After a couple of hours we turned off a side road and headed for the hills. There was no one following us. I hoped.
We went by streams and stretching farms. We went through gum forests and wattle-lined roads. ‘This is more like it,’ I said. ‘This is where Jingle Bells belongs.’
At last we came to a quiet, shady glen. There was long, cool grass surrounded by a leafy gum forest. There were no fences. ‘This is it, Jack,’ I said. ‘This is what we have been looking for.’
We drove the truck into the middle of the field and stopped. Then we unloaded Jingle Bells onto the grass. The ice had melted a fair bit. Her horns were sticking out into the air. I took a shovel out of the truck.
‘What’s that for?’ asked Jack.
‘To bury her,’ I said. ‘To bury her after the ice melts.’
‘Don’t start digging yet,’ said Jack. ‘Let’s wait awhile.’
Jack and I sat down and gazed at poor frozen Jingle Bells standing in her ice block in the middle of the field. We were hot and tired. The bees buzzed. The birds called. The golden sun shone in the heavens. A hot north wind was blowing.
We sat and watched the still, silent ice cow for a long time. Then we both fell asleep.
I was awakened by something licking my face. I sat bolt upright. It was night time. There was no moon. ‘Jack,’ I yelled. ‘Jack. Wake up.’ I couldn’t see anything. The air was still warm but the night was black.
I heard heavy footsteps crashing off into the bush.
‘What is it?’ said Jack. ‘What’s going on? Where are you?’
Suddenly the moon came out and we peered at each other in the soft light. Then we looked at the ice block. Or I should say we looked at where the ice block had been. It was gone. Melted. And Jingle Bells was gone too. Jack ran over and felt the wet grass. Then he pointed at something. It was a pat of sloppy cow dung. And footprints, no, not foot prints – cow prints. Leading off into the bush.
‘Let’s go and find her,’ I yelled.
Jack put his hand on my arm. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Our work is done. Let’s go home.’
I looked at him for a long time without saying anything. I knew he was right. I nodded slowly. We climbed into the truck. Just before the engine fired I heard something wonderful. Six short, happy moos. They sounded a bit like the first few bars of the Christmas carol ‘Jingle Bells’.
Jack and I both smiled as we drove down the road without talking. After a while I said, ‘Did you know that was going to happen?’
Jack nodded. ‘Well,’ I went on, ‘why don’t you thaw out all the animals in the collection and bring them back to life?’
‘Because,’ said Jack slowly, ‘the tank had different water. And now it’s gone. I was saving it up for someone or something special.’ He wouldn’t talk about it any more after that.
10
When we got back to the ice works Jack went inside the freezer to check his collection. ‘Look at this,’ he yelled. ‘Someone has broken in.’
There was a small hole in the roof of the freezer and a short bit of rope hanging down. There was no one around though. And nothing had been touched. All of the frozen animals sat silently on their shelves.
The big bin of water was directly under the hole in the roof. I climbed up and looked in. ‘There’s something in there,’ I said. ‘And it’s frozen inside the ice. Something has fallen into the water and couldn’t get out. It’s been frozen with the water inside the bin.’
Jack brought in his truck and tipped the bin over on its side. A giant ice block crashed out onto the floor.
We both stared and stared. Gravel was frozen inside. He must have broken in through the freezer roof looking for Jingle Bells and fallen into the water. Now he was frozen in a block of ice.
His frozen fingers were clawed as if he was just about to scratch someone. His mouth was snarled back in a silent scream. His eyes stared without seeing.
‘What will we do with him?’ gasped Jack.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘Gravel starts with “G”. That comes between “F” and “H”. So we put him over there.’
And as far as I know he is still there. Staring out from the ice. With a frozen fox on one side and a hare on the other.
UFD
You can be the judge. Am I the biggest liar in the world or do I tell the truth? There is one thing for sure – Dad believes me. Anyway, I will leave it up to you. I will tell you what happened and you can make up your own mind.
