He Called Me Son (The Blountmere Street Series Book 1) (29 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

As soon as I could drive, Jack asked me whether I’d mind driving Peg to church every now and then.
 
I noticed he didn’t mention Joe taking his turn with the driving.
 
Perhaps it was because he treasured Peg’s life too much.

‘Can’t say I’m much of a church-goer myself,’ Jack confessed, ‘but my good lady seems to get something from it.
 
Tai used to go with her, but Uncle Rewi, being his real uncle, used to pick on him a bit too often in his sermons.
 
Poor young Tai, shy bloke that he is, didn’t handle it too well.
 
Mind you he has to go every so often, or Uncle Rewi comes out here and preaches his whole sermon all over again in case Tai gets backslidden.
 
Anyways, Old Witchery tells me you pop into the church from time to time when you’re in the township.’

I couldn’t very well say no to Jack.
 
He was what Mum would have called “the salt of the earth”, and who could refuse Peg anything when she cooked the way she did?
 
I’d done a deal or two with the Almighty, as well, when I crept in and out of the church, hoping not to be noticed.
 
I should have known not much got past Old Witchery.
 
Although my visits somehow seemed to steady me inside, it still didn’t mean I wanted to attend a proper church service any more than I had when Mum asked me to go with her.
 

‘Yeah, that should be all right,’ I tried not to sound too enthusiastic in case it encouraged Jack to ask me to take Peg every week.
 
Christmas, Easter and the odd time in between would be quite enough.

“
And the mountains and the hills will break forth in singing
,” Uncle Rewi read from the big black Bible resting on the pulpit.
 
“
And the trees of the field will clap their hands.
”
 
His voice grew louder, building to a crescendo until he burst into song:
 
“
Praise my soul the King of heaven
.”
 
He climbed down the three steps from the pulpit, his rich voice making the tiny church shake.

“
Glorious in his faithfulness
.”
 
The final note swelled and went on and on.

Peg dabbed at her eyes and whispered, ‘Beautiful’.

Peg
 
had told me that nobody was sure how Uncle Rewi came to preach at the church every Sunday.
 
She didn’t think he was ordained.
 
All she knew was that when it became too much for the circuit preacher, Uncle Rewi stepped in and he’d been there ever since.

‘Everyday the Good Lord plunges his hand into His bag of good things and flings them from the portals of heaven to the earth for us to enjoy.
 
Good eh!’
 
Uncle Rewi begun his sermon, strutting round the church, addressing members of the congregation individually, asking them, “Good eh?”
 

Just when his sermon seemed as if it would last for a week, maybe even a month, he burst into what Peg whispered was a Maori song called a waiata.
 
Someone Peg called Auntie Aroha harmonized from the front pew.

‘Amen! Amen! Amen!’
 

On the way from the homested, Peg had also told me that Uncle Rewi had been known to preach another full-blown sermon after his amens, which didn’t exactly make me feel excited about going.
 
She didn’t say that his closing prayer would last round about five minutes.
 
Perhaps she thought I’d turn the truck round and drive straight back to the homestead if she did.

At last, Uncle Rewi and Auntie Aroha sung their final waiata.
 
It was over.

‘Inspiring,’ Peg breathed.
 
To my own surprise, I agreed with her.

Outside the church, Peg drew her fur stole around her.
 
The fox’s head rested on her breasts as she made her exchanges with various members of the congregation.

‘G’day. How’re ya going?
 
Marvellous sermon.’

‘Too right, mate.’

‘G’day.
 
Keeping well?’

‘A box of birds!
 
Bloody good sermon, eh?’

‘G’day.
 
She’s a good one today and no mistake.’

‘One straight out the box.’

‘You
 
work for the Millards, don’t you?’

I found myself facing a woman who could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty.
 
She stretched her hand towards me, instantly reminding me of Fred’s handshakes, and especially of the time he first rented our front room in Blountmere Street.

‘Barbara Jervlin.
 
Teacher at the school here, for my sins,’ she added.
 
Her smile couldn’t disguise the firmness of her jaw or the directness of her gaze.

‘I’m Tony Addington from … ’
 
My voice petered away.
 
I wasn’t certain where I was from.

‘Peg tells me you’re an avid reader.’

‘I like books, yes.’

‘She says you read a lot of poetry.’

‘I used to read it with Fergus at Downston’s.’
 

Miss Jervlin probably recognised Fergus as one of the men she saw when she went into the township.
 
One of the ones who lurched from
The Travellers
and stumbled along the main street, sometimes collapsing in the gutter when the six o’clock swill was over.

‘Good, you’ve found each other.’
 
Peg pushed her way between us, her fox grinning.
 
‘I’ve been telling Barbara here what a bookworm you are.’

I shifted uncomfortably.

‘I told her that through no fault of your own.’
 
She glared at a far off place, presumably in the direction of the Downstons’.
 
‘You’ve not had any proper education since you came to New Zealand.
 
Missed a lot, and you, such an intelligent young bloke.
 
Disgraceful.’
 
Her fox seemed to snarl.
 
‘And education’s so important.
 
