 
### The English Girl

by Michael Taylor
Copyright 2018 Michael Taylor

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

Formatting by Caligraphics

# 1.

The force of the blast shook the foundations of the house, rattled its ceiling and blew out the windows in their bedroom. Huddled beneath the blankets, covered in shattered glass and plaster dust, nine year old Patricia clung on tightly to her sister and held her breath. The explosion had sucked the air from the room and the only sounds she could hear were the ringing in her ears and the rapid beating of her heart. Other than that, there was absolute silence. Nothing. No sound - just a dead vacuum of stillness. Then, the wide eyed, scared young girls heard a noise. It was an eerie, soft moaning, almost a cooing, coming from outside their bedroom. Patricia, sure it was the end of the world, whispered to eleven year old Wendy, " Are we dead? Do you think we are dead? Is that the angels singing?"

Wendy didn't reply, but then the angels stopped singing and started clucking. The noise came from their shell-shocked chickens, escaped from the coop and wandering around in a daze. The girls slowly peered out from under their bedcovers, relieved to see chickens through the broken window instead of angels and wondered, not for the first time, what they had done wrong and why the Germans were trying to kill them.

Around nine years earlier, in May 1932, and eighty miles away, Florence Tomkinson was giving birth to Patricia in a pretty little English port town called Harwich. She had been through the process twice before, so having a baby was nothing new to her, but whether it was getting any easier only Florence would know. She had been blessed with two beautiful daughters already, Stella and Wendy, and now Patricia Anne was about to join the Tomkinson family. Patricia had no say in her birthplace, but as something that stays with a person their whole life, Harwich would have been a good choice.

The town had a solid pedigree well before Patricia added to its quality. Harwich sits on the English coast just over sixty miles north east of London, facing the biting chill of the North Sea. It has a deep water port and has been known as a place of maritime significance since becoming a heavily fortified naval base back in 1657. Probably the town's biggest claim to fame is that of the building site of the vessel, 'Mayflower', which carried one hundred and two brave English folk all the way from Plymouth to North America in 1620 to found the aptly named colony of New England. Her Captain, Christopher Jones, was also born in Harwich.

In November, 1918, the German U Boat fleet surrendered to the Royal Navy in Harwich Harbour, following the end of hostilities in World War One. For the next couple of years, over one hundred submarines floated in the town's calm waters before gradually being sold off for scrap, and 27,000 German soldiers were repatriated from Harwich back to their homeland.

And, in the nine months prior to the outbreak of World War Two, a rescue mission called 'Kindertransport' took in nearly 10,000 mainly Jewish children from Nazi Germany, Poland, Austria and Czechoslovakia. The children were placed in British foster homes after arriving from the Hook of Holland by ferry to Harwich. Often, they were the only members of a family to survive the Holocaust, and on D – Day, June 1944, over three hundred ships assembled in the harbour ready for the invasion of Europe. So, to be born in Harwich immediately gave a newborn an intriguing history – before they made one of their own.

The Tomkinsons actually lived in Dovercourt Bay – only two miles from Harwich – on Victoria Street, near the railway station. Florence's parents also lived in Victoria Street, which is one of the reasons the family moved there.

Frank George Leslie Tomkinson, Patricia's Dad, had been a soldier. He had just left the military when Patricia was born – as a member of the 7th Queens Own Hussars. The Hussars were a Cavalry regiment that had a proud history dating back three hundred years. By the time World War Two rolled around, their horses had been exchanged for tanks, and Frank had exchanged his uniform for civilian clothes.

Military service ran in the Tomkinson family. Frank's father had served as a Grenadier – originally a specialised soldier with the distinct role of throwing grenades. By the 18th century, dedicated grenade throwers were no longer needed, but Grenadiers were still chosen for being the most physically powerful soldiers and would lead assaults in the field of battle.

Frank's grandfather had been a Yeoman of the Queen's Bodyguard. These red and gold uniformed soldiers were members of the oldest British military corps still in existence – created by King Henry VII in 1485.

So, while Frank had been a pure blooded military man – once he set eyes on the lovely Florence, who was working as a cook in a Doctor's house – marriage became his number one priority. The dashing ex soldier married the beautiful Florence ( nee ) Kavanagh in the Colchester Catholic Church, and they enthusiastically set about creating a family of their own.

Frank Tomkinson, 7th Queens Own Hussars

By the time Patricia was born, she had a six year old sister, Stella, a two year old sister, Wendy and it was the height of the Great Depression. Also known in the United Kingdom as the Great Slump – there was actually nothing great about it. It was a period of massive economical downturn which had originated in the USA in 1929, and had quickly spread to the rest of the world. Like every other English family of the time, the Tomkinsons would not escape its devastating effects.

Britain's world trade fell by 50 % and there were nearly four million registered in the country as unemployed. The industrial and mining areas of North England were the hardest hit with unemployment running at 70 %. Families were left destitute and queueing at soup kitchens became a way of life. Malnutrition in children caused outbreaks of scurvy, rickets and tuberculosis – conditions that were unheard of in modern Britain.

The author, George Orwell, wrote at the time, ' ...men and women would scrabble in the mud for hours searching eagerly for tiny chips of coal in slagheaps so they could heat their homes. Free coal was almost more important than food.'

They were difficult times but, as a young girl, Patricia wasn't really aware of the Depression – it was just the way life was. With three daughters to feed, though, and a fourth on the way for Frank and Florence, there were no new dresses or family shopping trips to London. There was no spending money and no holidays for most Britons in the 1930's.

Florence had always been a hard working, practical woman and would rent a room out in their house at every opportunity, to make some extra money. Frank was also a good worker and never neglected his family. He wasn't a gambler or a heavy drinker and was always able to provide for his girls. Through those lean years, he would regularly line up at the local Parkston Quay with the rest of the unemployed men, never too proud to put his hand up for whatever work was available - whether it was building a bridge or hauling coal with a horse and cart – a horse that the young Patricia took great delight in riding.

Patricia inherited her father's tenacity and initiative. As a young girl she would become known locally as 'the cadger'. Always on the lookout for opportunities and never short of self confidence, her sweet smile and innocent looks made handouts an easy business – a halfpenny from a drunk stumbling out of The Victoria pub, a banana from a generous shopkeeper or cigarette cards from travellers at the train station – it all helped to make up the shortfalls caused by The Depression.

Patricia started school in 1938 at the Bathside County Primary School – a high pitched, red roofed building that had opened in 1896 and would remain open for nearly one hundred years.

Later on, Frank took on a job managing a billiards/reception centre in Dovercourt Bay's main street. The family lived in a flat opposite, above a photographic shop. This created some wonderful opportunities for Patricia and her sisters. Once a function was finished, Frank would whistle up his daughters who would rush over with their billy cart and collect all the empty beer bottles. These could be cashed in at the local pub and were a great source of small change for the girls. Sometimes, there was even left over food which was better than money, or they would collect empty jam jars and cash them in for a penny each. There were no luxuries available for the Tomkinson girls during those years – they all wore hand me down clothes and lived in the poorer part of town – but they were happy and enjoying being children.

Dovercourt Bay had long been a fashionable seaside resort, and even in the Depression years the beach would attract big summer crowds. Florence was a keen swimmer and Earlams Beach was the family's favourite place to be during the warm weather. The ever resourceful Frank had a job there at one stage as the hirer of little paddleboats and he would march up and down the sand - resplendent in his crisp white uniform - using a loud hailer to summon overdue hirers back to the beach. The girls would do acrobatics on the sand entertaining the beachgoers and build sandcastles for the annual Cadbury's sponsored competition where every sandcastle builder won a block of chocolate which, at the time, was more valuable than a block of gold - especially for a six year old girl.

If they weren't on the beach on the weekends, the sisters would rollerskate along the concrete promenade, squealing with delight while deftly avoiding pedestrians and Charlie, the cranky gardener, who would shake his fist at their reckless and childish behaviour.

Despite the shortages and the struggles of those years, the Tomkinson girls were raised in a loving and cheerful family environment. By 1939, seven year old Patricia had three sisters – two older and one, Diana, four years younger. Frank had five females to live with, which tested his patience and the family budget, but they were getting by and were hopeful that things would soon improve. Unfortunately, life was about to dramatically change for the Tomkinson family due to a slightly deranged, short German man with a silly little moustache and a bad comb-over.

Fifty year old Adolf Hitler was Chancellor of Germany and had decided to forcibly reclaim a whole lot of land his country had lost in World War One. He began by taking over Austria and Czechoslovakia - actions which most of the world ignored -but when he invaded Poland, that was the last straw. On the 3rd September, 1939, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, Neville Chamberlain, declared war on Germany and for every family living in England the next six years would bring disruption, heartache and misery until the little German bully was defeated.

Frank was immediately called up for military service. Like so many other British men, he saw it as his duty to protect his family and homeland from the megalomaniac who was now running Germany. There were many tears falling on the platform of Dovercourt train station as Frank said goodbye to his family and headed into an unknown future. Florence and her four girls now had to fend for themselves – having survived years of economic hardship – there was further hardship ahead caused by a country at war.

Two weeks later, Frank returned. In the early days of the war, the British Army was under the false and foolish assumption that it could be particularly fussy about the men accepted into their ranks. It would not be long before that attitude completely changed, but in the meantime Frank was deemed unsuitable for service because of varicose veins in his legs. He was only thirty three years old, but age was also against him. That would also change in the not too distant future when Britain became desperate for manpower.

Strangely enough, Frank was disappointed with the rejection – not that he had a desire to go to war – but given his previous military service and his family background, he saw the battleground as where he should be. His family, however, was not disappointed.

Now that war was afoot, the threat of air raids by the Germans or their Italian allies was a very real possibility – especially in a militarily strategic town such as Harwich that was only just across the water from Europe.

A simple air raid shelter had been designed by the government that was made of corrugated iron sheets and was distributed free to more than two million households in England. The structure, measuring six feet tall, six feet long and just over four feet wide, was a snug fit for a family of six. The structures were buried four feet under the ground and many families grew vegetables and flowers over the top of them. Demonstrating the Britons dark sense of humour, neighbourhood competitions were held for the 'prettiest shelter'.

Luckily for the Tomkinsons, their backyard Anderson shelter was never used because it would fill with water every time it rained. Despite reassurances from the government that, '... the direct effects of a high explosive bomb extended over a very limited range – not farther than a thirty feet circle around the bomb – it was the secondary effect of the splinters that would cause the greatest number of casualties in an air raid. Anyone who had a properly earthed over Anderson Shelter was secure from anything except a direct hit and should also remember that well constructed buildings were not easily brought down unless a big bomb fell very close.'

But there was no ignoring the influence that war was about to cast over Harwich and Dovercourt – and all of England. English children became a safety priority and an evacuation plan was put into place for children in London and surrounding districts. Families were splintered and broken apart in the name of survival – the London Times reported in September, 1939, '... thousands of London schoolchildren bound for the Midlands and the West Country joined their express trains at Ealing Broadway station yesterday morning. No-one knew where they were going, not even the head teachers. It was a trip into the unknown. Many of the children had never before left home, let alone sat in the first class car of an express train. '

The best advice that the recipients of the children were given was......' if children and others should have to be evacuated, householders receiving them may find certain difficulties arising from the fact that many of their guests will be unfamiliar with the conditions of country life. They will not find the comforts and amusements of the towns or the same social habits.'

Well aware of the problems associated with forced evacuations, mainly the splintering of family groups, Frank looked for an alternative to keep his together. It was going to be difficult to find a home away from a wartime target that could accommodate the six of them, but it was very important to him that they would not be separated. It seemed that anyone living in Harwich now had a big bullseye target painted on their back for the Germans to aim at.

This became very clear on the night of the 21st November, 1939, only two and a half months after the outbreak of war, when the residents of Harwich and Dovercourt were woken by a loud explosion followed by desperate cries for help and the terrifying screams of the injured, echoing across the calm waters of the bay.

# 2.

A British Navy Destroyer, HMS Gipsy, had hit a mine, one of many that would be laid in Harwich Harbour by the Germans, and thirty crew members lost their lives as a result. Patricia remembers standing with her parents next to the statue of Queen Victoria on the Esplanade, watching the flames, hearing the ship's boiler explode and holding tightly onto her mother's hand as residents in small boats frantically tried to rescue any survivors.

The town would also become a target for Italian bombers the following year. The nearby town of Colchester, only twenty miles from Harwich where Frank and Florence were married, said to be the oldest town in Britain, would become a bombing target for the German Luftwaffe and claim fifty five lives during the war. So, a safe haven for English families and their children was an immediate priority. Luckily, Patricia's Aunt found the Tomkinsons a suitable house to rent in a place called High Barnet – a market town that had been built around a 12th century settlement. It was a two storey brick terrace house on the busy St. Albans Road, 130 metres above sea level.

Most importantly, it was sixty miles away from the ocean and possible bombing targets. It was, however, only fourteen miles from the centre of London. At the outbreak of war, 40 million gas masks were issued to residents, and blackouts were enforced to hinder the navigation of enemy planes, but London was constantly bombed. During one period, the city was attacked fifty seven days in a row and on one night alone, four days after Christmas, 1940, enemy bombers dropped more than one hundred tons of explosives onto London families and their homes.

In High Barnet, though, life was a little simpler. Patricia re-started her schooling at Christchurch School – just across the road from their new home and both her parents worked at the twenty year old Wellhouse Hospital in Wellhouse Lane, just three miles away. This meant that there would be times when Patricia, although a nine year old self confident girl, would be left home with her eleven year old sister, Wendy. Older sister, Stella, had gone away to London to continue with her nursing studies and young Diana was sent away to relatives in the country. On the night their bedroom windows were being blown out by the force of a bomb, Patricia and Wendy were two young girls all alone in a house being attacked by the might, and the horror, of the German Air Force.

Frank wasn't happy with his line of work – as a thirty five year old able bodied ex soldier he felt poorly about working in a hospital, so when a position became available with Standard Telephones and Cable working in security, he jumped at it. It would almost cost him his life. ST& C was a British radio and telecommunications manufacturer. During the war, significant military work was undertaken at their New Southgate factory, with regard to aerial warfare, communications, radar and navigational aids. Frank would ride his bicycle the seven miles to work, whether it was day or night shift and, on occasion, his fearless young daughter, Patricia, would jump on a bus and deliver lunch to her father.

