Aunt Effie: Part 1

By JACK LASENBY

Our Aunt Effie adored being ill. Best of all she liked colds, flu, and the collywobbles she got after eating green apples.

Real illnesses she ignored until they gave up and sneaked away, but a runny nose, a stubbed toe, or a pimple, and she popped on her heavy green canvas invalid's pyjamas, jumped into bed, and bellowed for her nephews and nieces.

And, since she could never remember which one of us was which, she called all our names.

``Daisy-Mabel-Johnny-Flossie-Lynda-Stan-Howard-Marge-Stuart!'' she shouted. ``Peter-Marie-Colleen-Alwyn-Bryce-Jack!'' she bawled. ``Ann-Jazz-Becky-Jane-Isaac-David-Victor! Casey-Lizzie-Jared-Jess!'' We dropped our milking buckets, cake mixtures, axes, scythes, curry-combs, scrubbing brushes, whips, needles, shovels, and shears and ran up the stairs.

Aunt Effie lay on a pile of pillows, a sou'wester tied under her chin, an oilskin coat around her shoulders, her feet on a stone hot-water bottle. ``I'm cold,'' she shivered. ``Stir up the fire!''

Marie struck sparks from the flint and steel Aunt Effie kept on the mantelpiece. As the tinder smoked, she blew on it till flames licked the dry tea-tree twigs we used for kindling. She fed on bigger sticks and branches, and the backlog that had been smouldering began to glow. Wind grumbled in the chimney. The firelight made the shadows even darker under Aunt Effie's enormous bed, and we clutched each other as something there moved.

The flames flickered and reflected off hilts and triggers on the walls. Great cupboards, presses, and chests of drawers stepped forward into the light.

Publisher: Longacre Press

Price: $16.95

Age group: 9-13 years


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