Ruby and the Country Cousins Page 3

  ‘I’ll soon get him used to it,’ Uncle James said grimly.

  ‘Don’t you eat porridge at home, Ruby?’ asked Walter.

  ‘No,’ Ruby replied, grateful to him for changing the subject. Why did Uncle James have to be so beastly to poor Baxter? She took a deep breath to calm herself. ‘Sometimes we have Weet-Bix. Do you know what they are? You don’t have to cook them or anything. You just put milk on top, and sugar.’

  ‘Manufactured rubbish,’ Aunt Flora said, looking down her long nose. ‘You might as well eat sawdust. The day I don’t start with a bowl of porridge is the day they’ll put me in a box.’

  ‘And that day can’t come too soon,’ Ruby heard Uncle James mutter.

  ‘More tea, Winifred?’ asked Aunt Vera, holding the teapot in readiness. ‘Ruby, you’ve hardly eaten a thing. Try some butter on the porridge, dear – it really helps.’

  Uncle James pushed back his chair. ‘Come along, boy,’ he said to Walter. ‘We’ve got work to do. That ewe in the far paddock is still down. We’d better get her on her feet again or she’ll be joining the other dead beast down by the creek. If the foxes don’t get her first.’

  As soon as Uncle James had gone, everyone relaxed a little. Aunt Vera and Mother had another cup of tea, and May began to clear the table.

  ‘May, why don’t you show Ruby around the farm?’ Aunt Vera suggested. ‘Bee can clear away.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ Ruby said, trying to sound enthusiastic. ‘I haven’t been here since I was little, and I’ve forgotten just about everything. Except the rooster.’

  ‘The rooster?’ asked Aunt Vera.

  ‘A rooster pecked me on the leg, and it hurt a lot. I had blood on my sock.’

  For the first time Ruby could remember, May actually laughed. ‘That’s funny,’ she said, ‘because we thought that while you’re living with us, you could look after the chooks.’

  ‘WHY is this place called Kettle Farm?’ Ruby asked May. ‘It’s a strange name, isn’t it?’

  May shrugged. ‘Not really. Dad’s family come from a place in Scotland called Kettlebridge. They settled in South Australia nearly a hundred years ago.’ She pushed open the back door. Cats lay everywhere, snoozing in the sun.

  There was no sign of Baxter.

  ‘We’ve got twelve cats,’ May said. ‘Or is it thirteen now? Bee has given them all names. That big black one sitting on the chopping block is the leader of the pack. She’s called Gaf, after Great-Aunt Flora. Half the kittens are hers.’

  Ruby was glad to see that Gaf had survived her fight with Baxter. ‘What’s the chopping block for?’ she asked.

  ‘Splitting kindling wood for the stove. And chopping the heads off chooks. I expect that’ll be your job from now on.’

  Oh no, Ruby said to herself. Oh my hat. I couldn’t possibly do that! The thought made her feel slightly sick.

  May walked ahead of Ruby, her bare feet padding over the dusty ground.

  ‘That’s the garage,’ she said, pointing to a long brick building. ‘We don’t use the car very often, because petrol costs too much. There’s a buggy in the garage, too, but we sold our horse.’ She stopped in front of a wooden slab fence. ‘In here is the veggie garden. You can help with that, too, and the milking. Do you know anything about gardening?’

  ‘Not much. At home we had a gardener who came every week.’

  ‘You’ll learn.’

  Ruby peered over the fence and saw garden beds, concrete paths, a watering can, a wheelbarrow.

  ‘There aren’t many veggies,’ she said.

  ‘It’s the end of the summer harvest,’ May said. ‘And in case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a drought.’ She pointed at some distant rows of trees. ‘The orchard is over there, and past that it’s just paddocks. The shearing shed’s down by the creek.’

  She marched off, and Ruby hurried to keep up. ‘What’s in the paddocks?’

  ‘Sheep, mostly. And cows. We have three house cows.’

  ‘Are the chooks there too?’

  May rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t think we keep chooks in a paddock, do you? Here are our dogs. The border collie is called Shep, and the kelpie’s name is Sharpie.’

  The kennels, shaded by a pepper tree, were surrounded by hard dry ground littered with bones and bits of fur. ‘Rabbit,’ May said.

