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| Margaret Elizabeth (Betty) Healey |
The Early Years 1920 - 1950 |
| This is Mum's memoir in her own words, completed 2005. |
I was born in Aratapu in 1920, the youngest of 10 children, two of whom died in infancy. They were the eldest and sixth child, and were both named Eric.
Our parents were Arthur Moore Gracie and Mary Jane Gracie, nee Crooks. Our father worked on the river boats as a boiler engineer.
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In 1924, our family moved to Glenfield to live in the house where our mother was born, the house built by her parents when they arrived from Ireland. They were reputed to be the first white settlers in Glenfield, and my mother the first white baby born. My grandparents had a lot of land and my grandfather was a farmer. When they died, the whole place, except for a small piece of land at the end of the property was left to my Uncle Sam, a bachelor farmer. This small piece was left to my Uncle Bert, but he neither used it nor wanted it and gave it to Uncle Sam. |
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House at Stanley Road before extension prior to family moving down from Aratapu. In front are Sam, cat & cousin Cassie
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I started school when I was 6½ as it was felt that I was too small at the age of five, although I often went with my sister Eva before starting regular schooling. This was a one-teacher school. Mrs. Bacon was the teacher and the classes went from primer one to standard four. From there the pupils went to Northcote District high School, travelling by school bus. At Northcote School, apart from the statutory holidays, we only had one day off all year, the day after sports day. It was not until a family with 13 children came to live in Glenfield that the school was able to have a second teacher. To make matters worse for Mrs. Bacon, Mrs. Douse took Mabel and Kitty; and Mrs. Rigg took Marjory away from Glenfield School and sent them to Birkenhead, a much larger school, as they felt they would get a better education. As it happens, they didn’t, and all the children taught by Mrs. Bacon did alright in the years that followed. |
Mum's birthday. Mum in front, 2nd from right |
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Across the road from where we lived was an English family called Roberts. Mrs. Roberts was the widow of an English policeman and the eldest son Bernie took on the role of looking after them. There were 11 in the family. Some of the boys were very musical and formed a dance band. On Saturday nights a dance would be held in the largest classroom at the school. A blanket was put up in the corner where the washbasin was in a small entrance to the school. This served as the dressing room and local people also put their children to sleep on the floor there. I went to these dances with my mother and other family members when I was quite young. We also had a school concert each year, and danced around the maypole. A large pine tree was cut, trimmed and decorated with coloured streamers hung from the top, and for some weeks we would practice the various routines outside in the playground. On the day of the concert the tree would be put in the classroom and the desks cleared away. |
In Glenfield there was only one small store and Post office combined, in a room off a house. The highlight of our school days was when the school journals arrived each month, and I often had the job of picking them up from the store. There was the Mission Hall, a small building where church and Sunday school were held. Each Sunday a different church service was held with the Anglicans, Methodists and Presbyterians taking turns on alternate weeks. My mother and a neighbour, Mrs. McFarland went each week, along with a small number of regulars.The superintendent was a Mr. Archie Wilson, who like his son Frank and daughter Rosie was a Sunday school teacher. Although were probably in their thirties, they seemed old to us. Once a year we had a Sunday school Anniversary and a concert, both at different times. For many weeks beforehand we had to practice all the hymns for the anniversary and a man called Mr. Messenger came from Birkenhead to teach us. I don’t think any of us young ones liked him. One time he became ill and I told my mother I hoped he’d die. Of course she was shocked. Well he didn’t die and a much worse old crabby man took over. He was bald and cross-eyed. When Anniversary Day arrived, it was always around Easter and the church was decorated with lots of Michelmas flowers. We all had white dresses; the boys had white shirts and navy serge pants. We had an afternoon service and an evening one. |
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Not far from the church lived a couple called Mr. & Mrs. Edmonds. They had no children but on Anniversary day they invited about eight of us to their place for tea following the afternoon service. We played gentle games in their garden and after tea we all went to the evening service. This happened each year for many years. The night of the concert we had a tea in the church. The mothers did all the work and they all wore nice white aprons. A copper had to be boiled for the tea and for the dishes later. At the concert we all took part in various items and there was always a guest from the city. Quite often it would be a lady singing and all the kids would get the giggles when she hit the high notes. One time it was “Uncle Tom” from The Friendly Road. His daughters played a duet on the piano and they crossed their hands over. That was really something. After the entertainment came the prize giving for good attendance. |
