Popeye Never Told You

by Rodney Hall

Mike flings his sheet off,

  ‘—and if you have to drop it from a plane so that it hits the house’ i tell him and this sounds like science to me,

  ‘and’ i think of something else ‘and if you have to invent the plane! too’

  Mike doesnt laugh at me the way he did when i was little,

  so i whisper ‘are you asleep again?’

  but now he sits up in bed and hes staring at me in the moonlight,

  with this mist today everythings damp and the grounds all soggy and my shoes leak because the soles are worn out, everythings gone wrong now the holidays are finished and we have to go back to school and Dis marching on ahead so im all alone and i turn back to look for what i just lost, and i look and i kick the ground and this is the end,

  Joan and Ken are home,

  and Gran calls them the Honeymoon Couple,

  ‘whats a honeymoon?’ i ask Mum,

  but shes busy in the kitchen cutting Xs into the bottom of Brussels sprouts,

  ‘whats a honeymoon?’ i ask again,

  ‘you go on a honeymoon when youre first married’ she says,

  and i get it, like a bus,

  ‘are Joan and Ken coming round for tea?’ i ask,

  ‘they were expected a quarter of an hour ago’ she says,

  so i lend a hand helping to peel some potatoes,

  ‘whys Joan our only real aunt?’ i say,

  ‘shes not, theres all that Hall family’ she tells me ‘because Dick had sisters, and brothers too, but they never get in touch’

  ‘dont they like us?’ i ask,

  ‘some of them do’ she says ‘Gertrude does and so does Alice’

  ‘then why dont they talk to us?’ i say,

  ‘maybe theyre too busy’ Mum says,

  ‘what, always?’ i say,

  ‘and theyre all so much older than Dick was and Dick was seventeen years older than me’ Mum says ‘so we have nothing in common and they live in London anyway’

  ‘but if we write to them’ i suggest ‘they might send us birthday presents’

  ‘do stop pestering me’ Mum says ‘i fell out with them years ago and thats that’

  so the kitchen goes quiet and the taps running,

  ‘anyway’ Mum says ‘youll have a new cousin soon’

  ‘how?’

  ‘Joans having a baby’

  ‘so is she ill?’ i say,

  ‘good heavens, no’ says Mum,

  and Joan comes in looking happy so we sit in the lounge while Mums cooking, and weve got a jigsaw puzzle already half finished on the card table,

  ‘if its a boy we shall call him Andrew’ Joan tell us,

  and she goes out to fetch some tea while Ken makes himself at home on the settee watching us and our Dutch houses picture thats not finished,

  ‘Ken’ Di says ‘do you want to help?’

  ‘you cant call me Ken anymore’ he tells her ‘you have to call me Uncle Ken’

  but Diana looks bold,

  ‘that sounds silly!’ she says,

  ‘only because youre a spoilt brat’ Ken says,

  and i begin to wish Mum wasnt out in the kitchen working,

  ‘i am not spoilt!’ Di says and she can, because she knows shes Kens favourite,

  and Joan comes in with the tray,

  ‘we never call Joan Aunty Joan’ Mike says,

  and Joan smiles and pours the tea,

  ‘who takes milk and who takes sugar?’ she says,

  but of course everyone knows what everyone has and for instance i know that she likes hers really strong with just a pinch of sugar on the tip of the spoon,

  ‘one sugar for Ken’ Di says when she passes him his cup and saucer,

  but he bangs it straight down on the table and hes up on his feet and his face is all bristly and he catches Di under the armpits and slings her across his knee, and i cant believe, but already hes spanking her and it must hurt because she goes bright red,

  ‘stop!’ i yell,

  but Di wriggles free and races down the passage,

  ‘you beast!’ she yells at him, then we hear the bedroom door slam

  and i hope he doesnt pick on me next,

  and next thing Mum comes out of the kitchen and goes flying past, Mike bends over the puzzle and helps me find the piece of sky i need and Joan sips her tea, and the bedroom door opens again and closes, and now Mum comes in and anybody can see shes furious,

