The Cherry Picker's Daughter

by Aunty Kerry Reed-Gilbert

  ‘They gonna get you!’

  ‘There’s one right behind you, Kerry!’

  Terrified, I stand still, not wanting to take another step. I want Mummy. I’m scared and alone and it’s dark. Paralysed, I stand and watch three bodies run up the top of the gutters; they’ve left me behind! I’m in the middle of the gutters by myself. I start screaming as I watch my sister and brothers leave me and feel the wind encase my body as I would a spirit taking hold of me. I start to run, bolting as fast as my legs will carry me while trying to catch them and swearing at the same time.

  ‘Don’t leave me!’

  ‘Don’t let them get me!’

  Sobbing, I run up the other side of the gutters but I can’t catch up. I can’t breathe. I can’t run no more. I stop, willing air to come back into my lungs so I can begin to scream and yell. I scream at them at the top of my lungs, ‘I’m gonna tell Mummy’.

  They stop, wait. My favourite and best saying, ‘I’m gonna tell Mummy’.

  They call me a sook and say I’d better not dob them in, otherwise I’m gonna cop it. And they won’t take me to see Elvis again.

  When we get home, Mummy asks, ‘What was all the noise down in the gutters?’ They all look at me, daring me to tell on them, but I don’t—know they’ll get me if I do. And I don’t really wanna get them into trouble.

  I say, ‘Nothing, Mummy. We was just singing.’

  I didn’t tell, but they still leave me down the gutters every time we go to the pictures. Scaring me to death. I love Elvis so much. If we got no money, the kids aren’t allowed to tell me if Elvis is on at the pictures. If they do, I wanna go so bad that I chuck a big tantrum and I cry and scream out at the top of my lungs about going to see him. One day, to keep me quiet, Mummy told me I was gonna go to the blanket show instead of the picture show. I was so happy.

  I asked her, ‘What’s the blanket show?’

  She tells me, ‘It’s a surprise, but if you hurry up, brush your teeth and put your pyjamas on, then you’ll find out’.

  I run and do my teeth and change into my pyjamas and then I’m back, quick as lightening.

  ‘I’m ready, Mummy,’ I tell her, and then she gets up and takes me into my bedroom and tells me to get into bed so she can tuck me in. I start crying.

  ‘I wanna go to the blanket show.’

  ‘Come on, then. This is the blanket show. You go to bed.’

  The kids start laughing, teasing me. I’m angry and upset—I wanted to go to the picture show not the lousy blanket show. I don’t wanna go there; I wanna go to the pictures and see Elvis!

  All the next day, the other kids tease and tease: ‘Kerry, you wanna go to the blanket show?’

  I hate them. They’re always tormenting me. As soon as I get something wrong or do something dumb, they give me heaps.

  13

  Daddy’s home

  Daddy’s home. He’s been gone a long time but he’s back and he’s got presents for all us kids. He brought me a pair of red boots and he’s brought lots of lollies, too. The boots are so pretty and just right—I won’t take them off. Mummy’s worried Daddy spent most of his pay on lollies and presents. He stays for a little bit, then he’s off to work once more. He must see lots of the bush as he pumps up and down on the little railway machine. We don’t see him again for a while.

  Each Sunday night, we get our school clothes ready. Heating up the old iron on the stove fire, Mummy presses our uniforms. It’s called a serge uniform and the pleats are hard to do—you’ve gotta get the lines perfect. We have to wrap a tea towel around the handle when it’s hot enough to do the job, otherwise it would burn our hands when we grabbed it. Lynnie irons the house clothes and I’m allowed to iron the hankies and tea towels when the iron’s cooled down a bit.

  Some nights, Mummy will do all the ironing if she’s not worn out but I reckon she must get pretty buggered sometimes. She never stops and that’s why us kids gotta help with the house and our chores. Mummy and Aunty Doris (Mummy’s big sister), they always work like a man because they have to—sometimes, men’s work is the only work they can get to feed all us kids. I hear stories of her and Aunty Doris going stick-picking to feed all us kids and how they had to walk for a mile to get to work and back again. That’s where all the bigger kids came in handy, helping to mind us little ones. Aunty Doris has a lot of kids; she’s married to Uncle Clyde.

