I was three years old in a nappy when I first ran away from home, at night, during a bushfire and a wind storm after falling four foot off a verandah onto a decorative granite rock path to walk across a linseed stubble paddock, ouch, barefooted, through a barbed wire fence/gate and into a dam where I lost the wet nappy and got to the other side, around the edge, ok, got out alright, then got hemmed in and sniffed at with my back to a shed by 26 steers who thought I was the milkman. In the nuddy, in the night. Ta Da.
I cried, a bit, deservedly so, but I’m here telling you, so, all good.
For some time, days, weeks probably, I had been climbing out of my cot at night, anytime really, but nightly always. The cot, and me, were in the hallway, in a niche caused by a doorway leading into a lounge and opposite the main bedroom. I got onto the top rail, reversed, lowered down, then gripped the bars of my cot in turn to lower myself to the floor, noiselesslyness mode. Then I padded along the hall to the back door, always open to the outside, and stood on the back verandah often taking in a cool breeze. My sisters’ rooms were either side of the hall, doors closed, Mum and Dad had their door closed. This was my domain for a while, my kingdom, on the back verandah, bare chested and in a nappy.
I used the toilet, which is down three steps, then 21 steps, mine, to go past it, left, left then right through the door. Turn on the light. Do the business. Resist uncoiling the paper (a new thing then). Return. Still, she has me in nappies, it’s a wonder I didn’t stutter or something, have a tic maybe, wet the bed which would explain the nappy in reverse sort of. I should speak up, I should speak more. I had sisters, you don’t need to provide answers with them around. At breakfast, sometimes, it was said, ‘when you use the dunny, turn off the light’. Yes Daddy dearest, say them girls.
I smiled at that. Could not get accused, cute for starters, and in a nappy if you recall.
I got caught once, climbing out, when the visiting priest, who came for beer with Dad, came from the front verandah, down the hall, up to and past my cot, to the outside toilet. When he returned to his share of the bottle he found me on the wrong side of fence, in the process of lowering myself to sneak somewhere, I presume. Anyway he picked me up and took me with him and pronounced, ‘look what I found’, to be answered with ‘you’ve woken up’. He didn’t snitch, didn’t know to more likely, they don’t have kids, do they?
But about running away. Somebody had come and got Dad at night to help fight a fire near the golf course, and to evacuate the hospital if required. Mum and us slept on. I did wake up to hear the machines working over near the golf course, 2 blocks north and, strangely, a glow from the valley east where the railway was. That glow was exactly overland from where the hall ended and the verandah began. It was windy.
I got out of bed, secretively still, and walked out the back door and walked straight off the edge of the verandah to fall onto the path below, thwack, which is where I found myself. Four feet in free flight, without a sound. I was winded. My head hurt, my face, my right shoulder, my right knee and foot all hurting but felt better when I rubbed them. My little finger may have dislocated but went straight when I shook my hand. This would be the lasting soreness.
I knew I was bleeding, I didn’t see it, I felt it. I stayed there and it seems I went to sleep.
I woke up sitting up and seemed okay. I stood up and fell over, stumbled along the path and hit the ground again. Got up and walked towards the back stairs (I thought). No way could I find those stairs, I walked back and up, up and back. I was at the side of the house, somehow, not at the back and when I realised this for some reason I walked out the front gate and over the road. I was stunned, punch drunk, from the fall, concussed it was determined later.
I kept walking, it was dark, it was windy. I could see shrubs, grass, up slope ground and would have seen our house if only I turned around. I may not have turned. I went looking though. The house side blocked out the glow and I don’t recall hearing the machines sound again.
I carried my sore hand with the other one. I don’t recall being in any pain otherwise, just cold.
Across the road from our place there is a wide open space, shrubs at the edge and last year planted to crop for the benefit of the football team (The Hoppers). This is where I was now, amongst the prickly stalks that remained after harvest. Clever me worked out to walk along the rows, no stalks on an 18 inch spacing. That walking took me away from home, down hill and towards the lights of the town in the vale ahead.
The crop land came to an end and a fence appeared and walking along that, downhill a little there was a gate. It was closed and stayed closed when I rattled it. But little me, nappy and all, could squeeze through at the bottom where the two parts met. I got my head through, then my hips, then knelt down to roll through the rest of me. I was bloodied, bruised and dusted now.
