$1.49 Day

Thinking about how we 1950's housewives tried to stretch our household funds made me remember the days of the old Woodward’s $1.49 grocery department sale. 

On arrival on this special day, the first challenge was to locate a parking space, the next, a shopping cart.  It was advantageous to shop with a partner, leaving one party to guard the prized cart, while the other sallied forth, unhampered, into the fray.  If you were smart, you first tore off several plastic bags and located the necessary twist ties.  This in itself was no easy matter as one had to reach through a mass of other shoppers intent on the very same task. 

Woodward’s always offered a certain number of oranges or grapefruit for $1.49. As you intently counted out your allotted fruit, concentrating on the selection of thin-skinned, juicy but not over ripe fruit, inevitably someone at your elbow asked “How many are we allowed?” Not wanting to be rude, you replied, lost count of your own stash and had to count all over again.

Once you wormed (oops) your way to the salad section, through a maze of carts and customers, you faced crowds of people pawing through the lettuce, feeling for the firmest and tossing their rejects in your direction.  Arms loaded, you wove your way back to your patiently waiting partner, encountering en route many who insisted on pushing their carts into the narrowest possible spot, or others who came across an old friend or former neighbour, deciding to stop and chat, completely oblivious to the congestion they caused.  I remember meeting an acquaintance who, because she was a grandmother many times over, stood gently rocking her cart to and fro while we talked, forgetting it was not her usual baby buggy.

In the meat department, there were other obstructions; a cart parked plumb in the middle of the aisle, its absent owner completely engrossed in the business of converting grams to ounces.  It could not have been more accurately centered, had the owner made use of a tape measure.

Waiting in the long check-out line ups, it was entertaining to overhear conversations.  Tired, distraught husbands muttered “If I had known it would be like this, I never would have come” or “It sure isn’t worth it”.  Often a naive shopper who sauntered in, stared in horror at the milling crowd and exclaimed “Oh my goodness, I didn’t realize it was $1.49 day!”

Eventually you reached the next-one-in-line category, only to find the cashier had either to replace the cash register tape,  go for coffee, take time out to exchange some of her large bills for smaller ones or become embroiled in controversy with a patron over an item purchased.  The only way to deal with frustrations of this sort was to laugh and chat with a fellow shopper.

Many bored customers succumbed to the tantalizing display of reading material conveniently set out within arm’s reach of the cash register.  How could anyone resist headlines like “Baby Sings in the Womb” or “85 Year Old Grandmother has twins”?

Over the years, Mayfair Mall has expanded in many directions to become a very sophisticated shopping complex. It is difficult to picture that Mayfair, Victoria’s first regional shopping mall, opened October 16, 1963. The variety of shops now offered to the consumer is mind boggling.  In the resulting maze, it is difficult to visualize exactly where the old groceteria was located.

Times change, other malls have been built, huge food emporiums with giant bulk food areas have come into being, but for many Victorians, that old  jingle “$1.49 Woodwards, $1.49 Day, Tuesday” evokes a fond memory.

Back to the Future

It's often said 'what goes around, comes around'.  Lately, this has been demonstrated to me by our grand-daughters, now in their late twenties and early thirties.

On a recent visit from granddaughter Lindsay and Mike (grandson-in-law - is that right?), who has taken a keen interest in old records, told us they have purchased an old stereo on which to play them.  We spent some time around the fireplace, rifling through our large selection of records.  We too have a lovely old stereo and Mike soon got the turntable working again.  We sipped some wine, lulled by the mellow renderings of Nat King Cole.  What a delightful afternoon.  It gave us so much pleasure to see the enjoyment and appreciation on Mike and Lindsay's faces when they left to return to Prince George, taking all our old records as well as the avocado green 'fake' leather chest in which to store them. Eventually they will inherit our mint condition stereo cabinet, which they greatly admired.

Lindsay also gazed longingly at our old cast iron hot water radiators and said 'Grandma, did you know they are the 'in' thing?' Little did we know we were living in such an enviable atmosphere. 

Her face flushed with excitement as she noticed our collection of leatherbound Readers Digest Condensed Books - she said they would make such a great 'fake' library!  

No doubt Mike and Lindsay would also be pleased to inherit our 1930's Remington typewriter...now I wish I'd kept my old meat grinder for them, too!

Granddaughter Colleen and family also recently paid us a visit and said she would love to have the spare bedroom light fixture, with all of its violent orange plastic beauty!  

Can this be the same ceiling fixture much maligned over the years by our daughter "Why on earth don't you replace that thing?"

Colleen's husband, Daryl, with great grandchildren Kyler and Cora in tow, left our home clutching several 1940/50's Popular Mechanics magazines.  He is a heavy duty equipment mechanic and these old magazines really appealed to him.

Our third granddaughter, Heather, (husband Adam and baby boy Oliver) has not yet laid claim to anything.  I wonder if she would like the 1973 avocado green stove which still works like a charm? 

Maybe she is not as interested in all our 'retro' stuff, or she may feel awkward about asking for anything.

As for Ken and I, we feel that now is the time to bring up the subject of inheritance.  My own mum died at the age of 68 and never discussed the future.  My father, who lived to 100, was very insular.  He never had the pleasure of seeing the happiness his bequests brought to us.

The days before Starbucks

Young housewives in the 1950's stretched their husbands' often meagre earnings as best they could.

We used our flannelette sheets till they were paper-thin and then sewed the good parts together.  My sewing machine was a very old one passed down to me from my mother.  You fed the material through with one hand, using the other hand to turn a handle.  I, like many others, removed worn-out shirt collars from shirts, reversed them and reattached them to the same shirt.  The result was immediate and the shirt soldiered on for a few more years.
We never had our hair styled, or nails manicured and we certainly never had pedicures.  The word 'spa' was foreign to us, as was 'massage'.  Yoga and Pilates were unheard of and as  for 'boot camp' - that was something endured by men in the armed forces.  By the time we had made our meals from scratch, washed and dried all the dishes, scrubbed and waxed floors, done the laundry - filling and emptying the machine by bucket, putting the items through the wringer and hanging them on the clothesline - our 'exercise classes' were over. Everything then had to be ironed - there were no perma press materials in those days.  Its a good thing we didn't get paid by the hour.

The odd day we housewives gave ourselves a break. Most of us were home raising our children, so we 'girls' got together with neighbours for coffee.  Usually with our kids in tow, we gathered in someone's warm kitchen to chat over cups of coffee, supplemented by home-made goodies - cookies, cupcakes or thickly iced squares.  No talk of calories or gluten free stuff.  We discussed recipes, husbands, mothers-in-law and other earth-shattering subjects.  Now most wives are out working. The little ones are closeted in daycare and that lovely social time has disappeared.  Sometimes I wonder if our simple life was less hectic and more rewarding.  We didn't have much but we had good friends and made time to cultivate our relationships.