Popeye Never Told You

by Rodney Hall

  ‘lupins’ i say,

  ‘i can read well enough’ says Mr Patterson ‘but flowers are no use to anyone’ and he points at Allan with the garden fork in his hand,

  ‘so what are you planting?’

  ‘marrows, Dad’

  ‘now thats a good choice’ Mr Patterson says ‘because marrows keep producing more and more marrows’

  but i dont like to say that i hate marrows anyway and when Mum stuffs and cooks them in the oven id rather just eat the breadcrumbs and herbs out of the middle and leave the sloppy marrow part, even though Gran says there are millions of starving people in the world who would be more grateful than me,

  ‘not like cabbages’ Mr Patterson says ‘once you cut a cabbage its cut’

  and he and Patterson begin digging side by side,

  so Patterson says ‘Hall lives in a flat’

  and his dad looks at me,

  ‘i like flowers’ i say,

  a doctor comes to the school but its not Dr Halliday because this ones a free doctor whos going to give us all the examination and its my turn in the line,

  ‘take off your pullover and your shirt’ the nurse says ‘good, and your shoes and socks, good, and your shorts too, and go over there to the doctor so he can listen to your chest’

  but i wont take off my shorts,

  ‘take off your shorts, please’ says the nurse ‘you are allowed to keep your underpants on’

  but i cant tell her that i dont have any underpants,

  ‘take those shorts off!’ the nurse says,

  and i wont because i didnt know you had to wear underpants, and i dont have any,

  ‘never mind, nurse, we cant wait a month, send him over just as he is’ the doctor says ‘i dont have time’

  ‘teim’ i whisper,

  but he puts some cold thing on my chest and my back and tells me to cough and suddenly im frightened of what he can hear inside me that i dont know about.

  9

  All the kids are screaming round the playground but i find Patterson crying behind the bicycle shed and his hanky is all stuck together with snot,

  ‘you cant come round to my house anymore’ he says ‘cos my mums ill’

  ‘what sort of ill?’ i say,

  ‘shes going to have a baby’

  ‘thats terrible’ i say,

  ‘and she doesnt want it’ Patterson says,

  ‘you could run away’ i say,

  ‘i think i will and all’ he says,

  ‘as long as your dad doesnt catch you’ i say,

  ‘he doesnt want the baby either’ Patterson says,

  so i put my arm round his shoulder like Mike sometimes puts his round me,

  ‘and i dont want it!’ Patterson says,

  so everybody doesnt want that baby and Patterson sticks his fists in his pockets and he gets out from under my arm,

  and i cant wait till its safe to jump down out of the green bus but Olive takes longer because she gets puffed,

  ‘come on, Aunty!’ i say,

  and its so windy i have to button up my jacket, but the last two buttons that havent fallen off are in the wrong place,

  ‘oh! what a beautiful old house!’ says Olive ‘wild horses in a blizzard wouldnt keep me from this sale!’

  and that gets me giggling because here come the wild horses pulling one way and Olive pulling the other and a tremendous struggles going on,

  ‘first thing’ she tells me ‘we shall need to register’ so she goes up to a lady sitting under a garden umbrella,

  ‘heres your card then’ says the lady ‘and your catalogue’

  and Olive gets a big number 138 and she turns to me and gives me the catalogue to carry,

  ‘from now on’ she says ‘you can be in charge’

  so i say ‘thank you’ to the lady,

  and i take hold of Olives hand and lead her up some steps that are a mile wide,

  ‘what do you think?’ Olive says,

  ‘smashing’ i say,

  and inside the whole place is full of things with numbers stuck on them and there are lots of people walking around on the stone floor and up above theres an empty stairway with about a thousand stairs and a curly banister, but nobody seems to be talking to anybody, so something must be wrong,

  and i tug Olives sleeve and whisper ‘is someone dead?’

  ‘no, pet!’ she says ‘well yes but not right now’

  and i wish there was because the only time i ever saw anyone dead was animals,

  ‘look at this, Aunty!’ i say ‘what is it?’

