Benworden Read online

  Benworden by Neal Davies

  This edition published in 2013 by Jane Curry Publishing

  First published by Jane Curry Publishing 2013

  PO Box 780, Edgecliff, NSW 2027

  AUSTRALIA

  www.storyworkspublishing.com

  www.janecurrypublishing.com.au

  Copyright © Neal Davies 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any other information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Australia cataloguing-in-publication data:

  Author: Neal Davies

  Title: Benworden

  ISBN 978-1-922190-61-1 (Epub Edition)

  ISBN 978-1-922190-63-5 (Mobi Edition)

  Cover Images: Shutterstock

  Cover design by: Melissa Keogh

  Internal design by: Melissa Keogh

  Editorial: Amanda Hemmings

  Production: Jasmine Standfield

  I would like to make a dedication to my wife Cathie who has been my rock and to the wonderful boarding-house students I have had the honor to work with and watch mature into the most amazing adults.

  Neal.

  As Mum and Dad drive through the black cast iron gates, I take one long last look over my shoulder, saddened by the thought that my time here is complete.

  I know my mind should be filled with dreams of the future and exciting days ahead at university, especially after my exceptional grades, but that big old boarding house has meant as much to me as the home I came from, and those who I shared such wonderful adventures with were like an extended family. They will be sorely missed.

  I have spent six memorable years of my life behind those big old mahogany doors, and if Mum and Dad only knew the secrets that lay within and below that magnificent old building they may never have sent me there.

  My thoughts are gently interrupted by the dulcet tones of my mother’s voice as her loving eyes glance over her shoulder. “Are you okay, Dylan?”

  She always had a way of letting me know she cared without overreacting.

  “Fine Mum. I’m just a bit sad to be leaving,” I say with an attempt at a grin.

  She becomes silent again, knowing that if I want to talk I would, but I don’t feel like talking, my thoughts are with the past and those unforeseen amazing circumstances that changed my entire life…

  1

  REFLECTIONS

  I came from a simple existence and although my parents are quite wealthy, Mum and Dad never allowed themselves to forget their less than average beginnings, always maintaining a humble view of things along with a strong work ethic. God knows they could have retired ten times over and still had spare change, but it’s more about pride, or as they put it, getting the job done.

  My Dad had taken over my grandfather’s farm, 150 kilometres out of Ballarat, once Pop had become too old to work it. Like most of the other farms in the area it had been hit by drought and my grandfather was on the brink of bankruptcy. Dad left his secure job in Melbourne to help out and ensure the property stayed afloat.

  It wasn’t about the money – it was about family tradition and he knew it would kill Pop to lose the property because it had been in the Evans family for four generations.

  I am always amazed at how good fortune and foresight play a part in most success stories. My parents experienced exactly that, which led to them creating one of the wealthiest farms in the state.

  It all started when Dad noticed a green belt running through Pop’s land. Dad decided to hire a geologist on the hunch there might be an underground spring beneath the property. His hunch was right, so he took out a loan, tapped into the mineral spring and, as they say in the classics, the rest is history.

  The property became lush and, even as the drought worsened, the spring’s precious waters kept the pastures rich and green. Dad added to Pop’s stock and together they produced the finest dairy milk money could buy.

  Foresight also played its part when Dad decided to invest in a herd of 200 goats. Other farmers in the area thought he’d lost his marbles and Mum used to giggle when telling me the story. She would say: “No one had seen goats in the area before and thought they were only good for eating tin cans. I had to stop and consider whether mental illness may have been a factor, as what he had done was certainly out there at the time.”

  But Dad knew what he was doing and not long after the goats arrived, a small building at the rear of the house also began to take shape. It was Dad’s new pride and joy: a small but superbly designed cheese factory. He began selling his produce at local markets and the demand for his cheese grew and grew.

  Things became exceptionally hectic at home – the dairy farm was booming, the cheese sales were going through the roof, and he now had ten employees to oversee. It was time-consuming looking after the milking and cheese-manufacturing and making sure everything was running smoothly. He needed to make a decision about travelling to the markets because this was taking up time he couldn’t afford, so he thought that if people considered his cheese to be that good, then it would be more productive if they could come to him.

  His next project was to build a cheese-tasting and purchasing area out the front of his little factory, and once he had done that he negotiated a deal with the local bus company to incorporate his factory on their tourist run.

  The family business boomed beyond belief, and Pop retired knowing that the Evans family would maintain their farming tradition for generations to come. Mum, never one to remain idle when others were being productive around her, talked Dad into building a small cafe for her to run and soon her time was filled selling Devonshire teas, local jams, honey and souvenirs after the tours of the cheese factory were completed.

