reading

Blisters usually leapt from the bench seat of the night cart, springing effortlessly to the ground, a man with a purpose. Not today. Like a bloke more than twice his age, he eased himself slowly down to the dusty verge of Hannan Street. His day had started badly, setting a pattern for the rest of the day. Why add to the deluge of catastrophes by being too hasty!

It began when the missus dropped her very own Hiroshima bomb at breakfast. He should have known there would be fallout. Bad things always came in threes. He’d gone to work and had a run-in with that pipsqueak bean-counter from the Town Hall. That really pissed him off. The bugger could have picked any other day to bolster his small-man complex, but no, he had to pick the very day Blisters’ world had started to crumble. And now his bike had been pinched, rounding off the worst day he’d had since the war. Just slow down, he thought. Things can only get better!

For the three years since the end of the war, Blisters had whistled and sung his way along Kalgoorlie’s back lanes as he collected and replaced sanitary pans from the tiny outhouses, giving ample warning to dunny-sitters. He was neither whistling nor singing today.

Now it was a matter of doing the right thing by his buddy who pulled the cart. It was Friday afternoon and a tired, disgruntled Phar Lap was still in harness. Blisters fastened the horse’s lead to the rarely-used horse trough under the large pepper tree outside the Hannans Hotel. There was plenty of shade and although the cart encroached onto the wide road there was room to spare for bicycles and the odd vehicle. Thankfully no trams ran down Hannan Street. Blisters patted the old horse and fished in his pocket for a humbug.

“There you go mate!” He then unloaded a small bale of hay and dropped it in front of the horse.

Blisters extracted his arms slowly from the leather apron that shielded him front and back from the fruits of his labour, careful not to soil his boiler shirt. It had taken him two years to convince the missus he didn’t need to wear a starched ironed shirt on the dunny rounds but she still insisted on a clean boiler shirt every day.

He lifted the apron carefully over his head, making sure it didn’t touch the spiky red hair that refused to be tamed by Brylcream. He had considered getting one of those new-fangled crew cuts that Americans sported during the war, but frankly Blisters had no appetite for anything American. At least the apron didn’t have a hood. When he started in the job he had gone along with standard practice, hooded as instructed by Town Hall. More hygienic they said. But he’d felt caged in, no sense of where he was.

He had tried wearing the old fedora that his ding mate Dom had given him, but it got in the way when heaving pans onto his shoulder so he ended up wearing it as he rode his bike to and from work. It lay in pride of place on the cart bench.

He slung his apron across the front wheel. At least no one would steal that. As he headed for the hotel entrance, small birds in the pepper tree were already swooping on the horse, looking for nesting material.

Blisters made his way into the pub, relishing its cool contrast to the hot dusty streets. He had to go along a short hallway then through the dining room to reach the bar. Made it feel like a home for grown-up boys. It was actually called the Home from Home Hotel at one time, he remembered. But the race riots that started there in 1934 changed that. It was the bar itself that always lifted his spirits: the smoke-filled air, the smell of stale beer soaked into the old wooden floor corrugated over the years by hobnailed boots. It was a man’s smell. The boisterous conversations and laughter from the miners crowded along the bar seemed to welcome him. Blisters knew he belonged.

It was a Friday afternoon ritual for Brian Boyle to meet his mate Arthur Gunston at the Hannans to celebrate the end of the working week. The high table by the window was theirs. No reserve tag, just acknowledged by all. Not that the spot was contested. Miners coming off their shifts preferred to stand, clustered around the bar.

The friends usually arrived at the same time but his catastrophic day had made Blisters late and by the look of him Gunna had made an early start. Blisters smiled when he saw his old pal perched on a stool, poring over an edition of the Kalgoorlie Miner that had been soaked in spilt beer. His lips were moving as he read. Blisters noted that Gunna’s weathered face was glowing and his neck had disappeared into his shoulders. The tell-tale signals. Already three sheets to the wind.

Blisters wedged his way through the crowd until he reached the bar, bought two schooners then undertook the much easier return journey. Even thirsty miners gave due respect to men carrying precious cargo.

“Make some room you old bastard. Reckon we didn’t need these beers. Could’ve just sucked on that bloody paper you’ve made porridge of –a three-month-old paper at that. Isn’t it a bit late to be reading the form guide? You couldn’t pick a winner even if the judge handed you the result.”

