Lost in Transition: A Narrative of Bullying

By Sanitee T'Chong

Everyone would like to say they had a good, happy childhood, a nice home, with plenty of food, a loving family, supportive siblings, a friendly neighbourhood, friends, and who enjoyed school, and did well in their studies.
But that can’t be said for Langley Badcock, or Lang for short—or gangly Langley as he often thought of himself. No, he was one of those kids we see in American movies who can’t get a prom date, or in fact any date. But Melbourne didn’t even have proms when Langley was growing up in the 1960s and early ‘70s. Just as well, he often thought when he saw those stoopid B-grade feel-good American teen movies, for he would never have been able to get a prom date. I mean, he was so ugly, as skinny as a blade of grass, scrawny, unkempt, and “known” to be a poof, that no girl would ever even look at him once, let alone twice. Besides, he went to an all-boys school, so where the hell would he come in contact with girls? Hire one for a prom?—now there’s a business for an entrepreneur! Ask his sister if one of her ugly friends would pretend to be his date? And even if he could get a girl, he would loath to attend any public function for fear of being ridiculed, teased, bullied, and especially in front of a girl of all people!
No.... Better to skip social occasions altogether. He was destined to be just one of those boys who never fitted in, would never fit in.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Warrior Publishers
• Release date: Jul 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005048808

Sanitee T'Chong

Sanitee T'Chong is a mysterious, low profile academic...

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Lost in Transition

A Narrative of Bullying

by

Sanitee T’Chong

Copyright © 2021 Sanitee T’Chong

All rights reserved.

ISBN:

Published by Warrior Publishers at Smashwords

This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission from the author or Warrior Publishers.

Sanitee T’Chong has asserted the right to be identified as the Author of this work. The Author and Publisher separately and jointly assert their moral rights.

The author and the Publisher have made every effort to contact copyright holders for material used in this book. Any person or organization that may have been overlooked should contact the Publisher.

Cover design by the author.

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Table of Contents

This book is 300 pages (A4, single space lines 12 point font). Enjoy. Learn. Accept. Forgive.

Chapter 1: Early Days

To 1965. The first 12 years. Williamstown. Primary school. Garry, Chris. A bit of sex stuff. Girlfriends and love. Delinquency and distrust.

Chapter 2: 1966—High School

The 1st day. Donald. The 2nd+ day. PE classes. Sports day—cricket. Glasses. Loneliness. Bullying. ‘Home’. Moving house. More bullying.

Chapter 3: Of Boys…and Girls, and Boys

Matthew. Lynne. Garry again. Handball. Porn. Josh. Steven. Sex. Larry. Jeff.

Chapter 4: 1968—The Third Year

Mike. Barry. Luna Park. Barry’s house. First sex. Further outings. Stealing a car. First fuck. Wretched at school. Fight. Leaving school. Stealing a bike. A job. Gloria. Another job. Stealing a radio. Burglary. Stealing a typewriter. Busted. Greg. Braces.

Chapter 5: Sex and Cars—1968-1969

Fred. Grocery store work. Buy’n a car. Steal’n a car. Blackmail. Busted.

Chapter 6: 1969—The Return to School

Losing Barry. Tenuous friendships. Sixteen.

Chapter 7: 1969 continues—Fourth Form

Break up. Home life. Jim. Going with Larry.

Chapter 8: 1970—Fifth-year

Hanging with Larry. Domestic arguments. Lang buys a bike. Non-parties. The old man in hospital. Encountering bureaucracy. Lang buys a car. Falling insanely in love. When counseling is not counseling. Unrequited love. Sexuality and obsession. Surgery. More bureaucracy.

Chapter 9: Theorizing Ugly

Surgery. Paranoia? Love and lust. Theorizing. More theory. Tony and jealousy. More unrequited love. Asking Larry again. Threats. Breaking from Langley. Making amends. Dress sense. Having some fun. Plans for surgery.

Chapter 10: Unrequited Love

Surgery. More mood fluctuations. Platitudes. Manipulation, vacillation, procrastination. More theorizing. Bullying. Deteriorating.

Chapter 11: 1971. The Sixth and Final Year: An Unhealthy Obsession

Larry’s family. A short-lived girlfriend. Changing attitudes. Falling grades. Fishing and boating. Vacillating plans. A party! Home life. Wagging it. Dreading weekends. Using his car. Ron and John: new friends. Thinking and theorizing. The return of Barry? The realization of boys. Eighteen.

Chapter 12: Thorns of Love

1971 continues. Unrequited love. Drama. Fear of loneliness. Freedom.

Chapter 13: Mark, 1971

Requited love. Academic terror. Fun and drama.

Chapter 14: Post-Mark, 1972

Academic failure. More letters. A panel-van! Virginal loss

Chapter 15: 1972. A Career of Sorts?

Work. Being different. Bullying bullshit. Clandestine sex. Fear of loneliness. Another girl opportunity lost. Leaving home. Mark again. Changes.

Chapter 16: 1973. Working out Relationships

Un/employed. Debt. A new flat or two. New friends. Heterosex of sorts. Jealousy. Politics. Returning home. A new car.

Chapter 17: Dean

1974.

AFTERWORD

Other books by Warrior Publishers

Home is the first school, and parents are the first teachers.

Chapter One

Early Days

To 1965. The first 12 years. Williamstown. Primary school. Garry, Chris. A bit of sex stuff. Girlfriends and love. Delinquency and distrust.

So how, exactly, did Langley Badcock end up in a lunatic asylum? And after so many scrapes with the law that underpinned his uncontrollable urge to control things, an asylum where he could control nothing except by knowing the system and thereby controlling his self in it and thus control the system; and given his rampant sexuality that took so much form as homo-eroticism against the system. System system…what does that word mean? Imply?

