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of Phonse both by geography and Dad’s resolute rejection of it. My sisters and I would attend the local Sunday school, but Dad never went to services himself. In contrast, his sisters, Lorraine and Julie, are still very active in the Church and Lorraine’s eldest son, Paul, works at the Seventh-day Adventists’ Australian headquarters.
    We were raised in the equivalent of the Church of England, which in Australia was called the Church of Christ. I was never interested in religion, partly because I found some of the teaching at Sunday school too bizarre for words.
    In one lesson, we were asked, ‘What do you say if someone stops you and asks for directions?’ Well, one would think that the polite response would be to tell them which way to go, but not according to my Sunday school tutor. He said that the correct answer is: ‘There is only one way and that is to God.’ I remember sitting there thinking, ‘I can’t say that!’
    It stuck with me, though. Every time anyone asks me how to get anywhere, I always think, ‘There is only one way and that is to God.’
    The church-led Boys’ Brigade was quite big in Sydney so I decided to join, although I didn’t last very long there. Their motto was ‘Steadfast and Sure’ and the boys all wore a uniform and a cadet’s cap. I had to give up my gymnastics class to attend, but in retrospect, I should have stayed with the rings and the vaulting. I liked dressing up for the sessions, getting ready and having to polish the uniform’s buttons – the ‘showbiz’ side of it – but knuckling down to pitching tents and lighting fires wasn’t my thing. On one occasion I remember going on a hike when I was so unfit that I came back half a stone lighter – so at least that was a bonus.
    The favourite game there was British Bulldog, where you split up into two teams and each group goes to either end of the hall. Then you try to reach your opponent’s side of the room, while they attempt to bring you down with a tackle. It’s like war. You have to bulldoze your way through and it’s basically an excuse for anyone who hates you to beat seven bells out of you.
    One minute, we’d be knocking the crap out of each other and the next – because the Boys’ Brigade was run by the church – having a scripture lesson. I really wasn’t suited to either of those pursuits. The crunch came when I was supposed to be baptized. Beforehand, everyone was going up to the priest and receiving a blessing, but when it came to my turn, I got all nervous and freaked out. I refused to do it. Beside the pulpit there was a big stone bath with steps leading down to it. I thought you had to take off your clothes and climb into the bath in front of everyoneand then commit your whole life to God. Believe me, I wasn’t prepared to do either!
    Religion is a strange thing because although people are often brought up with it, and every official form you fill in asks you to which religion you belong, many of us no longer know what we believe in. I’ve read lots of books on the subject, including The Road Less Travelled and Conversations with God , and I find them fascinating. It’s nice to believe in something, as it gives people a sense of security, but I think you have to create your own path and make the right choices. I’m unclear as to what my religion is today and whether I actually believe in God or not. I’m still confused. You are taught to pray as a child and it never quite leaves you. I believe there is something else, but not one thing alone.
    One day, I asked my grandmother, Phonse, what it meant to be a Seventh-day Adventist. She told me it meant that when you died, you would stay in the ground until Jesus came back to get you.
    My grandmother’s fervent faith had come about as a result of a terrible childhood, and her eventual redemption from it.
    When Phonse was nine years old, her mother died in childbirth, and she was put into a Catholic orphanage in Armidale, New South Wales with