Staying Alive in Year Five

by John Marsden

  I found Johnny and told him the bad news. He took it well, considering. But then he was more used to being in trouble than I was. He went off looking a bit pale.

  When he came back, class had already started, so he had to tell Mr Murlin where he’d been, which meant everyone knew the heat was on him. He whispered to me that Miss Holland had got really mad at him, which didn’t seem fair. He said we nearly got suspended, but instead we had to spend the next thousand lunchtimes cleaning graffiti off desks. That was one of Miss Holland’s favourite punishments. It was a shocking punishment, really boring, but the good thing was, she always forgot punishments like that after a week or so.

  Nothing put Johnny down for long though. A few minutes later Mr Murlin was showing us slides of crocodiles. Some of them were of baby crocodiles, only hours old. They were so tiny: they looked like little dragons. All the girls went ‘Ohh’, and I must admit they were quite cute. Mr Murlin smiled and said, ‘Is there any species on Earth that doesn’t have cute babies?’. ‘Yeah,’ Johnny yelled out, quick as a flash, ‘blowflies.’

  CHAPTER 12

  Two weeks later Grandpa was home again, but he didn’t look as well as he used to. He was a bit pale and frail. He had to do quite a lot of exercise, so I went walking with him in the park after school. It was a bit boring sometimes. If we’d had a dog it would have been much better. I asked Mum again but she said, ‘No way.’

  Johnny and I sandpapered dozens of desks but not as many as we should have. Miss Holland chucked a nana a couple of times but gradually she started to forget about it. We kept out of her way as much as possible. It’s strange though, every time we did something wrong you could guarantee that she’d be just around the corner.

  Class was still good. We did some cool things. One of my favourites was when we pretended to be little kids again, and we’d sit on the ‘story mat’ while Mr Murlin read us picture books from the Infants’ section of the Library. We got M & Ms for sitting up straightest. Those books were good, too good to be wasted on little kids. Not Now Bernard and Who Sank the Boat? and A Piece of Straw. The pictures were hot. My favourite was Crusher is Coming. But the one everyone liked over and over again was Where the Wild Things Are. Pretty funny for Year Five, when you’re meant to have grown out of that stuff. But everyone remembered Where the Wild Things Are from when they were little, and they all remembered the nightmares it had given them.

  We had a lesson in a big trench that was being dug out for new sewerage pipes. We looked at all the layers of dirt and rock. We had a class shop, where we used Monopoly money to trade, and we had to add up the money and work out the change and everything. You could even buy things like early marks or wall space, or if you were really rich, the right to curl up on the bean bags and read a MAD magazine for half an hour. We had a lesson where we drew portraits of each other without being allowed to look at the paper. That was really funny.

  We had a lesson up a tree, all twenty-eight of us. It was a big tree, by the main entrance to the school. In the middle of the lesson Miss Holland and Mrs Mudd walked past and saw us. They just raised their eyebrows and walked on. I thought, ‘More trouble for Mr Murlin.’

  One day we came into Room 7 and there was a huge sort of dolls’ house on Mr Murlin’s table. The table had been pulled into the centre of the room, and Mr Murlin stood beside it. We all gathered around, full of curiosity. The house was two-storeys high, with lots of rooms, each one furnished in great detail. In the kitchen, for example, there was a breakfast bar with the remains of a meal spread across it. And there were two bedrooms that looked like they belonged to kids, because there were miniature posters on the walls and clothes chucked around the floor.

  It took me a few minutes to realise, too, that there were little figures in some of the rooms, like dolls. In one of the kids’ rooms there was a figure in bed; in the other one there was someone sitting at a desk. There was a male figure standing in the kitchen and a female one standing in the front doorway with a newspaper. And an old man coming down the staircase.

  All of us were gathered around this house, ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ at how amazing it was, and pointing out different things to each other. Then, just as I showed Rachel that there was a dog curled up on the foot of one of the beds, it happened. I thought I saw the old man take a step down the staircase. I blinked and looked again. No. Yes. No. He didn’t seem to be moving, but he did seem to be one step further away from the landing.

