NOTHING LASTS FOREVER

HERE TODAY,  GONE TOMORROW

It doesn't matter how bad a situation is, time will eventually see to it that things will improve. Problem is, the same thing applies to all the good things in life as well. Just when you think life cannot get any better, fate steps in and with cunning stealth cruelly brings to an end what has been taken for granted during the past several years.
What follows is an example of how even perfect situations can go wrong. 

Dee Why Point.

Australia, you're standing in it.

Ahh!  Memories of Paula

When it came to surfing, 1963 was a great year from start to finish. By the end of 1962 I had gained enough skill on my Malibu to take on almost anything within reason. It had been early in 1962 when I joined Jim, Trevor and Paula late one Sunday afternoon at North Avalon for what turned out to be a whole new surfing experience for me. The three others were on their Mals and I was paddling senior member Doug Crane's old and solid wave ski. This relic from the past was at least 1 metre wide and weighed almost what seemed like a tonne. It was so heavy and stable, it was possible to stand on it and perform a tap dance without losing one's balance.

Although impossible to change direction when standing up on it, I experienced a feeling of exhilaration and sheer excitement as I flew across the face of many a wave causing my three companions to abandon ship on a regular basis. The sudden and unexpected appearance of a one tonne solid timber missile travelling faster than Donald Campbell's 'Bluebird,' only half a second away from crushing you to death, was more than likely responsible for a premature bowel movement, preceded by a brief profanity. Even Paula, who never, ever used even mild bad language, was heard to let out a terrified sounding, "SHIT!! as she narrowly avoided being steamrollered by only a few millimetres.

A handful of other surfers had seen more than enough and were determined not to meet their Maker on this pleasant Sunday evening and got the hell out of the water quick smart.
A new legendary figure was born and Jim Rayner named it, 'The Hot Dog Ski Man.'  

After this thrilling session I was hooked, I had to get me a Mal and with the help and guidance of young Paula I paid a visit to Gordon Woods at Brookvale and had one custom built. It was yellow, weighed around 35 lb. and was 8 feet 4 inches in length and was regarded then as a short board. I then had to learn how to ride it, which meant many hours of frustration and constant foul language each and every Saturday and Sunday, but after 4 to 5 weekends it eventually became worthwhile. It was the number of sessions spent with the guys and of course my favourite surfer girl Paula, that eventually enabled me to become almost as good as she already was.

Most of my ski riding took place at the southern end of Avalon and along the middle sections, with the boardriding sessions taking place mostly at North Avalon. I was still keeping company with my mate Tom riding on our surf skis, but I had been converted to the joys and thrills of riding a Malibu and the better I became, the more I was enjoying it.

Alan, Jim and Nipper were nearly always out the back with me and sometimes we would have sessions that lasted over 3 hours or more. Alan was the daredevil, as he didn't seem to care how big the surf was, he was determined to find the perfect wave and quite often did, despite some hairy wipeouts that did absolutely nothing to discourage him. He was consistently rewarded with many first class rides that would have racked up the points during any surfing competition. I tended to restrict my wave riding to those under 7 feet or so, unlike some of the bone crushers that brought to an end many a social row in the surf boat.

At the end of January 1963 I moved into a flat 200 metres south of the surf club building with my three other Malibu riding mates and all things surf related became the only topic of conversation throughout the days and evenings. Our four Malibus took pride of place in the living room, standing up against the southern wall.
What kept us occupied on the weekends was the club's Stomp Dance that was attracting over 800 guys and gals, who were literally altering the position of the buildings foundations each and every Saturday night. I was still associating with my former gang, namely Tom, Jim the Rodent, Mike and the two blonde sisters, Lesley and Paula. The two cuties were attending the dances and would still keep us company on the odd excursion to a Drive In or a tour of Sydney. Paula always would join us for our surfing sessions, while Lesley would be seen sunbaking with the Rodent and taking the odd dip in the surf. It was still business as usual.

From my point of view, life simply could not get any better than it was. The first wobble of the wheels occurred sometime early in 1963, I'm certain it was before Easter '63. One weekend Jim and Lulu were a loving item and the following weekend it was all over. What caused it, I haven't a clue as Jim did not want to discuss it and Lesley almost immediately stopped visiting the surf club. Paula was in the early stages of preparing for a holiday in Canada and it was around the same time she too dropped off the radar.

........to this.  No thanks.

From This.....

As the years fly along way too quickly, one quite often has to pick the brains of former troublemakers to be certain that those memories remaining are indeed accurate. Research is needed when images of past events are proven to be wrong. That same research has shown that during March 1963, Paula and Lesley were part of a girls Qualifying Certificate training squad at Avalon who covered themselves in glory during the biggest mass rescue in the surf club's history. I have mentioned elsewhere that not once did I see the girls being coached on the beach. I am still carrying out further research to attempt to ascertain why.

It was on a Wednesday afternoon during early December 1962 I was approached by Lesley in the clubhouse. She was obviously feeling frazzled and worn out at the end of what seemed to have been a long and difficult working day. She was on some kind of assignment at the Avalon Primary school, while I was on the last week of my three weeks holidays that were spent at the club. She evidently had been driving home to Fivedock at days' end, because she was always nervous about sleeping in the Avalon house by herself. After a short conversation I offered to cook dinner for the both of us in the North Avalon holiday home and offered to keep her company that evening and let Mother Nature decide what happened afterwards. She appeared too tired to argue and willingly accepted my kind offer and followed that up by planting a long lasting juicy wet one full on the lips, that caused the three surf club juniors in the kitchen to cheer and applaud, along with the odd risque comment etc.

We arrived at the house around 4:30pm. and dinner was ready to be served at 6:00pm. That's when a voice was heard coming from the main bedroom, "Is that you Lesley?"
It turned out that unbeknowns to Lulu and myself, her Mum happened to be in the bedroom sleeping off a migraine that struck when she was playing golf at Palm Beach that morning..........Bugger!
Although recovered from her massive headache, Mum had no intention of going home, as I am certain she was more than just merely suspicious about what was more than likely to occur after dinner and through the evening.........Double Bugger!!

At Lesley's insistence, I ended up sleeping over at the the girls' house  however and just after midnight who should arrive unannounced, none other than my favourite little surfer girl Polly. What transpired shortly after her arrival will not be made known here, only that Lesley forgot to inform her younger sister that I was sleeping in the living room. During breakfast, when Mum popped off to have a shower, Paula asked Lesley why she hadn't mentioned that I was in the house. Lesley's reply was, "To be perfectly honest, I forgot he was there." After breakfast Lesley dropped her Mum off at the Golf Club and went to work. Mum obviously drove home to Fivedock, as she was not seen again. After I had finished doing the breakfast dishes and putting them away, I asked Polly what was all the bits and pieces in the large cardboard box that she had brought with her. She told me they were certain items required by her when she started attending University. We then started discussing her up and coming future career and I was informed that she she was looking forward to becoming a Physiotherapist and started showing me some of the paraphernalia she had either purchased or acquired in advance. I simply refused to believe her when she announced that once she commenced Uni, none of us would be seeing her ever again. She explained that she would no longer be coming up to Avalon as her studies would be taking priority and she would be moving into a flat, hopefully in or near Glebe. I am certain some of her fellow Uni students were classmates of hers at school. Little did I realise at the time I was only going to be acquainted with this beautiful young lady for no more than the following four months.......Oh God!! I'm crying. 
Why the hell I didn't ask if it was possible for the two of us to keep in touch and maintain our friendship I'll never know. God Almighty, what a dumb bastard I obviously was.

