An early memory of my parents and I rolling in dew wet buttercups, tickles and laughter filling the cool, neglected fernery.

I’ve always loved yellow. School began at four; I endured three weeks and then wagged it – too busy chasing butterflies.

I always read books considered too old for me and posed questions that floored my parents. Our home was filled with music, singing and art. We accompanied my father wherever he worked. My Gypsy existence began at five. Many schools, houses and people, to get used to. I became a shy but independent person. Thirteen saw me forming a troop with polio patients at Austin Hospital, Heidelberg. These children taught me a great deal about fortitude, how to make a life of one’s own in the mind.

Married at 21, I knew nothing. Couldn’t budget, cook. The copper was boiled once a week and everything went, in socks and all. Jim’s shirts came out pink and blue. He didn’t care.

We had three children, I don’t know how they survived. My vivid imagination led Jim to buy Dr Spock’s book. I’ve never been sure whether this was a good idea.

Jim worked in a laboratory and kept being promoted. Once a week I took off with three friends and did pottery and studied art.

At 40, Jim had bowel cancer. He faced having a colostomy for the rest of his life and continued with determined courage. In case he died he said I would have to earn a salary.

At 40 I decided to become an art teacher of art. 

(For Jim’s work), my travelling days began in earnest. I am sure my early years trained me for this role.

Jim lived with his colostomy, his equipment melted in the heat through India, Malaysia, Indonesia, Singapore, China and Africa.

His colostomy dominated our lives for 33 years, but we found plenty to laugh about in difficult situations.

We retired to Batemans Bay, but cancer returned and Jim died in 1999.

I joined U3A to combat loneliness and improve on my interests and curiosity. This and bushwalking saved my sanity.