Can't Stop The Music

Who remembers learning these songs at school in the 1970s?

• Blowin’ in the Wind   
• The Marvelous Toy
• La Cucaracha  
• The Ash Grove       
• Tzena Tzena                   
• Cileto Lindo                
• Moon of Silver White 
• Flash Jack from Gundagai
• I've been Working on the Railroad    
• The Happy Wanderer

In 1970s Australia, school music programmes included lessons via radio from the national broadcaster (ABC).   The lessons were piped through the PA system to each classroom.  The large wooden box speaker above the blackboard was as much a fixture as the framed portrait of Queen Elizabeth 2^nd and the useless ceiling-fan.   We’d lean forward, elbows on the desk, gazing into space or doodling on the songbook as presenters with quasi-English accents walked us through music basics.

We were taught songs from around the world, including quaint English ditties, European folks songs, the occasional mysterious "Oriental" number and slightly grandiose Italian songs.  "Negro spirituals" were especially common, the lyrics written in a vernacular now likely be considered racist.

Other songs questionable by today’s standards included those about:

• Sick and dying childen (luckily, they could be cured with Shortnin’ Bread)

• Miserable working conditions (Drill, Ye Tarriers)

• Mocking someone as "cock-eyed" (The Drummer and the Cook - “with her one eye on the pot and the other up the chimney”

• The lazy, useless wife of a Scotsman (The Wee Cooper of Fife)

• An old woman who died after swallowing a variety of animals  (There Was an Old Lady … )

• A monster being run over by a tram  (The Ombly Gombly)
  

There was a never-ending song (Chuffa-Luffa Steam Train) and a ridiculously short song which I will write here in its entirety:

“There was on old crow / Sat upon a clod / 

That’s the end of my song /  That’s odd”

Certainly it gave us a sense of mastery ("Mum, I learned a whole song in 15 seconds!").   Songs sung 'in rounds' were popular, such as Row Row Row the Boat and Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree.**    

Nonsense songs were included to encourage those who weren't musically inclined.  The nonsense reached tremendous and very 1970-ish heights one year when the ABC ran with the theme of space travel, apparently inventing songs especially for the occasion.  

If anybody else remembers trippy tunes about the “astronautical ship” on which Zolt the Third took us to the “Gracious Star of Zap”  then by all means help me relive the horror.

Please do share memories you have about any primary/elementary school music programmes.

  

**  Australian pop group Men at Work worked a distinctive riff from  Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree  into their anthemic hit  The Land Down Under  and made it more enjoyable than I EVER remember it being at school.

Mum's The Word

"No Alice, Mr Brady and I don't like 'backdoor action.'  Why do you ask?  

Many children of the 1970s bemoan the fact ‘modern kids’ don’t show enough respect for their parents; that the generation of parents that followed us is far too beholden to its own children, thus unwilling or unable to instill discipline as we did.  Yet the discipline we show our own children, is in turn a watered-down version of what our parents showed us.

One of the best changes of recent years though, and in stark contrast to the childhood I remember, is that children are now more openly loving of their parents.  It’s become cool to declare to the world  that you love your mum; to have a PDA with your Dad.

Yes, mothers and daughters used to wear matching dresses.  Really.

In my neighbourhood in the 1960s and 70s, working mothers were a rare thing.  The stay-at-home mums – an absolute majority – often regarded working mothers with pity or derision.  Even into the 1980s, we still heard women in non-traditional female roles referred to as ‘lady doctors’ and ‘female pilots’ and ‘policewomen.’   (Having said that, the term ‘male nurse’ is still in far too common usage!)

Around half of all mothers in Australia now are working mothers, and since the 1990s, there is sometimes an unpleasant tip in the pop-culture scale that sees the ‘stay at home’ mother being scorned as somehow too ordinary.  Which most are not.

Mothers of schoolchildren now come in a larger range of ages.  During my childhood, almost all my friends’ mothers were in their 20s or 30s, with not much variation beyond that.  Today, first-time mothers range in age from early teens to late 40s, meaning we see a vast age-range of mothers standing at the school gate. 

Apart from advances in reproductive technology and women gaining a bigger foothold in the workforce, social change has also contributed.  As anyone who was an Aussie teenager in the 70s knows, a girl who became pregnant while she was still at school, or under 18 and unmarried, had only two options: abortion or adoption.  (The latter being the only choice if you were Catholic).   Most pregnant young girls were so deathly afraid to tell their parents, that often it became 'too late' to do anything other than have the child.   There were special homes for these supposedly ‘wayward girls’ to spend the last months of their confinement, before giving birth and surrendering their baby.   And yes, even in the 70s, families created stories about the girls ‘visiting relatives interstate’ or ‘spending time in the country’ in order to hide the fact the girl had ever been pregnant.

