I’m a family history enthusiast who has conducted extensive research into our family ancestors. I also follow numerous historical record sites and social media groups dedicated to old photos, facts, and stories from the era I grew up in—the 1950s, ’60s, and ’70s.
One recurring theme I’ve noticed is the shared belief that certain decades were “the best of times.” Many people claim that during those years, few broke the law, everyone had good manners, respected their elders, trusted the police, believed politicians were honest, and felt safe at night—among other idealized notions. Believe it or not, we even respected Church leaders & real estate agents.
I don’t know what rock these people were hiding under, but this perspective can often be attributed to nostalgia and the tendency to view one’s formative years through rose-colored glasses.
Each generation tends to remember their youth as the best and most progressive time, when life seemed easier and more fulfilling. However, viewing the past through such a lens can be problematic as it often skews real-life perspectives. Faulty memories tend to block out the challenging or unpleasant parts of the past, focusing instead on the good moments while ignoring the hardships.
Every generation has had its share of good times, bad times, wars, peacetime, recessions, and depressions. Yet, many prefer to remember only the positive aspects while selectively forgetting the less favorable times—things like world wars, economic downturns, or widespread corruption among politicians and police. This selective memory distorts our understanding of the past and fosters overly romanticized views of bygone eras.
I grew up in a safe, loving, family-oriented environment—well, maybe “loving” is a stretch. The only person I feared was my big brother, who occasionally beat the crap out of me.
Childhood in our suburban Southside Brisbane environment during the 1950s, ’60s, and ’70s was memorable. There were a few nearby farms, an unfenced golf course where we dodged flying golf balls, and a creek surrounded by natural bushland for exploration. Public transport was poor, roads were rough, and outdoor toilets were common, but it still felt like a happy, safe place.
School days are often remembered as fun. Side note -For me, I was one of those kids who kept to the background. It was actually quite funny when I attended a primary school reunion a few years ago—a few people I ran into from those years couldn’t remember me.
However, some teachers were brutal and sadistic—not many, but a few. While there were also brilliant educators, the bad ones stood out for their use of the cane and their sheer cruelty. Blackboard dusters were thrown at students. T-squares were slammed across children’s backs. Some male teachers engaged in selective bullying toward particular students.
In modern times, some people reflect on those years and suggest that such treatment taught them to respect their teachers. Well, good for you—if that gave you some kind of misdirected respect for individuals who, frankly, had no place in the teaching profession at the time.
I’ve often thought that many of the people who believed they gained something from being bullied by teachers—and, in some cases, by fellow students—went on to become some of the unpleasant individuals we encountered in workplaces, leadership roles, and political circles. Back then, such bullying was generally accepted, and perhaps that normalization of cruelty helped shape the toxic behaviours we later saw in positions of authority.
I went to a state school, but from what I’ve heard from friends who attended Catholic schools, the nuns and priests took brutality to another level in the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s.
Looking back, there were quite a few children at our state school who, by today’s standards, might well have been diagnosed with ADHD, autism or other developmental difficulties. But in those days, such conditions were poorly understood. A child who couldn’t sit still, continually disrupted the class or struggled to follow instructions was usually labelled simply as naughty, difficult or badly behaved.
The answer was often the cane.
There were several boys who seemed to be continually in trouble, and a few later became involved with the law. At least two I knew eventually spent time in prison. Was their treatment at school responsible? We can’t know, and there were obviously many other factors involved. But I find it difficult to believe that repeatedly punishing and humiliating children who may have had genuine difficulties was always helpful.
The system seemed to assume that if punishment was severe enough, the child would eventually learn to behave. But if the underlying problem was something the child couldn’t control, the cane wasn’t going to fix it. It may simply have taught some children that authority was something to resent and resist.
Interestingly, some of these former pupils have said openly that their lack of respect for authority began during their early school years.
The old system was very good at demanding obedience, but not necessarily very good at understanding the child who couldn’t conform. In some cases, it may even have reinforced the very defiance the school was trying to eliminate.
As far as the private schools go, practically every Catholic parish at one stage had a predatory priest who was moved from one parish to another whenever abuse allegations arose. When scrutiny intensified, the church hierarchy would transfer them elsewhere to avoid consequences. As a result, the Church still faces backlash and turmoil today. Many children who suffered abuse in the 1950s, ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s are now adults grappling with mental health issues stemming from that trauma.
