At school, we had been warned over and over about strangers. Then police had visited us nearly every year to give talks and show films, and Mum had always stressed the importance of refusing lifts from anyone we didn’t know, especially if they offered you lollies. What no one ever warned us about were friends or relations.
The summer vacation following my final year in primary school was spent with some elderly friends of Dad’s. We called them Uncle and Aunty.
Aunty was a pleasant, white-haired old soul who wore the kind of glasses that glittered in the dark. Uncle wasn’t so nice. I disliked him on sight. He was short, with corrugated hair, a beetroot-shaped nose and a ruddy face. He was a boozer and very friendly to Jill and I, often patting us on the head or shoulder.
One day, he told us about some beautiful jewellery that he kept in his toolshed, which was hidden behind some tall trees at the rear of the yard. It was a Blue Bird necklace and bracelet. That jewellery was all the rage then, so we were quite happy to go with him to the shed.
As promised, he showed us his treasure, but then he climbed up and tucked it away on a shelf too high for us to reach.
I tugged at Jill’s arm. ‘C’mon, let’s go,’ I whispered. It was obvious we weren’t going to get anything out of him. Jill wouldn’t move. Her eyes were glued to the shelf where he’d hidden the jewellery.
‘Don’t go yet, girls,’ he coaxed, ‘I’ve got other things to show.’
‘Listen,’ I said urgently, ‘I can hear Mum calling us for lunch.’ I grabbed Jill’s arm and we both raced out of the shed and back towards the house. I hadn’t liked the way he was looking at us.
He certainly was persistent. He took to following Jill and me around whenever Mum wasn’t on the scene. One day, he did some fast talking and convinced us that, if we came to his shed, he’d actually give us the jewellery.
When we reached the shed, he climbed up on the bench and retrieved the necklace and bracelet. Then he showed them to us once again, but instead of giving them to us as promised, he quickly placed them in his tool box, closed the lid, and sat on it.
‘You said you were going to give them to us,’ I said suspiciously.
‘In time,’ he smiled. ‘In time.’ Uncle’s teeth and fingers were discoloured from a lifetime of smoking. His teeth were the same colour as the small, brownish pebbles we’d dug up at Grandma’s house. His fingers were so stained they reminded me of barbecue sausages. He began to talk softly to both of us about what nice girls we were. I felt very nervous.
‘Jill, I think we should go,’ I said as I edged her towards the door. Just then, we heard Billy shouting from another part of the garden, ‘Ji-ill, Ji-ill, come and find me. I’m hiding.’ Jill and Billy were good mates. She ran off immediately, forgetting all about the jewellery.
I turned to follow, but Uncle grabbed my arm. ‘You stay with me,’ he said. ‘You can have the necklace. I might even give you the bracelet as well.’ I backed up against the wall. Uncle moved closer and tried to put his hand down my pants. I shoved him away, he fell over and landed on his tool box. Serves him right, I thought. I dashed off. He never got within cooee of me after that. I warned Jill never to go up to his shed again.
I was frightened for her, yet I couldn’t explain what I was frightened of. She disregarded my warning. On two occasions, I caught her plodding along silently after Uncle. I caught up with her and distracted her with something else.
It was a reversal of roles for us. Jill had always been physically stronger than me and was always fighting my battles. Now, it was my turn to look out for her.
That summer signalled the start of my growing up. I was very self-conscious, none of my body seemed to be in proportion. I had long legs, long arms and the bit in between was flat and skinny.
I think what I disliked most about myself, though, was the lack of pigmentation in certain patches of skin around my neck and shoulders. I always buttoned my shirts right up to the collar. If the top button happened to be missing, I pulled my collar close in around my neck and held it there with a large safety pin.
Mum must have noticed how self-conscious I was, because she took me to see a skin specialist, who said there was nothing he could do and referred me to a cosmetician.
The cosmetician gave me different coloured batches of make-up to mix together so I could conceal my patches.
