Where Chocolate Lily's Grow

By Lindsay Laurie

Where Chocolate Lily’s Grow is a tale narrated by an eleven year old boy during his grade five year spent at a small country towns’ primary school in the late nineteen fifties. The story engages in adventure, sadness, joy and escapades involving his friends, family and acquaintances that make up the community he lives amongst.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lindsay Laurie
• Release date: Jan 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301330201

Lindsay Laurie

Born in the Royal Women’s Hospital in Melbourne in 1946 and as a child I lived at Deer Park before my family moved to Longwarry in West Gippsland. I have one brother who was born at the Warragul Hospital in 1948. For forty-five years I lived at Longwarry, being educated at the Longwarry State School and the Drouin High School. I left school at sixteen and for thirty years worked in the dairy industry at Longwarry Milk Factory, employed by four company’s working as a butter maker, dryer operator and at times either a cream room or milk room operator. I never moved but the companies did. For four tomato seasons I worked for White Crow as an evaporator operator. Ill health with a muscle wasting disease forced me to retire eventually. My sporting interests have always been Australian Rules football, Cricket and playing Basketball. I played all my football and cricket for Longwarry, but played basketball for a number of clubs. My hobbies over the years have ranged from keeping aviary birds, especially finches, growing native fruit plants as well as attempting to grow everything I could from either seed or cuttings. I am one of the founding members of the modern and very successful Longwarry fishing club that in it’s first three years won a number of state trophies. My preference was river fishing for either blackfish or the Gippsland freshwater crayfish. I have been married twice. My first marriage failed after seven years and from that marriage I have three children, Karen, Janet and Brad. My second marriage with Joy has seen a long and happy period of thirty-two years. We have three children, Teresa, Glenn and Megan, plus nine grand children, and a tenth grand child due. I also keep in constant touch with my brother Ron, who lives in Melbourne. He is a constant source of information toward my writing. From 1993 until 2010 I lived in Irymple Victoria, and today, I am back in my home town Longwarry in Gippsland and because of my disability, I spend most of my time writing about the people in my life, and of course as you will read, fictional people who I do not wish to have in my life through this Creek family. November 1 2012 Lindsay Laurie.

Book preview

WHERE CHOCOLATE LILY’S GROW

by

Lindsay Laurie

Where Chocolate Lily’s Grow is a tale narrated by an eleven year old boy during his grade five year spent at a small country towns’ primary school in the late nineteen fifties. The story engages in adventure, sadness, joy and escapades involving his friends, family and acquaintances that make up the community he lives amongst.

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

Lindsay Laurie on Smashwords

Where Chocolate Lily’s Grow

© Lindsay Laurie January 2013

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******

CHOCOLATE LILY’S

The wild native grasses,

have thrown their seeds and died

in mother natures garden

where they gladly step aside

for a golden arch of new life,

along the countless greening spear,

with a slight hint of chocolate

for the ending of the year.

Summer turns all golden

with the leaving of the spring.

reviving buds are bursting

with a wont to bring

the mauvest stars for Christmas

in the hot sun to appear,

with a slight hint of chocolate

for the ending of the year.

‘Tis now time for reflection

and remembering a birth.

for growing of a young life…

some returning to the earth.

So another year is ending

where a diary closes here,

with a slight hint of chocolate

for the ending of a year.

******

CHAPTER ONE

THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS

New Years Eve passes quietly in our house. I hear Mum say to Dad I wonder what pranks the young blokes got up to last night? I’ll bet Lenny and Stuart were a little more careful after what that mongrel Jewell did to them last year.

Lenny and Stuart are older cousins of mine and had been caught white-washing the fruiterers’ shop by the local policeman and he had given them both a bashing with a cosh to remind them of their anti-social antics. Uncle Dick, I recall became very aggressive, confronting the policeman, but nothing ever came from the incident.

I see they’ve done over Greene’s garage windows Dad laughs as he peeps through our lounge room window at the building across the road. Old Duncan won’t worry; he’ll let the rain wash it off.