  Life on the Island is happy. Maureen is gonna marry Sam. I’m a little kid about six and a half but Maureen is nearly seventeen at this stage (she’s ten years older than me). We all get special clothes to wear. Kevin and Paddy each have a suit with a little bow tie, while me and Lynnie get a pretty dress. I get one with a petticoat. Maureen tells us girls how pretty we look and so does Mummy. We all pose for photos, smiling up real big. We feel so good in our special clothes.

  But it turns out we got the clothes for nothing because us four younger kids aren’t allowed to go to the wedding. They said no kids were allowed. Again, I hear whispers about us not being real brothers and sisters and that’s why. Some people are so dumb— we’re all brothers and sisters and I’m the baby, don’t they know that? Boy, people can make you so mad, especially when they don’t know what they’re talking about.

  Mummy tells us we can wear our special clothes to the Condo Show instead, which is soon. The Condo Show is the best thing that happens each year. It’s got lotsa rides, showbags and fairy floss; I love the Cha-Cha ride the best. One of the bigger kids has to get on there with me because it goes fast and I’ll fly off if I’m by myself.

  Every time I line up with Lynnie and Kevin to get on that Cha-Cha, I try to remember what side not to sit on so that I can squash the other kids. But no matter how much I try, I always get it wrong and it’s always me getting squashed. Every year I make a vow that one day when I’m bigger, I’m gonna squash them and then they can yell at the top of their lungs. Paddy’s grown now so he can go on the bigger and faster rides. We only see him when he comes to check on us or to give us some extra spending money if he’s won any. He’s good for sharing what he’s got with us younger ones.

  Maureen lives down the road from us now. Her and Sam live with Sam’s parents in the house down near the water pump. We miss her a lot, especially when our big brothers come around and give us a hard time. They like to pick on Paddy and Kevin more than me and Lynnie. Paddy’s in trouble today. I don’t know what he’s done; I only know he’s gonna get it real bad. Me and Kevin run down the road for Maureen. Lynnie stays, trying to help Paddy, but us four younger kids are no match for the big ones.

  We all know that Maureen tries to protect us and fights with the big boys if they threaten to give us a flogging if they think one of us has been bad or done something wrong. Today, we gotta save Paddy. We run down to Maureen’s house, screaming for her to help save us—she has to stop the hiding. We run down there as fast as we can, screaming out at the top of our lungs before we have even made it into the gate. She runs back with us, her pregnant belly running before her; she knew the urgency was there. Today, she wins and there’s no hiding for Paddy. They never pick on us when Mummy’s around.

  And, sometimes, our big brothers are really mean for no reason; so we hate it when Maureen goes away from the Island because we’ve got no one to protect us from them when Mummy’s at work. Meryl would protect us but she’s away in Bible College.

  If Mummy found out the big boys were giving us a hard time, she’d be angry. If we’re really bad, we only get a hiding off Mummy. I ain’t never got a hiding yet but, if she’s cranky with us kids, then we gotta do extra chores like cut a stack of wood or something. If it’s me she’s cranky with, I gotta help the boys wash up, even if it’s not my turn.

  When we’ve done something real bad, then we gotta go and pick a stick from the tree and bring it back inside. We gotta test that stick to make sure it has a swoosh sound. If it don’t make a swoosh noise, then we’ve gotta pick another one. I think she just does that to scare us; I don’t think any of us ev
er got the stick.

  We go on being happy living on the Island and, for us kids, its back to normal: school, Mummy working hard and us trying to be good so the Welfare can’t take us away.

  14

  Happy Christmas

  It’s 1963 and I’m seven years old. Opening the back door, I hear the wireless going. Mummy’s been crying; John F. Kennedy, a good man, has died. She says that he was trying to make things better for the Black people over in America and that we need somebody like that here in Australia—somebody who would stand up and be counted for Aboriginal people. The wireless gets turned off and we’re not allowed to play; we gotta show respect.

  Soon after that, I gotta go to Sydney to the doctor’s to get my tonsils and adenoids out, all in one go. Mummy takes me up there herself, just us two. I get plenty of ice cream to eat and Mummy sits at my bed, waiting patiently for me to get better; for the doctor to tell her I can go home.

