The Audrey of the Outback Collection

by Christine Harris

  ‘They are needles, not sticks.’ Mrs Paterson peered over the top of her metal-framed glasses. ‘It’s high time you learnt. Come and watch over my shoulder.’

  Audrey put down her pencil and paper. Knitting might be a ‘Do’ that was fun. She could make something warm for Dad to wear when he camped out bush.

  Close up, Mrs Paterson smelt like baby powder. She didn’t smell old. Although Audrey wasn’t sure what old was supposed to smell like. Potatoes didn’t smell too good when they got wrinkly and started to sprout. But potatoes were not the same as people.

  ‘This is how you hold the needles. You rest each one on the part of your hand between your thumb and forefinger and you do this …’ Mrs Paterson twiddled the needles and a stitch appeared.

  ‘That’s like magic.’

  ‘Magic is an instrument of the Devil. So is card-playing. This is simply knotting yarn with two needles.’

  Audrey wondered why a devil would want to play cards.

  ‘Here’s how I learnt to knit when I was young,’ said Mrs Paterson.

  Audrey sneaked a look at her grey hair and the wrinkles on her long neck. It was hard to imagine her being a little girl. But she wasn’t born with her hair in a bun or her heart in a cage.

  ‘In through the bunny hole …’ Mrs Paterson inserted the right needle into the first loop on the left needle. ‘Around the big tree.’ She wound the yarn between the two needles. ‘Back through the bunny hole.’ The right needle came back across the middle loop. ‘And off hops he.’ Mrs Paterson pulled the new loop of yarn from the left to the right needle.

  ‘Of course, I can’t give you needles while you’re learning. You might break them. You can start with nails. There are some long ones out in the shed.’

  ‘Nails won’t make the right sound,’ said Audrey, half-expecting an abrupt reply.

  But instead, Mrs Paterson slowly nodded. ‘You are quite right. I practised knitting with nails in the outside toilet on Sundays when I was your age. My father was a good man, but strict. He believed the Sabbath should be rigidly enforced. No activity of any kind.’

  ‘I practise reading in your dunny,’ said Audrey.

  The old lady lowered her eyelids. ‘Of course what I did was deceitful. I do not approve of such behaviour now that I know better.’

  ‘Who are those people in the photos on the mantelpiece?’

  Mrs Paterson’s hands stopped making bunny holes and sending yarn around big trees. ‘Hasn’t anyone taught you that asking questions of grown-ups is rude?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’d remember something like that.’

  ‘You have been in the bush too long. It’s a disgrace.’ Mrs Paterson stabbed her needles into the ball of wool. ‘You, child, are going to be my next project. Let us see if we can shake the bush dust from your manners and turn you into a lady.’

  Audrey felt her heart sink into her shoes.

  Beltana, April 1930

  Dear Mum,

  I wrote the top of this letter like you showed me and the numbers are real ones. See? Not like the dead ones on the clock.

  Hope you are having a good rest. Me and Dougie miss you. Xx. That was two kisses, one form from each of us.

  Mrs Paterson is teaching us to do good manners at the tabel table. So far we learned—

  Don’t sing when you are eating. (You’d spit on the table.)

  Don’t put your head down to your bowl. Bring the spoon up to your mouth. (When I told Mrs Paterson that lifting the spoon makes splashes on the tablecloth she said that King George would never put his head down to the bowl so we carnt neither. But I don’t think she has really seen the King.)

  Mrs Paterson says Stumpy is a lie. Which is anuther lie. She reckons I’m not aloud to say he is real. But if I say he’s not then that is a lie too. So I got some thinking to work that one out. Stumpy is not here much. He knows Mrs Paterson doesn’t like him.

  My hand is hurting so I will stop now.

  Before I go to sleep I will say goodnight to you, Dad and Price. Even tho you carnt hear me. That’s why I told you.

  Love from Audrey, Dougie and Stumpy

  Eighteen

  Audrey lay in the dark. The third night in Mrs Paterson’s house was no easier than the first. Back home, she knew all the sounds. Even the tiny feet that sometimes ran across the roof didn’t bother her. Possums were naughty but fun.

  As hard as Audrey listened, she couldn’t hear Stumpy outside. The first camel-breeding station in Australia was only a few miles away, so Stumpy was probably out there making friends.

