Third son of Alfred Ernest Jewell and Matilda Alethea Rodda

Harold Henry Jewell 1909-1995

Jewell, Harold Henry – Born 7^th August, 1909 at Jandakot,

West Australia. Christened in the Methodist Church, Fremantle.

Leaving West Australia in 1913, the family arrived in Melbourne in June of that year, settling in Thornbury. In January 1914, Harold commenced school at Wales Street State School No. 3139 where his total education took place earning the Merit Certificate in his final year. Attending the Methodist Sunday School it came as quite a shock when in 1916, his eldest brother, William, went to The Salvation Army and it was not long before the whole family became immersed in their new “church”.

Commencing work at 14 years of age as a wheelwright, Harold held three jobs during 1924 and in January 1925 became an employee of The Salvation Army Printing Works (now Citadel Press) where Colonel John Osborne was manager. At 15 years he made a resolution to one day become the proprietor of a business and with this in view, dedicated his talents to becoming proficient in the printing trade. Twenty-three years later (1948) saw the culmination of his dedication when, with a friend, he purchased a business which was established in 1873, and recognised as the oldest suburban printing business in Melbourne. After 28 successful years he retired in July 1976.

Married in 1933, his wife Jean, was the youngest daughter of Colonel and Mrs Henry Sharp. She also worked at The Salvation Army Printing Works and they were the first couple to be married from that establishment.

Taught the rudiments of music by Walter Clark, the first bandmaster of Thornbury Corps, Harold commenced playing in the band under Jim Berry at 13 years of age. His banding experience took him to all States except West Australia. In 1949 he enjoyed the distinction of being a member of the Thornbury Band when it chartered an aeroplane for a campaign in Tasmania. This was the first time that a Salvation Army Band had chartered a plane in the Southern Hemisphere.

Drafted into the Military Forces in 1927, he was a member of the 57^th Battalion Band which won Military Band Championships in 1928 and 1929. It was also the first Military Band to broadcast in Melbourne and in that same year appeared on Movietone News doing ceremonial marching. Banding included 11 years on EEb bass, 8 years on euphonium and the last 17 years on solo cornet in The Salvation Army Band at Thornbury Corps. After 40 years banding he prematurely retired following two heart attacks. As a treasurer he gave 23 years to Thornbury Corps and in that time spoke on Planned Giving to a number of Corps in both City and Country, even addressing three Officers’ Fellowships on the subject.

As a Life-Saving Scout he was a member of the Territorial Trumpet Band and in 1924 was part of the Guard of Honour at Spencer Street Station to welcome General Bramwell Booth.

In addition to being the proprietor of a printing business, he was for many years an Honorary Justice of the Peace and in 1991, as a guest of Rotary International was presented with a Certificate for Community Services.

Commencing in The Salvation Army at Thornbury in 1916, Harold is still a soldier of the Corps in this year of 1994. In retirement he lives at Inala Village and for recreation plays lawn bowls.

This is Harold’s story:

To introduce my own life, I must first introduce you to my parents, Alfred Ernest and Matilda (Tot) Alethea (nee Rodda) Jewell. My mother was born at Stawell, a Victorian country town where her father was a miner. However, he had a serious accident in the mine which left him with a permanent disability so they moved to Collingwood where he opened a smallgoods shop. My father was born at 3 Bent Street, Northcote. His father being an engineer, Ernest was to follow that profession, but the news that Tot’s health was in danger unless she moved to a warmer climate precipitated their marriage and a move to West Australia where it was rumoured that you could ‘pick up gold in the streets’. Of course, this was not so and my parents finished up living in a tent in Northam. My father’s brother, George, and his wife, Elizabeth, also went West but quickly returned to Victoria. It was in this tent that my eldest brother, William Ernest was born February 5, 1904, an aboriginal lubra attending my mother as mid-wife. My other brother, Leonard James was born December 28, 1905 at Northam, too, but in better circumstances. In the meantime, my father had secured work as a fettler in the railways where he travelled hundreds of miles on the hand-operated 2-man trolleys used by maintenance men on the railway tracks in those days. I used to love to hear his stories of those trolley rides and as a child they fired my imagination as a fantastic adventure when in fact, it was pure hard work.

I should point out that living in a tent in the bush wasn't easy on my mother. She had to contend with the loneliness of really being alone with nobody living nearby, in fact, her nearest neighbour was roughly a mile distant, so you can imagine something of her situation. About 50 yards from the tent was a bush track which the camel trains used when the Afghans were travelling north with their goods, and when my mother heard the camels coming she would run into the bush to hide because she was afraid the Afghans would kidnap her and take her with them. When Will was born she also took him into the bush to avoid the Afghans. Indeed a traumatic experience for a young woman alone in strange surroundings with no neighbours nearby if assistance was required. However, in later years she found there was no record of the Afghans molesting lonely women.

It was during this period that soldier ants attacked Will in his cot and had my mother not heard his screams it is likely they would have killed him. These soldier ants were huge being an inch (2cm) or more long and when on the move they covered the ground like an army, attacking and devouring anything and everything that stood in their path. Animals would even avoid them. Another incident involving Will was when a venomous snake came between the cot and our mother — she seized an axe and chopped the snake.

It was not long after Len was born that my parents moved to Serpentine which is now a reservoir for Perth. It was here that Emily May was born May 17, 1907, and being the only girl, she was zealously protected by parents and brothers alike. Whilst May was still a small child and another baby was expected, a fire completely burnt out the home at Northam. My mother, who was an expert machinist had just received from my father a lovely new Singer sewing machine fitted into a beautiful cabinet which, when opened gave bountiful bench space for my mother to lay out her sewing — she was so skilled that many of my father’s shirts were made by her together with all our children’s clothes. However, when it was apparent that the fire would destroy everything, my mother cried out, “Ern, please save my machine!” At great risk my father raced into the burning building and managed to get the machine out.