  ‘Diana has welts on her bottom’ she says ‘and on her thigh as well’

  and Joan gives a little cry, but Kens got his arms spread along the back of the settee,

  ‘dont you dare!’ Mum says to him ‘dont you ever dare lay a hand on any of my children again’

  ‘someone has to teach her manners’ Ken says ‘shes allowed to run wild’ and he adds ‘they all are’

  and i can hear Diana sobbing in the bedroom,

  Mum looks like a bomb thats about to go off,

  ‘i shall not ask you to apologise to her’ she says ‘that would be expecting too much, but neither shall i expect her to forgive you’

  Ken gets to his feet and hes huge and his black moustache is huge and his Hitler hair flops over his brow,

  holding the teapot Joan sits with tears in her eyes,

  and still the sobbing in the bedroom goes on,

  now Ken sticks his army cap on his head and he stuffs his fingers in his leather gloves and sticks his swagger-stick under his arm and his Sam Browne creaks and he strides out through the kitchen and away across the yard and down our outside stairs he goes,

  and i hope he never comes back,

  its my turn to light the fire and this is one job i enjoy because i like making spills, spitting on one corner of a sheet of newspaper to start rolling it nice and tight until the whole things a long stick that you can loop around into a flat knot, though sometimes we use kindling instead, if weve collected enough in the woods or if Mum paid the gypsies for some, and i like cleaning the grate out and stacking small bits of coal on and some of this is railway coal, and i like striking matches,

  but this fire wont catch so i try our usual trick to help it draw by holding an open newspaper across the mouth of the fireplace till the big sheet gets sucked flat, and the power of it begins to work when a draught rushes underneath and the paper glows brighter and brighter and now the fire roars and shows through, so this is my moment to whip it safely away,

  ‘crikey!’

  because the whole thing catches with a whoosh and i let go, and the newpaper blazes and folds inwards and the chimney gobbles it up, and i leap clear and dust my hands,

  ‘whats up?’ Mike calls from the kitchen,

  ‘fires going’ i say,

  anyhow tomorrows my turn for washing up and thats no fun at all, so i make the most of the fire now and i get ready to put some coal on, but several red-hot lumps of soot come tumbling down from the chimney right out of the fireplace and bounce across the carpet so i have to go for them with the tongs,

  ‘help!’ i yell,

  Mike leaps in through the door and snatches up the shovel and begins smothering the fire in the fireplace and the whole room fills up with smoke because its burning so well, and his eyes are streaming and mine too,

  ‘the chimneys on fire’ Mike says,

  ‘so what do we do?’

  ‘we have to wait till Mum comes home to find out if we need to call the fire brigade’

  the fire brigade!

  ‘in Kangaroo Valley’ i yell at Mike ‘fires get lit in the open air and people sit round them on the ground and— and—they kill things and stick them on the flames and eat them—and—chop down trees and shoot snakes and drink tea.’

  ‘forget it!’ Mike snaps, looking scared,

  and suddenly the whole things awful,

  ‘no good blubbering’ Mike says,

  and the frog i keep in my pocket squirms and feels heavy,

  the ground crackles under our feet because of the frosty crust, so its fun to listen to ourselves
tramping out of the woods and on to the road and we can set off home now because we cant manage anymore than weve got and what weve got is a whole lot of ivy pulled down off the trees and big bundles of holly that even have a few red berries that are hard to find and some mistletoe too, so i start singing now im happy,

  ‘Hark the herald angels sing’ i sing because its my favourite,

  and the others join in and all the way to town we sing and everyone in the whole world can hear and they can see where weve been and Roger is out in the street all got up in his balaclava and overcoat,

  ‘why didnt you tell me you were going to the woods?’ he shouts,

  ‘sorry, Roger’ says Mike ‘do you want to come home with us?’

