Wandering Girl (7 page)

My heart was still pumping flat out from the fright I got, so I went back to the house to have a cup of tea to settle my nerves.

When I reached the house I went straight into the kitchen and put the kettle on. I made my cup of tea and sat down with a sigh of relief. “Ah, that cup of tea was just what I needed and that cream cake went down real well too.”

There was still an hour left before midday so I thought I'd better have another go at rounding the turkeys up and locking them in the yard, then she couldn't say anything to me when she got home. So away I went again. They were all in the same spot where I had hit that turkey. It was still on the ground. They all scattered when I went to poke that big cheeky one with my stick.

It didn't move and a dreadful thought crossed my mind. “What if the bird is dead? It is my fault. I killed it. Oh gosh, what's going to happen now? How am I going to explain this one to her, when she gets back from town?”

Being brought up in a strict environment I was never allowed to tell lies; but since I had been working there for her, I found myself really good at it. So I told myself I'd think of something to tell her.

I still felt disheartened about the whole affair. I left the turkeys to roam around. I'd get them another day. “The only way to get rid of the dead one,” I thought, “is to bury it!” So I ran as fast as I could back to the old shed, got the spade and ran back to the river where the turkey lay.

I dug a big hole and chucked it in, covered it all up, put some bushes over the top to hide all the evidence, then went back up to the house, washed all the sand off and put the spade back where I got it from.

I felt real horrible. I had never done anything like that in my whole life. I walked slowly into the kitchen and glanced at the clock on the wall. The time was showing eleven thirty. I didn't feel like eating as I had lost my appetite thinking about that unfortunate turkey. I wished I had never set eyes on it. I sat down on the chair in the kitchen with a feeling of emptiness. I was beginning to let my emotions get the better of me, feeling homesick.

At least if there were other kids around, with whom I could share a laugh and a joke. Maybe if I had one of my mates with me, the episode of the turkey wouldn't seem so bad. We could look on the funny side of it and have a good laugh.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I just let them splash down onto the floor as I cried uncontrollably. It was such a long time since I had a good cry. All of a sudden the phone rang. I jumped up and pulled myself to my senses.

I washed my face at the kitchen sink and dried my eyes. The phone was still ringing, so I went into the dining room and then I suddenly remembered that she didn't want me to answer the phone.

I stood in front of it, not knowing what to do. I just stared at it till it stopped ringing. Then I went back into the kitchen feeling a lot better since I'd had that cry.

MY OLD TIN MUG

I went to the fridge and thought I'd better have something to eat after all as I was starting to feel a bit weak - and peckish. I cut myself a big piece of ham, a piece of mutton and a piece of silverside, topped my plate up with salads, then decided that I'd have my meal in the dining room again with all the trimmings.

It was only when I went into the pantry to get the pickles that I remembered that she wanted me to go and get the rest of the preserving jars from the old shed. I looked on the shelf where she kept her jars of preserved fruit. There were only a couple of jars of plums and pears left. The shelf looked quite bare, so I thought I'd have my lunch first, then after I'd get stuck into that job.

So I sat down at the table and tucked into my dinner. When I'd finished, I went and helped myself to plums and ice cream for sweets. I couldn't bear not having any plums, as soon as I saw them I had to have some, they looked so scrumptious - they were my favourite fruit too.

After dinner, I cleaned up my mess, made sure everything was neat and tidy, then went out to the shed to fetch the jars. I hated going into that shed. It was so dark and miserable. Every time I opened up the door it used to make me squirm and go all goose bumpy. The first things I used to think of were snakes and spiders. There were cobwebs everywhere, they hung in all directions. Oh, it used to feel real spooky!

Every time I sneezed I used to have to wait a couple of seconds till the thick cloud of dust settled down, to get my bearings; and the screeching of the old wooden door when I opened it up used to send cold shivers down my spine.

This old shed was situated right down the bottom end of her garden, which was at the back of her house, and it nestled in between two very old lemon trees. It reminded me of a witches' den.

There was no lighting in the shed. I had to light up the old burner to see. The window had boards nailed over it.

As I struck a match to light up the lamp, her two cats came strolling by. They must have been curious as to what I was doing. They were friendly cats so I sang out, “Puss, Puss!” They came bounding over to me in a playful manner and rubbed themselves up against my legs as I bent down to stroke them.

