Who Am I? Childhood

A brief history of a life in many parts...

I was born in Feb 1958, you do the maths, in Sydney Australia. Had a pretty ordinary childhood which in those days consisted of quite a bit of free ranging. Out in the morning and the only rule was home by dark… or run home if the bell rang. My mother would go to the verandah and ring a large bell and that meant get home immediately. There was hell to pay if you dawdled. The bell could toll for an emergency or simply to announce afternoon tea was on.

We were one of the poorer families in a very wealthy neighbourhood. I grew up in Cremorne and Mosman for those who know it. Surrounded by stately homes, we were the 2nd floor in a block of flats. 2 bedroom unit with 2 parents and 3 kids (at that time). Most of the time not being as affluent as those around us didn’t really matter. With the odd exception. We were the recipients of bags of clothing on a reasonably regular basis and my sisters and I loved the lucky dip nature of acquiring new clothes. You never knew what you might find. However, going to a party as a teenager and having one of my friends announce, very loudly, that I was wearing her old jumper was not a highlight. At 14 it was deeply mortifying. But I survived and am still good friends with the previous jumper owner. I wonder if she remembers!

Our parents were avid campers and we spent a very large part of our weekends and holidays out in the bush. Starting early. As babies we were taken to Araluen regularly. Camping on a private property with my father providing a service by shooting rabbits. He hung the skins on a line to dry. Not sure he ever got any home though as the local goanna thought it was a meal service. This goanna was one of the huge ones and we saw it often. Mum was not fond of running into it on the track, getting herself into a stalemate. I think she is probably the one that retreated in the end. My very first time on a horse - I was 2 and the horse was huge and white. My earliest memory. Dad rode it out to help the farmers with the cattle mustering. I desperately wanted to go on that ride and ran after the horse. Incredible I didn’t get kicked but I can remember the lesson ‘never run after a horse’. It was drummed into me after the horse had bolted. (sorry, couldn’t resist).

Later, my parents met a man with a boat. Our camping venue changed. Now we went to the Nepean, 8klms upriver from Penrith, and camped in a large cave. No more packing tents for us. And waterskiing was the sport. At 7 I was finally allowed to learn and was a pretty decent skiier from then on graduating at about 12 to a single ski. I loved skiing and miss it terribly now. I try to avoid being anywhere people are skiing as it just makes me yearn for it!

The man with the boat also took lots of the local boys away on these skiing trips and he conveniently provided me with my first boyfriends. Honestly, I have no idea what my parents were thinking. I was alone all day with one, or several, teenage boys. The older I got, the less innocent it was. A story for another day.

We lived next to a gully and my friend and I used to roam around above, or below, ground. We named places in the gully things like ‘the electric eel pool’ and ‘the fairy bridge’. Our imagination was our favourite entertainer. The below ground exploration was via the stormwater drains under our suburb. It was hilarious to wait for someone to walk above us and suddenly shout out. Possibly caused the odd heart attack. It was a dangerous pasttime though. The outlet became a raging torrent when it was raining and we were often miles away from it underground. If a sudden storm occurred we would not have survived. We checked the weather very carefully before each expedition but there was always a possibility that gave it that edge of excitement.

Then there was the beach. We walked to Balmoral after school and on weekends as often as possible. Only 3klms each way but up and down a nasty hill. We were fit! Swimming and sunbaking. I had a permanent scab on my nose from getting sunburnt from September to May every year. I have told my GP that if I don’t get skin cancer on my nose then it’s all BS. Ha ha.. So far I have been lucky. We roamed around exploring down there too, following the abandoned tram tracks up the hill and exploring in the bush round the beach. Sitting in the roots of the enormous Moreton Bay Figs and chatting. Ice cream from the shop on the Esplanade. Getting lazy as a teenager and a bunch of us hitching a ride back up Raglan St to save on the walk… or the bus fare.

My indoor pursuits were reading, constantly, and drawing. I drew everthing and everyone in sight - especially in high school during my science classes. And my reading whilst walking to school drew a lot of attention - from the police one day who cruised up the street tailing me until I finally walked into a telegraph pole. Embarrassing!!

And of course school, I was a middle of the road student until 4th class when I was selected for an Opportunity C class. Surprise, surprise, I had a brain. Noone was more surprised than me. Loved that class. The 2 best years of my school career. Our teacher was warm hearted and inspiring and discovered and nurtured my artistic talent.

Next time… Hmmm the story of my teens… not sure how much I should tell. Let’s see when I get there.

Here’s an artwork.. I moved to the bush because I learned to love it as a child. This is a view on the road home to my place.