How Tom does this job I do not know, I would hate it, he has very little to do, it is so boring. He drinks endless cups of tea. I don’t think I have ever eaten so much food in such a short time, Billy reckons he has put on a ton. When we stop for water Tom walks the length of the train, up one side and back down the other. I asked him why he did it. ‘Just doing a check, that’s all.’ Billy and I spend a lot of time standing on the platform at the back of the guards van, we have seen more kangaroos but not as many as that first lot.
Tom has taught us to play cards, he calls it pontoon. We play for matches, instead of money, which is just as well because, each time I lose all mine. Billy is very good he loves playing, I’d sooner read a book but Tom has none so I have been reading a newspaper that had the bread rolls wrapped in it, and is two weeks old. I’ve been teaching Billy and Tom to skip which is not easy on a moving train. Tom is so big and unfit he cannot manage at all, but he tries. The three of us have been in fits of laughter watching his efforts.
The train is going very slowly, Tom has told us to climb down to the bottom of the steps each side of the guards van and wait. He has pointed out a tree, on the road that is running alongside the track, we are to wait there until he picks us up, he says it could be an hour but no longer so don’t go wandering off. ‘Right, go, see you soon.’ We leap off the train and make our way to the tree.
We have been waiting no more than half an hour when a lady walks up to us
‘Hello Phil, Billy, Tom said you’d be here, my name is Gertrude. Tom rang me, he is held up, asked me to meet you and take you to mine.’
‘Hello; Tom said we have to wait here.’
‘I know, but he can’t get here yet to meet you so he has sent me instead. Look, if I wasn’t genuine how do you think I know your names?’
‘I suppose so what do you think Billy?’
‘Gertrude, how do you know Tom?’
‘Karen, Tom’s wife, is my younger sister.’
‘That’s good enough for me come on Phil.’
‘Now that is settled, please call me Gertie, all my friends do’
A twenty minute walk brings us to a little wooden house with a veranda across the front. On the left side of the front door the veranda is covered by a fine wire mesh, the other side of the bright red front door is open, on this side a rocking chair with a bright red cushion, is providing a bed for a large ginger cat.
We follow Gertie up the side of the house and enter through the back door into the kitchen. I’m surprised the door isn’t locked because, as we walked, she had been telling us that she lived alone since her sons had joined the army. One wouldn’t be coming back because he was killed at El Alamein. The other one, John has gone to live in Adelaide.
‘If you need the bathroom that is outside on your right, the toilet is at the end of the garden, lounge room is there,’ Gertie points across the passage. ‘The two bedrooms are at the front, mine is on the left, and you’ll be sharing the other one. Tom always sleeps on the veranda, now, how’s about a cuppa?’ She asks as she fills a yellow china jug from a tap at the sink and then plugs it into a power point on the wall.
Tom arrives looking very pleased with himself, ‘Sorry not being able to meet you but I have been busy, I have free travel passes for the three of you to Adelaide, and a return for you Gert.’
‘You jammy sod, how did you manage that?’
‘I told my boss in Perth that your grandsons were up for the school holidays, but your son couldn’t get up to collect them so you would have to go down, because they were too young to travel alone and he believed me.’
‘But John hasn’t got any kids, how can I have grand kids?’
‘My boss doesn’t know that.’
‘Thomas Mooney you are a deceitful, devious bugger, you should be locked up.’
‘I know Gert but help me out here, it is very important to me and even more so for these boys.’
‘Okay I’ll do it, when do we go; tomorrow?’
‘Monday, we have to get them looking a bit more respectable, what they are wearing is all they have; right boys?’ we both nod. Tom must be the kindest man in the whole world if ever I get the chance I will repay him.
We both now have a shirt, jacket and long trousers as well as the shorts and shirt from Blendoon, we also have clean underwear, mine is too big, but it is better than none. Billy has my shoes because his were worn out, and I have a pair of bushman’s riding boots with elastic sides, they are a bit big but are the best shoes I have ever had. They belonged to Donold, Gertie’s son that was killed in the war. She asked me to look after them as they were especially handmade by a small boot maker in Adelaide. Now I wish I had my shoe cleaning kit that chalky gave me for my birthday.
