"You two must be the McNally boys."
"Yes Sister," we said together, and in the confusion of the moment I also crossed myself. This gesture seemed to save both our necks. She gave a perfunctory smile.
"My name is Sister Mary Placid. Welcome to Sacred Heart Primary School. As this is your first day, I will forget your participation in this brawl – this once. I know Master Wood well, and have every belief he was the instigator. Do not let me catch you engaging in fisticuffs ever again. Not unless you want to join him in his punishment. Understand?"
We both nodded.
"Good." She squeezed Doug's cheeks firmly between the palms of her hands as she examined his face.
"No blood. Barry, take him to the wash shed and get him cleaned up; once Master Wood has finished getting that muck out of his hair." She then turned, faced the crowd and roared,
"You have one minute to line up for assembly!" Everyone scattered and faced the main weatherboard building in formation. A pretty curly-headed girl pulled me into my spot as Barry led Doug away.
By the time Doug and Barry joined the assembly, we'd finished the Morning Prayer, allegiance to the Queen, our free bottle of milk and were now marching off in pairs to the classrooms. There were a number of weatherboard buildings in the grounds, as well as a small brick office. Our line headed towards one wooden building that housed three classrooms. Outside the end classroom stood Steve with his hair dripping wet, holding the cane. As we filed past him he threatened Doug in a clenched-teeth whisper.
"I'll get you later."
We emptied our satchels then placed them on the pegs outside the second classroom before filing in. Barry led us to two empty desks up the back. Because of the size of the school, our third class was combined with second class.
The clatter of opening our desks and filling them with our belongings then dropping their tops shut, soon stopped as everyone waited in silence, listening for the number of strokes of the cane Steve would receive. One, two, three, four, five, six. He started it, but he didn't deserve that much, I thought. On hearing the clomp of heels coming along the wooden verandah, everyone stood to attention beside their desk. Doug and I couldn't see the door from where we were, but by deduction knew whoever it was must be our teacher.
"Good morning class," a female voice sang brightly on entering. It was Sister Mary Placid. She moved to the desk at the front of the room, tapping the cane gently against her leg. Doug looked at me. We mirrored the same doomed expression to the other realising that she was to be our teacher. She placed the cane on the desk.
"Good morning Sister Mary Placid," we all rejoined.
"Eyes front Dougal McNally." After a singsong of more prayers led by Sister, we were allowed to sit. "The two new boys, out the front and tell us a bit about yourselves."
Doug and I moved in front of her large desk and faced the class, while Sister made her way to the back of the room.
"My name's Dougal McNally. My friends call me Doug." As he hesitated and nervously pulled at the front of his pants to adjust himself, I jumped in.
"And I'm his brother, Pat, short for Patrick. We're twins, but not identical." Some of the class laughed at my obvious, nervous joke 'cept Sister.
"Please tell the class how it is that you've come to join our school." I took the lead, as Doug was always shy about answering questions, especially about himself.
"We used to come visit Nan and Poppie –" I began before she interrupted.
"You mean you used to come and visit your grandmother and grandfather. Go on."
"Well we used to visit them."
"Who did you visit?"
"Our Nan –" I caught her piercing stare and proceeded with more caution. "Our grandmother and grandfather," I corrected.
"Good, we don't use baby talk in this class. Proceed." I quickly gathered my thoughts.
"We used to visit our grandparents each Christmas school holidays. Then when our grandfather died, we moved here for good – to help Nan." As soon as the word 'Nan' left my lips I froze and went red. I could feel even my ears were burning. Sister squinted at me through her blue lenses. She was not amused. Doug came quickly to the rescue.
"Our Dad is a doctor and he's opening a …" he pulled at his pants again as he looked at me to rescue him, but I hesitated for just a split second too long. Sister pounced in with the answer and now we both felt small and silly.
"He's opening what we call a 'practice', class. We also call it a 'doctor's surgery'. Isn't that good, class? We'll have our own doctor, rather than having to travel miles when we're sick." Of course it was a surgery. It was only our nerves that blocked our brains.
