by Ted Dawe
That sort of stuff.
I went around the place giving it a sort of private farewell. The truth is I’d grown quite attached to the farm and my Uncle Frank and his family. All the things I used to worry about were in the far distant past.
“I’m ready to give school another go. I can’t say I am looking forward to it, but I’m over the old issues. Let bygones be bygones I say.”
I mentioned it to Uncle Frank because I knew it must have been on his mind too, he probably just didn’t want to bring it up.
As it happens I was way wrong.
Again.
One morning after I had seen the boys off to school on the bus, Uncle Frank said he and Aunty Lorna wanted to talk to me. I thought, “Mnnn, what’s this about? Maybe it means back to Auckland.”
Aunty Lorna showed me a letter. It was from the Education Department. I had a look at it but it was too boring, so I just asked, “What’s this about?”
“It seems that the Education Department are saying that you should be at school and they have given us seven days to comply.”
I knew what that was about. The red-faced farmer we met on the way back from the stock auction.
“I guess this means I’ll be going back to Auckland.” I tried to sound mature about it, but part of me was pleased it had come up this way, so that I didn’t seem ungrateful.
But no, that wasn’t it.
I looked at Uncle Frank; he was staring out the window. I could tell that whatever he was going to tell me wasn’t going to be good.
“I’ve been on the phone to your father, Sandy. He told me that there have been a few financial problems. Things have gone wrong in his business. He isn’t able to have you back for the time being.”
“The time being? What does that mean?” I was stunned.
Uncle Frank looked a bit awkward.
“He’s had to sell the house, put all the furniture into storage. It’s serious, Sandy. I’m sorry, you’ve been a brave boy and Lorna and I both know that you’ve been hanging out to go home.”
I sucked my lip in. I could feel the tears bulging up in my eyes. I had to call on all my strength to fight them back. The three of us sat there, no one saying a word. I began to shake a bit and Aunty Lorna put her arm across my shoulders. This made it even harder, I had to run or I’d be blubbing like a baby. I pushed her arm off and ran out the door. For a moment I stood there, not knowing where to go. It’s hard in the country because you really are in the middle of nowhere. I could see a black lump down by the bottom fence. It was Pimpernel, so I pulled on the gumboots and headed down to where he was mooching about. I half clambered, half fell over the fence and sat on the grass next to him with my arm around his neck. He gave me a look that said, “What’s this all about then?” So I told him.
Once again he listened with few comments, didn’t even look at me. When I finished he lay on the grass next to me. I guess we must have been there for some time because by the time Aunty Lorna came down my jeans were soaked through and my legs were really stiff.
Back in the kitchen I heard the rest of it. How Rufus O’Malley, Dad’s manager and drinking mate had been sneaking money out of the books and gambling it away at the casino. How creditors were going to bankrupt Dad and none of the banks would lend him a cent so all he could do was sell the house and most of his yards. Nearly all his employees had gone. He was living in a motel on Great South Road, trying to work his way out of the mess.
I suppose if I heard this story about someone else’s dad I would have thought, “Poor guy. What a lot to deal with.” Or maybe even how his kids should do everything they could to make it easy for him, to give him a chance to get things together.
Yeah, but I didn’t. What I thought was how he had made such a mess of things. How if he had being doing his job properly none of this would have happened. How if he hadn’t been wandering around crying into his beer he would have noticed that Rufus O’Malley had become a big spender. I even thought that maybe if he had been looking after us a bit better instead of going away all the time then maybe Mum would still be alive.
So when Aunty Lorna told me that he was sorry that he couldn’t look after me at the moment, and really pleased that things were going so well for me here in the country, and when she also told me that he planned to get me at the end of the year, I felt my blood begin to boil all over again. I immediately thought of a string of good names to hang on his ear if I could get him on the phone. As if he ever did things for me at home anyway. He just worked, drank and went out. Just came home to snore.
What a bullshitter.
I was striding back and forth clenching and unclenching my fists. I was sure I was going to explode. Uncle Frank came back in; he seemed to have lost his laid back manner. I could tell that he was a bit worried about what I might do. He said, “Maybe you should give him a ring yourself. Hear it from the horse’s mouth.”
The phone was a sacred instrument in that house. Off limits to all the kids. I could tell that this offer was a big deal. He gave me the number of the motel. I tried to ring him but all I got was the reception. The woman at the front desk said, “I’m sorry but he’s not picking up, perhaps you could try later.”
I thought to myself, “Oh, he’s out! Typical!”
AT SCHOOL WITH THE LOCALS
THERE was no way round it now, the new plan was for me to go to school with the cousins. To get the bus in the morning. To carry the school bag and the packed lunch. To start in at their local school, the five room job down the way. I can’t say I liked the idea but there wasn’t much I could do about it. I didn’t like my old school much either but at least there I knew everyone. I was used to it.
Here it was all different. For a start, in the country everyone travelled to school by bus. (Who knows why, everyone has cars in the country, but it is just something that they do.) The guy who drove the bus was called Mr Boyne. As it turned out he was our teacher too. Iain told me that there was this story that if any kids weren’t waiting at the gate on time he would go into their houses and drag them out.
