Just Jack

by Adele Broadbent

  For Poppa

  George Arawa Baines

  1915–2003

  and Simon

  my inspirations for Just Jack

  Contents

  Cover

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  ‘Wee Jack!’

  I looked down the railway platform to see Uncle Onslow weaving in and out of the crowd. He hung on to his hat as he leapt over a pile of suitcases, apologizing at the same time to a woman who scuttled backwards in fright.

  ‘Made it,’ he gasped. Dad gave a big sigh behind me, but my uncle and I just grinned.

  ‘I thought you’d forgotten,’ I said.

  ‘Forgotten? Would I miss saying goodbye to my favourite nephew and a future champion jockey of New Zealand?’ The train whistle blew, making us all jump.

  ‘Come on, Wee Jack,’ said Dad. ‘You’d better get a move on.’

  I nodded, turning to my family. Mum swept me up in a hug. ‘Are you sure this is what you want, son? You don’t have to go.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ said Dad. ‘He’s fourteen now, dear. Old enough to go out into the world.’ Mum let me go and dabbed her eyes with a screwed-up hanky.

  ‘He’s only going to Hastings,’ said Robert. My big brother punched me on the shoulder. ‘Anyone would think you were going half way round the world.’

  My little sister Annie pushed Robert away and wrapped her arms around my middle, smiling up at me. ‘He’s just jealous because you’re leaving Ormondville and he has to stay on the farm. I heard him telling his cobbers.’

  ‘Why, you—’ Robert grabbed at her scarf. She squealed and dashed off down the platform with him close behind.

  Dad handed me my suitcase. ‘Grandfather says to give you his regards. He couldn’t be here. Farm business.’

  I glanced at Uncle Onslow, who just shrugged. I hadn’t really expected Grandfather to come anyway.

  Dad stuck out his hand. ‘Make us proud, Jack. Remember how we raised you, and work hard. This is your chance to make something of yourself.’ He pulled me close for a quick hug, then stepped back as the train whistle blew again.

  Uncle Onslow walked with me to the carriage steps. ‘You’re a natural, Jack. Just remember that. You’ll be racing in no time.’

  I lugged my suitcase up the steps and shuffled inside along the aisle to my seat. When I looked out my window, Robert and Annie had returned. All but Robert smiled and waved. He stood with a scowl on his face and his hands shoved deep in his pockets. I stared down at him. You should have stayed home with Grandfather, I thought. Just wait, big brother. I’ll show you both. I’ll be just what Uncle Onslow says. I’ll earn my colours and win races by ten furlongs. You’ll see.

  I grabbed the seat in front of me as the train jerked. Mum clung to Dad’s arm as another whistle blast filled the station and the train began to move.

  I waved for as long as I could see them, then sank back into my seat. I was on my way. It was really happening.

  When Uncle Onslow told me he’d found me a jockey apprenticeship, I’d hardly believed it. I’d been working with his horses for a while when he first said I had a gift. Every chance I got to escape the farm work, I’d spend time with him at the stables. When I was with him and the horses, I felt different. Sort of free.

  ‘You know, Wee Jack,’ he’d said one day, stroking his wiry beard, ‘you have a way with horses. Something about you makes them trust you.’ He nodded, thoughtful. ‘And you being small, I reckon you’d make a fine jockey.’

  I’d felt like a thousand pounds that day. No one had ever said I’d make a fine anything, let alone something as marvellous as a jockey. I never believed for a minute that it would actually come true, though.

  I stared out the window at the sheep dotting the paddocks. Cows gazed up at the train as we clattered by. Grandfather’s voice bellowed in my head over the sound of the train wheels. ‘How can you be so good with horses and so useless with farm stock?’ I shut my eyes against the memory. I’d never got the hang of docking or shearing.

  Milking wasn’t much better, as Grandfather and Robert reminded me constantly. Dad would sigh and shake his head. ‘Why can’t you be more like your brother?’ I just shrugged it off.

