Well, it was one of the strangest ideas this person has ever come up with. We will call this person 'Baz'. (I won’t mention any names for Privacy reasons)

It was May 2023.

We were told it was going to be a ‘Mystery Tour’. So, we had no idea where we were going. Which meant we had no idea about what we should wear. Would we be staying in Victoria, needing cold weather clothes? Would we be going interstate to a warmer climate? needing warmer weather clothes. Did we need a very warm fitting overcoat or our bathers? Or both.

It was going to be for ‘Four Days and Three Nights’.  Great. We would be staying at the same ‘Accommodation’ for the three nights. That’s great, we won’t have to carry our three suitcases full of all the different clothes we may or may not need on this tour.
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Where were we going? What do we need to take? What sort of food would we be eating? Would it be Gluten free? Come on Baz, give us something to go on!

Anyway, 35 of us decided we would humour Baz and go on this so-called ‘Mystery Tour’. A few months was spent trying to bribe Baz to get some sort of information as to where or what this mystery tour was all about, what we might need to wear, which direction we would be going, anything. But, no, Baz would give nothing away. Oh well, we will just have to wait and see what happens.

The big day arrives, 35 people, most carrying enough luggage to last Three Months, simply because no-one knew what they needed to take or wear. Except Baz of course.

Where is Baz? Everyone standing out in the freezing miserable cold waiting for a bus. Which bus? What bus? Would it be a nice comfortable coach or a miserable looking school bus that we could hardly move on, with no air conditioning or heating, or even a loo for emergencies that some of us older folk might have on these cooler mornings. Who knows? Oh yeah, Baz knows.

“Where’s Baz” I asked.

“Oh, not coming, had an operation on the Achilles”. I think the way a lot of us were feeling, we would have liked to have kicked Baz in the Achilles.

But how convenient, Baz organises this so-called ‘Mystery Tour’, then is unable to travel with us.

Our ‘Coach’ turns up about 8.15am. Great, it’s a big coach, looks fairly new, looks nice and comfortable. A proper Coach.

Finally, something is starting to look good for this tour.

Then, the driver steps down from the bus, well, what have we got here? A little white-haired man, in shorts and a T-shirt. We must be going somewhere warm. Warmer than Benalla anyway.

Then the driver spoke, “Good morning, everyone”. Well, at least that’s what I think he said. I think it was a Scottish accent. “My name is Henryk”, he said. Turns out he was Scottish. A very friendly sort of a chap, quite the comedian and very knowledgeable.

Henryk would refer to anything with four legs, i.e. Cows, Horses, Kangaroos, and Sheep, as a herd of beautiful “Aberdeen Angus” Cows.  Well, he’s got to be Scottish!

Henryk was a great driver, a great Tour guide, very informative and knew all the great places to visit, eat and drink.

So much happened.  We visited so many places, we had a fabulous time, we ate we drank, and we travelled in luxury.

The perfect ‘Mystery Tour’.
 
Tom Barnaby
April 2024

My brother Greg said “I’ll organise everything, you just have to come and paddle.” I was persuaded.

After a lift with our dad we launched our canoe just downstream from Yea at 8 am for what Greg had thought would be an 8 hour trip to the Goulburn weir just outside Nagambie.

The forecast for the day was a maximum of forty degrees with a strong cool change in the afternoon.

Between Yea and Seymour the river was fast flowing and we developed a good rhythm. We even had a couple of swims to cool off.

Dad and Greg’s girlfriend, Diedre, were waiting for us on the riverbank just upstream from Seymour. We refused their offer to take us to the other side of town. We didn’t realise just how far it was by river and how much the current drops off. If we thought we were ahead of schedule as we reached Seymour we were definitely behind by the time we got past it.

The change, when it came, was brutal. The temperature dropped 20 degrees, wind whipped up white caps on the water, rain bucketed down and we were treated to a fearsome display of thunder and lightning.

Mum, Dad, Deidre and our younger brother, Russell arrived in Nagambie during the storms and, with no way of getting in touch with us, were understandably worried. Local rangers told them that our trip was often done by groups. It was regarded as a two day trip for experienced canoeists and three days for beginners like us.

At about two o'clock some blokes sheltering under a bridge told us it was about ten miles to Nagambie.

At around 3 o'clock a fisherman told us it was about five miles to Nagambie. We thought we might be back on schedule.

We paddled on through the rain and wind. Each time we rounded a bend all we could see up ahead was another bend.

Our backsides got very sore so to relieve our discomfort we sang any rain song that we could think of. Versions of “Singing In The Rain”, “Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head” , "Have You Ever Seen The Rain”, “Riders On The Storm” or “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” drifted over the fields.