  I don’t remember much about the train ride up there but I sure had a good train ride home. In Sydney, we find Johnny’s future wife, Beryl, and her baby boy. His name is Raymond but I call him Nay, and he is lovely. They are travelling home with us. The train is an old one that rattles along the track, but I like the sound, rattle, rattle, rattle. The seats are real leather, real soft to sit on. Above the seat, are rails that hold our luggage; they’re all gold and shiny. I ask Mummy if it’s real gold and she tells me, no. Mummy lets me have the window seat and gives me sandwiches to eat. She tells me that, when the train stops, she’ll buy me a drink and a lolly.

  I ask for my turn to hold Nay, every now and then; he’s a good baby and happy. I pull funny faces at him and make him smile. I sit and look out the window. First, I see all the houses go past then, all of a sudden, there’s nothing but trees. It’s so lovely out there. I love looking at all the trees rushing past you real fast. I tell Mummy she’s gotta have a look out the window. And she does.

  I see her reflection in the glass and she looks so pretty, saying we have the most beautiful country in the world. I sit and watch the miles go by as the train takes me back to my brothers and sisters. I’ve missed them so much, even if they tease me. I just wanna go home now, to the Island.

  Beryl’s in love with my brother, Johnny, and they’re gonna get married. That means her and Nay are gonna be a part of my family. I’m happy we’ve got two new babies now. Maureen’s little boy, we call him Bo, was born in October, three days after my birthday, so I’ve become an Aunty two times and I’m still only seven years old. We are so lucky. They both get very spoilt; me and Lynnie play with them instead of our dolls now.

  I’m getting big. Now I’m allowed to cut the pine wood to light the fire. Lynnie has to watch me while she gets to cut the big wood. I’ve gotta use the tomahawk, Mummy said. I’m too little yet to use the big axe by myself, but I don’t mind. Soon, I know I’m gonna swing that axe and I bet I can cut the big wood just as good as the boys.

  It’s cherry-picking time but I’m still sick. Mummy and the other kids are gonna go and pick the fruit without me, and I’m staying here on the Island with Aunty Carol and Uncle Paddy. They’re gonna watch the house and me. It’s okay but I wish I’d gone picking. If my stupid tonsils didn’t have to come out, I would’ve been able to go. The paddock is ten times better than staying home; I love picking cherries and, best of all, I love climbing the trees. My favourite spot is right up the fork of the tree to the highest branch where I can stand and look out at the world.

  Mummy and the kids finally come home from the cherry picking. I run out to the car and jump into my mother’s arms, kissing her, holding onto her for dear life. Finally, she unwinds her body from my arms and I give my brothers and sister a kiss and a cuddle. I’m so happy. I tell her I don’t ever want her to leave me again; I’ve missed them all so much.

  She asks whether everything was all right while she was gone. I tell her, ‘Yes’. Everything was good and it was. And even if it wasn’t, I know better now than to say a bad word about anybody, otherwise they’ll tell Mummy I was naughty and she’ll send me away, and the Welfare will come and take me. I hate the Welfare.

  It’s Christmas Day and all the family is here. I’m so happy! Santa brought me lots of things, lots of clothes and I’ve got a doll’s cradle. My bride doll fits just perfect.

  Mummy and the big girls have been cooking real hard all day. They have been slaving over that old wood stove for hours. Perspiration was dripping off them, and walking into the kitchen from outside, the heat knocks you rotten. The smell of a baked dinner with lotsa goodies has been teasing our noses all morning— we know a big feast is about to happen.

  Christmas! I love all the presents and all the tucker, but I love the lollies the best. Mummy puts lollies out so us kids can have some whenever we want, even before dinner. There’s peanuts and chips and licorice allsorts and bullets and cobbers—all our favourites, spread out on the table waiting for us to eat, eat and enjoy. We’re so lucky.

  Mummy said we’re not to make ourselves sick from eating too many and we had to save room for Christmas dinner; but she doesn’t know that the boys take lots and put them in their pockets ’cause they’re pigs. Mummy and the girls bring out all the food. There’s everything: a baked leg, a chook, baked potatoes and pumpkin and lots more. Everybody’s around the table; we’re a big family. We all pile around, making sure we can all fit in, but we didn’t have to worry—the table’s big enough to hold us all.

