My Place (43 page)

June said to me, ‘You've got a doll, too. Mummy's got it.' Then, from behind her back, Alice pulled out a black topsy doll dressed like a servant. It had a red-checked dress on and a white apron, just like Mum's. It had what they used to call a slave cap on its head. It was really just a handkerchief knotted at each corner. My mother always wore one on washing days, because the laundry got very damp with all the steam and it stopped some of it trickling down her face.

I stared at this doll for a minute. I was completely stunned. That's me, I thought, I wanted to be a princess, not a servant. I was so upset that when Alice placed the black doll in my arms, I couldn't help flinging it onto the floor and screaming, ‘I don't want a black doll, I don't want a black doll.' Alice just laughed and said to my mother, ‘Fancy, her not wanting a black doll.'

I clung to my mother's legs and cried and cried. She growled at me for being silly and bad-mannered in front of Alice, but I knew she didn't really mean it. I could hear the sadness in her voice. She understood why I was upset.

They told the story of this often at Ivanhoe. They thought it was funny. I still can't laugh about it.

It was terrible in the nineteen thirties, the Depression was on and people were so poor, especially Aboriginal people.

They would come along the river, selling props. These were long, wooden poles people used to prop up their clothes lines.

I think they liked calling in to Ivanhoe, because Alice had said that my mother was allowed to give them a cup of tea and a piece of cake or bread. Alice was always generous with food.

I used to feel so sorry for these Aboriginal people. I wondered how they could come to be so poor. They had nothing, especially the old ones. A lot of them had been separated from the young ones, all their kids had been taken off them, they had no one to look out for them.

My mother loved it when they came, she'd sit on the lawn with them and they'd talk about how it used to be in the old days. My mother always gave them clothes and shoes, whatever she could find. When they left, she'd have tears in her eyes. It hurt her to see her own people living like that.

At Christmas, I also went to Ivanhoe. We'd all sleep out on the balcony at the rear of the house, we had a lovely view over the Swan River from there.

At the top of the house was a large attic which June was allowed to use as a playhouse, it was a lovely room. There were seats under the windows and dolls and a dolls' house. There were teddies and other toys and a china tea set. We'd play tea parties and practise holding out our little fingers like grown-ups did. June's dolls were lovely, they were china and dressed in satin and lace.

It was strange, really, at the Home, nobody owned a doll. There were a few broken ones kept in the cupboard, but when you asked to play with them, you had to play in the dining room until you'd finished. You were never allowed to take one to bed.

I was lucky because I had a rag doll my mother had given me called Sally Jane. I loved her very much. She was kept at Ivanhoe for me and Mum let me take her to bed every night.

On Christmas morning, we'd wake up early and check the pillowslips we'd hung on the ends of our beds the night before. Alice always gave me a new dress, with hair ribbons to match. Mother always made me doll's clothes and I would dress Sally Jane in one of her new dresses. We were very happy together, Judy, June, Dick and I. It was like having a family.

Every year after each of the holidays, I found it harder and harder to leave my mother and return to Parkerville. I couldn't understand why I couldn't live at Ivanhoe and go to school with Judy and June. You see, I hadn't really worked out how things were when your mother was a servant. I knew the family liked me, so I couldn't understand why they didn't want me living there.

***

I can't say I was really rapt in school, I used to gaze out the window a lot. And I was always getting into trouble. It wasn't that I was a cheeky child, it was just that everybody got into trouble, in those days.

Usually, I managed to get out of trouble by making up a good story, there were only a few occasions when I wasn't quick enough to think up something convincing. I think one of the reasons I survived was because I learnt to lie so well.

You see, if there was an argument or if something had been damaged, and it was your word against a white kid's, you were never believed. They expected us black kids to be in the wrong. We learnt it was better not to tell the truth, it only led to more trouble.

The Home also taught us never to talk openly about being Aboriginal. It was something we were made to feel ashamed of.

