For today's joke
For today's joke
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Dear ex-Barton House Lodger,
It was 1965. The Menzies era was coming to an end. The conflict in Vietnam was escalating. And I had just come out to Australia
as a young migrant from Germany. I spent those early years, from 1965 to 1967,
and then again a brief period in 1969 after I had come back from
South Africa, in Canberra in a place called "Barton House" in Brisbane Avenue, one of the many boarding houses then in existence.
Those were the days of parties, of evenings in front of the telly in the TV Room watching "Z-Car" or "M*A*S*H",
laughing at the antics of Agent 99 and Maxwell Smart in "Get Smart" ("Good thinking, 99" was a favourite saying in those
days); or being bored to death by Barry Jones's insufferable show-off act on
Bob and Dolly's BP Pick-a-Box. And then there were the evenings spent at the Burns Club or in the Newsroom of the "Kingo" Pub across the road,
drinking 'schooners' and talking about 'sheilas', followed by a last-minute dash back to Barton House before the dining room closed!
And Sunday morning, sitting on the frontsteps with the boys, recovering from the night before, while waiting for the week's washing to run through its cycle in
the laundry in the backyard.
It was at Barton House that I was introduced to the culinary delights of Australia in the 60s: mixed grill, corned silverside, Yorkshire pudding, spaghetti-meatballs,
lamp chops, and, as a filla-uppa, loads and loads of steam-pudding drowned in thick creamy custard. And who can forget those dreadful brown-paperbag
luncheon packs of baked-beans sandwiches, chutney sandwiches, and spaghetti sandwiches? Is there anything more revolting than a soggy
spaghetti-sandwich dripping through the bottom of a brown paperbag? The people who ate that stuff must've been a weird mob indeed!
There were never any seconds - except for steam-pudding!!! - and for a growing lad that meant going next door to the "Greasy Spoon" at Lachlan Court
to stock up on Iced Vovos, Arnott's Spicy Fruit Rolls (my favourites!), and spring and Chiko rolls.
I always occupied a share-room because a share-room was cheaper. And some of the room mates I had to share with! There was the ANZ "Bank Johnny"
from the Kingston branch who regularly came back drunk, night after night, and who was a master of the Australian expletive - which he used constantly,
stand-alone, in between words, even inserted into words! And the WORMALD-employee who would purposefully strut off to work only to be back inside the room five minutes lates, screaming his head off.
"They repossessed my car again, the bastards!!!" He regularly fell behind with his repayments, and regularly had his car repossessed.
And then there was the postie who seemed to lead a charmed life as he was usually back from work by mid-morning until he was found out to have dumped his mail deliveries
at the local tip! And the Kiwi with his already then wonderfully antic ROVER-car with walnut dashboard who loved classical music and played it
throughout the night on his radiogram. Remember the radiogram? His was an expensive "HIS MASTER'S VOICE ". My own choice of music at the time
were THE SEEKERS and PETER, PAUL AND MARY. There will never be another time like that! And could I write a book it? You bet!!!
There was a constant stream of new arrivals, but to a hard core of people - and that included me! - Barton House was "home"!
The sort of "home" that prepared me well for the house I later shared in Rabaul with two fellow-accountants and the camp accommodation
I occupied when I went to Bougainville Island. And it gave me the confidence and the skills to deal with all manner of people in future years.
And what variety of people I met, and what interesting friends I made! Some of the names I still remember are John Burke, my immediate boss at the Bank, Merv Quinn, another
"Bank Johnny" originally from Broken Hill, the other two "Bank Johnnies" Dennis Everitt and Bob Southwell, Pat Fisher from
Foreign Affairs who was forever on study leave trying to learn some foreign languages but never getting past the equivalents of "Good
Morning" and "How are you?". And Jerry from the Government Printers who somehow or other broke his leg and stayed on crutches
for years and years, creaming off the insurance companies. The retired dotty surveyor who spoke to no-one and always walked about with his own cutlery in his
pockets. In the mornings he would stand outside the communal shower cubicles and rap his walking-stick on the door if anyone dared to stand under
the shower beyond what he considered was a reasonable time.
For years after, and in different parts of Australia, I still kept bumping into people who had been at
Barton House, who had been chased for their outstanding rents by Peter "Frenchie", the manager, who also ran an "Academy of Self-Defense"
(and didn't he need it to deal with some of his more difficult boarders!) They all looked back on their time there with fond memories
and a great deal of nostalgia. If you were at one time or another an "inmate" of Barton House and have pictures and memories to share,
please email me this very moment!
I shall collect all comments and snaps on this website which, hopefully, will grow as time goes on. With best wishes to
whoever and wherever you are! Peter, an ex-ANZ "Bank Johnny"
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