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Five:   A new boy at school

The early light from the eastern window woke me.   Since my farming days I have relied on the rising Sun to start my day.   Automatically, I slid out of bed and peered out of the window to assess the morning.   The sky was blue and birds were singing, harbingers of a warm spring Sunday.   Soon people would be moving out of their homes:   To the beach: to the Harbour; to picnics in the bush; perhaps even to church.   But for the moment, the street outside was empty.

        Then the dull ache in my head reminded me of the night before.   I stared out into the street again.   This Sunday was not mine to dispose of.   No longer could I make a choice about leisure or work as it suited me.   Somehow, I was now public property.

        I went downstairs and surveyed the debris from the party.   The family started to appear; subdued, still tired after only a few hours sleep.   Over coffee, David offered some consolation: "Don't worry Dad -- at least you have a job for the next three years."   My mother-in-law came to the point:   "My light fitting will have to be fixed," she reminded me.

        I sent off a cable to my father in England, saying simply, "We won Manly", and hoping he would understand.

        The Sunday papers arrived and we pored over the election results.   They told of a mighty victory:   


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