Aussie Short Stories for Boys Pbk

Australian short stories for boys (& girls)

Australian short stories

for boys (& girls)By Michael P Mardel

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Chapters

Page

1…. All at sea……………………………………………… 3

2…..The Brumby……..……………………………... 11

3…..Dogalogue…………………………………………… 18

4…..Flames and wells and sacred sites…………….. 28

5…..Game, set, match…………………………………. 35

6…..The Girl in a red dress…………………………… 42

7…..The Goldfields…………………………………….. 50

8…..A Long way to freedom…………………………… 57

9…..The Rabbit-O………………..………………………. 63

10….The White shirt…………………………………… 70

Bibliography……………………………………………. 76

Comprehension questions……………………………… 78

Comprehension answers…………………………………. 92

Written and published by Michael P Mardel© 2011

Australian short stories for boys (& girls) ISBN: 978-0-9870749-9-7 pbk

Sales: http://www.downunderonline.org

Acknowledgment: editors Dot Green, Sandra Lee and Sigrid

Macdonald.


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Cover photo of a rain maker by a Yorta Yorta member


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All at Sea.

I was twelve years old when I was brought aboard the HMS George in 1801.

I had been happily employed as an apprentice to our local blacksmith and

expected to take over in a few years’ time when Simon was too weak to hold

the horses for their shoeing. My job was keeping the fire going and watching

Simon heat and bend the shoes for the horses.

It was after our lunch break when there was a shout. I looked at Simon and

he said, ‘Go, Tom!’ I ran for the woods behind the smithy, hearing the dogs

barking nearby. I found my favourite tree and ran past it, then doubled back, to

put the dogs off my scent. I scarpered up the tree and none too soon, for the

dogs were headed straight for me. It was like they knew the smell of young

boys. My ruse didn’t work and I was given the option of coming down under my

own steam or having the tree cut down. I didn’t want to antagonise the bounty

hunters further so I climbed down. They had their axes ready and seemed put

out by the fact they couldn’t use them, selling the firewood to make more mon-

ey.

When I reached the ground, they tied me up with a length of rope to one of

the horses. I was paraded through my village like a common criminal when my

only crime was being of the right age to do the King’s service on board his many

ships. No one laughed and I could see my mother crying at the back of the

crowd. I hoped my younger brother, Matthew, had got away and would take

over my job at the smithy even though he was only nine years old. Father had

died years ago and I was worried about Matthew looking after our mother.


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Thus I was taken to Portsmouth which took another day and a night spent

at an inn. I was so tired from trotting behind the horse, I just fell to the ground in

the stables and slept. The next morning the innkeeper’s daughter brought me

broth and bread which really helped. We didn’t see any other boys like me and

when we passed through a village, people just stopped and stared, probably

guessing that I was being taken against my will. The two bounty hunters didn’t

say much except ‘Hurry up!’ They seemed anxious to get there as was I.

When we arrived the HMS George was preparing to sail. The wind was fluffing

the sails and the ship was rocking and pulling against the ropes and the anchor. I

was bundled up the gangplank, shown my hammock, and left to wander around.

The sailors were busy with the sails. The barber surgeon found me and showed

me his cabin which was close to the gun decks. He examined me and found me

fit before directing me to the galley for a feed.

Soon the ship was moving as was my stomach. Seasickness was the curse

of all sailors because it is so debilitating. I even fell over at one stage and decid-

ed to sit down and wait for who knows what because the swells seemed to in-

crease in size as we entered the English Channel. I didn’t know all this at the

time but a few boys explained it to me as I was the newest recruit on board. My

first night at sea in my hammock was fairly smooth as I wasn’t moving against

the ship.


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I was acquainted with my role as gunpowder boy the very next day. My job was

to use a powder scooper and scoop the powder out of the wooden barrel and

hand it to the gunner who placed it in the gun. This required some skill and

couldn’t be left to a boy. An older boy placed a shot into the barrel at the end of

the gun and there were shot gauges for the gunner to use so he fired off the

right shot.

The gunner would use a linstock, which held his match, to fire the gun. There

were two main types of gun: a breech-loading one which was made of wrought-

iron, and a muzzle-loading one which was cast bronze. I was assigned a muzzle-

loading one which had elm carriages that enabled it to run back and forth for

reloading and cleaning.

We were allowed a practice run once we were in the Channel but only one

shot each to save on ammunition. The rest of the time was spent scrubbing the

decks, setting up the dining room and washing dishes in the galley. I didn’t have

time to see what was happening outside the ship but whenever land was sighted

a cry went up from the eagle’s nest.

It was only after the Battle of Trafalgar that I was allowed to help out with the

sails. I was soon well rounded in my knowledge of ships though I still pined for my

mother and wrote to her whenever I could, which wasn’t often. There was so

much to learn and good pay when I had paid my way to offset the cost to the

bounty hunters. When I had worked my passage, I could toy with the idea of

staying on as it was quite exciting and better than shoeing horses.


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It was often my turn to work in the dining room on the castle deck which was

preferable to the hot, sweaty, cordite-filled decks below. I would take a glance

when I could of the rolling seas out of the deck’s window. This was where the

decisions were made, how to beat the other ships at sea. I understood that

everything folded away and became a battle station. The captain and his offic-

ers would soon turn up to eat their meal and we would be banished to the

galley to wash up. It was better than swabbing down the decks to washing their

pewter dishes. Of course, we didn’t use pewter, only wooden bowls, dishes,

plates and stave-built tankards.

‘HMS George was launched in 1788 so the captains were fortunate to have

survived so long’, said one of the gunners. We were below decks having a

break. ‘We have 100 first rate guns and the last battle we won was the Battle of

Copenhagen earlier this year. I found out later that the King wanted to break

the alliance of Russia, Prussia, Denmark and Sweden against British ships

imposing a blockade of French trade and their merchants. In April we entered

Copenhagen harbour. It was the job of the signal lieutenant to signal the

Captain’s commands from and to the other ships. A decision was made to

continue and we won. And when we sailed to Russia we discovered this pact of

neutrality had been disbanded so we had fought the Danes for nothing.’


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Another time, I learned of the blockade of Cadiz in 1797 where HMS

Theseus collided with a Spanish ship resulting in hand to hand combat

between the two crews. We won, of course.

It was another crew member who told me how Admiral Lord Nelson lost

his right arm. He was our leader and had worked his way up through the

ranks and now commanded the high seas for England.

‘It was during the Battle of Santa Cruz de Tenerife which we didn’t win.

The next year Lord Nelson had another defeat when he was in charge of

HMS Vanguard. Two ships and two frigates were burnt and nine gunships

captured. So Nelson didn’t win all his battles and was wounded.’

There were other battles, often involving the French, and I’m sure they

had their stories to tell besides the ones I was being told. Lord Nelson still

stood out as being mostly successful and being made an Admiral. In 1794 he

lost an eye by a shot at a sandbag when they were bombarding the town of

Calvi which surrendered on 10 August 1794, or so I was told by the barber

surgeon.

All these stories were told to me by various crew members when there was a

lull in training or action. Most of our time was spent scrubbing the decks in all

kinds of weather and being shouted at.


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Another gunner boasted, ‘I was with Lord Nelson on the HMS Foudroyant

during the Mediterranean campaign of 1798. We went first to Malta following

Napoleon but he had left. Then we tried Egypt but we missed him by two days.

‘We suffered a major defeat at the Battle of the Nile where Nelson was in

charge on HMS Vanguard. However, we managed to evacuate Corsica even

though the French had abandoned plans to invade it.’

By July we were back in England and I was allowed leave to go home. In

1803 we were at war again and I was conscripted. This time I served on HMS

Victory as a gunner in training. I did not have officer status, but like Admiral

Nelson, our captain, I was working my way upwards.

We created a blockade at Toulon until 1804 and chased a French ship

who escaped past the Strait of Gibraltar bound for the West Indies.

We were back in Portsmouth on 4 September and I took breakfast and

lodgings at the George Inn. I stayed here for 23 days when I had my orders to

sail again. It was pleasurable to be on dry land and in a soft bed and to see

my friends but I was getting bored.


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On 21 October we turned towards an approaching enemy fleet. The rest

were signalled to their battle stations and we were fairly confident even

though the French ships outnumbered us by 33 to our 27. The signal lieuten-

ant signalled from Nelson: ‘England expects that every man will do his duty’.

Unfortunately, in the ensuing battle, Nelson was killed. As news spread below

decks we found it hard to believe and put more vigour into our tasks. We

would have followed him anywhere. He showed an interest in us and thus it

was all the sadder to see him go.

It wasn’t a happy victory but England still ruled the seas, for now. I

stayed on and am now an officer being waited on by the boys. I make sure to

give them a smile when I pass them on deck but not too much as they have

to obey my orders without question. I want to be like Nelson who led his men

into many battles. Of course, he didn’t win them all but died doing what he

did best, leading his men into battle. That is my wish, to be the best officer,

gunner for now, and maybe rise to be captain of a ship with men loyal to

me.

* * *

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This is how my father came to be on a ship bound for Australia. It was

August 1805 and Father’s first command of a ship, the William Pitt. We

were to sail from Cork via the West Indies, past South America and the

Cape of Good Hope and onto Botany Bay. We were not a war ship so

there was no need for powder boys. My official title was cabin boy and I

had the unenviable task of fetching and carrying for the officers. The

female convicts only came on deck once a day but never in a storm which

cleaned everything, including the stench from below.

All of us were in the same boat, though, not knowing what to

expect when we arrived. Father was going to retire here and maybe find

work with Flinders mapping Australia. And I was to be apprenticed to

whomever would have me, maybe a blacksmith like my father. For now, I

revelled in the roll of our ship, watching the sailors trim the sails and stay-

ing out of trouble.

* * *

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The Brumby.

John was short for his age but that didn’t stop him from trying out for the football

team. Ever since he could walk he was kicking a football. His Dad encouraged

him at first but then his mother died and everything changed.

He hurried home to prepare the evening meal. It wasn’t much of a place, a

bark hut that let in the draughts and nearly made the open fire go out. At least

they had an oven on which they cooked their meals.

Tonight there was rabbit to be baked plus a few vegies from their garden

which John had peeled. Soon, both fires were going nicely so he got out his

homework, sums and writing. It was all rather boring and he couldn’t see the

point of it if he was going to be a woodchopper like his Dad.

But he couldn’t concentrate. Thoughts of his Dad and the school bully

clut- tered his mind. He wished he had his mother back as she used to listen to

him, offering a cuddle which swept away all the day’s bad things. He wanted to

tell her how he hated having to rush home to prepare the evening meal. How he

was bowled over numerous times at footy practice.

His Dad didn’t understand his need to be held, if only for a short hug. At

least he had his horse to ride to and from school. He was sure this horse had a

story to tell of life in the high country. His Dad had roped him one day whilst

both were hiding in a thicket. It was the sun shining on the white flash on his

forehead that gave him away. Then followed weeks of trying to break him in

though he never took to the saddle. John was the only one who could ride him


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so the horse became his school transport and a certain amount of freedom.

One day a new boy came to his school who was an Aborigine. He was old

enough to be in John’s class but he needed to do Bub’s or first year’s work

because he’d always lived in the high country and been walkabout so he’d

had no schooling. His name was Leroy or something like it; it’s what Mr Jones

called him. Fortunately they were all in the same room so he didn’t stand out

too much, except he was black and he did Bub’s work. Apparently Leroy had

been brought in by the police and was living with a white family in town who

had plenty of room. He even had his own bedroom, not like John’s corner in

his draughty hut.

