He Called Me Son (The Blountmere Street Series Book 1)

by Barbara Arnold

  ‘You’d better hide the presents quick,’ Joe said as Murray entered through the back door.

  He tripped over the rugs and grumbled, ‘Beggar me, Cyril, isn’t it time you moved these things?’

  ‘You should be used to them by now. They’ve been there twenty years or more,’ Old Witchery replied.

  Joe and I chose a row each and continued inspecting boxes. I was about to walk further along, when I saw a black leather wallet lying between half a dozen rolls of toilet paper and some packets of jelly. Peeping from the wallet as if it was preparing to fly away, I noticed an orange butterfly. It didn’t move and I put my hand out to touch its wing, when I realized it was a hair slide. I tucked the wallet and hair slide behind the toilet paper. When Joe was gone, I would come back and buy the wallet for him and the hair slide for Gaylene. It felt as if I’d found treasure.

  ‘Norwest arch out there,’ Old Witchery observed to Murray.

  ‘Too right there is.’

  ‘That norwest’s been blowing up all night.’

  ‘Too right, it has.’

  ‘I think we should buy this for the Missus,’ Joe called across to me, holding up a book entitled Public Speaking For Everyone.

  ‘It’ll be a hot one today all right,’ Old Witchery forecast.

  ‘My word, yes.’

  ‘Need to hang on to your wig in this wind.’

  Murray touched his hat. ‘I reckon.’

  Elastic, buttons, zips, cotton in a box marked “Ladies Personals”.

  ‘It’ll turn souwest by six,’ Murray answered.

  ‘Nearer five.’

  ‘Six is my guess.’

  ‘Definitely five.’

  ‘There’s a book on gardening here. Can you get across?’ I called to Joe.

  ‘I’m on my way.’ Joe clambered across a counter. Old Witchery was too busy weather forecasting to notice.

  ‘You can see it blowin’ in from here.’

  ‘We’ll get some rain by six.’ Murray was adamant.

  ‘Never seen a souwester that didn’t bring a bit of dirty weather with it. Yes, here by five.’ Old Witchery crossed his arms and defied Murray to disagree with him.

  ‘This looks donkey’s years old, but I s’ppose gardening don’t change. I’m not going to pay his price, though. He’ll have to knock it down before I buy it,’ Joe said, as he thumbed through a book with yellowing pages.

  I continued to lift books from the box and placed them in small piles wherever I could find space. ‘There doesn’t seem much else here,’ I said as I thumbed through a book entitled Make Do and Mend To Help Win The War.

  ‘I recall a couple of years back, a norwester took us up to a hundred. So hot, Grannie refused to make her pies.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘Then quick as a flash, in comes the souwest.’

  ‘And before you know it we’ve got snow.’

  ‘I was about to say that.’ Old Witchery glared at Murray.

  ‘Wait a mo.’ I picked up a book with a picture of a river. Behind it there was a large church. ‘This one’s called Dublin, City of My Dreams.’

  ‘Ain’t Dublin in Ireland?’ Joe asked.

  ‘I’m sure I remember Fergus saying he lived there once.’

  ‘We’ll get Old Witchery to give us a special deal seeing as we’re buying a couple of books,’ Joe said.

  ‘Forty-eight when that norwester blew the roof off the Community Hall, remember?’ Murray took the initiative.

  ‘Course I remember, but it was forty-nine.’

  ‘Forty-eight. The year my brother went to Australia,’ Murray stated with some force.

  ‘Forty-nine. When I had that shipment of corned beef from Argentina. Sold the last tin not more than a month back.’

  When I’d finished shopping, I left Joe in Grannie Witchery’s tea room tucking into one of her steak and cheese pies. I doubled back to the front of the shop and told Old Witchery I wanted to buy the wallet for Joe and the hair slide as a present for my sister. It would be perfect for Gaylene.

  Murray, mellow after an afternoon at The Travellers, shouted to his mates inside. ‘Don’t forget, not a word to the Boss about the young blokes being here.’ In answer came a chorus of ‘Too right, we won’t’, and ‘Mum’s the word’.

  ‘Not such a bad place, eh?’ he asked me and Joe, as we waited outside.

