"Oh son, no one is going to hurt you. Sit yourself back down. You're safe here," Dad soothed as he quickly replaced the blanket over Johnny's lap and legs. "We'll look after you until you're better."
"I'll fix the sheets. You two can give us a hand settin' up the spare room, seein' as ya don't seem that interested in the wireless this evening'," Nan instructed. Nothing escaped her.
Bed made, we all returned to the lounge room and Nan turned the wireless back up for us. Dad had completed taking Johnny's temperature. He helped him up and gave him a sponge bath before putting him to bed. When Dad returned to the lounge room, he reminded us we had school tomorrow and that it was time for us to go to bed as well.
Before he whispered 'goodnight' and turned out the light, I finally confessed the secret I had been concealing from everyone for so long – that I knew more about Johnny.
"He was the boy I saw at school, going through the bins for scraps."
"Goodnight boys," and he moved to leave.
"There's more. That extra sandwich Nan gives me, I put on the top of the rubbish in the bin for him."
"Oh I see," Dad deliberated.
"It's never wasted. It's just that he looked so hungry."
"That was a good thing to do, son," Dad affirmed then gave a little smile, his eyes crinkling up as he did so. "But not doing what I tell you, when I tell you, isn't. Now off to sleep the pair of you." As he was leaving the room he turned and added, "However, in light of what you've just told me, I might reconsider the issue of the pocket money. I'll sleep on it."
With the door pulled almost closed, Doug whispered in the darkness.
"Geez, ya can be such a crawler."
Next morning at breakfast, Dad told us we would indeed get our pocket money next Friday, if we continued our chores. It came with another lecture about 'obeying your father' and the reminder that we should mention the incident at this week's Confession.
"It's a good Christian thing you've been doin', feedin' the boy, and not turnin' yer back on someone in need. But you could have told me," Nan added, speaking to me but starting with a glance to Dad.
"I thought you'd get mad."
"No I wouldn't darlin'. But I want you to know, both of you, that you can always come to ya Nan and tell me anything. Alright? Now eat yer bubble an' squeak, you'll be late for school."
"Where's Johnny?" Doug asked.
"I gave him something to help him sleep. You can see him when you get home," Dad directed. I looked at the spare chair. Over it were some of Poppie's old clothes. Nan had stayed up late into the night, altering two shirts and a pair of trousers for Johnny to get around in.
That morning in the playground before school, we were telling a group about Johnny and how he was beaten and how he was living with us until he got better, when Steve pushed through the group.
"Your dad's an Abo lover." The same words painted on Dad's surgery window. "An' that makes youse ones too," he hissed. I couldn't make out what was his point, but by the tone of his voice, I figured to be an 'Abo lover' was something bad. Doug and I just stood there unsure of what he was getting at.
"My dad said your dad's a bloody do-gooder who don't know when to keep his nose outta other people's business, and some day he'll get his. So what are youse gonna do about it?" And with that Steve thumped me in the chest so hard, I nearly lost my balance. Doug hauled back a fist to land one on Steve. I grabbed his raised arm and pulled him aside, reminding him what Dad had said about no fighting – to walk away. We tried to and that's when Steve shouted out.
"Look at the two girls running away. Scared of gettin' yer nice new uniforms all dirty, girls?"
Doug was aching to punch Steve on the nose and it took all my strength to pull him around and lead him to the seats under the tree. He was boiling mad. Luckily one of the nuns came out into the yard and shook the handbell for assembly.
"Dad'd be proud of us, especially you," I whispered in Doug's ear so as not to get into trouble for speaking while in line. But Doug wasn't buying it, not this time.
"It looks like we're chicken."
"Not chicken, just smart. You want to get into a fight and cop the cane plus a lecture from Dad, not to mention losin' our pocket money, all over some drongo like Steve?" That calmed him down somewhat. He gave a begrudging shrug of his shoulders in agreement, but a showdown between us and Steve was always looming. Then I felt this hard thwhop to my ear and turned around. It was Sister Mary Placid's cupped hand.
"No talking at assembly. Now turn around and face the front."