  Shep trotted out to the full length of his chain, wagging his plumy tail. Ruby went to stroke him, but May called her back.

  ‘They aren’t pets – we don’t play with them. Dad needs them to work the sheep, so he’s the only one who can boss them around.’

  ‘Do they bite?’ Ruby asked.

  ‘Of course not. They’re really smart dogs. Smarter than Baxter, anyway. By the way, where is he?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ruby said. ‘I let him out before breakfast.’ She looked all around her. ‘Baxter!’ she called. ‘Baxter!’

  ‘He’ll turn up,’ May said. She kept walking. ‘Here are the chooks.’

  Ruby saw a large area enclosed with chicken-wire. At one end was a stand of pine trees. As May and Ruby got closer, the chooks raced up to the fence, clucking and squawking. Most of them were black, but there were several very finely striped in black and white. And there was the rooster, strutting, his tail feathers gleaming. Ruby wondered if it was the same rooster that had pecked her all those years ago. How long did roosters live?

  ‘The black chooks are Orpingtons,’ May told her. ‘The stripy ones are Plymouth Rocks. They’re special. We only have six of those.’

  Ruby wrinkled her nose. ‘Chooks don’t smell very nice, do they?’ she said.

  ‘They smell like chooks,’ May said. ‘You’ll have to feed them before school in the morning and again before supper. The grain is kept in that little shed over there.’ She turned and pointed. ‘You have to collect the eggs, too. We keep about a dozen, and we take the rest to the store to sell.’

  May sounds just like Miss Fraser at my old school, Ruby thought. She has the same flat voice. Except that Miss Fraser turned out to be really nice, in the end.

  Mother had once said that May was shy, but Ruby didn’t think she was shy at all.

  May just doesn’t like me, Ruby realised with a shock. It was a new feeling. People usually like me quite a lot, she thought. Even Brenda Walker likes me. What have I ever done to May that she should dislike me so much?

  ‘There’s your dog,’ May said suddenly.

  Ruby turned around to see Baxter trotting up to her, tongue lolling, eyes bright. ‘Thank goodness,’ she said. ‘Baxter, where have you been?’ She bent down to stroke him, and then pulled away. ‘Oh, you’ve rolled in something bad.’

  ‘He must have found that dead sheep down by the creek,’ May said, with a slight smile. ‘You should keep him tied up.’

  ‘I couldn’t tie him up. He’d hate it!’

  ‘You mightn’t have much choice,’ replied May.  ‘He’s a town dog. He doesn’t belong here.’

  ‘You needn’t think I’m going to pick you up, Baxter,’ Ruby said, knotting her handkerchief to Baxter’s collar as a lead. ‘Poo, you really stink.’

  May’s right, she thought. Baxter doesn’t belong here, and I don’t belong here either. It’s so unfair! I never wanted to be here in the first place. Why couldn’t Mother and I have stayed with Dad? We’d have managed somehow.

  Back at the house, Ruby dragged Baxter stiff-legged past the cats, ignoring his growling.

  As she and May made their way to the kitchen, Uncle James appeared at the laundry door. He was in his shirtsleeves, his braces hanging down, his hair and face dripping wet. ‘Vera!’ he bellowed. ‘Vera! What have you done with my towel?’

  ‘I’ve done nothing with it,’ said Aunt Vera, bustling over to him. ‘It should be on the clotheshorse. Oh dear, what is that smell?’

  ‘I’ll look for your towel, Dad!’ said Bee. ‘I’m good at finding things.’ She poked around in the laundry, opening cupboard doors, checking inside the washing basket. ‘M
aybe it got put in the mending bag.’

  ‘No – !’ Ruby started to say, but all she could do was watch as her little cousin ran to unhook the bag from the back of the laundry door. ‘I lost my petticoat once and it was put in here by mistake,’ Bee said. ‘Look, here’s your towel! Told you! Oh . . .’

  She pulled out a piece of the torn towel, and stared at it.

  Uncle James’s face began to twitch.

  ‘I think this might be a different towel,’ Bee whispered.

  Uncle James grabbed it from her. ‘Different towel, my foot. It’s that dog again.’ He turned to Ruby. ‘The dog stays outside from now on. And if he puts one more foot wrong, I’ll take him out and shoot him myself.’

  ‘Oh, James,’ said Aunt Vera. ‘Surely you don’t mean that.’

