I can fondly remember Auntie Phyllis – my father’s auntie (Nana’s sister). I always thought of her as a kindly old lady who loved me almost as much as my Mum. I can remember that she used to come over to our house on certain days of the week – perhaps Thursdays – and help Mum with cleaning house and looking after the tribe of kids. I would wait for Auntie Phyllis to come off the train at Eagle Junction station and walk up the hill to our home at Listen Grove. Sometimes I remember waiting, sitting on the top step, for what seemed like an eternity for her to appear in our street when I would run down the footpath to greet her. Perhaps some of the fondest memories of Auntie Phil was the role she played in protecting us on the night of the ‘big fire’ (see the Big Fire story) and the rub-a-dub-in-the-tub routine. At bath time it was Auntie Phyllis’s job to get us out of the bath, dried and clothed in our pyjamas and ready for bed. Usually there were all three of the boys (Sam, Tom and Pip) all in the bath together (by that stage David must have felt way too grown up to get into the bath with his little brothers). We would usually be mucking around, as small boys do, when Auntie Phyllis would appear at the door with a towel and instruct us, one by one, to get out of the bath so she could dry us. Once we emerged from the soapy water, Auntie Phyllis would stick one end of the towel between our legs and pull it out the other side and progress to move it backwards and forwards like a polishing cloth between our legs. She obviously was oblivious to the gear-and-tackle of any young boy and we had to endure this treatment while the other brothers would look on with more delight than pity. Once dry, it was into the ‘jarmies’ and off to bed.

I remember one afternoon at Stradbroke when Pip decided that it was time to take his new "tinny" out for a spot of fishing. After hooking the boat and trailer up to Stretch's Suzuki four wheel drive, Pip, Lindsey Stewart and I set off. After ploughing through the sand at Second Cylinder, we launched the boat into some rather rough seas late in the afternoon and prepared to launch into the deep blue sea. As we clambered into the boat, Pip looked at me and said "I think you should take the controls" - for no other good reason except I was the BIG Brother. I knew very little about boats with my only previous experience as captain of a small SABOT sailing craft when I was about 12 years old. Anyway we set off - with Tom steering a tiller-outboard, Pip sitting in the middle and Lindsey up the front looking out towards the daunting seas that awaited us. As we skipped over the first few waves, I began to realise that we were in for a bit of a rough ride through the breakers. The first really BIG wave started to mount up in front of us and I thought just gun it straight for it and hope for the best. Well, this seemed to work as the small 12' tinny launched off the face of the wave and crashed down on the other side - we were away - or so I thought. Just when my heart was starting to settle again, a huge monster rose up from nowhere in front of us. Again, my instincts kicked in and I gunned the small aluminium craft at the face of the wave. As we neared the wave, I caught a glace of Lindsey from behind giving himself a 'Hail Mary' - don't think Lindsey was even religious up to that point. Again the small craft launched off the top of the wave and crashed down the other side - we were alive and on our way to where the BIG ones are - Flat Rock. On arriving at Flat Rock - about a 15 minute trip through some rather swollen seas - Pip commanded "shut the motor down - we are doing some fishing here". I though I might just cruise around for a bit before doing as I was told and it was then that I realised the seas were mountainous. On each trough of the swell, the land would completely disappear and we would be surrounded by water on all sides. "No way" I said and with Lindsey's support we hightailed it back to Shag Rock - a hopeless fishing spot only a couple of hundred meters off the beach but one that Lindsey and I reckoned we could swim from in a pinch. At the end of the fishing trip we had caught nothing but I was glad to be back on dry land and learnt that fishermen are all mad

