Molten Pennies & Serving Plate
Simon was early at school. He unsaddled his pony and turned him loose.
‘Good morning, Miss Hyatt,’ he said. ‘I have brought [my dog] Dingo to school. It is my birthday.’
‘Good morning, Simon,’ replied Miss Hyatt. ‘Good morning, Dingo. Many happy returns Simon. It is going to be a very hot day. I am going to put out some water for the little bush animals. You may help if you like. And Dingo too,’ she added.
Outside in the playground it was hot and still as they filled the dishes under the gumtrees with water from the tanks.
Every now and then Dingo had a sip…when nobody was looking.
Presently Simon heard a soft patter of something behind him. It rustled like dry leaves.
The little bush animals had come for a drink.
Dingo helped a little baby possum along with his nose.
Soon they had used all the water in the cans.
‘Goodness it is hot,’ said Miss Hyatt, as they walked back across the playground. The air was crackling like dry twigs.
‘My father said that he hoped the fires were not close,’ said Simon. ‘But he said we’d be safe here. Dingo will take care of us.’
‘I hope so too Simon,’ said Miss Hyatt. ‘It is just as well that you brought Dingo along for your birthday.’
By nine o’clock all the children had arrived at school and Miss Hyatt rang the bell. Dingo came into the classroom and sat very quietly beside Simon. All the children sang happy birthday for Simon, and Miss Hyatt had her good morning class. They were all very polite to one another
and
Dingo
felt
most
welcome.
At eleven o’clock Miss Hyatt said that it was too hot to go outside and she closed the windows. The children drank their milk inside the classroom and watched the day become redder and redder. Soon there was a tremendous wind. When the churchbell rang the children stopped their work to listen. Whatever was the matter? It was not Sunday. Miss Hyatt spoke very calmly.
‘Now we are going to play a little game. I am going to squirt you all with the hose and then you are going to take hands and run down to the creek and jump in.’
The children all took hands and ran across the playground. Miss Hyatt ran with Simon and then came the pony. The hot wind burned their faces and overhead the leaves curled brown in the scorching heat.
From the trees and the grass all the little animals headed for the water…the wombat and the possums and the hoppy bandicoots.
The whole day seemed suddenly to explode as the trees in the schoolyard bloomed like great red poppies. And the fire, that they had not seen before, swooped down upon the grass and raced after them with grasping fingers of flame.
Simon stopped to look behind him and in an instant the schoolhouse disappeared.
Miss Hyatt swept Simon up on to the pony’s back and sent them off with a good whack on the pony’s behind. ‘Dingo…where’s my dog Dingo?’ she heard the little boy cry as he disappeared into the smoke. Surely she had not left Dingo in the classroom? Surely not?
Coughing and choking the teacher made her way through the heat and smoke, battling against the fury of the wind until she stumbled into the cool waters of the creek.
She saw the children’s heads bobbing in the water and she called their names over again and again in her relief.
‘Jennie, Robert…Billie,’ she called.
‘Here Miss,’ they replied.
‘Anna…Peter…Mike…Elizabeth…Simon…’ and on and on.
‘Here Miss,’ they answered, until she had called them all.
But there was no Dingo. Simon was glad that they were all so wet that nobody could see his tears if he should cry.
What a sight met their eyes!
The beautiful little schoolhouse was a smoking ruin. Steam came hissing from the tanks. Only the big chimney was still standing like a great accusing finger against the smoke and redness in the sky.
The trees, the garden, the flowers, the grass—all were gone and in their place there was nothing but blackness.
They all stood silent thinking about the happy times that were all gone.
But Simon could remember only Dingo. He put his arms around his pony’s neck and buried his face in its mane.
Quite suddenly the air was full of the noise and cries of mothers and fathers who rushed into the yard towards the children. They shook Miss Hyatt’s hand and said how brave she was and how much they owed to her and how wise she was even though she was a city lass and so young.
And the mothers and fathers took the children away back to their burnt farms or to the trucks full of people leaving for Hobart and safety.
Simon stood with Miss Hyatt and the pony… a great lump in his throat.
He hardly dared wonder if his home were safe when a jeep screamed up the lane and his father jumped out. Simon rushed towards him and his father swung him up into his arms.
‘Home we go son,’ he said.
Little Miss Hyatt looked so sad standing beside the pony.
‘Are you alright?’ asked Simon’s father.
Miss Hyatt waved her hand at the schoolhouse and said nothing. Her face was white and her wet clothes flapped in the heat.
‘Good grief,’ said Simon’s father. ‘You lived in the schoolhouse. All your things are gone.’
Miss Hyatt sat down on a big stone and covered her face with her hands.
‘You come home with us girl,’ said Simon’s father. ‘At least we have a house standing which is more than most of our friends.’
So they climbed into the jeep and set off, and the pony followed behind. As they passed through the village they could see nothing but chimneys. In the corner store only the big refrigerator stood where the counter had been, and in the churchyard all that remained was the bell that had sent them a warning, standing still and silent.