My Place

by Sally Morgan

  When Mum didn’t visit me for a long time, I used to wonder if she’d forgotten me. But the only day she had any time off was on Sunday, and then she had to cook the roast first. She never had any annual holidays, like some of the other servants did. I remember quite a few times when she told me she hadn’t come because she couldn’t afford the train fare. The only time she had the whole Sunday off was if the Drake-Brockmans went visiting for the day.

  When I was still quite young, Sister Kate* left Parkerville and took a lot of Aboriginal children with her. I was very sad, because I lost a lot of my friends. There were a few lightly coloured Aboriginal boys left and they kept an eye on me. I don’t know why I wasn’t sent with Sister Kate, maybe it was because of the Drake-Brockmans, I don’t know.

  I think Alice Drake-Brockman thought she was doing a good thing sending me to Parkerville. Sometimes, she’d come up and bring Judy, June and Dick with her for a picnic. That was always in the spring, when the wildflowers were out. Dick and I got on well, we were very close. He treated me like his sister.

  I loved it when they all came up, because the other kids were so envious. There was a lot of status in knowing someone who had a car. I thought I’d burst for joy when I saw the black Chev creep up the hill and drive slowly down the road, to halt at George Turner. All the other kids would crowd up close, hoping I’d take one of them with me. I’d jump down from the wooden fence we sat on while we waited and hoped for visitors and I’d walk slowly towards the car. I felt very shy, but I was also conscious of the envy of the others still sitting on the fence behind me. It was a feeling of importance that would last me the whole of the following week. I always promised the other kids that next time, I might take one of them. It made me king until the following Sunday, when someone might get a visitor who brought a box of cakes. Even so, cakes weren’t as important as a car ride, because it was very hard to make a cake last a full week.

  I often prayed for God to give me a family. I used to pretend I had a mother and a father and brothers and sisters. I pretended I lived in a big flash house like Ivanhoe and I went to St Hilda’s School for Girls, like Judy and June.

  It was very important to me to have a father then. Whenever I asked Mum about my father, she’d just say, ‘You don’t want to know about him, he died when you were very small, but he loved you very much.’ She sensed I needed to belong, but she didn’t know about all the teasing I used to get because I didn’t have a father, nor the comments that I used to hear about bad girls having babies. I knew it was connected to me, but I was too young to understand

  I had a large scar on my chest where my mother said my father had dropped his cigar ash. I tried to picture him nursing me, with a large cigar in his mouth. I always imagined him looking like a film star, like one of the pictures the big girls had.

  The scar made me feel I must have had a real father, after all. I’d look at it and feel quite pleased. It wasn’t until I was older that I realised it was an initiation scar. My mother had given it to me for protection.

  ***

  We used to have quite a few outings at the Home. We went to the pictures and put on concerts at different places to raise money.

  One morning, we were all very excited because we’d been told we were going to the zoo. I really needed something to get excited about then, because I hadn’t seen my mother for ages and I felt very sad. Actually, it wasn’t only me. Hardly any of the kids had had visitors, they all felt down. There hadn’t even been people looking for kids to adopt.

  People often came to the Home to look kids over for adoption. I don’t think they realised how upsetting it could be for everyone. We all got excited, we wondered who’d be the lucky one to get a mother and a father. The visits usually came to nothing, the kids would end up being turned down and they’d cry themselves to sleep at night.

  A friend of mine did get adopted. Everyone was surprised, because usually, once you’d reached the age of eight or nine, no one wanted you. This girl was eight, she was very pretty with blonde hair. A wealthy family took her, we thought she was very lucky. She’d only been gone a couple of years when she died. There was a big court case about it. She died of arsenic poisoning. None of us wanted to be adopted after that.

  Going to the zoo gave everyone a lift. After breakfast we marched to the station. When the old steam engine came chugging in, we were all so frightened we’d be left behind that we ignored the screams of our House Mothers and jumped on while the train was still going. If you were first on, you always saved a seat for your mates and everyone hoped that their little group would end up in a carriage without a House Mother. That way, you could scream as loud as you liked when you went through the tunnel at Swanview.