However, the idea that the “good old days” were better than today is a myth. Would anyone in 2025 genuinely trade all modern conveniences to live back then? I doubt it. In fact, I’d guarantee it. Many might claim they would, but if given the chance, they’d likely rush back to 2025 in their DeLorean after a brief visit.
People often view the post-war era selectively, remembering only the good and overlooking the harsher realities. Post–World War II Australia saw a large number of returned servicemen, many of whom were heavy drinkers—a common consequence of military service. Many of these ex-servicemen and women had witnessed events in the European or Pacific theatres of war that most of us could scarcely imagine. Some had been prisoners of war. Most returned carrying deep psychological trauma.
Later, veterans of the Korean and Vietnam Wars brought their own struggles, including what we now recognize as PTSD. Their experiences further contributed to the rise of alcohol consumption in Australia’s increasingly entrenched drinking culture.
Pubs were everywhere, and owning one was often considered a license to print money. The primary illnesses that caused fatalities among men in the 1950s and 1960s included cardiovascular disease, cancer, and alcohol-related conditions.
In our suburb, two pubs sat within 100 meters of each other, their parking lots overflowing every evening as men stopped for a few beers after work. Back then, all beer was heavy; low-alcohol options didn’t exist. Many of these men were factory workers who felt they deserved a cold drink after a hard day’s labor. Alcohol-driven aggression was fairly commonplace.
In Ipswich, there were approximately forty hotels along the 4-kilometre stretch of the Ipswich CBD area of the 1950s to 1980s. Ipswich was a mining & railway town known for its drinking culture.
Unfortunately, this culture often coincided with domestic violence, a subject rarely discussed openly at the time. It was sadly accepted that some men were abusive. I knew of several such families in our neighbourhood. The police showed little interest in protecting wives and children from violent husbands. In extreme cases, women who had been severely assaulted could even be institutionalised, sometimes with the complicity of police or doctors. Some families simply disappeared overnight as wives fled with their children to escape violent and toxic relationships.
Another tragic consequence of the post-war prevalence of domestic violence was the lasting effect it had on children. Many young people suffered psychological trauma after witnessing violence daily in their homes. Some were institutionalised because of the resulting mental health problems, while some boys who grew up surrounded by violence later became perpetrators themselves as adults, contributing to the cycle of domestic abuse that has reached a critical point in modern times.
The violence that occurred behind closed doors in homes across Australia has become one of the nation’s greatest modern shames. Domestic violence is now at epidemic levels, with women and children continuing to die as a result. The roots of this crisis can be traced, at least in part, to the social conditions, rampant alcoholism and accepted patterns of violence that emerged during and after both world wars throughout the twentieth century.
Another issue linked to alcohol consumption is gambling. Australia has the highest per capita gambling losses in the world. The surge in gambling coincided with the post-war economic boom of the 1950s, during which clubs flourished as large numbers of Australians joined RSL and sporting clubs. These establishments attracted crowds eager to play poker machines and engage in other forms of gambling. The clubs and pubs reaped substantial profits, as did the government through gambling taxes.
Gambling remains a significant issue in Australia, yet governments are hesitant to implement strict measures to curb it due to the substantial revenue they generate from the industry.
Another terrible habit that was rampant from the post-war period right through to the end of the 20th century was the now almost unthinkable practice of allowing people to smoke cigarettes virtually anywhere in public.
Who can forget the awful smell of cigarette smoke from people who seemed to believe they had every right to fill the surrounding air with it, regardless of whether anyone else wanted to breathe it? Smoking was commonplace in offices and workplaces, on public transport and even inside the confined cabins of passenger aircraft.
And it wasn’t just the smoke. Smokers seemed to think that cigarette butts could simply be discarded wherever they happened to finish their cigarette — on footpaths, in gutters, in parks and virtually anywhere else they felt like dropping them. The cigarette butt became such a familiar part of the urban landscape that people barely seemed to notice it. Take a moment to contemplate how many cigarette butts ended up in our waterways & being swept out into the oceans, where the harm to marine wildlife was immeasurable.
What makes it particularly remarkable looking back is how completely normalised the whole practice had become. Children grew up in households where one or both parents smoked, and many of them were exposed to cigarette smoke from an early age without anyone giving much thought to the consequences.
Over time, the evidence linking smoking and serious disease became impossible to ignore. Lung cancer and other respiratory diseases became major public-health problems, while smoking was also associated with a range of cardiovascular and other serious illnesses.
