-PN-

F Early life SUMMARY OF HIS LIFE THROUGH A LETTER WRITTEN IN 1971 TO AN OLD FRIEND		ictor, the youngest child of George Fall & Emily McNamara, was born at "The Firs", Long Buckby, Northamptonshire on 20 December 1902. After leaving school he became an apprentice on a sailing ship, the Monkbarns. His life is best summarised by a letter he wrote in 1971 to a friend, Malcolm Glazier, who served on the Monkbarns with him. This is reproduced in part, below: I think you know that I left the sea, then merely a quartermaster in P & O Branch liner, "Beltana", putting in my sea-time for my second-mate's ticket. However, I never sat for this, settling in W.A. instead and starting off again right at the bottom as a clerk in a sawmill office at one of Millars' Timber and Trading Co.'s largest timber centres, as it then was. So instead of sitting for my Second Mate's and Mate's tickets I went in for accountancy, becoming in due course a Fellow of the Chartered Institute of Secretaries and an Associate of the Australian Society of Accountants. When at Mornington, in 1925, I married Dorothy Rumble, who you may remember in Bunbury. In 1926 I was transferred to Yarloop, then Millars' largest timber centre, as timber clerk; then in 1938 was appointed the Company's Internal Auditor. Then came the war, when, after a brief spell in the Army where I attained the dizzy rank of Corporal, I transferred to the (English) RAF, being sent to Singapore in 1941. Here I was on Headquarters staff, in charge of rationing arrangements for airfields in Malaya and Burma - an interesting job. Having seen through the campaigns in Malaya, Sumatra and Java where, towards the end, the RAF, having lost all its aircraft in action - a sticky business, which I regret to say I saw a lot of - was formed into rifle battalions with the intention of making a stand in the mountains with the few AIF troops we had and the Dutch, who were quite useless. Then followed some hectic weeks until the Dutch capitulated, telling us to do the same. Our C.O., Air-Vice Marshall Maltby, very properly, told them to go to hell, so we took up positions among the tea estates in central Java. However, it was all a fiasco. We were surrounded, vastly outnumbered and without air and with very little artillery and only a small handful of light tanks. After some pretty stiff fighting on Lembang Heights, just near Bandoeng, mostly done by the AIF, Maltby agreed to negotiate a surrender. There followed three and a half years of various Japanese prison camps - not nice. I got home at the end of 1945, somewhat battered, but still in one piece, and returned to auditing with Millars' - quite a change, after an absence of five years. In 1956 I left Millars' and became Chief Accountant and Secretary with another company, the Worsely Timber Company, and then in 1962 left them to become the General Manager of yet another company, the Swan Timber Company, which shortly merged with Douglas Jones and Co. of Guildford. I retired in June 1967, built a pleasant place on the sea at Shoalwater Bay, near Rockingham, about 20 miles south of Fremantle. For a long time I had decided that, when I retired, I would amuse myself by writing all I could of the history of the timber industry in this State, and my first book, "The Sea and the Forest", is being published by the WA University Press, probably in January next. My second book, "The Mills of Jarrahdale", I hope to have published by a different publisher next April. Victor died at Shoalwater Bay on 18 November 1974. gAs a teenager, Victor spent much time in the company of his father who was then in his mid-sixties. George Edward instilled in his son a love of history, and took him to see local battlefields. He attended school in Northampton, the county town. In September 1914 he joined the school army cadets and stayed in this for three years. He did not take kindly either to school or to the schoolmaster who, he said, thrashed him. He was very upset when his father died in 1917 and resolved to run away from school. Having absconded, he tried to join the Army and serve in the First World War. He presented himself to the local recruiting office, and said he was eighteen. He had matured greatly in the previous two years and the recruiting officer would have accepted him had it not been for the local Vicar who by chance saw him, and declared him to be only fifteen. He was sent back to school and was promptly expelled.

Work at Woolwich Arsenal.		His mother, Emily, did not know quite what to do with him. She sent him to London to stay with his uncle William Charlesworth. There he worked in Woolwich Arsenal for a while. He did not like the work, but joined the army cadets again in Woolwich. Whilst he was in London he saw something of his favourite uncle, Victor McNamara, who was then thirty-eight. Walking along the Thames with his uncle he had watched the ships setting sail; slowly the adventure of life at sea began to appeal to him.

Going to sea at the age of fifteen Apprenticeship Indenture papers		And so it was that, through the efforts of his uncle Vic, his mother signed the indenture papers with the shipping agent John Stewart & Co. of Billiter Street, London E.C.3, on 24 July 1918, so that he might train to be an officer and, hopefully, one day, gain his Masters' ticket. She was told that it was a four year apprenticeship and that he was to join a sailing ship, the Monkbarns, which was then in Rio de Janeiro awaiting new crew. Ten young apprentices were to be sent out in the steamship Highland Rover. Emily came to London with him and in a small book young Victor wrote the details: *Ship "Monkbarns" Capt.Donaldson. Passage ticket No. 3478, s.s. "Highland Rover", Nelson Line. Cabin a, Berth 1 From Tilbury. Thursday 1st August.* Then he added, to be sure: Train leaves Fenchurch St. station at 10.17 am. Victor's Apprenticeship indenture papers (abridged) stated: . . . Victor George Fall hereby voluntarily binds himself Apprentice (and shall faithfully serve his) Master. . . and obey his lawful commands, and keep his secrets, . . and give account of his money which may come into his hands. The Apprentice will not do any damage to his Master but will, if possible, prevent the same and give warning thereof; he will not embezzle or waste the goods of his master, nor absent himself from his service without leave; nor frequent Taverns or Alehouses unless upon his business, nor play at unlawful games. In consideration whereof the Master shall use all proper means to teach the Apprentice the business of a Seaman. The Master agrees to provide the Apprentice with sufficient Meat, Drink, Lodging, Medicine and Medical and Surgical Assistance, and pay him in the following manner: NIL. The Apprentice will provide for himself all sea-bedding, wearing apparel, and necessaries.

The Monkbarns was a full-rigged ship of 1771 tons net register built in 1895 of steel. She had steel lower masts and yards, and was built for cargo capacity, not speed. Her mainmast was 192 ft. (58.5m) high from keelson to truck, her steel mainyard was 92 ft. (28m) long, weighing three tons. This carried her mainsail, a huge rectangular sail of canvas 90 ft. by 50 ft. (27.4m x 15.2m) in size; a sail heavy, stiff and hard to handle in a gale of wind. .

In September 1918 the Monkbarns was lying at anchor at Rio de Janeiro, having put in there in distress, short of provisions and with a mutinous crew, who were promptly arrested by a British cruiser then in port, brought before a naval Court and sent to England to serve jail sentences. This was the very last case of mutiny at sea in a British ship.

The owners of the Monkbarns, on hearing of the trouble, decided to take no more chances with mutinous crews but instead to make up the crew with new apprentices, to be sent out to Rio from England. Besides, apprentices were cheaper. . . They had no difficulty in obtaining apprentices, there being a long list from which to choose. Sailing ships always had an appeal for the adventurous youth of England, and the fact that it was war-time only added to their zeal. Ten lads with an average age of sixteen were dispatched on the Highland Rover which left Falmouth in convoy at the end of July, 1918.

On 2 September the Highland Rover steamed into Rio harbour and, as soon as she docked, Capt. Donaldson, Master of the Monkbarns, came on board to collect his ten new apprentices, taking them at once to the British Consulate in the city to sign on as members of the crew. For the lads it was a memorable day for none had been out of England before. . . They were then taken by launch across the harbour to the dry dock where they got their first sight of the ship they had come so far to join.

She was not a lovely sight; Just a big, grey, rust-streaked hull surmounted by three masts which, to their unaccustomed eyes, appeared to be of incredible height. The decks were dirty, ropes and blocks lay everywhere around, while the half-deck house to which they were introduced was dismal in the extreme.

All had come on board smartly dressed in brass-bound uniforms and with brand-new sea chests. In the half-deck they were introduced to the four senior apprentices, veterans of several years and of the recent passage of Cape Horn, with a rebellious crew. They were dressed in dingy dungarees, and let it be known that they were superior beings.

