Carrig Of Dromara

by Frances McCaughey

  “I’m Margaret Wright.” The wee lady who answered the door indicated for them to come in.

  “This is Mrs Russel,” said Carrig.

  “Oh, how do you do? I’ve spoken to you on the phone a few times, especially around Christmas time, when you helped with the children.”

  “Well, it was really the Red Cross who did all the craftwork for presents for the children. My job was to deliver them to the various homes in the district.”

  “Oh, here he comes now,” said Mrs Wright, signalling towards the door.

  The fat little man walked with his head down towards the table.

  “My apologies for being late. Something came up which I had to deal with first. My name is Ronald Wright, and here is Margaret, my wife. We have been running the home here for a number of years now, with our wonderful cook, Mrs Simpson, and home assistant, Elsie Glover, who is very good with the boys when they have any problems, or injuries, etc. Now, Mrs Russel, would you like to say something?”

  “Yes, thank you. As you probably know, Carrig and his parents lived with us on the farm. Carrig’s father worked with my husband on the farm, and Annie, his mother, helped me with the poultry and lots of other jobs. They were two of the loveliest people I’ve ever met in my life, and I know Carrig has inherited a lot of their good qualities. We became close friends before the terrible accident, and I still miss them so much in my life.”

  There was a long silence. Everybody knew exactly what she meant.

  “Carrig was so strong during that time, and we asked him to stay with us as long as he wished. Our two children are very close to Carrig, and they spent many happy years together, happily fishing and swimming in the river. When Carrig indicated that it was time to move on with his life we had long chats about that, and Carrig mentioned that he had met Elsie and she had given him information about Erindale. It seemed it was the right time for him to move on, and so here we are.” Mrs Russel turned to Carrig, gave him a tight hug and wished him well. “I’m afraid I have to run now – I have a class in the city to attend.”

  “Thanks for coming, Mrs Russel, and I’m sure we’ll meet again. Thank you. If you come with me, Carrig, I’ll show you where you will be sleeping.”

  The little lady helped him with his bags upstairs.

  “Now, this is your bed, Carrig, next to Jimmy’s, and the two boys on the other side are Albert and John. They are all in the study room at the moment. I’ll show you that later.”

  Carrig placed the bags on the bed and opened the zipper to start unpacking.

  “This chest of drawers is yours, Carrig, and as you can see the top drawer has a lock. Here is the key. Write your name on that and please look after it carefully. You can then keep your private things in there. I will leave you to finish your unpacking. Come down afterwards and meet the boys, and have dinner with them. I hope you will be very happy with us, Carrig, and welcome again to Erindale.”

  “Thanks.”

  The bell rang at five thirty for dinner and he came downstairs, to meet the others. Carrig felt a little apprehensive about meeting them, but he needn’t have. They were a bunch of charmers.

  “Oh, how’re you, Carrig?” Big Tom came over and gave Carrig a slap on the back.

  “I’m good.”

  “And this is Jimmy, who’ll be sleeping in the bed beside yours.”

  Mrs Wright came into the dining room and said a short grace, and then introduced Carrig to everyone, giving their names as they sat at the table. “Now I want you all to welcome Carrig and treat him well, or you’ll have me to answer to. Enjoy your meal.” Mrs Simpson stood behind the counter, waiting to dish up the food, and Mrs Wright introduced her to Carrig. “I nearly forgot about you, Mrs Simpson.”

  “When you’ve finished dinner I’ll show you where we do our homework.” Big Tom slapped him on the back.

  “I’ve finished now.”

  Carrig, keen to see the rest of the place, followed him into the study at the end of the hall. It was a large room with a huge table where the boys did their homework after school each afternoon.

  “We are supposed to be finished before dinner, but seldom are. When we get hungry enough we usually finish quickly,” Tom went on.

  He was a good sort, and Carrig felt good already that he had come to Erindale.

