The games we played as children
Were determined by the sun
With washing line and bat and ball
We would skip and jump and run.
Summer was for team games
Rounders was the best
Autumn was for skipping
The highest number was our quest

Winter was for gliding
On the schoolyard icy slide
Until the teacher caught us
To end our perilous ride.

But springtime was the best of all
Rollerskating in the street
Riding your bike to join your friends
The brakes were simply your feet.

Picnics in the nearby Park
Me and Julie on the swings
Digging the mud for tadpoles
Flying kites with gaudy strings.

Tennis played with wooden racquets
Plastic hoola hoops and jacks
Old grey donkeys plodding on the beach
Laughing children on their backs.

Picking bluebells, making daisy chains
Spring sunshine in the air
Off to Blackpool for the day
Raining? We don't care.

In Spring the evening twilight
Casts a golden hue
We sit outside our kitchen door
Mum and me and you.

So at the end of these glorious days
We're left to smile and wonder
Our future now is in God's hands
Next Spring we'll be Down Under.

With hair that's snowy white,
and eyes grown dim.
The lady looks to see if her love
of yesteryear
Is walking down the lane
For scattered showers are
forecast, and he is slightly lame.
He stoops a little as he walks,
And thinks of his love of yesteryear
who sits by the window, waiting.
While slowly he walks home,
he knows his love will meet him
at the door, and greet him
with a smile.
Then hand in hand they'll wander
down the lane.
And think of the laughter, tears, and
the pain.
Of when they were
young again.
And of all that's come and gone,
and passed down memory lane

When they brought her home for the first time that day, she looked just like a little white fluffy ball. She could not have known then this was the luckiest day of her life. The family likewise, could not have known how lucky they were, for this little dog was one in a million, the children named her Jenny.
From day one Jenny was pampered and loved every bit as much as a baby would have been. The children would carry her around, and when she was tired they would put her to bed on the floor with pillows and rugs. One rug always went over the top and she would be neatly tucked in. They showered her with toys and every night they would be placed all around her bed. The years went by and the children grew up, and Jenny grew older, but nothing changed much. The children never came home without a new toy for Jenny, and when she went to bed at night she flatly refused to stay there without the rug over her, she would then arrange the toys around the bed herself
When life became a little harder with old age, she had her bed made up on the floor next to 'Mum and Dads' bed. Now she wanted 'Mum' to go to bed when she did.
Many's the time when visiting, I've seen her doing her 'little thing' at bedtime. It went like this: Jenny would look at 'Mum' and give a big sigh, Mum responds and takes her up to the bedroom and tucks her in. We sit and wait for about five minutes, and Jenny comes trotting out with the rug still neatly in place across her back. She stands at the door, looks at Mum and gives another big sigh. Mum says "Ok I'll be there in a minute" and Jenny trots off.
Another five minutes pass and this whole scene is repeated once again. We all waited for what we knew was coming next. Out she comes minus the rug, marches straight through the door and promptly sits down on the floor. It was a case of "Bugger, if you're not coming to bed then I'm not going either."
This little charade went on every night of her life.
Jenny always wanted to mother everyone, including myself, and every pet in the family she thought needed mothering. The pet cat was blind, so when she had her kittens, Jenny promptly took the kittens from her and carried them into the lounge room. She laid down beside them with her paws out encircling them. As far as she was concerned a blind mother couldn't possibly look after her kittens. After getting her kittens back a few times and then loosing them again, the cat finally took her babies under the house, where over-fed Jenny couldn't reach them.
Another time that stands out in my memory is when the duck had a number of babies and one little duckling was very obviously in a bad way and looked like it was not going to make it. How did Jenny know this? Because she was Jenny, and naturally took that poor little mite up, and carried it into the lounge room, just as she had done with the kittens. She laid down on the floor with her paws out encircling the little duck in front of her. She stayed there for hours never taking her eyes off the baby, and no way was anyone going to touch it.
Another very vivid memory is when she decides I needed mothering. I'd just come out of hospital after having major surgery, and gone up to Jenny to be looked after until I got back on my feet again. From the moment I stepped into the room Jenny knew. For the next couple of weeks she was at my side. I moved, she moved, she would sit on the floor in front of me and look up as if to say, "Are you Ok?"
Each day I tried to walk a little further than the day before, and Jenny walked with me. (I should say here that Jenny was and old dog by now) and walking was very difficult for her. The footpath on the street ran slightly up hill, not very much, but enough if you are an old dog, or recovering from surgery, and it ended about three house blocks up.
Jenny stuck with me each day, the two of us crawling at snail's pace. One day mum said, "How far does Jenny go with you?" I said “All the way." She said," She hasn't gone past the end of the drive way for months."
Finally the day came when I reached the end of the footpath, and was pretty pleased with myself. Jenny on the other hand must have said quietly to herself "Thank God for that.” because the next day I set off for my walk and Jenny walked to the end of the driveway and sat down, I got the message and set off on my own, but I noticed she didn't move until I got back.
Jenny filled that house with love, both giving and receiving it in abundance, she knew instinctively what so-called learned human beings never learn in their entire lifetime.

