In April this year Torquay locals initiated a series of U3A (University of the Third Age) classes. One class for which I was tutor was frighteningly called: ‘Write til you burst’.
Over the term a group of around six students wrote and talked about words at fever pitch.
We tried to slot into our creative, unexpected, funny, irreverent natures without too much judging of the results.
We called this unexpected spirit of creativity – ‘Eloise’ and thus was born the Eloise Project.
Here are some of the results:
Car Tomb
by Trevor Tyson
The shopping centre car park was not too crowded given it was a Friday
morning. Bernie was watching the supermarket entrance for Jill’s
return with the groceries. She’s been gone a long time he grumbles to
Sandra, sitting next to him in the back of the 4-wheel drive. She
didn’t answer at first, concentrating on the paper she was reading,
hoping to avoid having to chat to her father. A few minutes pass
before Sandra glances at her watch. She’s only been gone about ten
minutes, Dad – she won’t be much longer. Sandra’s sister Jill had
parked the car and dashed into the supermarket for the second time
that morning to pick up some extra fruit and veggies for their Mum and
Dad who had decided that they would stay with their daughters for the
weekend after all. Sandra peers up at the overcast sky, and starts on
a Sudoku.
Bernie looks at his watch for the fifth time…Where the hell is she –
it can’t take this long to buy a bit of fruit – it’s not as though
we’re going to stay a month. Sandra has completed two rows and one
column of numbers of the Sudoku. She glances at her father, noting
that he’s leaning forward now, still staring at the supermarket
entrance. The sun briefly peeps through a gap in the clouds, and
Bernie starts to take off his windcheater, knocking Sandra’s newspaper
with his elbow…I’ll have to get out to take it off, I’m getting too
hot in here. His door won’t open, and he leans forward to try the
driver’s door, but it won’t open either. Did Jill leave the keys with
you, or what? Bernie’s voice is getting that edge that Sandra hates
so much. She tries her door, but no luck there either….No, she took
the keys with her, we’ll just have to wait till she gets here.
The sun is beginning to warm the car. Bernie is fidgeting again…I’ll
just knock on the window and get someone to try the doors from the
outside...Two elderly women are opening their car nearby, putting
shopping bags in the boot. Bernie knocks hard on the window, the women
glance over, then busy themselves with their shopping bags, and
without looking at Bernie again they get in their car and drive off. A
woman with a young girl is walking towards Jill’s car, Bernie knocking
then slapping hard on the window now. The woman comes over and seems
to show some concern – Bernie shouts to her that they’re locked in the
car and can’t get out, and could she open the door for him? The woman
tries each door, but they’re all locked – she shouts Where’s the
driver?
Bernie is yelling now, something about his stupid daughter’s
gone off to the supermarket and left them locked in and they’ll
suffocate if they can’t get out. Sandra pulls at his arm…For God’s
sake Dad, be quiet – wait till Jill comes, you’re causing a scene.
Just sit still and I’ll look in the car manual, I’m sure we must be
able to open the doors from the inside. Bernie is breathing hard now,
his face reddening, sweat breaking out. He grips the armrest while
Sandra thumbs through the manual. For God’s sake Sandra, hurry up,
there’s no air in here….
The woman with the young girl is still at the window, watching them
with obvious alarm – Bernie turns to her again, shouting louder
now…Please, please can you go and find a Security Guard, we’re stuck
in here, we can’t get out, we can’t get out… The woman heads towards
the supermarket, almost running. Sandra has found the section in the
car manual that says never to leave children or the elderly in the car
with the doors locked as there is no door release mechanism inside the
car – only the car ignition key will open doors from the inside or
outside….
Bernie becomes frantic, straining against Sandra’s hold, still
slapping hard on his window, yelling Please get us out, for God’s sake
can’t anyone hear me, there’s no air in here….He sinks back into the
seat, breathing hard and shaking. A knock on Sandra’s window, a
Security Guard – now it’s Sandra who is yelling…We’re locked in, my
sister’s in the supermarket – can you please page her, her name is
Jill – please tell her we’re locked in the car and to get back here
with the keys or we could die in here. The guard talks rapidly into
his mobile phone, reassures Sandra that the announcement has gone over
the public address system. Minutes pass. Bernie is weeping now and
shaking uncontrollably. Another two minutes pass like years. A small
crowd has gathered around the car, and the Security Guard has
disappeared. Now it is Sandra who is weeping, still trying to hold on
to her father’s arm, but shaking even more than he is.
