CHAPTER 1
1947
The one hundred year old oak tree stretched its huge branches every which way, shading the school yard from the piercing, summer sun. The children were out for lunch and sat or played with their friends in various places dotted around the playground. Dorothy sat in the dust with legs splayed in-front of her, picking at her scabby knee. Her friend Margaret looked away in disgust, as droplets of blood trickled down to stain Dorothy's sock.
The school stood back from Mackenzie's Lane, a winding track that veered off from the Main Street of the small town of Moses. Built from local timber, the school was a hotch-potch of rooms and verandas that had grown like Topsy since it opened as one class-room, in the late eighteen hundreds. Now fifty years later, it had grown to accommodate the increasing population. The nearest school was at Mole Creek, some distance along the railway track.
"I'll swap you a cheese sandwich for your jam one, Dot," Margaret told her friend. "Mum's put pickle in it again. She knows I hate it."
"Yeah alright, here," Dorothy answered, handing hers over. "It's only plum though."
"I know, but I love the tinned jam. Mum never, ever buys it. She says it's lazy to buy things when you can make them yourself."
Dorothy didn't take offence. It was an accepted fact that her mother was lazy. And that her family were as poor as church mice. Dorothy's dad enjoyed a drink or two – or three – which quickly ate into the pittance of income he made doing all sorts of odd jobs in the district. It didn't leave much over for her mum, who was pregnant again with baby number six and there were already two tiny ones buried in the Catholic Church grave-yard. Dorothy was just grateful there was enough bread for school sandwiches today.
"Hey, Maggie," a small voice called.
Looking up, Margaret stared at the upside down face of her brother Mark as he swung in the branches above them. "What now, Mark?" she asked him. Mark was three years younger than her and was in second grade. He was small for his age and wasn't boisterous like the other lads. Consequently he rarely got to play football or cricket with them. He did like marbles, but often he preferred to hover around his sister, or read his library book in a quiet corner of the school yard. "You'd better come down before you fall on your head! Then you'd be more stupid than you are now." For some reason Dorothy thought this was hilarious and rolled in the dust, laughing.
"Am not stupid, Maggie, I'll tell Mum on you. I won't fall........" Mark didn't finish the sentence as he plummeted to earth and lay there for some time.
"Get up, Mark," Margaret pleaded, as after a while she realized there was something wrong. "Mark, come on, get up." She pulled on his shirt trying to get him to his feet but Mark lay on, staring vacantly at the dirt in-front of him. "Please, Mark!" she cried, alarm making her voice shrill. "Dot, run in quick and get Mrs. Morcombe."
Dorothy shot across the playground and disappeared through the side door of the school. A moment later she re-appeared with Mrs. Morcombe the Principal, who waddled as quickly as her stumpy little legs would allow. With a great deal of puffing she managed to lower herself down next to Mark, who was now making strange, gurgling noises. "Dorothy," Mrs. Morcombe said, her tone quiet but urgent, "run over to Miss Bloom's and bring her back with her medical bag. Have you got that dear?"
"Yes, Mrs. Morcombe, Miss Bloom, medical bag." Dorothy continued to stand there, entranced by the noises emanating from poor Mark's throat.
"Dorothy!" Mrs. Morcombe shouted. "Go now, for goodness sake, girl!"
"Yes, Mrs. Morcombe," Dorothy whimpered, then set off at a gallop. She shot out of the school gates and across the lane to a weatherboard house that stood back from its edge, surrounded by long grass and the odd sad tree.
Miss Bloom certainly didn't live up to her name. Nothing much bloomed in her garden and frankly she didn't care. She had other things to do with her days. She was the local area nurse and spent most of her time riding around the country side on her big, black bicycle, her brown leather bag balanced in the wire basket on the handlebars. Home visits were vital to all those living in the district, as the nearest doctor was over twenty miles away in the large town of Deloraine. The only way to see Doctor Taylor was to drive there – if and when scarce petrol was available. The other was to catch the train when it pulled a passenger carriage, and that only happened once a week.
Fortune smiled upon Mark this day, as Miss Bloom was at home. She bustled her way across the lane followed by Dorothy, who was keen to get back to the scene of the accident. She didn't want to miss out on anything, as she knew her mother would want every detail of this drama told to her when she got home.
The school ground was abuzz with children trying to get a look. The School Monitor Gracie – who was said to be a trifle slow – was trying to herd them out of the way, a task that was becoming increasingly distressing for her. She knew if she didn't get it right Mrs. Morcombe would be very cross and make her cry, and worst of all wet her pants. Most of the time the children did what she asked, but the thrill of the moment had them all ignoring her entirely. What was she to do?
Miss Bloom immediately took control, sweeping Mrs. Morcombe and Margaret to one side as she summed up the situation. "Get him on his side," she ordered Margaret, and tried to loosen Mark's tie. When she couldn't do that, she pulled an enormous pair of scissors from her bag. A collective gasp emanated from the now enthralled children. What was Miss Bloom going to do with them? Wasn't this exciting? In her quest to get closer to the action, little Sally Alders tripped and fell under the feet of big James Harrison, who stepped on her and fell sideways into Joe Crabtree and so it went on, until a pile of children lay strewn around the accident scene. "For goodness sake all of you," Miss Bloom cried, "get out of the way, Mark needs air not a crowd of silly little children falling all over him!"
Her words had the right effect and the group backed off. The scissors cut through the tie just in time, as Mark's face had taken on a nasty purple colour. Miss Bloom immediately sat Mark up and slapped him on the back. General ooh's and aah's were heard from the children who had crowded in again. "Come on, Mark, there's a good lad," Miss Bloom shouted, slapping him probably more than she need, but she was now caught up in the theatrics of the event.
A loud sucking in of air was heard and Mark looked around him, wide eyed and confused. "Where am I?" he asked.
"Don't be such a dope, Mark," Margaret told him. "You know where you are. You didn't half give us all a scare you dummy. Mum 'll be furious with you, causing all this palaver."
"Steady on there, Margaret," Mrs. Morecombe chastised. "Mark's confused. He's had a nasty fall and we need to get him into the sick bay. Then I'll send someone round to get your Mother eh? That'll cheer you up, Mark, won't it?"
Mark didn't think it would. He'd more than likely get a clip around the ear for causing such a ruckus. He smiled wanly and tried to stand, but fell back as a sickening dizziness overcame him. "Sorry," he mumbled, "I'll try again."
"No you won't, my boy," Miss Bloom told him and with one deft move, she picked him up. With...