After all the trouble Mum had gone to, I didn’t have the courage to tell her I had no intention of ever using the make-up. Actually, I was mad at her. It was one thing for me to stick a safety pin in my collar, but quite another for her to drag me around to specialists, exhibiting me to the world. At the first opportunity, I wrapped my make-up in newspaper and threw it in the bin. It was a symbolic gesture. I decided that, from then on, I would bare that part of my body, and if people were repulsed, that was their problem, not mine. It was the first time my lower neck had seen the light of days for years.
Apart from my appearance, over those holidays my main worry was high school. I kept wishing it didn’t exist. For a time, I had very romantic notions about running away to join a circus. I would climb up into the small gum tree in our backyard and sit there for hours, day-dreaming about circus life. But the circus never came and, in February 1962, I started high school.
I felt terribly old-fashioned. I still had two long plaits dangling down my back. All the other girls had short hair, and they were much more mature than me. There were about twelve hundred students at our school. I felt lost and intimidated.
As we all waited silently in line that first day, I kept wondering what stream they were going to put me in, Commercial or Professional. We’d been told there were going to be four Professional classes, denoted by the letters A to D. Only the exceptionally brainy students were permitted in the A class, everyone else was slotted into the other classes according to their varying degrees of intelligence. I sat glumly as the teachers read through first the A list, the B and C. By the time they got to the bottom of the D list, my name still hadn’t been mentioned. My hopes began to rise. Suddenly, another man, who I later found out was the principal, came over and joined our groups. After a brief conversation with one of the teachers, he called out, ‘Is there a Sally Milroy here?’
I slowly raised my hand.
‘You’re in D group too, off you go.’ I didn’t know whether I wanted to laugh or cry. I hated school, yet, at the same time, I didn’t want people thinking I was the sort of kid who didn’t have a brain in her head.
Mum was ecstatic when I arrived home. Apparently, Mr Buddee had rung her and told her he’d fixed things up. She greeted me excitedly with, ‘Maybe you’ll become a vet.’ That was the next best thing to being a doctor.
‘I’ve gone off animals, Mum,’ I replied sarcastically.
‘A doctor, then?’ Mum said hopefully.
‘Don’t like ’em.’
‘Well, anything Sally, anything. You’ve got too much talent to waste.’
‘Look, Mum,’ I said, ‘can I have something to eat? I’m starving.’
‘Jam tart in here,’ Nan called from the kitchen. ‘Leave the child alone, Glad. She’s got to eat.’
Mum was rather deflated. I think she expected me to be as excited as she was. As I sat munching a huge piece of jam tart, I found myself feeling a little sorry for her. She had five kids and she seemed to be pinning her hopes on me, the worst one. Jill would be the one to achieve something, not me. I sighed and cut myself another slice. I consoled myself with the thought that there were four kids in our family younger than me, at least one of them must have a good chance of becoming a doctor, especially if Mum kept pushing. I didn’t like to think of all of us ending up as failures.
Early in the school year, I made friends with a girl called Steph. She lived seven blocks away from us, in the part they called Como, so we took to visiting each other on weekends. I loved Steph’s bedroom, it was decorated mainly in lilac and it reminded me of something straight off a Hollywood filmset. Surprisingly, Steph was equally fascinated by my home. She loved the free-and-easy atmosphere, and the tall stories and jokes.
But I think my intense admiration for Steph’s room caused me to become somewhat dissatisfied. I suddenly realised there was a whole world beyond what I knew. It was frightening. Sometimes when Steph’s parents talked to me, my mind went blank. I always seemed to say the wrong thing, so, for fear of offending them, I began saying nothing at all, which was even worse. Steph’s dog Tina had more social graces than me.
That year, Mr Willie took us to the usual Legacy march. It was our fourth since Dad had died and I still disliked them. When I told kids at school I’d be marching for Legacy, they all killed themselves laughing. ‘Talk about daggy,’ one of them muttered. I desperately wanted to be like them, but I just didn’t seem to be made of the right stuff.
