In only one hour and 7 minutes, I had arrived at my destination, a short trip by comparison with most Summer travelling through multiple states and territories in an effort to enact the concept of ‘going away’ for the holidays. A friend I had not heard from for some time had texted me to let me know her sister had contracted the dreaded Covid. I was torn; do I stop and immediately show my empathy by returning her message – or make it to the supermarket in time so that I could procure enough snacks to get me through until tomorrow. Pulling up at the only supermarket in town was easy with no delineated parking spots; everyone literally pulled up around the building; I imagined tethering a horse out the front in a former life. In fact, I nearly passed it by completely, not realising that the town’s sole supermarket looked more like a small corner store rather than the metropolis style supermarkets we endure in most regional cities. In an instant, I experienced the irony of this near empty town (there were no pedestrians in the street) being ruptured with the sudden rush of patrons (well, about ten of them) into the tiny IGA Clunes at 5.45pm on a Monday evening. Closure time at IGA Clunes is 6pm which is incidentally the same time when pubs closed in Australia in the early 20th Century. The Six O’clock Swill which occurred at this time, 5.45pm has been depicted in films such as Caddy and referenced in paintings such as The Bar and Collins St at 6pm by John Brack. In the current age of clubbing til 3am, it can be astonishing to believe that for around 50 years, from 1916 onwards, hotel closure time was 6pm in both Australia and New Zealand. The intention was to curb alcoholism but the move had the opposite effect, with many ‘gentlemen’ sculling as many drinks as possible between 5pm, which was work knock off time and 6pm. As they were drinking on an empty stomach, vomiting was common. ‘Instead of lingering over their beers, as they had once done, they spent an hour crushed up against the bar, spiralling swiftly into crapulence.’ [i]
In Caddy the desperation with which men drank is perfectly illustrated; a drinker, desperate to be served, opines ‘I’m as dry as a vulture’s crutch’, to which Caddy resorts to escapism: daydreaming of a different life where she is respected as a woman.
Back in the IGA, having mastered the art of fast QR coding in (go straight to the Vic Service App, not your camera) and sploshing the obligatory hand sanitiser, I snatched a basket and frenziedly raced around the three whole aisles sans list. What will I need for four nights? What if there is no food tomorrow? It’s a pandemic after all! To my surprise I was able to procure the usual ‘enough for four days’ supplies of eggs, cheese, hummus, yoghurt and even blueberries on special. There was wine in the car; I would survive.
Living in cities make us spoilt for access to most facilities with long opening hours for supermarkets, department stores, pubs and of course, Bunnings. But it’s not like that everywhere. In the South of France, whilst travelling in 2018, I quickly learnt that in some countries, workers put their own leisure ahead of work times; this is particularly prevalent in Catalonian France and the Aude region, with supermarkets sometimes not opening until 3pm, morning bakeries closing at noon and Doctors factoring in a 3-hour lunch break into their daily hours.
If the IGA in Clunes closes at 6pm, I wanna know what everyone is doing in town after 6pm. Google indicates that the only pub in town, the National is ‘always open’. In our post prohibition era, maybe there’s the clue.
And I did phone my friend to see how her sister was going. Hopefully she’ll be well soon.
More reading:
[i] FROST, Natasha
The Six O’Clock Swill was an Hour of Drunken Anarchy
Atlas Obscura
2018