Time has flown over the past two days, it is eight in the morning, and we are seated on the train, waiting for it to leave for our two hundred mile journey to Adelaide. Gertie is very smart in a dress with little flowers on it. She is wearing a white hat and gloves that come nearly to her elbows. On her lap is a white knitted handbag with brown wooden handles, she looks like she is dressed for church. She is smiling and saying hello to nearly everybody, everyone seems to know her. No one has asked who we are, and Gertie hasn’t told anyone. She has asked us not to talk when we can be overheard, as our accent will give us away.
On the luggage rack above us is a small suitcase for Gertie, propped up beside it is a brown shopping bag with our spare clothes in it. Gertie has a suitcase because she is staying two nights with John. It is the first time she has visited him since he moved to Adelaide and is quite excited about seeing him.
The train crawls through the town I can see the sea with what looks like a very big, white sandy beach, but Gertie has told me it is a salt lake. I don’t know what that is and I want to ask her more about it, but a man has taken the seat opposite Gertie so I have to be quiet.
The train is following a main road, there is not much to see, now and then we get a glimpse of the sea. Gertie has nodded off, her head back on the head rest which is making her hat tip up at the front. As she breathes the brim of the hat rises and falls, making it look like the hat is talking. Not being allowed to speak the journey has become boring; I have closed my eyes and can feel myself drifting into sleep.
The train stopping, and doors banging, wakes me. As we move along the platform I read Port Pirie. The man across from Gertie has gone; I look around me, ‘Gertie how much further do we have to go?’
‘We have only been going just over an hour; we have at least three hours to go yet.’
‘Are all the places in Australia so far from each other?’
‘I don’t know, I’ve never been past Adelaide but the next state is Victoria and I know it is more populated, so I suppose the answer is no.’ Billy stirs, looks about him,
‘Are we nearly there yet?’
‘No, we have about three more hours.
‘Hell, as long as that, I don’t think I want to get on a train again, ever, in my whole life.’
‘In an hour we’ll have a bite to eat.’
‘Gertie, what is going to happen when we get to Adelaide?’
‘John, my son, was going to meet me but, when he was told about you he wanted nothing to do with it, you see, on his de-mob from the army he has joined the police, so he can’t afford to be involved. I’m wishing now I wasn’t doing this but I promised Tom, he is a good man, a bit misguided maybe, but a good man.’
‘I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to cause a problem, if it would help we could get off at the next station and you would never see us again.’
‘I can’t do that, as I said I promised Tom.’
‘So what is going to happen then?’
‘When we arrive at the station I’m handing you over to the Salvationists, I don’t want to get John into trouble.’
‘Will they be waiting for us?’
‘Yes, I telephoned them yesterday.’
‘Does Tom know?’
‘No, I didn’t have the hear
t to tell him.’
‘You weren’t going to tell us, you were just going to let them take us away, maybe even send us back to where we came from, you don’t care as long as you’re okay.’
‘It’s not like that, I just think you will be better in an institution rather than running on the streets. It is what Tom intended, I was to take you to the Salvo’s tomorrow, I’m just doing what he wanted a day earlier.’
‘I suppose so what do you think Billy?’
‘I think Gertie is right, what difference will it make, today or tomorrow, either way we will get looked after. I don’t care as long as I don’t end up back there with them bleeding Fenian’s’ Gertie gets up, straightens her hat,
‘I’m just going to the toilet, when I get back we’ll have a bite to eat.’
‘Billy, when we arrive, if I don’t like the look of things I’m running, will you come with me?’
‘I don’t know Phil, it depends at the time, if you want to run then do it, don’t wait for me, if I want to run I’ll be right behind you.’