Jill is walking towards the car, seemingly puzzled by the crowd, who
make way for her. She opens the doors of the car, Sandra falling back
sobbing in her seat, Bernie bursting out of his door, running to a row
of shopping trolleys, pounding on them with his fists, then rounding
on Jill and shouting Where the hell have you been? We could have died
in there!
Jill silently ushers Sandra and her father into the house. As Bernie
enters the hallway, he pulls his mobile phone from his pocket.
Our Outback Adventure
– May 2014
by John Peck
We had heard so much about this South Australian Outback town of Farina – from our friends Tom, Phillip, and Bob – then there was the Landline programme on ABC1 in 2013 – that my wife Sylvia and myself felt that we had to go and see for ourselves. Farina is a ghost town, situated on the Oodnadatta Track, about 630km North of Adelaide, 26km North of Lyndhurst and 55km South of Maree – a long way from anywhere! We had sold our caravan 18 months ago, and so the nearest accommodation to Farina was at the outback Lyndhurst Hotel – bathroom at the end of the passage!
We left Torquay on May 27th in our Focus, and after a brief stop in Adelaide to visit friends, we drove up past Port Pirie, Port Augusta, and the Flinders Ranges, to Lyndhurst and the Lyndhurst Pub – a classic outback resting place, with a staff of two – a large and grumpy publican, and a young, very attractive barmaid/cook/housekeeper of Chinese appearance – who spoke with a very strong Scottish accent! Mains electricity, piped water, and even Wi-Fi were available, although facilities were very basic – with a night time visit to the loo, necessitating a hike down a dark corridor. The majority of clientele at the pub were road train drivers, traversing the Strzelecki Track, to the Moomba gas fields – who ate and drank at the pub, but slept outside in their cabs. Anyway we soon settled in, and enjoyed dinner, and a good night`s sleep.
The Lyndhurst Hotel
Next morning dawned bright and sunny, and after a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs, we jumped in our car, and headed up the Oodnadatta track, towards Farina. We had made several excursions into the outback in previous years, so had a good idea of what to expect – huge open spaces, a flat landscape with low, rough, grey/green vegetation, and wide skies. The bitumen lasted about 5 km, before the road surface became a broad expanse of brown and red dirt, generally smooth, with occasional ruts and ridges. There was very little other traffic on the road, mainly heavy duty 4WD vehicles, some towing off road camper trailers. Along the way, we passed spectacular red, brown and white ochre cliffs. After another 20 km, a signpost denoting Farina pointed off to the left, and we travelled about 2km along a much narrower and more rutted track, towards the township of Farina.
After passing through the recently constructed stone gateway denoting Farina, We suddenly found ourselves in a hive of activity, with many people and cars around us, a large white tent and numerous stone buildings, all in various stages of decay. We were directed to the Information Centre, where we were welcomed and given cups of tea or coffee and a map of the township – and asked to sign the visitors’ book.
Farina Underground Bakery
Farina was first established in 1878, as an area for sheep and cattle grazing, and there were hopes of growing crops, although the climate and the quality of the soil made the latter not viable. The population steadily increased and in 1882, Farina became the railhead for the narrow gauge railway track to Adelaide (later to become the route of the infamous Ghan train), and business boomed with drovers herding flocks of sheep and cattle from all over Central Australia, for transportation to the city and port of Adelaide. In 1884 the railway had extended north as far as Maree, although some pastoralists, including the well-known Sir Sydney Kidman, continued to use Farina as their preferred railhead.
Stabilised Transcontinental Hotel, Farina.
