CHAPTER 33

Sydney and the Lost Fiver

The air force answered my prayers to exit the weird convent. Tocumwal would be abandoned, and hundreds of gleaming aeroplanes chopped up and melted into aluminium ingots. My father was posted to Schofields near Sydney where he would live on the RAAF base, while we’d live in town. Mum was excited at going to glamorous Sydney. We packed our suitcases and headed north, sitting up all night on the train.

Accommodation was scarce in Sydney and we joined hundreds of others at The Cross where we stayed in what Mum said was a lovely but ruinously expensive flat. It had French doors that opened on to a wide verandah overlooking a walled garden with a high wrought iron gate I looked through into Kellett Street. Mum used to think she was the ants’ pants lying back in bed reading the newspapers on Sunday morning – a treat as Melbourne didn’t have Sunday papers. I read the comic section, my favourite being Ginger Megs, who had a billycart like me. He was a scrappy little kid and I liked it when my father called me ‘Ginge’. I loved the cooked breakfast in a nearby cafe which was included in our rent. Although my mother was strictly a tea and toast breakfaster, good economics dictated we gorged every morning preparatory to house-hunting.

Within a month, we were living in a two-bedroom flat overlooking the harbour at Manly – just Mum and me, with Dad home most weekends. I was enrolled in Manly Public School where they gave us an ‘Oslo lunch’ with yucky Vegemite sandwiches and a little bottle of warm, creamy milk about to go sour. But at least I was safe from the nuns.

We had a drongo in our class who was obsessed with his penis and under the desk would unabashedly measure it with a ruler every day to the wonder of boys and girls alike. His dick was big and fat and could stand erect all by itself. We were impressed.

At low tide I played on the rocks with other kids from our building. One morning we were up early to see the US Pacific Fleet enter the harbour. It was an awesome sight – there were dozens of ships including aircraft carriers, battleships, destroyers and frigates. They were there to show the victorious flag and have some R and R.

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I loved the new song on the radio called ‘Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah’ with the lines, ‘My, oh my, what a wonderful day’. I sang it so much Mum took me into the city to see the Disney movie featuring it called Song of the South. Even more exciting was when the ferry shipped water on the deck as we passed the heads. Mum made me come inside where I knelt on the gallery seats that looked down on the ferry’s mighty engine. When we got back to Manly, I wanted to visit the shark aquarium, but Mum said I’d had enough for one day. Probably, she’d had enough.

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One Friday evening Mum sent me to The Corso to buy fish ’n’ chips, pressing her purse containing a five-pound note into my hand saying, ‘Be very careful, that’s all the money I’ve got in the whole wide world.’ As I waited in the chummy stupor of the fish ’n’ chip shop jammed between big men who had been drinking, I rehearsed my order for two pieces of fish and sixpenneth of chips. Suddenly, I became aware I didn’t have the purse. Back down The Corso I went crossing in front of the ferry terminal and past the shark aquarium. I followed the path along the harbour wall with eyes burnt on to the ground, my peripheral vision checking every clump of bush, every shadow. I was so intent, I developed super-vision. But alas, no purse with the five-pound note.

I retraced my steps back to the shop. I was staring death in the face. Five pounds was our spending money for the week; it would pay the rent and buy the food and Mum’s ciggies and beers. My mother would flay me alive. My dilemma was excruciating: while I searched there was still faint hope, but going home would mean a certain beating. ‘You can’t be trusted to do anything,’ Mum would say. ‘You useless good-for-nothing.’ I knew I would live with this shame forever if I survived. The alternative was to drown myself in the harbour, but I knew that wasn’t a real option – I was too good a swimmer. Now it was nearly 9 p.m., the fish ’n’ chip shop was closing and I was tired and worn out after my two-hour search. I just had to go home.

I let myself in the front door and there was Mum sitting in the lounge with the lady from across the hall. The room smelled of cigarette smoke and they were drinking beer. Mum was mellow. She was being her gracious self. ‘Where have you been, darling? You’ve been gone for hours.’ I could not contain my sobs, which came from deep down. ‘I’ve lost the money,’ I wailed. ‘I looked everywhere but I can’t find it.’ I was howling by now. Huge gut-wrenching sobs and flooding tears. I prayed. Dear God, let my punishment be quick and merciful. I’ve suffered enough.

Surprise, surprise. Mum just sat there, smiling and dignified in front of our neighbour. ‘You forgot to take the purse, darling.’ Apparently, I had left her purse on the kitchen table. Mum had already eaten while I suffered the fear of the damned. The perfunctory clip over the head was a love pat after what I had expected and eventually, I stopped sobbing.