Chapter Twelve
By next Saturday, Johnny's swelling had gone down but he was still left with bruises and where the skin was ripped, scabs were starting to form. As we served ourselves breakfast, Dad reminded us to wait for Johnny before we start. By the time he came from the bathroom wearing Poppie's Sunday trousers and shirt, we'd already said Grace and were all sitting at the table with full plates of pikelets.
"Good morning Johnny," Dad said with a welcoming smile, to which we all added our own greetings. Johnny nodded shyly back at us.
"There's pikelets and syrup over there on the bench, love. Help yerself," Nan directed.
He only took one pikelet and the barest teaspoon of syrup then automatically headed for the back verandah to eat. Doug and I looked at Dad then Nan as to what was going on.
"Why doesn't he – ?" I started to ask.
"Shoosh," ordered Nan as Dad got up and went after him.
"Johnny, lad." He turned as Dad gently placed an arm around his shoulder and motioned him to the empty seat at the table.
"Son, there's always a spot for you at our table." Dad waited for Johnny to ease himself into the seat before sitting himself. He looked at Nan in a way that suggested they both understood why Johnny had headed outside. Nan got out of her chair and reached out for Johnny's plate.
"Here, give me that. That wouldn't feed a sparra," she insisted, then proceeded to add another five pikelets in a stack and heaps of butter before pouring a generous amount of Golden syrup over them. "There. That'll put some meat on ya."
Johnny smiled like he'd just received the biggest birthday present ever. He ploughed through the stack as if his life depended on it. We'd never seen anybody put away that much, so quickly. Doug and I once got up to six each, but when offered, Johnny managed to fit in another three. Here was serious competition in the eating stakes I thought.
"Later, how about a stroll into town?" Dad suggested. "Then I thought you boys might like a milkshake, what do you say?" Doug and I nodded furiously as we stuffed our faces with the last of the syrupy pikelets and drank our orange juice. "That includes you, Johnny." He looked surprised, but nodded his thanks. Dad glanced at Nan again, who had a look of concern over Dad's proposal. "Boys when you're ready help Nan clear the table and then Johnny with his bed. After that, you can show him 'round the place. I've got a few telephone calls to make," Dad instructed, finishing with an exchange of looks with Nan.
After making the beds, we all went outside onto the back verandah where Doug had set up his train set. Johnny liked winding up the key in the locomotive then letting it run the length of the track through the miniature town. I let him launch my balsa wood glider off the verandah as well, then I'd retrieve it. Dad was on the telephone for some time, so we got out our marbles to play in the backyard. We thought everyone knew how to play marbles, but Johnny had no idea. We had to show him how to play 'Bunny Hole', but not for keeps this once. He preferred to hold the little glass spheres up to the light and peer through their colours rather than the game itself. Doug won, as usual.
It was after ten when the four of us started ambling up the street. Johnny was lucky he didn't have shoes, because there was no way Nan would have let him out of the house without them. We stopped as Miss Bridget walked out onto her front verandah.
"Hello Johnny. Good to see you up and about. I'll be there at two tomorrow, Harry," she called out as we moved on, Doug and me in front, followed by Dad next to Johnny.
Most people's places we past, if they were in their front yards or on their verandahs, airing rugs or bedding over the railings, would give us a wave. There were others though who just looked at us with a frozen expression. A few made the point of telling their kids to 'come inside right this minute' once they saw our group, even before we could get close enough to say 'G'day.'
Across the road up ahead, Doug and I saw Steve sitting on his front steps. He was stroking and talking to his pet guinea pig in his lap. Once he saw us his soft expression changed. He stopped fondling the animal and dumped it back in its cage before running up his verandah steps.
"Hey Dad, have a look what's comin' up the street," he called out. Doug and I stopped and so did Johnny. Mr Wood came onto his verandah unshaven and in a food-stained singlet with the newspaper in his hand.
"Don't stop boys, keep on walking," Dad directed. Mr Wood gave all of us the filthiest of looks.
"We don't want no Abos, or Abo lovers in this town McNally. Ya hearin' me?" he yelled out. I watched Johnny recoil a bit as soon as he heard the sound of Mr Wood's voice. We all looked to Dad.