  ‘He’s only little,’ Bee protested. ‘He’s not much more than a puppy. You wouldn’t really hurt him, Dad, would you?’

  ‘I’ll do what I have to,’ said Uncle James.

  Ruby stared at him in horror and disbelief. Uncle James wouldn’t really kill Baxter, would he? Of course he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. She wasn’t sure, though. Uncle James wasn’t a normal sort of uncle.

  THE walk to school seemed to go on forever. ‘It’s only three miles,’ Bee said. ‘Some kids walk much further than that. You’ll get used to it.’

  Yes, Ruby thought bitterly. Just like I’ll get used to eating salty porridge, and sleeping in a sagging old bed, and having to use that horrible smelly lavatory. Just like poor Baxter will get used to being chained up all night long and sleeping out in the cold with Shep and Sparkie.

  Mother had promised to keep an eye on Baxter while Ruby was at school, and Ruby hoped that would keep him out of trouble. As an extra charm against bad luck she’d put her little china fox terrier in her school satchel, along with her sandwiches. She wasn’t usually superstitious, but she felt that it might somehow help to protect both her and Baxter – and Baxter, at least, needed all the protection he could get.

  The early morning sun was already hot, and the day would be hotter. May and Bee walked easily along the road, taking hills and stony patches and areas of loose sand in their stride. Ruby trudged along behind them. Her good ankle-strapped school shoes were dull with dust, her stockings had started to wrinkle, and her uniform felt tight and prickly.

  The cotton frocks her cousins wore were thin and faded, but they looked deliciously cool. May and Bee weren’t wearing proper shoes and socks, either, just old sandshoes freshly whitened with pipeclay.

  Ruby hadn’t wanted to wear her school uniform, but Mother had insisted. ‘You’ll look scholarly,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t want to look scholarly,’ Ruby told her. ‘Only people who go to proper schools look scholarly. Brenda Walker looks scholarly.’ But Mother had looked sad, then, so Ruby hadn’t said anything more. She hated it when Mother looked sad.

  ‘How far is it now?’ she called.

  ‘About a mile,’ May said, over her shoulder. ‘You’d better walk a bit faster, or we’ll be late.’

  ‘I’m walking as fast as I can,’ Ruby grumbled. Putting down her satchel, she took off her school tie and undid the top button of her shirt. She wished she could take off her blazer, too, but she didn’t want to carry it. Thank goodness Mother hadn’t made her wear her hat or her gloves! She took some quick gulps from her water bottle, and then ran after May and Bee.

  Sometimes they were passed by other children: first by three boys riding ponies, then by a girl on a fat white horse with a younger girl sitting behind her, hanging on to her waist. A boy raced past them on his bicycle, skidded in a patch of sand, and almost fell. ‘You’re such a show-off, Eric Weber!’ May yelled at him as he wobbled away down the road, ringing his bell.

  After what seemed like at least an hour, Ruby heard the distant sounds of children playing. There, finally, was the school, a small, neat building of brick and stone, with newly planted pine trees marking the fence line. In the paddock next door some boys were kicking a football.

  As soon as they reached the school gate Bee skipped off to find her friends. Trying not to look as nervous as she felt, Ruby turned to May. ‘Now what?’ she asked.

  ‘I’d better show you where everything is,’ May said in her cool way. ‘Not that there’s much to see. This part of the yard we’re looking at is the girls’ playground. The boys have to play on the other side. If boys go into the girls’ playground, they get the strap.’

  ‘What’s the strap?’

  ‘A belting from Mr Miller. Only boys get the strap. Girls get the cane.’ She led Ruby across the schoolyard and into the enclosed porch. ‘There are two rooms. One is for the babies and the other is for Grade Three to Grade Seven. Miss Head teaches the babies, and Mr Miller teaches us. He’s the head teacher. I’ll tell him you’re here.’

  Mr Miller was in the main classroom, sitting at his desk on a low platform in front of the blackboard.

  ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘Miss Ruby Quinlan. Welcome to our school. I expect it will be rather different from the school you’re used to, but we’re proud of it, aren’t we, May?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘We’re a friendly bunch, Ruby,’ Mr Miller continued. ‘You’ll soon get to know us. About half our students are of German descent, and that makes for an interesting mix. Are you enjoying your stay with your uncle and aunt?’

