''The darning needle is a weapon of war these days,'' prime minister John Curtin told Australians in May 1942 at the height of Australia's greatest crisis in the Second World War, ''use it on your old clothes.''
Subscribe now for unlimited access.
$0/
(min cost $0)
or signup to continue reading
Petrol was the first essential item to be rationed in Australia within a few months of war breaking out. Petrol and oil was very hard to source and to transport.
But few ordinary Australians owned cars then so the impact of petrol rationing was less severe across the country than it might have been.
Having introduced tea rationing earlier in 1942, John Curtin now told Australians that his government intended to introduce clothes rationing by the middle of the year. This early warning was aimed at getting people comfortable with the new regime.
Asking people to exercise restraint in the period before clothes rationing could be introduced was certainly risky and never had the prime minister been so clearly rebuffed.
Australians rushed to the stores in huge numbers and embarked on what has been described as ''an orgy of shopping''.
The prime minister had broadcast on a Saturday night. When shops opened on Monday morning, sales assistants watched as a stampede of shoppers invaded the stores, grabbing and fighting for any of the clothes available.
In Melbourne one sales assistant remonstrated with a shopper: ''You'll have enough here to last you eight years,'' she said. ''Well, suppose I have,'' the shopper replied, ''I prefer to spend the money on myself instead of on Mr Curtin.''
So, clearly appalled, the government rushed forward plans to introduce clothes rationing. Each adult Australian would receive a ration book with 112 coupons for clothing, to last the year.
Places used as polling booths in the local community at election time opened on a Saturday and Sunday in mid-June 1942 and as each person was marked off the electoral roll they received a ration book, not a ballot paper.
It was then up to people to judge their clothes purchases carefully over the coming year. They needed to ensure that if something wore out or fell apart they would have enough coupons for a replacement. A man's suit required 38 coupons for purchase, a woman's quality dress would need 13 coupons. (Lower quality dresses only needed 6 coupons).
Clearly the system favoured those with adequate wardrobes already. If you had been doing it tough in the Depression years and now had a few extra pounds in the purse for the new clothes you had been dreaming about, well, tough.
Look with envy at your neighbour who had been in work throughout the lean years, with a well-stocked wardrobe and an adequate variety of clothes to choose from. Clothes rationing could never be conducted on a full-needs basis. It was, to that extent, inherently unfair.
But, after the awful shopping orgy preceding rationing, people accepted the new situation calmly and skilfully. They darned and mended, as the prime minister had suggested, and adapted older clothing to newer needs. They paced their purchases carefully and gave great consideration to what they would buy.
Indeed as the first year of clothes rationing was coming to an end the government campaigned to have people hand in their unused coupons, rather than spending up big just because they had the coupons.
The campaign was a success with people proud to hand in their unused coupons before receiving the next year's 112 coupons and starting all over again.
The government also introduced rationing of foods. Tea was first on the ration, reducing Australian consumption of tea down from about eight cups a day to about three.
Then sugar was rationed, then butter, then meat. What was saved from the nation's butter and meat stock was sent to the United Kingdom where people were fully rationed but much that was needed was in short supply.
Shortages of goods became a problem in Australia too as, in a controlled economy, the government could direct what would be produced and what would not. Shortages of goods, unlike the rationed goods, was unpredictable and infuriating.
The shortage of beer gained the most attention. The publican's cry, ''beer's off!'' was what every Australian drinker dreaded, and it might happen at any time and without warning.
Australian men, then, regarded a session in the pub after work pretty much as a bloke's right. A beer after work was part of the ritual of life, even though pubs all closed at 6pm.
The problem was widespread and severe, with men combing the cities to find a pub where the beer was ''on''.
At one stage more than 60 per cent of hotels in central Melbourne were closed with no beer. The police were pleased, though, as there were ''far fewer calls to quell street brawls''.
These shortages produced a healthy black market in scarce goods in a way that rationing never did.
If you ''knew a bloke who knew a bloke'' you might be able to pick up the occasional few bottles of beer or a few packets of cigarettes. You'd pay for it, though.
Australians put up with all of this cheerfully enough and went about their daily lives with a sense of purpose and acceptance. They joked and grumbled, of course, but most Australian families then knew someone who was at war, a husband, son, brother, family friend or just a local.
They realised that his life and the lives of all with whom he served were at risk. They recognised that the troops' sacrifices were greater than anything they were called on to do. That spirit got them through.
- Michael McKernan is a historian and former deputy director of the Australian War Memorial.
- To contribute to this column, email history@canberratimes.com.au.