BACKYARD BLISS

BACKYARD BLISS

It was in our backyard in Truman Street many summers ago, that for me and my brothers too, and of course how could you forget her, our little sister Jud. This backyard to us Mc Kenzie kids and many kids just like us, our backyard meant a lot, our backyard meant much more than just being a patch of dirt and four walls to keep each kid a prisoner. But it allowed each to dream. To dream make-believe thoughts into becoming heroes, of our own imaginations.

For each Mc Kenzie kid, the fantasy of our dreams be it the M.C.G in summer or Victoria Park and the Western Oval in winter or it could be simply building castles in the dirt.

Outside the boundaries of our backyard domain, we were known effectively as the tribe of kids that lived up on the corner block and branded by those who did not us, as simply “those bloody little monsters” that were Jack and Lillian’s brood. And the usual comment from our well-meaning neighbours in our area to their own bloody kids “whatever you do, don’t hang around the likes of them and mark my word, they are nothing but trouble those bloody Mc Kenzie kids.

Aside from neighbourhood outpourings about the doings of us Mc Kenzie kids, it was our backyard that held so memories dear, about those periods and times of us growing up. To us Mc Kenzie kids though we only knew, felt and experienced two seasons in the year. One season being the period of feeling bloody cold on bleak and windy days and it was the time that us kids referred to winter as we put away for another season down the road, our cricket bat and ball and the rubbish marked with wickets, cause footy season had arrived.

Improvisation though, whether it was for footy or our backyard cricket, but it didn’t matter which, but to us Mc Kenzie kids it became the mother of all invention and necessity. Whether it was in the winters when playing our backyard footy matches and then with the last goal scored and the seasons of reasoning turning around with the weather getting warmer, then we were playing backyard cricket which became the norm in summer and there was definitely no appealing against the fading light, as our days turned into darkness.

Right throughout our footy season, with newspapers home delivered, then read and no longer needed or was wanted for our loo out the back, these editorial editions quickly became our footballs when tied up with string. Then in the heat and tussles in the moment of our battles, if not tied up properly or correctly, our footballs became apart too easily, especially at the seams, when lining up a goal, you liked to kick the guts out of your paper Melbourne Sun football.

But lo and behold mate that by chance it happened being a justifiable mistake as our footy sailed over next door’s six-foot-high wooden fence and landing in of all places straight into that old biddy boddy Mrs. Casey’s backyard well attended flower and veggie patch.

Mrs. Casey had become known to all of us Mc Kenzie kids as someone you did not meddle with, for you knew that at all costs that she of all people was someone who needed to be avoided. Because of neighbourhood goss with the rumour mill working overtime, it was implied that she flew a broom and acted like a witch, and that on a night of a full moon if you were unfortunate enough to be caught in her backyard, straight for the chop you went and into a boiling copper of a foul and nasty smelling brew of frog legs, toads and other yucky things.

Then to add a little bit of spice of reasons why of not adventuring and being chicken, that by trespassing into Mrs. Casey’s backyard, for she had locked up there and on the loose this great bloody humungous monster whose pedigree was unknown. With fearful bloodshot eyes and was known to nip a heel or latch on to a kid’s bum, inflicting excruciating pain indeed as one’s trousers tore. And this beast answered to the command that when she called him “come here Ralph” as he slobbered at the mouth.

With another footy season having passed at this time of growing up, the situation came to be of trying to focus and forgetting all about olde Mrs. Casey’s yard. Then in a twinkling before you knew it our paper tied up footballs got retired, rested and delegated for another season into our council rubbish bin and it was as though in no time at all it felt like that time had stood still with the ending of the footy season and quickly came the re-emergence and resurgence of the willow and the pill and the rubbish wicket, denoting that summer was the time of heat and good old backyard cricket.

Backyard cricket for many has seen the beginnings and the makings of some really fine players, and wee Mc Kenzie kids were no exception to the rule. Except that in our backyard cricket, we had some very different rules, like bowling underarm to our little sister Jud. But the most contentious rule of all, was when the pill got smocked straight over the wooden fence, then all you heard with a loud shout and cry mostly from big brother Ken “over the fence you’re out for six, now get over the fence and fetch the pill.”

Then it came to pass that on a bright summer’s day in the morn, on two days called the weekend. Which to us Mc Kenzie kids really meant a two-day wag away from school. Then out of winter’s storage and first to appear was our bat, which was made from the finest piece of willow, selected and then pinched from Mrs. Casey’s fence. The next piece of equipment to make an appearance was our pill and quickly followed by our outstanding wicket keeper rubbish bin.

Once the weapons of combat appeared, and then came the most important part of our test cricket being the selection of the sides and the choice of who was going to be the Poms or part of the might of the Aussie Cricket side. Then at the tossing of the bat with the right side up and after winning the toss I was given the option with first choice of batting, and then I had the first choice of choosing my side in this all-important game of cricket. For today’s match and after winning the toss, I became with a touch of single minded arrogance and a touch of malice afterthought, for my team became the all-conquering Aussie heroes.