  Ruby glanced at May. ‘Yes, Mr Miller,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Mr Miller.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘My students always call me “sir”. Yes sir, no sir, three bags full, sir. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Miller. I mean, Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good girl. I’ll soon find out what standard you’ve reached. Any problems? Reading and writing? Arithmetic? You’ll be working towards your Qualifying Certificate, along with the other Grade Sevens.’

  ‘I’m not very good at arithmetic . . . sir.’

  Mr Miller smiled. ‘We’ll see, won’t we? Your desk is in the far row, second from the front. You’ll be sharing with Doris Spinks. Put your things in your desk and then take your satchel out to the porch.’ He looked at his pocket watch. ‘Time for assembly. Out you go, girls.’

  Ruby’s first morning passed in a blur. For assembly everyone lined up in the schoolyard like soldiers, standing at attention and then at ease. One of the boys hoisted the flag on the flagpole, and then, in a loud sing-song, the children all recited the loyal oath: ‘I love my country, the British Empire. I honour her king, King George the fifth. I salute her flag, the Union Jack. I promise cheerfully to obey her laws.’

  The boys saluted, the girls curtsied, and then everybody sang ‘God Save the King’. Two of the older boys started to bang on a drum and a triangle, and to Ruby’s surprise all the children began immediately to march on the spot. ‘Left, left! Left, right, left!’ called Mr Miller, as two lines of marching children filed into their classrooms.

  Before lessons started, the teacher asked Ruby to stand beside him at the front of the room. ‘We have a new student in Grade Seven,’ he said. ‘Her name is Ruby Quinlan.’ He turned and carefully wrote her name in copperplate on the blackboard, giving the Q an extra flourish. ‘Ruby comes to us from a big school in the city, so our school will be quite a change for her. You must do all you can to make her feel at home. Ruby’ – he turned to her – ‘do you wish to say anything?’

  As everybody stared and whispered, the only wish Ruby had was that she might sink through the floor. ‘No, sir,’ she mumbled.

  A small boy in the back row shot his hand up. ‘Please, sir, why is she wearing those funny clothes?’

  ‘They aren’t funny clothes, Ernest. Ruby is wearing a school uniform, very neat and appropriate. Go to your desk now, Ruby.’ He rubbed his hands together in a jolly sort of way. ‘All right, then, boys and girls! Grades Three to Five, get out your spelling books. Grade Six, turn to chapter three in your history books. Grade Seven, we’ll continue our work on fractions.’


  Doris Spinks had freckles and a sore on her upper lip. Her frizzy brown hair was cut short in a bob.

  ‘Are those the clothes you wore at your old school?’ she whispered as Ruby sat down beside her. She fingered Ruby’s blazer.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They look expensive. Did they cost a lot?’

  ‘I don’t know what they cost,’ Ruby said. ‘I didn’t buy them.’

  ‘Did you go to a private school? I wish I could go to a private school.’

  ‘Stop talking, you two!’ Mr Miller loomed over them. ‘One more word from either of you, and it’ll be the cane.’

  Doris blushed and lowered her eyes. ‘Sorry, sir. It was Ruby, sir. Only she had some questions, and I was helping her.’

  ‘All right, Doris. Thank you for that explanation.’

  Ruby stared up at the ceiling. I don’t believe it, she thought. I’ve ended up sitting next to somebody who’s even worse than Brenda Walker.

  IT didn’t take Ruby long to know all her Grade Seven classmates, because there were only nine of them. There was May, and May’s best friend Lorna Seidel. There was Doris. Sitting in the double desk behind Ruby and Doris were Iris Dunn, a small, mousey-haired girl with a crippled leg, and Betty Pfitzner. Betty looked older than the other girls, and Ruby was sure her hair had been Marcel waved.

  There were four boys: Eric Weber, a very plump boy called Colin Evans, and Clive Schwartz and Bob Turner. Ruby thought of Clive and Bob as ‘the big boys’.

  In the recess break Mr Miller took Ruby to the stationery room and gave her textbooks, exercise books, pencils, a ruler, a penholder and a box of nibs, a compass, a setsquare and some sheets of blotting paper.

  ‘Unfortunately all our second-hand textbooks have been sold,’ he said, ‘so you’ll have to pay full price.’

  ‘That’s all right, sir.’