Even my attempt at a new hairdo failed. Mum had been adamant in her refusal to allow me to go to the hairdresser, so, in desperation, I simply chopped my two plaits off, leaving two stubby, half-plaited wads of hair. Mum was so embarrassed when she saw what I’d done that she took me up the road to the local lady who did hairdressing from home. Her efforts weren’t much better than mine, but at least my hair was now even. Nan was the only one who had anything good to say.
‘Minds me of the old days, seein’ you like that, Sally,’ she said chirpily, ‘that’s what they call a basin cut.’
I tried everything I could to get out of marching that year, but when Mum found she couldn’t talk me into it, she enlisted the help of Mr Willie. I could never resist his Your Father Was A Brave Man routine.
As a reward for my eventual capitulation, Mum said I could wear Dad’s big medals, while Bill wore the miniatures. Jill sported a couple of medals of somebody’s from World War One.
Mr Willie gave us a special treat that year, morning tea in his office at the top of the AMP building. It was the tallest building in Perth in those days and we were anxious to see the view.
As it turned out, we were more impressed with Mr Willie’s office than the view. It was spacious, with soft carpet and a rather imposing desk, but what fascinated us most of all was his little fridge. To begin with, when you opened the door, it lit up. Ours never did. It was packed with cool drink and cake, and we were amazed to discover that it was for his use only. None of us said anything, but we all looked at each other as if to say, so this is how wealthy people live, you all have your own personal fridge.
It was towards the middle of that year that Nan and I had our first major row. I arrived home from school one day with the facts from a science lesson freshly imprinted in my brain, and proceeded to inform Nan that when it came to eradicating germs, onions were totally useless.
For years, she had been using freshly chopped onions to sterilise our house and it was the first time I’d ever openly criticised any of her theories concerning our health.
Nan was cross, she said high school had gone to my head and then she accused me of being as silly as my mother. I pointed out that none of my friends ever got sick and they lived without the stink of moulding onions. Nan retaliated by asserting that, one day, they’d probably all fall down dead and then they’d wish they’d known about onions.
That was the last straw. I walked into my room, flung back the curtains and collected up all the onion quarters that sat neatly along my bedroom window-sill. I hesitated at picking up two of them. They were slightly mouldy and they looked at me as if to say, remove us and you’ll get a deadly disease, just like your grandmother says! I grasped them courageously with my bare hands and flung them dramatically in the kitchen bin. ‘No more onions,’ I told Nan quietly, but firmly.
I was trying to be rational about the whole thing. After all, I was studying science. By the time Mum arrived home, we were at it again. Nan knew just how to provoke me. I must have been under the influence to throw away her onions, she said. Had I been sneaking her brandy? Didn’t I realise that I was putting the lives of my brothers and sisters at risk? How else could we maintain a germ-free environment?
Mum just stood and watched us in amazement. Nan began to explain what it was all about. I stormed back into my room and screamed, ‘I don’t care what you say, Mum, no onions. Steph’s room doesn’t stink the way mine does.’
Mum came and stood in the doorway of my bedroom and eyed me sympathetically. Nan came up behind her and held up a fistful of freshly cut onions, just to annoy me. ‘Here they come, Sally,’ she growled, ‘I’m bringing them in!’
‘MUM!’ I screamed.
‘Well, perhaps you should leave it for now, Nan,’ Mum suggested, tactfully. ‘Put those ones in the bathroom.’
For the next few days, my room remained onion-free. But then one day, as I lay on my bed, a strong oniony smell came wafting through. I checked my windowsill, nothing there. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small, curved, white object jutting over the top of my wardrobe. I grabbed the broom from the kitchen and knocked them down.
I ranted and raved at Nan over this latest intrusion, but she just chuckled and continued to puff on her cigarette.
The following week, she resorted to tucking the onions in the same drawer in which I kept my underpants. Even Mum thought that was funny. ‘You wait until she tucks onions in your corsets,’ I grumbled, ‘then you won’t be laughing.’
‘Keep your voice down, Sally,’ Mum said, horrified. ‘She might hear you. Don’t go giving her any more ideas!’
Our battle remained unresolved for the next few weeks, until Nan discovered a product called Medic, which had a very strong, hospital-type odour. It came in a small, blue spray can and was specifically for use with people suffering from colds and flu.
