THE IMPACT OF STERLINGS CROSSING

From 1955 to 1958, our family of eight (referred to as the Bland Tribe by many), lived in a small hut at the Sterlings Crossing Forestry Camp, which is about thirty-four kilometres west of Gympie, Queesland. The hut consisted of half-timber walls, and the rest was canvas. My Dad learnt carpentry when he was released from the army, so he was able to build another room on the side to accommodate us all. We previously lived on a farm at Calico Creek. That ended badly, but the upside was Dad getting a full-time job grafting pine trees in the Imbil Forestry, seven kilometres from where we lived. To earn extra money, he also picked pineapples on a farm when he could.

It was whooping cough season during this time. From memory, at least three of the children contracted it. So you can imagine the household was under a lot of pressure, and my Mum really didn't cope well, particularly with Dad working away every day. The amount of stress certainly contributed to her debilitating migraines.

It's interesting to note that although I missed out on having whooping cough then, I managed to have my turn in 2010 and a second, lesser case in 2011. Not very pleasant as an adult.

There was a lovely little creek at Sterlings Crossing where everyone went for a swim. My fear of water began then. At about six years old, my Dad left me in the middle of this creek, where my feet couldn't touch the bottom, and said, "Swim!" Now that may work for some, but it certainly didn't work for me. My fear was enormous.

I do remember fondly that there were many bottle brush trees lining this creek, and I fell in love with their soft, red-bristled flowers. Now, we live next to a nature reserve, so I've planted some miniature bottle brush trees to attract the birds.

Our home wasn't a palace to be sure. There was the outside shower, cold of course, so warm baths for the smaller children were in the outside concrete wash-tubs, and there was also the "thunderbox" dunny down the back yard. Both were often infested with red back spiders, which Dad used to kill or chase away by using burning newspaper. So you can imagine any trip to the shower or toilet was very short. To this day I still go cold all over when I see a red back spider, whether real or in a picture, although I think they are very beautiful.

We had no electricity, so kerosene lanterns provided the lighting, which meant early nights for all. The cooking took place on a wood stove that also provided any heating. Most hot water, which was used for the adults' baths, was generated by the outside copper boiler. This was also used to do all the washing, which was hung on rope lines strung between two posts. Just think about the changing/washing of sheets on all our beds and the towels everyone used as well as all the clothing. Mind-boggling!

We eventually had a chook run that provided eggs and a tasty roast chicken dinner from time to time, and we used to make butter from the milk of our resident cow. Dad milked her twice a day. And, of course, vege gardens were all "the rage", or may I say "survival", in those days. There was always plenty to do, and each of us had assigned duties before and after school.

My schooling started in 1956 with a seven kilometre bus ride to and from Imbil State School. This is when the bullying started and continued until I decided to take this matter into my own hands, literally. But this occurred when I was older, as you will read later.

For me, one of the highlights of living at Sterlings Crossing was going out very early in the morning, while there was still dew on the grass, and being with nature. Sometimes I was lucky enough to catch a frilly lizard and take it home with me to feed it flies while it lazed on our canna plants. Not to mention, fishing in the local stream. As a young child, these activities were just great and transported me away from all the "not so pleasant" happenings in my life.

* * *

Some twenty years ago, in the late 1990's, my good friend Linda Christa-Clay and I made a nostalgic journey back to Sterlings Crossing, Imbil, and around the Forestry. The most noticeable thing was that all the huts were gone, so it was hard to imagine my life there. I also realised my perception of distances, and so on, seemed different now, not to say it wasn't real for me at the time.

A PIVOTAL MOMENT IN TIME

It was so amazing! I looked in the mirror, and my right eye was straight for the first time in over twenty-five years. A faint stirring of excitement and confidence seeped into my being that contributed to some very welcome changes in my life. This was 1976.

I was born in 1950, the third child of six, five girls and one boy. At about four months of age, my right eye turned in quite badly. Mum thought it might have resulted from me falling off the bed. My parents sought help with it. In those days, a patch was used to cover each eye, alternating daily, to hopefully strengthen the weak one. It didn't seem to work. It just made me very frustrated and difficult to get along with.

At about age four, I got my first pair of glasses, which didn't really help either. They just cost Mum and Dad lots of money with breakages and me losing them. But I continued to wear them because they were supposed to help strengthen and possibly straighten my eye. My specialist wouldn't do an operation on "the squint". He felt the chances of my eye turning outward were too great, and that would look worse than being turned in. Family members referred to me as "You Poor Little Thing", so I grew up with a victim mentality. I felt very unlovable and unworthy.

We moved fifteen times up until I was eighteen (refer to The Bland Family's Journey). I found it hard to make friends as it seemed I was always the "new kid on the block" and that attracted sometimes-unwanted attention. My sister Janet was my best friend, and we did most things together until we both got married. Moving all the time wasn't enjoyable for me, but others may have seen it as an exciting adventure.

In my childhood, times were tough in many ways. My parents found it hard to cope with their life's challenges. Dad was a very hard worker but quite an angry man. He belittled my mother, calling her names, yelling, and sometimes getting physical. So there was lots of crying followed by silence, and then everything seemed to be OK again. Until the next time. This took its' toll on me, and I became very fearful....