Henry Ford started mass-producing cars in 1913. He made and sold millions of cars at prices that the average American could afford to buy. This opened up the countryside to the city dwellers. Americans could now travel outside their congested and polluted cities and see their vast country.

In Europe after the Second World War, Volkswagen made and sold more cars than Ford. Which allowed Europeans to see all the different countries of Europe and their splendid scenery.

Late December 1965 I turned 18 years of age, and then I bought a Volkswagen Beetle and started to explore my adopted country. Like the Americans and the Europeans who travelled outside their congested cities, I too wanted to get away from our congested city.

I travelled along the Great Ocean Road to a surf beach with my school friend Jack, the one who gave me a surfboard and who introduced me to the great Australian pastime of surfing. Driving to the surf beaches past Geelong became a regular outing for me during weather-suitable weekends. But not with Jack.

I found a better companion than Jack. I had my beautiful girlfriend who, later on, became my equally beautiful wife. Lyn accompanied me during those wonderful days away from Richmond. We travelled quite often in my trusty Volkswagen Beetle, at first mostly short distances just outside of Melbourne. A drive to Mt Dandenong was my first date with Lyn, when she was just 16 years old.

I enjoyed driving to and around the Dandenongs to see the deciduous trees in their beautiful autumn colours. The same colours on the same species of trees that we had in our region (Lerinsko, named after Lerin) back in Macedonia. I also wanted to see the low clouds below the top of Mt Dandenong in winter. Mt Dandenong reminded me so much of our region in Macedonia. The hamlets of Kalorama, Olinda, Sassafras, Monbulk and others that dot the mountain ranges north of Melbourne reminded me of Mala, Lagen, Neret, Bouf and other villages that dot the mountain ranges in what is now north west Greece.

The Dandenongs are forested with walnut trees and chestnut trees and in places like Monbulk we could see strawberry fields as far as the eye could see. I felt like I was in Macedonia, which was forested with walnut trees, chestnut trees and bountiful strawberry fields. The region around Melbourne started to reveal, to me at least, similar geographical features to our region around Lerin. The parallel universe that I thought I found myself in, when I first came to Richmond, seemed to have integrated itself into one universe, containing both countries. Australia shared similar geographical elements with Macedonia, and now I started to feel comfortable in Australia.

During rare cold snaps in winter I could see snow on the Dandenong ranges, but not in quantities to please my snow-starved eyes. Nor did I see the familiar seeneak (sin-yuk) a bluish low-lying cloud that was very common in Macedonia (see-ne-ak means a blue-tinged cloud in Macedonian). For the full measure of snow and the possibility of seeing the seeneak, which appears at temperatures below zero degrees Celsius, I had to venture out further, north east of Melbourne in fact.

Several years later I did venture out to the Alpine country in north east Victoria. But not before I and a group of teenagers who arrived in Australia from the above-mentioned Macedonian villages went on a hunting trip. We went somewhere in central Victoria during the middle of winter. We were going to hunt rabbits, just like Elmer Fudd does in the Bugs Bunny cartoons. But as it turned out, the trip was more than a rabbit hunt.

This hunting trip was organized by Pando, an avid hunter. He arranged and supplied most of the equipment: like a tent for all of us, sleeping bags for each person and most importantly a rifle or a shotgun for each of the five or six eager hunters. The others brought their toiletries and whatever else they thought they needed for a weekend of hunting and bonding as it turned out to be.

I was ill-prepared, being the only student, the only non-income earner. I came in my op-shop sourced clothes, which weren't suitable for a sub-zero-degrees Celsius night. Cousin George picked up my brother and myself from our home and drove us in his FB Holden. A befitting Australian car which was designed for Australian conditions and therefore brought us safely and in comfort to a farm somewhere in the Strathbogie Ranges where Pando had gained permission for us to shoot rabbits.

On our arrival at the hunting ground, Pando stood at the campsite looking like a Sergeant Major dressed in his elaborate hunting outfit. He wore a camel-coloured hunting outfit that had pockets and hooks for every possible accessory; it also had a clear plastic pocket for his hunting license. To top it off, he wore a clear raincoat over his elaborate outfit. The salesman at the sports store who sold him the complete hunting outfit must have had a bonanza day with Pando's purchase. My brother Steve brought the essentials; he brought bacon and eggs and lots of them. I brought nothing but my moustache, which everyone remembers even now nearly sixty years later.

