Dream Angel' - Page 11:
[tab=30][tab=30] It was a ritual and I didn’t want to change anything. Up until this time I’d never placed a wager as large as this one.
The horses left the saddling enclosure and Prunda looked magnificent. He pranced along the track to the starting gate. Prunda looked graceful as he jogged to the barrier in front of the crowd; his neck bowed with his chin pressed hard against his chest, a real athlete. His brown coat glowed in the afternoon sun; his jockey looked confident and relaxed.
Each horse took their place in the starting barrier at the opposite side of the racetrack. The starter moved onto the starting platform. After he made certain all the horses were in line and ready, a red light flashed. The starter pressed the starting button, the barriers opened together and the horses exploded from the barriers as one.
In previous races Prunda always led, but this time he had more weight to carry so his jockey eased him back into the field. Desert Glance was behind him waiting for Prunda to make his move. Around the turn they came and the thunder of the horses’ hoofs echoed through the grandstand.
Prunda hit the front, cheers rose from the crowd; my heart almost ripped out of my chest when I saw Prunda’s jockey ride like the champion jockey he is, I knew he’d win. One furlong to go Desert Glance came up beside Prunda. I felt my throat thicken with fear. Prunda accelerated. Desert Glance went with him and was on his good side, the one with the eye. Prunda crossed the winning line in first position. I won four weeks wages. What a win. I felt sad for my uncle and his father.
In the final year of my apprenticeship my parents returned to live in Queensland. My mother was ill and needed to be near a doctor. She developed a kidney disease through taking Bex powders. Eventually the drug in the Bex powders destroyed her kidneys. She was sick for many years and still was Mum and I loved her and the more she fought the disease the worse it became. I was sickened to see her body fall away to skin and bones and there was little I could do to help...

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To wager a bet you need to have nerves of steel, belief in yourself and a good judgement on the form of horse racing. I had neither. Over the previous couple of weeks, I’d saved ten dollars to bet on Prunda to win. I knew he would win. He trained on the mudflats at Nudgee Beach and the race was named The International Stakes; the jockey came from England to ride in front of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth 11. Apart from Prunda having only one eye, his left eye, he was blind in the other, what could go wrong?
Uncle Vivian’s father had a horse in the same race. Her name Desert Glance and the family came to the track to punt on her. Was I the traitor for wanting to punt on Prunda?
When you first think of punting a horse, you work out how much money you have; look at the starting price with the bookmakers; work out the amount you want to wager and part with your money by giving it to the bookmaker and they give you a betting slip.
Prunda was priced at 5-1, that is, for one dollar I punted on Prunda I received five times the amount plus the wager if he won. Desert Glance showed odds of 40-1 and if I bet one dollar on her I received forty times plus the wager if she won.
My final decision was to have a wager of five dollars each way on Prunda at odds of 5-1. If Prunda didn’t win I covered my bet by having a wager of five dollars a place on him to run either second or third. One of the first lessons to learn in punting is never change your mind. I did.
Each time I watched a race at the track I always walked to the same spot near the finishing post and stood holding my hands together, not in prayer, but to control the nerves...

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[tab=30][tab=30] The Personnel Officer, Mr Robinson invited me into his office. He sat behind a large deck with papers neatly piled on either side. I sat across from him. He asked me what I wanted. I felt confused and nervous. I didn’t feel confident and muttered if there were any positions for an apprentice fitter & turner for the forthcoming year.
He told me there were three positions available. I wanted one. I don’t know where the courage came from to speak but I sold myself. He looked at the sliding bevel and asked many questions about how I made it. He asked about my school marks. I didn’t have a report card to show him but I reassured him I was doing fine at school. It was a little white lie. What he didn’t know didn’t hurt him I thought. I left satisfied he would keep me in mind.
When the letter arrived at home with my indenture papers to become an apprentice fitter & turner Dad couldn’t believe it. I’d done it on my own and it felt great. He wanted me to be a lad porter on the railway but the apprenticeship was more important. The following year I commenced work as an apprentice and it pleased my father.
Shortly after my sixteenth birthday my parents left Queensland to live in New South Wales. By this time, our family had grown to six. I now had another sister and I was homeless. I moved in with my Uncle Vivian and Aunty Mickey and their family. Aunty Mickey is Mum’s younger sister.
Uncle Vivian’s father trained thoroughbred racehorses and I loved going to the stables to help clean the horse boxes of manure and urine and wished one day I would own a racehorse. The thoroughbred is an elegant, muscular animal standing tall always alert. It was an exciting time in my life, especially as a teenager.
Saturday was race day and I went to the races. I loved the sport. Thoroughbred racing is the best sport in the whole world. The year was 1967, the event The International Stakes at Eagle Farm Racecourse in Brisbane, the horse Prunda and jockey Lester Piggott. Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth 11 visited Australia and was present for the race and would present a trophy to the winner. I was excited and ready. I loved to bet on the horses. I think it was a gene I inherited from my mother’s side of the family...