By the late 1880s the town boasted a population of 600, with two hotels (the Transcontinental and the Exchange), a bank, post office, two breweries, a general store, an underground bakery, a blacksmiths shop, an Anglican church, a school and a brothel. Conditions remained very primitive, with the majority living in wooden shacks or tents, and only a few wealthy members of the community were able to afford stone houses.
Stabilised Farina Post Office
Much later (1957) the narrow gauge railway was replaced by a Standard Gauge track, and later again in 1980 the line was rerouted away from Farina. The population gradually declined through the 1890s and early 1900s, to its present level of only two. Kevin and Anne Dawes purchased the sheep and cattle station on which Farina stands, in 1991. Over the years, the stone buildings gradually crumbled, and anything made from wood or canvas had disappeared.
The Farina Restoration Group was formed in 2008, in an attempt to recreate as much of the old town as possible, and now has over 100 enthusiasts from South Australia and Victoria, including carpenters, stonemasons and bakers. Major sponsors include the South Australian Government, and groups from Port Augusta. The majority of “hands on“ work is carried out during May and June each year, when approximately 100 volunteers participate. It was considered impractical to “rebuild” the crumbling buildings (with the exception of the underground bakery, which is now a major fundraiser for the group, choosing instead to stabilise the stone structures to minimise further decay, and to tidy up the site. The walls of one of the few stone houses – the Moffatt house -, have been recreated from a pile of rocks.
A war memorial has been created, to commemorate those born in Farina, who participated in the 1914-18 and 1939-45 wars, the isolated – and utterly peaceful cemetery has been revived, authentic sheep and cattle railway wagons have been obtained from the Pichi Richi railway at Quorn (owned by the Pichi Richi Railway Preservation Society) and restored, and many “story boards” have been created, to show visitors to Farina, a little of the history of the township. Today approximately nineteen buildings and features have been beautifully restored/stabilised for public viewing.
After viewing several properties, and enjoying lunch cooked in the underground bakery, we drove up to the cemetery – located approx. 2km from town, at the highest point – and “explored”. An interesting feature are the Muslim (Afghan camel drivers) graves, which are located approximately 150metres from all the other burial places. A storyboard lists the names and ages of all those buried in the cemetery – a very high proportion were of babies less than one year old, indicating that medical facilities in Farina, cannot be compared with today`s high expectations! Whilst at the cemetery there was a sudden and violent thunderstorm.
We quickly became soaked, and had to retreat to a friend’s caravan in the campground to dry out. Of greater concern was the fact that the roads had become very muddy and slippery, and as it was nearing dusk, we decided to make a cautious retreat to the Lyndhurst Hotel for the night. No sooner had we arrived at the hotel, than the heavens opened again, this time for several hours.
Next morning we had planned to go back to Farina for the annual “Farina vs the rest of the world” cricket match”, a classic bush cricket match, played on the restored Cricket Oval, but it soon became apparent that the roads were no longer suitable for our “family sedan”. The Strzelecki track was closed to all vehicles, and a long line of road trains were queued up outside the hotel. We made a short trip up the track to see Talc Alf`s gallery (stone carving) to pass the time, and then a member of the Restoration Group volunteered to come to fetch us (and others) from the hotel, in his large 4WD. Martin (the baker) duly arrived, and we headed off to Farina. The main track was very wet and slippery, but the side track to Farina had been very badly cut up by vehicles, and would have been totally impassable in our car.
However we arrived safely, and headed to the Cricket Oval, in preparation for the scheduled 11.00am start. Much activity and preparation, but it was 12.30pm before play got under way – delayed by selection of teams, and finding umpires! It was to be a 20 over match, and players ranged in age from 7 to 70 (including girls). There were copious quantities of beer and wine available, and delicious pies etc., were delivered from the bakery. All very relaxed and casual, and rules of cricket were a little “flexible”. We think Farina won, but the result was open to debate. After the results and presentations, it became dark, and we all enjoyed a delicious 4 course dinner (from the bakery), for $10.00. After dinner, a friend took us back to the Lyndhurst Hotel – quite an exciting journey in the dark, through the mud and water, but we made it safely!
