Our Wedding Day - Part 2

Vati and I arrived at the church to be greeted by the pastor. The pastor went back into the church to get T who he brought to the entrance to greet me. He then said the traditional prayer for the bride and groom in the foyer of the church. The two men turned to go down the aisle towards the altar.

We had anticipated that there may be a stuff-up and had told our friends. The organist obviously hadn't had my wishes explained to him and launched into the wedding march as soon as he saw T and the pastor move off. T sped up only to be grabbed by the arm and he and Pastor Sandeck ended up walking down the aisle arm-in-arm to 'Here Comes the Bride'. Several of the guests had to stifle giggles.

My three bridesmaids and flower girl organised themselves after T and the pastor reached the front of the church and we had our little procession and I had the lovely symbolism of my father 'giving me away'.

I really don't remember much about the service but I do remember being thrilled when I got to the end of the aisle and saw T's best friend who had had his hair cut and styled and beard trimmed. He looked like a film star. I also remember kneeling on the satin cushion in my long dress and new slippery shoes concentrating on not sliding off. When it came time to signing the register I didn't know which name to sign - my new one or the old one? Pastor Sandeck didn't know which one I should use and now I don't know which one I used.

After the service, which people apparently enjoyed a lot ( it certainly was different considering that we were in the midst of renovations, the bridal procession had an amusing start to it and the service and hymns were in two different languages) we went outside to have a few photos taken.

After that the bridal party all piled into our maroon Mercedes Benzes, the guests went off to their cars and we all called out,"see you at the reception". T and my car was leaving last and proceeded to break down about 2 metres into the trip! The chauffeur was beside himself. He jumped out of the car, put up the bonnet and frantically started clanking about. T and I didn't mind. We were having a bit of a pash.

When we finally arrived at the reception venue people had begun to wonder where we had got to. I had been slightly apprehensive about the state of the place, given how grotty the church was, but I needn't have worried. The wallpaper and carpets had been replaced and looked lovely. The reception room was beautiful and our guests were enthusiastically getting stuck into canapés and our vast stock of beverages.

The band was fabulous and our guests sang and danced up a storm. The meals were delicious and the speeches hilarious. Even the staff and some hotel guests got into the swing of things and joined in when a conga line started and wound its way around the room and out through the foyer.

Everyone was having such a good time that my parents had to rehire the band three times. Finally T and I went off to dress in our 'going away' outfits. The wedding bouquet was thrown, the guests made a big circle and T and I went around farewelling everyone and thanking them for coming.

By now my father had forgiven T for the piglet disaster earlier in the day and had been beaming with pride all evening. My parents were the last two people I was saying goodbye to. My father threw his arms around me, his face crumpled and he cried. I was shocked. I had hardly ever seen my father cry. It made me cry too. T put his new wife in the car where the groomsmen had piped 'Just Married' on the windows with shaving foam and tied cans to the back bumper and I cried all the way to the hotel where we were spending our first night together as husband and wife.

Our Wedding Day - Part 1

Our wedding ceremony was scheduled for 6pm so we had the whole day to get ready.

First thing in the morning Vati and I went down to the laundry to check out the piglet. It was still in it's crate and when we turned up it grunted up at us happily. It was even happier when we brought it a bottle of milk and a bowl of semolina porridge. Vati and I decided it was cruel to keep it in the crate so we thought of other options. Finally we decided that we would tie it by the hind leg to the Hill's Hoist clothes line with a long piece of rope. It squealed loudly when I lifted it out of the crate but then settled down with the rope around it's leg and started to explore the backyard as far as the rope would allow.

Members of the bridal party were getting ready at their own homes and arriving at my and T's place in time for photos later in the afternoon. Mutti and I set off to 'Raymond's' to have our hair done while Vati was going to read the Saturday papers and have another cup of tea. Everything was going along nice and calmly.

Thanks to my practice sessions, my hairstyle looked fine and Mutti, who had her hair done every week, looked lovely as usual. We went home only to discover my father sitting slumped in the family room pale and dripping with sweat. We were shocked and asked what was wrong.

He had been drinking his tea and reading the paper when he heard the neighbour call out to her husband, "Arthur, there's a pig looking at me through the fence!" his reply, "don't be stupid Gwen. Where would a pig come from?". Gwen insisted that there WAS a pig looking at her when Vati realised that the pig shouldn't be able to be looking through the fence from where it had been tethered.

He went out and saw the rope with no pig attached. He then raced around the yard trying to rugby tackle an extremely fast squealing piglet. Finally he caught it, put it back in the crate and built a sturdy enclosure.

At this stage T was not one of his favourite people.

The afternoon progressed. Two German ladies who were friends but who hadn't been invited to the wedding came to our place to housesit. There had been a spate of robberies where wedding presents had been stolen while the family was at the wedding. Mutti had prepared platters of smoked salmon open sandwiches and cakes for them as well as a bottle of nicely chilled champagne. They fluttered around getting in the way and having a good time admiring all the proceedings.

The bridesmaids and flower girl, already in their finery, arrived just as the wedding bouquets, buttonholes and Mutti's corsage turned up. We oohed and aahed - they were lovely.

I suddenly thought I'd better get ready and put on a bit of makeup, my nice new undies and stockings and Mutti zipped me up in my wedding gown and helped put on my headdress. She threw on her outfit and Vati dressed in his hired dinner suit. We all thought we looked pretty good. The photographer turned up and snapped a few pictures.

The flower girl was peering out of the window excitedly waiting for the wedding cars to arrive. Three maroon Mercedes Benz cars turned up and the wedding party swept down to the cars. I was surprised at the crowd that had gathered to see us off. Getting into a car, in a long gown with a train and a long veil is not an easy thing. Luckily the chauffeur was adept and managed to seat me so that there would be minimal crushing of the outfit. People always like looking at brides so I had a wonderful time waving (like the queen) as we drove across the harbour bridge on the way to the church.

Mrs Mikalauskas had done her best to clean the church. She had thought 8 pews each side of the church would be enough. Everyone was able to be seated but it was a mighty squash. The floor was still crunchy with dirt and bits of plaster but the pews were polished to within an inch of their life and the carpet down the aisle was vacuumed clean. It gave our guests something to talk about while they waited for the ceremony to begin.

The Day Before The Wedding

What a day! Forty years later I'm still astonished that I survived without having a nervous breakdown.

My parents and I were up bright and early on the day before the wedding. Mutti and I drove to the markets and bought armfuls of flowers which we were taking to the church. We had organised to meet Frau Mikalauskas who cleaned the church and did the flower arrangements there. The door was open and in we went only to be completely horrified. Nobody had told us that the church was being renovated.

All the pews were on one big pile covered with drop cloths. There was scaffolding all around the walls where plasterers and painters were working. Everything was covered with dust and chunks of plaster. Frau Mikalauskas met us with a smile and assured us that the place would be clean and that enough pews would be set out for our guests. She warned us however that the church would still be unfinished.


Mutti and I left The Goulburn St premises quite distressed. Next we headed up to the reception venue where we were delivering the wedding cake, place cards, the seating plan and the vast number of boxes of beverages. Before unloading the bounty we popped in to check on the room and to borrow a trolley to make our task easier. Horror of horrors! The wallpaper was hanging off the walls in strips and the carpet was being pulled up. The place was crawling with workmen. We just about collapsed when we saw the disaster. The functions manager assured us that everything would be perfect 'on the day'.

Mutti and I came home distressed and absolutely exhausted. We had lunch and a bit of a rest before T rang, said he had arrived from Canberra, had something to show me at his house and could he pick me up.

Nick, T's best friend, was sitting on the gutter behind his combi van outside T's house. He was wearing ancient shorts with the fly buttons missing, no undies and his goolies hanging out. At the time he had long hair way past his shoulders. This apparition was going to be our best man the following day!

T's surprise came next. He took me around to the backyard where his sister was feeding a bottle of milk to a piglet!!! I freaked and was pretty sure my parents would too. The piglet was really cute though.

T had turned up at the piggery on his way from Canberra to Sydney and the farmer had forgotten all about keeping a piglet for him. All he had were breeding piglets which were much more expensive. T said that after giving it to my parents as a joke we would take it to a butcher and then eat it. The farmer agreed the original price as long as there was not going to be any breeding, put the squealing piglet in a sack which then got dumped in the car. Luckily it stayed quiet except for once when T took a corner sharply and the sack slid to the other side of the car.

We couldn't keep the pig in the sack, that's where Nick came in. T got a big wooden crate which had been his dog's kennel, put it on its side and put the pig in. The two boys loaded the crate into Nick's combi van and drove over to my parents' house, deposited the box at the foot of the stairs and rang the doorbell.

"Here is the deposit on the bride price," T announced when my parents turned up. My mother started a sort of hysterical giggle but my father had obviously forgotten what he said at our engagement a year earlier and looked confused. What do you do with a pig in the suburbs of Sydney? We decided to put the crate in the laundry, which was in a separate building from the house, feed the pig and decide what to do later.

Nick, in his ancient shorts, and T were invited to stay for dinner. We had finished the meal and had gone into the lounge room when we heard an almighty smashing noise. We rushed back to the kitchen to see what had happened to be greeted by some laughing family friends who had sneaked down the side of the house and were smashing crockery in the German tradition of 'Polterabend'. This is a tradition where crockery is smashed for good luck and the couple about to be wed sweeps the shards up together.

What sounded like yet another disaster wasn't. We all had a jolly evening filled with much laughter. Finally everyone went home and I went to bed excited that by this time the next day I would be married.

