This room is located in the family consciousness; a bedroom on the ground floor of a gracious old Victorian home. The room under discussion was actually our nursery and it was the place where we, as in my twin brother and I, were brought some time after our birth. Some time after our birth being the truth, as unfortunately the lapse between being born and the coming home was not immediate as we both endured a lenghty bout of pneumonia. However as time went by we more than made up for our poor start in life gaining much in the way of health and energy.

Our nursery which was across the hall from our parent's bedroom, had been freshly painted and hung with new muslin curtains, the fireplace blackened, and the floors re-polished. A fresh room for new babies.

There were two cots, a comfortable chair for our feeding, a large antique cupboard placed against the far wall and a dark red rug on the polished wooden floor; these in addition to all the paraphanelia usually associated with the raising of babies.

As we grew the furniture allocation altered, in fact achieved minimalist status. The cupboard disappeared, the window was locked, and the door handle was moved up to a pre-designated spot that was deemed to be higher than us.

There were many reasons for these changes. At the age of eighteen months we somehow managed to negotiate our way out of our cots, our bedroom, past our parent's room, down the long, darkened, winding passageway to the kitchen where we carried out own own search and retrieve mission. Our parents were sleeping, blissfully unaware of the antics of their small children until they were rudely awakened by two small people standing over them, each holding a large sharp butcher's knife above their respective heads. "Big Sharps, Mummy! Big Sharps Daddy" we exclaimed as we held the large knives over their parents respective heads. Instant clarity provoked immediate removal of the "Big Sharps" back to the kitchen. The solution to our early morning foray to the kitchen was the immediate removal of the easy chair and the re-positioning of the door handle.

As we grew older so did our capacity for finding trouble - or should I say trouble found us! As one story goes "it was a dark and stormy night, in fact a Melbourne Winter, when the earth is cold and hard" and at about 4.30am my mother heard a knock at the front door. Thinking as you would that something awful had happened, she hurried to open the door . She thought that was no one there until she felt a little tug on her dressing gown and saw below her Twin no.2 in her long white nightdress requesting breakfast - porridge no less! Now it was extremely lucky that only the day before the earth below the window had been turned and made for a soft landing from a second floor. And therein lies the reason for the window being locked shut.

By this stage all that remained in the room were the two cots, the rug and the big old cupboard.

The cupboard was the next item to be removed and this occurred as a direct result of our mutual investigation into the power of gravity, and our own capacities for movement and inherent strength.

it appears that after some strategic discussion in a language understood by no one but us, Peter climbed inside that big, old cupboard shutting the doors behind him, which I then carefully locked. I, according to our mutually agreed plan, positioned myself behind the cupboard in such a way that the wall became the post from which I beavered away, pushing and pushing that cupboard towards the centre of the room. Why we wished to do this remains lost in the passage of time. But there I was pushing and panting, while Pete was inside the cupboard vigorously jumping up and down in a very loud and satisfactory manner. I gave it an extra heft and Peter jumped up and down heavily (well as heavily as a two year old boy can) and Our Plan worked. The antique cupboard swayed, and finally toppled over landing very loudly with a noisy splintering sound - with Peter still inside! Luckily in retrospect, the doors did not fly open and allow Pete to be fall out and be flattened by the flying cupboard. Nor did it fall in anyway contrary to the angle it was being pushed.

Everyone in the house screamed into the room to view our handiwork! They appeared very unsure as to whether to be furious with us or just plain glad we hadn't killed ourselves. No blood was spilt, but the cupboard or rather the remains of it became another item to be removed from our room - again for own good!

It is truly no wonder that when our father "who art in heaven" arrived home at the end of a truly busy day he would ask our mother what the little "bathplugs" or indeed the little "bar stewards" had been up to.

copyright: a.a.gallagher June 2009

allrights reserved.