One handed! At least they are tall enough now, not to be lifted to reach.
Stamp collecting will be a thing of the past, since letter writing is going out of fashion.
Mackenzie’s robotic dragon
Dog in a mummy’s costume
Jack’s random shape
Mackenzie is determined to read all of Roald Dahl’s books. He completed ‘Matilda’ in two days. I’ve already been beaten at chess!
Happy Holidays!
Daily post: Tourist Trap: What’s your dream tourist destination, either a place you’ve been and loved, or a place you’d love to visit? What about it speaks to you? Thanks for the great idea mehakzaid.
Holidays are not on our agenda at present. My memories of holidays past suffice. Flinders Island we returned to twice because it was so idyllic.
Eight-moonlit beaches, Flinders Island 2006
Flinders Island is off the North Eastern coast of Tasmania. The population is small, mostly fishermen and farmers. There are contrasting geographical features with the mountains towering above farmlands but all surrounded by little coves and beaches. On the Eastern side the waves pound in and on the Western side the tea trees and eucalypts shade deserted beaches with flat orange rocks and clean sand full of tiny shells. The clear turquoise waters invite one to swim.
Surf Beach, Flinders Island 2006
Our first holiday we were there to celebrate my sixtieth birthday. Four of our five children came to join us for three nights. The eldest was overseas. We had rented a cottage in Whitemark, which two of the children shared with us. The other two stayed at the one hotel nearby, where we ate each night. We hired two old cars while the children were with us. We stayed on longer. Locking up was not necessary, as honesty is just part of the culture.
One of the tourist attractions is the Killiecrankie diamond that can be found, or bought. Of course, we went up to the north of the island to try our luck. The stones look just like clear stones, but when cut are a colourless topaz, which is a hard stone, and therefore called the Killiecrankie diamond, that is unique to the area.
Low-tide Sawyers Bay 2006
High-tide 2006
The children swam and climbed the mountain. Our favourite place to swim and have BBQs was Trousers Point, but when the kids left we spent many hours going from one deserted spot to another. We always made sure we had a beach to ourselves. Each day we would visit the bakery and buy fresh rolls and what ever was needed for our picnic lunches. Christopher and I painted on the beach.
Stories in the evening at the pub were told, such as: when a new policeman came to the island, he set up a breathalyzer for those leaving the hotel on his first Friday night. The next day he went to get into his car and there on the seat sat a live tiger snake. He soon learnt to fit in, and drink with the locals and not bother them. It was either that or leave the island.
Cape Barren Geese taken in Pearcedale at the Bird Sanctuary amongst the Tea Trees.
Cape Barren geese, or Mutton birds as they are known locally, inhabit the islands around this area. The Aborigines traditionally harvested them and smoke them for eating for the mainland of Tasmania. These birds fly all the way to Canada once a year for their annual pilgrimage. They are beautiful large birds.
So if you are feeling like a restful holiday, away from the hustle and bustle of every day life, this is the perfect spot. The cottage where we stayed has all modern conveniences, though tank water is treated with consideration. Games and books are provided, as luggage is restricted to 15 Kg. on the small 8-seater plane that leaves from Victoria or Tasmania. A television is provided, though being away from everything, it is not really necessary.
Note: an apology for the size of Christopher’s paintings, that I took off the internet.
Jack and Mackenzie at the playground Sept ’14. Spring deferred, snow on the mountains.
Mackenzie adores reading
Cake that Jack helped cook and decorate.
Acacia we pass on our walk
Mackenzie at Hastings
(not the best beach, but lots of pelicans live there).
Jack and Millie
Jack
Angus
A Reprieve
Nigel, Barbara, Angus, Clive and Graeme.
