Mr Bluenose

by Jack Lasenby

“I liked the bit about how he ate the other fisherman,” said Dad. “I’m just sorry I haven’t got some boiled lollies to give you myself.”

  “Never mind,” I told him. “What’s for tea?”

  “Smoked fish in parsley sauce.”

  “What sort of fish?”

  “Blue cod.”

  “Mr Bluenose caught cod for the Portuguese schooner, but he didn’t say it was blue. I wonder…” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “I wonder if you ate enough blue cod, would your nose turn blue?”

  “Perhaps,” said my father, as he put the fish on my plate and poured the parsley sauce over it, “perhaps you’d best ask Mr Bluenose.”

  7

  Baked Northern Spy, Father Christmas and the Boiled Lolly, and Freddy Jones and the Walking Hawk.

  “We had cod for tea last night,” I told Mr Bluenose.

  “I had an apple,” he said.

  “Dad did it in parsley sauce.”

  “I took out the core, put a date where it had been, sprinkled brown sugar on top, and baked my apple in the oven.”

  “It was blue cod.”

  “My apple was a Northern Spy. It is a good cooker, the Northern Spy.”

  “I wonder,” I said, “I wonder if you eat enough blue cod, will your nose turn blue?”

  “It was being seasick that turned my nose blue.”

  “I just wondered.” I felt in my pocket. “I’ve got something for you.” I patted my hanky. “I brought you a boiled lolly, but somebody must have pinched it.”

  “Did you stop and talk to somebody on your way here?”

  I shook my head.

  “I remember you had trouble before, trying to save a boiled lolly for me. There was that big red and white-striped one you told me about. You ate it.”

  “I remember,” I said. “But I really saved one for you last night, a green and white-striped boiled lolly. True! I put it in the tin and screwed the lid on so the rat couldn’t get it. This morning I wrapped it in my hanky, to give to you.”

  “Perhaps you have a hole in your pocket. No? You probably ate it without thinking of it,” said Mr Bluenose. “Somebody who likes boiled lollies all that much could easily swallow one whole without noticing.”

  “You’d think it’d stick going down.”

  “It is amazing what you can swallow, if you are greedy enough.”

  “Dad said last night when I gave him a boiled lolly, he said I’m very generous!”

  “You remembered to give one to your father, but you did not remember poor old Mr Bluenose.”

  “That’s not fair! Sometimes I don’t give any to Dad. I sit under the hedge at the corner of our street and eat them all before going home. I’m scared he’ll find my boiled lollies after I’ve gone to sleep, and eat them all. He once said he’d do that, so I eat them or hide them from him now.”

  Mr Bluenose looked at an apple, shook his head, and threw it into the four-gallon tin for the pigs. “Do you think he meant it?”

  “Meant what?”

  “That he would eat your lollies after you had gone to sleep.”

  “He said so. I’ve tried eating them in bed, but Dad can hear me crunching.”

  “Does your father bring you home lollies?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Boiled lollies?”

  “Yes.”

  “He does not sit under the hedge at the corner of your street and eat them before coming home?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I just wondered,” said Mr Bluenose. “I never had any children, so I do not know whether I would eat their lollies after they had gone to sleep.”

  “You know Freddy Jones, Mr Bluenose? Well, he woke up one Christmas Eve, and he saw Father Christmas stuffing a bag of boiled lollies into the sock at the foot of his bed. And he reckoned Father Christmas stopped and pulled out a lolly and ate it.”

  “What did Freddy Jones do?”

  “He yelled out, ‘Hey, that’s my boiled lolly!’”

  “What did Father Christmas do?”

  “He said, ‘Go back to sleep or you won’t get any lollies at all.’”

  “What happened?”

  “Freddy said he closed his eyes because he didn’t want Father Christmas to take away his lollies. He woke up next morning and was so busy looking at what was in his sock, he didn’t remember about Father Christmas pinching one of his boiled lollies till that afternoon.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He told his father, but he said Freddy must have dreamed it.”

  Mr Bluenose thought. “Perhaps he did dream it. On the other hand, Father Christmas might like boiled lollies. It must be a temptation, stuffing all those bags of lollies in people’s socks on Christmas Eve. Then again,” Mr Bluenose shook his head, “people do make up stories, you know.”