  ‘its an umbrella stand’ she says ‘number 1127’

  i run my finger down the page till i find what im looking for because im a good reader like Great-Uncle Mont says,

  ‘its an elephants foot’

  ‘such big horny toenails’ Olive says ‘and once upon a time somebody had to hollow that out’

  but what would the elephant do without a foot? and i remember a creepy film i once saw about a man with a statues leg,

  ‘how?’ i say,

  ‘i expect they killed it for the ivory first’ she says,

  ‘are we going to buy it?’ i ask,

  ‘can you imagine’ says Olive ‘what my mother would say!’

  and i do see Mrs Freestone catching sight of the elephants foot standing by itself at the front door and going ‘WHAT IN—!’ but a lady wearing a hat leans across in front of me and reaches for the label thats got its number on, like she cant read without sticking her face where it isnt wanted,

  ‘but how about this!’ Olive says ‘isnt this the very thing for you?’

  because up on the wall theres a real sword,

  i tell her ‘that leather things called a scabbard, Aunty’

  ‘so it is, dear’ she says,

  and here i come, so watch out! swinging this sword around my head and im up on a horse and theres a battle going on and im the captain and there are men in helmets swarming around me and lots of dust in the air and we are all on horses and i point with my sword and i shout Charge!

  ‘lets mark it in the catalogue and see how the bidding goes’ Olive says ‘because you never can tell’

  so we find the sword on the list and i give it a tick, but theres no point really because a swords something i could never hope to own when i dont even have a bicycle,

  ‘such a lot of people! one can scarcely breathe!’ Olive says fanning herself ‘itll be pandemonium once the auctioner begins’

  and we set off to explore some other rooms, and in the kitchen i poke my nose into some huge pots and theres a weird-looking mincer that must be prehistoric,

  ‘do you think my Gran would like this?’ i ask,

  and Olive nods ‘theres a lot your Gran would like’

  and heaps of wooden spoons and sieves and things are all tied together in bundles and people stand round looking at them and making marks in their catalogues, but Olive isnt interested even though the plates are not chipped like ours at home, so she says we should head for the ballroom instead or the library because shes determined to find something that she says is unusual and she reads aloud from the catalogue,

  ‘the Grange has thirty-two rooms’ she reads ‘but the upstairs is closed to the public’

  ‘okay’ i say,

  and in the music room she sits on a piano stool as if shes going to play,

  ‘i shall catch my breath here’ she says,

  and she opens the lid to look at the keys,

  ‘we hide under our piano’ i tell her,

  ‘and do you mean to say your mother cant find you?’

  ‘she hides with us’

  and Olive nods ‘Dods is such a sport’ she says,

  but i go scouting because i think ive found somewhere interesting and i report back to Olive,

  ‘good for you, darling’ she says ‘i shall join you soon though dont go far’

  and in here theres a huge green table and a little blackboard that someones been writing on with chalk,

/>   ‘now then, laddie’ says a man with a badge ‘dont touch’

  ‘i wasnt going to’ i say,

  so i keep going straight through and out into a room crammed with a million books and WOW! something else, because the glass cases are filled with hundreds and hundreds of butterflies and moths,

  ‘lovely little chaps, arent they?’ says a parson in a collar and he looks down at me over the top of his glasses ‘are you interested in butterflies?’

  ‘yes thank you’ i say,

  and he gets another good look at me,

  ‘so grave’ he says ‘and so correct’

  and he lends me this big magnifying glass hes got so i can bring them up close, and i know all about magnifying glasses because we use ours for stamps, but when i move my head something happens that ive never seen before because on these butterflies the blue changes like the wings are alive,

  ‘of course we have our own beauties in the British Isles’ the parson says ‘the swallowtail for instance’

  ‘and the peacock’ i say,

  ‘yes indeed, but nothing quite so handsome as these, i think’

  and i say ‘these are better than anything’

  and i want the butterflies so much im going to burst, but suddenly i remember that ive forgotten Olive, so i give back the magnifying glass,

  ‘i have to find my aunty’ i tell him,

  and he pats me on the head and wanders away, and why ive got to find Olive is that someone else may get in first and buy these butterflies before we can,

  but,

  but, what if im too late already? what if i catch up with her and bring her back, only to find theyve been sold already? wont it be safer to take them to her? i mean just the blue ones?

