Kylie looked closely at the wreck. “It’s probably not that bad. Things are rarely as bad as they first appear,” she said. She leaned over and gently began to untangle the sodden mass around the bowsprit.
“Leave it Kylie. I can do it. You’ll just make a mess.”
“Oh I will not!” she snapped. “I’m better at this than you are.”
“You are not!”
“’Course I am! Girls are more skilful with their fingers than boys.”
“Oh they are not! What rot! My models are all better than yours,” Graham said.
Kylie had to pause before answering. That was probably true but she didn’t want to admit it. She had made about a dozen model ships over the last few years. She hadn’t really been interested in ships but, as both Alex and Graham made ship models and played with them, she had been drawn into their games.
She scowled at the memory of her fate. The game of 18th Century sailing ships with the little plasticine men was largely Graham’s invention. Like all little sisters (or brothers) she had been co-opted into playing as well. Graham, whose heroes were Horatio Hornblower, Captain Aubrey and Admiral Nelson, had to be the British. That meant that little sister had to be the ‘baddies’.
For the purpose of the game Kylie ‘owned’ the enemy: the French and Spanish. She had to continually battle to amass enough ‘points’ by conquering Inca cities or Aztec Temples to pay for more ships, soldiers and cannons. Much of the game was taken up with her trying to ship cargoes of gold and silver back from the ‘Spanish Main’ to Spain.
Their game included little countries or islands drawn with chalk outlines on the concrete floor of the Ship Room. This represented a fictional section of the Caribbean and various models they had built. These included sheets of plywood or cardboard painted to represent jungle, swamp etc. on which were placed model houses and forts constructed from balsa and cardboard.
The game was played with tokens on a map until the two sides made contact. Then they used the models. Rulers and Dice played a part in keeping it moderately fair.
As Kylie wasn’t very interested the model ships she had built were fairly rough affairs, hastily put together. Graham had helped and had built a few for her. Her model buildings were better and she was very proud of her model of a cathedral. It had even won her a prize at the school fete. She also knew Graham was jealous of her model of Fort Ticonderoga.
They hadn’t played for nearly six months and, according to the game rules which had prices for various items as well as wages, she had accumulated enough ‘points’ to be able to afford to build and man a powerful ship. She resented the fact that Graham’s British fleet had about fifteen ships including two Ships-of-the-Line. It was one of her secret ambitions to build the most powerful ship in the game and not only get a cargo of gold safely ‘home’ but to defeat Graham in the process.
There was a picture in one of their father’s books of a magnificent Spanish galleon; all gold fancy-work and sails emblazoned with lions and crosses. That would be the one.
So now she threw down the challenge.
“I could build a better model than you if I wanted to.”
Graham laughed. “That’ll be the day. Go ahead. Prove it.”
“I will too. You’ll see,” she replied. “And we will be fair about it. So that it’s not just your opinion we will get an impartial judge.”
“Who? Mum .. or Dad?” Graham was interested. Kylie sounded as though she meant it.
“Neither. Wouldn’t be fair to them. Whoever lost would think they were playing favourites. I know! We will enter them in the Craft and Hobbies exhibition at the Show. That’s about two-months’ time - sometime in July - that would give us an impartial judgement.”
Graham paused and thought it over. “Yeah. I suppose. What sort of models? Like this, ones that sail?”
“No. Waterline models for our game. Sailing ships,” Kylie replied.
“I’ve still got to beat Peter in this sailing race. I don’t know if I’ve got time,” Graham answered.
“You could rebuild this one, or improve one of the models you already have rather than build a new one,” Kylie suggested.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I know just the one. Alright, you’re on!”
Kylie smiled. Now he would rebuild an existing model while she built a new one. Her fleet would then be stronger. As soon as she had won at the Show she would challenge him to a game. Smiling to herself she went away to dig out the book she wanted.
Graham turned back to his unhappy task. After a careful scrutiny he saw there was no help for it. He had to be ruthless. With a grimace he took up a razor. Every broken or twisted thread had to be removed. It would be easier to re-rig than to try to fiddle with the wreckage.
