Lillipilly Hill (7 page)

Aidan, having not yet been told where to sit, was leaning against the wall beside Mr Burnie's desk. He met the stares of the other pupils with a cool indifference, and refused to respond to Harriet's encouraging smile. That he absolutely loathed his new school, and everyone in it, was only too obvious.

Mr Burnie came in, brisk and smiling, and, to Harriet at least, infinitely reassuring.

‘We have three new pupils today,' he told his classes, and the Wilmots immediately became the object of further curious stares. ‘Aidan, Harriet, and Rose-Ann Wilmot. They are still strangers in this country, and we should all do our best to make them feel at home. Now, Aidan, as you will be in my top class, you can sit at the end of the back form, next to Bill Mackenzie. The girls seem to have put themselves in the right place, in the middle there. We shall now have our morning reading from the Bible. Your turn, Maggie.'

A plump, red-cheeked girl on Harriet's left stood up, stumbled unhappily through a few verses of Genesis, and sat down hastily and thankfully. While Mr Burnie handed out slates and copy-books, and set his pupils to work, Harriet furtively surveyed her schoolfellows. Of the twenty present, fourteen-year-old Paddy Tolly was the oldest, being kept at school by
his widowed mother, the storekeeper, until she decided what to do with him. The youngest was Dinny's brother Pete, now placated with a box-f of assorted buttons, a bodkin, and some wool—equipment which Mr Burnie kept for his smallest pupils, still too young for reading and writing. On the same bench as Pete sat four or five slightly older children, who made up the first and second classes. The next form held half a dozen urchins aged from seven to nine, among them Dinny's other brother, Mick. Harriet's group was made up of seven children—the Wilmots, Dinny, the girl called Maggie, twin boys with bright red hair and identical freckled faces, and another Mackenzie, a shy, frightened creature named Annie. The back form was reserved for what Mr Burnie termed The Rest, boys and girls kept at school for various reasons long after their contemporaries had gone out to work. Aidan and Charles Farmer, still absent, were the only ones interested in higher education. The other four were simply whiling away their time until they could leave school.

Glancing round, Harriet could see Aidan's fair head bent industriously over his books. Next to him, Bill Mackenzie, son of the postmaster, was laboriously spelling out words to himself. His father hoped that Bill would prove capable of passing the Public Service examinations, but Bill lived only for the day when
he would be free of school, and perhaps allowed to join the Winneroo fishing fleet. Paddy Tolly stared over the top of his slate at Aidan, no doubt planning his campaign of bullying. Two thirteen-year-old girls on the same bench had been permitted to put aside their slates and do some sewing instead—both were waiting for news of work in two wealthy homes near Blackhill.

‘I trust you are not finding our lessons too hard for you, Harriet?' inquired Mr Burnie, pausing beside her desk on one of his endless rounds. ‘You don't appear to have done very much writing.'

Harriet turned red, and bent over her copy-book. Rose-Ann had been writing in her best copperplate for some minutes, and even Dinny had achieved an erratic row of letters. Mr Burnie's hold over his remarkably assorted bunch of pupils was very firm, and the most reluctant scholars could not fail to leave his school without learning at least the elements of reading, writing, and adding up.

When the mid-morning break came, Harriet did not know whether to be pleased or anxious. Here in the schoolroom all was peaceful and orderly, under Mr Burnie's vigilant eye. In the playground, Paddy Tolly and his band could no doubt find ways of evading the schoolmaster, and do more or less as they pleased.

‘Where are we going?' Harriet asked, as Dinny steered the two Wilmot girls across the playground.

‘You'll see,' said Dinny mysteriously. There seemed few private spots indeed in that bare stretch of ground, but Dinny, with her usual resourcefulness, had found one. Right against the boundary fence, beneath a clump of turpentines, stood an old, disused tank, lying on its side. The top had rusted away, leaving an opening facing the bush, and hidden from the playground.

‘Go on—get in,' urged Dinny.

Harriet needed no further persuasion, but Rose-Ann hung back, peering doubtfully at the square iron cavern, thickly carpeted with fallen leaves.

‘Are there any spiders?' she asked.

‘Only little ones,' Dinny assured her. ‘They don't bite.'

