Banksia men

Me, aged four. My mother announced we were being posted to ‘New Guinea’. A frightening image of headhunters appeared before my eyes.

‘It’s going to be such fun!’ she said. ‘Our house will be up on stilts, we’ll have a dog called Cindy, and you have to go downstairs and outside to get to the laundry.’

I was in shock at this laundry news. Would the headhunters be lying in wait as we stepped outside to descend with the dirty clothes? Would I ever have to take clothes to the laundry by myself?

I knew my sister would be in no danger. She was only two. I, however, was clearly on the cusp of being required to undertake clothes-related tasks. Already I had unknowingly helped my mother put my dirty clothes in a washing basket. Indeed I had stupidly expressed enthusiasm for the job.

How on earth could I realistically get out of going into laundries in the future? Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that my little sister Belinda was already showing signs of imminent tears. She never liked change.

‘Fiona? Isn’t it exciting news?’ said my mother.

The answer came to me. I needn’t let on that I was frankly petrified. ‘Oh, yes,’ I said convincingly. ‘But poor Belinda is very scared about it. Look.’

My little sister Belinda had indeed worked herself up to full tears. ’You’re scared of the head hunters, aren’t you?’ I asked her helpfully. She rarely had to speak for herself when I was around.

She nodded mutely.

‘I guess we won’t be able to go, Mummy,’ I announced. Checkmate, I thought.

Of course, we went.