Sydney Bridge Upside Down

by David Ballantyne

  ‘Thank you very much,’ Bruce said. ‘Yes, I’d love to ride your steed, Mr Phelps.’

  ‘He certainly goes for Bruce, eh?’ Dibs said to me when we were leaving the clearing. ‘Fancy offering him a ride! He’s never let me ride Sydney Bridge Upside Down.’

  ‘What about that time at the picnic?’ I said.

  ‘That time was only because Caroline was there,’ Dibs said. ‘He didn’t give me a ride. And he didn’t give Cal one.’

  ‘I didn’t want one,’ Cal said. ‘Who wants a ride on that old bag of bones?’

  ‘Bruce does,’ I said. I couldn’t figure out why Bruce got on so well with Sam Phelps. I asked: ‘Going to tell your father about meeting him, Bruce? Or do you still reckon he’d be angry?’

  ‘Angry?’ said Bruce. ‘He’d be maniacal. I’m afraid I must be careful about accepting Mr Phelps’ offer. Fat Norman has a knack for sniffing out anybody doing wrong. Children or grown-ups—it makes no difference. He’s used to children misbehaving and he thinks grown-ups are the same. I must say that it’s a nuisance of a belief. We have to be so careful.’

  ‘What do we do now?’ asked Dibs. ‘Like to come and see our cave, Bruce? Shall we show him the cave, Harry?’

  ‘If he wants to see it,’ I said.

  ‘I’d rather investigate the works,’ Bruce said. ‘Is it true that people have died in there?’

  ‘A few fellows had accidents when they were pulling down the roof,’ Dibs said. ‘It’s dangerous. That’s why we’re not allowed to go in.’

  ‘Harry goes there,’ Cal said.

  ‘A girl had an accident there,’ Dibs told Bruce. ‘Girl called Susan Prosser.’

  ‘I heard about that,’ Bruce said. ‘They were talking about it on the first day of school. Seemed rather mysterious.’

  ‘Nothing mysterious,’ I said. ‘She fell through a chute hole, that’s all. It was an accident. She should have been more careful.’

  ‘Harry’s the only one who goes there now,’ Cal said.

  I was getting annoyed with Cal. He was looking for a good bop on the nose. I asked him: ‘Why do you keep saying that, boy? Because old Phelps said he’d seen me? You shouldn’t believe everything old Phelps says.’

  ‘What were you doing with the bricks?’ asked Cal, as if I hadn’t just warned him by putting my fist to my nose.

  I would have bopped him. But Dibs suddenly shot off across the rocks towards the beach, and Cal went racing after him.

  ‘Fat Norman hasn’t ordered me not to investigate the works,’ said Bruce. ‘Nobody has officially said the works are dangerous.’

  I was in the lead as we went slowly across the rocks. ‘It’s not a very dangerous place,’ I said, looking back at him. ‘I can get right to the top. I’ve never fallen.’

  ‘What was your brother saying about you and the bricks?’

  ‘He was only being cheeky,’ I said. I moved on a few rocks, waited for Bruce to catch up. ‘What I was doing with the bricks was sorting out which ones to take to the cave, that’s all.’

  ‘I see,’ he said. A little further on, he said: ‘I expect there’s a good view from the top of the works.’

  ‘Not bad,’ I said. ‘I’ll take you up if you like.’

  ‘Yes, please,’ he said.

  Dibs and Cal were out of sight behind the dunes when we got to the beach.

  They were out of sight somewhere else by the time we got to the works. They might be in the swamp. It was funny how Dibs liked being with Cal these days; not many weeks before Cal always gave him the pip. Although I was friendly with Dibs again, I could not really trust him, I would probably have to remind him how strong I was, he was the sort of kid who did not understand what he was told until he had been bopped a few times.

  Along by the furnace-house I saw some of the bricks I had been throwing during the past week or so. I also saw that the furnace-house wall, my target, was scratched and chipped where the bricks had landed. People might wonder about those marks. Maybe it was just as well Sam Phelps had been talkative; he had warned me. I must remember to tidy up after school tomorrow night.

  ‘Where are the others?’ asked Bruce.

  ‘Keeping out of the way,’ I said. ‘Scared they’ll get into trouble. What about you, Bruce? Still want to go to the top?’

  ‘Lead on,’ he said.