This was pasture land, heaven, and soft too and also downhill to a dam which I found. I could see the water from the bank, I needed a drink, I needed a wash. I walked in and splashed. I didn’t mean to but I went in, leant over to drink and toppled in. It was shin deep, my shins so shallow, and I was thoroughly wet, dripping wet, cold in the wind, so I cried, bawled for minutes maybe.
I could see a little distance in front and the side, the edge of the dam, and a building beyond that. People, I hoped. The sounds I had left were gone, the glow remained, the wind was maddening.
I wanted shelter from the wind and went towards the outline of the shed. As soon as I walked my nappy came off, down around my ankles. I walked out of it and left that in the water. I was cold and naked now.
I stayed on the edge of the water, softer walking, and got to the shed and went out of the wind by leaning against a wall around a corner. Did I sleep? Because my next recollection is daylight whereas it was night darkeness during all of the previous. I could see I was under a tank stand and there were cows, cattle, in front of me, two or more walking towards me and while I heard nothing they summonsed everyone, all of them, somehow, to come and look at me. Black cattle, mostly young by size.
Next thing is I heard, then saw, a young man, a boy almost, walking through the cattle towards me. He had a broom. He didn’t say anything that I recall. He picked me up and took me towards a tractor ticking over a short distance away.
Then he fed the cattle, fair enough.
We rode back to his workplace on the tractor to be met by a woman who wrapped me up in towels, rough towels, clean and nice, and warm.
She rang the Police but they were at the fire perhaps and whoever answered the phone suggested to take the little bloke to the hospital.
That’s what happened. I’m known around the place, because of Mum and Dad, brother and sisters and I am the novel ball boy for the footy team (not here though) and I know my name and age.
The hospital girl knew me, straight away, and I was left with another, the only other there I believe, and she drove off to tell Mum.
Well, did I cop it, in a muted way, and especially because it was in the hospital in the early morning.
I agree I do not know why I did it, that’s two of us who don’t know, and really as I was bruised, and shocked, and I kept going to sleep. The medical people told Mum he (me) is not very well right now.
Broken teeth, bleeding gums, luckily no broken bones, but shoulders, legs, head, collar bones jarred up and hurting, skinned knees, hip, feet, a sore finger that worked when told. The most monstrous sore head ever also, could not turn it properly or wobble, could not follow a finger point, cried a little. No nappy though, grown up now, in red and yellow winter pyjamas.
I didn’t mean to make us look bad. Nobody had said that, look bad, but I felt it had to be said. ‘Shut up’ was the best compliment from the others, a hug from two.
My big sister stayed with me all day, and for the 3 days I was at hospital. The bruises came and went, the tooth was going to go anyway, the gums stopped hurting.
What was a problem was me not eating, I would start then stop and might vomit for an hour and with a sore head, sore brain really, it was not funny. Dad brought in a water melon, the fallback sustenance of the Army, and that got me going. I would have a piece, the Nurse would have a piece, then me, then the nurse, same piece though, me, them. I would have smiled and laughed like always but it hurt. It even hurt to think about it. Father said something like ‘Failed Fairy, fill the face’? Lots.
There was a lot of me but it shrank quickly in those few days. I got new clothes. I nearly got the alphabet down and out too. That big sister insisted on saying, repeating, those word soundings and I could get it out if she said it with me. Solo, not so. Q R S T choked me.
I came good, you can tell. I had to explain to Dad how I did leave. I did a story with my fingers on his back, down the hall, down the verandah, the quite dramatic dive. First hurdle, I left the verandah near the ‘chine’, what, the ‘chine’ Dad, but moved on and in a few sentences he realised it was the washing machine. Other hurdles were overcome, with patience from me, but my version of the event got out and that is the one they used, no supposition, no what ifs or maybes or no ways..
I was battered and bruised for a while though.
After shopping one afternoon Mum and I went to the dairy and thanked them there. The boy had moved away, thanks, mate. We looked at the dam and the shed, the gate, the cattle, friendly bottle fed tykes they are. I’ve eaten them since!. We got home and Mum sat in the car for some minutes and cried, waved me away, so I checked on Cheetah, the cockatoo (I know, I know) and hung around the car. We unpacked everything with Mum crying and in a little while the school siren went and this was my cue to walk off and met one or some on the road close to the school. We both went, hand in hand. It was pretty much that way for some days, I was here, Mum was just over there.
