Chains
Without Prejudice
Huntington Park is set in verdant rolling green hills, the vista belying the underbelly of poverty and criminality. It began its life as chocolate brown fields of market gardens of celery and cabbages. Row upon row of green vegetables arced over by triffid like irrigation pipes, spewing forth the life giving water. In Summer the water shimmered in rainbows.
It was a sleepy retirement village then, habitated by gnarly old Soldiers from all the wars. They met once a year at the Anzac Memorial for a few tears, beers and reminiscences. Then on to the sausage sizzle with its scent of barbecued onions and thin steaks sizzling. The group would get louder as the beers went down and laughter was heard in the crisp Autumn afternoon.
The women in shapeless dresses and battered hats sighed and complained to each other of the perfidity of men, the long hours of work in the fields and their homes. Everyone was poor then. Poverty being the great leveller of humanity. There were no noveau riche then, except for the local Solicitor who owned a big house and a vapid wife.
It was rumoured she had once lay in the gravelled driveway and asked her husband to drive over her.
" Roll over me Rollie" , she was supposed to have said.
But he never did.
Amy had had her, the wife, as a Girl Guide leader. Had gone to that Big House and learned how to wash dishes. Like a Housewife she was expected to become. Suds of Janitor washing liquid that scented the air with the smell of eucalyptus. First the glasses, then the cups, bowls, bread and butter plates, dinner plates and saucepans.
Amy was marked on it for a merit badge and passed. First step to wifedom. Her older Sister Sarah learned typing and shorthand at the local manse and Amy felt that typing was probably more of a necessary skill in life than dishwashing. But she kept her mouth firmly shut and answered questions by the haughty wife of Rollie only in monosyllables.
When Rollies wife asked after Amy's Mother, Amy stayed silent and stared down at the floor.
Huntington Park is set in verdant rolling green hills, the vista belying the underbelly of poverty and criminality. It began its life as chocolate brown fields of market gardens of celery and cabbages. Row upon row of green vegetables arced over by triffid like irrigation pipes, spewing forth the life giving water. In Summer the water shimmered in rainbows.
It was a sleepy retirement village then, habitated by gnarly old Soldiers from all the wars. They met once a year at the Anzac Memorial for a few tears, beers and reminiscences. Then on to the sausage sizzle with its scent of barbecued onions and thin steaks sizzling. The group would get louder as the beers went down and laughter was heard in the crisp Autumn afternoon.
The women in shapeless dresses and battered hats sighed and complained to each other of the perfidity of men, the long hours of work in the fields and their homes. Everyone was poor then. Poverty being the great leveller of humanity. There were no noveau riche then, except for the local Solicitor who owned a big house and a vapid wife.
It was rumoured she had once lay in the gravelled driveway and asked her husband to drive over her.
" Roll over me Rollie" , she was supposed to have said.
But he never did.
Amy had had her, the wife, as a Girl Guide leader. Had gone to that Big House and learned how to wash dishes. Like a Housewife she was expected to become. Suds of Janitor washing liquid that scented the air with the smell of eucalyptus. First the glasses, then the cups, bowls, bread and butter plates, dinner plates and saucepans.
Amy was marked on it for a merit badge and passed. First step to wifedom. Her older Sister Sarah learned typing and shorthand at the local manse and Amy felt that typing was probably more of a necessary skill in life than dishwashing. But she kept her mouth firmly shut and answered questions by the haughty wife of Rollie only in monosyllables.
When Rollies wife asked after Amy's Mother, Amy stayed silent and stared down at the floor.