It all starts one evening about tea time. Dad is cooking the tea and Mum is watching ‘Sixty Minutes’ on television. Suddenly there is a knock on the door. ‘I’ll get it,’ yells my little brother Matthew. He always runs to be first to the door and first to the telephone. It really gets on my nerves the way he does this.
We hear the sound of Matthew talking to an adult. Then we hear heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Everyone looks up and stares at this man wearing a light-blue uniform. He has badges on his chest. One of them is a pair of little wings joined together. On his shoulder is a patch saying ROYAL AUSTRALIAN AIRFORCE. We have never seen this man before.
‘Yes?’ says Dad.
‘Mr Hutchins?’ says the man from the airforce.
‘Yes,’ answers Dad.
‘Mr Simon Hutchins?’
‘No’, says Dad pointing at me. ‘That is Simon Hutchins’.
I can feel my face starting to go red. Everyone is looking at me. I think I know what this is about.
‘I have come about the UFO,’ says the man in the uniform.
‘UFO?’ say Mum and Dad together.
‘Yes,’ answers the bloke in the uniform. ‘A Mister Simon Hutchins rang the airforce and reported a UFO.’
Dad looks at me with a fierce expression on his face. He is about to blow his top. ‘This boy,’ says Dad slowly, ‘is the biggest liar in the world. You are wasting your time. He has not seen a UFO. He has dreamed it up. He is always making up the most fantastic stories. I am afraid you have come all this way for nothing.’
‘Nevertheless,’ says the man from the airforce, ‘I will have to do a report. Do you mind if I talk to Simon?’ Then he holds out his hand to Dad. ‘My name is Wing Commander Collins.’
‘Go ahead,’ says Dad as he shakes Wing Commander Collins’ hand. ‘And after you have finished I will have a talk to Simon myself. A very long talk.’ He gives me a dirty look. I know that I am in big trouble.
‘What’s a UFO?’ butts in my little brother. Matthew doesn’t know anything about anything. He is just a little kid with a big voice.
‘It’s an unidentified flying object,’ answers Wing Commander Collins.
‘Wow,’ says Matthew with his mouth hanging open. ‘A flying saucer. Did you really see a flying saucer?’
‘Not exactly,’ I say. ‘But I did see a UFO.’
Wing Commander Collins sits down at the table and starts writing in a notebook. ‘What time did you see it?’ he asks.
I think for a bit and then I say, ‘Seven o’clock this morning. I know it was seven o’clock because the boom gates on the railway line woke me up. The first train goes through at seven.’
The Wing Commander writes this down. I don’t know if he believes me or not. It is true though. Those boom gates go flying up after a train has gone through. They end up pointing at the sky. When they hit the buffer they make a terrific crash. They wake me up at seven every morning.
The airforce man finishes writing and asks me his next question. ‘Where did you see it?’
I point through the kitchen window. ‘Out there. I was in bed and I saw it go past my window.’
‘How big was it?’
‘About one metre.’
He looks at me with a funny expression but he does not say anything. He just writes in his book. After a bit more writing he says, ‘And what colour was it?’
‘Black,’ I answer.
‘And what was it made of?’
‘Skin,’ I say. ‘Skin and hair.’
At this point ev
eryone in the room jumps to their feet and yells out, ‘Skin and hair?’ as if they have never heard of skin and hair before.
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘And what shape was it?’ growls the Commander.
‘Dog-shaped. It was dog-shaped.’
‘Dog-shaped?’ yells the whole family again. I start to feel as if I am living with a bunch of parrots. They keep repeating everything I say.
‘You mean,’ says the Wing Commander, ‘that you saw a flying object that was shaped like a dog and covered in skin and hair?’
‘No,’ I answer. ‘It wasn’t a dog-shaped object. It was a dog-shaped dog. A real dog.’
2
The Wing Commander springs to his feet and snaps his book shut. ‘Good grief,’ he shouts. ‘You mean I have come all this way on a Sunday night just because you looked out of the window and saw a dog?’ The Wing Commander is getting mad.
‘It was not just a dog,’ I tell him. ‘It was alive. And it was flying. It flew past the window and up over the house. It came from down there, down near the railway line.’