Society has changed so dramatically in this regard that I won’t explore the myriad reasons or outcomes.  I remind myself this is essentially a light-hearted blog, and instead look to the mums (or more likely, ‘moms’) who were our TV role models in the 1970s.

Most were (of course) stay-at-home mums with pleasant, attractive children, living in impeccably decorated, impossibly tidy houses.  Seriously, did you ever once see a pile of homework on the Brady Bunch kitchen bench?   Marcia’s undies lying on the bedroom floor?   Toothpaste smears on the washbasin of a bathroom that was allegedly shared by six children?  Never!

To be fair, they had a housekeeper (Alice) who appeared to do everything.  Mrs Brady apparently spent her days reading magazines, talking saucily to Mr Brady (ah the irony, knowing what we know now) and drinking coffee.  Must have been quite galling to the ‘real’ mothers of the 1970s.

So if Mrs Brady (Florence Henderson) wasn’t the uber-mum of the 70s, who was?  “  Ma Ingalls” (Karen Grassle) from Little House on the Prairie, was way too goody two-shoes for my taste, but she got to shag Michael Landon, which, to be honest, was the only reason I watched the show.  (Not that they ever showed them making out, but my pubescent imagination went there anyway).   Matriarch of the Partridge Family, Shirley Partridge (the beautiful Shirley Jones) was very appealing and could drive a bus (an extremely funky bus at that)  but no mother was more wonderful than Mrs Cunningham (Marion Ross) from Happy Days.  She hit ALL the right notes. 

Single mothers featured in 1960s and 70s TV shows were always single because they were WIDOWS of course (Divorced? Hush now!).   Lucille Ball created her third hit show as a single (working) mother in “Here’s Lucy” and Doris Day had a titular show, in which she was a widow with a farm, a career, and looking glamorous through all of it.    “Julia” followed a single mother (played by Diahann Carroll) who not only worked, but was black: a show heralding a maturity in TV programming.   By the 1980s we’d progressed to Claire Huxtable (Phylicia Rashad) on The Cosby Show and the working mother became the norm, rather than the exception, on most TV shows.

Please do share your memories of any other 1960s and 70s mothers we loved (or loathed!)

Best Supporting Role

I have a theory that if early-design bras had been stretchy, one-size-fits-all things like the current microfibre range (variously named “Ah Bra,” “Genie Bra,” “Magic Bra” etc) then the concept of a brassiere that was adjustable, would be revolutionary.  

Retrofitted ads would scream “Finally!  A bra with straps you can lengthen or shorten, and catches at the back that allow you to tighten the fit when it gets too stretchy, or loosen when you gain weight!" 

It’s a classic case of fixing something that isn't broken.  Of believing that because something is new, it’s therefore better. 

However, I wouldn’t mind putting a Genie Bra in a time machine and taking it back to the mid 1970s.   I’m sure the smallest microfibre bra would have been far more comfortable, and less threatening, than the structured “Training Bras” covering the budding bosoms of the era.

Getting your first bra was not generally something to boast about.  At a certain stage, you began wearing a singlet if there was any chance you’d have to undress in front of others, and eventually,  depending on (a) your age (b) the comparative size of your friends and (c) whether you played sport or liked to use a trampoline,  you accepted it was Bra Time.

Girls who developed early often wore clothes that helped disguise their changing figure.  Boys, with their tit-sensing hormones, would still sneak up and run a finger down the girl’s spine to feel for the tell-tale bump of a bra fastener.   Apparently this was quite thrilling for them *rolls eyes*

Look at those colours - in the 1960s? - the brazen hussies!

In Australia, Holeproof Fibs were a Godsend to young teen girls, the closest thing we had to an “Ah Bra” but a lot funkier and even less of a ‘real’ bra.   Fibs were soft stretchy bras, sans adjustable bits, with matching knickers, and came in neon colors and 70s patterns that included bold-colored paisleys.  Before Fibs, bra colour choices ranged pretty much from white to beige to skintone.  On a good day, you might see pale pink or pale blue.   Black bras were for bad girls and lacey red ones were for prostitutes, we all knew that.

Naturally the makers of ‘real’ bras tut-tutted and assured our mothers that these bras did not offer support and would lead to Stretch Marks and a Saggy Bustline.