I didn’t like the look of him. He was a big, hairy-legged guy. One of the hearty types. Shorts in winter. I bet he never wore more than a shirt no matter how cold it was. A scary guy actually. It was because of him they didn’t have a truancy problem. Kids were too scared to get sick in case he dragged them from their sick bed and carried them off to school in pyjamas. I think even the adults were scared of him. It was like the wild west out in the country, the teachers could do what they liked.
There were a few kids who didn’t come by bus. They either walked or rode horses to school. There was a horse paddock next to the school. Can you imagine that? Riding a horse to school? Talk about cowboy land.
The only change to my morning routine was that when school was on we didn’t do the morning milk any more, on account of our needing to get ready. The bad part was we did the afternoon milking instead. It was hard yakka. Can you imagine what it was like after a day of school? You get home, get out of your school things, pull on those everlovin’ gumboots and get out into the cowshed for a few hours of milking. (Suck suck, moo moo, splat splat.) It sure took it out of me. After milking we had dinner and washed up. We were through by about 8.30 but by that stage everyone was so tired all we could do was crawl off to bed. We were too tired to even play cards. Too tired to moan. I was even too tired to plan what I was going to do to Dad when I got back to civilisation. Maybe that was all part of his plan. That wouldn’t surprise me.
The so-called school was different from what I was used to. For a start there were girls there too, just like the state schools I was driven past in Auckland. Second of all, there were a whole bunch of different ages and sizes in the classroom. Some of them were pipsqueaks; others, like Noel Cudby, looked like they probably shaved every morning.
The school work was really easy and, just as I suspected, a fair few of my classmates were thickos. This was quite good because it meant I could just cruise along, never under any pressu
re. The bad side was that it was really boring, and I was tempted to do a few “off-task” activities. One big exception to the thicko rule was Lara. Yes, my rival story-teller and fellow prisoner in the goat kennel was in the class. I could tell immediately that she didn’t have much time for me.
“Hi, Lara.”
“Oh, it’s Bolt, here to save the day.”
I didn’t know what to say at that point. Why is it that some people bear grudges like that? Refuse to drop something.
There was something else I didn’t like either. That was the attitude the other kids had to my cousins. They called them Culties. Doesn’t sound like much to you? Well that’s the thing with words, eh? They don’t sound like much if you are on the outside but if you are on the receiving end it’s like being called nigger or chink. Not nice. Because I was living with Uncle Frank’s mob everyone had the right to call me a Cultie too. The mysterious thing was that no one called Lara a Cultie. Maybe that was why she kept me and the cuzzies at arm’s length; she didn’t want to cop the flak. I don’t blame her for that I guess, but I didn’t admire her for it either.
The first time I heard this was at lunchtime and it took a while before I got the idea. Yes, it was me they were referring to, and it wasn’t meant to cheer me up.
“Cultie? Iain, what’s that about?”
He looked a bit embarrassed, like he’d been caught out.
“It’s about the League. People in this area don’t like it.”
“Why not? What’s wrong with it?”
“I dunno, just it’s not the local thing, eh? It’s not true blue.”
“Have you told Uncle Frank about it?”
He shook his head. “Not much point, he can’t do anything.”
“Mr Boyne?”
“Ha! As if.”
He had a point I guess. Mr Boyne was as local as you could get. He was like a farmer who had died and come back as a school teacher. The only thing missing was crap-splattered gumboots.
So we put up with it. Had to. What choice did we have? What this meant was that we hardly got to play with any other kids except for the few losers who had no other mates. At lunchtime it was just me and the cousins plus a couple of misfits from time to time. I accepted it, but I didn’t like it.
What made it worse was that we were smarter than the others. We knew stuff. We showed them up in class. Everyone else had made this agreement I reckon. Take it slow. Stay as dumb as you can.
THE NOEL CUDBY INCIDENT
OF course school’s not all that straightforward. Never is. One thing I’ve learned about life is that something always comes along when you are getting on top of things, just in time to knock you on your arse again.
For me, right then, this thing took the form of Noel Cudby.
This guy Cudby looked too big to be at school. He looked like he should be at college. Except that he’s too dumb. That’s a given. The other thing that’s a given is that he hated me the moment he saw me.
Here’s how it happened.
It was a couple of weeks after I first started. I had finished my work early and I was just sitting there looking at him and thinking how he looked like a small kid held under a magnifying glass. He’s like a huge little kid, if you can work out what I mean. He’s got this real round baby face and a ski slope nose. His buck teeth make him look like he’s got a smile on his face so I smile at him, just to show I’m not a stuck up city type. Wrong move.
He chose his moment and then wandered over to where I was sitting.
“You being smart?”
“Nope.”
“You wanna go, mate?”
“Nope.”
“You wanna step outside and see who’s smiling then eh?”
“Nope.”
In these situations it is best to keep your answers very simple and to the point. But it didn’t work. I thought he was just horsing around so I gave him a serve. I have to admit, thinking about it now, that I did mimic him a bit too, but only to show him I was a good sort. “No mate. I don’t wanna go. Too soon after breakfast, and besides I’ve been outside and it’s no good.”
