BOOK

BIOGRAPHY


BY: MR ALLAN PETER ROLLY JR.


THE BOOK THAT ONCE YOU START READING IT YOU WON'T PUT IT DOWN!


CHAPTER ONE


My father suffered from sinus trouble, and nearly every morning when he got up, he used to cough continously, and the noise that came from the bathroom used to wake A.P. Rolly up. And of course I'd come out and the first thing I would do was to go to the bathroom to see my father. And then I came in to mum, and mum was just getting dad's breakfast (toast and coffee) ready, as he didn't eat any breakfast to the way mum would have liked. And And I said to mum, "daddy fall sick," and I was laughing as I was so young that I hadn't known that he was dead. So mum then went out to the bathroom from the kitchen, and she knew this was the middle part of winter. As it was a condemned house that we were living in, until we got into our own home, and the bathroom was so small, we had one of those old baths that used to stand on those crow-feet legs, you know, and all the enamel was worn off the inside of the bath and there was big black patches. And where my father fell it was so narrow, that the bath was very widely rounded next to the toilet, as it wasn't a set-in bath, and it was very sharp around the edges. And so dad caught his head on this part, when he fell forward in a coughing fit, cutting his forehead on the right-hand side, very deeply. Mum at this stage didn't know dad was already dead, so she dragged him into the bedroom. Then Mum ran to one of the neighbours to ask them to phone a doctor (as we had no phone at the time)as only the well-off had a phone line in the house.


Then mum kept going in and looking at dad, and at one time dad had changed from the way he was laying, as they (the next door neighbours) had put him on his side, and then they'd turn him on his back, or vice-vera, as mum was not too sure now this happened as it happened so hours ago now. Well after that I tried to put all of the thought of my father out of my head. Well, anyway, while mum was waiting, the doctor came from Rosyln Hospital. At this stage mum didn't know that the doctor was saying, please to take these tablets and sit for me. Amd mum said oh No...No...it's my husband he's in the bedroom. At this stage mum didn't know that the doctor had already been into the bedroom and found that he was dead. The Doctor said to mum to take the tablets please, so she did, and after she had taken the tablets and eveything seemed funny (mum was dizzy and fell asleep) which they were surposed to do. Mum could then hear many different voices bouncing back at her, as well as her own saying..No..No. Well the Doctor then must of told mum of dad's passing, but mum was so in shock and upset, that she just kept singing out his name all the time until she fell asleep in the chair.


The next thing mum knew (as there must of been a Police Sergeant there) as she knew she was looking up at his brass buttons on his uniform. As though she was down low, as mum must of been on the chair or something, she couldn't remember. Mother doesn't think he'd asked her anything, but he might have done.


After that, I know that mum's brother-in-law said, I'm taking the
car (mum) and mum said, oh no, my mother's dying (mum's mother) at the time and how can I now get down to my mother's place to see her, as in those days, public transport (like buses) didn't travel very often and were expensive, and it took quite a way to walk just to the nearest one that was cloest to the house. And he said the car mum used to be allowed to drive, was Dad's car it belonged the dad's work place (company vehicle as such) and the man then took the keys, then took the car away, even before the funeral people came to take dad's body away.


About a week later the funeral was a small one, mum, me and some close friends were there. At the time, I didn't really understand why everyone was crying and then an hour so later at (the wake) everybody was laughing as though they were glad dad had passed away, it was quite some time before (a four-year old) comes to terms with such things. He was laid to rest, and buried pretty close to the Church grounds back fence, at least it was easy for me to go and visit later, on my push-bike. My best present of my late dad, I used to ride it everywhere.


We had cattle dog called Bonnie, and she idealized my father and myself (A.P. Rolly) and she (Bonnie) kept coming out to mum and pawing at mum's knee. And going up to my bedroom door and sort of wimping, the same thing bonnie used to do when my father was coming home from work about 7:30pm. And the dog used to get my mother angry at times, because that's the breed of them. She seemed to have a sixth scent, because bonnie would come and go to the front door and stand there on her hind legs trying to open the door, enough to say dad will be home soon, as mum was cooking on the stove, so mum then went to the front door to prove to the dog that there was nothing there, oh bonnie, what's the matter with you there's nobody there. And by the time mum had returned back to the stove from the front door, dad was slaming the car door and about to walk through the house door. Now mum would say: She heard that car when it was on the corner of our street, and when it turned down to go under the railway bridge (we used to have a goods railway-line at the back of our house) and was about to drive and park into our driveway space that was provided.


Mum was still in the house with me (A.P. Rolly) the baby, and mum was putting me to bed, as she was sewing or something, mum was sewing or mending a few of my pyjamas. She was had always have sweing needle, cotton and thread, mending our clothes every day of the week, sometimes for hours and hours. 
At 11:00p.m. mum went into to check on me in my room, as it was pouring with rain. It was in the summer time because I had my little summer pyjamas on and at this point in time, after mum found me missing from my bed and the house, she was just beside herself with worry and pain. She didn't know what to do, as mum didn't have a phone (we couldn't afford to have one on remember) as the phone company charged too much to have the line installed. So she went to the neighbours on one side of her house and they said that their phone was out-of-order and then mum went to the other neighbours on the other side, No 26, whom both us (or my late father who was gone now 6 months) whom we didn't know and had never talked to them. They were a New Australian family from Italy, whom spoke very poor English and understood very little as well. The husband got up out of bed and got dressed, got his truck out and then took mum over to the local police station.
I had run away from home for the very first time, I was excited and frightened at the very same time.


When went in to the Police Station, the man and mum didn't know which police station it was (but (in the 1950s) one police station looks like another, and mum could hear someone talking on a phone to his squad-car and enquiring if any of the other two squad cars had picked up a four-year-old wandering the streets at 12:30a.m within the area and if anyone  had picked him up (P.A. Rolly anywhere (describing what colour pyjamas I was wearing, height and of course my age. Then one of the policemen said yes, he is down at the Darwin Police Station. So then he (the next-door neighbour) drove mum in his truck to Darwin's one police station, about ten minutes walk from us, and when went in, the Sargeant told her that "his boys" had picked him up on the dusty side of the track, just down the road from the car wreckers.


By now it was raining wasn't it, yes, raining cats and dogs. I was just soaking wet and when the police saw me just standing there, they came over to me and asked: Where are you going, Son? I then answered because I am looking for heaven. As my dad is in heaven, and I want to visit him, but I can't find it. Could you take me to heaven?  No Son, but you have to come along with us now, and we will get you out of those wet clothes and buy you something hot to eat, what about that? Come on, let's go and meet your mother, she is very worried about you, running off like that, you could have been hurt or run down by one of the road-trains passing through Darwin.

They then took me in their police car to Darwin Police Station, and took off my wet pyjamas to try and dry them in the oven. And mum then seen me sitting on the front desk counter eating a banana, by the time they got there (mum and her next-door neighbour) in his work truck, which remember  were a new Australian family from Italy, he couldn't speak English very much, so it would of been hard for him to act quickly as he had to try to pick-up what my mother was saying to him.

While mum and the neighbour where still inside the police station, (and he then called the reporters of the local Darwin herald, a four-letter rude word) as the two women have bloody well waited here all night to try to get something into their newspaper. And the Sargeant also warned us, watch out, as they crawl on to you as soon as you leave the station, so he said just ignore them and pick up the baby (me, P.A. Rolly) and get in your truck and go home and lock the door. They will not follow you home, it is against the law, as you both have not committed any offence here tonight.

Like clockwork, soon as we hit the front dusty step, the three of us us completely were empowered by them before we climbed back into the our nighbours truck. The reporters were shouting and asking "him" my neighbour, was he the father, and what happened, so he just shoved his hands up in the air and said to them: I no understand english here. (And to a point that was quite true). Mum was complaining of getting her dressing gown ditry from all the red-dust on the road and the truck. Mum used to keep the house spotless, make no mustake about that.

The next week there it was splashed across the front page of the newspaper of Darwin's local Herald, the local rag of Darwin, and they must have took a photo of me (P.A. Rolly) when they (the police) where drying my wet clothes in the oven of the main house. Then next day: as the headline read: P.A. ROLLY FINISHES UP BEHIND BARS. And right next to the headline, is a photo of me standing there on the other side of the bars, grabbing and holding on to them. Well, P.A. Rolly who's dad co-owned and family ran a factory nearby our house at Darwin, they almost went off their heads with rage. The 17 shareholders almost had a heart attack when they saw the newspaper the next day, it did not go down too well.

Then mum was very sick, and then mum's mother was very ill and dying. So mum had to take me down to her mothers' place (that's grandma now well and truly passed-on, bless her soul greatly) as she was near 92 years-old and could hardly walk and mum ran into some problems there. As you could have your own place within a complex and it would be owned by the church or big organization when the elderly person died. Until then, you could live there and their staff would look after you; as their was no Nursing Homes as such, back then. So Mum got a Salvation Army Officer Lady and her husband from the Darwin West of England Church, who was attending the same church as my mother. They both were Salvation Army Officers and they then looked after me, because one of mum's friends in the shop would have minded me, but she thought no, that wasn't such a very good idea for someone who has to look after a business all day and double up to look-after a small-child of four years ao age.

I was in such shock, as mum had to buy a brace for me. We'd be in a shop somewhere in Darwin, or nearby, and as mum would take her hand away to pay the bill for what she was buying, no credit in those days, in these dusty towns of Darwin. And Bonnie ( was our Collie dog back then) saved my life, twice, as the trucks were coming down and around the corner, and when bonnie (we must have taken the dog for a walk with us) regardless of the red dust, and the dog knew that some danger was heading my way. She (Bonnie) somehow had pushed me over still on the side of the dusty road, there was no footpath, as the trucks and busy raod-trains traffic missed me by only inches. I had somehow wondered out the door and and was standing in the middle of that dusty red road in a daze and the dog grabbed my jumpsuit and pulled me back to the side of the roadway from where I was safe.

So mum thought I don't want anymore of those close calls, thank you, and so she bought me a brace, so mum could hang on to me with one of her hands for when next time we were out and about.

Now then Mum's mother died (grandma) and mum then became very sick herself, and was unable to look after me herself for she went to hospital, for about six months I was (or perhaps sooner) was put in the care of a Legacy Home which was in a big House somewhere where right on Botany Bay shores. I can remember travelling to Sydney in New South Wales. Parts of my stay at this home, I shall always remember. It was (or still is today, if the building is still there and not knocked down in progress for some business) a very large Victorian House, with a very wide verandah that went right around the house, and we would use (4 or 5 year-old girls and boys) this wide verandah to ride our three-wheeler tricycles up and down and around on. I can remember my type of dormitory. I shared with about 40 children and I can remember them always keeping the bedrooms dark ( not wanting to withdraw the curtains in the daytime) which, even at the age of six, I had had two birthdays now, and I had found to be very odd. There was a couple of long rows of single beds lined-up, one dormitory for the girls,and other dormitory for the boys ( all single bunks and they didn't have double bunks in those days).

I was still at the "wetting the bed" stage of my life, and more than half of us (girls as well as boys) as there was more than half of us that had wet sheets to take out and put in a basket for washing. As the Matron had a very large laundry trolley type basket with a lid, which we knew was always kept near the outside of the dormitory door near westend hallway, for us to drop our wet sheets into. Then we'd have to have a shower or bath to get rid of smell.

Now out of the hall as you come in from outside, hanging high up on the back (or front depending of which way you were coming from or going to) was a picture in a large frame, of a very large painting of a lady sitting down in a chair. The painting was clearly done in such a way, that her eyes in this painting would seem to move down and follow you (as it was hung high up on the building inside wall) whenever you went past it. No matter where you moved, and whenever you walked past, I would run a full stride ( I wouldn't walk) as it sort of frightened the life out of me. It seemed so real, as the painting was done so well, those eyes seemed to follow you back and forth as you went past, which was just really amazing.

Under the large house ( still at Legacy House) was different brick tunnels, that lead deeper and deeper under the house, where most of the outside childrens' bicycles and scooters were locked away at night. When you walked well into this (basement it would have been) under the house, which seemed like an endless tunnel. And one always thinks twice when someone dares you, or you have dared somebody else (children of course and any child being caught in there without an adult, was in serious trouble with Matron) or made a bet with whoever else was mad enough to take on the dare. Being very drave, I made it my right to the end and touched the wall. As the basement didn't have any light or relectrity. As the end wall brickwork had black stuff all over it, like coal or something, so you had to prove that you actually made it to the end wall, you had to wipe both your hands over the end all to make them black (which the proof that you really done it) and then race back to the world of daylight outside. But remember, it's bloody dark down there, and isn't supposed to be played in. It was a storage area only.

But on my second time town the tunnel to touch the wall, I was wearing my good clothes, and my shorts were white. And when I ran down into the darkness, I forgot the space becomes smaller and there's all those bloody toys all over the place to step over, so then over I go, as I trip over a wheel of a scooter (the ones with two wheels) and collect a pogo-stick along the way. C-R-A-S-H and down A.P. Rolly tumbled to the uneven surface, and I don't mind telling you that's even more frightening when you are falling and you can't see where you're going to land or whack into. My shirt was ripped, and my arm hurt and I'd knew I would cop it from the Matron, so I dragged myself up and continued to the wall to touch it, so I could collect the bet, the bet I'll come back and tell you about further on.

Well, about the bet I had with the girl. Both of us were very young children  and we said to one another who's game enough to go in there and touch the top wall ( meaning the end wall at the dead-end of the basement) the one left has to do anything asked. Well I said, I'd go in and if I make it, you (the little girl) have to show me your (wee-wee) and I was pointing to her naughty area) and then I'll show you mine OK. We went to the sand-pit which was at the side of the house and removed our small clothes straight away, and to prove mine works I had a wee into the sandpit and so did she just to prove the point that her's worked as well. And I was about to touch her vagina because it looked funny and she was just about to hold onto my penis and the Matron caught-us red-handed. I was sent upstairs and the girl a little time afterwards. I might not be able to remember the girl's punishment, but I still remember mine.

Matron, gave me my punishment herself. Allan Peter, bend over that armchair over there ( I still had a bare bottom) and she held me down and gave me a few very hard hits with the stick-end of the old-style feather duster, which stung I can assure you. I had a sore bum for days, not just for hours.

After this time, I was watched like a hawk wherever I went,and I couldn't get into any more trouble.

Down the hill on the same property on the water's edge, there was a long jetty that stretched out right into the deep ocean. We were never allowed down there on our own, as it was strictly out-of-bounds to all us children and everyone to my knowledge obeyed that rule. Now every now and then though, we were taken down to the Jetty for walks, and I sometimes went right out to the end of the jetty and then back again (a big and exciting time when you are a small child) which was about 40 minutes walk. As you has to walk up a hill hike to get back up to the house to the back steps of the kitchen, where most of the time, a glass of flavoured milk and cookies would be waiting for us to consume. At other times we would go down there (with an adult) for walks at low tide. And it would be so much fun exploring all over the place, looking under different rocks for crabs, trying to catch the tab-polls in some of the rock-pools (not my thing through). And then we would take off our shoes (if we had them on) and get sticks and draw large numbers in the sand, thinking that we were very clever and that it would remain there in the sand forever.


Even though everybody feared Matron, I don't remember anything about her to really tell you, except she was fair. Of course one to be afraid of if you'd done something wrong, of course she gave you her Christian love when you needed it; you knew she knew her job well and respected and loved little children. But sometimes it is hard to understand exactly what love is, when Matron is punishing you you with discipline for something that you have done wrong. 


In one part of Darwin, on the other side of the railway station, a child got out (they used to tie their front gate up at a stocking) as it was at a very busy spot with road-trains and other traffic passing. As nearby their was a Diner and a good rest place for people to rest and clean their cars down from all the red dust and muck. The paper mentioned they think (Darwin Herald) that the children was on their way to school, while walked along (Darwin Central Drive) they must have untied the knotted stocking to be clever. And the next thing, this small child (we didn't know them and they were Aboriginal) just opened the door and then oped the gate and walked straight into the path of a 18-wheeler Road-Train coming from South Australia from a all-night run and this was his final stop for the next two days. The small child was not seen by the driver, and was collected at the rear end of the 18-wheel road-train and was killed by being run over by so many wheels and the truck had so much weight from the goods, that the driver was unable to stop in time. 
Soon afterwards, that family moved away from Darwin ( as they were paying rent and had the option to move on if they wished to) going somewhere like Sydney or Melbourne to live. 


Mum can't state clearly enough, that you have to watch your children every second, when that's how careful you have to be when you live and breathe in a busy City like Darwin that has trucks and road-trains screaming through it hourly. 


So Mum took me off to a Home, where I'd have other children around my own age to play with. Which went alright for a little while, then somehow I pushed someone off a box and broke their arm and mum had to pay for the Doctor's costs.


Mum soon got her War-Pension, and around the same time she bought the 3 bedroom house in Beverly Hills, through the war-service. The Commonwealth Bank loaned you so much, and when mum paid what she owed them off, it was in small installments at a time like paying small rent, until mum had it fully paid off altogether.


Then my mother enrolled Allan Peter into the Beverly Hills Public School, in Sydney Australia, and found that I was slow at learning and not like the other boys. So they way of fixing this problem was they put me in the back row away from everyone as they should have, so that I couldn't be heard and to shut-me-up, as I was near the window (at the back of the class) and I could look out there for most of the day and just sit there and day-dream. But I should have been put in the front front-row of the classroom and not the back from where it was hard to seen. Especially for a slow-learning person who had a lot of trouble in just understanding of what the teaching was going on about. But of course, back in those days they didn't want to know anything about me, because I was a bit slow in picking things up. In those times the "smart ones" they put in the front, and the poorer students further away out of the road towards the back of the class. I do believe the Education Department has changed somewhat now. I don't know, the mind just boggles.
Well, when I couldn't work out what was on the written on the blackboard, I was starting to become board, and couldn't answer any of the questions that the teacher asked me correctly. I'd scribble over all my books and draw on the school desk, or make paper planes and fly them across the room out of the open window. All of course, I was supposed to be doing my school work like the other students. Or I suppose the other thing I got up to was, putting my finger ready, and flicking ink from the ink well that was on our desks,which was always the black and not the blue ink, on to someone's clothes or hair (at the rear of course) or their hair (blonde guys was best) as it used to leave little black spots if your aim was good enough. But sometimes I was little off centre, and it would land down the side of their neck or on their shirt (school blue shirts were expensive and the stain would not wash-out and mum would have to end-up replacing the young man's shirt with a new one) be cause it was my fault. As in those days, each student had to use ink pens that you had to keep dipping in the well which was usually at the top right hand corner of the desk, as you were writing down your lessons (not me of course) but the rest of the students in my class. 


Then one day the School Headmaster rang mum up and said he wants to see her about Allan Peter Rolly. And when mum went to to the school office, the Headmaster said, Mrs. Rolly I'm afraid you'll have to take your son away, because Allan Peter is upsetting the whole class, not only not doing any of his own work, but at moment, there are very few other students doing theirs as well. So mum said, why and what has has he been up to now? He then explained, that I had locked one of the teachers in the classroom and had thrown the key out the open window and down into the playground, I then then somehow climbed down the drainpipe of the two-story building to the downstairs playground, and run away, doing what I can't recall. So then mum said to him, what am I to do now? Allan Peter has to be educated. Well, you write to the Education Department and they will find (if they can) another public school, as some schools have the A.O. classes in them. Mum then asks what's the definition of A.O.? Well, it means those classes are for slow-learners, he said. Well mum would of though "S.L." would of been more appropriate, for slow-learner. But no, this A.O. business I simply just didn't understand. So mum thought for a moment, and said well that's alright, as he'll get the special attention as that is what Allan Peter needs right now in his schooling.
So about a week later mum got a letter from the Education Department and they recommended me go (what mum calls across country) because it was not walking distance for mothers, from Beverly Hills to Wiley Park. Mum had to take me to the school and bring me home again by car. Anyway one day at home, after a few weeks at this new A.O. Class, I said to mum. By the way, the kids in my class are nutty. Mum said what did you say? I then told mum my story over again, and the next day my mother marched in there to see for herself exactly what her son was talking about. So when mum got to the classroom (the special A.O. Class I was in) mum she was just shocked at the type of children that she saw. Most of the children there were there were that of Downs Syndrome kids or had other bad body deformities. Now mum was angry, that the Department of Education would put a child (her son) a ordinary child, that is only slow learning, amongst a class like that, one is just left without words, isn't one.


Yes now I remember, Allan Peter used to start wagging school and finding more important things to to do with his time, than attend class, that's for nerds. Well at around-about that time in my life, the new Roselands Shopping Complex was just finished and ready for business to open, so I used to pop (on the bus) and go there just out of interest.
As let's face it, anything's better than bloody school, so off I went to explore all those shops for the day. There used to be young girls with little trays walking around, with different food samples hot and cold, giving the customers (me) an idea of what their new delicatessen had to offer. So quick as lightning I'd shoot my cut lunch mum had made for me into the rubbish bin, and then I walk about tasting this and tasting the other samples of the different trays. And on the middle level, as there were three levels in this place, at 1pm, 3pm they used to have young ladies walking down this catwalk wearing these mini-skirts ( I just stood there spellbound cover my eyes) and swimwear, ladies underwear and so on. With a lady standing with a microphone in her hand tell the people about the type of clothes the models were wearing. Attending Roselands was swell for a couple of days, as there was "always" something going on, not like silly school. Not was then, Allan Peter was starting to stand out, the one little school boy turning up to their complex, in blue shirt, grey trousers, grey socks, and jet black shoes just stood out too much. So I had to give Roselands the flick and return to the bloody yukkie class again, until I could work out something else to do. Ah...I know the very idea, even the thought of it gave me goosebumps. behind our house there ran a storm-water canal, which in one direction went towards Hurstville and the other direction you could explore for miles towards Tempe swomps. So the very next day Allan Peter was off to explore "my" new world.
Then I was off, I raced down to the end of the street, around the corner and half-way along that block was the part to get into this storm water drain. I jumped in, full of enthusiasm to explore this underworld. So I first started walking up towards the back of my place (mum's house) first, as a way to go, passing my backyard fence as I was bending over, as I was afraid my mum might of saw me going past at that time. About ten minutes later, I ran into this tunnel which started under Stoney Creek Road, so I just gathered it's a small one and must only last somewhere across the road. So anyway on I went, walking slowly, as the further you went in, the more darker and slippery (from the moss) was becoming. So after about five minutes of walking in complete darkness, running my hand on the wall for guidance. I could then tell this was going to go on forever, so I knew without a torch, this was useless and not very much fun as well, so I turned around to go back the other way. Back out in the bright light again, I looked up again and the daily traffic was still whizzing past on their way to their different places, and so was I.


Coming to the part where the Railway Bridge crosses over the storm-water drain (and mum would have died if she'd have known then) was just above my head was both the railway tracks, as if you stand at the top of the canal wall, you could pop your head just enough higher to look both ways between both tracks. And I use to play this game, If you jumped up to ground level from the drain, your head would be in the middle of the tracks. And then when you hear that the train was round the bottom corner from Kingsgrove, as it was a quiet area really. When you knew a train was coming, you'd pop your head up in between the tracks so it looked as though only your head existed from above (as their was a concrete slab underneath which gave you the height you needed) and as the train got nearer and with seconds to spare I would pop my head down again with great satisfaction of doing something dangerous. Then jump back down in the drain, to do some more exploring.
There was one day that sticks in my mind, when I was down there in that same drain mucking around in the part under the railway tracks, when two boys (older than me) whizzed passed on their push-bikes. So I took myself home to get my push-bike, I was going to try this one. I was back in a flash, as I was going to try and catch those two boys up and talk to them, as I hadn't seen anybody else at all down in my patch around here. So after ten minutes of riding, the front wheel suddenly wasn't there anymore and I found myself sliding along the ground with the bike underneath me for a few minutes, nobody told me the green-stuff (the moss) was very slippery and the pushbike wheels just went over on them, but I suppose I had learnt another lesson the hard way that day. But of course I hadn't giving up riding my bike down there, as you went a lot further, seen more and had more fun than walking. I never caught up with those two boys, though, they were long gone before I got back with my bike.
A couple of weeks later this, I was going towards Tempe (still inside the storm-water drain) someplace, the drain connected into about 7 other drains, interlocking and all travelling off in different directions. So I rode down the middle one ( as a matter of fact I never explored every drain, only some of them, as there were far too many in total) on the pushbike. Down this drain on my bike I rode to find out where this went to, after about 40 minutes of riding I had to stop, as there was this dead dog ( it looked as though it was first ran over by some car and dumped there) with about 30 sewer rats ripping into it like it was their very last meal. I didn't know what to do, the smell here was something else, so I turned around to head back to Beverly Hills. When I came to the Big T connecting drain centre with the other 6 or so drains, do you think I could bloody remember which was the correct one to ride down. Allan Peter was lost!
For a few moments there I became worried and confused, as I didn't have a clue where I was, and also knew that mum had banned me from playing anywhere near here, let alone being caught out back down here. So i rode on for about five minutes and stopped, threw the pushbike up onto the ground level (street level) and hopped up there myself. Now all I had to do was find my way back onto a street from behind these backyard fences, and try to ride my way back to Beverly Hills. As I knew this wasn't Beverly Hills. And when at last I got to a bunch of shops together at the end, so i rode towards them. From there I learnt I was at South Narwee and with the help from the local Butcher Shop man drawing me a map, turn left and then follow this street, cross over, first turn right, second set of the traffic lights and then keep going along there and you'll then be on top of the big hill, where the Church is, go down the hill and you will see the Beverly Hils Railway as you ride down.
I also ran away from home for some unknown reason to me. I took different things from the house and sold it off someplace up in Beverly Hills shopping centre, and I'd always take some money with me out of mum's purse on the way out the door. As mum didn't think to hide it, she wouldn't dream that I would have done such a thing. I took my father's New Fishing Rod, it nearly broke mum's heart, as dad had bought it the weekend he dropped dead, he'd never used it once. It was all polished with a maple handle and it was beautiful and strong looking and quite a heavy and whoever got that from me and must of known that they robbed me when I only got the 10 pounds. I still remember mum mentioning that the Fishing Rod was worth well over 100 pounds, and it was just a shame and it was never recovered to this day.
Mum can remember one Policeman was very nice to her, as hew as stationed at the Hurstville Station. Mum was so devastated at the time, that she went around in her car trying to look for me and somehow fell asleep at the wheel, with the motor still running. I must have ran away again at nighttime.
The next thing mum knew, a policeman drove her home and they went looking for me, and they brought me back very soon afterwards. Mum said to the policeman, I want to give you something for being so kind. Here's a five-pound note (it was pounds not dollars back then) to go towards your Children Fund.
And then I was off again a couple of nights later. Then the local police would bring me home, and they said to her once. Do you know Mrs Rolly, we just don't understand how Allan Peter could run away from a nice home like this, with a mother. I can tell you that we take a lot of kids home in our line of work. To hovels, with both their parents being alcoholics, and they bash their children about and all this sort of thing. I ten said to mum, Oh Mum, I don't know what made me do it and I'll never do it again. So, Mum believed me.
Four or five weeks later, Allan Peter was off again. Mum had the local Kingsgrove police and detectives out looking for me. As it was a wet evening outside and the police and detectives was the last lot of people on my mind, but before they left mum's house and asked mum for a photograph of me to give them. A couple of hours later the police car saw me near the Beverly Hills Railway Station waiting for the train, and they picked me up and took me back to the police station. They dried my clothes and fed me some chips from a nearby store and then rang my mother and within minutes I was home again.


Today I was going to wag school again, because school is very boring and I'm smart enough now.
This time I had changed my clothes, had taken all my good school clothes off, it must of been somewhere around Christmas time, because mum had just bought me a new blue shirt school shirt. A all new Globe-Bite school-case, new shoes and the grey socks. And not known to mum, I had taken an old pull-over and a jumper and a pair of shorts in my bag. Because I must of heard one of the police telling mum a few weeks ago, that they knew which school I was from., and the type of school uniform I was wearing. When I listened in, I must of caught onto this, so I surpose in some ways I was not too backward after-all. So I thought, this is what I'm think. Well, they won't bloody well won't be able to tell which school I'm from this time, I will wear something else, won't I!

So off I went, down to Allan Peter's favorite spot near the railway line, thinking my plan was just about foolproof. Whilst down the drain, I changed into my change of clothes (to fool the police of course) and to put my school clothes back into the bag, then place the bag in a hole (storm-water-sewerage hole connection that ran from the houses nearby) which was in the side of the wall (small but large enough for the GolbeBite bag to go in) and then head off to explore the world.
Now there's only a couple of things I forthrightly remember here, one was being "wanted" by the police and for most of the day I kept looking over my shoulder to see if they (the cops) were about to nab me. A little after four o'clock in the afternoon, a very big thunderstorm was gathering, which I hadn't noticed at the time. It bloody well started to rain and Allan Peter Rolly knew that he was a long way from the hole I'd put the new school case in at, so I'd have to get there as fast as I could, no mistake. I ran as fast as my little legs would let me, running long and fast. The closer I got to my spot, in deeper I became in the water (what I first thought was just water). When approaching the spot where I'd left the new school bag, it was well and truly underwater, so I dived under and the complete hole was empty, the bag was gone, just fast gushing water was running out with the strong current behind it.
Bloody hell I said out loud, I have to find that new bag or mum will kill me. And there I was slowly walking "down" with the current, as seeing everything is moving this way my bag has to be this way somewhere as well, and perhaps I'll see it floating on top of the water (I thought what I was standing and swimming through at the time was water) so I followed the drain all the way until it branched out into a type of small river at Tempe, where a lot of the other drains from neighboring suburbs submerged into the same canal. No matter hard I looked or dived underwater to look, Allan Peter's bag was no more, it was gone forever.
I must have gone home drenched to the bone, and try to explain my story to mum. She just couldn't believe it, mum didn't know what to do.


