The Tunnels of Tarcoola

by Jennifer Walsh

  ‘Oh, wow!’ said Andrea. ‘My sister saw the ghost once.’

  ‘Wooooooooo!’ Martin couldn’t resist running around the columns and jumping out at her.

  ‘Oh, very funny,’ she sniffed.

  ‘Rosa and I came here once,’ said Kitty, ignoring this exchange. ‘We looked in through the windows – those barred windows up there. I recognise them. And what’s more, there’s one with broken bars! I remember now! Come on.’ Followed by the others, she scrambled through one of the narrow gaps into a similar space, a bit smaller and darker, festooned with cobwebs.

  The cellar seemed to be a maze of odd-sized rooms, but after a bit of searching they found the window Kitty had seen. A couple of its bars were missing, and the others were twisted out of shape, leaving a gap big enough to climb through. It was a simple matter then to pile up enough old wooden chairs to climb on. Andrea and Kitty hopped up, and the boys shoved from behind.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said David, pausing. ‘I think we should push those crates back over the trapdoor, so no one else finds out about our tunnel.’

  ‘Right,’ agreed Martin. ‘And we can come back tomorrow for a really good look.’

  When they got outside, the two girls were sitting on an old wooden bench, talking.

  ‘I don’t care,’ Andrea was saying. ‘Lots of people have seen it. It kind of hovers at that window up there.’ She pointed.

  ‘You shouldn’t tease Kitty,’ said David. ‘You know there aren’t any ghosts.’

  ‘She doesn’t worry me,’ Kitty assured him. ‘Anyway, I’m more frightened of the snakes.’

  ‘What snakes?’

  ‘Cec says there are snakes in the garden. He’s seen one. His back yard comes right up to the fence, you know, on the other side of the lane.’

  ‘Cec is about a hundred, and he’s got dementia,’ scoffed Andrea. Still, she looked nervously around her. The darkening garden was an overgrown wilderness, with ivy creeping along the ground and up the walls of the house.

  ‘That’s crap!’ protested Kitty. ‘Cec knows all about this neighbourhood, doesn’t he, Marty? Mum says his mind is clear as a bell.’

  Martin was staring at Kitty’s bare feet.

  ‘Where are your shoes and socks, Kitty?’

  ‘Oh.’ There was a long silence. ‘I think I left them next to the Doughnut. I’d better go back and get them.’

  ‘Next to the Doughnut,’ said David. ‘On that beach? At low tide?’

  ‘Um . . . Yes.’

  Martin groaned.

  ‘YOU talk to them, Paul.’ Kitty and Martin’s mother was using her very controlled voice. This was going to be bad.

  ‘Do you children realise what you’ve put your poor mother through?’ thundered Paul O’Brien. ‘Do you realise that in five more minutes we would have called the police?’

  ‘Kitty!’ Although she always said ‘You talk to them,’ their mother could never stay out of it for long. ‘Look at your school dress! And where are your shoes and socks?’

  Kitty opened her mouth to tell the whole story, but Martin was faster.

  ‘Mum, we’re really sorry. Kitty lost her shoes in the park and we’ve been looking for them. We didn’t want to come home without them.’

  ‘Oh, Kitty, how could you be so careless! And what about your dress?’

  Kitty wasn’t very good at lying, and the distracting aroma of spag bol – her favourite – wafted from the kitchen.

  ‘Oh . . . well, you know, I had to crawl under bushes and stuff. I’m really sorry, Mum.’

  ‘You should never have been in the park so late. You said you were going to David’s . . . ’

  And so it went on. The outcome was grounding for the rest of the week. Three days, not negotiable.

  After dinner, Kitty and Martin meekly cleared away without having to be nagged,

  ‘I think we got off okay,’ Martin said quietly as he scrubbed the spaghetti pot.

  Kitty nodded. ‘It’s a pity, though,’ she said sadly. ‘Now we’ll have to wait until the weekend before we can explore those tunnels.’

  They could hear a jumble of noise from the next room where their parents were watching the TV news – at least their father was, and he had plenty to say about it. Their mother was marking English assignments, chuckling now and then, occasionally giving a snort of exasperation and dashing her red pen through something.

  Next morning Kitty got up very early and ironed her spare school dress. Then she hunted out a pair of Martin’s old school shoes and polished them.