Once the class got used to Leroy’s strangeness, Mr Jones had a brain-

wave and asked Leroy to tell them a story about where he had been before

coming to school. It was like drawing nails because he didn’t like standing out

the front of the classroom. The rest of the class was expecting a reprieve from

their work. No chance. Mr Jones had the big kids write down Leroy’s story as

part of dictation and the most accurate and neatest would get a prize. John

was sure he wouldn’t get the prize as his work was always messy. At least

they weren’t staring at Leroy the whole time. Here’s what John remembered of

Leroy’s story, with a lot of help from Mr Jones. It was about a horse he had

befriended before he came to town and which someone had stolen from him.


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My name is horse.

I live in the high country, in the mountains where there are many of

my kind. I can remember being a foal and travelling for many days

amidst the trees and bushes. I remember being hungry but had to

wait until it was dark before I could graze. I remember many things

and some things that others of my kind do not remember.

I am special because no man has ever ridden me. I am special be

cause I have a white mark on my forehead and the other horses show

me great respect.

I am many hands high and I love to gallop. I love the chill of the winter

snow and the heat of summer. I love to run and dodge the trees and

the holes in the ground. I love the smell of dew-laden grass and the

taste is exquisite.

Here Mr Jones stopped Leroy and they all sighed with relief. What a lot of

writing. This was going to take weeks for Leroy’s story to unfold and John

had writer’s cramp.

John wondered if the story of the horse was true but he wasn’t going

to be the one to ask him; he’d leave that for Mr Jones.

The next day Leroy came up to John as he arrived on his horse and


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patted it. He murmured ‘Brumby’ and John knew that his story was true. Leroy

offered to take John out to the cave where the horse and he first met. John told

him next Saturday would be good so they arranged to meet at first light.

That night John told his Dad that he was getting up early on Saturday to go and

look at a cave with Leroy. Jim wanted to know all about Leroy and was none too

pleased to find out he was an Aborigine.

‘Nothing good comes from being with that lot’, Jim said. ‘Don’t believe

everything he tells you and make sure he doesn’t pinch anything either. Where

are you meeting?’

‘At school, first thing,’ John said.

‘OK, but remember what I told you and make sure you’re home before dark.

I don’t want to be traipsing around the countryside looking for you. Got that?’

‘Yes, Dad,’ John said softly.

John had woken early and sneaked out of bed, taking a crust for breakfast. He

didn’t want to talk to his father who would only remind him to be home before

dark.


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He walked the horse to the road before galloping off down the track. Soon

he was near the school and sure enough, there was Leroy. The horse nuzzled

him as he held out a carrot. John reached down and helped Leroy up behind

him.

They paced the horse slowly so Leroy could remember his journey from the

cave to the town. Soon they found the cave where Leroy had hidden from the

government man. They then walked to other places where Leroy had stayed

and he showed John which berries were safe to eat.

When the sun was at its zenith, Leroy caught a small mammal which they roast-

ed over a warming fire. It was still the wet season so a fire was safe in the

mountains.

While they ate, Leroy told how he was captured by the government man,

how he was then taken into the village

‘I was untied and led into their house and into a room where a boy found

some old clothes for me to try on. They weren’t as warm as my possum cloak

but I was told not to wear it again until it had been cleaned.

‘And of course, I had to be cleaned as well. And they left me alone to do

that, after miming washing with soap and drying with towels.’

‘At least you had running water and a warm place to do it in,’ John said.


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‘I’ve got to fetch water and heat it so I only wash once a week.’

After making sure the fire was well and truly out and buried, they rode back to

town. But near their first cave, the heavens opened and they sought refuge,

even the horse.

John had matches so they made another fire and used some lighted sticks to

check out the back of the cave. There were no drawings, only fire-blackened

walls, with a few handprints.

The storm seemed to rage forever and John was worried about his

Dad’s reaction to him returning after dark. It couldn’t be helped as they wouldn’t

be able to find their way, not even Leroy or the horse.

When it was dark and the rain had ceased, they could hear voices and see

lanterns in the distance. They yelled ‘coo-ee’ and soon their rescuers caught

up with them. Jim was amongst them and only scowled at his son. He didn’t

say anything until they got home.

‘What’s the thing you like the most?’ Jim asked.

John bowed his head. ‘My horse.’

‘Then you will forfeit it for a fortnight’, he said.

John’s lip trembled but he forced himself not to cry.

‘Now dry yourself off and go to bed!’


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‘But I’m hungry.’

‘Too bad. I’m off to the pub to thank your rescuers. And I’ll know if you pinch

any food, not that there’s much here.’

Jim left and after hanging up his wet clothes in front of the fire, John climbed

into bed. As he drifted off to sleep, warm and snug, he relived his day. He was

glad to be home and dry and he was sad that he couldn’t be home by dark. He’d

miss his horse and he tried not to cry about it. Best of all, he had a new friend

who could show him lots of interesting things.

* * *


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Dogalogue

My name is Trixie, a Jack Russell terrier. I was called Trixie because I was full

of tricks. I now live in doggie heaven. This tale is for my master, Jack, whom I

know misses me more than he lets on.

We had travelled as far as Port Douglas and had just arrived home. We

were house-sitting for Suzanne who had three wild cats living in the house that I

was not allowed to play with, for my own protection. I was really disappointed

and sniffed at their closed door every time I was in the house because I’ve

always liked playing with cats.

Before we started for Port Douglas with Jack’s swag, our caravan, we lived in a

house at Black Rock where there was one cat called Susie. When I arrived at

Black Rock, after living previously for two years at another house, there was an-

other dog called Pooch living there already. There was also a woman called

Catie but she and Pooch disappeared one day and I had Jack all to myself. He

didn't much care for Susie, which was OK by me.

Susie used to play games with me and get me into trouble. In the

morning, she would run to the fence and I would chase her. Jack would then

scold me for barking at her as she teased me by sitting on top of the fence,

swishing her tail and acting unconcerned because she was out of my reach.


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Jack was annoyed because my barking disturbed the neighbours across the

road.

Other times, Susie would let me romp with her but Jack and his friend

Margaret would forever be telling me off for being boisterous.

'Trixie, gentle now! Don't be so rough!' admonished Jack.

But Susie loved all this attention from me. However, other cats didn't and ran

away. And that was my undoing.

I'd been quite happy in the old house by the seaside at Black Rock. I had my

own doggie door to come and go as I pleased, except when Jack closed the

laundry door to stop me escaping and running onto the street.

Sometimes, but not often enough, I would trick him and escape outside into

the yard before he could lock me in. Rarely would I be able to make my escape

onto the street anyway because he would trick me and lock me inside the back-

yard. It was a bit of a game and he would be really annoyed if I was outside be-

fore his father, Bruce, moved his car from the backyard and onto the street.

At first I was clever at escaping and lots of people would come running after

me; it was such fun! To me, it was a game, and I would run away up the street,

across the road, in front of cars, and sit in the middle of the road, anywhere

they didn’t want me to go.

.

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After awhile, nobody chased me, and they just left the gate open for me

when I did escape. I don’t know why

A few times when they didn’t leave the gate open for me, I had to spend the

whole night waiting at a side gate next to Jack's grandmother’s place. This was

inside her property and I knew I was safe until someone found me next morn-

ing. If I heard Jack I would bark, and he would be so happy to see me he would

forget to scold me and give me a nice breakfast.

One day our Black Rock house was sold and we moved into a caravan. Bruce

towed it to a friend of his called Suzanne. Her place was not far away so it was

only a very short trip. He had two tries at parking it. Then I was released from

the car and tied up to the back of the caravan.

Jack wandered in and out of Suzanne’s house and he and Bruce hooked

up hoses that I found great fun as the water kept spurting out at the joins. I just

loved playing with hoses and dripping taps and had been scolded on many oc-

casions, especially when a hose had been left dribbling onto a garden. I would

pat the wet soil and make a puddle. Then there would be a great to-do as I was

locked out until my paws had been towelled off.

When I did get to look inside the caravan, there was stuff everywhere! I

couldn’t see where we were going to sleep and thought, hopefully, that we may

sleep in the house and I'd get to play with the cats.

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I’d smelt the cats and I’d seen them looking at me menacingly from the front

door and on the window ledges. I was really hoping that I’d get to play with them

but it never happened. One was a very big cat who hissed and snarled at me if

she went outside, though Suzanne always shooed her back in.

After dark, Jack let me come inside the caravan to sleep. There was a big

bed that was very high up and without my special cushion to spring from, I

couldn’t jump onto it. However, there was another bed, narrow and not so high

so I was going to be alright after all.

Once we were on the road I couldn't come and go as I pleased. I was tied up all

the time, except when I was inside the caravan when the door was closed.

One night, near Hervey Bay, Jack left the caravan door open because the night

was warm and I was able to make my escape and chase a cat. I'd been lying on

the bed and Jack was busy with his computer. I made a great leap and was out

that door in a flash!

Jack and Bruce were gone for ages and even drove away. I was a little

worried they’d left me behind but eventually they returned. I didn’t come in until

Jack offered me a ‘Smacko’ treat.

The next day I heard Bruce telling a neighbour that he’d driven to a friend’s

place because he thought I’d gone there to play with their guinea pigs. I’d had

great fun with one earlier in the day but it had stopped moving and was


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dragging its hind legs after I’d jumped on it. There had been a serious

discussion and Bruce said he would buy another one, which he did before we

left. He wouldn’t let me near it but I could smell and hear it in the car and only

wanted to play with it.

In the car, Jack always put me into a harness that stopped me from jumping

on him whenever we stopped.

Sometimes I couldn't move at all.

'That’s because you’ve twisted the harness strap around the seat belt', Jack

said.

Once or twice Jack took pity on me, especially on a long trip, and released

me from the seat belt.

'It's for your own safety,’ he said.

The first time Jack smacked me on the nose was when I barked at trucks while

we were staying at Orbost caravan park. Trucks would go whizzing past on the

way to Marlo. I couldn’t understand why I had to stop barking at them. At

Mackay, he smacked me if I barked at the trucks in the street, outside the cara-

van park. Maybe he was worried about getting into trouble if I barked at all.

However, at a big dusty place called Tamworth, he was happy to let me bark at

the trucks going past on the highway when we went for a walk.


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I think Jack understood that it was good for me to bark as he let me bark

sometimes when we were in the car. If he had his window down, I could hear

the traffic and liked to bark. He would close the window to stop me and we

would be hot if we were going uphill because the air conditioning cut out.

I even liked to bark at the noise of water on the road, as well as stones.

Once, we were going to Mt Surprise and we were often off the bitumen into the

gravel. 'It's OK, Trixie, there's no danger!' Jack and Bruce kept repeating. There

were road works for a long way, so I spent a lot of time barking.

I didn’t want to go outside in the early morning when it was still dark. I waited

until the sun was up because I didn’t like the cold. Sometimes I jumped on Jack

when I heard his breathing change, which meant he was waking up. He would

stroke and pat me, and when he eventually moved, I'd jump off the bed and wait

impatiently at the caravan door, my toenails clicking on the lino while he

dressed. Then Jack would take the key and lock up before I went to relieve

myself. Aah!

Let me tell you, it was such a relief to go after eight hours. I didn’t want to

go near our home except when I was left outside or it was raining.

