THE FISH WAS THIS BIG! WITH TIM SMITH
ANNEXED
As kids on a camping holiday,
my two brothers and I were on
pretty much the same level as
the dog. We slept outside the
van, we had our own bowls,
we would drink out of a hose
and if we didn’t come when
we were called we would
get a clip behind the ear.
As I think back now, we
really were annoying. But we
did have our very own room:
the annexe.
BANISHED TO THE ANNEXE
While Mum and Dad kicked
back in the lavishly-appointed
Franklin, we found ourselves
in the annexe. When it came
to our accommodation, Dad
had spared every expense.
Our annexe was faded, striped
canvas, loosely attached
to the few remaining hooks
stubbornly clinging to the
side of the Franklin. It had
a drooping roof that would
TIM SMITH TAKES US BACK
TO A SIMPLER TIME WHEN
CHILDREN KNEW WHERE THEY
STOOD… IN THE ANNEXE.
bulge under the weight of
collected rain water and start
leaking from any point that
you touched on the inside.
There was an old rug floor,
walls that in spots didn’t
quite reach the ground.
Nearly supporting it all was
a ridiculous amount of guy
ropes, so no matter where you
were going, you would trip
over one. We had easy access
to under the van, as most of
the skirt clasps had sheared off.
This portable torcher
chamber offered no protection
from the elements. In the heat
it was stiflingly hot, and in the
cold it was freezing. If it was
windy, the whole three sides
and roof would catch a breeze
and suddenly puff out.
My brothers and I had
airbeds, affectionately named
Leaky, Holey, and The Good
One. Sadly, they all looked
exactly the same, so only after
the first night did you know
which was which.
Dad would make a few trips
a night to the toilet block,
more if he had been playing
up with Uncle Neil or Uncle
Pete, and the annex was
directly between Dad and
the dunny, so it was odds-on
he would stand on you while
you were asleep.
It was a sure bet he would
trip over a guy rope, swear
really loudly and fall into the
annexe through the door or
a wall. If he’d played up too
much, that’s where he’d stay,
sprawled on the ground.
Now when I see a modern
caravan annexe, it almost
brings a tear to my eye. But
I remember my carefree
childhood, where every waking
moment was an adventure, up
late laughing with my brothers
until we cried, ever so quietly
so as Mum and Dad couldn’t
hear us from the van.
I think maybe the crappier
the annexe, the more fun you
have. Then again, it would have
been nice not to get rained on.
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A modern annexe will almost bring a tear to Tim’s eye.
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