"Move on," Dad urged as he ushered us, before replying to Mr Wood with the tipping of his hat and a neighbourly smile, "'Morning Bob," then walked on. That only seemed to get Mr Wood angrier. Steve moved the guinea pig's cage out of his way as he swooped down to the front gate.
"You'll be sorry McNally – you and yer family." Dad stopped in his tracks.
"Walk to the corner and wait for me. Walk. Now!"
Dad headed across the road to speak with Mr Wood. By this stage, Mrs Wood had heard the shouting and came out and down the first few front steps. She looked older than her years as she wrung her hands nervously.
"Bob, stop this," she called out as Doug and I grabbed Johnny by the arm to keep him moving along. He was shaking a bit.
"Go home Abo!" Mr Wood shouted in our direction.
"Yeah, Abo," echoed Steve.
We did as we were told, but only far enough up the street so that we could see and hear the exchange. Mr Wood opened his front gate then moved onto the grass verge as Dad approached.
"Bob, your ignorant racist taunts are one thing, but when you hurt an innocent young boy …"
"Who says? Where's yer proof?"
"Bob please," implored Mrs Wood. Mr Wood gave her a look that'd singe the hair off a rabbit and she withdrew.
"I know it was you. Or others like you," Dad stated calmly.
"You'd take a blackfella's word against mine? What did he tell ya then? Go on, what were his exact words?" he said with a sarcastic laugh.
Dad stood his ground, staring right into Mr Wood's face with one of those looks that made you feel he knew you were lying, and you knew he knew.
"S'pose it was me. An' I ain't admittin' nothin'-"
"Look at him. A defenceless … Why, he's not much older than young Steve here.
"You don't run this fuckin' town, McNally."
"Never said I did. Neither do you."
"There's plenty who think the same about 'em movin' in on us. We don't want no Abos … loit'rin' with intent. That's it, loit'rin' with intent. There'll be break ins and God knows what before ya know it, if we let them black buggers loose on our streets."
"I, like a lot of others, see no problem with law abiding people, walking our streets – regardless of colour." Dad started moving away with a dismissive look on his face that indicated he was wasting his time even talking to Mr Wood, who stood still for a bit, looking awkward, like he was struggling to think of something as a come back.
"Go on Dad, don't let him get off with sayin' all that," Steve urged.
"It's just I'd hate to see anythin' happen to you, or yer boys." Dad stopped and went back.
"If anything happens to any of mine, or Johnny there, you'll have me to answer to. Except I won't come after you in a pack with a sugar sack and a whip. I'll have the law with me."
"It's just a friendly warnin'," Mr Wood offered with a grin.
"And I'm warning you. Keep your ugly opinions and your hands, to yourself."
"So now I'm ignorant and ugly. Ya here that Steveo? Just 'cause I don't live in no big house an' earn me livin' labourin' 'stead of some cushy doctor's job. An' it's my right, not to want no black or yeller shit walkin' our streets … takin' over the town! Same goes for wogs." I could see Mr Wood moving closer to Dad, but Dad didn't move a muscle.
"Walk away, Dad," I warned under my breath.
The next bit happened very quickly. We saw Mr Wood drop his newspaper then raise his fists, taking a boxer's stance. Doug seemed keen for something to happen, but I called out a bit louder.
"Walk away, Dad." He mustn't have heard me.
"Bob!" called Mrs Wood, timidly edging forward. But Mr Wood had up a full head of steam by now.
"Go get him Dad," encouraged Steve.
"Come on McNally, if ya think you're such a big man. Have a fuckin' go. Or do ya need the Sergeant to do yer fightin'? Come on, I fuckin' dare ya."
At around six feet, both he and Dad were of a similar height. Mr Wood was more muscular from all the labouring for the Council, but had a big gut as well. Dad was in good nick though – lean but firm.
"Bob, violence never settles …" Dad had just begun, when out of nowhere, Mr Wood landed a right hand punch to the left side of Dad's head that sent his hat flying. Steve cheered his dad on.