The hunt began in the afternoon when the rabbits came out to eat. I was allotted a shotgun because I told the Sergeant Major I had quick reflexes. And being enlisted in the CMF, I could easily wound and stop the rabbit in its tracks. My brother, who had the 22mm rifle, would take the rabbit out of its misery with one bullet.

Steve and I walked slowly. I had my eyes focused on the ground. I was holding the shotgun pointing at the ground, with my finger on the trigger and safety catch off. Steve held his 22 firmly against his right shoulder ready to aim at the wounded rabbit. A rabbit shot out of its burrow in front of me. I instantly fired the shot gun and at least one pellet disabled the rabbit. Steve finished it off as planned.

Later on another rabbit shot out in front of Steve and this time ran sidewise from us. I discharged the shotgun which got the rabbit but narrowly missed Steve's feet. After that dangerous incident we called it a day and went back to the camp where everyone was back with a good supply of freshly shot rabbits and they had a roaring fire going.

Somebody skinned two rabbits and put them on a make-shift spit. While the rabbits were roasting we engaged in a friendly and humorous conversation around the roaring fire. This turned out to be a typical, friendly, boys-out camping and hunting trip. We were bonding, without realizing it then. For some of us who were planning to get married, this camping trip was a substitute for a "buck's night".

Two coincidental events occurred at the campsite that afternoon. The Sergeant Major decided to drive to the nearest town for more supplies and the local police decided to pay us a visit at the same time. Pando saw the police car coming towards the camp side, but he continued on to the town for his supplies. The police came to check if the roaring fire was attended by anybody.

"Just a routine check, boys," they told us.

After a few jovial exchanges with us, "the innocent looking young men", the policemen left us to continue with our rabbit-on-the-spit meal. Steve, who is always quick with a practical joke, hid Pando's rifle and waited for him to return from his shopping spree.

On his return, the first thing that Pando asked was: "What did the police want?"

Steve told him that they checked our guns and found that his rifle was too powerful and they said it needed a special licence to be used in Victoria. So they confiscated it.

"You have to report at the police station tomorrow morning, if you want your rifle back, they told us."

Well, the Sergeant Major started pacing around the campfire and talking to himself.

"I am sorry, officer. I didn't know that the rifle needed a licence." More pacing... "I will get a licence for it straight away."

It was getting dark by now, the barbequed rabbits on the spit were eaten down to the skeletons, and Steve finally decided to calm the Sergeant Major's nerves by revealing his rifle.

After the laughter subsided it was time for us to go to sleep. George made himself comfortable in his pink FB Holden, the others zipped themselves into their sleeping bags and squeezed into the tent. I wrapped myself into my sleeping bag and squeezed myself halfway into the tent with my head outside the tent so I could look at the stars all night. My head would stay warm by the fire and my moustache would keep my face warm, I thought to myself.

In the early hours of the morning the temperature dropped to below zero degrees Celsius. Cold enough for a seeneak to form. I didn't see a seeneak, but I saw that the fire turned into a cold grey ash. Not many slept well that night, least of all me. I was shaking all over and my teeth were chattering and the moustache that was supposed to keep my face warm froze and had two icicles hanging from it. Steve cooked his rashes of bacon and eggs to feed us and to warm us, but nobody remembers that. They all remember that Olie's moustache froze that night. Every time I see someone from that hunting group they never fail to mention my frozen moustache.

The next and the most important hunting game for all of us was to take place in Fitzroy Town Hall. Fitzroy Town Hall is a stately, classical Victorian building that belongs in England rather than the industrial suburb of Fitzroy. But once inside the building you could be forgiven for thinking that you are in an English manor.

During the 1960s for several years Macedonian migrants inhabited it every Sunday night for the hunting games (that is the marriage game). The Macedonians from north west Greece came here to hunt for their life-long partners. This marriage hunt, unlike the rabbit hunt, was a serious proposition. The partner that one chose was for life and didn't come with a receipt so you could return her/him back.

"Abre, stramota e da se ostavat" ("It is shameful for them to separate"), our parents would say.

The young bride becomes a member of the groom's family, she takes the role of a nevesta (bride). A nevesta is the pride of the groom's family. She receives quests, she maintains her in-law's home, she helps with cooking and cleaning. The svekreva (mother-in-law) boasts to all her relatives, friends and acquaintances about her nevesta.

