One of my first jobs when I left the security of Nambour high school was to work for Day and Grimes Travel in 1977.

At the time they had the rights on behalf of East West Airlines to do the daily turnaround at Maroochy airport for the ‘flight’ from Sydney.

It became evident to my manager Wynn Davies, a legend in the travel business, that I probably didn’t have the necessary skills to be a good travel agent.

So I was sent out to look after the airport which was a loose term for a shed on the edge of the tarmac.

I inherited the job from Greg Biggs who obviously had the skill to be let loose on old ladies travelling to Paris.

The team consisted of Henry Lees, northbound to Noosa, and John McNabb, southbound. Both guys loaded and unloaded the plane while the lovely Pat Hughes was the refuelling and catering department.

My duties were to organise how many passengers, how many bags, how much did they weigh, how much fuel, some sales and ticketing, announce the departure time on a one-speaker PA system, welcome arriving passengers, find lost bags, first aid and emergencies and keep the terminal clean and tidy.

There was a flight daily except Christmas when there could be up to three flights a day.

This reminds me of one day when there was an extra flight. I was in the surf in Mudjimba when it flew over and it made for an eventful day.

The highs and lows included the extras when the strawberry farmers brought freight or when a struggling artist from Noosa always did a to-and-fro about the right price and weight to send his paintings south.

I was the sole freight department so my decision could be swayed.

Tourists from the south were still a bit rare.

If Melbourne passengers had to connect in Sydney and flew Ansett 50% of the time, their bags wouldn’t make it as TAA did the handling.

After copping a certain amount of abuse and after the passengers had settled down, I would politely ask,” Are you staying in Buderim or Noosa? I will bring the bags to you tomorrow.”

In those days, 90% of Victorians went to Noosa or Buderim so, even though they would leave the airport unhappy, they would be slightly astounded by my ESP.

Now, the traffic-control tower was another worry.

There wasn’t one. The incoming plane would radio in and I would put my head out the window, look at the sock and tell them what the wind was.

If there was cloud cover I would try to guess how high. If it was thick the pilot would fly over and have a look.”

Disaster planning at the ripe old age of 19 wasn’t really my forte but I did ask someone in authority in Sydney one day what would happen if the plane crashed, because the fire department was at Maroochy.

They came back and said it was a good point and I should identify the hydrant etc.

After looking around I couldn’t find it. So I rang back and it turned out they were talking about a garden hose and a tap.

Imagine that, a Fokker hitting the deck and lighting up like Guy Fawkes Night with old mate trying to put it out with a 20-foot length of garden hose.

Life was certainly simpler then, but maybe a little more dangerous.