Aunt Effie's Ark (2 page)

“Mabel-John-Florence-Lynda-Stanley-Howard-
Marjorie-Stuart
-Peter-Marie-Colleen-Alwyn-Bryce-Jack-Ann-
Jeremy-Rebecca
-Jane-Isaac-David-Victor-Casey-
Elizabeth-Jared
-Jessica!”

We grumbled out of our bunks, ran and stood in front of the fire, and put on our school uniforms. The boys wore navy-blue shorts with a red-striped belt and a snake buckle, navy-blue shirts, pullovers, and caps with an enamel badge.

“You know you're supposed to wash first. And don't just leave your pyjamas lying where you dropped them!”

“Where you dropped them!”

Daisy glared at Alwyn. “Don't you repeat what I just said!”

“What I just said!”

“I'll tell on you!”

“Tell on you!”

Daisy stamped her foot. Alwyn stamped his. She slammed the door shut on her bunk. Alwyn slammed his. We watched but said nothing because we didn't want Alwyn teasing us either.

Holding out our plates we marched past Marie and Peter who filled them with porridge from the camp oven. There were thirteen chairs down each side of the table for us, but Daisy tried to take Aunt Effie's chair at the top. It tipped itself forward so she spilled milk on her gym frock.

“Somebody's missing,” Lizzie said. Although she was only starting school that morning, she could already count. “There's eight empty chairs!”

“Who hasn't got out of bed?” Daisy demanded,
sponging
her gym. “Call out your number when you hear your name. “Mabel-John-Florence-Lynda-Stanley-
Howard-Marjorie
-Stuart! Peter-Marie-Colleen-Alwyn-Bryce-Jack!

Ann-Jeremy-Rebecca-Jane-Isaac-David-Victor!
Casey-Elizabeth
-Jared-Jessica!”

Alwyn called wrong numbers for several who were missing. When Daisy called his name he yelled, “A
hundred
and twenty-nine!” The rest of us giggled and jiggled and slipped from chair to chair till Daisy lost count. She spilled some more porridge on her gym, dropped the wet cloth, and had to start counting all over again.

She gave up, pushed back the sliding doors, and there were our older cousins, Mabel, Johnny, Flossie, Lynda, Stan, Howard, Marge, and Stuart in their bunks, all
snoring
.

“They're hibernating, too,” said Jessie.

“How dare they? Nobody asked me!” But although Daisy beat a pot with a spoon and shouted their names again, Mabel, Johnny, Flossie, Lynda, Stan, Howard, Marge, and Stuart snored on.

“I suppose the rest of us better get to school.” Peter filled the porridge pot with water, peeped outside for the wild beast, and unlocked the door. The bloodstained wisps of wool and the uneaten feet of the foolish sheep were hidden under fresh snow.

Marie jammed on her panama hat with its enamel badge, pulled the elastic under her chin, and pulled it off again. “I've just remembered: we've forgotten to milk and do the separating, feed the stock, muck out the stalls and pens, and collect the eggs!”

As we finished scattering new straw and filling the troughs with fresh water, a distant sound rang sharp as brass upon the cold air: “Dink! Dink! Dink!” At first it sounded like new pennies clinking. Then it went faster: “Ding-a-chink-a-ching-a-dink!”

“The school bell! Mr Jones won't let us in if we're late.” Daisy tossed an armload of straw in the air and ran down the track, her schoolbag bumping off her behind.

“We'll collect the eggs after school,” Marie said. “Grab your bags and run!”

But Peter was already bridling Hubert, our longest horse. We shinned up the fence and climbed on, sitting in single file along his back: Peter, Marie, Colleen, Alwyn, Bryce, Jack, Ann, Jazz, Beck, Jane, Isaac, David, Victor, Casey, Lizzie, Jared, and Jessie. Each of us plaited the hair of the one in front as we rode.

“Ding-a-din-a-ding-a-din!” The bell rang even faster.

As we passed Daisy, Hubert picked her up by the collar of her crisply starched blouse. “Unhand me at once!” Hubert trotted on, Daisy dangling from his teeth.

“Din-a-dink-a-chin-a-chink!”

“It's still ringing!”

“Faster, Hubert!”

Going up the hill, we slid further and further back until Jessie, Jared, Lizzie, and Casey slipped off over Hubert's tail. They cried and looked around for the wild beast that had eaten the foolish sheep, but Peter jumped off and gave them a leg up. He climbed up Hubert's front leg and took
the reins again. Going down the other side of the hill, we all slid forward till Peter was shoved against Hubert's ears.