The family subsequently moved to Jandakot, a little town between Perth and Fremantle and it was here that I, Harold Henry was born on August 7, 1909. Jandakot is now an airfield similar to Moorabbin in Victoria. I should tell you how the name of Harold Henry was bestowed on me! At first my mother wanted to name me Horace - my father objected - then it was to be Hector - again an objection - so finally my mother said, Harold Henry so at last my father agreed even though he must have had reservations for I never recall him addressing me as Harold, it was always “Lal”, so I guess that was a way of permanently registering his protest at my mother’s choice of a name for me. The other boys had received family names. By the way all we children were reared on Nestle’s Condensed Milk which would be delivered by the case from Perth at regular intervals.

I have no recollection whatsoever of life in West Australia. When I was three years old, approaching four, my parents decided to have a holiday back in Victoria, so we embarked on a ship at Fremantle and my very first remembrance of life at that age was when I lost a ball overboard. In retrospect, I think my parents would sometimes have wished for me to fall overboard too — I was a bad-tempered little brat.

The holiday in Victoria was such an enjoyable experience to be with the family again – that my parents decided to remain in Victoria, so my father returned alone to the West to wind up affairs in that State, whilst we settled into the Victorian life-style. On my father’s return we moved into a house at 53 Darebin Road, Thornbury, and a few months later my parents bought 55 Darebin Road into which we quickly moved. My first recollection of that house was finding a ½d. on the floor. Big deal, you say, but in those days a ½d. to a child was a little fortune. Remember, this was 1913. At that time 55 was a shop so my father opened a greengrocer’s business and successfully traded there until the bubonic influenza in 1919 which destroyed the business and that of many others. But that is another story.

In January 1914, I commenced my schooling at Wales Street State School, No. 3139 and that first day I well remember, because with others I was introduced to a new way of life. There was a headmaster over the whole school and a headmistress over the junior school. She was very kind but later, whilst not a tyrant, I found her to be a strict disciplinarian. Do we need this today? Well, I found school a most enjoyable experience. Certainly as most boys do, I had some troubles with teachers from time to time and when it appeared a joint effort, I was usually paraded with three or four other boys as ringleaders. Mind you, I did “wag it” occasionally because in those days a fair bit of water flowed in the Darebin Creek and we used to like to swim in what we called “the devil’s hole.” Our parents, as well as the teachers, forbade us to swim there but, of course, boys will be boys! When I became one of the “big boys”, I was fortunate to represent the school at both football and cricket and in those days it was a case of walking to your away games, so when playing Heidelberg School we would trek across the paddocks to Warringal Park, play our game, then trek back home again. I can imagine the attitude of parents today if their child was asked to walk that kind of distance. We also had to walk to Fairfield Park and to Westgarth Park. All in the name of sport!

However, one of the outstanding events of school days was my appointment as captain of the tunnel ball team in the school sports. We were successful in winning the championship at the district sports and were looking forward to the metropolitan games when our anchor-man, Kevin Philbrick, offended the sportsmaster and was suspended from the team. We called a team meeting and it was decided that as captain I would confront the sports-master to indicate that if Philbrick was out of the team, we would go on strike. It is one thing to be brave at a meeting and another when it is time for confrontation, particularly when that person is tough. I was to do it at practice the next day, but just before we went to practice the sports-master said, “Philbrick, take your place in the team!” Wow, what a relief! Unfortunately we only gained second place in the metropolitan sports.

Amongst my not-so-good habits was fighting. My father always told his boys that you never give in no matter how big the other boy may be and to back it up he taught us all to fight to protect ourselves. My brothers used it that way and very effectively, too, but being a hot head I carried it further and was therefore mixed up in quite a few scraps. Indeed, I even fought a “friendly fight” with a mate just to prove who was the better fighter. We fought after school for three nights — both finishing each night covered in blood, much to the disgust of our mothers, then we decided to call it a draw and resume our mateship.

In my childhood we had to create our own fun. I do admit, however, that we did have more scope for our activities. Traffic was not so dense, with mainly horse and cart and there were plenty of vacant building blocks for football and cricket and at the rear of most houses was a laneway (originally for use of the night cart) where we had ample space for a game of tally-ho. You may ask, What is tally-ho? We formed into sides and one would race off down the lanes, into streets, across vacant blocks calling “tally-ho” and the opposing side after counting 20 or more would chase in an attempt to catch the others before a given time. There is no scope for such a game today. Of course marbles were a very popular pastime and I managed to be reckoned champion of the big ring, my main “tor” being a “real” which belonged to my father when he was a boy. It is now well over 100 years old (1988) and is in the possession of Maralyn. Cherry-bobs was another game played with cherry stones which we sometimes coloured by dipping them in red, blue or black ink. Cigarette cards occupied many hours and this was played by flipping the cards towards a wall, the person getting nearest would then throw all the cards being played into the air keeping those which fell face up. Each would throw in turn. On vacant blocks, leaning against a fence, we would play “saddle-me-nag” and it is amazing that we didn't get bad backs out of this exercise.

We talk of fun! More people used footpaths in those days so we would place a blown-up paper bag on the footpath with half a brick inside. We would then hide behind a hedge (nearly every house had one) and sure enough somebody would come along and kick the bag. To drop a coin today is not important, but back in those days, all coins were important, so we would hide behind a hedge, drop a coin on a brick and enjoy watching the person searching for a coin they hadn't even dropped. Shop verandahs had supporting posts, so we would choose a fence post near that verandah post to place a jam tin of water around which we would tie some cotton and attach it to the post. Hey presto, when somebody came along they had a bath. Not a very good trick at all and we were chased a few times only escaping through the labyrinth of vacant blocks and lanes. We played some other annoying games, but we never indulged in vandalism other than possibly knocking out a few street globes, or if somebody aggravated us, they would get a few stones on their roof. In those days roofs were all galvanised iron, so stones made a noise.

