Читать книгу It's Okay You're Not Married - Rosalind Dorrington ( Amelia Williams) - Страница 8

Near our street was a Railway Station, beyond that was a big eerie building that would’ve made an excellent location for a monster’s castle in a horror movie. It was Legacy House where all the orphans of World War Two were housed. The building has been altered with extensions and improvements in recent years and is now a Hospital. Occasionally we’d play in a little park alongside Legacy House which we called the oval. It was large enough to have a football game or a basketball court but for some unknown reason the Legacy kids weren’t allowed to play there.

Many years later I met a young woman about the same age as myself and she told me she recognised me as being one of the kids whom she always wanted to play with. How cruel of the powers that be denying children the basic rights of little kids to interact with other kids simply because they forgot what it was like to be a kid themselves.

The Mulvihill family lived down around the corner from us opposite the railway station. John was James age, Michael was Edward’s age, Ray was about a year younger than me and Malcolm was approximately three years younger than me. John and Michael were brutes of kids. They’d always muck up any game that was started and if they didn’t get their own way, they’d start a fight especially with Edward. Michael was a fair little swine. Ray was a fairly quiet kid and Malcolm was the one whom we all felt sorry for, when he was four, he climbed up to look out the window he overbalanced and fell on his head on the cement footpath twenty feet (three metres) below. Well that’s what we were told. He never seemed to have any control of the mucus in his nostrils because of the damage caused by the fall and he always seemed to have permanent green candlesticks streaming onto his top lip. Recently Ray (now deceased) has been named as the murderer of a cold case of Sharron Phillips back in the 80’s. It makes me wonder now if he pushed Malcolm out the window.

At the top of the hill of our street was a twenty-foot high brick wall, which encompassed a huge area of land where the Carmelite Monastery was built. No one was ever allowed in there because the Carmelites had taken a vow of silence. Savage dogs patrolled the land and anyone walking down the street near the fence would invariably be frightened almost half to death by the dogs barking at them.

All the kids would stir the dogs every time we went anywhere near the fence by calling out or whistling. As soon as the dogs began to bark, we’d toss sticks and stones over the fence and yell at them to shut up.

On the other side of the Carmelite Monastery lived another boy of Edward’s age Billy McCulkin, Billy made Michael look like the Archangel Gabriel. He was such a bad egg of a kid that Dad forbade us kids to have anything to do with him. The police came around to tell Dad that Edward, Joey and Michael were in Billy’s company whilst Billy ran around the streets with a 303 rifle shooting birds from the trees. In 1974 Billy’s wife and two daughters mysteriously disappeared. Since then two associates of Billy were convicted of their murders.

Billy’s name has been linked to the Whiskey AU Go Go fire which killed 15 people.

We had the choice of the paddock at the bottom of our hill, the Legacy oval, the local park or the chalk dump opposite Stephanie’s house to play in. The chalk dump was good to get as much white chalk as we wanted for the rest of our lives. I have no idea where the chalk came from or why it was dumped there, but it was something that none of us kids ever thought about. We just accepted it as a natural part of everyday living to have a chalk dump in the street behind our home. Eventually it was cleared and the Chinese Association was built on the site.

The paddock was a good flat area of land to play tiggy or throw a ball to each other, but as it was only at the bottom of our street, it was too close to home. Our mothers could call us home to go to the shop or to have our bath early so we all preferred to play in the park. Not only was it further from the house, it had a hill with a rough road we could drive our billy carts down full pelt. There were plenty of trees in the park to play hide and seek and on the other side of the park was the football oval and swings, seesaw, roundabout and slippery slide. Best of all we loved to spy on the couples who parked in their cars near the railway line. It was surprising the many cars that would park there in broad daylight. We’d give the poor buggers heaps by peering into the cars and when they told us to P.O.Q. we’d take off and grab a handful of goolies (stones) and toss them at the hapless couple until they drove off. Sometimes but only occasionally the men would give us all the change in their pocket and we’d leave them alone in peace.

There was one odd-bod who’d often come into the park to talk to us kids. He wasn’t a child molester or anything like that he was just a poor simpleton who loved kids. He always wore a rope around his waist with about six tennis balls hanging off it on pieces of string. As well as the tennis balls, he had a spoon dangling on a piece of string. He spoke with a foreign accent and would repeatedly tell us,

‘Childrik drenk planty mulk,’

Whenever he came around, we’d stop whatever games we were playing to talk to him. He’d stay for about ten minutes and then keep walking to wherever he lived and we’d resume our game.

