 
### A Baby Boomer – at any age

by

Trevi Formea

Copyright 2013 Trevi Formea

ISBN 978-1-30189822-0

Smashwords Edition

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my beautiful grandchildren. It is an open journal of our ancestry and my life as a 'Baby Boomer'. Baby Boomers were not Kangaroos, but the children born in Australia during the first 15yrs after WW2. May you travel back in time and learn something about your heritage and relive all my childhood memories. When a blackout meant listening to your mum read stories aloud by a torch, or mime Elvis Presley's latest songs on a transistor (trannie) radio whilst playing a tennis racket guitar. Or where the creek down the bottom of your hill was your backyard swimming pool. Every day was an adventure waiting to be explored and you were only limited by your imagination.

Smashwords License Statement

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Acknowledgements

Many thanks to my eldest daughter Sammie for her information and tracing of our family tree and my 'alter ego' for her etchings and picture uploads for the story.

### A Baby Boomer – at any age

by Trevi Formea

**Prologue** :

My grandparents had immigrated to Australia separately, from Ireland in the 1800's, long before the start of THE TEN POUND POM days. The 'Ten Pound Poms' migration began after World War 2, when our Prime Minister Mr Curtin realized how vulnerable our country was to invasion, and that our population drastically needed to be increased. The only criteria needed, was for the migrants to be subjects of the British Commonwealth, in good health and under 45yrs of age. Parents were charged ten Pounds each and their children travelled free.

Grandfather Thomas Patrick Halfpenny was born in Belfast in 1856. When he was six, his family travelled from Ireland via Liverpool on the ship 'Montmorency', and settled in the township of Maryborough, Queensland.

After arrival they shortened their name to Halpin. Accompanying Thomas were his parents John 43 and Margaret 37, two older brothers John Jr 11, Richard 8 and younger brother Joseph 4yrs.

They arrived in April 1863 after a 3mth voyage sailing across both the Atlantic and Indian Oceans, to finally dock in Brisbane after sailing the western Pacific.

Thirteen months after their arrival in Maryborough and in the following May 1864, Thomas's mother Margaret and youngest brother Joseph, died from Typhus.

Grandmother Isabella was born in 1872 and lived in Longford, Ireland. She was a good Catholic girl of a marrying age. Unfortunately she had fallen in love with a man called David - who was a singer, but her parents didn't approve and thought him most unsuitable for their eldest daughter.

Somehow Isabella's parents, William and Bridget Hastings, had heard of Thomas who was a Protestant, but regardless - a most eligible bachelor. _According to my mother_ _Ursula_ , Isabella and Thomas's meeting had been arranged by their parents and friends, both here in Australia and back home in Ireland.

William and Bridget decided that financial position was far more important than heathen beliefs. _Catholicism didn't pay bills or put food on the table – no matter how hard you prayed._ So they decided that a proper introduction was necessary - followed by a betrothal after a respectable amount of courting time. 'The couple' were formally introduced via a letter from William, which he sent to Australia accompanied by a sepia photograph of Isabella - for Thomas's approval.

Thomas fell in love with Isabella's youthful beauty and eagerly replied. Thomas was sixteen years older than her and had been married before in 1877, but was now a widower with 6 children to care for.

In his letter to Isabella, Thomas included a photograph of himself and his six children. His children were Margaret 12; Hannah 11; Thomas 9; Norman 4; Ada 2 and Claude still an infant. Thomas also explained how his first wife Ada had died when baby Claude was only three months old. They had also lost two babies through stillbirths.

Thomas boasted that apart from having a trade, he also was a farmer with livestock and grew produce on a farm of considerable size - thus contributing to his wealth. He further added that he had interests in Oil which also returned him a healthy investment and contributed to his prosperity. It was this affluence, which enabled him to be more than capable of providing for another wife and family.

After a year of exchanged letters, 'the couple' became betrothed. William & Bridget were delighted to have found such a respectable suitor for the eldest of their two daughters, and began making arrangements.

Isabella later wrote Thomas that she was excited about their impending marriage, and could hardly wait to be with him. She also included her surprise.

' _Father has paid for my sea-fare to you as a dowry (gift to the groom). My application had been approved and I'll be with you and the wee ones for the end of the Australian summer_!'

Thomas's reaction to the news was uncomfortable, to say the least. _It would be more accurate to say - that he broke out in a sweat at the thought of it!_

He immediately sent Isabella a letter explaining that the Australian summer was very humid and hot \- sometimes unbearable, and to please wait until the winter to afford herself time to adapt. Included in his letter was a dead grasshopper. Thomas explained that it was a mosquito which plagued the country in the summertime, giving very nasty bites.

Thomas hoped it would discourage Isabella's arrival for at least six months, as he needed time to be able to arrange his assets and have things organized befitting a lady of her reputation.

Undaunted, Isabella replied in her last letter from Ireland, " _Thomas Dearest, if I am to live in Australia, then I must adapt myself to the climate and all of its creatures – great and small_!"

The voyage to Australia from Liverpool took three months and Isabella celebrated her twentieth birthday onboard. Her birthday also happened to be on Australia Day – 26th January.

Accompanying Isabella's journey on the ship 'India' was her younger sister and only sibling Margaret Jane ( _Maggie J_ ) - who was just fourteen. Their long ocean voyage was a rough one sailing the Atlantic and Indian Oceans, just as Thomas had done as a child twenty years before, and the young women took comfort in each others company through the often stormy seas.

They arrived in Australia in February 1892 and on meeting Thomas and his children, Isabella was not disappointed. She and Thomas would marry as soon as decently possible.

Meanwhile the two young ladies resided with their Aunty who was their father's sister. She was a midwife in Rockhampton. Isabella got a job in a nearby hotel as a coffee room waitress.

Thomas would visit them both on the weekend with the children. Sometimes organizing a picnic down by the local river with the fresh produce he had grown. The children would paddle by the river's edge as they sat on a blanket adorned with Thomas's freshly harvested fare, under a large shady Gum tree.

But Isabella was never taken to Thomas's farm before the marriage. As he told her it was not becoming a single lady – betrothed or not, to visit a gentleman's place of residence. Although she may be in a foreign country originally settled by colonials, convicts and natives, she still must keep her dignity and reputation at all costs.

Their wedding was in April, 1894 – two years later. After their wedding when Isabella was finally taken to Thomas's farm, she soon learnt the true worth of her husband's accumulated wealth - _and was very surprised_.

'His considerable farm' was a block of land with a house in Capricornia - along the eastern farming and sugar-cane coast. The 'produce' he harvested for profit, consisted of two large kitchen window boxes where he grew a variety of vegetables for his own use. His livestock consisted of a few goats for milking and some chooks ( _laying hens_ ).

Thomas's interests in Oil were somewhat ambiguous. Thomas was a talented artist ( _perhaps we should add 'con' here as a prefix_ ) and dabbled in oil frequently, often being paid for painting portraits by the townsfolk. He also frequently sold his other work, including sea and landscapes - to the local art gallery. Accordingly, as he had said without a hint of a lie, this 'interest in Oil' contributed to his wealth and weekly income - as an iron moulder.

Isabella soon learnt that Thomas was an imaginative heathen exaggerator – but a loveable one just the same!

Between jobs and during both world wars Thomas won money from playing Billiards of which he was quite adept. He was the last one to bed at night and the first one up the next morning.

Unlike Isabella who would go through the home covering up mirrors against lightning strikes Thomas loved thunderstorms. He would happily stand under the cover of their verandah and watch the flashes in wonder, often inviting my mother Ursula to join him and explaining what caused them and why.

Thomas built his own rowing boat and afterwards used it to supplement the family food. Apart from being an avid fisherman, he was also a very keen sportsman in shooting, rowing and an excellent Cricket bowler.

Twenty years later mum was born and became Isabella's thirteenth and youngest child, and Thomas's twenty-first. But back then it was common for babies to be miscarried, stillborn or passed later - due to various diseases or complications.

In mum's immediate family there survived two boys and four girls. Mum's siblings were; Isabel (b 1898); Bernard (b 1900); Theresa (b 1902); Vincent (b 1904); Zita (b 1908) and Ursula ( _mum_ ) (b 1914).

Isabella lost seven babies in all, through miscarriages and stillbirths. During her married life, Isabella raised twelve children - six from Thomas's first marriage and six of her own. She was 42 when she gave birth to mum. Mum was not only the youngest, but the shortest member of her family. The family photograph below was taken in 1924 when my mother Ursula was only 10yrs old.

Isabella had all 'their' children learn a musical instrument, with Grandma Ursula, Aunties Isabel and Zita learning piano or organ, and Aunty Tessie learning the violin. The boys played musical instruments too.

Grandmother Isabella had an avid interest in pot plants and also knitted and crocheted. Isabella was also a seamstress and sewed clothes from her dresses for her step and own children.

Isabella stood at 163cms ( _same height as me_ ) and had dark curly hair when she was younger. My mother unlike my grandmother was very petite and stood at only 148cms with Thomas was around 170cms tall.

When she was 58, Isabella fell ill and was taken to hospital. Upon examination a diagnosis of cancer ( _not sure which kind_ ) was given and a procedure ordered. The doctors on operating saw just how far the cancer had progressed and realized there was nothing they could do for her, so stitched her up and sent her home.

My mother nursed her mother Isabella for 4yrs and apparently mum's attraction for da got back to Isabella. Disappointed she warned mum against dad and gave her strict orders from her death bed "Now don't you have anything to do with that cab-driver Jack, Ursula. He'll only get you into trouble and then leave you broken hearted."

Dad was tall and good looking. He had brown wavy hair and bright blue eyes with a David Niven well cropped moustache. He was a friendly rascal and used to drive the number one yellow taxi. Dad was also known as a ladies man around their neighbourhood as women were attracted to him. Isabella didn't approve of him – and even less of his reputation ( _see his war pic below_ ).

Back then dad used to drive number 1 Yellow Taxi and had got to meet a lot of people, making a lot more friends and knew his way around Brisbane suburbs blindfolded.

Whilst he was driving the taxi, dad met and made friends with two brothers and a sister who were about to start their own Clothing Manufacturing business ( _Rag Trade_ ).

Their names were George, Jack and Beth and were all around his age and in their twenties. Whenever they needed a cab they would always call on dad and their friendship remained strong through the decades.

Isabella passed in January 1934, three weeks before she turned 62 – _my age now_. After Isabella's passing, Thomas began painting storm clouds into every piece of work he did. He had lost his beloved mate of 37yrs and light of his life, and felt her passing greatly.

Well mum didn't take Isabella's advice and three years after Isabella's passing, mum married dad when she was 23. After mum married dad, Thomas moved from their Annerley home and returned to Bundaberg to live with his youngest son Vincent, wife Alma and their family on their cane farm in Calavos. Thomas remained there for five years and until he passed at age 86 in 1942.

*****

Chapter 1: A Rosy Life

I was born in March 1951 and was the youngest of four children. My siblings were turning that year; Patrick-12, Jacqueline-9 and Robin 5. I was growing up as a 'Baby Boomer' ( _the kids born during the fifteen years post WW2_ ). So I was born the youngest child's - youngest child.

Mum was turning 37 when she gave birth to me. This 'late in life birth' also meant that I grew up with most of my cousins children, as my cousins were old enough to be my parents.

Those cousins I played with were from Aunty Tessie's only child – Bernice. Her children were Stephen ( _2yrs younger than me_ ), Christine, Neal, Carmel ( _7yrs younger_ ), Julie-Anne and Debbie-Leigh. The children were born close together with 8yrs separating the youngest from the eldest.

Aunty Zita I met for the first time when I was 7 and in grade 2. She, her husband Bill and their two youngest children Callie 10 and Garrie 8 were visiting from Melbourne, and dad came to school and asked my teacher Sister Rayfield, if I could leave early.

The following day Sister Rayfield asked me if the man who collected me was my father. I said yes. She then told me what a good looking man he was! ( _I was surprised_ )

I don't ever remember meeting any of my half-aunties or uncles - only mum's closest sisters Tessie and Zita, older brothers Uncle Bernie and Vincent, and her only maternal aunt - Margaret O'Connor.

Perhaps this was because mum's eldest ( _half_ ) sister Margaret was born in 1879 – 35yrs before mum, and was only eight years younger than mum's own mother Isabella.

Thus having Grandparents was a luxury I never knew - unlike most of my friends and I was a tad jealous.

We lived in the southern suburbs of Brisbane and five miles ( _8kms_ ) from the General Post Office or GPO. Brisbane was the heart of the City and where suburban distance was measured from. We were also two doors down from a convenience store, phone booth and bus stop. The photo below was my home.

Mum christened me Jo-Anna ( _after her favourite cousin Johanna_ ) – although my family called me 'Bubby'. Dad never used Jo-Anna or Bubby; to him I was either George or Kooka - because I was always 'up with the birds'.

My earliest recollections of growing up were measured by our kitchen table. It was bare timber with thick spindle legs and higher than today's tables. I remember being able to actually walk underneath it without hitting my head. So I'm guessing I was just a toddler.

When I could no longer do that without crouching or hitting my head, I recall pulling myself up on tippy-toes and holding onto the table's edge for support. I wanted to see what was on there - _as everyone seemed to gather there a lot_.

Finally, I was able to stand flat-footed and look over the top of it. I don't know what age I was then – as I was very young and couldn't count, but I guess I was around three. To me that was a big achievement.

Unfortunately for Robby, he had suffered a head accident as a small boy before I was born. Mum was two months pregnant with me at the time.

My family had gone to the Brisbane Exhibition grounds ( _Ekka_ ) for its annual 10 day show. My parents had left Robby aged 4, in the care of Jackie 8 and Paddy 11 whilst they went off to see some event.

Robby wanted to ride on the Chair-o-plane. Those long chain swings which swung out semi-horizontal as the speed increased. He put on quite a performance with people looking on, which embarrassed my older siblings. So to quieten him down, Paddy and Jackie allowed him to go on it.

As the ride gained momentum and swung out higher, becoming more diagonal, Robby was sucked under the chain guard in front of him. He was sent flying through the air, colliding with a metal boundary post and was instantly knocked unconscious.

The ambulance rushed Robby away to the General hospital around the corner where he remained in a coma for ten days. It was touch and go whether he would regain consciousness - or even survive. This was 1950 and medical procedures were reasonably limited.

It was now in the hands of GOD.

According to my mum, when Robby awoke and eventually came home, he was never the same little boy. His head injury contributed to a 'changed' mental state in him.

When my parents consulted the attending doctor about his 'change' in personality at their first meeting after his discharge, the doctor told them not to punish Robby physically. There had obviously been brain scarring and they must use other means of reprimand on him.

Robby initially suffered with nightmares, coupled with recurring headaches and returned to bed wetting. He also would fall out of bed from thrashing about.

My parents bought him a special metal bed with safeguards at the sides to stop him falling out. It was cream in colour, with solid metal guards which ran half-way down the bed and slotted into the bed base.

His character had altered from a loving and obedient little boy, to nasty and defiant one. Often delighting in tormenting the cat or dog. Being cruel seemed 'funny' to him. Robby never focused his cruelty on anyone or thing, bigger than him, only smaller creatures.

Mum told me when I was young, that Robby was excited about having a new baby in our home. So to protect me from his acts of malice - mum repeatedly told Robby that I was 'his bubby' and he needed to look out and after me.

Robby took this information to heart and wouldn't allow anyone other than family, near me.

When Robby began school the following year, he had difficulty learning and focusing on schoolwork. He required extra time from the teacher as his comprehension was impaired.

Although he was a poor student and couldn't spell, his handwriting and drawing skills were exceptional. I believe he would've had an excellent career as a sign writer because of these talents – but it never happened.

As I neared school-age and ready to start my education, I became more independent. I wouldn't let Robby help me anymore - as I wanted to do things for myself; Robby saw my new found independence as a negative response from me, and began hurting me physically to overcome his rejection.

We went everywhere with our parents - except for night-time outings. Sometimes we travelled in a cab if we were running late, but mostly it was by public transport – as we didn't own a car. Cars were a luxury to own and only for people who were rich, _or so we were told!_

So we'd catch the bus which stopped across the road and went straight into town. But if we missed the bus, we'd walk up to Chardon's Corner which was around two and a half kilometres away - and catch the tram.

Trams were powered by a long flexible arm attached to electricity lines and ran on rails down the centre of the road. The tram's middle section had areas which were fully enclosed, but the front, centre and back, were open for easy boarding. The seats here only had the metal armrest to hold you in - and we lived on the edge.

We also lived on the edge of a steep hill five blocks up from the bottom. At the bottom of our hill was a creek which was a favourite swimming hole for the neighbourhood kids in summer.

The creek ended in rocky shallows at the Recreation Hall on the other side of the corner and just up the hill, next to the triangular land allocated to the A.N.Z.A.C. Cenotaph in the gully.

The water ran under the road at three different points, through large concrete water pipes you could stand up in and run through in the shallows - yelling at the top of your voice. It was great to hear your own voice echoing!

The mum of one of my friend's used to send her sons down to the creek to catch an eel for dinner. Another's dad had built a rope swing from a gum tree's branch at the creek's edge, for swinging out on and dropping into the water.

The creek was apparently quite deep in the middle and Jackie who was 14, had been warned by dad to stay on the edge only - as she couldn't swim out of her depth very well. Jackie was also petite in stature and only stood at 148cms - like mum.

But both Paddy who was now 17 and Robby 10 were good swimmers. Paddy, Jackie and Robby used to swim in the creek all the time in summer, along with their mates and other local kids.

I only got to join them at the creek once. I pestered my parents to let me go with my siblings, as I was older now - almost 6 and starting school next month. They finally consented but I was forbidden to enter the water. As I was the youngest, I could just sit on its banks and paddle my feet. Jackie would watch me.

After a while, Robby came over to me on the bank and started teasing me, because I couldn't swim in the creek like him to cool off. In retaliation I kicked water up into his face, and he hit back, by grabbing my leg and flinging me out into the middle of the creek.

I went under and came back to the top, struggling for air and to get my head above water. I swallowed heaps of creek water and went under again. I clambered to get my head above water again for oxygen. Gasping I went under for the third time – and felt myself drowning.

Jackie's screams for help brought Paddy over from the opposite bank with his mates, and they pulled me out to safety and up onto dry land. Jackie took me home wrapped in her towel and in shock.

Mum was horrified when she saw me white and sodden. When Jackie told mum what had happened, I was never allowed to go to the creek again. Robby got off with a reprimand – as he usually did.

So I found other things to do.

I played with my dolls and when I grew tired of that, I dressed up my cat Ginger and played with it. One day mum had sent me to the shop two doors up for milk, and I decided to take my baby and the pram with me, to carry it home.

When I came outside with the bottle of milk, a big dog had his head inside my pram. He was sniffing Ginger who was dressed up in there, complete with long dress and matching bonnet. _My cat was angry - but not stupid_. He just lay there flicking his tail in anger under the dress – ready to attack if the dog got too curious. Stupid dog - didn't know what was in there!