Sadly she was true to her word and as I type it has been 50 years since I last saw her. My last sighting of her was when she was part of that girls Qualifying Certificate squad being examined on the beach during late March 1963. Her sister Lesley was also a member of this squad as well. I remember noticing these girls being examined all those years ago, but it has been only recently that I discovered who they actually were. Early in the afternoon a mass rescue took place at Avalon and the girls training squad volunteered to be my linesmen when I offered to swim a surf line out to the damaged and mostly sunken surf boat that had drifted in the rip to Little Avalon. Throughout the passing years, I have always been ashamed that I could not remember who the girls were, with the exception of Lenya Laurich and Denise Ware.  It was a blessing and honour to have been her friend and companion for what was all way too short a time and the same applies to the other five brave young ladies as well, one of whom turned out to be a former girlfriend of mine.

After learning the devastating news, it was around 10:00am when Paula suggested we wax up the Mals and take advantage of a more than half decent surf rolling in at North Avalon. I walked the 500 metres along the beach to the club and after prepping the board I commenced returning to the beach's northern end. Polly was already out the back cutting them up. In no time I had joined her and it wasn't that long before I experienced the most indescribable feelings of pure unadulterated joy, that reinforced my belief and faith in a Divine Creator. What followed has been recorded at  Dancing with Dolphins. 

If my memory is correct, it was not too long afterwards many of the surf club members were invited to attend a party at the Hopewells house. I think it was to celebrate Paula's 18th birthday and the finish of school. Many of her friends from Sydney and school were in attendance and for the first time we were consuming beer and spirits on the premises. There was one guy who appeared to be taking more than just a mild interest in Paula and someone informed me he may have been her boyfriend, something that I openly disputed. As the evening wore on, he was becoming extremely intoxicated, as was I and when he started bragging that he would be spending the night with Polly to a group drinking outside on the front lawn, I decked him with a swinging left hook. It took him quite a while to regain conciousness and for a short while I was in the bad books with all and sundry. I made no apologies however.

The next day this guy sat alongside me while I was contemplating never ever to drink again, while sitting in front of the clubhouse. He had no idea that it was me who had thumped him and we got on like a house on fire. Throughout the next 5 years or so, he would turn up occasionally and would always sit with me and we would rabbit on about who knows what. Not once did he fail to ask whether I had heard anything from the Hopewell sisters, particularly Paula. Like me he obviously still had strong feelings for her. He eventually dropped off the radar around the late 1960's.

All of us flatmates were kept busy assisting the club's caretaker Harry restore the dance floor and environs to its former pristine condition. The building was starting to show signs of wear caused by an average of 1200 stomping footsies pounding away every weekend. There were over two dozen club members required to maintain the peace during the Stomp and it happened to be the same lot week after week.

Alan, Jim, Trevor and I surfed at every opportunity, with me taking more than my fair share of sickies from work. I was turning into a good for nothing surfing beach bum. We drank way too much beer and devoted way too much time attempting to attract members of the opposite sex into our sinful lair. Most of the time we bombed out ungracefully, but in all honesty, there was zero tolerance to drug taking. When Alan bought a 1949 Ford Prefect at Auto Auctions in Sydney, trips to all parts of Sydney and along the NSW coast became frequent.

Alan's Woody.

As previously mentioned I had turned into a full on surfing beach bum. Everything had to fit in with the sun, sand and surf and even the surf club at times was forced to play second fiddle to the boardriding. Lately I've become certain it was this adoption of irresponsibility that caused me to drop the ball and lose touch with many decent folk whose company and friendship meant so much to me. An example of this lack of responsibility was when one of my final Technical College exams was taking place at Leichhardt Tech., I was out riding the inner Bommie at Longreef with senior flatmate Alan the Ding King. We started off riding the beach break, but as the tide began receding the Bombora had swells that were beginning to peak and almost break. Several times I started paddling out to sea as some of the swells looked certain to break on top of us and as they were peaking at around 12 feet or so, it was causing the adrenalin to start pumping. Alan stayed with the beach break and I took up a position where the Bommie was trying hard to break and after only 5 minutes I took off on a 12-13 footer and experienced what seemed like the doubling of my body weight as I was almost free falling during the take off. Several more of these rides followed before Alan decided to join me. Although extremely big waves, they didn't have the punch that Al expected, so he returned to the inside break, leaving me on my Pat Malone. I had an absolute whale of a time without a single solitary wipeout.

The Long Reef Bombora.

When the Avalon Stomp was eventually shut down, the North Narrabeen club inherited the band and their dance was soon going gangbusters and on one occasion we drove Al's jalopy down to Narra to check out the stray females, if any. There happened to be three young gals who had been holidaying in Avalon who regarded us as being reasonable value. I was lucky, I cracked on to the oldest looking one and she was only too happy to visit our flat after the dance, along with her two younger looking companions. No details of what eventuated are going to be forthcoming, but suffice to say some lucky teller of tall tales did indeed get lucky. Seeing more of the young lady's body than would have pleased her parents, one commented how well formed she was and she replied by revealing she was still a schoolgirl not yet turned sixteen.........OOPS!!! We dropped her and her friends home at North Avalon and we agreed to meet outside the surf club at 10:00 am on Sunday. Unfortunately for her, the surf was up and all four of us guys surfed South Palm Beach from 9:00 am through until 12 Noon. It was the second best surfing session I ever had. Arriving back at the club long after Noon I was told three good looking girls were looking for me. I noticed them climbing the Avalon sandhills about 150 metres away and called out to them, but they disappeared over the top of the tallest dune and were never seen again.......Phew!!

For what it's worth all the horizontal folk dancing that took place in the flat could be counted on one hand and apart from the previous mentioned encounter were nothing that would raise one's blood pressure.


The longest and by far the best surfing session I ever had was at Dee Why Point one Wednesday. Alan, who was a Fireman at Manly, checked out the surf at Dee Why on his way home from his night shift and dragged us all out of bed and onto the car's roof went the boards and we were all off for a surf. We started at 8:45am and called it quits around 1:15pm when the southerly began to arrive.

Sometime fairly early in the year we were on excellent terms with the Westons, namely Phyllis and Eric and their two anklebiters who lived in the flat below. Eric was an excellent cook and kept us fed on a regular basis. Two nurses from WA arrived and stayed with the family below and when eventually there was a move to a larger house in North Avalon, these two Florence Nightingales left as well. Lynn and Julie were two major mischief makers and used to take great delight taking the piss out of us sweet and innocent board riding gentlemen living in the upstairs flat. After they took up residency with the Westons at North Avalon, Jim started seeing Julie, unbeknowns to the rest of us and the two of them ended up tying the knot and as I type they are still living in wedded bliss in Geraldton WA.