The Mate came into the half-deck, made himself known and said: "Get out of those shore togs and get into your working gear - there's plenty of work to be done!"

The new lads did not have much work on the first day. They examined the maze of ropes, each with its appointed name and place and each secured to its own belaying pin. Above all, they gazed up at the lofty spars, knowing that before too long they would be expected to know each rope and go aloft and out on those far distant yards.

They did not have to wait long to try their hand on the rigging. An enquiry from the Mate brought the reply: "Go aloft if you want to - might as well get used to it - and don't break your necks, we didn't go to all the trouble of bringing you out here for that!" So one after another the new apprentices swung into the shrouds and, slowly and carefully at first, mounted the ratlines until they reached the futtock-shrouds, which led to the "Top". These "Tops", at fore, main and mizzen masts were small platforms at the top of the lower masts. To reach them one has to climb up a short ladder (the futtock shrouds) which projects outwards from the mast, so one had to climb more or less on one's back - like a fly on the ceiling - until one has got over the edge of the "Top" and can step onto the platform. Rather a trying ordeal for a new hand. Once in the "Top", glowing with a sense of achievement, the new hand can pause and look around. Just below the "Top" was the huge main yard, supported by lifts and by a big steel hook (or "crane") and held to the lower mast by a metal band, thus allowing the yard to be moved fore and aft, the movement being carried out by means of a tackle at the yard arms. These "braces" led down to the deck below.

Strung below the yard on wire strops was a footrope, on which men stood when laid-out on the yard to furl or reef the sail. Along the top of the yard ran a steel rail, with wire "grommets" seized on it at intervals. These grommets were rather like large quoits; through them an arm could be thrust in time of need.

From the "Top", on either side of the mast, were narrow, nearly vertical wire ladders, which led to the topmast cross-trees. These ladders were the topmast shrouds, which ended in two horizontal spars. On the way up, just beyond the main "Top", was suspended the huge spar of the lower topsail yard, whilst just above it, supported by wire lifts and held to the mast by a metal band (or "parrel"), was the upper topsail yard. This yard was hoisted when the sail was set, rising another thirty feet above the yard below, which was fixed and did not hoist.

On reaching the cross-trees the climb was still not nearly done, as from them ran upwards another ladder, quite vertical this time, leading to the head of the topgallant mast. On this mast were two more yards, positioned much as were the larger topsail yards below. Above the topgallant masthead the mast rose another 35 feet (10.7m) to the royal yard. When lowered, this yard could be readily reached from the topgallant masthead, but when the royal yard was hoisted and sail set the only way to reach it was by climbing, hand over hand, up the iron chain of the royal halyards, until one could swing a leg over the royal yard and sit astride it, or stand on the footrope and lean over.

At this first attempt of going aloft the yard was lowered, and the climber could get no higher. To reach the absolute top of the mast - the truck - was a difficult job, requiring a hand-over-hand job all the way. However, even when lowered, the royal yard was about 150 feet (46 m) up.

The new apprentice was pleased with himself; he had done it - gone right up to the royal yard - on his first day aboard. Soon he would be going up and down, day or night, as a matter of routine, without a thought, barefoot most of the time, but in heavy clumsy sea-boots and oilskins in heavy weather. On his first attempt he descended with care, finding coming down more difficult than going up, and arrived on deck with an ill-concealed air of pride in his achievement.

Next day, dressed in their brand-new dungarees, the new-hands started work in earnest, helping to wash down decks, coil up gear and bearing a hand in "bending-sail" - hoisting sails from the deck to their appropriate yard, laying out on the yard standing on the footrope and, under expert direction, securing the sails to the jackstay with rope-yarn and passing a rope gasket around them to make a neat stow. Next came the reeving of the halyards and buntlines and many a similar job - starting to "learn the business of a seaman", as their indentures provided that they be taught.

After three days the Monkbarns was towed out of dry dock and lighters came alongside with stones for ballast. These were swung aboard in baskets and tipped into the hatches, the job of the apprentices being to trim the ballast. The work was hard, the stones slimy and heavy, the heat oppressive. Smaller stuff was shovelled, blistering unaccustomed hands. This went on for three days.

When the new-hands had been on board a fortnight and had begun to know their way around, the third Mate, with a boat's crew, brought the "Old Man" from shore. The third Mate then came into the half-deck and announced that the ship had a charter for Bunbury in Western Australia to load timber. No one had heard of Bunbury or of the "Jarrah Wood" to be loaded there.

Next day the crew came on board - all drunk - and disappeared with their gear into the foc'sle, a deck-house similar to the half-deck, but situated just abaft the foremast. This deckhouse also contained, as a separate compartment, the ship's galley. Another compartment provided a small cabin for the sailmaker and the carpenter, known respectively as "Sails" and "Chips". The crew were a mixed lot of various nationalities and fortunately all were experienced sailormen. The cook was an Arab.

The total complement of the Monkbarns on that passage was thirty, made up of the Captain, "Jock" Donaldson, a grey-beard of at least seventy years of age, three mates, seven able seamen, one "ordinary" seaman aged eighteen, and fourteen apprentices, ten of them being the newly joined lads from England. There were also the "idlers" who did not work the ship: the cook, sail maker, carpenter and officers' steward.

Duties were divided into "Watches", there being eleven bodies to each watch: four men and seven boys - few enough to swing the heavy yards, even in fair weather. When it was foul it took all hands to put the ship about or reduce sail in a hurry in a sudden hard blow.

At first light on 19 September 1918, a tug boat came alongside, and the anchor came up to a rousing sea shanty, "Shenandoah" being always a favourite.

Many landsmen do not realise that sea shanties are purely working songs and are never used for any other purpose. There are "Capstan Shanties", sung when going round the capstan, the men heaving on the capstan bars to the clink, clink of the capstan pawls; and "Halyard Shanties", with quite a different rhythm, used when hoisting yards.

As the ship headed for open sea, the tug cast off. Already the apprentices had been aloft loosing sail. Down came the big courses, tacks and sheets were secured, down came the lower topsails and up went the upper topsail yards to a hearty shanty. Then followed the tp'gan'sls, and lastly to the tune of "What shall we do with the drunken sailor", the royal yards went aloft with a run. Under full sail, beating to windward, the Monkbarns heeled to the fresh breeze, with spray flying over her foredeck as she plunged through the swell. Now was the time to make everything ship-shape, clearing the decks of all loose gear as she was away on her long haul to Bunbury.

Gathering on the after deck, men were picked in turn to form the port and the starboard watch. Each watch worked four hours on and four hours off; the period from 4 pm to 8 pm was divided into two, two-hour "dog-watches". Every two hours throughout the day and night the helmsman was changed. In very heavy weather two men were needed to control the kicking wheel which, geared direct to the rudder head, bucked and jerked in a heavy sea, being quite capable of tossing a solitary helmsman right over the wheel.

The half-deck, in which the apprentices were housed, was entered by a door on each side - always by the lee door when at sea. To enter, one stepped over a lee board, about 15 inches (45 cm) high, the purpose of this being to keep out the sea water when the decks were flooded, which was often. Once inside, one entered a narrow oblong room, beyond which was another similar room. The walls were of iron; the place as cold as ice in winter and an inferno of heat in the summer or when in the tropics. Around three sides of the room were bunks, one above the other. Two small port-holes of heavy glass and bolt-studded iron-work provided light, as did a skylight in the deck above.

In the half-deck itself, sea chests stood on the deck, all around the room, usually lashed down to prevent them from sliding from side to side as the ship rolled. In the centre of the room, almost filling the narrow space between the sea chests, stood a bare deal table, with raised lee boards around its edges. On one side of the table was a bench of white wood. At the far end of the table there was just enough room for a pot-bellied iron stove - a vital necessity in 40E or 50E south.

The bunks were a narrow wooden space with high boards to keep a sleeper from rolling out as the ship pitched and rolled her way through the sea. In those of the new-hands were straw mattresses - "donkey's breakfasts" , but in those of the older hands there were none, the lads sleeping on the bare boards, rolled in blankets. In a few weeks the new-hands tossed their "donkey's breakfasts" over the side. The reason - bed bugs.

