A LIFE IN ORBIT (Part 7) ‘Olivers Hill’

Pop built units
on the Bickleigh Street land
and moved us away
to Frankston on Port Phillip Bay.

Our new home
on top of Olivers Hill
had a lookout over a cliff
to the sea below.

My basement flat
opened onto a sloping lawn
near a swimming pool
beside a goldfish pond.

I travelled by train each day
from Frankston to Malvern
then by tram down Glenferrie Road
to the Technical Teacher’s College.

One morning I noticed
my lost love Mary
like a miraculous mirage
near Malvern station.

But as I approached
she vanished
or was hiding
to avoid a meeting.

I adored her
but what could I do
since it appeared
she didn’t wish to see me.

Feeling wretched
I recalled her last words
I loved you, I love you
and I’ll always love you.

I continued searching
until finally she vanished
into the penumbra
of my disillusioned mind.

Darkness loomed
amidst the shame
at the mercy of a perversity
that refused to go away.

We read and discussed
On the Road
and Education through Art
omens of our changing times.

Pop allowed me to
drive his Bentley
before trading it in
for a Mercedes sports.

I seemed to be groping
for something out of my reach
because the aesthetics of creativity
seemed alien to me.

Change was under way
but lesson preparation
was still the same
when being assessed at Frankston Tech.

Freedom was espoused
but nonconformists
were barely tolerated
and creativity lived alone.

The masses embraced loud sounds
sex, and tribal sporting contests
not works of art
or the harmonies of Bach.

There seemed little need
for creativity
within the essence of our lives
as expressed by the corporate mind.

After graduation
I remained at Frankston Tech
a member of the art department
aiming for promotion.

I suscceeded
three years later
but only after appealing
against a poor assessment.

Pop bought Banyanda
the house next door
spacious with a tennis court
for Pete, his wife and children.

I moved to Carrum
not far away
into an upstairs unit
overlooking Port Phillip Bay.

Before breakfast
most mornings
I’d jog along the water’s edge
before swimming out to sea.

After breakfast
I’d drive my VW beetle
to Dandenong Tech
in Cleeland Street.

As deputy department head
my prospects seemed brighter
until the system changed
just one year later.

My classification became redundant
my promotion meaningless
and I was back at the beginning
navigating around a carousel.

Pop retired and bought
Gracehill
with a large expanse of land
to develop as a nursery.

With Pete as manager
he began importing
azaleas, camellias, rhododendrons
tree peonies and magnolias.

Meanwhile
my youngest brother John
had graduated
with an art’s degree from ANU.

Teaching the modern way
was all about free expression
and experimentation
with a variety of materials.

I was supposed to be innovative
and adapt
to inspire with an enthusiasm
I didn’t possess.

My keenness was artificial
as I tried to be something I wasn’t
and never succeeded
although I tried.

Abstract shapes, textures
papier mache monstrosities
with mobiles tinkling, floating
wafting in the stagnant air.

Memories of a ridiculous fate
as an uninspired teacher
feeling and being inadequate
soldiering on.

I was in a time warp
without a future
unable to change or catch up
just going through the motions.

Dave was a strict disciplinarian
an old school type
young and recently married
and as taut as a bowstring.

We often played table tennis
in the staffroom after school
then something snapped
and Dave admitted himself to hospital.

Untreated for several days
and depressed
he made up his mind and jumped
from the top floor and died.

My good mate Bob
taught clay modelling
disinterestedly from his annexe
producing ceramic ash trays.

Vietnam divided the country
with our government
going all the way
with Nixon, Kennedy, Kissinger and LBJ.

I proudly marched
with Dr Jim Cairns
amidst crowds of protesting thousands
extending for several city blocks.

Teaching was like a TV commercial
with cloned classes and the same sets
tediously appearing every day
in the same environment year by year.

Apathetic and empty
I struggled to finish my fifteenth year
an automaton devoid of ambition
at the end of my teaching career.

I explained
to the Education Department
as best I could
why I couldn’t continue.

After an interview
it was agreed
I would be superannuated
without delay.

For a time I enjoyed a carefree life
painting water-colours
and trying to write
leaving behind an aborted career.

But it wasn’t to last
because the past and the present
collided within my mind
to form a dark oppressive cloud.

