Ray was an exceptional sports person he could do almost anything in sport. We arrived in Cambooya in July and by the end of the year he’d beaten the school champion at tennis. He borrowed a racket from the Aisthorpes, an old wooden frame thing, and he would practice by hitting hundreds of balls against the wall at school until he crafted his skills well enough to at least have a go in the end of year tennis competition. There were many good players at the school, but we thought his main opposition would come from the Pattersons.
The Pattersons lived on a farm out from Cambooya, near Felton, and they had their own private tennis court with private lessons to boot.
The big day arrived and the whole school, about one hundred or so, gathered around to watch the matches and of course each had their favourites and none the least were the Pattersons. They were there with the best aluminium rackets that money could buy and outfits to match. And then there was Ray with his old borrowed wooden racket and barefeet. He was our favourite.
The format for each round of games was that names be drawn out of a hat with the first player to reach 21 advancing to the next round, until the eventual winner was crowned.
I can’t be sure, but I believe the older Patterson kid beat his younger brother in the semi-finals and he was the first one through to the grand final.
Ray had a tough match in his semi-final that he eventually won, and now the stage was set for a much anticipated show down. Ray and the school favourite and I’d imagine the bookies favourite as well… odds on. However, there was one small problem to overcome if the underdog, my brother Ray, was to knock off the favourite and become champion…
Ray had kicked his toe on the asphalt surface and it was bleeding quite freely and causing him some discomfort and pain. Whilst there was never any suggestion that he would withdraw from the match it was just a matter of patching him up.
With a couple of band aids from the medical kit and a sock we discovered in the lost-and-found box, got him right for the big match.
What a sad and pitiful sight he looked as he strode onto the court. His opponent at the other end appeared very confident bouncing the ball and practicing his ground strokes in a professional like manner. But win, loose or draw; it didn’t matter to us as we were very proud of Ray’s achievements thus far.
I’m not sure what the final score was, but from memory I know it was a very close and exciting game with my brother being crowned the ultimate winner.
He came, he saw and he conquered!
It was a great day for the little kids with the black skin I thought to myself as we celebrated the victory.
It seemed to me that Ray was always in the spotlight at school in one way or another, whether it be fighting in the playground, getting the cane for something he’d done wrong or nearly breaking his neck.
The school had a high jump area at one end of the playground and this afternoon after school we were mucking around playing in the sand when Ray decided he’d try his hand at diving over the bar.
He looked real deadly too; diving over and breaking into a neat little tumble as he landed in the nice soft sand that we would pushed up for his landings.
“Put it up a bit higher,” he’d request and we would adjust the height accordingly.
I was getting a little worried by the height and I told him so, but the big noter couldn’t be told, until… his approach looked normal – sufficient speed, perfect trajectory… The clearance? No problem. The landing? Well, that didn’t quite go to plan.
There was no ‘neat little tumble’ at the end as it was more PLONK. Head-first into the sand, followed by loud screams of pain and agony and that’s when I thought he had broken his stupid neck.
‘Are you okay?’ I would asked as I sat alongside him in the sand pit and trying to comfort my dear little brother and thinking to myself, ‘I tried to tell you it was to high you idiot,’ but not saying anything,
‘Are you okay brother, can I get you a drink of water?’
He was fine though, and back at it in no time. Typical Ray.
Garry Sonny Martin 