Contents
Foreword by the Honourable Quentin Bryce AD CVO
Introduction by Tony Nicholson, Executive Director, Brotherhood of St Laurence
Better Homes and Gardens
Catherine Moffat
552 to Reservoir
Eloise Young
Queen Street
Katherine Hayes
Colours
Eleanor George
The Surprise
Laura McPhee-Browne
Machine Man
Marlish Glorie
We are Looking at Hun Chen
David Porter
The Extra Piece
Heidi Catherine
The Common Good
Christine Fontana
The Flat Screen
Yvonne Popplewell
About the Brotherhood of St Laurence
Help create lasting change
Foreword
It was a thrill to be involved as a judge for the Hope Prize at the Brotherhood of St Laurence. I admire the way the stories reveal the lives of people who so often go unnoticed in our society; stories filled with determination and human spirit about people who overcome the odds with courage and strength. These stories are raw and they are filled with pain and loss. They bring life experiences to us with touching detail. It is sobering for us in our comfortable lives to pause and to reflect on the difficulties and deprivation that many of our fellow Australians face.
I value this collection for the way it demonstrates to readers the critical importance of showing compassion to strangers, giving people down on their luck a chance, a simple leg-up and a helping hand whenever we can. None of us know how much it can mean to offer a warm welcome with a smile, a cup of tea, a good meal when a friend or a stranger is going through a hard time. I often think about young mums who might be struggling with tiredness, isolation or anxiety, and the difference that neighbours, family and friends make by stepping in to help lift the load in practical ways. My heart goes out to young people who are desperate to get a job, a place to live, a sense of security. So often we need to look around to see who may need our help, guidance and support, someone to lean on for a while. Our time is the most useful thing we can give, time for kindness, caring, sharing. I know that many older people feel isolated and lonely, longing for conversation, a good yarn, a listening ear.
In my travels across our country over many years, I have been inspired and encouraged but never surprised to see the power of community at work. I’ve observed how much can be achieved when one of us takes responsibility for our neighbours, or for strangers in our midst. We must always be mindful of those in need, people going through tough gullies. We see marvellous coming together in crisis, in bushfires, floods, drought. This book reveals that emergencies can arise in people’s lives through many other causes, often quietly behind closed doors. We should be sensitive and aware that our fellow human beings could need our help. This is what neighbourhood is about.
The Brotherhood of St Laurence is an organisation which has saved the lives and livelihoods of thousands of families over eighty-plus years. This collection is a splendid way to remind us of the extraordinary work of dedicated, selfless people at the Brotherhood who continue its proud traditions and solid commitment to care for our country’s most vulnerable citizens.
The Honourable Quentin Bryce AD CVO
Introduction
Before I put on my first suit and tie, for many years I worked as a social worker among the homeless in Melbourne. During that period, spanning the 1980s, I conducted around 5000 structured social work interviews. A lasting insight I gained – and retain to this day to motivate my work at the Brotherhood of St Laurence – was that people, whoever they are, aspire to a mainstream life. No matter how modest people’s goals may be, or how desolate the paths trudged, I’ve learnt that people do overwhelmingly aspire to have a home, to have a sense of family and to belong somewhere.
To aspire to such life goals, you have to retain a sense of hope. It’s what will help navigate you on those desolate paths, hopefully, towards a brighter future.
So when the Brotherhood of St Laurence was exploring the idea of creating a new short story writing prize to focus public gaze on poverty and disadvantage in Australia, the name ‘The Hope Prize’ came out as a clear choice.
Invoking ‘hope’, as the stories in this anthology of the prize’s winning and highly commended entries do, presents an opportunity – and a powerful counter-narrative.
Too often, representations of ‘the poor’ err on the side of stereotypes. They overlook the resilience and strength that I’ve observed people show in testing personal circumstances. The realities of people’s lives are more layered and complex than the stereotypes that are presented, even sometimes by the most well-intentioned people within the charity sector. And the experience of disadvantage in Australia is also multi-layered: homelessness, unemployment, inadequate education, chronic ill-health, disability, family violence and social isolation all figure in this not-so-simple narrative.
By the Brotherhood’s latest calculation there are 825,000 people who are deeply excluded nationwide. How can we let that happen in one of the most prosperous countries in the world? Yet, we have reason to be optimistic that we can change these grim statistics. For many who struggle in our community, poverty need not be a life sentence: with timely interventions and adequate social supports, people grappling with disadvantage can build a good life for themselves and their families.
This optimistic message is at the heart of the Brotherhood of St Laurence’s own story: our organisation was founded in 1930, in the depths of the Great Depression, by the Anglican priest Gerard Tucker. He was a passionate campaigner for social reform in his day. Today, we are no less passionate and aspirational as we work for the goal of an Australia free of poverty by delivering social programs, campaigning, and undertaking research so we have the evidence to show what works to beat disadvantage.
The Brotherhood of St Laurence works to drive change to ensure that we have a compassionate and fair society where everyone has a sense of belonging. We work to influence public debates and convince governments, businesses and people in the community, like the readers of this book, to act on issues affecting the most disadvantaged people among us.
