I was born with a good crop of black hair which fell out and was replaced by straight blond hair. When I was about three my hair became very curly then as the years passed it lost its curl, was wavy and became a mousy brown which became progressively darker after I had my girls. I had 'highlights' put in at one stage and then foils but now I've pretty much given up and have allowed it to go au naturel which means it is now mainly pepper with a bit of salt.
Mutti used to do my hair. The neighbours at Clitheroe would sometimes stand outside our flat and listen to her singing me folk songs as she brushed and plaited. She used to French braid my hair when it was long enough. It kept my hair neat and tidy all day and was much admired because the technique wasn't known in Mosman in those days.
I was about seven when I had my hair cut for the first time. I think it was because I was having swimming lessons. It was such a pain drying long hair, particularly because hair dryers weren't available and you had to use lots of towels and stand in front of the lighted oven which had the door open or flap your hair over a radiator.
Recently I looked at a photo of one of my birthday parties. Talk about a shocking haircut!!! It really looked like someone had taken to my head with a knife and fork. Hair was just cut, not styled. The boys at school had 'short back and sides' just like their fathers, that's if they were lucky and didn't have their hair cut at home in which case they looked as if moths had feasted.
I didn't like having my hair massacred and grew it longer again. At least it grew quickly and within a short while I was able to have pigtails and then plaits held in place with rubber bands resulting in split ends. At that time there weren't any alternatives.
Shampoos were very harsh in the 50's and 60's. A really common problem was dandruff. Everyone seemed to suffer from it. A product called 'Selsun' was supposed to fix it. It was nasty toxic stuff which had to be rubbed in and left for 5 minutes before being rinsed off thoroughly. I would be sitting on a stool hanging my head over the edge of the bath with the 'Selsun' in my hair, a towel over my shoulders, getting colder and colder until at last the five minutes would be up and we could wash the dreadful stuff off. I'm not sure how effective it was.
A lot of people washed their hair with soap in those days but then shampoo was increasingly advertised in magazines and on television. Perhaps I was unaware but I can't remember ever seeing conditioner being advertised because I'm sure I would have nagged to get some. They certainly didn't use it at the hairdresser's where my mother went for her 'shampoo and set' every week. Over the years I tried all sorts of shampoo from tubes of 'Luxacreme' to 'Pear's' and something that was hugely popular for a while that smelt of green apples.
In the 60's sometime a hand held dryer became available in the printing industry for drying negatives quickly. My father saw the possibilities and brought it home so that I could dry my hair more quickly on hair washing days. It's a shame that he didn't use the idea as a new business opportunity and introduce it to the hairdressing industry because someone else certainly did, but not for quite some time afterwards.
The dryer was pretty heavy and my mother would hold it while I brushed my hair. It was fabulous and I loved it.
As I grew older and was in high school I would put my hair in rollers when it was washed. First we had metal rollers and then there were plastic ones which had little spikes that gripped the hair but they still needed a special hair pin to keep them in place. You would wash your hair at night and go to bed with a head full of rollers covered with a scarf. It was agony.
One year when I was about 15 I got a hairdryer for my birthday. It came in its own case and consisted of the blowing apparatus which looked a little like a fan heater of today. Attached to that was a plastic hose which in turn was attached to a large plastic cap which you would carefully put on over your rollers before turning on the machine. I can remember sitting there at the table reading a magazine with the hot air ballooning the cap while my hair dried. It certainly made life a lot more convenient.
After the disastrous hair massacres when I was very young and when I decided to have a shorter style when I was at high school I had my hair cut at 'Raymond's' in Mosman where my mother went every week. Raymond was very pleasant and because he and his wife, who also worked there, were German we spoke German with them. You didn't have your hair washed before it was cut and Raymond asked me to come with dirty hair because it was easier to cut that way! Erk! Haven't things changed!
I had my hair styled at 'Raymond's' for my wedding. In those days my hair was shoulder length and parted at the side. It didn't suit me terribly well. I had had short hair with a fringe for ages before that and not long after we married I reverted to that style and have kept it ever since.
