Before we arrived in Australia, June and my mother had plans for their lives in the new country. A job would be inevitable, and here was a chance to make a fresh start. Seeing the move as an opportunity for a fresh start in life, they had decided that secretarial work would be the best choice. They were going to study, and become proficient in shorthand and typing, and this would be their pathway into an office job and allow them leave factory process work behind. They both bought typewriters on which to practise their exercises, and they had enrolled in a course of Pitman’s shorthand. They found the typing difficult, the shorthand near impossible to understand, and before long, both of them had dropped out of the course, effectively funnelling them back into process work. For my mother, it was the FruVeg factory at Newton which she hated because of the heat and the damage done to her hands. She subsequently took a job in a small engineering factory in Stepney that was noisy, oily and dirty, and finally she began a process job at the Philips factory at Hendon which was relatively clean work but the supervisors were tyrannical imposing a slave-master relationship. Philips had a reputation of having poor working conditions. June worked in Philips too.
I suspect Joe was instrumental in getting both his sisters started in Philips. Following his departure from Radio Rentals he had taken a job at Philips himself, and with his position as leading hand, he may have had some influence in getting them work. My father worked at GMH until he retired, and the four of them travelled to work together in Joe’s old Oldsmobile. The GMH plant at Woodville was on the way to Philips, and my father was dropped off out the front of the plant. Which, as you might imagine, was very convenient.
You’d think the time spent on the journey to work would have incorporated the ingredients for some conversational chumminess, along the way. After all, the trip involved a drive from one side of the Adelaide suburbs to the other, but I didn’t notice much of it in my experience. I didn’t travel with them often, but would occasionally get a lift when I was going to trade school, which was also on the way through to Hendon, and on those occasions I experienced a fairly cheerless journey on those half-hour, or more, drives. Maybe the people in the car were just tired, and not in the mood to talk.
There used to be some archaic road rules facing motorists in Australia. This problem would have been exacerbated by the number of migrant road users entering Australia in those days, no doubt, bringing with them from their respective countries their own interpretation of road craft, or lack of it. Add to this, the problems of peak hour traffic, and the task of negotiating non traffic light controlled intersections, it was not surprising that increased levels of road-rage became evident. My uncle’s driving style of negotiating these intersections on the trip to and from work had been described by my mother as one of “barging through” them. The old black Oldsmobile was a big car, and its size may have been intimidating to other road users. Joe had always been concerned with the fuel economy of his vehicles, and in an effort to save petrol, would shift the gearbox into neutral at every opportunity. On downhill slopes and when approaching red traffic lights, the heavy lumbering car would be thrown into neutral, and the inertia of this monster car would continue to propel it forward. He cursed slower drivers who pulled in front of him or otherwise got in his way, causing him to apply his brakes unnecessarily. Joe wasn’t a bad or dangerous driver by any means, although, I suspect road safety advisors would frown upon this approach irrespective of the claims of fuel economy. The sombreness of his passengers, on these journeys, may have been to allow him to concentrate more fully on the road. Or, it may have been their strategy to ensure his aggression was directed outside at other road users than risk bringing it inside.
Philips Industries was far from a model company in terms of staff relations. In the days my mother and June worked at Philips, little value was placed on the welfare of its staff. June’s job was associated with the manufacture of small electronic components which were included in the assembly of their electronic range of products. This is what she had to say about staff supervision at Philips:
“I found it a very strict firm. I was making capacitors, working on a soldering machine, soldering the two ends together. We had a very strict boss. He used to give us lectures. He said that there are only two kinds of workers: good and bad. And the bad ones he gets rid of. If you don't make the grade (you must make a bonus) you were no good. You had to make a bonus above your total output.
“The charge complained about me because I was doing my job quicker. I wasn't doing it in the traditional way. I was doing it in my own way because it was faster. And I was making more bonus because I was going against her rules. And she complained, and I was taken into the office. It was a terrible thing to be taken into the office. Everybody looked up and asked, 'oh, what has she done?' They said, in the office, that I was here to work and not to think. But I noticed a month or two later she gradually went onto my system.
