Both before it was fully built and while the house was being finished off , I had to travel up and back to Kempsey quite a lot . The early trips were made by both the wife and I , in the Toyota hatchback , which was later to become our second car , garaged at the block .

But , for those times when the wife had other commitments, mostly with grandchildren , I travelled alone and by train , the quite comfortable Intercity Countrylink Express , leaving Sydney Central at 7.15 a.m. and arriving at Kempsey about 2.00 p.m. Possibly the least engaging part of the trip was getting up early enough on the morning of the journey .

I was lucky in that the first stage of the journey was only a two block long downhill walk to the Coogee bus terminus , with the ocean to my left and the sun rising above the sea , in order to catch the bus that got me to Sydney Central .

I rarely travelled first class rail , except when my concession permitted, but the seats were comfortable enough to fall into a doze if I wished . I did not often sleep however , because somehow the passengers in the seat next to me were almost always companionable , and I listened to many a life story as we travelled . One of them was told by a short person who ran an association for the height disadvantaged . < p> I told a few tales of my own as well !

The only unhappy occurrence was on one trip up , when the train was delayed just on the outskirts of Sydney by the fact that some poor unfortunate had flung himself in front of it. In circumstances like that one can forgive the time taken by the police , ambulance , and the need to replace the train driver, who was in shock.

Something in a lighter vein was the fuss kicked up by two old ladies who boarded the wrong train at Broadmeadow outside Newcastle , thinking that they were to travel on the New England Countrylink , which followed our train about fifteen minutes later. Luckily the conductor got to them in time , and they were able to disembark at the next major stop , which was the main junction for that line.

It was always fascinating to watch , over various trips , the change in the countryside . For one season , a drought had browned the whole rural scene , and it was a minor miracle being able to watch the gradual greening after the relieving rains.

Once in Kempsey , I would walk from the station into the town centre to buy enough fresh provisions to last for a while . It was not till later days that I was able from Sydney to ring a neighbour , who would come in and pick me up . For the first few trips it was a taxi out to the block , eleven kilometers through South Kempsey , up the tarred Sherwood Road westward , and then south again along Piper's Creek Road , a gravelled and very rough surface which followed a long established aboriginal ridge track.

The taxi drivers , like taxi drivers all over Australia , were a talkative lot , filling the kilometers with many a strange conversation . One spent most of the trip describing his rectal problems , and another , when he found that I lived in Coogee , told me that he had spent the greatest, wildest day surfing there that he had ever spent . I expressed surprise , as Coogee is not renowned for its surf , being a safe family style beach. But it seems that because of wild weather , every other beach on that part of the coast was closed , while perfect sets of waves were rolling onto Coogee from out at Wedding Cake Island .

Trips home usually began with the neighbour dropping me into the station for the 2 p.m. Intercity , with the wife picking me up at Central about 10 p.m.

Those trips were usually even more interesting than the ones north , It was quite peculiar that I often ran into people from my past , who themselves had nothing to do with Kempsey. And there was the coin collector who had made a chance discovery of a dozen gold coins by Alexander the Great. Two Yorkshiremen , travelling the country , following the Ashes cricket tour , insisted on sharing nips of their differing brands of Scotch , a totally illegal procedure on NSW trains ! Then there was the young feral /alternative woman of not too savoury appearance and dress , who boarded to occupy the seat next to a rather prim and extremely fussily dressed middle aged lady .

Interesting , but annoying , was the drunk who seated himself on the step of the open carriage door , and refused to move , though the train had been travelling at a good pace. After about three quarters of an hour arguing with the crew and with the train stopped , he flung himself off the step into the darkness, where a police car and an ambulance had to pick their way alongside the track to drag him out of the bushes . I don't know if he was injured , for as soon as the police got there , the train moved on.

A lot happens on a train that one misses in a car !