Stradbroke Island was known to the Baskervilles as native title grounds in the 70’s, long before the Commonwealth Government made it Australian Law in the 90s. We had already seen the obvious tribal signs, marking out the sacred territories that we would pass through on the road to our annual holiday destination at Point Lookout. We weren’t learned anthropologists, but we could read. On some bits of rusty old corrugated iron nailed onto gum trees near Dunwich were marked in white paint the words – Gun-knuckle and Old-knuckle. (Obviously the local aboriginal clans and land owners). Not long after seeing this first native title claim, there appeared another from the New-knuckle clan. I am still not sure whether this represented a younger generation or just another group who settled their differences in this unique way. Either way we were constantly remained by the many shell mittens at Point Lookout, that this area had once been the home to some very lucky ancient inhabitants. Now surly they had no need, in such a large picturesque paradise, to settle their differences with fighting knuckles (whether old, gun or new). Well now, it was on this same old road that we were travelling one evening after just picking up Margaret and Graham from the barge. See, Margaret and Graham had decided to spend a relaxing weekend at the point and so John Baskerville, Yaap and myself drove there in the EH grey Holden to pick then up. On the return leg of this cramped and physically demanding journey, John kept complaining of sparks burning his bare feet. See he was driving without shoes and in the darkness one could see the sparks coming from under the dashboard and landing on his feet. We all laughed so much. I was just so funny watching him having to pull he long legs up to his chin to avoid the occasional fiery shower. We stopped laughing at the exact moment that the whole dashboard caught on fire. John hit the breaks, opened the door and jumped out. We all jumped out. It was certainly a moment of panic and the situation did require some action – anything! John began throwing handfuls of road sand at the source of the flame I think more out of a sense of getting square with his tormentor than saving precious property. Well he put out the fire but then promptly expressed no desire to drive the vehicle any further. Now the last car from the final barge for the evening heading for the point had already passed us, and there was no more traffic movements expected that evening. So, Margaret and Graham in frustration just walked off into the pitch blackness of the road ahead in the direction of the point. We boys stayed with the vehicle for quite a while until we reasoned that with no one coming pass to save us, then no one could come pass and vandalize or steal the vehicle either. So the long 30km walk to our home started to sound like a good plan particularly with a mum and dad there to make the problem their very own. Well it worked Dad was told of the eventful story the next day and he took it upon himself to solve the problem, as the rest of us headed for the beach. When we came back from the fun and frolics that afternoon, we were quite surprised to find the EH back and parked out the front of the house. Dad had somehow been able to diagnose and fixed the problem. See, an exposed wire was hanging down loose under the dash and shorting out on the metal casing of the dashboard as the vehicle vibrated to the corrugated formation of the road. He had employed some armature mechanic survival solution, by jammed a dry twig up under the dash and so separated the offending wire from its metal accomplice. You know folks, some years later, the vehicle was sold complete with all accessories, including the dry twig from Stradbroke Island strategically placed to ensuring that the dashboard did not catch on fire again. Surly me thinks – something that should have been included in the original design.
