Canowindra to Kiama 1970

It wasn’t until my father turned south instead of west that I knew. I wasn’t going home to Canowindra. He said we were going to Wollongong. I didn’t know what he was talking about. Nor would I ask. I knew better than that.

I’d been picked up by my father from my Aunty Pat’s place in Bondi. I’d spent several days maybe a week or even two staying there.

I’d met my cousin Clare who doesn’t remember me and got to know my uncle Jack. He’d taken me into Sydney to the Commonwealth bank and I’d seen the big safe open and close.

Aunty Pat took me to Penshurst via train to see my aunty Joanne and uncle Ken and perhaps my cousins: I don’t clearly remember.

Why was I in Sydney instead of Canowindra?

I’d broken my arm the year before and it hadn’t healed. So I was driven by ambulance with my silent aunty Iris as companion to Sydney. I remember stopping at a little copse in the Mitchell Highway between Bathurst and Orange for lunch. I don’t any conversation from her not even her saying goodbye.

I dimly remember sometime beforehand my father saying he had a new job. Editor of the Kiama Independent. That was all I heard. I was told no dates, no move, no itinerary. Until Dad turned up at my Aunty Pat’s doorstep.

At the Camperdown Children’s Hospital my arm was operated on and I stayed in hospital for about a week. The highlight of my day was reading the Sydney Morning Herald especially the jokes and yarns in Column 8 most of which I didn’t understand.

The low light that broke my heart was the baby completely swaddled in a cot labelled with a foreign name who cried all day and night and whom no one visited. I remember walking over to her maybe to provide some comfort but i didn’t know what to do . I suspect she was one of the thalidomide babies as I recall a similar name in a magazine many years later.

And the highlight was my daily visit from my Aunty Pat as soon as she finished work. I’m forever grateful for that small kindness because I don’t recall either parent ever visiting me when I was in Cowra hospital for multiple ear operations : all I do remember were the jigsaw puzzles they dropped off to keep me occupied. I don’t recall either parent staying with me at all.

Afterwards I had my arm in a sling and stayed at Bondi. I remembered going to the beach before it was cool. I also bought the paper for my aunt who warned me not to look at the page 3 girl. I was eight. I don’t think I would’ve made any notice of it. Besides I preferred the Sydney Morning Herald to her Daily Mirror.

And what I do remember is the harmony in the home of my Aunty Pat and Uncle Jack. They seemed to work implicitly : each knew what the other was doing and each knew what the other needed. They were no raised voices, no arguments, any disagreements were either sorted or deferred. I never experienced such peace in a home ever, even when I was married.

And when I found out I was being picked up I was to quote my aunty, like a cat on a hot tin roof. In truth I feared my parents wouldn’t turn up. Or that they would forget about me. Because they had. I’d heard nothing from either parent since I left Canowindra.

Albeit there wasn’t a phone or letters but I still remember the emptiness I felt.

And then it went completely wrong. Dad picked me up from Bondi, drove into Sydney and across the old Pyrmont Bridge.

And he turned left. Southwards instead of westwards. He wasn’t headed to the Great Western Highway which was the way home to Canowindra.

I didn’t recall whether he took the Hume or the Princes Highway. All I remember was he said he was going to Wollongong: a place I’d never heard of. And as we drove I thought the trees would part and a town would appear.

But no. He drove down a mountain road probably Bulli Pass or Mount Ousley. And entered what I perceived to be an overcrowded overtrafficked coastal city.

We must have stopped for lunch or more likely dinner and then drove the hour or so to Kiama: a place I’d only heard of once and didn’t know anything about.

I still remember arriving and seeing the fireworks from the Kiama show from our new quite small and cramped home. This was the move no one told me about. It was Jan 29, 1970.