My Broken Hill
Where it all began
Our world was divided between two main areas: the Luangwa mine suburb and the Railway Camp. My memories stem from the 'mine' area as this is the area I lived in.
Dad and me
Come back with me
My grandparents came from Scotland and settled in quickly. They lived first at the Great Northern Hotel. before being allocatd a 'mine' house.
The town had many ex-pats who came on 'assisted passages' to work the ever expanding mines.
The railway was our other lifeline, with many skilled workers who came up from South Africa.
The place was found by an Australian engineer, Thomas Davey, who found large deposits of lead and zinc.
To us kids, the air was just normal. We played in it and never thought twice about the chemicals.
But Aunty Hazel, who taught elocution and was quite posh, couldn't stand the place. She often complained about living in what she called a 'vile, stinking dump.' I guess it wasn't the refined life she wanted.
A 'vile and stinking dump.'
Aunty Hazel's View of the Town
The Town
The heart of the town was Broadway and Davey Avenue, running parallel to each other.
I remember Meikles where Mum worked, and places like D.H. Patel, Heslops Butchery, Holdworths Chemist, Metha Bros. These are the spots I won't forget.
Saturdays were for biking with Gran to do her shopping, always finishing with a treat at the Rio.
I had loads of friends, mostly in Luangwa, but because it was a small town, we knew everyone.
I went to the Dominican Convent where Sister Scholastica was the headmistress (spent many hours in her study writing lines "I must not talk in class!". Mum had also been to the convent and Sister Scholastica had taught her too...I'm sure Mum didn't spend the same amount of time in her study as I did!
The other schools in the town that I remember were Parker Primary and King George.
The Big Tree
At the bottom end of Broadway stood The Big Tree—a giant wild fig that was our landmark.
Adults talked about its history, but we just liked the shade and using it as a place to meet.
At Christmas, it changed completely. We had Carols by Candlelight under the wide-spreading branches.
We'd get so excited gathering under this old bit of Broken Hill history singing "Old King Wensleslas and Silent Night".
When Saturdays were special
Gran and Me
Most Saturdays Gran and I rode our bikes into town for shopping. She led on her basket-equipped cycle, while I followed on my silver fairy cycle.
Our routine always ended at the Rio, a local hub for news.
While I enjoyed my strawberry milkshake, Gran would sit with her friends over a pot of tea, engaging in lively chatter about the town's latest happenings.
Then as I got older
Saturdays meant more than shopping with Gran
I was still meeting friends at the Rio or Mike’s, but now we'd hover around the jukebox, skoffing hamburgers, drinking Coke floats, and deciding what to play next. Songs like “Shabby Little Hut,” by the South African group, The Bats, “Wolverton Mountain” and “From a Jack to a King.” all come to mind. And then teenage life really took off when “She Loves You” — yeah, yeah, yeah! — came along. Suddenly everything seemed different.
LM & Springbok Radio
Music that kept us company
Lance and I would lie on my bed listening to LM or Springbok Radio.
There was David Davies on Sunday nights with the LM Hit Parade, and Rob Vickers with his familiar: “This is Rob, on the job, on LM Radio.”
Peter Lotis and the Radio Record Club, Pick a Box with Bob Courtney. What about Mark Saxon and Sergei in "No Place To Hide", trying to work out the murderer in "Consider Your Verdict".
Lance seemed to enjoy most of it. Although I'm not convinced he was a fan of “Patches” by Jody Wayne. Whenever it came on, he'd look at me with those great droopy eyes as if to say, “Please… please… no more. That's far too depressing.” I could almost hear him sigh.
Those were happy times. Just Lance and me, lying on the bed, listening to the radio and the music coming from somewhere far beyond our Broken Hill.
Sessions at the Catholic Hall
We'd go along and dance, often to records, although local bands would sometimes play as well. It was one of those places where everybody seemed to know everybody else, and for us it was a new freedom and exciting.
One of the local musicians I remember was Butch Cook. Butch was a local guy who could sing, and he eventually went off to South Africa and became a professional singer.
Years later, completely unexpectedly, I came across him again. I was in Durban, and there he was, performing in one of the beachside hotels. I went over to greet him.
"Hey Butch, remember when.." There followed one of those wonderful conversations where, for a few minutes, you aren't standing in a hotel in Durban at all. You're back in Broken Hill.
We talked about the old days, the sessions, the music and the people we remembered. A lovely “remember when…” sort of conversation.
Funny how life does that. You can travel thousands of miles and many years away from where you started, and suddenly someone appears who takes you straight back home.
The Mine Club
The mine club was the social centre of most mine families
Library on Sunday's, movies or dances on Saturdays in the mine hall (that's where the often 'silent' movies were shown until the modern Vista Cinema was built), snooker, mens bar!, and the lounge where families congregated over drinks and local chatter.
Our world was divided between two main places: the Luangwa mine suburb and the Railway Camp.
