Do You Dare? Jimmy's War

by Sherryl Clark

  Jimmy glanced down at the newspaper lying on the table. One of the soldiers only had one leg and hobbled along with a crutch; the other’s head was all bandaged up and he was being carried by another soldier. No wonder Mum was upset.

  ‘Er, Mrs Wimple, would you mind not bringing the papers over anymore,’ Jimmy said as politely as he could. ‘Mum really takes them to heart.’

  ‘Of course, I understand.’ Mrs Wimple stood up. ‘I’ve brought you a shepherd’s pie for your dinner. I hope you enjoy it.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Jimmy waited until Mrs Wimple had left, then threw the paper into the fire. He poured Mum another cup of tea. ‘You all right, Mum?’

  ‘Yes, love,’ she said. ‘It was just a bit of a shock, that’s all. I thought . . . I thought they were writing to tell me he was dead. That’s what set me off.’

  ‘Let’s have some pie then,’ Jimmy said. He planned to tell Mum about losing his job after dinner, but she was drooping with exhaustion and could hardly finish what was on her plate. He offered to do the dishes and sent her off to bed. Arthur might’ve been joking when he’d said Jimmy would have to be the man of the house, but he’d been pretty close to the mark. If only Arthur could see him now, doing every job in sight. Jimmy sighed – he still had to put the chooks away and chop some wood.

  In the morning it was more jobs, and a hasty plate of half-cold porridge. Mum had gone to work, looking washed-out as though she’d hardly slept, and he forgot to keep an eye on the kitchen clock. He’d be late again, and no note this time to save him.

  Instead of locking him out, Miss Palmerston was waiting for him. ‘Don’t bother with your excuses, James Miller,’ she said. ‘You were skiving off.’ The other kids snickered but she silenced them with a glare.

  Now, that wasn’t fair. Jimmy knew plenty who skipped school whenever they felt like it, and he wasn’t one of them. ‘I wasn’t, Miss. I was – ’ Oh, what was the point. She never believed him.

  She puffed up like a bullfrog. ‘Don’t answer me back! You can take yourself down the corridor to Mr Wagstaff, right now. Tell him to give you six, and don’t come back until it’s done. That might teach you to be on time.’

  Jimmy ducked his head and trailed out of the room. He got halfway to Mr Wagstaff’s office and stopped. Why should he go willingly to get the strap? It was totally unfair and mean and, darn it, he wouldn’t go, so there!

  He stuck his shoulders back and marched out of the school, back up the street and into his house. He sat at the kitchen table for a few minutes, amazed at his own daring, but the house felt too quiet, so he went out the back and started cleaning up the yard, scooping up chook poo and putting it in a bucket for the garden. He hadn’t been at it long when someone hailed him from the back door, giving him such a fright he dropped the shovel.

  It was Mr Wimple. He was the manager in the office where Mum worked. ‘I was about to send down to the school for you, lad. Come and see to your mother, will you?’

  Jimmy ran inside to find Mrs Wimple helping Mum into bed. ‘What’s wrong with her?’ Jimmy asked frantically.

  ‘Shhh.’ Mrs Wimple tucked the covers around Mum and pulled Jimmy into the hallway. ‘She fainted in the office. She’s not well at all, I’m afraid. This business with Arthur is too much for her.’ Mrs Wimple patted Jimmy’s shoulder. ‘Will you be all right to look after her?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  When the Wimples left, Jimmy paced the hallway, peeping in at Mum now and then. She was so pale and sweaty – he got a damp cloth and wiped her face but it didn’t seem to do much good. Finally, he decided to walk up and ask for the doctor to come and visit. It would cost a bit, but he was too worried about Mum.

  Dr Wells had patients all morning but he agreed to come at lunchtime, and Jimmy went home to finish the backyard clean-up, popping in every now and then to check on Mum. He made her a cup of tea but she didn’t touch it.

  At lunchtime, Dr Wells arrived and spent some time examining her. Then he motioned for Jimmy to follow him to the kitchen.

  ‘She has a bad cold coming on,’ he said. ‘However, I’m worried it will develop into pneumonia and go to her lungs. She’s very rundown. Has she been eating?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jimmy said, ‘but she’s been worried to death about Arthur, and yesterday she got a letter saying he’s been injured.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Dr Wells said. ‘Worry is just going to make it all worse.’ He pulled out his doctor’s pad and scribbled on it, tore the page out and gave it to Jimmy. ‘Take this to the pharmacy and get them to make up the tonic and the cold remedy as soon as they can. Now, she needs to stay in bed for at least a week, maybe more if she doesn’t improve.’