Getting serious - Part 1

We really had to start thinking about the wedding after we were engaged. We decided that 1st September 1973 was a good date as it came right in the middle is the school holidays and I would be teaching by then.

September seemed a long time away. I had Uni exams, T had changed jobs and was still studying at night. I had my teaching and cleaning jobs and we were busy as bees.

T had applied for a couple of jobs including with the Commonwealth. In those days the public service was very forward thinking and was introducing computers to all government departments. They were seeking the best in the new field of computing and were even importing staff from various European countries. T had however not heard anything about his public service application so accepted a position with the 'Association of Employers of Waterside Labour' (AEWL).

T's new job kept him busy with lots of overtime but also with a very generous pay packet. He was enjoying his new work place and was surprised to receive a call, after we had been away for one of our little breaks, from Customs and Excise in Canberra asking where he was. He had been expected to be working in Canberra but hadn't even been informed that he had the job!

A period of soul searching followed and Canberra won out. With regret T had to inform his new workplace who were really sorry to lose him but were also amazingly supportive. It was all a big rush. T had to move to Canberra almost immediately and I was devastated.

One fateful Sunday in early February 1973 my parents drove me over to T's house and we had afternoon tea with T and his family. He then got into his beige Hillman Hunter station wagon, backed down the driveway and headed off to Canberra. I stood in the driveway and sobbed my heart out. I thought he would find someone he liked much more than me and that I wouldn't see him again. My parents took me home but I couldn't be consoled. T rang when he arrived safely but that didn't make much of a difference.

I mooched about at home and was generally so morose that my parents bought a TV so that I could at least be slightly distracted during the week. I guess it did help a bit, particularly when the bold new show 'Number 96' was on.

I shouldn't have worried. T drove the mainly one-lane-each-way Hume 'Highway' to Sydney EVERY weekend apart from the two weekends I went to Canberra.

Courting continued

I turned 20 in December 1970. We had been going out for about 7 months. T gave me a bottle of 'Le Dix' perfume by Balenciaga (I still have the lid of the bottle in my undies drawer) and a gold Oreton coin purse which I use in evening bags when we go out.

T had Christmas at my place on 24th December and I spent the day with his family on 25th. I wore my dirndl (national costume) which impressed his parents. Both families had lavish meals and we enjoyed ourselves.

I had just finished my 2nd year at Uni and had another 2 years to go. We didn't even consider living together because it just wasn't the done thing but we did start talking about getting married once I had finished Uni and was working.

T's mother went to Austria to work. Life became easier because my parents had accepted T. Fred started coming to our place regularly. He and my parents started going to concerts together. I had Uni and my jobs and T had work and study at night so we were busy but were still able to spend plenty of time together. We used to drive our families crazy because if we weren't together we would be on the phone - no mobiles in those days, just one phone per household set in a public area in the house.

T had started bringing me flowers every week - huge luscious red carnations with white stripes, or white with red stripes.

In 1971 I turned 21 and T gave me a beautiful teardrop shaped amethyst pendant which I still love. His parents gave me a leather covered jewellery box and my parents threw me a party which was catered.

That year Fred was invited to my parents' house for Christmas Eve. We followed our usual traditions where the lounge room was off limits until after dinner. Vati went into the lounge room and lit the candles on the Christmas tree and on all the ornaments, put on the Christmas record and turned off the electric lights before we were allowed into the room. Fred had tears in his eyes when he came into the festive setting. He hadn't experienced anything like that for many years since he had been in Europe and he was exceedingly touched.

T turned 21 in the February of the following year. He is 10 weeks younger than me ( it was one of my mother's objections. She said that husbands should be older than their wives). I bought him a silver pocket watch and my parents got him a beautiful leather bound and gold monogrammed book in which he was to write his poetry (T is a very skilful poet). The book is still pristine and completely empty! This is not to say that T hasn't continued writing poetry. He believes his indecipherable handwriting would ruin the book.

Now that we were both 21 we decided that it was time to become engaged. My parents no longer objected, Fred was very much in favour and T's mother was overseas and didn't have any say. T very traditionally asked my father for my hand. Mutti and I knew what was happening in the lounge room and got the celebratory champagne ready. It was super exciting. Vati agreed that T could have my hand as well as the rest of me.......but jokingly said that I was such a good daughter that I was worth at least 25 pigs a la New Guinea bride price. We finished the evening jovially and the official engagement announcement duly appeared in The Sydney Morning Herald on the following Saturday morning which was 26th August 1972. That morning T asked Fred if he had looked at the 'births, deaths and marriages' as we had not told him that the announcement would be in the paper. His immediate panicked reaction, 'who's died?'

We didn't have any money for a diamond ring and decided on the German tradition of buying wedding rings and wearing them on our right hands and then putting them on the left hand when we actually married.

T's mother came back from Vienna not long after our engagement to see if she and Fred could get on better. She didn't like the fact that I didn't have what she considered a 'proper' engagement ring so gave me a lovely amethyst ring that she didn't often wear. I was chuffed and wore the ring proudly. T's parents still didn't get on so after a few months his mother went back to Vienna.

Courting and holidays 'in sin'

We had been going out for quite a while when we decided that we would like to go away for a little holiday. WELL!!!! My parents were absolutely outraged. My reputation would be ruined. They would be so ashamed of me. How could I ever think of something so disgusting - we weren't even engaged. Everyone would know and think lesser of me.........on and on it went. I cried. They cried. It was horrible.

Eventually I was allowed to go simply because Fred, T's father, said he would go with us. He was able to borrow a holiday cottage from a friend at Pebbly Beach on the NSW south coast. Fred had a very generous nature and remembered what it was like to be young and in love and thought it was stupid of my parents to be so autocratic. He didn't mind us disappearing for 'alone time' at all and was happy to sit and read and then chat with us when we did reappear.

I don't know what sort of chaperone my parents thought Fred would be, but it cleared their consciences and they even thought it was funny when I told them that T snored! Fred must have said something to them because they grudgingly allowed me to go away after that when we needed a break.

Hilariously one of my mother's friends sheepishly admitted that her daughter had gone away for a weekend with her boyfriend and Mutti, outstanding example of one-upmanship, said that Gabi had been going away for AGES.

We had all sorts of lovely little holidays away. In those days if a motel or hotel proprietor suspected that you weren't married, they could refuse to accommodate you, so I bought a $2 wedding ring which I wore whenever we had one of our sinful getaways.

One holiday which I shall never forget was when we decided to explore the Myall Lakes. T had a beige Hillman Hunter station wagon, a very ordinary little vehicle, but it managed to get us into serious 4 wheel drive territory. If we discovered a dried up creek bed, we would follow it and no bush track would stop that car. We found some beautiful spots which by now are probably covered in expensive houses.

On one occasion we followed a creek bed and ended on a spit of land that projected into the main lake. We got out of the car and were overwhelmed by the beauty of the place. The sun was shining, the water sparkling and you couldn't hear a sound apart from a gentle whistling. It took quite a while to discover that the whistling came from a hawk that was hovering above us. It was adjusting the feathers in its wings and the wind which was higher up than we were was whistling through the feathers. So beautiful.

We went camping and stayed in a leaking tent which was not pleasant. On another occasion we went camping and got so sunburnt that we ditched the tent and stayed at a motel which had airconditioning. We lay bright red and glowing, spread eagled on the bed and didn't even feel a tiny bit romantic.

Apart from the sunburn episode we had great times and felt it harder and harder to go back to our separate homes after a break away.

Courting

We were 19 when we met - kids still, although we felt very grown up. It is only with hindsight that you realise you weren't.

We enjoyed ourselves going out, meeting friends and looking at the world through rose coloured glasses when planning our future together. I had jokingly proposed on our first date and there was some sort of agreement locked there in the back of our brains. We can't remember any sort of official proposal, we just assumed that we would be together forever.

We did a few crazy things that were great fun. In fact we still laugh about the prank we played quite early on in our relationship. We were at T's house, his parents were at a concert and we were sitting idly chatting with his sister Cathy who was waiting to be picked up to go to a party with a new boyfriend. Talk became silly. We decided that a new boyfriend should meet at least one of the parents and that I should pretend to be 'mother'.

This was all spur-of-the-moment and so we had to use what we could find to transform me from a slim, young looking 19 year old into a 'traditionally built' (to use an Alexander McCall Smith expression) middle aged woman.

T's mother used to wear shapeless house dresses which were coveralls when she was doing any type of housework or cooking. One of these 'delectable' garments was hanging on a hook so I put it on and stuffed a pillow down the front and did up the belt to hold the pillow in place. She also used to wear white socks rolled down with scuffs so I found the appropriate items and put them on. The scuffs were too small, but never mind. I powdered my face and hair and applied bright red lipstick.

T and his sister were in the dining room when I came in modelling the new look. We were all screaming with laughter when the doorbell rang. 'Go on, go on, answer the door, do it!!!' they gasped between gales of laughter, so I did.

T's house had a long corridor right down the middle. Sitting room, dining room and kitchen to the left and the bedrooms and bathroom were to the right. There was a large music room which was the width of the house at the end away from the front door. The front door was clear glass with a decorative security screen.

I quickly put on a pair of T's mother's glasses which were a la Edna Everidge and went to open the door. It wasn't so easy. The glasses were so strong that I couldn't see and the scuffs were so small they fell off, so I had to feel my way down the corridor shuffling to keep the scuffs on. The poor boy could see this lurching apparition through the glass. When I opened the door he looked fairly gobsmacked as far as I could tell. I established that he was 'Cathy's young man' and asked him to follow me into the dining room.