  ‘Grannie’s pie was worth coming for, that’s a fact,’ Joe answered, forgetting his recent impatience at having to wait for Murray.

  Murray searched the shopping bag for his keys and hesitated. ‘Cuss it all, I’ve a feeling I’ve forgotten something.’ He scratched his head under his hat, leaving his hat askew.

  The Mission, nuns and clothes! Murray was about to remember. I braced myself.

  ‘I’ve got it. It’s come back to me now! Your winnings! I’ve got them right here.’ Beer fumes wafted over us, as Murray handed us the money.

  ‘Good old Wandering Minstrel. Joe kissed the notes as he usually did when we won.

  ‘My word, no! Tea Caddy. There was never any doubt.’

  ‘Tea Caddy? You put our money on Tea Caddy?’

  ‘Too right I did, Ginger. If there’s two things I’m not often wrong about, it’s horses and the weather.’

  Murray touched his hat to Old Witchery, who was standing outside his shop. He climbed into the truck. ‘Jump in you two. Best be off. That souwester’ll be here by six.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  When I asked him about the bonus, Eleod’s weather-beaten face turned a menacing purple.

  ‘Bonus! Bonus! You want a bloody bonus! Because wool’s fetching a good price this year,’ he mimicked.

  ‘You’d still be in an orphanage if it wasn’t for me. That’s where the likes of you and your cocky mate belong. I give you three good meals a day, clothe you, put a roof over your heads and give you an education. You won’t be getting a penny out of me.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘It’s you who need to pay me!’ He stabbed his finger into my chest. ‘What have you got to pay me with, eh?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I mumbled.

  He stabbed me in the chest again. ‘Your pal’s got something to pay me with.’

  I felt the colour leave my face. Downston must have found out about the money Joe had screwed out of his son.

  He continued, ‘I should have thought of it before. The four of you living on the fat of the land over there, while the Missus and I struggle to feed ourselves.’ Downston looked as if he truly believed his own words.

  ‘You won’t be eating extra tucker anymore. This afternoon I’ll be over to those quarters of yours and watch you dig up every vege in the boy’s garden and give ‘em to the Missus and me. I’ll teach you to complain.’

  ‘But they’re ours.’

  ‘Nothing’s yours, boy.’ He caught me a blow around the head that blurred everything grey.

  That afternoon, the sky was weighed down with cloud that sealed in the heat. Sweat poured from us in rivulets, as we thrust our spades into the soil and dug up the plants. Downston stood at the side and commanded. ‘Put your backs into it, and don’t think you can miss any.’

  ‘By all the saints, Boss, is this really necessary? The boy’s spent every spare minute he’s had labouring over this garden,’ Fergus intervened.

  ‘His mate should have thought of that before he became lippy with me.’

  I kept digging. If I’d kept my mouth shut, this wouldn’t have happened. Joe’s veges would still be there and Joe wouldn’t have his hat pulled down over his eyes so we couldn’t see his tears.

  ‘They were for Christmas,’ he muttered, and Murray kept saying, ‘She’ll be right, boy. She’ll be right.’

  When every plant had been lifted and taken to the homestead, Joe laid face-down on his bunk, his muddy shoes hanging from the end. ‘I hope they choke on ‘em’. Joe’s voice shook, and my hatred towards Downston made it difficult for me to swallow.

  ‘Now come on, Ginger, you can’t let t
he Boss beat you.’ It was unusual for Murray to give advice.

  ‘What d’you suggest I should do? Go and pinch the veges back?’

  ‘I don’t rightly know, but you’re a clever young beggar, you’ll think of something.’ Murray edged nearer to Joe’s bunk and patted him on the back. I could see it was an affectionate gesture. I knew that Murray was more upset for Joe than he was for the loss of the veges themselves. ‘I reckon I can get hold of a few peas and potatoes from Old Witchery for Christmas. I don’t know why we never thought of it before,’ he said.

  ‘To be sure, we all feel the same way, but Murray’s right. You’ll bounce back, and my reckoning is it’ll be higher than before,’ Fergus said.

  Joe made a hopeless sort of noise and his body shuddered.

  ‘Why’d the two of you stay here with Downston?’ I asked Murray and Fergus.

  ‘Too old to change now,’ Murray said.

  Fergus shrugged.