Once it was raining heavily at Eden and Jack told me to do it where we

were, under the awning. I compromised and went under the caravan so he


2

couldn’t watch me. I didn’t like people watching me as I attended to my toileting,

but Jack seemed interested in seeing me perform. Jack also kept encouraging

me to have a drink so I didn’t become dehydrated and this was something that I

liked to do privately, too. He was aware of this and if we’d returned from a walk

to the car, he would strap me in and leave me some water within reach, while

he organised himself. Sometimes the bowl fell off the seat and wet whatever

was on the floor of the car. Then he was none too pleased.

Jack was always within sight of me because I would bark if I didn't know where

he was. When he went for a shower, he would tie me up outside the ablutions

block though at Eden he left me a few times outside the caravan because we

were parked close by.

Often I was left outside the library for ages while he retrieved his email. At

least the patrons patted me and noticed me on their way in and out and I would

put on a great show when he did return. Then he would pat me and say:

'What a good girl!'

There were a few other times that Jack left me locked up in the car. The

longest time was when Jack and Bruce left me at Airlie Beach because they went

to Hook Island. We had spent the day walking around, checking out the pools and

shops. I was always tied up outside shops on the street. I was nearly run over


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in Traralgon, being too near a driveway. One of the times at Airlie Beach, I was

under cover and it was only as we were leaving that Bruce saw a "No Dogs"

sign. Dumb Bruce!

They went to the pictures twice in Tamworth and once in Mildura and I only

stressed out when they went in the daytime as it got too hot in the car and I lay

on the floor. I was nearly a hot dog!

Jack always made sure I had a bowl of water and the window cracked open

for air, and I was always taken for a walk when they returned. Sometimes it was

a short walk if it was dark, but when they returned from Hook Island we seemed

to run for ages, like they had been tied up too. Then we had a really long drive

back to Mackay, not getting back to the caravan until three in the morning.

I was quite content to wait most times, sleeping on Jack’s side of the front seat

on his special fleecy mat, with no harness restricting me. He only gave me tow-

els to rest on which he changed whenever I had wet paws.

When we stopped for fuel, Jack would let me out and tie me up to the front

of the caravan and leave me some water.

Sometimes I needed to relieve myself but I wouldn't go near the car so I

would wait until Jack took me for a walk where there was grass.

Once my paws smelt dreadfully and Bruce complained about the smell of

spilled diesel. Jack gave me another towel at the next stop, five minutes later.


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Bruce had had trouble filling up his gas tank in Grafton so we went to another

petrol station. It was here that he first scratched the side of the caravan and tore

out the aerial and loosened the power connection. Double dumb Bruce! Another

time he had trouble filling up with gas was halfway between Broken Hill and

Wentworth. It was only when we were a few minutes away that he realised that

he hadn't switched over to gas and his gas tank was still full! Triple dumb Bruce!

* * *

It was five months in all that we spent travelling north before returning to

Melbourne. I had Jack's total attention as well as the other people in the caravan

parks, and his friends and relations whom we visited on the way. Once we went

on a long trip without the caravan to Canberra and stayed overnight at a

cousin's place. They had a wonderful dog that was not as smart as me but still

good fun to play with. We ran around for ages outside in the garden and I still

got to sleep with Jack at night-time.

There were only two other occasions when I was let loose and allowed to

run to my heart's content. At Batemans Bay we visited a cousin and for some

reason, Jack let me run around their backyard which was not fenced in. I

thoroughly enjoyed myself in and outside the house where everyone made a

fuss of me, including giving me wonderful treats.

The biggest place I had to run was at Ipswich where Bruce had an-

other cousin called John. They had a hectare property fenced all the way. I was

able


2

to run to my heart's content chasing the trucks as they charged past.

John’s wife, Mary-Anne, gave me a bath when we arrived and she used

the special dog shampoo that Jack had bought near Ballina, where I had met up

with two huge dogs that weren't very friendly. We weren't able to be in the same

room together so I was happy when it was time to go home to the caravan.

However, it was at Ipswich that Bruce and Jack left me twice to get the

car serviced and Mary-Anne told them I howled. It was because I feared they

had left me behind and I didn’t want to stay with this stranger. Of course,

Bruce and Jack returned the second time with the car so we were on the

road again two days later.

It was truly wonderful until we were back in Melbourne and Jack left me behind

to go to school and Bruce to work. It was cold and wet and a neighbour’s cat

was teasing me. I wet Jack's bed one night and on the floor. He was annoyed

with me but wanted me to have some freedom. I took it and chased the neigh-

bour’s cat, running at full stretch after it along the main road… and then …

Rest In Peace.

Trixie

26/11/91-18/9/02

* * *

2


Flames and Wells and Sacred Sites

My name is Sean and we have been travelling for over an hour, following

an old trail of the Druids. We will surely meet one or more as they are

known to travel from where we left, Kildare, to where we’re going,

Glendalough.

Our leader, Brother Mark, explained before we left what he knew of the

Druids and how we should approach them, with respect. In my first few

months at Kildare I had heard many tales, the scariest being the one about

a young boy who was kidnapped and sacrificed on one of their ritual stone

altars. One day, before we left, I asked Brother Mark if this story were true.

‘Of course not,’ he said, ‘it’s a story to scare young boys like you to stay

near the church. When we get to Glendalough you will be warned about not

wandering alone near the well nor the stone circle.’

Our travelling group had prayed with the others before we left, first at the

flame site and secondly at Brigid’s well, about a furlong away. We were to

take a flame with us to light our way if we arrived after dark, and start a fire

if need be, like heating water for a drink. Stone flagons, filled from Brigid’s

well, were carried by everyone in our group of twelve, the same number as

Jesus’ disciples. We also carried enough salted meat and bread for two

meals, to be supplemented by whatever we found on our way, like

2

Australian short stories for boys (& girls)dandelions and berries.


3

We left Kildare in high spirits though my leave-taking was sad as I was

leaving my mother behind. We had lost father at sea and mother had

decided to join Brigid’s band of women and men. She was now a fully-

fledged nun who followed a life of prayer over the flame and drawing water

from Brigid’s well. I ended up living with the male novices and our paths

rarely crossed except at meal times in the refectory. I was going to Glen-

dalough because Brother Mark considered I would benefit from more pro-

fessional teaching and Kevin’s church at Glendalough seemed ideal.

While we were eating our lunch some men appeared on the path. They did

not seem happy to see us. They were obviously Druids by their coloured

robes, red ones, white ones and dark brown ones. The ones in red robes

carried staffs and threatened us to stand up and be examined. None of us

carried weapons so we showed we were no threat. One of those in a white

robe explained they were on their way to celebrate their ritual of St Brigid’s

feast day on 13 March. Imagine my amazement when I heard this as we

had just celebrated her feast day, too.

Brother Mark then spoke up: ‘We are going to Kevin’s church and

wish you no harm. We have students here who will study and work with the

monks there.’

3


‘Just stay away from our well. Kevin has built his church too close to it

and uses it to cook meat with his hot stones. We have warned him of the

consequences!’

‘Very well,’ Brother Mark replied, ‘we will pass on your warning.’

Thus the Druids went on their way with the red robes first, followed by the

white robes. Those in dark brown robes brought up the rear, struggling with

their food and water.

‘How will we get our water if the Druids are going to attack us?’ I asked Broth-

er Mark.

‘There are monks who will act as guards when someone has the job of

filling the water barrels. Naturally, you won’t be allowed on this water duty for

many years. You will, however, continue table duty in the refectory, making

sure the flagons are filled from the barrel.

Eventually we arrived on the outskirts of Glendalough. We could see the two

lakes and the tower. The church was hidden in the bushes and trees. Two

men materialised in the gathering gloom, drawn by our flame. They were from

Kevin’s community and guided us to the church where we made our

thanksgiving. I noticed there was a light in the tower which also guided our

way.

3


Then we were shown to our living quarters. Firstly, we were led to

the refectory to share the last of our meals which was supplemented by

freshly-cooked deer. I didn’t find out until the next day that they had indeed

cooked it in the well. It was quite delicious and a welcome change from

salted meat.

I slept well that night until the morning when we were aroused for Lauds,

the morning prayer of praise. Thus my life of prayer and study began at

Kevin’s on 14 March. I was shown the area above the kitchen where the

scribes copied out the holy books. That was part of my apprenticeship and

where I had to spend my afternoons transcribing until recreation time.

After an hour of sports of running and wrestling, I worked in the kitchen

washing roots and stirring pots. The number of people for each meal

varied and we had to find food for everyone. A small group of us were

hunters who had to be wary of the Druids and steer clear of them,

especially the warriors who wore red robes. Most days we had meat for

one meal at least. The rest of the time there was bread and water and

whatever we found growing wild.

Our last prayer was Compline which we chanted after we had quiet

recreation and where the monks shared their stories and passed on the tra-

ditions. Even I had to tell the tale of meeting the Druids on our journey


3

south. Most of the stories were scary ones and concerned the Druids and I

was never tempted to go near the well on my own.

Two months later Brother Bernard was my tutor. He asked me many

questions and I did not know the answers. I also wanted to know more

about the Druids as they seem very similar to us in their rituals and hierar-

chy. I learned the number three features prominently in their teachings and

they have three levels or divisions with the highest being the Druids. It is

believed there was a Druid who acted as a judge before the time of Kevin

whilst the priests and priestesses conducted rituals near oak trees and

standing stones.

The Christian story still holds me in thrall and I cannot get enough

of the stories of the martyrs. These men and women died for their belief in

Christ, sometimes with horrible deaths at the hands of the lions. It seemed

the people in the Roman Empire, which stretched far and wide, would not

tolerate any gods other than themselves. Jesus was born into this contro-

versy and would not be silenced. It was his followers who started his

church on the Feast of Pentecost when the apostles spoke in many

tongues.

We and the Druids have rituals, we have a hierarchy of priests and

nuns and we value both men and women within this hierarchy. Brigid is


3

portrayed with a bishop’s staff which signifies she was a bishop, higher

than a priest. I do not understand this as she is the only woman to have

been given this honour.

After a cycle of the moon, I was allowed to write to my mother. A small

party was returning to Kildare to help with teaching. These monks had

finished their apprenticeship and would not be returning. We had another

feast of deer using the same method as before i.e. heating the stones and

throwing them in the well. When the water was hot, the haunch of deer

was thrown in to cook. The Druids will not be pleased. I think I saw move-

ment in the trees behind us. I checked on our ribbons and they seemed to

be there, all twelve of them. We had placed them there on our first day at

Kevin’s to thank the Holy Spirit for delivering us safely. We gathered in the

low circle of stones and ate and joked and told of our time at

Glendalough. We wanted to impress the travellers with all our stories, so

we could remember them as well.

After listening to all these stories, I have a dream that night where

I am taken by two Druids dressed in red robes. I am blindfolded and my

hands tied. We seem to be walking a long way. Eventually we stop and my

captors remove my blindfold. There in the clearing are ten white robed

Druids and one in yellow who seems to be the leader. He motions two of

the white robes to bring me to the stone altar.


3

I am terrified, thinking they are going to sacrifice me. They release my

bonds and one takes hold of my right arm. He pulls up my sleeve and

bares my inner arm. The yellow robe throws back his robe from his right

arm to reveal a dagger. What is coming next? I have to lean over the

stone

and the white robes start chanting. Sweat is pouring from my forehead and I

am sure I am going to lose my arm or my hand. I turn my head away as I

don’t want to watch and grit my teeth so I don’t call out. Ouch! The dagger

slices through my arm which bleeds onto the altar. I faint. Then I hear the

bell ring to wake us up. I look at my arm and there is a mark, right where

the Druid sliced me.

