seven little australians by ethel turner

Auntie Enid always brought me a pretty handkerchief as a gift, and Auntie Judy always gave me a book. We enjoyed each other’s company enormously, and we both loved books, She and her sister, my Auntie Enid, used to visit us regularly, and in school holidays or weekends, Mum and Dad would take us to visit them. We were great friends and she would always call me “her little girl”. As the sister of my grandmother, whom I had never bet because she died before I was born, Judy was much older than me, but we had always had a close bond. If Auntie Judy had told me to read it standing on my head, I probably would have done. She sympathised with me, of course, but told me I really needed to finish the book to understand that the author had a message and a purpose in making that happen. It was only when I talked about it with my great Aunt Judy, who had given me the book, that I resumed reading. I couldn’t believe that an author would do such a thing! When my favourite character met a most untimely end, I put the book down and refused to read on. I remember reading the book for the first time when I was perhaps nine or ten. The story is a lot of fun, but it also has some tragic moments. The father was a gruff army captain, and his young wife was a sweet and kind stepmother to the children, most of whom were spirited and often mischievous. This is an Australian classic that tells he story of the Woolcot family, and is set near Sydney in the late 19th century. My copy of ‘Seven Little Australians’ is rather tattered and the worse for wear, a result of having been read many, many times.

Seven little australians by ethel turner