How Hedley Hopkins Did a Dare...

by Paul Jennings

  Dad nods. ‘Yes. Whoever did it should be horsewhipped.’

  This is his favourite saying about someone who has committed a crime or done a foul deed. They should be horsewhipped. I should be horsewhipped because I have stolen Major Manners from the grave. I know this is what the adults will think. I personally do not think that anyone should be horsewhipped. I don’t think horses should be horsewhipped for that matter. The Dunny Man never whips his horse. He just yells, ‘Cargo loaded, Mabel,’ and the horse walks on. Then he yells, ‘Whoa, Mabel,’ and the horse stops at the next house.

  It is a sunny but cold winter day so I do up the buttons on my overcoat and sneak into the back garden. As I go I pass the chopping block next to our chicken run where seven chickens and a rooster walk around scratching all day. The rooster is king over the chickens which we keep for eggs. Over here chickens are called chooks. Dad kills a chicken at Christmas or for some other special occasion. I have to help him. It is my job to hold the chook by its legs and put its neck on the chopping block. The chicken does not like this and it tries to peck me. It flaps its wings like a tornado. Whack. The axe comes down and the chicken loses its head. I let go of the legs and the chicken runs around the back garden like crazy. With no head. This is true. Most of the children at school say their chooks run around after their heads have been chopped off.

  I do not like seeing the chook’s head on the ground. Removing a head from a body is not right. In my heart I know this.

  I walk down to the bottom of the garden where the sack is still hidden in the shiny-leaf bush. I lift up the end of the sack and peer inside. Major Manners is still there. I will try him out on a question.

  ‘How much pee do you put in to make a baby?’ I suddenly ask out loud.

  Maybe it’s not pee, he says. Maybe it’s something else.

  ‘Like what?’

  Think about it, he says.

  Right then I hear Mum’s voice. She is coming up behind me.

  ‘Hedley, who are you talking to?’

  My heart seems to stop. I quickly shove the skull back into the bush.

  I say the first thing that comes into my mind. ‘No one.’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘You are a strange boy. Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, you know. Quickly now. You’ll be late for school.’

  I don’t move. I need to take the sack but Mum will want to know what’s in it for sure.

  ‘Now.’

  ‘Hurry up, Hedley,’ yells Kate from the front gate. ‘We’re going to be late for school.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ I yell back. ‘Keep your shirt on.’ Mum watches me go. Oh, this is terrible. I am walking to school without the skull. When I get there I will be a fool – not a hero. No one will believe I’ve got the skull. I am really going to cop it.

  Kate and I hurry along the path with our satchels on our backs. Kate is counting her swap cards which are the big craze at school. She has a great collection including a lot featuring horses. All the girls want the cards with horses. A boy would not be seen dead with swap cards. Marbles and jacks are the craze at the moment. So is British Bulldog which is a very rough running game where you are lifted off the ground if you are caught by the boys chasing you.

  ‘We should have told Mum,’ says Kate. ‘About the grave and someone taking the skull out of the coffin. She could call the Police.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ I say. ‘Don’t even think about it. We’ll get into terrible trouble just for going there.’ I pause for a second and then I say something really crafty. ‘And anyway, they might think we did it.’

  Kate is shocked at this suggestion. ‘We couldn’t climb down that big, deep hole. Ugh,’ she says. ‘Only a loony would touch a skull. Children couldn’t go down into a grave.’

  ‘The Police don’t know that we couldn’t get down,’ I say. ‘There was a ladder.’

  ‘No there wasn’t,’ says Kate.

  ‘I saw one in the grass,’ I say. That was a lie and I feel bad about it so I turn my mind to other things. I think about school. When I get there I am going to be teased terribly. Without the skull I am just a fool. Like the kids in Billabong.

  ‘I am mad,’ I say under my breath. ‘Talking to myself again.’

  11

  the drum cupboard

  WHEN WE GET to school, Kate runs off to the girls’ playground. The gang are waiting for me. I knew they would be. Ian Douglas, Mouse, Henderson and Frank Kelly. They are so excited they can’t stand still. I walk through the school gate. I am like a solitary Christian entering the arena to face the lions. The spectators are watching in glee.