Rose-Ann crept unhappily into the tank, and sat down as close to the entrance as she could.

‘This is my own place,' Dinny said proudly. ‘Maggie and Annie can come here, but no one else. So swear you won't tell the others about it.'

Harriet and Rose-Ann promised readily. Harriet had begun to realize that Dinny was quite a personage in the Barley Creek school, and that the bestowal of her friendship was something of an honour. Rose-Ann, understanding none of this, stared in wonderment at Dinny's bare feet.

‘Don't your feet get cold?' she asked innocently.

‘'Course not,' said Dinny contemptuously. ‘It's warm, ain't it? When it's cold I'll wear Joe's old boots.'

‘Who's Joe?' demanded Harriet.

‘My brother—the second biggest one. He helps Pa with the cutting, and he has to have boots, 'cause of the snakes. Last one they killed was six foot long, Joe says.'

‘Do they eat people, those snakes?' asked Rose-Ann, in horrified fascination.

‘No—but they bite people. One of Pa's mates got bit once, on the leg, and Pa had to cut the leg open with his knife, to let the poison out. The man was awful sick for a while.'

Harriet shivered. How difficult it was to believe that only a few short months ago she had been leading a sedate and quiet life in Kensington, where snakes were merely creatures shown in picture-books! And what would her acquaintances there have made of Dinny O'Brien? It would have taken much more than a fear of snakes, however, to have sent Harriet back to her former existence, so dull by comparison with the present.

Rose-Ann was feeling quite the opposite.

‘I wish we could go home,' she wailed.

Dinny at once became protective, as she was always to be with Rose-Ann. Harriet she treated as an equal.

‘Don't you fret about those snakes. They wouldn't ever bite
you
.'

‘It's not just the snakes,' said Rose-Ann dismally. ‘It's being so lonely, and having to go to this queer school, and there's that awful boy who called Aidan names—'

‘I didn't like school much at first,' said Dinny. ‘I didn't go till I was eight, and that was when Ma found out it was the law, that we all had to go to school. But now I think it's better than being at home, looking after the babies, and helping pick beans and peas, and doing the washing. And that Paddy Tolly won't call your brother names if your brother turns round and hits him in the eye.'

‘Aidan's no good at fighting,' said Harriet.

‘He'd better learn, then. Joe'll teach him, next time he's home. And Tim—that's the biggest one, him that's working for the butcher in Blackhill—Tim once hit a boy so hard he was asleep for a week.'

Harriet was to learn that Dinny's tales were not always strictly accurate, but she always enjoyed them. She was about to demand more O'Brien family history when the bell sounded.

‘Come on,' said Dinny. ‘It's a long run from here, and Mr Burnie hates us to be late.'

As Harriet hurried breathlessly into the schoolroom, she noticed that Aidan was sitting quietly in
his place, and that neither he nor Paddy Tolly showed signs of wear and tear. She didn't know whether to be pleased or sorry.

The next half-hour was devoted to a singing lesson, which cheered Rose-Ann somewhat, especially as the song was one she already knew, and Mr Burnie invited her to sing it alone to the class. Rose-Ann, had she but realized it, was well on the way to becoming popular with her classmates. Her prettiness and her good clothes roused little envy in the hearts of the other girls, who for the most part were content to remain as they were, and her anxious desire to please was quite obvious. Harriet, having been adopted by Dinny, was more or less accepted. But Aidan puzzled everybody. Tough and independent as they were, the Barley Creek children looked askance at a boy who did not seem to show the same qualities. So they withdrew from Aidan in a body, and waited to see what he would do.

All this Harriet dimly guessed at, and despite her own successful morning, she was troubled as she joined Polly and the others at the sliprail at the beginning of the dinner-hour. Aidan was to have his midday meal at home, and although he tried to avoid his sisters during the walk, Harriet eventually caught up with him under the lillipillies at the gate.

‘Where did you go at break this morning?' she asked.

‘Nowhere,' said Aidan. ‘I stayed inside and talked to Mr Burnie.'

‘Do you like him?'

‘He's a good teacher,' admitted Aidan. ‘But really, Harriet, why you ever thought we ought to go to this school is beyond me. I wouldn't stay another minute if Father hadn't said I must at least try it.'

