Stranger Danger or Steward Granger?

Steward Granger, my childhood hero, my heart still swoons at his memory. The Brad Pitt of my parents generation, held many a woman's heart to ransom, captivated children around the world with his daring swashbuckling pirate escapades, made ordinary men's eyes roll in annoyance while Mills & Boon rubbed their hands with glee as the muse of all romance novels increased their profit margins beyond staggering levels.

Oh, did I mention he probably saved me from potential harm? and the fact that grown-ups don't play might have helped too.
During my preschool age, in which there was no preschool in those years, I lived a life that most kids would seem like a dream; total freedom.
My family occupied the only house in the middle of what was bushy industrial nation. Our lonely little house was on the edge of a brick works plant which was flanked on 3 sides by untamed bush, on the opposite side new buildings were going up along side a couple that had been there for a while. One road dissected the strange location. There were no neighbours, no human play mates.

I know now how tiring motherhood can be with 5 children, several ring-ins, an overwhelming business and some more study for extra punishment. Then my mum was tired too; she slept for most of my waking hours.
I was too young to understand she suffered depression.

Her only activity was the cranky mornings filled with coffee and a  dozen cigarettes while she cleaned the kitchen, muttering away in her native dutch with some German expletives thrown in between the sentences. I understood both languages, as our family had not long immigrated from Holland. Now we were all learning Australian.

Dad was the engineer and plant manager of the brickworks we lived in, so he was out of bed and at work before 5am. My brothers who were almost a generation older than me, had discovered the beach, were gone by 6am to surf then off to high school or Tech as it was called in those days.

The one good thing about the lack of supervision is that imagination comes out to play unfettered.
If I wasn't roaming the very large area of the brickworks amongst all the workers looking for my dad, or hitching a ride on the forklifts around the columns of bricks, I would be sitting on the floor watching the midday movie which usually showed more than a far share of Steward Granger starring as the handsome daring, romantic pirate or renegade with a conscious.
I was a little, long shaggy haired, bare footed urchin, clad mostly in just knickers, with a see through chiffon curtain cape draped over the shoulders most of the time. After each movie, spurned on by the adventure packed action and high drama, I would race outside with a pirate sword in one hand and  my trusty ship mate, Poppy, our Kelpie dog-nanny close in tow. I would wrap a red bandanna around Poppy's neck to suit the part but the cat had long since mutineered, protesting about the wearing hers.

Like most days while mum lay asleep in a darkened room, Poppy & I went off to our 'Treasure Island'.
Treasure Island was really the scrub across the road, as the road became the sea, the cars became the man eating sharks. Most days we didn't see many sharks at all. We spent hours across the road traipsing through the tight scrub.
One day I wanted to take my little pull along cart with us. Maybe it was overloaded, for it tipped on the side of the road. While I was trying to put everything back in, I didn't notice a car pull up on the opposite side.
A man called out "Hey little girl where are you going?".
"Treasure Island!" I throw up my sword skywards dramatically.
"Well get in the car and I will take you there, it'll be quicker".

Now I thought about that for a second or two. I imagined him driving the car through the scrub to my little cubby house  made from boxes. No, I thought, a car wont fit and it didn't seem like fun because I liked to swish swash the branches out the way with my sword.
"It wont fit!" I called across the road back at him.
"I know another way, can get there by car, down the road a bit then around the corner" he motioned the direction with his hand. "It'll be fun, we'll play together"

I was still thinking about the whole car ride which is never fun with grown up,s as they always tell you to stop talking. Whereas I could talk to Poppy as much as I wanted, she never complained, actually she liked it. The constant licking of approval was anything to go by.

Then a bigger thought popped into my head, grown-ups don't play! they cant! that's what makes them grown-ups!

"Grown ups don't play, they don't know how to!" I yelled back at him. I looked down at Poppy, speaking to her in dutch "I wish this man would go away, I don't want to play with him"

The man called out again "But look what I have got" He was jiggling what looked like a white paper bag from his hand out his car window, with a big cheesy grin.

I looked down at Poppy, whose eyes where darting from him  to me.  Again I spoke to her in dutch,  "He's not normal, he wants to give me a white paper bag, I cant play with that, he's just not normal!"
I was getting rather annoyed with this man.
He called out again "Yummy sweets, I'll let you have them if you let me play with you"

I remember vividly the thoughts that went through my head when I saw the lolly he was holding.



I had seen children eating these things. I naturally wanted to try some as well, when mum warned me of the dangers of eating Australian food. To her,  Australians eat weird food, safe for their children but deadly for Dutch children. She reminded me of how raw herrings were poisonous to Italians. Mick an Italian man who worked with dad wanted to try one. He gagged and cursing so loud, he kept calling out he felt was going to die.
And because at under 4 years of age, you believe everything your mother says.
At that time my mother, like many new immigrants regarded Australian food with trepidation, having spent 6 weeks in an immigration camp, our introduction to Australian cuisine was, well, not very palatable, if anything, completely disgusting. It could have also have been mum's weapon on pester power

I got so angry, what would pirate Steward Granger do to his enemies? I looked at Poppy, pointed at the man and yelled "ATTACK!" at the top of my voice. On cue she bared teeth snapping & growling at the car.
The man took off in his car down the road as fast as he could go with Poppy chasing furiously after him. Once he was gone around the bend she stopped and started back towards me. Every few paces she would turn back in his direction, bark & growl. I can only assume it was her way of saying "And don't even think about coming back here"
I remember not wanting to play any more, so we both went back inside the yard. Poppy found her shady spot and I tiptoed into mums bedroom, slid into bed next to her. She rolled over pulling me into a close tight embrace, I fell asleep in the safety of her warm arms.

Of course years later when the reality of how dangerous that situation was, I often think if he had've shown me a Barbie doll for instance, as I was desperate to have one, would I have been more inclined to get in the car? Since I was quite comfortable occupying myself for long hours at a time, I was ignorant of the concept of loneliness, but what if I wanted a playmate, would anyone do?

Though my mums depression lasted another 2 years or so, it had started just after I was born. The dramatic change of lifestyle, language barriers and the isolation from her own family & friends augmented what she believed was post natal depression. Women suffered in silence as it was a taboo topic, but the attitude is very much different today thankfully. With quick intervention upon recognition, many mothers make a better recovery sooner and without the social stigma that once was.