  ‘i cant, im waiting for Dad’

  ‘lets go’ i say because i dont want Roger hanging around ‘its started spitting’

  ‘Christmas comes but once a year!’ the fish lady says when we turn in along the lane like an army and march past tramping in time with the music right to our stairs and all the way to the top and the ivys so late coming behind us that its still only halfway up, and lots of raindrops start pattering on the iron roof,

  ‘a good job we kept going’ Di says,

  and the delicious smell from the kitchen is Mums Christmas cooking that shes doing ready for tomorrow when Joan is supposed to bring Ken round, because Ken sent Diana a doll for her birthday and hes home again on leave from the war, and when Mum opens the back door her hands are all floury but now she sees what weve got she claps just the same,

  ‘we can do the lounge first’ Mike tells her,

  ‘well, let me know when you need me’ she says ‘and i shall come and help’

  so Di and i get busy sorting the ropes of ivy and choosing the best while Mike puts two kitchen chairs ready and he climbs up on one,

  ‘ready, Mum’ he calls,

  and she comes in and stands on the other chair and we pass the ivy up and they hammer nails into the picture rail for looping the stems behind, and theres plenty of leaves to reach right round the room so our flat already begins to look like heaven,

  ‘the pity is’ says Mum ‘that Christmas trees are so expensive this year’

  ‘dont worry’ says Mike up near the ceiling ‘we know where to go for one’

  ‘are you sure?’ says Mum,

  ‘and its growing wild’ i tell her,

  so thats why we set off with the hatchet Mike got given last year, and the tree is right beside the railway track and only about a mile away, and though its bad luck about the drizzle that cant be helped,

  ‘therell be snow tomorrow’ i say,

  ‘no there wont’ says Mike,

  and we jump down into the coal pits and out along the line and when a train comes past some people wave to us out of the windows so we wave back, and we follow the tracks till we find the tree we saw and Mike lets us all have a turn at chopping but the woods too bouncy,

  ‘theres so much sap in the trunk’ he says,

  and thats why its such hard work and even when we finish cutting the tree down its hard work, carrying it, and then its got to be hoisted up out of the coal bunker and now theres our stairs, so we are panting fit to burst at the back door, but its ours and we shake the raindrops off,

  ‘my, oh my!’ says Mum,

  and it looks perfect between the lounge room windows because the tip just touches the ceiling, and i feel all hot and happy and wet and Mum finishes sticking some holly round the mirror over the fireplace and she hammers a nail into the door frame for the mistletoe,

  ‘who are you going to kiss, Mum?’ Di asks,

  so Mum stops and stands there with the hammer in her hand,

  but i say ‘im going to kiss Mike!’ and i make a rush for him,

  ‘hey!’ Mike yells and wipes my kiss off his cheek,

  ‘now all you need’ Mum says ‘is some colour!’

  and she goes back to the kitchen to get busy rolling pastry for the mince pies while i help Di spread scissors and glue and stuff on the lounge room carpet and we begin cutting up crepe paper for making into loops for the links in a chain thats going to be long enough to cross the room from corner to corner and already we are mixing red with green,

  ‘afterwards’ Mike says ‘you can start cutting strips to fold across each other for the other kind of streamer’

  ‘stop bossing us around’ says Di,

  ‘thats the kind of paper chains i like best because theyre twisty’ i say,

  ‘well we shall hang it up in the kitchen’ says Mike,

  ‘why the kitchen?’ i say,

  ‘i can hear you’ Mum warns us,

  and she bangs things around on the kitchen table,

  ‘anyway this glue has to dry’ Mike says ‘before we can do anything’

  but i can hear Gran at the door and she arrives in a hat and overcoat with the chicken we are going to roast tomorrow so i get a good look at it and its black feathers shine green,

  ‘those stairs of yours, Dods’ says Gran ‘will be the death of me’

  ‘me too’ i say and i reach up to kiss her while she takes off her heavy things, and gives her scarf to me to hang up and shes puffed, but she puts an apron on straight away and sits down in the kitchen with the bird on her lap and its head dangles with a drop of blood on the beak while she begins to yank the feathers off it,

  ‘can i help?’ i ask

  ‘of course you can’ Gran says,

  so we work together,

  ‘when did it die?’ i ask,

  ‘last Saturday’ Gran says ‘and by rights we should have let it hang longer’

  i get a good look at its dead eye,

  ‘what was it like alive?’ i ask,

  ‘all cocky and full of importance and strutting around the coop’ she says and she lifts one wing to get at it better, the feathers are hard to pull out because the loose skin is too loose though i tug and tug them, and Grans much quicker than me even with her knobbly old fingers and she gets at the fluff under the wings too so theres feathers piled up on the lino and Di calls out to me from the lounge,