  Then something happened that made the whole class gasp. The woman dropped her newspaper. And bent to pick it up. We all froze, except for Johnny, who looked under the table and then behind it. I think he was looking for wires or strings. I looked at Mr Murlin, who just smiled and put his finger to his lips to tell us to stay quiet. He didn’t have to tell us twice. Kate Baker was so pale I thought she was going to faint.

  Suddenly, it was happening everywhere at once. The dog got off the bed, shook himself and lolloped downstairs. The kid in bed threw off his doona and followed. The lady came into the kitchen and sat down at the table to read the paper. The kid at the desk turned a page in her book. The old man got to the bottom of the stairs, despite being nearly knocked over by the dog. He limped into the sitting room and turned on the TV. A picture came onto the set: it looked like the Today Show. I realised we were watching the world’s smallest TV. The old man got up again and adjusted the volume. We could faintly hear the sound of voices from the set.

  When the kid in pyjamas came into the kitchen, he said, and we could hear this quite distinctly, ‘What’s for breakfast?’

  His father answered, ‘We’ve all had ours. I called you twice. Now you’ll have to get your own.’

  Their voices sounded tinny and far-off but there was no doubt about what they were saying. The kid went to the fridge and got some milk, then picked up a packet of cereal and took it to the breakfast bar. The dog followed him all the way—I guess it was hoping for a few free Coco Pops. The parents started having a conversation about the car, and the garden, and whether they should buy a microwave or not. It was all so ordinary and in a way, that was one of the most amazing things about it, it was just like anyone’s house. We were watching real life. It could have been my place—well, before my parents split up, anyway. In a way it was like TV, but a million times better.

  ‘Sir,’ Alice Goodbottom asked Mr Murlin, ‘How do you do it?’

  Mr Murlin shrugged and smiled. ‘Modern technology,’ he said. We all laughed and said, ‘Oh yeah.’ But we were too fascinated by the house to talk and we turned back to it. The two parents were arguing, which made me feel a bit uncomfortable. I think it was about their cheque account or something. The little kid just kept eating his breakfast. Finally the lady took her newspaper and stormed out of the kitchen into the TV room. She sat down next to the grandfather and acted like she was reading the paper, but it looked like she had her mind on other things. The father made some coffee and sat down next to the kid, but the kid wasn’t talking to him. Then the girl upstairs came down and made a phone call. Seemed like it was to her boyfriend.

  Well, it just kept going like that. The parents made up when the father brewed some coffee for the mother and took it in to her. Then he started vacuuming downstairs while the mother washed the dishes. The two kids got sent up to make their beds and tidy their rooms, but they both did next to nothing once they got in there. The grandfather dozed in his armchair and the dog dozed at his feet.

  When the bell rang for recess, Mr Murlin started pushing us all out the door. But he had to struggle. No-one wanted to go. ‘Will it still be here when we get back?’ Johnny asked, but he couldn’t get an answer. Finally Mr Murlin got us out and he shut the door from the inside. Some of us tried to see in through the windows above the lockers in the corridor, but just as we were getting up there Miss Holland came round the corner, so that was the end of that. And sure enough, when we went in to class again after recess the house was gone and Mr Murlin’s desk was back in its normal position.

&n
bsp; We tried to tell some of the Year Six kids about it at lunchtime but they thought we were crazy. Once again the only one who believed us was little Wesley.

  CHAPTER 13

  Grandpa and I went shopping. He was getting along quite well now, though a bit slower than he used to be. He bought me an ice-cream, after grumbling about how much they cost nowadays.

  He seemed to know people everywhere. Frank and Joe, who ran the fruit shop, both came out the front to talk to him, and they gave me a bunch of grapes. He’d taught them both. I was proud of the way they all respected him so much, although it meant going shopping took twice as long as it should.

  Suddenly, near the bread shop, we ran right into Mr Murlin. I went red, but I was pleased. ‘This is my teacher,’ I said to Grandpa. ‘This is my grandfather,’ I said to Mr Murlin. They shook hands.

  ‘Scott was very worried about you,’ Mr Murlin said to Grandpa.