We all as children, had a chore or chores to do. It was the days before toilet rolls were introduced and one of my jobs was to ensure that there was sufficient toilet paper, so each week would see me cutting newspaper into manageable squares, punching a hole in the corner and threading string to hang it. Woe betide me if we ran out of toilet paper. Incidentally, in those days, the toilet (we called it the lavatory) was detached from the house by a regulation of at least 10 feet and in place of a press button the flush tank was mounted above head height and operated by pulling a chain to operate the flusher. I recall how scary it was if nature called during the night and I had to venture out into the cold. When I turned the key in the lock on the back door it nearly always took my breath away — it was about a 30-yard walk and remember, no light. Fear of the dark, fear of spiders, and they seemed to breed rapidly in toilets, was an ordeal for little boys. Sometimes I stole matches to light up the toilet — a dangerous practice really not permitted by my parents. How lucky kids are today!

My father was a great man with his boys. He would play marbles with us, play football and cricket, was interested in our every day doings, he even taught the three boys a little about boxing, as he said, “not to be aggressive, but to be able to protect yourself!” However, he was a bit of a tyrant and if he said black was white, so be it! We were not allowed to put our arms or elbows on the table during meal times, so in turn we all sat alongside him and when we inadvertently put any part of our arm on the table, it was removed by a swipe from him. We very soon learned table manners.

On Saturday afternoons we often went to the pictures at Northcote or Thornbury which cost 3d. entry. They were silent movies and on Saturday afternoons the show was mainly Cowboy and Indians or comedies. The movies were silent, but we kids weren’t very silent. The night shows were more selective and cost more because every theatre had an orchestra and often attendances were affected by the quality of the orchestra. I used to get very angry because just about the time to leave for pictures or football, my father would make me get out my truck and go for more ice-cream. This could make me late, so my Dad was called a few names (he didn't hear) whilst I raced to the ice-cream manufacturer’s on the corner of Dennis Street and Salisbury Grove. Normally, I picked up the time by “whipping” the cable trams and I reckon my father had a fair idea of my movements! I should say that at the time my parents had a greengrocers business where they also sold sweets and ice-cream. On Sunday mornings the left over ice-cream would be liquid-like milk and we kids used to vie for the privilege of drinking it. Really, it was luscious for ingredients were better in those days.

To sum up my school days, I received all my education at Wales Street State School No. 3139, commencing January 1914 at four years and four months, finishing December 1923 at 14 years and four months. Only two headmasters were in charge during that time, the first was Mr. Hardess and the second was Mr. Osborne. This was great for it gave continuity to our studies and teaching methods. Mr. Osborne was tough and for some time we kids reckoned he was a “Hun” (German), our reasoning being flavoured by the fact that he came at the conclusion of World War 1. However, in the final analysis he turned up trumps.

Monday was always a thrilling experience when the whole school, staff and pupils, formed into classes around the flag pole when we saluted the flag and sang the National Anthem, then the bugle band and drums marched us into school. It was tremendous. What a pity this has been abolished, for in those days there was more loyalty than is evidenced today.

During these school days we lived at 55 Darebin Road, Thornbury, indeed it was the family home for 52 years until my sister, May and her husband Perc left it in 1965. I well remember Victoria Road being the first thoroughfare to be laid in concrete, popular belief was that it would break down very quickly, but today, 1991, that concrete road is taking heavier traffic than was envisaged when it was laid. Below Victoria Road there were no made streets — just cart tracks to the old house or two built on what was then termed “The Flats”. When I was about six years old the bridge in Darebin Road linking Northcote and Ivanhoe was built, hence the change of name to Livingstone Street on the Ivanhoe side of the creek which in those days had a fair amount of water running thru it, indeed, just below Claredon Street was “The Devil’s Hole” where we boys used to swim. They were great days and we spent a lot of time walking over “The Flats” and playing around the creek. There were yabbies in it which we enjoyed catching, but the best yabbies were in the Merri Creek, the extreme west boundary between Northcote.

Of special interest was the bubonic influenza which hit Australia in 1919. It was a killer. All public indoor meetings of any kind were banned. Many people walked the streets and rode in public transport wearing masks on their faces. It was compulsory for everybody to be inoculated. State Schools were closed to students, however, because of over-crowding in the hospitals, many schools were opened as hospitals. My eldest brother, Will, was hospitalised in the Hutton Street State School. The demand for beds was so great that the Exhibition Building was used as a hospital too. It seemed that people “died like flies”. My parents sent May to our Aunty Jane at Edithvale to escape the plague. She escaped it! At 55 Darebin Road we became sick — the doctor came — my father had the flu, I had it, but when the doctor turned to examine Len he was gone. The doctor went looking for him and there was Len, hiding under the wagon — he also had the flu. Next the ambulance came and took the three of us to the Royal Exhibition Building, we were put into beds with one son each side of their father — a unique sight. There were rows upon rows of beds with just a moveable partition erected between the women and the men. Adults and children were accommodated together, Here, at 10 years of age, I learned a lot about death. Every day bodies were removed and that bed was quickly filled with another patient. It was a terrible sight. They would put the body on a stretcher, cover it with a sheet, and march it between the rows of beds to a holding room. I guess it was a case of who will be the next!

I spoke earlier about my parents being greengrocers. This bubonic influenza ruined them because wherever a food business was stricken, they were no longer permitted to sell and added to that, there was no Government assistance — it was just a case of closing down.

I had a particular mate, George Smith. We lived near each other and both were keen sportsmen and represented our school at football and cricket. One holiday we decided to learn left foot kicking, so spent the whole day kicking left foot only. We became very versatile and could kick for goal with either foot. Today, of course, footballers must be able to kick with both feet. George finally played full back for Preston VFA team. I broke down with a knee injury which plagues me to this day.

