Billy



  Billy

  Copyright 2014 Lynn Wade

  Contents

  About the Author

  Connect with Lynn Wade

  Chapter One

  Billy John Edwards was born in 1895, in the small farming town of York, about 120 miles north of Perth. York is picturesque in spring, cold in winter and blazingly hot in summer. It lies deep in a valley, peppered with eucalyptus trees. The bottlebrush bush, flaming red in spring is a magnificent contrast to the wild yellow of the wattle trees. The beautiful Avon River flows undulating through the town. Town’s people camp by the river for rest and relaxation, boat races and Sunday afternoon picnics.

  As you drive into town, farms dot the landscape. York is wheat country and the fertile lands have produced a prosperous town. Sheep and cattle farms are scattered for up to 30 miles surrounding the town. The population in 1895 was about five thousand.

 

  Billy was born to farming parents. His father, Clarence, a gifted runner and successful famer. His mother, a devout Methodist, had strong desires to see her children end up in the church. Billy, the youngest grew up with four older brothers and a sister.

  Billy was born during a cold snap in June 1895 and was lucky to survive the year. The doctor had told Gladys and Clarence that the child would not survive. He did.

  ‘That boy is not the like the other boys. He stutters all the time and is not strong. What will become of him Gladys? His father would say. He needs glasses and is always sick. He definitely is the runt of the litter.’

  ‘Shut up Clarence! He is your son, don’t forget it! Gladys barked. ‘He may be the one to surprise you. And if you could show a little kindness instead of always looking at him in that pathetic way, that would make the boy feel better.’

  Billy grew up with four brothers. His sister Elizabeth, soft and gentle, was Billy’s favourite. Lizzy loved to sew. She had the patience and the ability to create hand crafted work from basic materials. She was petite, with wavy blond hair and freckles. A sensitive soul, she and Billy were close.

  Billy loved to read. He loved the Bible with stories of great men of courage. He read to his patient mother.

  ‘Mark my words young man, you will surprise everyone. Now keep on reading. Keep on reading. Practice makes perfect. Good night my brave young man.’

  Charles Henry Edwards was his dad’s favourite. He could out run and out do everyone in sport and he was ‘top dog’ in the family. He was good looking and the eldest. When dad was not around he was responsible. He was built to farm. Tall and strong with curly dark hair and the girls loved him. His dad was a farmer and he was going to be a farmer. He knew early on in his life what he was going to do. Charles was everything Billy was not and they both knew it.

  Billy and Charles were brothers.

  ‘Billy! Billy! Get a move on, or you won’t be gettin’ any tea tonight! Charles yelled.

  ‘C-c-coming Ch-Ch-Charles,’ stuttered Billy.

  ‘You always got your head in some book. There are chores to be done on the farm. Readin’ books are not gonna get you anywhere, when you can’t even speak proper,’ Charles would retort.

  Billy, always a little awestruck by Charles ‘handsomeness’, as Elizabeth called it, was tongue tied around Charles. Charles called him a ‘hopeless boy for farming, better reading a book somewhere curled up under a tree.’

  Charles, Thomas and Henry were good mates. Thomas and Henry were tall and good-looking. Thomas with his mousey hair and cheeky grin was a larrikin and always on the lookout for adventure. Henry, like Thomas loved adventure and was competitive to the end. George, the fourth son, was taller but leaner than the first three brothers. He was good at sport but not as good as his three brothers. He could sit for hours pulling things apart and putting them back together, just to see how things worked. He got along with his three older brothers and Lizzy. He felt sorry for Billy.

  ‘I am going to drive trains one day. If I don’t do that, then I am going to learn how to build them,’ George mentioned during family dinner.

  ‘Why would you wanna do that?’ quipped Charles.

  ‘That’s what I like doing,’ George replied.

  ‘All aboard the George train, all aboard, all aboard,’ laughed Charles.

  Thomas and Henry doubled over with laughter.

  ‘Shut up Charles. What do you want to do all day? Talk to the sheep all day? How boring, just like you Charles!’ snapped George.

  ‘You think your better than everyone round here,’ Charles roared as he thumped the table.

  Crockery and dishes crashed to the floor.

