Oh, let the sun shine in

A campsite, even the lovely Solitary Islands Beach Resort, is not the best place to be when the rain sets in. Puddles become lakes, paths quagmires, and tents islands of misery.

And when you’re off to the amenities block, umbrella in hand, camp kids with nothing else to do will test out their bikes and your patience by blasting through every pothole and puddle, sending sprays of brown mud on you and everything else in proximity.

So one tends to stay indoors and read, watch DVDs, study, listen to music or just reflect, giving thanks for a cosy, dry van.

I think it was about the 16th day or 17th day of continuous rain that triggered reflections of another waterlogged campsite in a very different place, a very different time and very different circumstances.

The place: Deolali, a transit camp for British soldiers, around 100 miles by train from the port of Bombay (Mumbai) in the south.

The time: the monsoon, 1948.

The circumstances: The then Dique family: Dad, Mum and we kids John, Mary, Alixe and me, and grandmother Norah, camped with all our belongings, and with other emigrants, waiting for word of the SS Stratheden that would take us from Bombay to Australia and a new life.

Even though a small child I remember well the rain and the flood that poured through the rows of army tents including ours and brought chaos and disease. Most of us got sick, one or two very sick.

However, Dad, who lived all his life in India figured it was well worth the hardship to escape the terrible events unfolding in the newly independent and then partitioned nation: Gandhi’s assassination and sectarian conflict manifested in wholesale massacres of Hindus by Muslims and vice versa.

Though debilitated, we managed to make it to Bombay in one piece – except for our grandmother who died of typhus in the camp. We boarded the SS Stratheden and I remember well the long voyage, our arrival in Sydney and sailing under Harbour Bridge.

Back to the present. Australia has been good to us, and the sodden Solitary Islands Beach Resort has been terrific.

Grafton catchup

Between the showers we did manage to catch up for a picnic lunch in Grafton with younger brother Patrick while awaiting the arrival by bus from Brisbane of his daughter Sophie for Easter (pictured Carol and Sophie). Pat lives in Tyringham near Dorrigo with partner Tracey and 6ft 5in tall son Tristan.

Almost forgot...on a drive to the beach at nearby Digger’s Flat we saw and photographed our first wild emu.

Next stop will be Kingscliffe just south of Tweed Heads.