~

Everyone would like to say they had a good, happy childhood, a nice home, with plenty of food, a loving family, supportive siblings, a friendly neighbourhood, friends, and who enjoyed school, and did well in their studies.

But that can’t be said for Langley Badcock, or Lang for short—or gangly Langley as he often thought of himself. No, he was one of those kids we see in American movies who can’t get a prom date, or in fact any date. But the Melbourne region, Australia, doesn’t even have proms like the Yanks do; oh, more recently High Schools have adopted a facsimile now, a Graduation Night, mostly formal, maybe some dancing. But when Langley Badcock was growing up, finishing High School in the early 1970s, there was barely such a thing. Just as well, he often thought when he saw those stoopid B-grade feel-good American teen movies, for he would never have been able to get a prom date. I mean, he was so ugly, as skinny as a blade of grass, scrawny, unkempt, and known to be a poof, that no girl would ever even look at him once, let alone twice. Besides, he went to an all-boys school, so where the hell would he come in contact with girls? Hire one for a prom?—now there’s a business for an entrepreneur! Ask his sister if one of her ugly friends would pretend to be his date? And even if he could get a girl, he would loath to attend any school or public function for fear of being ridiculed, teased, bullied, and especially in front of a girl of all people!

No…. Better to skip social occasions altogether. He was destined to be just one of those boys who never fitted in, would never fit in.

~

On reflection Langley supposed his first 11 or so years were ok, probably more because he was innocent… well, perhaps not exactly innocent, but certainly naïve. And where he lived was somewhat sheltered him from the world, from the system. Or maybe it was the system at work?

The following 7 or so years, from age 12 to 18, however, were neither innocent, nor kind, although he was still naïve. And the system still persisted.

Bullying. That was the cause of all his woes. Plain everyday bullying.

He had always been teased by his friends in the neighbourhood, even by his two brothers and sister; maybe we all have been to some extent, some more so than others; but it seemed to Lang that he was the most teased. That’s what it was called back then, in the old days, teasing. Lang’s mother said just ignore it.

Today it’s called bullying, but that seems to be something more focused, more directed, persistent and consistent, more intense. But, teasing, or bullying, it still had the same effect.

But bullying doesn’t come from no where. It comes from the System. It is the System, in one form or another, that engenders bullying, to pressure conformity, and where it can’t obviously enforce that conformity, it casts out, marginalizes, drives out those who do not fit. As any sociologist will tell you, the purpose in labeling someone as deviant is to reinforce the notion of normality, of one’s own righteous self; there but for the grace of God…. But who said the System was God? Who said the System could not be challenged, just as God could not be challenged? But what price does one pay for such a challenge? Langley Badcock was about to find out—that the most symbolic force of bullying is when it assumes the guise of self-exclusion.

~

Lang’s father came from England, and Lang later thought that if he had lived in England he would not have been teased, at least as much, because he looked like his father. He had an English head, you know the type, longish face, small eyes, Anglo-Saxon overall, with a big nose. But he wasn’t ugly, at least he didn’t think so, at least at first. He looked back at some old black and white photos, taken with a Box-Brownie, of himself at age 2 sitting on the back step, with curly snow-white hair, and later in his Primary School uniform with jumper and tie (it must have been winter), and he looked ok, so he thought, except maybe for his nose, which, like his father’s, was too big. But it was straight, and not so noticeable front on. He figured he had a mildly recessive chin—or what some would call a weak chin, like that of the Syria Assad dictator guy—that attenuated the nasal feature in silhouette.

But to honest, he was a skinny runt, also; boney, with a skinny frame, skinny legs with knobby knees, a flat chest, that lasted well into his early adulthood. And white; no tan at all. And not infrequently Lang wouldn’t wash his face in the mornings, so he would go to school with crusty conjunctiva attached to his eyelashes, which didn’t go unnoticed. He also at times didn’t wash his hair for a week or more at a time, and he was thus occasionally noted to have greeny mouldy streaks as a consequence, which often enough matched his rather greeny-stained teeth that he seldom cleaned. His mother seldom, and his father never, instructed him about such things once he passed age 12. Such lack of good habits persisted into his early years at High School, at which time he began to realize that he had to address his hygiene.

Yeah, looking back at those first 11 years he was teased, maybe too much, but at least he was generally accepted—even with such a stupid name as Badcock, Langley Badcock!

‘Oh my god, what were my oldies thinking when they named me Langley!?’ he often lamented. ‘And why the hell didn’t they change their surname? Didn’t they know it was outright stupid?’

It may well have suited England, but in Australia it was like drawing a target on his back—all sorts of variations and puns could be made, and were made: Gangly, and Gangly Langley, or lanky Langley, bad Langley or bad Lang as it was often abbreviated; long bad cock or just long cock; lanky cock or gangly cock….

Lang liked Primary school, and did pretty well. He was at the top of the spelling competition, held every week in Mr. Margill’s class, and he liked reading and writing; he had school buddies, one being Garry Egan, who persisted on and off with their association right into mid-High School.

Ah, but High School, 1966. That was the year that so much changed. That was where and when the troubles really began.

But we will get to that later. Maybe those troubles had their origins in pre-pubescence?

So where exactly did Lang live? It’s hard to explain. It wasn’t your usual suburban urban neighbourhood; it wasn’t the countryside, either, not a farm, or homestead, it wasn’t the outback, or so isolated, at least geographically. Indeed, it was only 2 miles from a bustling seaside suburb of Melbourne, to which thousands of stupid bogan tourists descended every weekend in the summer.

