Born in 1946

If you were born in 1946, you were part of the wave — Australia's own version of the baby boom, babies arriving at a rate that had the hospitals and the government both scrambling. The returned soldiers were collecting their war service money, marrying quickly, and looking for somewhere to build a house. Fibro cottages were going up in the outer suburbs at a remarkable pace, modest and practical, with a back garden and a Hills Hoist and the faint promise of the good life.

The immigration program was beginning to take shape — the Chifley government's plan to "populate or perish" would soon bring the Ten Pound Poms and then migrants from across Europe, changing the country quietly but permanently. Life had its pleasures: the milk bar on the corner served the best vanilla malted in the suburb, the wireless brought Dad and Dave and the cricket, and on summer evenings the whole street sat on their front verandahs in the heat. A shandy at the pub cost a shilling, a pie and sauce from the shop was sixpence, and the first post-war car — a new Holden, designed for Australian conditions — was still two years away.

But things were moving again. The country felt like it had rolled up its sleeves after a very long, very hard day's work and was ready, finally, to build something worth keeping.