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Monthly Archives: June 2014

flies, baths and dunnys

26 Thursday Jun 2014

Posted by Paula Beavan in Uncategorized

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acres, adventures, determined., family, fun, handwork, Hunter Valley, memories, smells

I was nine, almost ten, when we moved from our nice suburban, 3 bedroom, red brick house in the Western Suburbs of Sydney; into two caravans on the top of the hill in the bush. It was billed as a great adventure by mum and dad. And they were so right! It was awesome! Cramped? Yes. Hard work? YES – though mum and dad were the ones who carried that load. But mostly, it was fun.

On the left is dad, Darren, Gina (standing) Mel & Me in the centre, the two other girls and lady are the Reindler's our neighbours twice over.

On the left is dad, Darren, Gina (standing) Mel & Me in the centre, the two other girls and lady are the Reindler’s our neighbours twice over.

We had two caravans set up at right angles with the annex’s somehow joined into an “L” shaped living area and bathroom. The bathroom consisted of an old bathtub and a copper. We had electricity, so it wasn’t so bad, The tub sat in a “bespoke” frame that was high enough to place a bucket beneath the plug hole for easy emptying. Bucketing out the dirty water onto the veggie patch was a job for us kids. Hard yakka, but it didn’t kill us.
The thing that did kill us, or almost, was Dad’s love of Baygon Surface spray and Dettol.
The local flies were smitten with these newcomers. Fresh white skin and dewy eyes must have been a welcome change to the Foran’s Herefords. So a gazillion flies moved into the two caravan/annex home with us. Dad to the rescue, with liberal douses of Baygon, sprayed into the air to kill all and sundry. Flies or kids, it didn’t seem to matter. Even the dog ran for cover when she saw that blue and orange can lifted off the shelf. I still feel a catch in my throat and my chest contracts at the memory of breathless gasping for non chemical air. No wonder I hate chemicals now!
baygon
The Dettol, however was another matter all together. To set the scene, we had no buildings; so no roof or tank to catch the rain when we first moved. So 20ltr drums were brought from town and that was our water supply. Drinking, cooking, washing and bathing. As you might imagine, it needed to be recycled somewhat! The bath water was great on the first night. The second night it was reheated in the copper, liberally doused with the Dettol, the enemy of any self respecting germ. By the third night the bath water would be enough to make your eyes water and other parts sting! A lot. Much clutching at vitals and a few squeals were part of the process, but Dad wasn’t having us “undisinfected”.
Dettol-Classic-Liquid-125ml_2
We were all pretty happy to help build the shed and set up the new 300 gallon water tank. Anything to be rid of the dreadful nights of torturous Dettol burn!
We lived in the caravans for a few months, until Dad and mum built a shed with bedrooms divided up by curtains and wardrobes. We had chickens, a red cattle dog called Lucy and a whole lot of, very happy to see us, flies.
We were on an adventure and had parents who billed each hardship as part of the fun. Mum and Dad’s attitude set all of us up with a resolute approach towards difficulties for life and I thank them for it.
Misfortunes, frustrations and dilemmas were to be tackled head on, determination and more than a little lateral thinking. Tenacity was the example we grew up with and so all four of us knew to be ready to look for a solution. I never have seen; nor ever expect to see, my parents be beaten by a problem or difficulty. What fabulous examples they were.
We all had jobs to do, be it feed chooks, collect eggs, dust and vacuum on Saturday mornings or everyone’s UN- favourite, dig the dunny. Perhaps we won’t venture into the realms of toilet humour. Though there is a tale or two to be told there. Yet another set of memories provoked when remembering, there was the odour. No, not what you’re thinking. I’m talking about Phenyl, there’s no smell like it. Clings to your clothes and body for far too long.
Excuse me while I drift off in a chemical induced swirl of memories. The memory of water has nothing on the headache brought on when just thinking about this stuff. Does anyone else remember this “cleaning” product?
Black-Phenyl-
Ahem, sorry about that reader.
How about you? Do you have memories invoked by smells and scents that send you hurtling back to your childhood just thinking about them? Do some smells just make you sick to the stomach or reach for the tissues? (Tissues for tears, not due to stomach upset!) Although these smells were not pleasant for most part, the memories they bring back are, and so I don’t mind. It gives me a laugh, and that’s a good thing.

bandaids and ponies

21 Saturday Jun 2014

Posted by Paula Beavan in Uncategorized

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country kids, fun filled childhood, horse, kids, lifestyle, ponies

I grew up having a very blessed & fun filled childhood. Born in Sydney, I am the eldest of four and was probably a brat of a kid. I was known among our lot as a hypochondriac; always complaining of feeling sick. Of course reader, I could tell you some interesting if somewhat embarrassing stories, but I won’t..  Oh, alright, I will.
Apparently when I was quite young; under three? Anyway pre school -I was complaining of feeling sick and wanted a bandaid. Insisted on a bandaid. So mum, caring parent that she is, put a bandaid over my mouth. Apparently everyone was pleased with the outcome. Namely silence.
As it turned out, I am coeliac & lactose intolerant so I probably was actually feeling sick.
hunter country
When I was 9 we moved from Sydney to a small acreage in the beautiful Hunter Valley on the edge of the vineyards. Apart from band aids, I’ve had a fascination with horses since I was around 3.  So when we moved, I was desperate to have a horse of my own. As my parents couldn’t afford one I took matters into my own hands and stole one.
Two actually.
Our neighbours lived in Northern Sydney and had a few acres with a small herd of Hereford cattle & two horses. They visited their property every few weekends, so I figured they’d not mind if I accessed their sturdy steeds. Ned & Pinocchio.
Of course I’d ridden a horse precisely once on my own before; when my darling grandparents took me to a riding school outside Campbeltown NSW. They patiently waited in the car for a few hours while I went on a morning trail ride. I was a goner; totally smitten and determined to have a horse of my own.The reality was that I had no idea, but in my head I was an equestrian of some great talent, not to mention fearless. Make that reckless, ok, stupid.
Anyway back to my horse stealing. With straps taken from my roller skates and dog leads in hand I chased and lured with carrots and finally wore down old Ned. I used my bits & bobs to fashion a bridle and climbed on board. Let me tell you a little about Ned; has was in his 20’s with a sunken back and a wither as high as the tree stump I’d needed to get on him; he was about 16hh and had a mouth of steel. In non horse-speak, he was tall, skinny, boney and old; he was incredibly hard to steer and once moving, harder to stop. The homemade, by a 9year old, bridle, probably didn’t help much. With his head held high and much rolling of eyes he allowed me to  gee him up and off we went in a clunky trot.
Of course I fell off!
laughing horse
So I then had a sore bottom and a cranky old horse. not to mention that my fab bridle was being taken away at the gallop by poor abused old Ned.
Well I had to catch him, didn’t I? If I hadn’t, the hiding I’d have received for losing the dog leads would have been a bit much for my already sore bottom. It was almost dark and I had to chase two horses around the 100 plus acres to retrieve the bridle, though I must admit to using a bit of poetic licence  in calling it a bridle, more like a medieval torture device.
I did eventually get him and the bridle. The poor old thing. Can you imagine being chased by a horrid little girl and tortured with home styled bondage paraphernalia, and then kicked and tugged around before being finally getting rid of her only to end up being chased around again? No?
I escaped a smack and decided next time I’d try Pinocchio as he was fatter and not so tall. I’ll tell you about that next week. Right now, I’m off to cringe at the memories.
Did you have an exiting childhood? Are you a country or a city kid? I’d love to know I’m not the only one who got up to mischief. Come on reader, don’t be shy, share you embarrassing tales, we can keep a secret.

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