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188 pages, Paperback
First published January 31, 1980
Fourteen-year-old Abigail is having a rough time. Her parents separated four years ago when her father left the family for a young girlfriend, but now he wants to reunite with his wife and move from Sydney to Norway. But her life takes a truly unexpected turn when she sees a group of younger children playing a game she's never encountered before, called 'Beatie Bow.' Another odd girl watches from the shadows -- and when Abby follows her, she finds herself transported a hundred years into the past.Much as I wanted to love this book, its primary effect has been to make me want to barf.
‘It’s Beatie Bow,’ shrieked Mudda in a voice of horror, ‘risen from the dead!’If you’re an Australian of a certain age it’s practically a given that this book was one of your early high school English class assigned readings. You probably spent so much time second guessing what the author meant, trawling through the text for themes and writing essay after essay about characters, plot and location that even the sight of this book may make your heart sink.
‘But I didna mean to bring you here, I didna know it could be done, heaven’s truth.’The story, with Abigail accidentally following Beatie Bow back in time to 1873, is still quite interesting. As a kid I had no interest in history but I found the details of The Rocks in both Abigail’s present and Beatie’s fascinating in this reread. I was less interested in the prophecy that saw Abigail cast as the Stranger when I was a kid. Now I want to know more about how the Gift works. I’ve decided I don’t like Abigail or Beatie; I’m pretty sure I liked both of them when I was a kid. I was never a fan of the insta-love.
'I'm not kind,' said Abigail with a sickish surprise. 'Look how I went on with Mum when she said she wanted us to get together with Dad again. Look what I did to Dad when I was little, punched him on the nose and made it bleed. Maybe I've never been really kind in my life.
And she remembered with a pang what Kathy had said, that awful day: that she had never, either as a child or a fourteen-year-old, offered a word of sympathy to her her mother.
'Yet here are these people, happy and grateful to be able to read and write, just to be allowed to earn a living; and they've shared everything they can share with me, whom they don't know from Adam.'
These Victorians lived in a dangerous world, where a whole family could be wiped out with typhoid fever or smallpox, where a soldier could get a hole in his head that you could put your fist in, where there were no pensions or free hospitals or penicillin or proper education for girls, or even boys, probably. Yet, in a way, it was a more human world than the one Abigail called her own. [pp.76-77]