That Boy, Jack

by Janeen Brian

  Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Logo

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Glossary

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Best friends Jack and Gilbert made a pact when they were younger – promising to work together in the copper mines, just like their fathers and other Cornish immigrants. But now Jack is turning twelve, and the thought of working underground fills him with panic.

  When Gilbert is forced to leave school and earn a wage, Jack wants to keep his word to his friend – but that means facing his fear. And all the while his heart is telling him to follow another path.

  That boy, Jack must find the courage to choose.

  Chapter 1

  Sometimes Gilbert disappeared.

  It was the smoke, of course. When a wind fanned the flames in a different direction, he’d be there, gappy-toothed and grinning, as if he’d built the huge Midsummer Eve bonfire by himself.

  I must’ve been staring at him, because he cried, “Whatcha’ looking at?” He pulled a face and pranced, a bit like a wooden puppet.

  “An idiot, I reckon, Gilbert Oates! Or should I say, a Cornish piskey,” I said.

  “Ah!” said Gilbert. “So that’d be Jack Pollock, the nasty little spriggan talking. Right, well, we know what to do with spriggans. Arm-wrestle!”

  Laughing, we locked hands and pushed and pulled with all our might.

  “Give up?” said Gilbert.

  “Yes.” But I got him back with a playful punch to his shoulder.

  It was a cold winter’s night in Moonta, South Australia, 1874, and I was with my best friend. Gilbert and I had been mates since we were six and both at Miss Goldsworthy’s school. I had other mates, but there was no one like Gilbert.

  It seemed as if everyone had come to the bonfire, whether they were Cornish or not. Gilbert and I didn’t know many of the people from Moonta town because we lived a twenty-minute walk away, at the Moonta Mines.

  The wind that swept across the paddock, where they’d set the bonfire, was icy like the stars. I was warm enough by the fire, but if I stepped back even a few paces, the cold crept up through my boots and chilled my insides.

  My mam and da came from Cornwall, England, so back then, when they celebrated Midsummer Eve bonfire, it was the middle of summer. Over here, in South Australia, it was winter, and tonight was so cold that my nose dripped.

  The mumble of voices faded and the singing began. During the song “Going up Camborne Hill” I gave a loud sniff. It was such a snort that I got the giggles. When Gilbert mimed the words and pulled more idiotic faces, I couldn’t control myself. We both burst out laughing.

  Da cuffed me from behind. “Behave.”

  Gilbert and I exchanged glances and I struggled to sing on without looking at him.

  “I be watching, Jack,” Da warned in a voice that crackled and rasped in the night air. The cough that followed was harsh and went on for a long time. I knew it hurt Da, because sometimes he’d put his fist to his chest and lean over. Most of the miners, including Mr Oates, Gilbert’s father, had the cough. It came from the dust of working in the mines.

  Da was holding my baby brother, Arthur. Mam had wrapped him up so much, you could hardly see his face. But if Da’s coughing set him bawling, you’d hear him right across the paddock. Then that’d be the end. Mam would say we had to go home.

  Luckily, Da stopped coughing.

  But Dorrie yanked my arm. “Lift me up, Jack,” she shouted amid the singing. “I can’t see properly.”

  “There’s nothing to see,” I said, trying to put her off. “Anyway, you’re too heavy.”

  “I am not! I’m five and five’s not heavy.”

  “You’re lucky you’ve only got one sister,” said Gilbert as I bent down to let Dorrie climb onto my back. “Try having four.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Jack could have four sisters if he wanted, Gilbert,” said Dorrie.

  “I could not, Dorrie. That’s stupid. It’s not me that can have sisters …” I stopped because I wasn’t exactly sure how mothers did get kids that ended up being brothers and sisters. Gilbert’d know. I’d ask him later, when we were alone.

  “And you’re lucky you’ve only got two brothers, Dorrie,” Gilbert went on. “Me and my five brothers sleep in one big bed and it’s all smelly feet and farts.”

