CHAPTER 46
Much Food For Thought, and The Gates To The Land Of Boyhood
Father received a warning from the Ingham police shortly before the gale-front hit, following which he instructed me to assemble the boys in the dormitory. I was then to count heads and make sure everyone was there. We were then to remain in the dorm until further notice, he added.
Little credence was given to the news at first. This would just be another big, windy storm, we decided, and we’d experienced plenty of those during our time at Gower Abbey. Some had even been of considerable magnitude, taking roofs off farm buildings, uprooting trees and bringing down power lines. Wild weather, certainly, but nothing serious enough to be concerned about.
This was cyclone country, however, so we’d heard plenty of warnings and done plenty of drills. None of them ever seemed to affect us, though. Some just drifted around at sea and petered out, while those that did make landfall invariably crossed the coast elsewhere.
On receiving Father’s alert we went into our standard “batten-down-the-hatches” mode with no sense of urgency. Books and comics came out, Monopoly games got under way and some of the more financially adventurous re-opened our occasional wet-weekend penny-poker school.
The management had never been happy about these poker games (for obvious reasons) but tolerated them if we were “just playing cards”. The wagering was only a penny in and a penny a raise anyway, but to support this pretense all evidence of sinful gambling had to be eliminated. As a result no actual money was used – nor matches nor marbles – and neither could we keep notes. Instead we used mental reckoning, which meant each participant had to maintain an accurate running account of his credit or debit with every other player.
Nearly all the boys had joined the game at one time or another and, to the best of my recollection, not one of them had ever experienced difficulty in remembering and adjusting his changing fiscal situation with each of the other participants.
It was laughable really. If we had been required to perform the same mental gymnastics in the classroom the protests would have been deafening – all of which led me to suspect that this was just another example of Father O’Long’s manipulating us gently into exercising our grey-matter.
But Father did have limits. He too had been a pupil at a small bush school, he once reminded me. Nothing we might dream up – nothing – would lie beyond the realm of his own, less-than-untarnished childhood years.
“…Nor must you imagine, Cassidy, that you and your enterprising friends might be out in front of me,” he’d continued in a not too unfriendly way, “because I can assure you now, you are not; you are well behind – closer than any can I recall, as it happens, except for just the one possible occasion, but still a good way behind.
“…So why don’t you and your associates consider closing your little gambling school before I find out about it, eh?” ...comments which later gave us all much food for thought.
His odd blackjack-night was fine – proceeds to the charity of Father’s choice. Our little poker game had been conceived purely with profits in mind.
After a few hours of lockdown it became obvious to us that this was no ordinary storm. The intensity of wind and rain had increased steadily until they reached a point where we had to shout at each other to make ourselves heard. It was beginning to appear that for once the warnings might actually concern us.
And then, just when we thought it couldn’t get any worse, the gale suddenly intensified and the noise became a tearing primeval scream. Shortly after that came some different sounds, as sections from the new school building began smashing into the dining room side of the dorm. This was opposite where we were sheltering so we were well away from the bombardment.
About then we called a halt to our recreational activities and began considering some internal fortifications. Not that the integrity of the old place concerned us; it had survived, after all, the many years’ batterings of numerous storms and a great many schoolboys. With luck it would hold this time.
Despite our confidence in it we went ahead with our differing emergency plans anyway. All involved collecting furniture with which to build fortified strongholds.
One group of boys began dragging the dining room tables and chairs into the front room of the dormitory. Others went about retrieving cupboards, lockers and bed frames from the sleeping sections.
The structures grew rapidly and were soon overlapping, at first just jammed together but quickly becoming woven into an integrated structure.
It would have shored up the walls of Jericho.
Our bedding had gone onto the floor during the construction phase. All we needed to do before crawling into our cubbyholes and settling down for the night was to retrieve some extra clothes and a few comics from our pile of belongings plus a torch if we owned one.
Prior to occupying my own little nook I made sure everyone else was settled in and gave reassurance where needed. Most of the boys came from North Queensland, however, and were mentally prepared rather than anxious. They’d experienced big winds before and knew what was required of them. This gave strength and encouragement to the initiates among us.
And so, as darkness fell and the power failed – and the last few fragments from the new classrooms battered away at the outside of the dining room – we all settled down to contemplating the great wonders of nature, God’s Grand Design and the interesting but microcosmic part we each would play in the destiny of the universe.
I was proud of them. Despite the circumstances and our cramped conditions there wasn’t a single murmur of complaint.
But complaining would have been pointless anyway. No one would have heard it above the fury. And we’d done the best we could. Now, in the close company of our mates, we were ready for the trial.
Getting to sleep must have seemed impossible at first, yet unabating noise from cyclonic wind, driving rain and assorted flying debris can only hold a boy’s attention for so long. Eventually sleep would have come, and without their even knowing it was near.
