After just 6 month, the family moved from the high-set house at Albert Street Rockhampton, to the new low-set address at Herbert Street. I remember overhearing the grown-up saying something about the Albert Street house being sold, now that mum had replaced the ghastly ‘rocky-horror’ murals inside the house with some pleasant homely hews, and now that dad had tamed the surrounding thicket to a respectable 1 inch stubble. Still, us kids were able to take the move in our stride and continue to explore and experience all things Rockhampton. Now ‘Rocky’ is a hot place – really hot! Hot like – a place where the reflected radiation of heat on your legs from the ground is actually hotter than the direct heat from the sunlight on your head. Hot like – being able to leave your footprints in the roadside tar with your now liquefied rubber soled school shoes. Hot like – the fact that the water that came from the garden hose in the yard was hotter than the tap marked as such in the bathroom. Well, the heat of the place was only matched in intensity by its craziness. Crazy like – the dog that howled at the rising moon most every night. Crazy like – the man next door shooting at the crazy dog howling at the moon most every night. Crazy like – our intellectually challenged dog crashing through the closed glass louvered laundry window after previously being locked up there to save the mutt from being shot at by the crazy neighbour. Still, don’t get me wrong, it was a place of great fun too. Like the time when the big brown cow named “Lonely Charmen III” stood on Tom’s foot and bolted. Tom was being paid big bucks (5c) by some farmer to lead the cow by the nose round the grand parade of the Royal Agricultural Show grounds when he was all of 7 years old – now that was fun! Or like the time when David invented a new barefoot running game down the side of the house and all the way to the back fence some 100 meters away. Now that was fun too – well, if you enjoy having your feet completely impregnated with painful little prickles by the end of the contest that is. There was also the thrill that me and Tom experienced when we hid behind the front concrete fence with a home-made periscope. Tom would identify an approaching unsuspecting pedestrian/car and then we would jump up and let them have it with our plastic semi-automatic Christmas presents at the most unexpected moment – now, that was fun too! ‘Rocky’ was also the place of some special culinary experiences. I remember the tasty fresh tropical fruit being delivered to our home each week by Mr White and his fruit truck. It must have been a very profitable business, cause I will never forget the Luna Park smile that would grace his face each time mum handed him those folding notes. I have also vowed never to forget or forgive the taste of the delicious looking deep red cherry that grew on the tree at our front gate. Just one bite into this temptation and everything caught fire. Nothing could stop your lips from their spontaneous combustion – nothing could put out the fierce flames burning the tongue, gums and throat – nothing was ever going to cause me to forget the name of something that sounded so cool yet delivered such pain – CHILLI. Then again, there were mangos – aahh, ‘nectar of the gods’ some would say. This was ‘Rocky’s’ saving grace. They grew wild everywhere in this hot sunlit city. Plump, fleshy, juicy, golden delicacies. Unbeknown to me there were other varieties beside the ‘Bowen Special’ which was the popular choice and king of taste in this region. David had by chance discovered a different long and slender variety of mango that actually grew in our Herbert Street yard. One day he kindly peeled it and cut it up for me to enjoy. Now, I don’t know which product got its name from which – cause they both tasted exactly the same. Turpentine the Mango and Turpentine the chemical paint thinning solvent. There you go – Rockhampton – crazy one day, even crazier the next!
