Pebble on the Beach

I dedicate this book to my wife Linda and my daughter Pauline, without whose dedication, patience and encouragement to push me on, this story would not have been told.

It would be fair to say that without Linda my true path in life would have turned out to be more of a rocky road, and although the years have been good to us both, it has not all been a bed of roses; so to Linda and Pauline, thank you.

Finally to my bruv Derek Tanner, as without him this book would still be in my loft, covered in dust. Thanks bruv.

Tony Diamond

PREFACE

Having been told by Tony that he was more of a doer than a reader, in fact that he seldom if ever read a book, I read his manuscript more in the spirit of friendship than in the expectation that I would find it an interesting read. I revised my opinion after the first few pages.

Tony has a natural talent and a feel for words. The book is very well written. Tony sees it as an adventure story – I see it as something more important. It seems to me to be a human document revealing an aspect of social history of our times, all the more valuable for being written with total frankness and sincerity. It is sad and funny but above all it gives the most vivid of pictures of what it is like for someone with Tony’s difficult background to fight constant rejection and survive. The intense effort that went into the book’s writing, the sacrifices made, the way in which the facts were assembled, are all part of the story.

We see Tony as a boy rejected by family and country and sent overseas to ‘start a new life’. A free spirit, lonely and homesick, but determined to be master of his own fate, he plots his return to England, sustained by his desire to come back to an idealised vision of the family home. There is an immediacy and directness about this fascinating account of the journey home which commands attention.

Having read many, many letters and accounts written by children sent overseas, I consider this book to be an outstanding account of a triumph over adversity.

Dame Gillian Wagner

Chair, Barnardos 1978-1984

PROLOGUE

I was born Anthony Roy Bates on the 2nd September, 1949. I grew up with that name not knowing at the time that the man I knew as my father wasn’t at all, and that my real father lived only two doors away. For various reasons I changed my name from Bates to Diamond in my thirties and have not looked back since.

CHAPTER 1

It was cold, back on that 25th day of February 1961. It was a Saturday afternoon and I was messing about in the grounds of The Knoll School for Boys with my best mate Ricky and a few others. I hadn’t long moved up to senior school and, as it was just a stone’s throw away from the bottom of our garden, it was a view that greeted me every morning from my bedroom window.

The school was built back in the mid-thirties to help with Hove’s population boom. The grounds covered more than half a square mile with its large red brick buildings, three playgrounds and prefabricated classrooms to cope with the constant influx of children. Being a comprehensive the school had an intake of 1,000 plus, and boys and girls were separated by a large blue door that was guarded daily by the ‘Witch of the West’ – the girls’ head mistress – who had the body of a matchstick and the bite of a rattler. With thirty to forty pupils per class sometimes it was impossible to even hear the teacher let alone see him, which came in handy sometimes, especially for the two weirdos who spent most of their time jerking each other off at the back of the science class. It was a little wonder they both ended up wearing glasses.

On Fridays, a few of us boys, each in different classes, would try to get the job of shutting the windows. Even in winter they were left open as our teachers thought the cold air would keep us awake and more alert. So while they sat there with their backs to the radiators we froze our balls off. However, there was a reason for offering our help with this little task. If you slammed the window hard it wouldn’t lock properly, which made it easy for us to break in over the weekend and help ourselves to such luxuries as ink, fountain pens, rulers and other useful items that would be sold back to unsuspecting victims come Monday morning.

Although eleven, I was unusually small for my age. With my spindle legs and a rib cage you could use for a xylophone (that’s how I got my nickname Bony Tates) I was the smallest of the crowd but always seemed to get into more trouble than anyone else, especially as my voice towered way above my height. Still, I wouldn’t have had it any other way, for I was one of the boys – the Black Hand Gang we called ourselves – and my home was the streets. I knew every shortcut, alleyway and cul-de-sac on the estate and could outrun and outfox any copper on my tail – although that isn’t to say that they wouldn’t be waiting for me when eventually I did return home! Not having a father, I’d get a right-hander from my mum and a promise from the local bobby that, “Next time my boy, it’ll be the cells for you.”

Being the smallest also meant I was a natural choice to climb through those windows we’d left unlocked on Friday afternoon, which was the reason why we were messing about in the school grounds that February day. All was going well until someone shouted, “Caretaker!” and with that everybody split, leaving me half hanging out of a window with my shorts caught up on the latch. Giving an almighty lurch I forced myself clear, leaving half of the seat of my pants behind me, thinking of nothing but my escape. I made my exit, with the pens in my pockets flying in all directions, climbing the drainpipe like a mad man – even a rat would have been hard pushed to catch me – up on to the flat roof, over the main building and down onto the bike sheds which overlooked my back garden. Quickly jumping down to the ground I headed towards the six foot high garden fence which stood between me and home. Pulling myself up, I was halfway over when I heard a voice from behind me. “I know who you are, Tony Bates.”

Oh shit, I thought to myself as I dropped in a bundle on the other side of the fence, he’s seen me. For a while I lay there trying to hold my breath, with only the sound of my heart thumping in my ears and the caretaker’s footsteps as they came towards the fence. He stood there for what seemed like an age until finally all sound of him was gone. I knew I’d be in for it come Monday, but that was still a long way off and I was just relieved to have got away. As it turned out though, my brush with the caretaker was to be just one event in a very eventful weekend.

Lifting myself from the ground I brushed myself down, taking a quick look around me, as God alone knew what I’d landed in. Ours was not your average garden, the twenty by forty area looking more like an army assault course with its large holes in the ground, old bike frames, pram wheels, an old garden shed that had long since lost its windows and door, and the scattered graves of our many pets that had died over the years. You name it, we buried it, and you wouldn’t have to dig too hard before you came across the remains of dogs, cats, rabbits, mice and goldfish. At the top of the garden there was a small vegetable patch that had been badly trodden down where I’d constantly had to climb in the window after being locked out. Overgrown privet bushes lined one side and, down the other, apple trees from next door’s garden hung conveniently over so we could help ourselves when the branches were full.

We lived on a large council estate in Hove, Sussex, on the south coast of England. Home was a three-up, two-down semi, and at that time there was just the three of us; mum, my sister Judith and me. Like most council estates everybody knew the ins and outs of everybody else’s business and you only had to fart to become a victim to the local gossips for the next couple of weeks. Mum’s gonna bloody kill me, I thought to myself as I looked down at my muddy knees and arms, not to mention the large tear in my shorts exposing my arse to anyone in view.

I slipped through the back door and into the house as quietly as I could so as not to cause any disturbance. Luckily there was no sign of life – still, that was nothing unusual – as I crept through the kitchen. Ours was a kitchen of bare essentials with an old butler sink in one corner and in another an old electric stove, piled high with dirty saucepans. Our furniture consisted of an old table and four worn-out chairs. There were no work tops or built-in kitchen units, just a couple of old shelves and a cabinet painted in blue, the very same blue as the surrounding walls.

On the other side of a partition wall was the bathroom – an eight by four closet that looked very much like a builder’s after-thought – housing an old cast-iron bath. Hot water for us was still a thing of the future and our water had to be heated by means of an old copper tub conveniently situated at the head of the bath on a raised concrete platform. It was painted red (along with the kitchen and bathroom floors) as lino was an expensive commodity back then. Closing the door behind me, I dropped my shorts to the floor and kicked them under the bath and out of harms way, then began to wipe off the dirt from my arms and legs with just a towel, as soap and water were still dirty words for me. Wrapping it around my waist I headed for the front room, where I was greeted by a coal fire blazing halfway up the chimney. By now the evening was drawing in so I turned on the light.

Housework was never one of mum’s favourite chores, and it showed. She was fond of saying that the only time she couldn’t find anything was when somebody had tidied up behind her, but like they say, when you live in a mess you don’t notice. Dishes still sat on the dining table, magazines and newspapers were piled high on the chair and our three cats lounged all over the furniture, which had long seen better days. Our one luxury was tucked away in the corner, the television. Black and white of course, there was a slot meter affixed to the back that ate half crowns like they were going out of fashion. Many was the time we’d be watching a programme only to be cut off in mid-stream and if there were no coins in the kitty, well that was the end of it, no more TV. It was perched on an old tea trolley that gran had given us, and below sat mum’s old knitting box, where Brandy had not long since given birth to seven kittens leaving a slight aroma in the air and the constant sound of mewing. As for our sideboard, it was a regular antique with its exotic ornaments set out for all the world to see – milk bottles, an open tin of cat food, cups, a teapot…Yes, it was a real Aladdin’s Cave, and the public came from miles just to stare in disbelief!

“Anybody there?” I called up the stairs. I knew there wouldn’t be but I called up just the same. I made a mad dash, my towel dropping somewhere between the bottom step and our bedroom, which was the largest of the three. I say ‘our’ because during the holidays I shared it with my three brothers, Terry – 13, Patrick – 14, and Michael – 15, who were under the care of Barnardo’s homes. Terry and Patrick were away at Naval training school in Dorset, while Michael (the brains of the outfit) was at grammar school. Although it was fun when they were all home I never really missed them, and in fact was often glad to see the back of them with their money and flashy clothes. Ours was not a close family relationship, and we spent so little time together we were almost strangers.

Still, at least they made for company at nights in that cold room with its two sets of bunk beds, old wardrobe and a dresser that was cluttered up with model ships and aeroplanes, made during my brothers’ vacations. There was a reason for craving company as in the far corner of the room was a large cupboard, set back over the stairs. On cold windy nights the wind whistled down the chimney and out through the fireplace which was situated in the opposite corner, making the door rattle. Sometimes the wind would force it open with a loud creak, then bang it against the wall, putting my heart in my mouth as I lay terrified beneath my covers. That house always gave me the willies, especially upstairs. A previous tenant had hung himself in the loft, putting one end of the rope around the roof support before jumping. Apparently, he wasn’t missed for nearly two weeks, and when they found him his eyes looked life golf balls protruding from his head. Must have been a pretty sight…Then there was grandad. He’d died in the lounge of some horrible chest disease, but mum would tell us some nights she’d see him still lying there, returned in his ghostly form. That was enough to give anyone the creeps.

So there I was, in the room, searching for something to wear which was a task in itself. Being the youngest of four boys, hand-me-downs were a part of my life, and every time my brothers came home there would be a new supply. If they didn’t fit now, I was told, they’d fit later so I really didn’t have any personal choice when it came to the clothes I wore. I found an old pair of jeans and put them on, pulling the zip up faster than I should have and suddenly coming to a halt with a gasp of pain. “Fucking hell!” I yelled, and looked down to see my foreskin caught in my zip. Not daring to move, as I didn’t want to cause any unnecessary anguish, I took hold of the fastener and with a quick jerk, released my red, but thankfully undamaged tool. So far, my Saturday wasn’t going too well.

Returning downstairs, I opened the front door and stood in the cold evening air looking to see if mum was about, amidst the neighbours leaning on their gates, gossiping while local kids caused riots in the streets. There was no sign of her but I did notice my little sister, Judith, playing with some of her friends at the top of the street. I called out, but she never stirred, just carried on skipping. Oh well, mum can’t be far off if she’s about, I told myself. Feeling the cold a little, I turned back towards the house and looked across our front garden, the state of which was not unlike the back.

“You been in my greenhouse again?” said a voice from next door.

I turned slowly. It was old man Collins. “What was that?”

“You heard me boy, you’ve been in my bloody greenhouse again, at my tomatoes,” he said, his face going all red.

“Who me? What I wanna go in your stupid greenhouse for? Don’t even like tomatoes, you silly old sod.”

“Don’t you talk to me like that or I’ll give you a right-hander, my boy.”

“Oh yeah? You and whose army?”

“You, you…” Near to the boil, he headed towards our gate so I shot indoors slamming the front door behind me. Once inside, I peered through the curtains and started pulling faces. By now old Collins was at the gate shaking his finger, “You wait my boy, your mother’s going to hear about this, you’ll see.” Letting the curtain drop, I laughed to myself, although I knew that wasn’t the last I’d hear of it. They were rotten old tomatoes anyway, only fit for frying and as for mum? She’d eaten half of ‘em (even if she didn’t know where they’d come from).

I decided to settle down in my favourite chair by the fire, resting my feet upon the mantle to give perfect comfort, and watch the T.V. Being a Saturday there was wrestling on, and I was soon engrossed in a Mick McManus bout. My concentration was broken by a knock at the front door. Oh shit, who’s that? I thought. Aside from the police and the rent man no one else ever came to the front door, and being Saturday it definitely wasn’t the rent man, so that only left the police. I turned down the T.V. so as to pretend that no one was home and peered through the curtains. I couldn’t see anyone, just a large black car (a London taxi) parked directly outside. There was another knock, louder, and they were obviously getting impatient so I thought it best to answer.

“Who is it?” I called from behind the door.

“Is your mother there?” answered a man with a strange accent through the letterbox.

Curiously I opened the door, to see a strange little man, not much taller than myself (about five foot nothing) wearing this huge green sheepskin coat.

“Hello son, is your mother there?” he asked.

I looked at him for what seemed like an age. Mum had many friends, but this one I didn’t know. Yet somehow he looked familiar. His broad chin was clean shaven and his skin was tanned so dark he could almost have been coloured. With dark inset eyes, his long dark hair was brushed back off his forehead. Thinking he was a new tally man come to collect some money, I answered him with the immortal words mum always sent me to the door with, “I’m afraid she’s not in and says can you call back next week for your money.”

He just stood there, not moving, then cracked a smile, his eyes shining over like a man about to cry. “Do you not know when she’ll be back lad? I’m an old friend and I’ve come a long way.”

Deciding that a tallyman probably wouldn’t be doing his rounds in a black car like the one waiting outside, I left him standing there, being watched by over-interested neighbours, and went in search of mum. This wasn’t one of my hardest quests as I just had to follow the smell of brewing tea and I ended up at Elsie’s, five doors up from us. I suppose you could say she was mum’s best friend and they shared everything from recipes to boyfriends, living in each other’s pockets daily, although to me she was a two faced old bag who would stab you in the back as soon as look at you. Knocking on her back door, I got the usual answer, “Come in if you’re rich.” I opened the back door and popped my head round to see mum sitting at the table alongside Elsie.

“What’s up?” she asked, “I suppose you want your tea.”

Looking at her, then at Elsie, as I didn’t want the world to know our business, I tried to be discreet. “We’ve got a visitor mum, say’s he’s a friend of yours.”

“Oh Mavis, a man, send him up here after you’ve finished with him,” said Elsie and they both fell about laughing. She had one of those piercing voices that went right through you. Mum, on the other hand, spoke softly and clearly. Along with her looks and figure, it was easy to see why men fell for her, as she was 5’4”, with long auburn hair that flowed on her shoulders. She was always immaculately dressed and made up, putting her size 12 body into a size 10 dress so that her every curve became an outline.

“Who did you say this man was, son?”

“I didn’t, he just said he’s come a long way.”

Elsie opened the door, giving me a pinch on the cheek. As I left my only thought was of her last sentence; “Fill me in later.” With pleasure and a large crowbar, I smiled back as my thought amused me.

Closing the door behind her, mum followed me up the path. “Did he say what his name was?” she asked.

“No, just that he’d come a long way. Funny looking bloke with a big chin.”

Then, for some reason her face lit up and she nearly knocked me over as she rushed out the gate, heading for No. 36. She got to the gate, turned sharply – excited, like a kid with a new toy – and gave me the shock of my life. “That’s no stranger son. That’s your father,” she said before running into his open arms.

Although I was only eleven, I was pretty street wise for my age and even I knew that men don’t come back from the dead – and I’d been told my dad had died in Korea when I was six months old. I guessed she must have meant uncle. I’d had a lot of them. Some stayed longer than others, but eventually they all left. Still, mine was not to reason…and at least when there was a man about I never went short of a bob or two, if only to get myself lost for the day.

I followed them, hand in hand like two lovers, into the lounge and could see by the look on his face as he glanced around the room, he was used to better than this. Mum pulled me closer, “Tony, I’d like you to meet your father.”

Looking down at me, he held out his hand, “Hello son, I see you’ve grown into a fine looking boy,” he said in his strong accent.

At first, I was a bit wary as I didn’t know what the hell was going on. I shook his hand, noticing his firm grip and short stubby fingers, all bitten down to the quick just as mine were, but still his face confused me. Then like a flash of light, it came to me. “Mum,” I cried out, “He looks like our Pat.”

In fact he was the spitting image. All this must have been too much for him (either that or I’d squeezed his hand too tight) as it was then he turned to mum and burst into tears, “Forgive me, Mavis, I’m sorry, so sorry.”

Sorry for what? I asked myself, I was still a little confused, watching a grown man cry put me just a little on edge.

“Son, you go and fetch your sister, while I make your father a nice cup of tea.” That was typical. A cuppa seemed to be her answer to everything. Without a word I slid out the back door and went in search of Judith.

The cogs in my brain turned frantically, and I could almost hear them in my head. Was he really my father? Had he, by some miracle, had his life spared to return home to his family? Why had it taken so long? It was 11 years since he supposedly got lost, or maybe he’d been put in a prison camp. Yeah that was it, a Chinese prison camp, that made sense. It was all beginning to sound like a romantic novel, but this was for real and was happening to us. By now, the neighbours were gathering, trying to assess what was going on inside No. 36. “Hello Tony, see you got a visitor. Anyone we know?”

“It’s my dad, he’s come home. My dad’s come home.” The looks on their faces were a picture as they turned to one another, their tongues all going ten to the dozen.

After a short search, I found Judith playing on the church green with some of her friends. Looking up, she spotted me and ran off in the opposite direction. Sis could be a right cow at times – and I know, as I’d partly brought her up. Although she was pretty, with her long auburn hair, Judith was a tomboy in every sense of the word. She never did anything she was told but somehow managed to always get away with it.

Eventually catching up with her I grabbed hold of her hand. “Come on, mum wants you now.”

She started to pinch and kick me, so I grabbed her by the hair. Covered head to foot in what looked like half the playing field, she looked up at me. “I’m telling mum on you and then she’ll hit you over the head with the frying pan again, so there.”

“Listen, you little cow,” I shouted. “We’ve got a visitor and mum wants you home to meet him.”

Her tears ceased and a broad smile came across her little face. “Is daddy home?” – No, she didn’t have a sixth sense. Although mum had lots of men friends who I got to call uncle, Judith always called them ‘dad’. I suppose that, never knowing any different, it came naturally, and the boyfriends never seemed to mind.

Pulling away from me, she ran across the green towards home, shouting out loud, “My daddy’s home, my daddy’s home,” like a little song she’d just made up. Following close behind I suddenly thought to myself, if he really is my dad and has been away eleven years then that was feasible because of my age, but Judith was only six and even I knew that two and two didn’t make five…I entered the lounge of No. 36 to see sis sitting up on the stranger’s knee, arms around his neck and smothering him with kisses. Lifting himself up with Judith still hanging on tightly, he put her down and put his hands in his pockets, bringing out more money than I’d ever seen before.

“Thanks Mister, thanks a lot,” I said as he handed it to me.

Judith’s face was a picture. For one tiny moment she thought she was going to miss out, then in went the hand again and this time out came half a crown. Sis, not knowing the value of money, just looked up and jeered, “I’ve got a silver one. I’ve got more than you, so there.”

Mum and the stranger both laughed. I edged backwards to try and get out without being noticed, only to be stopped by mum’s voice. “Hold up son, take your sister with you.”

“Oh mum, do I have to? You know what a cow she is.”

“Yes you do,” she replied, “and you my young lady, hold tight to your brother’s hand, you hear me?”

Replying back with a ‘butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth’ voice, she replied, “Yes mummy, yes daddy,” then looked up at me and poked out her tongue.

“You may as well bring in some tea as well. Fish and chips suit you okay Fred?”

“Fine, luv,” he replied, pulling out another pound note from his pocket.

“Right then, that’s cod and chips for your father and I and whatever you two want.”

So that was his name was it? Fred. He must be rich to keep pulling out all these pound notes. This might not be half so bad after all, I thought to myself as we headed out the gate. The black car had gone when we arrived back at No. 36 about an hour later. We both rushed in to find out whether or not it had taken the stranger with it, only to find mum laying the table while Fred, for the want of a better name, was sat in my favourite chair alongside the fire looking a lot more at ease with his new surroundings. He’d made himself quite at home with his cup of tea in one hand and a tobacco tin perched on the arm of the chair, and smiled as we walked in.

“What’ve you got your dressing gown on for mum?” I asked.

“Oh, I spilt something down my dress, now stop asking stupid questions and get washed up for dinner.”

“Yes mum,” I said, although I knew the real reason.

All washed up, we took our seats at the table, which made a nice change from eating off our laps. While we ate, Fred told us of his job as a merchant seaman which took him all around the world to exotic places like Australia, Africa and South America, places that for me were just names on a map and which seemed a lifetime away. There was no talk of prison camps in far off countries or where he’d been for the last eleven years. Mesmerised by his stories, I sat with gaping mouth at the excitement and thrill of sailing into those far off ports with their blue skies and sun that always shined. For me, all of a sudden, he was no longer a stranger, more my own personal hero. He’d been and seen more places than anyone I knew and in my eyes that made him special.

“You two had enough to eat?” a voice broke into my thoughts. “Son?”

“Oh, er, yes thanks mum.”

“Right, clear the table while I make your father a cup of tea.”

Clear the table, what for? I thought, as the dirty plates were usually still there come breakfast. Still anything to keep the peace as I didn’t want her going off into one of her funny turns. By now, Fred had made himself comfortable in my chair once again and while sis and I cleared away, mum fussed around him like a bee around honey.

“Right, I’m off out. See you later,” I said, pulling on my jacket.

“In by nine now, you hear me son?”

“But mum.”

“No ‘buts’, nine o’clock and don’t be late.”

A time limit, that was new. I usually came in when I was tired or when everyone else had gone home and not before. Fred had only been here ten minutes and already the law was being laid down. Without saying another word I shut the door behind me and headed off to call for my mates.

My first stop was Ricky’s house to tell him of my news. Ricky was a year older than me and we’d known each other most of our lives. It was with Ricky that I’d had my first smoke and my first taste of ‘the Demon’ alcohol. You could say we were from different sides of the tracks as Ricky’s family were quite well off and he, being the last of four boys, was totally spoilt. He had a wardrobe stuffed to capacity with new clothes bought for him by his mum. Me not having any clothes of my own, I’d always borrow his shirts, jackets and even shoes. Ricky would use me as his personal tailor’s dummy, modelling his clothes on me and if they got a good reaction with the girls he’d be wearing them the night after!

Our favourite tipple was MerryDown Cider, and although a bottle made you feel good and capable of doing anything, come morning you felt and looked like death. Many’s the time I would be taken to the doctor’s by mum, her thinking there was something terribly wrong with me. Each time the doctor, in all his wisdom, put it down to a new virus of some sort then issued penicillin tablets like candy. Of course we eventually got caught out and while mum took a stair rod to me it failed to deter me, just made me more cautious. It was also with Ricky that I got my introduction to the opposite sex.

The evening flew by and it was shortly after ten when I got home to find the house in total darkness. Shit, I’m in for it now as they’ve gone out to look for me, I thought – although sense soon got the better of me. Switching on the kitchen light, for a moment I thought I was in the wrong house. As I looked around I saw that the table and sink were clear of dirty dishes and the room was all bright and shiny like a new penny. Moving into the lounge I could smell the distinct aroma of tobacco, which made a nice change from cats and boiled cabbage. Switching on the light, I was once again taken aback as there were no magazines piled high or clothes scattered about and the sideboard was clear with little doyleys under the few ornaments we had. That Fred’s got a lot to answer for, I thought to myself. Either that or mum’s had another breakdown.

Not knowing where either of them were I thought it best to go to my bed, first checking in Judith’s room to find her fast asleep. I undressed as quickly as I could, just taking off my shoes and jeans as I’d need the rest of my clothes on to keep me warm, then I switched off the light and made a running jump for my bed. I lay there with my head under the covers, until eventually I heard the front door go, followed by the familiar sound of laughter. At last, I said to myself, I could relax now. There wasn’t anything to be frightened of as mum was home. The distinct chink of glasses could be heard amidst lots of laughter.

That night, I lay there wondering who this man was who had walked back into our lives after being away for eleven years? Was I going to have to call him ‘dad’? How would my brothers react to the unforeseen member of the family arriving out of the blue? Was I happy or did I resent him? After all, my life – and my brothers’ come to that – had been no bed of roses, and I thought of the times I’d spent away from home in care or with foster parents. I also thought about my friends and how they would talk about trips out with their fathers, fishing, football matches – all the things you would expect to do – but there I was, nearly a man, and all this had passed me by. After all the years of ridicule and humiliation because I had come from a one parent family, I was now supposed to go to school on Monday and say, “Guess what lads, my dad came home Saturday!” I would be a laughing stock. All these thoughts came and went and left me totally confused before, finally, I fell asleep.

Sunday morning came round and I was woken early by sis pulling at my ear. “Wake up Tony, daddy’s still home.” At first, still half asleep, I took no notice, then realising what she’d said and remembering the stranger, I jumped out of bed and ran straight to mum’s bedroom where this small, well-tanned wiry man was sitting up in her bed, sipping his cup of tea. Judith was by his side, holding on tight, just to make sure this one didn’t get away. Very rarely did anyone get to stay the night and even if they did they usually left by first light. This really was serious.

He looked up at me. “Morning son, sleep well?”

I nodded, then went downstairs to find mum cheerfully singing away in the kitchen. The smell of cooking bacon filled the air.

“Morning mum, that smells good,” I said, pinching a piece of bacon from the frying pan.

“Leave that alone, that’s your father’s,” she said, slapping me on the hand with a fork. “There’s cereal in the larder if you’re hungry.”

That was rich, he got eggs and bacon and I got bloody cereal. In total disgust I went back to my bed, and stayed there for the best part of the morning. Eventually I got up. Fred, or ‘uncle’ as I called him (I did not feel inclined to call him ‘dad’ yet), was sitting by the fire, reading the Sunday papers while mum was in the kitchen preparing dinner. It was like a picture from a magazine (‘married bliss’ at its best) and they acted like it was a normal, everyday occurrence.

Dinner was at one o’clock (just in time for the Billy Cotton Band show) and later that afternoon we went to my grandmother’s for tea. Gran lived in a two bedroom flat on a small estate with her son Ken, mum’s oldest brother. We rang the bell and eventually Ken opened the door.

“Hello Mavis, Fred. It was a shock getting your call I can tell you.”

Mum laughed. “How do you think I felt? Nobody was more taken aback than me.”

Ken shook Fred’s hand. “Good to see you Fred, it’s been a long time.”

“Too long, Ken,” Fred answered. “But it’s good to be back.”

That was strange, I thought. Fred had disappeared from the face of the earth for all these years and yet now he’d come back and everybody acted as if nothing had ever happened. I was curious. What had happened all those years ago?

“Well, don’t just stand there, come in.”

Gran was in the lounge, feet up and watching television. She was in her early sixties and only stood about 4’8”, very petite with long white permed hair.

“Hello mum, don’t get up. You remember Fred don’t you?”

“Yes of course I do,” she answered, a smile on her face. “Hello Fred, it’s nice to see you.” Then Fred leaned over to give her a little hug. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather. This was too much to take in one day.

“Hello gran,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Perhaps now your father’s home you’ll settle down, and some discipline wouldn’t go amiss, my boy,” she replied, a stern look on her face.

Well, that was rich I thought – he’s been gone for years and I’m the one who gets the lecture. Fred took a seat alongside Ken and discussed old times, and mum and gran went to prepare tea so I nosed around looking for something to do. Gran loved ornaments and also liked to play the piano which stood in the corner taking up a large proportion of her lounge. As I lifted the lid to play a few notes, Ken came down on me like a ton of bricks.

“Don’t play that, can’t you see we’re talking.”

“Sorry.”

“Can’t you sit still for just five minutes?” Fred butted in, “You’re not at home now.”

I told myself it was going to be a long evening…still, one thing you could say about gran, she certainly knew how to lay on a spread – fancy cut sandwiches and fairy cakes, and for Judith and I, homemade lemonade to wash it all down. It was dark when we finally made our way back to No. 36. We were just in sight of the house when mum spotted a man going into our gate and looked at me as though she’d seen a ghost.

“That’s Ray. Quick, run and tell him your father’s come home,” she said, looking back at Fred who, luckily, was busy playing with Judith.

I raced on ahead to give Ray the message. Well, he just smiled and went on his merry way. Ray was one of mum’s boyfriends. He would just turn up out of the blue when it suited him, which also suited me. He never told us what to do and would give us money whenever the occasion arose. He’d been on the scene for nearly two years, on and off, and had even proposed to her once, but she’d turned him down. Unfortunately, Fred saw Ray walk out of the gate, and asked me who he was.

“Wrong house, he was looking for the Elms,” I told him and you could see the relief on mum’s face when Fred sort of accepted my story.

I went to bed that night thinking of my run-in with the caretaker and wondering what punishment was to come the next morning when I got into school. The normal procedure was to have your name called out in morning assembly and to be sent to stand outside the Head’s study. I think it was meant to humiliate you, but at the time, we all thought it was funny – that was until the cane came out. Our Head was particularly keen on putting his cane across your, backside and we were later to find out that was not all he was keen on, when he was dismissed for assaulting one of the first year boys.

The next morning came far too quickly for me. I dressed quickly in my school uniform and headed downstairs for breakfast but, to my happy surprise, mum told me to get changed. “You can forget about school today, as we’re going to London to your father’s ship as he’s got to pick up his things,” she explained, prancing round like she’d just won the pools.

Well, you can imagine, I was so disappointed! A day in London suited me fine. In fact, it sounded great, as the only time I had travelled any distance at all was when I’d been taken to one foster home or another by a social worker. Shortly after, we headed off to start what was a most memorable day, arriving at Brighton Station just in time to catch the 10.05, which in those days was the non-stop Pullman train to Victoria, known to anybody south of Watford as the Brighton Belle.

The train journey alone was an experience. As I walked down the platform alongside what seemed like a never ending brown train, with PULLMAN in big letters from one end to the other, we were met by a porter who showed us onto the train. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before, and down each side of the brightly decorated carriages, designed in 1920s style, there were tables all set out for four people. There were plush upright seats to sit in, small lamps perched on each table and little brown curtains framing your own private windows. We were shown to our seats by the waiter and almost immediately asked if we would like to eat or drink. Well, what can I say? Only that I felt ten feet tall. Fred ordered for all of us and you could tell this style of living was not new to him.

As the train pulled slowly out of the station, the waiters, all smart in their uniforms, rushed up and down taking orders and serving almost at the same time. Fred was all smiles and could see that we were all bursting with excitement at our new experience. Breakfast arrived, bacon and tomatoes, toast and tea; a feast fit for kings, which suited me fine because that’s how I felt, tucking straight in and not leaving a scrap. As the train thundered through the countryside, I tried to read the names of many stations as we passed by, but with little success as we were going much too fast. We finished our breakfasts and our table was cleared almost immediately. I thought it amazing that the waiters only had fifty five minutes from start to finish to serve and clear up before reaching Victoria Station, and still managed it.

Never having been out of Sussex, I thought, like most youngsters, that London was the centre of the world, and at the time it seemed it. As we stepped from the train, the loudspeaker was hailing destinations of all sorts, some of which I’d never heard of before. Holding on tightly to Judith’s hand, I followed mum and Fred close behind, not wanting to get lost in the crowd. As I did so, I tried to look at six different things all at once, but everything and everybody looked so big and it was almost frightening. It was quite obvious that Fred knew his way around as he hailed a taxi, a big black one, the very same as the one that had brought him to our house only two days before. At first I was under the impression that the driver must have been a personal friend, being the same car and all, until I noticed there were hundreds more during our trip through London.

Our journey took us along the Embankment, the driver pointing out all the places of interest, and it was after midday by the time we arrived at the Royal Docks. Stopped at the gates by the dock police, Fred produced his seaman’s identity card and gave the name of his ship, to which the guard smiled and waved us on. Our destination was the Victoria Dock – although there was also the Albert, George and so on – and the driver, knowing his way around, took us straight onto the quay and as close to Fred’s ship as possible.

Then we saw her, Fred’s ship, the ‘Afric’, sitting high out of the water and waiting to be loaded for her next voyage. After telling us to wait on the quay Fred ascended the gangway, which to me seemed a mile high, eventually reaching the top and disappearing from view while we stood there and looked around in total amazement. After a while, there was a shout and we looked up to see Fred beckoning us on board. I remember thinking how high the gangway was and what a mess it would make if I fell, so I held on tightly until I reached the top. I stood by the rail alongside Fred and looked down at mum and Judith who were still on the quay and hesitant, so in the end Fred went down and got them. In the meantime, one of Fred’s mates introduced himself.

“Hello, young man, I’m your dad’s workmate, the name’s Kelly. You want to have a look round?”

“Yeah, great!”

“I’m going to show the lad around Fred,” he called down, and without waiting for a reply we went on our way, from bow to stern, up into the wheelhouse and from there down into the crew’s accommodation. Here we found mum and sis making themselves comfortable in Fred’s cabin. Fred finished packing his stuff then suggested that while we were here we may as well stay for lunch. Following Fred from his cabin, we made our way to the mess room, a meeting point for all the crew where they would eat their meals and generally pass the time of day.

“Mavis, you and Judith take a seat while the lad and I see what’s to eat.”

Fred and I went off to the ship’s galley. “Hello Fred. What brings you back so early?” said a tall, stout man, all in white, complete with chef’s hat. As he spoke, the sweat rolled down his face, the heat from inside being almost unbearable. “Just come to pay off and get my gear. Going to have me a spot of shore leave. This here is my youngest son, Tony, and I’ve also brought the wife and the wee girl up with me.”

“Well hello master Tony, pleased to meet you lad. I’m known as Cooky, I’ve known your dad here for years. Are you hungry?”

I was always hungry and just nodded.

“Well Fred, I’m afraid there’s not much of a choice. Pork chops or fish and chips?”

We chose the chops and Cooky made up four plates, each holding enough to feed two men. “There you go, get stuck into that my boy – put hairs on your chest,” he winked.

We returned to the mess where mum had made herself at home and was enjoying the company of the other crew. “When you’ve finished your lunch Tony, would you like to go below and see where I work?” asked Fred.

I nodded furiously, choking on my food at the same time. Anxiously I started to shovel the rest in.

“Slow down lad, there’s plenty of time.”

Despite his advice, I was still finished long before the rest of them.

“You don’t mind if I show the lad around do you Mavis?”

“No, not at all Fred, I’m sure I’ll be safe enough here.”

So off the two of us went, leaving the women to be spoilt by the rest of the crew. Our first stop was a small room with bars on the doors and ports.

“This room here is the hospital. It’s only small, with two beds, but it’s enough.”

“So why are there bars up at the windows?” I asked curiously.

“Well, that’s so it can also be used as a cell if the occasion was ever to arise, for stowaways and such like,” Fred replied.

Continuing down the alleyway we arrived at our destination.

“Well, here we are, son,” said Fred opening a door which led onto an iron grid platform, “Now mind your step, it’s sometimes slippery, so take a firm hold.” Without warning Fred started to descend the iron stairs with me following close behind, leading onto one platform and then another, down more stairs and so on until finally we could go no further. All the time the noise was getting louder and the heat more and more intense.

“Here we are, these are my babies,” said Fred, pointing to a row of huge engines.

“Hello Fred, you just can’t keep away can you?” said a voice belonging to Kelly, whom I’d met earlier.

Fred smiled and put his arm around my shoulder, “I thought I’d show the lad around.”

“Alright lad, what do you think of our little kingdom?”

Obviously not dressed for the occasion, the sweat began to drip. “Is it always this hot?” I asked.

Kelly, dressed in jeans, T-shirt and what looked like a hanky with knots upon his head, answered with a smile on his face. “Hot, this ain’t hot is it Fred? Wait until she’s steaming.”

It was then that Fred explained what Kelly meant. “At the moment son, only the boilers are burning to keep the generators running for such things as lights, hot water and the galley, but once we leave the quay those large pistons over there are put into motion, moving up and down (just in the way that a car engine works) which in turn turns the propeller shaft, so the faster they rotate the more knots she does.”

“Well done, Fred, I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Leaving Kelly to his work, it seemed to take longer on the return journey, but we soon reached the top and fresh air.

“Well son, what do you think – would you like to work down there along with all the machinery?”

“Not for me, too ‘ot!’ I replied. “Wouldn’t mind working up here on deck though.”

Picking up mum and Judith we said our farewells to the crew, left the ship, and made our way to the main gate where we caught a taxi back into the city. By now I felt like a veteran traveller. Our next stop was Trafalgar Square and Fred had the taxi drop us off on the corner of The Strand so we could walk down Whitehall. We passed by stallholders selling their flags and souvenirs, rubbing shoulders with tourists of different nationalities, and walked by Downing Street (home to Harold MacMillan at the time) then past the Cenotaph and back up the other side, until finally we reached Trafalgar Square where Nelson stood high above the streets of London. Crossing the road into the Square where the tourists nearly outnumbered the pigeons, it wasn’t hard to see why Nelson had a patch on his eye, as the pigeons weren’t fussy where they dropped their messages. I was fortunate that they missed my eye, but they redesigned the front of my jacket instead and I was not impressed.

After Trafalgar Square we walked up to Piccadilly Circus then strolled up Regent Street to window shop. The girls were having the time of their lives, spending Fred’s hard-earned money, although he didn’t seem to mind, and though it was a bit boring for me I did get a new outfit out of it. Time was getting on and someone suggested tea. Food at last! The choice was Lyons Corner House, a huge restaurant with waitress service, and there we had our fill of tea, sandwiches and large cream cakes. Afterwards, we made our way back to Piccadilly Circus which was all lit up and looking even more spectacular with its neon lit advertisements flashing on and off and advertising all sorts. By now, everyone was tired and it was time to make our way home, so Fred hailed a taxi to take us back to Victoria via Buckingham Palace.

By the time we got home it was 9.30 p.m. and I was bushed and ready for some sleep, so after saying goodnight I went to my bed. I lay there in bed thinking about the things I had seen and done that day on our little family outing. And that’s what it had been, for the first time in my life, a family. Mum, dad, Judith and me. If this was what it was like to have a dad, then I was up for more of it (even if I still couldn’t call him it by name).