  The zoo was really exciting, especially the elephants. I’d seen pictures of elephants dressed up in gold, with Indian princes sitting on their backs. I could imagine myself doing that. I always remembered to smile at the elephants, because I’d read in a book that they never forgot, and there was a story about a man who was cruel to them so they’d trampled him to death. I believed in playing it safe.

  I felt a lot happier after my day with the animals. When we marched back to the ferry, we passed a house near the river where I knew old Aunty Mary and Uncle Ted lived. I’d been to visit them on the Christmas holidays with my mother, and, for some reason, it suddenly made me feel close to her.

  We all settled down on the ferry and were soon chugging back across the Swan River. I had a seat right up near the water and I watched as the ripples came out from under the boat and slowly faded away.

  Then I noticed another ferry coming across from the other side, so I leaned over to look to see how close it was going to come to our boat. To my surprise, I saw my mother sitting on the ferry, as pretty as ever in her blue suit. I couldn’t believe it. I called out to her, I shouted and waved my arms. She must have known I was going to the zoo, I thought, but she’s got the wrong time, she’s going to miss me. She might go to see me at the zoo and I won’t be there. I jumped up and down and called and called. My mother sat upright on the ferry, she never even turned her head in my direction.

  Within minutes, our boats had passed, and I realised she hadn’t heard me calling.

  I sat back on the wooden seat and slumped into a corner. The other kids just looked at me, they never said anything. I forgot all about the elephants and bears and lions. All I could think about was my mother. The sadness inside me was so great I couldn’t even cry.

  ***

  By the time I’d been in George Turner a couple of years, I began to get as adventurous as the other kids. I became a bit of a leader and had my own little gang.

  Also, I wasn’t scared at night any more. I actually came to love that part of the night when all the wild horses raced through. There were a lot of them in the hills, in those days. When we heard them coming, we’d lean over the verandah and call out. They were so beautiful; some silver, some white, some black and brown. They were going down to the grassy paddocks on the other side of the hill. I suppose they were a bit like us kids in a way, they didn’t belong to anyone.

  They’d been featuring a run of Tom Mix films on Friday nights and we’d all gotten interested in the Wild West. Sometimes, we’d pretend the Home’s dunny cart was an old chuck wagon. We all had great imaginations.

  Our enthusiasm for the Wild West led to a new interest in the wild brumbies. We decided that if we were really going to be like the cowboys, we needed a horse, so we thought we’d lasso one when they went through at night. There was one catch, we had no rope.

  The only rope that we knew of was on the flag the school hoisted every Anzac Day. We knew what cupboard the flag was kept in, so we drew sticks to see who would steal it. This was a practice we used to solve most of our problems. If you drew the long stick, you just accepted your fate, even though you were scared stiff.

  Harry lost. Poor Harry, he was always getting into strife. It was just his luck.

  After Harry had sneaked over to the school
and pinched the rope off the flag, we all leant over the verandah railings and waited in the dark for the horses to come through. We were very excited. Unfortunately, they always came through late, near midnight, so a lot of the smaller kids fell asleep over the verandah railings.

  Round about eleven thirty, we heard the rumble of their hooves and we knew they were on their way. Harry leapt up onto the railings and got his lasso ready. When the brumbies came flying past, he flung the rope out as high and as far as he could, but when the rope disappeared, so did Harry. We watched in awe as he sailed over the railings, screaming. Once the horses had passed, we all ran down and found him lying in the dirt with his arm broken. We grabbed the rope and hid it, then we went and woke Miss Moore.

  ‘He was walking in his sleep,’ we told her innocently, ‘he fell off the verandah and broke his arm.’

  That turned out to be a good excuse. So we often used it after that when we were caught out of bed, playing dares.

  I grew to love adventures, and I always knew I had to be brave, it didn’t do to lose face in front of your friends.