Feeding the family was a constant struggle during the war years and rationing was an accepted way of life. In 1939, the United Kingdom was importing twenty million tons of food a year, including half its meat requirements for a population of fifty million people. One of the principal strategies of the Germans was to attack shipping bound for Britain, thereby restricting British industry and potentially starving the nation into submission.

At the beginning of 1940, the war exerted its most widespread effect in the country by introducing food rationing.

No-one was entitled to more than twelve ounces of sugar, four ounces of butter and four ounces of bacon or ham per week. Forty five million ration books were issued to the citizens of the country.

While Patricia's father was working or sleeping and her mother was at the hospital earning money, the collecting of rations fell onto her young shoulders. Fresh fruit and vegetables were not rationed, but supplies were very limited, especially lemons and bananas. Many young children of the time had trouble believing that bananas even existed, never having seen one. Oranges were available but were limited to children and pregnant women with their distinctive green ration books.

Even clothing purchases were rationed – based on a points system that was introduced in June, 1941. Initially, no clothing coupons were issued so unused margarine coupons were valid for clothing. The allowance was for one new outfit per year but as the war progressed points were reduced and buying a coat could cost the equivalent of one year's coupons. Luckily, the Tomkinson girls were used to going without new clothes.

Whale meat and South African snoek fish were not rationed – but proved to be unpopular.

A study was carried out during the war because of government concerns about the population's dietary intake. The results were not released until many years later - possibly because it showed that infant mortality had declined, the health of British people had improved and, excluding deaths by hostilities, life expectancy had risen. The only negative results were a remarkable increase in flatulence ( measurement methods unknown ) due to the large amount of starch in the diet through bread and potatoes.

As the war dragged on, the high pitched sound of the air raid warning siren became an almost daily occurrence. If Patricia was at school at the time, all the students would be hurried down to the basement shelter, where they would calmly continue with their studies. At home in the evenings, there was no shelter. In the early days at High Barnet, Frank would crowd his wife and daughters into the coal cellar during a raid, but even with blankets, it was an uncomfortable haven. Frank and his brother then decided to build a shelter under the house floorboards and fill it with mattresses. When reports surfaced of families being trapped in homemade shelters during bombing raids, he abandoned those plans. A last resort was to seek protection by hiding under the big, heavy dining room table in the sitting room – head and shoulders under the doubtful protection of the table – and bums sticking out in the open ready to absorb the impact.

Eventually, the local council built brick shelters in back gardens that neighbours could share – complete with bunks and a trunk full of food. Patricia clearly remembers her father's voice in the middle of the night, "....come on Florrie, get the kids, we have to get down to the shelter." Almost every night around seven o'clock, the 'Moaning Minnie' air raid siren would alert residents to the possibility of incoming air strikes.

Even though there were no strategic bombing targets in High Barnet, its close proximity to London saw the area hit with over 600 bombs between October, 1940 and June, 1941.

The local council had trained 218 people as air raid wardens who were easily recognisable in their tin helmets with a big W on the front and back. They would wander around at night ensuring no homes were letting out a chink of light through their blackout curtains for enemy planes to zero in on.

The threat was very real. In November, 1940, an old people's home in High Barnet scored a direct hit. It was just behind the Wellhouse Hospital where Patricia's Mum was working and seventeen people were killed in the blast. During the war, more than 600 houses in Barnet were seriously damaged. They were interesting times to be growing up in.

Sleep for the young girls was irregular, to say the least. If it wasn't air raid sirens interrupting their night, it was the sound of the anti-aircraft guns trying to shoot enemy planes out of the sky and there was the regular drone of the 'doodlebugs' ( slang for a flying insect ). At their peak, more than one hundred doodlebugs were launched at England, every day.

Patricia and her family would be huddled in the darkness of the shelter and clearly hear the ominous sound of the so called 'super weapons '. Nobody knew where they would land in an explosive and deadly blast of heat and flame. What helped the Tomkinsons through this time of terror was the fact they were all together as a family, supporting each other.

As a nine year old student, Patricia's school report card stated that her conduct was good, but she was inclined to resent being found fault with. She was a clever, intelligent girl but sometimes spoiled her work by being in too great a hurry. By the time she was an eleven year old, things had improved with the comment. ' she has a strong character which should stand her in good stead in life.' Which it would.

Patricia would finish her Primary schooling at Christ Church School in 1943, having completed most of those studies with a constant background symphony of anti-aircraft guns, flying bombs and enemy planes. During her last year of that schooling, she had sat for a scholarship to the secondary school, Queen Elizabeth Girls Grammar. Both her older sisters had left school at fourteen years old to find work and, if not for the scholarship, a similar path was in store for Patricia. Sitting up in a hospital bed one day after having her tonsils out, her parents visited and gave her the good news.

The twelve year old was not only grateful for that opportunity, but also that her Dad was still alive. Frank had been riding his bicycle home on a cold and gloomy Wednesday morning in August, 1944, when he heard an almighty roar from behind him. Perhaps he shouldn't have been too surprised – Standard Telephones and Cable were involved in the war effort by making everything from tank radios to automatic fusing devices for anti-aircraft guns. When a flying bomb appeared out of the low cloud and scored a direct hit on the factory – it was no accident. The explosion blew a crater four feet deep and twelve feet wide in the roadway, but it was the buildings that took the main force of the blast. They were strongly constructed, but were also covered in camouflage rope netting which quickly caught fire. Thirty three employees lost their lives that morning and thirty three local families were torn apart. A further two hundred were injured, and Frank Tomkinson was counting his lucky stars.

Queen Elizabeth Girls Grammar, on High Street and founded in 1888, still had fortified corridors, sandbagged windows and a shelter in the basement for its students but never slackened in its discipline or high uniform standards. If any girl was found to be wandering the streets without their hat and gloves on, there was a strict price to pay. Patricia didn't mind the rules as she was so relieved to be able to continue her schooling.

QUEGS was a private school with hefty fees, and even though Patricia had a full academic scholarship, there were still uniforms and books to buy, usually second hand. There were only a few scholarship girls at the school and the others tended to look down their nose at them and referred to them as the 'Grammar Grubs.' Patricia was quick to respond to any criticism telling those girls, " Well, we got here because of our brains – your father had to pay for you to get here," which put them straight back into their little box.

Towards the middle of 1945, after one of the most devastating wars in the history of mankind, people could finally dance in the streets and celebrate that it was over, and life could return to some normality.

For Patricia, it meant she could now focus on her education, and life as a teenager. Although the war was over, rationing was still in place and money was tight for the Tomkinsons. Patricia was able to work during school holidays – at one stage making false teeth in a factory – and Wendy would give her little sister a little money now and then to do her washing and ironing. Florence was the disciplinarian in the family and had always insisted on the girls doing their fair share of the housework, so there wasn't much idle time for Patricia.

At school she was able to immerse herself in languages, learning French, German and Latin, and always enjoyed discussions and debating. Sport was an important part of the curriculum and tennis and netball became Patricia's favourites. In her second year, she decided it would be a good idea to do a Royal Lifesaving Course. Swimming had always been a passion for the young Patricia - having grown up near the beach at Dovercourt Bay. Possibly another good reason for her choosing this course was that the training was held at the pool at the Boys Grammar School.

The Royal Lifesaving Society had been founded in 1891 to safeguard lives in, on or near the water. It still operates today and trains 93 % of all pool and beach lifeguards in the United Kingdom and Ireland. In July, 1946, Patricia was awarded her Intermediate Certificate from the Society for, amongst other things, having practical knowledge of releasing oneself from the clutch of the drowning. When she achieved her Silver Medallion and the highly coveted Bronze, she was required to tow a drowning person while fully clothed during which ' ...the casualty will try to attack the rescuer at random.'

It wasn't a task for the timid or faint hearted.

The Royal Life Saving Society's bronze medallion

Meanwhile, she was cruising through high school, earning average marks without having to put too much effort in. By Patricia's own admission, _" Most things I've done in life have been reasonably easy for me, but I'll never be a champion because it's when things are more difficult for people they become champions because they stick at it, whereas I tended not to."_

She readily admits her school marks, usually B's and C's, could have been better but she was distracted by the desire to earn money. Her independence and feistiness was still reflected in her school reports which stated, '... Patricia has an inability to accept reproof without argument and a refusal to acknowledge she can be in the wrong.' Her sport reports were more encouraging – her gymnastics stating that her vaulting was promising and, most importantly, ' Pat has spring,' and, ' Pat plays a hard game of netball,' but unfortunately, ' her homework lacks care.'

Her older sister, Stella, always had money to spend as she was working in London and Wendy, only two years older than Patricia, was working in High Barnet at the local cinema as an usherette. This had its benefits as Patricia loved the movies and Wendy could sneak her in for free. There were two cinemas in Barnet, though, and if they wanted to go to the other one they had to pay. The teenage girls would dress up, put makeup on and take great enjoyment in pretending they were older than what they were.

Patricia would write to the movie stars and put pictures of them above her bed. Alan Ladd was one of her favourites and there was a beautiful picture of him all dressed in black. She lost interest in him, though, when she found out he wore high shoes and was actually a little short bloke.

Patricia always thought her Dad was a frustrated actor. All through her childhood Frank would be performing for his kids. He would play the ukulele and mouth organ and dress up in a white sheet and a hat to entertain his girls. He also had a great sense of humour and loved dancing – a trait Patricia would inherit. There was nothing Frank enjoyed more than taking his wife and four attractive young daughters off to a local dance – he was a very proud father and loved to spend time with them. His musical genes would eventually filter on down through the generations as a gift to his grandchildren.

Frank continued fulltime employment with Standard Telephones & Cable after the war. His boss would take him along to the trade fairs that had begun operating around the area and it was the first proper fulltime job Frank ever had. Florence kept her job at the Wellhouse hospital but their home on St. Albans Road was about to be taken from them by its owner, who had returned from the war.

The town of Arkley, just west of High Barnet, was one of the highest points around London and was home to the ancient Gate Inn that had a full size tree growing up from the floor out through the roof of the pub. It was also the location of a beautiful old house called 'The Croft', which would be the Tomkinson family's new home. It meant a bus ride to school for Patricia and, for the first time, her own bedroom.

The expansive two storey building had a lovely big staircase just inside the front door which separated the house in two, and enabled two families to live there. Wendy and nine year old Diana had their own rooms and Patricia's bedroom was at the very top of the house in what used to be the maid's quarters. There was a lack of furniture available for all the girls but that was of little concern when compared to having their own space. Patricia, going on fourteen, had shared a room with Wendy her whole life and while she loved her sister, she had grown tired of her untidiness. There was nothing but a bed in Patricia's room, but Frank found an old tea chest, painted it brown, put in a shelf and gave it to her for a cupboard. It was the best piece of furniture she had ever had because it was all hers and the perfect place for her many treasures.

The family had their own dining room, kitchen and lounge-room – complete with a fireplace surrounded by colourful Dutch made Delft tiles. The best thing about living there was what it didn't have, and what they no longer needed – an air raid shelter in the backyard.

Sixteen year old Wendy had jobs in a book store and a sweet shop, and always had money of her own – which Patricia was envious of. The two teenagers would go out together, though, either to the movies, to a dance at the Red Lion pub or to a Social Club at East Barnet. They were both too young to be there, but at the time it seemed to matter little. Their parents were both working fulltime and trusted their two middle girls. Due to the war, it seemed they had both gone straight from small girls to adults and skipped the bit in between. Many years later the youngest, Diana, would say that she grew up feeling like an only child because Stella had left home and Wendy and Patricia always seemed to be going out. Patricia remembers,

" _...I would go out with Wendy when I was probably too young to be going out, we were naughty girls in those days, we were always interested in boys, probably because we had no brothers, but we were never promiscuous."_

Patricia had inherited her Dad's dancing skills and was always on the lookout for a good dance partner. Attention from boys was always there for both girls – but eventually Patricia broke away from Wendy's circle of friends and made her own. One of her first boyfriends, while she was still a student at QUEGS, was a chap called Kenneth Darling, who would teach Patricia a valuable life lesson. Frank liked Ken because they both had an interest in soccer, but eventually Patricia grew tired of him and so broke off their short relationship – via a letter.

Not long after, the jilted Ken fronted up to Patricia as she was coming out of school and said, " You're a big disappointment to me Pat to write me a letter. Why didn't you have the courage to face me and tell me?" Apart from the humiliation, Patricia was disappointed in herself. She knew she was better than that, and made a promise to herself which she has kept ever since.

From then on, if she had something to say to people, she would say it face to face. She would be honest with people – kind, but honest, and never string anyone along. Given the amount of attention she would be getting from men in years to come, that promise would be put to the test many times.

After matriculating from Queen Elizabeth Grammar School with solid, if unimpressive grades, Patricia had no intention of pursuing further study. Her Mum, Florence, wanted her to follow a career as a schoolteacher in the time honoured tradition of parents wishing more for their children than they did for themselves. Armed with the optimism of youth and a bucket load of self confidence, Patricia had no concerns about the future – it would look after itself – and she set about earning some money.

The headmistress at QUEGS had recognised Patricia's desire to work and helped her gain employment, in August,1949, with WH Jones, an import/export business in High Barnet. The seventeen year old's duties were mainly secretarial, but she had prepared for that by studying Pitmans shorthand earlier that year and achieving an impressive rate of eighty words per minute.

A year earlier, twenty- two year old Stella had made the bold move to emigrate to Australia. As a qualified nurse, she was welcomed with open arms by the Aussies. The move had come about in part due to her friendship with an Australian girl who she had studied in London with, but also through her Uncle Chips. He was already living in Australia and was trying to convince the whole Tomkinson family to move down there and start a new life.

Frank was reluctant as he had settled in to his fulltime job and was happy with life, but Florence was keen, and the girls just saw it as a big adventure. It was a good time to be leaving England, because it was cheap to do so.

Clockwise from top left, Wendy, Stella, Patricia, Diana

In 1945, after the end of World war Two, Australia's Prime Minister, Ben Chifley, established a Federal Department of Immigration. He had decided that the country was in urgent need of a larger population for the purposes of defence and development. He suggested a one per cent annual increase in population through increased immigration. In the first years of the Department's existence, the priority was to maintain a focus on Britain as the primary source of migrants.

Thus, the Assisted Passage Migration Scheme was born – also known as the Ten Pound Pom Scheme. This was nothing new for the Brits – they had been travelling to Australia in numbers since 1788 – usually because they had broken the law and England no longer wanted them.