  ‘excuse me’ i say,

  because i have to reach between some people looking at the moths, and ever so carefully i pick up the glass case i want,

  ‘pardon’ i say because a crowd comes in all of a sudden and its a bit hard to see my way past the wooden frame im carrying, though Olive never goes far off so she should be easy to find,

  ‘oops!’ i say,

  and i bump into an old lady on the way,

  ‘what on earth!’ she says,

  but i cant bother with her because im too terrified of dropping the case,

  ‘now now’ says a mans voice behind me ‘where in the world might you be going with those splendid specimens?’

  but im in the middle of wangling them through the doorway,

  ‘i have to look for my aunty’ i explain,

  and i hang on tight to the butterflies, but now i see its only the parson and hes my friend,

  ‘well’ he says ‘i think youd better let me lend you a hand’

  ‘i want her to buy them’ i tell him,

  ‘theyll be quite safe’ he says ‘where they belong’

  and he takes hold of the frame and gets it off me and he lifts it way up out of my reach, but thats when i notice one of the butterflies has fallen off the display and the whole things wrecked, though i dont know whether it was his fault or mine and anyway i dont think he knows yet,

  ‘follow me’ he says,

  and thats lucky because now im scared that sooner or later hes going to see the fallen butterfly and i dont want to be arrested, so i let him go first and leave him to it and i duck off the opposite way instead, around corners and in along the corridor among people peering at things on tables, and here comes Olive in a fluster looking all ways at once,

  ‘where were you?’ she says ‘you gave me such a fright’

  and she pats her bosom and she kisses and kisses me,

  ‘i was just looking for you’ i say,

  ‘heaven knows’ she says ‘how i would have explained to your dear mother’

  and she tucks my hand under her arm and turns me round and leads me back the way ive come,

  ‘but down there theres nothing’ i tell her ‘only a whole lot of dusty old books’

  and luckily she stops on the way to look at some hairbrushes and clocks and razors and starched collars and stuff so i point out that the clocks are still ticking,

  ‘oh!’ says Olive ‘should i go for this?’

  but its only a handbag with a sparkly clip,

  ‘i dont like it’ i tell her,

  ‘alright, pet’ Olive says,

  and she puts it back,

  ‘now i happen to know that just in here’ and she reaches for a doorknob ‘is a surprise’

  ‘what is it?’ i say,

  ‘something so extravagant youll never guess’ she says,

  and we go in,

  ‘this was the family chapel’ she says,

  and i can smell burnt candles and its all quiet because theres nobody else around except an old lady in a black hat sitting on a pew who takes no notice of us and we take no notice of her,

  ‘just look!’ Olive whispers,

  so i do,

  ‘what do you think?’ Olive whispers,

  ‘golly!’ i whisper back,

  because its a huge contraption with twisty gold pillars and an empty picture frame and a statue on top and the whole thing must weigh a ton,

  Olive says ‘isnt he gorgeous!’

  i ask ‘but whats it for?’

  and Olive says ‘this is an altar’ and she gets busy with her spectacles ‘but theyve given it a number so it must be for sale!’

  ‘who is that man?’ i whisper,

  ‘well, pet, hes killing a dragon so he must be Saint George or Saint Michael’

  and she looks in the catalogue, but what im thinking is Saint Michael!

  and Olive whispers ‘yes its Saint Michael and apparently there was once a painting of the Virgin Mary too but shes already been sold’

  i get a good look at him wearing a golden kilt, and his shiny legs are amazingly muscly,

  ‘do you suppose?’ says Olive still whispering and she glances back over her shoulder because i suppose she doesnt want the lady to overhear ‘do you think my ceilings at New Mills Court would be high enough?’