Blisters put the beers on the table and propped himself on the stool opposite. The window was open and a gentle breeze drifted in. The two men had decided long ago that this was the prime spot.

Blisters dabbed his fingers in his schooner and patted the sunburn below his left eye. For most of the year his large freckles were just part of his perennial sunburn but at the height of summer his face fried like an egg on a shovel, sprouting blisters as it cooked. Redheads weren’t meant for this climate.

“So Gunna, what got you here so early? Time off for good behaviour?”

“Had a blue with that fucking stationmaster, that’s what. Bloody Johnny-come-lately from Perth.”

“That’s a coincidence. I had run-in today too, with that Town Hall dick-head. Got sick of reminding the foreman out at the depot that I need help on the cart. Town Hall sends me a bloke every now and then but they don’t last a week. Young blokes these days don’t take to hard work. Anyway, I got sick of getting the run-around so decided to get down to the Town Hall and give them a piece of my mind.”

“So what happened?”

“Didn’t even get inside the building. Mister Bloody-High-and-Mighty comes rushing out the door. ‘You can’t bring the night cart up the main street,’ he says. ‘Your job is in the back lanes!’ Like I was a bloody leper.”

Gunna put his own troubles aside as Blisters warmed to his story. He smiled at the thought of a petty bureaucrat trying to take on his mate.

“Don’t sound like much of a problem. Wouldn’t be the first time yer big mouth’s got you in trouble.”

“My mouth wasn’t the problem. It was his bloody attitude. If he’d behaved half decent I wouldn’t have a story to tell now.”

“So?”

“Well, you know me. Always do the right thing so I climbs back on the cart, don’t say a word. Trouble was, as I take off, one of the pans spills onto the road, right where the dickhead happens to be standing. He jumps back like one of them Buster Keaton pictures running backwards. ‘You did that deliberately!’ he squeaks in a high-pitched voice like I’d cut his nuts off.”

“Did you?”

“Course not. Anyway, he gets this form out of the little fairy bag he’s carrying, steps around the spill, and pushes the form and a pencil at me. Tells me to write a report or else he’ll call the cops and have me booked for putting Kal in danger of another outbreak of cholera, typhoid… you name it.” Blisters paused, drawing on his beer for effect.

“So I writes ‘The shit spilled on the road’ and gives the form back to him. He looks at it then goes back to that high-and-mighty voice. ‘You can’t say shit on an official form. Rub it out and use the word excreta’. ‘Listen mate,’ I says, ‘do you think I’d be carting shit if I could spell excreta?’”

Gunna’s rotund body shook with laughter, a tidal wave starting in his belly and travelling north.

“Least it sent him back to his warren. The whole bloody episode put my day further on the slide I can tell you. So what was your blue with the stationmaster about? Seems he gets up your nose pretty often. What’s his name?”

“Donaldson. Yeah, but it was real serious this time. How many years have I been working the platforms? Thirty at least, doing all the shit work what them other buggers dodge. Clear the platforms, move stuff down to the goods shed, fill the water bags. You name it, I do it. And you know what he does?” Gunna placed his schooner on the table and folded his arms across his ample belly.

“He comes up to me, in front of everyone mind you, and has a go at me cos he reckons the water bags on the platforms are empty. Jesus bloody Christ! I’m so stunned I can’t get a word out. Making a big fella of hisself in front of them detectives.”

“Detectives?”

“Yeah, plain-clothes coppers from Perth. Word is there’s a lot more thieving going on, stuff being lifted straight from the railway platforms and goods yards and put on the black market. Tobacco, booze, clothing, groceries, you name it.”

“Is that why these detectives were there?”

“Not sure. Could be connected to the Gold Squad I suppose. But no bloody thieving happens on my shift, I can tell yer. All these years I been looking after the platforms and not one thing’s gone missing. So fucking Donaldson’s trying to big note hisself with these blokes from Perth. Well I looks at the guards cos I know em of course. Talk about stunned mullets! Couldn’t believe what they was hearing. ‘Bullshit!’ I says to Donaldson. I walked over to the water bag and poured a mug till it overflowed. Took a sip. Sweet. Topped up the mug and walked back to the bastard. He could taste it for hisself.”

“Doesn’t sound like World War Three.”

“It wasn’t till I changed me mind. Why should I get bloody water for him? So I let fly, a beautiful round-arm action. Bullseye! Right in the crotch! Soaked his beautifully ironed trousers!”

“Well it was only water. Not shit.”

