“Wow, look at this!” I was a parent helper on our primary school excursion to the Powerhouse Museum and knew very well these strange antiques that the children found so fascinating. I grew up in the fifties and sixties, so the wind-up telephone on the wall, the old Metters’ Early Kooka gas stove with green enamel finish, and the drop-side toaster were things my Nanna had in Toowoomba. Old cement tubs, an old boiler (used with blue Dolly Dye) and a manual wringer were downstairs with the shower and toilet, surrounded with a tall white fence.

Oh heck! I’m that old. I was all too familiar with these relics.

A steam train was next in the Powerhouse display. I remembered how travelling from Melbourne to Toowoomba when I was young involved several changes of trains. At Albury, usually late at night, the guard would call, ‘Everybody out!’ and we’d all walk across the platform to the next train. It was already set up with our beds — I would take the top bunk. The rail gauges in NSW and Victoria were different, so we had to change again at Sydney, then at the Queensland border. Finally the old train, with wrought iron railings at either end of each carriage, would trundle on to Toowoomba.

Inside the carriages there was lots of wooden paneling, and a metal pull-down wash basin and toilet. The country stations with restaurants were fascinating to a young girl like me. I was well armed with a selection of comics we’d bought in Melbourne, but many of the stops lasted about half an hour, long enough for people to grab a hot shower. We’d buy drinks and sandwiches. Recently I saw that a book had been released honouring these railway station restaurants of the past.

Sticking one’s head out the train window would mean a certain change of skin colour. Soot would cover your face, so exciting for children like me.

One time we took our cat on holiday with us, safely installed at the back of the train with the luggage. My Mum kept checking that our beautiful boy was safe, and she made such a nuisance of herself that the guard, exasperated, told her to take the cat into the cabin with us. He warned her to be careful, though. At one of our prolonged stops Mum took Puss to a small patch of soil on the platform, where a shrub was growing. Some young guys in another train made noises resembling the cat struggling to do his business. The cat, Mum and I survived this experience.