Up In Annies Room--- 13.
Without Prejudice
One hot day we saw some boys dragging branches across and up the road, Lachlan, Andrew and I followed quietly like the Indian braves we thought we were. We had tired of being cowboys and cowgirl. I was Annie Oakley of course, with my faded tan skirt, waistcoat and six guns with real firing caps that smelled of sulphur when struck.
The Indians seemed to be having more fun and didnt need boots, just bare feet, covered in dirt and tough on the soles. The soles of our feet were so tough, even running over gravel didn't hurt. A gang of three little Indians who tracked others kids never wanting to ask if we could play in case we were rejected.silently we followed. In the end I asked what they were doing.
" Building a bonfire " one of the boys answered. He was a Ginger Meggs boy, red hair, freckles and had a wide grin, we padded towards him, the boys backing me up, protectively. It wasn't too bad if I was rejected as I was just a "girl", the boys could just be seen to be hanging around with their Sister, allowing no loss of face if I was rebuffed.
The boys, strangers to us were rolling tyres towards a big pile of wood on the block of vacant land, near King street.
" Whats a bonfire ? , I asked, bold, now.
The ginger boy stared hard at me, his mouth open a little, his green eyes stood out in his freckled face, the colour so bright it looked almost cartoonish.
" It's a big fire. Its Guy Fawkes night in three weeks and we are building a bonfire, so we can burn the Guy " he answered.
I looked at my brothers who looked at the ground and shuffled their feet.
We started dragging branches towards where the small pile of wood was, the other boys didn't comment on us new comers, just kept dragging their branches and rolling old tyres.
"What are the tyres for ? " I asked the ginger haired boy.
" They burn the longest, keep the fire going" he said.
All that hot day we built up the bonfire, others joined in. Men as well. By the time we finished it was huge, towering up in the air a good twelve feet. And in three weeks would become twenty feet. And on top would sit a " Guy". A male figure of sacking, stuffed with straw, wearing pants and a shirt, his straw hair blackened, a hat on top of his head, his face bearded and moustached.
We were fascinated and at last had some neighbourhood friends. I was the token girl, mainly as I looked like one, short hair, freckled, always bare foot and in shorts and my red speedos underneath. They were a hand me down from Heather and I was working my way up to Jantzens which were the Professional swimmers attire. Speedos were just a stop gap until I learned to swim at least.
Mum and Dad filled us in on the story of Guy Fawkes, who tried to blow up the Houses Of Parliament in England on the 5th of November, 1605.
Remember, remember the 5th of November
Gunpowder treason and plot
I see no reason why gunpowder, treason
Should ever be forgot.
We had never heard of him but if he was going to be our entry into the neighbourhood gang of kids, so be it. We were secretly thrilled and heard there was going to be fireworks. Dad bought bags and boxes of them home each day and stockpiled them in his bedroom. We were not allowed near them as much as the boys wanted to. Lachlan had begun being fascinated with fire and petrol and set himself alight one day which was painful and stopped him at the same time.
He threw petrol on an outdoor fire which then gracefully arced back in a flash back and burned his hair, eyebrows and eyelashes. I laughed until I was sick but pretended to be sympathetic. I had warned him as had Mum, but he wouldn't listen. I did feel sorry for his burns but he stunk like cooked pork and the sight of him with no eyebrows or lashes was hysterical. Ah, well, he could be a bad tempered boy at times and it seemed to Heather and I a fair little bit of punishment. He had no bother with taking our dolls heads off.
We grew more excited by the day at the thought of Bonfire Night. We had furtively checked out the
fireworks, there were squibs, little crackers that went off in little sparks, Catherine Wheels that spun in a circle, big bangers on a stick like small fat red rockets, they shot up in the air and were the loudest. There were ones that shout out coloured sparks and of course for the females were sparklers.
Dad, delighted we had neighbourhood friends at last, invited everyone back to our house for more fireworks after the bonfire. He spent all afternoon setting them up in the scrubby back yard, with it's long line of rope washing line reaching from one side of the yard to the other. He fastened Catherine wheels to the paling fence, dug the rockets into the ground on their splintery sticks. It looked very
festive.
