1968 non-fiction

Pete and I scanned the paper for flats to rent. We were anxious to get something before our wedding two weeks hence. In Australia, a simple little place to live for young people was called a flat. In America they talked of apartments, which sounded very grand. I wasn’t sure what an apartment meant or when you were old enough to live in one!

Pete circled an advertisement with his pen and we arranged an inspection with the landlord. Walking in the front door we were greeted by the shiny reflection of the polished floor. I was impressed. The flat consisted of two main rooms and a tiny bathroom. We walked into the lounge kitchenette which looked very large with just a tiny laminex-topped table and a white settee. Delighted to take it, we paid $17 a week rent. The underneath part of the building was concreted and served as a place to park cars. The laundry was downstairs and the rotary clothes hoist in the backyard for drying the washing. Electric dryers hadn’t been invented at that stage and weren’t needed in Queensland with all its fresh air and abundant sunshine,

We stayed away for two weeks on our honeymoon holiday and when we returned to the flat to start our lives as a married couple we had $30 in the bank. We settled down to our respective careers – me as a nurse and Pete as an ambulance officer. We were both 23. I felt so old – so mature. People had always told me I was mature. Now I know I was just young and shy. And very inexperienced!

We owned a car in a pretty turquoise blue – a General Motors Holden. We both loved it. One night Pete had a lecture in the city. Since he was in the beginning of his career he still attended lectures and had exams to pass. I was at home on my own but I wasn’t scared to be alone in the flat. No one had ram raided a house at that stage of our lives and most people were polite to each other. The thieves and robbers were out there somewhere; but that was them and this was us.

I expected Pete to return at about 10 PM at the latest, and when he didn’t show up I tried not to panic. I told myself he’d been held up, talking, but when 11 o’clock and come and gone I felt my cheeks wet with tears. Positive he’d been in an accident, I worried myself sick.

When nearly midnight came I heard a car drive-in underneath, and didn’t know whether to be angry or not. If I was honest I was hugely relieved. Pete’s friend had driven him home and the two walked in looking very serious.

“The car’s been stolen.”

I stood stunned and shocked, feeling violated, as if someone had ripped out all my teeth without asking permission. Not only was our car gone-our all-important transport-but Pete’s first aid kit had been in the boot. It was a top quality leather hand-made first aid kit, a gift from his parents.

We felt as if we would never survive this onslaught, but life goes on regardless. Pete’s parents insisted on giving us the car they had only recently purchased – the first car they’d had in years, and also replaced the first aid kit.

Looking back now, from the position of old age, that incident was one of life’s smaller hiccups.