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Once a year we had a picnic at Takapuna. Mr. Douse and Mr. Edmonds were carriers and we went on the back of their trucks, seated on boxes. They took different routes and it was always time for us to guess who would get there first. We went to the property of people called Thompson, of Thompson & Hills, famous jam makers in the city. They had a long sloping section, right down to the beach, all kikuyu grass and very bouncy. No-one was allowed to go near the owners’ house. Our lunch was provided, and Mr. Wilson went around with lemon and raspberry drink, which was one part essence and 20 parts water – or so it seemed thinking back, but to us kids in those years it was good. The mission hall had been built in one day by local volunteers. On one wall was a roll of honour for local boys killed in the Great War (World War I). Our cousin Alec Gracie was one of them. After the Second World War, another roll of honour was hung on the wall and our brother Spid (Robert Clyde) was among the names. |
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Northcote College c1933. Mum in front on left side
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I went to Northcote High School for four years, Standards 5 & 6, got my Proficiency granted, and after the next two years (Forms 3 & 4) I got a senior Free Place Certificate. These latter two forms were in what was called the tin shed, comprising two rooms where shorthand and typing were taught along with basic education. In the second room, the form was called general, which was more academic. When I went back in the 5th Form, most of those who had been classmates had left. This was during the depression and there didn’t seem to be any future for a good education. I wanted to leave but was not allowed to. During the year however, my oldest sister Kathleen took me to apply for a couple of factory jobs, sewing shirts. |
One day in July, Auntie Molly Krissansen brought my mother a notice from the Herald advertising that Silknit NZ wanted 100 girls. I applied and was taken on straight away. The factory was next to the St James Theatre, and upstairs above the Auckland meat Company premises. In summertime the smell of meat was awful. We worked in one long room with just a few windows at each end. There was a toilet on one side but nowhere to sit down if you felt ill - just bags of waste material to lean against. The lunchroom was the cloakroom and there was no cafeteria of any kind. Mabel Douse worked for a florist in the Civic Buildings and she and I would run up to Albert Park on fine days to eat our lunch. When it rained we went to the art gallery. |
My first job was clipping threads off garments. We stood at a table all day with no morning or afternoon tea, from 8:00am till 4:45pm and on Saturday mornings. For this we were paid 10 shillings ($1.00). Because I was only 14 I had to get a permit from the Labour dept.
I stood at the table between June McKee and Pat Gibson, both of whom were much taller than me, and they used to talk over my head. We became good friends, especially June, whose friendship lasted more than 50 years, until she died.
After some months I was promoted to sewing on washing instructions and assigned to a lady called Miss McNamara. She and three other women worked at a table folding the garments and packing them into boxes or brown paper, and each one had a junior to sew on the washing instructions. When Xmas got near, Miss Mac took me to the Kottage Kake Kitchen, a lovely home cookery, for lunch, and I had Salmon Mayonnaise, the first time I had ever tasted salmon. It was just a lettuce salad, a bit of tomato and tinned salmon, but for me it was a banquet.
Shortly after this I was sent to work in Wakefield St. This was the shipping dept. or dispatch for Silknit, and only men worked there. My boss was a Mr. Evans, an Aussie and keen rower. Whenever he got in a bad mood, one of the men would bring up the subject of rowing and his bad mood would disappear. At Wakefield St, all of the orders were picked out and dispatched. It was a pretty awful old place, with one toilet behind a wooden screen. Some months later, the factory in Queen St and the shipping dept were all moved to Eden Terrace, to a much larger and more modern building. The shipping dept was in the basement and that’s where I worked. There was a cafeteria where tea was made but no food was sold. The factory staff still did not have a morning or afternoon tea break but the office and shipping staff did. Auntie Eileen Christiansen had the job of making the teas for these people. I would take the tea for the men who worked in dispatch, along with myself, and carry it down the back entrance way, down Nikau St at the back of the factory, and into the basement. I guess this was so the girls in the factory wouldn’t see it. |
Around this time, Mr. Douse’s mother who lived in England wanted Mabel to visit her, which she did. World War II broke out in September 1939 while she was in England, and she was forced to stay there until it ended, and her life would have been pretty miserable with old granny.