During the wet and rainy days, we weren't allowed to play outside. So we played board games like Chinese checkers, Draughts or Snakes & Ladders. If we visited another friend between showers, we could easily lose an afternoon playing their Monopoly game with them.

One early summer's evening, Robby asked me with a glint in his eye "Do you want to see a match burn twice Bubby?" I replied "A match can't burn twice Robby." Robby replied "Oh yeah – betcha it can? Come outside with me Bubby and I'll show you." So curious, I followed him outside.

Robby told me to stand against the house-wall and he would show me. In his hands he held a box of matches. When he struck the match the wind blew it out immediately, so he said "I'll have to come in closer to show you."

Robby put his back to the wind, then pinned me against the wall by his shoulder and elbow. Taking a match out of the box one by one, Robby would strike it into a flame, blow it out - and then burn me on the arm with its hot dead end.

I couldn't move to avoid the burns. Robby stood a head and shoulders over me and as he was 10 yrs old, he was also much stronger than me.

My sobbing of " _Please don't Robby_ ," brought mum outside to see what was happening. Outraged mum took the matches from Robby and sent him to bed without tea.

Mum then got some Vaseline Petroleum Jelly to soothe my burns. Then she warned me not to go out of her sight again when Robby was home. "Always stay where I can see you Bubby – okay?" mum said. So when Robby was home, I hung around mum's side.

I used to love to watch her in the kitchen doing things and I was fascinated how mum turned meat into mince.

This involved her clamping the metal meat-grinder onto the table's edge. Then she tightened the large screw which brought the jaws of the clamp together, affixing it so it wouldn't move.

Next she'd cut the stewing steak up into squares, and then drop the cubes into the mincer, while turning the handle with the other hand. The mince spewed out through the grinder into a bowl. Amazing - mum was multi-tasking!

Because our home was two doors down from a convenience store, mum bought our weekly groceries there. She would leave a grocery list with the shopkeeper and they were delivered to our kitchen table in a cardboard carton by the shopkeeper that afternoon. The bill was paid every Thursday on payday.

The shop also had a postal box, phone booth as well as a bus stop outside. The buses ran every hour out of the city during peak times and hourly off peak. Our outbound bus stop was number 54 and there was an inbound stop right across the road.

Sometimes mum would send me to the shop to buy a bob's ( _ten cents_ ) worth of broken biscuits, as they couldn't be sold. Biscuits didn't come pre-packaged as they do now. Back then you bought them loose from the local shops.

The shopkeeper would weigh out how much you wanted, and you had the choice of mixed plain, cracker or crème centred. I'd come home with a bag full of biscuits and our shopkeeper was happy too, because he had made an unexpected sale.

My first day of school was a vivid memory. I was almost 6, ( _as mum kept me down for another year_ ) and I remember her walking with me to the bus stop with my little brown port on my back and giving me the thruppence ( _less than 5 cents_ ) bus fare to school.

When the outbound bus stopped I boarded, then walked to the back of the bus and sat down - looking out the back window at mum as we drove down our hill.

A sense of fear coupled with excitement, swept over me.

I watched mum standing there under the shop's awning waving goodbye and weeping, drying her eyes on her apron as she did so. A few tears welled in my eyes too at seeing how upset she was. But soon the excitement of my first school day overcame my tears - when we arrived at school 10mins later.

After I began school myself, Robby's impaired intelligence became obvious to me. I was bright and learnt fast and I would mock him for not knowing how to spell or add up correctly. I never realized that I was not only hurting Robby, but goading him to hurt me more.

So whenever he got the opportunity, Robby would inflict whatever pain on me that he could – in revenge. Robby learnt how to be patient – how to be v e r y patient.

At school, we wrote on slates that had timber frames like a painting and a special slate pencil. We had two slates. One was for every day use and which we owned, and the other was the school's and for good use. It was permanently lined as well. Those slates we practised our printing and later test answers on and then handed them in to be marked.

We also had little sponges in a water trough to rub out with, if we made a mistake. Slates were very recyclable, because you could keep using them over and over again throughout the whole school year. But, if you dropped one, they could sometimes break if they landed the wrong way.

I used to love cutting out and gluing with the shiny coloured paper. The teacher would give us patterns and then show us how to make a flower on cardboard for Mothers Day or special occasions and celebrations. Anything that was creative – I loved.

I quickly made friends with a tall gawky girl who everyone seemed to shun - and we became best friends. Her name was Leona. Leona was given egg & lettuce sandwiches every day for lunch - and she hated them. I was given vegemite, peanut paste, honey or jam. My lunches varied daily but I hated mine too, and so each day we traded them.

This went on for over a month and then one lunch time, I couldn't find Leona anywhere. I knew she was at school, as I'd seen her before school began. I went looking and found her eating lunch. I asked why we weren't swapping, and she told me we couldn't swap lunches anymore. Her mother had found out about it through another child, and she would be in trouble if she did.

Every Wednesday a pie-man came to school and you could buy hot pies with mushy peas from him. When I told mum about it, she started giving me tenpence ( _9 cents_ ) to buy a pie. She'd count out the money I needed and then tie it off in the corner of my hanky, for safe keeping. I would then place the hanky in my pocket and keep feeling for it, every so often.

But after burning the roof of my mouth on a hot pie one day, I decided to go to the nearby shops for something else, like the bigger kids. Once I had begun school, mum gave me more freedom to go places alone ( _as long as I asked first_ ) and since I was at school, I didn't think she'd mind my going to the shops.

The group of shops had a Bakery. To my delight I discovered, that in the Bakery I could buy a whole crusty loaf of bread for the same price and had plenty to eat. WOW I thought to myself, this is great.

So I began doing that and always had half a loaf left over. This was to eat walking home from school, as it was downhill. But soon the word got out that I had bread and kids were coming from everywhere mooching, and I was left with almost none.

So I stopped sharing it. But my classmates had noses on them like bloodhounds. When the school bell rang and it was time to go home, I'd go to my port to find someone had stolen my leftover bread. After having this happen a few times, I stopped buying it.

When I arrived home from school, I'd change and go exploring – but not too far.

On the side of the creek there was a steep bank that went down to the rocky shallows with bulrushes for picking. These made excellent swords for fighting my mates with. The bank also had long thick grass for sliding down on flattened cardboard boxes. It was fun.

Back then we lived for the day and were left to play outside, using the creativity of our own imagination and the company of our neighbourhood friends for entertainment! So just like Tom Sawyer – we explored our neighbourhood, along with anything else that took our interest.

Sometimes, my mates and I would even bring a glass jar from home to catch Tadpoles in, and Brooksie would bring along his little fish-tank net. We'd carry the Tadpoles home in the jar full of creek water, then sit it on the windowsill in the kitchen and wait.

As soon as we saw the legs sprouting, we'd tell mum excitedly – eager to see them become a frog. Usually within a week of that discovery, I'd come home from school and check the jar – only to find creek water. When I told mum about it, she'd reply "Oh really? - They must have jumped out!"

Penny Turtles were another favourite we loved to catch in the rocky shallows near the hall. We'd bring them home also in jars, as they'd bite you, sometimes drawing blood and it hurt. We soon learnt to hold them between our thumb and first finger and away from their mouth!

Once home, we'd set up one of mum's concrete laundry tubs in the wash-house. The wash-house was an outside open slatted lean-to attached to the house. It had a gas copper for boiling up clothes and two concrete laundry tubs.

We'd build a regular turtle cove for them - complete with various sized rocks and grass complete with roots that we had pulled up from the banks where they lived. The turtles were fed scraps of raw meat daily and we'd watch them swim or walk around. After a time, they too seemed to disappear.

Soon it was close to Christmas and my first year of school was over – it was now school holidays! I only went to Weller's Hill State School for my first year with my neighbourhood friends.

*****

Chapter 2: I'm Catholic

The following year the local convent school opened up and mum transferred me. It was then that I learnt I was a Catholic. We never attended mass, so this came as a big surprise to me.

When my neighbourhood friends learnt that I was Catholic and attending a convent school, they decided to wait at the bottom of our hill for me in the afternoons. The first day I saw them, I ran up to them all excited, as they got out thirty minutes before me.

"Thanks for waiting for me." I said. They then started teasing me by singing a rhyme about 'Catholic's sitting on a log, eating the bellies out of a frog' and then throwing stones at me. I ran home in tears.

This taught me a valuable Christian lesson. People, even those you believed were your friends \- can suddenly become bigoted towards you.

Mum suggested that in future I cut through the neighbour behind us and into their yard.

I spent the next seven years at St. Elizabeth's and made a friend - who to this day, is still in touch. Her name was Bernadette. We became firm friends, and to our classmates - we were known as Bernie and Joey.

Bernie's parents both worked, but her mum was only part time. On afternoons when Bernie's mum was at work, Bernie had to go to her grandma's, who lived a street away from the convent. Bernie's Grandma was Irish and a strict old granny, and I was more than a bit frightened of her.

Bernie was also prone to sickness. I don't really know what it was, but it mostly seemed to attack her around Social Studies time. When Bernie's 'attack' came on, I would go up to Sister Eucharia and alert her. Being Bernie's best friend, I offered to walk her to her gran's place. This unselfish act also got me out of Social Studies, a subject I disliked immensely.

Like me, Bernie was also a year older than our classmates. Her sickness was the cause of this and the fact that she had to repeat first grade. Bernie also looked like a young English starlet by the name of Hayley Mills. I didn't know that at the time - or who she was, until Bernie brought into school an autographed photo of Hayley and showed me. Then I could see the likeness. Hayley Mills was 5yrs older than us.

Our convent school uniform consisted of a chocolate brown pinafore, white short sleeved school blouse, brown tie with yellow diagonal stripes ( _optional – except for special occasions_ & _winter_ ), brown felt hat - of which mine was too small and gave me headaches, white socks and brown leather school shoes. A brown cardigan or blazer was added in winter.

The sports uniform was really nice and modern – unlike our brown pinafores. It was a nice canary-yellow colour; with emerald green ric-rac braiding trims on the turned back extended shoulders, square cut neckline. The colour of today's sporting colours.

The dress had gored panels which made it fitting, showing off your figure. It was a little shorter than our pinafores too, and we wore this on sports day each week with our white socks and freshly painted white tennis shoes.

On sports day we had a teacher who came in and taught us physical education. Miss Payne was in her mid thirties and had a good figure. She would stand out on the grassy area down near the convent in her black leotard and tights, and teach us girls exercises for firmness and toning.

It was funny how on those days, the parish priests always found reasons to go down to the convent for something. After a month of this, Miss Payne was made to wear a black skirt over her leotard, by Mother Superior. The reverend fathers still went to the convent, but not as often after she added the skirt.

We had two reverend Fathers. They were Father Bergin - who had been there forever, and young Father Burgess - fresh from the seminary. Father Burgess was a bit of a rogue and had a devilish demeanour.

Every year we had Christmas excursions to Shorncliffe by bus. But one year Father Burgess and the younger Sisters came along too instead of Father Bergin and the older nuns. We students played rounders on the beach against them, and after the game, Father Burgess began picking up jellyfish, tossing them in the air and hitting them at the nuns with the baseball bat.

After removing their tights so they could paddle in the water, the nuns ran away screaming. Then when his ammunition supply ran out, the nuns chased after him, throwing sandy mud balls back at him and Father Burgess ran away laughing. We laughed with them and I saw the sisters and Father Burgess in a different light from that day – just like they were normal people in a uniform.

Apparently the beach frolics got back to Mother Superior and the nuns were told they had to keep their shoes on in future and remain dignified at all times. No more beach frolicking. The nuns loved Father Burgess, but some tragedy happened in his family shortly after and he was forced to leave the order.

The following week I remember hearing in 1958, a radio announcement and plea on behalf of Nudgee Orphanage. They requested families who had a spare bed, to go there and take a child home for the Christmas – New Year period.

Dad and mum discussed it and then made enquiries. The next thing we knew, we were off to Nudgee to bring home an orphan. Dad borrowed a friend's car and Robby and I waited in the car for our parents. After a short time they came back and we were introduced to a lad called Vince who was 10yrs old. He became our regular Christmas guest for three years in succession - until he was adopted out.

We didn't find out about Vincent, until we went to get him for the fourth time. My parents were asked to take an Aboriginal lad called Lyell. Lyell was scared of Robby, as he was 3yrs older and used to delight in frightening Lyell. After having Lyell come twice, we stopped getting kids, as the Orphanage closed down and Fostering began.

Instead we used to seek out mum's vagabond nephew Teddy, sometimes driving up to Bundaberg to find him. Teddy ( _Edward_ ) Porter was mum's half-sister Hannah's son. Dad was a great detective and used to track Teddy down.

Teddy was a bit of a drifter, never married or settled down and grabbed work here and there. He was also only 6mths younger than mum and used to refer to mum as "Little Aunt".

Thus Teddy would come and board with us, doing odd jobs around the house and earning a little pocket money for his rollie smokes – usually gardening and jobs dad didn't do. After three months, Teddy would get itchy feet - and hit the road again.

So Laurie became our new boarder. His mum was working in housekeeping at Parliament House in Brisbane. As it was a live-in position, Laurie couldn't stay with her, and as he was a work mate of Robby's, Robby asked mum if he could board with us.

To thank mum for taking in her 17yr old son, Mrs Nelson invited mum and I to dinner at her workplace. I was around 12 at the time. I remember the day clearly. I needed to get out of school early, so I could walk home, bathe and dress for our event.

Mum booked a taxi for us to travel there, so we wouldn't arrive all hot and sweaty from the bus stop - ten minutes away at the North Quay in the city. Parliament House was down the end of George Street, near the Botanical Gardens. A few blocks from where all the buses terminated.

Mum wrote a note to Sister Eucharia, asking that I be allowed to go home at 2.30pm. In it, mum proudly wrote the reason for my early mark. We'd been invited to Parliament House for dinner.

At 2.30pm, I took the note up to Sister Eucharia. She obviously didn't believe our invitation and thought that I was big noting myself. So to cut me down a few pegs, she read my entire note out aloud in a posh voice to the class.

The laughter of my classmates upset me deeply, but under sufferance Sister Eucharia permitted me to leave early, and not stay until the usual 3.30pm. I left immediately.

When I arrived home mum could see I was upset and asked me what was wrong. I told her what had happened with Sister Eucharia. Mum said she would go to school the next day and speak with her. But I asked mum not to, as it would make matters worse – as we were forbidden to relate school events at home.

So I bathed, changed and we left for our evening out.

Mrs Nelson had given mum instructions on where to go and what time. We arrived at 5.00pm sharp as asked . . . . . and mum rang the doorbell.

Mrs Nelson answered the door and greeted us, then led us up to the second floor and her rooms. It was rather large with a table and chairs, lounge, coffee table and TV. There was also a small fridge, electric jug and some cups and saucers.

We sat down on her lounge and she gave us tea and biscuits. Then she exchanged conversation with mum about Laurie and general chit-chat.

At 6.00pm, Mrs Nelson asked what we would like for tea and handed us a menu – "You may choose anything from it." She said smiling.

WOW I thought. So I picked my favourite which was a T-bone steak - well done, with chips and vegetables. Mrs Nelson and mum chose the chicken roast. Next Mrs Nelson phoned down to the kitchen and gave them our order.

Thirty minutes later we heard a ding, and Mrs Nelson went to a small door in the wall with a bell above it. I whispered to mum "What's that?" and she replied back in a whisper "It's a dumb-waiter Bubby; our meal will be in there." This was really cool.

Mrs Nelson slid along a door that was built into the wall and collected our meals. She brought them back to the table on a large tray and we all sat down to eat. After we ate our dinner, Mrs Nelson phoned down to the kitchen again and ordered ice-cream and topping for three.

I had wished Sister Eucharia had been there with us. She would be apologising for her behaviour towards me – that's for sure.

To say that I didn't like Sister Eucharia would be an understatement. Sister Eucharia only ever had time for the bright students and those whose parent's helped out either in the tuckshop, or cleaning the convent, presbytery, school and church. Everyone else she treated with ambivalence. My mum had her own agenda and she volunteered her time elsewhere.

Bernie was a little taller than me and started up a group who she called "The Anti-Basketballers Club. We had several members, all who were mostly short or hated sweaty sport just like us. We used to meet under the school in the sports equipment garage.

One day Sister Eucharia came in and said to Bernie "I've been looking for you. One of our team members is sick and I need you to play for her." Bernie tried to talk her way out of it but to no avail. Sister Eucharia had made up her mind.

Bernie looked at me helpless, as she was dragged out of the garage by her earlobe. The group folded after that day. Like the chief in westerns, once the leader was taken out - the Indians went home.

Bernie was made a permanent member of our basketball team and became quite a good player. She went to all the interschool sports and even won some ribbons for herself.

Once, sick and tired of Sister Eucharia's attitude towards me, I wagged school for over three weeks. _To this day I don't know how I got away with it_.

I would walk to school as usual and mum would wait for me to reach the Presbyterian Church half way along, then wave a tea-towel at me. This day I did the daily ritual, then ducked down and doubled back, coming into our front yard and climbing under our house.

Our dog Laddie who was a Bitzer ( _that meant 'bits of everything'_ ), had dug a massive hole out for himself underneath stacked timber lengths that dad had stored there, and on the high side of the house. He was only a little dog, probably Fox Terrier and other breeds. This side was about 1.2mtrs high. I crawled underneath and could hear our TV quite clearly.

Mum never turned TV on until the midday movie time, as she did all her chores in the morning. I mostly slept away the day and did little else. Sometimes Laddie would come down and keep me company, sleeping next to me.

Fortunately for me, our next door neighbour's garage was against our joint fence and it shielded me from their prying eyes. It also helped that we had a 4ft 6inch ( _135cms_ ) high fence and they were on the low side of us on the hill.

I knew what show was on when I came home from school, so not owning a watch didn't bother me. When that programme came on, I waited for three ad breaks and then came out from under the house. I dusted myself off, straightened my pinafore with my hands and went up the back steps.

Because of the stoning episode by my friends, Dad and Mr Kennedy had built a gate into our shared backyard fence. This enabled the Kennedys to have a shortcut to the shop and me a shortcut to school – not that it made any real difference for me time wise.

Mr Kennedy also caught the bus to work, as he worked in the city, and he left the car at home for Mrs Kennedy to run their two daughters to and from school. _Some kids had it lucky_.

So to keep my school ruse going, I needed to remember to use the back door for coming home.

On the start of my fourth week, when I heard the show come on in the afternoon, I came out from under the house and went inside. When I walked into the lounge room, I shocked mum. She then asked me "What are you doing home from school so early Bub?"

I looked at the clock on the wall and discovered it was only 2.45pm. The station had brought the show forward an hour. I replied "Um . . er . . ah . . .( _I felt my face blush and finally blurted out_ ) Sister Eucharia thought it was going to rain and let us out early."

Mum looked outside the window immediately without getting up from her chair, and not a cloud was to be seen in the sky - SPRUNG!

