Somewhere around the Corner

by Jackie French

  ‘Time to get moving.’ The fireman put his cup down.

  ‘Come on, you kids. There’s a carriage down the end. Hop into it.’

  ‘But—’ Young Jim and Charlie spoke at once.

  ‘Buts’ll get you nowhere. If anyone asks questions, I’m paying your fare.’ He glared at Charlie.

  ‘Thank you,’ whispered Barbara.

  ‘Don’t want thanks. Just you promise not to jump any more rattlers. You understand?’

  ‘I understand,’ said Young Jim quietly.

  ‘You see that you do. And you look after your sister, too, mate. No more crazy larks like this one. Now try and get some sleep. I’ll wake you at Binoweela, don’t you worry.’

  They walked slowly down the siding, full of sausages and kindness. They could just hear the voice of the fireman behind them.

  ‘Only kids…a susso camp…you ever been to one of those places? My word, it’s a fair cow.’

  The carriage seats were leather, firm and soft. Young Jim tossed his swag to Barbara for a pillow, then stretched out opposite and fell asleep.

  The windows were brushed with daylight when she opened her eyes. The paddocks were lush and green, with creeks like small brown snakes wriggling through their corners. Barbara huddled under Young Jim’s jumper in the corner of the carriage and watched the paddocks flicker by. Young Jim was still asleep. She thought he hadn’t got much sleep the night before. He was too wrapped up in looking after her.

  It was a dream. It had to be a dream; or maybe the world before was the dream and the only thing real was now.

  The train shuddered to a stop. Young Jim’s eyes opened. He sat upright and looked out.

  ‘Hey, we’re here.’

  ‘End of the line!’ It was the fireman. He was smiling, although his face was tired and even blacker than the night before, and his eyes red-rimmed. ‘Come on, home is just around the corner.’

  They clambered out. The fireman shoved a couple of sandwiches at them, thick white bread oozing jam. ‘They’re from Charlie. He’s not a bad sort really. He’s just like lots of people these days, he wants to hang on to what he’s got.’ The fireman looked at them a bit uncertainly, ‘You be all right from here?’

  ‘We’ll be right.’

  ‘Good luck to you then.’ He put out his horny hand and grabbed Young Jim’s and shook it. ‘You take care of your sister, too.’

  Then he was gone, swinging himself up into the cab of the engine. The train began to shuffle slowly forward, then picked up speed. They watched it until only its smoke was left above the trees.

  The road stretched before them, pale and dusty yellow.

  ‘How far did you say it was?’ whispered Barbara.

  ‘Fifty miles. Nothing to it.’ Young Jim grinned encouragingly. Barbara lifted her chin and tried to grin back. They crossed the railway lines and stepped onto the road.

  It was cool walking at first. The magpies carolled in the tall trees scattered along the road. A kookaburra chortled, lifting its beak to the sun.

  The day grew hotter. A car passed, silver-grey, leaving a cloud of choking dust. Young Jim looked after it. ‘Bunch of toffs. Flash cars never stop. I hope their tyres turn into maggots and eat their engine up for lunch. You thirsty?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘There’s a creek along a way. We might take a breather there, if you like.’

  It was cooler by the water. A pair of dragonflies darted through the reeds, bluer than the sky. Barbara looked at the creek doubtfully.

  ‘You sure it’s safe to drink?’

  ‘Of course it’s safe. Might taste a bit of cattle shush, but that won’t do us any harm.’ Young Jim bent down and scooped the water in his hand. The drips caught the light as they dribbled on his knee. Barbara knelt beside him. The water was warm, but sweet.

  ‘If we were cockatoos we could fly across country from here,’ said Young Jim, pointing. ‘See that hill over there? Poverty Gully drops right down from it.’

  ‘Why don’t we go that way then?’ asked Barbara, looking at the hot air shimmering above the road.

  ‘We’d get lost. The sun’d bleach our bones before they found us,’ said Young Jim cheerfully. ‘Just like the old-time explorers. You learn about them at school?’

  Barbara nodded. ‘Will you be going to school in Poverty Gully now?’ she asked.

  ‘There isn’t a school in the gully. Not for susso kids.’

  ‘But doesn’t everyone have to go to school?’