Anyway after this spate of affairs, my running away business became serious. This time I ran away I had a spell of the Mumps. The Doctor (the previous day) said you must keep him in bed (easier said than done though)and don't let him outside from one to another, not in the lounge room to watch TV (they didn't have small sets and it used to be B/W) and keep him in the bed covered up. OK everything was alright, mum went to bed too like normal, but some time in the middle of the night she popped her head in checking on me. I was gone again. Mum just couldn't believe it, the bastard's gone again, as it had been pouring down rain all-night, I had got one of the blankets off one of the beds in the room, and cut it in half. In my bedroom was two three-quarter Chrome beds, and I took (mum's) little radio from the kitchen on my way out. I put all this into a pillow slip, so I could use it like a bag.
The police had telephoned mum prior to this, that they'd been out too many times looking for me, and they wasn't going to look for me anymore. They said the next time he does this, you'll have to charge him. Mum said that she doesn't was me charged. I don't want him to have a record. He said (the policeman) well, we have too many other more important things to do, as we are a very busy police station here.
Mum thought. Oh...no...he couldn't have done this to me. Then the police phoned mum in the night, and mum couldn't understand it. Apparently I didn't have any money. I had found out a way to turn the phone around so I could speak to mum and could hear her. But I didn't have to put any coins in the slot. I don't know how I did it, but I did it then.
Mum couldn't understand me, so she sang out to Christine, that was out next door neighbor, and mum said, do you think Cliff could come in and I can't understand this phone call. Allan Peter might be in trouble. It seemed to sound like me (mum thought) but then it didn't, it was difficult by the way I was speaking. The Cliff from next door to mum came to the phone, and I explained to him, could you please come and pick me up? Cliff said, sure where are you Allan Peter? And I said I'm in Liverpool. Well he said, that's a fair way out in the night, you'll have to let me know where you are. Have a look outside the telephone box and tell us what's near you. Oh, there's a Fire Station right across the road, then Cliff said you then go over there and tell them you are waiting for us to come and get you. Oh, Cliff, before you go, would you bring my Mother with you? And mum then said, isn't that nice, he wants to see his mother.
Now Cliff (just after I hung up) phoned the Liverpool Fire Station, checking my story, and the station said there's no telephone box for more than 1 mile from our station. That's when Cliff knew of my lying on the phone.
Before this, mum didn't realize I had the keys to the house, and I wanted everyone out of the house, so I could then get in and find something else to sell. Then Christine came running in from next door. Katie (her daughter) had a girlfriend as they went to school together, and her father was passing at the time, and he said to Christine, I've just saw Allan Peter around the corner in Morgan Street carrying a pillow-slip, wringing wet.
Cliff said, so he think's he is so smart, well we will have to be smarter. You (Mum) and Christine take the car, not mum's as he'd know it, and go up along Morgan Street as though we were going to go up and over the Bridge to go to Liverpool. Cliff said I'd stay here and wait till he puts the key in the door to catch Allan Peter. So then we had just turned into Morgan Street and there I was. because Mum and Christine were in the dark, and in a dark car as I would really see them. Christine said to mum, ring Cliff up and tell him where he is. No I wouldn't do that said mum. Because by the time we got to a telephone box to ring up, Allan Peter would be already in the door. If her hears the phone ring and someone answers it, then he will know that there's someone else inside. And he's not a fool altogether.
Alright Christine said, so she pulled over and parked the car for a while, so we waited for about 10 minutes. Then Christine drove the car around the other side of the school and back down into our street, but returning from the top end of Gloucester Road, back down to the house. There's Cliff with Allan Peter in the middle of the road, shaking his head. he said to mum, it's just no use, we won't ring the police up this time. We will just have to take Allan Peter to the Police Station now. That was when I was taken the The Kingsgove Police Station and was formerly charged, as an uncontrollable child.
All the young policemen ran away as they didn't want to catch the Mumps off me, and the Sargeant stood a good six foot away, now Allan Peter, throw all the things out on the table, as he wouldn't go near me either, and empty all your pockets right out. Next thing mum's wallet come flying out, the house keys and other odds and ends onto the table.
Mum then had to sign different documents, then the Courts put into a Home called Werrington Park out near Windsor. Werrington Park was a boys home and was set on a large property in between St. Mary's and Penrith Railway Stations, with lots of boys around my own age. Now not everyone (mine was a special case) here has been though the court system, they were mostly kids left wards of the state. There were three buildings in this place (on the property) and I was in the house over the far side of the hill, looking down the the railway line tracks. In these places were Houseparents, a married couple who would be your mum and dad whilst you were under their care.


CHAPTER TWO
Talk about phobia's, just before tea time on a saturday, about 8-10 boys were playing hide and seek, and we were all about the same age and height. Bluey was in, he was counting from 1-100 slowly, to give us enough time to go and discover a great new hiding place around the property.
Now I quickly remembered this closet/cupboard near the washroom/bathrooms, so I raced off to try and hide in this place. I found one boy trying to follow me most of the way down the stairs and along the hall, and soon as I raced around the garbage bins near the rear of the kitchen, this kid was still following me, then I turned around and told him to piss-off in so many words (I've cleaned that up a bit for the women that might be reading this page).
Now with the kid following me problem out of the road, I could still hear Bluey upstairs still counting 89, 90, 91,92 and I knew that the time was now really running out fast. 
So got to the closet/cupboard, opened it and climbed in and quickly closed the door behind me. Nobody knew where I was, as it the cleaners section and nobody uses it or gives two shits about it, to really tell you the truth. From the outside, it was just a two-door small closet/long-cupboard that opened towards you, that was painted grey the same as the walls around that area at the rear of the building structure.
Once I was inside, I shut both doors, too quickly I became engulfed in total darkness. My hand felt around the wall for a moment, searching in near total panic for the bloody light switch, if there was one to find. I bumped over all kinds different items in search of the light switch I can tell you, but about ten lifetimes later, about 10 minutes would be more like it, I found the old fashioned switch and clinked it down and turned the light on and I could see what was around the cupboard/closet room and of the things that I had knocked down and around on the wall of which was this pitch dark little room. In the end, it was one of those old-style light switches that is round and you have to switch the switch down for on and up for off, and both times there was a clunk sound as you do it, as the switch is very old and very rarely used by the cleaner. I suppose in a way, I was lucky that there was a light-bulb working in the closet and the power and switch was still in working order. 
Slowly looking around the small area I was in, I could see brooms, rags, paints, thinners, floor polishers, vaccuum cleaners, boxes and the steel buckets (the ones with with double rollers in the middle for ringing out the mops) that were used for the hall and kitchen floors. There was other larger boxes right next to the wall near the spider web, but to see what was in those, would have meant bumping the light bulb (which was hanging down from the ceiling) and i didn't want to risk bumping into it too many times or it might go out. So I didn't concern myself with those boxes, as the light (which by now was becoming a little too warm) was hanging pretty close to my face and right shoulder. But remember, this cupboard was small and there was nowhere else to crawl to avoid the light-bulb near me, as this closet was never built for the purpose that I was using it for.
About 20 minutes later, I heard Bluey go past with some the others we were playing, as he must of already caught them from where they were hiding out. As sometimes what happens is if you hide out with 2-3 others, when you need to be silent the most, if someone sneezes or farts and makes you laugh and then you are brought undone from your hiding place. 
Well, by now I knew that I had been in there for quite a while, as that light-bulb was becoming hot and i was trying hard to stay clear of it. About 10 minutes or so afterwards, I heard the bell being rung at the kitchen door. That meant it was Dinner and we was to line up near the back door, ready to go in. This was not a count muster, so we were only little boys remember, this was just to sort out who needed their face and hands washed before sitting at the table. As sometimes, a group of the boys play mudpies in the mud just after it's been raining and then turn up to eat, covered from head to foot in mud and dirt.
After hearing the bell (which is sounded at about 5 p.m. for about 2 minutes or so and is very loud) I reckoned the hide-and-seek game was well and truly over and I then wanted to join the others outside in the line the kitchen door.
So after a few minutes trying to release the catch from the inside, I then found out to my horror that I couldn't open this catch from the inside of the closet. So I started banging my fists on the wood of the closet doors, but nobody heard me as they were having their meal in the Dining Room and with all the clutter of the silver, it would have been impossible for them to hear me.
So about 30 minutes afterwards when I heard someone walking past I very loudly bashed on the doors again, and the House Matron opened the doors and I fell out onto the floor because my back was to the hallway when I climbed in, the closet light was still on, because I could still see it. 
Boy was I in deep shit! The House Matron (the old witch) kept telling me how silly it was to hide in that closet/cupboard, and knowing that it was out of bounds to every child in the house. 
The next day well before 9a.m., some tradesman put a padlock on the small closet to stop little boys like me from climbing in and closing the doors shut on themselves. 
And at the time the Tradesman was there replacing the catch and putting a padlock on at the same time, I stood there next to him do his work. As I was in conversation, he said, by the way, wasn't you the little boy trapped in this closet yesterday evening. Do you understand that if there hadn't been so much equipment stored in such a small space, you may have been able to turn yourself around with your feet facing the two doors and kick the doors open. But as the lock was well worn and was well rusted and with a small kick would have fallen off its resting place. But as I can tell from the contents stored in this small closet, it was almost impossible for anyone to be able to turn around once climbing inside and closing the doors shutting them behind them.
It was then that I knew what I wanted to be working as, when I was growing up. Not a Fireman or Policeman no more. I knew there and then that I wanted to be an Repairman, driving around in my own little car and the sign of the business on the sides and the rear of the car.
Now this place where we were living was spaced on lots of land, with about 2 hills and about 4 or 5 paddocks for the cows and cattle to feed on. Now in the near middle of one of the paddocks, was an old car, now completely rusted out, the wheels and tyres removed, engine and gearbox gone, the glass from the windscreen and side windows and rear windows were gone, seats and most of the car really, juts leaving a empty shell, with a steering rod column and wheel still moveable. It must of been dumped there more than a hundred years ago, as the make and model of the car, was none that the boys could recognize to the one's driving past that they could see every day going along the Great Western Highway, which runs along the top end of this very large children's boys home's property that was near Penrith. Anyway, a group of us boys used to always have our "secret meetings" in this car, as we would most of the time threat this machine as a sort of Cubbyhouse, without really having a cubbyhouse I suppose you could say. The little group of us was sort of a "Club" as such, and would meet at this some spot in the car, once a week, on the Saturday morning at about 11a.m till lunchtime. And sometimes if it were cut sandwiches (as in the summer months it sometimes was) for lunch, the cook would wrap them up and we'd go back to the car and have out lunch and also have out secret meeting. You were not allowed to eat your lunch in any room of the buildings, but it was OK for us, as we weren't eating our sandwiches inside, but going outside for the remainder of the lunchtime break. Of course if it was too hot, forget it. The metal around the car and in it gets too hot to touch. And as part of the roof was sort of open, there wasn't much cover from the sun's rays, so we'd end up going back to the house to the children's games-room or something, to find something else to do.
In our meetings, it was strictly members only. We would meet on matters that concerned us over the past week or so, and strongly decide if we all together should front the offender and make him pay (punch me up) for his crime with medium violence of the sort. It's quick, costs nothing really, and is very effective and rewarding in the outcome (if your side won of course) and in most cases it fixed the problem at hand without bringing in a third party (dobbing someone in) in on things, it was a sort of kangaroo court if you must call it that.
Then the following Saturday at the right time, we met at our regular place in the car. This time however, we were just piss-farting around and not really doing much at all. Then we were pretending that the car was real, and we were heading for the Shopping Centre at St Mary's to buy some petrol and smokes. We were driving along this road, when the police started following "our" car the same way we were travelling to St Mary's. Then we tried to "lose" the cops, putting our foot down, we were really going flat-out by this stage (160 miles an hour) with the bloody coppers still close up our bums. I was going down backstreets, side-streets, one-way streets, and still they were in my rear-vision-mirror. And then this bloody dog darted out in front of us, and I was afraid of crashing the car into the dog, so I swerved the car steering wheel sideways, making the car loose control very fast. The car first hit the medium-strip and then overturned smashing into six or seven parked cars on the other side of the road.
There was flashing lights everywhere you looked, our car was well and truly on fire by now and of course all of us very dead from the impact of the crash (of course none of us was wearing the seat-belts) and the fire just happened to finish us off, when the near full petrol tank caught fire somehow after we first made impact with the number of parked cars on the other side of the road.
Then we hard the 5p.m. bell for Tea, and quickly got out of the old vehicle we were playing in and headed back to the building for our evening meal. As meal times went for about twenty minutes on average, and was worth getting in on time most days. As we got good food and it was cooked very well and there was always plenty of it and sometimes there would be seconds, depending on the type of dish served to you on that day.
Then there was this large drainpipe we named like than ran beneath one of the inside roads and around the property itself. I used to call this drainpipe a name like "The Code Of Silence" and it was also our sort od cubbyhouse when it rained (but light rain only was permitted, otherwise the area would end up a small pond and force you back out into the rain again) as there was no shelter in the old car from the rain and we couldn't play there. So this was just another hiding place of sorts, to be one up on the rest, if you know what I mean.
Now most of the boys knew where "Code Of Silence" was at, but due to the fact that it was a well known spot for "spiders" and the creepy-crawleys, not many went within a stones throw of the spot, as last year we had heard that a boy from the lower Cottages, had died from a spider bite that he received one afternoon as he was just walking through it, on his way to the swimming pool, a well-know short cut to everyone.
The "Code Of Silence" was also like a thieves den as well, because with the help of our little Club, we had hiding places all around and in and around and under this drainpipe. We used to "steal things" and bury them there in the safest spot around and then a couple of weeks later resell the stolen goods for sweets to get ride of the items, to some of the other dummer children that might of been around at the time.
We used to have other meetings in the "Code Of Silence" to also discuss our problems or to talk about our family members (if you were lucky enough to have any one who cared about you) to where they took you out for the day and of what you did for the day. As one of the benefits of these visits, wasn't only the great time of going out and having fun, but the fact that your friends or family could bring a large box of (known to us as a parcel) sweets and chocolates, chocolate bars and I would give some other kids the lollies which are excellent to trade on other things later on that one might need.
Bluey was telling us, that his Dad had taken him out to Liverpool Raceway for the Saturday night bash, and that it was fast, loud and exciting as the cars raced around the track after the lights went green for the start. He was telling us that in the second race of the night, one of the cars lost control around the bend (or was forced off, more to the truth of the matter) and caused the massive car pile up that looked great, and that the yellow car that caused it was smashed to a pulp and was towed off the track a mess and then the other car races continued for the rest of the evening.
His Dad had gone to the bar for a few beers as such, leaving Bluey (his real first name by the way) to watch most of the races alone, so to speak.
He hasn't seen his Mother in the whole time he has been placed in this home away from home. And that he can't really love her anymore, as he just doesn't see her at all anymore. His Father comes to visit him just about every week and then sometimes once a month, depending if he is in or out of work and off the beer. And by the way, it was the beer that finished his marriage. Bluey sort of gets on with his Father and seems to have a wonderful relationship with him when they go out for the day or some evening at his request.




Then Mark with the freckles, mentioned that his step-father, took him by Taxi-Cab to the Station (as his father didn't own a car but used public transport or taxis on special occasions) at St Mary's and they were going to Sydney (yes, the BIG SMOKE) by the train and spending the day doing whatever Mark wished for the day.
Once they went to the MIlk Bar fast food outlet on George Street (this was long before McDonalds was born in Australia) to have their lunch (as they this stage it was close on twelve thirty) and he gave Mark the offer that he could order as much and of whatever he wished to have on their daily menu.
Mark said to the young lady behind the counter, I would like to have...Chocolate Milk Shake, 2 Hamburgers and 1 large COKE. Then his father gave his order for lunch, and then both of them went to sit down, as they were a little tired from the long train trip.
This was just groovy man, he was saying to himself (Mark) and to be really in the heart of the city of Sydney, and with six hours of daylight left, to go about from here and see things, and he knew that this trip was a special trip on because of his 7th birthday was coming up on this Tuesday and his step father knew that he couldn't see his best son on the day, so he was making up for it today.
Just after lunch, they got on another bus that was going to Circular Quay along George Street, so when they got they could catch a ferry and just of explore different places by the water.
At the Quay, they both bought two tickets for the ferry going to Manly and had about 40 minutes before the next Ferry was due to depart from this wharf. So they thought it would be a good idea to go for a walk under the Harbor Bridge and back to fill in some of the time whilst we waited. Along the way we watched a few people along the waterfront, fishing with their rods over the side of the fences. It must of been their hobby, as they didn't have many fish (or anything else for that matter) for their catches of the day in their Fishing Box or basket. But I suppose that's the way it goes.
Getting to the Harbor Bridge, we turned around and headed back to catch our ferry to Manly. As we got back to the wharf two, there was a couple of buskers trying hard to get money from everybody with their clever talent, but very few even noticed they existed really. His (the buskers) hat was quite empty, with only a couple of pound notes and some small change that he didn't recognize sitting there with about two bob to keep it company.
just then their ferry was coming in to the dock and to let the people off who were travelling from Manly to here (Circular Quay). In about 15 minutes and everybody was waiting to cram into the ferry, there was a wire-mesh screen stopping them from directly racing on board before the others had completely gotten off the boat. Then a bloke came and opened up the gate, and the 300 or so of them who were waiting there, started to walk, not run as the sign said, on board the ferry up the ramps. (There was always two ramps).
A short time later, the ferry bounced back into life and they were away and moving along the water away from the City skyline centre.
Then Mark and his Father were happy to get outside on the upper deck, and to just watch the great views from that side of the ferry. His Father knew that the journey from Qircular Quay to Manly by ferry was approximately forty-five minutes, and that a 7-year-old wasn't going to be seated and well behaved for that long.
Soon after the ferry was moving and heading towards the Harbor area, Mark wanted to explore the ferry and check out what was in there and what that was for.
Mark started looking at the Map (Ferry Routes around the Harbor Shores that was in a glass picture frame on the side wall) showed you the route that the ferry travels on every day. And near the map was a notice. Do not place your feet on the seats. No Smoking inside the Ferry. Life-jackets would be found under all the seats inside the ferry, upstairs and down stairs. Refreshments Shop on Top Level of ferry only.
Then there was this Brass-Plate (that was very very shiny) that had the ferry's name in it. The Claremont Star and right underneath was a small brief of the man who first steered this machine across the waters of Sydney.
Looking around now, mark could see that there was so many people that were dressed so different here. Some looked like they were going to the beach, others to the hotel and others that you couldn't really tell, as most places wouldn't let you in dressed as such. As we were taught, that if going out to places special, you had to wear the best and smartest clothes you have, to make the best impression you can these days.
Without really looking at anyone else on the bottom level of the ferry, as he was now on the lower level, and he wanted to go up to the top level and see what was happening up there, as there shore wasn't too much excitement down here.
Climbing the stairs (that were at the centre of the ferry, by the way) there was a great brass-rail to hang onto as you walk on up the stairs, all brightly spit and polished both top and underneath (Mark checked) and he could see for himself so well it shone, it was like a mirror, you could brush your hair from the reflection.
At the very top of the stairs to the left, was the "door" to the ferry's Engine-room. Mark went on over and knocked on the wooden door (it was left open) and then again he knocked, a little harder this time, but their still came no reply or answer. Seeing that the door was open and that it was not locked at all, Mark started to climb down about 22 steps (steel steps mind you) that led from the door to the engine room below, of course not seeing the (do-not-enter-out-of-bounds) sign at the top of the door (apparently it was on the other side of the open door half door, and nobody could read it, because the door was open). Mark was just amazed that how so much equipment was here, that just made this ferry chug along and go. It made a lot of noise, very greasy and lots of oil pumps or sumps or something, but everything works was working and doing its own job. But Mark found that there was no workman at the moment down here, it was empty, which he found odd, so he kept looking around seeing nobody told him not to.
 Down the engine room it seemed (to Mark) to be as long as the whole length of the ferry, but that was very unlikely, so then Mark just looked things over, with having to touch anything he didn't know anything about and just moving from one machine to the next, trying to work out what particular job that machine done in it's duty towards the ferry. There was the very large Iron Box that had a very large pile of Wooden logs (cut into little fat logs) in a neat pile a couple of feet away, ready for the men (wherever he was) to throw it in to the fire. It was also very hot down here, because of this fire, and Mark had to take off his jumper and carry it over his arm for a while, as it was about 40 degrees down there and made you feel really thirsty I guess. There was a Gage Metal Object, that used to give out a reading on a screen and keep printing out other messages that Mark couldn't yet understand, so he left this machine and moved right along his way. There cards (playing cards) and a small pocket sized radio on the table (with the radio still on some station, I think 2SM or something Mark said) and some papers that this man was trying to put together (or was at some stage) that was from the machine that Mark was looking at earlier, that gives out all those reading and the printer spits out the information he needs near by in a small tray.
Mark had seen enough from down here now, and started to go back up the steel steps back to the top deck section of the ferry where he had started from, and to his relief it took only a few seconds to get there. He quickly looked over himself (remembering that he was in his "best clothes" for going out ) and could see that he must have brushed up against something down in the Engine-room that had black soot or something over it, because the side of Mark's trousers was dirty and if he couldn't fix this and try to clean this off, his Dad would never forgive him as he was under his care for the whole day. He quickly raced to the "men's bathroom" and tried to clean some of the soot out with just plain soap and cold water, but it was not that simple, so seeing that the dirt was at the top of his trousers and his jumper was slightly too big for him, he whacked the jumper back on again and it almost covered the dirt mark up. So he took the jumper off again and said to himself, there is only one way I can make this jumper larger and that is to sit down on the seat over there, put the jumper over my knees and with my body and arms to stretch the thing larger, and perhaps then it will cover this mess on my sort of new trousers. Yes it worked, so Mark placed the jumper back on and then looked around again from where he was seated in the mirror.
Mark was about to go back down the stairs to the lower-deck, when he saw a small group of boys (by themselves with no parent of such) that was seated at the front on the ferry, looking out the glass to where the ferry was travelling to. It was one of these boys that looked like someone he knew from the Home, it couldn't be I said, and then I still thought it was, and from behind and with blond hair and all, who could tell at the time. So he ran on over to the small group of children at the front, and slapped on the back the boy who he thought was his mate from the Home, but then to find out it was some stranger (once he had turned around) who was very rude to Mark and threatened Mark with violence for almost interrupting his conversation with his mates that were there. So all he could say was that he was sorry, that it was all a small mistake and that he was aboard with his Dad and that he didn't really wish for any trouble to happen. It was then that the boys went back to talking as they were doing before, because he had now walked away crying in shame, thinking that this was starting to be a nasty city and he hadn't even got to Manly yet, but sheer up mark, he said to himself ( he used to talk to himself quite a lot) and dry those big eyes and go downstairs, as you don't want your Dad see you have been crying do you? No. Then get your act together.
Downstairs again, he looked around and could see his Father still outside sitting down, from where they both were about 30 minutes before.
His Father pointed out to a spot that we were going past, but at first I couldn't see it as the sun was in my eyes. Well, Son, when I first met your mother, we bought a house over there in Balmoral Beach at Middle Head Road, near the end at the water's edge. It was a three-bedroom brick home with a backyard and had a garage at the side. His Dad was saying that he built a great workshop out of that garage and that he made his first Billy-Cart there over 13 years ago now, and was about to put a lawn-mower's engine in it, when he started to have trouble with Rose and then the marriage became on the rocks, with divorce only a matter of months away and welfare threatening to take you away (Mark) and put you in some home out west because they felt that I couldn't really look after you properly as I should on my own. I put the house up for sale and then it was sold.
Soon afterwards, when I was renting a flat in Victoria Street, on Watsons Bay (very close to the Military Reserve) and you were still with me, they came with the legal papers and things, for you to go into their custody for a set period of time to be signed by the three of us (adults) and then I left the matter to the Government as I couldn't really prove (Dad) that it wasn't my fault that the marriage with his wife Rose broke down and finished.
They were just coming to North Head and there were hundreds of sailing boats in the water and in a way, right in the path of the ferry's course. The ferry's horn was sounded, it sounded like a very big truck horn, but much louder than that, as you could hear the double echo bounced back from the mainland that we were coming to. The ferry had to put it's reverse brakes on, as there was no way, at the power of speed we were going to go on through safely, as there were too many smaller sailing boats in our path, and if the captain had of went any further, we would have crushed about 5 sailing boats and may of cost someone their life. Next minute after slowing down some, the sailing boats got out of the path of the ferry (as I believe the ferry or larger vessel always has the right of way on the water at all times).
And then the ferry continued on to Manly to dock, with many people waving to the sailing boats (Mark didn't understand why they did this, did they know them?) and they waving back in return, as I sort of saying hello I suppose.
Next thing we were docked on the Manly wharf area, and when the ramps were swung into position, both levels of the ferry made their way onto the wharf slowly, as the ramps were quite small in size, and then the large crowds headed off to where those people were going for the day.
Mark and his Dad had crossed at the set of traffic lights at the front of the wharf area, and started to walk straight ahead towards the beach front (which was about a twenty minutes walk if you went slowly and done some window shopping along the way) until we came to another set of traffic lights. We stopped as the sign said don't walk, so nearby I could see a Fish & Chip Shop take-away food staring us right in the face from where Mark was standing, and seeing he hadn't had something for a couple of hours, they went to the Fish Shop for a bite to eat, before they went on.
After leaving this place, we walked through a very large COLES store and came out at the rear entrance. They didn't see anything worth buying for now, but just wanted to cast a look at the so-called never to be repeated specials, up to 99% off on some items, and they'd find the special items from where they had hidden them, and it was just as useful to you, as a turd floating in your soup bowl on the dinner table. Fair dinkum.
Then about 10 minutes later, they came across another set of traffic lights, and these were the ones just across from the famous MANLY BEACH and water. They went for a short walk along the sand and Mark even got his socks and shoes wet, but nobody was taking any notice of the two of them.
It was now time that they headed back to St Mary's and then the taxi-cab back to the boy's home .
Back on the next ferry ride to the Quay, someone spotted a school of about 6 sharks swimming just off North Head, heading out to sea he thought they were.
Seeing the school of sharks happened very fast, as they were out of sight within minutes really, he supposed it was lucky of him being in the right place and at the right time.
They walked back over to the other side of the ferry where Dad was now standing, he was leaning in the wooden railing of the side, very deep in thought. At first he hadn't realized Mark had came back from where he had ran off to and was sitting behind him now on the seat. He said to Mark, that it should be about 25 minutes before we dock at Circular Quay. From there we will go to the Railway Station and buy our tickets for the train journey back to St Mary's train station, and from there I'll get you back to the Werrington Boys Home before about 8:30p.m. as promised.
The ferry was just crossing Port Jackson on the edge of Mrs Macquarie's Point, and about to turn left into Sydney Cove so we could dock at Circular Quay and get off. But this time everyone wanted to push and shove, and some blokes almost knocked somebody over, in all their hurry to leave the ferry. There was no fire or he said the boat was not sinking, there was no danger at all.
So they just waited the 10 minutes (yes just the 10 minutes) then after the pushing and shoving was gone, they both got off the ferry in a little comfort, if nothing else. It was sort of funny in a way, that the dozen or so blokes with their surfboards under their arms, with all that pushing and shoving, was still in the line waiting for the ferry officer to collect their tickets, only a couple of steps from where we were standing. So these people had actually gained no further distance from all their pushing and shoving at that time. Again they were stuck in a line of traffic (people traffic).
Within half an hour Mark and his Dad were travelling back in the train to St Mary's Railway Station, and he just knew that he had a wonderful time with his Dad today (Mark that is) he knew just how much he loved him.
So Mark said to his Dad, Dad, I had a great time to day out with you, and saw so many and exciting things that he has never seen before. It was one of the best Birthday Presents that anyone can get, and you can rest assured that he will remember these times in his heart forever.
Then they both just hugged one another and had a small cry of happiness, then the train got to St Mary's station and they got off and they got the taxi-cab back to the Boys Home.
Mark and his dad hugged again, and his dad was gone, the taxi was leaving the property down that very long driveway that headed to the Highway (you know the one with very long tall trees on either side of the road) as you came and leaved the property, as you can not miss them, as they reach for the sky just about forever. There Mark was, waving goodbye to his Dad as he didn't know when would be the next time his Dad would visit him really, none of the children did. Some of the children (without parents) would never be taken out and that was sad, but the home used to hire a church bus, and take those children on excursions once a month to make up for it, the best they can. (The Drive-In /The Pictures / Ten Pill Bowling / The St Mary's Swimming Pool etc).


There was a small Dairy Shed in one of the bottom Paddocks, and a couple of times I milked a real cow and drank some of the fresh milk right out of the bucket. You see every morning, one of the boys from one of the three houses on duty it was goes down to the Dairy carrying the round shape silver milk Tin (about 20L) to be filled up. And once brought back up the hill (not so much fun, because it's now full of the milk) you then get it back to the kitchen, where the would be the day's milk for the 25 children.
The property had a Swimming Pool, but we always had an adult with us when we went over there, as it's a bit of a walk and we used to cross through some cattle paddocks along the way.
There was a proper School Building as well, so there was no wagging from this school. Now from time to time, they used to take us out (in a mini-bus hired from the church from St Mary's somewhere, I didn't know which one) for outings to different places, to Penrith, Blue Mountains, Blackheath and Circus's and sometimes to the Drive-in at St Mary's to watch The Sound Of Music or something, as a trip out was a just so cool to us.
Through the School we used to play lots of Sport, mostly on the weekends and on the Sports Day of the week. Everyone was thrilled to play cricket, at times that is what the place only was: cricket, cricket and more bloody cricket. I used to hate (what I do mean used to, still do) fielding out on the ground. You'll go to catch the six-stitcher ball, and you hands would sting for hours, I couldn't think of worse punishment for your worst enemy. They make up their two teams, we'd be out there ready for the catch (my knees were knocking together) and then there's a long slog out to where I was standing: Alan Peter, Allan Peter it's your catch, catch it and we've got them sunk (and I was saying oh..blow it out the back your arse, bastard) so I just let the ball drop on the grass through my fingers, that there was no-way that ball was touching my soft hands. No way!


It was about this time, I was beginning to become sick and tired of this sport all the time. So I ran away. I went to bed fully dressed and waited till all went silent, then snuck down the stairs and out the back kitchen door. Then I's tippie-toe over to the wire fence (it had those 4 single wire strands you see as a boundry around the paddocks) and climb on through. Then I looked back at the house. Good, everyone's asleep, so I'll be off and went to explore. I soon came to the Werrington Railway Station (nearby) and I began to feel sleepy so I curled myself up near a tree under the box of the train boom-gates (the ones that go ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-dine to warn the cars a train is coming to the crossing) as I was asleep until before I knew it, a policeman (copper to us) was shoving my shoulder. 
Come along Son, where do you belong, as you cannot sleep here. We will drive you home, just to be sure that you get there alright.
It was about 3a.m. in the morning by this time, when the two policemen with me got the house in their big police car, just pulling up outside in that car to park sounded as loud to me as a Jumbo Jet taking off. As we all went inside, (the doors were not locked in those days) and I showed them the way up to the House-parents's Flat (nearly dying with fear at the time I was) as these two husband and wife inside, were still in bed asleep and had no idea I'd been gone out. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KOCK! Can you answer the door please, this is the St Mary's Police patrol. A few minutes the husband appeared opening the door, in I think his underpants, then in a sleepy but firm voice said, yes officer. Then the police explained to him how they found me sleeping down near the Werrington Boomgates, next to the railway station. And when we questioned the boy told us he had just run away.
Next thing I knew, the policemen left the house (nothing was said to me yet) and I heard their car start, turn around was then gone out of earshot.
Why Allan Peter? Then this man gave down one of the most painful punishments that I have felt and he never touched me. he said, see that corner down the end of the hall, go and stand yourself in there with your hands behind your back, and you are not to move unless told my me. His door then slammed shut. I was looking at that bloody grey colour corner with my hands behind my me for the rest of the night. At one stage I wanted to go to the toilet and went to knock on his door, but was too frightened to, As the toilets were downstairs next to their locker-room, so I thought no, peeing myself standing there as I didn't know what else to do at that time.
 There was one moment though, when a sport day came around and they were playing a game "I could play" Softball. I wasn't afraid to catch the ball anymore, and everyone had a go at batting and there was just something different about the game. But like most sports, it wasn't the most played. More like swimming races in the pool: basketball; volleyball; tennis; running races; gym and let's nor forget the Cricket or Football.
It was about now that I began to settle down, stopped running away and didn't try to fight the system anymore. My schooling improved a little, and I was getting good marks for my writing, from the teachers of my classes.
I can still remember My Mother, Mrs Rolly visiting me sometimes, she'd take me out to The African Lion's Park for the day (sorry don't remember how far it was or where it was, but was at St Mary's or Penrith) for the day. We would see the different animals roaming around the place, while we drove through in safety of the car. The we'd have some lunch in the picnic area in the woods, then mum would drive me back to Werrington from the African Lion Park, very late in the afternoon.