At the outbreak of war, several of the young fellows in the dispatch joined up, and older men took their places in the factory. We had lots of raffles to support the Patriotic Fund, and one time put on a concert, open to the public in the Lewis Eady Hall in Queen St, and we all took part. Auntie Eileen got married to John and I was her bridesmaid.
I joined the WAACs but all we did was make beds in army hostels at the weekends and march around in the drill hall. We had no uniforms at the time - they were to come later. My brother in law Ray Morman died in 1940 and I went to stay with Eva at New Lynn, going home to Glenfield each weekend. I would stay with Eva and the kids until starting at Greenlane in 1942. |
In September 1941 my brothers Len and Spid sailed from Wellington to the Middle East, and the same day I had my teeth out - all 32 of them. Mr. Batten, Jean’s father, was the dentist. The taxi driver in Birkenhead, a young fellow named Mickey Boles came over to the city to take Mum and I home, which in those days was by vehicular ferry. |
Len |
Spid |
In January 1942 I was called up to work at Greenlane Hospital. My boss at Silknit wanted to appeal for me but I said no. I had to go for an interview with the matron and Mum said that when she saw me she’d say I wasn’t suitable because I was too small - under six stone (38kg), but instead, she asked if I could start the next day. I told her I’d have to give Silknit a weeks notice and train someone in my job etc. On July 19, a Sunday evening, I reported at the Nurses’ Home at Greenlane. A girl I worked with at Silknit said she’d meet me at the tram barns and walk up with me to the hospital on the Sunday evening, but she didn’t turn up.
At the Nurses’ Home, I was shown to my pokey, dark little room. Next morning after breakfast I reported to the Home Sister, an elderly woman who had, like most of the trained staff been brought back from retirement. I was issued with two blue uniforms and two white caps. The uniforms had white collars that were covered in the crossed out names of previous owners written in Indian ink. There was barely space to add my own name, and in addition, I was given a stern warning that I was not to alter the garment in any way, such as shortening or lengthening it. Our uniforms were washed in the hospital laundry but we had to wash and starch our own caps. We also had to provide our own black stockings and shoes.
Next I had to report to the matron along with a handful of other new recruits. Matron’s office was a little building with a veranda, and it stood in the middle of the grounds. I only remember it having one room where she presided. One had to stand on the veranda until called for, at which time you entered this room and stood with your hands behind your back. The matron was a Miss Bluett, who was short and fat and had been brought out of retirement.
That first day, I was sent to a geriatric ward where I was shown how to make beds by a Maori girl, and I just followed her around all day. She was singing “You are My Sunshine”, softly of course. It was the first time I had heard it. On the second day, I was sent to another geriatric ward. At this time, Greenlane Hospital was just for geriatrics and TB patients. It was July 22 and unbeknown to me, my brother Spid was killed in North Africa.
The sister in this ward was younger than most but was the worst one I ever struck. She was a blonde and thought she was so superior. She made me scrub all the tiles on the bathroom floor and then do them again, criticising me all the time. I think it was the next day that I was told to report to the matron who gave me the news of Spid, and also that Len was missing. I was given two days off to go home.
When Mum was given telegram with the news, it was delivered by the Postmaster of Birkenhead and our neighbour Mrs. McFarland. No counselling in those days. Mum wouldn’t have needed it though because she had a strong backbone and knew she had to carry on. Uncle Bunny was in camp up North at the time and he also got two days leave to come home. Stan was a wireless operator on one of the island boats; the Matua I think. Some days later Mum got word that Len had been found badly wounded and was in a military hospital.
I went back to Greenlane after my two days leave and was sent to the men’s TB shelter, as they were called, and there I stayed, apart from a stint on night duty and a short relieving spell in the women’s TB block. The shelters were in two blocks, consisting of little wards called shacks, numbers from 1 - 8, and 9 - 14A, with no number13. Some house four patients and some six. Numbers 14 and 14A had about 12 each.
