Again, it has been a long time since I wrote anything in this blog. So what has been happening? My real job gave up on me. This was no surprise. The hours had been getting less and less for months until I couldn’t survive on what I was getting and had to go on the dole to make ends meet. It was almost a relief when it finally cut out completely.

So now I am on the dole fulltime. Fortunately, as an over-55, I don’t have to jump through as many hoops as the youngsters. I do have to volunteer twice a week though so I signed on with Conservation Volunteers Australia, (CVA). On Wednesdays I go with the creekwatch team to local waterways to test water quality and do fish and invertebrate surveys. I’ve always had a soft spot for aquatic life so I’m really enjoying that. Then on Fridays I work in the nursery growing native plants for revegetation projects. I feel that I’m doing something worthwhile and both days begin and end on the beach so that is a real bonus.

We have both had the flu too. Anyone who thinks the flu somehow results from cold weather will be disappointed to learn that our daytime temperatures are still 30degrees and over. Pretty impressive given that winter is due to start tomorrow and we’re still having summer conditions. I don’t know what’s happening to the climate but it can’t be good.

Once I manage to throw off the flu I should be able to settle into this new routine. I might even start writing regularly again. I need to finish the Ninox Saga. I am 20,000 words into book 5 of a 5 book series and I have stalled. I have never known writers block to last longer than a year. I will have to do something about it. It would be a terrible shame to lose that much work for the sake of a little bit more.




Chapter 1 Jailbait

Jailbait at Amazon.com


Our dorms were never really dark, because the street lights shone in on the ceiling and diffused through the whole room. The year twelve dorm was even brighter than the ones we had the previous years. That made it hard to get to sleep sometimes, but it could be good if you needed to go to the toilet or something in the night.

I woke up and saw Donna’s face. She looked beautiful in that soft light. Then I realised she was awake and looking at me. I brought my hand up above the covers and gave a little wave.

Donna waved back.

I tried not to giggle as I waved again. We were doing something secret and a little bit naughty. A giggle would give us away. I lay still watching her watching me until I went back to sleep.

When I woke up next morning Donna was gone. Her bed was made up but she was nowhere to be seen. In my half-asleep state crazy ideas came into my head. Did she think I was waving goodbye?

She returned moments later, hot from running. The smell of her sweat excited me as it always did. I forced down my desire. I didn’t have to hide my feelings from her anymore but we both had to hide them from everyone else. In one way that was even harder.

“Have you been running?” I asked as naturally as I could manage.

“Yeah, training for the marathon,” she said. “I’m gunna run every morning.” She collected up her things and went to the showers.

I wanted to run after her. I wanted to corner her in the shower and rub myself all over her naked body. I stayed where I was and waited for my breathing to calm down.

God help me, I thought. Can I endure this every morning for a year?

That morning we filled out our extra-curricular activity forms like we did on the first Monday every year. I ticked piano lessons and the painting class without having to think about it. Donna would play netball. There was no option for marathon training. That extra two hours every morning would have to be extra-extra-curricular.

In so many ways, life at school was the same as it had always been. Donna might be my girlfriend but we could not acknowledge that openly. I had finally admitted the truth to myself. I had confessed my love to Donna and she had returned it, but we still had to act as if nothing had changed. I set my sights on the weekend.


Saturday was my first piano lesson in almost two months.

“I take it that you have continued practising during the break,” Mrs Gabrielle said.

“I think I played every Christmas carol ever written,” I said, “Or all the really cheesy ones at least.”

Mrs. Gabrielle grimaced. “That will not help you to improve.”

“Dad wants me to be a karaoke machine. If I can play his half a dozen sing-along favourites, that’s all he wants.”

Mrs. Gabrielle grimaced again. It was so good to have someone who understood how I felt, without me having to even try to explain.

“This year I want you to do something slightly different.” Mrs. Gabrielle put a blank music note book on the music shelf. It had the five lines of the scale but nothing else. “It’s time you learnt to write music.”

I almost panicked. I thought she wanted me to write a song right there. “Me? Write a song? Now?”

“First things first,” she said. “I want you to listen to this tune and then write it down in this notebook. You can pause it and rewind as often as you like.” She put her Walkman on the shelf next to the piano and pressed play.

It was a short classical piece that I hadn’t heard before. “It’s a waltz,” I said.

“Good, the time signature is three four. You can write that down as soon as you’ve drawn the clef.”

“Is it G?” I guessed. Most songs are G.

