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Authors: Steven Herrick

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Cold Skin

BOOK: Cold Skin
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S
TEVEN
H
ERRICK
was born in Brisbane, the youngest of seven
children. At school, his favourite subject was soccer, and he
dreamed of football glory while he worked at various jobs,
including fruit picking. Now, he’s a full-time writer and performs
in many schools each year. He loves talking to students and their
teachers about stories, poetry, soccer and even golf.

Steven lives in the Blue Mountains with his wife and sons. Visit
his website at
www.acay.com.au/~sherrick

Love, ghosts & nose hair
– shortlisted in the 1997 CBCA
awards and the NSW Premier’s Literary Awards

A place like this
– shortlisted in the 1999 CBCA awards
and the NSW Premier’s Literary Awards, and commended
in the 1998 Victorian Premier’s Literary Awards

The simple gift
– shortlisted in the 2001 CBCA awards
and the NSW Premier’s Literary Awards

By the river
– Honour Book in the 2005 CBCA awards
and winner of the Ethel Turner Prize in the
NSW Premier’s Literary Awards

Lonesome Howl
– a Notable Book in the 2007 CBCA awards

Also by STEVEN HERRICK

Water Bombs

Love, ghosts & nose hair

A place like this

The simple gift

By the river

Lonesome Howl

for children

The place where the planes take off

My life, my love, my lasagne

Poetry, to the rescue

The spangled drongo

Love poems and leg-spinners

Tom Jones saves the world

Do-wrong Ron

Naked Bunyip Dancing

Steven Herrick

C
O
LD
S
K
IN

First published in 2007

Copyright © Steven Herrick 2007

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 St

Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

Phone:      (61 2) 8425 0100
Fax:           (61 2) 9906 2218
Email:       
[email protected]
Web:        
www.allenandunwin.com

National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Herrick, Steven, 1958 - .
Cold skin.
ISBN 978 1 74175 129 1.
I. Title.
A823.3

Cover design by Josh Durham, Design by Committee
Set in 10.5pt Apollo by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Teachers’ notes are available from
www.allenandunwin.com

CONTENTS

One
A bright future

Two
Coal town

Three
Town and city

Four
Cold skin

Five
Burning candles

Six
Cowards

Seven
The bridge

Eight
The miner

CHARACTERS

Eddie Holding

Larry Holding

Albert Holding

Sally Holmes

Colleen O’Connor

Mayor Paley

Mr Carter

Sergeant Grainger

Mr Butcher

ONE
A bright future

Eddie Holding

They named me Eddie

after Mum’s father

who died before I was born.

‘A quiet, stubborn bastard,’

says my dad.

I’m not sure if he’s talking about

Grandad or me.

We live near the railway tracks

beside Jamison River,

two miles out of town,

opposite the slag heap,

overgrown with thistles

and yellow dandelions.

Dad and me and my brother Larry

built our place in a real hurry

’cos we had nowhere else to live

after Grandma died

and the Wilsons took her house

before we’d had a fair chance

to say goodbye to Gran’s memories.

They said it was their house

and I guess it was

because they went out and sold it.

So we packed everything on

Mr Laycock’s Leyland truck

and drove it here,

where we bought some land,

no bigger than an acre,

with the last of Dad’s army pay.

Larry and me set to work

dragging logs from the bush

with our horse.

Dad mixed concrete

and poured the foundations

in the hot sun

while Mum washed our clothes

in the old tub,

hanging them over the wire

stretched between two poles

along the boundary to our yard.

We lived in a tent

loaned from Mr Paley, the mayor.

He said,

‘Anything for a supporter.’

And for six weeks

me and Larry didn’t go to school.

We built this three-room log house

that looks like a squat brown toad

sitting on a rise

about to jump into Jamison River.

Eddie

Taylors Bend is named after a bloke

who owned some of this valley a long time ago.

Mr Taylor lost his sons in the Great War

and all he had left

was a few hundred head of sheep

and the river that flooded his fields most winters.

