Working Class Boy by Jimmy Barnes Page B

Was life really that bad in Scotland that we had to go around the world to Australia? Yes, and if we could have gone further we probably would have. So it was a train trip to England and a six-week cruise to sunny South Australia.

    SWAN James Ruthven Harvey born 5 April 1929; Dorothy (nee Dixon) born 26 March 1934; John Archibald born 15 March 1952; Dorothy Dixon born 30 April 1953; Linda Dixon born 23 July 1954; James Dixon born 28 April 1956; Alan Ruthven born 2 November 1960; travelled per STRATHNAVER departing Tilbury on 7 December 1961 under the Assisted Passage Migration Scheme. ( National Archives of Australia )
    The ship we sailed on to Australia was the SS Strathnaver , built at a cost of £325,000 in 1931. Our ship, like everyone and everything else that went through World War II, had seen better days by the time peace came. It was battered and beaten but it had survived. After a good coat of paint and a refit she was readyto serve her country again, this time taking immigrants to new lands far away.
    When we first laid eyes on the ship we thought we had died and gone to heaven. ‘This has tae be the best ship anywhere in the world, it looks like a floating palace. We’ll be travelling like kings’, kids,’ my dad said as the ship came into view. He was always an optimist. But it was a palace to us. Remember where we’d come from. Once on board we found that it had places to watch movies on deck and places to eat. It had everything. It was a palace. This trip was going to be fun.
    One thousand, two hundred and fifty-two passengers squeezed into what, when I look back at it now, looked like a large tugboat or one of those ferries you see sinking on the news.
    The ship left from Tilbury on 7 December 1961. It was a rocky start, with most of the guests on board getting very seasick for the first week or two. Some were sick the whole way over, but the first week or so was hard for everyone. In fact, my only memory of the first week is the smell of vomit and the sound of whinging Scots and English people.
    â€˜They don’t make the food like at home. The weather’s bad. I wish we never came on this fucking ship.’ And so on. They both sounded as bad as each other; whinging is whinging, I’ve found.
    Dad’s optimism soon faded. Our cabin was so small he had to step outside the door to change his mind. The seven of us were jammed into a room the size of a wardrobe for our luxury trip to the lucky country. Alan was only about one year old so, as you can imagine, no one got a lot of sleep.
    â€˜Open the window, Dot.’
    â€˜It’s no a window, it’s a porthole.’
    â€˜I don’t give a fuck what it’s called, open the fuckin’ thing up. It stinks in here.’
    â€˜It stinks oot there too. Have ye walked in the hallway lately, ya lazy bastard?’
    â€˜I didnae smell anything when I came in last night.’
    â€˜Aye, but you were stinkin’ too. Stinkin’ fuckin’ drunk.’
    â€˜Gie us a break wid ye, woman? I just went oot for a drink tae get rid o’ the seasickness.’
    â€˜Aye, by the look of ye when ye got back ye couldnae feel a thing. I don’t think you’ll feel anything for a week.’
    â€˜Shut it. And open the window, would ye?’
    â€˜I cannae open the window, it’s below the water level, ya eejit.’
    â€˜Well, I’m goin’ up on deck tae get some fresh air. I hear it’s good for your health. It’s killin’ me in here.’
    â€˜Well try the air oot on the deck this time, no in the bar.’
    Life in the cabin wasn’t good. Mum and Dad were at each other’s throats after a short time. The ship was not what it appeared from the wharf. The cabin was small, with enough beds for us all to sleep but not enough room to walk around without tripping over one another. We felt like we were in the bowels of the ship and wherever it was, the front or the back, it