  I nodded.

  “I think,” said Mr Bluenose, “people even make up stories without meaning to.”

  “Oh?” I said.

  “Yes. That Freddy Jones,” Mr Bluenose said, “I caught him one day, up an apple tree. I sat down on my wheelbarrow and waited.

  “He tried to jump down and run away, but I got him by the scruff of the neck. ‘What were you doing up my tree?’ I asked, and I gnashed my false teeth at him.

  “‘I was coming past the hall,’ gabbled Freddy Jones. ‘And I saw a hawk walk down the road towards your place, and I followed him. He climbed your gate, jumped down the other side, and walked along between the rows of apple trees. I followed him just to see what he did. He came to this tree, looked up at the apples, saw they were ripe, and climbed into the top of the tree and started eating them. I knew you wouldn’t like that, so I climbed up to chase him away, and that’s when you saw me and thought I was eating your apples.’”

  “Did you believe him?” I asked Mr Bluenose.

  “I let him go because it was a pretty good story.” Mr Bluenose laughed to himself. “But I told Freddy Jones, next time I caught him up my apple tree, I would kick his behind for him.”

  “I think it’s a good story,” I told Mr Bluenose. “Next time I have some boiled lollies, I’ll save one for you, for telling me that story.”

  “I will believe that when I see the boiled lolly,” said Mr Bluenose.

  8

  A Clove of Garlic a Day Keeps the Vampire Away, Using a Dock Leaf for a Hanky, Licking Boiled Lollies, and Sickening for Something.

  Halfway home, I pulled out my hanky to blow my nose and there, stuck to it, was the boiled lolly I’d meant to give to Mr Bluenose. Very carefully, I put my hanky back in my pocket with the boiled lolly, and blew my nose on my fingers the way Freddy Jones had shown me. I’d just finished when I saw Mrs Dainty watching me and knew she’d tell Dad. She always did.

  For several days, I was tempted to eat Mr Bluenose’s boiled lolly. It was toughest when I went to bed and thought of it wrapped inside my hanky. I could get up and eat it so easily! Dad asked me what I was worried about and, when I told him, he said, “I think you’re being very brave.”

  I felt so good, I didn’t want to eat Mr Bluenose’s boiled lolly any longer. But then Dad went and said, “Have you thought of letting me eat it? Then you wouldn’t have to worry.” That made me think of eating the boiled lolly just to save it from him. It was a hard week. Besides worrying about Mr Bluenose’s boiled lolly, I had to explain to Dad why I’d blown my nose on my fingers.

  “Next time you get caught without a hanky,” he said, “use a dock leaf, not your fingers!”

  And then when I went down to see Mr Bluenose, I forgot to give him the boiled lolly after all. He was digging the garden, and there was a strange smell in the air.

  “What’s the stink?”

  “That beautiful smell,” he said, “is going to make me rich!”

  “Poo, it pongs!”

  “Wait till people in Waharoa realise what they have been missing! This makes food taste so beautiful, everyone is going to want it.”

  “It’s a bit on the nose,
Mr Bluenose!”

  “That is not very polite, for a young person to make fun of an older person’s name.”

  “I didn’t mean to be rude,” I told him. “But, boy, what a stink!”

  “I keep telling you, it is a rare perfume.”

  “What is it?”

  “Garlic!” said Mr Bluenose. “The first crop of garlic in Waharoa.”

  “They look a bit like weedy onions.”

  “They’ve got several bits, cloves, each wrapped in its own little skin. Ah, garlic!”

  “Poo!”

  Mr Bluenose nicked one open with his thumbnail and squeezed out the white bud inside. The stink hit me as he popped it into his mouth. “Beautiful!” he said, chewing with his mouth open. “The first garlic of the year!

  “Garlic keeps away colds,” said Mr Bluenose. “Hang it up over your door, it keeps away the vampire.”

  “What’s the vampire?”

  “The vampire has wings like a black cloak, and he flies in and perches on the foot of your bed. He has long teeth that he sticks into your neck so he can suck out the blood. A clove of garlic a day keeps the vampire away.”

