Becoming Billy Dare
The C
HILDREN OF THE
W
IND
quartet is a sweeping Irish-Australian saga made up of Bridie's story, Patrick's story, Colm's story and Maeve's story, four inter-linked novels beginning with the 1850s and moving right up to the present. The first in the series,
Bridie's Fire
, was published in 2003.
Bridie's Fire
Becoming Billy Dare
A Prayer for Blue Delaney
The Secret Life of Maeve Lee Kwong
K
IRSTY
M
URRAY
is a fifth-generation Australian whose ancestors came from Ireland, Scotland, England and Germany. Some of their stories provided her with the backcloth for the C
HILDREN OF THE
W
IND
series. Kirsty lives in Melbourne with her husband and a gang of teenagers.
O
THER BOOKS BY
K
IRSTY
M
URRAY
F
ICTION
Zarconi's Magic Flying Fish
Market Blues
Walking Home with Marie-Claire
Bridie's Fire
N
ON-FICTION
Howard Florey, Miracle Maker
Tough Stuff
KIRSTY MURRAY
Children of the wind
Becoming Billy Dare
First published in 2004
Copyright © Kirsty Murray 2004
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
The Australian Copyright Act
1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.
Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218
Email: [email protected]
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Murray, Kirsty.
Becoming Billy Dare.
For children.
ISBN 978 1 86508 735 1.
I. Title. (Series: Murray, Kirsty. Children of the wind; bk. 2).
A823.3
This project has been assisted by the Commonwealth Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body
Designed by Ruth Grüner
Set in 10.7 pt Sabon by Ruth Grüner
Printed by McPherson's Printing Group, Maryborough, Victoria
3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Teachers' notes available from
www.Allenandunwin.com
To Theodore William Harper, philosopher, actor and inspiration
Contents
9 Come back early or never come
As with each of the books in this series, there are countless people who helped me bring Paddy's story to life.
In Ireland
: Father Padraig O'Fiannachta, Con Moriarty, Gerry O'Leary, the Clarke/O'Neill family, Alice Perceval, Margaret Hoctor, Ruth Lawler, Angela Long, Paddy Hines, Patrick Sutton, Colm Quinn and Oliver P. Murphy.
In Australia
: Judy Brett, Graham Smith, Joanna Leahy, Peter Freund, Jocelyn Ainslie, Ben Boyd, Don Blackwood, Reuben Legge, Matthew Taft, Penni Russon, Sarah Brenan, Rosalind Price, and with loving memories of Helena Holec.
The list of authors and historians whose understandings of the past I depended on is too long to detail but I would particularly like to acknowledge the work of Michael Cannon, Andrew Brown-May, Mark St Leon and Margaret Williams.
For enriching my research by making their archives and collections available I would like to acknowledge the State Library of Victoria, the Caroline Chisholm Library, the Performing Arts Museum, All Hallows College, Dublin, the National Library of Ireland and Belvedere College.
The poem that John Doherty and Mr Maloney teach Paddy is âThe Stolen Child ' by William Butler Yeats. The poem that Paddy translates from Latin is an eleventh-century Invocation by Bishop Patrick that was sourced from
The Writings of Bishop Patrick 1074â1084
, ed. Aubrey Gwynn, and translated from the Latin by Ben Boyd. The song that the shearers sing with Paddy and Violet is from
Waratah and Wattle
by Henry Lawson. On page 223, Paddy also briefly quotes Macbeth.
I would also like to acknowledge the support of the Australia Council.
And to the thieves who stole the first draft, thanks for teaching me that a good story is more than simply words on a page.
Every book is an adventure, a trial and a great joy. Thanks to my family for sharing the ups and downs of this one: Ken, Ruby, Billy, Elwyn, Isobel, Romanie and Theo.
Paddy opened the carriage window and stuck his head out, feeling the cold wind whip his face.
âYou daring me still?' he called over his shoulder. âYou know I'll prove you wrong, Mick.'
Mick stepped away from the rush of cold air. âI dare you then. Go on,' he said, his teeth chattering.