And then there was the tobacco industry, which for decades had enormous influence over how cigarettes were marketed and perceived. Advertising was everywhere, and smoking was often portrayed as sophisticated, fashionable, masculine, feminine, successful or simply part of everyday life. The industry had an extraordinary ability to sell the idea that smoking was perfectly normal.
Looking back from today’s perspective, it is difficult to believe just how socially acceptable smoking once was. We went from a time when someone could light up virtually anywhere without a second thought to a time when smoking in many public places is no longer permitted.
It’s one of those changes in society that reminds us that what seems completely normal in one generation can look absolutely extraordinary to another.
As for crime, corruption & public safety, the idea that Brisbane in the post-war years was a utopia where the law was always upheld is nonsense. The police force, for the most part, was deeply corrupt. Not all officers were involved, but the majority were or were content to watch it unfold. Honest cops were often transferred to remote outposts, which is why country towns usually had well-respected local policemen. Those officers’ files were marked to prevent them from being promoted to senior ranks. At the time, the QPS had no interest in placing honest policemen in senior or administrative positions.
It’s shocking that many people still live in denial about what truly happened during that era, when corrupt police effectively ran the state. In Brisbane, law enforcement frequently colluded with organized crime, while senior politicians were complicit—often directly benefiting from the widespread corruption.
Figures such as Detectives Tony Murphy and Glen Hallahan, together with Police Commissioner Terry Lewis, became central protagonists in the corruption scandal, which reached the highest levels of the Queensland state government. So emboldened by their power and apparent immunity, the corrupt police came to see themselves as untouchable. They became known collectively as the “Rat Pack.”
Premier Joh Bjelke-Petersen, Police Minister Russ Hinze, and most members of the state cabinet were implicated in these illicit activities. Organized crime was effectively purchasing silence and protection, and the very authorities tasked with upholding the law were willingly complicit.
This was the period in our state’s history when everything came to a head. The Fitzgerald Inquiry exposed the full extent of the corruption, resulting in several politicians and police officers being sent to prison. Unfortunately, many senior officers were permitted to resign—an arguably dignified exit that allowed them to avoid real accountability for their actions. However, the inquiry did lead to the downfall of one of the most powerful figures: Commissioner Terry Lewis, who was sentenced to 14 years in prison, though he was released after serving just 10 and a half years.
Perhaps unsurprisingly—and in a disturbingly covert manner—many of the political ringleaders managed to evade prosecution. It was widely acknowledged that many more individuals should have faced justice.
What’s even more disturbing is that some still attempt to justify this era of corruption, claiming the state was better governed under dishonest politicians and police. This kind of selective revisionism ignores the profound damage that systemic corruption inflicted on public trust, justice, and democratic institutions.
In modern times, politicians still exploit the “crime wave” narrative during elections. In fact, it’s the go-to policy when all else fails. Privately, some politicians hope that serious crimes occur during the run-up to an election, when it is guaranteed to stir up public emotion. However, crime rates in Queensland have steadily decreased over time. While occasional spikes occur, overall crime rates have declined. People often overlook the fact that population growth leads to more reported crimes in absolute terms, but this doesn’t mean crime rates are higher. A massive portion of today’s recorded crime consists of offences that went entirely unreported or undocumented in the 1950s, such as domestic and family violence, cybercrime, and sexual assaults. Modern reporting mechanisms and a greater willingness to contact the police heavily inflate modern statistics compared to the mid-20th century. Rates for violent crimes like robbery, assault, and homicide were much higher during the 1980s, eventually peaking in the early 1990s before beginning a steep decline. Social media and 24-hour news cycles make local incidents instantly visible nationwide, creating a false impression that crime is higher now.
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In modern times, politicians still regularly exploit the “crime wave” narrative during election campaigns. When other policy issues fail to generate sufficient public concern, law and order can become the political go-to—particularly when a highly publicised crime provides an opportunity to stir public emotion.
Yet the political perception of crime and the actual incidence of crime are not necessarily the same thing. In Queensland, as in much of Australia, crime patterns have changed considerably over time, and many major categories of recorded crime have declined from the peaks experienced during the 1980s and early 1990s. Occasional increases and localised spikes certainly occur, but these do not necessarily represent a long-term increase in the overall crime rate.