Which leads us to the specialist fitter at any large department store, where we endured a stranger (often a former nurse) with cold hands wrapping us with a tape measure, then bringing a selection of suitable brassieres which she would stretch, pull and twang around our shoulders and back, sometimes even doing a little ‘cupping’ in order to get the Right Fit.  

It was tough for our mothers too, trying to feign interest in what the fitter had to say, yet knowing we were mortified to have her focusing so closely on our 32AAA chest.   They’d both speak as if you weren’t even there, as if your bust was some rogue to be tamed.


As our teen years progressed, we could shop for our own bras, but even then, it seemed the moment you set foot in the lingerie department, somebody would spring up from behind the Berlei  display and insist your were Professionally Fitted.  


I miss many fashions of the 70s, but the undergarments?   NOT a bit.

All hands on .... deck?

The Love Boat sailed Television Land from 1977 to 1986, at which time I found it far-fetched and cheesey.   Lately it’s been screening on ‘retro’ channels, and although it’s truly over-ripe now,  I feel a certain affection for it.  There’s a nostalgic enjoyment/horror in revisiting the fashions and hairstyles of the era, and it’s quite fun seeing almost every American TV face of the era appearing as a guest star sooner or later.

But watching it in 2012, with extra ‘real life’ tucked under my belt, I can’t help but notice the following:

"Can you stop her writing this crap?"

Did the boat steer itself?  Captain Stubing seemed to spend his entire day walking up and down the cabin corridors or stalking passengers on the deck and by the pool.  Wasn’t that Julie’s job? With all the time he spent gazing into the eyes of rich beautiful widows and unhappily married women, was the boat a Costa Concordia waiting to happen?  I could just picture him getting into the first available lifeboat with his Louis Vitton luggage,  Florence Henderson and a souvenir pinjada.








Julie’s excitement levels were pretty smacky - maybe her room was too near fumes from the engine.  Speaking of which, her cabin was so NOT the cramped, only-fits-one space that ship staff are allotted.

Julie (Lauren Tewes) THEN

Julie (Lauren Tewes) NOW

The ocean was never rough and nobody ever got seasick.  Probably that was a was a good thing if you were a woman, ‘cause the ship Doctor (imaginatively known as Doc) would try to cure that by saying something inappropriately personal and maybe even trying for a pash.  Doc was a CREEP.

Tedster.

One thing hasn’t changed since I first watched the show, and in my more recent viewings:  Ted McGinley is a FINE looking man J

Mia Culpa

Mia Culpa-Farrow

If I’d been old enough to understand how curses work, I would have cursed Mia Farrow and the super-short hairstyle that women the world over would copy, well into the 1970s.

At six years old, I lacked the words (and physical strength) to challenge my mother as she allowed the hairdresser to chop off my long curls.  I remember staring into the salon mirror, too proud to cry, but my face like thunder, as the stylist thinned what hair was left, into that voguish waif cut.

 At home, I sat at my dressing table, telling Barbie, Sindy and Chrissy (the doll whose hair could grow just by pressing a button in her back) how upset I was, all the while combing, combing, combing what was left of my hair in the belief this would somehow hasten the regrowth. 

Cindy Brady rockin' the rope ribbons

By the following year, I had enough hair to wear The Pageboy – another ugly, but super-popular style of the 70s.   Better still, I reached that milestone that female victims of Very Short Hair know all too well:  my hair was now jusssssst long enough to pull into a ponytail, without ‘bits’ falling short of the elastic.   With great joy, I added the touch d’jour:  a rope ribbon.   I think elsewhere they were known as soft wool ribbons?   Although ropelike in shape, they were very soft to the touch.  

I didn’t know any girl who’d wear pigtails, plaits or a ponytail, without dressing it up.  Baubles and ribbons were the finishing touch.  If you wore your hair down, matching barrettes were the way to go.  Teachers made an enormous fuss if your hair fell anywhere near your face.  Long fringes, we were told, could lead to blindness. At this point, we began falling into two camps: girls with conformist hair, and those with The Shag.  I thought The Shag (and "The Lioness") looked pretty exciting, but flashbacks to my last Major Haircut left me shy of scissors coming anywhere remotely close to my shoulders.

So the majority of us clung to our lengthy locks.  Our mothers longed for us to forever wear pigtails that sat high and springy above our ears, but as you got closer to – say – ten years of age, the pigtails became big bunches of hair that sat lower on your head, and much closer to your face.   Thus you had graduated from being Cindy to being Marcia.   

And if that doesn’t make sense ... you weren’t a child of the seventies