  ‘Oh well,’ Grandpa said, ‘I just felt like a good rest for a while, and hospital was the only place to get it.’ They both laughed, and Grandpa went on, ‘I used to be a teacher myself, you know.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mr Murlin said. ‘Jane Holland was telling me.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Grandpa said. ‘I remember her when she first started out. I was her supervisor when she did her Prac. teaching rounds.’ He paused. ‘But you sound like you’re quite a teacher yourself. Scott’s homework has kept me on my toes this year.’

  They both laughed again. ‘Scott keeps me on my toes in class,’ Mr Murlin said.

  I could see that they were getting on OK, which was a relief, because I hadn’t been too sure that they would. I drifted away and watched some kids on skateboards. The two adults talked for quite a while, but Grandpa seemed to be doing most of the talking. Eventually they separated, making their farewells. I drifted back again, said goodbye to Mr Murlin, and kept going down the street with Grandpa.

  ‘Do you like him, Grandpa?’ I asked.

  ‘Well . . .’ he smiled. ‘He’s an interesting fellow. I know schools have changed a lot the last few years . . .’

  . . . Grandpa and Mum and some other parents were sitting up the back of the classroom. We were all dressed in old-fashioned clothes. So was Mr Murlin. He carried a long bamboo cane as he walked up and down the aisles. We had ink-wells in our desks and old pens with nibs in them. We did some lessons from the old days: we had to try to add sums like £2 12s 6½d plus £3 10s 8d. And convert guineas to pounds and shillings. And we had to copy out words in old-fashioned writing, like colonial and Queen Elizabeth. We had to sit up straight and fold our arms and not speak or leave our desks. When we answered a question we had to stand up. We had a dictation passage that started off:

  ‘It is to the benefit of all dutiful children that they should adopt a deferential manner when conversing with their parents and teachers . . .’

  ‘Holy smoke,’ whispered Johnny to me. ‘I can’t understand this, let alone spell it.’

  But he was caught talking and had to stand in the corner. And Tom Tregonning, who was caught a minute later, was told to write out one hundred times ‘I must not talk in class’. Tom said, ‘But sir, I . . .’ and Mr Murlin said, ‘Two hundred’, and Tom said, ‘Oh sir, that’s not . . .’, and Mr Murlin said, ‘Three hundred.’ Tom sat down, looking beaten, and all the parents laughed.

  Grandpa just loved it. His eyes were more alive than I’d seen for ages. He followed everything, smiling and chuckling at everything that happened, and when Mr Murlin produced a book called Fifth Grade Reader he clapped his hands together.

  ‘Oh, that was the best thing I’ve seen in years,’ he said to me at recess, when the parents were going home. ‘Yes, that’s the way it was.’ He got serious then. ‘But you know, it wasn’t all being strict and giving punishments. There was a lot of warmth in those old-fashioned classrooms. And a lot of humour. And the teachers got a lot of respect.’ He walked on a bit further. ‘Trouble is, the respect was often mixed with fear. Hard to tell where one ended and the other began. By and large I’d have to say that things are better now.’

  I waited patiently but he seemed to have finished, so I gave him and Mum a kiss. ‘Thanks for getting out of work,’ I told Mum. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’ve hardly been there the last few weeks.’

  ‘See you tonight,’ I yelled and ran off to find Johnny.

  CHAPTER 14

  Wesley Brown, our little mate in Year Two, got suspended. Suspended in Year Two! Not even Johnny got off to that bad a start. What’s more, he was suspended till further notice, which is pretty serious. We couldn’t believe it. And when we heard what he’d done, we couldn’t believe it even more.

  What happened was, he pissed on his teacher. Yep. Pissed on his teacher. You see, he was having a fight, a fun fight with another kid, a little guy called Max. They’d been chucking gravel at each other, and having a water fight and stuff like that all day. Then, in the afternoon break that they get in Year Two, Max had spat at Wes, got him a good one in the face, and raced outside to escape.