Not that long ago I was delighted to have spent at least 2 hours on the telephone rabbiting on about the 'good old days' with former flatmate Jim Raynor and his better half Jules. I was also saddened to learn from Jules that Eric the Chef had passed away 10 years ago. Hearing of the loss of another worthwhile person appears to be turning into almost a weekly event lately, making one very much aware of  how short life really is.

Looking back I find it incredible that we all survived 12 months in the flat providing and cooking our own food, although on one occasion I collapsed at work from the effects of food poisoning. One item that was never part of our establishment was a television set. We mostly sat around at nights chin wagging or listening to a radio and playing the odd recording.

One night during either late winter or early spring there was a knock on the door around 9pm. It was our club captain John Fuller with none other than the 'Wild One' himself, Johnny O'Keefe. We provided coffee and I began reminiscing about JOK's dances at the Leichhardt Police Boys Club on Wednesdays and Saturdays, before getting down to business.
JOK wanted at least 3 to 4 dozen young male and female surfie types to dance the Stomp on his TV show, 'Sing, Sing, Sing.' The music was going to be played by Digger Revell and the Denvermen and would be their latest hit the "Avalon Stomp.'
As we were over the top mal riders, it was assumed we should be able to use our influence with the young lemon juiced blonde boardriders to put together a suitable crowd of stompers. It was a piece of cake, we ended up in a very short space of time with approx. 30 to 36 young guys and gals who were only too happy to be seen on national television. Many of them were junior and young senior surf club members and their girlfriends. The others were a potpourri of kids from mostly around Avalon. All the guys would be issued with specially made white Tee shirts with green printing on the back that said, 'Avalon Beach SLSC.' 
The girls would be supplied with multi coloured shorts and sleeveless sun tops, provided by John Fuller's mother  who owned a boutique. The dancing would be performed in bare feet. 
The oldest girl would not have been more than 16 and everyone was a little cutie.

Channel 7's choreographer Ken Jeacle took us all in charge and we had several rehearsals. Ten of us senior guys would march in with the reel, line and belt, do one lap of  Studio A, then halt and place the reel on the ground. After the applause, we would pick up the reel, march towards the camera and make a right turn and exit stage right, leaving our captain John Fuller alone in the middle of the studio. JOK would then appear on camera and introduce John and interview him for 1 minute. The March past guys who were dancing would have approx 90 seconds to change and join their partners waiting underneath the raised camera and boom microphone.
A squad of TV sheilas appeared wielding giant powder puffs and all the guys were smacked in the face with powder going everywhere to eliminate the shine on their ugly faces. The girls however were taken away to parts unknown to be given the full on treatment. When they returned after about an hour or so, all these 15 year old sweeties resembled 25 year old prostitutes caked in make up with eye shadow, false eyelashes, red rouged cheeks, bright crimson lipstick, false suntans and their faces and hair covered in silver glitter........Whoa!!!

Our new white March past costumes were at the cleaners, so we had to wear the old moth eaten woolen green ones with our bare flesh showing through the many holes in the butts. When we marched on and halted in front of the Denvermen, we were subjected to many whispered obscene comments from them about the moth holes and our hairy arses. We whispered back and told them to go fuck themselves.
The Wild One stuffed everything up by calling John over before we had time to march off. Alan Towers saved the day by quietly giving the required commands and we exited stage right. Trouble was the dancers now only had around 20 seconds before the music began. Some were still pulling on their jeans over the march past clobber when the first dancers were appearing on screen. Thank God they only just made it and the performance was superb.

I never got to see it the following week on the telly, but 12 months later it popped up on a nostagia show and oh my God, wasn't it embarrasing. 

If my memory is correct, the surf club was paid 250 quid for our magnificent performance. Later on that year Hendo and the Bandstand family arrived at Avalon and this time it all happened on Channel 9.

Two Canadian guys, Tom and Brian arrived from NZ in the company of a red headed Kiwi named Tom White from Titahi Bay. It was only going to be a three week stay, but over two years later the Canadian TomWood married one of the vivacious local cuties, whose name I am ashamed to admit I have forgotten, before eventually returning home with her to Canada. I've often wondered if she ever got the opportunity to wear her ever so brief bikini in the wilds of the northern hemisphere........I thoroughly doubt it, what a pity! As far as I know Brian never returned home and remains an Avalon resident to this day.

Towards the end of November Tom White and I travelled to Newcastle to try our luck with three Kiwi girls of Tom's acquaintance, but upon arrival at their flat we discovered they had gone visiting friends further up the NSW coast.....Bugger! Their land lady allowed us to sleep over in the flat that evening and upon entering we both knew at once this was a girls flat as all one could smell were flowers and perfume, unlike the Avalon digs that was a cross between a peat bog and a brewery. Turning on the television we were shocked to learn that the American President John F.Kennedy had been assassinated that same day and both of us were left with a feeling of disbelief and genuine sorrow. We both had an early night and woke up smelling of frangipani and perfume. After breakfast we spent the whole morning surfing on our Mals at Merewether, before heading south. 

Merewether.

We stopped off at Macmasters Beach and enjoyed a small well shaped surf that was breaking near the southern corner of the beach.

Macmasters.

The further south we went the flatter the surf and when returning to Avalon the surf was not unlike Botany Bay on a calm day.

Sometime in December'63 Brian Henderson and the Bandstand mob arrived in Avalon to film an episode with the Stomp being the main theme. Hendo was all set up on the stage of the surf clubhouse while the bulk of the featured artists were filmed doing their thing on the beach and on the rocks near the pool. On the Sunday there was an outdoor concert alongside the dressing sheds with Col Joye and the Joye boys the main attraction.

I was befriended by one of the cameramen and spent a considerable amount of time assisting him move his TV camera from point A to point Z. Back then the recording equipment was nowhere near as light and compact as it is today and he was extremely appreciative of my help. I struck up a conversation with one of the top singers going around at the time, namely the highly talented Kevin Todd. On the Monday he was with me in the club and expressed a desire to have a dip in the surf. The surf was not that big, but it was most certainly fast running, so I asked him if he was a strong swimmer and he indicated he was.
I provided him with a pair of flippers and we both headed out the back. Several times he was clobbered when he didn't dive deep enough, but he persevered and was able to join me beyond the break.
He swam onto a few solid waves and was enjoying himself despite being buried more than once.
I noticed his attractive partner at the time, the shapely and talented Laurel Lea was waving frantically to us on the beach and beckoning us to come ashore. We caught a wave in and copped a blast from her.
"You could have drowned," she said scolding him.
"Nah!" he told her, "I was with Pogo Hon."
One thing I remember was when we came ashore, Kev's well lacqeured hair had not changed shape, despite all the time spent body surfing. God only knows what those TV people used as hairspray. Kevin Todd was a great singer and a terrific bloke to boot.

I along with everyone else discovered many months later that these two were actually married at the time, but it was kept Hush Hush.

Laurel Lea and Kevin Todd

The two of them joined many others of the cast and crew who attended a party we threw in our flat for them all when filming ended. I seem to recall even Hendo popped in for a short visit.

Laurel Lea tragically passed away in January 1992 from leukaemia. Another talented and beautiful person passing on way before her time.


