The young Jean and Bob

Introduction

In the year 2001 I made a trip back to my homeland, Australia, with my daughter, Wendy, son-in-law Mike, and granddaughter Lauren. During that time, and afterwards, Lauren asked many questions about my younger years, and what it was like growing up in a country that was foreign to her. So, for the benefit and interest of my children and grandchildren I thought I would document the memories of the past so that they might compare it with their own advantages, capabilities and values.

The Early Years

I was born Jean Josephine Black on January 12th 1925, to Robert and Bridget Black. At that time my family lived at 15 Bank Street, Ascot Vale, a suburb of Melbourne in the state of Victoria. My father, then aged forty-five, was of Scottish descent; my mother, aged forty-two, was of Irish descent. Most of the population living in Australia at that time was of English, Irish or Scottish descent.

Before I was born my mother had given birth to six other children. The first, James Patrick, expired six months later of diphtheria. Those following were: Robert Michael, Mary Helena, Edward Patrick, John Francis and Thomas Francis.

My earliest recollections were of living at Bank Street, Ascot vale, another suburb of Melbourne. We lived in a small house, next to an elementary school where my father was employed as a janitor and maintenance person. By trade he was a gardener and had worked for well-to-do people in the area, tending lawns and gardens to provide extra income for the family. I remember my father raised dahlias in our front yard, and that he entered them in shows and won prizes with them. At that time, and to this day, Australians take great pride in their landscaping and flowers.

To digress a little, before my brother Frank and I were born, our father left the family and ventured to the gold fields in Kalgoorlie in Western Australia. During his absence my mother had no means of support, so she took my brothers and sister to live with relatives in Bungaree, near Ballarat, approximately fifty miles north of Melbourne. The family was very lucky to have relatives who provided for them during that lean period. My father injured his back in the gold fields, which left him partially disabled and resulted in him returning to be reunited with the family in Ascot Vale.

As early as I can remember my mother had a history of heart problems, and was quite often bedridden. On one occasion she was forced to go away somewhere, probably to a hospital for treatment. During her absence I missed her so much I used to write notes and put them in her dresser drawer. My brothers teased me for doing it, but I'm sure she was pleased to find them when she returned. In my younger years I had a terrible time with writing, and my brother Ted took all the time needed to teach me.

My memory of my mother is that of a kind and gentle person. We called her Mum, so henceforth I will refer to her in that manner; it makes me feel closer to her. Mum was very protective of her brood -- like a mother hen, I guess. The neighborhood children all called her Grandma Black. She always took the time to sit down, listen to their problems or concerns, and give comfort and a word of advice.

The Great Depression in Australia

She was a wonderful cook and homemaker as well, and even during the time of the Great Depression I never remember being hungry or uncomfortable in any way. Of course, our family was never able to be extravagant, but even though money was always in short supply, we seemed to have the basics in clothing and food. As far as meat was concerned, we mostly ate lamb, rabbit, curried sausages and tripe. The rabbit was soaked in salt overnight to eliminate the wild taste, and much of the food we ate was flavored with curry, bought from men on the streets wearing turbans. Men from India, I believe. Tripe -- I believe it's the lining of a cow's stomach -- was always served with chopped up parsley and white sauce. I have never eaten it since I left Australia. Mum made delicious deserts, too: trifle, steamed puddings, pies, cakes, and tarts.

At Christmas time she made plum pudding; my father put coins in it, and in order to find one of them Frank and I ate it until we were almost sick. We saved the money, and used it to go to the pictures on Saturday afternoon. (Pictures was the term used for movies, in those days) Christmas in Australia fell during the summer, and was not celebrated with a Christmas tree, and as I recall the older children and adults in the family did not exchange gifts. Frank and I, though, being the youngest, were each allowed to hang a pillow case on the foot of our beds. On Christmas morning we found them filled with toys, candy and fruit. Of course, we always tried to get the roomiest pillowcase we could find.

The Depression affected our family severely. My father lost his gardening jobs, and my brothers couldn't find work. My sister, Mae, found employment in a tea factory, and my father maintained his care-taking responsibilities at the school. Frank, during those times, deemed himself my protector and advisor. I remember we were given bread and tea for breakfast, and Frank would eat the bread crusts I didn't like, so that I wouldn't get into trouble. On the other hand, he would suggest I do foolish things, such as swing on the bell rope that hung in the bell tower of the school, while assisting my father with his chores on Saturday morning. People in the neighborhood didn't know why the bell was ringing, and were alarmed. Needless to say, that was the last time I did that! Frank also advised me to jump from the roof of the kindergarten, and I almost broke my legs. There was a maypole in the center of the schoolyard, and as I was swinging around on it one day, he suggested I let go. I still have a scar under my chin from that episode.