There is also an important distinction between the number of offences recorded and the rate of offending. Queensland’s population has grown substantially, so an increase in the absolute number of reported offences does not automatically mean that an individual is more likely to become a victim of crime. Crime statistics need to be considered in relation to population size. Do the maths, people! If crime numbers were increasing faster than the population, then you’d actually have something to whine about. But when the population grows substantially and the crime rate per head doesn’t follow it, waving around the larger raw numbers as evidence of a “crime wave” is little more than statistical theatre.
Comparisons with the 1950s and earlier decades are particularly problematic. A considerable amount of offending that is routinely reported and recorded today was either not reported to police, not formally documented, or was treated very differently in the mid-20th century. Domestic and family violence is an obvious example. Sexual offences, child abuse and a range of other forms of interpersonal violence were also substantially under-reported and under-recorded. Modern reporting mechanisms, changes in legislation, specialised police procedures and a greater willingness of victims to report offences have all changed what appears in official statistics.
Technology has introduced another major difference. Cybercrime simply did not exist in anything resembling its modern form in the 1950s, while offences that once might have remained local or received little publicity can now be reported, shared and discussed almost instantly.
It is also worth remembering that some forms of violent crime were considerably more prevalent during the late 20th century than they are today. Robbery, assault and homicide experienced significant increases during the 1980s, with several categories reaching their highest levels around the late 1980s or early 1990s before subsequently declining.
What has changed dramatically is not simply crime itself, but our exposure to information about crime. In the 1950s, an assault, robbery or murder in another Queensland town might have received little or no attention outside the immediate district. Today, the same incident can appear on television, news websites, Facebook, X and other social-media platforms within minutes—and then be reported and discussed repeatedly for days.
And this is where the modern media cycle can seriously distort our perception of crime. If you continually see the same horrific incident, the same shocking images and the same piece of CCTV footage replayed over and over again, those images become deeply embedded in people’s minds. It can give the impression that these events are happening constantly, even when the footage being shown relates to a single incident.
The problem is compounded by a media industry under enormous financial pressure. With newsroom staffing and budgets being cut, there is considerably less capacity for original reporting and investigative journalism. It is much cheaper and easier to take the same dramatic piece of footage and run it repeatedly than it is to send journalists out to find new stories, examine the statistics or provide meaningful context.
The result is a rather bizarre feedback loop: one horrific crime happens, the media repeatedly broadcasts it because it attracts attention, people see it repeatedly and understandably become alarmed, and that public anxiety then becomes another story for the media to report. Before long, a single incident can dominate the public consciousness far beyond its statistical significance.
The viewer doesn’t necessarily remember that they have seen the same crime twenty times. They simply remember seeing twenty frightening images.
That is a very different thing from there actually being twenty separate crimes.
That constant exposure can create the impression that crime is everywhere and continually increasing, even when the longer-term statistical trend is moving in the opposite direction.
This is where the political usefulness of the “crime wave” narrative becomes apparent. A single horrific incident is emotionally powerful; a ten-year statistical trend is not. Politicians campaigning on law and order therefore have an obvious incentive to draw attention to individual incidents and public anxiety, while the underlying rates and long-term trends receive considerably less attention.
The important question is therefore not simply “Are there more crimes being reported?” It is: “What type of crime, at what rate, compared with what period, and how has the way that crime is reported and recorded changed?”
Without that context, crime statistics can be used to create a very misleading picture of whether society has actually become more dangerous.
Walking around Brisbane after dark today is much safer than it was back then. Those nostalgic for the past would never have dared roam places like Fortitude Valley, South Brisbane, Teneriffe, Spring Hill or around the Eagle Farm wharf areas after dark during the pre- & post-war decades leading up to the 1990s.
If you belonged to a minority group—whether Indigenous, LGBTQ+, disabled, or otherwise marginalized groups—you likely faced poor and sometimes violent treatment at the hands of intolerant individuals in an era when society’s tolerance for such groups was significantly lower. Opportunities and access were severely restricted for disabled people. Public venues and transportation often lacked accommodations, and individuals with disabilities were frequently institutionalized or excluded from mainstream society. Mental health care was virtually nonexistent; people struggling with mental illnesses were often confined to institutions without proper support or understanding. Racism was widespread. Our First Nations people were treated appallingly, and the country still had the infamous White Australia policy enshrined in legislation. Post–World War II European immigrants were often ostracised and subjected to discriminatory treatment by many within the white Anglo-Australian community. Most white Australians either ignored the situation or turned a blind eye to it.
The most popular comedians and television shows openly mocked Aboriginal people and migrants—behaviour that was widely accepted at the time and even considered a form of mainstream entertainment.
