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Similar but not as tragic, travelling with Dad in the 38 Chev and homemade 6x4 trailer rear seat removed to fit more gear in.
We were around Gin Gin driving slowly on a dirt road, un beknown to us Gypsies were rifling our trailer taking the back seat and a suit case
Probably why I hate theives as I had to sit in the back of that Chev all the way to QLD and back to Melb on the Hump
"Bare feet, Horse back and Electric Fences!"
“The Glen”, Tumbarumba was a great place to grow up, the slow combustion stove in the kitchen was at least 10 feet long, (I was only 4yrs old) o.k. it was four feet long and had an open fire at the other end with a huge cast iron oven that would hang over the flame and slowly cook.
Dad had to do his stock work on horse back, now and then he would need to carry equipment so he would harness up “Bonnie” and the two of them would trundle off over the paddocks.
One day I went with dad and watched in ore as he setup an electric fence to keep the cattle from pushing the fence over, I could see dad was getting very frustrated with the fence with no kick or boot from the wire when tentatively touched (at arms length I might add) when dad said “come over here son and touch this wire, it wont hurt” CRACK!! and I was on my backside about 3mtr away stunned for the experience, you see dad was wearing rubber gun boots and these insulated him from the shock.
I would often travel with dad in the sulky with “Bonnie” up front we would feed the stock and check the water troughs.
It was a very sad morning when after a storm we found “Bonnie” had been struck by a falling tree and was killed in the storm.
Mr and Mrs Morton owned the property we lived on and mum would clean their main homestead. I remember having to stay outside in the yard as mum was cleaning. Mrs Morton was a hard woman. The main homestead had an in ground pool and dad would take us for a swim in the warmer months while the Morton’s were away on vacation. I guess they were from the “high side of town”!
Mum always seemed to have “potty lambs” around and I can remember feeding these lambs with a big feed bucket designed with multiple teats round the rim and hoses that reached to the bottom of the bucket. I used to recon they could “spin their tales so fast, they would take off,,” they really enjoyed these feeds, nearly as much as I did!
"Mongrels, School buses and utmost respect!"
David was the only son of Mr & Mrs Morton and boy was he a mongrel.
He would often place me high atop a pony belonging to his sister Margo. Slap on the horses rump and I was off, flat out across the paddock no bridle or saddle.
The trip would often only last a few minutes as I was no horse rider, I can remember thinking as I slid down the horse’s girth “I’m never going to have one of these for me” another time I sat next to David on the bus trip home from school, this trip often took about 35 minutes and as I was only a little tacker I sort safety in the presence of someone I new.
I was just about to get off the bus this afternoon when David said “instead of saying goodbye, tell the driver to get @#$#ed.
I thought no more of my farewell to the bus driver the previous day as I walked down the driveway and waited for the bus to arrive the very next morning. “Hello” was my greeting and the driver followed with “you can sit behind me for the trip into town young fella”.
As I sat proudly and quietly behind the driver, I had no idea what was in stall for me.
Just as I was about to get off the bus the driver asked me to stand aside and wait for the other kids to get off first, as he shut the door I started to get a bit scared.
Do you know what you are doing here young fellow?
“No” was all I could offer as we started to make our way down to the police station.
I was petrified and had no idea what I had done.
As I sat patiently and wondered what was in stall he stopped the bus and asked did I know what I had said the afternoon before?
I had no idea and professed this to him over and over again, he then told me it was very rude what I had said and asked who had told me to say such a thing?
Of cause I told him it was David Morton, he then drove me back to school.
Isn’t it funny how these early dealings shape the very person we are today?
My respect for elders was entrenched from that day forward.
“Good Morning Mr Smith”, “Good Afternoon Mrs Brown” were my trade mark greetings for my entire growing years.