As a community agency, the Brotherhood’s work on the ground is varied: ranging from early learning programs for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander and other pre-schoolers across the country, and housing for homeless youth and preparation for work for unemployed people across all age groups. We also care for vulnerable older people by providing quality aged care, including for those who had formerly been living on the streets. I am also proud to say we have also been helping refugees – and now asylum seekers – for sixty years.
Although our headquarters are in Melbourne, our reach is national. We have programs in every state and territory, often partnering with dynamic local groups in outer suburbs and regional and rural areas where the challenges, such as long distances from where jobs are located, are intensifying for Australians on low incomes.
Underpinning all our work, whether it is rolling out a program to help people save for their family’s educational expenses or highlighting high rates of youth unemployment in social media, we ensure that people facing disadvantage are also able to speak for themselves and contribute their voice to framing solutions.
Importantly, the Brotherhood’s work is powered not only by our dedicated staff but also by our supporters, including some 1200 volunteers. These are people who believe in our cause and give generously to help others. Our diverse community of supporters now includes our Hope Prize judging panel: author Kate Grenville, actor Cate Blanchett
and former Governor General, the Honourable Quentin Bryce AD CVO. These notable Australians have been outstanding in their embrace of what we aim to achieve by launching a short story competition, and each took time from demanding schedules to make their contribution.
Mark Rubbo, Managing Director of the Readings books chain, and Dan Ruffino, Managing Director of the publisher of this book, Simon & Schuster Australia, and their teams, have also been with us every step of way. The Hope Prize also could not have been awarded without the generous philanthropy of the late Prudence Myer and the support of her family.
The support we generate from all parts of the community only gives me more reason to be optimistic that when we come together we can tackle the complex social challenges we face today.
Thinking back to my social work days, I sometimes reflect on one man – Wayne – whose story of change reinforces my sense of hope. When I first met him, he was struggling with a debilitating addiction to prescription drugs. But he was fortunate to meet a counsellor, George, who had enormous faith in the capacity of people to transform their lives.
Where many others might have written Wayne off, this counsellor provided him with a special uniform, some extraordinarily bright overalls, and signed him up over two years for a series of short courses – gardening, personal development, literacy and numeracy. You name the short course, Wayne did it, always wearing that gaudy uniform that had been provided to him.
The key to this program of self-improvement was he was being supported to build himself up. There were setbacks along the way, but eventually, he secured a permanent job and defeated his addiction.
Many years later, I ran into Wayne in the city and he was still doing well. He had built a good life for himself. Indeed, much to my surprise, he started talking to me – in great detail – about his superannuation strategies.
Wayne had a come a long way from the day when I first met him. Hope in his life had been transformed into everyday reality, as it can be for many more people in our community who, at first sight, are written off by those who would discount their humanity and potential. As Wayne proves, no one should be counted as hopeless.
Tony Nicholson
Executive Director, Brotherhood of St Laurence
Better Homes and Gardens
Catherine Moffat
First Prize
Dad doesn’t hang about the school gate like the other parents. He parks around the corner just up from the lollipop lady. I hold tight to Grace’s hand as Mrs Vargas hurries us across the road. It’s my job to see she’s safe.
When we get to the other side of the road Grace drops her school bag on the ground, pulls away from me and takes off running. Dad’s always there, leaning against the car. He picks Grace up and throws her into the air. When I jog up behind carrying both bags he runs his hand through my hair. ‘Gidday mate,’ he says.
Every day after school Dad takes us straight to the beach. We change into our swimmers in the car and Dad shakes the creases out of our school uniforms and hangs them up next to his shirts on the coat-hangers suspended above the back seat window
If it’s warm, we play on the beach building sandcastles and stuff with Grace. But the days are getting shorter now and sometimes the wind whips up the sand and it stings our calves. If it’s windy Dad makes us run up and down the beach ‘getting the wiggles out’, and when we’re warm enough we dive in.
After a swim, we do some more beach runs and then into the showers. Only one of the showers works properly so we have to take turns. We push the button and jump under the water and try to wash before the hot water runs out. Dad showed us how to rub sand on our body instead of soap to get the dirt off. ‘Lots of women pay big money at the day spa for a salt scrub,’ he says. ‘Here we can get it for free.’
I sit under the light on the bench in the change room and start my homework while Dad and Grace shower. Grace is getting too old for the Men’s but Dad doesn’t like her going into the Women’s toilet by herself. While Grace is drying off Dad goes through times tables and spelling with her. We get into our tracksuits and dry our hair under the hand blowers and then Dad asks us where we want to go for dinner. The only rule is we never go to the same place two nights in a row. My favourite is pizza because when we have the deal with the large Supreme and the garlic bread even Dad reckons his stomach aches because it’s so full, but Grace says McDonald’s every time because of the Happy Meals. Dad likes fish and chips or KFC. Sometimes he makes us have pasta and salad and some nights we cook sausages on the electric barbeque in the park. Grace plays on the monkey bars while I help Dad. I watch the moths flit around the electric lights above us and when the sausages are cooked we have to eat them really fast before the fat and tomato sauce drips through the white bread onto our fingers.