I woke at 6am on Tuesday 7th February 1967 - It was very hot and windy. I dressed and went out into the garden and hosed all my special plants and shrubs. I hosed the brickwork of the house - I don’t know why. There was a lot of smoke about but I could still see Mt. Wellington from our home in Olinda Grove which faced all the beautiful bush and mountains.
The girls were quite excited as it was there first day back at school. We had a beautiful baby boy - he was eight months old and very special after three daughters. Every one had left for school Cam had gone to work at the Tourist Bureau at the Marine Board building on the wharf which he called Haemorrhoid House. I went about my morning chores. My word it was getting much hotter and the wind was gusting up to 100 miles per hour. The phone rang and it was Cam. "Is every thing Ok?" "Yes," I said, "just a lot of smoke and very hot." So I hung up and turned around to look out the window and all I could see was a wall of fire from one end of Olinda Grove to the other. It was frightening.

I wrapped young Keith in wet towels and tried to escape from the fires but I could not. I had to return inside to the home and wait. By this time the garden and all around the home was engulfed in flames. I ran the bath and Keith and I sat in the water, I would rather drown than burn to death. I had closed all the windows earlier - but now I could not touch the iron frames or the handles of the doors as they were too hot. This is it. The dog next door was on a running line and I saw the flames catch hold of his tail and I could not look any more. I sat down on the floor and prayed. I could hear the wind roaring and see the cinders flying around - the entire garden had burnt, the smell of eucalyptus oil was amazing.

There wasn't any Southern Outlet Highway or Advanced College of Education to impede the fire. The house was full of smoke and extremely hot. I thought it would explode. Had I opened one window the house would have blown up. Cam and the boys from work tried to get up the mountain but were turned back by the Police at Proctors Road. They tried going up the Bends and were told not to try, but they did get through. The fire had passed over the house by the time they arrived, but it was good to see them and gave me added strength. They hosed the tree stumps, etc.

Now where were the girls? No phone, no power - but we did have a Phillips battery radio, and listened to all that was going on about the fires. Apparently Taroona students were down at the beach, and Princes St students went to Nutgrove beach, and we didn't find them until late Tuesday night. The speed and the force of this fire was unreal, also how the fire hop-scotched along streets leaving brick houses and weather board houses - 34 houses were burnt along our street.

In July 1912, the four-masted barque Olive Grove set sail for Sydney, Australia. She carried a cargo of machinery spares and manufactured goods, while on her return was to bring Australian grain.
Captain Whittle was a competent and experienced master and his first mate, Will Arnold, had been trained for the sea at an early age. He was just 19. The crew, a motley lot, looked forward to Sydney as a favourite port of call.
The wind stood fair through the Channel, and the Bay of Biscay, down the west coast of Africa, round the Cape of Good Hope, and into the Indian Ocean to Australia, where 50 miles off-shore of Fremantle they smelt the wattle and knew they were almost there.
By October they were in Sydney and thinking of their voyage home and ready to load grain from one or other of the ports. Round to Fremantle again. Spring winds can be capricious, but the winds stood fair for the passage home.
But by the time they reached the Bay of Biscay the storm clouds rolled up and when they reached Brittany in northern France things started to look grim. The English Channel is not a large sea, but with its treacherous tides, currents and hidden sands it can and does cost ships and lives.
Since Captain Whittle had already shortened sail they were confronted by the Atlantic Ocean meeting the Channel. This turbulence, plus the howling ale caused the cargo to shift, thus unbalancing the ship, and on top of it all, the rain added to the confusion. Try as they did, they could do little until, in the hurling waters, the ship was flung onto those evil Cornish rocks. What sails remained were in tatters, the mast broke and spars and rigging ended in the water.
The Cornish villagers were alert to it all, not surprising with their long history of wrecks, either by accident or design, and now, with their lanterns they got a breeches buoy to the ship. No lives were lost and once ashore the crew were given dry clothes and money for the train fare to London.
The next day, the storm having abated, the young first mate reappeared requesting to get back on board. This he did and disappeared below deck. Back in the breeches bouy with his bundle. They were all amazed to see a wet, bedraggled and terrified little cat. Safe at last – but after all he was one of the crew!