I think it was around January '64 I noticed Lesley passing by in front of the surf club. I called out to her and she looked briefly at me and said, "Gooday Pogo," and kept on walking. It had been at least 9 months since I had laid eyes on her, as she disappeared after her relationship with the Rodent ended. Every weekend after the breakup, I was expecting her to suddenly appear, but it never eventuated. Seeing her on this occasion had the effect of exciting me no end. Not that long afterwards I saw her approaching me and I walked towards her to strike up a conversation, but she almost dived into the middle of a few local guys and started talking to them. When on patrol shortly afterwards I called out to her as she was passing, but all she did was break into a jog and ran away from me. It was obvious she did not want anything to do with me, why, God only knows. The last time I was with Lulu we were still second best friends who had nothing but love and respect for each other and a friendship I believed would last a lifetime. To this day I have no idea what caused her to turn against me as she obviously had.
It was shortly after the Stomp had ended its run that I attended a function in the clubhouse. Jim and Lesley were there and midway through the evening Lesley asked me to go for a drive with her as she had a few problems she wanted to discuss with me. Jim asked us where were we going and Lulu told him and he didn't seem to have a problem with it. We drove to North Palm Beach near to the Surf Club and I answered Lesley's queries and what followed was a 15 minute snogging session.
She then let me drive the Fiat back to the Avalon car park and upon arrival she informed me of what a lucky girl she was to have a friend such as me. She then told me she could not think of any other guy who would sit and listen to, in her own words, all the shit she had thrown at me throughout the previous 2 years or more. I was then told she regarded me as one of her closest and dearest friends and kissed me ever so tenderly on the lips. I became so emotional I even began to openly cry, as I am currently doing as I type this. I believed we had a friendship that would last a lifetime, but unfortunately it didn't. 10 months later when we next met, she didn't even want to talk to me and when she did she tore strips off me. I was devastated and heartbroken to say the least.

Us four flatmates arrived home at 1pm one Sunday arvo to find the entrance door of our flat closed and locked. The senior guy Alan was really cheesed off and started abusing whoever had locked it. It turned out that the good for nothing freeloader who had been bludging off us all was with Lulu and wanted privacy. We entered the flat when he eventually opened the door and I am certain Lesley must have read my mind. What she saw in this wanker I will never know and where and how they met still has me bamboozled. She seemed happy to talk to the others, but refused to even acknowledge my presence, let alone talk to me. When I began to assist her when she commenced doing the washing up from breakfast, she began to openly criticise me in front of the others.
When she left Jim asked me, "What the Hell was all that about?"
I answered, "I have no idea."
Nipper put his arm around me and patted me on the back and said, "Don't let it get to you Poge, it's obvious she's gone round the twist."
Alan's only comment was, "What a bitch."
That was the very last time I ever saw or spoke to Lesley...…….It literally broke my heart.
I've never stopped loving her though, she was truly a special person who I regarded as one of the most important people in my sinful life.

At the end of January '64 I left the flat and because of what had to be a massive misunderstanding, I found myself suspended from the surf club. At the time it was a tragedy, but I learned to live with it and when September arrived I rejoined expecting everything would return to normal. Unfortunately I was sadly mistaken. I discovered at the AGM that everyone had left the Avalon flat, Paula had started attending University and would no longer be coming to Avalon, Lesley was knocking around with some bods away from the beach and had lost interest in all things surf and club related and according to those who knew her, she had experienced a complete change in personality, something that I most certainly could vouch for. Tom's comment to me was, "Don't go wasting your time on her Poge, she's not the same Lulu that you and I once knew and loved."  Hearing this caused my eyes to fill, as I was still more than half in love with her and her younger sister. If I was to bump into either one today, the many tears that I would shed would be ones of sheer joy.

(I have just been informed of the passing of Lesley who lost her battle with cancer several years ago. Those tears of joy have sadly been replaced by tears of sorrow at the loss of one of my favourite people. God bless you Lulu. I learnt also that Paula had lost her husband as well. My belated condolences to Polly.
Growing old is a real bugger.) 

Alan had gone overseas on his way to South Africa, Jim and Trevor were about to leave on a working holiday to NZ for 12 months and on his return Jim would be off to WA with his beautiful Julie to become a happily married Sandgroper.

Jim and Nipper off to NZ.

Mike and the Rodent would no longer be putting in appearances at the club and even Tom was spending every precious moment with his attractive girlfriend Carolyn.
Who was left? Just little old me. The mob had dispersed and I had to become used to different ways to entertain oneself with a new pod of mischief making troublemakers. For a short time I realised that although now owning a car, there was only me in it as everyone else had gone. It was not a pleasant feeling.

Season '64-'65 was almost like starting all over again. I threw myself into competing at the open surf carnivals as a member of the A boat crew. Because all of us rowers rowed and trained together, we tended to drink and play up together as well. We trained twice a week at Narrabeen Lakes and the newly built Pub at French's Forest was honoured with our presence more than once or twice. If we were only half as dedicated to being successful as the current boaties are, we could have won more than our fair share of trophies, but it was not to be.
Every now and then we would excell ourselves and pull off some unexpected wins in competition, but sadly, not often enough.

I began to devote more of my time to staying aware of what was happening in the club and on the beach. I blamed myself for the the loss of many close and dear friends during the previous season, because way too much time was being devoted to riding my surfboard. I once again accepted the thankless position of Social Secretary and after a slow start, I eventually threw myself into my responsibilities and the season ended on a high note. The club had reintroduced the Inter Patrol R and R Competition and no one was more surprised than me when my bunch of social misfits won the damn thing. I was spending less time on the Mal and reverted back to the surf ski, which was used for many fishing trips to the offshore reef. In retrospect, I was probably spending too much time in the Avalon RSL, but I was very rarely there on my own.
Life was on the up and up and I was enjoying it once again.

For the next eight years I managed to survive and although the times that went by way too quickly were an absolute blast, they could never be compared with those first five years.  The loss of so many good friends and colleagues in one hit, brought about an ever present sadness that never should have been there at all. 

I have reached that point in my life when one becomes aware of the fact that compared to the past, there are only a handful of years left to enjoy what remains of one's life and knowing that the next journey will last for all eternity. Compared to what awaits all of us after life, our physical existence is no more than a few fleeting seconds and because of this it should be remembered and cherished, because it's all we're going to get.

Once again I find myself with tears streaming down my cheeks as I recall what I was once blessed to have and to be a part of. Regardless of any perceived or real differences that may have raised their ugly head, I hope and pray that everyone has found meaning and satisfaction in their lives and they are deriving the same pleasure from the past memories as I have experienced now for many, many years.


As the blog heading says, nothing lasts forever, but when one was living with and through it as was the case, it seemed as though it would go on forever, but fate at times can be one big heartbreaker.

The opening lines of the love song from the musical Chess sum it up perfectly...........

'Nothing is so good it lasts eternally,
Perfect situations must go wrong.' 

How very true.


        

RETURN TO TIGER TOWN

My current lot in life.

Throughout one's life technology improved ever so slowly at first. Major advances in the electronic industries heralded in many new and improved ways to get things done. Today many state of the art systems change almost overnight as technology has overtaken and surpassed mankind's ability to adapt. Although welcoming change and adapting to it myself, I have often wondered has it all been really necessary as I have turned into a physically handicapped individual and a typical full on grumpy old couch potato. I should never have sold my 4 metre tinnie and should still be out and about on the lake stalking those elusive flathead along the Swansea Channel. For God's sake I'm retired. What am I doing sitting in front of arguably technology's most frustrating invention typing all this meaningless crap?