Just before 8 pm a local canoeist told us it was a mile to Chinaman’s Bridge on the edge of town and to avoid dangerous currents in the weir.

We pulled our canoe up under Chinaman’s Bridge and hitchhiked in the rain and dark.

Almost immediately a young woman picked us up and drove us to the weir, saving us from the cold and our plummeting energy levels.

Our family was so pleased to see us. My room in Melbourne had been locked up all weekend and was like an oven. I threw open the windows, crawled onto my bed and slept.

The next morning my office mate, Mick, announced that his daughter had been born while we were paddling. A momentous day for both our families.


John Holschier
​April 2024.

My best holiday was also my worst holiday. I know that sounds crazy, but it's true. It all began in 1970 when I, and three friends, decided to do a cruise. We researched all the options and decided on the Fairstar, a magnificent ship, small by comparison with today’s cruise liners, but back then, state of the art.  We selected a 4-berth cabin down in the lower decks with ensuite. Departing from Fremantle W.A, we did the 4-week cruise to the UK, stopping off at several countries. The return trip was to be via the Panama Canal.

We all originated from countries outside Australia and were keen to explore our roots. I had arranged a visa for a three-year working holiday so I could reunite with family who I hadn’t seen since pre-primary. We enjoyed the onboard entertainment, shops, cafés and cinema. However, showing a movie about a sinking ship probably wasn’t the best choice. 

During the first week we were all seasick. Not a good start.  After awhile we got our sea legs, by this time we were in South Africa. We docked at Durban initially, went on the organized tour around town, great stuff. 

We returned to the docks to discover something had gone wrong with the ship. We were stranded until repairs could be carried out!  This was a bit scary being in a strange country, but the shipping line took care of us.

We were told we had two options, stay in a hotel in town, at company expense until we could rejoin the ship. Or join an overland safari, also at company expense, and rejoin the ship in Capetown, its next scheduled stop. We opted for the latter, not thinking what we would do if the ship didn’t make it to Capetown.

Our cabin luggage was transferred to the bus and off we went, one of the highlights of the trip. Travelling through safari parks, the waterfall trail, then eventually via nature reserves and into Capetown. Plenty of magnificent wildlife, photos to be taken. There was even a road around a steep cliff on the bay near Capetown, well, they called it a road. More like a goat track clinging to a mountain, very scary, especially when another bus came the other way, also full of terrified tourists like us. This required much jiggling and maneuvering by the drivers.  We also called into a Zulu village. Very friendly people. We got to see their traditional way of living, very primitive by today's standards but effective. The women made beaded bracelets and necklaces for the tourists, the men made spears and carved wooden objects. At least it was a souvenir.

We were relieved when, finally, we were able to board the ship. Back to comfortable cabins after rough campsites and creepy crawlies.  Two nights roughing it was enough, thank you!

After Africa came Portugal, docking at Lisbon where an array of colorful markets which tempted us once again. Our final stop was in Holland. I loved that place, so clean and fresh. Very friendly people and the best cheese ever. We did all the touristy stuff, windmills and so on. We finally docked in London, finishing our trip on a high note.

My working holiday in London was, however, marred by the IRA and their random bombings (the subject of a previous story); the death of one of my travel companions in a road accident and the early departure of the other two.

On a positive note, I was able to see my grandparents before they passed and was reunited with my favorite Auntie, who made sure I had a really fun holiday travelling around the UK. 
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Heather Hartland
April 2024

​When attending one of the monthly Motor Racing Promoters’ meetings it was suggested that, as NASCAR were proposing to run an event at Calder Park, it would be beneficial if a couple of Promoters attended a NASCAR meeting in America.   Fortunately, my Promoter partner was selected and of course I suggested that go with him.   A dream come true.
 
We set off for Phoenix, Arizona, and attended the penultimate round of the 1994 Series.    Mike Raymond, who owned Parramatta Speedway at the time, arranged for us to attend the Corporate Suite at the event.    It was like a dream, meeting people who I had read about, meeting drivers.    We were able to walk through the garage area getting close to the cars, drivers and team trucks.   What we did find was that the NASCAR personnel were not as pretentious as Australia’s leading drivers.    They generously welcomed us into their garages and team trucks, asking us questions about what to expect in Australia.
 
We watched the race from the grandstand where the spotters were located.   The spotters have contact with the drivers and warn them of any incidents that may have occurred, who may be trying to draft a driver making ready to pass him.    When a car retired from the race the spotter left their seat, the spotters’ area gradually getting smaller as the race proceeded.     They also helped each other out, giving information to a rival team to thwart incidents.    I was so lucky to see this side of the sport.  
 