Grandfather, who owns the house that we live in, is already in the front yard chipping weeds with a mattock. Chas Holden, our next door neighbour, is walking home from up the street, and being the inquisitive fellow that he is, he calls out to Grandpa and is grinning They’ve done Bert’s shop over again. Chas breaks out into laughter The coppers nabbed Bert too. He was hiding in the drain over the road from his shop, ready for the young blokes and they got him; carted him off to the cop station too ‘cause they didn’t believe his alibi.

By this time Dad and I have walked out through our front door and joined Grandfather listening to Chas.

What else did they get up to Chas? asks Dad.

Nothing much, just the usual, a bit of whitewash on the road and of course every other shop window. It’s only Bert that worries though.

Dad grins S’pose Bert is worried they might put paint in the whitewash like Paddy Cook did when he done over old Flinders’ store a couple ‘o years ago. That mongrel deserved it.

Chas’s eyebrows lift when Dad makes the comment about Stan Flinders, and Grandfather returns to chipping weeds. I think Chas believes everybody likes Stan Flinders. The conversation ends there when Chas leaves to walk on home.

A car horn toots from out in front of Aunty Lil and Uncle Dick’s home, who incidentally live next door to us, triggering curiosity over morning tea. Mum walks to the front door, and then turns around to face Dad Oh its Elsie and ‘Rubber.’ They’ve got the grand kids with them.

They have! I quickly rise from my chair Come on Ron let’s go and play with Jimmy and Vicky.

My brother Ron and I greet our second cousins with whom we always get on well with, and always find plenty of mischief to get into.

We’re staying here all day Jimmy excitedly expresses. Pa’s picking up Uncle Dick and ‘gunna’ see if your Dad wants to go to the motor bike races at Warragul.

Good Ron answers We’re building a hut down the back of Holden’s; let’s go down there. We can play Cowboys and Indians or cops and robbers.

Yeah! shout all running through Uncle Dick’s veggie garden before clambering over the back loose barbed wire fence, across a paddock and into the scrub consisting mainly of ti-tree, blackberries and swamp gums.

Cowboys and Indians doesn’t last long because Jimmy and Vicky start fighting over Vicky refusing to ‘die.’ Jimmy sulks I’m going back to the bloody house, youse can go to buggery!

Whoa! I thought, Jimmy shouldn’t swear like that. I’d never really heard a kid swear the way Jimmy does and because swearing is taboo in our house, we don’t mention what Jimmy said at home.

Because of the upset, we sit quietly in our hut and talk for around half an hour, finally walking back home and being confronted by Aunty Elsie What have you done to Jimmy you bully? She yells at Vick I’ve told you a thousand times not to hit!

‘Hit!’ I say to myself. My jaw drops as I glare at a smirking Jimmy. Vick protests loudly that nobody’s been hit, there was just an argument.

Aunty Elsie turns to Ron and myself and in a very stern voice she asks, Did Vicky hit Jimmy or not?

We both shuffle around not wanting to buy into this. No.

Jimmy begins to cry and scream hysterically that we are all picking on him. He dashes outside and hides in the cypress hedge that grows along Aunty Lil’s side fence.

Let the little blighter go and sulk for a while, it’ll do him good Aunty Elsie winks at Mum and Aunty Lil.

After a feed of cake and a glass of home made lemonade, Vicky, Ron and I walk home to our house and Ron stokes up his donkey engine, which he had received for Christmas, by tipping a little kerosene into a sump then lighting it. Once the heat built up the little engine begins to ‘choof’ away and little cogs turn belts, then the wheels drive the engine across the ground. Jimmy, after an hour or so has calmed down and he quietly joins in. The dispute with Vicky has quickly been forgotten.

What did you get for Christmas? Jimmy asks me.

I reply, A slug gun, but I’m not allowed to use it unless Dad’s around. It’s too dangerous he said.

Well let’s have a look at it then! Vicky tugs on my arm.

I lift the slug gun out and hand it to Vick. He breaks the barrel open to check where the slugs fit in Give us a slug will you?

No! I reply. I’ll get killed if I do.

One shot won’t hurt!

Finally after a bit of persuasion I hand Vicky a slug and we walk outside together through the back door. Vicky aims the gun at a sparrow sitting on the clothesline. ‘POP’ goes the gun. The sparrow flies off chirping its distress call. I don’t know if the slug hit the bird or not but a voice instantly calls out. It is Grandfather inside Put that slug gun away. You know the rules!