My kids wouldn’t be where they are today without having had a good education.
 
Part owner of a company, one of them, and doing well for himself.’

It must have been at least the sixth time she’d told me.

‘You must wonder what all this is about.’
 
Barbara Jervlin directed the conversation back to me.
 
‘I’m quite prepared for you to come to the school, say, three afternoons a week at about four o’clock, for a couple of hours for you to catch up on your schooling.’

‘Jack and me have talked about it, and it’s all right with us.
 
You can leave a bit early, maybe make up the time by doing some extra when you can.
 
You can take the truck.’
 
Peg looked anxious for my reaction.

‘But what about … I mean how much will it cost?’

‘It’s all taken care of.
 
You just do well with your studies.
  
Can’t have a brain like yours going to waste.
 
You do want to do it, don’t you?
 
Me and Jack got the impression you did.’

I was sure I hadn’t mentioned anything about my lack of schooling to the Millards, although it had been at the forefront of my thoughts recently.
 
The Gang, who had never had a good word to say about school, would just about be finished their school years.
 
Mine had ended a long time ago.
 
If I was to meet them now, they would know all manner of things that I didn’t.
 
I would be backward and behind them and every other kid of my age or even younger in Blountmere Street.

‘Is it all right with you?’
 
Miss Jervlin prodded, obviously not used to being kept waiting by her pupils.
 
‘It seems to me that one of those good things Uncle Rewi just talked about has landed directly at your feet,’ Barbara Jervlin said.

I gave the teacher a quick sideways glance.
 
Would lessons from her be a good thing, straight from the portals of heaven?
 
I wasn’t convinced.

‘That’s settled, then.’
 
The fox appeared to open its mouth in a saber-toothed shout of triumph, as Peg wrestled it back into position.

If it wasn’t for Peg sending Joe to look for me in case I’d forgotten I was due to begin my lessons that evening, I wouldn’t have gone.
 

Steaming water was in the basin in my bedroom when I got back to the homestead.
 
Peg handed me my towel, grumbling at me to use it to dry myself on, instead of that “silly bit of rag”.
 
‘It’ll come up just as fluffy next time I wash it,’ she assured me.
 
A clean shirt was laid out on my bed.
 
I knew she was hovering outside my door in case I needed anything else.

‘I’ve packed you something to eat on the way there.
 
Your dinner will be waiting for you when you get back, so don’t worry,’ she said, as I jumped in the cab of the truck.

Missing dinner was the least of my worries.
 
Walking into the small playground in the opposite direction to some incredibly small children who stared at me and giggled - that was a worry.
 
Looking into the classroom with its little desks, benches and multiplication charts - that was a worry.
 
Miss Jervlin, a pile of ink-blotched exercise books in front of her, scolding a boy no more than seven - that was yet another worry.

When Miss Jervlin had finished dealing with the boy, she bade me a curt good evening and indicated a desk directly in front of her own table.
 
Attached to the desk was a bench that I practically had to double myself to sit behind.
 

‘I’m sorry, the furniture’s a little small for you, but I’m sure you’ll manage.’
 
She handed me a timetable.
 
‘You’ll have as much homework as you actually do here at school.
 
Unfortunately, you’ve got a good few years to make up.
 
Either you grasp the opportunity that’s being handed you, or you do without any formal secondary education.
 
The decision is yours.’
 
She managed a brittle smile, but I knew that between her and Peg I didn’t have a choice.
 

‘What’s twelve twelves?’
 
Joe sat on the wall surrounding the homestead garden, a trowel in one hand, a book of tables in the other.
 
I had loathed school work in Blountmere Street, but to my amazement, now I enjoyed it – all of it, even mathematics and science.
 
These days no one had to force me to do my homework.
 
What would Ang and the Gang have said about that!

‘A hundred and forty-four.’
 
I regretted making paper darts to throw at the Gang or polishing conkers ready for a playground match at Blountmere Street School, instead of learning my tables .

‘Thank gawd for that.
 
Now we don’t have to go over the blinkin’ things anymore.
 
Mind you, I’ve learnt most of them mesself now.’

‘But don’t you want to make up for all the other things you missed at school?
 
Miss Jervlin said you could come with me if you wanted.’

‘Why would I want to do that?
 
I can count and read gardening books, study the gee gees and sign my name.
 
You don’t need nothing else to make money.
 
As long as I can count my winnings, why should I spend all that time cooped up in a classroom?
 
Good on ya, Tone, but it’s not for me.
 
I reckon I’ll get on very nicely in life without it.’

Peg was probably right: Joe would survive by his wits.

‘Give me one good reason why you can’t go to the dance in the community hall,’ Peg confronted me and Joe as we prepared to leave the homestead for a day’s work.

’Cos we can’t dance, for starters.’
 
Joe adopted a defensive pose, standing sideways to Peg with his arms folded.

‘That doesn’t matter.
 
Nor, I bet, can three quarters of the other people who’ll be there.’
 
Peg was at her most persuasive.
 
She turned to me.
 
‘You’ll be coming, won’t you, Tony?’