In 1979, we moved into the flat next door to my sister’s house. Not actually next door. She was, by then. with her 2nd husband and the two little girls who are my nieces. They had spent a year in Mt Tom Price at the big Western Australian mines and that gave them enough money to buy a house in Urunga and on one side of that house was a flat in which we lived.
Her husband took a job on the RTA ( Roads Traffic Authority) and my husband worked first in logging with his father and then joined the NSW Railways as a fettler.
We washed nappies and took the babies to the Sea Lido in Urunga. We visited with my Mum and Dad who owned a home unit in Morgo Street near the mouth of the two Rivers into the Pacific Ocean.
1978 saw me back in Urunga and defeated once more by Sydney and my own nature. I think Tad and I variously lived in caravans, small flats and then a boathouse on the river bank. I was safely out of the City Scene but still inclined to chemical indulgence.
My hair grew longer and curlier and halfway through the year, a locum made the discovery that I was pregnant. I had rather thought I could not have children and so had the medical profession.
I had a comment posted yesterday which lifted some of the historical guilt I have always felt about my thoughtless and shallow way of life. This is the comment posted on 1977. I am very glad its here.
The long emptiness of a single drug life came to an end. One evening
when my brother, the man and I were sitting around, we asked the question ;” Why not get married?” That was a question which in later years, my brother and I acknowledged that we should have answered. I walked head on into the formality of a wedding to the local Shire President’s young son. My memory is of my mother in law sitting in a a chair in her sitting room and weeping copiously. She chose the carefully tiered dress for me and arranged a wedding within one month which involved almost everything I had never intended to do. We spent the wedding evening in the local motel and went to the Big Banana in Coffs Harbour for the day after. My radical friends came and both families. Noone had expected me to marry . I most certainly had not.
Then I retreated to the Boathouse on the banks of the Kalang River for a period of months where I was healthy and kind of happy. Fishing. Water and sun. Kate was born on Boxing Day of 1978. A natural birth in Bellingen Hospital and the beginning of a grand love affair.
Once again, I haven’t located a photograph for this year. I planned at the start of this 64 year run through to keep the posts short and quick and to not ponder over hidden meanings or implications so here I go.
1977 was a savage year for me. And Elvis Presley. I was living with Tad and we did Caravan Parks and dives and drugs and alcohol. He went off to New Guinea with Rotary to build a hospital and chew betel but and I “escaped” to Sydney. I saw him off in Brisbane. We went up on a coach, wasted on pills and madness and spent the night someplace in a motel. We ate at a French Restaurant which was luxurious but I wandered off onto the docks somehow – as I remember it. Or don’t.
Then I went to Sydney with my sister who left me there and months of true street drug use began. Inner city poverty and sickness and degradation. Mix in a good dose of suffering and shame as 1977 is summed up quite nicely. Fear and ugliness.
I went back to Tony and we did markets and slept in strange places like the old hotel in Devonshire Street. It was pink and filled with people as mad as we were.
My surface memories are of a tall blonde Icelandic woman with grey gloves to play pool. Of Mental as Anything sleeping in the living room of our pink hotel.
My surface memories are of walking in heroin withdrawals through the wind tunnel of Devonshire Street to the Haymarket over Chinatown Way to pick up money I had bludged from family.
My surface memories are of French’s Tavern on Oxford Street and hocking my cameras and at a pawnbroker at Taylor Square – the Courthouse Hotel and a bed under a table in an attic on Flinders Street.
Then Tad came and somehow I came home. After setting a mattress on fire in a motel in Bondi Junction.
Now, perhaps, I have reached the years I was dreading, the ones without images to recall the times to mind. I simply haven’t located a 1976 photograph and I guess there will be more of them to come. Tony hd gone back to Sydney and I had taken up with a very young man by the name of Tad. We lived on Yellow Rock Road and then at Gundamain Caravan Park. There was a lot of alcohol and a lot of drugs. Some people have told me tales of those times. Of 4 up on motorbikes and wildnesses. My sister was working at Urunga Golf Club as a waitress and i worked as nothing. I know I ate a whole pack of drugs sent to me from Sydney and near died and I know I lay down on the Railway Bridge for the night but my sister came along in the morning and told me there had been a train strike so I didn’t perish.
Overproof rum and hard drugs. I don’t suppose that was the “all of it ” in 1976 but it was certainly a lot of it.
In 1974, Tony and I opened the WHITE ROSE TRADING COMPANY in Urunga. We had a very old house, a big shed, and 3 shopfronts. We had dealt antiques so we has an antique shop, a secondhand barn and a bookshop in the little tumbledown skilling.
Susan and her husband had the cafe. Her Tony had been a cook in the Army in the days of conscription. Hippies in Urunga. So they thought. We were actually of a sub caste known as FREAKS. A little meaner and more hard core than your average Hippy.
A massive storm hit in the April of 1974 with major flooding. Someone dared me to go into the Lido and I did so. Naked. They were exciting times.
1973 – well there you go. I had dropped out of teaching and out of most things in fact. I was living with Tony Bahles in Drummoyne, Chiswick and then Balmain. Sex and Drugs and a little bit of rock n roll. Not much for me really. I did go and see Jethro Tull and Joe Cocker but my obsessions were primarily the first two. In 1973 my niece, Josefine was born and Tony and I took off for Far North Queensland in a mini-moke. With a blue tent. We made it to 4 Mile Beach in Port Douglas and stayed quite a time. I loved it there. I was truly happy – barefooted and wild with salt and fishing and the luxuriant tropical life. I learned to not scratch the first itch. I have never forgotten that and it has served me well.
We sailed South on a ketch made from Huon Pine. The UTIEKAH III. I put the photos in unedited because they were only recently restored to me as old slides from my in-laws who had them tucked away someplace safe.
At the end of the wharf in Port Douglas was a restaurant owned by a camp guy called Ivan. He made sauces for steaks which I can still taste till this day. Marvellous things they were.