  “We’ve also got television as well, but that’s limited to certain programmes, and old Wrongo is in charge of that. Friday nights are good: there’s sometimes a good movie on – you know, a Western or a comedy.”

  Mrs Simpson shouted into the room, “Come on, Albert and Henry – tables, please!”

  “Oh, it’s their turn to clear the tables for Mrs Simpson. Everybody has their jobs to do, and we change around each week. I’ll show you the roster.” Pointing to a large chart on the wall of the study, Tom said, “You see my name there – I’m on laundry bags this week. I collect all the bags of dirty washing and take them to the laundry each day. Some of the boys play football and their clothing has to be washed and dried quickly. Your name isn’t up yet, Carrig, but don’t worry – it won’t be long till they find you a job.”

  “I don’t mind – I always had plenty of jobs to do on the farm. What do you do at weekends, Tom?”

  “Well, some of the boys go out to family at weekends and some go to sports. I play rugby, as you probably know from school.”

  “Yes. I’m not really a sporty sort of fellow – I’m more into music and writing, and I help a friend of mine with his pigs, at weekends usually.”

  “What sort of music do you like?”

  “Well, I play the piano.”

  “Oh, we’ve got a piano here in the dining room. You must play it sometime.”

  “I will give it a go sometime, when I find some music.”

  A couple of the boys, Rob and Albert, tried to teach Carrig to play table tennis, but he had never played in his life and was pretty hopeless at keeping the ball anywhere near the table. He was, on the other hand, good at keeping it in the air and could somehow manage to keep it moving, much to the delight of the others, who laughed so much at his antics. Here was someone who would always make them laugh, no matter what. Anyway, it was much more fun to make the ball bounce off the ceiling and walls, never mind the table, which became a landing pad for a very bouncy little ball.

  “Thanks, Carrig, for the game.”

  Rob smiled as Carrig left to go back to his room – or dorm, as he now must remember to call it.

  The weeks passed and winter blew in. The snow came and went, and came again. Wally and Mrs Watson were so glad that he was allowed to come and visit them at weekends, and help with the pigs. Wally surprised Carrig by telling him that he and Mrs Watson had decided to take that wee holiday in Hanmer Springs after all.

  “Och, I think the winter’s getting to her, with her pains and aches getting worse, and someone told us that the water in Hanmer Pools is the very thing to cure them – or ease them anyway. Now, what do you think, Carrig?”

  “We are allowed to go anywhere we like at weekends, to stay away, provided we have a letter from someone they know. So all you have to do is write a letter to Mr Wright explaining that I will be staying at your home for the weekend while you are away. When are you thinking of going, Wally?”

  “Well, how about I write first and explain, and then we’ll go from there?”

  “Put next weekend in the letter, and then we’ll have something definite to work on, and don’t forget to say I’ll be going to school from your place on Monday morning. I’ll bring my uniform and I’ll come on Friday evening after school, if that’s all right with you. That means you will have three nights in Hanmer. I’ll make sure everything is all right on Monday morning before I leave for school, and I’ll stay on the bus to your place and look in to see that the animals are all right.”

  Wally phoned Mr Wr
ight at Erindale and explained that Carrig would be staying at their home for three nights and would go to school on the bus as usual on Monday morning.

  “That’s next weekend?”

  “Yes, that’s correct. We have a lot of plans for the weekend.”

  “That’s perfectly all right, Mr Watson. There is just one thing: I’ll still require a note from you, just to keep the records straight.”

  “Yes – no trouble at all. I’ll give it to Carrig right now.”

  Mrs Watson called Carrig in for tea, and those scones with cream! Well, Carrig must have eaten four of them at one go. They laughed when Mrs Watson said she would leave a tin full of them next weekend.

  “Are you excited to be going to Hanmer?”

  “Oh, never name it, Carrig! I can’t wait, after what we heard of the water there and how it can help pains and aches.”

  “Well, I just hope the snow stays away for your drive there and back.”

