My Place by Sally Morgan Read Free Book Online Page A

together enough money to shout Jill, Billy and me to the local outdoor theatre.
    The theatre fascinated us. We loved the gaily striped canvas seats, the large spotlights and the huge white screen. It was such a magical place, we even felt excited during intermission.
    But one of the best nights we had there was the time Mum provided the entertainment.
    After we paid our threepence entry fee, we walked up and down, searching for four empty seats. Mum reckoned we’d be lucky to find any, because they always sold more tickets than they had seats. We were fortunate, Billy’s keen eyes spotted four beauties.
    â€˜Over there, Mum,’ he shouted. ‘Look over there.’
    Mum looked in the direction he was pointing and sighed: they were in the middle row of the centre block, and almost impossible to get at. The rows of seats were so narrowly spaced it was difficult to walk between them, even when they were vacant. Only a fool, or someone very brave, would consider trying to claim them when all the surrounding seats were full, and, when one of our party happened to be a woman who was eight months pregnant …
    â€˜There must be somewhere else,’ Mum said helplessly as she glanced around the overflowing theatre.
    â€˜There’s not, Mum,’ I said matter-of-factly. ‘If we want to sit together, it’ll have to be those.’
    As we struggled over the various arms and legs jutting in our path, Mum kept apologising, ‘I’m sorry, I’m awfully sorry. Please excuse me …’ By the time we reached the empty seats, Mum was blushing and exhausted.
    Darkness descended and we all grinned when we heard Mum breathe out. She responded by giving us a no-nonsense look that said shut up and watch the picture!
    It was halfway through a new item on the Queen Mother that Mum disappeared. There was a sudden rip, following by an urgent gurgling noise. All we could see was her desperately flailing arms and legs.
    Fumbling in the dark, we managed to grasp her hands and tried the old heave-ho, but to no avail. A sympathetic chap in front leaned over the hard metal railing that separated each row and gave us a hand. As he pulled, we pushed Mum’s feet towards the ground in the hope that it would give her more leverage. Instead, our fake grunts and groans sent her into a fit of giggles, which was no help at all.
    The newsreel rolled on, but the Queen Mum’s final wave was totally ignored. A lady kindly went to fetch the manager, and returned with the bouncer as well. When they reached Mum, she was a quivering, giggling mass and we were near hysteria.
    By the end of the newsreel, Mum was free. Embarrassed, but free. She was supplied with a hard metal chair to sit on, and a small bottle of lime cool drink by way of compensation. Mum consoled herself with the fact that at least it hadn’t been necessary to turn on the lights.
    It was early in Grade Three that I developed my infallible Look At The Lunch method for telling which part of Manning my classmates came from. I knew I came from the rough-and-tumble part, where there were teenage gangs called Bodgies and Widgies, and where hardly anyone looked after their garden. There was another part of Manning that, before I’d started school, I had been unaware of. The residents there preferred to call it Como. The houses were similar, only in better condition. The gardens were neat and tidy, and I’d heard there was carpet on the floors.
    Children from Como always had totally different lunches to children from Manning. They had pieces of salad, chopped upand sealed in plastic containers. Their cake was wrapped neatly in grease-proof paper, and they had real cordial in a proper flask. There was a kid in our class whose parents were so wealthy that they gave him bacon sandwiches for lunch.
    By contrast, kids from Manning drank from the water fountain and carried sticky jam sandwiches in brown paper bags.
    Nan normally made our sandwiches for