  Mrs Paterson’s house seemed to breathe.

  ‘Audwey,’ whispered Douglas from the other bed.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I want to go home now.’

  It was a perfect sentence, the longest one Audrey had heard her little brother say.

  ‘We can’t leave Mum here at the hospital on her own, can we?’ said Audrey.

  Something scratched at the window.

  ‘Wossat?’ asked Douglas.

  ‘Twigs from that tree outside the window, moving in the wind.’

  It was the right thing to say. The kind of thing Mum would say, but Audrey didn’t sound nearly as confident.

  The scratching came again. Leaves shaking in the wind sounded like whispering.

  Audrey called out, ‘Mrs Paterson.’

  There was no answer.

  ‘Mrs Paterson!’

  A light came on down the hallway. Audrey heard Mrs Paterson’s slippers scuffing the linoleum. Then she appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a dressing-gown that was as dark as her daytime clothes.

  ‘What is the matter?’

  Audrey turned onto her side. ‘Can me and Dougie have the light on?’ Then she added ‘please’, remembering how fond of that word Mrs Paterson seemed to be.

  ‘Have you been naughty?’

  ‘Not ’specially. ’Course, sometimes I might be naughty and I don’t know. So maybe that isn’t really naughty. Can you be naughty if you don’t know you’re doing it?’

  There was a pause, then Mrs Paterson’s voice floated around the room like a leaf on water. ‘I have not understood one word you just said. No, you may not have the light on all night. If you have been good, then you do not need to be afraid of the dark.’

  ‘I’m not scared of the dark,’ said Audrey. ‘I’m scared of the house.’

  ‘It is just walls and rooms.’

  ‘This house is sad.’

  Mrs Paterson gasped. At least, Audrey thought she did. The sound was so quiet that she couldn’t be sure.

  The old lady turned and walked away.

  Seconds later, the light went out.

  Audrey knew her dad wasn’t often wrong. Yet she wondered if he had made a mistake about everyone having a good side.

  She went across to the other bed, scooped up Douglas and carried him over to her own. He took her pillow and kicked her in the leg several times before he settled.

  Audrey lay awake long after she finished telling Douglas stories about Stumpy’s pranks. Long after Douglas started snoring and twitching. And long after the sound of crying had faded at the other end of the house.

  Nineteen

  ‘Make sure the water is boiling.’ Mrs Paterson’s voice easily reached the kitchen from the sitting room.

  ‘I will,’ Audrey called back.

  She was careful, as her mum had taught her. This stove was a corker. The wood fire was inside a metal box and the kettle sat on top of it. At home, Audrey’s family had only an open fire in their kitchen.

  ‘Warm the pot first.’

  ‘I will.’ Audrey had already done it, but she didn’t want to say so.

  A mound of black leaves from a Griffiths Brothers Choice Tea tin sat in the pot. Was that too many? It would be too hard to dig them out. Anyway, what would she do with them? The leaves were damp and couldn’t go back in the tin. Audrey added boiling water to the teapot.

  ‘Make sure you let it draw for at least three minutes.’
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  ‘I will,’ repeated Audrey.

  ‘The tea-cosy is under the sink. Put it on so the tea doesn’t go cold.’

  Audrey slipped the striped, knitted tea-cosy over the pot. She struggled getting the spout into the hole but burnt her finger only once. She picked up the pot with both hands and poured tea into a cup. Tea splashed onto the saucer. The tea looked awfully dark. More like the brew a swagman would make if he left the leaves in his billy for a long time.

  Audrey counted eight leaves floating in the cup. She wondered if she should have strained it. The water was too hot for her to stick her fingers in to pick out the tea-leaves. And if she tried to get them with a teaspoon, she knew she’d drop them and make an even bigger mess. It was too late now. Wobbling a little, she placed the teacup and saucer on the silver tray next to the milk and sugar.

  She was glad that Douglas was in the bedroom making a cubbyhouse with the blankets. Otherwise he would be running around her feet and she would be sure to trip.

  ‘Don’t forget the milk and sugar,’ Mrs Paterson called again from the sitting room.

  Picking up the tray, Audrey inched towards the door. More tea spilled over the side of the cup. It sat on the saucer in a lake of brown liquid. But there was still enough left in the cup for Mrs Paterson to have a drink.