The following morning dawned damp, cool and foggy, but the spectacular sight of twenty road trains queued up outside the hotel, convinced us that a return to Farina, was not a good idea, and we decided to depart Lyndhurst, and head south to the Flinders Ranges National Park.
Road Trains queued up in the fog outside the Lyndhurst Hotel, waiting for the Strzelecki Track to open.
Lots of water around, but we made it to the Parachilna Hotel without any real dramas, and then decided to drive through the Parachilna Gorge to Blinman. Dirt road, lots of water (10 river crossings – about 10-15 cm deep), but a grader driver assured us the road was open, so we pressed on. The Gorge is about 30 km long, very beautiful, and whilst driving we saw kangaroos, emus, and four camels – but very little other traffic. We reached Blinman without any problems – and the end of dirt roads! We had a look round the town, then drove to Wilpena Pound.
At Wilpena Pound Visitor Centre, we took one of the many walking tracks, leading to a lookout. Beautiful walk through the forest, but we discovered after walking for 45 minutes, we still had another 3 km to the lookout – then 6 km back again! We looked at one another, and quickly turned around, back to the car.
We decided to find accommodation for the night in Hawker, but found only two options – the hotel or the motel. Same price but the hotel had food and the motel did not, so we chose the former, as we were both hungry.
Next morning we drove to Renmark, where we had booked accommodation at the Ventura Motel for two nights. Renmark seemed a very nice clean town, with an air of prosperity – unlike other towns we had seen in the past week, which all looked a little run down. Dinner at the very large and modern Renmark Club, then a very welcome bed. Next morning after a nice breakfast at the imposing Renmark Hotel, we headed to the Information Centre, and decided on a self drive tour of the district, visiting a few wineries and other local highlights, followed by a river cruise. We discovered we were the only passengers on an 80 seat cruise boat, but went anyway, and enjoyed a nice Devonshire tea, whilst cruising the mighty Murray River. Back in time for a bit of shopping, followed by a very good dinner at the Renmark Hotel – not a lot of choice!
Next morning dawned foggy, but we had 730km to drive home, so set off early. For Mildura, Ouyen, Birchip, Donald (nice lunch from the bakery), St Arnaud, Ballarat, and home to Torquay – safe and sound, with a very dirty car! Only nine days away, but it was most enjoyable, and seemed like a real adventure. We had been to, and explored, Farina!
Thomas
by June Macrae
His head was spinning and he felt dizzy so he lay down in the grass. The sun was coming up now and he was grateful it was not raining. Da had gone to the pits at five leaving his sisters to get him to school. Martha said he could run the fastest so she had sent him over the fields to the farm for milk for the porridge. If he only had shoes he would not have cut his foot on the path and now that had made him late.
His head started to clear and he looked up at the sky. It was so blue and he wondered if his Ma was looking down on him. He had never known her but he had seen the picture in the drawer. She wasn’t smiling and her eyes looked sad. He liked to think that was because she was thinking about him, the baby she had left behind.
The picture was a sort of brownie grey colour so it was hard to see what colour her hair was, or even her eyes. Thomas was sure her hair would be like his, with curls the colour of chesnuts. Her eyes would be the same too, dark brown like chocolate. Martha said Thomas had Irish eyes because they seemed to glitter when he was excited.
Da told him that Ma died when he was two months old. Thomas knew not to ask him about her as Da’s brows would go down and he would look away. Martha and Tillie said it was her heart that had given up with having too many babies so young. Thomas was the third baby named Thomas, the other two had died. Da wanted a boy to be called after him.
Thomas got up and started to run back to the cottage. It was a small house in the middle of a terrace of Miner’s cottages. They had been lucky to get it. Da had been hired at the pit and the cottage came with the job.
They had not been there long. They always had to keep moving ever since Thomas was born. The first move was before Thomas could remember. Martha told him that the authorities wanted to take Da’s children away from him because they had no Mother. They moved every time Da got word that the authorities were close to finding them.
The cottage was bare with just a table a few chairs and mattresses on the floor but Thomas did not care he was so happy that the steaming porridge was ready. Tillie shared the milk out and Thomas was pleased that he got some of the cream from the top of the jug. He was hungry after the run.