Very carefully he sliced through every piece of slack cotton or string and bit by bit separated the wreckage from the model. He discovered that Kylie had been right. It wasn’t as bad as it looked. Only one mast was broken.
The mizzen mast only needed one new backstay. The mainmast stood complete except for the forestays from the main topmast and main topgallant mast. The foremast was snapped but all the other spars were sound. The bowsprit could be easily repaired.
Graham separated the sails from the soggy tangle of cotton and looked at them. They were stained with mud and algae but could be washed. They weren’t hemmed so they couldn’t go in the washing machine. ‘Careful hand washing should do and won’t fray at the edges too much,’ he decided.
Graham used pliers to haul out the stump of the broken foremast. Then he set to work, measuring a new piece of dowel. This was sawn to the correct length. With a pen he marked where cross-trees and other fittings had to go. Five-minute’s work whittling with a Stanley knife shaped the butt of the new mast so that it fitted neatly down through the hole in the weather deck into the hole drilled in the solid pine of the lower hull. He sanded it smooth then laid it beside the neatly laid out spars salvaged from the wreck.
Then he went off whistling quietly to himself in search of cocoa for supper.
The next morning found Graham in church beside Kylie and his mum. Alex didn’t come.
“All a load of baloney!” was Alex’s opinion of religion. Their mother made no attempt to force them to come. She held firmly to the view: “Let your conscience be your guide. Do what you like; but you pay the consequences!”
Graham wasn’t sure if he didn’t believe Alex half the time. A lot of religion he found to be a contradictory jumble and it all seemed poorly organised but he did try to understand. He even listened to the sermon and puzzled over what Father George meant.
But this morning he was distracted. Margaret was there (she would be!) but so was Jennifer Jervis. Graham could only see her back but he fell in love with what he could see: the silky golden hair; the gentle curve of her neck and shoulder; the delicate silver chain encircling the honey-brown throat.
After the service he rushed out to try to get a chance to talk to her but was delayed by his friend Roger. He had to explain the origin of his black eye.
Roger nodded, “I know that mongrel Burford. He and his mates often stand over us Year 8’s and take money or lollies off us.”
“You should tell the teachers,” Graham said.
“Yeah, we did, but they did nothing and then Burford and Harvey just made life hell for the kids who dobbed,” Roger replied gloomily.
Graham noticed that Jennifer had been joined by Kylie and Margaret. The girls put their heads together in earnest conversation. Somehow he just didn’t feel like trying to approach Jennifer while Kylie and Margaret were there. Instead he grumped in frustration and went on talking to Roger, describing the wreck of the Artemis.
Roger nodded sympathetically then said, “Speaking of models, when are you coming over again to help put some more scenery on the model railway?” Roger had a giant HO Scale model railway under his house which Graham was helping to build. They were halfway through constructing a section of line up a mountainside. It was to
represent the Kuranda Railway.
Roger looked anxious. “We’ve got the framework finished. My dad did most of that. The base for the railway was put in yesterday and I was going to put the cardboard lining of the tunnels in position today. Come over and look,” he asked.
That interested Graham. Roger’s place was only a block out of his way on the walk home anyway. Jennifer was still deep in conversation with his sister and Margaret. Serious ‘girl talk’ from the look of it. He made his mind up.
“OK Roger. I’ll tell mum and we can go and look now.”
Roger beamed. He was a Year 8, a year behind Graham, but the two had been friends for years in Cubs and now in Scouts. They had shared several adventures including a hair raising one on the Kuranda Railway during the previous holidays. Roger was chubby and cheerful and never seemed to get discouraged.
The two boys went off to work on the model railway. Once there Graham became engrossed. Girls and ships were forgotten. Mrs Dunning invited him to stay for lunch and with one thing and another it was late afternoon before he returned home.
That evening after tea Graham ‘casually’ asked Kylie about Jennifer. His sister instantly turned on him. “Jennifer Jervis! You fickle toad! What about Margaret?”