I could hear T and Cathy crying with laughter and then much to my surprise saw their blurred bodies hurtle across the corridor into the bathroom so I shuffled up the small hallway to the right which led to the bathroom with the new boyfriend following.

The poor young man. He thought he was going into a dining room and ended up in a bathroom where his date was sitting in the bath red faced and hysterical with tears streaming down her cheeks and her brother was doubled up with laughter on the toilet. He stood there absolutely confused until we could gather ourselves enough to explain the prank. Not surprisingly it was a once only date for Cathy.

Another time we were hosting a dinner party with our friends at my parents' house (my parents were out). In those days everyone smoked a lot and drank like fish. We had feasted to excess and had lots to drink when someone realised they had some marijuana but couldn't smoke it because they didn't have any cigarette papers. No problem. I got my father's pipe and we all puffed away, just finishing and putting the pipe back in the drawer before my parents got home. My parents were pleased that everyone seemed so happy and my father especially enjoyed his next smoke.

Ah those were the days. We didn't have any real responsibilities and certainly enjoyed our lives.

Courting and meeting T's parents

T was a bit nervous about my meeting his parents as he had never brought a girlfriend home before. Any girls who had been at his place were simply friends.

It was during the day that I first went to T's place. Only his father was at home as his mother was out at a concert with friends. T told me that I would know pretty soon if his father liked me or not because he would go off to his study to work if it was thumbs down.

Fred was very charming and in his old fashioned way kissed my hand when we met. He used to do this to all women and it was interesting to watch how reasonably stern women would end up giggling and blushing like schoolgirls. I don't think I giggled but I probably blushed - it was the bane of my life.

T had told him that I spoke German so he tested that out. I spoke good German in those days and got his jokes, even those with double meanings, so he was pleased. We chatted for ages, had a cup of tea and finally T had to drag me away because we were meeting up with some friends. Fred liked me and I liked him. In fact I grew to really love him and am pleased to say the feeling was mutual.

T's mother was pretty unnerving when we met for the first time. She got my upper arms in a vice-like grip and stared at me and said, 'you are a very pretty girl' and didn't let go for ages. I broke out in a sweat, squirmed and blushed furiously. After that she was very pleasant and seemed pleased that I spoke German, had reasonable manners and wasn't a complete cretin.

T's sister Cathy was 16 and also still lived at home so I met her and we got on very well.

Within a few weeks I was invited to Sunday night dinner. We had grilled T-bone steak, rice, some sort of vegetable and bread and butter cucumbers. I had never eaten as much meat as is in a T-bone and it didn't agree with me but I loved the bread and butter cucumbers. Afterwards there was cake for dessert. T's mother baked very well.

T's parents, unlike mine, didn't get on. T and his sister were used to the snide comments and tense undertones around the dinner table but I never felt completely comfortable so when the doctor put me on Valium for the stress I was experiencing at home, it helped there too.

T's parents often had family members over for afternoon tea on weekends so I was introduced to T's married older sister, his brother-in-law and their new baby boy all of whom were lovely. I also met his rather dotty uncle and aunt who had never had children.

We eventually got our parents together at my place. My mother was T's mother's equal at cake baking and the first meeting went well. The table was set with a hand embroidered tablecloth, afternoon tea sized linen napkins, fine bone china and silver cake service. Things T's family was familiar with. Strong coffee, whipped cream etc along with delicious cakes and lively discussions made an extremely pleasant afternoon much to T and my relief. These get togethers became more frequent at each other's houses. T and I often wouldn't stay but might come back hours later and afternoon tea would have spilled over into the evening with open sandwiches and cognac. It was marvellous that the parents got on. T's mother particularly liked my father, recognised that my mother was a good cook but didn't like her very much. Luckily Mutti didn't ever realise. Everyone (except T's mother) really liked Fred, T's father.

During the time my mother was being dreadful T's mother was very supportive. I even brought her a big bouquet of flowers because I was so grateful that she was being nice. Things, however, did not stay the same.

When she got back from Germany Mutti's attitude to T changed completely. As she got used to him she liked him more and more. T's mother on the other hand finally realised that I was going to be around on a permanent basis and liked me less and less. Her son, the apple of her eye, was, she thought, being dragged away from her. She put such stress on T that he would have dreadful migraines.

T's parents' relationship became ever more tense and after T and I had been going out for about a year, his mother decided to move and work in Vienna where her mother and two sisters still lived. Everyone heaved a sigh of relief.

'Courting' and T meeting my parents

Probably before I was even aware, my parents realised that this new relationship was different from others I had had. My mother was particularly unhappy. T wasn't anything like the German boys she had probably decided were 'right' for me. T got a frosty reception when he turned up at our place, which was fairly often as he would bring me home from Uni if I finished late. Also we spent most of our weekends together.

The frosty reception was nothing compared to what happened a few weeks later. I always rang the doorbell when I came home even though I had a key and Mutti would open the door with a smile, if T was there with me the smile would immediately turn to tears. She wouldn't sob but would have tears running down her face and there would be much blowing of the nose. Certainly not welcoming behaviour. It made things really awful and I was pretty unhappy at home. My father was a bit more supportive although also not enamoured of the situation.

Mutti felt obliged to invite T to dinner every so often as I was having Sunday night dinner at his place from early on. We would be sitting around the table trying to have a civilised conversation but there were long silences with the only sound being the cutlery on the china, swallowing and my mother's nose blowing. Uncomfortable to say the least. Certainly not good for the digestion. My stomach was in such a turmoil that my doctor prescribed 'Valium' to deal with the situation.

My father was associated with various organisations, the airline Lufthansa being one. After T and I had been going out for several months somehow Vati was given a first class return trip to Germany. He couldn't go due to work commitments but my mother was able to go in his stead. It was decided she should go for 8 weeks so that she could manage to visit all her relatives and friends and spend a decent chunk of time with her mother who she hadn't seen for nearly 20 years.

I had never run a household or cooked on any regular basis so I was a bit nervous. Mutti bought me 'The Sun-Herald Australian And New Zealand Complete Book Of Cookery' which had just been published, wrote a few instructions and escaped the stressful situation of her daughter's unsuitable relationship by flying to Germany.

That was the best thing that could have happened. T spent a lot of time at our place and spoke with my father about politics, religion, current affairs, life in general and listened to stories of my father's incredible life. We included Vati when we went out on weekends, took him to the movies and generally had a good time free from the pressure Mutti had exerted.

Vati and I wrote letters to Mutti regularly and it was interesting to see how she was influenced by my father over that time. Originally her letters to us started 'Dear Walter, Gabi and Soda Bubbles (our cat)'. After about 4 weeks the letter started 'Dear Walter, Gabi, Soda Bubbles and T' and just before she came home it was 'Dear Walter, Gabi, T and Soda Bubbles'. T had surpassed the cat!!!!

Things had changed by the time Mutti came back from Germany. She brought a suitcase full of gifts and even had something for T although we can't exactly remember what it was, perhaps a beer stein.

She really tried hard to be civil and pretty much succeeded. By now T and I realised that we had a special relationship and so we brought both sets of parents together. T's parents were from Austria so they spoke German and had lots in common with mine, so that made things easier too.

Years later my mother apologised for her behaviour at the beginning of our relationship and I really appreciated her gesture.

1970 - meeting my future husband

I hadn't had many situations where I could go out with boys while I was at school. It was a single sex school that didn't have any sort of reciprocal agreement with a boys' school for dances as some of my friends' schools had. I did know quite a few boys through a German Lutheran church fellowship group, German Saturday school and other German social situations. I found out years later that some of these boys fancied me but were too shy to make some sort of approach. If they were so wishy washy I wouldn't have liked them anyway.

It was when I finished high school that I really got to meet boys. I went out with several I met when I was working during the holidays after high school and then had a whole series of boyfriends during my first year of Uni. They were a great distraction and did not help with good marks at exam time!

One fellow broke my heart when he dropped me. I was inconsolable for at least a couple of weeks until I decided I'd had enough with boys. I'd go out, have fun and not commit my heart to anyone EVER again.

I had a friend who was at Uni with me. We had been friends for as long as we could remember as our parents had known each other for years. Tricia's parents were going away during the holidays with Tricia's brothers and sister and asked if I could stay at their place to keep her company. We thought it was a good idea and were looking forward to staying up all hours watching TV, gossiping and doing whatever it was that we liked doing. It was the May Uni holidays so we didn't have any pressing assignments.

Tricia had been going out with a fellow who was at Uni with us called Graham and she was getting tired of him and was thinking of breaking up. He knew of the parents' absence and that I was staying with Tricia so asked his friend (who had a car) to drive him over to visit.

Tricia and I were just sitting talking when there was a knock and these two fellows turned up. Both Tricia and I were hospitable and brought out tea and cake and chatted. Graham's friend T complained that he had really sore legs because he had been playing soccer all morning, so I being innocent (stupidly naive really) told him to lie on the floor and that I would massage his legs! He obligingly lay down and I started working on one of his legs while Tricia decided to do the other.

After a while the boys had to go but Graham suggested we go on a double date which would be a picnic and horse riding. We all liked riding so it was agreed.

Later in the car T told Graham that he was happy to go as long as 'the little dark one' could be his partner as I was better at massaging!