"You didn't mention your mother."
"Our mother's gone to Heaven," I added softly. Her face softened as she remained looking at us for a second before making her way back to the front of the room.
"Thank you boys. You may take your seats. And Doug …" she added in an aside, "the next time I see you rearranging your boy's bits, I'll cut them off."
"Yes Sister."
"Thank Doug and Pat, class." The class gave a little clap. With great relief, we took our seats.
"Second class, take out your writing books, and third class, prepare for a spelling test."
Doug looked at me and crossed his eyes, signalling his fear of imminent disaster, while we all opened up our desks and took out books and pencils. I was a better speller than him, only because I studied. Even so, I felt that this was going to be a long, long day for the both of us. And it was. The text books were the same but they had different ways of setting out work to the way we did it at Our Lady of Lourdes.
At lunchtime we kept our eyes open for Steve and his mates. Several of our classmates joined us in the shade on the seats around the big rubber tree. We checked out each other's lunches and swapped them around. When the old nun who was doing playground duty fell asleep while sitting under a tree, Steve and his gang came over our way. Just as they got about six feet away, they diverted their attention to the only Chinese boy in the school. He was sitting by himself.
"Ching chong Chinaman," they all repeated menacingly over and over as they pulled on the corners of their eyes to make them appear Asian. The boy was sacred and looking for a way to escape. Steve looked over in our direction.
"Ching chong Chinaman," I joined in and encouraged Doug to do the same with a sly whisper and a jab to his ribs with my elbow. "Say it. Otherwise he's gonna come over here and pick on us again."
"Ching chong Chinaman," all of us on the seat chorused.
Steve smirked at us then turned his attentions back to the Chinese boy. Just as he did, the old nun woke up, checked her watch then started to ring the handbell laying beside her for the resumption of school work. As we scurried back to class I couldn't help but feel relieved at how lucky we were to have escaped Steve and his gang's attention.
Keeping the news of the fight to ourselves and away from Dad wasn't likely to happen. By the end of the day, a small but noticeable bruise near the inside corner of Doug's right eye had formed. We thought our best course of action was to tell Dad ourselves and get it over with. He'd told us repeatedly not to get into fights, even with each other, and that "it was the better man who chose to walk away." We reckoned the only way Dad could say this was because he never had someone pick a fight with him. He said a lot of smart things, but not saying it was okay to fight if someone else started it, to us seemed like you were scared. Walking away only made it worse. They'd end up calling you a 'yeller belly'.
We decided we'd walk into town to the old dentist's, now Dad's new surgery. It was good to see on the way all the old familiar shops again. As we passed, some of the owners would smile and wave and we'd wave back. I ran my fingers over the letters of his brass doctor's sign, DR. H. McNALLY GENERAL PRACTITIONER, that he'd attached to the wall beside the surgery doorway.
We heard him unpacking tea chests in the back room. Doug just went in and owned up straight away like we'd practised, trying to emphasise we had no cho
ice.
"What have I told you two about fighting?" We both shrugged our shoulders.
"Walk away," Doug mumbled, his chin nearly touching his chest as he tugged at the front of his shorts.
"You know how many men I've had to patch up because they've been fighting? Look at me when I'm talking to you. So bashed up and swollen, even their own mothers couldn't recognise them. Is that how you want to end up?"
"No sir. It's just that he start –" Doug began to explain.
"It doesn't matter who started it or what they said, you walk away and be the better man. Now if this ever happens again, God forbid, what are you two going to do?"
"Walk away," we both mumbled begrudgingly.
"You want to lift your heads and say that so I can hear you?"
"Walk away," we called out together.
Dad parted Doug's hair falling over his forehead then got out his little torch and pointed it straight into his eyes, one at a time. As he did, I remember seeing a sort of funny look on Dad's face. His eyes were practically grinning, while a small smile played across the rest of his face for the briefest of moments.
