‘They are not loonies,’ says Mum. ‘They saved my children’s lives.’
Everyone is quiet. We will probably never find out who vandalised the coffin. Everyone will always think that I did it even though I didn’t.
‘I did not punch the hole in the coffin,’ I say. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
Every eye looks at me. I can see doubt in nearly all of them.
‘Who did do it then?’ repeats Sergeant Clifford. ‘Who made the hole in the coffin? Come on. Own up.’
No one speaks.
I hear Sergeant Clifford’s clock ticking on the wall. I hear my own blood pulsing in my ears.
And I hear a firm and gentle voice saying something amazing.
‘I did. I made the hole in the coffin.’
I can’t believe this. It’s Mr Hooper.
‘But I didn’t take out the skull,’ he says. ‘I made the hole so I could put the head back. Back in the coffin with the rest of the skeleton. Then I looked up and saw my boys staring down at me. They should have been in bed so I left the skull in the grave and took them home through the gap in the fence. When I returned, my ladder was gone and I couldn’t get down inside the grave. I decided I would come back to finish the job later.’
Kate looks as if she is trying to solve a very hard sum at school. Like the rest of us, she can’t quite follow it all. I am so relieved that the truth is out. But Mr Hooper the vandal? Surely not.
Mr Hooper continues. ‘To my horror, when I returned, the skull was gone,’ he says.
Sergeant Clifford doesn’t believe him. ‘Why wasn’t the skull in the coffin then?’ he says. ‘Who took it out in the first place? Was it you?’
‘I just told you I didn’t,’ says Mr Hooper. ‘It was never in there at all. That grave was the resting place of Mighty Manny, the escaped convict.’
I am stunned. A convict. Not a soldier.
Mr Douglas draws in breath noisily. ‘Mad Dog Manny,’ he gasps. ‘A criminal. Deported from England on a convict ship.’
‘For spitting on the footpath,’ says Mr Hooper, angrily.
‘Escaped. Ran off and lived with the Abos,’ says Mr Douglas.
‘A convict,’ I say under my breath. ‘I thought Major Manners was a hero.’
Mr Hooper hears my whisper. ‘Mighty Manny was a hero,’ he says firmly. ‘He escaped into the wild bushland in bare feet. Walked over a thousand miles to this very place to get away from the soldiers. Arrived half dead. The Aboriginal people took him in. Life was good by the sea with plenty of fish and game. He married and had children.’
‘A lubra and little black kids,’ says Mr Douglas scornfully.
‘His wife and children,’ Mr Hooper says. ‘He lived here with his family.’
I can see Mr Hooper is getting very upset.
Mr Douglas looks puzzled. Finally he says, ‘Well, he was still an escaped convict and lived with savages so he got what he deserved.’
‘He was murdered by settlers who wanted the land,’ says Mr Hooper. ‘He didn’t deserve that. He died protecting his people. My people.’
‘Your people?’ says an amazed Mr Douglas.
‘Yes, my people. Mighty Manny was my great-grandfather. And his Aboriginal wife was my great-grandmother. Thirty settlers with guns attacked Manny and twelve Aborigines around their camp fire. The women and children fled into the bush. The men fought back, but in the end they were all killed. Guns against spears. My people had no hope.’
Mr Hooper pauses. I can see that he is about to say something terrible. He has tears in his eyes. Everyone is waiting.
‘The settlers were the savages, Mr Douglas.’
‘How so?’ spits out Mr Douglas.
We all wait for the answer.
‘They took the men’s heads for trophies – including Manny’s. Those settlers were head-hunters.’
‘That’s shocking,’ says Mum. She is upset. Her lips are quivering.
I give a shudder. Poor, poor Major Manners.
‘Okay, okay,’ says Sergeant Clifford. ‘I can see how you feel, Mr Hooper. But where is all this going?’ He taps the biscuit tin on his desk.
Mr Hooper rushes on with his story.
‘After the … murder of my ancestors, a missionary, the Rev Thatcher who was just out from England on a sailing ship, paid for Manny’s coffin and the grave for his body. But his skull was never found.’
