by Jack Lasenby
Halfway home, Billy Kemp came galloping up behind us. “Ka! Ka! Ka!” he went, pointing at Mum.
“Ka! Ka! Ka!” she fired back. He circled our buggy, going “Whahhh-rowwww!” which meant he was the captured Spitfire banking. And Mum sprayed the belly of his plane with bullets, “Ka! Ka! Ka!” as he turned to peel off and shoot us down.
“I gotcha!” Mum shouted. She stood up and shouted, “I gotcha through the tank with a tracer. Ya goin’ down on fire, Billy Kemp, and ya gonna explode!”
Billy disappeared into the dark, his engine stuttering, roaring, and coughing. We listened and heard an explosion as he crashed, then silence. “Sit down,” said Kate, “or you’ll have us over,” and she held Old Pomp in. We heard the crunch of wheels rolling along the metalled road, looked back and saw gig lamps.
“Somebody’s coming!” Kate shook the reins, and Old Pomp trotted. He didn’t like being passed either.
The rest of the way, we kept a lookout for Billy Kemp, but he must have gone down with his plane. Jimmy and Betty went to sleep, but woke as we piggy-backed them inside and wanted Mum to roar for them again, so she gave a couple of groans and trumpeted as well. It was corker fun, the Saturday night we went to the circus! I’ve never forgotten the stink.
11
Riding in Circles, and the Immelmann Turn
“There’s the ring.” From Old Pomp’s back, we stared down at the worn grass where the white horse had galloped, and the clowns had chased Mum. There was no sign of the elephant’s footprints. Where the wild animals’ cages had stood there were patches of yellow grass and wheel tracks.
“Why’s the grass dead?” asked Betty.
“No sun,” Jimmy told her.
“The wild animals peed on it,” said Kate. Old Pomp snorted and backed away, so we had to hang on. “Steady!” Kate leaned forward and patted his neck. “He’s smelling the lion,” she told us.
There wasn’t much else to show that the circus had been there: a couple of empty beer bottles in the drain, some tickets in the grass, and a few flies hanging around a heap of dung.
“That’s not horse poop,” said Jimmy. “It’s different.”
“It must be the zebra’s,” said Betty. “See, it’s got straw in it. What’s that stuff?”
“They must have had a bear,” said Jimmy. “Did any of you see it?” We all shook our heads, and he said, “Bear poo. Poo bear!”
“Pooh Bear!” Betty squawked, and they laughed as if they’d never heard it before.
“When I grow up, I’m going to run away and join the circus,” said Jimmy, and Betty said she’d go with him.
“You sound like Mum.” Kate giddupped Old Pomp, and we rode along Ward Street to the gate into the school horse paddock.
“We saw your mother,” all the other kids said. “Playing with the clowns at the circus.” And a little girl whispered, “Our mother said your mother would have shown that old lion. She said your mother would have bitten its head clean off!”
“That’s why they wouldn’t let her get into the cage!” Wiki Peters shouted.
“That’s what Mum reckons, too,” we said and felt proud of her.
Billy Kemp kept away from us all the way home that afternoon. Only, when we were closing the gate, he galloped by going, “Ka! Ka! Ka!” and swung Hiccup away: “Whahhh-meeowrowwww!” which meant he was doing an Immelmann Turn.
“Ka! Ka! Ka!” went our tail gunner, but the Messerschmitt half-rolled at the top of its loop, and was galloping out of range in the opposite direction. Our tail gunner swung her turret round, but he was already disappearing behind the lawsonianas at the church corner.
“Why didn’t you let me have a go? I’d have got him.”
“Never mind,” Kate told Betty. “You can shoot him down tomorrow morning.”
“You’d think he’d come off his pony,” I said. “That was an Immelmann Turn!”
I could feel Kate nod. “He’s not bad,” she admitted. “Look! What’s she up to now?”
Mum was cantering Trixie around and around the house paddock. She must have been doing it quite a while because the grass was worn in a circle.