Just six moths later, I released from Werrington Park Boys Home  as I had completed my sentence and was free to leave. I was called to the head office and was given a brand new Suit to wear out of the place. You see, everybody discharged automatically received the new suit and got the famous man handshake. Mum would be picking me up in the car very soon, but I knew that I had to be patient, as mum was driving from Beverly Hills to here at St Mary's.
Now I was back home again, with Mum, we both had to work hard if this relationship was going to work beween us. But we sort of agreed to give it our best shot.


Now when I was working in my first job I telephoned mum up and said I'm sorry but this week (a one-off) I won't be able to pay you any Board, as it wish to buy something. I went off after work to the Kings Cross to buy two Tattoo's (my very first ones) but the problem was in hiding that fact that I got them from my mum, when I got home. Of course mum was waiting for me to come in the bloody door, to see what this item I bought would have been. When she saw that I had a tattoo done, one on each arm (all I could afford at the time) she almost died. Anyway, along the way I somehow stayed at the jobs for longer without being sacked, getting one or two tattoos on my arms each week, just as soon as I got that pay packet. Yes, it was quite painful (and still is today, make no mistake, as you have to cut through seven layers of your skin to get down deep enough with that electronic needle) and after you had the tattoo completed, you had a 2-3 week wait for the scab of the wound  to peel and fall off. of course I could never wait that long, and Allan Peter, a week or so before it was ready, I would pick at it and just pull the scab away. Now this can be very tricky, as you have to pull off the scab without pulling the skin underneath as well, otherwise you could slightly mix some of the colours or end up just stuffing up the tattoo or getting yourself and the arm infected.
My advice to any young person who may read this, is to think first, long and hard about what you are doing. I did not. Allan Peter was an absolute fuckwit, and I was out only to impress my work friends and to look and act tough like one of the boys. Sure the pain, no matter how bad does go away after a while. But later on down the track, when you become an adult, and are 17 years old, not 14 anymore, do you still want to see the very same tattoos on your arms then or when your in your 50's maybe? Remember their there for keeps. Don't even think of skin grafts removing, as it looks much worse, as the skin they have to use comes off your backside and leaves a long scar in the place where the tattoo was. Don't you think I would of had this done 20 years ago, if it was clean, non-scaring and fixed the problem. Not to mention the cost involved here. It is not covered under any freebees like, Medicare or our Public Hospitals. If you did want to have it done, their are only certain States in Australia that will allow this small operation to be performed. And I believe you would have to take out a small bank loan, as the cost involved in not cheap.


Now was the time I began working, at one of my first proper paying jobs (that Mum had lined up) Allan Peter was working at Franklins at Beverly Hills Shopping center in Sydney. Now my job involved me re-stocking the empty shelves and carrying boxes full of shopping goods out to the customer's cars and sometimes they'd park right up past the bloody lights  near the school (you know, Stoney Creek Road intersection). For a while things went fine, then the next minute I was shouting the boss down and I was fired, pushing a few shelves full of glass and tinned goods over as i was leaving, just for good measure.
Then I had a job (also lined up by mum) at a Pot Plant Shop place at South Hurstville. My job was to paint pots with a brush and paint tin all day, well this was good for a couple of weeks, but then "he" (the boss or foreman or some shithead) keeps chipping me that the corners have to be done correctly, now hurry up you are too slow, stop using excess paint, you're managed to use a year's worth of paint out there. I told you to paint "the Pots" not the bloody plants too. Now here is your pay and tomorrow morning, I don't want to see your face back in my employ as you cost me too much money. Good bye.




Mum made the mistake (her words) be selling the Beverly Hills home and moving into a Villa at Cronulla. and a home is far better than a villa, let's face it. Where Allan Peter is now, you can't do this, you can't do that, you have to pay the the maintence right on time. And the place has to be painted every five years or something, and for the mowing (which mum could have done at Beverly Hills) of the lawn out the front, a little fart size area of lawn no bigger than one small family car. Talk about space, three of these Villa's (like the one mum lives in now) would of fitted into the our old backyard of Beverly Hills, with still enough room for a couple of cars spaces. But at the time, mum didn't realize these things, and went ahead with the move.


Then through the Cronulla Sutherland Commonwealth Employment Service, I myself went to try and get something in the line of work. They went me out to an Electroplating Shop in Kogarah. The place was hot, dirty and smelt of rotten eggs, the work was "hard" and it took forever for food-breaks (or so it seemed then)
and knock-off time. My job was to get these metal type rods out of these four tanks (which at the time I thought was just tanks of boiling water) and hang them up in rows on the other side of the factory. needless to say, I never went back for the second day at that job, no way, they could shove their job.
Then I found (these days without my mother help) working for a Printing Factory also at Kogarah, but this place looked alright. So away I went, turned up at 7a.m. sharp and worked like a little beaver, until something went wrong after a couple of weeks. I think I was involved in a fight with one of the other employees there, over some small matter (more like little misunderstanding) and was promply fired on the spot. Go Allan Peter the boss said, we don't need trouble makers around this work place thank you. Now go the office and the lady will give you whatever pays is owing to you. Needless to say, that Allan Peter was the winner of the fight but loss his good job in the bragain!


Now we come to one of the longest job I had held. The Knitting Machine factory in Surry Hills. This was one of my easiest job I scored, all I had to do was watch 7 or so Knitting Machines, making sure that (this was night-shift work 11:00pm until 6:00am in the morning) the rolls on top of each machine didn't run out. They made the fashion tops for young ladies, and I believe they were selling heaps of them. Well, after about 6 months working there, because I was working alone by myself as the boss was doing tax papers in his office on the next floor above. So at the time I was feeling cocky, so I layed down and had a small snooze. next thing I knew, there was four loud CRASHES, of metal hitting metal CRUNCH! There was suddenly four wrecked industrial knitting machines (as if you let the wool roll run down first too low without rechanging it, about 100 metal needles interlock together very fast) and I caused the boss about four thousand dollars damage of broken needles that day, that's how that went out the door, Allan Peter was sleeping instead of watching and doing his job as he was supposed to to be doing.


Then I scored the job at a very small Factory in Chippendale, making Garden Hats  made out of special straw. And these funny round straw shapes would be stretched over this hot metal plate and you pull down a handle like press (like a industrial press machine in a laundry) and this would press the hat into shape, then you'd repeat the process. Then Allan Peter was up to his old tricks again, I left about 40 to 50 straw shape hats down too long on purpose, when the foreman was distracted doing something else, and in doing so, burned the hats into a browny black colour. And at the end of the day, I was called into the front office, Allan Peter, we are a business here and you have of now been sacked from our employment of making Straw Hats. Now collect what the pay girl owes you, now do grab your bag and good day to you, do not come back tomorrow morning. As your help is no longer required with his company. Thank you.


Out at Tempe I got a job with a local Record Company. My job was to place these price round tag stickers onto the front of these new Record Covers, then count 100 of them, box them and when you have completed 10 boxes, cart them down with the little barrow to the dispatch at the back of the factory. This job went alright as well, except I didn't loose this one for playing up, but from too many days turning up late. I was there for about 3-4 months.


Now we came to about my ever second last job: at Evinrude Johnson Motor (who made Outboard Motors) and were then at Canterbury Road, at Bankstown West. I was livng in a room at Burwood at the time, and had to get up at 5:30a.m then get to the railway station to catch the train to Bankstown, then if the bus was connecting on time, catch the bus to a certain intersection, cross the road, and race to the "bundy clock" to clock your card in for the day, 7a.m. start. Boy, you had to be fast in this job, when the horn sounded for morning tea and lunch time, and I turned around to ask someone where's the nearest shop, and poof! about 5000 workers were gone. later that day I learnt, that they know when the horn's about to go, so they turn their machine off ready to race upstairs to the large lunchroom. Not one second more of the company's time would spill over into theirs, that's just the way it was. But I didn't last long here. I was pressured by the Union to join, pay today or else, don't come back after smoko. I got a job pushing round black rubber plugs into certain holes, screwing different buts and bolts into place and do the same to every machine that came along down the belt towards you. The very next Monday morning, I never went back again. I had only lasted 2-3 weeks at the most. A few days later I rang Evinrude up on the telephone (from a public telephone box) trying to chase the first week's wages that they had kept in hand, thinking that I could how have it, because I was short of cash. Sorry mate (they, the factory woman from the office said) as they were allowed to keep a week in hand and also up to the company I was leaving from, so that was that. So that was one pay-packet Allan Peter never got, and he bloody well honestly worked hard for it.


Onwardly we come to the last know factory that I worked at. It was at a small Industrial laundry along Forest Road, at South Hurstville. Yes, Leo (the boss was good to me and treated me like a Son really) said he was prepared to give me a go. My job involved lots of small jobs really, with no job being any harder than the next. I had to load and unload the spin dryers, throw the clothes into the big clothes dyers and put them them on hot for twenty minutes. When they were dry, get them out and throw them in the trolly ready to be folded and pressed, depending upon what was being done at the time. We used to clean stacks of Overalls for Streets Ice Cream (the one at Arncliffe, and I believe that that Streets factory on that site is no longer operating today, the building might be still there, but not as Streets Ice Cream) and you should of seen me folding up these couple of hundred pairs of overalls. I used to stand there and say to myself, wow, I actually eat "their" ice cream and now I am washing "their? dirty clothes. Some of the items like hats, gloves, plastic shoes, hair-nets used to be first put in special netted bags before being washed, to somehow protect these special garments from the other chemicals from the other overalls washing.
There was this very large "Roller" in the centre of the factory, where washed sheets, tea-towels, aprons and bedspreads and the like were pressed.
The girls (the women employees) were in charge of the four Steam Presses, and that's where they stayed all the day long, pumping those presses and working hard, more so in the hot summer months of the year.
Being a Laundry, they'd get lots of Overalls from different factories  from all around the Sydney basin to be washed; black; white; blue; grey; yellow; green and some that were once a color, but were now so full of grease and grime it was hard to what the colour.
Allan Peter Rolly 's job here at Leo Overall Service, was by far the longest job that I held down. I had worked for Leo for well over 12 months or like two years, much longer than anyone else before. And I don't remember what happened to let this job go, but I know that I didn't lose it from being sacked. As if I had of mucked up on Leo, (my Boss and the owner of the factory) he'd just kick me in up the bum or whack me across the ear and tell me to get back to work. He was very good to me. All I can think of is this, I must of been in more trouble with the police or something, to stop me showing up to work, otherwise I most likely have been still there today. 
Yes, I now became involved into more trouble with the police (they fault) with small crime and shop-lifting actions. So the police had no option, as my mother could no longer control me and most of the time had no idea where I was or who I was with or what I had stolen this time. So the Police charged me as an uncontrollable child and i was in trouble yet again. (What Bullshit! The Cops just will not leave me alone).  
It seemed the older I was becoming, the more daring a crime I would commit or try it on. 
It was just starting to dawn on me, that I wasn't a child anymore. That the police were sick and tired of me and hearing from the mother (she kept ringing them up every ten minutes) at the station to ask have they picked me up yet or not? 
I was now a teenager (A MAN) in a world that I didn't really fit into or wanted to know about. I was sort of frightened, so I began crying and then quickly stopped, what's this, Allan Peter  is not showing signs of a sissy is he? Just to show how violent I could be I picked up the wooden chair and smashed it into very little pieces on the floor. Yes that's better, and then I felt better about myself. It wasn't chair anyway!
This stay in the police station, there was no little pep talk and a smack on the bum and sent home. Nothing. Nobody laid a hand on me. About thirty minutes on, the desk copper (that I sort of nick-named The Big Far Pig Poofter) but I never said it to his face of course. Then the desk copper came over and opened the metal door, saw the mess that I had made (I smashed the wooden chair) and he simply just closed and locked the door shut again. And then opened a little door flap (about the same size as a phone book) and asked why was I crying and I told him. Then the copper explained to me, that I had gone over the limit with being in trouble, and getting a warning after warning was just being ignored. I am afraid you have crossed the line. 
The Store you just stole items from wants to press Charges against you. You are now old enough to be charged and so it is off to the children's Court for you, Allan Peter, and all the crying in the world, is just too late for you now. 
Then I found myself up before the Children's Court again, and I was still young and still hadn't settled myself down yet. (Whatever they meant by that, the stupid bastards!). After a couple of times in and out of the Court (yes still the Lower Court) I was committed to the Darrak Training Center at Windsor, to start the 8 Months to Three Year Sentence. What they mean by this was, that if I behave myself for 8 months, they will release you, otherwise, you will be there for the three years sentence in full.

This was a fairly large complex and house over 400 boys in all. Every child sentenced here, had done some crime and was brought before the children's courts. The type of crimes ranged from Car Stealing, Break & Entering; Smash & Grabs, Assault and Robbery; Armed Robbery; Cracking Safes; Stealing; Sexual Acts with consent; and many more acts that escape me. When you'd first got there, they (the other young inmates would come up to you (and what you in for?). If you wanted to make friends, you'd tell them, otherwise, you were put on the "dead-shit", which meant you would be just as popular as a turd on the dinner table next to your plate.
There were four buildings here that housed 100 boys in each, different houses you were put in, depending on your age group of which house you were at. Once you finished your time (like jail) they released you. 
There was a School (worst luck) here, a Sports ground; cricket pitch; 2 pool tables; soccer and football grounds.
Every Saturday morning (without fail) for two hours we had to go out "crow shooting" out in the outer paddocks of the grounds. They'd (the screws) would hand us out Mattocks and we'd dig up the ground dirt (for no purpose except punishment) to fill in time for the two hours then head back to the complex. When you got to the bush site, all the inmates were lined up in one straight line, then you'd begin the digging up the the dirt in the ground. You had to keep looking behind you every now and again because one of the lurks was to slow down the digging and get behind and dig in someone's already done space, of course pretending to dig as the earth was already turned over. Of course I never did this, because I was just too honest! The only time you'd get out of crow shooting, was if it was raining (too muddy) or the Sister had first cleared you to be sick. No other reason was acceptable. On returning back to the complex after (Crow Shooting, was the name everyone called this) after about a half-hour's walk, we'd hand the mattocks back to a staff member at the shed (everything was counted and recounted and counted again) ready to be used for next Saturday's work. Then outside the kitchen of each house there were tables full of glasses of sweet flavored milk and cake or biscuits, waiting for us to consume. Then we'd race back to our right houses to have a shower, as we used to get quite dirty from all the dust and dirt and everything. Then at a certain time, it would be duty muster, every boy had to be on his certain spot (painted line) standing still as a pole, ready to answer your name when it was called out. Allan Peter Rolly, HERE SIR!
 When spoken to by the Staff, it was: YES SIR, NO SIR, RIGHT AWAY SIR!
 On Sundays we used to have to wear "white" uniforms, and (the screws) made us march in your Home team in four lines, left, right,left, right,left,right and bloody keep in step. I had very sore shins and heels for a few weeks, as I didn't know what the hell they was on about. But after a bit of pain (your own) one became a fast learner. Or the older boys would bash you up later on after the march was over. That night, about 9 of them bashed me, as I was putting my clothes away in the locker room. I had a split lip, sore head and bloody nose. After returning to my bed crying, one of the staff workers came over to me and asked me of what happened? Well Sir, I think my locker door was tricky to open, and when I pulled it open fast like, it smashed into my face. May I go the bathroom, and clean myself up, sir.
As there was no-way, it was the No 1 rule on top of all others, that you never ratted on another inmate, ever! 
So the staff bloke didn't believe me of my story, but let me go, as there was no-way I was bunging anyone in, no matter what happened.
The very next day, I didn't lose a step. In this place you had to march everywhere, it was taken seriously alright.  
I done better and learnt a lot from my Schooling here, I used to study long and hard to reap good results. And I would find myself, that if something bugged me of a school subject at the time, I could go along to the  school library and look it up, on a sports day, as I wasn't too interested in the sport activities. 
Then it was Sunday, the third in the month, Visiting Day (for the boys). Where your parents (if of course you were lucky enough to have them) would come out to visit you and take you out for the day. But you had to be back by the tea muster, or you'd be classed as AWL and the local police would be informed on the dot. Only a hand full of kids went AWL whilst out on visits with their parents, at least while I was there. I really couldn't understand why you would want to anyway. 
Now Darrak's entrance was all set back off the road, like it was easy to miss if you were travelling along too fast and it was a very rocky uneven sort of road, well mum had the big white Valiant then. Mum then passed the entrance (of course she was on her way to visit me) so she went along looking for the gates and mum noticed that she had driven too far. So mum was looking for somewhere to turn the car around and head back, and the road wasn't very wide and there was rocks at one side of the road, the the other side was a dangerous drop of about 500 feet to the ground below. So mum knew that this was no good, but I think there's enough room to swing around, so mum went to turn around the car in a U-turn, and when she turned the car around the back of the car half started to go over the edge and the top of the front-left wheel was just sitting on the edge of the side of the road. Their was cars passing mum just looked at her and shook their heads, and not one of those cars stopped and offered to help, mum said. Then these two Bike Riders who were just cruising on down the road, saw that mum was in trouble, so one of blokes got into the driver's seat, after first asking mum if he could help, and his mate hooked a chain under the car and with the bike somehow towed mum's car out of the danger. And then two bikes were very good to mum, and they'd towed the car off the edge, they said where were you going? And mum told them that she was on the way to Darrak Training Center for Boys to visit me, but I must of gone too far and just missed the turn off. Mum was sort of still in shock, and they said Lady, you still are not well enough to drive, let us drive you back to the home so you can see your boy. Once back in the boys home, mum had thanked them and they left again, on their way to wherever they were going. As his mate, had followed him his his bike, and once they got there to the home, he doubled his mate back on his motor-bike back to the second one again, and I guess they were both off. 
If I's been good there (once in a while) mum could take out another boy (my choice) with me on the visit, one that didn't have any relatives at all, just dumped there because they'd done something wrong and their parents never went near them. Well once in a while, mum got to talk to different boys, when I used to go and get the hot water for the tea or coffee. Mum got to talk with them (you know, mothers are good at that sort of thing) poor kids, some of the things that they told mum she just couldn't believe it. That their own parents would bash them up. Another boy had a step father, and he assaulted him and interfered with him sexually. Then another boy said he was put in here for exposing himself. Then another boy (on different visits of course) that he had done something wrong, and made the mistake of getting caught, his parents wanted nothing more to do with him, they had finished with him. Just put him outside, locked the door and told him to fend for himself. 
Anyway, when i got very good behavior records (yes, Allan Peter Rolly) they would let me out with mum to visit the shops at Blacktown or Windsor or somewhere. Mum used to drive me to the Ten Pin Bowling and we'd have lunch there and then she'd (mum) return me to the home in time for the muster.  


Then there was the time I wanted to punch someone up read bad. There was this 14-year-old, who'd raped a baby-girl just one-year of age. I was red with anger, so I picked up the yard-broom and just kept hitting him  with it. Someone dragged me away from him, as I was thrown into the "hole" for 24 hours detention for punishment. Only after I got out of the hole, I'd heard I'd only broken his arm and gave him deep bruising to his side of his head. I was frowning to myself, as I'd spent that much time in the hole, and I'd done so very little to him. He was then put on protection from me for a few weeks, then transferred to some other boys home elsewhere. 


After that I got a job working in the Laundry on the weekends, this was good, because I used to get out of Crow Shooting, as I had special duties to perform. And of course, that got you out of forms of tasks (that is the unpleasant ones). 


There was a Dining Room here as well, were the whole four houses and the staff, would have their meals altogether. Sometimes this would be alright, other times it would be a shambles. It would be a good time for a fight to start, and before you knew it, 800 fists were flying, tables are up-turned and dozens of chairs were thrown through plate-glass windows. As the dining-room windows did not have bars like the other buildings we were housed in. 


Now the buildings we were housed-in overnight, had a box-type little office where a man would sit all night just to watch us. And if we had to go to the toilet (they were on the other side of this box and out of eyesight) we had to first stand at the foot of the bed (pretend to cough to make him look your way) then when you'd get the nod, you could go the the bathroom. No more than five inmates (or young offenders as they were known then) were allowed at any one time, after light out at 10p.m. The whole house was covered with bars, even the broom closet with a window about the size of a shoe box had the bars on it. I kid you not! 


In the morning's (yes, I am still in Darrak Training Center) the get-up time is 6:30a.m., to get us up all the lights would suddenly go on and you'd struggle to get out of bed. Then you had half an hour to make your bed (hospital corners) and get to the showers and have your shower before the hot water ran out. As there would be only enough hot water in the tank to shower 80 boys, and guess what temperature of the water went was for the other 20% that was too slow (the sleepy-heads). Oh yes, for those who were still asleep after the ten minutes after the lights on, a man would walk around, get to the side of the mattress and upturn the mattress onto the floor with the boy still inside asleep. It used to look very funny, if you hung around to watch, but it was more than likely not a very soft landing for those boys. (It looked as though it would hurt)


Then after your shower, you'd race across the courtyard to the dining room for breakfast, which was dished up at 7a.m. on the dot and breakfast was from 7-7:30a.m only, if you were late for being too slow, it was tough luck. 


Then was the time I was involved in another fight, this time over cheating at playing marbles (very popular game then) just before lunch time. I was playing against an Aboriginal boy, smaller than myself. And I was  playing for a "King Hitter" (a large marble with different colors through it) and I must of fudged my shot a little, and he said that I cheated. You had to shoot your marble "over" the marked line, then you should remain on this side. I was feeling as big as a mountain, being bigger in size and weighed more than him. I said, well, you (black bastard) which one today is not allowed to say, what are you going to do about it, go on one your walk-abouts or play on your bloody nulla nulla to the white spirits. All the boys would then gather round in a large circle (to form a sort of boxing ring and to block from view what was going on outside to the screws) so we were about to go. I was ready, as "no aboriginal" was going to make a show out of me and get away with it. Ready! Set! Go! The bell had gone, we both were shaping up and moving fast around the ring made, and there was just two hits, him punching me in the face and of course me hitting the ground. It was a little while before I got up, as it was tough as though I had hit a brick wall. From that day on, Allan Peter had more respect for the Aboriginal boys and we became good friends a couple of weeks after that fight, and we spoke to each other quite often for rest of my stay there.
He was doing longer than me, as he'd smashed a chair across someone's head in a fight in a Milkbar in Redfern, and the bloke died from massive head injuries. As when the chair smashed across his head, he was learning on the front plate-glass window and the force of the impact broke the pane of glass with him falling through it, cutting himself as he fell to the footpath outside. But the while bloke died a few hours later in hospital from the head injuries, not from the loss of blood. But I suppose when you lose enough blood, that would do it. 
This Aboriginal was in for Manslaughter. Sometimes the Aboriginals are dealt with under greater injustice, than us white people, and through no fault of their own in some cases. One thing I can say about them thous is, I haven't known one who wasn't good with his fists, and that's no bullshit, as they came out of a fight much better than most people.  


Like most Boys' Institutions in N.S.W. then, Darrak Training Centre had a Picture Day, which was Saturday afternoons at 1p.m. Someone would set up the old-style movie-projector in the large Gymnasium, with row after row of seats so everyone could sit down. It was a time of the week  that most of us boys always looked forward to, but if you'd broken too many rules in the week, there was a guard there at the entrance door checking off names on a clipboard as we filed into the Gymnasium together. 
Then on the Saturday Nights, would be sort of Request nights. You see, back on Wednesday night, there would be a red box for us to write down on a piece of paper our 3 best top of the pops music and we could listen for our request (if of course the person playing the records liked our request chosen in the first place) and we would all gather around two speaker boxes and listen to one song after another of different songs, until about 10p.m. which was bed time and of course, the lights were turned off at 10:20p.m. on the dot.  


Every now and again, the word you would hear yelled out was DINGO! As some of the inmates used to smuggle metal rods back from school, then go into the Locker room and wedge it between the centre and the back bars and twist. It would now be ready and big enough for a small boy to get through. Then later as two of four of the boys went into the Locker room to put his clothes away in his locker (you see, they used to run and dive through this small hole between the bent bars, next thing they'd be running through the bottom area and out the back. There was no fence at Darrak, the whole property was unfenced around all four sides of the complex. Next thing everybody calls out DINGO! Which meant that somebody or more than (one or two or possibly even more) just escaped and the next thing the outside floodlights were turned on and the two station wagons were sent out to try and round the escapees back up. Then there was the role call again, so the screws could know exactly who had gotten away and who was still running into night this time. 


Darrak Training Centre had no fences at all containing the inmates in, as the place was in the middle of very dense bushland. I should know, as I tried to run away twice. Once in the daylight hours just before muster, running off in everybody's view straight into the bush behind the place. I kept looking back and asking myself why there wasn't anyone running after me. But you could say I was sort of caught about 4 hours later, returning back to the very same complex and giving myself up, hungry; cold; dirty and just wanting somewhere to lie down and to get some sleep. As once it was dark, if you kept walking along those dirt tracks, they all ended up back at the Training Center, but when you first saw the floodlights you'd think you  were coming to the next town, like Windsor. But to walk away off one of these tracks without a torch in hand, as it was pitch black dark out here (as there was no street lights) as you wouldn't be able to walk very far without walking right into a tree trunk or some branch sticking out in the dark or spider web, not to mention falling over blind from the very uneven ground that was in front of you. 


almost running, as I could see some gates up ahead of about 10 more minutes away, and of course I thought that was Windsor Road was just on the other side of those gates. But in fact, on the other side of those gates was indeed the Paddock that we had to dig up (CROW SHOOTING) every Saturday morning, unless you were sick or on special work detail (first cleared by the screws.) Looking at this field, you would swear that it went on forever, that it was the size of the rest of N.S.W., but in a way it was only about a mile or two in each direction, still, enough dirt for the children to keep digging for no reason every Saturday morning. Of course then I'd hitch a ride to a railway station, did not matter which one, and catch a train back to Sydney to where I knew where I was. There I was walking down that dirt road proud as punch, and then car drove fast up upon me and stopped in front of my path (opening the passenger door and he said get in) and quickly drove me back to the training centre complex within minutes. One of the brick houses that I had past along the way  (of what I thought was the front gate) must of belonged to one of the Staff workers, and his wife (women can never mind their own business) must of spotted me walking along the dirt road and telephoned the office to let them know what she saw and where I was heading.
Then the staff prepared tea for me, gave me a shower and slammed me into the "Hole" for 48 hours, as if you tried to escape it was worth 48 inside the hole.
Now we are coming to the end of my stay at the Darrak Training Center, and yes, I was here for the whole 3 years as it ended up. I made lot of friends and was daily around hundreds of bad boys my own age to mess around with.


After they let me go from Darrak, I returned home to my Mum's new Villa at Cronulla, I was paying her something like $10:00 board per week. As I was feeling a bit grown up now, and wanted to try and pay my own way in this world. But I wasn't home with mum very long, when working at one of my jobs I telephoned mum, to tell her I would be a little late getting home today, and that I would not be able to pay her board this week. That same morning going to work, I'd spotted this automatic Falcon car for sale that I could afford, so after work I raced back to the car-yard to buy this car, using up every bit of my Christmas pay-packet except $20 or so. I was given a key to lock the doors the the car, but had to start the car with a screwdriver which I had to put in this device under the cars front dash-board. It was a little noisy to start with, but went like a rocket.
When I brought the my new-second-hand-car home, mum was just about beside herself with shock! Well, she rang up Cronulla police, and they told mum to keep the key, don't give him back the car key. Because the police and mum knew that I didn't have my driver's Licence to drive. The police somehow had tried to get my money back from the car-yard dealer in Newtown were I bought the car from. But they said, no-way possible officer. We have never saw this gentlemen before, and with no paperwork, there was proof that I bought this car anywhere. So the police left the car back at my mother's villa at Cronulla. As the police knew that they couldn't take the car from me, as it was mine and not stolen, as they had already checked through their records or something.
Mum was cooking the tea one night, and I came in, of mum, Jeff from next door (when he was there, before he was married) wanted to get his car in, so I'll just move my car to let him in, can you give me the key, and without thinking mum had given me the car key and with a blink of an eye I was in it and away down the street. Then that was the last time for a while that mum had hard from me, Allan Peter Rolly had gone for a long drive to Manly Beach, as I needed some time to think things through. As I knew that mum would of already rung Cronulla police station and they would be searching the Cronulla area everywhere. The clowns (the police of course) though I'd be just around the corner in Buckland Street (which would have been mum's thoughts as she didn't know I could drive or not) but within twenty minutes Allan Peter was long gone. He was a criminal on the run, a police wanted man!
Of course I was now sitting (in my car) at Manly Beach leaning on the front bonnet, thinking that I couldn't go back to mum's anymore, because Mum was a cop lover, as soon as would see me she'd be on the bloody phone to the police to turn our son in, here he is officer, come and pick him up. So that night I just jumped into the back seat of the car, and slept there for the night. In the morning I went in for a swim, in the nude, as at 6:00a.m sharp, nobody that mattered was around to notice. I then got dressed and rove back across the Sydney Harbor Bridge to try and make it to work by 7:30a.m, as that was my starting time (I don't remember where I was, but I remembered working somewhere, and I was liking it) and I didn't want to be late. Well, pay day was another couple of days off, so another few days, I had to go for a swim the next morning as well. This time the police couldn't find me at work, because I never told mother of where the factory was and of what the name of it was, that remained Allan Peter's top secret, some things mother didn't need to know about.
At last pay-day came, and it was the end of the day shift, and I could leave the factory. So I scanned the Newspapers and found a room to let at Newtown, it was OK and I had to share the kitchen and bathroom. So I rented this room, it was alright for a while, but being right on King Street (the main thoroughfare street the runs through Newtown a suburb of Sydney) has lot of busy traffic noise, day and night. With Fire-Engines; Police cars; Ambulances' racing past with their siren's echoing through my little room, each night keeping me awake. Then I said to myself, shit, I'll just have to get away from this hole, and I was lucky that there was no bond or lease arrangement taken out by me on this room, was just the cash payment each in the landlord's pocket (he used to live in the room upstairs, I think No 2.) and removed out the very next week.


So I thought I'd go and visit George at Arncliffe, he's know what I could do. So at the end of the week when my rent ran out, I'd checked out of the room and went on round to visit George.
Of course George wasn't too happy about the way things had ended up for me, but offered me one of his spare bedrooms to live in, until I could get my act together. I hadn't told him about the car, as I thought there would be no point, as this was the 4th or 5th week now since I'd bought it. The car was becoming a pain to me, as it was now becoming too expensive to fill up and to maintain, as I had to keep going to different petrol stations to get them to fix something up, and i was paying through the nose. So one day I just parked the car around the corner, so George couldn't see it, like out of sight, out of mind.
The very next morning I left early, and went for a drive before work, to kill some time. Near the traffic lights at the bottom end of Cronulla, this other dude in a mini pulls up beside me and starts revving his car, daring me to a drag race, well, no worries it was on. We were both off in a flash (as the lights went green) turning towards the Taren Point Bridge, next thing there was this copper's blue light flashing behind me and he was waving for me to pull over, I did, as I could see it was a policeman on a motorbike. He then waved the mini driver to go on his way, but just stared at my car for a few minutes. After checking the car over, then checking to make sure that it was not stolen, he took both the plates off the car and that's were it remained, as I never saw it again. Well, after giving me the third degree, I said yes officer, no officer, no worries. And told him I would be there at Court 100:00a.m on the dot when required. After giving him a false name and address (as the boys at Darrak had taught me so well, of what to do if you were ever caught by the pigs) and I put it into good practice. Of course I would be nowhere near that place on Monday for Court, ripping up the paperwork he had given me into ten thousand little pieces, and laughing loudly as I started to hitch-hike back up towards Arncliffe to work. But only after the copper was long gone out of sight on his bike.