The Office.

No longer am I able to enjoy the odd fishing excursion that gave me so much pleasure since moving to the shores of beautiful Lake Macquarie. Any angling now has to be shore based. A marvellous example of how things have changed is, no longer am I able to save up for even a small tinnie as every spare cent is now going towards a pre paid funeral......Fair Dinkum, can you believe it? At least I've acquired over the years, more fishing paraphernalia than Rex Hunt or Steve Starling, which includes a good collection of those soft plastics and I have managed to locate a few comfortable shore based locations where I can wet a line when inspired to do so.

Gabi and I enjoy dining at several of the local clubs and restaurants, Yum Cha at the House of  Peking in Jesmond, attending Arts and Craft exhibitions and have been known to frequent many of the Hunter Valley wineries in order to sample some of their produce occasionally. Gabi derives great pleasure out of working on the odd masterpiece in her air conditioned studio and has become an accomplished artist who when inspired can paint up quite a storm.

Our futile attempts to maintain a modicum of fitness sees Gabi and I swimming three times weekly at the Toronto heated pool and I am giving the upper body a mild workout in the home gym (ie the third bedroom). 

Tyrrell's Winery.

Although now under control through medication, sugar levels can still rise to unacceptable levels, both legs rely on fitted stents to maintain minimum circulation, my teeth are all plastic, body weight has increased alarmingly, the old ticker requires tablets to refrain from missing the odd beat or two and I now have a Pacemaker and Defibrillator monitoring it all.

Breakfast 2013.

I have less hair than Bruce Willis and rattle whilst walking to the kitchen after taking my morning medication. I can no longer do many of those things that I would dearly love to do, but the memories of doing them in the past are still extremely vivid and I never want to lose them. Some of these memories however have faded and the best way to prevent this from continuing to occur is to put it all in writing before they're gone completely. It's only a matter of time before I will be hiding my own Easter eggs. 

Why is one obsessed with recollections of times spent in and around a small hamlet and beach 24 miles north of Sydney? Other surf clubs along the NSW coast had more up to date facilities than Avalon, more members, therefore less rostered patrols and considerably more rescue equipment. 

Despite all this it would have been unthinkable for any Avalon clubbie to even think of leaving. I believed that almost everyone thought the way I did. This was not just a civic duty or a public service, it was not just a weekend pastime, it was a unique and wonderful way of life that influenced one's general behavior, even away from the beach and surf. Over two thirds of the club would gravitate to the beach each and every weekend from all over the southern and western regions of Greater Sydney

My gang of mischief makers were far from being locals as they were from all over the place. Jim and Trevor (Marrickville), Mike and Jim(The Rodent) Carlingford, Tom (North Rocks), Sam (Fivedock), Ian (Doc) (Padstow), Michelle (Eastwood), Lesley and Paula (Fivedock), with me from the wilds of Annandale. The three girls all had cosy and well appointed holiday homes in Avalon that were put to good use on a regular basis. The amazing thing is no one mentioned why the girls could not complete training and become members back then as they are today. Several of the local cuties were, in fact, faster swimmers than many of the guys and could have  provided great support for the all male membership. Thank God commonsense prevailed and the doors were opened to them around 1980. It should have happened years earlier though. I personally would have loved sitting on patrol flanked by Denise, Lenya and Paula, all of whom were better board riders than me at the time.
Other members, both young and old were from Maroubra, Bondi, Redfern, Surry Hills, Glebe, Leichhardt, Abbotsford, Drummoyne, Summer Hill, Dulwich Hill and Ashfield. The outer west was well represented with guys from Granville, Merrylands, Wentworthville, Blacktown, Meadowbank and Parramatta. 

Some male, some female. From a variety of suburbs. Bonded together by a common love of all things sunny, surf and sandy.

If a board riding surfer was asked to describe the thrill of surfing, it would be impossible to answer that question in a satisfactory manner, unless the person asking had surfed at some stage of his or her life. By the same token, if ever an Avalon member was asked what made his club so special, an accurate answer could not be forthcoming unless the person asking was, or had been, a member of another surf lifesaving club. One of the weekend's highlights was the Sunday arvo drinks that began at 5 pm when the patrol came off duty. At Avalon it was known as QY's. Many members, even to this day have no idea what it means, some think they know, others think they may know, a few believe they definetly know and others haven't a clue. I was reliably informed yonks ago of its true meaning and modesty prevents me from spilling the beans. Most of the members couldn't care less what it meant, long as the beer is icy cold. Around 7pm everyone would wander off home leaving the boat crew members to tidy up. It was the boaties responsibility to run QY's and we would quite often sip on a few cold ones after the cleanup and depart anytime from 8pm through 'til 10:30pm.

 Season 1970-71 

It was during QY's around 7 pm when a junior member and his extremely pretty blonde girlfriend asked me would I be kind enough to give them a lift home to her place in Booth Street Annandale and then have a word with the girls father. The young member lived in Artarmon, while she was from my old stomping grounds. Her parents house was only around two minutes walk from where I was raised in Nelson Street. Their problem was Dad was getting confused with surf life savers and the surfie set and he simply did not approve of his daughter going out with, what he perceived to be, a drug taking, good for nothing wanker from the North Shore. I was not too keen on getting involved, until I recalled how my Annandale mates reacted to my joining the Avalon Surf club back in 1959. They too had got it all wrong and seeing how her family was living in the suburb where I learnt to become a first class shit stirrer, I agreed to their request. They could not thank me enough.

Juliet's house was one of these.

After arriving at the Annandale home, a funny sensation swept over me as I could not remember the last time I was in the region, yet nothing seemed to have changed. I was introduced to Mum and Dad and the two star crossed lovers disappeared along with Mum leaving Dad and I alone. After explaining the difference between surfers and surfies and pointing out that I had held several positions on the surf club's committee throughout the previous years, it was obvious I was fighting a losing battle. He had a deeply ingrained mistrust of anyone from north of the harbour and would not be swayed from this belief. He eventually enquired as to where I lived and where I was born. He was under the impression I lived in Avalon and almost fell out of his chair when I told him I lived in Marrickville, was born in Camperdown and raised just around the corner in 94 Nelson Street, no more than 120 metres from where we were now seated. He asked me if I followed the football and I informed him that I had played League with the Glebe Youth Club and was a one eyed Balmain Tigers supporter. For a while he seemed gob smacked and appeared unable to speak, when all of a sudden he asked me would I like a cold beer. What a silly question to ask the likes of me and when I told him I would love one, he called out rather loudly, "Honey, bring us in a cold one from the fridge, will ya luv?"
All of a sudden there was this change in personality and some serious questions that were forthcoming regarding the surf club culture were answered more to his satisfaction and our young Romeo and his cute little Juliet, along with Mum returned and what followed could be likened to a scene from any of those schmaltzy family shows the Yanks are famous for, except for the numerous quantities of Resch's Pilsener being consumed by Dad and I.