Even today when ever I greet an older person, that trip down to the Tumbarumba Police station is vivid in my mind.
when i was a kid i used to stand in a basen in the rain under the down pipe and enjoy the pure fun of it
when i was a kid i used to walk the main goverment road on the island and not have to worry about cars
when i was a kid it was 8 hrs by sea to thee corner shop for an ice cream,,,,,, oh yeah to hot for ice creams but 2 hrs in the boat got us to church on sunday LOL
this also proves that Hekarewe used to be a cute little fella
Looks like great memories there Hekarewe
the best hard life for boy growing up on an island in PNGQuote:
Originally Posted by threedogs
heres few more pig hunting with the natives
an average nightly sun set from the front door
and the veiw from the front of the house with me and dad heading over to the village in the family "car" native dungout canoe lol
heres a few more for you
who can remember the old kero fridges i used o love to mess with it so it make pritty patterens on the wall with the soot drove mum mad
and the old laundry copper the smell of pamolive soap bars melting as the cloths are boiled and stirred by the house girl
going out just at sunset to start the old 3 cyclinder lister diesel geni then going out a few hours later to switch it off and go to bed
so many things that kids of today just have no concept of at all
Not kero fridges but remember ice man coming around I reco Antique Iceboxes ATM
Bush job out in the Simmo on Gen power, and nightly sunsets so similar
“And they say the young don’t take notice!”
The Broadhurst family lived on an adjoining property and we came to know them as Uncle Les and Aunty Maureen along with Brian, Dianne and Judith.
After they moved we spent many weekends at their little property at Jingellic on the border of Victoria and NSW.
Fishing for trout and playing tennis were favoured past times.
Uncle Les would milk his old cow every morning and if you were lucky enough to join him, he would get us to sample the warm milk straight from the udder.
“Just how Mother Nature intended!”
I remember Uncle Les would have tomato on toast for breakfast, with pepper and a little salt.
I remember one time we met the Broadhurst’ family down at Windang in the Illawarra for a few days in the school holidays. Spent some good times chasing crabs and little fish in the rock pools. The girls would often challenge us at tennis and sheep stations were placed on the line, or so it would seem. It’s unfortunate how our families grew apart for the reasons of general family life I guess.
“The day mankind walked on the moon!”
We sat on the floor eyes glued to the black and white television in the corner as Neil Armstrong stepped onto the Moon’s surface for the first time.
My first day at school was at Seven Hills in Sydney. Nan had the envious job of taking me for my first day.
As we walked the long trip down Lucas rd to the little school at the bottom of the hill, I can remember being scared as heck. The week before Nan had taken me down the street to have my hair cut for school, “make it nice and short” were Nan’s orders as she walked out side to go next door to the paper shop.
When Nan walked back in I heard for the first time those words that we all remember Nan for, “oh’ shit!” was all she said.
The barber had taken Nan’s orders literally and had shaved my head with a number 1 comb, straight off with the clippers.
Nan was stricken, she was so worried mum and dad was going to be mad. All I can remember mum saying was “it’ll grow back, don’t worry about it!”
Yvonne st Seven Hills was another address I enjoyed alongside my trusty companion Mate, a Jack Russell Terrier, or that’s what he was suppose to be. He stood about the height of a kelpie with long shaggy hair and the markings of a terrier.
Combine that with the attitude of a heeler and you have one heck of a dog. Mate would growl and bark, often bit anyone who he felt was a tad too close to “his mate”, me! Dad’s brother Richard was as scared as heck when ever he came around because Mate had chased him over the fence on more than one occasion, I guess Mate was a good judge of character.
I didn’t want to leave Mate at Stockinbingal when we went back to Sydney, but dad just said we couldn’t take him.
I remember on a visit back to Stock I rode for days searching, from “Corby’s lane” to “Stock hill” from “Morton’s Hill” to “Emu Chase” all the while looking for Mate I called on every farm house, searched every shearing shed and explored every wood heap.
I remember talking with Pop about how we moved back to Sydney and how he looked after Mate.
“Son, Mate didn’t like being tied up anymore than you like living in Sydney.”
“He just ran away, son” was all pop said.
So off I rode in search of my best Mate, only to find out many years later that Pop had to shoot Mate after he became aggressive and started to bite everyone.
“A dog that bites has no place in the country”
Or so they say!
“A man without a dog, is a man without a soul”