  Dorrie giggled. “Gilbert’s silly, isn’t he, Jack?”

  Gilbert was silly. But he was also bright, funny and annoying. I didn’t want to think what it’d be like if he wasn’t around.

  The songs stopped. I shuffled Dorrie to a different position on my back and told her to loosen her arms. She was strangling me. A girl now stood by the fire. She wore a wreath of flowers on her head and was reciting a poem. It could’ve been a good poem, but the crackle of the fire drowned her voice. I glanced up at the stars and let my thoughts wander.

  Reverend Trevallyn snapped me out of my dreaming. The poem had finished and the preacher stepped up onto a box and began booming away. Mam and Da stood attentively, taking it all in.

  Gilbert and I flicked each other’s ears and told jokes until the fireworks flashed and burst into life.

  “This is better!” I cried, spellbound by the colours that streaked towards the stars and all the noises that went with them: zings, whooshes, bangs. The fireworks would probably spook any animals, like our goat, Gertie, but luckily she was too far away to hear.

  A great sparkling red ball rose into the sky, puffed up like a mushroom and then scattered into the darkness.

  “If only we had money, Gilbert,” I said. “Mr Pascoe’s got fireworks in his shop. We could have our own bonfire night.”

  “We’ll get money, Jack. We’ll get a shilling a day for sorting a ton of ore at the mines.”

  “Yeah, but by then, we mightn’t want to spend it on firecrackers.”

  “We won’t be that old when we start work, you dope.”

  Suddenly, there was a bang that shook the ground and clapped at my eardrums.

  People shrieked and leaped back from the fire as if they’d been shot. Burning twigs whizzed through the air, like tiny firecrackers.

  I set Dorrie back on the ground and Mam pulled her away from the fire.

  “You too, Jack,” she said.

  Gilbert and I stared at each other, open-mouthed.

  There was a general hubbub of excitement as the flames died down and people checked their clothing for burn marks.

  “That was some firecracker!” I said to Gilbert.

  “That be no firecracker,” muttered Da, his voice hoarse from anger and coughing. “That be explosive. Bleddy dangerous. Only those from the mines can get their hands on that.”

  “Who’d be doing such a thing?” came a voice nearby.

  “If Captain Rodda finds out who took that ’splosive, that be the end,” added a
nother miner. “The mine captain be fair but strict. If you miss one Sunday churchgoing, you needn’t turn up for your wage next week.”

  “Aye,” agreed someone else in the crowd. “You can leave your helmet and candle behind ’cos there’ll be no more work for you at Moonta Mines.”

  A lady’s voice rose from the crowd. “Then it’d be us wives and children who’d do without because of some husband’s foolish lark.”

  A little later, families began to say their farewells and, with lanterns lit, headed for home.

  “It was a great night, eh, Gilbert?” I said.

  “Yeah, and we’ve got tomorrow too. A day off school to celebrate.”

  “Thanks to Miss Goldsworthy.”

  “I’ll sneak out early so’s Mam doesn’t give me more chores. What’ll we do?”

  Sometimes Gilbert looked to me to come up with ideas. It always surprised and delighted me when he did.

  “What about building a billycart?” I suggested. “We could find everything we need – that’ll be part of the fun. When we’re finished, we’ll hitch up Gertie and go for races with other boys. Like that time we saw at Moonta Bay.”

  Gilbert nodded. “Sounds good. So we’ll need wood and wheels.”

  “Yeah. I reckon we should make a four-wheeled cart first. See how it goes.”

  “Four wheels? They’ll be hard to find. Who throws away wheels?”

  “I dunno.” I grinned in anticipation.

  “Jack!” came a call.

  “Coming, Mam! See you tomorrow, Gilbert. Don’t be late.”

  Chapter 2

  I liked school, but a day exploring with Gilbert was hard to beat. I was awake before the magpies. When they started their carolling, my heart leaped with excitement.

