Look After The Lad

"And Hotrocks, you’ll take young Gawn here out and show him the ropes ...and don’t lead him astray and don’t teach him any bad habits...” a chuckle ended the sentence, adding to my annoyance at this direction. Those words I knew ended my freedom for the rest of the day. Resentment filled me as I turned to face my charge, allocated from amongst the small throng of wide eyed recruits. The tall, pale skinned young man barely nodded at me, as he murmured an acknowledgment. He bore a slight air of arrogance as he looked me over. The slight smile on his lips was evidence he had already summed me up in his head. He leaned forward and quickly picked up a portable two-way radio, assuming immediate control over it. “We’d better go then” I directed quietly, as I picked up my hat and stepped hurriedly out of the caravan into the bright early afternoon sunlight. I was anxious to distance myself from the interest and sarcasm being generated in the van. “And Hotrocks, make sure you keep that radio on, we want to be able to contact you pair at all times”. The smarmy inference in a raised voice from the Sergeant was as plain as it was irritating. I fussed for a moment beside the door, slightly humiliated, checking the recruit had it on the right frequency. The bemused look on his face indicated he already had the task in hand. I quickly strode ahead and he fell into easy step beside me, seeming to enjoy the quickened pace. “Have I messed up your plans, having to take me out with you? He was blunt and challenging from the onset. The words came in a surprising thick accent and I was forced to concentrate in order to decipher what he was saying. “Ahh...the accent explains the pale skin” I thought. “No”, I lied, my irritation continuing, “its fine...no problem, I knew I would be taking one of you new blokes out on patrol”. I looked up, his dark brown eyes belied my defence, I knew he had not believed me for a second. He spoke politely, in a deep brogue, I was unfamiliar with. How long have you been in then? He asked pointedly. “I’m off the previous squad to yours”. I offered. “Well, I guess then you wouldn’t know much”, he smirked challengingly. “Saddled myself with a smart arse” I thought with more dismay. I was in no mood for an argument. “Agh... just ignore it and he might give it up”. “I’m sorry” I said, with new resolve, determined to be nice, “I should have introduced myself, I’m Debbie Horrocks. I didn’t catch your name earlier back there, what was it again”. “Michael Gawn” he replied, the rolled words were unintelligible to my ears. “I’m sorry”... Again came the quick response “Michael Gawn” “..er, sorry, still didn’t get it” “Michael Gawn” I looked at him blankly, the embarrassment mounting. “Fer fook’s sake” he muttered and laughed shaking his head “M.I.C.H.A.E.L ... G.A.W.N. “Ooohhh Michael” I confirmed, thinking the way he said it sounded like bloody mackerel or something”. (I still didn’t get the last name but was not going to pursue the painful discussion any further). “So where are you from Michael?” I asked feeling I would regret this further attempt at politeness. “Sydney” he replied slowly. I was sure he was being deliberate now. “No originally” “Oh, why didn’t you say ...Northern Ireland”, (he seemed almost to emphasize the ‘Northern’). “Belfast” he continued nonchalantly, “well actually a little place just out of Belfast...but you wouldn’t know of it”. I looked hard at him and couldn’t decide whether he was deliberately having a go. I chose to ignore the last remark. “How long have you been in Australia?’ Arrrgh... about 18 months now, he paused. “Did you come out here with your family?” I continued... “No, I came out on my own”. “Oh, you’ve got family here then?” “No, why would you think that?”...” I came out on my own, when I was 18”. His reply was almost dismissive of my assumption. ‘Coo... independent boy this one’ I thought, - ‘not easily phased’. I dismissed most of his conversation as I took stock of him. I estimated we were around the same age. His left hand indicated he was single. He was long limbed and lean, with a strong face. Although not classically good looking, his features were too uneven for that...he was certainly was not unattractive, but there was something unsettling about his manner. He was almost too straightforward for my comfort. As if determined to confirm my thoughts, he added “You know you ask a lot of questions, I suppose you think you are a copper or something”. “No”, I countered,” just wondering what language you speak, it sounds a bit like English, but not quite”. “Ah, very funny”, he responded, a wry smile played around his mouth. This conversation was not settling well and I elected to quit with the questions while I was ahead and stick to talking about the job only. The next forty minutes or so did not flow well. I explained the rudimentary role of a patrol officer at a local fair and my charge made it evident he resented me. His accent seemed to grow thicker and I felt sure he was deliberate, it was hard to tell. Either way I became determined to be rid of him and I steered our course back to the caravan base, feigning the need for a cold drink. A suggestion he seemed to welcome. Grabbing a drink out of the esky cooler, I slipped away from him and cornered Sergeant ‘Smarmy’. “Sarge”, I pleaded my case now, “I need to change trainee charges, I can’t understand a bloody word he says and it’s pointless talking to him because of it. I think he would be happier if you gave him to someone else ...please”. “Ahh , so young Gawn doesn’t take your fancy then”, he laughed loudly as I winced at his words, “we can’t have that. I’ll sort you someone else, he can have a bit of break here. He‘s looking a bit hot around the edges”. There it was again, the kindness interspersed with the sarcasm. No point in getting upset, I thought, at least he was going my way and I was getting rid of my difficult charge...and it was getting close to knock-off!