On our arrival at the shelters just before 6:00am we had to remove our caps and completely cover our hair with a large cotton veil. Our first duty was to read the night report wash all of the patients’ drinking vessels - just glass jars like purple bottles, glasses, and replace the water, before serving breakfast. If there was any time to spare before breakfast we made beds. Meals were delivered to a kitchen at the shelters in a big steel container on wheels, and Sister would dish them up. Each patient would have their meal on a china plate, covered with an enamel plate and held together in a stack with a folded tea towel, carried to each shack. After this, half the staff would return to the nurses’ home for breakfast, and return to the shelters while the other half went.
On my first day I was told to go and sponge Mr Korewha, a young man with many large freckles. The water had to be carried in an enamel basin from a sluice room. I didn’t have a clue what to do because there were no instructions of any kind. Anyway, Herbie Korewha was a lovely happy fellow and he explained the procedure.
Most of the patients were good to care for and there were only a handful of grizzlers. A number of the young ones were servicemen – sailors, soldiers and a few air force. In spite of the hopelessness of their complaint, they were a happy lot. In those days, bed rest seemed to be the only treatment, although later on, an operation to remove some ribs was tried out on a number of them. When deaths occurred it was a sad occasion, especially when it was a young person, but we had to harden ourselves and get on with the job.
My best friend there was Ethel Bird (Birdie). We were all called by our last names. Birdie had been manpowered like me. She previously worked for Heards, the confectionery makers in Parnell, and was a follower of the Salvation Army. Her family however did not approve and she was never allowed to wear her uniform home. Birdie had one patient who was very trying. He would call out for attention – such as adjusting his pillows – if he spotted a nurse, and did this one day when Birdie was on her way for her break. Being wartime, and with rationing in place, if you were late going for your meal you would simply miss out altogether. Sick of his carry on, she told him he made her flaming well mad, so he reported her, and as a result she was put on night duty. In a show of solidarity, and knowing anyway that I would have to do night duty myself eventually, I asked if I could start there and then, and so began two months of working the night shift.
As mentioned previously, Green Lane was at that time a geriatric hospital plus T.B., and Birdie and I went to a block of three wards, each separated by a narrow alleyway. Very old buildings, numbered 19, 20 and 21. I was in 20, and Birdie in 19. I had two long wards with 56 old men to look after on my own, apart from once each night when a young Maori girl known as a runner would come and help me do the backs.
Our work started at 10:00pm. We were issued with a torch and a portion of food from the nurses’ home kitchen that we had to cook for our meal. Me being in 20, I had to cook for the night sister as well. In the small duty room, there was a little gas cooker. All of my patients were senile and one in particular used to have stray cats on his bed that would scatter when I approached. We were told never to use our torch except in an emergency, and if the batteries ever needed replacing, it was like facing a firing squad reporting to the Night Sister to request new ones.
We came off duty at 6:00am, had breakfast and then off to an old house owned by the hospital to sleep. The house was right up the back of the garden, well away from the hospital, and I shared a room with another girl.
Finally it was time to go back to day duty, and I reported to the Matron. By this time the original one had gone and a Miss Delugar had taken her place. She was good, really human, and she said she had no alternative but to send me back to the men’s TB shelters, as one of the old blokes, George, a Maori, threatened her if she didn’t, he wouldn’t mend her shoes any more. He was a nice old fellow; I think he was a permanent fixture there.
The Americans had built a hospital further down the road in Cornwall Park, and known as the 39th General, so we saw lots of Yanks on the streets up One Tree Hill where we used to go for walks. In 1945 when the Americans had finished with the hospital, a number of our long-term patients were transferred there to make room at Greenlane for a group of ex POWs of the Japanese, all suspect TB cases, plus a few more Kiwis from the Middle East.
