In the weeks prior to him moving across the road, a roster was drawn up between the neighbours. Over the next few months Johnny would be doing lawns and general gardening some days with special jobs like fence repairs and painting the Walshe sisters' house in between. Dad had taught him basic handyman skills and the use of Poppie's tools, allowing him to use them when he wanted, as long as he took good care of them. If he was stuck on anything, all he had to do was let Dad or Mr Symonds know and they'd give him a hand.
It struck me that Doug and I hadn't done anything for Johnny. I suggested we give him some of our toys, as we had heaps. So when he went over the road with his belongings, he also took with him two Airfix planes on stands, some metal toy soldiers, the wind-up train set he liked which we rarely played with now, as well as a selection of our marbles.
He didn't work weekends, which meant we had an extra playmate and another member for the cricket team. He became our best fieldsman and wasn't bad at bowling either. Nan arranged with Mrs Symonds for Johnny to come over for tea once a week and lunch Saturday followed by our regular saunter up town with Dad for milkshakes.
Chapter Fourteen
The incident with Mr Elliott and the mulberries and the egging of the Symonds house was not to be the last time some people expressed their dislike at having Johnny living in town. He still got hateful looks and called names from some passers-by. Others turned their backs on him in the street or spat in the dirt as he passed. Looking back, their behaviour was based not only on misconceptions and ignorance, just as Dad had said, but also fear. Fear perhaps that their jobs might be taken over by someone more willing to put in a harder day's work than themselves.
Sergeant Farrar was also right. Forgetting they were just people, like all of us, some folks just really didn't like Aborigines, for whatever reason. But as Dad told us many times, "You can't tell people how to live their lives. You can only live yours and hopefully set a good example." I wondered at the time how these same people would feel if they were Johnny – no mother or father or immediate relatives you know of. You're all alone in the world. And on top of that, the frustration over the fact you can't speak to express how you feel.
Thankfully there were others in the community who became more embracing and tolerant over time. As word spread that he was gainfully employed and had the support of a lot of us, his presence in town if not altogether accepted, became less of a threat.
On Dad's advice Johnny always made sure he saw the owner of the house or property each day before he started his work and not just to wander in and get started. That way, no one could ever accuse him of being where he shouldn't. He also tried to stay in sight at all times, so that there couldn't be a repeat of the beating. If he felt someone was fixing to harm him, at the first sign of any trouble, he was to run as fast as he could home, or to our place, or the police station. I figured Johnny had the best punch out of the three of us now anyway, and it'd be a pretty silly bloke who picked on him.
Dad helped Johnny with the preparation of the Walshe place for painting but let him apply the primer and two coats of paint by himself on the outside as well as all the interior work. The Walshe sisters both praised his efforts saying it was the best their house had looked for a long while. Everyday during his time there, Miss Kitty made him lunch and they ate together in the kitchen. She'd play the piano for him as well. When I asked him about what he thought of her skin and the red mark on her face, he gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.
"Yeah, so what," I agreed.
With his weekends free, I took it upon myself to give Johnny an education. I thought that if he couldn't say what he wanted, he would at least be able to write it down in a note. Unlike Honey, I knew he wouldn't sleep through class and would be eager to learn. On the shed wall I began writing out the alphabet in capitals in chalk, then under each letter, the same in lower case. I got to 'C' before Johnny stood and held his hand out. I was a little perplexed but handed over the chalk. Not only did he complete the whole alphabet, but his letters were more perfectly formed. He smiled as he handed back the chalk.
"You've been to school." He shook his head then opened his hands up like the pages of a book then using his index finger, tapped on one of his opened hands.
"You learnt from books?" He nodded in agreement. "From who?" He drew both his hands down the side of his head to his shoulders, indicating a veil before clasping them in prayer in front of his chest. "Nuns. A nun." He smiled. "So you wrote that note. I just assumed … Well, don't I feel foolish. You can write better than me. How's yer arithmetic then?" I challenged in an effort to regain some face. He wrinkled up his nose. I started writing up some basic sums on the wall. He was so quick, picking up another piece of chalk he completed all the calculations I threw at him. In retrospect, how patronising of me, the whole exercise – presuming he was uneducated just from my perception of what his background might have been and the fact he couldn't talk. At an appropriate lull in our work I asked him,
"Johnny, I know you have an idea who beat you, don't you?" Write a name. I know you know." The colour drained from his face as I offered him the chalk. He wouldn't take it. "It was Bob Wood, wasn't it?" He didn't move. A moment passed then he took the chalk from my hands. Telling won't change what happened, he wrote. After letting me read it he immediately rubbed it from the wall. "Can I tell Dad?" He shook his head. I honoured his wishes and let it pass.
One of the first things we did together was to work out a new note of introduction in Johnny's handwriting for any potential clients.
"I think we should start with your name again and your address." He began writing his note up on the wall. "Then what jobs you can do, next. What do you think?" He gave a gentle wobble of his head in agreement. We discussed its contents then he'd write down what he thought was best. We'd work out between us the spelling of any difficult words. Most people knew who he was by sight and that he couldn't talk, so we left that bit out from his original note he'd presented to Dad .