Oh they were bogan alright. Even though Lang was in the working class—his dad being a common labourer/maintenance man, and his mum a mere typist at the local hospital—Lang was smarter; everyone said so, they said he was intelligent, and Lang felt that himself. But more than intelligent, he was perceptive and artistic, and even tried his hand at being sophisticated. Why, at about age 14, he even made a deliberate effort to learn how to use a knife and fork as the middle-classes did, and readily became disgusted with the way his siblings ate, and especially his mother, who would fill her mouth to overflow.

And because he was intelligent, he was also introspective and sensitive. One might think these would be an advantage in life, but in fact they were a bane… because he went to a high school that was full of barely middle-class bogans—more probably lower middle-class, if even that! Well, the 1950s and ‘60s were barely a time of culture in Australia, although the times were a-changing. Perhaps, in a way, that made him a snob. He didn’t feel like a snob, just that he felt he was better than many others. I mean, back in those days, the bogan riff-raff only went to a Chinese restaurant once a year if lucky, and always made snide remarks about if it were cats they were eating. The Vietnamese had yet to arrive, there were no Greek restaurants, and the Italians had only just started up in Lygone Street. That made Melbourne the cultural capital of the country. But the best you could get in other cities such as Sydney was a good fish-and-chip shop or a Greek-owned milk-bar. Not exactly a cultured society of acceptance and tolerance of difference.

Anyway, for the first 12 or so years Lang’s world consisted of living amongst a small, socially isolated community of 12 families and about 15 kids. It was socially isolated in that people didn’t pass that way, so social intercourse was limited to the small local community, his Primary school 2 miles away, and the occasional trip, mostly for shopping, downtown.

It was agricultural land owned by the State Government, closed off to the public, where plant experimentation and seedling growth was dabbled in. Located about 2 miles out from Williamstown itself, up on a headland, it had panoramic views of the Bay and the Port across the other side. In the small town, in those days, there was a transport hub of buses, trams and a ferry that crossed the Bay and went up the Yarra, or it was an otherwise long drive to Melbourne City.

Age-wise among his playmates, Lang was neither in the older bracket, of kids some 3-4 years his senior, nor the younger bracket. Routine was largely focused on playing, doing household chores invariably on Saturday mornings, going to school 2 miles away and generally fitting in there.

He made friends with various boys at school, two in particular, Garry and Chris. They had many arguments, and Lang was often teased by them. Garry was to feature quite prominently for several years into the future. He was a smallish boy, slim build, black hair and eyes, set on a rather narrow longish skull, the spitting-image of his mother, and had a discernible pigeon gait. But Lang was always uneasy about Garry, always wary what he was thinking, plotting and planning.

The other boy, Chris, was an awkward-looking boy, ungainly, big-boned, with a large head and thick black hair, ignorant of many things, including sex, and was a bit of a sucker; Lang was impatient with him, and domineering.

Often Garry and Chris allied themselves in teasing Lang, or sometimes joined with another boy or two who came to their school from time to time for several months in any year.

Even so, the three of the boys mostly had lunch together and talked, occasionally playing some games, and their association limited strictly to school times. They seldom joined with other groups of boys who were on the whole better looking and more sporty than Garry, Chris and Lang—Garry pigeon-toed with a narrow pelvis, Chris as gangly, clumsy and big-boned, and Lang as skinny, knobby-kneed, flat-chested and lanky. Lang was somewhat envious of several of those boys who were handsome and confident vis-à-vis Garry and Chris who were socially awkward and clumsy. But Lang figured he shouldn’t point a finger: he was socially inept himself, cut off from a lot of social interaction and development apart from the 15 or so kids in his closed community, and with whom he was familiar since birth.

Some of those other boys also would tease him, especially on such occasions as sports or swimming carnivals. He was already skinny, knobby-kneed and flat chested, to bare his body in comparison to those other good-looking robust kids was daunting, and at swimming fests, well, he couldn’t even swim! For these reasons he tried to avoid such events as much as possible, commonly making excuses or staying away from school on those days. So, by the time he was 11 or 12 he was sensitively aware that he was different, unappealing, and in some things inept.

In the meantime, in third-grade of Primary, because he didn't have a strict teacher, Garry, Lang, and another boy, Keith, played in class instead of attending to the lesson. He became a good friend to Keith, but he, too, like others, often allied himself with Chris and Garry in teasing Lang.

Yet, at other times in class, Keith, Garry and Lang used to undo the zippers of their pants and allow their (small) penises to hang out. On occasions they used to voluntarily clean and sweep the classroom and would be left alone for half-an-hour, during which time they would participate in play-acting at sexual flirting. Lang couldn’t recall who initiated these instances; maybe it was Lang: he had learnt a bit about sex from some of his mates, and had quickly realized it was not just naughty and therefore fun, but also sex could be used in relationships.

Then, during one year at Primary his teacher resigned and Lang was moved to a co-ed class with another nine boys. Garry and Keith were transferred to Chris' class, and so they were able to conspire against Lang—under the leadership of Garry no doubt. Maybe it was only natural behaviour for kids, but it contributed to Lang’s later condition and attitude of cynicism.

Even though he engaged in sexual games with some of his friends, persistent teasing by those very friends continued. Sex didn’t seem to imply friendship or intimacy. Lang tended to blame Garry for much of this: Garry, for whatever his own reasons—wanting control and affirming his own self-esteem, for reasons of insecurity or psychopathy—did in fact instigate a lot of the subterfuge against Lang, and others.