  Young Jim shrugged. ‘If there’s a school to go to. There’s a school in town. Take you a day or more to walk to it but. Kids who’ve got the money board in town. Come on, we’d better get moving again.’

  Another car passed, then a cart. Neither stopped. The sun slipped from the centre of the sky. Barbara’s feet hurt. The sausages and bread and jam had faded away, leaving her giddy from hunger and from heat. The dust seemed to fill her hair and eyes and mouth.

  ‘Want to rest again?’ Jim’s eyes were dark with concern.

  Barbara shook her head. What if it got dark? Would they have to sleep by the side of the road, away from everything?

  ‘I can keep going.’

  ‘Good girl. Look, I’ll try and flag down the next car. Maybe if they see me waving they’ll stop.’

  Another car growled slowly up the track behind them. Barbara turned to hail it. Young Jim pulled her back. ‘Not this one,’ he said softly. ‘We’d better let this one go.’

  It was a dark green car with silver trim, open at the top, with wide thin-rimmed wheels and green spokes. The man driving it wore a sharply creased grey hat. A woman in a wide-brimmed hat trailed scarves beside him. Three children sat in the back. The car seemed so slow compared to the speeds she was used to. Barbara watched it putter up the road.

  ‘Aren’t you going to wave it down?’

  ‘No use. That’s old Nicholson. He’d run us over soon as look at us.’

  ‘Would he really?’

  ‘Well, perhaps not run us over. But he wouldn’t pick us up, that’s for sure.’

  The car was nearing them. Barbara could see Nicholson’s face. The lips were thin, his face sharply averted from the children by the road. The woman beside him looked into the distance as though she couldn’t see them. There were three boys in the back of the car.

  ‘Putting on the dog in a flash car,’ said Young Jim loudly as the car shuddered towards them on the rough road. ‘He’s only a blooming shopkeeper. He’s got the grocery shop down in the valley. It’s the only one, so all the sussos have to get their rations there. That’s how he makes his money, selling smelly cheese and stale bread to the likes of us.’

  The car rumbled by. There was no sign if anyone in it had heard Young Jim’s words or not. As it passed, one of the boys in the back turned around and made a rude sign through the billowing dust. The woman’s head turned and the boy sat back in his seat. The car turned through some trees and was gone.

  ‘There’ll be another car,’ said Young Jim reassuringly.

  Step after step. The flies buzzed around her eyes and drank the sweat from her neck. Barbara kept her eyes on the road. One more step and she’d be past the pothole, one more step and she’d be past that rock, one more step…

  The noise of an engine muttered in the distance. Barbara edged to the side of the road without turning around. Why bother? It would just go past like the others, leaving the dust and fumes and emptiness.

  The car stopped.

  It was a police car. Barbara gasped, edging closer to Young Jim. The motor grumbled above the dusty road.

  ‘Looking for a lift, you kiddies?’

  chapter four

  Sergeant Ryan

  The kids stood by the side of the road.

  They’re as thin as matchsticks, thought Sergeant Ryan, and ragged as scarecrows, with streaks down their faces where the dust had mingled with their sweat. The girl’s hair looked like a broom gone through a willy-willy and the boy didn’t look much better.

 
What was his name? Sergeant Ryan racked his memory. One of the O’Reilly kids from down the gully—Young Jim, that was it. He didn’t recognise the girl.

  There was a strange look about her, more than the tiredness and scruffiness would account for. She was wearing some bloke’s pants. They looked small, though they fitted her right enough. Surely someone could have come up with a skirt for the poor kid.

  ‘Come on, hop in if you’re going to.’

  ‘Too right!’ said the boy enthusiastically. He heaved open the door. ‘In you go, Bubba. This is a bit of all right, eh?’

  ‘But…but…’ Barbara hesitated, her eyes wide and frightened. The sergeant’s eyes tightened. He wondered what she’d been through to scare her like that. It was a fair cow what some kids went through these days. If he had his way he’d—

  ‘You going right down into the valley, Sergeant Ryan?’

  The sergeant nodded. ‘I’ll drop you up the gully if you like. It’ll be near on dark by the time we get there, anyway.’

  ‘Come on Bubba, shake a leg.’ Barbara gingerly slid across the shiny seat. She could smell the sharp scent of starch from the sergeant’s uniform. A sweeter smell hovered over that. Was it hair oil, she wondered, looking at the greasy patch on the back of the seat.