“Then I grabs the water bag off the hook and shoves it into his scrawny chest. ‘You fill the fucking water bag,’ I says. Then I stomps off and here I am.” Gunna drained his schooner triumphantly.

“Least I didn’t aim for the pen pusher’s crotch. Reckon you’re in for a lot of excreta come Monday.”

“Nah, the blokes what was there’ll back me up. Good union men. He asked for it. Any rate, what’s got into you, bringing the cart to the pub? Right by the window too. Bloody stinks!”

“What was I supposed to do?” Blisters raised his glass then realised it was empty. “Your shout.”

“Jesus you’ve got a thirst like an Afghan’s camel. Bit hot in the lanes today was it?”

“All right for you getting out of the blocks early.” Blisters dabbed more cold beer onto his cheek. “Speaking of union men, I need a quick word with Dom over at the bar.” He handed his empty glass to Gunna.

Access to Gunna’s favourite beer tap was being blocked by a small knot of workers who had just come off shift. Normally he would push his way through but one fella in the group jarred like a rose bush in the desert. Clearly not a miner. And he wasn’t drinking. Trouble. Gunna moved further along the bar to another tap, collected the refills and worked his way back to the table. Blisters was right behind him.

“Dom will be over in a jiff. He’s just tidying up a couple of matters over there. Anyway, you’re full of bullshit. I emptied the pans back at the pit as usual so it’s only tar and phenyl you can smell.”

“But why the cart? Where’s yer bike?”

“Some bastard’s pinched it. That’s what I want to talk to Dom about. I’ll drop Phar Lap back at the stables on the way home and walk the rest of the way.”

“Are yer gunna tell the cops?”

“What about?”

“The great Kalgoorlie bike robbery you dill. Could be front page on this here paper tomorrow, having yer bike pinched! Dunno what the town’s coming to!”

“So you’d tell the cops? Don’t be daft. Dom will sort it out. Word will get around.” Blisters nodded towards his mate at the bar. “I’ll have it back in a week and some bastard will cop a good hiding for his troubles. Has to be an out-of-towner. Locals aren’t that stupid.”

Gunna pointed to the soggy front page of the Kalgoorlie Miner. “Speaking of thieving, see this here story about the cops running down three men just outside of Northam. They had a forty-five ounce gold bar. Nearly got away with it. Got eight months each.”

“I read it months ago. We talked about it then.”

“Yeah I know, but I reckon it’s all tied up with that trial going on in Perth now. The bloke what was arrested in Singapore for fencing all that gold, Kisoscou or something like that. Christ only knows what he got away with before they caught him. But those other poor buggers didn’t even make it to Perth. Twenty thousand quid’s worth according to the paper. That’s a lotta gold. If you’re gunna take a risk like that, then it’s gotta be worthwhile.”

“No amount would make the risk worthwhile. I’d rather be buried underground than go to gaol.”

“Well I wouldn’t mind that sorta money. Retire, get a holiday shack in Esperance. Even get a car, maybe.”

“You’d have to learn to drive first. Anyway, you wouldn’t keep it long. You’d probably do all your dough at the two-up or spend it on one of the Hay Street girls.”

“Mind yer own business.” Gunna scratched his balls reflectively.

Blisters’ thoughts took a more philosophical twist. “Strange thing about money. When you’ve got it you don’t think twice about it. When you really need it, it worries the bejesus out of you. And do I bloody need it at the moment!”

“What for?”

“Tell you about it some time. Anyhow, those blokes that got caught with the gold were stupid. The Gold Squad would have lined them up here and passed the word down the line to Perth.”

“This Kisoscou trial but. I reckon it’s all connected to us here in Kal. There’s talk there’ll be another crackdown.”

“Go on.”

Indignation was creeping into Gunna’s voice “Well every time there’s a crackdown, the miners have to pull their heads in. No gold comes out in their lunch boxes and everyone does it tough. No big games out at the ring, little shops in Boulder struggle, blokes with mortgages fight with the missus. You wait, if there’s a crackdown there’ll be trouble.”

“Getting back to those blokes that were caught, they’d just be the delivery boys. Didn’t recognise their names. Not locals.”

“Silly buggers. That’s why I reckon they were part of a big show. The locals would never of got so greedy. But why are these detectives hanging around? They must reckon gold’s still going missing.”

“Goes without saying,” said Blisters. “Anyway, none of our local lads got nabbed. Hang on, here comes Dom.”