‘Why?' asked Harriet, daringly.

‘Why? Can't you
see
? It's more like a—a—prison than a school, with those awful bare walls, and no equipment, and the pupils look like convicts, too. And imagine having to go to school with
girls
!'

Heroically, Harriet decided to ignore this last remark.

‘But you won't be there so long, you know—not if you win that scholarship.'

‘I'll win it all right—if I can stay till then,' said Aidan bitterly, and he marched off towards the house, kicking at the pebbles as he went.

Harriet followed slowly, gazing ahead at the spreading iron roof and the golden stone walls of her new home. She now loved every part of it, even the cheerless bedroom, which she was planning to
decorate to her own taste. She loved the guardian lillipillies, and the shaggy garden, and the pungently-scented gums, and above all she loved the broad, clear view of blue hills and shadowy gullies. How could Aidan be so indifferent to all these things?

During the meal, Aidan answered his parents' questions about school with single syllables, and pretended not to see the deepening frown on his father's face. But Harriet was only too well aware of it.

‘We think the school is excellent, don't we, Rose-Ann?' she said primly, at the same time kicking her sister on the ankle.

‘Yes,' agreed Rose-Ann dutifully, though she was hardly able to conceal her delight at the thought of a quiet afternoon alone with her mother.

Harriet sighed. It was unfair, she reflected, that so much should depend on Aidan, who even now looked quite ill at the prospect of returning to school in half an hour's time, while she herself could hardly wait until the next morning.

‘What are we to do after our rest, Mother?' she asked.

‘I think perhaps you had better finish your embroidery,' said Mrs Wilmot firmly. ‘You should have something to show Mrs Burnie when you begin your lessons with her.'

It was the answer that Harriet had expected, after all. And if everything went well, she would still have an hour's daylight in which to read
Treasure Island
, and to forget the problem of Aidan for a time.

5

More about Barley Creek

For the remainder of that week, Aidan managed to avoid Paddy Tolly, at least during school hours. And Paddy was sufficiently in awe of Polly to refrain from taunting his victim while she was present. So Aidan went unmolested—and friendless. The other boys, disappointed because he would not face up to Paddy, and puzzled by his distant manner, simply left him alone. He spoke to no one at school save Mr Burnie, and concentrated fiercely on his lessons, at which he did so well that Mr Burnie was obliged to send for more books for him. Unfortunately, this failed to impress his schoolfellows.

Meanwhile, Harriet was beginning to feel that she had been attending the Barley Creek school all her life,
so familiar and friendly had it become. And even Rose-Ann admitted that it was not as bad as she had expected.

On the Friday morning Harriet had a further glimpse into the family life of the O'Briens. During the break, Pete fell and cut his knee, and, after tying on a bandage, Mr Burnie told Dinny to take him home, and leave him there for the rest of the day.

‘Can Harriet come with us?' asked Dinny.

Mr Burnie hesitated. Though to all outward appearances he treated the Wilmots exactly as he treated his other pupils, he watched over them with just a little more care. He liked Francis Wilmot, and he understood the other man's desire that his children should not suffer from their changed way of life. He realized, too, how important it was to Mrs Wilmot that her daughters should not be turned into hoydens. He had had a few misgivings about Harriet's friendship with Dinny.

‘Very well,' he said at last. ‘But be back in fifteen minutes, mind.'

Delighted with their sudden freedom, Harriet and Dinny hurried along the road, towing Pete between them. It was the first time that Harriet had been beyond the post office, and she looked around her with keen interest. There was not a great deal to
see. The hard white road stretched gradually uphill, overhung by grey-green wattles and bordered by the stiff, sharp clumps that Dinny called ‘sword-grass'. Occasionally a break in the trees revealed a sliprail, and the twin ruts of a cart-track, but no houses were visible from the road.

‘This is the way to Deacon's Flat,' said Dinny. ‘It's about six mile out. Our place is just round the corner.'

A curve in the road brought them to a rough clearing on the edge of a forest of bluegums. The clearing had been crudely fenced with forked posts and sagging wire, across which the indomitable blackberries thrust their prickly tendrils.