  Douglas, Henderson and Kelly have been practising. They all yell out the same words together: ‘How much pee do you put in, Headless Hopkins?’

  They stagger around pretending to be peeing. Other kids are laughing too. I am cornered. And the worst thing is I still don’t know how much pee you put in.

  The bell monitor suddenly runs out and saves me. The bell has a long wooden handle and the monitor waves it around as if we are about to be attacked by a squadron of enemy bombers and need to run for the air-raid shelter. Everyone starts filing into the school. I have to do something to save face. As we hang our coats on the pegs in the corridor I whisper to Ian Douglas.

  ‘I’ve got the skull.’

  He stares at me with narrowed eyes. ‘Bulldust,’ he says. ‘You’re a liar, Headless. Always got some story.’

  ‘I found the ladder under the pier,’ I tell him. ‘Like you said. It was one long pole with bits of wood nailed on.’

  He falls silent. I think he believes me.

  I half hope that Ian Douglas might pat me on the back. I think for a second that he might be filled with admiration at my courage. But he grabs me by the jumper with one hand and pulls my face close to his. All he says is: ‘I want that skull.’

  When we get inside there is a surprise. Stinker is standing out the front as usual. That is not the surprise. If it was, it would be a bad one. Not one person in the class likes him. Every boy in the room has had the strap at some time or other. Even William Grey who is a brain and never makes a mistake. No, the surprise is Mr Hooper, the teacher from the Loony Bin, who is standing there on the platform with him.

  What if Stinker is leaving the school and Mr Hooper is to be our new teacher? Oh, that would be fantastic.

  ‘Hands together, Class,’ barks Stinker. ‘Mr Hooper has something to say to you.’ We all clasp our hands on the desk in front of us. Stinker does not look as if he likes what Mr Hooper is about to say. He takes a step backwards and folds his arms. He is wearing a suit with a natty waistcoat with five buttons on the front. Mr Hooper wears a grey dust jacket. He is the only teacher I have ever seen who does not wear a suit.

  Mr Hooper lets his eyes run over the class and he shines a big smile on everyone. It seems as if he is just about to talk to me and just me, but I know that everyone else is thinking the same thing.

  ‘This class,’ says Mr Hooper, ‘has been picked to take part in something special.’ Everyone sits up. Maybe we are going to be on the wireless or in the newspaper or something. Maybe we are going on an excursion on the train to the museum.

  ‘You might know that I teach three days a week at Billabong,’ he says.

  Everyone starts to shuffle their feet or move around uncomfortably, Billabong being the Loony Bin and all. No one wants anything to do with that place, that’s for sure.

  Mary Gibson, who sits behind me, once said she saw a boy from there doing something disgusting.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  Mary Gibson burst into song:

  ‘Everybody’s doing it, doing it.

  Pickin’ their nose and chewing it, chewing it.’

  I gave a shudder. If the story got around that you did such a horrible thing you would be an outcast forever. But the people in Billabong are already outcasts.

  ‘The children in there are special,’ says Mr Hooper. ‘They’re not as smart as you. Whe
n they are, say fourteen, they think like five year olds. They’re very friendly. They’re lovely people. They are like flowers in the desert. They have no meanness or cruelty in them. But at times they seem to act like babies. They go to a school inside Billabong where specialist teachers like me help them to live in the outside world.’

  We all wonder what is coming next. Maybe one of us is going to be sent to Billabong? Someone dumb like me who does not even know how much pee it takes to make a baby.

  ‘One of the boys from Billabong is going to come to school here,’ says Mr Hooper. ‘In this class. It’s an experiment. His parents think that he’ll learn better in a regular school. And I think it will be good for you to learn next to him. These children are kind and have a lot to teach us.’

  ‘For example?’ says Stinker.

  ‘Well,’ says Mr Hooper. ‘They don’t tease others who are different.’

  I don’t agree with Mr Hooper here. The mad people in Billabong can’t tease anyone else because they are all crazy. My Mum has a saying: ‘It’s the pot calling the kettle black.’ How could they tease someone else for being the same as them? I shudder. I’m glad I’m not like them.