I know this story book is supposed to be about happy times but if I was asked to nominate the ‘worst day in my life’ I would probably come up with the story Pip has told about under the title ‘Pip I have something to tell you’. In fact – some 30 years latter, the events of that Sunday afternoon still send shivers up my spine and I still count it as one of the days I was lucky to survive. As Pip tells it, the day was one that promised so much as the Le Burz (I think this is the correct spelling) boys - Danny and Billy - came over to our house one Sunday afternoon. We decided to head off to the creek after lunch for a bit of fun and maybe a swim. We crossed the creek for the first time, across a fallen tree that was straddled the creek. As I scurried off up the creek bank on the opposite side Billy called out to me “Your dog has fallen in the water and did not come up”. I did not believe Billy because the creek was not overly swollen and I knew Tuffy was a good swimmer. As I approach Billy to get a bit more information on his claim, he yelled at me that the dog had fallen in on the upstream side of the log and had not come out the other side. By this time, Sam – who had been leading the charge somewhere upstream – returned to enquire what all the delay was about. I told him that Billy reckoned Tuffy had fallen in to the creek and did not come up. I then did a really stupid thing and submerged myself in the creek from the upstream side of the log. I was hanging on to the log and let my whole body submerge under the log to see if I could feel anything underwater. I could not and somehow managed to drag myself back to safety on the log. Meanwhile, Sam – who was a bit older and smarter than me – started to feel around on the other side of the log and realized there were a number of branches still attached to the log that were forming an invisible barrier under the water. As he felt around in the water his hand went into Tuffy’s mouth and we all panicked – our dog had now been underwater for some 5 minutes or so. Sam worked feverously to free Tuffy but by the time we got him out he was gone. There we were – a shivering band of adolescents – huddled around our dead dog on the creek bank wondering what had all gone wrong. Sam took the lead and decided to go home and get mum and dad while Billy, Danny and I stayed behind on the creek bank. I just sat there and cried my heart out until mum and dad arrived back with Sam. We all got a bit of a short lecture from Dad about the dangers of the creek and we proceeded to bury Tuffy under a pile of stones on the creek bank – fun day at the creek over. That night as a lay in bed, my thought turned to how lucky I was to survive. I could easily have slipped and fallen beneath the submerged log to meet the same fate as Tuffy. I thin I had nightmares for the next week. To this day it still makes me shudder – thanks Pip for reminding me of it – I had almost forgotten…
See also related story by [Sam] [Pip]

I can fondly remember trips with Dad and Sam when I was about 15-16 years old – often sitting three abreast – in the old family EJ Holden. The trips were usually out to church for either a prayer meeting or some youth activity and we would sit there listening to Dad tell his stories. Sometimes, Peter Bancroft, who by this time lived up the road from us at ‘The Gap’ would also tag along for the ride. Dad would get utterly engrossed in some tale – usually about either some biblical character or some of his airforce exploits, and the boys sitting along side him on the bench-seat would hang on every word. As Dad waxed lyrical, he would often seem to float off to another place and pretend he was flying his Lancaster rather than steering the old EJ Holden. What was so disconcerting was the way he would ‘tailgate’ the car in front and I remember Sam and I often spending most of the trip pushing our right legs hard to the floor wishing we had access to the brake peddle. On one occasion, Sam, Peter Bancroft and Dad were in the front seat and the boys were starting to get a bit panicky about Dad’s driving exploits. Peter Bancroft in his dry wit was heard to mutter under his breath ‘Made in Japan’ pretending to read the small print on the car number plate in front.

As a little bloke I can remember the routine that awaited us at the end of each evening meal. The two “littlies” (Tom and Pip) were responsible for clearing the table of such items as ‘salt and pepper shakers’ while the older kids each had tasks associated with washing, wiping-up and putting-away. Often, Pip and I would finish our tasks, and as there was nothing better to do, hang around like ‘bad smells’ as the bigger kids completed the more onerous tasks assigned to them. On one night, at the end of the meal, I can recall one such event with Pip and I just hanging around the kitchen and the other kids doing what they usually did to complete their tasks. On this night, Mum and Dad had gone out to a church prayer meeting and we were being looked after by Auntie Phil who was trying to keep up the appearance of the military precision that Mum used for such tasks. I can’t quite remember (I was probably only 5 years old) but I think it was either Margaret or David suddenly screaming with excitement that the furniture factory, which adjoined our backyard, was on fire. Auntie Phil face sunk in horror and disbelief as the rest of the kids rushed to the back windows of the house to get a look. I can remember the ledge of the window sill being over my head and I needed to grab hold of the bottom lip of the window and drag my nose over it to see what was going on – the factory was ablaze. I don’t remember much panic but some memories stick with me from that night. I can distinctly remember David getting his birds out of the aviary and the placards with the scripture verses on them (see Mum’s story). Interestingly, I can also remember the method that my bigger brother Sam had used to determine which one of the placards was mine and which one was his. My placard was mostly pink flowers whereas his were a deep shade of red – I can remember being very jealous of his placard but I loved mine anyway. I can remember the assembled throng of people that gathered to watch the fire and they spilled through our back gate and down a ramp-like incline of earth that we had in the backyard. When Uncle Howard turned up I can remember him herding these people up like sheep and he drove them out of our property and back onto the footpath and slamming the gate to keep them out – good on you I thought. I can remember spending some time down at the Loose’s and some discussion about spending the night at their house or them wanting me to go to sleep there – that was a distressing thought for me and as I recall I spend that night back in my own bed – with my placard closely by my side.
See also related story by [Mum][Sam]