Going Down the Bush (1946 -1952)

'Going down the bush' was a popular pastime for primary school age Willoughby boys. The 'bush' was that once glorious rugged forest of tall eucalypts between the Eastern Valley Way and Castle Cove. Most boys carried 'catapults', the home-made forked stick version with a leather pad to hold the ball-bearing or stone 'bullet'. The pads were cut out of old shoe tongues and the 'elastic' was rubber from a discarded bicycle inner tube. Red rubber was regarded as superior to black. Richer boys had air-rifles. The Diana was the preferred rifle though Crack-a-Jack ran a good second.

Contrary to a common adult belief, these 'weapons' were never used on birds. I should imagine that if a boy fired on a bird, he would risk a bloody nose. This was because there was a powerful honour code among the Fellowship of Boys, a fellowship, alas, to which I no longer belong. From what I can remember, the only targets were rocks and trees.

When they reached the rock platforms of Middle Harbour, most boys would crack open the bounty of thousands of rock oysters and they would skim flat stones. The general belief was that the water was full of sharks, so no-one ventured to swim. Everyone talked about the dreaded 'grey nurses' but I expect they meant bull sharks. Across the bay the castle beckoned like a medieval fortress.