Silkworms and Argonauts: An Aussie Childhood Quiz

Answer: The red fleshy surrounds of a seed pod

Rosella jam on a freshly buttered slice of high top loaf, was heaven. I have since discovered that the Rosella shrub which produces the red fleshy seed casings, is practically unheard of anywhere else but in Queensland.
The jam was a rich red colour, and slightly tart. My younger brother would refuse to eat it. He was convinced it was made from another Australian native - the Crimson Rosella parrot. He called it "birdy jam".

Answer: A marionette theatre featuring Australian animals

I have only hazy memories of this marvellous production. I do remember there was a bunyip involved. I recall koalas and a possum called Panjie or perhaps Pangy. Peter Scriven was the man responsible for the puppets, and by today's standards the show would have been stilted and awkward. I was transfixed. I went searching for more information on the Tintookies when writing this question, and found almost nothing. I did however discover that a Tintookie is a friendly Aboriginal sprite.

Answer: All of these

Silkworms were a yearly ritual, but you needed access to a mulberry tree for the leaves. Some children fed them on lettuce leaves to get green silk. One boy swore you got red silk if you fed them on rhubarb leaves, but he never produced any evidence. My father would spin off the bright yellow silk once the cocoon rattled, and we would watch the moths emerge and eventually lay eggs.

Tadpoles produced mixed results, with the occasional batch actually growing into frogs. I have vivid memories of dropping a glass bottle of tadpoles in Brisbane's Queen Street, during peak hour traffic. I can still see my grandmother trying to scoop the unfortunate creatures off the hot bitumen, and I remember the face of the impatient taxi driver. I don't know why I was allowed to carry a bottle full of tadpoles and water into the city centre - or indeed if any of them survived to froghood.

Cicadas were my brother's passion. He collected Green Grocers, Yellow Mondays and Black Princes. He also had a dubious collection of dried cicada shells which were not allowed in the house.

Answer: A bicycle

My prize possession was purple, with its very own netted skirt guard on the back wheel. The opposition brand was Speedwell, but Malvern Stars were infinitely better. What no-one had really bargained on, was how difficult it was going to be to teach me to ride the thing.

It was presented to me on my birthday in May and I was only just managing to stay upright by the end of the January holidays. My father was a man of endless patience. My mother patched the bruises and scratches. I did have one regret however. I was not allowed streamers for the handle bars, and had to make do with decorating the spokes with foil bottle tops.

Answer: All of these

"The Children's Hour" or alternatively "The Session" was broadcast every week night at 5pm. It did indeed feature the adventures of the Muddle-Headed Wombat, which I considered to be very fine comedy indeed. There was also a segment called the Argonauts' Club. You could join the club and you were assigned a ship name and number. You earned points and certificates by sending in stories, poems and paintings. I was Abyla 7, and was not disciplined enough to win anything.

The champion of all members was Agamemnon 15, who achieved the ultimate of awards - the Golden Fleece and Bar.

Answer: The Big Bad Banksia Men

My favourite story for quite some time was "The Complete Adventures of Snugglepot and Cuddlepie". The Banksia Men scared the living daylights out of me. As I read the stories, I was faced with real conflict. I wanted to reach the happy ending where Snugglepot and Cuddlepie - the Gumnut Babies - were safe and happy, but I really wanted to skip the scary parts where the Banksia Men were misbehaving.

Answer: Freshwater crayfish

Most country dams in South East Queensland had crayfish stocks. The rest of Australia called them yabbies: we called them lobbies. If you were lucky, a lobby would clamp onto the meat with its large pincers, and you could pull it close to the water's edge, and scoop it into the bucket. We didn't catch much but had hours of fun. The dam was right next to the train line.

In my capacity as the responsible big sister, I remember telling my young brother he could hear a train coming from miles away, if he put his ear on the track.

He did, and promptly received second degree burns from the hot metal. I was banned from catching lobbies for the rest of the holidays.

Answer: Little Patti

Little Patti was only 14 when she released "He's My Blonde Headed Stompie Wompie Real Gone Surfer Boy" in November 1963. She was a diminutive blonde, who sang songs about surfing and cute boys, and I wanted to be just like her. I was taller than she was, my hair was brown and I couldn't sing. I didn't care. All the girls curled their hair at the ends and learned how to do The Stomp. We were at least 150 miles from any surfing beach.

Answer: Mr Squiggle

Initially we didn't have a TV but it was obvious who did. You could tell, just by looking at the houses in the street. The reception aerials were incredibly tall, and with the right atmospheric conditions - Brisbane channels could be viewed - if you didn't mind snow.
Puppeteer Norman Hetherington introduced Mr Squiggle - the man from the moon - in 1959. The string puppet had a pencil for a nose, and a very tall hat. Children would send in squiggles, and the little wooden artist would transform them into pictures. I had no idea how this was done, and would watch intently and try to guess how the small lunar visitor could draw so well.
It took ages for it to dawn on me that the top of his hat was always off screen, and all of his drawings were upside down. Hetherington was a talented puppeteer and well as an artist. Mr Squiggle remains a firm favourite with generations of Australian chidren and their parents. They fondly remember a timid little fellow and a grumpy blackboard.

Answer: Passing sea vessels

Sharks were greatly feared, and even if the beaches were netted, the shark bell would send people scurrying from the water. Rips or strong currents were identified by watching water patterns, and occasionally the lifesavers would move the flags, so that swimming conditions were safer. The bronzed guardians of our safety would often call people in if they swam out too far, and occasionally swimmers would get into difficulty and have to be rescued.
The best thing about the beach as far as I was concerned, was the black inner tube I used to float in. Then, when I graduated to an inflatable rubber surf plane and could ride the waves in, I thought I was invincible. The worst thing about summer at the beach, was the inevitable sunburn and the sand which stuck to the white zinc cream on my nose.

I went back to King's Beach as an adult. It seemed much smaller, and high rise buildings fringed most of the foreshore area. I inhaled the familiar salty air. Once again the beach was full of happy families, and escaping beach umbrellas cartwheeling along the sand. "Volare" blared across the water in time with the waves. In the pale winter sunshine I could still feel my sticky salty hair, sandy feet and the hot sun blistering my freckled shoulders.