  A special Christmas pudding was made by Mummy and it’s got sixpences and threepences in it. All us kids are hoping our piece of pudding has a coin. I’m getting close to the end of mine and I can’t see any. I don’t reckon I got one, not even a threepence. I feel my bottom lip quiver, close to tears at the thought that I was gonna miss out. She reaches over (slipping a coin in) and tells me to wait till I’ve finished and to have a closer look. I try to stop the tears from springing to my eyes and look real hard at my last spoonful of pudding, willing a coin to be there, just waiting for me to find. Mummy was right, I’ve gotta a coin and it’s a sixpence.

  I show my coin to everyone and tell them all how rich I am, and that I’m gonna buy some lollies up at Wright Heaton’s and maybe even something at Chamen’s. All us kids got a coin and we all talk at once on what we’re gonna buy. It’s not that often we get to be so rich together. Christmas day is real special, too; us younger kids don’t have to do no work. No washing up, wiping up or even cutting wood—it’s our day off. All we gotta do is be good and play together out the front. We play lotsa games together, like rounders, “Simon says”, “pick up sticks”. Even Mummy and the other grown-ups come out to play with us. Christmas day; the best day of all.

  Boxing Day. That’s pretty good, too; that’s another family day. It’s the day that all the ones who couldn’t come yesterday, come. We all head down to the riverbank, the part where we cart our water from. We have a great family corroboree and light a fire to cook our tucker on; and we all play games and we fish and relax.

  Finding two dead stumps and a piece of tin, the boys make us a barbecue—the tin is to put on top of the wood to cook the meat. Us kids gotta run up and down the riverbank and find wood to keep the fire going. Mummy and the girls start the cooking. Me, I’m just waiting for the meat to be cooked. I love the sausages and chops cooked on that old piece of tin with lots of tomato sauce and onions wrapped between a slice of fresh bread. It makes my seven-year-old belly so happy.

  While the women cook the tucker, the men make the fishing lines for us kids. Each of us has to find a stick that’s strong enough to use. It’s like a race: we all line up, and on the count of three, start running till we find the perfect stick. For some reason, we all start running in the same direction, heading to the same tree. Usually, the big kids get there first and us little ones gotta go and find another tree with some sticks under it. That’s not hard to do; the trees line up, side by side, guarding the riverbank so there’s plenty for us to choose from.

  Bringing our sticks ba
ck to the men, they wrap just enough fishing line on the stick and where the cork, hook and sinker needs to be. All the bigger kids are lined up in front of me, getting theirs made. I stand impatiently, waiting for them to hurry up so I can chuck my line in, too.

  When all the lines are made, we race along the riverbank picking out our favourite fishing spot. We run fast, trying to make sure no one beats us to it. We gotta be careful there’s no snags in the water. If there’s a tree branch sticking outta the water where you wanna fish, you know that spot’s no good. If you chuck your line out where there’s snags, when you pull it back in, you’ll break your line and lose your hook and sinker. We can’t chuck our line in where our water pump is either, otherwise we’d get a snag for sure.

  Us kids aren’t allowed to go too far away from the grown-ups so we’re all spread out along the riverbank with just enough room between us not to get the lines tangled up when we chuck them out. It’s my favourite time of all, sitting on the riverbank, chucking that line in, just sitting there watching the water ripple in with the current and feeling the sun beaming right down on you. I reckon this is what heaven would be like.

  We always race to see who can catch the first fish. Whoever gets him first always gets a surprise. I cross my fingers hoping it’s me. I wanna catch a big yellow belly, the best fish in the world. I don’t want no catfish to jump on my line. Mummy says we don’t eat it, so we don’t—I think it’s a cultural tradition but I don’t really know. Our fish is the yellow belly; we can eat that one and it tastes good.

  This spot is where we go swimming, too, and our learn-to-swim school when one of the little kids has gotta learn. Us older kids and some of the grown-ups form a circle out in the river and one of the men will chuck each one into the water in the middle of us all and they gotta swim back to the riverbank.

  I hear the male voice go one, two, and then we all yell three together. I feel the splash and the river wash over me, nearly drowning me. I scrape the water from my face and hold my breath, waiting and watching, willing them to start dog-paddling. The grown-ups all watch to make sure everything’s okay. When each kid has reached the riverbank, we all start clapping and hawhooing.