It was only then that Dad put up his guard before landing a punch to Mr Wood's solar plexus. He followed it up with another quick left to the same spot, and then while Mr Wood was doubled over, Dad hit him under the chin with a right that sent him sprawling onto his back – out cold. I had to stop myself from cheering. Dad bent over and checked that Mr Wood was okay then slapped him gently about the face to bring him around. Steve raced over to his father, who was groggy but starting to sit up by this stage. Dad offered his hand, to help him to his feet. Mr Wood just glared at him, pushed his hand away and stumbled slightly as he got to his feet himself.
"Sorry. Now let that be an end to all this. Good morning Bob," Dad concluded. He picked up his hat, gave it a brush with his hand then tipped it to Mrs Wood before placing it on his head. He took a few deep breaths as he walked across the street to us. Doug and I finally managed to wipe the stunned looks off our faces. I pulled Doug around and got us walking back up the street with Johnny, acting like we'd seen nothing, as Dad crossed over to our side.
When he'd caught up to us, we just kept on walking like we were on some leisurely Sunday stroll. Dad put an arm around Johnny's shoulder. Doug and I were bursting to say something, but kept quiet. We had never, ever heard Dad raise his voice so strongly before, let alone get into a fight. He'd gone against his own words to us about fighting.
An explanation was due. We both waited.
"Everything okay Dad?" Doug prompted. I could have died. I held my breath in anticipation of Dad's reply.
"Yes Dougal." Enough said, we knew not to pursue the subject any further. As we continued on into town, I looked back to see Mr Wood arguing with his wife in their front yard. Steve stood alongside his Dad, yelling at her as well. Mr Wood finished the argument by slapping her hard across the face. She disappeared in tears up their front steps.
Dad went into Renshaw's first. The three of us followed. The whole place smelt of his heavy-handed use of bay rum aftershave. He was serving someone else and didn't see us enter, so we just wandered around. When he was free, he came up to Dad.
"'Morning Harry, what can I do for you?"
"'Morning Sid. I'd like a dozen pair of 'Y' fronts to fit a boy about fourteen."
"Fourteen?"
"Johnny, come out here." Johnny appeared from behind a rack of coats. The colour drained from Mr Renshaw's face, as if he was going to faint. "And a pair of shoes and thongs." Where he'd normally talk Dad's ear off with his symptoms, trying to get a free consultation, it was clear Mr Renshaw was agitated about serving Johnny. Without a further word he quickly got the order together, kee
ping an eye out for any customers who might enter and see him fitting a black teenager.
"You better try the shoes on," instructed Dad, indicating for Johnny to take a seat. Mr Renshaw became very uneasy. "You have any old socks he could –?" Mr Renshaw quickly produced a mismatched pair he kept under the counter, for when anyone came in without socks to try on shoes. The shoes were a good fit. As Dad handed the socks back, Mr Renshaw began to stutter more than usual.
"No, you can k-keep them."
Dad looked him squarely in the eye.
"Thank you, but we couldn't," Dad answered politely but with a look that hadn't a trace of warmth. Mr Renshaw couldn't take the intensity of Dad's gaze, and turned away. "And you best give us a half a dozen shirts and socks in his size. Anything wrong, Sid?"
"N-nothing. N-n-nothing at all." Mr Renshaw spluttered as he saw Gwen Grady enter his shop. "W-w-won't be a m-minute, G-G-Gwen."
Mrs Grady just stood there in silence, observing the scene, with a look of outrage on her face, as if some stranger had just come up and pinched her on the bum. As the shirts were brought out and wrapped with the other things, Dad, flushed with victory over Mr Wood I guess, decided to tackle Mrs Grady's haughty demeanour head-on and introduced Johnny.
"Gwen, this is Johnny." Johnny gave a little nervous smile combined with a nod of acknowledgement.
"He's staying with us for the moment."
"Staying – with you. In the house. That's nice," she finished with a thin-lipped smile.
"'Til he fully recovers from the beating someone gave him. Johnny, show them your back." He did so, and for a moment they were lost for words as they winced at the sight before them.
"Of course you hear things, people will gossip, but that's terrible," she tut-tutted.
"Thanks son, you can put your shirt back on. Can you believe that in this day and age someone could do this to another human being?"
Dad settled the account and as we headed out the door, I heard Mrs Grady begin to natter with Mr Renshaw.
Season of Hate Page 10