In that room seven men slept, lived and had their being, often for months - even years - on end. Here, too, the apprentices had to study when off watch. Eventually they would take examinations in navigation and seamanship, but they received no instruction or help of any kind. The owners wanted cheap labour, it was not their concern to teach their apprentices navigation. It was an iniquitous system. Under the Watch system no seaman could get more than three and a half hours sleep for in their four hours off they had to do everything for themselves, wash and mend clothes, fix up odd jobs and do all their study. Moreover, they were always hungry.

The food was scanty and crude, the main item of diet being salt meat or pork ("Salt Junk"). This was stowed below in casks. When needed a cask was hoisted on deck and the contents tipped into the "Harness Cask", firmly secured to the main deck, abaft the mizzen mast. It was always kept locked for, foul as it was, a hungry sailor would steal meat from it if he had the chance. The meat, soaked in brine, the surface of which was all colours of the rainbow, was usually served boiled, being as tough as an army boot. There were no green vegetables, although dried potatoes and beans were supplied, served in various forms, always unpalatable. At regular intervals a dinner of curry and rice or "Boston Baked Beans" was served, the latter always being very popular. On Sundays there was "Duff", a plain suet concoction, served with molasses.

At the end of the first watch in the early morning - 4 am to 8 am - the "Coffee Watch" - a great kettle of strong coffee was brewed in the galley and served to the watch, unless the weather was too bad to do this. At eight bells (8 am) there was breakfast - a coarse oatmeal porridge served with molasses and a ship's biscuit or hunk of bread. Ship's biscuits were about three inches (8 cm) square and as hard as iron. Sometimes they became full of weevils and had to be knocked hard on the table to knock out weevils before being eaten.

Meals were served from the galley and taken to the half-deck. In heavy weather, when the decks were flooded, this was difficult. Life-lines were rigged along the main deck. It was a chancy business; if a man misjudged the roll of the ship he could be caught in a green sea and washed into the scuppers, food, coffee billy and all. Woe betide such an individual, for there was no second supply. The whole watch just had to miss that meal, and be satisfied with gnawing a biscuit.

It was the invariable practice in sailing ships for the junior apprentices to do menial work for the seniors. This was called being a "Peggy", the system being much like "fagging" in the English public schools. A roster was made up and the duty of the "Peggy" of the day was to collect the food from the galley, wash the dishes afterwards, sweep up and generally keep the half-deck clean.

Every day the routine work of the ship went on. At dawn the braces were hauled tight, the decks were washed down and scrubbed with long-handled brooms. The Mates sent apprentices up the yards to overhaul the ropes. Other men were doing odd jobs, splicing ropes or wires, oiling the sheaves of blocks, reeving new halyards, cleaning the teak rails. There was never any lack of work on a windjammer. Some jobs were filthy tasks, like "Tarring down" - going aloft with a pot of tar and a cloth swab and sliding down the backstays or shrouds coating them with tar to save them from rust.

These jobs were apart from the normal work of trimming sail to meet any shift of wind. A shift of wind, however slight, meant that the braces had to be manned and the yards swung, fore and aft, to catch the wind to the best advantage. Sometimes a sudden squall would require the Royals to be furled. An apprentice - always an apprentice - would race aloft to furl them. Every two hours the wheel would be relieved.

In fair weather the usual practice was to wear dungarees and shirt. One soon got accustomed to going aloft barefooted. In bad weather oilskins were a must. Once in terrible weather a man was washed overboard. There was no going back for him.

On 8 November 1918, just fifty days out of Rio, the Monkbarns reached Bunbury.

The unabridged version of the above may be found in the article: Cargoes of Jarrah, by V.G.Fall, Early Days Journal, The Royal Western Australian Historical Society, Volume 7, part 4, 1972.

The Monkbarns was the most popular of London's last square-rigged sailing ships, and was more often in the news than any of her contemporaries. Her last voyage was in 1926 when she was sold and became a coal hulk on the north coast of Spain. The history of the ship, including detail of the famous mutiny, is given in the book Course,A.G. "The Wheel's kick and the Wind's Song," Percival Marshall, London, 1950.

It was on this first voyage, when the Monkbarns called at Bunbury, that Victor met Dorothy Rumble. His ship never returned to Bunbury but he and Dorothy corresponded. Eventually he decided to give up the sea and migrate to Western Australia. He arrived at Fremantle on the "Zealandia" on the afternoon of 7 November 1923. He became engaged to Dorothy on 22 December 1923.

Between the date of engagement and marriage, eighteen month's later, Vic had to establish himself. On the 23 November 1923, he visited Millars' Timber and Trading Company in Perth to see if they could give him a job. He returned to Dorothy with the promise of a position. So, on the 27 November, just over two week's after he arrived in Perth, he left the Rumble home in North Perth and started work as a timber clerk at the little timber town of Mornington Mills.

To get to Mornington Mills it was necessary to take the Perth - Bunbury train and alight at Wokalup, about 90 miles south of Perth. The mill town was in the hills, seven miles from Wokalup, and Millars had a private railway line to the Mill. If no transport was available, Vic had to walk to and from the Mill. Once again Vic and Dorothy exchanged letters. He returned to Perth for Christmas, and they became engaged. Eventually they set a wedding date for 22 June 1925.

For details of the wedding

and the birth of children, see the entry for Dorothy Rumble

See entry for Dorothy

Rumble for comments on the period of economic

depression

Lecturing on

Douglas Social Credit

Organising Labour Day

Sports

Producing plays

Chess Club &

Study Group

Vic becomes

Company Auditor

Less than a year after his marriage Millars' transferred Vic to Yarloop, still as clerk. He and Dorothy had two children, Dorothy Joan, born in 1926 and John Victor, born in 1928 .

The great economic depression hit Western Australia hard between 1929 and 1932. Victor studied for his accountancy and secretarial exams. He did well, gaining first place in Australia - but what use was a gold medal, when there were no jobs and no prospects of improvement? He applied for many jobs without success.

In the thirties Victor became interested in "Douglas Social Credit" and he and Alfred Jacobs, the local doctor, lectured throughout the south-west of the State. In her 1944 diary, Dorothy recalled:

Vic organised sports and various functions in aid of D.S.C., bringing back the thrill of the old log-chopping days, and ending up with balls in the local hall. Murphy's merry-go-round and Swing Boats would make a great attraction for the children. We ran our big sports day always on Labour Day - the first Monday in May. The Sunday before, all the committee would meet at our home and all looked at the sky for signs of rain on their departure. We always insured against rain, and many a worry we would get from the clouds.

Vic also produced three plays with local talent. He acted in them himself, was producer and manager. All rehearsals were held in our home. (There were) committee meetings, and a study group circle. Vic also had a chess club which met in different homes in turn. . .

In 1936, Old Mr Robertson - Chief Clerk - died and Vic got his position. We moved into their house which was next door. Bigger. And electric light. No more Aladdin lamps - what a joy - no one realises the joy of switching on an electric light switch - till you've been without it for several years. We now had an eight room house, very nice inside, quite a nice lawn in front and the makings of a nice garden. . .

Towards the end of 1938, Vic became company auditor and travelled to various mills. Most weeks he left home on Monday morning and did not return until late Friday afternoon. At the beginning of 1939 he was transferred to Head Office, so he and his family moved to Perth, lived for a year in a flat, and then moved to 18 Woodroyd St., Mt.Lawley.

WORLD WAR II

Vic joins the militia

but is dissatisfied

In 1940, after the outbreak of World War II he joined the local militia - a part-time activity. He enjoyed this, and the association with the men, but he was getting restless. At a later date, his wife Dorothy, reflecting on this period, wrote in her diary:

The militia was not what he wanted. He was longing to go overseas again, . . . his mind was on the war and he was interested in nothing else. . . One day he saw an advertisement in the paper calling for applicants to undertake administrative work for the R.A.F. overseas. This was the job, I knew, for Vic, as he is a wonderful organiser and has a good command of men.

