Bill Rules (2 page)

You had to know Mat Grub to realise that nothing she did was ordinary. She had told Bill that the camping trip she was organising was not going to be ‘a walk in the park'. Bill didn't want to admit to Mat that he was confused about what ‘a walk in the park' meant precisely – or why they were not allowed to walk in a park. But he was soon to find out.

Late spring, on a particularly warm day, Mat announced, ‘It's time we had a meeting in the Think Tank.'

‘The what?' asked Bill.

‘It's somewhere business people and scientists meet to get good ideas. For us it will be the bath.'

The two friends, dressed in their shorts and T-shirts, climbed into the Grubs' old outdoor bath – Mat at one end with her knees pulled up, Bill at the other end in precisely the same position. This old claw-foot bath, nestled into the garden at the foot of the verandah, was a traditional meeting place for the two friends. If Mat suggested a swim, this was where she meant it to happen. Sitting in there, wearing shorts or swimmers, they would think, dream, plan and discuss things. On this particular day, Bill was thinking about how they had both grown and it was getting a bit squashed when Mat suddenly made one of her announcements. It was time to write down a list of essentials for their coming adventure.

Mat jumped out of the bath, gave her shorts and T-shirt a quick wring, and then dived up the steps into the house. She returned with a pad and biro, and climbed back into the bath.

When Mat asked for ideas about what to take on the camp, Bill suggested that matches be put on the list.

‘No way,' Mat said.

‘We have to have a fire, Mat,' said Bill.

‘Of course we'll have a fire,' said Mat.

‘Well, we'll need matches,' said Bill feeling an unusual stirring of irritation.

‘We'll have a fire without matches,' announced Mat. ‘We'll use fire-sticks.'

‘You mean, we'll wander into the bush carrying sticks that are on fire?' asked Bill. ‘Mat, I reckon that's dumb. And dangerous.'

‘No, silly. It's where you get two special sticks and rub them together to make a fire – the Koori way.'

‘But you wouldn't know how Victorian Aborigines from the old days did that, would you?'

‘Nan does. She'll show us,' said Mat. ‘Now let's get on with the list. What else?'

‘A tent,' said Bill.

‘No tents,' said Mat. ‘This is a survival expedition. We're doing light-weight camping.'

Bill had never heard the term ‘light-weight' camping, but he instinctively sensed what it meant – no modern conveniences and not enough food or protective clothing; the thought caused a tight feeling in his
chest. At one and the same moment, Bill understood what ‘not a walk in the park' meant. This adventure was not going to be an easy one.

Nevertheless, Bill had to admit that Mat came up with some very original ideas. Once again, here she was taking an ordinary thing like camping and giving it her own spin. The only trouble was, Bill knew he was in for some unknown ordeals. But there was no backing out. He'd tidied his room and got the okay for this adventure from Pam. Everyone knew he'd been excited about getting out into the bush. Most of all, Bill would never do anything to risk losing Mat's respect. Here he was in the Grubs' bath staring at Mat who was being very business-like with her pad and biro, even if she did have a small moustache of vegemite above her lip. With a deep sigh, Bill said to Mat, ‘Well if we won't have tents, what will we have?'

‘Hootchies,' said Mat.

‘What?'

‘They're bits of tent material you tie between trees or hang over a branch for shelter.'

‘And what else?'

‘You're supposed to help with the list.'

‘Well every time I have an idea, you don't like it,' said Bill.

‘Try me,' said Mat.

‘Food,' said Bill.

‘Good,' said Mat encouragingly. ‘What sort?'

‘Sausages, bacon and eggs,' said Bill.

Mat looked at Bill as if he were a very young child. She spoke slowly and patiently, ‘You don't take that sort of food on a light-weight camp.'

Bill felt the need to splash some cool water over his face. ‘You tell me, then. And, by the way, you've got vegemite smudged all over the top of your mouth.'

Unconcerned, Mat wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘You take dehydrated food. You know, stuff you add water to,' she continued.

‘What about chocolate?' asked Bill.

‘Good one,' said Mat, and she quickly scribbled
chocolate
onto her pad.

After having his suggestion of chocolate accepted, Bill felt part of the expedition. He started to feel excited about the bush camp. If he came back alive
from Mat's ‘survival' adventure, his mates would view him as a kind of Rambo. He'd have stories to tell. From then on, the two friends were more of one mind. Bill came up with some important ideas – water, a small first-aid kit, a whistle, foil survival blankets, string, a container to cook in, a knife and two forks. He tried to persuade Mat to include matches ‘just in case', but she had her mind set on fire-sticks.

‘If you had matches, you wouldn't try hard enough. You'd give up on the sticks.'

Bill knew this was probably true, but he also wondered what it was like to eat cold, uncooked, dehydrated food.