* * *

These stories were told to me by my Irish grandfather and have been

passed down to each generation when the boy turns 12. I have travelled to

Kildare and Glendalough to see where my ancestors lived. We have nothing

like it here in Australia but we do have stories that are more than a few

centuries old. I have been to the top of Hollow Mountain in the Grampians

in Victoria and have seen a naturally formed well with water in it. No doubt

the first Australians have their stories to tell of what it was like growing up

without the white men.

* * *


3

Game, Set, Match

dimanche, avril 12, 2020

My name is Rafael and this is mon journal

Papa and I went to the tennis at the Monte Carlo Country Club for the

Classic. I was so excited as I had won a competition for two people to go. It

was the first time we could not travel by car because there was little or no

oil available so we went by bus which dropped us off almost at the en-

trance. At least buses could run on biodiesel.

Before the games started, we visited the tents with their displays of

tennis wear and equipment. We were in the northern section and had a

magnificent view of the Mediterranean. I was thrilled with our seats and I

knew I would find it hard to concentrate on the tennis match. There were

hundreds of yachts crowding the marina, also coming to the tennis.

It was a perfect day, watching the tennis and looking at the sea, and it

wasn’t until after lunch that I started to watch the ball boys. I also noticed

the line judges wearing a special headpiece to help them measure where

the ball had landed.


3

dimanche, mai 3, 2020

Three weeks later, Philippe has been bullying me ever since he found out I

wanted to be a ball boy at the next Monte Carlo Tennis Masters. He started

after lunch last Sunday when his mother had asked me what I was going to

do with myself when I was older. I replied I wanted to be a ball boy.

Philippe guffawed and his Papa told him not to be so rude. Philippe ridi-

culed me for being too small and knowing nothing about being a ball boy.

‘I’ve been to a match and I’ve watched a few matches on television so I

know something. I’m also a Monegasque, a native of Monaco, so that

should count for a lot,’ I said.

‘I’ve heard there are over eight million French junior tennis play-

ers,’ said Philippe, ‘so you would have little chance of being chosen. The

Monte Carlo Country Club is in France not Monaco.’

Auntie Sylvie added that robots do the job now, like the line judges. Papa

said, ‘No, there was too much movement for a robot to be a ball boy

because in the trials the balls were going everywhere except to the right

person.’


3


Last night, an uncle suggested I watch some tennis games on our 3D-TV. I

will go to our film lending store to see if they have any I could borrow.

The French Open, the Roland Garros, begins next week so I could

watch it when it is broadcast. We won’t be able to watch it if it rains and

there is no solar power left.

It would be good to watch a copy of a Monte Carlo Masters match on

clay with the famous Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer. While I am

watching, I will have to concentrate on what the ball boys are doing in the

background. The ones in the centre look more my size. I reckon I could roll

the balls to either end and pick them up from the middle when there’s a net

call.

I will find out how big a court is on the Internet or at the library, buy

some tennis balls and practise rolling them quickly but not too hard.


We’re the middle of the Roland Garros for 2020. Papa has let me watch

two afternoons of tennis and I’ve still to work out what the ball boys are

doing and when.

The ball boys seem to know how hard to roll the balls along the

ground. It doesn’t look very far and I checked out the dimensions of a tennis

court on the Internet on Friday. One site said halfway was 11.89 metres and


3

and another said 14.63 metres. Then I had to add on 5.48 metres for the

length behind the court. So I would have to roll the ball between 17 and 20

metres.

I watched some of the US Open yesterday from 2009 and the ball boys

were men who threw the balls overarm to each other. It was a women’s

match between Serena Williams and Kim Clijsters. Serena was serving and

was on the last point when she was foot-faulted. She really blew her stack

and threatened the female line judge. The judge maintained her position

and the chair umpire was forced to intervene and fine Serena a point for a

code of conduct violation. This meant she lost the match.

I watched the ball boys carefully and noted how they stood or knelt and

where. I noted how they ran off the court when they were being rotated. I

couldn’t see that there was anything else to learn. Except to get fit, by run-

ning short distances, picking up the ball and running back to the net! They

also stayed within each service court when picking up the ball and returned

to the nearest end of the net. Sometimes they joined the ball boys at the

base if the ball had ended up past the service line (I think that’s what it’s

called).


3

dimanche, juin 14, 2020

Philippe came by today as my friend, Arnaud, and I were out practising

throwing balls. He laughed at our efforts and said he could do better. We

took him up on that and he disgraced himself by a soft throw which landed

half-way. He demanded another go then trounced off saying this was for

babies.

I’ve been running two km each day as well as practising running then

picking up the ball, running and kneeling down.

vendredi, juin 26,2020

Arnaud and I headed off to the soccer field but the older secondary boys

were already there. I just knew they would jeer at us.

We decided to go to the opposite end and I rolled a few balls to Arnaud

and he quickly rolled them back.

Sure enough, the big boys, including Philippe, wandered down to see

what we were doing. One of them intercepted a ball and wouldn’t give it

back. It was a lost cause so Arnaud and I had to leave and find another

place to practise. We settled on a quiet street and continued rolling the

balls and running to pick them up.

So it wasn’t a total waste of time, just a lost ball.

4


dimanche, juin, 28, 2020

I watched some Wimbledon matches yesterday with Papa. Once it is over I

am on holidays though every day I have chores in the vegie garden.

Arnaud seems to be tiring of the ball games but that’s OK as I’ve been

practising throwing towards a fence and it comes back to me if I give it

enough pace.

dimanche, octobre 4, 2020

At last, I am now in secondary school and the Monte Carlo Masters is only

a few months away. I’ve put my name down to be a ball boy and the Monte

Carlo Country Club is going to trial me for some matches before winter. So

my hard work and persistence have paid off. I am so happy that not even

Philippe’s snide remarks at our family dinner of mine and his family last

Sunday could upset me. I’m on the way to a date with the Monte Carlo

Masters. I’m not good enough to be a famous tennis player but I know I will

be one of the best ball boys at the Monte Carlo Country Club.


As I neared the stadium I was feeling nervous. After all of my practise with

rolling the balls and picking them up, I was going to flunk it in front of all

these people, I thought. I was very proud to be dressed as a ball boy with

a new uniform and trainers.

4



As I neared the stadium I started to feel nervous. After all of my practise

with rolling the balls and picking them up, I was going to flunk it in front of

all these people, I thought.

I was very proud to be dressed as a ball boy with a new uniform

and trainers.

After some time, we were divided into groups of six, and told to

wait near the outside court where we were to work. My group was the

second one in rotation so we had to wait an hour. The older boys told us

not to worry, that they would look after us.

Well, I didn’t get to be a ball boy today as it rained. They said may-

be tomorrow or the next day. I bought my treat that my mother had given me

money for, on the way to the bus.

lundi, avril 12, 2021

I got to be a ball boy today, and boy, was it hard work! The sun came out

and we weren’t issued baseball caps. But we weren’t there for long – only

about an hour at a time. And I got to be a ball boy twice with rotation. I was

walking with my head held high. Early to bed and another six days to go. I

don’t expect to be a ball boy for the finals. At least I’ll be able to watch it.

* * *


4

The Girl in a Red Dress

I waited all afternoon but I didn’t see her returning from her music lesson. It

seems years ago that she started and, by my reckoning, would be in

second grade pianoforte. I don’t know whether she likes learning music or

not but every Saturday she skips down the road in her red dress to the lane

which takes her to the back of her teacher’s place. Mum told me her name

is Ruth and I know she lives five doors away. I’ve been wheeled past her

place though I’ve never seen her to speak to. I’m sure she knows who I am,

the boy with polio, everyone does.

I’d like to go to the Catholic school and learn the piano but Mum

can’t afford the lessons. It’s too much for her to even get me ready in the

morning let alone push me up the hill to the school, so I do home

schooling. Dad leaves for work too early in the morning so he can’t help

out. - he works at a construction site as a labourer.

Sundays are our day together when Dad wheels me down to the lane and

we memorise the names of all the people who live there.

I love the corrugated steel, the different colours of zinc, and the

roller doors. The dogs bark at us as we trundle past making a clack-clack

noise from the wheelchair.


4

‘Paul,’ Dad would say, ‘that’s Mrs White’s dog. What’s it doing in

the Smith’s yard?’

Sure enough, the distinctive creaky door bark of a terrier could be

heard in the wrong yard. We didn’t interfere though and conjectured how it

got there and whether its owner was just visiting.

It was a bumpy ride for me over the cobblestones. Even Dad’s

voice warbled a bit as we went along.

‘Remember,’ said Dad, ‘all the roads were like this and it was really

noisy before cars with their rubber tyres. The people in these houses had to

put up with a lot of noise from horses and carts. The worst job was the

night-cart man who exchanged the cans of people’s toileting. You can still

see the doors which he used, taking out a full one and leaving an empty

one behind.’

‘Yeah, I heard the joke about the night-cart man who put a full can

on his shoulder and the bottom rusted out. Yuck! You know what I’d like to

do, Dad.’

‘What, son?’

‘I’d like to paint this alley with the little girl dancing along it, with a

smile on her face. Could you get me paints or crayons, Dad? Please!’

‘I’ll have to see if I’ve got some spare change. What about we go

together next Sunday arvo and find us an art shop. Or a toy store might have


4

some. I remember my first visit to a toy store. I had some birthday money

and I got a red ute. I wasn’t into drawing much though I did win some com-

petition in Grade 5 as it was back then. I traced around a toy horse and

had fields for it and hills. That’s all I remember. Oh yeah, I had to go and

spoil the moment by saying I traced the horse!’

‘You never told me that story before, Dad.’

‘It’s one I choose to forget. Anyway, there’s no law against tracing.

What’s the name of this girl in your picture?’

‘I don’t know yet but Ruth is the one I’ll base it on. She looks so

happy sometimes as she exits the lane. She must have a good time of it. I

don’t know whether I’ll be able to get it or not.’

‘Doesn’t matter, son. That’s the joy of creativity, doing what works

for you. Anyway, you have to do your homework first. Have you finished

last week’s yet?’

‘Sure, it’s ready for you to take to your teacher friend. Can we visit

her sometime soon? After we get the paints or crayons?’

‘Okey dokey, Paul, it’s a deal. I can leave a note with her son, say-

ing we’ll be along in two week’s time and if that’s OK with her.’

‘Thanks, Dad, you’re cool,’ as I gave him the thumbs up sign.

‘Now, if we had a camera I could photograph the lane but I reckon I can

remember enough. And you can bring me back soon, eh?’

‘Yes,’ he nodded.


4

A whole month passed what with one thing and another. My teacher want-

ed me to write a story about a mythical creature because I had been study-

ing the story of a mermaid. I decided the protagonist would be a seahorse

and what happens to some pirates, who try to capture the mermaid. The

catalyst for the story is the Rainbow Serpent. Using my crayons, I drew a

picture of a mermaid on a rock, a seahorse in the water next to her and a

large rainbow-coloured snake not too far away. Of course, my painting of

the girl in the red dress will have to wait.

Mermaids are the creation of the Rainbow Serpent. As to why she

created her, I don’t know and can only offer a guess. I think

mermaids are part of the evolution as sea creatures left their

watery homes and prepared to live using oxygen only.

The pictures we have of mermaids with a tail instead of legs

are fairly accurate and because no man survived her call, there are

no eyewitness accounts to verify the makeup of a mermaid.

My mermaid and I communicated telepathically and I think

this is how she communicated to the sailors. In their minds, they

heard a beautiful woman singing and because they wanted to see

and be with a beautiful woman, especially at sea where it was

forbidden to have women on board.