CHAPTER 2

Normal family life was something I wasn’t used to and maybe you could argue that this was the reason I was so good at getting into trouble. There was no father figure to peg me back for one, and life with mum had always been a bit up and down. So Fred walking back into our lives after eleven years left a few questions to be answered.

Apparently, it started back in early 1948 when mum, Fred and three kids were all living with my gran and grandfather. Council houses were scarce back then and although it was crowded, somehow they seemed to manage. Michael was two and a half, Pat a year and Terry had just been born, and me, well, I wasn’t even a twinkle in anyone’s eye at that time! Fred spent long periods at sea in the Royal Navy which did not help their marriage, so Nan would look after my brothers to give mum a break.

It was on one of these breaks that she met Charles, an old boyfriend from her schooldays, and began an affair. Fred, being the last to know, came and went back from leave, and when mum became pregnant in early 1949 Fred assumed he was the father, so life continued much the same way. With a fourth child on the way and gran’s constant complaints of over crowding, the council moved us into a three bedroom house on the same estate as her. The family settled into life in the three up, two down, and Fred was based down in Portsmouth, shore side, which gave him more opportunity to come home most weekends. Unfortunately, coincidence had landed my mum just two doors away from her lover, Charles, and their secret liaisons were to continue.

On Friday 2nd September, 1949, at 4.06 a.m., I took my first breath in this world and was christened Anthony Roy Bates. Apparently I had a good set of lungs and liked to air them far more than I should, which drove everyone around the bend.

Unfortunately, my first Christmas proved to be quite an eventful one although being three months old at the time, I didn’t know much about it. Coming home early on leave, Fred caught mum and Charles together and naturally he was not very pleased, evicting the neighbour very quickly. If he had any suspicions before about my lack of resemblance to him (Bates’ physical features were quite prominent too), finding out how long the affair had been going on only confirmed the fact that I was not his son. Packing his bags, Fred left that very day. Too young to understand, I grew up without a father, never realising that in reality he only lived next door.

We stayed in that house until July 1952. Charles, at this time, was doing his National Service in Worcester. So with bags packed and without a word to anyone, we headed up north to try and start a new life with mum’s new fiancé. It was not to last though, as the responsibility of four children was too great and he left my mum to fend for herself. With no money she was forced to sleep rough in a park with her kids until she was able to get the fare together to return home. Once back in Brighton, my brothers and I were dumped with gran while mum made a hasty retreat to try and sort out her life again.

A week went by without any contact so gran finally called in the N.S.P.C.C. Subsequently the family was split up and Terry and I were taken into care at Horsgate Nursery, Sussex, on August 8th, 1952, while mum and my two older brothers were admitted to Furse House, Flimwell – The Workhouse. Mine and Terry’s stay at the nursery was short-lived, and we were soon put into the care of foster parents who lived just a short walk from Furse House, the intention being that mum could visit us frequently. Terry and I were taken to our new home, a bungalow set in thick woods, where we were greeted by Ernie and Eadie Simms and their son, Colin. Although it was strange at first, it was a place that I grew to love and it stays in my thoughts until this day. It was like a small farm, with its chickens, ducks, geese, two sheep, a cow and a pig. However, soon after our arrival in Flimwell, mum and the boys returned to Hove and her visits became less frequent. For Terry it was hard as, being older, he understood more of what was going on, but I soon settled down. Mum was like Father Christmas – she didn’t come often, but when she did it was a time for presents. Our stay was to last nearly two years. For me it was home and this was my family until finally the day came, in June 1954, when we had to leave all I had grown to love and return to the family fold.

Terry and I were taken to Hove Town Hall and sat down outside an office at the top of a winding staircase. I remember leaving my seat and going over to the top of the stairs to see a young woman coming up towards me. Terry cried out to her as she opened her arms and took him in, and then I felt a warm hand clasping mine and a woman standing beside me knelt down and told me gently this was my mother. By now, a little mixed up, I started to cry as I’d been calling someone else mum for two years and now I was being told I had a new one. Once outside we were met by an older lady who was pushing a pram. It was my grandmother and she introduced us to our new brother James.

Our James was born on September 2nd (the same day as my own birthday), 1953, and was another product of one of mum’s affairs. His stay with us was to be short lived as soon after he was adopted, but I found it all very confusing that day. I’d been pushed from pillar to post not knowing what day it was, and then told I’d got a new mother and a new brother, but still no father. Show me a four year old that wouldn’t find that confusing.

We all returned to our new home which was only a short walk away, a ground-floor flat in a large house very close to the seafront – which made for long walks and picnics on the beach during that summer holiday. Mum was working at the time and my brother and I were left with a babysitter, a married man who lived in the flat next door. Unfortunately, he had some strange ideas on childcare and one day his wife came home to find all three of us naked and playing this game he’d invented to keep us amused. She immediately called the police and the Social Services were called in too. All hell broke lose and although it all went down on record, no charges were ever pressed as, after examination, it was decided that no real harm had been done to us, and mum didn’t want to cause a fuss. Although mum stayed friends with our neighbours for years after we were re-housed by the council.

In August 1954 we moved to our new address, 36 Bellingham Crescent, my grandmother’s old house, and that September I started my first school, Knoll Infants. Terry and I would make the journey to school together, and while I soon got used to the surroundings I never got used to the discipline. In September 1955 my brothers and I were on the move again. This time it was to Southdown House, which, like Flimwell, was also in the country, but this time it was a children’s home, and no fun at all. We stayed there for three months, returning just in time for Christmas to find another unexpected guest, this time my new baby sister, Judith.

All got back to normal and I especially remember looking forward to Saturday evening, as that was the night the baker would come – another special friend of mum’s. He would bring all types of cakes, fruit loaves, and biscuits and we would have a feast. My sister’s nickname was Judy Blue Seal and the bread the baker delivered had a blue seal around it. Somme Tanner was the name of the baker (nicknamed Chunky) and it turned out he was Judith’s father, although he soon disappeared off the scene and went to Australia with his wife and family. Well, I suppose it must have been a little difficult for him living on the very same estate as us, what with the gossip.

At that time I was only six so it didn’t seem at all strange, and at least I had someone younger than me around. I would push her up and down outside in her pram and play for hours with her. Things were looking really good for a while until my mum gave the estate something else to gossip about, having an affair with a married neighbour (who was to move in), which led to twin sisters Janet and Valerie being born in July 1957. Unfortunately, because of the scandal, the twins were adopted straight from hospital.

It was during this time the car came again and my brothers, Pat, Terry and I were put back into care at Southdown House, but this time I was older and not the best behaved of children. My Social Services report read; “Tony, a dirty little ragamuffin, a cheeky little adolescent who lacks control”. The worst times I remember about that place were after lights were out, especially if you were young. The older boys from other dorms would get satisfaction out of abusing us younger ones and if you screamed they would hold a pillow tight across the back of your neck. Even your own brothers turned against you in those institutions. Finally however, our sentence was over and we came back home again.

On my return I started at my new school, Portland Road Juniors, although it was only to be a short stay, as by now I was categorised as uncontrollable in the classroom. The other kids, on hearing tales from their parents about my mother and her wrong doings in turn shouted their opinions. What did I know? I just thought every kid went through what my brothers and I had, so didn’t believe a word. In one art class I threw a jam jar full of water across the classroom at one of my abusers, only to hit the teacher instead when he ducked, putting a cut above her eye. So it was, at the ripe old age of 8, my mother was called and I was escorted off the premises and expelled from that school. My next school was to be no different.

By now under the keen eye of the National Society of the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, my mum was told to get her act together or we’d be taken back into permanent care. Unfortunately, for me it was just a little too late as by now I was constantly disrupting the classrooms, swearing at teachers and walking out of the school whenever I felt like it. This was to carry on for nearly two years until finally enough was enough, and my elders – the Headmaster, Social Services and mum – all agreed that I needed psychiatric help. By now, at the age of 10, I thought I knew everything, but boy was I in for a surprise.

Mum took me along to the Child Guidance Clinic, 33 Clarendon Villas, in Hove. It’s been suggested that these clinics were run for the purpose of establishing a link between intelligence and social class. I can remember that place as if it was yesterday, the tall three storey building standing right in front of us. At first she thought we had come to the wrong place, as above the door it read ‘Sussex Chest Clinic’, but we were guided to a side entrance that took us down into the basement. I took a seat at reception and soon had my name called. I followed mum into this large dingy room with only the outside light peering through. As we entered this large stocky elder gentleman in a white coat, sitting behind a desk, looked up over his glasses at me. As mum and I sat there, he showed me some pictures asking what I could see, and asked me all sorts of stupid questions like did I love my mother (stupid question I thought, ‘course I did – she was my mum). At one stage he asked me if I had any problems and would I like to tell him about them. What problems? I thought. I was 10 years old and had no problems at all. I was just there to please everyone else. This went on for over an hour and by the end I’d come to the conclusion that he needed help more than I did, but who was I to argue? At the end of the consultation the doctor informed my mum that although I was only 10 I had a mental age of a fifteen year old, and that’s when they decided that I needed special medical treatment.

As we left the clinic a further appointment was made for the following week and mum signed a number of forms. I thought to myself, ‘that’s handy – another day off school’, but things were very different on my next trip to the clinic, as I was to receive something called E.C.T. Treatment (Electro Convulsive Therapy). So, like a lamb to the slaughter, I went along with the man in the white coat and was soon shown into this room to be greeted by a nurse.

“Hello Tony, and how are you today?”

“Great,” I said, not knowing what was in store for me.

“You slip in there, and put this on.” She handed me this hard crusty white gown, which only did up down the back. On my return she laughed saying, “You have to take your clothes off first.”

Once back in the room, I was confronted by a long black bench. “Up you jump Tony, and just relax,” I was told.

Once I was lying on it they started to strap me down, first my legs and then my arms, and by now I was getting terribly worried. The nurse smiled, trying to reassure me, and proceeded to attach these strange things on my temples, and then connect the wires to a machine. By now this was no longer just a day off school and I felt like the condemned man awaiting the electric chair, only I was lying down. I was finally asked to open my mouth by the man in the long white coat, who inserted a large piece of black rubber, not unlike a baby’s dummy with a distinctive smell and taste that I can still sense to this day. Apparently this piece of equipment was to stop me biting off my tongue.

By this time my heart was going ten to the dozen. Then the old man said, “All clear,” and slowly turned the dial on the machine. This sent electric shock waves rushing through my brain which made my eyes roll. My body shook so violently that it practically lifted off the bed, but the pain was the worst part, and it’s hard to describe because it was just so excruciating. There was no escape though, as I lay there strapped to that long black couch, and in the end I must have passed out from the pain because I woke to hear the nurse’s voice saying, “Tony, Tony…”

This treatment continued over a number of visits and although very reluctant to go, I had no choice as this was supposed to be good for me – or so they told mum. Back in the 1950s and ‘60s what the man in the white coat said, ‘stood’, and was not to be argued with. Unfortunately the treatment was to do me more harm than good, and was soon stopped after I started to experience serious side effects. I suffered my first blackout while riding my bike, having fallen off and cracked my head. As well as the blackouts I began to suffer mood swings, memory loss and bouts of violence. After years of trying to control it, having brain scans and so forth, I was finally put on a course of drugs to control the damage the E.C.T. treatment had done to my brain, and informed I will be on them for the rest of my life.

So I’d been through quite a lot for your average eleven year old, but with Fred coming back maybe things would be different from now on. This is what I hoped. After all the bad times it was definitely time for some good ones to roll, and it certainly looked as though they were going to, as the day after our trip to London there was another adventure planned.

Morning came swiftly and I was ready once again for a day of adventure. Our destination was Parkstone Sea Training School in Poole, Dorset, which was run by Barnardo’s, to see my two older brothers, Terry and Pat. Mum had made a number of visits, but this was to be my first. Terry had just turned 13 and had been there for the past two years, while Pat, who was 14, had only been there a year. Although I was looking forward to seeing them both, I was looking forward to seeing Terry more as before he went away there was always a bond between us (probably due to spending our younger years in care together).

To my disappointment the train ride was a lot less exciting than the previous day as this time we rode in an old rattler. After a short journey by taxi at the other end, we arrived at the school where we were met by the elderly Commander. The boys were called for and Judith and I were asked to sit outside his office while he had a chat with mum and Fred. At this time, Terry and Patrick were in the sole care of Barnardo’s until they were eighteen, and Fred turning up out of the blue had made them more than a bit curious.

At last Terry and Pat arrived; “Left, RIGHT, left, RIGHT, attention. Stand easy boys.” Their escort knocked firmly on the office door, while the boys stood there all smart in their uniforms, awaiting their surprise. The office door opened and they were marched in, Judith and I following close behind. Fred greeted the boys. Terry was a bit wary at first although Pat was in his element, and you could see why – as the two stood there together there was no doubt, he was definitely his father’s son. It was then the boys were given permission to have the rest of the day off, but first we were given the two bob tour. We saw the lot – the parade ground, the classes, dining area, dormitory, kitchen – and by the looks on their faces, you could see my brothers were proud of their school and all it stood for. Fred, on the other hand, was not so impressed. He seemed to think that the place was some sort of approved school for misfits, saying they should be home with their family.

The boys changed into their civvies and we took a taxi into Poole like one big happy family, all laughing and joking. Our first stop was the shops and naturally, with the amount of money Fred was spending, the boys thought he was well off too. All the time the smile on mum’s face beamed for all the world to see, as if to say, “It was well worth waiting for, wasn’t it boys?”

Pat and Terry were loaded up with gifts and soon it was time for my favourite pastime, eating, and we had lunch in one of those self-service cafeterias, after which we went down on the front. The sun had broken through by now and it was quite warm. Eventually we returned to the school and after saying our goodbyes you could see the boys couldn’t wait to get back to their friends to tell them all their news.

The train journey home was a long one and we arrived home about nine o’clock. After quickly changing I rushed downstairs and was about to go out the front door when Fred asked where I was off to.

“Out,” I replied.

It was then, for the first time, he looked at me in a stern way and told me it was too late. Anyway, he didn’t want me playing with those hooligans. Is this what gran meant when she said discipline? It was like trying to eat an apple whole – hard to swallow. Anyway, who was he to call my mates hooligans? He finished his speech by reminding me that I also had school tomorrow, and that it was time for bed. Well, he was bigger than me so I didn’t argue, I just said my goodnight’s and went up to my room, waited until it was all quiet, then made my move. Just outside my sisters bedroom window was the drainpipe and my means of escape, so after sneaking into her room I opened the window quietly and slid down. It was about a 10 foot drop, but I had done it several times before. The hardest part was coming up! All was clear, so I made my way out into the street to find the boys.

I arrived home late that night, so I sneaked quietly around to the back of the house and was just about to climb the drainpipe when my bedroom light went on. The window burst open and mum looked down to see me standing there. “Why don’t you use the bloody door like normal people?” she shouted, then slammed the window hard and I could hear her shouting as she left the room. Typical, I thought, most people get caught breaking out of prison, I get caught breaking in. I didn’t even get the chance to reach the back door before Fred came out, grabbed hold of me by the scruff of the neck and marched me in saying a few words in his broad Scottish tongue. He then gave me a swift clout around the back of the head. Discipline and pain, I thought – and from someone I had only known for three days – this was just not on. This man had to go.

Next morning I got up and left the house early without saying a word to anyone, for once on time for school. Surprisingly, nothing was even said about my exploits in the school grounds during the previous weekend, although news of Fred’s return had spread throughout the school. Some made snide remarks, others just laughed as I had expected, but I was particularly glad when that day was over. On arriving home, Fred handed me a peace offering by way of a model of the HMS Victorious Aircraft Carrier, obviously feeling bad about telling me off the night before.

On Saturday 4th March 1961, after being back for only seven days, Fred remarried mum by special licence. On Sunday the 5th it was big news on the estate and even made The News of the World; “Couple Re-United and Married Again After Eleven Years. Good Luck and Congratulations,” read the headline. So now at last, after all this time, we were to have a father. Better late than never…or was it? At first everything seemed to be okay as we had nice clothes, good food and pocket money (well who was going to complain at that?). In March, Fred returned to his ship, the Afric, and was gone for a period of three months. Before he left, he bought me a world map that he put up on my bedroom wall, and some coloured pins so I could follow the progress of his ship.

Life for us went back to normal while Fred was gone and I did more or less as I pleased. Mum would occasionally threaten that on Fred’s return, I would be for it, but who was to say that he’d be back? No one could be certain, least of all her. Time went swiftly as I followed Fred around the world, pin-pointing his every move on my map until he arrived home in mid June. I returned home from school one day to find him sitting in his fireside chair looking well, with his golden tan from all those months in the sun. On seeing me Fred stood up and greeted me with a hug, which was a whole new experience and made me feel a little uneasy at the time.

“Hello son, your mother tells me you’ve been a good lad while I’ve been gone.” Well that was a relief anyway, I thought to myself as he drove his hand deep into his pocket and pulled out a crisp five-pound note. “There you go lad, now don’t spend it all at once,” he winked. That night, we all sat around while Fred told us all about the places he had been to, especially Australia, and how some day we would all go out there to live. He also told us that he’d decided not to return to sea, and by July had found himself a job as a boilerman at the local gas works.

In September, after six weeks of heaven (otherwise known as the Summer holidays) it was back to school. I was now twelve and raring to go, however things weren’t so good at home again. Fred in particular was becoming very disgruntled with the whole situation as his money was a lot less, mum was pregnant and for some reason I could not seem to do anything right. Fred was like a fish out of water and I had the bruises to prove it. Things were to lighten up a little in November when mum had my brother Tom, but it didn’t last. Christmas was our first one as a family (Terry and Pat returned for the holiday too), and although our house was crowded a good time was had by all. Fred, being a true Scotsman, insisted we all celebrated the New Year his way, which included a midnight feast, first footing and then a party that took us well into 1962. The old year had gone and with it so many events that had changed all our lives one way or another, but something was always missing.

As we entered into the New Year, life went on much the same. I went back to school, my brothers went back into care and Fred returned to work. However, still disheartened, he gave up his land job and returned to sea in February. This time he was only gone a short period and whereas for me it was six weeks of freedom for Fred it was life itself, and he returned home a different man, full of talk about taking us to live in Australia. Late in March we all went up to Australia House in London. Its walls were covered with pictures of blue seas, warm sunshine, and houses of your dreams, and it seemed just the place for me. We made enquiries and spent hours waiting around while Fred and mum filled in all the appropriate forms.

While we waited for the reply, everyone seemed more optimistic and things seemed to improve at home. However, mum was like a time bomb and very often would blow up, leaving a trail of disaster behind her – that was some temper! – and her moods changed in early 1963. The reason, we were later to find out, was that she was pregnant again. Tom, by this time, was about 18 months old, and the thought of another baby just did not appeal to me. You had to be in my shoes to be able to understand the situation as it was then, and another body would only make things worse. Fred had itchy feet again and soon swapped his latest job, in an engineering factory, for employment with the Cross Channel ferries.

At around the same time, two of my brothers – Pat and Michael – came to the end of their schooldays. Michael did his examinations and went straight into the insurance business, but Pat, only being 15, didn’t find it so easy to get a job. This caused friction at home because he was now living there and was unable to pay his way.

I, of course, returned to school and a new third year form master by the name of George Harman. He was a tall, stocky man, with short blond curly hair and staring eyes, and not the sort to argue with. George’s last position before coming to us was Government-approved (borstal), so we were all on tenterhooks, not knowing what to expect. By now our class was full of the so-called ‘misfits’ of society so he was going to have his hands full. Entering the room, he smiled, saying “Good morning, boys.” He went straight to the blackboard, chalk in hand and, writing ‘HARMAN’, he looked straight at me and said, “My name is Harman, Mr Harman to you. Is that clear?”

We all returned with a quiet “Yes sir.”

His smile slowly left his face as he came back with, “Pardon, I didn’t quite hear that. Shall we try again boys?”

Everyone having the same thought, dug deep to the bottom of their lungs and came back with a loud, ‘YES SIR!” which was probably heard at the other end of the school, and he returned our reply with a slight grin as if to say, “Like that is it?” Thinking it was funny, I laughed.

Seemingly looking at everyone at the same time, he shouted, “Name boy? Yes, you boy with the stupid grin on your face – did I say something funny?” he said looking at me.

“No,” I said casually.

“No,” he scowled angrily. “What do you mean no? What’s your name boy?”

“Bates,” I answered, not thinking anything of it. It was then he walked over to my desk and looked down at me saying, “Bates, what?”

“Just Bates,” I replied.

Slowly his face grew redder and a bead of sweat hung upon his forehead as if something I’d said made him angry. “Bates, sir,” he shouted. “Now shall we start again? Your name boy?”

By now the other boys in the class were pulling faces trying to make me laugh as I came back with a loud, “Bates, sir.”

“That’s better. Now we shall continue with the register Master Bates. I’ve got an eye on you and anyone else who thinks I’m a soft touch.”

I suppose you could have said I had blotted my copybook, and he wouldn’t forget my name in a hurry as he was to be with us for the next two years. My only reprieve was to emigrate, so I anxiously awaited the reply from Australia House (although our hopes by this time had all but faded away). The weeks rolled on and in October 1963, my youngest brother Ian was born; at first, put up for adoption, mum and Fred later changed their minds and brought him home. The house was now full to capacity, leaving no room to swing a cat. Pat by now had tried to get into the Army, Navy and Airforce without any success and had ended up in a local paper factory. Unfortunately, for him, despite being the image of his father, mum and Fred’s only interest in him was his wage packet at the end of the week, and because of their lack of support he became very insecure and within himself.

Time went on. Christmas came and went, as did the New Year of 1964. Home life was becoming unbearable for me. I had to become a cheat and a liar to survive. On Fred’s bad days he would use me as a punch bag and on his good ones, mum would wind him up to such a pitch that he would lay into me anyway. By now, at nearly 14 years old, I was not about to stand and take it any longer so I fought back when I could, making it a lot worse for me. Summer came and Terry, who had finished school, arrived home to stay for good. Fred got Terry a job alongside him on the car ferries, which inevitably made him the blue-eyed boy, following in his fathers footsteps. Naturally, Pat was quite put out about this, but his opinion was not of any interest to anyone – especially Fred.

For me, the hot summer of 1964 was memorable for the fact that I spent it with my first love, Beverley Saunders, and to me she was beauty itself. We met at a local youth club and clicked straight away. She was shorter than me – which is saying something – and had long hair down to her waist and assets to make your eyes pop! Summer was followed by a return to school. This was unfortunate as all my mates had left to go into the world and even though I was fifteen, I had to stay on until the next Easter. At first they put me in a higher class but the work was more advanced than that I had been used to so I walked out and went home. By now, no one was going to make me do anything I didn’t want to, but a week later I was summoned to school with mum to discuss my future. After a brief discussion, it was decided that I would be relieved of all lesson duties for the next term, and pass my time doing woodwork and helping around the school. As part of the deal, I was to report daily to Mr Lumsden, the woodwork teacher. He was a tall, slim man with black wavy hair (it always amazed me how he got those waves to stay up that high – everyone put it down to wood glue!). This, to me, seemed a fair arrangement and so I agreed.

During my time with Mr Lumsden, I got to see the other side of him and he’d often let his guard down as a teacher and prove to be a good friend. As time went on I became quite a craftsman, and spent many weeks making and finishing items left by older boys who had gone out into the world. There were other bonuses too, as I soon found out that I could make easy money selling the completed article, and it became quite a profitable exercise. Then shortly before Christmas I was approached by the Head and told it was time to start looking for a job, as it would soon be my turn to leave.

My choice, of course, was obvious by now. Considering myself quite the craftsman, I decided to become a carpenter/joiner, and filled with enthusiasm I started my search. Unfortunately, my school report and past history let me down and I was considered a bad risk (although at the time, I could not understand what that had to do with it, as I had the experience and was also very keen). Finally, Mr Lumsden used some of his resources to get me an interview with a boat-building firm and even wrote me a personal reference. The interview was a success and I rushed home to boast of my news, only to be cut down in my tracks. My wage as an apprentice would only be £3 a week, and on leaving school I would have to pay at least £2 for my keep. This would leave me with only a pound for fares, clothing and entertainment. So, making my apologies to the company and also to Mr Lumsden, I turned the job down. Lumsden was quite disappointed after that and lost interest.

Shortly afterwards I was assessed at school by their so-called psychologists and it was suggested I should go into catering. I started to apply for work and eventually got a job offer from the Grand Metropolitan Group as an apprentice chef. This time the wage was £6 a week, however I had to supply my own uniforms at a cost of £18. Once again I rushed home with my good news, picturing myself all in white and wearing a tall chef’s hat. Fred and mum were delighted at first, until they found out about the uniforms. Well, what can I say? That was the end of that.

I was beginning to think I had been born in the wrong era. What had I done to deserve all this? At one stage I even considered doing myself in, but not being able to think of anything spectacular enough, I changed my mind.

Christmas of 1964 arrived and it was to be the last Christmas we were ever to spend together as a family. Out of the six boys and one girl, the three eldest were working so all had their own interests, nine year old Judith was quite the handful, then there was Tommy who was three and Ian, one, which left me standing in the middle, feeling like the odd one out. It was then that I made a promise to myself that if I ever had any children of my own, we would always be a family and they would never want for anything – be it love, money or possessions.

However, 1965 saw good fortune come my way at last. One Friday evening late in January, a man called Mr Wright turned up on the doorstep. He had come from Barnardo’s with a once in a lifetime opportunity for my brothers Patrick and Terry. There was a group of Barnardo’s kids going to Australia in April and, as two boys had dropped out, there were spaces on offer. Pat smiled and almost immediately said, “Yes.” What had he to lose? Things weren’t going that great for him anyway. However, Terry declined as he was working on the Cross Channel ferries with Fred and felt he was going places.

“Unfortunately, this placing is for two,” said Mr Wright, “and I would prefer two brothers to go together or not at all.” That’s when he had the bright idea that I might like to go instead. Well this was too good an opportunity to miss and an idea that Fred and mum seemed very keen on too. My life was signed over as if I was being sent to a penal colony for some terrible deed I had done wrong, but I didn’t care. No more being the underdog. I was off to the sun and sand, a new life and new friends halfway round the world, to a place where fortunes were to be found.

Mr Wright made his goodbyes and said he would be in touch in the next few days. The excitement was just too much and every day of the next week was spent waiting for the letter. Eventually there was a knock on the door one morning.

“I think this is what you’ve been waiting for Mavis,” said Les the postman, who was promptly invited in for a cup of tea. Mum opened the letter and proceeded to read it to herself.

“Well, what does it say?” I asked impatiently.

Jokingly, she looked up and said, “Well, it looks like we’ve got rid of you two at last,” and then just threw the letter on the table.

Pat got there first, his face lighting up. “Great, that’s just great,” he said, and then he handed me the letter saying, “Well, kid, looks like we’re off.”

I looked up and around me, and it was as if everybody was talking at once, but I couldn’t hear, only see their mouths move. Was this really happening? I asked myself. Was I really going all that way, maybe never to see any of my family again? Had I been so bad that my family were looking forward to my departure? I was excited but also frightened. After all I was only fifteen.

“Good luck son,” said Les, and with the look in his eyes I could see he meant it.

Pat, still walking around like the cat that had caught the mouse, said, “Well, I’m off now,” and with that he went off to work proudly – the first time I’d ever seen him go willingly and happy. All the excitement seemed to put mum on edge for some reason. When I tried to talk to her she spoke back very abruptly, as if I had done something wrong. She would often go off into her funny moods and I had learnt to just leave her, as she would come around sooner or later.

I got myself ready and went off to school, although I didn’t go much after that letter arrived. By now I could not see any point as I was going off to a new land with new people where nobody knew me and I could be myself. However my final school report was not a good one, which was unfortunate because this was the one I would take to Australia with me. I was hoping that maybe I could lose it, but no, it was sent straight to Barnardo’s.

My last night was memorable as there was a dance at the local church hall so, all dressed to kill, I met Richard and Mike, who lived across the way. They decided that I should go out in style, and when Mike told us his parents had gone out we immediately thought of his dad’s booze cabinet. Well I can tell you, that was some cocktail we made up and it tasted horrible. I don’t know what proof it was but we had it in one of those old lemonade bottles with the screw top, and soon after leaving Mike’s the top blew off and was never seen again!

That night everybody said their farewells and I was beginning to have regrets, but I was going and I wasn’t the sort to back out at the last minute. I got so drunk that if I’d have gone home I’d have been in for it, so after the dance we decided to try and walk it off. Mike, Richard and I took three young ladies down to the beach, and the next thing I remember was waking up in a beach hut at 4.30 in the morning. I got home at 5.30 to find the back door open and, after quietly creeping in, I went straight up to my bed. Luckily no one stirred.

As I entered the room, Michael lay there in his bunk, snoring like a pig. Terry was mumbling away like he was having a conversation with someone and Pat was well hidden beneath the covers. For a while I stood looking at them all, thinking this time tomorrow there would be two empty bunks and Pat and I would be starting our new lives as brothers. We had never been close, but maybe this would bring us together. The house would now, of course, be less crowded and the two younger boys could move into our room and take our places. Still in a bad way after a good night out on the tiles, I lay there wondering what the next day would bring and must have dozed off, as the next thing I knew I was being woken by Pat.

“Come on mate, time to get up.”

As I fell out of bed I hoped that I didn’t look how I felt. I staggered slowly downstairs. “Sit yourself down son,’ said mum, cooking a fry up. “Your breakfast is nearly ready.”

Then mum, Fred and Pat all sat around the table. Mum was all smiles, “Well,” she said. “Your father and I have decided that we are coming out to Australia too, and should be out there in six months. We want you and your brother to look for somewhere for us all to live for when the time comes. We’re even going to come on the train with you today so we can stop off at Australia House on the way home.” My face lit up. This would give Pat and I something to work for and ease the wrench of leaving everyone for good. I didn’t know it then but I was going to miss my family more than I thought I would as, even though we weren’t close, blood is blood and you can never alter that.

Our cases were packed and it was soon time to leave. Most of the street knew we were going and turned out in full force to see us off. As the taxi pulled away I took a last look at the house, where I had spent a good deal of my life, wondering if I would ever see it again. During that journey to the station I looked at the streets and people of Hove and Brighton as I’d never done before.

CHAPTER 3

We caught the 10 a.m. train to Victoria and then travelled by underground to Barkingside in Essex. The home there was the largest of the Barnardo’s homes at the time and it was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Here in the heart of Essex was a small village surrounded by walls on all sides, and as we entered it was like walking into a fairytale. There was a village green, a school, a small church and even village shops.

We were met at the gatehouse and taken directly to the office where we were introduced to the Rev. Collins, the Governor of the village, and his wife. After a short introduction we were taken on a tour of the grounds. At the end we came to a large house, complete with tower and clock that chimed on the half hour, and across the way stood a monument to a great man himself, Dr Barnardo, sitting in his seat looking down on all that passed him by.

“This is where my lady wife and myself live,” said the Rev. Collins, pointing to the large house. “If there are any problems during your stay, don’t hesitate to call on us.”

I looked at Pat and smiled. ‘Problems’ I thought? This looked perfect to me.

“There’s a lot more to see,” said the Rev. Collins, looking at mum and Fred, “but time is getting on and we have to settle the boys in. However, I do hope you’ll stay and have lunch with us.”

“Thankyou sir,” replied Fred putting on a posh accent, “that would be nice.”

Once inside the office, we were introduced to Mr and Mrs Taylor. John Taylor was tall and slim and well dressed, his wife, Mary, was short and rather petite.

“Patrick, Tony,” Collins piped up, “these are your ‘house parents’ for the next week or so. If you would like to go with them perhaps you could meet the rest of your group.”

With that Mr Taylor picked up our cases and Pat and I followed him like lambs to the slaughter, leaving mum and dad to discuss our future.

“Welcome to Ivy Cottage,” said John ushering us through the door. “This will be your home for the next week.” His voice was strong but kind, and already I liked him.

“I bet you boys are hungry,” said a soft voice from behind.

“Yes Miss, we sure are.”

“Well you’re just in time for lunch and it will also give you a chance to meet the rest of the group.”

We followed Mary into the dining room where a large table was all nicely laid out surrounded by chairs. “Well boys, take a seat, the dinner bell is just about to go.”

No sooner said, the sound of a dinner gong went and all hell was let loose as bodies came from everywhere, all taking their places at the table. The door opened and in walked John, taking his seat at the head of the table. “Afternoon gang, as you can see we’ve two new additions to our house, which now makes it complete. This is Patrick and his younger brother Tony.”

One by one they all introduced themselves.

“Hi, I’m Archibald Hill, this is my brother James and these are my two sisters Kathryn and Irene.” One after another they all said their hellos.

Then a voice came from the side of me. “Yeah and I’m Peter Lewis.” We shook hands, making instant friends, and I soon discovered that we had a lot in common. There were more introductions until we’d met the group, nine of us including Pat and myself.

Mary finished putting the dishes of food on the table and took her seat. Then the loud voice of John broke up all the chattering.

“Please can I have your attention for grace.” A deadly silence fell. “Would you do the honours please Peter?”

My new found companion said quietly, “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful.” All the time he was trying not to laugh as under the table a foot from the other side was trying to distract him.

“Thank you Peter. You may start.”

One by one the dishes were handed around and we helped ourselves. While we ate, no one was short of conversation and it was funny because it already seemed as though we had known each other for a lifetime. We finished our lunch and it was the boys’ job to clear the table and the girls’ to wash and dry up. A reasonable request I thought.

“Right then Peter, since you and Tony seem to be getting on so well, perhaps you and Archie would show him and his brother to their room.”

We made our way upstairs and into what was the front bedroom. Putting our cases on our beds, we started to unpack. “There’s plenty of time for that later,” said Peter. “Come on, let’s go out and meet some of the other kids.”

We were no sooner down the stairs when we bumped into John.

“And where do you think you’re off to?” he asked.

“Er, well, I thought I’d show Tony around and meet some of the others.”

“Good idea Peter, but first his parents are waiting. Can you and Archie take Tony and his brother over to the Governor’s House so they can say their goodbyes.”

“Well boys, settling in alright?” asked Collins, when we arrived at his house.

“Yes thankyou sir,” Pat and I said more or less together.

“Well your mother and father have to go now as they have got business in the City, so perhaps you boys would like to walk them to the station. Peter and Archie, you go with them as we wouldn’t want them to get lost on the way back now would we? Very nice to meet you Mr and Mrs Bates. Do come again – you’re welcome here at the village anytime.”

Fred shook Collins’ hand then we all headed off to the station.

“What a nice man, Fred, and what a beautiful place.” You could tell by mum’s voice she was getting a bit tearful. Fred could also see this and immediately butted in.

“Well boys, this is it. You’re going to have to pave the way for us out there and with a bit of luck we’ll be with you in the next few months or so.”

Then mum did a strange thing. She took my hand and squeezed it as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Fred, for the one and only time, put his arm around Pat and gave him his ‘father – son talk’.

We arrived at the station shortly after and went onto the platform. Their train took about 10 minutes to come and I shall never forget the long period of silence, none of us knowing what to say to each other. It was as if we were strangers on that long lonely platform, all going our own separate ways. The train arrived to break the silence and mum hugged us both and told us to be good. With tears in her eyes she got onto the train, Fred following with the same sentiments. By this time Pat was also a bit tearful, but for some reason I was more embarrassed by the show of affection, as this was all new for me. Did I really have to go halfway around the world just to receive a little love from my own mother – something I had been begging for all my life? My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the guard saying, “Mind the doors,” and as the train slowly pulled away we stood there waving until they were out of sight.

“Come on Tony, let’s go and have some fun,” said Peter pulling at my jacket.

Then Pat piped up: “Well son, we’re on our own now.” He was doing his big brother bit, but I wasn’t really in the mood to take notice.

“Come on Tony, we’ll go over the back, by the swimming pool,’ said Peter. ‘It’s empty this time of the year and you can have a fag there and not get caught.”

We got back to the village and made our way to the swimming pool and bumped into a mixture of girls and young fellas just passing the time of day.

“Hi ya Peter, who’s your friend?” asked a young coloured boy.

“This ‘ere is Tony, he’s coming with us to Australia.”

“Hi Tony, I’m Mick, want a fag?” Saying no more, he pulled out a squashed packet of 10 Park Drive. “You’ll have to share it though, as I’ve only got four left.”

That was fine by me and, stoked up, Pete and I puffed away like a pair of chimneys.

“Hi, my name’s Paula,” came a voice from the crowd, “I’m in the cottage just across from you.” Paula was about the same age as me and a real looker. “Give us a puff of your fag.”

“Have a look will ya, he’s only been here five minutes and already he’s pulling the birds,” said Peter and I gave him a nudge. She handed back my cigarette, all the time looking directly into my eyes, taking thoughts of my parents clear out of my mind as, for me, it was love at first sight.

We finished up at the pool and returned to the cottage where we found Mary cutting sandwiches for our tea.

“Hello boys, and what have you two been up to? I hope you haven’t been leading Tony astray, Peter.’

“Who me, Miss?”

“Yes you, Peter Lewis.” Looking at each other we both laughed. “You’d better get along and washed up for tea,” added Mary.

We did as we were told and left Mary to finish her chores. By this time everybody was trying to get into the bathroom all at once, so Peter and I had what was commonly known as a lick and a promise (a quick look at the soap and flannel, and a promise to use them later!). The gong went and we rushed downstairs to the dining room to take our places at the table. As we all sat waiting to start, the door opened and in walked John.

“Good Evening all, we have a guest for tea. Would you all say hello to Mrs Cranowski.”

“Good Evening, my name is Margaret Cranowski,” she said. “Until you arrive in Australia I will be your Guardian Angel.”

Margaret was a big woman who stood about 6 feet and had shoulders to match, making her look like an all-in wrestler. She had dark hair, a fair complexion and she wore glasses and wasn’t unattractive. She opened a small attaché case and pulled out a large file. “In here, I have a run down on all your past histories, but I would like you all, one by one, to introduce yourselves and tell me a little of what you think is in store for you in Australia.”

“I’m Tony Bates, Miss,” I said when it was my turn.

“And what do you want to do when you arrive in Australia Tony?”

“Join the Australian Navy, Miss. They say it’s the best paid in the world.”

“Do they? And have you a second choice?”

“No Miss, just the one.”

“Patrick, I see you want to join the Air Force?”

“I sure do Margaret,” he replied in that sometime silly American accent he would use, but nobody took any notice.

