The T-Team With Mr. B (35)

Clang! Clang! Clang! ‘Wake up! Wake up!’ Dad yelled.
I dragged myself out of the tangle of grey army blankets and shuffled to the door. The thin worn lino stung cold on my bare feet.
Dad marched past hammering a saucepan with a wooden spoon. ‘Get up! We have to get an early start!’
Mr. B stumbled to the bathroom and grumbled, ‘It’s too early, surely we could’ve had an hour’s more sleep.’
‘No, we must get going! We have a lot of ground to cover.’

Out of the Chocolate Box (45)

At seven in the evening, I scampered down to the kitchen and attempted to scrounge some scraps from the kitchen hand; some weedy adolescent wearing a hooded windcheater. What was he hiding? Pimples? He kept mumbling, ‘You’re too late, Miss’.
In the end, I mumbled in reply, ‘This retreat is not a retreat, it’s more like a boarding school or even a concentration camp’.

Out of the Chocolate Box (44)

The former Captain of the Sister Ship, Commander Driver, appearing more foreboding in a habit, glared at us. ‘What, do you think you are doing?’
Günter and I jumped apart and stared at our boots as if we were naughty school children who had been sprung.

The T-Team With Mr. B (34)

‘Hey, Rick, look!’ I pointed. ‘The Gosse Range, it’s just like the painting Grandma’s got in her lounge room.’
From the front of the Rover Mr B asked, ‘Did you say, David that you met the famous Albert Namatjira when you lived up in Hermannsburg?’
‘Oh, of course. My father-in-law was a great supporter of Albert’s art.’
‘How did the Gosse Range come about?’ I asked my audience from the back of the Rover.

Out of the Chocolate Box (43)

I had an idea and slipped behind some thick curtains while Günter poured over some huge leather-bound book. I did not know if my plan would work, but it was worth a try.
Günter turned around. His eyebrows knitted together in a searching look. He glanced around the room, darting his eyes in every corner, like a cat hunting prey.
I tried not to laugh, but a snort escaped. I would have to move to keep one step ahead.

The T-Team With Mr. B (33)

We heard a blood-curdling scream.
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘Rick, I hope he’s alright.’
We scrambled down the last of the gully and ran along the ridge in the direction of Rick’s cries.

Out of the Chocolate Box (42)

We walked the path from the beach. The Convent emerged over the dune before us, reminding me of Le Mont St. Michel in Brittany; beautiful, yet imposing.
Already the incoming tide consumed the sand on the shore.
‘Do you think Trigger will be alright?’
Günter gazed over to the Convent and for some time remained silent.

leeannemarieblog

Australian Artist and Author and her reflections on storytelling, art and life.

Author: lmkling