The cold and wet wind would blow her hair away from her

face, streaming down and out behind her back. She would have

been a vision to behold amongst the dullness of the water on

which they travelled.

I did hear her voice once and it was very gentle, like I was


4

being lulled to sleep (like I am now). The temptation to sleep and drift

into the water took the sailors’ lives.

They were lost to mortal men but died peacefully and in love.

Their deaths or loss of life force was released and captured by the

Rainbow Serpent who used it to give my mermaid strength so she

could return one day to the world of wild horses.

I think I too was in love with this gorgeous creature. She could swim

underwater but not for long. Maybe in the beginning, when she was

first created, when she had gills which enabled her to breathe.

By the time we met, this ability had almost disappeared and

she swam with her head out of the water most of the time. Her legs

were quite like the tail of a fish, but her feet were webbed and she

used her legs close together as she kicked herself along.

She was never in a hurry and so she took her time when she

swam in the water.

I know the Rainbow Serpent loves me as she has provided

everything for me and visits every so often and lets me know how

things are progressing with her creating in the Great South Land.

I wish I could create something like she does, and she said I

could in my relating to the mermaid. I think about her often and look

forward to the times the mermaid leaves her rock and swims nearby to

chat to me. We can communicate whilst she’s on her rock, though I

find it more satisfactory if I can see her face to face.

As a seahorse, I think my mermaid friend has a beautiful tail

which she swishes around to control her underwater movements.

I feel very smug as I live nearby and can communicate with

her.


4

Was I ever jealous of the time she spent enticing these men

to our world?

I suppose I may have been and I realised there was no

competition,

I can’t call her my maiden as she doesn’t belong to me and one

day one of us will leave this idyll and travel with the Rainbow Serpent

and reincarnate in another part of the world, and maybe in another

form.

For now, I have this mermaid creature to myself, shared only with

passing strangers. From my position under the surface, I can observe

her all the daylight hours she is on her rock. Often she combs her

hair and the sea breeze may gently blow it so the strands billow out

as she turns to look down at me and acknowledge my presence.

There is so much love in those eyes, and so little

compassion for the sailors who would love to get closer to her. She

told me once that the men would hurt her if they got too close to her.

She told me they could hurt me by capturing me and putting

me in a bottle and showing me off to their friends. I was aghast when

she told me this as I know I would miss the freedom of the ocean, the

freedom to move in my little world, with no barriers around me.

If my mermaid was not nearby, I don’t think I would have

moved from my hidey-hole.

We are both the same colour, orange but not orange. My mermaid

has tints of red that show up in the sunset. My eyes are forever

feast- ing on her and the wonders of nature like to put on a grand

display for me so I may revel in her beauty.


4

She admonished me one day when I told her this. She said

it was the Rainbow Serpent who created these wonderful colours

and sounds and that we should thank her for her creations. I could

not argue with that and told her that her spirit was so wonderful that

it wouldn’t matter what she looked like, I would still love her.

She told me she blushed when I told her this and I was glad she did,

as I missed the delicate rose blush which had spread over her body

from my disadvantaged point below the surface. All I could ever see

was a shimmer of an outline of her, though that was enough as we

telepathically chatted all the while, in darkness and in sunlight.

My little world of reproduction went through its cycles as I spent my

time between chatting with my mermaid and looking after my endless

stream of youngsters.

Most moved on when they were able to fend for themselves,

and a few stayed and we all reproduced more of ourselves for my

mermaid to love.

Indeed, she did love each and every one of them and I

wonder if she wanted replicas of herself.

There seemed to be no time or aging whilst she was there

and she never changed in appearance.

Each day began with her ritual of greeting the sun with her

arms outstretched to its rays. It was like she was welcoming its light

and life and warmth into our part of the universe.

I was not sure whether this is what his teacher wanted. I showed Dad who

thought it was good but he’s Dad. It was to be two weeks before my


4

teacher returned my story with very few pen marks on it. It was definitely

not what she expected. She said I needed to get back to my book work

and maybe later I could spend time on my story and what happened to the

seahorse. She did say she liked it.

So life went on for me with my days full of homework and my spare time

with drawing. We couldn’t afford Play Station or anything like that but I

didn’t mind as I was too busy with my own creativity.

I eventually finished my drawing of the girl in the red dress, months

later, and procrastinated about giving it to Ruth. Maybe I would one

Saturday when she skipped home from music. Of course, she might be

upset that I had been spying on her, but that was a chance I would have to

take.

I didn’t want to be like the seahorse, just looking on. I had to take a

step forward or push myself forward, to venture into a world of sweetness

and light. It was easier writing the story than living life.

* * *

5


The Goldfields

‘Father, you’re late! We’ve been saving tea for you and we’re really

hungry.’

‘Well. Patrick, now you can eat and we’ll have peace and quiet while you

chew with your mouth closed.’

‘But I have so many questions to ask you, Father, like what to pack and

what time we’re leaving.’

‘Later, in my study, but first let me eat.’

‘Alright, later,’ I said.

Afterwards, I found Father counting out his gold. He had his balance beam

scale on his desk and was working out how much of a profit he had made

that week. I loved to play with it using the weights in the drawer under-

neath.

‘Tomorrow is Sunday and after lunch we’re all visiting Grandma

Sofie and Grandpa George. You have to be on your best behaviour and sit

quietly while we have afternoon tea. They’ll ask me about my latest trip to

the goldfields in Ballarat and Creswick and whether things have quietened

down after the Eureka Stockade and if I met Peter Lalor, the leader.’

‘I like to hear all this news, too, Father,’ I said.

5


‘You’ll hear it all tomorrow, Patrick.’

‘Thank you, Father, for letting me spend the next week with you. I

promise to stay out of your way when you’re dealing with the storekeepers and

the miners.’

’That’s an excellent idea, Patrick. Their lives are very rough and you

may hear some bad language. Make sure your mother doesn’t hear you re-

peating any like you did when you were three and your cousin taught you

“bugger shit bum” because something wasn’t going to plan.’

I’m sure I blushed to hear this but I had no recollection of such words

being uttered.

* * *

‘Now, our first stop is Ballan where we’ll change our pair of horses. We’ll

also stay the night in our wagon, as a safeguard, after we’ve eaten and I’ve

dealt with business. You’re not to wander too far away. In fact, I’d like you to

stay close to our wagon and keep an eye on things.’

‘Alright, Father.’

We’d been travelling most of the day, stopping for lunch and talking

to other travellers. The talk was mainly about bushrangers and how they were

robbing ordinary folk of their money. Of course, nobody travelled with much

gold, preferring to bank it and be paid out. But there were rich pickings on the

goldfields and word of a big nugget soon spread like wildfire. The troopers

don’t care and are probably still smarting from the revolt led by Peter Lalor


5

‘How come the bushrangers don’t bother us, Father?’

“Because we keep to the main track where there’s plenty of

travellers,’ he said.

I mused on that for awhile and soon Ballan came in sight. Father

pulled up opposite a store that displayed our pots and pans outside.

‘You stay here while I find a farrier for the horses and talk to this

store keeper.’

I sat out the front of the wagon, pretending I was driving the horses.

This was the first time I’d been allowed to accompany Father. It was Mother

holding me back, saying I was too young and that I had my studies to attend

to.

‘Patrick has to learn the trade if he is to make his way in the world,

my dear. Books may be good for some but my son Patrick is good at arith-

metic and I could use a hand in weighing the gold.’

‘What if he doesn’t like it? May I suggest he goes for a week in the

school holidays.’

‘It’s a deal,’ said Father.

So here I was, guarding our merchandise when a scraggy man made his

way over to me.

’’Ow much for this pot?’ he asked, pointing to a small pot hanging

off the frame near my head.


5

‘I’m not sure,’ I replied, ‘you’ll have to ask my father. Here he

comes now!’

But the man staggered off in the opposite direction, obviously

drunk.

‘What did he want?’

‘The price of this pot,’ I said, pointing at it.

‘And what price did you give him?’

‘None, as I didn’t remember. But he sloped off when he saw you

coming.’

‘Hmm, not good. I think I’ll have to stand guard tonight though I

could do with some sleep. Let’s cover the wagon and I’ll get some shut-eye.

You can be my eyes and ears, Patrick, but only wake me if someone tries to

steal a pot or pan. Then I’ll get you to run and fetch the troopers if I can’t

handle it myself. Pickings have been poor this week and there may be

trouble.’

Thus I took guard, wrapped in a blanket to keep warm, keeping an eye on

those in the street. A few troopers went by and I put my finger to my lips

and pointed to the back of the wagon. They nodded and went on their way,

their horses’ hooves kicking up the dust.


5

After awhile I felt drowsy and had trouble staying awake in the

warmth of the afternoon sun. I stepped down, being careful not to rock

Father too much. I walked around the wagon a few times to get the pins

and needles out of my legs. I could smell cinnamon buns from the bakery

next door and ventured closer to see if the baker would see me outside

and give me a bun. After serving a customer he came to the door and I

explained my predicament, promising that father would repay him.

‘No worries, boy. I know your father, Mr Byrne, and he’ll treat me

right. Here’s four buns to go on with and to have tonight. Do you have

enough water? Or would you like a soda pop?’

‘Yes, please,’ I exclaimed.

‘Go back to your wagon and I’ll bring it over.’

‘Thanks,’ I said.

As I turned to go back I caught sight of the scraggy man walking

towards me.

‘Any spare buns for a starving man, lad?’

‘No, Father said I was not to give anything away. Ask the baker

yourself.’

‘He wouldn’t give me the time of day, he wouldn’t,’ said the man.

With that he sloped off down the street towards the end of town.

I wondered why he didn’t go to the Red Hill mine at Ballarat where there


5

was always work, or pan for gold in the creeks nearby. But he probably

didn’t have a miners permit, let alone a pan.

Not my problem, I thought, as I bit into a crusty bun baked that day

and washed down with a soda pop. This was the life, with no school or

homework.

It was dark by the time Father awoke and I was feeling bored. The stores

had closed and some street lights had been lit. I told Father about the buns

and the soda pop and he had a bun right there and then.

Father engaged a passing pedestrian to bring two meals from the

hotel from where we could hear much noise. A pinch of gold for his troubles

and he soon returned.

‘I’m really hungry, Father. Maybe it’s the country air.’

‘I’m going outside to smoke my pipe so I suggest you go to sleep

now before the street gets noisy.

I had no sooner laid down my head when I heard a crowd of men noisily

rolling past. They were a belligerent lot who threatened to overturn the wagon.

I crouched inside, scared to death. Father took out his rifle and fired it.

The revellers quickly sobered and went on their way, muttering about father

ripping them off when it was the storekeepers who set the price for his goods.


5

‘I heard that the easily picked gold is running out and there was

anarchy in the air,’ said Father.

‘Does that mean I won’t be able to pan for gold tomorrow?’ I asked.

‘I think it would be best if you wait until you’re older and I was sure

of the man who was going to teach you.’

How hard could it be, sluicing water around in a pan with a groove?

‘I make a better living selling my pots and pans and I get to sleep in

a nice, comfy bed at least once a week,’ said Father.

I think we missed out on the gold fever and maybe Father’s world

was the way to go while the gold was still being dug up.

‘This gold won’t last forever, Patrick, but people will always need

pots and pans. Let’s see how you go in Ballarat where there’s lots of miners

and custom. I think we’ll skip Buninyong and go straight to Creswick. Hope-

fully the miners are quieter there because they’re still striking it rich.

‘Off to sleep, now, Son.’