She stopped and walked Trixie towards us, pretending to be interested in a patch of ragwort, but Kate said, “So that’s her next cranky idea.”
“What?”
“She wants to join the circus and wear spangled tights.”
“Nonsense! Can you see me in tights?” Mum said when Jimmy asked her. “Joining the circus is the last thing on my mind.” But we knew she was thinking of something; she had that look on her face.
“Anyway,” she said, “while you were wasting my money looking at the wild animals after the circus on Saturday night, I had a talk to the man who owns it.”
“What about, Mum?”
“I asked if he wanted to buy four fat children,” said Mum. Jimmy and Betty stared at her. Kate didn’t look worried, so I wasn’t worried either. “He said they weren’t interested in buying children any longer. He said they’re closing the circus.”
“Closing the circus!” we all said.
“Because of the war,” Mum nodded. “They can’t get the benzine to travel around New Zealand, and the shipping’s getting harder, crossing the Tasman. The circus comes from Australia, you know.” We said we didn’t know that, and Jimmy and Betty got much chirpier, now they knew they weren’t going to be sold to feed the wild animals.
“I wouldn’t have minded being in the circus,” said Jimmy, and Betty said, “I want to wear spangles and stand on one foot and ride the horse.”
“That’s because you’re a girl, and girls are showoffs,” Jimmy told her. “I’d be the lion tamer.”
“Why do you have to fight all the time?” Mum sighed. “They’ve got a few more shows: Te Aroha, Paeroa, and Thames, then Morrinsville on the way back, then they get on the train, go up to Auckland, do a week there, and go back to Sydney. And over there, they put the tent into storage; and the elephant, and the wild animals, and the clowns and their little dog are all going to the zoo till the war’s over.”
“Why are they putting the clowns in the zoo?”
“The owner said they’re very savage. Well, you saw the way they chased me.”
“And there won’t be any more circuses till the war’s over?”
Mum shook her head.
“That old Hitler,” said Jimmy. “I’d like to biff him one!”
“Musso, too,” said Betty. “And Tojo!”
“Yeah, them, too. Still, it was fun, the circus.”
“You bet!” we all told Mum, and Kate said, “We thought you were training Trixie to gallop in circles, so you could run away from us and join the circus and ride around the ring in tights and spangles.”
“Don’t you try to be smart with me, young lady!” Mum told her. Then she grinned and said, “I did offer to look after the circus for them.”
“What?”
“I said we could run the wild animals up the back of the farm. We’d sell the lambs, and shift the steers down to the front paddocks.”
“What about the lion? Wouldn’t he eat the steers?”
“The owner said he’s quite tame. He can only eat porridge because his teeth have all fallen out. That roaring we heard was a gramophone recording they played over a loudspeaker up in the roof of the tent.”
“What about the elephant?”
“I told them we had a barn we don’t use now,” Mum said. “I thought the elephant would be handy for the heavy jobs round the farm. But it was no use, they’re going to the zoo in Sydney, and that’s it.”
“We could have had a circus every Saturday,” said Jimmy. “People would have come from all over the Waikato. It would have been more fun than milking old Rosie every night and morning. We could have ridden the elephant to school instead of Old Pomp!”
“And I could have taken the lion to school on Lamb and Calf Day,” said Betty, “and led him in the Grand Parade.”
Mum said she was sorry, but that’s the way
it was going to be; they were all going to the zoo. “I learned a few tips,” she told us, “watching that shameless hussy riding the white horse round the ring the other night.”
“So you were practising riding Trixie in circles!”
“Not what you think!” Mum shook her head. “I thought if I went up the back, mobbed up the steers, and galloped her round and round them, they’d get giddy watching us. That should make them really easy to shift from one paddock to another. You don’t feel like chasing anyone, if you’re feeling all dizzy.”
“I don’t know about that, Mum,” said Kate. “I wouldn’t go trying it on the steers.
“Why not? What’s wrong?”
“Think!” Kate said to her. “What if you got giddy yourself and fell off Trixie? One of the steers chased Jimmy when he fell off.”
