As our plane banks and heads north east towards Queensland, the Captain announces that Brisbane is overcast, wet and seventeen degrees. Having had a glorious hot, dry summer in the UK, followed by a hot humid fortnight in Malaysia, we’re slightly dismayed to hear that Australia doesn’t look like getting its meteorological act together any time soon. Particularly in what is a sub-tropical city. We land, and sure enough, it’s cold and raining.
I’m still not used to the rapidity with which one moves from plane to exit on a domestic flight. We disembark as if from a train and within minutes we’re hugging our friends, Sue and Greg, whom we’ve known for thirty seven years. Time between meetings is often extended but, within minutes, that time becomes irrelevant.
Back in the 1970s, Greg was a professional tennis player and for decades he and Sue, an accountant, successfully, energetically and eventually exhaustingly, ran the Brookfield Tennis School. These days, Greg enjoys golf, carpentry and his grandchildren, but Sue, albeit a devoted grandmother, is not, and I suspect never will be, the retiring type. Until our arrival, she’s been working solidly, helping to run a private company while simultaneously preparing for our arrival. She rarely relaxes, she’s an arch organiser and that means that plans have been made. A and I hit the ground running.
In the mid-1980s, we lived in Brisbane where we met a group of couples who, like us, were expecting their first child. As anyone will tell you, that first foray into the unknown world of parenthood can be a very bonding experience. The upshot of our particular bonding experience is that, although we’re now spread across states and countries, although we have very different lives and interests, we (irregularly) meet up, catch up and remember just why it is that we’ve remained friends.
This year we’ll be taking the car ferry to Stradbroke Island, the second largest sand island in the world and a place I haven’t visited since 1986, at which time this undeveloped, unglamorous holiday destination was sparsely dotted with small weatherboard or fibro bungalows. There were rough tracks through the bush and few visitors to disturb the wildlife and beautiful white-sand beaches. Like the Isle of Wight, Straddie was, even then, a step back in time.
Today, there are good roads, an abundance of large, upmarket properties, a handful of cafes and restaurants and the coastal paths are impressively well maintained and clearly signed. But much of the island has ignored the passing of time and that means, happily, that the gorgeous beaches and wildlife remain. In fact, we see so many kangaroos grazing that, dare I say it, we become just a little blasé.
But in the midst of preparations for this island reunion, A and I have lunch with my youngest sister, Jeana, who is not only a sweet, kind person, but a wonderful cook. She’s also quite unwell and has been for many years. But that doesn’t stop her from treating us to a delicious meal of spicy dahl and rice, followed by the best chocolate brownies we’ve ever tasted. After three hours with her and her husband, Jason, we feel grateful for their generous hospitality and, I must admit, just a little humbled.
Then on Monday, all seven of us – Sue, Greg, Cindy, Simon, Judy, Adrian and I – are aboard the ferry, hair blowing in our faces and looking towards the island which sits across the water under a blue sunlit sky. Yes, sun! Like the UK government that we’ve left behind, the weather has performed an about face. Our house, at Lookout Point, sits directly above Cylinder Beach. It’s large and comfortable with a covered verandah surrounded by bush and loud chattering birds, those iconic sounds of Australia. A short run takes us to the beach and, on the shoreline, there are miles of firm sand that disappear under our feet just a metre from the waves. The surf is gentle, the beach all but deserted. Before we return to the house, I pull off my shoes, my cap, my shirt and wade into the sea. It’s warm, clear and vast and ahead is my favourite of all horizons, ocean, sky, broken only by low lying Moreton Island. In the coming days, we see more sea life than I’d ever imagined: dolphins, whales and turtles! We arrive back at the house and eat breakfast on the verandah. Surely there could be few better places to spend a sub-tropical spring with friends.