  ‘Sergeant Ryan, this is Bubba. Bubba, this is Sergeant Ryan. He’s the valley’s policeman.’

  ‘For my sins,’ said Sergeant Ryan. He accelerated and the car began to eat the dusty road. Slower than a normal car, thought Barbara, but fast compared to following the road on foot. Automatically, her hands fumbled around on the seat.

  ‘Hey, keep your elbows to yourself,’ ordered Young Jim. ‘What’re you looking for?’

  ‘The seat belt.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The seat belt. You know.’

  Young Jim shook his head. ‘Never heard of it. What does a seat belt do when it’s at home?’

  ‘It stops you flinging forward when you stop suddenly or when you crash.’

  Sergeant Ryan looked amused. ‘Funny lot of drivers you’ve been riding with, love. You won’t need one of those things while I’m at the wheel.’

  Barbara didn’t say anything. Young Jim was looking at her curiously. He started to open his mouth as though to say something, then shut it again.

  Sergeant Ryan changed gears and glanced over at Young Jim.

  ‘What are you doing back here, boy? Dulcie said you were up in Sydney working for your Intermediate.’

  Young Jim shrugged. ‘Uncle Bill decided to head north to look for work. What use is school anyway? There are no jobs whatever you do.’

  ‘I don’t like talk like that, son. An education’s good for you, even if you never get a job in your life. But there’ll be jobs again, just you wait.’

  Young Jim didn’t say anything. The car jolted slowly over the rutted track. Sergeant Ryan concentrated on his driving, skirting around holes so big they looked like cows had sat in them. A flat tyre’d be just what he needed now.

  It had been a cow of a day. Up in town to a council meeting, and old Nicholson on at him about clearing the gully of sussos, though how he was supposed to do that he didn’t know. They were camping on private property and did no-one any harm that he could see. If there were any bad eggs among them he got rid of them quick smart and he’d told Nicholson so. How could anyone look at kids like these and think to turn them out, back to places like Happy Valley or the other camps? Grim places if half of what you heard was true.

  Barbara looked out at the countryside. Sheep sat like dusty rocks in the shade of trees. Suddenly the road tilted, so abruptly that it was like slipping over the edge of the world. There below them was a valley, dark blue ridges of rock and trees, with sharp squares of bright green cow-dotted paddocks and orchards and vegetable gardens. Young Jim slipped forward eagerly.

  ‘Take a look,’ he told her. ‘That’s the valley, down there. The gully’s just up on the right. You can’t see it from here. Cripes, it’s good to be coming home. You been up the gully lately, Sergeant Ryan? How’s the family, and Gully Jack, and the Hendersons, and Dulcie?’

  Sergeant Ryan dragged his thoughts back. ‘Dulcie’s still the same, bless her. I was up the gully a couple of days ago. The Hendersons are well enough. Your dad got a few of the blokes together and they built a bit of an annexe next to that tent of theirs. Henderson’s all thumbs, your dad says, and he’d never have done it himself. Keeps the rain off while they’re eating. Your family’s doing all right, too. Dulcie said your ma’s arthritis is better now that the warm weather’s come. She could hardly move her hands there for a while in the cold. Your dad got a cut on his hand a couple of weeks ago stripping leaves for the eucy burners, did you know? It’s healed all right now.’

  ‘Ma wrote me. How about Gully Jack?’ asked Young Jim.

  ‘Just the same as ever,’ said Sergeant Ryan, shortly.

  He changed gears sharply as the hill got even steeper. He glanced at the girl by his side. She looked dead beat, with circles like saucers under her eyes, and her face as white as a pet rabbit. If she were his, thought Sergeant Ryan, he’d let her sleep for a week. He’d get her proper clothes, something frilly maybe. He imagined how Dulcie would coax soup and lamb chops with peas into her. Dulcie’d be in that apron with the flowers on it and her hair all curling at the sides of her face—that’s what it would be like if Dulcie married him, and they had kids. He’d get her a gas stove so she didn’t have to cart the wood, and gas light, too—no mucking about with those fool lanterns.

