My twentieth birthday approaches, and I am reminded, by Personnel staff of my requirement to register before my birthday. Failure would mean immediate dismissal from Federal employment; compliance: a possible overseas engagement!
Possibly a quirk of fate, but work colleagues are almost exclusively right-wing idealists, keen supporters of The War, and Santamaria. Elevenses, and lunch breaks are becoming ugly affairs. My clock is ticking!
Four 19-year-olds meet on Friday evenings at the flat. We are exploring various plans, drawing inspiration from a young American draft dodger who has joined our cadre. Densel is from Wisconsin, but his visa will enable him to stay in Melbourne for a few years.
Jim, my flatmate, has a cousin living on a remote property out from Merrijig, beyond Mansfield. He suggests it might provide a reclusive opportunity; work in exchange for board and anonymity. That might work.
Ringo continues to inspire with his need for “… a little help from my friends”, but my issue remains unresolved – how to suddenly, and sustainably, disappear into a secure, isolated shell. If I take a bag, neighbours will probably notice. I have some cash in the bank – should I withdraw it, and give it to Jim’s cousin? Should I tell Mum and Dad? How long will I need to disappear for?
It is the same conundrum for all of us. On these Friday nights, we plot and scheme. As the evenings progress, the booze, in my case, a cheap bottle of sparkling plonk, generates fanciful ideas. Board the tram in a dress and wig; shave my head and beard; shoot and live off rabbits: using their skins as a cash flow. I must remember to take my rifle!
I’ve found a way to slip out of the city. I’ll catch a tram out to Coburg, no bag, nothing out of the ordinary, except my warm duffel coat and hiking boots! Jim meets me at Bell Street, hands over my gear, and from the station, catch the Seymour rattler, changing at Tallarook for Mansfield. He reckons his cousin won’t mind meeting me for the drive out to Merrijig. All sounds tickety-boo!
Deni suggests disappearing during the Melbourne Cup week – crowds, everyone focused on backing a winner. But that’s a month after my birthday. I think the footy Grand Final is a better bet, and it’s held a month before I reach the Nashos’ registration deadline.
I decide on a trial run. The tram works seamlessly, but I have the train timetable arse about and miss the connection! We do it again the following weekend: the tram, the train connections, even Jim’s cousin on the Mansfield platform as the train arrives. There is an unplanned bonus: I leave my gun, ammo, telescopic sights and some clothes with him, while I return to Melbourne a couple of days later.
Three weeks pass. It’s a Carlton Essendon MCG match-up. I wear Carlton’s colours and, thanks to a little help from my friends, disappear north east towards an uncertain, indeterminate future.