Continued from
Living in a Brunswick terrace 1940-1953 – part 1
Living in a Brunswick terrace 1940-1953 – part 2
Living in a Brunswick terrace 1940-1953 – part 3
Earning an extra quid
After weathering the 1930’s depression, my father always taught me to try for that “extra quid”, and save for the rainy day. He certainly tried, sometimes working at up to five jobs in a week.
Uncle Bill’s Ice Cream Cart
During the war years, about 1943, Dad took on the running of his brother’s ice cream cart, brother Bill being with the Army inNew Guinea. The cart was the traditional variety, a bright red two wheeler with shafts from one horse. White barley sugar columns supported the roof and panels below the counter were brightly painted with ice cream cones and wafers. Licensed by the City Council, our area was the south side of the Yarra, opposite the entrance to the Botanical Gardens, inAlexandra Avenue.
Dad’s busy Sunday
A typical Sunday for Dad would start with an early breakfast, then packing the gear into the side car of brother Bill’s Aerial motor bike for the trip fromBrunswickto the Fitzroy ice cream factory where the cart was garaged. Sunday morning was action stations at the factory as vendors with horse-drawn carts were busy loading up for their treks through suburban streets, ringing bells to gather hordes of children. A common sight inMelbournestreets years before the Mr. Whippy. Some battlers pushed heavily loaded hand carts. My father had tried this once, pushing his heart out only to have the north wind scatter his cone and wafter biscuits, (and profit), all over Fitzroy.
Fitzroy’s Ice Cream Factory
The factory gave a choice of full cylinders of ice cream or pack your own. In pre-packing, the liquid ice cream mixture was poured into cylinders and then frozen. This often caused air bubbles in the middle and loss of profit, so Dad, the eternal battler, packed his own, digging out hard, frozen ice cream from big vats with a large scoop and ramming and compacting for maximum density. The full cylinder would then be placed into a wooden tub. Blocks of ice would be heaved into a thumping chipper and the flakes shovelled into the tub with granulated rock salt to make a brine mixture, which stayed colder. A hessian bag would then be rolled into a sausage, placed around the ice cream cylinder and pounded into the ice with a broom handle. This positioned the cylinder and insulated the brine.
Unreliable Paddy and his Ford Truck
When loaded, Paddy, and his “A” model Ford truck would tow the cart to our stand outside the gardens, returning later, as arranged, for the tow back. His fee, then bob ($1.00). But Paddy proved to be unreliable, standing Dad up for 3 Sundays in a row with no explanation. The fourth Sunday he turned up, but Dad had hired a horse and Paddy was finished. Dad also changed his position to thePrincessBridgeend ofAlexandra Avenueas there were more strollers coming off the bridge and many sat on the nearby lawns.
Our New Area
With the new area making more work I was signed on for a permanent Sunday job and guaranteed ten bob pay, rain or shine. I was still going to school and had to give up swimming days in theBrunswickpool, orCoburgLake, to earn my Sunday ten bob….but I was learning to sacrifice pleasure to earn “an extra quid”.
My Ten Bob Sundays
My dad would start with a sleep in, then with two lunches and a thermos, I’d board aLygon Streettram toFlinders Streetand walk across the bridge. The city was silent and empty on Sunday mornings in the war years and it made the pealing church bells sound so pleasant. I would be adding up my ten bobs crossing the bridge, as I also collected wine and beer bottles fromBrunswick’s vacant blocks and many back lanes. Medicine bottles were resold to the chemist at four pence each. Neighbour’s errands generated tips, old newspapers were sold to the fish and butchers’ shops and my mother’s cloth scraps from sewing were sold to the flock mill.
From Cart to Caravan
With war’s end Uncle Bill returned home and bought a Lend/Lease Chev. Truck and went into business making liner sleeves. Cut and trimmed from old tyres these rubber fillets fitted between the tube and tyre of truck wheels to extend tyre life. With this truck he also did the towing, and as we lived only five houses apart, Dad was driven from home. Our activities expanded when the cart was sold and a special caravan built. We could both work inside with two ice cream tubs and I was in charge of 3 glass kegs of cordial. I mixed the drinks, put in large flakes of ice from our onboard ice store and kept them cold and undiluted by frequent test drinks and topping up as required. But, the down side was, my frequent dashing to the loo.
