The Silent Generation is taking its lost wisdom and forgotten skills with it

We can all learn something from the pre-war generation of Australians whose belief system showed us how to live, love and laugh in the face of adversity.

The Silents’ way of life may be outdated by modern standards but it held everyone together through the Depression and war. Picture: iStock

They are officially known as the Silent Generation – those born in the 18 years prior to and including 1945. In many ways the Silents or, as I like to refer to them, the Frugals, are our last generational link with pre-war Australia and with how we once lived, loved and laughed.

In 2026 the oldest of this prewar generation will turn 99. The oldest Baby Boomer next year will be 80 (or, as they say, they’ll be getting their OBE, meaning “over bloody eighty”).

As the Silents and older Boomers move closer to the edge of life I wonder what skills, belief systems and insights they’ll be taking with them. Modern humanity has been around for 300,000 years (maybe 8,000 generations) and has generally prospered and progressed from generation to generation by passing down what each has considered to be the collective wisdom of a life well lived.

The skills that I think are receding but which once flourished amid middle Australia in the Silents’ world are simple, everyday skills like the ability to darn a sock, to light a fire, to chop and stack wood, and to disassemble, clean and reassemble the carburettor of a lawnmower. Here is a frugal world where women knitted or crocheted whenever relaxing in the evening listening to the radio or watching the telly. Here is a world where chooks were kept, vegies were grown, mushrooms were picked, and where fishing was both a manly sport and a deliverer of a dividend for dinner.

All this was back when lunch was called dinner and dinner was called tea. This was a time when trucks were called lorries, when currency comprised pounds, pence and shillings. Here was an odd (but loyal) Antipodean world where people laughed along with British TV shows like Steptoe and Son and On the Buses.

The Silent Generation’s world was one of deep commitment to faith, where the church ruled and where sermons could, if the priest thought you needed it, jolt the congregation with stories of hellfire and brimstone and with lurid talk of eternal damnation. Even the humblest of houses carried crucifixes and imagery of saints and deities in every room (except the bathroom). The one in the front room, the good room, was a declaration of household faith to all who visited.

And while there is much of-the-moment baggage to leave behind with every generation, there are other bits – the warmth, the sense of community, the love – that should be acknowledged, savoured, perhaps even carried forth in some form or other.

Maybe we don’t need to darn socks any more, thanks to the globalisation of manufactured goods. Perhaps women don’t feel the need to be busy with their hands every time they sit down. And surely it’s a good idea to shift, or at least to broaden, our cultural reference points to include places other than London. (Or Los Angeles and Silicon Valley for that matter.)

But there is something about this era, this community, that I find compelling. The Silents’ way of life may be outdated by modern standards but it held everyone together through the Depression and war. A belief system about how to live, love and laugh is part of our insurance against the effects of future adversity. Maybe that’s the Silents’ message to us all.