When I was around 2 or 3, Dad had bought some land in the new area (then) of Vincentia, (formerly known as South Huskisson) in between Huskisson and Jervis Bay. It was 120 miles to the South of Sydney, on the Coast. There was, and still is now, a Naval Base nearby. He began building what came to be known, in the family, as the "Weekender." Mainly because he was building it...on weekends. It was a fibro dwelling, back in the days before all the current worry of "Asbestosis" and the accompanying fatal illness associated with discarded fibro. We talked more on this in the previous chapter.

Back in those days, we had no 'town' power or sewer on that property. Power was provided by a generator, set up by my dad, who was an electrical contractor as well as an all around, very clever and creative fellow. I do remember, prior to the generator installation, all our lighting was done by kerosene lamps. Our garbage and sanitary wastes were buried all over the yard, deep down in the black sand.

I still remember some favourite things about "Moore Park"* as we called the complete property, Sleeping on a low bed in the kitchen, was one of them. The kerosene light that powered the old fridge, underneath, was my "Night Light," for my comfort. I think that was one of the reasons I slept in the kitchen. Another favourite I also loved, was Mum's "Weekender" Soup. It was made from vegetables and pieces of beef stewed slowly in one of those old "pressure cookers." We could get nearly a week out of one pot of "Weekender" Soup. The "Rosella" company came out with a weekender soup - but I reckon they pinched the recipe from my Mum. (*The name Moore Park was also a take-off of Sydney's Moore Park in our capital's Eastern Suburbs.)

I also enjoyed eventually learning to ride a 20" bike on the beach, including the necessary falls and grease on the legs that go with the territory. Funny how 20" bikes came into vogue years later with the newer, more trendy tag of BMX. One more pastime I loved, was doing my music theory exercises on the sand. The idea was to draw the staves for treble and bass. Then write in the letters to usually make up words that contained the letters of notes on the piano. The next thing I would do is draw notes on the appropriate lines or in the spaces to go with the letters.

Dad had made us a "park" or playground on the property. We had a swing and a "Whirly-Jigger" thing made from a tree stump with a galvanised steel pipe down the middle. On top of the stump, cooking fat was spread around the pipe. The cross pole (to ride on) was shaved underneath in the centre, to slide on the stump. Then seats made out of old rubber inner-tubes would be fixed on either end to sit on. Someone would push the tree-pole around. I was small, then; and I don't remember riding on the "Whirly" myself.

Another creation of Dad's with help from all of us was a raft. I am not aware of it ever being put into service. I think Dad was making it so we could get across the "Moonah Moonah" Creek even at high tide to transport supplies. The creek was only down the road from our Weekender and, at that time, we depended on the low tide to be able to wade across the creek to the main town, then, of Huskisson - to get things that were not brought to the house such as milk and sometimes, fruit and vegetables. Before the new bridge was built in the sixties, access to the main town, by road, involved a 6-mile round trip.

The bath water was drawn up from a bore, underground. We also had tank water, used mainly for cooking, drinking and of course that all-important regular "cuppa." Dad had set up 2 x 44-gallon drums, mounted on the side of the house. Both had an extension through the wall to taps fitted on the inside over the bath. One of the drums had space underneath, where a fire would be lit in the late afternoon to provide hot water for our baths. On one occasion, the fire that was to heat the water, flared up suddenly, nearly burning the house down.

I remember one day we were all out in the rowboat fishing. I thought I was doing really well, as Dad and my brothers kept telling me to pull in my line, and I was always rewarded with a good catch. As Dad would say "Cocko, pull in your line!" "Cocko" was my nickname. I never knew where that originated - perhaps a shortening of my middle name "Colin?"( I found out later they would get my line and put their catches on, drop the line back in, with a little tug, and you can guess the rest.) Such fun! Such deception! 

Our block of land was situated on one side of the, then, gravel road. It was officially known as Elizabeth Drive, a very rough road, though. Across the road from our property, was a vacant sandy block of land. This led, through a cutting to the beach's sand hills.

One day a pulley was connected to another boat, an inboard motor type vessel. The idea was to pull the boat up the beach to the trailer. All of a sudden, the cable snapped. Then the pulley in the middle flew off and hit my dad in the shoulder. I was too little to understand what happened after that. I was just aware that it was something bad, and he was hurt. Dad had already broken his back once, falling off a roof in his electrical contracting business. He would have had to be taken to Nowra Base Hospital quite some distance north from where we were at that time.

There are many tales to tell about sitting on the creek bank and so on. One day I was sitting on the creek shore in the sand, and my older brother, Joe disappeared. Next thing, he calls me, and looking around I saw, about 15 feet away, this great big cow.

