​It was Thursday the 1st of August and my sixtieth birthday party was coming up in a fortnight. Friends and family were coming from different places to fill up our lounge room and celebrate with us. We had also booked a six-week trip to Europe a little later.

Our daughter, Bronwyn, lived at Yarrawonga, an hour west of Albury. We lived at Tallangatta, half an hour east of Albury. Bronwyn and I both had dental appointments in Albury on that day so arranged to meet up. Bronwyn also had a mammogram arranged, so Don and I would mind one-year-old Ben and three-year-old Claire during that time.

An hour and a half went by and we wondered if the machine had broken down, when the doctor called us into his office and told us the Xray showed that Bronwyn had a large lump in her breast. I drove back with Bronwyn while Don went home.

Gordon, Bron’s husband was a doctor and determined to work fast. Friday, Bronwyn was in hospital in Wangaratta for a biopsy. By Saturday the biopsy report indicated the tumour was malignant. Bronwyn was to go to Melbourne on Tuesday to get a second opinion. Gordon’s parents offered to come from Melbourne for a couple of days, so we drove home on Sunday.

It was obvious that the party would have to be postponed, especially when Bronwyn rang from Melbourne to say she had an operation organised for the following Monday, the 12th August. Could we come over from Sunday until the following Wednesday? Of course we could!

Back to Yarrawonga on Sunday, Bron’s operation scheduled for 8.30 a.m. the following day. By Monday we were inundated with phone calls in between getting six-year-old Matthew off to school and looking after Claire and Ben.

Bronwyn rang that night to talk to the children and reassure them she was still around, despite the fact that her voice was still a bit groggy. By Tuesday she was sounding more like her old self, a fact much appreciated by the children. The next day was my birthday and we returned to Tallangatta, after the news that Bron’s operation was considered 95% successful. She was to come home on Saturday.

My siblings had pre-booked flights from Sydney and Hobart for the party so two days after we arrived home, they came anyway, along with my brother and his wife from Melbourne. The eight of us had a barbecue lunch in the bush, a casserole dinner in the evening and, by Sunday, they were all on their way home.

Back to Yarrawonga until Friday and then home to give the house a good vacuum. Ready for the party which had been postponed for one week! The celebration happened on the next day, the 24th August. Wonderful Bronwyn came with her family despite her past fortnight and the party was a great success. Ten people slept at our place that night.

Chemotherapy, with two three-day visits to Yarrawonga in the next fortnight. Home by the 14th September.

Wednesday 18th September, we packed up. Off to Melbourne the next day to board a plane that afternoon, for a six-week discovery tour of Europe.

Home on November 1st and over to Yarrawonga on the 2nd!


Carmyl Winkler
​May 2026

The word is out. They’re expecting a baby. By two months all the inner circle is in the know. By three months the exciting news has spread in ripples through the community. At 5 months the grandmothers, aunts, friends gather for coffee and cake. They laugh at themselves playing party games and gather in a circle as the mother opens gifts for her child to come. It will be the best dressed baby in Melbourne.

There’s a hush in the nursery, the silence broken by mechanical beeps and the soft footfall of nurses. Screens emit ticker tape graphs and a red light flashes in the corner. The silent babies, their little chests heaving, struggle to keep breathing. A mother, in a wheelchair, puts her hand on the Perspex cot and stares intently at her baby. A father puts his hand through the porthole and lightly touches the minuscule perfectly formed hand. The baby wraps her hand around his giant thumb. We talk in hushed tones.

The paediatrician dispenses a solemn smile. He roams the room, checking charts, peering into cribs. His ponytail is held in check by a Pooh Bear scrunchie.

Light as a feather she floats away, unshackled from the tubes and strings and confines of the humidicrib. She is clothed in tiny doll size garments, lovingly created for prem babies by hospital volunteers.

The mother’s rich soprano voice soars around the gothic arches as she farewells her daughter. The father, in his heavy black coat, is weighed down by the tiny white coffin balanced on his shoulder. He leads mourners down the aisle. A large hearse is waiting outside. The tiny coffin is smothered in flowers.

She is in there, our first grandchild, 8 days old.