I dreamed of pots brimming over with gold nuggets. Father was right, selling

pots and pans was easier and more rewarding than swilling and digging for

gold.

* * *


5

A Long Way to Freedom

Son, I know you’ve been through some tough times, not knowing where

your next bed is going to be, where your next meal will come from. I’m go-

ing to tell you my story as best I can remember. You think you have all the

answers but you won’t remember half of what has happened to us. I want

you to listen carefully because this is our story and you have to remember

it, to pass it onto your children. I know you are only 12 now and I’m sure

your classmates have asked you how you came to Australia. This is im-

portant as someone from the government might also ask you the same

question. Your memories and my memories may differ but you were very

young when we left Afghanistan, all of three years old.

As you know, we are Shi’ite Muslims like those we hear about from

Iraq. I don’t know which political faction of Hazara we belonged to but when

the Taliban captured Kabul in 1996, all the Hazara groups came together,

according to Wikipedia which you may check out.

‘What did Father do before we left our homeland?’

Your father was a shopkeeper in Kabul, like a fruiterer here. There were

extortion demands and in the end he sold his business for US$8,000. We

were in danger, too, from my father being a lawyer. Your other grandfather

is still there as he didn’t want to leave.


5

I was married to your father at the age you are now though girls

are two years older now, like Mary of Palestine.

‘Tell me about our journey to freedom.’

After packing our inadequate belongings, we went by bus to a town nearer

Iran then hired a car and a driver to go across the border into Iran where we

purchased visas. This took six days. We stayed with family members but

there was no work to supplement the sale of the shop. It was here that we

heard about Australia. As I said, you were three years old and it was like a

holiday for you as you had plenty of cousins to play with.

You won’t remember this but we somehow found transport to take

us to Malaysia via Pakistan all the way to Surabaya in Indonesia. All this

time you were growing up without the benefit of schooling and mixing with

all types of people. Our money was dwindling because we wanted the best

food we could find for you. We didn’t want you to be sick when we got to

Australia. We didn’t want to give the government an excuse to send us

back.

At one camp, I found an English teacher who spoke both Parsi, our

language, and English. Our original language is Hazaragi, an eastern dia-

lect of the Persian language. You were too young to learn and your father

was too stubborn. But I went and that is why my English is so good.


5

One day your father paid for a plane flight to another town but we ended up

on a bus for three days and three nights. We had to pay for food and drinks

but not everyone on the bus had money. Also, we had no Indonesian

rupiahs and therefore no change for our US dollars so we paid more than

required.

‘Wow, I bet you were upset!’

Eventually we came to a port where there was a pirate ship going

to Christmas Island. Unfortunately the Australian government had

declared Christmas Island to be no longer Australian territory – the so-

called Pacific solution. So we left by boat bound for Nauru instead. This

boat sank and I know at least two women drowned. The Norwegian MV

Tampa came to our rescue and thus we arrived on Nauru after much

political wrangling.

Your friends’ parents will have heard of this incident, saying that children

were thrown overboard. The Australian government did not want us on

their doorstep but if the Tampa captain had not helped us we would not be

here having this conversation.

‘How long were we on Nauru?’

Five long years passed on Nauru and in that time I spent every moment

learning English. Some days I despaired of ever reaching Australia and

what awaited us there. Would we be persecuted, spat upon, because we

6


were different? Would your father ever find work? He would not go to the

English classes and spent his days with the other men from our area. Then

I fell pregnant with your brother. The authorities were not pleased but what

could they do about it? We had been locked up for so long. Maybe the ba-

by would make it quicker to get to Australia.

We saw no lawyers and no letters for three or more years. Then one day a

letter came to me from a man in Australia. He’d enclosed a phone card and

a short letter which gave me hope. At least one person in Australia was

aware of our plight. Maybe he could find us work, a place to stay. He lived

in Melbourne so maybe we could go there where there was a refugee

group which helped refugees to find work or study and a place to live.

One day, in 2004, we heard that our friends from the camp were going to

Canberra. There was a lawyer, Julian Burnside, who was advocating for our

release, plus Miriam Lee, a refugee advocate. We had been in mandatory

detention for five years and some of us were offered temporary visas and

others, bridging visas. This means we are only allowed to stay here tempo-

rarily and have to prove we can be independent of the government or else

be returned to Afghanistan where we will be persecuted.

‘Why did you settle in Canberra?’

6


Finally, we arrived in Canberra after one night Brisbane. We stayed in a

woman’s house for about a month before being given our own place, this

two-bedroom apartment, a 25 minutes walk from the centre of Canberra.

You are nearly 13 now and going to a Training And Further Educa-

tion school to learn English. Next year you will attend a high school in year

9. You are still not proficient in English so you will struggle with the other

subjects. Unlike me, I have had our story published by my TAFE teacher.

And your father and I will continue to study English for a long time.

Your father hopes to get work on a farm to supplement our Cen-

trelink payments, which are generous. He wants to buy a knitting machine

to make jumpers which he could sell at a market, if any exist. He still can-

not drive a car but plans to get his licence. Learning English is important

for him to pass the written part of the exam especially if there is no exam

in Parsi. I will have to find out for him.

‘What obstacles are there against us staying in Australia?

We only have a bridging visa for three years, which causes us great dis-

tress. I hear that lawyers are advocating against this on our behalf. We

need to show we can be financially independent. Your father has also done

embroidery but we don’t know if there is a market for this. We would need

cloths and threads to begin, so again, money is needed to buy them.


6

I was a tailor/seamstress for other refugees, altering clothes for free. May-

be I can barter to supplement our food items. Your brother is now two years

old and I still need to stay at home to mind him. Altering clothes could be

done from home. We are allowed to earn some money and so we would

need tax file numbers and then an Australian Business Number to declare

our earnings and claim expenses.

There is much to worry about but your father is very happy to be

living in Australia, so much so he smiles all the time. We will stay in Can-

berra while you are studying so you may be with your friends.

It’s been 10 years since we left Afghanistan. There is no possibility

of our returning as there is no future for us there, as well as the danger of

being related to my father.

Our local church group has supplied all our electrical goods and

furniture. We have an air conditioner and a heater so hopefully next winter

we won’t catch colds again.

Remember always the acts of kindness and generosity from peo-

ple who have never met us. May you grow into a son who is grateful to all

those who have taken him in.

‘Thanks Mother, I will remember.’

* * *


6

The Rabbit-O

I’m at the beach, on my surf board, trailing my fingers in the water. The sun

is shining and the water is keeping me cool…

‘Wake up, sleepy-head. Are you going to stay there all day? You’ve

got chores to do, Nigel. Don’t forget your hat as it’s going to be a scorcher!’

Just my luck, Dad’s home on a hot day when I could be at the

beach.

I resist reading the next chapter of my book on sailing. I want to join

the Sea Scouts but Dad says it costs too much money to get a uniform and

everything. He did make a deal, though – I had to do my chores for a month

without being reminded. So I was back to square one because he had to

wake me up. It was never going to happen at this rate.

I had breakfast before taking out the scraps bucket for the chooks. I fed

them some grain as well and checked their nesting boxes – six eggs today.

We lived on eggs because we couldn’t afford anything extra from the shops.

Mum baked our bread and Dad supplied the rabbits. He keeps promising to

take me with him into the paddocks to collect the rabbits but it hasn’t

happened yet. He thinks I’m too young and that I wouldn’t be able to keep

up.


6

Besides, I need a pair of boots for protection plus long pants and a

long-sleeved shirt. We could go to the op shop but they’re in the next town.

We don’t have a car and I don’t like to ask for a lift from my best mate, Har-

ry. Harry’s alright but he always has new school clothes and books and

pencils, Derwent even. He gave me a blue one once but only because it

was shorter than the others. Of course, we are like chalk and cheese, me

being quiet and him noisy. We are of a similar build and play local football. I

have to borrow boots to play but Harry’s Dad was happy to give me a lift to

our away games.

So here I am, stuck at the end of town, no-one to play with but I do have

my books. At least the lending library truck comes by once a month and I

now know the librarian well-enough to talk to. She even makes suggestions

for me.

I sneak back inside to my bedroom and make a start on my book. Too

late…

‘Nigel, get out here. I need you to come with me selling these

rabbits.’

‘It’s too hot. And I’ve got a great book to read on sailing.’

‘Books aren’t going to put food on the table and pay for your Sea

6


Scout uniform.’

My ears prick up and I leap outside, ready to brave all, even to the

hat on my head.

So we set off with Dad’s hand cart full of rabbits which he’s

collected this morning.

‘Rabbit-o! Rabbit-o!’ we yell as we wander round the town.

By lunch time we’re parched so Dad paid for two lemon squashes at the

milk bar.

‘Reckon we should call it a day, eh Nigel? It’s getting too hot and

the townsfolk don’t want to leave their cool houses to buy dinner, even if I

do skin it for them.’

I can’t agree more so we head for home. I’m too tired to eat lunch,

much less go for a swim which is about a mile away. I lay down on my bed,

and instantly fell asleep with my sailing book beside me.

I dream of going bush looking for my Dad. He’d been caught by one of his

traps and he can’t release it. He’s lain there for three nights and is not in a

good shape. I find him and release him using my new boots. The other

rescuers organise a stretcher and so he ends up in hospital with a broken

ankle and lacerations. Now he has to take me hunting for rabbits.

* * *


6

‘Why do you catch rabbits, Dad?’ I asked one Saturday.

‘Rabbits are vermin,’ answered Dad. ‘They were brought here from

Europe for sport in 1859. I’m sure you could read all about it at the library

that you love to visit. Anyway, the farmers hate them because they erode

the soil and ring-bark the young trees. The only good rabbit is a dead one.

You’re going to meet our nearest neighbour one day when you’re older so

he’ll know not to shoot you first then ask questions later. I get a shilling

from him for every rabbit I find in my traps and he lets me sell them plus

keep the skins if I want them, too. The paddock where I trap is free of

animals and he rotates his sheep so they’re not caught. ‘

‘Why don’t they have a fence to keep them out, Dad?’

‘They tried that once; it’s in WA. This fence was a beauty, went for

miles and miles. Anyway, it didn’t work as rabbits can jump over and

burrow under or just hop through if a farmer leaves a gate open. They’re

pretty clever.’

One day, he said, one day he would introduce me to our neighbour, the

farmer. Everything was “one day”. Why couldn’t he take me out now? Of

course, I didn’t have the right boots and being summer, there was the

danger of snakes. They scared me a little and I always made a lot of noise


6

when I hung the washing out for Mum. Our backyard grass was always long

but Dad wouldn’t let me mow it as I didn’t have any boots or long trousers.

How could I get the right boots so I could do the things Dad did and join the

Sea Scouts?

How could I make money without boots? Dad would give me a

shilling for every rabbit we sold but we weren’t selling any fast enough for

me. People in town weren’t interested in eating rabbit, it was for poor

people. Though with the Depression even people from well-to-do houses

were coming out and making a sale. I know I’m impatient as Dad keeps tell-

ing me. But I really want to be like him and trap the rabbits and sell them.

Maybe my dream will come true, but I need my new boots to release the

trap.

It’s funny how you grow up. I used to like hearing bunny stories. The

stories were silly but good fun to listen to. There was even a story about a

wombat being caught in a trap. It was from a Snugglepot and Cuddlepie

picture book by May Gibbs. I felt sorry for the wombat as there was no

animal strong enough to release him. Fortunately a human turned up and

did just that. There were two other bunny stories for really young kids

called picture story books. I can remember Bunbun, the middle one who

was a middle child and often in a muddle. The other one was Boo, Bunny

with lots of spooky words for Halloween night.


