Working Class Boy (14 page)

I put my arm out straight and bit my lip.

Whack!

He looked me in the eye. I never let out a sound.

Whack! Whack!

He hit me twice more. My eyes were watering but I still never let out a sound.

He became more agitated and swung the cane around and,
whoosh
, he hit me across the legs.

I flinched but did not make a sound.

His face was red with anger and he began stuttering. ‘N-now y-you get out of here and I d-don't want to see you back in here again. Do you understand?'

I walked out saying nothing. Tears were running down my face but I just bit my lip and wiped them away. He couldn't hurt me. No one could hurt me. I headed back to class. My hands were throbbing and I had a huge welt across the back of my legs.

I walked into class with my eyes down. I couldn't look at anyone. I didn't want them to see I was hurting. The teacher
said something to me as I passed his desk. I couldn't hear it. I looked up and scowled. I wasn't listening. I wouldn't listen to him anymore. How could he have sent me to get caned like that? I was his best student.

I wasn't like the bullies in the class, picking on the small kids. I always did my work and I helped other kids do theirs. The only fights I ever got in were with those kids who picked on me or hit the little ones. He knew that but he still sent me to the office. He didn't care about me. I hated school now and I hated him.

One night it got too hot to sleep in the house. We were sweating like dogs, tossing and turning. So we pulled our pillows and blankets out into the front yard and tried to sleep out there under the stars. It was better than the backyard because we could see what was happening in the world outside. It was like camping out without leaving home. But it seemed to annoy some people from our street. One woman walked by and yelled at us, ‘What are you kids doing? Get inside, it's late. Do your parents know you're out here?'

She obviously didn't know our parents and she hadn't thought of escaping the heat this way.

‘Get lost, missus. This is our yard. We can do what we want,' I shouted out, knowing full well that our dad was out and not likely to be back any time soon, if at all.

I could see her thinking to herself, ‘What a bunch of brats . . . hmm, but that's not a bad idea.'

It felt like a safe thing to do because we were out in the open and no one could hurt us without the whole neighbourhood seeing, but it probably wasn't a great idea. We must have looked like a feral family out there on the lawn but we didn't care. At least it was cooler than inside the house. We woke up to the sun burning hot and shining on our faces. The rest of the world was
getting ready for work. Traffic was starting to go by the house. So we dragged everything back inside and got dressed to go to school.

On my way home from school one afternoon I went to a friend's house to play. He was from one of the families that I thought were having as hard a time as us. I knocked on the door and no one answered. I knocked again and yelled out, ‘Is anybody home?'

I heard his big sister call out from the back of the house, ‘Come on in.'

I walked in and stood in the lounge room expecting him to be there. Once again I heard the voice of his sister. ‘Come in here, I need your help.'

I walked into the bedroom and his sister, who was about fourteen years old at the time, was standing by the bed with a towel wrapped around her. I thought she had just got out of the shower or something and didn't think twice about it.

‘Come over here a minute,' she said.

As I walked towards her she dropped the towel and lay on the bed, naked. I think she wanted me to get on the bed with her. I was only nine years old at this time and didn't know what to do or where to look for that matter. Well, I knew where to look, but I couldn't without my face going red. I had never seen a girl this old naked before and she looked beautiful, but I was so scared that I turned and ran out the door.

I started to feel very funny about girls from then on and I wanted to be near them all the time. Whenever I saw her again she looked at me and smiled but I didn't know what to say to her and I would just get away as quickly as I could. Later on, when I was a little older, I wished she had been around. We could have had some fun. But they had moved away by then.

* * *

One particular day I woke with the sun. It beat mercilessly in through my window. The curtains that Mum had put up had been ripped down months before and the window was open.

As soon as my eyes were open I was out of bed. I didn't want to be in there any longer than I had to be. The bed was dirty and stained and the blankets were itchy and filthy. There were no sheets and the pillow was torn and uncomfortable. Why would I stay in bed? In fact, I didn't want to be in that house any longer than I had to. A lot of bad things had happened to me and around me there and the only reason I was still there was that I was too scared to go anywhere else.