I confessed to mum what I'd been doing and why. I didn't really get much more than a talking to. What concerned mum most was that the school had not contacted her about my absenteeism. Mum thought this was very lax on the school's behalf and contacted them via a note that she gave me to deliver to Mother Superior – _this was my penance_.

When Sister Eucharia saw me on the Tuesday morning, she said rather sarcastically "Hello stranger – and where have you been?" I replied "Sick, Sister." She just looked at me in disgust and shook her head, then told me to go and sit down.

We were the only grade that had an under-grade with us in our room. Sister Eucharia would set us some work to do, then walk over to the class below us on the other side of the room, and begin teaching them.

There was no dividing wall between us, just 60 pupils in one room. This under grade was with us for five years. Obviously there weren't enough nuns to teach us, or rooms for teaching.

Each year Bernie and I would look forward to the new school year and having another nun teach us. Every year we would arrive back fresh from our seven week long Christmas holidays with smiles on our faces, only to discover Sister Eucharia awaiting our return in our classroom.

This happened for four years in succession from grade 3 to grade 6 with Sister Eucharia and it wasn't until our final 7th year, that Sister Kieran became our teacher.

We loved Sister Kieran - she was the best nun around. She treated all the pupils equally and seemed to have a special 'positive' interest in Bernie and I. Perhaps it was because we were the eldest pupils in the school, or from Sister Eucharia forewarning her. Regardless, she seemed to honestly care about us and take an active interest in our lives.

When we both left school our friendship continued, and I ended up being Bernie's Matron of Honour. Sometimes before our families began, we would go out on a foursome with our husbands into the city and we'd end up having a weekend at Bernie's. This was because Peter and I lived in Beenleigh and Bernie lived 55kms away at Kenmore.

We hardly ever wore shoes on our feet when playing as kids, and rarely wore hats in the sun - because getting sun was good for you. And because we didn't know anything about what an Ozone layer was - or how it could get holes in it. And sun cancer? – Well that was something no-one knew about!

I remember Aunty Marie ( _mum's primary school friend_ ), coming over for visits by taxi with her youngest son Mark. Auntie Marie also had older twin sons a year younger than Jackie. But Mark was a year younger than me and we were good mates.

Mark would arrive in Bermuda length dark grey dress shorts, white long sleeved shirt, black tie, black polished school shoes and long grey knee high socks. His hair was always parted to the left and styled with Californian Poppy hair-oil.

On arrival and after saying hello, Aunty Marie would then send Mark off into the bathroom to change into his play clothes; Mark would then re-appear dressed like me – barefooted, in shorts and top. We liked to play with our matchbox cars in the dirt under our house. We'd build dams and lakes there and roads going everywhere.

Later when it was time to leave, Mark was asked to go into the bathroom and wash up, then change back into his 'good' clothes for travelling home.

My shoe wardrobe consisted of a pair of my brown leather 'school' shoes, my white tennis shoes and a pair of rubber thongs - for roughing it. No fancy going out shoes as my foot grew too quickly - _apparently_.

If we went out anywhere 'good', I wore my brown leather school shoes polished to a spit shine and my white school socks with my dress.

With Paddy and Jackie in the workforce, there was only Robby and I who attended school now. While I was going to a convent school like Jackie and Paddy, Robby needed to go to the Opportunity School at Dutton Park – because of his learning difficulties.

Being the youngest, I was always the target of Robby's pranks. One time when we were at Hollywell holidaying, real estate developers were dredging sand from the bay, to build up the surrounding land for sale as residential blocks.

The first day there, Robby went off and an hour later came back to our cottage, covered in Moreton Bay mud up to his knees and all down his front. Mum scolded Robby then told him to go and wash it off before coming inside, as he stank. "You can leave the dirty clothes outside and I'll get you some dry ones."

The next day Robby asked me to come with him for a walk; he wanted to show me something. I was dubious about going with him and out of mum's sight, as it usually meant trouble - but since he asked me so nicely, I decided to go.

Robby took me to where the developers were pumping out the dredged sand for storage and filling in the drainage problem areas. "Look at this Bubby – what do you think about that?" I just looked at the expanse of wet sand and said "Yeah."

He then said to me, "See that puddle over there? I'll give you a race to it Bubby." I replied "No, you'll beat me - you always do!" But Robby replied with a smile on his face "I'll give you a head start."

So like a fool I took off, looking back to see if Robby was catching up. Oddly enough he seemed to be staying a safe distance behind and not gaining on me. _That was odd_ – I thought to myself. I reached the puddle first, only to find myself in quicksand and I was being sucked in.

Robby stood back at a safe distance laughing at first - thinking it was all a big joke. Then when he noticed I was going deeper, almost thigh deep and still sinking, he became just as frightened as me.

The more I tried to free myself, the deeper I was going. I was panicking as I visualized myself drowning in a sea of sand. I called out to Robby to please help me. Robby looked around behind him and grabbed a long thin branch from a dead Sheoak tree on the sandfield's edge and brought it over to me.

He laid it on the sand and pushed it up to me, telling me "Grab hold of it Bubby, I'll drag you out." I grabbed it in fear of my life. I struggled at first and seemed to be going deeper, then I prayed to GOD and managed with Robby's aid, to get myself free – just as I was getting up to my armpits.

I went crying back to mum. I had been traumatized. When mum saw the sight of me, she asked me what happened. I told her and then Robby added, "I saved her." But forgot to tell mum, it was his fault it happened.

Again Robby escaped a hiding. All he got was a talking to and I was punished for trespassing, and for getting my clean clothes all muddy.

"You could've died Bubby." Mum told me irritably, then she began crying as she helped clean me up, _as if I wasn't frightened enough by the whole experience – mum was now confirming my possible fate and now I was crying too!_

Robby just stood there, smirking at me, behind mum.

I learnt to be wary of Robby when he was being nice, as he always seemed to be trying to get rid of me and his 'niceness' was just a way of tricking me into going off with him.

Occasionally on hot summer evenings when dad was at work, and if mum had some spare money - Jackie, Robby and I would go with mum 'window shopping' after tea.

This outing involved a twenty minute walk up to Chardon's Corner in the balmy summer night and catching the tram to Woolloongabba, as our local bus didn't travel to there.

When we arrived at Woolloongabba, mum would buy us an ice-cream cone, and then we'd walk the footpaths looking in all the store's illuminated display windows. There were furniture, electrical appliances, clothing stores and the like.

On one such outing when I was still seven, Jackie asked me to pick four dresses I liked from a clothing store window display. I asked "Why - we don't have any money?" Jackie told me understandingly "Just pretend Bubby, and pick your favourite four."

I looked in the window at all the dresses on display. WOW – this was going to be hard. When I'd made my selection, Jackie asked me to point them out to mum and her.

I chose a plain pale pink dress with a small wide neck white collar, short sleeves and a white trim on the pocket. Next was a white dress that had horizontal navy pin-striped bodice and vertical navy pin-stripes in the skirt. The vertical stripes resembled pleats from a distance. It had a square neck, was sleeveless and had a red bow at the neck and pocket with a red plastic belt **.** The third dress was a small aqua and pink floral with short sleeves, a fabric-lined belt with eyelets and an aqua pin-tucked fabric inserted into the bodice. My last choice was a grey self floral fabric with short sleeves, a soft pink bow at the round neck and off to one side and a pink bow on the pocket.

On these outings we would often dream about the things we saw in the windows, and how when we were rich, we would buy them one day. But that's all they ever were – DREAMS.

When my birthday arrived 6 weeks later, I opened my gift from mum and Jackie which was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

I was completely surprised.

There were the four dresses I had picked! I was ecstatic. I had never owned a bought dress before. I usually had hand-me-downs, which were always too big and mum would put away for when I was bigger, and then forget about them. When she found them again, they were too small.

On occasion, a garment made by Jackie under sufferance.

I write 'under sufferance' as mum wouldn't allow Jackie to sew herself a new dress, without making 'something' for mum or me first. For mum it would always be a new dress, but for me it was usually shorts or matadors ( _Capri length pants_ ).

Seemed a bit harsh, but mum and Jackie had gone halves in the purchase price of the electric sewing machine and mum paid the power bill. Mum and Jackie always liked to buy curtain material - as it lasted longer and just to be 'different'.

Mum was also a stickler for eating everything on your plate, and used to constantly relate to us what it was like in the Depression, with little to eat and food coupons.

Being Irish descent meant we ate a lot of braises, gravies and stews. I hated braised fat beef sausages because they always had bits of ground bone in them. I also hated pumpkin and potato mashed together with a serving of peas.

This used to be a weekly meal. Everyone else would finish their meal – except me. Mum would tell me I was going to sit there until I ate my tea, and then she'd go into the lounge room and knit or crochet. As much as I was hungry, I couldn't bring myself to eat that meal. So I just sat and waited.

Ninety minutes later mum would return from the lounge to find me still hovering over my uneaten tea. Frustrated mum would take my plate off me, cover it with a saucepan lid and refrigerate it. Then she'd give me my pudding from the fridge stating firmly as she did so, "Go on eat it - you can't go to bed hungry!"

( _Mum taught me patience from an early age, and how 'good things ALWAYS came to those who wait'_ ).

The next morning mum would slice through the sausages ( _or rissoles_ ) and mix them up with my veges and the leftover mashed potato and peas to fry them up. I loved mum's Bubble and Squeak. Mum used to butter two slices of bread, place half the sausage and vegetables on my bread with salt, pepper and tomato sauce and do the same for herself. YUM!

Mum and dad were avid tennis players and had organized a group of players called TTTC, which was the acronym for Tarragindi Terrors Tennis Club.

I remember mum and some other women embroidering the initials TTTC in navy blue, above two crossed tennis rackets with gold strings, onto the left shoulder of their long white tennis dresses and on the men's white shirts. They were having a tournament and wanted to appear organized.

The 'Terrors' played in several courts over south Brisbane, and often just down the road and up the hill at Sticklebrook's. Sticklebrook's owned over twenty acres of land in the midst of our suburbia, with a mansion of a house and had their own private full sized tennis court - which they let out to players.

We kids – Jackie, Robby, sisters Carol and Barbie and I, would hang out and watch while our parents played. Sometimes Lana - the Sticklebrook's grand-daughter would join us and play too. ( _Carol, Barbie, me, Lana, Jackie and Robby_ )

There was also an open slatted lean-to beside the court with water and electricity. Inside was a bench for making a pot of tea on with the boiling water from a chrome urn, and cups and saucers for tea making. Loose tea leaves and sugar were provided also. You just needed to bring along your own milk and biscuits.

Every A.N.Z.A.C. Day we would be awakened at 7.00a.m. by the marching band which led the parade. It went down our hill and over to the memorial on the corner.

The parade included local Military personnel – both serving and retired, Boy Scouts & Cubs, Girl Guides & Brownies, Marching Groups, various Sporting Groups, many local organizations and clubs - and finally the local Fire Department.

They were resplendent in their shiny Brass pith-like helmets, navy brass buttoned woollen coats and brass hose fittings, sitting and standing on their open Fire Truck ( _or appliance_ ) with their lights flashing and odd siren whoop.

Our family would all go to our front steps and sit on them to watch the parade as it passed by our door, as it was a Public Holiday. Brass and regular bands playing out band music to attract our attention.

We had a bird's eye view of all the proceedings and heard it all from our doorstep through the loud hailer. Dad watched every year, before getting ready to go into town for the big A.N.Z.A.C. march.

Flooding from wet weather sometimes interfered with the ceremony and made our memorial's grassy area very mushy. After complaints to council from the locals, they built a new Cenotaph up at Ekibin on higher ground.

Alas we no longer were awoken to the march-past and bands heralding their parade. How I missed those parades.

The corner of our backyard's boundary fenceline had a bushy area, which comprised of over one hundred acres of bushland with a watercourse running through it, that feed the creek at the bottom of our hill.

To traverse this bush we would first cover ourselves with Citronella oil and don our rubber thongs, then walk with mum to the 'shops in the back street' ( _as mum referred to them_ ). This was always a school holidays expedition.

When we were walking, you could also veer off to the left for the local kindergarten too, which held annual fetes and was another favourite pursuit. There were always lots of good things to buy and I especially loved The White Elephant Stall. This was olden talk for a second hand stall. There were bargains galore and I would always find one to buy, asking mum for the money for it - please.

It was a cool walk under the canopy of the lofty gum trees in the morning, and the path was the width of your feet - and so we walked single file. The stroll would take us about twenty-five minutes and on arriving at the shops in the back street, she would always buy Robin and I, a lemonade ice block - to quench our thirst and cool us down.

The small shopping centre consisted of a Drapery, Fruiterer, Butcher, Newsagency, Hairdresser and Convenience store, which was three times larger than the one next door. This walk was a real treat for us - but tiring, and by the time we arrived back home and ate lunch – we were all ready for an afternoon nap.

Occasionally on holidays, we'd walk to Moorooka which would take us well over an hour. Moorooka walks were usually undertaken in winter – or when it was overcast or lightly raining, as we didn't have a lot of bush to shelter us from the sun.

We'd first walk down the bottom of our hill, past the few homes there, then into the bushland that went for about 700mtrs. Eventually we emerged into the back of suburban Moorooka. At Moorooka there were shops galore – up and down the street and across the road.

They had two Shoe stores, 4 Milkbars, a Pet store, a Music store, Butcher, Shoemaker/cobbler, 2 Bakeries, 2 Fruit shops, 2 Hairdressers, 2 Barbers, Travel agent, Newsagent, Chemist, Doctor's surgery, Dentist, large Grocery store, 2 Clothing stores, a Milliners, Sports store, Haberdashery and Dry-cleaner - A veritable 'smorgasbord' of shops.

We did a lot of walking when I was young. A summertime favourite after tea, was to go for a walk in the cool night air. We'd stroll with mum up to the top of our hill, and look at the lights of the city, twinkling away like fairyland in the distance. The view of the city was very pretty and breathtaking!

The fragrance of Phlox, Stocks, Roses and Sweet Peas filled the air. They also happened to be growing in a particular 'posh' brick corner house's garden, which was against the brick fence on their corner allotment.

Any flowers hanging over the fenceline mum said we could pick. We'd take them back home with us, to freshen up our living rooms with their fragrance. Though I must admit that any we could reach, were taken.

Another past-time of an evening, was listening to our radio. Our Radiogram was very big and we loved hear our favourite shows. It was a large entertainment box which stood around 3.5 foot long and 3 foot high **(** _1150x900cms_ **)** with a shiny teak wood grain finish and had beige brocade fabric inserted into it, over the two big speakers in the front.

It also housed a record player in the middle at the top for playing three different sized records which had rpm's ( _revolutions per minute_ ) of 78, 45 and 33.3. Either side of the player there were spaces to store your records.

Elvis Presley had established himself as the King of Rock and Roll and was a big hit with both teenage girls, boys and the over twenties - my family included.

Radio left us free to picture what everyone looked like - if we didn't know already. It was just like a book, but you didn't need to be able to read - only listen. Robby and I would sit with our backs up against the radiogram near the speakers. After the 6 o'clock news and weather, our favourite shows like **Greenbottle** would come on **.**

"Good morning Sir" the boys would say upon the teacher's entrance into the classroom - "Gooood morning Boys," the headmaster would reply in the opening of the show. Greenbottle was the classroom larrikin and had us in fits of laughter.

Greenbottle I imagined was a red haired freckle-faced boy with little respect for authority. He had his shirt-tail hanging out of his shorts and tie loosened off his neck – and loved to make his classmates laugh at his antics. The headmaster would be driven to distraction with every show.

Then the next programme was **Superman** – "Up, up and away" as he soared above the rooftops – faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive ( _train_ ) able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

I imagined Superman looked like my dad, remembering him on the roof – fixing it and doing all the handyman jobs about the home. Nothing seemed impossible or too difficult for him to do. He was always repairing or wiring something.

When dad was working late and if we were really quiet and behaved ourselves, mum would sometimes allow Robby and I stay up and listen to **The Creaking Door** – a murder mystery.

It came complete with eerie noises which sent chills up your spine and left you with goosebumps after every show. Sometimes I was too frightened to walk out of the light into the dark hallway and then into my bedroom, which was right next door.

A favourite Brisbane kid's live radio programme was **Danny Dux.** His promoters gave tickets away to his live broadcasts; you just needed to stay tuned to his show.

His live broadcasts were held every Wednesday afternoon and were recorded at the Woolloongabba broadcasting studios. It could take you weeks or even months to get in to a broadcast if you didn't win them, but when you did – you were thrilled.

I went to a couple of Danny's broadcasts with my mates across the road – Kitty, Flossie, Joe and their mum – Mrs Mac. There was a real buzz of anticipation in lining up on the footpath outside to enter the studio, then when you finally went inside - just waiting for everything to begin.

Danny was a friendly spaceman, who would touchdown his rocket ship right in the studio carpark behind the building. _We knew that for a fact - because we heard it coming in for a landing._ And because the show's announcer had just warned us to all cover our ears against the noise.

The sound of the ship's retro rockets firing as Danny landed was deafening. Even parents were cupping their ears and us kids were scared stiff. Some younger kids were even crying!

No doubt the studio's sound technician took great delight in terrifying the willies out of us noisy little beggars. The rocket's landing made a deafening sound as it was amplified through the multiple speakers in the studio.

Then amidst the all the cheers, Danny would appear live on stage. He was clad in his puffed up spacesuit, reminiscent of the 'Michelin man' and a full reflective face helmet. Danny would say "Hello boys and girls" and all we kids would scream back "HELLO DANNY!" – _Just in case he couldn't hear us through his helmet._

Danny also had school exercise books named after him with his picture on the front. Kids were selected randomly from the audience during the show, to win student gift packs of school stationary - for their participation in the contests on stage.

When we weren't listening to the radio, we'd sometimes listen to records. Most of my parent's records were made of Bakelite – a hard plastic-like predecessor which if dropped, would break like china. They were called 78's.

Apparently my favourite song as a baby was 'Down by the Riverside'. Whenever it was played, I used to bob up and down in my cot, holding onto its rails.

During the fifties came records which were made of a flexible vinyl and were 45rpm and 33.3rpm. Mum and dad had built up quite a collection, and over the years replaced a few of their broken 78's with the newer 33.3 albums.

Although the new vinyl records wouldn't break, they could warp easily if not stored flat. You would need to place them out in the sun between two sheets of glass to get the wave out.

I loved listening to Bing Crosby, Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Vera Lynn and Irish Ballads to name but a few. I also loved the Scotsman Harry Lauder – especially his song 'Stop Your Tickling Jock'. He would burst out laughing through it and it was very infectious.

My big brother Paddy and Jackie as 'workers' had added to the household collection with their 45rpm singles and 33.3rpm long plays too. So there was always a variety of music to listen to with Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Buddy Holly and Johnny Ray.

Mum was an accomplished pianist herself and we listened and sometimes sung, while she played. Music seemed to be a very big part of my life growing up. Whenever we had visitors or parties – mum always ended up playing the piano and friends gathered around her singing.

