About my formative years

I was a wild kid – semi-feral some said – who took a lot of controlling. Dad’s big workman’s leather belt was regularly applied. It was interesting times. I learned to snare rabbits, recognise bird calls and identify the different species.

A common variety of rabbit snare on a frosty morning

I found wombat holes and swam in natural pools in the creeks and rivers with the platypus – or is that platypii? The bizarre appearance of this egg-laying, venomous, duck-billed, beaver-tailed, otter-footed mammal baffled European naturalists when they first encountered it, with some considering it an elaborate fraud. Only the males are venomous, having a defensive spur on the hind foot that delivers a venom capable of causing severe pain to humans.

 A Platypus

I made friends with Chinese market gardeners – even got to see inside their Joss House – sat around with them while they smoked from long-stemmed pipes and jabbered incoherently to my ears, picking up a word here and there. I was frequently given heaps of fresh vegetables to “Take home to Missy!”

A Chinese market gardener

A Joss House (Chinese house of Prayer) in Bendigo,

Victoria that provides a glimpse into the Chinese

culture and tradition.

There were apple and stone fruit orchards and I made friends with the orchardist who would allow me access – a short cut across an orchard saved up to half a mile of walking  - and was allowed to pick some fruit off the ground and sometimes helped with the harvest. I got to know a dairy farmer (who, as it turns out, was friendly with my father, something that brought me unstuck on occasions!) and learnt to milk a cow and squeeze the milk straight from the teat into my mouth – warm cow’s milk, unbelievable stuff! The roads were just unsealed dirt/clay tracks with no drainage and frequently had erosion gullies running down them from where the rains washed through the tyre tracks. Good travelling in barefeet.

I met some of the older families who had been resident in the area for generations and had boys of their own: the Longs – one of their sons, Terry, taught me to ride a Matchless 350cc motorbike and as he and his brother slept in a separate ‘out-building’, I had a safe place to stash my school gear and strip down to just short trousers and shirt. The Dunning boys – who taught me the art of playing rugby and of giving ‘no quarter’ – and, the Brett's on their dairy farm where I learnt to drive a tractor. The Johnston’s – who took me away on holidays with them, riding in the back of Mr Johnston’s Dodge utility truck. Mr Jones, the grocer – who could always find a bagful of broken biscuits for me if I had a penny. Irvine’s – who ran the bakery and allowed me to sit and smell the fresh bread as I ate a newly baked bread roll. I was know to them all and was no stranger.

There was not much about the Ryde locality that I didn’t know and there were few locals who did not recognise me. My world was about to change, however, it was going to get much bigger.

The time had come for me to move on from St Charles Borremeo, no doubt causing the nuns and father Kelly much joy, the question was “where to?” My friends were going to Holy Cross College at Ryde and that was my choice but Dad said “No! Too close to his bush, we would never  keep him in school!”!  I think he did not give the Patrician Brothers enough credit for being the strict disciplinarians that they were.

Holy Cross College, Ryde.

There were the Christian Brothers schools at Rozelle and Balmain were also considered, however, the travel distance and a ‘return’ to the area the family had left were factors against that choice.

Eventually the Marist Brothers School, “Villa Maria”  at Hunters Hill was chosen – far enough away from my rural urges (so they thought), good transport system and a promise of discipline, a case of “Who would break first”, and I was determined it wasn’t going to be me!