I know I am in trouble now.

For the rest of the day my intention is to stay away from Mum hoping Grandfather hasn’t told her about the misuse of the slug gun. The four of us walk out through the front gate, along the footpath and into Greene’s place to catch up with Terry. Greene’s live next door to Aunty Lil and Uncle Dick. Terry is a mate of Ron and I. We spend a lot of time together after school, playing football or cricket, depending on the season, building huts in the bush and dare I mention, sneaking a cigarette or two when in one of our huts. Another friend, Syd Traill is able to obtain the cigarettes. He steals them from his older brother Mick.

Terry quietly walks us out of distance from where he can be heard and whispers Do youse ‘wanna’ have a smoke? I got one here, I pinched it out of my ‘old man’s’ packet.

Yeah, bloody oath! chirps Vicky who I am starting to wonder about.

Terry checks again to make sure no one is listening. Let’s go over to the hut then.

I think I better stay home I reply knowing I am in enough trouble as it is without getting into any more. I have already seen what can happen when Jimmy and Vicky start arguing. There’s likely to be some ‘dobbing’ done and I don’t want to get involved with smoking too, so I quietly wander back home while the others walk over to the hut. At first I pull a case out from under my bed and check my bird’s eggs I have collected. There are mainly only starling, blackbird and sparrow eggs but I do have some others. Indian mynah’s eggs are a little darker than starlings and the two bellbird eggs look entirely different. I close the case and push it back under the bed then get out my game of ‘Fireside Football’ and play Fitzroy versus Footscray. The game is distributed by the ‘Argus’ newspaper and consists of a board with green or white coloured squares numbered one to a hundred, and divided into position sections, full back, half back, centre, half forward and full forward lines. The rucks and rovers can be placed anywhere on the board. I have four sets of teams. Footscray, Fitzroy, Collingwood and Melbourne, which are sets of twenty four players heads and names set in front of the teams’ colours. Eighteen players can be placed on any of the green squares. The white squares represent free kicks or shots for goal if in your forward line. The object of the game is to throw a dice and move forward the little plastic football. If the ball lands on your player it is a mark and you get another turn, If the ball lands on free kick, you get another turn and if it lands on shot for goal in your forward line, you throw the dice again and if it lands on six, that is a goal and if its one a behind. After each goal the footy goes back to number one and the game is restarted, after each behind the dice goes back to number twenty. The quarter ends when reaching a hundred and there are four quarters in the game. I can play this game on my own and often do.

Where are Jimmy and Vicky? Mum asks. I can see her eyes are glistening and red.

Over in the hut Mum. Why? What’s wrong? You’ve been crying!

Mum sobs Uncle Rubber’s died.

I didn’t know what to say. I don’t understand death, not human death anyway.

Will you go and get them please?

I scamper over a fence and across a paddock yelling out to Jimmy and Vicky Quick! Quick! You’ve ‘gotta’ come home, something’s happened.

I am too frightened to tell them what Mum has said so I turn around and run back home to leave them wondering until Aunty Elsie or someone else lets them know about Uncle Rubber dying.

Dad and Uncle Dick arrive home about an hour later looking very distressed and other relatives start arriving at Aunty Lil’s. Aunty Elsie is crying and I feel very sad for her, even though I don’t totally understood what is really going on until Mum and Dad, when finding a quiet moment, sit Ron and myself down and explain to us that Uncle ‘Rubber’ had collapsed and died at the motor bike races. We both ask what must have been difficult questions to answer for both Mum and Dad in this terrible time for the family.

Uncle ‘Rubber’s’ funeral is held on the following Tuesday. Aunty Lil stays home and looks after all of us kids until everybody returns to her house late in the afternoon.

