Late Sunday morning found Balga restless. He went down Wellington Street, came to The Royale, to find it closed. He went on past the hospital and wandered to East Perth and a large park. Aborigines often came there and Balga sometimes sat with them for company, though not since he had become a “yank” He walked into the park and gave a start. A small, dark, dowdy woman with grey hair was huddled on a park bench. He stared long and hard at the sad lonely figure. Was that his Mum sitting on a park bench? So long ago, nine years, yes, it was! Balga rushed over ‘Mum, mum, mum it is you! I’m your son, Balga.’
‘Well, ‘pon my word, give me a hug son. Been too many years. I’m smilin’ and cryin’ ‘appy as a lark. Your ‘air it’s as flat as, well, as the palm of me ‘and.’
‘It’s a flat top, like with it,’ Balga drawled, feeling ill at ease and withdrawing into his self just a bit. He allowed himself to be hugged and even caressed. It had been so long and now he was all but grown, well into his teens at least. He was what did they call it? A teenager!
‘Mum, mum, we gotta work somet’ing out,’ he said. ‘You staying in the city long?’ he almost cried.
‘They got me outa me ‘ome, ‘ad to leave just like that. The old bloke let me camp on his verandah for a time. Side one shut in so it was fine, rain and cold was kept out as well as flies and mossies. He wouldn’t gib me old Paddy’s place. He went just after you was took away. Then the son came, snotty bloke waiting for the property. Pain—couldn’t stay, pension came and so to Perth. Country no good for me sort at all sport. Just chucked me out as if I was a bag of rotten spuds.’
‘Bastards,’ Balga exclaimed. So you living around here,’ he asked feeling strange at having found his Mum and unable to decide what to do about it.
‘Yeah, ‘ostel place. It’s fine though not so dandy. Close to the park so I can come and park meself here. Other oldies come. I gab with them for a bit of company.’
‘Well, let’s go so I can see it. Meant to come to Shilo, but just out of Clontarf these last months. So that old place of ours is no more. Bastards, you lived in there for years. Maybe later, yeah, we can be a family again, nice. You know one day I’ll fix t’em t’ose t’at tossed you out.’
He couldn’t believe that he was with his mum again. It had been so long. He went with her across the park to Hill Street where there was a row of decaying cottages. Mum had a back room in the middle one. She let herself in and they went down a passageway to the very back room which seemed to have been tacked on. The door was pretty flimsy and there was a mark at the bottom as if it had once been kicked in. Inside, there was a double bed, a table and a couple of chairs, a big old wardrobe and a meat safe that held all the food she had. He looked inside and there was only half a loaf of bread, tea, sugar and a tin of Sunshine milk powder.
“Where do ya cook?’ he asked.
‘Opposite possey you go and see gas too if I have pennies. Don’t now, but pension day Friday. I’ll have a little cash after the rent for the gas.’
‘I’ll come back in a few minutes,’ Balga exclaimed. ‘Got to go for a while. You just set tight. Just a mo and I’ll be back.’
‘Yeah, what’s it been, five six years, no seven eight years and a few minutes. Go, be back soon, or never ever,’ she added with a resigned shrug.
Balga was annoyed that his mum was so down; but then life hadn’t treated her with respect. As he hurried away he checked his pockets and found that he had about a pound in change. He found a milk bar open near the hospital and bought a loaf of bread, a tin of jam, butter, a pint of milk and got the change back in pennies. It was Sunday and so there was no buying meat. He took the stuff back to Mum and gave her two bob’s worth of penny coins. She made him a cup of tea and he had to drink it alone as she had only one chipped cup. ‘I’ll see what I can bring next time,’ he promised her. ‘I’ve got a job and can let ya have a bit now and again. I’ll keep my eye out for a place too. You know, I’ve been lonely living by myself.’
‘Don’t know what happened to the others, yer sisters,’ his mum said with a sort of sob in her voice. ‘Guess they don’t care, forgotten their old mum.’
‘Kylie isn’t in Pert’. She’s becoming a nurse and doing her training in Sout’ern Cross,’ Balga told her. ‘As for t’e ot’ers, haven’t seen even one of t’em, wouldn’t recognise t’em if I did. You know t’ose homes do somet’ing to you and you don’t – I don’t know.’
‘Patricia, Betty, Joan, you never knew them; you never knew ‘em, did you? If your dad hadn’t died ...’
‘I met Frank, he was still in t’at Castledare, now’s ‘es somewhere in t’e city, I guess.’
And so they talked until the sadness lay about Balga like a fog and he had to get out of there for a bit of brightness at the Royale which must be open by now.