He joins the RAF

Voluntary reserve

Travels Overseas

In 1941 Vic applied to the RAF, and was accepted. He was sent to Singapore and Malaya. While at Butterworth he looked after the messing arrangements in his spare-time. He did such a good job at this that he was called to Singapore Headquarters and found himself appointed messing (or catering) officer for RAF Far East Command. He enjoyed this work, travelling throughout Malaya and Burma.

See the summary at the

beginning of this entry

Rohan D Rivett:

BEHIND BAMBOO

An Inside Story of Japanese Prison Camps.

(Angus and Robertson, 1946)

A typical day in a

Japanese Prison Camp

When Japan entered the war and attacked Malaya, he escaped to Java. There he was captured, and spent three years as a prisoner of war, with considerable mistreatment, from which he never fully recovered. He mentioned this briefly in his letter to Malcolm Glazier, but was never happy to talk about his experiences. When his son, John, asked him in 1946, he refused to discuss this painful subject, replying: `Read the book "Behind Bamboo". That tells what it was like.' Inside the cover of this book he placed newspaper clippings of accounts of the type of life he had led. Part of one of these accounts follows:

Our day was something like this: we had breakfast about seven o'clock in the morning, and we got boiled rice and, if we were lucky, a spoonful of sugar. For drink it was just tea; no sugar or milk. After breakfast came roll-call, usually at eight o'clock. Eventually they made us number off in Japanese: Itchy, nee, san, see, go, roco . . .

Next, we drew our tools and started work. Sometimes we had a tidy march, or maybe we were locally on the job. We were dressed in our G-string - like a loin cloth. It was a piece of string with a square of white sheeting or sacking. That's all we were in most of the time. We didn't need clothes. For one thing, if you had clothes you would be more uncomfortable on account of the lice - you couldn't get rid of the lice. All you carried was a tobacco tin - that is if you had any tobacco - under the string, which held it against you.

We would stop for a meal about one o'clock. We got rice again and sometimes salt fish, and any vegetable we may have been lucky enough to have. Then we would work again until six. Sometimes we were on a "task" job - a job we had to finish on that particular day. Often that was very hard, but we usually managed to get it done. The Japanese ill-treated us only if we were caught not working.

Sometimes we were slapped in the face or beaten. They punished their own soldiers by slapping or beating, and thought we should be punished in the same way. It made us mad to be slapped by a Japanese because we were not used to it. In our country, if anyone slaps you, you slap them back. But in prison camp, if anyone slapped a Japanese it would either mean his being shot, or ten men being shot in the same camp.

When we returned to camp after work, we had rice again. Sometimes it was made as a stew with boiled vegetables.

Mistreatment

The sick, beaten and

put on half rations

E.E.Dunlop:

Medical Experiences in

Japanese Captivity

British Medical Journal

5 October 1946, page 481

His wife Dorothy receives

a message, full of propaganda , that he is alive.

Another account emphasised the lack of nutritious food so that men lost weight and became ill. It went on:

Although the Japanese record is lightened by deeds of kindness extended to captives by individuals, the general approach was based on a continuous litany of work and punishment. Punishments, which were inflicted for little or no excuse, included severe beatings, standing at attention in the open in all weathers for long periods, and solitary confinement. The severity of punishment varied with the mood and particular tantrum of the Jap concerned.

Much of the work was unpleasant and detrimental to the prisoners' health. The Japanese made the life of the sick in camp as unpleasant as possible to get them to go to work. They beat them, then they were put on half-rations.

Dunlop, in the British Medical Journal in 1946, wrote of the deterioration of the working force under semi-starvation, disease, and illimitable exhaustion. Sickness was regarded as a crime. He wrote of malaria, dysentery, enteritis, cholera, malnutrition, tropical ulcers and other skin diseases, apart from injuries through work. Jungle surgery with little or no anaesthetic was carried out with great difficulty, and necessity truly became the mother of invention.

For a long time Vic's wife did not know whether he was alive or dead. After some months a message from him was broadcast over Batavia Broadcasting Station on 22 November 1942. This was full of propaganda but at least Dorothy knew that he was alive:

I am a prisoner of war in Java, I was taken soon after the capitulation by the Nipponese Government, on March 8th. Fortunately I am in good health and I am being well treated by the Nipponese Army.

The Nipponese Army appeared to be well equipped and of high morale, whereas the few English troops and many Dutch did not appear to be keen, leaving much of the work to be done by the Australians, as usual. There was, however, little fighting in Java, our allies showing their usual attitude of muddle.

You have probably heard many stories of the bad treatment of prisoners by the Nipponese Army, but I have no hesitation in saying from my own observation that this is not so; we are well treated, and food is sufficient - rice, soup and tea.

It is generally felt that the sooner this is over and Australia makes peace with the Nipponese the better it will be for all. Do not worry about me, as I feel sure I will be home soon. Much love to you, Joan and Jack.

14 stone = 196 pounds

= 89 kg

7 stone = 98 pounds

= 44.5 kg

After the war, Vic returned to Perth at the end of 1945. He was anything but well. He had left Australia weighing 14 stone, and returned weighing 7 stone, and never regained good health. After his death, which was hastened by his experiences, Dorothy was declared a war widow.

Although Victor did not talk of his experiences, it is evident that he played his part well while a prisoner of war. He received notification that his name was published in the London Gazette on 1 October 1946, as mentioned in a Dispatch for distinguished service.

Putting the war behind him as best he could, he rejoined the timber industry, moving from Millars' to the Worsely Timber Company in 1955 and then to Swan Timber Company in 1962, where he became General Manager and Company Director before retirement in June 1967.

From 1946 onwards he became a crew member of his brother-in-law Horace's yacht Mercedes and for many years enjoyed racing on Saturday afternoons during the yachting season.

His interest in reading and

in History.

Retirement at Shoalwater Bay

Writing two books

Review of The Sea and the Forest

Starting a third book

Illness:

Strokes and death.

Vic never had many close friends. He read voraciously in his spare time, and initially spent much time catching up with what had happened in the world during his incarceration. He always wished that he had become a professor of history, but life circumstances prevented this. On his retirement, he resolved to write the history of the timber industry.

He and Dorothy sold their Mt Lawley home and moved to 40 Churchill Avenue, Shoalwater Bay, where he wrote and published two books on local history. The first was "The Sea and the Forest," being a history of the Port of Rockingham, Western Australia, published by The University of Western Australia Press, 1972. The second was "The Mills of Jarrahdale."

A published review of The Sea and the Forest started as follows:

Western Australia's University Press and the Shire of Rockingham were singularly fortunate in discovering in V.G.Fall a man who knew intimately both the sea and the great hardwood forests of Western Australia and who also proved, when he retired and wrote this book, a natural and gifted historian.

and ends:

Apart from the enthralling interest of Mr. Fall's narrative, his book with its excellent illustrations, adds richly to the history of the sailing ship in the nineteenth century.

Throughout his life Vic was an inveterate pipe smoker from early morning until late at night; his major pastime was reading historic works, particularly those relating to ancient Rome and Greece, and British history. In poor health after the war, he was well into drafting his third book, Giants of the South, being a history of the timber industry in the south-west of the State, when he had a series of strokes and he died on 18 November 1974. His death was hastened by his war-time experiences.

At age three, Dorothy made friends with Isabelle Greayer. They became lifelong friends

Isabelle said that Harry Humfrey was very strict with his children

orothy, the youngest child of Harry Rumble & Kate Knight, was born on 29 December 1900, when the family lived at Marmion Street, Fremantle. When she was about three years old, her family moved to 1 Colin Street, West Perth. Dorothy ran down to the back fence at the new house and, through the open pickets, saw another three year old from the house behind. They played the game of "I can see you!" , "No you can't" through the pickets and eventually became friends. From this she developed a lifelong friendship with Isabelle Greayer, who eventually married a John Reynolds, and settled in Tasmania.