The train pulls slowly into Adelaide, I lift Gertie’s case, and our shopping bag off the rack, Billy picks up the case and we follow her to the barrier. Between the heads of the crowd waiting to hand in their tickets, I can see a tall Salvation Army man and a small woman, both in uniform, surveying the crowd with them is a policeman. My stomach sinks, why a copper, if they were taking us to a home why do they need a copper.
‘Billy, I’m running there is a copper with them are you coming?’
‘I don’t think so, good luck Phil see you in church.’ I stop Gertie hasn’t noticed. Our train is now empty so I get back on, open a door on the other side, and jump down onto the track. Waiting at the opposite platform is a small train; with difficulty I manage to scramble on board just as it pulls out, there is only one other passenger in the carriage, an old lady, she looks at me as I sit down, I can hear her brain working, where did he come from?
After fifteen minutes the train stops at a small station, a sign says it is Glenelg. I’m not sure what to do, but at the last minute I get off, nobody follows, there is no one at the exit, walking out into a small car park I find myself on a main road. Which way do I go and where am I going anyway? Across the road is a small park with a bandstand, I need to think what I am going to do, and the park looks like a good place to do that.
Sitting on the steps a man passes by walking a dog, the dog looks at me the man doesn’t.
I’m still holding the shopping bag; inside is one, half eaten sandwich left by Gertie and, wrapped in a handkerchief between the folds of Billy’s shirt, is ten shillings. I shout out aloud ‘Thank you Billy, I knew having no pockets would come in handy, Billy you’re a star.’ The man and dog both look around but continue their walk. Now the heat of the moment has gone, sitting here on these steps I feel rather foolish and lost.
What am I going to do, am I to keep on running and, if so where? Perhaps I could go to Melbourne and try to find Rachel but she may not be there, she might be, like Billy and I stuck in a home near Perth. The stories about families adopting us could have been just to make us feel good and there are no families at all. But then, maybe there is and it was just a mistake that we ended up in the wrong group. Mr. and Mrs. Barton may at this moment, be waiting in Melbourne for me to arrive. Chalky and Christine were supposed to take us to Melbourne, I wonder what the row was about; was it about us not going with them? If so it wasn’t a mistake that we went to Blendoon. All the people I know and like are going to Melbourne, Rachel, Chalky, Christine, even the Barton’s are going, well at least that is where they are supposed to go. I’ve made up my mind tomorrow I’m going to Melbourne, I wonder how far it is and in which direction, where will I stay tonight.
Three boys come running to the park, the younger one with his arms spread out making out he is an aeroplane, the other two a bit younger than me, are arguing all three stop in their tracks when they see me.
‘G’day, are you on holiday, are you staying at the camping ground?’
‘Cause he’s not, look at his boots, he’s from the bush.’
‘What you doing here then if you’re not on holiday?’
‘Hello, I don’t know real------’ Aeroplane interrupts me,
‘He’s a Pom; my dad said there’s Pommy bastards everywhere, stealing all the good jobs.’
‘What does your dad know about jobs, he hasn’t worked for years?’
‘Well he can’t with his bad back, can he?’
‘Is that right, are you a Pom, are you from England?’
‘Yes, I’m from London.’ Aeroplane puts his fist up under my chin,
‘Prove it, say something in English.’
‘I am I’m speaking English.’
‘No yer not you’re trying to speak Australian, and not making a very good job of it.’
‘Don’t listen to him he’s stupid; what are you doing here?’
‘I’m trying to go to Melbourne to meet up with my adopted parents.’
‘How come they are there and you’re here?’
‘It’s a long story, but I was on my way to them when, by mistake, I was put in a children’s home, I didn’t like it so I escaped, and here I am.’
‘Bloody hell, are the cops after you?’
‘No, nothing like that, they wanted me to stay until I was fifteen, I didn’t want to wait that long’
‘When’s that then?’
‘Just after Christmas,’ Please forgive me Gran for telling lies.
‘Fair dinkum; you don’t look it.’