Out of this World

I had left the main party and gone off alone. There was no rapport between us – in fact I felt alienated. I was a passenger forced by circumstances to tag along, to travel with a group to various destinations that had no meaning for me. They were just stopovers for a night or two after tedious days spent travelling long distances, starting early in the morning with short breaks for food and calls of nature, between periods set aside for exploration, sometimes accompanied by guides. On other occasions we were left to our own devices for a while, then expected to return to the bus or a particular rendezvous at a certain time. I, however, had little sense of direction, with an unfortunate tendency to lose my way, no matter what precautions I took. Something always seemed to go wrong. Eidetic images of landmarks lost any distinctive characteristics when seen from different directions or angles, and sequential aids such as the relative positioning of objects became a tangled and confused mess within my mind.
If I had felt empathy with any of the groups I would have happily joined them and relied upon their combined navigational skills, but there was no sort of bond, other than the hint of a polite and patronising relationship that I would have to tolerate on their terms, requiring a tacit acknowledgement of my need for their existence, depite their standoffishness – so I responded by expelling them from my mind, as if they had ceased to exist, instead of misusing my emotions by, for instance, manufacturing anipathy towards them as some sort of vengeful antidote.
Originally I had been persuaded, against my better judgement, to join the touring party. Supposedly it was in my best interests to set a new course, to radically transform myself from being an introverted loner preferring my own company – to something alien – resulting in a change of personality and lifestyle, with all the concomitant emotional tensions and complications involved in personal relationships. However I actually enjoyed living a hermit-like existence, isolated from the rest of humanity by my circumstances.
I was an only child whose parents had died suddenly in a tragic accident when I was in my twenties. I had inherited a residence and enough money for all my needs. Since I didn’t have to earn a living I decided not to continue my teaching career, which I was finding too stressful anyway. I did get unasked for advice from well meaning friends and relations, and a certain amount of barely concealed contempt from some former colleagues who may have resented my newfound independence and affluence, even inferring I was betraying some form of life-affirming principle. Although I managed to sever all ties with most of these pests, including some covetous relatives who were barely able to conceal their resentment, I also succeeded in deterring some well meaning friends, but I was unable to escape completely into my own secret world because there remained the odd one or two who refused to be rebuffed, maintaining they had my best interests at heart – which I doubted. I was never rude but could be icily polite, dismissive and sarcastic if necessary. Nevertheless, though unwilling, I would at least listen if unable to avoid such a confrontation.
One of these persistent ‘friends’ was worried about my ‘lifestyle’, as he put it, or rather my lack of one. He tried comparing me to a holy man who shuts himself off from the world in order to gain enlightenment through meditation, deprivation and solitude; but indicated I wouldn’t qualify because not only did I lack any faith, I could hardly be said to deny myself any of the pleasures, let alone the necessities of life. All I had to look forward to was loneliness, he claimed – and what was the point in withdrawing from the world – and in particular the opposite sex? I began to equivocate and quibble but was unable to convince myself, let alone my friend, who may have felt I was weakening, so attempted to exploit his advantage.
Although considered reasonably intelligent, I was almost pathologically shy, particularly so towards attractive women, whom I never actually associated with, but fantasized about. For example, I worshipped images of certain females and created my own erotic sublimation with a variety of imaginary sexual ‘orgies’, complete with my own private orgasms. But I could never envisage paying a prostitute for so-called ‘normal’ sex. The thought disgusted me, and a married life with kids was beyond my imagination.
My friend’s plans for me soon became clear. Understanding I was a little disconcerted he came to the point, challenging me to leave my ‘sanctuary’ and the sterility of my solitary lifestyle and ‘join the world’. I laughed derisively, as if I had found him out and discovered a weak point in his argument, but he merely smiled sadly and I realized he felt sorry for me, that he didn’t see me as a brave but stubborn loner doing his own thing, but as someone who genuinely needed help. I was shocked, but also well and truly hooked.
He suggested I take a holiday, go on an escorted tour for a week or two, see a bit of the world, relate to other people – instead of resigning from the human race. I prevaricated but he was obdurate and indicated he was prepared to make all the arrangements. All I had to do was enter at the beginning and depart at the end – everything would be planned for me, firstly by him and then by the tour organizers. He even helped me pack and drove me to the air terminal, leaving me alone and in a state of shock, at the mercy of the tour leader and the touring party. I had never felt so alone. My fellow travellers were chatting animatedly amongst themselves and took no notice of me. The tour leader had been notified of my arrival by my friend, so had no further need to speak to me. I passed through the various stage of embarkation robotically, following the person ahead of me, until we eventually boarded our jet and I found my seat. There was virtually no conversation between me and my companion for the flight, apart from the occasional perfunctory remark, which suited me and was a template for the rest of the tour.