I picked up the two cats and put them down on the shed floor. I did not feel too bad with the cats there, as I knew they had a good sense of danger. So if anything was in there. I'd leave them to kill it, whether it was a spider or snake, because I wouldn't be around - I'd be gone like the wind!

I stooped down to have a look on the bottom shelves for the jars as I couldn't see them on the higher ones. I spotted them right at the back row, down low. She had them packed in boxes - six boxes there were. I crouched to make it a bit easier for myself, as there was a lot of junk in front of them.

As I cleaned all the junk away, and was still in a crouching position, just reaching to grab a box of jars, one of the cats landed in my lap from the top shelf. All I could think of was a snake. I went all cold and just about screamed the place down. That cat got more of a fright than I did. I didn't mean to half kill it when I picked it up out of my lap and flung it. The poor thing landed up against the wall. The other cat just disappeared.

I went around to the front of the house to calm my nerves, still shaking terribly. I glanced at the colourful flowers and reached out, with my hands trembling, to touch one beautiful pink bloom when I heard this voice say, “Good-day, lassie.”

I turned around quickly to face the gentleman who spoke. Here in this place I found it very strange for someone to be speaking to me as if he was sort of interested in me as a person. Since being on the farm I felt like a robot.

None of the Bigelow family really talked to me, and on the days that she was around, she would either address me as, “Are you there?” or yoohoo out to me. So I got to feel like it was wrong for anyone to talk to me, and when they did speak to me I would just look at them dumbfounded. Then if I did speak back to them, I became very conscience stricken.

So, when this old gentleman spoke to me - I was always taught that all men were gentlemen - I put my fears aside, as I didn't want to let him know that I was just getting over a fright. I turned to him and noticed he had a couple of buckets of fruit. His face was covered in wrinkles and his eyes were blue and misty but there was something about him that I took a liking to.

He must have noticed the expression on my face, for he told me not to be worried. He explained to me that he worked in the orchard for the Bigelows. He had worked for them for years, and was just bringing some fruit up as this was the time of the year that she did her bottling. He said to me, “You must be the new lass?” I said, “Yes.” He asked me where I came from and I told him, “A place called Wandering Mission.”

He told me I wasn't the first one. There were girls coming and going all the time and from different homes. Then he said, if I'd go and open up the kitchen door for him he'd carry the fruit in for me, which was very nice of him. I thanked him and I told him I was just getting the jars ready for the fruit.

So we made our way into the kitchen. He put the fruit on the sink for me. I was longing to have a good old yarn to him as he was the kind of person who made me feel differently from the rest of those around the farm. So I asked him if he would like a cup of tea? He said that he usually brought his flask of tea to work but today, for some reason or other, had forgotten it. He lived on his own.

He had an old shack on the other side of town and sometimes, he explained, he forgot things, but seeing I offered he'd love one. So I asked him to sit down on one of the chairs in the kitchen. He sat down while I got things ready. I felt his gaze on me as I moved around.

Suddenly, he said, “Lassie, you look so young, how old are you?” “I am sixteen,” I said. “Why child, where are your Mum and Dad?” I told him, “I have a Mum, but I don't know where she is. I'll find her one day, I suppose. My Dad I have never seen. He died when I was in the home.” I explained to him how we were taken away from our natural parents as babies and that we grew up in the care of Catholic nuns, priests and brothers, and when we got to the age of sixteen, they sent us out to places like this to work for people.

As I put the pot of tea on the table, I thought I'd better use my tin mug in front of this dear old gentleman. When on my own I used a cup and saucer, nobody knew, it was my secret! Even though he was a nice old gentleman, I thought I'd do the right thing. I put a cup and saucer in front of him and put my old tin mug on the table. He thanked me and I went to the fridge, cut two pieces of cake and put them on the table.

When one of the pussy-cats meowed and brushed up against me, I picked him up and gave him a cuddle, as this was the poor cat I had chucked up against the wall. Glad to know that it was well and not hurt, I bent down to place the cat on the floor.

The old man said, “Hey lassie, the pussy sure knows when it's cup of tea time.” He reached out to grab my tin mug, and said, “Here, pass over the milk and I'll fill up his tin mug.”

I hesitated, as I fumbled to pick up the milk. He had a look of concern on his face as he asked me what was wrong? I felt my face go all sorts of colours, as I explained to him that the tin mug was the cup which I had to drink from, as the boss of the house said I was not to use her stuff. He flung his old grey head back and gave out one big laugh.