  There was no way I could compete with Robert. He wasn’t much older, but he’d always been much bigger and stronger than me. Rugby and cricket trophies lined his bedroom shelf, and medals from the local rabbit-shoot hung on the wall.

  But now it was going to be different. Dad was right. This was my chance to do something well for a change. And I was going to make the most of it.

  My stomach swayed with the movement of the train. I wasn’t sure whether it was nerves or hunger. With all the excitement of packing, meeting the train and saying my goodbyes, I hadn’t thought much about who was going to meet me at the other end.

  All I knew was that I’d be working for a man named Mr MacKenzie and he’d been looking for an apprentice for a while. ‘He’ll see you right, Jack,’ Uncle Onslow had told me. ‘You’ll learn a lot from someone who’s been training horses since before you were born.’ With the promise of working with horses all day, every day, I hadn’t thought much about it, but suddenly I wondered how old Mr MacKenzie was. I shrugged to myself. Didn’t matter. He was going to train me to be a jockey.

  Mum had asked dozens of questions about it all. Uncle Onslow told me that convincing her to let me go and live with a stranger was as hard as getting the apprenticeship in the first place, especially me being only thirteen. But once I’d had my birthday and Mum learnt that Mr MacKenzie boarded with a lady near to his stables and it was all ‘quite respectable', she eventually gave in.

  Grandfather gave his usual nod when Dad told him. It wasn’t like I expected him to be happy for me or anything. He was probably pleased to be rid of me.

  My stomach growled again. This time I fished out the sandwiches Mum had made, and ate them as the paddocks flicked by.

  I’d hardly slept a wink the night before, and the steady clacketty-clack of the train soothed me into a doze.

  I woke when something bumped into my seat. Passengers were pulling their cases off the racks, and some were already shuffling down the carriage aisle. The train had stopped.

  I quickly looked out the window to check the platform sign.

  HASTINGS.

  Crikey! I scrambled for my case and squeezed my way into the aisle. What if I’d missed my stop? From the carriage steps I peered down at the people swarming the platform. Which one was Mr MacKenzie?

  Chapter 2

  I waited. Each time someone approached me, I would smile and be ready to shake their hand. But they all rushed past to greet someone else.

  Soon the platform was empty. Even the train had left for the next stop. I stared up and down the platform. Was I early? Or late? Perhaps Mr MacKenzie had been and gone? Thinking he might be waiting outside, I dashed out to the front of the station. Besides a skinny stray dog sleeping under a seat, there was no one. As I gazed up and down the street, it began to rain. Great.

  ‘Jack Baines?’ I spun around to see a man in uniform.

  ‘Yes? Are you—’


  ‘Hastings Station Master. I have a note for you. Sorry, I’ve been busy with other matters.’ He passed me a small brown envelope and scuttled back inside.

  I quickly tore open the note, my heart thumping.

  Jack.

  Can’t make station. Follow street directions on reverse and I’ll see you at stables.

  Mr H MacKenzie

  I flipped the note over to see a list of street names and directions. My heart beat even harder. I’d been to Hastings only a handful of times, and always with Dad or Uncle Onslow. How on earth would I find Mr MacKenzie’s stables?

  Again Grandfather’s voice echoed in my head: ‘… useless’. I shook the thought away and read the note again. It seemed straightforward enough. I followed the first instruction and found a signpost at the corner. Pulling my jacket collar up and my hat down against the rain, I checked the street name on my note.

  I gritted my teeth. I could do it myself. I had to. Because even if I had a return ticket, I couldn’t go home to Ormondville.

  My suitcase seemed to get heavier the further I went. I swapped it from one hand to the other, but after h alf a dozen blocks my arms ached. When I realized I’d taken a wrong turn and had to double back, I thought about leaving my case somewhere to fetch later.

  I stood at another street corner, the fine, cold drizzle trickling down my neck. The note was now soggy and the ink had begun to run. There were only two street names left on the directions, so I figured I must be close.

  I turned left into Pepper Street just as a boy on a bicycle cut the corner. ‘Hey!’ he cried, cxskidding in the wet. He tumbled off his bike onto the grass verge.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I said, dropping my case to help him up.