In later years the scheme would broaden to include post war refugees from Greece, Italy, Poland, Germany and the Netherlands. Australia would welcome these 'New Australians' and they would assimilate into Australian society – contributing their own cultural practises that would enrich the lives of future generations. Australia's open door migration policy from 1947 – 1961 would see the country's Greek population increase from 12,000 to 77,000 and the Italians from 33,000 to 228,000. In 1955, Australia welcomed its one millionth 'New Australian' – twenty one year old Barbara, from Yorkshire, England. She was said to be 'chuffed.'

Seven months after starting her first job, Patricia had to finish up with WH Jones & Co. In fact, she finished up with the whole of England and left the only home she had ever known for a country she knew little about.

The first step on this epic journey was north, by train, to Soham, where her Aunt owned a pub called The Ship Inn. Having left their home in Arkley, this was a staging post en route to Liverpool for the Tomkinsons, where their ship would soon depart for Australia.

It was no coincidence that business picked up once word got around of the Tomkinson girls staying at the pub. Unfortunately for the local young men, it wasn't for long and the girls left Soham behind, along with a few broken hearts. It was the furthest Patricia had ever been on a train, or on anything, but the trip was just beginning. Frank and Florence Tomkinson boarded the MV Cheshire in Liverpool on Friday the 17th March, 1950, along with three of their daughters – nineteen year old Gwendolyn ( Wendy ), seventeen year old Patricia and fourteen year old Diana, bound for Australia.

The 150 metre long ship was a good choice. Despite being more than twenty years old, the Cheshire was a tough old girl. During World War Two, although built as a 275 passenger vessel, she was converted into an armed merchant cruiser with six inch guns and anti aircraft weapons. The Cheshire was torpedoed twice during the war, once in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, but on both occasions she managed to make it to a safe harbour for repairs. This was the vessel that would safely carry the Tomkinson family to a new country and a new life. Patricia, a hazel eyed, brown haired seventeen year old standing 5 feet five inches tall was issued with a Document of Identity, number: 43710, from the Commonwealth of Australia in lieu of a passport for travel to Australia as an approved migrant. Patricia's last view of England, as the ship departed the wharf, was of the two liver bird statues sitting atop the Liverpool Insurance Building watching her leave. It would be twenty-eight years before she returned.

Patricia standing, centre, with Aunts Judy and Elsie and Diana, 3rd from left

# 3.

Life on board the MV Cheshire would turn out to be a six week long social outing for Patricia and Wendy. Once they overcame their sea sickness, which seemed to affect all the family, except Florence, they set about making new friends. The girls were cramped into a six person cabin, with their Mum and two other ladies and the men's accommodation was segregated from the women, but the girls saw their Dad during the day and at mealtimes. Leaving England and heading for a new life in a new country had gone reasonably smoothly for the family, except for a couple of minor personal issues -both Wendy and Patricia had been engaged.

Although relatively young to enter into such a serious commitment, Patricia had met a dashing young man, just out of the Royal Air Force, called Ron Bannister.

She had met him at a dance but by her own admission, _"....he was a bit keener on me than me on him but I thought he was gorgeous because he had a Triumph motorbike and used to wear one of those leather jackets with the lambswool lining."_

This was possibly not a good basis for an engagement, but Ron promised to follow her to Australia when he was able to. Patricia eventually gave her engagement ring to her Mum, as Frank and Florence couldn't afford one of their own at the time. Needless to say, Ron is still in England wearing his worn out leather jacket. Wendy's fiancé suffered the same lonely fate.

After passing through the Suez Canal and being 'mooned' by the Brit hating Arabs, the Cheshire docked in the Yemen port of Aden and Patricia experienced a close up look at a completely different culture. She would soon be living in one.

On board the large vessel, slowly making their way across the Indian Ocean, the passengers all fell into their own routine. For Patricia and Wendy this included suntanning, games on deck and being involved with the ship's social club. Patricia remembers, " _I don't know what other people were doing on the boat but we were having fun._ " Part of that fun involved the attention shown to Patricia by one of the ship's officers, young Alan Hignet.

Smartly dressed in his white uniform, ( **pictured, above** ) he was a good looking chap and was more than happy to show the pretty English girl over the vessel. Patricia and her sister didn't seek out male attention but being young, attractive and vivacious females it seemed to find them without any effort.

The girls were not completely naive – they knew what men were about – but the girls could be flirtatious without any funny business. And besides, once the ship docked in Melbourne, Alan was staying on board for the return trip to England, so there was no point in becoming too attached.

After six weeks of shipboard life, the Cheshire docked in the booming, sport crazy city of Melbourne, ten days short of Patricia's eighteenth birthday.

The city of 1.3 million Aussies was famous for its Melbourne Cricket Ground, Australian Rules Football, and the Melbourne Cup horse race. As a newly adopted Aussie, Patricia would add solid proof to the little known, 'Australian Biological Theory', that stated a person's life is representative of the Melbourne Cup winner of their year of birth.

On Tuesday 1st November, 1932, six months after Patricia's birth, a chestnut thoroughbred with a blonde mane and tail had won Australia's biggest horse race in extraordinary fashion. His name would personify Patricia's outlook on life and the lady herself. Peter Pan, J.M. Barrie's fictional character of eternal youth who spends his never ending childhood having wonderful adventures, was the name given to this outstanding horse.

The Tomkinsons arrived in the bustling city of Melbourne at the beginning of an economic boom and nearly full employment. Unfortunately though, there was a housing shortage. Luckily, Uncle Chips had arranged a local family to sponsor them, so there was no need to spend time in the basic accommodation of the Bonegilla Migrants Camp. Their sponsor family lived in a large two storey Tudor style house in the outer suburb of Parkdale, seventeen miles from the city centre.

Eighteen year old Patricia in Melbourne

Melbourne had been established for over one hundred years and its city streets were lined with solid bluestone and sandstone buildings. The wide streets and geometric patterns were ideal for the tram network – a form of public transport never before seen by the English immigrants. During the week, the city was a chaotic jumble of office workers, trams, cars and men in hats and heavy suits. Between five and six pm, the pubs were awash with spilled beer and cigarette smoke as those same men would drink as much as physically possible in the hour before closing time, and then stagger home on the train or tram.

On a Saturday morning there would be shops open, and that night there would be live theatre at The Tivoli, or the latest Hollywood film at one of the cinemas. On a Sunday, though, the city was a ghost town – everything was closed and everyone was at home in the suburbs tending to their garden. Finding a job and earning money was a priority for the whole family, except for Diana who would continue her schooling. Florence and Wendy soon found work, as did Frank as a storeman at Benjamins Jewellers – a seventy year old family run business in the city.

Patricia's employer in High Barnet, WH Jones, had supplied her with an introductory letter to one of their Melbourne clients, and she did meet with them, but that particular business was not able to compete with her financial ambitions. They were very obliging and offered her employment, but Patricia was chasing bigger fish – and better money – and applied for a job with Myers, in the city.

It was a secretarial position and Patricia was aware that eighteen year olds were not paid an adult wage so she brazenly stated her age as twenty-one, and was then employed and paid as one.

About six months after arriving in Australia, Patricia's shipmate from the MV Cheshire arrived back in Melbourne on board the New Australia ( pictured, below ). He had sent her a postcard professing his love for her so she was expecting his arrival and met him at the dock – as a friend.

What she wasn't expecting was for young love-struck Alan to turn up on the beach a few days later – where Patricia was enjoying a day out with her family – and tell her that he had no plans to return to England and intended to jump ship and stay, illegally, in Australia.

Patricia had learned her lesson from young Kenneth Darling all those years ago, and told Alan, to his face, that she had no intentions of settling down with him, would not be pressured into it, and he should return to his ship. Despite the rejection, Alan didn't return to duty on the New Australia and was seen heading off to find work at the labour hungry Snowy Mountains Scheme, which had just begun the construction of sixteen dams and seven power stations, and were looking for a few good men.

Alan was one of many men who would fall for the sparkle in Patricia's eyes, and the welcome in her smile. It was a natural gift she had that promised much but rarely delivered. For Patricia's whole life, the attention of men would prove to be both a blessing and a curse and something she had little control over.

In 1950 Melbourne, as in the rest of Australia, there was a huge disparity between men and women's pay rates. The average yearly wage for a male factory worker was three hundred pounds and for a woman it was one hundred and fifty pounds.

In August, youngest sister Diana turned fourteen and it had become quite obvious that she wasn't settling in to school life. Perhaps she saw her sisters earning money and she too yearned for that life – as Patricia had at the same age. Whatever the reason, Frank and Florence allowed her to leave school at the same age that Stella and Wendy had, and start work. Frank's boss at Benjamins liked the newly arrived Englishman, and offered his youngest daughter a job in the showroom.

One day Patricia was having lunch at work and got talking to Jack Cleghorn, from the bedding department. Jack was a member of the Mentone Lifesaving Club and when he found out about Patricia's life- saving training and qualifications, he suggested she should also join. So she did. The Mentone Lifesaving Club had been formed in 1920, and best of all, it was only a short swim from Parkdale beach.

Meanwhile, Frank and Florence both had jobs and were desperate to have a place of their own but borrowing from a bank was a completely alien concept to them and they had no idea how to go about it. A house on Marriot Street, in Parkdale, had become available at a reasonable price – but they had no money.

Once again, Frank's boss came to the rescue and stood as guarantor for a loan so that they could purchase the property. They moved in and set about paying off the loan as quickly as they could. Patricia also moved in but her parents couldn't afford furniture for her, so she bought her own bedroom suite, including the light fitting, on hire purchase ( time payment credit plan ), and continued to chase better money.

A stint with the importer and distributor of Goya perfumes saw her swap her secretarial clothes for a pink dress and a demonstrator's role at the huge Mutual Store on Flinders Street - Melbourne's first department store. That was followed by a job with Smorgon's Smallgoods, run by Russian immigrant, Norman Smorgon who had started with a kosher butcher shop in Melbourne in 1927. Smorgons would grow into one of Australia's largest industrial corporations, diversifying into the manufacture of paper, steel and plastic.

Patricia adding glamour to the Mentone Life saving Club

That was followed by a secretarial role with the Motor Registration Department – each change bringing with it a better pay packet. Every change was by Patricia's own choice – she was never asked to leave a job, but after two years of establishing herself in a new country, Patricia was struck with something she had not planned for nor intended on. It would, however, have a lasting effect on her life. She fell in love.

Twenty- six year old, Robert Alexander Mellis ( also known as Luke, for reasons lost in time ), was the Captain of the Mentone Lifesaving Club. He was a quietly confident, kind and gentle man and, to begin with, Patricia saw little future with him. The females at the club did not take an immediate liking to the confident and attractive young Englishwoman. Bob Mellis was a well respected and much loved member of the Mentone Club and the possibility of this newcomer waltzing in and stealing his heart, then breaking it, was unacceptable. Even the male members were protective.

Whether it was through self interest or a genuine concern for Bob's well being, Les Watkins, Kenny Pidock and a few other dedicated club members all thought it a good idea to take Patricia out on a date and try to steer her away from poor old Bob. But Bob kept up the chase and through his dry sense of humour, his love of music and, best of all, his dancing skills, he finally won her over.

Bob played the slide trombone with Len Barnard's Dixieland Jazz Band. In 1951, the twenty-two year old Len and his band recorded the first Australian long play album which resulted in him being given a recording contract in Sydney.

Twenty-six year old Bob would have different ambitions – selling his trombone to buy an engagement ring for the beautiful, young Patricia Tomkinson.

He had been doggedly persistent in his pursuit of the English girl, and he needed to be. There was a trail of injured men in Patricia's wake, all nursing broken hearts and bruised ego's. Since her days in High Barnet as a teenager, there was no shortage of admirers for the fair skinned Patricia and, by her own admission, she wasn't sure if it was time to settle down.

Bob had been too busy with his music, the life saving club and playing and umpiring footy to be chasing girls around town, but once he decided Patricia was the one – she had no hope. And besides, Bob had a beautiful brown and mustard jacket that Patricia loved to wear when she was dancing - so that was a clincher.

Now that they were engaged, the young couple got to thinking about their future. Patricia was still living at home with her parents, but a fellow worker at the Motor Registration Department owned a block of land at Cheltenham that she wanted to sell. It was an ordinary block on an unmade road but to the naive eyes of Patricia it was land and worth buying. Unfortunately, neither her or Bob had any money available to buy it. In the spirit of the times the kind hearted owner extended a personal payment plan to the couple – and Patricia and Bob began a thirty year investment journey together – starting with paying off that block in twelve months.

Bob was working as a storeman at the time for Sun Electric, but had also been a pastry cook and a glass blower. Patricia's Mum, Florence, never seemed to like any of the men Patricia or Wendy met in Australia and the girls both thought she was a bit tough. When Patricia told her she was getting engaged to Bob, her Mum's only response was, " Well, that's good, girl. Just make sure you keep your legs crossed."

Their courtship was less than romantic. After work, Bob would pick up Patricia from the train station – on his bicycle – and give her a ride home perched on the handlebars. Their weekends were taken up with club competitions and lifesaving carnivals – from Frankston to Port Melbourne in the team bus with the life reel hanging precariously on the roof. Pat was in the reel and line team and also competed in the march past.

The competition was all about precision, timing and teamwork focussing on the belt man rescuing a drowning swimmer, carrying them back to the beach, lying them on their stomach and pumping up and down on their back to the steady rhythm of Baa Baa Black Sheep. Eventually, this method would improve – many years later Patricia would gain her Senior Medallion – to the rhythm of 'Staying Alive' by the Bee Gees, pumping, more effectively, on their chest instead.

Once the weekend carnivals were over, the team would gather together on a Sunday night at the Mentone Club and let their hair down – jiving and jitterbugging to the sounds of Lenny Barnard's band. On March the 29th, 1952, Patricia and Bob gave up their single lives and committed to each other, forever.

Patricia's sister, Wendy, had just been married and had her reception at the Mentone Lodge, so after Reverend Karmouche officiated for the couple at the local Presbyterian Church, they headed to the lounge there, which was decorated with white gladioli. Patricia and Bob paid for everything themselves although her loving Dad paid for the cake, "...but don't tell your mother."

It was a small wedding with family from both sides attending although only two members of the Mentone Club could be afforded. A few weeks prior to the wedding, though, Bob and Patricia had reason to go to the club after hours and were surprised by a huge turnout of members for a pre - wedding celebration – presents and all.

