We were leaving the district. Leaving the farm that had been home to four generations of my father’s family. The Great Depression still raged and times were tough for a small dairy farmer of 1937. They would try their luck in the city.
A share farmer was arranged, a ‘clearing out’ sale had taken place and a farewell function for the family was to be held at the Logan Village Hall. For a little girl of nine years, it was all somewhat mystifying, but we were used to doing as we were bid and did not question this huge move. We knew there was an old house (really old, 1880) that we would subsequently move into, so we felt safe.
My parents seemed to be excited, especially at the ‘going away’ dance where Dad made his usual good speech inviting everyone to visit us in town. But don’t all come at once!
There was a presentation as we stood with the MC on the stage of the hall that my father had helped to build five years earlier. The takings of the evening were given to Dad while Mum received a beautifully boxed set of six silver cake forks. The baby was given a silver spoon with her name engraved on the handle, and Joan and I were each given the very thoughtful gift of a silver thimble. The schoolteacher’s wife, Mary Brown, a woman of good taste, was responsible for the selection of these lovely presents.
My thimble has accompanied me on my life’s journey, useful and much admired, and always a reminder of the community from which I sprang so humbly all those years ago.