At the top of the hill on our side of the street lived a wonderful old lady by the name of Mrs Ward, all the kids liked her and it was obvious that she loved kids. She would often give biscuits to the kids but none of us went to visit her specifically to get biscuits. We all genuinely liked her and it was a pleasure to go and talk to her. Directly across the road from Mrs Ward, next door to the White’s house lived an old battle-axe by the name of Mrs Stanley. We all called her old mother Stanley among other names. As much as Mrs Ward loved us kids old mother Stanley hated us double fold, we in turn felt likewise. She had an orange tree in her backyard that none of us, that I knew of at any rate, ever raided. But that didn’t stop her from putting big chunks of glass and barbed wire along the top of her fence obviously to stop the kids from jumping the fence.

Her house was always locked up like a tomb and on one particular summer day I decided on the spur of the moment as I walked past to remove the glass and put it in the gutter. I removed about thirty pieces of the jagged chunks placing them in the gutter. Out of the blue, the back door flew open and old mother Stanley stood peering down at me like a vulture. I got such a shock seeing her I nearly shit my pants. I said in my best elocution voice, ‘Hello, Mrs Stanley, look at what some naughty child has done. They’ve put all your glass in the gutter and I’m just putting it back on the fence for you.’ I placed all the pieces of glass back and took off for the lick of my life. I told Edward and Joey what had happened and they decided to get even with her for me. They both went over to the park and found a dirty old used frenchie (condom) that had been left on the ground. They picked it up and wrapped it in a bit of old newspaper and just before dark they placed it on the footpath just outside her front gate.

The following day after checking to see it was still there, we all played out in the street just waiting and watching to see if she would find it. At long last she came downstairs to do a bit of gardening. We all scattered to strategic hiding places behind lamp posts, up trees or crouched behind parked cars, anywhere as long as we could see what she’d do. We didn’t have to wait long she came out of her yard as fast as her old legs could move and she had a little garden fork in her hand which she stabbed the frenchie with. She carried the offending frenchie at arm’s length and scurried over the road and stood below the Carmelite Monastery fence. To our astonished delight she tossed the fork and frenchie as hard as she could, high up into the air and straight over the fence. The dogs howled their obvious disapproval as we all gathered around absolutely pissing ourselves with delight. Whenever we walked past old mother Stanley’s place after that, we’d always yell out,

‘Ya filthy old bitch, we saw ya throw the frenchie over the Carmelite’s fence.’

Then we’d take off as fast as we could. It wasn’t long after that she removed the glass and barbed wire off her fence and we stopped calling out to her.

Our other neighbours were Professor and Mrs Robinson they had two sons who were studying at University to become Medical Practitioners. Professor Robinson was a Professor of languages and taught at the Queensland University at St Lucia. Both he and his wife were lovely people and spoke with an upper-class English accent. They were the type of people whom you would expect to be stuck up and toffee nosed, but they were the exact opposite. They would always stop and talk to all of the kids and ask us how we were. We all liked the Robinsons and even though they were elderly we could never work out why the Professor carried a walking stick. He didn’t appear to need it to help him walk and he seemed to be quite capable of walking up and down the street without the aid of a cane. We came to the conclusion that it was a hollow stick where he hid millions of pounds worth of diamonds. For ages we’d sit around and plan how we were going to hit him on the head to knock him out and pinch the cane full of diamonds. We figured we’d have had enough money to live happily ever after. I know it sounds as if we were completely nuts, but I guess in the fifties kids had very vivid and wild imaginations.

The Robinson’s sons were as crazy as loons. It was nothing unusual to see them running around the backyard in lap laps beating tom toms as if they were Africans or natives from New Guinea. We’d often sit at our window hiding behind the curtains and watch them. Looking back, I think they must’ve discovered something stronger than marijuana, failing that they really were a couple of basket cases. (they both became Drs.)

I’ve often wondered if their antics were the cause of James telling Edith and I to stay in the kitchen one day because he wanted to show us something. He could draw any painting or cartoon character with extreme accuracy. When I was in the fifth grade Sister Mary Leonard asked the pupils if we knew anyone who could draw. I volunteered James name and before we could blink, she had a canvas backdrop sent to our home which James transformed into an absolute masterpiece. He copied a picture of a Gondolier in a gondola in Venice from a picture in the grade five reader onto the thirty-foot long by eight foot (ten metres by three metres) high canvas. It was absolutely fantastic and it was used as the backdrop in our school concerts. I’ve often wondered whatever became of the painting.