Our Fairy Floss Adventures
We added a beast of a fairy floss machine. It was driven by hand via a big handle and gear system like a milk separator. A primus stove with a swan nicked burner fitted under a hollow spinning disc and heated it up. At the correct temperature sugar was poured into the top of the disc, melted, and the liquid was spun out through fine slots condensing into the wispy floss which we stored in ice cream cans. For colour, food dye was mixed with the sugar. We experimented and produced white, green, pink, blue and purple floss.
The machine could sometimes be cranky. In its hideout under the spinning disc the rotten burner would sometimes go out, requiring delicate cleaning of the nipple with a fine pricker and relighting. If bumped, the burner would rub against the disc causing sparks, and tempers to fly.
A Bad Hair Day with the Fairy Floss Machine
One bad day the machine was whirring when a terrible burning smell started. Potential customers veered away from the van. With heads down we checked everywhere. Straightening up I was amazed to see smoke pouring from the disc. We killed the burner and stopped the machine. The disc was full of hard, charcoal like material that had blocked the slots. “Smells like tea Dad”. Tea! Dad loves his tea. He mixed tea and sugar in a small jar and in the van’s gloom he’d poured the wrong sugar into the disc.
Before I left school the van was sold and I had to seek that “extra quid” elsewhere….
From one star to four stars
One Saturday arvo I came home after a great day at my favourite hangout, the museum in Swanston Street. I darted down our passage to raid the ice chest and ran into Dad who said “slow down mate, we want to show you something in the yard.” WOW! The “something” was a bungalow. It had wiped out Dad’s tomato garden and filled in most of the space in our 16ft wide yard.“She’s all yours” Dad said, passers by going to Mass on Sundays will miss the sleep out pyjama man trying to sneak in the front door.”
My new room
Dad had bought the bungalow second hand. It was dismantled, loaded onto Uncle Mick’s truck and erected in the yard by Dad and his brother while I was at the museum. To knock it into shape the first job was to brighten the interior with pale, glossy, green paint to remind me of tropical seas. Then – a bed, wicker armchair, fold down desk with cupboard and drawer, a book shelf above the desk and a bush wardrobe in the corner behind a curtain. This took care of comfort and storage. A power lead from the laundry window for my light and I was home and hosed for the next 8 years.
In the dead of night
During the 1940”s the empty night streets of Brunswick echoed to the clip clop of the Milko’s horse drawn cart. The Milko bailed milk from large cans into billy’s sitting on the ground at client’s gates. The billy’s were often the target for roaming tom cats, or worse, providing a quick refresher for revellers slinking home in the wee hours with booze dry throats.
The Birth of the Milk bottle
Way back in 1915 a wide mouth bottle, sealed with a cardboard disc was designed in the USA and came into use by the 1920”s. This type of bottle was often featured in my American comics of “Felix the Cat” and “Dagwood”. The wide mouthed bottle arrived on Brunswick streets during the 1940’s replacing the billys. A pointed knife removed the disc, sometimes with a splash, if pushed too hard.
The end of the disc
By the time we moved to Diamond Creek (1966), a re-designed bottle was in use with a narrow mouth sealed with a foil top. But change was on the way. Supermarkets took over milk retailing in bottles and cartons, the Milko’s retired and the ravens in our street were unhappy. They could no longer peck the foil tops for a creamy drink.
Holiday travel in 1950
In 1950 our war weary, run down rail system was under manned and run by an over worked staff. There were no country trains on Sunday. There was a dealer’s waiting list for new cars with a five quid fee to be on the list. Slinging a few extra quid could put you on the top end.
No petrol on Sunday
Clapped out second hand cars from the roaring twenties were worth big bucks. There were no service stations open on Sundays. A jerry can of juice was necessary if you wanted to get home from weekend trips.
Overloaded trains on long weekends
With so many problems for motoring, holiday makers flooded the railways on long weekends. Every available bit of rolling stock, including heritage survivors, was shunted out and coupled up to handle the crowds and extra services. Carriages were packed with many passengers sitting on cases in the corridors. Toilet ends were piled with luggage.
Blackwood Gold country
I’d been told by a terrace neighbour about an interesting gold town called Blackwood and it sounded like a place I had to see. By next Easter I’d done my homework for a Blackwood visit, found it on the map and worked out that it was train to Trentham and shanks pony to Blackwood.