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'Dream Angel' - Page 8:
[tab=30][tab=30]I again developed problems with study. I could read the literature but I couldn’t understand what all the words meant although I enjoyed making things when I attended manual training. In a metalwork class I made a sliding bevel which is an instrument used to measure a mark an angle on a piece of wood or metal.
It was at this time my English teacher Mr Imoff gave me a pat-on-the-back and the words he said at the time has had a profound affect on my life. After he’d read a composition I’d written, he said you have a gift for writing. I didn’t understand what he meant. I thought at the time the word gift meant I didn’t need to learn English.
He went on to say you are unique, you write the way you speak and it is a gift. I didn’t understand if I should have been excited about what he said, or think I possessed a gift. I often think back to the time and wish now I did understand more of what he told me and learned to write and understand literature more at the time. It wasn’t to be. It was a time when I knew I wanted to become a policeman and nothing else mattered.
Was the timing, right? Should I experience more in life? Was I ready to fulfil my dream? I hate to admit the fact but when I look back in time now, I think my father made the right decision for me not to join the police at fifteen years of age whether he wanted to or not.
After the banishment from Dad to not allow me to join the police force, I returned to school bewildered and disappointed. A student at school told me Olympic Tyre & Rubber Company at Geebung was looking for students who wanted to be an apprentice as a fitter and turner in the forthcoming year.
Instead of going to school I rode my bicycle from Deagon to Geebung about 10 kilometres. It was August and I didn’t have a report card to show the Personnel Officer only the sliding bevel I’d made at school...

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[tab=30][tab=30] Roma was a great town to grow up as a child, a country atmosphere where everyone knew one another and my life was trouble free. I was in grade 6 when my parents sold their home and moved to Brisbane.
Dad worked as a storeman for Queensland Railway Department at Redbank workshops. I’ve always wondered why we left at this time of my life. Was it my destiny? Or was it a time in my life to move onto the next place?
We lived at Graceville a Brisbane western suburb. Graceville State School became my new school. I had problems at school. It was scholarship year, grade 8 and I must admit I didn’t like school. When I look back now with a wiser mind and more life experience, it wasn’t I didn’t like school it was more I didn’t know how to study or understand what I needed to study. To progress onto High School in those times you needed to pass scholarship. I was lucky and passed with 52%. How I passed, I do not know.
High School I remember well. My mother came with me to work out which subjects I needed to study. There were the usual academic subjects and at the time three courses to choose from: academic, industrial, or commercial.
At 13 years old I wanted to be a policeman but there wasn’t any set course for the profession. The closest course was commercial only girls did to prepare them for office work. My mother chose industrial course of woodwork, metalwork, and trade drawing. I spent one year at Corinda High School in sub-junior.
The following year our family moved to Deagon, a seaside suburb. I was in junior year at Sandgate State High School and did not cope well. What was it about school? ...

'Dream Angel' - Page 6:

It was fresh from the oven and the smell of freshly baked bread produced an odour of sweetness slithered through the nostrils, into the membranes of the mind to satisfy any taste bud. The temptation to eat the dough was overwhelming. I’d eat the dough, from inside of the loaf, it was soft and tasted good and left the crust. Life was so simple back then. After I arrived home with the outer crust with no middle my mother wrapped the strap on the back of my legs for eating the dough. It was worth the beating.
One Saturday afternoon I’d been to a boy cub meeting and walking home along Bowen Street from the den when a police car pulled up beside me. I was dressed in my cub uniform.
‘Do you want a lift?’ A policeman called out. I knew he was a policeman because he was driving a police car and he was wearing a policeman’s uniform. I’d never been in a police car before and I didn’t know what to say until he said, ‘It’s all right. I’ll take you home.’ He leaned across and opened the door. I slid into the seat beside him and closed the door and sat upright. He looked across at me. ‘Where do you live?’
‘8 Bowen Street,’ I said and looked straight ahead. I didn’t know what to say to a policeman. He stopped in front of my home. Dad stood at the front gate and watched me get out of the police car.
‘I gave your lad a lift home. It’s too hot to walk in this heat.’ The policeman called out when he stopped the car.
‘Thank you.’ I said and he drove away.
‘What’s this all about, coppers driving you home?’ Dad said as I walked past him.
‘He gave me a lift home.’ His face changed to a doubtful look with his eyebrows drawn together as if he didn’t believe me. It was my first experience with police.
There was another time a couple of years later when they came to the house across the road from my home and took a girl away; she’d swallowed poison after a fight with her boyfriend. She died. I was about eleven years old and still remember the police coming to the house and taking the girl away. There was a lot of talk around the neighbourhood about the fight she had with her boyfriend caused her to swallow the poison...

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'Dream Angel' - Page 5:
[tab=30] He threw the tin into the drum. I heard an explosion and saw a puff of smoke emit from the drum, and thought he was 'laughing. Flames exploded from the mouth of the drum into Jimmy’s face. He covered his face with his hands. His hair was on fire. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t breathe my throat felt it was clogged with something; I felt scared. I realised he wasn’t 'laughing but screamed in pain.
I called at the top of my voice to his mother and ran to the back of the house. He followed still holding his hands over his face. His hair stopped burning. I smelt his hair burning. Jimmy’s mother ran from the house and grabbed his hands. They were black and the smell of burnt skin and hair slithered through my nostrils. I will never forget the smell. He screamed and I couldn’t do anything. I felt helpless. His mother rubbed something onto his face and hands. I don’t know what it was but it helped.
Somehow, we got him to the hospital where he stayed for a couple of days. I had nightmares and relived the moment I saw Jimmy’s face and hair on fire and couldn’t get the smell of burnt skin and hair from my mind. How my life was spared I do not know. Why wasn’t I burnt?
When we talk about the action his mother took, whatever she placed on his face and hands saved him from any scares. His hair grew but he was left with a small cowlick in front of his forehead where his hair burnt to remind us of the time so long ago.
We re-live those times when we played together as children and reminisce about our childhood of how two bobs, which is twenty cents in today’s currency paid for us to go to Saturday afternoon matinee. After we paid one shilling and threepence, thirteen cents in today’s currency, for admission, we had nine pence or nine cents left to spend on ice cream and lollies.
They were the good old days when a loaf of freshly baked bread cost one shilling or ten cents...