Gay's Plan of Attack

Chapter 1

Are You Ready? Bring It On!

So I am ready, set, go to push that little button. My publisher would say, ‘Here comes Gay’s book’ – finally, after I have read it over and over; I do this like a perfectionist. I am ready; I can add as many more events if you want but I can’t wait any longer. I have sent my book in to be edited twice and I am on a time phase as you will see. I press the ‘Send’ button.

AHH... No Way! This cannot be true as I haven’t slept for four days. My doctor will have to answer to this as I went for an appointment regarding not being able to sleep. Now it is Thursday and I have finished my first sought-after book. No bullshit after all these years of endless nights of writing and, my bad luck, I don’t know what happened as I stare with a look of shock, horror at what my computer is telling me… I had just deleted my book. Ahh! All the hard work gone in a second, so I call in a computer technician to see if we can retrieve it. No such luck, but I am blessed to have a copy which hasn’t been edited so in the last 24 hours I have been going through my backup file which hasn’t been kept up to date for almost a year – such an important year. So once again I am rewriting it. I am now ready to send this to my publisher and get ready to launch my first book. Wish me luck and watch out for any people who try and stop me.

I have been thinking about the best way of promoting this book, which has taken a few years to write not because I am lazy but because my life is so bloody complex that there is so much to share. My book company will do a few press releases, and I think they may need more than that! I can’t believe I have finally finished my book, with all the juicy gossip and twists which have unfolded and been written unintentionally. But, hey, it’s made it a good book, I hope.

I am proud of myself, as I have had a very complicated life, but I’m over that. I haven’t got time to worry about the next day. I don’t even have enough time to die, not that I’m worried about that. Yes, I have surprised you all, haven’t I? Especially the people who know me personally, did you ever wonder what I did with my time during the day? I certainly wasn’t just sitting and playing bloody computer games – sorry to disappoint you – but there isn’t time for games in my life. Those nights when I was on a roll and couldn’t shut my brain or laptop down and maybe only getting an hour of sleep for the whole night (just like now, as it’s 3.40 am), not having writer’s block was a welcome gift, so come on, bring it on. Everybody would say to take a sleeper because I just couldn’t sleep.

Those wise words ‘Silence is Golden’ ring true, so I knew to keep quiet about my book—yes, this book. This is the true reason why I couldn’t sleep: I was writing.

Those who knew about me writing would ask me when my book would be finished. I am talking about the doctors who would visit me at four in the morning, people I had met at shops or out and about where I spoke proudly about writing. There were so many people I decided to keep it under wraps, that means wrap it up and don’t tell anybody else. I have heard back from people gossiping about me that I haven’t even written a book and that I was full of crap. Well, here’s mud in ya eye, mate, ’cause look who’s going to have the last laugh? Hopefully me, and if anybody’s full of crap, that’s you, so keep your opinions to yourself, please, like you know me not! My timing must work out perfectly before I can launch this book as you will soon see.

Well, hello, do I detect another twist?

At present, we have an election on with Kevin Rudd our Prime Minister, and I don’t really give a rat’s ass about him or any bloody politician – they’re all full of it with their false promises.

Rudd says he is going to help the disabled; they said that in April 2012 and announced the NDIS, which will help every disabled person to be able to live comfortably.

In May 2012, it appeared to be in doubt due to lack of funds, and it was stopped. Now he’s back on his soap box using the disabled with his poor promises, as he has renounced the NDIS, which will commence on the 1st of July 2013 and take until 2019 to be up and running properly around Australia—crikey, I could be dead by then. We have passed July and they gave one state some extra care for children, but actually nobody knows what has happened and people are starting to doubt it. I think it’s just a big crock of shit.

There will be another election on during that time; shame on you for using the disabled for a vote—not from me, mister. These politicians will say anything to get your vote, and once in Parliament, the false promises don’t come to fruition. The Government is going to take away the disabled taxi scheme so if you want to catch a taxi you are going to have to pay full fare. You will receive $400 a year to use on taxis, which work out to one trip a fortnight.

I use around $30.00 to do my shopping but I do have other appointments.

I am lucky I don’t mind jumping on a public bus or train but what about the people who can’t.

I am lucky I have a bus that’s not too far away, what happens if the bus isn’t wheelchair accessible?

Too many unanswered questions for me and not enough answers, come on Mr White Colour Shirt Man, bring it on.

You will read about this further into my story, about another major problem I had run into and unfortunately it was any politicians or government departments who crossed my path, if not watch out for ‘Black Thunder’ and my footplates. Grrr.

In other words, ‘Put your money where your mouth is’. This is why I have gone to these extreme measures with my book launch. I’m not sneaky, just smart; well, I hope so or all of this is going to blow up in my bloody face. But, hey, I don’t really give a shit, considering what I’ve been through or what will come my way after the release.

What else have I got to lose in life? I’ve lost just about everything, except my good friends. Friends are hard to find these days—I mean genuine friends. I’m sick of looking at those who claim to be friends with their painted clown faces on. Do you think you can fool me? Sorry, loser, I’m on to you; after having to learn whom I could trust (and I’ve had enough experience through learning), don’t pretend anymore. You amuse me by thinking you can play me and you’re on a winning streak. Well, I’ve got news for you; I played along waiting for the perfect moment to put you out! You have been deleted.