“What about her? She’s not my girlfriend. She only thinks she is. I wish you wouldn’t encourage her. Anyway, she’s only a little kid.”
“She’s my age. She’s not just a little kid.”
“She is. She’s only in primary school. You don’t think I’d be seen dead taking out a primary school kid. I’d be accused of cradle snatching.”
Kylie bristled. “Oh, poor you! How unfair! Anyway, Margaret’s only two years younger. In a couple of years that won’t mean anything. You’re a real rat the way you hurt her feelings,” she flared.
“Yeah but, but... but she’s not all that pretty.” Graham didn’t want to say chubby and had no tits because he could see the anger in Kylie’s eyes.
“She might be a bit plain at the moment but she’ll blossom. Anyway she’s a lovely person. She’s honest and she’s loyal and they’re the two most important things,” Kylie snapped. She clenched her fists. “You boys are all the same. You all want some sexy little hotpants. Like that Deslie Desmond tart. And what good did that do you? I could hit you!”
“Aw you don’t understand,” Graham began. The dart about Deslie had gone home and he went red and mentally squirmed.
“Oh yes I do! Stupid boys! I’ll blacken your other eye if you hurt Margaret again!” Kylie snapped. Then she stamped her feet and walked off.
CHAPTER 4
‘CAPTAIN BLIGH’
At school the next day Graham was very careful to avoid Burford and his gang. It wasn’t that he was scared of another fight. It was just that he had been in so much trouble at school over the last few months. He had been suspended once for two weeks and the Principal had warned that if there was more trouble he would be expelled.
His parents had been angry and upset. Captain Kirk had given him a good thrashing which hurt Graham’s pride more than his backside. His mother had warned he would be sent to an all-boys boarding school in the country near her father’s farm outside Warwick. She knew her son. He did not want to be away from the girls.
His interest in girls worried her and she did hope he wouldn’t get some girl into trouble; or fall foul of the law. Secretly she shared Kylie’s hope that Graham would fall in love with Margaret.
So Graham kept a weather eye open for the bullies. He saw them a few times but either kept out of their way or stuck with a group of his friends. He gave no trouble to the teachers and even, to their amazement, did all his homework. He hated this but gritted his teeth and persevered. School he endured as a mixture of torment and pleasure. Dimly he sensed that he was just drifting.
‘If only my eyes weren’t weak! If only I could be a ship’s Captain!’ he thought, wallowing for a moment in self-pity. Everything else seemed pale and dull in comparison; a meaningless drudge.
At morning break Graham sought out his friend Peter Bronsky. He found Peter sitting in their usual niche with his other friend Stephen Bell. Stephen was in the same class and usually they sat together but recently he had taken to sitting next to Veronica. Their friendship had cooled somewhat after the trouble on a series of expeditions to Kuranda two months earlier.
On the other hand Graham’s relationship with Peter had been strengthened by the experience. Peter was in 9A so they rarely saw each other during lessons but they met during the breaks.
Both Peter and Stephen were in the same Scout Group as Graham, as was Roger, but they were both in different ‘Patrols’. Peter and Stephen were also in the school’s Army Cadet Unit. They were ‘First Year’ cadets and had teased Graham mightily when he had joined the Navy Cadets. Now cadets of any sort were a topic Graham resented.
Peter raised an eyebrow. “You look pretty down. How did you get the black eye?” he asked.
“From that turd Burford and his mates,” Graham replied. “They bashed me up; and smashed my model ship, the frigate I built for our race.”
“Burford, that big curly-headed prick in Year 12?” Peter asked.
Graham nodded. “Yeah, him. I was giving the model a test run at the pond in the park Saturday arvo. They came along and wrecked it.” He described the incident.
“Do you think you will have it fixed by the holidays?”
“I should have it repaired by this weekend,” Graham replied.
“When will we have the race then? What about Saturday afternoon?”
