6th January, 1961.
Dearest Emmy,
Happy New Year! I got your letter on New Year’s Eve. Did your family have a party? We don’t know anyone so we stayed home and watched TV till midnight. Mum and Dad sang Auld Lang Syne and it was so sad when they sang Should old acquaintance be forgot that I cried in bed. I didn’t want to make a New Year’s resolution because what for? I would only want to go back to Curradeen and that’s not going to happen.
Don’t worry if your English isn’t perfect, neither is mine. You’re lucky to have your granny live with you. I never knew my grandparents, I was too little when they got old and died. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning I forget I’m here and I think what will we do today, you and me, and all of a sudden I remember that I don’t live there anymore and we’ve had Christmas in Sydney and Aunt Meredith cooked a big turkey dinner. We never had turkey at home.
That’s funny, I just wrote at home without thinking, because this is home now.
I still haven’t seen our neighbours but sometimes we hear them in the back yard. I don’t think they have any children unless they’ve left home. I liked it better when I knew people in the street and they said hello. We get our milk delivered in bottles now instead of a billycan on the front step from the dairy.
Are you working in the shop the whole holidays? Remember all those jelly babies we ate, I bet you pinched them. No, not really.
I’m sorry I didn’t write much before but we spent the whole time unpacking and then it was Christmas. We all got beach towels for presents and on Sunday we’re going to Bondi. We have been here exactly 36 days not counting the day we arrived.
Love from your best friend,
Sandra xoxoxo
15 Bentley St.,
Curradeen, N.S.W.,
6th January, 1961.
Dear Sandy,
It feels ages since you left. We had a big Christmas like always. I got a brush and comb set and a necklace of china beads. We went to midnight Mass and Mamma cooked roast duck and afters was Nonna’s special “picciddati ring cake” which takes ages to make, a pastry ring filled with armands, figs and wallnuts and lots of honey and I ate too much and sleeped all afternoon.
Mrs Morgan came in the shop yesterday but Mum served her and I didn’t get to ask about Nick. She bought some vegies and went out.
I saw Lofty down the street, he still makes silly faces like at school. I don’t have any more news.
Love from Emmy xxx
15 Bentley St.,
Curradeen, N.S.W.,
Australia Day, 26th January, 1961.
Dear Sandy,
I got your letter and it’s funny we both wrote the same day. I’ve never been to the beach.
Pa says Joan Sutherland is Australian of the Year. I bet she lives in Sydney. Do you know her? You’ll know everyone now you live there.
You can get The Pill in Australia now but you got to be married and maybe you would have to make a confession to the priest. In maths class a girl got caught passing “Peyton Place” round under the desks and got into big trouble, they said it’s real dirty.
Its 104 today and Pa’s tomatoes got sunburned.
I use to pinch the jelly babies. Don’t forget me your friend.
Love from Emmy XXX
On their first day at Randwick Girls High School, Prue pulled tight the belt on her blue and white striped cotton dress, happily putting on her new straw hat, whereas Sandra complained to her reflection, ‘Look at me, I’m dressed like a juvenile.’
Prue disappeared immediately after assembly to the first year classroom, while Sandra, lost for direction, wandered up and down the stairs with nobody to tell her where to go until she found a prefect, who then sent her to the wrong room. Humiliating!
When she reached her third year classroom, the teacher had begun to call the roll and was querulously asking, ‘Sandra Abbott, please. Where is Sandra Abbot?’ More humiliation as a titter of laughter ran around the room, and speared by dozens of curious eyes, she found a spare desk.
23 Tyrell St,
Randwick, N.S.W.
10th February, ’61.
Dearest Emmy,
I’d rather forget my first day at school it was so horrible. I didn’t know where to find my classroom and walked around like an idiot for ages, everyone staring because I’m new. The school’s a big, old 2 storey brick building and I still sometimes get lost.
I haven’t any friends here and mostly all they talk about is going to the beach. I wanted to sit by myself but the teacher made a girl called Carol sit with me. She has frizzy hair and freckles, poor thing. She told me I’m stuck up but I don’t think I am.
Dad drives us to school on his way to work but when we get used to it we’ll get the bus. Prue is in class 1A. There is nowhere nice to ride our bikes. Do you ever go to the roller skating rink? I miss being able to go to your place after school. “Peyton Place” must be very rude to be banned, did you get to read any?
Mum found me a piano teacher. He lives in a flat a few blocks from our place and his name is Mr. L’estrange, I think he made it up. My first lesson is next Tuesday. I wish I still had Miss Brooks, even though she was old. Mum says I’ll get used to it.
Love from Sandra xoxox
The headmistress had recommended Eric L’estrange to teach Sandra seventh grade piano until she auditioned for the Conservatorium High School later that year.
‘In case you’re wondering,’ she had explained to Angela in the principal’s office, ‘L’estrange is a very old English name. He’s certainly not your usual type of teacher but he’s highly skilled and has top qualifications from England.’
Angela was delighted. Qualifications from England! And Sandra could simply walk to his flat for her weekly lesson.
Sandra gazed at the gold letters set above the keyboard: Feurich, a smaller Leipzig. Her own Beale looked very plain compared with this tall, gleaming piano with the strange name, and straight away she wanted to run her fingers over the ivories. She waited for her new teacher to speak.
‘According to your mother,’ Mister L’estrange remarked, ‘you aspire to being a classical concert pianist. Hmm, we shall see. Your mother also said that you started tuition when you were nine ...’ Sandra heard him click his tongue. ‘Nine years old is quite late to begin lessons.’
Hoping to impress him, she said, ‘When I was nine, we went the Town Hall. My mother got tickets for a famous pianist – that’s what made me want to learn piano—’
‘Who played, do you remember?’
Sandra desperately racked her brain but no name surfaced. ‘Oh gosh, I can’t think ... I remember he played Chopin—’
‘But you don’t remember his famous name, hmm?’ Mister L’estrange looked quizzically at her as he sorted sheet music from his files.
Embarrassed and angry, Sandra wished she could slide under the piano and disappear. Should she look at the keyboard or the teacher? She looked down at her hands, fingernails perfectly cut