"Then there's payment. Mmm. That depends on the job really, doesn't it? We could say you could work out a price, I guess." It took a couple of attempts to get it just right, but the final note looked really good. What we f:
My name is Johnny August. I live at 55 Main Street. Do you need any mowing, gardening, wood chopping, painting, fencing or any other odd jobs done? If so, we can work out a price and time. Thank you.
When we showed Johnny's completed handwritten note to Dad, he thought it was a terrific idea and that his printing was excellent. Johnny's pride registered in his expressive eyes and the broadest of grins.
To begin with, Mr Symonds lined up his jobs and worked out costs and payment details so that he didn't have to worry about money and banking. In time he showed Johnny how to do his own accounts and look after his banking himself. With the Symonds providing free board, Johnny was steadily growing his savings, keeping out only a little for weekly incidentals.
Later, he produced another handwritten note and gave it to Dad. He read it to himself. He paused before he spoke.
"Thank you, Johnny. That's lovely."
"What's it say?" Doug and I pestered.
"Do you mind?" Dad asked of Johnny. He gave a small shake of his head. Doug and I read it out aloud together.
"Dear Sir I am very grateful for you and Mr and Mrs Symonds. I have a new mother and two new fathers now. I am very happy. Johnny."
"It's a very touching note. I shall treasure it always." With that Dad folded it up and put it in his top pocket, later to be placed in his Sunday Bible. He finished by putting an arm around Johnny's shoulder and giving him a good squeeze.
Johnny was finding heaps of work and was able to get about without any hassles. The only incident that did occur was almost comical in its unfolding. It was a late Friday afternoon and Johnny was walking beside me up our street after finishing work for the day. A ute came down the road from town, did a U-turn then pulled up outside Mr Wood's place. Bob Wood stumbled out of the passenger's seat just
as we were passing on the other side of the road. Once the car took off we could see that he was blind drunk. He was carrying a meat tray he'd won in the pub raffle and was weaving towards his front gate when he saw us.
"Don't ya get the message, ya black bastard? We don't want ya here. So bloody piss off!"
He was swaying from side to side like a flagpole in a strong wind. The next thing we saw was him wobbling about before falling over his closed front gate. Chops and sausages became airborne. We couldn't help but crack up. Johnny's hoarse, more rasping of air than a laugh, made me laugh even more, so much so I thought I'd wet myself.
Mr Wood struggled to get to his feet. He fell over twice before crawling around on all fours gathering the meat and replacing it on the tray. He managed to stagger to the base of his front steps and called out to his wife before collapsing unconscious backwards to the ground. Mrs Wood and Steve both came outside. She pulled the remains of his pay packet from his top pocket while Steve picked up the meat tray. They headed back inside, leaving him where he fell to sleep it off.
The rain that began to fall that early October would keep up, on and off, through to the New Year and made the town look fresh and clean. Buds began to appear among the lacy green foliage of the jacaranda. By late October it would be a mass of purple once again. The creek was now full and the whole town and surrounds were green with spring and the colour of flowers. Magpies, sulphur crested cockatoos, kookaburras and other birds, filled the trees and sang their thanks for the spring rain as well.
Gone was the thin powdering of dust that seemed to get in everywhere and settle over everything. For once there was the absence of shop owners with millet brooms in hand, daily sweeping away the dust from their wooden verandahs. No one complained about the wet, because in no time we all knew we'd be back to dry hot days with no sign of rain at all on the horizon. With the rise in the creek water level, after school and weekends most kids, us included, would pick a favourite spot along the creek and just muck about or go swimming in the nuddy with your mates.
Chapter Fifteen
Dad didn't have tea with us one particular Saturday night. He got himself all spruced up in one of his suits while we were eating.
"Where are you going?" I asked as I ate my mashed sweet potato.
"Out."
"But where?" Doug asked.
"Just out."
"But where's out?" I pushed further.
"What is this, the thoid degree?" Dad sounded like an American gangster in the pictures, acting upset, but really just mucking around. "If you must know, I'm going to the dance in town."
"Who with?" Doug and I asked together.
"Listen you two, just eat yer tea and leave yer father be," instructed Nan.
Dad smiled and poked his tongue out at us when Nan wasn't looking, then proceeded to polish up his good shoes. We found out soon enough, because half an hour later, Susan knocked at the door. She was wearing a Schiaparelli-pink dress all stuck out with rope petticoats, black high heels and matching handbag. She looked like a princess, with her hair piled up on her head in a French roll. All done up she looked so different to the Susan Dad drove to work. Doug and I just looked at her with our mouths open.
"You two catchin' flies again?" Nan directed at Doug and me. Susan smiled.
"Oh hi," Doug said in passing, feigning disinterest.
"Look at you. Pretty as a picture in that dress," Nan gushed.
"Beautiful," I added. Doug felt so too, I knew, but he wasn't about to reveal his emotions.
"You certainly are," smiled Dad.
"This old thing? Bought it ages ago for a dance at the Sydney Trocadero."
"Well it's lovely. Really suits you that colour. Now you two head off, I'll see these two villains get to bed at the right time," offered Nan. Dad got his car keys and was about to leave.
