I came to Australia in 1970 as a ten pound immigrant. Not a Pom mind you. I am from Scotland. I was 21.

I lived in various locations. Campsie. Lakemba. Newtown. Parramatta. Cronulla. But I eventually found myself living in a bedsit in Gladstone Avenue in an old cottage. It was called Gladstone Cottage and was directly opposite the school.

There were about six rooms rented out and at the end of the hallway were six tiny little kitchens.

I worked in a factory in Caringbah. I was a foundry worker and did 12 hour night shifts.

The travelling was murder. A mile walk to the station at Carinbah. The train to Circular Quay. The ferry to Mosman and then the bus to the top of the road. Monday to Friday I just worked, ate and slept. But it was worth it for the weekends.

I shopped at a Safeways store in Military Road.

And then there were so many beautiful places to walk to. Balmoral Beach was just down the hill. The zoo was a lovely stroll… And the Avenue seemed like a little bit of a UK suburb transported halfway across the globe with the gardens and hedges.

Except there were beautiful birds in the trees and the grey skys and rain were missing for most of the time.

It wasn’t all lovely. The cottage had rats. And I had a visit from a large, black tarantula one night too.

I moved to a small flat at the top of Raglan Street with a great view of the harbour – even though it was only three stories high. 143 Raglan Street. Opposite Bustra Estate Agents.

I remember walking through a little lane there on my way to work one evening. All the householders were out in the street looking up into the trees and there was a deafening sound emanating from there. Cicadas, apparently.

I loved it. Mosman will always live in my memory. Thanks.