  For some reason the word Pommie springs into my mind. I don’t know why.

  A murmur runs through the class. Someone says, ‘loonies’ under their breath and Mr Hooper hears it. Stinker tries to hide a grin.

  ‘Loony is a terrible word,’ says Mr Hooper. ‘It’s short for lunatic, which comes from the word lunar, which is Latin for moon. People once thought that the full moon made people crazy but …’

  Mr Hooper does not get to finish the sentence because there is a loud howl coming from the corridor outside. It is like the cry of a dingo in the wild.

  ‘Your new student’s name is Victor,’ says Mr Hooper.

  Victor. That is the boy who wandered out the front at the Father and Son Night. He is the one who threw stones down when I was in the grave.

  ‘We need a volunteer,’ says Mr Hooper. ‘We need someone to be a good friend to Victor. Someone to show him around.’

  Dead silence fills the room. Everyone tries not to meet Mr Hooper’s eyes. No one wants to do it. No one will play with Victor. And the poor person who gets the job of looking after him will be an outcast in the playground. I stare down at my clasped hands on the desk. In the end I have to look up. Mr Hooper is smiling. This time his smile is for me and me alone. I can tell he remembers me from my night of embarrassment. And he knows my name.

  ‘Hedley Hopkins,’ says Mr Hooper. ‘I think you have what it takes to do this job.’

  Sighs of relief come from every mouth. Everyone is grinning. They have escaped.

  Mr Hooper walks to the door and disappears for a second or two. Then he returns holding Victor by the hand. Victor smiles as if he knows a secret joke. He is having a chuckle to himself. A bit of dribble runs out of the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Victor, this is your new class,’ says Mr Hooper. ‘And Hedley is going to be your new friend.’

  Looking at the class he goes on, ‘This is Victor Baker.’ He leads Victor down the aisle to the empty seat next to me.

  ‘Say hello to Hedley,’ says Mr Hooper.

  ‘Say hello to Hedley,’ says Victor.

  Mr Hooper smiles. ‘Victor just repeats what you say,’ he says.

  ‘Victor just repeats what you say,’ says Victor.

  There is a bit of a giggle from somewhere up the back but Stinker stops it with one of his glares.

  Mr Hooper hands me an envelope. ‘Hedley, this is for your parents,’ he says.

  I look at him with a question in my eyes. What can be in it?

  ‘I want you to come to Billabong tomorrow,’ he explains. ‘This letter is asking permission from your parents. So you can get to know Victor in his own environment. Then he’ll feel safe with you. You can become mates.’

  Mates? I don’t want to be friends with Victor Baker. He can’t even talk properly. And he’s bald. But I don’t say this.

  Stinker seems to be amused. He sees me looking at him and frowns. I bite my lip but I don’t say anything.

  My life is going down the plughole. It is bad enough now. But no one will want to be friends with me when I have Victor trailing along. Even if I have a skull.

  Mr Hooper and Victor leave and the class gets back to normal.

  I am working on a composition we started last week. Composition is writing stories and it is the only subject in school that I like. The topic is A Windy Day. Everyone is writing about umbrellas being turned inside out and tiles blowing off houses. I am writing a nice safe story like all the others. But at home I have written a different one which I could never let a teacher see. It is about a day when something in the drinking water makes every person in Australia break wind. The first bit goes like this:

  A WINDY DAY

  The North wind is hot. And foul. A great stink covers the land. The smell is worse than the Dunny Man’s cart. But worst of all is the smell from a man named Stinker. Birds fall from the trees when he walks past.

  I think it is a good story and one day I will let someone read it – I don’t know who, though. Not Mum and Dad, that’s for sure.

  But at the moment I have other things to think about. Soon it will be lunchtime. I am going to be mocked about the pee. My face burns just at the thought of it.