The Growing-up Years

Late in the evening we played hide-and-seek in the schoolyard with the neighbor children. When my father came to tell us it was time to come in, Frank and I would hide, and sneak in the side door later on. Mum always made us say goodnight to our father, and we'd only get as far as the kitchen door when a shoe came flying at us. That was our goodnight kiss from him, and I guess we deserved it.

I was a real towhead at that time, and Mum used to whip up egg whites and soak my hair in it to keep it white and curly. When the egg whites dried they pinched my skin and hurt like blazes. But it was a beauty treatment I had to endure. Also, every Saturday morning Frank and I were forced to drink a cup of senna tea. Mum said it would keep us cleaned out, and keep the germs away. We tried hiding from her, but she always found us and stood over us until we drank the whole thing. I'm sure she was right, because no self-respecting germ would ever go near senna tea...

When I was four years old and ready to start kindergarten, I was still sucking on my pacifier, which we called a dummy. I refused to give it up, and Mum said that was all right, but of course I would not be able to start school because they did not allow dummys there. Needless to say, the pacifier was lost.

One afternoon Mum allowed Frank and me to stay home from school so that she could take us to the corner of our street to watch Charles Lindberg drive by. There were very few cars at that time, so it was a treat to see a whole caravan of them going by.

During the school vacation, which amounted to six weeks in January and February, I was sent to spend some time with my aunt and uncle in Bungaree. I had five cousins, all girls, and we all slept in the same bed. We laughed and talked until all hours of the night. My uncle would come through and ask if we were asleep, and we'd answer yes. My uncle worked for the railroad, and when one of the frequent sandstorms came, he put his handcart on the track, and got out and cleaned the sand from the rails, a precaution against the train being derailed.

The train only came through once a day, usually in the evening. Occasionally it would bring ice, and all the neighbors gathered around and made homemade ice cream. That was the highlight of my summer. I also spent some time with an aunt and uncle in nearby Bullarook. They had a boy and a girl whom I enjoyed playing with very much. There was a racecourse at the back of their farm, and we rode my uncle's horses around the track. There were hobos (we called them swagmen) by a stream behind the farm, and my uncle always fed them.

I then went on to Ballarat where an aunt and uncle owned a hotel named The Bunch of Grapes. I had three cousins there, so always had plenty of playmates during my vacations. I loved visiting Ballarat, possibly because my aunt and uncle were very well off, and bought me new clothes and shoes to wear.

It makes me sad to remember that although there was only a year and half between Frank and I, he was never included in these trips; I know he would have enjoyed them as I did. I vaguely remember my father's mother, Grandma Black, and that when we went to visit her, Frank and I would sit beside her and pull the skin up on the back of her hand. We were fascinated by the fact the skin just stayed there. Incidentally, today, all my grandchildren enjoy doing the same thing to me.

My father had a brother, uncle Fred, who because of his employment, traveled outside the country. In later years he brought me back an authentic kimono from Japan; it was one of my most prized possessions. Father also had a sister we visited on occasion, usually a Sunday afternoon. She used to present Frank and I with chocolates that she kept in a closet; they tasted like mothballs but we ate them anyway.

There was always music in our house when I was growing up. My brother, Bob, played the ukulele. Jack played a banjo, and Ted played violin. We had some wonderful times together, and Ted took the time to teach me to dance. He was a wonderful dancer, and took me to dances many times during my teenage years. They often played at friends' homes, and acquired a mover's van, which they took to the beach for an entire weekend. They usually took Frank and I with them, which meant we were in seventh heaven.

On other weekends, Mum packed a picnic basket and she, Frank and I walked to the train station -- quite a walk as I remember-and took a train to the beach. The beach was beautiful, and on weekends attracted a huge crowd. No food was allowed on the beach, so we left our basket in the park above and walked slowly down steps to the sand and surf below.

One Sunday evening, after coming home, Frank and I found some matches and set fire to a stack of papers in a room off the kitchen. Luckily, Mum was able to put the fire out. She almost got her cat-o'-nine-tails off the wall. She'd threatened us with it before, and we were fearful, but she never used it.

Changes

I was nine years old when Mum passed away, and perhaps too young to be aware of the devastating effect her death would have on our family. Mum was "laid out" in the living room of our home. Frank and I put a bouquet of Daphne, her favorite flower, on her hands. I was so upset my brother, Ted, took me into the front yard to console me. In those days, children were not permitted to go to the cemetery, but I remember my father and brothers wearing black bands on their sleeves for six months, in memory of Mum.

