Hold the Ladder Steady

By Sue Barlow

Growing up in Australia in the early fifties, Robin is intrigued by the folklore of the pink boto told by her father. A childhood fantasy confirms her belief that like all fairy tales, there will always be a boto somewhere waiting just for her. Robin observes the conflicts of Roman Catholicism and the social changes of the sixties that swept like a tide into her adolescence. It was the age of the pill, the Vietnam War and good girls who still wore their hats to mass on Sundays. When she launches herself into life in the city with a man having a cowlick, she leaves the sea behind. New and old friends bring an awareness of the issues that confront Australia in a new age, when the complexities of feminism and sexuality were a thorn in the side of a country that prided itself on fair play.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Dec 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781528971553

Sue Barlow

Sue Barlow grew up on a popular beach on the east coast of Australia in the 1950s. She lived in Sydney in the late '60s where she made many of her observations of Australian society. She completed a BA in literature before teaching but has reached retirement age, giving her time to write and pursue her other hobbies.

Book preview

Gangway

About The Author

Sue Barlow grew up on a popular beach on the east coast of Australia in the 1950s. She lived in Sydney in the late ’60s where she made many of her observations of Australian society.

She completed a BA in literature before teaching but has reached retirement age, giving her time to write and pursue her other hobbies.

Dedication

To my daughters and their children.

Copyright Information ©

Sue Barlow (2019)

The right of Sue Barlow to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528939232 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528971553 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2019)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Acknowledgement

My immense gratitude to Di King, who can pick a spelling mistake from a mile off.

Water Babies

It was a book that provoked the ideas, producing new possibilities, making the unreal real and creating a world that would satisfy the need to connect to the man in her life. The water babies lived their joyful lives in fresh water and her father was a saltwater man, but that didn’t matter to Robin who dreamt only of the freedom offered by a life under the sea. It was only a matter of convincing him that she needed an air hole cut into her back so that she could move through the water unrestricted by the need to surface and breathe. When the weather was not suitable for him to fish at night, her father read to her from Kingsley since she was not yet old enough for school and reading. He had painted the picture; surely, he would agree to cut the hole.

The kitchen, like many of its era, sat at end of the old, high-set timber house, tacked on like some afterthought with a construction of an alcove and chimney made of corrugated iron in one corner that housed the stove. Her mother, who seemed to be permanently pregnant, attended the stove, forever cooking the fish that her father caught in his nets. There were no memories of her mother relaxed and laughing and indeed it was clear, even to a small child, that women had their work cut out for them, raising their babies. The greengrocer and the baker still arrived with their trucks in the street, the milk arrived on the front doorstep with a resounding clatter as the empty bottles were removed, and the grocer would deliver the weekly order that was ticked up on the family account. However, there was no car to escape from the four walls and the nappies hand washed in the sink.

In contrast to these memories were her impressions of her father just as indelibly recorded in store of experiences, sculpting her view of the world. It was her father who taught her to surf and swim, and seemed to enjoy a freedom that was surely connected to the sea. He had mates who came and attended to the mending of nets and discussions of tides and philosophy. Robin observed the fun in it all and dreamt of her life as a water baby. It was only a matter of finding the right time to convince her father that she really did need a breathing hole.

The fish on the stove scented the air with the sweetness only fresh fish exudes and mingled with the pungent promise of the rum in the men’s glasses. Night had fallen but it was still early enough in the year for Robin to be up and the babies tucked up in their beds. Her father would not be fishing that night. The evening air neither chaffed nor plucked at the scene so that the tableau of players in the kitchen was free of the restraints of winter clothes. Nagging was not in use in Robin’s family. No meant no, not maybe or try me again later or wait until I am too weak to resist. No, the answer had to be yes the first time around and so the moment had to be right. There had been previous discussion about her desire to be a water baby but not talk of cutting a breathing hole in her back, however, Robin knew that her father had chosen his life as a fisherman, not through a lack of alternatives but rather through a pure love of the ocean. He had declared that if it was a profession that was good enough for Christ then it was certainly good enough for him. It would surely be good enough for her too.

The level of rum in the bottle had dropped to the point that her father and his mate were smiling in agreement of their conversation. There was a pause in their discussion when Robin made her move.

Daddy.

Her father and his mate were on the other side of the kitchen table, which was set with plates awaiting the frying fish and a breadboard with a high tin loaf and serrated bread knife. Her father and his mate both looked towards Robin, her father always ready and willing to pay attention to his eldest child.

Daddy, I want to be like Tom, I want to be a water baby. I know, he smiled back. But he didn’t look as if he really knew, didn’t really look as if he really understood.

