Living with relatives: Rescued by Uncle Richard the Lionheart
Is this a ghost story? Was I possessed or just suffering from some summer malady? From out of the darkness came the true Richard Lionheart. Living with relatives while adulting ain't so bad.
I first met Uncle Richard (who I first knew as Uncle Dick) when I was sixteen. The merchant ship he worked on had pulled into Hay Point, south of Mackay. He called us and wanted to see Dad as he had shore leave.
I had never met Uncle Dick before. But I knew of him, and Dad had regaled me with stories of his childhood involving Richard, who was mentioned as a prominent figure.
My uncle had served in WWII as an able seaman in the Royal Australian Navy on the HMAS Warramunga (1944-1946). He went on to continue his career in the Australian Merchant Navy.
My uncle recently celebrated his 97th birthday and is still remarkably alive. So to those readers hoping for dark or appetising tales, you will have to wait a few more years.
The second time I met Uncle Dick was in Brisbane in 1990, around 6 months after moving back in with Dad. Dad and I had first rented an apartment in Toowong, but it became too expensive for us to remain there.
I was in the second half of my second year at university and had been accepted into the Conservatorium's Opera School.
My income soon dried up. Remember all those casual jobs I had? I had to say goodbye to Top Chook Chicken as my hours clashed with Saturday rehearsals.
And because Dad had moved to Brisbane and rented out our house up north, I also had to say goodbye to any government assistance. I was no longer living away from home.
I still folded mail and did the casual front-of-house job for the Basil Jones Theatre. When cast in an opera or musical, I swapped paid ushering for unpaid performing.
But back to Uncle Dick. The second time he met up with us was when we rented this living space at the back of a local corner store. It was still in Toowong, and living there was okay as I liked the couple who owned and ran the store.
However, I could see the Toowong Cemetery from my bedroom window.
I have never liked cemeteries. They're spooky, and they always seem to beckon.
I may have suffered a sleeping disorder while living at the back of this corner store. One morning, I woke up, put my legs over the bed and went to sit up only to discover I had not moved and was still asleep on my back.
So, I kept trying to wake up, and the same thing would happen repeatedly.
During this unusual sleeping experience, the previous tenant, also a conservatorium student, turned up to retrieve some of his furniture, such as a desk that I had been using for writing plays and poetry.
While I slept, I could hear the instrumentalist talking with our landlord right outside the entrance to my bedroom (it had no door). I could see exactly where they stood, even though my eyes were closed, and I could not move.
I'm not sure if I was experiencing sleep paralysis or something else.
After they left, I kept trying to sit up, move my legs and stand up, only to find I was still sleeping. This experience seemed to last for about two hours.
That night, I asked Dad to wake me up when he went to work around 6: 30 am. I started walking and jogging, first around Toowong's Anzac Park and then into and from the city to go to aerobics at the QUT gym.
Around this time, I also began this silly diet where I would eat a peanut muesli bar for breakfast with a can of Coke and nothing else but rice and vegetables for the rest of the day.
I lost about 12 kilograms that Christmas and had to start shopping in the children's clothing department. Back then, fashion's smallest size was an 8, and because of my short height and 22-inch waist, my choice of adult clothes was limited.
Uncle Richard the Lionheart to the rescue
Shortly after my weird sleeping experience, Uncle Richard turned up in his car from his opal mine at Lightning Ridge. His opal mine was his retirement home after leaving the merchant navy.
He looked at where we lived and said, "I'm going to buy a house in Brisbane for us all to live in." So, Dad and I were moving in with a relative.
We moved to Indooroopilly at the corner of Fig Tree Pocket and St. Lucia. It was a lovely old house with a huge garage, three bedrooms and a study.
It was a short walk to the bus and close enough for Indooroopilly Shopping Centre to become my regular haunt.
This time, my window looked out onto the street. I could see the houses across the road, and as we lived on a hill, the suburb slanted down towards the Brisbane River. The area teemed with wildlife.
It would be years before I would experience a similar sleeping experience, and while looking in the mirror one day just after we moved into Uncle Richard’s house, I saw my ribs for the first time and thought, I've lost enough weight.
The diet went out the door and I went back to regular healthy eating but kept up the exercise.
I've always felt grateful for Uncle Richard's generosity and kindness.
I think he saved me.
P.S. At the time, I did consider whether I was being haunted by something from the cemetery. Since then, I've grown up more and realised I must have suffered from sleep paralysis.
P.P.S. Next week, I'll share some tales of what it was like to live with Dad and Uncle Richard.