  “Faugh! It’d keep me away, too.”

  “See, the tops are dry,” said Mr Bluenose. “That’s why I am digging it up. A few days in the sun, and I will plait it into bundles. Everything tastes better with garlic.”

  “Give these to your father. With steak and onions – ecstasy!” Mr Bluenose rolled his eyes. “Stick slices into your leg of mutton before you put it in the oven. The more garlic the better. Cook it with anything. And remember, a clove of garlic a day keeps the vampire away.”

  I carried the garlic by its long stalks, holding it well away from me. At the corner of Ward Street, Freddy Jones had his head stuck in the hedge. “It’s too late for birdnesting,” I told him.

  “Not for spabs,” he said. “They lay several times.”

  “Up in the poplars,” I told him, “not down here.”

  “How would you know?” asked Freddy Jones. “You’re just a – Poo! What stinks?”

  “It’s special stuff called garlic for keeping away the vampire. You hang it over your window. If you don’t have any, the vampire flies into your room, perches on the foot of your bed, sticks his long teeth into your neck, and sucks out your blood.”

  “Huh! There’s no such thing!”

  “There is so! Mr Bluenose said the vampire lives in Mr Weeks’s bush and, when it gets dark enough, he flies around Waharoa and, wherever there’s a door or window left open, he folds his black wings like a cloak and slides in sideways.”

  I opened my eyes very wide and stared at Freddy. “You know when you wake in the morning feeling all weak and not wanting to get up?”

  Freddy nodded.

  “It means the vampire has sucked your blood while you’re asleep. You need some garlic to keep him away.”

  “Give us a bit.”

  “This is mine.”

  “Aw, give us a bit. I’ll swap you some marbles. I’ve got some corker glassies, with twisted green and blue stripes inside.”

  “Who wants marbles? I’m going to hang this garlic over my window to keep away the vampire.”

  “Tell you what! I’ll give you some lollies.”

  “What sort?”

  “Boiled lollies.”

  “How many?”

  “Lots!” Freddy Jones pulled out a bag of boiled lollies.

  “You’ve been licking them!”

  “Of course. Give us the garlic?”

  “You give us a bag of boiled lollies that you haven’t licked, and I might give you a bit of my garlic.”

  “Huh!”

  “Don’t blame me if the vampire sucks your blood.” I walked on. Freddy Jones ran after me and wanted to swap a couple of old comics. He said I could have a ride on his bike, and he tried to give me his marbles again, with a couple of steelies thrown in.

  “I’m only interested in fresh boiled lollies,” I told him, “ones that nobody’s licked.”

  Freddy Jones wasn’t around, next day. We were doing the dishes after tea, that night, and Dad was showing me how to wet the end of the tea-towel and give it a really good crack, when somebody knocked, and Mrs Jones called out from the back door.

  “I won’t come in,” she said to Dad. “Freddy’s not well, and I’m scared he’s sickening for something. He didn’t sleep last night, and he won’t go to bed tonight. He says there’s a vampire comes and sits on the foot of the bed and sucks his blood.”

  “Just a moment…” I heard Dad say to Mrs Jones. But I was already climbing out my window. Dad soon found me where I’d hidden in the shed under the tankstand.

  “You can come out of there,” he said. “Mrs Jones has gone. What’s the idea of scaring Freddy Jones about a vampire?”

  I showed Dad the garlic and told him what Mr Bluenose had said.

  “Poo!” he said. “It fairly honks! I thought you’d been rolling in those wild onion plants again.”

  “Mr Bluenose says it’s very good with steak, and to stick bits into a roast of mutton. He says you don’t know what you’ve missed till you’ve eaten garlic.”

  “Just the smell is enough! As for eating it… You can hang it over your window, but first you’ve got to run along and give a bit to Freddy Jones to hang over his window, too, otherwise he won’t sleep again tonight. And you can tell Mrs Jones you’re sorry for scaring Freddy. Don’t take too long about it, either; it’s past your bedtime as it is.”