Now we are coming to the time I first had my first heard about the word "Sharpies." Now Sydney was going through a time when there were just over a handful of these "Sharpie Gangs" throwing their terror onto people. They were different boys living on the streets (many together in one group) whom had left home or might have been kicked out, some good, some bad. As for the terrifying acts these "sharpie" gangs would get up to, striking extreme fear into people every night of the week. Now I thought to myself, if I was going to join one of these gangs. I'd want to get into the "Town Hall Sharpies" as it was by far the biggest and most powerful gangs about, in their day. It had a membership of over 30 boys, and when you saw 25-30 boys walking down Pitt or George Streets in Sydney Australia after 11p.m. mostly, you'd better start running. As the sharpies were only out for the one purpose, to get money from anybody (men in suits walking along with their wife out for dinner somewhere) the sharpies would roll this bloke and leave him on the footpath with his wife just screaming back at us (of course the women was not touched) the bloke was the only one hurt and now missing his money as well. The boys would take the blokes money and throw his wallet back down with him, as they didn't need that. And one of the guys, at the last minute, snatched the bitch's purse, just in case she was carrying money as well. But as the norm, always, most women wouldn't carry much cash, as the man was expected to pay for the bill, of course.
We were now racing across Hyde Park in Sydney, and up a few back lanes and up again through some other back streets of Darlinghurst, as all of us, would duck into the toilet block near the Courthouse, then we'd open the woman's handbag. Well, after throwing things out of this bag into the men's urinal in front of us, we found the bitches wallet, took the $300 out. The money distributed as evenly as possible between us, then the three closest to the bag in the urinal, pissed and then happily put affluent on top of everything and left.
Most of the boys slept during the day, and came out for the action at night. Just about every single night had something happening, there was never a dull moment. Now for all you do-gooders who just happen to read through this Biography, and all I can say to you is, just try and open your eyes.
As these young people who live on streets (and yes I was one them) as there are seven days and seven nights in the week. Due to the fact of their young ages, the Department of Security wouldn't give out any benefits to boys under the age of 17 years. The Salvation Army would help out every now and then, and then they would kindly show you the door. There was two or three Welfare groups that would help street kids whenever possible, but the main problem was that they just didn't have enough funds to cover things.
There was about 4 to 5 real "Sharpie Gangs" lurking around these Sydney Streets at the same time, with Campsie Sharpies; Liverpool Sharpies; Blacktown Sharpies; Bankstown Sharpies; Canterbury Sharpies and of course the best Town Hall Sharps, who held the most members on record of any club around. And as these boys wasn't receiving any assistance from the government, they had to get the money to live from somewhere or from someone. Sometimes they wouldn't have to hit or hurt anybody, as they'd roam around the inner city looking for a unlocked car and then see if someone had left a handbag on the seat, then get it. Or then break into many cars with a hammer and chisel [and I won't say how it's done, as it's not important enough to know today] to trigger the driver's door handle undone. And rip through the car's small coin tray and someone else's job would be to steal [if the car had one] the radio/cassette player deck out ( we would be able to hock these goods the next day) after already stacking all this stuff into out overnight bags.
And another time we went to the movies in the city was best (I wasn't with them this night, but know what happened man) they went to the movies all right. Getting about 25-30 women's handbags from the floor near to where these people were seated, crawling along the floor in the darkness, they would pick-up quietly the bag and then very quickly left the building (all of them) with their stolen bags stuffed down their shirts or trousers to go outside and count them.
At other times, if things on the money situation were going bad for the boys, they'd just walk up behind some dude, first checking him out and if he looked wealthy enough, one of the boys would go up from behind him and smash his fist into this man's face (a king-hit) a home run as they say, and once he'd fallen to the ground, take his wallet and run like hell. But more likely than most, the boys top of the gang (ring leader) would use baseball bats or the iron bar as insurance, instead of using their fists.
The Sharpies used to live in different places and buildings, all over the place. There was once this four-storey building in Darlinghurst, just near the corner of Crown and Riley Streets in Sydney, that was completely empty and up for sale. When they'd first noticed this building, it looked as though it had first been burnt out by some fire and re-done up again. When the boys first went to the rear of this building, in a lane-way, the back fire-door was closed, but left unlocked. So they went into the basement of this building, to explore their new pad out. The basement was very much empty, except for about 22 kegs of silver beer barrels, which were empty ones stacked in the corner of that basement. There was an old-style lift to our left, the type with the black wire-mesh grill that you have to push across to let yourself in and out, then open the wooden-door the same way, get in and close both doors again and press the button of the floor number you wanted to go to. Amazing the lift was working OK. It was a little old, but it saved our legs a lot. The lights and water was still turned on, but we didn't at any time use the lights to a room that was facing the street, as we didn't want to be spotted from outside or didn't the police catching us, for breaking into this place and it wasn't ours to be at. We did the power though, and one of the kids stole a black-and-white television (no such thing as a color TV back in those days) from some backyard shed nearby, as at least then we had a TV to watch. We put this in the room on the third floor, that had no windows, but was fairly large in size, and this is where we used to meet and sleep and the only room we switched the lights on at night. On the top floor above us, we found some showers and toilets that all worked. It took a little time to come to terms with the shower, as it was just near very two windows without curtains or blinds, so when we was having our showers, you'd be looking out over the back part of Darlinghurst, not knowing if someone was watching or could see you washing yourself. As it was far too risky putting up sheets of old newspapers to cover the two windows, as remember, the building was meant to be empty. If the landlord or house owner spotted us here, the police would be on us like a shot. There was no fridge, so we still (the boys would take it in turns) to buy take-away food as we'd already been used to . They managed to stay at this building for five weeks, then it was time for us to move on. As in most cases, the leader of the Sharpie Gang always said it was best to keep moving around to different houses or apartment blocks, and to never be there for too long, that's how you get busted.
A short time after this we found another building, this one looked somewhat newer than the other one in Darlinghurst. Like clockwork, we raced around the back lane check all the doors and windows out the back, but they were all locked solid. But there was a fire-escape ladder of stairs outside, and if we could piggyback someone high enough up and so-forth down the line and someone learning down to pull the remaining boy up, we're in. The building was on the corner of Elizabeth and Goulburn Streets, Surry Hills. very handy for us, as it was near 3 city railway stations of Sydney. A little noisy because of the trains (on the same block of land today is the 5-Star Hotel of Southern Cross) because the railway line was across the street. The place had more floors than the other one we were in, we found a lift, but not working, there was no power, no shower, but we found some toilets that worked, one men and woman's toilet on each floor, as it turned out. After first chasing most of the rats and mice out of the place (the floors was over run with them) so we chased and threw stones and half bricks at them, killing or getting them to flee from our new home. As none of us wanted to un into any of these mice or rats when walking in the dark later, then we began to settle in. As the former owners (or tenants) of this building did manage to leave behind some bits of furniture, on different floors, so to make the place more comfortable, we carried tables and chairs, one of two Lounge Sofa's up to the floor we were staying in. Everything seemed to be alright for a few weeks, then we were starting to be over-run by the rats and mice again, so now we thought it was a smart time for us boys to clear out. 
Next thing we were walking around (at night, of course) in Ultimo in Sydney, checking out empty houses or buildings (then not lived in) to move into, or to brake into if necessary. Then suddenly one our boys yelled out, I think this one is empty. As there was this brand new house, this boy was at the back door, and said that it was closed but unlocked, and said it's completely empty inside. And it looked as though it was put up for sale and had not yet been sold, as there was no for-sale sign out the front as yet and no furniture inside at all. But the way the boys looked at it, a place to live is a place to sleep, and at least it was off the streets and somewhere dry or a couple of days or weeks at least, as it raining now outside and we were getting wet. The house was clean and modern, and the only thing that worked was the toilet, as the rest of the water and the electricity had been cut-off by someone and did not seem to work here, anywhere except the one toilet. But this was OK for a few nights, then they would move onto something else. But to look at this house for a moment. It was one of those wooden houses just about gleaming from end to end of it. Just the sort of house that uses up far too many trees (to build these places in the first place) and if at the time the so-called now Environmentalists; Green Peace or Friends of the Earth would have been invented or thought about then, they would have been protests about just the amount of wood used on this house alone to be built. But unfortunately, those organizations but one, wasn't around in those days. Only Greenpeace was, and in those days they only concentrated in that black bans to slapped on on the Kings Cross Complex along I think (Victoria Street) involving violent protest between between them (The Greens and the then developer Jack Green) and it was very big and front news headlines on the TV and newspapers at the time. The house was was made of wood, from the front door to the back door, with all rooms having fairly timber of  the best quality. Famous Cedar wood covered with clear varnish, the floors looked very nice.The only floors not layed down with wood, was the kitchen, bathroom and laundry area. Of course except for the windows around this place, the rest of the house was made out of wood, it was just remarkable to witness. There was wires sticking out of the ceiling here and there, this I gathered was for the lights and ceiling-fans. As well as the wires in the laundry, for the washing machine. The wires in the kitchen for the Roden stove to go in. Plus all the countless squaregaps througout the place on the lower walls in different rooms, was for the power outlets that hadn't yet been installed.
There was one time though, as it was in the middle of winter, they watched a couple and their two children go out in the carfor the night. So round the back we all raced to check the back door out, but the bastard was locked this time. But there was an open window upstairs, and someone went and got their ladder from the couple's shed, as the shed door weas wide open and you could see the ladderthere anyway (so we should us it) so one of the boys had the ladder up and was at the window in a flash. And he came down through the house and let us in through the back door, it was a deadlock but hadn't been deadlocked by the owner before he had left to go out. Well, away we went upsatirs and downstairs searching for anything and everything there was to find. We found the main bedroom, but after raiding the drawers I could only find $40 dollars or so and left it at that, then hitting the kitchen, putting the canned tins and some of the fridge food into bags, we left the house and returned the ladder back to the shed where we'd got it, as the place was still tidy, we didn't mess anything up this time. As we'd been inside for about 2 hours and was a bit concerned the home owners might return soon, so all us departed quickly.
Getting away from the accommodation said of the boys (and in defence of the Sharpies, only once did I know of them entering a place that didn't have a unlocked door) as there's more adventures that they went on to come!
Because of where I we were, it was a perfect opportunity for some of the Sharps (not Alan Peter) to practice their bag-snatching, being so close to different railway stations. Well, it was on the next day, about 15 of the boys had scored, and came back up with all these women's handbags, some boys even managed to snatch two, and on the floor the bags were to be inexpected. Now women never fail to amaze me of the crap they kept in their handbags, just for going to work in the morning at 8:30a.m. We would find 2 pairs panties (in different bags, different items of course) tooth brushes; bras; letters; pocket diary's; toilet rolls in part; nail files; dirty photos of themselves or them and some man; and the normal range of cosmetics; stockings; boxes of "The Pill"; a jar of salt' a pair of reading glasses; a tube of hand cream; a packet or two of cigarettes; a wallet with the money, credit cards and junk; small photos of the kids; photo of the husband; tissue papers (always used ones) loose coins; different sets of loose keys; battery operated vibrators; a brush and comb; pens and smaller ruler; a small book and lot of used bus and train tickets at the bottom of their bags.
Friday night was classed as Wham-Bam night. First we'd all cram into the Civic Hotel (Pub) which is still there today, or the building still is anyway, and it is on the corner of Pitt and Gouldburn Streets, Strawberry Hills, or Surry Hills as iI know it as. This was what we labelled Wham! As this pub used to hire bands (and the music was wild and very loud) with just a $1 note cover on the door to enter. We more or less behaved ourselves here, as we lived the music, drink and food and had to settle down somewhere at least one night in the week. So all of us used to hand around there from 10p.m. until 12:30a.m. and then leave as quickly as we had come. Then it was time for the Bam! As across the road and down the road four doors used to be a club called "Chequers" (a nightclub) and isn't there today, and to my knowledge has been gone for many years now, as it was pulled down and is now a Restaurant. At the double-glass doors at the top entrance, were two dorky bouncers. And here we come about 35 sharpies (ready for action) armed with 15 or more baseball bats, and 3-4 iron bars (to help smash up the double-glass doors) as we'd smash the glass down the stairs to buggery, as this was our bam time. And the others behind would take take of the bouncers with those baseball bats, sprawling them backswards down the red carpeted stairs. We'd race to the bar area, which was located at the rear of the place, as the back wall was full of mirrors, so we would smash down every piece of mirror, colored light and anything that moved. And then we had exactly six minutes before the central police would get there, from the eact time of them being telephoned. One of our was acting as out "Timer" as we had only two minutes of action from start to finish, he'd have to whistle very loud so everyone would hear, and we'd all very quickly depart into 35 or so different directions thoughout Sydney.
My era with the Town hall Sharpies was just over six months. Looking back now, they were a good bunch of boys who just really coudn't settle down, and would like a punch-up and lived in and around Sydney then. There is no such group today! I can't explain what happened that split the groups up back then, but since that time, I have managed to run into one or two of them around. One of them I saw in the (Corrective Services Department) serving a very long time for murder. The other boy whom I saw and knew, was sitting at Circular Quay, just staring at the ferries coming and going. I walked up and explained myself to him (I am not mentioning his name or age on purpose) and he did remember the sharpie gangs and the good and bad times we used to have back then. He said most of boys are gone now, as he is trying to keep away from today's drug market. He pulled up his shirt sleeves and showed me the tracks that ran up and down his veins, and he sais Alan Peter Rolly, I hadn't known anything or cared for anything for many years now. And I tried to get him (to convince him somehow) to go to the Sydney Hospital so they could try and pump this shit of out og him, but he said no, and wouldn't let me help him, in any wayshape of form. So back then, I shoved about $20 into his pocket hoping it would buy him a meal or something, and went on to whatever I was doing for that day. Sadly, I was to never to see that man again, but he may very well still be around out there, but it's my guess that he might have overdosed on something. As it was back to like 1985 when I alst saw him, sitting there at Circular Quay.
The only thing I can remember though, is about 1 year after I dropped out of the gang groups, everyone started and carrying Firearms then, and guns were pretty heavy stuff, and the crimes became much more serious. From that time onwards, I would not have a clue what happened to them as I was out of their lives now forever.

CHAPTER THREE
Soon after this period, I went to live with George (a friend of mine who used to pay board for a room at my Mother's place at Arncliffe near the station).
George owned a house in Arncliffe and ran a smash repair business type of panel work shop out the back, sort of the side, as there was not much tax that the tax department saw back from him each year.
Then after a while, because had nothing to really do or donduct myself in a proper manner, one night at about 2:30a.m. I went across the road (you see "my" room was on the side of the house, and if I pressed my face against the fly-screen, I could see the Noman Ross Discounts Store, lighted up like NewYork. So off I ran on my way to Norman Ross. On the way though, I had to pass a couple of small factory businessess, and in their undercover carpark were sometimes someone's motor cars. And nearby there would be a very large garden full of large rocks (say 30kg in weight) then I'd just pick this large rock up and in a basket-ball fashion would throw the rock through the car front windscreen. "SMASH" all the glass would go and a couple of dogs would then dark and I would run for my life. After getting back to the security of my room, I poked my little head against the screen (as it had been torn a little by now from me learning against it and I coud see what was going on, as I didn't want to miss any of the action) but there was no police racing to the crime or anyone, so after about an hour, I crept out again (yes I was a right little bastard wasn't I) and back to the motor car I had damaged of the front windscreen, and sure enough, everything was exactly the same. That very large car glass window pane was now all over the gound, I was very proud at myself at a job well done, yes I was improving alright. 
Well, the next night, I was willing to try something different and more exciting, that was sure to extract the police's attention.
Remembering, when I was on my way to the Norman Ross store, I was only then going to look through their side windows, nothing more, then go home. But funny enough, at about 4am I crept out of bed and was on my way to the Norman Ross store, but this time not just to look, but to go there and smash 2 or 3 glass windows at a time, and then I ran like a bat out of hell back to the security of my room. Looking out my room window to watch (with the light out of course, because I was too clever for the police) I noticed two security guards with guns had driven there first to turn off the very noisy alarms that were sounding all over the place (I think that is what I wanted to hear at the time, knowing that it was me that caused this damage) then there was two police cars going around and around about six times before they stopped and got out of their cars. Someone then had turned off the alarm, some workmen had boarded up the two side large windows and they were replaced the following day. You see, I had picked up this dirty rotten rock bolder and throw them with all my might through both the windows,such an explosion of glass, you sould of been there, it was so exciting!
SMASSSHHH and then the next second all this glass smashed everywhere and then I did the same to the next one, and then as I ran back home to my room, the alarm noise was just so loud that I thought my ear drum would burst....BOOOOM!!!
Well, this was alright, so I gave Norman Ross a chance to replace the windows again, as I was going back two days (I mean nights later) to smash (never to steal the goods) more windows and a few security lights for good measure, as now I was becoming more cocky and a bit professional. Like clockwork, the same two security guards people came and turned off the alarms (which were very loud at 4a.m.) and then the normal police cars except this time, there was men dressed in plain clothes (not the normal coppers in uniform walking)around, looking up and down the lane scratching their heads, so I thought that I wouldn't do anything more for a week, it's best not to push it.
Well, silly enough, two nights later, I went for a walk and then noticed the car (there had been a bloke sitting in a car parked outside and down the lane for a couple of nights now, just watching the side of Norman Ross). The bloke straight away saw me and started up his little car and was driving slowly towards me, so I ran at full pace in the other direction towards Arncliffe railway station which was pretty close by. After rounding the first corner, Allan Peter decided to dive under one of many parked cars in the next street, but then I noticed there was no need, as one of the houses I was coming to, had a wooden-dog house on the front lawn, whom I knew the dog as well and knew it would not bark, so I was not proud, of course I climbed inside, bum first of course and I just got my head inside this dog-house, the bloke in the car chasing me, came scretching around the corner far too fast, because he didn't see me. Had this bloke been moving a bit slower, he would have noticed my hand outside, as my shirt got caught on a nail getting into this dog-house. I guess he was working for someone still running, and that's how he missed me. Well, out I popped, happy as Larry that I had fooled him (the stupid bastard) and to celebrate my victory, on my way home I just ripped 7 or 8 right handside windscreen wipers off different motor cars, and I don't mind telling you, this was quite hard work to do, as you had to grab the wiper with both hands and then yank the bastard with all your strength as there's 3-4 stupid wires connected under the cars bonnet, as you have to use your body-weight to pull,then you fall to the ground. You then should have the right-hand window wiper and lots of funny leads that you've caught along the way. Then next just a couple of hundred yards away and down another street (never near the street where "you" live) then throw the wiper with the leads into someone's frontyard garden.
Anyway a week later, I noticed the watchman (or whoever the prick was) was not posted outside Norman Ross. Since the Sunday night, I was so excited as I was getting ready for the big one. At 2;30a.m. exactly, I walked around first, to make sure the coast was clear, then it happened. When I reached the Normas Ross lane, I smashed every bloody window and little window up and down that lane. You should have heard those alarms, they were very loud and it sounded more like a maxium jail break-out from Long Bay jail. You should have saw the lane, I was smiling from ear to ear, to get to the very top windows I had to throw large heavy rocks at them, otherwise they wouldn't smash. And a sledgehammer for the many bottom large plate glass windows, and I run back down the lane over all that broken glass and carnage that I had just caused, when all of a sudden I noticed I was just about completely covered with very small fragments of the smashed glass from the side windows of the store. Again I decided to take nothing, as tempting as it was staring at this large wide hole there that you could have drove a bus through, even though I had plenty of time to knock something off.
Once again back in the security of the room (with the light out) I then sat down and waited for something to happen. Like the last time, the security people were first there, but this they were walking all over the place carrying their batons in their hands, which until now, I hadn't ever seen them with before. 
Then, lots of police cars got there, say about 2 (and to a boy my age that was the entire police force) and there were uniform and plain clothes men, some where together carrying little bags, others were just looking around slowly shining torces everywhere and trying to find anything that may have been left behind by me. But when I had thrown the rocks up to the windows, of course I was wearing a new pair of garden gloves, which I still had there with me. The sledgehammer I brought back to the house, as it belonged in the Panel Beaters shop out the back that George and Stan ran in the week.
The police were there for many hours, but someone turned off the alarms (the noise I then liked to hear at the time) an hour after the police got there. Apparently, the one who'd had the key to turn off the alarm was away, so they had to wake up the manager and have him turn it off. Later, in the morning at about 6a.m. they cleaned up the lane of all the broken glass, replaced all the windows, and everything seemed to return to normal again, until I thought I was thought I was far too smart. Allan Peter was the greatest, now he will try and smash something else, he's too good to be caught. Well, a couple of days later, I went for a walk up and along the Princess Highway at Arncliffe with one of George's panel beaters metal mallets hidden within my jumper and the blanket I was carrying to muffle the sound and then smashed about a dozen car windscreens in, that were inside Purnell Motors Car Dealership and another couple of dozen cars' windscreens at 2 more other new and used car dealerships along the way, and all this was done in broad-light on a Sunday afternoon.
A couple of days later, I was coming up to this little Church glass-door, this was about 2.p.m. on a week day, it was now that the temptation was just too great. S-M-A-S-H and I was about to run down the street beside me there. Some bloke yells to his wife (across the Princess Highway from a car) to telephone the police. This bloke grabbed hold of my arm and I could not bake free, as he said I am not letting this little bastard (me) get away. Next thing I knew, I was at Kogarah Police Station being asked all sorts of questions from many different police (women and men) as well as the detectives from that station.
It just so happens that man who had hold of me was an off-duty policeman, and while opposite the church building he was waiting to turn right in his car at the traffic lights, he then saw me walking to the church corner, get the tool from beneath the blanket and smash through that pane of glass in front of me. He did a u-turn and jumped out of his car and then got his wife to call the police. And that is how that off-duty policeman got me. He was just too strong.
Before I knew it, as I now 16 years old, but looked a lot older because of all my tattoos covering over my body, so I was charged and was off to Long Bay Prison. I was on remand waiting to go to court. And I can remember we were in different sections than the other convicted prisoners, but shared a cell with four others for a while, before returning to face court with all my charges.
Jail seemed pretty frightening at first, being a first timer (never been to prison before) and all, and not being on remand before, but after a few weeks you get to know who to talk to and who to stay away from. It's not like the community out there, and within those walls, you've stuck there till you go to court. I still can remember I had one more month to wait before I was due in court, and that 4 weeks had to be the longest four weeks that I ever had to wait for. Of course jail life went on. 


In jail you have two sets of rules: both important if you know what's best for you. One set from the Corrective Services Department (screws) and the other from the inmates (the other prisoners around you) but these are the rules not printed out on paper and handed out to you, but you soon learn from the word of mouth.
The Corrective Services rules were the normal basic rules; do not stand near the cell window at night; fell free to complain about other inmates to one of the wardens if in trouble; light out at 9p.m.; radio on the wall in the cell is controlled by the warder (screw) in the general wing (and they used to put the radio on in between two stations and leave it there on purpose) because they knew we couldn't do anything about it, just switch it off as all we could do. We were allowed one visit a fortnight; to write one letter a week and it was checked over by the screws, so you just had to watch what you said, otherwise it would be just torn up in a thousand little bits.

The prisoners' rules were (exactly the same as those inmates on remand) never dob in a fellow inmate, no matter what the reason. (This term was commonly known a Dog). And not to be seen talking to or joking with with screws, as then you could be suspected of dobbing someone in and so the "Dog" tag appears. Asyou really have to be careful in jail, as in the month I was at Long Bay Prison on remand, I actually saw two inmates being "shivved" (stabbed with a prison home-made blade) in the stomach over some matter to do with the silly rules and other stabbing was something personal that I really didn't want to know about. Both men were taken away by the ambulance and had suffered deep stomach injuries I believe at the time.


CHAPTER 4
Now it was time to face the Court. The Court found me guilty of all the charges and I was sentenced to 6 months. I found myself back at Long Bay Prison, but not for long, as then I was transferred to The Parramatta Jail. But not to serve my six months, but only four, as the Court had backdated the month I was on remand, and with the remissions and everything, it was actually just about four months I was going to be in the prison system.
But what I can remember about Parramatta Prison, was the "Circle." A punishment block in the shape of a circle, near the centre of the Complex, so it couldn't be seen from the outside by the public. The small type cells (around 50-60 cells in all) were concrete with nothing in them, had an open style barred roof making it more look like an animals cage, where every 10 to 20 minutes the screws would hose you down with the fire-hoses or the screws up there on top on the catwalk might see you fall alseep, and would decide to pee down on you. Yes, the good bloody circle, it only operated  in the day and then you were returned to your cell black at night. But remember, the circle was a place to be "feared", they break you in the end. And one day, they were opening the door. I charged at the first screw to grab at his baton and I got the first screw's baton, as I was waiting for them. The iron door slammed shut and there I was standing there with the baton and knowhere to go, as I was trapped. As when they bash you, there's about eight of them all armed with those batons, then a thick iron bar covered with black rubber, very much not like the batons they have today as of those back in about 1992, and I don't mind telling you, when it connected, it hurt really bad for days. (The rubber used in those days to cover that iron bar was thin, so that they could cause more damage). Anyway, a voice above my head said put it down, it was the warder and he was pointing his rifle (yes they are loaded) so I dropped the black baton to the ground and stright away was ordered to turn around and put both my hands against the iron bars walls and stay there, so I did. Because at the time, I didn't know that he wouldn't shoot me, because a warder can only shoot you if you are climbing over the wall or putting the screws life at risk. The next thing I knew, I was being bashed by about six large men dressed in bright blue overalls and then they left me there and then they slammed the metal door shut as they left behind them. A few hours later, a male nurse that had white overalls on, gave me (a needle) in my upper right arm, which knocked me out for about two days.


On the weekend, I fronted the Governor at his office, and he let me out of the Circle. And for the rest of my small time at Parramatta Prison, I behaved myself and was given a job as a Sweeper beside the main wall. I would use a yard-broom and just keep the driveway swept and clean of leaves and things everyday.


Three days before I was to be released, I saw a prisoner (who was doing Life for Murder) sadly took his own life by burning himself inside his cell, because the screws took their sweet time getting to him, he burnt to death before help got to him. The cells at Parramatta Prison are much older than the ones at Long Bay Prison, and they still have the meal flaps in the middle of the metal door (which can be open or closed from the person outside) and when left open, you can see most of the cell from outside in, and when they are left open, you can see most of the cell opposite if his is open at the same time as yours. The prisoner's body under that sheet was one of the worst things that I had known, as I was only talking to him the day before, and then he was gone, but life had to go on.


Next thing I knew, it was my day to be released from Parramatta. I can still remember that mean screw on the gate, as he smiled at me and said: You'll be back, I'll give you three weeks. Not taking in a word of what he said, I walked down past the outside jail wall to the nearest cross-street, but couldn't work out where I was or how to get near a main road. Just then nearby I saw a Telecom service worker working on some wires that he had pulled up from a hole in the ground. And I went over and I explained that I had been released from there (pointing to the prison wall). How do I get out of here, and they then gave me some easy directions to follow, as they were somewhat a bit nervous as they showed me, but for the life of me I couldn't understand why at the time.


Then I returned back to George's house in Arncliffe, but promised him there would be no more funny business as I am a changed man now and I have really turned over a new leaf.


George's house was located in Allen Street (it was actually owned by his close old friend Mrs Sykes, who was about 90) and George just paid her board I think. The house was fairly run down at the time, one of the Old Federation type syle homes with about 4 bedrooms, kitchen, laundry (was at the back outside near the door)and bathroom (with the old gas-type hot water heaters) which I was always frightened of. The house was in bad need of a coat of paint and major repairs, as it looked very old. The inside of the house also seemed on the dark side most of the time, probably because there was long heavy brown blinds drawn down over the windows, making it seem that way. It had a small path that ran to the front door and a small amount of lawn and garden (unkept) at the front in Allen Street, and that gate was never used. Everybody used to use to side gate, near the workshop. The front door I only saw opened about twice, and then only because somebody was kocking on it, and would not piss off. As Mrs Sykes had to unbolt three heavy door bolts, one at the top, middle and bottom, to just get the door open, as this would take a few minutes, while whoever waited.


Yes I was just at an unbelievable position. Where else could I live in such comfort and at the same time have the added advantage of having the shops, trains, buses, schools, park and Cook's River all within a short stroll. Because of the backyard and Garage of the Panel Beating business at the rear, this house would of sold for $600,000 if not more. That is if George sold it. 
 

Well Allan Peter might have turned over a new leaf, but there was something inside me that still wasn't quite working right. As one night, at about 2:30a.m., I went for a walk around Arncliffe. I walked down and along Argyle Street and up and over this large water pipe mountain that divided the two streets, into the second half of Argyle Street then. There was only a few small businesses and fcatories located there then, no houses or flats at all.
Anyway for some strange reason, I still can't understand why I did it even today. I went round to the side of this small Panel Beaters (nothing to do with my mate George) and kicked about 4 wooden panels off the fence so I could get in (as I knew that I wasn't climbing over the other wire fence) and once inside I first just looked at some of the cars in their yard. Then big fingers here had to just see if any of the cars were unlocked, one was, so I hopped in to have a look. The keys were in it so I put in neutral so I could get the radio on, and the car didn't look too bad at all, but then I got out again. For some reason, I got some sheets of newspaper that was lying everywhere and a box of matches, stuffing the sheets of newspaper under the driver's seat and lit it, closing all the windows to keep the smoke inside. Well, there it was, burning away with enormous force, then in the next moment (20 minutes) the petrol tank exploded and flames went just about everywhere. There I was trying to put it out with an old blanket, and getting nowhere fast. Then I had to watch helplessly as the six or so cars there were fully alight and burning. As I had only intended to set fire to one car, but the first explosion was just too close to the other cars and set them alight.
When I was safely back in my room again, you could see the orange-red glow coming from the cars into the night sky. Then the Fire Engines kept going round and round in circles, as they couldn't find the right lane to turn down, as you had to turn down the second lane past Normas Ross, and the corner would have been too narrow for their firetruck anyhow. I wanted to go out and tell them exactly how to get there, but I was still covered in black soot stuff from the fire and didn't think it was such a good idea anymore.


It was about this time, I got sick and tired of living at George's place, so I got up and left.


I went to get myself a room to rent in Chippendale (that was in inner Sydney). I found a double-room at Shepherd Street, Chippendale. It was alright and over-looked Shepherd Street itself. I found myself close to the city, buses, trains, Redfern Railway Station and Grace Bros on Broadway.


One Saturday night I can still remember, walking along Parramatta Road, Broadway. Up towards Railway Square, when I heard a siren blaring but I couldn't spot the flashing lights on the police car (back in those days, you could tell straight away what siren was for what, not like today) it was an unmarked police car speeding down and was so fast approaching the Abercrombie Street traffic lights. back then, Abercrombie Street was two way traffic and now has been changed to one-way since (you know, the part near The Sydney Morning Herald Building). Well, this police car sped on through the red light, slamming into this other car travelling through the green light towards Chippendale. There was a very loud smash and both cars ended up on the footpath and into a brickwall fence, out side the Catholic Church on that corner of Abercrombie and Broadway. Both drivers were hurt and looked in great pain, so of course I went to the little black car so I could see if I could help. As there wasn't nobody else around, so I passed slowly on by the coppers' window as you could hear his two-way radio buzzing away on the dash, and I wondered why he wasn't wearing his seat beat at the time.
But first I wanted to see if I could help the other driver, as this stupid copper caused the smash in the first place. Unfortunately, the other driver in the black car was very badly injured. So straight away I ran to the nearest public telephone box in Mountain Street, to phone for some help.
About ten minutes later the Ambulance got there, but to my horror, they quickly raced to the copper's side and treated him first. Then they attended the other person's car and both then were taken to Royal Prince Alfred Hospital, at Camperdown, which was close by.
I followed up what was going on the next morning, and I found out the driver that I involved in the smash had died at 4a.m., and was on his way to work at the time of the accident. The plain clothes policeman was alright, with just a broken leg and some cuts and bruises.