Everyone looks down the hill but I can tell that no one believes me.
‘Did it have wings?’ says Matthew.
‘No,’ I yell. ‘Of course not.’
‘Or a propeller?’ says Dad in a mean voice.
‘No,’ I shout. Tears are starting to come into my eyes. ‘It was moving its legs. Like it was swimming in the air. Real fast. It was moving its legs and yapping.’
The Wing Commander is leaving. He is charging down the hall. Before he goes he turns round and barks at Dad. ‘You had better teach that boy not to tell lies. Wasting people’s time with this nonsense about a flying dog.’ He goes out and slams the front door behind him.
Mum and Dad and Matthew all stare at me. I can see that they don’t believe a word of my story. I run to my bedroom and throw myself on the bed. I can hear Dad shouting from the kitchen. ‘You are grounded for two months Simon. I am sick of these stupid lies of yours. I am going to teach you a lesson about truthfulness once and for all.’
I am sick of being called a liar.
I have tears in my eyes.
Dad comes into the bedroom and looks at me. He can see that I am not faking it. I am very upset. He starts to feel sorry for me. ‘Come on Simon,’ he says. ‘You can’t have seen a flying dog. It must have been a reflection in the window or something like that.’
‘I did,’ I shout at him. ‘I saw an unidentified flying dog – a UFD. I’ll bet you a thousand dollars that I did.’
‘You haven’t got a thousand dollars,’ says Dad. ‘In fact you haven’t got any dollars at all.’
What he says is true. ‘All right,’ I say. ‘If I prove that there is such a thing as a UFD you have to pay me a thousand dollars. If I can’t prove it I will do the washing up on my own every night for three years.’
Dad thinks about this for a while, then he grins and holds out his hand. ‘Okay,’ he says, ‘if you prove there is a UFD you get a thousand dollars. If not – three years of washing up. You have one week to prove it.’ He thinks that I am going to back down and say that I didn’t see the flying dog. But he is wrong.
I shake his hand slowly. I am not feeling too good though. If there is one thing I hate it is the washing up. I am sure that no more flying dogs are going to appear. I do not have the foggiest where the other one came from. Probably Mars or Venus. I wonder if there is a space ship somewhere looking for it – like in E.T.
3
‘Come on,’ says Dad ‘Let’s go down and get some ice cream for everyone. We only have an hour left before the milk bar closes.’
We walk out the drive to Dad’s precious new car. It is a Holden Camira. A red one with a big dent in the boot. Dad rubs his hand over the dent and looks unhappy. The dent happened a week earlier and it was not Dad’s fault. The boom gates at the railway crossing dropped down in front of the car. Real quick. Dad slammed his foot on the brakes and – kerpow – a yellow Ford ran into the back of our new Camira.
‘Ruddy gates,’ says Dad. He is still rubbing his hand over the dent like it is a personal wound. ‘Someone ought to report them to the railways. Those gates go up and down like lightning. Don’t give you a chance to stop.’
Dad is especially sore because there were no witnesses to the accident. No one saw it. If Dad had a witness he might be able to make the owner of the yellow Ford pay up. Now he has to fork out for the repair bill himself.
We drive down towards the milk bar. As we get to the railway crossing I see that there is no sign of any trains. I also see that Mrs Jensen is about to cross the line with her bull terrier. This bull terrier is the worst dog in the world. She has it on a long lead. This is good. It means that the vicious animal cannot bite anyone as they walk by.
Mrs Jensen’s bull terrier is called Ripper. This is a good name for the rotten thing. Once it ripped a big hole in my pants. It has also been known to rip holes in people’s legs.
Ripper snarls and snaps and tries to get off the lead as Mrs Jensen walks along.
We are driving behind a big truck. The truckie is looking at Mrs Jensen’s dog Ripper. He is probably glad to be nice and safe inside his cabin. Suddenly the boom gates fall down in front of the truck. The truckie hits the brakes fast. Dad doesn’t hit the brakes at all. Our Camira crashes into the back of the truck with a terrible grinding noise.