  ‘All right.’ Jimmy paid the doctor and saw him out the door, then he sat down on the floor in the hallway. What could he do? If Mum didn’t go to work, she wouldn’t get paid, and the medicine would use up what was left of the money he’d earned. They might have enough in the jam tin in the kitchen for groceries for a while, but the rent was due next Monday and the landlord had shouted at Mum once before for being short ten shillings. It’d probably be a few weeks yet before Arthur came home, but if he was injured, it wasn’t likely he could work either.

  Jimmy cycled up to the shops for the medicine and Mum woke up enough to drink some tea and eat a slice of toast, then he persuaded her to take the remedy and tonic. Judging by the way she screwed up her face, neither of them tasted too good. He’d searched the kitchen high and low for money but there was less than a pound in the tin and a couple of shillings in Mum’s purse. The rent, he knew, was twenty-five shillings, and there was very little food in the larder.

  A shilling would buy them a loaf of bread and a quart of milk. They had potatoes and a few cabbages in the garden, but butter was too expensive, and so was meat. Jimmy’s stomach groaned. Why had he eaten all that pie last night? He should’ve saved some.

  He didn’t dare ask Mum what to do. The doctor had said quite clearly that she wasn’t to be worried with anything.

  By the next morning, Jimmy had made up his mind. There’d be no more school for a while. He set off for the railway goods yard to ask for a job.

  George Mellon was reluctant to take Jimmy on. ‘It’s lumber today. It’s heavy work, lad, and I’m not sure you’re big enough for it. Those other boys have got a bit more beef on them.’

  ‘I can do it, Mr Mellon, please give me a go,’ Jimmy pleaded.

  ‘Well . . . all right. I can pay you five shillings a day, but you have to work a full day, no shirking.’

  ‘Thanks very much. That’ll do me,’ Jimmy said, ‘but is there any way you can pay me on Friday, please? Mum’s pretty sick and the rent will be due.’

  George hummed and hawed. ‘All right, just this once.’

  Phew! Jimmy had the rent covered now, and they would eat for the next week as well as be able to pay for more medicine, if needed. He marched down to the crew loading the wagon, feeling very pleased with himself.

  The foreman, Bert, put him straight onto the wagon where they were stacking lengths of timber. Frank gave him a punch in the arm. ‘Didn’t think I’d see you back.’

  ‘Mum’s sick,’ Jimmy said, ‘and Arthur’s been wounded. He’s coming home.’

  ‘That’s bonzer news!’ Frank said.

  Jimmy frowned. ‘Depends how bad he is.’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Frank said. ‘Probably just a stray bullet or he fell in a trench and broke his ankle.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Bert yelled, ‘You two, stop yer gabbing and get working!’

  Frank whacked Jimmy on the back and they both set to, carrying the heavy lengths of wood and stacking them against the wagon sides. As he worked, Jimmy couldn’t help thinking about how much trouble his family was in. When Arthur had insisted on enlisting, he’d told Mum his army wages would be twice what he was earning at Ebelings as a wheelwright repairing carriage and cart wheels, but Arthur had never sent a penny of it home. The nights were so cold now, and Jimmy had
chopped the last of the firewood. They certainly couldn’t afford coal – he’d have to scrounge around the streets for scrap wood.

  By the end of the day, Jimmy was so tired and sore he could hardly walk home, let alone go for a game of footy. He trudged home alone, the early dusk making the streets gloomy. Head down, hands in pockets, he didn’t see Bill Prosser standing at the door to the pub, glass in hand.

  ‘Long day, Jimmy,’ Bill said. ‘You look tuckered out.’

  ‘I am,’ Jimmy said. ‘But I’ll have to get used to it, I suppose.’

  ‘I heard your mum was ill.’ Bill pursed his mouth and whistled. ‘Makes it hard on a good lad like you. I could do with a bit of help in me business now and then. You could earn yourself a few extra shillings, no heavy lifting.’

  Jimmy tried to raise a smile but he was too tired. ‘I’ll be in enough trouble with Mum when she finds out I’m not at school. Sorry, Bill, I have to say no.’

  ‘Fair enough. But if you change your mind, you know where I am.’ Bill gave him a wink and went back into the pub.

