Life was tuff after WW 2.
http://www.from-downunder.com
"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder" unknown in those years.
Where to start? I would like to point out, that I have outlined my total childhood experience, for no other reason, then to make you aware, that "War" leave's one with a legacy for life, that cannot, ever be changed, no matter what 'Professional" or 'Medication",is prescribed. My father, was a proud and hard working semi-middle class Australian. Born in Mackay Queensland, one of the hotter parts of Australia, he laboured on his father's sugar cane farm of some 1200 acres, from dusk till dawn presumable up until the start of the war.
The house he was raised in, never even had glass windows and a sheet of masonnite, was used to act as a window and when air was required within the house, it would be propped out on a wedge type prop, with slots in either end. Not much is known of his childhood, except to say, his parents were from the "Victorian Era" of the late 1800's and were to say the least, very strict, with his upbringing and with me. Dad, pictured above, just prior to his de-mobbing after WW2 ,moved to Brisbane and met my mother Joan who he later married. I was the first born in August 1947 followed by my sister in 1950 and a brother in 1951.
As a youngster prior to teens, life at home was quite hard, as being the first born in those days, you had to live up to your father's expectations, of just how tough you should be, to cope with the life, you had ahead of you. There is nothing new about this, only in the way those belief's were applied. Working for an Australian Telecommunications Company (Post Master General's Department) PMG for short dad found a stable work environment with the PMG for over 34 years. As a youngster I can remember looking forward to each fortnightly Thursday as that was dad's pay day and we would get a bag of loolies each. Things seemed ok for us until I reached the age of 6 or 7 and that's when the beating's started. Alcohol now began to play a regular part in is life, or there was a steady rise towards this daily abuse. Mum would have the meal ready every evening and in those days, everything was prepared fresh, however, food was simple, without many so called treats. My father having come from sugercane country as a child,had to live amongst some of the most deadly snake's on earth and handled them without fear and if need be, kill them, should they present imminent danger. I remember on one occassion, where my father yelled to me to stop and not move, I, not having seen the snake, which was a "Death Adder" which was immediately under me and within striking distance. My father out of no where, somehow, got this snake, flicked it in mid air, still holding it, breaking it's backbone. He turned to me and said, never ever try that, do you hear me! Life sometimes at home was fun, however far and few between.
We were at the evening dinner table having our meal, no talking aloud which was my father's rules during the meal, when he opened his lunch bag which he took to work and in the middle of the meal, out came a 4 foot goanna lizard and made it's way under the table. My mother shot out through the side window and would not come back inside until dad caught it and got rid of it. This was his sense of humour however only occassionally.
Life gradually became very unpleasant at home for all of us, as the years progressed. Dad had changed not only from perhaps alcohol but the violent temper's he would fly into, over very simple thing's. The bashing's got worse and I do mean bashing's, not just slap's here and there, my mother also copped it if she interferred with the punishment, that was being dealt out to me, and heart break would reign again along with blood, bruising and imtimiadation both mentally and physically. My nose was broken because I sat in the bath for to long, as I said, it was not the open hand, mostly the fist. Well into our teens, my sister would hide under the bed, so as not to get harmed, however, while he was laying into me, she was quite safe. My brother to this day, still remember's seeing me mostly covered in blood. On one occassion my father tied me to a rotator clothe's line and spun me around and on each accassion as I passed him, he would lay into me with a bit of rubber hose. This incident got all the neighbour's involved, telling him, to stop, as they had called the police.
Nothing was ever going to change for me at home and to be quite honest, I could not wait to leave home although, I somehow knew that when that happened, then the next in line, would cop it. Let me say I loved my father and told him so but that was not a word in his vocabulary up until and including the day he died, I never heard him say it. Along came my chance, I was seventeen and a half, I had left school because I coped it at home and at school, I did'nt want to hurt or bully anyone, just live a normal life. A few jobs and I could'nt get settled, or the employer would promise something but only to his or her advantage, and use me. My only way out was to get right away, so I decided to join the Australian ARMY and that way I would be well away from home and live in barrack's.
Took some getting used to, being away from mum, don't get me wrong I was not a mummy's boy, I simply was concerned about her. Training was bloody hard but one thing was for sure, I became a man well before joining the ARMY and if my father could,nt break me, they were,nt going to. I made it and marched out of recruit training, to become a professional soldier althought at that point in time I was'nt to know that. Off to what was known as Corp training and I found myself at an Infantry Transport Unit, well, now you cursed, the day your mother gave you breath, it was that tuff, no, more than tuff, it soughted the men out from the boy's.
After a couple of years of ARMY life and having gone home on numerous occassion's only to find my father had'nt changed and life was as miserable for my mother, sister and brother as it always had been. While at home on one occassion my father started again to hit my mother around. The ARMY had made me extremly fit and tought us how to handle ourselve's I grabbed my fathers arm while it was about to strike again and his arm went no further. I could not bring myself to strike a parent, no matter what but I told him there and then, that should he ever strike any of the family again, then he would have me to deal with. He simply sat down and looked at me not responding at all. The damage had already been done over those many years of grief, for all of us and could never be repaired.
My mother tells me from that day onwards, he never struck her or any of the family again. He contacted Liver Cancer in 1991 and never admitted himself into hospital until the night he died and shortly prior to his death, he organized his own funeral. Not one of my family visit his graveside including my mother, except me, which I do whenever I'am visiting home.
Strange you might say, well I cannot explain it either, I survived the Vietnam War some of my friends did not return, at all. I married in 1967 to a wonderful women and we have two girl's, well grown ladie's now, with their own familie's.
One thing is for sure, my daughter's know how to show love and are not ashammed to say it, at every moment that count's. I love them and my wife dearly and have never struck them to this day. See life is what you make of it and you do not need to live or tolerate "Bastardisation." Maybe my father lived in the same type of intolerant environment as a child as I did, but one things for sure, he did not know how to show love or endearment.
May he rest in peace. I have relayed this true life story not for pity as I'am well past that, but to enable those of my era who suffered from a father who was a war veteran, to let them know, you were not alone, not alone at all.
Today I enjoy retirement and building website's which is pretty demanding, www.from-downunder.com but I have done the hard yards along with my wonderful wife and it's now time for her and I.
Article submitted Thursday, November 01, 2007 & read 86 times.
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