My parents chastised my brothers and me because we grew too quickly. The lifespan of a shoe was a fixed length that they could not reduce to suit the size of our feet. Our clothes, always second hand, fitted us poorly and we often went hungry, so it makes sense that memories of food are the strongest of my childhood. We ate damper smothered with butter and Vegemite. We had pancake breakfasts and the cold leftovers for lunch. Sometimes we ate two-minute noodles three times a day for weeks at a time, or else we ate nothing.

In the springtime, we filled industrial paint buckets with peaches from the garden and competed to see who could eat the most, sweet, sticky juice spilling down our faces. We grew apricots and rhubarb, which my mother turned into compote, cordials and jams, and a small number of strawberries that we always devoured as soon as we picked them. Consuming so much fruit must’ve given us the shits but all I remember is feeling full.