  There was an empty cottage where old Sister Fanny lived. Actually, she lived on a part of the verandah which was enclosed in hessian. It was very dirty and must have been very cold in winter. The inside of the cottage was used for visitors, who sometimes came and stayed overnight or for a few days.

  All the kids were too scared to go near Sister Fanny, we all thought she was a witch.

  One day, some kids from a rival gang dared me to go right up to her. I wanted to back down, but, being a leader, I couldn’t. Also, I’d been shooting my mouth off about how brave I was, so I had to live up to it.

  I sneaked up very slowly to the cottage until I found myself standing just outside the hessian door that hung from the old tin roof. The flap swayed back and forth in the breeze and I could see inside to the dirt floor. There was a large, black cat lying on the ground asleep. I was sure then Sister Fanny must be a witch, because everyone knew witches had black cats.

  I was so busy watching the cat, I didn’t notice Sister Fanny. She pulled the hessian aside, stuck out her old, wrinkled face and said, ‘Haaa!’ I jumped back in shock. She had lank, uncombed shoulder-length hair and she looked very grubby. As I gazed at her face, I realised that she really did have one blue and one brown eye. The other kids had told me that, but I hadn’t believed them.

  ‘I just wanted to pat the cat,’ I said quickly.

  ‘Come in, child, come in,’ she said in a thin, wobbly voice. I went inside and sat down and patted the cat. I thought if I patted it, it wouldn’t hurt me.

  Sister Fanny kept mumbling and walking around the room. I began to feel sorry for her, it was so shabby. There were just an old iron bed and boxes for her furniture, nothing nice. I realised then she wasn’t a witch, just a frail old lady.

  After a few minutes I got up, said goodbye and rejoined the other kids. They couldn’t believe I’d actually gone inside, they all thought I was really tough.

  ‘You saw the witch,’ they said, ‘you saw the witch. What do you think, is she a real witch?’

  ‘No,’ I replied, ‘and don’t go throwing any more stones at her place. She’s just an old lady.’

  ‘Yeah, but she’s got one brown eye and one blue,’ said Tommy, ‘only witches have eyes like that!’

  I couldn’t deny that, but I knew in my heart she was just an old lady.

  There were a number of adults who I became quite attached to, and used to visit regularly. I found I got on well with older people, perhaps because they often had food, usually biscuits or cakes.

  I regularly visited the office lady, Miss Button, who had a little room behind the office, to ask if she had any jobs she needed doing. She was a particular friend of mine. She would get me to dust down her mantelpiece and then she’d make me a cup of tea and give me a biscuit.

  I was very excited when she went for a trip to England. She was always talking about England. Once, she’d shown me a map of the world and pointed out where England was. Just before she left on her trip, she promised me she’d send me a postcard from England. I couldn’t believe it when it finally arrived. All the kids thought I must be really important to get a postcard from the country where the King and Queen lived, because, apart from God, they were the next ones we stood in awe of.

  About this same time, I was adopted by the Northam Country Women’s Association as a needy child, they decided that they would send me a gift at Christmas and on my birthday. A parcel arrived on my birthday, not long after Miss Button’s card. I told all the kids that Northam was really in England and that my parcel had come from the King and Queen. I was lucky, because my present was a beautiful doll, and it looked English. It was the best birthday I ever had, even though the older kids said I was lying and that Northam wasn’t in England.

  While Miss Button was in England, I spent a lot of time visiting Miss Lindsay, another old girl who lived at the Home. She had a tiny weatherboard cottage halfway between the last house and the hospital. She’d always been a part of Parkerville, no one could remember when she first came there. She was English, and, whenever I visited her, I always took her a flower I’d pinched from the garden, because Miss Moore had told me that the British like flowers.

  After Miss Lindsay had made a big fuss over my flower, she would go to her glass cabinet and take out a plate of small iced cakes. The first time I’d had a cake from Miss Lindsay, I’d taken a bite straightaway and found, to my horror, that my fancy pink cake had cobwebs inside. I’d been really scared, I’d wanted to vomit. Had I swallowed a spider? Would I die? I’d thanked her quickly, then rushed outside.