On the following Friday night at about 7p.m., I was just walking down outside Grace Bros on Broadway, then I could hear people singing and enjoying themselves. The singing was coming from The St. Barnabas Anglican Church, so I'd thought I would poke my head in through the door, just to look. After going up these stairs, I was met by these friendly people. Steve Riley and Victor Branson was then running this show, with Ros & Roger S (surname I know but withheld for legal reasons) whom also made me feel most welcome. They kept on singing their happy songs as they were before, so I just sat there and listened. It was now 10p.m., and everyone was about to go home, and one of them asked me where I was staying. So I said just across the road really at 100 Shepherd Street, in a room at Chippendale. So Steve and his mate Victor then walked me home, and that was when I broke down and just cried, and they talked with me until about midnight or more. They said those meetings (The Friday Night Fellowship Group) are on every Friday night and feel free to pop on by. And St. Barnabas Church provides Tea for a small charge at 6p.m. on Sundays, and we would like to see you there.


Mr & Mrs Ross & Fiona. F (surname withheld for legal reasons) for I am pleased to say that I have known them now for many years. I'm sure that they would class me as a close friend, as I class them as my very best friends. Ross and Fiona F went through a period where they used to "mind houses" and would live at and mind someone's house, while in looking after the properties and making sure that somebody was living at that property.


Being sort of lonely at the time, I was indeed there at the Church at 6:00p.m., on the dot. Then back at the Friday Night fellowship mob at the church there were more people, all seemed to be quite friendly to me. I got to be good friends with Roger & Ros S., when then lived down Glebe Point Road and I became close to them at the time. And there was people like (and are still friends & close today) Eileen (the surnames will be typed down) John D; Peter & Christine J; Michael & Rosemary T; Wendy C; Marcia C and Neil C; Allan & Rosemary P; John & Libby C; and many other friends whom have moved out of Sydney because of work or family matters. I still can't forget Jan & Chris B; who were very good friends to me. Dorothy G; a friend outside of St. Barnabas Church who I have known for approximately 19 years now. A long time ago, I dated one of her daughters, G, but the relationship lasted just three weeks and a few hours, as I took her to Lunar Park. Somehow I just kept in touch with Dorothy over the years and were pretty good friends. G is today married (not to me) with three or more children (and I was invited and went to the Wedding) and they are running a growing business with her husband, P.
There's Isa & Paul H; whom I have known for a couple of years, have given me great encouragement when I have asked for it. And since they have left St. Barnabas Church and moved from South Strathfield to the Northern suburbs of Sydney, I don't see them now as often as I would of liked to.
Because I was making lot's of friends, I just kept coming back to the Church as it was as through I belonged there.
Victor B and Steve R opened up a house (owned then by St. Barnabas Anglican Church) at Cleveland Street, Chippendale. Now this place was open to all types of homeless kids, where up to 30 kids could crash over-night. It wasn't long-term accommodation, just for a few nights, then you'd have to move on, to give other kids the chance to stay for a few nights as well.
The Boarding-house in Chippendale (Cleveland Street) which was run as a drop-in centre really, worked alright for a while, then things started to get a bit out of hand. Different gangs of Sharpies (none known to myself), Skinheads started turning up, first with just chains and baseball bats, then it got heavier into shotguns. With large fights breaking out and then smashing things up, giving the place a bad name. It was soon after this time, that (Clevelend Street) the helping drop-in centre program was stopped, as the violence was getting too much for Victor and Steve to handle. Then about a couple of weeks later, the two-storey, six-bedroom house was up for sale. Then 18 months later, the property sold, and is now privately owned outside the Church, that is why I didn't mention the street number.


After about six months, I had got to know dozens of friends by now, and because of the car fire's I did at Arncliffe so many months before, I found myself charged and back inside Long Bay Prison.


So I asked someone to inform Ross and Fiona P. on the telephone, as they would know what to do. As Ross was a Solicitor.


I never made out a record of interview for the fires, as I wouldn't talk to the police, as everyone knows that they are evil. I was then sent to Long Bay Prison to wait on remand to go to Court, as I was pleading not-guilty this time. Just let the bastards prove it!


About 3-4 days later when I was reading in the cell, the cell door was unlocked and the screws threw in some papers onto the floor and closed the door again and left. They were the Record of Interview papers from the Kogarah Police Station, unsigned, and an interview that I was never at. These coppers would have typed them up, asking and answering their own questions pretending I was there with them, for the interview papers.


Even though the record of interview remained unsigned throughouIt the Trial, the Judge and Jury still believed that I was present for the interview at the station.

I do believe when the Police give a record of interview today, there's a cassettee recording with the voices, for proof for the court, which I surpose would stop the bad apple police forming false records together as they did to me, just to think that our city would still have them on the police force out there somewhere.


In your cell (back then, the jail was just that, jail) the cell had four beds, two each side of the cell wall. A sink basin and tap, toilet; radio box on the wall; a small metal cupbaord with 2-3 shelves; one fluorescent tube light on the ceiling side of the wing. Nothing else. As it was against the rules to stick or draw anything against the jail walls, or to hang anything down, to stop the view of the wardens to the cell.
Seeing I was on remand, I didn't think it would take too long to get through the Court system. If you pleaded guilty it can take only a matter of weeks, but like me, if you plead not-guilty, if can take 6 months or even longer to get through all the red tape.
Well, it was now time for the hearings, then on to the Trial by dudicial tribunal at the famous Sydney Darlinghurst Court. Well, after the bloody Judge had finished his summing up, and had indeed handed me down my sentence, you needed a law degree to work out how long I got. As when I was about to go back down the stairs to the underground holding cells, I had to ask the copper with a clipboard there, how long would I be doing? And then I knew, 6 years mate.
Now Fiona P. (a very close and special friend to me) wanted me to lodge an appeal within the 21 days of the sentence. As she thought I should appeal against the Severity of the sentence. As she's seen (Fiona is a Solicitor herself) bank robbers and rapists get less time than my sentence. But at the time, I couldn't make my mind up, as some of the other inmates said to me that the Appeal can go in your favour and you can get a shorter time to serve (you face 3-5 Judges on the same panel) or if it goes against you, maybe you could face another 6 months tacked onto your sentence you are serving now, if not even longer.
Here I was back at Long Bay Prison. But this time I wasn't on remand anymore, no more pussy-footing around. Your given prison clothes (greens) and your cell linen, the No 490 that you have to remember everywhere, as you are no longer a "name" but a number, because that's the way it is. You are sent to the C.I.P. (Central Industrial Prison) and you are sent to your new cell (wondering who'll your new cell mates would be like) as you'd be sharing a cell with 3 other men whom you'd never met before. It's always in the back in your mind, are they Homosexuals, and you'd just try to block it out of your mind. You get dressed in their green clothes, and go out to join the other prisoners in the yards outside ready for muster.
Then the Warder with the buttons on his shoulders (some bigger screw than the rest) came out holding the muster book and he blew his sports whistle. Everyone stood with their heels on the painted yellow lines about 6 foot apart from the cell building. Next minute, he starts calling out numbers 19; 21; 38; 333; 87; 422; 17; 414; 428; 128; 177; 300 (this is where it's good to know your number) and guess who'd forgotten his number, he was calling my number out: 490; 490; 490; then this time very loud 490 - then pointing to me said learn your bloody number, and the inmates would salute and say, here sir, and walk on to their cell. Collecting a plate, bread and some tea on the way in, a plate for your tea to go on (a hot-food barrow on wheels was at the front of the wing, brought there from the kitchen bay) and you would hold your plate out and some dude would slop your meal on it and you passed on by to your cell where you would be sleeping for the night.
Back in your cell, you'd get half an hour to finish your meal, then the cell steel door opens again and you put your metal cup and the plate outside the door to be collected later, whether you are finished or not, as your knife and fork remained in the cell, as they were like the one's you take on picnics with you, the white plastic knife, spoon and fork set. 
You were issued with Sugar; Margarine and Salt or Pepper once a week, that was the ration, so you just had to budget a bit to get by. The 4oz of Smokes (the roll-your own type) that everyone got issued to them fortnightly, I used to trade mine ( I am a non-smoker) for extra Sugar off someone who'd like no sugar in their tea or coffee.


Talking to my cellmates later that night. The one in the double-bunk above me, was about 40 years old, married with 3 children. He was sentenced to 5 years prison for growing large amounts of Indian Hemp in his backyard.


The bloke on my right in the lower bunk, was about 32 years old, married but didn't have any children yet, as the other bloke (except him just out of work) still had a job to go back to. He had tried to rob a Chemist and was caught whilst driving away from the crime. For the $500 robbery, he got 7 years because he had used a firearm in the robbery, and he was out or work and money and too proud to sign his name down for the dole.


The other bloke on the bunk above him, used to be a top Solicitor working for a Legal Firm up in the A.M.P. Building at Circular Quay. At one time he would have wanted to become a Solicitor-General, but then he fell into the arms of Embezzlement. The man was very well educated and was about 45 years old, with a wife and two grown-up children. As this inmate was very slick and quite, wore those bifocal spectacles. When working at the Legal Company for the last year before he was caught, he embezzled $15,000 into some Swiss Bank account through one of the overseas bank's dealing here. Still there growing with interest for when he is released, as it under another name for he will get it when he is released, as he got 10 years for his crime, and by the time he's out, it's not a bad return at all.


You see when I first told by my Mother, that my Father had left me $5000 in a will, it was always there in my mind and wouldn't go away. I don't know what it is in us humans, there's a real lust for the power of money, the power of wealth, the thought of someday becoming very, very rich indeed. Well, this amount of money, was the most amount I've ever tried to own or touch ever! The inmate in my cell that's in for embezzlement, well this man was the solicitor who helped me find the Government Trustee Office in O'Connell Street, Sydney. All done by letters and a viist, by them. When I was released some years later, I couldn't wait to get my hands on my Father's Will money ($5000) that he had left for me, for when I was 30 years of age. But stupid here managed to spend the lot within a matter of 8 months only. Most of Dad's Trust money that he had kindly left me, was spent od sex in Massage houses in and around the Sydney area were I was living. As at that particular time in my life, I was living on the corner of Crown & Goulburn Streets, Darlinghurst, and my rented small room overlooked this small (Bath-House) as it was called then,as it is gone today and is now a massive new development where a group of about six or seven three-to-four storey houses use to be. I used to just sit there at my window looking down to the street, and just the number the number of men that used to come and go from that place every day of the week. But what used to shock me was, the fact that there was a large number of "married men" visiting there as well, it was on this fact that I could never understand. Because even if their partner was pregnant, what's wrong with her giving him French or trying the Anus-Intercourse style for a change.
When you are working inside, the wages you earn somewhat tumble-down compared to anything you've ever dreamt about in your wildest dreams.
Like if you got a job sewing the hems around sheets (for the hospitals) on an industrial sewing machine, it's worth just 3 cents a sheet payment, depending on how fast you work, how neat it is (as everything is check and double-checked by the screws) then written in the red logbook for the days work.
There were other jobs about, but they didn't pay enough money to make it really worth while to me. As if you got yourself folding sheets that the workshop does the hems around, it's worth 1 cent each, so after folding a bloody hundred of them, you've only earnt a dollar. In the workshop was the best wages working on the Overlocking machines, as they were worth 10 cents an item finished. But I couldn't use one of those Overlockers, as they sort of scared me at the time.
Next thing I knew, there was about twenty-five names called out on the loud speaker to report to the front office. We were told that at 7a.m. tomorrow we would be transferred to Goulburn Training Centre, at Goulburn NSW. It was a very bumpy ride in that van to get there, but a good opportunity to get to know some of the other inmates being transferred with me as well.
There was a few inmates on the other side of the van, together staged a robbery, armed themselves and broke into somebody's home, tied these people up and terrorised a married couple at thie home. They went through drawers and cupboards looking for cash and goods, and all they ended up with was some bloody jewllery and about a thousand dollars in cash from the man's pocket.
They got caught two days later, through finger-prints left by one of the men. They both ended up with 12 years each to serve, with 8 of non-parole date.
Another inmate sitting towards the back of this meatmagon, was caught for Stealing and Break and Enter. He broke into a shop in the city, by smashing a car through the plate glass front window, and was in the shop and up the stairs in a flash, but he tripped on second last top step and came down the flight of stairs again, more quicker than he would have liked. He'd already loaded in the car 300 pairs of jeans, 40 T-Shirts and was coming down the stairs with about 20 boxes of sport shoes, ready to load them into the car. The boxes went up into the air, as he then hurt his leg when he hit the deck. he was in great pain at the time, and just couldn't get up and walk on that leg. So he just sat there amongst the broken glass, till the security guards or Police got to the store. A pity he said, as he had clients ready waiting with cash only less then twenty minutes drive away. He ended up with 6 years, with 4 years non-parole.
Now take this inmate that was  hand-cuffed next to me, he walked into a Jewellery Store somewhere near or in the Wynyard railway ramp area, asked to see some Gold Chains. As he was waiting by a display counter, the owner brought him out a tray of Gold & Silver chains for him to look over. Then the phone rang, so the owner put the tray down to answer the call. Then this bloke snatched up the tray of chains, worth over $10,000 and ran out of the store up towards George Street, but he was seen running with the case by two police officers in a car that was parked on the street, who were having their lunch and was their break. He continued to race down George Street anyway, towards the Town Hall railway station, but was caught red-handed a short distance away near the Commonwealh Bank at King & George streets. He was taken back to the Town Hall Police Station and charged with Robbery. He got 7 years, with a non-parole of 4 years, because he used no weapons.

Then there was this 51-year-old inmate, who has tried to embezzle the Bank of New South Wales (now knoen as Westpac) with false Cheque books to the tune of $15,000, and it almost worked. Only the account number didn't match their book records, and the numbers he had down were indeed false, and a younger teller wanted to check this one out. As there was no computers in all banks then (where the tellers did serve you, but they all have the computers up and running today)the checking of the records was done on the telephone and the cross-checking other log-books. He was soon under arrest from the Bank Security and then the police were informed and he was then formally charged for the crime. He got sentenced to 8 years, with a non-parole period of 5 years. The Cheque Books were formally stolen in a robbery about a year before, and were fenced onto this inmate at a cost.
There was other inmates on board the meat-wagon as you know, but I decided not to poke my nose out too far, so I just sat back then and enjoyed the ride out to Goulburn Training Centre. Where different thoughts kept racing round my head, what were they training me for?
After many hours in the back of the wagon, we got to the Goulburn Training Centre. Coming up to the front gates, you first see the lovely front gardens, everything so neat and colourful. Then from the outside you can see the prison big Clock Tower on top of the Church, which really stands out, believe me. Once you get in through the outside gates and they are closed behind you and the police left their handguns at the office there, you then go through another set of heavy thick bar gates, then you're in. 
Looking East, North, West and South are four Wings, with the Church Building with the Clock Tower on top, in the very middle of this complex.
Then you have to line up in a single file and the police (as before we left Long Bay we were hand-cuffed two by two inmates) started to undo the hand-cuffs from our wrists.
We then were headed off to the Administration office (or Block) to receive our new numbers and wing location. Then we were all sent into different directions to go to our wings to our new cells. Not the mention the six million sets of eyes watching every move you had made, as you were the new guys from the Bay, and they'll check you out tomorrow in the yards at muster time.
My cell was on the second floor, about halfway down and to the right handside, as you enter from the front of the wing. I guess this was my lucky day or something, as there wasn't anyone else in the cell yet, as there were four empty beds in 1004 cell. So I threw my gear onto the bottom bunk, and joined the other inmates down in the yards just in time for muster and then showers. We promptly answered our numbers when called, and headed in single file to the Shower Block. There were towels near the door there (clean ones) as you take uour clothes off and wait for one of the inmates to walk out of the shower (about 40-80 showers in a block-type row) and you'd jump in then. Don't worry, there was always a screw a every fourth to fifth shower cubicle, watching to make sure the inmates were only washing themselves.
Then we were back in our cells, ready for a good night's sleep. As the long drive in the back of that van does take it out of you, I don't mind telling you.
It was about 10:40p.m.when I turned in for the night, as I didn't have anyone in there to mag to anyway, so off to dreamworld I went. Anyway, twenty minutes later, I jumped out of bed very smartly. As I heard: BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! It was 11:00 o'clock in the night, and that clock chimes every hour on the hour. It took me over a week to get used to those chimes sounding, after that you don't really notice it anymore and it becomes second nature to you. And sometimes if you are lying there at night and can't sleep, the clock can always remind you of what the time is, in that way it was a blessing then to me.
Well coming back into cell 1004, being in the cell by myself soon ended. As the cell got a transfer of about 24 inmates that day, and three were put into 1004 as there were three empty beds for use. 
That night we talked away of what we were in for. I explained my crime to them, which they thought was sort of strange, when not being done for money or insurance or some other type of payment.
The first bloke said, him and three others stole $20,000 in a late night raid on the St George Leagues Club at Kogarah. They ordered the man, 29, to hand over all the money straight away or you are dead meat. So the man pointed to a drawer, they yanked the drawer open and pulled out a Bank of New South Wales bag. The Club's taking's for the weekend was inside this bag. Being Sunday night, the club was quite busy, and there were customers everywhere. He then told the bloke to lie on the floor, grabbing the money-bag as they ran from the club pulling the bloody stocking's back off from their heads, to their waiting car which was waiting for them outside.
It was as we were heading into Rockdale Shopping Centre, we'd been spotted by the coppers as the get-away-car, as we should have dumped the car a bit sooner and instead of tearing off for a chase, we gave ourselves up quietly. He was serving 9 and a half years.


The next inmate said, the police had recovered more than $18,000 of Amphetamines from his Blacktown house. He and a friend whent before the Courts and was charged with Supply and Possession of Illegal drugs, as well as possession of stolen goods and illegal possession of a firearm. He said, about 4a.m. the drug squad raided their house and discovered the drugs and goods. They went to Darlinghurst Court, were sentenced to 10 years each. His mate was out at Parramatta Prison, as to split them up.
The third bloke, had tried to hold-up a Service Station in Leichhardt, right on Parramatta Road. His mistake was that he carried out the Robbery only with a knife instead of a gun or rife. As his time was exactly the same. As he entered the front counter, he saw that the attendant was taller then he was, and when he pointed the long-bladed knife at the bloke and said, I want the money from the till. The tall bloke just sort of laughed and went to try and grab his knife, missed, and then he was grabbed from behind by some other customer walking to pay for his petrol, who had held him down on the floor, till the police arrived about 20 minutes later.
He went to Court charged with Attempted Robbery armed with an Offensive Weapon, and he ended up with 12 years, with 8 months non-parole.
People outside the prison walls, sometimes don't understand. As back then when I was serving my time (1970's), one didn't have to do any work if you chose not to do so. But you'd be mad to choose this way. Because walking up and down, up and down those yards all day would really get to you, after a few months.
And you have to remember, that working was a Privilege and not a right as most people are lead to believe. But it helps your time pass more quickly and at least you have something to do with your day.
I was by now already working on a Sewing Machine in one of the workshops, sewing the hems around sheets; baby's jumpsuits from when they came off the overlockers, lot's of new prison shirts to sew the sleeves, and in the winter we used to sew Blankets.
Now there was a handful of Wardens that I got to talk to from time to time, now here are a few of those moments I had talking to some of them. No names have been said on purpose, so you will just have follow the numbers of the screws as they come up in turn.

SCREW No 1 This screw at first seemed mean, knew his job back to front and wouldn't take any crap from you. But after a couple of months I noticed he just seemed to be a lonely and sort of nervous person. As he always had his pocket-knife out and was cutting at bit's of wood from the Workshop wood section. One day I said, Sir, is something troubling you? After about 10 minutes silence, he began talking again. Well, about 43 years ago, me and my wife were married in Sydney. Then he had a set of twin boys and everything seemed fine.
For many years I was a Government Bus Driver, driving the people around on all the different runs the bus took. You used to meet lot's of friendly faces on your rounds and the pay was good. But one doesn't really talk about that when you like the place of your work.
Then he was in a bus accident while still working, and ended up in one of the local hospitals for treatment, as the bus left the road and smashed through one of the shop windows. He was in hospital for six months and a bit, before he was allowed to go home. But then things got a bit sticky, as he wanted to go back to driving buses again, but the Government said no, but we'll pay for the hospital costs, but we can't allow you back into our buses as a driver again, as the Department feels the accident six months ago was your fault, and not the other car involved at the time.
Well this screw had about $25-30 thousand put aside (him and his wife) for a rainy day. So he thought he would take the Department (The Transport Department, now called State Transit Authority) to the Courts and claim Compo or something. The Court case just didn't last weeks, but 3 months. Costing him $21,000 in costs and the claim was rejected by the Court, as they believed the Transport Department's side on the written statements.
Soon after this, as both his twin sons now 21 years old, wanted to go up North to where the fruit picking jobs were (as they both were the outside type really) so he gave them his blessing and they were both gone by the end of the week. Then the fights started to happen between him and his wife, as he started to hit her across the face and then he knew I'd just have to get out there and find another job somewhere in the workforce.
So then he got a job as a Prison Officer. He thought by acting mean towards the inmates, he could truely hide that way he was feeling inside. Here he was, a prison officer, no children living at home anymore as they went out in search of work, and the pay was poor for the amount of danger involved in their work. His wife was just about to leave him, and he didn't really know what was the next step to take. He didn't really get on with the other prison wardens, as he was very snappy and short tempered.
He was telling me, that he had this great large rockpool of Goldfish that he had built in his spare time over a period of six months. He could remember putting every rock and stone into place, as he said he thought the work was going to be easy, but it turned out harder towards the end. But he said the finished result was something to see (he showed me a photo of it at the time) and it made him feel very proud.
It was later on in the afternoon shift when I saw him again, and we could get somewhere out of earshot. We began our talk again. This time I said that I maybe well out of line, but if you don't really need the money from this job, and you are close to receiving the age-pension anyway, walk out or give them whatever time notice the Department needs, then you're out. As you said to me, that your wife hasn't really spoken to you since taking this job on, so show her how much you love her, and leave this place, take some money from your bankbook and take her away on some holiday for a break, it's up to you, the balls in your court now.
Now to this day, I never saw him again, as he must of just walked out and not have given notice to the department or whatever he done, he must have sorted out some of his problems by now.


SCREW No 2  This bloke seemed quite happy in his job and at some stage, came here from England on a holiday and then stayed. He was living out near Campbelltown and travelling back and forth by car every day, and it was getting a bit much for him, so he moved from his flat and into another flat in Goulburn, not too far from the prison as it turned out, and so now he could do somemore overtime if he wanted to.
He told me how one of the inmates (one of the jail heavies) once tried to bribe him to help him escape. As it was well known that this inmate was in for Armed Robbery and had plenty of money on the outside, and if he'd help he's be paid by mail to the amount of $5000 by cheque. Then the inmate became sort of threatening to him saying, you'd better do what I say or I'll have you fixed up good from the outside. A little concerned, the warder a half-hour later, went to the Governor's office to report what was said to him, as he didn't want any part in it.
Well, at about 1a.m. about a dozen screws went to this armed-robbers cell, and got this inmate out of his cell still undressed, and gave him a shocking beating on the way through to the police-wagon, as he was being transferred to the Parramatta Jail and then onto Long Bay Jail to face some charges at Court, as the warder charged him and the prisoner received 2 more years onto the top of his along long sentence he was serving.
Even though I found the warden good-natured to talk to, he would never bend the rules for you. It was by the book all the way.
He was telling me that on Tuesday and Wednesdays (his two days off) he would go and have a game of Lawn Bowls, at the local green. As he found this sport relaxing and met some good friends there. He used to mag on about this sport for hours sometimes, and then he's have to go off to another post on duty at another part of the prison. There was a time back then, that he mentioned something about saving up enough money to by a middle-sized boat, so he could just go and expore some of many different places around us by water. He wanted to boat around and visit places like New Zealand: Tassie; Singapore; Sri Lanka and not to really travel too far out to sea, in case anything might go wrong with the boat.
We became pretty good mates really, well as far as warder/inmate relations go. And I surpose he's still there at Gouldburn, saving for the boat he was then dreaming about.


SCREW No 3  This bloke was very quite, but knew the rules. The first time I started to talk with this bloke, the reply would be, haven't you something to do 401, if not, I'll soon find you a yardbroom that needs moving.
Anyway, it was four weeks later, when I was just walking up and down in the yards, as I didn't want to attend the movies this time, as there was a Western showing, and I surpose I hate them and I would rather be in the yards doing nothing, than having to sit through that trash. 

Well what do you know, here was screw No 3 on yard duty for the day, there was only 1 other inmate in the yard at the time, and he was fast asleep in the sun at the other end of the yard. And the other 60 or so inmates were inside the hall watching the movie, so I thought now was a good time to have a chat with this warden. So I went over and just started talking to him, hello I'm 401, and thought you could do with a friend or something, as if I'm speaking out of turn, I'll just keep on walking up and down in the yard as before.
And he said, no, wait-up (as I had turned back and was just about to walk again) perhaps it would be better to tell someone who doesn't know who I am, and get it off my chest.
About two years ago, when he first got this job, from the Department, like most jobs there was the paperwork to fill out, but he had to lie on his, as he was Homosexual. And if you tell the truth about this matter, you won't be allowed to work in these places, as he needed the money. Even if you, 401, went and dobbed me in to the Governor, I'd be finished. But then I held my hand up to him and said, listen Fred, I won't bung you in so stop worrying on that issue. And besides, you still have not told me what's really bugging you, that's if you really wish to do so. Because remember fella, I'm not really a threat to you, because at 4p.m. I'm locked back in my cell with a 200-pound steel door slammed shut behind me, we don't get to see a newspaper or use the telephone, as you well know. Then you walk out there through those double-gates and get in the car and drive yourself home. So don't look at me as a threat.
Then he very slowly, explained the matters troubling him. He was living in a 3 bedroom unit above some bottleshop in Goulburn, with 5 other homosexuals, all within a couple of years difference in age from each other.
What was starting to worry him was, some of the other guys were bringing home other (male) mates from the pub, for group-sex meetings (all homosexuals) and he himself was gang-banged by 5 blokes that he didn't even know, and now just wanted everyone out of his unit.
But the problem was (not so much the gang-banging by five) but that he wanted to throw out his other homosexual room mates that were paying rent for the flat. As his proof (dare I say the word) room mates were bigger and stronger than him, and he was afraid to ask them to leave, for he thought that they might become sort of violent over this matter. So I said, you are right, as if you go to the police and take out some sort of restraining order out against them or something, then the department could find out through the coppers that you are homosexual, and then you can kiss the prison job good-bye, because remember, that at the start you lied to them, and you know the way they always feel about the couple of homosexual inmates in here now, they's just sack you on the spot soon as they found out about it.
So I thought he should just put up their rent too high and maybe they'd get pissed-off and look for somewhere cheaper. Or wait till the lease is up, and move to somewhere else to rent, not telling your five mates where you are moving to, and presto, they have gone and are out of your hair.
Next thing I knew, this screw No 3 had asked for a transfer for work outside Goulburn Training Centre, as he felt it was time for a change. Then I found myself called up to the Governor's office, now 401, you were seen talking to officer XXXXXX last Saturday afternoon, whilst the pictures were on, what did the officer say or you to him. Nothing sir, we were just talking matters about the football game coming up on the Sunday, that was all, sir. You may go 401, don't need you now.
Never did give his secret away, otherwise it would have his job. He must of went to Sydney or up North, as I didn't see him again after that. But he did tell me this, that he was tired of the homosexual scene, and wanted to become straight like everyone else, as he was going to see his doctor about who to go to for treatment.


SCREW No 4  You'll like this screw as he was a Scott. he was married for over 35 years and had four children he was very fond of.
His first Son was 21 now and has moved to Melbourne due to his work committments, and got married soon after to an Australian girl, whom he had met at one of his friends' party's, six months later dad and mum found themselves driving down for the wedding. They were married at a little church somewhere around Brunswick, he thinks it was a Baptist Church, but things went alright at the time besides the size of the church. As they invited 85 people and their children along, and we managed to get them all in OK. he can remember the day well, not only because of his first Son's wedding, but because it was a very hot day, outside it was 35 degrees in the shade.
The younger son, 19, was in Sydney staying with friends of the family, while he attends the University. His son was studying at the University of New South Wales at Kingsford, on Anzac Parade. He was still in his first year and wa studying to be a Electrician.
His wife was not in payed work at the moment, as she had her hands full with the other 2 children in 1st and 2nd year and of course doing the house-work as well.
He was saying to me, that he has sort of green fingers. The Rose garden out the back was his special place, and not another pair of hands were allowed in that certain patch of ground. Not even the wife, without his permission.
He seemed happy with his two youngest children, who were doing very well at School, getting good reports back from all the teachers. As they really liked going to school and kept very neat work for good marks. His wife used to tell him sometimes (as he came home too late from work) that they always studied their homework on time every week, as they were proud at their results. To his kids, the Education Department was the best thing since sliced bread. As there was always lots to learn and a place to see all your playmates each week.
This Scott once told me, he was only doing that sort of job now, for the security of it, to house and help support his whole family.


SCREW No 5  Now this screw didn't used to say very much, but when he did, it was sharp and to the point. He used to work for North Sydney Municipal Council, and could only tell me of his duties. Administering of Ordinances covering littering. Obstructions. Parking and Tree Planting. Patrolling the Municipalty to carry our dog impounding duties and conducting public education regarding the responsibilities of the dog owners.
He was working for the Council job for 12 years, and pulling up his trouser leg, showed me a few bite marks from the different dogs he was trying to catch.
Once he was telling me, that at the time he was Dog catching, he can remember one case very clearly. As he was called to a front yard at an address in North Sydney that had some large dogs going mad at people walking by on the footpath, just in front of the house's front fence. When he got out of the car, both dogs attacked at his legs, snapping at his right leg. At first he didn't think he was biten, as he could feel no pain. But then he could see the blood (his blood) on the footpath and he simply just passed out. When he had come to a short while later, he was at North Shore Hospital, a little woozy for wear. After a couple of more hours sleep, he had a visit from his boss from the north sydney council. He was allowed 2 weeks off work, any longer and he would have to think of sueing the dog owners for Compo, for the time lost away from your employment.
Bye the way, as the two dogs in question were both shot dead, as when the police got to the house, they both went to attack at their necks to kill. So the Offices quickly drew their service guns and fired at the dogs, using two bullets.
The North Sydney Council and him both claimed against the dog owner for the Compo, but were knocked back.
There was one other time, that he had the privilege of being called out to a block of flats, to remove a dog from the building. A large dog somehow had got into the building, through the bottom locked doors. When he got there, there was no-one waiting outside to meet him, so he went to push the door open to enter, but found that it was indeed locked. Then one of the intercom speakers on the wall bounced into life, and a woman's voice said, the dog's in the second hallway and could you please remove the dog and have the dog put away.
The door then swung open, so he went in to remove the dog. He saw the dog, but it wouldn't let him near it at all. So he went back to the small van to get some meat, that was doped with sleeping pills to make the dog sleep for about 3 hours. Enough time to get the dog back to base, in a cage and ready for whatever comes next.


