Somewhere around the Corner

by Jackie French

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Barbara shyly. ‘The old guy that told me, he said it hadn’t worked for him. Maybe you have to be really scared, like I was, and there were hands, too, like someone was helping me around. But the old man said he’d known someone who’d done it, just like me.’

  ‘It’s a good thing to think of, though,’ said Dulcie dreamily. ‘A new world just around the corner, a good world, where things are better than this.’ She shrugged and began pinching out the scones. ‘But I don’t suppose there is, at least not for most of us. We’ve just got to be content with what we’ve got.’

  Young Jim ate another scone absently.

  ‘I think…there’s another world,’ he said, slowly. ‘Sometimes I can see it, just like Bubba’s—it’s so close, just like she said, almost like it’s round the corner. But I reckon I can’t just fly there or whatever she did. I reckon I’ve got to work for it. You’ve got to change this world to get to the new one.’

  There were yells from the back gate and the young kids burst in with the eggs, then Elaine came in hefting a giant box of apples and the kitchen was filled with crumbs and shouts and laughter again—even Bubba was laughing—and they all ran out again to see the calf, though they’d be back at lunchtime, thought Dulcie, for soup with their Dad, when he came back with the rations from the store.

  Dulcie put some apples in a basket and took it out to the verandah. Anyone could help themselves to them, there were apples enough to spare. She looked over to the kids again, at Bubba with her short and shining hair, at Young Jim hovering at her side.

  Somewhere around the corner…Dulcie’s eyes were far away. Where would she go, she wondered suddenly, if she could travel around the corner. She had all she loved right here—the farm, the valley, the cows. Gully Jack’s face flashed by her eyes, a dreaming face, laughing as he lifted small gold specks up to the sun.

  A child’s laughter broke through her dream. That’s what she’d have, she realised, if she could travel around a corner. Kids of her own, to feed and cuddle and look after, but there was no way Gully Jack could fit into that dream. He was happy with his house falling down around his ears, with his gullies and obsessions. You needed a solid man if you wanted kids, a dependable man like Ted Ryan…Theophilous Arnold Ryan…if only he had dreams as well. How could you live with a man who had no dreams? What would your kids be like if their father had no dreams?

  Dulcie watched the O’Reilly children out the window as she split more scones and dabbed on the butter. Good rich butter it was too, though a bit too white to sell well. You didn’t get the colour here, from the summer pasture.

  The valley was so far from a good market anyway. That girl, Bubba, was stretching out her fingers to stroke the calf, like she’d never touched a cow before, and the other kids were around her, egging her on, encouraging her, protecting her. She’d be all right now, Dulcie told herself, whatever she’d been through. The O’Reillys would look after her. Dulcie glanced out the window again.

  She just wished she could be sure.

  chapter eleven

  Nicholson’s Store

  Nicholson’s store smelt of prunes and sacks of bran and the broken biscuits he kept by the counter and sold at so much for a penny; it smelt of the cheese, hot and sweating, that sat under the glass on the counter where Mr Nicholson presided in his starched white apron, taking the dole tickets with a face as bitter as his own molasses and handing out rations in exchange. It was only sussos in the store on Thursday. The valley people got their groceries on other days. Nicholson looked like he’d be happy to sweep the sussos out with the worn broom he kept behind the door, but he took their tickets anyway, for the money he got when he sent them in.

  Young Jim glanced in at the queue in front of the counter. They were gully people, familiar faces, embarrassed men or harassed women, and men who looked belligerent or defiant, as though daring old Nicholson to say a word. Strangers in the valley were often single men, just passing through, hoping for work or filling up their lives with travel if they couldn’t. They would have got their rations the day before.

  ‘No sign of Dad yet,’ said Young Jim. ‘He must still be up at the police station.’ He sidled in the front door of the shop and edged along the sacks of oats.

  ‘Where are you going?’ whispered Barbara. Mr Nicholson looked too intimidating to speak out aloud.

  Young Jim gestured towards the far end of the counter, where a pile of newspapers was hidden from Mr Nicholson behind the tins of biscuits. ‘I want to have a dekko at the paper, that’s all. See if there’s anything in it about the demonstration. Hey, imagine if we’d got our photo in the paper!’

