When I was a kid, as number six daughter I was always running up behind the pack of siblings singing out, “Wait for me!” I was scared of missing out.

Some summers, we’d travel miles for a beach holiday with Aunty Valda and Uncle David and our cousins, staying at their South Gippsland dairy farm. We swam and played in the rock pools around Inverloch.

On stinking hot days, we’d march single file to the bottom of the wild beach cliffs of Cape Paterson. I’d cling to Dad’s slippery, red ears, perched high on his thick neck, my pudgy prep-school arm wrapped around his Germanic forehead. Our little brother would ride piggyback slung against the lumbar of Dad’s backache, gripping the tail ends of his flapping shirt. Five big sisters trailed behind, descending the narrow, sandy track as the brutal sun bit our bare shoulders.

Mum was back on the farm, preferring to savour a Bex and a good lie down.

We’d tear through scrubby bush screaming across burning sand: “The lava!” Plastic sandals cast adrift, we’d sink ankle-deep into the sandy shore. Spinning, laughing, we’d become scary sea monsters and frolicking dolphins in the wild waves, submerging and popping up to the surface, creating mermaid hairstyles and seaweed wigs. Sitting on the edge of the rockpools staring into miniature underwater worlds, we’d dream of a week of peace.

Huddled in the shade of a faded canvas green-and-gold striped beach umbrella spiked into the sand, five beach towels lay side by side as big sisters jostled for a tan. Us little kids waded in the frothy shallows, waves drawing us in and spitting us out. The big girls dived into the ocean swell. Eldest sister was on watch, warning me again and again not to go out any further. She pointed and read aloud from the rusty danger sign: “Float with a current or undertow. Don’t try to swim against it.”

Flipping underwater somersaults, diving into handstands, head held high movie-star swim-strokes, I was in way too deep. I couldn’t touch the bottom, even on tippy toes. Breathing came before calling out. My body floated upright underwater, climbing an invisible ladder. Surfacing, a wave slapped me in the face. A monster rip grabbed my leg, pulling me down. Bubbles burst from my nose in a blur of churning sand and fizzy seawater. I gave in and went with the irresistible flow of the undertow.

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Dappled yellow light danced on the sea floor. Pairs of feet attached to two liquid figures stood over me. Flapping, kicking horizontal on the sandy mound, I lifted my sea-soaked head, blinking through saltwater eyes. The twin blurs looked down at what the sea had washed up. Two big sisters pulled me upright by my bather straps. Standing waist-deep in water on the outer sandbank, now I really was in trouble.