My Place Read Online Free PDF

baby chickens home for us to play with. There was a time when he couldn’t go past a pet shop window without buying half-a-dozen little chickens for us. He still lived in his favourite blue overalls, but he never hid tiny Nestles milk chocolates in the deep pockets any more. He only hid himself, now. When he was home, he never came out of his room. The only thing he seemed interested in was the pub.
    Our local pub was called the Raffles; it was situated on the banks of the Swan River and had a Mediterranean outlook. Dad was popular at the Raffles. There was a huge group of returned soldiers who drank there. It was like a club. Give Dad a few beers down the Raffles with his mates and he was soon in another world. He forgot about us and Mum, and became one of the boys.
    We kids often went to the pub with Dad. While he enjoyed himself in the bar, we sat, bored and forgotten, in the car.
    Summer was worst. Dad always wound the windows up and locked what doors were lockable in case anyone should try to steal us. He forbade us ever to get out the car. These precautions meant that on hot summer’s nights, we nearly suffocated.
    One summer’s evening, I could stand it no longer. Dad hadbeen gone for ages, and I’d given up all hope of him returning with some bags of potato chips. Somehow, the sweet, clean smell of the Swan River managed to penetrate our glass and metal confines. Like the wisp of a cloud on a misty night, it floated around my shoulders and head, beckoning me to come.
    â€˜Let’s go play down the river,’ I said suddenly. ‘Dad’s not going to bring us any chips. He won’t notice we’ve gone.’
    â€˜We’re supposed to stay in the car,’ Jill said as she eyed me doubtfully. Two terms at school and she was a real stickler for convention.
    â€˜Look Jill, there’s no use hanging around hoping he’ll turn up with something. He’s forgotten about us again. I’m going whether you come or not.’
    The thought of a paddle was too much for Billy, who leapt out with me. Jill followed, reluctantly. We wound our way quickly through the crowded carpark and down to the sandy foreshore. We splashed and laughed and built sandcastles decorated with bits of seaweed and stick.
    Just as we were constructing an elaborate moat, a tall figure loomed above the beach.
    â€˜What the bloody hell are you kids doing down here. I told you to stay in the car.’ Dad advanced menacingly, and we froze.
    Suddenly, I yelled, ‘Well what did ya expect us to do, sit in the car all night? You’ve been gone for ages
and
ya didn’t give us any chips!’ I stopped abruptly, my mouth wide open. Where had my sudden bravery come from? I often had vehement thoughts, but I generally kept them to myself. Now I’d done it.
    Fortunately, Dad was as surprised as me. He stopped and stood looking down at us. His gaze took in three haphazard sandcastles, and the beginning of an elaborate irrigation system. Without another word, he ushered us quietly to the car and took us home.
    The following night, I stayed home with Mum. I’d decided the chances of procuring a packet of chips were too slim. Billy and Jill insisted on going with Dad. ‘They’ll be in for another boring time,’ I told Mum as we waved them goodbye.
    Dad was home early that night. He was furious. Apparently, Jill had become so bored she’d gone hunting for Dad in the public bar. Someone had put her up on the counter and said, ‘All right, who owns this one?’ It was so unlike Jill and, in Dad’s eyes, an unforgivable sin. The pub was his domain. He felt she’d shown him up in front of his mates.
    My father’s brothers were great drinkers too, and proud of it. The only one who seemed different was Uncle John; he was a lot younger than Dad, and we kids quite liked him. He always had a joke with us and never drank as much as the others.
    Even apart from our relations, we