We couldn't wait until night time. The bonfire was ignited at last and went up with a whoosh, the heat making us all take a step back, the flames shooting high into the night sky. It was beyond any thing I
had ever seen. The crackling of the wood, embers flying everywhere, the rich smell of wood burning, the fire had a life of its own. It was beauty, it was joyful, the light radiating off smiling faces and then the Guy began to burn. We all cheered and yelled and dogs all over the neighbourhood began to bark and whine.
Then all the fireworks started. The sky was lit with exploding rockets and stars, they made the loudest noises as expected, showers of light came raining down on us but were not hot. Just white and dropped away to our feet without burning. The same as the sparklers, we could run our hands over the tops of the white sparkles and felt no heat. And suddenly I remembered Stuart putting his hand over the flame of the stove in Port Augusta and feeling no pain. He told me to try it but I wouldn't.
And the feelings of him were there with me on that night of raining fire, he was in the smoke that stung my eyes and the salty tears that poured down my face. Where was he my funny brother ? The one with specs on his moon man face, that told us jokes at the dinner table and laughed. That was there one minute and gone the next. Suffocated, they said, his lungs full of sand, his body broken. And none of us could go into small spaces anymore. I dried my eyes and ran home.
My feelings were all mixed up, delight and sorrow, excited and angry. I felt alive as if on fire, myself, and yet icy cold on the inside. No where for the feelings to go, I wanted to scream until I could scream no more and went out to the backyard and sat in the back step. Dad was there coming back from the bonfire early to finish his preparations. Everyone crowded into the backyard, sooty and laughing.
And the rockets went up and the Catherine wheels fired, spinning slowly at first and then spinning faster and faster. The backyard was lit up in flashes of light, reds, greens, blues and the boys were grabbing penny bungers from the white paper bags and setting them off. One giant Catherine wheel suddenly spun off its nail and took off across the yard. Chasing my fat little Scottish Dad all over the yard, wherever he went it seemed to follow. We laughed at my poor hapless Dad until we cried, howling
One hot day we saw some boys dragging branches across and up the road, Lachlan, Andrew and I followed quietly like the Indian braves we thought we were. We had tired of being cowboys and cowgirl. I was Annie Oakley of course, with my faded tan skirt, waistcoat and six guns with real firing caps that smelled of sulphur when struck.
The Indians seemed to be having more fun and didnt need boots, just bare feet, covered in dirt and tough on the soles. The soles of our feet were so tough, even running over gravel didn't hurt. A gang of three little Indians who tracked others kids never wanting to ask if we could play in case we were rejected.silently we followed. In the end I asked what they were doing.
" Building a bonfire " one of the boys answered. He was a Ginger Meggs boy, red hair, freckles and had a wide grin, we padded towards him, the boys backing me up, protectively. It wasn't too bad if I was rejected as I was just a "girl", the boys could just be seen to be hanging around with their Sister, allowing no loss of face if I was rebuffed.
The boys, strangers to us were rolling tyres towards a big pile of wood on the block of vacant land, near King street.
" Whats a bonfire ? , I asked, bold, now.
The ginger boy stared hard at me, his mouth open a little, his green eyes stood out in his freckled face, the colour so bright it looked almost cartoonish.
" It's a big fire. Its Guy Fawkes night in three weeks and we are building a bonfire, so we can burn the Guy " he answered.
I looked at my brothers who looked at the ground and shuffled their feet.
We started dragging branches towards where the small pile of wood was, the other boys didn't comment on us new comers, just kept dragging their branches and rolling old tyres.
"What are the tyres for ? " I asked the ginger haired boy.
" They burn the longest, keep the fire going" he said.
All that hot day we built up the bonfire, others joined in. Men as well. By the time we finished it was huge, towering up in the air a good twelve feet. And in three weeks would become twenty feet. And on top would sit a " Guy". A male figure of sacking, stuffed with straw, wearing pants and a shirt, his straw hair blackened, a hat on top of his head, his face bearded and moustached.