There were 450,000 spectators at this event, yet it only took us half an hour to leave the circuit and get back to our accommodation.  The NASCAR traffic management was excellent. Drivers patiently waited for their time to get onto the main thorough fare, with policemen sitting on their car bonnets, perfectly relaxed, talking to each other and smoking jerky.    So different to what happens in Australia.
 
Following the Arizona event, we went to Las Vegas for the final round.   It was the first time this facility had been used.  It was amazing walking under the circuit to our seats.   There were posters everywhere – thanking sponsors for the toilet seats, the lights around the arena, the flagpole suppliers, the toilet seat providers.  When walking around the facility we noticed a large truck with green painted chaff inside the barrel.    It turned out that the centre of the circuit, made of sand, was covered with the green painted chaff, to look like a grassed area.  
 
Once again, we were treated to NASCAR Hospitality prior to the race.    Whilst dining it was pointed out that Nellis Air Force Base was just down the road.  During the afternoon we watched Jets and Helicopters go through their practice drills and at 4.00pm we were treated to a show of these aircraft returning to the Airforce Base in waves.  Not only was the racing exciting, the air show was also enjoyable.  It was fabulous day.
 
What we learned from our trip was valuable when the NASCAR circus came to Calder Park, an event I was fortunate to work as one of the 10 Technical Commissioners at the Melbourne event.   Another dream come true!
 
 
Heather Wallace
April 2024

Sometime in late 2006 or early 2007 our daughter Cathy was promoted to be Marketing Manger for Brown Brothers Winery in their London office.  A wonderful promotion.

Brown Brothers provided her with a car and a small, comfortable flat in Windsor some 200 odd metres from Windsor Castle.  After several months, though, she found that she was missing the company of mum and dad and her many Australian friends.  She was home-sick!

Bernadette and I decided on an overseas holiday and to spend some time with Cathy in England.  Her hours were flexible and she was entitled to some time off.

Consequently, early in September, Cathy picked us up from Heathrow airport and we settled in with her in Windsor.

And so we immediately commenced touring.  During the first week we went to Oxford, inspected the University and surrounds, Keble College and other colleges.  We had a very knowledgeable 'old student' who guided us.

Then we had a lazy few days spent in the Alexander Gardens in Windsor; then the Royal Windsor Wheel, a Ferris wheel overlooking Windsor, Eton and, of course, Windsor Castle.  The annual Windsor Festival was in full swing, with the Union Jack and festival flags prominent.

Cathy had arranged a several day tour of Paris and Barcelona and so we travelled in a train under the English Channel as far as Paris.  She had booked us into a small hotel right by the Arc de Triomphe.  We went on a tour of the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre (Mona Lisa, Da Vinci, Michael Angelo), the Notre Dame Cathedral, the Hotel Des Invalides where Napoleon's coffin lies, the Chatteau de Versailles.  We were the real tourists.

After four days we flew to Barcelona where we encountered language difficulties, particularly when ordering meals.  However, our accommodation was magnificent, with a balcony overlooking the square of the Placa de Tetuan.

We saw much of Gaudi's architectural work which was incredible.  Then the La Sagrada Familia Basilica.  Scaffolding everywhere.  Work had been in progress for about 110 years.  It was the most magnificent edifice I have ever seen.  (Still expected to be decades from completion at that time, it has recently been announced that it will be completed in 2026.)  We then wandered through the Pablo Picasso Museum and were suitably impressed.

Then a flight back to London where we relaxed for some time.

We explored the shopping centres of Windsor and then purchased God knows how many presents for our grandchildren at home.  We also regularly strolled down the prominent drive that approached the Windsor Castle entry, as is generally seen on any Windsor Castle publicity.  We entered the Castle grounds, witnessed the changing of the guards and had an inspection of the Castle itself.  Very impressive!

Now we were ready for a tour of Northern Ireland.

On landing in Dublin, we took possession of a hire car and headed for Belfast.  There we lunched at the Crown Liquor Saloon, a renowned old Irish pub.

Then to Portrush where we stayed in, as Cathy called it, "a cute little B & B".  Next, onto the Giant's Causeway where we settled for a 4 km walk.  (We were a lot fitter in those days).

Londonderry, or Derry as it is popularly known, was our next call.  We saw the Monument to Bloody Sunday and many wall paintings.  I felt uncomfortably aware of the atrocities of the IRA.

