Times were pretty tough during the war years for most families and ours was no exception, what with Mum, Dad and five kids to feed.
My dad always loved his beer, so he took to making his first home-brew. I believe it was a potent brew and we were forbidden to go into the back shed, as Dad would bravely enter each day to check how many bottles had exploded.
Six to eight weeks later the big tasting took place. Friends were invited in true Aussie tradition — everything was shared in those days.
There was great excitement as Dad poured everyone a drink and one for himself and Mum. As everybody took a sip a deathly silence descended and then someone mentioned mothballs, then another, then another.
Apparently in those days, at some stage you had to strain the brew. Mum had got out one of the clean blankets for the process, forgetting that she had stored the blankets in mothballs.
No one seemed to mind the mothballs taste as every last bottle was opened and drunk. I remember there were some massive headaches, but everyone lived to a ripe old age and kept coming to visit our home.
Forget the dot coms, the Internet, rockets to the moon. Remember good old Aussie tradition — a good beer, a barbecue and great friends. Our son is carrying on the tradition: he makes his own home-brew.
A great drop — without the mothballs.