St Kilda Blues by Geoffrey McGeachin Page B

reminding him of the orphanages in which he had been placed. There was a central lawn surrounded by trees with a statue at its centre. The statue was a smiling man wearing the same robes as Brother Brian and with his right hand raised in a benediction.
    â€˜Our founder,’ Brother Brian said and he crossed himself. ‘The boys are at evening prayers right now so what say we get you settled and then you can meet your new young friends at tea.’
    He led the boy into a long building with wooden floors and tiny windows. There were rows of rusty metal beds along both walls, each separated by a narrow, crudely made wooden cabinet. Each bed had a single blanket over a lumpy straw-filled mattress that reminded the boy of his time on the farm in Dorset. He counted three dozen beds. There was a large bathroom at one end of the dormitory with two tin bathtubs and an open tiled area with half a dozen showerheads suspended from the ceiling. Brother Brian opened the door at the far side of the bathroom and pointed to a low wooden structure set away to one side of the compound area.
    â€˜Over there is the privy,’ he said. ‘That’s where you do your business. Our friends in Adelaide send us old newspapers and as the new boy one of your jobs will be to cut them into squares and make sure the privy is always well stocked. You will also have to help empty the tubs of nightsoil as required.’
    Brother Brian allocated him a bed and gave him a towel and a nightshirt. Both items looked to have had many previous owners and the towel smelled of stale sweat and mildew. The boy placed his meagre possessions in the wooden cabinet while the brother stood and watched. When he was done the boy slid the empty kitbag under his bed, back against the wall as far as it would go.
    As they crossed to the building containing the dining room, Brother Brian laid out the rules. The boy was to be quiet and respectful, to instantly obey the brothers in all things, to attend morning and evening prayers, to work hard at any task to which he was appointed and to seek the guidance of the Lord in all things. And he was to avoid spending overlong periods alone in the privy. He must be wary of the solitary vice and avoid it, and likewise avoid those who indulged in it. The boy had no idea what the solitary vice was, and he was distracted by the sight of a cat as they passed one of the barns. He wondered if the dagger would be safe in its hiding place in his kitbag and decided his first task would be to seek out a better place to store it.
    There was a row of washbasins fitted to the wall outside the dining room. He followed Brother Brian’s example and washed his hands in the brackish-smelling water, though there was no soap. He shook his hands and followed the brother into the dining room. It was the same dimensions as the dormitory but with rows of tables and hard wooden benches instead of beds. There were no windows in the dining room, which was illuminated by a row of hurricane lanterns suspended from the ceiling.
    The six tables nearest the door had four occupants along each side. There was a brown-robed brother at each table and then seven boys whose ages ranged from four or five up to perhaps fifteen. At several of the tables Aboriginal boys were mixed in amongst the white children. Their skin colour varied from brown to black, with several having such a deep blue-black tone that it was difficult to make out their features in the weak light of the kerosene lanterns. The boys were all wearing grubby shorts and patched and faded cotton shirts and were barefoot. Their hair was cut short or shaved off completely. Brother Brian saw that the boy was staring.
    â€˜We’ve had an outbreak of ringworm, I’m afraid your hair must come off tomorrow as well, then a good rinse with kerosene. It shouldn’t sting too much but it has to be done.’
    The boy nodded. Pain didn’t matter all that much to him, not his at least.
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