My passion for family stories began as I snuggled into my maternal grandma's lap as a tiny girl. Jessie had a faint Scottish burr to her melodic voice and she took a special joy in cuddling the oldest child of her oldest child (she went on to have another 10 children) and her first granddaughter.

"Did I tell you about the time Ken heated pennies on the exhaust pipe of his motor bike...........", and Grannie would whisk me away to an earlier time and place, trying to imagine my 6'6" dad as a naughty schoolboy.

My love of, and skill at, cooking was gently fostered by Grannie, known throughout the district as possessing that elusive gift of 'having a light touch' and being a superb cook. As a tiny tot, she regularly stood me on a stool beside her, with an apron tied under my armpits, to rub home-made butter into flour for scones or to beat sugar and eggs together for a cake. "Just lift your wee hands out of the bowl as you rub the butter between your fingers, that's a good girl," she urged as she bustled about the farmhouse kitchen.

In the 1950's, in Australia, morning and afternoon tea were daily rituals, always observed with cups of strong tea and home-made baked goods - Anzac biscuits, date rolls, feather sponge cakes filled with passionfruit (which grew rampantly over the outhouse) and scones ot pikelets. In rural Queensland, all visitors were greeted and work stopped as morning or afternoon tea was served.

Another great treat was looking at Grannie's trunks, which were covered with labels from far off lands, each with its accompanying stories and other memorabilia - a beautiful fan from Venice, a silver picnic set from Bombay, a tiny cocktail hat from Paris..............just the names conjured up romantic images in my fervent imagination.

As Australian songwriter/singer Paul Kelly sings in one of his songs, "From little things, big things grow."