He looked at his sisters. Tillie nearly 15, 9 years older than him and Martha 14. They were so pretty. They both had small button noses, beautiful dark brown hair and brown eyes. Tillie had the look of the lady about her and always tried to show Thomas what life could hold for him. Martha was always good for a bit of fun, she laughed a lot and always found time to give Thomas a big hug.
He struggled as the sisters rubbed his face with a washcloth but he knew they were trying their best to make him fit in with the other children at school. The others kids did not have much either but they had a Mother to see them off every day.
Tillie stayed at home and tried to keep on top of the daily jobs needed to keep the house as clean as she could. Today was a bigger day for her as she had to wash the few clothes the family had other than those they were wearing.
Tillie took out the big metal tub from the coal house and filled it with the warm water that she had heated on the fire. She rubbed carbolic soap into the fabric first then she took of her shoes and started to tread in the warm suds. Tillie found this part of her chores a real treat as apart from cleaning and softening the clothes her feet came out soft, pink and glowing.
She was just drying her feet when she heard a rap at the door. She opened it to find the local priest standing on the step. Tillie asked the Father to come in.
He was a big man and seemed to fill the room with his presence. He had a large round belly, his face and nose were very red with little purple veins that looked like spider webs set into his skin. Tillie thought his eyes that were light blue, small, piercing and beady were birdlike like a sparrow hawk. The Father stood with his legs apart and his hands on his ample hips looking around the room. Tillie thought that his feet seemed very small and wondered how they could carry him on his rounds.
He asked her how the family was doing and asked if her Da was at work. Tillie said that he was and that her Sister and Brother had gone off to school. The Father said that he was very pleased to see that there was work for her Da and asked her if he had left a collection for the Church.
Tillie went to the family money tin and showed the Priest that there were only a few shillings and explained that was all they had to feed them until Da’s next pay day.
The Priest emptied the tin into his hand and said that the Church would be very grateful. Tillie asked what would they do for food and what would she tell her Da. The Father told her to have faith that God would find a way.
The Priest waddled off to the next cottage to visit his next Parishioner.
DOWN ON MY KNEES
by Gayle McDonald
Martha looked around the waiting room. There were two other clients waiting as well. All sitting like ducks in a row. What is that song playing over the speakers- wish they’d turn it down, Martha thinks grumpily to herself. She hates this waiting part, no-one talking, sneaking furtive glances at each other. She could sense that familiar feel of her cortisol levels rising, she started wringing her hands, hoping it won’t be a full blown panic attack this time. She tries to take a couple of deep breaths and decides to listen to the music. Maybe that will calm her nerves a bit. “You were always crazy like that”……..it’s that song by Jewel, Foolish Games. Why did I have to tune in to those particular lyrics? “CRAZY! Is this a sign? Is someone suggesting I am crazy? Martha continues to wring her hands anxiously. What’s that old snarly man glowering at me for? He gives me the creeps, something about him. Oh stop it Martha, she says to herself, you’re just being paranoid again. The other lady seems nice enough she thinks, but such a look of sorrow on her face, the poor thing.
Frances glanced at the others waiting as well, all waiting to be called in to a little room and then spew out all your worries. These poor psychologists, don’t know how they can listen to everyone’s problems all day every day. Wonder if they ever want to slap people and make them listen to common sense? Frances starts singing to herself, “why are we waiting? Slowly dehydrating” That makes her smile on the inside, as she just doesn’t have the energy to produce a real smile, that’s just too hard when every muscle in your body aches with depression. What’s that song playing? “….these foolish games are tearing me apart..” Foolish games, ha, makes me think of at least a couple of exe’s that loved to play foolish games! A solitary tear falls from under her eyelid, snuck up on me that one, she thinks, as she quickly brushes away the tear and pretends she is fine. God this old man stinks, wish he wasn’t sitting next to me. Not only that, there’s something hard sticking out from his coat and it keeps jabbing me in the ribs. Bloody hell! The woman on the other side of me keeps fidgeting and clasping her hands, she looks panicky, oh hurry up doc, get me out of here!
