His birth certificate records him as Harry Samson Colbran, Father Samuel Thomas and Mother Edith Rhoda Bray.

 Born: 31 January 1907 Blakehurst NSW

 Died: 17 September 1976 Tuncurry NSW

 He attended Miranda public school.

  Dad used to walk three miles to school through the bush from the shores of Woolooware Bay adjacent to what is now the Cronulla football field.

  Usually, he took his shoes off as soon as he was out of sight and hid them so he wouldn’t have to wear them all day or get into trouble wearing them out.

  He was in trouble one morning for singing ‘God save the old tomcat’; instead of God Save the King (national anthem at the time). The day usually started with singing the anthem as well as raising the flag; he then received six of the best for this indiscretion.

  As was normal in his generation he was in the school cadets in the last years of school, mainly drilling with broomsticks.

  Leaving school at age 14, he joined the Royal Australian Navy as a junior recruit serving on HMAS Tingira.

  Winter sport was playing Rugby Union Football; with the junior boys played against the staff, half of whom were Navy rugby players at representative level. The only way under 40 kilo (6 stone) boys could tackle a 100-kilo man was to dack him (pull his pants down) which usually brought him to a quick stop to pull them back up.

  When rowing the 'whaler' to shore for leave, Dad decided that this was too much like work so ‘caught a crab’ that is dipping the oar too deep and breaking it. Good idea, except that the spare was a steering sweep oar, this being longer and heavier with the warning that once was an accident.

  He was part of ship’s company on a couple of overseas cruises on the HMAS Sydney. When they went on shore leave with pay, they dropped the banknotes on top of their hat. Except at one port; the pay in silver dollars dropped into the hat held the other way.

  When his ship was coming across the Great Australian Bite, he was watching the escort destroyers; these disappearing as they dropped into the troughs between the waves.

  He had studied very hard to pass the exams for torpedo man as these were also the ship electricians.  He ensured that gunnery, seaman and stoker exams were just scraped through; these still had to be passed to be promoted to ordinary seaman.

  But as he lined up to go on annual leave, he was told that after he would be an ordinary seaman gunner, much to his annoyance.

   So when it became time to return off leave; Uncle Arthur, Uncle Alf (both able seaman stokers) and Dad decided not to bother, there were no repercussions as this was in the pre-depression slowdown in Federal income, and subsequent cutbacks were starting to bite.

 The boys had a 16-foot skiff which they had built from Huon pine which they called the Huon Queen; apparently, the only race they won was an event in nasty weather when most of the fleet were swamped or blown over. The Huon being somewhat heavier was at a disadvantage; the weight now allowed it to surf the waves where the others had heaps of trouble.

 About that time the Sydney 18 footers boasted that they were the premier racing class, which the skiffies usually referred to as ‘harbour pigs’, reputed to push half the harbour before them and pull the other half behind.

 They were clinker built (overlapping boards) with as much sail as they could carry; sometimes disappearing under a cloud of canvas, manned with up to 18 crew.

  Up to a dozen of this crew were recruited from the nearest pub to use as mobile ballast, these being usually rugby players and they were paid about five pounds each (weeks’ pay). When they were about to commence the last downwind run to the finish line the helmsman would jink the boat to dump the excess number to swim ashore or be picked up by chasing ferries which were full of punters. The boat then being much lighter would run down to the finish line.

  After a failed challenge against the 16-foot skiffs, they then saw the light and converted to skiff hulls themselves with a light weather crew as few as three men. The same formula is used, that is a maximum hull of 18 foot long and 6 foot wide with no limit on bowsprit, boom, mast, centreboard or sail. They are now rated as the fastest single hull sailboat in the world.

  Employment between leaving the Navy and the Second World War was Rabbiting at Captains Flat near the Snowy Mountains, tomato farming near Camden, returning to fishing and oyster leases in Botany Bay between other tasks. The family spent some time at Laurieton fishing.

  At times they had a menagerie of animals, including one Shetland pony which couldn’t abide sharing its paddock with any other animals; sheep and dogs were grabbed and hoisted over the fence and anything bigger was chased until someone let the victim out.

  One occasion the family put a dog on a platform as a guard for the oyster leases; that was OK until it tried to chase something and ended up hanging itself on the end of the lead.