The trip to Blackwood
Packed and loaded up, on an Easter Thursday, two of us trained to Spencer Street Station in the evening. We joined a large group of fellow travellers waiting on a freezing, roofless platform on the forgotten outskirts of Spencer Street Station.
Waiting for a train
Departure time slipped by without our train. Railway Staff finally told us the train was late. We knew that. Two hours later the train arrived to be quickly boarded by frozen passengers. Burdened by our packs we ended up at the last carriage. As train buffs we were delighted to board a “retiree” from another age, with the Guard’s compartment in the middle of the carriage surrounded by passengers in dog box compartments. The final touch was a wooden running board both sides of the carriage.
On the wallaby
Arriving at Trentham we saddled up and walked through the silent township on the road to Blackwood. With the country sky not dimmed by city lights you could see more stars that sparkled so brightly we stopped for a spell, just stargazing.
It was a full moon night giving us plenty of light on the empty road. After a couple of hours walking we camped on the roadside.
A New Day
Up at sunrise with a quick brekkie we set off towards Blackwood. A big property we passed was called “Water Wheel Farm” and in a distant paddock we saw a working water wheel. We also passed an old mine, mentioned by my neighbour, with kiln structures for roasting ore. The site was out of bounds with no access possible.
Blackwood at last
Finally arriving at Blackwood’s timbered hills we camped out of sight in the bush on the outskirts of town. Built a safe campfire, erected our tent and laid out our beds with the fire going to warm us up we cooked our grub and with belly’s full had an early night after our long walk.
Rain in the night
Rain woke us up during the night but we snoozed off again. Waking up early I found my pj’s wet to my waist. During the night my groundsheet had moved outside the end of our narrow tent which then directed water to my sleeping bag. So it was up, change into dry gear, spark up the fire and toast sleeping bag and pj’s over the flames without scorching. It took all morning.
Checking out Blackwood
For the next 2 days we explored Blackwood. Climbed the lookout, panned the creek but found no gold, found out about a gold mine within walking distance, bought treats at the local shop and saw a lady driving a jinker. She was the local Doctor who did not use a car. We later read about the lady’s practice and career in the Daily Press sometime after our visit.
The Gold mine
The local mine was called the “Easter Monday Goldmine” so we decided it was only right to visit the mine on Easter Monday, our last day. The mine had been shut for sometime but still retained a lot of decaying wooden infrastructure. My photo of the site is in the State Library. We poked around the mullock heap as you never know your luck. We had none.
Leaving town
Up early on Easter Tuesday we headed back to Trentham. Making good time we saw a timber mill near Trentham, we could see it was steam powered and as I was a steam buff we had to have a captain cook.
The Timber mill
There were 3 blokes on site so we introduced ourselves and I explained I was going for a boiler ticket. They showed us the boiler, engine and the milling processes. One of the blokes had gone to the shop and his mates were discussing where to put a newly killed tiger snake to spark him up. They coiled it up on his cabin floor.
The Tiger snake
Arriving back from the shop the victim darted in his cabin and we heard a loud shouting. The villians doubled up with laughter. We walked on to the station and caught the train back to town. But there’s more.
18 Years later
In 1968 I was working at the Fairfield Paper Mill Power Station. Twelve extra crew had been signed on while a new boiler was on trial. Chatting to the new blokes one said, “Remember me Kev?”, “No” I said. “Remember the Trentham Mill” he replied. “Yes, something about a tiger snake” I said. “It’s been a long time and I see you got your ticket” he added.
Trentham Station Today
Trains no longer go to Trentham but the station still serves the area as a community venue. In its early days Trentham was part of a country network of carriage docks. The docks enabled rural travellers to take their horse and carriage along for transport at their destination with the horse travelling in a stock wagon nibbling the miles away.
Their carriage was easily loaded onto a flat wagon from the dock. Part of Trentham’s dock still remains as a reminder of the days we managed without cars.
Brunswick to Traralgon 1949
In February 1949, after 12 months in my first job at a city office, I had 2 weeks annual leave and took off on a bonser holiday with my mate Keith. First we rode our bikes to Moreland Station and consigned them to Traralgon, a station in Gippsland. Next morning, carrying our camping gear we took the Sydney Road tram to Flinders Street and walked across to Platform One, then the gateway to Gippsland. We checked our bikes were in the Guard’s Van, then, in our booked seats settled down for the start of our Gippsland expedition with our train steaming off at 7.45 am.
