Opening my memories treasure chest brings forth a wide variety of memorabilia, letters, cards, and an odd collection of tickets to shows, for trains and more. These include several from overseas holidays, as well as my first trip on the Indian Pacific from East to West Australia. This trip was quite an adventure, as the train stopped at several remote locations, delivering much needed supplies and mail and collecting outgoing items.

Also, in my ticket collection were boarding passes and tickets for two cruises. The first was on board the Fairstar sailing out of Fremantle W.A. around South Africa to the UK.  It was my first solo holiday and I was heading off to explore my family’s roots. As the ship maneuvered out of Fremantle dock, the hymn Amazing Grace was played over the loudspeakers. I was very nervous. I was placed in a 4-berth cabin on the lower decks with two Melbourne girls and a Dutch girl. We soon made friends and enjoyed everything the ship had to offer. We even tried doing a dance called the Tarantella whilst in rough seas, which didn’t go so well!  My second cruise was on a ship called the Australis, this time via the Suez Canal enroute to Australia. I had been away for three years on a mammoth working holiday and considered myself to be a seasoned traveler by this time.

Digging down deeper into my memories treasure chest, I came across some horse brasses; these affix to the harness of Clydesdales that pull the Courage Brewery dray. Sadly, only at shows and festive occasions now, but in my childhood, a common sight. There was also a horseshoe from my first pony, an ex-pacer called Daniel Boone. He was a gelding, which meant that he could not have a career at stud, so was sold off as a riding pony. He was very sweet natured with rich brown coat and sad eyes. I had hours of fun and adventure with him.  I found member passes and ID tags from W.A. Turf Club, W.A. Trotting Association and race meetings gathered in my school holiday job at the local racing stables.

By far the most fascinating items were the old black and white family photos passed down from two generations to me, as custodian of the family history. Some were quite revealing, showing my Aunt in a way I never could have imagined.  Not rude or illegal, just a bit “ “out there”. There were the photos from WW2 from both sides of the family, baby photos and heaps more. So fascinating. There was even a photo of me, a mini biker, with boyfriend, both aged 3!!!!

​Right at the bottom, but safely wrapped, is a small red bible signed by Queen Elizabeth on the occasion of her coronation. All children attending the coronation were given one of these. I wrote about this event in an earlier session.

Finally, a bundle of graduation documents from Uni and various courses of training I took. My RAAF and METPOL entry documents, photos and discharge certificates also unleashed a flood of memories.

In closing, I can say I have had a great life, lots of experiences, many many memories and almost no regrets.


Heather Hartland
July 2022

I have been in a number of places where I have developed a real sense of community, but none affected me more than my years of service with the RAAF. Up to that point I had always lived near home and worked at standard type jobs.  After my big adventure, a three-year working holiday overseas which included a visit to my country of birth, Wales, or as they say Cymru, I developed a taste for travel and adventure, so of course I could not resume my usual type of work.

I applied for Army Navy and Air Force - my logic was, apply for all three and one is bound to come up. All offered a different lifestyle and work plus travel.  Each application resulted in a compulsory medical examination, ironically with the same medical facility. Well, it backfired, as I was accepted for all three!!!!  A decision had to be made and, after days of deliberation, I chose the RAAF. 

After my application was processed, I was flown from my home in Western Australia to Melbourne. Billeted in Tottenham, I was put through three months of vigorous training. Lots of marching, physical fitness training and lectures but, above all, learning to respond to commands instantly and correctly, which is essential in conflicts or emergency situations. We learnt to iron our clothes correctly, polish our shoes to a mirror shine you could see your face in and to survive the weekly room inspections, known laughingly as ‘panic night’. We helped each other, covered for each other, and became a real community.

The marching was hilarious!  Thirty awkward, uncoordinated young women trying to look professional, some who couldn’t tell their left foot from their right. We had a female drill sergeant with the loudest voice in history who bellowed, yelled and pointed out the error of our ways. Of course, we had the obligatory ‘talk’ on the dangers of fraternization. We had a curfew and had to be in our beds in the barracks by 10pm or we were in trouble. We joked about what happened after 10pm that wouldn’t happen before. We all had chores and one of the dreaded ones on the roster was cleaning the bathrooms. We hated loo cleaning duty.  Friendships were formed, we learnt how to be a team and help each other. We learnt self-discipline and to depend on each other. Some of us gave up and returned home, but the rest of us forged on and were rewarded with a celebration dinner and official passing out parade. The aforesaid drill sergeant suddenly became human, congratulating us on our efforts and wishing us well in our future careers.

My first unit was here in Melbourne, I was billeted in Mont Albert at the RAAF unit known as Frognall, awful name, posh suburb. I also worked between Vic Barracks, Grattan Street and Bourke Street Security units, then bases in Queensland, South Australia, and Western Australia.  I absolutely loved the life. I made so many friends, I learnt to rely on myself, my instincts and my training, taking those life lessons through to my civilian career after leaving the RAAF.  I had lots of experiences such as VIP escort, guarding an aircraft, and got way too close in Russell Street when the bomb went off. Lots of fun times too, good friends and even found a husband, quite by accident, but that’s another story.  
 
Heather Hartland
May 2022

Around 1989/1990 I met two friends, Gill and Joan, who shared a flat in Camberwell.  At that time my husband and I were living up in the hills near Warburton.  We often met in a Camberwell coffee lounge where we had made friends with the owners.  Gill was a civilian cataloger in Victoria Barracks, St Kilda Road where I had worked whilst in the RAAF, so we had something in common. Both Gill and Joan loved cats, as I do, so another link assisted the friendship. I was working in Richmond with a haberdashery wholesaler. The three of us became firm friends, visiting each other, getting together for events, and so on.