  I hurried outside to milk Gertie, and breathed in the air, which seemed sharper and fresher because it was a holiday. A couple of magpies sat on the back gate near Gertie’s pen, garbling and gargling, heads tilted, as if they had a day off as well.

  I leaned my forehead against Gertie’s flank and pulled her teats until the milk filled the bucket.

  “Here,” I said, tossing her an extra handful of weeds. “You’re my favourite goat.”

  Gertie didn’t even blink. She knew she was the only goat we had, and without her there’d be no milk.

  When I carried the bucket inside, Mam was dishing out the porridge.

  “Gilbert and I are going exploring today, Mam. Looking for stuff to make a cart.” I tipped some of the milk into my bowl and momentarily watched it puddle around the hot, lumpy cereal.

  “You be careful, Jack.”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  “Remember: shafts, pits, holes.”

  “Yes, Mam,” I answered dutifully.

  “Hey!” came a shout from outside. “Jack. You ready?”

  “Coming!” I thrust the dish into the washing-up tub and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Bye, Mam,” I said before dashing outside to where Gilbert waited by the back gate.

  The day was overcast, still with an early morning chill that made my fingers tingle.

  “Lucky it’s not raining,” remarked Gilbert.

  I looked up at the grey clouds with not a drop of rain in them. Mam called them teaser clouds.

  I felt like running. I’m as fast as a nanny goat if I want to be. But around here, you have to keep your eyes open. Not so much near Moonta Mines, where there’s hundreds of cottages, but out further, in the paddocks and wide stretches of land. Over the years, lots of people had tried to find copper and failed so there were dozens of abandoned holes and pits about. Our mams were always warning us about being careful, but I didn’t know anyone who’d fallen in.

  A wintry sun snuck through the clouds and warmed our backs as we headed away from our homes, kicking at stubbly grasses and dumps of limestone rock.

  “Bet I find something first,” said Gilbert.

  “Bet you don’t.”

  But he did. Something good too.

  Beside the tumbled down wall of an old stone cottage, he discovered a wheel.

  “It’s from a pram, isn’t it?” Gilbert’s face glowed as he gazed at it.

  “Probably.” I pushed back the fringe that’d flopped over my eyes, wrestling with the joy of the find and the dark niggling feeling that Gilbert, as usual, had won the bet.

  “It’s good, Gilbert, but where are the other wheels?” I parted a clump of bushes and peered in vain.

  Gilbert wasn’t listening. Clutching a mallee tree branch, he let out a wild yell and belted the rim, sending the wheel rolling drunkenly across the stony ground. When it toppled, he raced up and began to bat it again.

  “We need three more, remember,” I shouted, searching among straggly grasses.

  Next thing Gilbert was yelling like mad. “I’ve lost it!”

  “What?” I called. “What are you talking about?”

  I ran up to where he stood staring into a large cluster of bushes.

  “Where is it?”

  Gilbert pointed. “In there somewhere.”

  “Well, you better get it. We need it.”

  “Yes, sir!” Gilbert used his boot to flatten some of the bushes and his elbow to shield his face from the thorny branches. “Got it. Hey, wait, Jack. Look what else I found behind here.”

  “What?” We needed another three wheels, but I didn’t necessarily want Gilbert to find them all.

  “Come and see.”

  With an exaggerated sigh, I pushed my way closer. Then I stopped. It would be just like Gilbert to spin around and throw a dead rat or a handful of kangaroo droppings at me. Or say, “Look at all the fresh air I found.”

  But it wasn’t any of those things.

  It was an old shaft, overgrown with bushes and long stalky grasses. I glanced at it. “It’s a hole. Come on,” I said.

  “I want to go down. Why don’t we?”

  I knew that look. Gilbert’s eyes flashed like firecrackers and his voice trembled.

  “Not me,” I said, hedging away.

  “Why not?” Gilbert was already shuffling around the edges, testing them with the heel of his boot.

