Cultured Views

Manly to Maury

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I wonder how many people truly appreciate the surroundings in which they live. As I said earlier I live in the south of France, very near to the Spanish border, and this region could not be more different to where I lived when I was growing up in Australia.

When I step outside my front door each morning I see miles of vineyards; lush and green from April to September, gold and orange from September to November and, finally, stark and grey during the cold winter months. Life here follows a set cycle and has done since, well, the beginning. It’s impossible to not to be a part of this constantly changing landscape as the seasons ultimately affect the people here, even their moods.Those who work in this wine growing area are as connected with the earth as the vines that they tend…it is a 365 day a year task, in all weather conditions; it is a way of life only for those who are truly dedicated, as these people are. After all, the majority have simply followed the path walked by generations of their families. They would think of no other life.

I grew up in North Manly on the north shore of Sydney and spent my childhood and teen years like most other kids there-at the beach. The beaches there are fantastic; North and South Steyne(pictured), Harbord (Freshwater), Curl Curl, Dee Why and so on. On Saturdays I swam for the Freshwater Swimming Club-I’d been swimming since I was 2 years old and until I was ten had lessons weekly at Pat Nichol’s swim school at Harbord. Like most other kids who frequented Freshie beach.

The home I grew up in is at the very centre of my childhood memories. Back in the 1967 Dad saw a picture of this house which was featured as ‘House of the Week’ in the Woman’s Weekly magazine - that was when it actually was a weekly magazine. It was tucked away at the top of a steep cul-de-sac in Nenagh Street North Manly. If you stood on the road at the top of the drive all you could see were trees, all around. On either side were gullies, creeks, lantana and even a waterfall!. All of this hidden little idyll was just off the busy Pittwater Road. Right at the front of the house, beside the long steps leading to the door, was a huge rock - I can only say it looked like a baby Uluru.

Dad noticed it was for sale and immediately we were all rushed off to see this house. Dad got out of the car, stood and stared and, with all the enthusiasm of the totally impulsive and impractical person he was, he said to Mum “I am buying it!”. Without even seeing the inside!. Minutes later he was shaking hands with the bemused owner and had sealed the deal.

That house became for me ,my sister and all our friends, our own little ‘Daintree Forest’. We had our own waterfall, our own ‘ayers rock’, creeks and secret hideaways that the average backyard just didn’t boast. We could see bandicoots, possums, parrots building their homes in the trees and hollows of our own playground. The odd owl paid a visit too.
And all of this just a few metres from the busy Pittwater Road. People who came to visit us just couldn’t believe that such a place existed within easy reach of a main road.

The house also was a blessed escape from the busy world of showbusiness for my Dad. Due to it’s hidden location it provided total privacy which he treasured. He adored gardening and this was how he unwound during the week. He spent years working on the gardens and grounds, built bridges over the little creeks (however rickety they were) and even opened the place as a plant nursery. In 1974 our place became the ‘Willow Glen Nursery’. Problem was that Dad would tend the plants so lovingly that, in the end, he couldn’t bear to sell most of them. The nursery business folded, but the Willow Glen sign stayed.

I always felt lucky as a child to have such a home, just as I do now, here in the vineyards of southern France, to have such a home.

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Vietnam

As we all read, and hear, everyday, yet another generation of kids have learn’t the meaning of the word ‘war’.
When I was a child in Australia it was ‘Vietnam’. That word was everywhere; in the news, in the papers, our parents spoke about it to friends, relatives and neighbours…it seemed to be the keyword for the late 60’s and early 70’s.

At school, I didn’t know any other kids whose Dads or brothers were over there and I suppose that was a good thing. I remember seeing the daily coverage on the news at night and thinking that I was lucky that Vietnam had not paid my little world a visit, or affected it.
Until 1970 when my Dad announced he was going. Not as a soldier, but to entertain the troops there.

My Dad, George Raymond, was a Professional Entertainer. A comedian, a compere and a violinist, he had been in Showbiz since the late 1930’s and had appeared in shows at places like the old Tivoli in Sydney. In the 1950’s he was a well known personality at venues in Surfers Paradise with his own dance band and Cabaret. This band included John Goldner (pianist) and Frank Simpson (clarinet).

In the 1960’s Dad established himself in Sydney around the clubs as a regular and popular performer, often touring for his agent George Hilder, and playing all over NSW and in Victoria. In 1973 he even ‘had’ a Number One hit on the charts when he played backing fiddle on the single ‘The Goondiwindi Grey’ with the great Country music legend Tex Morton. I had the privilege of sitting in on that recording session. In 1970 he received an offer from the ABC to be a member of it’s concert party for a tour of Vietnam and he accepted.

I remember the day I heard Dad telling an acquaintance that he was going over there. I was 7 years old and for the first time I discovered what real fear felt like. Kids that age are not supposed to ‘worry’ about things but that’s when I learn’t the meaning of the word.

Prior to the trip the entire band came over to our house in North Manly on a Saturday for a rehearsal. I had invited a friend over for the day and we sat on the floor (there was no room for seats as our whole lounge room was covered in musical equipment) and we were treated to an ear splitting experience!.
The band went through their songs; Dad went through his ‘routine’ and I recall feeling so proud of him. I was used to seeing Dad in rehearsal and performance, but this was somewhat different. For some reason after that day, I didn’t worry so much about what would happen to him over there.

We saw the troupe off at Sydney Airport and there was a party held for them in a function room before they left. Dad smoked a cigar that night, unusual for him as he always smoked Camel cigs, and I got singed on it…I still have the scar today!. Going home in the taxi later, Mum was very quiet and I can only wonder what must have been going though her mind. The element of danger was, of course, great for them even though they were Entertainers.

When Dad returned from ‘Nam he brought with him the usual stash of presents for Mum, me and my sister. There was a teeny, tiny little portable B/W tv that he had to pay a small fortune in duty for at Customs. And a beautiful little traditional Vietnamese doll…I wish I could remember what happened to it.
A rather unpleasant thing he also returned with was this nasty red rash on his leg that took months to go away, probably a side effect of the many chemicals that were sprayed everywhere in Vietnam during that time.

He told us about the orphanage he visited. Dad took along sweets for the kids and wasn’t able to spend too long with them…he found the whole environment so distressing but praised those looking after the children.

He also told us that Bob Hope, the famous American comedian who also toured there, reads all his jokes off cue cards!.

Well, that was my ‘experience’ with Vietnam, the first and only time that ‘war’ had anything to do with my life. I came off better than many Australian and American kids did, those who lost their Dads. I hope that people like Dad brought some laughter and fun into those sweltering days during that time to those fellows stuck there. Fighting gods knows whatever it was.
But the outcome was lucky with regards to my Dad.

Because mine came home.

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