  “How long does it take, d’ye think, Carrig?”

  “Well, Dad used to do it in about two hours, but we stopped for a drink somewhere up the coast. Allow two hours anyway. Coming back on Monday you will miss all the weekend traffic; it will be quieter, and you don’t have to rush back. Relax and enjoy the drive. There’s plenty to see and do. We used to stop at lots of places. Mum used to collect shells and seaweed for the garden, and Dad and I would go for walks among the rocks. Look out for the seals – they climb on the rocks and lie in the sun to dry. They look as though they have very long moustaches.”

  Mrs Watson laughed heartily when Carrig told them of his parents. It was laughter mixed with tears as she realised the boy was now able to talk of things they had enjoyed together as a family. What bravery and courage he displayed at times like this! Now he was able to move on with his life, and face so many changes in his life. When she thought on, she realised he was filling the gap by helping so many others to brighten up their lives.

  “Where would we be without him?” she said to Wally later that day. “I can’t imagine my life without Carrig in it.”

  “He’s certainly the son we never had, lass.”

  The weeks turned to months and Carrig was now familiar with most things around his new home. Every now and then he would meet up with Elsie and they would talk about all sorts of things.

  “Albert snores at night. It’s OK if I get off to sleep before he does, but if he’s in bed before me I can’t get to sleep so well.”

  “Hold on a minute.” Elsie left the dorm and returned in a couple of minutes with earplugs in her hand. “Try these. They work for me when I sleep over here on Friday nights. I can’t get used to the different sounds, so I use these and hey presto!”

  The boys all had different personalities and different stories to tell, and they would talk quite openly about personal things that went on in their lives. It was as though they were all family and each took the place of the others’ siblings.

  “Albert’s parents are both in prison for drugs,” John said, “and my dad was killed when I was a baby. My mother married again, and he was a rotten sod, always beating the dog. I mean, who beats a dog? He’d have beaten me too, only he couldn’t catch me. I ran away from home lots of times. I couldn’t stand him, but then, as luck would have it, he was caught by the police for drunken drivin’ and they threw the book at him. He lost his job because he had no licence and couldn’t get to work, and he left us and went off with some other mug who would put up with his bad behaviour. My mother had a nervous breakdown and is now in a mental hospital. I’ve been in to see her, but she just looks at me all blank like and I don’t stay very long. When I come out I cry my heart out. I still love her – you see, she’s still my mum. Maybe one day she’ll get better. But you think that’s bad! Rob’s parents are both alcoholics. They kicked Rob out when he was just a little fella. He lived on the streets and slept rough with the street kids under a bridge. He learned how to steal food. Two of them would go into a dairy, and one would distract the owner while the other put food in his pocket. They learned how to run fast and disappear into the crowds of people. The markets were perfect, for there was so much food on display and it was easy for them to help themselves. I’ll say one thing for old Wrongo: he taught Rob maths in the evenings upstairs and he was able to catch up with the other kids at the school. He became top of the class at the end of his first year at high school.”

  “Why do you call him Wrongo?”

  “Oh, Carrig, are you thick or something? His name is Wright, so Wrongo is his nickname – old Wrongo.”

  Carrig broke into a fit of laughter. “I never thought of that.”

  “Slowcoach, you are! Jimmy has lessons from Wrongo sometimes in the evening time upstairs.”

  “Yes, he does – I wondered why he came in late to bed.”

  “Want to come fishing with us at the weekend, Carrig?”

  “Oh, I’d love to, but I have to look after my pigs – well, they’re not my pigs, but belong to a friend of mine and I give him a hand sometimes at the weekend.”

  “How’s Freddie getting on?” Albert asked. “I haven’t seen him for a while.”

  “Well, as you know, he’s on the bus every day to school, and after school I sometimes see him down at the river fishing, or just mucking about. He’s in my English class at school and we have lunch together at the shopping centre at Shirley most days.”