Around one o’clock in the morning I was awoken by a sudden prolonged lull in the wind. Shortly after that a wet and wretched looking figure came into our midst.
Well; almost.
It was Brother SanSistez, bearing a flashlight and an anxious expression. He’d managed to force the door enough to squeeze part way through, but it had taken a heroic effort. That, however, was as much as he could manage. The assemblage was wall to wall; there was no way of forcing it further.
Head and one arm inside the room, Brother shone his torch around the three-deep jumble of tables, beds and lockers. There wasn’t a boy in sight.
“Are you there, Kevin?” he shouted. “Is everyone all right?”
I grabbed my torch then squeezed and wriggled out of the cubbyhole I was sharing with Rocky and Zack. “I’m over here,” I said as I clambered across the structure. “Everyone’s good Brother. We made ourselves a shelter in case the building started coming to pieces.”
“So I noticed. We were concerned about how you might be faring but I can see we needn’t have worried.”
“Yeah, we’re all right. The old place seems to be holding together pretty well. A lot of stuff has been crashing into the other side of the dining room, though. I think it’s coming from the new classrooms. But what about the presbytery; has that held together?”
“It seems to have – so far. And you boys seem to be coping. But this is not the end of it. We’ll be hit by the other side of it soon – from the other direction. I’m getting back to the presbytery while I can.”
He eased himself out and disappeared into the blackness. I slammed the door shut then wedged it tight with a spare bedside cupboard. This eerie calm ment that the eye of the cyclone was passing right over the school and we had taken the full brunt of the storm.
…Or half the brunt, to be more precise. The second half would soon be upon us.
Just as I was settling into my cubbyhole sleeping arrangement an exp
losive blast slammed into the dormitory, this time from the opposite direction, then it raged on for the rest of the night.
And when the first grey wash of dawn came to the eastern sky the great storm’s cyclonic winds had blown themselves out to little more than a common gale.
(With apologies to M. Angelo, God, The Pope and Saint Sistine.)
In ones and twos we awoke in the early half-light and began crawling from our catacombs. Outside we surveyed the carnage.
The most significant change to our general schoolscape was the vacant site previously occupied by the new classrooms. Little remained of the building apart from the floor and a few splintered remnants of timber framework.
Next most dramatic was the wall of the dining room closest to that site. Its appearance was not unlike something which had been used for artillery practice over a prolonged period of time. Apart from that the dormitory and other buildings had weathered the storm in style; they merely looked as if they’d been through a cyclone.
A few trees were down and many had lost major limbs, though the majority had survived. The big tamarind was intact and some of the mango trees seemed undamaged. But all of them – in fact, nearly every tree in the Sherbert Valley left standing – had been stripped clean of foliage. They now stood silhouetted against the rapidly clearing sky, all gaunt and alien-looking in the morning light. Our cane fields had been devastated as well, along with everyone else’s.
Father O’Long’s early tour of inspection included a quick visit to both the fortress and the abandoned dormitory sections. And it is fair to say that he was not unimpressed with what he saw.
“In the main you boys have done remarkably well,” he told us at what was to be my last morning assembly – an eerie affair with all the naked trees and debris lying everywhere.
“You have shown a great deal of initiative in coping with this dangerous and unexpected situation, and I’m proud of the way you handled it. I would also like to congratulate you on the teamwork and self-reliance that you so manifestly demonstrated. At times like this an individual’s mettle is well tested. And, by anyone’s standards, you have all come through with flying colours.
“Now I don’t intend to make any further comment regarding the state of the dormitory until I’ve had the opportunity to give it a proper inspection. There’s a great deal of clearing up to be done, lads, and before we get too organised you may feel it appropriate to make certain, um ... adjustments, to your accommodation.”
After being dismissed we set to work, our first job dismantling the fortress and returning the dormitory and dining room to something approaching normality. Construction of our shelters had been driven by urgency, with no heed given to where anything might have come from. As a result, despite most items of furniture having a great deal of distinctive artwork and carving, identifying each one as it was separated from the mass was nearly impossible. Mostly you just took what you were given.
There was also the problem of the various lockers’ and drawers’ earlier contents, with shoes, clothes, books and other personal possessions being emptied onto the floor willy-nilly as furniture was commandeered for the common good. It left the vacated sections of dormitory looking like hastily abandoned refugee shelters … which I suppose was pretty much the case.
A few boys had put their things in an orderly heap, but most of us had simply emptied out the required item as urgency seemed to dictate – in many cases for the first time in years.
All the telephone lines were down, of course, so no one could contact the school, but parents and others soon started turning up to collect their precious lambs and see how the school had fared.