My sisters tormented me with those cattle, you saw them way over from the front verandah sometimes. They were dragons, flying dragons sometimes, that zoomed all over and might eat little boys, that’s you isn’t it. They only fly when you aren’t looking I was told, that’s feasible. They stopped that, grew away from it, and when I joked about the dragon aspect I was corrected, ‘they’re not real’, so much for fostering involvement in things. But, I was always with one or more now. Good.
After hospital and, for a week, I was in the cot, still, and I called out to Mum ‘look at this’ and I demoed my mountaineering prowess, leaving the cot, returning to go up, over, on and back several times. I was now a big boy, I was hoping for clever, underwhelming, although more demonstrations with sisters corralled for the purpose did gain a clever and the always present cuddle. The brother said nothing and continued chewing his fingernails, looking at them, not me. Not bad, sore finger, hip, knee, foot or not.
I was bruised blue a lot, and hobbled, and did a few days without a nappy, so good, and with the exception of the occasional blurt I was out of triangle pants for good, probably. Mum rules but.
The plan was for me to have my own bedroom. My brother had an area partitioned from the front verandah, large, with his bed and a table tennis table, big then. I was destined for that space but there were disagreements and my focus was moved to an area on the back verandah. Both rooms were out and away from the warmth and effect of the house, they used to be verandahs and now they were dressed up as bedrooms.
So, I got my room at the weekend. Dad had been readying it for some time. There was 5-ply on the floor over older tongue and groove and it had hessian walls between me and the outside. Up to head height, mine, it was enclosed in fibro, but from there to the ceiling was hessian, stretched tight, three layers of it (one layer meant you could see through it, inside to outside, outside to inside) and the hessian had been dyed green, Buckland Green, by Mum in the copper (a mistake because the green wouldn’t go away for a few boilings off).
No electricity. If I wanted a light I had to use an extension from the kitchen, uncoiling at the start, coiling when finished, and leave the light fixture on the table so Mum could see I had done it. Later I had a radio, a big floor standing one, with a round dial for tuning, a tuning knob, a volume knob, and a comforting dark yellow light at night, also extension lead fed.
My elder sister slept in there with me, for a month maybe on her new camping bed, just to watch over me and settle me if required. It wasn’t. She talks a lot, ok it was only 7.10pm and still almost dark outside, but I had health issues and I was so tired and she was talking to me in 3 times tables talk. It never ends.
Dad played footy, league, out of town and I was the novel ball boy, same kit, white shorts, green and white socks and jumper, number 5 and a ridiculously large head guard. It got to the point I couldn’t see out of that headgear. I had to tilt back and run out like that. Stupid looking thing, me. If they stopped running and didn’t step sideways I cannoned into somebody’s legs. Dumb. But it was tradition. My sisters ran the BBQ for the club at home games. My eldest sister helped me get dressed and said I’ll take this away, the head gear, and adjust for you. I never got it back and I ran out without it, then and for that season. Later, when they doused the barbie fire they found the buckles and clasps associated with my head gear had been burnt to a frazzle in the fire. Oh dear. My sausage tasted good, no problems.
I worked the far side boundary all day, three games some times, with Broody who remembered my birthday, we shared a chocolate every day and at the end of the day he shook my hand. Broody marked the boundary line where he wanted an out of bounds ball returned to, and I put it there, exactly, and held it there until waved away by an approaching player. Then I went and retrieved the errant ball, although mostly people punted it back to me as I ran towards them. How kind.
Broody ran onto the ground and dragged a man away from the Ref. He had kicked him in the bum.
To read more by Pestwac click here.
To return to our Footy Almanac home page click HERE.
Our writers are independent contributors. The opinions expressed in their articles are their own. They are not the views, nor do they reflect the views, of Malarkey Publications.
Do you enjoy the Almanac concept?
And want to ensure it continues in its current form, and better? To help things keep ticking over please consider making your own contribution.
Become an Almanac (annual) member – click HERE.
Leave a Comment