A mine house in Godetia Street
The house I called home
Begonia, Daisy, Erica, Foxglove, Godetia, Holly, Iris, Jasmine and Kochia
Godetia Street
We lived at the very end, right against the edge of the local golf course
Godetia Street - Luangwa
The mine houses were solid, three-bedroomed red-brick homes with corrugated-iron roofs. Our house was in Godetia Street in the mine suberb of Luangwa. The streets were named, alphabetically, after plants; Begonia, Daisy, Erica, Foxglove, Godetia and so on.
Both the front and back verandahs were gauzed in, keeping the insects out while allowing the air to circulate. The verandah floors were polished with red stoep polish, giving them that deep, rich-red shine that I remember so well.
The houses were regularly maintained by the mine and, as I remember it, were repainted about every two years. I can still remember the smell of those freshly painted walls and verandahs. It was a distinctive smell, and somehow it has stayed with me all these years.
Inside, the pantry shelves were stacked with food, as pantries seemed to be in those days — practical, well stocked and ready for whatever the household needed.
Looking back, it wasn't a grand house.
But it was our house, our garden and our little world.
And perhaps the most precious part of the memory is that the people who looked after that world weren't strangers. Jonny, our gardener, had known my mother all her life, and he knew me from a baby and looked after me when mum or dad were at work.
When I think of Luangwa now, I remember the red brick, the polished verandah, the smell of fresh paint, the avocado tree and my swing.
13 Kochia Street with friends 1968 - me on my motorbike
Looking back, it wasn't a grand house.
But it was our house, our garden and our little world.
And somewhere in the background, Jonny Spider mowing the Kikuyu lawn, chatting to his mates , lighting up a hand rolled cig and one eye looking after me…..and friends, happy times , my dogs and family, perfect.
The 'Rhodesian Boiler'
We got hot water from the Rhodesian boiler or 'donkey' boiler. This a clever bit of Rhodesian living. It always worked if the fire was kept up. On my Sundays, I was the one in charge of the wood and the heat while the cook had his day off. It was just my own kind of Sunday school, learning to handle the water and fire as just another chore in Broken Hill.
was done with a hot coal iron.
As the iron cooled, Lapson, our houseboy — wow, but that's how it was — would lift the lid and add a couple more hot coals.
Then he would swing the iron backwards and forwards, occasionally doing a full circle, fanning the embers until they glowed red-hot again.
It was a slow, smoky business, but somehow the shirts always came out beautifully pressed.
the ironing
the cooking
Lapson also did the cooking as mum worked during the week. He'd been taught by mum but hadn't managed the timings too well.
I still remember cabbage being boiled at three 'o clock in the afternoon!
Anyway, I still remember in the very early days, meals being cooked over a wood fired stove before a smart electric stove arrived.
The garden was very much Mum's pride and joy.
The Kikuyu lawn was always carefully maintained by Jonny Spider, our old gardener. Dad said that Kikuyu could grow through anything.
Jonny wasn't simply somebody who came to look after the garden. He was part of our family history.
He had known Mum since the day she was born. For many years he had worked for Gran and Grandad, and when they eventually retired to a smaller house, Jonny came to work for Mum.
So he knew me too — from the day I was born.
There was something rather special about that. Jonny had been there through generations of our family, and he knew the gardens, the houses and the people who lived in them almost as well as we did.
He kept the Kikuyu lawn looking immaculate, while Mum tended her neat flower beds, particularly her roses and gladioli. The red brick of the house, the deep green lawn and the flowers made the front of the house a very pretty place.
At the back, things were more adventurous.
From the back verandah we looked out across the grass towards the lemon tree at the rear and the big avocado tree on the left.
That avocado tree was our playground. My friends and I would play underneath its spreading branches, and I would hang my swing from it.
Along the side of the driveway stood a large fig tree, leading towards the garage and Dad's workshop. Beyond that were Dad's vegetable garden and chicken run.
The Rainy Season
The rains arrived with little warning
One minute the sky could be bright and blue, the next it would begin to darken, great clouds building above the trees until the whole landscape seemed to hold its breath.
Distant thunder and then came the first drops
At first they were large and scattered, darkening the red earth where they landed. Within minutes the rain could be coming down so heavily that the garden disappeared behind a curtain of water. The gutters overflowed, paths became streams and the Kikuyu grass seemed to turn greener by the hour.
and then the sound.....the rain hammering on the corrogated iron roof
hearing the thunder roll across the sky and watching streaks of lightning through my bedroom window.
Lance, my Rhodesian Ridgeback, would leap onto the bed and settle down beside me. With him there, I could listen to the storm without worrying too much about it.
Sometimes the thunder seemed to shake the whole house.
Then, almost as quickly as it had arrived, the storm would move away. The rain would ease, the thunder would fade into the distance and the night would become quiet again.
Outside, everything smelled of wet earth, leaves and rain.
By morning the sun would be back, steaming the moisture from the ground, and the world would look fresh and impossibly green.