“Correct, you are learning to write music.” She handed me a pencil.

I drew the clef and time signature. The page didn’t seem so blank any more. I went back to the start of the piece. I don’t have perfect pitch, so it took a while to find the first note, but from there it was just a case of, does it go up or down, and how much?

I played along with the piece and wrote down the notes I played. I made a few mistakes and had to rub out some of the notes I wrote and fix them up. In the end I played right through the piece following the notes I’d written.

“Very well done,” Mrs. Gabrielle said. “Next week we’ll try something a little more challenging.”

“What was the name of that piece?” I asked.

“It doesn’t have a name. It is a piece I wrote many years ago when I still had…” she sighed. “Aspirations.”

“It’s good.”

“It is very simple, and it has the added advantage, for this exercise, that none of my students have ever heard it before.”

I wrote, ‘Mrs. Gabrielle’s waltz’ on the top of the page. “I wish I could write a song.”

“You will, in time. You already write poetry so you are half way there. Words and music make a song. I would like you to think about putting music to some of your poems.”

I thought about that as I rode to the netball centre. I could write a song. I could be like John Lennon or Billy Joel or Elton John. I didn’t have to just play other people’s old songs. I could be a rock star.

Donna’s game was just about to start when I arrived. I climbed into the stands to watch.

Donna saw me and waved.

I waved back as I sat down. This game promised to be very one sided. The opposition had come dead last, the previous year. Perhaps I could write a song about netball.

As the game progressed I realised that a song about netball would be a song about Donna. I might be able to write it but I would never be able to play it without betraying our secret. Why did I have to be the queer? Why couldn’t I be sitting here pining over Trevor?

Perhaps I could write a song about him. I would have to change some of the facts. I loved him but he just used me. I gave him everything he wanted but he dumped me when the holidays ended. I could play that song and the whole school would sing along. Stupid sluts are always popular.

The game was as boring as I feared. One time I just liked to see Donna winning but as I’d learnt more about the game I came to want to see a real contest; a display of skill and determination from both teams. Donna joined me in the stands when her game ended.

“Did you enjoy the game?” she asked.

“No, it was boring,” I said. “You didn’t even seem to be trying.”

“I didn’t want to give them an even worse thrashing.” Donna gazed into space for a moment. “Most of these girls aren’t really interested. When they finish school they’ll finish with netball too. I wanna play for one of the national league teams. Get some real opposition.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“How was your piano lesson?”

“Mrs. Gabrielle wants me to start writing my own songs.”

“Well, that’s good. She must have faith in you.”

“Yeah, it’s good. I guess. It’s scary but.”

“How is it scary?”

“Well, it’s not the schoolgirl league anymore. It’s not the national league either. Once I start writing my own songs I’m up against Mozart and John Lennon and all the rest of them.”

“Yeah, but you’re good enough.”

I checked to see if she was laughing at me. She seemed serious.

“I mean it, Roz. You’re good enough to mix it with any of them.”


“You’ve got to step up sometime, unless you want to quit on graduation night.”

“Like them?” I waved to encompass all the girls leaving the netball centre.

“Like all of them, even Angeline. It’s like it doesn’t really matter. Their only real ambition is to find a nice boy and get married.”

Thinking of Angeline reminded me of the cross-country. “I’m going to beat her this year.”

“In the cross-country?”


“You know what happened last year.”

“Another fifty yards would do it.”

“You gotta let me coach you.”


“Sunday, after your painting class.”

“What, every Sunday?”

“Every Sunday, Roz. I don’t want you dying on me again.”

“I didn’t die. Anyway it was fun collapsing in your arms.” I grinned. “So, if I do it your way do I get you all to myself for a couple of hours every week?”

Donna grinned too. “Careful, I might get you up at six o’clock every morning.”

“Do you mean like when it’s quiet and there’s no-one else around?” I was being cheeky and provocative.

“Mrs. Blodwyn prowls the school from first light.”

“What’s the point then? I need my beauty sleep.”

Donna put her hand on my knee. “Where can we go?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know anywhere.”

“Well, we gotta go anyway. It’s late. They’ll want to lock the gates soon.”

“We should get back to school before dark.”

We got our bikes and started riding. Neither of us wanted to go back to school but we couldn’t think of anywhere else to go, so school was where we ended up.

I spent the evening going through my poetry trying to find something that I could put to music. None of it seemed suitable and I went to bed feeling totally frustrated.