In 1989, Isabelle, then in a nursing home, recalled this incident, She also recalled that, when the Rumble family lived in Colin street,

they had a small dining room with the children sitting on forms along the sides and Pa, as he was always called, had a long cane with which he tapped the hands of anyone not behaving at table. I was always a bit frightened his stick would reach me when I was visiting. . . All the boys grew up such nice people, considering. . . we used to hear them being whacked in the back yard by their father. My Dad used to say, `They'll have trouble with those boys, they'll turn on their father one day,' but they never did."

However, in 1989, Horace, the oldest boy - and then almost one-hundred, denied that the boys were beaten.

At Colin Street, the boys locked the girls out on the roof one night.

When she was a little older, but still living at Colin Street, Dorothy remembered that one evening, when her parents went out, the three girls, Maudie, Phyllis and Dorothy climbed onto the roof from the dormer windows in their nightdresses. The boys promptly locked the windows so they could not get back. They stayed on the roof until their parents returned.

Dorothy's babyhood was prolonged by her mother.

It was also in this house that Dorothy remembered being terrified by her brothers. The boys put sheets over their heads and pretended to be ghosts, pouncing out on her as she went up the steep, narrow stairs to bed. Dorothy became very frightened and said she remained scared for years. She always regretted being the youngest child because her parents did not want her to grow up. She was encouraged to use baby talk - saying "geen" and "boo" for "Green" and "Blue," up to an age where other children laughed at her. This made her feel very under-confident.

We do not know the year in which the family moved to 102 Aberdeen Street, Perth, a house that provided more space. Dorothy related how the boys rode their bicycles round and round the dining room table, and how, when home, their father was very strict. No one could speak at the table, and Harry kept a stick nearby that he used to tap on the head, those who broke the rules. When Harry and Kate talked, everyone else had to be silent. With such a family of "talkers" as the Rumbles proved to be, perhaps this was the only way in which Harry and Kate could hold a conversation!

Dorothy was very conscious of the teasing she received from her brothers and of the effect of her father's drunkenness on her development.

Dorothy was very conscious of the teasing she received from older brothers, particularly Horace, who was sixteen by the time she was five. She was gravely affected by her father's drunkenness, and in later life felt that she never overcame the effects of her childhood experiences, and was always afraid of life. She felt very close to her Mother and also to her older sister, Maudie, who often acted as mother to her. She once wrote in a letter: "For my Mother, to save her suffering, I did everything." In the same letter she said that her Mother and Maudie were her only true friends.

Recalling her mother's death in 1932, Dorothy wrote in her diary:

Mother had written and told me how much she was suffering, because I have always understood her so much and she could never hide her sufferings from me. How I worshipped her and how I shall miss my mother and Maudie thro all the years to come - Maudie who knew how terrified I was to face things alone - but I could not tell my mother because she had already had too many sorrows, and I did love her so.

Dorothy was closest in age to Phyllis, very similar in temperament, but often had disagreements through sibling rivalry. When they were teenagers, Phyllis, always very popular with the boys, teased Dorothy by saying, "No matter what boy you get, I will take him from you."

At Bunbury in 1916 she took dancing lessons and went to night school. She did not work before marriage.

When she was sixteen and living in Bunbury, both she and Phyllis attended dancing classes each week. In September, 1917, they both starting learning shorthand. Dorothy also went for a short period to night-school to learn book-keeping, but, unlike her two older sisters, she remained at home until marriage. Her mother's diary shows that during the Bunbury period from 1915 until 1922 Dorothy led a life of leisure, with few responsibilities. She socialised with a wide group, helped her mother at home, went swimming, boating, crabbing, dancing, and played tennis.

fortnight = two weeks

She often day-dreamed about how she would like life to be. She thought of her grandmother, Letitia Knight, living in a grand house with servants, and dreamed of such a life. Throughout her life, she remained simple in her outlook, and loved children. Once she had the opportunity to work as an untrained helper for two weeks at "Lady Lawley's Cottage by the Sea" for crippled children, at Cottesloe. It was early June 1922 when Phyllis contacted her to see if she could help them for a fortnight as they could not find a nurse for the convalescent ward, and more patients were arriving.

This short experience meant much to her since she spoke of it again and again throughout her life, as though she had been working there for a much longer period.

She loved fairy tales because they always ended with "and they lived happily ever after", and she brought her children up on a diet of "Grimm's Fairy Tales," "King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table," and "Alice in Wonderland," together with A.A. Milne's stories of "Winnie the Pooh." She did not start school until she was seven and left at the age of fourteen. She was always conscious of her lack of education and would sometimes say, quoting from Milne, "You must remember, I am a bear of little brain."

Vic Fall and Ted Chown are invited to the Rumble's home

Vic Fall could not come

so Dolly wrote to him

Dorothy's sister, Phyllis, had met a Mr. Chown at the party, so the girls decided to ask them home. Phyllis wrote a letter to Mr. Chown asking if he would come to tea on Sunday, bringing Mr. Donnithorne and Mr. Fall with him.

They asked the Mayor's daughter, Connie Baldock, to come along so it would balance the group. On Sunday Dolly was bitterly disappointed; they all arrived except Mr. Fall. Mr. Chown gave Vic Fall's apologies saying he had been rostered for duty. At 3 pm the boys rowed the girls up to Turkey Point, but were thankful when the Bath family offered to tow them back behind their launch. It was a swelteringly hot day - the first real foretaste of the West Australian summer - so after tea, they all strolled over to the back beach. Dolly excused herself. She wondered why she had felt so terribly disappointed all day. While the others were out, she wrote a letter in her neatest hand:

Dear Mr. Fall,

It was so disappointing that you should suddenly have to go on night duty instead of coming here today, for I felt quite out in the cold; so I am sending you these few lines to ask will you come to tennis with me on Tuesday afternoon, it is nearly opposite our house, so could you call here for me at about 2.30 pm

I had better tell you that I am only a beginner, also will you please bring tennis shoes, if necessary I can borrow a racket for you. Hope you will not disappoint me again,

Yours sincerely

Dolly Rumble.

Dolly did not have to wait until Tuesday to see Mr. Fall again; On Monday afternoon she went down town and met him by chance. It was her mother's last "At Home" day for the year, so she invited him back to the house. Her mother introduced him to the ladies as "one of the young Middies off the Monkbarns." He had been so polite and gentlemanly.

On Tuesday he arrived at 2.45, ready for tennis, and they enjoyed several games together. At four o'clock, Phyl came over with some afternoon tea, and they all sat down on the lawn and talked.

Dolly decides that Vic is

the person she will marry

They correspond

The ship never returns

to Bunbury

Between that day and when the ship sailed, Victor and Dorothy saw each other constantly. By the time the ship sailed she knew that Victor was the man she would marry.

The Monkbarns set sail from Bunbury on Thursday, December the fifth. Victor pencilled the record of the departure in his little log book:

Dec. 5th.: Left Bunbury for Cape Town - with a cargo of Jarrah wood. There are no tugs in Bunbury so we had to sail right away from the buoys. I was aloft on the fore - loosing sail. We set the jibs & fore-lower top'sle first and then, once she had her head to the sea, crowded sail after sail on her.

I had plenty of work to do up aloft, from where there was a fine view of the bay & town. The jetty with the "Auldgirth" alongside, the long breakwater with the lighthouse on the hill at the back. The wreck across the Bay at Turkey-Point, White Road, with the roof of Rumble's house showing plainly in the sunlight. Everywhere blue sky & sea with glistening sands & in the far distance the hills of the Darling Range.

By the 2nd Dog watch the coast had become a faint blue line. The last most of us will ever see of Bunbury. . .

In her diary for that day Dolly wrote:

Thurs. 5th. : The boat sailed today for Capetown, Phyl and I went to tennis in the afternoon, I did some ironing. Phyl and I walked down town after tea for some stamps.

Dorothy and Victor exchanged letters. Vic's first letters arrived in Bunbury in April 1919, her sister also receiving letters from Ted Chown. They all hoped that the ship would return to Bunbury, but it never did. For Christmas 1919, her father gave her an autograph album, penning in it the following poem:

To our Baby:- Jany.1920

Baby Doll - as your teens run past

Our last little puzzle you truly prove

With your longing to go through life so fast

And your vague desires to be truly in love

Why dream of a middy half way up a mast

Or the 'mate' of a cockshell on ocean vast

When you've no idea who will claim at last

Baby Doll.

