B. Dickins - Barry and the Fairies of Miller Street  

Published in 2012 by Hardie Grant Books

Hardie Grant Books (Australia)
Ground Floor, Building 1
658 Church Street
Richmond, Victoria 3121
www.hardiegrant.com.au

Hardie Grant Books (UK)
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3435 Southampton Street
London WC2E 7HF
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The moral rights of the authors have been asserted.

Copyright Barry Dickins and Jenny Lee
Copyright illustrations Barry Dickins
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Dickins, Barry, 1949

Barry and the fairies of Miller Street / Barry Dickins and Jenny Lee.
eISBN: 9781742738130
Other Authors/Contributors: Lee, Jenny.
A823.3

Design by Peter Daniel
Typeset in ITC New Baskerville 10/14pt
Image reproduction by Splitting Image Colour Studio

CONTENTS

Heres an aerial view of West Preston, which won the Worlds Flattest City award.

The only hill in the place is the Hump, a bridge for trams to cross the Epping railway line. On each side theres a triangular tin sign saying NO ENTRY TRAMS EXCEPTED, but youre allowed to walk across.

My nan used to say the Hump was Prestons only nightlife. You can look at the stars for nothing, shed say.

She knew everyone here, including the fairies. I was six and three-quarters when she introduced me to them, in a roundabout sort of way.

It happened when I spent the May school holidays with Nan and Pop.

Dad and I went there on the Six Oclock Rocket, which was what every-one called the Preston bus. When we arrived, three sodden men and a dog were waiting at the Crookston Road stop, which was just a patch of mud under a streetlight hanging from a gum tree.

The three men leaned out into the street in the dark, and the dog leaned too, in a skinny black-and-white way. There wasnt a timetable, so there was no exact knowing when the bus would come.

The man next to me cupped his hands and blew into them. Its awful here, he grumbled.

The one with the dog said, Its awful everywhere. The dog seemed to agree.

Something big came wheeling towards us. That the bus? the third man mumbled into his scarf.

Its just a truck, said the man with the dog. He stamped his feet to warm them up. I hope he hasnt forgotten again. Come on, Baldy!

Whos Baldy, Daddy? I asked.

The driver. He has trouble in the wet.

I could hear the bus coming before I saw it. Its springs went oink-oink-oink as it bounced over the potholes, then it charged out of the dark and slithered across the road. We all stepped back, even the dog.

On the front of the bus was a dimly lit sign: Dundas St West Preston. The door opened and the inside light went on. The driver was an enormous man in a greeny-grey cardigan, like a tent with squinty eyes on top.

The dog sprang up the steps and shook itself from snout to tail.

I wish I could do that, its owner said. One and a dog, please.

Baldy patted the engine cover. Up you get, Rebel, he said. The dog jumped up and put its chin on the metal to get warm.

Dad hauled himself up the steps by the handrail, and I swung my bag up after him. The driver gave him a big grin. Where you off to, Len?

Visiting Mum and Dad, Dad said, handing him a shilling. One and a half to Dundas Street, please. This is Mr Cooper, Barry. Barry, Mr Cooper. Without him, we dont go anywhere.

How is Edna? Baldy asked as he tore off our tickets with his rubber thumb grip.

Oh, shes OK, Dad said. Barrys off to spend the holidays with his grandma.

That was news to me. I thought I was only staying for a few days.

We squelched up to a seat at the back, which was just a tiny bit warmer than outside. Dad leaned right into the seat and closed his eyes while I unzipped my bag to see what Mum had packed for me.

There were two pairs of pyjamas and a lot more spare clothes than I was expecting. Shed popped in a big green pear and some comics and, at the bottom, in among the socks, was my junior football, which was coloured red and white for the mighty Preston Bullants. In the side pocket was an envelope labelled Barry with some football swap cards and a ten-shilling note.

I looked around. On the seat next to us were two men with baggy brown overalls tucked into their gumboots. They were both fast asleep with their mouths open, and next to them on the floor was a silvery milk can almost as big as me.

The bus was going down a dark part of Cheddar Road now, and a barn owl was flying in front of the windscreen. It seemed to know the way, and Baldy followed it without question. The owl turned left at Broadway, and the bus slid into the stop. Its wheels locked up, but the top of the bus kept going for a second, then bounced back with a jerk.

Baldy called out, Wake up, you two! Were here.

The farmers closed their mouths and opened their eyes, then stood and picked up the milk can. They thumped down the steps and landed the can on the ground outside.

Dad had opened his eyes. Bumpkins! he muttered.

The milk bar next to the bus stop had a big Peters ice-cream cone lit up, and on the opposite corner was a neon sign for E. J. Love Real Estate.

Were getting closer to town, Dad said. This is High Street. Now were on the tar.

It was a smoother ride to the Junction Hotel, where the bus stopped with a groan. Thats it, folks. There aint no more, Baldy said as he pulled on the handbrake.

I jumped down with my bag in my arms, then Dad and I walked towards the Hump.

Dad said, Youll be OK for the rest of the holidays, wont you?

I think I agreed too quickly. Sure, Dad. Ill be fine. But to myself I thought, you know, would I? Wouldnt I miss tearing around with my brothers?

Dad pointed to a big house on our right. Thats one of the places Pop built, he said. It had a curvy brick veranda with pillars, and there were red and green loops of coloured glass in the windows.

Your pop had the best building gang in Preston, Dad skited. He was the king of the Cal Bung.

Whats that? I asked politely.

Californian bungalow like that one. They used to be all the rage. The last word in good taste.

We walked up the Hump, and Dad paused at the top. Look at that! he said, pointing to the West Preston side, where an orange cloud was rising into the air. Thats where they make the trams.

The wind came up behind us and blew us down the Hump. As we walked, I heard banging and then smelt something burning. At the workshop gates, we stopped to look up the long aisle between the sheds, where partly built trams were moving up and down through a fog of dust.