  I ran to Freddy Jones’s place, and ran home again, whistling all the way. It was dark and, although I could still smell the stink of garlic on my hands, I wanted to get back inside before the vampire came. Tomorrow, I’d give Mr Bluenose the big green and white-striped boiled lolly I’d saved for him. I tore inside, took out my hanky, opened it and had a look. It really was a very attractive-looking lolly. And I’d tell Mr Bryce about Freddy Jones and the vampire. If he thought it was a good enough story, he might give me some boiled lollies.

  “I hope you’re not thinking of eating that after you’ve gone to bed!” Dad was standing there looking down at my hanky.

  “I’m saving it for Mr Bluenose.”

  “Still?” said my father. “It’s looking a bit worn. Now, jump into bed. Holy smoke! I can smell that garlic from here.”

  “A clove of garlic a day keeps the vampire away,” I told him.

  9

  A Dory Story, Walking Like a Sausage, Tasting the Soup of Sorrow, and What Happened to the Old Fishermen Who Disappeared on the Grand Banks.

  “You said you fished from a dory,” I said to Mr Bluenose. “What’s a dory?”

  “You want a dory story?”

  “A dory story!” I laughed. “Please!”

  “And when I have told you my dory story, you will tell it to Mr Bryce, and he will give you some boiled lollies? And will you save one for me?”

  “That reminds me,” I said. I unfolded my hanky and gave him the big green and white-striped boiled lolly. “It was stuck there all the time.”

  “It looks as if it is a grubby old hanky.”

  “That’s because I’ve been carrying it round to give you the lolly. I haven’t blown my nose on it. True!”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise!”

  “Thank you for the boiled lolly. It is very thoughtful of you.”

  “Aren’t you going to eat it?”

  “It is many years since I had a boiled lolly. I will have a little lick or two at it tonight, before I go to bed, and again tomorrow night. I will see how long I can make it last.”

  Horse stuck his head into the sorting shed to see what we were doing, and I gave him a ripe apple. He munched it and stamped his foot for another. “I’m not going to give you all the best apples,” I told him. “You’re quite big enough to reach up and pick one for yourself.”

  “The dory is like a flat-bottomed clinker dinghy,” said Mr Bluenose. “Only, it’s better. The schooners carry them stacked inside each o
ther on deck.

  “At four or five in the morning, they sling the dories over the side – they have grommets of rope in the bow and stern. You put your long line, grapnels, bait, your box of tobacco, bread, and bottle of water, oars, mast, and sail – you put them all in the dory. You put the two thwarts in, one to sit on, one to use as a cutting board; and you put a plank across on edge to keep the cod in the stern.

  “You have on so many woollen clothes with oilskins on top, and a woollen hat with a sou’wester on top of that, you feel like a sausage trying to walk.” Mr Bluenose held his arms and legs out from his body and moved stiffly to show me how.

  “You struggle down into your dory with your compass and your conch, put up the mast, and pull up the sail. A mile or two away from the schooner, you put out your long line, with hundreds of hooks. While you wait, you jig with a handline, then you pull in your long line. Up come the cod, some nearly as long as a man. They go into the stern, and the long line goes out again.” Mr Bluenose jigged with one hand, pulled up a huge cod, pushed it into the stern, and fed out the long line again.

  “The heavier the load, the steadier the dory. When you can’t risk another cod on board without swamping, you sail back to the schooner and pitch them up. If there is time, you sail off again for more.

  “Your hands crack with the salt water and pulling in the lines.” Mr Bluenose held up his hands. I could see old scars all over them. “Your lips crack, and your nose turns blue.

  “Sometimes, you see the recall flag or hear the siren. Then you sail back fast, pitch up your cod, and jump on the rail. The others grab the rope grommets at the bow and stern and swing your dory up. You pull out the thwarts, the bulkhead, mast, sail, and all your gear, and your dory fits inside the ones on deck, then you are helping pull up the next one and dropping it inside yours. If you are lucky, you get aboard before the storm or the darkness.

  “You’ve been fishing about twelve hours. How you eat! Quickly! Because you still have to deal with the cod.” Mr Bluenose shoved food into his mouth with both hands, chewing and swallowing as he talked.