After tea, Margaret asked to see Pat and I on our own and suggested we go up to our room where it would be more quiet. “Don’t look so worried boys,” she smiled. “All I want to do is see what extra clothes you need for the trip. You first Pat, are you short on any clothing?”

He opened the wardrobe, and she went through everything and made some notes. Pat had been working for the past two years so most of his clothes he had bought himself. “Well, you seem to be alright for most things, but a few new items wouldn’t go amiss. Now how about you Tony?”

I opened my side of the wardrobe and it was so bare you could nearly see right to the back. I opened my drawer, which was just as bare. She made some notes and said, “Well Tony, I can see we shall have to go and do some shopping tomorrow.” She went downstairs leaving Pat and I alone for the first time since we’d arrived. Once again he was doing his big brother bit.

“Well kid, all systems are go. Any problems don’t bottle ‘em up, you come and tell me.”

Deep down I knew there was just one problem. I was terrified of the unknown, and to me that was where we were going. But I didn’t say anything.

We had to be back at seven for a meeting, so Pete and I had just enough time to sneak off and meet Paula and her friend. Inevitably, we were late back and we came into the lounge to find everybody sitting around Margaret, all the faces turning our way as we walked in.

“Ahh, there you are, I thought we’d lost you two. Come in and take a seat with the others.” Margaret’s voice was soft and she smiled as she spoke. I somehow think she could see we were going to be a handful! “Right,” she continued, “now, for the sake of the late comers, I’ll start again. For the next week a full itinerary has been worked out for you. There are photographs to be taken, medicals and for some, a shopping spree to kit you out. We will also be going on a few sightseeing tours in London – Tower of London, Regent’s Park, Buckingham Palace and perhaps even a West End Show. Your departure date is a week tomorrow, so we all have a lot to see and do. Now, just to let you see what’s in store for you, I have a short film.”

The film began to roll, starting with a picture of Sydney Harbour Bridge and then on to the sandy beaches of Manly and Bondi crowded with people swimming and surfing, shots of the outback and sheep stations. It all looked great, just the place you would dream of going – your own paradise island and when the lights went up, everybody’s faces had the look of excitement. By now we were all at ease with one another, just like one big happy family, and the rest of the evening was spent asking questions and discussing future plans.

At 10 o’clock it was time for bed, and I for one was ready as it had been a long day. For an hour or so we all talked and joked about – Peter putting a sheet over his head and going into the girls room to give them a fright, which started all sorts of larking about – until John told us to settle down. Although I was tired, sleep didn’t come in this strange bed far away from home, and my head was filled with thoughts and fears about being on the other side of the world. Scared and uncertain, the tears began to run. Trying not to cry, I swallowed the huge lump that had gathered in the back of my throat. I had to be strong. I was fifteen and soon to be an adult, and anyway it would not be long before Mum and Fred and the boys would be with us in Australia. This thought cheered me up. Yes, I thought, today had been the first day of the rest of my life, although my night was still a restless one.

The next morning, I crawled out of bed and made it downstairs just in time for the breakfast gong, and that first breakfast of cereal, toast and scrambled eggs went down a treat. At nine o’clock, Margaret took me, Pat, Pete, and some of the others to a large store in town to buy some new clothes. Once inside we made our way straight to the men’s department, where Margaret spoke to the assistant as if she knew him personally.

“Right then, you must be Tony,’ said the shop assistant, at last coming to me. “Your list seems to be the longest, so I’ve left you until the very last.”

We started on the bottom drawer – socks, pants, vests – and worked up to pyjamas, shirts, trousers, shoes and finishing off with the píece de resistance, my new suit. Slowly I worked my way down the rack until I came to one I liked the look of, black with a white fleck. My first suit! I tried it on and found to my surprise it fitted perfectly, made to measure you could say. I pulled back the curtain of the changing room and boldly walked out for all to see, complete with a grin of sheer contentment on my face.

“Oh yes, that is smart Tony,” said Margaret. “Is that the one you want?”

I nodded my head furiously and Margaret turned to the assistant and winked. I couldn’t believe my luck. Margaret could see I was pleased and commented, “Just you wait till the girls at the village see you all dressed up, there’ll be no stopping them.” Everyone laughed.

The assistant presented Margaret with the bill, which she just signed away before saying, “We’ve still got some time. Anybody fancy a drink?” A reply was not needed as the look on our faces said it all, and we went for tea and cakes while we waited for the bus to take us back to Barkingside. Once back, Peter and I rushed on ahead, only to be met by Mary at the front door.

“Hey, slow down boys, where’s the fire?”

“No fire, Miss, just got to unpack our new clothes,” I said.

Coming from a family with three older brothers and not a lot of money I had never seen this many clothes before. For me this was like Christmas! Peter and I unpacked and had our own fashion show.

On Monday the group was taken to the Barnardo’s head office in Stepney causeway, to have our papers checked, get a full medical and to generally chat with the heads of staff. The days had flown by and we had only one day left in Barkingside before our journey. That night Margaret said a few words after tea. “Now tomorrow is going to be hectic for all of us, so it’s a good idea to say your goodbyes to any friends you’ve made in the village tonight. In the morning the press will be here to take some pictures and to interview you all.”

That night I met with Paula again and when our time was up, we kissed goodnight, holding each other close, neither one of us wanting to let the other go – young love (or puppy love as it is known) always seemed to be the most painful to me. Back at the cottage everyone but me seemed to be full of excitement.

“What’s up son, you look a little down?” asked Pat.

“Oh nothing,” I replied, not wanting my brother to know my situation. “I’m alright, probably a bit tired.”

“Game of cards Tony?” said Peter, looking up at me, and I realised I had to snap out of it.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Come on then, we’ll ask the girls to play.”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Pity we can’t play strip poker. I’m good at that,” said Peter, bringing the smile back to my face.

Our last day in the village started as normal. Breakfast was cleared up and we washed and changed for the day, only this time we had to wear our best clothes for the press. Apparently there was some sort of human interest in us as we were to be the first large group from Barnardo’s to fly to Australia. As I stood there looking in the mirror, I could no longer see a boy but a young man with my whole life ahead of me, and I felt that I was going to make an impression on the world.

“Come on Tony – you’ll wear that bloody mirror out,” said Peter, anxious to show the world his new suit too, but somehow it didn’t matter what Peter put on. He could be in a handmade suit and patent shoes and still look as if he’d got dressed in the dark.

We left the cottage and made our way to the Governor’s house. That day had been made to order. The sun was shining – it seemed just on us – and with the singing of the birds high in the trees it was a perfect April day. We arrived to find Margaret and the Rev. Collins waiting outside for us.

“Good morning all, are you ready for your big debut?” he asked and we all laughed.

Before long, a car arrived carrying the press and for the next hour or so we had our photographs taken and answered questions, feeling like celebrities. That afternoon was set aside for visitors, but as Pat and I had none it was a long and quiet afternoon, the monotony only broken by the arrival of our new suitcases. That evening we had a big party laid on for us, a ‘bon voyage’ party complete with hats and streamers. This was our last night in England, so we made the most of it. We took our places at the table and were joined by Margaret, John and Mary, who had gone to great lengths to make this a night to remember. Nothing had been left out, right down to a box of Christmas crackers, and a good time was had by all. By the end, I could hardly move I’d eaten so much.

“How about three cheers for our hosts,” said Margaret, standing up.

“Hip, hip, hooray, hip, hip, hooray, hip, hip, hooray!”

That night we watched the films for about an hour after which John got up to make a little speech.

We had a long day ahead of us so it was early to bed for a good night’s sleep, but that was easier said than done. The excitement had built up so much that we ended up talking for ages, until one by one the conversations dropped off and all went silent. As I lay there, my thoughts drifted, and I wondered why no one had come to see us off. There must have been a good reason, I thought, but then why didn’t they just telephone? I felt all alone in the world and for the first time since I had left home my shield dropped and I began to cry, burying my face in my pillow so as not to let anyone hear.

John woke us up at 7 o’clock the next morning. We were soon washed and all togged up in our best Sundays. All that was left to do was to finish packing our bags. From our room I looked out of the window at the village, which was slowly waking up to the day. We had only been here a week but it seemed longer. I had made new friends – and Paula of course – but like ships in the night it was time to move on, although I would miss this place and remember it always. As I turned and took a last look around, I said goodbye to the room, silly I know, but at that time it seemed the right thing to do.

Reverend Collins joined us for breakfast, and said a prayer. “God protect and keep these your children, O Lord, on their long journey and I pray that their new lives be long and happy ones, AMEN.”

Breakfast was soon over, not that much was eaten as the excitement was just too much. Peter and I dismissed ourselves and went outside. It was not yet 9 o’clock so we still had some time to wait.

“Tony!” a voice cried. It was Paula running towards me, closely followed by a friend. I walked towards her and she reached me all out of breath.

She took me by the hand, “You will write to me won’t you?”

“Yeah, course I will.”

“And I’ll try to find out if I can come to Australia with the next group OK?”

“Come on Paula,” her friend called, “we’ll be late for school.”

Kissing me on the cheek she ran off. I was glad to see her before I left. However, I didn’t have much time to dwell because the bus soon arrived to take us to the airport. We had waited so long for this moment and now I just wanted to get going. Mary gave us all a little hug and I shook John’s hand. I always hated goodbyes and even after a week, this one was not easy. We climbed aboard and Peter and I naturally sat up front. As we drove past the cottages and towards the main gate I looked around to take a last look, thinking what a clever man Barnardo had been to build a village here in the heart of Essex, and how all those children from broken homes were so lucky to be given the opportunity to be part of the largest family anyone could ever want, before going out into the world.

CHAPTER 4

As we drove to the airport, there was a certain silence in the bus which was hard to explain. I suppose it was a little like saying goodbye to an old and close friend, never to see him again, and we were all paying our last respects in our own way. But at the same time, there was also a terrible feeling of not knowing if any of us would ever come back. However, when we reached the outskirts of Heathrow everyone started to liven up at the sight of the words, ‘WELCOME TO HEATHROW – GATEWAY TO THE WORLD’.

“Now listen carefully you lot,” said Margaret when we reached the international terminal. “This is a very busy place and we don’t want to lose any of you. We’re about to be met by the press and some Barnardo’s officials, so stay together and behave yourselves. That goes especially for you two.” She looked directly at Peter and me, which made the others look in our direction and laugh.

As Margaret had predicted, a reception committee was there to greet us in the terminal. No sooner were we out of the bus than the cameras started flashing, followed by pressmen asking all sorts of questions, like ‘Were we excited? What were our names, ages? What we were going to do once we got to Australia?…’

“Right now, keep altogether and no wandering off,’ said Margaret after a while. ‘Patrick, you follow last and keep them all in order.”

Trust her. That was like giving Hitler the H bomb.

“Come on lads, get a move on,” said Pat, giving us a gentle push.

“Take no notice, it’s gone to his head,” I told Pete.

Our flight was Q.F. 531 departing 12 noon, so with all tickets checked and all baggage gone we made our way through to passport control, where we said our goodbyes to the Barnardo’s officials who in turn wished us all luck. Once at the other side we went to the departure lounge. Margaret gave us a time to meet up and then Pete and I were off like a shot, spending the next half hour or so walking around the shops, while all the time the loud speaker called flight numbers for destinations all over the world. After a while we returned to the meeting place, as there was nothing we really wanted to buy apart from cigarettes, but they wouldn’t serve us.

“Would the passengers on flight Q.F. 531 travelling to New York, San Francisco, Honolulu, and Sydney, Australia, please board at Gate No. 7.”

It was the call we’d been waiting for and our faces lit up as we followed Margaret to our gate, where we were greeted by a man behind a desk. “Ah, you must be with the Barnardo’s group, we’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “If you’d like to go through that doorway you can go straight on board.”

This was good, the V.I.P. treatment, and we followed a stewardess through the door and down onto the tarmac to our plane. Boarding the aircraft was the moment we’d all been waiting for. It was a Boeing 707 with a red line going from one end to the other and written above it was ‘Australian Overseas Airline QANTAS’, with a white kangaroo on the tail. Climbing the stairs, I turned to take one last look.

“Come on Tony, let’s get inside,” said Peter, giving me a push.

My eyes were all agog as I took in the surroundings, following the stewardess who showed us to our seats in the rear of the plane. I was sitting with Pete and a lad called Ken.

“You boys alright?” enquired the stewardess.

“Er, yes thanks Miss,” replied Pete. “She’s a bit of alright, what do ya reckon Tony?” he added after she’d gone (I was sure he was a twenty year old midget in disguise as his thoughts didn’t do his age justice!).

“Not bad, not bad at all,” I replied watching her bum wiggle as she walked back up the aisle.

“Here Tony, look at all this lot,” said Peter examining the contents of the pocket in front of us. They included a book about the aircraft and a kangaroo badge that I promptly pinned onto my jacket. As the plane filled up I wondered how on earth it would ever take off with all this weight. Looking around, I tried to see Pat, but could only hear his voice. I needed to be reassured that everything was alright. ‘It’s too late to change your mind now Tony’ I thought to myself, as the order came to close the doors, ‘we’re on our way’.

After taxiing to the runway, we came to a halt before the captain’s voice came over the loud speaker. “Cabin crew, stations please.” The engines started to get louder and louder, then, like a shot from a gun, we tore down the runway, moving faster and faster, then the nose was up and we started to climb. Higher and higher we went, leaving what I could see of land, way behind, up into the clouds and the clear blue skies above. When the seat belt sign went out I leaned across to have a look out of the window, just as we passed over the white cliffs of Dover and headed out to sea.

“Drinks boys?” asked a stewardess.

“Three beers please,” I replied.

She laughed, “You mean three cokes don’t you?”

Not long after, she was back with a meal. One by one we all got served salad, steak and sauté potatoes, trifle for afters. Each course had its own little compartment, all neatly set out on a tray which was a real novelty. Settling down to the serious business of eating, we cleared our trays.

“Tea or coffee, sir?” asked the stewardess once we’d finished.

“Oh, tea please Miss. You can call me Tony and this ‘ere is Peter and that’s Ken.”

“Pleased to meet you all, I’m sure.”

“The pleasure is all ours Miss.”

We sat back and enjoyed being waited on.

“You know what we need now Pete?”

“Na, what’s that?”

“A fag. I wonder if droopy drawers will notice?”

“Why you got some?” he said, with a look of surprise on his face.

“Yeah, but I ain’t got a light.”

Luckily my quick thinking solved that one. “Excuse me, Miss,” I asked the stewardess when she came back. “My mate here collects matches, have you got any souvenir boxes?”

Shortly after, she returned with the goodies in her hand. “Here you are, there’s one for all of you.”

No sooner had she gone than out came the smokes.

“We’ll share one, okay, but keep it down.”

Leaning forward I lit up, trying to disperse the smoke.

“Quick Tony, give us a drag.” I passed it over to Pete.

“Want a puff Ken?”

“No, I don’t smoke.”

The smoke wasn’t dispersing as quickly as we’d liked and soon the girls from our group who were sitting behind noticed, so after a few puffs each I put it out. I didn’t want the girls to drop us in it and the couple opposite were giving us funny looks.

“Think I’ll go for a leak,” I told the others.

The toilets were no bigger than a cupboard, but once inside my eyes were drawn to the complimentary perfumes and aftershave and I couldn’t resist splashing on some Old Spice.

“You smell like a chemist shop,” Peter commented on my return.

“Old Spice. Like it? There’s loads of it in the bog.”

Of course Pete had to try some and went off to the toilet. Unfortunately he went a bit overboard, trying on what smelt like a bit of everything.

“Good in there ain’t it, Tony?” he said, but he only had to move and it left an aroma, making everybody look around wondering where this strange but nice smell was coming from. Eventually it got back to Margaret.

“What’s that funny smell?”

“It’s Peter, Miss, he’s got perfume on.”

Trust the girls to let the cat out of the bag, dropping us both in it.

“What are you boys up to?”

“Nothing Miss, just trying out some aftershave.”

“Well you can both go and wash it off now.”

By now, the back end of the plane smelt like a beauty parlour and as Peter made for the toilet everyone was in hysterics. Returning five minutes later, he smelt a lot better but the aroma was still very noticeable.

“I can’t leave you two for five minutes and you’re up to something, now settle down or else,” cried Margaret.

After a while, it all settled down and Peter, Ken and myself decided to help out the stewardesses. In our apprentice steward roles, we were allowed to hand out magazines and answer the call buttons. It all helped to pass the time, plus it kept us out of trouble. Eventually we heard the captain’s words, “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We will be arriving at Kennedy Airport in approximately 30 minutes.”

Descending through the clouds we flew straight over the top of New York and looking down I could see the Statue of Liberty out in the middle of the harbour, and the huge tower blocks which were truly a magnificent sight. Our stopover in New York was short lived and apart from the American accent on the loud speakers, it wasn’t that different to Heathrow. We’d no sooner had a drink and a quick look around before being called back on board.

Our flying time to San Francisco was about 7 hours so after eating and drinking whatever was put in front of us we tried to get some sleep, but with little success. By the time we touched down we had been travelling nearly 17 hours and this was only halfway, and we were all tired and getting a bit niggled and were glad to get off the plane. Our stopover was short lived, 1 hour, 10 minutes, during which time we were given a little V.I.P. treatment by way of cold drinks and souvenirs, which none of us really wanted but had anyway. The one bit of excitement came when Ken, on helping himself to a drink from the waiter, sent the whole lot flying.

From San Francisco, it was just over five hours to Honolulu, where we re-fuelled and picked up a new crew and captain, Jack Bale, an Australian. The flight from here to Sydney was to be much the same; we had the meals, played cards, noughts and crosses, eye spy, anything to pass the time. The girls occupied themselves with a couple of passenger’s young children. The best part was crossing the international dateline where we lost a day. The worst was when we suddenly hit turbulence which bounced us around like a cork in a bath, giving everybody the frights. According to the captain we’d hit an electrical storm and there was nothing to worry about, but lifting the shades I wasn’t so sure. It’s bad enough when there’s a storm on the ground, but in the air it’s like a living hell and at one stage that’s where I thought we were going. Peter held on tight to my jacket, frozen to his seat, and it had been the first time I’d seen him show any sort of feeling – even if it was fear. I too was frightened but tried to hide my fear to give my new, good friend a little reassurance. Closing the blind, I said a quiet prayer. I wasn’t religious but I thought every little bit of help counts. Finally we left it behind us, all sighing with relief and laughing it off, but underneath we knew it wasn’t an experience we’d want to go through again.

Soon after came the voice of the captain. “Good morning ladies and gentlemen. I do hope you didn’t find the last hour too uncomfortable. Unfortunately due to technical difficulties we will shortly be landing in Fiji for minor repairs and are presently on our descent so would you please make sure your seat belt is fastened and your seat is in the upright position, kindly refrain from smoking. Thank you.”

“What do you think he means by technical difficulties Tony?”

“Don’t know, probably got something to do with the storm.”

“They wouldn’t tell you if it was serious anyway,” said Ken grimly.

That didn’t help much as it only put Peter and I more on edge. Slowly descending, I could see the lights of the city of Suva and waited with baited breath for the wheels to touch down. It was quite a moment for everyone, as all the passengers began to clap and cheer. Seemed like everyone had the same thoughts!

By now, after travelling for more than 30 hours, I felt how I looked. My nice new suit was all crumpled up, and it not only looked like, but it had been slept in. I was tired and hungry and fed up with the taste of pre-packed food and longed for something decent like a bacon sandwich. We came to a halt and the doors opened. While Margaret was keeping her usual watchful eye on us, we followed the crowd making for the transit terminal. At first the heat made it almost hard to breathe, but inside the temperature was completely reversed by air conditioning. Like a mother hen, Margaret counted her chicks once again. By now, she too, was looking a little harassed.

We followed her to a snack bar of sorts which, after a short discussion with the counter staff, resulted in nine of the largest scrambled egg sandwiches you ever did see. They must have been two inches thick, and there was ice cold milk to wash them down with. There was plenty to eat on the plane, but after a while it all seemed to taste the same, so for us this was a real treat. Apart from us all being asleep this was probably the quietest time Margaret had the pleasure of! Not for long though. Soon we’d finished and were re-energised and raring to go.

As we waited there was an announcement to say our flight would be further delayed, so Margaret suggested we have a look around. “Now you might go and have a look at the tropical gardens, they’re well worth seeing. I want you all back here by 6.30 though, understood?”

“Yes Miss.”

Almost immediately, Peter, Ken and myself managed to lose the rest of the group and went on our own tour, making straight for the tropical gardens. The heat outside was enough to knock you over, but the gardens were a rare sight for us, our first view of tropical life, with their tall palms and plants of all shapes and sizes. In the centre was a pond with tropical birds, pink flamingos and the whole place was floodlit to give a special effect. It was then, as I looked through the fence at our plane being loaded, that I stumbled on a gate that was not locked.

“Ere, Pete, Ken, have a look at this. Come on, there’s no one about, let’s go for a walk.”

“How are we going to hear if there’s a flight change?” asked Ken, looking worried.

“We’ll keep the plane in sight all the time, it’s only over there. Anyway, it’s not six yet and it’s not leaving until 7.30. There’s plenty of time.”

Making sure the coast was clear we went through the gate and set off on our tour of Nadi Airport, making sure to keep our plane in view. However it was getting further and further away and the time was ticking. Finding an aircraft hangar with the huge door left ajar we decided to have a nose around. It was a workshop of some sort and inside was a plane, not unlike ours, being repaired.

“Here Ken, Tony, have a look at these will ya,” said Peter who’d found pictures stuck up on the wall of oriental nude women, showing off their assets. Finding the workmen’s art gallery was worth the risk itself!

“Get down off that bench Pete, it’s not good for your blood pressure,” I told him.

“I can see more up here. Look at the knockers on her!” he replied.

Too busy admiring our find we didn’t hear anyone approaching and all froze when we heard a foreign voice. Turning quickly we saw two men who were obviously very curious as to where we’d come from. In the local language, one of them asked me something.

“He say, what you doing here?” said the other man in broken English.

“Err, yeah, we sort of got lost,” I said.

Peter at this time was still standing up on the bench and the two guys could see the funny side and started to laugh, talking in their own language. Pete quickly jumped down.

“We’re for it now Tony, let’s make a run for it.”

“Don’t be daft you two, that’ll only make it worse,” said Ken, and he was right.

Still laughing one of the men walked over to the phone and after a short conversation, asked, “One of you named Tony Bates?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“You all in big trouble – look for you everywhere. Plane waiting for you.”

“I said we should have turned back,” moaned Ken. “Now we’re in for it.”

“Car come and take you to plane so you wait, yes?” said the man.

We had no choice, we’d been caught red handed and were in for a tongue lashing when we got back. We were quickly whisked back to the plane in a jeep with two escorts.

“Thanks for the ride boys,” we shouted and boarded the plane, only to be greeted at the top of the steps by Margaret. “I’ll see you three later,” she fumed. “Now get back to your seats.”

The passengers could see the funny side of it and even the captain made a joke of it, but Margaret was red with embarrassment and almost foaming at the mouth.

With that we were off again, and our crime seemed to have soon been forgotten. We were even invited up to take a look at the cockpit and Peter and I were allowed to go first, which the others felt was a bit unfair (but we were sitting up front). “Oh no, not you two! Come to hijack the plane have you?” said one of the crew when we came in, at which they all started laughing.

After that Pete and I helped the stewardesses again, answering the call buttons and bringing a cold beer for one of the passengers, who I got chatting to. He introduced himself as Tom Silkman and invited me to join him for a drink. Compared to me, Tom was a giant of a man, with hands the size of dinner plates.

“So what are you going to do in Australia Tony?”

“Well I hope to be going to the Merchant Navy soon after I arrive.”

“Sounds like a good life,” he answered, showing a great deal of interest, and we talked for about half an hour about this and that. All the time he listened with care to my every word and made me feel totally at ease.

“Well Tony, it’s been very interesting talking to you, perhaps when you settle in you might give me a call. Perhaps you and your brother could have dinner one day – my treat. Here’s my card, just give me a call. You’d better write your guardian’s name and address so as to check with them first.”

Doing so, I just wrote my name and Dr Barnardo’s, Sydney.

“Where you been?” enquired Peter when I got back to my seat. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Well, you didn’t look far, I was only sitting up there in the First Class.” I told Peter about Tom Silkman and his invitation, showing him his card.

“Not a brown hatter is he?” asked Peter.

“No,” I laughed. “Says here he’s a building engineer of some sort, might be a chance of a job.”

Our conversation was interrupted by the news we’d all been waiting for, we were beginning our descent to Mascote, Sydney International Airport. The seat belt sign came on and the land in the distance came closer until we could see Sydney Harbour Bridge beneath us.

“Cabin crew, stations please.”

CHAPTER 5

After nearly two days travelling, feeling tired and uncomfortable and having to wear the same clothes the whole period, we finally touched down. Buzzing with excitement we couldn’t wait to leave the plane for good. Margaret was up and once again in full control.

“Right, stay in your seats and let all the other passengers get off first,” she said.

As we waited we watched out of the window at the cameras flashing below. It was obvious we were not the only celebrities on board, as a large man descended the stairs complete with bushy beard and a skullcap, a religious man of some sort. Finally it was our turn. We reached the exit and there waiting to say goodbye was our stewardess. “Well boys, here you are. Good luck and don’t go and get lost again will you?” By now it must have been a standing joke with all the crew.

I pecked her on the cheek and said, “Thanks a lot. It’s been a pleasure having us.”

The other stewardesses laughed and all, in turn, wished us luck. I followed Peter out on to the stairwell, when almost immediately the cameras began to flash. There was nothing else to do but stand back and just enjoy all the attention. “Right lads,” the press men shouted. “That’s far enough. Stay where you are, we’d like to take a shot of you all coming down the stairs, smile… give a little wave… ready?… That’s it… hold it… one more. Right now, let’s have you all down here with the plane in the background. Yes, that’s great… hold it… one more… this time again with a wave.” Then the questions began to come.

Margaret, by this time, had met up with our welcoming committee, one of whom, Mr Price, was the manager of Dr Barnardo’s, Australia. He soon took the lead and herded us off in the direction of the main arrivals terminal. “Keep together you lot. Now let’s see, we’ve got nine faces and nine names, so let’s see who’s who. Now the Hill family, Archie, James, Kathryn and Irene, make your way to the front. Good. Now the Hutton family, Ken and Anita, step forward. Peter Lewis, and the Bates boys. Now stay in that order while we go through passport control.”

We arrived in the main lounge where we were met by the rest of the welcoming committee and from there we went on to the press lounge for more interviews and photos. We were no sooner inside when a head popped around the door. Mr Price walked over and exchanged a few words, then called out, “Kenneth and Anita Hutton?” We all turned and looked.

“Yes sir.”

“Will you go with this gentleman here as I believe your foster parents are here to meet you.”

There were no chances to say our goodbyes. Ken just turned and smiled, taking Anita by the hand he led her through the door and in a moment was gone. The sight of the door closing awoke the reality that now our family group was here, it would be breaking up.

I didn’t have long to think though because the Barnardo’s press officer arrived. “I presume you’ve all met our other celebrity,” he said, looking towards the man in the corner. We all looked bewildered. There he was again, the tall stout man with the beard and skull cap. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, the Singing Rabbi.”

He smiled and shook our hands before we were placed strategically around him while he strummed his guitar for the cameras. None of us had ever heard of him, but if us being in the photograph was going to make him famous then who were we to mind! Soon after the picture he said his farewells and placed his hand upon each of our heads and mumbled something in Hebrew. Then the attention was back on us and the first thing they wanted to know about was how we managed to go astray in Fiji airport. Finally the press conference was over and we followed Mr Price back out into the arrival lounge to find our cases.

Mr Price took a list of names and addresses from his briefcase. “Right, now who’s going where? The Hill family, you’ll be going to Normanhurst, the boys to Ladd House, the girls to Fairfax House – don’t worry, they’re both in the same grounds so you won’t be split up – and this gentleman here is Mr Elms. You will be in his care.”

The introductions were made and soon it was time to say our goodbyes, which again were short and to the point and an anti-climax to say the least. That left just me, my brother and Pete. At least Peter and I would be together, I thought. We had grown to become good mates and it would be silly to split us up now that we had some sort of bond (something my brother Pat and I had never had).

It wasn’t to be though, and Mr Price’s next words brought my thoughts tumbling down. “Peter Lewis, you’ll be going to Karinlal House, Lindfield, this is Miss Bickmore. You will be in her care.”

The shock hit me like a brick, just as it did Peter. Why were they doing this to us? Couldn’t they see we were inseparable and that for the past week or so we had grown to lean and depend on each other, sharing our most inner thoughts like Siamese twins. Not wanting to look upset over my friend’s departure I put on a brave face, as did he, but couldn’t they see the tears in my eyes as we shook hands – or didn’t they care? Were we, to them, just cattle to be herded from one paddock to another, only to be counted daily to see if we were still there? Who knows? Only they, in their wisdom, could answer that.

As I watched Peter slowly walk away he turned, as if to take one last look, raising his hand and holding up his thumb. My insides crumbled and bubbled like lava in a volcano. Not wanting anyone to see my feelings I fought back the rock growing at the back of my throat. Somehow, all my life it had seemed the things that I had grown most fond of were taken away from me and as I started my new life I foolishly believed all that was in the past. Had I been so wrong? Having travelled half way round the world, was it happening again?

Soon I found out what fate had in store for us. “Tony and Patrick,” said Mr Price, “I’d like you to meet Nat and Hilda Smith. For the next few days you will be staying with them at Rickard House, West Ryde. Final arrangements have to be made as to where you will be going.”

I shook Nat’s hand.

“Hello Tony, welcome to Australia, you’ll like it with us, proper home from home.”

That was all I needed to hear! Nat was a tall, slim built man with a large round face, well tanned with short black hair swept back. Hilda put out her hand to greet me. She could see I was a little unsure and tried to comfort me with her words. “Hello Tony, things will look a lot better once you’ve changed and got some food into you.”

Nat took our cases and we said our goodbyes to Mr Price and co and left following Nat and Hilda out of the airport and into the car park, where what seemed to me to be the longest car I had ever seen in my life – a Ford Falcon Station Wagon – was parked.

“Let’s get these bags in the back and make tracks,” Nat said. “Would you like to sit up front with me Pat?”

“Oh, yeah.” That was typical of him, only been here five minutes and already he was talking like an Australian.

“Well boys, sit back and enjoy the scenery. Did ya have a good trip?”

Pat replied almost immediately, going into every little detail. He and Nat were getting on like a house on fire.

“And how was your trip Tony?” Hilda asked softly. I turned to face her. The voice was one of kindness and I wanted her to hold out her arms and take me in, after the shock of arriving here and suddenly being split from the group in this way. I needed someone to reassure me, to tell me everything was okay, but deep down I knew that this was not possible.

“Well, here we are folks,” said Nat after we’d been driving for a while. “This is West Ryde – your home for the next few days.”

The neighbourhood looked not unlike the rest we had seen on our journey from the airport, its clean streets lined with old and new bungalows on unusually large plots of land. It was perfect, but somehow something was missing. Soon we pulled into a steep driveway with two garages. Rickard House was an unusually large bungalow on a corner plot with a well-kept garden of flowers and shrubs in the front, and lawn at the back, and the whole place was surrounded by a white picket fence. We were no sooner up the steps when the front door opened.

“Hi Uncle Nat.”

“Hello John, these are the Bates’ boys, Pat and Tony.”

“Hi,” he said.

John was about 14. He was the oldest of the eight children that lived there (the youngest being nine). He showed us to our room, asking questions all the time. He was nice enough, about the same height as me but a lot thinner in his features, and he had come from England by boat a few years previously. He gave us a tour of the house and introduced us to Judy the cook, a short, plump woman who obviously tried out her delicacies before passing them on, and the other kids.

“Nat, do you mind if I ask a question?” I asked after the introductions, speaking a whole sentence for the first time since I’d arrived.

“No, not at all, that’s what I’m here for son,” he smiled.

I looked at Pat then stared Nat straight in the eyes. “All I keep hearing is ‘a couple of days’. So what happens after that? What is to become of us?”

Nat turned to Hilda, then back to me, and the silence could have been cut with a knife. He didn’t answer immediately and I knew there was something wrong. “Well, er, you being the age you are, they’re not too sure whether to send you back to school or to the training farm. Whichever suits you best I suppose.”

Then came the crunch. “And Pat, what’s he to do?”

Pat looked on in surprise, wondering how I could ask these questions.

“Well,” said Nat slowly, “being 18, he will be found accommodation until it’s time for him to join the Air Force.” I had put him in a spot and was making him answer questions he did not want to. He could tell by the look on my face the effect of his words and he tried to change the subject. “Tell you what, at the same time you can make your application for the Royal Navy. No time like the present. How about I take you into the city on Monday to apply?”

“So what you’re saying is after a few days we’ll be split up?”

Nat was stuck for words, uneasy to say the least. I got the feeling of ‘now we’ve got you here, what the hell do we do with you?’

Pat broke the ice. “Don’t worry kid, they won’t split us up, we’ll be okay.” Good words, but they lacked confidence.

“Come on boys, tomorrow’s another day, is that tea ready Judy?” Hilda was trying to change the subject too. “We’re having a barbecue tonight. Ever been to one Tony?”

I looked deep into Hilda’s eyes and all of a sudden the lump in my throat burst. Tears ran slowly down my face, and, as much as I wanted to control it, it was no good. Because of the enthusiasm of a 15 year old boy thinking he knows what’s best, Fred and Mavis had been given the opportunity to pass on their burden of a lifetime, and signed me away like you’d strike a match. I’d come to terms with that, but now to come all this way and face the prospect of being separated from my only relative was too much to bear. Pat wasn’t much but he was all I had and a half brother was better than none at all. Again, I found myself wondering if I had really done something so dreadful to get such a punishment. I turned and made my way back to our room, throwing myself onto my bed and there I cried myself to sleep.

And so my first day in Australia was one of disillusion to say the least. A few efforts were made to bring me round, but without success. I was stubborn and wanted to get my point across. Staying in bed until the following morning, I eventually got up, moping around for the whole day like a bear with a sore head. They left me alone so I stayed in my room most of the time, only getting up for meals and the rest of the time I slept off the jet lag. The next day was Sunday and I was woken by the sound of birds singing and the sun shining in through the gap in the curtains. Things no longer looked so grim. They couldn’t get any worse I told myself, only better, so it was time to stop feeling sorry for myself. If the game was to survive, I would learn to play and play it well. I rose from my bed and quietly made my way to the kitchen.

“Morning Tony, how are you feeling?” Judy’s face was a friendly one and a delight to see first thing in the morning. “Cup of tea?’

“Yes please, love one.”

“You sit down and I’ll get us both a cup.”

It was early and the rest of the house was still asleep so we sat there listening to the dawn chorus together, drinking our tea. We talked, not about anything significant, just general chit chat and it was good because she had a very kind heart and made me feel at home. After a while, we were joined by Nat and Hilda.

“You’re up early, are you feeling better today?” asked Nat.

“Feeling a bit silly at making a fool of myself,” I smiled. “Sorry about yesterday.”

“No explanation needed son, being in your place, I think I’d have felt the same.”

Nat’s answer made me feel a lot better. They were good people at the end of a long line of pen pushers. Their job was to try and put right everyone else’s mistakes. Here the numbers stopped and you once again became a person.

Breakfast that day consisted of Skippy’s, the Australian answer to corn flakes, boiled eggs and toast, with tea or coffee for the older ones. An average daily breakfast, but somehow it all tasted different to what I was used to. Still a lot of things would be different now. Breakfast was over and the table cleared away and Nat had a suggestion.

“Since it’s a nice day how would you and Pat like to see some of the sights?” The look on our faces was answer enough. “Right then, let’s go,” he said.

John also tagged along and the two of them pointed out places of interest as we drove, and after about 30 minutes we got a full view of the harbour.

“This will interest you Tony,’ said Nat. “See down there, that’s where the Merchant ships come in. With a bit of luck it won’t be long before you’re coming in and out of there yourself.”

I looked in detail with great interest. A seaman was what I wanted to be and it felt good that Nat was talking to me as if it was only a matter of time.

“Well, here you go, Sydney Harbour Bridge, a spectacular sight even if I do say so myself.”

He was right, it was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Unlike our Tower Bridge but spectacular just the same.

“There’s the Luna amusement park,” Nat continued, “and over there to the left they’re building our very own Opera House. Well, that’s the plan anyway.”

Nat stopped off at Millson’s Point so we could admire the view of the harbour and the city tower blocks which dominated the skyline, and after that we went for a ferry ride, Nat pointing out all the ships. He was no fool and he was making me feel more at ease. They definitely gave the right man the right job. Looking up from the water made the whole harbour look even more spectacular; the private yachts tied up in their moorings, local residents spending the day on their boats taking in the morning sun, ocean liners and The Canberra looking all white and high in the water. It was an idyllic scene and one that was fit for a postcard.

Back in the car we headed off for the beach. The sun was high and I opened the window, letting the breeze hit me in the face. It felt good and by now I didn’t have a care in the world. Pat was happy too, asking all sorts of questions that Nat was only too pleased to answer.

“Here ya go, Bondi Beach,” Nat said after while.

For us this was our first sight of the sea and just like the films we had seen back in England, only this time it was for real. We drove slowly down the front trying to take it all in and even though it was April there were still people on the beach, grabbing that last bit of sun before the winter.

“What are those towers on the beach Nat?” I asked.

“Oh, they’re for the life guards. See down there, the surf rescue teams practising.”

He stopped the car. There were five or six groups all running a line out over their heads down to the shore, attached to the lead lifesaver. He rushed out into the water and swam out and back and we could see they were racing against each other. Further down the surfboats were coming in from a make-believe rescue. It all looked very impressive.

I remarked on the surfers, “How do they stay up there John?”

“It’s only a matter of balance.”

“Wouldn’t mind having a go at that myself,” I said. “Is it dangerous though? What about the sharks?”

“Occasionally one gets through, but we don’t get many attacks these days, what with shark nets, spotter planes and the surf patrol.”

“That’s reassuring. Knowing my luck though, that’ll be the one that gets me.”

They laughed.

“Don’t worry son, there’s not enough meat on you, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” said Pat.

“I think I’ll stick to swimming pools.”

“What are you going to do if you go to sea?” Nat asked.

“Ah, well, that’s different. A ship’s like a floating island.”

