Free range kids not tethered by the fear of a parent explored the back blocks. School holidays found the group of seven to ten year old boys roving the hills of Glen Osmond. In a pack, it was safety in numbers. Anyone who thought they could abduct one of them was dreaming. They were loud and comfortable in their neighbourhood and with their bikes, able to ride further than they dared when on their own.
The hills of Glen Osmond, on the edge of the bush, held lots of adventures. Scouting for old silver mines, spotting sleeping koalas high in the eucalypts and finding sleepy lizards sunbaking on the road, meant stopping and huddling to discuss the ecology of their area. Recounting what they’d seen, all wanted to add something to the story. But as they described the spiders and snakes, it was their paroxysms of hysterical high-pitched laughter that revealed their new found courage was slightly fragile.
Before the mobile phone, their rule was to be back for lunch and later to return before parents arrived to shepherd them home. A stay at home mum, I was often left babysitting the boys my sons would bring home from school. While some stayed as friends or were there just because they were neighbours, others came and went instantly.
I remember walking outside to check on the boys only to find that Daniel had found the aluminium poles from the tent and, climbing onto the brick back fence, stuck the poles down his shorts and was about to jump. My heart beating madly, I demanded he take the poles out of his pants and give them back. Walking away, I felt faint with the thought that had he jumped, he could have speared himself and done a great deal of damage. When the nightmare returned, all I could see was a child dead on the back lawn. Needless to say he was not welcomed back.
Burnside Writers Group 