The good old days

I also absorbed societal mores by a kind of osmosis, yet still bridled a little at having to dress properly for dinner, a ritual which would mostly be totally out of place in today's domestic realm.

Yes, we carried over many of the British formalities and etiquette into our Aussie lives, probably because our parents were not that far removed in time from the traditions of their own forebears.

This was in the 1950's, when country NSW seemed even more a place of slow transition from bygone ways to what was then city modernity.

I used to take delight in driving through much of it during school holidays with my father, who was a sales representative for a twine and cord manufacturer. His work took him to rural areas where there was a good market for ropes and baling twine in the hay production, and flour milling industries.

These agricultural businesses were normally in, or close to, major country towns where pubs not only provided much sought after daily hospitality, but also a reasonable standard of overnight accommodation for the many travellers of that post-war era; motels had yet to evolve.

Commerce was getting on its feet again, as was the gradually developing tourist trade, helped, no doubt, by the increasing affordability of cars, but one aspect tended to remain in the past permanently - that of the layout, style, presentation, and naming, of hotels.

My memories are of the dozens of Railways, Imperials, Civics, Excelsiors, Centrals, Royals, and Occidentals of the time, many with the pungent smokiness of wood-fuelled kitchens and lounge room fireplaces wafting over their roofs.

A highlighting commonality was that of their Victorian-era dining rooms.

These were usually traditionally formal settings of rich timber wall panelling, set amidst shaded lights, shining smooth wooden floors, small dining tables, complete with crisp white linen tablecloths, faultlessly folded serviettes, sparkling silver cutlery, shining water carafes with their equally gleaming glasses, and iconic chairs of curved wood.

On a memorable evening at one such hotel in a smallish central western country town where we had decided to stay overnight, my father had downed a beer, and I a lemonade in its briskly trading bar, before moving into the traditional dining room for dinner.

The aura in that space was one of quiet conversation, as the well-dressed guests prepared for the evening meal, their tones hushed to match the ambience of the setting.

At one end of the room, two waitresses, clad in black frocks with meticulously starched aprons, and white caps on their flawlessly groomed hair, moved quietly to bring steaming cauldrons from the kitchen, and place them on a serving table. The feeling was of a promise of gentility in the complete dining experience

Then my dream was shattered, as one of these ladies turned to face the seated guests, and in a piercing voice commanded: "All youse that want soup, put yez 'ands up!"

Perhaps nostalgia is not all that I would wish.