We were fascinated and at last had some neighbourhood friends. I was the token girl, mainly as I looked like one, short hair, freckled, always bare foot and in shorts and my red speedos underneath. They were a hand me down from Heather and I was working my way up to Jantzens which were the Professional swimmers attire. Speedos were just a stop gap until I learned to swim at least.
Mum and Dad filled us in on the story of Guy Fawkes, who tried to blow up the Houses Of Parliament in England on the 5th of November, 1605.
Remember, remember the 5th of November
Gunpowder treason and plot
I see no reason why gunpowder, treason
Should ever be forgot.
We had never heard of him but if he was going to be our entry into the neighbourhood gang of kids, so be it. We were secretly thrilled and heard there was going to be fireworks. Dad bought bags and boxes of them home each day and stockpiled them in his bedroom. We were not allowed near them as much as the boys wanted to. Lachlan had begun being fascinated with fire and petrol and set himself alight one day which was painful and stopped him at the same time.
He threw petrol on an outdoor fire which then gracefully arced back in a flash back and burned his hair, eyebrows and eyelashes. I laughed until I was sick but pretended to be sympathetic. I had warned him as had Mum, but he wouldn't listen. I did feel sorry for his burns but he stunk like cooked pork and the sight of him with no eyebrows or lashes was hysterical. Ah, well, he could be a bad tempered boy at times and it seemed to Heather and I a fair little bit of punishment. He had no bother with taking our dolls heads off.
We grew more excited by the day at the thought of Bonfire Night. We had furtively checked out the
fireworks, there were squibs, little crackers that went off in little sparks, Catherine Wheels that spun in a circle, big bangers on a stick like small fat red rockets, they shot up in the air and were the loudest. There were ones that shout out coloured sparks and of course for the females were sparklers.
Dad, delighted we had neighbourhood friends at last, invited everyone back to our house for more fireworks after the bonfire. He spent all afternoon setting them up in the scrubby back yard, with it's long line of rope washing line reaching from one side of the yard to the other. He fastened Catherine wheels to the paling fence, dug the rockets into the ground on their splintery sticks. It looked very
festive.
We couldn't wait until night time. The bonfire was ignited at last and went up with a whoosh, the heat making us all take a step back, the flames shooting high into the night sky. It was beyond any thing I
had ever seen. The crackling of the wood, embers flying everywhere, the rich smell of wood burning, the fire had a life of its own. It was beauty, it was joyful, the light radiating off smiling faces and then the Guy began to burn. We all cheered and yelled and dogs all over the neighbourhood began to bark and whine.
Then all the fireworks started. The sky was lit with exploding rockets and stars, they made the loudest noises as expected, showers of light came raining down on us but were not hot. Just white and dropped away to our feet without burning. The same as the sparklers, we could run our hands over the tops of the white sparkles and felt no heat. And suddenly I remembered Stuart putting his hand over the flame of the stove in Port Augusta and feeling no pain. He told me to try it but I wouldn't.
And the feelings of him were there with me on that night of raining fire, he was in the smoke that stung my eyes and the salty tears that poured down my face. Where was he my funny brother ? The one with specs on his moon man face, that told us jokes at the dinner table and laughed. That was there one minute and gone the next. Suffocated, they said, his lungs full of sand, his body broken. And none of us could go into small spaces anymore. I dried my eyes and ran home.
My feelings were all mixed up, delight and sorrow, excited and angry. I felt alive as if on fire, myself, and yet icy cold on the inside. No where for the feelings to go, I wanted to scream until I could scream no more and went out to the backyard and sat in the back step. Dad was there coming back from the bonfire early to finish his preparations. Everyone crowded into the backyard, sooty and laughing.
And the rockets went up and the Catherine wheels fired, spinning slowly at first and then spinning faster and faster. The backyard was lit up in flashes of light, reds, greens, blues and the boys were grabbing penny bungers from the white paper bags and setting them off. One giant Catherine wheel suddenly spun off its nail and took off across the yard. Chasing my fat little Scottish Dad all over the yard, wherever he went it seemed to follow. We laughed at my poor hapless Dad until we cried, howling
