Dutchy

 I got the news that I lost my uncle last night.

He was one of the good ones on my Dutch side.  There were two of twelve.  The rest ...

He looked out for me after my father died.  I am really lucky, really lucky that he did.  He said he'd do anything for me.  He would.

He worked at the speedway.  Dutchy.  He'd pull men from the wrecks or do the pace.  Everyone trusted him.  One of those icons.

Since he died all the rancid relatives have been coming out of the family forging documents for his home, raiding the valuables, staking counter claims in his house and for his car, bullying each other for podium position at the service, subverting his wishes.  All the usual things your do when a loved one dies.

I'm my father's favourite daughter.  I was his favourite, but I was also the strongest and the one who shut him out.  I was stronger than he was in a way I don't think he expected.  I was the only one who made that bastard, who took lives and innocence and whatever he wanted without conscience, to weep in front of other men.

My uncle was so loved by the speedway fold.  They opened the grounds and had a vigil for him.  I loved that photo of him that he had above his tiny fireplace.  The speedway gave it to him in recognition for what he had done.  It was mounted in a thick perspex box like a trophy and had a plaque.  He's in his overalls with "Dutchy" embroidered on them.  You should've met my uncle.  He was such a good guy.  The stories he would've told you.

Hiding

I only learned the words for everything later on, when you hear the adults talking or read the newspaper articles.  There are a few photo albums somewhere with all the clippings.

It was when I was between the ages of 7-11.  I had a few different names during that time.  I was abducted three times and each time I lived under a different identity until my sisters and I were found in 1977.

We came back across the Nullabor.  It was still dirt then.  We did not stop, only for petrol and bathroom.  My father is a machine.  We did it in under three days.  It was dirt but nothing, nothing would stop my father.  We lost the front end of the car because it was dirt and because of the speed he was driving.  The front end is the steering assembly and suspension.  We stopped for that.  He got under the car with a coat hanger and then we were back on the road. 

We also had to stop when the aboriginal folk put a great spear across the road, another time it was a baby in the middle of the road.

We didn't last long back at home, but that is a different story.  Adelaide.