  ‘Anyhow, we’ve got you two to think about,’ Murray continued, and I realised he and Fergus would probably have gone long ago if it wasn’t for Joe and me.

  Usually, Christmas Day was no different from any other day; the routines remained unchanged. This year, true to his word, Murray managed to get some peas, beans and a few spuds from Old Witchery to go with the boil-up. For the first time, too, there were four thin slices of Christmas pudding on a plate next to the boil-up pan. I wondered if Gaylene had persuaded the Missus to give them to us.

  ‘This Christmas pudding’s not so bad. I reckon that new girl they’ve got helping the Missus made it.’

  ‘I wish by St. Nicholas himself that she’d show the Missus how to do something different with the boil-up,’ Fergus replied.

  ‘Well, next year we’ll be eating our own veges again, if my little plan comes off.’ Joe’s face wore its sly and secretive look. He had almost reverted to his old self.

  ‘And, of course, you can’t tell us what it is!’ I said. Joe’s secrets always irritated me.

  ‘Not yet. Anyway, it’s time for the presents.’ All day Joe had been like an excited puppy expecting a bone. We’ll give ours out first, Tone.’

  ‘If you like.’ I felt under my bunk and brought out three presents wrapped in newspaper. I took the first one. ‘This is for you, Murray.’

  Murray tore at the newspaper and pulled out the socks. ‘My word,’ he said, ‘But you should have gone easy on the bum paper.’

  ‘And this is for you,’ I handed the book to Fergus. The paper had already come undone and I could see part of the picture of a church spire and the first word, “Dublin”.

  ‘It’s called, “Dublin, City of My Dreams”,’ Joe told Fergus as if he couldn’t read it for himself. ‘Tony says Dublin’s where you lived.’

  ‘To be sure it was.’ Fergus ran his hand across the cover. His face held a look of longing that verged on despair.

  ‘And this is my present to you, Joe.’ Joe practically snatched the packet from me and began ripping the paper. ‘It’s a wallet.’ He held it up for the others to see. He put it to his nose and sniffed. ‘Would you believe it’s real leather, real leather,’ he repeated.

  I knew that when the others weren’t around he’d transfer his mounting pile of pound notes to it. ‘Real leather, what d’you think about that,’ he said once more to Murray, and Murray, replied, ‘Too right, it is, Ginger. One of Old Witchery’s best if I’m not mistaken.’

  Joe pulled back the sack covering his bunk, and brought out an unwrapped book. ‘Merry Christmas, Tone. Old Witchery said he knew just where to put his finger on a book of poetry, and he did. Climbed across three counters and came straight to it, under a pile of trusses. On the cover it says it’s love poems,’ Joe explained as he handed the book to me. ‘It sounds a lot of double Dutch to me, but I knew you’d like it.’

  Fergus and Murray gave us a tooth brush each which, when we were on our own, Joe said weren’t exactly the sort of presents that made you want to dance down Balham High Street. We’d got away without using a tooth brush all this time, why start now? It seemed a bit hypocritical, he said, when Murray and Fergus never cleaned their teeth.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Gaylene caught the curls resting on her forehead into the slide I gave her. ‘It matches my skirt,’ she said as if it was coincidental. ‘How did you manage to get it?’

  ‘Murray got it for me when he went for the supplies. Um ... I told him I wanted something for my sister.’

  Gaylene adjusted the slide so that it sat a little higher. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t buy you anything, but I saved this from Christmas day.’ She produced a Christmas cracker from the paper bag she had brought with her to our meeting place behind the rabbiters’ hut.

  When we had spent Christmas Day with Fred and Lori we’d had Christmas crackers, proper ones. Mine was red, I remembered. Inside had been a plastic chicken and a motto.

  I offered one end of my cracker to Gaylene.

  We’ve got to make a wish,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘And we mustn’t tell anyone what we’ve wished for or it won’t come true.’

  I had spent the whole of my life wishing. Dreams never came true. Nevertheless, I smiled and said, ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

  We pulled and the cracker split open. An orange plastic ring rolled on to the ground. I picked it up and turned it over in my hand. ‘Would you like it?’ I held the ring out to Gaylene. ‘It matches your hair slide.’

