Kitchen Duty
Dinner was barbecued chicken and salad (not all gooed up with dressing), followed by chocolate mousse, which we called moose.
‘How was it?’ asked Edwina. She always wanted to know what we thought.
‘Wicked!’ we said.
According to our camp books, the Convicts were on kitchen duty with Miss Cappelli supervising, so we thought we might get a special guest appearance by The Bomb. He still hadn’t shown up with Sarah’s medicine.
We knew what we had to do — scrape the plates into the slops bucket, wash everything, stack it and put it away. No worries. Easy peasy. We swung into the job. There wasn’t much going into the slops bucket. Everybody ate their moose. Clatter, clatter, crash, bang. All the plates were scraped and stacked.
Nicko turned on the hot tap over the huge silver sink. Azza squeezed detergent into it. It frothed up a bit.
‘That’s not enough,’ said Nicko. He grabbed the big plastic detergent bottle and gave it a mighty squeeze. The top came off and a mass of detergent whooshed out.
‘Yoweee!!!!!!’ goes Nicko. That should be enough!’
‘Too much!’ says Azza.
‘No, it’s a big sink. It needs lots,’ said Nicko.
‘Not that much,’ said Azza.
‘Everything is hunky and dory,’ said Nicko.
Then the suds frothed up, foaming like a cloud, swelling out of the sink.
‘Hey, that reminds me of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice in Fantasia, where Mickey can’t stop the water coming up the well,’ said Mitch.
‘Cool!’ said Wormz.
Then the foam flowed over the edge of the sink.
‘Not so cool!’ said Wormz.
The water was really hot now, gushing down hard into the ever-rising foam.
‘Turn it off, Nicko! Turn it off!’ yelled Azza.
He turned it off. ‘Now what?’
‘Wash the dishes,’ said Mitch.
‘What? In that pile of bubbles?’
‘Not in the bubbles, in the water, dope.’
‘I think we should get rid of this water and get some new not-so-hot water,’ said Wormz.
‘Yeah, good idea,’ said Jonah.
Nicko put his hand into the bubbles and pulled it out again with a screech. ‘Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!! It’s boiling! I’m not putting my hand in there!’
‘Now what do we do?’ said Azza.
‘Put in cold water to cool it down.’ Jonah was practical.
‘Brilliant!’
Azza put his hand into the bubbles, found the cold tap and turned it on. But two seconds later, bubbles and water started flowing over the edge of the sink.
‘We’ll have to wait till it cools down,’ said Azza.
‘No, scoop up the bubbles in a bucket and take them out the door to the drain,’ said Jonah.
Mitch stood on a stool and fished around in the cloud of froth with a long pair of barbecue tongs, trying to get the plug out.
At last he did. The water drained away. It took ages to wash away the bubbles.
We started again with hot, not boiling, water, and just the right amount of detergent. Everything went smoothly, except when Wormz put a whole pile of plates into the sink.
‘They’re clean ones, dope!’ snapped Azza.
‘They were with the dirty ones, dope!’ snapped Wormz.
We were doing a good job. We had the glasses done, the cutlery and most of the plates. The tea towels were absolutely saturated. Jonah was putting the stacks away.
Suddenly, ‘Boom boom. Boomba boom boom,’ goes Nicko loudly, to the tune of The Flintstones.
A dramatic guest appearance! The Bomb charged in. ‘Hurry up! You were supposed to be finished half an hour ago. just as well I checked on you.’
He strode to where Jonah was stacking glasses. There was an almighty crash. Three stacks of six glasses smashed on the concrete floor.
‘You stupid clumsy...clean up the mess! You’ll pay for this, and you’re on permanent kitchen duty till you learn to be a bit more careful.’
Jonah got the bin. I got the dust pan and the brush. Jonah was like a robot. ‘He knocked me.’
‘Don’t worry, Jonah,’ I whispered.
‘And this bench is filthy. Clean it!’ yelled The Bomb. ‘And when it’s clean, clean it again!’
Letter Home
Talk in Darkness
Before the night hike, Mr Murphy told us about night vision — how you can see at night because your pupils, the black centres of your eyes, open wider to let in more light at night. Like my camera.
