Monday, August 11

 It's another sunny day in Longford but we have no plans to get out and enjoy it.  Marilyn has a couple of thigs to pick up at the local supermarket and I might find the energy to mow the lawn but, otherwise, it will be another day on the couch.

I started the morning as I usually do; browsing Youtube in search of something to watch with my first coffee of the day.  I avoid the increasingly strident videos of Trump's latest idiocy and ones made by middle-aged couples boasting about their travels, looking for something different.  Major concerts in the UK, like the Royal Command Performance are always worth a look but can become a bit same-y.  Too many conclude with Eric Idle singing his heart out to Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.  I've seen him singing with a host of ballerinas, a Welsh choir, and members of the royal family.

It's a great song and the Poms have taken it to their hearts.  I love lines like ;

'when you're chewin' on life's gristle,

Just give a little whistle' 

and 

Forget about your sin,

Give the audience a grin,

Enjoy it; it's your last chance anyhow.

I think it must sum up the British view of life.

THE WINDFALL                                                                                             JULY 17, 2020

It’s not true what the Beatles say, that ‘All You Need is Love’.  We had plenty of that but, in the early 1970s, it didn’t pay the rent or the grocery bill.  We had a new baby and, because of that, my wife’s contribution to the family income had been cut back; with a baby, there’s always more expenses: baby blankets, and nappies and so on.  We had moved away from our families when I took a new job in Sydney so we couldn’t ‘drop in’ on our Mums and Dads, or even our friends, for a free meal.

My brother was very vocal about his friends who happened to drop in on Thursday nights when they were getting a bit short, and they would hang around until good manners insisted that he had to invite them to stay for dinner.  I sympathised with the friends and their plight the night before pay day because we were struggling as they were.

My mother was probably wiser than the Beatles because one of her sayings was, “You can’t live on love.”  She used to say it if she caught us buying something she thought was trivial, like new wallpaper for the baby’s room or a bottle of cheap wine.

Luckily, I did some private coaching on one afternoon a week with one my students.  His parents had a fish and chip shop and never let me leave their home without a parcel of their choice fillets and best chips.  That was always our most anticipated meal of the week.  Coaching opportunities came up from time to time but this source of income was unreliable and I needed something more regular.

Several times I approached my principal to ask for a raise but he always told me solemnly that it was just not possible before he drove away in his BMW to his million-dollar home on the foreshore at South Coogee.  Just when I was thinking I needed to look for a change of occupation, into something which paid better, the principal approached me with an interesting offer.

“The local Presbyterian Church is looking for a part-time caretaker,” he said.  “It won’t interfere with your teaching and, in return, they will offer you a rent-free flat and a few dollars a week for looking after the cleaning and maintenance of the property.” 

Maybe, in my own way, I had been praying for a windfall to get us out of our predicament but, as the old saying goes, “God helps those who help themselves.”  Instead of sending me a win in the lottery or the death of a wealthy aunt who had remembered me in her will, God sent me an opportunity and, as the mafia used to say, it was an offer I couldn’t refuse.

Without rent to pay and a few extra dollars in hand each week, our lives changed for the better.  Within two years, we were able to move into our own home and, although we have never been wealthy, we have never again been in need.

As a postscript, I have discovered recently that one of the regular attenders at that church during those years was a young Malcolm Turnbull who was a boarder at the Sydney Grammar Boarding House just around the corner.  I polished the pews on which young Malcolm would have rested his bottom and I wonder if it ever passed through his mind that his comfort depended on my diligence.