“Yeah, until it sinks.” Pat could be a real barrel of laughs sometimes.

Soon we were heading back to Ryde and a great Sunday dinner, and I felt in much better spirits that evening with Nat and Hilda going out of their way to make us feel at home. The next day was Monday and Pat and I were taken into the city. We arrived at Jamieson Street, the home of Dr Barnardo’s, a large old red building that was as old inside as it was out, and after getting in the lift I wasn’t sure if we’d ever make it. On the second floor, an old wooden door read, ‘Dr Barnardo’s, Australia,’ and on entering we found some familiar faces in the waiting area, the Hill family – Archie, James and the two girls. We were all pleased to see one another and started talking eighteen to the dozen. I cannot explain what it was like as you had to be in our situation to begin to understand. All I know is that it was like coming home and this was my family. We all talked about our weekend events, and I found myself wondering if Peter was going to walk through that door at any moment. Finally our chatter was broken up by the introduction of the after care officer and just like an old school Ma’am, she clapped her hands together to get our attention.

She introduced herself as Miss Stevenson and little did she know that I was to become a large thorn in her side. After a short speech, she asked Pat and I to follow her, which we did – without saying goodbye to the Hills because we assumed they’d still be there when we got back.

“Sit down, boys,” she said when we were in her office, “I won’t bite.”

She was in her late 50’s, tall with white hair, a spinster and as I said a typical old school Ma’am. She opened files on her desk, all the time looking up, and peering over the top of her glasses, said, “You must be Pat.”

“Yes Miss.”

“I see that you want to join the Air Force. Well, we shall have to see what we can do about that.”

The smile on Pat’s face looked like the cat that had just eaten the mouse.

“Meanwhile, what else did you have in mind?”

“Engineering or electronics, Miss.”

Then she looked over in my direction. “And what about you Tony? I see by your latest school assessment your grades aren’t the best so I don’t think there’s any point in prolonging the agony and enrolling you in a school here. What line of work were you thinking of?”

“The Merchant Navy, Miss.”

“Anything else?”

“No Miss, just the Navy.”

The conversation lasted about an hour, with her asking all sorts of questions, some of which seemed totally irrelevant to the situation, and she made a few notes on our files. She was to go up in my estimation though when she handed us some money and told us to go down to the delicatessen on the corner to buy some lunch. It was the first time Pat and I had been let loose on our own. I was hoping Archie and family would still be outside but they’d already gone.

After lunch, Miss Stevenson gave us a map of the city. “First call for you Pat is the R.A.A.F. Recruiting Centre, then on to the R.A.N. Afterwards, you can go to this address Tony. It’s the Merchant Marine Office. They will be expecting you there, so you can get your application in.”

Off we went, maps under our arms, out into the city and tried to get our bearings. In the Royal Australian Navy (R.A.N.), the joining age was fifteen and a half, which made me just old enough, so I filled in some forms with Pat’s help and was told they would be in touch. Then it was on to the Merchant Navy Office. Once inside, I gave my name.

“Oh yes,’ said the man at the desk. “Harry, it’s that lad you’re expecting.”

He came over to the counter. “Right lad, you want to join the Merchants do you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, for the time being all you can do is fill in these forms and we’ll go from there, but I’ll tell you now, there’s a long list in front of you so be patient.”

Doing what he asked, I completed the forms. “Right, the next thing you’ve got to do is join the union – without membership, you can’t get a ship. Just go through that door and tell the chap behind the counter that you want to join.”

We made our way next door to the union office. It was busy so I waited in the queue until my turn came. Somehow the surroundings made you feel as if you were already one of them.

“I’d like to join,” I told the man at the counter.

“Fill this card in and return it to me.”

I filled in the form, Pat patiently waiting, and returned to the queue where once again I was informed “We’ll be in touch.” Leaving the office we returned to Jamieson Street to tell Miss Stevenson the results of our meetings. It had been a long day and we would be glad to get back to Rickard. For Pat and I it had been a new experience. Maybe it was the situation, I don’t know, but on that one day we were closer as brothers than we had ever been before.

We were all set to get the train back when Nat turned up with a ride and some good news for Pat. He’d been in touch with a friend and had lined up an interview for a stores job. Pat was all questions on the way back, while I just sat in the back and took in the view. The next morning he was rushing around sprucing himself up, and you’d think he was going out on a date instead of going for a job interview.

“See you later kid, wish me luck,” he said to me after breakfast.

“Yeah, good luck mate.”

That morning I decided to write a couple of letters, one to my mum and the other to my old girlfriend, Bev. Mum’s letter came hard so I gave up. Bev’s on the other hand was easy, so I sat there, pen in hand, telling her of the trip and the many events that had happened since arriving, naturally telling her how much I missed her. After finishing the letter I wished I hadn’t started as it only made me feel homesick. I took a stroll to post it and returned to the house to see Nat’s car pulling up in the driveway. Pat jumped out and he was all smiles.

“I got it. Start on Thursday,” and he rushed off to tell the others.

Nat gave us a lift into town so Pat could tell Miss Stevenson the news, and I amused myself talking to some of the office girls while she and Pat held a conference – about my future as it turned out. She called me into her office.

“Sit down Tony. First of all I’ve been in touch with the Seaman’s Union and they tell me you’ve been accepted so it’s hopefully only a matter of time, but we don’t know how long. It could be a week or maybe six months so we’re going to have to find you something to do in the meantime. Pat’s luckily got himself a job so will be moving out of Rickard House into private boarding tomorrow. How do you feel about that?”

How did I feel? It looked like it was all arranged anyway so I shrugged my shoulders and said nothing.

“As Rickard House is more for younger children, we’ve decided to move you on. We have a farm up country in Scone where we send our older boys on a training course. This is just temporary though, until your call comes up.”

Her voice was shaky, and that I shall never forget. I just agreed, as I knew that nothing I could say was going to make a difference. I was at the age when no one could decide what was best for me.

“Good, that’s settled then. Andrew Crawford, the Manager of the farm, is coming down Thursday so you can return with him Friday morning.

“You’ll like it up there Tony, they’re all about your age and seem to have a good time,” said Nat, trying to reassure me. I sat there in amazement. The floor had gone from beneath my feet. What was going on? I’d come 13,000 miles to become a farmer. I was numb, but I supposed I had no choice but to give it a go anyway.

“Give me a couple of weeks and I’ll get a car and come and see you, kid,” said Pat, sensing my anxiety.

“Yeah, great,” I replied, knowing he was living in cloud cuckoo land. Couldn’t he see what was happening? This was no different from being in England, only this time we were both going to be on our own.

We made the return journey to Rickard with Pat still full of the moment, new job, prospects and tomorrow the move to new accommodation. I was envious, but at the same time could not help feeling pleased for him. For the last two weeks he’d been with children, and now this was a chance for him to return to the real world as he was a lot older and needed more than Rickard House could offer. We would be separated, but he wasn’t my keeper and somehow we’d survive.

No sooner were we back at the home than Pat was packing away his things. “Well kid, we’ll show ‘em and when mum and dad come out we’ll be ready for ‘em.”

I agreed, wondering how long it would take them. Pat thought and mentioned nothing else. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder and it did. You forget the bad times and only think of the few good ones, and Pat only lived for their arrival. I only hoped they wouldn’t let us down.

The conversation that night was concentrated on us. Pat, on what he was going to do – get a house and car ready for the family – and my future on the farm, although I must admit Nat made it sound a good place to live. The next morning I woke up to find the room empty and Pat’s case gone. Surely he hadn’t left already, without saying goodbye? I leapt from my bed and rushed into the kitchen.

“Morning kid.”

There he was, large as life.

“Thought you’d gone already.”

“Without saying ‘bye’ to my kid brother? You know me better than that. Mind you, I would like to get an early start so I can check the place out. Here, I’ve written down the address so you can drop me a line.”

Taking the slip of paper, I sat down to eat my breakfast. I knew Pat was going, and in a funny way I wished it would be soon. It was like saying goodbye at the railway station – the words just weren’t there. Besides, I hated goodbyes. Finishing my breakfast, I got showered and changed, wondering what was in store for me today.

“Hey Tony, I’m off now kid?” I heard Pat call and by the time I got outside his case was already in the car.

“Well kid, this is it now. You’ve got the address, so keep in touch. I’ll try and get up to see you in a few weeks.”

He was excited and, like the matador in the ring, couldn’t wait to get the bull by the horns. Again, I was frozen for words as he climbed in the car and opened the window. Nat started the car and pulled out of the driveway.

“Good luck,” I shouted, as the car drove off down the road and out of sight.

I returned inside to the kitchen, where Judy was busying herself. She stopped what she was doing and looked at me.

“Coffee Tony?” she asked, sensitive to the situation.

“Yes please. I’m starving too. Any of that chocolate cake left?’

“Sure,” she said with a smile. “I think I might just join you.”

“Hello, what’s going on here?” asked Hilda, joining us in the kitchen.

“Tony and I are going to gorge ourselves silly on chocolate cake. Would you like to join us?”

“Why not?” she replied with a laugh.

And so it was that Hilda, Judy and I sat eating large hunks of chocolate cake washed down with coffee. I was in good company, the sun was shining, the birds were singing and it was good to be alive. What’s more, on Friday it would be my turn to leave, although God only knew where to and for how long.

CHAPTER 6

On Friday morning Nat took me back to Barnardo’s head office, where I was introduced to Andy Crawford who ran the training farm up at Scone. He was a tall, thick set man with wavy black hair, dressed in a badly fitting blue suit and carrying a flat rimmed cowboy hat in his hand.

“Hello lad.” His voice was deep with a slight Scottish accent. “Are you ready to make tracks then?”

“Yes sir.”

“You can dispense with the formalities lad, the boys call me Andy or Andrew, and probably more names besides,” he joked, “though fortunately I don’t get to hear all of them.”

I took an instant liking to Andy as he was straight and to the point. He was in a hurry and just wanted to get on the open road, so I said my goodbyes to Nat and Mrs Stevenson (who promised to let me know as soon as she heard from the Navy recruiting office) and we were soon on our way. Scone was situated 200 miles north of Sydney and our drive would take five hours. Heading inland, we watched Sydney grow smaller and smaller.

“This is the Pacific Highway,” said Andy, breaking up the silence, “and it takes you all the way to Brisbane and as far up north as Cairns, a thousand miles or more.”

All I could see for miles on either side were tall trees, bush and scrub land for as far as the eye could see. During the trip we talked of my past and how I had come to be here in the first place, and Andy also told me a bit about the farm. It sat on a 1200 acre plot and there were beef cattle, pigs, chickens, sheep, a couple of bulls and a small dairy herd.

After driving for a while we reached halfway and Andy pointed out a town in the distance. “There she is Tony. Gosford and the South Pacific ocean. It’s a proper playground for the idle rich.”

As we dropped down into Gosford, the view was breathtaking, all inlets, coves and small islands, the road taking us past big plush houses on one side, and on the other the blue waters of the Pacific washed gently up on the golden sands.

“This is where your well-to-do people buy their holiday homes to get away from Sydney and city life at weekends and holidays.”

“You mean to say, they own a house here as well as in Sydney?”

“Aye, that’s right. This is a rich country and if ya put your mind to it you can do anything. It’s here for the taking.”

Taking in the view, needing eyes in the back of my head to get it all in, I compared these homes to ones back home and they made No. 36 look like an outhouse. You’d be lucky to fit just one of these houses into our whole street back home. Before long we stopped for lunch, pulling off the road alongside a beach kiosk where I got to taste some fine Australian cuisine – two meat pies with sauce and a can of coke! Shortly after we were back on the road again, and as I sat there with the sun shining through the windscreen, my stomach replenished, the inevitable soon happened and I fell asleep. Thinking I’d only had a nap, I woke with a start having slept a good couple of hours, and during that time the landscape had completely changed. It was now flat and open as we had entered farm country.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“You’re in the Hunter Valley. We’ll soon be home now.”

Home for him maybe, but for me it was just another new place with new people that I had to start all over again to make new friends with.

“Well here we are Tony, this is Scone. What do you think?”

Not very much, was my first thought, looking at Scone’s main street. The place had been built either side of the highway, the buildings hugging the road’s edges and looking as if they’d been put there by some magnetic force. I suppose the whole town covered a quarter of a mile, the main road running through it with well-graded dirt roads leading off at either side. Apart from the unusual amount of hotels (the Australian name for what the Brits call a pub) – three in all – there was one of everything, including a cinema. It was fair to say though that if you were driving through Scone at more than thirty miles an hour and you blinked you would probably have missed the whole splendour of it all.

“Is this it?” I replied. “It looks like an old western town you’d see on the T.V. back home.”

“Well what did you expect, a city?” laughed Andy, pulling up outside the general store. “Come on, we’ve got a few supplies to pick up for the farm.”

I followed him inside. Being a small town, everybody knew him and it was obvious Andy was quite a celebrity. The atmosphere was relaxed and friendly as everyone wandered around at their own pace, and it was totally unlike the city life I had just come from.

“Now to the farm,” said Andy once we’d finished. “Not far now, only about ten miles.”

“That far?” I said, thinking it would only be up the road. “So how often do we get to come into town then Andy?”

“I bring the boys in once a week – every Saturday night.”

A little shocked, I wondered what they did for the other six nights, but kept my thoughts to myself. Soon we left the main road behind and set off along a dirt track kicking up a trail of dust behind us. It was getting more like that western movie than I had first thought. A town with one main street, the open range and now the dirt roads. What had I let myself in for?

“Well there she is, Tooloogan Vale, all 1200 acres. It’s only small, but big enough for us.” Andy was a farmer at heart and the sight of the Vale brought a smile to his face. It was obvious he was glad to be back.

“Here we are Tony,” Andy said as we pulled off the road down an old track, “that’s the main house there.”

I looked over to see the buildings of the farm all scattered around, although to be honest they looked more like old sheds to me.

“Come on Tony, let’s get you settled in, then we’ll get you shown around the place. The land’s a little dry at the moment but that’s because we’ve had a hot summer and no rain for nine months. Water is like gold, it’s the most important commodity round here. Soon the rains will come though, and it looks a lot different then, all fresh and green.”

We walked towards the house, it was large, built of timber and painted a light green colour with a red corrugated iron roof. As we reached the back door we were greeted by a short, slim woman.

“Welcome back Mr Crawford, how was the city?” she smiled.

“Crowded and stuffy. It’s sure good to be back,” he replied.

“And who might I ask have we got here?”

“Tony, meet Mrs Lee, this is Tony Bates, the new hand.”

“Call me Ma,’ she said. ‘Everyone else does. I’m the chief cook and bottle washer around here and I also live in the house with you boys.” She was in her late 30’s but you could see the years had taken their toll, leaving their lines on her face and grey streaks in her hair. “Well, what do you think of the country so far?”

“Is it always this quiet?”

“Most of the time,” she laughed. “That’s the best part of it.”

Andy left me with Ma and she showed me around the house and to my new room. There was nothing special about it – three beds, a couple of dressers, a wardrobe and, I noticed, a distinct lack of sunlight.

“Why’s it so dark in here, Ma?”

“Well the roof overhangs further so as to keep the sun out and keep the room cool. That’s why the roof is corrugated too. Now put your bags in and come on, I’d better get the boys afternoon smoko or I’ll have them all after me.”

I looked at her in bewilderment. Smiling, she informed me that smoko was their afternoon tea break. She’d just finished showing me around when Andy returned to give me a tour of the farm and introduce me to the boys, and I must admit that I felt a bit silly walking around the farm in a white shirt, suit trousers, and pointed-toe boots. We caught up with the other farmhands, who were all sitting around eating their smoko.

“Good day, Mr Crawford,” muttered one of the boys.

“Alright boys, this is Tony Bates. He’s just arrived from England and will be working with you.”

The boys all nodded as if to say hello, then got back to the serious task of eating.

“Come on Tony, you’ll have a chance to meet them all later,” said Andy. “We’ll take a walk over to the milking sheds. Apart from the livestock we also grow cereal crops, so there’s plenty here to keep you busy and after a few days we’ll see how you get on. The boys work in pairs, so you’ll soon get the hang of it.”

In the milking sheds I was introduced to Jim Chambers, the foreman. He was also English and had a slight Aussie accent. “Good day Tony. Getting the two bob tour then? Well as you can see this is the dairy and each morning the cows are brought in, washed, milked, fed and put out there to graze in time for breakfast, after which all the equipment has to be washed and sterilised. So, do you think you’ll make a dairyman?”

I held back from answering as I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to stay, let alone milk cows.

“Have you met our prize bulls yet?”

“No we haven’t got around to that yet Jim,” said Andy, with a grin on his face.

“Well, there’s no time like the present. Let’s go.”

Leaving the dairy, we cut across the paddock, Jim asking me more questions. “Can you drive a tractor or ride a horse?”

“Who me? I have trouble staying on a bike.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll teach you or kill you in the process, won’t we Andy?” They both laughed. “Well, what do you think?” Jim asked, pointing at the angry looking beasts in front of me.

“I think if they stay that side, I’ll be safe on this,” I replied.

Laughing, Jim opened the gate and brought one over on a rope attached to the large ring in its nose.

“Remember, all animals sense fear, so you must be in control at all times, but beware of these two bastards, especially when they’re mating – they’re only interested in one thing and God help anyone who gets in their way.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” I assured him.

I got the impression that somehow they enjoyed playing around with this young man, fresh from the city – the only farm animals I’d seen before that day had been the geese back at Flimwell and I was terrified of them! Still I reminded myself this was only temporary and it was only a matter of time before I’d be called up for the Navy, so I’d just make the most of a bad situation.

We walked back to the house, all the time Jim and Andy talking about nothing but work. “Well Tony, we’ll leave you here now as we’ve got work to do, so I’ll see you later. You might as well go and settle in. Tea won’t be long.” With that they both walked off leaving me alone at the back of the house. Feeling a little bewildered I went inside to be met by a dog jumping up on me.

“Don’t mind her Tony,” said Ma. “That’s just Perdy. Now you sit down. Here ya go, this’ll keep ya going through ‘til tea.” She placed in front of me what looked like stodgy bread pudding which Ma called ‘plonk, probably because of the way it stuck to the plate, and a glass of ice cold milk.

Finishing my little feast, I had a shower and unpacked, putting my clothes in two nominated drawers. Afterwards, I returned to the kitchen where the boys were coming in one by one.

“Good day mate, I’m Trevor Lindley, we’re in the same room. This ‘ere is Roger, Colin, Paul and his brother Stanley, Michael, David and last in as usual that’s Frank Sumpton. He also shares with us.”

The next half hour was spent asking what part of England I’d come from and so on. All but one of the boys were originally English – him being a Legacy boy, which was the Australian version of Dr Barnardo’s. It was soon obvious that I’d made a new friend in Trevor, and after tea he gave me his own tour of the place.

“So how long have you been here?” I asked.

“Oh about four months now.”

“And what’s it like ‘ere?”

“Alright I suppose if you like farming. Not much to do in the evenings though so gets a bit boring sometimes. The highlight of the week is Saturday.”

“Why’s that?”

“Didn’t Crawford tell ya? We get paid.”

Perhaps things were looking up after all, I thought.

“Not that there’s much in town to spend it on,” Trevor continued. “Your choice is limited unless you like the pictures or you can go to the milk bar – couple of nice girls in there. You might be lucky and get asked to go into town with Crawford or Chambers midweek, but Saturday night is our only official night in town.”

“Why don’t you call them by their Christian names?” I asked.

“Well, they say you can, but no one does. I suppose it’s what comes of living in these institutions, all your life. It’s either Mr and Mrs, Uncle and Auntie… but I don’t have to tell you do I? It’s what you get used to. Ma makes a nice change, she’s alright. Crawford’s wife ain’t bad either – her name’s Jane – also Chamber’s wife comes down ‘ere a fair bit. They’ve got two daughters, about the same age as us but we very rarely get to see them as he probably don’t trust us near them.”

“So what is there to do round here at nights?” I asked.

“There’s Hopper Hall.”

“What’s that?”

“Come on, I’ll show you. They say it’s named after a handyman that worked around the place. Rumour has it that he was an eccentric millionaire, bumming his way round Australia, looking for his lost youth or something like that. Crawford gave him some work and he ended up staying about six months. The hall was the last thing he built before leaving so it was named after him. Most nights we go in there and play table tennis or darts. A few of the lads have started up a band called The Red Backs. We’ve got a new workshop too, full of old engines to strip down and rebuild if you’re that way inclined.”

“Na, it’s not for me,” I told him.

“Me neither.”

I spent the rest of the night with Trevor in Hopper Hall, playing table tennis and other games, and thinking how different it was to back home, where I’d be out with my mates and having a good laugh. What a way to spend a Friday night. This was going to take some getting used to.

My first night’s sleep at the farm was somewhat hectic. Little did I know that as a new boy came the initiation test, but unlike the others I did not find it quite so funny. Lights were out and all you could hear were the crickets singing their way through the night. I was lying on top of the bed wearing only my shorts when out of nowhere there came this great furry thing that landed on my chest. In shock I must have jumped about two feet in the air before landing on my feet. I was terrified. I turned on the light to see the largest spider I’ve ever seen running over the pillow and down the side of the bed. I went berserk before one of the boys, Frank, started laughing. “He won’t hurt you. That’s George, our house spider, he keeps the flies down.”

I was not convinced and could not see the funny side at all. By now the rest of the boys were wondering what the fuss was about. I’d seen money spiders and daddy long legs and they gave me the willies, but this one? Well, he had boots on.

Ma rushed into the room. “What’s all the noise about?”

“It’s only George, Ma. He fell on Tony and gave him a terrible fright.”

“A fright?” I yelled. “Nearly took ten years off my bloody life.”

That night I hardly slept a wink, wondering whether my furry friend was coming back. The morning call came, and to my displeasure they started early at the farm – up at six. Early morning chores were followed by breakfast at seven and then Andy gave out the work for the day. I was put on irrigation duty with Frank, Trevor and a boy called Colin. After hitching up the tractor, Colin took the wheel and off we went. It was still early, but without a cloud in the sky and the sun was fierce, which made me glad of the hat I’d been lent. My skin was still quite fair, unlike the others who’d had time to tan, so I had to watch the sun, leaving my shirt on while the others were all stripped down to their shorts.

As the morning went on, it got hotter and hotter. The work wasn’t too bad though, as all we had to do was move irrigation pipes and sprinklers from one paddock to another, giving them a soaking as we went. We worked right the way through, stopping only when Jim Chambers turned up with our smoko and cold drinks. We were nearing early knock off and were having quite a laugh when I picked up this pipe, disturbing this bloody great big snake underneath.

“Shit, what the fuck…”. I didn’t even hang around to finish my sentence, just let loose and ran like crazy, trying to put as much distance between me and the snake as I could. Looking back, I couldn’t believe my eyes as I saw the thing coming after me at no slow pace. All I could hear was my heart pounding and the distant sound of the boys laughing, but this was no laughing matter for me. Running in a wide circle to lose the snake I eventually made it back to the tractor where the other three were in hysterics.

“What’s so funny, you bastards? Thanks a lot for your help.”

“Help for what? It was only a bloody carpet snake,” said Frank. “They’re harmless. He was probably just keeping out of the sun.”

Oh great, so this was farm life. Twice, in less than 24 hours I’d been frightened half out of my wits, both times by creatures that were completely harmless.

“Don’t tell me it’s only the small ones that bite. Well, that’s it for me today, I don’t think this farming life is going to suit me at all.”

“You’re like the rest of us mate, haven’t got any choice.”

“Is that right Frank, well, we’ll see about that…”.

I spent the rest of the morning sitting on the trailer and keeping my feet clear, waiting for them to return, and when they did they were still laughing. By now, I could see the funny side too and joined in.

“Hold tight, Tony, we don’t want you falling off, the ants might get you.”

“Ha fucking ha.”

“Don’t laugh mate, you haven’t seen the ants we’ve got here. Now, they do bite.”

Once back at the house we had lunch and I spent the rest of the afternoon in my room catching up on sleep and writing a letter home, trying not to make it sound too depressing. My spirits improved when Trevor told me to get ready as we were going into town early tonight. Soon Crawford arrived with a fist full of envelopes and on calling our names, gave us one each. Although I didn’t really expect one, only being there the one day, I was glad – not to mention surprised – when I did, and on opening mine, found the sum of two pounds.

“Right then lads, are we ready? Let’s go.”

It was just like in the movies. The men, after a long cattle drive, were off into town to kick their heels a little, and we all rushed out the bunk house to get into our transport, an old opened back ‘Ute’. Two sat up front and the rest sat up back on our ten mile drive to town. The long dusty ride put a dry patch in our throats, so naturally our first stop on arrival was the bar, although in our case (owing to our ages) it would be the milk bar!

“Right boys, I’ll meet you all back at the Niagara at 10 o’clock sharp, so don’t be late any of you.”

As I looked around, the town was almost deserted apart from the cars parked outside all three pubs – Crawford making it one more as he parked outside the Royal, hoping to get inside before last orders. Back then, last orders was referred to as the 6 o’clock swill (the bar would be officially closed then, but after hours drinking was allowed if you were a bonafide traveller – which was of course what everybody claimed they were!).

“Cor, I could just go a beer myself, what do ya reckon Trev?” I said hopefully.

Frank laughed, “You’ll be bloody lucky. You can’t even shit in town without Crawford or Chambers finding out about it. If it wasn’t for the girls in the milk bar we’d never even get a packet of fags.”

Splitting up, Trevor and I made our way to the milk bar. The music could be heard clearly from the jukebox and as we entered we recognised the tune, it was the Beatles and ‘Ticket to Ride’. The Niagara was the only spot in town for the youngsters to go and was not unlike the cafes back home, but a lot more modern.

“Hi Trev, what’ll you have?” asked the girl behind the counter.

“Good day Helen, give us a couple of Cokes will ya.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“This ‘ere is Tony, new bloke, he’s just out from England.”

“Hi I’m Helen and this is Linda,” she said nodding to the other girl working in there. “How do you like it here so far?”

“Well, it’s different from where I come from.”

“I’ll bet.”

Helen finished serving us and we grabbed a table near the jukebox.

“So what do ya think Tony?”

Looking over, I could see both girls giving me the once over and the ‘new boy in town’ a look of approval.

“Helen’s 16 and Linda is 17. They finish at 7 o’clock so what do ya reckon, shall I ask them to join us?”

“Why not, but I don’t fancy your chances much.”

Saying no more, Trev went back to the counter and returned with a big smile all over his face.

“No worries, we’re in mate. They’re going to join us after work.”

Only my second day here and already I’d got myself a date. Things were looking up!

Although Linda and I were total strangers we seemed to hit it off straight away. She was about 5’5”, with long black hair and fairly dark skin (thanks to her Italian origins) and she had a nice body and personality to match. After a while it seemed we’d known each other ages as we sat around and drank Coke, listening to the latest records on the jukebox. Later that evening, we decided to go for a walk and so it was, romance blossomed for me once again.

That night I slept like a baby. George could have fallen on my face and I wouldn’t have noticed it. It was only the sound of Perdy barking that woke me from a deep sleep in time for breakfast. Sunday was a lazy day and for me, no matter where you lived, was always a bore, so like the rest I lazed around all day in the scorching sun. Crawford turned up early evening to dish out the chores for the next week.

“Right, now the following are on dairy next week, Trevor, Stan, Frank and Tony, so move your stuff out into the bunk house now and get yourselves an early night. I’ll sort the rest of you out in the morning.”

“Er, Trev, what does he mean by move your stuff out?”

“Just your work clothes and bedding. We sleep in the bunkhouse so we don’t disturb the others when we get up.”

We hit the sack early that night, but four in the morning came round far too quickly and we were woken by Jim’s voice. “Okay boys, hands off cocks and on with your socks, come on let’s have ya,” he yelled, turning on the light.

Quickly getting dressed along with the others, I followed close behind Trev as we left the bunk house. It was still pitch black and we only had the stars and a torch to light our way, which was a new experience for a boy brought up in the city. Our first job was to find the herd, and fortunately we came across them almost straight away.

“Make sure you leave none behind Tony,” Frank shouted, as we rounded them up.

“Ya, ya, get up there!” I only needed the horse to feel like Clint Eastwood in one of his spaghetti westerns.

They were slow to move at first, but once you got them going they would make their own way and all you had to do was open and shut the gates after them and walk close behind to avoid stragglers. Once in the dairy we were met by Chambers.

“Took your time you boys – where you been? Tea’s in the pot, hurry and get yourself a cup and let’s get down to work.”

“Is he always like that?” I asked.

“Na, only first thing, he comes round later – come on, let’s get a brew.”

“As you two have stuck together like a pair of lovers you might as well work together. You show Tony what to do Trevor and take the end four stalls.”

At close quarters the cows looked much bigger and at first I was a little apprehensive, but it was quite safe and once they were interested in their food a bar went down to keep them firmly locked in the stall.

“Now watch what I do Tony, then you can have a go. First you have to wash the cow then place one cup on each of her tits like this.” He attached the cup and soon the milk was being sucked out and pumped through the system.

“How long does it take Trev?”

“Oh about five minutes or so.”

Moving into the next pen it was my turn. I was still a bit unsure but accepted that I had to do it so, taking the cloth, I started to clean my first cow. “Eer, it feels fucking ‘orrible.”

“Just make believe it’s Linda and handle them with care,” Trev laughed back.

“I should be so lucky.”

“Right now, put on the teat holder.”

Feeling pleased with myself as I got the hang of it, I looked up to see Chambers standing there. “Good job it’s not a frigging race,” he said. “It’s a cow not your girlfriend, so pull your finger out.”

Trust him to spoil the moment.

“Take no notice, he’s only winding you up, should have seen me first time around,” said Trevor.

So here I was, milking cows. If anybody had told me back home that in a month’s time I’d be getting up at four in the morning and doing this I’d have bet money against it, but here I was up to my waist in cow shit and milk churns.

“What a team, nice going Tony, now’s the worst part mate, we’ve gotta strip down, wash and sterilise all the equipment then put it all back together.”

It seemed to take longer than the milking and we both got soaked in the process. We returned the herd to graze and washed up for breakfast. During the following week each day followed the same routine; up at four, eat, drink, work, and sleep, bed at nine. Saturday came round quickly, and once I had finished the afternoon milking I was washed and changed before anyone else. I knew how it felt this time round and was eager to get away from this place and get into town. It had only been a week since I’d wondered what all the excitement was about, but now I knew.

On our arrival in town, Trev and I headed straight for the Niagara. I’d only known Linda a few hours, but already seeing her was the highlight of the week. Trev and Helen went off to the cinema, but Linda said she wanted to go for a walk instead. We ended up at a small recreation ground by the train station and sat there talking. For me it was love, but then every girl or woman who ever showed me any affection I’d fallen in love with. The evening went too quickly for me and unfortunately it wasn’t long before I had to be back for my lift to the farm. That night I couldn’t get Linda out of my mind and thought of all sorts of ways to get into town before next Saturday, not knowing luck was going to be on my side.

Sunday was our last day in the dairy and on Monday Crawford presented us with our new work roster. I was working with Frank in the yard, mucking out, feeding the livestock, tending the chickens and generally helping out to get me used to the different jobs. During my next three days I learnt how to shovel shit of all kinds, horse, pigs and chickens. The horses would kick, the pigs would chase you but the chickens didn’t have a chance to give you any trouble thanks to a trick Frank showed me – taking their head and shoving it under their wing, you swing ‘em round two or three times and off they go to sleep.

Thursday I was put on the bailer, which was simple enough. You just had to feed in the bales of hay, and collect the feed in sacks at the other end, although one wrong move and you’d lose your hand. This was where my luck came in. No I didn’t lose my hand, instead I was bitten on it by a bull ant. At first it only irritated a bit, but later it swelled up like a balloon and I lost all feeling in my right hand. Ma was so concerned she called Crawford, who reluctantly agreed to take me to the doctor’s in town.

After a short ride to the doctor’s, a couple of injections and a box of pills, Crawford dropped me in town while he did a couple of errands. So that was how I got to see Linda in the week, and even though it was only for a short while, it made Saturday come that much quicker. By the weekend my hand was well again and I could return to work. My job was not pleasant, but one I had done before – cleaning out the pigs – and I was working with Trevor and Frank. The sty was way over the other side of the creek so we had to take the tractor.

Arriving at the sty, we got stuck into it (quite literally) to get it over and done with. Halfway through, Frank came up with what seemed a good idea.

“How about barbecuing a pig this afternoon? No ones going to miss it, only the mother.”

“You’re joking?” said Trev, but with a smile on his face.

“No I’m not, it’s easy,” Frank explained. “All we’ve got to do is distract the mother away from the piglet, get in, take one and we’ll cook it later.”

We all agreed. Frank distracted the boar while I got the sow away from her babies. Like a shot, Trev rushed in and grabbed one of them and that’s when all hell let loose. The mother went crazy and the boar chased Trev who let loose his catch and had to make a run for it. Trying to jump over the fence he slipped, catching himself on the barbed wire and cutting himself badly in a very uncomfortable place.

“Oh shit, I’m bleeding, I’ve cut my fucking bollocks open,” he yelled.

We thought he was joking at first and we fell about laughing until we realised the seriousness, and quickly got him back to the house.

“Where is he hurt?” asked Ma.

“Er, well it’s a bit delicate,” Frank said.

“Bring him in here and let’s have a look.”

“You’re joking, she’s not looking at my nuts.”

Frank and I fell about laughing.

“Carry him into the kitchen boys, put him on the table and take off his trousers.”

We did as she asked.

“Now let’s have a look,” she said.

The smile left Trevor’s face.

“Don’t worry mate, just make out it’s Helen doing the examination.”

“Ha, ha, very funny smart arse.” He tried to get up off the table saying, “I’ll be right Ma, it’s only a scratch.”

It wasn’t though and he was hastily driven off to hospital by Crawford, where he was kept for a couple of days. When Crawford returned he wasn’t happy and called Frank and I in for a chat. We made our way to Hopper Hall, where we found Chambers and Crawford like judge and jury, waiting to hear our plea. Chambers took the floor putting me on the stand first.

“Right, what happened?”

“Nothing really, there we were minding our own business and that pig just went berserk.”

“So what did you do to upset him?”

“Nothing, like I said, we were just cleaning them out.”

Then it was Frank’s turn to take the stand.

“And what’s your explanation Frank?”

“Well, it was like Tony said, the boar just went for us. I couldn’t understand it, never happened before.”

“Well neither can I,” Chambers piped up, “I’ve just come back from the sty and they are alright with me which only makes me think that the three of you were playing around upsetting the stock.”

Crawford nodded. “This is a farm put here to teach you boys a trade, not a bloody playground, and now someone’s been hurt through what I believe to be stupidity.”

We’d been tried and found guilty without witnesses. Crawford then passed sentence.

“Like Mr Chambers, I agree that there’s more to this than meets the eye and I think you both know what I’m talking about, so you two are grounded until next Saturday.”

“Okay Frank?”

“Yes, Mr Crawford.”

“Tony?”

“What’s grounded mean?”

“It means no town tonight.”

I could feel my face getting redder. “That’s what you bloody think,” I exploded. “I’ll get there if I have to fucking walk myself.” I stormed out leaving them all with a look of disbelief, and made straight for my room where I waited for one of them to run after me and give me a clout, but it didn’t happen. Now I knew their limitations. Sitting in the dark, I thought of all that had happened over the last three weeks. ‘Do this, do that…’ Everything had been decided for me from the moment I’d set foot on that train from Brighton and I’d had enough of it. Packing my bags, I sneaked out and started to walk into town.

CHAPTER 7

I’d been walking for two hours or more, my case getting heavier and heavier as the heat of the sun beat down on the back of my neck. Looking over my shoulder I could see a car coming towards me travelling at a good speed, kicking up a trail of dust behind it. Hoping for a lift, I stood in the road waving my arms but my heart sank when I saw it was Crawford’s pick-up.

Pulling over, he had an angry look in his eyes. “Where do you think you’re going?” he said.

“Don’t know yet, haven’t quite decided.”

“Well you can’t just leave without saying a word. I’m responsible for you, you know. What’s your problem?”

“No problem, I’m just fed up of being treated like a bloody kid. Besides, it’s not my idea of living being stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. I’m no farmer and never will be. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known it was going to be like this.”

“Now come on Tony, let’s just go back to the farm and talk this over like two adults.”

“There’s nothing more to say.” My mind was made up.

“Look, I’ve got an idea, jump in the car.”

“I’m not going back to the farm,” I told him. “I’ll be off again as soon as your back’s turned and I mean it.”

“Just get in. We’re not going to sort anything out standing here in the blazing sun.”

Throwing my bags in the back I got in and nothing more was said. Crawford drove straight into town and pulled up by the Rialto boarding house, also known locally as McPhees. “You wait here, I’ll be back in a minute,” he told me. He returned a few minutes later, with a grin on his face. “Here you go Tony, I’ve booked you in to stay here for the time being and on Monday we’ll think about getting you a job in town. Does that suit you any better?”

At least it was something like the land of the living, meaning I would no longer be completely isolated, so I agreed and followed Crawford inside where he introduced me to Mona McPhee, the landlady. She was a broad Scots woman, the real motherly type – short and dumpy with a heart of gold. Once Crawford had gone she showed me to my room, which was small but clean. It had a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, two single beds and the best thing about it was that I could come and go as I pleased. No more rules and regulations, and a first in as much as it was a room I didn’t have to share. This was more like it.

After unpacking I went over to the Niagara, where Lin was naturally surprised to see me so early. I told her the whole story, and then had to tell it all over again for Helen when she heard that Trev had been taken to hospital. I wandered back to Mona’s, where tea was ready.

“A couple of the other lodgers are watching TV. Be a luv and tell them tea’s ready for those who want it.”

I could hear the TV and followed the sound into a large room full of armchairs. Over in the far corner stood the TV and, as it was a Saturday afternoon, sport was on. At first it felt a bit strange being around no one of my own age as to them I was just a kid. I didn’t know a thing about sport or racing results so the teatime conversation didn’t include me.

