What I See with Peter Fiorenza: Many cherished childhood memories revolved around the port

You don’t know what you have until it is gone. I know it’s a well-worn saying, but it’s also very true. The other day I heard someone talking about the port and how much it had figured in their lives growing up. It made me think back more than 20 years, when I, along with many other locals, made visiting the ship berths at the west end a big part of my lifestyle. It certainly figured prominently. Whether it involved fishing or crabbing off the jetties underneath, or riding our push pikes around the silos, or dangling our legs off the edge near the ships while eating fish and chips, the port was part of being a “Geraldtonian”. Over time, there have also been many family connections, either to someone who worked as a docker or wharfie, or in the grain collection industry, at CBH. And because my dad was in the fishing game, my brother and I would spend plenty of our school holidays around the area. I fondly remember when US warships would come to town in the 1970s and 80s and we were invited onboard as part of regular tours. As we came into our teenage years, my friends and I could often be found swimming in the area, with the adventurous even waterskiing. I remember one afternoon, in particular, when some mates and I did something rather daring. The dare involved climbing onboard one of the ships, running up to the bow, and jumping off. After watching one of my mates complete the feat, I somehow mustered up enough courage and made my way on to one of the vessels. With adrenalin rushing through my body, I sprinted right up to the bow, but as I looked down, I was gripped by fear. Gee, I was a long way up. Not wanting to disappoint the boys cheering and yelling below, I climbed out, closed my eyes and, all at once, jumped off. As I fell through the air, I tried to make like a tin solider, but I could feel myself steadily starting to wobble — so much so that when I hit the water, it was nothing short of a belly flop. Oh dear. As my body hit the water, it felt like my stomach was being flung against the inside of my back with tremendous force. I could feel pain start to radiate right through my arms and legs. Bloody hell, that really hurt! Not wanting to look wounded, even though I was suffering, I quickly pushed up to the surface of the water and swam to the jetty below. Suffice to say, the rest of the group decided to opt out of the dare. Perhaps an adventure that went a little too far, but not all memories of the port ended in pain. But future memories have now been stifled. After the terrorist attacks of September 11 2001, ports right around the country and, indeed, the world have become fortified. For security reasons, access to the wharves these days is very rare. As with many things, it’s a case of not knowing what you have until it is gone. Peter Fiorenza hosts Fiorenza on Sundays between 10am and noon on Radio MAMA