But I really do. I just need a hole in my back so I can breathe underwater.

A hole. Yes, well, I guess that would work, but how do you think you could get a hole? her father inquired, not realising that he was needed to be part of the process.

Well, you could cut one in my back for me, Robin suggested, buoyed by the fact that there had been no outright negation of the idea.

I don’t think I could cut a hole, he said without any sense of revulsion and he continued with his rationale. If I cut you, there would be a lot of blood.

Robin hadn’t considered the blood. In her mind, it would all be a very tidy little operation. She did look disappointed but her father was a man who always searched for an alternative. He turned to his mate to run the new idea past him.

What do you think if I was to burn a hole, there wouldn’t be any blood, would there, Nev?

Good plan, agreed Nev. But what are ya gonna use to burn the hole?

Well, I don’t really know that I need to light a fire or anything because the stove is here so I have heat, but I guess it is more of a question of what instrument I should use.

Well, of course there would have to be an instrument, Robin could now see the need for one. She considered herself lucky to have her daddy because he would find a solution, there were no doubts about that. Her father looked around the room, searching for some inspiration and Robin could see that he was now clearly focused on finding that solution. It wouldn’t be long and she would be free to join in the world of Tom and all the aquatic creatures that inhabited that watery world.

She was too young to think of this forthcoming adventure in terms of time. Would she be slipping under the waves into an alternate world forever? Would she be home for dinner or simply dine on oysters and fried fish? Mrs Doasyouwouldbedoneby had left an impression but Robin didn’t consider that perhaps her mother and siblings might miss her, or for that matter, that she might miss them. Her mother was a perfectly wonderful model of a mother. There was no wooden spoon or any other instrument for dishing out punishment. There was never any neglect only love, but the allure of the freedom of being a water baby cancelled out all other considerations.

How big will this hole be? inquired Nev as he poured them both another drink.

About the size of a shilling. It just has to be big enough to breathe through, responded her father, throwing back his drink.

A shilling seemed like a reasonable size to Robin, she could visualise the silver coin in the palm of her hand. Besides, Robin trusted her daddy, he had never let her down and now he was willing to fulfil her request right away. She wouldn’t have to wait long now to slip into the deep blue sea. There was no grand exit from the household planned in her mind. No vision of the farewells that would be required, no thought that night -time reaches into the depths of the sea. No vision of sharks or barbs or stings. Once the hole was made, would she be able to breathe on land? Would she still be a land baby at all? Can you be both a land baby and water baby?

We will need a place to operate, he continued, looking very pleased with the idea now that it was set in motion.

The fish is ready, announced her mother, which caused Robin a moment’s concern because she really didn’t want her daddy distracted now that the ball was rolling. But her father was with her on this and he was not going to be distracted from his mission to make his little girl happy.

We’ll eat it later. This operation won’t take too long. Have a seat, love and relax, he consoled his wife, but before she could lower herself into the kitchen chair, she was carried off in response to a crying baby who had decided that it needed a little maternal attention. I reckon we could clear this table to operate, he said, gathering the plates and cutlery and removing them to the sideboard. The bread and the breadboard were also removed, but the bread knife remained alone on the operating table.

The soft yellow light from the overhead bulb cast an arc over the table as he swept the crumbs from the bread on to the floor. He picked up the knife and examined it carefully. It had a long, serrated blade with a worn wooden handle. Robin looked at the blade also, but her faith in her father was unshaken so she was not at all perturbed when he announced that it was the perfect instrument because he reasoned that the rounded end was perfect for making a shilling-sized hole. Nev also examined the instrument and added a practical suggestion.

We could ’ave a little practise on a fish fillet to make sure it will be the right size, he reasoned.

There was always a fillet of fish available in the household being the staple part of their diet, so her father fetched the raw fish from the fridge and set the chopping board back on the middle of the table with the fillet lined out ready for surgery. It had been skinned and its translucent flesh lay firm and silky upon the sacrificial board. He advanced to the stove and lit the flame and began to heat the knife in the blue flame. Robin watched his every move and the way he carefully turned the blade.

How long’s it gonna take before it is hot enough? enquired Nev.

I’m going to give it a while, but when we test it on the fish, I’ll know if it needs more time, her father grinned, his face mellow from the effects of the rum.

Robin felt that it was taking a long time but she did not want to question the process for fear of interrupting. Finally, her father pulled the blade from the flame and approached the table. Without hesitating, he placed the tip of the blade flat on the fillet. The smell of searing fish filled the air and burned into Robin’s imagination. That was so easy, she felt her daddy made it all look perfectly possible.