6

I once asked Dad for a pet bunny.

‘Could I please have my own bunny? I’ll look after it and feed it and

give it water. Please!’

‘Don’t be stupid, Nigel. We have paddocks full of them next door.

People in town pay for them to eat. What about a dog?’

‘Ok,’ I said and then brightened up.

‘We could help you out with your rabbiting!’

‘Maybe. Wait and see if we find a suitable dog.’

Of course, we didn’t. We found a mutt in our yard that had

obviously run away or been dumped.

‘Let’s call him Mopsy,’ I said.

‘Whatever,’ grunted Dad.

So I got over having a pet bunny and moved quickly into schooldays and

dogs and later swimming. The beach was far enough away that I was hot

and tired by the time I got back home. Mopsy loved it and bounced around

me despite the heat. Mopsy went to dog heaven one day after chasing a

car and I didn’t want another dog. I was looking forward to high school and

getting my new boots. They would have to do for school, the Sea Scouts

and rabbiting.


6

At long last Dad and I went into the big shopping centre by bus. It was the

end of the Christmas holidays and the shops were busy. We’d counted up

our pounds, shillings and pence and we hoped we had enough to buy the

boots and maybe some long trousers. If not, then we would go to the op

shop and see what they had.

I love the tangy smell of leather in shoe shops and couldn’t wait to

try on a pair of lace-up boots. We looked in about five shops before Dad

headed off for the op shop outside the shopping centre. They had lots of

boots and I tried on heaps. Some were too worn and others not the right

size.

I chose a size 8 of black lace-up boots that protected my ankles.

‘It doesn’t matter if they’re a little worn as you’ll soon grow out of

them and we’ll be back for another pair. You’ll be helping me sell rabbits for

years.’

‘That’s OK,’ I said, ‘maybe you’ll let me go bush with you soon and

pay me more.’

‘Maybe.’

So I got my boots and I fulfilled my dream of trapping rabbits. It’s hard yak-

ka but I love it.

* * *

7


The White Shirt

Late one evening I was washing Dad’s white shirt. It was his lucky shirt, ev-

er since he put through his first property deal wearing it. That was over five

years ago when my mother was still alive and able to wash his shirts. But it

was this particular one that he treasured and it could only be washed by

hand.

When my mother died I was given the job even though I’m a boy

who is now twelve years old. Father and I live in a huge house. To get to the

front door from the living area you have to go up ten steps. The door is solid

with no spy-hole to see who is there. And no chain so there is no protection.

When Mother was ill we hired a maid to help out with the cooking

and cleaning. When I come home from school Rosa is there with a snack for

me. The only thing she doesn’t do is wash the white shirt. Father thinks it

brings him luck only when he wears the shirt and I wash it. But I can’t be

doing this when I’m in high school and I start next year. I’ll be busy with my

studies and sport like football practice so I won’t have time to wash and iron

his shirt. Rosa and Father and I sat down one evening to discuss these

matters and Father came to a compromise. If I would wash his shirt at night,

Rosa could iron it in the morning if it needed it.

7


The following year we put the new plan to the test and father was still

successful in his business. So was it my washing the old white shirt or just

father wearing this shirt? The day would come when the shirt could no

longer be mended by Rosa, and Father would have to buy a new shirt.

One evening whilst I was washing the original white shirt, the

Monsignor came to visit Father. Rosa had gone home and I was all alone.

Monsignor didn’t worry me too much as I had little to do with him, but

Father put great store by his words and his work. They had both wanted

me to be an altar boy but I told them I didn’t like getting up early in the

morning and I had to iron father’s shirt. They left me alone and I was happy

about that, even though I had to go to Mass on Sundays with Father. He

always wore his old white shirt in case some of the parishioners asked him

about properties, which happened quite a lot.

Monsignor had arrived unannounced on the off-chance that my

father was home. I told the Monsignor that he shouldn’t be long and would

he like something to drink.

‘No thanks. Do you have a pencil and some paper? he asked.

‘Sure,’ I said and went to find some in father’s office.

‘You probably want to know why I want to draw. I like drawing

houses and thought I would start on one of your house. It’s got lots of

windows and shutters, a red door and a tiled roof.’


7

‘OK,’ I said and brought him the materials to the dining room. I

didn’t want him in father’s office as that was his personal space and I didn’t

think Father would be too pleased if I left the Monsignor in there, poking

around.

Monsignor finished his sketch and took it home. Father had still not

arrived and I was starting to become worried. I didn’t know whether to wait

up for him or go to bed. As it was after 10 pm I opted for bed. In the

morning when I got up, Rosa had arrived and ironed the shirt. But there

was no sign of Father. I went to his bedroom but his bed was still made

up. So where had he spent the night? Maybe he was too drunk to come

home but he very rarely drank too much, especially when he had to drive

home. Whom should we ring? Rosa knew where he was going last night

so she rang Mr Francis but he hadn’t seen Father all evening and

wondered where he had gone instead of being at his place. He wasn’t

worried and hadn’t bothered to ring us. He suggested we go to father’s

office and see whether he had fallen asleep at his desk.

Rosa and I caught the bus to Father’s office but it was locked and

the shutters were down. What next? Perhaps, the police? The station was

close by so we walked there to explain our predicament. Fortunately there

was no-one before us so we didn’t have to wait very long. The sergeant


7

behind the desk didn’t seem too worried but made some calls, including the

hospital, in case Father had been taken there. There was nothing at the hos-

pital so the sergeant put up a notice about the missing man and the registra-

tion of his car.

The sergeant suggested we make a list of his friends and where he had

been in the past week. Another policeman went to Father’s office and broke

in so he could check that father had not fallen down and to look for his diary.

There was nothing again. Where could he be and why had he not kept his

appointment with Mr Francis? He was going straight there from home so he

may have met someone on the way. He would not have gone for a drink and

miss his appointment.

Word soon reached the Monsignor as he was rung to ask about his

visit to our house. He could confirm Father was out and only his son at

home. He even showed the drawing of our house to prove he was there.

The police were baffled but the Monsignor was able to give the names and

telephone numbers of people in his parish who knew Father. Each person

was visited and each time the police drew a blank. His doctor was asked if

Father succumbed to black-outs but no, nothing had been spoken of when

Father came for his annual check-up. Pawn shops were the next port-of-call

by the police but, again, no-one had brought in any male jewellery.


7

That evening, on the news, the police commissioner and the Monsignor

were interviewed with both requesting the public to check their sheds in

case Father had collapsed and fallen asleep. There was no other explana-

tion. If only he had been wearing his white shirt which contained magical

qualities.

Rosa stayed at our house that night as the telephone kept ringing

with friends asking for news. It was the first time in five years that I had not

had to wash his white shirt.

The next day brought more of the same. The police came round twice to let

us know they were no further in their investigation.

‘I can’t go to school with Father missing. I wouldn’t be able to con-

centrate. Rosa is looking after me. Is there anything I can do?’

‘Yes,’ said the policeman who was doing all the talking. He was tall

and softly spoken, a good one to have around to keep everyone calm.

‘Have you checked everywhere in the house, cupboards? Have you

checked your shed?’

‘Yes we have but you’re welcome to double-check,’ I said.

He and the policewoman pulled on gloves and started their search

of the house. They also checked his office for a diary which they found

under some papers. At last they had a clue to where he could have gone


7

but it pointed to home – he was expecting the Monsignor. Then we heard

an exclamation and Father came rushing into the lounge room where we

were. He raced out the door with the police in pursuit. What was going on?

It seemed hours later when the police revisited us. They had caught up

with Father who gave a long-winded explanation as to why he was hiding in

his own office. We were amazed we didn’t know but, of course, this was the

only place left in town unless he had been driven away. It transpired that a

shady deal had been struck and Father wanted to withdraw. The buyer

wouldn’t let him and he didn’t know what to do.

Only the Monsignor knew Father’s secret and he had helped him to hide.

Now it was up to the police to prosecute the buyer. We might even have to

go into Witness Protection as this person is renowned for killing people who

don’t agree with him. So much for the luck of the old white shirt. I

suggested Father change colours but not to yellow, which was for cowards.

* * *


7

Bibliography

Galbraith, Kathryn. (2008). Boo, Bunny. Orlando: Harcourt, Inc.

Gibbs, May. (2008). The Snugglepot and Cuddlepie picture book/words byN. Georgeson. Belrose West, NSW: Murray David Publishing.

Hickman, Kennedy. (n.d.). Vice Admiral Horatio Nelson. Retrieved 16 July 2010 from

http://militaryhistory.about.com/od/naval/p/nelsonbio.htm

The Mary Rose Trust. The Mary Rose museum and ship hall. Portsmouth: The Trust, (1979).

McCullough, Sharon Pierce. (2001). Bunbun, the middle one. Bristol: Barefoot Books.

Philip’s quick reference world atlas. London: Octopus, 2006.

Sacred sites of Ireland: Kildare and St Brigid’s cathedral. Retrieved 4 January 2011 from http://www.sacredsitetour.com/sacred-sites-of-

ireland/kildare-and-st-brigids-cathedral.html

Sports Yahoo. (n.d.) [Foot fault – Serena Williams]. Retrieved 23 May 2010 from

http://sports.yahoo.com/tennis/blog/busted_racquet/post/Serena- Wil liams-berates-official-loses-match-fo?urn=ten,189028

Tennis Australia. (2010). Court and enclosure dimensions. Retrieved 21 February 2011 from http://www.tennis.com.au/wp- content/uploads/2010/08/dimensions-information-sheet.pdf

To get to Monte Carlo tennis. Retrieved 13 May 2010 from http://www.monte-carlorolexmasters.com/Venue/Site-Access.aspx


7

Wikipedia. (2011. Ballan, Victoria. Retrieved 28 February, 2011 from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ballan,_Victoria

(2011). Buninyong, Victoria. Retrieved 6 March 2011 from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buninyong,_Victoria

(2011). Eureka rebellion. Retrieved 4 March 2011 from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eureka_Rebellion

(2010). Glossary of tennis. Retrieved 18 June 2010 from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_tennis

(2010) Roland Garros. Retrieved 3 June 2010 from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roland_Garros_(aviator)

(2011). Rabbits in Australia .Retrieved 4 February 2011 from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rabbits_in_Australia

(2010). Tennis court .Retrieved 3 June 2010 from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tennis_court

(2011). Victorian gold rush. Retrieved 4 March 2011 from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Victorian_gold_rush

Wimbledon. (2010). Ball boys and ball girls. Retrieved 13 January 2011 from http://www.wimbledon.org/en_GB/about/guide/ballboys.html

World Book, Inc. (2007). Rabbits. Chicago. Vol.16, Q-R, p.48.

(2007). Trafalgar. Vol. 19, T, p.366

* * *


7

Comprehension Questions

Chapter 1, All at Sea.

1. What was the name of the first ship that Tom sailed on?

—————————————————————————————————————

2. Where did Tom work before he was kidnapped?

—————————————————————————————————————

3. How did Tom try to escape?

—————————————————————————————————————

4. What was the name of his younger brother?

—————————————————————————————————————

5. Where did Tom sleep?

—————————————————————————————————————

6. What was Tom’s job onboard ship?

—————————————————————————————————————

7. What did Tom have to do in this job?

—————————————————————————————————————

—————————————————————————————————————

8. What is a linstock?

—————————————————————————————————————

PTO


7

9. When was Tom allowed to help out with the sails?

—————————————————————————————————————

10. What was the signal from Nelson on 21 October?

—————————————————————————————————————

11. What happened to Nelson shortly thereafter?

—————————————————————————————————————

12. What was the name of Tom’s ship when he was captain?

—————————————————————————————————————13. Go online and look up Nelson, Admiral and the Battle of Trafalgar.