Baby Doll - When you put up your hair

And your skirt grew down as your legs grew long

When your first little love brought a world of care

And nothing was left but a farewell song

Why dream of a middy who's never there

Or whose visits are short & far more rare

While there's others about who think you fair

Baby Doll.

Baby Doll - What's in store in the coming years

Neither I, nor your mother, nor you can see

But there's nothing so bad as a maiden's fears

She will pick the wrong one of her two or three.

For whichever you pick there will sure be tears

And when you have picked one, some more little dears

And worries. . . and trouble, and . . . best close your ears

Baby Doll.

Her father said she would never marry Victor and promised to give her his twenty-volume set of the works of Charles Dickens should he be proved wrong. He later honoured this undertaking.

Dolly pines for Vic

His ship calls at

Newcastle, NSW

Their relationship becomes

serious

Kate Rumble in her diary records Victor's twenty-first birthday on 20 December 1923. This would imply that in 1920 he turned eighteen, not nineteen.

It is known that Victor put up his age when he first met Dorothy

On 24 February 1920, her mother Kate wrote in her diary:

Dolly in bed all morning - took castor oil last night to try and stop her `love-sickness'.

On 3 November 1920, the Monkbarns arrived at Newcastle in New South Wales. On the fifth, Dolly got up early and made some lamingtons for Vic, while her mother made some date-creams. Next morning Dolly bicycled to the post office to dispatch her parcel of "goodies" to Newcastle. Years later she claimed, in jest, that this was how she caught him.

On 24 November she received a letter:

Dearest Girl,

I have received your letter and parcel - Dolly, you are really too kind to me - all this past two years you have always written to me and I have replied, I am afraid, only too tardily. Please do forgive me. It is not that I do not care for you, but that the kind of life I have to lead - and must continue to lead for the next eighteen months or so - makes it very hard. There is no privacy - no conveniences for anything. . . You ask if there is not "someone else." No, on my word, there is not. True, in this past two years I have met many girls, both at home and abroad, rich and poor, pretty and ugly but for not one of them would I exchange my West Australian girl.

Now listen, Dolly. We are a little older now than we were two years ago and it is only fair to both of us that I should emphasise this. I am nineteen next month and am apprenticed to this ship, drawing no wages and entirely dependant on home until July 1922. Then I have stiff examinations to pass before I can ever hope to rise.

I am penniless - the younger son of a family ruined by the war, and any position I may ever reach, and any possessions I may ever get, depends entirely upon myself and myself alone. I am not particularly clever, nor yet a very good sailor. I have just the average man's chances and no more.

You will understand, I think dearest, why I tell you this. I can do no more, and it rests with you. Remains only to be said that I care for you honestly and truly and no other girl . . . .

Dolly wrote back to Victor, and from then on they had an understanding that he would eventually settle in Australia, following which they would become engaged.

On 29 December 1921, Dolly turned twenty-one. In her diary, her mother, Kate wrote:

Dolly's 21st birthday. Dad gave her a gold wristlet watch and I, a silver lizard brooch of white and green stones. Maudie, a gold signet ring - Horace, an attache case - Eric a purse & Phyllis, a handbag. . .

Dolly had a 'Bridge' evening and supper to celebrate her coming of age - six tables full & Dad & Gladdie (Spencer) & self left over. . . After supper we had some music, and started to break up soon after 12. I went to bed at 1 am.

In 1922, Maudie drew a fine picture of the Monkbarns in pastels. It was sent to be framed and, on 17 November Dolly went to town and picked it up from the framers. The same day she received a letter from Vic saying that his ship, the "Beltana," was due to come into Fremantle on 1 December.

Dolly and Vic have a

brief meeting

He gives up the sea,

migrates to Australia

and starts work for

Millars'

They become engaged

They married on

22 June 1925

On 30 November Maudie rang the agents and found the ship was going straight to Adelaide and would not call at Fremantle until Thursday 11 January. The boat came in to Fremantle at 5.30 pm and Vic arrived at North Perth by 7.30. So Vic and Dolly met again. He had to return to the ship that night, but came up again next day. Dolly was sick with excitement. Kate wrote in her diary: "poor Dolly very sick all morning." On Friday they went for a walk in King's Park. Saturday was his last day. He arrived at 11 am and stayed until 3.30 pm and then had to return to the ship which was sailing that evening for Britain.

Victor cancelled his apprenticeship and migrated to Australia. He arrived at Perth on the 9 November 1923. Apart from the three days in 1922, Dorothy and Victor had not seen each other for almost five years. Victor obtained a position as clerk at Mornington Mills and in her diary for Saturday 22 December 1923, Dorothy wrote:

Vic and I became officially engaged today, he gave me a beautiful diamond cluster.

The family placed a notice in the paper on her twenty-third birthday, 29 December:

The engagement is announced of Dorothy, youngest daughter of Mr. H. Humfrey Rumble, resident engineer, Geraldton Harbour Works, and of Mrs Rumble, North Perth, to Victor George, youngest son of Mrs E. Fall and of the late G.E.Fall, of Long Buckby, England.

Dorothy and Vic were married on 22 June 1925. Her mother, Kate, recorded in her diary:

Saturday, 20th June, 1925

. . . Dolly and I went shopping in morning - brought home some tuber-roses for her wedding bouquet, ordering the rest of the flowers for Monday. Ted came for the weekend, Maudie and Frank arrived in their own car from Goomalling soon after tea and Vic at 8.15. . .

Monday, 22nd June, 1925

Maudie came from Mrs Clifton's at 6.20 to come with Vic, Dolly and me to their wedding mass at St. Brigid's, she and Dolly came to holy communion with me. At breakfast time Vic gave me a fur and Dolly one too, as well as a pearl necklace, and she gave him a white celluloid shaving set and pair of brushes to match. I gave him a Morocco bound bible and he gave Dad a book of travels.

Maudie and I went to town in morning to fetch the wedding flowers etc. and we all helped to decorate the hall next door with the streamers we had for Maudie's wedding. . . Frank motored us all to St. Brigid's, where Dolly and Vic were married by Father Fagan at 3 pm. No visitors, just Phyl and Ted as bridesmaid and best man. Dad and self, Frank and Maudie. Returned home for afternoon tea, and then Maudie photographed the bridal couple beside their cake, on the front verandah.

The cake was then taken into the Hall, where Mrs Goodman and staff were preparing the wedding feast for 6.45 pm. Horace arrived early, bringing little Jean as she was to sleep the night here to go back early next morning with Maudie to Goomalling. They dressed her in her bridesmaid's mauve silk dress for the wedding party. Very heavy showers fell all day and night, but we managed to dodge them successfully tho' the rain kept several guests from coming. Only 34 of the 45 expected, sat down. Frank McAdam was M.C. and made the first speech, to which Vic very ably responded, then Ted spoke, as best man, and Dad to wind up with, after which Doris and Hilda Hedges gave us some pianoforte duets, and violin solos. Kitty (McAdam), some songs, Ivy Langridge pieces, and Dad, two banjo items until the bride and groom were ready to depart at 9 pm Frank and Maudie motored them to Miss Matthew's boarding house at Cottesloe Beach for a week's honeymoon. Frank and Maudie slept the night here.

Dorothy made her own diary record of the marriage. On Sunday 21 June 1925 she went to see Father Fagan, the parish priest at St. Brigid's church, West Perth, to make the final wedding arrangements. In her diary she wrote:

Father Fagan gave me orders to obey Vic in everything, which won't be kept unless I wish or unless it pleases me - Who will be the main person in our married life?

The great Admiral V.G.Fall was wedded to her ladyship Miss Dorothy Rumble - (Now Lady Monkbarns). The wedding ceremony took place at 3 pm at St. Brigid's Church, West Perth, W.A. by the Very Rev. Fr. Fagan - Mr E.J. Chown acted as Best Man (Ted was once Senior officer to Vic on the Monkbarns). Miss Phyllis Rumble was my bridesmaid (my 2nd. sister). The reception was held in the Vincent St. Hall adjoining our residence.