"Pull lee sho oobavo proo sar nevestata." ("Look how well the bride receives and entertains her guests.")

In most cases the new nevesta becomes a domestic aide to her in-laws, but she secretly starts to plan her escape from the in-law's house as soon as she can. This is the main difference between family life in Macedonia and family life in Australia. This is the lucky country where a bribe and her husband can afford to escape the cold grip of the svekreva and start their own life in their own home.

The hunt for a nevesta wasn't confined to the Fitzroy Town Hall. It included Cathedral Hall in Brunswick Street, Fitzroy and also in the Fitzroy Gardens and later on at picnic grounds around the Melbourne environs.

Hunting for a suitable partner is not as straightforward as you might think. And the hunting starts early, in a subtle way at first. As soon as the girl can reach the mirror on the mantelpiece, her parents start visiting families who have a suitable boy. It also goes the other way as well, families with a young suitable male will start visiting families with a pretty girl and an obedient girl at that. If visiting is awkward or not possible the stroynitsi (the matchmakers) are sent in, who, for a pair of socks, will introduce the families to one another. The couple will each be asked in turn.

The girl will be asked: "Yo sakash?" ("Do you want him?")

And the boy will be asked: "Ya sakash?" ("Do you want her?")

If this procedure didn't culminate in a marriage, then one had the other venues to secure a successful union between two eager young Macedonians. The Fitzroy Town Hall was the most prolific and successful venue for the marriage game. That is, for those Macedonians newly arrived in Australia.

Those were tumultuous years for the Macedonians. The youth were attracted by the new-age sexual revolution and the parents were adhering to their long-established traditional way of life.

I was lucky enough not to fit into the Macedonian algorithm of marriage because I didn't have a job. I was still at school (college); unheard of for a 19-year-old to still be at school. As one cousin of mine from Werribee once commented: "How many times have you failed school, Manoli?"

I enjoy observing people's behaviours and actions. And now, looking back retrospectively, I realise why two particular fathers who I knew paid particular attention to me. One father of a girl whose daughter could reach the mirror on the mantelpiece allowed me to start and drive his Ford Consul for short distances forward and back along Kent Street. He also invited me for dim sims at his fish and chips shop in Victoria Street, Richmond after school. The other father, who sat on the porch of his house across from our house in Bennett Street and sipped Hospital Brandy (low price brandy) each afternoon, invited me for a shot of Hospital Brandy. He would ask his daughter to serve me the brandy on a fancy serving platter. I enjoyed the free dim sims from one father and I appreciated the Hospital Brandy from the other father. Now, in retrospect, I realised that I was subtly hunted.

My friend Socrates was also hunted by a Greek father. The Greek father spoke about his motorbike and told him that he enjoys riding his motorbike. He told him that he often goes to Geelong for coffee as an excuse to ride his bike. Socrates told me that that's how Greeks befriend you "so they can off-load their daughter on to you".

By the way, Greeks stuck to their nationality, as Macedonians stuck to their ethnicity, when it came to hunting for suitable partners. No Greek family brought their prized daughter to Fitzroy Town Hall.

I wasn't ready for hunting, I was involved in too many other preoccupations: mainly studying, part-time work, driving around in my car, thinking of how to avoid national conscription, socialising with friends. And more importantly, thinking of how I could realise my dream of becoming a racing car driver. This is corny, but I knew that I was going to get killed racing cars and that's why I didn't want to get involved with girls. And then I walked into a trap and I was snagged and fell victim, in a nice way, to the marriage game.

Motor racing in Australia was in its infancy then. It was exciting, it was experimental, and it was dangerous. On average, about ten drivers were killed on racing tracks around the word each year and strangely enough that is what made motor racing so appealing to the car enthusiast. Yes, car enthusiasts are passionate about all aspects involving cars and are willing to risk their lives for the thrill of the sport.

I was hopeful of realising my dream and one day my brother and I had a sliver of a chance of making our dream come true. One day, while we were studying engineering at Swinburne, my brother and I were offered a drive at Calder Park Raceway by a fellow student by the name of John Clark. His family owned a business in the construction industry. So money wasn't a problem for him. John had a Mini Cooper prepared for a motorcross race at Calder. He was going to enter and drive the Mini Cooper in the first race. Steve was going to drive in the second race and I was to drive the last race of the day. Neither Steve nor I had the opportunity to drive the Mini, because John crashed it and essentially destroyed the car at the first turn of the first lap of the Mini Cooper's first race. Fortunately John was not hurt. I will say more about my motor car interests in another chapter. So, for now, let's go back to the safer pursuit of hunting.