But a dramatic turn took place at the beginning of the next year, 1965 it must have been, when Lang was 11 running to 12, in these personal relations: Chris and Lang now were put into the same class, another co-ed class, and became good friends; Garry was in another class, and Keith had left to go to another school. So Chris and Lang decided to teach Garry a lesson by teasing him for a change. But their plan worked too well: for the remainder of the year Garry didn't associate with the other two boys, but instead joined the school-library-helpers and bludged and crawled there. Lang was glad he had got rid of him. In the persecution plans against Lang, or everyone, Garry was always the leader.

Lang knew Garry for a long time, in both Primary and High school. He was one to crawl up and bludge on everyone, everywhere, all the time. He was spoilt, deceitful, untrustworthy, disloyal, and a bloody liar. He was a flat footed, pigeon-toed, sexless, baby weakling, bastard. He wouldn't do anything on his own: he was chicken. Lang hated him for a long time, but because Lang was not part of any other group, and would probably never fit in with another group, he had reluctantly but of necessity clung to Garry.

After Garry had left Chris and Lang to work in the library, the former two became closer friends; but they often had differences of opinion and quarreled. Looking back, Lang could see the cause of their incompatibility: Chris was ungainly in many respects, and had the most un-endearing way of walking and, worse, at running, or doing anything physical. He was in every way opposite to everything that Lang envied among some of the other boys whom Lang admired, yet Lang could dominate Chris. And, Lang needed Chris even more now that Garry had left the trio. Lang didn’t want to have no friends, no group to which to belong and be seen to belong. Although he was friendly with many of the other kids at school, he was not part of them, and really didn’t know how to approach them and be part of them. He had grown up socially isolated, with brothers and peers that were simply there, ready-made friends.

But now, in their final year of Primary school, and reaching a mature age of 12, Lang also wanted some independence. He convinced Chris to socialize outside of school hours; he went to his place and he to Lang’s place; he persuaded Chris to buy a bike and they went for rides. As time went on, later in the year, however, Chris began to refuse Lang’s invitations, probably because the two boys fought so much and Lang was demeaning of him for his lack of physical and social skills, his gangliness; and his mother just didn't like Lang. Why, Lang didn’t know, for he never did anything to offend her. She thought he was a hoodlum, so Chris told him one day; but he wasn’t a hoodlum; he was, simply, different, expectant, demanding, wanting, and learning to be non-working class. He simply was rejecting everything he didn’t want to be, and what he saw in Chris, and others, what should not be.

By 1965, Lang’s last year of Primary School, he was doing very well academically, and had garnered Chris as a special friend; indeed, his only friend at school; but his controlling streak became apparent, even to himself. Although he wanted friends, and a special or best friend, he was largely disappointed with Chris, who was so ungainly, conservative and not always bright. He wanted a friend who was handsome, someone he could be proud to be seen with, for he felt that Chris, like Garry and several of Lang’s other past friends, were unbecoming, or misfits. Perhaps it was that he felt that by associating with such misfits other boys would see him likewise. So, he tried to mould Chris into an image of his own liking, but to no avail, and hence resentment only added to his desire for control.

The friendship between Chris and Lang ended at the completion of the school year, about November 1965, and they were to go to separate high schools the following year. Lang kept in contact with Chris, mostly by phone, for about 4 or 6 weeks; but the contacts dwindled, then stopped.

Finally, at the end of 1965, after meeting again to go for a rather disastrous bike ride near Chris’ house, Langley strongly criticized him:

You’re so gawky, Lang remonstrated, as they stopped to rest. You need to cut your hair, he further commented, pointing to Chris’ plot of thick unstyled jet-black hair on a large rounded head, all of which reminded Lang of Oliver Hardy.

I had a hair cut two weeks ago, Chris wailingly reported.

Lang just stared at him, thinking what was the point in trying to help his friend. He shrugged his shoulders.

And those shorts…. They don’t suit you, with your long, pale legs. You need a suntan, he mocked, as he observed Chris’ blue veins coursing beneath porcelain flesh.

I get burnt easy. My mother said I shouldn’t go in the sun.

What are you gonna do at high school, then? Stay inside? Lang ruminated that Chris always seemed to do what his mother told him. You know, high school is different, the kids’ll make fun of you.

I know. But I’ll hit them! he warned, as he stuck up his arms and fists in a naïve, clumsy fighting position.

Ha! Langley sniggered. They’re bigger than you.

Anyway, Chris retorted, what about you? They will tease you, too. You have skinny legs…

Stuff you! Lang snapped.

By now Chris was losing his temper, his pallid face flushing red, spittle appearing on his big lips, heaving heavily, before making his final stance:

I don’t have to listen to your shit. I’m going home! I hope I never see you again!

And they never did.

Love

All through this time, these four years of Primary school, Lang’s life followed another stream: Love.

Without a great deal of effort he did quite well in all his subjects, commonly near the top of all his classes, getting on ok with most boys, and even girls once co-education was introduced in about 1960. In fact, he had several crushes:

At age 7 the class he was in was mixed—both boys and girls—and from the year's beginning he sat next to a rather passive and perhaps even plain girl—Susan, Susan Baker, a plain name to go with a plain girl, he guessed—which, maybe, was the reason he supposedly loved her, and she loved him. She seemed, perhaps, unpretentious, and although not unattractive, she was no beauty, just plain. Maybe it was that realization on her and his part that attracted them to one another. Or maybe she felt, like Lang would in the future, that she was lucky to get a smart good-looking boy, in her eyes. It was strange that, several years later, when Lang was perhaps 15-17 he again met her, through his brother no less, and she and Lang still seemed attracted to one another. Was it spiritual? Or just some affinity of recognizing how they were each located in the social cosmos?