‘What a marvellous clean smell that has, Glad,’ Nan commented as Mum sprayed a small amount in the kitchen.
‘I thought you might like it,’ Mum smiled. ‘That’s why I bought it, you know what that smoker’s cough of yours is like. This will help you breathe.’
‘Aah, that’s good, Glad,’ said Nan as she inhaled deeply. ‘I can feel it clearing my lungs.’ Nan thumped her chest with her fist. ‘By gee, I feel good now, that’s a good medicine. Smells like it’s got some of the old cures in it, it’s not often you get a medicine like that these days.’
From then on, my room smelled of Medic. My clothes and my rugs smelled of Medic. Nan sprayed Medic down the toilet and in the bathroom. The whole house smelled of Medic. I disliked the smell, but I wouldn’t have dared utter one word of criticism. Medic was better than onions.
By the time I turned fourteen and was in second year high school, I was becoming more and more aware that I was different to the other kids at school. I had little in common with the girls in my class. Even Steph was changing. She no longer raced me to the top of the tree in her yard and she thought my frequent absences from school were something to be ashamed of.
Jill was in high school now and, as I expected, was having no difficulty at all in fitting in. Sometimes, I desperately wished I could be more like her. Everything seemed to be so hard for me.
Even little Helen had taken to school like a duck to water. She began primary school that year.
‘Maybe she’ll be the doctor then,’ I said sarcastically.
‘Yes, perhaps you’re right,’ Mum replied thoughtfully. ‘I’m sure you’ll all do well, once you set your minds to it.’
‘Yeah, but setting your mind to it, that’s the hard part.’
‘You could do anything, if you really wanted to.’
‘But that’s just it, Mum, I don’t want to.’
When I looked at other people, I realised how abnormal I was, or at least, that’s how I felt. None of my brothers and sisters seemed to be tormented by the things that tormented me. I really felt as though I just couldn’t understand the world any more. It was horrible being a teenager.
Part of the reason why I hated school was the regimentation. I hated routine. I wanted to do something exciting and different all the time. I really couldn’t see the point in learning about subjects I wasn’t interested in. I had no long-term goals and my only short-term one was to leave school as soon as I could.
I found that the only way to cope was to truant as much as possible. Being away from school gave me time to think and relieved the pressure. I always felt better inside after I truanted.
I was starting to become an expert in ways to miss school. One way was to deliberately miss the school bus that pulled up in front of our local library. I would walk to the stop with Jill, then, when she was talking to her friends, I would nick off and hide behind the library building. After the bus had pulled in, collected its passengers and left, I would reappear and walk happily home. My excuse to Mum was that the bus was too crowded to fit me on. For some reason, she either believed me or just accepted it.
But one morning, Jill decided she and her friends would truant also. I wasn’t keen to help. There were too many of them and they’d never done it before. However, Jill was eager for me to show everyone the ropes, so I agreed.
Five of us hid behind the library that morning, and when the bus pulled in, we all had a chuckle. However, our smiling faces soon changed to dismay when, instead of driving off, the bus remained parked at our stop. We were soon joined by an older girl, who had walked up to where we were hiding and said crossly, ‘You might as well come out. The driver is not going to leave without you.’
Jill’s friends were so embarrassed. Trying to truant was the most adventurous thing they had ever done. They were all petrified the story would get back to their parents. At least I didn’t have that worry. Reluctantly, we all walked back down to the bus, accompanied by the boos, jeers and laughter of the forty teenagers already seated.
‘You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves,’ the driver growled as we hopped on. ‘I’ll be checking behind there every morning from now on.’
As we drove to school, I sighed and looked out the window at the passing bush. That was the trouble when amateurs were involved, you always got caught. I decided that, from then on, I’d only take Jill with me.
