Susan Dayley's car trips as a kid

School’s out and the neighbors begin to trickle away one carload at a time in search of adventure and entertainment. Summer vacations are one of the magical things of childhood, but sometimes they include a road trip.
As children, my brothers, sisters and I amused ourselves during the warm hours of afternoon church with a pencil and the program. Besides connect-the-dots and tic-tac-toe, we sometimes illustrated our family piled into our station wagon “going to grandma’s.” There would be luggage strapped precariously to the top with dangling ropes and trailing an errant suitcase or doll. Windows were filled with faces, friendly hands and bare toes. Items flew from windows and trailed behind like a mine field of shoes, socks, toys, and books. Our early attempts at cartooning, despite the chaos they illustrated, were based on the giddy anticipation and enjoyment we got from going places.
A favorite thing to do was my brothers and sister just younger than I, and I would huddle in the back of the station wagon (pre-seatbelt era) with a blanket over our heads and tell ghost stories. We rehashed “bloody fingers” until we could almost tell it in unison. About then I began making up ghost stories—including the now infamous (among siblings) “Aunt Mae.”
Once, there was a drawback to being part of a large family on the road. We stopped at a rest stop over-looking a river gorge and while everyone lined up for a drink of water. I dashed inside for a more urgent need. When I came out, the station wagon and my family were gone. Unsure what to do, I sat down near the highway and prayed, trying not to cry or become frightened.
Inside the car, several miles up the road, my older sister thought of something she wanted to tell me and called, “Susan, Susan.” Even then, it was a while before they determined I was not in the car. Then they quickly turned around and came back to find me patiently waiting. The good part was, that despite my size, my mother held me on her lap the rest of the way over the mountain passes to grandpa’s.
My children knew their share of road trips. We utilized various options to amuse them—alphabet game, movies, and I read to them. Often we had lunch while we drove and I made sandwiches on a tray on my lap and passed them around. Later, we’d play songs our teens had burned onto a disc–and we encountered the unanswerable question: “Who let the Dogs Out?” But sometimes things were less than ideal.
This last Sunday, during a visit from my daughter, she recalled a time I had forgotten.
She and her brother were “going at it.” When they became too heated and vocal, (in a rare moment of frustration I’m sure) I turned around and told them, “Stop it!” Then I proceeded with rapid fire commands: “Fold your arms. Close your eyes. Bow your heads.” Pause. “Now think of something productive to do while you’re in that position.”
How are your road trips?

How were my road trips Susan? Well as a family we had a few as we travelled a lot. Holidays were rare though. Usually our journeys were travelling to Dad's next job or for looking for a job. One noteworthy trip was to the southwest corner of our large state and across from there towards the southern goldfields. Dad was hoping to get a War service farm. This was in January 1955. It was an old utility we travelled in with Mum, Dad and baby sister Peggy in the front and my three brothers, Billy, Robert and Ricky,  and another sister Ngaire, perched amongst the luggage in the back. My job, being the eldest of fourteen, on this journey was to spread out across where the tailboard was supposed to have been to prevent my junior siblings from rolling off, for they were never still and always into mischief. They turned on the tap, to get themselves a drink, of our small water supply in a container. Consequently, we lost our supply. As we travelled eastwards towards Ravensthorpe from Albany, Dad stopped at every little creek that held a bit of sluggish water. But they were all salt. When we finally arrived at Ravensthorpe the next day it was a very thristy family indeed that pulled in to camp at the Ravensthorpe oval where there was plenty opf water. Four children got a roasting from Dad, of which they never forgot, for they knew what thirst was. Games played were 'I Spy' and usually denoted something seen along the track or passing paddocks. Like Susan writes, there were no seatbelts then and kids sat on the backs of utilities or trucks regularly. A great favourite was 'I Spy', and guessing where the passing vehicles came from, for back in those days each town had its own licence; such as 'A' meant Albany, 'W' for Wagin, 'D' for Dongara and 'GN' for Geraldton. Perth was a 'P'. That was just a few remembered. There were no lost shoes or socks, for we never wore any!