I haven’t exaggerated my life events. They’re all true experiences I’ve been through in my life, but I have changed the names of the people who have been fortunate, and unfortunate, to cross my path, as some of them need protecting. You know who you are. I appreciate those who were and are still concerned about me today. I have always said, ‘I have been through worse.’ Well, here it is—my whole bloody life, ‘the good, the bad and the ugly’.

Growing Up with My Family 

Please don’t judge me by what I have written; we all make mistakes. As far as I’m concerned, one of my ‘mistakes’ was being born with having to carry the curse of my bad luck. Look at little me, the girl with the curl. But, hey, it’s not right in the middle of my foreword, not like this little girl.

There was a little girl, and she had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, she was very, very good, but when she was bad, she was horrid. One day she went upstairs when her parents, unawares, in the kitchen were occupied with meals. She stood upon her head on her little truckle bed, and then began hooraying with her heels. Her mother heard the noise, and she thought it was the boys, a-playing combat in the attic. But when she climbed the stairs and found Jemima there, she did spank her most emphatic. Ha, I bet you’ve never heard that version before.

I was the middle child. When my mother went into labour in the wee hours of the morning, she was rushed to the hospital by ‘Old Roy Brown’ who was our neighbour and fortunately drove a taxi, where I was almost born in the backseat. I don’t think he had the metre on. Obviously, coming into this world was going to have surprises in store for me, far more than I realised.

I have five beautiful sisters, and it’s sad to say we all don′t talk to each other, which has been an ongoing problem for years (and is to be expected, with six bitchy girls). We would fight and then make up; that′s the way it′s been ever since we were little, right up to this day. ‘You have my bra,’ ‘You have my shoes,’ or ‘my boyfriend was talking to you,’ on and on the fights would continue. Now that I’m older and wiser, I can look back and have a good laugh over those days.

I have a lot of happy childhood memories of growing up with my five sisters, but not too many of being grown up. It was fun most days and we hadn’t any choice but to make our own entertainment, which proves you can achieve a lot out of sheer boredom. I think back and imagine how our parents must have loved listening to their six little daughters giggling as they played. ‘Chickens and worms’ was just one of the games we invented; we had a very vivid imagination. We were fortunate to have so many pets: dogs, Manx cats, possums, sheep, green tree frogs, and lizards; the list went on and changed over the years. They became part of our growing up. Taking our pet ram, Chops, for a walk had its fair share of entertainment as he knew how to buck our enemies with his horns, eyeball them and then charge, and this was without any training or warning. I would hate to imagine what he would’ve been like if we trained him, but on the other hand, he came in handy for some of the school bullies.

Our green tree frog would sit on the bathroom window, taking in any humidity, and I would undress so he couldn’t see my little naked body, as I could feel his eyes staring at me, no doubt a male.

One day my sister and I put our lizard Lilly in our parents’ bed, and as she lay there, we fed her snails. A few hours later you could hear Mum screaming out, ‘Who put Lilly in the bed?’ We confessed and were sent into their room and told to clean up the mess she had made, as she decided to vomit up all those snails. Ewww!

Sherry was our boxer dog who was so faithful, and we had trained her to get the boys if they hassled us. She looked quite scary, as boxer dogs seem to have that face that says, ‘Don’t piss me off.’

Our back garden was the biggest in the street and our parents always said we had to stay around the backyard to play. I guess they were worried about people who could harm us. Even back in those days, children were murdered or sexually assaulted by any sick-minded bastard out there who deserved a bullet. The neighbours would always comment on our massive native wattle tree that stood proud right in the middle of the garden. It would bloom into a huge splendorous sight of yellow blossoms that we would watch flying away into the wind. Mum would tell us they were flying off to the fairies, only to find the little blossom had returned to the fairy houses we had made from old boxes which sat in the garden.

One day, I checked my little fairy house, only to see the fairies had left me a little bag of white sweet powder in the corner, telling me it was ′Magic Dust′ with a little note saying: ‘After you eat this, all you will want to do is clean.’ I ran into the house to show my sisters my little bag and asked if they wanted to share some with me, but they said, ‘No, you have it.’ I went into the bathroom and stood on my tippy toes, looking at myself in the mirror, and then closed my eyes and ate my Magic Dust.

I waited for my fairy wings to grow, but they didn′t, so I just started cleaning the bathroom. This became a weekly ritual for me. Months later, I found out my ′Magic Dust′ was icing sugar. My sisters had tricked me and they would continue with this game whenever they wanted something cleaned. Was this icing sugar or cocaine? It didn′t bother me at all, as I loved cleaning: the smell of the cleaning products, polishing, ironing and anything that had that fresh smell to it. Was my fanatical way of trying to help clean caused by the fumes from the products, sending me on a high? Mind you, that didn’t mean I was drinking any methylated spirits; I saved that for cleaning the windows.

I’m an early riser. I would wake up early, sneak into the kitchen and set the table for breakfast, arranging the bowls, cutlery and cereals, and then go back to bed. ’Oh look, the fairies have set the table!’ I would laugh as my sisters stared in amazement. Another one of my favourites was the dishes at night because I was allowed to put on the radio and dance around the kitchen, shaking spoons to the tunes of the music and singing. I couldn’t get enough of my ‘Magic Powder’.

