Six---By The Banks Of The Lachlan
Without Prejudice
We left Sydney one winters day, wearing our white track suits Dad had bought us, he wore a white pith helmet like a fantastic sort of Peter Sellers Goon and kept up the banter as if he were. He loved saying the word "pithing" and chortled each time he did.
" What's the Pith helmet for, Dad" we would ask, in chorus.
"For pithing in " he would reply and he and Mum would laugh their heads off.
We crossed the Blue Mountains in our brand new Orange Vauxhall Vanguard Estate car, ( The British racing green Humber Super Snipe with its running boards had gone ) crammed into the back, our worldly possessions following behind in a moving van. We still had the same war wounded gnarly old cat, war wounded as in Sydney he had been stricken ill with tick poisoning and nearly died. "Puss" was his unoriginal name, a grumpy cat we adored. Scarred on big white head from many a cat fight. He went everywhere with us and caused many a delay at toilet breaks where he would dart out and take ages to come back despite our urgent pleadings.
Mum always sat up front, knuckles white on the door handle and edge of her seat, the way she always did when Dad drove. And who could blame her, Dad had to have been one of the worst drivers known to man. But he was intrepid and somehow convinced us we were off on a Grand adventure, the Pith helmet helped.
There had been a time in Sydney where he just disappeared, a time where we were literally starving, and when we asked Mum where he was she would tell us he was in Melbourne doing shows like In Melbourne Tonight or touring with Shirley Bassey. We didn't understand the no money part, or the no food situation. Lachlan and I found a plastic tub of caramel sauce once in the garage of the house at the top of the hill, that backed on to the Kuringai Chase National Park. We ate the sauce with teaspoons and fingers until we were sick and neither of us can stomach caramel sauce now.
The Blue Mountains were towering and majestic in their beauty. We would stop by the side of the road to have lunch, ham rolls and warmish fizzy lemonade from bottles, Dad called it "scoosh" with meant "fizzy drink" in Scotland. Once our appetites were satiated we could explore a little before climbing back in the car. There was no big hurry.
I will never forget the beauty of the Mountains, it seemed the perfect place to have written the poem, Of Henry C. Kendall, the Bell Birds,
And all around us birds were echoing in the trees, shallow pools in between amongst the rocks we washed our faces and hands in, the beauty and stillness stays with me still.
Our sojourn to our next new place, our new adventure, our next new home took a long time but finally we crested a hill and there lying below us was Huntington. A small town set amongst rolling lush green hills, a tiny speck in the horizon at first, growing bigger as we neared it. We crossed the
old wooden bridge that spanned the Belabula River, that ran down from Bathurst and was forever
cold even in Summer.
We left Sydney one winters day, wearing our white track suits Dad had bought us, he wore a white pith helmet like a fantastic sort of Peter Sellers Goon and kept up the banter as if he were. He loved saying the word "pithing" and chortled each time he did.
" What's the Pith helmet for, Dad" we would ask, in chorus.
"For pithing in " he would reply and he and Mum would laugh their heads off.
We crossed the Blue Mountains in our brand new Orange Vauxhall Vanguard Estate car, ( The British racing green Humber Super Snipe with its running boards had gone ) crammed into the back, our worldly possessions following behind in a moving van. We still had the same war wounded gnarly old cat, war wounded as in Sydney he had been stricken ill with tick poisoning and nearly died. "Puss" was his unoriginal name, a grumpy cat we adored. Scarred on big white head from many a cat fight. He went everywhere with us and caused many a delay at toilet breaks where he would dart out and take ages to come back despite our urgent pleadings.
Mum always sat up front, knuckles white on the door handle and edge of her seat, the way she always did when Dad drove. And who could blame her, Dad had to have been one of the worst drivers known to man. But he was intrepid and somehow convinced us we were off on a Grand adventure, the Pith helmet helped.
There had been a time in Sydney where he just disappeared, a time where we were literally starving, and when we asked Mum where he was she would tell us he was in Melbourne doing shows like In Melbourne Tonight or touring with Shirley Bassey. We didn't understand the no money part, or the no food situation. Lachlan and I found a plastic tub of caramel sauce once in the garage of the house at the top of the hill, that backed on to the Kuringai Chase National Park. We ate the sauce with teaspoons and fingers until we were sick and neither of us can stomach caramel sauce now.
The Blue Mountains were towering and majestic in their beauty. We would stop by the side of the road to have lunch, ham rolls and warmish fizzy lemonade from bottles, Dad called it "scoosh" with meant "fizzy drink" in Scotland. Once our appetites were satiated we could explore a little before climbing back in the car. There was no big hurry.
I will never forget the beauty of the Mountains, it seemed the perfect place to have written the poem, Of Henry C. Kendall, the Bell Birds,
And all around us birds were echoing in the trees, shallow pools in between amongst the rocks we washed our faces and hands in, the beauty and stillness stays with me still.
Our sojourn to our next new place, our new adventure, our next new home took a long time but finally we crested a hill and there lying below us was Huntington. A small town set amongst rolling lush green hills, a tiny speck in the horizon at first, growing bigger as we neared it. We crossed the
old wooden bridge that spanned the Belabula River, that ran down from Bathurst and was forever
cold even in Summer.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
The Murray–Darling Basin is a large geographical area in the interior of southeasternAustralia, whose name is derived from its two major rivers, the Murray River and the Darling River. It drains around one-seventh of the Australian land mass,[1] and is one of the most significant agricultural areas in Australia. It spans most of the states of New South Wales,Victoria, and the Australian Capital Territory, and parts of the states of Queensland (lower third) and South Australia (south-east corner). It is 3,375 kilometres (2,097 mi) in length (the Murray River is 2,530 km (1,570 mi) long).
