I have no idea what happened in 1983. Perhaps we went to live in Delray. Perhaps many things. Certainly the fights and drinking continued. Certainly the children grew and were beautiful. I stayed in Urunga. That much I do know.
Jim developed into a very funny baby boy. He could always make people laugh and did a good Chad Morgan impersonation. We went camping one night in 1982. Perhaps 2 nights, Once to Digger’s Camp on the Clarence and once to South West Rocks. We didn’t do very well either time and almost stabbed one another with the tent poles. The Picture on the tent bag showed a smiling happy family erecting the tent easily but we didn’t manage to do that. It was more like spears.
On the second camping occasion a wild wind hit and the children almost blew away in the tent. We gathered coins and retreated to a motel for the night.
We moved into a wee house in Urunga. A little old yellow cottage. Cass and Kate grew more and more into being twin cousins and we laughed and played while the men went to work on the Railways and RTA. Once a month my parents travelled to Sydney where my father was employed by Neeta Homes.
I have included this shot even though I think its 1980 because its one of the family legendary shots take in the yard of my sister’s home in Urunga. My parents, my sister’s family and me and mine.
In 1981 Jim was born. A quick birth like his sister’s but moreso. He was a character as a baby and he has remained a character and a joy. We moved in from the farmhouse to a unit in the block of units where my parents lived. Tambar Court opposite the Caravan Park in town and close to the shops and the waterfront. I won’t be writing much about 1981.
These years of the early 80s are painful years for me to write about and so I shan’t. Years filled with bright promise and hope which were consumed by the Monster.
IN 1980, WE went to live in a farmhouse in Fernmount, a village just up the road from Urunga. Halfway between Urunga and Bellingen. Alcohol and drugs continued to weave a noxious thread throughout our lives but I was also in love and had no idea of how that thread would thicken and twist so there were days in the sunshine and a beautiful little girl. There were cousins and grandparents and community and an very big green Falcon Futura.
It was strange for me to live as a married woman in a real house. Tad worked on the Railways and we spent time in Sydney at Parramatta where he trained and travelled down to Canberra where I had once taught.
I saw a willy nilly carry off a picnic down there at the Cotter Dam.
I had rifles too and wanted to shoot my husband when he stayed out late partying . The farmer grew spuds in the paddock beside the house and sometimes the river flooded out the back.
Kate and her father, Tad.
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.
1979 – a year of respite – in its own way.
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.
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.