Going to the beach seems to bring out the silliness in most of us. As Aussies we regard a trip to the beach as our inalienable birthright, from infancy to old age. This week’s feature photo also reminded me of silly couple-behaviour, and so I’m leading with photos of my parents at the beach during their honeymoon. As my mother has never ever smoked in her life, this photo is all the more unusual. They were holidaying at Fingal in Northern New South Wales, after returning from Sydney.
Once there were three of us, we holidayed at the beach, having no doubt caught the train down the coast (when it was still operational, before it was removed, and before it was partially reinstated). Do you like the matching striped jumpsuits?
Trips to North Queensland every few years took us to Magnetic Island. My memories of these holidays at Picnic Bay are very special.
We in turn took our kids to the beach as littlies. The photo on the left was taken at Coolangatta on our first leave from Papua New Guinea. On the right, we see a doting group of relatives fussing over daughter #1. With her were her maternal grandparents and her paternal great-grandmother and great-aunt.
After we moved to Port Moresby, we often drove into Ela Beach at the weekend. We’d check our mail box then spend time at the beach either playing in the sand, swimming or listening to the Police Band playing. Our dog, Whisky, would come with us and loved every minute of her adventure, furiously wagging her tail and farting with excitement.
Perhaps our strangest experience of the beach is an overseas one – how peculiar to be rugged up in woollies and jackets. There were women in leather jackets and boots out strolling on the seashore. Photo taken in the Netherlands 1977. And then on a visit years ago to near where we now live.
We will take every chance we can to see a beach even when the weather is cold. I was thrilled to discover this beach on Achill Island in 1995 and share it with Mr Cassmob on another trip when we made friends with a local dog.
We chose to commemorate our ruby anniversary with casual family photos taken at a beach near our house in Darwin. We really love the relaxed and happy photos of the family, but all you’re getting to see is the happy couple. It was a very hot time of the year and we were all “glowing”.
Let’s wind the clock back before we leave the beach behind with an early photo of Mr Cassmob’s relations on a Victorian beach. Probably taken in the late ’40s or early ’50s.
And while we shouldn’t laugh at our relatives and their olden-day “fashions”, I just had to share this outing to the beach with you.
My grandfather, back left, and dad, with a pudding bowl haircut and a much more discreet swimsuit than his relatives were wearing. Don’t you just love the frills on the swimsuit trousers on the right?!
I wonder what other Sepians have made of this week’s prompt. Have they explored the idea of needing an occasional “pick me up”, gone to the beach or been even more inventive. Why not paddle over and check it out.
One of the things I like about Sepia Saturday is that it makes you think about how the image might relate to your family’s stories. This week’s image just didn’t ring bells for me even though there are farmers on my tree. It took until Sunday for me to have a lightbulb moment. I may have no photos of my farmers but I also have lots of railway workers who I’ve written about before.
This past weekend’s 
One of the major influences in my life for which I’m very grateful has been the presence of many acquaintances and friends who’ve immigrated to Australia. As a child, my Catholic primary school saw an influx of Europeans in the years after World War II. This mix of Czechs, Yugoslavs, Poles, Maltese and others became part of my daily school life. After school I would visit some of my friends at home and stand by while they communicated in their original language with whichever parent or grandparent was at home. These young kids had to bridge the linguistic and cultural differences between their old lives and their new – not an easy task for youngsters. At one point we had so many Dutch immigrants in our parish that we had two or three Dutch priests. At high school one of my best friends was of Italian origin and again I was exposed to a different culture. So you can see why migration, its causes and effects have been important to me over the decades. And all this long before I had a real appreciation of my own immigrant families.
It will seem strange in some countries that our otherwise obstreperous country is not averse to uniforms in schools. (Mind you we also don’t venerate those who wear uniforms either).
My ancestors were all what might be termed “ordinary people”, none achieved great heights of achievement other than to work hard, raise their children well and engage with their communities.
There are two ways to look at a family tree, as genealogy (the begets or begats of the Bible), or as the story of families living in a particular period of time and experiencing all the challenges of the period, influencing their family life and outcomes, just as they play their individual or family role on the greater stage of history. The names of the so-called “little people” are rarely recorded in the history books but they are the cannon fodder of wars, the workers who build a nation, and its railways, the families who make up its people.
It seems inevitable they must have found the upside-down seasons, the severe heat (in those dresses!), the weather extremes and the sheer open spaces to be fierce, or perhaps even frightening. How did they learn to navigate their way through native bush with no formed roads? My 2xgreat grandfather, 
