Island Bay in the Thirties

In keeping with the tradition of the day, seeing the New Year in attracted crowds to Post Office Square in Grey Street and, as the big Town Clock high on the façade of the Main Post Office struck twelve, people would break into cheers, hug each other and sing "Auld Lang Syne'. 

Ships berthed in the harbour would hoot, whistles would blow, and everyone made as much noise as possible. Some of the young flappers and chaps of the 'twenties' era may have chanted and danced the Charleston as someone in the crowd produced a musical instrument, and probably did a bit of a jig to one of the popular tunes of the day. The hotels would have closed their doors as usual at 6pm and, as there were no cafes or nightclubs compared with what is on offer today, and because the trams stopped running around 11 pm, the young revellers would go off in groups for the long walk home making a lot of good-natured noise as they went wishing everyone within hearing distance a 'happy new year'. First footing' was practiced among friends, and traditionally the first visitor in your home at that early hour would be very welcome, especially if he or she was of a dark complexion which was considered good luck. It was also traditional for the 'first footer' to bring a small gift for the hosts as a gesture of goodwill. 

There were many jazzy tunes such as one of the favourites "Sunny Side of the Street" made popular by Paul Whiteman and His Orchestra to be heard over the wireless (very few families had a wireless) or played on the old wind-up gramophones, a jazzy song which tumbled from the end of the "twenties into the 'thirties. Most homes had a gramophone usually kept in the 'front room'. These were wind-up machines. In our home it seemed to be quite big only because it was fitted on to a cabinet which held the record albums. As children we were 'entertained' on special occasions by my father putting on various records which we loved, such as The Laughing Policeman' 

As we grew we were permitted to select and play records of our own choice. We discovered that if no one had replenished the supply of gramophone needles a thorn from a certain rose bush would do the trick for a while. 

If a family was fortunate enough to own a wireless, the children could listen to the Children's Session with Aunt Molly on 2YA. 

You may also have had your name read out if it was your birthday. 

What an exciting mystery. How did she know? She may also have told you the big secret - where your present could be found. There was no library in the Bay so gifts of books were very welcome. 

You didn't need to be particularly musical to own a piano and enjoy a 'sing-song' with a group of friends. The piano was considered to be an important piece of furniture for many families and indeed brought a lot of pleasure, especially when birthdays were celebrated. 

Looking back, family life seemed simpler. Few owned a car so the local beaches were very popular during the summer months with small and not so small boys fishing from the rocks. Both girls and boys hunted for cockabullies in the rock pools, some taking their ‘finds' home in a jar to be admired later, but alas, for only a day or two. Sand castles were built by young enthusiasts only to be washed away as the tide crept up the beach. Children's footprints in the wet sand flooded and disappeared with the incoming tide, just as 100 years before, children of the Māori women tending their kūmara patch a little way up from the beach would have played happily at the water's edge, their imprints also taken by the tide. 

If a family or group of friends wanted a good place on the beach or in the middle of a sand hill for a picnic, especially out of the path of the wind, they would need to get down early to make a claim. 

You could leave your towel and other belongings on the beach while swimming, although valuable tram and ice cream pennies could be left safely with the beach caretaker and claimed later. He was a good man keeping the beach tidy and he didn't stand any nonsense. The water was always cold except when there was a bit of a southerly wind which coaxed a warmer current in from the strait, but alas, also brought in jelly fish. Some didn't mind, though it was a bit creepy swimming among them. The old rumour about the "big octopus' living under the pier certainly kept the children where they could be seen by a watchful eye from the beach, and also prevented them from being too adventurous and investigating the dark depths under the structure. The surf lifesavers practicing their skills were very impressive. Young men marching around, their tanned bodies so fit and able, attracted quite a lot of admirers. 

The beaches were always popular. On warm summer evenings many families and friends strolled down to the Bay to watch the sunset or the fishermen 'haul in' their nets on west beach collecting bait for their next day's work. A brisk walk to either Princess Bay or around to Ōwhiro Bay was very welcome exercise on any Sunday afternoon during the cooler months of the year. 

There was Shorland Park picnic and play area too, which had been opened in 1927. It had begun modestly with swings and a big and small chute, but was closed on Sundays. However, despite some objections from a few of the nearer neighbours who considered the children playing were too noisy for Sundays, the City Fathers permitted the park to be opened from 1.30 to 4p.m. on Sunday afternoons. Shops were closed on Saturday afternoons and all day Sunday apart from dairies selling the essentials such as milk and cream. Some grocer shops who had a license to sell milk at weekends, had by law, to screen off the grocery section of the area during trading hours which was quite an effort. Inspectors sometimes came around checking. 

