by Marjorie Cleine
First it was just a rumor.
“They’re talking about holding a market in the Red Hill Hall.”
I followed up the rumor and in my column “Around Red Hill” in the then Peninsula Post of September 3, 1975, I was able to write, “There’s been an enthusiastic response to the idea of a community market in Red Hill,” and to quote one of the organizers (Cathy Morrison, now Thompson) as saying that thirty stalls were expected at the market the following Saturday, with a variety of wares for sale.
There was a lot of traffic past my place on Market day. Cars were soon parked in my driveway and all down Mechanics Road. It was quite exciting joining the crowd heading for the hall where the car park was full.
The stalls wouldn’t all fit into the hall. Outside the hall door a man had set up a stall selling mussels, “alive and fresh from the sea.” An interested circle of children surrounded four puppies in a cardboard carton.
A small boy intrigued by a crate full of hens hastily withdrew his fingers when one of them popped its head out between the wires.
The hippie era was still with us and a couple of flower children with flowing locks handed out jonquils free to all comers.
The hall was packed. There was a buzz of voices and a scent of boronia. It was an age-old scene played out for centuries in every country, in every city, town and village — people with goods to sell, people looking for goods to buy.
The Market’s “Make it Bake it Grow it Breed it” motto was not entirely in force. Among stalls selling cakes and vegetables, pottery and woodwork, plants and knitwear, herbs and toys was one offering bolts of cloth, bargain-priced remnants and bundles of trimmings and lace edging. The locals poured in, bags and baskets at the ready. Weekenders on their way to Point Leo or Flinders saw the cars and stopped to investigate.
Soon they were fighting their way out again laden with spoil. A bunch of silver beet towered overhead, another shopper walked under a plumy pot of fern. A small girl cradled a shoebox with a couple of fluffy chickens. Out they went to their cars and many of them dived back into the hall for another foray.
The atmosphere was buoyant.
There was an “Isn’t this great?” feeling. You could pick out the Market committee — circulating, watching and getting that floating on air look that comes with success.
They had introduced a winner and two things were certain.
They’d have to have another Market next month and the hall simply wasn’t big enough.
On October 4 the second Market, held in the showground, had twice as many stalls and twice as many people.
A number of local charities seized the chance to raise some funds.
You could buy everything from a duckling to a doll’s house.