“You didn’t tell me,” said Mum. “Anyway, Blue would look after me.”
“Still,” Kate shook her head, “I don’t think you should do it. You know how you get excited. You’d probably stand up on Trixie’s back and try to balance on one foot. You could come an awful cropper.”
“What did I tell you about being a killjoy, Kate? Whenever there’s a chance of some fun, you always have to go and spoil it for me.”
But we were pleased Kate had said it. Mum was so excited when she got one of her crazy ideas, we never knew what was going to happen next. The last thing we wanted was for her to go hurting herself, falling off Trixie, and getting trampled by the steers.
Still, we were all sorry we weren’t going to have the circus at our place. It sure would have fixed Billy Kemp’s Messerschmitt and his Immelmann Turn, us riding to school on an elephant the size of a Lancaster.
12
Keeping the Score
The Messerschmitt tried to shoot us down all the way home from school one day. But though we hit Billy Kemp again and again, he wouldn’t crash, so we couldn’t count him. We’d been keeping the score for a few weeks, and we were coming last by a long way.
“We’d turn into a Hurricane and shoot him down,” said Kate, “only Old Pomp’s not built to be a fighter plane. Besides, he’s a bit old for aerobatics.”
“Old Pomp could loop the loop!” said Jimmy who was very loyal to him. “If he had to.”
“I don’t think it would be very good for him,” Kate said, and I could feel her laughing to herself.
“Can Messerschmitts really shoot down Hurricanes and Spitfires?” asked Jimmy.
“Sometimes. They’ve got some good planes, the Germans.”
“You’re supposed to say the Allies are best,” said Betty.
“We’re the best because we’re in the right,” Kate told her, “but that doesn’t make our planes better.”
“What about the Lancaster?”
“Oh,” Kate nodded, “the Lancaster’s the best bomber in the world. Better than anything the German’s have got.”
Betty didn’t say anything, but I could tell she felt better. “Ka! Ka! Ka!” she went; “Ka! Ka! Ka!” and Billy Kemp waggled his wings and flew off home.
“How can we keep the score if you don’t play fair?” Betty shouted after him, but he just turned round and poked out his tongue. “I hope you fall off, Billy Kemp!” Betty screamed, “And bite your tongue!”
Mum was standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking at something when we went inside. “Do you think I’m getting forgetful?” she asked.
“Very forgetful,” Kate said at once.
“You’re always forgetting things,” we told Mum. “Remember last week you forgot to make our lunches, and Kate had to make them. And then you forgot to cook us our tea.”
“I did not. I just said I wasn’t going to cook your tea any longer. I remember perfectly well. I can hear my voice saying, ‘Cook your tea yourselves. I’m fed up with having to do everything for you.’”
Kate looked at us and winked. “We don’t remember you saying that.”
“No,” we said. “You didn’t say that to us Mum.”
“Maybe you said it to somebody else,” I told her. “But you’ve forgotten.”
“Anyway,” said Jimmy, “you wouldn’t say that to us. You’re our mother.”
“Ah!” Mum said. “That’s just it! How do you know I’m your mother?”
We laughed. “We know! Who else could you be?”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Mum nodded and looked around us. “Have you ever thought, not one of you looks the least little bit like me? I sometimes wonder,” she said. “Do you think they swapped you in the hospital, when you were born? A nurse did that over at Cambridge, just for a joke. Then she got mixed up and couldn’t remember which one was which.”
“You always say I’ve got your nose,” said Kate.
“And I’ve got your eyes,” I said.
“And we’ve got your curls,” Jimmy and Betty said.
“So you must be our mother!” we all shouted.
“Oh?” Mum looked at the thing in her hand, a bobbin from her old Singer sewing machine.
“What are you doing with that?” Jimmy wanted to know.
“That’s why I asked you if I was getting forgetful,” Mum said. “I just found this where I must have put it in the knife and fork drawer.” She shook her head. “Unless one of you put it in there?”
“Why would we do that?” Kate asked, and the rest of us shook our heads.