We'd have the old songs for sing-a-longs and then Johnny Mathis, Connie Frances and Pat Boone for those who wanted to try something newer. And thus almost my first eight years were full of music and merriment.

My parents were very sociable people and were often asked out to parties and gatherings. And being the youngest I was left in the care of Jackie. At times I felt like I had two mothers with Jackie always telling me what to do, _or telling on me for not doing it._

The following morning after one of my parents 'nights out' and when I came out to the breakfast table, mum would always present me with a box of Smarties. _Yeah – this made it worth staying at home and being bossed around._

Back then fresh unsliced loaves of bread and milk deliveries came to your front door. On the days when mum was out, I'd chomp into a half loaf of fresh bread. Mum used to buy 6 bottle of soft drink every fortnight too, just for a treat.

In the order were ginger beer and ginger ale, thus ensuring both her and dad would have some to drink. I didn't mind the ginger-ale but hated the ginger beer. The other flavours were creaming soda, lime, lemonade, lemon squash and cola. We had the same standing order every fortnight with Cork Brothers – half a dozen mixed softdrinks.

Mum was an associate member of the Totally & Permanently Disabled Soldiers, whose rooms were down in Melbourne Street, South Brisbane. She also wrote a page for them every quarter in their Journal, which kept the incapacitated members up to date with a diary of what had been happening.

Every Tuesday mum also volunteered to help with their weekly luncheons, and for monthly events on a Wednesday, such as Hoi Parties and various fund raisers. On the special days, mum never came home until after me, usually around 5.00pm. I hated being home alone and coming into an empty house.

On special occasions during the year they held concerts. Australia Day, Valentine's Day, ANZAC Day, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Armistice Day and Christmas. But the Christmas one was held earlier and always on the Sunday before, because most people wanted to spend Christmas with their families.

Mum entertained the members by whistling popular lively tunes over the microphone. She could belt out a tune like any man and was always well received by the audience. She also would sometimes accompany the singers on piano for the concerts, when another pianist wasn't available.

That is of course, when mum wasn't entertaining them herself on the keys. Mum and her girlfriend Dezi, used to duet on the piano keyboard for concerts. They called themselves 'Daffy and Dilly - the Dizzy Duettists' and belted out an assortment of lively tunes in unison, and throwing in some tricky moves to delight the audience. Mum also sang.

Mum and dad used to organize road concerts from there also. Their Concert Parties took them to the various nursing homes and private hospitals, for the 'special' patients during the year. Mum was also responsible for getting the group together for rehearsals etc.

The concert parties used to be great fun and sometimes if mum was short on singers, she would tell me she wanted me to sing. _That wasn't all that much fun – it was scary!_

Raffles to raise funds were also arranged by mum and she would take care of getting a raffle prize, often baking her famous fruit cake for first prize. They were well known and liked around the rooms and our neighbourhood, and the tickets sold easily.

Dad was very good at tying everything together, including driving the bus and drove if required. Finally he'd arrange a light supper for the performers afterwards. He was always the MC and would walk out on stage with the poise of David Niven, announcing each act over the microphone and dressed in his dark suit with a crisp white shirt and tie. He cut a handsome figure with his prematurely grey hair and neatly trimmed moustache.

*****

Chapter 3: Radio with moving pictures

Television was heralded as the latest craze to have in your home. TV's became available for purchase in July 1959 in Queensland - although the first live broadcast wasn't until October.

We were the first in our neighbourhood to buy a TV set when they went on sale.

Every appliance store had one deal or another. Mum and dad discussed the deals and which suited our household budget best. They settled on a Pye television console. It was compact and sat in our open hallway for ventilation.

It was oval shaped and had a moulded metal exterior, which was covered with a speckled black pattern on light grey vinyl exterior coating.

The set stood on an open grate like stand, which was painted in a gloss black with fine gold-coloured wire inserts in between the horizontal support pipes. The legs were black pipe with gold swivel feet.

It was quite trendy for its time and dad bought an external aerial with cable and drilled through the floor, threading the cable down under the house to Robby who was squatting there in the dirt.

Robby then took the end out to dad who was now waiting outside with a ladder, and handed it to him. Dad then pulled the extra cable out from under the house, and tacked it onto the house's chamfer-wood wall. Then dad climbed onto the roof and attached the cable to the antenna.

Finally dad would sing out to us in the lounge room "How's the picture now?" every few seconds - until the test pattern was perfect and free of ghosting, and only then would he come down off the roof.

The Pye TV had come with an instalment plan which included a meter-box that was connected into the power of the TV. This was the hire-purchase agreement that my parents selected. It cost 'two bob' or two shillings ( _20cents_ ) per hour to watch until you paid the balance of your deposit. After that it converted to two bob for two hours - until it was paid off in total.

Just to have TV sitting there doing nothing but gathering dust, gave you a sense of prestige, and made you the envy of your friends! Until its official opening, you and your mates could watch the set for a few minutes and stare at the test pattern for QTQ 9 - until you were mesmerized. It was so exciting!

At 6.00pm on Sunday the 8th of October, seated with several of our neighbourhood families gathered around us in our lounge room, we watched enthralled at the first 'live' broadcast in spectacular black and white. This modern marvel appeared on the only available screen size at the time, a whopping *twenty-one inches - WOW!

* Pre-decimal and Imperial measurement: - Twenty-one inches = 53cms

We all eagerly watched the seventy minute long official dedication speech and wondered over Queensland's first ever live TV programme, which was televised at 7.10pm - ten minutes late.

The premiere show was 'Fury' - a twenty minute story about a farm boy and his black horse ( _well it looked black on TV_ ). Shortly afterwards they inserted television advertisements in between shows, to fit evenly into half-hourly and hourly time slots.

Great we thought – we loved them! TV ads gave us the chance to run outside to the dunny - or grab something from the kitchen - without missing any of the show! Television began at 10.00am and went off air at 10.00pm. But in between you had twelve hours of pure entertainment.

Mum always had a collection of two bobs stacked on top of the meter-box and the box would hold up to ten coins at a time. Sometimes we'd be in the middle of watching a programme and then suddenly at the most inopportune moment - the set would go CLICK! Because someone had forgot to feed the meter.

Arrrgggh. Robby or I would have to race over to the set and drop the coins into the meter, then hurry back to the lounge and wait for our show to come back on again. _How we lived on the edge_!

After we owned the set, mum bought the meter-box and key off the company, and it became her way of saving money for holidays. We used to get frustrated though, if it turned off and no-one had any coins to feed it. After listening to us whinging for a year, mum reluctantly asked dad to remove the meter.

QTQ ran a Kid's show called the Channel Niners with 'Uncle' Jim Iliffe. Uncle Jim wore a pilot's uniform, shirt and tie, complete with flight epaulettes, badge and flying cap. He'd arrive each weekday after noon by helicopter in the channel's carpark and then walk into the studio to start the show. _We knew this because we saw him land on the studio monitors!_

Uncle Jim had a big handlebar moustache and was very popular with the kids.

The Channel Niners also had a resident clown on the show with Uncle Jim. His named was Hepplezinger - AKA Lester Foxcroft, who brought levity to the show acting as the stooge to Uncle Jim. We kids loved him!

Mum joined Robby and me up straight away to become Channel Niners, and at one time – I was even a star on it. I reigned as the show's Word Champion for three weeks and won over twenty three pounds ( _$46.00_ ) for my efforts.

It was a princely sum in those days and equivalent to the average working man's fortnightly salary. But I never saw any of it - as it was 'put away' for safe keeping.

BTQ 7 began transmission about a month later and now we had two test patterns to watch! Channel seven also started a live kid's show called The Cottee's Happy Hour – hosted by a comic called Beanpole, who wore a cap with a propeller on top.

'Beanpole' who was AKA Theatre Royal's Dick McCann – was also a well known song and dance man. His co-host Jill Edwards was a beautiful lady and later became his wife.

Mum joined Robby and I up as members of their club too, and along with Robby and my neighbourhood friends, Dad would take us up to both the channels on different days in their special bus on the weekend, to partake in a week's long recording.

This usually took around 4-5hrs with a break mid-way in recording. Channel 9 had a great canteen and visitors were allowed to avail themselves of its services. Sometimes we'd dine in there for lunch and other times have a picnic outside on their manicured lawns.

Various new promotional items were placed on every seat at both studios. You could find a loaf of Tip Top's sliced bread in plastic wraps - Arnott's Family size Potato Chips – large jars of Eta Peanut Paste – Cottee's Cordials and similar foodstuffs, awaiting your collection as you sat down.

At the channels you could see yourself on TV and wave when the camera swung around to show the live audience! You could also eat the free food samples – if you got hungry, which was almost always. Although eating peanut paste with your fingers was a bit hard to swallow by itself.

This was far better than attending a Danny Dux live radio show at Woolloongabba and just getting a Dux Exercise books and pencils – ANY DAY!

I remember visits from mum's Aunty Margaret O'Connor – Isabella's younger sister and only sibling. She used to visit us when I was still in primary school. Aunty 'O'Connor' ( _as I knew her_ ) never came into our home – as she, like most of mum's siblings, didn't approve of dad!

So instead of coming inside in case dad was there, Aunty O'Connor would have her grand-daughter Margaret, toot the car horn and mum would go out to the footpath and visit with her, sometimes taking me with her.

Aunty O'Connor was the rich dowager that you see in movies. The family Matriarch forever giving orders . . . and having them obeyed! She was also a bit frightening and the closest thing I had to a grandparent.

She never learnt to drive and rather than sell her beloved husband Michael's black Rolls Royce when he died, she decided to employ grand-daughter Margaret as her chauffeur.

And just like in the movie Driving Miss Daisy - Aunty O'Connor always sat in the back! When she was ready to go, she would bang her walking stick twice on the car's floor and tell Margaret it was time to leave.

Cousin Margaret was an attractive spinster who worked as an usherette in Brisbane's ( _very posh_ ) Regent Theatre. Margaret wore a suit of maroon fabric with gold buttons on a double breasted jacket with gold braid trim and a matching maroon skirt and looked very regal.

Margaret was the eldest child of Johanna - Aunty O'Connor's eldest daughter and in her 30's. She had a much younger brother named Michael, who was around 20yrs old. They both lived at home with their widowed mum, in a highset Queenslander with the customary concrete laundry tubs and dirt floor underneath.

Aunty O'Connor had taken ill previously, lingering for some months in hospital. She realized she wasn't getting any better and was dying and had asked to go home, but her family and doctors forestalled it.

One rainy night whilst she was still in hospital, Michael was under the house working on his car. He was using an electric drill and unknowingly stepped back into a puddle of rainwater and was electrocuted.

None of her family wanted to tell Aunty O'Connor of Michael's tragic death. They felt it would make her deteriorate or even kill her - as he was her favourite. I went to mass and prayed for Aunty's recovery with all my might – but she died in spite of it. I was ten years old and remember both incidents very well.

Aunty O'Connor was granted her wish just as she had requested and died at home in her own bed a week later. But before she went she called her daughters to her bedside and told them she knew about Michael's passing, as she had seen him.

When she passed, mum went to her funeral and wake. According to Mum, all four daughters poured her bottles of perfume over Aunty's body in the bed. Mum asked her cousins if she could please have an empty bottle of Tabu for me and brought it home.

Mum gave me the bottle and told me the perfume story. I used to sniff the bottle before going to sleep of a night and remember Aunty in my prayers.

When I began work at 15, my best friend Alison bought me a bottle of Tabu for Christmas. I was rapt! I had forgotten about my empty bottle, but not about the fragrance. Every time I wore it, it took me back to my childhood and memories of Aunty O'Connor. _Today when I wear it, I think of both Aunty and Ali._

Every year on Christmas Eve, mum would send Robby out and into the bush behind our home. As I grew older, I was allowed to go too and Robby was warned, to behave himself or else.

We covered ourselves with good old citronella oil first and then Robby armed with a tomahawk, left on our mission to select the fairest sapling of all for our family's Christmas tree.

It needed to be at least 2mtrs high and leafy. Robby and I would take turns at cutting our tree down and we'd drag it home behind us. Tossing it over the corner and into our back yard, then we'd climb the fence and drag it across the lawn to the back steps.

When dad came home from work, he'd go into the manhole in the ceiling at the end of our hall and bring down the box of decorations, taking them into the dining room.

Once dad measured off the tree, he'd saw it off and bring it inside. It was stood in a bucket of wet sand or water ( _but our dog kept drinking the water_ ) and he'd ask one of us to hold it erect and back against the corner of the dining room wall.

Then dad would weave a web of fishing line across it in a horizontal zigzag fashion, using drawing pin anchors on our pine-lined walls. This held the tree in place and kept it standing upright. Only when dad was convinced it wouldn't move – he would prune it into shape.

Next dad would check the string of 24 Bakelite bell-shaped lights for broken bulbs. These lightbulbs were the size of a small torch bulb. He'd lay the string of lights out on the linoleum floor with the power turned on.

Then he'd set about taking out and replacing each lightbulb, sometimes cussing under his breath when he couldn't find the blown one. Once any broken ones were replaced and the lights came on, dad would hang the lights on the tree.

The lights were a rainbow of six different alternating pastel colours, and each with a different nursery rhyme character and verse on it. After that he'd take the 'tinfoil' out of the box.

Dad was a truck driver for Peter's Milk factory at West End. For a month before Christmas, he had brought home metres of discarded plain gold, and red & silver and blue & silver striped tinfoil off-cuts, from the milk and cream bottle lids in his work bag.

His work bag was made out of brown leather with clips at each end and a handle in the middle. It was tattered from the years of not being polished and because our cats used to sharpen their claws on it – giving it a fuzzy, shredded look.

I remember dad seated at the kitchen table, painstakingly folding over in half each cut-out length of around 3mtrs with a knife. The edges were very sharp, but with the fold in them, you could at least handle it without being cut.

This gave the tinfoil an inverted scallop effect. Then dad applied the tinfoil in a zigzag pattern also over the branches, and our tree looked beautiful! Everyone else just had crepe paper on their trees – but we had coloured tinfoil!

Next Robby and I would carefully unwrap from newspaper, the highly coloured glass baubles, which dad had threaded fishing line through for easier hanging on the tree. We could put those on the tree, because they weren't sharp, but we did need to be careful. Finally the star went on the top of the tree, and that was dad's job.

Every year at Christmas mum would make her mum's steamed plum pudding and mix in thruppenny and sixpenny bits ( _silver coins now obsolete_ ). Over the years there were arguments between Robby and I, over who got the most coins in their pudding.

So mum decided to poke them in the pudding after it was cut, and then cover them with custard. Thus ensuring peace for one day, as we both had the same amount.

Oh how I loved our Christmases!

We had mum's delicious roast meal with all the trimmings. Potatoes, pumpkin and onion baked in the drippings of the grilled meats during the week. There were also carrots, peas, carved cold leg ham, roast stuffed turkey and cranberry sauce. All topped off with baking-pan juice gravy.

Dessert was either Trifle and Flummery, or Plum Pudding and custard. There was always a choice or you could have it all. Our kitchen used to be a veritable oven in itself from the heat of the gas range being on, but we didn't care – this was our Christmas and we celebrated as we sweated.

With our meal on the table we sat down and pulled our bon-bons, donned our crowns, then tried to trick each other with the riddles, by taking turns in reading our jokes aloud.

We were the only home in our neighbourhood to have two Christmas cakes too. Dad and mum would fight for first use of the kitchen on Christmas Eve, each baking their own mother's family Christmas fruit cake.

Mum's was an Irish recipe with a cup of whiskey. Dad's mum was German and dad used a cup of rum _and a glass for him_. Each year we were asked to judge which cake was the better. One year mum burnt hers and the next dad forgot his half-dozen eggs! They tasted the same to us – just like every year - just like fruit cake.

Then there was our New Year's party. That's when all the family got together again. Mum always gave us all a present at midnight, saying that it was the first gift of the New Year.

On New Year's Day, our Christmas tree was then taken down and all the ornaments were carefully wrapped up and packed away, then put back into the ceiling for safekeeping until next Christmas.

Robby was still tormenting me. Whenever we went to the beach and I went swimming, Robby would swim under the water so I couldn't see him, and then grab my leg and pull me under the water trying to drown me. I'd struggle to find my feet and get out of the water as fast as I could. After this happened a few times – mum decided, enough was enough.

Sick and tired of all Robby's sadism towards me, mum - out of sheer frustration, tied him up to the rotary hoist in our back yard. It was around three in the afternoon.

Robby went along with it at first, thinking it was all just a big joke and mum was playing with him. He stood over mum's 4' 10" ( _148cms_ ) height and he was nearing 5' 4" ( _163cms_ ), even though he was only thirteen.

But when the summer sky became darkened by impending storm clouds with distant lightening strikes, Robby started screaming out to mum like a girl. Mum ignored his cries at first. As much as it had hurt her to do this to him – he needed to be brought to account.

After ten minutes of apologizing and vowing through his tears of fright, never to be cheeky or try to hurt me again - mum relented.

Satisfied she'd taught him a valuable lesson, mum went outside to the rotary hoist and untied Robby. They both came back inside just before the full brunt of the storm hit. Robby had been in fear of his life - and it served him right!

Back then kids were taught to respect our parents and we knew they weren't our enemies – but our guardians! They taught us manners, respect for our elders, ourselves and good old common sense. They also taught us to give up our seat for adults standing.

Our parents loved us and looked out for us, but if you were caught out in a lie – heaven help you! They wouldn't stand for it, _and neither could you - after being whacked with the strap._

We were raised with 'tough love'. Tough love taught you valuable lessons that you would carry with you throughout your adult years. It also taught you that there were no free rides through life and to paddle your own canoe. You learnt to rely upon yourself to get to places. Literally and figuratively!

When we went to our friends we walked or rode pushbikes _those who were lucky enough to own one – that is_ , but I always walked! "Make sure to be home when the streetlights come on." Mum told us, or when we were told to – no excuses! We always listened to our parents, _or else we could be kicked out of home and have to live in the streets in a cardboard box!_

We'd also walk to and from the local swimming pool three kilometres away. On walking home we'd pool our leftover money and buy sixpence ( _five cents_ ) or a shilling's ( _ten cents_ ) worth of chips, from the nearby Fish & Chip shop. Chardon's Corner had a few of those, as it was on the main street and an intersection.

Chips were wrapped in newspaper back then, with a greaseproof paper lining. We used to rip a hole in one end of the parcel for easy eating while walking home. Eating chips made the journey shorter - or so it always seemed.

Every Saturday if we'd been good and done all our chores, mum would give us two bob each for the flicks ( _movies_ ). We'd walk up to Chardon's Corner suburban theatre for the movie matinee with our friends.

It would cost us sixpence in and the rest was to spend on a drink, chips and an ice-cream. The show would start with a movietone newsreel about all the celebrities, then previews of the movies coming soon and a fifteen minute serial. Then the lights came on and it was intermission and we'd fight our place in line for nibbles.