The smell of the iron with the steam spray was also my favourite, and still is today. I watched my mother whiz through the huge baskets piled high with fresh-smelling clean clothes. I was allowed to iron my father’s handkerchiefs but would manage to sneak the tea towels, flannels and whatever I could smuggle out of those baskets into my pile, which I waited to iron after Mum had finished. I sound a bit strange, don’t I? A kid who loved cleaning? Today I still love the smell of ironing. Hmm, it just smells great.

We had an old washing machine, and my sisters and I would feed the wet washing through the wringers, which would squeeze out the excess water, and then we would end up with baskets of clothes ready to be hung on the numerous clotheslines out the back garden. Can you imagine how many there were of clothes, sheets, towels and anything that was tossed into the laundry for a family of eight? They were always piled sky-high. I always remember Mum wouldn’t let us put the clothes through the wringer unless there were two of us together, as my older sister’s hand got stuck in them once when she did this by herself. After the washing was hung and had dried, the hard work paid off as we would run through the middle of the sheets as if they were huge tents, hiding from each other and sneaking up to scare each other.

We also had to peel the veggies for dinner, all of those bloody potatoes, carrots, pumpkins and so on. After all those years of eating them five nights a week, you would try and avoid eating them, but you knew there wouldn’t be any dessert if you didn’t clean your plate. The best way to show you had finished everything was to make sure Sherry was underneath the table, without Mum knowing, and feed her your veggies. Was our mother not aware of a big boxer dog under the table or had she turned a blind eye to this?

Those were chores that we had to do and I’m so grateful to have learnt them no matter what; we hadn’t any choice but to do them.

We would climb our tree, exploring every branch and always finding something new about it, and we named all the different branches. There was the lullaby branch that swept down to the ground with its foliage opening wide like that of a bed. We would all lie on it and pretend to fall asleep, even if there was a sharp branch poking you on your backside. There was the bouncy branch, which we would all hang from like bats. It was kind to us as we bounced up and down, sky high. Over the years, it remained faithful to us by never breaking. Dad hung a long piece of rubber rope from the highest branch, which we could swing and bounce on. He brought home a huge wooden reel, which was used on work sites, and a few of us would sit on top of it while the other sisters would roll it along the ground trying to make us lose our balance, only to topple down laughing. It showed the simple things in life kept us happy—a far cry from children today. Ho-hum!

Dad enjoyed burning the rubbish after it had grown into a huge pile over the weeks, and before we knew it, we would be gazing at a huge bonfire—no wheelie bins around in those days—and the other rubbish went into a garbage bin, which went out Sunday nights for the Garbos. He would always have the hose on standby as the sparks would blow away into the night air. One night we all sat around, watching him throwing rubbish into the hungry flames. Within two seconds, I leapt to my feet, screaming. Dad had put my old tin toy pram into the fire. How dare he put my pram in there! I ran into the fire and grabbed hold of the handle, which was red hot. What was I thinking? All I can remember was Dad picking me up and running me back into the house. My hands were burnt and were bandaged. I was very young and amazingly didn’t receive any burn marks or damages to my hands.

My mother was very attractive and would wear pink lipstick and eyebrow pencil, which sat on her dressing table. She wore bright-coloured dresses, had auburn hair and was like Lucy Ball, mad as a rattlesnake. My father was very handsome and always wore white shirts. He had short black hair and was like Desi Arnaz. Everybody would say they looked like the couple in ‘I love Lucy’ and even carried on like them – that was, my mother drove my father up the wall.

Both of my parents didn’t have any brothers or sisters. My mother didn’t have a mother, as she had passed away when Mum was only two years old. How sad that must’ve been for her and her father, our grandfather, whom we had never met and who had died without Mum knowing him. It was during the Great Depression. Her father and his girlfriend were going to be married and were planning to take a trip around the world by sea. My mother refused to go, as she hated this new woman. She went to boarding school even though she was given the choice to go on the trip with them—stubborn little bitch. Apparently our grandfather had fruit plantations but she stayed at boarding school and never reconnected with her father. There goes her inheritance, but it shows that despite the hurt, Mum chose happiness over money, which is rare these days.

Mum grew up in Sydney, where she met my father. Father was an only child as well and he also didn’t have a father. He is part Aboriginal, which I am proud of, but Dad was ashamed of this only because that’s how it was in his day. They were looked down on, yet his family were very wealthy and owned land in Sydney’s exclusive areas – such as Rose Bay, Edgecliff, Potts Point – and he grew up in a massive three-storey house on the esplanade of Manley that overlooks the stunning beach. Apparently he was getting or being given large amounts of money whilst he was growing up – until the reading of the estate, which he was scammed out of.

We have been brought up not having any uncles, aunties, cousins or grandparents, and as there are six girls, there isn’t a son to carry Dad’s name. Two of my sisters aren’t married, so their sons will carry our name. You can’t keep the McIntyres down!

Dad worked away a lot and earned a good wage, while Mum stayed home. Later on in years, she worked a few hours at a delicatessen across from our school. That was great as she always gave us a better school lunch, as opposed to those vegemite sandwiches and fruit, which were a daily meal, although I did love my vegemite sandwiches.