My father had always been somewhat of a drinker, and after the funeral he became irrational and mean. The tension that had always existed between him and my brothers became more apparent. All my brothers worked for a construction company as fiber plasterers. When the situation at home kept deteriorating they rented another place .for us to live. Father found out where we had moved; he asked the boys to come back, but they, feeling we'd suffered enough, refused. I never saw my father again until I was in my teens. At that time he came to the factory where I was working during the war, and asked to see me. He said he was sorry for the way things turned out, then he left and I never saw or heard from him again.

Since my brothers and sister had to work, Frank and I were left pretty much alone during the day. So it was decided that I should live with my aunt and uncle who would accept me, but Frank would be put in a boys' home. My aunt and uncle were very good to me, but I was lonesome for my family, especially Frank.

My sister, Mae, had met a young man named Clarrie Swan. She was taken in by him and his family. They were a close knit, loving family -- the kind she had always longed for. Finally she and Clarrie were married, and since I was unhappy with my arrangement, they brought me back to live with them at Ascot Vale.

Many Saturday mornings, we'd wake up to find my brother Frank sleeping on the doorstep. He ran away from the boys' home every chance he got. My sister would have to take him back, and he had to stay there until he was fourteen years old, and could get a job. Frank was very deaf, and worked for the Army as a civilian until his death.

When I lived with Mae and Clarrie I was going to school. Mae had her first child, Warren, and I enjoyed taking care of him While Mae worked. My brother, Ted, got married and asked me if I'd like to live with them, and I did for over a year. I had finished the eighth grade, and at the age of thirteen, procured my first job, assisting with mailings for a men's store in downtown Melbourne. Later, I worked full time in their offices. Brother Ted built a small room for me on the back of their house, and my sister-in-law, Edna, furnished it and made drapes for the windows. It was the first time I'd ever had a room of my own, and I was happy there. We played a lot of different games in the evening, and with my first payroll check I bought Monopoly, and we wore it out, I think.

Mae was expecting her second child, Billie, and asked if I would come back to help her. I hated to leave Ted and Edna but was happy to help my sister any way that I could. Money in those days was still fairly scarce, and I remember that all the neighbors with children would get together each Friday and have a potluck dinner, using anything they had left over from that week. I turned my paycheck over to my sister, and babysat the two children, whom I loved dearly.

World War II

When World War II began a lot of things changed immediately. Clarrie, who was already in the Militia, was one of the first to be called to service. He went to the islands, and was taken prisoner in Singapore by the Japanese, shortly after arrival. All young men were called into the military, most of them being sent to the Middle East, or to islands in the Pacific. I went to work in a munitions factory, assembling gas masks for the Army. Brothers Ted and Bob were deferred from service due to health defects. Brother Jack was sent to the Middle East.

Almost everything was either in short supply, or rationed at that time. Every six months we received ration books and food stamps from the Government. I recall cutting out cardboard to replace the worn out soles of our shoes and darning socks for Warren and Billie. After the Japanese bombed the northern part of Australia, the Government requested all mothers with small children to move from the cities to rural communities, when and if possible. Mae took her two children and moved to Ballarat where she had family.

I was invited to move down the street to live with an elderly couple. I couldn't have asked for a more pleasant experience. Pop Jenkins worked in the same factory as I did, and always introduced me as his daughter. Mom Jenkins was a wonderful person, and gave me my own room, which we called a sleep-out. It was a screened in back porch with a tin roof: very hot in summer, very cold in winter, but cozy when rain fell on the tin roof.

Meeting Bob

Every weekend, whenever possible, I boarded a train for Ballarat to be with my sister, returning to Ascot Vale on Sunday evening. One weekend, I attended a dance held at St Patrick's church, for the servicemen in the area. There was, at that time, a United States Marine battalion based on the outskirts of Ballarat. That night I met the young Marine who was to become my future husband, Robert (Bob) Null. I saw him on weekends in Ballarat, and later, when he was transferred to the Melbourne Cricket Grounds in preparation for departing to the islands, we saw each other almost every evening. We always talked past the time the last tram went at eleven o'clock, which meant he'd have to walk back to his camp, a distance of over five miles. But he didn't seem to mind.

When Bob was sent to the islands, I didn't hear from him for some time. He explained later that during that time they had engaged the Japanese on four separate landings. His letter came from a rest camp on Pavuva Island, and once I had the address, I wrote to him on a daily basis. I numbered the letters on the back so that he would know which ones to read first. His captain censored all his letters, so knew we were quite serious about each other. The First Marine Division was handing out rest leaves on a limited basis, and Bob's company was allotted six of those leaves. His Captain told him if he wanted to get married he'd grant him one of them. Bob then wrote and asked me if I'd marry him if he came down to Melbourne. I said I would. He said he would borrow money from the Red Cross, but I told him I had saved thirty pounds, which was about the equivalent of one hundred dollars.