That evening the girls and I went to visit Trev, who was a little embarrassed to say the least at the whole situation, thinking it was his fault that I had left the farm, although I put him straight on that one. Afterwards we returned to the milk bar and I met up with the rest of the boys from the farm who by now had wondered what had happened to me and couldn’t wait to catch up on what had happened. It seemed funny when Crawford arrived at ten sharp that evening and they all left, leaving me still sitting there. The day ended with me walking Linda home and, after saying goodnight, I returned to McPhees. The room was dark and lonely and I slept with the bedside light on to comfort me. Sunday was a little different as at least there was somewhere to go even if it was only the milk bar, but Lin wasn’t around so I only had myself for company which made for another long day.

By the time I’d got up on Monday, all the lodgers had gone out to work leaving only a couple of travelling reps behind for breakfast. Mona was in the kitchen and told me that Crawford was on his way with some good news.

“Settling in alright Tony?” he asked when he arrived.

“Yeah fine, thanks.”

“That’s good. All you need now is a job and I think I’ve found one for you. It’s for a mate of mine – so don’t let me down – working as a plumber’s mate. His name’s Ray Walters, and if he hadn’t been in the pub all weekend you’d have seen him here, because this is where he lodges. We’ll take a run out and see him, so better change into your working clothes.”

Ray was everybody’s impression of a true Aussie. He was short, stocky, in his early forties – and by the look of his stomach he liked a lot of the amber nectar. Underneath his hat his round weathered face was still a little red from one too many, and standing there in his large baggy shorts, T-shirt and beetle crushers, he looked a picture.

“Andy tells me you’re staying at Mac’s. Good one, at least you won’t be late for work. The pay’s nine pounds a week and I don’t stand for no slacking. Treat me right and we’ll get on.”

Once Crawford had left us, I followed Ray into his tin shack. “Can ya make tea?” he asked.

“Yeah course I can,” I said confidently.

“We’ll see. Mine’s with milk and three sugars. Go for it.”

Ray was a man of few words, and at first I found it a bit hard to understand him, although soon I was picking up his slang myself. He wasn’t a bad bloke to work for and for the first few days he just eased me into it. We drove all over the place doing all sorts of jobs – from new taps and stand pipes to putting up a rain water tank. At the end of each day I’d go home, shower, and have tea, and wouldn’t see Ray until morning as he’d be in the pub. At last Friday came round and I was looking forward to my first real payday, but I was going to have to earn it as Ray set me to work digging a six foot by six foot hole in the ground for a septic tank.

“There ya go lad, call me when you’ve finished,” said Ray and he walked away laughing.

Well, at least I’d had some experience. My brothers and I had dug enough holes in the garden back home and this one wasn’t going to beat me, so taking up the pick I started swinging it hard into the ground but it barely made a mark as after nine months of no rain it was like trying to break up concrete. I knew right then that I was in for a hard day. After a couple of hours the hole was still only a couple of feet, and I was down to my shorts and boots, the sweat falling off me like rain. By the time I stopped for some smoko my back was stiff from bending and the blisters on my hands were split and getting worse with every shovel full, but I was determined to finish. It took me nearly all day but I felt a certain sort of achievement on completing it and staggered off to tell Ray who spent the next half hour or so straightening up the sides.

“Now it’s finished, think we’ll call it a day,” he said, patting me hard on the back, “Load up will ya, I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough.”

Covered from head to foot in dust I looked and felt like I’d just been hit by a truck. After loading, I washed my hands carefully as they weren’t used to hard work and today they’d had more than their share. Driving straight into town, Ray parked outside the pub.

“If you can do a man size job, you deserve a man size drink,” he told me, and I had trouble believing what I was hearing. Still, not to argue, I just followed him inside.

“Good day Ray, what’ll you have?” asked the bartender.

“Two schooners Dick, one with a top on. Don’t drown it as the boy deserves it. He’s worked hard today.”

“No worries, two schooners coming up.”

“Good health,” said Ray as we picked up our glasses, neither one of those schooners touching the sides.

“Same again,” said Ray before handing me my wages. “Here ya go kid, here’s an extra quid for a good day’s graft. Get that down ya and don’t tell Mona or you’ll get me in the shit.”

“No worries and thanks for the beer.”

The next morning, Ray and I were up and away early so as to get as much done as we could while it was cool. We arrived home at about eleven and Ray dropped me off and headed straight for the pub to get the dust from his throat. I was happy to settle for a Coke across the road and was on my way for a wash and a change, when I saw Mona.

“Hello Tony, there’s two guys in town looking for you. One of them said he was your brother. They’ve gone for a drink but are going to come back later.”

I hit her with a load of questions she didn’t know the answers to; Where was he staying? How did he get here? Who was he with? We weren’t close, but we were brothers nevertheless, and I was excited he was here.

“You go get showered and changed and by that time they’ll be back,” she advised me.

I did as she suggested then sat out on the veranda watching all the cars go past until finally I could see a bright red souped-up F.J. Holden that came to a standstill outside McPhees, and there was Pat sitting in the passenger seat and smiling. “Good day kid, how ya going?” His accent was terrible and a complete put on, but I didn’t care. He was here.

“Hi ya Pat, where ya been? I’ve been waiting ages.”

He got out of the car followed by the driver, “This is a friend of mine, Rick Manson.”

“Hello mate, nice to meet ya.”

“Good day.”

“So what do ya think of the wheels Tony?” asked Pat.

“Great, must have cost a few bob.”
“All Rick’s own handy work,” said Pat proudly. “You should’ve seen her on the way up, she nearly flies. Left Sydney at seven and we were up here by ten.”

Pat had found himself a new hero by way of Rick. He was about the same age as Pat, well built with blonde hair and looking like a surfer.

“Well come on then let’s go and grab a coffee. Tony, you know the layout, so where’s the best place?”

“The Niagara, across the road there, it’s the only place.”

“Real one horse town this brother, so what do ya do for entertainment?”

“Not much to do, just make the most of it.”

“Wouldn’t suit us would it Pat, that’s for sure,” said Rick as we entered the Niagara. They took a seat while I went up and bought some coffees and told Linda my brother was in town. She looked over and seemed more than a little interested in Rick.

“Well Pat, tell me all the news,” I said, putting coffees on the table.

“First of all, tell me what happened out at the farm. Miss Stevenson got in touch and asked me to come up and sort you out.”

“Nothing to tell, just didn’t like it. There was too much ‘do this, do that’. Anyway, it’s all worked out for the best. I’ve got nice digs and a good job now. Have you heard from home yet?”

“Well I’ve got a bit of bad news,” said Pat. “They’re not coming.”

“What do ya mean, not coming?” Pat’s news hit me hard.

“That’s what it says in here.” He handed me the letter from mum along with another one from my old girlfriend Bev.

“They made that decision quick,” I said, still in shock.

“Well you read it for yourself.”

“What about us? They can’t just leave us here and forget we ever existed, can they?”

“Well it looks that way. Don’t worry, we’ll make out somehow.”

This scenario was one I’d not given much thought to and it was hard to swallow.

“There is a bit of good news though,” said Pat. ”Your Royal Navy test papers have come through. Your exam’s on Monday week. Apparently you’ll be travelling down on the Saturday and staying at Ryde and coming back up here on the Tuesday after.”

That’s what they think, I thought to myself, deciding that this was a good opportunity for me. Once in Sydney there was no way I was going to come back here, but I would keep it quiet so as not to let on my intentions.

“How about I come and stay with you Pat?” I asked, testing the water.

“Well, it’s a little difficult, I live with Rick and his family. Besides, I think Barnardo’s will want to keep their eye on you. They’re not sure what you’re going to do next.”

Linda arrived at the table breaking up the conversation.

“Oh hello Lin, this is my brother Pat and this is Rick.”

“How long are you up here for?” she asked.

“Just for tonight, we’ll be heading back early in the morning.”

“Nice car.”

“I’ll take you for a spin in her later, if you like,” said Rick. “We’ll take a ride down to the coast.”

You’d think I didn’t exist as Lin sprawled all over him like a rash. For me this was just another sign that it was time to get the hell out of Scone. Arranging to meet up later, I returned to McPhee’s, and read my letters in my room. As Pat said, mum and dad weren’t coming, and the letter from Bev only made things worse. As well as filling me in on the news about all our friends, she wrote about how much she missed me and how she would always wait for me, no matter how long. There was a photograph too, and looking at it I was reminded that despite the fires of romance I’d kindled since leaving Brighton, she held a special place in my heart.

Later, Pat returned alone and we had a good chat over a coffee. I got the impression that he was settled and he talked of Sydney like there was no other place on earth. Being older, it must have made all the difference, going to discos and pubs. However it also made me think of my own situation again. Most boys my age were still at school and spent their nights doing homework – it was hard being fifteen years old in a man’s world and even worse in a strange one.

When we caught up with Rick in the milk bar, it was clear he’d muscled onto my territory and was sweet talking Lin. She agreed to come with us on our ride down the coast and before long we had set off. I sat up front and Lin in the back with Pat.

“Okay then,” said Rick, pulling away, “Newcastle here we come.”

“How far is it?” I asked.

“A couple of hours. You don’t have to worry about getting back do ya mate?”

“No I was just thinking about Lin.”

“It’s okay Tony. I rang me Mum and told her I was staying at Helen’s tonight so there’s no problem.”

“Right then, let’s go and have some fun,” said Rick, putting his foot down on the accelerator. Pat was right about one thing, this car certainly shifted and we were soon out of Scone and racing through open country. After about half an hour, Rick asked Lin if she’d like to sit in the front with him, and I noticed she gave him a big smile as we changed places. Rick, wanting to show off the full potential of the car, put his foot down to the floor, which was fine until we hit a bridge crossing the Hunter River, just outside a town called Singleton. Not knowing the road, Rick took a turn too hard and the car collided with another one coming the other way.

The screaming of brakes was followed by a crash and the sound of more screaming, this time from the other car. Rick and I were unhurt but Pat had wrenched his ankle under the front seat and Linda had smashed her head on the windscreen, causing the blood to pour from a big gash down the side of her forehead. I took off my shirt and tore it up so Linda could hold it tight against her wounds, then went to see if there was anything I could do to help the people in the other car. The occupants were a mother and her four children but fortunately there were no serious injuries as far as I could see. The town was only up the road and already a passing motorist had gone for help which was racing towards us within minutes in the form of two ambulances and, of course, the police.

Linda and Pat were taken off in the ambulance, while Rick and I stayed behind to answer the police questions. Rick’s FJ Holden was built like a tank and had suffered little damage, although the other car wasn’t so lucky. To begin with the police thought we’d been drinking so came down a little hard on us. However, after hearing how all the pieces fitted together (Rick being my brother’s mate and me being only fifteen, from England and living in digs) the police decided to take us downtown so they could make some enquiries. Once in the station they started to check out my story, first by ringing McPhee’s then Crawford out at the farm.

“Looks like you’re telling the truth,’ said the policeman coming off the phone. “Seems a strange set up for a lad of your age though.”

I just laughed “How do you think I feel? Can you tell me how Lin and my brother are?”

“They’re keeping her in for observation, but your brother’s okay. He’s waiting to be picked up.”

“What about the others?”

“Just cuts and bruises but you were all bloody lucky. You could have been killed.”

By now it was way past eleven and with Rick’s papers all checked out, it was only a matter of getting back to Scone, as Rick was keen to pick up Pat and get back to Sydney. I headed for the door behind him.

“Err, not you Tony,” said the policeman, “there’s someone coming to pick you up. A Mr Crawford.”

“Oh great, he’s going to love me.”

I was right too. Crawford turned up at midnight, not looking very happy and after a short chat with the police he drove me back to Scone and I don’t think he said two words the whole way. What a day – first my brother arrives out of the blue, then a letter from home tells me the family aren’t coming out, and finally I nearly get killed in a car crash.

We arrived at McPhee’s and like a naughty boy I was sent straight to my room. Mona and some of the others were still up and I could hear Crawford talking to them and got the impression they thought it was all my fault. Poor Lin ended up in the worst shape of all, first by lying to her parents and then by ending up in hospital, 50 miles away. I suppose it was my fault that she came with us and I knew that would make me really popular in town.

After a good nights sleep I woke up on Sunday morning, and when I came into the kitchen to get some coffee they were all staring at me through a deadly silence. Making my coffee I went back to my room – a case of out of sight, out of mind (not that I’d done anything to deserve the cold shoulder).

The rest of the morning I spent writing home to Bev and re-reading the letter from Mum. I thought about replying to it, but what was the use? My future was clear and the past, well, that really was history now. The rest of the day was long and lonely and I felt as if the walls of my room were closing in on me. On Monday it was back to work. Ray had been quiet at breakfast, but once out on the road broke his silence.

“That was a stupid thing you did Saturday. Going off like that, you were lucky you weren’t all killed.”

“It was an accident, Ray. It could have happened to anyone.”

He then spent the next hour talking about responsibility. That was some joke – he hadn’t been dumped half way round the world in the middle of nowhere, let alone been blamed for something he hadn’t done! Over the next few days I made myself a recluse, only leaving my room for work and meals. Occasionally I’d slip over to get any news of Lin and Helen told me she was home but not back at work yet. On Thursday my salvation came in the form of Crawford who had details of my trip to Sydney, where I was going to stay with Nat Smith again until I’d sat my navy exam.

“Make sure you pay your board before you leave then you won’t be tempted to overspend,” Crawford told me. “And give yourself plenty of time. There’s only one train a day to Sydney, so don’t miss it.”

That I could guarantee – I’d sleep on the station if necessary. I definitely wasn’t coming back here either – I’d decided that for sure over the past few days. I promised myself that I would no longer be the card in the pack to be dished out to whoever would take me. I was on my own, they’d made that clear enough, so from now on I was going to do things my own way. Crawford shook my hand, wishing me every luck in the exams.

“See you next week then Tony, Good luck.”

I played the game to the very end, hiding my intentions. “Yeah, no worries. Thanks Andy, thanks a lot.”

I didn’t know what the future would hold, but I did know that I would need money, so I resolved to skip town without paying my board. I worked out my Friday with Ray and picked up my wages. The difficult part would be avoiding Mona because she took her board on Friday nights (when she knew her lodgers had wages in their pockets). I complained of a dickie stomach, so she wouldn’t come looking for me if I didn’t turn up for dinner, and headed over to the milk bar. Once inside I had a nice surprise as Linda was back and working behind the counter.

“Hello Lin, how are you? How long did they keep you in?”

“Came home Sunday, but had to rest for a few days. How are you?”

“I’m fine, off to Sydney tomorrow to do my Naval exams.”

“You are coming back aren’t you?”

“Yeah sure, on Tuesday afternoon.”

“Oh good, I’d miss you! I’m sorry about last Saturday.”

“Sorry for what? Wasn’t your fault.”

“You know, for flirting with Rick. Should have let Pat sit in the front and stayed in the back with you.”

“Oh well, it’s over now and as long as you’re alright that’s the main thing. Anyway, give us a coke and two hamburgers, I’m starving.”

That evening we went to the cinema and then back to the Niagara for coffee. Lin said her Dad thought I was a bad influence and had told her to keep well away from me, although Lin had other plans. I must admit being with Lin did make me question my plans to leave Scone, but my better judgement told me it was for the best. Besides, what would happen when another Hooray Henry arrived in town with a nice car? All the same, after walking her home I did the romantic scene bit, loves young dream and all that…Casanova would have been proud of me.

Once I got back to McPhees, I set my alarm for six and finished packing my bags, then I just lay on top of my bed day dreaming. Where had the last month gone? My life was like a roller coaster, one minute up, the next down. So far I’d had three moves and now I was off again. Perhaps I’d get digs with Pat just until my call up for the Navy, or get in touch with the guy on the plane and ask him for a job. One thing I did know though, was that this time, it was going to be me who made the decisions.

I arrived at the station by 6.30 and still had an hour to kill before my train arrived. I went into the ticket office.

“Here mate, you know the McPhee’s Boarding House?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve come away with my room key, any chance of getting it back to them?”

“Yeah, no worries mate,” said the guy behind the counter.

I boarded the train and as I left Scone behind I took in the view of the open country, scorched from the sun but still with a certain beauty to it. The old rattlers (as the trains were called) had sliding doors that were left open to let the breeze in and it wasn’t long before I dozed off, now and then waking at a station stop along the way until we finally pulled into Sydney Central station.

CHAPTER 8

Waiting at the barrier stood Nat and Hilda Smith.

“Hello Tony, welcome back to Sydney. How’s it been mate?” said Nat, putting out his hand in friendship before helping me with my bags. As we walked out of the station the excitement of the city hit me. The people, the noise, the high buildings and heavy traffic – compared with Scone, this was heaven!

“Well come on Tony, tell us all about Scone,” said Nat as we drove back to West Ryde. “We heard you didn’t see eye to eye with farm life.”

“It’s not quite my idea of paradise.”

“You just wait my boy, a couple of days down here and you’ll be glad to see the back of the city,” said Nat, with a touch of sarcasm.

“Well I’m not going back.”

“What was that? You’re not going back.”

“That’s right, I’m staying down here.”

“Don’t be silly Tony. What about your job and board? I heard you made a lot of new friends.”

“I’ve quit, done a runner, shot through… Call it what you like, but I’m not going back up there.”

“Does Mr Crawford know about this?”

“No, not yet, you’re the first. I’m going to stay and work down here until it’s time for my call up, but I’m definitely not going back up to Scone.”

Nat looked concerned, but Hilda’s soft voice interrupted. “Well, there’s not much we can say or do until Monday Nat, so we may as well forget it and have a nice weekend.”

“Yeah, you’re right luv.”

“How say you Tony? Sound like a good idea to you?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Our journey was quicker than I remembered and we were soon at Rickard House, Ryde, where Judy was waiting with a smile and some of her chocolate cake. As we ate, Nat headed off in the direction of his office, probably to ring around to find out what the hell was going on. He returned a short while after, with a smile on his face.

“You’ve got them running round in circles looking for you young man. Mrs McPhee found your room empty so called Crawford. You’ve certainly put the snake amongst the chickens. But why all the secrecy?”

“Well, I thought if I told anyone my plans they’d stop me coming.”

“It’s not funny Nat, but you’ve got to laugh,” said Hilda giving me a smile. “You’d better ring Miss Stevenson and let her know he’s here.”

For the rest of the weekend I settled back into their family routine, enjoying the rest after my days of hard labour in the outback. On Monday Nat drove me to the Navy recruitment office for my exams. Inside the Royal Australian Navy Recruitment building I was directed up to the second floor, then shown into a small room that smelt distinctly clinical. A few pictures of ships were scattered about the white walls, just to let you know where you were, with desks strategically placed on the highly polished floor. The rest of the candidates were just sat there in total silence, like puppets waiting to be worked by hand, and it felt like being back at school waiting for the form master. Eventually, the recruiting officer entered and, while the other recruits stood to attention, I stayed sat behind my desk not knowing what the hell was going on.

“Good morning Gentlemen, you may sit. My name is Captain Hope. In front of you there is a folder and inside are three test papers, each one lasting twenty minutes. When I give the word, you will open them and commence with the first. If you finish one before the given time, you may carry on with the next. Any questions gentlemen?”

Looking around, I noticed everybody but me had come prepared, and I felt like crawling under the table as my hand was the only one to go up.

“Yes, Mr?…”

“Bates, Sir. Have you got a pen I can borrow?”

“Yes Mr Bates. I believe you were told to come prepared,” he said disapprovingly. “Anyone else not come prepared?”

Looking a complete fool in front of everyone I took the pen he gave me, noticing a few of the others sniggering as I returned to my seat. The first paper was maths. Well, when it came to anything to do with money I was great but instead I was confronted by fractions, logs, algebra, square roots, oh and a couple of adding and long division. Well I might just as well have played noughts and crosses for 20 minutes as I didn’t have a clue. Not losing heart, I turned on to the next page. That was just as bad – ‘problems’. As if I didn’t have enough already, I thought, as I tried to make sense of ‘Fred had 100 donkeys, Pat 10, Terry had 60’ and so on. By the time I’d finished I had so many donkeys I could have started up a farm of my own.

“Time’s up gentlemen, turn to the next page please.”

The next paper was English – verbs and nouns, spelling. Well, for me there was no point in carrying on. I could just about read and write let alone spell! The sweat just started pouring off me, more from embarrassment than anything else, and I just wanted to crawl out of there without being seen. The last test was an essay on why you wanted to join the Navy and of your ambitions — at last something I could write about — and I scribbled down a couple of pages in totally unreadable writing.

After refreshments we had interviews and one by one our names were called out. I walked into a room where three officers sat behind a long table and was in there for as long as it took for them to let me down gently with the news that my exam marks weren’t good enough (although they told me I could try again at the age of seventeen). I left the building with one of my dreams shattered and walked around for a couple of hours feeling depressed and homesick. I just wanted to shut my eyes and wake up in my bed back at No. 36, as if this was all just a terrible nightmare. I made my way back to the Barnardo’s office on Jamieson Street feeling like the Christian going into the lion’s den.

“Hello darling, Miss Stevenson about? The name’s Tony Bates.”

The girl on switchboard was not much older than me and quite a looker. She gave me a smile and rang through. “Miss Stevenson will be with you in a minute, if you’d like to take a seat.”

“No thanks darling, I’ll stand.” I walked around the office reading the different notices on the walls until she came out of her office.

“Hello Tony, how did you get on?”

“Yeah, great, they said they’d be in touch,” I lied.

“Come on through to my office. Were the test papers hard?”

“Not bad.”

“Well it all sounds very promising. Now what’s this Nat tells me about you not going back to Scone?”

“Just that really, I want to stay in Sydney and get a job. I don’t like the country.”

“You are naughty. First you leave the farm and now Scone. What am I going to do with you?”

“Send me back to England, Miss.”

“Don’t be silly Tony, you’ve only just got here. Now let’s be serious.”

I was serious, but my opinion didn’t count.

“Now why don’t you go back to Scone just until you join the Navy? Mr Walters said your job’s still there if you want it.”

Wasn’t anybody listening to what I was saying? I tried again.

“No Miss, I’m not going back. I’ll get a job down here, I’ll be okay, you’ll see.”

“Now you’re being difficult,” she scolded me. “It’s not as easy as that. Good jobs are hard to come by, especially at your age. What about accommodation? You can’t stay at any of the homes, there’s no room for you.”

If that was the case, I thought to myself, why bring me all the way out here in the first place?

“Look Tony, you go and have some lunch and come back in an hour and I’ll see what I can sort out.”

When I returned, she took me into her office and said, “I’ve arranged for you to stay at Ryde for the time being, until you find work and suitable accommodation. In the meantime, you report here early each morning then we can go through the papers together looking for jobs.”

So that’s exactly what I did. I’d take the train to the city each day and apply for jobs from the office. I would also go to the Merchant Marine Office daily and show my face in the hope they would give me a ship, if only to get rid of me. After a week of trudging all over Sydney, I finally got a job on the North Shore as a labourer at a plastic company on £10 a week, which was good money for a boy my age. Miss Stevenson was over the moon, and pulled out all the stops to find me some accommodation in a boarding house in the district, which I moved into immediately. By now, most of my savings had gone so I had a quiet weekend as I waited to start my new job. I don’t know which was worse, living in the country or the city without any money. The digs were clean and comfortable but the other tenants were much older so I was to spend most of my time on my own.

On my first day on the job, my training as a guillotine operator took exactly five minutes after which I repeated the same task over and over in the coming hours and days, just waiting for the lunch and dinner bells to break the boredom. After work I would go back to the digs, shower, eat dinner, then either stay in my room, write letters or take the short walk down to the river bank. There I’d sit and look across the harbour at the city and all its lights, wondering what everyone else was doing. I wasn’t happy with my job and it was lonely living at digs, and after catching up with Pat (who was a bit homesick at the time) I decided to quit both and stay with my brother while I looked for a new place to live. Unfortunately that arrangement didn’t last any longer than one night.

Pat’s digs were so pitiful he was almost ashamed to let me in. His one room had two single beds and a wardrobe, and you had to be careful how you shut the door as the window frame actually moved when you did so. He shared his kitchen, not only with tenants but also with many free-roaming cockroaches, some being the largest I’d ever seen. Anyway, that night we decided we’d cook our home speciality, onions, tomatoes and sausages, mopped up with a loaf of bread just like Mum used to do, and wash it down with more than a couple of beers. Both slightly drunk, the door got slammed once too often, causing the loose window frame to crash to the ground below. We thought it hilariously funny at the time (and that night you could say we slept ‘in the open’) but it wasn’t long before the funny side and the beer had worn off and we started to worry about the consequences with the landlord.

The following morning we were both up and out early, Pat deciding to do a moonlight from his place. We started looking for new digs together and ended up in Marickville, at a boarding house at 10 Sebastipole Street. It was a large old bungalow surrounded by high walls that was tucked away in a side street and owned by an English couple, Tony and Avril Jose. Tony was in his early thirties and had obviously done well for himself since coming to Australia. Avril was in her mid twenties and one hell of an attractive woman, with her long black hair and a figure that was second to none, making it almost impossible to miss her as she brushed past you in the corridor. The accommodation area was made up of cabins that surrounded the house like a miniature town, with more bedrooms and communal areas inside. It was clean and tidy and most of all it was friendly. Settling in we soon made friends with a couple of characters called Wilf and Jerry. Aged about thirty, Wilf was English with a strong northern accent and a shabby beard, who dressed like an old biker who’d been left behind in time. He spent his spare time washing and polishing his Triumph 650. Jerry, on the other hand, had an appropriate name. He was German, also in his early 30s, stocky with short, cropped hair, concealing his round and rather red face.

Within a day, I’d got an interview with Express Plan Printers, a small firm run by a Polish couple, who after a short interview offered me the job. It consisted of learning the copying machine and delivering blueprints all over the city. My wage was £9 a week and I settled in nicely to both my new home and employment. At first everything was great. My job took me all over the city and Mr and Mrs Dobrinski treated me like the son they didn’t have. Each day she would bring me all sorts of dishes so I’d put on more weight. At weekends Wilf would take me out and about on his bike to the beach, up the coast or to Wentwort Falls in the Blue mountains. Unfortunately though he soon got tired of entertaining me and we never went out much after that.

By now Pat had his own friends so I only saw him at meal times. He also earned twice as much as me so could afford to go out more. My wages never went anywhere and after paying my board of £5, I only had £2.10 left for fares, lunches, clothes, and washing facilities, never mind enjoying myself. So, apart form the occasional bus ride to the Cross to spend an evening walking around the fleshpots of Sydney, that was as far as my budget went. Finally I decided to look for something with more money. Although I was sad to leave the printer’s (as now I was like one of the family) my mind was made up. I left there on Friday 13th August and that’s the first and last time I ever saw an employer sad to see me go.

I started my next job on the Monday, this time in a baker’s and on nights, at £12 a week. Unfortunately, it was like jumping out of the frying pan into the fire, as I got fed up with being stuck at home during the daytime. By now my homesickness was like a terminal disease. I wrote home, but received no replies and when I approached Miss Stevenson her reply was always the same, “Pull yourself together, you don’t know how lucky you are.” I was just another homesick kid who’d soon get over it as far as she was concerned.

During my spare time, I’d go round the travel agents trying to find the cheapest way home, but the £150 they wanted was like reaching for the moon. At one stage I even wrote home for help not knowing that helping me was the furthermost thing from their minds. Only the letters from Bev gave me some hope. Some nights I’d go down to the docks to watch the ships come and go, thinking some day I’d be out there, but when? How long? By now my only aim was living for the day I was homeward bound and I lost all interest in life around me. Pat, by now, was sick of my whingeing and we started to row. Come to that everybody was getting tired of my moping around except Avril. Although she never said it, I could see her concern for me in her eyes and it was her suggestion that it would be better for all if I moved into the house to share with someone more my own age.

My new room mate was John Burns. He was from Alice Springs and had come to Sydney to escape the bad memories of his parents’ deaths in a car crash. There were no brothers or sisters so he was on his own, like me in many ways. He was eighteen (but didn’t look his age), a bit taller than me and slim with dark hair. We hit it off from the start, having one major thing in common. He too, wanted out of Australia. I was having more of a laugh now that I was hanging around with John, even going out on the town now and again. Although I didn’t look eighteen, it was easy to get served at bars in the Cross. It was another world. Strip clubs, gay bars, amusement arcades. This time I had money in my pocket so I made the most of it. It was during this time that I got my first glimpse of a real star. Mickey Rooney was in town, staying at the Cheverton Hotel, and on entering the bar beneath the hotel I saw him large as life, drinking with the every day punters. That was a good night and for once I didn’t have a care in the world. Mind you the next morning was a different story and I swore I’d never drink again.

John worked at the Shelley drinks factory and suggested I go for a job there and I more or less got a start straight away. I was put on the bottling plant loading the empties to be washed and, what with the sound of rattling glass, you couldn’t hear yourself talk, although after a couple of days John and I were put together which made things more interesting.

Not long after, my sixteenth birthday came round. That was one of the few birthdays that made their mark as along with cards from family there was one from all the guys and there were presents too, little ones, a tie and shirt. It was quite an emotional event as Avril turned down the lights revealing a cake, complete with candles, and twenty rowdy lodgers all sang ‘Happy Birthday.’ A sweeter sound I’d never heard and I fought back the tears as my eyes became all glassy. I was sixteen, a man, and I’d been taught men just don’t cry – not in public anyway.

There was also a large card from Bev with “Across the miles, I send my love,” written inside, and two records by the Dave Clark Five – ‘As I Write My Letter’ and ‘Trains and Boats and Planes’. As I didn’t have a record player, Wilf kindly lent me his. That night after a good party I went back to my room to play my records. If you’ve ever heard those records you’ll know just how I felt. They said it all, leaving a lump in my throat as large as a tennis ball. On my list of memorable days this one would be high up on the chart.

John and I got the sack from Shelley’s, only to find new jobs as drivers’ assistants, delivering dairy products to hotels and hostels. I thought I was doing all right – paying my own way and sorting myself out – but after my second day on the new job I arrived home to be handed a letter from Barnardo’s Head Office, Sydney and it read as follows:

Dear Tony,

Your work history is getting more and more ridiculous. It’s no good you saying you are working at places unless it is true.

You ought to settle down and start learning a trade. You will have all the kids who are leaving school to compete with soon.

You do not want to be out of work over Christmas or not get paid for the holiday. You will have to be on the payroll and at regular work for a couple of months if you want paid holidays over Christmas. It’s a dreary time when you have got no money.

Get stuck into a job or else we shall have to get the Child Welfare to prosecute you.

Yours sincerely,

N.S.W CHILDRENS OFFICER

What did it mean? Were they going to take me to court? Perhaps I’d even get put away. Could they prosecute me just for being out of work? The letter was frightening – Long Bay jail was one of the stops on our delivery rounds, and the thought of ending up in a place like that absolutely terrified me.

I showed the letter to John. “Well what do you think?” I asked him.

“Looks like they’ve got it in for you mate. Might be time you moved on.”

“Moved on where?” I asked.

“Melbourne or even Perth. Tell you what, maybe I’ll come with you. We’ll stick this job out for a month or so just to get some money together and then just shoot through without telling anyone.”

The more we talked it through the more appealing John’s idea sounded. After all the homesickness and unhappiness of the past five months it was one of the best plans I’d heard. The rest of that week John and I stayed in our room each night making plans about where we’d go and what we’d do when we got there. Anywhere would be better than here. We’d acquired an old electric radio with no casing, but once wired up it worked a treat and we’d listen to that in the evenings, playing cards, anything really to keep us occupied during our spare time so as to save money for our escape from Sydney. Sounds dramatic, I know, but we intended to go ahead with our plan. Pat, by now, was getting a little suspicious, but I couldn’t tell him as he’d only contact the office, making things worse for me.

It was October 1st – payday – and John and I were in our room, breaking into a couple of beers and anticipating another night in. Glancing through the paper, from habit I turned to the shipping page just to see what was coming in and going out and from where.

“Ere, have a look at this John,” I said, not believing my eyes.

“What’s that, mate?”

“The shipping. Look, the S.S. Afric, Permont 7. She’s from England.”

“Yeah. How do you know?”

“It’s a Shaw Saville boat, been on it with my old man a couple of years back. Wonder if there’s anyone still on board he knows. This might be our chance mate, fancy going to England?”

John had a surprised look on his face. “You are joking? They won’t just take us on like that.”

But I wasn’t joking at all. For the first time in ages something made perfect sense. “We’ll stow away, hide out at sea for a few days then turn ourselves in. They won’t turn the ship round just for us.”

“Yeah they will.”

“Not if we take food and drink, say enough for a week. We’d be miles away by then and they’d have to take us with them. Well, what do you say?”

“Nah. Let’s sleep on it. We’ll go have a look in the morning.”

“It’ll be too late by then. She sails on the early tide. We’ve got to do it tonight.”

“Alright smart arse, suppose we do go down to the docks, what then, how are we going to get on board?”

John could think of a dozen obstacles not to go, but I was the opposite. With or without him, I was going to give it a try. I had nothing to lose. We sat for a while sinking a couple more beers, all the time our courage getting stronger and stronger.

“Well what do ya say John, shall we give it a go?”

“Why not? What about your brother? You gonna leave him a note?”

“What for? If we do get lucky he’ll only dob us in.”

Like I said, by this time Pat and I really weren’t getting on at all. Brother or not, he‘d more than likely put a spanner in the works. Without any more hesitation we left our room, not seeing or saying goodbye to anyone. All we had were the clothes on our backs and a few quid in our pockets (although I did take a photo of Bev with me too, just for luck). Making sure we carried no form of identification on us, we set off for the station and our journey into town. The night was still young and the warm evening air made conditions perfect. Summer was slowly coming but we were going, going off on an adventure of mystery and danger, and our only thought was to get on that ship no matter what. On the way we stopped off to buy supplies at a deli. We decided on a pack of hamburger rolls and two cans of coke – in case our mission was a failure we didn’t want to waste unnecessary money. Soon we were down at the harbour and crossing Pymont Bridge, and could see the lights of ships waiting to be loaded and unloaded in the distance.

“So which one’s ours, Tony?”

“I don’t know, it say’s here Permont 7. Can’t be far.”

Across the other side of the bridge, we came to a pub, The Montgomery, and asked someone the way. He looked at us as if we weren’t quite right in the head, as it was right under our noses. “That’s Permont 7, just down there,” he pointed. “What ship you boys looking for?”

“The Afric.”

“Ah, yeah, she’s still being loaded. Follow the road round to the right and you’ll come to the gatehouse.”

Following his instructions we were soon in sight of her. There she was, looking smaller than I remembered, but it was her alright, ‘AFRIC’ written high across her stern. Just seeing her again was like seeing a piece of home, and convinced me even more that this was a good idea. With a bit of luck she’d be taking me all the way home, but first, we had to overcome our first obstacle – the gatehouse. For a while we watched blokes coming and going, noticing they all showed some kind of pass.

“We’re not going to get through there in a month of Sundays. Come on Tony, it’s a waste of time.”

“Hang on mate, I didn’t say it would be easy. There must be another way in.”

We followed the fence along the back of the gatehouse into the dark. By now it was about 11 o’clock and we’d have to make our move now or it would be too late. Finding a good place to climb I scaled the fence and waited for John on the other side. Over he came.

“Now what?” he asked.

“I don’t know, we’ll play it by ear.”

We stood back in the shadows for ages just waiting to make our move.

“Watch out Tony, here comes the fucking gate keeper,” John muttered in my ear and we pressed ourselves close to the fence as he walked towards us, flashing his torch. He walked straight past us and round the corner and it was then we got our first lucky break, as we heard the sound of running water.

“He’s having a piss, quick let’s make a run for it.”

Making our quiet but very hasty move, we were soon on the wharf amongst the workers loading the ship. With all the activity nobody batted an eyelid at us.

“Now what?” asked John.

“Well, we can’t stand around here. Just walk on board I suppose.”

“Yeah right. You go first, smartarse.”

“Why me?” I said, trying to edge John in front of me.

“Because it was your bloody idea in the first place.”

I laughed. “Okay mate, shit or bust, let’s do it.”

CHAPTER 9

There were so many crew and shore workers that nobody took any notice of us as we headed down the quay – for all they knew we were working there too. Finally we came to the gangway.

I couldn’t believe our luck, we were on!

“Come on John, move your arse, there’s no turning back now”.

He was older than me and a lot more logical, and was probably thinking about the consequences of getting caught, whereas I just had one thing on my mind – getting aboard. At the top of the gangway we were greeted by a young boy who couldn’t have been much older than me. He was sitting back in a chair with his feet up and reading a book.

“Yes mate, can I help you?”

“Err, yeah, good day,” I said thinking quick. “We’re from the Sydney university and we’re doing a survey on British shipping. The man on the gate said it would be okay to take a quick look around, so we thought we’d take a chance on coming up.”

“Yeah sure, help yourselves. But don’t be long, or you’ll get me in the shit.”

“Thanks mate, you’re a real gent.”

Leaving him to his book we went on board and walked around the ship like we owned it. First we went aft where they were still loading cargo and the whole ship was all lit up like a Christmas tree. Despite having the cover of all the commotion there was no obvious place to hide.

“What about the lifeboats?” I suggested.

Unlike you see on TV, this was not an option as, unfortunately for us, they were way out of reach on the upper deck and far too risky to chance.

“Come on Tony, let’s get out of here before someone starts asking stupid questions.” He was right – up until now no one had taken any notice of us, but we were beginning to look a little suspicious. We made our way back along the port side (left side) and noticed our young friend at the top of the gangway had gone.

“That’s handy, John, when he comes back and don’t see us he’s naturally gonna think we’ve gone ashore already. Let’s see what’s up here before he comes back.”

We headed up fore (the front), cutting across the ship close to the bridge face and here we found some steps leading down to the lower decks and some sort of crew accommodation. Hugging the shadows, we made our way to the starboard side (right hand side), when John stopped and pointed. “Tony, look at these hatches. They’re still open and there’s a light down there. What do ya reckon?”

Looking over the side I could see way down to the bottom. “Bloody long way down, ain’t it mate?”

“You wait here, I’ll see if I can find a door or something.”

As I sat there crouched down in the shadows, John went in search of a way down, only to return a short while after.

“The door’s locked but there’s a rope hanging over the side. It’s only about twenty feet or so. I thought we could climb down that.”

“Only twenty feet, looks a bloody sight further to me.”

“Keep ya voice down. You wanna get caught?”

“Sorry John, it’s just that I’m scared of heights and it’s a long way down.”

“Yeah it is to the bottom, but we ain’t going that far. There’s two levels. Let’s climb down to the first, and go from there.”