Soon after landing we were addressed by the tour leader who outlined our schedule for the rest of the day, then were driven to our hotel where room keys were distributed. I entered my room with a sense of relief, as if I had found an oasis in the desert. I was finally alone and free from the obligations of the tour itinerary for a short time at least. We had dinner at the hotel. Since the touring party sat together in their self-contained groups, I had the luxury of a small table to myself. In that sense it was just like home to me, except for knowing I was obliged to keep someone else’s timetable for some time to come.
Since we were to leave by coach early in the morning I had to awaken after insufficient sleep, pack my case, and grab a quick breakfast before boarding time. As usual, I sat alone, while the tour leader regaled us with all sorts of useless information from the front of the coach, although some memebers of the party actually seemed entertained and enlightened, and the ladies giggled appreciatively. Despite feeling exhausted I was unable even to doze. For some unknown reason I had to be horizontal to be able to relax completely, and due to our onerous itinerary I never had enough sleep during stopovers. As a result I grew increasingly tired.
I knew I could have aborted the tour at any time but due to a desire not to admit defeat, I resolved to continue – and was comforted by the thought of its conclusion, when I would be able to luxuriate in the uniqueness of my freedom compared with its absence in the lives of others.
We were well over half way and had stopped at another of those cities with their numerous places of historical iterest, infested with camera toting tourists, all cast from the same mundane mould. Our guide was explaining something to us in front of some famous cathedral or other. From where I stood, at the back, I couldn’t hear what was said, but gathered from information supplied earlier, that we had two hours to explore, shop or whatever, and this was to be our rendezvous before the next stage of the tour.
I set off on my own, noting the position of the cathedral in relation to other nearby buildings. I rarely strayed far from the assembly area in case I lost my way, sometimes spending my time at a restaurant or cafe. However, on an impulse, I resolved to go further afield, deciding to follow one particular broad avenue nd see where it would lead me. As I walked, I wondered why I was allowing myself to be led by the nose, going in someone else’s direction, following instructions, being programmed in fact, so that my only moments of individuality and peace occurred during sleep and sometimes when dreaming. I would take my own tour, go my own way somewhere, serendipitously, until able to make my own decisions and arrange my own schedule. I kept walking until I arrived at a park, an oasis of magnificent old trees, surrounded by shrubs and swaths of lush green grass where chipmunks scampered, and squirrels could be seen scaling trees – and further on, to a lake with ducks in formation and swans gliding by, leaving concentric ripples in their wakes.
Where the park ended the land rose. I followed a path to the top of a plateau with a deep escarpment on one side. At the bottom, excavation work of some kind was taking place. Opposite were buildings of various kinds, presumably residential and commercial. I decided I would try and descend somewhere, then ascend to the other side and explore, but realized the excavation work was blocking my way.
As I watched, a strange shape began to emerge, suggesting a huge bulky object that didn’t appear to be inanimate as I assumed it must be, exhibiting instead organic characteristics of something that had once lived, had been buried and was now being gradually disinterred and revealed as something archaic or prehistoric. A long reptilian neck was being carefully uncovered, followed by by a relatively small triangular shaped head – with part of a massive body and lizard-like tail at the rear. To my absolute amazement and horror the thing appeared to move, to shift slightly as though lazily attempting to free itself – and began to breathe! Strangely this didn’t seem to concern the workmen at all. They merely continued digging and unconcernedly brushed away pieces of the earthy shroud while the monster stirred, seemingly emerging from an extended hibernation; then the workmen stepped back, providing space for it to shake itself free from the restraining soil.
I was caught in a dilemma. I dared not attempt to clamber down and cross to the other side as I had intended, although I felt relativley safe where I stood because of the distance between me and the quiescent but creature. Returning the way I came was also out of the question. I had no intention of continuing the tour. I would stay where I was. By so doing I was at the mercy of my imagination, of my dreams and futile fantasies.
That is the life I continue to lead, unhurried and unworried by schedules and tedious journeys, of being force-fed indigestible information with the accompanying mental apathy, torpidity and tedium. My world will hopefully remain free from the intolerable intrusion of conformist suffocating humanity, and the devastating effect it would have on my lifestyle. However, my escape from life has trapped me in a time warp, confined me within the eternal present, divorced me from the future, at the mercy of fanciful dreams and visions which have no location, except from within my floating mind – temporally confined – thus unable to revisit the past or penetrate the future, only to accompany my ageing body, which will disappear amidst the lives of others.