Sitting in my new office at the Riverine Herald for the first time on Monday felt somewhat like a homecoming, an assortment of memories flooding back from my 17 years spent growing up in the district.
Tongala was home, but the Murray Valley Hwy sojourn to Echuca was a regular part of life.
On most occasions it was to visit family, tuck into Nanna Aldous’s famous apple pie, but at least a couple of times a year it’d be to battle it out with the likes of Brunsy, Browny and Erger (David Bruns, Paul Brown and Greg Edgar) in under-age footy.
It’s where I got my start in journalism, sitting at home on a Saturday night in the early 1980s watching Drew Morphett and The Winners while trying to disseminate my notes from the Tongala senior game, scribbled alongside the likes of Tom Carey, Noel Hussey or Les Cranage (Shepparton News sports journalists) earlier that day.
And then on Sunday sliding the envelope containing my match report under the door of either The Riv or The Free Press for a weekly return of $15 (generous at the time thanks to newspaper kingpins Geoff Kelly and Ian Purdey), which at the time helped to enhance my multi-coloured collection of Converse socks.
With Dad having eight brothers and sisters, four whom still live in the area, gatherings at the family home in Premier St (tucked in behind the Shell Garage where Nanna worked) were a highlight.
Sitting on top of Uncle Graeme’s (Bethune) garage roof was a vantage point from which you could clearly see the giant screen of Echuca Drive-In.
It must have been 1980, because the Village People in Can’t Stop the Music were staring back at me.
Tongala was home until I was 11, growing up next door to the Vick family and conveniently directly opposite the consolidated school that I attended.
Battling it out on the school oval with the likes of Watto, Docca, Kirky, Sauce, Reags, Young Hec and Tubbsy were some very good times.
Dad’s role as a water bailiff had us on the move to channel-side living, which we treated like an extensive in-ground swimming pool at the time, at Wyuna East and picked up by Raggsy (bus driver Alan Raggatt) for school right at the front door.
Regular doses of oil on the dirt road directly outside the house kept dust to a minimum, although most drivers (the ones who knew Dad, anyway) slowed to prevent any extensive dust flow in through the loungeroom windows.
Wyuna was just close enough to civilisation to climb on the Malvern Star and, with a decent tail wind, be what at the time seemed like the thriving metropolis of Kyabram half an hour later.
Occasionally I’d have company on the trip if cousins Simon, Matt or Corey (Carver), the latter who was probably too young at the time, were feeling energetic.
Two of the three now occupy senior educational roles in the district — the youngest of the four, Barton, another to don the yellow sash at Lancaster where Mum’s brothers Colin and Bert (Chatter) held legend status.
Some kids packed groceries at Fitzgeralds, others had a paper run, but pocket money for me came from lending Dad a hand in relief milking for holidaying cockies or footballers otherwise engaged on a Saturday afternoon.
And business was good. I remember a two-week stint while the Websdale family holidayed in Queensland netted me enough to buy my own stereo.
I still remember having Adam Ant with Johnny Be Good on the A side blasting out of the stereos, thinking ‘how good is this?’
Country living was a terrific place to start, things getting better when footy gave me the chance to rub shoulders with some of the region’s living legends.
As a 16-year-old I still remember looking at the elbows of Doc Kennaugh when we played Echuca and wondering what I had got myself into.
The McPhersons gave me a further kick along in 1987 when I got a call midway through the school day on the phone outside the principal’s office I had visited a few times in my six years at Kyabram High School.
It was the chance to start as a cadet journalist at Seymour.
Fast forward 15 years and an opportunity to work in sports, and for myself, had me transferring the people skills to sales. Having dealt with everyone from politicians to police and army officers to chief executives, it was a smooth transition.
But just like for everyone who is reading this article, things changed in March last year and who knows when they will be back to normal.
A return to the region, a few months in the fruit picking ranks, intermittent stages as a painter’s labourer, and the call back to the newspaper world was a welcome and exciting one.
I look forward to renewing old acquaintances, making many new ones and enjoying a life alongside the Murray where so many good times were had in my youth.
Feel free to give me a call, or fire through a text, drop in for a chat or just say hello in the street (if you can recognise me behind a mask and 30-plus years later).
Rohan Aldous
0415 892 415