Mr Bluenose

by Jack Lasenby

  “The man called the throater opens the guts with his knife and nearly takes off the cod’s head. The liverer then sweeps out the guts with his hand, pulls out the liver for its oil, breaks off the head and tosses it to the tonguer, a boy who cuts out the tongue and the cheeks. The splitter grabs the cod, splits it with one whack of his square-bladed knife and takes out the backbone, and it goes down into the hold where the salters lay it flat and scatter salt to preserve it.” Mr Bluenose laid the cod flat and scattered handfuls of salt.

  “When all the cod are salted below, you have a huge feed of fish soup called the Soup of Sorrow.”

  “Why is it called that?”

  “Because,” said Mr Bluenose, “once you taste the Soup of Sorrow, you are doomed to return and fish for cod on the Great Banks for the rest of your life.” He nodded. “About midnight, you fall into your bunk. Four hours’ sleep, and you are slinging your dory over the side again.

  “Day after day, you fish in fog. You listen for your schooner’s siren. And you blow on your conch horn to let them know where you are.

  “Sometimes you blow all night, and the schooner doesn’t hear you. Some men get blown away, or run down by other ships. Some drown, some are never seen again. Some have sailed all the way to Canada in their dories. The dory is a tough boat. Its flat bottom lets it slip sideways over the waves without broaching and taking on water. And it doesn’t take waves over the bow and the narrow stern.”

  “Did you ever get lost?”

  “Often! Once a whale almost sank my dory with a flick of its tail, but I bailed it dry. Another time a whale sank the schooner, and I had to rescue the captain and the mate in my dory. Once I caught so many cod, my dory swamped beside the schooner, and they pulled me out of the water with a rope under my arms. They hoisted my dory, and we reached down and gaffed aboard all the cod before they swept away. Then we were busy bringing aboard the other dories before they got swamped in the storm.”

  “What did you eat?” I asked Mr Bluenose.

  “Boiled cod. Fried cod. Baked cod. Cod tongues and cheeks. After a few weeks we started to grow scales. Some of those men had fished out there on the Grand Banks so many years, they grew fins.”

  “That’s not true, is it?”

  “Every trip, one or two old men disappeared. The other men said they had grown tails and married mermaids.”

  “Did you grow scales and fins?”

  “I was only a boy, but I grew a few.”

  “That oar you carried when you first came to Waharoa,” I said, “was it one of the oars off your dory?”

  “That was off the warship. The oars on my dory were hardwood, and that wouldn’t rot in the long grass across the road from Mrs Doleman’s billiard saloon.”

  I walked home, thinking of Mr Bluenose fishing from his dory, lost in the fog, growing scales. At the end of our street, Freddy Jones was sitting in the top of his hedge. I dropped over the side of the schooner into my dory, pulled up the sail, and steered past him with the oar.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Sailing my dory back to the schooner with a load of cod. In a storm on the Grand Banks off Canada. And in fog, too!”

  “My mother says you make things up!” Freddy Jones fired an acorn from his shanghai and disappeared into the hedge. I didn’t even bother to duck because he wasn’t much of a shot anyway.

  “I do not make things up!” I yelled back, and threw a couple of stones into the leaves. The hedge gave a howl that sounded just like Freddy Jones. I stuck my head through the branches. “You better watch out,” I hissed. “Tonight’s Friday, the night the vampire comes visiting!”

  I’d climb out my window tonight, I thought, sneak along to Freddy Jones’s place, and try moaning under his window. I’d teach him to say I made things up. Freddy Jones was going to taste the Soup of Sorrow.

  10

  What Horse Did With Mr Bluenose’s Green and White-Striped Boiled Lolly, the Corned Beef and Mustard Sandwich, and Mr Bryce’s Suggestion.

  I met Mr Bluenose pushing his wheelbarrow past the hall.

  “Are you going to the station?”

  “Mr Bryce asked me to sell him these apples. I charge him twopence a pound, and he charges people sixpence. That way we both make some money.”

  “That’s not fair! Mr Bryce makes more than you.”

  “It is the way it goes. The man who grows the things makes the least money.”

  “I think it’s mean!”

