LUCKY # 2

When I lived in Vogeltown we had a big area of bush covered hill to explore as Dad had bought three sections in a row. Each property was over one third of an acre and there was council land at the back so we had plenty of room to play. The 'bush' was a mixture of native and introduced shrubs and trees of varying height and age. We cut down Dad's prized flax bushes and made whares out of them but that's another story.

A flax whare or hut

At the top of the sections there was a large stand of old pine trees on council land that created a barrier between our property and the properties of the street up the back. These trees were very tall and set on hilly land with deep drop-offs.

At some time in the past someone had attached long ropes to high overhanging branches that made a rudimentary swing. By dragging the rope as far back up one of the banks, grabbing hold and launching off we could swing right out over a small gully and over one of the neighbours orchards. Using the existing rope we extended the length and therefore the carry by attaching a newer rope to it. On this we fashioned a knotted seat kind of like the poma on ski fields.

Poma chair lift

Being only about 9 or 10 we thought that this would suffice and it didn't occur to us that the original rope, now a generation or two old, might be suspect. We spent many an after-school afternoon playing with this swing, enjoying the thrill of sailing out over open space and feeling that tingle in the groin and lurch in the stomach you get when you stand on a very tall building or cliff and look right out over the edge.

 One day, when trying to get higher and higher I and a neighbourhood friend Owen both jumped on the 'poma' at the same time and we sailed off. The combined weight sent us further out and dragged the rope lower so that on the return arc we were able to scramble a little higher up the bank before launching again. This time as we sailed out the top rope gave way and we plummeted down to an expected instant death. At the bottom of the gully were tall palm-like trees with fronds like an open fan and the fruit trees from the orchard had over time spread out to the public land.

We fell into the palm tree first which was on a slope higher than the orchard and which took the impetus out of our fall before we crashed into some kind of fruit tree. From this it was only a short drop to the ground which luckily was soft from years of pine needles dropping there. We lay there silent for a while, gathering our breath and senses before gingerly checking our bodies for damage. Bruises (to come out later), cuts and scratches were the only injuries and we laughed (slightly crazily) at our good fortune. On going home for tea I said that I had slipped down a bank. Mum cleaned me up before Dad came home apparently accepting my explanation.
The tree swing was out of use for us and we went on to find other adventures. The pine trees have gone now, another sacrifice to urban expansion.