  Because of the downturn in employment, Dad went on the dole, after a month or so he received a letter demanding that he repay the money (about 2 pounds) as his mother was receiving money and he was living at that address. So off he went to the police station and said he could pay it back at a shilling a week.

  The Serjeant refused said, “Come back when you have the full amount.”

  So Dad decided that under common law when a sum is refused it settles the debt, and so Dad didn’t return. Under the law at the time, a shilling (10 cents) was legal tender, and any sum could be made up with silver coins and above.

  One fishing trip in Botany Bay, Uncle Alf called from the bow “Shark coming under the boat.”

  Uncle Arthur called from the stern, “Head out this end.”

 With the rejoinder that, “The tail is still coming.” Since they were in a sixteen-foot rowing boat, they decided that discretion was the better part of valour and time to call it a day.

  The trick for getting a good price for prawns at the market was to add a large spoon full of honey to the water while cooking. This treatment gave the prawn shells a high gloss which enhanced the sale without affecting the taste.

  Dad’s first driving lesson which I would guess was near Camden was to park the car, a Willeys Overlander, in a paddock full of stumps and told to get himself out. After a couple of hours, Dad had managed to jam the car between two stumps, these then the boys had to be dug out to release the car.

  When Dad went for his driving test, he drove to the Police station and presented himself for the test. The Sergeant asked how he got there and Dad so innocently said his older brother Alf had walked off to the pub as soon as they arrived. A little bit of a porky as the Sarge had spotted him driving around at other times by himself. They climbed in; Sarge said, "Drive to the shop," he then went in and did his shopping, re-entered the car and instructed Dad to drive back to the station where he wrote out the licence.

  They also had several bicycles, James was a top racing cyclist, and he was so strong that he often had to straighten the frame after the race. Dad competed a few times but was at a disadvantage because he was short in the leg and somewhat top heavy.

  The boys also had several motorbikes including a Norton 'sloper' which had a Triumph motor mounted at an angle instead of vertical. Went great until someone forgot to drain the oil from the spark plug hole, allowing the oil to build up in the cylinder; was it started the head blew off across the paddock.

 Uncle Arthur’s favourite bikes were Indians as they were more sporting than the Harley Davidson.

  My Grandfather Samuel Colbran was a top single shell oarsman and often went for training runs; it was on one of these that he had a heart attack at 65 years old.

 He usually wore a large moustache, until someone commented that ‘there was a bit of snow in the top paddock’, so as soon as he arrived home, he shaved it off, later photos show that he regrew it.

  When he applied to join the NSW Mounted Police he was unsuccessful not meeting the minimum height of 5 foot 7 inches tall. He could have tried stretching exercises as suggested but was too proud to do so.

  During the First World War, Grandfather volunteered to join but failed as he was near maximum age and married with seven children.

  When Dad was in his early twenties, he came across his parents arguing over something, then after listening for a few minutes, he pointed out that both were correct. At that both gave him a clip under the ear for interfering; Dad felt a bit hard done by as he was over twenty.

  1939 with the declaration of war, Dad drove Uncle Arthur down to the police station so that Arthur could turn himself in as an AWOL sailor. When the serjeant asked Dad what was his status was, Dad said, "I am just here to drop my brother off.

  Uncle Alf joined the merchant marine; Uncle Robert joined the Air Force as a storeman and Dad signed up with Army transport as a driver.

  Of the six brothers who volunteered, only one didn’t make it through, James died of peritonitis during army training. Dad suspected that it was caused by a skylarking accident as James was a notorious joker very much like my brother Neil.

  Dad as driver serial number NX6487 joined 8 Nov 39 at Marrickville, discharged 24 April 45 as he was considered too old for the Burma contingent.

  Dad was part of the 158 General Transport company; attached to the 2/33 Brigade, 7th Division.

  At one of the first parades, the army serjeant asked, “Who is a driver?”

  Dad having already been in the services and this being a transport company. Therefore, since all had claimed to be drivers when they joined, he decided to keep quiet.

  For those who answered yes, were told, “Grab those wheelbarrows, drive them over there and fill them with gravel.”

