The Courier-Mail



I REMEMBER walking across Prince Edward Pde, Redcliffe, to Mr Brazier’s store from our holiday house called Osborne.

It was called for Queen Victoria’s holiday home on the Isle of Wight by the English lady Mrs Reid from whom we rented it. Queen’s Beach must have put her in mind of it.

My mother would rent only Osborne because it had a good Crown wood stove. So many rentals had ancient cast-offs that never heated. After filing our grocery order, my reward was to choose either a passionfru­it or coconut ice block, Mr Brazier’s speciality.

When the warm crusty bread and the rest were stored it was time to put on woollen togs, take a towel and walk across the sandy track to the beach. There was no Flinders Pde then and we parked our smart Essex sedan with its plush seats and wind-up windows under Osborne.

To our delight you waded out to a wooden structure, climbed the stairs and went down the slide. There were always dolphins spinning around. My mother called them porpoises.

A dinghy often beached in the foam and we’d buy fish.

Often we were given a coin to pay the Afghan camel man for a beach ride.

On the final day my mother handed each child a saucepan, frying pan or kettle. We took them to the coarse sand and rubbed the sooty black bases until they came up shining.

King George V died on that holiday and summer rains began. Dad attached chains to the Essex wheels for the many creeks to cross on the sticky dirt roads as we headed home.

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