âPull the blinds down in the compartment,' instructed Paddy,âand if the conductor comes by, mind you don't let him shut the window.' He undid the buttons of his soutane, and shoved the long black robes into Mick's hands. The ground rushed away beneath him as he slipped through the narrow opening, reached up to the edge of the carriage and hoisted himself onto the roof. The smell of coal was strong. He had to stretch his arms wide to keep himself from sliding sideways. For a moment he lay flat on his belly, his eyes stinging from the smoke and wind. He pressed his cheek against the cold metal and thought of that moment at Gort when he'd hugged his mother one last time, feeling the smallness of her, like a frail bird.
The whistle blew as the train veered around a bend and Paddy found he was sliding towards the edge. His shirt rode up and his bare skin scraped against the metal. He could hear Mick calling and he groped for a hand-hold, curling his fingers over a narrow ridge.
âSweet Jesus,' he muttered, as he lowered his legs over the side,âplease don't let him have shut the window.' Then his feet found the ledge and he scrambled back inside, laughing with relief.
Mick sat down on the dark leather seat, put his head in his hands and groaned.
âSure I thought you were dead, Paddy Delaney. And how was I to be telling my parents that the little priest had jumped out a window!'
âI didn't jump, I'm not a priest yet and you owe me sixpence.'
Mick sighed. âMy good pennies for America wasted on a mad Irishman.'
Paddy buttoned up his soutane and sat down beside Mick. âHow can you be grudging me sixpence when you're about to have the time of your life and I'm bound to studying for years and years?'
âAnd how will you be taking a vow of poverty and obedience, when you've always been the one for taking a dare and robbing an innocent soul of his pennies?'
âThat was the last bet you'll ever lose to me, Michael MacNamara. I'm turning over a new leaf. I promised my mam I'd be good. I'm giving up playing the devil.'
âSo you say,' said Mick, handing over the sixpence. âBut the devil is good to his own.'
âGod's truth!' swore Paddy,âOnce I'm in Dublin, I'm going to be a new man.'
Mick folded his arms across his chest. âWell now, if that's the last bet I'll be losing to you, I'll wager I can beat you in a wrestle.'
Paddy laughed and jumped on Mick. âWe're not in Dublin yet!'
The engine blew a blast of steam into the chill afternoon air. Paddy studied the faces of the people hurrying along the platform, wondering how to find his uncle, but when he saw a bald man with intensely blue eyes and a face as red as scoured brick striding towards him, he knew it had to be Uncle Kevin. Hurrying to catch up was a small, brown-haired woman.
âPatrick Delaney, is it?' Uncle Kevin clamped a thick hand on Paddy's shoulders and turned him sideways and then straight on, as if he was a prize specimen.
âYou're a big lad for your age,' he said. He gestured to the woman. âThis here is your Aunt Lil.'
âIt's grand to meet you, Aunt Lil. My mammy sends her kind regards.'
Aunt Lil stared at him, her expression startled. âSure but we're glad you've come at last.' Her hand trembled a little as she reached out and touched Paddy's cheek and then his hair. âNo one warned us you'd be such a handsome one! Bless you, look at this hair, Kevin, it's like pure gold!'
Paddy smiled. âI used to have curls, but a boy can't be going to school with curls, so Mam cut them off on my last night home.'
âIt must have broke her heart to see those golden locks fall.'
âSure, she was crying as she swept them up,' said Paddy, grinning.
Uncle Kevin snorted. âDon't be fussing now,' he said gruffly. âYou'll make the boy as vain as his father.'
Paddy fought down the sharp reply that leapt to mind. He'd promised his mother he would give up answering back to his elders, along with all his other bad habits.
Uncle Kevin turned and led the way, shouldering through the crowd like a bull amongst cattle. Outside the station, he hailed a cab, driven by a man in a battered top hat. Paddy's bad mood dissolved as he leant out of the window, excited by his first sight of Dublin with its clattering trams and streets thronged with people. When the cab crossed over the Liffey River, Paddy leant so far out that Uncle Kevin grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him back in.
âYou're not a wild goat from the Burren any more, young man. You're a seminary boy, or soon enough will be. They won't be standing any nonsense at St Columcille's.'