The Boarding School, well I can’t go there except I met an older boy from;
Plunkett Street I knew and was boarding there, he looked after me. We left there, more's the pity, never saw Denis Payne again. In passing, the Three Sisters used to welcome me on my days "off", they allowed me to climb all over them, it seems I had no fear of heights, but now sweaty palms indicate a change in disposition.
LITTLE KIDS AND ME, BOARDING HOME, NUNS?
Then there was a place I know not where, very young my earliest memories?, I can see Nuns and kids and beds and Gremlins, not the Nuns and kids and beds!, running by outside the windows grimacing and calling, but only after eating mashed potatoes. Imagination is a kids best friend, my little buddy Michael had a friend, never got to meet him, diet may play a part we all had dreams, and no body can take them from us. Importantly, keep the thoughts in the context of a young mind and protect the innocent little people who grow up to be us. Holy mackerel brother, you deviated something dramatic.
THE BEGA VALLEY, GRACE AND BILL, SHIRLEY DAVID MICHAEL AND ME, AND MY SECRET PLACE
Bega Primary seems a good school to re-visit, the south coast of N.S.W. is incredible, the dairy country is renowned for its rich harvest and the close proximity to the coast means, (http://www.sapphirecoast.com.au) shut uppa yer face, keep it to your self. Soon after leaving Katoomba mum dragged me to the Bega Valley , if she hadn’t of this adventure could not have happened, thanks mum. (http://begavalley.nsw.gov.au/).
Mum worked at a hotel in Bega, she was preety good looking and took up? with the son of a dairy farmer, Clive was his name, (the son). They formed a tumultuous partnership for many years and again they carted me all over. For a period mum and I lived in town, had already commenced school at Bega Primary then found ourselves on Clive’s’ Parents property (3)? miles north of Bega, 90 plus milkers plus Bill and Grace the loveliest people I have ever met, Peter became my step brother and we had some interesting experiences, wonder if Peter can remember the day Grandma Snowdon asked us to go and fetch mushrooms in the north paddock.
MUSHROOMS, BIG AS DINNER PLATES.
We set of with “Grannies” basket, a sling shot each and pride in our step; the plovers were “Stukas” protection of their young was by brute force, equipped with spurs on their elbows. As one picked musshies the other let off, who’s my proof reader! I mean, shot a missile in the direction of the diving plover. Now it’s my turn with the anti-aircraft weapon and lets go a rock to protect Peter, bugger missed no! the bloody stone hits Peter and he drops, well, like a rock. In between helping Peter, (Prof. Peter Snowdon now!), fighting off dive bombers we did have mushrooms for dinner.
PETER SNOWDON, RECONS HE KNOWS TREES
Must linger with the Peter saga because we shared many stories as farm kids, the poor bugger had some ill health as a boy but he survived, just like most things in my life I lost contact, however, I do know he is a very respectable member of scientific community. He won't mind me relating the story regards climbing out on a tree limb over the creek below the farm. You see we were looking for Wood Duck nests, and eggs, yum, yum. Peter has clambered along an over hanging branch and slipped into the creek, splash and help me!. in that order, he flails and displays obvious panic, I leaps into the water to assist my friend and, and, and, "Peter you goose stand up the water is only bloody waist deep". Had to get Peter home soaking wet to his mum, Grandma Grace was quite displeased.
Me because of Peter, became a "Conso", we grew green frogs from slimy bunches of eggs collected from the creek, we transposed the egg sacks to a water filled small corrugated tank with suitable furniture, like rocks and water foliage. As they became tadpoles and grew into frogs Peter the note taker would record their progress, smart bugger. To supplement his need for edifying information we would take the .22 and shoot eels in the creek. Clive, (Peters older) had an obsession to hunt and we wandered through adjoining properties on occasion in search of rabbits. I must relate that mostly all rabbits suffered from "myxo", this syndrome was an incredibly painful human induced method to combat a problem we established in the bloody first place. Get that up ya. Let me tell you how two young boys intended to solve the problem.
Firstly. Peter and I used to chat a lot, Peter talked and I would listen and argue, the hunting expedition commenced with Clive as lead. Peter and I would follow constantly discussing various issues, there many polite requests for silence from the lead, "shut up you little pricks" was his favorite expression. During one hunting trip as we stumbled behind we came upon a warren and discovered several small kittens in hiding.
With great innovation we stuffed several little weeping bunnies into our shirts and said naught to the "great white hunter", our intention was unclear expect for their survival. When we arrived back to the Farm House Peter and I discussed our plan for their future existence, Clives sense of hearing, remember his survival skills, was exemplary. "What have you little bastards got hiding in those shirts", the game was up!. No intention was deliberated into relating "off" stories so don't read further. One by one the kittens were disposed of by this farmer’s son.
