Memories of a 1964 summer family road trip

THE car was packed and we were off – heading north on the Pacific Highway.

The car, a 1964 Aqua Blue Ford Falcon Station Wagon, was Dad’s pride and joy.

He bought it during the year and this was its first big trip – to Murwillumbah for Christmas with my grandmother.

I was five and had just finished kindergarten, my sister was four and my brother was three.

Our lunch stop was at the park in South Grafton.

We would drive under the viaduct and then find our usual table in the park.

Mum would unpack the picnic lunch and set the table with a seersucker tablecloth, pink plastic basket and thermos and a red tartan esky.

It was simple fare – sandwiches, cordial for the kids and tea for Mum and Dad.

We would have our first piece of Mum’s Christmas cake.

We never stayed long as Dad was keen to get back on the road.

The drive now takes four hours but in 1964 it must have taken at least six hours.

We arrived in Murwillumbah mid-afternoon where it was always hot and sticky and everyone was glad to get out of the car.

My grandmother, Foffie, was waiting on the front step of number 13, keeping an eye out for us as we turned the corner into Myrtle Street.

Her name was Florence, and she tried to get the first grandchild to call her Flossie but the “s” sounds were too hard and he said “Foffie.”

The name stuck and most of her grandchildren called her that and still do.

Mum would fuss about unpacking, Dad would head outside and we three would rush about all excited to be in our grandmother’s house.

Then we would all gather in the kitchen for a cup of tea and another piece of Christmas cake.

My Aunt Mary and my cousin Russell lived there and we adored them both.

Sometimes there would be other aunts and uncles and cousins.

There were lots of them and the more the merrier.

The days over Christmas had a familiar routine, one that would play out for the next ten years of my childhood.

Foffie would rise first, at 5am, and make her first pot of tea.

Mum and Dad would rise an hour later, joining Foffie for the next pot of tea.

Dad would then head outside to potter in the garden and Mum and Foffie would talk until we three were up.

Mornings would be spent doing jobs around the house.

Sometimes we would go to town – to get groceries, to wander the shops, perhaps get an ice cream or a milkshake at the Austral Cafe.

Then home for lunch.

Nothing fancy – usually sandwiches and fruit.

After lunch we would all find somewhere to lie down; the adults and older cousins would read, the younger kids would nap.

Eventually the whole house would be still as we all drifted into sleep, lulled there by those hot summer afternoons.

Cups of tea and homemade biscuits and cake would then start at about 4pm.

Still hot, we kids would head outside with our fathers to play under the sprinkler.

Dinner was meat and three vegetables – we still hadn’t converted to salads and the women in the kitchen always looked hot and bothered.

The dessert was Christmas pudding with fruit salad and ice cream.

There were no fans or air conditioning so we would swelter all night.

Our aunts would sit on the back step talking and smoking for hours.

The uncles would give up after a few beers and head to bed.

On Sundays and Christmas Day we would go to Mass.

Everyone knew who we were because they knew my grandmother and my mother and her siblings.

The adults would talk for almost an hour in the heat.

Being Catholic no one had eaten since the previous evening, so we were keen to get home to eat something.

That was the pattern of Christmas week in Murwillumbah each year as children.

Those hot summer days are filled with such fond memories.

Simple days but full of food, cups of tea, family stories and love.

By Pauline CAIN