Still trying to follow a chrono time frame, this is #3 I  believe.  Milton is a small but worthwhile community south from Wollongong , N.S.W, just north of Ulladullah and the Marlin Hotel and a girl called “Moose Face”, another pub mum dragged me to, not the Marlin forgot the pub in Milton. (http://www.southcoast.com.au). LIKE MOST OF MY TALES, THERE WILL AN ATTEMPT AT PLACING THE NARRATIVE INTO BUSH POETRY. INDULGE ME, THE RHYMING IS CRAPPY, BUT I AM HAVING FUN, ACCEPT IN JEST, 16:59:20, 2008-03-22. MOOSEFACE, MILTON SCHOOL, AND BLOODY GREEN BEANS  Fact; as soon as I started school here the most chronic migraine pains commenced, you bloody wimp, went to the chemist and he prescribed eye drops all gone in days, maybe you medical folk will have an explanation. Not many memories remain; maybe the guilt factor has entered the agenda. OK we broke into the Show Grounds offices and chappied some soft drinks and got bilious from the CO2. Or was there a problem during the school holidays, explanation; a local farmer came to school and asked if any kids would like a job over the holidays picking beans, several friends including myself went “pick me”. Now the money by the bushel was great, but the bushel by the kid = hard work. Beside the bean patch was a paddy melon field, when the overseer left the scene and we had eaten our fill of melons we disposed of the skins, guess you know where, full stop.  Who knows what attracts us to the opposite sex, an affinity developed between me and this lady of twelve  seems to have happened, she was a good swimmer and pretty, and when we went to the swimming baths at Ulladullah we enjoyed each others company. My friends called her moose face and I don't know why to this day, while I can’t see her face, I can see her smile. We left Milton soon after every boy in town died of a strange illness. I returned to Milton and Ulladullah and THE Marlin Pub several years later, and I brought a young lady with me, she helped me commence the JohnFarls clan. HUNTER VALLEY, N.S.W. THE LOVEGROVES   In 1853 a young family moved into the upper Hunter Valley of N.S.W, they were my ancestors and their surname was Lovegrove, (http://www.lovegrove.info), another family unaware of this historical fact, or at least me, moved into same area in 1952?, the town was Coolah. This family consisted of  Betty Farley / Lovegrove, Clive Snowdon and JohnFarls. I am uncertain of the circumstances for our traveling to this town although Clive was a carpenter and perhaps he was following work in this field. I was billeted at the local hotel for a period and well cared for and commenced school soon afterwards. Try (http://www.golden-highway.com.au/coolah.htm).  Shortly there afterwards we moved to a property owned by the BODY FAMILY, (same family from Bundamar, Trangie!), and spent some time there, Clive apparently was building stuff, mum was (?). Schooling for me consisted of catching the bus and traveling quite a distance to town where one found the syllabus delivered in a classroom that consisted of 3 or 4 grades, no problem. Years later, guess what, I found out many of the kids were my 1st and 2nd cousins, the ancestors had been busy.  As always the weekends and holidays were all fun, the property(?) was quite large and had as one of its borders an escarpment of quite high cliffs upon which wild goats roamed. Of course a .22 caliber Pea rifle was standard issue, and as a hunter goat meat was quite acceptable, regrettably a long rifle round looses oomph at 300metres. The big story as regards firearms was the day I fired a .45 caliber, hexagonal barrel, single shot, pump action Winchester rifle , this monster was owned by a station worker and it took me till tea time to stop bouncing on my bottom.. NAMBUCCA HEADS. THE PUB THAT SLID   Lost the plot a little in real time so I travel to the north coast of N.S.W. to Nambucca Heads, and hey guys I did not know how hard it is to describe life lived, at least the true story nor can one reliably describe the visions. So here’s a site you might peruse, (http://www.nambucca-web.com), and oh, went to school here, went fishing, gathered sea shells. The sea shells were gathered at, wait, Shelly Beach just north of Nambucca. We would bring our harvest back for a lady who would use the shells to coat jam tins as souvenirs, she made a plaster to which she adhered the cowries and winkles and limpets. Fishing became Clives obsession, he made his own rods from a 16 foot length of bamboo, attached the runners with colored cotton, varnished the rod and fitted a 8 inch Alvey reel, caught a cold. Actually, one can't imagine the abundence of fish that poured into the rivers back then, the sea mullet and bream came in huge schools, the mullet on top and the "snowies" below, catch a couple before school, great stuff. As with some of our sojourns my memories are a flash. May I remind you browser buddies regrettable occasions and bad experiences have been intentionaly omitted, sad stories belong inside, I am hoping you will gain more from my warped humour. YAMBA, AND PRAWNS, AND THAT RUDE GIRL.   Yamba, north from Nambucca was a slightly different experience, we moved there just after the devastating 1954 floods, 20 feet of water in Prince Street Grafton, so I guess it was my swan song school year. Made friends at school as usual after the initial stand off and again settled into a pattern of work and play. I have returned to many of these towns in later years the growth has been incredible. (http://www.yambansw.com.au).  Could attest to the actual year we moved to Yamba, you see the huge seas and wave surge associated with the flooding rains had undermined the one and only hotel and it slid down the hill, almost onto the beach, Clive was traumatized by this event, he enjoyed a drink, shall we say a big drink. The only outlet was at Mclean some miles inland requiring a lengthy bus trip. Now this story will have a happy ending, (for some). You see Clive loved his fishing and would frequent, on his days off, the south training wall at the mouth of the Clarence. My job was to catch small yellow tail in the boat harbor and race along the break wall with my prize(s) in a bucket of water. A wriggling fish were soon on the hook and cast into the briny. CLIVE AND THE ENIGMA, PUB? WHAT PUB?   