‘Believe me its true; I think it is because we don’t get much sunshine in England so we look younger.’ The older one who as yet has not spoken breaks his silence
‘Yeah right, I’d go along with that, look at some of them filum stars, they look real young. What’s your name? Mine’s Andy he’s Bede and he,’ pointing to Aeroplane ‘is Chris.’
‘Phillip Barton; pleased to meet you.’
‘How’d you plan to get to Melbourne it’s over four hundred miles, do you have any money?’
‘Ten bob that’s all.’
‘Geeze, that won’t get you far.’
‘I know, I don’t know what I’m going to do.’
Andy speaks again ‘My dad drives a big semi and is going to Mount Gambia tonight, do you want me to ask him if he will take you, it’s on the way to Melbourne.’
‘Do you think he would; how far is it to Mount Gabriel?’
‘Gambia, its Mount Gambia it’s about two hundred and fifty miles.’
‘That would be great if he would I couldn’t pay him though.’
‘I know that he won’t want paying just the company. I sometimes go with him but I can’t because I have to go to the dentist tomorrow, come on, let’s go, and ask my old man.’
Chapter Twenty Two
Not only has Andy’s dad agreed to take me, but his mum has fed me with cold meat and salad, and packed me some tucker (as she calls it) for the journey. Andy, his dad and me travel to a depot in what they call a Ute. I don’t know why they call it a Ute; I always thought they were called pickup trucks. When Andy said his dad drove a semi I didn’t want to appear ignorant so I haven’t asked. I suspected that a semi was a lorry, but a Ute I have no idea. I’m beginning to think that Aeroplane Chris is right; I have a lot of Australian to learn.
We pull into the depot and stop beside a huge lorry with a covered load.
‘So Phil, what do you think of my truck?’
‘It’s beautiful Mr. Brown; it is the biggest truck I have ever seen.’
‘Glad you like it Phil, call me Sid we don’t stand on ceremony here, everyone uses first names; yer you’re right, she is beautiful; Andy, now get straight on home, no bloody joyriding, yer Mum needs the Ute tomorrow so be careful.’ I can’t believe my eyes, after saying goodbye to me Andy gets behind the wheel of the Ute and drives off.
‘Is he allowed to do that?’
‘Do what?’
‘Drive a car how
old must you be to drive?’
‘To get a license you have to be eighteen, but most kids drive before they leave school, what about you when did you start?’
‘I’ve never started; it was only just over a year ago when I rode in a car for the first time in my life.’
‘How the hell do you Poms get about then?’
‘In the towns by bus mostly, or walk, except in London where everybody uses the underground.’
‘Yeah, I’ve heard about that, didn’t they live down there when the bombing was on?’
‘Some did, we didn’t, we had a shelter at home, but my mum wasn’t in it when our house got bombed and she was killed.’
‘Oh I’m so sorry Phil, come on, let us get this rig on the road.’
I have climbed the three steps up into the cab and must be sitting at least ten feet from the ground. Sid has gone to the depot office to get his paper work. There are only two seats but across the back, behind the seats is a bed. Sid climbs in the cab, flicks a few switches and the engine roars in to life.
‘Right Phil, ready to go?’
‘Yes please, Sid what sort of a truck is this?’
‘It’s a White, built in America, shipped to Oz for the war but never was used, sat in a field for two years, when I bought her she only had hundred and thirteen miles on the clock.’
‘How many does it have now?’ Sid looks at the dash,
‘Eight thousand seven hundred and ----thirty four’
‘Wow as many as that’
‘Yes and I have only had her for, just under six months’
‘You must be in it nearly all the time’
‘Pretty well, but it is not hard work she is easy to drive, she has a fantastic gearbox with a high and low ratio giving me twelve gears in all, no hill whatever the load stops this beauty; I bet Phil you have no idea what I’m talking about I’m probably talking Chinese or double Dutch for all you know, not being a driver.’
Barefoot and Lost Page 35