Dad groans and hangs his head down on the steering wheel. ‘Not again,’ he says. ‘Not twice in the same month.’ He looks around and then suddenly thinks of something. ‘Quick,’ he yells. ‘Don’t let Mrs Jensen go. She is our witness. She saw the whole thing. Run over and get her.’
The truckie is getting out. He is a big tough guy.
‘Get Mrs Jensen,’ yells Dad. ‘Don’t let her go.’
I take a couple of steps forward. Ripper is snarling and snapping. He recognises my leg. He wants to take another bite.
‘The dog,’ I say to Dad feebly. ‘The dog will bite my leg.’
Dad is looking at the truckie. He really is a big bloke. ‘Don’t argue,’ says Dad out of the corner of his mouth so that the truckie won’t hear. ‘Get Mrs Jensen.’
I walk over to Mrs Jensen and her savage dog. ‘Dad would like to talk to you,’ I say. ‘But please don’t bring your dog.’
Mrs Jensen is not too sure about this. She does not like me very much. In the end she slips the dog’s lead over the end of one of the boom gates so that it cannot get my leg.
A train goes through the crossing and disappears along the track.
The boom gates fly up.
Ripper goes up with the boom gate. It flicks him and his lead high into the sky. Up over the trees and past the kitchen window of our house. His legs are moving like he is swimming in the air. He is yapping as he goes.
4
On the way home Dad is in a grumpy mood. He has one dent in the back of the car and another one in the front.
I am grinning my head off. I wonder how I will spend the thousand dollars.
P.S. Ripper lands in our neighbour’s swimming pool. He is last seen heading for Darwin as fast as he can go.
Cracking Up
Everybody gets a crabby teacher sometimes. It only stands to reason. Look at it this way: you are going to have lots of teachers in your life. One of them has to be crabby so don’t worry about it.
Unless you get one like Mr Snapper.
Oh boy was he mean. He made every school day miserable. Every single one. But May the fifth was one of the worst. I remember it because it was the day we moved into a new house. This is what he did that terrible day.
1. Hit me over the knuckles with a ruler for holding the pen the wrong way.
2. Twisted my ear until it almost came off for asking Mike Dungey how you spell ‘urinate’.
3. Made me say the nine times tables in front of the class when he knew I didn’t know them.
4. Kept me in after school for putting chewing gum behind my ear.
5. Took me to t
he office for smiling (when he was telling me off). I can’t help smiling. I am just a naturally smiling sort of person. Anyway, it wouldn’t have hurt him to smile a bit. Mr Snapper had never smiled in his life. He had a mean, boy-hating sort of face. You could tell what sort of mood he was in by the number of wrinkles on his face. There were so many that it took me ages to count them all. Two hundred wrinkles was a good day. Five hundred wrinkles was a bad day. They ran across his face like deep rivers of rage.
6. Forced me to write out ‘It is rude to stare’ one hundred times.
7. Made me take his rotten pot plant home for the night.
Snapper had two things in the grade that he liked. Lucy Watkins, who was his pet, and the maidenhair fern which stood in a fancy-looking pot on his desk.
Lucy Watkins was a real snob. She knew she was good-looking and she knew she was smart. She was the only person in the grade that Snapper liked. He nearly smiled at her once. That’s how much of a pet she was. He always picked her to take messages to other teachers. He always held up her work for everyone else to look at. And he never told her off. Even when she did the same wrong things as the rest of us.
Anyway, just before home time on the fateful day, Snapper said, ‘Lucy, you can choose the person to take the maidenhair fern home for the night.’ It was supposed to be a big honour to take the maidenhair fern home and water it. The silly-looking plant couldn’t stay at school because of the dust raised by the cleaners when they swept up.
Lucy Watkins went out to the front and looked around slowly. She stared straight at me. I didn’t want to take the maidenhair fern home. I knew something would go wrong if I did. I shook my head. ‘No,’ I whispered under my breath. ‘Not me. Please not me.’
She gave a mean sort of a smile and pointed at me. ‘Him,’ she said. ‘Russell Dimsey. It will look nice in his new house.’
Uncanny! Page 5