  Winter gave way to spring and the warmer weather meant the boys got out and about more. Wally and Mrs Watson had several more weekends at Hanmer Springs and as usual Carrig filled in for them. He had been enquiring about properties in and around North Canterbury, and had even been to see one. It was quite funny when he turned up at the property – he was asked where his father was.

  Carrig looked straight into the farmer’s eyes and said, “My father is dead. I’m buying the land for myself.”

  The look of shock on the man’s face was priceless, and one Carrig would always remember.

  Speechless, he turned to his wife, who had now joined him, and introduced him: “This is Mr Anderson. He is thinking of purchasing a property in the area.”

  “Well, lovely to meet you. Will you come in for a drink?”

  Carrig thanked her and followed them into the house.

  “Just have a seat there,” she said, pointing to an easy chair by a very large picture window, with the sun streaming into the pleasant room. “Where are you from, Carrig?”

  “Well over towards Kaiapoi district, on the Main North Road.”

  “Do you live there with your family?”

  “Oh no, I live with some other boys in a boys’ home called Erindale. My parents were killed in an accident last year, and so I moved into Erindale then. It’s a long story really, but I can assure you I am quite capable of running a farm on my own, if that’s what’s worrying you. I have enough money to buy a small farm, and I’m looking especially for one with a small home on it, suitable for two elderly people to live in. May I ask how large is this property?”

  “Oh, we have sixty acres and this house is the only home on it. There are pig houses and a hay shed and also we have the orchard and vegetable garden, which I will show you when we have a walk around the property.”

  “May I ask why you’re selling up?”

  “Oh, certainly. My wife’s mother has become ill with a terminal illness and we have decided to move there. She lives up above Blenheim, and there is a larger home on the property where we can hopefully enlarge our family. We have just one baby at present – a boy. He is nine months old and is sleeping in a quiet room at the back of the house. We are asking $45,000 for the home and farm, including all machinery. There is a Ford tractor and plough, with other machinery. If you wish we can leave the stock on the farm. At present we have twenty ewes, one ram and thirty laying hens. We sell eggs at the gate. The cattle and dogs are going to our
neighbour, who has agreed to leave them until the new purchaser moves in. The farm has just been in the paper for a couple of days, but we know it will sell quickly. We have been told by the real-estate man that this is the case.”

  “Can I ask you to give me first option to purchase the property, and I will let you know as soon as I speak to a couple of friends?”

  “Absolutely, Carrig. We’ll give you until this time next week. That will be the 22nd. We’ll wait to hear from you then, if not before.”

  Carrig left the young couple and drove back to Wally’s place.

  “Oh, what a shock, Carrig! I can’t believe you went there without someone else to back you up. And didn’t the lawyer tell you that the money wouldn’t be deposited into your account until you were eighteen years old? That’s three years, Carrig. I think you’d better talk to him.”

  The elderly solicitor leaned back in his chair and took a long look at the young man in front of him.

  “Well, Carrig, I’m glad you came in to see me before taking any steps to purchase land. You see, there are certain things you have to look out for when purchasing property. For example, why is the property for sale in such a hurry? Don’t misunderstand me – there may be nothing wrong in selling it in such a hurry, but I would like to think I had at least a month to think about purchasing it. I’d have lots of questions to ask both the seller and his neighbours, and I would find a reliable farmer friend to have a look at the property first and give me an honest opinion about the whole venture. What about your friend Mr Watson, who helps you with your pigs? He would be the first one I would visit to hear his opinion on the situation. Now, Carrig, about the release of your money: yes, there are certain rules about giving you any or all of the money before the due date. I have to tell you that it was a stipulation of both your parents that I should withhold the money until you come of age – which is just under three years’ time, which isn’t too far away. My advice to you would be to hold off on this one. There will be other properties just as attractive coming on the market. In the meantime, put it down to experience. If you wish I can research this sale for you and let you know my findings.”