Mum would always pick us up in the summer, as you wouldn’t let even a dog walk in that 45-degree heat. She would always be parked outside the school, with six ice blocks wrapped in newspaper to welcome us in from the heat and then a trip to the local swimming centre. Eventually we did get a swimming pool one Christmas, but it wasn’t anywhere as big as the centre’s. In the winter, Mum was smart and would turn the oven on and put our six uniforms or pyjamas in front of the oven door to warm up. I surely miss those days.

When Dad returned home from working for months overseas or in the outback, he always brought six unusual presents back for us. This always fascinated our school friends, who would get as much use out of them as they can before the school day was finished.

We would run and hug him as the taxi pulled into the driveway, as we never knew when he would be returning home. Sometimes Mum would say, ‘I have a surprise for you girls in my bedroom,’ and it would be Dad, who had got home in the early hours of the morning and would be sleeping, only to be woken by his six daughters jumping on top of him. After the long months away, he would want to go and have a beer with his mates, which was understandable as he worked hard, and Mum would pick him up a few hours later from the pub.

I remember he would tell her to stop at the shop on our way home and we would be allowed to choose whatever ice cream we wanted. He would sway back and forth, producing a wad of money, and then buy a huge bag of lollies, which were shared out when we got home. The bag seemed never-ending as we divided the contents into six little piles. Friday nights were usually takeaway fish and chips or a visit to the pizza shop. When KFC was introduced to Australia, the KFC Bucket became a regular Friday takeaway as well. This was all a big treat, considering we were such a big family. Dad would sit at the head of our big red table, and we each had our favourite chair to sit on as our dinner was served. Mum would cook his favourite steak with mushrooms and he would have it with a few beers.

When they were in the lounge room watching television, there would either be a bang on the wall to tell us to be quiet, or two bangs to put the kettle on for a cup of coffee. We would all go into the lounge room, Dad would get on his hands and knees and we would climb on his back for horse rides. After ten minutes, Mum would be saying, ‘Somebody’s going to get hurt’. Sure enough, somebody would be in tears and Dad would be lying on the ground, complaining he had a sore back.

We never went without, as his pay was good. It was fun going shopping with Mum, as we would be allowed to go and look at the toys whilst she whizzed around the aisles, filling up numerous trolleys with our weekly groceries. Two of us would carry the red milk crate that held 20 pints into Woolworths to have it refilled, as we always had to have fresh milk. By the time Mum had finished the shopping, we had so many bags of groceries that filled the back of the car we found it hard to squash in.

Whenever we went through the checkout, we were guaranteed to find money on the ground that we would have to hand in. One day I spotted a little green note that lay scrunched up on the ground, which was my biggest find, and I handed it to the checkout lady. After a week, it was given back to me, as nobody claimed it. It’s hard to believe it was only $2, but with that money, I remember Mum asked what I wanted to spend it on. All my sisters also questioned me—after all, it was a lot of money at the time. It paid for the six of us to go to the swimming pool, and then Mum picked us up and took us to the ‘Bug House’, which was an old hall used to screen movies. We all went in and watched a Walt Disney cartoon movie. Mum bought six Smiley Face ice creams, which were the new ice cream on the market, and some lollies for us to take in with us. It’s amazing to see how far that $2 went for that day, and all the girls thanked me for it.

I’m just so lucky to remember days like that. Mum always said I had ‘eyes like a hawk, ears like a fox and was as sharp as a tack’. I had no idea what this meant apart from always being asked to thread the cotton through the eye of a needle, to hear well and to remember things which people wouldn’t even remember 40 years later. Those Smiley Face ice creams were pale pink on the top and pale yellow on the bottom with a smiling face and a button nose on them.

One particular hot summer’s day we went to the swimming pool. My sister, who was just fifteen months older than me, and I were both wearing the same blue pants with little red and white circles on them. We were swimming in the big pool and were being teased, as we weren’t wearing any tops. We didn’t mind the teasing, but after that Mum bought us bathers as we may have had little boobies sprouting. How’s that for a memory?

One time, Dad refurnished the whole house with so many things and painted it inside and out so the house looked like new. I will always remember our neighbour’s daughter and I watching Mum count out $900 in cash for the new fridge. There were new dinner sets, cooking utensils, washing machines, sewing machines – the list was endless. He also bought two brand new cars. We found out years later that he had sold a couple of blocks of land he owned right in the heart of Sydney, which would be worth a couple of million dollars today.

It was always sad when Dad had to leave for work. I guess it must have been hard on Mum, but as I said, we never went without, which was very rewarding for our big, growing family.

Before we had our new car, Mum would drive our old faithful car Gearty. It seemed as if it was a huge car that had so many great features, and we would all fit in easily. It was a black Land Chester which had that old leather smell, side banisters and the roof that had a chrome handle, which we would slide open to expose a sunroof from which we would all poke our heads out. Mum would wind a little handle on the windscreen and it would unwind outwards for the air to flow in. To start Gearty up, Mum would lean over to the glove box where there was a little black button inside that she would press and with that the car started. Now that’s what you call a classic car. If we were waiting in the car for her, one of us would take the dare and press the button in the glove box, making Mum run out of the house. She would drive us to school and have to stop halfway because we would be laughing at Sherry, our boxer dog, running after us in a green jumper that we had put on her to keep warm. Mum would pull over whilst we’d pull her into the car; after all, she was part of the family.

