It was Pete’s thirteenth birthday, and Mrs Lucas baked him a chocolate cake (as she does on everyone’s birthday), with thirteen very short and well-used candles. Pete also got to go into town with Henry. If your birthday happens to fall on a day when Henry is picking up the mail and basic supplies, you get to go with him in either the truck (if there’s enough charcoal to run it), or the horse-drawn cart. He only drives into town once a fortnight so you have to be lucky for that to be on the same day as your birthday. Presents aren’t allowed at the Farm, not even for birthdays. Any parcels sent to us are marked ‘return to sender’ and posted back to where they came from.
We’re only allowed to receive one letter each month. I could write a letter as well if I had the time or if I managed to teach myself how to write in the dark. It’s lamps out at eight o’clock. Saves on postage stamps, I suppose.
My first letter from Kit arrived; postmarked ‘Glebe, 6 August 1931’ it had taken three weeks to get here. I waited until I was alone in one of the paddocks, collecting cow dung, before I stopped to read it:
Dear Joe,
I hope you get this letter in time for your birthday. Mum’s still going to make you a cake but because she’s not allowed to send it to you, we’re all going to eat it and Mum said I can blow out the candles.
I won a scholarship but not to St Bart’s, I made sure I failed that exam. I’m going to Sydney Boys High School next year. No boarding school for me. At least Mum and Dad won’t have to worry about me running away like you did. I’m saving up to buy a bicycle so I can ride to school every day. I can wear trousers if I like. I hate wearing shorts – everyone laughs at my hairy legs. Were your legs as hairy as mine when you were eleven?
Noni and Fred are getting engaged in two years when Noni turns eighteen. Dad won’t let her get married until she’s twenty-one, but I overheard them say something about eloping. Looks like I’m the only one not planning to run away.
I’m still doing your paper run. I don’t think Mr Thompson is paying me enough and that’s what Dad says too. Do you want to take over again when you get back? Mum and Dad don’t fight as much as before, hardly ever. They’ve been raking in the money. The punters are on a losing streak. All the long-shots have been getting up.
I can’t wait to see you again – just four months to go. It’ll be Christmas before you know it. We can put up the tree together just like old times. Uncle George said he’ll drop one off the week before Christmas like he always does.
Harry’s given up the egg business, he says it’s too much trouble. He hates getting the train out to Rooty Hill all by himself. He’s been mugged twice and had all his eggs stolen.
Don’t forget about rumble time because I won’t.
Your loving brother,
Kit
PS Do nuns really shave their heads?
PPS Dad went to the doctor again today. There’s something wrong with him but he won’t talk about it and Mum won’t tell me anything.
Kit’s letter made me feel homesick, damn it! I folded up the letter and put it in my pocket, then shovelled more cow dung into the wheelbarrow for the veggie garden. I kept an eye out for mushrooms but because it hadn’t rained for a while, there weren’t any. Just lots of cow dung.
FEAST DAY
CHAPTER 28
It was a special feast day of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and Sister Agnes told us that if God hadn’t answered our prayers, we could pray to Mary for help because she was his mother. Being Catholic, I understand that God has extraordinary powers – he made the world, didn’t he? But how can your mother be a virgin unless you’re adopted? Harry and I talked about some of these things last year, and he’d assured me that Mary might’ve been a virgin before she fell pregnant with Jesus, but even if it was an immaculate conception, nobody who has given birth could still be a virgin. I see his point but I have a few unanswered questions, not all to do with religion, and I’m not sure who to ask.
To celebrate the Virgin Mary’s feast day, Mrs Lucas was cooking up a feast for dinner. All going to plan, yabby, rabbit and chook would be on the menu, but we had to catch and kill them first.
‘When the hens stop layin’ they’re only good for one thing,’ Mrs Lucas said.
I watched in horror as Lance wrung the neck of the first chook then dropped it on the ground to pick up the next one. He wrung its neck with a quick twist of his large man hands.
‘Here, Joe, I kept these last two for ya. Ya not scared of a couple o’ chooks, are ya?’
‘No!’
‘Joe’s scared o’ the chickens! Bok bok bok bok bok bok!’ Lance strutted around, flapping his elbows and making chook noises.