They say when his sons didn’t come home

he tied himself to a tractor wheel

and jumped into the water at the deepest part.

No one could find his body

so they named this bend to remember him.

It’s the best place for skimming stones.

You can dig your toes deep into the sand.

Once I skipped a flat black rock

fair to the sandstone wall

on the far side of the river.

I’m fishing for yabbies

because Mum says

there’s only potatoes to eat tonight.

So I tie the pork fat to the string

and toss it in,

waiting for the tug.

Sometimes I catch ten river yabbies

with the same piece of meat.

Into the old tin bucket they go,

half-full of river water,

ready for Mum to boil ’em up.

We have them with spuds

cooked slow in our wood oven,

so you can taste the smoke.

Larry whispers to me,

‘Blackfella food.

That’s what you’re eating.’

I don’t care what colour eats the yabbies.

It don’t make them taste any less sweet.

I say,

‘Good food, Larry.

Fresh caught food.’

He don’t know what he’s got.

My smart lazy brother.

Albert Holding

I came home from the army

and saw my wife and two sons

standing on the train platform

waiting for me to hug them.

I’d been away too long,

even if it was only driving transport

across the desert in the Territory,

while other blokes died of starvation and malaria,

and God knows what else,

a few thousand miles north.

The closest I got to war

was loading the heavy artillery

onto the ships in Darwin Harbour

and getting into fights at the pub

with the blokes from the Navy,

who could swing a fist as sure as a pint.

I drove the bloody trucks

such long nights across the country

with only Corporal Cheetham for company.

Cheetham had a fine way of spitting

between his teeth,

scratching his head,

and saying, ‘Well, bugger me’

whenever we got a flat tyre,

out there in the middle of nowhere.

We’d sit under the cold stars

and wait for daylight before changing the tyre,

rather than struggling around in the dark.

I’d stand on the dirt track

and smoke cigarette after cigarette,

not saying much.

That’s how I spent the war.

When it was all over, after demobilisation,

fresh-faced girls in the city had welcome smiles

and kisses for every man in a uniform.

I walked to the train station

dizzy with the smell of perfume and victory.

We all came home on a slow train,

sharing jokes and beers,

playing cards

and telling long-winded stories

of what we’d do once we got back.

Then I saw my family on the platform.

My wife with her black hair

covered in a scarf with yellow sunflowers.

Larry shuffling his feet in the dirt,

his hands deep in his pockets.

And Eddie waving, smiling,

saying, ‘Hello. Welcome back.’

to each of the men

as they stepped from the carriage.

My family.

‘Well, bugger me.’

Eddie

‘Welcome to a big year for Burruga,’

says Mr Paley, our mayor.

He’s standing on the speaker’s box

at the rotunda in Memorial Park,

waving his hat above his head

as he calls to everyone gathered.

‘Rally around, ladies and gentlemen.

I’m going to put our town on the map.

Imagine, a modern blast furnace near the coalmine,

and a new ticket office for the railway station.’

He points towards the jerry-built shack opposite

and wipes the sweat from his brow

with a white handkerchief

flourished from the breast pocket of his suit.

He leans forward and says,

‘And, ladies,

I promise a new haberdashery

for my department store.

An emporium of taste and refinement.

Something special for all of you.’

Mr Paley winks at Mrs Blythe and Mrs Reynolds.

Both smile and bow their heads slightly.

‘Let’s put the war behind us

and build for the future.’

As he says this he raises both hands into the air,

clenching his fists in triumph.

Mr Wright, the mine manager, steps forward and starts up a three cheers for the mayor.

He calls to the crowd, ‘Mayor Paley, a man of will and purpose.’

Me and Dad walk home from the park.

Dad brushes the flies from his face and drags hard on his smoke.

‘What does Paley know about the war.

That fat bastard stayed home, cowering in his father’s store.

Will and purpose.

Yeah. He
will
get richer on
purpose.

’ Mr Paley is still chatting to the ladies on the stairs of the rotunda.

He stands one step higher than everyone else, his voice booming over their heads.

BOOK: Cold Skin
2.39Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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