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.

Canberra's centenary - reflecting on the last 40 years

In January 1973 I stood in the driveway of my then fiancé's parents' house crying my eyes out as T set off for his new job with the Australian Customs Service in Canberra. In those days the government was daring and innovative. Computers were the new thing and a recruitment drive had been held to choose suitable bright young people to man the brave new world of information technology. T had already shown his aptitude as a computer programmer in a couple of workplaces and was snapped up.

I wrongly thought I wouldn't see him again because he would be seduced by Canberra and find someone he preferred to me at his new home, Lawley House. Devotedly (bless him) T drove up every weekend to Sydney until we married in the September of that year except for two weekends when I visited Canberra.

In those days public servants flooded in from all over Australia. It was an exception to find a born and bred Canberran. There were a whole lot of hostels which provided accommodation for the large influx. T lived at Lawley House for about two months until he could no longer stand the restrictions imposed by the management. As well he had made some friends who also didn't like hostel living and a group decided to rent a house together in Weetangera.

I had been to Canberra by train for a day years before with my parents. All I remember was that work was being done on the still empty lake which was full of bulldozers. There wasn't much else to see that I could remember. The next time I came to Canberra was when I was about 15, on a day trip from the coast. I have a photo of me in front of the War Memorial. Again I can't remember much about the visit.

I did come to visit T when he was at Lawley House. Members of the opposite sex were forbidden to visit the rooms of the residents - sitting in the communal area was alright until about 9pm. We broke the rules big time! I stayed the night! Shock! Horror! I held on but finally had to use the loo. T had to peer out, check that the coast was clear before I dashed out. It was all very furtive and exciting. Doesn't that sound archaic now! That's how it was in those days. If we went on holiday together I wore a 'wedding' ring or it was possible that we wouldn't have been allowed to stay at a hotel.

We married on 1st September 1973 which was the middle weekend of the school holidays. It was my first year of teaching. As T had just started work in the Public Service he couldn't take any time off so our 'honeymoon' was the drive from Sydney to Canberra. He had organised a fully furnished flat for us in a long grey building in Mawson called 'The Wall of China' by the locals thanks to its lack of architectural merit. I hadn't seen it at all but as T carried me over the threshold carrying a basket containing bread and salt (good omens according to my mother) I was as happy as could be. We unpacked the piles of wedding presents from the car and set up our little home together.

In those days you could see the twinkling lights of the tiny Woden town centre from our balcony at night and during the day you could see waving golden grasslands filled with birds from the bedroom. Those grasslands are now filled with town houses and an aged care village.

I started teaching at Pearce Primary School the next week. It was a beautiful new school. When I first walked into the building to introduce myself I felt like I had arrived in heaven. Everything was shiny and new. I had been teaching in an old inner city school in Sydney where the paste was full of rat droppings, the windows were opaque because of pollution from the nearby factories and where my chair went through the floor one day when I leant back due to the dry rot. At Pearce School many of the staff were about my age and I immediately made lots of friends.

In those days you really had to make your own fun in Canberra. I can remember having to catch the bus back to Sydney on a Sunday night from Garema place in the city and you could have fired multiple cannons down the main street and not hit anyone. It was VERY quiet and dark. Compare that to the vibrant city life these days!

In the 70s we had masses of dinner parties where we would actually get dressed up. We also went to enormous trouble when providing the meal, aperitifs such as brandy Alexanders and whiskey sours were favourites followed by multiple courses with accompanying wines concluding with a selection of liqueurs.

After a while 'progressive dinners' became all the rage. Great crowds of us would go to someone's house for entree, someone else's for main course and move again for dessert. This entailed piling into cars and driving around in an increasingly intoxicated state to get to the various locations where the next course was being served. There were no breathalysers in those days. Usually Sundays were a quiet recovery day.

T and I shopped at 'Southlands', a new shopping centre close by and outraged some friends with our extravagance. We would spend up to $20 EVERY WEEK on our groceries which included luxury items such as fillet steak, strawberries and avocados.

We had bought a townhouse in Holder in 1974 when house prices started to rise. It cost $19,500 and we had to borrow money for the deposit from T's father and then go to the bank manager cap in hand to get a loan for the rest. We had mission brown tiles laid in the entrance and beige shag pile carpet laid in the living rooms. The furniture we bought was brown, beige and orange and throughout Canberra other young couples embraced the same colours. We bucked the trend a bit by having white bench tops - lime green, bright yellow or orange were much flasher and very popular.

We bought a catamaran and sailed on the lake and watched as new public buildings grew up around it's shore. We felt proud of our city when we showed off the new buildings and beautiful surrounds to interstate visitors.

In 1975 I started teaching in another new school, Holder, which was very close to our new home. One day T and I went for a drive along Namatjira Drive to where the bitumen ended at the top of Fisher. We could see down to the Tuggeranong Valley. A small section of Kambah had just started being built but the valley was a sea of green fields, grazing cattle and sheep and the odd farmhouse.

Another favourite activity at the time was to go on picnics en masse. Popular destinations such as the Cotter dam, Kambah Pool or Lanyon homestead were quite long drives down dirt roads. Every so often we would go to the coast dragging the catamaran and join up with friends who had similar interests.

As time went by we added two to the population of Canberra. We built a house in Kambah on 'mortgage hill' in the Tuggeranong Valley which was called 'nappy valley' at the time.

Having children did somewhat curtail our social activities but our street was full of young children so we would have the occasional street party or street cricket matches. The kids would roam as a mob and have marvellous adventures around the neighbourhood. Everyone would be looking out for everyone else and there was a sense of freedom that I don't think was still around in larger cities such as Sydney anymore.

Our girls eventually went to the Grammar School and we toyed with the idea of moving closer to the school for a while. I mean it did take almost half an hour to get there!!

Canberra has grown. When we moved to Kambah friends from Belconnen (north of the lake) would say they needed to pack a lunch to get to our place! Now we are very close to the physical centre of the city, Canberra has spread out so much. I guess it would take about an hour to get from the southern most suburb to the northern most now. How fabulous is that. Sometimes that is how long it takes just to get three suburbs away in Sydney, if there is a traffic jam.

We love Canberra. The public institutions such as the National Art Gallery, the National Museum, the National Library, the War Memorial, the National Archive, the Canberra Museum and Gallery, not forgetting Parliament House are places of interest which hold contents of significance for all Australians. We regularly visit and enjoy the experiences offered.

We love the four distinct seasons this area of the country has, each bringing with it visual delights. We love that our backyard is filled with wild birds that visit to be hand fed. We love the fact that cattle graze just beyond our fence line and that kangaroos occasionally bounce down our street or have a munch on our lawn.

We love the fact that Canberra is a sophisticated city where we can enjoy quality theatre or concerts, dine in world class establishments or just go for a walk around the lake enjoying nature.

These days you could participate in several organised activities every day, if you had the energy. Canberra is a vital, interesting city which most Australians know little about.

The sense of community, I feel, is what sets Canberra apart from other large cities. We've had a few bushfires in the years since T and I moved here but it was the devastating bushfire of 2003 that really showed the heart of our city. We lost about 500 houses and lost 4 precious residents. Just about everyone knew someone who had had suffered some loss. People collected money, donated clothing, furniture, gave time and effort to help those who had lost so much. We stood shoulder to shoulder and became one. Although it was horrific it unified us as a real community and I felt proud to be a Canberran. I still am.