For a matter of many days or a week or more Clive would fish, pack up and return to our accommodation, sometimes with a good mulloway, can’t mention the common name it has religious inferences, he would commence drinking his bottled beer. Then one day I met him returning along the wall as I traveling out with my catch, “where you going” was my question, “to the pub, a bloke just told me the saloon bar was the only remaining thing left open, and the bastard has been serving grog since we got here”, bugger.  Made friends quickly, one of my friends father was a trawler man he owned a rather unusual boat, a converted RAAF patrol boat a “Fairmile”, the gantry was amidships forward of the wheel house. On occasion we were allowed to go prawning provided we did not get seasick, I am lucky in that regard. The Yamba prawners used a communal cooker back then, their catch was weighed and every body cooked the catch in a big copper cauldron and spread the cooked prawns on a fine gauge wire drying rack and liberally applied rock salt to the cooling prawns. The good thing about this process was that during sorting of the “shots” several small squid would slip through and be cooked, good tucker.  Great times as usual, a girl from school fell in love with me, boys know these things because she used to make rude gestures to me in the playground. For pocket money we would collect pippies and sell them to the bait shop and the Co-op, something that is illegal now. Us white kids and the local aboriginal kids were great friends and we would display our mutual respect for each other by having bow and arrow fights, seriously it seems we did get along excellent, I must say Plunkett Street and other places gave me the grounding for racial tolerance, Yamba was no exception. CARRATHOOL, A HORSEY STORY, ANOTHER GIRL   Must be close to the end of BORN IN THE BUSH, Carrathool and Telopea Park ACT will conclude the school sojourn, I probably mentioned that snippets of memories will be added. Carrathool was and probably still is a one horse town located between Narrandara and Hay in the far central south west. Mum drags me to another pub, she was the cook and good at it, initially a very warm welcome from two brothers was my school highlight, I bloodied one nose and became overwhelmed until another boy came to my aid, and we all became friends after the welcoming committee settled down. Now mention was made of Carrathool being a one horse town, really, the inferance is to it's size, real people live and work there, I can prove that at least 2 horses lived in this wonderfull town;  Soon re-discovered that horses and me have certain ongoing social problems, remember the story about the Clydesdale and the dray, horse and buggy, never had a problem, well I forgot the time at Boonoke when we traveled by buggy out into the far reaches of the property escorted by several stockmen. The object was to locate and conduct a census on the many cattle on the property. The process commenced with a stockman calling in a unique fashion something like the sound of moooooorrrraaaa, incredibly the cattle came out of the bush to investigate and were counted. No problems here until a stockman invited me to sit on the saddle of his bloody big black horse, no doubt to impress mum. He lifted me up, gave me the reins it was then all hell broke loose. The big mongrels’ ears layed back, his nostrils’ flared and he commenced bucking to dislodge me, I went the 10 seconds for the trophy and then fell heavily bum first onto a thorn bush.  Between boughts of giggles mum extricated the needles from my butt despite my embarrassment, I lived. So I became wary of horses, not scared, incidentally the big black horse was forgiven. Back to Carrathool. Well the publican’s daughter loved horses, there was a stable behind the pub housing her friends, she gained my friendship and invited me to go riding out to a property not far from town. My horse was a little mare of mature age and appeared docile, UNTILL, unbeknowns the mare was born on the property mentioned and upon mounting de ja vou belted me. The ears pinned back the frigging nostrils were dragging in breath, AND; With the jockey holding on for dear life we proceeded out of town at a munificent clip never deviating from a GPS planned route, the girl from the pub yelling instructions from somewhere astern. "Hold her johhnie, hold her head", well johnnies knuckles were white as snow, his panic was palapable and then suddenly a gate appeared and all became serene and beautifull, she was home. We all had a pleasent day, had a swim and rode back into town, quitely. So Carrathool, as you have seen, is a 2 horse town.  ME BRAND NEW WATCH AND THE WOODEN SPOON  Generaly mum was even tempered and never displayed impatience, that is untill I was a little inconsiderate in her kitchen on a busy day. She had recently bought me a new watch and I wore it on my wrist with pride, this day it was in my back pocket. After a bit of cheek mum chased me out the door waving a huge wooden spoon at my backside, I felt no pain, but the watch did, honestly. Mention was made to embellishing and self indulgent comments if you belive the preceeding what can I say, I will be there at 9 am monday, the cheques in the mail etc., and the truth is known by god and the story teller. Visit Google, (Carrathool, NSW, Au.). Emotions and feelings of saddness at leaving my friends; I can honestly say I can only remember one place I felt saddness at leaving, and that was Carrathool, (HANG ON MOOSEFACE, MILTON), I can see the girl from the hotel standing on the platform, she had tears in her eyes that matched mine, I don't remember her name, nor will she remember mine, thanks for being a friend. Goodness me, there is so many memories. I need to write a book. My problem will be withholding the truth. AH, I've got a page for that.