  I led him into the works and up the first lot of stairs, then up the second lot. On the way I showed him the chute opening Susan Prosser had fallen through. I also showed him how the stair-rail had been taken off so that there was a drop from the second floor to the ground floor and nothing for you to hang on to if you happened to stumble over the edge of the stair-well. But it was not actually dangerous, I said. Only a very clumsy person would stumble.

  I led him up the last lot of stairs and showed him the footholds that would take us to the top. I said I wouldn’t blame him if he reckoned this bit was too risky. He said he could get up there easily enough, he said he was a good climber.

  He was too. Soon we were standing on the top floor, looking at the view. The bay seemed very peaceful. The sea was calm and the sun was making it sparkle. A few kids were playing on the beach, a few more were playing king of the castle on a dune. Nobody was on the wharf, nobody was on the hills. I could not see Cal or Dibs.

  ‘Your house is easy to pick out,’ Bruce said. ‘The roof is so red. Redder than the others.’

  ‘We painted it during the holidays,’ I said. ‘We thought my mother would be pleased if we painted the house. But we needn’t have bothered.’

  ‘Why is your mother away?’ asked Bruce.

  ‘She went to the city for a holiday, then she got sick,’ I told him. ‘She’ll be back soon.’

  ‘I’m glad my mother never goes away,’ Bruce said. ‘I’d object to being left alone with Fat Norman.’

  ‘My father’s all right,’ I said. ‘It’s good when he looks after us. We have more fun.’

  ‘Do you find school is fun?’ asked Bruce, moving to the wall the demolition fellows hadn’t bothered to bash. He sat in the shade.

  ‘I don’t have much fun at school nowadays,’ I said. ‘When I was a small kid I used to have fun there. I remember the first time I whistled. That was at school. I thought I was very clever because I could whistle. Susan Prosser said I was a skite. She must have thought I was whistling at her. I wasn’t. I was just whistling. I was only a small kid then. I was excited because I had discovered I could whistle. I went around whistling all the time.’

  ‘I’m a rather good whistler,’ Bruce said. ‘Listen.’ He whistled a soft little song, but I could not recognise the tune.

  ‘Can you whistle with two fingers in your mouth?’ I asked. ‘I’ll show you.’

  I showed him. Maybe because I was a skite and wanted to amaze him, it was the loudest I had ever whistled, it was so loud Bruce closed his eyes and slammed his hands over his ears.

  I grinned at him. ‘What did you think of that?’

  ‘I can’t whistle like that,’ he said, sounding as though he wished he could, the way Dibs had sounded earlier when I showed him how strong I was.

  ‘It’s only practice,’ I said. ‘You can do anything if you practise hard enough. I used to practise from the cliff behind the wharf. The first few times I fooled Mr Phelps. He’d look all round, wondering where the whistling was coming from. After a few more times, he took no notice, he didn’t turn his head when I whistled.’

  Bruce moved across to the edge of the floor. ‘Yes, it’s one of Fat Norman’s sayings,’ he said. ‘Practice makes perfect. He means in schoolwork.’

  ‘I don’t care about schoolwork,’ I said. I saw that he had his back to me, and I gave a short loud whistle to see if he jumped.

  By the time he had his hands to his ears, I’d stopped whistling. He was looking towards the swamp, and suddenly he began laughing.

  I moved up beside him and had a look.

  Dibs and Cal had stepped from the trees near the swamp and were staring in ev
ery direction, trying to make out where the whistler was.

  ‘Duck!’ I told Bruce. ‘Don’t let them see you.’

  We sat down quickly.

  ‘Cal’s in a mean mood today,’ I told Bruce. ‘He might tell Dad if he sees me up here.’ I paused, wondering if I should tell Bruce what I was thinking. Then I decided it would be safe to tell him. ‘Cal would like Dad to chase me with the whip,’ I said. ‘Dad would do that if he knew I’d been up here.’

  ‘A whip?’ said Bruce, seeming startled.

  ‘Sometimes he does that,’ I said. ‘Not all the time. Just now and then. When he’s in a bad mood.’

  ‘I think that’s awful,’ Bruce said. ‘Fat Norman would never do that.’

  ‘It doesn’t happen often,’ I said, a bit sorry I had told him. ‘Dad’s not often in a bad mood.’

  ‘Still, it should never happen,’ Bruce said, sounding like a grown-up. ‘Parents should never use whips on their children. I wouldn’t use a whip on a horse, let alone a child.’

  ‘Better not tell anybody,’ I said. ‘I don’t really mind. I can always get away from him. His crutch slows him down. I run across the swamp and escape. I don’t mind. So don’t tell anybody.’