CHAPTER 5
It was about this time that the riot was becoming closer between the Australian Aborigines (jail-term the black bastards) and the Australian white-fella. This war between inmates has been growing bitter for years, and was just about to come to an end this weekend. There was a number of inmates making home-made guns in the metal workshop; another few inmates studing charts of the jails Electricity supply, to cut the power of when the battle begun.
Every little detail had been planned very carefully, even the dummy fights in the yard to devert the real attention off the tower guards that had the guns to our right.
Anyway, it was now only 2 days to go, and one of the Dogs (someone who rattles on you or someone else or for something) thought everyone was planning a mass escape bid, but this had nothing to do with anyone escaping, but there might of been a lot of blood lost before the day was out, but that was all. So this (dog) went to the Governor's office and told him everything he knew. And on the Saturday morning, the inmates were locked into their cells for a bit longer than normal, as the screws went through all the workshops to try and find the weapons there, they fund the 4 home-made guns and the cross-bows, and the many hundreds of other weapons that was hidden there for the purpose for the fight.
Because one couldn't hide such weapons in the cell, as there was very little hiding places one could hide things, as that was the way the cells were designed.
About a month after this, two of the jail's heavies,who were serving long sentences and didn't have very much to loose. Said it was about bloody pay-back time for that (dog) who stopped our plans last month on the fight, so they feed something together with one of the screws they knew who was a little bent, to set this bloke up with these two inmates in the metal shop when nobody else was around to hear the screams.
The next moment there was a loud scream, as they cut off 3 of his toes from the left foot, with an axe, leaving him there on the floor screaming out for help. But the gringer machine was already turned on to down out his screams, so nobody could hear him for now. Afterwards he was taken to the jails hospital, then transferred to the Gouldburn Base Hospital. It was learnt that afterhis toes were sowed back on again, that he might'nt be able to walk again properly, if they didn't respond again to the surgeon's surgery.
I didn't see this inmate again, as he must of been transferred from the hospital straight to Long Bay or Parramatta Prison. As the prisoner would of been put under tight protection under the jail wardens, as his life would be threatened now, no-matter where or what prison he was housed in. As the prison information system works very quickly, as within about 2 days, all jails would be told of this bloke and his life wouldn't be worth $10:00 in NSW as of then. As it was very well known, that if you had a contract out on you (from the inside I mean) and if the screws slipped in their job and security dropped a touch, you could find yourself dead.
For the next couple of years, the jail system moved along the same way as it had done for many years, with the fortnightly stabbing or out of the blue a hanging from a cell window or wing landing jump.
Next thing Gouldburn was starting to come into winter, and it can become icey cold down in those yards with no protection from the winds. Each night you have to take up a jug of cold water with you, so you would have drinking water for overnight and in the morning. As the cell water pipes run along the wing (building) outside walls, and during the night when the pipes freeze up, they stay frozen till about 10:30-11:00 later that day.
So with two more years up my sleeve until my parole date was due, I thought I would use some strategy. So I went to the Governor's office, to lodge an application form for a Correspondence Course on Mathematics and English, from the NSW Education Department. Well within a couple of weeks my application got the OK from the department and they sent me my first lot of documents to study and go through. (Here's my strategy). I went to the Governor's office, asking if I could be locked back in my cell again so I could study inside, as the yard is too busy with inmates and I'd get a lot more done this way. So the Governor said yes, and I had my permission granted. For the first few weeks, I studied long and hard at the paper work lessons with the screws checking in on me every couple of hours. But after a while as i was in a pattern now, and they used to check up on me less and less often, as they knew why I was there in my cell.
Well, it was now in the middle of winter and today when I was locked in, I'd thought I would try climbing back into the warm bed blankets and keep warm. As I knew the wardens wouldn't be back to get me for 3 hours or more till lunchtime. This idea worked, so one day I'd stayed up and done my study and the next I'd be in bed where it was warm. But remember this was on the weekends that I was locked in my cell, as the other five days was work as normal.
My Correspondence Course documents went out in large yellow envelopes, and were sent to some education department teacher for marking, and this person would put his/her comments at the end of each lesson to let me know what his/her views (in the work books) of my work and of how she thought it was going and how to improve on my previous mistakes.
As weeks went on by, I could see my work improving greatly, and I was getting more good marks back.
I had a year to go before my parole came up.
Anyway trouble was coming up again (which I didn't need or wanted) as the prisoners had formed a sort of committee with a spokeman to speak on behalf of them. He went and saw the Governor in his office, to explain that more than 70% of the inmates had made complaints about the jail food served in the past 4 weeks or so. The Governor answered, I'm sorry but there is nothing I can do about that, the department won't let me change the prisoner's food menu, so that was that.
So this (kangaroo committee) meeting met in the yards and it was voted on 100 to 40 that we have a non-violent sit-in tomorrow night, on the count at muster.
At 4p.m. muster the next day, the whistle went for us to line-up but this time nobody moved, as everyone remained seated, the whole 6-8 yards of prisoners. As you had to remember, that it wasn't done thing to go against the prisoners rules as they could never be broken.
Then you'd see the screw bellow from the top of his voice. What's the story, didn't you hear the whistle blow, it is time to go inside. But everyone reamined seated on the ground, and the prisoners committee said that after 2 hours we'd all just stand and be ready to return to our cells, as our point would become quite clear by then. Then there was screws running around everywhere taking counts and recounting heads to make sure we were all still in the yards or not.
Just after 6p.m., we all got up and stood on the yellow line, ready to go in now.
Like normal when there's been some trouble, we have to face a line-up between the yards and the Wing, this is when the screws would form a two-man like tunnel wide and 40-50 man long, and the inmates would have to walk or run (I preferred to run) down this while the screws bash you with their batrons as they would be holding you as they were waiting for you. You would have a few pains for a while (depends where and how hard that they got hold of you) but by the morning or the next day you would be alright again.
Remarkable enough, the very next day the food had improved to a good standard, and for now things returned to normal at the prison.
For the next six months there was no more trouble, and things sort of returned as the way they were, with only the normal stabbing or bashings that go on on every couple of days.
Next moment I was called to the Governor's office, and he told me that seeing that I had a good chance of getting my parole, I would be tomorrow going to be transferred to H.N. Cooma Prison.
So the next day with 5 other inmates as well, was off for the ride (another bumpy trip in the back of the "meat-wagon") to Cooma Prison.
This jail was ideal, as we all got a cell of our own (namely called one-out) but some inmates found it quite hard, as they were used to others around them most of the time, even when they were outside. This prison was Min. security and had no guard towers beaming down on you. There was a Recreation Room where the TV was, and the Pool Table and board-game cupboard, and down the hall we used to play Indoor Bowls, which I liked and at the time played well.
After about 3 months of being here at Cooma, one night I was upstairs with about 5 or 6 other inmates playing the indoor bowls, when we could hear some sort of trouble coming from downstairs. What happened was, some dangerous prisoners from a Queensland jail were being transferred to Sydney for Court and were here for the weekend (just the 2 days) as this being a friday night. Anyway, after the van had left and these inmates were downstairs and were about to be locked away, when one of them had a gun in his hand and fired it at one of the wardens, hitting him through the palm of the right hand. Then the prisoner was quickly overpowered and thrown into a bottom cell by himself. Now, we never saw these inmates that weekend, the only ones that would have seen them would have been the wing sweepers on duty at the time. But the inmates, whoever they were, changed the quite little system of Cooma. It was no longer 9 p.m. lock-up but 7:30 p.m. lock-up, and instead of the little number of wardens we had walking around the place, it was now a bloody army of them. The friendlyness went out of them, and as a matter of fact, on the Saturday, we were all kept locked in our cells 2-3 hours over the time to get out, while the screws were tightening up Security around the prison. We wouldn't see what was going on, but we knew something was going on, and it wasn't even our doing really.
These inmates were moved at 2:30 p.m. on the Tuesday morning, under heavy guards from S.W.O.S.S. or some other police back-up team, to take them away to wherever they were going. At a guess, I'd say there were about 6 of them.
Funny enough, security remained tight even though these inmates had been taken away and for the remainder of my time at Cooma was still in place.
There was a time that Ross wrote to me whilst I was still serving a prison sentence, in one of NSW Prisons, and said if I would like the flat where they are now (as Ross & Fiona had a few months before, promised me a room with a view for when I was released from the system) and they were indeed fixing up that room then for me to move into.
But then, Ross & Fiona had to write another letter with changed plans. But then fate crawls back into things doesn't it. But on the whole, I knew nobody was at fault.
The owner's of this Elizabeth Bay / Rushcutters Bay top floor unit, was going to return from overseas and wanted to move back into this large 2 bedroom unit once more. I can remember Fiona still going on about the long flight of steps that she had to climb up (as there wasn't any fancy lift) when lugging the weekly shopping and handbags and things at the end of the working day, that one doesn't need to trust their temper to the limit.
My Parole was coming up (when you come up for parole, a board of about 8 people whom you don't see, meet (without you) to discuss your file and decide if you should be released or not) and I was nervous to say the least. As I knew that this board had access to your whole police record, not just your current sentence records, but I thought this wasn't too fair as my previous crimes have been already paid for and shouldn't be judged on again.
Anyway, I received my letter saying that I could have my Parole, and would discharged from this institution on 1-10-78.
After walking through the prison gates and seeing my real taste of freedom for years. I was met a man call Ian M. who was going to drive me back to Sydney and I would be living at his house in Sydney.
Ian was married, who lived in Chippendale, near Redfern station. They had a Terrace house in Edward Street. It was a spacious and sunny two storey terrace. It's features are a pleasant surprise for those who want space, brightness and freshness. The home combines modern accommodation and traditional terrace features which included a new hostess kitchen, as new bathroom and internal laundry, separate lounge room and separate dining room, 3 bedrooms and a study. And a private leafy backyard just perfect for the family.
I found Ian M.'s terrace very good, and was one of the best places that I have ever stayed at before this, as all I used to see was small rooms to let, moving from room to room to get away from the police amongst other things. But you have to remember, when you are in those places renting out a room, you have to share the kichen (if the place has one, and not of them have) and the toilet with about 35 or so other people in the building renting other room as well. And sometimes when some them get so drunk and race to the shared toilet to sprew their guts up and to only miss by two foot and perk all over the bloody floor and of the course the toilet seat. And when somebody like me gets up in the middle of the night to go and have a wee-wee, one doesn't want to stand in a few inches or sit on someone else's chunder, do they.
I found his wife (Zita) very good and friendly, she was very kind to me and so was Ian for the matter.
But there were just a couple of loopholes, here and there that could be seen. Being in the Redfern / Chippendale area, we were living very close to the Aboriginal Settlement drop-in Centre, and Zita used to invite lots of these little Aboriginal children into the house for friendship / fellowship call it what you like, but from upstairs in my room with the door closed and three pillows across my fat head, I could still hear the little darlings' screams coming from the kitchen area of the house. The small aborigines didn't play up or smash anything, but it was their noise that I couldn't seem to stand, it just seemed to go straight through me.
A couple of months later (two) thanking Mr I. M. for allowing me to stay at the home, but I felt it was time that I now moved on to a room to let somewhere on my own.


I managed to score a one-bedroom unit out at Stanmore, in Cavendish Street (runs off Libert Street, Merchant Streets and Holt Street) and I couldn't believe what luck in the size this unit I had found was in price to let, it was within my budget and i could afford it, no worries.
After only a couple of hours of moving in, I raced down on my push-bike to see Ross & Fiona F. (my closest friends) at their unit in Arundel Street, Forest Lodge. I told Ross that I was thinking of applying for a Shooter's permit for a gun licence. He warned me not to and that I was making a wrong move this time, not to do this.
So what did this dickhead (me that refers to) go and do, rode straight to Newtown Police Station (my closest cop shop then) to apply for my shooters licence.
Some big fat policeman in charge came to the fronr bench. What's the problem? he said. No problem officer, I am here as I wish to know what to do to get a shooters permit from your station?
I filled out the application forms correctly, naming that I was still on parole and was seeing a parole officer, but was almost finished my parole date by then. The policeman stamped my papers and issed me with the shooters permit with 45 minutes of me first walking through the Newtown Police Station's front door. The only thing then was, I had to pay a $25 (I think it was that amount) fee for the permit. Then I free to leave.
The I headed straight for the Loan Office (or hock shop or pawn broker as some people known them by) as I know that this place sold and bought second hand guns. The Loan office was just up the road along King Street in Newtown, on the corner of Horden Street (but I only knew it as a lane because it was so small and narrow) right across Horden Streetwas a Hotel (what we commonly know these days as a pub) that the side of this hock shop used to just sit there and stare back at the street, because the small buildings were sort of facing one another.
Well, I went in to look around and to fix my eyes upon the guns in their racks, and to find out how much the different prices would be and then to work out how much I could afford to spend on my shopping spree. The bloke behind the counter in this prawn shop, went and got this what seemed to me a large rifle (air rifle) that was made by the German's back in the war sometime. Now this was a very high-powered air-rifle that was very, very hard to open up, but fired back with great gutso. The employer of the hock shop told me the air-rifle was selling for $170 and that he didn't accept cheques from anyone, it was to be paid out in cash, the same way as he pays the for the goods that the clients bring into him all the time. So I snatched out to my Commonwealth Bank Book to see how much money was sitting in the account and was pleased to learn that I had enough money in it to cover for what I wanted. So I raced across King Street to the Commonwealth Bank, go inside, write out all the details on the boring pink slip of paper and join the 30 or so other people crammed together in the long file (like sheep) waiting for the next teller to be free. And it just makes you wonder, that when you pass the 14-16 other tell windows (with the teller please, sign on them) why they were empty as you passed them. Why can't they be serving the customers as well, or do they have to be on show and were made by mistake by the builders in the Government contract when they were first doing the plans of that bank. Well, it must of been Pension week or something, every old lady and bloke was telling the teller that they wanted their money 4 x $5 or $3 or 5 cent coins which made the teller even slower, well it seemed that way for those people at the other end of the line like me, that thought I'd never get to the front of the line to be served.
At last, I had the money in my little hot hand, and I was off out of that silly bank and back to the Loan Office, frieghtened that within that 45 minutes that I was stuck in the bank (from people taking fat too long to do their business) that someone might have gone in and purchased my rife with the cash needed. Well, no such horror happened. I returned to the Loan Office, and the employee behind the counter started to write out the receipt, asking me my name and address, and if I was interested in a couple of rounds of ammo (pellets). The Rifle was concealed with something or other, and I was off back to my new unit at Stanmore.
I was now back in my unit, just feeling the gun, getting used to its power and the weight as it was a bit heavy to be comfortable, but that didn't seem to bother me very much after a while. I was half-way down the hallway of the unit, playing battlefield, swinging the still unloaded rifle around at the bedroom then back around to the back door, as though someone was trying to bust in and I'd blow them away....tat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat.
After a while, I got one on the chairs from the kitchen, and put it down the hallway towards the door, my front door, with a very large cut of timber that I had found out in the street a few hours before that some builder or handyman must of thrown out and didn't want anymore. I put this piece of wood on the chair and used it as a sort of target range from inside my flat with the doors closed. I didn't get any complaints from the neighbours, so I reckoned that they must not have heard the shots fired into the wooden board. I played this strange game for about 2 hours then became too tired and then put the gun away (fully loaded) beside the door near the stairs in the corner of the kitchen.
About 7pm that night, I walked to the Enmore shops to get the newspaper or something, and was returning to my unit from the Cavendish Lane end (as this was a sort of shot cut home from those group of shops) and as I walking up the lane by myself, this car was stopped a bit further up the lane with a group of people gathered around it with both the driver and passenger doors open, and somebody put the strong car high-beam headlights on and almost blinging me, no doubt this blinding light worried me, so I yelled out to them to shut them off that I couldn't see very well, and someone from beyond those bright lights threw a 5 Litre Cherry Bottle at me, only missing me by inches. They were speaking in non-English words that I could not understand, except for a few of the more common ones, like Go and get your fucked english words, nothing else I could undertsand was said.
Well, Allan Peter was boiling over by this stage, so on the double, I raced back to the unit for the gun, as I knew the gun would settle this matter once and for all. So quick as lightling, I raced up to the kitchen to get the rifle and get the box of ammo incase I missed a few times, and ran back down into the back lane and the bloody car was still there.
The Rifle was still loaded, so I pointed the rifle towards the highbeam of the car, and fired and reloaded and fired again, not being able to see anything. I thought I had only hit the wodden fence pailings that ran along beisde the car, so I then went back up to my unit as I didn't know what else to do for the moment, and sat down on the bed for a few minutes, to try and sort things out in my head. I found myself still sort of fired up, so I reloaded the rifle and put it in the corner of the kitchen (its resting place) and went out to try and find a public telephone box (this unit didn't have the phone on) around the corner near the Enmore shops, just this side of the Post Office.
I was going to ring Ross, he's my friend, he'll be able to calm me down, so I telephoned his home address in Forest Lodge. But when he answered the phone, I was so hot headed about everything, that Ross explained that I should go for a very long walk, and he repeated the long walk to me twice. But after leaving the telephone box, I caught some flashing red lights just down the street, so I went down to sticky beek, and all of a sudden different people that was in the back lane a little while ago, but was now standing at the front of their house where the Ambulance was parked on the footpath, treating somebody that I couldn't see from where I was standing then. So, bloody hell...I must have hit him with one of the pellets from the rifle...but I still couldn't really believe that he was actually hit by my pellets, as I thought I was too far away from where the car was, when I was there in the lane when it was dark, to have struck anything.
Fearing the worst...and the fact I could very well face Long Bay Jail again, there was no two ways about it. Running back down and up to the shops, and back around into Liberty Street, before returning to the corner of Cavendish Street, looking down it seemed the coast was clear, no coppers, so I raced back to my flat to get my pushbike to ride over to Arundel Street to visit Ross, as I was scared and I didn't know really what else to do from there.
Ten minutes later, I was knocking on Ross' door, as by now it was about 9:30p.m. so he let me in, we both sat down, and I explained the whole story to him as he wrote out the statement to help for later on. It was about twenty minutes later that Ross informed the police what had happened and that I was at his address.
Ross then drove me over to the Newtown Police Station at Newtown (which happens to be the closest cop shop to Enmore) and from then on I was formerly charged with the shooting and lost the shooter's licence at the same time into the bargin, for firing in a public place. Then I had to worry about the charge of "malicious wounding" with the air rifle. After a couple of hours, I found that the police had granted me bail, and they gave me the bail papers to sign and I think there was three of them in all, and I found myself walking away from the Newtown station, giving myself instructions that in just two weeks time I had to appear before the Castlereagh Street, Courts, Court One, 4th floor, at 302 Castlereagh Street, in the City of Sydney.
Two weeks later, I went as I was expected to do, to Court One, 4th floor at 302 Castlereagh Street, Sydney. I was there before 9:30a.m. because I didn't want any errors happening at this stage, at least not being late for Court, as everyone knows that everything is recorded and taken down on the record, and things were looking bad enough as they were right now, without me adding anymore to the list. Because I was very, very worried that this time I may be sent back to prison and I already knew that I hadn't been out all that long now, and just wanted a fair go.
Well, anyway, in the court my case eventually came up sooner than I would have liked it to. The only thing on my side was, that the fact that I indeed had the New South Wales Shooter's Licence, and the fact thatthe Police at Newtown gave me the Licence knowing full well that I had a criminal record and was released from prison only a matter of two months beforehand. A number of matters were taken into account and a lot of things were said that I really didn't fully understand, and then everyone had a break for lunch until about 2p.m.
At 2p.m. the court room was back in action, but when things got under way again, I found it hard to hear the Judge (or any other offical for that matter) because of the constant bloody talking from where the members of the public can sit at the back to listen and hear different cases appearing before the Court.
I ended up with a 4-year good-behavior bond, and they ( the court) said that if I appeared up before them again before the expire date, it was hello Long Bay Jail for me.
Some of my close friends, thought the punishment for me was a bit too long, but I found myself "not" appealing the sentence handed down to me. For I was just counting my lucky stars, that at that very moment I was not standing in "B-Wing" inside the Long Bay prison and wondering who's cell I'd be sharing with (and believe me there is no choice) for the next couple of years.
Very soon later and later on the same day of leaving the Castllereagh Street Court Building, I managed to find a place to live, so my name wouldn't be filed under "no fixed address" anymore.
After scanning through the two Newspapers. The Sydney Morning Herald and The Telegraph, I managed to spot "a room to let" in the Newtown area, close to the trains and shopping centre.
I went to the advertised address at Watkin Street, and an old man answered the front door, who as it turned out was the sort of caretaker and collected the rents each week for the landlord of the place. And the room to let was the large front room on the ground floor, I liked what I saw, and took the room for $30.50 a week rent.
It was a neat sort of place really. The house (two storey) contained 3 rooms upstairs and 2 downstairs and right at the back of the place beside the (very dirty but shared kitchen) and mine room which was near the front door.
Out the front was the little wire fence that ran along the Watkin Street footpath, our house's sort of half-attempted "green-garden" came to a small cerment path that ran along just past my front room window and ended at the side wall and at the gas meter box. I tried to grow little plants in outside pots that sat on the window ledge outside my window, one to the left and the other one far right, but in the end nothing seemed to grow for me.
As you go through the very large and quite heavy dark red door, you pass my room to the left hand side. Coming down to the hallway to the right are the stairs that take you upstairs, but we'll come back to them in a minute. Just ducking around the stairs to the left and keep walking you come to the quite dust broom closet, turn left and can see the lounge room with a couple of chairs (that no-one ever used while I was there) then about a metre, turn left and you have the back door to the side passage that leads out to the backyard. Now out in the backyard was quite small, but narrow and sort of long, compared to most backyards you see around in the inner-city blocks. Walking to the end of the backyard, you'll hit the back wooden fence, turning to your right, you will see our outside dunny brickhouse (yes that means outside toilet) which was cold to walk out toin the middle of winter I don't mind telling you as the loo was near the fence. Turning around and walking back towards the back of the house and veer left of the little brick path, then you will end up at the lounge room window and left to the back door again. After going through the back door, turn a sharp left and you'll find the small grubby kitchen that five residents there had to share, and across the small kitchen was somebody's room (as it must of been a sort of small pantry a long time ago) where anyone was cooking or washing up, he'd cop the smells and all the noise as well.
Moving on back through the kitchen and longe-room, turn left again and we are back to the stairs. Running up the stairs, you first have the small bathroom, with bath and shower. Right next door to the bath-room was another tiny rented room and turning right and down the hallway to the end was yet another door which was the second-last rented bedroom. And turning around and walking back down the hall and down some steps, right turn, and up the remaining four or five steps to the last bedroom in the house. The one directly above mine, but this was the largest room in the place and by far the best, as this one had gas and a stove and hot and cold water with a sink as well in his bedroom. And you would not believe it, it was not the room the old bloke who was collecting the rents had, he was renting the tiny bedroom next to the bathroom along the hall upstairs. Why the old man choose such a crummy room I never was able to find out, and I always wondered why he didn't move down into the front room (the second largest in the house) the room that I ended up renting.
Back down to the front door, turn right and there is room one. Allan Peter's room. It was sort of medium bedroom, I surpose you could say, with a large window to the left hand side as you enter, a very large fireplace was against the far wall as you walk in, the rest of the room was quite bare really, with only a cupboard to put my clothes in and a white chest of drawers in the far corner of the room. The house was about six houses away from the Railway line and just around the corner and across the road was the MacDonaldtown Station, not a good place to catch your train at nights, as then the station is not manned until the next day. Just five minutes walk left up the other way into any one of the many cross streets, is King Street, Newtown.
Getting away from the house for a bit now. There is now something that I just have to tell you about, but remember that the bottom end of Watkin Street (my end) went into a shape of an J as you had to turn left, because the railway western railway lines running between MacDonaldtown and Newtown stations was right there. 
Back to what I wanted to say. It was sort of about 8p.m. on a Saturday evening, and I was out the backyard in the toilet when the next minute there was this great big smashing sound out the front and then all you could hear was the sound of the car horn continuing sounding non-stop. Wanting to find out what's coming down here, as "nothing" even happened down out neck of the woods. Up went the jeans, and at world champion speed, and I raced the front to find what happened. Some car came speeding down the our street doing about 70, so the police said, and keep on going right through the thick wire state rail fence and onto the second railway track, before crashing on impact, the person was knocked out and learning over the steering wheel, and that was what the sound of the horn was about. But the rest of us worried about the car, as the railway tracks, just past our little block of houses, on a very sharp bend  (sort of a blind spot if you like) and we was concerned that this car would get hit side on by an in-coming train (express) on this western busy line, heading back to central Station.
Now I didn't get up to very much at this place, as being on the dole and not having very much cash to splash around. I spend a lot of my time at home or visiting friends whom I knew who lived in the same street, or lived close by.
From time to time, the silly old bugga upstairs (the old fella who collects the rent) and me would have goes at each other. Every morning about 7a.m. this old bloke used to sweep the hallway carpet from the lounge-room to the front door, banging his bloody straw broom against the door as to try and wake me up, as he'd know I would still be in the bunk. So I would get even, as I would have a bath, and make sure that the bath took a long time to fill-up. And run down to my room and gulp down a tin of "Bake-Beans" for my ammo, then go up and have my bath. Then when I am laying back there in the bath under the water, and when everything was nice and peaceful about 9:30p.m. and then I'd let out these continious loud farts from under the water, and you'd should have seen my face. I was laughing so much the tears was rolling down my face. You see, the old man's room had a very thin sheet of timber as a wall, which also doubled as the bathroom wall, as the littlest movement made in there, otherwise he was able to hear every sound clearly.
Once I tried to follow the old man when he went on one of his daily walks, nobody really knew (well nobody from our place) where he went to, so on this day. I got on my pushbike and thought I'd follow and try and find out. But he turned around, and kept throwing different rocks and stones back at me, so I thought fair enough, where you go is your business, and I went on back to my room again. After that, I never tried to follow him again.
Ross and Fiona P. moved from the Elizabeth Bay / Rushcutters Bay address to go to a small flat at the back of the Church Rectory in Arundel Street, Forest Lodge. I can remember they both worked very hard fixing things at the small flat (the unit was in a bad condition from being empty and nobody was living in it for so long) and everything seemed to me to have worked out alright for them. And I knew that from the bedroom was located in the building, and the fact that Ross does his studies late into the night, was easy for me to contact him sort of quickly, if I needed his help for anything that might come up. As I only had to walk under his window and call up to him to talk to me. But if the room light was out, and my business wasn't very important, I would wait until the following day, as I wouldn't wake-up people once they have retired for the night, when I would find Ross at the Moore College Library where he would have his head buried in his work that he was studying over, and he would normally take some time out to see me, greatful to give me some of his study time a miss for twenty minutes.
I can clearly remember going around to Moore Colleges' library to visit Ross through the week, when as a sort of joke, I hid one of his text books that he was studying from and hid the book down this massive large shelves of thousands of other books the same colour, and after sloting the book into one of the same cabinets, colour, jacket and everything. My aim wasn't really to loose the book as I did indeed do, but a little time afterwards I was to get the text book and return it with his study books at his desk. So after this prank of mine, I didn't hide anything again. And it was from that time onwards that I learnt of how important these books for different subjects of study are to different people. Needless to say that I had more respect for students why study at Moore College, especially the students whom I know and who know me.
Ross would study for very long hours in the day at home, as well, well into the late evening. At this time I was living at Watkin Street, Newtown, renting the room, down near the railway line end, and with the help of my push-bike, I would cut-through the Sydney University grounds and it would take me say ten minutes to ride there once crossing the busy King Street of Newtown to start with. With the only point that I needed to get off the bike was when I reached the Parramatta Road overhead bridge, as there was steps there that led you to either Parramatta road University Site or the Glebe side of the Parramatta road, then I'd carry my push-bike quickly down to the street and tear off towards the direction that Ross was staying at.
It was at this point in my life that I thought that I knew Ross & Fiona P. inside out, as we'd spend a lot of time together over the years. Shared the sorrows that have happened in my life and theirs, and of course that means the times I've been in trouble with the police force (because I knew they don't like the term cops or pigs so I won't mention those words) when my tempter has gotten the better of me. Or I have done some foolish act again, and needed thier help to get me out of it again.
Yes dear people, I thought Ross & Fiona P. were the "perfect couple" and that I had never seen or heard them do or say anything out of place, yes today's Adam and Eve, and one that God would have been very proud to look over and have as a mirror of his image. Well, my perfect friends in the sight of God lasted for a few months (meaning that I had never came around at the night time to wittness both of them fighting) when on s Saturday evening at about 8:30p.m. (I remember this well, as it hit me like a bolt of lightning) as without notice I just turned up at their place and I guess that they were in the middle of a fight that looked like it had just begun and I just turned around outside into the courtyard darkness with tears in my eyes, as I could see my two perfect friends' marriage was just about to collapse into pieces forever. Well, at the time, that's the on the spot view that I was seeing, the loving kind and caring people with now such hurtful words for each other, as I rode my push-bike back to my room that I was renting at the time, just wondering if this was the last I'd see of them as married. Of course, it was just another of life's lessons that I'd learnt and that it was in fact of life that most married people do have fights from time to time. It might be a good time here to mention, that the fight that I mentioned a few lines back was a very long time ago now, and I think that Ross and Fiona would be hard pressed to remember that night now. But I can say that it must of been an act of God, to just let me know that my friends were just like everybody else in the street, across the road or on the bus, nobody is without sin and just perfect, except of course God alone.
About 6 months before I left this house in Newtown, they found the bloke living before me dead in his room, he died froma massive stroke. His room was cleaned and cleared of his personal belongings and was relet within 2 weeks.
Some red headed bloke took the room, and at first we became pretty good friends and I was calling him "Bluey". But he end up a boozer, kept forgetting his front door key, knew I was in the front ground floor room, and used to bang on the bloody window at 3a.m. to let him in the front door. This ended up a regular thing about twice a week, so in the end I got out of there, and boy was I sick of living on the ground floor of a place.
I had lived at Watkin Street for about 5 years before I moved, it wasn't a bad area to live.
Then I found a room that was for rent down the end of Glebe Point Road, with the help from some very close and dear friends of mine who owned a van.
The room was "upstairs" and was very large, slightly bigger than the one back at Newtown. The price was $40:00 a week, so I took the room of course. I moved all my belongings to there the following day, as I remember it well, it was pelting down rain and I got soaked to the skin helping the removalist move some of the boxes upstairs to the room.
This place was located down near the water end of Glebe Point Road, right next door to Max Factor Building. The landlord (which lived at the bottom level at the rear end of the same house) was Chinese and aged abput 62 years and his wife was about 60 years of age and they had a 3 or 4 year old boy. It made paying the rent sort of simple, as either he or the wife was home most of the time.
The only fault that I could pick with this joint would be their cooking smells. Being Chinese, once or twice a week they'd cook this "Fish" which really stunk the bloody whole house out. And if I didn't race over and close my window shut tight, then race on back over to close the bedroom door with two wet towels as a solid door stop, to stop the smell from creeping in under the door. Otherwise the smell woud just hang around for days, and believe me there was nothing worse to suffer over.
There were five other tenents. One was in the room down the hall to the front (Glebe Point Road end) and the second was back down the hall closer to the shared kitchen, that I thought was very small, and in fact was one of the smallest rooms I've seen in a long time. The third and fourth, rooms were shared by two Sisters, who were tucked away out the back and around the corner to the back of the house, they had a sort of flat, which was located just past the Bathroom, which was around there and not in the house like most households. The two Sisters had their own private kitchen area, from there was another doorway which lead into their bedroom. The fifth tennent was myself.
Now my room faced towards the North at the sort of side middle of the house, looking out the window, I could see the backyard of the place next door and the brick path leading from the back door to the small backyard of our place, both at the back wall (the wall of some factory) and the side wall to the left hand side (that I couldn't see from my room, because of the side of the building I was in and how far down I was) was the Max Factor Company building which was something like six floors high up.
Not being able to see the bathroom from my room, sometimes it was hard to know if it was being used or not. But after a while, I got to know the different sounds of the water pipes, and soon learnt the right sound of the one connected to the bathroom at the back, which was helpful in the middle of winter when your walking down there for a shower, knowing that you didn't have to turn around and come all the way back to your room again with nothing on but the towel wrapped around you.
Well one time, I came home and found that someone was using the shower (because I could hear the water pipe which ran along under my window ledge) and so went to check out on who. The one down the hall was home, the fella near the kitchen was home, the other bloke was out but I knew he never used the shower before 8 p.m., so it must be one of the sisters. Now he bathroom had an old door which had an old fashioned keyhole shaped like an 8, and if you stuck your eye up to the top hole, carefully, trying not to bump the very large  door handle which sort of stuck out, and looked in you could see the person under the shower (there was no screen or curtain) straight ahead of you.
How lucky it runed out, it was one of the sisters. She seemed quite strange, as instead of having a shower, she was deep in the middle of masterbating herself and was sitting down on the concerete floor with the shower still running onto her. Well, not to say the least, I saw her again and again for about four times. But Mr Bigshot here, started to be a bit too cocky, over stepped my step and lost my balance while watching her play with herself and crashed into the bloody door handle. The following day whan I came down and around the back to have my shower, the landlord must have plugged up the hole with cement or something because the hole was no more. Well, that was the end of that!
I had to keep my room sort of simple as I was on the dole, and like lots of other people didn't have much in their room. I had Record-Cassette player that I bought from Grace Brothers in the corner of the room, and a couple of hand-me-down chest of drawers (and I was grateful for anything that was given to me) a small Dick Smith Computer and a TV and I had my bed in the other corner under the window. I bought the bed from someone ( a close friend) for just $5:00 when he moved from his largeAshfield house to Wilson Street, Chippendale, Sydney.
As luck would have it, I lived at this place in Glebe Point Road for about 6 years or so.


