On the weekend, usually on Sundays but sometimes on Saturdays as well, I would go for a walk with my parents. In Germany in the area my parents came from (we're talking before WWII so I'm sure everything has changed) it was quite a social thing to do. You'd go in the afternoon, after your afternoon nap, wear something nice and nod greetings to various acquaintances who were doing the same thing. Nothing like when I go for my walk wearing tracky dacks, T-shirt or sweatshirt and joggers.
My parents and I would head off looking neat and tidy, my father often wearing a tie and a casual jacket, my mother in a dress carrying a handbag but because it was an informal occasion, no hat. We wore our everyday shoes as joggers didn't exist then and my parents weren't serious hikers so we didn't have hiking boots.
Sometimes we didn't go very far when I was very little, just down and around Reid Park which was near Clitheroe flats where we lived. There was a beautiful gully where we would sit and talk. There was also a large hole, that had on reflection probably been a wombat hole, but my parents decided that a fox lived there and we would always peer down to see if it was there. Once I didn't want to go home as I was having such a lovely time throwing little stones into the water. My parents wanted to leave so my father said, "You'd better come quickly because the fox is behind you!" I didn't look behind just ran screaming to my mother shaking with fear. He was so upset he never forgot and told me many times how sorry he was that he had frightened me so badly. He never thought that I would react like that or that I would have nightmares about foxes for ages afterwards.
Even if it was raining we would go for a walk and I would wear my little blue rain cape. There was a long sloping path beside the trees and bushes at the end of Reid Park that led up to another section of the suburb and when it rained the water would rush and gurgle its way beside the path. My father always carried a Swiss army knife in his pocket and he would pick up a piece of bark and quickly carve a little boat for me. Sometimes we would even fix a gum leaf as a sail and send the 'boat' rushing down the stream of water. I would run along beside my little boat until it disappeared into the storm water drain that went under the park. My father would make up the most wonderful stories about the adventures that my little boat would have on its journey to the sea.
When I was older we went for longer walks, from Mosman Wharf to Cremorne Point, on a path that wound its way beside Mosman Bay. We passed very few people even though there were houses along the route but they were set far back and it was almost like walking through the bush. Sometimes we would catch the ferry back but usually we would walk.
Vati (the German version of Daddy) would make up stories as we walked along. There was a huge boulder which he told me was as a tiny pebble to the giant Pumphut who had sat down and shaken it out of his shoe many years before. Also when the ferries went past and would reverse away from the wharf creating a big white froth from their propellors he said that it was the sharks shampooing their fins. I absolutely loved the stories and would say, "tell me again!" never getting tired of the same stories at the same part of the walk.
When we got to Cremorne Point there was a playground and we would have fun, particularly on the seesaw. Also Vati would push me really high on the swing so I would shriek with delight and Mutti would nervously tell him to be careful.
In later years when we had a car we would drive to different places from where we would walk. Balmoral beach was favourite destination and we would walk along the promenade and go up on the 'island' which overlooked the netted swimming area. My father always adored looking at boats, having learnt to sail in a huge four masted training ship on the Baltic Sea way back in the early 1930s, so our walks were mainly beside Sydney harbour.
Bradley's Head with its fortifications into which I would run and hide and the huge foremast from the WWI Cruiser HMAS Sydney as well as the stunning view of the harbour was yet another favourite walk to which we always took overseas visitors.
Even in old age my parents enjoyed going for walks. Their retirement village at Allambie Heights in Sydney happened to have a road that went nowhere beside it. Perhaps the council had planned to sell the land there but never got around to it. The road is only about 300 or so meters long, but when you are in your late 70s or 80s, there and back is quite a stretch. Luckily there is a bench at the end of the road and someone has created a pond with a bit of a garden, so the residents can have a sit and rest before going home. I accompanied my parents on that little walk many times, pointing out the lovely wild flowers on the way.
I still love going for walks and, especially if I'm by myself, I build castles in the sky. I wonder if that's thanks to the wonderful stories Vati told me all those years ago.
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