Julia Dunstan, Warrior Woman

I'm a Newcastle girl born to a family of sisters; all four of 
us forever young in our memories of those days. We 
lived in the suburbs of that once industrial city, (the 60s 
and 70s) and the "229" to Merewether or the "201" to 
NobbyÕs were the big, old, grotty, green busses that took 
us all skylarking to the beach. I went because that was the 
way we faced Ð culturally - to the coast, to the east, to the 
waves; wash all the grime off. But I was never really a 
swimmer despite my Warrior Woman tendencies of 
today. I was a girl who loved the land, and my father who 
was raised on a diary farm along the Myall River near 
Bulahdelah, showed me the way in - to the paddocks, the 
scrub, the forests, the ridges, the valleys, the crags with 
views to the mountains beyond.
We'd all head out on Sundays in the white Holden 
Kingswood station wagon, (the tank I learnt to drive in), 
to collect fresh cow manure and birds' eggs, to trap 
rabbits and catch wild brumbies, to explore, to campfire 
and billy-boil, to be on the land, to be in the land, beneath 
the sky. That's where I felt close, where I felt held and 
known as a child, just as if in my mother's arms. My 
girlhood loved the land, the way it smelt and swayed and 
I walked long distances alone across her Spanish folds in 
the years to come. 
After long days at Bulahdelah, there were ice creams at 
the Oak Milk Bar at Hexham on the way home. Mum in 
the front seat, squabbling kids all over the back, (long 
before seatbelts) tired by now, six bags full, fragrant. I 
was a second born girl in a rollicking family and I met a 
young man at 18 (in 1977) with a similar story but with a 
fishing bent from a neighbouring suburb with a view to 
the coast. Our parents became friends as our lives became 
one.
It was the fishing bent of the Dunstan family that brought 
me to Forster. They holidayed here annually from 
Newcastle and eventually my parents-in-law retired to the 
cottage in Breckenridge Street, which Neil and I now 
own and have transformed beyond their dreams but not 
beyond mine. Only the proximity to Breckenridge 
Channel and old Barry's mooring directly ahead down 
Piper Lane across from Vinnies would anchor Neil's 
parents these days in familiar territory if they were here 
to wonder what had happened; so altered is the cottage. 
I have been coming to Forster, here to our house for 43 
years to visit, my children to visit their grandparents. 
Retiring here five years ago from our professional lives in 
Armidale, high up in the wintery mountains of Anwan 
country, was as natural as coming home.
And of course, on the coast, the true swimming history 
began with the long lost youthful beach experience more 
about bikinis, sunbaking and boys. More time now, 
(semi-retired) school teaching work continued, 
conveniently and casually with a lake-side ease settling 
in. 
I have many friends through my connections with 
Tuncurry Senior Campus and at one of Jenny Saad's 
LOL morning teas (Ladies of Leisure) at the Rockpool 
Cafe years ago, I met Kym Haywood who invited me to 
swim on Wednesday mornings with all the other girls 
from all the decades who meet and swim and share and 
laugh and cry together and the circle widened. From then 
on, Wednesdays became my weekday "unavailable for 
work, I'm sorry". 
Laura's enthusiasm for swimming prowess and lifesaving 
skill led me to the Bronze Medallion and to Club Patrol 
duty at Main Beach and to finding the joy of ocean 
swimming with sisters all around. How on earth I 
managed to meet the Bronze requirement swimming 400 
metres in under 9 minutes and for assessment, to paddle a 
surf ski over powerful shore breakers that day and 
conduct a rescue with Jim and Gavin looking on, I will 
never know. My swimming history had barely begun and 
there I was a swimmer and a lifesaver! Carol calms me 
these days in the water as my form fluctuates like the 
nervous attention of a new girl out of her depth, out of 
breath, head up, thrashing up the rear. 
I love the surface, the way the wind shifts across the 
ocean swell and the sky's light settles into her. But give 
me an open grassy paddock - tall, swaying - and I'll be 
way up front showing you all the way back home to 
coastal Worimi country.
But what the ocean does for me is crystal clear - she 
holds me up, she takes me deep, carries the sun and 
spreads wide my day, she ribbons the moon, holds my 
palm, rubs my belly, she offers me gifts and calls my 
name to swim towards freedom in her gravitational 
flow full of the rivers and all of the rains.
The ocean has drawn us all to her edge and to each other, 
and this treasuring of our Wednesdays has evolved. We 
share this enthusiasm, sense of belonging and trust. We 
are lucky women looking forward together with all that 
we hold, all that we know and I am grateful.



So we're all mermaids, and the summertime game my 
sister and I repeatedly played as children has a special 
relevance for me. She was Pearl Pinkie and I was Sea 
Greenie, two ankle-bound mermaids of Lambton Baths. 
We really did that, bound our legs for the deep water 
game, swished our toey tails, no cheating, obviously 
unsupervised back then in the days of wild-let-them-go-
children. Amanda was older than I was and claimed the 
preferred ÔPearl PinkieÕ and I was to remain ÔSea 
GreenieÓ all of our childhood. But years later, not so 
many ago actually at a delicate time of reminiscence and 
shifting ways, my successful, middle-aged, law courts 
sister said to me just quietly standing there,
"You can be Pearl Pinkie." 
I said, "Nah, it's alright, I'll stay Sea Greenie" 
She said, "No, you be Pearl Pinkie!" 
"Ok then :)." 
I AM NOW PEARL PINKIE and this is perfect as I have 
a brand new baby granddaughter whose name is Pearl and 
is often wrapped in pink. Ah, so resonant those early 
memories.
My perfect day from start to finish is to have Charles and 
Pearl together on my lap. We'll start with cuddles and 
stories then have a little walk in the leafy garden. We'll 
play and explore and build and then sing and cuddle some 
more. We'll pick and weave and paste, fold and hold and 
draw and paint. We'll be together all day and have all 
sorts of treasures to keep and then when the evening 
softly blinks a crimson light we'll see ourselves in smiles 
and the stars will know our names. A perfect day nestled 
safely in my grandmother-dreams-of-the-future. 

So that's me in three (hundred or so) words     
Ageing     Gracefully       Mostly  

And everything is an achievement when you consider the 
wisdom of my teacher and you walk with intention to 
evolve.

"You are the path. The path is you." Anand Mehrotra