The Greensborough pool miracle

Christmas 1964. In the words of Charles Dickens: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times … ” It was the year the brand new Greensborough swimming pool opened and the year I nearly died. And yes, these two events were connected but not in the way you might imagine.

I was nine years old and having a bad time with asthma.

Not that that was anything new. I often had attacks. My mother, Marg, would sit there, cool as a cucumber, gently rubbing my back saying reassuring words like: “Just wait until I’ve finished my cigarette, Denise, and I’ll plug in your Ventolin machine.”

Mum smoked liked a chimney. Of course she did.