It was probably a week later that we went for the horse riding date. Nobody had bothered to book and when we turned up all the horses were out. Things became rather uncomfortable as Tricia and Graham really weren't getting on, so fairly soon they asked to be taken home. T and I were alone. I guess we probably had fish and chips and a milkshake. We talked and talked and then had a bit of a snog in his car at the back of Lindfield oval where I jokingly proposed before he drove me home.

Apparently T was smitten. According to his sister he couldn't stop talking about me and that had never happened before, so her ears really pricked up. I on the other hand certainly liked T but had made the decision to never give my heart to anyone though was happy to go out and have a good time.

The first date T invited me to go on was a theatre production of 'The Canterbury Tales' which I just happened to be studying at the time - perfect! It was a terrific show which we both really enjoyed. Afterwards he took me to Double Bay for strawberry pancakes.

T had gone to work straight from school after he had shown an extraordinary aptitude for computing which was a new science in those days. He was excelling at his tertiary qualifications at tech at night. Because he was working T actually had money to spend in contrast to most of my friends. I was fortunate to have a scholarship, a university living allowance and money from cleaning Uncle Harry's flat and teaching German on Saturdays so I was relatively quite well off. T, however, never let me pay for anything and kept inviting me to irresistible venues.

We went to the exclusive 'Captain Cook's Floating Restaurant' on one date and on another occasion to 'Attilio's Cellar' in Elizabeth St in Sydney which was hugely expensive. Going there taught me to eat oysters. I had always resisted the visually unappealing molluscs as I thought they would be slimy and taste like phlegm, but at 'Attilio's Cellar' the seafood cocktail cost $3.50 which was outrageous considering an equivalent anywhere else was $1.95 so I just couldn't NOT eat them as there were 4 prawns and 3 oysters in the bowl. I discovered they were delicious and have loved them ever since.

We kept going out and much to my surprise realised we had been going out for about 15 weeks. I usually got tired of my male companions after 12 and would part ways. Whenever T and I were together the time would fly. We would talk and laugh a lot and on parting would look forward to being together again.

Dreams

Everyone has dreams apparently but they don't always remember them. Years ago magazines had 'dream analysis' columns where you could find out what your dream meant. I have dreams and sometimes when I'm dreaming I think what an interesting dream it is and that I must remember it, but when I wake all I can remember is that I wanted to remember it - of the dream - no idea at all!

The reason I'm writing about dreams is that I did remember one the other day which made me feel very happy. I dreamt about my long gone mother and father-in-law. There was some sort of celebration and everyone was having a wine, except for my mother-in-law who wanted a complicated cocktail made using navel oranges. She always was a tricky person! It was so lovely hearing their voices again that as soon as I woke I had to tell my husband. I wonder why they popped into my mind, no special occasion was happening and we hadn't spoken about them for some time. I'm just glad that they visited.

When I was young I used to have very vivid dreams. In fact while Mrs Strang was my teacher in first and second grade I had nightmares nearly every night as well as walking in my sleep. My dreams were nearly all the same. I'd be walking up the hill to Clitheroe flats and then see I was being chased by wolves. I'd run and run, get to the kitchen door, fling it open, rush inside and try to slam the door shut but the wolves would be pushing against the door and their paws would be coming around the edge. At this point I'd wake in fright drenched in sweat and crying. Mutti would come and cuddle me back to sleep.

Another recurring dream I had was that I could fly. When I was little it was so real that I actually believed I could fly! In the dream I would fall forward and then skim about 30cm above the ground. If there was an obstacle I could just glide over it. It was a lovely dream, very relaxing to go skimming over the ground. One day I decided to test if I could actually fly like that so I climbed onto the garbage bin and just tipped myself forward. In the dream my hands were always by my sides, so when I tipped forward I didn't try to catch myself but instead of floating there, went SPLAT onto the concrete. I really messed my face up badly. I tried to explain why I did what I did to Mutti when I went inside crying and bleeding profusely. She must have worried that there was something wrong in my head.

I did have a similar flying dream for years and when I looked up the dream analysis at some time I think it said that it was a positive thing. Certainly I enjoyed those dreams.

When I was at Uni I had recurring bad dreams of turning up to exams realising that I hadn't been to the lectures or tutorials for the whole year and that I had no idea what the questions were about. It was horrible and I would wake up in an absolute lather. Even these days if I am particularly stressed that dream will come creeping.

Before I got married I had a dream that I was dressed in all my wedding finery when I realised I didn't have any wedding shoes. I rushed to the shoe store, wedding gown and veil billowing but just as I got there the shop would shut in my face. Every shoe shop would shut as I got there. As a consequence, when I came to buy my wedding outfit, I bought the shoes first!

I've had all sorts of dreams, some nice and others not. I've mainly remembered the horrible ones and have been pleased that they are dreams and not any sort of reality.

It is fascinating to speculate why one's brain manufactures these vivid pictures. No wonder there are specialist dream analysts. I bet they get to hear lots of interesting stories and have a ball telling the dreamer what it all means.

Cremorne Girls' High School

In 1963 I started high school. At the end of the previous year all students received a letter informing them of their future high school. Cremorne Girls' High was a government school with a good reputation and most of the girls in my class were going there so I was pretty pleased.

Some girls went to Mosman High which was a vocational school where girls learnt typing and other subjects which readied them for the workforce.

The school sent out information brochures including the strict school rules as well as a long list of uniform items that needed to be bought. We were all to turn up on the first day wearing full uniform or there would be trouble!

In the Christmas school holidays my mother took me to buy the required uniforms. I can't quite remember the name of the department store, 'Gowings' or 'McDowell's', in the city in Sydney, which was the uniform specialist. Neither store exists anymore as far as I know.

As we were really quite poor this was a huge expenditure for my parents so my mother had saved up and had a wad of pound notes in her purse to pay for it all. I didn't really appreciate the financial sacrifice this must have been for my parents and was just really excited to be going into town for a 'shop till you drop' day.

Whatever the store, it was chock-a-block with uniforms and students being fitted out. Shop assistants rushed about carrying armfuls of uniform items with mothers and their children milling about. If I remember correctly it was all fairly frantic.

We announced that I was going to Cremorne Girls' and the assistant brought out the uniform items I would need. I had to try everything on first of course. Two blue summer uniforms - these frocks were supposed to suit everyone and therefore suited nobody. Shapeless and with buttons all the way down the front, a Peter Pan collar and a buttoned belt of the same fabric. The buttons were removable with a key ring type of gadget at the back that held them in place. Over time people lost the buttons or the ring for the back so that dresses were held shut with safety pins ( this would earn you a detention). Also as boobs grew the dresses would gape at the bust. They really were very unflattering.

Continuing the unflattering, the PE tunic was ghastly and disliked by just about everyone. It was blue also. Sleeveless with a v neck it had to be, according to the instructions in the information booklet, '4 inches from the ground'. The instruction booklet neglected to add 'when kneeling' and we used to laugh and speculate what a teacher would say if we turned up in a long dress. The highlight of the PE uniform was the bloomers that were worn under the tunic. Big and boofy we hated them but we had to wear them for decorum.

Next came a navy blue blazer which had to be worn to school whatever the weather. A smooth cream straw school hat, which under the brim, was navy with a fine pale blue stripe, several pairs of white ankle socks and navy gloves were the final items we bought at that store. My mother's supply of pounds was fast diminishing but we still needed new shoes which we bought at David Jones.

We also had to purchase a special outfit for 'home economics'. This consisted of a white wrap-around garment which covered our uniforms completely, and a white cap which covered our hair. Although we only had home economics for six months we were expected to buy the outfit. Luckily Joan, one of our neighbours was a Cremorne girl also, a few years older than me, was able to sell us her whites at a much discounted price. I in turn, gave Pamela, another neighbour, the same outfit when she started at Cremorne several years later.

We would have had lunch somewhere as a treat before travelling home by bus to Circular Quay and then by ferry to Mosman Wharf followed by the walk to the flats.

When my father came home from work I modelled my new uniform and of course he made all the appropriate complimentary noises.

On the first day of school we all turned up in our new uniforms. It was easy to tell the newbies because we didn't have hatbands on our smooth cream hats, which looked like pudding basins with brims, or crests on our blazers. These items could be bought at school and were eagerly sewn on hats and blazers that night. As soon as we knew which house we were in we could also buy the appropriately coloured cord for our PE uniforms. I was in Ashton house and had a green cord.

We were put in our various class groups hoping madly that a friend was in the same class and then shown around the school. I thought it was all very exciting. We didn't have to move between classrooms very much in that first year as the teachers came to us. We did have to stand whenever a teacher came into the room, but we were used to doing that from primary school. All our new teachers gave us long lists of exercise books which we needed to buy and handed out text books which all had to be recorded and then covered at home.

At recess and lunch we found our friends and found a place to sit where we weren't encroaching on a more senior's space and discussed who our 'home' teachers were and if they seemed nice or not.

Finally the first day ended and appropriately hatted and gloved I trudged home weighed down by my stack of text books and the confusing new information about timetables, teachers' names and things I had to buy. I was looking forward to telling my parents all about my latest educational adventure.

Hair and hairdressers

I was born with a good crop of black hair which fell out and was replaced by straight blond hair. When I was about three my hair became very curly then as the years passed it lost its curl, was wavy and became a mousy brown which became progressively darker after I had my girls. I had 'highlights' put in at one stage and then foils but now I've pretty much given up and have allowed it to go au naturel which means it is now mainly pepper with a bit of salt.