Mr & Mrs H. Humfrey Rumble, Miss Phyllis Rumble, Mr.E.J. Chown and the bride and bridegroom (Mr & Mrs V.G.Fall) received the guests who numbered about forty. Vic & I left by car for Cottesloe for our honeymoon.

Dolly now had Vic to

help her face life

They lived for less than

a year in Mornington Mills

Vic was then transferred to

Yarloop

Dorothy had always been afraid to face life, and had depended on both her mother and her sister Maudie. Now she devoted herself completely to Victor. He gave her security. No longer was she alone. She gave him her devotion and loyalty. He came first in everything and she put her trust in his judgement.

For less than a year they lived in Mornington. The little mill house into which they moved was run down. Dorothy worked hard to establish the garden. They had few possessions, and the reticulated water supply was irregular; in hot weather it sometimes dried up completely and they had to cart water to the house. The Mill manager was Harry Smith ("The Big Fella"). His daughter Grace, who later married Thorley Loton, became a lifelong friend of Dorothy's.

On 21 January 1926, Dorothy wrote in her diary:

We've had some good news, Vic most probably will be transferred to Yarloop, which is on the main line from Bunbury and is 25 miles nearer to Perth than Mornington; one asset, plenty of water and electric light. The position is one higher, so we are very lucky.

Vic immediately wrote to his Father-in-law in Perth and told Harry of his promotion. By 31 January they were packing. They arrived at Yarloop next day and had a picnic lunch on the floor in an empty room of their new house. She wrote to her mother Kate, enclosing a house plan.

The day after they arrived at Yarloop, Dorothy wrote in her diary:

Vic went to the office before breakfast. My house is a great improvement on the Mornington timber hut - and opposite the office - so it only takes Vic about 5 minutes to get home. No scenery at all, unfortunately - tons of black sand everywhere.

There was plenty of water at Yarloop - the tank stand for the town water supply being just opposite the house, but she was disappointed to find that she still did not have electricity. Vic and Dorothy lived in a little group of three houses set slightly apart from the house of Mr Schlam, the Mill manager, and "The Cottage" where visiting staff from Perth Head Office stayed.

Vic was the clerk, not the Chief Clerk. The Chief Clerk lived next door and was supplied with electricity, but not so the ordinary clerk. When, some years later, the Chief Clerk died, Vic gained that position. He also took the house and, with the house, came electricity.

In later years, Dorothy related how she so much wanted promotion for him. As Junior Clerk, his wage was low and life was a struggle. She discussed this with her parish priest, who told her to pray. So she prayed. Almost immediately, the Chief Clerk dropped dead. This was not the answer to her prayers that she expected, but Vic gained his promotion!

The arrival of the family

DOROTHY JOAN

1926

The most significant change in the life of Dorothy and Victor was brought about by the arrival of a family. With the birth of Dorothy's first child due any time, Kate arranged to come down to Yarloop to be with her. Dorothy's diary in July 1926 reads:

Mon 19th: Terrific gales all day and such an awful storm. Mother was unable to come today on account of the storms.

Tues. 20th: (I'm writing this up three weeks later.) The weather was worse than ever. Such a beastly storm that I stayed on my bed under a blanket, very frightened, till Vic came home at 5.15 pm In spite of the gales I went down to the station with him to meet Mother on the 8.30 pm train. I was too nervous to stay alone - it's the worst winter we've had since 1917 - washaways and floods everywhere - only the Bunbury train running down the South West. Mother came as she knew I would be so disappointed, altho' Pa was against her travelling in such weather. Mother brought me down quite a lot of presents. We went to bed rather late. I didn't feel very well at 10 pm

Wed 21st: Hardly slept all night. Vic found the Doctor had gone to the mills for the day, so Nurse Margaret O'Connor came and stayed with me all day. I was so glad Mother risked the train journey. Doctor A.P.Davies arrived around 5.30 pm.

42 lbs = 2 kg.

When Dorothy's Brother Horace saw Joan for the first time he said: `Nice pram, where's the baby?' His own boy Bob born in 1922 had weighed almost

6 kg.

Thurs. 22nd: Dorothy Joan Fall was born at 12.20 am - my little baby of the gales - only hope she is not afraid of storms - it was so cold, too. Doc. stayed till 2 am I couldn't have had two kinder people to help me in all the world. Joan weighs 42 pounds - so far she is more like her Daddy. She has such a lot of pretty hair & bluey-gray eyes.

Joan had such a lot of presents sent to her & I got telegrams from everyone. Horace's kiddies sent her a rattle - will also come in handy for a teething ring. Mrs Barry also gave her a lovely silver & mother of pearl rattle. Muriel R. a beautiful woollen coat she had knitted herself. Maudie, a blue bunny blanket. Phyl, a pretty worked pillow slip for her pram. Mrs Greayer, booties. Isabelle Greayer, a silk and wool bonnet. Marie Lloyd, a bonnet. Thelma Lloyd, silk dress & matineè jacket she had worked. Mrs Williams & girls, a lovely silk bonnet. . .

The list of gifts goes on and on. Kate stayed with Dorothy until the 28 July and then returned to Perth by train. Earlier they had booked Nurse Clifton to come for 20 August. On 22 July Vic sent her a telegram and she arrived that night and stayed to nurse Dorothy. It was not until 5 August that Dorothy dressed for the first time and was very glad to be up again. Nurse Clifton stayed until 12 August and then left by train.

The birth notice read:

FALL, (nee Dorothy Rumble). - On July 22, 1926, at their residence, Yarloop, to Mr. and Mrs. V.G.Fall - a daughter (Dorothy Joan).

Almost two years after the birth of Joan, Dorothy and Vic were awaiting the arrival of their second child. By now they had established themselves in Yarloop but economic times were hard and the great depression was almost upon them.

On Thursday 26 April 1928, Kate came down from Perth arriving at 8.30 pm on the train. She brought ham and scones, and chocolates for Vic, a flower pot for the garden and a cream coat and bonnet for the baby-to-be. She also brought three baby vests and two pairs of booties. Dorothy wrote in her diary :

I'm just longing to put them all on my little baby. Won't I be glad when its all over. I felt a bit too excited with mother's arrival. I do love having Mother with me. I can never get enough of her.

But Kate had "one of her attacks" while she was staying in Yarloop, and spent some time in bed. Her heart was giving trouble and she would die from a heart attack four years later. On 4 May Dorothy wrote:

Mother got a letter from Pa telling us about his send-off at the 'Public Works' on Wednesday. Fifty men, mostly engineers were at the 'send-off' which was held in Mr. Young's office. The Chief presented him with a barometer with plate inscribed on at the bottom - So Pa's retired at last.

At 4.30 pm on Friday 4 May Kate returned to Perth. Dorothy wrote:

Now I won't be able to see her until after "Peggy's" arrival, which we all hope will come off on 24th May, altho' Doc. says 5th June.

JOHN VICTOR

1928

She was convinced she would have another girl and had picked out the name. But John Victor arrived earlier than expected and caused some problems, as her diary reveals:

Sun 6th: Sat up very late till just on midnight having a good old chat with Vic over the fire.

A fortnight later - thank heavens it's all over. Baby's arrival is just a horrible nightmare - - -

Mon 7th: Woke up at 3 am & went out for hot milk and biscuits. Got back to my bedroom at 3.30 & felt awfully bad - got no sleep again. Vic went for Doc. early before breakfast. They both returned and departed soon afterwards to ring up the nurse's club in Perth. Vic had breakfast with the Doc. He called in for Mrs. Kelly to come to me, but she didn't arrive till 9.40 am I was all alone with Joan from 8. Joan wept at my side as she didn't like seeing her Mother suffer. Mrs Kelly took Joan down to her place for the day returning with her after tea. I believe Joan had a great time at the sports as it was "Labour Day". Doc returned with Vic and Sister Hurst from the hospital. She stayed with me and got everything ready. Vic had arranged by phone for a general & middy nurse to leave Perth at once. Sister Pearn arrived at 2.30 and Sister Hurst returned by the same car for Perth. . .