Reluctantly I nodded, “Yeah okay. I suppose I can only fall and break my fucking neck,” I said grimly.

“I’ll go first,” said John, full of confidence. “Just follow everything I do.” Taking the rope in his hands, he disappeared into the hold and out of sight. After a while he called up. “Come on Tony, there’s nothing to it. It’s too late to chicken out now.”

He was right, but it didn’t make things any easier. The sound of voices and approaching footsteps made things more urgent for me though and, taking the rope in my hands, I wrapped my leg around and started to descend, but I didn’t have the strength and I just slid down the rope, landing in a pile at Johns feet.

“Shit, that hurt,” I said feeling the friction burns on my hands.

“Nice one Tony. Shhh, there’s someone coming.”

The sound of footsteps on the deck above made us duck back into the shadows.

“Come on, let’s take a look around,” said John once they’d gone.

The fear of getting caught had instantly taken the pain from my hands, and following John into semi-darkness, our objective now was to find somewhere to hide. The Afric’s cargo appeared to be cars, and after a quick look around it was obvious we’d be easily spotted so we decided to delve deeper into the ship’s depths, this time through an open hatch and down a never-ending ladder. In the dim light I took every rung with great care until I finally reached the bottom and found myself standing on what seemed to be huge balls of string.

In fact it was copra I was standing on – the outside of coconuts – and there were hundreds of them down there, if not thousands, all stacked neatly on top of one another in bales, and it smelt terrible (although our noses soon got used to it). There was more movement up top, and so we decided that this would have to be it, our hiding place and home for the next week or so. As our eyes adjusted to the light we surveyed our surroundings.

“Right Tony, let’s get to work. Somehow we’ve got to hide down here so that we can’t be seen if they come down and give the place the once over.”

“Why don’t we build a camp?” I suggested, remembering my days back home in the woods.

“What sort of camp?”

“Well, if we move a few of these bales and stack some round the top, we can hide out in the hollow.”

John thought it was a good idea and we set to work, building a nest that was big enough to climb inside, a bale pulled over the top to totally conceal us. By now we were hot after our hard work, our throats, not to mention our clothes and hair, covered in dust and copra. We decided to break into our supplies by opening one of the cans of Coke and as we toasted our success, it tasted like the nectar of the Gods. It was late and both feeling tired, we made ourselves as comfortable as possible and grabbed a few hours sleep. The next thing I remember was waking up in the pitch black, the sound of the engines throbbing away from behind the wall.

“What the fuck’s happening?”

“We’re off, that’s what’s happening,” said John. “You’ve had a good kip and missed out on all the fun.”

“What do ya mean?”

“A couple of blokes came down with their torches, shone them all around, at one time straight on us. I thought we were goners for sure, but they just went back up top and closed the hatch behind them.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“No point, although I had to hold your nose a couple of times to stop you from snoring.”

With the hatch closed it was now pitch black down there, and to make matters worse we had no way of telling the time. We finished off our can of Coke and smoked a cigarette and were full of talk about what we’d do when we arrived back in England. Soon after, we settled down once more to get some sleep. With all that time on our hands there wasn’t anything else to do. Laying back there in the dark you could hear the creaks and groans and feel the sway of the ship as she moved through the water. What had seemed only hours ago an impossible idea was now reality although it was still hard to believe we’d actually managed to pull it off. Not at any time thinking of the danger we’d put ourselves in, my only thought was that I was going home, and in my day-dreaming I soon fell asleep. Next thing I remember was waking up and finding myself all alone.

“John, John! Where are ya mate?”

“Shh, keep ya voice down, I’m over here.” My eyes had not yet got used to the dark and couldn’t see a thing. Fortunately, John struck a match and filled the hold with a glow, casting our shadows ten feet tall on the walls.

“There ya go, I’m over here having a piss, alright.”

The lump left my throat as the thought of being alone down here was just too much to handle. Scrambling out from our hideout I started to make my way across the copra bales towards him.

“Mind ya step Tony, there’s a bloody great big…”

“Ahhh! Shit.”

“Too late, I said mind ya step. Them gaps between the bales are dangerous.” The match suddenly went out, “Stand still, Tony, don’t move. I’ll light another.”

It was like being caught in the middle of a mine field. One wrong move and you were a goner. Again the hold lit up and John walked towards me.

“Let’s go back to the hide out, it’s safer there,” he said.

“I thought you’d left me.”

“Don’t be stupid, where the fuck would I go?”

“I wonder what the time is John?”

“Don’t know mate, but I do know I’m hungry. Let’s grab a bite to eat.” We opened up our pack of bread rolls, and took one each.

“Mmmm, bit dry. Wish we’d brought some more food with us.”

“Tell you what,” said John. “Imagine this roll is full of your favourite filling and maybe it’ll taste a bit better.”

I laughed it off, but faced with nothing but a dry roll it was worth a try. “Mine’s cheese and tomato,” I said after a moment’s thought, “topped with fresh salad. How about yours?”

“I think today I’ll have chicken and coleslaw with maybe a few pickles.”

“Sounds good, let’s get stuck in.”

Unfortunately, no matter how we tried to imagine them they still tasted like plain old bread rolls.

“Watch it Tony, you’ve dropped tomato all down your shirt,” said John and instinctively I looked down, despite it being pitch black, bursting into laughter when I realised. At least we still had our sense of humour.

Settling back after our feast, we decided to have a smoke. John lit up and suddenly all hell let loose with the bale directly above catching alight. We didn’t know how flammable copra was and our quick fag could quite easily have resulted in us disappearing off the face of the earth without a trace, taking the ship with us.

“Tony give us the Coke,” yelled John. He shook the can furiously, aiming it at the fire and getting soaked in the process. “That was lucky, could have turned into our own personal barbecue.”

Trouble was, John’s quick thinking had meant we had no drink left and we soon realised our food had gone too, disappeared down a gap in the bales.

“Now what?”

“Well look on the bright side Tony, at least we’re still here and our stomachs are full.”

“Don’t be a smart arse John, I’m starving.”

“Nah, its all in ya mind. Come on, let’s rebuild our nest and get some shut eye.”

We started to rebuild our little nest, putting the bales back one by one, but my attention was drawn to a strange squeaking sound.

“What was that noise John?”

“What noise? I didn’t hear nothing. Probably your imagination.”

“No, that squeaking sound, hear it?”

“Oh yeah, hang on, let’s light a match.”

Although we could see in a very limited fashion it was still as if a big dark shadow had fallen upon us.

“There … See. What the fuck are they?”

“Rats, mate. They won’t hurt ya.”

There wasn’t just one, but two. Their glowing eyes made me feel uneasy as they ran around the tops of the bales before disappearing between the gaps.

“Where the hell did they come from?”

“How should I know, probably loads of ‘em. Anyway they won’t hurt you. Come on Tony, let’s finish off and get some sleep.”

For me this great adventure was now turning sour, first the fire, then the food and now rats. If they went down the gaps they could just as easily come up them and the thought of them crawling over me while I was asleep made my flesh crawl. I’d had enough of it down here and was now desperate to get out.

“Why don’t we go up on to the next level with all those cars, John,” I suggested. “We might find something to eat or drink up there. Besides, I don’t fancy staying down here with rats for company.”

Deep down I think he was glad I’d made the suggestion and he agreed. Although I wasn’t looking forward to the climb up the ladder, anything was better than sharing our accommodation with rats. John went first, then it was my turn, edging my way up one rung at a time. As I neared the top I could see a light shining and was relieved when I finally poked my head through the trap door that led onto the next deck.

John had made good use of the time, sorting out some illumination thanks to the interior light of the nearest car (which of course was unlocked). It was the first light we’d seen in what seemed like days and the brightness took some getting used to (now I know how a mole feels when he comes out in the daytime). We had an unsuccessful nose around for fresh supplies before taking front and back seats in a car where we shared our last smoke. By now we were tired and so we made ourselves comfortable—after what we’d been laying on this was heaven – and soon fell asleep.

We were woken by the sound of tapping (obviously someone working above), again not having any clue how long we’d been asleep for or even what time or day it was. Things were looking bleak. By now the hunger pains had set in and our throats were sore from the dry air. It was then that John came up with one of his bright ideas.

“Of course! What’s the matter with me? Windscreen washers. The bottles are full of water, here quick Tony, I’ll show you.” Pulling the catch on the bonnet he lifted up the lid and after a short search, spotted it. “There you go Tony, what did I tell ya?” Working the bottle loose he removed it, “Just what the doctor ordered, fresh water. Here ya go mate, take a swig of that.”

Desperate to quench my thirst I took the bottle and drank a large gulp, but spat it out almost immediately.

“What’s up?”

“It’s fucking soapy water.”

John started laughing, but I couldn’t see the funny side. I felt sick and couldn’t stop coughing.

“Keep it down Tony, someone will hear you.” That was the least of my problems. John raced off to check out the other cars, finally returning with another bottle.

“Ere, drink this quick. It’s okay, I’ve tried it.”

A little apprehensively I put the bottle to my lips, but once I knew it was clean I began to drink furiously. I may have quenched my thirst but satisfying those hunger pangs was a different matter. With no hope of getting any food and the hunger growing worse, we spent the next few hours deliberating before deciding that we couldn’t go on like this. We didn’t know how long we’d been down there but it could literally be weeks before the ship docked, by which time we’d have starved to death, leaving nothing but our withered carcasses. That terrifying thought alone was enough to convince us that it was time to hand ourselves in. We decided on our story, agreeing to give as little information as possible so making it near impossible for them to trace us. Now all that remained was to get ourselves out of this cargo hold, by attracting the attention of whoever was working up top. We thought this was going to be the easy part, as we could still hear the sound of tapping from up top, but it wasn’t quite so simple.

John climbed the ladder leading to the top deck, where he banged and rattled the hatch door, while I waited at the bottom. I had to be patient as John’s noise making seemed to be having no effect. When he got tired I took over and eventually we both stood at the top of the ladder banging and rattling until our hands were sore. It seemed our efforts were to no avail when suddenly we heard the sound of voices, and then footsteps getting closer. There was the sound of a key being put in a lock and the door opened. The sun burst in, blinding our eyes. As we blinked in the bright light we heard a voice. “Hello boys and what do ya think you’re doing down there?”

Gradually our eyes adjusted until we could see a short, stocky man with cropped hair and a black beard, “Up you come,” he said, in a broad Scouse accent. “You’re lucky I saw the door handle move otherwise my lads it could’ve been canvas bags for you two.”

“What day is it mate?” I asked curiously.

“Oh you can talk then. It’s Sunday. Sunday afternoon.” I looked at John and could see that he was thinking the same. We hadn’t even been down there two days.

“This way lads,” said our rescuer, who introduced himself as Ralph, “the captain will want to see you two and he’s not going to be at all happy.”

Following the stranger, we took in our surroundings, and breathed in the fresh air. As I looked out over the calm blue sea, I had a thought that this was the life I’d yearned so long to be part of and now here I was, aboard ship and out to sea, although under rather different circumstances than I’d planned. We were taken to the bridge and told to wait while Ralph, who was the ship’s bosun, found the captain, who was not best pleased.

“Why did ya pick my ship, you little sods?” he demanded in a Scots accent. “Ya do know what you’ve done is a crime and I’ll have to notify the authorities – never mind the unnecessary paperwork you’ve caused me. So when did you come aboard and with whom?” he asked John briskly.

Butting in, I answered his question, “Late on Friday night. We just walked on.”

“That’s a likely story, and what’s your name lad?”

I hesitated for a moment. “Richard Neil Elms.”

“Your age and where are you from?”

“Seventeen. England, sir.”

“You’re a bloody long way from home then aren’t you? So what are you doing in Australia?”

That was as much as I was prepared to say which only made him angrier. Turning to John he asked him the same questions.

“Barnes – John Barnes, age 19 from Australia.”

Everything we said was taken down and then read back to us, before being signed.

“Right bosun, before they go anywhere, we’ll let the sea air take the smell out of their clothes. I think Monkey Island is a good a place as any.”

Ralph took us up to the top of the bridge – Monkey Island – and was apologetic. “I’m sorry to have to do this to you boys, but orders are orders.”

“No worries mate, the fresh air will do us good anyway,” we joked.

After two days in the hold, we weren’t joking, but after a couple of hours up there in a cool breeze we had a different opinion. Shortly after we were taken back to see the captain.

“Elms,” he said. “Why have you signed your name as Bates?”

I’d been caught out. Trust me to make a stupid mistake like that.

“Well speak up boy, which of the two is your real name, Bates or Elms?”

“Bates sir. It’s Anthony Roy Bates,” I said, deciding it best to tell the truth now I’d been rumbled. John gave his real name too and the first mate wrote them down in the log.

“Get these names off to New South Wales police,” the captain told the first officer, then turned to Ralph. “Bosun, they are to be put under lock and key and will eat in their cells until further instructions, is that clear?”

“Aye sir.”

“Now get them out of my sight. I don’t want to see you two again until we dock.”

Well at least that was over. We followed Ralph down into the crew’s accommodation, down past the cabin (the very same I’d sat in five years ago on my trip to London), and on to the hospital. I remembered Fred telling me that it doubled up as a cell, and now here I was about to be locked away in it! Inside were two single beds and a shower room – all the comforts of home after our copra nest.

“Excuse me mate,” I asked Ralph. “Do you think we’ll turn back to Australia now?”

“There’s no need lad, you’ll be turned over to the police in Auckland.”

“Auckland? Where’s that? I thought this ship was going to England.”

“Aye, it is, but not yet. New Zealand’s our first port of call.”

“So how long does it take to get there?”

“Three more days. We should be there come Wednesday evening.”

Looking across at John, the realisation dawned that I’d got it all wrong and it quite took the wind from our sails for a bit, although it wasn’t long before our good spirits returned.

“Look on the bright side Tony,” commented John, jumping back on his nice soft bunk. “At least we’ve got a three day cruise to look forward to.”

Ralph smiled. “You two get yourselves cleaned up and I’ll be back later. You must be starving.”

“I could eat a horse. Come to that, two of ‘em.”

“Well, I don’t know about that lad, but I’ll see what’s on the menu.” He closed the door behind him, and we heard the key turn in the lock.

The bosun returned with some clean clothes and a real surprise in the form of a few beers to wash the dust away. Showered and changed, we were sitting on our bunks swigging a beer when there was a sharp tapping noise at the window.

“Hello boys, remember me?” I looked out of the porthole window to see the boy who’d been on sentry duty on the gangway. “You didn’t tell the old man I let you on did ya?” he asked, introducing himself as Jim.

We told him we hadn’t.

“Thank Christ for that, he’d have my balls if he found out, Mum’s the word, OK?”

“Yeah, no worries, we won’t say a word to anyone.”

“Thanks fellas, anything you want, it’s yours.”

“Got any fags?” I asked.

Putting his hand in his shirt picket, he pulled out a packet of smokes, “There ya go, I’ll bring ya some more later.”

“Watch out,” said John, “someone’s coming.”

“I’d better scarper,” said Jim and disappeared, giving me just enough time to shut the port before the key turned in the lock and Ralph appeared with some tucker, “Here you go boys, get stuck into this,” he said.

“Have a look John, a feast fit for stowaways. Thanks mate, you’re a gent.”

“Okay boys, enjoy your meal, I’ll be back later.”

We needed no encouragement, and without another word we tucked into vegetable soup, roast lamb and all the trimmings, and for afters jam roly poly and custard. It was all consumed in no time at all. Ralph returned for the plates and brought us a few books and a couple more beers. “It’s lockup time now. I won’t be back until morning, so sleep tight.” He laughed. “Well you should do after being down in that hole for two days.”

Sitting back on my bunk, I sipped my beer and smoked a cigarette and was just about to slip off into a deep coma when a voice came from the open port, “Here ya go lads,” John was up like a shot.

“Alright Jim, what ya got?”

“Ere, take these.” He passed six cans of beer through the bars.

“Got any empties?”

“Yeah just a couple.”

“Give us ‘em here, I’ll put ‘em over the side. Can’t stop, due to go on watch, see ya in the morning,” and with that he vanished just as quickly as he had arrived.

“Here you go Tony, we can have our own private party. If this is bloody jail give me six months.” John was right – for criminals, we were getting the A1 treatment. John settled down with a book, while I just lay there thinking. I wondered how Pat was. I knew that by now he would have gone to the authorities and reported me as missing. I also thought about what would become of me when I got back – if I got back of course, as we could quite easily be shipped straight back to Australia once we landed in Auckland. Somehow I would have to escape I thought, but the excitement of events, a full stomach and a couple of beers soon got the better of me, and I dozed off into a sound sleep.

It was late when I woke. The room was in darkness apart from the shadows cast on the bulk head. John was snoring like a pig and I got up from my bunk and glanced out of the open port. The ship hardly stirred as we glided through the waters. It was night, yet it wasn’t. The moon shone brightly as if just for us, the heavens filled with a million stars sparkling like sequins thrown up in the air. The only sound was the wash from the ship, the waves crashing onto her bow, splitting in two to meet up again at her stern. It was a sight like nothing I had ever seen or heard and I lay back down on my bunk, just listening to the night, and it was like listening to a lullaby singing me off to a deep sleep.

“Wake up Tony, up and at ‘em mate.”

Peering through the tiny slits of my eyes I could see John all dressed and ready for the day.

“What for?”

“Breakfast stupid.”

I could hear men talking outside. “What time is it?”

“Six thirty,” he said with a large grin on his face.

Looking out the port to see what the noise was all about, I was greeted by the sight of men on the deck, washing down.

“Good day fellas, how ya going?”

“Hello, hello, it’s our little stowaways. Sleep alright did ya? Not making too much noise are we?” they laughed.

Ralph soon arrived to unlock the door and had some good news. “No more lock up until we reach the New Zealand coast. The skipper says you can eat with the rest of the crew. You’ve also got the freedom of the ship apart from the bridge and engine room, so when you’re ready breakfast is in the mess.”

Showered and dressed, we made our way to the mess room where the rest of the crew were just about to sit down.

“Morning lads, help yourselves. Cereals up here, and your breakfasts are in the hot press.”

Luckily I remembered my last visit, so knew my way around a little. The arrival of Jim was a welcome sight. He told us to join him on his table and meet some of the guys. “Fellas,” he told them, “meet Tony and John, our distinguished visitors.” They all laughed.

We met Pete, Mick, Derek and Gerry who were all much about the same age as me. Mick, on his third trip, was J.O.S. (Junior Ordinary Seaman) and the rest were deck boys, first and second trippers. As we ate we recounted our ordeal and soon other members of the crew came over to join the conversation. The older hands who had been at sea for years classed the ship as their home and some day I hoped it would be mine, but for now I loved the feeling of being part of it.

At eight o’clock Ralph arrived on the scene and, as bosun, dished out the crew’s work for the day. John and I stayed behind in the mess to help out Mick and Jim who were general dogsbodies to the crew. Their jobs basically consisted of washing and cleaning, though I soon discovered that even these roles weren’t so bad as far as jobs went.

“If we take our time,” Mick explained, “we’ll be done just in time for smoko. By the time we get on deck again, it’s eleven o’clock. No sooner out on deck and it’s time to come in for lunch.”

They had it all worked out to the hour so I watched and learned, as one day this could be me and it would be easy if I knew the ropes. With John and I helping we cut the time in half, to the point where we had to keep out of the way so we ended up going to their cabin and breaking open a few cans while we waited for smoko.

“Right then, you get the tab nabs Mick and we’ll brew up,” said Jim.

“So what’s tab nabs?” I asked.

“Oh that’s cake or biscuits, whatever snack the cook decides to give us.” We returned to the mess to get smoko ready for the rest of the crew. Shortly after, Mick returned followed by some of the deck crew. “What’s for tabs nabs, Pegs?” they asked (‘Pegs’ being the mess man’s nickname).

“Bread puddy,” Mick replied, pointing to a couple of trays.

On the ship it was like you never stopped eating, and it was a wonder half of them could move the amount they ate. After smoko, John and I went out on deck, the heat of the day hitting us hard until we felt the cool breeze coming off the sea. After a stroll, we bumped into Ralph.

“Hello boys, and what can I do for you?”

“Any chance of a job mate?” I asked.

“Yeah, don’t see why not. Can you paint?”

“No worries, got a D in Art.”

“Right, there you go, start on those rails over there and mind you don’t spill it on the deck. How about you John?”

“Na thanks mate, I’d rather sunbathe.”

Off John went, leaving me with my paintbrush and paint, but Ralph was soon to return. “Sorry kid. You’re not allowed to work out here. Personally I can’t see the harm in it – in fact ships regulations state that stowaways should work their passage – but skipper’s orders.”

After lunch I sat in the mess hall with the other crew members enjoying a fag, when one of the blokes asked me if I wanted to earn a few bob.

“Watch it Tony, he’s after your arse.” Laughter filled the Mess.

“No seriously. You do my dobbying and I’ll give ya a quid.”

“Yeah, no worries,” I said once I discovered dobbying meant washing.

“He’ll want more than a quid if he’s gonna wash your skids, Jock,” said someone to more laughter.

So it was that I went into the laundry business, earning myself a nice few quid in the process. That afternoon, I spent washing for not one, but half a dozen of the lads (although drying was easy – I just took the clothes down into the engine room). After tea, which was another three course meal, we all sat around the mess playing cards or listening to stories of the many events that had happened over the years to different men. It had been a full day and I was in bed well before midnight.

I was enjoying my time on the ship, although sea life did not appeal to John so he kept his nose buried behind a book most of the time. He was a country boy, born and bred, and felt uneasy without solid ground under his feet. So for the rest of our ‘cruise’ my life had some routine to it, working in the mess with the other lads and accumulating a fair bit of washing. On our last night we all sat on deck and got drunk, a kind of farewell party before arriving in Auckland, and I got so bad they had to carry me to my bunk. I awoke the next morning to see the coast of New Zealand from our port, which prompted John and I to once again consider what lay in store for us.

“Well Tony, what’ll we do now?”

“Escape of course, what else? There’s no way I’m going back to Australia.”

We formulated a plan. Once in port, we’d slip over the side and swim for it and then head inland to look for some work. We had about £15 left from our Aussie funds and I’d earned another £10 washing for the crew, so that would keep us going for a while. Unfortunately, we didn’t get the opportunity to see through our plan as we were confined to quarters by the captain and told that Auckland police would be waiting for us when we docked.

So, unsure yet again what the future held for me, I watched the New Zealand shore come closer and closer until later that afternoon we dropped anchor outside Auckland Harbour, North Island, and waited for the pilot to come aboard to guide the ship up the channel into Auckland Harbour.

CHAPTER 10

As we sat in our cell waiting for the Afric to dock, John and I discussed our plan. We had decided to jump the first body that came through the door and make our escape. Unfortunately it was Ralph who turned up with our tea – or last supper as he put it – and that put paid to our plans. Apart from the fact that we liked him, he was wider than the two of us put together which made our chance of escape pretty slim.

“We should have done it Tony, we might not get another chance,” said John once he’d gone.

“Sooner or later they’ve got to take us ashore, that’s when we’ll make a break for it.”

“Yeah alright, but it’s every man for himself, I’m not waiting around to see if you make it,” he replied.

“I’ll tell you what, if we get split up we’ll both head for the nearest post office.”

“Okay.”

We divided out the money in case we did get split up but we really had missed our opportunity because just after seven the key turned in the lock and Ralph walked in followed by the first mate and two police officers, one in plain clothes.

“Good day boys, welcome to Auckland. My name is Detective Constable Bird and I’m the lucky one in charge of your sightseeing tour. We hope you enjoy your stay and we’ll try and make it as comfortable as possible for you.”

Well, I took it in, hook, line and sinker, thinking this wasn’t going to be as bad as I thought. However, John just stood there and said nothing, obviously knowing something I didn’t.

“Sorry about this lads, regulations,” said DC Bird, taking out two pairs of handcuffs.

We were led out on to the portside and down the gangway. Along the decks some of the crew had turned out to see us off. “Good luck Tony, good luck John,” they called out as we walked down to the quay.

“Yeah Tony, see ya next trip mate,” called out Jim.

Raising my arms, with my hands clasped together I shouted, “No worries, shipmate, you ain’t seen the last of me yet.”

“My, we are popular. Right little smart arse aren’t we,” DC Bird said in a sarcastic tone of voice.

“Well, you know how it is mate, some of us have got it and some of us don’t.”

“Oh, is that right? Well I only hope you’re just as popular in your new accommodation. We’ve booked you into the Plaza Hotel. This way, your chauffeur limousine is waiting for you.”

“Great,” I said. It still hadn’t sunk in yet and I believed his every word. As we pulled away from the ship and down the quay I had a feeling of excitement, although no one else but me had a word to say on our short drive into town.

“Here ya go boys, reservations have been made, step this way.”

There was no sign of a hotel, just a bright light surrounding the word ‘Police.’ My excitement turned to horror as we entered the dingy looking building and were taken to a small room with a large man standing behind a counter.

“Hello Dicky, and what do we have here? Two likely looking criminals if ever I did see.”

“Good day Sarge, these are the two stowaways from Australia. I trust an advanced booking has been made for them?” No longer did I think him pleasant – just some smart arse, getting his kicks out of winding us up.

“Oh yes gentlemen, your suite has been reserved, although I’m afraid you’ll have to share.”

DC Bird signed us over and told us he’d be back in the morning. For the next hour or so we were questioned separately, and asked to sign our statements, and I kept my story the same as the one I’d given on the ship. Finally, it was time to be locked up for the night. Still, I thought, nothing could be worse than being stuck in that hold could it? By now all our belongings had been taken, including our belts and shoelaces.

“Okay boys, this way. Take some blankets from the pile and then follow me.”

Well, how was I to know it would be cold? This was the southern hemisphere and although John took three I only took one, and soon regretted it. We were taken to a cell, hearing the noise of protesting inmates long before the door was opened. I closed my eyes and hoped it was a nightmare I’d soon wake from but I opened them again to be faced with the same reality – a large cell with just four walls, a cold concrete floor and a toilet in the corner for all the world to see. To make things worse, we weren’t alone as we were being put in the ‘drunk tank’ and inside lay eight or so bodies. Heads raised as we walked in, a few just murmured at being disturbed.

“Okay boys, find a spot and make yourselves comfortable.”

I still couldn’t believe this was happening and looked up at the officer to see if this was some sort of terrible joke. The fear must have shown in my eyes as his stern look broke into a smile, “You’ll be okay son, stay close to your mate, he’ll look after you.”

Following John inside, we made our way to the far side where a clear spot was visible, stepping over the bodies on the floor.

“Be careful will ya, that was my bloody hand.”

“S-s-sorry mate.”

“You fucking will be, now piss off.”

“Shut up will ya, I’m trying to sleep.”

The smell of booze was distinct, like a room the day after a party, though none of these looked the type you’d want to socialise with at a party. I was terrified. Once at our spot, John laid out a blanket. “Here you go, Tony, you’d better share with me.”

“That’ll be right, they’ve stuck a couple of fucking poofs in here with us.”

John was not at all amused and getting to his feet, he moved towards the big mouth. “Listen here, shit for brains, one more word from you and I’ll stick my boot so far up your arse you’ll need a toothbrush to clean my toe caps.”

The shutter of the door suddenly opened.

“Settle down in there or I’ll come in and sort you all out.”

The cold hard floor made it impossible to get comfortable and instead of one blanket, I wished I’d picked up ten. As I sat there huddled up against the wall alongside John (but trying not to get too close because of the remarks) I felt the cold and tossed and turned into a thousand positions without being able to sleep. Cold and frightened I lay there looking up at the dim light in the centre of the room, tears slowly trickling down my face, and that night was possibly the longest of my life. It must have been well into the early hours when the door opened and our names were called, and we were taken out for our identikits.

“What’s your date of birth again Bates?” the policeman asked once I’d been fingerprinted and photographed.

“September 2nd 1949.”

He thought for a moment as if working something out in his head.

“That can’t be right, says here you’re 17.”

“Err, yeah, sorry about that, I meant 48 – 1948.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive Sir.”

“Well, it still only makes you just turned 17. Don’t know what the hell you’re doing here.” Taking his pen, he made a note on my papers.

“Right then, let’s get back to your cell. Don’t worry, not long now,” he said trying to build our spirits up. “You’ll get a cuppa at six, so there’s only three hours to go.” Only three hours? I thought. He might just as well have said 24 hours.

Back at the cell, I managed to doze for a while and was woken by the policeman with our cup of tea, the cell now deserted except for John and me. After a while we were taken upstairs to get washed up, as we were due to appear before the Magistrate that morning, and after a good breakfast of porridge, ham, eggs and a mug of tea to wash it all down we felt in better spirits.

Shortly after nine, DC Bird arrived. “Right now,” he said. “Our communications with Sydney tells us nothing, which means you either don’t exist or there’s something you’re not telling me. Now which is it?”

Looking at John, I awaited his reply. There was none. So I could only follow suit.

“Well, it’s your funeral boys, I’ll see you in court.”

“Why don’t we tell them?” I asked John once he’d gone. “They’re gonna find out sooner or later anyway.”

“Listen, if we tell ’em now, they’ll send us back to Australia and let them deal with us. This way we might stand a chance of at least staying here.”

“What for? I don’t want to stay here.”

“Well you tell ‘em if you want, but leave me out, you hear?”

We were taken from our cell handcuffed to the wrists of two guards and walked underground to the court, where after a short wait, we heard, “Calling John Burns, calling John Burns.” John looked around and winked at me then went up the stairs into the dock.

“What do you think will happen to him mate?” I asked the guard I was still handcuffed to.

“Probably jail, pending further investigation.”

My immediate thought of going back to that place was just too unbearable for words, “What about me then?”

“Probably the same.”

The fear inside came right up to my throat, and almost at once I spilt my guts. “But they can’t, I’m only sixteen,” I told him. “I’m too young to go back to prison.”

His face was a picture. He mumbled something into the other officer’s ear before leading me off to an adjoining room, where we were joined by DC Bird shortly after.

“You left it a bit late, didn’t you. Right what’s it all about?”

I told him the whole story, although I kept my promise to John not to drop him in it. I respected his wishes as he’d been a good mate to me and we’d been through hell together, but we were both survivors and each in our own way we knew what we had to do. However, I had the feeling that I wouldn’t see John again.

In light of the new evidence, I stood before a special closed sitting of the Children’s Court where DC Bird said his piece to the bench before the Magistrate asked me to stand and tell my own story. I went right the way back to when I first left England, and luckily for me there were three women on the panel and just the look in their eyes told me they were on my side. By the time I came to recount the ordeal of my terrible night in the cells you could almost feel their heartstrings twang. I sat outside while my case was discussed and then I was called back in.

“Tony, what would you say if I told you the recommendation is that we send you back to Sydney?”

I thought for a second then said, “It’s your decision, but if you do so, as soon as I arrive back I’ll just do it all over again.”

“That’s a very bad attitude Tony and one you shall have to get out of your head. Next time you might not be so lucky and you could get yourself killed.”

With a sorry look on my face I directed myself at the women on the bench “All I want to do is go home. Is that so bad?” No sooner had I finished than the Magistrate gave sentence.

“Anthony Roy Bates, you will be remanded until the 14th October, pending further investigation. Until that time you will be taken to the Owairaka Boys Home at Mount Albert.”

I was taken straight to an awaiting police car and driven out to the Auckland suburbs. The view was not unlike Sydney with its rows of one storey houses, old and new, its delicatessens and a pub on every corner. Finally arriving at the Owairaka Boys Home, I was signed over to a man called Ryan, who had a distinct whiff of the military about him and was not the sort whose toes you’d tread on twice. He took me to see Mr Ricketts, the superintendent.

“Well, Bates, seems you’ve got yourself into a right old mess,” said Ricketts, looking over his desk at me. “Well, here we have rules and regulations. You stick to them or we come down hard. From what I hear, your visit will only be a short one. Nevertheless, our rules apply to everyone, understand?”

“Yes sir.”

With this reception I was beginning to wonder who was worse off – me here, or John in prison? After a visit to the doctor to be checked out I was taken to meet the other boys who were all congregated in a games hut at the back of the main building. Ryan just left me standing there to go it alone.

“In you go boy, make yourself known,” he told me. I turned the handle and started to open the door.

“Watch out,” I heard a voice call, as a dart went sailing past my ear, so hard it was more like a javelin, and I wondered how intentional the near miss had been. “Don’t just stand there, come in and shut the fucking door.”

Inside, 20 or so boys were gathered, some playing darts, others playing on an old pool table. In the corner, a card school was going on.

“What’s your name, mate?” asked the large Maori boy who’d been throwing the darts.

“Tony,” I answered as he carried on throwing.

“What you in for?”

“Stowing away.”

“Yeah? Where from?”

“Australia.”

“No kidding.” Leaving his game, he came over. “Name’s Sam, Sambo to my friends,” he said, shaking my hand.

Sambo was the biggest boy in the room and my experience of institutions told me he would make a good ally. Sam was inside for auto theft, but with a difference. Cornered by the police in a stolen car, he’d abandoned the vehicle to make his escape but forgotten to put the handbrake on and it had rolled down a hill and through a shop window almost killing someone, and he’d been given 18 months. So here I was, inside with a right rough old lot (my crime being nothing compared to most of theirs) and as new blood in an institution like that I could easily have drawn some unwelcome attention. Luckily though, my stowaway experience gave me a bit of novelty value and by the time I’d finished telling my story I’d more or less been accepted.

“How long did ya get?” Sam asked.

“Case comes up again on 14th October. I’m hoping they don’t send me back to Australia. Anyway, what’s it like here?”

Sam pulled a face, “Oh, it’s not too bad, I suppose. Staff ain’t bad, Ryan’s the bastard to watch.”

“Why’s that?”

“Oh you’ll see soon enough,” Sam said with a glum look on his face.

For the next hour or so they told me about the place and its routines. As I hadn’t eaten for breakfast I was relieved when it was time for tea, though I was quickly disappointed. Unlike on the ship, tea here meant just that, with some cold cuts, salad, bread and lard and a selection of jams, tea and biscuits. To make matters worse I was told off for taking butter, as it was only for the staff. The boys had to have lard on their bread, which I couldn’t believe.

Later, I was shown to the dorm. I had no luggage and the only clothes I had were the ones on my back so I had no need of a wardrobe, although later I was called out and taken to supplies where I was given a pair of pyjamas, some new underwear, a couple of shirts and the baggiest pair of jeans you’d seen in your life. I felt and looked like an orphan. Returning to the dormitory, feeling tired and somewhat low after my long day, I lay on my bed until lights out, on the stroke of ten. The next thing I knew I was hearing the sound of bells ringing in my ears.

“Right lads, let’s have you,” yelled Mr Ryan.

“Come on Tony, it’s six o’clock, wake up call,” said Sam.

No one had time to talk. They were up, dressed in shorts and sneakers and out of the room.

“Come on Bates this isn’t a holiday camp, move yourself,” yelled Ryan.

I was lost, what was going on?

“Get dressed and follow the others.”

“But sir, I’ve got no shorts.”

“See me later. You’ll just have to make do today.”

So dressed in just my underpants and shoes I followed Ryan out to the school playing fields.

“Right, twice round and no overtaking or you’ll go round again, then in and shower,” he barked. “Well don’t just stand there boy. Off you go.”

It was cold and wet and after a while I found it heavy going in my shoes, so I took them off. There I was, running round a field in my underpants at six o’clock in the morning, and it was just as well I’d gone to supplies the night before or I wouldn’t have even had those. At that time I was quite fit and soon caught up with the stragglers, but the hardest part was not overtaking. Now I knew why it was best to get out first and I’d make sure to be quicker tomorrow. Unfortunately as the last one into the shower, I had to clean it too. It was like an army boot camp. You either did what they told you, or you learnt the hard way.

From there it was into breakfast, which was cereal and as much toast as you could eat, provided you liked lard. It got to a stage where I was so hungry I decided to give it a go. After one mouthful I pushed it away, getting up and walking away from the table in disgust. All heads turned in my direction as if I’d broken some sacred vow.

“Sit down Tony or Ryan will have your balls.”

Sambo’s concern was touching, but I’d had enough, “I’m not eating that shit,” I said and made my way to the door. You could have cut the air with a knife as Ryan came up right behind me.

“Bates!”

I turned slowly, “Yes sir?”

His face was all red and he looked like a raging bull as he came towards me. “My office, if you will.”

He opened the door and followed me in. “Now what seems to be your problem?” he snarled. “Is the food not quite to your liking?”

“No, the food’s alright, it’s just the lard on my toast, makes me feel sick.”

“So why not wait until the proper time to talk over your grievance, instead of just getting up and walking out?”

Once again my mouth ruled my brain and I started to lose it. “The six o’clock bit I don’t mind, but when I have to run round a field in my underpants, clean out the shower after, and eat lard on my fucking toast. Well, I’d rather move back to jail. At least there you don’t get these things sprung on you and you know where you stand.”

I’d blown it. My big mouth had led me into who knows what sort of trouble now and I was expecting Ryan to explode, and it looked for a moment as if he might. “Look Bates, you are not on holiday, this is a detention centre for boys who break the law.” He yelled. “If I’m not mistaken you’re only going to be here a few short days so why not make the most of it?”

This went on for a bit but neither of us was getting anywhere shouting, so it was agreed that we compromise. I’d made my point, and he was right, this would only be a short stay. However, I’m sure things would’ve been a lot more different if this hadn’t been the case. Later that day, I was visited by ladies from the Child Welfare Department, who asked me a million questions, one being how I would feel about going back to Australia. I left them under no illusions on this point. Eventually they left, saying they would be in touch, so I went back to my bed for a lie down and there I stayed until tea. After, it was the same routine, television or games and lights out at 10. The next morning, the bell went and the race started, and this time I was prepared. I’d borrowed a pair of shorts and although not first, I was out in the first ten.

Sunday was considered the best day in the home, because that was when visitors came, bringing sweets and cigarettes. Some of the boys even went to bed early on Saturday night so that it came round quicker. Of course, there would be no visitors for me, and when I went to bed that Saturday night, my only thoughts were of being one of the first out on the playing field. I even wore my shorts to bed. When the early call came the next morning I was up and off towards the door, only to hear everyone else laughing at me – there was no run on Sundays.