Mutti used to do my hair. The neighbours at Clitheroe would sometimes stand outside our flat and listen to her singing me folk songs as she brushed and plaited. She used to French braid my hair when it was long enough. It kept my hair neat and tidy all day and was much admired because the technique wasn't known in Mosman in those days.

I was about seven when I had my hair cut for the first time. I think it was because I was having swimming lessons. It was such a pain drying long hair, particularly because hair dryers weren't available and you had to use lots of towels and stand in front of the lighted oven which had the door open or flap your hair over a radiator.

Recently I looked at a photo of one of my birthday parties. Talk about a shocking haircut!!! It really looked like someone had taken to my head with a knife and fork. Hair was just cut, not styled. The boys at school had 'short back and sides' just like their fathers, that's if they were lucky and didn't have their hair cut at home in which case they looked as if moths had feasted.

I didn't like having my hair massacred and grew it longer again. At least it grew quickly and within a short while I was able to have pigtails and then plaits held in place with rubber bands resulting in split ends. At that time there weren't any alternatives.

Shampoos were very harsh in the 50's and 60's. A really common problem was dandruff. Everyone seemed to suffer from it. A product called 'Selsun' was supposed to fix it. It was nasty toxic stuff which had to be rubbed in and left for 5 minutes before being rinsed off thoroughly. I would be sitting on a stool hanging my head over the edge of the bath with the 'Selsun' in my hair, a towel over my shoulders, getting colder and colder until at last the five minutes would be up and we could wash the dreadful stuff off. I'm not sure how effective it was.

A lot of people washed their hair with soap in those days but then shampoo was increasingly advertised in magazines and on television. Perhaps I was unaware but I can't remember ever seeing conditioner being advertised because I'm sure I would have nagged to get some. They certainly didn't use it at the hairdresser's where my mother went for her 'shampoo and set' every week. Over the years I tried all sorts of shampoo from tubes of 'Luxacreme' to 'Pear's' and something that was hugely popular for a while that smelt of green apples.

In the 60's sometime a hand held dryer became available in the printing industry for drying negatives quickly. My father saw the possibilities and brought it home so that I could dry my hair more quickly on hair washing days. It's a shame that he didn't use the idea as a new business opportunity and introduce it to the hairdressing industry because someone else certainly did, but not for quite some time afterwards.

The dryer was pretty heavy and my mother would hold it while I brushed my hair. It was fabulous and I loved it.

As I grew older and was in high school I would put my hair in rollers when it was washed. First we had metal rollers and then there were plastic ones which had little spikes that gripped the hair but they still needed a special hair pin to keep them in place. You would wash your hair at night and go to bed with a head full of rollers covered with a scarf. It was agony.

One year when I was about 15 I got a hairdryer for my birthday. It came in its own case and consisted of the blowing apparatus which looked a little like a fan heater of today. Attached to that was a plastic hose which in turn was attached to a large plastic cap which you would carefully put on over your rollers before turning on the machine. I can remember sitting there at the table reading a magazine with the hot air ballooning the cap while my hair dried. It certainly made life a lot more convenient.

After the disastrous hair massacres when I was very young and when I decided to have a shorter style when I was at high school I had my hair cut at 'Raymond's' in Mosman where my mother went every week. Raymond was very pleasant and because he and his wife, who also worked there, were German we spoke German with them. You didn't have your hair washed before it was cut and Raymond asked me to come with dirty hair because it was easier to cut that way! Erk! Haven't things changed!

I had my hair styled at 'Raymond's' for my wedding. In those days my hair was shoulder length and parted at the side. It didn't suit me terribly well. I had had short hair with a fringe for ages before that and not long after we married I reverted to that style and have kept it ever since.

Over the years I have been to lots of different hairdressers but as soon as I find someone who does my hair the way I want it styled I stay a loyal customer. I stayed with Cathy for over 20 years until she left Canberra. I followed her from salon to salon and even to her home where she had a little salon downstairs for 'special' clients. I was really sad when she left. We had shared confidences over the years and became good friends, just as my mother had become good friends with Raymond.

It took lots of trial and effort to find a new stylist. I went to a well known and fairly exclusive salon in Canberra and thoroughly enjoyed being pampered there for quite a few years. Unfortunately when fortunes wane spending hundreds of dollars a year just isn't viable.

I was wondering what to do and mentioned my dilemma to the hairdresser who works two days a week at the nursing home where I am a volunteer. She offered to do my hair at a very generous rate.

I now wash my hair at home and Lisa, the hairdresser, cuts and styles it in her salon. I no longer have the relaxing head massages or sit in a reclining massaging chair but my husband says he thinks she is the best stylist I have ever had. I agree.

The end of primary school

I finished primary school in 1962. It had been a very happy time for me. I had my group of friends, liked most of the teachers I'd had and enjoyed the learning.

The years at primary school had passed by so easily that I wrack my brain (unsuccessfully) to remember teachers' names. In those days teachers didn't appear in school photos along with their class, which is a pity, because I'd probably have a greater chance of remembering.

I do remember Mrs Snedden who was our sixth grade teacher for part of the year. She had always been the teacher of 6A and we had all been a bit afraid of her because she seemed very stern. She was a heavy smoker and her clothes reeked of cigarette smoke. She was constantly sucking musk Lifesavers during class which she smuggled into her mouth via a hanky and pretending to blow her nose. We all knew what was happening and were highly amused.

Mrs Snedden died of lung cancer. She left suddenly during the year. We collected up money and bought her a toilet bag filled with talc and lotion, facecloth and soap and lots of rolls of musk Lifesavers and a couple of girls delivered it to the hospital. She was very touched. We weren't told when she died as in those days it was thought that children shouldn't know about these grim facts.

A lovely young teacher from New Zealand replaced Mrs Snedden. She taught us the New Zealand love song 'Pokarekare Ana' and I still pretty much remember the words. Also we made 'pois', the balls on string that Maori women twirl when they sing and dance and we became proficient enough to perform for assembly.

All through Infants' and Primary school we received 1/3 pint of milk to drink at recess time. Lots of kids hated the milk which was often warm but I didn't mind and drank it up with no ill effects. Others weren't so lucky and would vomit it plus their morning tea as well as breakfast. We were pretty used to people vomiting as it happened nearly every day. When school milk stopped being issued the morning vomiting epidemic stopped as well! Surprise! Surprise!

I remember the after effects of one vomiting episode most vividly when I was in sixth grade. Someone threw up hugely right in the middle of the doorway to our classroom. As was the custom, strawdust which protected the chalk in their boxes, was sprinkled on the smelly pile.

We had a girl in our class who was extremely academically clever and was like an absent minded professor. Her head was in the clouds apart from when she was doing schoolwork. She lived with her grandparents and had her hanky pinned to her uniform because she would forget it otherwise. She forgot to brush her hair, left most of her buttons undone and never polished her shoes. When I discussed her recently with some teacher friends we decided that she probably was somewhere on the autism spectrum which wasn't recognised then. We all took her under our wings and pointed her in the right direction.

On the day of the big pile of vomit in the doorway the whole class was sitting at their desks but as usual C. had forgotten the time, probably realised that she was alone in the playground and drifted up to the classroom. When she appeared we all shrieked, "Look out for the vomit!!!!" Surprised she looked at us and as her foot went splosh right into the middle of the pile she said, "What vomit?" Of course we all shrieked some more after that.

It was nice being the eldest students at school. Occasionally some of us would be chosen to go and help community nurses when the younger children were being immunised or we would go down to the Infants' school and read to the littlies.

Eventually the end of the year and the end of our primary schooling arrived. We all had autograph books which our classmates and teachers signed. Many people wrote little poems or drew pictures. We had the usual end-of-year class party and there was a special assembly on the last day of term before the Christmas holidays at which all of sixth grade stood on the stage and was applauded by the teachers and all the other students. We walked out through the middle of the assembled classes and that was it.

Lots of girls were crying hysterically, hugging each other and carrying on as though it was the end of the world. I was really looking forward to high school so was fairly surprised at this show of grief. Plenty of girls, including all my friends were going to Cremorne Girls' High, so I knew I'd see nearly everyone again.

I got my school case filled with end-of-year detritus, said goodbye to my teacher and friends and went home filled with the delicious anticipation of six weeks of holiday followed by a new academic adventure.

Mosman Junction

Mosman Primary School was right next to Mosman Junction. Often, after school when I was a bit more grown up (in fifth or sixth grade) instead of going straight home, I was allowed to visit friends and on the way to their homes we would wander past the shops.

We weren't interested in the delicatessen or the greengrocer's but we did enjoy looking in the window of the chemist's. The chemist shop was a depressing dark brown with lots of drawers behind the counter and the pharmacist measured out pills and made up tonics - so different from the chemist shops of today. It was the place to buy olive oil and you got it in small bottles for 'medicinal purposes'. Sanitary items and prophylactics were hidden behind the counter and had to be especially requested, which led to many funny stories about embarrassed people who couldn't bring themselves to ask the shop assistants for what they needed. However at the age I was then, I was blissfully unaware of such things.

We liked looking at the gift packs of talc and soap. I can't remember seeing scents other than 'rose', 'lavender' and 'lily of the valley', but we thought they were beautiful and I aspired to buy my mother a pack, but they were too expensive.

There was a lingerie shop which we drooled over. In summer the window featured diaphanous nightgowns with matching robes and in winter there were brushed cotton nightgowns and pyjamas as well as quilted dressing gowns with satin covered buttons and collars. I thought it was all impossibly glamorous. Items such as bras and undies weren't displayed in the window. In those days they were still called 'unmentionables'. Years later I actually bought two nightgowns there. It was a beautiful shop.