14. Where is there a statue of Nelson in London?

15. Look up Matthew Flinders. Which continent did he map?

* * *

8


Chapter 2, The Brumby.

1. What are the names of the two boys in this story?

—————————————————————————————————————

2. What is John’s house like?

—————————————————————————————————————

3. How did John go to school?

—————————————————————————————————————

4. What was the name of their teacher?

—————————————————————————————————————

5. Where does the horse in Leroy’s story live?

—————————————————————————————————————

6. What did Leroy call John’s horse?

—————————————————————————————————————

7. What did the boys cook for lunch?

—————————————————————————————————————

8. What happened as they were making their way home?

—————————————————————————————————————

9. Where did they shelter?

—————————————————————————————————————

10. Why did John get into trouble?

—————————————————————————————————————11. Do a search of brumbies and the Snowy Mountains.

* * *

8


Chapter 3, Dogalogue.

1. What is the name of the dog?

—————————————————————————————————————

2. What is the name of her master?

—————————————————————————————————————

3. Where did they first live?

—————————————————————————————————————

4. What was the name of the father?

—————————————————————————————————————

5. What did the dog like to do with a dribbling hose?

—————————————————————————————————————

6. What happened on the night when the caravan door was left open?

—————————————————————————————————————

7. What happened at Orbost?

—————————————————————————————————————

8. Where were they when the dog barked in the car?

—————————————————————————————————————

9. What happened at Airlie Beach?

—————————————————————————————————————

—————————————————————————————————————

PTO


8

10. Why was the father dumb?

—————————————————————————————————————

—————————————————————————————————————

—————————————————————————————————————

11. Did they take the caravan to Canberra?

—————————————————————————————————————

12. What happened to the dog when they returned to Melbourne?

—————————————————————————————————————

13. Use an atlas and outline the east coast of Australia. Mark in the towns in the story. Use poster paper and display it.

* * *


8

Chapter 4, Flames and wells and sacred sites.

1. What is the name of the storyteller?

—————————————————————————————————————

2. Where does the story begin?

—————————————————————————————————————

3. What is their destination?

—————————————————————————————————————

4. Who is their leader?

—————————————————————————————————————

5. From where did they fill their stone flagons?

—————————————————————————————————————

6. Whose community had his mother joined?

—————————————————————————————————————

7. What were the colours of the Druid’s robes?

—————————————————————————————————————

8. What was their warning?

—————————————————————————————————————

9. How many lakes are there at Glendalough?

—————————————————————————————————————

PTO


8

10. What is the morning song of praise?

—————————————————————————————————————

11. Who became the boy’s tutor?

—————————————————————————————————————

12. Why was Brigid special?

—————————————————————————————————————

—————————————————————————————————————

13. Trace a map of Ireland and mark in Kildare and Glendalough.

14. Do a search of both places and paste in any pictures you find of wells and towers.

* * *


8

Chapter 5, Game Set Match.

1. In what years is this journal set?

—————————————————————————————————————

2. What is the name of Rafael’s, bullying cousin?

—————————————————————————————————————

3. What is a Monegasque?

—————————————————————————————————————

4. In what month is the Roland Garros played?

—————————————————————————————————————

5. How far did Rafael reckon he would have to roll the ball?

—————————————————————————————————————

6. What is the name of Rafael’s friend?

—————————————————————————————————————

7. What happened in October?

—————————————————————————————————————

8. What happened on the first day when Rafael was to be a ball boy?

—————————————————————————————————————

9. How many times was he a ball boy on his second day?

—————————————————————————————————————

10. Do a search of the Monte Carlo Country Club. What is the name of the sea next to it?


8

* * *


8

Chapter 6, The Girl in a red dress.

1. What is the name of the skipping girl?

—————————————————————————————————————

2. Which day of the week is their day together for father and son?

—————————————————————————————————————

3. What does Paul want to do?

—————————————————————————————————————

4. What did the Rainbow Serpent create?

—————————————————————————————————————

5. How did the mermaid and the seahorse communicate?

—————————————————————————————————————

6. How did the sailors die?

—————————————————————————————————————

7. Did Paul’s teacher like his mermaid story?

—————————————————————————————————————

8. What was the lesson that Paul had learned?

—————————————————————————————————————

9. Do a search of mermaids and seahorses. Which are real? Where do seahorses live, near which countries?


8

* * *


8

Chapter 7, The Goldfields.

1. Who are Patrick and his parents visiting on Sunday?

—————————————————————————————————————

2. How long is Patrick going to be away with his father?

—————————————————————————————————————

3. Where is their first stop?

—————————————————————————————————————

4. How are they travelling?

—————————————————————————————————————

5. Who led a revolt?

—————————————————————————————————————

6. What could Patrick smell as he kept guard?

—————————————————————————————————————

7. What happened while Patrick slept in the wagon?

—————————————————————————————————————

—————————————————————————————————————

8. Where were their next two stops?

—————————————————————————————————————9. Make a map of Victoria. Mark in Melbourne, Ballan, Ballarat and

Creswick.

10. Do a search of goldfields and mark in three other towns.

* * *


9

Chapter 8, A Long Way to Freedom.

1. Where are this family come from?

—————————————————————————————————————

2. What kind of Muslim are they?

—————————————————————————————————————

3. What did the father do in Kabul?

—————————————————————————————————————

4. Where was their first stop after leaving their home country?

—————————————————————————————————————

5. How old was the son when they left their home country?

—————————————————————————————————————

6. Where did they end up in Malaysia?

—————————————————————————————————————

7. What language did they speak?

—————————————————————————————————————

8. What happened to their boat on the way to Nauru?

—————————————————————————————————————

—————————————————————————————————————

9. For how long were they on Nauru?

—————————————————————————————————————

PTO


9

10. Where is the son learning English?

—————————————————————————————————————

11. How long do they have bridging visas?

—————————————————————————————————————

12. What does the mother admonish her son?

—————————————————————————————————————

13. Make a map showing the countries mentioned in this narrative. Don’t forget Nauru.

* * *

9


Chapter 9, The Rabbit-o.

1. What does Nigel want to join?

—————————————————————————————————————

2. What does he want to buy?

—————————————————————————————————————

3. How far would Nigel have to go for a swim?

—————————————————————————————————————

4. What happened in Nigel’s dream?

—————————————————————————————————————

5. When were rabbits introduced to Australia?

—————————————————————————————————————

6. How much does the father get for each rabbit he traps?

—————————————————————————————————————

7. How much did Nigel’s father pay him for every rabbit he sold?

—————————————————————————————————————

8. What was the animal caught in a trap in May Gibbs’ book?

—————————————————————————————————————

9. What was the name of the stray dog?

—————————————————————————————————————

10. What were the holidays when Nigel got his boots?

—————————————————————————————————————11. Ask if you may see The Rabbit-proof fence if you haven’t seen it.

* * *

9


Chapter 10, The White Shirt.

1. How was the white shirt washed?

—————————————————————————————————————

2. Why did they hire a maid?

—————————————————————————————————————

3. What was the compromise over washing the white shirt?

—————————————————————————————————————

—————————————————————————————————————

4. Who came to visit the night Father did not come home?

—————————————————————————————————————

5. Who did Rosa ring the next morning?

—————————————————————————————————————

6. What happened at the police station?

—————————————————————————————————————

—————————————————————————————————————

7. Who else did they try?

—————————————————————————————————————

8. Where had Father been hiding?

—————————————————————————————————————

9. Why had Father hidden?

—————————————————————————————————————* * *


9

Comprehension Answers

Chapter 1, All at Sea.

1. HMS George.2. Village blacksmith.3. Tom ran into the woods and climbed a tree.4. Matthew.5. In a hammock.6. Gunpowder boy.7. Use a powder scooper and scoop up the powder from the wooden

barrel. Hand it to the gunner who placed it in the gun.8. Held a match to fire the gun.9. After the Battle of Trafalgar.10. England expects that every man does his duty.11. Died,12. William Pitt.13. Trafalgar Square.14. Australia.

Chapter 2, The Brumby.

1. John and Leroy.2. Bark hut, draughty, oven and open fire.3. His horse.4. Mr Jones.5. In the high country.6. Brumby.7. A small mammal.8. A storm broke.9. In a cave.10. Because he wasn’t home before dark.


9

Chapter 3, Dogalogue.

1. Trixie.2. Jack.3. Black Rock.4. Bruce.5. Pat the soil til it was muddy.6. Trixie escaped and they didn’t find her for hours.7. Trixie was smacked on the nose for barking at the trucks going past

the caravan park.8. Near Mt Surprise.9. Trixie was locked in the car while Bruce and Jack went to Hook Island.10. Bruce didn’t see the “No Dogs” sign at Airlie Beach.11. No.12. Run over, chasing a cat.

Chapter 4, Flames and Wells and Sacred Sites.

1. Sean.2. Kildare.3. Glendalough.4. Brother Mark.5. Brigid’s well.6. Brigid’s.7. Red, white and dark brown.8. Stay away from the well near Kevin’s church.9. Two lakes.10. Lauds.11. Brother Bernard.12. Brigid is the only woman to have been made a bishop.


9

Chapter 5, Game, Set, Match.

1. 2020 and 2021.2. Philippe.3. What is a Monegasque?4. May.5. Between 17 and 20 metres.6. Arnaud.7. Rafael is in secondary school.8. It rained.9. Twice he was a ball boy.

Chapter 6, The Girl in a Red Dress.

1. Ruth.2. Sundays.3. Paint Ruth and the lane.4. Mermaids.5. Telepathically.6. The mermaid lulled them to sleep and they drowned.7. Yes.8. To step forward and show his painting to Ruth.

Chapter 7, The Goldfields.

1. Grandma Sophie and Grandpa George.2. One week.3. Ballan.4. In a wagon.5. Peter Lalor.6. Cinnamon buns.7. A crowd of men threatened to overturn the wagon.8. Ballarat and Creswick.


9

Chapter 8, A Long Way to Freedom.

1. Afghanistan.2. Shi’ite.3. Like a fruiterer.4. Iran.5. 3 years old.6. Surabaya.7. Parsi.8. It sank and the Tampa rescued them.9. 5 years.10. At TAFE.11. 3 years.12. Remember the kindnesses.

Chapter 9, The Rabbit-o.

1. The Sea Scouts.2. Boots.3. About 1 mile.4. Nigel rescued his father with his new boots. 5. 1859.6. One shilling.7. One shilling.8. A wombat.9. Mopsy.10. Christmas holidays.


9

Chapter 10, The White Shirt.

1. Washed by hand.

2. When the mother was ill.

3. Boy washed the shirt at night and Rosa ironed it in the morning.

4. The Monsignor.

5. Mr Francis.

6. The police put up a notice plus the registration of Father’s car.

7. Friends, doctor, pawnshop.

8. Father had been hiding in his office.

9. A shady deal.

* * *


9


9

Sail the high seas Ride a horse Tow a caravan Travel overseas

Be a ball boy Meet a mermaid Go gold digging Meet a refugee

Sell some rabbits Lose your father

You may do all these things in this collection of Australian short stories for boys (& girls)

$11.00 paperback

Documents

Aussie Short Stories for Boys Pbk