Little
boy lost.
The Little Boy said,
“I want to go home”.
When both Margaret
Chandler and Dr Gilbert Stanley Bogle (1924–1963), an eminent
scientist, were found dead on the bank of the Lane
Cove River in Sydney,
Australia on 1
January 1963 their deaths were both shocking and unexplainable.
They both lay there
dead, apparently from the effects of poisoning. They were found in
the early morning by two youths searching for golf balls.
One of the first people
on the scene said there was a little boy walking along the path and
he rushed off saying, “ all I want to do is go home.”
but no one came forward
with any details of the boy. No further sighting or explanation of
the boy was found. He was about 4-5 years old, wandering alone in
that cold lonely bushland area near the river.
That was a long time
ago, but his presence haunted me. Was he lost?, Was he kidnapped
and ran away?, or was he simply a child of neglectful parents? His
cry resonated in my heart and I knew that one day I would hear it
again.
A few weeks ago, after
a restless night of hearing someone inside my house, I was trying
to stay awake in my locked room, listening for clues. In the morning
there were clues.
Another boy toy taken
from my dolls house, and a child's hand print on the inside of the
glass on the back glass door. The child hand print was clear. It
belonged to a child about 4 -5 years.
You could see the hand,
palm and fingers.
I rang the police. Two
female officers came, and looked around. But that was all. I heard
nothing else.
The only comfort for
me, came when one said, “it's not your job to prove what you say.
It's up to the police to do that”.
The boy toy which
disappeared this time, was a little silver Sikh danger in the cook
doll's apron pocket. I had found a small picture with a palm tree,
a dagger, and a bowl glued onto a black velvet background. The sort
of souvenir someone might buy on a trip to the east.
I had carefully removed
the pieces and placed the silver dagger in the doll cook's apron. I
had even made the apron and ensured a large pocket on the front. Not
to mention the cook himself and most of the other pieces in the
doll's house kitchen. Even the recipe books.
I was sure a small
child was often in the house because there was more and more
evidence, each piece of evidence almost irrelevant, but in addition
to other small clues, it was compelling.
Some examples were that
the tablecloth or cover on the table was often pulled down on one
side, and at the front. The sort of thing a child would do if they
were trying to hide underneath.
Sometimes I found a
piece of fruit missing, or the magnets on the fridge door moved.
Yesterday the pull
across curtains on the back door were caught under the light weight
moveable seat near the door.
My theory was that
someone (s) had a way, a space or small entry, to put through a small
child and then get them to open the back door. It was just a part of
the ongoing nightmare presented to me as an older woman , a
truth-teller and police informer. I had been threatened with
“taking out a contract on you” and still had the recorded
evidence.
It was part of this
constant threat and more of the price I had to pay.
Today, when I went out
to the Salvation army at Unanderra, to donate some clothes, I heard a
little boy say,“ I want to go home.”
I had hurried inside,
and was looking about. I picked up a large reel of black cotton, and
walked over to the shoes. That was when I saw him. He was sitting on
a chair, like he was chained there.
When he had said, "I
just want to go home", he had looked in my direction. Cute,
blond, blue eyed, and still a trace of a baby face.
Then I had heard a
sharp command, which reminded me of my father.
Almost threatening'
“ Odd”, I
thought.
There was a man about
30-35, medium build, on his haunches looking through the childrens'
clothes. Maybe his father but the boy was blond and fair, while the
man had dark hair and eyes.
I felt like saying,
“those are all too small for him, and they are mostly girls
clothes”. But he furtively turned his head away, almost hiding in
the the rack, and all the time the boy stayed still, like a trained
monkey.
When I paid for my
items the boy and the man had gone. They hadn't paid for any goods.
but as I drove out the
exit, I spotted them. They were both standing with their backs to the
warm brick wall, out of the wind, and the man was dong up a thin
jacket on the boy.
Friday afternoon, not
far from the railway station. Maybe it was the father's custody turn
to have the boy. Nevertheless it didn't feel right.