Anyhow Edith and I were waiting in the kitchen expecting to see one of James works of art when he came prancing through the house stark bollocky naked with his penis hidden between his legs. He did a pirouette around the room with his hands above his head like a prima ballerina and said, ‘Do you think I’m too sexy for films?’ Edith and I cried with laughter for about ten minutes. He was about seventeen at the time and I was ten and I thought the sun and moon shone out of him. He was a wonderful brother to Edward and me. Ever since I can remember he called me Fatso because I was always quite plump as a kid when I went down to six and a half stone a few years ago he continued calling me Fatso. Unfortunately, it’s a name I‘ve grown back into. James had charm, personality and the funniest sense of humour. Edward on the other hand was very manipulative and often quite cruel to me. I know I was verbally cruel and abusive to him on many occasions, but his behaviour went beyond being mean and unkind. Edward sexually assaulted me not long after my eighth birthday and for many years I carried the burden of guilt blaming myself. The nuns had taught us that any wrong doing in the first seven years of our lives was not classified as a sin, but any wrong done after our eighth birthday was sinful and if we didn’t confess it to the priest, we would pay for it in hell. I also felt that if I’d told Dad he would be extremely disappointed in me and I didn’t want to lose his love for me. I was convinced he wouldn’t love me anymore. I thought too that he’d kill Edward (I wouldn’t have minded that) but I most certainly didn’t want Dad going to jail for murder. I eventually told my mother five months before she passed away, although she knew I was speaking the truth, I know she had difficulty accepting it because I think she felt that she had failed in her duty to protect me. I’ve lived with a certain amount of self-loathing since. For some inexplicable reason even though I hated Edward for what he did to me, I still felt a certain amount of sympathy for him because he never seemed to be quite right in the head. He was eventually diagnosed with schizophrenia when he was nineteen and I guess in a way I made his illness as his excuse. Since 1999 after Edith passed away, I’ve finally grown to forgive him for what he did. I guess in a way I’ve come to realise that his behaviour is no longer my responsibility regardless of his mentality. I hope by my making this public, others will learn from my mistake of not speaking up all those years ago. Unfortunately, it caused a rift between James and me. I think perhaps James didn’t want to believe it happened or maybe he may have thought the problem will disappear by ignoring it and me.

Most of the girls in my class were nice kids, but there were two or three that needed a good boot up the backside. One of the nicest girls in the class who was extremely popular with everyone, suffered the most tragic episode any child could possibly endure. Her father, a prominent businessman, blew his brains out one night on the front lawn of their beautiful home. I overheard Dad tell Edith the night it happened. I went to school the following day and told most of my classmates. The nuns got wind of me spreading the news and rang Dad and told him that I’d been telling the other kids. He apologised to the nuns, they in turn punished me with the strap and warned me that I was not to spread the story any more. They told the class that I had made the dreadful story up and that the fellow’s death was from a heart attack. It’s a mortal sin for a catholic to suicide so it had to be hushed up and the little Protestant was made out to be a liar, that was my first taste of hypocrisy and I can’t tolerate it now any more than I could then.

As I grew older my face became a horror story on its own, I had gold fillings in my front teeth but even that didn’t improve my looks. One fateful day whilst I was at a football match, I rubbed my tongue over my teeth and to my horror I discovered a hole where my gold filling should have been, I found it had landed in my lap. I was ushered back to one of the cruellest dentists in the world, Dr Rolland. He hated me with every fibre in his body, but not as much as I hated him. Whenever I was in the chair, he would pinch my cheeks hard and lift my mouth open by putting his fingers in my nostrils. He’d force my mouth to open by just pulling my nose back as hard as he could with the tips of his fingers still in my nose. He’d purposely hit my gums with the drill and make them bleed, but only enough to make them really sting there was never any permanent damage. It was pointless telling my parents because let’s face it, he was a grown up and grownups just didn’t do things like that.