  For the next few days, I’d prayed that if I had swallowed a spider, it wasn’t a poisonous one. By the end of the week, I was still alive, so I decided to start visiting Miss Lindsay again.

  Now, being a little wiser, I was always hopeful, but ever cautious, of her cakes. I never ate the cake in front of her again. I’d just thank her and then run out into the bush, where I’d carefully pull the cake apart before placing any in my mouth. I don’t know why I kept going back, because every cake she gave me had cobwebs inside. I guess I thought I’d have to get a good one off her, eventually. I kept going back, she kept giving me cake and they always had cobwebs in them. I hate to think how old they must have been. It was a long time before I gave up. I loved food that much.

  I was really pleased when Miss Button returned from her trip. She only ever had very plain biscuits, but at least they were fresh.

  At the opposite end of the Home to where Sister Fanny lived was the farm. Mr Pratt lived there, another of my favourite old people, not because of food though, but because he had a horse and buggy. The horse was called Timmy, he was big and black and beautiful. When he was attached to the buggy, he’d strut like a rooster, waiting to be admired and stroked. He was Mr Pratt’s pride and joy, nobody else was allowed to ride him.

  The old farmhouse was very tumbled down. Climbing roses had gone wild and covered most of the front yard, junk covered most of the back. Rusty machinery, tins, harnesses, old sheets of iron. If you needed anything at all, you could find it at the farmhouse.

  The older boys went over there regularly to milk the cows. We used to follow them. We’d lay back on the bales of straw in the milking shed and beg the boys to squirt us with milk. I had my mouth open all the time, it was lovely, feeling that warm, creamy milk shoot in and down your throat. It really warmed you up on a cold day.

  Whenever Mr Pratt did the garden at George Turner, I’d follow him around, continually chatting about this and that. I liked talking to grown-ups, and he was a darling old fellow.

  One day, I was playing chasey with the others on the road, when someone yelled that I was wanted. I walked up the wooden steps and onto the verandah, little Faye was there, looking scared. ‘Moore’s in an awful temper,’ she said, ‘what have you done?’ I mothered little Faye, she relied on me and I knew she was worried about me.

  ‘I’ll be al
l right,’ I replied. I patted her head and walked inside.

  ‘Where’s that bloody kid?’ I could hear Miss Moore screaming from the kitchen. What had I done? When I saw her, her face was contorted with rage.

  She grabbed me by the arm and started belting me across the head. It was nothing new, she’d given me beltings before. Sometimes, she hit me so much I’d go deaf for a couple of days.

  She dragged me towards the large clothes cupboard. I started to cry, I didn’t know what I’d done wrong. ‘Get your clothes, you stupid girl,’ she screamed. I was so upset, my eyes were too full of tears to see my clothes. I grabbed at a dress and she hit me again and shouted. ‘Your good clothes.’ The she started shaking me and screaming that I had to be ready in fifteen minutes to go in the car. Where was I going? I felt very frightened, were they sending me away? What about my mother, would I ever see her again? I started to tremble and shake all over.

  Miss Moore called out to Pat, my friend, to come and help me get my clothes out. I knew all the other kids would be outside listening to the goings-on. They kept out of reach when Miss Moore’s temper was aroused. I tried to stop myself from crying, but I couldn’t. I started to sob. ‘Stop crying,’ she shouted, ‘I didn’t hurt you!’

  She sent me to the bathroom to dress and wash my face. I managed to get my clothes on, then I splashed my face with cold water, but I still couldn’t stop crying. Everything had happened so suddenly, I didn’t know what I’d done wrong. I wanted to vomit. I heard the car toot loudly out the front. Miss Moore hauled me out, picked up my bag of clothes and took me to the car, ‘Stop snivelling,’ she said, ‘you didn’t do anything wrong.’

  I hopped in the front next to Willie, the driver, Sister Dora sat in the back. Willie started up the engine, then glanced down to me and said kindly, ‘Don’t cry any more, your mother will be all right.’ I was really frightened then.