Belinda Murrell: Bringing Australian History To Life | Page 14

EXTRACT

THE SEQUIN STAR
IT’S 1932 AND THE GREAT DEPRESSION HAS AFFECTED THOUSANDS OF AUSTRALIAN FAMILIES.
CLAIRE AND HER CIRCUS FRIENDS ARE ABOUT TO SEE THE HEART-BREAKING RESULT – BUT THEY
MIGHT BE ABLE TO HELP.

T

he next day Alf asked Rosina,
Claire and Jem to take all the
dogs for a walk early in the
morning. There were seven of
them, including Jaspar, so the
girls had two dogs each on leads, while
Jem had the three. Together the three of
them sauntered down the main street,
taking in the people, houses and sights.
Jem suggested they head left, in the
opposite direction to the way they had
gone yesterday following Elsie. After a
while they branched off the main road
and into the residential back streets in
search of a park where they could let the
dogs run off the lead.

‘What’s happening?’ asked Claire.
‘Are they moving out? And why are the
policemen carrying the furniture?’
‘It’s an eviction,’ said Rosina. ‘The family
obviously hasn’t been able to pay their
rent, so the bailiffs are moving them out.
The police are there to make sure they go
without any trouble.’
‘The poor things,’ said Claire. ‘Where will
they go?’
‘Who knows?’ said Jem. ‘Perhaps to
relatives . . . or a susso camp. In one town
we visited, a family had been camping on
the footpath outside their old house for
weeks as a protest, with just a tarpaulin
thrown over their furniture. Eventually

So many men have lost their jobs, and there simply isn’t
any work to be found. The dole gives families some basic
food, but no money for rent. Thousands of people have
been evicted.
The houses seemed to become
shabbier and smaller. There were many
signs of neglect, including peeling paint,
boarded-up windows and falling-down
fences. In a tiny front yard, a woman was
hoeing a small vegetable garden. She
waved as they passed.
They turned right down another street.
Ahead of them was a group of people
milling around on the footpath. Three
of them wore the navy blue uniforms
and caps of police officers. The others
were members of a family, with all their
furniture piled on the street.
‘Poor blighters,’ whispered Jem as they
drew closer. Four young children clung
about the skirts of the mother, who was
desperately trying not to cry. The father
stood to the side, his head down and
shoulders slumped. They all looked thin
and downtrodden.
Two men came from inside, carrying
a bed. They piled it on top of the other
furniture.

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they were persuaded to move when the
rain nearly washed them away.’
‘What’s a susso camp?’ asked Claire.
Jem and Rosina exchanged exasperated
glances.
‘Jeepers,’ said Jem. ‘Sometimes I wonder
what rock you’ve been living under for the
last few years.’
‘A susso camp is like a shanty town,
where lots of unemployed families live in
little huts made of cardboard, sacks and
scrap corrugated iron,’ Rosina explained.
‘Everyone who lives there is on the susso
– you know, the government sustenance
payment.’
Claire was still confused but was
reluctant to show her ignorance.
‘My mum lives in a susso camp with
all my brothers and sisters,’ added Jem.
‘Surely you’ve heard the kids’ rhyme:
We’re on the susso now,
We can’t afford a cow,
We live in a tent,
We pay no rent,

We’re on the susso now.’
Claire shook her head. Rosina and
Jem laughed.
‘You’re a mutton head,’ said Jem. ‘I think
my six-year-old sister has more sense.’
‘It’s the depression,’ said Rosina. ‘So
many men have lost their jobs, and there
simply isn’t any work to be found. The
dole gives families some basic food, but
no money for rent. Thousands of people
have been evicted.’
They strolled past the family and their
pathetic pile of possessions. The four
woebegone children, with their patched
and ragged clothes, watched Claire,
Rosina and Jem. The mother wiped her
eyes on her apron, which was made from
a sugar bag.
Jem glared at the bailiffs. ‘Don’t you feel
ashamed of yourselves, throwing a family
out on the streets with nowhere to live?’
‘Just doin’ me job, mate,’ said one.
The youngest girl buried her face in her
mother’s skirts and sobbed. Rosina smiled
at the miserable children and gestured to
the two dogs on her lead.
‘Twinkles, Sally – hup,’ ordered Rosina.
The dogs jumped up on their hind
legs obediently and began to strut along,
their forepaws tucked up. Lula, in her
red jacket, scrambled up on Sally’s back,
clinging onto her collar.
‘Dance,’ added Rosina.
The dogs pranced around in tight
pirouettes, as though to music. Lula
waved her arm in the air like a rodeo rider.
‘Look, Ma,’ said the oldest girl with wide
eyes. ‘It’s a monkey! And dancing dogs!’
Her brother grinned. ‘What else can
they do?’ The youngest took her head out
of her mother’s skirts and watched.
‘Flip-flaps,’ suggested Jem. He
unclipped the leads from his three dogs
then sprang into a series of somersaults
across the street. The three dogs followed,
springing from back paws to front paws to
back paws in spinning circles. Lula sprang