Welcome to the inaugural newsletter story, where we dive into the tales that have shaped my life. In this edition, we explore two distinct chapters of my childhood – “Pancake Chewing Gum” and “A Brush With Death.” The former may seem like a trivial anecdote, but as we journey through these memories, you’ll find that the mundane can often lead to the extraordinary.

We could call this the Entree…

Pancake Chewing Gum:

Imagine a time when our days were filled with endless sunshine and boundless adventure. My three brothers and I, known as the Currie Clan, called the lively streets of Randwick our playground. This bustling suburb, nestled near Centennial Park, and a short drive to the inviting beaches of Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs, is where our story began. But the heart of this tale lies in a peculiar moment of my childhood, dubbed – Pancake Chewing Gum.

In our small, two-bedroom rental on Dangar Street, life was cozy but filled with the joys of brotherhood. My eldest brother, Andrew, resided on a fold-out couch in the living room. Stephen, Neil, and I shared a bedroom, while Mum and Dad occupied the front bedroom until the unexpected arrival of baby brother Shaun… then there were three lol.

It goes without saying, Shaun brightened our lives, however, there was a considerable age gap between Shaun and Neil. Shaun being a baby at the time, for instance, couldn’t go out and do battle with a rival gang, hence the Currie Clan was restricted to the four older brothers.

Our Randwick days were a blend of sun-soaked beach outings and mischief in forbidden places. We would frequent prohibited zones like the bus depot, Randwick TAFE, and an intriguingly off-limits space we affectionately named “The Cubby.” It was in this intriguing locale that our story, “A Brush With Death,” unfolded.

But I digress.

But before we delve into that gripping tale, let’s rewind to our daily journey to school. Our path led us through Dangar Lane, where we’d ascend Wentworth Street’s steep hill. There, we encountered an infamous dog that terrorized our young hearts. This menacing canine would chase us relentlessly, and on one unfortunate morning, it even sunk its teeth into me, turning my love for dogs into a deep-seated fear.

Our school days were marked by packed lunches, which, let’s face it, were far from gourmet experiences. White bread was our canvas, and peck paste, vegemite, peanut butter, jam, or devon were the limited palette. This monotony ignited my desire for something new, something daring – thus, the legend of Pancake Chewing Gum was born.

As we trekked up Wentworth Street one fateful day, I spotted an oddly fascinating sight in the middle of the road – discarded chewing gum that had been flattened to the size of a pizza by countless cars. Although we weren’t allowed to chew gum, an irresistible curiosity overcame me. I knelt in the street, feverishly peeling off this grotesque, tire-tracked gum. With every passing car, I’d temporarily retreat, only to return once the coast was clear.

And that, my friends, is the tale of Pancake Chewing Gum, a curious moment that forever etched itself into my memory.

Living In Randwick

We were rebels, playing in forbidden places like the bus depot, construction sites, and the forbidden “dump” in Centennial Park. We frequented the “dump” a lot by shimmying under the barbed wire perimeter. Once inside we would build a pile with flammable objects, then torch it, sometimes we would have to scramble to add fuel to keep it going, other times – well, this was one of the other scenarios.

On one unforgettable day, a seemingly harmless fire turned into an inferno thanks to the dozen discarded oil drums we added to the mix. Once the oil drums got hot enough, they exploded with deafening thunderclaps, as the flames roared and billowing black smoke blocked out the sky. We were mesmerized by the dancing flames until the approaching police siren shattered the spell, and our childish fascination turned to panic. We fled into the woods but in our panic, we split up.

I was crouched behind a tree and as I looked up the road towards the “dump”, I saw a policeman walking in our direction, but most alarmingly, he was walking straight towards the tree brother Steve was hiding behind. I was becoming increasingly anxious because I knew how our father would react when he learned the news that his sons lit the fire that made the TV news. Yet, to my amazement, the police constable nabbed Steve, then I could see Steve getting a ‘dressing down’, before getting released without reprimand.

Another of our favorite haunts was “the cubby,” an overgrown vacant lot opposite the bus depot. This wild, neglected space became our secret hideout, concealed beneath the overhanging branches of a grand old tree. I recall my first day of kindergarten was marked by a delightful picnic there, On our way up Wentworth Street brother Steve suggested we make a little detour. We ended up in “the cubby” pretending we were explorers. I can’t accurately say how many hours we played there, but we were surprised to dump into Mum when we returned home. With fury on her face, Mum promptly marched us up to Randwick Primary School and presented us to the principal’s office.

I frequently got into trouble in those days but that is another story.

A Brush With Death:

But now, let’s fast forward to the story that casts a darker shadow, “A Brush With Death.” Despite the enchanting allure of Randwick, it was a place that held its share of danger, lurking just beneath the surface.

But one day, as my brother Andrew headed to the backyard to play, he made a perplexing discovery. A stranger was escorting another brother down the back lane. Alarm bells rang, Andrew raced next door to tell Frank, our plumber guardian, and as always, our neighbour Frank stepped in to help. Brandishing an axe, he took off down the back lane.

Inside our house, anxiety swelled as we waited for the police. The questions they asked were probing, but one stood out: “Where do you boys like to play, do you have any special places you like to go?” This information led them to “The Cubby,” where they discovered a young uni student with my brother, his pants around his ankles. Little did we know that this arrest would thwart a potentially devastating incident.

A few weeks later, the uni student was arrested and charged with the murder of a child a few weeks earlier.

Conclusion:
This is a chapter of my life that still sends shivers down my spine. Childhood is a mix of wondrous adventures and heart-stopping moments, and these stories are a testament to that fact.

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