Clive was a dead shot, a good fisherman, a returned serviceman and a carpenter, he had the same inherent problems every returned service person has, “you sent me, now let me forget with dignity, at least respect me”. The Bega Valley Snowdons are well respected they are Scottish and proud and will have a similar hierarchy to my Lovegroves. Graham may help me. God I love the Bega district, Tathra is a seaside town about (11) miles east, it was a Port in the past days of coastal maritime traffic. Loading produce on to small steamers was no small feat on a wharf built inside a partially protecting headland, Tathra Wharf south coast N.S.W., go and see, in fact don’t hesitate its got a great Pub.
BEGA VALLEY, THE DAIRY PEOPLE, THE WONDERFULL PEOPLE
Will not bring myself to say "step". Grand Parents Grace and Bill Snowdon were the best people who ever milked a cow, preserved in a "Fowlers", worked from dawn to dusk, suffered hardships but never complained, Bill worked for the council, he died for the council, he was hospitable and I am biased, why, he would take us to the wharf on a Sunday to go fishing. Oh yes the payoff; 0530 start, help with the milking the Jerseys , in the old Ford? and off. Grace always smelt like butter and cream and flour and good things, things like country mothers should smell like, she also smelt just like my mum and together could churn butter and brand a calf. Incidentally Betty Isabella Matilda Elizabeth Farley / Lovegrove is still waiting to return to " Rosedale " and Bega, I have her ashes with me. My problem is a separation thing, if some of her ashes are spread at each place can she "join up", don't hate me for this, that's mums humour / humor.
I have read several stories relating to women from the country, some are suspiciously biased and sexist, let me tell you country girls have been holding their head high for ever, and that includes Grace Snowdon and my mum, they have contributed and are largely responsible for the generation of our country values, they were capable of any task and willingly contributed, any person who denigrates their contribution or questions their equality, male or female should have lived then so get a frigging life.
60 YEARS AGO!, TATHRA BEACH AND THERE'S THAT GIRL AGAIN. OH, AND THAT'S ME MUM.
THE BEGA VALLEY, TATHRA AND 'THE' MYSTICAL EXPERIENCE.
For me, describing the Bega Valley is worthy of many more chapters, so bear with me. I mentioned fishing off the Tathra Wharf, we would catch mostly trevaly and let the sharks go, and boy was / is there some monsters, they would cruise by the wharf quite regularly on their patrol in to the beach, the surf club guys must of blown the pea out of their whistles and rang the shark bell incessently during the surfing season, I will tell you about surf clubs later. On our return to the farm Bill and Grace would leave a parcel of fish with friends in town, sometimes on their doorstep the cats must of fed well. Tathra CBD? is built on a volcanic bluff protuding into the upper Tasman, the southern storms can be daunting with huge swells crashing on the jutting promitory of volcanic rocks just down from the pub on the way to the wharf. The story goes that a young man on his motor bike left the watering hole and proceeded in the direction of said wharf. Now the road at one point is 20 / 30 metres above sea leval, this is the area where the young man tragically lost his life. A huge swell generated by a storm that was raging has washed him and his bike into the unforgiving ocean, this was a particularly sad time, his family must have been devestated, sadly only his bike was recovered.
At the mouth of the Bega River on the northern end of the beautifull beach is a bridge, (one of two built, the orignal fell over during a huge flood), can be used to cross to another world of, then, pristine coastline with places like MOON BAY leading up the coast to Bermagui and if you go there don't tell anybody. When we were young a punt or ferry was the only means of getting from one side to the other, it was skippered by Sailor?, he lived on the northern side, a place where mum and Clive and I would stay on occasion. Sailor would ask me in the morning to take the billy to the dairy and fetch milk for breakfast, OK, I would walk in the direction as described, "its on the way to the ferry, about 1/2 mile", never found a dairy and of course returned empty handed, I guess years later I realised I had been had. Mention was made about what I called MOON BAY, while this may not be its real name, the ELDERS will have a special name, the access to this wonderfull place was secret and I returned there many times.
MOON BAY IS ARAGUNNU, THEIR MOMS AND DADS WERE NGARIGO
I must explain; MOON BAY exists only in white reality, for black folk it exists in DREAMTIME.
I MUST ALSO EXPLAIN; if I have tresspassed, strike out my memories. I was only nine, I did see you did'nt I?
My description will not do it justice, remember I'am only 9, so picture if you will walking down a spartan dirt road lined with Banksia and litterol forest and coastal palms, the road is ever desending and is constantly winding. You will see black and red Cockatoos an occasional small Wallaby and visions of dark people hunting and eventually you come to small clearing where you stop and wait for peace to desend. You take a short walk in the direction of the sound of small waves breaking and suddenly a spectacle of beauty is beholden, MOON BAY, your there!. Picture a wonderfull place, a clear blue sky with sea birds hovering is the backdrop for two volcanic headlands, and as they jut seawards, their dark red color contrasts with ocean blue encompassing a golden beach with outcrops of ancient rocks, there's a black man standing on one leg aiming his fish spear at something in the water, don't move or you will startle him, there's some black women and babies on the beach, nod to them.