  On one training march the officer sat under a tree and gave orders wheeling the men around out in the sun, Dad decided that if it was good enough for him, it was good enough to join him there.

  “What’s this, Colbran?” He demanded.

 “Well if you want to drill the troops you should be out with them, Jones,” Dad answered.

 “You shouldn’t call me that.”

  “I have a title as well which is Private.”

  Luckily the officer saw the point and agreed that he was correct on both counts.

  Later Dad was promoted temporary corporal, by drawing stripes on his sleeve with chalk; possibly because at 32 years old he was the oldest.

  During the stay in England, he performed the change of the guard at Buckingham Palace as acting Sergeant and still a temporary corporal. Soon after, the trained NCOs arrived, relegating Dad to private.

 The officer, “I will make sure that you have those back on shortly.”

  Dad replied, “No you won’t.” and made sure by arranging a transfer to another unit before he could.

  When running road convoys from the south of England to the north, one civilian driver thought it would speed his travel up by joining the convoy as war materials were given a guided run through the towns cleared of all other traffic. This game was fine until the civvy tried to pull off at his home turn. So the army drivers hemmed him in and took him the whole way to the north.

  While in England, Dad swapped his truck for a Jeep, as he left the barrack gate he spun the steering as per normal for a truck and drove straight back through the gates. “Eh? Back already mate,” Was the greeting.

  The Seventh Division was sent to Palestine (Syria, Lebanon and Israel) to regain possession from the Vichy French. Initially, the Aussies didn’t take them too seriously as they believed that most didn’t want to fight. When a sniper killed an Aussie as he looked around a corner, it was clear some were still determined. Off came the kid gloves and the Vichy very quickly most capitulated except for some artillery.

  The problem being that these were French Foreign Legion mostly Algerians who didn’t care who they fought, with officers and n.c.o.s from everywhere including Germany and Italy.

  Dad had to drive across a plain which had the French 75 artillery ranged on the road, so he was going as fast and erratic as he could. On the way he caught up with another Aussie truck which already had its rear tyres blown off; while it was still running, was too slow so Dad went bush to overtake.

  Later after the French officially surrendered, the Algerian truck drivers thought it was fun to try and knock the Aussie trucks off the road. After half a dozen French vehicles had gone off the side of the hill, the trying stopped.

  I’m not sure where but one time as he lined up to fill a water tank and then drove off; the next truck in line backed into almost the same tyre marks and had the rear-end blown off by a mine.

  One time the platoon was tested to see if they could man the anti-tank gun. Dad had been very careful about allowing the knowledge that he had gun training in the Navy. So when it came to his turn to aim, he gave the shoulder pad a bit of a nudge when he fired the round. They decided that he was best kept away from the gun as the round had landed in the mine field. They became very excited by where it landed and banned him from going anywhere near the gun.

  The most favourite job was taking the Army chaplains around, as they liked to chat and there were tea and bikkies laid on. He reckoned the Catholic chaplains were the easiest to get on with, with the Presbyterian Chaplain being a stuffed shirt.

  Least favourite were burial details.

  Driving through what is now Israel, it was quite obvious which side the Jews lived, as the Arab side was barren with a skinny camel and couple of scrawny goats. A great contrast to the green crops and orchards on the other side.

  Just before the Japanese started to become a threat, it was planned to send the Seventh Division to the North and the Russian front. To this end, the division had obtained some captured German trucks. These were long wheelbase and while not suitable for tight roads were great for long flat roads.

  Lucky for Dad, the Army dispatched the division to the East, in a convoy following after the 8th Division which had landed in Singapore practically unarmed and went straight into POW camps; the 7th was diverted in time and went on to Australia.

  This change allowed Mum and Dad to marry while he was on leave before being redeployed to New Guinea. This event was destined to happen, as the Russian Front wasn’t a good survival prospect, neither were the Japanese POW camps. At the very best case, the marriage would have been put off for three years meaning that my elder sister Lorna and yours truly probably wouldn’t have been born.

  Dad had been interested in Mum since she became school-friends with Aunty Hilda and occasionally visited his house. Mum’s parents weren’t keen on them being together. For many years I thought it was because Mum was such a good housekeeper and office worker; then during ancestor research, I discovered that it was because Great Grandmother Smith was a Wiradjuri aboriginal. Those days if you were white enough to pass, you hid your indigenous ancestry. Otherwise, discrimination was rife.

