Being a Ten Pound Pom was priceless
I HAD been looking forward to the TV drama Ten Pound Poms, but it bears little resemblance to my experience, especially the six-week journey by sea and the welcome we received.
I was 18 in 1958 when my parents uprooted our family from Bristol and emigrated to Sydney. Our two golden retrievers were sent as cargo because passenger vessels wouldn’t accept them — their journey took three months. We sailed on P&O’s SS Iberia in steerage, which was single-sex cabins in the lowest part of the ship, with no air-conditioning. We slept on deck on tropical nights to feel cooler and were delighted to see flying fish.
The England cricket team were on board, on their way to defend the Ashes. They travelled first class, of course, but joined us in steerage most nights as we were more fun. We were in the first convoy to pass through the Suez Canal when it re-opened and visited Bombay and Colombo (as they were then known), Fremantle and Adelaide before arriving in Sydney. As depicted in the TV programme, we were directed towards Nissen huts in a migrant camp, but turned down that offer and decided to rent while finding our feet. I took a secretarial post at the University of New South Wales, earning £10 a week — double what I’d been paid back home. My 15-year-old brother went to Sydney Grammar School and our pet dogs were finally reunited with us after three months in quarantine, at no cost. My father had been head of woodwork and engineering at a grammar school. He was told he would be placed in a similar position, but this was not honoured when we arrived. He was told he’d have to study for three years to obtain Australian qualifications, which was rather insulting to someone who had been in the profession for 15 years. The Aussies made us welcome with only the occasional jibe at our accents. There was certainly none of the hostility depicted in the TV drama. In fact, when we decided to return to Britain after 15 months, several locals tried to persuade us to stay.
We had to pay for our fares in both directions because we hadn’t stayed for the mandatory two years. Plus, on our return, the six months in quarantine for the dogs was not free.
During our short time in Australia, we started a new bloodline for golden retrievers. One of our dogs, a West of England prize-winner, sired 24 puppies via two bitches. At least he made his mark down under.
PAT WATKINS, Weston-super-Mare, Somerset.
THE over-the-top, anti-British, anti-immigrant content reduces Ten Pound Poms to a pound-shop drama. Australians have always been known for ribbing and winding people up. I was a Ten Pound Pom in the 1960s. I wore my new shorts at Bondi beach, trying my best to look like a regular beach-goer. A sun-bronzed Aussie, noticing my blue-grey skin, inquired loudly: ‘Strewth! Which dead bloke did you get the legs off, mate?’
The abrasiveness belies the fact that Australians are the most welcoming, open and generous people. They believe that no matter your background, everyone deserves a fair go.
BILL NAYLOR, Wilsford, Lincs.