As a youth Neville rowed a canoe, a corrugated iron sheet sealed with tar from the road, all up and down the stretch of creek. Afterwards he’d pull it up under a house beside the road.
On one of those giant gum trees, where the creek changes direction, a rope was tied on which they would swing out over the water, letting go and landing with a splash.
In the place where blue kingfishers dived for mullet he once saved a younger boy from drowning when he was unable to make it across to the other side.
Oh happy days.