Climbing Mount Clarence.                         by Eve Green                                                        

     When I was sixteen, I went to Albany to compete in the annual Great Southern Hockey Carnival. It was my first ‘holiday’ minus mother’s watching eyes - a period of intense freedom for a silly young girl.

     Do I remember the car ride to Albany that year?

     No.

     Do I remember where we stayed?

     No.

     Do I remember playing hockey or whether we won or not?

     No.

     Or who we played against?

     No.     

     Do I remember the Hockey Ball held in the Town Hall on the Saturday night?

     Yes, yes, yes.

      Several of us unmarried players attended and were given ‘the big rush’ by the local fellows. A handsome bloke with smiley eyes and curly hair asked me to dance. Away we went in a Gypsy Tap, the skirt of my pink organdie dress flapping over its tulle petticoat. I wore my new ballerina slippers with gold criss-crosses and my feet flittered round the dance floor like humming bird wings. We had the next dance, the next and chatted and sang with the band. With each dance we found out more about one another; each dance he held me closer. His name was Graham. Gray-mmmm. What a gorgeous name, I drooled to myself.      

     Do I know who suggested we leave the hall to climb Mount Clarence?

     No.

     Did it bother me that if my mother found out she would kill me?

     No. 

     Did I consider for one second that Graham might have been an axe murderer?

     No.

     Was I enthralled?

     Yes, yes, yes.

     We left the hall in the middle of a dance and crossed York Street, followed the up-slope pavement of Grey Street east, past homes and buildings until we reached a track that plunged into thick bush covering the side of Mount Clarence. I followed Graham in the moonlight, talking and laughing as we walked. The terrain became steeper and sandier and my best shoes soon filled with dirt. I removed them, fell over and lay there giggling. He turned back to help and ended up lying in the sand with me, arms around each other, laughing together about nothing.

     Was I worried my mesh stockings would be laddered?

     No.

     Did I think to take them off, as well as my shoes?

     No.

     Was I worried he would try to take them off for me?

     No.

     Was I worried about ruining my pink organdie dress?

                                                                                                                    

     No.

     Was it nice kissing Graham on a moonlit bush-track up Mount Clarence?

     Yes, yes, yes, yes and yes. 

     Did we stay there all night?

     No.    

     Did he rip my bodice?

     No.

     Did we ‘go too far?’

     No.

     Were we in a hurry to get back to the dance?

     No.

     Did we make it to the top of Mount Clarence?

     Yes.   

     We sat on a rock to rest and watched the friendly flicker of Albany’s lights, chortling, chattering and singing rowdy songs, off-key and out of tune. Eventually, we returned to the ball, still laughing as we bogged, tripped and collapsed our way down the mountain track. We paused as we neared town to brush away sand and leaves and to put my shoes back on. Smoothing our rumpled clothes, we sauntered casually through the double doors of the town hall.  

     “Where have you two been?” some big mouth shouted at the top of his voice.   

     “Oh, we’ve been climbing Mount Clarence,” I explained nonchalantly to no-one in particular.

      Someone hooted sarcastically, one of my team mates snickered and three local girls sniffed as they turned their faces away. No time to feel guilty about my debauchery, because the music started and the MC announced, “Take your partners for the quickstep.”

     Did we have any energy left for the next dance?

     Yes.

     Did we keep in touch after I went back home?        

     Yes.

     Did we ever see each other again?

     Yes.

     Did we start up where we had left off?

     Yes.

     Did we fall in love, get married and live happily ever after?

     No.

     

     How come whenever I visit Albany I always remember climbing Mount Clarence with Graham?