I remember when I was probably not much more than two years old, walking around the beautiful garden with Grandma as she pointed out all the different flowers, ferns, shrubs which grew in abundance. The stately palms, the mango trees, the bush house, the orchard all adding to the charm of this beautiful old home.
I always put down my love of gardening to those walks with Grandma. I used to love to hear the telephone wires sing when the wind blew, to hear the toot toot of the train as it passed through Kagaru station on its way to Sydney from Brisbane. The adventure and romance of those ‘toots’ was unforgettable.
Riding with Grandpa and Dad (Les) across the paddock to visit George Pid at his humpy, winding our way through the the sandhills was an adventure.
Playing in the hay shed, feeding corn into the machine to crack the corn to feed the chooks – all little things that you remember.
Who can forget the ‘Tymboo’ Pantry with its shelves filled to overflowing with so many interesting containers and sugar bags. One very unforgettable moment was the time a big tarantula spider fell from the ceiling onto the top of my head.
Grandma and Auntie Dulcie’s roast dinners were legendary. It was always fun to see what could be used from the garden. I always remember Grandma’s condensed milk mayonnaise with the shallots – a family favourite.
Because of the War my early years were entwined with the life that the war imposed. Grandma and Auntie Dulcie worked tirelessly for the Red Cross and I well remember the many pyjamas for the troops which were sewn on the old Singer treadle sewing machine. When Grandma bought a new machine, again a Singer, my Mum inherited the old.
On a wonderful morning in August 1945, the War with Japan was declared over what an amazing moment in history. Uncle Roy, who had been a P.O.W of the Japanese for 3 ½ years would be able to come home. Everyone was on tender hooks waiting for any snippet of info was to his well being. As news began to filter through Grandma and Grandpa would relay news to Les and Nyria at Flying Fox via Mrs Jerome, a dear old friend, a few miles down the road as there wasn’t any telephone service at Flying Fox. If there was news Mrs Jerome would put a sheet over her verandah rail and I, Pamela, 6 years old, would ride up on my way home from school to collect these longed for messages.
Finally the big day arrived when Uncle Roy was discharged from the army and could come home to ‘Tymboo’. What a joyous occasion that was. Mum and Dad and I spent that first night at ‘Tymboo’ sharing in the wonderful joy and relief of having him home.