As I walked from the house I looked back and wondered what went wrong. It used to be shiny and new. Now it looked like a condemned building.

The lawn was now red dirt, covered with rubbish and weeds. The trees Mum planted had died, just a lot like her dreams when I think about it, except for the three candle pines that lined our very short driveway. They just kept growing out of control. Getting tougher as they grew taller. They reminded me of us kids.

I walked towards the shops dressed only in my bathers. The sun was already blistering hot and I had to run from the shade of one tree to the next to stop my feet from blistering. I was hungry, I hadn't eaten in ages; there was nothing in the house that wasn't mouldy. But I couldn't think about it now. I had to walk about four miles to the centre shops.

I walked through the shopping centre. The shops were still closed and all the rubbish bins were overflowing. The whole place smelled like a rubbish tip. I carried on past the coffee shop and by the pool hall. Around here there were always broken beer bottles and cigarette butts. I quickened my pace and ran across the car park to the swimming pool, which wasn't open yet.

That's where I was going to spend my day. I got there about half past seven and walked over to find a spot to wait. In the meantime I sat against the wall outside and watched a nest of bull ants attack a beetle. They were small and violent and they tore the bug apart. His worries were well over by the time I started watching. This is where I would wait until the pool opened at nine. By then I hoped to have hustled enough money to get in.

My plan was to look as pathetic as I could, which wasn't that hard really, and ask people on their way to work for money. I'd tell them I hadn't eaten and needed to get some food. Hopefully I would get enough to get me into the pool and still have something to buy a bush biscuit. These were one of the cheapest things on the menu. They were big too. They looked like a large milk arrowroot biscuit. For a little bit of money they could fill the hole in your stomach better than any of the lollies they sold behind the counter.

By nine-thirty I was in and swimming around in the water. Not a care in the world. The pool area slowly filled up and eventually there were families and gangs of young guys and girls all settling in for a day of fun and getting out of the one hundred-degree heat.

Elizabeth was a hot and dusty place and no one had air-conditioning. The houses were like ovens by ten o'clock so I knew I had come to the right place. I was a regular at the pool and some of the people who worked there sort of knew me, which made me feel a little safer than I did at home.

I spent most of the day there, moving from spot to spot, finding shade and trying to avoid being beaten up by the bigger guys. But I had to go home sooner or later. I wanted to see my brothers and sisters. Maybe Dot had found something for us to eat. I headed back on the same road. I was tired from swimming all day so I decided to hitchhike. I stuck out my thumb and walked along the side of the road. My feet were burning again but I didn't care by then. I was tough and tired.

Cars sped by, some people paying no attention to me, others yelling obscenities as they flew past. Finally, a car pulled up. It was a little late slowing down but it stopped about fifty yards down the road. I was happy to get any ride so I ran to the car. I opened up the back door and climbed in. The minute I shut the door I knew I had done the wrong thing.

The car sped off. The driver was looking at me in the rearview mirror. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Maybe he had just finished work, I told myself. Then the passenger turned around. The smell of his breath almost knocked me out. I knew they had both been drinking a lot. I tried not to panic. I'd been in bad spots before, I'd be all right.

They drove over the bridge towards my house but instead of turning right towards Elizabeth West, they turned left into the empty roads that surrounded the Weapons Research Establishment. This area was just empty paddocks and dirt roads and I knew I was in trouble.

‘A kid your age shouldn't be running around alone,' slurred the passenger with a leering smile on his face. The driver laughed.

The car pulled to a halt and before they could even turn around I pushed the door open and fell out onto the ground. I knew how to survive, I was a fighter. I got that from my mum.

