A Lifetime Lost

A Lifetime Lost

By Andrew Ballard

Parked in front of the now dilapidated stone cottage, an old red FJ Holden gleamed in the afternoon sun. Its driver, a sad-looking old man, leaned on the bonnet, tobacco-stained fingers deftly working the papers of his durry.

It was a long time since this old cottage had been his family home. Sweet memories that had been lost to him for years flooded his senses. The image of a family long vanquished to the past was so close. Almost palpable! He felt like he could reach out and touch them; even hug them. He inhaled deeply on his durry and walked slowly towards the cottage.

Fallen parts of the old bullnose verandah obstructed the front door, so he ambled around the back. When he tried the back door, it came off in his hands, the hinges long rusted. Brushing aside cobwebs, he gingerly stepped inside, half expecting the floorboards to give way. A startled possum scurried by as he made his way into the kitchen. Thick dust coated every surface. He vividly remembered family meals in this place. He retreated outside as a tear trickled down his cheek. “Enough for today,” he thought, “perhaps a fresh start tomorrow.” Tonight, the local pub beckoned with a cold beer and curry.

That evening, propping up the front bar in the town's only pub, he was approached by another old codger with curry stains down the front of his blue singlet.

“Haven't seen you around these parts. Welcome mate! The beer's cold and the grub ain't half bad.”

He mumbled thanks and turned back to his beer, hoping his would be friend would take the hint and move on.

No such luck; the old codger sidled up beside him and said, “Anyway mate, I'm Reggie. What do they call you when you're at home?'

Thrown for a moment by the question, he stuttered, “My name's Milton.” Right then, that's the formalities done and dusted.

What say I get the beers in?' said Reggie. Sipping his beer and idly chit-chatting about nothing, Milton looked out the window and noticed the dappled light reflected on the water. He mused to himself, "It's not a bad place to be nestled on the banks of the Murray' River.”

Awake at daybreak, after a restless night of tossing and turning, Milton padded barefoot over the threadbare floor of the hotel room looking for a kettle. He was dying for a cup of tea. He found a kettle in the cupboard and got his cuppa brewing. Sitting on a rickety chair, he sipped his tea and wondered, “What am I bloody doing in this town? It's been too long, no one remembers me. There wasn't one familiar face in the pub last night.”

Taking his tea and his tobacco pouch, he went out onto the verandah. It was spring, but there was still a nip of coldness in the air. Milton decided to have one last look at the cottage. Coming here had been a mistake, and now he just felt bloody miserable. Time to hit the road.

The FJ fired up effortlessly,driving onto the main street he was about to floor out of town, when out of the corner of his eye he spotted a bloke about his age, slowly walking on the other side of the street. Strewth. Someone he knew. Milton parked, got out and quickly crossed to the other side of the street. “G'day Roger!” he called.

'Milton Fallon! It can't be, you're dead!' Roger exclaimed in disbelief.

“Well, I feel very much alive,” replied Milton. “ Shall we get a brew and I'll tell you what's what?'

Sitting waiting for tea in a run-down cafe, Roger spoke: "Everyone in town was of the understanding that you perished back in 1957 in that bugger of a bushfire. Clearly you didn't so what happened, and where on earth have you been all these years?”

Milton sighed, “Alright mate, I'll tell you what happened, but before I do, can you answer a question for me? I know it's been forty years, but apart from you, I haven't seen anyone around town that I know. What has happened to everyone?”

'Well, that bushfire devastated the town. This part of the main street with the pub, the general store and the post office is all that survived. Everything else was gutted; the school, hospital, police station and most of the houses. Your old place was one of the few homes left. It was too much for people to bear along with the deaths and injuries. So, most folks upped sticks and moved away; there wasn't more than a handful of people left. All these years on, they've either died or are residing in the old folks’ home in “Gum Plains.” No effort was made to rebuild. The burnt properties were bulldozed and left to nature's hands. Then fifteen years ago a big wine company revived the land and planted vineyards. So it's a completely different town these days to what it was back when you lived here with Shelley and the kids. Oh shit… Sorry, Milton, I shouldn't be dragging all that up again for you. The whole town was gutted when your family died in that car crash the same day you... oh um, well, when we thought you had perished in the fire.”

“As it so happens, I didn't know anything about the crash. I only found out six months ago!'

Visibly shaken, Roger asked, “How on bloody earth is that possible Milton?”

“Well, it's like this; I'm not dead. I wasn't on the fire truck when my mates perished in that fireball. The heat was so intense there was nothing left to identify, which must be why you all presumed that I was among the dead. I must have fallen off the back of the truck a mile or two further back down the trail. Not that I can remember any of this; my information comes from old incident reports and my hospital file.”

