We lived in Danks Street, South Melbourne. It may have been housing commission, but the three story town-house styled home just 200 metres from the beach, was pretty awesome. The old Arnott’s biscuit factory just up the road expelled an amazing smell every morning. Just like a bakery at 7am, with a little added sugar.
Mum and Martin had become very close. Not just that, Chantelle and I had also placed a massive trust in him as a person and potential father. This young Maltese man was showing maturity well-beyond his years.
A couple of weeks after coming back to Melbourne, Martin offered to babysit us kids and give Mum a free night out for a change. Mum was very hesitant. I knew exactly why. Chantelle was a small child, but had a tantrum and temper that would shake the broadest shoulders of any man. Her tantrums were so bad that she had to be restrained, just to stop her from seriously hurting herself. Despite what Mum was telling Martin, I’m sure he thought she was over-exaggerating. He was pretty confident that he could look after two toddlers and give Mum a break that she certainly deserved.
You have to remember that in 1987, mobile phones weren’t even heard of. In fact, I’m sure that car phones hadn’t even arrived yet – and if they had, they were way out of the price range for most individuals and families. I’m sure Martin would have loved a mobile phone in Mum’s handbag that night.
Sure enough, no more than half an hour after Mum had left, Chantelle started. This little girl could howl and scream louder than anyone. She had the punching strength of a professional boxer and her floor thuds would shake the walls of the house. Man could she throw a tantrum.
I remember Martin in a panic. He was simply in shock. Chantelle was breathing loudly and non-stop screaming and moaning. You could have sworn her head was going to do 360 degree turns and her eyes were about to start rolling around in their sockets. She had the strength to physically lift the weight of an adult male and toss them a couple of metres across the floor. I think this was what scared Martin the most.
Mum was lucky to have been gone an hour or two. By the time she had arrived home, Chantelle had exhausted herself and was snoozing away in her bed. The second Mum opened the door, Martin grabbed her by the shoulders. I think he was still shaking from what had just happened.
“Don’t you ever leave me alone with her again!” he said to Mum, with bright white eyes and a clear sense of fear. I had never seen him this frightened before. In fact, even today I can’t recall ever seeing him in such a state of fear. Maltese men were warriors, not men of fear.
All Mum could do was frown and look down on him.
“I told you so” she muttered, “but you wouldn’t believe me, would you?”
It’s fair to say that Mum didn’t have a night to herself for a while after that. The reasons were clear. Chantelle needed Mum there to control her tantrums and make sure she didn’t hurt herself. I suppose it was a fathering lesson Martin learnt the hard way. Kids were a handful fair enough, but Chantelle was a bucket load. She was very high maintenance!
Even nowadays this topic often gets brought up. It is reflected on more jokingly than seriously, even though at the time it was definitely not a joke. For a sister who has grown up so elegantly through her twenties, is now engaged and a beautiful young woman, it is hard to imagine how she could have ever been such a brat toddler. Maybe it was a phase, or maybe the force came from a more ‘supernatural’ place. Our family all tend to believe the latter. You had to see her in action to even comprehend what she was capable of.
The Devil in a little flower dress? You be the judge.
Be sure to login next week for the 5th Chapter of "Nothing to Prove - The Autobiography of Lee James Schraner"
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