And Did Those Feet ...

by Ted Dawe

  The next one was not so easy. No handy trees. The water fast and deep. We all came to a halt, waiting for instructions. This time it was Boyne who picked up the leadership again.

  “I know it’s hard but there is no way we can get across here. We are going to have to make our way upstream until we find a narrower place.” Then he squeezed his way up through the thick vines on the side of the track and began working his way up through the undergrowth. It was really slow because the bush was like jungle here. Full of creepers, some of them thorny, others sprang back in your face. We came to a waterfall. It would have been a pretty little trickle on the way up; now it was a junior version of Niagara Falls. Dark rocks, noise and spray.

  Still Boyne went on, climbing up the bank until we had reached the quieter water above the falls. It was slow, slippery work: everyone’s packs were getting hooked up on low branches and the front climbers sent mini landslides onto the faces of those coming behind. By the time we stopped I noticed that many of the kids, including Jamie, had blood on their faces. I stood next to Boyne, watching the kids struggle out of the undergrowth one by one. They all looked so sad, so beaten, I tried to cheer them up. Even my wittiest wisecracks raised only tiny half smiles, but at least it was something.

  The place Boyne had chosen looked dangerous to me, but then what did I know? I was in one of those situations where I had to try not to disagree, but to do my best. The water was thundering down a sheer bank and then ripping a new channel across a forty metre plateau. I could see where its usual course had been: there was only a trickle in the bottom now, such was the force of the fall.

  We all stood on the edge waiting for the last of the stragglers to come up the hill. There were about six now, all crying, two barefoot and hobbling along, their faces frozen with pain or fear.

  “Wait here,” Boyne yelled, “I’ll try first to make sure it is do-able … then I’ll give the signal to come across.” With that he did the heroic thing and stepped into the racing brown water. We all just stood there, watching the water jumping up the side of his legs as it rushed for the edge. It was now deeper than his knee, which, because he was a lanky bugger, would be about waist deep for us kids. He finally made the bank and yelled out his instructions.

  “Link arms in your buddy groups. Mr Tilson, go with those three girls…” Most of it was carried away in the wind and rain. We formed a line to cross the river with linked arms. There was an adult, three or four kids, then another adult, and so on. The first of them were climbing the far bank by the time I entered the water. I walked really slowly because the bottom was covered in big rocks on their way down the mountain. I could feel the smaller ones hitting me on the legs. It would have been so easy to trip and drag the whole snake-line downstream and over the bluff.

  The rain, which had showed signs of dying down, began to fall in thick sheets again. Now I could hardly see the people on the far bank through the flailing bush, which hung low over the river. All I could do was sink my head deep into my coat, grit my teeth and stumble on.

  As I reached the middle of the stream one of the barefoot girls stood on something sharp and fell over with a scream. She let go of Noel Cudby’s hand and we all floated off down the stream. It all happened so quickly that there was no time to do anything more than keep our heads up. I didn’t realise how much force there was in that water until I sat down in it. I tried to get up but it was impossible, there was no way of getting my footing. All I could do was hang onto Iain’s hand as we bounced our way to the edge. At this point time began to mean nothing. There were screams, voices, mouthfuls of brown river water and things belting into me under the water. I knew that we were only metres away from the waterfall. Metres from that big drop. Those sharp black rocks. I could do nothing except wonder for a moment why it had all turned out so badly.

  Just as it seemed that there was no way of stopping, we stopped. One moment I could see the sharp horizon line of water marking the edge of the falls looming up in front of me and the next moment I felt an enormous yank from Iain’s hand. I looked along the line. Cudby had hold of a manuka root and the whole line paused for a moment and then swung slowly towards the bank. Being at the end of the line I was directly over the drop. There was another boiling torrent thirty metres below. I got a good grip on the exposed roots of a tree and held on.

  One by one all the others found a way of pulling themselves up the bank. All except me. I tried to move but I couldn’t. Whether it was the force of the water or the fact that I was locked onto this tree root I’m not sure. I just couldn’t move. I watched the others assemble on the bank and look back at me, as if I was a hopeless case. I looked away and just focused on holding onto my tree roots. My hands now were frozen on, I couldn’t have released them even if I had wanted to. I was stuck.

  The water began to pull hard at my pack. I knew that if I let the pack go I might have some chance; but to do that I had to let go of the root. I couldn’t win, yet my hands were getting tired anyway. I just didn’t have the strength to hold on a moment longer. As my hands loosened I felt someone getting a good grip on my shoulders. They scrunched up my oilskin and pulled. I looked up straight into the baby face of Noel Cudby. He was draped down the bank with Iain and Jamie on each leg. I was amazed by the strength in his fingers. It reminded me of the day of our fight. He must have spent years dragging sheep around. I reached up and grabbed his arms. We both pulled and slowly we came together until our faces were almost touching. Now new hands were grabbing my pack and I was rising from the water. It was Jamie and Iain. They held me while Noel Cudby repositioned himself. We grabbed each other’s wrists and I slid up over the bank. Everyone was gathered in a circle around me as I lay gasping and dripping like a beached fish. I didn’t say anything to Noel or my cousins, I was too tired. I just gave them a look. They knew what it meant. Words weren’t needed. I had this giant feeling of relief. Relief that it was all over.

