Cowboys and Indians
Without Prejudice
When I was a little girl living in Port Augusta, my brothers and I would play Cowboys and Indians. George had a Davy Crocket hat and I had an Annie Oakley outfit, with twin gun holsters, waistcoat, skirt and a sherrifs badge. We played endlessly in the back yard, sitting on the roof to the garage stealing almonds from the next door neighbours, Mr and Mrs Chissen. He caught us and told us off and invited us instead in to see his house.
So we did. He had an old fashioned record player, that had a great big arm that came down on the record with a tiny needle and miraculously music would come out. we were fascinated. And this strange thing played incredible music and we were hooked listening to it for hours. Tennesee Ernie Ford and Perry Como and Patsy Cline.
Mr Chissen used to call me Suzy for some reason, never Janette. he said I Looked like a Suzy. His wife died shortly after that and he died the following week and it was our first experience of death. We were saddened and would sit on the roof and look at the empty house, so silent and feel sad but saw it as reasonable that he died too, he would have missed her so much.
We then had a record player too, a tiny little square thing that played 45's. I loved "Tweety Bird and Sylvester" and Dave loved "One little, two little, three little Indians" and he would run around the table in the kitchen in circles every time it was played. Round and round as fast as he could and stopping only when so dizzy that he fell down.
George and I would shoot at each other with our cap guns, exploding with a rich smell of sulphur every time the six shooters hammer struck and we lay down dead, pretending. And we ran around the back yard and sometimes George was the Indian, feathered headdress and a chamois as a loin cloth. And I would shoot him dead and pretend to scalp him with a toy axe.
We were these incredibly skinny little kids, always running or trying to swim. The nights were hot in Port Augusta so Mum and Dad would often take Dave on long drives as he would never sleep and he would nod off eventually in the car and once he was we would ask questions of Mum and Dad. The car had running boards on the outside and pop out blinkers on the side and if they ever stuck, Dad would just stick his arm out and indicate turning right, stop, or "go around". It was big enough for all of us and we would drive through the silent hot night, feeling the breeze on our arms as we waved them poking out of the car.
Some nights we went to the "beach", just a sandy shore to the Spencer Gulf, meeting up with friends and neighbours. Jackie and George could swim, Jackie especially well and Ian and Jamie. We all practiced "The Dead Mans Float" arms and legs outstretched floating face down and not moving. Dad taught us to float without fear, just bobbing up and down with the small waves and then we would rest on the sand at night on our backs, looking up at the inky blackness of the night sky and the myriad of stars, twinkling, just for us.
And one night as we chatted desultorily on the beach a cry went up. A scream of terror, by Mum. Dave who was just a baby of 18 months had todddled into the water unseen by the rest of us and was doing his own 'Dead Mans Float". Thank God Mum had noticed in the darkness he was missing and was able to see his tiny body floating on his front trying to emulate what we had been doing. Everyone rushed into the water to get him and he was alright after a while, spluttering and crying and rubbed down roughly with a towel.
It was not long after that Jamie my sweet brother,died.
He and his best friend Wayne, died in a senseless tragedy witnessed by Ian and George and our lives would change forever. We no longer ran as Cowboys and Indians anymore, childish games forgotten and real life coming to us too quickly, harshly. My parents were never the same. they were isolated in Port Augusta, family being 12,000 miles away in the UK. We banded together, supporting each other and then we never spoke of him again. Abiding by Dad's wishes, to not upset our "highly strung", Mother. And that was the way it was in the old days, better not to speak of the dead and all will heal itself. but it never did.
To be Continued
Love Janette
When I was a little girl living in Port Augusta, my brothers and I would play Cowboys and Indians. George had a Davy Crocket hat and I had an Annie Oakley outfit, with twin gun holsters, waistcoat, skirt and a sherrifs badge. We played endlessly in the back yard, sitting on the roof to the garage stealing almonds from the next door neighbours, Mr and Mrs Chissen. He caught us and told us off and invited us instead in to see his house.
So we did. He had an old fashioned record player, that had a great big arm that came down on the record with a tiny needle and miraculously music would come out. we were fascinated. And this strange thing played incredible music and we were hooked listening to it for hours. Tennesee Ernie Ford and Perry Como and Patsy Cline.
Mr Chissen used to call me Suzy for some reason, never Janette. he said I Looked like a Suzy. His wife died shortly after that and he died the following week and it was our first experience of death. We were saddened and would sit on the roof and look at the empty house, so silent and feel sad but saw it as reasonable that he died too, he would have missed her so much.
We then had a record player too, a tiny little square thing that played 45's. I loved "Tweety Bird and Sylvester" and Dave loved "One little, two little, three little Indians" and he would run around the table in the kitchen in circles every time it was played. Round and round as fast as he could and stopping only when so dizzy that he fell down.
George and I would shoot at each other with our cap guns, exploding with a rich smell of sulphur every time the six shooters hammer struck and we lay down dead, pretending. And we ran around the back yard and sometimes George was the Indian, feathered headdress and a chamois as a loin cloth. And I would shoot him dead and pretend to scalp him with a toy axe.
We were these incredibly skinny little kids, always running or trying to swim. The nights were hot in Port Augusta so Mum and Dad would often take Dave on long drives as he would never sleep and he would nod off eventually in the car and once he was we would ask questions of Mum and Dad. The car had running boards on the outside and pop out blinkers on the side and if they ever stuck, Dad would just stick his arm out and indicate turning right, stop, or "go around". It was big enough for all of us and we would drive through the silent hot night, feeling the breeze on our arms as we waved them poking out of the car.
Some nights we went to the "beach", just a sandy shore to the Spencer Gulf, meeting up with friends and neighbours. Jackie and George could swim, Jackie especially well and Ian and Jamie. We all practiced "The Dead Mans Float" arms and legs outstretched floating face down and not moving. Dad taught us to float without fear, just bobbing up and down with the small waves and then we would rest on the sand at night on our backs, looking up at the inky blackness of the night sky and the myriad of stars, twinkling, just for us.
And one night as we chatted desultorily on the beach a cry went up. A scream of terror, by Mum. Dave who was just a baby of 18 months had todddled into the water unseen by the rest of us and was doing his own 'Dead Mans Float". Thank God Mum had noticed in the darkness he was missing and was able to see his tiny body floating on his front trying to emulate what we had been doing. Everyone rushed into the water to get him and he was alright after a while, spluttering and crying and rubbed down roughly with a towel.
It was not long after that Jamie my sweet brother,died.
He and his best friend Wayne, died in a senseless tragedy witnessed by Ian and George and our lives would change forever. We no longer ran as Cowboys and Indians anymore, childish games forgotten and real life coming to us too quickly, harshly. My parents were never the same. they were isolated in Port Augusta, family being 12,000 miles away in the UK. We banded together, supporting each other and then we never spoke of him again. Abiding by Dad's wishes, to not upset our "highly strung", Mother. And that was the way it was in the old days, better not to speak of the dead and all will heal itself. but it never did.
To be Continued
Love Janette