  ‘My word!’ said Bruce, shaking his head.

  To get his thoughts off the whip, I said: ‘Think I’ll see what those other kids are doing.’ I moved to the crumbly edge of the wall, peeped down.

  I couldn’t see Dibs and Cal. Not for a few seconds. Then I saw them crossing the paddock, not far from the works. They were heading for the works.

  ‘Heck!’ I said to Bruce. Then, as I looked the other way: ‘There’s Caroline!’

  Caroline was on the back of Buster Kelly’s Indian. Good old Buster! He was giving Caroline a ride.

  I watched the Indian moving slowly along the road towards the river crossing, and I did not mind at all that somebody else was getting a ride from Buster, I was very glad Caroline was the one with him.

  For the past week or so, I had been worrying a fair bit about Caroline. I could tell she was not happy, and I was afraid that any day now she would say she was fed up with Calliope Bay and must leave. Thinking of her quietness, her sort of sad quietness, I was certain it had begun the day after the carnival. What had happened at the carnival had made her sad instead of gay. Even before I began early-morning training, she had changed, so that I was sure she would not want to play our old game, our running game. And although I’d had enough of that game because it made me too anxious, I would have gone on playing it if Caroline had wanted me to. Ever since the carnival she had not mentioned it, she had not even kissed me. She had certainly changed. And I knew why. I knew she was afraid of Mr Wiggins. You only had to see how she hid in her room when his van pulled up outside to know how much he scared her. I had found her hiding in there one day when Mr Wiggins was outside, and she told me she was glad Mrs Kelly had kept gossiping to him because it gave me time to get home from school and collect the meat from him. She said she could not bear the thought of Mr Wiggins looking at her today. Or any day, I knew.

  Well, Caroline would not have to suffer much more, I thought. Just hang on a bit longer, I felt like telling her. But couldn’t, of course.

  Meanwhile, it was great that Buster should call and give her a ride. Buster would make her forget terrible Mr Wiggins.

  I turned to Bruce. ‘We’ll go down now,’ I said. ‘I want to remind those other kids how strong I am.’

  12

  THERE WAS a hairy, cheeky lady’s man who often visited the edge of the world, and his name was Mr Chick Wiggins, and he died in the place where he had once killed many animals. Sam Phelps found his body one Saturday afternoon.

  I start with Mr Wiggins and the finding of his body, but now I go to our house on the afternoon of the previous day, after school, before tea. I go to Caroline’s bedroom.

  ‘You look happier today,’ I told Caroline. I was sitting on the side of her bed, watching her sort out the shoes she had taken from the wardrobe.

  She stayed kneeling, but turned her head to smile at me. Yes, her cheeks were pinker than usual, her eyes were brighter though still sort of dreamy.

  ‘I was getting scared, Caroline,’ I said. ‘I thought you might be sick, might have some strange illness that was making you unhappy.’

  ‘Unhappy!’ she cried. ‘No, I’m not unhappy, Harry.’

  ‘Not now,’ I said. ‘I can see that. But when you didn’t go to the wharf to watch the Emma Cranwell come in yesterday I thought you must be sick. Because I remembered how keen you were to go to the wharf last time she came in.’

  ‘I was different then,’ she said.

  I waited, but she did not explain, she went on studying the shoes.

  ‘How were you different?’ I asked.

  ‘Mmm?’ she said.

  ‘I thought you must be worrying about Mr Wiggins,’ I said.

  She heard me that time. ‘Him!’ she said. There sure was hatred in her voice.

  ‘I don’t know why Mr Wiggins keeps bothering people like he does,’ I said. ‘You’d think he could see people don’t want to talk to him. Except maybe Mrs Kelly. Mrs Kelly doesn’t mind talking to him.’

  ‘Are these nice, Harry?’ asked Caroline, holding up a pair of brown shoes.

  I didn’t blame her for not wanting to talk about Mr Wiggins. I said: ‘Yes, they’re good shoes.’

  ‘Flat-heeled, see?’ she said, turning them over. ‘Suitable for wearing on a motor-bike, I think.’

  ‘Yes, they’re just right,’ I said. ‘When is Buster coming for you?’

  ‘After tea,’ she said.

  ‘Where will you go?’ I asked.

  ‘Wherever I’m taken,’ she said, smiling at me. ‘We might even go to Bonnie Brae.’

  ‘Gosh, that’s a dangerous road at night,’ I said.