  “I charge less, but I sell more apples,” Mr Bluenose nodded his head. “That is how I make my money. Mr Bryce sells fewer apples but charges more. That is how he makes his money. It works out in the long run.”

  “Can I have a turn at pushing the barrow?” I asked.

  “It might be a bit heavy. One day, when you have grown bigger.”

  “Why didn’t you bring Horse?”

  “That Horse!” said Mr Bluenose, “I tried to teach him how to push the wheelbarrow, but do you think he was interested? He would not even try. I led him up to the wheelbarrow and said to him, ‘Pick up the handles, Horse!’ But he just snorted and backed away.

  “‘Like this!’ I tell him. I pick up the handles of the wheelbarrow and push it down to the gate, to show him. And that Horse, he follows me and shoves at my pocket. He wants an apple. I give him a nice ripe one. He munches it. I open the gate. I say to him, ‘Now, you pay for your nice ripe apple. You push the wheelbarrow!’ And he shakes his head, runs away to the other end of the orchard, and neighs at me.”

  I said, “He had no right to take the apple if he didn’t mean to help you.” The wheel on Mr Bluenose’s tall old barrow creaked as if it needed a drop of oil. “I’ve got an idea. Maybe you should try Horse with a boiled lolly. Perhaps that’s what he was trying to say.”

  “I tried him with the green and white-striped boiled lolly you so kindly saved for me,” said Mr Bluenose.

  “Didn’t you eat it?”

  “I licked it each night before I went to bed.”

  “I remember now.”

  “I told Horse he could have one lick, that is all – but he snatched the green and white-striped boiled lolly and swallowed it. He likes boiled lollies all right.”

  “Yes, but did he offer to push the wheelbarrow?”

  “Horse is not very reliable when it comes to wheelbarrows, but he is good in the konaki.” “Why not drive the konaki to Mr Bryce’s?”

  Mr Bluenose shook his head, put the wheelbarrow down, and sat on the handle. “The Matamata County Council will not let sledges on the road.”

  While he had a blow, I looked in the ditch past the hall. People often threw bottles in there after the pictures and at dances.

  “What are you looking for?” Mr Bluenose asked.

  “Bottles,” I said. “I sell them to Mr Bryce for a penny. Soft drink bottles a penny ha’penny.”

  “So Mr Bryce buys bottles off you, and then he sells you boiled lollies for the money he paid you. Just like with the money he pays me for my apples I am going to buy some stores. Then, for more money, he will sell the bottles and the apples to other people. No wonder Mr Bryce is rich!”

  “No wonder!”

  “Come on,” Mr Bluenose said to his wheelbarrow. “This is not going to get you to the store.” He picked up the handles, and we went past the blacksmith’s shop.

  “Do you bring Horse to Mr Whimble for new shoes?” I asked.

  “I shoe him myself,” said Mr Bluenose. “By crikey dick! If I have to push this wheelbarrow much further, I will have to ask Mr Whimble to put horseshoes on my feet.”

  We went past Mrs Doleman’s. Mr Bluenose put down the wheelbarrow, looked at the men leaning against the front of the billiard saloon, lifted his hat and said, “Good afternoon!” The men shifted their feet and nodded their heads sideways, and one mumbled, “G’day.”

  Mr Bryce paid Mr Bluenose for the apples, and took his order for stores. While Mr Bluenose went across the road to the butcher’s, he said to me
, “I see you haven’t got any bottles today. What sort of a story have you got?”

  “Mr Bluenose tried to teach his horse to push the “Mr Bluenose tried to teach his horse to push the wheelbarrow, but he wouldn’t even try,” I told Mr Bryce. “Horse ate the apple Mr Bluenose gave him. And he ate the boiled lolly Mr Bluenose gave him. It was one I’d given to Mr Bluenose. But Horse still wouldn’t push the wheelbarrow. Mr Bluenose gave him a sandwich, but he still wouldn’t push the wheelbarrow, not even though he liked the sandwich.” I thought desperately. I had to make up some more of the story for Mr Bryce.

  “What sort of sandwich?” Mr Bryce grunted, lifting a bag of flour.

  “Corned beef with mustard.”

  Mr Bryce looked around. “I wouldn’t have thought a horse would like corned beef,” he said. “Not with mustard.”

