On Sunday evening on 10 February, around 8pm I parked my car outside the entrance to Milson’s Point station (at the northern end of the Sydney Harbour Bridge) and crossed the road to the Westpac ATM. After walking the length of the Kirribilli café precinct to buy a bottle of wine as a gift for friends, I returned to my car, carrying said wine and my blue wallet, sat in the driver’s seat and inserted my key in the ignition. The front passenger door opened suddenly, a hand reached in, and my wallet was snatched from the seat beside me. (Central locking systems have their drawbacks.)
I jumped out, shouting ‘stop him, stop him, he stole my wallet’. Several men sharing a quiet if illicit drink under the railway overpass were stirred into action. ‘We’ll catch the little mongrels’ they promised as they set off in hot pursuit of two kids in their mid teens. Running back to shut my car doors and relock the car took valuable time, so I came a poor last in the chase, which featured lots of shouting. The kids were fleet of foot, and all of the pursuers were ‘getting on in years’, shall we say, so the trail ran cold in the high-rise buildings overlooking Luna Park.
I caught up to two of my gallant helpers, who apologised –‘ Sorry darlin, we lost ‘em’. I was quite alarmed that one, from his exertions, was now retching into the shrubbery and the other was clutching his chest, in pain. It turned out he has emphysema! They puffed and panted their way back to their drinking spot while I called the police. While we waited for the boys in blue, we chatted. 'I've done some bad things in my time', said one, 'but I've never stolen from the elderly'. Hmm, he meant me! Do I look that old? However I was gratified that he and his mate hung around to give their evidence, instead of scuttling away from the imminent arrival of the police, to whom one man said he 'was known'.
A passing pedestrian overheard our conversation and reported having just seen three very dodgy-looking kids boarding the ferry at the Luna Park wharf. Instantly, I knew my wallet with all of my ID documents would now be at the bottom of Sydney Harbour, while its cash contents of $250 and my credit card would be at Circular Quay and beyond, in some feral teenager’s pocket.
The police, when they arrived, agreed. But they were glad I’d bothered to report the robbery, which added to their long list of similar problems currently besetting Kirribilli – a beautiful harbourside suburb offering rich pickings for nimble thieves.
On Monday morning a finger-print man was sent to check my car door, hoping to find a set of prints for use when these kids are eventually hauled before a judge for some other crime, yet to be committed. Rather disconsolately, I set off at lunchtime on the long drive to Melbourne, all the way dreading the inconvenience and expense of replacing my driver’s licence, Medicare card, etc, etc, etc.
I could not believe my eyes when I booted up my computer on Tuesday morning, and found this Facebook message from one Anthony Richardson - ‘G'day ma'am, I’m unsure if I have the correct person but if you are missing a wallet then you are who I am looking for’.
A confirmatory message from me resulted in a phone call from Anthony later that afternoon – and our conversation went something like this (minus all of my expressions of astonishment and thanks).
‘When I saw the driving licence in the wallet I thought I’d try to find you through Facebook. I wanted to let you know I’d found the wallet. I was pretty sure you were the right person -your licence photo looks like your Facebook photo.’
'Did you find the wallet dumped in a rubbish bin?’
‘No, it was floating in the harbour.’
‘Floating? Were you passing by, in a boat?’
'No. I jumped in from the shoreline and retrieved it. I could see it had a lot of cards in it. Someone would need it.’
‘You jumped into Sydney Harbour off that walkway past Luna Park?’
‘Yes ma’am.’
'Fully clothed?’
Modest laughter. ‘Yes. Well, I’m in the navy. I’d just been to a training session at the Olympic Pool so I was already pretty wet. It didn’t bother me.’
‘I bet all those Facebook friends of yours won’t believe this story.’ (He has hundreds of FB friends! But he deserves to be so popular.)
‘No, they don’t. Especially when I told them you’re a famous author.’ In my dreams, Anthony.
'And you say all the cards are there – even my credit card?’ (Which I'd cancelled on Sunday night, at great inconvenience, since it's also linked to my transaction account and had left me stuck in Sydney without any cash.)
'It looks like it. No cash of course.’ Anthony reeled off the entire contents of my wallet, saying ‘I’ve cleaned up everything up for you, pretty well. It all smelled pretty … fishy. But that little photo of your family, those kids, that didn’t survive too well.’
Anthony then offered to post my wallet back to me – we agreed on registered mail, to protect my ID documents. I obtained his address so I could refund postage costs – and discovered that he lives across the road from my old house at McMahons Point.
Around 5pm on Tuesday I received the following text message: ‘Tracking number xxxxxxxxx And really, don’t worry about paying for the postage. All the best. Anthony.’ On Thursday my boomerang wallet arrived back in Melbourne by registered mail, still soggy but obviously rinsed clean of smelly harbour water. Young Anthony even packaged up all the cards in a separate Ziplock bag.
Four weeks later, when I was in Sydney, we met up for a coffee. I discovered then that my wallet and its precious contents had floated in the harbour for nearly 21 hours. Amazing. It had drifted up into Lavender Bay, along with other flotsam and jetsam, some of it rather unpleasant. After he'd dived in to the water around 5pm on Monday, on his rescue mission, Anthony had to scramble back onto dry land by climbing up the stone harbour wall. He said he received a few strange looks as he walked to his nearby home in wet naval attire. Once at home, he decontaminated himself and the wallet. I gather naval staff are trained to wash out ears, nose, etc after being immersed in dirty water and are even supplied with special-purpose washing lotion.Can you beat that for a 'good Samaritan' story? Anthony Richardson has just become a worthy role model for the hero of my next romance novel. I hope he goes far in his naval career.
There is a curious twist to this tale. It is the second time this same blue wallet has been stolen. The first theft occurred a year or so ago, at the State Library of Victoria. The wallet was filched from my handbag while my attention was focused on a microfilm reader screen. The thief tossed my wallet into the St Francis church grounds in Lonsdale Street. A church worker reported the find to the police. Once again, all the cash (and the credit card) was missing, but my boomerang wallet found its way back to me, thanks to the good people of this world. And now, it seems, thanks to the dreaded Facebook.
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