My husband and I moved around a lot, but eventually we ended up in a house in East Burwood.  Joan and Gill had moved into a house a few streets away.  The friendship was getting stronger.  Then life got in the way.  Gill met Andrew, married and moved to Maryborough.  Joan also left that house and at about the same time Paul and I purchased a house in Sunbury.  We kept in contact with Gill, but lost contact with Joan.

The years rolled on and I changed jobs. I now worked in an office tower in Bourke Street. The fire evacuation alarm went off.  My two work colleagues and I went down the fire stairs to the meeting point, got our names checked off, then sneaked into a nearby coffee lounge to grab some morning tea.  While waiting for our order, in walked Joan. Wow, what a surprise.  She had left the trams, met and married hubby Phil and was now living in Maribyrnong.  She too had changed jobs.  We exchanged phone numbers before leaving. It had been almost 10 years, I think.

A few weeks later, Joan and Phil met Paul and I and we all got on really well.  It was the start of a long and wonderful friendship. Our two husbands shared a hobby.  They both loved model trains, joined a club in Sunbury and had boys’ days out.  Joan and I were both into crafts, so we would head up to Bendigo Woollen Mills, Maldon Quilting Shop and more for a girl’s day out.

As neither of us had children and family were far away, we would get together at Christmas and dine at a lovely pub in Maldon, or at each other’s houses.  We spent many happy hours together.  Joan at this time worked at RMH, so she and I would meet for breakfast in Melbourne, often shopping at the Victoria markets before heading to work.  Paul worked in Heidelberg and Phil at the airport, so they weren’t able to join us.
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Joan and I are still friends and now both live here in Benalla. We’ve had our ups and downs, helped each other through bad times and celebrated the good. Our friendship remains strong. Hopefully it will continue for some years yet.


Heather Hartland
​May 2022

My childhood is like a large jigsaw puzzle with many fragments of memories tying together to show a picture of my life.

My father came from a long line of Welsh coal miners, while Mum’s family were all dressmakers and tailors in Somerset.  Both my parents had commenced apprenticeships which were cut short due to the outbreak of WW2.  Neither resumed after it was over. Although Dad found employment money was short.  We couldn’t afford a car so used buses, pushbikes, or walked.  We were rich in the things that mattered, love, care, understanding.

Mum gave up employment to care for me, so my early memories involve her reading books to me or sitting at the table with me while I drew pictures. I also recall the little boy next door who had a tricycle, he would let me ride on the back while he peddled and steered. I remember as I grew and started looking at clothes in fashion magazines, Mum began making patterns and creating those things I had dreamed of wearing.

We had no TV or computers in those days, so we played outside in the good weather.  I was a bit of a tomboy and so gave my parents a few headaches. I often climbed trees, and fell out again, or went tearing down hills on homemade Billy carts. I recall going for a walk one day and seeing a horse in a nearby paddock. Before anyone could stop me, I was through the fence and patting the horse. Sometime later Dad took me to the farm where he worked. The owner had a large Clydesdale horse called Pinocchio. All the farm kids were piled on the horse’s back, you could get 6 in a row, of course we were all small. I recall walking across fields to school and stopping to pet all the farm animals.

My big adventure was when my parents moved to Australia. We travelled to London to get on a plane. I was excited and looking forward to exploring. I didn’t understand the tears at the airport, or why my grandparents and aunts were so distressed.

On arrival we were housed in a migrant camp for a week until our sponsors, Bunning Sawmills, made arrangements to take us to our new home. A timber mill house with backyard dunny and wood burning cooker.  Boy, was that a shock to Mum.

I could go on for hours with our adventures but will cut it short for now.

Suffice to say, a lot of fun was had, lots of adventures and a very happy childhood.


Heather Hartland
​March 2022

​I WAS THERE    …   At the Coronation in Queen Elizabeth.

I have a Welsh background and my parents had very little, but they saved for weeks to afford a trip to London from Wales. I sat on Dad’s shoulder and waved my flag, hidden in the crowd. Like all children in the UK, I was given a signed bible.

​Unfortunately, I was only 3 so I don’t remember much but I’m told I enjoyed the day and went home a tired little bunny.
 
 
I WAS THERE  …   When the Russell Street bombing occurred, 27th March 1986.

I was in the RAAF and my role was to do security checks on all new applicants to the RAAF. I also did security vetting for upgrades to Secret, Top Secret clearances etc. The Victoria Police used to assist us with criminal record checks and identity checks.

I was based in Gratton street, a small records office and my weekly tasks was to walk down to Russell Street police station to pick up any checks/results completed by Vic Pol. 

On the day of the bombing, I had just called in to pick up our documents and was on my way out towards the front of the building. A sergeant called me back to collect an additional document just as the bomb exploded.

I felt the building shake, panic momentarily went through the building, then emergency procedures and training kicked in and we were all evacuated through the back.

As I returned to my workplace I could see a plume of smoke, sirens wailed through the city and news readers began interrupting programs to break the horrifying news.

My boss had feared the worse so as my face appeared round the corner he broke protocol, ran over and hugged me. It was only then that I realized how close I came to being a victim of that shocking attack.

Sadly, Angela Taylor was not so lucky, she became the first police woman to be killed in the line of duty.


Heather Hartland,
February 2022