It is my opinion that the evenings spent around the table after our evening meal gave impetus to our education, because as a family, we would listen to the radio and then absorb ourselves in books. One of the greatest educators is reading.

Discipline at home and away from home was important in our education and our parents say to this aspect. If we “spoke back” to my mother and it was heard by my father, it was woe betide the offender.

I should have told you that my religious education commenced at Prince of Wales Park Methodist Sunday School but at 7½ years of age (1916) I changed course and went to The Salvation Army on the corner of High and Gooch Streets. That is a story in itself, and perhaps if room permits, I may be able to elucidate on it. However, I am proud to say that today I am a Salvationist and I am quite certain that God has ruled my life and that His guiding hand has ever been before me. Incidently, at 13 years of age I commenced playing in the Thornbury Hall Band, playing 2nd Tenor horn. Later a stint of 11 years on EEb bass preceded eight years on euphonium and finally 17 years on solo cornet, retiring after 40 years active bandsmanship. My retirement was brought about by two heart attacks in the 1960's.

During my school days I did a morning paper round at Doubleday’s Newsagency in High Street for which I received 2/6 (25 cents) per week. At that time there were only two morning papers: “The Age” and “The Argus”. My round was bounded by Darebin Road to the north, Dennis Street to the south, Wales Street to the east and High Street to the west, including all the cross streets between that area, a prodigious task for a schoolboy. When Mr. Doubleday gave his boys 6d. rise, we became the best paid newsboys in Northcote and Thornbury area. Other proprietors very soon followed suit.

To finish school memories, as a scholar I was fortunate to be amongst the top half of my classes which pleased my parents very much indeed. The 8th Grade was the highest level in State Schools with the merit Certificate the ultimate goal. Because my marks were good throughout the last year, I was fortunate to be recommended by the headmaster for the Merit Certificate, but it was first necessary to sit for an examination set by him. This proved to be harder than the actual merit Certificate examination, so those who earned the recommendation were proven students. I should add that not many passed the headmaster’s exam, but they had a second chance by sitting for the actual Merit examination. I did miss about half a year’s schooling at about 4th and 5th grade level when hospitalised for peritonitis and later diphtheria.

At 14 years of age I left school with my parents asking if I would like to go to High School, but I preferred to go to work. Possibly, I should have gone to High School, but in retrospect, I feel it must have been a relief to my parents, for money was a bit short at that time and children went to High School totally at their parents expense. They also wanted me to learn the piano, but I thought that was “sissy” and declined. How stupid! I have regretted ever since that decision.

I should mention here that I was an avid Scout. My brother, Will, was the Scout Leader at Thornbury, so it was difficult for me to make headway easily, but having achieved the status of First Class Scout and wearing about fifteen proficiency badges on my sleeve, I was appointed a Patrol leader. There were 60 boys in the Troop. Some years later I became the Leader of a Cub pack and it was in this capacity that my scouting days were so beneficial.

In those young years we had a very happy family life. My parents were interested in their children in a very definite way. They encouraged us to talk to them about school and our mates, about any problems we felt were a threat to happy living. They encouraged us to bring our friends home for them to meet. They played with us in the back yard and at table games around the kitchen table in the evenings. Above all, they were insistent that school home-work had to be done when we arrived home from school before going out to play. When I started to learn playing an instrument, this applied also to my practice. I must admit to a bit of cheating there — when my mother didn't hear the instrument she would come to my room to see why I wasn't practicing. I would be laying on the bed, ostensibly studying theory, but under the pillow was a book. The sound of her hand on the door knob was sufficient for me to exchange book for music theory! They were very fair in dealing with us — we received what they promised; if it was a book, or a game, or an outing, or clothing, whatever was promised, we were never denied it. This also applied to a hiding with the strap. If promised a hiding when we arrived home, no matter how happy the home-coming, we received that hiding!

The boys were not allowed to enter May’s bedroom, so when she was in trouble with her brothers she would race for her room — our job was to get to her before she made it. I seemed to be her main opponent, so if I chased her inside, a yell that “Harold is in my room” would soon bring the wrath of my mother on my head. On one occasion, when I chased her, she just made it, so I decided to wait outside the door until she re-appeared. However, after a few minutes the door quickly opened and a little fist went “bang” on my nose causing me to retire to the bathroom with a bleeding nose. Even now, May loves to tell that story. I was the bad tempered brat of the family and earned more thrashings than all the others put together. In retrospect, I certainly deserved them.

WORK

The first job I applied for was at a Singer Sewing Machine shop in High Street, Northcote, where I was required to do a writing and arithmetic test. They were a long time deciding, so, would you believe it, the day I secured a job at a Wheelwright’s in North Fitzroy, a representative from Singers called on my mother to say I had the job. When she told him I was already working he abused her. In those days you commenced work “on the spot”. For your information, a wheelwright made wooden wheels and the metal threads which were used on bakers’ carts, drays, lorries, buggies, jinkers, etc. It was a very dirty job, so I didn’t stay long but managed to secure work in Little Bourke Street in the City at F.T. Wimble & Co. who were suppliers of ink, type, etc. to the printing trade. My selection for the job at Wimbles came in a peculiar fashion. When a job was advertised in the paper you had to be early because usually five or six boys would be after it. On this occasion, I was first in line, so I was first to be interviewed. Now, my only claim to notoriety was that my uncle, Jim Jewell, was a MEMBER of Parliament and at this time he was the sitting member for Brunswick. When stating my name, the manager, Mr. Williams, asked was I any relation to Jimmy Jewell and on the affirmative he employed me and said, “Tell the other boys the job is taken!”

