MIRANDA'S column "Treading treacherous water", (WT, January 6) brought back so many childhood memories.

I was born in 1935 in the tiny, isolated village of Martinsville, inland from the central coast of NSW.

A beautiful valley surrounded by the Watagan and Monkey mountains, it was an oven in the summer, with not a breath of air penetrating from the coast.

As our only means of transport was by horse and sulky, a visit to the coast was out of the question.

Of all the creeks in the valley, only Deep Creek boasted a permanent waterhole, commonly referred to as Mashman's swimming hole.

It was a magnet to us kids, even though it entailed a walk of almost a mile down a steep hill and of course a trek home up the same steep hill.

Here I learned to swim supported by a sugar bag with sealed golden syrup tins stitched into each end.

To a five-year-old the hole was immense, virtually circular and probably 15m in diameter.

The day I discarded my float and swam across the hole I was the proudest kid in Australia.

Apart from the joy of swimming, the hole was the hub of our social activities attracting, not only the local kids, but also kids on holidays from Sydney.

Our horizons were widened by the - probably exaggerated - tales of life in the city that the visitors regaled us with.

Not one of the local kids had visited the big smoke so we were very gullible.

Periodically we organised a barbecue on the banks of the hole.

All contributed to the food supply and we supplemented this by pinching watermelons, spuds and corn from the meanest farmer in the district.

It was probably a good thing that it was dark when we ate because the cooking was of very questionable standard.

After eating, romance was on the menu and as grass on the other side of the fence is always greener, the visitors from Sydney were a magnet to the locals.

Many of the kids experienced their first kiss at this venue and thankfully their parents were none the wiser.

Oh, to relive those days of innocence, energy and enthusiasm for life.

Thanks for making me recall those memories.

John Kjeldsen, Lake Albert NSW