After breakfast I got a pleasant surprise, as I was one of the boys picked to go on a daytrip with the home’s doctor. So after breakfast on Sunday morning, Dr Cummings (a bit of a weirdo, truth be told) informed us we were off to Waiwera on the coast, which was renowned for its beach and thermal hot pools. I was issued with a pair of swimming trunks from the stores, Ryan grabbing the first pair that came to hand, irrespective of size. After an hour or so we arrived at Waiwera (a place not to be missed if you’re ever down that way) and we all piled out of the car and into the changing rooms. That’s when I realised what Sambo meant about getting on the wrong side of Ryan, as not only were my trunks too big but they also had no ties, and no matter what I did my dignity would hang out one side or the other. Luckily the doctor had some safety pins to spare the worst of my blushes but I still managed to lose them twice that morning, and with the pools crowded with people it wasn’t a laughing matter at the time.

In the afternoon we drove a few kilometres further up the coast to Red Beach where Dr Cummings had a holiday home. The doctor prepared a snack of hamburgers and salad while we all messed about in the garden, which was thick with leaves and other debris after the winter months. Someone came up with the bright idea of cleaning up the mess, as a good day had been had by all, and we all agreed. Taking tools and a barrow from the garage, it took no time at all, and we piled the rubbish in a heap in the corner. The doctor was over the moon and kept thanking us all through tea although he was worried that the wind may scatter the pile again. At this point I suggested we burn it and while the doctor was a little apprehensive to begin with he eventually agreed. The rubbish was damp and I asked the doctor for some paraffin to help it along. Directed to the garage I picked up a can and tipped half of it over the pile and struck a match.

The rest was a nightmare. The match was no sooner alight than the fire took off like a bomb, badly burning my face and arms. It wasn’t paraffin I’d picked up but petrol. Screaming with pain, he took me inside, wetting anything he could find to put on my burns. All wrapped up with wet towels I must have looked like a mummy, sitting there shaking while Doc tried to come to terms with the situation. “Trust one of you to ruin the day for the rest, now we’ll have to head back early.” Understandably Doc wasn’t happy. We’d been entrusted into his care and letting this happen didn’t look good for him.

Still, I was in a bad way. My face and arms felt as if they were on fire and my eyebrows and lashes had disappeared along with a large clump of my hair. It was horrifying and I was expecting the doctor to at least take me to hospital, but instead we drove straight back to the home. The cold towels soon stopped working and, crying with pain, I had to hang the top half of my body out of the window so the evening breeze would cool me down. By the time we got back to the home, after hours on the road, I was numb with the cold. Once there I was taken to the first aid room and had creams smothered all over my face and arms, which was like putting fat in a hot frying pan.

I was sent to my bed, given a bowel of cold water and some towels and left to lick my own wounds. Soon it was time for the boys to come to bed and Sam and the others rushed in to see what happened. He brought me a mirror and showed me the damage – my face was bright red, my skin was loose and hanging like I’d just popped a large blister. Sam told me what he’d heard. “According to Doc, you did it off your own back, putting petrol all over a bonfire then lighting it without him knowing. He reckons you tried to burn his garage down as well.”

“That’s a bloody lie. For a start, why would I do something like that on purpose and get myself hurt in the process?”

During that long night, I was given little medical attention and far from getting sympathy for my cries of pain, I was put on report for disturbing the other boys. Six o’clock came round and as the lights came on and everyone rushed out to be first on the playing field, I was too weak and too tired to move. I just lay there and had a nasty moment when I thought Ryan was going to make me join the others on the run. Later that morning the doctor came around to see how I was. Although the pain had nearly gone, my face was in a hell of a state and the damaged skin was beyond repair. It had started to dry out, forming a large scab all over my face and my arms weren’t much better. For the next few days I was confined to the main building and spent my time sleeping, and watching TV. Eating was my biggest problem as I couldn’t open my mouth too wide, and this also gave me a slight speech impediment.

On the Wednesday I was summoned to Ricketts’ office to meet another woman from the Child Welfare, whose name was Mrs Roach.

“What on earth have you done to your face and arms?” she asked with a horrified look on her face.

“Had a slight accident with some petrol, didn’t I sir?”

Ricketts’ attempt to cover it up was obvious and he quickly tried to change the subject. “Bates, Miss Roach has some good news for you, I think.”

“Yes, well I hope it’s what you want to hear Tony. I’ve managed to get a job for you on a ship that is shortly returning to England.”

Was I hearing right? Did she say England? This was too much to hope for. “Did I hear right Miss, I’m going to England?”

“Yes that’s right. You’ve got your own way Tony, you’re going home after all.”

I was speechless and just wanted to give her a big kiss but didn’t dare.

“Don’t just stand there Bates, go and get your things.” Ricketts’ face looked as pleased as mine and I got the impression that my accident had caused some sort of embarrassment for him.
Running out of the office, I ran back to the dorm shouting at the top of my voice, “I’m going home, I’m bloody going home.”

And that was it. Within the hour I was in Mrs Roach’s car heading away from Owairaka.

“Well I’m not sorry to see the back of that place,” I said, looking behind me (although I wished I’d had time to say goodbye to the boys and a lovely lady called Rosita who worked in the kitchen and was a little ray of sunshine in that very dark place).

“Yes well you do seem to get yourself into some spots don’t you?” said Mrs Roach. “I’ve been checking up on your case history. You’re more slippery than an eel. It reads more like a serial of a T.V. script, not knowing where or what you’re going to get up to next, and this is just another episode.”

I felt quite a celebrity and tried to smile, but each time I did tiny bits would flake off my face like dandruff and land on my lap.

“Tell me more about the ship I’m to work on Miss.”

“Well, there’s not much to tell. I know is she’s called the Suevic and she’s berthed at Marsden Wharf. It’s owned by Shaw Savill Shipping Company and they’ve kindly offered to take you on as deck boy for the duration of the trip.”

We drove through the city to the docks and came to a stop at the gatehouse, where we asked directions. At this stage it was all so hard to believe. I’d broken the law, stowing away on one Shaw Savill boat, and been hauled through these gates in handcuffs not a week ago, and now here I was being offered a job on another! But hey, who was I to argue? This time I really was going home.

CHAPTER 11

There she was, looking twice the size of her sister ship, and as we got closer I could read her name, S.S. Suevic, high on her bow.

“Well here we are, what do you think?” smiled Miss Roach.

I was stuck for words. “It’s… great,” I managed to say at last.

She pulled the car up at the bottom of the gangway and I got out, collecting my cardboard box off the back seat.

“You go first Miss, and mind your step, it can get a bit slippery.” She hesitated. “Don’t worry, I’m right behind you,” I added, and it felt as if I already belonged to this huge monstrosity.

At the top we were met by the watchman, a giant six footer of a man who towered over both of us. Miss Roach explained why we were here and he took us off to find Captain Cheldon. Once we’d been introduced I had to provide my details and was asked to sign the ship’s article.

“Right,” said the captain. “Your duties will be deck boy, and the pay is £23 a month all found, OK?”

“Yes sir.”

“Now what about these burns of yours? How do you feel Bates?”

“Fine sir. It only hurts when I look in a mirror.” My sense of humour was not appreciated and the captain carried on, disregarding my remark.

“I think it might be better to keep him on light duties for a week, Chief,” he said turning to the first officer. I was sent outside while the captain and Miss Roach discussed my case. While I waited a very fat man – sloppily dressed with a piece of string tied around his waist and what looked like the remains of his breakfast all down his shirt – introduced himself.

“Hello kid. You the new replacement then?”

“Yeah, deck boy, sir.”

“So, what’d ya do to ya face?”

“I got burnt in a petrol explosion.”

“Ugly little sod, ain’t ya?” he laughed. My thoughts on him were exactly the same.

The door opened and Miss Roach came out with the first officer.

“Ah, bosun, just the man I want,” he said to the fat man. “Here’s the new deck boy, Bates. Put him in with Prichard. He’s on light duties for the rest of the week, and no shore leave until further notice.”

Leaving the Captain, I asked Miss Roach, “What’s this about no shore leave?”.

“Well officially you’re still on remand,” she told me. “Don’t forget you’re before the court tomorrow, so I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock sharp.” “You’d better see the young lady down on to the quay, Bates,” said the bosun. “I’ll meet you back at the mess.”

“Yes sir.”

“Bosun son, not sir.”

“Yes bosun.”

I knew where I was and where we were heading (home at last), but it hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Retracing our footsteps down the gangway we reached Miss Roach’s car.

“Well Tony, nine o’clock sharp and don’t be late.”

“No Miss. Oh and…” She leaned out of her car window. “Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled, and drove off down the quay.

Returning back on board I stopped to talk to the watchman. “Excuse me mate, where’s the mess?”

“You are by the looks of it. What happened to you?” he replied, looking at my burns. It was a question I was to get asked a hundred times during the next few days.

“Just a slight explosion I got caught up in.”

“Name’s Dave Smith,” he said, holding out his huge great hand.

“Tony Bates.” I returned his gesture.

“What ship you off, Tony?”

“None, this is me first.”

“So how come you’re joining us then?”

“Well I suppose you could say I’m being deported.”

“Deported? What for?” He looked on in total amazement.

“Me and my mate stowed away from Australia.”

“Oh, so you’re the one, are ya?” he laughed, stopping me in my tracks. “The Afric wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s right. News travels fast around here.”

“Yeah, heard about it all from one of the lads over there. She’s still here ya know, sails on the early tide tomorrow. You going to go across?”

“Like to, but I’ve been confined to the ship for the time being.”

“Blimey, you’re a one,” he laughed. “How old are ya?”

“Sixteen. So, what you making there?” I asked, looking down at the little box on the deck, full of odd looking shapes.

“I make ships in bottles. It’s a hobby of mine. You’ll have to come along to me cabin sometime and see some of me work.”

With Dave’s directions I found the mess room where the bosun was enjoying a mug of tea and tab nabs. “Prichard, come here and meet the new Peggy,” he said, calling a lad over. His name was John, and although the same rating as me, he was two years my senior and a big lad for his age. “He’ll be bunking in with you, so as soon as you’ve got this lot done you can show him around,” the bosun told him.

“Yeah, right bos’, so where’s your gear mate?”

“Oh shit, I left it up top.”

“Well you’d better go and get it before they throw it over the side.”

The condition it was in, that was a likely scenario, so I ran up to retrieve my stuff. John showed me to our cabin, which was on the port side. It was small but compact, with two bunks, a double locker, dresser, and a couple of chairs. “Top bunks yours and later I’ll clear this locker out for ya,” he said opening it up. Inside there was still some old clothing.

“Who’s that belong to?” I asked.

“Ah, the last bloke that was here.”

“So, what happened to him, then?”

“He jumped ship in Littleton with four others, that’s how come you’re here.”

John explained that the Suevic crew numbered about seventy men, which I found hard to believe at first. Leaving the cabin, he gave me a tour of the ship pointing out such sights as the games room (which consisted of table tennis, darts and a couple of card tables) and the hospital where, he explained, the crew queued up with ailments ranging from hangovers and lazy-itus to the most common of all, the clap!

John stopped the tour to get back to his lunchtime duties in the mess room, but I decided to keep away. Apart from the numerous explanations I would have to make about my face, it wasn’t a pretty sight over the meal table. I decided to go on my own tour instead and ended up on deck looking out over the harbour. There on the other side, just as Dave had said, was the Afric, lying low in the water and all loaded and ready for the morning tide. Considering how I could sneak aboard to say goodbye to the crew who had treated me so well, I was miles away in my thoughts and didn’t hear John come up behind me. “Come on Tony, what you doing out here? Come and meet the rest of the boys.”

“You sure, what about my face?”

“Don’t worry about it, there’s some that would like to be that good looking. Come on, you’ve got to eat.”

That was a good point, and so I agreed to come back with him. Once in the mess, John beckoned me over to a table. At first I felt a bit strange, my face being more of an attraction than me, but on taking my seat I recognised Dave the watchman.

“Alright Tony. Settled in yet?”

“Sort of.”

“Lads, meet the new Peggy,” he said, making me feel right at home. He introduced me to his brother, Tel, and then to the others who were sitting round the table. And that’s how it was for the rest of the day – meeting new faces who would become a big part of my life for the next couple of months. There was Ron, Alan, Danny, McLuskey and Griff, There was also Wilson and Rick, who were always in trouble – Wilson with his women and Ricky always drunk on watch – and Shelley who had boils all over his back (I would soon discover that his cabin mate, Danny, squeezed them in the shower, and each time Shelley yelled with pain the rest of the crew would sing along!). However, that first day, it was all I could do to remember all the names and faces.

Later that afternoon, three more recruits joined the ship, escorted to the gangway by the local constabulary. Two of these new arrivals were put in the adjoining cabin to ours and were also confined to the ship until sailing. I was lying on my bunk when a couple of heads popped through the open door and introduced themselves as Mac and Bob. Bob was about 19 years old, 5’8 and broad, with a Scots accent. Mac, on the other hand, was only 18, well over six foot tall and built to match, having hands the size of baseball gloves. They’d both jumped ship nine months previous and had been living and working in Auckland since. Having been caught and thrown out of the country, they both said that on arriving back in England they would return at the first chance they got. During the next few weeks I was to spend most of shore leave tagging along with them.

After supper, while the rest of the crew got ready to go ashore, we all sat around Mac’s cabin. We may have been confined to ship but we’d managed to get a few beers so we decided to have our own party. After a few hours of singing and drinking, I flaked out. Next thing I knew was John giving me an early morning shake, “Come on Tony, it’s seven o’clock.” My head felt like I had it shut in a vice. My mouth, well words alone can’t explain, and I crawled from my bunk and staggered over to the port for fresh air. First thing I noticed was the Afric had gone, and I was disappointed that my promise to visit had been waylaid by the drinking spree.

I gave John a hand with preparing the breakfast in the mess then went to get cleaned up and changed for my court appearance. I returned for a spot of breakfast and was surprised to find a half naked woman sitting in the corner, her tits resting on the table while she tucked into her breakfast.

“Who’s she, John?”

“That’s Wilson’s second cook. She’s only here for bed and breakfast.”

“What do ya mean, bed and breakfast?”

“Well, he fucks the arse off her and she gets to eat his breakfast. Goes on all the time.”

Shortly before nine, I made my excuses to the bosun before going ashore, where Miss Roach was already waiting to greet me.

“Hello Tony, how are you? Settled in alright?”

Not wanting to tell the Child Welfare Officer I got as drunk as a skunk last night and that there were women aboard walking around half naked, I went for an easy answer. “Yes miss, they’re a nice crowd.”

The hearing at the Court House was a short one and my case was adjourned until the 21st October, pending further information. Leaving the Court we returned to the car, I asked Miss Roach what ‘pending information’ meant, but she assured me it was just a formality, and that once I’d left Auckland the case would be dropped. However, I still had my concerns.

Owing to the poor state of my wardrobe, Miss Roach had been authorised to get me some new clothes, and took me to a men’s department store where Child Welfare had an account.

“Anything in particular you’d like?” she asked over a coffee beforehand.

“Yeah, I’d like a new pair of jeans and a jacket.” I’d seen the guys on board wearing them when they went ashore, all faded from the wash, and they seemed to be a standard uniform so I didn’t want to be out of place. “Oh and maybe a pair of shoes,” I added.

She showed her ID card to the sales assistant and said, “The boy would prefer denims and a jacket to match, if that’s at all possible.”

“Whatever sir wishes,” he said, walking straight over to a rack and pulling down a pair of Levis. “Here you go, try those for size.”

Although too long in the leg, the rest fitted a treat, and he passed me a jacket to match. Slipping it on I admired myself in the mirror. Now I looked the part. All I needed was a new face and everything would be back to normal. I picked out a pair of black working boots to complete my new image, and we were soon on our way back to the Suevic. Arriving back on board just before lunch, I went straight to the mess. John had already filled the hot press and was making his final trip.

“Alright Tony, how did ya go?”

“Ah, they’ve adjourned again until 21st October.”

“Don’t worry about it, probably won’t be here by then anyway. Give us a hand will ya?”

Once finished, we returned to the cabin for a quiet beer.

“See you’ve got some new gear then, Tony.”

“Yeah, just some jeans and a jacket. Needs a wash though, they’re all new and stiff.”

“Best thing is to leave ‘em in a bucket of soapy water for a few days, helps take the dye out, then once we’re at sea throw them over the side on the end of a heavy line and drag ‘em through the sea for a few hours, that’ll lighten ‘em up.”

Everything was going great, new mates, new clothes, but still all this Court House rubbish was getting to me a bit, deep down. I couldn’t help thinking they’d change their minds and send me back to Australia. Luckily, I was kept busy, which stopped me from thinking about it so much. During the day I had my work cut out washing alley ways, cleaning toilets and showers and helping John at meal times. Nobody called me Tony, instead it was, “Pegs do this, Pegs do that.” Night times would be spent in the mess or on deck depending on the weather, or Mac’s cabin, but always it was a booze-up, each time the crowd getting bigger and bigger. One thing I can say is that all these men lived as though it were their last day, getting full enjoyment out of every moment. There were more and more women on board too, walking around the accommodation like it was their home – we found we were even sharing our early morning showers with them. And for the price of breakfast or a carton of smokes, the pleasure could be all yours. Not to say the thought was not there – all prancing around in the nude – but I didn’t, as to tell you the truth, those Maori women scared the shit out of me!

During the day our cabin doors were left open so any time you could stop for a chat. It was a regular home from home, a floating town, and you needed for nothing. We even had culture. There was Martin the professor. He was one of your educated seamen and some day planned to be skipper, but wanted to do it the hard way, up through the ranks. His cabin was so full of books there was hardly a place to sit. Dave was our artist – his ships in bottles were masterpieces – and as for comedy, well the Suevic was full of comedians from the deck right down to the engine room. There was always something new happening and never a dull moment.

Once the unloading had finished it was time to reload for the journey home, which took a few days. As our departure time drew closer, the lads organised a big piss-up at a place called the Shererlee club. Mac, myself, and a couple of others had been confined to the ship for over a week, but the other crew had been discussing plans to sneak us ashore. I was the only problem as, with my face still being the way it was, I’d stick out like a red light. Determined not to let it beat me, and despite the doctor’s warning that it may lead to scarring, I picked off all the dry skin until the scabs had gone, and then slapped on loads of baby oil – leaving me with a smooth, but bright red, face.

“I look like a fucking traffic beacon,” I exclaimed, and my new look gave everyone a good laugh, but it still looked better than before. During the day all was battened down and the ship was made ready for sea, and tea that night was over like a flash so everyone could get showered and changed. My denim suit had now been washed a dozen times and although it wasn’t as faded as I would’ve liked, it still looked good. The boots were on and I was ready for the off. The plan was to all meet in the Schooner, just outside the dock gates. It was dark and we went off a few at a time, creeping around so we didn’t bump into the officers or the bosun. Martin was on gangway watch, and tactically chose the moment of our passing to go and make a cup of cocoa for himself!

Soon down the gangway, we ran along the quay like convicts escaping from Devil’s Island. First stop was the Schooner to meet up with the others, and this was to be my first of many nights out with the boys. After a week of getting paralytic every night I was able to hold my liquor fairly well too, but I stood in the background while the others went to the bar as I didn’t look my age, and would be lucky to get served a soda let alone a beer. After an hour or so in the Schooner we all headed up Queen Street and the Shererlee Club, which was upstairs and entered through the side door of a pub. Luckily, once inside the flashing lights took away the red glow from my face.

By now we’d all broken up into small groups, although if anyone needed help you didn’t need to look far. Wilson and Rick found themselves a couple of old birds tucked away in the corner and set to trying to chat them up – and no doubt I’d find one of them in the shower come morning. Dave and Bob steamed in on the dance floor. It was like an ‘excuse me’. Dave would go over to a couple and, if he wasn’t one of ours, knock him flying saying, “Excuse me mate, I think this dance is mine.” Bob wasn’t much better. Most of the girls were regulars from the nurse’s home up the road and knew what to expect. Soon the drink had done the trick and I was out there along with John, chatting up a couple of second year students who, I might add, were not the best lookers. However, the more we drank the better looking they got and we ended up staggering back to the nurse’s home for a night cap, a night I was to remember for a long time.

Slung out at five in the morning, John and I made our way back to ship and as we staggered down Queen Street bumping into other men from the ship who were in equally bad states as we were, it was hilarious. It was a good job there wasn’t a medical emergency that night because most of the nurses were busily engaged in nautical matters! Along the way, we passed Shelley, laying flat out on a stack of pallets. Picking him up, we started to drag him back only to find one more, Rick, fast asleep in his own vomit. On waking, he saw the state of himself and, not saying a word, took off his dirty clothes and slung them in the harbour, staggering back to the ship in nothing but his shorts and boots. It was just the picture you want to send home to mum saying ‘Glad you’re not here’. What a night – the Child Welfare had certainly made the right decision!

Once we were all on board there was no time to sleep, just a shower and change and ready for a days work – and of course the mess room looked like a bomb had hit it. Having less than an hour to clean up and be ready for 7 o’clock and breakfast, we thought we had our problems. Rick was the Firemen’s Peggy and could still just about stand up, so leaving me, John went to give him a hand. Wilson, on the other hand, was in the galley retching in the sink, while not one, but two girls from his night before waited for their breakfast.

After breakfast I made myself ready for Miss Roach and my court case, and waited on board for her to arrive. As I did, the second mate arrived on the scene with the one thing the whole crew had been waiting for, the sailing time, chalking it up on the board at the top of the gangway. All those going ashore had to be back by twelve midnight, with all shore leave cancelled, as we would be sailing on the morning tide.

“Hello Tony,” said Miss Roach as I climbed into her car. “My, your face looks a lot better, how have you been?”

“Fine Miss, I’ve never felt better,” I said, wondering if she could smell the booze on me. “Did you know we sail tomorrow, Miss?”

“Yes, but don’t worry you’ll be back.”

It was easy for her to say, but I felt like the carrot in front of the donkey, just dangling, not knowing how my case was to go. I needn’t have worried though as it was all over in no time at all. The Magistrate summed it up like this; “It is my opinion and that of my colleagues, that it would be in everyone’s interest, especially yours Anthony, that you return to the United Kingdom. You have caused considerable concern not to mention expense to the New Zealand Government, also Dr Barnardo’s Home, Australia. Therefore, it is agreed that you will be taken from here directly back to the ship known as the Suevic, owned by Shaw Savill, to work as a deck boy until reaching England where the appropriate authorities will take over. All charges will be dropped under Section 17 of the Child Welfare Act 1925, when finally your ship sails. Have you anything to say?”

“No sir, thank you very much sir.”

“That will be all, you may go.” As I turned to take my leave, the Magistrate called me back. “Oh Anthony.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good luck!” He smiled and I actually think he meant it. I left quickly, before they had a chance to change their minds.

On our way back to the ship, we passed the gatehouse, when I saw a face I recognised, my stowaway partner John Burns. “Stop Miss, that’s my mate,” I told her, and once she pulled over I jumped out. “Won’t be a minute Miss. I thought he was still inside.” I called after him.

At first he didn’t recognise me because of my burns but then he came running over.

“Fuck me, what you done to your face?” were his first words.

I explained my story then asked him what he was doing here.

“They let me out a couple of days ago and the Probation people found me a job here. How about yourself?”

“I’m off to England tomorrow on the early tide. They got me signed on a ship tied up on Marsden, the Suevic, as a deck boy.”

“Oh great, looks like we both turned out on top in the end,” he laughed.

It was easy to see the irony of our situation, both meeting up on nearly the same spot as we’d arrived in handcuffs.

“Yeah. So, what you doing tonight?” I asked him.

“Nothing.”

“Fancy coming aboard, we’ll sink a few beers for old time’s sake?”

“Yeah. Sounds great. What time?”

“Whenever. Straight after work if you like.”

“No worries, until tonight then. I should go Tony as I’d better keep this job now I got it.”

“Sure, see ya later. Oh and John, it’s great to see ya mate.”

“Yeah, you too,” he smiled. “Later.”

I climbed back into the car, over the moon with having seen John again, as I’d thought at the Court House that had been it. It was good to know that things had worked out well for the both of us. “Thanks Miss, you’re an angel. I thought I’d never see him again.”

We continued on to the ship where Miss Roach said goodbye and gave me her home address in Auckland. “Now you write and tell me how you get on,” she told me. “I only hope you find whatever your looking for back in England,” she turned round and gave me a little wave as she drove off down the quay, me watching until she was out of sight. I was a free man once again. Nothing and no one could stop me now. I quickly climbed the gangway to safety, returned back to my duties as Peggy, and laid up for dinner.

Most of that day was spent doing last minute stowing, lowering the derricks, then making all hatches ready for sea. Thursday was a long day for all concerned, and we were just waiting for the last minute orders to cast off. During the evening I sat in the mess, listening to the men telling stories and waiting for John to arrive, but he never came. Eventually, I went out on deck for some fresh air and bumped into the bosun who was guarding the gangway to stop stragglers from going ashore.

“Got a message for you,” he said. “Some bloke named John came to see you earlier. Said to tell you, ‘Good luck and he’ll see you around one day’.”

“So why didn’t you let him come on board?” I asked, incredulously.

“Not allowed, captain’s orders. Once sailing time’s up you’ve got to have permission to have civilians on board because of stowaways, but then you’d know all about that,” he said, laughing loudly. From that day on I took more of a dislike to him, and that was the last I ever saw of John Burns.

CHAPTER 12

The final orders came in the early hours of Friday 22nd October, and the order was given to turn to.

“Wake up Tony, it’s stations,” said John, pulling my covers from me.

“Stations? What you talking about?”

“We’re sailing stupid, now get up and out on deck.”

Once outside, I was sent off with Mac, Dave and a couple of others.

“Right Pegs, just do as I tell you, don’t get in the way and whatever you do keep your feet clear of them ropes and wires.”

Orders came from the Bridge to single up, and down on the wharf the men let the ropes go, sending them crashing into the water below while our end was quickly put around the drum end and winched safely aboard and neatly coiled out from harm’s way. Now down to two ropes and the back spring, we were told to hold fast. Adrenalin pumping, I felt useless as I watched my shipmates work, but I felt ten feet tall as I looked down onto the quay. The mate ordered us to let go, first loosening off our head ropes then our back spring as slowly she slipped away from the quay, sailing out under her own steam with the pilot at the wheel.

Once outside the harbour entrance, we anchored off and waited for the pilot’s boat to come alongside. The pilot’s job was to take the wheel and guide ship in and out of port, his local knowledge of the waterways ensuring that vessels didn’t get stranded on sandbanks and reefs on the approach or departure. Once well clear of Auckland harbour, the boat came alongside to pick up the pilot, and then we were on our way. For me it meant that after seven months of wandering I was finally on my way home to England and would be there just in time for Christmas with my family and old friends. As I watched from astern, the lights became smaller and it was the last land we’d see for 18 days as our next stop was South Africa, thousands of miles away.

A certain silence came over the crew as we left. It was as though part of you stayed behind. For me I suppose it was the memories, some good, some bad, from both Australia and New Zealand, but now we were at sea it somehow seemed so long ago. Funny when you think about it; we all travel along life’s highway one way or another, meeting and making so many friends along the way, some for just a day, others for longer and in some tiny way, you may change the course of their lives just a little, and they in turn change yours.

As the twin propellers thrust away beneath me I watched the trail of white surf follow behind. On the horizon, I could see the sun just coming up, meeting the early morning sky, still filled with a million stars – a sight which no words can describe.

“Come on Pegs, let’s get some shut eye. You’ll be shattered in the morning.”

John was right, a couple of hours wouldn’t go amiss. Soon back in our cabin and on our bunks, my head only had time to hit the pillow and I was out. Next thing I knew was the early call. I woke with a start, my eyes sore from only a couple of hours sleep. John was still asleep in the bunk below so I gave him another shake.

“Yeah, you go on, I’ll be with you in a minute,” he said sleepily.

After a quick wash I made for the mess where the day workers were walking around in limbo with their cups of tea. The crew were split into shifts – day workers and watches 8-12, 12-4, and 4-8 – each man working an eight hour day basic although there was overtime to be had too – anything from painting and washing down to rope splicing for the more experienced hand. During a watch, each man would take his turn on the wheel and also on the night look out. The lookout’s job was to spot the lights of the oncoming shipping then report back up to the bridge on compass points. It was a job I would have to take my turn at too, but for now it was back to being Peggy.

John had carried me for the last week or more so I left him there to doze for awhile as I also wanted to find out if I could cope on my own. By five to seven, all was done, tea was made, hot press full, the lot ready in record time. I went back to give John a shake. “Come on John, it’s five to seven.”

“What! Why the fucking hell didn’t you call me,” he said, jumping out of his pit and pulling his jeans on.

“Don’t panic, it’s all done,” I said, but he still ran to the mess.

However on arrival he saw that I’d done everything that was required and as the relief showed on his face it gave me quite a satisfying feeling to know that all was well. “You’ve done a good job mate, we’ll make a Pegs out of you yet,” he laughed.

And that’s how it was for the next 18 days. Breakfast over at eight, cleared up, the mess and accommodation washed down in time for smoko, tea and tab nabs. Then it was lay up for lunch, which was from 12 until 1. Once cleared up it would be out on deck until 3, afternoon smoko, then get laid up for tea. For the first couple of days, it was all fairly quiet. Everybody settled down into a more relaxed routine, mostly catching up on lost sleep after a hectic month on the New Zealand coast. During the evenings we’d sit around the mess telling stories, playing cards and drinking before supper and an early night. After about a week at sea, my tan had turned to a golden brown and apart from my eyebrows and hair my face was as good as new.

On the Friday a notice went up in the mess that there was going to be a film show on the after deck on Saturday night, which rose everybody’s spirits. It seemed to signal the end of the official mourning period and that night we decided to have a bit of a pre-film show party on deck (although we had to go aft because of disturbing the watches). Earlier that day they’d opened up the bond and I’d bought 200 cigarettes and a case of beer so I could repay the hospitality of those who’d been shouting me since I’d joined the ship. Bob brought his guitar and we drunk and sang well into the early hours, as I learned my way round a few bawdy sea shanties. As the different watches came off duty, whether it be deck or engine room or catering staff, they all joined us until the party slowly broke up and I went off to my bed about 3 a.m. I went to sleep that night thinking about the fact that a week had already passed without a glimpse of land or another ship, and it made me think of a film I’d seen where germ warfare had killed the whole of the world’s population. It was like we, out here, were the only survivors.

I spent the Saturday on deck with a paintbrush in my hand, moving the brush just enough to make it look like I was doing something constructive, while soaking up the sun and watching the cadets and a few officers put up the screen. As evening fell, everyone took their places on the hatches, up on the derricks, some even climbing the jumbo to get a better view, fire buckets filled with ice water to keep the beer cool. The officers sat up front, alongside the captain, and finally it was dark enough for the main event to start. The film was Billy Bud with Terence Stamp in a spaghetti western and like the local cinema back home it had its share of hiccups, with so many sound and picture quality problems that it was more of a comedy than anything. Empty beer cans flew at the screen in protest, much to the dislike of the senior officers on board, and after that night they were a bit reluctant to show any more films.

Next day we were in for another surprise. Due to the ever raising temperature, the captain sent orders for the ship’s chippy to erect a makeshift swimming pool on the fore deck. It was small but big enough to cool down in during our time off, and made a great party piece.

Some days the heat got so unbearable that you could only work in the shade, usually washing down the paintwork. During those long days, Dave taught me knots and how to splice rope, giving me one of his old sheath knives along with a small spike to wear on my belt. Gradually I learnt my way around the ship and it was suggested that if I wanted to get promotion, first thing I needed to do was get my steering ticket, which consisted of 10 hours on the wheel in two hour sessions. My first stint was early evening, taking over from Mac on the wheel.

“Right Pegs, it’s all yours,” he told me. “The course is 360 degrees so don’t let her slip away too far, OK?”

“Yeah, right,” I said full of confidence.

Now all I had to do was watch the giro compass, not letting it go more than two degrees either side of course and adjusting the helm accordingly. So there I was, 16 years old, at the helm of a 13,000 ton vessel, sailing the high seas. I couldn’t do much damage, surrounded by water as far as the eye could see, but I did get a bit carried away at one time and she started to go off course. It was just a little at first (355, 350) but then, no matter how I tried, I couldn’t bring her back. By now the change of course had been noticed with Mac rushing back to take over.

“Fuck me Pegs, Where do ya think you’re going. Back to Auckland?”

By now it was 342° – 18 degrees off course. The mate called me out on the bridge, pointing to the large curve in the ship’s wash and telling me that if I’d have carried on any longer we would have gone full circle. Mac soon corrected it, and gave me another chance.

“As soon as it goes, ease your helm back slowly and as it starts to move bring it back to midships. Remember Pegs, nice and easy.”

Taking note this time, and not taking my eyes off the giro, I managed to get the knack. Luckily the sea was like a millpond, giving me hardly anything to do. My first two hours went fast and I returned to the mess feeling really pleased with myself. Four more days and I’d have my ticket. Everything was going great, better than I’d ever thought possible. During the next four days, each night after work I spent two hours on the wheel and on completion of 10 hours I was informed that on arrival in England I would get my steering certificate.

After two weeks at sea spirits began to flag, the men just longing for the hour when land was sighted, as we’d seen nothing in 15 days spent sailing the Tasman Sea and Indian Ocean. Finally. On Monday, 8th of November, we first sighted the coast of Africa. Almost straight away spirits rose and we celebrated our imminent arrival in Durban, South Africa, with another party on deck that night.

In the early hours, we drew closer to land, finally hugging the coast until Tuesday afternoon we dropped anchor and waited for the pilot and the three tugs to come along side and take us in. We eventually finished tying up at 6.30 p.m. in between a number of other British Merchant ships which made it look as though the fleet was in! By now we were ready for some shore leave, but first of all there was work to be done – derricks had to be made ready, hatches un-battened, ready for the cargo handlers the next day.

It was past 9.30 by the time we’d got done. I was in my cabin planning on a quiet evening, when Mac popped his head around the door and asked if I was coming ashore. Even though I was tired, I couldn’t say no.

“Yeah, alright Mac, give us ten minutes and I’ll be with you. I’m a bit short of the readies though.”

“That’s alright, subs list is up in the mess.”

I showered and changed and was ready for the off, collecting my sub before I went. We all managed to get into a couple of taxis at the dock gate, and I was surprised to see the drivers were women. Bob sat up front.

“Take us to the fleshpots of Durban,” he said, and not saying a word, she just smiled then pulled away. We ended up going into a bar called the Smugglers of all things, which was the first of many bars that night. Unfortunately, being the time of week, women were scarce unless you wanted to pay for them, so John and I had an early night, rolling back on board about 2 o’clock.

The next morning the dockers came on board to unload. That was when everything had to be nailed down – ports bolted, cabin doors locked – because it was common knowledge that they would nick anything that moved. We even found them in the mess helping themselves to our food. That was when I realised what real poverty was. It was terrible, but the general opinion was that if you gave to one you’d have to give to all, so it was better not to give to anyone.

During our short spell in Durban I took my turn as watchman, first a few hours in the afternoon, then all night. Still, the rest was a welcome change from all the partying. As the rest of the lads went ashore I made my way to the gangway, “Right, Pegs, sit there and whatever happens, no ladies aboard, unless they’re accompanied by an officer. You got that?”

“Yes, Bosun.” Not being one for reading books the night dragged on and I couldn’t wait to be relieved at 6 a.m. The only bit of excitement came when Rick and Wilson rolled up in a taxi escorting a rather plump young lady. Rick was the first to the top, followed closely by his lady friend, who was clutching on tightly to Wilson.

“Permission to come aboard sir,” he said, throwing a rough looking salute.

“Hello Rick. Is that family you’ve got with ya?” I joked.

“This ‘ere is me long lost brother, but he’s got a problem.”

“Oh yeah and what’s that?”

“Can’t ya see stupid? He’s wearing ladies clothes so we’ve brought him back here to get ‘em off her… I mean him.”

“Sounds good to me Rick, let me know if you need any help,” I said with a wink and a smile.

“Thank you sir, you’re a gentleman,” said Wilson and the three of them staggered towards Rick’s cabin, arm in arm.

During the next couple of days we loaded cargo, and took on fresh stores. Friday was my last chance to go ashore as we sailed on the early tide next day. That night we hit bars, discos, and even went down to the amusement park down by the beach to try our hands at go karts, although it ended up being more like dodgem cars and it wasn’t long before we were thrown out for causing havoc. Time was getting on so we made our way back to the ship, having left our mark on Durban – although a few men came away with more than they bargained for, requiring the doctor’s attention!

Turn to was at 4.30 a.m. the next morning and after singling up we swung the gangway on board, lashing her down fast. All that was left to do was await the tugs that were coming up the channel.

“Let go aft, let go fored,” came a voice from the bridge and slowly we left the quay, making headway down the channel and into the open sea. Soon we were out into the channel where the pilot boat came along side and he was no sooner off and we were on our way once again. Quickly things went back to normal. John and I got breakfast while the day workers stowed the ropes. The watches changed around, giving the others a turn on the wheel. Apart from the stories of events in Durban, it was like it had never happened.

For the next few days we hugged the African coastline and on the Monday we crossed the Tropic of Cancer, commonly known as the line where King Neptune himself is supposed to reside. I had heard stories of initiation ceremonies, so kept myself out of the way hoping nobody would remember. Unfortunately, I wasn’t that lucky. Stripped down to my boots, first they put the fire hose on me then my balls were painted with bright red paint, which took me ages to get off and was sore for days. Finally, I was crowned with a slop bucket containing the lunchtime leftovers. Apart from that incident, not much else happened. There was another film night, which was an all out disaster as the captain was hit on the head by an empty can, bringing the night to an end. There were also a couple of boat drills just to check the lifeboats still worked. As always, things went wrong and it made you think God help us if we needed them in a hurry.

As we headed north, the breeze off the Atlantic Ocean made the night seem cooler, which made for a nice change and made it easier to sleep. By now we were over half way through our journey so I decided to write home telling them I was coming, though not giving them any date as I wanted to surprise them. The captain, in his wisdom, wanted the ship looking good as new before hitting rough weather which meant as much overtime for those who wanted it. So far, with my bond and subs, I’d been a little reckless and didn’t want to arrive home completely penniless. I had to have something to show for my months of wandering so I grabbed as much overtime as I could, often working all day Saturday and Sunday.

Land was once again spotted on the morning of Sunday 21st and that night we dropped anchor off Tema on the gold Coast of Africa, and waited for the pilot who eventually arrived just after 3 a.m. We were immediately put on stand by.