  “Horse is very fond of mustard,” I said. “Mr Bluenose gave him a bottle of lemonade, and he drank that, but he still wouldn’t push the wheelbarrow.”

  “How did he open the bottle of lemonade?” asked Mr Bryce.

  “He opened it with his teeth. He’s got very strong teeth, Horse.” I thought again. “Mr Bluenose gave him a bottle of beer, too, and he opened that with his teeth and drank it. But he still wouldn’t push the wheelbarrow. Do you know what he did?” Mr Bryce heaved a bag of sugar on to the counter and shook his head.

  “He lay down, crossed his legs, and went to sleep,” I said.

  “That’s how beer affects me, too,” said Mr Bryce. “Specially if I drink it in the middle of the day. Mr Bluenose should say to his horse, ‘If you push the wheelbarrow, I will give you a bottle of beer afterwards.’ Work comes first, play second, that’s how to get things done!” Mr Bryce spoke so firmly, I thought he sounded like Mrs Dainty.

  “I’ll suggest that to him,” I said.

  “Even though the horse didn’t push the wheelbarrow, it’s not a bad story,” Mr Bryce said, and he gave me some boiled lollies. “I’ll tell you what, I wouldn’t let Mr Bluenose see those, he’s a fiend for boiled lollies, you know.”

  Mr Bluenose came in then, paid Mr Bryce with the money he’d got for his apples, put the stores on his wheelbarrow, and pushed it back up the street. I was going home, but turned and ran after him.

  “Here,” I told him, “half of these are yours.” Mr Bluenose looked at me. “Mr Bryce gave them to me for telling him about Horse refusing to push the wheelbarrow.” I thought it best not to tell Mr Bluenose about the bits I’d added.

  “You are not just honest, but generous, too,” said Mr Bluenose. “I will only take one boiled lolly, a red and white-striped one.”

  “Are you going to lick it each night and see how long it lasts?”

  “Yes. But I will not let Horse lick it. Not after what he did to the other one.”

  I sat under the hedge at the corner of our street, chewing my boiled lollies. I’d save one for Dad, one for tomorrow, and, if I could control myself, I might take another down to Mr Bluenose’s and see if I could get Horse to push the wheelbarrow. But I wouldn’t give it to him till after he’d pushed it, the way Mr Bryce said. “Work comes first, play second,” I’d tell him. “That’s how to get things done!”

  11

  Freddy Jones and the Missing Tooth, Why He Tried to Look at His Tongue, Wringing and Blueing the Washing, and Hanging Bill Baillie.

  “Somebody has been at my apples,” said Mr Bluenose. “Only this time he sat up in the tree and took just one bite out of each apple.”

  “Do you know who it was?” I asked.

  Mr Bluenose shook his head. “But I have an important clue!”

  “What’s a clue?”

  “Something that tells me who is the thief.”

  “And what is your clue?”

  “The tooth-marks!”

  “How can they tell you who it was?”

  “All the tooth-marks in my apples belong to somebody with one tooth missing in front. So all I have to do is to go around Waharoa and look at everyone’s teeth.”

  I felt my front teeth with my tongue and with my finger, too. I turned back to Mr Bluenose and said, “If I see anyone with a tooth missing, I’ll tell you.”

  As I walked home, Freddy Jones was climbing one of the lawsonianas around the school horse paddock. I looked and, sure enough, he had one tooth missing in front.

  “You’d better stop biting Mr Bluenose’s apples,” I told him. “Or he’s going to get the police.”

  “I did not! Anyway, how does he know it was me?”

  I nearly told Freddy Jones it was because of his tooth-marks but, just in time, I stopped. “Mr Bluenose found your fingerprints,” I said.

  “I never left no fingerprints! I just bit them.”

  “You left your fingerprints all over the tree. When Mr Bluenose shows them to the police, they’re going to arrest you.”

  “They will not!”

  “They will so. They’ll put you in gaol and hang you, like Bill Baillie. And serve you right!”

  Freddy Jones called me a rude name and poked out his tongue.

  “Mr Bluenose sprays all his apples with special invisible paint,” I said. “It doesn’t show on the apples, but turns blue when it gets on people’s tongues. Look at yours!”