  ‘its us you should be helping’ she says ‘with these paper chains’

  ‘can he can finish this first, darlin?’ says Gran,

  and Di comes to the door,

  ‘i suppose’ she says,

  ‘look at our chicken, Mum’ i say ‘how fat she is’

  but Mums popping trays of mince pies in the oven,

  ‘this ones a cockerel’ Gran tells me ‘its a he’

  and she shoves her hand right up inside the bird and looks at the ceiling while she feels around in there to pull out long strings of bloody gizzards in her fist, and theres blood all among her knuckles,

  ‘weve got to clean him out nice and ready for stuffin’ Gran says,

  and now the jobs done there are so many feathers on the floor they bury her shoes and she holds the Christmas cockerel up by his feet,

  ‘i dont like the look of that skin’ Di says ‘why cant we cook him with the feathers on?’

  ‘the things these children think of!’ Gran says,

  and she gets busy rubbing some lard on the bare bird,

  and heres Mike blowing up our balloons so i help him now and my first balloon is a red one that im huffing and puffing into and right in front of my face it gets bigger and bigger till its bigger than my head and bigger than Gran and while i hold it steady it squeaks against my hand and now its bigger than the whole kitchen and POP!

  everybody laughs but im too shocked to speak,

  ‘you look so funny!’ Di says,

  ‘whats the matter?’ Mum asks me ‘it cant just be the balloon’

  but i dont know and ive still got this feeling if things are loud and make me jump and i cant stop it even when someone knocks at the door,

  ‘that must be Ken’ says Gran ‘since he was promoted, hes a captain’

  anyway Mum goes to see, but then she steps outside and pulls the door to behind her, but a cold wind still comes
in through the gap because its not quite shut and i can hear a grumbly voice out there, so i know something big is happening when i catch sight of a man with silver buttons through the door crack, but Mum still doesnt let go of the handle,

  ‘thats as may be, Mrs Hall’ says the voice ‘but the fact of the matter is that your children were identified and reported’

  ‘its Christmas!’ Mum says,

  ‘thats as may be’ the policeman says again ‘but the Great Western Railway has a right to protect its property’

  Mum gets cross,

  ‘so are you telling me there was a fence around it?’

  ‘as to any fence i cant be sure’

  ‘well without a Keep Out sign how can children be expected to understand?’

  ‘howsoever’ says the policeman ‘i should suppose the oldest child would be the ringleader, so i can content myself with just speaking to him if you like’

  ‘Michael’ Mum calls,

  and to my surprise Mikes ready and waiting like he knew something was going to happen and she opens the door to let him out into the cold,

  ‘tsk tsk!’ Gran complains because of the draught,

  ‘Gran’ i whisper ‘whats going to happen?’

  but she slaps the dead bird and begins packing it with stuffing,

  ‘so let that be a warning to you, young man’ the policemans voice says ‘because now ive got you in my book’

  and steam comes from the spout of the kettle,

  ‘you was observed’ the policemans voice says ‘all three of you was observed’

  ‘anyway when a plant grows wild’ says Mum ‘who is to say its not a weed?’

  and Gran gives the cockerel a little nudge with her thumb,

  ‘as a point of law’ says the policemans voice,

  ‘but’ says Mum and now she sounds really cross,

  ‘my duty’ says the policemans voice,

  ‘well all i can say’ says Mum ‘is that the GWR needs something better to do with its time’

  ‘just remember this, young Michael’ he says ‘i shall be on the lookout for you’

  ‘really!’ says Mum ‘thats too bad!’

  and theres a terrible silence, so suddenly i realise Mum and Mike have been taken away from us,

  at last the policeman says ‘whatever your opinion Mrs Hall the railway views this as theft’

  when Mum comes back in and shuts the door behind her she has her hand on Mikes shoulder,