Anne Stewart
​May 2026

This is a story that I have avoided for some time, however it is time to put finger to keyboard and tell the story.

The local Pony Club meeting held on Sunday 16th October 1977, was to become a day when things really did fall apart, in a very tragic way.

The club was well supported by local residents, and some members from surrounding districts, who did not have an active club in their area.

The day was progressing well with the children competing in various activities.

During one of the activities a pony tripped and fell, rolling over on the young girl rider. Members raced to the girl to check on her condition, whilst another parent caught the pony. Fortunately one of the parents in attendance was a nurse, and she quickly assessed to situation. Whilst the girl had been knocked unconscious, she was breathing and had a strong pulse.

The nurse was concerned that she may have internal injuries and suggested that she be taken to the hospital as soon as possible.

The problem was that the nearest ambulance station was over 20 minutes to the north, and the nearest casualty hospital was 35 minutes to the south.

The nurse was concerned that we did not have 20 minutes to wait for an ambulance.
A quick discussion was held with the girls parents and it was decided to transport the girl as quickly as possible, using my car. The girl was loaded into the back seat where the nurse could attend to her during the trip.

The girls parents lived within walking distance of the reserve, so they agreed to take the pony home, ring the hospital to alert them to the issue, and they would then follow along in their car.

The nurse and I departed immediately. I kept up the pace on the highway, hoping that the Police would spot me, and may be able to give me an escort to the hospital. Unfortunately none were sighted for the entire trip.

I was keeping up the pace, and we were about 15 minutes from the hospital, when the nurse tapped me on the shoulder. I knew what this meant, however kept up the pace, as there was still a chance that the girl could be revived at the hospital. Both the nurse and myself had tears streaming down our faces, but tried to stay positive.

We duly arrived at the hospital where the staff were waiting to rush the girl into the operating theatre.

Just as they wheeled her away, her parents arrived.

We all sat in the waiting room, for what seemed like an eternity. Finally one of the doctors emerged with the news that despite their best efforts, they had been unable to revive the girl. The parents, the nurse, and myself were devastated.

Whilst the parents remained with their 14 year old daughter, the nurse and myself returned to the Pony Club grounds to break the news to the other members.
​
 
Barry O’Connor.
May 2026

I was sixteen years old at the time.

​I was working with two other boys and three or four older women.

One day a new girl started, much younger than the other women. She was 15 years old at the time.  She was tall, slim and quite attractive with long blonde hair.

The three of us boys all agreed she was a good sort. I liked girls, but I was very shy and I was never brave enough to talk to them anymore than I had to.
 

The other boys decided to have a bet to see who won the first date to go out with her.

They were a year or two older than me.  I wasn’t included in the “competition” because I was me, and girls weren’t interested in me. I wasn’t even considered to go into the challenge. She was much too attractive to be interested in me.

The other boys tried their hardest to impress the girl. As far as I know, neither of them asked her out.
 
One Friday night we worked late and it was dark, so I suggested that one of the other guys would walk the girl home with me. It was about a Kilometre.

This other guy lived near me, and we normally travelled to and from work by train. The girl lived within walking distance.

We walked the girl, who lived with her mother and a younger sister on the second floor of a block of flats, home.

 
We went up the stairs and spent time outside her flat talking.

I told him not to worry; we could catch a taxi.

However, not long after 11pm he left to catch the train.

 
I continued talking to the girl.  We stayed out on the landing talking. We spoke about everything we could think of.

I told her about the bet the other boys had. She was disgusted and told me if she was to go out with anyone it would be me.

Now what do I do, I thought. She certainly brought me out of myself that night.

 
Throughout the night, her mum came out to check on us, asking if we needed a drink, something to eat, blankets. No thanks. We were fine just talking.

I never went into the flat, but the girl, my girl now, said she needed a shower and had to go inside. I waited outside until she came back out about half an hour later.

We had to be at work at 8am, so we decided we had better start walking or we would be late. It was a 10-minute walk.
 

We spent all our spare time together for the next few years.

I was almost at the stage of proposing to her.
​
One day she said she had to go away for the weekend.

When we met on the Monday, she told me she had met someone else, that we were over.

 
I was heartbroken...

 
Tom Barnaby
​May 2026