  ‘Buster is a very careful rider,’ she said. ‘Especially when I’m with him. He never rides no-hands when I’m with him.’

  ‘Seems like everybody is going to Bonnie Brae tonight,’ I said, thinking she was lucky to have so many rides on the Indian, not that I cared how many she had, I was glad she had so many, Buster was good to give her so many.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘This is the night Uncle Frank goes there with Mr Kelly, isn’t it? Expect he’ll leave after us. But we might see him in Bonnie Brae. I must warn—I must tell Buster about Uncle Frank being there tonight.’

  ‘Anyway, the road won’t be slippery,’ I said. ‘We’ve had no rain for a long time, eh? Remember those storms when you first came? Remember how it rained at the carnival? It sure was rainy then.’

  ‘What will you do while we’re away?’ asked Caroline.

  ‘Might play ludo with Cal,’ I said. ‘Or snakes and ladders. Might look at my cigarette cards.’

  ‘No homework?’ smiled Caroline.

  ‘On Friday!’ I said. ‘Anyway, Fat Norman’s not supposed to give us homework. We’re too young for homework. It’s too big a strain for kids like us.’

  ‘Mrs Kelly says it keeps her children out of mischief,’ Caroline said. ‘She thinks Mr Norman is sensible to give you homework.’

  ‘Mrs Kelly has some stupid ideas,’ I said. ‘Besides, what mischief would I get into? Heck, Mrs Kelly’s as bad as Fat Norman. They don’t like to think of kids having fun.’

  Caroline laughed. ‘Even so, I think you get your share of fun, Harry.’

  I thought I’d be daring. ‘I liked the fun we used to have, Caroline. You know, running up and down the passage.’

  I was surprised to see her turn red. She concentrated on the shoes. ‘The weather was much hotter then,’ she said. ‘It’s rather cool these mornings.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ I said. I suddenly wished I could see her with nothing on.

  ‘Harry,’ she said, then was silent.

  I waited, then said: ‘Yes?’

  ‘You didn’t tell anybody, did you?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About how we used to
run along the passage.’

  ‘Cal’s the only one who knows,’ I said. ‘Besides you and me. But Cal won’t tell anybody. Because he used to do it too. He’s too scared to tell.’ He knew I would fix him if he did, I thought.

  She slowly put the shoes into the wardrobe, all except the brown pair.

  ‘We might play it again one day, eh?’ I said, longing to see her. ‘When the weather’s hot maybe?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Harry,’ she said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Best not to.’

  I pretended to be sulky, but in a way I was glad she had said that. I didn’t know why, it just seemed to me she was right to say it. Somehow it was good for me to want to see her with nothing on, but better if I didn’t.

  I go now to our backyard the following morning. This, of course, was a few hours before Sam Phelps found Mr Wiggins’ body.

  I was bopping Cal near the wash-house when Dad came out to the porch and saw me. I didn’t see him until it was too late.

  ‘Harry!’ shouted Dad. ‘What are you doing to your brother?’ He stamped his crutch on the middle step, seemed to sail towards me.

  I thought of running, but didn’t. Though Cal was making a good bit of noise, he wasn’t hurt, I hadn’t bopped him all that hard.

  ‘He’s telling fibs about me, Dad,’ I said before Cal could change gear from squawking to taletelling. ‘He said I asked Mr Wiggins—’

  ‘I didn’t, Dad!’ Cal shouted. ‘He didn’t hear me properly!’

  ‘Didn’t you say I asked Mr Wiggins for a ride?’ I said.

  ‘No!’ he shouted.

  ‘I thought you did,’ I said. I was sure before, now I wasn’t. ‘Well, I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘You’re too quick with those fists,’ Dad told me. ‘Whatever he did, you shouldn’t hit him like that.’

  ‘It was a misunderstanding,’ I said.

  ‘What was that about Mr Wiggins, anyway?’ he asked.

  I was ready to tell him. I had intended telling him this morning as soon as I got the chance. I knew that Cal, peeping from the window, had seen me going off with Mr Wiggins last night and it would be no use pretending I hadn’t gone. So the best thing would be to tell Dad. I told him: ‘Mr Wiggins called last night. He wanted to see you about something, Dad. Then he said he was going to the wharf to see Sam Phelps and would I like a little ride, and I said I wouldn’t mind, so I went with him to the end of the railway line, then I came straight home and went to bed. But I didn’t ask him for a ride. He offered me one. Honestly, he did.’