“A crew from the big smoke found me unconscious and barely alive. No one knew me, and there was no identification on me. My uniform had been so badly burnt they couldn't tell what fire unit I was from. I was taken up to one of the city hospitals where I had emergency surgery. They had to drill holes into my head to reduce the pressure on my brain. When I came too, nearly a week later, I didn't have a clue where I was or who I was. The doctors said this was common with severe head trauma, and that it would probably be temporary. But it wasn't. Days turned into weeks and there was no sign of my memory returning.”

Milton paused to gulp down what was left of his tea. Roger was listening with a stunned look of disbelief on his face. Wiping his mouth Milton continued, “Initially everyone was hoping that some people who knew me would come forward, as they had put an advertisement in the paper about this mysterious unidentified firefighter. What we didn't know was that no one was looking for me. Everyone thought I'd died with my mates!

My body was healing, but I was in a very dark place. Not knowing anything about my life, but having that sense that someone out there must have known me was very depressing.”

Roger chipped in, “But that was forty years ago. Are you saying you had no memory all that time? How could you not remember your family?”

“Do you honestly think that if I had any inkling of who I was that I would have stayed away? Bloody hell mate, I would've been here in a flash.”

“Sorry mate, please finish the story. I'll pull my head in!”

“Yeah alright, what happened to me is quite rare. I had something called global amnesia and was in what's called a fatigued state. The trauma was so great that my brain didn't want to remember.

When it became obvious that I wasn't getting my memory back, they sent me to a rehabilitation centre called, “Harrington House.” I took on the name Jack Stranger; Jack because it quickly became apparent that I was very handy with tools, though I had no idea I was previously a carpenter by trade. The staff referred to me as “Jack of all trades” and the name stuck. “Stranger” because I was indeed a stranger; no one knew who I was, including me.”

“There was no place to go so I became the full-time handyman for the rehabilitation centre.

That's where I've lived and worked all these years. I lived a solitary life, kept pretty much to myself not wanting to get too involved in other people's lives. There was just too much missing in my life. I felt hollow and incomplete.”

By now Roger’s cup had gone cold; he sat fixated on every word Milton said.

He asked, “So after all these years, how did you get your memory back?”

Milton smiled, rubbed his eyes and replied, “It wasn't some medical intervention, believe it or not. I simply went to bed one night six months ago and when I woke up in the morning, I had regained my memory. It was all there in my head, who I was and the life I’d lived right up until the fire.

My initial reaction was exhilaration and a huge unburdening of my soul occurred; it was such a relief to know who I was. That euphoric feeling didn't last long though and I sat with my head in my hands, thinking of a whole lifetime lost.

Not knowing that my family had died all those years ago, my thoughts were galloping. Was my wife Shelley still alive? She'd be in her eighties now. The kids Eva and Brent; what had become of them? Did they have children now? Was I a grandfather? The troubling question of why they didn’t come looking for me burned in my mind; and how do I find them all now? Could they still be living in “Wanderers Way”?

While Milton caught his breath, Roger caught the waitress’s eye and asked for a fresh cup and the lunch menu, it seemed they might be there for a while.

“So Milton, that was six months ago! How did you find out about your family and why didn't you

come back here sooner?”

“Well, when I told the staff at Harrington House that I had my memory back, they were amazed. The Rehabilitation doctor was incredulous and suggested my case be written up in a medical journal. I didn't want to hear any of it. I was frantic, barely able to contain myself. I needed to find my family.”

The resident social worker said, “Let me do a Google Search.”

“Now I'd never been into computers and such, but I didn't have any other bright ideas, so I said, ‘Sure, give it a go.’”

Well, I still don’t like bloody computers because a few minutes later my world came crashing down.”

He typed my wife's name into the search engine: “Shelley Fallows,” and up it popped.

The entire family was killed in a car crash the day of my supposed death, in that bugger of a bushfire. Shelley had been eight months pregnant and there was little detail in the report, so why she and the kids had been out in the car on that hellfire of a day, I'll never know. She had a head-on collision with a fire truck. Conditions would have been appalling with the smoke making visibility almost zero.

“Now I knew why no one had come looking for me. They'd been dead all these years.

I couldn't see any reason for coming back here and went into an even deeper depression. I could no longer see the point in going on. Support from everyone at, “Harrington House” got me through. When I was eventually able to think more clearly, I decided to come back to “Wanderers Way” to say goodbye, and gain some closure.

