Getting to Point Lookout Stradbroke Island in the 60s and early 70s, was not a simple case of driving one’s car onto the inter-island double story vehicular ferry and being transported in effortless fashion, as one would do today. I tell you now there was nothing simple about getting our family there for our annual holidays in those days. See for a start, there was no vehicular ferry also, there was no real roads on the island, just sand tracks and finally, there were no real cars either (just burnt out old busses). So, the only way to enjoy a holiday at Point Lookout in that era was to join the day trippers on their timber cruse boat operated by Hales and called the Miramar. It left from the wharf at the Quay right under the Victoria Bridge on the Brisbane River. Now, the first day of the holidays had to start early because there was so much decision making and traveling logistics to resolve. See, there were no cute little fashion boutiques on the island to buy any forgotten cloths items, in fact there was hardly any shops there at all. Let me see – there was the one man (or woman) post office built into the hill under Mrs Vans Lebens place which opened for a few hours on a few days there was the Durbidges bus garage and ice works, where Dad would get the block ice for our chest fridge at Kaboura – and there was the Moore’s corner store which sold today’s newspaper tomorrow (if you can figure that one out). So there you have it. If you forget something in you packing today, then it will stay forgotten for the whole 4 weeks of the holidays. Now, this then brings in the balancing logistics issue. Everything you packed, you had to carry First, down to the car, then from the car along Queen Street to the boat and then from the boat to the old bush bus parked and waiting for us at Amity. Suddenly forgetting things sounded like a good idea. Sadly with a Mum like ours, she was there to make sure we remembered everything that was necessary for our survival. So, there was the donkeys-breakfast or the wide brim straw hat that had on one occasion been a Horses-lunch when Tom had got a little too close to the wild horses on the island – then there was those crappy colourful plastic sandals we got from Woolworths each year that would barely make it to holidays end, due to their inability to hold together properly when being used as a ball in any beach cricket game – and finally, there was the car tire tube. None of us boys needed to be reminded of this item of clothing but it did make a rather awkward carry through the main street of Brisbane on that busy Saturday morning. Also, Dad just had to take his fishing rod (or we would starve), David his goggles and flippers and my sisters had to pack double of everything that the boys did because on weekends the island would often become infested with those young fit life-savers!! Mum was usually left with some practical but very un-cool cooking item which she would galantly volunteer to carry. Now getting to the boat on time was organized by Dad and Gonga. They would drive all 8 of us to the city and then Nana and Gonga would take our car back to their place. So there we were dropped off right in the middle of the city on a busy shopping Saturday morning. What a sight!! all of us with our hats on (cause they could not be packed), our special colourful sandals, our brown solid school packs containing all our delicates strapped onto our backs, Dad’s fishing rods, the scuba and cooking equipment and us boys completing the spectacle with our blown up black tire tube round our shoulders. It just smacked of another mar and par kettle film shoot but we did not care what others thought we were off to one of the greatest holiday destinations on this planet. Now we managed to make the day tripping boat on time each year as we all rushed to secure our favourite position at the back of the boat. Joining us that day were those day-tourist types with their carry on luggage usually consisting of a back pocket wallet, sunscreen and maybe a small handbag for the ladies. I still remember the expression on their faces as they would walk past the back of the boat and see that motley group with their extended supply of cloths and equipment. Most of them felt compelled to recheck their tickets, just to make sure that it said Day Trip to Stradbroke Island and not Four Weeks on Gilligans Island.