Warragul Station
At Warragul our engine was changed giving passengers 20 minutes in the big refreshment room to demolish all sorts of food and drink as quick as they could. We knocked off a yummy railway pie washed down with coffee.
Back in our seat the Porter rang the warning bell for take off time. The train began moving and we watched those blokes who had sucked down an extra beer and ran alongside the moving train to be pulled on board by cheering mates.
Traralgon Station to Fairview Street
98 miles from Melbourne, we piled out at Traralgon, grabbed our bikes, lashed on our gear and pedalled off to the western outskirts of town, to my grandmother’s home on Fairview Street. The house was at the lonely end of the street, surrounded by pastures, soaring gums and a couple of grazing cows. Fairview Street was intended to cross the paddocks to the next street but that would be a decade or more in the future.
Fairview Streets Views
Looking south was the bumpy skyline of the Strezleckis. North West was the big lump of Mt. Baw Baw. In the not too distant future I was to sleep on Baw Baw’s summit, under the stars, next to the surveyor’s marker.
The Family Home
Gran’s house, thought to be built in the 1890’s was a 3 room weatherboard cottage when she moved in. With arriving babies, including my mum, the house expanded to four rooms, plus a bathroom, bungalow on the front verandah and a covered in back verandah with a couch for an overnight visitor. The internal walls of the cottage were stretched hessian material. Newspapers were glued to the hessian and when you finished reading all the stories you could upgrade to wall paper. Over the years the walls became quite stiff with several layers of news and wall papers.
The Back Verandah & Outside Facilities
The back verandah wall was weather board as it was the exterior wall so wall hooks held outdoor coats or visitors clothes and were often hangouts for spiders.
A wood shed and laundry were just outside the back door. Alongside the side fence was the normal country thunder box near the wood heap and chopping block. The wood heap was often a cosy hangout for snakes, it was second nature to check for snakes and red backs before sitting in the dunny.
The Water Tower
The towns water supply came from a concrete silo situated at the future end of Fairview Street because this area was the highest part of town. Mate Keith said “I dare you to climb up that 60 ft. silo!”
A metal ladder fixed to the silo reached the top and it was easy to bypass its security gadget. We sat on the rim for a while to enjoy the aerial view of Traralgon in 1949. I took a couple of box camera shots now in the State Library. Looking down inside the silo there was no visible water, only a circular float.
Leaving Gran and Riding to Yarram
After 3 days of Gran’s great tucker the plan was to ride our bikes to Yarram via the Traralgon/Yarram Road, over the Strezlecki Ranges, crossing the Grand Ridge Road at Balook and down hill to Yarram and set up base camp.
On the Road
Heading out on the Yarram Road we made good time on the gravel road till the climb became too steep to ride, so we just walked our loaded bikes.
Roadside Camp
By late afternoon it was time to camp. We picked the high side of the road as our hammock tents did not need flat ground and were tied between 2 trees leaving us clear of snakes and ground nasties. Tired and with no camp fire we made do with a rough cold meal. Tinned peaches smothered with tinned cream and sprinkled with weetbix.
Back on the Road
With an early start we were able to ride as the road flattened out and before lunch arrived at Bulga Park for a look at the well known white suspension bridge over the tree fern gully. At this time there was a guest house opposite the park. Many years later when I took my family to Bulga Park the guest house, now empty, was falling apart with the skeleton of a 1930 model, fabric roofed car in the drive.
Lunch at Balook
The only shop at Balook was on the Grand Ridge Road at the Yarram Road junction, a short distance from Bulga Park. We dined there with a hot pie, milk shake and an ice cream.
Yarram here we come
With full bellies we mounted our loaded bikes and pedalled onto the Yarram road. We were now on the south side of the ranges and it was down hill for about ten miles. Both bikes had efficient front and back brakes and we needed them. It was the best bike run ever. We picked up speed instantly, braking only on bends and with no traffic did the descent in minutes.
Camping at Yarram
After our speedy descent it was easy riding into Yarram with its shop lined main street, including a movie theatre. There was no camping ground and a chatty local told us where to camp, in a nice bushy area, out of sight, on the outskirts of town.