“But it hasn't helped. This place just isn't the same., Apart from you, there's no one here I know. When I visited the old house yesterday, it was in a state of disrepair.”

Roger asked, “Do you still own the house?”

“I don't know and I don't care. It's a sad reminder of a lifetime lost. I'll drop by for one last look and then I'm out of here.”

“Well, Milton, I can't imagine what your life has been and how you must feel, but I am thankful that you didn't die all those years ago. I hope you can find some peace.”

The two old friends walked out of the Cafe. Milton shook Rogers hand saying thanks, it was good to see someone from all those years ago. Getting into the old Holden he waved goodbye as he drove out of town heading to the old house one last time.

Pulling up outside the old house, Milton was tempted to keep on driving. Sighing he got out of the car, for one last look at the old family home. Deciding not to go inside this time he had just walked around the house when he saw her. As he walked up the driveway toward the house, he gazed at the figure of a woman who looked like his deceased wife Shelley.

Milton thought, “I must be hallucinating... Coming here is messing with my head.”

She approached Milton and said, “Hello I'm Dana. Who are you?”

Stumbling over his words he replied, “Oh, ur it's Jack. Sorry, I'm all over the place, you see you're the spitting image of my wife.”

“Well, they say everyone has a double somewhere in the world.”

Dana went on to ask, “Can I ask why you’re here?”

“Just having a look for old times’ sake. I used to live here a long time ago.”

“Must have been a very long time. I inherited this old house nearly twenty years ago. Before that, it sat idle for a couple of decades apart from the occasional squatters.”

By now Milton's mouth was dry and he wasn't feeling like chatting. Yeah, it was forty years since he’d lived there. “Anyway, enough about me, time for me to hit the road.” Mumbling, ”Nice to meet you,” he ambled towards his car. He wondered who she had inherited the cottage from. His foot caught on a stone causing him to stumble and fall. Dana rushed over and helped him to his feet. The right knee was bleeding, the fabric of his trousers torn.

“Let's get you into my car. My surgery is not far away and that knee needs attention.“

“Are you a Doctor?” asked Milton. I'm a vet, Dana said,but I can handle a bloodied human knee.”

Twenty minutes later Milton sat in a plastic chair in the veterinary surgery waiting with his knee patched up. Dana brought him a cup of tea, “Thought you could use a cuppa.”

“Darn right, I'm bloody parched thanks, love. “I'm curious, who did you inherit the old house from?”

Dana pulled up a chair and replied, “It came from my parents. I could have had it sooner, but I didn't know anything about it. I was adopted and didn't choose to look for my birth parents until I turned twenty-one.”

“So you must have found them then. What was it like to meet them?”

“That's the thing Jack, I didn't know they were dead. I'd been an orphan all this time.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. Did you find out what happened?”

“Yeah, they both died on the same day along with a brother and sister during a bad bushfire.”

Milton's face had turned white as a ghost. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, tears running down his cheeks. In a shaky voice, he asked, “Dana, what were your parents' names?”

“Milton and Shelley Fallows,” Dana replied.

“Sweet mother of Mary, that's me,” he gasped. “ I'm Milton Fallows.”

Now it was Dana's turn to turn pale. “Wait a minute... You said your name was Jack!”

“That's the name I've gone by all these years. I thought everyone died in that car crash. They must have saved the baby. That's you, Dana. I'm your father!”

Tears streaming, Dana retorted, "If you didn't die, then why did you leave me? I just don't understand.”

For the second time that day, Milton explained what had happened. They went to Dana's place and talked long into the night. Though Shelley and the two children were pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital, the doctors had been able to perform an emergency cesarean and save the baby.

Dana had been adopted by a warm and loving couple: Richard and Susan Hallet. "When I found out that I was an orphan and I had inherited the old house, it felt surreal," Dana said.

I didn't know what to do with the house, so I’ve just let it sit idle for all these years. I came up for one last look today because I'd finally decided to sell it. That won't be necessary now, because it's your house and has been all along.” She went to say, ‘Jack’ and caught herself. I'm not sure what to call you. It's going to take some getting used to now that I've got two dads.”

“Perhaps just call me Jack. It's what I'm used to. You know I was about to leave town bemoaning a life lost, and here I am sitting talking to my daughter.”

Eric had joined them and he said with a grin, “Are you going to tell him?”

Dana grabbed one of Jack’s hands and said, “You haven't just found a daughter, I'm pregnant! You're going to be a grandfather.”

The smile on Jack's face couldn't have been any bigger. As the day drew to an end, he knew that life was about to bloom.

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