The Wedding

The military flew Bob and his fellow Marines from Guadalcanal to Brisbane. When I met Bob at Flinders Street station in Melbourne, I hardly recognized him in the old and threadbare khakis he was wearing. They represented the best clothes he had.

Until our wedding took place, Bob stayed in the sleep-out at Mom and Pop Jenkins, and I stayed next door with the family of two girlfriends. Nell Black, wife of my brother, Jack, worked at the Red Cross in Melbourne, and was permitted to purchase two new uniforms for Bob and his friend, Herby Adamzak, who was to be the best man in our wedding. Since Bob was not Catholic, we could not be married within my faith, so I made arrangements for us to be married in the Presbyterian Church. Some years later Bob converted to Catholicism, and we were then married in the church of my faith.

A friend, Norma Adams, had recently married an American soldier, and she loaned me her wedding gown, and was my matron of honor. My brother, Jack, was still away in the military, so brother Ted gave me away. Even though my brother Bob's wife, Dot, held the wedding reception in their home, neither Bob nor my brother Frank would attend the wedding or the reception. There was some deep held resentment among some of my family and relatives over my decision to marry an American, and eventually leave my homeland. Bob was never treated badly or exposed to those feelings in any way, I'm glad to say.

We only had one week together after the wedding, then Bob had to report back to his unit and I did not see him again until March 1946, after the war's end. I wrote a letter every day, and realizing that mail was delivered sporadically, I again numbered each letter on the back of the envelope so that he could read them in the proper order. Bob said he received as many as twenty letters at one time. I, too, received my letters from him in bunches. Occasionally I sent tins of short bread, as I knew he enjoyed it so much. Later he told me that when my package arrived he was the most popular man in the unit.

Six months before the Japanese surrender my sister, Mae, received word from the military that her husband, Clarrie, had perished on the death march from Singapore to Borneo. Her fervent hope through all those years had been that he would come back safely to her. She was devastated, and during that period, I traveled to Ballarat every weekend to see her. During a particularly bad period I stayed with her for two weeks. Mae never really recovered from the shock and disappointment of losing Clarrie.

The Voyage

I joined a group of war brides that met once a week in Melbourne to have dinner and discuss our experiences and hopes for our future in a new land. I was still living with Mom and pop Jenkins, and when I was advised by the Government that I was scheduled to sail on the U.S.S. Monterey, they took it hard and I felt sorry I had to leave them. At the last minute twelve of us girls were to be transferred to the U.S.S. Mariposa, but our luggage was still bound for the U.S.S Monterey. I was frantic, as I would have nothing to wear for the rest of the trip, other than the clothes I had on. I refused to board ship until my luggage, containing all my worldly possessions, arrived. I was the last one to get on board.

The Mariposa docked at the Melbourne Wharf

One girl actually got off the ship with her baby, explaining that she had changed her mind and could not leave her family. As we sailed out of Brisbane the dockworkers were yelling, "You'll be sorry," and I think at that time most of us were. Certainly, we were all facing an uncertain and unpredictable future. Many girls were crying. Having lost my parents at an early age, and due to circumstances beyond my control, having been shifted around a lot, it probably wasn't as hard for me as for the others.

I was very fortunate to have gotten a cabin on the top deck of the ship, which I shared with only one other girl. The lower decks in the liberty ships had no portholes, and there were ten or twelve girls in each cabin. My cabin mate was very nice, and we became close friends. Many girls were seasick throughout the voyage. My stomach felt queasy, but I was able to retain what I ate. The steward, who attended our cabin, realized the food was foreign to us, and kept fruit in our cabin constantly. It certainly helped, but I still lost fifteen pounds on the trip. Others lost much more.

Our first port of call was Suva in the Fiji Islands, and we were so happy to set foot on land, even if it was only for a day. We found a milk bar that sold ice cream and milk shakes. We'd only been served powdered milk on board ship, which we could not tolerate, so we gorged ourselves on these familiar items. We were permitted to wander anywhere we chose; the natives were very friendly, and seemed pleased to have us there. The following day as we sailed from the harbor, many of the natives stood on the dock and sang, "Now is the Hour" (also known as the Maori's Farewell) to us. It was a song we often sang in Australia, so it was very touching, and many of us were in tears.

Our next port of call was Honolulu, but we were not allowed off the docks. However, the native Hawaiians put on a fabulous show for us, and great food was available. We were there for just one day, and again it was good to be on solid ground. Next we sailed into San Francisco harbor. We were elated to have reached the United States. When we disembarked, one girl with a baby had a telegram waiting for her, which said she was not wanted, and to return home. I have wondered many times what happened to her.

