Read Online The Sausage Tree by Rosalie Medcraft - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rosalie Medcraft
Tags: History/General
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building the bathroom, 1952.
Wilma and Peter in the backyard with haystacks in the background.
Peter, circa 1949.
The twins pole-jumping off the wood heap.
A favourite summer pastime was making mud pies. This wasnât just mixing dirt and water together, but the real thing. It was a mud pie extravaganza with Mumâs flower garden being neatly decimated for decorations. We would mix the mud to just the right consistency using a flat board as a base to work on. Next, using more boards (from the wood heap, of course) as plates, we shaped that mud into all sorts of weird and wonderful shapes, all smoothed to perfection with our hands and placed into the sun until they were âcookedâ. While this was happening we raided Mumâs garden for small flowers to use as decorations. We made exotic patterns on the tops of our cakes with petals from roses, daisies, wallflowers, foxgloves and delphiniums. When the cakes were finished we would troop into the house and ask Mum which one she thought was the prettiest and the best. She was very diplomatic and always said that âas they were all very nice it was too hard to chooseâ. Our cake-making business would quite easily occupy us for most of the day.
Another outside game we played was called âFilm Starsâ. Weâd spend endless hours searching through Mumâs magazines hoping to find the name of some insignificant star. We each had a little notebook to write the names in and before game time would try to memorise as many as we could. We would all stand in a line and then one person was chosen to stand in front of us and quote the initials of a star. Everyone else would try to guess who it was without any clues being given. If we guessed who it was, the person in the front had to be ready to run to the fence without being caught. It was a memory-testing game so we werenât allowed to look in our books during the game. The lesser known starsâ names were handy to know because that way we stayed out the front longer.
Towards the end of summer was the time for picking blackberries. We walked miles carrying our billies and a long thick plank that we had scrounged from the mill. We leaned the plank against the black berry bushes so that every last luscious berry could be reached. Itâs a wonder we didnât fall into the prickly bushes as sometimes we were quite some distance from the ground. Maybe through all our escapades our guardian angels were working overtime. Local residents must have thought that we were as thick as the plank we carried when they saw the tribe of kids marching across the paddocks, but our efforts were rewarded by eating the delicious black berry pies, tarts and jam that Mum made.
8
Fun and games
As summer faded into autumn our thoughts turned to gathering mushrooms. Our family seemed to have a built-in radar system that told us when to go mushrooming. We never ever went too early. Before the days of the widespread heavy use of artificial fertilisers all the paddocks around where we lived grew the most delicious mushrooms we have ever tasted. When Dad was away Geoff would borrow the alarm clock and set it for 4.30a.m. and unless we were unlucky enough to be caught, we were already dressed when he woke us up having gone to bed the night before in our clothes, then without anything at all to eat we were ready to set off. The night before we would set out our special tins and small knives so as not to waste one precious minute getting away. We were very particular about the knives. We believed and strictly adhered to the story that if the mushrooms were pulled instead of being cut, there would be none the next year so we were taking no chances.
We walked miles over paddocks wet with heavy dew and too far away was never too far when searching for âmushiesâ. Those early morning walks were magic with spider-webs damp with dew, the fine gossamer threads hung between the wires of the fences shining like many
Wilma and Peter in the backyard with haystacks in the background.
Peter, circa 1949.
The twins pole-jumping off the wood heap.
A favourite summer pastime was making mud pies. This wasnât just mixing dirt and water together, but the real thing. It was a mud pie extravaganza with Mumâs flower garden being neatly decimated for decorations. We would mix the mud to just the right consistency using a flat board as a base to work on. Next, using more boards (from the wood heap, of course) as plates, we shaped that mud into all sorts of weird and wonderful shapes, all smoothed to perfection with our hands and placed into the sun until they were âcookedâ. While this was happening we raided Mumâs garden for small flowers to use as decorations. We made exotic patterns on the tops of our cakes with petals from roses, daisies, wallflowers, foxgloves and delphiniums. When the cakes were finished we would troop into the house and ask Mum which one she thought was the prettiest and the best. She was very diplomatic and always said that âas they were all very nice it was too hard to chooseâ. Our cake-making business would quite easily occupy us for most of the day.
Another outside game we played was called âFilm Starsâ. Weâd spend endless hours searching through Mumâs magazines hoping to find the name of some insignificant star. We each had a little notebook to write the names in and before game time would try to memorise as many as we could. We would all stand in a line and then one person was chosen to stand in front of us and quote the initials of a star. Everyone else would try to guess who it was without any clues being given. If we guessed who it was, the person in the front had to be ready to run to the fence without being caught. It was a memory-testing game so we werenât allowed to look in our books during the game. The lesser known starsâ names were handy to know because that way we stayed out the front longer.
Towards the end of summer was the time for picking blackberries. We walked miles carrying our billies and a long thick plank that we had scrounged from the mill. We leaned the plank against the black berry bushes so that every last luscious berry could be reached. Itâs a wonder we didnât fall into the prickly bushes as sometimes we were quite some distance from the ground. Maybe through all our escapades our guardian angels were working overtime. Local residents must have thought that we were as thick as the plank we carried when they saw the tribe of kids marching across the paddocks, but our efforts were rewarded by eating the delicious black berry pies, tarts and jam that Mum made.
8
Fun and games
As summer faded into autumn our thoughts turned to gathering mushrooms. Our family seemed to have a built-in radar system that told us when to go mushrooming. We never ever went too early. Before the days of the widespread heavy use of artificial fertilisers all the paddocks around where we lived grew the most delicious mushrooms we have ever tasted. When Dad was away Geoff would borrow the alarm clock and set it for 4.30a.m. and unless we were unlucky enough to be caught, we were already dressed when he woke us up having gone to bed the night before in our clothes, then without anything at all to eat we were ready to set off. The night before we would set out our special tins and small knives so as not to waste one precious minute getting away. We were very particular about the knives. We believed and strictly adhered to the story that if the mushrooms were pulled instead of being cut, there would be none the next year so we were taking no chances.
We walked miles over paddocks wet with heavy dew and too far away was never too far when searching for âmushiesâ. Those early morning walks were magic with spider-webs damp with dew, the fine gossamer threads hung between the wires of the fences shining like many
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