  She took it and placed it on the middle finger of her right hand, stroking it as if it was a precious gem.

  ‘Would you like me to read you some poetry the next time we meet? I’ve got a new poetry book.’ My voice sounded strange even to me.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Right, tomorrow same time, if I can get here.’ I rose abruptly and left. I knew I shouldn’t have arranged to meet her or to read her poetry but how could I own a book like that without sharing it with her?

  ‘Blinkin’ heat. Never could abide hot weather,’ Joe grumbled as we sat outside our quarters looking at what had been Joe’s garden, but was now a tangle of dying plants and fresh weeds.

  ‘D’you think you can get me some old tins and pots and pans when you go into the township? I’ll give you the cash for ‘em.’ Joe asked Murray. As a concession to the heat, Murray had rolled his trousers up past his knees, revealing skinny hairless legs.

  ‘I don’t see why not, Ginger. What’re you thinking of doing with ‘em?’

  ‘Hiding them.’ Joe replied.

  ‘My word, that’s not what I was expecting you to say.’

  ‘Hiding them full of earth and Downston’s fertilizer and growing veges in ‘em. I’ll put them all over the show, in places he never goes to. ‘It’ll be a bit of a job when it comes to watering them but if we all get stuck in I think it’ll work. I might even try a few flowers.’

  ‘I said you’d find a way, didn’t I? Clever bloke like you wouldn’t be beaten by the likes of the Boss. I said that at the time, isn’t that a fact. Count us in, Ginger,’ Murray said looking into the hut at Fergus. But Fergus was rubbing his fingers over the picture of Dublin on the front of his book.

  ‘And me, too,’ I said, getting up and walking into the hut to sit next to Fergus on his bunk. I liked looking at the photos of Dublin. It reminded me of the times Fred and I spun the globe.

  ‘We used to sit by the Liffey, Marion and I, on mild and smiling days with a breeze like petals,’ Fergus said to no one in particular. ‘Holy Mother of God it was beautiful. On the day we were married, we walked along the banks of the Liffey. She looked like the river goddess herself with her hair the colour of the bulrushes while all about us was blue and green. “You’re not regretting it, Fergus?” She asked. “Although ‘tis a bit late now.” She laughed and her laughter entered my soul.

  ‘Never, and I never will. You’re all I need, Marion.’ And indeed she was. It didn’t matter what the Church said about relinquishing my vows as a priest, even that I had broken my parents’ hearts.

&
nbsp; ‘I found a job on a farm that had a cottage going with it, a broken-down place but to Marion and me it was a palace. Not a jarring word did we speak in it. In the evenings I would read her poetry, while she knitted for the child we were expecting.’

  Fergus got up. ‘Tis like a furnace in this place,’ he said and made his way out of the hut and across to the ridge.

  I followed him. ‘What happened?’ I asked after a while. ‘What happened to Marion?’

  ‘She died. I told my sister to come and get the baby. I didn’t look at the child, a girl, I believe, and I left.’

  ‘Haven’t you seen her, your daughter, I mean?’

  ‘No. I don’t even know her name. She’s thirteen now. Whenever I see a young girl in the township, I look at her and wonder if my daughter is like that.’

  ‘Is that who you were writing to?’

  ‘I was foolish enough to think she might like to know who her daddy is, but why should she care?’

  The next day when I arrived, Gaylene was propped against the back of the rabbiter’s hut polishing her cracker ring on her skirt.

  ‘Have you bought the poetry book?’ she asked, looking at my empty hands.

  ‘I couldn’t bring the book itself in case someone saw me, but I’ve copied a poem.’ I took a piece of crumpled paper from my pocket. ‘I won’t be able to stay or someone might come looking for me.’ What I actually meant was her father might come looking for me.

  Gaylene slid further down the wall, and settled herself beside me. I felt her breath on my neck.

  ‘It’s a love poem,’ I said jerkily and she replied, ‘Read it to me like you said Fergus reads poetry.’ She closed her eyes, and I began.

  She was a phantom of delight

  When first she gleam’d upon my sight.

  A lovely apparition sent

  To be a moment’s ornament:

  Her eyes as stars of twilight fair,

  Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair,

  But all things else about her dawn,

  A dancing shape, an image gay

  To haunt, to startle and waylay.’