Ah, Australia, the land of the mini

January 20, 1969 is the date stamped on the back of the photos in very faded red ink. I can just make it out. My parents and sisters have emigrated not long before, and the girls evidently discard the shackles of communist Yugoslavia in favour of native dress as soon as possible.

Knowing full well that mama and tata do not look kindly upon the mini even to this day, I questioned my eldest sister on a recent visit to the family estate as I raided the archives. “What on earth did mum say? How did you get away with it?” I asked in astonishment. She laughed, and her answer was characteristically irrepressible: their voluble protests fell on deaf ears (and sprightly feet).

There is a lot of leg in these photos, to be sure. These cartoon dresses with their tight bodices, full skirts, peter pan collars, bibs and ties, ribbons and frilled socks must have been a far cry from the scratchy wool and wrinkled tights I have seen in older photos. (Please note: my littlest sister – the one with her hand on the emu’s rump – is wearing a polka-dot dress!)

I love how chuffed my dad looks in the last photo: “check out my girls!” his puffed chest is saying. Mum’s pink dress has a pleated skirt, and what possibly may be a pussycat tie; it is hard to tell.

The photos may be faded, but the optimism in them remains as bright as the Australian sun.