Travel really began in 1953

1953 was the year I really started to travel. As I have said, I spent the first three months or so in Dunedin doing my Compulsory Military Service at Taieri. At Queen’s Birthday Weekend I travelled to Wellington with the Harrier Club for the annual exchange visit with the Wellington Club. That year the Tuesday was also a holiday for the Queen’s Coronation, so we stayed over in Wellington until the Monday night to see the Coronation Parade and heard by a crowd whisper that Hillary had succeeded in climbing Mt Everest.  We were standing at the bottom of Boulcott Street watching the parade at the time. 

Australia 1953 

Then in the August University Vacation I went to Australia to a Baptist Youth Conference at Maloolooba in Queensland. I travelled to Sydney on the Tasman Empire Airways flying boat: an eight-hour trip. We took off from Auckland Harbour in the converted Sunderland machine, no pressurisation, no lining, no airconditioning, four engines roaring all the way, at 8000 feet, through storm, fronts, clouds and clear skies. We landed on Sydney Harbour, and I travelled to the Baptist Youth Hostel for a couple of days while I explored the city. 

Then I met up with a couple of guys from Sydney who were also travelling north to the Conference in a ute, sleeping in the back. We drove to Newcastle, and then turned west up the Hunter Valley and eventually to Armidale, Tamworth and on to Brisbane. I remember it was cool at nights, but the main memory is of kookaburras calling in the mornings in the bush. In Brisbane we visited a small zoo that had snakes and koala bears, and had our photos taken with both. 

Then we travelled north to Mooloolaba, which was an empty beach in those days. The Baptist Church had a campsite there where the Conference was held.  I don’t remember much about the programme, but the people were friendly, one of the girls in particular. 

After the Conference we travelled to Tambourine Mountain and trekked south through the rainforest to the edge of the escarpment where we looked down into New South Wales and the caldera around Mt Warning. 

After this my memory is a blank, but we drove back to Sydney, fixing punctures at the side of the road when necessary, down the Princes Highway. Then I caught the return flying boat at midnight, arriving in Auckland at 6 am. 

Regularly during that year I rode my bike, with a little auxiliary motor on it, to Mangere on Saturday mornings to continue flying lessons for the Air Force at the Aero Club hangar and the grass runway – this was before the present International Airport was built. 

In December I had to return to Dunedin for a fortnight’s refresher with the Air Force. Our return trip on the express from Wellington to Auckland was a couple of days just before the Tangiwai disaster on Christmas Eve.