  Wes was about to chase him, but another kid told him Max was coming round the corner of the building. So Wes, thinking he’d be smart, climbed up on top of the big cupboard inside the door, and got ready to piss on Max. He had a kid as look-out, keeping watch. Well, this kid saw Max coming, yelled out to Wes ‘Shoot! Shoot!’. Wes whipped it out, and, as the door opened, he let fly. Only trouble was, it was the teacher coming through the door, not Max. So that was the end of Wes. Bye bye Wesley. What a way to go.

  It took Johnny and I quite a while to figure out the full story ’cos those little kids get confused when they try to explain anything complicated, and they take so long to tell it. But by talking to Max and a couple of other kids, we finally got it out of them. Only trouble then was, we didn’t know what to do. We thought we ought to do something ’cos he didn’t have anyone who did much for him.

  ‘I think we should go see Miss Holland,’ I said, though I didn’t really believe it.

  ‘You go,’ said Johnny, ‘she doesn’t like me.’

  ‘We’ll both go,’ I said.

  I don’t know why we went really. Mainly because we thought they should know that Wes hadn’t been deliberately aiming to do that to his teacher. And if we didn’t stick up for him, no-one would. So we went.

  We had to wait in Mrs Wilson’s office for about twenty minutes, which just made us more nervous. Miss Holland looked pretty cranky when we got in there. Guess she thought we’d been sent along by a teacher, which is why we were usually there. When we told her we wanted to see her about Wesley, she leaned back in her chair and looked surprised. We told her the story and ended up saying:

  ‘You see, we thought you mightn’t know he wasn’t aiming at Mr Stuart. He was aiming at Max. I mean, it’s still bad, what he did, but not as bad as if he’d been out to get a teacher.’

  ‘Yes,’ Miss Holland said. ‘I take your point. Thank you for coming to see me. You have put rather a different complexion on the whole business. Wesley is lucky to have you looking after his interests.’

  We went out, feeling pretty good. After school, we caught the bus down to Wesley’s street. Johnny knew which house it was—he’d never been there, but Wes had told him about it, about how it had a wading pool in the front and a big poster of Elvis Presley in a window, ’cos his father was a big fan of Elvis. It was one of those old streets, every house the same, but we found Wesley’s easily enough. That Elvis poster sure stood out. The yard looked a big mess. The grass hadn’t been cut in quite a while, and there were rusty toys lying around. In the drive there was an old Ford with its wheels off and bits of the engine on the ground.

  It didn’t look like anyone was home—you know how houses look that way sometimes?—but we went ahead and knocked anyway. There was a long silence, we knocked again, and we were just turning away when we thought we heard a little sound from inside. We turned back and the door opened a fraction, then a bit more, then completely, and there was Wes.

  I guess
he was pleased to see us. He gave us a big smile, but he didn’t say anything. But then he always was a man of few words. He stood back as though he was inviting us in, so in we went.

  Geez, that house was a mess. I mean, I’m untidy, but this was different. This was disgusting. It even smelt bad. The kitchen was the worst. There were dirty plates everywhere, and all those little flying insects that you see when fruit gets over-ripe. Most of the food that was around just seemed like junk—there were empty hamburger cartons and take-away food containers. There were clothes dropped on the floor in the living room and more dirty plates. And Wes’ bedroom was just one big mess.

  Come to that, Wes didn’t look too good. He seemed a bit skinny and pale, and he had dark bulges under his eyes. He looked like a kid who’d been watching a lot of TV. There was a pile of videos on the floor, everything from Masters of Horror to Pinocchio.

  Well, Johnny and I, we’d been little angels all day, as usual, so it was no effort for us to keep going. We took out a lot of rubbish, vacuumed the floor, washed the dishes, made Wes’ bed. He helped, too. Johnny knew how to operate a washing machine, so he put a load through. I went down to the shop and spent our last $3 on some bread and lettuce and tomato and celery, and made Wes a salad sandwich, which he ate quite happily. Then we had to go, but we left a note for Mr Brown, Wesley’s dad, to say we’d been.

  CHAPTER 15

  Wes was back at school, not the next day, but the day after. It was funny, when he’d seen us at his house he hadn’t said or done much. But when he saw us at school, his first day back, he raced over at full-speed and head-butted right into us—he was so excited he just didn’t bother to stop. It was pretty funny really.