Fred's Amazing Holiday. Ian Higgins
yourself. Why can’t you just learn to be normal, like everybody else in this class? Just learn to write like everybody else, with your right hand. Sit down, boy! Get writing with your right hand. That is the right one! Everybody in this class knows that, but you.’’
But I say, “Mum says, I must not be made to write with my right hand, because Aunty Muriel was born left-handed. The teachers made her do right handed writing and she stutters and Mum says that I must stay left handed no matter what.
“Really!” says Mr Brown, “Your Mum again and Aunt Muriel as well. We are not interested in what your Mum says or Aunt Muriel. You are at school now. You are in my class. You do what I say, or else”. Pauses, “Laddie, you are fast turning my class today into an episode of Yes Sir, No Sir. You are not on the radio. This is not funny.” The class laughs.
Mr Brown adds, “Sometimes I think I should call you Bluebottle.’’ The class laughs again.
I say quickly, “Didn’t know Bluebottle was left handed, Sir.”
That gets him! He goes really mad. “I have had enough of you Fred Clever Jones who can never stay still, or be quiet. You are just like what Miss Swan said about your mother, when she was here at school... You never stop talking, on and on and on; always got some smart remark, always interrupting. You waste my time. You waste the time of the whole class.”
I think. As if the other kids care.
“You’ve got a lot to learn. Just leave the room. Take all you books with you. Put them in your bag. And wipe that inane grin off your face. Then go and pick up any rubbish you see lying around in the school yard, till the last bell goes. Then get your bag and go home. Just keep out of my sight. I have had enough for one day.”
I know Mr Brown is not happy, but this punishment is better than the cuts, better than running messages for him. Off I go, quick as I can... almost a whole free afternoon out of his sight, not copying stuff off the board.
It’s great to be out in the fresh air. I hum songs, well the bits I know off by heart. “Life is great in the sunshine state.” The sun is bright. There are some big clouds, like bright white pop corn. The magpies are happy. I love the way they sing. Just wander around picking up bits of brown paper bags, squashed half-eaten sandwiches, watermelon peel, and other rubbish. I look at the puffy clouds, glimpse a brown and yellow butterfly, and see a big khaki grasshopper, which jumps. Wish I could jump like that grasshopper.
The bell goes at last. (Grab my bag...Get out of the school ground, faster than Flash Gordon.)
I am so happy. Got out of a whole afternoon of school, out of Mr Brown’s sight and best of all out of hearing boring words, no dictation, no long boring notes to copy off the board, about the dead Kings and dead Queens of Great Britain. Who cares about them, except boring Mr Arthur Mees?
I walk home full of songs, moving in step with myself, singing, “I had a good job for thirty five bob and I kicked the manager in the gob and I left, right, left.” And, “The Maggots walked down Pitt Street with their boots on...”
At teatime Mum says, “How did school go?”
“Alright”
“Alright is not good enough. And what’s wrong with your hand?”
So off I go and tell her the lot.
In the end she says, “Well, tomorrow, I’ll be off to see the Head Master and Mr Brown to give them a piece of my mind. As for Miss Swan, well she was my teacher. She knows I have always been a talker. She and I are friends, not like that Mr Brown.”
We eat our sliced Lady Finger bananas with sugar and fresh custard Mum made on the gas.
Mum starts again. “The Professor of Education at the University is an old friend of the family. Not long ago I had a chat with him about left-handers and you. He said it is no longer policy to change left-hand writers into right–hand writers. So I will have something nice to say to that Mr Brown tomorrow. Don’t you worry.”
Well actually I do worry. It won’t be nice. I do not need anything more to make Mr Brown pick on me.
“It’s alright Mum. I can look after myself. I will always stay left-handed. You don’t have to go to school. It’s okay.”
All Mum says is, “When I make up my mind...” (and finishes there).
Well, looks like Mum will be off to school tomorrow, but maybe I could have a holiday.
Gran walks in. for a cup of Bushel’s tea with Mum. Gran has her latest Zane Grey, Riders of the Purple Sage. She’ll start reading that, once Mum gets back into her big book, The Timeless Land. Funny name but Mum likes it.
Mum says, “Best you go to your room and do your homework.”
So off I go but try to hear what they are saying. Lucky Mum has a penetrating voice. Gran is harder to hear. They are joking about the name of Mr Brown’s house “The Nest”” and that Mr Brown and Mrs Brown have no kids. “The bird can’t lay eggs.” says Mum. Gran says, “Maybe the rooster is a dud. You never know.”
Better give up listening. Might strain my ears. Better start to put my plan into action.
GETTING READY
Get into the kitchen fast, while they have their gossip about Mr Brown what happened today. Grab that packet of Sao biscuits and the jar of peanut butter in reserve. Mum won’t miss them for a while; a couple of apples, a flat knife, so I can get the money out of my money box. Next grab a tin-a-sardines with the little key to peel the top open, great. Best be straight back in the bedroom, doing homework. First thing: get out the exercise book, second thing: look like I am home-working hard.
Chuck everything out of my school bag. Shove the lot far under the bed. Start to pack. Get this stuff outta-sight fast. Throw in my little torch now, (in case I forget in the morning. Too bad tonight if I have to go to the dunny in the dark). Commonwealth Bank Money Box... And my school bank savings book.
Two shirts, two shorts, roll them up tight, stuff them in... So good Mum got me a big school bag, said it’ll last till I go off to the High School. Holds a lot of stuff.
Oh, my best books, Treasure Island, Kidnapped, Biggles Flies West, and the latest Donald Duck comic... Better not take too much: stick the Saos on the top; push the peanut paste jar down the bottom, beside the money box with the knife. What else?
Oh a couple of handkerchiefs and my plastic rain coat Try not to forget the tooth brush and tooth paste after brekkie before I head off. “Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, Zip-a-dee-ay. Wonderful feeling. Wonderful day” ... All day off from school; free time. Mr Brown sure taught me a lesson this arvo.
Must put in a new note book to write in, and pencils, and sharpener. Wouldn’t mind some of those dried apricots: could come in handy. Put em in.
Oops Mum’s coming into the kitchen to boil the water: better do a bunk. Back into the bedroom: look busy. Oops not quick enough.
“Just what you doing here?”
“Just getting a drink, Mum.”
“For Goodness sake. Just get on with your homework!”
Don’t know who will be getting picked on by Mr Brown, after my little holiday. I’ll try to shut up more. My bright remarks make him agro... Silly old Brownie, dib, dib, dub. Oh I think that’s the Cubs or Boy Scouts. Now I remember, the Brownies, “Here we are in the brownie ring ready for most anything.” And the thing I am almost ready for is my holiday from Mr Brown. For now, I couldn’t care less how long a carpet one yard wide needs to be, to cover the floor of a room 18 feet by 12 feet with none left over.
Mum yells out, while she waits for the kettle to boil. “Working hard Fred? Not daydreaming? I hope.”
“Real hard, Mum.” What else could I say? Packing for my holiday? Not likely.
The grown up’s talk goes on and on. Bet