Kids will be kids, and jumping fences
One day, sister Lynnie was climbing on the bookcase when it fell on her. There was a scream and a big crash; she was knocked out and had to go to bed. Me and the two boys had to keep checking on her while Mummy finished off all her jobs.
We sneaked up to the bed and listened to see if we can hear her breathing. The boys reckon, ‘Lynnie’s not breathing. She’s dead.’ I don’t believe them and say they’re lying but Kevin reckons he can prove it. He goes and gets the lid of the Sunshine milk tin and holds it up close to her mouth. He tells me, ‘If there’s no fog, then there’s no breath coming out and that means she’s dead’.
He holds the lid close and I watch, eyes glued, for that fog to appear. I wanna know my sister is alive and just asleep; I don’t want her to be dead. Kevin pulls the lid away from her mouth and there’s nothing, no fog; nothing, not one sign to say my sister is alive. I’m about to cry when Paddy tells Kevin to do it again. He does and still there’s no fog on the lid. Tears start rolling down my face and I turn to run screaming to Mummy but Paddy catches me before I make it out the door, putting his hand over my mouth, telling me to quieten down. I stand, tears running like a tap as I watch my sister laying on that bed, not moving one inch, not one breath of air coming out of her lungs.
The boys reckon they can bring her back to life. I’m stuck watching her body, wondering what would happen next. Her eyelids flicker. I hold my breath, wishing she would be alright. All of a sudden, Lynnie opens her eyes and starts laughing. The boys join in; they got me again! I walk outta the room, threatening to tell. Their laughter echoes behind me. Us four younger ones get on pretty good except when they tease me, and then we fight.
There are lotsa trees and bushes scattered all around the Island. There’s even some big old fig trees and quince trees down the back in Pawsy’s paddocks. When they’re ripe, we sneak down and pick a heap. We gotta be careful that we don’t get caught but us kids reckon it’s worth the risk. Those old trees have got the biggest and nicest fruit you ever did see.
Usually, I play cockatoo (lookout) just in case Mr Pawsy or his sons are coming to check on his paddock. The bigger kids reckon I can’t run as fast so I gotta sit on top of one of the fence posts and keep looking down the road for their car. I’ll know it’s him because the dust will be rising up into the air as he drives over the gutters and heads towards us. If I see him coming, I gotta yell real loud so we can run back home.
The boys will grab a handful of fruit each and Lynnie holds her shirt out like a basket and they fill it right up till she can’t hold no more. Then we all head home and sit under our big old gum tree and start eating our rewards. After we’ve filled our faces, we all look at each other and laugh. The juice has run all down our mouths, making us look like babies dibbling. We even slobbered onto our shirts and blouses.
We all head inside after we’ve had our bellyful. We try to sneak inside on Mummy but I reckon she knows what we done.
She asks, ‘You kids ain’t been down where you shouldn’t have been, have you?’ She’s looking straight at the four of us. I try to duck a little bit behind Paddy.
We tell her ‘no’ and then she tells us again, ‘You know you’re not allowed down there’.
All together we tell her, ‘We know, Mummy’. Partners in crime forever. When Mummy’s not looking, we sneak some figs and quinces onto the fruit bowl on the kitchen table so that everyone can share in our prize.