After dinner Dad makes us go to the toilet and clean our teeth in the park toilets and then we drive around for a bit. We stop the car and Dad puts Grace to sleep in the back seat and then we sit and listen to the radio for a while and then it’s my turn to go to bed. Before I do, I have to get the bucket out of the boot. I hate the bucket. It doesn’t matter how much you wash it out it still stinks. Dad says we have to have it just in case.
‘Nobody likes you pissing in their front garden, mate. If you do, it’s sure to get noticed.’
Getting noticed is something we try to avoid.
I sleep head to tail with Grace in the back seat. She reckons my feet smell.
‘Not as much as yours,’ I tell her. I tickle the soles of her feet and she giggles. I wrap the blanket around my feet but it’s hard to keep them covered all night, and in the morning they’re usually sticking out.
Dad sleeps in the front seat sitting up, wrapped in a sleeping bag. He got laid off from work because he had a bad back and some mornings he can hardly straighten up for about twenty minutes. He walks around with his hands down near his knees and groans and tries to stretch.
Dad always waits until it’s late at night to take us to where we’ll stay. Just like with the food, we never park in the same place twice and Dad always makes sure he wakes up and drives us somewhere else before it’s light.
‘If the cops ever come,’ he tells us, ‘we’re on our way to visit your grandparents in Queensland and I pulled over for a sleep when I got tired.’
After dinner on Friday, Dad asks, ‘Who wants to watch some television?’ and then we head off to the Mr Clean laundromat on Wattle Street to wash our clothes.
Most Fridays Better Homes and Gardens is on the telly. We’ve each got a favourite. Mine is Fast Eddie. I want to be a chef when I grow up. Dad likes Johanna Griggs. He reckons she’s a big sassy blonde like our Mum was. ‘Go for the big girls, mate, especially if you’re chasing a blonde,’ he says. ‘Skinny girls are always watching their weight and it makes them as crazy as a sack full of shaved monkeys.’
Grace’s favourite is Doctor Harry. Every week she asks Dad if she can have whatever animal Harry has been visiting. One time it’s a duck, the next a dog or a miniature pig.
‘Sure you can, Princess,’ Dad says. ‘Just as soon as we get our own home.’
Grace likes the woman who does the room renovations, too, but Dad isn’t so sure. ‘She’s always messing about covering things with sequins and ribbons and stuff.’
Saturdays if the weather’s no good, we go to the library. You can’t borrow books unless you can prove where you live, but they don’t mind you sitting and reading. One of the librarians lets me use the computer even though I don’t have a library card. Dad reads the papers while Gracie sits and looks at the picture books and plays with the toys.
Dad likes to pick up a book from their throw-out box when we leave. He reads it during the week and then gives it to Uncle when we visit on Sunday. Uncle’s not really our uncle. Dad met him when we were parked down near the railway bridge. Uncle doesn’t have another name either. He’s not Uncle Steve or Uncle Mick. Everyone just calls him Uncle.
Uncle lives in a house with a whole lot of other men. They
’re not allowed to be inside during the day so when we arrive in the morning there’s always nine or ten of them standing in the front yard or out on the footpath. They stand by themselves, clutching cigarettes or with their hands dangling, like they don’t know what to do or where to go.
Dad brings Uncle a pack of cigarettes as well as the book. Uncle puts the book in the inside pocket of his jacket, cracks the cigarette pack open, takes out a cigarette, looks at it, twirls it between his fingers and then tucks it behind his ear. Only when he’s done that does he nod a greeting to Grace and me.
Grace loves Uncle. He has this trick where he makes a bunny rabbit out of his hanky and waggles it at her in a game. It’s not the handkerchief he uses to blow his nose. It’s a special one he keeps in his top pocket. It’s thin, and a bit raggedy at the edge, and in one corner the initials R.W. are embroidered in blue writing. When they’ve finished the game Uncle smooths the handkerchief out, folds it carefully into four and puts it away again.
Uncle wears a suit with old trainers and no socks. He’s a bit smelly too. All the men have something that looks slightly wrong about them. Their hair is too long, or they haven’t shaved properly, their clothes don’t quite fit, or even when everything else is right, it’s something about the way they walk, or the fact they can’t make eye contact.
Grace hasn’t noticed yet, but she will, and then one day she won’t want to play with Uncle anymore. Grace is too little to understand how important it is to appear normal, but Dad and I do. The kids at school are starting to notice something about me. Just like with Uncle, they can sense there’s something different. It’s getting hard to keep pretending I know about the latest games or what’s on YouTube and I’ve grown so much my school shirt is too tight under the arms.
So when Grace comes running out of school with an invitation to Samantha Ling’s birthday party, Dad and I aren’t exactly thrilled. Grace is burbling with excitement. ‘It’s a fairy party with dressing up and a cake.’
Hope: An Anthology Page 1