We were never on time for school, as my mother would have to plait our hair. The six of us would stand in line as Mum worked her way along the line. She would do two single plaits one on each side of our head and another right on the top of our head that she would twirl around and pin tightly. This was our little crown; I wondered what our school friends thought about our crowns, as I don’t remember being teased. The worse part about having our hair done was Mum saying, ‘Keep your head still,’ as she pushed it to one side or smacked us on the head with the brush.

After six heads and eighteen plaits, we would finally jump into Gearty and arrive late at school as usual. Mum said we had to have our hair plaited so we didn’t catch nits. Well, she was right, as none of us got them, thankfully. If we scratched our heads, she would leap to her feet and check our hair for nits. On Sundays Mum would wash our hair and we would be summoned into the kitchen one at a time to face the dreaded sink. We would lie on the kitchen bench whilst she washed our hair in the sink. She would end the session by scrubbing our heads and running freezing cold water and vinegar over our heads. This was done to crack any nit eggs. Then we would sit outside in the warm sun to heat our cold heads up and run through our hair with a nit comb. I never understood why she did our hair in the sink. I can only put it down to the fact that she could wash our long hair properly there and run that bloody cold water and vinegar over us properly.

Now for some free information about nits—no scratching your head whilst reading, please. Head lice are tiny insect parasites that live on the human head, feeding on the scalp several times a day. Head lice reproduce by laying their eggs (nits) on the hair shaft close to the scalp. They are not dangerous, don’t carry diseases and are not a sign of poor hygiene. Crawling head lice may be seen in the hair, and it’s hard to believe but they can move 30 cm per minute and can be difficult to spot. Head lice can quickly run and hide from searching hands.

Adult lice are usually dark brown and are 2 to 3mm long. Hatchlings are young lice, light brown and are 1 to 2mm long. The eggs, or nits, may be seen attached to the hair shaft but may be very tiny and hard to see, especially the newly laid eggs close to the scalp. They are grey white and about the size of a grain of salt. I bet you didn’t know all of that? Are you scratching your head now?

Like I said, we were never early in the morning. Having our hair done took time, and also Mum would always be looking for that bloody red purse of hers. I don’t know why she just didn’t keep it in one place, as we all had to look in all the usual places for it. As soon as she had it, she would fly down the front steps into the car and off we’d go.

One afternoon Mum was going to shop and promised us a bag of lollies. We all piled into Gearty and off we went. I sat in the back and I was so excited I shook on the door handle, but I shook a little bit too much. Around the corner we whizzed and out I flew, but my sisters didn’t tell Mum until they were at the shop. Mum came back looking for me. She found me as I lay on the road and I was rushed back home. I sat on the kitchen table, sobbing my little eyes out. The doctor came and checked me over to see what damage I had done to myself. He bandaged my ribs and tended to my cuts and grazes. I was lucky there weren’t more injuries. Where were my lollies? Once again my bad luck had struck again!

Not long after that, Mum drove the new car. It was safer, as we could lock the doors, and the leather smelt so fresh. We all waved goodbye to Gearty as she was driven away. ‘When your time is good, your mistakes are taken as a joke, but when your time is bad, even your jokes are taken as a mistake.’

Our parents brought us up well. They taught us our manners, saying, ‘Courtesy costs nothing.’ They taught us how to respect and look after the elderly. This is very rare these days; you only have to watch the news to see these kids breaking into elderly folks’ homes to steal, bash and even kill anybody, even the elderly, which is absolutely disgusting. The world has become a terrible place to grow up in now. Back then we would help carry the shopping bags for our neighbours, but today the kids are robbing people and supermarkets, armed with weapons and getting away in stolen cars. We were blessed to grow up in the old days. I feel sorry for the kids today who missed out on the simple life, the little shits who need a good couple of weeks locked up in an adult’s jail.

Our neighbours also brought us a lot of enjoyment. Some of them had children that we played with and we would visit our other elderly neighbours. Across from our home, there was an old lady who we called ‘Granny’ and she would invite two of us at a time for Sunday roast lunch. We kids always ended up arguing as to who would be the two lucky ones. Granny’s roasts were so good, especially her roast potatoes, it was something special to be invited by Granny. After lunch, she would serve peaches and milk, and then we would clean up and go for a walk. Inside her lounge room, there was a piano, which we would bang away on, making up songs, which would’ve driven her up the wall, but that good old hearing aid put a stop to it.

Although she was old, it didn’t stop her from looking for snails that were eating her flowers in the garden, and we would listen to the crunch her black shoes made on those snails. She bred birds, which we were allowed to feed, and we would run out to her back garden to the budgies. Good old days with Granny.

Sometimes I would stay at another family friend’s house that had a daughter the same age as I am, and two sons. She was lucky as her parents owned a car-wrecking business. They were in a motorbike club and so they had a little motorbike each. We would get up early and drive to the country and meet up with the other members of the motorbike club, and then a day of fun would begin. A BBQ would be going and we all had the little motorbikes to ride through the pine forests, racing against each other and then going back to the smell of the BBQ cooking. I went for a ride and luckily my bike stalled, as I looked down and realised I was about to fly off the edge of a cliff – phew! I had a lot of good times with that family; of all my sisters, I was usually the only one who stayed there. I have no idea why it was just me who stayed there but thought it may have been because I got on well with their daughter.

