We have since learnt that the club has plans to build 193 apartments just near where the accident happened. I know that land like the back of my hand,and likely still have dirt under my fingernails from a childhood spent playing there. I’ve walked the same path,to what we called the “top shops” to get an ice-cream,that the four children were walking that fateful February day.
And I know the spot where the club wants to build is a prime piece of real estate;one of the highest points of the Sydney metropolitan area,with sweeping views to the city and south. It is so high up that in the early days of colonial settlement it was a signalling point between Sydney and Parramatta. The club will make many millions if this sale goes ahead to add to its abundant coffers. Surely they could find some space on their course and in their hearts to remember these children.
Our issues as long-term neighbours were more benign. My grandfather grew peas and other food for animals he share-farmed on nearby land. He died on the eve of World War II in 1939,leaving my young widowed grandmother to watch as the Australian Army commandeered the golf course from 1942 and housed the 1000-strong Australian Army Corps of Signals 2 there. In the spirit of good neighbourliness,my family let the soldiers stationed there walk freely across our land,trampling the crops,so they could reach the clubhouse.
When the golf course was restored after the war in 1947,it received compensation for damages from the army at about £100 a hole. My family and all the other farmers in the vicinity – largely market gardeners and dairy farmers – received nothing. That was the first instance of bad blood;neighbours felt the golf course did not fight for their rights with the army.
Over the decades countless golf balls would land in our backyard and often we’d wake to find a golfer who had scaled the back fence,hunting for a lost ball. Yet when I tried,cheekily,to try to sell the balls back to passing golfers,diving to the bottom of our swimming pool to retrieve them,I was threatened with trespassing. Same when we climbed the ancient ewe trees which abutted our boundary fence.
When my father,a keen golfer,retired,you would think jumping the fence to hit a few balls would be the perfect retirement activity. But for as long as I can remember,the club fees were so exorbitant that he,like many neighbours,instead became a member of nearby but more affordable golf course.