Fifteen minutes later, the lights would dim and it was time for the main attraction. I used to love to sit up the back, but Robby and Brooksie senior, would sit at the front. In the quite parts of the movie, someone would always roll Jaffas (round orange covered chocolates) down the aisle. Robby and Brooksie would gather them up and eat them.

There was very little our parents couldn't answer or explain. They were wise - all knowing and all seeing. _Well it seemed to be like that when you'd been up to mischief and were brought to task for it with the belt._

Your neighbours knew who you were, and would alert your parents if they caught you misbehaving. Back then we addressed our neighbours and friends parents, as Mister or Missus, - unless they invited you to use their Christian name – which wasn't very often.

Financial and personal matters were for adults ears only and never discussed openly in our presence. You were either sent to your room or outside to play. Children were cosseted and kept ignorant of knowing the cruel truths of life, and thus kept innocent for as long as possible.

The legal voting and drinking age was twenty-one and no-one left home back then, not unless they were being married - or work commitments necessitated it. Queensland didn't have any poker machines either – you needed to travel over the border and into New South Wales to play those.

Computers were around, but only massive big company ones that could fill a small room. They were used for payrolls, taxation, or government and business paperwork. There was no such thing as a personal home computer, electronic games or a mobile phone – they wouldn't be created until the eighties!

In fact, usually only business people owned a 'home' phone, and we weren't one of them! Every local store had a phone-booth, postal-box and a bus stop outside. There was at least one phone booth in every suburb and along bus routes and main roads every few kilometres or so.

* * * * *

Chapter 4: Jackie's best friend Bev

My sister Jackie had a best friend called Bev Barton. She came from a lower income family - one on Social Security ( _Centrelink_ ). She lived down the hill and around the corner from us in another street, which ran off the road that crossed ours at the bottom of the hill.

Bev was the eldest child of a large family and often 'mother' to her seven younger siblings. Both her parents were alcoholics and Bev was often bashed by her father after a drinking session.

Bev loved coming over to our place, because there she felt like she mattered.

She also loved mum's garden with its flowerbeds of Roses, Geraniums, Gerberas, Violets, Daisies and assorted fernery. With Jackie by her side, Bev was able to enjoy being a fifteen year old teenager and listening to Jackie's portable record player, as it played the hit singles of the fifties.

Bev was what people called a 'Widgie' ( _a biker's girlfriend_ ). She wore a lot of face and heavy eye makeup, tight tops and tighter jeans. She teased her short, dyed black hair into bump on her head and lacquered it down. A girl most decent folks wouldn't want their daughters around.

This was 1958 and life passed by at a much slower, almost puritanical pace.

Mum was a little worried that Bev's influence might change Jackie's attitude towards boys – but it never happened. All Bev ever wanted was to be loved and to feel she mattered, and at sixteen her prayers were answered! She met and started dating a boy – a Bodgie ( _biker_ ) and we saw a lot less of her.

Then one day a few months later, she came around and saw Jackie. She was crying and distraught. Bev left shortly after and I heard Jackie telling our parents what was wrong, as she was too ashamed to tell them herself.

Bev was pregnant – and Bev wanted to know if dad would come with her while she told her parents. Because she was too afraid of being bashed by her father and maybe losing her baby.

At Christmas and still only sixteen, Bev became the proud mother of a beautiful little son. She fussed and doted over him and gave him all the love she never had - knowing one day he would return it. Jackie would visit Bev and watch as she cared for her baby. Finally Bev was happy. Now she felt she actually mattered.

The following Easter and now seventeen, Bev called around to see Jackie and to show us her baby son. He was sleeping in his pram after not long being fed. Jackie asked our parents "Would you mind if I left the baby with you while we go for a milkshake around the corner? He's been fed and changed and we shouldn't be much more than an hour." Mum said it was okay and Bev wheeled the pram with her sleeping baby, into the lounge room to be near mum.

When they arrived at the corner shop, Jackie ordered a milkshake and Bev a coke-float ( _coke with ice-cream_ ). As Bev began sipping her float, a friend of hers entered the shop for smokes. They exchanged a few words, and then Bev was invited for a quick spin around the block on her friend's new bike. No helmets were required back then – they were only optional.

Bev asked Jackie if she'd mind - and Jackie said it was okay. Then smiling, Bev asked the owner "Don't throw out my float Mister - I'll be back in five minutes to finish it."

They didn't see the car speeding through the intersection until it was too late. Jackie heard the screech of brakes and a thud - but didn't know what it was.

The shopowner ran outside, looked up to the intersection and asked Jackie to stay there and mind the shop for him. Then he went up to the intersection and examined the scene.

He hurried back and called an ambulance and the police. After that the shopowner told Jackie in a voice full of compassion, "I'm sorry dear - but your friend won't be back to finish her drink."

Jackie was taken home by the police - in shock.

When Jackie walked inside home with the constable, my parents asked her where was Bev? Jackie broke down and cried. Bev's little baby lay still sleeping in his pram.

The constable told dad about the accident and that Bev's body would need to be claimed. So dad went with Jackie to tell Bev's parents.

Jackie held Bev's infant son in her arms, while the constable knocked on the Barton's door. Dad stood with the collapsed pram by his side. Mr Barton answered the door and on seeing the policeman, let out an array of profanity ending with - 'what has that little bitch done now?'

The constable asked "May we please come inside Mr Barton?" Mrs Barton was seated in the lounge room. "Where's Bev?" she asked brusquely to Jackie. Jackie laid Bev's orphaned son in her arms and just shook her head fighting back tears. She then turned away, going over to stand by dad's side. Dad put his arm around Jackie.

The constable gave Bev's parents a full account of the accident. They just remained ambivalent. Maybe they were in shock - but their reactions weren't what were expected. Dad offered his condolences to the parents – there was still no response.

Then the constable asked Mr Barton "Would you like to come with me and claim your daughter's body?" Mr Barton replied "No, I'm not going." Her mother was invited then – but declined also. _Both her parents had been drinking - as usual_.

Upset by their response, Jackie asked the constable "May I go and claim Bev?" But he told her the job required an adult. Jackie looked up at dad with unspoken words and dad nodded. "I'll do it," dad said solemnly to the constable. Bev needed to be claimed - she deserved to matter.

Dad had fought throughout the war and had seen a lot of action and death, so the sight of a dead body wasn't alien to him, as he also was their MO.

When he arrived home a few hours later, his ruddy complexion was now ashen and he was visibly troubled. I can still recall his words to mum as though it was yesterday.

"She was a mess Neb - no helmet. I barely recognized her. Her pretty little face was cut to ribbons \- poor little beggar." And then he broke down and cried. I'd never seen dad cry before.

I wasn't allowed to go to the service as I was only eight. But I heard she was given a pauper's funeral and the only flowers there, were the ones from mum's garden – the ones she loved. You mattered Bev – you mattered to us!

R.I.P. Bev B.

1943 – 1959

* * * * *

Chapter 5:- We're Rich

The solo-parent era was yet to boom and girls who fell pregnant out of marriage, were usually made to marry their baby's father to make the child legitimate, and simply because - 'it was the right thing to do'.

Our social standards of the day were both judgemental and snooty. It was an era where women wore hats, short gloves and stockings when going out for a day socially.

The government paid child endowment was only around One Pound ( _$2.00_ ) per fortnight and there was little income support for single mothers. Families looked after family, adult children looked after elderly parents and by extension, their own children – and life by the whole was good.

Most couples stayed married until death, unless extreme circumstances warranted a divorce. And usually if a woman divorced, it was because she was a bad wife. A good wife overlooked her husband's infidelities and vices. A marriage was for life.

The only single parents around, were mostly the ones who'd been left widowed from war, health incidents or horrible accidents.

Dad became a bus driver for the Oxley suburban bus route, as mum didn't like him working through the wee hours at the milk factory. He held licenses up to and including **E class**. Sometimes when he had an early start at work, he'd bring home the Oxley Bus the day before after his shift, and park inside the driveway in the front yard.

The first time he did this, we knew nothing of it. I could hear a truck sound driving into our driveway. Mum told me to go outside and see who it was. When I saw the driver was dad, I was shocked. Robby and I got all excited having a bus parked in our front yard. We asked if we could go on board we looked around.

After we went onboard, Robby turned and said to me, "Ask dad if we could sleep in the bus with our mates." So I did. Mum was hesitant - but dad said it was okay, as no doubt he knew how our night would eventuate. _Funny how parents were wise that way._

We ran and told our mates the news and they grabbed their pillows and blankets and then climbed onboard with us. _This was fun. It was just like we were camping out – BUT WITH SEATS!_

Sure enough around 10.00pm, after trying for an hour or so to go to sleep sitting up, we all ended up crawling into the comfort of our own beds. We never anticipated how uncomfortable that was.

In August 1959 we went to the Ekka - just like we did every year. But this year would turn out to be something special.

Dad had a keen eye for rolling the balls on the Poker Tables down sideshow alley, and was always winning us prizes. This night was no exception. I'm sure the stall owner wished dad would've gone somewhere else to play.

For the cost of $2.40, my parents walked away carrying a table lamp, two sets of wine glasses and a radio, all for just 40cents a game. Chris and I were carrying a caged Budgerigar each and our Sample Bags.

This picture was taken on the day of our BIG surprise. It was during this night after the ring events and fireworks that we got the 'shock' of our life!

When we came out from the Ekka showgrounds we walked down a dark nearby side-street. Normally, we would catch a train to Dutton Park right there at the Ekka and then our bus home.

Walking across the road, I heard dad say to mum "That's it over there Neb – the green one."

We all followed dad as he walked over to it. I thought at first he was trying to steal it and wouldn't get in. _Convent schooling made you very conscious of wrong doings, because you had to confess your sins later to a priest and say penance_.

Dad had pre-arranged with a caryard salesman to leave the car parked outside the RNA showgrounds, with the keys on the front kerbside tyre. We kids weren't told anything about it – as it was to be a surprise!

Then dad explained "This is ours George - this is our new car." It was a bottle-green Vauxhall sedan with brown leather seats and complete with running boards ( _side steps_ )! Robin fought me to get on the back seat first and we sat there amazed, our cages of Budgies on our laps. I asked dad what the funny smell was inside.

Dad thought for a moment, and then remarked "Oh that George - it's just the leather seats." _But we didn't care about the smell - we owned a car!_ And you didn't need to wear a seat belt either - as there weren't any. They wouldn't be invented until the seventies.

After dad turned on the ignition, he walked around to the front of the car with a long metal bar. Then he placed it into a slot in the engine base, winding it around several times. This was called 'cranking the engine' and after several rotations it started. He got into the car and away we went. _Wow, Robin and I looked at each other - we must be RICH now!_

It was just after the Ekka in August when I fell ill. Feeling unwell when I arrived home from school, I changed into my pyjamas and climbed into bed - sleeping through the night until the next morning.

On waking the next day, I was hot and still unwell - but now I was unbearably itchy. I lifted up my pyjama coat to find a red blotchy rash all over my body. I went and showed mum who sent me to dad. He grabbed a torch then he asked me to open my mouth and poke my tongue out, and with the torch's glow, he looked inside.

"It looks like German Measles Neb." He said to mum and told me "Go back to bed George and stay warm." Dad was his workplace's medical officer and held a St John's First Aid certificate – and he was also very knowledgeable.

He also owned a book of common childhood illnesses, along with his first aid book. Only hospitals were free back then, and a doctor's fee was expensive - and double normal for a house call.

Our nearest hospital was the Mater Children's approximately 7kms away. Although we now owned a car, my parents didn't want to take me out into the elements and infect other people, or worsen my condition. So I was cared for at home by mum.

My bedroom was shared with Jackie and was around 3mtrs square. She had begun work after completing her scholarship at fourteen. Jackie had a colourful chenille bedspread which she had bought on her bed from her pay, and it looked very pretty.

But my bed just had a dark grey woollen blanket with a light blue 4inch ( _10cm_ ) stripe through the length of it with the initials A.I.F. I always thought it was some kind of family crest. It wasn't until years later, that I learnt it was just one of four blankets dad had gotten from the Army and stood for Australian Infantry Forces.

Mum placed a potty under my bed for relieving myself. She would empty it after I used it, hosing it out and then pouring a little disinfectant into the bottom of it for freshness.

We didn't have mainline sewerage – no homes in the suburbs did. Our toilet or dunny, was situated at the bottom of our garden some twenty metres from our back door. It was kept fresh by the fragrance of mum's surrounding rose bushes, and was emptied once a week by Hunter Brother's Sanitation.

Mum was a good nurse and always took good care of you. She had been a nursing volunteer (V.A.D.) aid to the doctors in the hospitals during WW2.

My eyes were hurting too now, watering a lot and so mum placed one of our 'special' woollen blankets over our windows, and it helped shield my eyes from the light. Mum also put a wet face washer over my eyes and forehead. The wet washer moistened my burning eyes and helped my hot face, by keeping my temperature down.

Our room now was cloaked in semi darkness and when mum entered to sweep and wash the linoleum floors, she'd pull back the blanket for half an hour to help dry the floors - and for "A bit of fresh air" she'd say smiling.

I remember being very ill and waking up several times during the middle of the night extremely dry and thirsty, burning up with fever from the Rubella. My small hour cries to dad for a drink of water, kept Jackie from sleeping. She was seventeen now and was working full time as a dressmaker, for dad's friends Beth and Jack.

After complaining to mum about not getting any sleep because of me, mum suggested that she sleep with her and dad was allocated to Jackie's bed.

I felt comforted knowing Dad was just there for me across the room and slept much better.

After getting up to me several times during the night to give me water and getting little sleep himself, the next night dad put a water jug and glass beside my bed on a table and said "There you go George – now you can help yourself." _My dad was sure smart!_

My complete recovery was hampered by a secondary infection, which caused me to have a relapse which became pneumonia. I remember trying to get out of bed in an attempt to walk to the kitchen. I was lonely being a prisoner of my bedroom and I wanted some company.

But as soon as I got to my bedroom door, I became all giddy and light headed. My legs felt funny too and I needed to rush back into bed before I fell over. I also noticed that the hearing in my right ear felt like it was blocked.

In the afternoon at sunset, I began running a high temperature. I remember Jackie and her new fiancé Frank, taking me to the local doctor in his car. Dad was still working and wouldn't be home until after 11pm.

Frank was 21 and worked as an auto mechanic. An audio examination later revealed that I now had only partial hearing in the right ear. This was yet another 'common' Rubella complication.

As I eventually began to recover and slept less, mum bought me a colouring book and pencils from the shop next door to entertain myself. _Now this was better_ , I thought. I hated being cooped in my bedroom away from mum.

Throughout my convalescence, I had lost three months schooling and several kilos in weight off my already slim frame. By the time I was recovered enough to return to school, it was mid November and there was only a month of school left for the year.

Both my parents and Mother Superior had a meeting to discuss my education. Afterwards, they declared that it would be in my 'best interest' to repeat year three.

This mutual decision was so I wouldn't have to struggle to keep up with the grade four's curriculum, but unfortunately it made me the ridicule of my former classmates the following year. They teased and called me names which reduced me to tears.

Attaining the mark of 100% for subjects on my Report Card came easy for me. _I never studied – I hated it,_ _unless of course, I was genuinely interested in learning more about a particular thing._ But mostly I relied upon memory for exams and somehow managed to always pass with good results.

On rainy afternoons if dad was home, he'd collect me from school in the car. Dad would let me steer home and I'd sit beside him on the front bench seat, while dad worked the gears, accelerator and brake. I could hardly wait until I would be old enough to drive.

I remember dad taking Jackie up to the local Police Station when she was seventeen to do her test for a driver's license. Dad had given her sufficient driving lessons and felt she was ready to get a license.

The desk sergeant asked dad "Did you teach her to drive Jack?" and dad replied "Yes Bill - I did." And so Bill the desk sergeant, picked up his pen asked Jackie her height and birthdate and just wrote Jackie out a license there and then – no driving test was required.

In Bill's eyes, Jackie had been taught by the best driver in Queensland, and those were the exact words Bill spoke to Jackie when asked why she didn't get a driving test!

Mum wouldn't learn to drive. She tried once, when we were holidaying up in Caloundra - and nearly wiped us out. So she decided after that scare to leave the driving to everyone else!

If we needed to go anywhere, we were left to our own means of transport – Shanks's pony ( _walking_ ). Cars were still a luxury back then and we were told "Cars are not for running lazy kids around to their friend's places. They're for family outings and adult use only."

Mum decided that she would like to have a grotto to Mother Mary down the back among the rose gardens. Mum asked Tommy ( _one of our boarders_ ) if he could build the housing for the statue of Our Lady of Fatima. Dad designed it and gave the plan complete with measurements to Tommy.

The altar had a metal powder-coated top and tubular legs which were 4 foot long ( _1.2mtrs_ ). Tommy was also Robby's friend and had gotten the materials from work. They were off-cuts and he worked in the Fluorescent lighting industry.

Then he fashioned out of white Perspex, a peaked roof house which measured eighteen inches by two foot ( _45cms x 60cms_ ) where she could put the statue of 'Our Lady', with a small vase of pretty plastic flowers. Next Tommy glued this house to the top of the table and glued a clear Perspex front onto it, to keep it dry and protected against the elements.

Every year on Good Friday - from noon until 3.00pm, and observing the Roman Catholic tradition of silence, mum would go down to her altar. Then kneeling and praying with her Rosary Beads in her 'grotto' amongst the rose gardens, mum would observe the 3hrs of speech abstinence as an act of contrition, for her own and the sins of the world. Mum would also go there to pray when there were health issues in the family too.

* * * * *

Chapter 6: Designs on Design

In 1960, ABQ 2 or the ABC network began transmitting from Coronation Drive in Brisbane and beaming up to their antenna on Mt Coot-Tha. But unlike the others – Channel 2 didn't run commercials, only previews of upcoming programmes.

Finally in 1963, channel TVQ O - later to become the Ten Network, began transmitting. Now we had four television stations to select from and TVQ O stayed on air until midnight.

Four years passed by and I was now facing my final year in primary school. I was a bright and creative student and had a penchant for drawing, with geometry being one of my favourite subjects.

My dream was to become an architect, but if I couldn't be an architect - then my next choices were either to be a nurse, hairdresser or dressmaker.

Having a love for designing, I would sit and sketch houses or fashion designs. Sometimes turning an occasional clothing design into a dress for my dolls, when mum gave me the scraps of material from Ursy's dressmaking.

I would sew them in tacking stiches taught to me by Sister Eucharia and worked on our sewing samplers in school. I would delight as my designs turned into garments - my dolls had the best wardrobe around.

At the beginning of 1964 and grade seven, Mum told me that she didn't have the money to buy my text books and so I'd paid for them from my school bank account of Five Pounds, 14 Shillings and sixpence ( _$11.45_ ).

Feeling guilty that I paid for my text books, Dad went looking for a higher paying job and back to the graveyard shift, much to mum's disappointment.

He applied to be a waterside worker or 'wharfie'. The job required someone capable of driving forklifts and doing shiftwork - so dad took the job.