“No. I can’t. My Dad’s ship arrives back Thursday and Mum says I will have to go and work then. Sunday should be OK though. She won’t let Dad work us on Sundays,” Graham replied. His mouth turned down at the thought of his father’s return.
Graham did not hate his father but Captain Kirk was very strict and always seemed to be tired and cranky. But then he was always working. He owned a coastal freighter and a landing barge and traded around the Coral Sea and Gulf of Carpentaria from Cairns.
The children were just as likely to call their father ‘Sir’ or ‘Captain’ as ‘Dad’. ‘If only he took a bit more trouble to know us as kids.’ Graham sighed. He knew his dad did not understand him and had little tolerance for his romantic notions.
For the next three days Graham worked hard. He behaved in class, did all his homework including a one-thousand word assignment; and helped his mum at home. In the evenings he used most of his spare time to repair his model ship.
He found the repairs easier than he had expected.
“I suppose because I’ve done it before it is simple the second time,” he mused.
He was nimble with his fingers and good at fiddly work so he was able to rapidly fasten the lengths of string and cotton which comprised the rigging. These were tied and glued in place and his mood rapidly improved as he saw the progress he had made.
“At least I’m good at something,” he thought. He shook his head. He didn’t seem to be much good at anything else; certainly not schoolwork or anything useful.
Captain Kirk returned on the Thursday, while Graham was at school. When Graham arrived home he found his father already asleep. He had a quick snack and a drink of cordial, then settled at his table and resumed work on the model. Only two days to finish it, and a Geography assignment to do; and work on his Dad’s ship. “That is for certain,” he thought bitterly.
An hour later, while Graham was carefully lashing the main topgallant yardarm to the model’s main topgallant mast, his brother appeared. Alex was two years older and very fit.
“Come on ‘Sooky’. Come and play cricket. Leave that silly model. You can finish it some other time.”
“No. I’ve got to finish it by Sunday,” Graham replied, irritated by the interruption.
“We need another player so come and play,” Alex threatened.
“No. I don’t want to.” Graham reached for the glue tube. Alex came over and grabbed his ear and twisted it.
“Listen you little toad, when I say come, I mean now!”
“Ouch! Stop it. That hurts. Leave me alone!”
Graham tried to twist free but couldn’t. He then pretended to give up and stood up. As soon as Alex loosened his grip Graham jumped and pushed. Alex sprawled backwards onto his bed.
“Oooh! You little rat. Cop this!”
Alex sprang up and punched him hard on the upper arm, middle knuckle extended. It really hurt and tears sprang into Graham’s eyes.
“Leave me alone, you big oaf,” he yelled.
“Shut up you little sissy and get moving or I’ll hit you again.”
At that moment their father’s voice boomed loudly from their parents’ bedroom. “Shut up you bloody kids, I’m trying to sleep!”
Alex grabbed Graham by the shoulders and dug his thumbs into the hollows behind his collar bones. “You little twerp. You’ve woken up Captain Bligh. Now come downstairs or I’ll make you yell again and then it’ll be fifty lashes matey, aye, or a keelhauling,” Alex hissed.
Graham tried to twist free. He grabbed Alex’s arm and wrist but he was too strong.
“Leave me alone,” he said.
“Listen you, we need another player or we can’t have a game.”
“No. Anyway, you and your mates never give me a bat,” Graham said. He squirmed and wrenched himself free. Alex grabbed his right arm and twisted it hard.
“Aaaargh!” Graham stifled a scream and flailed at his brother with his left fist.
From outside came a shrill adolescent voice.
“Hey Alex! You gunna play cricket or what?”
“Come on!” Alex snarled, twisting the arm even harder. Graham grabbed his table to stop himself being dragged out.
There were heavy footsteps in the next room and their father appeared; a solid, weather beaten man in his forties. His blue eyes blazed. He growled at them, “Listen you bloody kids, I’ve just spent a week of ‘Watch on - Watch off’ flogging down against a bloody sou-easter and I need a sleep. So clear off and fight somewhere else; or you can fight me.”
The Mudskipper Cup Page 3
