THE OLD WOOD STOVE IN THE KITCHEN poem by GERTRUDE SKINNER

[Bob Pacey]

Bill many a time my dad chased me down the paddock. he always stopped at the fence and would yell " ya have to come home sometime boy ' many a night I slept in my pidgeon cage covered only by a sack bag. ( Gees those were the days ) and you know when I came in next morning he would still be waiting with the strap..


He was a tough but fair old fella but as I found in later years very proud of all his kids. He did well to raise four if us after mum passed on and gave up a lot to make sure we were ok.

Memories are a wonderful thing.

Bob

[Vic Jefferies]

Just reading A Fortunate Life by AB Facey. One of the best books I have ever read about early days in Australia. He talks about all of the things mentioned here re the old days and more. Talk about hard times and hard work! Really recommend it to anyone who hasn't read it yet.

Vic Jefferies

[r.magnay]

....Bob, what sorta bag do you sleep......nah doesn't matter.

[Irene]

I remember the old wood chip water heaters!!
When we first got married, we had an wood hot water system in the laundry.
One day I came home from work - to find black up back of the wooden laundry door, with the paint blistered and peeling.

The old man had gone to light the fire, but it was a bit damp. He decided to drop a capful of petrol ?? or something on it to get it going. Trouble was, the flame tracked up the stream of fuel towards his hand - he flicked it out the door, but missed, and it hit the back of the door and had flames all up the door, as he still had some fuel in the small container in his hand!! A good lesson for him not to use fuel!!!I don't think he has learned his lesson though - he still has a tendency to do it with the old wood stove in his shed over winter!!

[Ian A]

'Day Bob,
I am still catching up on stories but I did have laugh about you chopping up for the chipheater. Reminds me of the day that dad had settled in for his bath and being an old stoker and boilerman he had it all purring nicely so my brother and I climbed up on the roof and dropped a bunger down the chimney. It was not a big bunger but it went down as far as the spark grate and the explosion blew a chunk out of the fibro chimney. The second explosion was from dad and it was perhaps a good thing he was in the nud otherwise we would have been chased around the house with the first object to hand.
Ian

[Dave Smith]

Duncan, Gertrude Skinner is unknown to me, is there some way I can obtain permission for this poem to be recited at some of our meetings in the WABP & YSA.

Cheers Dave.

Ps This puts me in mind of “A Sister Call Kath” a true story I will repost it.