  But it wasn’t.

  ONE MORE RIVER

  THERE were three more streams that we had to somehow get across. An hour after our plunge we were finally at the banks of the last one. By this time everyone was soaked to the skin, cold and silent. The third stream seemed less intimidating than the others, but no one wanted to get into the water. Boyne set out across it and reached the far side quite easily so we all knew it could be done, but still no one was willing to do it.

  We all sat in a dense, dripping mass while Boyne first demanded, then pleaded with us. It was no good. The third river was one river too many. No one had anything left for it.

  “Well, I can’t drag you all down. If you won’t move I’ll have to go alone and see if I can get help.”

  He waited, maybe he was expecting an answer.

  “Well, is th..that what you w..want?” His voice was beginning to get that stuttering echo. I knew he was about to lose his rag.

  We all thought Boyne heading off on his own was a good idea because it meant we could just sit down and do nothing. No one said anything. It was as though even a word or a nod of the head was too much for us.

  Mrs Boyne spoke. It was a shock because she had said nothing all the way down. “That’s not going to work.”

  Everyone looked at her, waiting for an explanation.

  “That’s not going to work because those two girls can’t wait that long.” She pointed at the two girls who had now lost both their boots.

  “Those two are showing signs of exposure.” She looked about. “There may be others.”

  I’d heard the word before but hadn’t paid much attention. I knew it was something to do with losing all your body heat. Hypothermia, she said. Serious.

  I looked at the girls. They were all huddled together in a tight clump, like newborn puppies. The crying had stopped but the two with bare feet had lips and cheeks that were a pale blue colour.

  I could tell it was bad. Beyond just being cold. Dying maybe. Didn’t matter though. No one was moving, didn’t matter what anyone said. I guess we were beyond reason. It
was a deadlock.

  Then something happened. Something I wouldn’t have dreamed of in a thousand years. Jamie began to sing, softly at first and then louder and stronger.

  “And did those feet in ancient time

  Walk upon England’s mountains green?”

  We all stared at him in disbelief. Then Iain joined in and the two of them both stood up.

  “And did the countenance divine

  Shine forth upon our clouded hills

  And was Jerusalem…”

  Then I stood up. Me. Who can’t sing for crap.

  “Bring me my bow

  of burning gold

  Bring me my arrows of desire.”

  We stood there, the three of us singing out for all we were worth. It was crazy. Why were we doing it? Then Mrs Boyne joined in and her voice sounded like golden light pouring down on our heads. And Boyne himself. Tunelessly thundering the bass line from the far bank.

  By the time we got to the end where it goes “And was Jerusalem, builded here…” everyone was on their feet and really going for it. Then into it for a second time and a third. No one wanted to stop. We could all feel the song lifting us up, somehow it was powering us up too. I thought this would be a good time to make the crossing. The only time maybe. I linked my arms with Iain and he did the same with Jamie. We began to move down to the water. Noel Cudby saw what we were doing and came down and linked up too. Then everyone did. The two hypothermic girls rose slowly to their feet and we all formed a chain. There was a moment of hesitation but then I stepped out into the rushing brown flood. The song now died down a bit but still continued. I knew we could do it. We were a tight group, linked together for the first time and singing the same song.

  As I neared the far bank I saw Boyne stepping in. He reached out to me. I took his hand and he led the group up onto the bank. As each person emerged from the water we all stood in a close group with our arms around each other. We knew about exposure now. We knew we had to keep in what little warmth we had. The girls clustered in the middle and the boys formed a ring around the outside. Like warriors.

  THE FALL

  WHEN the last of the adults climbed up onto the bank, Boyne didn’t have to say anything. We set off down the mountain, not racing or in little chattering groups but in one tight serious group, closely bunched. The going was still slow even though it was downhill. The two barefoot girls were really struggling and both fell over frequently but this time their friends picked them up. The path we walked on was like a shallow stream and washed out in places. It was never going to be easy. Every step was made slowly and our legs were now heavy and weak. Sort of rubbery. I fell over a few times: once so heavily I was winded, but I got straight up and kept going.

  Every now and then we would stop, giving everyone a chance to regroup. I watched the faces emerging from the shadowy trees. Lara had a distracted look, like her mind was far away; the barefoot girls were just blank: it was all they could do to keep going. Jamie and Iain were at the back, making sure no one got left behind. Long before I could see them I could hear their voices just singing softly now, giving everyone a rhythm.

  When we reached the steep part where the track had zigged and zagged its way up from the road, I knew we were almost clear: the stile would be no more than a few hundred metres away. I turned back for a moment to yell to the others: they needed all the encouragement they could get. In that brief moment my foot caught on a root and I plunged forward, into this long, steep slide.

