Open Writing

'Let's go up and see Mrs Hull,' my mother said to Joy and me.

'Oh, goody.' We loved going up to Mrs Hull's. She lived in a house along the road crossing the top of Leicester Street. Just a few minutes walk away.

Mrs Hull was a friend of my grandmother's, and my mother was a friend of her daughters, Gwen and Norma. Then there was their younger brother, Jacky, who always seemed to be on a motor bike. Her husband, Mr Hull, walked a lot. He had blue eyes and white hair, and didn't say much. Mrs Hull was chatty and friendly, and gave us biscuits and a drink whenever we went. She had dark, curly hair, wore glasses, and always had on a pinny, one of those that came up around the neck. Then, we would go outside to see the birds, and the dog.

There were cages all over the back yard. Aviaries, I was told they were called. 'No, that's where they keep bees,' I said with my (as I thought) superior knowledge.

'No, dear,' said Mrs Hull, 'that's apiaries. Get your grandma to look in the dictionary for you.'

'I'll ask my father, he's swallowed a dictionary.'

Mrs Hull laughed. 'Did you hear what she said, Marge?' she asked my mother.

My mother hadn't heard. So Mrs Hull told her what I'd said. My mother didn't seem to find my remark that funny, but smiled anyway for Mrs Hull's benefit, while at the same time glancing at me with a look that told me I'd erred in some way.

'Watch out for Maggie, won't you, he won't hurt you, but don't try and touch him.'

Maggie was a magpie, who'd arrived with a sore leg, and had stayed around when his leg got better, even though he wasn't caged. You weren't allowed to keep magpies as pets, even though a lot of people did. He hopped around the yard, but didn't attempt to fly away. The cages contained all sorts and colours of budgies, rosellas, lovebirds, a galah, and two cockatoos.

We loved the cockatoos best. They were our friends, and always talked to us. They could say all sorts of things. We'd say 'Hello, Cocky. Hello, Darling. Cocky want a cup of tea? Dance, Cocky, Dance! Kiss, Cocky, Kiss, Cocky.'

Cocky would say all these thing back to us, jig up and down in a dance, and then he might say something naughty, like 'Damn and blast. Shut up.' Mrs Hull said Jacky had taught him to say those things, and she was very cross with him. He wasn't allowed to teach Cocky anything else. But every time he saw Jacky, Cocky said, 'Hello. Shut up. Damn and Blast.' Jacky soon got tired of this and went inside.

The garden was not just full of birds, but all sorts of flowers and plants. Bushes, with lovely flowers and beautiful smells. Pale purple wisteria grew around the veranda at the back of the house, and along the fence. The black cocker-spaniel dog was old. He just lay in the sun, and wasn't interested in us. We patted him, but he didn't seem to notice.

This particular day I hadn't seen Maggie. 'Where's Maggie, Mrs Hull,' I asked.

'Oh, I expect he's hiding in the bushes somewhere,' she said. 'He'll come out when he feels like it.'

Just then I saw him. He was under the wooden veranda. He came darting out, scurrying towards us very fast. The next moment my mother was screaming. Maggie was pecking at her legs. Peck, peck peck! Back he would go, and then run again to have another go. We started screaming too. Mrs Hull kicked at him, then ran and got a broom and shooed him away. He ran squawking back under the house. My mother's legs were a mess, with blood pouring from the pecks. She was all red in the face, and I think she was trying not to cry in front of us. Mrs Hull hurried us all into the house, shut the door, and made my mother sit down. She got a bowl, put Dettol in it, and bathed the wounds. Then she put ointment on them, and bandaged them up. 'You'll have to stay here, Margery, until you're feeling better. I'll make you a nice hot cup of tea with plenty of sugar, that will help the shock.'

'I'll be all right,' said my mother.

We never saw Maggie again.

© Shirley Henwood

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Shirley writes for Bonzer magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au