Oh! England, my Lionheart!
Peter Pan steals the kids in Kensington Park.
You read me Shakespeare on the rolling Thames--
That old river poet that never, ever ends.
Our thumping hearts hold the ravens in,
And keep the tower from tumbling.
1976 was a decisive year both for me and my family.
It started off normally enough and then during the Easter holidays I was aware that something was going on. My parents would suddenly stop talking when I entered the room and my middle sister started becoming distant towards me.
My middle sister and I had become very close over the past year. My older sister had started working and had a life of her own. Dad had been given a promotion at work and was now the supervisor of a building firm. His company landed a contract to build new surf life saving clubs along Sydney's northern beaches. We had been regular beach goers, like most Sydney-siders, but this now gave us a whole new world of fun and independence. Spending all day on the beach, while dad worked during the holidays and finding a whole new group of cool, non-judgmental friends. A passion I would pursue at every possible opportunity until I left school and home.
We also were playing tennis each Saturday. This had started through a classmate of mine whose mother was the secretary of the club and was trying to recruit more players. Much to her dislike both my sister and I proved to be very proficient players and by the end of 4 weeks both of us had been promoted to the 'competition league' whilst her son was still in the practice section. Before and after tennis my sister and I would hang out with her friends, including her boyfriends and I finally started to feel not only grown up but excepted. Of course, this meant I had to keep quiet about the fact that my sister was regularly having sex with boys behind the tennis court sheds!
I don't remember what finally brought it up, but one Saturday morning I knew my parents were discussing me and I demanded to know what they were talking about. That's when they told me my mother was taking me with her to England for 8 weeks holiday.
For a boy who was a total anglophile (thanks to my mother) and whose only holidays had been spent in the bush this was the best news of my life! Of course being me I nearly blew it a few weeks later when my friend and I had our ears pierced. This was the latest fashion and we had gone to the 'camping store' where a very hippy type lady had used a two blocks of ice and a needle to pierce our ears. OUCH! I felt so cool, and sore, going home with a gold sleeper in my ear. My parents promptly told me it was either the earring or England! England won.
My most lasting memory of London was the day mum spent 3 hours in Harrods deciding on a coat to buy. In doing so she managed to befriend an American tourist. He was in his 30's, traveling alone and as camp as a row of tents! Mum would like to think it was her charm and social ease which ended up with him touring for the rest of the day with us, and paying for everything including afternoon tea, but actually it was the fact that I let him spend the day with his hands feeling my bum at every opportunity as we walked down The Mall and then let him rub my crotch under the table during afternoon tea. I was already of the power of my boyhood sexuality.
Cornwall was a magical, mystical love affair for me. My mother had a car and we drove to all her childhood haunts. The medieval villages, quaint seaside towns, the spooky moors, historic manor houses. I was in love with everything. My mum became a different person overnight, surrounded by love and family. I was so enamored with the whole experience that I begged her to let me stay with my grandparents and finish school in England. I didn't want to go back to my former angst filled life in Australia. Of course this was out of the question and after another 2 weeks in London we eventually returned.
If only we knew what was waiting for us.......
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