By this time a new training school had been opened at Greenlane and several of the nurses did their training there. I had been promoted to Senior Nurse, still 30 bob ($3.00) a week. I had several moves in the nurses’ home thank goodness. At one time I was given a room next to an old nurse who was on permanent night duty. This was because I was considered quiet. Another room had French doors on the ground floor, and the reason I got that was probably because the home sister thought I wouldn’t let any Yanks in. Sister Delugar was appointed Matron at Auckland Hospital and we got a Sister Powell, an Aussie. She was younger, not a bit like the old battle axes, and work was more enjoyable. |
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| With some of the patients outside TB shed 1946. Mum 4th from right |
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Finally in 1946 when we had worked for the duration and six months after, Birdie and I decided to move on. We felt we needed a break from all the years in TB wards, and decided to go to Nelson for the apple picking season. The government paid the fare one way. We set off from Auckland railway station on the Wellington train. Both Mum and Mrs Bird came to see us off and I’m sure they thought they’d never see us again. We spent the day in Wellington and then boarded the ferry to Picton. We had to wait for everyone to leave the dining room before we could go to bed because we had to sleep on the dining tables. We were given a grey blanket for a cover and nothing else. Most of the blankets were riddled with holes.
On our arrival at Picton we caught a small bus known as a service car and set off for Upper Motueka, where we were to work for an orchardist. Our accommodation comprised two army huts joined together and a small room with a coal range. There were no doors on the army huts, just old curtains. Birdie was so cold she used to take the curtains down at night, put them on her bed, and put them up again in the morning. |
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Motueka 1946. Mum, Ewen & Birdie |
Our boss was a returned man from World War 1. He had a steel plate in his head and was subject to moods. Each morning we would walk to the orchard which was along a nearby road. We picked the apple by climbing up ladders and putting them in a special canvas bag with a flap that opened in the front so that they could then be transferred to large containers without bruising. The foreman’s name was Les Flintoff, a fellow from Tauranga aged about 30. The other workers were Jack and Jim; two teenaged brothers from Bay of Plenty, Ewen Cameron and of course Birdie and I. Sometimes the boss’s teenage son would help as well, but he worked mainly in the packing shed with his father.
Rationing was still in but we didn’t live near any shops. The lady of the house would take our coupons each week when she went somewhere to shop. Water was short and we had one shared bath a week (not together, but we took turns having the first bath). The toilet was a long drop, some distance from the hut. After we had been there about three weeks, Les asked how much we got paid. We didn’t know because we hadn’t been paid yet, and Les told us we had to ask for it because that was the way the boss worked.
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On a Saturday night, there was a dance held several miles away, and a fellow from another orchard used to organise a van to pick people up to take them. He would arrange where each person sat in the van and I always ended up on his knee, no doubt because I was the smallest. Birdie had never been to a dance in her life and when she wrote to some of her Sally friends, they replied to say that they would rather see her at the bottom of Cook Straight than stepping inside a dance hall.
Sunday was our only day off, and three times we went to Motueka in the service car to go to the Sally church, followed by lunch at the church house. Ghastly occasions! We had a number of earthquakes, though just enough to shake our beds and the place swaying rather than shaking. Once we were warned about an escaped mental patient on the loose. We piled what we could against the door, not that it would have stopped anyone.
After three months the time came to leave when the season finished. We went to Christchurch for a week and stayed with Birdie’s aunt, who was very strict and narrow minded. We had gone to Christchurch by service car and as we left, Birdie was singing hymns. Before we got as far as Blenheim, the hymns stopped and she was reaching for a paper bag to be sick. Leaving Christchurch, we sailed from Lyttleton to Wellington. This time we got bunks right next to the engine room, so not much sleep again. We caught the train, with Birdie getting off in Palmerston North, while I carried on to Auckland. Birdie lived in Woodville with an old Sally friend, and carried on with nursing down there. Over the next 50 years, I only saw her three times. She visited in Auckland twice, and the last time was when I went to Napier to see her in a rest home after she had a bad stroke. She always was a good friend and we got on well. Of course over those 50 years, we kept in touch by mail regularly. |
With Mavis Studman at Silknit ball c1946 |
With Doug Clendon (cousin) at Silknit ball |
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Back home, Silknit had a job waiting for me, this time in the stock room. I dished out all the laces, cottons and buttons etc., looked after the sick bay, paid the wages, played the records for the music for the workers, and kept the cricket score for the boss whenever matches were played.
On Saturday nights I used to go to dances at the Alliance Hall in Eden Terrace, and I had several good friends there. Silknit also had an annual ball that I would attend.
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