The week before Bill and Mat's adventure, two important things happened. Firstly, Mat's brother crossed his heart and promised that he wouldn't interfere with Mat's plans for a survival camp. This included a promise that, although he would walk with Mat and Bill to the campsite, he'd also take himself off and camp by himself within whistle-hearing distance.

‘That's at least two kilometres, Tom,' said Mat with a warning look.

‘Mat, little sis, I'll be lying back on my air mattress, safely inside my weather-proof tent, munching
my way through an assortment of gourmet delicacies that I intend to carry in my backpack, reading a good book. Unless I hear your whistle, I'll be staying put.'

The other important event was Nan giving a firemaking demonstration. This happened one night after school in the Grubs' all-purpose family room. Bill and his mum watched with a bit of alarm because they thought the demonstration would be outside, but a cool change and some rain had swept in from the south so the lesson was rescheduled for inside. Nan crouched down on the wooden floor. She had put some tinder dry grass and crushed gum leaves in a mound on the floor, then she placed one of her sticks over the kindling.

‘See the notch in the middle of the stick, kids?' she asked. Kids and adults peered over Nan's shoulder with interest. ‘You place this other stick with the sharpened point vertically into your notched stick, hold it firmly, and rub this vertical stick back and forth.'

Nan started rubbing. In her strong, brown hands the stick whizzed back and forth with almost electrical
speed. ‘You can't slow down or you'll lose your heat,' said Nan, sounding a bit breathless. ‘I'll need someone to take over in a moment. Come on, Tom. You've done this with me before.'

Tom squatted next to Nan and quickly took over her stick. It twirled in his manly hands.

‘I think I can see a tiny glow,' said Pam leaning closely. ‘But you'd need a flame wouldn't you?'

‘A tiny bit of red hot ash is all you'll get,' said Nan, ‘and you have to get it onto the kindling quick-smart.'

‘Better have a go, you two,' said Nan, motioning Bill and Mat.

Bill tried first. He went at the rubbing with all his might, but quickly ran out of puff. Then Mat had a go, but she tired quickly, too. Bill noticed that Nan was looking tense in a way he'd never seen her. All the hard work would come to nothing if the heat from the friction was lessened.

‘Give it here,' said Nan to Mat. Once again, the stick was twirling in its notch. If you looked carefully, there was a glowing bit of red. With lightning speed, Nan tipped the hot ash onto the kindling. She stooped face level with it, blowing gently as she did.

Donald, Tom, Pam, Mat and Bill collectively held their breath. Then a tiny flame lit up amongst the bits of grass and leaves. Everyone cheered Nan. The flames spread and then, just as quickly, Nan stomped them out. Tessa scooped up the remains with a brush and pan. Donald helped Nan to her feet and led her to her special armchair, the one where she spent many hours crocheting rugs. The old lady was exhausted. Tessa gave Nan a large glass of water and she drank deeply.

‘Still want to start your fire the old way, kids?' asked Nan when she'd caught her breath.

‘Absolutely!' cried Mat.

Bill nodded, his heart heavy. Both he and Mat were fit. Bill played footy in winter and cricket in summer. Mat was forever running and climbing things. But Bill quietly looked at his and Mat's biceps. Their arms were wiry, but was there enough strength in them to light a fire with sticks?

‘Then look after the Djelwuck well,' said Nan handing Bill the firesticks.

Bill was confused ‘Djel-what?' he asked Nan.

‘The Koori name, son, for these special bits of wood.'

‘Why take these old sticks when the bush is full of sticks?'

‘The Djelwuck are special sticks,' explained Mat.

At first Bill thought there was some superstition connected with the sticks, but then Nan added, ‘These sticks come from a particular type of tree, my boy – an Australian mulberry. Any old sticks just won't work to make fire.'

Matty handed the fire sticks to Bill. He looked down at them with respect. How on earth did the first Aborigines ever figure out that this particular type of wood made fire when lots of other types of wood didn't? Bill felt honoured that he had been entrusted with this knowledge. He felt as if someone had just handed him some priceless heirloom, like a great-great-grandfather's watch or diary. Mat had once told Bill that Indigenous people had lived in Australia for more than sixty thousand years. Here was he, Bill, inheriting this secret, generations and generations later; there was a line of people going thousands of years behind him, each handing the knowledge onto the next.

‘Precious,' was all Bill said.

‘Good boy. You understand,' said Nan.

On the Friday afternoon of the much awaited long-weekend, Mat and Bill raced each other home from school. As they panted down the driveway, they saw Mat's brother, Tom, packing the Grub family's combi van. It was a pre-loved, 1982 model that had been owned by the Grubs for only a few months; it had replaced an even older family car.