Later, he fell in-love with another girl—Ann—because of her extroverted, feisty manner. A few months later a new girl—Peta—enrolled. The moment Lang saw her his heart gave a sigh: it was instant Love. Ok, so Lang was a playboy. But she was beautiful! Lang was enchanted, enthralled, or stoked in the parlance of the ‘60s. She had long, blonde hair; a very fair complexion; and the most beautiful eyes that ever looked at Lang: a soft, light and hazy blue. She had a few light freckles on her cheeks which, combined with her short bunny nose, made her even more gorgeous: she was a living doll. Some may say she was a little thin, but to Lang she was just right; after all, he wasn’t exactly plump himself, now was he. Anyway, he liked them that way: it takes them longer to get fat—oh yes, Lang hated fat people. Get over it.

Lang could recall every detail about Peta: even her pearly white teeth and perfect, pink lips. The day she was born the angels had gathered and had created a dream….. And his love for Peta increased ten-fold when she returned his love: he wasn't the most handsome guy in the class, but at that point in time he never thought of himself as uglee.

Peta’s character was simply just nice. She spoke quietly and was considerate; she had a bad temper—but that was always short-lived—by which she raised only her voice. Lang was always complimenting her. Finally, after a week or so, Lang walked home with her and, like a gentleman, carried her school case—which became a regular routine. Then one afternoon Lang persuaded his best friend at the time, Collin, to pay her four shillings so that she would kiss Lang; she accepted, but refused the money. On another occasion, having been prompted by his brothers and friends, he asked her for a fuck, but she did not understand—nor did Lang really. However, when she got home, she apparently asked her parents what Lang had meant: for the following few days she wouldn't speak to him—but they soon made-up. For the rest of his life Lang wondered how her parents had explained to her what he had suggested. One might imagine that, being quite middle-class, they sat her down quietly, without threats or condemnation, and knowing Lang’s small dick could do no harm, that boys and girls are different, and what Lang had meant by fucking her was seeing her naked, even touching her. What they didn’t understand was how such a young girl, perhaps 8 or 10 years old, had also learnt to be wanted by a male, somehow it titillated her, her emotions, her psyche, even her body, for we do live our lives through our bodies. Young love is less than innocent.

Then the trouble began: Lang had to choose between the three girls—Susan, whom he was not physically attracted to, Ann who was outgoing, feisty and attractive, and Peta, who was adorable. He chose Peta. But Peta left at the end of the year...

Looking back, after what subsequently transpired in Lang’s life, it’s hard to believe that he had three girls wanting him. Perhaps he wasn’t so uglee as he later came to think, or pre-teen girls were simply so undiscerning. How could all these girls be so wrong?

At about age 10 or 11 Lang fell in love with Diane, who was 2 years older than himself. He was crazily in love, yet again; so much so that one day he convinced his friend, Chris, to go with him to follow her home. He had already discovered which bus she got after school. In those days half a dozen or more government buses would line up outside the school, each going to their own separate destination, but with a thousand kids running amuck it was hard to keep track of Diane. But that one afternoon, Chris and Lang managed to follow her on to her bus; she saw Lang, and wondered why all of a sudden he was on her bus. Now the problem was that the bus was going a long way from where Lang lived, about 8 miles from their school, to a place Lang had never been to! And of course Chris and he had to get back home. And Chris pestered Lang with that and the distance. It annoyed Lang that Chris was not interested in girls or romance, but Lang mused that no girl would ever be interested in Chris!

Diane got off the bus at her stop and Chris and Lang bounded off after her, with Chris being awkward and clumsy as usual, without a clue on how to be discrete. She saw the two boys and seemed a bit nervous, as they had to follow her a short distance to see where she lived. Success! She went through a plain door in the side of a non-descript building, that seemed to lead to some old flats or rooms at the back of or above the local shops; it was nothing glamorous. But now Lang had the address. Well, at least the door.

Somehow Chris and Lang managed to catch a bus back to where their school was, then Chris had to catch another bus to his house, and Lang, as usual, walked the two miles uphill to his house.

Lang was so smitten that he wrote, or more likely plagiarized, a love song, that doted on Diane and her green eyes, blond hair, and fair skin…. He used to sing it all the time, and wrote it on clean paper and sent it to Diane, along with a very cheap diamond ring.

Then shortly after, on a Saturday morning, Lang rode his push-bike through the busy weekend-shopping traffic 8 miles or more to her house, and waited, and waited and waited, hoping she would come out, that he would see her. But there was no way he would ever knock on the door, and he wondered what he would do if she did come out, and with whom. He was terrified of ever speaking to her.

Lang was totally smitten by love that was unrequited, even though he wrote songs and love poems, sent her that ring, followed her and waited and looked. Alas, at the end of the year she left to go to High School.

Two years later, 1965, brought another romantic adventure. She was Pam, about six inches smaller than Lang, black eyes, black hair, and cute but attractive face. Lang liked her mostly for her personality: she was playful, honest, sincere and happy. There were three other girls who loved him at that time, also, but he loved Pam.

This romance began when he was sitting next to Chris in a corner at the back of the class room; he was attacked by paper pellets, fired by Pam sitting in the opposite corner; so he returned the friendly fire. This continued for a few weeks, until he moved to the front. The following day Pam moved down, and closer: they were only twelve inches apart, and now were always talking and helping each other. Then Lang must have said something to Chris about her because rumours circulated and finally reached Pam; then he heard a rumour about her feelings. So Lang decided to find out all he could. He followed her part-way home, thankfully close-by, and asked her girlfriends for information, but they refused. He finally asked Pam herself and she willingly talked to Lang about their feelings; the usual barrage of notes changed hands.

