§4. The Elder Daughter

Kay Janice Voysey (herein known as Jan) spent the most formative and important years of her life at Springwood. Her recollections below show a great fondness and appreciation of the little mountain town that raised her. Hardships in the Spartan household were dealt with as a small child does: with acceptance, eking out fun with opportunity. But the terror of bushfires left her traumatised, as did the unhappy relationship with a mother under great duress. Those scars would never heal.

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Richmond

I was born on 12th October 1939 at Waverley Hospital, Sydney. My mother, Bonnie Foran and father, Gil (William Charles Gilbert) already had a stillborn baby boy. After being married they lived over a shop in Bondi. Later they moved to a flat over a shop in Eastwood. My father was a pattern-maker working on Cockatoo Island after an apprenticeship with NSW transport. When the second world war started my father joined the Royal Australian Air Force and was stationed at Richmond aerodrome.

The first thing I remember is living at Faithful Street, Richmond next to the air base. I was two years old and taking an exploratory walk one day along a street with lots of Liquid Amber trees. It was autumn and the leaves were amber, orange and pale green. I came across one that had fallen on the path right in front of me. I couldn't believe my eyes: how could a leaf be so big? It was the most beautiful thing I had seen in my whole short life.

Another day our family decided to take a swim in the Nepean River, within walking distance from our house. It had to be, because we didn't travel by car locally in those days and Richmond was very much a village. I marvelled at the water; it looked so colourless up close, and the bottom looked grey, and I couldn't tell if the water sloped up or the ground sloped down. My earliest puzzle.

Note: In an incident that brought my eighty year old sister almost to tears in telling, she was left alone in the Richmond house in charge of baby sister Kerrie. Almost a toddler herself, she inadvertently allowed her charge to wander from the house. When her mother and grandmother arrived home their wrath fell upon the poor child. Even after the toddler Kerrie was found, the two adults continued their hypocritical condemnations of the now miserable little girl. 

Pictured ~ The baby sisters at Richmond, around the time of the incident.

 “I ran away from home when I was 2 or 3 and went to Richmond Railway Station and requested a ticket to "Aunty Ems." My aunts were much more our grandparents than Nanna (Winifred Stepto).” 

The Farm

We moved to Springwood when I was about four years old. The property was two miles from the township, being a mile south down the Great Western Highway and then a mile along Burns Road. It was nine acres on the last block of Burns Road. The house was set on about four acres of cleared land. There was a lane off Burns Road providing vehicle access to the furthest border of the cleared land and the house was set there. From the road we had to walk to the house from an opposite border through three acres of lightly wooded land.

Springwood was a hard life with little comfort and we had to be very independent and self-reliant to manage.

We had no electricity, so hurricane and gas lamps lit the house at night and a wood stove in the kitchen burned wood continuously. The living room, adjacent to the kitchen, had an open fireplace on the other side of the kitchen fuel stove. 

Pictured ~ The Springwood house in 1946, with Jan and Kerrie.

At one end of the kitchen was very small bathroom with a wood chip heater for heating the bath water. The chip heater was a metal cylinder the shape of a pot-bellied stove. A pipe connected to a tap from the water tank, and fed water along pipes through the red-hot embers of the wood chips. Heated water streamed out of a spout. One had to be careful not to sit in the bath while it filled for fear of being scalded. It was cold in the Blue Mountains so the risk was often taken.

Off the living room was Mum's bedroom and to the opposite side of the living room was our bedroom, with Phillip’s cot and a three quarter bed in which we three sisters slept. The front door was in the living room and opened onto a small verandah.

Near the back door, from the kitchen, was a small water tank for the house. There was also a large turpentine tree, which dozens of cicadas loved to draw their new wings, covering the stringy bark of the tree with shells. It was literally covered with empty or hatching cicada shells and the air was full of their songs.

When it rained we rejoiced that our tiny water tank was filling and we would love to slide down the waterways running down to the bottom of the valley.

Down the yard a pergola held two wonderful passion-fruit vines - one a banana passion-fruit which provided us with delicious deserts, but our supply of vitamin C. Nothing else edible ever seemed to grow.

Through the pergola a path led to the laundry, an old tin shed with a wood-burning copper set into bricks for the fire underneath. In this the weekly washing was done, and us after it too sometimes, in the soapy water left in the concrete tubs. Mum had to hoist out the steaming washing from the copper by means of a long stout stick, which might have been an old broomstick. Later, as money came in, she had the relative luxury of a spin dryer. Not a big thing, but a small green round one that clamped onto the tubs where the ringer once sat. That was Phillip’s memory, anyway. The washing line was support by a couple of poles which somehow stayed erect even in the wildest weather.

Behind the laundering shed was our outside toilet - quite a scary stroll at night, or day for that matter. Not a place to linger. Sitting on the wooden seat over that smelly tin drum we were careful not to offend the redback spiders or, more particularly, snakes. We cut up newspaper for toilet paper.

