Angela Hunter

Story

My family comes from Newcastle Upon Tyne in England. My first few years were spent by the Tyne River with its rows of Victorian terraced houses, cobblestone streets and endless fog. My father worked as an electrician on the docks and my mother worked part time in a shoe shop. Life was happy but my father longed for new adventures so when he read an ad in the paper calling for people to come to Australia he was intrigued.

At the age of 10 I went with my parents and 9 yr old sister to see a film about Australia. All we knew of Australia was gleaned from Skippy so we sat transfixed as Rolf Harris showed us sunny Sydney Harbour, swimming pools in every back yard and children heading off to school in lace gloves and hats. Our home he told us would be a new place full of modern apartments with smiling housewives, smiling children playing and smiling husbands waving to each other as they drove to work in their tank like cars. It was the paradise my father yearned for, so after convincing my reluctant mother we headed off to join the next wave of ’10 pound Poms\’ bound for Wollongong where my father would take up a job at the Port Kembla Steel Works.

On the 8th July 1972 at Newcastle Central Station, we said goodbye to our vast and close knit family and boarded the train to London to catch our flight out. I remember the excitement of the prospect of our new life but there was also sadness as I realised we were leaving our family and didn\’t know when or even if we would see them again. It was a long flight Ð 36 hrs all up with many stops along the way. We eventually hit Australia and landed at Darwin. It was 11pm and we were desperate for fresh air but as we crossed the tarmac the heat and humidity struck us. We\’d never experienced anything like this in our lives. Finally we landed at Sydney and were herded onto the bus bound for Wollongong. We were tired but still excited as we drove past strange trees filled with colourful birds, wooden houses with tin rooves and the wonderfully sunny Sydney Harbour – just as Rolf had promised. Our excitement faded however as we drove through the gate of the migrant hostel at Fairy Meadow. My father\’s disappointment was visible. Our modern apartments were nothing more than tin huts left over from WWII. There was no swimming pool and no-one smiling. My mother cried and berated my father for talking us into this. He was deflated but we were here and had to make the best of it.

School was a whole new experience. No huge gothic stone building here. No dinner ladies serving up beef and mashed potato for lunch. Instead it was wooden buildings on stilts and we sat under trees eating lunch out of paper bags. Kids laughed at my accent and it was here that I first heard the term ‘Pommie Bastard\’. I didn\’t understand why they hated me so much. Life moved on and after a few months we moved into a small rented flat near the beach. My sister and I were in a new school and our accents had developed an Aussie twang. Money was tight but we lived like kings. Shopping meant huge boxes full of exotic fruit, the likes of which I\’d only ever seen in pictures. Weekends were spent at having BBQ\’s with steaks the size of dinner plates in eucalyptus scented heat waves.

But for all the joy there were still the moments of sadness. Our first Christmas was miserable as the four of us huddled around a small fake tree, eating hot turkey roast at my mother\’s insistence despite the oppressive heat. It was a far cry from the Christmases we\’d known. Trudging through snow filled streets over to my Auntie\’s where the whole clan would gather round the piano in full voice. Little by little though we assimilated into our new way of life and began to look forward to the hot Christmases which meant days at the beach and parties into the long warm evenings.

36 years have passed and I now live in Braidwood NSW and work in Canberra for the APS. I have a husband and two grown children and my sister\’s daughter has just had a baby Ð the beginning of the 2nd generation of Aussies. We live the sort of life my father could only dream of and once again our Christmases are filled with laughter and music Ð I still cook roast turkey because there are just some things one can\’t forego. Australia has given us so much in return for our persistence and has provided us with opportunities we could never have had in England. I still refer to England as home and still barrack for the Poms in the cricket but I feel privileged to be an Australian. This is a wonderful country which offers so much and I am so very grateful to be counted among those who, like my father, had a dream for their families and took a chance at a new life in paradise.

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