We would often spend time at our grandfather’s house at Bondi, Sydney as kids and while those times are memories of their own, it was travelling home on the Manly ferry that I enjoyed most. After a long day, I was so tired, but I looked forward to that ferry ride home.
I would position myself near the engine. I loved the whirring sound of the cogs and wheels as they turned and powered the ferry. The smell, too, was delightful.
There was a lady who would come around selling food to the people on board. It was a real highlight whenever she would show up. It was cooked fresh and the smell of it wafting on the sea air was heaven. There were plenty of people I observed eating saveloys. I envied them, but with six of us those sorts of foods were luxuries.
We would be bundled off at Manly ferry wharf bus terminus and then we would catch the bus for our final leg home. This was well before the days of Opal cards and the like, too!
My father worked several jobs to feed us and keep us clothed. He had a job at the PMG, he worked on the road gang, he’d pick up glasses at the local pub too. I remember, as I got older, that my dad would go on to deliver the papers. Among his many other jobs, he also spent some time as a fruit picker. If he were alive today, I’d certainly think he’d be a good contender for Father of the Year.
On Sundays we would go to church as a family. My dad was one of those who passed the collection plate around.
We would eagerly listen to the tales he told about his time living in India. We were so enthralled with them we wished we could have been there to experience life too. I came to Australia in 1952, and often thought it would be exciting to go to India and walk in my father’s footsteps. Life is just one big journey to be experienced.