Peter’s Wars

At Elwood we lived near the beach and Mum and I both loved it. Dad would hop on his bike and go off to work and we’d be left with the whole day to do what we wanted. Ideally, it would be sunny and we’d go to the beach. Mum liked sunning herself and kept a fairly loose rein on me. Mostly she read or dozed and enjoyed a bit of flirting. It was just like a holiday, except for her infant son. I liked crawling into the water, and would keep going until it was over my head. Usually, Mum noticed. Or, a more observant mum came and saved me.

As a fair-skinned redhead, I was always getting sunburnt. It was a time when sunburn and peeling skin were as natural as getting drunk on payday. We didn’t cover up, wear block-out or even hats, and big kids competed for the largest piece of skin they could peel off their reddened bodies.

But Mum was pleased with herself. She’d escaped living at home with her strict father, and could now do as she pleased. Parenthood was a burden, but at least she no longer had to go to work. Married women were expected to stay home. Indeed, women working in the public service were compelled to resign once married. Mum now had a proper adult identity as a mother with her own flat. She even had a dog called Whisky and a cat she called Scotch. Whisky barked a lot and Scotch walked round the rim of my bath meowing and threatening to jump in.

One day we returned home from the beach to find we’d been robbed. Mum had left her rings and beautiful marquisette watch at home for safekeeping. She was devastated. Poor Whisky was crestfallen when Mum berated him for failing as a guard dog.

The robbery was more bad news for Dad. He’d already told his mate Alan that marriage had been a real shock, let alone having to work at Ford. He had no time for sitting in with the jazz band, he didn’t even have a piano, and there was bugger-all money. Friday was the highlight of Dad’s week: payday and the weekend. He went to the pub with the blokes from work and they knocked back as many beers as they could before 6 o’clock closing. Some drinkers would stagger out of the pub worse for wear, chucking up and brawling. Dad would buy two bottles of beer to share with Mum, tuck them in his Gladstone bag balanced on the handlebars of his old bike, and wobble off into the evening. Bored to death with Fords and marriage, he embraced the growing threat of war with enthusiasm. ‘Hitler could be our saviour,’ Alan reckoned.

As time passed, Mum discovered shortcomings in the marriage. With only Dad’s small wage and a baby, they never went out. No more dancing to Graeme Bell or partying, let alone the pictures. No more lovely Ford Mercury unless dad went over to Grandma’s to get it. And best not talk about the unpleasant sex.

Mum and Dad’s wedding anniversary was just before Christmas and Dad bought Mum a new wedding and engagement ring to replace those stolen. The watch had to wait until Grandma gave him more money.

Thereafter, Mum took the rings to the beach and all went well until, unbelievably, she lost the rings in the sand. She reckoned I distracted her, but what really happened was Mum came out of the water, picked up her towel and gave it a flick to get rid of loose sand. She forgot her new rings were carefully wrapped in the towel. I copped all the blame, of course. Mum taught me never to take personal responsibility for mistakes, always find someone else to blame and you’d keep out of trouble.

Together we scoured the beach, but there was no sign of the rings. However, showing her true grit and deviousness, Mum swore me to secrecy. ‘We won’t tell Dad. It would just upset him.’ But the next day, as soon as he rode off to work, we were at the beach with a kitchen sieve and my beach spade. We sifted sand like people possessed. There was no time for swimming even though we were sweating. There was no room for failure, we were committed to finding those rings. And, miraculously we did. First one, then half an hour later, the other. I was safe.

I got a swimming suit for my first birthday. A real one made of striped red-and-white wool. ‘It looks very smart,’ Mum says. But because it covers my chest, I think it looks a bit like Mum’s and is therefore a girl’s. However, I don’t care. If Mum is happy, I am happy. I am learning this from Dad. He makes a real effort to keep her happy, but he doesn’t spend as much time with her as I do.

We still didn’t go to Grandpa’s and he didn’t visit us. He was still cross because of Mum marrying a Catholic, but he accepted that Nana visited us most weeks. He was curious about his first grandchild and used to ask her about me. He even made a rocking horse for my birthday. It was not like a real horse, but rather a horse chair I could sit in. On both sides of it there were horses’ heads and they had real hair on them. Not auburn like mine, but black from a real horse. I really liked my rocking horse and rode it by the hour.

Nana brought me a birthday cake she’d made and we had lemonade. She left before Dad came home. It was better that way. He arrived home with cold beer and his friend Alan. Mum was pleased about the beer and she put up with Alan. Because it was my birthday I was allowed to stay up late and Dad sang me a song.

Little Sir Echo, how do you do?

HULLO, hullo, HULLO, hullo.

You’re a nice little fellow, I know by your voice.

But you’re always so far away.

HULLO, hullo, HULLO, hullo.

Mostly Dad ignored me, so I appreciated the occasion and the song and the good humour he sang it with. I liked it when he got down on his hands and knees and let me ride on his back. We’d done that a couple of times – it was really good. Also, he taught me a little rhyme game:

Round and round the garden like a teddy bear. (He says this while he traces circles on my palm.)

One step, two step, tickle under there. (Then he walks his fingers quickly up my arm and tickles my armpit.)

This may seem a modest game, but I thought it was deliriously funny. I laughed my head off, became hysterical, and vomited up the cake, lemonade, hundreds and thousands, jelly beans and sausage rolls with tomato sauce that Nana had made. Mum probably shouldn’t have let her infant eat all that stuff, but I was grateful for the experience. Of course, I was put to bed after that performance. Mum blamed Dad for upsetting me, and I lay in bed listening to them talking.

Alan said there was going to be a war, for dead cert. It was only a matter of time. ‘Everyone will join up. Might even be conscription.’ He reckoned they should join the air force now before the shit hit the fan and they could be at the top of the heap when the big bang went off. There were other wise words, but I forget them. It all sounded very exciting, and surprisingly, Mum didn’t have an opinion. She might have been wondering what would be the most advantageous outcome for her.

They drank more beer while Dad recalled his schooldays boarding with the Christian Brothers at Kilmore. That was how the system worked: first in best dressed. That’s how you got to be prefect, school captain, or even on the footy team. Dad was sorry he had missed out on all those things at school. Maybe he should join up while the going was good.