Patricia had hired a wedding dress, in oyster satin in bouffant mode , with a train. Bob wore the one suit he had owned his whole life and Diana, Patricia's young sister, was bridesmaid, wearing a dress Patricia had made herself. Following the reception, Patricia and Bob Mellis took a taxi to the bus station and rode a coach to the seaside resort of Sorrento for their one week honeymoon.

Patricia's older sister, Stella, had been married for a few years and Wendy was hitched the year before Patricia. The carefree and headstrong sisters from High Barnet hadn't intended on getting married so young but after living in the confined space of their parents home for twenty years – getting married and having their own place was an attractive option. The newlyweds first home together, though, was probably not what Patricia had in mind.

Bob and Patricia Mellis

Patricia and her three sisters on her wedding day

# 4.

The one room sleep-out down the backyard of a house had no bathroom and if they had a cat – they could not have swung it by the tail without causing injury. But, it was affordable and they were living, and sleeping together – which led to the inevitable outcome that Patricia had also not intended on at such a young age. In fact, when she discovered that motherhood was imminent, happiness was not at the top of her list – but that would change.

Patricia was working for the local Prince's Laundry in the office, and continued to do so until she was eight months pregnant. One night she woke Bob up, told him it was time, slipped into her turquoise dressing gown and walked with him up the road to the hospital. Bob left her there with her small suitcase and, after plenty of heavy breathing and pushing, their son, Paul, was brought into the world.

Patricia had known very little about pregnancy and having babies. She bought the latest books and followed their advice by buying three singlets, three flannelette gowns and a second hand pram. They had moved into a slightly larger place in Greenway Court which was still only one room, but at least in this one they could fit a cot, although it was a bit of a squeeze. Both were keen to have a proper house – so they looked at magazines and started drawing up some plans to have a house built on their block at Cheltenham. They came up with a magnificent looking house and an excited Bob jumped onto his bike and rode over to the builder they knew to present him with their proposed home.

Patricia and baby Paul

After the builder had taken a look, stopped laughing and picked himself up from the floor where he had fallen in shock – he broke the news to Bob that their dream home was completely unaffordable. He made some adjustments to suit the limited budget and agreed to build it to the lock up stage – after which, Bob and Patricia could finish it themselves. The couple and their young son moved in with Bob's parents while their house was being built.

Fortunately, the building didn't take too long and they soon moved in to their own home and set about the huge task of finishing it off. This included all the painting, inside and outside, so they set to it in lovely shades of yellows and greens. Bob demonstrated his interior design skills by painting their main bedroom in pink and mauve stripes, then painted all the timber venetians as well. There was an indoor toilet, but no sewerage, so it was only for decoration, and they had to use an outdoor loo. They had Patricia's bedroom suite but could not afford much other furniture and the interior was less than sparse. Patricia loved it, but could see no future for her husband in interior design.

Bob was actually studying business management at the time and working for HC Sleigh & Company. The business was named after its founder, Englishman Harold Crofton Sleigh, who had been operating Golden Fleece petrol stations in Australia since the 1920's, with their distinctive golden merino trademark. They had just taken ownership of their own tanker, and at their peak would operate the largest restaurant chain in Australia, as part of their fuel outlets.

Patricia had bounced back from her pregnancy and was still training and competing with the Mentone Club. Bob had begun to distance himself from the club's activities and was keen for his wife to do the same and settle down to married life. But, in 1954, at four months pregnant with their second son, Brenton, she was chosen in the State team to compete in Tasmania. Always ahead of her time, Patricia saw no reason not to go, but kept her condition to herself.

As always she acquitted herself well, but once word got out that she had competed while pregnant and, even worse, was still riding a bicycle while pregnant, many of her friends and associates were horrified.

Never one to sit still, once Brenton was born, she would keep active by playing netball for the South Eastern Netball Association. Eventually, as the boys started growing and needing more of her time, the Mentone Life Saving Club saw less and less of her. Swimming, though, would remain an important part of her life for the next sixty years.

Victorian State team to Hobart, 1954. Patricia sitting on ground, lower left.

When both boys were either at school or kindy, Patricia was keen to start work again. Her Mum, Florence, was working as a house cleaner for a childless Jewish couple who had a smallgoods business. They had talked of their need for some administrative help so Florence suggested her daughter could be just who they were looking for. Patricia jumped on her bike, pedalled over and got the job – doing their books two or three mornings a week.

When both boys started school at Cheltenham East, Patricia had more free time and saw a job advertised in the local paper for a similar role. The couple advertising were the Welfords, who operated their Pelmanism business from their big, old and spooky home in Venice Street. Pelmanism was a mind training system which had been popular in the United Kingdom. The system was taught by correspondence from the Pelman Institute in London. It was developed to ' expand mental powers in every direction and remove those tendencies to indolence and inefficiency.'

These were tendencies that neither Patricia or Bob had any time for. They were both working hard and raising two boys while Bob was continuing with his management studies. Their house also remained a work in progress. Patricia had inherited her parents work ethic, and had seen first hand the benefits of working hard to get ahead.

Never one to sit on her hands, Patricia's last job in Melbourne, and one of her longest, was with a foundry run by HF Deverell. She started in that job, doing invoices and wages, through a friend of theirs, Don Bull, from their lifesaving days. Despite having two incomes, money was always tight in the Mellis household. Patricia was in charge of budgeting and Bob would happily hand over his pay packet to her every week. She would put aside money for bills and food and hand some back to her husband for his cigarettes and perhaps an occasional bet on the horses. There was not much left for luxuries, so it was a big day when Patricia had squirreled enough away to buy themselves a refrigerator.

Melbourne hosted the Olympic Games in 1956, but the Mellis house hadn't been able to afford a television. When they finally had a new black and white AWA delivered the following year, Bob had to use a bicycle rim, mounted precariously on the roof, as an aerial. On Sunday nights, Patricia's parents, Frank and Florence would head over for a roast dinner, then sit down with their young grandsons and watch Disneyland together.

Eventually, Bob went into the petrol station business. He leased a Golden Fleece outlet with a partner, thanks to a small loan from his father-in-law, and set about learning the trade. It was located in Moorabbin, six miles from their home, and Bob's days were long ones. He learned about tyres, batteries, car accessories and even electronic tune ups. He would pump the petrol, check the oil and clean windscreens – leaving home at six in the morning and not getting home until late. Patricia almost felt like a single parent, raising the boys by herself and working three days a week at the foundry – luckily in school hours. Around this time, Bob and Patricia bought their first car – a Holden. After so many years of riding bicycles and catching trains it was a much improved change to their lifestyle. Unfortunately, Bob's partner in the petrol station wanted to leave and Bob couldn't afford to buy him out so he sold up and Golden Fleece gave him work managing various other stations on a relief basis.

Cheltenham home

# 5.

Always keen to improve himself, and after completing six years of management study, part time, Bob looked for other opportunities. Beaurepaires, the tyre manufacturers, offered him a management role but it was in Tasmania and neither Bob or Patricia wanted to move there.

Then, Bob saw a job advertised that would take his family away from their home, to an isolated area with no electricity. It was a job that would require them to work together as a team in an industry they had little knowledge of for people they knew nothing about. Their friends thought they were crazy, but with Patricia's encouragement he enthusiastically applied – and got the job.

Ninety Mile Beach was a windswept and desolate stretch of sand one hundred and fifty miles east of Melbourne.The coastline faced directly onto the unruly seas and biting winds of Bass Strait, and the swampy land was home to large numbers of waterfowl and mosquitoes. An eighteen mile length of this beach was marketed as "The Gold Coast of Victoria,' an aquatic playground to rival Surfers Paradise, populated by young families, smiling women in swimsuits and suntanned men with a boat load of fish and a bootload of golf sticks.

The marketing was directed mainly at new migrants and took the form of door knocking in Melbourne suburbs like Richmond, Prahran, Abbotsford and new suburbs like Springvale where plenty of New Australians had settled. From 1955 to 1969, glossy brochures and slick salesmanship enticed Italian, Greek and other European families to embrace the 'Great Australian Dream' and buy a piece of Australia that would surely increase in price in years to come.

Every Sunday, busloads of prospective buyers would be escorted to Golden Beach, shown detailed drawings of the proposed Golf Course and Country Club with swimming pool, and then be convinced of the benefits of buying a block of land in the exotically named Bermuda Avenue or Florida Way. They were also treated to a fair dinkum Aussie barbeque for lunch – and this is where the Mellis family entered the story.

Bob Mellis had been interviewed for the job by Harold Roberts on behalf of Willmore and Randell Real Estate Developers. Harold had been a customer of Bob's at his Golden Fleece service station so the two had an immediate rapport and Harold was well aware of Bob's work ethic and capabilities. The position was for a couple to work together and operate the newly established grocery and food outlet at Golden Beach called Foodarama. They would also be responsible for feeding the busloads of potential buyers every weekend. They would have no direct involvement in the property sales or marketing which, as it turned out, would be a good thing.

After ten years in their two bedroom Cheltenham home, they were excited about a change despite having little knowledge about what they were letting themselves in for. But, Bob and Patricia knew they could work well together, and in 1963, after throwing their two sons and their meagre belongings into the back of the Holden, they rented out the house and headed for the beach.

Proposed Golden Beach subdivision brochure early 1960's.

George Willmore and Reg Randell had become experts at developing and promoting new subdivisions around Australia, usually in country areas. George was born in England in 1895, and migrated to Australia as a young boy. He eventually joined the Australian Imperial Force, saw action on the brutal battlefield of Gallipoli and remained in the military until 1920. When he met Reg Randell, a salesman in Sydney, the pair went in to business together – selling non slip floor polish to Myers Department Store.

The pair soon moved into Real Estate and became very successful. They opened an office, travelled around on a motorbike with a sidecar and boasted of being Sydney's largest and most progressive organisation specialising in the management and control of sub-divisions.

During the 1950's, the partnership broke up – George took over New South Wales and Queensland, and Reg continued with subdivisions in South Australia and Victoria. Golden Beach was one of his largest – with a proposed 12,000 allotments up for sale and a projected population of 35,000. A block of land on Malibu Road could be had for the bargain price of £168 – available on monthly repayments. Unfortunately, it soon became apparent that the only thing Golden Beach had in common with Surfers Paradise was that both areas faced the ocean.

For Bob and Patricia, Paul and Brenton, it was an adventure and far removed from their suburban lifestyle in Melbourne. The nine and ten year old brothers had ninety miles of beach as their playground. They could go surf fishing, rabbit trapping in the bush and spend way more time with their Dad, who they both loved. For thirty-one year old Patricia, it was a new challenge and an opportunity for her and Bob to 'get ahead.'

They were being paid a joint wage, but paid no rent for the attached accommodation and much of their food was included. The boys went to the small Longford East State School, a twenty mile school bus ride away, where the pipe smoking Mr. Dosser was the Principal and head teacher.

Mr. Brownhill was the school bus driver who lived opposite Foodarama in a small holiday house. Also opposite the shop lived Russell Lawrie, the Ranger, who did maintenance work for Willmore and Randell. He had a Landrover which Bob would use to get supplies from the closest large town which was Sale, about thirty miles away. There was no power connected to the Golden Beach area until 1971, so Foodarama relied on a generator and a large fuel tank for all electricity. A taxi would bring out the daily papers, but the soft drink man would only deliver every six months, much to the disappointment of the boys.

In the early days, Bob and Patricia's main role was to cater for the busloads of New Australians who travelled down from Melbourne along with the Real Estate representatives. There could be anywhere from four to twenty full buses of migrants arriving on a Sunday, all looking forward to their barbeque lunch. Patricia also had a pie warmer that could hold one hundred pies, bain maries full of hot food and large hotplates for any other cooking. The catering couple would get a phone call from Melbourne every Friday telling them how many buses would be arriving on the weekend and then travel to Sale abbatoirs to buy bulk steak, lamb chops and sausages.

Most of their lunch customers were Greek or Italian migrants accompanied by Greek or Italian sales people. Patricia had always been a good judge of character and soon came to dislike the salesmen, remembering that, _"... Some of the real estate blokes were sleazes and I felt they were exploiting the migrants with their hard selling techniques and false promises."_

Paul off to Scouts with Patricia, outside Foodarama.

As a business, Foodarama was doing well, and Bob soon had a petrol pump installed – Golden Fleece of course – which Paul took over responsibility for on the weekends. Both boys also helped out in the store weighing bait for the local fishermen – a job that was exceptionally busy every January for the annual fishing competition. In their spare time, Paul would be surf fishing and Brenton would be roaming the bush with a bow and arrow and a slingshot.

There was a small office at the side of the shop and residence which the salesman used for contract signing, but Patricia would not allow them use of her toilet and made them walk to the beachfront public amenities – such was her dislike of them. Business increased when half a dozen holiday homes were built near Foodarama to assist in promoting the area. Foodarama fed the builders for months and there were always truck drivers calling in who were involved in the road making at the sub-division.

Patricia began to employ some local women, especially on Sundays, and would buy their home baked cakes. When Esso discovered oil and gas in Bass Strait, many of the helicopter crew changes were done from the gravel car park near Foodarama, so there was another steady source of customers.

By successfully building up the business, which they had started from nothing, Bob and Patricia were gaining valuable business experience which they would put to good use in years to come, and they had managed to pay off their home at Cheltenham. But, the constant travelling for the boys sport and schooling was becoming tiresome, and their busy high school years were beginning so, in 1967, Bob and the boys took a trip to Queensland to scout out new possibilities.

For the eager New Australians keen to realise the Australian dream and buy their own piece of prime holiday land, things didn't turn out too well. Willmore and Randell, and their multi -national sales team did not deliberately set out to fleece, con, or trick the people who bought land from them at Golden Beach. However, the beach was usually too rough and too cold to be swimming at – especially with a smile on your face. The fishing was okay, but a boat was a necessity, which plenty of Australians had, but not too many suburban migrants owned one. There was also the issue of no electricity, no reticulated water, no sewerage systems, unstable sand dunes and some land was subject to flooding.

The sub-division had been approved by the Rosedale Shire Council in the late 1950's, but there was no planning scheme or controls in place at the time. In 1973, a building ban was imposed by the State Government with a report stating, '... a subdivision of this type and magnitude should never have been created.' Four thousand migrant owners were given the bad news that their dream block was on swampy land that was prone to flooding. Others would be told that permanent planning controls put in place would prohibit development, and some residential zoned land would be changed to rural conservation land.