Davo looks around the room, shit – how long is this going to take, he thinks. He can feel his adrenaline pumping, spewing in to his veins like an oil spill in water. So toxic and spreads so quickly. His face starts to redden, as those familiar thoughts of the war return to him. When will the flashbacks ever stop? It’s driving him mad! Fucking hate the Japs, he shouts to himself loudly. Wonder how these two women would react if I just blurted that out loud, right here in this waiting room. But no, can’t say anything to anyone as it’s “politically incorrect” to be racist. He hates that word as much as he hates the Japs! He fidgets as the metal object in his inside coat pocket digs into his side. For shit sake, what is that fucking music? He tunes in for a minute…” this is my heart bleeding before you, this is me down on my knees”….. Davo finds himself flung into an immediate flashback – to the mud soaked trenches, soldiers on their knees everywhere, blood and body parts strewn around as if carelessly left behind. Brown mud and red blood. Trying to quickly change his thoughts, Davo wonders if this shrink will finally be the right one? They’ve all been so bloody useless so far.
Martha’s psychologist finally calls her in, thank goodness, she was worried her panic was going to get out of hand, and she didn’t want to make a scene in the waiting room. She knows she will leave after her session much more relaxed, she always does, why should today be any different?
Frances is called in next, relieved just to get away from Mr Stinky, she feels she can breathe easier now. Hopefully today will be healing for me, she thinks, as more tears involuntarily roll rapidly down her face as she is led in to the room.
Great! thinks Davo, left all alone. Everyone else has started, what about me? His anger is still rising, looking hungrily for somewhere to find relief. Finally a door is opened, about bloody time he rages to himself. Then he looks in disbelief, what the bloody hell! Why have they sent me to this woman? What a cock up!! She introduces herself, grinning from ear to ear, “Hello my name is Miyu Sakatu, but my non-Japanese friends call me Mia, you can call me Mia if you like”. Davo follows her in to the room, maybe his rage will find some relief today after all, as he feels for the flick knife he has in his jacket, relishing the feel of the cold hard steel unfurling in his fingers.
THE WEDDING DRESS
by Sheila Currie
I was so excited. My wedding was only a few months away and there were so many things to think about, my trousseau. Going away outfit, dress, hat, shoes, veil and headdress, church, reception place. It was so confusing. My father had died the year before and my brother was working in London and probably would not be able to come to my wedding. Who should I ask to give me away? My friend Betty had recently married so she would know all about it. She suggested I visit her dressmaker in Gardenvale and get her to make the going away outfit and then I could make my decision about the wedding dress.
In the meantime my cousin Barbara who lived close to where I worked in Blackrock told me about her friend, a dressmaker who lived nearby. I visited her and she agreed to my request and I could call on her for fittings at any time. So convenience rather than commonsense ruled the day. I brought the material and pattern to her. Time did not seem to be a factor in her life but she assured me there was plenty of time. Then after a few visits I noticed things going wrong. Sleeves were so badly cut and more material had to be bought as they had to be remade. The hem was so crooked that I could not wear the high heeled shoes I had purchased for the outfit. In the end I took the dress from her and pleaded with the dressmaker who had made a beautiful job of my going away outfit. She kindly offered to fix the dress but as she was very busy it would not be ready until the day before my wedding
Friday morning arrived bright and sunny. Tomorrow was my wedding day. It wasn’t long before the phone rang. It was my husband-to-be telling me he had been presented with a mantle clock from the staff at the Titles Office as a wedding present, and would I bring the car into the city for him to bring it home. I should have said NO but being young and in love I agreed. After lunch I had an appointment with the hairdresser. Suddenly I realized that I was running out of time so left the shop with rollers still in my hair and a bright blue scarf wrapped around my head.
When I arrived in the city I realized it was Friday shopping day and there was not a car park to be seen. Back to the station I drove and there I spotted a single space but it meant parallel parking which I had never done. The car, which belonged to my mother, was a large Chevrolet. I tried to back it in but somehow it didn’t fit so tried going in front ways but that didn’t work. After several more attempts I gave up, put my head on the steering wheel and burst into tears. A gentleman passing by looked in the window and said, “Is anything wrong?” I said through my tears, “I can’t park the car and I’m getting married in the morning.” He replied, “Would you like me to help you?” He kindly parked it for me and I raced off to the Titles Office to leave the keys as requested.