I ran across the paddock as fast as my feet would carry me. The two guys in the car were still trying to get out of the doors. From where they stopped to my place was about three miles as the crow flies. I knew this whole area like the back of my hand. I ran flat out. I never stopped until I got to the Elizabeth West shops. I looked at my feet and they were bleeding but I was in one piece. I walked home. No one was there so I looked in the fridge to see if any food had turned up. It hadn't. I went outside and sat on the front step. I never told my dad or my brothers and sisters about my day. They had their own problems.

A
ll of the older kids started to sneak out at night. Whatever they did, I wanted to do the same. So out the window I went. I got really drunk for the first time at the age of nine or ten or some ridiculous age like that. We had a taste for it; my father was an alcoholic, so was his father and so on. It was in our genes. We had all tasted whisky many times. We tasted it at parties whenever the adults weren't looking, and every New Year's Eve Dad gave us all a nip at midnight, remember. So drinking was just what people did as far as we knew. But getting really drunk for the first time was a different thing.

My sister Linda and her mates wanted to buy some booze but obviously they were too young so they came up with a devious plan, which was why they needed me. They decided that if someone really young, with an innocent-looking face, went to the bottle shop and said they wanted to buy a present for their dad, the guy in the bottle shop might just fall for it.

‘Now tell us what you have to say when you walk in,' Linda said, going over it many times so I wouldn't forget.

‘It's my dad's birthday and I have stolen money from Mum's purse to get him a present because he's the best dad in the world . . .'

‘No, that's not right. Let's go through it one more time.'

‘Only kidding, I know what to say,' I said confidently. ‘It's my dad's birthday and I have saved up all my money from my paper round to get him a present because he's the best dad in the world.'

‘That's it. Now don't get it wrong or we'll kill you, okay?'

‘Okay Linda, I promise I'll do my best.'

Off I went to the bottle shop. I walked in with my eyes to the floor, looking as small and cute as I possibly could. I looked up at the guy working there. Blink, blink, blink went my eyelashes, to make me look even more innocent.

‘It's my dad's birthday and I have saved up all my money from my paper round to get him a present because he's the best dad in the world.'

‘Yes?' he said, looking at me closely to see if I was serious.

Blink, blink, blink. ‘I know he likes a wee drink and I wondered if I could get him something to surprise him.' Blink, blink, blink.

‘Yes,' he said. I could tell by his face he was starting to soften.

‘I heard my mum say he likes whisky.' Blink, blink, blink.

He smiled at me and thought to himself for a minute. I thought I had blown it and I didn't like my chances.

‘Oh what a lovely thought. Aren't you a nice little boy.' He fell for it. ‘Get this one, I'm sure he'll love it and it's not too expensive.'

He was too helpful. I began to feel guilty. But not guilty enough to stop the scam.

‘Thanks, mister,' I said and took the bottle and walked shyly out of the shop. I turned the corner and there were Linda and her mates, looking like a pack of hungry wolves, licking their chops.

‘Give that to us and take off, you little conman,' said one of the boys.

‘That's not fair, let him come and drink it with us,' shouted Linda.

Blink, blink, blink.

‘And cut out the cute act, okay? I'm wise to you, Jim,' she said and walked towards the paddock across from our house.

We all drank the whisky then ran around the paddock for ten minutes acting stupid then fell over and began throwing up. It was good to be growing up to be just like the adults in our lives.

I'm not sure when or why this next thing happened but it was horrible. I remember the family had all the same problems as us. They were living below the poverty line and the parents drank and fought. They were family friends and we would go to their house all the time. I remember we were eating with them one night and things went really wrong. Lots and lots of alcohol had been consumed by everyone old enough to drink. And by some of the kids who weren't old enough. Well, things got heated between two of the brothers, who were in their late teens, and a scuffle broke out. They were separated and one stormed out to the bedroom while the other sat at the table brooding. Everyone hoped it would blow over.