Donna was gone when I woke up. I imagined her running round and around the oval. I suppose it’s a bit like playing the same piece of music over and over until I get it right. It’s not really boring if it’s important enough.

I hadn’t even thought about a picture for my painting class. I guess I was just out of the habit. I guess too that I was a little bit bored with Mrs. Robinson’s class. They didn’t challenge me. For a little while I’d had my own studio and the opportunity to paint from life. Now I had to go back to copying photos.

Donna had a book on her table called ‘Advanced Netball Coaching’. I picked it up and looked through it. There were diagrams in it showing different moves in the game. I liked the abstract patterns made by the coloured arrows.

I put the book in my paints box. As far as I knew no-one had ever done an abstract painting in Mrs. Robinson’s class. Well, I’d never done an abstract painting either. If I had to challenge them in order to challenge myself then I would. None of them ever did figures either before I started.

I had to ask Donna if I could borrow her book. I packed up all my painting gear and went down to the oval. I waited under our tree.

Donna stopped when she came around again. “Hi, Roz, what’s up?” She had her hands on her hips and was puffing hard.

“I’m off to my painting class,” I said. “I wanted to borrow your book.” I showed her which book.

Donna looked at it for a while. “Why?”

I explained that I wanted to use the diagrams to do abstract paintings from.

Donna shrugged. “Sure.” I don’t think she had the slightest idea what I was talking about. I would have to show her the finished picture and hope she could see it then.


Donna kissed me quickly on the lips and started running again. She seemed so isolated as she jogged around the oval. I would never understand her passion for running but I could appreciate that she had a passion. We understood each other so much better than either of us could ever understand the bland girls.

I thought about Donna all the way to the shopping centre where the painting class was held. I knew the way so well now that I didn’t have to think about where I was going. I parked my bike in my favourite spot and jogged up the stairs.

“That must be Rose back,” Mrs. Robinson said before I had even reached the landing. She must have heard my footsteps. I don’t suppose any of the old ladies ever ran up the stairs.

I was greeted by a chorus of cheery hellos.

“Hello, everyone.” It was nice to be so well liked.

“And what adventure are you going to lead us on this year?” One of them asked. “We get so dull without you to shake us up.”

I smiled and reached for Donna’s book. “Abstracts.”

They all gathered around while I showed them the diagrams and explained what I intended to do.

“I’m only going to do a study today,” I said. “The final painting will have to be much bigger. Abstracts need room to breathe.” I chose the largest of the available painting boards and opened the book to the page that it opened most naturally.

This must be the page Donna most often opened it to. The diagram showed a play that I had often seen Donna use. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the games I’d seen. I wanted the painting to feel as exciting as a netball game. I wanted to hear shouts, cheers and the referee’s whistle when I looked at it.

I suppose I was hoping to achieve the impossible but sometimes when you try to do the impossible you end up with something that you didn’t know was possible. I hoped so anyway.

Mrs. Robinson came round to me during the tea break when most of the others were in the kitchen. How they needed six of them to boil the kettle always amazed me.

“I hope you don’t mind me taking over your class,” I said.

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Robinson assured me. “I used to develop exercises for them. I even had a whole curriculum laid out. They just wanted to do their little pictures. They won’t be pushed, but if you are prepared to lead them, they might just follow, at their own pace and in their own time.”

I smiled. I didn’t actually want to run the class, it just happened that way. I turned to my picture. “It’s too tight.”

“The scale is limiting, but we expected that. There’s good things happening though,” Mrs. Robinson said. “I’d like to see you do a larger version.”

“I think I will, but I’ll do a few more little studies first,” I said. “I don’t really understand abstract art yet.”

“Abstract art is just like any other type of art,” Mrs. Robinson said. “It’s just line, shape, colour and tone. If you get those things right the picture will work.”

I thought about my picture. It wasn’t really abstract. It was just a different type of representation. Donna would have no problems understanding the diagram I’d copied. Once you knew how to look at it, it made perfect sense. In that way it was more like Jelly’s picture of the swamps where they catch snakes and turtles.

“It’s like an aboriginal picture,” I said.

“No, they use dots.” I don’t think Mrs. Robinson understood what I meant.

I wondered what Jelly was doing now. It would be good to see her again, to find out how she was getting on.

I rode back to school and put my painting gear away. Then I changed into my running shorts and met Donna on the oval. She was sitting under our tree when I arrived.

“You remember this tree,” she said. “You remember what happened last year.”