Concurrently with the rabbit hunting, George and my brother were each hunting for a partner at Fitzroy Town Hall. And one day they urged me to go one Sunday night with them. I went and in my usual manner I started observing the whole environment. Outside the Town Hall I could see lots of late model cars, including the prestigious Valiant cars. My Volkswagen Beetle looked out of place there, it looked like it belonged to the janitor.

Walking up the steps leading to the huge doors of the Town Hall, I could tell that I was entering a special venue. There were many parents with their children of all ages and all dressed in their best outfits. Climbing down to the dance floor, I could see separate groups of girls and separate groups of boys around the perimeter of the empty dance floor.

Now the music started, a song by Frank Sinatra signalled the start of dancing, and the boys and girls started pairing off and walking on to the dance floor for a waltz.

I was dazzled and dazed by the ambience of the place. And then I looked up at the gallery above the dance floor and my eyes were met by a sea of owl eyes all focused on the dancing couples below. The owners of the owl eyes had their eyes focused on their daughters on the dancing floor. They were keeping close tabs of who danced with whom. Now the dancing stopped (Frank Sinatra needed a break), the boys thanked the girls for the dance and moved on to another dancing partner.

I took the break from dancing as an opportunity to cross the floor. And that's when I bumped into cousin George who said to me: "Here Olie, dance with this nice girl."

"Okay," I said.

I held her hand, I put my right hand around her back; she stood there looking shy, and when the music started the shy girl looked up at me and I instantly knew that she was the girl for me. The car racing dream was instantly wiped off from my thoughts by that shy girl. I was going to be a car designer now, a far safer pursuit than driving racing cars.

Many couples met their partners on the dance floor at Fitzroy Town Hall in a similar way that I met my wife, Lyn. They went off and arranged their weddings and lived happily ever after.

In my case, I had to wait until I finished my engineering course, secured a job and then married that beautiful girl. We married five and a half years after meeting and we are still happily married now. During those five and a half blissful years we saw each other at Macedonian picnics, at dances, at weddings and at many outdoor activities such as snow trips, and of course many drives down the surf beaches. Quoting Socrates again, I will say those five and a half were the "best years ever" for me. And better years followed.

The annual picnics provided a sample of old-style Macedonian socialising. Families would go early in the morning to secure a picnic place under the shade of a tree. Mothers would spread the picnic table with home-cooked zelnic (pastry), roast chicken and meze (finger foods). The live band would set the picnic ground alive with music. I particularly loved the sound of the clarinet.

The engaged couples would pose in their Valiant cars. The drivers of those Valiant cars would be hanging their elbows out of the driver's window showing their muscular upper arms. I had nothing to show but my pretty fiancée. Steve's car, the Mark 1 Sprite, stood out as something special, exotic and foreign. But to the Macedonians parents of those pretty girls who favoured large family cars, the Sprite was not as impressive as a Valiant.

My intended purchase of a Porsche 356 Speedster was met with a ghastly "no" from my future father-in-law, the father of that shy and pretty girl. I enquired and arranged to buy the Speedster. I took it for a test drive to show it to Lyn in Preston. A Porsche Speedster for $1,100, the sister car of the Porsche 550 (James Dean's car). On seeing the car, Lyn's father said: "Don't buy that, you can't fit a picnic table in that small car."

I didn't buy the Speedster, not because of Lyn's father's instruction, but because I made a terrible blunder of not leaving a holding deposit on that amazing car. When I drove it back to Toorak to settle the purchase, the owner had tears in her eyes and she told me that she couldn't part with her beloved car. So, no sale. I missed out on a bargain of a lifetime. That car is now a rare classic. I regret not leaving a holding deposit.

Going back to the time before the picnics, freshly arrived migrants met in the Fitzroy Gardens on Sunday afternoons, where life was simple and joyful. People were "simply" happy. I remember girls in colourful dresses holding colourful spinning toys on a stick running around and skipping around the green lawns and around the flower-packed beds of the Fitzroy Gardens. As I look further back to then, it seems that times were better, simpler, happier, almost magical in those good old days.

But as this is not a romantic book, I will stop here and I will move on to my best pastime, my hobby, cars.

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