Waterloo 1974

1974 was to be a pivotal year in my young life. That year I started the equivalent of my intermediate year, or Year 10 as it is more commonly known, at Casuarina High School.  At the time the Swedish Super Group ‘Abba’ were just bursting onto the world stage and topping the charts with songs such as ‘Waterloo’, while air pollution and over population of the earth were becoming topical for the first time.

It was also the year I was to go through one of Australia’s worst natural disasters and the year I was to meet the boy who would become my first love.  

I had regarded the trialling of mixed year levels in one homeroom as being of no real consequence to me. The idea behind it was, while a little controversial, but sound enough I suppose. It was a system that allowed students from 3 different year levels to work to their own level. For the older students however, it also meant the enduring of the more immature jokes and incessant giggling amongst the younger fry.

But I was soon to learn there was another pitfall of this new system, it was the fact that these younger homeroom classmates might actually venture so far as to turn their childish humour on the higher year level students and I was certainly not going to be exempt!

That first moment when I had really noticed Stephen Hurley, was in early February, in the first term of the school year.

I was concentrating on the metalwork project in hand, exactly what it was, I have long since forgotten, but not the moment. 

I was gradually becoming aware of the two ‘first year’ boys on the table next to me, the shoving and jostling of each other as they worked up the courage to rebuke me about my soldering grade and eventually one did.

“So how come you got top marks for your soldering, girls are not supposed to be able to solder?!”

“Well, obviously this one can”,  I threw back without looking up.

“Nah, the teacher’s just soft on you because you are a girl”.

Slightly annoyed, I put down my work with an exasperated sigh and looked directly  at the short skinny kid with the attitude and the ‘Pommy’ accent. 

I had not really paid much attention at all for the couple of weeks to any of the younger ones in the class, but now as my attention was drawn to this one, I recalled seeing him on the first day of school in our homeroom; he had been hanging out with the same or similar friends. What had caught my attention was his long, very blond,  straight  hair shining gorgeously in the early morning sunlight as it streamed in through the large plate glass windows of the classroom. It was the sort of hair girls envied.

He was being noisy then too and had drawn some comment from the teacher to “settle down”.  

It was then I had realised with some amusement the enviable hair was on a boy! 

But now standing before me were a set of amazing blue eyes. I had not noticed them before this.

"Holy Dooley...now those are some  eyes  and they're are on a boy too!" I thought. "Damn some girls would kill for those eyes, what a waste"!

“And she has got rather large…er...breasts, so he would be!” the short dark haired kid beside him added, with a little less confidence, but still determined to be part of the act.

‘Blue eyes’ face grew into an even wider grin and then with mock seriousness, he addressed his mate without looking at him “Now, now Pension, be polite”!

"Hmmn", I thought, "I wonder if you know the effect of those eyes yet, probably just becoming aware no doubt, by your ‘smart alec’ little attitude! 

Yes I would say so, my thoughts wandered on for a moment, that very blond hair worn too long for your age group and that naturally evenly tanned skin, making those eyes even bluer. Yep, you are one male who is going to be full of yourself. And I think I know what you are up to,  go away little boy, I am out of your league."

“Rack off, you are annoying me”! I said simply,

His return was rapid,  “Oh you love it, getting some attention, admit it”, 

The response had bemused me,  like I would be interested in the attention of 1st years..“You would like to think that, I’m sure", I countered, "sorry, I have to disappoint you children, I am working here on my own for a reason and YOU are being pests”.

“Nah, admit it you love it and secretly you find me irresistible”. 

And there it was, ‘blue-eyes’ so sure of himself as he gazed back steadily with eyes alight, silently challenging me to break his stare.

I couldn’t help but laugh and that was all the encouragement he needed. There was no dissuading him now.

The tormenting and banter continued not only for the rest of the lesson, but over the next few days in our shared classes together.  I could only watch with bemused interest as he struggled to shake away both the obvious age gap between us, and then interestingly, the company of his friends when I would show up.

Stephen was soon interrogating me as to my every move almost, demanding to know what way I went home in the afternoons and suggesting cockily my friends should make themselves scarce when he arrived.

Disarming and with all the cheek of an over-active puppy, I soon became like his constant group of "little friends" as I came to think of them, eager to see what he would be so ‘matter of factly’ out of line about next.

Stephen would slip easily into step beside me as we changed classes. His playful banter turning more serious when he lost the company of his cronies.

He wasn’t a tall kid and I was taller than average for my age. At that time he would have been about 4 inches shorter than I was, but he seemed unconcerned, using the physical difference between us as an excuse to tease me further, even suggesting on occasion, as I was such a "big, strong girl" I should carry him.