It is the following Wednesday before life returns to normal for Ron and myself as some of the relations have stayed on with Aunty Lil and Uncle Dick after the funeral. I particularly like Uncle Dave and Aunty Molly who will always be telling us stories about life at ‘Alex." ‘Alex’ is really Alexandra, a town that sounds light years away from everything and what happens there I assume must be better. They have build up an impression in my mind that ‘Alex’ is one place I must go to visit or maybe even live in. What is even better, they have brought Jeff, our cousin down with them. Jeff is Ron’s age, nearly two years younger than me and as what always happens in circumstances with kids in time, two’s company, three’s a crowd and I happen to be the odd one out. This irks me no end and when Ron and Jeff pitch a three man tent in our back yard to sleep in over night, they refuse me an invitation to join them, so I sought revenge on them. Just as darkness falls I stroll out from the back door eating Mum’s homemade ice cream in a cone hoping they will ask me to get them one as well. This they do. I agree with enthusiasm and quickly give them their ice creams as the daylight fades and I prepare for their reaction. I have added pepper and lemon juice that won’t show up in the dark. By the reaction you will have thought I had poisoned them. Ron threw his ice cream at me while Jeff whimpers. He hates the idea of being the guinea pig. Naturally I am ‘dobbed’ in and the punishment is no ice cream for a week, which under the circumstance of their snobbishness, I think, is a pretty good deal.

After washing and drying the dishes from breakfast; splitting some kindling wood then feeding our two cats’, Ron and I ask Mum for permission to go and play with Terry. After Mum agrees, we bound out of the house, racing each other along the footpath and then down Greene’s drive. Mrs. Greene answers the door, telling us Terry is over at the garage with his father. Duncan Greene, Terry’s father owns ‘Longwarry Motors’ directly across from where we live, so Ron and I run flat out again across to the garage and through the door opening to be greeted by Mr. Greene Don’t look at the sparks boys! As these sparks shower off some welding being done. Mr. Greene’s mechanic, Laurie Bartell is welding some metal piping while Terry has his back turned and is grinning at us.

When Laurie stands up I ask Terry What’s he making?

The frame of a billy cart beams Terry.

Ron grins, A billy cart! Wow!

Where you ‘gunna’ drive the billy cart? I ask.

Terry replies When it’s finished, down the old Drouin Hill.

Where’d you get the wheels? Ron quiz’s Terry again.

Terry picks up a pair of wheels he has attached to a round metal shaft Off an old pram Priest’s left behind when they moved.

Ron and myself become bored fairly quickly watching Laurie twist, bend and weld the frame together, finally telling Terry we’ll catch up with him later.

Why can’t we make a billy cart? Ron declares.

I take a deep breath Cause stupid! We haven’t got any wheels, that’s why.

Let’s go down to the tip and see if there are any old prams down there then. We’ve always found anything else we need down there.

The tip! Of course, why not? There’s sure to be an old pram dumped down there Okay and we’ll make ours out of wood.

The local tip is situated behind the milk factory, and used by both the town’s folk as well as the factory to dump anything and everything. The build up of rubbish is beside a stand of thick ti-tree in a low-lying area where water appears to lay for most of the year. Often we will wade through the water, which is knee deep, playing hide and seek games, and usually ending up with pulling black and yellow striped leaches off our legs. They never seem to worry us kids at all but if we come home with one on our legs Mum will shriek and squirm, telling us to ‘get that thing outside!’

Scrounging around through old plastic, tins, car bodies, paper and rusting machinery, we make sure we keep well away from ‘Trapper’ McAlpine’s hut that is situated on a bit of high ground amongst the ti-tree. We don’t know him at all but we can see him watching us from his doorway. He never speaks to us or we to him.

Here’s one Ron calls out throwing rubbish aside. We pull and tug at an old rotting cane pram that tears and breaks with our eagerness. Finally we have the part we want out in the open, only to find one wheel is missing.

Holding the metal frame I frown We can’t make a billy cart with three wheels.

Keep looking for another one then, there’s bound to be another one somewhere here.

The rest of our search proves fruitless so we hold onto our gains and then wander around the back of the factory.

Why don’t we get some powdered milk to eat while we’re here Ron licks his lips and I raise my eyebrows as a gesture to signify ‘why not.’

We saunter through a doorway and focus on the large roller dryers turning as steam hisses, and creates a deafening noise. Neither one of us understands how the dryers work but we know the powdered milk they produce is beautiful to eat. Jim Maskell waddles from the end of the room after spotting us. He is carrying a long knife and confronts us, Can I help youse boys?

Nervously I reply, I’m wondering if we could have a little bit of powdered milk to eat.

Sure Jim grins, I’ll get some for you.

He runs the knife across this large black rotating drum and