Virtually, this job was only as a message boy — taking ink and type etc. to printers in the City and suburbs. Sometimes it meant taking a big hand cart, similar to a small trailer, loaded with ink, to the Government Printer at the top of Collins Street or to the Government Note Printer at that time situated about a mile down Flinders Street Extension — a rough task for a lad my size. Occasionally, I would cadge a ride on the back of one of the many lorries going that way and drag the hand cart behind. In Bourke Street between Elizabeth and Queen Streets was a Strettons Horse Sale Yard and whilst on a message in that direction, I would spend a little time looking at the horses, so being a message boy had some compensations.

I was anxious for an apprenticeship, so after about five months at Wimbles, I left for a promised apprenticeship at the Electrical Engineering & Construction Co., in Little Collins Street. Six months went by — I had asked several times re the promised apprenticeship it was promise after promise, so I finally decided to leave. Remember, I was now 15 years old and unless you were apprenticed before reaching 16 years, in those days there was no hope of an apprenticeship. At this place I was an errand boy, again walking all over the City with messages and goods. I remember on one occasion as I was delivering 24 mushroom shades, my foot slipped off the edge of the footpath, over I went and the shades with me. All but six were broken! I felt like running away rather than go back to the office. Later I was sent out on a few jobs as lackey to a tradesman.

One of those assignments I enjoyed very much — it was at Besters Sweets Factory in Carlton. The foreman told me to eat as many sweets as I liked, but I could not take them out of the factory. It was great.

It was now Christmas 1924 — I had been working 12 months and had only eight months left to find an apprenticeship when “out of the blue” (using a colloquialism), Lieut-Colonel Roland Hill, Assistant Manager of The Salvation Army Printing Works, asked me to consider becoming a printer. I told my parents who agreed that it was the way to go, so that very same day, I informed the Colonel of my desire to take up his offer. January 1925 saw me commence a career in printing which spanned 51½ years. I retired in July 1976.

Because it was now apparent that motor cars were going to become a popular means of transport, most boys wanted to be motor mechanics and I shared that desire. However, printing took a grip of my imagination to such an extent that about six months after commencing in the trade, I made this remark to my parents, “I won't drink, smoke or gamble, then some day I will own my own business!”

I had only been working at the Printing Works for a few months when a lass came there to work in the binding department who would later have a big influence on my life, although at that time I was unaware of it.

I became devoted to printing and fortunately for me, throughout my learning period there were men who would see to it that my grounding was sure. My first foreman was Mr Kay, nicknamed “Snowy” because he had a lovely head of snow white hair. As the last lad to be employed it was my job to sweep the composing room floor and run messages. On a weekly basis I had to collect about thirty hand towels from the employees, take them to 69 Bourke Street and exchange them for clean towels, quite a heavy job for a small lad. Getting back to “Snowy” Kay and sweeping the floor. One morning I had swept the floor and was about to put away the broom when he said, “Harold, you haven’t swept the floor today!” Remember, he had seen me do it. “Yes, I have, Mr Kay” was met by “Well, then, what is that bit of paper under the bench — sweep the whole room again!” That was a very big area, but it really taught me something about being thorough.

 I was apprenticed to be a compositor, but commenced as a reader’s assistant. This was a great grounding for my future, both as a compositor and a proprietor of my own business. At one stage, evidently because I seemed to grasp the intricacies of the reading department, it was suggested by management that I forego learning the complete compositor’s job, and devote my life to the reading department. My fierce desire for accomplishment in the trade made me refuse the offer with the remark to Colonel Hill that I was anxious to first complete my trade as a compositor.

From the reading room, I graduated to what was termed a “slugger”, which was to take the galleys of hot metal type from the linotypes, brush it and then “pull” (print) a proof for the readers to check for mistakes. Corrections would be done by the linotype operators and I would then insert the corrected line in place of the line with an error. After about 12 months my real education as a compositor commenced. In those days you were placed under the direction of a journeyman (tradesman) and the man with whom I was placed furthered my education for thoroughness, when, having finished my first job, I said, “Mr Gore, is this near enough?” He replied, “Harold, nothing is near enough, it must be right!”

Incidentally, you will be interested in my wages — at 14 years of age I received 10/3d. ($1.03) per week of 48 hours. My apprenticeship wages were: 1st year 16/6 ($1.66), 2nd year 19/- ($1.90), 3rd year £1/4/6 ($2.46), 4th year should have been £1/11/6 ($3.16), but there was a rise for apprentices to £1/17/6 ($3.76), 5th year £2/7/6 ($4.76) and 6th year £3/7/6 ($6.76). Journeymen’s wages were £4/4/- ($8.40). Our 48 hours working week included Saturday mornings.

In those days a printing apprenticeship was of six years’ duration, and having now completed two years I was 17 years of age. During lunchtime breaks I joined the other chaps in a few games in the lane adjacent to the factory and football in the enclosed land opposite. It was in that enclosed land I managed to break my collarbone in a clash with Arthur Gullidge and had to climb, with some assistance, the high iron fence which is still there today — what an ordeal and what an experience!

Going back a few years: During that first year of my apprenticeship, I told my parents that I would never drink alcohol, smoke or gamble and in that way would secure my own business. It took almost 23 years for this to happen! Now, at 18 years of age most of my reading was on printing — anything at all on this subject took my fancy with “The British Printer” being one of my favourites. To be a top tradesman was my ambition, for this was to be my stepping-stone to the future and I believe in some measure I achieved that goal. I set out to learn other aspects of the trade, so many lunch times would see me studying, trying and learning other facets of the printing industry. I learned the linotype machine with a keyboard of 90 characters, then the monotype machine with a keyboard of 225 characters, stereotyping, engraving, the guillotine, paper handling, etc., were added to my skills as a compositor and in later years these were of untold value to me.