I ran all the way back to the station, bought my ticket, and ran down to the platform only see the Sandringham train pulling away. What could I do but wait and pray that the dressmaker was still in her shop. It seemed an eternity before the next train arrived. Boarded the train and eventually reached Gardenvale station. I jumped out only to see my dressmaker about to board the train. I ran to her, tugged her arm saying, “Please don’t go”. She kindly took me back to her shop and giving me the dress explained that she had been very busy and I would have to finish it. That night my bridesmaid and I spent an hour or so sewing on many buttons’
The moral of the story is SAY NO when necessary.
T.V., MICKEY MOUSE CLUB AND MONSTERS
by Sue Newson
Barbara lifted the handlebars of her purple Healing bike to clear the gutter in front of
her house. She was in a hurry and on reaching the end of the driveway leapt off and ran
to the toilet. This happened nearly every day and why didn’t she learn to go before she
left school? Her mother was in the living room standing in front of the Warmray with
her skirt slightly hoicked up to take advantage of the warmth. Few words were spoken.
A snack rummaged out of the pantry that never had anything interesting to eat in it,
would have to be a vegemite sandwich again. It was 1956 and television had arrived in Australia.
Barbara’s grandparents lived five houses away and always seemed very formal and
very old. Having had nine children and thirty plus grandchildren she had never felt
special to them although she had sometimes wandered up there when she was bored
and asked to play the piano in the front room, she rarely had a to and fro conversation
with them.
Pop was a very large man who always wore black trousers with braces and a waistcoat.
The trousers were short enough to reveal very white and very muscular calves. He had
been a champion cyclist in his youth. His massive chair reputedly had belonged to the
Bishop of Ballarat and it sat between the window and the bookcase that held his pipe
and accessories and his collection of Readers Digests and National Geographics.
Barbara’s grandmother was a small well groomed lady who was suffering badly from
rheumatoid arthritis and moved slowly and painfully. She rarely left the house.
Now in 1956 and from 4:30 to 5:30 pm each weekday they had Barbara for company.
At first she watched just the Mickey Mouse club by herself as the they were getting the
evening meal out in the kitchen, but the addiction grew and pretty soon she was
spending more time at no.48 than no 34.Regretfully as the final song closed the program
Barbara would race through the kitchen throwing a thanks over her shoulder, out through
the door along the return veranda and just a short step to the street and home.
The evening meal was over quickly with her mother monopolizing the conversation and
her father putting in an appropriate word now and then. They seemed to go over the same
ground time and time again. Barbara and her brother left the table as soon as possible
“I’m going to Ma and Pop’s place. I’ve done my homework” Well it would be done before
school tomorrow if she got there early enough.
Barbara never wondered why her parents allowed her to be out on the streets after
dark even if she was only five houses away. She never thought of real people being a
danger, only ghosts vampires and monsters. As she approached the house at no.48 it
would be all in darkness. It was her grandfather’s practise to turn off all the lights
except for the room currently being used. On opening the door to the living room
there would be a blaze of light from the two fluorescent lights. An open fire was barely
going with a meagre two pieces of smoky wood radiating almost nil warmth.
Barbara always sat in a small chair by the fire and had to turn sideways to watch
the T.V., not that she noticed. It was a 17 inch and only receive channels 2 and 7 and
unreliably so. Her favourite programs were “I love Lucy”, “Father knows best” and
the many half hour or hour programs that had names like “Lux Playhouse” or “Wednesday
night theatre” which were really like mini plays or movies. Quite often they didn’t start
until 8 or 8:30 p.m. And by the time they finished it was rather late for a 10 year old
girl to be about. Once a very frightening murder/ thriller had been on and Barbara
decided she couldn’t possibly go home alone. She had had to phone her mother and
ask meekly if she could come up and take her home. Her mother sounded surprisingly
agreeable and pretty soon she was there having travelled the same route as Barbara through the dark house and into the super bright living room. Taking charge of the
situation immediately she threw on three logs of wood and gave everything a sharp determined
jab with the poker. Sparks flew flames grew.