Their quest for compensation would drag on for more than fifty years, and the land owners would eventually be made an offer of $1500 per block. It would seem that Patricia was, after all, a good judge of character.

The Mellis family at Foodarama

# 6.

" _When we left Golden Beach, we knew we were coming to the Sunshine Coast because Bob's brother, Ivan, was in Queensland living at Manly, and Bob's parents were running a milkbar and petrol station near Woombye, so we always knew we would gravitate there."_

The Mellis family bound for Queensland

Ivan was going away for six weeks, due to his long service leave, so he offered his house to Bob, Patricia and the boys to live in until he returned. In that time they had to decide on where they would live and what they would do for a living. Their Cheltenham house had been sold so there was money available to buy a business, but they had no firm plans on what type of business would suit them. Paul and Brenton were now teenagers and needed to start in a new high school, so a decision had to be made promptly.

The suburb of Aspley in Brisbane's outer north was, until the late 1960's, the furthest you could live from the city, and still be in Brisbane. It was eight miles out, but growing quickly as was all of Brisbane, and Joh Bjelke Petersen was about to begin his twenty year reign as Premier of Queensland. It was also home to the Aspley Gourmet Deli, a combined continental delicatessen and cake shop that was for sale.

" _We were very raw then and we didn't understand a great deal about leases or much else, but we learned as we went along. We bought the business and rented a house in Illawong Street."_

They were not completely new at this type of business as one of Bob's first jobs had been as a pastry cook, so he immediately headed out the back into the bakehouse, while Patricia focussed on sales and customer service out the front. The Foodarama experience had taught them about business and where their individual skills lay, so it was a natural move for both of them. Bob's plan was to learn the ropes from the young pastry chef that was working there, but it wasn't long before he moved on and Bob was left on his own. In a way it was a good thing because Bob could now put his own creative style into the products they would sell and how he would go about it.

Patricia also had some learning to do as this was a continental deli and cheeses and smallgoods were a big part of what they sold. Despite having little experience with pastrami and prosciutto, she would soon become an aficionado and could spot the difference between mild Hungarian salami and mild Danish salami by smell alone.

The deli was a popular one thanks to the increased population of ' New Australians ' looking for a taste of their homeland. The large continental smallgoods manufacturers had only been established in Australia for the past ten years, so many Aussies were still to acquire the taste. Cheeses were always popular, though, and Patricia had a wide range and knew the taste of them all. One half of the shop was the deli and the other was the bakery which sold Bob's creations and also served as a sandwich bar, using the deli's ingredients.

Bob gained confidence in his baking and got his head into various books and recipes to put his own creative mark on what they sold. He was a great one for experimenting and began to introduce a lot of new lines for Patricia to sell.

Patricia put her own mark on the business by changing a few things around and employing some casual staff to help making sandwiches over the busy lunchtime period. There was a TAB in the same block of shops so hungry punters were a constant source of business, especially when word got around about Bob's baking. The shops were on Robinson Road and houses were being built on the opposite side. Living across the road seemed like a good idea, so Pat and Bob borrowed some money and moved in to a two storey home straight across from their business.

The move was a great improvement to their lifestyle. There was no commuting to work and if they needed food from the shop at mealtimes, it was only a quick scurry across the road. When the boys got home from school they could drop in on their Mum and it was closer for Bob to slip home for a nap. His day would start in the early hours of the morning, working on the baking list Patricia had supplied. She would open the doors for business at 8.30 am as Bob was heading home for a sleep. The family would have dinner together and talk about their day before going to bed and then starting all over again.

Paul and Brenton were both playing footy, doing well at school and usually staying out of trouble. They had a great relationship with their parents and caused little trouble in their teenage years, despite moving around the country.

Robinson Road home, Aspley

' _They were always pretty reliable. I mean, my mother never knew what I did half the time, so what they did in their spare time was up to them, but I was always conscious of what was going on."_

Patricia always had open communication with the boys and they could talk to each other about anything. The only time she had serious doubts about what they were up to had been back in Golden Beach when she had found rolled up pieces of foil on top of their wardrobe. At the time, drugs were starting to appear in the area, and they were packaged in foil. Patricia was well aware of this and so confronted her boys. They had to confess to their Mum. They had, on occasion, helped themselves to the chocolate frogs from the shop and hid the foil wrapping - evidence of their crime – on top of the wardrobe. They were forgiven. Brenton remembers, " ...We heard more from Mum. Dad was more of a quiet man, but when he did talk it carried a lot of weight. There was rarely any family conflict." Paul would work in the shop after school and help his Dad in the bakery on a Friday night and Brenton also volunteered to work for his Mum. The boys were paid, but after a while it seemed that Brenton had other things on his mind and wouldn't turn up for work – so Patricia sacked him and told him to go and find a job with someone else.

The business was a constant challenge and they had a lot of money invested in it that they had no intention of losing. Patricia was constantly learning about the foods that she sold, as were most Australians. Supermarkets were not stocking exotic smallgoods or foreign cheese so she found herself educating her customers in order to increase sales. In the Fortitude Valley area of Brisbane there were continental delicatessens that did well because of the large concentration of migrants there who would buy an entire salami sausage. Patricia's customers would buy three slices. Her Dutch customers were big fans of imported cheese, but for the local office workers she would make a cheese platter with little signs on each cheese, explaining its taste and texture.

Her New Zealand cheese was supplied in large tins and as it matured the tin would expand. It was a good idea to open that cheese when no customers were in the shop as it had a very distinctive, and unpleasant smell which increased the more it expanded.

Apart from buying in the smallgoods and cheeses, the business was entirely self sufficient – making their own bread and rolls and using their own fillings for lunches followed by one of their own baked pastries or cakes. In Europe, pastry cooking was an apprenticeship in its own right and was a highly different skill to that of a baker. In Patricia's view, the bakers that were making cakes in Australia were making a 'crappy' product that were not specialised, whereas Bob was always experimenting to achieve the best results. He was clearly successful – his baking and Patricia's selling skills resulted in a successful, growing business with a loyal customer base.

After a couple of non-stop years, the family decided to take a break from their six day a week commitment and went away for two weeks over Christmas. Rather than leave the shop in control of anyone but themselves, they simply closed the doors, leaving a notice apologising to their customers and hoping they would return once the Mellis's came back from their Melbourne holiday. They all did, and the business got busier and Bob and Patricia began to tire of the long hours. There was also further development happening in the area and they were concerned about a possible reduction in trade.

During their time in Brisbane, the family would regularly head to the Sunshine Coast, particularly Caloundra, once they closed the shop on a Saturday afternoon. They now cast their eyes more seriously on that area, looking for a change. The boys were finishing high school and also loved the Caloundra area because of the surfing and beach lifestyle.

On their regular visits they had come to know Bevan Henzell, the local Real Estate agent in Caloundra. His father had started a small real estate agency in 1935 in what was then a sleepy fishing village surrounded by tea-tree swamp. When Bevan took over in 1964, the area was starting to become popular with tourists and day trippers from Brisbane making the 72 kilometre journey.

" _When we thought about selling the business to come to Caloundra, we spoke to Bevan Henzell. He said, ' I'd love you to come up to Caloundra, you can pick any shop you like.' So we put our business on the market and sold it to a solicitor whose wife and son wanted to be involved. Bob had Barry working for him and Barry agreed to stay on with the new owners."_

Patricia would also stay with the new owners during the handover period and come to realise that perhaps the solicitor knew a lot more about law than he did about running a business.

# 7.

The house they had bought across the road was also sold – there was never any emotional attachment, it was just a handy place to live. Meanwhile, Bob was in Caloundra scouting for a new opportunity. The boys had left school and Paul went to work at Gatton, an outer suburb of Brisbane to study food technology. Brenton would stay in Brisbane for a short time but soon moved to Caloundra and, twelve months later, Paul followed.

After the success of their Aspley Gourmet Deli, Bob and Patricia were keen to stay in a similar business, but this time they wanted to start their own and put their unique stamp on it. Firstly, they needed somewhere to live. Caloundra's population had tripled in the ten years before Bob and Patricia moved there, and had then reached around 10,000, but Bob managed to find a small house in William Street with an attached warehouse they could use for their business. When Bob told his wife their house was small, he may have been exaggerating. At six squares (600 square feet ) it was more of a cottage, and three times smaller than today's average three bedroom home, but it would be adequate for the two of them.

The attached warehouse space would be perfect as a storage area for their new business and they managed to rent half of it to another business owner.

The cottage, Caloundra

Bevan Henzell found them a vacant shop in a prime position in Bulcock Street and leased it to them on a handshake deal. The street was the main shopping area of Caloundra, named after Robert Bulcock who had shown some foresight back in 1875 when he bought 277 acres for seventy pounds. That land would eventually form the township of Caloundra.

Their new business would be a bakery, but without the smallgoods and cheeses this time. Once again, Bob would be out the back creating pastry perfection and Patricia would charm the socks off the customers. All they needed was a name – Patricia's Pies or Patty's Pies were discarded as they didn't roll off the tongue and they finally decided on Pappy's Pies and Pastry. It was a catchy name but for many years Patricia would be asked, " Is there a Mr. Pappy?"

It was a reasonably small shopfront, but Bob baked most of the food on the premises and word soon got around town about the quality of Pappy's Pies. There were also freshly made sponges, birthday cakes made to order and even Mother's Day cakes. Specially made cheesecakes, baked in Brisbane, would be sent up to Caloundra on a Greyhound bus for Patricia to collect.

Pappy's Pies and Pastry with staff out front – Patricia on the left

" _The shop was very small. When we came to see Bevan he said we could have any shop we wanted. There was a big shop at the back but we knew that position was very important in retail – it doesn't matter if the rent is half the price around the corner - if you don't get anybody walking past you're not going to make any money. So we took the smaller one and stored most of our stuff at the warehouse at home."_

The year after opening Pappy's, Patricia celebrated her 40th birthday. Paul and Brenton were both living in Caloundra, with Paul working at Pappy's out the back with his Dad and Brenton had moved on to the floor covering industry. The business skills of Bob and Patricia had developed through their experience at Foodarama and Aspley and they both knew what was required to run a successful small business. The couple were a good team – Bob baked and Patricia sold –there were few disagreements because they both trusted each other's judgement.

" _Bob had a couple of girls working with him. God, they were as rough as bags but good hearted and good workers and they used to drive a long way to work part time. They would still be working when I'd arrive in the morning and they'd hear Bob and I talk and sometimes we might have a bit of an argument and the girls would go quiet and I'd say don't worry – this is who we are and it's no good us waiting until we get home at night and then tackle each other – we have to resolve things here."_

Bulcock Street 1972

After six years of successful trading, Bob and Patricia were starting to tire of the constant demands on their time and energy. Pappy's Pies was running at full speed and the time was right to sell the business. Bevan Henzell drew up an official lease, and a buyer was not hard to find. They had no immediate plans for the future, although Bob was keen to get a couple of units built on a block of land at Shelley Beach they had bought. A builder was contracted and Bob worked with him through 1977 and into 1978 to get the two units completed. Their home of six years – the 'doll's house' – was sold and they moved in to one of the units, but not for long.

Oleander Avenue units, Shelley Beach

After leaving England in 1950, as a seventeen year old, Patricia had spent all her life in Australia. She was now in her 46th year and thought it would be a good time to go back for a visit. Patricia needed a passport as she only had a Document of Identity and rather than get a British one and, on returning, have to re enter the country she had lived in for twenty eight years, she finally became an Australian. The Caloundra Mayor, Jack Beausang, took Patricia upstairs at the council offices, made it official with his bible and Patricia's promises to be a good Australian, shook her hand and congratulated her on becoming a citizen. She soon had an Australian passport which, over the next forty years, would be put to good use.

Bob had never been overseas, so Patricia became the tour guide. Their sons, Paul and Brenton moved into the unit and then all they needed was a cheap way to travel while overseas. This was not to be a five star holiday. It was to be a nine month odyssey through England and Europe. They had no interest in hand held tours that were completely pre-planned and organised, travelling by air conditioned coach with a group of talkative strangers and staying in deluxe hotels with all meals provided and visiting museums and war memorials.

Patricia and Bob didn't want to be tourists, they wanted to be travellers - having adventures of their own and meeting local people in different countries. They saw an advertisement in a Brisbane newspaper for a campervan that was for sale in England. The Australian owner worked for a sugar company and made regular trips to England, but the van had been sitting idle for a while and he no longer used it. Their original plan was to hire a van, so they discussed that option with the owner but it became too complicated because of insurance and the amount of time they would be travelling. An agreement was reached where Bob and Pat would buy the van, use it for as long as they needed, then sell it back to the owner. It was an agreement of trust, but the owner seemed to be an honourable man and everyone was happy with the arrangement.

The van was a Commer Highwayman and was bought sight unseen. It had a double bed and a cooking area and a table and Patricia would later describe it as a 'funny old thing.' It would serve them well – with some limitations.

A road test of the campervan had been published in an English magazine which the new owners may not have read – it reported that the vehicle's engine was a little under powered as it would take twenty-five seconds to go from 0 – 50 mph. The campervan did have a claimed top speed of 70 mph, but at that speed '...the van was plainly at its absolute limit screaming away in a most distressing fashion.' The top heavy van was also susceptible to high winds due to the narrow wheel base but compared to travelling with a busload of cranky pensioners it was five star.

Bob and The Highwayman

Armed with their shiny new Australian passports, Patricia and Bob flew to London and then took a train to the university town of Cambridge, eighty kilometres north of London. Their campervan was sitting in a driveway waiting patiently for them in a little village just out of town. It was March, 1978, and winter was stubbornly hanging around making for a chilly welcome home for Patricia.

Free camping in the French countryside

She had bought a big feather doona in London, which was just as well because after sleeping in the van that first night in the driveway, they woke up surrounded by snow. The van was a right hand drive which was fine for driving around England, but once they hit the roads in Europe, Bob would need to adjust to driving on the right hand side of the road – in a right hand drive vehicle.

The trip began as a nostalgic one for Patricia as they firstly visited her childhood homes at Dovercourt Bay and High Barnet. Seeing the place she lived in as a small child in Victoria Street after nearly forty years, made her wonder how they possibly lived in such a small dwelling. As she stood outside 'The Croft' in High Barnet, the owner came outside and, after talking to Patricia and hearing her story, took her inside for a sentimental look around. The travellers had based themselves at the home of one of Patricia's Aunts, who lived in the small town of Naphill, while they revisited Patricia's childhood haunts.