  Freddy Jones poked out his tongue and tried to look at it. He couldn’t see it, so he let go of the branches and went to grab his tongue, to pull it out further. He must have forgotten he was sitting in the top of the lawsoniana.

  It took Freddy a while to get on to his feet because he’d knocked the wind out of himself but, once he stopped gasping and got his breath back, you could hear him bellow for miles. He bawled the whole way home. I thought it might be best to run and tell Dad before Mrs Jones came along and told him I’d winded Freddy and made him cry.

  “Dad?”

  “What have you been up to now?”

  “How do you know I’ve been up to something?”

  “Because when you’ve done something, you always say ‘Dad?’ in just that tone of voice.”

  “Well,” I said, “Freddy Jones was sitting up in the top of the lawsoniana, and he stuck out his tongue to see if his tongue was coloured blue, and he forgot to hold on, and fell and winded himself. And now he’s trying to say it’s all my fault.”

  Dad was lifting the sheets out of the copper and putting them into the tub to rinse them. He turned round to me, the copper stick in his hand. “And who told Freddy his tongue was blue?” he asked.

  “Can I turn the wringer?”

  “You must be feeling guilty.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you don’t usually want to turn the wringer. Who told Freddy his tongue was blue?”

  “I suppose I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s been down at Mr Bluenose’s, and he climbed a tree and took just one bite out of every apple.”

  “How do you know it was Freddy?”

  “Because he’s got a front tooth missing, and the tooth-marks on the apples all had one front tooth missing.”

  “What if there’s somebody else in Waharoa with a front tooth missing?”

  “I didn’t think of that.” I turned the wringer. It was fairly hard. “But if he didn’t take the bites out of Mr Bluenose’s apples, why did he try to see if his tongue was blue?”

  The sheet came out of the wringer and into the other tub like a long white tongue. I put another sheet into the wringer and turned the handle.

  “Why did he want to see if his tongue was blue?” Dad let the water out of the first tub, put the plug back in, and turned on the tap. He put in the blue bag and watched the water change colour.

  “I told him that Mr Bluenose sprayed an invisible paint on the apples, and it turns people’s tongues blue if they eat them.”

  “Who’s going to want to buy his apples if they turn their tongues blue?”

  “Freddy didn’t think of that. He just poked out his tongue to see if it was blue, and when he couldn’t see it,
he let go of the lawsoniana to pull his tongue further out, and that’s when he fell and winded himself.”

  Dad went round to the other tub and swished the sheets up and down, rinsing them. He stuck one end into the wringer, and I turned the handle the other way and watched the white tongue turn blue.

  “Perhaps I should make you drink the blue water,” Dad said. “Then take you along to Mrs Jones, show her your tongue, and tell her you’re sorry.”

  “But that’s not fair! I didn’t bite Mr Bluenose’s apples.”

  “And you can’t be certain that Freddy bit them. What else did you tell him?”

  I puffed and turned the wringer. “I told him Mr Bluenose found his fingerprints all over the apple tree.”

  “Yes, and what else.”

  “Gosh, it’s hard work turning this wringer.”

  “And what else did you tell Freddy?”

  “I told him Mr Bluenose was going to show the fingerprints to the police in Matamata, and they’d arrest Freddy and put him in gaol and hang him with his tongue sticking out like Bill Baillie.”

  “No wonder Freddy ran home bawling,” said Dad. “I think you’d better leave the rest to me. I’ll finish the wringing and hang out the washing. Here’s a bob. How about running down and getting the bread, and you can call at the store and ask Mr Bryce for a packet of Bushells tea. Tell him to put it on our account.

  “By the time you get back, Mrs Jones should have been here and told me what you’ve been up to. Then I can tell you off, and we’ll have some lunch. How would you like a tomato sandwich?”

  I didn’t have time to reply because I was already running out the door of the wash-house and down to the shops.

  12

  The Morepork’s Revenge, Mr Bryce’s Verandah Post, Why Freddy Jones Bit His Tongue, and the Way Fern Uncurls at the Top.

  Mr Bryce listened to my story of how somebody had sat in one of Mr Bluenose’s trees and taken a bite out of the apples, how Mr Bluenose had an important clue, and how the police were going to come down and arrest the apple thief and hang him. He laughed so long, I thought he was going to give me some boiled lollies. Then he frowned.