Raspberry Drops And Humbugs

• Olivia Pratico, Grade 5
• Short Story
• 2011

I enter the shop. A crowd huddles around the shopkeeper. The aromas of sugar and raspberry fill the air. Crystal jars filled with sweets line the walls. Outside, the usual 1850’s carts and horses race across the slush filled road. The wall reminds me of the beach, turquoise with blotches of deep blue.
The tinkle of sugar filled lollies escaping their jars echoes down my ears. With every step I take I make a creak in the floorboards that line the floor. As I feed myself a sample sticky Raspberry Drop, a sensation fills my mouth, an explosion of raspberry and candyfloss explodes within the walls of my cheeks, like a fire cracker.
My hands then search my cloth, maroon pockets for three dollars like vultures scavenging on meat. The coins engraving make my thumbs move steadily up and down like the waves of the ocean. Sugar, berries, lemon and lime fill the eucalyptus wood cabinets.
The shopkeeper gives me a warm smile; it suits her red and white flowing dress, red-brown hair and lace bonnet.
I walk to the counter, to me it seemed like I had travelled a light year. I was expecting the shopkeeper to be wearing extremely high-tech clothing but she was wearing the usual, simple, flowing gown from the 1850’s.
I placed out my hand which was holding my three dollars. They tinkle like bells on the oak bench. She then placed a jar of Raspberry Drops and Humbugs onto the counter, my fingers curl around the glass cylinders. I then hear a gunshot as loud as lightning and horse’s hoofs clogging. As I hold my lolly jars, I walk back toward the oak brown door and turn the brass handle shining in the weak Ballarat sunshine.
I walk out and realise I am back in the year 2011. I am on the pale brown, wooden decks that are along side the bustling Main Street of Sovereign Hill.
I look at both sides of the street. To my right is The Ballarat Times Office with the latest news from other goldfields and from England. It’s maroon lettering camouflaging in the hustle and bustle of brown horses, carts, dull clothing and children. With its pale green painting it also stands out.
To my left is the Clarke Brothers Grocers, with the scents of sugar, dried fruit, herbs, spices, coffee and tea drift from the gum tree, wood door, wide open letting in the cold Ballarat wind and the weak gold sunlight.
I look down to my two jars. The brass lids are only just glinting in the golden sunlight. I was taking home a piece of 1850’s history that was sure to tantalise and excite my taste buds.