  After a long spell in the middle east driving on the wrong side of the road, they lost a lot of ‘Don-rs’ (dispatch riders) who found out the hard way that cutting corners on the wrong side of the road wasn’t a good idea.

  Before leaving for New Guinea, the Army settled the division in the Atherton Tablelands. Dad sent a Birds nest fern down to Grandma Stewart in a shoe box. It was then about 4 inches across, the last time I saw it at Tuncurry in the late 70s, it was still growing and over 6 foot across. By then it had travelled from Carss Park to Connell’s Point, then onto Tuncurry.

  In New Guinea, Dad was supposed to have had his first aircraft flight but missed out because he was ill, another piece of luck as the waiting soldiers in the trucks were casualties when an aircraft crashed on them. With 59 killed and 93 injured it represented about a third of causalities suffered in the whole war for the 2/33rd brigade. As Dad told it, the men were in a DC3 when another crashed into it.

  Dad was spared further marching as his legs weren’t up to it, Mickey Mouse Legs as he called them. The other problem was that he was allergic to the green dye in the jungle uniform.

  Commenting that all Japanese weren’t short with glasses, that he had seen a dead one over six feet tall.

  He was demobbed in April instead of being sent to Borneo, as perhaps the older soldiers were deemed unsuitable for jungle fighting. As I transferred to the Army the same age at 38 years old and then served another six years, I find this a bit inconsistent.

  He was initially employed building the roads and infrastructure in the Royal National Park, south of Sydney; he travelled by push-bike about 30 odd kilometres each way so obviously pretty fit.

  He completed a steam operator’s ticket and went to work at Marrickville Margarine as a boiler attendant where he stayed until he retired at age 63.

  When the boilers were changed over to fuel oil; the strain of climbing ladders and stretching to read gauges followed by long periods of inactivity brought on his heart attack at 53 years old. Whereas the coke-fired boilers needed a constant activity; either shovelling the coke into the fire or cleaning out the ash.

  After he had recuperated, they installed ramps and platforms to make life easier. It would seem the manufacturer of the boiler had designed for taller workers. Uncle Alf did a few years there as well; otherwise, between running the punt at Taren Point, where the Captain Cook Bridge is now, he had a few oyster leases.

  Dad obtained a two-stroke motorbike (Villiers engine) that he used to commute with until Grandpa talked him into buying a ‘Z’ type Morris van. With an optional front seat for Mum and making two wooden bench seats for us kids in the back. Before he installed windows on the side, it was a bit of a sight when stopping anywhere as the mob piled out of the back. He wanted to buy an Austen 7, but Mum's father talked him into buying the van.

  Every time Dad arrived home on the motorbike we would all help ride it up to the shed; us being Lorna, Irene and myself.

  One time someone suggested that coconut oil would make a good additive to the petrol for the two stroke motor, after one trip to work the coconut oil solidified and bunged up the motor. So Dad had to strip and totally clean the motor.

  Dad, Uncle Vic and I went on a few camping trips to the south; memorable were the rabbits in the early morning mist and the enormous counter meals in the country pubs.

After the van Dad bought a Hillman Minx Sedan, this is the one that I learnt to drive in. 4-speed column shift with a 1296cc side valve motor whereas the Morris ‘z’ van had a 918 cc side valve and three-speed floor shift.

After which he had the later model Minx with 1600 OHV. When I bought a new mini, he progressed to a Hillman Imp as there were now only two children who didn’t have their transport, Irene and Lorna with boyfriends with cars; Neil and me with our cars.

When the Imp became unreliable, mainly water pump failures due to all aluminium motor, he moved up to a Holden Torana 1600 cc; this he kept for the rest of his life.

After Dad had retired to Tuncurry and I visited on the weekends, we built a couple of boats, both 12 footers; the first was a bit dodgy looking, but it floated and with a ‘Seagull engine’ went well enough. I obtained the plans for a dingy which was multi-use, this was able to be fitted with sails and rigging if required. We managed to use it a few times for fishing in Wallis lakes.