At Armagh, we had a look at the St Patrick's Church of Ireland Cathedral which is built on the site of Saint Patrick's original stone church.  We were given a private tourn.

And finally, back to Dublin, and in turn, Windsor.

So ended a MEMORABLE HOLIDAY.

Whilst so far away from home in Benalla, Australia, we took advantage of a Trafalgar Tour of Scandinavia and St Petersburg.  There, for the first time ever, we were privileged to witness the professional ballet, Swan Lake.  But that is for another time...


Ray O'Shannessy
​10 April 2024

Looking at a supermarket television advertisement for steak, it reminded me of a memorable event whilst in Manjimup, Western Australia in 1988. To this day, I have never again experienced the quality of steak that I had that day.

I had just refuelled the car and asked the attendant where a good place for lunch might be. He responded that if I liked steak, there was a little café run by two girls that was very popular in town. The instructions were to continue on the main street, take the next turn to the right, then go straight over the next street, and turn left into the second. The café is down about 200 yards on the left. I duly followed the instructions and arrived outside a classic 1950’s group of three shops, complete with verandah.

Walking into the small shop in the middle of the group, I was greeted with black and white vinyl tiles on the floor, laminex tables and vinyl chairs. A number of tables were occupied, with many patrons obviously enjoying their meals. I was advised, by one of the girls, to take a seat at any vacant table and she would come over and take our orders. I duly ordered rump steak and the meal came out a short time later. The steak was exceptional, tender and almost melted in your mouth. Whilst I was consuming my meal, a number of other guests finished theirs and were very complimentary to the two girls as they left.

​I finished my meal and as the shop was now empty, except for myself and my son, I motioned to the girls to come over to my table. When they arrived, I posed the question, “You do not get meat of this quality unless you know the butcher. Which one of you is going out with the butcher?” Both girls started to laugh, and a short time later the shorter, and it would appear the older of the two, responded. “I am married to him!!”, and the other responded, “And I am his sister!!” That explained the exceptional quality of the steak.

Whilst I could not remember the exact address of the café, I did a Google search and followed the original instructions and located 31B Rose Street, which is still operated as a restaurant today, however under another name. : Sales History: 2016 Sold $438,000 July 28, 2016. 1993 Sold $316,000 December 22, 1993. It would appear that the girls sold the premises in 1993. It now trades under the name of the Blue Tiger.

Barry O'Connor
​April 2024

​When I was 9-years-old my father sent me on a holiday to Sydney for 10 days.

I was to stay with his Aunt. This was unusual because I didn’t know her. I couldn’t put a face to her name. This Aunt was the oldest child in his father’s family. There were four boys and two girls. When the boys grew up, they mostly bought farms in close proximity to each other, but this elder sister had gone to Sydney early in her marriage. Gossip had it, somewhat under a cloud.

My father’s own father had died when he was 9 and, as was fairly common in those days, my father was farmed out to relatives. He never lived with his own mother again until he was an adult. His father had died owing more on the mortgage than the farm was worth, so his wife had no option other than to live with her relatives and for my father and his brother to live with his father’s relatives. My father never saw this particular Aunt as she was already in Sydney, but she always took a particular interest in him. They kept in touch by letter.

My father never mentioned the gossip that was always attached to her. This gossip would surface from time to time from various relatives. It was alluded that she did not marry well. There was an incident when she had stood at the side of the road with a baby in her arms and people had driven past without stopping. At one public gathering some people had publicly ignored her. Cut her completely. Some people did speak about her, but some relatives never ever mentioned her name.

Why my Father and his Aunt arranged for me to go on Holidays I do not know.

I travelled by train from Albury to Central Station. My father put me on the train early in the morning before it was light. I enjoyed the journey.  I had lots to look at. I noted with surprise that the land was fairly green all the way from Albury to Sydney. The land in the King Valley was always dry at this time of year. It was night time when I arrived at Central Station. It was a large building. Quite atmospheric. I could smell burnt coal. My great Aunt had no trouble finding me. She hugged and kissed me.  This was an unusual thing for me because no one in my family ever kissed anyone else. We were soon on our way to her place. We had to travel by train, then bus and then walk for a fair while.

When I arrived at her house I found she had two of her grandchildren staying with her. One was an exceptionally beautiful 16-year old girl. The other was a Down syndrome girl my age. I gave my Aunt a letter from my father and when she opened it I could see it had money in it. “He shouldn’t have done this”, she said. I had never seen a Down syndrome child before. I was alarmed and concerned. I did not know how to treat her. Her elder sister understood what she said and spoke to her as if she was normal. I only tried speaking to her once and she didn’t reply. She did not look at me. I did not know if she understood. She spoke in mumbles and grunts. My Aunt never explained her situation. She just treated the situation as normal. I did not know how to act.