Those farther down the valley couldn’t get here until the following day. The bridge had survived but needed temporary decking repairs before anyone could use it.
Among the first to come across were my Mum and Dad. When I saw them drive in I ran across to the car and gave my mother a hug. She responded by bursting into tears, obviously relieved their heir to the Cassidy fortune had survived the cyclone undamaged.
And it was then, for the first time, that I actually realised how little she was.
Certainly I had grown, particularly over this last year, and during the final term it seemed as if nothing I owned would fit me any more. But a boy’s mother is by nature a larger-than-life figure, at once his refuge and well-being, his warmth and his love.
And when the scales are finally lifted from his eyes it comes as something of a shock, for he suddenly sees her as she really is – a loving mother no less and irreplaceable, yet a person of average height and stature ... or whatever the case might be.
My Dad came over and comforted her gently as she regained her composure. And from all my memories I can recall no other time when I felt more love and appreciation for them, for who they were and what they meant to me.
The night of the cyclone had been particularly trying at Hopeless Farm, with a number of buildings suffering damage. Our house had lost part of its roof and a great deal of water had come in.
Mum had taken it very well, Dad said. They’d been terribly worried about me, though, and had prayed for my safety. “…Well, for all of you, of course,” he added.
The great Gower Abbey clean-up was managed by Brother SanSistez and Brother Aufmein, as Father O’Long was too busy greeting and reassuring parents and saying farewell to the students as they left – mostly until next year. And he seemed genuinely delighted to see my Mum and Dad.
I was loading my things into the car when he came across. After greeting them he invited us to join him for lunch at the presbytery. Mrs Finnegan had prepared some tea and sandwiches on his earlier instruction and joined us as we sat down.
Our circumstances had been reduced somewhat by the power failure, but that was soon fixed and the shortages largely overcome by donations. Every vehicle that arrived delivered something useful – meat, eggs and other perishables, bread, cakes, garden produce and many large containers of hot food.
With my departure now imminent it was only natural Father O’Long would have something to say to my parents. But he waited until we’d finished our meal and were walking across the grass to the car before broaching the subject. Except for the missing Lazarus Tree (and Lazarus) the scene could have been a replay of our very first visit.
“I was going to say a few words about Kevin’s departure during speech night, Mr and Mrs Cassidy,” he said, “though I won’t go into that now. What I do want to tell you is this: Even without the cyclone, it’s going to be a different Gower Abbey we come back to next year. And the main reason for this will be the absence of Kevin Cassidy.
“You know … at first it seems quite odd, because for a time we have to keep reminding ourselves that certain familiar and reliable faces are now absent. One tends to go about one’s business half expecting to bump into them coming around the next corner.
“And this is how it will be with Kevin, Mr and Mrs Cassidy. Your son has made a tremendous contribution to Gower Abbey – even without considering the mining royalties the school will receive as a result of his initiative and determination.
“Yes, Kevin has certainly left his mark. He’s made a deep impression on everyone here and we are all going to miss him. And every one of us will be proud to say, ‘I was at Gower Abbey College during the time Kevin Cassidy was there’.
“You must encourage him to go on with his education, of course. I don’t think that will be difficult, though, because Kevin has the potential to become a person of real standing in the community. I’ll be keen to follow his progress, too, and you must make sure he keeps in touch with us.”
My Mum and Dad were just glowing with pride. At the car they thanked Father for his help and guidance, and for everything else he had done. I wanted to say something gracious as well, but for some reason the words simply wouldn’t come. In the end I just shook his hand and mumbled “Thank you, Father”, then sort of choked up.
No doubt Father had been through thi
s situation many times before. He gave me a manly pat on the shoulders and said, “Thank you’s aren’t necessary, Kevin. You’ve done exceptionally well. Good luck to you and God Bless.”
At the car most of the remaining school population was waiting to shake hands and say goodbye. Rocky and Sash were not among them, however. They both lived on this side of the bridge and their parents had been among the first to arrive following the big blow.
Goodbyes mostly over I excused myself and ran back to the dormitory. I said it was to check in case I’d forgotten something, but what I really wanted was to have one last look at my own little corner.
That done, it was farewells all round, into my Dad’s new Falcon Station Wagon ... and with a last wave to my mates and comrades, we drove away.
As we rolled out of the school compound onto the main road I was overcome with the oddest feeling – as if all the things that had happened here were somehow just images and memories from a vivid, extended dream.
And then I realised.
The final page in this chapter of my life was turning. In my heart I could hear the gates to the Land of Boyhood … slowly and irrevocably swinging shut. And, for better or for worse, the person known as Casey would remain forever behind them.
And Kevin William Cassidy could never return.
Kevin Cassidy The Cassidy Chronicles Page 45
