With only two days to go before book club, last night I thought I had better start reading “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer” or I would have nothing to discuss on Sunday afternoon. I’m very glad that I belong to our little book club, not only because our leader bookworm is an absolute “vision” (as some of us ladies regard him), but also because a book club makes you read more, and I’m sure I wouldn’t have revisited Tom Sawyer without a nudge in that direction. I had vague recollections of the book – wily Tom getting his friends to whitewash Aunt Polly’s fence, and Tom and Huck getting scared by events in the graveyard – from when I first read it in my primary school days. I had forgotten how funny, well-observed and well-written it is. I was chuckling away in bed last night, so much so that Chris had to put away his “Private Eye” and listen to me read aloud Tom’s antics in church, and school, and home with Aunt Polly – of a Monday morning pretending to be on his death-bed with a “mortified” toe!

The tale is still funny and maybe I appreciate it even more an as adult. I don’t know if modern children could possibly relate to Tom Sawyer’s childhood – all that freedom, yet so little in the way of possessions (a window sash and a brass knob being prized above all else – such as a beetle kept in a cap box); stifling giggles in church, but fearing the wrath of God; being pulled by the ear and not feeling hard done by, and still feeling loved without needing to be told so ten times a day! Tom Sawyer reminds me of lots of little boys I knew during my own childhood, living in the Australian bush, and he even reminds me of myself in those days…

One day I was “in the doghouse” for some reason or other and I felt very sorry for myself; as usual, I wondered if I had been adopted (because I had fair skin and pale grey-green eyes while the rest of my family were dark and brown-eyed). In disgrace, I had been sent to my bedroom to reflect on my misdeed (whatever it may have been – probably hitting Henry, who was a great pain at times, though I loved him dearly) and it all seemed terribly unfair (probably because he needed a good punch on the arm or a bit of Chinese torture). After my initial tears, and feeling better (having come to the conclusion that I was adopted), I decided to teach my unfair family a lesson – I would run away from home, not far and not for too long, just far enough not be able to be seen and long enough to make them worried for my safety.

So I snuck out the house without being seen, took my bike out of the shed (Dad had recently taught me how to ride so I was about eight years old), and rode down our dirt track road. I cycled all the way down to the creek at the end of Molle Road but I didn’t get off – I cycled back almost to home but not quite, close enough to see through the bushes and trees that nothing was going on, no mad panic… nothing. So I cycled back down to the cross-roads and this time I went up and down Chelsea Street, occasionally getting off to check out hollowed out trees that had fallen down (because the soft rotten part of a tree, when collected and mixed with water, made excellent red paint). In this way I passed what seemed like a good two hours and it was getting dark – surely they would be sorry by now and fearing for my well-being out alone in the dark on the unlit bush roads? Yes, the lights were on inside as I crept up the back steps to the kitchen door. I stood awhile behind the door listening to hear the anticipated anguish of those inside. It was a stable door (the horse had bolted) and the top-half was shut so I couldn’t hear well, just the normal murmur of conversation – no crying, no despair.

As quietly as possible, I opened the door, closed it and stood in front of it – I was like an apparition suddenly there amidst them.

“What are you doing there?” Mum asked disappointingly unmoved by my appearance (I had thought she might scoop me up in her arms and kiss me).

“I’ve just come in. I’ve been out on my bike for hours. Didn’t you miss me?” I asked, nearly in tears.

“Good Lord no, I thought you were in your room,” Mum said, “You mean to say that you went out… all on your own…and didn’t tell anyone?”

I shook my head and the tears came.

“You naughty girl, off you go to bed – and without any dinner,” Mum was cross.

I howled in my bedroom and Mum came in a few minutes later to kiss and hug me.

“Now dry your eyes and wash your hands before you come in for dinner,” she said, “you don’t know how frightened I was just now when I knew you had been out on your own…”

And I knew I was her’s and that she loved me, and I understood why she had been mad… she didn’t have to say anything more….