Blind Justice

Charlie’s grandparents reminded me of my mum and dad, or rather of how I imagined my mum and dad would end up. I never observed any demonstrable affection in their relationship, and to all intents and purposes they inhabited separate worlds. They did not even sleep in the same bedroom as one another. In a sense, the only important thing in life they had in common was a shared solicitude for the welfare of their grandson.

I found Charlie’s gran to be a cheerful, uncomplicated, essentially kind-hearted person, who almost uniquely among the adults of my acquaintance, seemed actually to like me. I have reason to suspect that she disapproved of the fact that my parents frequently resorted to corporal punishment with me, but never with Barbara. Consequently, she would often give me treats, such as lollies, chocolate, or home-grown grapes from the garden, or engage me in conversation of a sort that implied a real respect and interest. (Most adults never conversed with you: they either told you what to do, or simply ignored you.)

Charlie’s grand-dad – always known as ‘Pop’ or ‘Pops’ – was equally good-humoured, but rather less enamoured of me. On occasion, he would take both Charlie and I out, most often to the footy, but sometimes to other places. These were seldom happy trips, as putting Charlie and I together for a prolonged period of time was more or less tantamount to lighting the touch paper leading to a large quantity of gun-powder in an enclosed space. The length of the touch paper might vary, but the end result was always the same. Although Charlie’s grand-dad was scrupulously careful to deal – or at least be seen to deal – even-handedly with the inevitable contretemps that emerged between his grandson and me, I got the impression that, deep down, he actually blamed me for them. At any rate, after one particularly acrimonious afternoon spent watching West Torrens play Sturt at Adelaide Oval, he decided that enough was enough, and there were no further trips. Even back then, I could see his point of view. After a week spent working hard on the railways, the last thing he needed was to have his Saturday ruined by a pair of fractious, bickering, ill-tempered boys.

If Richard and Arthur jointly fulfilled the role of ‘brother as soul mate’, Charlie was their exact converse, the quintessential brother as rival. In effect, if not reality, he was an only child, occupying centre stage in his grandparents’ affections, and used to getting his own way almost without question. As a result, he did not cope at all well with the give and take which are so essential to a healthy friendship, and which tend to be second nature to kids with siblings. Charlie was also a year older than me, which I suspect he felt meant that I ought to subordinate my will to his in cases of disagreement. Given that I was used to endeavouring to impose my will on that of my younger siblings in the context of a parental regime which palpably favoured them, this was never going to happen.

One of the first trips that Charlie and I took with his grand-dad was to an air show at nearby Edinburgh airfield. Charlie’s grand-dad did not have a car, and so we walked. The air show itself was much less my particular cup of tea than Charlie’s, which automatically confirmed him in the dominant position he imagined was his by right. For most of the afternoon, therefore, he was happily able to impress me with his knowledge of the various aircraft on display, although in truth my interest was negligible.

If that seems a little sarcastic, let me stress that Charlie’s knowledge on matters such as these was genuinely impressive. If I sometimes found his attitude of assumed superiority difficult to tolerate, I nevertheless admired, indeed looked up to, him greatly. Of all my friends, he appeared to possess the liveliest and most wide-ranging intelligence, and it seems to me highly probable that another reason for the antagonism which so frequently erupted between us was that I was jealous. Privately, I aspired to many of the attributes that Charlie seemed so admirably to manifest, but my inherent state of confusion about the world, coupled with the battle I was engaged in to free myself from the collective delusional psychosis in which I had been enmeshed almost since birth, conspired to render these aspirations unattainable. This inevitably produced a high level of frustration, not to mention a certain feeling of inferiority, both of which might well have been alleviated to a degree had Charlie ever displayed any genuine warmth of feeling, or even a touch of humility, towards me, but for reasons outside his own control this was never possible.

It was on the return journey from Edinburgh airfield that things got out of hand. We were still walking along the road adjacent to the airfield when Charlie and I came across a toy scooter which had been abandoned, although it was hard to see why as it was still in almost pristine condition. Thinking that Christmas had come early, I promptly claimed it for my own, feeling both confident and justified in so doing on the grounds that Charlie already had a scooter of his own, not to mention a bicycle, while I had neither. I should have known better. Charlie immediately claimed that he had seen the scooter first, and it was clear case of ‘finders keepers’. A vigorous tug-of-war then ensued during which the scooter risked being broken in two. Finally, Charlie’s grand dad intervened, and wrenched the scooter out of our hands. Confident that the justice of my case was undeniable, I was reasonably relaxed at this development, but it quickly became clear that justice was the last thing on Charlie’s grand dad’s mind. All he wanted was a peaceful walk home. “Neither of you can have it,” he declared, and for a few minutes we walked on in silence, Charlie and I on either side of him, alternately eying the scooter he was carrying and one another with mingled avarice and acrimony. Charlie’s grand dad was obviously uncertain what to do next, but when we reached a large, muddy ditch at the side of the road he finally decided. Walking to the edge of the ditch, he held the scooter high above his head, almost in triumph, and hurled it as hard and far as he could down into the mud.

Charlie seemed perfectly equanimous about the way matters had been resolved, and I could not help imagining that he had not really cared about having the scooter for himself, but had merely wanted to ensure that I did not get it.

I do not no whether Charlie’s gran was told about our little difference of opinion, but somehow I suspect she was. At any rate, I do not believe it was a coincidence that, when I had a day off school a few weeks later for some Catholic holy day of obligation or other, she called at our house during the morning and asked if I would like to borrow Charlie’s bike for the day. Charlie had never even allowed me to touch his bike before, let alone ride it, and so, whatever Charlie’s gran’s motives were in allowing me this dispensation, I was hard pressed not to interpret it as a belated conferral of justice.