He shut up and went back to practising his writing (baby words, eh). I was sure that would be the end of it. His face was low to the page and his mouth was hanging open with the concentration.
But I was wrong, as I often am.
At playtime there he was, waiting for me just outside the cloak bay. Just leaning against the wall looking sort of casual, in an un-casual way.
As I walked past he grabbed my shoulder and said, “Hold it right there, Cultie.”
I was just thinking, “My god, what a corny line,” when he swung on me. I didn’t expect it and just turned my face in time. His fist hit the side of my head and I saw all these little sparks snapping off and on when I closed my eyes. It was just like in the cartoons. When I came to, I was sitting on the concrete and he was a few feet away doubled up over his fist like he’d broken it or something.
My brain wasn’t working too well at that stage so I had to replay the incident to try to work out what had happened. A sort of reconstruction of the crime. From that point I knew exactly what to do. I got up and ran over and kicked him as hard as I could, right up the bum.
It was a kick that I’ll remember for a thousand years. No other kick will ever feel so good, I don’t care who does it. It could be an All Black slotting the winning penalty, right on full time, but it still won’t feel as good as that kick felt. The timing, the placement, the foot speed: I reckon I almost got both of his feet clear of the ground.
Cudby sort of grunted and flew forward, sprawling out on the concrete. I stood over him waiting for him to get up so I could give him another one, but he stayed down. He may have been a thicko but he knew when to stay down. I grabbed a handful of hair to get his head up. I needed to repay him the punch. I would have left it there, honest, just a punch for a punch. Tit for tat. That’s fair. But I never got that punch in.
There was a frantic banging on the window behind me. In the classroom were Mr Boyne and Mr Carson the headmaster.
They had seen my kick but not his punch.
Typical.
The day went downhill from then on. I was marched off to the school office and ushered into the sick bay by an older lady who wore glasses hanging from a string around her neck. When I say “ushered” I mean Boyne and Carson had an arm each and they sort of dragged me. Later they claimed that I was kicking at them during this march but I don’t recall that little detail. Surely I would have remembered kicking the headmaster? I mean it’s not every day that you do that, is it?
What they made immediately clear was that I was going to be kept away from everyone else for the rest of the day. I sat on the bed looking at a diagram of all the bones in the human body. I remember thinking that the body sure was an ugly beast without flesh and skin to cover it. There were other posters about the dangers of hydatids. You get that disease from dogs who get it from eating animal guts. Then there was one about what not to do with detonators should you come across them. One of the things you shouldn’t do is hit them with hammers. You would have to be pretty thick to do that … but then again this was the country. I measured my eyesight against the eye charts and then read these brochures they had on a little stand. There was an interesting one about STDs. Then I heard voices outside that I knew. It was Iain and Jamie, here to rescue me.
“…can we just talk to him through the door?”
“No off you go and play, this doesn’t concern you.”
“He’s our cousin, he lives at our house…”
“I said off you go or I’ll get Mr Carson to have a word with you.”
“Can we ring Mum and Dad?” That was Iain.
“They have been rung so don’t you worry about that, now off you go. Back to class. Now!”
I knew that they were the sort of boys who did what adults told them, even if it was wrong, so I went out to see them but found there was something holding the door closed. It wasn’t locked, it was
just that there was something heavy placed against it.
I yelled out. “Iain, Jamie, get me out of here!”
Then I heard men’s voices, loud ones getting Iain and Jamie out of the foyer, so I started to kick. I knew I shouldn’t have, but I had this “here we go again” feeling. I mean, no one likes being locked up so I thought it best to thump and kick hell out of the door. They needed to be reminded that I was still there.
The door was a heavy one, probably designed in a special workshop where they design kid-proof doors for schools. I knew I couldn’t break it, but I could sure make a lot of noise so I went hard out. I kicked for all I was worth, and then, slowly I could hear something being moved on the other side.
The door opened and Boyne and Carson were standing there, their hands out, all ready for me like I was some sort of escaped gorilla. I could see that they hadn’t had to deal with someone like me before, that they were a bit nervous, a bit out of their depth.
“You stop kicking that door or by golly I will give you a jolly good hiding!”
It’s Boyne who says that. “By golly” and “jolly good”. The last time I came across that sort of stuff was when I read Noddy in Toyland. I looked at them. I think Noddy. I think PC Plod. I couldn’t help it, I began to snigger.
“You think it’s funny do you? Kicking doors, kicking people, that’s okay where you come from is it?” It’s Carson. “We don’t put up with that sort of nonsense around here, Sonny Jim.”
“Sonny Jim?” I thought, where do they get this from?
For a while these two big dudes just stood there, wondering what to do. Guard me or get on the blower to Uncle Frank? Tough call. In the end Boyne stays and Carson goes off to call home.
Boyne was really angry. I could tell this because he began to stutter. The words just wouldn’t come for him.
“I..I..I..I..I..I’m jolly well n..n..n..n..n..not going to take this s..s..s..s..sort of behaviour. That stuff m..m..m..m..maybe okay in Auckland but here in T..T..T..Taranaki w..w..w..we have s..s..standards.”