"It's such a lovely night, let's walk," Susan suggested. Doug and I waved them off from the verandah.
"Dad's got a girlfriend, ewwh," I whispered to Doug.
"Ewwh, yerself," he mimicked before hitting me hard on the arm and running inside, leaving the screen door to slam. I ran after him and was close enough to give him a kick up the bum when Nan yelled out.
"You two aren't too old for me ta get out the wooden spoon to in a minute. And stop bangin' that bleedin' door." We both laughed, but not so that she could hear us, because we knew by now it was an empty threat. We wrestled in our room instead. The rule was, if your shoulders got pinned to the floor you were 'held'. The winner was the one who successfully held the other to a count of three, two times out of three. We got to one each, and then Doug won the last. He pinned my shoulders to the ground with his knees as he sat on my chest. Then he leaned forward and held my head on either side with his hands so that I couldn't move. While in this position, he worked up this big gob and let it just ooze out of his mouth. I closed my mouth and eyes as tight as I could as it stretched to its limit before splattering on my face. I was mad, but didn't let on. I just wiped my face on my shirt and plotted my revenge.
I waited until he was asleep then crept to the side of his bed, pulled down the back of my pyjama pants and dropped a big smelly fart before jumping back into my bed, looking like I was asleep, but with my eyes all squinted up to see. It was loud and foul smelling enough to wake Doug up. He sat up all groggy and half asleep, then collapsed back onto his pillow. I kept my hand pressed over my mouth to muffle a laugh.
I was still awake when Dad got home from the dance and wandered into his room.
"What are you doing up?"
"Couldn't sleep." I sat on the bed while he got changed. "Did you have tea at Shen's?"
"No, we went to La Roma and had pizza and spaghetti instead."
"Is she a good dancer?"
"Very good. And a lovely person as well."
"You gonna marry her?"
"Hey hold on matey, we've only just had dinner and a dance – that's all."
"You like her better than our mother?" Dad finished putting on his pyjamas then sat on the bed next to me, placing an arm around my shoulder.
"Susan is very different to your mother. There was a time when your mother and I first met, well, we were very much in love. We got married, and had you two boys, out of that love. But sometimes, people don't always stay in love. And that's why they get a divorce."
"They're not wedlocked any more. Can they marry someone else?"
"Legally, yes. If they wish."
"I'll always love you and Nan."
"And I'll always love you," he said in his soft reassuring voice.
"Dad, can I sleep in your bed tonight?" For a second, it looked like he was going to tell me I was too old for that and to go back to my own bed.
"Sure, hop in." He turned out the bedside lamp and I snuggled up to him.
"Doug won't let me get in with him anymore."
"Well, I guess he doesn't need a cuddle as much as me these days." We lay there for a few minutes as I got up the courage to ask what was on my mind.
"How did you and ...?" The word 'Mum' wouldn't leave my lips.
"Your mother?"
"How did you meet? At a dance like Nan and Poppie?"
"No." He took a deep breath. A moment passed. "Well, I'd just got back from the War …" I could feel he was finding it hard to talk about these things, but I wanted to know. He paused again to compose himself then continued.
"I wasn't in good shape I guess. Not for years. Not injured or anything, but some of the things you see in battle never really leave you and –"
"Like your friend Girra dying."
"Yes. And other things. Anyway when I got back to Sydney, I just felt I couldn't come back to Poppie's motor shop. So I decided to take up a scholarship I'd won before and go to university. Your mother worked as a barmaid at the pub nearby. We hit it off and one thing led to another and we got married. Then after a year, you two came along."
"Does everybody have to get married, 'cause Doug says he's never going to, and never going to
have children, neither?" Dad stayed quiet for a while.
"Well, it's a long ways off yet. He might change his mind."
"Miss Kitty and Miss Bridget aren't married."
"Not everyone gets married. Not everyone meets someone they want to marry."
"If Miss Kitty didn't have that mark on her face, do you think she might have got married and had kids?"
"Even with that mark, Miss Kitty is beautiful – on the inside as well. People tend to only see the outside and make a judgement, never taking the time to learn how the person really is – on the inside. If people had've done that with Miss Kitty, she would most certainly have met someone and married, I'm sure."
"I like her, she's nice." I paused in thought. "Why didn't Miss Bridget get married then?"
"Aren't you full of questions. Well, from what I understand, she was engaged once, but her fiancé died in a farm accident. Some people never get over the loss of a loved one."
"Nan still misses Poppie. She told me."
"She'll never forget Poppie, just like all of us. But don't worry, your Nan's strong. She believes in just getting on with it. And she's right. Now, you still want to stay here with me tonight, or feel you could go back to your own bed?"
"I'd like to stay here in the big bed."
"Alright, but get some sleep. Goodnight, son."
"Goodnight Dad. I love you."
"I love you too, mate." He kissed my forehead. I fell easily asleep tucked under his arm.
Chapter Sixteen
I seemed to spend more and more time with Johnny. It became so I'd rarely see Doug after school or most of the weekend. He was usually off riding his bike by himself or else playing games with Barry. He started to withdraw into himself. I'd only really see him around mealtimes.
Season of Hate Page 12