At 18 years of age I was drafted into the Australian Military Forces and served for four years from 1927 to 1930. I joined the 57th Battalion Band. In those days you did your training in your own time with the exception of a 10-day camp each year at Seymour and this was under canvas! We had a band of 40 players with 24 men shown here practicing marching while in camp at Seymour. We were preparing for a contest at the conclusion of the camp. I was on EEb bass. At that time bandsmen had a choice between training as stretcher-bearers or Lewis gunners (Machine gun) — I chose to be a Lewis gunner, but only attended one class — bandsmen enjoyed more privileges than the “rank and file” soldier! In 1928 and 1929 the 57th was Champion Military Band in Melbourne. It was in 1929 that the 57th was featured on “Movietone News” throughout the Picture Theatres in Melbourne performing an exhibition of ceremonial and quick-step marching. When it appeared in the Thornbury Theatre we entertained the audience at half-time with some spirited playing. Another noteable achievement for the 57th was an invitation to perform on radio at Station 3LO. It was the first Military Band to broadcast over the radio in Australia. Candidly, I think the discipline of Army life would be good for the young men of today. This world sadly lacks discipline.

Anybody who lived through the Great Depression should never let the horrors of it die. Let me tell some of the happenings as recorded in the Press and my own personal experience of it. In the first half of 1929 America’s stock market boomed, but on “Black Thursday” 24th October, the market collapsed sensationally and the Depression had commenced quickly spreading world-wide with Australia suffering severely. As spending power declined, shops closed, farms were abandoned, rents were unpaid, homes lost, debts mounted and unemployment rose tragically. A Victorian writer, Alan Marshall, told of how men queued in an alley beside a hotel in Elizabeth Street, Melbourne. Each in turn spread a sheet of newspaper on the cobblestones. A man carrying a rubbish-bin tightly packed with refuse up-ended it and divided the hotel’s waste amongst the waiting men. “They woolfed the goo like dogs”, he wrote. Cafes in Fitzroy served a 3-course meal for 7d. (7 cents) made from vegetables and fruit swept from stalls of the Victoria Market or gathered from the gutters. These bags of vegetable refuse were bought by cheap cafes and tossed into stock pots for soup or used with servings of meat. “To see relief workers with their wives living under shacks of bagging and boughs; to know that hundreds of Australians, young and old, have lived on the brink of despair because they could not find work or wages to feed and clothe themselves in this rich and lovely country of ours, are the things I have hated”, wrote the novelist, Katherine Susannah Pritchard. No Australian who lived through the Depression, either as adult or child, could ever forget the traumatic experience of those terrible years.

How did the Depression affect me on a personal basis? First let me tell you of my parents. My father lost his job, so he bought a horse and small wagon, set it up with groceries and travelled the district selling them. In this way he earned from 17/- to £1 per week. If he managed to get a guinea (£1/1/-) he had a wonderful week. Things were so bad that one regular customer apologised for not buying his tomato sauce because she could buy it a ½d. (½ cent) cheaper about a kilometre from her home and she had to walk the distance to get it! I was fortunate for in the composing room there were three single men, so we shared a week on and a week off. This netted me £2/2- per week. My brother, Len, was not so fortunate, being the only single man in the machine room, he lost his job and the married men were put on short time. I had an added advantage in that I was the only person capable of working the monotype machine.

In 1931, I was asked to take full responsibility for the monotype machines. I had been working a week on and a week off due to the depression, so this was a great boost and it also gave me an extra 4/- per week salary. It was a testing experience because with this responsibility I had to do my own mechanical repairs. A technician from the Monotype Corporation came from Sydney each six months, travelling by train to Melbourne and Adelaide for the express purpose of ironing out any problems operators were encountering. My knowledge of the intricacies of the machines was very limited — the keyboard was fairly easy, but the type castors were very intricate indeed and initially I had to pull the machines to pieces and lay the parts in line in order to re-assemble them correctly. However, I eventually became proficient and received the commendation of Mr Beman, the technician from Sydney, when he said that I made less enquiries for help than any other operator from down South. That pleased me very much indeed!

In 1936, I was invited to leave Australia and journey to Johannesburg, South Africa to oversight the monotype department in one of Johannesburg’s largest printing offices. Despite refusing to take up the position, they kept it open for six months, thus giving me time to change my mind.

I had a peculiar experience at this time. At another firm the monotype operator became ill and was off work for several months, so his boss asked me to be “on call” in the evenings to do any urgent jobs which cropped up. He never paid me on the spot, but withheld the money until my next job, so he was always ahead. However, when the “on call” finished, he did pay up.

You may recall the remark I made regarding a girl who came shortly after myself to work at the Printing Works. It was Jean Sharp, the youngest daughter of Colonel and Mrs Henry Sharp. Initially, there was no interest at all between us, we worked at the same place and we worshiped at the same place. On Friday nights we both attended the Friday night open-air meetings on the corner of High Street and Normanby Avenue. However, one Friday night, just two days after my 19th birthday, as Jean turned to walk towards the Croxton Railway Station, I hurried after her and we rode together in the train to her home in Regent. That night a romance commenced which was to last 48 years, and although at the time of writing, it is more than 16 years since her promotion to Glory. I am still devastated at losing her.

I should tell you of a humorous (?) episode prior to our friendship developing. I was a member of the champion 57th Battalion Band. We were invited to play over the broadcasting station 3LO, being the first Military Band to be granted that privilege. We were permitted to bring a friend or relative to the studio, so I asked Jean to accompany me, but I wasn’t serious and made the remark to my mother that I hoped Jean Sharp didn't take it serious. However, she did take it serious and bought a new outfit of clothes for the occasion, but I never said any more about it, so to use a colloquialism of the day, I gave her a “skinner” even though I was unaware of it. In retrospect, it was not a very gallant act and I was indeed very fortunate that our relationship did develop as it did.