  It was the sort of thing that would have been fun in better conditions but I was exhausted and I was facing forward. When I reached the bottom I felt this thump on my right arm. It didn’t hurt much but I knew it was bad: I could no longer move my fingers. The others slowly and tiredly assembled around me as Boyne examined my injury.

  “It’s broken,” he said, as if that was the last straw.

  WE WILL NOT CEASE…

  Someone shouted and all the attention turned away from me. People were coming.

  “Dad!” someone yelled.

  It was Jamie.

  Sure enough there were Uncle Frank, Lara’s dad and a couple of his other Jerusalem League friends.

  “Doctor Livingstone, I presume,” said Uncle Frank to Mr Boyne, who just stared at him with open mouth.

  “We thought the big wet would be causing a bit of bother so we were coming up with supplies. What’s the matter with you, Sandy?”

  “It’s broken,” I said.

  He crouched down and had a look at my arm.

  Meanwhile Lara’s father had a thermos flask of soup which he was taking around the trampers. Then Uncle Frank made me a sling from his scarf; the weaker kids were hoisted up onto the adults’ backs and we hobbled the last part of the track to where it led to the road.

  I heard noises up ahead from the front of the line but it wasn’t until we got to the stile that I could see why. It was the sight of Uncle Frank’s house truck, our journey’s end. What made it even better was that there was smoke coming out of its little chimney.

  They had a fire going!

  Mackthuselah was warm and dry and filled with the delicious smell of soup. We all sat along the floor and shared cup after cup of the stuff as the truck slowly made its way back to the school.

  In the car park a small welcome party waited. Kids began to cry in all directions and I realised now how much everyone had been holding back. How scared everyone had been. Boyne tried to make a little speech before he climbed out but all he could say was, “The power of song … the power of song …”

  The day hadn’t finished for me of course. I had to strip off, shower, and then carefully put on some fresh clothes. After we had eaten I got ready to go with Uncle Frank and Iain to A&E. I remembered that Jamie had said that he wanted to come too. When Iain and I went to get him there he was asleep in a chair in the sitting room. His face was peaceful and his mouth slightly open, as if he was singing still from the depths of sleep.

  THE FINAL DAYS

  FOR the last few days school was a different place. It had changed from being a place where I was always on my guard, always ready to defend myself, to a sort of happy place. Sounds cheesy eh? I knew it couldn’t last, I’m not that innocent, but soon after that, the year finished: so in a way that mood did last.

  Noel Cudby and I used to sit together and I would help him with his maths. He liked that. I would point out some really obvious way of solving a problem and his face would light up … like I was a boy genius.

  On the last day of school there was a big assembly and prize-giving that seemed to go on forever. The events of the school year were all mentioned and not much was said about the camp other than it had been “unfortunately washed out after one night”. We all knew that there was much more to it than that.

  At the end of the assembly we all sang the national anthem and were about to leave when Lara put up her hand. Hec Gundeson, the chairman of the board, looked a bit bewildered, I mean they don’t usually have questions at this sort of thing, but she was so insistent, so urgent in the way she waved it about, that he acknowledged her.

  When everyone had stopped shuffling about she spoke out boldly in a good clear voice.

  “I would like all the people who were on the camp to come out the front.”

  And, while Hec Gundeson was thinking about it, everyone stood up and began to make their way to the front as if it was a done deal.

  “You too, Mr Boyne,” said Lara, after we were all assembled.

  He climbed down from the stage with this real stupid grin on his face. The principal, Mr Carson, didn’t look at all impressed. This was his show. Then Lara stepped out in front of us and with her back to the audience said, in a loud whisper, “‘Jerusalem’. On three.”

  There was no time for discussion or agreement because she got right into it and when her third finger went up we all belted out “And did those feet…” at the top of our lungs. I don’t think anyone in that hall had ever heard anything like it, our singing was usually
a bit half-hearted. This time, though, we found our power and really blasted them.

  When we finished we were all a bit breathless. Mr Boyne, who like most teachers, loved explaining things, looked as if he was about to give some little speech. Then he decided against it. No explanation necessary.

  Uncle Frank and Aunty Lorna were laughing about it all the way home. They were really chuffed to see their own William Blake put in an appearance so unexpectedly. “That’s the wonder of William Blake,” said Uncle Frank. “When you need him, suddenly, he’s there.”

  THE RETURN OF THE DAD

  DAD showed up again a week or so after the prize-giving. It was the first time I had seen him in over eight months. Strangely enough, I found that I was no longer angry with him; I was even sort of pleased to see him.

  He just stepped back into my life as though he had been in the other room for five minutes, getting himself a glass of wine. I was in the cowshed in the afternoon watching the milking. I wasn’t much help these days, being a “one-winger”, as Uncle Frank called it, when Dad stepped out of the vat room.

  “Well, look at you in your gumboots and Swannie. Makes me want to believe in reintarnation.”

  “What’s reintarnation?” I groaned.

  “Being reborn as a hill-billy.”

  I guess I should have been pleased that his sense of humour was still intact.