Seven rules benchmarked our first day of summer holidays. I promised I’d tell you...

Rule 1. Check windows are closed, plants are watered and goldfish are fed.  “Have you both gone to the toilet?” Mum would hesitate, before locking the front door of our tiny Woolloomooloo flat. As soon as we hit the pavement, my brother and I could not walk. We’d hop, skip, and run up to the Domain, past the Art Gallery and on, to Lady Macquarie’s chair.

Rule 2. “Wait at the big fig”.  Once Mum reached The Fig we calmly walked the harbour foreshore. This was lecture time: “remember Nan and Pop are not young anymore…. never go in the surf without telling an adult... and always wear zinc on your nose". By Circular Quay the lecture was finished and as the Manly Ferry slipped away we would circumnavigate from bough to stern trying to keep sight of the Opera House, Harbour Bridge and of greatest importance, the Ferris Wheel at Luna Park.

 
Rule 3.    “Sit still and eat”.  Sandwiches were scoffed down as politely as possible chased by a non-negotiable “piece of fruit!”. As long as we succeeded in downing our nutritious meal we had permission to ride the bough ‘freehand’ as the Ferry crossed The Heads. Cruising alongside Manly wharf we’d jostle to the gangway with the summer throng of people.

Rule 4. Hold Mum’s hand as we disembark. Rolling from the wharf out to the crossing and up the Corso towards the surf, we were part of a virtual wave of heat and sweat rushing onwards to meet the salty Pacific swell.  Nan and Pop would be waiting by the War Memorial where Mum would peel off the ‘wave’ while Pop, armed with towels and beach paraphernalia would direct us back into the current of sweltering tourists.

Rule 5. “Last one to the Flags buys dinner!” Pop always lost. After an exhilarating afternoon of thrashing about in the surf, and, as the tide of tourists ebbed to the ferry, Pop would serve dinner. We’d dine on hot salted chips with a dash of vinegar - just the three of us and about five million seagulls.

Rule 6. Collect your belongings but, leave the sand. Eventually the cacophony of the lorikeets in the Norfolk Pines would drive us homeward. Mum and Nan would be waiting on the front veranda with a huge platter of ice cold watermelon for us, a beer for pop and two tall gin and tonics for them. Pop and his cold beer would disappear out the back to stoke the fire.

Rule 7. Wait for the signal. As soon as he whistled, we’d race around the back and stand eagerly by his open-barrel fire. With sunburnt noses, sand-burnt feet and watermelon-juice to our elbows we’d toast marshmallows until twilight passed. Day One was always like this. Although, I recall one exception... the day a southerly buster came roaring through … but that’s another story….