‘Until you came along,’ says Sergeant Clifford.
‘That’s right,’ says Mr Hooper. He is getting really worked up now. ‘I’ve been looking for Manny’s head all my life. I finally found it in a tiny private museum near Woods Point in the mountains. It was on a shelf next to the stuffed remains of a rabbit with five legs. I paid a thousand pounds for it. Now Mighty Manny’s head must go back where it belongs,’ he finishes.
Nobody knows what to say.
It’s time for me to speak up again.
‘A person’s head and body should be together,’ I say. ‘What was done was wrong.’
‘It’s a good point, son,’ says Dad.
‘A very good point,’ Mum adds.
‘And I was right all along,’ I say. ‘I knew it. The skull belonged to a brave man. A man defending his people. I’m glad Maj … er, Mighty Manny is going back where he belongs. He can rest in peace now. I’m sorry I took his skull.’
Thanks, mate, says a voice in my head. The voice of my old friend. Somehow I think this is the last time he will talk to me. And me to him.
Mr Douglas scrambles to his feet.
‘You don’t need us any more, Sergeant,’ he says. ‘We’re leaving.’
‘I think that would be a good idea,’ says Dad.
Mr Douglas heads for the door followed by the gang. Sergeant Clifford nods his permission.
My father turns to Sergeant Clifford and clears his throat.
‘Hedley was returning the skull,’ he says. ‘That must count in his favour.’
‘Indeed,’ says Mum. ‘He is a kind boy. He was chosen to help out at Billabong.’
Before Sergeant Clifford can say anything, Dad gets up and shakes Victor’s hand.
‘I want to thank you boys for saving Hedley and Kate’s lives,’ he says. ‘A wonderful effort. Brave and smart. Great work.’
Dad takes each of the boys’ hands. He thanks every one of them. Kate follows him along. She shakes every hand too. So do I. And so does Mum. The Billabong boys are happy and embarrassed at the same time. They are so proud of themselves.
‘Didn’t, didn’t, didn’t do much,’ says Michael.
‘Dug him out,’ says Richard.
‘Bloody knackered,’ says Randolph.
‘Sergeant,’ says Mr Hooper. ‘It was a long time ago. But I don’t believe that Manny’s murderers were ever charged. Or punished. The men who stole his skull in the first place are the guilty ones. Not this innocent boy. Nor the kids from Billabong.’
Sergeant Clifford regards me with a serious expression. Then he looks at the poor boys from Billabong. They seem so scared and harmless and I can see he is moved by the scene he’s just witnessed. Finally he makes an announcement in a slow, kindly voice.
‘The best course of action might be to forget the whole thing,’ he says. ‘After all, no one has been hurt.’
‘It’s the best for everyone,’ says Mum. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re a good man, Sergeant,’ says Dad.
Sergeant Clifford tries to hide a smile.
Oh, wow. Now I’m off the hook. I can’t believe it. What a relief. Kate digs me in the ribs. She is happy and so am I. Very happy indeed.
There is a shuffling of feet. Everyone seems to want to get out of here now. I do, that’s for sure. Before Sergeant Clifford changes his mind.
Victor marches over to the biscuit tin on the desk. He taps it with one finger.
‘Bloody good bloke,’ he says.
Mr Hooper and I exchange looks. We break into enormous knowing smiles and Mr Hooper gently takes the biscuit tin from Vict
or’s hands.
‘I think this is mine,’ he says.
We know that although he is looking at Victor, Mr Hooper is really talking to Sergeant Clifford.
‘Well, Mr Hooper, it’s a little late to open a murder investigation into his death,’ he says. ‘So I guess Mighty Manny is yours to bury.’
‘Let’s go, boys,’ says Mr Hooper. ‘I think I need a nice cold lime milkshake.’
‘Me too,’ yells Michael. ‘Me too.’
The boys rush over to Mr Hooper. Richard pats him on the back. They are happiest of all about the thought of a milkshake.
‘Banana?’ yells Richard.
‘No, strawberry,’ shouts Michael.