  I loved helping out around the place and much of my time was spent chatting to tourists or the employees, but being an only child in an adult world left me with a sense of emptiness that I didn’t understand. I had terrible trouble communicating with kids at school, as being around adults on a constant basis had made them seem immature and uninteresting to me. I became isolated, disliked and looked upon as a snob. The other kids imagined it was my parents’ money that made me the way I was and after a while I not only began isolating myself at school but I began to spend more time alone in my room at home as well.

  Mum could see there was something wrong as she had an uncanny way of knowing when things weren’t right with me. Even though she was a busy lady she always found time for a heart to heart and one day we sat down for a talk. She looked lovingly at me and her eyes were like a key to my emotions. It’s impossible to hide anything from her and after a while I opened up and explained how rejected and different I felt from the other kids at school. She hated seeing me like that and decided it was time for me to change schools. Now once she’s on a mission there is no stopping her! Mum researched and rang around to find the best boarding school that she felt I would be comfortable with, and the historic converted monastery now named Benworden fitted every expectation that she was looking for.

  She realised it was too late to give me back my childhood but knew that if I remained on the farm I would forfeit my adolescence, so once my education was completed at junior school Mum and Dad agreed that Benworden was where I needed to be. It broke Mum’s heart but she knew it was the right thing to do.

  “The right thing to do” is actually an understatement, as I’ll be forever in my parent’s debt for what they did for me.

  Once Mum had told me of her plans I wanted to know as much as I could about Benworden, and when she asked if I would like to read the brochure about the school I jumped at the chance. The brochure said the monastery ha
d been built in 1890, approximately 39 years after the discovery of gold in the Ballarat region. The building that was now the boarding house had been the main quarters for trainee monks. I continued to read and it explained that at the rear and to the left of the building, midway between the boarding house and the school, was the chapel which was now used for many purposes such as assembly, year 12 exams, basketball, badminton, drama and lectures. To the right of the assembly hall was a small park and next to that was the football ground. The park had a pathway cutting through it which was lined with hip-high conifer hedges. It also had smaller pathways leading off the main one and together they linked the boarding house, the assembly hall, the football ground and the school at the rear. The school itself was set quite a distance to the rear of the property and there were not only walkways but also bicycle paths from the boarding house leading to it.

  Benworden was on 50 acres of land with roads at the front and rear of the property. Those students who attended the school but not the boarding house enter from the school side of the property. The school itself had undergone a huge transformation from being visitors’ quarters back in the early days to becoming a highly regarded and well-equipped school containing over 50 classrooms. The cloistered building surrounded a central courtyard where most students would happily spend their recess sitting at the picnic tables or laying on the lawn chatting during the summer months. It also had an indoor cafeteria to cater for the cold winters for which Ballarat is well renowned. The brochure stated that the boarding house had also been through major changes to help it evolve to modern times, and yet the school had been careful to maintain its heritage and historical value. The boys’ dormitory was located upstairs and the girls’ was on the ground level directly below. When the building had been a monastery and housed monks in training, the rooms were much smaller, so extensive renovations had to be done to enlarge each boarder’s room; this included adding a bathroom with a wash basin as well as a toilet and shower. It wasn’t hard to see that Mum wanted to make sure that I was well catered for.

  I spent the Christmas break helping out around the farm but my mind wasn’t on the job. I had become totally absorbed in the thought of what it was going to be like at Benworden and the calendar in our kitchen was becoming a mess from the big red crosses put through it as I counted down the days.

  2

  NEW BEGINNINGS

  The big day finally arrived, and it was a requirement at Benworden that students come to the boarding house a couple of days before the start of school. That kilometre drive up the cobblestone road is still vivid in my memory.

  I was in one of those moods that don’t make any sense at all. Everything felt surreal, like when you’re caught between feeling anxious and yet are in a dream-like state. I hypnotically stared out the window at the meticulously trimmed conifers that lined the road. The beautifully mowed grass field between them looked like carpet awaiting the arrival of furniture. As we approached the old double storey, red brick building with its white French windows, we saw a small black sign with white old-fashioned writing and an arrow which pointed to the right and read “Visitors’ Car Park”.

  Once we’d parked the car it was a short walk to the main entrance of the building. Out the front of it was a large circular garden that the cobblestone road horse-shoed around so that when parents were bringing their kids back after holidays they could pull up out the front of the main doors and drop their luggage off and then easily circle back to park their cars in the visitors parking area. The garden consisted of endless varieties of azaleas and colours as vibrant as an illuminated Matisse. With the sun sitting high in the sky and the carpet green lawns, the building stood out like a majestic mountain overlooking the valley below.

  I was mesmerised by the blueness of the sky that day and on arrival at the entrance my nervousness dissipated as I became engulfed by the warmth and beauty, the same way you would when sitting by an open fire on a cold night while watching the flickering flames.