It shouldn’t come as any great surprise that in modern times, as a society, we wonder why our First Nations people feel so let down by successive governments. We have kicked them from pillar to post since the day the First Fleet arrived.
With all those previously mentioned topics mentioned, some aspects of those past times were undeniably better. The average family could afford to buy a home and raise children on a single income. Life was simpler, with fewer technological distractions. However, this simplicity also meant fewer choices—whether in consumer goods, cars, or entertainment.
In the immediate post-war era, radio was the primary form of home entertainment. Television arrived in Australia in the late 1950s, revolutionizing suburban life. But it also introduced challenges. Children, once active outdoors, became glued to TV screens.
It is often lamented that many of our historic buildings have been replaced by monolithic concrete structures. However, much of the demolition of beautiful Gothic and Federation-style architecture—as well as the iconic Queenslander homes—occurred in the post-World War II period, continuing through to the end of the 20th century.
During this time, countless magnificent colonial-era structures were torn down and lost—ironically, during an era many now remember fondly. While not everyone who lived through that period had the power to prevent such loss, many were in positions of planning or political influence and could have acted to preserve these irreplaceable buildings.
Of course, in any expanding city, development is inevitable, and not everything could have been saved. Still, as a state, Queensland developed a reputation for readily demolishing heritage buildings and replacing them with concrete monoliths. We only have ourselves to blame.
What makes this more ironic is that the same period, viewed through those nostalgic rose-coloured glasses—was when the destruction occurred. Many of those who now lament the loss were in positions to act but chose not to. Some even conveniently forget that they had the power to vote out incompetent leaders and urban planners at the time.
The era of the Bjelke-Petersen government in Queensland saw the removal of a vast number of beautiful historic buildings. Despite this, his government was repeatedly re-elected with large majorities in every election for nearly two decades.
Road safety is another area where significant progress has been made. In 1952, there were 2052 road deaths in Australia. This number increased to 3164 in 1965 and peaked at 3583 in 1976. Since then, road fatalities have consistently declined, with 1291 deaths recorded across the country in 2024.
Improvements in car design, road construction, and safety measures have been major contributors to this progress. However, any number of fatalities is still too many. The “idiot factor” on our roads remains a persistent issue. As long as people continue to drive under the influence of drugs and alcohol or dangerously exceed speed limits, road tolls will remain a tragic reality.
Education has seen massive improvements over the years. I was born in 1954. When my generation left school to enter the workforce or attend university, we knew practically nothing about life in the real world. These days, however, children are much more knowledgeable, thanks to significant advancements in the education system, from kindergarten through to high school and tertiary education.
Although the advent of the internet has introduced some negative aspects, it has also enabled children to become far more informed than we were at their age. They are more aware of the world, have access to an unprecedented amount of information, and are equipped with the tools to excel in their jobs and careers—far beyond what young adults of the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s could achieve.
Kids are still kids, and they continue to need guidance and mentorship. However, with the improvements in the education system and the ability to harness knowledge, they are in a much better position than children of the past.
Advancements in healthcare and treatments for life-threatening illnesses have significantly improved the quality and longevity of life for many Australians. Improved health education and advancements in diagnostic tools have played a crucial role in these achievements.
So, after all things considered… do you really want to return to those “good old days”?
After all is said and done, there’s no harm in reminiscing about days gone by. For some older people, it can be comforting to reflect on their cherished memories—their childhood, their schooldays, their first job, their first love, or raising their kids in the Brisbane of the past. Nostalgia can be a beautiful thing. However, as the banner at the top of the article says, I firmly believe that our best days are still ahead of us.
Sure, there are certainly things that could have been done better. Development and infrastructure have always been areas of debate and discussion when comparing different eras. For example, Brisbane should not have dismantled its excellent public tram network. The demolition of many of our historic heritage buildings is another highly contentious issue, alongside other decisions that, in hindsight, seem questionable.
From a global perspective, history has never been short of authoritarian figures. Since before the 1940s, we’ve seen the rise of leaders like Hitler, Mussolini, Stalin, Mao Zedong, and Pol Pot—through to more recent figures such as Putin and Trump—who have inflicted damaging politics and policies on their own populations and, in many cases, the wider world.
Sadly, poor leadership and governance are problems that never seem to go away.
However, I genuinely believe that life today is significantly better than it was back then.
If you prefer to live in the past, that’s your choice. As for me, I’d rather look forward to the future.
Be careful what you wish for.