  Barbara followed him. Thellie and Joey looked bored and ran out into the sunlight again. They sat on the verandah wriggling their feet in the dust and watching the people pass.

  ‘Hey, look here!’ said Young Jim.

  ‘Is it something about the demonstration?’

  ‘Nah, I suppose it was too small for them to bother, evictions are two a penny nowadays. No, listen to this, it’s a letter. It’s real good.’ He began to read:

  ‘Dear Sir,

  Optimism and sturdy independence are the chief characteristics of the Australian race. Australians are not easily daunted—a fact proven countless times in peace and war throughout the British Empire—and their spirit of independence goes almost beyond a virtue. Many men made provision for a rainy day, but the economic storm which has seized the world in its grip has exhausted all that they have saved. The decent man finds idleness irksome. At a meeting of the Advisory Council—’

  ‘He’s on his soapbox again.’ Elaine came up behind them. ‘Who wants to hear that stuff? Turn the page over so I can read the serial. Go on, be a sport, it’s getting exciting—there was this girl, see, her name’s Isabel, and she met this man but it turns out he was on leave and had to go back to East Africa and—’

  Young Jim snorted. ‘Soppy stuff. Hey, look at this, it’s about an exploding cow.’

  Barbara looked over his shoulder. The paper looked strange, with small print and narrow columns, headed Political, Telegraph and Pastoral News. The ads were the brightest spots in the paper; old-fashioned looking drawings with big headlines:

  Why Keep Hens and Buy Eggs? You won’t have to if Karswood’s part of their diet. Karswood’s blood enriching tonic…

  On a motor cycle at 76—there’s life in the old dog yet, with Kruschen’s salts. Kruschen’s for constipation…

  I got from 1 egg to 8 eggs a day with Karswood blood enriching tonic…

  Wood’s great Peppermint cure for Colds and Influenza…

  His boss knows best! All over the British Empire they take Kruschen’s for constipation!

  Carg and Mostyn, buyers for wattle bark and rabbit skins…

  Kruschen’s keeps constipation at bay…

  Young Jim was still reading.

  ‘“While a cow belonging to a farmer at Harold’s Creek was contentedly chewing her cud the other day, she suddenly exploded with a roar and fragments of her head were found all over the district.”’

  ‘Hey, how come nothing like this ever happens to us?’ complained Young Jim.

  ‘’Cause we don’t have a cow, silly,’ Elaine informed him.

  ‘Nah to you too.

  “Evidently the unfortunate animal had been grazing near a box of detonators.”’

  A hand came down suddenly across the counter. It was white and hairy with a faint smell of old cheese. It grabbed the paper out of Young Jim’s hand and pushed him roughly away.

  ‘What do you lot think you’re doing, eh? Blooming susso kids. This isn’t a penny library. If you want to read the paper you can pay for it.’

  Barbara looked up at the shopkeeper’s face. Why was he so angry? He looked back at her, his small eyes green in his red face. ‘What are you staring at, missy? I don’t want your sort cluttering up my shop. Those papers are tuppence each. If you haven’t got money to spend you can get on out of it.’

 
Young Jim stepped in front of her. ‘We have got money to spend,’ he said coolly. He drew Sergeant Ryan’s sixpence out of his pocket. ‘I’d like five musk sticks and five cobbers, and let’s see, how much are the gobstoppers?’ he asked Mr Nicholson politely. ‘If you don’t mind, we really are in a hurry.’

  Elaine giggled. ‘Come on, let’s leave him to it,’ she whispered. She drew a deep breath as they emerged out on the verandah. ‘Old Nicholson’s store always seems stuffy. Don’t know why. Other shops smell so good. Must be him, I suppose, or maybe he’s got mice.’

  Young Jim came out after them, holding a small white paper bag. He handed each of them a tall pink stick and a pale green lolly, as big as a small hen’s egg, thought Barbara. She looked at hers doubtfully.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A gobstopper. Don’t you know gobstoppers? They’ll last all day if you suck slowly. They turn different colours too. Just remember to take it out and stick it in your pocket when you go to Dulcie’s for lunch.’ Elaine popped hers in her mouth. ‘Droubble is yo cand dalk broberly wid dem in yer mouf.’