  He shoved my hands away and scrambled to his feet. Mud smeared his pants and boots. ‘Look what you did !’ He wiped at his knees, then looked from me to my suitcase. ‘Are you Jack?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m looking for Mr MacKenzie. He’s got stables near here.’

  ‘You’re late,’ said the boy with a scowl. ‘Old Mac sent me to find you.’ He cxpicked up his bike and checked the wheels for any damage. ‘Follow me. And make it quick if you don’t want the sack on the first day. Mac’s been waiting for you at the house.’

  I stared after him as he rode up the street. Who was he? Another apprentice? How many were there? The more, the better. As long as they weren’t all like him. I snatched up my muddy case and followed. Just before the corner, he looked back before riding in behind a high tin fence. By the time I reached it, he was gone.

  A long, muddy driveway stretched down one side of the fence, and a small, white house sat on the other. Brightly painted flower-pots perched along the veranda railings. I checked the letterbox number against my note, but it was torn and too soggy to read. Was this the house? I jumped as the front door flew open.

  ‘You must be Wee Jack!’ A woman swept out onto the veranda, long skirts swishing around her. ‘cxAdmiring my pots, I see,’ she said, smiling down at her flowers. ‘They’re my little darlings. I love to watch them grow.’ She waved me inside. ‘Come in out of the rain, dear. You’ll want to be rid of that case.’

  My nickname sounded wrong coming from a stranger. ‘It’s just Jack,’ I said. ‘I’m looking for Mr MacKenzie.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll be busy with Kenny at the stables. He loves those horses like I love my flowers.’ She pointed at a row of hooks by the door. ‘You can hang your jacket there.’

  Kenny? The boy on the bike? I peeled off my jacket and followed her inside, down a long, dim hallway.

  Without warning, she stopped and spun around. ‘Aren’t I a silly? I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Mrs Davis. Welcome to my home.’ She grandly waved one hand. ‘Mr MacKenzie and Kenny board here with me. It suits them fine, their work being so close. And I love having company.’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I am sorry. Listen to me prattling on. My Arthur would always say …’ She gazed into space, then suddenly turned and hurried on ahead of me.

  What was that all about? Uneasy, I followed her to a door at the end of the hall.

  ‘This is Kenny’s room,’ she said. ‘You’ll be sharing with him. Mr MacKenzie’s is right next door.’ She stepped aside, letting me pass. I was used to sharing a room with Robert, but sharing with Kenny? We hadn’t exactly got off to the best start.

  A musty smell lingered in the tiny room. A set of bunks leaned against one wall, with a single bed opposite and a dresser under a window in-between. By the newspaper clippings pinned above the bed, I could tell which side was Kenny’s. Pictures of horses and grinning jockeys holding up trophies lined the wall. Just like my room at home. My unease lifted a little. Maybe we weren’t so different after all.

  I put my case down next to the dresser. When I looked up I caught Mrs Davis staring at me in the dresser mirror with a cxstrange look on her face. Her powdered cheeks and greying hair looked ghostly in the doorway. She smiled again. ‘You can unpack later, dear. I’ll show you where you wash up at night.’

  She gave me a quick tour of the house, showing me every room but the front parlour. She swept past that room, mumbling, ‘I don’t use that room any more.’

  I nodded politely, keen to get outside and see the horses.

  ‘Tea?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, I—’

  She bustled out to the kitchen. A black cat sat staring, motionless on the windowsill, and for a moment I wondered if it was real.

  ‘That’s Marmite,’ said Mrs Davis. ‘He’s very special to me.’ The cat blinked his yellow eyes at the sound of his name.

  Should I sit down? Or go and find Mr MacKenzie? ‘Um, no tea, thank you. How do I get to the stables?’

  Just then, the back door opened and Kenny stuck his head in. ‘Hurry up, Jack. Mr Mac’s waiting.’

  Relieved to escape the landlady’s fussing, I followed Kenny outside, along the side of the house, and through a gate in the high tin fence. Thankfully it had stopped raining.