Europe was their destination, though, and as their budget could be described as 'shoestring', Patricia negotiated with the local shopkeeper to take any old stock off her hands for a cheap price. They filled the van with tinned goods and coffee and any long lasting food that would help their self-sufficiency and headed for the port of Ramsgate to take a ferry thirty- three miles across the English Channel to the French city of Calais.

Despite the fact everything seemed back to front for Bob driving on European roads, he got the hang of it quickly and they simply started driving with no set plans. They had planned to stay in caravan parks, but as it was still at the tail end of the off season, many were still closed. As they wandered down through France, heading for Spain, they dropped in to Paris, and if no caravan parks were available, they would free camp in French vineyards. The trusty Highwayman took them further south, down Spain's east coast to Malaga and then inland to the ancient city of Toledo where they would cause a major traffic jam by going up the wrong street, and then breaking down. They visited Barcelona, Spain's second largest city, and camped on the beach.

They would get lost plenty of times, but it was fun, and when they got lost they saw interesting places they may never have known were there. Leaving the Spaniards behind, they headed east to the French Riviera arriving in time for the Cannes Film Festival in May. Having trouble finding a place to camp, they parked at the Cannes Yacht Club and spent the night there, before waking up at 4.30 am and securing a park on the beachfront. It was high end living on a low end budget.

Driving towards Italy they bopped along to the disco soundtrack of 'Saturday Night Fever', which had just been released in Australia and was a huge hit in Europe. Bob had bought a tape recorder which he used to not only play music, but also to keep a spoken diary which he would record into each night. These tapes would become a valuable and lasting memory for Bob and Patricia and, in the years to come, for their sons Paul and Brenton.

They explored the Italian Riviera, avoided Rome and finished up at Brindisi, where they loaded the Highwayman onto a ferry for an ocean crossing through the Ionian Islands to the south of Greece. Their journey took them north through Delphi and Olympus and the hot, dusty and crowded city of Athens. Always looking to live as frugally as possible, their clothes washing would be soaped up in the caravan park laundry and then rinsed in the coin operated showers while they bathed, before hanging it out to dry.

Yugoslavia was an intended destination but eighty-six year old President Tito was having a few problems with the Serbian population, and he was expecting a visit from China's leader in August so despite being adventurous, Bob and Patricia decided not to push their luck and bypassed the country.

Patricia on board a Greek ferry

This is when the under - powered Commer engine had a good test – dragging the couple over the Arlberg Pass in Austria. At nearly two kilometres above sea level it was a tough climb for the old girl – a few months later the treacherous road would be replaced by a fourteen kilometre long tunnel.

The couple were sometimes mistaken for Austrians themselves as they had an AUS sticker on the back of the van. Once they explained to people they were actually from Australia new friends were easy to find. Quite often the people they met, who were also on holiday, would invite them to stay at their home whenever they were in the neighbourhood. The easygoing Aussies would be welcomed at homes in Germany, France and the United Kingdom during their travels.

After battling the high winds and altitude of Austria the Commer was tested again in the mountains of Switzerland and passed with flying, if not slow, colours. Walking through a Swiss town one day, Patricia found an envelope on the footpath with what looked like money inside. There was nobody in sight so she scooped it up, ran back to the camper and didn't open it until they were well out of town. The envelope full of Swiss francs helped the budget for a few days. Travelling west through the French countryside once again, they headed for the coast and a return ferry to England.

Back in the Old Country, Bob and Patricia kept on touring, visiting Wales and some of Bob's relatives in Kilmarnoch, Scotland, the home of Johnnie Walker whisky. In November, after nine months of travelling on a budget of around $10,000 – it was time to go home. It had been an unforgettable trip full of laughs and adventure that Patricia would look back on as a treasured gift – a memory she would always have of time spent with the man she loved.

Brunnen, Switzerland

# 8.

After spending nine months finding their way around Europe, Bob and Patricia arrived home to the Sunshine Coast feeling a little lost. Pappy's Pies was sold, and even though they had a unit at Shelley's Beach to live in - after kicking out the boys - it wasn't their ideal home.

Bob was not even sure he wanted to live on the Sunshine Coast and suggested they could make a move to northern New South Wales for a new start. Pat put her foot down – not in a stamping way – more of a gentle placement on the ground, but it wasn't moving and neither was she. Bob was powerless against his wife's charms so they put their heads together and came to an agreement. They were both too young to retire and Patricia was keen to return to business so she had a look around to see what was on offer in Caloundra. Bob was keen to expand his creative side so he looked around for a block of land to build a house on. It didn't take long before they both found what they were looking for.

A business called Glamour Gifts, at 39 Bulcock Street, was on the market. The site had been home to a number of different retail outlets since 1953 including a dress salon, a gift shop, a swimsuit store and then, in 1966, it became home to the current gift store and had been owned by the Gillies and then the Wheeldons. It had been one of Caloundra's original shopfronts, built by the Simpson family in the 1940's.

The shop specialised in souvenirs and gifts for tourists and locals, including Royal Doulton chinaware and collectables. After being involved in three different food businesses since 1963 – fifteen years of working with groceries and meat and cheeses and smallgoods and pies and pastries – Patricia was looking for a new challenge, and a different type of business. A business that didn't involve washing floors and cleaning at the end of each day would be particularly attractive, and also one that Bob did not need to be involved in.

Glamour Gifts ticked all the boxes, and with Patricia's people skills and selling abilities she would be an ideal new owner. In 1979, the business had a new proprietor and she set about learning the retail gift trade.

Meanwhile, Bob was happy as long as he could build a house. He also liked a challenge, especially a creative one – whether it was cakes, pies, or a house. He would set himself to a task and then work quietly by himself, with no pressure. They sold the Shelley's Beach units and found a block of land on Caloundra's highest point, on Sunset Drive. Theirs would be the first and only house there for many years and the street was well named. Once the house was built, they would be able to watch the sun rise over the ocean from the front deck, and later in the day watch it set over the mountains from the back deck. But, as an owner builder, there was plenty of work to be done before Bob would be sipping cocktails at sunset.

The beginning of Sunset Drive

Eagle's Nest – Sunset Drive

With nowhere to live until the house was built, they decided to buy a caravan and live in a caravan park that was close enough to the building site, and to Glamour Gifts. After months of sweat and tears, Bob and Patricia were able to move into their new home that he had designed and helped build.

Unfortunately, Bob's Mum passed away at the end of the year and, as a result, his Dad, who was unwell, moved up and lived with them for a short time before he too passed away in April, 1980.

Patricia's parents, Frank and Florence were in their seventies but still going well, and would spend six weeks every year on the Sunshine Coast visiting their daughter and son-in-law. In September they were enjoying another visit when one night Bob got up out of bed not feeling too well, and then he collapsed. He had been complaining about a sore neck for a while and thought it may have been from playing golf, but this was feeling a lot more serious than a sore neck. Frank helped lift Bob back into bed, and Patricia called the doctor who arranged to see him the next day.

Patricia had to open the shop that morning, so a friend of theirs took Bob to the doctor, who immediately admitted him to a Brisbane hospital for some tests. He was in hospital for a couple of nights and Patricia wasn't overly concerned as Bob was only fifty-four years old and had always been healthy. Then, while at work, she received a phone call from the doctor who simply told her, " Mrs. Mellis, you better start re-arranging your life."

Patricia nearly collapsed, herself. She was devastated and numbed into a state of disbelief. After twenty-eight years of marriage, two sons and so many adventures together, her husband had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. It was so sudden, so unexpected and so unfair.

There was nothing they could do, they said. It is inoperable, they said, make the most of what time is left, it's about quality of life not quantity and we are very sorry, they said. When the experts say there is no cure and death is the only option, there are two paths available. Give up, lie down and wait for apparently what is inevitable. Or, refuse to lie down and fight. Patricia, Bob, Paul and Brenton chose the latter option and threw themselves into it with desperate abandon.

As conventional medicine had given up on Bob, alternative therapies were the only choice left. Paul and Brenton were very positive about pursuing treatment outside the mainstream, and Patricia would try anything that had the remotest chance of saving the man she loved.

In the 1970's, one of the more popular alternative cancer treatments was known as laetrile.

Laetrile is a partly man made form of the natural substance, amygdalin, also known as vitamin B17. Amygdalin is found in raw nuts and the seeds of many fruits, particularly apricots and almonds. Laetrile was widely promoted as an anti-cancer agent either on its own or as part of a programme with a particular diet, high doses of vitamin supplements and pancreatic enzymes. It can be taken intra-venously or as tablets. Unfortunately, Laetrile contains cyanide and can cause side effects such as fever, headaches, liver and nerve damage. It is also banned by the American Food and Drug Administration and the treatment was unavailable in Australia.

By the late 1970's, more than 70,000 Americans had taken Laetrile as a cancer treatment. Because of the increasing difficulty in that country for non-conventional practitioners to offer patients alternatives to standard cancer treatments, most of those people had sought and received the medication from clinics in Tijuana.

Tijuana is a border city in Mexico, just south of California. It is well known for its bullfights, bordellos and beggars but also has the largest concentration of cancer treatment centres, offering unorthodox therapies, in the world. There were, and still are, dozens of clinics offering to help cure or control the disease with methods such as coffee enemas, electrical therapy and treating blood with ozone and ultra violet light. Laetrile infusion treatment was administered legally in many of the clinics.

Following Bob's prognosis, Patricia got in touch with a Brisbane doctor who supported the alternative laetrile treatment and he introduced her to a New Zealand company which arranged trips to Tijuana specifically for cancer treatment. Of course, there were detractors but Patricia wasn't going in blind – she had heard of positive outcomes from the radical treatment and even today there are still supporters of its effectiveness. Their doctor was not a believer, but he gave them his blessing. Bob was always good for a gamble and keen to try, but he was concerned about the cost, which was considerable, and how Patricia would cope if it was unsuccessful. Patricia wasn't concerned about the money – she just wanted her husband to survive. She left Glamour Gifts in the care of a good friend and Brenton and his future wife, Louise.

The couple flew to Auckland, in New Zealand, and from there to San Diego, the United States city only twenty-eight kilometres from Tijuana. Bob was becoming unsteady on his feet and showing signs of the insidious nature of the disease so it was a relief to be picked up and taken to the clinic to begin his treatment. It was only a few miles south of the border, on the outskirts of Tijuana. The city itself was a crowded and dirty place but the Cydel Clinic was an oasis of calm surrounded by a high stone wall and the staff treated them well.

It had opened in the mid 1970's, was owned by a prominent Mexican family, and was headed by Mario Soto who had previously used Laetrile in a government hospital in Mexico City. Patricia stayed at the clinic, and when Bob was sleeping she would spend time in the gardens trying to come to terms with how their lives had been transformed, and what the hell she was doing in a Mexican border town. It was a long way from Caloundra where, only a month ago, life had been on track and comfortable.

There were people from all over the world at the clinic. Some met with success, and others did not. Earlier in the year the actor, Steve McQueen, had paid $10,000 for four weeks of treatment at the Plaza Santa Maria clinic in Tijuana to fight his advanced mesothelioma, the asbestos related lung disease. He was one of the unsuccessful ones.

After a week in the clinic, Bob's condition deteriorated to the extent that he lost the use of his legs. This was devastating for him, even more so than a cancer diagnosis. The former Captain of the Mentone Lifesaving Club could not comprehend not being able to walk again. Whether it was the stress of Bob's illness or the trip to Mexico, Patricia also started to feel unwell, and then the treatment staff at the clinic told Bob there was no more they could do for him and it was time to leave.

Bob couldn't walk and Patricia was getting low on money. The only way out of Mexico and back into the USA would be by ambulance and that was going to cost a lot. The clinic was trying to hustle them out the door before Bob got any worse, which would be bad for business, and they knew nobody in either country. Then, thinking that things couldn't get any worse, Patricia had a phone call from Brenton.

He said, " I've got some bad news, Mum."

" Please don't tell me anything else at this stage," Patricia said, " Is it about a person, is it family?"

"No. But I have to tell you. Your little poodle, Mitzi, has been run over and killed by a car."

Many years later, Patricia would be able to offer up a rueful smile at this memory, but at the time it must have seemed the gods were against her.

Luckily, Patricia had met another Bob at the clinic, an American, whose wife was receiving treatment. When he became aware of Patricia's plight he helped out and managed to get Bob out of Tijuana and into the Chula Vista Hospital in San Diego. Once he was admitted, Patricia returned to the clinic to collect their belongings and demand a partial refund on the money they had outlaid for what had been an unsuccessful treatment. This time she did stamp her foot, not lightly, refused to budge and was able to get it.

They were still a long way from home and even though the oncologist at the hospital tried everything she could to help Bob, his paralysis was becoming a bigger concern than the cancer. Patricia was expecting to sleep on the hospital room floor, but once again it was fortunate that she made friends easily. A lady from San Diego had met Patricia when she had been in the clinic having some cosmetic rejuvenation work done. When she found out Patricia was stranded at the hospital she insisted she stay at her house and took Patricia in to see Bob every day.

Patricia still felt unwell and at the hospital one day she asked the oncologist to look at a lump she had felt in her breast. The doctor had a look and suggested very strongly that as soon as she got back to Australia, Patricia must go to her doctor for further advice. The gods must have been particularly angry that day.

It was becoming increasingly urgent to arrange for Bob's return to Australia – because of his worsening condition and the mounting hospital bills. They had return tickets with Air New Zealand, but the airline would not honour them because Bob was now paralysed and would be confined to a stretcher. It was an incredibly stressful time for Patricia and, by her own admission, she was walking a very fine line.

A social worker at the hospital assisted in negotiating with Qantas to get the couple home, but that airline demanded payment for six seats because of the gurney, plus a seat for Patricia. It was getting very expensive and so, with Paul and Brenton's help, she arranged to get more funds sent from Australia. Then she waited, and waited, and while Qantas was demanding payment or there would be no flight, the money went missing.

In desperation, she contacted the Australian embassy who eventually located the missing money which had gone to the wrong bank. Before they could finally depart the nightmare, Qantas demanded the presence of a nurse on the flight to care for Bob, despite Patricia having cared for him and being able to administer his required injections. But they would not relent, which meant another return ticket for the male nurse and a total of eight seats to be paid for on the journey back to Australia.