Whenever we were out, I could see people looking at us. We attracted stares and occasionally children would come and look closely at the Down syndrome girl. Some even tried to touch her face. I always felt ashamed verging on humiliation at the attraction, but my Aunt never wavered in taking everything as normal. Nothing bothered her.

My 16-year old cousin was exceptionally good looking and also attracted interest from men who often whistled. I had never seen this behaviour before. She was blond and had long hair. She was tall and always dressed stylishly. She was the best-looking girl I had ever met. Of course, I was happy to be seen with her.

When I think of it, we did a lot in the week I was in Sydney. My Aunt’s other two grand children were from Central NSW and had never been to Sydney before. She took us to several places. The Zoo. The Aquarium. Manly Beach. We went to a kind of museum with lots of old entertainment machines. I looked into a machine and saw flash cards which showed an Edwardian lady getting ready for bed. I had never seen anything like this before and was shocked. I recorded myself on a primitive tape recorder. I sang, I thought very well, a song we had learned in school. Before I had finished the song, it suddenly started playing back something that I slowly realised was me. I was mortified. I sounded terrible. The joke was - it was broadcast over the public address system for everyone to hear. People actually laughed. Thankfully, it did not go on for long, but I was struck dumb with the humiliation. I wanted to shrink into nothingness. My 16-year old cousin said nothing.

My Aunt lived at one end of her house. Her husband lived at the other end. He was a Tram Driver and a ‘Union Official’, although I did not know what this meant. Trams didn’t run during the day and only started in the afternoon. If her husband came out of his room in the morning, he went straight to the racetrack. It was inferred by my Aunt that he liked to drink too much. She never touched the stuff she said. They didn’t have much to do with each other. He told me he had a special job at the racetrack and offered to show me, but My Aunt said no.

I was once left at home by myself. My Aunt's Husband was supposed to be there, but he went out and left me alone. I took advantage of the situation. I had a good look in all the cupboards.

My Aunt's husband was indeed a drinker. I found at least 4 empty bottles of beer and 1 empty bottle of whisky scattered around his room. His room was large and contained two beds. He only slept on one. His bed looked like it had never been made. He had several well ironed uniforms at one end of his wardrobe. He had at least seven uniform shirts and ties. His special uniform boots were well polished. There were no Masonic Uniforms so he wasn't a Mason. He had several large stacks of Newspapers called Form Guides in one corner. I had never seen them before.

My Aunt's room was different. She had a dresser with a chair and a 3-way mirror. She had a large wardrobe overflowing with clothes. At one end was a small selection of glamorous evening wear.  Both dresses and coats. Glamorous shoes. These must have been old because My Aunt was much larger now. Beneath the wardrobe in a  drawer was even more glamorous underwear. Including 3 corsets. These corsets were wrapped in expensive looking crepe paper. The corsets were extremely glamorous and could have been used in movies. One had laces up the back. My Aunt must have had a different life in the past.

When it came time for me to leave, my Aunt arranged for one of her sons to take me to Central Station. He was late in coming. This turned into really late. Then there was panic. There would not be any time to get to the Station. But suddenly he was outside, and I had to grab my bag and get into his truck. The truck didn’t even stop moving. There was no opportunity to say goodbye. My Aunt stood at the front door and waved goodbye. I waved back. I thought she looked sorry I was leaving. I genuinely wanted to hug her. I found myself suppressing sobs. I turned my face aside and tried not to let my Aunt’s son see I was crying.

My Aunt was by no means the only black sheep in the family. There was a brother who was a genuine black sheep. He was always known as ‘young Albert’ if he was ever mentioned. Information about him only came out in small spurts. His name was persona non grata. He had more-or-less been removed from family history. He had impregnated a girl when he was quite young - he was forced to marry her - but he abandoned her soon after the marriage and departed for areas unknown. She stayed in the area, much to everyone’s regret. Unfortunately, she had a stroke when she was 30 from which she never really recovered.  But she was guilty by association.  No one in the family really spoke to her - except for my father and this particular Aunt who now lived in Sydney. This poor woman, who had to live with the slights of her husband’s family, always wore an excess of rouge on her cheeks and always had trouble with her lipstick. Her teeth were always smudged bright red. She would sit on the public seat in the main street and was always pleased to recognise my father. When I was with my father, I would look at her makeup and teeth and not know how to act. She always mentioned that she had recently received a letter from my father’s Aunt in Sydney.
 
Neville Gibb
February 2024