Around the next street, there was an old folks’ home that had 24 little units, which we would pass on our way to the shop to buy Mum the newspaper in the afternoon. We would stop along our way, knock on every door and ask if they needed anything at the shops. We all had our own favourite granny to help. My granny was Mrs Testrow and she made toy clowns and beautiful doll’s dresses, and her dressing table was littered with costume jewellery and makeup. She would put little clip earrings and pink blush and lipstick on me, and I enjoyed spending an hour or so at her home, watching her sew or feed her budgie. Mum would drive around the back of their homes, especially in the summertime, and we would knock on the 24 doors and ask them if they needed any ‘special lemonade’. They would pass a little piece of paper with the money into our hands, and before we knew it, Mum was driving through the bottle department of the pub, buying their ‘special lemonade’ (which was a few bottles of beer) and then back to drop off the much-appreciated drinks. Good one, Mum!

Another neighbour, who I called Aunty Eileen, had one daughter who was a ballerina and was opening up her own ballet studio. I would spend my days over at their house, practising ballet steps. Of all the sisters, I was the only one who had dance lessons. I started dancing at the age of seven and learned ballet, jazz, tap and traditional. I drew little stick people in all the different positions in an exercise book and wrote out the French interpretations in English, which I think is pretty damn good for such a young age. I gradually worked my way up to being one of the best students in the school and was well rewarded for my efforts with many trophies.

I remember my first concert. I was the lead dancer, dressed in white, dancing to the Blue Danube. I looked down at my family in the front row. There were two of my sisters, pulling funny faces at me and trying to make me laugh. I remember I kept a straight face looking at these sisters but I lost one step, which put me off balance, causing me to knock the front speaker. I don’t think anybody noticed, just me.

My ballet teacher took me to see my first ballet concert. It was Swan Lake, with Margot Fonteyn and Rudolf Nureyev. The dancers were so graceful, and I knew what I would’ve looked like as a ballerina if I were older and if I were fortunate enough to meet the cast.

This was where I met my best girl-friend, Sophie, who also danced. I was allowed to stay at her house, especially when the school holidays started, and her mother would sew us matching clothes, which my sisters would try and wear. Mum had to put up with me screaming at them to give them back. ‘You’re wearing my twin’s dress,’ I would sob.

We would all go out with Sophie’s family, usually for a bus ride, and enjoy a small picnic in the parklands. Looking back now, it was a lovely way of life for Sophie’s mum to entertain her children. ‘Let’s give your Mum a surprise and peel the vegetables,’ I said, but the only problem was Sophie hadn’t any idea how to use a potato peeler—which shocked me. Being from a small family, her mother did all of the meal preparation and dishes, which I thought was a way of spoiling the children. I gave Sophie a quick lesson and we ended with a stack of veggies ready for dinner and that surprised her mother.

We both loved horses and would spend our days down the road at a stable, only too willing to help out anybody who owned a horse. Eventually, Sophie’s parents bought her a horse, and we spent all of our time dancing or looking after Prancer. He wasn’t completely broken in, so we broke him in ourselves, which was a great achievement for a couple of kids. It was a long, hot summer and Prancer’s water trough was an old-fashioned bath that we would fill to the brim and sit in to cool down. There was a huge mulberry tree that we would climb to pick the berries, trying not to get stained by them. We had a lot of friends who also had horses at the same stables, and we would all do these simple fun events.

My first experience of galloping was terrible. I climbed on a horse out in the county without a saddle or bridle; I just wanted to sit on him. Next minute he just took off straight down a hill, and I hung on for dear life. His neck and head was hitting me in my face, but I was in for a bigger shock as I saw we were heading straight for a tree. I kept my head down as the horse aimed for that tree. I could see ahead, and he went straight underneath it. It was a huge tree and I was lucky I kept my head down, as the branches were big and could’ve knocked me off the horse. Thankfully I was safe and managed to stay on that damn horse. We both had a good laugh about it later, ‘Get up, little horsey.’

When we all would go for a ride together, Sophie and I both climbed up on Prancer’s back. I did feel left out, as I didn’t have a horse, and Mum made it quite clear I wouldn’t be getting one.

One day Sophie rode Prancer down to our house and Mum was in her pink nightie out in the backyard. We encouraged her to get up on him and have a ride, which she did. Mum wouldn’t back down from this, for sure. She rode up to her bedroom window. We quietly took the screen off and let Prancer stick his head in as far as he could whilst Mum was still on him. Dad was sleeping, and next minute, all you could hear was Dad screaming as he felt something breathing hot air into his face and he opened his eyes to Prancer’s big head looking down on him, and with Mum in her pink nightie. We couldn’t stop laughing at my poor father. Growing up, we would play jokes on each other like this.

Any boys who came in the gate on a hot day were squirted with the garden hose and they copped eggs followed by flour. Mum would just hide, waiting there to protect her girls. It was a good laugh, watching the boys covered in eggs and flour and the water setting it like pancake mixture.