Over the years I have been to lots of different hairdressers but as soon as I find someone who does my hair the way I want it styled I stay a loyal customer. I stayed with Cathy for over 20 years until she left Canberra. I followed her from salon to salon and even to her home where she had a little salon downstairs for 'special' clients. I was really sad when she left. We had shared confidences over the years and became good friends, just as my mother had become good friends with Raymond.
It took lots of trial and effort to find a new stylist. I went to a well known and fairly exclusive salon in Canberra and thoroughly enjoyed being pampered there for quite a few years. Unfortunately when fortunes wane spending hundreds of dollars a year just isn't viable.
I was wondering what to do and mentioned my dilemma to the hairdresser who works two days a week at the nursing home where I am a volunteer. She offered to do my hair at a very generous rate.
I now wash my hair at home and Lisa, the hairdresser, cuts and styles it in her salon. I no longer have the relaxing head massages or sit in a reclining massaging chair but my husband says he thinks she is the best stylist I have ever had. I agree.
Tuesday 28 May 2013
Wednesday 8 May 2013
The end of primary school
I finished primary school in 1962. It had been a very happy time for me. I had my group of friends, liked most of the teachers I'd had and enjoyed the learning.
The years at primary school had passed by so easily that I wrack my brain (unsuccessfully) to remember teachers' names. In those days teachers didn't appear in school photos along with their class, which is a pity, because I'd probably have a greater chance of remembering.
I do remember Mrs Snedden who was our sixth grade teacher for part of the year. She had always been the teacher of 6A and we had all been a bit afraid of her because she seemed very stern. She was a heavy smoker and her clothes reeked of cigarette smoke. She was constantly sucking musk Lifesavers during class which she smuggled into her mouth via a hanky and pretending to blow her nose. We all knew what was happening and were highly amused.
Mrs Snedden died of lung cancer. She left suddenly during the year. We collected up money and bought her a toilet bag filled with talc and lotion, facecloth and soap and lots of rolls of musk Lifesavers and a couple of girls delivered it to the hospital. She was very touched. We weren't told when she died as in those days it was thought that children shouldn't know about these grim facts.
A lovely young teacher from New Zealand replaced Mrs Snedden. She taught us the New Zealand love song 'Pokarekare Ana' and I still pretty much remember the words. Also we made 'pois', the balls on string that Maori women twirl when they sing and dance and we became proficient enough to perform for assembly.
All through Infants' and Primary school we received 1/3 pint of milk to drink at recess time. Lots of kids hated the milk which was often warm but I didn't mind and drank it up with no ill effects. Others weren't so lucky and would vomit it plus their morning tea as well as breakfast. We were pretty used to people vomiting as it happened nearly every day. When school milk stopped being issued the morning vomiting epidemic stopped as well! Surprise! Surprise!
I remember the after effects of one vomiting episode most vividly when I was in sixth grade. Someone threw up hugely right in the middle of the doorway to our classroom. As was the custom, strawdust which protected the chalk in their boxes, was sprinkled on the smelly pile.
We had a girl in our class who was extremely academically clever and was like an absent minded professor. Her head was in the clouds apart from when she was doing schoolwork. She lived with her grandparents and had her hanky pinned to her uniform because she would forget it otherwise. She forgot to brush her hair, left most of her buttons undone and never polished her shoes. When I discussed her recently with some teacher friends we decided that she probably was somewhere on the autism spectrum which wasn't recognised then. We all took her under our wings and pointed her in the right direction.
On the day of the big pile of vomit in the doorway the whole class was sitting at their desks but as usual C. had forgotten the time, probably realised that she was alone in the playground and drifted up to the classroom. When she appeared we all shrieked, "Look out for the vomit!!!!" Surprised she looked at us and as her foot went splosh right into the middle of the pile she said, "What vomit?" Of course we all shrieked some more after that.
It was nice being the eldest students at school. Occasionally some of us would be chosen to go and help community nurses when the younger children were being immunised or we would go down to the Infants' school and read to the littlies.
Eventually the end of the year and the end of our primary schooling arrived. We all had autograph books which our classmates and teachers signed. Many people wrote little poems or drew pictures. We had the usual end-of-year class party and there was a special assembly on the last day of term before the Christmas holidays at which all of sixth grade stood on the stage and was applauded by the teachers and all the other students. We walked out through the middle of the assembled classes and that was it.