Now comes a change in the book, where I have to explain that I am a member of St Barbabas Anglican Church of Broadway. And at this point have been around the place in person and in spirit for the past 16 years when Mr Allan Blanch was the Minister of this church. I became a Christian within St Barnabas and it was Ross P. who witnessed me born again to Christ.


On 22nd December 1984 my very good friends, Ross & Fiona had a tragedy in their lives. Their baby was still-born. It was a little girl who they called Alison. They were extremely sad and dismayed, expecially as this was their first child together. Ross & Fiona had a burial service at St Barnabas Church of Broadway, and the child was later buried. Their strong faith in God helped both of them to survive.
As a sort of habit, I have spent every Christmas Dinner and evening meal with my mates Ross & Fiona P. Even when they would travel to Taree or Canberra or to other places  to visit their other kin folk, they would kindly invite me back to spend another Christmas with them to enjoy the company of different relatives at this time. And even though I knew they weren't any relation to me personally, I was always treated like one of the family members. Over the years since they invited me into their home at Christmas, I have gotten to know and become very good friends with some of Ross' and Fiona's relatives who live all over the place across this state. Of course some of them live too far to ring or see all the time, and due to my work commitments it sort of stops me from visiting them every couple of months, which my heart truely wanted to do, but my cash value in my pocket was low and states the true facts of life. No can do, keep on working son.
But of course the only Christmas I wasn't with them was Christmas 1994. I spent this one with some friends of mine from the North Shore of Sydney and of course was warmly welcomed by the whole family.
Yes Ross & Fiona P. have been very close and dear friends to me, and I can't praise them highly enough. Glory be to God.


One weekend, the St Barbabas Church Church-Wardens got together and learnt that the Cleaning Contractors that they had hired to clean the place, where coming in and leaving without doing any work, so in the end their contract was terminated to do the work at the church. Well, one Sunday morning after the morning service, Mr Stepehen J. who was the Parish Council, came to me and said that he reckoned I could fill the cleaning position now vacant for the kitchen and hall area. But at first all I could think of was, how much cash was I going to loose from my fortnightly dole cheque? After two weeks of thinking (and by this stage, nobody had applied for the job or wanted it), so I made up my mind that I really wanted the job, even though it was for only 2 hours a week. So I walked into the office and put my name down for the position and another woman did too a Susan S. and the church got back to us within about a week. 
Susan was to clean the front section of the building and I would clean the kitchen and hall and the back stair wells. But I found after working a couple of weeks, that there was plenty more that needed to be done and just two hours simply wasn't enough time for me to get everything in order as I liked to see things in spick-and-span order, as we want to the proud of our church areas don't we.
After about four weeks, to a month or so, I was working 6 hours part-time. There was the oven to clean out, after the Sunday night's 6:00p.m.Tea in the hall, and the spraying out of the cupboards with that toxic can that most females dislike Baygon where the pots and pans are kept. Then take out the many cups from the brown wooden cupboard from the hall, wash and dry the ones in need, wash and wipe clean each one of the shelves. Sweep the back fire stairs right down to the back lane, plus remove any rubbish or bulk blocking the door from opening (as it opens in out to the lane) as the door has to be clear of rubbish zone by law. Then stack the chairs (if they aren't already) in stacks of about 12 high to the side of the hall wall and start sweeping with the broom. The I'd put the industrial polishing machine over the floor or go and get the polishing-backet (a teel bucket that was strickly kept for the liquid polish use only) to put down on the floor once every one or two months, depending on your common judgement and the ware and tear from the kids on the wooden floor of general use.
Another part of my job was to clean the brick concourse that ran from the two double-pink doors near the edge of the left-hand side of the stage just outside this, to the edge of the Roller Shutter and the church building, which stops just short of the St Barnabas Church carpark which faces Parramatta Road on Broadway out the front. Cleaning away dirt, newspapers, dead pidgeons and other rubbish that you knew should not clutter the brick walkway. Plus if they needed doing, to hose down the glass windows that run along the side of the church building.
With the stairs going up to the old Gym (the Blue Room) from the Mountain Street side near the side of the kitchen, used to be swept and mopped down once a week. And with the Duster or a rag of some sort, dust down the wooden banister that ran to the top of the stairs, and when reaching the bottom, sweeping and mopping the side steps on the Mountain Street side, near where the Buzzer Bell is for C.A.R.A. which was operated from their office upstairs.
Then there was the cleaning of the kitchen. I would have to pull parts of the olf stove apart, to make sure if it needed cleaning or not. Because if bits of food scraps was left behind, it would cause lots of rats to appear, and at that time in the inner city the church was having troubles with mice as well as the rats, and they didn't need very much encouragement to return. So I'd have to pull the large trays out and wash them, and clean the oven itself right out with a clean bucket of very hot water and a bunch of Chux Super Wipes 60m x 34cm to do the job well. Clean and wipe down the bench tops, and clean (if they needed to be done in that week) the number of different cupboards under the benches. Clean out both the cupboards left and right of the fridge, putting everything back neat and tidy. Clean and tidy up the No 1 sink in the kitchen and the No 2 sink just to the left in the narrow passage way till you get to the brown kitchen door, which leads directly out onto the side of the church into Mountain Street. Then I'd go and get the No 2 polisher (which was kept under the stairs that lead upstairs to the CARA business) to get ready to scrub down the floor. Then I got the bucket of very hot soapy water and with a quarter bucket spilt out sections across the floor, starting at the two cupboards and working my way down on your hands and your knees, with the clean bucket of cold water and special floor cloth and start to dry up the flooded pools of now dirty looking puddles, to a white clean new kitchen tiles. And I must note here, that before I used this idea the kitchen floor, the colour of the floor-tiles were brown to black in colour, and this was the only way to scrub it right back, as the mop and bucket did not do the job, but the No 2 floor polisher with the old switch at the side did. It was a lot harder to clean this way I must say, but the finished product told the story.
Then it was time to turn off and clean out the kitchen fridge. From week to week, depending on which darling child had been through the fridge, looked normal with only a few general things to shift around and out of date products to toss out in the bin. Other times it would look as though the inside of the fridge had a fight with itself, raw eggs smashed and dripping down and coming to rest at the bottom of the trays. With the milk cartons spilt all over the place. Tomato soup bowls being bumped over and making a mess and just other messy items that people leave in the fridge and forget about. One I can remember, is Sugar, it sticks just like cement, and is very difficult to remove after being stuck there for five days. You have to wet the bottom surface of the fridge with very hot water (about half a bowl to a full one) and tip little bits over the area and wipe clean.
Then I collected the garbage plastic bags and placed them outside the kitchen door in Mountain Street, to the right hand side, to be collected by the Sydney City Council the next morning on Saturday. Then my cleaning time would be just about up, so I would start to lock up my work area and head around the front of the building, to where the church office was located, and sit down (if she had the time and talk for a while) as I needed some company and I think she needed some too. If the girl in the office was flat out, I'd more often than not, offer to help out in any way that was possible.
 

CHAPTER 6

One of the sad moments that hurt me in my life, was when Mr Niel C. left the church of St Barbabas's of Braodway, just walked out after another disagreement with Robert F. (Minister of the church at the time) and we were given a letter - and with this open letter I wish to share with you. As I knew Neil personally, and he has been a very good and dear Christian friend to me when I needed one.
And I quote the letter:
LETTER TO THE CONGREGATION   13th October 1985.
My dear brothers and sisters, I thought it would be good if I gave you a copy of the announcement I made in church last Sunday.
1. After the evening church service on 29th September, Neil C. handed me a letter in which he stated that he was resigning as churchwarden and the church organist. He also indicated that he and his family will no longer be attending St Barnabas' Broadway.
I do not need to tell you that this is a most serious and sad event.
2. Neil has not made his reasons for such action public. I believe that it's due to at least in part to some of the tensions and difficulties between Neil and Mr Robert F., and some other members of the congregation in the past few years. I am able to say that as far as I know none of the matters in this dispute are private but concern things which are publicly part of our church life.
3. Whar should our response to this event be?
a) Our response should be to thank God for the remarkable valable contribution Neil and Marcia have made to the life of this congregation in the last twenty years. If the healthy position our church is in today owes it to any man other than the Ministers Paul B, Allan B and Peter J, it is to Neil C. We owe him and God a great debt of thanks. I'll be letting you know of arrangements to give them a gift expressing our deepest appreciation of the ministry amongst us soon.
b) Their leaving clearly creates some massively large holes in our church life. This creates both the need and the occasion for us to depend even more fully upon God, that He will meet our needs, and to be active in generous ministry to each other and to the life of the church.
I have already appointed Greg A. as the church organist.
The churchwardens and I have appointed Alan P. to be church Treasurer. Both have begun their ministries very, very ably and enthusiastically. There will need to be a Vestry Meeting to elect a third churchwarden and if that person is elected from those already on Parish Council, then also a Parish Councillor. That will be after the morning service on October 27th.
c) I regret that Neil felt that this was the only course of action open to him. I am pleased that our good friendship will continue and we plan to meet together socially. It is however very sad when someone of such commitment to the gospel and to his church believes it would be better for them to move to another congregation. It will certainly be quite a while before we as a congregation or they recover from these things.
Let me call you to earnest and serious prayer to God for the continual maturing of our ministry at Broadway and for me in particular, and also for Neil and Marcia and the children in their new congregational situation.
d) It's important what we do not engage in unconstructive speculation or gossip, although plainly we do need to continually examine our church life and policies to be sure that we are infact in ways which are both wise and Godly.
The events of the last few days bring us all no joy. Let us pray for God to heal our hurts and wounds, meet the needs in our congregation, and continue to bring honour to Himself through us.
We know have the responsibility to build God's church at Broadway together with even greater vigour and love.
                                    Yours in the Father's Love,
                                                      Robert F. 
(Rector & Anglican Chaplain to Sydney University).


(I will be happy to now view my thoughts on the matter of the ozone and the environment).
I think that we "all" should care more about the environment and the ozone layer above us. Because in easy terms to understand, if we want the ozone layer to keep whole and there is the enironment to worry about. Every time we have the sunday BBQ in the backyard (a open fire) and have the (for those houses who have them in the first place) the open log fireplaces in the loungeroom, the gasses into the air, would help taer away a little bit more of theozone layer now protecting us.
Or how many times have you, or someone you know, after cooking up a lovely dinner for your guests, and after the leave to go home, you start to wash-up the pots and pans, to find that one of the bloody saucepans has lots of "fat" still in it, so you know that it would be such a pain to place a jar over there on the window-sill. And neatly put the used-oil or fat into to that jar or ice-cream container. So you say, stuff it, and keep that saucepan for washing-up last, and all the oil or fats floats down the sink plug hole with the water and out to sea. And if you make this lazy habit happen too often, you will more than likely end up blocking the pipes under the sink. There is no problem here, it means you are lazy and don't care about the life and the living enironment around you. Now, some small fish swimming in the ocean, could end up dying from swallowing the oils that you let down your sink the other night.
Or when you and the family and kids are down at the Beach at Manly or Brighton-Le-Sands, and you to the beach-front shop to get the children the ice-cream, hotdogs, drinks and other food and head on back to your "spot" on the sand. After you and the family have eaten, you "eyes" look up and down the concourse for a rubbish bin, but, you see there isn't one for about 200 yards to the right, so you place your "little" rubbish pile on the sand to put in the bin later. Well, after the family and you have had the entertainment you wanted, up goes the double-bed blanket to be neatly folded, with the lunchtime rubbish all over the top of the sand: the Coke bottles, paper napkins, straws, throw-away plastic cups, a few plastic bags. I'd decided to have it there, because there wasn't anyone around. Now, at high tide, those items and any other people's left behind rubbish, would be washed into the ocean of our lovely sea. Because some of lazy beach goers are too slack to walk the 200 yards to the nearest bin that is provided by the local council.
If only people knew, that the ocean out there, is Home for lots of sea creatures, and when was the last time you saw a Fish walk into someone's longeroom and stuff-up their-environment? 
It's amazing you know: Man has now put together The Electric Car that has had the sticker "environmentally friendly" attached to it. It uses no fossel fuel, doesn't harm our ozone layer, and would save thousand's of drivers from being killed on our roadseach year, because if they had the speed of this car, top speed is about 70 and you have to replug the battery after so many kilometres clocked. Taking about all night for the recharge.
But Allan Peter believes this car won't brake the ice here: Because Australians like the powerof speed, and I think that is why so many of them lose control and smash and kill themselves every year. And the Television ads don't help very much either, the Falcon 400 SX goes from 0-120 in just 5 seconds of putting your foot down.
Then I suppose we have places such as The I.C.I. Botany Plant in Sydney: One of the biggest Chemical makers that I know of, every year pump their unwanted industrial waste directly into the ocean through underground sewer pipes that run into Botany Bay. The fines for doing this are quite high, but to a firm like I.C.I. who make a profit each year like 10 million dollars, they can very simply pay and laugh at the governments $5000 fine for polluting our waterways.
Then there's a place that I know little about, the Steelworks at Newcastle. The smog those chimney's pour out per day, must be amazing. And I'd hate to think just how much this plaint is doing to the "ozone layer" with just the daily contents that those stacks pump out into the sky. It really makes you stop and think, within another 15 to 20 years, will our air look the same as "the pea soup" look of the Los Angeles City as it is today. Because if we go the way this country is going now, it's going to look like fog where we now have to see through, that's if the ozone layer hasn't already broken it's outer layer open, and cost us that last hope of protection that we need.


NOW FOR THE ALLAN PETER ROLLY'S PERSONAL VIEW OF SMOKING
I don't like cigarettes and reckon it's a disgusting habit.
As someone who suffers from Asthma, I can tell you that it's sickening being close to these people in a confined space. As I need less attacks brought upon me as possible. It's no fun spending seven hours in a hospital on the oxegon machine, just so you can get your breath back to near normal. And regardless what some people think. For me, if someone is passive smoking and I get this in me, it will bring on another one of my asthma attacks back.
I don't mind telling you, that at the time people were allowed to smoke their cigarettes on the public buses, it made life murder for the non-smoker on the same bus who didn't wish to breathe down their puffing cigarette smoke. I used to sit as close to the front section of the bus as possible, open a window (they opened wider in those days) and stick my fat head out and try and catch some clean air wuthin me.
It was sort of the same case travelling on the train, if you wanted to go somewhere. Except a little better here though than on a bus, as you could try and get away from the cigarette smoker by moving yourself to another train carriage and so on, till you found one that was hopefully smoke-free for the time being.
You'd should have heard lot's of people, of the non-smoking type (and it has been proved that there are more non-smokers out there in Sydney, than the cigarette smokers, beyond any shadow of doubt). And I'm just surprised more havn't spoken up over their disgust and anger until now, perhaps they were a bit scared of some sort of reprisal.
I "used" to go and watch a live Rugby League or Cricket game on the weekends, and sure enough you could bet on it every time, you'd get your meat-pie with tomato sauce spattered on the top and your drink, sit down if you were lucky enough to find a spare seat empty, and then someone right close to you would light up a cigarette and smoke you out of that part, you would have to move and try to find somewhere else to go that was smoke-free, and by the time that you did, the meat-pie and sauce would be too cold now to enjoy anymore. You'd then be pissed off, because you walked around for twenty-five minutes searching for another place to sit, finding none, having to stand up for the remainding part of the match and grumbly because I had missed two important tries of the match scored and ended up missing your lunch snack anyway.
Now of course when watching the Rugby League, there's none of those problems, as I now watch the game from the "smoke-free" zone of my home. As I know a lot of people will say, but it's outdoors, from people smoking their cigarettes close to me.
When you suffer Health problems, you are 95% more sensitive to cigarette smoke and not just a wimp.
Then we come to the time (talking on a non-smokers point of view) when one used to "enjoy going and having a 3 course meal at the newest Restaurant in town, or sometimes, in the local shopping centre of where I am living then. You sit yourself down, look through the Restaurant menu and pick your meal and make your order for the waiter. Then you order a hot chocolate or iced-tea (depending on the season of the year) drink to fiddle with while they start to prepare for your meal to be ready and served. And blow me down, before you say "Jack Robertson" out loud, you'd be halfway through your soup and a few slices of bread, when then some yobbo would sit down next to you and order a cup of coffee and a slice of raisen toast buttered, and then light up their cigarette and just smoke the place out. And these smokers, the last of the big spenders. They then would leave, paying their small bill of $5:00 a rather piddling amount compared of my $75:00 bill paid in cash.
Then we come back to the confined spaces again. Except in the instance I am talking about the Australian "Cinemas" and it doesn't really matteron the size of the complex or how good the air-conditioning would have been. When I have paid my money to go inside to match the movie, that's exactly what I want to do, watch and enjoy the movie in comfort. Not to breathe down someone's "Peter Jackson" cigarette puffing away, going into my lungs, making me crook, messing up my enjoyment and comfort, as well as other non-smokers near by as well. Sure it is legal to buy cigarettes if you are of 18 years of age, and I am not against smokers lighting up. But I am against smoking in Restaurants where food is around, and in all confined spaces where people have to mix together, whether by choice or in the work place. There are plenty of places that they can still light up their cigarettes and still not discomfort the lives and health of the non-smokers and others.
Being single and not owning a car by choice, I got around these parts of Sydney by the Public Transport services, that is there for us if we want it. Mind you, sometimes, if you are in a hurry, you can't really count on travelling by bus, so you call up the good old friendly Taxi-Cab. Nine times out of ten they are at your door on time, depending on the person driving the taxi, and the conditions of the whether outside. But sometimes you'd get the "puffing billy" chain-smoker, and you'd open the taxi door to jump in, to be confronted with so much smoke from this person's cigareettes, that you swear that the person had a toaster there and had just burnt 6 slices of bread. So you open the windows and ask the driver, not to smoke on this trip with me or the fare that I booked with the company, would be strongly terminated by me.
Then it would come to the time, when I would have to go into the Commonwealth Bank to do some business that had to be taken care of. And you would find yourself standing in a long line of people waiting for their turn to served by the teller. Then some person up aheadof you lights up a cigarette and a couple more people five or six spaces down from him, do the same. Then when you move down the line in turn, you cop their cigarette smoke. If you then, ask them (because of your health problems) please do not smoke, and 8 out of 10 of them would the smoke directly into your face on purpose. Or would give you the "one finger salute" sign with their fingers, or just as common was the good old fashioned "go and get fucked" ya fat pig in reply. So do you think this is fair to non-smokers, all I was asking for, was for that person not to smoke for a possible twenty minutes. In the end, I'd have to walk out of the bank, and catch a bus into the city centre. To go to the Commonwealth Bank in Martin Place, as there are many tellers there on duty, and the wait most of the time there is only a few minutes, not the 40 minutes like other smaller banks in the suburbs.
Close to six to eight weeks later they (Ross & Fiona) decided that the first flat at Forest Lodge that had housed them quite well that they'd been there too long, and God was telling them that it was time to move house once again. This time it was calling from one of Fiona's old friends whom had owned (but had never lived at the property, due to work and other committments that would keep that person out of Sydney) a large house out at Carisbrook Street, Linley Point, on the northern part of Sydney. Who asked Fiona and Ross would they move in and look after this property for the friend for an unknown amount of years? Of course they answered yes, and within a matter of weeks they were moving house again, but this time not just into another flat, but a real house and garden. I still remember helping them get the packing boxes up all those stairs to their new house and garden, there must of been at least one-hundred and sixteen of them and this isn't made any better when you are carrying packing boxes for the kitchen up a flight of stone steps that were uneven in places. But if you were still in pretty good shape once you got to the top, once you truned around the view down upon the Lane Cove River was just breath-taking, it was sort of worth the strong hike to look at the view, for a sort of reward. It took about four or five Mini Truck loads until we had all of Ross & Fiona's belongings safely brought up to the house, but in the end, myself and the other helpers that were there helping was glad it was finished and I guess on the day God has answered a few prayers and at peak hour that same morning small mountains of friends arrived to offer them help to move.
Ross & Fiona had a House Warning Party about two weeks later, there was so many people that I didn't know at this party, but it didn't matter really as the party had nothing to do with me. It was a pretty big party, with over eighty people turning up, lasting well over midnight, which is very late in my standard of living.
Ross and Fiona P have spent a lot of personal effort in fixing this place up and had to tidy up the place, paint a few rooms here and there, a run a couple of trips to the local Council Rubbish Tip as we came across a lot of unuseable items from the old garage, which was thankfully located down at streel level, but still off the road and sort of hidden from the very large gum trees that sat around the garage that just ran off a private driveway off Carisbrook Street. After a couple of months hard work, they had the place in some sort of order and Ross had even planted a vegetable garden at the back of the property and was going to have a bash at growing his own vegetables for a while.
By now I was getting bored with Glebe Point Road, and wass itching to move.
As luck would have it, just in that very same week, I got a letter from the Department of Housing, explaining that there was a single place to rent that was free out south and that they gave me an address to find to get some keys or something, so I was really just over the moon.
It was a small bedsitter, located at Banksmeadow. Travelling from Redfern going South, keep travelling on Botany Road, through the Mascot Shopping Centre and Botany Shops and then about 5 minutes later is Banksmeadow. At the time when I first wanted to look at the unit, it wasn't easy. My friend Mrs Wendy Colq. who is herself a busy lady, helped me drive around to help me find things. We first went to an Eastlakes Office address, where I was told that I could pick up the unit keys from this Housing Commission man there. But after four tries at this address, this time with no luck again. Wendy then drove me there and both of us looked "in" through the windows at the unit from the outside. Anyway, on the next day when Wendy drove me to the Eastlakes office, the man "was" in his office, and I was able to get the keys and sign a few papers as well. After half an hour or so, we drove on over to Banksmeadow to check this one out. I can remember standing inside the unit, then sitting down on the floor and crossing my legs, knowing that twenty-thousand pairs of eyes were watching "the new tenent move in" and wanted to check you out. I was looking around the small unit, and I could see I had my very own kitchen, bathroom and loo. So I then locked the door, and Wendy drove me back to her place and from there I had to race back to Glebe and make plans for a Removalist to help me move all my gear and stuff.
The next morning I was moving to that unit, there was no two ways about it. You would not have believed it, on the Saturday morning it teamed down with rain. And the front steps at the Glebe room entrance were slippery when raining, so that slowed down things a bit. You see, to cut some of the costs, instead of two men, there was only the driver and I, and together we did half the lifting and work involved. It seemed to be a good plan, and the idea worked well and sort of light on the wallet as well. As I said before, you walk in after opening the door, you have a room there, with the kitchen and bathroom running off that, there is only one entrance here. With a large set of windows near the door as you come in, and at the back rear-wall in the room you are now in and in the kitchen somemore sliding windows and the smokey-glass one (that open and close, out and in) in the bathroom on the right-hand side from outside the front near the door.
Now you should have been here to witness the mess, there were so many boxes from the floor to the ceiling, that it took me hours just to unpack them and put them away in the bookshelf. And therewas the silly problem of where was the best position to place the bed, in the corner, under the window or against the side wall. Where was the best place to put the Television and Record Player to go. It really was about six months of changing different things around, until I got things under control and was pleased at the way I had things placed, considering the small confined space that I had to cram everything into.

I settled down here well, meeting some new friends and knowing others to keep away from.
Banksmeadow is not a bad sort of suburb really, it has a small group of about 17 small shops from Wilson Street to Pemberton Street, but if you need to get something else more important or from one of the larger stores like Grace Brothers, you would have to travel into the city or over to Eastgardens Shopping Centre. I myself, travel into the city to pick up most things, as I find the shops around me, Botany, Mascot don't stock the goods that I need to purchase.
I do my everyday shopping at Clancy's at Botany, and find them to be an excellent store and I am more than pleased with their service as well. One of the best things I like about the Clancy store, is that they do deliver your shopping back to your unit free of charge for you, and when you don't have a car handy, it's a small blessing I can tell you.
From this place where I live, if I go out the front to Botany Road, turn right and walk one block, the cross the road, and then turn left down Fremlin Street, Banksmeadow, and walk to the end (five minutes walk away) you will come to the enetrance to one of the best and finest Parks in Sydney. Because here is The Sir Joseph Banks Pleasure Gardens. It has different lakes, pinic eating places, bicycle tracks that go all the way to one block back from the Botany Shopping Centre. Now these tracks are great if you own a push-bike, and I must admit, I spend a heap of my time riding on those tracks in the summer months on my Mountain Bike. Then you stop to rest, you can feed the ducks with some bread that you have brought with you, and I usually plan this in my routine, so at the last minute I am not racing off to get bread or whatever. It really is a great from of relaxation, staring at or through the water and the ducks, you can ponder upon the week that has just passed on by you, and I think of better ways to improve things that, next weekend will loook even better. In a number of ways, it is just good to be away from the hussle and bussle of the suburb general noises, to beside the people visiting the park ingrounds, your hear nothing but the park sounds, except for the odd 747 plane landing or departing from our famous Sydney Airport.
If you are able to climb up one of the hills, you can look on over Botany Bay beaches and then out to the right to the Airport runway and if you turn around and face where the entrance of the park is, you can look on over the bansmeadow suburb, right back to B.P. and I.C.I. Chemicals factory at East Botany.
It was at this stage in late 1985, that I managed to ask Mr Peter J. to take me out to a driving school way out west, that teaches you how to ride a motor-bike, and I think the name of the school was Stay Upright, but I'm not too sure now. I think it took 3 days lessons, before I could ride a bike quite alright, so I left it at that.
So in the next couple of weeks, I was motor-bike mad, I had to have one. So what did I do, I went out and bought the first and cheapest bike that came along. It was a 50cc bike (that was fartoo small for my weight) as I thought it was fun, because it was automatic and had no gears to change up and down. Well, it was only a matter of weeks before I was able to blow the motor up on this bike, so then I had to look for another bike to get around on. So like a fool, I went out and again and bought another 50cc bike and tried again. One of my friends, Mr Peter C. said that it was far too small for me, that I needed a 125 or 250cc for my weight, but again I failed or didn't want to listen to reason. Again this bike only lasted about 4 weeks before it blew the motor and then it was only a bike goos for scrap. When the second 50cc bike was finished. I was on my way back home from my mother out south, and found myself out on the Grand Parade, doing only 10 miles an hour and then still slowing down more. Until I got to the edge of Brighten, the bike stopped altogether on me. And I ended up walking the bike all the way back to Banksmeadow (because it was too slow to ride) and left it at that. Not again was I going to touch those too small bikes. I had learnt my lesson.
On Wednesday February 12, 1986, I went to a address in Botany, and at 10:00a.m. I bought a Honda CB 125cc Twin motor-bike, from an ad in the Trading Post for the small sum of $330:00 cash buy, and rode the bike home from there.
Because I didn't take a note of it in my diary, I can't really say why I let the bike go for such a cheap price in the end. But I do know, that in the last couple of months of owning the bike, I copped a fair amount of Vandalism on the bike. Being on the Unemployment Benefits and not having very much income pouring in every week, you havn't the cash the get these problems fixws if they come up. As a matter of fact, I truely found it really difficult to make ends meet while running the bike, having a motor-bike, no matter how small, being on the dole and riding away somewhere don't mix. Because I found myself always biting my friends for money for petrol, or whatever, and was never out of some debt.
You know, it's a funny thing. When you are riding along on your motor-bike, you feel that you own the whole-world, you are in control of the road and that you are your own boss, so to speak. If you wanted to take off somewhere, then kick the machine over and travelling along on those two wheels is a great exercise you should

take on at some stage in your life. I made the mistake of going on all of my long distance rides at night, thinking that the roads would be less dangerous than in daylight hours, boy was I wrong!
There was the time that for some reason not known to me, I didn't have this recorded down in my weekly diary, and for the people out there who know me well, will tell you that I have for many years noted down daily of what I have done or places that I have visited on for the day, if there is enough room left in the section of the booklet.
Well as I was saying, for some strenge reason, in the middle of Winter and at 2:00a.m. I thought I'd jump on the machine and go for a ride to Oberon NSW to visit some friends who I knew were living there, just on the other side of the town.
Mark & Lea had just in the last year, moved out there to Oberon to live and to purchase their new house, with the home-loan that the bank gave them. They were living here in Sydney in the inner city area, paying rent. Then for one reason unknown, Mark was sort of forced to make the move by the directions of his work. And the next minute he and the wife packed their bags and were off way out to the tine town of Oberon. When I was up there, I don't really remember seeing very much to write down about, as I was there really for a matter of 4 or 5 hours at the most. But I do remember going out with Mark, and taking a few photographs of different places that he knew was out and about his turf. We went up and around Seymour Street, went to the Bathurst Railway Station; went and looked at a small reserve in Bathurst; saw a wild dingo with her small pups, only two days old, from the same reserve: then went out to look at the outside of the Bathurst Prison and then came back to a park in Bathurst to witness some well kept old cars (Vintage Cars) and I found out that one of them was The 1930 Rolls Royce Phantom in perfect condition, that they were there on their way somewhere from Sydney, on some sort of rally contest.
About half an hour before I was about to ride the return trip to Sydney, mark asked me did I have rego for this bike? Cause I said: it's in its case on the left hand side of the bike, why can't you see it. No, he said, there wasn't any here mate. Then both of us, looked at the side of the machine once again, sure enough the rego wasn't where it was in the morning when I left my place. Mark then showed me of where and of how it must of came off. Because of the very cold freezing conditions must of weakened the rego plastic label holder, the cross-winds ripped of the plastic somewhere between Sydney and Oberon. So I had to slip down to the local Police Station and tell them of the loss of my rego, and they said I'd have to get a new one when I return to Sydney, from the Department of Motor Transport. And in the meantime, if you are pulled over by the police, you are covered for a few days, as you have reported the matter to us.
It was then soon time to say good-bye to Mark and Leanne, as I was imposing on their time for long enough now, and started to head off on the bike back to Sydney.
The next day when I fronted the Department of Motor Transport and explained my story to them, I had to pay half the full-price for another rego sticker, boy was I angry, you'd think it was my fault that I lost the rego in the first place.
I am next going to quote a letter underneath, that was sent to me by Fiona P. (I'm sure she won't mind it in the book) and I truely believe that this letter was the best letter that I have ever received;
Dear Mr Rolly,
I'd taken me ages to get around to writing "thank yous." It's because I am in a muddle, not that were not grateful! So many thanks for the fun dolls for Stephen. The little one will entertain him very soon, and the bigger one in a couple of years - so a long-term present it is!
It's now just seven weeks since Stephen arrived (was born) whole and healthy, pink and rounded and lovely.
We thank God for His goodness so larishly given to us. We're still overwhelmed with relief and gratitude at Stephen's healthiness.
He arrived on his due date April 7 at the right weight 3390 grams or 7lb 7oz, during the day when Ross was in Sydney and so was unable to take Fiona to the hospital, but be at the delivery, an hour after admission!
he is alert, spending most of his time eating or watching what's going on (happily, when he's held) and sleeping when he's conned into it. We are less alert, feeding and caring for him; and doing little else like sleeping and contacting friends.
So this is a belated thanks for your concern and your generosity. We both found that overwhelming as well.
Our love and thanks, Fiona and Ross. 29th May 1986.