"No damage, but that's gonna be one hell of a shiner. Now let's go and see about getting you both new uniforms." Dad locked up and led us up the street – an arm around each of our shoulders, to Renshaw's Menswear.
My uniform was one size smaller than Doug's. We got pullovers as well in the school colours, as the cooler autumn weather was nearly on us. Mr Renshaw was pleased to see Dad, stating that he remembered selling him his first uniform.
"You know your dad used to be the smartest boy in school. Dux, if I remember. Always studying. No wonder you ended up a GP."
I felt our chances of Dad just letting us spend our spare time catching tadpoles, or mucking around with Barry and Raymond or even him taking us swimming or fishing like Poppie did, fading fast; replaced with long weekends taken up with extra schoolwork.
"How's Mrs Renshaw, Sid?"
"Oh, as well as can be expected. Since you were here last, she's developed a touchy vagina." Within an instant, Mr Renshaw's face went the colour of an overripe tomato as he quickly corrected himself. "I mean a t-touch of angina." he stuttered. This always happened when he got flustered. Dad fought a smile.
"I'll be opening Monday if she needs to see me about her heart – or anything else. What else is news, Sid?"
This is what everybody asked of everyone in town – the quickest way the entire district's news got passed on. Little could happen without everyone finding out. Nan used to say there were times she felt she couldn't even sneeze 'without the whole blessed town knowing.' Though there were other times she concluded, 'when I was glad there were people who cared.'
The favourite spots for picking up all the gossip were at the barber's or the hairdresser's. Most of the news came via Pearl Binslow, who ran the local telephone exchange. She'd pass it on to the redoubtable Gwen Grady. After that, the whole town would know within hours.
Doug and I wandered around the store, both a little down. I know I was still thinking about our mother a bit and certain he was as well. Not having a mother singled us out from all our other friends who did. It made us different when we wanted desperately to fit in. We couldn't even remember what she looked like. Unlike Poppie and Nan whose wedding photo was on Nan's dresser, Dad didn't have one photo of himself and our mother anywhere, although he still wore his wedding ring.
Bored, Doug and I looked around the rest of the store. I held up a big pair of men's 'Y' fronts, stuck my finger through the fly and wiggled it about like a penis. Doug smiled and we both giggled behind our hands. We overheard Mr Renshaw telling about someone getting married and someone having their fourth grandchild, someone leaving and a new publican at the Exchange and that the Aboriginal Reserve was closing down shortly, before we wandered back to Dad. I pulled on the leg of his pants, to get his attention.
"Thanks for all the news, I best get these boys home. Seems they've got some homework they're busting to do." It was my turn to cross my eyes at Dad's comment – for Doug's eyes only.
"See you Sid. Thanks for everything," Dad added as we each took our brown paper wrapped uniforms from the counter.
"My pleasure, Harry. It's good to see you and the boys. Give my regards to Maureen."
The trip back to pick up the car in the laneway behind the surgery was interrupted at intervals. People, who had known Dad over the years, were reintroducing themselves and passing on their best wishes for his new practice. Everyone knew everyone in town.
Driving home we stopped at Green's Mixed Business on the corner of Casuarina and Main. Dad was welcomed into the store like he was royalty by an effusive Mr Green, greeting us with handshakes all around. He was bald on top and had little sunken piggy eyes peering out from under overgrown eyebrows, and when he spoke his lips barely parted. Dad purchased cheese, a loaf of bread and a jar of vegemite for our school sandwiches. Apart from the same sort of gossip as Mr Renshaw, he added as we walked out the door,
"I s'pose you heard about the Reserve closing, Doctor?"
"Harry's still my name."
"Yes, well Doctor, um Mister, Master Harry, I mean Harry …" He drew a deep breath. "… we were happy for it to stay open, but Sergeant Farrar's been instructed to turn off the water and close it down. Says he's just following Gov'ment's orders. The Aboriginal Welfare Board's bought the old Hudson place, you know, on the far end of Railway Street near the bush and's doing it up for a mob of them. Not ones from the Reserve but from out west. Movin' 'em right into the middle of town, if you don't mind. There's a meeting at the School of Arts about how we're gonna cope. This Frid'y at eight." His last words he had to call out from his shop verandah as Dad had already got in the car without bothering to answer him.