We set up our camp with a safe stone fire place and rigged our hammock tents in the strong branches of a big fallen gum.
Trips from Camp
Yarram was the terminus of the South Gippsland Railway so we checked out the station site and time table for our return trip on the coming Saturday morning as there were no Sunday trains then. We also did shopping for supplies fiddling with ration book coupon fragments for food purchases.
Tarra Valley
We made a one day trip to Tarra Valley Park riding all the way as Tarra was not a steep run. After a fruit lunch we walked around the train forest tracks in a green wilderness, all to ourselves, as we were the only week day visitors.
Port Albert
We rode down to historic Port Albert, the first gateway to Gippsland, and once the busiest Port in Victoria but lost the trade to the Gippsland Railway. The work locomotive arrived in Port Albert as deck cargo. Fired up on deck it steamed off into a temporary line to the worksite of the railway.
The historic Pier Pub was open and the kitchen ladies scratched up a plate full of cold meat and salad for a late lunch.
Time to Leave
The days at Yarram passed quickly including a night at the movies. Finally it was the last day with an early start to break camp, ride to the station, consign our bikes, buy our tickets and be the first passengers on the parked train for a 7.00 am departure. We stopped at all stations in the 150 mile run to Melbourne. Gaps between South Gippsland stations were short, more like a suburban line. The engine would speed off with big puff puffs, then the puffs would stop and we’d coast on to the next station. And we enjoyed every minute of it. Back on the Sydney Road tram it was hooroo to Keith as he got off at his Padua stop.
Back to Fairview Street – 1970’s
In the 1970’s I took my family to Traralgon to show them Fairview Street. Gran’s house was still there but was now surrounded by modern homes. The water tower [is] there and it’s only recently (2013) I read in the press that the local council no longer wanted it so the good old silo is up for grabs.
Tourism after World War 2
After World War 2, with petrol rational still on the books and a two year wait for a Holden, railway posters advertised Victoria’s tourist areas reached by train. A poster of a horse woman with the Prom lighthouse in the background caught my eye. It was time for mate Keith and myself to tackle the Prom, but first, the Prom’s wartime background.
The Commandos
During World War 2 army commandos set up a training camp on the prom which became the current Tidal River holiday complex. Army supplies and personal came by road.
Radar Development in Australia
After the start of World War 2, Aussie technicians modified and reduced England’s massive and stationary radars design to a portable bundle of bits and pieces that could be carried on one truck.
We Want Aussie Radars
Our American allies in the Pacific war zone wanted ‘those Aussie radars’ because they needed 3 semi-trailers to transport one of their sets.
The Prom Radar
The Prom lighthouse site was one of 4 radar stations monitoring aircraft and ship movements through Bass Straight. The other stations were at Cape Otway, Metung, and Gabo Island.
Northern Suburbs Secret War Room
All radar traffic data was reported to a secret war room in the Preston Town Hall and plotted on a large horizontal map using icons.
Travelling to the Lighthouse
Radar staff travelled 12 miles on foot from Tidal River commando camp to their lighthouse station. The authorities kept the commandos in the dark about the radar unit by calling it a radio station.
The South East Coast War Zone
The south corner of NSW and East Bass Strait was a war zone, censored from the media, with Jap subs causing over 400 lives lost at sea.
Wilson’s Prom
The Prom is situated so far south in Bass Strait it’s almost isolated from Victoria’s coastline and only hangs on by a series of sand bars near Yanakie. The Prom also cops a lot of nasty Bass Strait weather while the mainland enjoys nice balmy days.
Travelling to the Prom
In the February of 1954 the South Gippsland steam train took us to Fish Creek where we hopped into the five seater mail car, glad to be the only passengers as it was a tight fit with our packs and cargo for the Tidal River store.
This service only operated on Saturdays in each direction. After passing the Yanakie pub, the road was corrugated with sand drifts and pot holes. It took years for the bitumen to reach Tidal River.
Tidal River – Meeting the Ranger
After unloading at the Tidal River store we sought out the ranger in his neat, double fronted weatherboard house and office to pay our fees. All visitors firearms had to be left in his office which looked like a shop.
Tidal River Store
We checked out the milkshakes at the store and they were 10 out of 0. We also noted the stores hard tucker items and yummy luxury stocks.
Our Camp at Tidal River
Not far from the milkshake oasis we pushed through thick bush to a little isolated clearing where we lashed our hammock tents to the trees and set up camp, out of sight to fellow campers.
