say darkly,
'Bloody shire council's not done near enough clearing or burning off.
Firebreaks up near the gorge have all but disappeared, gorn, mate, grown over. It's a bloody disgrace.' But you could bet London to a brick not one of those lazy bastards would volunteer to get off his arse, borrow tractor and make up a work gang to clear firebreaks or maybe do a bit of back-burning to help the CFA. 'Too bloody hot, mate, whose shout?' The conditions in mid-December 1955, taken along with the town's in-born lassitude, had all the ingredients for a major disaster.
Anyway, with Tommy just back, Nancy as usual tried to keep him off the grog, hoping he'd stay on the straight and narrow at least until Christmas. To her delight, he was still sober when my birthday arrived.
We didn't go in much for birthday presents in our family, except for Many and Colleen, when we all put in for a combined gift. Usually a box of Cadbury's Roses chocolates and a nice card for Mum and a bright ribbon and socks for little Colleen. Ah, yes, and once a pair of tiny, shiny red shoes with silver buckles. You should have seen the little kid, she went half-crazy with excitement.
I remember my birthday fell on a Saturday, a sleep-in day. Hooray!
Page 58
A grand sleep-in on top of the fact that, what with Tommy home, we were working a three-in-nine. That was birthday present enough for Mole Maloney, thank you very much, put down your glasses.
It was still dark when I was rudely shaken awake in my bunk. 'Hey Mole, wake up!' It was Tommy's voice.
I sat up fast, but then realised I couldn't smell any drink on his breath, so relaxed again, falling back into the bare mattress.
'Wha... what's the time?' I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.
'Never mind, mate, it's not that early, get your gear on, you and I is goin' bush.'
'Bush?' I sat up again, fast.
'It's your twelfth birthday, Mole. I promised your grandfather.
time you learned the gift.'
'Learned? Gift? What?'
'Fire! Lessons start today.'
I wanted to cry out, object. Tell him it wasn't fair. But I knew I couldn't humiliate myself in front of the little bastard. So I put on my clothes and followed him, going through the kitchen, because with him returned, we were sleeping back on the verandah. There was a block of light the colour of ice coming through the kitchen window.
Then I saw Sarah. She was bent over the kitchen sink, throwing up.
The light from the window glowing like the light from embers on her hair.
'What's wrong?' I asked her, 'You all right?'
She sort of spat into the sink and then turned on the tap and looked toward me, half-hunched over. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, 'I just feel a bit sick, that's all. It must have been the fish last night,' she smiled weakly.
'C'mon, Mole,' Tommy called impatiently, 'we've got to scram.'
'Sarah's sick,' I said, 'I should wake Mum.'
'No, don't wake her, Mole. I'm all right, really,' Sarah called.
'You heard her, ferchrissakes, it was something she ate. She'll be right! C'mon, let's kick the dust, mate.'
'You go, Mole, I'll be okay,' Sarah said, bringing her free hand up to Page 59
her tummy.
We were going through the front door when she called out, 'Happy birthday, Mole!'
Yeah, yeah, I thought, 'It's okay for you, all you've got is a sore tummy. How about me? It's my twelfth birthday and my whole life's been ruined forever.'
CHAPTER THREE
In Yankalillee the locals used to refer to my grandfather William D'Arcy Maloney as 'Mr Baloney'. This was not because he talked nonsense or was a fool, though admittedly, in the Maloney tradition, he was undistinguished in most things. Baloney was simply a conjunction of his name, Bill, combined with his surname, which, in the parlance of Australians, inevitably became Baloney.
The 'Mister' was added for four reasons. The traditional gesture of respect for an old-timer, the second reason was because he fought in the Boer War, Australia's first real away-from-home war, the third because of
'Bloody shire council's not done near enough clearing or burning off.
Firebreaks up near the gorge have all but disappeared, gorn, mate, grown over. It's a bloody disgrace.' But you could bet London to a brick not one of those lazy bastards would volunteer to get off his arse, borrow tractor and make up a work gang to clear firebreaks or maybe do a bit of back-burning to help the CFA. 'Too bloody hot, mate, whose shout?' The conditions in mid-December 1955, taken along with the town's in-born lassitude, had all the ingredients for a major disaster.
Anyway, with Tommy just back, Nancy as usual tried to keep him off the grog, hoping he'd stay on the straight and narrow at least until Christmas. To her delight, he was still sober when my birthday arrived.
We didn't go in much for birthday presents in our family, except for Many and Colleen, when we all put in for a combined gift. Usually a box of Cadbury's Roses chocolates and a nice card for Mum and a bright ribbon and socks for little Colleen. Ah, yes, and once a pair of tiny, shiny red shoes with silver buckles. You should have seen the little kid, she went half-crazy with excitement.
I remember my birthday fell on a Saturday, a sleep-in day. Hooray!
Page 58
A grand sleep-in on top of the fact that, what with Tommy home, we were working a three-in-nine. That was birthday present enough for Mole Maloney, thank you very much, put down your glasses.
It was still dark when I was rudely shaken awake in my bunk. 'Hey Mole, wake up!' It was Tommy's voice.
I sat up fast, but then realised I couldn't smell any drink on his breath, so relaxed again, falling back into the bare mattress.
'Wha... what's the time?' I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.
'Never mind, mate, it's not that early, get your gear on, you and I is goin' bush.'
'Bush?' I sat up again, fast.
'It's your twelfth birthday, Mole. I promised your grandfather.
time you learned the gift.'
'Learned? Gift? What?'
'Fire! Lessons start today.'
I wanted to cry out, object. Tell him it wasn't fair. But I knew I couldn't humiliate myself in front of the little bastard. So I put on my clothes and followed him, going through the kitchen, because with him returned, we were sleeping back on the verandah. There was a block of light the colour of ice coming through the kitchen window.
Then I saw Sarah. She was bent over the kitchen sink, throwing up.
The light from the window glowing like the light from embers on her hair.
'What's wrong?' I asked her, 'You all right?'
She sort of spat into the sink and then turned on the tap and looked toward me, half-hunched over. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, 'I just feel a bit sick, that's all. It must have been the fish last night,' she smiled weakly.
'C'mon, Mole,' Tommy called impatiently, 'we've got to scram.'
'Sarah's sick,' I said, 'I should wake Mum.'
'No, don't wake her, Mole. I'm all right, really,' Sarah called.
'You heard her, ferchrissakes, it was something she ate. She'll be right! C'mon, let's kick the dust, mate.'
'You go, Mole, I'll be okay,' Sarah said, bringing her free hand up to Page 59
her tummy.
We were going through the front door when she called out, 'Happy birthday, Mole!'
Yeah, yeah, I thought, 'It's okay for you, all you've got is a sore tummy. How about me? It's my twelfth birthday and my whole life's been ruined forever.'
CHAPTER THREE
In Yankalillee the locals used to refer to my grandfather William D'Arcy Maloney as 'Mr Baloney'. This was not because he talked nonsense or was a fool, though admittedly, in the Maloney tradition, he was undistinguished in most things. Baloney was simply a conjunction of his name, Bill, combined with his surname, which, in the parlance of Australians, inevitably became Baloney.
The 'Mister' was added for four reasons. The traditional gesture of respect for an old-timer, the second reason was because he fought in the Boer War, Australia's first real away-from-home war, the third because of
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