There was a milk bar but I don't remember ever spending any money in there. It never crossed our minds to buy a milkshake because neither my friends nor I had that much spare cash.

Further along the junction was a pet shop. When I was about 5 and my mother was next door in 'The Exclusive', a bakery run by Dutch people, I watched a mouse running in a wheel. I thought it so funny I laughed and laughed so loudly that people stopped to see what was so funny. My mother was very embarrassed when she came out to see a group of very amused people watching me and she hustled me away. Digressing now, I embarrassed my mother even more when I was very little. We were waiting for a tram at Circular Quay (that's how long ago it was) and I laughed really loudly so that people looked to where I was pointing. I thought the two dogs were dancing! My mother would have gone bright red and been very pleased when the tram arrived.

Getting back to the pet shop at Mosman Junction, we always stopped to admire the puppies and kittens and I used to wish really hard that one day I would be given a pet such as a puppy or a kitten for my birthday. The shop owners didn't mind us patting the animals and standing around admiring the birds in cages or the fish. I suppose they expected us to drag our parents back to make a purchase. I did actually plead for a pet because I loved animals so much.

One year as my birthday drew closer I got the vibe that something special was going to happen and my imagination ran away with me. The actuality was a tank, gravel, weed and a goldfish. I tried really hard to be enthusiastic. A whole series of fish kept dying. Finally we decided we weren't any good at keeping fish and scoured out the tank. Right in the corner we discovered a leech that must have attacked the fish in the night and then hidden itself away during the day. Although the assassin had been discovered I was too discouraged to get any more fish and so the tank and gravel were packed away.

The next shop, the bakery called 'The Exclusive', was frequented by my mother who liked the Viennese biscuits and apple turnovers. She would grudgingly buy me a meringue which I used to lick so that it would last longer. Not a good idea because my tongue would bleed. Just the thought of it now makes me shudder. My friends and I never went in there. If we had any money to spend we much preferred the Australian cake shop that was down Avenue Road, away from the Junction.

Further along was a gift shop. It's treasures would make us pause for ages. As well as vases and various ornaments there was a large display of costume jewellery which we thought was the real deal. I told my father about a wonderful 'opal' bracelet that I thought Mutti would like and it was a very reasonable £5. He rushed there and was very disappointed when he saw how tacky it was.

There was a haberdashery which was so crowded with rolls of fabric, wool, sewing baskets and all sorts of other bits and pieces that you had to squeeze past to get to the counter. I'm pretty sure that's where we bought the various items that we needed for sewing lessons that weren't provided by the school. It was the sort of shop that you would visit with your mother, not school friends.

Across the road was a pub and we always rushed past because none of us liked seeing the crowds of men swilling down their beers and if anyone called out to us we would run for our lives giggling like crazy.

There were other shops at Mosman Junction such as a jeweller. We weren't terribly impressed because it was a tiny dark place with barred windows that only displayed a few items such as bits of jewellery and watches which weren't lit so looked fairly dull and ordinary compared to the costume jewellery across the road.

The florist didn't have much of a display either so we passed by without even a thought of looking inside.

There were other shops such as a butcher and grocery store as well as estate agencies and various office fronts of course, none of which interested young girls. We talked and dreamed extravagant dreams as we walked along. It was all good fun.

The Birds at No 26

We have the privilege of living on a large block of land right on the edge of a suburb. Behind our place are grasslands and bush which go all the way down to the Murrumbidgee River. We have a lovely outlook from our house as well as it is quite high. Before our trees grew we could see Black Mountain Tower from the family room. Now you have to climb up our steep block to see that view. In our backyard we have a swimming pool, a fish pond and a variety of fruit trees, so you can understand why we love living here.

Being at the edge of the suburb so close to bushland we are visited by a large variety of birds. I have kept a little book in which I have written the various varieties of feathered visitors. So far I have counted 47 species. The most unusual I thought was a cormorant who did a bit of fishing in our pond and the wood ducks who chose to swim in our pool for a while. They weren't encouraged to stay.

When we first moved here we had Siamese cats and so the birds were fairly cautious even though our cats were much more interested in mice.

One day, a few years after we had been living here, we heard some distress calls from magpies and after investigation discovered that a fledgling had fallen out of the nest and had broken the top half of its beak. The parents were frantic. Unfortunately the nest was about 30 meters up our big gum tree so it was impossible to return the baby to its home. We had a wire basket in which we put a coir lining and hung it as high as we could in one of our birch trees before placing the baby in the basket. The parents watched us patiently and as soon as the baby was housed, proceeded to feed it. The baby happily stayed in its new home until it could fly.

The baby, who turned out to be female, we named Beaky and she became about as tame as a wild bird could ever be. She would fly over and sit on my lap and allow herself to be scratched under the chin and wings. She pretty much ignored our cats and if they annoyed her at all she would clack her broken beak and they would walk away.

Beaky found herself a mate and introduced him to our family and then brought successive generations of babies to visit. We would get to know the babies and name them.

Eventually after quite a few years Beaky came no more and one of her daughters became the dominant magpie who would visit regularly and bring her babies.

We spoil the magpies by feeding them shredded cheese, which they love. After our cats passed away we got two standard Schnauzers who enjoyed having the magpies visit because it meant they could share cheese with the birds. Our dog Bella used to stand at the back glass sliding door looking out anxiously and then would bark with relief and to let us know when the birds turned up knowing that treats would be in the offing.

The magpies stay in the area around our house and do us the great favour of eating scarab grubs from our lawn as well as catching grasshoppers and other annoying pests. Much to my surprise I noticed a magpie catch and efficiently dispatch a mouse in our compost bin once.

Crested pigeons visit regularly and also enjoy sharing shredded cheese as do bower birds.

Crimson rosellas used to nervously watch the goings on of the other birds in our backyard and after our dogs had moved on to 'the happy hunting grounds' would come and sit in the silk tree opposite our back door. We wondered if we could train them to eat from our hands and knowing that they had decimated our almond crop we thought we would try with almonds. To cut a long story short, with a lot of time and patience we coaxed them to take the nuts from our hands. I can remember the thrill of it happening for the first time. My husband was at work. I rushed in and rang him up I was so excited.

In the middle of winter, when food is harder to find, a large group of rosellas follows my husband around the yard if they know he has almonds in his pockets and will sit all over him quite fearlessly. During times of plenty there are only a few regulars who turn up for their treats. Quite often they hang on the screen door and announce their presence by calling us.

Rosellas are messy eaters and leave bits of almond meal lying around so the blue wrens come and tidy up. It is a joy to see the tiny birds right by the back door. They are so used to us now that they hop around my feet while I hang clothes on the line. I always have to take care when I take a step back.

Other small birds groom the area around our house, getting rid of spiders and other creepy crawlies. If you watch the bird behaviour you can also be warned of other intruders such as snakes. Bower birds are particularly good as they sit in a tree above the snake and shriek.

At present we have a favourite magpie who we have named Chookie because she comes running just like a chook when we go outside. She is very tame and sits on the window ledge watching me work in the kitchen. When she sees my husband come into the room she rushes to sit on the laundry trolley outside the back door because she knows he will give her a treat. She is another bird who accompanies me around the yard and 'helps' if I ever manage to do some gardening, by eating any grubs I unearth.

Today Chookie did an amazingly clever thing. My husband and I came out the front door and Chookie had been harvesting scarab grubs in the lawn but when she saw us she made a funny little noise and ran in front of us with her wings up, right into the carport, so we followed, somewhat bemused. There, in the carport, was a big blue tongue lizard, a creature that birds consider a threat. Chookie was deliberately letting us know. She flew away when she knew we had seen. I am exceptionally impressed at her communication skills. This afternoon she got a piece of pie as thanks.

Cars - Part 2

I learnt to drive in my parents' Volkswagen beetle. I did have a few excitements during my 'L' plate days. After several professional lessons my brave parents took me on.

One day Mutti and I were driving around the neighbourhood and I came to a stop sign that was on a slope so that I could practise my hill starts. I stuffed up a bit, rolling back before taking off again. I let out the clutch, did all the right things but the car didn't move forward, so I went through the whole procedure again. The car roared (as much as a Volkswagen can roar) but we just couldn't progress. Over the growling car we heard a weak voice calling, 'Stop! Stop!' so stopped. We got out of the car and discovered the problem. Whilst rolling back I had hooked the bumper bar on the mudguard of the car behind and to add insult to injury I had started tearing the mudguard TWICE! The driver looked at the damage, then at me, said, 'Oh never mind'. Reversed his car out of the tangle and drove off. Phew!

On another occasion my father accompanied me to Uni with me driving. I hurtled around a corner in fourth gear and when he got me to pull over he was as white as a sheet. He then proceeded to explain that it is a good idea to change down a few gears and go around corners at a more sedate speed. Volkswagens could roll over easily he said. I did heed his advice in the future.

One night I'd been out at dinner with one of my boyfriends and he was absolutely drunk. By the time we got to my place he was hardly conscious so I went inside, got the car keys and drove him home in the Volkswagen! I had had a few drinks too and it made me bold and foolish. I drove him home, helped him inside and then drove back to my place. I told my parents the next day and even though I was still on my Ls they thought it hilarious. Haven't things changed!!!

I didn't pass my driving test because I was too cheeky. I was told to do a three point turn on a really wide street but did a U turn instead. When the tester challenged me I said that you wouldn't ever do a three point turn on such a wide street unless you were in a truck with a large turning circle. Foolish retort! Fail!