  ‘Oh dear,’ her mother said, her face softening at all this industry. ‘I suppose you could have worn your trainers today.’

  ‘No, Mum. We’re going on an excursion. It’s full school uniform.’

  ‘Oh, did I sign the note? Have you got everything you need?’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  Kitty stuffed her lunch into her bag and flew out the door, leaving Martin to his Weet-Bix. Their schools were in the same general direction, but she liked to be early, whereas he thought it was cool to arrive right on the bell.

  At school, Mr Mac gave out instructions and handouts in the first session, then the whole of Year Six, both classes, set out on foot, clutching their clipboards. Local history was the subject, and where better to find some, said Mr Mac, than by interviewing the occupants of the Sunset Home for the Aged?

  The Sunset Home was a lovely old house with stained-glass windows in a quiet street. There must have been a big garden once, but now it just had extra buildings and parking areas. A fat girl in a pink uniform and a couple of men in white overalls hovered by a side entrance, smoking and gossiping.

  Once inside, Kitty and her classmates were rounded up in a wide entrance hall and given a talking-to by the Matron. Remember, children, some of these people are quite frail and easily upset. You must all be very quiet.

  ‘Betcha I get a deaf one. Will I still have to be quiet then?’ Rosa whispered in Kitty’s ear, and they both giggled.

  ‘Katherine O’Brien?’

  ‘Here, Miss.’

  ‘Miss Gordon, Ward E. It’s a single room, up the stairs, first on the left. Call the nurse if you have trouble with her.’

  What sort of trouble? wondered Kitty as she climbed the stairs.

  Miss Gordon was sitting by her bed facing the window, where you could just see the tops of the trees in the park. She had a bony back and clouds of white hair.

  Kitty cleared her throat. There was no response. She coughed. Miss Gordon kept gazing out at the treetops. Kitty reached forward tentatively and touched her shoulder.

  The old lady turned. Her face was a maze of wrinkles, her blue eyes vacant.

  ‘Miss Gordon? My name’s Kitty. I have to interview you – for my school, you know. I have to ask you some questions.’

  The blue eyes slowly, dreamily, came to rest on Kitty’s face.

  ‘Eh?’

  Kitty started again. ‘Do you mind if I ask you some questions about your life?’

  ‘Questions? Yes, dear.’

  ‘Um . . . Okay.’ Kitty hoped that meant she didn’t mind. ‘So . . . um . . . Before you were in the Home, where did you live?’

  ‘Where did I live? Didn’t they tell you, dear?’ Miss Gordon drew herself up proudly. ‘Tarcoola. I was the mistress of Tarcoola.’

  ‘Oh. Really? Tarcoola?’ Kitty wrote it down. ‘Is that near here?’

  ‘Near here?’ The old lady looked around vaguely. ‘It’s by the water. You could watch the sailing boats go by. Ask anyone, dear. Everyone knows Tarcoola. They should have told you.’

  She seemed to shrink into herself, frowning, and turned away from Kitty, lost in some vision of the past.

  ‘It sounds lovely,’ said Kitty. ‘Tarcoola!’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ The old lady turned back. ‘The parties we had! The ladies in their frocks. All the big cars, coming up the driveway.’

  This sounded promising. Kitty wrote it down.

  ‘Is that where you were born?’ she asked
next.

  ‘I should think not, dear. I was born in Christina Street. There on the corner of Forrester’s Lane. Do you know it?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I do! My friend lives in that street. I go there all the time.’

  ‘It was a good street.’ Miss Gordon smiled. ‘Our house had two bedrooms, you know, and a scullery. And Mother had her roses.’

  ‘What school did you go to?’

  ‘Well, we all went to the nuns. I had five brothers and three sisters, and where Mother got the money for the uniforms I don’t know, after they closed the Pit. Everything had to be spick and span in those days. Do you go to the nuns, dear?’ She seemed to focus for the first time on Kitty, with her neatly plaited hair and polished shoes.

  ‘Oh no. I go to the public school, you know, over the road from the . . . from the nuns.’

  There was a slightly frosty silence, and Kitty looked at the notes she had scribbled.

  ‘Excuse me, what was the Pit?’

  ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘You said, “after they closed the Pit.” ’

  ‘Oh, it was a shame, yes, with all the miners out of work. Father had to go back to the wharves and there wasn’t much there either, once the Depression started. It was a terrible time, with all the younger ones still at home.’

