The first motor vehicle I can recall travelling in was my grandfather’s ancient dusty red Bedford truck. Even in the war years of the early forties it was long past its best days. Each day he would make two trips to a sawmill at Strathpine on the outskirts of the city, collect timber offcuts and deliver them to homes all over the north side where they were used to fuel the wood burning stoves which were the only cooking appliance in almost every home. The Bedford had no doors, no windows, no wipers and no lights, so every trip was made in daylight and as much as possible in fine weather. The excitement of the long journey from Windsor to Strathpine with Grandad was only matched by the even longer and more interesting trip from Windsor to our home far away, in a four-year old’s mind, across the river at Camp Hill. Crossing the brand-new Story Bridge was a highlight when I was allowed to hand over sixpence to the toll collector who had his own little hut on the south side at Kangaroo Point.

When I was older and stayed at my grandparents’ home in Lutwyche Road, I was fascinated by the array of vehicles that used that road each day because our little dusty Camp Hill street would see only a handful of passers-by from dawn to dusk. By the time I was six I kept a tally of the passing parade and I still recall that there were more Ford Prefects on the road than Morris 8/40’s. A few short years later the Standard Vanguards and the Austin A40’s that seemed so prolific were outnumbered by the Holdens, proudly made in Australia and the dream car for every family.

My recognition skills developed so that it took only a brief glimpse for me to distinguish a Wolseley from a Riley, or a Dodge from a Chevrolet, or a Renault from a Fiat. Car spotting was a pastime that filled hours on that veranda at Windsor.

Sadly, because of the death of the Bedford and the deterioration of Grandad’s eyesight our family was soon sentenced to using public transport. But there remained a bright side to sitting with Grandad on that veranda. In the following years, as I grew up and he grew older, I heard of his varied working life driving trucks and utilities, tractors and graders, and even as a young man driving each day from Kedron to North Quay the horse drawn buses that pre-dated the tram service.

My regret now is that, despite my youthful interest, time has removed from my memory many of the anecdotes that held me spellbound on the front veranda at Lutwyche Road, Windsor.

Michael Goodwin