Red Dirt Diary 3 (2 page)

Mrs Whittington said she was taking the pudding to Blue over at the school, but it seemed a lot further away than she remembered. I suppose that's true. She used to live just across the road from Hardbake Plains Public. Now the school's twenty-five kilometres away. She doesn't remember that she's moved house and now lives in our shearers' cottage, Magpie's Rest.

Mum wanted to drive Mrs Whittington back home, but she wouldn't get in the car without the pigs. So I got out and walked slowly back to Magpie's Rest with her. Mrs Whittington boiled the kettle and served tea and pudding to Gerty, Doris, Mildred and me on the front veranda while the sun set.

As I walked back to our house, Mrs Whittington yelled out, ‘If you find young Blue, tell her I've been looking for her!'

Monday, 23 April

Cassie got hysterical at recess. She was walking around sobbing, carrying her banana. It was too tough to peel.

The Colonel sat her down on the veranda and brought her a glass of water. Then he pulled a piece of fishing line from his shorts pocket, made it into a little noose, slipped it over the banana, gave a sudden tug and off flew the end of the skin. He peeled the sides down and handed the banana back to Cassie.

Cassie was astonished. She stared at the Colonel and whispered, ‘Thank you, Colonel! You are so clever!'

The rest of the kids were astonished too.
They'd never seen such an odd way to peel bananas. They thought it was cool.

I
thought it was stupid. What's wrong with just using a knife to chop off the end, or your teeth?
Miss McKenzie
would be able to peel a banana without making a fuss about it.

Received our first contribution for
The Bake Tribune
today.

Tuesday, 24 April

Good grief! Just about everyone brought a banana and a piece of fishing line to school today. There were chunks of yellow fruit peel flying everywhere. Nick lost control of his banana, and it flew through the air until it collided with the Colonel's head.

The Colonel frowned and said, ‘Reminds me of the Great Fruit Fight on Mount Fuji back in 1978. Jolly well nearly drowned in orange juice … black eye from an apple … slipped on a banana peel and ended up with a spiky pineapple stuck in a very uncomfortable spot. Dangerous, dangerous times. Still, it was worth it. I was awarded the Purple Plum for bravery. A great honour!'

His eyebrows wriggled like two hairy caterpillars crawling across his forehead, and he walked away.

Nick Farrel and Gary Hartley burst out laughing, but Harry Wilson's eyes nearly popped out of his head. He spent the rest of the day telling everyone that the Colonel had been awarded
the Purple Plum for bravery in the Battle of the Fruit Salad. By three o'clock, all the little kids were gaping at the Colonel like he was a superhero when really he's a big fat liar.

Miss McKenzie never used to lie …

Wednesday, 25 April

Anzac Day ceremony today. Everyone in Hardbake Plains turned out to honour our local men and women who have served in the armed forces. Worms and Dora nearly burst with pride when they lay the school wreath on the War Memorial. It was beautiful — an enormous ring of eucalyptus leaves, red geraniums and gumnuts.

Harry ran around at the sausage sizzle afterwards checking all the men's medals to see if anyone had a Purple Plum. Old Mr Windsor said he had medals for Tom-Foolery, Scaredy-Pantsery and Knee-Knockery, but he was never heroic enough to win a Purple Plum.

Mr Windsor's name is on a special plaque in the Town Hall for being extremely brave during the Vietnam War. He risked his life to save nine of his mates, but he never talks about it. None of the brave old men do. I think they're just grateful
that they came home from the war — not like the ones that have their names on the memorial.

As I stood in the memorial garden, eating my sausage sandwich and keeping a keen journalist's eye on everything, I noticed something disturbing.
Everyone
was making the Colonel feel very welcome. They were all shaking his hand and inviting him to darts at the pub, bush dances at the hall and barbecues at their farms.

What a disaster! If everyone accepts the Colonel into their lives, they won't want him to leave. And if he doesn't leave, there's no need for Miss McKenzie to rush back to us.

So I have devised a plan.

I AM GOING TO GET RID OF THE COLONEL.

Plotting and scheming to get rid of a teacher … now
there's
something new for me to experience!

Emailed Miss McKenzie this afternoon. Told her how special the Anzac ceremony was and how much she would have loved it. Let her know that Mr Cluff is pretty much useless since she left, and Mrs Whittington is completely lost without her. Also hinted that the Colonel probably wouldn't be here for long.

Just preparing the way for her return …

Thursday, 26 April

The Colonel has gone nuts. It's disturbing, but at least it will make it easier to get rid of him.

He lined his junior class up like an army regiment this morning. He made them stand to attention outside for
ten minutes
while he lectured them on being good little soldiers. Poor things.

Mat, Ben and I spied on them through the window of our study room.

