I have already told you the one about going down the Stormwater Drain at Greenslopes. Well this is Mark 2 of that same story. Not that there was anyone named Mark being stupid enough to traverse that tunnel of death. No, the only people I ever remember being that stupid were David, Pip, Tom, Cousin John and your good self. Oh yeah, I forgot the dog Duffy – and I guess he was stupid enough to think he was people too. Now on reflection, a place identified as a Stormwater Drain should have given sufficient warning to anyone of the danger lying ahead. The only problem was, we all thought it was simply the place name given to this particular construction – a bit like naming a creek ‘Breakfast’. Well, another lazy Sunday afternoon – another call to adventure by fearless group leader David – and before you knew it – another Baskerville activity with a high chance of injury was well underway. David, Pip, Tom and me gathered at the mouth of Stormwater Drain and waited for the call to enter. David said wait. He wanted to first set fire to a cloth soaked in kerosene that he had wrapped around a stick. The flames took to the torch as quickly as it took to the eyebrows of those showing far too much interest in David’s “Temple of Doom” light stick. Soon after that little fiery introduction, we were off. Into that darkened catacomb we crawled with David and his guiding light leading the way. It was good to finally be able to see the path ahead – not so good to finally see the thick green ooze that previously we had only felt between our toes. The further we went the duller became the light, until it eventually died from the lack of air. I tell you now, whatever oxygen was available in that place was being sucked into the lungs of four very frightened boys. The flame just could not compete with our collective desperation for that limited resource. Now with the light gone – the jet-black shroud quickly engulfed us. I have never been in a place so black. Your eyes would strain wide open in an attempt to make out any shape or form – but there was no hope. Then as we moved on further we saw it – way up ahead. A slither of light coming down from above. A Damascus experience? I think not. Well anyway, we shuffled forward carefully and gathered round that golden beam. Peering up we could see through the hole in the drain’s top that the light was coming through the floorboards of a dwelling above. David gave a wry grin then reached up and knocked ####### the boards. Then he yelled something like “say me yoo hoo boys is here”. We laughed and scurried off further into the blackness of the hole. Not that anyone was going to chase us mind you! Well we all made a point of doing the same ritual whenever we would pass that point in each of our future adventures there – and back. Above ground, surveyor/engineer David was eventually able to calculate that the floorboards belonged to a small timber framed local corner store. Mum and Dad would drive right by it every Sunday on our way to church. They must have been quite perplexed at the snickers emanating from the back seat whenever we would pass that particular mixed business built so pancake-flat on the ground. Legend has it that the man that ran the store was forced to eventually revise his business plan. He gave up selling lollies and groceries to his ever-increasing nervous clientele and changed his marketing. Today, the shop is one of the special places visited by the “Ghosts of Brisbane” tours. Their brochure explains that children must have been buried alive under the site of the store many years ago since there are countless witnesses who have declared that they have heard them knock on the floorboards yelling something like “shame you who bury us here”
