A Wog and goofy;
bumbler. Bottom of the class and the playground both. Paul Zakosky.
You didn't want to share a name with the likes of him. There might have been sausage in Zakosky's lunchbox. Rosy-cheeked Fatty. Could the kid catch a ball of any description? You wouldn't play marbles with the likes of him. Last on the roll, never picked in sports, hid in a hole in the playground. Why did he have to have that name?
Paul Johns was as bad in the other direction. A pushover the same, but with a firm, secure place in the ranks. His mother was on the Mothers' Club or something like. This one lived near the school and knew a number of boys independently from his neighbourhood. (Kosky was out near the Bottle Works.)
Johnsey had his own football that he sometimes brought from home. If he said you couldn't kick it you couldn't. That's my ball!... You were out. What was the use of it to him when he couldn't kick it over a jam tin; couldn't mark. A push-over like the other, but with allies that needed to be weighed in his case.
Footy and also a school uniform for special occasions—grey shorts and sweater, green and gold round the collar. (One or two of the girls had the equivalent; none of the other boys.)
Johnsey's mother was older too; tall, big-boned. Looked more like his Grannie than his mum. (Didn't look like a black witch but.) The Shit-head wasn't easily daunted. You could smack him down in a second. Knew you could and he better watch out. Still gave cheek.
No brothers or sisters. Older brothers particularly, but sisters too was a red flag.
You didn't want to share a name with the likes of him. There might have been sausage in Zakosky's lunchbox. Rosy-cheeked Fatty. Could the kid catch a ball of any description? You wouldn't play marbles with the likes of him. Last on the roll, never picked in sports, hid in a hole in the playground. Why did he have to have that name?
Paul Johns was as bad in the other direction. A pushover the same, but with a firm, secure place in the ranks. His mother was on the Mothers' Club or something like. This one lived near the school and knew a number of boys independently from his neighbourhood. (Kosky was out near the Bottle Works.)
Johnsey had his own football that he sometimes brought from home. If he said you couldn't kick it you couldn't. That's my ball!... You were out. What was the use of it to him when he couldn't kick it over a jam tin; couldn't mark. A push-over like the other, but with allies that needed to be weighed in his case.
Footy and also a school uniform for special occasions—grey shorts and sweater, green and gold round the collar. (One or two of the girls had the equivalent; none of the other boys.)
Johnsey's mother was older too; tall, big-boned. Looked more like his Grannie than his mum. (Didn't look like a black witch but.) The Shit-head wasn't easily daunted. You could smack him down in a second. Knew you could and he better watch out. Still gave cheek.
No brothers or sisters. Older brothers particularly, but sisters too was a red flag.
The cousin Chris Johns was nothing to worry
about; useless on the field and a Sissy. Blinky-eyed.
Chris was blonde; the other dark. Chris did have older brothers. (It was hard working out family groups and alliances.) Chris crossed Melbourne Road too, but right, not straight. Seven years of schooling not a single word exchanged. Chris and his cousin Paul knew not to get in the way of the ball. Watch out!
Years later the old man on the walking-frame going through the street turned into Chris Johns' father. The son had followed dad into the locksmith trade. (Tech. School divided the paths once and for all.) Years ago old bent Jeff had a shop in Elizabeth Street in the city; the middle of the city that wouldn’t be visited unless it was the solicitor’s office when mother dragged you….
— You went to school with Chris? Friend of Chris's. Friend of Chris's.... You didn't know?....
Heart attack in his late thirties, fifteen years before. (Jeff had survived his own in his seventies.) Went down to the beach-house. One of the older brothers went to find him. Widow and couple of children.
— You were in Chris's class? I'll tell Meryl. A friend of Chris's….
Chris was blonde; the other dark. Chris did have older brothers. (It was hard working out family groups and alliances.) Chris crossed Melbourne Road too, but right, not straight. Seven years of schooling not a single word exchanged. Chris and his cousin Paul knew not to get in the way of the ball. Watch out!
Years later the old man on the walking-frame going through the street turned into Chris Johns' father. The son had followed dad into the locksmith trade. (Tech. School divided the paths once and for all.) Years ago old bent Jeff had a shop in Elizabeth Street in the city; the middle of the city that wouldn’t be visited unless it was the solicitor’s office when mother dragged you….
— You went to school with Chris? Friend of Chris's. Friend of Chris's.... You didn't know?....
Heart attack in his late thirties, fifteen years before. (Jeff had survived his own in his seventies.) Went down to the beach-house. One of the older brothers went to find him. Widow and couple of children.
— You were in Chris's class? I'll tell Meryl. A friend of Chris's….
No comments:
Post a Comment