You're responsible

I grew up in rural Australia in the 1960's in the 2x2's. It's difficult now to unravel the impact of cult and societal culture on my upbringing. As the oldest, it was assumed I would act responsibly.

(The following is based on a true incident from my childhood when I as a nine-year old was left to care for my small sister, not yet five years old, on the afternoons when Mum and Dad went to town on monthly excursions.) We lived on a sugar cane farm. I’ve changed our names.)

Charmaine climbed on the verandah rails and stretched the full height of her four-year-and-eight-month-old body to see over the sugar cane tops. Beatrice stood beside her. There was still no sign of the red Dodge utility, the Fargo they called it. No dust haze hung above the white road that cut a thin swathe through the encroaching crop. It was almost dark.

‘I want them to come NOW,’ Charmaine announced as if that statement would magically make the old utility appear.

‘They’ll be here soon,’ Beatrice soothed. ‘They know we are here on our own.’ She spoke with all the confidence her nine-year-old self could muster.

‘But why are they so late? They shouldn’t leave us here like this! I bet they’re in town having a great time. I bet they are going to stay there and have tea at the Tourist Café.’

‘Of course, they won’t,’ Beatrice said. A tiny fear sparked by Charmaine’s anxiety suddenly nagged her heart.

‘Well, they must have had an accident then. Why are they taking so long?’

‘Maybe something’s gone wrong with the ute. They’ll come, Charmaine.’

‘But where are they?’

Five-year-old Renee, a few years before the events of this story.

‘Look, they’ll come. Just stop worrying about it, will you? You give me the willies. Come on, let’s play another game of Snakes and Ladders.’

Beatrice led the way to her bedroom, one of the few rooms in the breezy house that could be completely closed off. With both doors closed and the light on, it was almost cosy.

Except it was so quiet, thought Beatrice. Never had the house seemed so empty. She heard a dingo howl up on the mountain behind the house, followed by the bark of a distant dog. The iron roof creaked in the cooling air.

Suddenly, the chooks set up a tremendous fuss, squawking and flapping about on their roosts. Beatrice’s heart thumped. What was out there in the dark? A strange dog, a big carpet snake, a prowler? Or was it just an old chook having a nightmare?

Charmaine’s dark eyes reflected pure fear. She huddled closer to Beatrice. Beatrice hardly dared to breathe. She plugged her ears against the fowl-house din. Charmaine did the same. Beatrice willed the commotion to stop, but that didn’t stop the panic in her chest.

The chooks went on and on, settling down at last with an occasional disgruntled cluck and squawk. Beatrice rubbed her aching ears and rolled the dice.

Two sixes and up a long ladder. I’d better not get too far ahead, she thought. I don’t want Charmaine to be any more upset. I’m responsible. That’s what Mum and Dad always said. But why does Charmaine have to be such a panic artist? I could handle all this if only she were not such a worrier. It was OK walking home from school. The Shelby girls came with us as far as the corner. That kept Charmaine from thinking too much about the shadows on the road and rustling noises in the long grass. We knew Mum and the little kids wouldn’t be there when we got home. Mum only gets to go to town one afternoon a month during the crushing (sugar harvest). Dad has to take her in the old ute, jolting and bumping in the front cab, because we don’t have a car and Mum can’t drive.

Charmaine rolled her dice and moved her red button, counting laboriously.

Mum and Dad are awfully late, though, Beatrice thought. Never been this late before. Wish old Blue was here. Why does he have to choose this time to go off visiting? It would be great to hear his thumping tail on the verandah. I’d go out and stroke his big, smooth head and try to escape his quick licks. Blue is my mate. I wish I had some friends my own age to play with. I wish I had a twin, someone who understands exactly what I am thinking. Be different to changing nappies, taking little kids for walks and helping Mum bathe them and cook tea.

Charmaine’s button moved closer to 100 on the board.

‘Charmaine, you’re winning!’ Beatrice said. Who couldn’t win at Snakes and Ladders?

‘After this, I’ll make you some tea.’

‘I want Mummy,’ Charmaine wailed. All her fears spilled out in a deluge of tears.

Beatrice clutched the small child to her own body. She felt the hot breath and streaming nose make a damp patch on her blouse. Her arms were tight around the sobbing shoulders.

‘I’ll look after you,’ she said. ‘You can help me make some scrambled eggs.’

Charmaine stood on a chair beside Beatrice at the kitchen sink. They were halfway through cracking the eggs into an old cup when Beatrice heard the sound of tyres drumming on the gravel road. Through the kitchen window, they could see the lights slowing first to turn the corner, then fairly racing up towards the house.

‘They’re here! They’re here!’ Charmaine leapt off the chair and raced to the front door. Her parents came in loaded with kids and brown paper parcels. The baby was asleep, but the toddlers were crying.

‘Charmaine, are you OK?’ Her mother swept her up into her arms. ‘Have you been crying? Poor poppet. We’re so late. Lucky you had Beatrice to look after you.’

Beatrice stood at the sink stoically mixing the eggs.

‘Everything organised for tea, Beatrice? Great. The kids are starving. Did you get on OK? I knew you’d be alright. You’re always so responsible.’

(Mum and Dad did call us eventually to explain that there had been a problem with the Fargo. My little sister answered the phone and burst into tears when she heard they were still in town (about 30 kms and close to an hour’s drive in those days). When Mum asked to speak to me, I also cried when I realised they were still in town. Mum used to laugh about that when she told the story.)