Barney rolls his tally-ho paper around his perfect amount of tobacco, using his yellow-stained fingers as he has done for over seventy years. He licks the edge of the paper carefully, so the roll is completely sealed and then lights his match and inhales that familiar sweet scent.
He remembers when as a young boy at school he was ordered outside the classroom for shouting and instead of standing still quietly in a corner; he disappeared to have a smoke with his mate behind the shed. “It wasn’t my fault, Miss,” he insists, but the teacher was not amused.
The boys in the class liked to make a funnel with paper and fill it with ink from the ink well in the corner of their desk. We used ink for writing. We would dip a nib into the ink and then scribe on the exercise book. Once the paper funnel was full, the boys would throw it across the room and ideally hit someone in the head and laugh.
Today, the ink has landed on Barney’s desk. He shouts out in surprise as they have covered his book in black ink. The teacher was not happy.
He laughed about it on his way home from school, riding his bike across the grassy paddocks. They had not built tar roads yet for driving cars. On the way, he notices a snake on the track and quickly jumps off his bike. He grabs a nearby stick and gives it a whack across its back. ‘That’s how you do it,’ he thinks cleverly to himself. But the stick breaks and the snake rears up at him and chases him. He is a fast runner and has won long-distance competitions at school and now is his chance to run and run like a blazing bushfire he did.
When he arrives home, he goes straight to see Joey, a baby kangaroo he found and keeps in the old shack in a box with lots of straw. His parents said Joey won’t live long as so young, but he could not be told.
In the school library, which is a cupboard at the back of the classroom with about forty books, he found a book about kangaroos. He read they like to eat flowers, leaves and fruit and are called macropods and can live up to twenty years of age.
He wanted to be like his father. His dad told him he had a pet kangaroo as a child and every night it would come through the back door just in time for the evening dinner. At first, it was funny, but as it grew larger, it destroyed the wire screen door most nights; eventually, they had to get rid of it.
Barney had plans to train and teach Joey to use a door without breaking it. Not impossible, he thought, just need a bit of patience and besides, I have already taught our cattle dog to sit and roll over.
After dinner, when the sun had set, it was time to go shooting. We carried a battery, like the size of a car battery today, in a pack on our back to recharge the spotlight. The light is attached to the 22’ rifle and the lead bullets are already loaded, and they take off. Looking for rabbits in the spotlight is easy, but they move so quick it is difficult to bring home dinner for mum to make a hearty stew
.
His mind was not in it, he just wanted to spend time with his new pet. He would listen to the radio and hope he could pick up some tips on raising a kangaroo, but only his mother’s favourite show, Bellbird, could be heard. There was no TV or electricity, and they would play cards as a family or read books around the warm fireplace.
Mum was a great cook and there were always yummy sponge cakes and homemade ice cream made with carnation milk and lemon cordial made fresh from the lemon tree in the garden.
His sister wanted to put a doll’s dress on Joey, and then the fighting began. The three brothers insisted this was not happening, and the parents watched and warned the children to behave. In those days, you would listen to your parents and there was no backchat. Everyone knew if your folks had to raise their voice, you would be in big trouble.
Barney remembers the smell of kerosene was strong in the Tilley lamp while the wood fire stove was warming a large pot of water for their bath. His dad walked into the room and announced seriously, that Joey had gone to heaven. He was too young, and sadly, had passed away naturally.
"I had high hopes for my pet Joey", reflects Barney sadly, as he rolls himself another cigarette.
Written by MARY LAMB about my dad Brian, also known as Barney.
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