After a minute, he turned the blade over to capture the last of its heat and then he pulled the blade back to reveal his handiwork. Indeed, there was a white circle burned into the flesh of fish. It’s a good size, just about right, said her father, pleased with his calculations.

It’s my turn now, please, Daddy, pleaded Robin. The possibilities of a new future never seemed more credible. It would only be a matter of minutes and she would be able to breathe underwater. But she didn’t need to plead because he was asking Nev to clear the board and the seared fish fillet from the table, as he advanced towards her to help with the removal of her pyjama top.

The Laminex table felt cold on her tummy and chest as she lay face down on the operating table. She couldn’t see the faces of the men or indeed what her father was doing, but she heard her mother come back into the room and her father reassuring her that the operation would soon be over and they could get on with eating their meal. Her mother said nothing because the baby she had just settled started to cry again and Robin could hear her heading up the hallway to the bedrooms.

Do ya think we should sterilise her before ya operate on her? asked Nev, being the practical fellow that he was. I know when ya go in for any surgery they always sterilise the area so that there’s no infection or do ya think that cauterisin’ the wound will kill the germs? he continued.

I’m pretty sure that cauterising will kill the germs, but how about we swab her down just to be sure, reasoned her father. You could use the rum, that will kill anything.

The rum dribbled down her back, chilling her flesh as its sugary fragrance filled her nostrils. Nev dabbed at the trickle with a tea towel, not that there was too much mopping up to do as the men would not be wasting their rum. It was a pleasant smell, both familiar and comforting and it spurred her father on to continue his mission. Picking up the knife, he turned on the flame and started to heat the blade. Robin could not see the flame or the knife because she was facing the open window, which did not allow a line of sight of the stove, but she could see the evening sky already heavy with stars, full of the promise of the night ahead.

It seemed to be taking an exceptionally long time to heat the knife but Robin held her tongue, unwilling to interrupt any part of the procedure. Her father said nothing as he concentrated on heating the blade and Nev silenced himself by pouring another rum. The baby in the back bedroom seemed to have settled into sleep and her mother had not yet returned so the stillness of the night settled upon the scene, creating a meditative peace.

At last, the silence was broken by the sound of her father turning on the wooden floorboards and taking the two steps towards the table. Nobody spoke and now a cricket, taking advantage of the cover of night by calling for a mate, was the only interruption to the sense of tranquillity, which had fallen like a blanket upon the scene. There was something sacred about Robin’s transition into a new life heightened by the silence, like some vow taken in church.

She could feel the warmth spreading down her back as her father lowered the blade towards the centre of her back, transmitting the energy that would be her transformation. It was very warm but it didn’t actually hurt, didn’t cause any real pain. The blade remained hovering just above her skin. You will have to keep very still, warned her father. But Robin had no inclination to move even a muscle as she relaxed with the warmth. There was no smell of searing flesh, no sizzle or snap like the fish fillet, just the warmth. If ever time was to stand still, this was the moment, and in the years to come Robin would only ever recall the moment as being blessedly endless.

How’s it goin’? inquired Nev from the foot of the table. Her father pulled the blade back from where it hovered over Robin’s back and straightened up.

Well, I’ve done my best, but I think that now that I am through, I would have to say that fish flesh is very different to human flesh. Maybe it’s because the skin is tougher that there doesn’t seem to be the same result.

Robin stretched her hand around to explore her back but indeed, the skin felt smooth and taut and there was no breathing hole for her little fingers to feel. Her face dropped with disappointment. The world under the water was out of reach.

You know, her father’s cheery voice interrupted her thoughts, I think it’s time I bought you a snorkel and mask. We can go down to the river to dive. We will feed the fish cunjevoi that grow on the rocks and when we are finished, we will come home to your mum and I can still read to you at night when I am not fishing at sea.

He was that kind of a man, the type you can rely to make it all right, and so for the time being, Robin abandoned her dream of living under the sea.

The Sea Witch

Their home lay between the mouth of the river and the blue sea which were separated by a distance that even a child could navigate. A perfect place for exploration in a time when children could wonder free and there was no need for special parks for dogs because they didn’t need leashes and nobody said don’t go there. That is not to say that dangers didn’t exist. There was still the odd flasher displaying his wares to unwary passers-by and you might end up with an oyster cut, but Robin loved her playground and was often happy alone with just her dear dog who spent his time lost in his own adventures.

Her beach was just right for swimming and it was blessed on its northern end by a headland that spilled out into the sea. A headland complete with boulders and caves! On the southern end, a steep headland dropped on to a bed of rocks which disappeared beneath the sea in a storm, guarding her little bay, which was at its best when people were