  ‘Hey look, Bubba, you can see the dairy farm!’ Young Jim pointed through the window. ‘That’s Dulcie’s dairy, and the washhouse and the milking sheds, and that’s the main house over there—I wonder if that’s Dulcie in the paddock.’

  ‘Who’s Dulcie?’ asked Barbara.

  ‘Dulcie? Oh, Dulcie’s terrific. Isn’t she, Sergeant Ryan?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sergeant Ryan.

  ‘She owns the dairy farm; it used to be her father’s. She’ll do anything for anyone, Dulcie will. Ma says she doesn’t know what we’d all do without her.’

  ‘How old is she? Does she have kids too?’

  ‘Nah, she’s never married. She’s pretty old but. Must be about thirty.’

  ‘Probably,’ agreed Sergeant Ryan, with the hint of a smile.

  ‘People say she’s been walking out with Gully Jack for ages, but they’ve never got engaged or anything. I don’t think she’s seen much of him lately. He’s been building a new channel off the creek. Says it’ll make his fortune. He doesn’t seem to think of anything else.’

  Barbara tried to understand. How could you make a fortune from a channel off a creek? But she was too tired to ask. Much, much too tired. She closed her eyes and dozed as the police car leant slowly around another corner. The sergeant glanced at her. The boy was too excited to notice, peering out the window, exclaiming at everything familiar he could see.

  The car lumbered down into the valley. The sergeant changed gears and turned right, away from the valley proper, up towards the gully. They bumped slowly up the rutted track until it petered out. A thinner path ran through the thornbush and wattles, worn by feet, not vehicles.

  ‘This is about as far as we go,’ said Sergeant Ryan. ‘You kids be all right from here?’

  ‘We’ll be all right. Hey, Bubba, wake up. We’re nearly home.’

  Barbara opened her eyes with difficulty. It was nearly dusk. The trees were fat with shadows. Even the track looked dark.

  ‘Thanks, Sergeant Ryan. You saved our lives.’

  The sergeant chuckled. ‘You just take care now,’ he said. ‘No more hailing rides from strangers. If you need a lift up to town you just tell Dulcie and she’ll let me know. I’ll get you up there if I’m going that way, or you can take the mail car.’ He slipped his hand into his pocket. ‘Here, you buy yourself and the other kids some lollies next time you’re down the valley.’ ‘Hey, sixpence! Thanks, Sergeant Ryan.’ The children walked up the
winding track. The sergeant waited till they’d disappeared before he turned the car around and drove slowly back to the valley.

  chapter five

  Home

  The track snaked through the trees. She could hear the branches rustling overhead, a gentle sound like breathing. Somewhere she could hear water, trickling over rocks and the occasional voice muffled by the wind.

  ‘You going all right? We’re nearly there.’

  Barbara nodded, too tired to speak.

  ‘He’s a good bloke, Sergeant Ryan. The sergeant at the other susso camp, he was a cow of a copper. Had one poor bloke up before the magistrate just because he tried to claim the dole with five shillings on him. His ma was in the hospital and she’d sent it down so he could catch the train to go and visit her. Sergeant Ryan wouldn’t do a thing like that. I reckon the gully’s lucky to have him. He’s been here five years now. Ma says he was transferred here when his wife died. She got an infected tooth and it killed her. He wanted a new place right away.’

  ‘A tooth?’ Barbara tried to concentrate. ‘You don’t die from an infected tooth. Why didn’t they just give her antibiotics?’

  ‘Anti-by-what? My Uncle George died from a bad tooth, too. They say his face swelled right up like a football or something.’ Young Jim pushed a branch away from the path so Barbara could get through.

  ‘You know, Bubba, I’ve been thinking. There’s no point in telling Ma we jumped the rattler. I mean it’d just worry her, so I’ll let her think we paid the fare. Hey, look out, we’ve got to cross the creek here. Give me your hand.’

  The rocks were just visible in the thinning light. The creek splashed like watery oil around them. Young Jim leapt off the last rock and held out his hand to Barbara. ‘The track starts just here. Be careful of that last rock, it’s slippery. Got you. Come on, not long now.’

  ‘Yuk, what’s that?’

  Young Jim peered down. ‘That? That’s just a wombat dropping. You get lots of them round here. Any high spot on a log or rock and you can bet a wombat’s put its bum on it.’