The union organiser and centre halfback for Mines Rovers was striding towards Blisters and Gunna. The Goldfields’ answer to Keith Miller: champion footballer, star cricket all-rounder. He even sported Miller’s haircut, a mop of unruly black hair, very different from the short back-and-sides of most Goldfields men. But then Dom’s sporting prowess and his Italian heritage gave him licence to be different. He paused at the table, schooner still in hand, and slapped Gunna on the shoulder.

Gunna swivelled on his stool as much as his bulky frame would allow. “Hey Dom. Got an offer for yer.”

“What?”

“Come and play for Railways this season and I’ll make sure you get elected Mayor of Kalgoorlie. Blisters here needs someone that loves him down at the Town Hall. Wanna beer?”

“No and no Gunna. Don’t fancy being Mayor and I’m in a round with that mob at the bar. What’s up with Blisters?”

“He’s parked Phar Lap and the dunny cart right in front of this window. That’s what’s up.”

Blisters looked up at Dom. “Stick with the Diorites mate. Got a soft spot for Railways but you’d have to put up with Gunna all bloody season. My problem is that my bike got pinched.”

“Not much of a problem, but it does surprise me. Can’t remember the last time a bike got pinched. Might take a day or two to sort out.”

“Whatever. Gunna’s promised to dink me all round town till I get it back.”

“Yeah, that’d be right,” Gunna grumbled into his beer.

Dom brought his hand down on Gunna’s shoulder, relaxed now that the problem was not union related. “If Gunna’s dinking you, I’d better get onto it real quick. Heart attack material that is. Anyhow, it won’t be hard to track down. What’s the number plate?”

Blisters was taken aback. “Doesn’t have one. Bet yours doesn’t either.”

“True. So how do we recognise it?”

“It’s er… bright pink.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Yeah, the only colour the missus could get. Shortages of everything these days. They’ll be rationing beer next.”

“Blame the missus! Still a pink bike will be easier to track down.”

Blisters smiled appreciatively. “Don’t go too hard on the thief, specially if it’s some young bloke.”

“Even young blokes have to learn.”

Now that the great Kalgoorlie bike theft was well in hand, Gunna needed to clear up what had been worrying him since his trip to the bar.

“So Dom, is that the new Gold Squad bloke over there in the corner with Danny’s group? What’s going on? Everyone’s steering clear of em.”

Dom turned to glance at the group. “Yes, that’s McPharlin, the new Detective Inspector. Well not that new. Got here just before Christmas.”

“We was just talking about those blokes what got caught in Northam a month or so back,” Gunna interjected.

Dom nodded. “That’s half the problem. With so much gold disappearing, this fella McPharlin’s been sent here with a whole new team to sort things out.”

“And he’s got our dealer bailed up?”

“Yeah, I hear he’s visiting all the pubs. Making a few arrests. Plan is to scare off the sellers as well as the dealers.”

Gunna spat his contempt. “Can’t see that happening. Gold pilfering’s been going on for forever, so some smartarse what doesn’t know the lie of the land’s not gunna change nothing. But it’ll slow things down for a bit. So they’re going to all the pubs eh? Got their work cut out, a dealer in every pub.”

Dom drained his beer and placed the glass on the table. “Word will get around. The message is pretty simple. No more turning a blind eye. No more pay-offs. Expect to go down when you’re caught.”

Gunna’s outrage was mounting. “Fucking disaster. That gold’s ours.”

“Ours?”

“Yeah, it’s ours! If you wanna get real technical it belongs to the blokes what risk their lives bringing it up. Ours, like it belongs to us in the Goldfields. Ours, like the dealers pay the miners for what they pinch so the money stays here in town. Should build a statue to em and put it next to Paddy Hannan.” Gunna straightened himself, quite proud of his proposal.

“It’s all about risk,” he continued. “Can’t see the pub dealers getting caught but. No bugger’s gunna dob them in.”

Dom reached for his empty schooner. “Wouldn’t bet on that. McPharlin and his Demons have sharpened their pencils and are now waiting to pounce when the dealers leave the pub.”

“So what happens now?”

“We’ll wait and see how it all pans out. Wouldn’t be the first time there’s been a crackdown.” Dom nodded towards the bar. “But I’d better get back. Must be my buy and I don’t like the look of things over there. Looks like Danny’s under the hammer. Finding the bike will cost you a dozen bottles of lager Blisters – for the boys.”