A satisfied look came over her face as she pulled up a chair to sit close to the fire Barbara’s grandfather had watched all this with an impassive gaze but then in a rather clipped and serious tone “A woman at a fire is the plaything of the devil” Her mother took no notice at all and continued on with her important monologue about the escapades of the newly arrived neighbours who had bought the Dixon’s house. However there were other nights when Barbara left the room in a fairly relaxed state of mind only to become increasingly disturbed as she made her way through the darkened house, along the veranda and out onto the street. She usually paused outside the gate and then ranas hard and fast as she possibly could.
Running, running. You know you can outrun it as long as you don’t turn around and
don’t acknowledge that something is there. Keep your mind fixed on this narrow strip of
footpath, don’t let it wander off to imagine ghostly shapes, frightening faces and terrible
unearthly noises. Even reaching the house was not safe; they could be waiting behind the
front fence or in the tall shrubs bordering the driveway. Worse was the fear that fear that
just as you reached up to open the wire back door and sanctuary, hands would reach around
your throat and pull you down to the ground and no-one would hear your screams.
Amazingly that was all forgotten when tomorrow night rolled around and the same journey
was ready to be taken.
It was on a crisp autumn night when Barbara left her grandparent’s house and on reaching the footpath she realized she could see right across the road to Anglins the grocers She could even
see into their display window which only ever had a couple a couple of packets of Robur tea ,
a faded cardboard advertising sign and a handful of dead flies .A huge moon hung in the
grey sky casting an eerie shade of daylight and Barbara was amazed and delighted. Instead
of running as fast as she could she started to walk very slowly marvelling at what could be
seen in this pale light. This was perhaps why she didn’t hear a car draw slowly to a stop
fifteen feet behind her and close to the kerb. It was only when it started to creep forward
again that she became aware of it. The car was high and square; an old car and definitely
black but the headlights were switched off- not that they were really necessary.
Barbara realised all at once that she couldn’t see into the car to find out how many occupants there were which she found very odd, considering the light. Perhaps the car was fogged up; it was probably cold enough outside. The car’s engine continued to run with a low steady hum and Barbara felt a cold dread take over her. She started walking quickly now, not running, listening
all the time for the car’s motor keeping pace with her. It never changed speed or sound; it was
just there behind her and if she turned her head just slightly to the right and turned her eyes as
well she could just see the steadily encroaching vehicle. Now she was at the next door neighbour’s
house and what could have been called bravery or coolness deserted her and she ran along the
last stretch of footpath, through the gate, along the driveway and in the back door.
Once inside the back door she locked the door which always seemed to stick and be difficult. She bypassed the living room and went straight to the front room which looked out to the street. The room was in darkness and she was able to lift one of the Venetian blind slats to peer
through. There was no sign of the old large black car. Barbara stood by the window for a
minute or two and decided she couldn’t tell her mother; for many reasons really; one of which
would be not allowing her to go out at night again .She briefly said goodnight to her parents and
went to bed and relived the experience deep under the covers. On one hand it could have been
a nice person keeping a benevolent eye on a child out alone at night and driving away once
they considered she was safely home or it could have been the other thing which she didn’t
want to think about. Sleep didn’t come easily for Barbara with all these thoughts to-ing an
fro-ing but the morning light bought some sense of normalcy.
Her mother looked up as Barbara entered the kitchen and a worried look came over her
Face. “Are you feeling alright? You look very pale.” Before she could answer she went on to
say “It’s all these late nights and then you can’t get to sleep. Dad and I have been thinking
about it for a while and have decided to get a T.V. We’ll probably have it by next week and it
will be a 21 inch. You won’t need to go up there”. It was now 1957 and Barbara’s grandparents never had the pleasure of company at night ever again. They may have missed her, certainly would have commented on it, but no more was ever spoken of it on all sides.