At this time the big amenity blocks were on the drawing board. Our castle block had a wood fired copper and water heater stoked by campers if they wanted a hot shower.
Visiting the Lighthouse
To visit the lighthouse it was necessary to phone at the store phone and check if it was ok to visit and when. We gave our names and they told us the day to come. It meant an overnight stay on the track at the “roaring Meg” camp site, a small cleared area with access to the creek water.
The Lighthouse Track
We set off early, walking up the Mount Oberon road and stopping off to climb the summit for the gob smacking views.
Further along the track we checked out a small stone cabin where the linesman stays when fixing up any breaks in the lighthouse phone line.
Our Camp Site
Reaching “Roaring Meg” campsite we dumped our packs and continued on the distant views of the lighthouse. Finally we came out of the dense bush to the open area of the lighthouse peninsular and saw we had more walking.
Driving to the Lighthouse
We took a breather and saw a jeep approaching us from the north. It stopped and the driver, with his wife, said, ‘Kevin and Keith?’ We can drive you to the lighthouse if you don’t mind the cargo.’
We hopped on and squatted down amongst some empty dunny pans. I think the jeep may have been a handy relic from the radar camp.
The Prom Lighthouse
At the lighthouse an off duty keeper was waiting to guide us around. We climbed up the spinal stairs to the mechanism that intensified the light out from a gas light with a fragile mantle. Sometimes a big moth, ecstatic with the brilliance of the light, would flutter too close and destroy itself and the mantle. This meant the keeper had to fit another, quickly, so that mariners would not get the wrong sequence.
Supplying the Lighthouse
The “Cape York” was the federal government’s supply ship which visited all island and coast lighthouses without road access. The Prom had jetters on either side of its Peninsular which was sometimes rough one side and calm the other.
A Cruise on the “Cape York”
Our guide told us he once had six weeks holiday due and was taken on the “Cape York” to be dropped off at his holiday destination. Bad weather delayed the ship so much that 6 weeks later the keeper was delivered back to the Prom after a rough 6 weeks cruise on the “Cape York”.
Touring at the Lighthouse
The lighthouse area was too big for a walkabout so we bounced around its tracks in the sturdy jeep checking out both supply jetties and various view points.
On the drive back to our walking track we were shown a massive rock which had broken off o formation once known as “Skull Rock”.
It happened on a severe stormy night during wartime and in the morning surprised the radar crews sleeping nearby at their camp.
Back to “Meg”
It was still daylight when we got back to our campsite. We erected our small tent and cooked our meal. Gosh, I can’t remember our menu but it WAS sixty years ago. We turned in early, woke up early, packed up and started back.
Tidal River Here We Come
We stumbled into the store and knocked off icy choco milk shakes in seconds. Back at camp we changed to bathers eager for a swim.
During the walk, in shorts, our legs had been badly scratched by trackside plants and topped off by sun burn.
We hit the water like song and dance men, jumping and yelling at the salt water stung our scratches.
A Near Miss
On our last day we were up early to pack and amble off to catch the mail car back to Fish Creek station. It was Saturday, there was no car or train on Sunday and Monday was back to work. We were half an hour early from departure but coming out from the trees we saw the mail car getting ready to take off!
Wait for Us!
Running and yelling the car stopped. Two other blokes, blowins, had come along and the driver thought it was us.
Home to Mum for Sunday’s Roast
The Prom was a ripper 2 week holiday but home was calling and I could taste Mum’s Sunday roast, with crusty apple pie. To top it off, as we slithered through the sand drifts on the road to Fish Creek.
Radar Secrets
In 1954 the radar stations in Bass Strait and the Preston war room were not publicly known. Our guide said the skull rock camp unit was for “radio” operators. There are now published books about Onyhe Prom radar and Preston war room. Cape Otway did have a radio station as well as a radar station. The Otway building still stands.
More Secrets
There is a book about “forgotten’ naval war with Jap [sic] subs East of Bass Strait and another book about the Jap [sic] plane that flew over Melbourne, launched from a sub off King Island. Want to know more? Hit the net! Oh, the Jap [sic] pilot was amazed at the number of red rooftops in the Bayside suburbs.
See more at Living in a Brunswick Terrace 1940-1953 Part 5