Walk quitely down to the waters edge over golden sand and put your feet in the water, can you feel the wonderfull feeling of being in a secret place, you are aware this place is so serenely tranquill. You can fish if you want to or just observe and contemplate a place given to us to cherish and protect, you may have your own secret place but thank you for sharing mine and I bet your glad you came. Oh, if you look behind you thats me smiling and waving, was I wrong?, don't call out just cherish the DREAMTIME. NGARIGO ARAGUNNU TRIBE, did you let me 'in', if you did the moment was wonderfull. My aunty KINA WHAREPAPA, she watches my every move, GOD i WISH WE COULD GIVE IT BACK.
I really can't imagine topping that story in the literary sense, all of my imagination has been expended describing a place of wonderment with overly dramatic words, however I will swear that words began to flow the moment this lovely bay entered the time frame and I guess it has been in my mind for a long time, I 'll plug in the jumper leads, take a deep breath and plunge on and incidently a lady from Bega has indicated intererst in my local memories, if "MOON BAY" hits a nerve with anybody I'll meet you at the Tathra Pub tomorrow, we'll drive north over the bridge and into serenity.
More stories keep coming back, however, I must relate that I returned to the Bega Valley many times for many reasons, mostly all happy, I will chuck a "Green" experience later and some stuff about how the Farley family came to be.
Your truly has got emotional with these memories and no, we can’t produce a video of our inner thoughts, baby you live your life, these happy days are ours, (thanks Fonsie?), join me soon 'cause this place has personal thoughts and things only a mother will know. As a follow on comment to all of the before the far south coast is a unique country, only the indigneous people retain the visions of beauty we are slowly depleting.
There was a girl, Lorna, blond.
MAINLY, BEGA VALLEY ONLY CONTAINS REFERANCE TO, OK, ALL OF THE ABOVE, on the page; SHIRLEY AND THE BOYS, Farley, thats me, describes the relationship and times of my wife and boys. Memories of childhood stuff are always returning.
In "MY PLACE", (http://www.begavalley.nsw.gov.au/About/myplace/myplace.htm), a very lucky lady and her family makes referance to the 'Brogo River", her story is more interesting than mine, although I bet her family may have learnt to swim in what I describe as a 'Mystic' place, FIONA FIRTH you describe the wonderfull stretch of river as it should be, I can only relate with the river as a place where I "had to swim". At the junction of the Bega River for some reason the water was coffee coloured, it was a strange transformation. The brillient white sand of the Bega River with the Brogo meeting at right angles, the dark waters of the Brogo, there was always somewhere in my mind the thought of giant eels lurking to snatch the swimmers, in fact, there were some serious slimey creatures that reside in the Bega River. Another story.
SWIMMIN' IN THE BROGO.
NO, NOT THE BROGO, BUNDAMAR, YOU MAY MAKE OUT THE 'MAY WEST'
THE LADY WAS A "BUSTY" GIRL, HER ENDOWMENT WAS ALL HER'S.
When we moved to Bega we brought my 'May West', (BUNDAMAR STUD). As you look at the junction a diving board was on the left in the Brogo, as kids we jumped into the water and swum to the safety of shallow water, me with my sookie. A young man has told me to dispense with this life jacket and dive into the water, reluctantly I did. Many 'dog paddles' later and I stand on the sand of the Bega River, I can swim.
We used to race 'billie carts' down the end of the high street, I guess on the eastern side of town, all billie carts had ball races, mine was a wagon with cast iron wheels, it was fashioned after the covered wagon style and it could go. Big problem, turning corners, other problem getting the monster up the hill for another go. I learnt to make a sound by blowing through my hands, it makes the sound of a 'cooing dove'. I pinched a one pound note from Clive, oh, and a cigar, my mate and me went down to the back of 'Thatchers' and smoked the cigar and ate 2 pence worth of licorice, God we were sick. Clive gave me a real good kick in the bottom, am I getting better Linda?
prawns and oysters? You had to be there.
Mum and Clive had some friends in town, I wish their names were 'Hergonans', on occasion we would go to Wallagoot Lake in their 'T' model FORD, BLACK OF COURSE, flatback, other people came as well, we would set up a sparten camp site and live from the lake and the ocean, the men and women and kids scooped for prawns, collected the oysters, and fish from the rocks at? I can remember sleeping in the not so old Ford. Something has flashed; were the first rows of Corn Cobs growing in road side paddocks for locals? Well we would stop and collect the bounty on our way, any body heard of the--------, it lived in a lagoon on the way Wallagoot Lakes.
The biggest worms live in the Bega River, not so much in the river but in the muddy banks towards to the mouth, they are over a yard long, the biggest eels live in the Bega River, and they present a sight like 'Loch Ness', a succession of bumps on the river one day gives me the impression of a creature several yards long. Was I privy to the 'Dream Time', did the elders allow a white boy to see the spririts, I honestly belive I saw this creature, just upstream from the old Punt.
NGARIGO BLOKES AM I WRONG? ARAGUNNU? maybe, I was only 9. Your land is your God, God is in all of us, your God is my God's brother.
TOLD YER I WAS STRANGE.
AUSTRALIAN BUSH POEMS, MAYBE, BUSH POETRY, COULD BE.