We were then taken to Oakland, and put on different trains, depending on what our final destination was to be. The Red Cross took care of all our arrangements as we traveled across the country. The war brides were dropped off at their individual stations, and the train was not supposed to leave until the girl had been united with her husband or his family. I do remember one girl was not met by anyone, and the last we saw of her; she was sitting on her luggage, all alone.

The Arrival

It took three days for me to reach my destination, which was Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Bob and his older brother, Harold, met me at the train station. It was the first time I had seen Bob in civilian clothes. We arrived in a small mining community called Uniontown, about fifty miles south of Pittsburgh. For a short period of time, we lived there with Bob's mother, and were then able to move into our own apartment. Bob's mother surprised us by giving us the money that Bob had deducted from his military pay for her benefit. She had saved it for him, and we were able to buy a car from Harold, who was in the automobile business.

At the time, Harold and his wife, Ruth, had one child, Rhoda, but later had two boys, Gary and David. His sister, Hazel and husband Leslie, had two boys, Kippy and Jerry. I found a soul mate in Hazel (DeDe as she liked to be called.) She taught me all I needed to know about taking care of a home and family. She was a great cook and taught me how to cook American style, and found a willing and eager student in me. Many of the dishes she taught me were absolutely foreign to me.

Life in America

In those early years, Uniontown was a prosperous and bustling town because of all the coalmines and related industries. On Friday and Saturday evenings the streets were so crowded you could hardly find a place to walk. The miners came to town to do their shopping, and meet and converse with fellow miners and friends. We spent our evenings with Hazel and Leslie, playing cards or board games. On Saturday evenings we all piled into Les's Plymouth coupe with the boys and Tippy, their little English bulldog, and with him behind the seat and me on Bob's knee, we'd all go into town. I came from a small suburb of Melbourne, and was not used to meeting strangers. I was extremely shy, but over time I gained more confidence and felt at ease with people. Our family helped, in that they always made me feel at home and wanted.

Our daughter, Wendy Lynne, was born on February 2nd, 1947. Our son, Robert Edward, was born on June 4th, 1949. Those were happy times for all of us as a family. Bob's position as bread route salesman was secure and our evenings were always spent in the company of family members. Often we bought strawberries, and DeDe baked shortbread, and had ice cream or watermelon -- anything to share a weekly treat with each other. Before we visited Hazel and Les, I fed the children, cautioning them not to ask for something to eat once we got there. But, without fail, they'd wait for all of two seconds, then make a run for the kitchen cupboards where they knew the cereal was kept. DeDe always gave them a treat bag to take home too.

When Bob mustered out of the regular Marine Corps, he enlisted in the inactive reserves, in 1945. In 1950, when the Korean War began, he was immediately called back to active service. When he reported to Camp Lejuene, New River, North Carolina, they gave him a physical, and since they had his record from World War II, they told him to go back home, and gave him a medical discharge from the reserves. He then resumed his employment with the baking company.

A couple of the war brides I knew in the Uniontown area were not as fortunate as I had been. The families they joined were ethnic, with traditions and speech that in many ways excluded people who were not of their origin. One girl, after months of trying to be accepted, finally left her husband and filed for divorce. Her husband was very upset about it, and sat on our front porch waiting for Bob to come home from work, so that he'd have someone to talk to. One day, Bob was on his bread route and discovered another war bride that he knew, dragging a suitcase along the highway. She was pregnant with her first child, and related that most of the time her husband's family spoke in a foreign language, which meant she could not converse with them. She said she couldn't bear it any more. Bob got in touch with her husband and advised him to get another place to live, even if it was just one room. He took the advice, after which everything worked out just fine. His family even began to accept her after that.

Our years in Uniontown were good, and although we didn't have a lot, we felt secure and happy. I went through some periods of depression as one by one I lost my brothers and my sister at early ages. Ted passed away in 1947; Bob and Mae in the fifties, Jack in 1967, and Frank in 1973. In 1953 Pop Jenkins passed away, and I wrote to Mom Jenkins, telling her we would finance her trip to the States if she would care to come and live with us. Since there were no Government subsidies for the elderly in Australia at that time, and she had no savings or income, she was totally destitute. Not long after, I was informed by a friend that she had just walked into the Maribyrnong River that ran through the park near her home, and ended her life.