The Colonel boomed on about shiny shoes, clean fingernails, fresh handkerchiefs and faces scrubbed until the cheeks glowed. He lectured them about the evils of wrinkled shirts and the benefits of orderly hair. Then he marched them around the boundary of the schoolyard
three times
.

The little kids must have been scared out of their wits … and tired! I was expecting Dora or Cassie, the kindy girls, to dissolve into tears at any moment. But they were all very brave and put up with it. They stuck their little chests out and marched like machines.

Spent all of lunch time worm whispering in the compost heap with Sam, Lynette and Lucy. We were up to our necks in rotting vegies and rabbit poo, but it was fun. The worms are really quite cute!

Friday, 27 April

The little kids all turned up at school today looking like they had scrubbed and polished themselves for hours. It's the first time Harry Wilson's knees haven't been caked in mud since he started school last year, and it just didn't look right. Ned Murphy had parted his hair at the side and slicked it down with oil. Dora had a big, blue satin bow sticky taped to her crew cut.

The minute the bell rang at nine o'clock, the whole junior class lined up near the flagpole and stood to attention. They must be terrified of the Colonel. Harry stuck his shoulders back, chin up and chest out so far that he fell over backwards.

The Colonel inspected ears, nostrils, fingernails, shoes, hair and handkerchiefs and bellowed out how proud he was to see such a shining group of soldiers.

Mr Cluff's senior students straggled inside looking like a mob of disorderly sheep. Mr Cluff is a sack of misery who can't even be bothered to comb his
own
hair, let alone get enthusiastic about his students' appearance. He's pining for Miss McKenzie.

Which is worse? A crazy Colonel who turns the students into an army of terrified little soldiers, or a misery-guts who doesn't even seem to notice that his students exist? We
really
need Miss McKenzie back soon.

Received two contributions for
The Bake Tribune
today. One was a story about a fairy, a kitten and two ponies from Grace Simpson. It's called ‘A Fairy, a Kitten and Two Ponies'. The other was an unusual article about fruit from Ned:

Showed Mr Cluff so that he could see the ridiculous stuff the Colonel is teaching the little kids. He just stared into the distance and sighed, ‘Miss McKenzie loves apples.'

HELP!!!

Saturday, 28 April

Woken at 4 am by Macka the alpaca's squealing. Two foxes were hanging around the chicken coop. We shooed them away, but it's only a matter of time before they sneak past Macka and steal the chooks. After all, they managed to get Gunther's poor ducks.

Wes and Fez are furious. They still cry when they think about the ducks being killed.

‘Stinkin' foxes,' said Wes. ‘We'll teach them a lesson.'

‘Yeah,' said Fez. ‘And we don't mean six plus six equals fourteen!'

Good grief.

They spent the rest of the day making a pit trap near the chicken coop. They dug a deep hole and covered it with sticks, bark and leaves so it was invisible.

Hope it works. I hate foxes.

Sunday, 29 April

Wes and Fez got up at 3 am and climbed onto the laundry roof to watch their pit trap in action.

The foxes didn't turn up. Wes fell asleep and rolled off the roof into a blackberry bush. He cried so loudly that he probably scared off every single fox this side of the Black Stump.

Mrs Whittington disappeared today. We found her wandering around three paddocks away. She said she was going to help Dad shear the sheep, but Dad was way off in the opposite direction sowing canola. Gertrude, Mildred and Doris were with her and looked quite relieved to see us. I think they realise that Mrs Whittington should be at home where she is safe.

Monday, 30 April

The juniors marched around the edge of the schoolyard
four times
this morning. Worms was so hungry by the time they got into class that we could hear his tummy rumbling from our year seven study room. He ate all of his morning tea and lunch at recess — two bananas, three lamingtons, a tub of yoghurt, two cheese salad sandwiches, a boiled egg and a bottle of chocolate milk.

Mr Cluff had to ring Mrs Love to bring some more food in for his lunch. Worms gets very emotional if he doesn't get enough to eat.

Had our first whole-school outdoor adventure lesson this afternoon. We were disappointed when the Colonel said we were going to learn basic first aid. Everyone was hoping for abseiling or archery or something really action-packed.

Instead we learnt about bandaging and splinting, stretcher making, fever, exposure to heat and cold, and treating shock. Halfway into the lesson, Gabby was convinced that she was now an expert on diagnosing fever and disease. She started recording everyone's pulse rate in her maths book and sent three kids and Petal to the sick bay. Jack Scott and Davo Hartley disappeared into the state forest looking for snakes so we could get some real-life practice treating snakebites. Sam ran around in the twenty-five degree heat, herding everyone together and yelling, ‘Huddle up for warmth. Use your combined body heat. We don't want to get hypothermia!'