by Glenyse Ward
I made sure everything was done before she got up. I wanted to be in the kitchen then because I remembered she had said she was getting up early, and if I was outside she would start asking questions, as it should not take that long for my outside jobs to be completed. So having swept her driveway, I went into the kitchen glad that she was not up yet. I set her table for breakfast, then put the kettle on.
By this time it was ten to seven. As she came in, I said “Good Morning”, and as usual got no answer. I was asked where had I put her orange juice? I told her it was on her breakfast table. She told me to go and get it as she would have it in the kitchen.
She drank it down, then shuddered with distaste, her wrinkles tightening up on her old face. “Oh that was very bitter, the sweet oranges must be just about all gone,” she said.
I continued on with my duties as if I did not know anything about it. She told me, “When you go down to the orchard, you’ll find an old man there working. Could you ask him to pick a bag of sweet oranges off the tree? He’ll know what kind I want, and what tree to pick them from. Then bring them up to the house and put them in the pantry. I’ll have two of those every morning.”
“And now that you have been here over three months, you can do all the cooking. I’ll leave a menu in the kitchen on the wall so that you can follow what meals we are having during the week. The main meals will be breakfast and tea at night, when we are all together. Don’t worry about dinner so much, as most of the time we won’t be here. If the boys are not going to be here for any of our meals I’ll let you know.”
“You can start by cooking bacon and eggs for our breakfast. We’ll have our eggs medium and for a change we’ll have coffee, so you can put the percolator on.”
She left me there feeling rather breathless. Every time she came over to talk to me I was beginning to feel a sense of debility creeping over me. I set about the task of getting their breakfast ready. The bacon and eggs smelt scrumptious, making my mouth water.
After I dished their breakfast up on a plate, I purposely left the pan near the stove. I had no intentions of cleaning it as I was going to have a good fry up when they left. I made the toast, put it on the toast racks, then as everything was prepared I went in to see if they were ready to eat.
Mr Bigelow was there going through some papers, so I went into the kitchen, loaded the trolley up and took everything into the dining room. I took the breakfast off the trolley, set it down on the table, then checked to see if nothing was missing and all was in place. I had forgotten the serviettes! So I quickly went to the drawer to get the rings out, polished them, then rolled the serviettes up and slipped them in the rings, which I placed on their individual plates.
Feeling quite pleased about getting breakfast ready all by myself, I turned to Mr Bigelow who, by now, had finished going through his papers. I said to him, “Breakfast is ready,” then walked out knowing full well that I wouldn’t get a reply.
I went about cleaning the kitchen. When everything was tidy I sat down to have my plate of weeties thinking, “This is not the only thing I am going to eat this morning.”
I carried on in my normal way, so as not to arouse suspicions if she were to come into the kitchen - which she did to tell me off for taking breakfast in when she wasn’t present in the dining room.
I apologized and explained to her that when I saw Mr Bigelow sitting at the table, I naturally thought he was waiting for his breakfast. She carried on in her usual tone, I was to wait till she rang the bell and if ever there was a time that Mr Bigelow was on his own, I wasn’t to go in. It wasn’t very nice for a slave girl to be all alone in the presence of a male member of the family.
She asked me how much coffee had I put in the percolator? Seeing that it was my first effort in making coffee, especially in a percolator - I had never set eyes on one before - I felt rather pleased. For once I thought she was going to praise me up, for making good coffee, but my sense of her good intentions soon became dispirited, when I told her I poured half a tin of coffee into the percolator.
‘You are a very stupid girl! You need only to put a couple of dessert-spoons in. Now hop up and make a fresh one!”
So I left my breakfast and followed her into the dining room to get the coffee pot.
I had been stunned by the comment she made about being alone with her husband. I couldn’t understand it. To make it look good I immediately went into the dining room with the trolley and made myself busy. I had other intentions on my mind as soon as they would leave.
Now, I was out in the kitchen again, washing up the dishes when I heard her yoohoo. Whenever she was at home, or if I was outside doing things, or she couldn’t see me, she had a habit of yoohooing out to me, like she was out in the paddock, trying to round up a horse or something.
I went running to see what she wanted. She told me I was to go get Mr Bigelow’s shoes from the shoe rack and make sure they were clean and shining.
So I ran out to get his shoes. They looked brand new as I always made sure that all shoes were kept cleaned because, with my heavy workload, I had a fear of being scolded if the other jobs were not done on time. So I quickly grabbed his shoes and ran back into the house with them and put them down on the floor outside their bedroom.
She briskly came out of the room and told me to pick the shoes up and pass them to her in the proper manner, as it wasn’t in her category to bend down and pick things up from the floor. I apologized and went on into the kitchen to continue my cleaning duties.
While I was busy in the dining room polishing up the silverware and brassware from the mantelpiece to the window ledges, which were spread around the room, I caught a glimpse of them strutting past the window. The way they were both dressed reminded me of the characters out of a book I used to read when I was a child, called “The Three Musketeers.”
I picked up an item I was polishing and moved towards a window from where I could follow the car with my eyes right down the driveway. When it turned left onto the highway to go into town, I dropped what I was doing, sat back and gave a sigh of relief.