  As I entered through the large oak doors I couldn’t believe the enormity of the building. I followed my mother and father who were greeted by the head of boarding, Richard Ervine, in the foyer, and he was accompanied by the two boarding house supervisors Cyril Cranberry and Donna Fresnel. Mr Ervine introduced himself and the supervisors and told my parents how he had worked as the head of boarding for 30 years. My mother asked him if he had children of his own and he said he had two daughters who had grown and had families of their own.

  Mr Cranberry and Miss Fresnel rarely spoke and when they did Mr Ervine would talk over the top of them as though they were a threat to his very existence. It was plain to see that Mr Ervine was very possessive when it came to his role at the boarding house and anyone even seeming to challenge him, whether it was deliberate or not, would soon be put in their place.

  While they continued talking I began taking in the surrounds and soon their voices faded in and out of my head as I was hypnotised by the magnificent timber staircase and the old oil paintings that graced the towering walls.

  My attention was quickly brought back to their conversation when I heard my mother mention discipline to Mr Ervine. He replied, “The headmaster of the school and I will clearly explain the rules to the students both at the school and here at the boarding house. There is also a set of these rules on the wall of every student’s room. We then explain to the students that if they should decide to break these rules it may mean instant expulsion, depending on the severity of the offence, and in the event of any such misdemeanour parents will be informed immediately.

  “As you know, Mrs James, it is clearly stated in your contract with us that should any of our boarders be expelled, the parent will forfeit the money for the year in advance that they’ve paid, plus the entry fee that is normally refunded on the day the student graduates or leaves due to unforseen circumstances.

  “What we have found in the past is that parents won’t risk bringing their sons or daughters to our boarding house if they are badly behaved, and if a young person does become a boarder here and does misbehave, they are normally sorted out once the parent is called in. What we want from our students is responsibility and self-reliance and although we have supervisors here at the boarding house, we encourage them not to interfere unless absolutely necessary.”

  On hearing this I could see that mum was impressed because she knew I was very self-reliant and that I would fit in well at Benworden. Their voices began to fade out again as my mind became engulfed by the ancient building once more. It reminded me of one of those old mansions that you see in the Hollywood movies, only bigger, and yet it felt warm and welcoming.

  Boarders were coming in and out and the older kids who were chatting amongst themselves about the previous year were constantly smiling as though they were pleased to be back after their Christmas break. Their banter reassured me that everything was ok. There were rooms everywhere and down the far passage on the left of the foyer were the girls’ quarters which we were told were shut off in the evening by another set of large oak doors.

  Mum, always the worrier, asked the head of boarding what would happen in the event of a fire and he explained that there were emergency exits all over the building plus they had fire drills once a month.

  Mr Ervine asked a year 12 boy by the name of Josh Halls to take my bags and show me to my room and together we headed up the huge spiral staircase to the boys’ quarters. He was a stocky fellow with pitch-black hair, but what caught my eye most of all was the unusual ring he was wearing. It was gold and had a square surface with what looked to be an ant embossed in black stone beneath a white crossed pick and shovel.

  On our way there he looked me up and down and said, “Tell me a bit about yourself, Dylan.”

  I replied, “Well, I come from a farming family.”

  And before I had barely started he cut me off by saying, “No, no, we already have all that information. Your dad runs a dairy and goat farm, makes cheese and all that. Tell me about you.”
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br />   I looked at him inquisitively and said, “How do you know all that?”

  At that point I was feeling fairly violated and a little bit angry and it must have come across in the tone of my voice as Josh was quick to relieve the tension by saying, “Woo, steady on. It’s ok, mate. We know a lot of things about a lot of people and that’ll all be revealed to you in good time, but for now just trust me. You’re with friends. Ok?”

  There was something calming about his voice and I felt at ease and almost like I had known him for years rather than a few short minutes, so I replied, “Ok, so what do you want to know?”

  He looked at me and smiled and said, “Just a couple of things. What do you feel about loyalty and keeping secrets?”

  I thought at first that this was some sort of joke but it was easy to see by the serious look on his face it wasn’t. Not that it mattered anyway as he had ignited my curiosity and I replied, “That’s a strange question coming from someone I barely know but if you’re serious and you want an honest answer here it is: honesty and loyalty are everything to me. I’ve never really had a close connection with anyone outside of my immediate family and I’m hoping to find that here. If I find friends that are loyal and honest to me, they can expect the same in return. Does that answer your question?”

  We had reached my room by now and he walked in, put my luggage in a corner then walked over and shut the door behind us and said, “That’s exactly what we needed to hear. Now listen. We have a meeting tonight and I’d like you to attend. My room is at the very end of the corridor. Be there by 9.30 − no later.” Then he headed towards the door.

  I stood there totally stunned by what had just occurred and said, “Who’s we? What meeting? What are you talking about?”

  He looked back over his shoulder after opening the door and replied, “All in good time. See you at 9.30.”