That Sunday afternoon, in 1957 the clouds hung heavy over the Mapping Pool. I remember that day for two reasons. The first was my new found fear of sharks and the second, my foray into crime. I suppose it could be called "My Coming-of-Age Story". Although back then it was called something different.
As the hot westerly wind diminished under the full force of the southerly buster, Billy and I knew what happened next. We grabbed our bags and headed for cover. There were several small shelters between the pool and the Ocean Baths but they offered little protection. Sand, whipped up by the wind lashed our briefly clad bodies. Bodies already burned by the sun after failing to protect as instructed.
When we left home this morning, we got the usual. All the don'ts. "Yes mum".
We joined the crowd in the fish and chip shop at the entrance to the Baths. The smell was amazing. Not just the fish and chips but my passion, the Pluto Pup literally soaked in tomato sauce.
"I'll give it a half hour before it blows itself out," said old Clem. "So find somewhere else unless you're buying."
The crowd began to thin out.
Growing up on the coast of Newcastle we had little fear of sharks. The blue bottles that invaded the beaches after the north easterly winds proved more of a problem. They wrapped their tendrils lovingly around our arms and legs resulting in red welts. We spat on them and rubbed sand into them to minimise the sting. The locals said just piss on them. They never kept us out of the water. Mum said we were gluttons for punishment.
However, earlier in the year there had been two shark attacks in Newcastle. One in April at Merewether Beach when a surfer was attacked. We never went to Merewether but it was close enough to be a worry. The sharks would have to swim past us to get to Merewether. The other in May when a spearfisherman, towing a dead fish was attacked. A bit up the coast but close enough.
I'm not normally a scaredy cat but something resonated in my brain. I was sure that there was a shark out there that knew my name. For this reason, we now swam in the baths or mucked about in the mapping pool at high tide.
I believe my new found fear was why mum allowed me to go to the baths with my mate Billy, completely unsupervised. What could possibly happen to us? We caught the bus to and from the baths. This brings me to my second confession - my life of crime - all be it, a very short life.
It was mandatory to buy a Pluto Pup and bag of chips at the baths. All the kids did so. How do you convince your mum that the Vegemite sandwiches she packed would not suffice? They were an embarrassment and therefore discarded early in the day. But what do you do when you haven't any money? You steal.
There are reasons why kids need to be supervised. It isn't just about preventing physical harm. There were several boys who were always hanging around the Ocean Baths or Mapping Pool. They lived nearby in Zaara Street where their dads worked at the power station. They were street savvy.
A few weeks before they had initiated us into their group. We had to show them we feared nothing. There was a mixed business shop a few streets away; always busy in summer with kids buying lollies, ice blocks and bottles of cordial. The proprietor was a grouch. He hated us kids.
Back then there was a monetary refund on cordial bottles. Sixpence for large bottles, threepence for small. The local kids had discovered that the proprietor stacked all the empties at the back of the shop. We climbed the fence from the back alley into his yard and proceeded to relieve him of some of his stash. We would then take them into the shop to collect our refunds. Sometimes we exchanged the bottles for ice blocks. We were able to buy the really expensive brands instead of the usual water ice blocks. It wasn't really stealing. No money changed hands.
This morning we had followed our normal Sunday ritual. I stayed in the alley while Billy climbed over the gate and tossed the bottles back over the fence.
We had two bottles each, careful not to be too greedy. Moderation at all times was what my mum espoused. She had taught me well.
We staggered the returns to coincide with the busy times. Today was no different. I had taken my bottles in first and bought two Paddle Pops. An hour later Billy decided to return his. It was lunchtime, the busiest period. We got in line and eventually fronted up to the counter.
The proprietor lifted up the bottles. On the bottom was white paint. He started to come round the counter when the penny dropped. He had marked the bottles. We'd been sprung.
"Shit" I cried as we dashed out of the shop.
We ran. I'm sure we beat Banister's four-minute mile as we headed back to the pool, blind to the searing heat and strong westerly wind. We dropped down onto the sand and put our backs to the wall. We couldn't be seen from the street. Relieved there were no sirens, we relaxed. We didn't say much. The tide came in and we spent the rest of the day mucking around.
So now, here we were, sheltering in the fish and chip shop, the rain bucketing down outside, penniless and lusting after a Pluto Pup. There was only one solution.
When we finally arrived home soaking wet and extremely late mum asked why hadn't we caught the bus. We said in unison.
"Someone stole our money while we were in swimming."
The next Sunday, mum gave me extra money for a locker.
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