THE TURKEYS
Mm, just to smell the aroma of bacon and eggs cooking made my mouth water. Then I made some toast, and when everything was ready I got my old tin plate and tin mug, chucked them in the sink and took out a setting from one of her finest crockery services. I went into the dining room where she sat at the table, laid everything out, got a clean serviette, put that on my bread and butter plate, then went into the kitchen to get my breakfast out of the oven.
Just as I was about to sit down, I had a feeling that there was something missing. “Oh, yes, that’s it!” So I went to the boys’ room and got the wireless out. “I’ll have some music. The place is a bit quiet and needs livening up.” I turned the music up loud, and then sat down to the most nourishing meal of my life - all the time thinking, if she could see me now she’d probably have a heart attack.
I felt quite contented just sitting there enjoying my breakfast. “Well, why not?” I thought. “I work hard and it’s about time I took it easy for a while.”
Now that I had demolished everything on my plate, I felt quite satisfied. ‘That breakfast was sufficient,” I thought to myself. “I’ll just skimp through my main jobs that have to be done, she won’t know any better.”
When everything looked fresh and clean, I could take a walk and look for the turkeys. It was such a nice day outside, a pity to stay indoors and work. So I went into her old shed and found a big stick in the comer.
One of my childhood habits was to always walk along with a stick in my hand. We did a lot of bush walking when I was in the mission, and the nuns could never understand why we used to all grab our sticks when we set off for the bush, as they came along with us. I guess it gave us a sense of security.
Now that I had my stick in my hand, I set off in the direction of the orchard, thinking it would be nice if I had some ripe juicy pears and apples to munch on during my walk through the paddocks.
So of
f I went, down to the orchard. When I got there I opened up the big iron gates and made my way down a few lanes, selecting out the best fruit. I couldn’t wait to sample that fruit. I sunk my teeth into a big juicy pear.
Never before in my growing years did I have the opportunity to help myself to fresh fruit, so I might as well make the most of it while I could.
In the mission we only saw fresh fruit once in a blue moon. I remember when we were little girls we used to sneak around the convent to where the nuns used to have their meals and hide and wait in the grass until one of the nuns emptied the scraps in the bin. We used to wait for the right moment, then it would be one mad dash to the bins to get the orange and apple peels out.
I remember the big silent fights we used to have unbeknown to the nuns. If they had realised we would’ve got a flogging for sure.
I smiled to myself as I took off my apron, put my fruit into it, then bundled it up in knapsack style, threw it over my shoulder and went off down towards the river, as that’s where she said I would find her turkeys.
As I went along I looked all around at the countryside, which was very hilly. The gullies were steep and deep. “Fascinating,” I thought as I climbed up onto a big log and looked all around me. Far off in the distance I could see the roof tops of different farm houses spread out on the horizon. Different shades of green lay everywhere.
“Lovely”, I thought, as I jumped down from the log and set about searching for the turkeys and eggs. I was looking forward to a nice cup of tea and a piece of sponge cake with cream, which I had seen in the fridge.
It didn’t take me long to find the turkeys as I heard their gobbles in a clump of grass near the river bed. They were strutting around, looking most conceited.
All of a sudden, the quietness of the air was filled with loud gobbling noises as feathers and birds went flying in all directions. I had my stick out shooing them in the direction of the house, when out of the blue this big cheeky turkey came towards me and made a peck at my legs. I got a fright and screamed and, in reaction, brought my stick down hard across his neck. He slumped to the ground.
My heart was still pumping flat out from the fright I got, so I went back to the house to have a cup of tea to settle my nerves.
When I reached the house I went straight into the kitchen and put the kettle on. I made my cup of tea and sat down with a sigh of relief. “Ah, that cup of tea was just what I needed and that cream cake went down real well too.”
There was still an hour left before midday so I thought I’d better have another go at rounding the turkeys up and locking them in the yard, then she couldn’t say anything to me when she got home. So away I went again. They were all in the same spot where I had hit that turkey. It was still on the ground. They all scattered when I went to poke that big cheeky one with my stick.
It didn’t move and a dreadful thought crossed my mind. “What if the bird is dead? It is my fault. I killed it. Oh gosh, what’s going to happen now? How am I going to explain this one to her, when she gets back from town?”
Being brought up in a strict environment I was never allowed to tell lies; but since I had been working there for her, I found myself really good at it. So I told myself I’d think of something to tell her.
I still felt disheartened about the whole affair. I left the turkeys to roam around. I’d get them another day. “The only way to get rid of the dead one,” I thought, “is to bury it!” So I ran as fast as I could back to the old shed, got the spade and ran back to the river where the turkey lay.
I dug a big hole and chucked it in, covered it all up, put some bushes over the top to hide all the evidence, then went back up to the house, washed all the sand off and put the spade back where I got it from.
I felt real horrible. I had never done anything like that in my whole life. I walked slowly into the kitchen and glanced at the clock on the wall. The time was showing eleven thirty. I didn’t feel like eating as I had lost my appetite thinking about that unfortunate turkey. I wished I had never set eyes on it. I sat down on the chair in the kitchen with a feeling of emptiness. I was beginning to let my emotions get the better of me, feeling homesick.