We set off without our torches because they would wreck our night vision. At first we couldn’t see a thing, then our pupils did their job.
There was a dark shape in a dam.
‘Look, a rat swimming in the water,’ said Mitch.
‘That’s not a rat, it’s a duck,’ said Nicko.
‘It’s not a duck, it’s a rat.’
‘Quack!’ said the black shape.
‘See, it’s a duck!’
‘No, it’s a rat that speaks duck!’
Chook told them to shut up.
Eventually we got over the excitement of stumbling around in the dark and saw some possums, an owl and a lot of stars.
There were bursts of bright moonlight, blotted out by sudden thick clouds. One second you could see very clearly, then suddenly it was pitch black.
Later, in the tent, our pupils didn’t want to shut down.
‘I can’t get to sleep,’ said Wormz.
‘Try harder. Threaten yourself,’ said Mitch. Tell yourself “If I don’t go to sleep I will punch myself in the head”.’
‘Mary and Miss Cappelli and Matos have been gone for ages,’ said Nicko.
‘And The Bomb went out again, too,’ said Jonah.
‘What?’ We couldn’t believe it.
‘I’m positive,’ said Jonah.
‘That means there’s only Chook, Lisa, Mrs Pumps-Vital and Mr Murphy to look after us!’ said Azza.
‘I want my mummy!’ said Wormz.
‘Have you noticed how Miss Cappelli, Lisa and Chook and the others aren’t including The Bomb in some activities?’ said Nicko. ‘They’re trying to keep him out of the way.
They give him lists to tick off.’
‘And they’re trying to keep him away from you, Jonah,’ said Azza.
‘Did you see how Miss Cappelli switched us from the blacksmiths?’ said Mitch.
‘Brian Cromwell is an invertebrate with very limited appeal,’ said Nicko. ‘A boil on the bum of mankind!’
‘He’s past his use-by date,’ said Azza.
‘Pay attention. Whaleman,’ said Mitch. ‘We are going to do something about your friend.’
‘Don’t get me into more trouble,’ said Jonah.
‘He’s sure to be getting medicine from Auntie Boozer,’ said Nicko. ‘He’ll be away for ages.’
‘Wish he’d never come back,’ said Jonah.
‘Let’s do something tonight to welcome him home!’ said Mitch. We hatched a plan.
‘Hey life! Live it! Slip! Slop! Slap! Just do it!’ goes Wormz.
Nicko goes, ‘My night vision is really strong. I could read a book.’
‘I could thread a needle,’ goes Jonah.
‘I could plait the hairs in my nose,’ said Azza.
‘Then what are we doing lying here?’ said Mitch.
Do you want to hear something funny?
Mr Murphy did the last night prowl, and our tent got the Log Award for settling down well. Not a murmur. I’ll tell you why we were so quiet: we weren’t there.
Creeping around camp in the dark was so cool — making signals, trying not to wake anybody up. We had to freeze for about five minutes while one of the Squatters went to the toilet. One of the Drovers yelled out ’wet towels!’ in his sleep.
On the path from where The Bomb parked his car to his hut, we constructed a simple welcome-home obstacle course.
‘This branch just fell here in t
he night,’ whispered Mitch as we dragged it across the track. (Ever tried to drag a dead branch quietly?) Then we heaved some rocks and arranged them artistically along the path.
‘Some pebbles to help him find his way home.’ Mitch was really grooving on it.
But Jonah was unsure. ‘I don’t think we should be doing this.’
‘After all that creep has done to you,’ said Nicko.
‘Admit it. You are a saint, aren’t you?’ said Mitch.
‘We’ll take the blame,’ said Wormz. ‘We’ll say you were sound asleep.’
The amazing thing is, we didn’t wake anybody up.
From the highest branches of the huge pine tree, at the top of the hill, we could see a long long way. That was when the moon was out. When it was behind a cloud, we couldn’t see a thing.
It was scary and exciting, especially when I was climbing up.
I slipped and was just dangling, hanging by my arms near the top. We sat in the waving branches, waiting for the headlights... waiting...and waiting...and waiting...
‘This branch is killing me,’ said Wormz. ‘My bum’s gone numb!
I’m going back to bed.’
‘You can’t!’ said Mitch.
‘just give it a bit longer,’ said Nicko.