My little son was born at 5.5 pm - "John Victor" - he only weighed six pounds, a bit bigger than Joan, but he is so tiny. I was awfully delighted when Doc told me it was a boy but, Oh, it was awful. John's arrival was much worse than Joan's. I was very glad none of my people were staying with me, but I was much better afterwards. My nerves were very bad.

John has an operation

when three weeks old

But this was not the end of the problems caused by the new arrival "Jack", as he was quickly called. Dorothy's diary recalls the events:

Mon 28th: Sister Pearn left on the 10 am train for Perth . . . she is indeed a lovely nurse and I was most fortunate in getting her, she did look after baby and me so well. She was so kind and willing to do anything. Jack was sick all day & the rain has set in . . .

Tues 29th: Jack wasn't at all well so we sent for Doc. Not a thing could stay down."

Thurs 31st: Dr Jacobs came to see Jack at 11.30, then again at 3 pm Jack was terribly ill, so Doc advised us to take baby to Perth. We all packed in a terrific hurry. I felt very upset and worried over it all. . . Doc came and took Joan, Jack & me in his car to the station at 4 pm The train arrived on time. Got a car up home and rang Dr.Crisp immediately. . .

On 1 June 1928, Dorothy took Jack to Hamel House hospital in Perth where Dr Crisp operated on him for "Pyloris Stenosis" - a blockage at the outlet of the stomach. The operation was completely successful. Jack was out of hospital by 11 June and on 18 June Dorothy was given the "all-clear" to return to Yarloop and resume normal life as soon as she wished.

The 1930s

Economic Depression

Dorothy returned to Yarloop and did what she could to help Vic during the economic depression years around 1932. Years later, in 1944, looking back on this period, she wrote in her diary:

Who thought in those dreary days of Yarloop that (so many) events would happen, the depression of 1932 when Vic and I were up against it, too - receiving the vast amount of ,2.10.0d a week from Millars and working full-time - supposed to be half-time for half-pay - supporting Phyl's two children for about ten weeks with no help from them, (which) made us draw on our small banking account.

It seems we were always struggling - saving up, and then bad luck - Vic applied for various other positions but no luck with so many unemployed. . . a man hates to see his wife and children want (but there were) so many others in the same boat. Families living in tents, children wanting decent clothes and food. It made one think. Why should this be, in a land of plenty? Things got a bit better and, after many months we got put back to full pay again.

Dorothy was never happy

in Yarloop.

She suffered increasingly from violent headaches

The purchase of a car

was like a magic carpet:

Suddenly it gave her

freedom

1937

Joan goes to

Boarding school

1939

The family comes to

Perth

World War II breaks out

Dorothy becomes apprehensive and fearful

of the future

Vic receives the offer

to join the RAF Voluntary

Reserve and serve

overseas.

Dorothy was not happy in Yarloop and felt lonely. She had arrived with visiting cards - quite inappropriate - and was out of touch with the ordinary mill people. She made few friends and, through directness and lack of tact, often gave offence to others. Increasingly she suffered from nervous tension, and often spent the day lying on her bed with violent headaches. She felt hemmed in and isolated in Yarloop.

In 1936 Dorothy received a sum of money. She wrote about this in her 1944 diary:

I received ,275 - my share of a sale of property my Mother left us - so we furnished the lounge and later on Vic and I bought a Ford 10 sedan. I put ,150 into it. This was a great thrill of my life.

. . .After a few lessons I got my driver's licence. No one can realise what it was to me to be behind that wheel tearing along those South-West roads - the only outlet I ever got to my feelings - to be born a girl and longing to roam and roam, I always felt stifled, never ever getting a chance to do just what I wanted. Living for years in a small

country town was not the dreams I had when I first met Vic when I was seventeen and he was a young brassbounder on a windjammer. . .

The car was a magic carpet for Dorothy and changed her life enormously.

. . . Life was very happy for 1937, but 1938 saw the departure of Joan to boarding school at Santa Maria Ladies College, Attadale. How I hated parting with her - luckily, having the car, we could go the 80 miles occasionally to visit her on a week-end. How I looked forward to those visits, and how silent and tearful I felt when leaving Perth.

Joan lost weight very much that year. She was always hungry, so were most of the boarders.

Towards the end of 1938 Vic got the position of Mill Auditor and Inspector - a position he always hated - as he had to be away from home so much. So, for the last 22 months of 1938 John and I lived alone. Vic came home for weekends.... Then, in January 1939 we all came to live in Mt. Lawley.

When war broke out in 1939, Dorothy wrote:

I live in dread of what will happen to Vic and me - something will happen that will separate us, I know. . . I heard of the death of Doctor Windmill, our old family doctor and Maudie's great friend, which upset me very much - so I polished my car and tried to hide my grief.

Then, Vic applied for an overseas job with the RAF:

I started to come out in the most irritating spots, my nerves were all on edge - the strain was awful. I got so frightened I felt at times I couldn't sit in the same room with Vic - the one person I loved best in the world - I would sit on the verandah and in my thoughts would ask Maudie to give me the strength to stand parting with Vic.

Then the telegram came - I went cold all over and dead like stone. I was powerless to move. When Vic came home that night on leave, I said: `It has come.' I could have burst into tears, but the joy and smile on Vic's face - another adventure in his life - I know what it meant to him after all those years spent away from the sea.

Soon Vic had departed by train for Sydney. Dolly wrote in her diary:

Until Vic comes back, one part of me is dead; nothing will ever be the same until we are together again - my life is centred around him.

She concentrated on helping her children. Joan took her Junior Certificate Examination in 1941, and on 7 December Japan entered the war. When this news came to Dolly, she had a sense of foreboding. She continued corresponding with Vic until Malaya fell to the Japanese. On 21 February 1942 she received a cable from Vic in Java: "Safe and Well." Everyone expected the Japanese to descend on Australia and her brother Eric built an air-raid shelter in her back garden with the help of her son John.

See text of message in

entry for Victor Fall

Managing by herself

The war ends and Vic returns

She devotes her life to

his recovery.

Holiday in Britain

Life after Vic's death

in 1974.

Java fell. Several of Vic's fellow officers arrived in Perth, and were surprised that he was not also back home. She waited and waited, felt miserable and ill when she realised that Vic was either captured, or dead. Then, on 8 March 1942 several people contacted her as they had heard a radio message from Vic.

This news was unofficial and was not confirmed for over three years. Since Vic was in the British Air Force, there was confusion over pay, and for some time Dorothy was short of money.

For a person who had always depended on others for support, Dorothy now had a difficult time. She steered her two children through their teenage years, including her daughter's engagement to an American sailor. John completed his schooling and commenced university studies in 1945.

On 15 September 1945 the war ended. In her 1973 diary, Dorothy recalled the day:

I just couldn't believe it after all those years. I just burst into tears, my mind flashing - was Vic alive? - I had three cards from Vic in Java - each twelve months old, so anything could have happened. Eventually I heard his name read out over the wireless.

All these years I have been unable to write about it. Vic came home on the Tamaroa on 10 October 1945.

Dorothy did everything to help Vic readjust to life and to overcome his experiences as a prisoner of war. Only she knew the full toll of those years on him, as outwardly he put it behind him, but inwardly carried the burden always. She devoted herself to looking after him and nursing him until his death in 1974. They had two extended holidays, one to Queensland and the other to Britain in 1968, where Vic revisited the scenes of his boyhood. Shortly before returning home they were involved in a road accident and came home battered and bruised.

Dorothy and Vic lived in Shoalwater Bay until his death. In 1975 she left Shoalwater Bay, and bought a house at 21 Everett Street, Crawley, to be nearer to her son. There she lived a lonely life, as she had never built a life or interests of her own outside those of her husband. In 1984, in poor health with emphysema, she moved to Wearne Hostel at 40 Marine Parade, Cottesloe, which was a home for the frail aged. After several periods in hospital due to her lung condition, she moved to the Koh-i-Noor nursing home at Wembley. After Vic's death she was completely lost without him, and died on 21 October 1988.