Pam and Lang starred in a school play, which, of course, stirred up gossip; but he didn't care—he was in love. They also danced together at folk-dancing classes at school. Finally he asked her to go out with him, and she consented! Lang wanted to go to Luna Park, especially the tunnel of love, but she wanted to go to the pictures, so they did. Chris insisted upon coming, and because he did come, Pam brought her girlfriend. Lang suspected she was trying to do a bit of match-making, but with Chris it would take a raging bushfire to get any hint of a romantic spark because, to Lang, Chris was so asexual.

Pam and Lang sat next to one another, but because of Chris and Lang’s inexperience, Lang couldn't do anything with Pam—as if he would know what to do anyway; in fact, there was very little conversation between the lovers. When they were leaving the theatre Pam and Lang became separated in the crowd and Chris, being awkwardly unthinking, demanded he and Lang head for the bus-stop so Chris could get his bus home. Lang was openly torn between trying to catch up with Pam and his stupid loyalty to his friend’s demands.

Next week at school she wouldn't let Lang explain his sudden departure, and she was angry or disappointed, because she had arranged to take Lang to her house to have afternoon tea; so from then on their friendship dwindled. He repeatedly phoned her and asked her for a date, but she made excuses and told him not to ring her as she would get into trouble. There went Lang’s last girlfriend, for a long time to come.

Once she did ask him to take her to a ballet dance but, like all women, changed her mind. Their friendship continued on less intimate lines until the end of the year.

Delinquency

Yet another stream of life was delinquency. During one of these years a boy, Ray, came to Lang’s school. He lived only one mile from Lang—which was relatively close. Garry, Chris and Lang made friends with him, and soon he and Lang were best friends. He often went to Ray’s place and they played in the bush—mostly normal games, like war games, but eventually Lang introduced him to homosexuality. They indulged in a few sexual acts, but there was no sexual satisfaction due to their age. Perhaps it was a normal part of growing up; but Lang didn't realize then that this behaviour could develop into a pattern.

Lang had been introduced to sex of both types by his older friends, but it was on rare occasions that they did anything, and when Lang did there was no sexual satisfaction for him.

He recalls Neville, a local boy who lived nearby, but 2-3 years older, who used to take a girl to an old shack and screw her, so he said. He learnt about sex from another boy…. So it goes on: the facts of life are passed on by young, enlightened boys—so why the need for sex education in schools? Ha!

In fact, one day Neville asked Lang to go with him, just the two of them, up some bush trail. Neville was maybe 13 or 14, and the king ping of the kids in the community, Lang’s idol in a way, or at least a leader. Lang was maybe 10 or 11, and was stoked that Neville had chosen Lang to go with him. He didn’t know how Neville had sweet talked him, but it must have been easy, after all, he was Lang’s leader, and if he said it was ok, then it was. Neville took of his cotton shirt, showing a manly chest for a kid his age. Then his shorts and coloured underwear, his briefs, so different from the horrible no-choice white Bonds-sacks Lang and others all had to wear. Lang could never understand why you would wear white underpants that so clearly showed skid marks. But Lang didn’t have underwear, in any case; either his mum couldn’t afford briefs for him, or Lang used them only on special occasions.

So, Neville and Lang were in the bush, no one would disturb them, they couldn’t be seen; Neville spieled a line about feeling free naked, being part of nature. He laid down on an old blanket that was in the clearing; it was a place that he and his elder friends and brother had frequented with girls. He lay in the warm sun and started playing with his cock. Somehow, without much resistance on Lang’s part, he persuaded Lang to touch his cock, and then instructed Lang on how to masturbate him.

Looking back, Neville finally cum, but only with pre-ejac fluid, although he had some kind of orgasm and was happy. Later, in the following weeks, Lang revisited that spot, and jerked himself off as much as he could; he reached a point where he could go no further, that somehow he had ended, a climax of sorts, he guessed, but without proper ejaculation.

Also, some time during the year that Ray was at Lang’s school he and Lang wagged school on a Friday. They naively wrote forged notes but, as bad luck would have it, Ray’s mother went to the school to pick him up on that day, and so the two boys were found-out on the following Monday. Lang was warned by his teacher and the matter was dropped.

Lang had been influenced by Ray—it was his idea to wag school—who had gained a bad reputation; and Lang had thought that one day out of 365 wouldn't matter, and they wouldn't get caught. It was bad logic that would plague Lang for years to come.

A year earlier, Lang was in Third Grade, and was caught writing fuck on the blackboard in very large letters. It was early one morning, he was alone in the class-room before school commenced, having been assigned a teacher’s-pet task of cleaning up, taking chairs down off tables, and so forth. The large blackboard—which he could never understand since it was actually a dull green—was clean and bare, a blank canvas to an artist. Lang just wanted to see what fuck looked like up there, all on its own, big, beautiful, on a clean sheet. He certainly intended to wipe it off, but just wondered in his own mind what sex looked like.

Two girls outside in their apartheid playground saw him doing this:

Hey, what are you doing? they yelled through the open windows.

Huh? Nothing. I’m cleaning the board, he tried to explain, as he hastily tried to rub out the letters, but they were so big it seemed to take for ever.

We saw you, writing that rude word up there!

No, I didn’t, he lied in panic. It was here, I don’t even know what it means, he sweated.

We’re going to tell the teacher!

No, I didn’t do it. I just came to clean up… he trailed off as the two girls walked away, seeing that he had already erased most of the word.