  When Audrey reached the sitting-room table, she wasn’t sure how to put the tray down. If she bent over, the remaining tea would slop out. Mrs Paterson solved her problem by taking the tray herself.

  Audrey expected Mrs Paterson to tip the slopped tea from the saucer back into the cup, as Dad did. But the old lady pretended it wasn’t there. She added one sugar, a dash of milk, and stirred the tea in a clockwise direction six times. Then she took a sip and coughed.

  ‘It’s not too strong, is it?’ asked Audrey.

  Mrs Paterson’s eyes watered. ‘Just a tickle in my throat. It’s delicious. Thank you.’

  ‘You have soft hands,’ said Audrey. ‘And none of your fingers are bent.’

  Mrs Paterson made a strange noise in the back of her throat. ‘Thank you. I am most fortunate in that regard. I use hand cream. And there is lanoline in the wool I knit. Another good reason to keep one’s hands occupied in that way.’

  ‘Can we … may Dougie and I go to the Jenkins’s now, please?’ Audrey was afraid the old lady would change her mind. There was a town waiting outside the garden fence, other children to play with and a secret plan to carry out.

  ‘You may go,’ Mrs Paterson said at last. ‘I would accompany you, but my arthritis is not good today. Do you know the way?’

  ‘Yes, town is easy because the roads are straight.’

  ‘Be back by half-past five. Keep in mind that I cannot abide anyone who is not punctual.’

  ‘I won’t punch anyone. Neither will Dougie. He doesn’t like fighting.’

  Mrs Paterson closed her eyes for a moment, then said, ‘Punctual. Not punch you all. I refer to you not being late.’

  ‘I can do that too,’ said Audrey.

  The old lady narrowed her eyes. ‘You are being very polite today.’

  ‘That’s because I’m your project,’ said Audrey. ‘And you’re mine. I’m looking for your good side.’

  Twenty

  Audrey left the house with Mrs Paterson’s list of ‘Don’ts’ for walking through town ringing in her ears. It was almost as long as the list for how to behave inside the house. Mrs Paterson had finished with, ‘Don’t let the Jenkins children lead you into trouble.’ She had not said what kind of ‘trouble’. Audrey wished she had. That might have made the list more interesting. But Mrs Paterson had rules without many ideas.

  If Audrey’s secret plan backfired, she knew she would get into trouble for sure.

  Douglas gripped her hand firmly. His skipping tugged on her arm.

  A large whirlwind sped across the road, gathering dust as Stumpy arrived.

  Audrey grinned. ‘You were a long time.’ She understood his wanting to be with other camels because she was excited about making new friends too.

  Clouds covered the sun. Audrey shivered, despite her cardigan. A breeze played with the hem of her blue smock-dress. Fine rain began to tickle her face.

  Beltana was rich with water. Two creeks snaked around the town. Audrey wished her family had even one creek near their house. But at least they had the well and, so far, it had never dried up.

  A boy with flappy ears walked past. He coughed with his mouth wide open. Mrs Paterson wouldn’t have liked that. You were supposed to cover your mouth when you coughed, so people couldn’t see down your throat.

  ‘Hello.’ Audrey smiled at the boy.

  ‘Hello,’ repeated Douglas.

  The boy didn’t answer.

  Douglas made a noise.

  Stumpy whispered to Audrey.

  ‘No, Stumpy,’ Audrey replied. ‘There’s nothing wrong with Dougie. He’s just humming.’

  Douglas hummed louder.

  Audrey’s steps slowed as they walked past the hospital. She looked at each window, hoping to see a familiar face or a hand waving a handkerchief. But there was nothing. Not the slightest brush of a curtain.

  There were more people in town than out bush. But more people didn’t always stop you feeling lonely.

  Mrs Jenkins came bustling out of the house.

  Twenty-one

  They passed the tiny school with its pointed roof. It was surrounded by a wire fence with wooden posts. That wouldn’t keep the children in. They could squeeze through the gaps or climb over it. At home, Audrey and Price often thought of ways to avoid lessons with Mum at the kitchen table.

  Audrey and Douglas reached the Jenkins’s house without breaking a single Mrs Paterson-rule. Although Stumpy had come along, and Mrs Paterson wouldn’t have liked that too much.