‘He could be hours,’ said Azza.
‘I’ll give him one more minute!’ said Wormz to Mitch. ‘Time it on your fancy watch.’
‘...ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three...’
We saw headlights turn off the highway and drive slowly towards camp.
‘Yess!!!’ yelled Nicko.
‘It’s the bus!’ said Azza.
‘Not big enough,’ said Jonah.
‘Gentlemen,’ said Mitch, ‘we have lift off!’
The car lights slowed to a crawl, then went up a track, then reversed, then drove on towards camp. We scrambled down the tree. Mostly slithered. Azza stood on Wormz’s fingers, I scratched my leg and Nicko ripped his T-shirt.
We ran quietly round the edge of the tents, then crept up to The Bomb’s little hut. The teachers’ lodge was pitch black. Mitch looked at his fancy watch. ‘It’s five past midnight.’
The car was parked. Lights out. The hut was dark.
‘We missed him,’ whispered Wormz. ‘He’s made it inside and gone straight to sleep.’
‘No,’ whispered Nicko. ‘He’s sitting in the car.’
As if to prove exactly that, we saw the red glow of a cigarette. We crouched, watching the car.
When the car door opened it gave us a hell of a fright. The Bomb got out, swaying a bit, and shut the door quietly — well, as quietly as someone who’s had a gutful can shut a car door. He made his way in the dark without a torch.
He looked stooped and old, stumbling to his lonely little hut.
‘He doesn’t look too good,’ whispered Nicko.
‘His night vision is very poor,’ said Mitch.
He hit the branch first. Walked straight into it, half crumpling at the knees. He got up again and staggered on, missed part of the path and most of the rocks, except for the last few. I was feeling awful. Earlier it had been funny. Not any more.
He tripped and fell.
‘I’m going to help him,’ whispered Jonah.
‘Don’t!’ said Mitch. You’re mad!’
I grabbed his arm.
The Bomb heaved himself up. When he reached the steps, he gave a little groan as if he was in pain.
We waited till all was quiet in the hut, and the light was out, then we carted the rocks away and dragged the branch back.
We crept to our tent. No way was The Bomb going to get us tonight.
‘How was that groan?’
‘You won’t believe this,’ said Mitch, ‘but I felt sorry for him.’
‘Yeah,’ said Nicko.
Jonah said nothing.
Nicko started to speak slowly, ‘My uncle Michael...was on the booze.’
‘Yeah?’ We were all interested.
‘He and Kerry, that was his wife, used to come round for barbecues. At first he’d be fine, but he’d keep drinking. Kerry’d be saying things like, ‘That’s enough Michael!’ and ‘It’s time to go, Michael!’ and he’d swear at her. Then Mum said if he couldn’t get his act together she didn’t want to know him.
‘We didn’t see him for ages. Then one Saturday Mum and I went round to his place. It was so gross, so so gross. In the backyard there were bottles everywhere and he never put his rubbish out. It stank. It was so so foul. Rotting stuff heaped everywhere. He’d lost his job. Mum and Michael had a great yelling match. And Mum screamed at him that he might as well die.
‘Then we went home and got the trailer, came back, cleaned up his mess and took it to the tip.’
‘Yeah, then what?’ said Wormz.
‘Well, he went to this secret club for drunks, can’t remember the name.’
‘Alcoholics Anonymous,’ said Mitch. ‘They meet in the Scout Hall kitchen.’
‘Yeah, that’s it,’ said Nicko. ‘Anyway, then he came to tea, about six months later, and he was fine, not swearing or anything. And now he’s married to Kay, who’s just like Kerry, and they live in Adelaide.’
‘Why do they do it?’
‘Beer tastes so foul they have to get drunk!’ said Wormz.
‘My uncle Michael was damn miserable,’ said Nicko.
‘You going to get drunk?’ said Azza to anybody.
‘My brother Wade gets paralytic every Saturday night at parties,’ said Wormz.
‘How do you know? Do you go to the parties?’ said Mitch.
‘He tells me.’
‘I’ve seen my dad drunk a few times, but my mum, never,’ said Jonah.
‘I’ve seen my mum silly,’ said Wormz.
‘That’s drunk.’