  When Jimmy reached home, the first thing he did was check on Mum, but she was nowhere to be seen. He called out but there was no answer, so he ran through the house and found the back door open. He felt sick in the stomach – something was wrong. Sure enough, he found Mum outside lying in a heap at the bottom of the steps.

  ‘Mum!’ He knelt next to her and raised her head off the ground.

  She stirred, and her eyelids fluttered. ‘Jimmy? Where were you?’

  ‘Working, Mum.’ Might as well tell the truth.

  ‘That’s nice.’ She coughed, and her chest rattled alarmingly. ‘I was going out to the lavatory, and I felt woozy on the way back.’

  Mum was shivering, and Jimmy realised she was only wearing her underwear and slip. His face burned with embarrassment, but it was more important that he got her back to bed, and there was no way he could carry her.

  ‘Come on, Mum. You have to get up and try to walk.’

  Finally, he got her to her feet, and she slowly made her way down the hallway, leaning heavily on Jimmy. She half-fell into bed and he pulled the covers over her. ‘I’ll make you a cuppa, Mum, all right?’

  She murmured something, and he raced off to put the kettle on, but the fire in the stove had died out and he had to light it all over again. The house was freezing, but he soon got a roaring fire going, pushing more wood into the stove. What if Mum got worse? What if nothing he did helped? They’d put him in a children’s home or an orphanage! No, Mum had to get better. He’d do whatever it took.

  When the kettle had boiled, he made Mum a cup of tea with plenty of sugar, and found the old metal cylinder she used to heat the bed, filled it with boiling water and wrapped an old towel around it. That would soon warm her up.

  He was starving but there was only a half loaf of stale bread left and a pot of plum jam in the cupboard. A jam sandwich would have to do.

  Mum had drunk some of the tea, and she was awake when he went in to check on her. She smiled at him weakly. ‘Jimmy, love, I’m sorry to be such a bother.’

  He was astonished. ‘You’re not a bother, Mum. I’m just looking after you like Arthur told me to.’

  Too late, he realised he shouldn’t have mentioned Arthur’s name. Her face fell and there were tears in her eyes. ‘What’s he going to be like when he comes home? Some of the soldiers’ wounds are terrible, they say.’

  ‘We’re not going to listen to whoever they are,’ Jimmy said. ‘Now, I’ll get you more tea and you have to take this medicine. And I’ll get you something to eat, all right?’

  She managed a smile. ‘All right, boss.’

  ‘Don’t you be giving me any cheek, now, lass,’ Jimmy joked, and was happy to see her laugh. He ran all the way to the shops and had to pay a whole shilling for a mutton pie but he figured she needed building up. Sure enough, when she’d eaten some of the pie, a bit of colour came back into her face. But although she was fast asleep in no time, her breathing was shallow and hoarse, and she kept coughing. Jimmy knew he had to work at the yards again tomorrow, but leaving Mum alone again all day worried him sick. He decided to go next door and ask Mrs Wimple for help.

  ‘Of course, Jimmy,’ said Mrs Wimple. ‘Give me the spare key and I’ll pop in every couple of hours.’

  Such a wave of relief washed over him that he could barely stand. ‘Thanks, Mrs Wimple.’

  He was so tired by the time he got home that he ate Mum’s leftover pie without heating it up again, then borrowed her alarm clock, giving it a good wind-up and setting it for six o’clock. That way he knew he’d get to work on time.

  The next day, a bitter wind blew through the yards, bringing with it flurries of hail and cold rain. They were all soaked through by lunchtime. Jimmy ran home to check on Mum, who was sleeping, ate some bread and the last of the pie, and found Arthur’s old oilskin coat to wear, even though it was too big for him. The men laughed at him when he returned, but when it rained half an hour later, they were all offering him money for it.

  ‘No thanks,’ Jimmy said. ‘Arthur will need it when he comes home.’

  ‘When’s he arriving?’ Frank asked.

  ‘No idea.’ Jimmy straightened from the sack of sugar he’d been carrying, stretching his aching back. ‘The letter didn’t say. It didn’t say much of anything really. The last letter we had from Arthur was just before they sailed for Gallipoli. That was months ago.’

  ‘My mum and sister have been making up billy cans for the soldiers,’ Frank said. ‘They’ve knitted that many socks, and done packets of tea and biscuits, and they pack them all in with gumleaves. They said the soldiers put the leaves on their cooking fires, and the smell reminds them of home.’