Reaching the age of twenty-one years is a memorable time to most people and to me it was no exception. My parents wanted to celebrate the occasion by giving me a Bible and on the fly-leaf were engraved the words shown in this re-production. Today I am very conscious of the meaning in those words. On that occasion, too, I had my photo taken as a gift from Jean and it was my pleasure to reciprocate when she reached twenty-one years, just four months later. Both photos grace my wall today. Furthermore, it saw the end of my six years’ apprenticeship and I was now a fully fledged tradesman (in those days referred to as a journeyman) and my pay rose from £3/7/6 to £4/4/- but we were in a depression so I was put on short time one week on and one week off — which gave me £2/2/- per week.

Sport played a large part in my life and during my school days I managed to cement a place in the cricket and football teams. After leaving school I eventually joined the I.O.R. and at 15 years of age was invited to play in the cricket team of the Star of Northcote Tent. My success was moderate for bowling was my only ability although, I must hasten to add, that my fielding, too, was very good. However, going in to bat at 9, 10, 11 very soon made me change direction, I decided to make myself a batsman and thus become an all-rounder. Many, many hours of shadow batting in the back yard and many experiments at practice soon taught me that if a person “puts his/her head down” they can achieve what at first appears impossible. For a number of years I opened the batting and eventually took over the number three spot. In my early 20's I held down the positions of captain and coach for a number of seasons until I transferred to another club where possibly I had my greatest success, both as a batsman and bowler, achieving a reputation which is even spoken about in this year of 1993. In retrospect, my biggest mistake was in refusing an invitation from Sub-District side Preston, for that grade of cricket was the stepping-stone to District ranks which I would have loved.

Football was a different story. In his younger days my father first played for Northcote in the VFA and followed this with a stint at Fitzroy where he played on the wing in the 2nd Eighteen until he went to West Australia. I wanted to do what my father did with the hope that when I got to Fitzroy, it would eventually lead me into the 1st Eighteen in the VFL. However, it was not to be! At 18 years of age, almost on the eve of starting at Northcote, my left knee was seriously damaged in a game thus ending any playing career I envisaged and the knee has bugged me since that time, even to ruling me out of war-time service.

Prior to marriage, my courtship was a fairly long one — five years — but circumstance at that time made it very difficult for couples to save sufficient for setting up a home. It was the years of the Great Depression! On December 16th, 1933, just two days after Jean’s birthday, we were married at Thornbury Salvation Army. With a guest list of 60 people, Jean’s father gave us £10 for expenses. The Home League did the catering, giving us an account for £7/18/6, We were permitted to keep the change of £2/1/6. The marriage celebrant was Colonel Tom Driscoll who, 24 years previously had dedicated Jean at Norwood Salvation Army. When I gave him £2 for conducting the wedding, he handed it back to us as a wedding present. It was a wonderful day with lovely sunshine and a huge crowd filled the Hall for the wedding. We went to Mt Evelyn for our honeymoon, the house being owned and loaned free of cost by Mr and Mrs Jack McKay of Thornbury.

Two girls graced our home – Dorothy and Maralyn. We enjoyed so much their growing up stages and were ultimately very proud of their achievements in all walks of life, and more importantly in the conduct of their personal lives. Two girls who today, in my declining years, continue to give me great joy and tremendous satisfaction in all their ways. At the time when Dorothy was born in 1934, I take credit for an innovation which became standard in prams. In those days women put a container on the framework under the pram with the baby. Jean wasn’t happy with this situation and asked me to do something better for her, so I made a drawer to the same contour as the pram, painted it the same color, and it looked great. I showed it to a pram maker in Thornbury, indeed where we had bought our pram. He very quickly produced prams identical to my design and it wasn’t long before it was universal. In retrospect, I should have patented the idea and so receive royalties.

I should tell you something about my lovely wife, Jean. She was the 9th child of Colonel and Mrs Henry Sharp. Good looking, nicely built, intelligent and good natured, she was the epitome of the type of young woman any man would be glad to marry. Her dress sense, too, was first class. As the years went by I was amazed at her capacity to cope with whatever circumstances arose, and the longer we were married the greater was my appreciation of her as my partner in life. Back in those early 1930's, because there was no household refrigeration, and indeed a lack of ice chests, it was necessary for women to shop each day and most times, after paying the weekly “rent” and purchasing the week-end provisions, there were only a few shillings left to carry through from Monday to Friday. The capacity of women to stretch those few shillings was nothing short of amazing, and Jean was no exception. We had a wonderful relationship throughout our whole married life together and this became an even closer relationship when sickness overcame her and we had to rely on each other so very much.

Possibly, now is the time to introduce you to some of the conditions we lived in during those early days of our marriage. Our only hope of keeping the butter from melting on the hot days, was to use a butter crock which was akin to a red pot plant turned upside down with a knob instead of a hole. This was placed on a type of saucer of the same material with a raised centre and a moat filled with water. It would hold 1lb. of butter. This was all we could afford! After cooking meat, the left-over from the meal was put in a meat safe and hung in the passageway or some cool spot for the air to supply any cooling. Later the Coolgardie Cooler came on the market and it was certainly a great innovation. They were made with an iron frame in the shape of a very large bird cage, the sides and door draped with a fine hessian, a metal tray on top to contain water with wicks taking the water down the sides to a tray underneath to catch the water as it dripped from the hessian. The wet hessian kept food nice and cool in the Coolgardie Cooler. We couldn't afford to buy one, so I made it as did many other men.

Wonderful! We managed to save enough to buy an Ice Chest. The ice man came twice a week. He would look in your ice chest then go to his cart (it was horse and cart) in which he had great blocks of ice which he would cut into sizes to suit your ice chest using an ice pick. It cost us 3/- per week for ice. The children in the street would crowd around the cart for when he cut the ice, chunks would fall and the children loved to suck those chunks of ice.

