Mother of Ten by J. B. Rowley

she said.
    “Yes,
Mum. I got some books from the tip.”  Afraid that I would get into trouble
for not going with my brothers or for what had happened with Jacky, I wanted
desperately to distract her.
    “Did
you, love?” Her eyes were gentle as she looked into mine. I was too young to
know that eyes can reveal much so I did not take evasive action by looking away
or lowering my eyelids. My mother apparently saw enough to know that nothing
dreadful had happened to me but that something was not quite right.
    “Jacky,
what are you doing with my daughter?” She said as she helped me out of the
basket and set me down. I could not see the look in her eyes but the tone of
her voice revealed her suspicion.
    “Bringin’
her home to you, missus. Those brothers, they left her there, left her at the
rubbish tip. Too far for little girl to walk, missus.”
    I
heard apprehension in Jacky’s voice.
    “I
think you had better go, Jacky,” said my mother.
    Jacky
rode off on his bicycle. Mum and I walked home. She never said another word to
me about that day.
    I
was surprised when I did not receive a scolding or a hiding for not going home
with my brothers. Even though my naivety prevented me from fully understanding
why, I knew that what Jacky had done was wrong.  However, I saw myself as
the guilty one and was determined that my mother should not find out so I never
spoke about it. The incident became just another adventure in long days full of
adventures. It wasn’t until years later when a friend from high school days
mentioned Jacky’s name that my memory opened up its album of pictures and
showed them to me as bright and clear as the day it had happened. I also
discovered that the town kids knew Jacky was a ‘perve’.
    I
don’t think my mother discussed her suspicions about Jacky with Lizzie. How
could she, after all? However, she must have been concerned for Lizzie’s
daughters because one day she dropped a hint. Mum and Lizzie were sitting on
the veranda where they always sat. I was at the end of the veranda playing
‘knuckle bones’ with Poppy, one of Lizzie’s daughters who was the same age as
me. I pricked up my ears when I heard my name mentioned.
    “Junie
still miss her father when he’s away?” asked Lizzie.
    “Yes,
she pines for him like a puppy pines for its mother.”
    I
heard Lizzie’s rich laugh. There was a pause before my mother spoke again.
    “Her
father’s very good with her. Some men are not good with their daughters. And
Lizzie...”
    My
mother paused again. A subtle change in her tone caught my attention. I looked
over at them.
    “Some
fathers,” continued Mum, “can be...”
    She
broke off. Lizzie looked across at her. Mum didn’t turn to look at her. Instead
she stared out at the bush.
    “Well,”
continued my mother, “sometimes they can be too friendly with their daughters.”
    Lizzie
turned away, cradled her cup of tea in her hands and also looked out at the
bush. The two women sat in silence.
    “Too
friendly,” said Lizzie finally. “Yeah, I know whatcha mean. We have to look
after our girls, eh?”
    As
she placed her cup back down on the saucer, Lizzie looked over and caught me
eagerly digesting their conversation. Her face broke out in a broad grin.
    “Whatcha
doin’, you two? Listenin’ to grown-up talk? Haven’t ya got better things to be
doin’?”
    Poppy
and I giggled, gathered up our knuckles bones, joined hands and ran away with
the laughter of our mothers following us.
    Knowing
what I know now, I wonder if my ‘adventure’ brought thoughts of Myrtle’s ‘lost’
children to her mind. Did she wonder about their safety? Did the guilt of not
being there to protect them surge to the surface? Did she worry that Audrey,
now a teenager, might need protection and advice?

Chapter 7
          
My mother’s pregnancy resulted in the safe delivery of a healthy baby girl at
Orbost Hospital in November, 1956. This time my father was singing Goodnight
Irene. As with all