  The Jenkins’s house was nestled between two others. Audrey could have guessed which one it was by the sound of all the children’s voices. They were raised in friendly argument. At least, she hoped it was friendly.

  A line of scrappy bushes with more twigs than leaves divided the front and back yards. The fence was half-broken. The Jenkins’s house looked small for twelve people. It was made from flattened kerosene tins, the metal sheets dented here and there. Smoke rose from the chimney. The chimney looked like the most solid part of the building.

  Stumpy hung back.

  ‘You can go and play if you want, Stumpy,’ said Audrey.

  He was gone in a flash.

  Audrey wasn’t sure about going in either. Ten was a lot of children to meet all at once. But Douglas dragged on her arm, pulling her forward. He couldn’t count to ten yet, so he wasn’t nervous.

  As they neared the back of the house, there was a yell.

  Her heart beating fast, Audrey rounded the corner. Children of varying heights stood in the backyard watching Boy. They bellowed a mixture of cheers and protests. Boy had both hands against the outside dunny and he was pushing hard. The dunny rocked back and forth. Muffled shouts came from inside.

  Mrs Jenkins came bustling out of the house. ‘Boy. Stop that. If you had a brain it’d be lonely.’

  ‘Ma, he’s been in there that long his head’s caved in.’ Then Boy looked up, saw Audrey and grinned.

  Mrs Jenkins turned. ‘I’m sorry … Boy isn’t usually …’ She wiped her hands on her dark green apron and shrugged. ‘Actually he is usually up to something. But I don’t always catch him at it.’

  Boy started to introduce his brothers and sisters. Audrey wasn’t sure she would remember so many names. They all had crooked haircuts. There wasn’t a straight line on any head in the yard. The three girls wore overalls, like the boys.

  ‘I can do this … look.’ A short girl, about five years old, stretched her mouth to show that she had a tooth missing. Then she poked the tip of her tongue through the gap.

  ‘Dougie do this.’ He poked his right forefinger into his ear.

  Thumping came from inside the dunny. The Jenkins mob ignored it.

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bsp; Boy’s shirt was ripped and his grey shorts grubby. His legs were thin, with knobbly knees. Audrey was reminded of the goats back home. There was a dirty streak across Boy’s left cheek.

  ‘This is me brother, Simon, number four. Parker, number three.’ Boy rattled off the names and birth orders of each child. ‘Phillip doesn’t like being called number two.’ Boy’s eyes gleamed with mischief.

  More thumping from inside the dunny interrupted the list of names. Boy undid the outside latch.

  A lad who was slightly older and a lot redder in the face than Boy, flew out, his hands curled into fists. ‘Put up yer dooks.’

  Boy shook his head. ‘We got visitors.’

  The red-faced boy looked at Audrey and Douglas. ‘Are you the orphans?’

  Audrey felt as though she had been slapped. ‘I am not an orphan. Neither is Dougie. Our mum’s in the hospital.’ But the word orphan made her think, for an instant, what it would feel like if Mum didn’t come home.

  ‘Liam, isn’t there a pile of wood waiting to be chopped?’ said Mrs Jenkins. ‘You just volunteered.’

  ‘But, Ma, it isn’t my turn …’

  Mrs Jenkins raised one arm and pointed to the side of the house. She didn’t need to say anything else. Her arm said it all. ‘Settle down, the lot of you.’

  Boy came to stand beside Audrey. ‘Ma made scones, and there’s real butter. From acow.’

  Audrey realised she was hungry. She had never tasted cow butter, only goat butter, which was stinky. Mrs Paterson used dripping. She said bread and dripping had been good enough for her when she was growing up, so it was good enough for her visitors. It tasted all right. But real butter would be a treat.

  Boy smiled at Audrey, his eyes switching from yellow to brown.

  Audrey smiled back. Boy was cheeky, but not wicked. And he was daring, but not stupid—unless you counted rocking the dunny when your big brother was inside it. Boy was exactly the kind of friend she needed for her secret plan.

  Twenty-two

  Boy and Audrey sat on the Jenkins’s narrow back porch. Busy eating scones, they watched a rain shower sweep the yard. Audrey stuck out her tongue to catch raindrops. The rain didn’t last long, but it was enough to make the tin walls of the house glisten.