It was the vehicle before the combi that had been scoffed at by Isabelle Farquay-Jones – the spoilt little girl from the mansion on the hill. According
to Isabelle, the fact that the Grub family car had its exhaust pipe tied up with rope was evidence that Mat's family were a bunch of no-hoper hippies. The car had served the Grubs loyally for twenty years until it stopped one day and died completely. Therefore, it gave Bill enormous pleasure to wonder what state of shock and horror the Farquay-Jones family would be in when they saw the recently purchased, bright yellow combi.

Bill loved this combi. The exterior had been decorated by the whole family plus assorted friends, including Bill and his mum. The project reminded Bill of his happy initiation into the Grub family the previous year.

Mat had invited Bill into the rambling vine-wreathed cottage next door to the house he and his mum rented. On that first visit, the Grub family was as busy as a hive of bees. Tessa was making jam. Nan was crocheting a rug. Donald, Tom, Mat and various friends who dropped by were painting a circus mural on a wall of the family room. Even though Bill felt embarrassed about his artistic skills, Donald had encouraged him to have a go. Now Bill's vintage car
was there on that wall for all to see. And it was quite a decent car. Nan had said the horn was brilliant. And the best part of the mural project was that Bill's mum, Pam, became an essential part. She had painted a folk-art frame around the whole scene. The Grubs were so thrilled with the final effect that they organised a mural opening with champagne and speeches. The mural was a big turning point for Pam who had felt down since Bill's dad had been in jail.

In a similar way to the mural painting, the decorating of the combi became a kind of day-long party. Tessa was regularly bringing out trays of freshly cooked biscuits and home-made lemonade to keep up everyone's energy and enthusiasm. Tom, who had graduated from art college, directed the project. He told people which bit of the vehicle they could paint. He was good at making suggestions about what to paint, but he also said he wanted everyone to have ‘artistic licence'. When Mat asked what he meant by that, Tom explained, ‘Paint what you want, how you want.'

When Mat was given the rear end of the combi, she painted a cheeky monkey exposing his backside to the world. Tessa worried that the rude monkey
might cause people to have ‘road rage', but Mat said it would make people laugh, especially if they were caught in a traffic jam and feeling bored. Bill designed a picture of a combi on the driver's door; he even drew all the Grub family, himself, his mum, and Uncle Len (the Grubs' dog) sitting in the combi. Pam was given the wheels, so she made them into daisies with yellow centres on the hubs. She also turned the headlights into big eyes with long, curling lashes. Nan painted her totem – a frog – on the front middle section of the grill.

‘Does your frog have a name, Nan?' asked Mat.

‘Sure does,' said Nan. ‘This little chap is called Tiddalick.'

Tessa painted five wriggly grubs on the front bumper bar. Donald created a geometric design down all the left side of the combi. The Grubs' friends, Pip and the one-armed man (both of whom had helped with the mural in the family room), also arrived at the Grubs' place and decorated the long, sliding door behind the passenger seat. Pip created a colourful gypsy caravan, and the one-armed man did the horses that pulled the caravan. Tom claimed the combi's roof. He said it
was a secret canvas and that whatever he painted there could not possibly offend people.

‘Not again!' said Mat.

‘What do you mean,
not again?'
asked Tom.

‘I bet you're going to do another one of your lovely ladies with big you know whats!'

She was right. He did.

By the end of the day, the combi was a work of art. The enamel paints shone so brightly you would have sworn that they'd be glow-in-the-dark. Each artwork was strikingly different to the next; the overall effect was like gazing into the rainbow life of tropical waters.

This, then, was the vehicle that would take Bill and Mat on their new adventure. To Bill, it felt like a magic carpet. To travel in this combi could only mean extraordinary things were going to happen.

‘Better snap out of that dreaming,' Tom said to Bill. ‘Are you sure this little backpack here is all you and Mat need?'

‘Mat reckons so,' said Bill.

‘It
is
so,' said Mat firmly.

‘Okay then, call the folks to farewell us and let's get this wagon on the road!' said Tom.

Pam had come home early from her work at the laundromat so she could say goodbye to Bill. She was at the Grub house having a cuppa. Mat and Bill raced into the family room.

‘We're ready to go!' announced Mat.

‘Slow down,' said Tessa, ‘You've got to change into some more sensible clothes and shoes. Pam and I have your stuff here.'

‘And you forgot to add jackets to your list,' said Pam.

‘It's not going to rain,' said Mat impatiently.

‘It's been raining off and on all week. But even if it doesn't rain, it can get cold up where you're going,' said Tessa.

When Mat complained that they were only driving forty-five minutes to the State Park, Nan pointed out, ‘That's forty-five minutes climbing higher than where we are here in these hills.'

Fifteen minutes later, Bill and Mat were dressed in their trekking gear, their all-weather jackets tied by the sleeves round their waists. They sat next to Tom in the combi while Pam, Tessa, Donald and Nan waved goodbye to the adventurers.