“That’s why you got to build up to a big race. That’s why you can’t just go out and run three miles without any training. So you don’t collapse and scare me again.”

“Nothing scares you,” I said.

“You scare me, Roz. If anything happened to you…”

“Well, I promise not to die then. Okay?”

“You better not.” She stood up. “We’ll try one mile today, that’s four laps. We’ll see what you can manage. Then we’ll build it up a bit more every week.”


“Come on then.” She started jogging and I ran with her.

She didn’t try to force the pace. When I slowed down she eased off too. I remembered what she said one time that running with me was her warm down. Well, she’d have the perfect warm down every Sunday from now on.

After four laps she led me back to our tree. “How you feeling?”

“Fine.” I was puffing like anything and she wasn’t even breathing heavy.

“Sit down and cool off. We’ll do another lap in a few minutes.”

I collapsed in the shade and lay there until she told me to get up.

Donna kept checking her watch. She didn’t worry about the time when we were running, why was it important now? “One more lap then we have a shower before dinner.”

I sat up. “Do I have to?”

“Yep.” She grabbed my wrist and pulled me upright.

We ran once around the oval and then through the school to the dormitory building.

“Last one to the showers has to scrub my back,” Donna said, and sprinted up the stairs.

Our dorm was on the top floor. No way was I going to run up five flights of stairs. I walked up. By the time I reached our dorm Donna had already gone.

I got my clothes and my towel and went into the showers. Only one of the cubicles was occupied. I went into the next one.

“Who’s there?” Donna asked.

“Me,” I said. “Roz.”

“Come in here,” Donna said.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Who’s gunna find out?”

I stood there listening to the water. Donna was waiting for me in the shower. Now I knew what she was waiting for while I rested under the tree. All the other girls would be finished their showers by now ready to go down to dinner.

I thought about the times we kissed. This would be more than just kissing. Was I ready to go the next step?

“Come on.”

“Okay.” I grabbed my things and rushed into Donna’s cubicle. All the time that I’d been pining for the chance to get Donna alone, she had been engineering this moment. I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, into her arms.

She pulled me to her and her lips closed hungrily over mine. Her hands pressed against my back. My hands explored her naked body. What had felt good through her clothes felt even better now. My hands slid down to grip the cheeks of her bum.

Someone hammered on the door of the cubicle. “Who is in there?” Mrs. Blodwyn’s foghorn voice was distinctive.

Donna pushed me into the corner of the cubicle. She held a finger to her lips. “Me, Donna.”

“Open this door.”

Donna stepped out of the shower and pulled the curtain across so I wouldn’t be seen. She wrapped her towel around her and opened the door. “What’s the matter?”

“Get dressed,” Mrs. Blodwyn ordered. “You too, Miss Loveday.”

There was no point hiding. She must have seen my clothes and my towel on the bench. I turned the water off and stepped out. I didn’t attempt to hide myself. I stood and faced her.

“Cover yourself, girl. You disgust me,” Mrs. Blodwyn said.

“If you don’t like it, don’t look,” I said.

“Get dressed.” Mrs Blodwyn turned away.

I guess she didn’t like it. I allowed myself a moment to enjoy this tiny triumph before I dried myself and got dressed.

“We have to play their game, Roz,” Donna told me. “Just say, sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“I’m not going to crawl to that dried up old hag.”

“We got to, Roz.”

“Stop talking.” Mrs Blodwyn dragged us out of the shower cubicle.

I noticed Angeline gloating outside the showers. She must have been the one who dobbed us. I swore I was so going to get that bitch.


*        *        *


Jail Bait bookcover2 copy

The writing has taken a backseat lately while we prepared for our exhibition, Benthos Illuminated at Umbrella Studio Gallery. I enjoyed wading around in the shallows looking to see what I could see and taking photos with my cheap underwater camera. It was good to be painting regularly too even, if it cut into my writing time. That is up now, until April 10, so I can get back to the keyboard and finally get Jailbait posted.

At the end of Tough Like Donna we left Roz naively confident that everything was going to be alright now that she had acknowledged her sexuality and confessed her love for Donna. Of course it won’t be. It is impossible to keep secrets in a dormitory and once their secret is out they can expect to be vilified, at the very least. Roz will be expelled from boarding school, and separated from Donna.

In Tough Like Donna Roz was struggling with the universal teenage dilemmas of love, lifestyle and career. In Jailbait she has made her decisions, and must battle to achieve her goals, which will take willpower, determination and sheer hard work.