Patricia's friend from San Diego saw them off at the airport with a gift basket and refused any offer of money saying only, " If someone comes to you in trouble, just return the favour."

Then Bob, Patricia and the nurse boarded the plane – which was half empty – and Patricia slept all the way home.

At Brisbane Airport, Paul and Brenton had pulled some strings and with the help of a friend at the airport and a lot of bluff, they met the plane in a white Kombi Van on the tarmac and whisked Bob away to the Caloundra Hospital. While Bob was being looked after there, Patricia went to see her doctor about the lump in her breast. He admitted her straight to the Buderim Hospital for a biopsy and the next morning she woke up with only one breast after a radical mastectomy. She was forty-eight years old.

Paul or Brenton would pick up Patricia from her hospital and take her to visit Bob in his hospital. She would worry about him, and he would worry about her – they would tell each other of their love, and then return to their own healing process. Patricia's sisters visited her, and then Brenton and Louise decided to get married, with Patricia's encouragement. In late November, they had the ceremony in Bob's room at Caloundra hospital so they could all be together, and would eventually give Patricia five grancchildren.

On the 7th December, 1980, Bob Mellis lost his fight with cancer.

Patricia had always been an independent woman - a stubborn and feisty English girl who was ahead of her time. Men would usually show more interest in her than she did in them, but with Bob she had found true love and with his death she was lost. There would be anger, there would be loneliness and there would be depression until one day there would be acceptance. But that day was a long way off.

# 9.

Brenton and Louise moved into the house with Patricia for a while so she wouldn't be alone. Then, as the doctor had said only a few months previously, she had to re-arrange her life. A return to running Glamour Gifts was the best medicine for Patricia and she threw herself back into the business. It kept her sane and gave her something to focus on. The loneliness was, at times, unbearable but Patricia had never been one to sit still. There were friends who owned a restaurant in Caloundra and, rather than going home to an empty house after closing the shop, Patricia would have dinner there and then stay to wait on tables and help clean up. She knew she had to get motivated and so joined the Caloundra Chamber of Commerce as they held regular functions which would keep her away from home.

Another outlet would be a Gourmet Club – a group of people who would regularly meet at different restaurants on the Sunshine Coast.

It helped to be mixing with people although Patricia found some desperate singles in the group were carrying more baggage than a Greyhound Bus - from messy divorces. Sometimes, despite a good night out, she would drive home in tears. Not having been through a divorce, she felt lucky not to have that baggage, but was still lonely.

In 1981, determined not to drown in self pity or depression, Patricia joined a local social club, and met fifty-one year old Steve Richardson. Steve was a New Zealander who was a pharmacist and a flyer and he took quite a liking to Patricia. He lived in Maroochydore and when he wasn't working as a relieving pharmacist on the Sunshine Coast or other parts of Queensland, most of his time was spent in the air.

Steve first flew solo in his native New Zealand as an eighteen year old in a Tiger Moth, and had continued his hobby of flying ever since. He had gained his commercial licence in 1954 and then became involved in aerobatics – winning the annual Wellington Aero Club competition two years in a row. As a thirty-eight year old he became an instructor, but flying was always secondary to his occupation as a pharmacist. Once married, and now single, he set his sights on landing Patricia.

Brenton says of his Mum, " She needs to be connected to someone special on a day to day basis. Mum understands men very well, whereas a lot of women just don't get it with men. Mum tends to relate to men very well, she never really grouped in with women – she has a low tolerance for idle chit chat or whingeing."

Steve was an entirely different man compared to Bob, but he was kind and honourable and Patricia was lonely and enjoyed his company. After many months of seeing each other, Steve asked Patricia to go away with him for a holiday. It was a big step to take and Patricia talked about it with Paul and Brenton. When the boys had been sitting with their Dad in hospital and talked about the future, Bob had told them – ' Whatever makes your Mum happy, support her.'

She wasn't asking their permission to go away with Steve, but possibly their approval and they responded by saying, ' Go, Mum, get on with life.'

The couple had a holiday on the remote Norfolk Island, and enjoyed every minute of it together, which led to Steve moving in with Patricia, although that was not a decision taken lightly by either of them. When the inevitable came and Steve proposed to Patricia, she asked him to wait until her 50th birthday, in May 1982. So, he did.

Steve and Patricia on their wedding day with Frank, her Dad, looking on.

On the night, he asked if she had made up her mind. Patricia wanted to give Steve a place in her family – for the sake of her grandchildren, she didn't want him to be just some man Nanna was living with.

" _I made Steve wait a while before I made my mind up as I wasn't madly in love. He was probably more enamoured with me, but we needed to have him as part of the family. Fondness and love changes as you age – he was a different man to Bob - I loved him but he needed me more than I needed him. I've never needed a man, especially for finance, I've always been independent and able to look after myself. I had my own home, I'd cleared my mortgage and I was in business so I wasn't looking for someone to look after me. I was lonely, though. I enjoyed the company of men more than women. Sometimes women are their own worst enemy."_

The wedding ceremony was a simple one – held on the deck of Patricia's Sunset Drive home. While Steve lived there, he was well aware of the history of the home and of Patricia's marriage to Bob. He would often be away working as a relieving pharmacist in outback Queensland, but he was also a member of the Sunshine Coast Aero Club, and he soon had Patricia spending her weekends 3000 feet above the ground in a Tiger Moth wearing a leather helmet and talking through a speaking tube. She was game for anything and he would fly upside down and sideways, usually with Patricia's eyes closed.

There were competitions once a month – in a more civilised Cessna light aircraft – which had Patricia dropping bags of flour onto a target or throwing toilet roll streamers out the plane's window for Bob to cut through as many times as possible. There was an active social life with the Aero Club, and Bob would take Patricia to New Zealand to go flying and to meet his three children.

Steve, and his second love - flying

Steve was different to Bob in that he was a people person – he was a pharmacist after all – and he was quite happy helping Patricia with the running of Glamour Gifts to the extent of introducing his own range of souvenir teaspoons called Sunshine Teaspoons. Patricia would make regular interstate trips to trade fairs to buy stock, visiting her parents in Melbourne when she was there. She also caught the travel bug, which would afflict her for the next forty years. Steve looked after the shop when Patricia made a solo trip to Hawaii and, later on, to the Phillipines.

In early 1983, Patricia was presented with baby Kate, the first of five grandchildren from Brenton and Louise. She would be followed, over the next ten years, by Scott, Sarah, Charlotte and David.

A year after getting married, in August 1983, the lease ran out at Number 39 Bulcock Street and Patricia quietly looked around for alternative premises. Directly across the road were two shops for sale at Number 38 - owned by one of the proprietors – Ken Smith, a jeweller. The agent was Peter Ryan from Main Street Realty, a member of the Aero Club. Patricia and Steve extended themselves, bought the site, put Glamour Gifts in the vacant store and then put Ken's rent up. He was now their unhappy tenant and he sold his business to Sellig's Jewellery from South Australia.

Patricia now had a smaller shop, so didn't have to carry as much stock and with the rent from the adjoining jewellery store, paying off the freehold became her business goal. She had joined the committee of the Chamber of Commerce because at that time it consisted primarily of Bulcock Street businesses. The retail expansion of Caloundra and the dominating interests of big businesses like Aussie World, Australia Zoo and The Big Kart Track were years in the future, so Patricia's enthusiasm created business breakfasts and local retail awards. She would walk up and down Bulcock Street soliciting donations from businesses to fund Christmas decorations because the local council were ineffective.

Negativity was a banned word in her business environment and Patricia would be a driving force in Caloundra business circles for many years. The Caloundra Chamber of Commerce currently has 550 members.

" _These days the Chamber of Commerce is not interested in small business retail. They are all would be's if they could be's trying to tell people how to run their business but they have never worked behind a counter in their life. It is too big and too impersonal now."_

During the 1980's, the business environment began to change in Bulcock Street. Even though parking meters had been around for fifty years, Caloundra had managed to avoid them until progress, and the local council, saw them introduced to the main street. This began to affect trade, as did the migration of small businesses, and customers to the larger shopping centres. The Sunland centre had opened in 1978, and Kawana Waters shopping centre the year after. The Nickilin Way where, in 1970, a house and land package could be had for $95,000, was now becoming a major commuter belt between Caloundra and Maroochydore. Due to the population growth, Caloundra became a city in 1987.

" _We needed more tourists. You never knew until the end of the twelve months whether you'd made a dollar or not. There was no pattern to it, one week you might be flat out if the weather was good and quiet the next week. In those days we didn't have all the things that are on now with so many festivals – in a way it's good for the coast but the traffic congestion gets ridiculous."_

Cirrus Apartments, Caloundra

After living in the house that Bob built on Sunset Drive for ten years, Patricia was looking to move. She felt she had been there long enough and wanted to be able to travel and just lock up and walk away. For some time, she had her eye on a new highrise residential building called Cirrus Apartments, at Kings Beach.

It looked a little lonely standing above the surrounding houses, facing east and overlooking the Coral Sea, but it would have plenty of company in years to come. In 1989, Patricia and Steve rented a unit in the complex until a suitable one became available for purchase.

Six months later one did, and they bought on the fifth floor with a double garage included. In 1992, the ever youthful Patricia turned sixty.

It was quite a milestone for the English girl who left her home land as a seventeen year old – not knowing what to expect in her adoptive country. It would be fair to say she probably never expected what life had thrown at her for the past forty-three years. She had raised two sons who were now close to forty years old and she had loved – and lost – a good man.

She had been in business three times and had been successful in each one.

Now, she was ten years into a new marriage with a good man who worshipped the ground she walked upon. The only thing left to do was retire.

.After nearly thirty years in business - twenty of them in Bulcock Street - Patricia called time on her business career. It was time for her and Steve to do the things together they had wanted to do for a long time, but it wasn't the end of her professional involvement. A representative from Toastmasters had come calling and Patricia began an association that would last for many years. She would become a charter member of the Caloundra chapter and also join Kawana Toastmasters, becoming a champion in Table Topics – speaking off the cuff on unknown subjects for three minutes with no time to prepare. Clearly, Patricia was a good talker.

" _You never knew what it was going to be but I always remember one particular subject – they just give you something like ....'don't throw it away'....that's all they say to you and off the top of your head you've got to have an opening and it just so happened that the dress I had on was made of old style material like sugar bags – so I gave my talk on making clothes out of sugar bags."_

Patricia's 60th with Paul

Patricia entered and won many competitions as a public speaker and has the trophies to show for it – although she has taken the plaques off most of them and donated the actual trophy back to the clubs. She was also awarded many certificates for her speaking but she is not a trophy collector.

Steve was semi-retired but he still worked occasionally in places like Charleville, in western Queensland, and Patricia would go with him on those postings. He would also return to New Zealand every January to instruct flying – after fifty years, that was his natural gift. Patricia sold Glamour Gifts but retained the freehold ownership, and would hang on to it for another ten years.

The couple were now free to travel, although they had already been to Borneo together, and New Zealand. They had a friend from the Aero Club who had bought a caravan with the intention of travelling with his wife, but she died before they had the chance. He generously loaned the van to Pat and Steve who made good use of it, heading south as far as Melbourne, and north as far as Cairns.

Patricia also wanted to give back to the community she had been a part of for more than twenty years, and volunteered at the local Tourism Information Centre one or two days a week.

" _It was a very active one in those days because Caloundra was still in charge of its own tourism – we used to call it the cubby house. I was always happy to be involved because I knew the town backwards and I knew where to send people. We used to do a lot of familiarisation trips to accommodation houses and places like Australia Zoo so we knew what we were talking about."_

Another trip Pat and Steve took was a coach tour with the National Seniors group down through Canberra to Adelaide. During the trip, Steve became unwell and luckily there was a doctor on the tour who diagnosed Steve and got him straight into an Adelaide hospital.

" _He couldn't travel on the rest of the trip with the group so they all go off on the coach and I'm left standing there with a suitcase and Steve is in hospital. I went back to the hospital wondering what I was going to do. The staff said it's okay, we will put you in one of the nurse's rooms. It was a little tiny box of a room to sleep in. It was his lungs that were worrying him."_

Steve recovered to the extent that he could return home – just not on an aeroplane because of his lung condition. Patricia wrapped him in blankets and sat with him on the two day coach trip back to the Sunshine Coast. It wasn't one of their better trips away together, but he was fully recovered by the time they decided to do a house swap with a couple just outside Vancouver, in Canada.

After spending time in their home, the couple hired a car and travelled south down the west coast of America, through Oregon and the Sonoma wine region into the sprawling Southern California city of Los Angeles. Patricia had kept in touch with her American friend, Bob, who had helped her out all those years ago when her own Bob was stuck in a Mexican cancer clinic.

Bob's wife had died, and he had remarried to Martha. Once they arrived in LA and were staying with Bob and Martha, Steve began to have trouble with his chest again. Their next port of call on the trip was Hawaii, but Patricia just wanted to get Steve straight home to get his health sorted.

Once again, Bob was a great help, as was his wife and they managed to cancel the Hawaii holiday and get standby tickets for Australia. And, once again, Patricia found herself on a mercy dash home from the U.S.A with an unwell husband.

She didn't want a repeat of the last time, though, with needing a stretcher and a nurse, so when an obviously unwell Steve vomited on his way up the boarding stairs, Patricia convinced the airline staff he was fine, and just had a bad lunch. During the changeover in Hawaii, he had deteriorated enough to need a wheelchair to change flights and he slept all the way home.

In a classic case of déjà vu, Paul met them at Brisbane Airport – not in a Kombi van this time – but in a car that took Steve straight to the hospital. It was just in time. Steve's lungs were not the problem – he had suffered a heart attack and as a result underwent a quadruple bypass.

It would turn out to be the beginning of a downward spiral in Steve's health. Patricia would care for him at home in their Cirrus apartment, but his leg wouldn't heal where the vein had been removed for the bypass surgery. To compound his already weakened state, he was diagnosed with cancer of the neck and Patricia would take him to Brisbane for his radiotherapy. He returned home but rapidly lost weight through an inability to eat.

Patricia continued to nurse him at home and Paul was a great support for her, but in hindsight she should have enlisted some outside help. It was a constant vigil and Steve began to lose the will to live. He spent time in a private hospital and suffered another heart attack which should have killed him, but he was revived. He returned home to Patricia's care, but the prognosis was not good. Patricia asked the doctor what was she to do if Steve had another heart attack while he was under her care. The doctor's reply was, " My advice would be to walk very slowly to the phone."