‘No it’s not. Drunk is when you can’t talk properly and you fall down.’
‘Well, The Bomb is drunk, but he keeps going,’ said Jonah.
‘Mum’s friend Rosie gets really funny drunk. She works in a shoe shop and she acts out the customers: “Do you have a saze threeeeeee in greeeeen, pleeeeeeeeease.” “No, Madam, but we have a size six in red.”’
‘If you drink then drive you’re a bloody idiot,’ goes Wormz.
‘You’re a bloody idiot and you don’t even drink or drive!’ goes Mitch. You’re going to be a double bloody idiot when you get older!’
‘Why do you reckon The Bomb drinks?’ goes Nicko.
‘To forget how awful he is.’
‘Because he can’t stop.’
‘So he can be nastier to us kids.’
‘Who knows? Ask him.’
‘Mr Cromwell, can you please tell us why you get drunk?’ goes Nicko with big eyes, talking like Faith Williamson.
The Trip to the Doctor
Breakfast next morning was a buzz of stories. The Bomb fronted up. I never thought I’d be pleased to see him, but I had a little fear we might have killed him. He wasn’t exactly happy, but he wasn’t too bad, considering the night before! The only sign of our obstacle course was a couple of bandaids on his hands and some black looks at us.
His story was he had a flat tyre and had to change it. You should have seen the look Chook gave him. Mary was the same as ever. Miss Cappelli, tired but laughing, told everyone about the trip to the doctor.
‘We drove along the highway, then Mary took a short-cut along a country road. We came to a bridge that the bus couldn’t fit under, so we had to reverse a long way to find a place where the bus could turn around.
‘I got out and stopped cars while Mary backed the bus on the narrow country road. The ground was soggy from the rain, and the bus slid gently sideways and our back wheels got well and truly bogged.
‘The people in the cars, including locals on their way home from footy practice, got out and helped push the bus. They were joking and laughing about kissing horses. Most of them knew Mary, or they knew about the wombat lady. And sitting in the bus all the time was Matos, in a
gony, with his bitten nose.
‘Eventually we got to Doctor Connor’s. He was out on an emergency, so we had to wait...and wait...and wait...I read to Matos from New Idea, Who, Woman’s Weekly, Thomas the Tank Engine and Where is Spot?
‘At long last Doctor Connor arrived and examined Matos’s nose and strapped it up. Then Mary drove us home. We stopped to buy a pizza and milkshakes at a late-night cafe.
‘Now tell them what’s wrong with you, Matos,’ she said. Matos grinned under the bandage. ‘I’b god a brogen doze.’
Canoeing
I don’t like remembering this bit.
In the afternoon, the Convicts, the Settlers and the Miners had canoeing. This is not pioneering stuff, but Mary organises horse riding or canoeing, if teachers want it.
Without warning, The Bomb strode onto the river bank and started bossing people around. He told Mandy, the canoeing instructor, that he had a lot of experience.
Mandy, who was there just for the day, had never seen any of us before, so she didn’t have a clue about The Bomb and lonah.
There were only two-person canoes. The Bomb put on a life jacket. Nobody wanted to go with him, so we all paired up, quick as lightning. In the muddle and flurry we forgot about protecting Jonah. The Bomb was already in the back of his canoe. Jonah was the only one left.
‘Get in, boy,’ said The Bomb.
I saw the look on Jonah’s face, but what could I do? I felt sick.
It was OK until Christian dropped his hat in the water and it swirled away like a little boat. The river was a slow old thing, but over by the far bank it flowed faster. Jonah and The Bomb were near that part of the river. Jonah reached out his paddle, trying to catch Christian’s hat.
‘Watch out downstream!’ yelled Mandy. ‘Don’t go past the bridge.’
‘Don’t worry!’ yelled The Bomb. ‘I know this river well.’ They went round the bend. That was the last we saw.
I felt sicker.
Mitch yelled to us, ‘Houston, we have a problem!’
‘Don’t worry,’ yelled Azza. They’ll be back any second.’
Mandy wasn’t worried. She believed The Bomb. She kept teaching us how to canoe.
I watched the bend in the river. ‘Shouldn’t they be back by now?’ I yelled to Mandy.
Don't Pat the Wombat! Page 7