  ‘So the Pit was a mine?’

  ‘Yes, dear, the coal mine. But you don’t want to know about that. It’s all gone now. Father always said it was a good thing none of the boys would be going down the Pit. Did I tell you I had five brothers?’

  ‘Yes. Does that mean there were nine children in your family?’

  ‘Nine? Nine. Yes. I suppose that’s right. Five boys and four girls. And a couple more little ones that Mother lost.’

  ‘Oh. How did she lose them?’ Kitty supposed that with more than nine children trailing behind, you might easily lose one or two.

  ‘Well, I think it was the diphtheria, but one died of the Spanish Flu just before I was born. Poor Mother – she always took it so hard. I was one of the youngest, and Mother hoped I would stay at home and help her. But I had to go into service like my sisters.’

  Kitty understood now about the lost babies. Her mother liked wandering through old churchyards on holidays, and they had seen many family graves, sad little lists of babies and young children buried with nearly every ‘wife of the above’. She was puzzled, however, as to what ‘service’ meant. The Army, or the Navy?

  ‘So what happened when you were in the service?’

  ‘Work! You young people today . . . Up before dawn, washing and scrubbing. We blacked the stove every day, first thing, before it was lit. I hate to think how much hot water I carried up those stairs. It was three years before I was allowed to touch the silver. Lovely silver they had – not as good as Tarcoola, though. Mr Wolf liked to have the best, always the best. He brought such beautiful things with him from Europe.’

  Kitty was floundering. She searched for clues.

  ‘Um . . . did you wear a uniform, in the . . . in service?’

  ‘Oh yes. They were old-fashioned there, of course – the black dress, everything starched – even the little white cap. I wasn’t any bigger than you are when I started, dear. When I put the apron on you could hardly see me at all! Like a walking tent!’

  They both laughed. Miss Gordon sighed.

  ‘I hope you don’t have to go into service, dear.’

  ‘Oh! I don’t think so. I’m going to be a vet.’

  Miss Gordon clearly wasn’t listening. Her gaze strayed back to the trees.

  ‘I was good to the girls at Tarcoola. Mr Wolf never understood that. I didn’t take any nonsense, though.’

  Kitty was wondering if she would ever be able to make sense of her notes.

  ‘So . . . ’ she ventured, ‘was Mr Wolf your boss?’

  ‘I beg your pardon!’ Miss Gordon drew herself up. ‘Mr Wolf was my husband. Didn’t I tell you I was mistress of the house?’

  Kitty became aware of someone behind her. It was Rosa, jiggling with impatience.

  ‘Come on, Kitty! Everyone’s downstairs waiting.’

  ‘In a minute.’

  Kitty turned back to the old lady. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I have to go now.’ She held out her hand.

  Miss Gordon – or was it Mrs Wolf? – took Kitty’s hand and held it against her cheek. Despite the wrinkles, her skin was soft and cool.

  ‘Goodbye, then, dear. What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Kitty.’

  ‘What a lovely old-fashioned name. It’s been so nice having a chat.’

  Kitty quickly stacked her notes and glanced at the printed question sheet on top.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I forgot to ask you about your birthday.’

  Miss Gordon drew back suddenly. ‘Don’t you ask about that!’ Her voice was a harsh whisper.

  ‘Oh. Okay.’

  ‘They all kept asking me,’ mumbled the old lady. ‘But I wouldn’t tell them. It’s yours, he said.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Kitty. ‘I won’t ask. I’m sorry.’

  She took Miss Gordon’s hand. After a moment the blue eyes focused on her.

  ‘You will come and see me soon, won’t you?’ said the old lady, as if nothing had happened.

  ‘Yes, if I can.’

  Rosa was waiting outside. ‘I think I might have got the wrong person!’ whispered Kitty. ‘But she was a bit muddled, so I can’t be sure.’

  They passed a plump nurse who was heading into the ward.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Kitty muttered. She ran after the nurse. ‘Excuse me! That lady in there, what’s her name?’

  ‘That’s Clarissa. Miss Clarissa Gordon.’

  ‘Oh, it was the right one. She said she was married to someone called Mr Wolf.’ Kitty couldn’t help giggling a little.