There was no hallway in the house, and no books that I can recall, but there was a radio in later years because we listened to Jason and the Argonauts, but had to be in bed by seven o’clock. And there was no fridge, just a meat safe - a mesh-covered small cupboard with wet Hessian bags draped over and around it. Later came an ice chest, and Jim the iceman delivered huge rectangular prisms of ice at least once weekly. Ice chests do not keep food cold, only cool, and less so as the ice melted and shrank.

Kerrie and I took turns to collect our billy can of milk a half a mile towards Springwood where the milkman left it. Before then we had a cow. It got sick and had to be held up by a strange sling around her body to a tree. She eventually died, and I can remember the unbelievable sight of her dead body, possibly being burned, because underneath her skin, hay she’d eaten could be seen still in her tummy.

The smell of hay or chaff being cut (by scythe) made me itch under my chin and my cough would start. I was always coughing and every time I laughed it ended in a cough. The school doctor told Mum I had bronchial asthma and she said (to me, not the doctor!) “Nonsense! Only neurotic people get asthma.” All sorts of treatment were tried, but my coughing didn’t stop until we moved to Pennant Hills where there was enough humidity for my lungs to be comfortable.

Firewood

When Dad was away I was in charge of the firewood. Much time was spent gathering firewood. Kerrie and I knew every inch of the cliffs and valleys and any fallen trees eligible for dragging back home to be chopped.

The household was dependent on wood because we had a fuel stove in the kitchen, a large fireplace in the lounge room, and wood chip heater for hot water in the bathroom - and the copper to boil and wash clothes. Dad would leave some split logs for me to chop into smaller pieces. Sometimes I ran out of logs, so for the large hungry fireplace I remember feeding long dried saplings through the front door, across the lounge room floor into the fire.

As to the wood chip heater, every night we would gather twigs or there’d be no warm bath. After the twigs I would put in paper, then the razor strap - the strap that Dad used to give us the “cuts” we’d earned while he was away. No hugs when he returned home - first thing the cuts. He apologized to our youngest sister Lynnette later in life, saying he had to keep Bonnie happy. After the razor strap, in would go the twigs and bigger chips. We would grin to each other, but Mum never missed a trick, running in each time and grabbing out the razor strap, and earning further cuts.

Bushfires

The problem with living in this region of NSW was the bushfire season. My first fire was terrifying. The sound of the fire roaring up the ridge on which we lived was a new experience. Mum grabbed Kerrie, who was still a baby and had to be nursed, and instructed me to follow her through a bush track on our 9 acres to a place where we could meet up with the fire brigade, which couldn’t get any closer because there was fire between us and the brigade truck. I took one look and ran back to the house. Poor desperate Mum, she had to hand Kerrie through the flames to the firemen and run back to get me, and then hand me through the flames, and then get through herself.

Pictured ~ The Sydney Morning Herald report on 11 December 1944 shows toppled poles. In December 1948 there was a repeat of the '44 fires in which poles again fell to fire, which is the event described next.

Later, when I was nine, there was even worse fire while we were at school. Lots of soldiers came to help. We couldn't go home because of the fires, so we were taken to the 'safe' side of Springwood, to a house owned by the Sutherlands. They had a swimming pool, which we thought was going to be fun. Not so. Fire jumped the Great Western Highway and railway line and surrounded the house. We got in the swimming pool fully dressed and put wet towels over our heads, and had straws just in case we had to submerge.

Fortunately, someone arrived in a utility, so we hurriedly all got in the back, covered ourselves in the wet towels and took off. We were so lucky. As we sped towards town, burning telegraph poles fell like a lot of dominoes. We were taken to a house a block away from the school. In the sitting room there was a pile of people's clothes and possessions which had been saved. We slept there overnight. I remember waking the next morning, going to the pile of clothes, getting dressed, and walking off to school as though nothing had happened. I think I might have PTS, because just the smell of bush smoke evokes panic in me.

School

Pictured ~ Class of '48. Jan at far right.

When I was four years old I started school. Springwood school is now in Burns Road, but when we were there it was in the township opposite the shops.

I would walk ¾ mile to Celia Whitehead’s who was much older, and she would allow me to accompany her to school for the rest of the way. She wasn’t too pleased about this arrangement, firstly because she was a runner who was being trained by Marjorie Jackson’s (of Olympic fame) trainer and I was holding her back, and secondly I was a nuisance at the park on the way to school. One day I was such a nuisance asking for a turn on the swing, that she threw the swing ( which was made from iron chains and bolts and a plank of wood) and hit me on the forehead. I didn’t make school that day, and remember waking up six hours later – everything was dark because it was later in the day, but mainly because there was a very large haematoma on my forehead. I spent several days in bed recovering.

Through running to school and back, by the time I was nine I was the Lower Blue Mountains under Tens sprinting champion. That didn’t carry over because I got a bike when I was ten and lost my training. Also, at ten, I became a school prefect. I was too young to go to High School so had to repeat 6th Class. With experience and a certain talent for lobbying I became School Captain and Dux.

Pictured ~ Jan at left and headmaster Hocking.