The boys disappear through the door after Mr Hooper. The sound of their loud voices can be heard even through the walls of the Police Station.
‘Blue heaven,’ I hear Victor call out from the pavement outside.
It’s funny but somehow or other the boys’ voices calling out their favourite flavours seem like a victory. Almost as if they are claiming the streets.
‘Well,’ says Sergeant Clifford. ‘I wouldn’t mind a drink myself. Now we can all go home. That’s the end of that.’
‘Not quite,’ says Mum. She grabs me by the shoulder and turns me around so that my back faces Sergeant Clifford. Then she quickly pulls down my long socks and points to the bruises on the back of my legs.
‘I want to talk about this,’ she says.
29
the nougat tin
SO IT ALL turns out well. Mr Hooper gets his wish. Because Manny was married to Mr Hooper’s great grandmother, the Aboriginal people hold a special burial ceremony in the sand dunes and put the skull back with the rest of the skeleton. I don’t know what happened exactly because the ceremony was secret. Mr Hooper told me that some of his people dressed in possum-skin cloaks. And the smoking branch of a gum tree was waved around. No one was allowed to know more than that. It was a sacred ceremony.
I do not get into big trouble. Nor does Kate. Mum has a lot to say about me taking the skull, but hearing how I nearly died makes her less angry. Dad doesn’t know what to make of it all but he is just glad that the whole thing never makes it into the newspapers. He doesn’t want the family to be disgraced. And he sure doesn’t want his boss to find out. So I get off with a big lecture.
Victor and the others from Billabong are heroes because they saved my life. Ian Douglas and his mates are very unpopular. No one wants to know them. Partly because they made me steal the skull and then left me to die. But also because they thought they heard a dead man talking. They are a joke. A very bad joke.
But the biggest surprise of all has to do with our teacher. For two weeks we have an emergency teacher who fills in because Stinker has gone – no one knows where. There is a rumour that he is teaching in the Correspondence School which sends out lessons by post to children who live in the outback. Some of the boys say he was sent away because he hit my legs with the strap. Who knows? I was sent home and never did hear what was said about this in Sergeant Clifford’s office.
Victor does not come back to our class.
Until …
One day, after a couple of weeks, there he is, as large as life, sitting happily next to me in our desk.
And we have a new teacher.
‘Good morning, everyone,’ he says.
‘Good morning, Mr Hooper,’ we all chorus.
It’s true. Mr Hooper is our new teacher.
‘We are setting up a new program for the boys from Billabong,’ he says. ‘Some of them are coming here to learn with you. Starting with Victor.’
The whole class is grinning. Mr Hooper doesn’t give the strap. And everyone likes him because he’s a nice man.
I’m not lonely any more. Victor is my friend. So is Kate.
So is Mr Hooper. He gives me a friendly whack on the back. ‘Hedley, mate,’ he says. ‘I want to start a special Friends of Billabong group and you are in charge.’ Billabong. My blood freezes. No, not really. Just joking. ‘You pick out one boy or girl to look after each new student. Every Friday they can come to Billabong and help the teachers there.’
All the kids are listening and pointing to themselves. They would like to be part of it. Friday afternoons are Dictation days. Everyone hates Dictation. Billabong would be like Heaven compared to Dictation.
The first one I choose to join the Friends of Billabong is Mouse. He’s a good kid really and we become mates. It doesn’t matter that I’m a Pommie. Fair dinkum, it doesn’t.
Life is good.
Until …
One day I go home and find Mum and Dad sitting in the kitchen. On the table is a familiar-looking nougat tin. My heart stops beating. I am dead. I am history. They will know what that handkerchief was used for.
‘I found this under your socks,’ says Mum. She opens the tin. I can’t quite understand what I am looking at. The tin is completely filled with fur.
Mum looks uncomfortable. Not angry. Almost as if she is trying to cover something up.
‘Mould,’ she says. ‘You must have put apple cores or something in there. Mould has grown over the lot.’
I nod my head. Dad is staring at the fly that is not on the ceiling.