But this sort of thing never did blow over until someone got hurt. We were all sitting at the table when the older son came out of the bedroom, walked up to the table then pulled out a knife and cut his brother's throat. Right at the dinner table. They had been arguing over a packet of cigarettes. Like a lot of the Scots we knew, they were no strangers to violence and often carried knives around with them. They had no hope. Who knows what else had happened to these boys at home. Whatever it was, it had taken its toll – and one of them snapped.

The brother with the knife, who was covered in blood and crying, walked out of the house and down to the local shops. He picked up a concrete block and threw it through the window of a shop. He walked inside, picked up a pack of cigarettes from behind the counter and sat down. Then he lit one up and waited for the police to arrive. His brother didn't die but he never spoke properly again. The boy went to jail for a long time. I know that no one was shocked but it has bothered me forever. How do families end up doing something like this to each other?

Many nights at our house ended in some sort of bloodbath, so we were used to it. Dad's mates would get too drunk and there would be fights. There was always a good reason. One of them would disappear with another's wife and turn up dishevelled, with lipstick all over them. They all seemed to be very promiscuous, and slept with anyone who would let them. This, mixed with copious amounts of booze, seemed to always end in violence. I think they liked the fighting as much as the fucking. If they didn't fight, someone would get so drunk that they would fall over onto a bottle or a glass – there would be blood somehow.

The child welfare people were watching what was going on and were beginning to take notice. Looking back I think it was many years too late for us; it would take a lifetime of fear to get things straight. We were scared to death of being taken away from our dad. Now I can see that it might have been a godsend. The truth is, by the time they noticed us, we were already so fucked up that nothing could have saved us from the shame and confusion that we would have to live with. The damage was already done and staying with him just added to it. We were damaged goods.

Somehow Mum had heard what was going on from one of her friends and had started to make plans to get us away from
Dad. But it would take time and in the meantime we hadn't heard a thing from her. We were angry.

Dad made a point of telling us, ‘Everything would've been fine if yer fuckin' mother hadnae deserted us. She caused aw this.'

We knew that wasn't true. We were young but we weren't stupid. Things had been fucked for as long as we could remember so we knew it wasn't just her fault. But we were angry with her for leaving us.

I can look back and see that it was a matter of life and death. The violence that went on around the house had been just one step away from escalating out of control. Anyone who has been around domestic violence knows that once it gets to that level there is only one path it takes: from bad to worse. Mum had to get away to save her life. I don't blame her for that. But she left us in a place where we were not safe. She knew how toxic the environment she had to flee from was and she chose to leave us in the middle of it. Christ, we were neglected even when she was there, because of all the shit she was going through with Dad.

Life might have improved for her when she got out but it only got worse for us. We only had each other and that was not good enough. We weren't capable of dealing with Dad's problems and our own on top of that. We had been brought up watching how Mum and Dad dealt with problems and so we could only deal with them the same way – running away from anything that scared us or, if we couldn't run, we would attack. This was the way our parents dealt with things: if something was out of your hands, revert to violence.

If things hadn't changed when they did, I'm sure one of us would have died. We were malnourished and out of control. No one was there to defend us.

We knew Dad loved us, but he couldn't do anything to stop the cycle of violence we were living in. He was going through a whole pile of his own madness.

When Dad was gone we would sit and wait for him to come back. We would lock the doors and windows and sit huddled together in the lounge room covered with tattered blankets trying to keep warm, afraid and hungry. Dot would try to be brave but every noise we heard outside the house seemed like the sound of someone wanting to hurt us. We had no television by this point and probably no heating so the wind sounded like someone breaking in and we'd be sitting making noises like dogs, trying to sound ferocious to scare them away.

‘Woof! Woof! Woof!'

‘Lucky we've got this big dog in here,' Dot would say as convincingly as she could. ‘I wouldn't like to be the guy who tried to break into this house.'

‘Woof! Woof! Woof!'

We must have sounded like idiots if there ever really was someone outside.