“It was a non union place. Half of them were in the union and half of them weren't. They were very good at giving instant dismissals. But they always watched who they gave instant dismissal to: non union ones, because the union members would complain to their union. They gave a man instant dismissal for cheating on his bonus, and they got a woman to do his job. They were dipping some capacitors into acid, and you had to bend down. It was heavy work to pull up, because they were all in trays. It was a man's job. So, this woman refused, so she got instant dismissal, but they had picked a non union one because she refused to do a man’s job. And then they got another woman and she refused too, and got instant dismissal. And they got another woman, but she was a charge hand. They got her to do it while she did her other work, and she got a sore back through it. She had to get a special corset. She didn't claim compensation. She didn't want to loose her job.
“Jobs were scarce for women. They were all terrified of their jobs. In fact, I was terrified because I wasn't in the union and in case they would pick me for it. They watched the workers like a hawk. They timed you if you went to the toilet. One girl spent 15 minutes in the toilet one day, and the next day she spent another 15 minutes, so they gave her instant dismissal. In fact most people didn't go to the toilet during the day, because they couldn't afford the time. They waited until their morning break, because their bonus would go down. In fact, some of them used to start before their time, getting all their work prepared so they wouldn't waste time, and start work and weren’t getting paid for it so that they could make their bonus, and were terrified of getting the sack.”
The workers, mostly women, were constantly being pressed to maintain a high output, and were constantly in fear of being sacked. Workers had not only to produce a specific number of items each day, but a number in excess of their daily quota. My mother worked on the assembly of transistor radios. Her job was to place the various components onto the printed circuit board, prior to soldering.
“I remember a new model came in, and they put me and another woman to learn this new model. It was very hot that day, and because we were not learning it fast enough the foreman told the supervisor to tell us to hurry up. And I was horrified, because of instead of getting sympathy in this terrible heat we were told to hurry up. It was the last straw. I just felt like walking out. I felt that I didn't want any more to do with them. The supervisor was a bitch. She had no sympathy for the girls. True, the foreman was on her back to get more out of her, but she didn't tell us in a nice way. You wouldn't mind being told that the boss said I've got to pass the message that you've got to hurry up. But she just demanded, 'Right come on, Hurry up! Get a move on!' It gets up your back. It was just too much; it was just too much pressure. Work wasn't... not enjoyable... I mean, there were too many complaints amongst the women, too much pressure put on you that the work just… I wouldn't say slavery, but it was, because you had to work, and if you didn't want to work, if you didn't do your quota you were out the door, and someone else was in your shoes. There were always women waiting to take your place. They expected a lot and they got a lot, because women were terrified of loosing their job.”
One of the outlets for the resentment workers felt toward this style of management precipitated in petty theft. There may have been other forms of payback, but for my mother, working in an electronics factory, and having a son whose hobby was electronics, the decision to pinch a few items wasn’t difficult. There were security guards at the factory gate. They kept a close eye on the workers as they left for the day, and they conducted spot checks of workers leaving the factory at the end of each shift, but small items can be located in places the guards will be unable to search. And so, a regular supply of capacitors, resistors, potentiometers, and small hand tools were brought home to help with John’s hobby.
Her most ambitious project was the removal of the various components necessary to assemble a complete transistor radio. This included all the small internal components, the circuit board on which they were assembled, wiring, knobs, aerial, speaker, and the exterior case. She successfully smuggled from the factory, every component required to construct a complete radio. She didn’t have access to every component necessary to construct a radio, but her workmates were happy to pass on what she needed to complete her shopping list. The smaller components were easy to get out, as they always had been, but the printed circuit board and the exterior radio case were physically large, and concealing them presented a problem. They couldn’t easily be hidden on her person. She left them until last. And so, piece by piece, over many weeks, she built up a stockpile of components. Then the day arrived when all that was remaining to complete the kit was the casing and other large components. She knew that if she were caught with them in her possession she would be sacked.