At noon every day, 4KQ would play 'Anchors Aweigh' and then call out the workers roll for wharfies and the wharves they needed to attend. Dad's employee number was 3598.

Dad had been driving legally since he was thirteen, having lied about his age for his license. There was little dad couldn't drive, or know how to operate. So after a short time on the wharf, Dad was given the nickname of 'Mechanical Jack'.

Now when they called workers over the radio, dad didn't need to listen for his employee number - it was Mechanical Jack to whatever wharf he was needed to work at. Dad eventually became a gantry driver when containers ( _large metal crates which could easily hold a new car or house load of furniture_ ) came into being. ( _This is what a Gantry Crane looked like_ ).

They are massive cranes that slid along above the wharves for loading and offloading containers on the wharves. The operators would sit way up in the top and move along the horizontal shaft.

Dad used to bring home some excellent things "From the shop on the wharf," he'd say. This shop had just about everything you could carry.

Apparently, if a crate was dropped or broken on the wharf, the goods were considered 'damaged and unfit for sale', so the wharfies could take them home. _It was amazing how careless the wharfies were back then – always dropping things_.

I remembering dad giving me a transistor radio for my thirteenth birthday – it was so cool. They were the latest things out and I felt very privileged to own one.

During grade seven's May school holidays, dad took mum and I up to Bundaberg to visit mum's sister-in-law Aunty Alma. Robby stayed home to look after things and feed the animals, as he was working and was 18 now.

We always set off for Bundy early in the morning – usually around 3am. Dad liked to arrive at the farm around smoko time, which was around 10-10.30 am.

I suffered with car sickness and didn't travel well on long journeys. So dad in his wisdom thought that by travelling during the night, I could avoid being sick by sleeping on the back seat with my pillow. Bundy was a 6hr trip back then and mum used to prepare an esky with breakfast food and dad packed the car and his little two-burner gas stove.

Somewhere around 6.30am and just after daybreak, dad would pull into a rest stop we called Breakfast Creek. He'd get out his camp stove and set it up on the tailgate of our station wagon. Next he'd start cooking up bacon, eggs, baked beans, toast and tomatoes.

Mum would set up a picnic table with a seersucker tablecloth, and then place the plates, cutlery, cups, condiments and thermos onto the table. We were seated under the canopy of tall trees, beside a rambling brook and the ambience was relaxing. Brekkie smelt great in the open air and tasted even better.

About an hour later, after everything was packed away, we were on the road again. I was now seated in the front on the bench seat between mum and dad. I could see better in the front and this also helped with my carsickness.

As planned, we arrived at Alma's just in time for smoko and mum would greet Alma with a big hug and kiss and 'something from the bakery'. Alma kissed dad and I too, then put the kettle on and sat for a catch up with the family.

Alma was the widow of mum's brother Vincent, who died of a heart attack the previous year. They owned a cane and tobacco farm. Uncle Vincent's namesake - Vincent junior, was the youngest of their four children and died shortly after Uncle in a harvesting accident.

A cane harvester which was stacked upon another on the tray of their open roofed truck had slid forward, when Vince hit a bump in the track. He was killed instantly. Vince was pinned between the harvester and the steering wheel. No-one discovered the accident until some time later, when he didn't come home for tea.

Vince was engaged to be married to Allison in a month, and was just 21.

My cousin Charlie was around 31 and Alma's eldest son. His wife Lucy and their 4 kids lived on the property too - but a quarter mile away. Sue, their eldest child was 4yrs younger than me and we used to hang out and play with our dolls together.

Aunty's land covered a vast area which was surrounded on four sides by a bitumen road. I'm thinking it was over a thousand acres. Dad loved going up there in the winter, as it was cane harvest time. He took many photos of the cane alight and of Alma and the workers. Photography was a hobby of dad's which he delighted in showing up on the slide projector. We enjoyed our family home slides night.

It was this trip to Bundy that dad taught me to drive. Dad drove off the property and then onto the side of the bitumen road. Next he stopped the car, pulled on the handbrake and got out of the car and said to me "Okay George, you are going to learn how to drive for yourself. You're thirteen and ready to learn."

I was shocked but ecstatic and walked around to the driver's side and got in. I moved the seat forward a little, as I wasn't as tall as dad. Dad then said "Pull out when it's clear and press your foot down on the accelerator and steer." By then we had a Holden Hydramatic and it was easy for me to drive it – NO GEARS OR CLUTCH!

Dad got me to take it up to 35miles ( _60kms_ ) per hour, which was the speed limit. In my head I felt I was speeding, but dad said I was doing well and was impressed with my ability. He gave me an hour long lesson each day we were there.

My final primary year sped by and grade seven exams were almost upon me. I was looking forward to continuing on at high school and attaining my dream.

Being kept down not only caused me to be more than a year older than my fellow students, but the reason I missed out on completing 'Scholarship' ( _grade eight_ ) in primary school - along with my original class-mates and neighbourhood friends.

Thus 1964 became the last year for primary grade eight. I watched in envy, as my former classmates graduated with their scholarship certificates and enjoyed their graduation party, which we grade sevens were made to be cater for.

I asked my parents which high school I'd be attending as most of my classmates were going to Mary Immaculate, and enquired if I could go there too. Neither of them had anticipated what it would cost to send me there and I guess, neither did I.

Our parents had experienced growing up during the WW1 and as adults, living through WW2, so they knew all about the harsh realities of life.

They told us of the 'olden days' and having grocery coupons because of food shortages in the Great Depression. _Although it seemed like the Great Depression seemed to go on for a very long time after the war. . . and well into the sixties!_

There was only Robby and I living at home now and although he was paying board - it apparently wouldn't help.

My parents replied that they couldn't afford to give me a secondary convent education - as the tuition was too expensive! I suggested to them that I'd be happy to attend the public high school with my neighbourhood friends, but mum wouldn't even consider a public high school.

"You might turn out to be a delinquent, or pick up with a bad crowd." Mum told me when I pleaded to go. I should've been prepared for this major disappointment – but I wasn't! I was extremely let down and went into my bed and cried myself to sleep.

Paddy had married when I was 9yrs old and was now living at West End in a flat with his wife and two children.

Paddy had attended college after scholarship. When his further studies were completed he began work at the Telegraph Newspaper as a typesetter. Paddy was a very good speller and quite intelligent. It took real talent to be able to typeset, as you needed to be able to read backwards.

Jackie had married Frank last year and they were living in the neighbouring suburb of Weller's Hill with Frank's mother, who was now widowed. They were both working and saving for their own home to be built on their land at Sunnybank.

And so at the age of thirteen and three-quarters I left school. I didn't bother sitting the grade 7 exam – what was the point?

Even though Sister Kieran wanted me to take the exam and continue on. She was upset that I was leaving school, and tried to convince me to stay at school, telling me that I was throwing away my future.

But without attending any high school, my dream of becoming an architect was now quashed, along with nursing or hairdressing. All that was left was to seek a trade in dressmaking. At least I would still be 'designing'.

"Teenage daughters didn't need a high school education." I was told by mum. All they needed was to be fourteen to begin work and to start buying items for a Glory Box ( _your marriage hope chest_ ).

I had only ten weeks to wait until my fourteenth birthday and being able to enter the workforce and save for my Glory Box.

The New Year arrived and with it the resumption of school for my friends, but I felt like I was an outcast. I was neither working or at school, and my days could get quite boring.

Robby was now sleeping in my old bedroom at the back of the home and the sleep-out became my bedroom. Being at the front of our home, I had views of the footpath and street outside. But it was also nosier, because of all the traffic going up and down the hill. Living on the bus route had its drawbacks.

Each weekday I'd watch my friends walking home from school through my bedroom louvres, laughing with each other as they walked along - and I yearned to be one of them.

A couple of friends only attended school for one or two years – or until they were the legal age to leave. Some actually went for three years and completed their junior ( _year 10_ ), before they left for the workforce. With a Junior Certificate their chances increased greatly for careers which offered apprenticeships or 'on the job training'.

Back then our mums 'groomed' us to be good mothers, homemakers and faithful wives. The highest achievement a young woman could attain without a junior or senior education - was to be happily married to a loving husband with a good job.

That spelt success in our society and how girls were educated at home beyond primary school.

It was the boys in the family who would mature into the husbands, fathers and providers for their families. So it was 'THEY' who required the 'good' education for a better job.

My new talent of driving came in handy too, when we went on a road trip to see mum's sister Zita in Melbourne, two months before my 14th birthday.

We were just outside a small town in Victoria and were driving along, when the car suddenly stopped. Mum asked dad "Are we were out of petrol Jack?" and he replied "No Neb – there's still half a tank."

Dad pulled off the highway and looked under the bonnet. He soon found the source of the problem. The cable from the accelerator had broken and dad didn't have any tools to fix it.

Dad was the original MacGyver. He went over and picked up a long stick and broke off the greenery. Then he asked me to get behind the steering wheel, as I would need to drive us into town. As simple as this sounded - it was far from it!

With the car's bonnet up, I had to drive the 5kms into town, looking at the road through the gap between the hinges. Dad hung off the front mudguard, feet on the bumper-bar, leaning down into the motor with the stick he retrieved. This he was using to press down on the accelerator lever to keep us moving!

Fortunately it was early morning around 7.30am and there was very little traffic about. We arrived safely and I pulled into the first service station we came to, which happened to be on our left.

I must admit that at the time, my heart was in my throat and I was fearful for dad's safety and prayed that we would all be safe. Later, mum told me how proud she was of me.

* * * * *

Chapter 7: You Sew and Sew

The Friday before my birthday, dad said to me "Get yourself dressed up George; I'm taking you to meet Beth and Jack and see about getting you into the dressmaking trade."

To make myself look older; I did my hair up in a high bun and wore make-up. Then dad took me into town to meet his old friends and siblings - Beth and Jack. They jointly owned and ran a garment factory at South Brisbane.

Beth was the machinist and proficient in the construction of garments for men and women, and Jack a cutter and menswear designer. They had another brother George who was a tailor, but he had passed away some years earlier in drowning incident.

Dad introduced me to Beth and said "Here Beth, I have another daughter for you to teach the trade to" smiling proudly as he did so.

Beth looked past dad and at me standing nervously beside him and asked me "So you want to learn to be a dressmaker – do you Joey?" I replied with a big smile "Yes please." "When can she start Jack?" Beth asked, looking and smiling at dad, and dad replied with a proud smile "How about on Monday Beth?"

Beth and Jack were friendly towards me and assured dad that they would take good care of his baby. And thus I followed Jackie, who'd left the year before to start her family - into the 'rag trade'.

I started work on my birthday, which happened to fall on Monday. Little did I know that it was to be the start of a career which relied heavily upon continued advance orders from clients, and required speed and precision from its employees.

Slack periods were rare but not uncommon within the industry and could last up to six weeks, so you needed to always keep something aside for a rainy day – just in case.

A dressmaking apprenticeship, like most apprenticeships, took four years to complete, even though you could be sewing entire garments a lot earlier. Full pay wasn't paid until the end of training and a rise in pay by percentile, was automatically given every six months until then.

My starting wage was Five Pound Four shillings and Sixpence ( _$10.45_ ) and would increase up to the full pay of twenty-two pound and eight shillings ($ _44.80_ ) after I completed my apprenticeship. I began my trade in the Finishing department like all other juniors before me, and under the 'Eagle Eye' of Beda the forewoman.

The Finishing department consisted of two overlockers, a felling or hemming machine – which only Beda operated, an overcoat buttonholer, a blouse buttonholer, a button sewing machine, a button covering machine and an ironing board and iron.

All of the machines were seated on a long 12 foot ( _3.6mtrs_ ) workbench running down the room. Finishing had four workers; including Beda, George's widow - Joan, another senior and me.

On my first day, Beda put me on the overlocker to see how I handled it, and it was there I mostly stayed - unless there was ironing to do.

Finishing also consisted of pressing all the collars and facings, darts in garments, hems on all male and female's clothing and pressing side seams open. Sometimes I spent my entire days standing at the ironing board, just pressing.

Normally 'juniors' were only required to complete six months in Finishing before graduating to the machines. But since there weren't any new juniors after me, my time lengthened out to a year. Finally, someone new started and I was promoted up to the production line.

The Sewing Room consisted of twelve sewing machines mounted into a very long and broad timber bench, with six work areas staggered on either side. The bench was 20foot ( _6mtrs_ ) long and 4foot ( _1.2mtrs_ ) wide. We each had our own sewing boxes by our left side to hold our work, and these were about the size of an orange crate, but 2foot ( _60cms_ ) deep.

They were made of pine finished in a teak varnish which stood on straight legs, 8inches ( _20cms_ ) off the floor, and came to just below the teak workbench. To our right under the machine we had a small drawer especially for our bobbins, small spools of cotton and miscellaneous knick-knacks.

The machines derived their power from rounded leather straps seated in grooved spindles, attached by screws to a 2inch ( _5cm_ ) thick axel that ran under the centre of the work bench about 1foot ( _30cms_ ) off the floor. The power switch for the axle's motor was located by Beth's right knee, at the head of the bench.

I was a good machinist and Beth was more than pleased with my work. "You might be a bit slower than the others Joey, but you're thorough and your work never needs to be returned." Beth told me. I beamed!

After a year on the machines, and at the ripe old age of sixteen, Beth gave me two juniors to train. They were both eighteen and Beth took me aside before introducing me to them.

She asked me not to divulge my true age to them. "Tell them you're eighteen too Joey. Older employees don't like being 'juniors' to much younger ones. They won't take instruction from you and will make work slow and difficult." Beth warned.

I reassured Beth that my true age would be kept secret and took my two 'juniors' under my wings, wondering why I had been selected to train them, when there were older girls there.

They seemed happy to take instruction from me and come to me for any advice, or problems they were having. We got along fine and they seemed keen to learn. Unfortunately for them, junior level was only piece work to begin with and often very repetitive and boring.

Their work would consist of sewing belt tabs and loops, various pockets and waistband linings, sewing facings on men's pockets, neatening facings and hems, sewing matching fabric on belt backing, fabric tie-belts, sewing sleeve linings, making sleeves, sewing collars, sewing darts etc.

This enabled the seniors to concentrate on sewing the garment together.

A good machinist was expected to sew eight dresses in a day, or one per hour. After six months, if a junior showed promise and initiative, they would graduate to doing more advanced piece work and maybe even sew a simple garment or two.

But unfortunately, the tedium got to my juniors and being friends, they both quit after three weeks.

The most important requirement in sewing was speed and precision. If your sewing was substandard, then your work was sent back for you to unpick from Finishing. This action slowed down production and cost the factory money.

We had just returned to work from the April Easter break, and I was feeling very pleased with myself and the fifty dollars I had saved in my bank. I'd been working for just over two years when I went out to the Cutting and Design department for a replacement needle for my machine.

Jack wasn't to be seen anywhere and there weren't any rolls of already cut garments tied up and stacked for sewing. Nor fabric bolts lying around on his table waiting to be measured off and layered cut.

His workbench was clean and the entire department was quiet and had an eerie feel to it - like someone had just died.

How odd, I thought. Jack was forever measuring and cutting out something for us to sew, and always needed to be at least two orders ahead to keep us working. Maybe Jack was ill, or something had happened at home and he left.

I went back to my machine concerned, replaced the broken needle and continued with my work. If we caught up to Jack and were waiting for work from him, we had to service our machines in readiness for it.

We oiled it thoroughly and then had to tidy up and clean out our work area – we were never to sit idle. If we were still waiting after doing all that, then we were required to go into Finishing and help them out in there.

After lunch when our current order was completed and sent off to Finishing, Beth looked down the bench and waited for the last machinist to finish. Then she turned off the machines at the main switch. Something was terribly wrong.

There was still no sign of Jack, or any noise coming from his cutter, only the odd machine noise from Finishing. Beth stood up and everyone looked towards her. The silence was now deafening.

Beth stood there for a moment composing herself as if thinking about what she was going to say. We all glanced towards her and at each other around the room - questioningly.

Then, with the sad look of defeat upon her face and a broken voice, Beth announced they would be closing down for a while due to lack of orders. Fighting back tears, she explained that it looked like it could be at least a month before we could return to work.

She continued, saying she'd understand if some of us needed to look for employment elsewhere - especially women with families to support. But those who wanted to stay with them would need to phone in a month's time, to see if the situation had improved and if they were needed back at work.

* * * * *

Chapter 8: The 60's, 70's & Hippies

Three months before Jackie was to marry Frank on 22nd June 1963, dad and Jackie had been having terrible fights over Frank. Dad had gotten Frank a job as a wharfie with him, and they had a falling out over something, which had Frank telling tales out of school.

As a result, Frank was instrumental for dad's workmates no longer calling him 'Mechanical Jack' - but 'Cold Power', which hurt dad immensely. Dad was a good man and knew that some things 'told out of school' were obviously untrue.

After that dad didn't think Frank was good enough for Jackie. She was his little 'Lizzy'. But Jackie told dad defiantly, that if he wouldn't agree to their marriage, then she would simply wait another month until she was 21 and marry Frank without his consent.

This statement both hurt and enraged dad and he told Jackie to be out of the house by the time he got home from work.

Mum immediately phoned Marie from the phone booth next door, and arranged for Jackie to board there with her. Frank moved Jackie out that afternoon and over to Marie's. Jackie kept the wedding date the same and continued with her arrangements.

Marie loved having Jackie there with her. She had only ever had three sons and enjoyed the female companionship. She openly told mum 'Jackie was the daughter she never had' and it was obvious to see, that they were becoming close.

No-one knew mum better than Marie either. They had been constant best friends since they were 8yrs old - over forty-one years.

A fortnight before Jackie's wedding, she and dad mended the rift and Jackie came home. Dad proudly walked her down the aisle on his arm and gave her away to Frank. I was junior Bridesmaid and Frank's niece Sharon was Flowergirl. Bev, a work colleague of Jackie's was Maid of Honour.

In 1965, sewerage in Brisbane was being piped through to the suburbs. And as we lived five miles (8kms) from the Brisbane GPO, every household had a year to install sewerage. You either installed a system into your existing bathroom, or build a 5' x 3' ( _1.5 x .9mts_ ) room onto your home especially for it.

A flushing toilet suite became compulsory for everyone. Trenches four feet ( _1.2mtrs_ ) deep were dug out by BCC workers through gardens and under fences. We were left to fill our own trenches in though, and only after a sewer inspector examined the connection.

The sixties was the decade of change – literally. Decimal currency came into being on the 14th February 1966. The conversion was heralded on radio and television by a jingle to the tune of 'Click Go The Sheers'.

Everyone was brainwashed into knowing the exact date of the switch. Gone were the pounds, shillings and pence of our childhood - Now it was Dollars and Cents.

New dance crazes swept the world and by extension our nation. Rock & Roll and jiving was out. Now each year you rushed to learn the dances as seen on TV shows – just to be 'in'.

There was The Stomp, The Twist, The Monkey, The Swim, The Shoulder and The Skate, were just some of the dances. We happily danced to the music of The Beach Boys, The Beatles, The Monkees, The Seekers, Chubby Checker and Donovan.

