Two years since my rather abrupt departure from Australia.

Two years since my rather abrupt departure from Australia.

Gradually, fallen further away from Virginia and the kids, a cautious sense of freedom crept into my being, starting somewhere, I imagine in the middle of the Indian Ocean, once realizing  I could no longer be dragged back. The sudden release from everything, combined with  sea air,  flying fish and porpoises leaping at the bow,  a miraculous cure for all my obsessions, depression…irresponsible but intoxicating. All my dreams and anticipation regarding the UK soon dissipating in the unaccustomed struggle for existence. The standard of living on this side of the world being atrocious. But my back, firmly against the wall, as with so many other people.. realised no other place too run to.  London, a giant waste disposal, people simply drained, sunk into it, disappeared, without trace.

Quite happy to go along with this, provided I could do it alone ..at my own pace.. without any haste. Only very occasionally did I miss the garden and the beach, often wondered what became of my beehives, the fact of my living in a ghetto with my mother, of having thrown away the best part of my life, hardly caused  any loss of sleep. Not forgotten Brady Street Mansions. they were ghettoes... the War.. had survived those years… doubtlessly would survive now. The ability to sleep and the sense of having escaped,  compensation for everything.    No longer wake,  thoughts stifling in the hot night, mosquitoes determinedly drinking my blood, Virginia, self-sacrificing, silent next to me. No longer would I  get up in a frenzy .. rush out onto the verandah, moon's pale reflection on  the raw, white rocks of Adelaide Hills. Those more desperate moments, pushing the Holden back up the drive, tyres crunching on the gravel, out into Desaumarez Street, let her roll clear of the house and drive towards the line where the lights stretched out before me abruptly stopped. 

There, with the waves lapping reassuringly on the long deserted beach, my isolation,  complete. Any.. the only sign of  civilisation, being the flashing light at the end of Brighton jetty merging with the myriads stars, brilliant, right down to the waters edge. Time and again I had stood at that spot, water washing round my feet as if wanting to submerge myself in the dark sea, perhaps there, beneath the gently rolling surf, I would finally find tranquillity.

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The two years had yielded me nothing, other than a sense of ceasing to belong anywhere at all. I was 'home', true, everything basically  the same,  I had changed, the people I knew had changed. Hackney possessing a atmosphere of creeping paralysis. Apparently no reality  other than the immediate demands of money, people moving away. My sister, after being told by Hackney Borough Council that she 'must learn to live with black people', moved to Stevenage, not really thrilled to be forced to a pile of bricks dumped on the Hertfordshire countryside. Strange, that at the peak of the blitz no one considered moving; in fact, the reverse, but with the dramatic change in social conditions, people simply fled.

My mother refused to go, realising  the going would be the end; isolated from her cronies on the pub circuit ... what would she do? 'Curl up and die' as she so succinctly put it.

She and I remained. Probably, having the money, could have persuaded her to shift ... join the trek towards Enfield, Loughton or wherever people go when the roots go rotten.

Could see myself falling into the abyss; a gradual, unobtrusive, decent one. Sleeping on the floor at Fred's, or in my yellow bare room with the faded pink curtains, made no impact on me. Perhaps thinking that the price of a house and family was purgatory. Had hardly been happy in Desaumarez Street…

Would lie,  couple of days at a time, looking at the ceiling, trying to fathom what out what it had all been about, my only conclusion on every occasion and from very angle, that it had all been about very little, about nothing. True,  had slipped the domestic net ... no problem as to where to take the kids at the weekend, or that rats, bigger than a cat, had infested the roof, or some catastrophe had occurred in the kitchen. No longer concerned about the parrots, eating the almonds and the fruit. No, my yellow room in the bright Sun did not hold any terrors for me. It would not become full of Virginia, make up thrown on her face, clarinet case in her hand, her old green tweed jacket, skirt over her thick brown stockings. She was 'Off to the Uni' she had always been off to the university; she lived it, breathed it, her size ten feet peddling furiously down Burnside Road towards it. Every moment of her day,  carefully accounted for.. managing to coincide the birth of each of our children with a long university vacation. Tried thinking where the basis of our relationship had been. Whatever my thoughts, they could be diametrically twisted. What did a strong minded Aussie bird see in a ketch hand? In the evenings, after the kids had settled down, she would sit in the long room with the green glass walls, overhung by the Gum tree and make her own private loneliness come out of the clarinet. Initially, very interested in her music, but slowly, it became apparent  my interest was not wanted. No, we drifted apart, the same as so very many couples, for no specific reasons, other than the change in ourselves.

Gradually,  gave up the piano, mainly because of the dark looks  received from her. Couldn't possibly approach her standard, never any question of that. At first she had given some encouragement to my pieces of 'Chopin' and the 'Blue Danube', this last, a "must" with my father. At eight years old had never dared argue with him. Each Wednesday,  going to my music lesson clutching the seven and sixpence  he had given to me, my music in a brown paper carrier bag.

Opposite ends of the spectrum, Virginia and I.

Somebody once remarked that I was on the 'social wagon' but a long time elapsed before seeing what was meant.

Could only conclude,  back where I belonged. Stepping 'up market' however innocently, had been a disaster for all concerned. Looked about for pieces of my life to pick up,  could not find any worth bending down for, saw little further than shunting round streets I had always known.

Gradually the way of life crept into me, finding myself able to exist on virtually nothing. Had no ambition, the insane race to the top,  .. to where precisely … passed me out of sight.

Gliksten offered  a new car and  management of a Branch in Barnet; refused it without hesitation. For some reason, however strange, could not leave Hackney, even to go just up the road to Barnet, his wife became quite annoyed over my refusal, especially after saying that I would get an increase!

Had no interest in money, or really anything else. Victoria Park so far as I ever wanted to go, would sit by the lake watching the kids playing,  people doing nothing. Began to realise,  doing nothing .. not such a crime after all.

Life drifted on without any apparent purpose; without any indication of what it was all about.

Tried on many occasions to ring Australia,  only the curt click of the receiver being banged down for my efforts, the few letters sent remained unanswered.

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