  Young Jim laughed. ‘I’ll keep mine for later,’ he said. ‘I’m going up to see how Dad’s doing at the station and maybe thank Sergeant Ryan again. You coming?’

  Elaine shook her head. ‘I’ll dake Dellie and Doey down do loog ad de gows adain,’ she said. ‘Dee oo.’ She took Thellie’s and Joey’s hands and they wandered back up the road towards the dairy farm. Barbara and Young Jim began to walk past the pub and the butcher’s, towards the police station.

  ‘Does it take long to get a dole ticket?’ asked Barbara.

  Young Jim shrugged. ‘Can take hours. It’s not so bad now—most of the blokes who came here at the start have moved on again. It’s a real cow for Sergeant Ryan to get through everyone. It takes him most of Wednesday and Thursday every week. Sergeant Ryan’s real good about it though. Some coppers search you to make sure you haven’t got any money on you before they give you your ticket. Sergeant Ryan wouldn’t do a thing like that. He can be tough—you don’t find any smart alecs trying to get the dole twice here.’ He shook his head. ‘It makes me so mad when stuck-up whingers like old Nicholson complain about the dole. What would old Nicholson know about going hungry, or losing your job?’

  ‘Soapbox,’ suggested Barbara.

  Young Jim chuckled. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I know I go on a bit. You just shut me up, Bubba. Hey, what did you think of Dulcie? She’s a bit of all right, isn’t she? She’d do anything for anyone, Dulcie would.’

  ‘I liked her,’ said Barbara slowly.

  She wondered if she should mention the touch of sadness, the hint of loneliness in Dulcie’s eyes. Was that why she helped other people, to lessen the loneliness inside? She shook her head. If Dulcie was lonely it was none of her business.

  Young Jim took a deep breath. ‘Smells good, doesn’t it,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe there’s air anywhere in the world like the valley—cow pats and dry grass and trees and all. You don’t know what you’re smelling half the time in Sydney, and when you do you don’t like it.’

  They walked in silence for a while, the road dusty beneath their feet, the cattle curious on either side. The valley houses seemed perched among the paddocks, not crowded together like a town at all. Perhaps there’d been more houses once, thought Barbara, before the gold ran out. The road curved and narrowed into a bridge made of thick unpainted timber above a trickle of a creek choked with weed and watercress. A boy about her age dangled his legs off one side of the bridge. A bit of string like a fishing line dropped from his fingers into the thin snake of water.

  The boy stared at them. He looked vaguely familiar.

  ‘Pretend you don’t see him,’ muttered Young Jim out of the corner of his mouth.’

  ‘Why?’ whispered Barbara, but it was too late. They were on the bridge. Young Jim took Barbara’s arm and hurried her along it. The boy didn’t speak till they were off the bridge and onto the road again. Then they heard his voice behind them.

  Hallelujah I’m a bum,

  Hallelujah bum again,

  Hallelujah give us a handout,

  To revive us again.

  Barbara turned. The boy was gazing down at his fishing line, as though the song had nothing to do with Jim and Barbara at all. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Nicholson’s son, of course.’ Young Jim’s voice was grim. ‘The lousy so-and-so knows I can’t deck him one.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘’Cause he’s had scarlet fever and strained his heart. That’s why he’s not up in town at school. Come on, don’t pay any attention. He’ll stop soon if we pretend we can’t hear.’

  ‘What’s scarlet fever?’

  Young Jim stared at her. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t get sick in your world? Scarlet fever’s…well…you’re sick, that’s all, and you get a red rash. Kids can die of scarlet fever.’

  ‘Can’t they give them antibiotics or immunise them or something?’

  ‘Immu—who?’ Young Jim shook his head. ‘Here, have another musk stick. Maybe it’s lack of food.’

  Barbara chewed the musk stick. It was as though the boy’s song had made the strangeness of this world come alive again, as though only the comfort of the O’ Reilly’s, and Dulcie of course, and Gully Jack, was holding it back. ‘Jim?’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  Jim was watching a falcon swoop into a nearby paddock. ‘Hey, did you see that, Bubba?’