‘Your father wants to speak to you,’ says Mum. For some reason I think that she knows what’s really in the tin. She puts a hand on my shoulder. It’s not a hug or a kiss. But it means the same to her. As I stand to go, Mum gives me a wink.
‘You know, Hedley,’ she says. ‘I saw something funny a few days ago. A pair of your pyjama pants up a tree in the park. A cat must have stolen them off the clothes line.’
I give an embarrassed smile.
Then I follow Dad out into the garage. He is awkward and starts walking around touching things as if he is about to clean up but keeps changing his mind.
‘Look,’ he finally says. ‘About that Father and Son thing. You know. Well. Don’t your friends at school talk about that stuff? Gee, that’s how it was done in my day.’
I think about my friends. They don’t talk about things like that.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Not really.’
‘Well, look,’ says Dad. ‘Surely you know. You must have figured it out. Good Lord, this is embarrassing. Your mother is carrying on about it. I have to fill you in on things. But some things are private. You know. What you do in your own room. You don’t talk about it. You must have worked out that’s why I put a bolt on our bedroom door.’
I didn’t know that but I nod. Well, at least he’s not a coward.
I decide to put him out of his misery.
‘I know all about it,’ I say. ‘I’ve worked it out. It’s not pee.’
He looks greatly relieved.
‘Good man. You figured it out. You know now, don’t you? Are you sure? I don’t want any more grief from your mother.’
I go over to the bench and pick up a tube of wood glue. I take off the top and squirt a little white trail on to the bench.
‘Enough said, enough said,’ Dad exclaims. ‘Good man.’ He runs out of the door.
There are two other things I find out that make me feel good. The first is about my granny. She has a dream that she is a bird. Then she finds out that you can fly to Australia on a DC3 plane. So she is coming to live with us. I am so happy. I’ve missed her very much. She has always been my friend.
Another good thing happens.
There is a writing competition in the Argus newspaper. It’s for children in schools. Anyone can go in it. So I do. And for the first time ever I win something. Three pounds and a certificate to hang on the wall. A man from the Argus comes to our school to make the presentation. The whole school is watching. He shakes my hand. Then he opens up the story and says, ‘Girls and boys. Hedley Hopkins has written a very imaginative story. I will read you just a little bit from the first page.’
Up the back I can see Mum and Dad smiling. And Kate. And Mouse. And Mr Hooper.
The man from the Argus begins to read:
Kate and I walk along the beach kicking seaweed and looking at stuff that has been washed up. There is not a single footprint in the sand, which means that no one has been along this way since high tide. There might be something good amongst the seaweed. So far we have only found a busted lobster pot and a dead penguin with no eyes.
It is a lonely beach with a lonely sky.
a word from paul jennings
YOU MIGHT HAVE guessed that Hedley, the boy in the story, is me. Most of this tale is true so I guess you could call it faction rather than fiction. My little sister (Ruth, not Kate) and I did discover a skull in a vandalised grave in the sand dunes. And there was a group of intellectually disabled children who suddenly popped up and frightened us. I did have a nice teacher like Mr Hooper and an awful one like Stinker, who used to hit me on the legs with a strap. When I was a young man I became a student speech therapist and one of my first clients was a boy who wouldn’t speak. I gave him a jar of lollies and waited for him to ask me to undo the lid. He didn’t. He ran into someone’s back garden and was chased out by a dog and he really did yell, ‘Dog, dog, dog.’
I did not put a skull in our fridge but I did put a dead rat in there and although my mother didn’t faint she was not totally amused by it I can tell you. All the embarrassing bits about the Facts of Life and the Father and Son Night are true too.
The details of this story that I found most difficult to write were the parts about the narrow attitudes towards intellectually disabled people and those with mental illnesses. Today we know so much more and we do not use negative words to describe other people and we know that there is nothing to fear from those who suffer from mental illnesses or other disabilities. I also had worries using expressions like ‘a touch of the tar brush’ and ‘savages’. But ignorant attitudes to different cultures and racist descriptions of Aboriginal people and immigrants were common in the 1950s.
How Hedley Hopkins Did a Dare... Page 12