Steve battled on, though, and Patricia had a break when he entered into Dove Cottage – a ten bed palliative care unit attached to the Caloundra Hospital. Patricia flew Steve's children and his brother and sister over from New Zealand to see him as his condition was worsening.

One night in early 1998, Patricia was with Steve along with her son, Paul, who told her to go home as he would stay by Steve's bedside. Before she left and even though Steve was in a coma, she leaned over to him and said, " I don't know what you are hanging around for darling. You're a pilot and wherever you've been you have always had safe landings." Then, she kissed him and went home.

The next morning at 6am, Patricia had a phone call from Paul telling her, " He's gone, Mum." Steve was only sixty -eight years old and now, at sixty-six, Patricia was alone again. There would be sadness and grieving once more, but Patricia knew that curling up in a ball in a dark room was not a solution to the unbearable ache of personal loss.

Steve in happier days

# 10.

When Patricia had the Pappy's Pies business, she had become involved with the Caloundra Amateur Theatre Society doing plays and musicals and starting up the first theatre restaurant in Caloundra. After Steve died, she needed to keep moving or stagnate and so she rekindled her interest in local theatre. She took on the role of Stage Manager with the newly named Caloundra Theatre, and also volunteered as a dresser for their huge musical production of ' The Sound of Music'.

Toastmasters also took up plenty of her time and Patricia had no intentions of slowing down or giving up on life. In fact, her new life was just beginning.

Travel had always been a passion of hers and so this became her escape. At the end of 1998, she got herself together and booked a trip with Odyssey Tours for the following year. It was called 'England's Natural Treasures' and, to many, she was already one herself, so it was an appropriate tour to take. Odyssey was an educational based tour operator for small groups of over 55's who wanted to see and learn about the people and places they visited and was guided by tertiary qualified specialists.

Patricia had never been, and never will be, an average traveller. Not for her the well worn tourist paths full of camera toting, overbearing, demanding travellers cramming as many museums and church visits into one day as humanly possible followed by as much as you can eat buffet dinners at overpriced hotels in the middle of the city.

England trip – 1999, Patricia centre

She preferred the path less travelled. The places people had rarely visited – because it wasn't so much about the buildings as the people and the local food and the scenery and the culture of each country.

" _I always wanted to travel. I like the people and the natural beauty of a country. I get a great deal of warmth from scenery."_

48.

In August, 1999, she headed back to the country of her birth for the first time since 1978, on her campervan trip with Bob. This time her accommodation would be at Universities, beginning with five nights at the University of York followed by a stay at the University of Edinburgh in time to see the magnificent pomp and ceremony of the world famous Military Tattoo.

Travelling through the Lake District of England, Patricia visited the home of the 19th century English poet, William Wordsworth. Ironically, the home was called Dove Cottage – the name of the palliative care unit where Steve had spent his final days.

Her trip would take in the historical city of Bath and the village of Dunster in Somerset with its magnificent 1,000 year old castle that had been home to the same family for 400 years. The tour finished in London, staying at London University, but Patricia went on to visit Ireland and her Uncle at Mount Snowdon, the highest point in Wales, before returning home.

Well and truly bitten by the travel bug, she followed up that journey with another Odyssey tour – this time to ' Hidden France.' The group stayed in small French villages as they toured the countryside including the French Pyrenees and some areas she had previously visited with Bob all those years ago as a forty-six year old hippy. Patricia didn't like cities – she had been to Paris a couple of times and wasn't too keen on the place.

Despite the camaraderie of the group tours and the new friends made, Patricia was still feeling lonely at home. She didn't sit at home drowning in sadness but regularly socialised and went out for drinks and dinner parties, but there was no-one special in her life. Reading the local paper one day she saw some contact ads for single people who were looking and, in a rare moment of impetuosity, sent one in of her own. It wasn't an act of desperation, more one of dipping her toes in the water to see how cold it was.

" _I love company so I thought bugger it, I'll have a go. I was just looking for company, not a permanent relationship. Just a friend who I could play bridge with and dance with and laugh with."_

There were plenty of replies, including a couple of locals she knew, and didn't like, and others who didn't sound too promising – luckily the replies were anonymous. Then, she received a reply – which she still has today. He didn't sound Australian by the way he wrote, but she rang him anyway and they agreed to meet – in a public place of course. A more non-romantic location probably could not have been found.

Pat met Jack Kruizinga that rainy day in late 2001 at The Big Pineapple, near Nambour. They had coffee together, talked a lot, and decided to meet again – this time for lunch at Yandina. Patricia's first impressions were good – he was natural, and very nice. Jack was a divorced man, a Dutchman two years younger than Patricia, who had come to Australia as a twenty- six year old and now lived at Nambour.

The first time Jack visited Patricia at her place in Cirrus, some time later, he knocked on her door holding a giant rose on a stick. He wanted it to last, like their relationship, so it was made of material but he had sprinkled rose oil onto it for authenticity. Seventeen years later, both are lasting and in extraordinarily good shape.

Before meeting Jack, Patricia had booked on a third Odyssey tour, this time to Italy. This trip suited Patricia's way of travelling as it took in places that not many people were visiting, especially in the southern part of the country. It also included staying in religious accommodation – such as convents – not a place Patricia would normally be found.

Breakfasts were supplied, but the group would eat out for other meals. The tour leader was a Professor from Perth University and for lunch he would shop for bread rolls and tomatoes and fruit, and Patricia would help him as they stopped in the Italian countryside and prepared their lunch to eat while overlooking the breathtaking scenery. He also had a beautiful singing voice and whenever they stopped at old churches, he would entertain the group by demonstrating the acoustics with a song or two.

Patricia had the knack of being able to immerse herself in the local culture and with the local people and truly experience the country she was in. Some others on the tours did not possess that ability or desire.

" _I knew I lived in the best country in the world but I was very interested in other cultures. We think we are pretty smart but some cultures are far better. Western society is just getting too decadent. Britain is not the master of the Universe any more. Spain was, the Netherlands were, even America is on a downward trend now, but there's always someone waiting to come up because they are disadvantaged._

I like people, it's people I remember no matter what nationality or religion. Basically people want similar things – it's the hierarchy that messes everything up."

Jack and Patricia celebrating Christmas not long after meeting.

Returning home, Patricia began seeing Jack again, and they began to plan their next trip away – together. But she was still cautious about seeing Jack regularly. If they were walking along the beach and he wanted to hold her hand, she refused to in case somebody in her apartment block saw them. She was very conscious of people's attitudes in the early days of their relationship, because ignorant people can be very cruel.

Patricia had lost two husbands to illness which was different to divorce in that they were no longer still around. It took her a while to realise she was her own person and not to feel disloyal about going out with other men. She had been completely involved with Bob, and then Steve, but Patricia had always related to men more easily than women and enjoyed their company. She tired easily of female small talk involving clothes, make-up and grandchildren. Business, politics and travel were part of a much more appealing discussion for a woman who had always been ahead of her time.

Luckily, Jack was also keen to travel. As a young man he had seen plenty of Europe, had chased a girl to Canada – unsuccessfully – and travelled far and wide through Australia while working for the CSIRO.

Their first trip together would be on an Odyssey tour to South America. Before they left, though, Patricia would celebrate her 70th birthday and, in what would become a trademark of Jack's – he decided to surprise her. There would be many surprises over the years thought up by the romantic, sentimental and adventurous Jack, but on this one he thought a good present for Patricia would be to take her up in a light plane over the ocean, and then push her out.

Pat's 70th

A tandem skydive had been arranged for both of them and, after taking off from Caloundra, Jack followed Patricia in a free fall towards Currimundi beach. Flying upside down in a Tiger Moth was child's play compared to this for the seventy year old. With cheeks wobbling, arms flapping and a face full of smiles, Patricia landed safely just before Jack and just before cracking a cold bottle of champagne.

That was followed by a dinner at a Caloundra restaurant for forty friends and family, including Patricia's sisters and a jazz band fronted by her son, Brenton. It was a day to remember.

# 11.

Their South American trip took in Chile, Peru, Brazil, Argentina and Uruguay and they were constantly referred to as ' the honeymooners.' They were clearly so happy with each other, laughing and talking all the time, people would ask, " .... how long have you been married?"

The besotted couple would explore Lake Titicaca on the border between Bolivia and Peru -the world's highest navigable body of water - take a helicopter flight over the largest waterfall system in the world at Iguazu Falls, trek through the 500 year old ruins of Machu Picchu in the Peruvian mountains and stay in a beachfront hotel in Rio de Janeiro. Jack loved exploring – he could climb like a mountain goat – and after a month away they returned to the relative calm of the Sunshine Coast. The intrepid travellers then set about planning their next trip.

" _It was full on and we enjoyed ourselves. They were nice people on the tour but we were more interested in each other at that stage. "_

Friendship Force is a non-profit cultural organisation focussing on home-stay journeys through more than sixty countries. It was founded in Atlanta, USA, in 1977, and supported by President Jimmy Carter. Australians embraced the concept in 1982, keen to promote global understanding across the geographical and cultural barriers that separate people. The organisation became so successful, it was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize in 1992.

This was the type of travel that Patricia and Jack were interested in – being able to immerse themselves in the culture of a country and meet the local people, instead of the one-size-fits-all mass marketed, glossy tourism trips that most companies offered. Patricia was also interested in hosting travellers in her own home and showing them her slice of Australia.

" _I like Friendship Force because it's a cultural exchange and I'm very interested in how people live in the world today – more than I am in the past. You can spend far too much time in the past."_

Their first trip with Friendship Force was to New Zealand, but Patricia would extend her experience on a solo trip to Japan, and in turn would host couples from Germany, England and France. Sometimes, there would be a language barrier, but that was half the fun and it gave Pat and Jack a good chance to practise their French, or Mongolian. One year they would be staying with a French couple and enjoying the balmy weather and magnificent beaches of New Caledonia, and the next, learning new customs in the newly independent Eastern European country of Ukraine.

En route from Beijing to Russia, they would camp out in the Mongolian countryside in a traditional round tent covered in animal skins and taste the local horse milk beverage called airag. The Mongolians like a drink and this favourite is made from fermented mare's milk. The bitter and sour drink is served warm, sometimes with bits of brown horse-milk fat floating in it, tastes horrible and has the nutritional value of a Scotch Finger biscuit.

A Mongolian Yurt

As experienced travellers, Pat and Jack swallowed it down with a smile on their face and a 'thank-you very much, but no more for me, please.' Luckily, they carried a small supply of Scotch with them for such emergencies and were able to cleanse their palate once back inside their yurt. It was all part of the traditional, centuries old Naadam Festival – held throughout the country in mid-summer to celebrate the three games of men – wrestling, horse-racing and archery.

The horse races were not what Patricia was used to with small framed adult men racing around a grass track for a mile or two. In Mongolia, the two year old horses ran a race of ten miles with the distance increasing according to age with seven year old horses racing over seventeen miles. Up to 1,000 horses would enter the cross country event and all were ridden by boys between the ages of five and thirteen. It was a long way from the Melbourne Cup.

On a trip to Indonesia, they would be hosted by a local school teacher and his wife in a traditional village many miles from the nearest city. At dawn one morning they would take a long drive through rice fields and arrive at the base of Mount Bromo – not Java's highest peak – but still an active volcano standing more than two kilometres into the sulphur enriched air. Pat and Jack would ride on ponies to the first of 253 steps that lead to the craters edge – commonly known as the stairway to hell – then start climbing.

On a more relaxed trip she would soar over the snow-capped mountains, spectacular glaciers and emerald green forests of Alaska's Glacier Bay in a light plane – landing gently on the calm water amongst the magnificent serenity of towering icebergs.

Always looking for adventure, Patricia would wake up for breakfast in Kenya next to a hippo pool and be taken into the bush by a tall, dark stranger – in this case, a Masai tribesman who would safely guide her to a pristine porcelain toilet set in a tent above a deep drop down, while close-by, two male hippo's fought to the death over a female with calf.

She would drift over the rugged Cappadocia region of Turkey in a brightly covered hot air balloon, surrounded by 100 other balloons all silently gliding through the cloudless sky and land next to a table laden with full glasses of champagne.

And, closer to home, she would travel on the Murray River on board a 67 metre paddle-wheeler, lamenting the number of old and boring passengers she had to share the trip with.

After retiring from business at the age of sixty, Patricia had embarked on a new career - that of a professional traveller and, in the process, became living proof that age simply represents the year of birth – it doesn't limit or define a person.

In between adventures in more than forty different countries, Patricia doesn't sit still. One of her mother's favourite expressions was...' just get on with it.' And that is exactly what she does. Cancer had to be fought off a second time in her late seventies, but that was just a minor annoyance that didn't stop her travelling – taking medication with her and.... just getting on with it.

In 2018, Patricia celebrated the age of eighty-six and Jack surprised her again – with a light plane flight over Caloundra. This time, he didn't push her out. Her positivity and sense of humour have been passed on to her two sons, Paul and Brenton, and they have also inherited traits from their Dad.

The boys were in their twenties when Bob died, and suffered his loss as much as Patricia, but along with their Mum they got on with life and have been happy and healthy just like her.

The hardest part about ageing for Patricia is the slow deterioration of her hearing – other than that irritation everything is as it has been for most of her life. There is the occasional patronising from younger people, until they realise that she is no ordinary woman and knows a heck of a lot more than they do and has been to a heck of a lot more places.

The Pat and Jack roadshow is off again soon - this time bound for the Mekong River – in Laos. One of the reasons they are venturing to this land-locked country in South East Asia is because it is not yet a popular tourist destination and, therefore, it is worth visiting before everyone else. Next year it could possibly be a trip to India or it may well be the South Pole or Madagascar. Nothing would surprise me.

With her vitality, sense of humour and natural charm, Patricia is a shining example of how to live a life. Her story should give young people something to aspire to, middle aged people something to look forward to, and older people something to emulate.

Patricia and sons – Paul, left and Brenton

" _I really make sure I enjoy every day. I watch the sun come up and I thank someone for giving me another day. I have a belief in spiritual things, but I like to keep my options open._

One day, my ashes will go over the Pacific Ocean and I will go back into the universe and I hope that, for a number of years until I get forgotten, that I will leave some good memories for my family."

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