At the right moment, when her supervisor wasn’t looking, she took the case and other stuff from its hiding place, wrapped everything in a cloth, and tucked the package carefully at the bottom of her bag. The nervous tension must have been high as she clocked off at the end of her shift, and made her way to the factory gate. She knew that any one of the workers might be singled out at random by the security guards and searched. Perhaps the guards singled out workers who looked nervous. Perhaps they only stopped those who looked unusually pale or fidgety. It may have been best to chat with someone on the way out, or laugh and cavort with workmates as you go. But laughter might attract their attention. If her bag was searched the stuff was sure to be found. And then it would be over. All it took was a few seconds of nervous tension, and she was out the gate, and had got away with it.
I think the radio may have been a Christmas gift. John was delighted with his kit, and successfully assembled it into a working radio. When home finances are tight necessitating both partners to become wage earners and when overtime is welcomed to help save for financial goals or simply to make ends meet, the rationale for such a dicey project has to be questioned. Was it worth loosing your job for a gift? She obviously thought the risk to be justified. The benefit to be gained in pleasing her son took precedence over the risk of loss of income and possible court action had she been discovered.
When the Philips Hendon plant closed, my father found his way to work on his own, my mother didn’t bother looking for alternate employment, and was content to stay at home, but June was out of a job, and needed one. She eventually got work at the Hillcrest Hospital at Northfield, and later at Minda Home at Brighton. She did some on the job training and study, which qualified her in mental health nursing, and she worked as a nurse at Minda until she retired.
It was while June was working at Minda that she came in contact with Bev, one of the residents, who subsequently became a pseudo-member of June’s ‘extended’ family. This somewhat unusual situation was a direct result of de-institutionalisation. The management of institutions who made these decisions have much to answer for. The residents that were considered capable of caring for themselves were expelled from the home. It was a cost cutting exercise. Certainly, social workers were employed to look in on them, in their new life on the outside, but by and large, these people were left to fend for themselves. It’s curious that these residents were living in the home because they had been considered incapable of looking after themselves, and then by a stroke of a pen, or some callous tick of a box on a form, were dumped and left to fend for themselves. I expect the reduction in the number of people living in institutional homes was matched by a corresponding increase in the numbers finding their way into the prison system or simply left homeless. Unfortunately, this callousness has become widespread.
June was sympathetic to Bev’s situation. She had no known relatives, had lived in Minda all of her life, and was now about to be dumped. June approached my mother, explaining Bev’s plight, and asked if my mother would ‘adopt her’. And so, my mother became a pseudo-aunt to Bev; an arrangement which provided some social support in her new life. She was in her thirties, heavily built, a little clumsy, and rather naughty at times. The move from the home wasn’t an entirely successful transition. She ended up renting a room at the end of Hindley Street, a street in the centre of Adelaide, which at the time, had an unsavoury reputation; one of Adelaide’s red light districts. I wonder why June didn’t take a more active role in her welfare. After all, she had completed a nursing course, and was experienced in working with people like Bev.
Bev had a male chum who also used to be a resident of Minda, and they lived together. The two of them struggled, but managed together. The occasional visit to June’s, my mother’s, or May’s houses during the year at Christmas and on a few other special days would have provided them some happiness. As far as I know, Bev and chum maintained links with these families, despite the often not-so-hidden displeasure displayed on occasion by some of their male hosts.
My father, by all accounts had a reasonable work experience at GMH. He worked in this noisy factory until retirement. He was a labourer all his life, accustomed to heavy work as he was, this job must have seemed as though he was on permanent light duties. His grasp of the Italian language allowed him to converse with the many Italians who were employed there, and this skill may have led to increased job security. He had fun at work, or at least, had fun with those whose English language skills were not as good as his own. He had various jobs with this company, including storeman, forklift driver, including one that involved locating components for the production line, to ensure it was kept moving with supplies. One of his favourite pranks was to get those with limited English language skills to search the factory for something he referred to as a ‘curenbun’. These people would fail to locate this component, and having no success from their fellow workers, they would eventually find their way to a foreman and enquire into the location of curenbuns. No doubt with some cursing for them having waisted their time, and laughter at being taken in so easily, they would be put out of their misery and sent on their way. They had been on a wild goose chase, and in this example, looking for something more suited to munching along with a cup of tea, rather than an automotive component: a currant bun. Of course, this was a similar prank as being asked to get the long stand, a left-handed screwdriver, or to draw a nut.