TRUE STORY: MUM’S FEET
It was during the Great Depression, when money was in short supply, that the collector would visit weekly to pick up a small amount of cash toward the sum that was owed. The two young boys who were sitting at the top of the outside stairs glimpsed the gas man approaching. They informed their mother who was nearby on the verandah. Knowing she did not possess even the trivial necessary amount, she flung herself onto one of the handy beds, and in a panic-stricken voice beseeched her sons, ‘Quick! Cover me with the rug! And tell the man I am not at home!’ The gas man ascended the stairs and asked for the mother. ‘Mum’s not at home,’ they informed the collector. ‘Oh, where is she?’ he asked. ‘She’s gone to town.’ ‘Are you sure?’ ‘Yair. She’s gone to town.’ ‘Well, when she gets home,‘ he said as he glanced around, ‘I want you to tell your mother something…tell her the next time she goes to town, remember to take her feet with her!’
CONTENTMENT
CONTENTMENT When asked what was the main attribute that contributed to her longevity, my ninety-eight year old grandmother would retort quite defiantly, ‘Contentment!’ This rather puzzled the younger ones, as she had led such an isolated life on a country dairy farm,...
CONTENTMENT
REMEMBERING OLD SCHOOL DAYS
How I love reading of the old days in the Tamborine Bulletin! Not only does it inform me; it sometimes takes me back to my childhood at Buccan and my school days at Logan Village. This time, I was transported to the one-teacher school where headmaster Mr Alec Brown...
THE CROWS AT BUCCAN
Recent news about crows menacing humans reminded me of my school days when Marty, Joan and I would walk barefoot the five kilometres from our home on Buccan Hill to the Logan Village School. The first hundred or so metres down the long hill were safe enough, but then...
THE MEAT ANTS ON THE WAY TO SCHOOL
We walked barefoot to school at Logan Village. The gravel road near the Quinzy Creek bridge was sometimes covered in large meat-ant’s nests. These big red ants packed a powerful sting of which we were most aware. Joan and I skirted round the nests, but one day, Marty...
THE SILVER THIMBLE
We were leaving the district. Leaving the farm that had been home to four generations of my father’s family. The Great Depression still raged and times were tough for a small dairy farmer of 1937. They would try their luck in the city. A share farmer was arranged, a...
VALE BARRY HUMPHRIES
What a great entertainer! He has enabled us to enjoy such mirth! Such talent! He will be missed. Years ago, when my daughter Katy was a teenager, we were having a day at the Brisbane Exhibition. We had not long passed through the gates when I almost bumped into this...
YOU ARE JUST STARTING TO LEAN A BIT WHEN YOU HAVE TO BLOODY-WELL DIE!
That’s what my father used to say when he was in his eighties. And now I am at least THINKING it. Yes, it is true. It sometimes takes a lifetime to really understand some issues...or someone. Perhaps it is because when one gets older, one might have more time to...
FAIR EXCHANGE
The doorbell woke me from my midday nap. I groggily answered the front door. The pleasant looking young man smiled at me. ‘My wife and I were going past your place,’ he said, ‘and we noticed all the oranges under the tree. I wondered if you could spare a few? They...
SUNFLOWERS
As she does, my daughter Katy brought me a bunch of seven huge sunflowers. She knows I love their brightness. But more than that, they remind me of my early school days.Barefoot, we would walk the five ks from the farm at Buccan to the one-roomed school at Logan...