  ‘youre not going to buy it, Aunty!’

  Olive clasps her hands and says ‘its so wonderfully Catholic, you must admit’

  and i can see she loves it,

  ‘is Uncle Ralph going to like it too?’ i ask,

  ‘now theres a thought’ she says,

  so i have a really good look to see if i can guess,

  and the gold glimmers,

  ‘it may cost a lot of money’ i warn her,

  ‘no one else seems much interested’ Olive says,

  and the lady behind us quietly blows her nose,

  ‘thats the beauty of sales’ Olive whispers,

  but right then a whole lot of people come in to look,

  ‘bad luck’ i whisper,

  ‘this piece’ says a voice sounding loud behind us ‘was imported from Italy’

  and its my parson holding his hat in his hand, so i try to hide behind Olive so he wont see me but he smiles and comes over to join us looking at Saint Michael,

  ‘i should warn you’ he says to Olive ‘that our young friend here has his eye on a collection of Ulysses butterflies’

  Olive looks surprised,

  ‘oh yes, we met in the library, he and i’ he tells her ‘and we had a good talk’

  ‘really?’ she says,

  ‘yes and i must say its heartening’ he says ‘to find a boy who shares my enthusiasm for Australia’

  but how does he know about Australia?

  ‘im afraid i dont understand’ Olive says,

  nor me,

  ‘the Ulysses is a beautiful little creature found in the north of that country’ he tells her ‘you should take a look at them, madam, though im afraid the whole collection may be something of a prize and destined for a museum’

  and of all the things i ever dreamt about Australia i never once thought about butterflies, and he gets talking to Olive and they make their way back to the library and ive got no way out, so here we are again and
im sure my face has already gone red because that fallen butterfly is still lying on its side at the bottom of the frame and my eyes wont look at anything else,

  ‘how sweet they are!’ Olive says,

  but i can feel tears coming so i escape across the room and pretend to study a map thats big and shiny and coloured pink with cracks in the varnish and up the top it says NEW SOUTH WALES, so now i cant believe my luck, and the places on it have such funny names i get out my autograph book to write them down in the back for Mum, Wagga Wagga, Wollongong,

  and the parson comes to look over my shoulder,

  ‘are you something of a scholar as well, then, old chap?’ he says,

  suddenly i point,

  ‘Kangaroo Valley!’ i say and it comes out as a shout, the parson steps back in surprise and looks up at the map,

  ‘quaint indeed’ he says,

  ‘thats where Mum found the giant ant-hill’ i say ‘and they rode horses and sat round the fire and—and—’

  but Olive is still looking at the butterflies and she calls me over,

  ‘the blue changes when you move, Rodney’ she says to me ‘do you see that?’ and she murmurs ‘so luminous’

  and im going to remember this word too,

  and i can see our reflection in the glass with Olives face close up beside mine, her in her goggles and me in my school cap,

  ‘but what a pity one has fallen off’ she says,

  Pam painted a princess picture in purple and green ready for Mr Marks and she showed me so i told Mike about it and i asked him if she could come along next time we play in the flour mill, but Mike said no,

  and now Allans here balancing on the wooden fence at the side of the graveyard and he calls out to me like he always does,

  ‘wotcher, cock!’

  i say ‘wotcher, cock!’ back at him because Mums nowhere round to hear me,

  i get an idea and id like to know if my idea is a good one so i whisper across the dark bedroom,

  ‘Mike, are you awake?’

  and after a while Mike says ‘maybe yes and maybe no’

  ‘ive got an idea’

  and i tell him my idea that blowing up Mr Sawyers house would be more difficult than building it,

  ‘why? Mike says,

  so i say ‘if you have to invent the bomb! and—’