Chapter 3
East Hills Hostel
They arrived in Sydney Harbour on June 22, 1958, in what was said
to be the worst weather witnessed for some time. Most likened it as inferior to
the ‘English’ winter, dissimilar only by the absence of snow. This cataclysm
made up of low, amorphous, uniform, dark layers of cloud gave off continuous
precipitation. It was not the greeting expected and definitely not like the
information provided in England
displaying golden beaches, swimsuits and sunny days.
They and their fellow travellers became instantly sceptic of the glamour
associated with Australia’s sunny climate. As thoughts entwined with the
journeys end became a reality it promoted further apprehension, but, at last,
especially for Ted, verification of years of anticipation and struggle in
obtaining passage finally consummated an outcome. Happier times and opulence
rest in the hope and belief the stories, travel brochures, pamphlets and
government propaganda they were inundated with over the past few years in England
could offer the qualities of life authorities so freely publicised. The
intensions of the Scotsdon’s were laden with many possibilities to fulfil
dreams, and as long as they did not allow first impressions to impact on the
achievement of successful results thus far, the opportunities were there to be
taken.
While being transported from the ship by bus to East Hills Hostel,
a hope proffering the unknown kept everyone to a whisper. They had yet to see
Kangaroos hopping ubiquitously, bush rangers riding their stallions, or snakes
squashed on the roads as informed by London gossipers.
“Hip hip hooray,” everyone
cheered as the bus pulled into the ‘Hostel’ cul-de-sac. Within view was a mass
of huts, not unlike the concentration camps as witnessed by many of the
veterans, despite this the silence had been broken as cheers and laughs
exchanged a variety of tones. The joy was probably only a release of anxiety
helping to camouflage the hesitation so heavily lingering in receding minds as
each knew they were now a servant to their own destiny.
Don was too young to understand the setting he was to call home, he
could only later envisage and try to comprehend the multitude of sentiments
felt by his parents. Their search for happiness and a new lease on life in Australia jumbled with snug memories of
‘English’ home comforts, and the intellectual void caused from alienation
restraining optimism, all played a part in aggravating the senses to create a
concoction of emotions.
“This way please,” said a
young man in a dialect made up of ‘English’ and ‘Australian’ slang. He wore
cheap rubber thongs, walked with a slouch, and introduced himself as ‘Bill’.
While leading a charge towards the main hut, undaunted by the rain, he
explained he had been in Australia for four years and reassured everyone
they would enjoy the people and the climate. Most disbelieved his statement as
they tiptoed through murky puddles.
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