In being one of the skippers, I firstly selected little brother John to become my deputy and last not least we also had young Andrew Peter on our side who was rather good at fielding on the fence. And then to rub salt into his wounds, our Ken being the eldest of us wee Mc Kenzie kids, who pardon the pun got the dregs in a player of young Stanley, and Ken also got the services of baby brother Henry and these two brothers became known far and wide for batting with their dirty and poopie nappies on.

But poor old Kenneth dear, you had to feel a little bit tad sorry for, that ending up on his was none other and just out of her nappies, our little sister Jud. And to make matters worse and his task not much easier, Kenn had to endure for the duration of this test, the indignity of being called a dreaded “whinging whining Pommie bastard.”

Once the formalities were over the wee Mc Kenzie kids got down to playing a very serious game of backyard cricket, and having already won the toss, I elected to bat and opened up the innings with John Boy up the other end.

Kenn opened up the bowling for his mob the whinging Poms, and with his first couple of balls, he really let loose a couple of softeners at my head in trying to upset my demeanour. Then he let rip with this brute of a ball, which unfortunately for me, I swayed back and connected half way up my bat and to my disgust, watched the ball go sailing over the cover point boundary, and then in dismay I watched the pill keep going straight as a die over the fence in the direction of Mrs. Casey’s yard and in the kitchen all Mum heard from me was a very load “Oh Shit.” Then came the not unexpected sharp reprimand “Francis, swear once more and I will wash your mouth out with soap.”

Big brother Kenn, the adjudicator of making the rules, couldn’t contain his glee which simply put “that over the fence was six and you’re out, now go and fetch the pill.” Our wicket keeper rubbish bin was pushed hard up against our side of the fence and as I levered myself up, I found myself sitting on top of the fence and I could see our pill sunbaking very contently halfway across Mrs. Casey’s yard.

Realization hit me pretty hit. I could not go to her front door and ask her politely for our pill for it had been through our mum with whom Mrs. Casey was on talking terms, that she had given this warning to us Mc Kenzie kids, too many times of our balls going over her fence, our balls therefore became her personal property and that of her pet darling Ralph.

Perched up high on top of the dividing fence was great posse to survey the scene, which looked so far, so good, with the back door looking closed and the washing on the line flapping in the breeze, but where in the bloody hell was her brute Ralph lurking?

“Courage Francis courage” cried my brother Kenn from our side of the fence, “just jump down and go get the pill so that we can re-start our backyard cricket again.” But my mind was racing, it was easier said than done Kenn, as fear of trepidation kicked in. Just sitting there, on top of the fence, I wondered to myself about who gave the most to be afraid of. Was it Mrs. Casey, Ralph or was it big brother Ken or a combination of the three.

Brother Kenn was known far and wide in this neck of woods as a knuckle sandwich merchant, especially if your pill got lost to seemingly never to be retrieved or recovered again, which would effectively have ended our game of backyard cricket. Then with a dose of brave intent and courage, I jumped, then I landed on four paws and now for came the realization that I was now in the enemy’s territory now. So I carefully surveyed the scene, the back door still looked to be shut, the washing still flapping in the breeze and where in the bloody hell was that Ralph?

One step, two steps, careful now, be strong in mind, three steps pause, think about the situation, fourth step, just about there and what was that I was feeling running down my legs, all warm and watery? What else was there for it, when suddenly without warning I heard this almighty growl emanating from under a rhododendron bush, “Shitttte its Ralph?” I emit with an open mouth.

It was now crunch time for this little black duck. Off I took with an unholy dash and in one foul motion I scooped up our pill and turned for home for the safety of the wee Mc Kenzie kids M.C.G. and like bloody hell I did run. My little legs were a pumping, like pistons going up and down and the fence was getting closer.

I was thinking to myself, don’t whatever miss the fence, my heart was really pounding, my little legs still a pumping and going in all directions. I leapt and hit the fence about half way up from the top and clambered for the zenith and as my fingers clasped the top railing, seeming out of nowhere, my bum and brain got into gear by feeling this excruciating pain, that darling Ralph had my trousers and my arse locked tightly in his slobbering mouth.

Then at a long last in what had seemed an eternity, I got to the top and as for Ralph or not I was going over, and as I looked down I could see Ralph still suspended and secured in his slobbering jaws believe it or not were my trousers. And as he swung from side to side, I was past caring about our pill; I was more intent in choosing freedom on our side of the fence. A mighty yelp did I, then did I hear Ralph let go, then with a doggie smirk he retreated away triumphantly. For Ralph it was payback time, for all the shit and teasing and most of all it was the thrown yonnies (stones) which made him subjected to endless barking.

And for big brother Kenn, who always had to have the last say said rather laconically “you’re out for six, so come on lets us get on with the game,” but this time for Kenn he was left standing totally flabbergasted when one of those who wore a nappy in our games, softly spoke as one shit scared of Kenn and his knuckle sandwiches “please Kenn I think my nappy’s full of it and its running down my leg, so Kenn please could we finish this game off tomorrow.

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