Wandering Girl Read Free Page A

surrounded the property brought memories to me of my home!
    When I got to the big fence, I wondered how I was going to climb over it without ripping my clothing. I tucked my dress in my bloomers, chucked my shoes off, and with shaky, wobbly vibrations climbed over the fence, ran to the tree and picked two oranges off. Then it was back over, shoes on, and back to the house to get her juice ready for her.

    She was already sitting at the breakfast table in the dining room, so I bolded in bravely and put the orange juice in front of her - only to be scolded and reminded in a harsh manner, that I wasn’t allowed in the dining room while any member of the family was there, unless she rang the bell, then I had to go in and see to her needs.
    I begged her pardon, and asked if I might have my breakfast?
    She told me I was to use my tin plate and mug. I could help myself to weeties, have one piece of bread and butter and a cup of tea - bacon and eggs were out for her dark slave.
    So I thanked her and went into the kitchen to satisfy my appetite. I piled my tin plate high with weeties, because in the mission weeties were like a luxury to us kids.
    We only had them once a week. That was every Sunday after church. If we never sang our songs, or said our prayers during church, our punishment was that we got no weeties! The nuns used to stand in line behind us in the pews and check to see who was singing. So we sang till our lungs just about burst, as we knew we could look forward to a nice bowl of weeties. Although they were put into a big pot of boiling water and used to go all mushy, they were still weeties and a far cry from old starchy porridge and mouldy bread with buttermilk. If the kids at the mission could see me now helping myself to the weeties, fresh milk and plenty of sugar, how envious they would be.
    I wasn’t quite sure how much weeties I could have. I just helped myself, and ate quickly before she came in to tell me that I had enough! After I finished eating, I sat back feeling rather bloated. The bell rang. I jumped up and went in to see what she wanted.
    She was wiping away the traces of her breakfast from around her mouth in a rather disdainful manner. She put down her serviette to tell me that she was writing down a list of duties for me, and that she expected the jobs to be done properly. In the meantime I was to go into the kitchen and tidy it up and wait till she was ready for me with her list.
    So I walked back into the kitchen to tidy up. I was beginning to feel like a zombie, beginning to feel that my sanity was slipping. To hang on to it, I thought I’d sing a few songs and get rid of those remorseful feelings I had churning up inside of me. So I started to sing one of my favourite songs, learnt at the mission: “I love to go a’wandering along the mountain track...”
    I had really engrossed myself and my thoughts into my song, when I was startled and interrupted rudely and told to stop that dreadful noise.
    I must have really upset her this time as her face was red as a beetroot. She told me she was very cross with me, as I was here as her servant, and she wasn’t allowing her servants to go around making noises. She stated I was here to work for her, and if I wasn’t going to listen to her I would be reported to the mission. Then she asked me, “Do you understand me clearly?”
    I said, ‘Yes, Mrs Bigelow,” but deep down inside, I couldn’t understand her and her attitude towards me. I thought she was quite a strange person. I didn’t dare say anything, or speak out for fear of being scolded; I had to just grin and bear it.
    You see, in those days I thought that’s how people treated you. I didn’t know any other way of life. This was the first place I had come to fresh out of the mission, so I was starting to feel a little bit resentful towards her.
    I continued on with my work. When she came in and handed me my list of jobs I nearly buckled at