  At Warrongbool State School we have one lunchtime and two playtimes. I know I will be teased about the pee if I show my face in the playground so I spend all of this time hiding in the drum cupboard. It is dark in there but at least I am safe from Ian Douglas and the rest of them. I will be in big trouble from the teachers if I get caught because the drum cupboard is out of bounds. It is where the drums for the band are kept. The only instruments in the band are drums for the boys and fifes for the girls. No boy would ever be caught dead playing a fife and no girl would want to play the drums.

  There are boys’ things and there are girls’ things. In Australia boys’ bikes have racing handlebars which are like rams’ horns and you bend down low to dodge the wind when you are going fast. Girls’ handlebars are straight and the girls have to sit upright when they ride. My father bought me a new bike for my birthday but he took off the boys’ handlebars and put girls’ bars on instead.

  ‘This is what they have in England,’ he said. ‘They are much safer.’

  I begged him to put the proper handlebars back but he wouldn’t.

  ‘The boys will tease me,’ I said.

  ‘It’s better than being dead from not looking where you are going,’ said Dad.

  I never ride the bike. It just sits in the garage slowly gathering dust.

  This is not England. This is Australia. I am different from everyone else. Would I be different if I still lived back there? I am not sure. Maybe I would. I would have Granny to talk to, that’s one thing. And my friend Timothy.

  This is what I am thinking about when I hide in the drum cupboard again after school. I hide here until all the kids have ridden away and the playground is empty. I am scared that Ian Douglas and the others will follow me home. If Mum sees them she might find out what’s in the sack. She might already have found out in which case I am as good as dead. I can’t take the risk. And anyway, I want to bring it to school so that everyone will know I am the one who got it – not Ian Douglas.

  Finally they have all gone. I can tell by the silence outside. I leave the drum cupboard, do up my coat against the wind and hurry home. There is no sign of Ian Douglas and his mean mates.

  12

  big and vicious

  THAT NIGHT AT tea we all sit around the table and discuss the letter from Mr Hooper.

  ‘Well I never,’ says Mum. ‘Fancy them picking Hedley.’

  ‘I don’t know about Hedley going into that place,’ says Dad. ‘They’re all simple.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I say.

  ‘You know,’ says Dad. ‘Morons and idiots and Mongols and such. Not right in the head. Not very bright. One
loaf short of a dozen.’

  ‘That boy Victor could be dangerous,’ I say.

  ‘I like him,’ says Kate. ‘When he came to the school he threw lollies at people. I saw him out of the window.’

  ‘He can’t talk properly,’ I say. ‘He just repeats what you say.’

  ‘I think it’s lovely,’ says Mum. ‘It’s a great compliment to Hedley that he has been asked. They’ve chosen Hedley because he is a sensitive boy.’

  She is right about that. I am sensitive. I don’t like being called ‘Pommie’ or ‘dumb’ or ‘Headless’.

  ‘I’ll come with you if you like,’ says Kate.

  ‘I’m not going,’ I say.

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth I know that I’ve made a mistake.

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ says Dad. ‘Teachers are to be respected. You have to respect authority.’

  That is the end of the conversation.

  The next morning I push through the shiny-leaf bush and stare in disbelief. The sack is moving. It seems to be squirming and alive. A shock of fear crashes over me as if someone has thrown a bucket of cold water in my face. I close my eyes. Is Major Manners coming back to life? That’s impossible. I must be going mad. I’m heading for the Loony Bin myself for sure. What is it? I take a peep through my eyelashes.

  Bull ants.

  The sack is swarming with bull ants inside and out. I must have dropped it straight on top of a nest. My heart stops racing. At least I’m not going mad. It’s only bull ants. Still and all, I have a problem. They are big and vicious with long pincers growing out of their heads. If one bites you it is like being nipped with a pair of long-nosed pliers. The pain is terrible and it lasts for days. And you just can’t kill them. Even if one is on the pavement and you jump on the thing with boots on, it still won’t die. If you hit them with a hammer they get a bit mangled but they are still alive and trying to nip you.

  I grab a twig and open the mouth of the sack. Straight away a couple of bull ants start walking along the twig towards my hand. I drop the twig with a gasp but before I do, I manage to catch a glimpse of Major Manners. The skull is seething with bull ants.