Due to the combined weight of expectation that came from her generation, her husband, and her mother-in-law, Mum made a “proper” two course hot meal at noon.

Baking, ironing, or labouring over laundry in the scullery (now there’s a word rarely heard these days), Mum listened to a brown Bakelite radio in the kitchen. There were programs for me, too, playing under the kitchen table: “Listen with Mother”.  

The essential and emotional role performed by radio during the war years carried over into early peacetime. When my parents bought a large timber-veneered TV with a small black and white screen, it offered hours of “light” family entertainment. But important news still came via the radio, at key times throughout the day. 

These radio memories came to me as I helped shift an inter-war “coffin” style valve radio. It has no aesthetic qualities, whatsoever. It’s almost as long as I am tall, rough timber covering a plethora of wires and coils and blackened valves. But it was hand-made by Ken Annetts, one-time owner of the Bay’s Picture Theatre and large general store. We can date the artefact to 1928, because Ken built it specifically to follow the long-haul exploits of flying ace Sir Charles Kingsford-Smith.

Given today’s instant access to worldwide events, perhaps only those who’ve lived a similar experience can empathise with Ken as he pored over manuals and diagrams, building his radio from scratch; the sense of elation as knobs turned, valves lit up and dials tuned to coverage of Smithy’s remarkable first trans-Pacific flight from the United States to Australia. Ken undoubtedly followed the aviator’s adventures until plane and crew were lost in 1935. 

Tune in to the Old Courthouse Museum’s collection of stories to check out Ken’s efforts and other marvels of early communication.

M. Thompson©  general@oldcourthousemuseum.com