When I was a small boy, I resided at my grandmother's terrace house in Sydney , along with her second husband , Dangerous Dan , Aunty Gwen and two younger uncles , Peter and Bob , two dogs, Bimbo and Charlie , with a fig tree , a choko vine and chooks down the backyard , an outside dunny .
Aunty Gwen more or less treated me like her own kid , my single mother away working in the railways and during the war helping build parts for Beaufort Bombers.
Aunty often took me to the movies in the city , and after seeing one show , she would ask me if I wanted to see another film or go for a Chinese meal . I normally opted for an oriental feed , knowing she would often say, after the tucker was finished, there was time to take in another matinee .
During WWll , Aunty Gwen, on the left in the above photo at an event which could be at a golfcourse , was in the women's military force , based near Liverpool, and used to come home on leave in uniform with a kitbag bearing assorted treasures such as crumble bars , chocolates, chewing gum and other treats.
One night she arrived when we were in bed , me sleeping upstairs in the same big bed as Nan's , Dangerous Dan banished to a small room ,where he kept a wine bottle hidden in a gumboot , and she broke some startling war news .
Returning late at night to the military camp, like others, she had clambered over the barb wire perimeter fence, fell and had painfully lacerated her derriere.
She actually bent over , and flipped up her skirt to show a large area which seemed covered in sticking plaster . If I remember correctly , Nan gasped , half laughed , and exclaimed ," Oh, Gwen !"
As I peeped from the blankets at this unexpected sight - a glimpse of Aunty's nether region-I don't think it traumatised me and put me off sharing Chinese with her after the hostilities , besides I was keener to see what goodies she had in the kitbag .
During the war period my father turned up unannounced from Papua New Guinea and rolled out from under the night and day to surprise me . War souvenirs he brought with him included a sword and some packets of Japanese cigarettes which Nan promptly flushed down the dunny, saying they could be booby trapped .
Placed in the boathouse with a spectacular panoramic view , I managed to stab myself in the right leg with a penknife while helping to turn palm fronds into hula skirts for a party and was stitched up , a scar remaining as a souvenir of Lord Howe .
After she moved from the island paradise back into Nan's house , a corpulent fellow , with a big car , and a pawn shop in the city started paying attention to my aunt . They would go for drives ; I was taken along on one which took in the northern beaches, Avalon , down through the Koala run to Fred's Boatshed, Pittwater.
There we strolled along a wooden jetty with loose planks , and he nearly went overboard when one lifted while he was near the edge , his weight so great . He also disappeared completely from the scene soon after . This could have been due to the fact that I overheard Aunty Gwen firmly telling Uncle Peter, who once slept with a young wallaby he brought home from the bush , not to interfere in her private life . He responded by saying he was concerned about her, had just asked a few questions about the fat guy .
Later , still single, she worked at Anthony Horderns department store in George Street in charge of the ladies cotton frocks section . Nan used to call her Lady Hord , implied she was haughty , used to speak of mixing with friends at the trendy Mocca Coffee Lounge . Somehow she got a job in the Commonwealth Health Department , went to Canberra .
She appeared in a large Sydney group postcard simply identified as Bristol Myers ( the large pharmaceutical group ), which could have been a men's cricket team fronted by two rows of kneeling and sitting women .
She spoke of attending balls , theatre parties . One of her friends was the wife of well known Sydney artist and cartoonist , Tony Rafty , who, through Aunty Gwen, was responsible for me leaving school and taking up a job on The Sun as a copyboy . Over the years Tony asked after Gwen.
Working on the paper required me to move back into Nan's house as a teenager , where Aunty Gwen lived once again... It seemed she was leading a busy social life .
She checked my attire from time to time and passed comment about my wardrobe which was influenced by a 20 pound time payment clothing scheme with Reuben F. Scarf menswear store which included an Ivy League button down shirt, a narrow black knitted tie, sharp jacket , even blue suede shoes .
One night , I returned late to Nan's house from work and Gwen was there , with a surprising male friend -a bird expert from the museum . While she was busy in the kitchen, I spoke to this guy, an Englishman , who seemed very fond of her, telling me she was his only "obsession ."
Sounded like a line you might hear in one of the matinee movies we used to watch after some fried rice . When the word got out in the house that Gwen had brought home an admirer , Uncle Peter , who used to go away rabbit trapping , dubbed him " the Pommie bird stuffer ". The obsessive fellow apparently flew away as nothing further was heard of him.
Over the years Aunty Gwen was photographed at weddings , with other people's children , as the saying goes , several times a bridesmaid , never a bride . There were two poodles, one called Pepi ,upon which she lavished great love and care in later life .
To escape the lure of poker machines that drained her funds from time to time , during which she asked me to meet several bank cheques passed in RSL clubs , she moved from NSW to Brisbane , but regularly caught the bus across the border into sinful NSW .
I inherited her photo album after her death and often view it , bringing back many , many memories .