The most lovely headmaster, Mr Hocking (pictured at left - Jan far left), told me I could become anything I wanted to be. After IQ testing by Mr Jenkins, who went to all NSW schools, I was told that I wouldn’t be going to Katoomba or Penrith High Schools, but must choose between Sydney Girls, Parramatta Girls, Hornsby Girls, or Fort Street (Dad went to Fort Street Boys). 

Because it was close to Eastwood where Aunties Em and Dorrie lived it was decided that I would go to Hornsby Girls High School. I left primary school after 6th class at around age eleven to go to Hornsby Girls High. I caught the 6 am train from Springwood (staying at Aunty Joan and Uncle Les) overnight, or ran down to Valley Heights in the dark (two miles) and catch it there every Monday. On Friday nights I would catch the train back up to Springwood.

The Village

Many children of influential and charitable people attended Springwood’s public school. Fore example, our school at Springwood was fortunate that the daughters of John Dabron - supervisor of art in the NSW Department of Education and who lived at Springwood - attended our school. Consequently we were well encouraged and supplied we were very well stocked with lots of lovely art supplies..

Martin Sharp lived there also, and wrote a series of children’s books about the Famous Five and his children went to our school.

Pictured ~ George Finey, Women's Weekly April 1951

Every morning cartoonist George Finey would walk through our assembly in his pyjama trousers (no top) to buy his newspaper. Then he would walk back through us reading his paper. His daughter owned the local cake shop which was famous for its pies. As I was one of the School Captains, it was customary for George to draw caricatures of us each year for the School Magazine. 

When I went to his house for my sitting, I noticed that some of his furniture was actually painted on the wall, and when I entered his front door, he said “oh dear, you’ve kicked the mat back.” I tried to kick it straight, but realized that he had painted it on the floor - kicked back! I followed painted hall runner along the floor the the entire hallway. When I reached his studio there was a goat and a few chickens in there as well. Again he also had all sorts of furniture painted on the walls. What a fun experience.

Sadly, I had a George Finey book but tossed it out for lack of space. My daughter Kay tried to retrieve the school magazine for that year, but the school couldn't find any copies. Mum had a copy of the caricature, but both the magazine and it were lost.

The local Church of England minister visited for scripture, a Mr Lambert, and his son Phillip went to our school. One of our teachers, Miss Heffernan, was a close friend of grandfather Voysey's sister, who actually visited the school one day and gave me a hug. The family called her Aunty Bobs. She lived in Collaroy with our great grandmother and she died at Molle Village, where Uncle Lew (Gilbert’s brother) and his wife Eva lived until he died.

Neighbours

Our relatives lived along Burns Road, and our nearby neighbours, although quite a distance away, were good people. I think there were about five or so houses between us and Nanna, whose house was on a normal sized block of land, on the same side of the road as us. Aunty Des’ house was a further half a mile towards town on the opposite side of Burns Road. Altogether perhaps a dozen houses were near us.

Pictured ~ Phil, Robyn and Scotties in the Nelson's huge vegetable garden.

Adjacent to us, yet still on the same side of Burns Road, were the Nelsons. My brother Phillip had a “girl friend” named Robyn, the Nelson’s grand daughter. I think their daughter married a Newman so his friend friend might have been a Robyn Newman. Mrs Nelson and her husband Harry had a great veggie garden. I don’t know where the daughter lived, but it must not have been too far away. The Figtrees (sic), another memorable neighbour, had a daughter named Greer, who was Kerrie’s girlfriend at school. She billeted with them when the bushfires cut the road and she couldn’t get home.

I can’t remember how many houses were on the opposite side of Burns Road in our Settlement (as it was called) but I recall the McLeans lived in one of them. They had a blue cattle dog that wasn’t friendly and Glenys McLean, one of our peers, was problematic but I can’t remember why.

Mother

Despite all this, and that it was a charming almost cosmopolitan village, Mum wasn’t happy at Springwood. She hated the poverty and the remoteness. Dad was away working with her father, Grandfather Foran, for long periods of time, and her brother Phil Foran was killed just before war ended. Mum was depressed, I think, and frequently lost her temper with us. By the time Lynne (1943) and then Phillip (early 1947) came, I think she was at her wits end.

I was largely responsible for my siblings’ behaviour and if things went wrong I had to answer to her. She became physically and verbally abusive towards me, so I in turn, in an attempt to control my siblings, became physically and verbally abusive towards them. Later, when I looked back on my behaviour towards them, it was with tears of remorse and shame. I apologized to them, but they said they had no recollection, poor things.

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In normal times an average young married parent would probably complain a bit and struggle on and cope with the child-raising with all its ups and downs. But this young mother was clearly traumatised by six years of wartime. Her only salvation was her husband not exposed to military action, whereby she would be both completely alone and fearing for his life. She fully realised this fear when her brother, Phil Foran, was killed in action on the very eve of war’s end. And, as explained elsewhere, she was in an isolated house far from a mountain village, making do without electricity or town water, and assailed by waves of bushfires. The harshness with which she treated her eldest daughter is not excusable, but understandable in the exceptional circumstances of Springwood, added to her recent wartime misery and tragedy. She was clearly under great duress. We might say that they were both victims, one far more vulnerable than the other, and leave it at that.