  ‘Stop! Stop!’ shouted Gladys.

  Lizzy started to cry.

  ‘Enough! Enough! Stop all of you! Stop at once!’ thundered Dad. ‘George, apologise to Charles.’

  ‘He started it. He always gets away with this stuff.’

  ‘Apologise.’

  ‘Sorry, Charles.’

  Gladys glared at Clarence. Clarence shifted in his seat.

  ‘Charles. Apologise to George.’

  ‘Sorry, George.’

  The summer of 1908 had gone on for too long. The sprawling green of the hills had turned a parched brown and the Avon River was barely a trickle. There was a lot to do on the farm. Mum and dad had gone to the city on farming business. This day was long and hot, and the sun was cruel, twisting and warping anything left out to wilt. The boys were exhausted. Thomas, the youngest of the brothers, was loading hay onto the truck. As he was walking to the back of the shed he was drawn to the sight of something glistening.

  ‘What is this? Huh, oh, what have we here? Eureka! Eureka!’

  ‘Hey boys, come here. Look. Quick!’ Thomas shouted.

  ‘What is it Thomas? We gotta’ get this hay out and then we can go for a dip in the river,’ Charles barked.

  ‘Look Charles, quickly come here,’ Thomas yelled with urgency again.

  This time all the boys came running, except Billy. Billy was feeding the animals.

  ‘Look, Charles we have been working since the sun come up this morning, can’t we have a little drink? We only have it in church on Sunday’s and it always tastes good.’

  ‘No! No. If we drink any of this dad will know and if mum finds out we are dead. You know how she gets when she thinks we are off the rails’.

  ‘One drink will not hurt Charles,’ George chipped in.

  ‘Yes come on Charles, let us have one drink. Whew, it is hot and they wont be back for another few days’ echoed Henry.

  ‘Look...one drink only.’

  Dinner, Dinnertime. Where are those boys? They never miss when food is around, so where are they? She muttered to herself. Lizzy could hear singing and followed the trail of the voices.

  ‘Lizzy! Lizzy! My sweet sister. Hooooowww are youuuuuuuu? Thomas replied. They laughed and kept on singing.

  ‘What!’ Lizzy saw bottles everywhere. The stench of wine hung in the air. ‘What have you done!!! Where did you get these bottles! I am going to get Billy! You are all in big trouble!’ Lizzy yelled. Lizzy ran furiously toward the house. They all laughed and kept on singing.

  ‘Go get baby Billy, he can’t even talk properly, he is no good to anyone!’ laughed Thomas.

  Elizabeth started to cry. She ran back to the house. Billy appeared.

  ‘L-L-Llizzy, Wh-wh-what is wr-wr-wrong?’Billy stammered.

  ‘Nothing Billy, go and eat your dinner,’ Elizabeth blurted out.

  ‘Lizzy, what is-is-is wrong?’ Billy asked again.

  Elizabeth grabbed Billy’s arm and they ran over to the shed.

  ‘Oh, hi baby Billy, what are youuuuuu going to do to us? Sing and read the Bible and pray your way out of trouble,’ yelled Charles. They all rolled on the hay, laughing with derision. They chanted ‘Cry baby Billy
.’

  Something ignited in Billy’s head. Like David facing Goliath, Billy raced outside, grabbed a bucket and filled it to the top. Billy then ran as fast as his awkward legs could muster, and with all the rage inside him, threw the water over Charles. All the laughter, the mocking, the baby names, he had had enough. He was like a man possessed. He raced from the shed and did the same thing again. Charles suddenly stopped laughing. Everyone stopped laughing.

  ‘Why you little rat! I am going to give you a thrashing,’ screamed Charles.

  Elizabeth was screaming. ‘Billy!Billy!’

  Billy raced outside and grabbed the pitchfork and raced back, afraid he might lose his courage. He stared at Charles, Billy’s white face, now a deep crimson.

  ‘Yo-yo-you were le-le-left in charge. If you lay one hand on me, I wi-wi-will tell mum wh-wh-what ha-ha-happened here, and I will use this fork. I am not as big as you, bu-bu-but I am no baby,’ blurted out Billy.

  Charles lunged at him and Billy filled with rage struck Charles. One tooth of the