  “Not interested, that’s all.” But that wasn’t all. There was a strange, unexpected fluttering in the pit of my stomach.

  “Miners go down shafts,” Gilbert reminded me with one eyebrow cocked.

  “So I’ve heard,” I countered. But his comment only made things worse. I was going to be a miner one day, so what was wrong with going down a hole? But for some reason, the thought of actually going down one sent a prickly feeling up and down my spine.

  “What if it goes all the way to China?” Gilbert gave a loud guffaw, slid off the edge and vanished from sight.

  “Gil!” I gasped. I pushed my way through the bush, yelping as a thorn jagged my arm. Then I got on all fours and peered into the hole. A sudden smell of musky earth hit my nostrils. From above came the caw of a crow.

  I stared at the top of Gilbert’s head and his thatch of light-brown hair. He’d clambered down, monkey-style, past the section of the hole that’d been roughly lined with branches and timber. Now he was scrabbling deeper, clinging to rocks that jutted out in the gloom.

  “Woo hoo!” he hollered. “Fun, fun, fun!”

  I leaned closer. A sudden flutter of wings and the cry of a pigeon made my heart leap. Cupping my hands, I called, “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” called Gilbert. “I’m at the bottom. I’ve found something. You gotta come and help me lift it up.”

  “I hope it’s a ladder.”

  “Ha-ha! No, it’s not. Come on, Jack. Don’t be such a weakling. I need your help.”

  I was being a weakling and I knew it. I was almost twelve. And three months older than Gilbert. If Gilbert can do it, I said to myself, then so can I. I took a deep breath and wriggled over the edge.

  I kept muttering the words in my head, but they didn’t help. I took another deep breath and started easing myself down. There was a fresh smear of pigeon d
roppings on one of the bits of timber, but I couldn’t worry about that. I just had to grip hard and let my feet work blindly to find as wide a foothold as possible. I looked over my shoulder to see how far down I still had to go. As I shifted my grip, a few grains of grit shot into my eyes. I blinked, not daring to let go although my eyes stung. They watered so much I could hardly see. I stayed like that for a good minute, as if I’d been pinned to the face of the shaft. My throat tightened. I began to shake.

  What was wrong with me?

  Should I yell to Gilbert or keep going? What if I fell?

  I had to do something. Trying to keep the panic out of my voice, I shouted, “Hey, Gilbert, here’s an idea. I’m about halfway. Why don’t you bring whatever you’ve got up to me and I’ll take it to the top? Come on,” I urged. “If anyone can do it, you can.” Gilbert liked dares, and luckily my ruse worked.

  I stayed where I was, breathing shallowly, listening to Gilbert puffing and panting his way upwards.

  It was a length of timber, with rusty metal bits attached.

  “Your turn,” he said, pushing it in my direction.

  It was a terrible moment. I had to let go of my grip on the wall with one hand to grab the bit of wood. It was awkward and heavier than I thought. With my lips pressed together, I hooked the thing under one arm and tried to ignore the hammering in my heart.

  “Race you to the top!” Gilbert laughed and scrabbled ahead of me. I was showered with loosened pebbles but couldn’t speak because of the thick dryness in my throat.

  Near the top, I heaved the wood up onto the grass and clambered out of the shaft, struggling to catch my breath. For the next few minutes, I made a show of brushing the dirt off my clothes, but really I was pushing down a feeling of wanting to be sick.

  Chapter 3

  Of course, I didn’t let Gilbert know how I felt. He would’ve scoffed, thinking I was making it up. Mucking around, like we did. Being scared wasn’t something we’d tell each other. As Gilbert said, we were going to be miners like our fathers, and miners go down holes. And those holes were bigger and hundreds of fathoms deeper than that one.

  Anyway, we still had fun, tearing around the place, finding smaller bits of timber and sucking stones when we got thirsty and couldn’t find any water. There wasn’t a lot of water around where we lived. No river, no lake. Hardly any rain. Just a few springs about a dozen miles from the town.