In those days home deliveries of goods was a normal practice. The ice man, the grocer, the greengrocer and even the milkman who called weekly for his money were all confidently invited into the home by the housewife who gave no thought to being molested. Today, the mind boggles at such confidence and it is sad that the time has come when a woman must keep a locked door between her and the person on the outside, be it man or woman.

Washing day for a woman was a real chore. The copper was heated by wood and the clothes were cleaned by rubbing them on a scrubbing board prior to putting them into the copper to boil. After boiling, the clothes were put through a “ringer” and then hung on the line to dry in the sun. When washing machines were invented, they had a ringer built on the top. We bought one, but after using it, Jean said it was unbalanced and would fall on her. I was skeptical, but she was right, for eventually it did overbalance and fall, but fortunately it did not injure her. Nevertheless I very quickly traded it in for a new safe machine.

Having a bath, too, was a chore. Laundries were usually in an out building, but fortunately ours was attached to the house. We had to boil the copper and carry the water by bucket throughout the house to the bathroom, so it took a considerable time to fill the bath. Later I ran a water pipe along the outside of the house connecting the copper with the bath, thus saving a fair amount of time. Eventually we bought a chip heater for the bath and later still, a gas heater.

When first married we had a wood stove and a “Main” gas stove. The “Main” was the first model put out by the Gas Company. They were a favorite with the women. Ultimately we removed both stoves and bought a modern bench model gas stove. In those days you could have your time payment amount added to your gas bill. It was the only way we could afford that stove.

In 1939 World War 2 broke out. I first tried for air crew, but because I was now 31 years of age, that avenue of service wasn't open to me. At this time, I was offered a rise of 5/- per week if I would not enlist, but because I made three attempts to join the militia the rise never eventuated despite my being knocked back due to a faulty knee. That knock-back aggravated me because I was playing cricket. However, on the third attempt I gave up trying. About six months later I receive a call from Victoria Barracks for an interview with Flying Officer Less, later Squadron Leader, with the view to setting up a monotype division in the Records Section of the Air Force. I declined on the grounds that it was not my “cup of tea” to be a “base waller”. That was probably a wrong decision because there is more to war than a gun in hand. Ultimately I joined up as an air raid warden being attached to the first aid section.

The resolution I made in 1925 when 15 years of age came to pass in May 1948 when with my friend, Sam Murphy, we became the proprietors of W. & J. Barr (Printers) of Fitzroy, a printing firm founded in 1873 and recognised as the first suburban printer in Melbourne. It was a well established business, but tremendously run down because William Barr had not moved with the times, his age somewhat dictating the lack of initiative. An interesting facet occurred during negotiations when Sam decided the risk was too great and withdrew from the partnership. However, this was my opportunity, so I indicated my determination to proceed and would find another partner. Sam was so impressed by my attitude that he sought to rejoin the venture, this culminated in 28 years of a very harmonious partnership. The original business was at 105-107 Brunswick Street, Fitzroy. We bought shops adjacent to the factory for extension, but Fitzroy Council made things so difficult that we bought land at 424-430 George Street Fitzroy, and in 1960 we moved into a factory designed to suit our business. In July 1976 we both decided to retire so the business was sold to Globe Press. With the sale, the oldest suburban printer in Melbourne became extinct.

As a lad I remember when radio was first introduced and many people were afraid of it, thinking that lightning might strike through the aerial and burn the house down. We had to put our radio (wireless) in the cart shed for that very reason. We had a crystal set and to get the station it was necessary to move a cat’s whisker (so called) across the crystal until you got good reception and because at the time I was the only one who understood Morse Code in our house, it fell to me to say what was going on. Later valve sets became the norm and many men purchased the components and made their own sets.

My first scooter was a fixed head made by my father — a fixed head meant that it had no pin on which the handles turned to right or left. Certainly a bit difficult to manouevre. My first bicycle was a Dayton, made in America, and it was higher than the normal bike. However, it would be worth a fortune today! It was given to me by a Miss Belcher who lived in Agnes Street and to whom I used to deliver fruit and vegetables from my father’s greengrocers shop. Oh, and she was one of my customers for cabbage and cauliflower leaves for her fowls.

In 1978, with three other Salvationist printers, I was asked to attend a meeting with The Salvation Army hierarchy to discuss the possibility of closing Citadel Press which was financially embattled. With the majority of those present in favour of closure, Athole Graham and myself fought to save the closure even to the extent of saying it could be made viable once again. Who would do it? Of the four printers, I was the only one retired! Commissioner Arthur Linnett invited me to his office and from that discussion I undertook the task of getting Citadel Press back on its feet and also to find a competent manager. I found things chaotic. To enable me to make the necessary adjustments I sought the assistance of former employees, now retired, who would make themselves available on daily notice should I need them. Fortunately, I never had to call on them because the employees responded to the directions I insisted on implementing. The atmosphere changed and production increased and we eventually turned the corner. I then secured Raymond James as manager and stepped back into retirement. About a year later, a lass who was senior in the office approached me with these words, “Mr Jewell, when you came to Citadel Press I hated you for what you were doing. However, later I realised what you were striving for so I felt a little better towards you. Now I realise if you had not done the things you set out to do, the present manager would not have been able to manage the place so successfully. I would now like to call you, Uncle Harold.” I granted that privilege for I felt it was a great finale to my management of Citadel Press.

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Harold’s Mother - Matilda

Harold’s Father - Ernest

55 Darebin Road

At 15 years of age I commenced in the reading room under the direction of the head reader, Mr Jack Stevens.

Harold and Jean 16/12/1933

Seymour training days

Harold’s Scouting days

Dorothy, Maralyn, Jean