Men in White
1997; Springer International Publishing; Volume: 23; Issue: 1 Linguagem: Inglês
ISSN
0311-4198
Autores Tópico(s)Indigenous and Place-Based Education
ResumoMen in WhiteI was about eight years old when my mother, after a lot of cajoling and false promises on my part, gave me permission to go on a picnic with two of my girlfriends. I remember my contribution to our first feast was salami and Pita bread; embarrassing continental edibles that I took only at my mother's goodwilled insistence. I was the youngest of the trio, but the other two were thought to be responsible girls. Shane was very tall and knew what `intercourse' meant, she was the brightest girl in the class. Vicki was small and pretty and giggled a lot, and had relatives in America.Our picnic was planned for Saturday morning and when, after the longest week in anyone's childhood, that day finally arrived, we decided we wanted to go to Tunk's Park. Armed with our picnic basket and assorted goodies we arrived at the park. Unfortunately, our plans for a quiet lunch and prolonged exploring session amongst the trees were doomed from the beginning. Our park was occupied. Men in white, weekend cricketers, dominated the foreground while the background was littered by troops of rugs, women and children. We were disgusted! Our special spot was being contaminated by the adults; they were spread everywhere like a fungus or a disease: defacto parents watching and silently supervising our presence.Instead of succumbing to our dismay, we turned our backs on the invaders and walked towards the shores of the bay, all threats and warnings of danger being left behind on the partially damp grass. We hid our picnic basket among the rocks, dragging a couple of branches off a poor, undernourished tree to complete our camouflage. Satisfied that no-one would find our `treasure,' we proceeded to explore.I still remember the feeling of freedom that came over us. We ran over rocks and pebbles, kicked water into the air, threw oyster shells and pippies into the bay, all the time yelling and singing snatches of silly songs to the trees, the boats, the empty houses; to everyone, anyone and no-one. Everything became something of consequence that needed three pairs of eyes and hands and three high voices chattering excitedly over the top of each other. We became the `Famous Five': Shane was `Julian' and Vicki was `Dick' and, because I didn't want to be a `real' girl, I became `George.' We decided that `Anne' had stayed with the picnic basket and `Tim' was somewhere up ahead sniffing out interesting places for us to investigate. It wasn't the dales or moors of England with their rabbits and inns that held our attention or inspired our journey, but a piece of glass, half an oyster, or an old rubber thong, all of which took on richer lives and histories than Enid Blyton could ever have conceived of. We felt a kind of guilty joy as we rubbed the surfaces of each object, scratched them against each other, pushed them over the rocks or dabbled them in the water, all the time waiting for an intrusive voice to say: `Don't pick that up!' or `God knows where that's been, put it down!' But the voice never came, and we either pocketed our keepsakes or flung them into the bay to secure our ownership of them.As we continued on our adventure we discovered a small, public wharf set in the midst of all the private jetties. It was a clumsy but solid looking construction of wood, cement and boulders. It had a long, partially rotted wooden top that reached out over the water and ended, it seemed, where the bay plunged into the ocean's depths.From the rocks above we jumped onto the wharf, one after the other, sending three large shudders along the length of the pier. But in our haste to get on top of the platform, we hadn't considered how difficult our descent would be. It seemed such a long way down now, a veritable cliff, so we adopted the roles of maidens in distress hoping our loud voices and boisterous antics would attract some attention.Just as we were nervously preparing to jump from our wooden erection, we noticed a huge truck tyre floating on the murky green waters beside it. …
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