When I was little, I watched Dad wring a chook’s neck in our backyard. It was the last one we had left – all the others had died. Her name was Cleopatra.
‘I’ve got to help Henry skin some rabbits. I’m late – he’ll be waiting for me,’ I said, running off with Pete and Charlie following close behind.
‘Why didn’t ya do it?’ Charlie asked.
‘He didn’t hafta if he didn’t want. Lance was bein’ an idiot,’ said Pete, who always sticks up for me, no matter what.
‘Ya still shoulda done it,’ said Charlie.
‘Well, I’m sick of doing everything that Lance tells me to!’
Henry was kneeling down on a patch of grass outside the barn, skinning a dead rabbit. While we’d been busy milking cows early that morning, Henry had been out shooting rabbits. ‘Easy targets,’ he said. ‘There they were in the veggie garden, munchin’ away on the spinach. Four shots is all it took; scared the others off – they disappeared quick smart. As soon as they came back, I was waitin’ for ’em an’ banged a couple more.’ Henry cut chunks of flesh off the skinned rabbit and handed them to me. ‘They’re for the yabby traps. Go down to the creek an’ see what ya can catch for the feast tonight. Yabbies love fresh meat – works every time. I’ll skin these other bunnies and get ’em to Mrs Lucas for the stew.’
Charlie and Pete got the yabby traps out of the barn while I carried the fresh chunks of rabbit meat. They felt warm and slimy, and I tried not to look at them. As we walked down the track to the creek, I thought about Kit’s letter. I could feel it in my side pocket and it was reassuring to hear the sound of the paper scrunching as I walked.
We sat on the creek bank, threading chunks of meat onto hooks inside the yabby traps. After doing up the catches, we lifted the traps by their ropes, swung them backwards and forwards and threw them into the water. Sitting back down on the grassy bank, we watched the traps sink slowly.
‘It’s my birthday on Thursday,’ I said.
‘Mrs Lucas is gunna be busy bakin’ another cake!’ said Pete.
‘How old will ya be?’ Charlie asked.
‘Thirteen.’ I threw a rock into the creek but instead of skimming the surface, it sank.
‘Idiot, ya’ll scare all the yabbies away!’ Lance said as he sat down on the grass next to me. There were some ducks swimming further up the creek, taking it in turns to flap their wings and splash water. Lance threw rocks at them and they flew off. I went to say something to him but changed my mind.
‘Anyone ever tell ya ’bout Racin’ the Moon?’ he asked.
‘What’s that?’ I said, trying not to sound too interested.
‘It’s a Farm tradition, got banned by Sister Agnes ’bout two years ago. Every spring, at the start o’ the first full moon, Henry’d take some boys on a night hike to say prayers on top o’ the mountain. That’s what he told Sister Agnes an’ she believed ’im.’
‘As if she’d believe they’d climb up there to pray!’ Pete said, laughing.
He had a point.
‘Probably hoped you’d run away and never come back,’ I said.
We all laughed. Lance gave me a filthy look.
‘When ya go Racin’ the Moon, ya hafta leave as soon as ya can after the moon comes up, then try an’ beat it to the top o’ the mountain. I went with Henry an’ the boys two years ago.
Henry an’ I used hatchets to cut all the vines an’ branches that had grown over the track from the year before. It’s rockier an’ steeper than ya think. We got down on our hands an’ knees in some places. Henry showed us a secret cave with rock paintin’ done by some Aboriginals who used to come up every year from the coast. Took us three hours to get to the top but it was worth it.’
‘Did you beat the moon?’ I asked.
‘We sure did!’
‘What did ya do when ya got there?’ Charlie asked.
‘Probably howled at the moon,’ I said, laughing.
Lance hit me across the head. ‘I’ve just ’bout had enough o’ ya. We didn’t howl at the moon – we told stories ’bout murders, ghosts, yowies an’ stupid boys like you. Billy was one o’ the new boys. He got spooked an’ tried to run back down the mountain, but he ran the wrong way. Before I could stop ’im, he ran right off the top o’ the cliff. Tried to find ’im on our way back an’ for the next couple o’ days, but couldn’t. Henry an’ the police from Wollongong came with some dogs – still no luck. ’Bout a year later, an Aboriginal tracker was helpin’ police look for two escapees from the prison farm near Mount Kembla when they came across some bones.’