I would off-handedly suggest that he "call a cab" or run away and pick on someone his own size to annoy. 

"No, you know you would miss me, I wouldn't do that to you". 

And so it went on between us. Stephen instilled himself as gradually as I came to look forward to the verbal jousting and then even more gradually, his strangely amusing, comfortable companionship . 

Following me home in the afternoons, he would deviate the short distance out of his own way home, to regale me with tales of his superior attributes to other boys my own age. None of whom I had any real interest in anyway at 15. 

My early over-development had made me weary of the more overt attention I attracted from older boys and Stephen Hurley at 13 did not pose a problem in my mind. 

Despite his good humour, there were times when I detected a certain air of possessiveness about him and even a hint of loneliness. 

His parents had split up a year or two earlier in Western Australia and he had recently come to live with his father in Darwin. His younger brother and sister remained with his mother in Perth. The family had like so many others in that era, migrated from England in the late 60's, hoping for better work opportunities and a more promising future in Australia. 

'Ten-pound tourists' and 'working class Pommy muck', was how my mother had referred to the influx of English migrants of the day. Her condemnations had little real affect on my attitudes, although I had, through some strange sense of 'Aussie allegiance', felt the need to jokingly echo her sentiments when immersed in one of our frequent slanging matches. 

"Descendant of convicts, thieves and pickpockets" was the label Stephen would fling back at me in laughing self-defence and I would hotly deny the presence of any convict in my 'free-settler' Australian heritage. 

Being Australian, he assured me, meant I was highly unlikely to know just where I had sprung from. 

Ultimately he was almost always able to acquit himself with the aplomb of a boy much older  and as such, I seldom felt any real mental difference in our ages.

I was however, acutely aware of how much attention our budding friendship was receiving from our respective friends and whilst it did not appear to worry Stephen, I was very careful to deny any real interest in him at all. It was most definitely 'not cool' to like a boy two and a half years younger than yourself, no matter how much fun he was and how much he pursued.

Perhaps it was my assumed nonchalance towards him, but whatever the reason, my ever cautious mother seemed to not mind Stephen when she encountered him hanging around our front gate chatting to me after school. I think his small stature and friendly manner posed no threat in her mind to her daughter's chastity either, and there was never any real negative from her about him.  A salient point I did not miss for a moment.

I am sure Stephen did not miss the point either and he seemed to use it to his advantage when one afternoon I had ridden home from a friend's house and noted a familiar white Holden Station Wagon parked in the street opposite our house.  I slowed when I saw Stephen and his father exiting our front gate and crossing to the car, and with all things…my mother cheerily bidding them goodbye  from the balcony!  

“Struth”, I thought, "what on earth is he up to now?".  I waited until the car had left before riding up to the house and approaching my mother who had spotted me and stood waiting for me.  

“What did they want Mum?” I asked casually “Your friend , what's his name"? she commented  "Stephen" I offered gingerly, "yes well”, she went on almost dismissively, "he and his father will be back at 6 to pick you up to go to the drive-in, I have said it is alright",  the tone of her voice indicated she expected I knew all about the arrangement. 

 "Oh thank you Mum", I barely murmured in confused disbelief.  

"His father  seems like a very nice man",  she rattled on now,   "He has assured me you would be in safe hands and they will have you  back straight after the end of the movies".  

"Oh yes, they seem a very nice family", I agreed immediately, knowing this was indeed rare, my mother actually letting me out with people she barely knew!  

I was not going to miss an opportunity to go to the drive-in, no matter what the circumstances.  Stephen, the cheeky sod,  I could deal with later, but for now I was actually allowed out and to go the drive-in, amazing!

I was waiting a little apprehensively, when Stephen and his father arrived right on time and I yelled my goodbyes as I piled down the stairs and out to the front gate, where Stephen was approaching with a knowing grin.  

“So you ready to go or what?”he flipped at me as I past through the gate at glancing sideways at him. 

“Nice one” I muttered. “I suppose I didn't need to know”. 

“No, not really, I’d already decided you were going to the pictures” he responded with an even bigger grin.  

“I’ll get in first and sit next to my dad, cos we cant have you sitting next to him and that way you can have the window”, Stephen opened the car door and we were off. 

There were few boys my age that would have had the ingenuity and the courage to engineer such stunt as this, in order to win a girl over and winning me over he was.

The movies showing that night have long slipped my memory, but the events of the evening didn't. I had hoped Stephen would remain ‘in his place’, but I should have known better for it was only about 15 minutes into the first movie, when I felt his fingers wrap around mine as he pulled my hand down beside him. Presumably,  out of the view of his seemingly oblivious father.  It was like a little electric shock and I gasped softly in momentary awkwardness and the sheer pleasure of his touch and the warmth of his surprisingly strong fingers.