I started stealing small amounts of money, coins mostly, from Dad's pockets when he had passed out. Not much, just enough to get away for a little while.

Get up and get as far away as the little money I had would take me. I never stole enough money to really go that far. Dad didn't have that much money, not by the time he had passed out anyway. Everything he worked for was either drunk or gambled away, leaving coins for us to survive on. By the time I started taking money from his pants he was so drunk he never noticed. I would only take enough for the train trip and that was it. I had nothing to eat and no other money to spend on anything. I was
already ridden with guilt from the little that I did take so I didn't want any more. But I had to get away.

I would get up when the sun came up and tiptoe over the strangers asleep on our living room floor, leave the house and walk to the railway station. It wasn't far but early in the mornings I would see people staggering home drunk and confused, trying to avoid the other people on their way to work. Sometimes there would be arguments between them or even scuffles as the workers pushed past them in a hurry to get to wherever they were going. There would be men lying on the ground drunk and there would be others still drinking out of brown paper bags, all mingling at the train station with men in overalls who were doing their best to ignore them so they didn't think about drinking themselves. On more than one occasion some drunk would try to talk to me or even expose himself to me as I waited for the train. But I was tough by then and just moved away and caught the first train that would take me towards the town and eventually the sea.

My days running away to the beach blurred into each other. Nothing happened that changed anything. They were like gasping for air as someone was trying to push your head under the water. Each day gave me enough oxygen to survive until the next escape. Each time seemed to be the same as the time before.

Adelaide Station was always busy and dirty and I would move as quickly as I could to change trains to get out of town and head to the beach. I was only about ten by this point but I knew how to get around by myself and getting to the beach was no big deal for me. From town I could take a tram to Glenelg, or a train to Semaphore. It would take me a couple of hours to get there in all. Then I would walk out to the end of the jetty and sit down and look out to sea and dream about a better life. Local fishermen would talk to me and show me what they had caught and sometimes even give me a lesson on how to fish. Luckily most of them were nice people and I would talk to them and
listen as they told me about where they came from and what they did with their lives. I would spend whole days sitting on the jetty at Glenelg, watching the sea and dreaming.

The smell of the ocean with the seaweed baking in the sun and the sound of the sea seemed to stop me worrying about anything. The constant crashing of the waves against the shore sounded like music to me; just like the clattering of the wheels of the train on the rails when I think about it, drowning out the thoughts and fears that always seemed to be present in my head these days. Home drifted off into the distance and left me alone but happy.

Sitting in the sun, alone by the sea, I would also listen to the transistor radios that fishermen were playing on the jetty and I'd sing along in my head with the songs that were playing on Adelaide AM radio. I would daydream about being in exotic places. One day, I told myself, if I could make some money, I would go and visit all the places I had imagined.

There was a show on television called
Adventures in Paradise
. That's how I wanted my life to be. Sailing around Tahiti solving crimes and hanging out with beautiful people. Never going to the same place twice. Going wherever the wind took me. But I was only on a jetty in Adelaide, and that was good enough for me, as long as I was away from Elizabeth.

If I thought too much about it I would be overwhelmed by fear, being away by myself so far from home. The news had been filled with stories about the Beaumont kids who went missing from the very beach I was sitting at. They were on the sand one minute and gone without a trace the next. The police searched for years and never found anything. They disappeared off the face of the earth. Clairvoyants and mystics came from all over the world to try to help the family but found nothing. It was as if the children had never existed. I felt like I could disappear and no one would have known that I ever existed too.

I knew that they never caught anyone for taking those children but it didn't stop me from running away by myself. I felt I was going to die if I stayed home so I had nothing to lose. I sometimes looked around the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of the kids so I could take them home to their family but they never appeared. It seemed so sad that their parents were at home waiting and praying for them and never getting them back and here I was running away and no one even noticed I was gone. It was like I was nobody. I still think about those poor children and their family to this day.