
every Saturday evening. I didn’t realise it then but he and mum were probably
courting, we as kids as previously stated were in bed by 8pm and were never
permitted to speak to adults or listen to any of their conversations.
I can still hear the order, ‘get outside and play’ if there were
visitors and it was still daylight hours. However,
the weekly outings for Jock Reid and I was a walk to Snowie’s farm every
Saturday morning. We were then
given a ride back to town by horse and sulky in late afternoon with Snowie.
The
only good thing to come out of the walk was that I learnt to trap and shoot
rabbits on the farm. At that stage
I would arm myself with a 22-calibre rifle and bullets were 1/- for a packet of
50, Snowie supplied those. From a
22 rifle I progressed to 12 gauge shot gun when I was about 12 years old and
small for my age, because we were all half starved.
We were told how much we could eat; I was very often hungry, whilst the
adults were having late suppers of grog and asparagus on toast etc.
I can still hear the frivolity whilst lying in bed.
I remember my first ever shot with a 12 gauge shot gun. I was staggered back quite a bit and my shoulder and jaw both received an awful jolt. That did not deter my keen desire to keep shooting and I have at times practically earned my living with firearms. I would think and positively state that I have shot and killed species of everything that moves in this country. I have never ever shot or killed anything for pleasure, everything I shot was for a purpose, that is, to eat it or skin it for the value of the skin. I have killed rabbits for 9 pence a pair, and sold fox skins for up to $40 a skin. I also shot dozens of foxes for a miserable 7/6 a scalp, skins valueless. To
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