I ended up leaving around 11 pm, burping and farting like a carthorse with at least three bottles of amber fluid sloshing around in my stomach. The following weekend the two lovers would not stop thanking me for the fine job I had done and guided to a satisfactory conclusion. I was told the boyfriend was allowed to stay the night and Dad even drove him home to Artarmon early Monday morning. As for the kids, I have no recollection what became of them. I sincerely hope that what they had going for them all those years ago remained with them indefinetly. At that time it stirred memories of how young I was when I first commenced that frustrating journey through puberty and of the romances that evolved. Seeing them together started me becoming aware of what a lucky boy I was and what a great life I had when I was their age. It was the beginning of me becoming more responsible than at any other period of my sinful life.

I did not know it then, but the following surfing season was to be my last, as somehow I was able to put my mischief making behind me to adapt myself to married life. Times were changing and I was beginning to mellow with age.

January 2013    

It has been almost 41 years since Gabi and I tied the knot. During the decades our bodies have obeyed the laws of nature and our physical appearence has transformed from Sonny and Cher to resembling Tweedledum and the Vicar of Dibley. If I keep on gaining weight, it wont be long before I can be seen from the Moon. I have no idea where the years have gone or how they managed to pass so quickly. This could be another reason why I still retain fond memories of the past. Back then three months would take at least a full year to go by, whereas today a full year is gone within three months. Despite the many mistakes made throughout the past decades, I would have no hesitation in doing it all over again, without changing a single solitary thing......Well, almost.

A DAY AT THE OFFICE

The Office.

Black  Sunday

The tale that follows originally was alleged to have taken place sometime in early February 1964, however the exhaustive research carried out and the recollections of several eyewitnesses has revealed the actual date to be Sunday March 24th 1963.

At the time I had been living in a flat at Avalon for close on two months and most of my weekends were spent becoming more proficient at riding my Malibu with my three flatmates, Jim, Nipper and Alan the Ding King. The joys of boardriding were such that even my responsibilities at the surf club were playing second fiddle. Maybe this is why there are so many grey areas as to what occurred throughout a considerable portion of 1963.

I have always been under the impression I was the Social Secretary of the surf club during this period, however surf club annual reports clearly show I was not. Despite this I know for a fact it was me and my loyal group of friends who were always in attendance when the band known as, 'Billy Jay and the Sundowners' began playing in the clubhouse towards the end of 1962 and they went on to make an absolute fortune from the Stomp under the guidance of Barry Feehley in '63. My memory is a little vague as to whether the band played on a Saturday afternoon or Sunday mornings, but they were content to play for nothing until hopefully the attendance picked up as the dances were poorly attended.

On Saturday evening, the 22nd of December 1962, they hit the jackpot.

The first Stomp dance was after Avalon's Open Surf Carnival in December 1962 and for that one off occasion the band was thrilled to see just over 500 young folk attempting to emulate Bob McTavish, Dave Jackman and their team of stompers, who had been doing their thing at the  earlier dances and at last had a decent audience to instruct. By 11pm. over 80% had given up the jiving and were now stomping and a new craze was born.

Throughout the Stomp's short life at Avalon, one small group of members was in attendance every Saturday evening without fail, collecting the entrance fees off the hundreds of people flocking through the club's front door. This group consisted of  two of my flatmates, Jim Raynor and Trevor Nipperess, along with Tom Schweitzer, Jim Gooden and myself. We were joined by other clubbies on a regular basis as well.

It was shortly after the Stomp was shut down, that the following events took place.

LA at its worst.

The scene of all the action. LA at its best.

LA on a flat day.

The photos above are of a popular board and belly board spot known as Little Avalon. On a good day it is very good, but on a bad day it can be not only very bad, but downright dangerous. Throughout my years at Avalon, never once was I ever interested in surfing at this spot, as I regarded it as too sharky. Sadly, one of our young members paddled out for a surf late one Sunday afternoon during the 1960's and never returned. His body floated to the surface the following Thursday. He was an epileptic and his decision to surf alone was responsible for him passing on way before his time.

It was this area that was responsible for the biggest mass rescue ever carried out at Avalon Beach. All Avalon club members took part and teams of lifesavers from Bilgola and Newport arrived to lend a hand and thank God they did.
Senior Avalon club member Brian Sheehan, unbeknowns to me had been training 6 highly attractive young ladies for their Qualifying Certificates. This training would have been taking place for several weeks, yet I never once was aware of it. As previously stated I may have been devoting too much time to riding my Mal instead of concentrating on surf club and beach and surf responsibilities. 
 
I am certain that I am a bit premature in relating what transpired as so much of what went down is still extremely vague, to say the least.
Prior to rewriting this story and for almost 50 years I have been under the impression that what transpired took place 10 months after it actually did. As I am typing this, investigations designed to provide a more detailed and accurate account of what occurred are still underway. When more detail is forthcoming it will be added to what is known at this point in time.

It was early afternoon and I remember returning to the beach after a session of surfing and was surprised to see what appeared to be a girls squad being examined by the Board of Examiners. As the years rolled by, the two girls whose images were clear in my memory were local Avalon girls, Denise Ware and Lenya Laurich. I thought the two Hopewell sisters, Paula and Lesley may have been there as well. As for the others, it was a complete blank. I left my board on the beach and entered the clubhouse for a shower. The next thing I hear is the shark alarm ringing  three times. Bloody Hell it's a mass rescue. Members were running from all directions and began assembling on the beach in front of the club house to await further instructions.

Down at the rock pool a Bronze Medallion training squad was doing its mandatory test swims and I believe they were the first to react as they were by far closest to where the drama was starting to unfold. From what I can remember at least two surfers were separated from their boards and were well on their way to New Zealand in a fast flowing rip. Several people dived off the rocks between the pool and Little Avalon to assist and found themselves in big trouble almost immediately. The young and inexperienced Bronze squad dived into the surf to help the struggling rockhoppers in the boiling surf, without considering the consequences. They too now found themselves out of their depth and were also struggling. The surf boat was launched and was negotiating the break just left of the rocks at the southern end. I was back in the surf on my Malibu and once again I was returning to shore when a freak wave appeared from nowhere and landed smack bang on top of the boat, back slamming it onto the submerged rocks. What I was doing back in the water, is something I cannot explain, although my flatmate Jim Rayner was with me as well. We may have planned to paddle our Mals over to the rocks south of the pool to assist if required. Time can be a real bugger when it comes to the recollection of certain events. The boats keel was split and it overturned tossing its crew and equipment into the surf. The oars went one way and the boat another. It was in the Bilgola express rip and heading south at the rate of knots, with water up to its gunwhales. Somehow two surf lines were attached and a tug of war began. The harder they pulled the further south went the boat. This prompted members of the public to pitch in and help with the hauling in. 

I was busting my woofer valve pulling on one of the lines with Barry Feehley in front of me. Suddenly the line snapped sending me and everyone behind me flat on our backsides. The line had whipped forward and struck Barry in the back. He fell to the ground in extreme pain and had to be taken to the first aid room still writhing in agony.