As usual I will put up the first chapter of Jailbait on this blog for you to read.



Working one day a week

My real job (the one that pays me money, not like writing or painting) has slowed right down. We usually have a slowdown in December and into the new-year but this year the busy period wasn’t as busy as usual and the slowdown has come early and has lasted longer than usual.
I always feel that there is a disconnect between work and the rest of my life, but it is even stronger now that I’m working only one day a week.
I found myself on Monday morning going through a half-forgotten routine to get ready for work and then being plagued by doubts as I drove in. Was I even supposed to go in that day? Then I arrived, and walking through the front door was like going through some strange science fiction portal. I found myself in a place I knew intimately but which had no connection to me.
I did my duties in a kind of a daze. Only a part of my mind was engaged in what I was doing. Another part was outside, dispassionately observing. I thought that this would make a good subject for a blog.
Then this morning (Wednesday) I tried to remember what I had thought about. It was hard to bring back the idea for this post. It’s like my Monday head doesn’t talk to my regular self and even now I can’t clearly recall the feeling that inspired this. The sense of being drunk or drugged or not quite there seems to be confined to Mondays and I can’t access it the rest of the time.
I probably shouldn’t post this. I fear that I have probably let out more than I should, and the nice men in the white coats will be here any minute to take me away. What the hell. The whole point of this blog was to let people know who I am and how I think. If I leave out anything too awkward it won’t be real, or meaningful.


Tough like Donna is Available on Amazon.com

Well that’s another book up on Amazon. It wasn’t as difficult and didn’t take as long as the first one so there’s hope for us yet. Not that it was easy. There were still a few niggling problems.

I enjoyed writing these two books (Tough like Donna and its sequel, Jailbait). It was fun being a teenage girl for a while. Some might wonder what qualifies me to write about a teenage girl, especially one from a broken home. That’s a good question.

I think it helps not to have had any children of my own, so I still have access to my younger self. There seems to be an amnesia that comes over people when their children arrive. Too often parents seem as shocked and horrified by their children’s behaviour as their parents were with them. I remember being young. I even remember some of the parents of today when they were young.

The divorce was essential to the story because it gave Roz a clear choice of value systems. A stable upbringing can leave a young person thinking that their parent’s values are absolute. I needed Roz to be faced with a choice, and the knowledge that it was a choice.

Then the question, why did my protagonist have to be a girl? A boy would have had to come up against the prevalent and bloodthirsty myth that a real man is a violent man. That will require a book in itself, which I’m not yet ready to write, so I chose a female protagonist. I don’t claim to ever have been a girl myself but after another forty years of experience they aren’t quite the total mystery they were when I was seventeen.

As you can see below, I have put up the first chapter of Tough Like Donna as a sample. I had a problem with the tabbing in that post so please forgive the lack of tabs.

This is the link to Tough Like Donna, if you are interested in purchasing it.

Tough Like Donna: Chapter 1

Tough Like Donna bookcover








G. D. Buckley

The eleventh of November was Remembrance Day. On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month in 1918 the armistice was signed that ended the Great War. At school we had to stand up and think about the soldiers for one minute.
I knew Mum wasn’t thinking about the soldiers though, when I came home and found her just staring at the radiogram like that. Something terrible must have happened, and not just something a long time ago.
“What’s wrong, Mum?” I asked.
“Oh, Rose, he’s been dismissed.” Mum’s voice was so low I could hardly hear her.
“Who, Dad?”
“No, Whitlam. Gough Whitlam has been sacked.”
“Oh!” Mum liked Whitlam but Dad didn’t. I didn’t know much about politics, but I guessed there would be a fight when Dad got home. Mum and Dad had been fighting a lot lately. Sometimes it was about politics and sometimes it was about Mum going to art school.
It wasn’t fair. Mum’s art school had already finished for the year but I still had to go to school for weeks more. Mum wished her school was still going and I wished the holidays would finally arrive.