It was also reasonably easy to leave school during recess and lunch-time. Our school was enclosed by bush on three sides. Keeping my eye on the teacher on playground duty, I would slowly edge my way towards the bush. Once I was really close, I would turn and run, then squat down behind a tree and wait to see if anyone was coming after me. If the coast was clear, I’d walk the three miles home, sticking to the cover of the bush and away from busy Manning Road. Pretty soon, a few other students caught on to the same idea. Sometimes, we’d come across one another in the bush, grin guiltily, and then press on, pretending we hadn’t seen each other. Now and then Jill came with me, but, in her opinion, the joy of missing school wasn’t worth the long walk home.
One time, Jill talked me into allowing her best friend, Robin, to accompany us. I thought this was a bit risky, because Robin’s father was the mathematics teacher. Sure enough, the head happened to be driving along Manning Road that morning, spotted us in the bush, picked us up and took us back to school. Poor Robin copped the worst. ‘You, of all girls,’ he scolded her. ‘We expect it of the Milroys, but not of girls of your calibre.’
The school began enforcing stricter rules in an attempt to reduce the high rate of truancy by some of its students. Mum had been threatened with the Truant Officer many times. To her, this was as bad as having a policeman call. So she began to try and make us stay at school all day.
She was in a difficult situation because, while she wanted us to have a good education and to get on in the world, she was also sympathetic to our claims of being bored, tired or unhappy. Also, I knew it wasn’t that fact that we truanted so much that upset her, but that now and then we got caught. Getting caught inevitably brought us to the personal attention of the school staff, which also meant that, in some way, she lost face in their eyes. Like most people, I suppose, Mum liked other people, especially those who were educated, to think well of her.
She was particularly upset after one visit to our Head. He had shown her three different sets of handwriting, all purporting to be hers, and all excusing either Jill or me from a morning or afternoon at school. ‘You’ve got to get yourselves organised,’ she told us crossly, ‘if you’re going to forge notes from me, at least do it in the same style.’
The longer I stayed at school, the more difficult I became and the more reluctant Mum became to support my truanting. She was tired of the Head and the Guidance Officer ringing her up. I sympathised with her. I was sick of visiting the Guidance Officer myself. I felt very much on the defensive in these meetings, because I knew they were based on the premise that there was something wrong with me. In my view, that was totally unfounded. Consequently, my interviews with the Guidance Officer tended to be fairly short, mainly due to my lack of response. Mum was finally advised to allow me to leave school early and let me become a shop assistant.
However, one day, Mum actually encouraged Jill and me to miss school. There was a wonderful sale on and she said that, if we could manage to sneak off in the afternoon, she would buy us some clothes.
The day of the sale also happened to be Sports Day, which gave me a brilliant idea. Jill and I were playing softball that afternoon and we had a friend who was a really good hitter. We arranged for Dawn to belt a beauty out over the embankment. Jill and I made sure we were both fielding in that area and when the ball flew over, we dived eagerly after it. Racing down the embankment, we grabbed the ball, flung it back, then headed for Mum’s car, which was parked in the street nearby.
The following Monday, Mum was called to the Head’s office once again, and Jill and I with her. After speaking to Mum privately, we were called in.
‘This is a most serious matter, girls,’ the Head said sternly, ‘I have even considered calling the police in.’
We were stunned. He ordered us to sit down. I sneaked a look at Mum, but she was staring at the opposite wall.
‘Now,’ he continued, ‘I’ve had a talk with your mother and I appreciate that she has a difficult task raising you without the help of a husband, so I’m prepared to be lenient this time. You’re the eldest, Sally, I know I can count on you to be responsible. If you will tell me the name of the young man who picked you and your sister up, nothing more will be said.’
I could feel my eyes grow suddenly large in my face. My mouth began to quiver at the corner and my stomach rippled. But I managed to murmur that I had nothing to say.
The Headmistress was then called in and gave Jill and I a talk on how easy it was to besmirch our reputations.
Ten minutes later, Mum was on her way home and we were back in class. I felt quite proud of myself. The Head had applied considerable pressure, and I hadn’t cracked. Just like my dad in the war. He’d been questioned by the Gestapo about his friends and he hadn’t let them down. Well, I hadn’t let Mum down either. And boy, was she relieved.