The Baskervilles were one of the first families to build on the newly developed estate at The Gap Brisbane, and so us kids pretty much had the early run of this wilderness territory. As each new neighbour built there they succeeded in providing us with enough firewood, from their framing off-cuts, to keep us warm through many winter nights. One neighbour even left some new bricks that we could have easily used in our garden landscaping, had it not been for Dad’s conscience and his penchant for returning property that did not belong to us. Oh well, each addition to the estate did bring the opportunity for more playmates along with new obstacles for our roaming territorial playground. Now I ask you – how were the Beesleys to know that when they prepared the land to build next door, that they were going to turn our Sunday soccer field into an excavated archeological site. As with everything Baskerville, it did not stop the matches it just made the game all the more interesting. Watching Pip sidestep the ball and himself into the 1 meter ditch just to avoid an opposing team member’s challenge, I’m sure contributed to his skill set on the more level playing fields he was to play on later in his life. As I remember it, the ball we played with wasn’t even a soccer ball it was an inflated brown plastic elongated rugby ball. Now I may have grossly exaggerated the description by calling it inflated. Crumpled, buckled and perforated would be a more accurate call. Still, this international game of skill provided a whole afternoon of fun on numerous occasions. Many a kicked ball disappeared down a land cutting marked laundry or skidded left instead of the intended right because of its warped shape. Many a big toe was sent to the blood-bin if it connected with the ball’s hard-case ends rather than its softer under belly. Now, one of the last houses built on that estate was named by its owners – “Done-moving”. It belonged to the Arnold family, who had decided that after 13 house moves that enough was enough. It was great to have them settle in the area, not just because their timber off cuts fed our fire-place and warmed our house but because they provided the other half of a respectable sporting team. With the soccer field now being annihilated by the Beasley’s house, it was time to find a new field and a new code. Joey, Mick and Tony Arnold Vs Pip, Tom and me Baskerville. It was touch football on the road at the end of our shared dead-end street. Being younger than each of us respectively it was eventually decided to mix the family members around so that us Baskervilles did not keep losing to this football mad and sports talented family. We simply created a daily mixed team of Us Vs Them. Well the touch football field presented an even greater challenge than the now defunct soccer field. Firstly because it was neatly divided between a soft raised green grassy footpath in the one half and a hard pebbly bitumen surface on the other. Secondly, because there were the lamp-posts and a raised concrete gutter both positioned down the centre of the field. The third challenge involved the bordered outlines. Rose bushes and a steep bank on one side and barbed wire fence on the other. There – a perfect field for playing football, don’t you think? Well we all though so and played touch football there most every afternoon. What a great sense of satisfaction we each had as we trundled home when the dwindling light called time-out for the day. The scratches from the barbed wire and rose bushes – the cuts and bruises on our feet from the rough road and concrete gutter trip – the sore head from failing to side step the centre positioned lamp posts – they all contributed to that sense of a game well fought. You know, it is all a far cry from the sore fingers and flat aching bum that my kids complain about when they are contesting those time-consuming inter-galactic cyber football contests on their Internet computers today.