Lots of girls were crying hysterically, hugging each other and carrying on as though it was the end of the world. I was really looking forward to high school so was fairly surprised at this show of grief. Plenty of girls, including all my friends were going to Cremorne Girls' High, so I knew I'd see nearly everyone again.
I got my school case filled with end-of-year detritus, said goodbye to my teacher and friends and went home filled with the delicious anticipation of six weeks of holiday followed by a new academic adventure.
The years at primary school had passed by so easily that I wrack my brain (unsuccessfully) to remember teachers' names. In those days teachers didn't appear in school photos along with their class, which is a pity, because I'd probably have a greater chance of remembering.
I do remember Mrs Snedden who was our sixth grade teacher for part of the year. She had always been the teacher of 6A and we had all been a bit afraid of her because she seemed very stern. She was a heavy smoker and her clothes reeked of cigarette smoke. She was constantly sucking musk Lifesavers during class which she smuggled into her mouth via a hanky and pretending to blow her nose. We all knew what was happening and were highly amused.
Mrs Snedden died of lung cancer. She left suddenly during the year. We collected up money and bought her a toilet bag filled with talc and lotion, facecloth and soap and lots of rolls of musk Lifesavers and a couple of girls delivered it to the hospital. She was very touched. We weren't told when she died as in those days it was thought that children shouldn't know about these grim facts.
A lovely young teacher from New Zealand replaced Mrs Snedden. She taught us the New Zealand love song 'Pokarekare Ana' and I still pretty much remember the words. Also we made 'pois', the balls on string that Maori women twirl when they sing and dance and we became proficient enough to perform for assembly.
All through Infants' and Primary school we received 1/3 pint of milk to drink at recess time. Lots of kids hated the milk which was often warm but I didn't mind and drank it up with no ill effects. Others weren't so lucky and would vomit it plus their morning tea as well as breakfast. We were pretty used to people vomiting as it happened nearly every day. When school milk stopped being issued the morning vomiting epidemic stopped as well! Surprise! Surprise!
I remember the after effects of one vomiting episode most vividly when I was in sixth grade. Someone threw up hugely right in the middle of the doorway to our classroom. As was the custom, strawdust which protected the chalk in their boxes, was sprinkled on the smelly pile.
We had a girl in our class who was extremely academically clever and was like an absent minded professor. Her head was in the clouds apart from when she was doing schoolwork. She lived with her grandparents and had her hanky pinned to her uniform because she would forget it otherwise. She forgot to brush her hair, left most of her buttons undone and never polished her shoes. When I discussed her recently with some teacher friends we decided that she probably was somewhere on the autism spectrum which wasn't recognised then. We all took her under our wings and pointed her in the right direction.
On the day of the big pile of vomit in the doorway the whole class was sitting at their desks but as usual C. had forgotten the time, probably realised that she was alone in the playground and drifted up to the classroom. When she appeared we all shrieked, "Look out for the vomit!!!!" Surprised she looked at us and as her foot went splosh right into the middle of the pile she said, "What vomit?" Of course we all shrieked some more after that.
It was nice being the eldest students at school. Occasionally some of us would be chosen to go and help community nurses when the younger children were being immunised or we would go down to the Infants' school and read to the littlies.
Eventually the end of the year and the end of our primary schooling arrived. We all had autograph books which our classmates and teachers signed. Many people wrote little poems or drew pictures. We had the usual end-of-year class party and there was a special assembly on the last day of term before the Christmas holidays at which all of sixth grade stood on the stage and was applauded by the teachers and all the other students. We walked out through the middle of the assembled classes and that was it.
Lots of girls were crying hysterically, hugging each other and carrying on as though it was the end of the world. I was really looking forward to high school so was fairly surprised at this show of grief. Plenty of girls, including all my friends were going to Cremorne Girls' High, so I knew I'd see nearly everyone again.
I got my school case filled with end-of-year detritus, said goodbye to my teacher and friends and went home filled with the delicious anticipation of six weeks of holiday followed by a new academic adventure.
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