  Jimmy tried to imagine Arthur throwing gumleaves on a fire, thousands of miles away, and wearing socks knitted by Frank’s mum. It made him feel a bit better.

  When work finished at four o’clock, Frank asked if Jimmy was coming to play football later.

  ‘I’d better get home to Mum,’ Jimmy said. ‘She’s pretty sick and the doctor is worried about pneumonia.’

  ‘We’re going to the lolly shop first,’ Frank said. ‘You come too and I’ll shout you.’ Jimmy couldn’t say no to that, and he promised to pay Frank back when he had some money.

  The boys all crowded around the counter, arguing over which were the best lollies.

  ‘I’m getting toffees,’ George said.

  ‘Humbugs are better,’ Frank said. ‘They last longer. What do you reckon, Jimmy?’

  Jimmy stared at the row of jars, his mouth watering. ‘Musk sticks.’

  ‘Musk sticks?’ Hector jeered. ‘Only girls eat musk sticks.’

  ‘Don’t worry about him,’ Frank said. ‘Musk sticks it is. Here, has your mum ever had one of these Violet Crumble bars? My mum loves them.’ And Frank cheerfully bought one for Jimmy to take home to Mum. ‘That’ll make her better in no time.’

  Jimmy couldn’t help thinking what a good mate Frank was turning out to be.

  They said goodbye at the corner of Jimmy’s street and he went into his house nervously, hoping he wouldn’t find Mum passed out again in her underwear! But Mrs Wimple was there, feeding Mum some soup.

  ‘Plenty on the stove for you, when you’re hungry,’ Mrs Wimple said.

  Jimmy found a fresh loaf of bread waiting for him on the table, as well as a bowl and spoon all ready for the soup bubbling away. Mrs Wimple was the best neighbour in the world!

  He was halfway through his second bowl when she came and sat down with him, her face worried. ‘I don’t like the sound of your mother’s chest,’ she said. ‘If it’s not better in the morning, I think we should get the doctor back.’

  Jimmy glanced up at the jam tin and a chill ran through him. Was there even enough in the tin to pay for another visit? What choice did he have?

  She stood to leave, and Jimmy said, ‘Hang on, Mrs Wimple, I’ll go and get you some eggs. You’ve been a lifesaver.’ One hen was off
the lay, but hopefully there’d be eggs there.

  ‘You don’t have to do that,’ she said, but she looked very pleased when Jimmy brought her two warm brown eggs straight from the nest. ‘Are you working at the railway yards?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. We badly need the money.’ He looked at her anxiously. ‘You won’t report me, will you?’

  ‘Good Lord, no,’ she said. ‘But you keep an eye out for the truancy man. If he comes while I’m here, I’ll explain for you.’

  ‘Thanks, that’s beaut of you,’ Jimmy said, but he had a horrible feeling that wouldn’t be the end of it.

  Even after another doctor’s visit and more medicine, it was a week before Mum was well enough to sit up in the kitchen. Jimmy was grateful every day for the yards work that paid for her treatment and kept them in bread and milk.

  Mum had been too ill at first to understand that Jimmy wasn’t at school, but finally, when he arrived home from the yards one afternoon, she said, ‘You haven’t been going to school, have you?’

  ‘No, Mum.’ He stared down at his boots with their broken, knotted laces. He waited for her to scold him.

  ‘Mrs Wimple tells me you’ve been working with the men, earning a wage.’ Her voice was so sad that he looked up in surprise. ‘It’s all right, son, I understand. I wish you were at school, but we have to eat and pay the bills. No use crying about it, I suppose.’

  ‘It’ll be back to normal soon,’ Jimmy said. ‘The war will be over and Arthur will be working and you’ll be as right as rain.’

  She sighed. ‘We got a letter today,’ she said. ‘From Arthur. Months old, of course, but . . . ’ She pointed to the mantel where the letter stood against the clock.

  Jimmy opened the envelope, his heart racing. The writing was rough and hurried, the paper thin, but he read slowly, deciphering as he went.

  Dear Mum and Jimmy,

  Well, we’ve been in this place for over a month now, and the heat is starting to set in. The flies are getting worse, too – they make the Australian bush fly look like nothing. They crawl on everything, including the dead and wounded, and get into our food. More than once I’ve eaten a fly by accident. It’d usually turn my stomach good and proper, but I hardly worry about it these days.