Somehow I was too busy to do another driving test so waited another ten years or so until I had my first baby before I tried again. My husband was a terrific teacher and used to make me reverse around cul-de-sacs and do all sorts of tricky things. In those days Canberra had the infrastructure of suburbs, including streets built, without the houses, so there were plenty of places to practise.

My husband, T's, first car was a massive Jaguar which he bought with the money from a Commonwealth scholarship. He had a marvellous time in that car hooning about, doing the stupid things that boys do. Luckily nothing bad happened.

When we met he had an extremely conservative beige Hillman Hunter station wagon. It turned out to be a great little car and we drove all over the place including rocky terrain and riverbeds while we explored the countryside. On the morning we picked up our new car, a pale yellow Mazda 626 station wagon I happened to lean on the Hillman Hunter and there was absolutely no give. The suspension had died.

The new Mazda gave us a shock one day when we thought the duco was coming off. Luckily it turned out to be excessive pollen from the pine forests. We had never experienced this phenomenon of pollen drift before.

The most memorable event in the Mazda was when we were driving home along the Cotter Road, which wound its way through bushland, one night after a social function that had gone into the wee small hours. T was driving fairly slowly but couldn't stop in time before a huge kangaroo jumped into the side of the car. It dented every single panel on the passenger side. We pulled over expecting to see a dead kangaroo, however it picked itself up and continued to cross the road and hopped straight into the side of a police car that was going in the opposite direction. Again it picked itself up, tried to continue crossing the road and hopped straight into the side of a second police car! It then decided that crossing the road was not a good idea, turned and jumped over a fence and disappeared.

When questioned by the two policemen they surprisingly seemed thrilled that T had forgotten to carry his licence and asked him to bring it into the station the next day. They wanted a civilian witness to explain how both police cars had almost identical damage! There were many guffaws from the desk sergeant and other policemen when T presented himself at the station. Many comments were made about the bribes that their colleagues had paid to a civilian to say that one kangaroo had hit both of their cars!

When I got my licence we bought a Toyota Crown very cheaply. It did the job but when it started using more oil than petrol we decided it was ending its useful life. One day I drove up our very steep driveway. Three quarters of the way up the car began to cough and splutter and when I got to the top I didn't have to turn the ignition off. The car had died. It had dropped oil and screws and bolts all the way up the driveway. The poor thing wouldn't start again and had to be towed away.

My next car was a blue Datsun. I had been extremely lucky and had bought the winning ticket of the Ainslie Football Club silver circle lottery. The first prize was $12,000. We had moved into our new house not long before and hadn't been able to afford curtains for the living room or a car for me. The problems were solved with that money. My little blue Datsun wasn't flash but it happily drove us around for quite a few years.

We've had a series of cars since then. As our girls reached 18 they also had their own cars and revelled in the freedom of having their own transport. T taught them both to drive, I was just too nervous and definitely not a good driving instructor.

My happiest car story happened on 17th December 2003. It was a sad time for the family because my father was sick in an aged care hostel and my mother was in hospital having suffered a stroke. I was just trudging out of the hospital, exhausted after organising my parents' care, visiting them both in different institutions and trying to keep them both as happy as I could, which was an impossible task, when my phone rang and a lovely lady told me that I had won a BMW 525i in the MS lottery. I immediately rushed back and told Mutti who was very pleased. Vati was absolutely delighted to hear the news. Winning a car! And a German one at that! It was the last good news that poor Vati heard. He passed away 3 days later.

T was super pleased about the BMW because it ended up being his Christmas present that year (along with a rain gauge). The car he had at the time we gave to someone we knew who had lost her job and with it, her car.

The BMW was T's favourite car of all time. He had it for 7 years but then unfortunately drove through a deep puddle after a freak rain storm which ended his ownership. The air intake is low down in BMWs and it sucked up the water and then had to be towed away. The car people said it was a write-off and it got sold at auction as a wreck. The man who bought it rang up and said how much he loved the car. He had bought it for $5,000 and had fixed it himself for about $80! The happiest car story for us ended sadly but happily for the new owner.

Cars - Part 1

Nearly everyone at the flats had cars before we did. Uncle Jack, as a salesman who clocked up lots of miles, had just about every model of Holden. He got a new car every few years and we would all troop half way down the hill to where the residents parked their vehicles, to admire his new acquisition. The colours were always different. I remember the old cream FJ and a rather startling apricot and cream coloured model most vividly.

The other residents had a variety of cars, the makes of which I don't remember. John's grandfather, who was rather well off, brought his enormous Dodge over once. He couldn't drive up the hill because the car was just too big. It had huge fins with an impressive array of lights at the back and I thought it looked glorious as did the other kids. The adults were rather scathing about this giant vehicle, which I thought was unfair.

We were always dependant on others for lifts. Everyone would pile in the cars, sitting on each other's laps, hardly being able to breathe because it was so squashy and nobody gave it another thought. The police would never pull anyone over for an overcrowded car, and of course seatbelts weren't even available.

My father's best friend, Uncle Herbert, who had been on the same boat when the two came to Australia, was a builder who owned a table top truck ie the bit at the back had no sides. He and his family lived in Dee Why. Sometimes he would pick us up and we would all go for a drive. My poor father would be on the table top part at the back with at least three children, hanging on to us all for dear life. If it was raining we had a tarpaulin. He told me years later that he was always really embarrassed to be in that position. At the time I had no idea and thought it rather fun although going around corners was fairly scary.

One day when I was in about fifth grade I was walking home from school and heard our family whistle. My father had a special little tune that he would whistle and we could always find each other, even in a big crowd. I heard the whistle and looked around not seeing my father. The whistle came again and then I spotted him sitting at the controls of a car! I ran over and asked him what he was doing and whose car it was. Much to my delight he announced that it was OUR car and to hop in. I didn't need a second invitation!

We drove home and parked with all the other cars half way up the hill. I raced and got my mother and then rushed about excitedly telling the neighbours who streamed down to look at the new car. Everyone was very complimentary except for Uncle Jack who was scathing. "What did you buy a rubbish Kraut car for? Don't you know Holdens are the best there is?" I was dreadfully insulted but my parents realised the comment was partially tongue-in-cheek.

Of course our car was a Volkswagen beetle, rego CNT 572, pale grey with a red vinyl interior. I thought it was gorgeous. It was about as basic as a car could be but it went and it went for a mighty long time. I suspect, because my parents had such a horror of hire-purchase, they had saved the full amount and then paid cash for the car and that's why it had taken such an age to have our own transport.

Our first trip was to Dee Why to visit Uncle Herbert. We sat up proudly and I was sure everyone was looking at us impressed with our shiny new vehicle.

My father used the car for work but we also went for lots of drives on the weekend and for long trips away. Unfortunately I used to get terribly car sick on the long trips so I would usually curl up and go to sleep which protected me from feeling so sick.

One day my father rang from work. He had had an awful experience on the way there. As he was driving a man had jumped out in front of him and he had hit him. As it was a Volkswagen with a boot at the front the man had dented the car but not really hurt himself. It was a terrible shock for Vati and we were all very upset. The man who had tried to kill himself succeeded in his quest the next week when he jumped in front of a train at St Leonard's station. The poor man had been suffering terrible asthma and hadn't been able to sleep for weeks so was obviously desperate. My future husband was at the station that day.

My father had to pass a driving test when he got the car. In those days if you could drive in a straight line, change gears smoothly, do a reverse park and a three point turn as well as answer a few basic road safety questions, the police officer who was the tester, would pass you. Vati wasn't too good at the theory though. I remember us passing a horrible motor bike accident on our way home from the Blue Mountains. After a while the ambulance, siren wailing, was behind us and instead of pulling over to the left, Vati put his foot down so as not to hold them up! I can remember us hurtling through the countryside until he did thankfully decide to pull over and let the ambulance pass when he found the very fast driving plus Mutti and my terrified hysterical shrieking too stressful.

After a few years we got another Volkswagen, a station wagon this time, which was much more convenient for transporting printing plates around and Mutti got the beetle. She had driving lessons, got her licence, loved the freedom of being able to go wherever whenever, but was a pretty scary driver although she never had an accident that was her fault.

One day Mutti was rung with the news that she was the winner of a raffle and that the prize was a white Torana with a bright purple interior. She was delighted and sold the Volkswagen to the neighbour's son. The Torana turned into a pile of rust within a few years and she had to get a new car. The little beetle however, was on the road for many more years.

Easter

Hot Cross buns weren't available immediately after Christmas, as they are these days, when I was growing up. I remember standing in a massively long queue with my mother on the Thursday before Easter outside the bakery at Mosman Junction, mouth watering in expectation of the rare treat. When the buns were finally bought I would open the bag and inhale the fragrant spicy scent deeply and look forward to breakfast the next day. It never disappointed.

We weren't a religious family but would often go to church on Good Friday all dressed up. As usual it was a social event where we caught up with people who were regulars and those who were occasional visitors such as we were.

Followers of my blog will know that I grew up in Sydney in flats called 'Clitheroe' and that most of the neighbours were surrogate uncles and aunties, particularly before any other children arrived at the flats. As all our relatives were in Germany it was wonderful having all these delightful people living around us.

Clitheroe was a two storey L shaped construction facing on to a lawn and garden. On Easter Sunday my parents and the neighbours hid chocolate eggs for me around the garden. I would be sent out with my little basket and the neighbours who were all leaning out the windows would clap and cheer whenever I found an egg. It was a very exciting day for a little person. I would then go inside, break up some of the eggs and go around the flats sharing the chocolate.

