From Ipads to Icepacks

We arrived at Penrith around 8pm Monday 22 June. We're ready to take off for Hawks Nest Tuesday morning. Barry has packed the car. We hear a bit of a bump turning onto Northern Road. We pull over, but can't see anything amiss. We arrive at Col and Sandy's and I go to get the Ipad. I ring Trish in hopes we have left it at her place. She says no and I remember that noise. 'Barry, you don't think you put the Ipad on the roof of the Kia?' Tried location services (did I activate it?) rang Penrith Police. 

And now to relax with Col and Sandy. They've asked their next door neighbours in for dinner—Henry and Shirley used to live in Mudgee and our daughter Tracy and Shirley's daughter Lyndall were best friends. We talk about Mudgee wines and ageing. If only we kept getting better like a good red. Wednesday morning non-stop on mobile with Telstra, Apple, and NRMA. Yes it is password protected. Despite all the pressing buttons and holding—Telstra and NRMA were helpful and did all they could.

Barry and Col growing old disgracefully

Barry and Col were in the same class at the Police Training Centre in 1961. Later they were in charge of adjoining 'one-man' stations—Col at Howlong and Barry at Balldale. There was six months difference between our eldest Trish and theirs, Craig—we each had two daughters and a son. For years we had holidays at Hawks Nest. First we stayed at Jimmy's Beach caravan Park, then Bill Ring's flats and finally the Beachfront Motel. The ten of us went up the Myall lakes on Col's boat Martini, the older kids sometimes camping on shore.  

Sandy and Rae growing old gracefully

There were pre-sunrise walks on Hawks Nest beach and watching the kids on hobi-cats in Port Stephens—years later finding out it was shark riddled. 

We sit and natter for hours and Col takes us for a drive around our old haunting grounds.

Thursday we had crispy fish and chips overlooking the entrance to the Myall Lakes in idyllic weather—ignoring the pelicans looking for a free feed from Hook N Cook.  

Taree Rest Stop

As we drove off I was in holiday mode at last—leaving the stresses behind. We stopped near Taree for a cuppa. As we drove into Laurieton I muted the ABC and said to Barry: 'It was the worst of times and the best of times here—remember when we brought your mum (Nana) just after Pop died?' It was stinking hot on the trip from Mudgee via the old Sandy Hollow railway tunnel—and in those days no air conditioning in the mustard coloured Peugeot. 

Trish Tracy and Shane
Sandy Hollow Tunnel 1975

The caravan park pool was empty because of the drought. After we unpacked we drove miles to find a beach for the kids to swim. I was exploring the rocks when I heard Trish yelling. I swung around too quickly, slipped in my wet thongs, and cut my feet badly on oyster shells. The kids had been attacked by sea lice. Stings covered in calamine lotion, and cuts dressed, we were ready to go for fish and chips. Nana came back from her walk with a kilo of devon for us and a few slices of ham for her. ‘I don’t like devon,’ she said. 

Kids at Big Brother

At dusk we went fishing in the Camden Haven River. Barry caught a sting ray, then the propellor of a boat, but managed to cut the line with his knife before it ran out. I had visions of him belly ski-ing into the sunset. I’d never heard of sandflies—my legs responded with inflamed welts. Nana took her knitting on each exploration. To the rainforest, North Brother Mountain, and the Everglades—a kind of theme park run by the ‘little people’. ‘I’ll wait in the car. Don’t worry about me. My it’s hot isn’t it? You won’t be long, will you?’ A couple of sunburns later we arranged to visit Hec and Jan Coulston who had been transferred from the Rural Bank Mudgee to Port Macquarie. Nana was happy to stay in Laurieton, she’d found a Bingo game at the RSL. With Stewart and Shane building Leggo and the four girls colouring in, Jan and I began to pick up our friendship. Then Hec yelled, ‘Come and look at the telly’. We sat riveted, watching the unfolding Granville train disaster.

Last night at dusk, Barry and I arrived at the Jacaranda Caravan park. We'd stopped to pick up the new Ipad at Laurieton and discovered the Piggly Wiggly butcher is still there. Armed with their famous 'wissoles' and some wine for tea we begin to set up. He starts unhooking the van while I walk around the back to plug in the power. Next thing I'm yelling. My eyes focussed on the power pole looking for number 34 I didn't see the pothole. The park owners brought a pillowcase full of ice and I sobbed, leg in the air, while Barry set up. He said I'd do anything to get a story for the blog. I kept saying I'm so sorry as I knew he was exhausted. Afterwards I decided to do a Pollyanna 'glad game': it could have been so much worse than a swollen and bruised knee and elbow. In sympathy, the clouds burst open and I tossed and turned al night to the beat of the rain.