When I was young, in Melbourne, mum was forced to find boarding in a half-way house with my youngest sister.
I wasn't on the tenant list so I had to sneak in through the bedroom window at night.
I slept at the end of the bed like a pet cat and sneak out before sun-up to make sure I wasn't discovered.
I had nothing to do in those early hours before anything opened. I walked the streets with time to think. The Winter mornings were the worse of it.
The bite of the cold reaching your bones and no amount of moving and rubbing can ease the ache.
Fate soon found me a new direction in life. Not better, but new.
My oldest sister had lifted a gentleman's wallet and someone had witnessed the theft. I saw that she'd hidden the wallet up in the guttering of the boarding house.
When the police came to investigate, I admitted responsibility for the theft, retrieved the wallet, and was sent away to a boy's home for being wayward.
Working with the Spirit of God makes some people terribly mean. They said it was for my own good. The Catholic boy's home was harsh and the punishments meant to improve behaviour.
Standing in the courtyard holding a brick in each hand. Keeping the brick above my head was excruciatingly painful on my scrawny arms.
Every time the bricks lowered from fatigue, the master would yell and berate me. I'd lift them a little longer. Sometimes, tears would find some compassion from my tormentor - or maybe the weather made it too uncomfortable - but I'd walk away with my head lowered in pious obedience.
At some stage I was transferred to a new boarding house run by the Salvation Army. Here were a group of people who had a touch of humanity.
Their focus was to find us troubled lads a skill, or trade, to put us on the road to Salvation.
Mine was kitchen work and I ended up becoming a competent cook of sorts.
I'd be able to take an eel, mutton, or whatever else provided, and turn it into something tasty.
Upon leaving the boy's home the timing was bad due to the recession. I'd met some locals boys talking about leaving via the freight trains that were heading up north.
The trick with trains is to jump on and off without getting caught. The steam engines required stops for water and the loading or unloading of stock.
My favourite place on the train was the wheat flat beds covered with a tarp. The tarp would keep the weather off you, and the wheat, would provide a place of comfort and warmth. My own little abode until the next stop.
Me and the lads would hop off the train when it stopped. Then we'd find a farmers meadow to sleep amongst the grasses. Depending on the field we were in, we'd eat whatever was growing in the area.
We finally made it to Swan Hill. Up here on the border between Victoria and New South Wales, we figured we'd be able to make a living somehow.
We'd offer to chop wood or milk a cow. It wasn't always for money. For farmers who were also struggling to make ends meet, we'd exchange our labour for food.
Across the Murray River, a camp of swagmen had gathered on the New South Wales side. I crossed over to find a jovial lot with a generous heart.
Some handing whatever vegetables they'd plundered from the area.
One fellow had acquired a sheep from some place and was going down to the water to retrieve it. I went to give him a hand.
A length of rope was attached to a tree, with the other end tied to a wheat bag that was submerged under the water, containing the meat. That way, the coolness of the water kept the meat fresh and free from flies and other pests.
I offered to help with the cooking, as was my skill, and a merry night did we all have. Nothing warms the heart then the kindness of strangers.
To you who have nothing, you always have yourself.
To you who have missed a meal, you know nothing of hunger.
To you who have worries in your head, spend time looking at the night sky.
To you who have no friends, help someone nearby.
IMAGES:
