Mr and Mrs Douglas ran a produce store in Maclean. It was on
the side of the road that led in from Yamba along the river bank not far from
where it turned to head into the main street. Mum and Dad would often shop there.
They always came across as a friendly couple. To a young boy they seemed old
and that may have been the case as I can’t recall if they had sold out before I
left home. I am however certain that they were not running the store for all
that long after I joined the RAAF.
Douglas’s sold some groceries but not the full range of
things the family needed. They also sold other stuff that came in useful on the
farm, such as food to supplement that which was available on the farm to feed
the chooks and pigs.
I feel certain that Nana Marsh sold eggs to Douglas’s. I
remember specially made boxes that allowed eggs to be stacked row on row in
cardboard packing somewhat similar in appearance to today’s egg cartons, but
laid flat. There must have been a couple of dozen to each row. Nana also
supplied eggs to neighbours and others that would visit her to buy eggs. This
was in the days before regulation decreed that no one could sell eggs to anyone
but the Egg Board. Disgusted, Nana vowed she would throw her eggs in the creek
before she would sell them to the Board – and I don’t recall them getting any
of her eggs.
Stores like Douglas’s don’t exist anymore – unless you find
them in historic villages. Mr and Mrs Douglas stood on one side of the counter
and the customer on the other. This was not self-service like Coles or
Woolworths. Mum would stand there with her shopping list. ‘A pound of flour
please’. And Mr or Mrs Douglas would weigh out a pound of flour from the flour
bin into a brown paper bag and place it on the counter. ‘And I’d like two
pounds of sugar thankyou.’ And so the process would be repeated until the list
was exhausted and the transaction completed in Pounds, Shillings and Pence. The
way the Douglas’s did it was the way other business did it.
Thursday evenings in either Coles or Woolworths tripping
over boxes and pallets, trying to shove shelf packers out of the way to find
product, or trying to find where they’ve put it this week, often brings back
memories of Douglas’s and other stores like theirs. Then there’s the hours I
must loose every year trying to find a favourite product after the marketing
department has decided they need to change the packaging. Modern supermarkets
offer an array of products Douglas’s would never have dreamed possible – 11
varieties of baked beans, tomatoes with chives, parsley or 8 other combinations
of herbs, frozen meals, fruit and vegetables from all over the world and more. The
world to us in exchange for a swipe of our credit card.
The modern supermarket may offer much but it is so
impersonal. On those Thursday evenings as I manoeuvre around the assistants who
are not so much there to serve as to replenish the shelves I feel I’m in the
way. I don’t feel like a customer – it’s more about keeping the flow of goods
moving from the storeroom to the shelves to the trolley and through the
all-important check out. And now they want me to scan, pack and pay myself
without any contact with the check-out chick. The ultimate shopping experience
– walk into the store, load my trolley and pay for my goods without any human
interaction whatsoever.
This is progress? At what cost? Mr and Mrs Douglas were part
of a community where people had time to stop, talk, interact and get to know
each other. I’m certain that they never dreamed of taking over the world, of
forcing their competitors out of business. While the spin departments of Coles,
Woolworths and other large companies may spend megabucks on promoting
themselves as good corporate citizens giving back to the community we know that
ultimately they exist to make a profit for their shareholders. And where that
goal conflicts with the interest of some remote community in which they operate
their business it will be the community that ultimately suffers.