“Did you hear about the dismissal?” Mum asked Dad when he got home.
“He had to go, Adrienne,” Dad said. “The man’s a lunatic. He was destroying this country.”
Mum gave him her scary look. “Do you mean he was finally dragging it into the twentieth century?”
“Well, let’s not fight about it, agree to disagree. I’ve got some good news.”
“I’ve been promoted.” Dad stuck his chest out like a proud rooster. “We’re going to Sydney.”
“Just like that?” Mum said.
“No, not just like that. I’ve been working on this for months. It’s a great opportunity.”
“And you didn’t think to tell us? Don’t you think we have a right to know what you’re up to?” Somehow Mum had put me on her side. I didn’t like that. I didn’t want to be on a side, any side. I tried to sneak off to my room but Mum grabbed me. She held me out in front of Dad like I was some kind of weapon she could hurt him with.
“Look at your daughter,” Mum screamed. “Do you expect her to just pack up and leave all her friends?”
Leaving all my friends wouldn’t be too bad. I didn’t have any real friends, not real close friends. My friends were just school friends. I talked to them at school and that was it.
“Can we leave Rose out of this?” Dad asked.
This time I was on Dad’s side. I wanted to be left out of it. Not that it mattered what I thought. No-one ever asked what I wanted.
“No, we can’t leave her out of it,” Mum said. “She’s in it, whether you like it or not.”
She let go of my arms and I ran off to my room. I jumped onto my bed and buried my head in the pillow. I lay there the whole time they kept arguing, and stayed there after they stopped. I must have gone to sleep because Mum woke me up when dinner was ready.
“Now, dear,” she said. “Your father and I have decided to separate.”
“Good!” I’d heard enough fights to last a long time.
“Oh, don’t say that, dear.”
“Well, it’s better than fighting all the time.” I got up and went out to the dining room.
“Did you tell her?” Dad asked.
“Rose,” Mum said, “you have to decide if you want to go to Sydney with your father or stay here with me.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what I wanted to do. It was too soon.
They both looked at me like a couple of lovable puppies. I could make one very happy but I had to kick the other one. I thought it was cruel to make me decide. It was like a movie I saw once where the Nazi guy told this lady that he was going to shoot one of her sons but she had to decide which one.
“You don’t have to make up your mind yet,” Dad said. “We won’t be going until after Christmas.”
“We!” Mum shot him a look that would burn steel.
“Now, Adrianne…” Dad began.
“Okay, let’s just eat our dinner. Shall we?”
We ate without speaking. I don’t remember what we had. I don’t remember if I put salt or sauce on it. I do remember that I didn’t ask for salt or sauce. If I couldn’t reach it I went without. I left the table as soon as I could and slunk back to my room.
As I lay there trying to sleep they started fighting again. Now, they were fighting over me, but not because either of them really wanted me. Mum was too busy with her art studies. Dad would be too busy with his new job. I was just a prize. I was a point they could score.
As I drifted off to sleep I suddenly thought of boarding school. I didn’t know anything about boarding school. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like, but it was a way that I didn’t have to decide which one to live with. Nobody wins so nobody loses.
Next morning at breakfast I said I wanted to go to boarding school.
“Boarding school?” They both looked stunned.
“I want to go to boarding school in Brisbane. That’s half way. I can have holidays with both of you in turns. That’s fair.”
They both looked at me like they’d never seen me before. Dad’s mouth kept moving but no words came out. It was like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself every time.
Finally Mum found a weak little voice. “If that’s what you really want, dear.”
“I’ll do some phoning around,” Dad said. “See what’s available.”
I hadn’t expected them to agree straight up like that. I suppose they both just wanted to not let the other one have me. This was a way of winning without having the hassles of putting up with me all the time.
It turned out that there weren’t many boarding schools, and all the good ones were booked out years in advance. Mum and Dad spent weeks trying to find one that would have me. I knew long before they made their decision that I would end up in the rattiest old dump there ever was.



I sometimes get depressed thinking about the slow pace of social change, but then I’m reminded of how things were back then.

When I was young the White Australia Policy was still in force, the stolen generations were still being stolen, men were only allowed by law to beat their wives once a week and to spare the strap was to spoil the child. Caning in schools was regular and brutal and in the home what would today be considered severe cases of ongoing child abuse were considered a normal part of the proper disciplining of children.

The most insidious thing though was RESPECT FOR AUTHORITY, most often expressed to me as, If you can’t respect the man, at least respect the position he holds.

What this meant was that any child who said anything about any adult was more likely to be punished than listened to and anyone of any age could be ostracised for criticising their social superiors. The result was silence. And within that silence anything was possible. The FitzGerald inquiry exposed some of the official corruption but the rampant paedophilia of the time is taking longer. The larger the authority gap between perpetrator and victim, the deeper the silence.

Back in the seventies it was university students who led the push for reform. Now the mantle seems to have been passed to Palm Island. RESPECT FOR AUTHORITY seems to have worn thin with those most often abused by that authority.