“Chink-a-ding-a-chink-a-ding…”

“It's slowing down!” we screamed.

“…da–ding–da–ding–da-ding…”

“Giddup, Hubert!” Peter shouted. “If it stops we'll be late, and Mr Jones will lock us out!”

Hubert galloped to the school door and put down his head. We shot over his neck – “Ding!” – and landed on the floor inside – “Ding!” – just in time – “Ding!” There was a thump as Hubert dropped Daisy beside us. “Dong!” said the bell faintly and was silent.

“No running inside!” shouted the headmaster. Mr Jones had a beard and moustache and looked like King George V. He was short like him, too. Peter said that was why he always shouted at us. We didn't mind because we often heard Mrs Jones shouting at Mr Jones over at the school house.

“Daisy, you've got straw in your hair, and there are milk spots on your gym!” Mr Jones shouted at her.

“Please, sir, I've been trying to get the rest of them here all morning!”

“That's enough, thank you, Daisy! And straighten your collar! Alwyn, I hope you haven't been bellowing at the bulls again. Jessie, why isn't your hair plaited?”

“Please, sir, I was the last one on Hubert. There was nobody behind me to plait my hair.”

“You'll just have to get up earlier!” Mr Jones roared at the top of his voice. “Peter, why haven't you put Hubert into the horse paddock?” Before Peter could reply, Mr Jones shouted again. “You know the rule. If you go outside to put Hubert into the horse paddock, you can't come inside again, because the school bell's stopped ringing.
That means you get locked out.”

“Oh, sir!”

“Who am I to go changing the rules without permission from the Prime Minister?” shouted Mr Jones. He looked nervously at the big wireless on a shelf above the door and dropped his voice to a bellow. “You know she listens to everything!”

So Peter whistled Hubert into the corridor where he stood neighing through the shutters, stamping, turning on the taps with his nose, and sucking water noisily out of the handbasin.

Hubert made so much noise, Mr Jones shouted that the rule about the bell had been changed, and Peter could go outside to put Hubert into the horse paddock. Then Mr Jones locked the door and wouldn't let Peter back in till we all cried and stamped and made such a noise Mr Jones discovered the Prime Minister had changed the rule which said people couldn't come in after the bell had stopped.

“The rule still says they can't come in the door,” he shouted, “but they can climb in the window!”

Peter climbed in the window. We all cheered and whacked our rulers together. “Write fifty lines,” Mr Jones yelled at Peter: “I must not climb in the window.”

Those of us who had been at school the winter before sat at the desks near the windows. The little ones sat near the door – furthest from the stove. Mr Jones blew his nose noisily and called the roll in his loudest voice. “Daisy-Mabel-Johnny-Flossie-Lynda-Stan-Howard-
Marge-Stuart
-Peter-Marie-Colleen-Alwyn-Bryce-Jack-Ann-
Jazz-Beck
-Jane-Isaac-David-Victor-Casey-Lizzie-Jared-Jess!”

“Please, sir,” said Marie, “Mabel, Johnny, Flossie, Lynda, Stan, Howard, Marge, and Stuart are hibernating.”

“How sensible!” bawled Mr Jones. “It's going to be
a hard winter. Last night, Mrs Jones heard a wild beast prowling and howling around the house. She said it sounded like one of the gluttonous wolves that come down in hard winters from the Vast Untrodden Ureweras.”

“Did you have a look out your window, sir?”

“I hid under the blankets,' Mr Jones said in a quieter voice, and we all nodded. We understood cowardice.

“Sir, I stick my head under the mattress, too.” Mr Jones stared at Alwyn. Grown-ups never knew whether Alwyn was being helpful or cheeky.

Marie was the ink monitor. While she mixed it and filled the ink-wells in our desks, Peter who was the stove monitor filled it with firewood, and Mr Jones read us the first couple of pages of The Wind in the Willows, down to where the Mole “found himself rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow”. Mr Jones always read that on the first day of school. It disappointed Daisy who wanted to start straight off on sums – difficult ones.

“I want to hear some more about the Mole!” Lizzie cried, and Jessie and Jared cried with her.

“We'll read some more tomorrow,” Mr Jones shouted at them.

Peter had been trying to write his lines, but the room was so cold the ink froze in the ink-wells. The lead froze in our pencils. Mr Jones's chalk froze so hard it
shattered
when he wrote on the blackboard. Furthest from the warmth of the stove, Casey, Lizzie, Jared, and Jessie rubbed their chilblains. Tears ran down their noses and formed icicles.