When other children arrived at the flats this little ceremony ceased and each family had their own Easter egg hunts inside. I guess things would have become a bit too complicated. Some of the neighbours still used to come down to our place and say the Easter bunny must have made a mistake because he left some eggs at their flat.

As I grew older I used my pocket money to buy Easter eggs for my parents. My friends and I would go to the shop of choice, Woolworths, to select the prettiest, best value eggs we could afford. In those days a little chicken was often stuck to the egg so that made it even more appealing.

One year after a long consultation with my friends I decided on what I thought were the two best eggs with the cutest chickens, handed over my carefully hoarded shillings and gently placed them in my Globite school case. I carried my bag home and nonchalantly strolled past my mother with the treasures hidden safely in my school case. She wasn't supposed to know that I had even bought Easter eggs. I had planned to hide them and make my parents search.

I went into my room, opened my bag and horror of horrors the eggs were squashed flat. Even the chickens were looking sad! My heart sank. I could never work out what had happened because there wasn't anything else in the school bag that could have squashed the eggs. I didn't have any money left so couldn't buy any more. What to do? I cried and sobbed the story out to Mutti who gave me a big cuddle and said that the chocolate would taste just the same and that she and Vati would love them particularly as they had been bought with love. It consoled me a bit.

I felt ashamed to hand over the squashed eggs on Easter Sunday. I had resurrected the chickens somewhat. My parents immediately opened the foil, tipped the chocolate into a bowl and made a big fuss about how extra specially delicious they were. My father smoothed the foil out and exclaimed about the beautiful patterns and colours and how carefully I had obviously chosen the best two eggs. By this time I had also eaten plenty of chocolate so I was feeling a whole lot better.

We had some friends who would pick us up from Mosman and drive us the very long one lane Ryde Road to their place in Epping which was 'out in the sticks' in those days. Mr and Mrs T had a son and had always wanted a daughter so they spoiled me rotten, just like our neighbours did. We were often invited to their place at Easter time because it gave Mrs T great pleasure to buy and then hide Easter eggs in the garden for me to find. She would get carried away and I would leave their place laden. Searching for the eggs got rather embarrassing when I got into my teens so I convinced my parents to invite them rather than going to their place. They would bring a huge beautiful egg in a box surrounded by chocolates and that was always was a thrill.

My mother always decorated the house for Easter. We had tablecloths which my aunt in Germany had embroidered with spring flowers, Easter bunnies and colourful eggs and on the table she put little pale green chickens which she had had since she and my father married in 1939. Eventually those chickens really showed their age and were replaced by nice plump yellow chickens which had featured on foil covered chocolate eggs.

For breakfast on Easter Sunday we ate boiled eggs. In those days commercial eggs were always white. Mutti would tie brown onion skins over the eggs and they would be a nice brown colour when they had been boiled. We sometimes dyed eggs and hard boiled them and they would be part of the decorations.

We always had a festive lunch, usually chicken, which was an expensive treat in those days. I don't know that there was dessert because we would visit our friends or would have guests over in the afternoon for excesses of cake and other sweet treats.

I have kept many of the Easter traditions taught to me by my mother (apart from going to church) and my daughters also decorate their place with chickens and beautifully decorated imported papier mâché eggs. When the girls were little we always had an Easter egg hunt which was great fun. I was never good at keeping count of the eggs and every so often we would find a little chocolate egg hidden in an obscure place ages later.

One tradition I haven't yet mentioned and don't even know the origin of, is 'grün Donnerstag' (green Thursday) which is the Thursday before Easter. My mother served up boiled potatoes, spinach and fried eggs. I hated the meal, particularly the slimy top of the fried egg and the glop of sloppy spinach. For sentimental reasons I insist on 'grün Donnerstag' but serve up a yummy spinach quiche instead.

Every generation establishes new traditions. Ours' is coming to the family coast house. We eat quiche on Thursday night, Easter buns on Good Friday, have Easter eggs on Sunday and watch corny religious movies during the day. It is really enjoyable.

Happy Easter everyone.

Dolls

I loved dolls when I was young. Before I had a doll when I was about 2 1/2 my mother took me down to the swings at Reid Park where there happened to be another little girl who did have a doll. The girl's mother said we should share the doll and so I was allowed to have a hold. When it was time to give the doll back I didn't want to, screamed blue murder and bit the little girl, much to my mother' great embarrassment. I can't remember this incident but my mother told me years later and still shuddered with horror when she recalled the bite marks on the arm of the then also screaming other little girl.

My first doll Hansel I received when I was three ( I think). I played with him a lot and think that he was 'the baby' when John and I played mothers and fathers.

John's sisters Pam and Joan had the most beautiful dolls with china faces and real hair. They wore exquisite dresses and I would have loved to play with them but they were 'looking at, not touching' dolls which sat up on a shelf.

My father had two Swiss friends who were on the same boat as him when he came to Australia. These two young men came to our place for meals regularly and when I was about 4 they gave me a doll for Christmas. Onkel Herbert and Onkel Emil couldn't have given me a more wonderful present.

I had opened the gifts under the Christmas tree and was sitting with my mother on the couch when it was announced that there was another present. The Onkels hadn't wrapped the doll but she was in a box, the front covered with clear cellophane. She was wearing a bright shiny yellow dress with a wide skirt edged with green rick rack braid and I thought she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I immediately named her Susan because I thought that was the most beautiful of names.

That night Susan sat on my bedhead and I kept waking up to touch her just to make sure she was still there. On closer inspection the next day I discovered that her bodice and undies were glued on and part of the attraction of having a doll was the dressing and undressing, so my father gently peeled the offending pieces of clothing off and my mother hurriedly sewed a few clothes for her.

I loved Susan very much but occasionally she would have an accident such as having the various internal workings break so that her arm or leg would fall off. Also I think one of her eyes got pushed right inside her head. When this happened she would go to the dolls' hospital to be repaired and I would have to play with Hansel.

Eventually someone dropped Susan and her entire head split open. I guess I could have got another head but she had already been repaired several times so got thrown out. I cried and cried. It must have been close to my birthday because I received another doll. Susan had had reddish hair and so I'm sure that's why Mutti chose a doll with short curly red hair but unfortunately the new Susan had the most distressingly bright pink skin so I didn't like her although I was polite and played with her briefly.

Two years in a row relatives in Germany sent dolls. They were baby dolls, both boys obviously, because they were dressed in blue. I named the first one Michael. He had brown eyes. The second doll was blue eyed and I named him Karl Heinz after a friend of ours'. They were real baby dolls with bandy legs and hands that had the thumb sticking up so you could turn their heads and put the arms up so they could suck their thumbs. Their thickly lashed eyes closed and both would say "Mama" when you tipped them over although I believe Michael became mute after a while. I played with them a lot.

Barbie dolls came out in 1959 when I was 8 and were an immediate hit. Some lucky girls at school had Barbies and I envied them and was grateful to be allowed to hold the treasures for a while. These dolls always had large wardrobes of clothes and we would spend an entire lunchtime changing the outfits and making up games. I begged my parents for a Barbie but my mother declared that Barbies were ridiculous, not real dolls and that you couldn't play with them properly, not like a baby doll.

Someone gave me a black doll wearing a hula skirt and lots of beads at some time. She was called Sabrina. I didn't play with her very much and can't remember what happened to her.

I was going to German Saturday school in the city regularly by this time and for a while our classes were held in the YWCA building in College St Sydney. One Saturday there was a fete going on in the hall downstairs from our classrooms and of course during our morning tea break we went down to investigate. As usual there was a raffle and the prize was a doll. She was a bit like a tallish Barbie with long legs and boobs but with a girlish face with long lashed eyes that opened and closed. She was dressed as a harem lady with a sparkly bikini type outfit with pale blue organza leggings and veil. I stood and stared and hoped and prayed that she could be mine. The lady selling the raffle tickets saw the longing in my eyes and saying the tickets were free, gave me one. That was so kind, especially so because I won her! I came home from school one day and there she was. They had rung my mother who had immediately got on the ferry and then the bus to pick her up for me. I felt like I was the luckiest person alive.

Because she looked exotic I named my new doll Isabella after consultation with the neighbours at the flats, because I thought that a pretty fancy name. I made her all sorts of clothes as did Mrs Hummerston (our neighbour). At the German Bazaar that year I was wishfully looking at dolls' clothes and the lady at the stall generously gave me a beautiful beige satin outfit which fitted Isabella perfectly, so I was doubly lucky.

As time went on I became less interested in dolls and spent a lot of time reading so the dolls sat in the cupboard languishing. Young friends played with them when they visited and when someone pushed Isabella's eyes in she somehow disappeared and I didn't really miss her.

As I was an only child and spent a lot of time alone, my dolls were real company. They all had their own personalities and I had lots of conversations with them. We had tea parties and I baked them biscuits and made them clothes, took them for walks and loved them dearly. They were an important part of my life.

To my surprise I found a cheap little doll which we had bought at Woolworths and which I had dressed as Elizabeth 1st for a project in sixth grade, in a cupboard I was cleaning out not all that long ago. I was surprised at my sewing and decorating skills, if I do say so myself.

Hansel, my first doll and Michael and Karl Heinz who are 'Turtle' brand dolls and probably quite valuable, still live in a cupboard at home (somewhere) wearing the original outfits they came with. The poor things have been unloved for a long time.