Ok I admit it I am being brave here; I am going to speak about an instance that has never been shared other than with those who were actually there! The "Warnie" rule was applied here - what happens in the room stays in the room.

This story happened many moons ago when my second son was about eight years old and my older son was staying with his father who lived overseas. We actually decided to go on holiday for Easter. It took some planning because we never, ever had any money to spare for such luxuries, there just was never enough to go around. I was working fulltime and the income from this endeavour was already allocated; so for some time before our planned Easter holiday we, as in my son and me, used to go out into the surrounding bush or around the lake and collect wild grasses and any flowers I could dry and use to make garlands. These garlands I planned to sell at the local markets and car boot sales.

I had actually seen these garlands in American House and Garden magazines and thought them to be very pretty. They were not available in Australia at this time, so I thought I‘ll have a go. Can’t be too hard. Might make a sale or two. So off I went to a bookshop and bought a book on the drying of flowers followed by a visit to a floral supply area where I obtained little flower wires and green plastic tape. So I have the book, the flowers, the grasses, the wires and the tape. But how to make the shape of the garland? After some trial and error I came up with two basic shapes: the first was constructed from a mass of long grass soaked in the laundry tub for quite a few days to make it manageable – then plaited and anchored together; the second I constructed out of your average wire coat hanger by cutting its hook with some fairly lethal pliers and then brutally bending it into its new shape. The flowers were being dried off everywhere in the house – hanging from the laundry ceiling on a ladder one of my brothers had hooked up, on another ladder I had leaning up against the wall of the same room. The combination of the soaking and drying grasses made the house smell like a newly mown field; while the micro wave was busy doing double duty between food and flower drying. It was a crazy time.

Well our endeavours paid off – I was selling them like hot cakes at the Woden Markets on the Sunday plus at Gorman House on the Saturday (well maybe not hot cakes - but the sales were steady as our little cottage industry of garland-making grew) plus friends were also placing orders and so the little pile of dollars increased and we were able to plan, most excitably, where we were going to go for our Easter holiday.

My mother was living near us at this point and she was most helpful with my son – getting him off the school bus and feeding him generous afternoon teas in between the brush strokes of whichever painting she was working on at the time. So we invited her to join us at the old fashioned village of Bundanoon to stay at the incredibly old hotel there for the three nights of the Easter break.

Good Friday arrived and after dropping Charlie the wonder dog, off at the kennels, we all set off very happily on our three and half hour drive to arrive at Bundanoon just on lunchtime. We checked into our hotel that looked like something out of merry old England – built in the Elizabethan style of architecture and almost as ancient I would say..... We found that although our rooms were very old fashioned and furnished in the school boarding house mould, the beds were comfortable and clean and better still we were away from home. What fun. After sorting out our rooms we went into the heritage shopping area which as you can imagine was choc a bloc with those oh so very “Yee Olde Worlde” crafty shops, but as that is what basically had financed our holiday I wouldn’t have dared knock them and their ability to make the required dollars.

We fossicked in the antique shops and enjoyed a Devonshire tea, so that by the time we got back to the hotel it was around 6pm and there in the huge entrance hall was a huge welcoming roaring fire surrounded by comfortable chairs and little tables. On the tables there were silver trays and decanters of sherry waiting for the weary travellers to imbibe. Most civilised, my Mother and I thought, as we sank into the huge old armchairs.

The meals were served in the dining room and everyone chatted amongst the tables and it was then that someone asked us whether we had enjoyed going down to the famous fire fly/glow worm caves. “No” we said “where are they?” I asked. At the bottom of the Hotel’s garden. “Well, where else would they be?” I asked myself.

Next day we three set off to see the glow worms and the fire flies caves at the bottom of the garden – it was a bit of a long and rough walk over winding, slippery paths, between huge outbreaks of rock, and around enormous trees. One tree in particular was situated at the top of the hill just before the descent into the little valley where the fire fly caves were to be found. My son was skipping ahead and coming back to tell us to hurry, it was wonderful, marvellous, and that we were missing out – all the usual!

By the time we got there we were a little out of breath but the sight of all those little fireflies twinkling in the gloom of the caves was heart stoppingly beautiful – a sight never to be forgotten. Then as dusk deepened the twinkling became all the more beautiful and it was harder to leave; but we realised that the walk would back to the hotel was probably going to feel even longer and more treacherous if we didn’t make a move soon....and of course dinner was calling.

Next day dawned and after our little celebration of easter egg giving; my mother decided she would find a place to paint while E. and I decided that after lunch we would go back once again to see the fire fly caves. It was a lovely Easter Sunday lunch, and as I remember very rich and yummy food was served, which although I was unused to I thoroughly enjoyed. We set off across the fields once more, making our way even more gingerly than the day before, because it had been raining and of course the path had become even more slippery and slimy.

As I remember it, we had just got to the big tree when I was overtaken with the most urgent need to go to the lavatory – the rich but yummy food had caught up with me and a most compelling problem was about to erupt. I said to my son “keep watch, tell me if anyone is coming, I have to go right here!” well midway into the event he came rushing back “Mummy, Mummy they are all coming, this way, you have to move!” I had chosen the wrong side of the tree. I had chosen the wrong side of the tree for all those American tourists who were coming back up hill from enjoying the spectacle of the fire fly caves and who were about to be faced with a spectacle of quite another kind.....I was well and truly caught out but still I rushed about trying to make myself respectable . To this day I do not know quite what was on view for those poor people. Plus I wasn’t too sure where to park myself and I most certainly hoped I wasn’t going to be seeing them in the communal dining room any time soon.

All in all it was a good holiday although in some respects, slightly embarrassing when viewed retrospectively.

Copyright: a.a.gallagher: March 2009.