One year, we had a school play that was a great success. It was shown to people from the surrounding districts and was greeted with great enthusiasm. I was chosen to play the part of the fairy princess.

Actually, it was lucky I was chosen to do anything, because the year before I'd disgraced myself in public. I was in the choir and had quite a good voice, so they decided I could do a solo. When we gave our first public concert, I just looked at all those strange faces and froze. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Sister Dora, who was head nun at Parkerville, had been really embarrassed.

Sister Rosemary had chosen me to play the part of the fairy princess, and when Sister Dora objected, she said there was nothing to worry about, because I didn't have to say anything.

I had to wear a long, flowing gown with a jewelled crown on my head. I had to walk to the centre of the stage and then back to my throne while all the elves paid homage to me. I loved it. I decided that, when I grew up, I wanted to be a film star.

The play was so popular that the Home decided to put it on in a hall next to Christ Church Grammar in Claremont. We were all loaded onto a big cattle truck and off we went. The play went well, with lots of loud applause at the end. I was very proud because all the Drake-Brockmans were in the audience and, more importantly, so was my mother.

When it was all over, we only had a moment for a quick hug before being loaded back onto the cattle truck and taken home again.

When I was about eleven, we got a new headmaster at Parkerville, Mr Edwards. He was different to the old headmaster, he didn't yell so much. He was a slightly built man, with a big, bushy moustache. He was very kind in a lot of ways, but when he got near the older girls, he just couldn't control himself. He was always squeezing their legs and wanting to sit at their desk and help them with their work. Everyone just ignored it. There was no use complaining because no one would believe you.

He encouraged my interest in poetry and introduced me to algebra, I loved both those things. When he realised that I'd read all the poetry books in the library and knew many poems off by heart, he lent me some of his own books, including a set of Shakespeare's plays. I read all of them and loved every one. I suddenly found that school didn't have to be dull after all, it could be quite exciting. I was no longer a middle-of-the-class student, but progressed to the top.

I think it was because of Mr Edwards that I was one of the girls chosen to visit St Hilda's School for Girls for the day. It was a
great honour to be allowed to visit St Hilda's. I was really excited, because I knew it was the school that Judy had been to.

The St Hilda's girls were supposed to give you a nice afternoon tea and then entertain you. But when I got to the school, one of the teachers said that, seeing as I had such nice manners, I would be allowed to go and sit with a girl who was sick. I was so disappointed.

Her parents picked me up and took me to their place. She had some rabbits. We looked at those for a while and then we just sat around for the rest of the day. It was really boring. Late in the afternoon, they drove me back so I could catch the bus to Parkerville. I'd been trying to be so polite and that's where it got me.

Even though I was older now, I was still getting into scrapes. We'd go out in our little gangs and steal fruit from the surrounding orchards.

I'll never forget one Sunday night, Mr Tindale, the minister, was preaching his usual hellfire-and-brimstone sermon, when he suddenly stopped and pointed to the audience. Then he said in a loud thundery voice, ‘Whoever has been stealing apricots from the Johnson farm will go to hell! I want the gang who did it to come and see me tomorrow afternoon after school. If you take your punishment, there might be some hope for you.'

After that, he continued to rant and rave about the devil and bang his fist on the pulpit. Mr Tindale always wore long, flowing, black robes, so I could imagine just what the devil looked like.

Sister Dora loved his sermons, she would almost stand in her seat when he shouted that we were all going to hell and her eyes lit up whenever he mentioned the devil.

Anyhow, this time, I was really scared, because I felt sure he knew it was my gang that had been raiding the Johnson farm. My mind was working overtime, what could I do? I hated being caned by Tinny, he always lifted the girls' dresses before hitting them, it was quite degrading. I'd managed to talk my way out of trouble a
lot in the past, I was wondering what kind of story I could invent to get out of this one.

As we were filing out of church, Margaret, a girl from another gang, whispered to me, ‘How the devil did he find out?'

‘Dunno.'