Thankfully, I had met another war bride living in Uniontown. Her name was Jan Sussano, and she was a very common sense, down to earth person. Every week I'd bundle the children into the pram and wheel them across town to visit Jan. with her help, and that of my family, I got through those low times. Jan and I talked a lot about Australia -- about how it was originally a penal colony of England and populated by convicts. Few people settled in the Outback. Most settled along the coastal areas. Jan and I had lived basically in the same area -- an area where the summers were extremely hot, and the winters rainy and cold. Most people had a fireplace in their homes. They cooked on a wood burning stove, and had no refrigerators or ways of keeping cool. But -- sanity prevailed, and we decided we had the best of both worlds.

In Uniontown, Bob and I had no means of amusement at home, so one day Bob brought home a record player, a stereo I think, and some records. The very first night we were so proud of it, and made room for it in our living room. We visited Hazel and Les for a while, and when we returned home our stereo was gone. We were shocked, and could not believe it had been stolen; in those days you never even thought of locking your doors. It turned out that Bob's brother, Harold, had stopped by, and as a joke, moved the stereo to the basement landing. We found it the next morning. Needless to say, Harold was on the short list for a few weeks.

As a dancer, Bob would have made a great outside linebacker, but we used to turn on the stereo and dance around the living room. Wendy and Bobby sat, wide-eyed, on the couch, wondering what in the world was going on. We managed to buy our first newly built home in a suburb of Uniontown; we loved the house and the neighborhood. Wendy started school there, and it was quite a walk for her. In winter she got snow in her boots, sometimes on purpose I suspect, and came back home crying. I would then have to mollify her and walk her to school. Wendy was always a good child, well mannered and happy, and was the apple of her Nanny Null's eye.

The Family Years

A little girl named Claudia lived next door to us, and our children played with her all the time. They were great companions. Their mother, Grace Baird, and I were good friends as well. One day I heard a terrible screeching, and saw Bobby swinging something around in the Baird's back yard; I called him home. After a conversation with Grace, I told him that a little bird had just flown over our house and told me that a little boy had been in the alley, swinging a cat by its tail. Bobby thought for a minute, and then asked if the bird told me the little boy was named Bobby Null.

Mr. Baird grew lovely roses in their front yard, and Bobby went through a stage of pulling the petals off them. One day Mr. Baird told Bobby that if he ever caught the person who was pulling the petals off his roses, he was going to cut his ears off. He was holding a pair of scissors in his hand at the time. Bobby promptly said, "It wasn't me." It was his last trip to the house next door while Mr. Baird was home.

The baking company Bob worked for decided to base their routes out of Pittsburgh rather than Uniontown. Since we didn't want to move, Bob left his job with the company. He thought he would like to try his hand at door-to-door selling, which was something you could do in those days. After a little training from a friend, he began selling vacuum cleaners. He did very well -- so well that he was offered a position to start up and manage a branch office in the Greensburg area, about thirty miles from Uniontown. The children and I moved to Greensburg for a time, but did not care for the area at all.

Due to a slowing down of the mining industry, jobs were not plentiful, so Bob went to Cleveland, Ohio, and acquired a position as a guard in the security department of ALCOA, a large aluminum plant there. We could not find a place to rent that would accept small children, so we purchased a house trailer, parked in one of the Cleveland suburbs. Wendy and Bobby attended a school in a town called Bedford. During the five years we stayed there, we were happy. I got a job working for a company that made parts for washers and dryers. It was cozy, and we enjoyed our stay there.

Previously, Bob had spent some time at a Marine base called Camp Elliot in the San Diego area of California. He had liked the climate and area, so we decided to take a trip there and maybe start a new life. As soon as we saved enough money for the trip, and purchased a new automobile, we hitched our house trailer to the car, Bob quit his job at ALCOA, and we headed west.

California Detour

Bob drove both night and day, stopping for rest only. I remember that as we were traveling through Oklahoma we had a flat tire on the trailer in the dead of night. Bob flagged down the driver of a semi who took him back to the nearest town. Wendy, Bobby and I stayed with the car and trailer, and at daybreak Bob came back with a man he had met. They removed the tire, but the rim, which was an unusual type, was bent. They took the children and me to a restaurant in town, the owners of which insisted we stay there until the right tire rim could be found. It took all day, and during that time the people fed us, and the man who had missed his work and spent the day helping Bob, wouldn't accept any money for their kindness, only our thanks. Many other people on that journey were friendly and nice to us as well.

Upon arriving in California we went to EI Cajon, a suburb of San Diego. I had a friend there I had met on the boat coming over; her name was Val Williams. We parked at a trailer park not far from her home. Bob went to a missile base on a mountaintop above San Diego to apply for a job on their security force. He was told they would hire him just as soon as they had an opening. While he waited, he took a temporary position with a milk company, delivering milk door to door.