"You going?" Doug asked as we drove off.
"No Dougal."
Now it needs to be explained that when Dad called us by our full names, it was usually because he was mad at us and we were just about a second away from his threatened whack on the bum or a lecture, or else he had something on his mind. I elbowed Doug to keep him quiet, but nothing happened anyway. Dad remained deep in thought. And we left it at that. Occasionally he'd look past me in the middle of the front seat to Doug near the window, who was just staring at nothing in particular through the windscreen. It was a very quiet trip home.
School continued fairly uneventfully. Except Doug and I no longer sat together. After a monthly test, you were moved up or down in seating order depending on your overall marks. The second class had three rows of seats and we had three for third class. I was at the front of the second row for third class, next to Penny, the pretty curly-headed girl I met at that first assembly.
"My dad'th Thargeant Farrar," she lisped through two prominent buckteeth. She had a lovely smile.
Doug was halfway down the last row. Third class boys who got to the top seats of the first row, as a reward, were allowed to assist Father Prittenden as altar boys at Friday Benediction. The school taught all the kids in the area from all denominations and to serve at Benediction was the biggest honour anyone in the third class could win. But only if you were baptised Catholic.
Sometimes at home I did my best to help Doug with his school work, but he just didn't seem to be able to concentrate. Everything else though, social studies and geometry and sport – especially sport – he was good at. He was the fastest runner in our class and a good batsman at cricket. I was usually one of the last ones a captain would pick for his team and always, they'd send me way out where no balls ever seemed to go, which suited me fine.
However, when the side was desperate, when there was no one else left to bat, I'd get a go. Bradman I wasn't, but I usually managed a few runs. Once they were in a desperate situation against a side with Steve and his mates in it and needing the seven runs I scored for our side to win. It was the one and only time I was carried aloft from the field as a champion sportsman. Still, I liked reading better – about places and people, wars and the ancie
nt civilisations like Greece and Rome and Egypt.
The hardest part for both of us was when the school reports came home. Dad regularly said 'just always do your best' and would never say one of us was better than the other. The things that got him mad though, were comments like 'bit of a daydreamer' or 'can be disruptive' or 'can do better', that seemed to always conclude Doug's reports. My reports, besides the scores for each subject out of one hundred, luckily ended with 'continues to show improvement' or 'excellent effort.' I felt a bit self-conscious about my school reports in the face of Doug's, but knew I only achieved them not through being smarter, but by the fact I worked harder. Doug was smart, just as smart as me. He could have achieved similar results, but for him the view outside the classroom window was always more enticing than the work on the blackboard. That was Doug.
Chapter Four
May was the month of Mary, as Sister Mary Placid kept on telling us. All religious readings and stories at school and church on Sundays were about Mary. She was the mother of Jesus and not Mary Magdalene who, as Sister pronounced when asked by a classmate, "was not related in any way whatsoever" to the Virgin Mary.
It seemed like the longest month ever. The 24th of May was Mary's Feast Day, known as Mary Help of Christians. Sister maintained that this was the real reason why we were celebrating it. Some adults said it was because it was Empire Day, initially in honour of Queen Victoria. None of that mattered to us. It was Cracker Night – our first Cracker Night in town.
For the whole month, every kid at school was on their best behaviour, with the promise of crackers as the reward from their parents. We'd all seen them on display at Green's the grocer and also the service station.
For Doug and me it meant besides the collecting of the eggs and watering of the gardens, we'd do extra things like sweeping the verandah, gathering the vegies for Nan, getting home early enough to set the table and keeping quiet when the news was on the wireless. We also declared a truce on kicking each other under the table. By the time the 24th came around, I swear, if there was anything more we could have possibly done, they'd be renaming it the Holy Day of Doug and Pat.
Season of Hate Page 3