I sent my brother a copy of Wild Boys the other day, and in return he sent me this photo, taken at Seven Mile Beach on the south coast of New South Wales:

In his message, my brother said that he thought the spirit of our father – who we always called ‘Pup’ – was smiling on the beach that day. When Pup died in 2008, his ashes were scattered into the ocean at Seven Mile Beach. I think he would have liked Wild Boys – he was a bit of a wild boy himself during the Second World War in Amsterdam, and he was never one to miss an opportunity. He was also one to always ‘call a spade a spade’, and I guess I’ve inherited that trait from him. Like many of us, my father struggled to be a good parent when his children were teenagers, and he made a few mistakes along the way. I’m sure he’d be the first to acknowledge that he was pretty hard at times, but he always did his best. Anyway, I felt very happy when I saw this photo because it just seemed so ‘right’ to see Wild Boys in the place where my father’s spirit remains.