By 1957, the world seemed to have been set on a frantic spin, and Australia was hurtling along with it.

Prime Minister Robert Menzies (Liberal Party) was leading a stable government that had been in power now for eight consecutive years. The Governor General, Sir William Slim was enjoying the change from living in England. The average wage was still stationary at between £14.00 - £17.00. The Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electrics Scheme was in full swing and employing thousands of workers, many from overseas. Holden’s FE 1956 model sedan was the best selling car in Australia and Melbourne defeated Essendon in the grand final.

Ross Cooper, freshly robed in the sacred duties of a priest, had had a gut full of discipline, discipline delivered by Brothers, nuns, and men who measured obedience with the precision of a surgeon and the patience of a saint. But now, standing on the edge of parish life, the real challenge dawned on him: getting here had been one thing. Surviving the hierarchy, navigating Boys’ Town, enduring St Patrick’s Seminary, all that had been part of a predictable, if absurd, curriculum.

Ross arrived at St Patrick’s on a Tuesday morning, the sky over Manly pale and uncertain, like an unpolished pew. The seminary loomed before him, sandstone walls rising in sharp, unwavering lines, windows tall and narrow, the spires cutting a thin silhouette against the early sun. It smelled faintly of wet stone, varnish, and old books, a scent that promised discipline and whispered authority in equal measure.

Can things get worse for Ross?

The orphanage