Then they had to shock me with asking "me" to be Stephen's Godparent, and of course I was just over the moon about the matter. I knew of the big responsibility of being one of Stephen's Godparents. I would really make an effort to pump the right info into him about our Lord Jesus and just how "He" has helped me in trouble times, that nobody else anywhere could have done. It was funny looking back now (as when I was young and I had my arms tattooed in length) as growing up with Stephen from when he was very young, even before he could talk properly, he used to recognise me by the pictures up and down my arms, but not me. As at times, if somebody he didn't know approached, as when children are pre-school and don't know you too well, they'll feel threatened and only want their parents to look after them. But I surpose he was OK with me, because I had been around Ross and Fiona for ages and of course he knew I was someone whom his parents knew very well.
A short time after this perhaps a year or two, that Ross and Fiona and Stephen was on the move again, but this wasn't just any old move, but a jump forward to owning "their very own home" one of everybody's greatest Australian dreams. I was very happy for both of them and Stephen until I heard that they were looking at houses outside Sydney. Because they would be too far away to visit and I guess it was more selfish side of me was starting to show it's face again. But of course it was the will of God working again, and my friends was blessed at finding a home in the Newcastle suburb of Hamilton South in January 1989. They were soon packed with the Removalist Van and off to their new life at Newcastle they went. Now I wasn't really able to catch up with them for a while, as I had Social Security on my case to start a course (I was then unemployed, you know, on the dole, or what some call it, a dole bludger) to get a Forklift Ticket and was sort of caught up in the course for three months and soon afterwards scored a full-time employment at Mascot. Now I can't remember if I was able to see their new home afterwards or not. Meaning on the weekends or on a public holiday period. But overall in my mind I knew that I would be with them at Christmas of that year.


This property was a blessing to good to be true, as if clearly it was one of Newcastle's classy suburbs and was still very close to the central business district (appox. 20 minutes walk from their front door to Newcastle railway station) also five minutes to the buses that ran into town as well.
The house they fell in love with is in National Park Street, has 4 bedrooms, sunroom, kitchen, bathroom and of course the study. With off the street parking, and a fairly large family backyard of their own. Has two Public Schools close, one right across the street and another school just two blocks down the street to the right. The shops are really walking distance away and you are welcome when you enter and when you leave the store, you just knew that these people really were sincere - something that in Sydney, where people really have forgotten to smile or say, have a nice day and really mean it from the heart and come again.
Their neighbours were just cool. Everybody up here (Newcastle) just seems to look after each other, in good time or bad, and are always helping each other out. It's a pity that Sydney is so fast in catching up to America, and not learning how to love one another as our own.
When you want to go on a picnic, up there the mountains are only 15 minutes car drive to the nicest areas. And this is from the centre of Newcastle, as it is not like Sydney, as there are no traffic jams and diving in Newcastle is pleasant.
The only serious good thing that I could see whilst visiting this city, was that Newcastle is somewhat locked into a sort of timewarp. To do with the house-breakings and normal crime rate, they are like 20 years behind Sydney in ratings. They are living as Sydney was back then, and to put it bluntly, I wouldn't think that Ross and Fiona would want this strange gap to change at all. I think that they are quite content at the way that city is behind us, and looks to me that they have found the "God's Will" of a place to live. I am so pleased that everything has worked out for my best friends, even though they live so far away.
It was at this time that my friends, Ross and Fiona gave birth to another baby boy, Timothy. Born November 1989. Yes, another healthy boy was here for Fiona to mother and take care of. And from what I could see, a younger version of Stephen, blond hair same as his Father's (some years back now if you saw Ross' hairline today) and showered him with lots of love and attention. I still get to see Tim and my (Godson)Stephen, only about once a year now, mainly due to the fact that now live too far apart and my work commitments that stop me trying. It is the case that if I do have enough time to go and visit, then the time factor is out of the question. And if I find myself with enough time to do so, then the money well has dried up and I am unable to afford to travel further than my normal weekly bus pass.
Just six weeks after Tim was born to the Ross and Fiona, Newcastle was rocked by that massive Earthquake back in 1989. Everybody was aware of this at the time, through massive media coverage throughout Australia, if not world-wide at the time of damage. I can still remember where I was at exactly that moment of impact, I was in Sydney cleaning (I was then cleaning St Barnabus part-time) at the Church, when the floor moved and I fell flat on my face. Not really believing of what really happened to cause my fall, I looked at the Church Hall wall and whacked ot with my broom and it was solid as a rock the way that it should be. Went through the kitchen to the side door and opened it and looked at the intersection traffic lights, everything was normal there as it should have been. So I then just shook it off as too much alcohol the night before and continued on with the sweeping of the floor.
Now it wasn't only the Newcastle Workers Club that was badly damaged by this sad act of God, but many thousands of private homes that surround Hamilton to Hamilton-South to other suburbs and sort of covered a 2-3 miles radius in either direction. My dear friends was one of the houses damaged in the wake of the Newcastle Earthquake, but thankfully all the family were unhurt by the damage, just a little scared and confused were the children (and they weren't on their pat alone, I can tell you) as finding the ground move from underneath you, can in some cases can cause help of many years of professional councilling to get over the drama still in their minds from the earthquake.
It looks as though Ross and Fiona were at the end of the Insurance's long list, as it took them ages before it was time to get my friends' house under repair, as at the time, other houses that were less damaged around them were fixed first, and then what seemed to them a lifetime, the workmen started work on their home at last.
It was stated that once all the work was completed, the builders and repairmen did an excellent job and my best friends were happy again.
This was the time the Coomonwealth Employment Service at Mascot, wanted me to do a course to be a Security Guard, to be trained for 5 days and if you pass at the end of the week, you would find yourself to be a Licencee Security Protection Industry Act, approved by the NSW Police Department. I did my training at a building in Mentmore Avenue, Rosemary. I will let you have some of the insight, of info that I jotted down in my pad as notes, as there was plenty said and heaps to remember as well.
What is Security: Security is the protection of property and people and the preventory of a crime. Which means you have done everything possible to ensure that your clients premises are: lock fast, fire safe, and nothing abnormal exists that would cause harm to any person. You may have to see that company rules and powers are aherd to but remember, apprehention and law enforcement is the domain of the Police.

It was now, that the Coomonwealth Employment Service Office suggested that I do some sort of course to build up some work experience, to help me find some job somewhere. So from Monday 19/2/90 until Friday 27/4/90 I was at Randwick College being trained for Warehousing and Forklift Work. I passed the course with good results.
So off I was out there searching for the full-time job. I went looking all around Banksmeadow, East Botany and all over as far as Matraville. And scaled the newspapers to see if I might get an interview or two from them. And after I'd been through the newspapers without any luck, I'd then get the bus back to the Mascot Commonwealth Employment Service, searching high and low over their boards for that right job that I was looking for. But day after day, was the same story, I was either too old for the position or I didn't have the experience required on the conditions stated on the card by the company with the position vacant.
A couple of weeks later, when I was just about to give up looking for work, there was one last job that I had circled with my pen in the job section of the Sydney Morning Herald and thought I'd give it a ring on my way out the door, as I was about to go into town to buy myself some new slippers, but on the way I'd stop off at the Mascot Post Office, and give this job a ring and try to get an interview, as you never know your luck in a big city, the factory is somewhere around here in Mascot so here goes.
I telephoned the number in the ad, and the phone answered. The person on the phone gave me the address and assured me that the position was still there for the asking, so off I went to walk to this place for the interview with the person I had spoken to on the telephone, it had taken no more than 15 minutes to get there.
When I had saw the person I's spoken to on the phone and whom I thought was going to screen me for an interview in a room, somehow wasn't the bit interested in the paperwork that I was carrying with me, but more so in the keen interest I was seeking work, the work that I would be carrying out if he was to employ me as one of the workers. He took me around the small factory and explained of what would be required of me and of what weights to do with the position that would have to be lifted as part of the job. Well, without giving anything away, this young man said, to give him a ring about 3:30p.m. and he would have an answer yes or no, as to if I got that position or not.
I went back to my Bansmeadow unit, a bit depressed as a lot of other employers had said very much the same thing, ring me back at such and such a time, and all you get is another knock back and let down, and when you are unemployed it doesn't matter what the reason, the hurt's still there. But something made me ring this factory job back on the dot of 3:30p.m. I rang the number, and there and then was told that I had been given the job. It must of taken me a couple of seconds to respond, as I broke out in a cold sweat, then realised I was still talking to the man on the telephone. And then the man said, when do you want to start work, today being a Thursday, I then said what about tomorrow morning at the normal starting time. So that was the time I started, that very next morning.
John H. was the person who interviewed me and gave me the chance at this job. And Ron H. (JNR) his older brother (the company truck driver) comes into the factory and works for four days a week, having mostly the Fridays off work because of other commitments elsewhere. Now, for the four days of the week, John, Ron and myself, carry out the duties of the factory by working together as a team, getting the done.
It was now my second day on the job at R.O. Hull & Company, and my arms and legs were just about dropping off, as I was really missing my afternoon nap that I used to take daily, and my big bones had never suffered this much pain ever before, so I looked up and around me, and wondered what the hell I was doing here. Feeling in my pocket and getting it out, was the next continuation form for my next Unumployment benefit to go in. Seeing that I had got the job from out of the newspaper and not from the C.E.S. office, I knew I could sneak the next form in, and knowone would be none the wiser. So walking outside to talk to John (also my boss) as he was putting something away in anenclosure that has steel bar grills as well as a steel door attached.
Ah pardon me, John, I wonder could I speak with you for a moment, I don't think this job is working out for me, you might be able to still find someone to do this job, as I have still some time to put my next Unemployment Benefit Form into Social Security, if i go now. Now mate, John would have said: Think about what you are saying very closely, and I will be happy to not hear what you have just told me and now you go back to into the factory and put the cubes away into stock as I showed you to do, as after a couple of weeks, you will be used to the work given to you, and your muscles would have got used to this kind of work.
Well I kept on working in the factory, and the pain was bad for the first month or two, but after that stage, my body and dones got used this kind of work, and I had no more problems at all. As a matter of fact, after a little while, I became a little bit stronger and slightly fitter.
Mr R. H. (SNR) is the overall BOSS of the company, and the father of Ron and John, his two sons. His office is upstairs in the main office area, and everything goes through and is passed by Mr H before being carried out. He comes into work every day and has been good to me.
My work start time is 8:00a.m., but it is always good to arrive slightly before the starting time, and I have never been late for work. And I have had only about 3 days off work since being employed there, I like my work, and it's great to come into work each day. Do you know, that there's some day's, that I can't wait for the next working day to come, as I would be working on something right up to 4p.m. and have to continue on with it, first thing the following working day.
You get to meet lots of different truck drivers, as we get goods delivered every day, as we are a pretty busy company most of the time. The one or two drivers who give you a hard time evry now and again, you try to shake off with a pillow of salt.
My working day starts this way: 8:00a.m. that is the time that I open up the two roller shutter doors, front and the side of the building, and open up the side gate at the side. Then I put out the 4 x 200L empty blue drums, to whack along our footpath out the front, to stop private cars parking across our driveway, as they are stopping our access to and from the factory and from loading and unloading the trucks. It does get a but tiresome at times putting the bins out, but that's just part of the job.
The Company that I worked for, R.O. Hull and Company, makes liquid products for the Medal Finishing Chemicals. It is a small Chemical factory, and deals with many company's here in Sydney and Melbourne and Queensland as well.
Now I come to the end of this chapter of the book, where I shall explain what my duties include at the finish of the day at work, as a few pages-back, you would have seen how I open the day and the duties to be done by me to start the working day.
At about 3:50p.m. I would go out and bring the four 44's back into the factory, and dump them in their own little spot just behind the company truck, where they'll remain until the following working day. Then I'll go upstairs and check the "Order Book" out, and if there's any local or interstate orders (which I'd get most of them together) would whack the book under the photo-copier to give myself an insight of what was in store for the following day. Then race round to the side roller shutter, close this for the day, and if there are no rep or lab cars down the drive, close the metal gate for the day, otherwise someone else will close it later, when they get their cars out of the way. Then it was time to close the front and the company's main roller-shutter doors at the front of the factory at 4:00p.m.


Now, we come to a very sad and then happy chapter, but you are going to have to just read on to find out the problem and then the outcome.
At approximately 3:50p.m. on 7/5/1993, I went to the Coles Supermarket on the corner of Baptist Street and Cleveland Street, Surry Hills. I went in and got two packets of batteries, putting them in my pockets of my shirt, as I knew I needed to buy somemore for my walkman machine. Then I walked down to get the four toffee-apples, but changed my mind on this idea at the last moment, and then remembered that I needed to buy a Heater for my flat, and then walked back over to the other side of the store where I found the shelves of stacked heaters. There were two types I was looking at, just $9 price difference, but I couldn't really understand why the price difference. So the next moment this young lady was walking nearby, who was one of the staff, and I asked her to please explain to me the difference between the two. So she kindly explained the difference for me and she got on with her employment.
Then I was just about at the checkout, when I knew that I had to also get a Writing Pad for notes, to help me as I was still deep in thought with my writing of my second book, as I need to work out many things first down on paper, before it hits the computer hard-drive. So I walked back a few rows to where the books and pads were stored on shelves, and picked up one Saving 100 sheets Writing Pad and putting it on top of the box I was carrying (which was the Heater I was needing) and then went to the middle checkout operator to leave the store. I put my items (the Heater and the Writing Pad) on the running belt and the checkout lady put them through the lazer machine. Rang up the total, and I paid for those items and left the store walking as I normally do, just wanting to jump into a hot bath, as it had been a tough week at work in the factory.
Just as I passed through the double-glass sliding doors that open and close, as you enter and leave the centre, two males quickly walked in front of me, saying Security, Sir, we believe you have something from the store that you haven't payed for. And have you anything that you haven't offered the checkout operator on you? My answer to him was: I don't remember. Because at the time, I really did have a lot on my mind and it was not until I was back into the store that I knew then that the batteries in my pockets where still there.
The Security person and the other male (who I think was a staff member) and I went back to a small room that looked like a local tea and smoke room. Straight away placing both the packets on the small table in front of them. After about five minutes, the male who I thought was the staff member left and then the Security bloke took down my details.
I sat there near him in a chair, and watched him write out about four or five fools-cap pages size sheets of paper, each page had one of those black cardon pages so you could produce a copy of what you are writing. He stopped writing once or twice only, to ask my name and address and for some I.D. for the moment. After a while, he stopped writing and asked me for the checkout docket, so I dug into the plastic shopping bag and brought out the small orange Coles docket and handed it to him. He wrote down somemore details (but from where I was seated I couldn't tell of what he was writing down anyway) then he opened one of his bags and got out this automatic camera, placed the two packets of batteries onto the tiled floor and took two pictures of both the packets. Waiting about ten minutes, for the pictures to come out, he stapled one of them to the number of paperwork he had written and the other to one the other set of papers. The one I think he was working on when we first entered the small back room. From this moment on, and I am certain that I didn't get the sales docket back again from that Security person, otherwise I would still have it, due to the fact of the seriousness of this charge, now I have no docket at all.
Then the Security man rang Redfern Police, after first pullinh out a white sheet of paper with about 200 listings on it, this must of been a list of all the local police stations and telephone numbers.
At about, 5:15p.m. the police arrived at Coles to take me to the local Redfern Police Station, so we then left by the rear entrance and we all got into their police-car, for the short trip to the police station.
The Policeman and Policewoman then had to find a desk to sit down at, and then I was formally charged by both of them. The both of them then asked me about do I work, where I live, have I been in trouble with the police before, and etc; so then they were forever getting everything done.
Then the policeman and policewoman, conducted the record of interview. The female cop opened her diary, pen in hand, (for a time there I thought she was going to ask to borrow my pen) the male cop would talk slowly the question (that she was suppose to asking me) and the woman cop writes it into her book, then asked me the questio again to me for an answer. Then he would slowly repeat what I said, so this woman could put it down in her book. Well, this went on for about six or seven questions and about forty minutes later, until I had just enough from these two young police officers. So it was then, me, who wouldn't answer anymore questions anymore of the record of interview (if that's what it was) as it really was becoming very lateand I just wanted to get home to have a bath or something.
Still at Redfern police station, I asked if I could use the phone, as I could see 5 in that room not used and in working order, as different officers had come in to use them at different times whilst I was sitting there. As I knew some friends of mine were expecting me for Tea, and I wanted to phone them to let them know where I was and not to worry. I was now about 6:10p.m. and I asked the man who charged me, if I could use the phone as I was expected to Tea somewhere a little while ago, and I wanted to let them know I'm OK. But my request was flatly refused by this officer, he said, do it the Sydney Police Centre when we get there. We're almost done here, but we didn't actually leave Redfern station until 6:50p.m. to go to the Sydney Police Centre.
Getting to the Sydney Police Centre too, got some of the stress off me I can tell you. As I knew this was the last stage, they had to give me the papers for Court, Fingerprint me, take my Photograph and then let me go. But after that half-hour, the two Officers who had brought me there from Redfern, left the complex to return to their normal duties.
At this stage, I could see that the S.P.C. was quite busy, so I just had to wait my turn, down the charge line.


This is a short letter/note, to let you know of the outcome of me facing the Shoplifting charge before the Redfern local Courthouse.
On Friday morning the 03/09/93 I turned up to the Court like I thought that I was surposed to, but my name wasn't on the front charge sheets at the front of the court rooms. So I went to the Office section, then they sent me to the police station that was sort of walking distance away, as they had to confirm the date that I was last in court on, because I couldn't remember for now. And then someone got onto the Computer that was linked to the Sydney Police Centre (everybody's head office) and they said that the date was changed to the 13/9/93 a few months back now and to come back to court on that date at 10:00a.m.
So, very angry and confused, I went back to my rented unit and tried to telephone Ross P. and try and find out what the hell was going on. He just explained that they must of forgot to pass the information on to me, as they knew of the date-change at the time of the switch by the court system.
Well the final day has come and gone now.
My case was at the Redfern Local Court and was heard at 2:00p.m. as I found myself sitting through other cases that was before mine.
ROLLY V POLICE
The final outcome:
I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt.
I find the case 'NOT PROVEN' due to insufficant evidence.
Case dismissed!


ROLLY V POLICE : ROLLY WON THE BATTLE!!!!

CHAPTER 7
Now, moving right along a couple of years to the year 1995. January, where the Church that I attend was planning to build a new Kitchen and Hall, but I had strong views against it at the time and I will share with you of the application that I put across against this development on going ahead. Now I just have to put in these Church Politics that may rather seem boring to some, but in line with some of my political questions these documents are important and have to be followed to the letter.
TRANSFORMING OUR HALL: SOME ARGUMENTS AGAINST
(Introduction): As a long member of St Barnabas and someone who wants to see the Church do well. I am opposed to the new development of the church hall at this time. I hope that what I say will be carefully debated and thought through by the Parish Council and those responsible. For me, it is a question or priority.
(Basic Theology): We all agree that the church has a great history of preaching and teaching, and especially teaching for Students. We want it to continue to teach people about the Gospel. When it comes to spending money, there are two important considerations:
First: There is the need for good stewardship of our resources. We have buildings which we need to preserve in as good condition as we can, and we have a certain amount of money. We also want to develop our buildings so that they will best serve our ministry of teaching the Bible to people.
Second: There is the need to put people into ministry. In the end, people are more important than buildings and having staff is even more important than having the sort of buildings which we want to do our best work in. St. Barnabas on Broadway, Sydney, Australia, has always had old buildings, often undeveloped and even ugly, but has often chosen to pay for workers rather than upgrade the buildings.
When we bring Stewardship and people in ministry together, we must make choices, we have to give priority to one rather than the other. Sometimes, without any doubt, buildings have to come first. But normally, we ought to put our resources to people who are in ministry.
(The problem): My problem with the plan called "Transforming our Hall" is a problem of Priority.
I have no objection to the plan as such. It is a good way of upgrading our buildings and it will help serve the interests of the people who attend our church. My objection is that we are not yet in a position to adequately support the housing of the staff. We are wasting money on rent, when we should by buying. We cannot afford to renovate the hall while we are still paying rent for staff housing. We have been paying rent for our Assistant Minister for the past four years. We have given ministry-people a priority, but we cannot do this and develop the hall.
My point is best illustrated by the latest appointment David Bradley who is joining the staff in 1995. He has a wife and four children, and so ought to be housed properly somewhere in our area. I understand that we propose to rent accomodation for him. This is a short-term solution, and one which wastes money rather then investing money. And at the same time the congregation is being asked to give money to the development of the Hall.
(My Solution:) While it would be good to develop the hall, I believe that the priority lies with paying for staff, and especially making sure that the church can afford it's staff and not waste money. I believe that we should put the hall "on hold" and spend whatever we can raise in the purchase of adequate staff housing.
If it is not felt that we can do this, it may be an indication that either:
A: We cannot afford as much staff as we currently employ, and that we should ask what sort or work they are doing and where they are doing it, or:
B: We are not using existing property to the best of our ability, and we should reconsider the present use of 37 Arundel Street, and the Hostels in Glebe Point Road.


My idea was that instead of wasting dead money on rent as such, we could renovate one of the Hostels into suitable accomodation for the staff as needed. Instead, we have three staff members on our books and all three are in rented houses? I will just mention one, Mr Condie our Assistant Minister.
The person has been with us for four years or so now, with a couple of addresses if my momory serves me correct. Just say the rent that has to be paid is like $300:00 per week; that is$14,000 a year and $57,600 over four years. And not to mention other staff that have to be housed in rented housing at this time as well. I well believe that the Lord's Money shouldn't be quickly waisted away because a couple of young people who have only just joined our congregation, come onto Parish Council and don't fully sit down and look at the situation of the General Church as such and that matters of the Church Hall may have to be put on hold for a few years or so, while more important things have to be attended to. And as a matter of interest and of great concern to me, if they (The Parish Council) and the young people go ahead and carry out the Project anyway, if something goes wrong on budget and its thrown out by $100,000 or so, after most of these experts have well and truly left St Barbabas to return Home because they'd finished studying at the University of Sydney or UTS - US IS THEM (Robert's theme line) whom will more than likely still be around to pick-up the costs of the blow-out and anything else that might go wrong along the way. Of course there's the matter of the main Church Floor, but I seem to be the only one in the congregation concerned over this matter, so it will be ignored for as long as possible and so long as we can keep the congregation in the dark that there is indeed a serious problem with the floor and has been since Mr Paul Barnett was the Minister here back in 1970.
Transforming Our Hall into a Vibrant Minstry Centre is a good idea and I fullt agree, but a few years down the track when some of the Church problems have had a chance to sort themselves out somewhat. These are only my views of what I think are the priority listing, but there are others of the congregation with their own personal views of what is priority here.
The very last point that I must state in this document, is the fact that I must state that I don't feel it very Christian that anyone should ask the congregation to dig into their paypackets even deeper, because there isn't enough money on budget to cover the costs of the Church Hall Project. In my judgement, if there's not enough in the budget, then overturn these ideas for something of priority that is within the budget, but don't go hitting the workers of the congregation to support this idea. And to close I will end my case thereforth to you, Parish Council / Churchwardens of St Barnabas.

Now my case was carried through the right channels, as in Church Politics, you have to have enough numbers to overthrow the case and block the Project from going ahead. But unfortunately, at one stage I had enough numbers against this project to cause another meeting, but not everyone was willing to go too public and place their name to paper, so that blew the last of the two ideas that I musted up, and so it was back to the drawing board. As to overthrow the decision and get them to change their minds over the matter, those against this Project going ahead at this stage, would of had to have more than 50% of the voters down on paper and stand up to be counted. Unfortunately this was not to be. And just on about 12 months later the New Church Hall project was completed.


It is now 1996, I find myself still attending St Barnabas of Broadway. Funny enough though, but I joined this Church back in 1970/1969 and I not only became a Christian with this church, but have remained a member for so long. I attend the morning service at 9:45a.m., as I seem to know more of the congregation members that attend that service than the evening service.

I attend a small Bible Study group at Rodd Point, fortnightly on Friday evenings and their cover sermon topics of different types that have been preached on at church. I feel that I have fitted in well into this John Creelman (his homegroup/home and the leader) Group, as I have been a member of their study now for approximately four years or so.


I still have contact with my Mother fortnightly, and most of the time go out to visit her at home and spend lunch time on a Saturday with her. We exchange what news of the past two weeks that we know about, then it's time for me to catch the 303 bus back to Surry Hills (where I live) as it goes through my suburb and only two streets away from Cleveland Street, all that journey without changing buses from Mothers suburb of Ramsgate of the southern parts of Sydney. I get out near the Coles Supermaket (Redfern) and I only have a short walk from there back to my place.

I rent a unit here at Cleveland Street, where the rent is reasonable to today's standard, and sort of has to be in place / location where you can simply get to places quickly by buses when you perfer not to own a motor-car. If you leave with enough time, travelling by bus can be quite a pleasant trip. I have been relying on them to get around for many years now.

Even though I have worked at R.O. Hull & Company at Mascot since 1990, as a Storeman and Forklift-Driver. You never can tell just how safe your job will be down the track. As of January 1996, the business became slow and customers were not ordering the demand the same as last year, some customers have not placed an order this year yet. So as things became slow and seemed to stay that way for the Company. In June 1996, the Boss had to cut my five-day week job down to three days. He now only needed me in Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursdays. I am still entitled sick-leave and super and all the rest, but the take home pay is only from the three days and then you are still taxed from that. The firm did state that if things were to have picked up, then I would the five days restored in full. But I am still on the three days and the light at the end of the tunnel seems to have gone out.
With almost half of my current wages swallowed up in rent (need a roof over my head) and the rest in shopping and living. I guess that I am going through a stress period, not knowing when or if, my place of work will ever back to normal. If by this time next year I will not have a job at all to go to, but I guess it's now truly in the hands of the Lord.
I can't let it not be said that I am a person who has seen and mixed with many walks of life: street people, prison inmates, housing commission tenents (young as well as senior) and three Sydney Churches: St Barnabas of Broadway. St Bead's of Beverly Hills and Sans Souci Baptist Church out at Sans Souci (where I was a member for about five years). So I reckon I have mixed with many people over my time.
When I was on the streets living as a young hoon, there wasn't near the amount of violence in society as there is here in Sydney today. And with all fairness, their wasn't nearly as many people crammed here either.
I can remember the worst suburb in Sydney to fear wasn't Redfern because of the Aborgines, but Kings Cross. As their used to be one murder a week along their main street. It was a place that was a no-go-zone and used to be a very evil and Godless place, until about 6 years ago when the Federal Government moved in and took action and cleaned the place up. And now you can walk down the main street, day or night, with you wife and children pretty safe.


The problem I have today with immigation, is that not enough of the wealthy ones are coming here to live and it seems about 75 percent of their unwanted population seem to end up on our doorstep.
As our National Debt is approximately $190 Billion and forever growing, we should put a permanent hold for the moment on all not just Asians and only allow in people who have money and want to start up a Business and empoy Australians. As I feel as a nation, we are one, we are very heavy in debt, and if you owed that much of your house to the bank, who wouldn't have a house to live in now.
We can't kid ourselves now, there are too many people living here and not enough jobs to keep everybody in employment.
The intake violence that has grown in the city and as well as out in the western suburbs will tell you, that too many people unemployed turn to crime and will not stop at stabbing or shooting in an armed-hold-up to take what is not theirs. The Education has to be taught to these folks before entering Australia. They are wanting to come here (people born elsewhere) to us here. It should be well and truly written into the Federal Law, that all new people must have to speak the ENGLISH LANGUAGE, as part of the condition of entry into this land. Then, and only then, a good number of them would get employment and have a fair chance like everyone else.
Speaking as a long-term Australian, I was born at Concord Hospital ay 3:30a.m. my Mother was also born in Australia. My Father was born in Melbourne and fort the Chinese in the last Korean War against us and died from one of their horrable illnessess, but back then, medicine wasn't so far advanced as it is today.
One just wonders, if you stop and think of a moment. Would we have so many immigrants pouring into here, if we didn't hand out quite so much welfare payments as freely and very long-term as this country seems to do.
Is there any other country in the world that we know of, that owes a national debt amount of $190 Billion or more, and hands out welfare at a huge amount as Australia does, and still lets these people in when we are bleeding at our Aussue knees?
Do you realize that on the 10th September 1996, at 5:15p.m. in the Australian Federal Parliament, member of Oxley Ms Pauline Hanson delivered her speech in full. It had to be the first time that I have heard anyone (let alone a lady) get up there and tell it like it is. It has to be the most of the issues I have been talking about all of my adult life. If you ask 85 percent of the people who know me, being a person who speaks his mind, has been known as a Racist. Plus remember when these couple of million people from mixed backgrounds want to start a new life do they really mean they wany somewhere nice to live, receive whatever handouts is on offer, remain speaking their other country language as they are so ashamed of this country that they don't want to learn English, but walk along the street babbling in some non-Australian speech.
Just before I go, there's these facts to consider over the dinner table.
1. A short-term end to all international aid.
2. The end of Multiculturalism. (Because it hasn't worked anywhere else in the world)
3. A large increase in the powers of the police to break up street gangs, and we must fully protect the police who might want to give the bludger a kick up the bum and tell him to wake up to himself.
4. Another go for Aussies with police records, but to have conditions for all law (Aborginies too) breakers, including crimes of drug abuse, vandalism, car theft and graffitti, invariably including labour such as cleaning the trains, buses and streets, hard labour such a building roads with picks and shovels on a chain-gang, and capital punishment in public.


                                            THE END