Another line needed to be taken out to the boat, that by now was almost at Little Avalon, however no one volunteered, so I bit the bullet, put my hand up and said "I'll have a go."
One of the girls in the resuscitation squad, namely Denise Ware came running over and told me she and her other team mates would be my linesmen. She immediately seemed to take charge and told the other girls to carry the reel towards the rocks. I donned the belt and was given a big hug from Denise, followed by a kiss on the lips and was told, "Be careful Pogo, please."
There wasn't any time for acknowledgements with the others, or greetings and salutations etc. my one thought was to get the belt and line to the boat before the remaining line snapped.
I entered the water and was on my way with arguably the best looking team of linesmen that any beltman could ever hope to have.

  
At first it was fairly easy as the Bilgola Express rip was doing most of the work for me, but when I reached the tip of the rocks and it became necessary for me to make a right turn, the line started getting caught on the bottom and I was being pulled under. Club Captain John Fuller was on his way in from the sunken surf boat wearing the belt from the boat's bow box and swimming in a surf line. His swim was exceptional as he was going against the strong, fast flowing rip. I never would have made it. He gave orders for two clubbies on the nearby shore to dive in and hold my rope off the rocks. This they did and I was on my way once more.

God knows how many times I was caught side on by the surf and dragged across the sharp rocks. It felt like some one was rubbing my legs with coarse glasspaper. It seemed as though I was never going to reach the boat and I discovered much later that another reel had to have its line tied to the end of mine. When you consider each reel has 500 metres of line, it gives you some idea of how far the swim was. At last I reached the boat and who happens to be in it, none other than Avalon's favourite milkman, Phil Kemp. 
"Quick Pogo, give us your hands, I think you may have company." he called out. 
No sooner had he said it when I felt something semi rough brush along my left leg. I have no idea what it was, but it was definetly not a penguin or a flathead. A second later I'm in the sunken boat with Kempie. My only comment was, "Fuck me dead!!"

I wrapped the belt and line several times around the boat's seat and made sure it was secure, then stood up and for at least the next two or so minutes gave the patient secured haul in signal, namely one hand raised vertical. When the line became taut, we knew the signal had been received and the hauling in had recommenced.


My physical appearance must have resembled someone who had been hit by a locomotive. The straps on the belt had cut into and/or had worn away the skin around and underneath my armpits. The bare flesh was now starting to sting and blood was trickling down my torso, along with the sea water. My arms felt like spaghetti and I had a sudden and overwhelming desire for an ice cold beer and a cigarette.
 

"Ouch"

                                                                                                                     The belt swim. 

All about 600 metres or so.

The conditions on the day in question were not good, considering people were experiencing difficulties in the surf with little prospect of reaching the shore safely.What was it like, see below.

Although bad enough, it could have been worse.....

"Take a belt out?  Up your bum!"

One of the Board of Examiner members from the Manly Surf Club,  still in his white shirt, but minus his shorts, suddenly appeared next to us. "That's not a bad rip is it?" he shouted. Kempie told him to climb into the boat before he lost more than just his shorts. I cannot recall whether he too was bringing out another line to fasten to the boat. All I can remember is, when Kempie mentioned there may be a Noah cruising around, he fell into the wooden submarine quick smart.

Documents just to hand, along with an eyewitness report categorically state this examiner was indeed swimming a surf line out to the boat as well. 


As the three of us were now all aboard, Kempie asked did anyone have a deck of playing cards on them and after I answered in the negative, he asked me to swim in and bring back a deck for a game of Euchre. 
"I'll bring us back a few beers and some meat pies while I'm at it, if you wish." I said.
 "Great," said Phil, "I'll have a steak and onion and a Pilsener."
I wasn't too sure if he was joking, so I merely ended the conversation by simply saying, "Go root your boot."

Every now and then it seemed as though they were making headway with all the pulling, as the damaged boat was slowly drifting north against the rip. Even if this trend continued, it was going to be another hour or so before we would be safely on dry land again. The three surf lines attached were holding and they remained taut, which was a good sign. All we could do was to sit tight and sing a few verses of 'I do love to be beside the seaside.'

Word of the unfolding drama had reached Bilgola and after a while one of their surf ski riders on a single racing ski, came paddling up and offered to take us to the beach. Kempie was concerned about my well being as I appeared to be dripping blood everywhere, but most of it was the sea water making it look a lot worse than it actually was. Most of my cuts and scratches were only superficial, except for my armpits that were really giving me some yip.
"You two go in," the milkman told the examiner and me, so we both climbed onto the Bilgola bloke's ski and he started paddling north towards the beach and safety. He shouted out to Phil he would return for him shortly. He dropped us off in front of the Avalon rock pool and started returning to the sunken boat. Upon arrival Phil was still there waiting and much to his amazement, so to was little old me and the Board of Examiners bloke who was most certainly right about it being not a bad rip.

Second attempt, we were dropped off a bit further north and the examiner wasn't too keen to swim onto the beach as he only had on his undies. I told him to take them off as well and give my team of lineswomen a thrill, along with any other female folk on the beach watching all this unfold. He swam north while I attempted to catch a wave into what was known as the gutter. I was successful and ended up well inside this gap between the rocks. Some one called out to me and I noticed members of the public had formed a human chain and they were able to pluck me out of the boiling surf and safely onto the rocks at the northern side.

The Gutter.

There was skin off my elbows and forearms, blood and salt water were trickling from the bare flesh in and around my armpits and running all down my legs. I was helped across the rocks by two gentlemen. The others stood there applauding and shouting 'well done' etc. I reached the sand and next thing I know Denise and Lenya come running over with Denise almost in tears. At least two or more hours had elapsed since I had entered the water to begin my journey south.
"Pogo, you have no idea how relieved we all are to see you, we thought you must have drowned, you've been gone for so long," she said in a highly emotional state, then started smothering me with kisses and hugs and cuddles etc. Even Lenya gave me a big hug and planted a fat juicy wet one full on the lips. Wow!! what a reaction, I was sorely tempted to do it all again.

Denise shouted out orders to the other girls, who I am ashamed to admit I cannot recall. I can vaguely recall noticing the other girls still hauling in lines and being actively involved in the midst of what was transpiring all around us.  Denise put her arm around me to support my aching body and told Lenya to do likewise and they began half carrying me to the dance floor 0f the surf club that had been converted into a make shift hospital and rest centre. People on the beach were handing out compliments all the way to the club and several guys offered to relieve the two girls of their battered, bruised and bloodied burden, but Denise was having none of it. It must have been my after shave.

They literally carried me up the trapdoor stairs that were at the front of the club and deposited me in a chair in the middle of the dance floor.  The women and girls were rolling up bandages and the like, tea and coffee was all over the place and sandwiches were being made, along with cocktail frankfurts, sausage rolls and party pies in the oven and on the stove. Ladies Auxilliary women came out of the wood work and I found myself with a cup of tea and two Scotch Finger bikkies in one hand and a cream bun in the other while three other women were attempting to turn me into Boris Karloff as the Mummy. I nearly threw up when some well meaning lady poured a glass of brandy down my gullet.....Bleah!! Can't stand the stuff. When I eventually staggered out of the building I must have had at least 5 kilometres of bandages wrapped around me and I reeked of iodine and the Hydrogen Peroxide that had been slapped on with a 4 inch paint brush was still dripping off me.