  ‘Are you sure your parents won’t change their minds? About me staying with you all I mean. They’ve got so many kids of their own already.’

  ‘Of course they won’t change their minds.’ Jim’s voice was scornful. ‘They never changed their minds with me, did they?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Ma and Dad aren’t my real parents—I mean, they are now, but they weren’t then. My parents were killed in a fire when I was just a nipper, about two I think. I can’t really remember. Dad and Ma lived next door. They adopted me. They didn’t have any kids of their own then, they’d just got married, and they looked after Sam and Edith for years. Their Ma died and their father worked with Dad. They lived with us till he got married again. Ma cried for days after Sam and Edith left. I think Ma would look after the world if she could. Just like Dulcie.’

  ‘Like you, a bit,’ said Barbara.

  ‘Like me? Cripes, I don’t want to look after the world, I want to change it. I mean, it’s just not right the way it is, is it? I mean—’

  Barbara laughed. ‘Soapbox,’ she said again.

  ‘Soapbox yourself.’ Young Jim grabbed her hand. ‘Come on, there’s Dad. Let’s run! The sooner we get to Dulcie’s the sooner we get lunch. I’m starved!’

  chapter twelve

  Friday

  Friday was bath morning. Dad and Young Jim lugged load after load of water in kero tins as soon as the fried tomatoes from breakfast were cleared away. They sweated up the hill from the creek until the creek was nearly dry, Dad said. Barbara and Elaine fed the fire with bits of twig and dry wood to keep it burning hot. The water steamed and bubbled on the coals, sending droplets of water snickering and whispering onto the hot ash where they bubbled and spluttered until they disappeared.

  They washed the little ones first, giggling and wriggling and soapy in the old tin bath, and then they washed their clothes in the same water, pushing and scrubbing them until they were clean, then hanging them on the thornbushes to dry. Dad, careful not to lose a drop, poured the water on the tomatoes—the best drink they got all week—and the little ones ran naked in the sunlight, laughing and getting grubby feet and knees all over again.

  ‘Let them run,’ said Ma comfortably. ‘A bit of sun on their hides won’t do them any harm till their clothes are dry. Come on Young Jim, you fill it up again. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.’

  Ma washed next, then Elaine. Then it was Barbara’s turn, cramped in the tin bath with the breeze on her shoulders and a kookaburra staring at her from the branc
h above, with only the thornbushes for privacy. No-one would peek, Elaine assured her, ‘Because they knew if they did we’d peek at them, and anyway, Ma would give them what for if they tried.’

  It was strange to bathe outside, with the sun on your skin and the curious ants running along the rim of the bath as though the water was ant soup that they could take away to store. The trees swayed overhead, their leaves bunched like soft green pillows. If only she could reach up and pull one down to rest her head on.

  ‘Hey, come on slowcoach, it’ll be half past lunchtime before we’re finished at this rate!’

  Barbara dressed in the clothes Ma had given her the day before. Ma had put her jeans away for Joey to wear when he got bigger. She wouldn’t accept that they were fit for girls at all. ‘And as for that thing you call a T-shirt, it’s hardly decent. That world you come from may be all very well my girl, but you’d think someone’d think to dress a child properly. Look, there’s this real nice skirt that Dulcie sent up last week. If I just take up the hem and give it a good airing you can put it on tonight.’

  ‘That way it’ll be clean for the dance,’ Elaine explained. ‘Everybody dresses up Friday night.’ She leant over the fire and shook her wet hair. The water spat and hissed as it landed on the coals.

  Young Jim looked up. He was carving something by the fire, scraping at the wood with his pocketknife so the shavings fell in little curls over his knees. Barbara bent over to look.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A brooch for Ma. She can wear it tonight if she wants. See, it’s a flower. I reckon if I thread a bit of wire back here—’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ said Barbara.

  Young Jim grinned. ‘I’ll make you one for next week if you like. Hey, what are we going to do now?’

  ‘Nothing,’ decided Elaine. ‘I’m staying clean for tonight.’

  ‘Let’s go get some eels,’ suggested Young Jim. ‘Hey Ma, you’d like some eels, wouldn’t you?’