“Come on Pegs, move your butt.”

Still wearing my work clothes I jumped down following the rest out on deck. The order was given to weigh anchor and with engines at full steam, we went straight in bringing us almost against the quay, where a voice shouted up, “Hey, sailor man, you English boy?” Looking down, I could see a strange little black man in his white suit. “You want woman, I sell you my sister.”

“There ya go Pegs, an offer you can’t refuse.”

“Yeah, bet she’s a right old dog.” Messing about, Danny put his arm around me then threw him a kiss, putting ideas into the man’s head that we were on the queer side, “You want smally boy? I get you one very cheap,” he said, shouting up many other alternatives.

“I bet the old bastard would sell his daughter for a packet of fags,” said Danny.

“Go on Tony,” called out Shelley. “Ask him, if he’ll sell his daughter, I’ve got 200 out of bond and could do with a cheap shag.” We all laughed, knowing Shelley wasn’t joking.

Lines were thrown down and tied fast and then the rat guards were put down. Some places were worse than others for rats. Running straight up the ropes of the quay, this place was no exception and we had to take extra precautions or we’d find the ship infested with them. By the time we’d finished tying up the sun was well up, and on taking our first glimpse of Tema we hoped our stay was a short one, as it was definitely not your palm trees and sandy beaches port. It was more a desert trading post.

The gangway was down and a storm of officials clambered up, all seeing who could get to the top first. Behind them came our friend in the white suit followed by an entourage of locals selling everything from dirty postcards, watches, jewellery, authentic African spears and sex. The order came around that no one was to venture ashore alone, only in groups of three or more, and all cabins were to be locked and ports secured. Making my way to my cabin, I was pounced on by more locals trying to sell me stuff and literally had to fight my way through. Once inside I still had them poking their heads in and had to slam the port shut.

It was time for breakfast so, locking the door behind us, we went about our work. Eventually the locals left the ship with probably more than they came on board with. The unloading had already started under strict supervision of the officers, making sure we only discharged the required amount. I thought Durban dockers were bad but this was poverty at its lowest and they’d eat anything they could lay their hands on. One time I left the slop bucket on deck and came back to find a couple of them picking out and eating the food bits. It made me feel quite sick.

Our stay in Tema was a short one, and we were leaving the following night on the same tide we’d come in on. This gave us just one night’s shore leave. As we were the only ship in port at the time, we decided it would be safer to go ashore mob handed so both the Smith brothers, Alan, Mac, Bob, Shelley, Danny, Limerick and me – a right old mix of English, Irish and Scottish – all met up in the mess ready for a night of sin and debauchery.

Our first stop was the Seaman’s Mission, just out of the so-called dock gate, which had fallen down years since. This was supposed to be the safest place to spend the evening but due to the lack of beer supplies our stay was short lived. After trying a number of other bars we ended up at a Reggae club, taking control of about half a dozen tables which didn’t seem to please the locals. The evening went well until a couple of the natives got restless, resulting in Bob leaving them both out cold on the dance floor.

“Well boys I think it’s time to make a move,” said Dave, and he was right, as the locals closed in, the odds being at least 10 –1 against us. Watching our backs, we slowly made for the door, and backed down the road keeping our eyes on the gathering mob following us.

“Right fellas,” yelled Dave, “last one back to the ship gets his throat cut.”

And he started to run.

Mac grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, almost taking my feet off the ground. “Come on Pegs, move your arse into gear, we don’t want them bastards to use it as a target practice.”

He kept hold of me the whole time we ran, my legs going nineteen to the dozen, the sound of shouting and bottles smashing behind us. We didn’t stop running until we’d got back to the dock gates. My heart was pounding and my legs were like jelly, when I heard Bob.

“Well, that was good for a laugh,” he chirped.

We all looked at him, not believing what he’d just said, and then burst into laughter.

It was still early so we continued our party out on deck, not getting to bed until the early hours. The next day the unloading continued, finishing around midday. It was hot – well into the nineties – and with the cabins being locked down while the Teman workers were on board it was like being in a furnace. After lunch all hands turned to making the ship ready once again for sea while I was put on gangway duty, and I sat in the shade with my feet up. All signs of my burns had now gone. My eye lashes and eye brows had grown back and the scars disappeared, and I was covered only by a dark tan. John bought me my tea at smoko, by which time all on deck was done. After break word came from above we could knock off early. That was, everyone except for me. I had to stay on gangway until four thirty.

The boys decided to cool themselves off by diving off the lower boat decks and swimming in the crystal clear waters of the harbour. They would swim round the bow then climb back up on to the quay.

“Come on Pegs, its great once you get in.”

“Yeah, it’s alright for you,” I replied. “I’m stuck here.”

“Must be half past four by now. Come on, no one’s about.”

The temptation was too great. Leaving my post, I followed the others up on to the boat deck. Although it was a long drop, a good 30 foot or more, one by one they each jumped or dived in until it came around to my turn. The natural made harbour came straight in from the ocean with its clear blue waters, the bottom clear to see. I dived in, hit the water like a bomb – a dive I would not like to attempt again – came to the surface and felt the warm waters of the Atlantic.

“Sharks, look out, there’s fucking sharks in the water.” The call from above chilled me to the bone and I was suddenly swimming like crazy, but nowhere very fast. I felt something coming up beside me and my heart came up into my mouth. Relief only came when I heard it had a voice.

“Come on Pegs, for fuck’s sake swim!”

It was Danny, shouting out as he shot past me. Terrified, I carried on making for the nearest thing in sight, the anchor cable, thinking only of the deadly predator on my tail. Reaching the anchor, I climbed up and out of the water and just stood there frozen to the chain as three grey fins glided by me below – six or seven feet long, they were certainly big enough to make a feast of me.

Obviously now my major concern was my own escape and the other lads did their best to help me out. Mac threw me a line over the side to hoist me up, but it was just too far away for me to grab hold of. Finally I realised, with dread, that the only option I had was to get back into the water and swim up and around the ship’s bow to the quay, and it was a thought that didn’t appeal to me one little bit. It’s one thing to hear about sharks, but to actually see them is a different matter. By now all hands were watching the water.

“Come on, Pegs, the water’s clear, there’s no sign of them now.” Dave’s low pitched voice was not enough to convince me. My trembling voice called back, echoing round the dock yard. “You’ve got to be fucking joking, I’m not going back in there, ya bastard.”

Deep down though, I knew they were right as there was no other way. So after getting my courage up I let go and threw myself into the water. I swam for my life, cheered on by the crew. Legs kicking, arms swinging, I swam like a madman, eventually making it to the quay but I wasn’t happy until my feet were clear of the water. All the lads cheered as the bosun took my hand pulling me ashore. Looking down at me with a big grin he said, “It might have been better if the sharks’d got ya, as you’re in for it.”

“What d’ya mean?” I said, still shaking.

“You left your post early so I had to report you.”

Not taking in what he’d said, I started to walk away from him. He called me back. “Did you hear what I said? You’re in trouble.”

“Yeah, I heard. You said half past four so that’s what time I left the post. Get off my back,” I shot back.

“Now listen, you little smart arse, I said five o’clock, not half past four.”

By now the ship’s rails were lined with crew, including some officers and I was not about to lose face in front of them. “You lying fat bastard,” I told him, “no wonder you’ve got no fucking mates.”

I was called to see the captain immediately, and I headed for his cabin, still dripping wet. His door was already open and he was sat back at his desk.

“You sent for me sir?”

“Ah yes, Bates. Bosun tells me you left your post before time.”

By then, Fatso was right behind me.

“No sir, bosun said four thirty not five o’clock.”

“Well, I’m sorry Bates, but he tells me the story differently. You will therefore forfeit one day’s pay for the offence. Have you anything to say?”

I thought of my hard earned overtime, gone just like that, and with steam rising, I replied. “Yes sir. I suggest you take the day’s pay, split it in two and along with the job shove it up your fucking arses.”

I left them both with a look of surprise on their faces, but afterwards I knew I’d done it again – I’d let my mouth rule my head. It wasn’t the first time it had got me in trouble and definitely wasn’t to be the last.

Making straight for my cabin, I changed into some dry clothes then made for the mess. Dave called me over.

“What did the old man have to say?” he asked, the others looking on.

“Oh you know how it is, that fat pig cost me a day’s pay. Reckons I left my post before knocking off time, the lying git. So I told them both to shove it up their arses, didn’t I?”

“You did what?” cried Dave, with a big grin on his face.

“Well they made me mad and I don’t have to put up with that sort of shit from any one.”

The lads were all right behind me. My opinion of the bosun was much the same as theirs and although we had to live with him, it didn’t mean we had to like him. The others didn’t like the way he’d been treating me and a couple of days later Mac would threaten to hang him over the side by his balls if he didn’t leave me alone.

After tea a few of us sat on deck taking full advantage of the evening breeze, when someone noticed one of the cadets coming down the wharf, dressed in nothing but his underpants. Slowly word got about and by the time he reached the gangway half the crew were cheering him on, much to his embarrassment. His name was Latcham and he’d gone ashore alone, contrary to the order from above. He’d been robbed of his clothes and money and apparently had been lucky not to lose his life. I was well pleased to get away from that place. Hardly what you’d call a spot for any tourist guide book.

From Tema we headed to our last port of call, Las Palmas, in the Canary Islands, which was three to four days sailing. Soon slipping back into routine, the next few days went swiftly although the captain was getting just a little anxious because there was still a lot to do before reaching England. It was all hands to, painting anything that didn’t move. We reached Las Palmas early on the morning of the 29th. Again our stay was going to be a short one, and we were set to leave early next morning once we’d restocked supplies and fresh water.

At afternoon smoko we were called to collect our subs and this being the last night ashore in a foreign port, I drew £5. This was to be a night to remember and there were no restrictions so we could go ashore in our own time. John and I went ashore around seven and our first stop was the British Bar, frequented mostly by seamen of all nationalities. From there we decided to head for the fleshpots of the town. It was a real eye opener for John and myself to see women hanging out of their windows wearing as little as possible.

“Hello sailor boy, you want to have good time?”

I couldn’t believe it, we must have walked up and down for ages just trying to pluck up the courage to ask the price, and as time went on we felt like a couple of perverts, so it was either ask or leave. Neither of us had the bottle so we left, dragging our tails between our legs. On our way back, we passed a bar and heard familiar voices singing from inside.

“That’s Shelley, I’d know that voice anywhere,” I said looking at John. Still laughing, we entered the bar.

“Hey Peggy, get ‘em in,” came a shout and we saw the back bar had been taken over by a crowd of drunken seamen, including Shelley, Danny, Mac, Bob. Alan, Rick and a couple of his mates from the engine room.

“Where you been lads?” called Danny, who was by this time slowly leaving his chair, his body sliding half way under the table.

“Nowhere special, we were just walking about.”

Danny straight away sussed us out, “You’ve been looking for dirty women haven’t you Pegs? You know they’re bad for you. You’ll end up like me if you ain’t careful, with a throbbing dick and two penicillin jabs up your arse.” Laughing it off, I just carried on drinking, then we all joined in singing:

The mate as a bastard, he wears a white hat,

He says go to smoko and then hurry back,

When we get to London, we’ll all get the sack,

‘Cos we’re going smoko and we ain’t coming back,

Heave away, heave away from Kiwi to London’s a

fucking long way.

After an hour or so John returned to the ship as he wanted an early night, but I stayed behind. Like a good Peggy, I fetched and carried beer until finally it was time for all of us to think about returning to the ship.

“Let’s get a carry out Pegs. Here, go and get a couple of bottles of whisky,” said Mac, handing over some money. By now our friendly Spanish barman was glad we’d decided to move, as we’d driven half his customers away.

“Give us a couple of bottles of whisky, por favor,” I asked in my best Spanish accent. As he put them down on the counter I handed over the money, but he told me that I didn’t have enough.

“Uno momento,” I said and called to Mac. “Mac, José here reckons we ain’t got enough cash.”

All digging deep, we came up with what was the last of our money and returning to the bar I laid it on the counter to find that not only had he pocketed a couple of notes, but he still insisted I didn’t have enough. Knowing full well he was on the make, what started as a quiet transaction turned into a shouting match, although he was making out he didn’t understand a word of what I was saying. It was then Bob staggered over to see what the problem was, so I explained. Bob took on the argument and after trying to reason with him for a while he finally lost his cool.

“Don’t understand, ah? Well you’ll understand this,” he said lifting the barman clear off the ground before nutting him. “Come on lads,” he said, “I think its time we went…” Bob had no sooner said those words than the door burst open and in walked half a dozen coppers carrying long coshes. Shelley and the others were half way to the door when Mac grabbed hold of me and pushed me under the table. “Don’t move and just stay under there Pegs,” he told me.

Then it started. One of the policemen took a prod at Bob with his cosh and in return Bob laid him out cold, which started a free for all concerned. Shelley got coshed at the same time as he hit his opponent over the head with a full bottle of whisky, both of them hitting the floor at about the same time. Danny was down and it was then that the guns came out. It was useless to carry on fighting and soon police reinforcements burst in, pinning my crewmates against the wall, hand cuffing and dragging all three of them away. Rick and the others had disappeared out the back way, leaving Mac and I to talk our way out. Luckily the barman, who was still dazed, wasn’t making too much sense, so eventually we were allowed to go. As we left, we looked around the bar with chairs and tables and broken glass strewn all over the place. Both the bar and the barman looked like they’d been hit by a truck.

“Can you find your way back to the ship Pegs? I’d better go see what’s happened to the others,” said Mac.

I set off on my own, bumping into Rick and a few of the others along the way, none of us believing what we’d just seen.

“Oh well, they’ll probably only keep ‘em overnight, give ‘em a good kickin’, then let ‘em out come morning,” said Rick, convincingly.

“I doubt it Rick, did you see those coppers’ faces? They won’t be entering any beauty contests for a while.”

“Anyway what happened Pegs, how did it start?” asked Rick.

Feeling it was partly my fault, I trod carefully, “Bob had a slight disagreement with the barman, so he nutted him.”

“Trust him, that’s the second time he’s nearly got us all killed. Remember that little episode in Tema?”

Soon back on the ship, we joined the others in the mess, our encounter being the topic of conversation. Shore leave ended at 2 a.m. and still there was no sign of Mac, and I wondered if they’d arrested him too. We sat drinking well into the morning as this would be our last session together on this trip. Around 4 a.m. I grabbed a couple of hours sleep and there was still no sign of Mac. John gave me a shake at 6.30. Sailing at nine, we were having an early breakfast. Once cleaned away, I stepped out on deck for a fag.

“Any sign of Mac yet Dave?”

“Na, not yet Pegs, but the police and British Consulate are on board. Came on half an hour ago and they’re still up with the old man.”

Then from a distance, I could see someone staggering towards us, and as he got closer I realised it was Mac.

“Mac, you old bastard,” I shouted out. Dave stood up from his chair and looked down the quay at Mac strolling along like he had all the time in the world.

“Quick Pegs, get down there and hurry him up. With a bit of luck he might not be seen.”

Most of the officers would be at breakfast so there was every chance we might get away with it and I raced down the gangway and along the quay towards him.

“Hello Pegs, me old darling, fancy a drink?” he said pulling out a bottle of wine from his pocket.

“Where the fuck have you been?” I shouted like a concerned father.

Smiling all the time he said, “The coppers wouldn’t let me in to see ‘em so I went for a drink. I had no money so some old broad shouted me a few. Who was I to argue? Then we went back to her place for a knobbing, it wasn’t until then I found out it was a bleedin’ fella and ended up with a pair of bollocks in me hand. Still what the fuck, the booze was free and I know she was grateful.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “Come on you dirty old bastard, you ain’t been missed yet, so chances are you won’t be.”

We hurried along the quay then up the gangway – all clear.

“Hello Dave mate, where’s our old buddy Fatso? I wanna have a word with him, don’t we Pegs?” growled Mac.

“Keep it down Mac, you’ll get us all in the shit.”

Mac just laughed saying, “Well it won’t be the first time tonight will it Pegs?”

Dave quickly grabbed hold of Mac and said to me, “Pegs you stay here and if anyone asks, I’ve gone for a shit, right?”

He escorted Mac to his cabin. “Now listen,” he said on his return. “Anyone asks, Mac’s sick in bed and he’s been there all night OK?”

By the time the order came to turn to there was still no sign of Bob and the others. Luckily Mac was aft with us so we could at least cover for him. “Let go aft, let go fored,” went the cry and slowly we edged away from the quay, leaving Las Palmas and four of our crew behind. We later heard all four had been sentenced to eighty days hard labour for disturbing the peace.

Soon clear of the harbour, we set off on the last leg of our voyage, still hugging the north coast of Africa, passing Spain, France then finally our destination Avonmouth, Bristol, a five day journey. Mac woke later that day feeling none the worse for wear and surprised to see his cabin mate Bob had been left behind.

Things went quiet for the next few days and apart from meals and work, each kept to themselves. A sort of limbo feeling, I suppose, after being with the same crew for 5 months or more you were at a loss. Come Sunday, we’d all be paid, maybe to never see each other again. Still, that was the sea, no sooner home than you’d be off on a new ship, new faces, and off to God knows where or for how long. The ship came back to life on Thursday evening though when we got an SOS from a Panama freighter. Answering her call, we rushed full steam to her aid off the Portuguese coast.

It must have been near midnight when we were called out on deck to get nets over the side and life lines ready, and you could see her glowing orange in the distance. A whole fleet of smaller ships surrounded her and she was listing badly to port, her cargo of timber well ablaze. We came in as close as possible, the engines were stopped, and like a huge cork we just bobbed up and down in the water waiting for survivors. It made me feel quite sick just to hear the men aboard screaming with pain as some jumped into the water with their clothes on fire. There was a strong westerly wind that night and it was freezing up on deck. Ironic isn’t it? We were cold and they were burning up from the heat of their decks.

“Pegs, go and make a bucket of cocoa and be quick.”

“Yes, Chief,” I said and ran straight to the mess as quick as I could, as I didn’t want to miss any of the excitement. A bucket, I thought to myself, how the hell do I judge that? Doing as I was told, I just put a whole tin of cocoa powder in and added water, plus a bag of sugar. Well it looked alright and didn’t taste too bad either. By the time I’d got back on deck, our life boats were down, ready to pick up survivors. On the other ship we could see the men piled into their lifeboats, but they were having problems launching them. As we watched, flames burnt through the rope, sending their lifeboats crashing into the sea, men tumbling out of them, a chilling sight. The rescue mission ended in a bit of an anti-climax when a Spanish fishing vessel took over the whole rescue, but we hung around until morning anyway before continuing our journey.

As we got closer to England the weather got colder and colder until we were all dressed like Eskimos. On Sunday morning we sighted land, the Isles of Scilly, off the coast of Cornwall and from there, we sailed up the Bristol Channel, arriving in Avonmouth on 5th December.

We finally finished tying up just after six that night. Once the gangway was down I was first ashore, kissing the ground that lay beneath me. During that evening we all packed, John giving me an old kit bag of his to pack away what gear I had. It was then that Dave poked his head around the door, acting very mysteriously with one hand behind his back. I offered him a beer, but he declined and just handed me a souvenir of the journey, one of his precious masterpieces, a Whaling ship, complete with long boat, crew and harpooned whale with the word Suevic written on the ship’s stern, for which I was very grateful.

After we’d packed we all met in the mess for a last drink together, with nearly everybody going off to bed early. Next morning it was breakfast as usual and after that there was nothing left for me to do but clear up and wait around with the others for my pay. Finally at 12 o’clock we queued outside the chief’s office to receive our wages and discharge. Eventually when it came to my turn, he handed me £38 and 18d and my discharge papers which read ‘For ability V.G.’ (which meant very good) but D.R. ‘For Conduct’ (which meant declining to report). In seaman’s terms, it meant I’d been sacked. I was angry and tried to argue my case with the chief steward, then the mate, but unfortunately the final decision stood with the captain who’d already gone ashore. At the end of the day though, I wasn’t too bothered at that moment in time, as the fact that I was home was my only concern.

Collecting our bags, we left the ship and took the short walk to the main gate past the customs officials, who by now had gone over the ship with a fine-tooth comb. They were waiting for us in their crisp naval uniforms, just dying for one of us to do something suspicious, but we just strolled past without so much as a blink. Outside the gate we waited for six taxis to take us to the station. I got in the last cab with Mac, Dave and Terry, and could just see the Suevic’s funnel, and as we drove away I remembered these few words I’d read somewhere, and somehow thought they seemed appropriate:

“They’d passed our time as a breed of man

The world would not see the likes again.”

CHAPTER 13

Arriving at Temple Meads station we got the next Pullman train to London, which meant at least we could have a good feed. With what seemed like half the ship’s crew taking over one carriage, the British Rail stewards didn’t know what had hit them. We ordered no end of food, champagne and beer by the gallon and time passed quickly. After a few short hours we pulled into Paddington station and merrily disembarked, leaving our carriage looking like a disaster area. It was here we went our different ways, and a sad moment as for the last six weeks these men had been such close friends. No one exchanged names and addresses, which I thought a bit strange, although some of the older lads kept in touch.

“Well, this is it, Pegs. You never know, one day we might ship out together,” Mac said, taking my hand in friendship.

“You can bet on that, Mac.”

“Now don’t forget, take your discharge to Prescott Street and put your case to them. You’ll be back at sea before you know it. See ya kid.” With that Mac walked away. He’d been a good pal. In fact they all had.

I left to get the underground to Victoria, and there bought a ticket to Brighton. Once again I was on my own, but instead of being afraid this time, I walked tall, for here I was, a man at last. I’d seen the wonders of the world and had my ‘ups and downs’, but now I had money in my pocket and was going home. It was icy cold outside and night was closing in, bringing that blanket of doom that falls over England in the winter time. I boarded the train and noticed the other passengers staring at me but it felt good, sitting there with my golden tan and hair turned light by the sun.

“Where you been, son?” asked a man in the seat opposite, and I looked up to see a gent in his city clothes.

I was a cocky sod and reeled off the places I’d been, just as Fred had done all those years ago when I was just a kid.

“Sounds exciting. May I ask what you do?”

“I’m a deckhand in the merchant navy, just got back from Australia,” I told him, before going into detail on some of my adventures. His eyes stayed glued to mine the whole journey not knowing whether to believe me or not – after all, what I’d done in eight months some people don’t do in a life time.

“How old are you, son?” he asked after a while.

“Just sixteen,” I said proudly and he just smiled.

The time ran away and soon enough we had arrived in Brighton station, here at last after my 30,000 mile journey.

“See ya mate, keep ya pecker up,” I told my companion as I stepped off the train, and he looked back at me as if to say, ’you cheeky little sod.’ I could feel the eyes boring into me as I strolled down the platform, with a swagger, my bag slung over my shoulder. I thought about getting a taxi home, but then had a change of mind – I wanted to do it in style. I found a telephone box and looked up the number for Streamline Cabs in Portslade, and requested their Rolls Royce.

“It’ll cost ya,” laughed Stan Lock, who owned Streamline and knew us boys from old.

“No problem,” I told him, “I’m loaded.”

“You sure? It’ll be four quid.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I wanna be sure they know I’m back in town.”

After all I’d been through I was going to make an entrance and give ‘em something to be proud of and it wasn’t long before the black Rolls, complete with Stan wearing his chauffeur’s hat, pulled into the station.

“Hello son, you’re looking well. Does your mother know you’re coming?”

“I thought I’d surprise her.”

“You’ll certainly do that,” said Stan, a broad smile on his chubby round face. Opening the door for me to get in, Stan took his place behind the wheel and, looking at me through his rear view mirror, he asked, “Where to, Sir?”

“Leave it out Stan, you know where I live.”

“Yes sir.”

Slowly we drove through the streets of Brighton and into Hove, a journey I had done many times before but somehow this time it was different. I was bursting with excitement. I just knew things would be different at home this time as I was an adult now and, as such, maybe we could all live together cordially, especially as now I could pay my way. But there was time for that later, as tonight I just wanted to pull up outside the house for all the world to see, just as Fred had done all those years before.

At last we reached Knoll Estate. “Well, there you go, sir, Bellingham Crescent. Home at last,” said Stan, and he pulled up outside number 36. I was a little disappointed that the streets were so empty, so Stan honked the horn to let them know I was here. They were bound to look out I thought, but nobody did, which was unusual because normally the slightest sound would set the neighbours peering out of their curtains. I paid off Stan (tipping him a quid) and took my bag from the back seat, but still no one stirred and he got back in the car and honked once again before driving off.

I couldn’t believe it, all this racket and no one looked out to see who or what the commotion was (never mind the fiver it had cost me to make my big impression). I knocked at the front door and saw the hall light come on. As the front door slowly opened I was boiling over with excitement and there, standing in the doorway, was mum. I had thought about this moment for months. How would she react? A hug, a kiss, maybe a few tears?…

“Hello mum, I’m back,” I croaked.

Her face was not one of surprise as I’d been expecting, and her tone was more sorry than excited. “We heard you were coming back, but didn’t quite know when,” she said almost matter of fact. “I suppose you’d better come in. Fred, it’s Tony. He’s back.”

On entering the lounge, I looked around. Nothing had changed, same old place, same old mess, Fred sat in the same old chair beside the fire. “Hello son, have a good trip?” he asked, and then turned his eyes back to his T.V. programme.

I couldn’t believe it. Was this really happening? After all that fuss trying to get back here, this was the big homecoming. I was disappointed to say the least. Talk about coming down to earth. I’d landed straight on my face. At least Judith was pleased to see me. Now ten, she seemed to have shot up a lot since I’d last seen her.

“Are you going to stay with us, Tony?” she asked, clinging tightly to my hand.

“Well, I hope so.”

Mum looked at me crossly. “Well, I don’t know where you’re going to sleep as we’ve got rid of your bed. You’ll have to top and tail with your brother for the time being.”

I was dumbfounded, and the lump in my throat was getting larger and larger. Nothing had changed. I was beginning to realise I’d made a terrible mistake. My dreams of home had turned into a nightmare.

Judith tugged my hand, bringing me back to reality. “Come on Tony, let’s take your bag upstairs.”

She practically dragged me upstairs and into the front bedroom, and there in the corner were my two kid brothers top and tailed in a single bed. Walking quietly over, I looked down at them. Ian was still a baby, 18 months old, and had grown no end, and down the other end of the bed was Tommy, now four, but still as small and thin as the day I had left. I lent forward and kissed them both.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting something to eat,” said mum when I came back downstairs. “There’s only egg and chips,” she said abruptly.

“That’ll be great, thanks mum. Alright if I pop over and see Ricky first?”

“Okay, but don’t be too long – I’m not cooking at this time of night for my health.”

Hurrying out the back door, I headed for Ricky’s house across the road and knocked furiously on his backdoor until his mum answered.

“Hello Tony, your mother said something about you coming back.”

“Well here I am. Where’s Rick? Is he in?”

“Well he’s having his tea at the moment. Come back in half an hour. He should be finished by then.” With that, she shut the door in my face.

I had the horrible feeling that I had done something terribly wrong and everyone but me knew about it – even my best mate would rather finish his tea first and leave me standing out in the cold. That just about did it for me. It was like I didn’t exist any more and all memory of my existence had been wiped away. I desperately wanted to find someone to tell my adventures to, but no one was interested. I returned home and took my place by the fire, feeling well choked at the whole situation.

“Come on son, sit at the table, your tea’s ready.” Mum’s voice had lost its harshness and become soft and gentle. She smiled down on me as she put a large plate of egg and chips on the table. “You’ll feel better when you’ve got something inside you.”

Me feel better? I’m alright, it’s you lot that are all covered in doom I thought, but I said nothing and, head down, tucked into my tea. Fortunately, mum and Fred slowly came round and started asking me questions.

“So you didn’t like Australia then?” Fred said abruptly. “Too good for you were they?”

“Na, it wasn’t that at all. Just didn’t like it.”

“So what didn’t you like?” harped mum.

“Nothing. You decided not to come so I came back. It’s as simple as that.”

“What about your poor brother? Pat’s all on his own now.”

So that was it – I’d left big brother on his own to fend for himself. It was all coming out now.

“He’s eighteen, old enough to look after himself. I didn’t see much of him anyway. He was always out with his mates and didn’t give a damn about me.”

“That’s not what his letters said,” mum shot back. “More the reverse we heard – you always in trouble and out of work and him having to support you – is what we heard.”

Not wanting to disillusion them with the truth I shrugged it off. A year ago they couldn’t have cared less about Pat, so why the big change now?

“And what, may I ask, are you going to do for work? We’re not going to keep you,” mum added.

“I’ve got money. I’ve just been paid off,” I told her.

“Good. You can start by giving me ten pounds for two weeks board and tomorrow you can find yourself a job.”

Without any hesitation, I pulled my money from my pocket and paid her. Fortunately the entrance of Terry, my older brother, gave me a reprieve from the interrogation. Taking a seat beside me, we talked for ages, and at last I had someone who was interested in hearing about all the things I’d been up to in the past eight months.

“So what are you going to do now?” asked Terry.

“I don’t know yet. I might try and get back to sea, could be a problem though, I got a bad discharge first trip.”

“Na, you’re joking, that’s almost impossible.”

“I know, but somehow I managed it.”

I showed him my discharge papers with ‘Conduct D.R.’ written on them.

“How the hell did you manage that?” Fred butted in.

I told them about leaving my post in Tema and my outburst at the bosun and the captain.

“Typical, never could do as you were told,” tutted Fred.

Terry reassured me. “Never mind kid, if there’s a way round it we’ll find it.”

“Well you’d better hurry up and make your mind up, coz we’re not going to keep you,” said mum adding her sixpence worth. I hadn’t been back five minutes and already she had taken half my money and was threatening to throw me out. Fred’s attitude was much the same, but instead of saying anything, he went back to the television. I couldn’t take any more and decided it was time to get out. Besides, it was high time I caught up with my old sweetheart Bev, the one person from home that had kept me going through all those bad times with her letters. It was cold as I walked the short distance to Bev’s house, breaking into a slow jog to keep myself warm, as I no longer possessed a coat. Arriving at Bev’s, I rang the bell. The hall light went on and a shadow appeared behind the glass panel, but it wasn’t Bev, it was Rene, her mum.

“Bev’s not in,” she told me. “But come in and wait. She shouldn’t be long.”

Once inside, I followed her up the stairs to the flat, and she told me to sit by the fire.

“Do you know where Bev’s gone?” I asked.

“Er, she said something about going to see a friend,” her mum replied, but she was a bit on edge – maybe just the shock of seeing me after all these months. She made me a coffee and I sat there for an hour or so, telling her my story. Eventually we heard the sound of the front door.

“That you Beverly?” Rene called out.

“Course it is, who else would it be?”

Bev’s voice was like music to my ears.

“There’s a visitor come to see you.”

“Who is it?”

“You come see for yourself.”

“Hello Bev, miss me?” I said with a smile as she walked into the room.

“Tony.” The look of shock on her face was a picture. This was the face I’d dreamt of night after night, through my dark and lonely times, but the romantic scene which I’d longed and hoped for didn’t happen – maybe I’d just watched too many corny movies. She just perched herself alongside me and started asking all sorts of dumb questions instead.

“How’s your mum and dad? Haven’t seen them in ages. I’ve seen Terry a couple of times though.” They were not the sort of things I wanted to hear, and even Rene was getting embarrassed.

“Well I’ll leave you two love birds alone,” said Rene and left the room.

As soon as she’d gone, I put my arms round Bev and pulled her close to me. Hesitantly, she accepted my advances, but I knew something was wrong. It was then she told me, “Look Tony, I didn’t write and tell you because … Well, I thought you’d think it was because of your accident and the scars on your face.”

“What scars? It’s all clear now.”

“I can see that, but I wasn’t to know. You said in your letters you’d probably be scarred for life.”

“So what, I’m back now.”

She was trying to tell me something and by now I had a good idea what. The large red marks on her neck told it all. She had someone else, and a married man at that. I heard her explanation, but I didn’t want to. After all that had happened, I just couldn’t believe she was doing this to me. I’d come all this way back, looking forward to seeing her so much and now here she was telling me I’d been dumped because of a few scars (which weren’t even there any more). The conversation went a bit stale after her confession and we just couldn’t find the right words to say to each other, so I decided it was time to go. “Keep smiling kid, and good luck,” I said and gave her a peck on the cheek before I went. I can’t describe the feeling of emptiness that I felt as I walked back to No. 36 that night. It was as if Bev had reached inside my chest and ripped out my heart.

Bev dumping me was only the start though, and in the coming days and weeks my world began to fall apart around me. My neighbours looked at me like I was daft when I told them my stories, and even my old mate Richard had other friends now and was hanging around with a gang of mods on scooters. My money ran out and I had no alternative but to get a job or be on the streets. Having no skills, I got a labouring job with Willet building contractors, working in Falmer on the new Sussex University building. The wages were £16 per week and although the work wasn’t hard, I suffered badly from the cold weather. Each night I’d go home, eat my tea and sit in front of the fire, which was depressing for me as I’d had a taste of the good life and hungered for more. Mum was all right while Fred wasn’t there and vice versa, but together it was hell. With Christmas just around the corner things came to a head on 21st December.

After a hard day at work, I returned to an atmosphere you could have cut with a knife. Mum, Fred and gran were sat by the fire taking great interest in an article in the local paper.

“Evening all, what a bloody day, it’s freezing out there.”

Fred looked up, “Had a hard day have you son?” he said sarcastically. “At Brighton Magistrate Courts were we?”

“What?” I asked, not knowing what he was talking about.

Then it was mum’s turn. “I told you Fred, he’s nothing but trouble. He’s not staying here to bring the police and shame on to my door step.”

“What they going on about gran?”

“Don’t play the innocent with us Tony. It’s here in black and white.”

They passed me the paper and I read the small item at the bottom of the page:

‘SOCIETY ISN’T AGAINST YOU’

Fining Anthony Roy Bates a total of £30 at Brighton today, the chairman, Mr Herbert Cuchnie, told him: “You have got to get it out of your head that society is against you. If you continue to live a life like this nobody will want to give any consideration to you.”

Bates, of Colbourne Avenue, Brighton, pleaded guilty to stealing screwdrivers, pliers and other tools worth a total of £15 belonging to Alan Evenson.

He also admitted stealing a lamp and pen valued together at 15s belonging to Susan Hill and asked for five similar offences to be considered.

Insp. William Tapsell said because of the large number of thefts from vehicles parked in the grounds of Sussex University the area received special attention from police officers

An officer who saw the accused sitting in his car in the area in the early hours approached him and found the stolen property on the passenger seat and in the boot of the vehicle.

After his arrest Bates made a statement admitting stealing property from cars in the university grounds over a period.

Insp. Tapsell said Bates had a number of previous convictions.

Feeling totally confused, I finished reading the article and looked up to see them all staring at me.
“That’s not me,” I said.

“Course it’s you!” yelled gran, which wound mum up, and she in turn wound up Fred. I tried to plead my innocence- the address wasn’t even the same – and told them it was just a coincidence, but they didn’t listen.

“It’s a mistake, they’ve got it wrong,” I said.

“You’ve got it wrong if you think you’re staying in this house any longer,” fumed Fred, and the next thing I knew he grabbed me, punching me several times in the face so that blood gushed from my nose and mouth. Instead of taking it I fought back, only making it worse for myself. Eventually mum dragged him off.

“See you, ya little bastard. You’ve been a knife in my back for years, now get your stuff and get out before I murder you,” Fred yelled at me.

Lifting myself from the ground, still pleading my innocence and covered with bruises from head to foot, I staggered upstairs to pack my kit bag. Ironically, mum even helped me pack, bringing my clean clothes up from the airing cupboard.

“You’ve only got yourself to blame, son,” she said.

By now the pain and heartache was too much, and the tears ran slowly down my face. I took my bag and left the house without saying goodbye and headed off out into the world again with only nine quid in my pocket. Fortunately, I was experienced at finding myself accommodation and ended up in a furnished room off Brighton seafront at £4 a week. It was small but comfortable, with two slot meters, one for the light the other for the gas, which ate money like it was going out of fashion. My evenings were spent mostly with Richard, taking the long bus journey home at the end of the night, but at no time did I ever take that short walk across the road to No. 36. Unfortunately, work broke up for a week at Christmas, and I spent it alone – an experience I would never like to relive – although I did spend Christmas Day with Richard and his family. When things go wrong, they always seem their worst at Christmas.

I think my lowest time of all was New Year’s Eve. My money was nearly gone and so there was no celebrating the arrival of 1966 in any style, and instead I just went for a late night stroll in town to check out the revelry. As I strolled along the front the Clock Tower struck twelve and the sound of ships horns could be heard coming from Shoreham Harbour. People were singing and shouting in the streets.

“Happy New Year mate!” called out a passing stranger, wearing a party hat and streamer round his neck.

“Yeah, thanks mate, the same to you.”

It was then I turned my back on the world, his words bringing tears to my eyes as I walked over to the railings that lined the promenade wall and just stared out to sea. It was a cold but moonlit night, the moon bouncing its reflection on the water. On the horizon I could see the reflection of a large ship, and as the waves crashed upon the shore they moved the pebbles gently back and forth but really taking them nowhere, and that’s when I realised.

That was just how I felt, like a pebble on the beach, going back and forth, but really going nowhere.

EPILOGUE

Although the future looked bleak for Tony at the beginning of 1966, things improved dramatically and in the summer of that year he met Linda, who had come down to Brighton on holiday. Tony and Linda were married two years later and are still happily married to this day. Their daughter, Pauline, was born in 1968.

Since the events recounted, Tony and his family have lived a very colourful life, and have lived all over the UK and Australia. Over that time, Tony has started a number of businesses, some successful, some not – but that’s a different story. In 1986, despite being dyslexic, Tony took a year off to research and write his story, Pebble on the Beach.

Tony’s extensive research into the events of his childhood led to him being reunited with his half sisters, Janet and Valerie, in 1996. In 2000 he literally bumped into Derek Tanner (son of Chunky and brother of his half sister Judith) while on holiday in Australia, and has remained close ever since. Tony continues to search for his half brother, James Allen, who was given up for adoption.

Once written, Pebble on the Beach remained in Tony’s loft for twenty years until a chance encounter brought his story to Queenspark Publishers. There’s a saying; “Been there, done that, got the T shirt.” Tony Diamond truly has.