 We restored Uncle Hilton’s racing model 18 foot sailing boat. The hull 18 inches by 6 inches wide, carved from a block of red cedar; it came with three sets of the mast, boom and bow spits, the largest set was 6ft, 4ft and 3ft respectively. The brass and lead centre board 24 x 6 inches had been stolen years before, at his last race.

The hull you could hold in one hand, but fully rigged it would have been 8 foot 6 inches tall and 7 foot long. Aunty Jean sewed up replacement sails using light cotton. Since the scale was 1 inch = 1 foot that was some boat (100 foot tall by 84 foot long).

Uncle Hilton raced these model boats on Sydney Harbour with the handler chasing in a row boat.

The other model boat that Dad and I built was a 50/800; for which I drew up the plans from a book; my measurements were just a bit out as it turned into a 52/900; still once completed it sailed very well. As Dad needing to have something to keep him occupied, progressed the construction while I was away during the week in Nowra. His handiwork resulted in a little asymmetry; he sealed the hull with silicone sealant so that he could float test it.

 While I was coming up from the south, I had bought 20 pounds of lead for the keel and obtained the lightest sailcloth from a Sydney sail loft. Where I bought the sailcloth, I could have bought an 18 footer sailing boat for about what it cost me to build the 12-foot dingy; I now regret passing that up as the original cost would have been closer to $15000 for a new one.

Taking the new boat fishing, we returned to shore to drop some of the catch; Dad was guiding to a wharf. I was embarrassed when Dad made me bump another boat, and the owner complained; as we were both Navy trained.

As Dad’s health declined and fishing was out we sold the boats and motor.

One time we were walking down the beach and occurred to me that I could give Dad a niggle regarding my ‘duck walk’, he laughed pointed back at our tracks and said, “Don’t blame me.”

As Dad’s tracks were straight and mine splayed, it was obvious that was the case.

Dad was a better listener than a talker, and I had long conversations over the years discussing the whichness of the whys; some very deep stuff which reinforced my opinion that he was a very intelligent man, held back by the lack of education opportunity.

  Dad grew up old generation when it came to discipline, though Mum and Dad considering that their upbringing was overly strict and unfair resolved to be as fair as possible.

  If you were doing something wrong, Dad would say once firmly ‘don’t’ then louder ‘DON’T’ and we soon worked out that stopping the behaviour saved a hard slap on the leg. As he had a hard hand, it was better not to risk it.

  Both Grandmas were prone to throwing the laundry stick if they couldn’t get close enough, with Dad saying that his Mum could spear it between your legs, and then while you were still getting up finish the job with a few slaps. If you were silly enough to escape punishment, his Father would deal with you when you both arrived home to dinner. As this resulted in a harder punishment, it was best to catch it from Mum.

  The biggest problem with discipline at our house was with Dad’s night shifts where he would be asleep at the same time we would be playing in the lounge room. The problem was that Lorna insisted that as the oldest she would tell everyone to keep quiet, and it was her duty to do so from Dad’s chair next to the door.

Since both Irene and I disputed this status, this resulted in the noise level rising. Mum said that she often heard the bedroom door open but was too late to stop the next action.

  Lorna would insist on having a last word while we were more aware of the fact Dad was on the way and shut up (looking innocent). So Lorna would get the slap and then silence would reign.

We being smart it only took one getting punishment as a sign to behave and quieten down.

  Personally, since I kept to myself and would do anything to avoid upsetting either Mum or Dad I rarely received any punishment.

  The exception being when either Irene or Lorna would get cranky and slap me, as I would retaliate this would bring Mum or Dad out to their defence as the girls complained loudly.

  The last day of his life we had taken him into Taree for a day out, Mum and Cheryl hit the shops while Dad and I walked through the parks. On the way back in the car Dad wasn’t too comfortable, and later Cheryl told me that he had sneaked a couple of nitroglycerine pills to help.

Leaving him at his home, during the night, he became more uncomfortable. Dad spent all night talking to Mum, as the TV was on the blink. The next day it was perfectly OK.

Early morning Mum called the Ambulance, and he was whisked off to Taree hospital and put on a glucose drip. Because he had diabetes type 2, it resulted in a final heart attack and he passed away in the night.