I am sure the old cow was pretty harmless, but to a small boy, well - the big horns and all was a bit scary. I know my brother had a good laugh about it all later. Another thing about sitting on the sand was the ever-present Bull Ants. These were big and black and had a bite like you wouldn't want to know. Probably 3 or 4 times the size of regular little ants. Never mind the sandflies. Sigh!

I enjoyed, around Christmas time, wading across the "Moonah Moonah" Creek, during low tide. A local attraction at those times was the C.S.S.M.* (*Children's Special Services Beach Missions) on the Huskisson bank side of the creek. Today, 50 years later, those are still run all over Australia. It was like Vacation Bible School, I guess. A time, over several days, of singing stories and crafts.

Many years before, there had been a wooden bridge across the creek. It must have been washed away. It was not until the mid to late 60's that a new bridge was re-erected there. At times there were bushfires, not all that far away. The area was very 'rural' and, in those days, mostly undeveloped bush. We were fortunate the fires never got near the house.

My sister was not all that keen to be at the weekender. She was in her mid-teens, and it was not considered then as the kids today would call it "cool!" It was mainly me, Richard and Joe and Mum and Dad got down to the weekender as often as we could.    Neighbours the Taylors, Tennyson's and the Spiers were good friends there. 

On one of our stays at the weekender, possibly towards the end of our time there, we visited a local Aboriginal Mission at Wreck Bay. Friends of mum from Marsfield Mission mentioned later, were involved there. It was run by a Scottish couple, with really broad accents, so we could hardly understand their speech. Many years later, we would spend some time in Huskisson, across the creek from Vincentia. We had a loan of a house, there, which had been owned by the Biggs family who ran the Wreck Bay Mission, all those years past.

My brother and his wife, and our Mum and I stayed there, prior to Mum going overseas as a Missionary. During that time we visited Point Perpendicular, a rocky point across the bay from our beach. These days it is only opened at occasional intervals for special events.

I loved our weekender. I have many, many lovely memories of us as a family down in Vincentia. Sadly we quit going there after mum and dad broke up before I was 8 years old. My maternal grandmother had also bought a block of land in the area, so we should have had access to that to continue our happy times. (Mum had been given the deeds to that property, but in a sneaky way the deeds ended up back in the step grandfather's hands, and Mum was not interested in a part of the proceeds of the sale later, following grandmother's death.)

Nanna, unfortunately, died "Intestate" (without a will) and the property she owned was sold and the proceeds divided up between Mum's brothers, and Nanna's second husband, Harold. We need to all make sure we have a will done before it is too late. The land in that area became very valuable, so the lady who bought Dad's blocks from him 'for a song'* in the breakup, would have done quite well in further reselling of the same, later on.

Now; more on my music lessons. At 65 years of age, at the time of writing this, I can still remember climbing up onto the piano stool at the age of 3yrs to play simple 2 and 3 finger chords. I was one of those kids who you could recognise as being a future performer. I think you can tell this when a child tries to play the keyboard instrument without banging indiscriminately on the keys.

My parents realised I would probably become successful on the piano and at 4 years old I began music lessons. It would appear my musical ability came from both sides of our family. Dad could belt out a tune on the piano and Mum was gifted with the Harmonica. I also remember in my very young days, Dad often would sing the song "The Yellow Rose of Texas".

I looked it up just recently and it seems it came from a varied background. Either as a popular song in the War days between Mexico and the U.S.. or later on it became a kind of a Nursery rhyme for the kids and in the mid-fifties overtook "Rock Around The Clock" as a hit on the then pop charts. I think this last is why my Dad used to sing it a lot then as it went with my early years in time.

 It has not been easy, for me or my Mum. I'm sure if I had applied myself much more to my music studies I would have become a professional pianist. Even a Concert Pianist, which is what Mother wanted. But who does what their parents want, aye?!

My Piano teacher was Mrs Faulkner. in Lane Cove. A long way from where we lived then, but I think my sister was already taking lessons with either Mrs Faulkner or quite possibly her husband - being much older than me. She had been with the Faulkner family long before we moved from Greenwich. The suburb was a lot closer to Lane Cove than Ryde, where we moved about 6 months after I was born.

Mum had been so pleased with my progress and what I was doing. However, on this particular day, she said to Mrs Faulkner:
"I haven't heard that piece before!" Boy! Did I get a hiding when we got home! Can't remember if it was the fly swat or the hard end of the feather duster, but I know Mum made a good impression on my legs, or my behind that day. I think Mrs Faulkner was going to retire after my Second Grade Exams, so we needed to find a new teacher, preferably closer to home.