‘I was sure no one had seen us pinch that fruit,' she said. ‘Guess we'll just have to face the music now, he obviously knows.'

‘You?' I said. ‘Were your lot stealing apricots from there?'

‘Yeah. And I'm not looking forward to the stick,' Margaret grimaced.

I felt very close to her at that moment, I also felt very guilty. To compensate, I gave her half the chewing gum from my mouth. She was very pleased, gum was hard to get.

When we were out raiding orchards, we often came across old tramps in the bush. Some of them had little makeshift huts they used to sleep in.

One of these tramps made us kids a swing. He did his best, but it was too high, so we'd climb up the tree and then leap on it and pretend we were Buck Rogers or Tarzan.

One day, we were banned from going to that part of the bush. The rumour was that a boy had hung himself there. The House Mothers said it wasn't true, but I think it was. They said the boy had been sent somewhere else. It made me feel very sad. I never went to that tree again. I think it could have happened, because, unless you could look out for yourself, you had a bad time. You could feel that low that you'd want to die.

Towards the end of the school year, we'd be given our annual treat to the pictures. We went by train to Perth, then marched up Plaza Arcade to the Royal Theatre in Hay Street.

All the other Homes would be there too, Sister Kate's and Swanleigh. Some of the kids would be very excited because they had brothers and sisters in the other Homes and it was the only time of the year they saw them.

I used to feel glad then that I was an only child, it always upset
me to think that all they saw of the rest of their family was just a glimpse and a wave before we were all ushered into the theatre.

As we moved through the theatre doors, we were handed a paper bag containing sandwiches, a cake and lollies. It was such a treat.

I always tried to sit upstairs or under the balcony, but never in any other part of the theatre, because you got pelted with bits of leftover food. The yelling and screaming had to be heard to be believed, there was absolutely no control. The House Mothers tried, but there wasn't any point in them shouting at us because we couldn't hear them.

***

I didn't go to Ivanhoe that Christmas. I was called into the office and told I wouldn't be going because they had other people staying there. I couldn't understand this, I didn't take up much room. Sister Rosemary had tears in her eyes because I was so upset. ‘Never mind, dear,' she said, ‘you'll be going to the beach.' It was no consolation. I felt really hurt, like no one wanted me.

The Home had a house in Cottesloe, it was a large, rambling one and was used mainly for holidays for children who had nowhere else to go. Each child was allowed to stay for two weeks. We went by train to Perth and then changed trains for Cottesloe, it was the longest train ride I'd ever had.

When we stopped at Claremont Station, I stuck my head out the window, hoping that, by some strange chance, my mother might be there. Of course, she wasn't.

The house at Cottesloe was so close to the beach it took only a few minutes to walk down. Every room was filled with beds so as many children as possible could fit in. The dining-room was packed with wooden tables and benches. We had plenty of food, even supper, and the kitchen staff let us help ourselves whenever we felt hungry.

By this time, I had made friends with a girl called Margot, she
was a few years older than me and very pretty. One day, we were racing into the waves and laughing, when two boys came and joined us. I was completely tongue-tied, I couldn't think of a thing to say. Margot was full of confidence and spun them a story about us being on holiday from the country. You never told anyone you were from a Home because they looked on you as some kind of criminal.

When the other girls found out that we were seeing two boys, they looked at me through new eyes. I wasn't just a kid any more.

That night I spent ages admiring myself in the bathroom mirror. I could see only my head and shoulders in my mirror at George Turner, so it was really wonderful to be able to look into this full-length one and see the whole of me. I was really surprised, because my figure had changed. I was taller and my stomach had almost disappeared. I'd carried it around with me for so long I wondered how it could have gone without me noticing it. My hair was a bit longer and it was black and curly. I realised suddenly that I really was pretty, people weren't just being polite saying that.

I felt more confident, seeing myself in this new light, but I stopped going to the beach with Margot. I wasn't keen on seeing those boys again.