I was hanging off every word as Lance told the story of Racing the Moon; not that I believed everything he said. I was excited by the danger of it and could picture myself up there on the mountain. I wanted to climb that mountain and see the full moon up close.
Back home, I used to climb the old oak tree with Kit to hide from Dad and watch the moon rise above the rooftops. Some nights, I’d lie awake in bed for hours watching the moon through my window. Every part of my body wanted to race that moon.
As Lance stood up, he tripped over me trying to pull up one of the yabby traps. When he lifted it out of the water, it was empty. ‘Best leave ’em for another hour or so. The chooks are ready for pluckin’. Let’s go!’ he said, waiting for Charlie, Pete and me to go past, which wasn’t like him at all. Lance always likes to be first, leading, telling everybody else what to do.
When we got back to the house, there were four headless chooks hanging upside down on the clothes line with small pools of blood below on the grass. Lance came out of the kitchen carrying a bucket of water and set it down near them. ‘Put ’em in the hot water first to loosen up the feathers then they’ll come out easy,’ he said. ‘Back in a minute – I hafta take a piss.’
I’d rather get one of my teeth pulled out than to pluck a dead chook. I watched Charlie and Pete put their chooks under the hot water, and then it was my turn. I put Cleopatra to the back of my mind as best I could, and pushed my chook under for a half a minute or so, then lifted it out and started plucking. I could hear Lance’s voice nearby and some boys laughing. When I turned around, I saw Lance holding a letter. I stopped plucking to listen.
‘I hate wearin’ shorts – everyone laughs at me hairy legs. Were yer legs as hairy as mine when ya were eleven? Noni an’ Fred are getting engaged in two years when Noni turns eighteen. Woo, woo! I’d like to get a bit o’ that tart,’ he said.
My mind just snapped. I ran at Lance like a charging bull, ramming him right in the guts. ‘You bastard!’ I said, grabbing my letter. ‘And you’re a thief !’
No sooner had I put the letter in my pocket than Lance king hit me – knocking me out cold.
I woke up on the sick bed inside the house with Sister Cornelius waving something putrid under my nose.
‘You’ve got a lump the size of Queensland above that eye,’ she said. I tried to get up but the room started spinning and there was more than one Sister Cornelius. ‘You know fighting is forbidden.’
‘He started it.’
‘It doesn’t matter who started it, fighting is a sin,’ she said, bathing the lump on my head.
‘Ow, that hurts!’
‘Your eye’s swelling up – it’ll be black and blue by morning. Sister Agnes said you’ll have to go into another work team until things settle down between you and Lance. I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t move.’ She picked up the dish of water and left.
I looked up at the crucifix on the white wall above my head but it hurt too much. Closing my eyes, I tried to go to sleep. I might’ve scored a black eye and a massive headache, but at least I had Kit’s letter safely in my pocket.
MY BIRTHDAY
CHAPTER 29
I hated being in another work team but I didn’t miss Lance. That bastard got off lightly for knocking me out – all he had to do was say a few lousy rosaries. He told Sister Agnes that I started it. I didn’t bother trying to explain to her about Kit’s letter and how Lance made fun of it in front of the other boys. I just wanted to forget about it. I missed working with my mates, especially Pete. I’d been dizzy, sore and out of sorts for a few days. Sister Cornelius said I had a concussion.
I also missed the special feast day dinner. Pete told me how Mrs Lucas boiled up the yabbies in a big pot over the kitchen fire. I was sound asleep in sick bay and he wasn’t allowed to wake me up. He said the yabbies tasted like a cross between fish and chicken, only better. If they were better than the chicken soup that I’d had, they must’ve been pretty good.
We had rabbit stew for dinner the night I got out of sick bay. Henry shot and skinned eight more rabbits that he’d spotted around the veggie garden so there was plenty to go around. When I took the first pile of washed dishes into the kitchen to be wiped and put away, Mrs Lucas was icing a cake. ‘Off ya go!’ she said, trying to hide the cake. As I walked backwards out of the kitchen, my mouth was watering. Chocolate cake is my favourite and I couldn’t wait to try it.