“You look like kiwis with white beaks,” Alwyn said, and they cried harder, and the icicles grew longer.

“Playtime!” shouted Mr Jones. “A game of kingaseeny will warm us up!”

We loved playtime with Mr Jones. He was easy to get past when he was in the middle in kingaseeny, but we all tried to get him on our side when we played
rounders
because he could hit the ball down the far end of the horse paddock. Most of all we loved versing Mr Jones at marbles. We always played keepsie and cheated all his marbles off him – he started off each day with a bagful of beauty new glassies – big alleys we couldn't afford, and not one of them chipped. He cried when he lost, and we liked watching his tears run into his beard.

But that morning, even though we played kingaseeny hard, the icicles on the little ones' noses grew longer. When Mr Jones rang the bell to finish playtime, it was frozen and wouldn't ding. He put it on top of the stove. “It'll thaw out,” he shouted, “and we'll hear it ring all the dings then.”

“Please, sir, when's Arithmetic?” asked Daisy.

Mr Jones pulled a pound note from his pocket. “Run over to the billiard saloon. Give this quid to Mrs Doleman and tell her I want ten bob each way on Phar Lap in the first race at Te Aroha.”

“Please, sir, are we going to do any Nature Study
today
?” asked Alwyn.

“Everyone run and pull ten weeds out of my vegie
garden
!” shouted Mr Jones. As we gave him our weeds, Daisy came puffing in the door, and she counted and made sure we each had ten.

“That's Nature Study and Arithmetic for today!”
bellowed
Mr Jones. “Now – Science!” And he showed us how to make gunpowder. By the time we came back inside, after blowing a stump out of the middle of the basketball court, the little ones were so cold their fingers had frozen together.

“Social Studies!” shouted Mr Jones. “Has anyone got
any news?”

“Please, sir,” Marie said, “the Prime Minister called all our names on the wireless last Friday.”

Mr Jones looked nervously at the wireless set over the door.

“She told us to behave ourselves,” said Lizzie. “Please, sir. And she called Aunt Effie by The Name We Dare Not Say, twice! And then she went to sleep for the winter.”

Mr Jones looked at Peter. “Is that true?”

“Please, sir, we heard her snoring. And they played ‘Now Is the Hour', and the wireless went off the air.”

Mr Jones still wasn't sure. We knew he was scared of the Prime Minister.

“We could sing ‘Po Kare Kare Ana',” said Alwyn. “She likes that.”

“Musical Appreciation!” Mr Jones stood on his chair, sang loudly in a deep voice and waved his arms, and we all waved back. We sang “Po Kare Kare Ana”. We sang “As We Trek Along Together”. We sang “By The Light of the Peat-Fire Flame”. We sang most of the songs in the old brown Broadcasting Book. To finish, we sang “God Defend Waharoa” right into the wireless, but no sound came back.

“You're right,” shouted Mr Jones. “The Prime Minister must be hibernating. She usually stamps her feet and joins in when we sing ‘God Defend Waharoa'.”

The little ones were even colder, and the icicles on their noses grew longer till Alwyn told them they looked like glass Pinocchios.

“I'll tell you what,” Mr Jones said to them, “I'll get my strap and give you all six of the best on each hand. That should warm you up! It always warms me!” he laughed callously. The little ones cried because they didn't know Mr Jones yet.

He opened the drawer, pulled out the strap, and gave his table a huge whack. “Ow!” he cried.

“Ow!” Alwyn yelled.

Mr Jones winced, shook his hand in the air above his head, and picked up the strap from the floor. The leather had frozen so hard it wouldn't bend. “I can't give anyone the cuts with that!” said Mr Jones. “It jars my hand!” We all cheered, and Mr Jones cheered, too. He was really a very kind man.

“I can't teach without a strap. Can you keep a secret?” he shouted at us.

“Yes!” we shouted back, all but Daisy.

“Sure?”

“Sure!”

“Promise you won't tell the Prime Minister when she wakes up?”

“We promise!” said everyone but Daisy.

“Fair dinkum?”

“Fair dinkum!” we chorused, all but Daisy.

Mr Jones looked at the wireless and whispered loudly, “Remember you promised you wouldn't tell the Prime Minister when she wakes up!”

“Not me,” said Daisy, but Mr Jones didn't hear.

“Because of the unseasonable cold,” he bellowed, “the school committee has decided to close the school for the rest of winter!”