Meanwhile I bought a bridle, horse brushes, and even started looking at saddles. I thought my parents would get the hint I wanted my own horse. I even told my parents our backyard was big enough to keep a horse in, which it was, but the answer was still a no. Looking back, I can fully understand: There was the expense to begin with, plus we would’ve always argued over whose horse it was—but it just wasn’t fair.

Whenever I watched a cowboy movie or anything that had a horse in it, my memory would always flash back to those happy days. I can smell the sweat from the horses and the smell from the leather bridle or saddle, which I thought was a distinctive, appealing smell.

If you were fortunate to be born in the 50s, 60s, 70s, or 80s, know we are the last generation who played out in the streets. We were the first who played video games, the last to record songs off the radio with a tape cassette. We would walk over miles with no worries about being taken. We learnt how to program the VCR before anybody else and played Nintendo and Atari games. We are the generation of Looney Tunes, Disneyland and Captain Kangaroo. We travelled in cars without seatbelts or airbags. Mobile phones, flat screen televisions, surround systems, iPods, Facebook, Twitter, computers (and that meant the internet) were yet unknown. Nevertheless, we grew up having a great time!

Back then, we were always told to behave. I thought, ‘why should we’, when as a child I saw Tarzan almost naked, Cinderella came home after midnight, Pinocchio told lies, Aladdin was a thief, Batman drove over 200 miles an hour, Snow White lived with seven men, Popeye smoked a pipe and had tattoos, Pacman ran around to digital music whilst eating pills that enhanced his performance, and Shaggy and Scooby were the mystery-solving hippies that always had the munchies. Now how true is that? One day you will be just a memory to some people, so make sure you do your best for it to be a good one. We didn’t have any stresses, no worries, just a smile on my face and simply enjoying life. I miss being a kid some days.

Chapter 2

Moving Houses and Teenage Years

I was in my final year of primary school. I had fond memories of those years, right from my first day at school when I wore my red velvet dress with a little white fur collar and those plaits.

One day I raced with my friend and crashed straight into bloody Shane, who was directly in my path. I was taken to the sick room and I remember sitting there with an icepack on my eye. When it was time to go home, I walked towards the gate for Mum, who would be picking us up, and everybody was staring at me. Mum nearly had a fit when she saw my eye, which was now a massive black eye and swollen to the hilt apparently, as she said it turned every colour of the rainbow. I had a week off school, and my eyebrow bone is still sore today—I just felt it and checked. See how bloody males were causing me problems even when I was only seven years old.

The rest of the years were good.

Mum had her famous blue stick jaw toffees, which were a big hit, and just about every kid in the school looked like a blue-tongued lizard. Way to go, Mum! She also always had the ‘white elephant’ store at the school fetes. The store had old things that smelt like Granny’s house and second-hand clothes. There weren’t any Nike shoes or designer label clothes, just hand-me-downs, which was a common thing in my day. I look at old family photographs, which show my sisters and me wearing clothes that have been passed down as we grew out of them. One year I would be wearing my older sister’s dress, and the next year, my younger sister would be wearing that dress. I can’t imagine the kids today doing this, as they’re all too bloody spoilt. Katherine Middleton, the duchess of Cambridge, is one for recycling her dresses so it can’t all be that bad, can it?

I had just turned twelve and settled into a happy lifestyle. I was doing well at school and an open unit had just been built. They only allowed a certain number of Grade 7 students in there and my teacher, Mrs Such, was a favourite amongst the students. I enjoyed maths and art classes.

The open unit was carpeted and had two sunken rooms with big cushions where you were allowed to lie around on them reading. The desks were a funny shape and Maths 2 was introduced. I’m not sure why certain kids were introduced to this type of schooling but there weren’t any stresses. It could’ve been aimed at children who exceeded in certain subjects, as I hadn’t any problems with Maths 2.

Then the worst thing that could’ve happened in my happy childhood hit me like a sledgehammer.

I was twelve and my parents separated, which was hard on all of us. My mother just packed us all into the car one night without Dad knowing and just drove off and moved us to a completely different area. She never explained why she did this, so I couldn’t fully understand why. They had their arguments, just like any married couple. One time they had been drinking and had a bit of a punch-up, but would that is reason enough to leave?

As for my sisters and me, we were blinded as to what was happening. Mum should’ve arranged for somebody to talk with us and to answer questions as to why we left. She had a house ready within a week whilst we stayed at friends’ homes, and then we moved miles away.

We moved into an old heritage house that was huge, compared to our old home. All the rooms had beautiful ornate fireplaces and ceiling roses, and there was a cellar. Although it had character, it was hard to get used to the new house. The neighbours were mainly Greek or Italian. When we walked around the area, the neighbours were curious; after all, it was unusual for a large family of Australian females to move into this area. There were little side alleyways and the roads were big and wide with trees on the footpaths. There were different shops mainly run by the Wogs, as we called them, and they called us Skips. Mum had quite a few run-ins with the wogs and would get her black candle out and sit there and put a spell on them, which worked, and that put them back in their box, true—yer ask me about it one day if you know me, ha. In the end, she reversed the spells, as she got on great with them after that.

I missed my father and my friends, especially Sophie, and dancing too. I started at a new school, which I hated; it wasn′t anything like my old one, and I found the boys rude. After a few months, our lives had changed from how we had been brought up to how we were now living as a family, which was completely different from when Dad was around.