What became of my highly attractive reel, line and belt team, I know not. Right through my entire association with the Avalon club, Denise Ware and Lenya Laurich were always present or nearby on the beach and in or around the club. Denise at times had a habit of lining me up with members of the opposite sex and not once were her choices disappointing. I always thought the world of Denise, but back then I didn't realise just how much. I do now.

I cannot believe that the girls training squad simply appeared to disappear. I have absolutely no recollection of ever seeing any of them  again, with the exception of Denise and Lenya, I find this incredible. The only two girls I can categorically state were there, were Denise and Lenya. I will attempt to research this matter further in more detail to see what I can come up with. There is the possibility that the two Hopewell sisters Lesley and Paula may have been two others. I would love to know for certain.

I am absolutely delighted to report that documents from the past have been obtained, thanks to a former member and Nestles apprentice Warren Warner who was known as Smiley. The six girls who comprised the Resuscitation squad happened to be, Denise Ware, Lenya Laurich, Lesley Hopewell, Paula Hopewell, Tom Schweitzer's girlfriend, Carolyn Druce and much to my surprise, my former girlfriend during 1962, Patricia Jarratt. 
It's amazing how well defined images that were previously non existant reappear when the facts are revealed. Upon discovering the names of the 6 girls, I almost instantly was able to see them quite clearly in my mind lined up on the beach being examined. The clearest image was that of the extremely pretty Patty Jarratt standing to attention on the right hand side of the line up. I still have no knowledge of them training  over the weeks leading up to their examination however.

As mentioned earlier this would have to be by far the best looking training squad ever to be awarded the Resuscitation Certificate. The girls received a letter of commendation from the Manly Warringah Branch of the SLSA for their unique and wonderful efforts. They not only excelled themselves during the rescue, but afterwards they completed their examination and gained their Qualifying Certificates and once again received recognition and congratulations from the SLSA. They were trained by surf club legend Brian Daniel Sheehan, whose experience enabled him to take control and coordinate the rescue efforts throughout the afternoon.

If one ever takes time to browse through some of my blogs, these girls are referred to on a regular basis, particularly the two Hopewell sisters along with Lenya and Denise. Despite all the fun and great times we had in the past, it still astounds me that, for so many years I could not remember with certainty who they were. Even Tom's partner Carolyn made two attempts to set me up with young ladies, one of them was to reunite Patty and I after our initial breakup. If someone had told me these two would be part of a resuscitaion squad, I would have laughed my head off.

It turned out that all the people who triggered this drama were rescued, given first aid treatment and received a clean bill of health. All in all around 20 or so people, which included Avalon lifesavers and the Bronze Medallion trainees, required assistance which thankfully was forthcoming. Teams arrived from Newport and Bilgola and demonstrated what a well trained and close knit bunch we all were. Without their help God only knows what may have happened. As stated earlier I am still in the throes of finding out more details as to the involvement of many others. My knowledge of how and when certain things unfolded is limited, as I spent most of the time with Vice Captain Phil Kemp slowly bleeding to death sitting in the sunken surfboat. Although heavily involved, nothing that I did on this day had anything to do with saving lives. That fell on the shoulders of many others, including those from the other clubs who sped to our assistance. Going on what my research has revealed, full credit should go to the girls instructor and senior member Brian Sheehan, who made many decisions that needed to be made. His experience and coolness under fire saved the day.

Although everyone's persistence finally paid off and the boat was pulled all the way back to the beach, it was damaged beyond repair. The club had lost its one and only surfboat along with the oars and sweep oar. Reels were damaged beyond repair and hundreds of metres of surf line went missing. Several members suffered injuries, including myself, but nothing too over the top, with the exception of Barry Feehley who experienced excruciating pain when that rotten line snapped. Once again, all our training had paid off and the surf clubs motto 'No lives lost' remained meaningful and intact. Thank God we had sponsors and supporters, such as our patron Norman H. Cook who saw to it that all the equipment was eventually replaced.  A week or two later I was having a beer with Kempie in the Avalon RSL when Norman H. Cook gave us a cheque for 200 pounds. With the help of other donations, we were able to purchase a brand new boat which we named 'Margaret' after Mr Cook's wife. Tom Schweitzer and I travelled over to Bailey's Boatshed at Abbotsford to have a look at this new custom built craft. It may not have been the best boat we ever had, but it most certainly was the prettiest.
One day a Council truck arrived at the car park with a boat and trailer and when the driver asked was there anybody around who could sign for it, I was only too happy to oblige.
We started season 63-64 with not one, but two new boats. The Council boat was a much better wave boat than 'Margaret' in my opinion.

Brian Sheehan. (in white). Cool headed in a crisis.

During the days that followed, the Sydney newspapers never stopped singing the praises of Surf Lifesavers and particularly those from the Avalon club. The weekend after the disaster one of the Sunday papers published an editorial referring to 'The heroes of Avalon' and the deeds that were all carried out and completed at a great risk to personal safety and loss of valuable and essential equipment. I remember reading the editorial travelling north on board the infamous 190 from Wynyard and broke out in goosebumps. I must have been visiting my parents in Annandale, as I was living in Avalon at the time.


Normally when the days work is done we all believe there is nothing better than an icy cold beer and enjoy letting our hair down. It is quite common for some of our celebrations to go completely over the top on a regular basis, but when it really and truly matters we know why we are, what we are, March 1963 revealed that. All that being said, QY's most certainly would have been a rip snorter that evening with many a beer downed without touching the sides. I slept like a log when at home in bed and ended up giving work a big miss on Monday. When all the gory details were published in the newspapers and on the telly, a decision was made not to dock me for my day off.

It was a Sunday out of the ordinary, true, but nevertheless simply another day at the office. When all research is completed, there will be mostly additions to the story and maybe the odd deletion.

Very rarely is a new blog completed when I learn, once again, of the sad passing of another former friend and/or colleague. All one can do is accept the fact that nothing or no one remains constant. So many good people have gone, who contributed so much to the SLSA, the Avalon club and to helping me become a worthwhile person.
They may never be seen again, but their spirit and my memories of them remain.

 VALE

Harry Ragen, Alan Slevin, Ray Cosgrove, Malcolm Robertson, Phil Thomas, Brian Sheehan, Bruce Patterson, Doug Wells (Kegs), Ron Ware (Denise's Dad), John Campbell (Bull), Norman H. Cook, Stan Butler, Barry Frost, John Griffin, Phil Kemp, Norm Kahler, Bill Ingram, Roy Hartman, Doug Crane, Max Watt, Rick Millar, Lesley Hopewell and the backbone of the former Ladies Auxiliary Jean Feehley.

All the above were surf club members, but there were some parents of our female companions who have sadly passed on. Lesley and Paula's Mum and Dad are no longer with us and I literally shed tears when I noticed their house had been sold during the 1990's. Life, at times can be a bugger, but it's mostly that all the good times simply don't last long enough. Even as I type, the tears have started flowing again, as I am completely shattered by having to add to the list none other than the beautiful and never to be forgotten Lesley Hopewell (Lulu).

I am certain there would be others, but the above are those who I personally remember with genuine feelings of admiration and respect.

"Requiescat in Pace."