Meantime, Bob's mother and sister who were in California, visiting his mother's sister, let us know when they would be returning to Pennsylvania. We took the children and met them at the Los Angeles airport. Wendy and Bobby stood watching until the plane they were traveling on was completely out of sight. I knew then that we wouldn't be in California for very long.

In fact, on the way back to San Diego, Bob asked if I was happy in California. I replied that I was happy as long as our family could be together. He must have taken that to mean no, because within the next couple of days we sold our trailer, lock, stock and barrel, to a young couple. We then loaded our clothing into the car and headed east.

Home Again

The children rode all the way across country on top of the clothes we had piled into the back seat. They behaved well, and I was so proud of them. Of course, they were homesick too. I cautioned Bob all the way to call ahead and let the family know we were coming back, but he waited until we were about fifteen minutes from DeDe's house before he did that. He asked if they'd mind if we came back east and stayed with them until we got settled. Of course she said yes, but was amazed when we showed up on her doorstep, fifteen minutes later. She thought we'd called from out west, but was glad to see us anyway.

When Bob called his superior officer at ALCOA to see if they had a place for him on the force, they told him his position was still open. One of Bob's friends at ALCOA offered his home to us until we got situated. We stayed there a short time, then rented a place across the street. A few months later Bob was laid off, due to a reduction in the company's security force. During the next several years, he worked part time and full time with Pinkerton Detective agency, Burns detective agency, and DOW chemical company. I had a job with American Greeting Card company. Shortly after, I gave birth to our third child, Jeffrey Francis. I continued working for American Greeting for nine years; I liked working there, and enjoyed my co-workers.

In 1966, Bob decided he would like to go into business for himself, so with help from Nanny (Bob's mother), we purchased a used truck. Bob started soliciting the building contractors in the area to haul away their trash and left over materials. Then he did pick-up and deliveries for upholsterers in Cleveland. He also made deliveries for furniture stores, and by that time we had acquired three more trucks, operating full time. Bob asked if I would answer the phones and oversee the office, so I left my job and worked full time for the business until I retired in 1985.

Bobby was in high school at that time and helped his father after school, sometimes until midnight. Wendy was working at an electrical fabricating company, and became fast friends with a girl named Marge Kellerman. They decided they'd like to take a trip through Europe, the Middle East, and Melbourne, Australia, to visit my sister-in-law, Nell Black. They made the trip, and liked Australia so much they got jobs and stayed for some time. During that time, Wendy was communicating with a young man, Michael DiGirolamo, whom she had been dating before she left the States. After six months away, Wendy came back but Marge stayed on with Nell for two years. Soon after Wendy returned, she and Michael were married. That was in 1969.

We rented a flat over a cleaning establishment, and from our living room there, conducted our business. Jeffrey attended grade school, and Bobby finished all but one year of high school before leaving to help his father in the moving business. Not long after, he met a girl, Kathleen Clark, and in 1969 they were married. Their first child, Cassandra Joan, was born the following year, and a son, Robert Edward, five years later.

Bob solicited all the management companies that controlled and handled about seventy-five percent of the large apartment complexes in the Cleveland area, to move their rental agents, superintendents and maintenance personnel whenever it became necessary. That resulted in the rental personnel in those buildings recommending our company, West Side Movers, to the people moving into and out of their buildings. We were operating nine straight vans on a daily basis to handle the volume.

The fact that many of the families were moving out of our area, and we were handing that business to other firms, made Bobby think that we should be getting into the long distance end of the business. He contacted a nationwide carrier called American Red Ball: one of the owners came to Cleveland and spent several weeks indoctrinating us to all the paper work, estimating practices, and promotion of our company. Immediately, we bought three tractor and trailer units for the road work. We also hired a lady who had worked for many years with a long distance moving company, and was therefore familiar with the paper work and forms, and could also co-ordinate and dispatch units.

Our business, by that time, had outgrown our small apartment, and due to the fact that short and long term storage for our customers convenience was necessary, Bobby negotiated the purchase of a warehouse and offices on the near west side of Cleveland. After several years, St Ignatius School, next door to us, wanted to expand, so we were able to sell the property to them. We had outgrown the facility, and were pleased to sell at that time.

We then bought property in Middleburg Heights, Ohio, and constructed a thirty five thousand square foot warehouse with adjoining offices. From America Red Ball our business forced us through Atlas Van Line, Bekins Van Lines to Allied Van Lines, and the largest household goods carrier in the world. Bob had turned the operation of the business over to Bobby, who had been selected to join the management teams of the last three carriers that we represented. We were not only involved in domestic and international moving of household goods, but also in pick-up, storage, and delivery of products and electronic equipment for our commercial accounts such as AT&T, Ford Motor Company, Standard Oil, Kodak, Sears, IBM, just to name a few.