So, it was with great trepidation that I went to have the gold filling reinserted. I sat in the chair and before I could even get the chance to open my mouth to avoid any nose pulling and cheek pinching, he said, ‘Open your mouth, you little bitch’ That was it. I was determined not to until I was good and ready. He pressed his thumb onto my top lip forcing it against my teeth. I could feel the pressure of the skin being flattened and I knew it wouldn’t take too much more effort on his part to bust the skin. He released the pressure allowing me to curl my top lip up in a sneer like grimace showing my teeth clenched in a snarl. Then he put the tip of his thumb under my overlapping top teeth and proceeded to force my head back until my head felt as if it was resting on my back. I dropped my lower jaw and his thumb went into my mouth so quickly that it didn’t stop until the knuckle joint was inside my mouth. That’s exactly where I hoped it would stop and that’s when I slammed my teeth together as hard and as fast as I possibly could. I held it there for what seemed like an eternity, the taste of his thumb wasn’t the best, but by Christ I enjoyed that mouthful as if it was fairy floss melting on my tongue. I thought he was going to backhand me, but he must’ve realised he’d gone too far and that any more torture would have caused bruising. He put the filling back in and told Edith that if it came out again, he wouldn’t be able to replace it without extensive treatment he said it was because I had too much acidity in my mouth. No need to be told the filling fell out again about a week later and Edith rang to make another appointment to have the extensive treatment. She was told that it would cost fifty pounds (one hundred dollars) which was more than a month’s wages and that was totally out of the question. There wasn’t any second opinion in those days so instead I was taken to the Children’s Dental Hospital at Mr Rolland’s recommendation whereby every tooth with a gold filling was extracted. I came away with five teeth missing and I had to wait almost six months before I received my first set of dentures. Over a period of time the wire clasps on those dentures wore holes in my other teeth and four years later they too were extracted. I’ve still got all my lower teeth and quite a few dentists over the years have remarked how strong they are. None of them have been able to understand how or why I should have had my upper teeth extracted. I guess nibbling the mongrel’s thumb was a big no-no.

Edward and I used to fight like cat and dog just about every day of our lives, yet if he got into a fight with Michael or Billy, I’d be in like Flynn to throw a few punches and kick their groins. I remember him getting done over like a dinner at his school one day and he told me about it that night. I felt so sorry for him and I vowed I’d get the two boys responsible at the swimming baths the following Sunday. Both Brian Butler and Ross Saxon were there when we arrived and they obviously planned to do Edward over again.

What they didn’t bargain on was his kid sister, I came out of and anything I could think of I did. I was like a rabid dog and both boys took off as fast as they could. Just about every kid within a five-mile radius was there that day and if any kid so much as looked like picking a fight with Edward after that, he’d warn them, ‘I’ll go and get my sister onto you.’

Edward’s nickname at school was Longa the Donga, my nickname at the baths was Little Longa and whenever we arrived at the baths after that fateful Sunday the kids would call out, ‘Longa the Donga’s here, oh shit watch out here comes Little Longa.’

Most of them would stay up the deep end, because even though I was a fairly strong swimmer it was too deep for me to tread water for very long. Dad had insisted we all learn to swim and for two mornings a week he’d drive me to the baths before school to have swimming lessons. I loved swimming and I still do, but six in the morning was a bit much. Edward was an exceptionally good swimmer, but his lessons were after school nearly every afternoon. I don’t know that he was good enough to go into the Olympic Games but he certainly could beat the living daylights out of any other kid as far as swimming was concerned. He had been kept in at school one afternoon and when he was finally let out, he started to run down the street to get to his swimming class. It had been raining earlier in the day and as he ran, he skidded on a wet patch on the side of the road. He lost his balance and ended up in the gutter with a fractured elbow. Not only did it stop him from swimming that season it stopped him from ever swimming competitively because his elbow was left with a permanent kink in his arm. I used to tell him that his elbow matched his brain because both of them were warped.

I too had a slight accident whilst practicing my diving expertise one afternoon. The only problem was I wasn’t diving into the water. For that matter I didn’t even have my swimmers on, I was showing off in front of Lorna telling her what a good diver I was. I was standing on the edge of the footpath that led to our front steps from the gate. I faced the steep hilly side of our front yard standing on my toes I lifted my arms up behind my back and in perfect formation, I thrust them straight out in front of myself whilst tilting myself forward. I got so carried away with my own importance I couldn’t stop the inevitable and I plunged head long down the hill. I slid the entire length of the yard approximately fifty feet, (fifteen metres) and landed heavily on my skull as I came to an abrupt halt when my head hit the fence. It served me right for being such a smart arse.

We always had a few chooks or ducks kept in a big pen down alongside the back fence. They were supposed to be in the pen, but Edward and I would let them out to run around the yard.

We both loved all sorts of animals but it wasn’t our kindness that caused us to let the chooks out. The pen was covered by a big choko vine, which provided us with the perfect place to hide and smoke but we didn’t smoke cigarettes. We were ‘smarter’ than that we used to smoke thin brown hollow reeds that grew near the chook pen. Your guess is as good as mine as to what damage we were doing to our lungs. In all probability we were in fact ingesting chook and duck shit into our bodies. I suppose the reeds weren’t any better or worse than tobacco anyway.