“Perhaps I thought I was putting it away in the drawer of my machine.” Mum put the bobbin into her apron pocket and said, “I suppose you all want something to eat? Well, help yourselves. There’s bread in the bin, and butter in the safe. And there’s jam in the cupboard. Do I have to cut it and butter it and spread the jam on it for you?”
“Next thing you’ll be wanting me to eat it for you!” we chanted together before Mum could say it.
“The things you say to me! I’d never have dreamed of speaking in such a way to my mother when I was a girl. A good clip over the ear, that’s what I’d have got for being cheeky, and off to bed without any tea.” Mum was cutting crooked slices of bread and slapping on butter and jam as she spoke. “In those days, people said children should be seen and not heard.”
We were telling her about trying to shoot down Billy Kemp, and about school, and eating our bread and jam, and having a biscuit and a drink of milk, when Mum popped outside to see if Rosie had come up the paddock to be milked. Her eyes sparkling, Kate shot out to the sun porch where Mum kept her machine, rushed back to the kitchen, and put her special sewing scissors into the biscuit tin, just as Mum came back in and drove us out to do our jobs.
“Jimmy, you and Betty can run round the lambs; just make sure they’re all right. It won’t take you a moment. Kate, you can take Trixie – the saddle’s still on her – and move the steers into the creek paddock. Blue will help you.” I knew we’d gone far enough, so didn’t wait to be told what to do; I took the bucket and went out to look for Rosie. Kate trotted down past the shed, Blue racing ahead, barking and enjoying himself.
I found Rosie coming to meet me, and milked her where she stood. As I finished stripping her, I wondered if Mum had found her scissors in the biscuit tin, and if she’d ask if one of us had put them there, or if she’d pretend it hadn’t happened.
Kate was always doing things like that to Mum, trying her out. It was like a game they played without ever talking about it. “I wonder,” I thought to myself, as I carried the heavy bucket of milk up to the house, “I wonder if Kate keeps the score for how many times she beats Mum?” But I knew she wouldn’t tell me, even if she did.
13
Sixpence Each
We fired a last burst of cannon shells. Billy Kemp zoomed behind the lawsonianas, his engine faded, and Kate steered Old Pomp over to our gate.
“There’s a notice!” she said.
We sat there as she read it aloud. “‘Children for Sale. Two fat girls and two boys. Cheap to a good home! Apply within.’
“Two fat girls? I’m going to fix her!” Kate said. “G
ive us your pocket knife?” She leaned off Old Pomp and dug out the drawing pins that fastened the notice. I opened the sliding latch with my toes, we rode through the gate, and I closed the gate with my toes again. Kate shook the reins so poor Old Pomp waggled his ears.
“You leave it to me!”
“Leave what to you?” Jimmy asked.
“I’ll teach her to try and sell us. ‘Two fat girls!’” We roared the engines, but Kate didn’t circle the aerodrome. She just went straight in and landed without even bothering to turn into the wind. Old Pomp waited a moment, to see if he was going to get rubbed down, but Kate told him to go and have a roll.
Mum was at the bench as we marched into the kitchen.
“Good afternoon, Madam!” Kate sounded very businesslike. “We’ve come to buy the fat children.”
Mum looked around. “You’ve got it wrong. You’re them!”
“What do you mean we’re them?”
“I mean you’re the children who are for sale.”
“That’s what we mean,” said Kate. “We want to buy us from you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got a sign saying ‘Children for Sale’, and we want to buy them. And you said ‘You’re the children for
sale,’ and we said, ‘We want to buy us from you.’”
Mum looked a bit surprised.
“Come on! How much?”
“What do you mean?” Mum said again.
“How much for us? How much for the four children you’ve got for sale? Two boys, and two fat girls!”
Mum grinned. I could see she thought she was going to be smart and beat Kate at her own game. “Thirty bob the lot!”
“Thirty bob!”
“That’s what I said.”
Kate led us to our room. “Get your money boxes,” she told us. “And give us your pocket knife again.”