As with many families, we kept poultry so were blessed with a good supply of fresh eggs. When there was an abundance the surplus would be preserved with a liquid mix of water and "isinglass' in a kerosene tin, and used for baking during the winter months. Meal routines were quite similar in each household, with Creamoata or Weetbix for breakfast, or maybe bread and milk sprinkled of course with sugar! Our milk was delivered each morning by Mr Knight, a milkman from Happy Valley, and left in the billy on the back doorstep. Lunches would be cut for any person going out to work, but school children, unless living too far from the school, always returned home for the midday break. On Sundays there was the roast beef, roast potatoes and other veggies always at midday, with rice custard or apple sponge for "pudding'. Cream was a treat on Sundays. This was purchased from the local dairy and could be bought in any quantity we wished, unlike today. The evening meal would be jelly with fruit salad, bread, butter, jam and a cup of tea or cocoa. Some families only allowed a choice of either butter or jam on bread, but not both. The best china was brought out for this meal, and the best white table cloth used on Sundays. There was a small fruit shop on The Parade, about where the Video Shop currently is, that would sell very ripe "salad bananas for about 6d a large bag. 

The remains of the roast would be kept for Monday's evening meal as the busy mother, after a day spent boiling the household linen in the copper, hand-washing clothes in the tub and using the wringer, would not be inclined to set about cooking another large meal. 

Many households had a mangle, a large heavy contraption for pressing the dry sheets, tea towels etc. saving a lot of ironing. Also in many homes there would be an overhead wooden rack, usually in the kitchen, which was raised and lowered by a pulley, where clothes would be spread to 'air". The old coal range which generated a great deal of warmth was still to be seen in many houses. 

Home made pickles, chutneys, jams and bottled fruit were the pride of the housewife. Autumn was a busy time when the harvest was thus preserved for family use for the next twelve months. It was also a busy time for Barnao's Fruit, Vegetable nd Grocery Store at the terminus which stocked a large variety of fruit. Not an common sight would be a family strolling home along The Parade with Dad carrying a 20lb se of fruit on his shoulder.

I can remember three bakeries the Bay: Cresswells on the corner of Tamar Street and The Parade, Kelly's on The Parade, probably 139, and Gestro's, on the western side of The Parade, two or three doors before Humber Street. The smell of freshly baked bread seemed to fill the early morning air, teasing the gastric juices and whetting the appetite. Nothing quite like it these days. Both Kelly's Bakery and Gestro's also sold a selection of cakes. 

Sundays were special - it was a day of rest in the best tradition. 

Churches enjoyed large congregations, and generally it was accepted that only essential work would be undertaken. 

People worked hard. There was no such thing as a 40-hour week, so - a day of quiet please, no lawn mowers or hammering. Sunday afternoon rests were a routine in many households - a family day - a day for renewing your strength. And later, weather permitting, that walk to the beach. 

And talking of quiet! There were not so many homes in the Bay compared with today, and so there were fewer people. The traffic was minimal. Homes enjoyed electricity for lighting, but there were no washing machines or any other noisy electrical appliances, so, when the wind was still and the weather fine, we could just hear the roar of the lions and tigers at the zoo as they were being fed at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. 

Games played by the children included hop scotch and 'rounders', while the very young made 'mud pies' in the back yard. Skipping was very popular, as were the indoor games such as 'draughts', ‘snakes and ladders' and 'cards'. The maxim drilled into the young was – ‘the devil has work for idle hands', and so we were always kept busy. During the winter months we knitted tea cosies, hot water bottle covers and other small items as we sat around the open fire. Springtime saw many scrambling over the hills collecting fresh mushrooms. Tennis and table tennis clubs and scouting groups kept the young occupied, while others often organized a 'hike' around the coast to Red Rocks' at any given time in the milder months. Going to the pictures at the Empire Theatre on Saturday alternoons was a sixpenny treat which parents could only afford occasionally. However, any young lads less fortunate were often "let in' through the gents' toilet door by their luckier friends. Sometimes, but not often, they got caught and sent on their way! 

The "Depression', although losing its grip as the thirties rolled on, was still making life very hard for many families and individuals but their misery was alleviated to some extent by the various organisations set up to help those in need. It was not unusual to see bare-foot children on their way to school although sandshoes were worn by many. Leather shoes, if you were lucky enough to possess a pair, were mainly kept for special occasions. Some adults would find it necessary to line their shoes with card or newspaper when the soles wore thin as they could not afford the cost of repair. 

Although the Dental Clinic was available to all children, teeth were not cared for then as they are today. The suffering of constant toothache and gumboils, thank goodness, is a thing of the past. 

The late thirties saw the dark clouds of war and suffering gathering once again over Europe which would involve our country, our families, and so many of our young people These events were to inspire the writing of a song by a young Māori lad - Ruru Karaitiana of the Māori Battallion. He explains - "We were on the troopship Aquitania in 1940 off the coast of Africa when a friend drew my attention to some passing smoke. He put the song in my lap." The song of course is "Blue Smoke".

"Blue smoke goes drifting by into the deep blue sky;

And when I think of home I sadly sigh. 

Oh I can see you there with loving tears in your eyes 

As we fondly said our last goodbyes. 

And as I sailed away with a longing to stay I promised I'd be true and to love only you. 

Blue smoke goes drifting by into the deep blue sky, 

My memories of home will never die."