Later that day they had in fact reported Lang to Mrs. Dollard, his 3rd-grade female teacher whom he had held in high regard. She was early middle-aged, always dressed in a tight dress that made it difficult to walk fast, clicking in her moderately high-heel shoes, her hair always permed, and loads of cosmetics to cover her rapidly wrinkling skin; but what really struck Lang was that she was like a walking perfume bottle, her scent lingering long after she had left a room. She was rather disappointed with Lang, she said, as he was with himself in letting her down. He didn’t know why she had chosen him to be a trusted teacher’s pet; maybe she felt sorry for him because Lang looked forlorn, thin, and perhaps even unattractive.

As a result of being caught, Mrs. Dollard reprimanded Lang, of course, expressing her moral authority and disappointment, saying she could no longer trust him. So, he had lost her trust, and she stripped him of certain trusted tasks and benefits that teachers sometimes assign to favoured students.

That may well have been unfortunate in the long-term for, as a result, Lang came to distrust or dislike girls, despite his several amorous adventures, and, via this teacher, distrusted women generally, and formed the opinion that females were asexual, as well as setting up in his mind some association of sex with thrill, danger and importance, perhaps even as a male thing.

Oh, what consequences small things can have in our lives.

Apart from juvenile sex there was also juvenile delinquency.

In the annual holidays Lang’s older brother, Graeme, and Neville and some other kid who was visiting, and Lang became bored. There was a vacant house in the area which they thought about breaking into, but they didn’t because its contents were worthless. However, the people across the road from Lang’s house went on holidays for three weeks, and so the four boys decided to break in to that place, and in Lang’s eyes they were rich. Class consciousness was never far from Lang’s assessment of society, even at that young age, even though he couldn’t cognitively fathom it.

Neville found the hidden key and so they had no trouble entering. They found a jar of small change and stole a bottle of beer. The following day they went back and found some more small change. For a third time they entered and found some notes, in the most obvious place, in a coffee jar. The total amount was $120. They shared it out, unevenly: Lang got $18, Graeme $30, Neville $52, and the boy from interstate on vacation received $20.

The boys went out and had a good time for a few days; but they were afraid that eventually they might get caught. So, they contemplated returning the remainder of their spoil and leaving a note of apology, but then decided against it as it was too risky. The occupants soon returned and the cops were called in. On seeing the cops coming to their house, the boys readily confessed—just melting, with tears in their eyes. $80 was recovered and their parents had to pay $40—a lot of money in those days! They were officially warned by the cops, the offence recorded, and the matter dropped—but for the memory.

Clearly they foolishly did it because they were bored and wanted money to enjoy themselves. Lang was also influenced by the desire to be like the others and follow the leader, Neville, never thinking they’d ever get caught—again.

But this wasn’t the first time that Lang had been trouble, usually with his older brothers or with Neville, or some other friend. It was perhaps in 1958, at age 5, that Lang first ran into trouble. He was doing OK at school, but he found out that his brothers had been wagging school, so he decided to go with them. They truanted for almost a week then began shop-lifting, of cigarettes mostly.

On one of these occasions they were caught acting suspiciously in a large variety store; and on being questioned by the manager said that they were waiting for their mother. The manager gave them a note to give to her, and told them to return later in the day accompanied by their mother. Instead, they went down to the beach, and overly melodramatically, tore-up, burnt and buried the note, making sure that all evidence of it had been destroyed. They then proceeded to go rock-climbing at one of the coves, where Lang slipped and cut his hand on the rock-oysters; but he didn’t seek any medical attention; his brothers just wrapped Lang’s hand in a hanky, and said they couldn’t go to the nearby hospital because Lang’s mother worked there and she would surely find out.

Later in the afternoon the boys were picked up by a copper. They told him that they—meaning all three—had to get Lang’s bag which was hidden in the rocks, in an attempt to escape; but this copper was not as dumb as most: he sent Declan, Lang’s eldest brother, to get the bag while Graeme and Lang were held. Then they were taken to the cop-shop and then to the hospital—where their mother worked as a typist—to care for Lang’s wound. They were then taken home and, of course, scolded. Declan, being the oldest, got a beating.

But, about a week later, they were at it again. On one of these occasions they stole a tin of money from the counter of a fish-shop: contents being fifteen shillings. They went to Melbourne on the Ferry and met an older boy who was also truanting. But they didn’t have enough money to go through the turn-stiles, so Lang was ordered to volunteer to sneak through; this failed and they ended up in the cop-shop. You can guess the rest. At least it was the last time for Lang—for a while, anyway.

Because they couldn’t be trusted anymore, the three brothers had to report to the Headmaster on arrival at school each day and stand outside his office until 9am.

~

So, by the time Lang had reached the age of 12 he had had some very juvenile run-ins with petty crime and sex, crazy crushes on girls, as well as changing relationships, and no money.

Finally, in December 1965 the annual holidays arrived: six weeks of nothingness, into January of 1966—when everything would change.

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Chapter Two

1966: High School

The 1st day. Donald. The 2nd day+. PE classes. Sports day—cricket. Glasses. Loneliness. Bullying. ‘Home’. Moving house. More bullying.

Langley began High School in early 1966, with both anticipation and trepidation. Although it was an advance in his academic career, he could not foresee that, socially, personally, it was to be fraught with disadvantage and tribulation. Throughout his Primary School years he had been accustomed to having respect for his intellectual ability, acknowledgement of his difference, respect from teachers and most students, and praise from his parents and local community peers. Although he was often thought of by others as rather unprepossessive, skinny, flat chested, knobby kneed, and inept at sports, and, like his father, sporting a large nose with a recessive chin, he was nevertheless largely accepted as he was, as someone who would change and flower, as a human. He was never called ugly.