As I sat on the bench in between Charlie and Pete, Sister Agnes announced that it was my birthday – 3 September, the third day of spring. When Mrs Lucas walked onto the verandah with the cake and thirteen brand-new flickering candles, everyone started singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me. Everyone, that is, except Lance.
After I blew out the candles, Mrs Lucas handed me a knife. Before the knife had even touched the plate, she grabbed it from me. I don’t know what she thought I was going to do with it. It’s not like I wanted to stab anyone, except maybe Lance – nothing fatal, just a flesh wound. But all I really wanted was some cake. I waited impatiently for the biggest slice, which always goes to the birthday boy. It was the second-best chocolate cake I’d ever tasted. Mum’s is still the best.
Lying in bed that night after lamps out, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about Racing the Moon – how I’d go about it, what I’d take, who I’d ask to come with me. I didn’t believe all of Lance’s story, especially the bit about the boy falling off the cliff and dying. I think he made that up just to scare us and put us off going. I’ve always loved a challenge – the riskier the better.
But to race the moon to the top of the mountain and look at it close up – that would be magic!
I decided that in the morning, I’d ask Sister Cornelius when the next full moon would be. She knows all about that kind of thing.
GETTING READY
CHAPTER 30
‘Should be a full moon tonight,’ Sister Cornelius replied, gazing up at the sky like she was looking for some kind of sign.
‘Thanks, Sister,’ I said. Sooner than I’d expected, but when you get an opportunity, you just have to grab it. I had to tell Pete and Charlie – there was no time to lose.
They were in the kitchen finishing wiping up duty. Mrs Lucas was standing at the stove with her back to us, stirring a big pot. I grabbed a tea towel and started helping so as not to look suspicious. ‘This is it – the first full moon in spring,’ I whispered. ‘Are you going to come Racing the Moon with me tonight?’
‘Count me in,’ said Pete.
‘Me too,’ said Charlie. Anyone else comin’?’
‘Just the three of us – it’s better that way,’ I said. ‘And don’t tell anyone, especially Lance. If we want to do it properly, we’ll have to be ready to leave straight after lamps out. We’ll need paper and matches in case we want to l
ight a fire.’
‘An’ some extra paper to stuff down our clothes to keep warm, said Pete. ‘I’ve done it lots o’ times – works really well.’
‘Won’t we make too much noise with paper stuffed down our clothes?’ Charlie asked.
‘I’m talkin’ ’bout up on the mountain. It gets cold up there ya know,’ Pete replied.
‘What if we get caught before we even get to the mountain?’ Charlie asked, sounding worried.
‘We’ll get the cane, say some rosaries, do a few extra chores, and then we’ll go Racing the Moon next month,’ I replied. ‘Don’t worry Charlie, if all goes to plan we’ll be back before the sun comes up. No-one will even know we were gone. If Lance could do it, we can too.’ I was getting excited just talking about it.
‘Stop talkin’ an’ wipe up!’ Mrs Lucas called out, watching us like a hawk as she stirred the pot.
I could see a box of matches on the floor next to the fireplace. ‘Something smells good!’ I said, wandering over to Mrs Lucas and giving her a cheesy smile before looking in the pot.
‘I’m boilin’ up some chicken carcasses to make soup for dinner tonight.’
‘Yum!’ I replied, looking at the bony remains of half a dozen chooks boiling away inside the big pot, trying not to think about poor Cleopatra. ‘I can’t wait to try it,’ I lied, casually kicking the box of matches towards Pete. He dropped his tea towel on top of the matches then picked them both up at the same time, putting the matches in his pocket. We wiped up the last of the cutlery and then hung the wet tea towels out on the clothes-line to dry.
There were only two newspapers left in Henry’s shed, so Pete and I snuck into the classroom and, while Charlie stood guard, we ripped out as many blank pages from the back of exercise books as we could in less than a minute. The rest of the boys were setting off to do their morning chores. We ran to our cabin and threw the paper under our beds, and then took a short cut through the orchard, arriving just in time to grab some hoes and start digging in the veggie garden before Sister Cornelius noticed we were late. Four teams were working there that morning – the other four teams were in the paddocks with Henry and Sister Ambrose for stock duty.
Racing the Moon Page 9
