Chapter Twenty

Why Mum Came Down Facing the Wrong Way

“When Mr Henry put on his flying balaclava and stood up into the wind off the Kaimais, what did you shriek at him?”

“Spin,” said Uncle Trev.

“Spin?”

“Spin. As I ate my porridge that morning, I remembered the way his other feathered hat spun like a propeller and lifted my old bull off the ground, the same way it spun as it pulled the strainer post out of the ground and flew away over Auckland. Only this time, the flying balaclava wasn’t going to come off Old Gotta’s head because it was buttoned on.”

I thought, and said, “Gosh.”

Uncle Trev nodded. “Old Gotta stood up and that contraption caught the immense blast of wind off the Kaimais. I went to grab for his legs, and yelled at him to cut himself free with my pocket knife, but he was already twenty feet in the air, spinning on the rope he’d tied from his left foot to the trunk of the big macrocarpa. The wind’s howling, Old Gotta’s shrieking, and the roots on that macrocarpa start cracking like rifle shots going off. Now, you won’t believe this –”

“Yes, I will.”

“That old macrocarpa twists in the ground, heaves, and lifts spinning into the air. I wouldn’t have thought a bit of old plough-line was strong enough. You can imagine what was happening to Old Gotta’s left foot.”

Uncle Trev shook his head as Old Tip and I stared at him.

“Old Gotta was a goner. Either that flying balaclava was going to twist off his head or the rope was going to pull off his foot. I closed my eyes and heard an almighty crack. ‘Poor Old Gotta’s been pulled in half,’ I says to Old Tip, and he put his hands over his eyes.”

“What happened?”

“I opened my eyes and saw all those big buttons up the back of Old Gotta’s flying balaclava had torn off. Lucky for him, he never could sew on a button properly. I told you once how he tried to join the Women’s Institute so he could learn.”

I nodded.

“At the same time the buttons came off, the rope broke and his turkey-feathered flying balaclava spun away in the direction of Auckland.”

“What about Mr Henry?”

“He was a good two hundred feet up in the air, shrieking as he dropped towards the drain behind his cowshed.”

“Was he all right?”

“You could say he had a soft landing.”

“Soft?”

“He came down in the drain full of green, stinking cow-muck.”

“Phew.”

“I cut a long tea-tree stick, dragged out Old Gotta, started the engine in the shed, turned on the pump, and hosed him down.”

I grinned.

Uncle Trev looked serious. “You know how your skin’s got little holes in it?”

“I think they’re called pores.”

“That’s it, pores. Old Gotta hit that drainful of green cow-muck from such a height, the colour was driven through the pores and deep under his skin. I kept the hose going on him for the better part of a couple of hours, but he was bright green all over.

“He didn’t leave his farm for about three months, till the colour grew out. He’s pretty sensitive about his appearance, Old Gotta. It wasn’t just the colour either.”

“What else?”

“The stink of cow-muck was driven through the pores and into the skin, too. Old Tip and me, we’d only talk to him so long as he stood downwind of us.”

“What about his flying balaclava?”

“It spun over Queen Street, and those Aucklanders thought it was the Russians or the Germans attacking. Well, you know how goofy people get, living in town.”

“What about Mum’s hat? Wasn’t that what gave Mr Henry the idea?”

“I was just going to tell you about that. She trimmed her old hat with pukeko feathers, stuck it on with hatpins, and wore it to the Kelly girl’s wedding.

“Now, there’s a funny thing happened,” said Uncle Trev. “Everyone had just got out of the church, and the bride was having her photo taken, when that wind off the Kaimais blew and they had trouble with her veil. But it was only a gust.”

“That was lucky.”

“You could say that,” said Uncle Trev, “but the bride’s mother was in tears. It was her mother’s wedding veil and it got a bit torn.

“Your mother was standing beside me, and that gust spun her feathered hat and lifted her off the ground. The wind dropped and set her down on her feet again, but facing the wrong way.

“She’s a great one for looking dignified, your mother. She turned herself round the right way and stared pretty sharp at me, but I glanced away smartly. And everybody else, they were busy looking at the bride; and the bridesmaids and the groom and the best man and the minister were all getting that veil under control. And there was the bride’s mother in tears.”

“Mum could have blown away.”

Uncle Trev nodded. “The cows needed milking, so I went straight home after the wedding breakfast, but I came into Waharoa a few days later, and your mother gave me a cup of tea and said her hat had been a great success.

“‘Everyone thought it was brand new and the very height of fashion. I didn’t tell them,’ she said to me, ‘it’s just my old hat that I trimmed myself.’ ”

Uncle Trev grinned. “I didn’t let on I’d seen her lift off the ground and come down facing the other way.”

“What happened to the macrocarpa? The one Mr Henry pulled out with the plough-line?”

“Now there’s a peculiar thing. I don’t suppose you’d see it happen again in a thousand years. When the flying balaclava came off Old Gotta’s head and the rope broke, the tree came down in its hole and went on growing as if nothing had happened. Pretty tough trees, macrocarpas.”

There was a sound. Old Tip had run out his tongue and was showing all his teeth. I could tell he was laughing. There was another sound, a click. Uncle Trev looked at him, and Old Tip leapt out the window.

“That’ll be the front gate,” Uncle Trev said. “Your mother can’t have blown away after all. You know, there’s just one thing I haven’t mentioned.”

“What’s that?”

“Ever since the day the macrocarpa pulled out of the ground, Old Gotta walks with a bit of lean to one side. He puts it down to that rope stretching his left leg longer than the other.

“I’ll be seeing you,” Uncle Trev said, and jumped out the window just as Mum came in the back door.