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The night was a deadly demon ready and waiting to seize,
The road was a dusty trackway over the misty hills,
And the larrikins came driving -
Driving - driving -
The larrikins came driving; a car-load full of dills.

They'd- a battered FJ Holden roaring, a souped-up motor within,
And they'd plenty of alcohol, fairly burning their skin;
And they loudly bawled and swore, and all the seat belts swung;
And they rode without a care,
They really didn't care;
They were out on an endless highway, wild and drunk and young.

Over the stones they rattled and banged on that quiet country road
And they hardly noticed where they went for nothing at all "they knowed"
They hooted and hooned out the window as splinters of light passed by;
Their cans lay littering the roadside,
Like lights along the roadside;
Immortal and strong they were: not really ready to die.

But the miles and the drink and the dark took their toll,
As the speed they were travelling grew; and the car soon started to roll,
Took a nudge on the kerb, screeched, slithered and keeled;
The driver knew he had lost it,
Unconsciously, knew that he'd lost it;
And the five lay dead - in the night - in a field!

I think they've locked him in today,
Worried lest he run away;
His mournful wails rise hauntingly
On noontide air he cannot see.
He's young and strong and loves to run
The outside world is so much fun.
He often comes around our place;
Likes snuggling up or licks your face;
A friendly dog without a worry,
Always sniffing, in a hurry.
I hear his melancholy wail,
Read sadness in a drooping tail,
Know how his love of life is curbed;
My heart inside is quite perturbed.
He loves the world of grass and sky,
The big playground outside. So do I!

In 1880 my grandfather, Andrew Paterson and his brother James came out from Scotland and settled in the Otago district on the South Island of New Zealand. They ran a dairy together until James decided that more could be earned mining and took himself off to Arrowtown which was then a booming gold town.
With hard work and good luck he made enough to buy the hotel at the nearby town of Cardrona, the site of another well-established gold mine. A sober and canny Scot himself, he was renowned for refusing to sell liquor to those who were obviously past the stage where they could walk unaided from his premises. This must have impressed the locals and in particular the mine manager's daughter who became my great-aunt Carmelia.

In 1899 my great-uncle James, along with 5,000 other New Zealanders and 16,000 Australians went off to fight the Boers. On his return he was presented with a gold watch and chain as a mark of the esteem in which the inhabitants of Cardrona held him and which, I am happy to say, was handed down to me. He resumed his role as Mine Host and also bought gold from itinerant prospectors. His practise was to store this gold in a glass jar which would be locked in a safe in the hotel. Not many had seen this wonderful sight of gold nuggets, but all the locals knew about it.

When, in 1930, he died - my great-aunt Carmella died five years earlier - the locals waited for a couple of weeks and then broke into the hotel which had been closed since his death and ransacked the place. They tore up the floorboards in every room and dug up the ground beneath, certain that James Paterson, gold buyer and canny Scot, had a small fortune hidden somewhere on the premises. It must be here, they reasoned, because as far as anyone knew, he had not spent a penny since erecting his wife's tombstone. The furthest he had travelled during those five early years was to Queenstown, and that was less than an hour's journey away.

But no gold was found and the Cardrona Hotel remained derelict for many years until it was turned into a tourist attraction selling knick-knacks and crafted items to passing travellers. Its sagging facade shows the effects of subsidence in the old mine below and the mystery of what happened to my great-uncle James' bottle of gold nuggets remains unsolved.

My father used this background to tell the yarn about old George who had recently suffered a stroke. He was sitting in his rocking chair on his verandah when an old friend dropped by and said, "G'day, George - I hear you've been pretty crook."
"Yes," replied George in not much more than a whisper.
"In fact," said his friend, "I heard that they reckoned you were going to die and all your relatives gathered round."
"Yes," replied George, "they did."
"And I heard they kept asking you where you'd put all the gold you had in that big bottle."
"Yes," replied George, "that's true."
"And you kept pointing down all the time."
"Yes, I did."
"And I heard they tore up the mattress you were lying on and then they ripped up all the floorboards and dug up all the back - is that true?"
"Yes, yes, it's all true."
"Well," said his friend, "where was the gold?"
"There wasn't any gold - it went years ago paying off the mortgage on the pub."
"Well, why did you keep pointing down?"
"Well," replied George, pointing two fingers in the air, "I was too bloody weak to point up!"