Working Class Boy by Jimmy Barnes Page A

knew how to drive. Later I would take little cones off the pines and use them as ninja weapons to throw at my sisters. They were hard and spiky and I could throw them from a distance and still have time to make a getaway – most of the time.
    Even Dad got involved in the planting. I remember one of the trees he planted was called a million-dollar peach. I can still hear him saying, ‘Aye, million-dollar peaches, kids. These are the best peaches you can get. It won’t be long till you’re eating them every day. You’ll be almost sick of them.’
    We stood listening to him with watering mouths. We would have been happy with any peaches. Two-dollar peaches, fifty-cent nectarines would have done. It didn’t matter what they were worth. We just wanted them, right now. But these did sound like something really special. Unfortunately, it took quite a few years for the trees to fruit and when they did, Dad had lost interest in them. The birds and bugs seemed to be the only ones who got to eat this glorious, expensive-sounding fruit. And by the time they were ripe enough for human consumption the best were already gone and all that was left had been half eaten.
    The other thing Mum and Dad wanted to plant was corn and after a few months the backyard looked like a farm. Well, a reallysmall farm if you shut one eye. We hadn’t eaten corn that much before and it didn’t take long until we all got sick of it. I think it was all we were eating.
    Later on, Mum tried to grow other vegetables besides corn, so that we would have something to eat when the wages didn’t arrive but they died pretty quickly. You need to look after the plants and water them. If you don’t they won’t grow to be any good, a lot like kids when I think about it. The pumpkins thrived; they took over the backyard for a while. We ate a lot of pumpkin for a little while there.
    Before long any interest in gardening was gone. Mum and Dad were back to only being interested in indoor pastimes again, like drinking and fighting.
    The house seemed to me to be quite big even though I know it wasn’t. There were four bedrooms, and a lounge and a kitchen of course. I remember Mum cooking in that kitchen. She had bought a pressure cooker and everything seemed to be cooked in it. Potatoes, cabbage, anything.
    The sound of the pressure building up was Tsh Tsh Tsh Tsh . It reminded me of the sprinkler on the football ovals at night.
    Tsh Tsh Tsh . . .
    â€˜What’s for dinner the night?’ Dad would ask.
    Tsh Tsh Tsh . . .
    The noise of the pressure cooker was speeding up.
    â€˜Cabbage and mince and totties.’
    â€˜Again,’ he’d moan.
    Tsh Tsh Tsh . . .
    â€˜You’ve always said ye loved it.’
    Tsh Tsh Tsh . . .
    â€˜I do, but no every fuckin’ night.’
    Tsh Tsh Tsh . . .
    â€˜And shut that pot up, it’s drivin’ me nuts.’
    Tsh Tsh Tsh . . .
    It seemed to get faster and faster.
    â€˜I need it tae cook for the kids. I’m cookin’ for them, no for you.’
    Tsh Tsh Tsh . . .
    â€˜I don’t want yer food. I’m goin’ oot for a wee while.’ He was almost exploding himself, and would walk out.
    Bang the door would slam.
    Tsh Tsh Tsh . . .
    The pressure cooker seemed to be the soundtrack to their tempers, building and building until it was like a bomb waiting to blow. And then Mum would take off the lid from the top of the pressure valve and then,
    SHHHHHHHHHH .
    It was like the whole house had let out a big breath and we were finally ready to sit down and eat. John and I would line up fighting over who got to drink the juice from the cooking cabbage. It tasted like soup to us, salty and filling, and we were hungry.
    â€˜You got it last night. It’s my turn,’ he’d shout.
    â€˜No I didn’t, you did.’
    â€˜Mum, he drank it last night, it’s my turn.’
    â€˜Stop fightin’ and I’ll share it between the two