  ‘She thinks she was, poor thing.’ The nurse leaned a little closer. ‘Bigamy!’ she breathed.

  ‘Oh!’ What was bigamy, Kitty wondered. ‘Well, anyway, would I be allowed to visit her again?’

  ‘Yes, of course. It does them good to have visitors. She doesn’t see anyone except the priest from one year to the next.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Kitty ran back to Rosa.

  ‘What’s bigamy?’ she asked as they hurried down the stairs.

  ‘Oh, it’s . . . um . . . I’m sure I’ve heard of it . . . ’

  ‘It’s a great story,’ continued Kitty. ‘She used to be a servant, I think, but she ended up really posh. She says she was mistress of Tarcoola.’

  ‘No kidding!’ gasped Rosa. ‘Tarcoola?’

  ‘Yes, do you know where that is?’

  ‘Course I do. Didn’t you see the name above the door?’

  Kitty looked blank.

  ‘When we went in that time?’ persisted Rosa. ‘The name’s carved above the front door.’

  She paused for effect. ‘The Haunted House!’

  ON the way back to school, Kitty was the centre of attention. It seemed that many of the other inmates of the Sunset Home had been unwilling to talk about themselves, but only too eager to talk about Miss Gordon.

  ‘What’s the deal with her?’ asked Anna. ‘My old lady kept saying things like “Airs and graces”, and calling her Lady Muck. But then the old lady next to her leaned over and said there was such a thing as charity, and kept calling your Miss Gordon “Poor thing”. What did she do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Kitty. ‘But what does bigamy mean?’

  ‘Hear that?’ Scott elbowed Jason, obviously delighted to find something Kitty did not know. ‘She hasn’t heard of bigamy!’ Jason grinned uneasily.

  ‘It’s when a person gets married twice,’ contributed Caitlin, looking up from the book she was reading as she walked along, steered by Anna.

  ‘Only twice—?’ started Rosa.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, we know your auntie’s been married seventeen million times,’ Scott interrupted. ‘But she was divorced in between, wasn’t she? Bigamy’s when you’re married to two
people at the same time, and it’s breaking the law.’

  ‘So Miss Gordon did that?’ said Rosa. ‘Why don’t they just get over it?’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Kitty. ‘I don’t think she did it. I’m guessing it was kind of done to her. That’s why she’s still Miss Gordon, and not Mrs Wolf, or whatever the name is. But the best part is, she lived in the Haunted House!’

  ‘Hey, maybe she’s the ghost?’ put in Jason.

  ‘You can’t have a ghost who’s still alive,’ scoffed Rosa. ‘But maybe she murdered the other wife when she found out? What do you reckon?’

  ‘Oooooooohhhh!’ Several boys saw this as a chance to practise their ghost impersonations.

  ‘I’m not going back to that place, that’s for sure,’ shuddered Karen. ‘Those people smell.’

  ‘Maybe she murdered her husband, and he’s the ghost?’ mused Rosa.

  ‘She wouldn’t tell me when her birthday was,’ Kitty said. ‘She was really funny about it – as if it was some big secret.’

  ‘Sounds like my auntie,’ said Rosa. ‘If you ask how old she is, she always says twenty-one. How dumb is that?’

  After school, Rosa said, ‘Do you want to come to my house? Or are you meeting Andrea?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Kitty. ‘I’m grounded.’

  She told Rosa about losing her shoes at the foot of the cliffs, but no more. It wasn’t so much because of the boys, though they would not be pleased if Rosa turned up wanting to explore the tunnels with them. It was more to do with Andrea. She didn’t get on with any of Kitty’s friends, so it could be awkward. Lately Kitty had found herself dividing her social life into Andrea days and Rosa days.

  ‘Hey,’ suggested Rosa, ‘do you want to go past the Haunted House on the way home? It won’t make you late, if we hurry. I’ll show you the name above the door.’

  They crossed the road that led to the park and walked up the narrow lane. There was barbed wire along the fence and over the gate, which was closed with a huge rusty padlock; but there were gaps big enough for them to climb through. The house was just visible through the trees.

  They reached a path that meandered through the trees, then opened into a clear space. Cracked marble steps led up to a porch with elaborate pillars and the remnants of a beautiful tiled floor. Above, carved in stone and crumbling away in parts, you could read the name: ‘Tarcoola’.