  We faced a small exercise yard to the rear of a stable. Two horses watched us approach; their ears pricked forward, heads high and alert.

  Real racehorses! But before I could get a proper look, Kenny elbowed me. ‘Come and meet the boss.’

  Chapter 3

  We stood outside a small two-box stable. ‘Found him,’ said Kenny. ‘Again,’ he added with a smirk.

  ‘About time,’ answered a man, disappearing into a stable. He reappeared holding a bucket. ‘You’re late.’ Icy blue eyes bored into me.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Yes, I know. Don’t let her muck you about. She’d talk the leg off an iron pot, and have you drinking tea all day.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I said.

  ‘No need for sir. Mr Mac will do.’ He stuck out his hand.

  His grip was strong. I nodded. ‘Yes … Mr Mac.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Ready to learn, Wee Jack Baines?’

  ‘Just Jack. Yes, sir … um, Mr Mac.’

  My first job was one I knew well. I’d mucked out Uncle Onslow’s horses dozens of times. I got straight to work, forking all the droppings and wet straw into a barrow. I didn’t notice Kenny watching me over the stable door, and I jumped when he spoke.

  ‘Just making sure you’re doing it right,’ he said. ‘These are racehorses. Not farm nags like you’re used to.’

  ‘You don’t even know me,’ I said, shooting him a frown.

  ‘I know you’re from Ormondville and have never been near a racehorse in your life.’

  I ignored him as I forked fresh straw into the stall.

  ‘And that your uncle got you this job,’ added Kenny. ‘I had to earn my place on my own.’

  ‘And you’ll have to work harder to keep it,’ grumbled Mr Mac behind him. ‘Go finish the other box.’ Kenny stomped away, leaving me alone with my new boss.

  ‘Right, Jack. All done?’

  I nodded, glad I’d finished before he’d come to check. ‘Follow me.’

  At the end of th
e stables was a small, dim room. ‘You’ll find everything you need in here,’ he explained. Feed sacks as high as my waist leaned in one corner. Bridles and halters hung off hooks along the walls, and brushes were lined up neatly along a shelf. I rubbed my hand along the thick horse blankets draped over a wooden rail.

  ‘You’ll need to learn the stable routine quickly, and I expect you to work hard,’ he said. ‘You’ll be paid eight shillings plus board, with an afternoon off on Sundays.’ Only eight shillings! Uncle Onslow had told me it would be fifteen.

  ‘And don’t let Kenny tell you he’s paid more. He’s not.’ Mr Mac took my pitchfork from me and hung it on the wall next to the other tools. ‘And half the time he’s not worth that.’

  He pointed to a concrete tub at the end of the feed room.

  ‘Always clean up in here before going back to the house. Wash up. It’s dinnertime.’

  After a dinner of fried potatoes, bacon and bread, with three cups of tea to wash it down, I wasn’t feeling so bad. The pay wasn’t good, but the tucker was great!

  Mrs Davis chattered all through the meal, with Marmite draped across the back of her chair. Mr Mac hardly spoke, and Kenny rolled his eyes at her behind her back. I scowled when he started in on me.

  ‘So, Jack. Ever been to a racecourse? How long you been riding? A year, did you say?’ He turned to Mr Mac. ‘We’ll have our work cut out for us, eh, boss?’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Mr Mac answered, without looking up from his tea. ‘An old mate assured me.’

  An old mate? Uncle Onslow hadn’t told me they were friends. Mr Mac glanced at me, then pushed his chair back. ‘Thank you for dinner, Mrs Davis. I’ll be off.’ He lifted his hat from a hook on the back of the door, and left.

  Kenny grabbed the last slice of bread from the table. ‘Me, too. Mr Mac said Jack would help you today.’ He slipped out the back door and was gone.

  I had no idea where they’d gone, but I soon found out what Kenny meant by helping Mrs Davis. She had a list of things for me to do around the house. ‘Kenny is supposed to do these jobs for me, but he’s always so busy,’ she sighed. I bet he is, I thought.