Dance clubs for teens like 'The Scene' and 'Uncles' were commonplace now and teenagers fifteen years and over, would flock into the city with their friends. We listened and danced to the latest singles of the Top 40 in deafening stereophonic sound amid an explosive rainbow of flashing lights, which seemed to pulsate to the beat.

We had social groups who were called either Mods or Surfies. My friends and I were neither – I guess we were just squares. Although, we kept up with the latest hair cuts and fashion trends – well mostly.

As I became older, Robby became protective of me again and would sometimes go out with my mates and me between girlfriends. I felt safe with my own personal minder at 15, but Robby had a bad habit of being too protective.

If any boys my age came up to me and asked me for a dance or talked to me in between breaks at the discos, Robby would slowly walk up to them and warn "You lay a hand on my sister and I'll knock your teeth down your neck!"

With that statement and threat, very few boys hung around. _What 15yr old wanted to take on a 20yr old with two tattoos that towered over them?_

The sixties also announced the arrival of the Bikini, the Mini skirt and The Pill.

It was also the dawning of the 'Age of Aquarius' promoted by 'Hippies' – or Flower People, who men wore beards or droopy moustaches with long sideburns and grew their hair long like their women. The 1960's Hippie counter-culture movement involved a variety of social beliefs and concerns.

Their "if it feels good – do it" attitude included little forethought or concern for the consequences of their actions. The Hippies primary belief was that life was about being happy, not about what others thought you should be.

Most Hippies lived in communes, dissatisfied with what their parents had provided for them through hard work. They rejected middle class values and opposed nuclear weapons and the Vietnam War.

Hippies embraced aspects of Eastern philosophy and sought to find new meaning in life. They credo was all about Peace and Love, smoked pot ( _marijuana_ ) and 'floated' or went on trips of L.S.D. ( _lysergic acid diethylamide_ ) while openly practicing 'free love'.

They gaily painted their VW Kombi or Bongo Vans ( _which were homes to many conscript runaways_ ) in psychedelic colours and patterns also – often in the colours seen in one of their 'trips'.

Their children were given flower, fruit or nature Christian names, often re-naming themselves in the process.

They clad themselves in psychedelic coloured cottons or natural and tie-dyed cheesecloth caftan tops. The cheesecloth tops sometimes had braiding. They added vests, bandanas and flared pants, but avoided all synthetic or man-made fabrics and only wore natural fibres.

Their outfits were completed with handmade 'happy beads' around their neck and round-lens sunglasses. Often their 'unisex wardrobe' made it difficult to tell the sexes apart.

Their public demonstrations with placards reading "MAKE LOVE - NOT WAR" drawn up in flourishes of colourful bubble-writing and simple petal flowers were as common place as their wardrobe.

Hippies rejected traditional institutions. They referred to them as "The Establishment", "Big Brother" or "The Man". They believed that the dominant mainstream culture was corrupt and inherently flawed, and sought to replace it with a simpler Utopian Society ( _a perfect world of peace and harmony_ ).

Hippies avoided being recruited at all costs. They would flee when their conscription letters came, often interstate, living out of their vans with their 'families' or hidden in their communes.

Government conscriptions into National Service for twenty year old males for the Vietnam War came twice yearly. Ballots were conducted for males with corresponding birthdays and were recruited via an official letter into their capital city.

This had been going on for two years, when Robby was called up for 'Nasho Service' just after his twentieth birthday.

To say that Robby was concerned \- would be an understatement. He wanted to do his bit like dad, but he was more indecisive. He attended his early morning interview as directed by his official letter, at the Army barracks in Brisbane city for his pre-enlistment appointment.

Later that afternoon, Robby arrived home off the bus smiling and very pleased with himself. "What happened we all asked – are you in?" Robby related to us all the details of his appointment and what had transpired during the day.

He had passed his physical with flying colours. Next was the intelligence test, which he failed dismally - because of the head accident he had as a small child.

I believe that was the only time in his life, that Robby was ever grateful for being dense. He had dodged a bullet - and he knew it!

Dad was an ex-commando of WW2, and had fought for the entire duration of it – six years. Doing his tour and coming home for Rest and Relaxation and then signing up for an additional stint in another area of the forces. He wanted to qualify for a War Service loan so he could buy mum a home – the home I was born in to.

Paddy like dad had a brilliant mind and would stay at the Telegraph, until he enlisted for the Vietnam War in 1970, just before Peter and I married.

Paddy was 31 and a father of three, with his fourth child on the way when he joined the Army as a silk screener/map maker. He was hoping also to be able to qualify for a War Service home loan for his wife and family, just like dad.

I often found myself driving dad, mum and I home from evening outings, as dad had a few too many to drink. It didn't seem to worry him that I was unlicensed and driving. He encouraged me to drive and told me he had every faith in me as a motorist.

I learnt when you were sixteen; you could apply for a learner's permit after answering the required questions correctly. The permits only were now issued by your local suburban Police Station.

Driving with a learners permit, made me feel a lot better and I never took the car out without a passenger – just in case I was pulled over. So mum would ride shotgun. We'd go to the local Drive-In Theatre or shops, as dad was on compo for workplace injury which required an operation and convalescence.

Dad was standing on the wharf talking to a workmate, when the rope from a ship moored there snapped and swung free. As it swung, it picked up momentum and knocked dad flying through the air and crashing back to the wharf, breaking his arm in the process.

When I was 16, I met Peter ( _grandpa_ ). He was a friend of Robby's new girlfriend Jenny and had visited us just before Christmas to bring her a gift. Jenny and her friend Pam were boarding with us at the time.

They worked with Robby at Penn Elastic at Rocklea and where Robby had met Jenny. He instantly fell for her English Rose 'peaches and cream' complexion and British accent. Jenny and her family had migrated out here from England a few years before.

They had met Peter through a mutual friend back in England. Peter wanted to immigrate out here to work in the Merchant Navy, but needed a sponsor. Jenny's parents sponsored Peter out here and when he wasn't at sea, he was boarding with them.

Back then the Australian government had a "Keep Australia White' policy for immigrants. Peter almost wasn't permitted to migrate here, as he was born in Port Said, Egypt, just like his father before him. Although they were British and Peter's mother Megan was Welsh.

The next time I saw Peter was at Jenny's birthday party in March the following year. By then Robby and Jenny were engaged and Peter realized now, that any hope of getting together with Jenny was dashed.

That night at Jenny's party held at her parents place in Inala, Peter and I began talking. We sat on the swingseat and spoke for most of the night. By the end of the night we had shared a few kisses.

Before I left to go home, Peter asked me out and we began dating. I'd just turned 17 and Peter was 25. For the next three months Peter and I saw each other almost every day. A fortnight before he was due to go back to sea, he proposed to me.

I was surprised. When I told my girlfriend Ali about it, she told me he was probably drunk and to ignore it. The following day when Peter came over, he called me aside and gave me a solitaire diamond ring. It was exactly what I asked for - when he asked how many diamonds I wanted in my ring the night before.

So when Peter left for sea, I went for my license at the Coorparoo testing centre as the suburban Police Stations no longer took the tests.

I was meant to cancel my test but forgot. Robby was going to court over driving without a license or Learners Permit, he had also been drinking and had an accident, injuring his friend and writing off dad's car in a ditch.

This stressed me in spite of all he used to do to me as a kid. I still cared about Robby and his future. When I went for my test, the weight of Robby's possible incarceration troubled me.

I made a couple of thoughtless mistakes. I pulled into the right lane coming out of the tight driveway of the Testing Centre and into a divided road; I forgot the indicator once on a hill start and wasted 7 seconds in a U-turn. Result - INSTANT FAIL!

Apparently the Testing Centre was notorious for failing teens first time around. Whether they were good or bad!

Robby and Jenny had been living together up in Annerley for six months before they married in 1968. So Ali began boarding with us a few weeks after Robby moved out. I loved having Ali live with us - it was like having best friend and a sister rolled into one, and we did everything together.

On the day of their wedding, Ali and I got all dressed up in our good clothes and make-up, then walked up to St Elizabeth's church to attend the ceremony - but we weren't invited to the reception. Apart from my parents, no-one else on our side of the family was invited – only Jenny's friends and family.

When we walked out of the church, Ali turned to me and with tears in her eyes sobbed "Well it looks like I've definitely lost him this time Joey." I hugged her and replied "You never know Ali – it might not work out."

Jenny liked to make Robby jealous and constantly flirted with guys in front of him when they were out. If Robby wasn't fighting some guy, he was fighting with Jenny over it afterwards. Their marriage lasted only 6 months because of this.

A short time after Jenny left him - Robby came home. So mum put him on the sleepout, as Ali and I were sharing my old bedroom at the back of the house.

But Robby was never short of women.

One day when everyone was out except Ali and I, a hand written letter arrived by post for Robby. We looked at the sender's name and address, and realized it was from this girl he'd seen a couple of times before he moved back home.

Being curious - we steamed it open. In it she wrote that she was pregnant, and although she didn't expect him to be a father to their baby, she needed some financial assistance for a baby layette. She was just over two months pregnant.

We looked at each other in shock! Then Ali with tears in her eyes asked me "What am I going to do Joey? - I don't want to lose him again."

Robby used to date Ali. Long before he met and married Jenny, and in between girlfriends. And Ali always kept herself 'available' for him. She'd go out on the occasional date, but never anything serious. Neither of us was aware of the dept of his dalliance with this girl - as he'd begun dating Ali again.

Ali was like me in morals. We were waiting for that golden band on our left fingers before we slept with a man. I thought over her question long and hard, and then came up with the only solution that seemed possible.

"I think you need to fall pregnant too. Robby obviously cares more for you, than her – or else he'd be with her." Ali looked at me. She loved Robby - had loved him ever since she first laid eyes on him at 14. So we took the letter down to the incinerator in the back yard and burnt it. This was going to be 'our little secret'.

Within a month Ali was pregnant too. Unfortunately, Robby made two females pregnant with three months of each other whilst still married to Jenny.

A lot of other things happened then in our home, with the other girl writing again and Ali disillusioned, left for Sydney to be with her parents. She gave birth to Tony down there and was going to adopt him out, but then reneged.

The first child - a daughter, ended up being six weeks older than Tony and eventually grew up in New South Wales without her father - and was the better off for it.

Peter and I were married in May 1970. Neither of my brothers attended our wedding. Paddy was in Vietnam and Robby was in Sydney. After our honeymoon Peter and I found a unit in a neighbouring suburb in Annerley and lived for ten months.

It was only a short drive to my old home and I saw my parents regularly. Being in the merchant navy meant Peter was away for weeks or months at a time, and I was left alone.

One Saturday morning on a hot summer's day in early December 1970, dad turned up at our unit and said to me "Quick George, I've got permission to take pictures of you with La Balsa up at Garden City." Surprised I replied "Okay, just a minute and I'll quickly change" as I was wearing towelling shorts and a top.

"No, you're right as you are George." So I grabbed my purse, locked the unit and followed dad to the car. To my further surprise there was a stranger sitting in the front seat who dad introduced me to as I got in.

"Oh George this Rod, he's a West Australian cricketer and is coming with us."

La Balsa had made news headlines with its epic journey across the Pacific Ocean from Ecuador during May to November 1970. The trip lasted 161 days and covered 8,565 miles. Like its name suggested, 'La Balsa' raft was made of Balsa wood logs taken from the local forests. The media had mapped their progress and estimated their arrival.

When the crew of four men arrived in Mooloolaba, Queensland in late November 1970, they were greeted by an armada of Aussies in boats and an even bigger welcome awaiting them ashore. La Balsa then went on a tour of the eastern coastline for followers to see and photograph.

When we arrived up at Garden City, there were people everywhere taking photos of La Balsa. It was cordoned off in the car park and had security guards keeping visitors at bay, and souvenir hunters from taking anything from it.

Dad walked up to one of the guards and showed him his pass. The next thing I knew was Rod and I were climbing all over La Balsa and having our photographs taken. Not just by dad but the spectators with cameras too.

When Peter and I bought a block of land the following year in February 1971 and wanted to start saving for a home, I asked mum if we could board with them for a year. The board money helped them out financially and us too. I believe my parents were happy to have me back under their roof again.

Ali returned to Brisbane with baby Tony and stayed with us for a few months, and then frustrated over household events, persuaded Robby to move to Sydney with her for a 'new start'. Robby took on a golf course groundsman job - although he never attained a driver's license.

We paid the block of land off and by the end of the year I discovered I was pregnant with our first child. We were all excited. Peter and I decided it was time to go and see about building our home and phoned a building company about a plan we saw in the Sunday newspaper.

An appointment was set and we met with the builders. They photocopied a plan of the house for me to take home and make adjustments to. That is the home that Peter still lives in today with Karen.

I never ended up trying for my license again until after we moved into our new home. I had Samantha now and she was 6mths old. It was also my birthday and I was 22yrs old.

Dad took me to the local Police Station in Beenleigh near where we lived, as rural Police Stations still took the test. I pulled up outside the police station with dad and reversed into the car space in our manual Valiant Safari station wagon - Yes; I'd learnt to drive a manual!

The young constable took me a few miles out of town and told me "Turn into the next road on the right." "Now perform a 3-point turn at the end of it." He continued. There was only one house in the street and it was at the end of the road. I did a complete U-turn which had me going up on their manicured lawn to get the wagon around in a full circle.

The constable said to me patiently, "No, a 3-point turn – not a U-turn." "What's that again?" I asked him – smiling nervously at him as I did so. He tolerantly explained to me what he wanted me to do and then said "Don't go onto the owners beautiful lawn again, they may not appreciate it." Smiling as he said so.

I replied that I wouldn't and performed a perfect 3-point turn.

After that he asked me to drive back to the station. As I was driving there, I was convinced that I'd just failed. A car on my right drove out in front of me and I hit the brakes. As there were no seat belts back then, the constable was thrown forward.

He recovered and then remarked "The car was coming from a driveway, you didn't need to yield." Now I was sure that I failed my test - once again.

When we arrived back at the station, dad asked me "How did you go George – have you got your license? I replied "I don't know dad, the constable didn't say" embarrassed that I had let dad down. "Well come on, we need to find out." "No, let's just go please?" I asked dejectedly.

But dad was insistent and led the way into the station and up to the constable, who was now standing and writing something out behind the desk.

"How'd she go?" dad asked the constable smiling. I looked down at the floor not wanting to be humiliated by my dismal failure.

"Best we've had out in a long time!" the constable replied, and handed me my Provisional license. I was ecstatic and sighed with relief. I thanked him profusely. P-plate licenses only went for a year back then, and then you were on your opens.

Robby and Ali ended up marrying in the winter of 1974, four years after Peter and I. She became Robby's second wife and they settled down in Sydney, as her parents were still there. Dad and mum, Ali's parents and Tony, were the only guests at their wedding – held in a Sydney registry office.

I saw them when they came up here on their honeymoon - only because mum and dad brought them back with them for a visit. It had been just over four years since I had seen either of them. A week later the three of them returned to Sydney via train.

That was the last time I saw Ali, until thirty years later – in 2004.

I bumped into a mutual friend who was in contact with Ali and gave me her address. I sat down and wrote a long heartfelt letter to her, ending in how I'd love to see her again and catch up.

Ali wrote back immediately and gave me her home phone number. After several phone conversations, Ali invited us to Townsville for a holiday. Jackie and I travelled up there on the tilt-train to visit her and my nephew Tony, who was now 34 and engaged.

Whilst with Ali, I learnt that Robby had gone off the rails with marijuana and other party drugs, and was bashing her when on them. When he hurt Tony in a temper, by flinging him over the lounge by the arm and dislocating it - Ali left him. She brought Tony up to north Queensland and has stayed in the Capricornia area ever since. They were married for two years.

Robby and I only saw each other three times over the next twenty-five years. During that time he married twice more and had another child with his third wife Leigh. That child's name was Alira and she would be around 24 now. To date, I believe Robby is still with wife number four.

In 1976 Mum had told me that Jackie who was now 34, was going into hospital to have a "serious woman's operation." Although there was tension between Jackie and me, I sent her yellow Roses ( _her favourite_ ). I called the ward later to enquire after her and for them to pass on my love and prayers, the operator asked me to hold.

A familiar voice then answered the phone and I asked "Is that you Jackie?" The shaky voice said "Yes Bub." I asked "How are you – did you get the roses I sent?" Jackie replied "I'm very sore but okay, and yes, I received your flowers - thank you very much." We spoke for a little while longer and then she rang off.

Approximately six months later I received a phone call from Aunty Marie. This was strange as Marie never phoned me, as Jackie was her favourite – 'the daughter she never had' Marie had said.

During our phone conversation, Marie told me that she'd just been speaking with Jackie and as a result, decided she needed to talk to me. What Marie said to me next was totally unexpected and devastating.

"Why are you being so hateful towards your sister when you know she is dying?" she said in an accusing manner.

"I'm what - what are you talking about Aunty Marie?" She repeated herself and I replied defensively "Who told you that? Jackie's not dying!"

Marie then informed me rather sternly, just what the 'serious woman's operation' was. The operation which Jackie had six months earlier - was for a mastectomy!

I was totally shattered and dumbfounded and felt sick to my stomach.

After I explained what mum had told me, I phoned Jackie straight away.

"Why didn't you tell me Jackie? – Why didn't you tell me you had cancer?" I asked her through tears. "Mum only told me that it was a serious woman's operation and I thought it was a hysterectomy."

We were both reduced to tears, and it was a very gut-wrenching conversation.

I honestly believed with that phone call, we had mended our broken bridges and we would finally enjoy our adulthood together - as good sisters should.

Because mum had kept me in the dark about Jackie's operation, and I never offered to assist her in any way when she came home from hospital - Jackie saw me as callous. We lived forty kilometres apart from each other and I now had two children aged 4 and eighteen months.

If I'd have known at the time, I would've gladly made a weekly trip to help her out. I still loved and cared about her – she was my sister. But Jackie never forgave me and took it with her to the grave.

Just over two years passed by and so did Dad - in 1978. He died of complications from epilepsy, which was the result of a brain tumour removal five years earlier. He also suffered with emphysema from fifty years of smoking. He was aged 65.

I was 27 at the time and mother of three daughters aged 6, almost 4 and 15mths. With Peter and our three daughters, we travelled up from Beenleigh at midnight to be with mum. The local priest was there with her and so was Jackie.

Dad was still at Greenslopes Repatriation Hospital, where he always went for hospitalization. Mum told us someone needed to claim dad's body. Neither mum nor Jackie wanted to go, and when I asked - neither did Peter. So I left Peter and our girls there and continued onto Greenslopes alone.

When I arrived at the hospital, I parked and went inside. I walked up to the nurse of his ward and introduced myself and why I'd come. She offered her condolences and gave me dad's things, asked me to sign for them and if I wanted an autopsy performed on dad. I asked her "Is it really necessary?" and she replied "No."

I then asked "May I please see dad?" "I'm sorry, but he's already been taken to the mortuary." Then seeing my disappointed look, she phoned them and asked to prepare dad for viewing.