A Family Loss

In 1985 Bobby became ill. His doctor did an exploratory operation and found cancer in the lower abdomen. He had chemotherapy treatment, and subsequent operations, all of which took a terrible toll on him. It also took a toll on the family and the employees in the business. Bobby's immediate family seemed to be very bitter, and evidently couldn't or wouldn't face the finality or reality of the situation. Bobby felt so uncomfortable at home he asked Wendy and Michael if he could stay with them. They were glad to have him, and took care of him until near the end when he finally had to go back to the hospital. Bobby passed away in 1987, and only someone who has lost a beloved son or brother will know the devastation our family endured.

Bobby's wife, Kathy, seemed to think (she convinced her children also) that we had kept him away from them. Her feelings resulted in our never seeing her or our grandchildren again. We took comfort in knowing that Bobby was a wonderful son, a person who was always thoughtful and caring of other people, and was loved by those who worked with him. Jeffrey, who always had special ties to Bobby, took the passing of his brother very hard.

After the loss of our dearly loved son, Bob lost interest in trying to acquaint himself with the intricacies of operating a company with which he was not familiar. As a consequence he asked our vice President of Finance to manage it for us. Unfortunately, purposely or otherwise, the business was mismanaged, and finally we separated him from the company. Still, after that, it seemed nothing we did, worked.

Michael and Wendy left the offices of their business, retail card and gift stores, and moved into our offices. Eventually, Michael was able to negotiate the sale of the business and attend to the closing out of our interests. Without their oversight in the matter, our lives today would be very different.

Recently

We had often come to Florida to spend a short holiday in the Tampa area with Bob's brother, Harold, and his wife, Ruth. We enjoyed it very much, so when our doctor advised us to leave Cleveland if possible, our first thought was to head south to Florida. Our doctor advocated us leaving the Cleveland area due to the damage that the stress and anxiety had done to our health and nerves.

We now live in a lovely adult community in Central Florida, which we love. We do miss being near our children and grandchildren, but they travel south to visit us, and so far we've been able to visit them occasionally. Wendy and Michael have Lauren who is ten. Jeff and Kathy have Joseph, five, and Kristi, who is two. We always spend Christmas with them in Cleveland. I will always think of our grandchildren, Cassie and Bobby, Jr.; because they are Bobby's children they will always have a place in my heart.

We enjoy a very good life in Florida; we live in a nice community and have many good friends, both inside and outside our neighborhood. Many of Bob's friends are musicians. We enjoy playing music with them, and are kept very busy. The weather is lovely; most of our friends are retired, so it's a relaxed atmosphere.

Four years after we came to live here, another war bride friend, Ruth Cotich, whose husband, Pete, was also an ex-Marine, retired to our area. Unfortunately, seven months after they came here, Pete died, but Ruth and I visit regularly. When we get together we talk of our growing up years in Australia, how we met at the American Wives Club in Melbourne, and the fact that our friendship has endured all these years.

Going Back to Australia

In the year 2001, Wendy, Michael, and Lauren invited me to go for a three-week visit to Australia with them. It was one of the highlights of my life, and what a wonderful time we had! My family, at the behest of my nephew, Warren Swan, held a reunion for me in Ballarat where I first met Bob. Even though my brothers and sister are gone, Warren and Billy Swan and their children were there, plus other relatives. My dear friends, Alan and Joyce Smart, presented me with a photo album they had made especially for me. It contained all the pictures of my family I had sent them over a period of fifty plus years. What a wonderful gift!

We traveled and saw many wonderful sights on the east coast of Australia, as well as Alice Springs, Ayer's Rock, and the city of Sydney with its beautiful opera house. I even rode a camel, but the best part was spending three weeks in the land where I was born with members of my family. Probably I was seeing them for the last time.

Epilogue

Growing up in Australia is a very large part of my memories. In school there I learned a poem, the last lines of which I will always remember. They are: "Wherever I may die, I know to which brown country my homing thoughts will fly..."

The United States is my home now, and I've loved the life I have led here, and am now living. I am proud of my family, and proud that I made that long journey of twelve thousand miles, years ago.

My hope in writing this memoir is that I have given my grandchildren a peek into my past -- a time when there were no refrigerators, television, air conditioning, computers, advanced electronics, shopping malls, microwaves, stereos, and far fewer automobiles or telephones. I hope, too, that I have given my children and grandchildren some inkling of why I love them so much. In conclusion: God has been good to this brash Aussie war bride.

THE END.

A recent photo of Jean, Bob, and grandchildren