Our mother wouldn’t let us see our father, which must have been heartbreaking for him. I missed seeing him too, and now that I’m older, I think back to how devastated he must have been. That was a really nasty thing to do to us as well as to Dad.

One day he had a wife and six daughters giggling around him, and the next we were all gone and he was left in our empty house. He must have waited for us to come back home, as he focused on the echoes of our presence in the empty house.

I would catch a bus to ballet (Mum never drove me), and after my lessons, I would go and visit my ballet teacher and her mother who lived around the corner from where Dad lived by himself now. My mother had scared us so much about Dad, saying he would snatch us and keep us that I would run down a side street from where he lived. I would wear a pair of sunglasses and a hat where I would keep my hair tucked under, just in case he was outside. That way, he wouldn’t recognise me. I don’t know why we had to do this and I thought that it was so cruel of Mum to think the way she did. It was very destructive to us children. I’m sure Dad would have loved to have seen us and we would′ve loved to have seen him. We were his life, and he was our Daddy—sniff!

My oldest sister was getting married and she had her engagement party at home when we were still a family. Now the big day for her wedding was drawing closer, Mum arranged for one of her friends to give my sister away. This must have been so hurtful for Dad, as my sister was his first daughter. I couldn’t understand why Mum was so cruel to do this as well; she was doing anything she could to hurt him. But, hey, that’s divorce for you.

My sister’s wedding went ahead and she looked like a princess gliding down the aisle of the church, with seven bridesmaids in total. Dad would’ve been proud of his baby daughter who had grown up into a beautiful woman. This was followed by her reception at the Blue Gums Resort in a reserved room. We all sat down to a set menu, and jugs of colourful cocktail cordials sat on all the children’s tables. There was a room for us to play in whilst the adults partied into the night. Afterwards Mum took some wedding photographs for Dad that showed all of his little girls dressed in blue (we were the bridesmaids). She gave him a part of the wedding cake, which was all she could offer, but at least Dad had that. That′s the only memory I can recall about her trying to cheer him up.

Mum went back to see him not long after she left him; I gather they were trying to sort things out. I just remember she took most of the furniture and left him with only the bare essentials.

My father refused to speak to Mother ever again, as she must’ve ripped his heart out. He never healed but he did forgive her only because Christ says to forgive all mankind. I guess he found refuge through speaking with the Church and finally found his way.

I didn’t want to accept that our parents were divorced. I wanted the perfect family, but that was now gone. One of my sisters moved back with Dad, and we gradually started to visit him regularly like Mum should’ve encouraged us to do. Dad hadn’t changed one thing in our house, except he’d gone out and bought new beds. I guess that was in case we should knock on his door and needed somewhere to sleep—poor Dad.

My father never remarried, but Mum had a boyfriend not long after she left Dad. Mum had been drinking to deal with the separation, and I wondered if she really wanted to go back to Dad. We will never know or understand, but I wished she had. Dad always pushed for us to get a career and could′ve put us through university, as he served during the war. When you read more into my life, remember what I have just been through and be waiting for me and another twist.

I was accepted into a summer dance school for students that showed potential for their future and there I spent two months of high training. I had to attend school every Saturday and catch a bus in the sweltering heat during the school holidays. I chose this over the fun that my school friends had when they all got together and went out. I got lost quite often, as it was in another area that I wasn′t familiar with, but enjoyed looking at the grand houses and parklands with big statues that would resemble somebody famous. After classes I would go to a swimming centre that wasn’t too far away and would cool off before the long task of finding my way home.

Going all the way across town to ballet was so hard in the winter, especially when it rained. I remember thinking I would be better off taking a shortcut through the parklands, but my shoes filled with water and my clothes got sopping wet. As I tried to run and get out of the rain, I lost one shoe in the soggy grass. Well, that wasn’t such a good idea, as I was soaked to the bone when I got home.

I was catching buses and Mum wouldn’t drive me, so I decided to stop dancing. It was a sad decision for me and I knew I would miss my teacher, my friends, and especially Sophie. I packed my slippers, leotards, tights, headband and everything that I used into my little white ballet bag, which I had been given before I even started dancing, and kept it in my wardrobe for safekeeping. I still practised in my room or at Sophie’s house, where I still stayed but not as often as I used to, especially living on the other side of town. Sophie stayed at our new home a few times, but we both could see our friendship was fading.

Chapter 3

I Meet New Friends and Grow Up

I was still in Grade 7 and began making friends, and before we knew it, the four of us younger girls had a group of mates. We would go out and ride our bikes or skateboards and learn tricks on them, and we thought we were so cool. One of our mates would go roller-skating and we soon learnt the train route, so we spent Saturday nights sweating up a storm as we whizzed around the rink. We would walk straight into the city and go ice-skating; we were becoming very independent, without Mum dropping or picking us up.

On Sundays I would walk down to the cemetery, I would take my sketchbook, apples and sugar as well as my bridle. There were a couple of horses there and I would single out one and win its trust, and then I would climb up on him and ride around. I don’t know who owned those horses but I wasn’t scared, as I felt I was doing them a favour by exercising them. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. I would finish off the day by walking around the cemetery, looking at the dates on the headstones, some of which dated back to the early eighteenth century. There was also a little shabby crypt that served as shelter from the rain; I would sit in there, sketching or puffing away on one