I was scared walking down to see dad; it was now 1.30 on a wet and dark Monday morning. I needed to go outside and down a canopied walkway of some length. I'd never seen anyone dead before, but dad's words kept ringing in my ear.

" _Never be afraid of the dead George. If they didn't hurt you when they were alive - they won't hurt you after_."

Walking into a small room, I saw dad lying in there on a doctor's table, sheet pulled up to his chin. He looked peaceful sleeping there. All the furrows on his brow were gone and his face relaxed.

I sat with him for a while talking - and then kissed him goodbye on the forehead. We had parted on bad terms the week before, and I needed to apologise and make my peace with him.

After the funeral and when dad's ashes were ready, I collected them from the crematorium for mum and took them home with me - as mum was afraid to have them in the home. Oddly enough in 1983 - five years later, I took a job as a Funeral Arranger.

* * * * *

Chapter 9: The Précis

Jackie passed in 1984, six years after dad and eight years after her mastectomy. It was four months before her 42nd birthday. The cancer cells which had escaped into her bloodstream, had masticated into four inoperable brain tumours. Multiple doses of radium couldn't remove or shrink them.

She left behind her husband Frank and three children aged 17, 15 and 13. I wouldn't have wished that death on my worst enemy - let alone my only sister. She fought off death courageously and did everything in her power to stay alive for her family.

I visited Jackie in hospital and while she was still lucid. Jackie's last words to me as she lay dying in hospital were –

" _Don't come to my funeral Bub - If you do, I've left instructions for you to be thrown out. . . . and I don't want my children embarrassed by such an event."_

Perhaps it was the tumours talking – I'll never know, but that remark cut very deep and I fought back tears. What had I done to deserve this?

I still attended her funeral and sat in the second row with mum. I left immediately after the churches combined mass and service. I was not guilty of what Jackie thought, and even with the threat of being thrown out; I was going to pay my last respects to my big sister.

Only Frank, their children, my brothers and Jackie's best-friend were attending the crematorium service and knew where it was.

I used my old contacts as a Funeral Director and found out where it was being held and told mum \- but she told me we weren't going. " **You respect the wishes of the dead Bub.** " Mum told me in an emphatic voice.

I left immediately after offering my condolences to Frank and the children. Frank invited mum to come back to their home for the wake, and mum turned to me and asked "Are you coming Bub?" I solemnly replied "No, mum - I'm going home." _I didn't want to go where I wasn't wanted – I did have some pride – albeit somewhat reduced._

Peter and I divorced in 1988 after a twenty year relationship but remained good friends and still celebrated family special occasions together and Christmas.

Two years later in 1990, I married Grant and our relationship was stormy to say the least. After seven months we separated.

I had supported Grant through detox as an out-patient of Bialla in Brisbane before we married, and got him 'clean' from his addiction to tranquillizers and alcohol. We married six months later and everything seemed fine until our chemist called me on the phone six weeks after we married.

Philip asked "Are you aware that a new doctor at the medical centre has prescribed Ducene for Grant?" "What?" I asked, angry that this had been done. Especially after everything we both had gone through getting him 'clean'. I asked Grant if this was true and he immediately denied it. He threatened to make trouble for our chemist for telling me.

I had noticed some erratic behaviour from him, but thought nothing of it. Then the partner of a neighbour I confided in confirmed that he'd been holding onto Grant's Ducene for him.

Angry, hurt and betrayed I confronted Grant and he denied it. I asked Grant to leave. I felt like he had cheated on me and lost all trust in him. We split seven months after we married.

I began counting down the months until I could divorce Grant and with only a fortnight before I could file for it. A well meaning Christian friend encouraged me to reconcile with Grant, telling me that it was 'the end times' and I needed to make my atonement with the Lord.

We reunited a week before our second anniversary and a fortnight later on my 41st birthday I fell pregnant.

Grant was ecstatic over my pregnancy, but he was being very inquisitive and driving me crazy with all his questions and little idiosyncrasies – just like he used to. He wanted to know if I felt anything yet and this was asked every day.

And every day I gave him the same answer "Grant, I'm just pregnant - I won't feel anything until around twenty weeks."

By reconciling with Grant I had also lost my third daughter Tina, as she didn't want to live with Grant again. She was now fourteen and could choose which parent she wanted to live with.

I realized that our reconciliation had been a big mistake. I shouldn't have listened to my friend. Spruiking Christian principles to me to make me feel guilty - was not the correct way to reconcile a broken marriage.

_How could I bring a new baby into this relationship?_ – I thought. It wasn't right. And so after making alternative living arrangements, I left Grant at six weeks pregnant.

Peter was still living in our marital home. I had signed it over to him because our three girls who were 14, 17 and 19, were still living with him. Peter had worked very hard to keep a roof over our heads when we were married, and I felt he deserved to have the home.

I told Peter of my problems with Grant, and Peter suggested that our youngest and me come and live with him. I slept in another bedroom sharing it with our adopted daughter Rosalee (ref; **Rosalee – a little girl lost** ) who was ten. We slept in bunk beds and I was totally grateful. _Perhaps leaving Peter had been a mistake – who knew?_

But I knew one thing. That at least living there in my old home, I would be safe and not have Grant turn up on my doorstep, drunk, abusive and yelling at me if front of my neighbours.

Jackie was born three months before my 42nd birthday (ref; **Jackie – What's in a name** ). Circumstances prevented Jackie from ever knowing her biological father completely. Years of the on again, off again relationship with Grant, coupled with his constant deceptions, all became too much and we divorced soon after Jackie was born.

My eldest daughter Samantha was the last member of our family to speak with mum her last night on earth. It was Sammie's daughter ( _my grand-daughter_ ) Jaynee's 2nd birthday and mum had phoned that night apologizing for forgetting and to wish her a happy day. Jaynee was in bed, but mum and Sammie had a good long chat.

Mum passed away in her sleep during the wee hours of the following morning - in June 1996, five days after her 82nd birthday. In her lifetime, mum had spent many years looking after sick and aged family members - including her own mother Isabella, whom she nursed through cancer from the age of sixteen until twenty.

Mum deserved to go peacefully like that – she had earned that right.

It was Peter who Paddy phoned to tell about mum's passing – not me. He told Peter that he didn't have my phone number which was a bare faced lie. Peter then relayed the message on to me with great sadness in his voice.

When I arrived at mums later that morning with my fiancé Nathan, Paddy told me he had organized for a Funeral Director to come around at 1.00pm. He was now wearing mum's diamond rings on his fingers ( _cocky I thought_ ) and had a stubby of beer in his hand.

Paddy also said that mum didn't have enough money to be buried. "Look." He said as he handed me her cheque book already opened at the balance page of $1,000.00 odd, and her passbook account.

Mum didn't like technology; ATM's were not for her. She'd draw whatever she needed plus some extra, for the fortnight and keep it in her purse. Mum told me on Mothers Day (a month before she passed),

" _You don't have to worry about burying me Bub, I have more than enough money in my account. I've kept my true balance hidden from Paddy, so he won't be asking me for money to buy a dog. I don't want any more dogs."_

Disturbed, I phoned Peter and told him the situation. I asked if he could help out with costs, and he agreed - mum had been his mother too for 20yrs. Peter and I were now divorced but still very good friends and someone I could always rely on.

When the Funeral Director arrived, I introduced myself, Nathan and Paddy. I took over all the funeral arrangements and Paddy just sat there listening, topping himself up with stubbies of beer. I went into mum's bedroom and selected the clothes for her and requested an open casket, as Robby would want to see mum.

Mum had asked me, to place dad's ashes under her left arm next to her heart in her coffin, when she died – as she wanted dad buried with her. Paddy reminded me of dad's ashes - as I had forgotten.

I stood up, walked over to the piano, collected dad's ashes and walked back and gave them to the Director. Then I asked her to place them by mum's heart under her arm. They were still sealed in the copper brick from the crematorium, and had sat behind his framed picture for several years, as before that Peter and I had them.

I was asked about mum's religion and what church I wanted for the service. But before I could answer Paddy piped in with "We're Catholic." Mum hadn't been inside her local Catholic church in a good number of decades, not since Peter and my wedding in 1970. Although she still prayed the Rosary every night before she went to sleep.

Mum had always loved my Lutheran church in Beenleigh and its large illuminated stained glass window, depicting Jesus' ascension into heaven. My church was the last church mum had set foot in.

So I answered "I'd like mum buried by our Lutheran pastor in Beenleigh." Mum knew him quite well from my second eldest daughter Danielle's wedding, Jaynee's christening, and from attending church outings and a coffee meeting for Nathan's and mine impending wedding.

I wanted someone who knew mum personally, to talk about her - not some stranger. Paddy just sat there saying nothing but sipping on his stubby. I know he objected to this arrangement, but I wasn't going to be hypocritical.

Nathan and I were being married in eleven weeks time and Mum was going to give us $500.00 as a wedding present – to go towards our honeymoon. Paddy had told me that mum had $500 waiting at the local RSL and it was addressed to me – he couldn't collect it.

Having that money addressed to me and being the youngest child - would've grated on Paddy's nerves, I could see it in his face. _Mum had the money there for safe keeping and where Paddy couldn't get it_.

I went to the RSL and collected it. I later used it to buy a double lawn plaque for mum and dad in the Beenleigh Lawn Cemetery and not for our honeymoon. They deserved to be identified and given the respect they earned.

Mum always kept $1,000, in 10 x $100 bills folded into three, in a silver cigarette case in her red handbag – 'in case of emergencies'. This case she also showed me on Mother's Day.

When I went to her handbag to look for this, all that was in the case was a book of stamps. I looked in mum's wallet too and there was only coin – about ten dollars in shrapnel. Mum always kept notes on her, as she paid for smaller things by cash.

I phoned her bank to find out mum's exact balance and the manager told me I would need to come up in person and bring her chequebook and purse with proof of identity. When I arrived at the bank, the manager confirmed there was more than enough to bury her. Then he handed me a printout of her balance. There was just over $4,000. _This was a relief_.

I went back to mums and told Paddy.

Next Nathan and I began looking for mums Will in her bedroom. Paddy stood in the doorway leaning against it and watching us - sipping on yet another stubby. I began bagging mums clothes for charity, whilst at the same time ripping up all her old letters, cards and accumulated sales brochures and tossing them away.

Nathan was taking the clothes in large garbage bags out to the car and loading them in. Paddy didn't own a car, so it was left for us to donate them. We decided to bring the wheelie bin in from outside, to save continually walking through the house with little grocery bags of rubbish.

When our car was fully loaded, we left and went to the local charity store, offloaded, then drove home to Beenleigh to get Jackie from Sammie's. Jackie was my youngest daughter from a brief second marriage.

Nathan and I returned the next day and continued our search and cleanup. We never found mum's updated Will. We needed to know who the executor was, as mum had said she'd changed it from Paddy to Peter – as Peter was trustworthy and reliable and would 'do the right thing'.

Paddy kept saying as we were looking and cleaning things out "Mum had it a couple of nights ago. I saw her with it – it's in a green folder, with pockets in it."

I eventually found the folder on the third day, stuck between mum's headboard and beside table. I remarked to Nathan that it wasn't there the day before, as I had looked there and behind the headboard. He just raised his eyebrows at me. I opened it up, but only some birth certificates and dad's death certificate were in there. _Paddy had been there first_.

But since I was with mum after dad died when she made her original Will with his solicitors, I phoned them and made inquiries. They replied "I'm sorry but there is no Will register in Queensland. If your mum has updated her Will, there is no way to find out. I can send you a copy of her original one - if you like?" I replied "Yes please."

Every move I made and thing I did in the home was watched under the eagle eye of Paddy. _He was shrewd – I'll give him that._ He said almost nothing - only just watched and sipped his beer.

Perhaps having Nathan with me stopped him from being difficult - as Nathan outweighed him by a good forty kilos and was a few inches taller. Regardless Paddy remained compliant and ever observant.

Paddy and I were working together very well - _well I was working and he was watching,_ until Robby arrived on the scene two days later.

We came in through the front door using my key, as it was shut _strange I thought_. I heard voices, and found Paddy, Robby and his wife Marcia, were all seated at the kitchen table drinking and smoking. Paddy was seated in mum's seat at the head.

Robby's reaction upon seeing us was very cold and unresponsive. With a smile on my face I said "Hello Robby" and introduced Robby to my fiancé Nathan and my middle girl Tina 18 - trying to keep things amicable.

Robby sat there eyeing Nathan up and down with a sneer on his face ( _Nathan was a heavy-set Greek a little shorter in height than Robby_ ), then Robby rose, came over to us . . . . . and shook Nathan's hand while eyeballing him. _He was still trying to be the bully._

Paddy was just sitting at the head of the table in mum's chair with a smirk on his face, obviously enjoying Robbie's scrutinizing of Nathan. Paddy had not only a fridge full of beer with two more cases on the floor, but had also acquired himself a new Chihuahua puppy.

He'd apparently come into a windfall since yesterday and it wasn't even pension week. Why was I not surprised? The new puppy and beer explained where mum's $1,000 emergency money went and the notes from her purse.

I asked Paddy whose puppy was it and he answered smugly "Mine."

I turned and went into mum's bedroom to finish off the packing and sorting of mum's belongings, followed by Nathan and Tina.

Five minutes later Paddy was standing in the doorway and said "We're going up the road to the Bowls Club." The Bowls Club was half way up the avenue, about ten houses away. This was Paddy's regular watering hole since he began playing bowls and only a stone's throw for him to stagger home.

I replied "Okay, I'll catch you later." Then Robby stuck his head through the doorway and said in a gruff voice "We need to lock up the house." I replied "Don't worry \- I'll do it when we leave."

"How long you gonna be?" was Robby's next question. "As long as it takes" I replied, somewhat vexed by his tone. _I was doing them a favour and helping with the sorting, why was he being like this to me?_

" **I want you out of the house now – BEFORE WE LEAVE**!" Robby ordered me. "I'm sorry, but I'm not going until I finish" I replied sternly. "I have as much right to be here as you!"

With that Paddy just grabbed Robby by the arm and whispered something in his ear and then the three of them left. We packed what we could into Tina's little car, as we were out of petrol from the two previous journeys and all the extra running around.

We got into the car to leave and I asked her what she thought about Robby? "I don't like him mum." And I replied to her "You know what Tina? - I don't like him either!"

Paddy had been telling tales out of school and making trouble for me – he was throwing in a red herring and I was it! All I was trying to do was help and ensure charity got mum's clothes and find her Will so it could be carried out. If it was left to Paddy, everything would've been dumped!

Paddy had lived with mum since his divorce several years earlier and had given her nothing but a lot of unnecessary stress. We saw him almost every time we visited her. But if it was pension week . . . then he'd be at the Bowls Club - drinking.

Mum would tell me how he'd come home drunk from there on pay day and be abusive towards her. Then to add insult to injury, he'd tell mum he lost her board money playing pokies, or his wallet was stolen, and mum would have to struggle for the next fortnight.

Although not a very tall man and slight build, Paddy stood over mum by a good 20cms. Mum was never one to be bullied, and would play Paddy at his own game. Standing her own ground and defying him to touch her.

Vietnam had a lot to answer for. . . . Paddy was one sick puppy.

My decision to have mum buried through my church incensed my brothers and their families. Although none of them were 'practising' Catholics – they were Catholics none-the-less.

After mum's funeral, everyone was invited by Peter to his home for the wake, as it was nearby and we only lived in a small townhouse. Mum's only surviving sister Zita and her daughter Denise, my five daughters and two sons-in-law, Nathan and I were inside with Peter, drinking tea and eating the prepared food.

Everyone else – around twenty, were gathered outside on the front patio, smoking and drinking. I was never introduced to my new family members. They had all shunned me at the funeral service, through Robby's instigation. It was like the Catholics and Protestants.

So not wanting an ugly scene to exacerbate an already tense and sad time, I kept my distance by remaining inside and away from finger pointing.

Jackie's only daughter Jay came in to see me with her husband and Frank before she left. This is the only time Jay spoke to me. She introduced me to her husband and I in turn, introduced them both to mum's sister Zita and my cousin Denise ( _her second cousin_ ).

I also introduced them to my youngest daughter Jackie, who was four, and whom she'd never met.

My niece was then 28 and two months pregnant with her first child. I hadn't seen Jay or Frank since Jackie's funeral – twelve years before.

Paddy came in to say goodbye to Peter only, on leaving. Robby, although the youngest son was calling the shots now - and Paddy was doing his bidding. Paddy told Peter "Tell Bub not to bother coming to mum's – as we've changed the locks!"

I had every right to go to mum's – she had given me a key, but they had locked me out. They were now going back to mum's to hold a booze-up wake.

I later learnt from Aunty Alma in Bundy, that Paddy had phoned her immediately after mum's death, telling her there was no money to bury her and could she help out. Aunty told me she had written him a cheque "For a considerable amount of money."

Nathan and I married and had 29 wonderful months together (ref; **Kukla Mou – the little Greek Princess** ). He died in front of me in emergency at age 54 of a heart aneurysm. He had been sick for a few months beforehand and no amount of blood tests could reveal what the problem was.

I personally believe it was from the tattoo of Sylvester Cat he had done on his upper arm ten days before he left for Greece. He needed to return to settle his mother's estate. Knowing him he would have forgotten to use the antiseptic cream for it and I believe some germ entered his system.

Whilst in Greece for six weeks, he began complaining on headaches and hot and cold sweats. It was late autumn up there and yet he told me of fever. Less than five months after having his tattoo, Nathan was gone.

Our little church in Beenleigh was packed to the brim on the day of his funeral. Realtors had taken time off and all the friends he made while with me.

He was a man amongst men and a love like his I will never know again. He used to call me his queen and to me he was a king. Nothing was ever impossible or too much trouble for him to do. Whenever I asked him for something he'd reply with "Whatever you want my love – all you need do is ask."

If my brothers Paddy and Robby are still alive today, they will be 74 and 67. Sadly, when I buried our mother - I also buried them. Mum was the tie to us being a family and with her passing, that tie was severed irrevocably. Not by me – but by my brothers.

I still miss mum to this day. May she and dad rest in peace.

In hindsight and as a grandmother, when I look back on my life as a Baby Boomer, I believe I had a good upbringing and wouldn't have wanted it any other way. My parents were honest, loving and protective folk, who constantly advised me and taught me common sense and decency. They had an insatiable desire for helping others less fortunate and bringing joy to the old and infirmed. From my parents there was always love, advice, comfort, good food, warm clothing and a clean bed to sleep in.

What more could any kid want?

### THE END

## ###

**MORAL:-** Never let a chance go by without telling people who matter most in your life - that you love them. But if they refuse to listen or won't accept you because of whatever reason – then move on. Don't carry their problems or wear them as yours. WE are only responsible for our own actions and not for the actions of others.

From the author: _If you enjoyed this story, please feel free to review it on the title page. All reviews are gratefully accepted and appreciated. Thank you, Trevi Formea_

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