Sunday, June 29, 2008

Queensland Childhood Memories

At the commencement of this century times were hard in Queensland. A severe depression had hit the country accompanied by a prolonged drought which extended over a period of seven years. Water was so scarce that had to buy our household supply and be careful not to waste it. Mother taught us when saying our prayers to tack on a petition for rain, which we duly did. Then suddenly the drought broke. It was a Thursday afternoon shortly after lunch. Thursday afternoon was special to us because Dad did not have to go back to work on account of the mid-week half holiday. Black clouds had gathered overhead, the lightening flashed and loud peals of thunder rent the air. Then with a deafening roar the storm burst upon us. The din of the rain on the corrugated roof was deafening. We stood on the covered porch between the kitchen and the living room and watched the deluge. Great drops of rain splashed into the puddles which quickly formed and in a matter of minutes the back yard was flooded. I was terrified for I had never seen anything like it before. Mother did her best to comfort me and allay my fears by explaining that this was God’s answer to our prayers for rain. I remember thinking that He might at least have turned the tap on more gently.

With Dad at home we had some memorable Thursday afternoons. One that I shall never forget was when he made is a cart. He worked in a wholesale grocer at the time so was able to help himself to discarded crates and cases. His tools were limited, however for he had only an axe, a saw, a hammer and a poker. He made the wheels from the hardwood of the boxes in which plug tobacco was packed. He marked out the circles with a dinner plate and formed the wheels with the aid of the saw. The holes were made for the axles by the use of the red hot poker. Arthur and I stood by watching as the wonderful cart took shape and when it was finished, weren’t we proud of it!!

Our next acquisition was rather more elaborate. It was a rocking chair, the sides of which were dapple grey horses in full gallop. My uncle Herbert was a coach builder and painter and so had access to all the tools of the trade. In our eyes this contraption was a masterpiece, and nothing could have delighted us more. We kept it on the front verandah and could be depended on to rock it at length as we made our imaginary journeys to Gladstone to see a certain Miss Nellie Gilmore, who was destined to be my aunty.

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