Blessed to live in Tasmania’s golden age

AS I approach my 70th year, I realise how lucky I was to be born here. I was fortunate to live in Tassie in the 1950s and 1960s, the golden years when Tassie punched above its weight and we lived in a utopian state. Turn on the tap and receive the best drinking water in the world, flick the switch and get the cheapest and cleanest power on the planet.

If you wanted a second-hand car, Mark Cook was calling. Eric Reece, the greatest premier in Australia’s history, had his steady hand on the tiller of state. Sandy Bay was out there with Dale Flint and Geoff Whitton guiding the Seagulls. And shopping you say, it was a bonanza — FitzGeralds, Charles Davis, Cox Bros and Palfreyman’s to name a few. They provided all our needs.

Terrorism? We thought it was when some lout from Glenorchy threw rocks at the St Ives Hotel. Crime wave? That was when the officer in charge of police at Sandy Bay went on holiday and the local crims went to town until his return when everything quietened down again.

I remember Grandpa lamenting the sorry state of Tasmania when Mrs Abercrombie’s house was broken into and a tennis racquet was stolen. I can still remember him saying: “What has the world come to?” As I toddle off to bed with my hot water bottle and digestive biscuit, I think of trolley buses and trams, and am reminded of when we had a functioning traffic system and traffic jams were a mainland problem.