But all that was to change in 1966, when he was to confront a much wider and at times hostile bourgeoisie norm-driven, less tolerant peerage, and which would have profound effects on his psyche, attitudes, and behaviour.

During the preceding holidays he had thought about High School, especially the first day; he was, we can suppose, a little nervous, apprehensive of the unknown, of the new—just like everyone starting their first year of High School. And his two older brothers didn’t help build confidence by scaring him with notions of how different and challenging High School was, and how mean the big kids were—as he had previously forewarned Chris. He thought of the long road ahead, of the excitement of new subjects and some freedom, of going by bus the 5 miles to school instead of walking or riding to Primary School, and hopefully feeling more grown up….

The day eventually came......

Langley awoke, reluctantly, at 7.30 on this Wednesday morning, and slowly began to go through a daily routine of preparing for school. But unlike his former preparations for Primary School, which were slow and casual, and in which he had time for a leisurely cup of tea before riding his bike 2 miles to school, now he had to hasten his pace. His brothers and sister were also getting ready, and he didn’t want to be left behind as they began to walk at least a mile to catch a private bus down the hill to the town. And he still had to pack his lunch. His mother had told him to do that last night, but Langley knew that the sandwiches, mostly tomato and corned beef or at best ham off the bone, and one or two jam sandwiches, would go soggy overnight. Back in those days nutrition was not a great concern. If you had meat and three vege at least once a day, you were filled up, then you were doing ok; so there were no bananas or apples to go with lunch; whenever they came into the house, usually on Saturday’s shopping day, they were gone by Monday—and today was Wednesday already.

He hastily made three sandwiches, one of plum jam for morning tea, two of corned beef and tomato for lunch, and neatly cut each in half, as was custom, then wrapped them, the jam ones separate, in brown paper with neat triangle fold-over ends, and put them in his bag along with some pens and pencils and an Exercise Book—as notepads were then called—left over from his Primary days. His bag was small, maybe 15 inches long, just an old pale blue canvas bag, what used to be called an Air-ways bag—probably because it was a standard size that aircraft crew and passengers carried and that fitted neatly into overhead lockers or under seats of the old prop planes. It was about 8 inches in both depth and width, with two short arch handles and a zipper, something that his father had used for work over many years.

Langley washed his face; he had had a bath the Sunday before. Then donned his new uniform, as was required. First those horrible white Bonds knickers that were more like a nappy, and that strangled his small balls and made it so hard to pull his penis out of the front double trapdoor—double-vested, he thought, although he didn’t know what a double-vest looked like—for pissing; then grey pants of some kind of refined wool fabric that nevertheless scratched against his legs; he had only one pair, as his mother couldn’t afford two, so we guess thick leak-proof knickers would be a must. He didn’t want to wear shorts, even though it was summer, because he didn’t want other kids to see his skinny legs and knobby knees. Next was a grey cotton shirt, short sleeve, with a pocket—all his life he would never again wear a shirt without a top pocket. Shoes and sox were not new; the black shoes with laces—Velcro was unheard of in those days—from his former school days would do. He threw his pajamas onto his unmade bed of old cast iron, a left-over from the old hospital with horse hair mattress and bent frame, littered with old quilts and hospital wool blankets of sky blue.

Langley gulped down a breakfast of sorts, Weetbix with warm, powdered milk and spoonfuls of sugar, as quickly as he brushed his blond-mousy-brown hair, as his mother insisted. No need to clean his teeth, that was a once-in-a-week unpleasant task.

Then his mother, who also was preparing for her work at the local hospital about one mile away, gave him three-pence for the local bus. The government bus from town out to the school was free, and he checked that he had his official Department of Education bus-pass on him.

Finally, his mother insisted he take a handkerchief, which he put in his left trouser pocket—and ever since that day Langley has carried a handkerchief—not the same one, thankfully—in his left pant’s pocket.

They all set off, passing the Newtons’ old place just up the road, now inhabited by the promoted Supervisor, Roy Walkerden and family, then over a knoll and past the reservoir to The Gates of the estate, at which lived the Hermanns, the new Manager and his family that everyone hated, who were nicknamed the Crouts. Another half mile and they caught the old navy blue bus for a penny, which dropped them off at the terminal hub of ferries, buses and taxis, and the downtown shopping area.

At the bus stop Langley was joined by only a few boys from his primary school; they all seemed inferior to the initiated. Chris, his former best friend, was not with them; he had been sent to another school, the same school which Langley’s brothers attended. For these reasons—his brothers and Chris—Langley had long ago applied for a transfer from his assigned school, Altona Boys High, to their school, Lucas Heights. But it had yet to arrive.

The green and dirty-cream bus arrived, a piggy bus Langley called it, because of its large, squat square look with a large radiator out front like a snout, and its engine throbbing rhythmically like a heaving hog.

This was all so exciting and new, for up until now Langley had only ever ridden his bicycle to and from school, rarely travelling on buses except when his mother had taken him and his brother, Graeme, on a double-decker bus to a distant hospital, at least 7 or 8 years ago. Graeme had asthma, and required periodic special treatment from the experts of the day—which involved removing 75% of one lung at age 5. Langley wondered about what we believed in then, what we didn’t know then that could make all the difference now.

Langley jumped on board the piggy-bus with several other kids he didn’t know, and a few from his former Primary school, proudly flashing his free bus-pass, ever so pleased to get something for free. His brothers and other boys whom he knew caught another bus to their own school. So now he was essentially on his own, to face the big, New World: High School.

The bus pulled up behind several others, all in a row, outside the chicken wire fence and broken gates of the school, where it looked like thousands of other students were disembarking, mingling, and walking toward a very large browny-brick building, L-shaped and single-story except where