At least if there were other kids around, with whom I could share a laugh and a joke. Maybe if I had one of my mates with me, the episode of the turkey wouldn’t seem so bad. We could look on the funny side of it and have a good laugh.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I just let them splash down onto the floor as I cried uncontrollably. It was such a long time since I had a good cry. All of a sudden the phone rang. I jumped up and pulled myself to my senses.
I washed my face at the kitchen sink and dried my eyes. The phone was still ringing, so I went into the dining room and then I suddenly remembered that she didn’t want me to answer the phone.
I stood in front of it, not knowing what to do. I just stared at it till it stopped ringing. Then I went back into the kitchen feeling a lot better since I’d had that cry.
MY OLD TIN MUG
I went to the fridge and thought I’d better have something to eat after all as I was starting to feel a bit weak - and peckish. I cut myself a big piece of ham, a piece of mutton and a piece of silverside, topped my plate up with salads, then decided that I’d have my meal in the dining room again with all the trimmings.
It was only when I went into the pantry to get the pickles that I remembered that she wanted me to go and get the rest of the preserving jars from the old shed. I looked on the shelf where she kept her jars of preserved fruit. There were only a couple of jars of plums and pears left. The shelf looked quite bare, so I thought I’d have my lunch first, then after I’d get stuck into that job.
So I sat down at the table and tucked into my dinner. When I’d finished, I went and helped myself to plums and ice cream for sweets. I couldn’t bear not having any plums, as soon as I saw them I had to have some, they looked so scrumptious - they were my favourite fruit too.
After dinner, I cleaned up my mess, made sure everything was neat and tidy, then went out to the shed to fetch the jars. I hated going into that shed. It was so dark and miserable. Every time I opened up the door it used to make me squirm and go all goose bumpy. The first things I used to think of were snakes and spiders. There were cobwebs everywhere, they hung in all directions. Oh, it used to feel real spooky!
Every time I sneezed I used to have to wait a couple of seconds till the thick cloud of dust settled down, to get my bearings; and the screeching of the old wooden door when I opened it up used to send cold shivers down my spine.
This old shed was situated right down the bottom end of her garden, which was at the back of her house, and it nestled in between two very old lemon trees. It reminded me of a witches’ den.
There was no lighting in the shed. I had to light up the old burner to see. The window had boards nailed over it.
As I struck a match to light up the lamp, her two cats came strolling by. They must have been curious as to what I was doing. They were friendly cats so I sang out, “Puss, Puss!” They came bounding over to me in a playful manner and rubbed themselves up against my legs as I bent down to stroke them.
I picked up the two cats and put them down on the shed floor. I did not feel too bad with the cats there, as I knew they had a good sense of danger. So if anything was in there. I’d leave them to kill it, whether it was a spider or snake, because I wouldn’t be around - I’d be gone like the wind!
I stooped down to have a look on the bottom shelves for the jars as I couldn’t see them on the higher ones. I spotted them right at the back row, down low. She had them packed in boxes - six boxes there were. I crouched to make it a bit easier for myself, as there was a lot of junk in front of them.
As I cleaned all the junk away, and was still in a crouching position, just reaching to grab a box of jars, one of the cats landed in my lap from the top shelf. All I could think of was a snake. I went all cold and just about screamed the place down. That cat got more of a fright than I did. I didn’t mean to
half kill it when I picked it up out of my lap and flung it. The poor thing landed up against the wall. The other cat just disappeared.
I went around to the front of the house to calm my nerves, still shaking terribly. I glanced at the colourful flowers and reached out, with my hands trembling, to touch one beautiful pink bloom when I heard this voice say, “Good-day, lassie.”
I turned around quickly to face the gentleman who spoke. Here in this place I found it very strange for someone to be speaking to me as if he was sort of interested in me as a person. Since being on the farm I felt like a robot.
None of the Bigelow family really talked to me, and on the days that she was around, she would either address me as, “Are you there?” or yoohoo out to me. So I got to feel like it was wrong for anyone to talk to me, and when they did speak to me I would just look at them dumbfounded. Then if I did speak back to them, I became very conscience stricken.
So, when this old gentleman spoke to me - I was always taught that all men were gentlemen - I put my fears aside, as I didn’t want to let him know that I was just getting over a fright. I turned to him and noticed he had a couple of buckets of fruit. His face was covered in wrinkles and his eyes were blue and misty but there was something about him that I took a liking to.
He must have noticed the expression on my face, for he told me not to be worried. He explained to me that he worked in the orchard for the Bigelows. He had worked for them for years, and was just bringing some fruit up as this was the time of the year that she did her bottling. He said to me, “You must be the new lass?” I said, “Yes.” He asked me where I came from and I told him, “A place called Wandering Mission.”
He told me I wasn’t the first one. There were girls coming and going all the time and from different homes. Then he said, if I’d go and open up the kitchen door for him he’d carry the fruit in for me, which was very nice of him. I thanked him and I told him I was just getting the jars ready for the fruit.