Robinson Studio photo 1958 (Barbara cutting her fringe as usual before photo)
Looking forward to holidays made the school year bearable. We’d go to the farm at East Sassafras where we children would stay in the old house, whilst our parents slept in the new house. We helped paint the old house inside; yellow and grey in the boy’s bunkroom, and pink and blue in my room. How hideous it sounds now, (fashionable 50s colours). The open door to the outside veranda let the possums in, with their shiny black eyes reflecting in the firelight. Both bedrooms had a fireplace that I delighted in lighting. That love of an open fire remains with me. There was magic about the place. The gnarled old apple tree was the backdrop to our lunches outside in the sunshine. Winter days I picked masses of yellow daffodils growing wild. Arranging these inside radiated a warm glow, brightened the very dark kitchen with the camp oven. The windmill overgrown with an old-fashioned pink cabbage rose filled a fron garden.
One sad holiday, Rummy, our Cocker Spaniel, who was getting old and slow, didn’t manage to keep up with the Land Rover. It was one of the few occasions I remember Clive crying. It was a wet, cold month, but the daffodils bravely flowered.
Frank, Clive and Barbara
Graeme, Brenda, Nigel
and Angus on the farm.
Christopher Pyett
There were always plenty of jobs to be done. Milking I decided not to be good at, as I really didn’t want that responsibility. My father milked the cows by hand. Feeding out was something
Angus and Nigel
we all enjoyed, throwing hay from the back of the Land Rover. Learning to drive was fun, and we learnt as soon as our legs were long enough. Once I drove Uncle Bob, (before he married my aunt), to show him around the farm. I took him over Greens Creek and ended up bogged, and both of us had to walk through the mud to organise the tractor to rescue the Land Rover.
Only once do I remember my father getting angry. We children had all gone around the swampy area with firebrands, burning what we thought was just a swamp area, but Dad had just finished planting out new trees, and we managed to destroy them. I can’t remember any consequences, though knowing Dad was angry was enough to subdue us for some time.
Christopher often used to ride his bike out to the farm for the holidays. He says it was about a three- hour ride, though he is inclined to exaggerate. We’d play Monopoly and Ludo by the fire in the old house on stormy days. Clive and Chris would cheat, and Clive had a terrible temper if he didn’t win. Chris was also competitive, so it was always interesting. Christopher would
Baby Angus on the farm
sometimes creep into my bedroom after the boys were asleep. He’d lie on top of the bed, sharing my pillow as we quietly talked into the wee hours, watching the shadows from the fire play on the ceiling. He introduced ideas I’d never heard of, like ‘pop’ music. Our fathers only listened to classical music. I had so much to learn.
Walking around the farm we’d sing songs, pick mushrooms, burst stomachs of dead sheep and collect wild flowers. Mary Mayguard helped housekeep for Dad and Graeme White whilst they were living at the farm when Mum wasn’t there. Mary helped around the farm too. We called her Mary Mudguard as she rode a motorbike.
The Mersey River with Princesss, (ferry) passing our house on Victoria Parade.
Sometimes the first long weekend in the year fell on my birthday. There was an Apex carnival held in Devonport on Victoria Parade that weekend. The man who ran the Ferris wheel would give us free rides before the carnival officially opened. It was always very exciting, and during my school years I was sad to be dragged away to return on the bus to school in Launceston.
Graeme boarded with (Great) Auntie Mynie for part of this time, so that he could attend the primary school in Devonport whilst Mum went to the farm. As a middle child, he probably felt undervalued. He was good-looking and clever too, like Clive. He excelled at school and became a prefect at Scotch College and then went on to study engineering at university, also like Clive.
Nigel and Angus went to Scotch, following in Graeme and Clive’s footsteps. The new principal was a single man. During their time at Scotch, a fire broke out in the boarding house. The house- master’s paedophile activities were uncovered by the discovery of photos hidden in a wall, of him-self with some of the boys. I don’t know if Angus and Nigel were involved but they were brought home to the local high school. Nigel’s best friend committed suicide. It was a terrible time, especially for Nigel.
Barbara Pyett 