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reluctantly it seems. Perhaps she saw no future in her association with the much older man.
Perhaps she was looking for, or had found, a man of her own age.
Little John was now working in the store, as Alma and Len had done when they were children,
after school and at weekends; the store stayed open in the evenings until 8.30pm. He used to
cut the butter, which came in boxes, into one pound and half-pound slabs; most items were
bought in bulk and packaged on the premises. He weighed sugar and potatoes and was
entrusted with bottling methylated spirits and kerosene. Alma taught him about costing and
doing accounts, and he was paid about two shillings a week. He learned how a business was
run and about values of every sort. There wasn't much time for other activities, and school
homework must also been done. But he went swimming and fishing and learned how to play the
piano, being taught locally by a female music teacher over a period of five years.
380
That was his mother's idea, although neither she nor Bill could play the piano. A good singer,
Bill used to sing tenor at concerts and in choirs: 'Vilja' from The Merry Widow was a favourite
of his. John would accompany his parents to parties in people's homes, when singing around the
piano was commonplace. On Christmas Day all the Honeycombes would gather in Len and
Ethel's house on Rossiter's Hill for a lavish meal. Presents would have been opened that morning
after an early church service; or they might have gone to a midnight mass on Christmas Eve. On
Boxing Day they might all go to Alva Beach, where Alma and Lloyd Wilson had a weekend
shack. Several families would gather there, visiting each other and going for a swim, unworried
in those days about stingers and sharks. There were, however, lifesavers on duty at the beach
and an observation tower. The community was of necessity comfortably self-sufficient; fruit and
meat were plentiful; there was little need to seek diversions in Townsville, which was a long, hot
journey away by car.
Len was 40 in October 1946. Speaking of him in the postwar years Ethel said: 'He had a busy
life. All the hours of the day were meant to be used, and after a wash and a meal at home he
used to often go back to work at night. Or he'd go and see a farmer about something. Or
there'd be a Chamber of Commerce meeting. And he was on the church council - he was a
warden for 25 years. He was very active fund-raising. He enjoyed it all though.'
Of Ethel herself, her nephew John said: 'She didn't have any labour-saving devices in the house.
Washing would take one morning a week and ironing an afternoon. And although they didn't
have any children there was always the cooking to do: she did her own baking, made damper
and her own jam every year, rosella jam. And there was a lot of work being done for the
churches. She was always very actively involved in the church: her mother was the same. She
sang in church choirs when she was young, and in The Messiah every year at Christmas, at the
Masonic Hall. In the evening she played cards. Or Len would have some business people
around. It was much more usual then to entertain at home in a town this size... Ethel was a
serene sort of person, very kind, with a sense of humour and good common sense. She had little
to do with the business. Nor did Zoe, who never played any part in it at all.'
Down south, Gwen Copeland had married Norman Eldridge Jarvis. He, apparently, had also
been in the RAAF during the war and was also a sergeant. It seems that he was acquainted with
both Bill and Gwen and may have been a friend of both. He may in fact have worked with Bill.
When Bill returned to his wife in Ayr after the war, the way was clear for Norman, who was
three years older than Gwen. He married her in Sydney sometime in 1946. Their first child,
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