“No problems. Appreciate your help Dom. As always.”

Dom’s school was now huddled at the far end of the bar, well away from Danny and the detective.

“Hey!” exclaimed Gunna. “Don’t suppose the miners could put their telly in an envelope and post it off to Perth.”

Blisters grinned, cracking his sunburned bottom lip. “I’d be lining up for my old job back at the Post Office if that happened, that’s for sure! Solve my money problems. They reckon Kal’s streets are paved with gold – but letters laced with gold? You could be on to something, mate.”

Gunna continued to lament the lot of the local battlers. “You know, it’s them fat bastards sitting in their London clubs what end up with the profits. And look at me, thirty years in the railways on four quid a week and that’s it. No perks, not even a free cuppa. The miners do all right. Regular wage plus what sticks to their fingers. Wouldn’t mind something like that in my quart pot, after I’ve drunk me tea that is. It’d be good to get in on a bit of the action now I’m getting close to retirement and all.”

“In on what? Mining? Dealing? Running shipments to Perth? What?”

“All I’m saying is we deserve better. How long have you been following Phar Lap down them back lanes? And what are you gunna get when you retire? A gold dunny pan? You and the missus can forget about retiring to Esperance like you’re always talking about.”

“I know what you’re getting at Gunna but what are our choices? Dealing’s out. You reckon runs to Perth are too risky. What’s left? God knows I need money at the moment more than ever. Big money, but it’s not worth the risk.”

Gunna was not to be deterred. “Look, it can’t be that hard. You’d see some action if you got a job as shit man down one of the mines.”

“I wouldn’t be a shit man underground for quids. Went down there once and I swear the stope walls were squeezing in on me. Couldn’t breathe. The last straw was when I heard rats scuttling around in the dark. Couldn’t get back in the cage quick enough.” Blisters shuddered at the memory.

“Money, money, money!” he continued. “All I want is enough to have a few beers and keep the missus and young Maisie happy. Which reminds me, I promised to take them to the pictures at the Cremorne tomorrow night. There’s a new musical on with Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire. With a bit of luck I’ll have a few beers first and sleep through it.”

“Good planning, that’s all it needs.”

Suddenly the room went quiet. Blisters and Gunna looked up. Instead of pulling beers, the barman stood as if frozen, an empty glass in his hand extended towards the tap.

All eyes were on the detective who had Danny bailed up against the bar. The dealer’s mates were crowding in on them. It was looking ugly. Danny reached back as best he could, placing his empty schooner on the bar and pocketing the change spread over the counter. The detective stood firm and appeared to have a hand on Danny’s chest. Any words that were exchanged between them were muted, making the confrontation even more menacing. It was a stand-off. Only a blow-in would bump up a scene like this in a Kalgoorlie pub. It was becoming ugly.

“Easy. Just take it easy you blokes.” Dom’s voice carried across the bar. “And Danny, keep your hands by your sides. Same for you three fellas. Don’t give the detective any excuse to lock you up. Anything happens to him and the place will be crawling with coppers.”

Dom walked up to the detective, hands in pockets. “Now listen young fella, how about you take your hands off Danny here. You’re messing up his nicely ironed shirt. Hey Terry, you run out of beer or something? Pour these thirsty blokes a beer. They’ve got a week’s mining dust to wash down.”

The space around the bar seemed to open up a little. The barman resumed duties. The detective did not seem to understand the reprieve he had just been given. He let go of Danny’s shirt front but clasped his arm roughly.

“Don’t push your luck,” Dom warned as he took his hands from his pockets and moved to stand beside the detective. “You’re still in one piece. If we do this right, no-one will get hurt and you’ll get what you came for. Right Danny?” Danny nodded.

“How about we try this, Detective. You take your hands off Danny and he’ll walk down to the station with you. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

The detective nodded, dropped his hands and took a step backwards. Dom gave an almost imperceptible nod to Danny, who then lunged at him. Dom tackled the young dealer, pinning him against the bar in a suffocating bear hug, his large frame obscuring McPharlin’s view of what was happening. The detective was too surprised to react immediately but soon regained his composure, feeling he had to do something to reassert his authority. As he started towards Danny, Dom swung the dealer around, almost into the detective’s arms.

“Enough Danny! No more nonsense, hear?” Danny nodded. “Listen Inspector, Danny here will walk out of the bar under his own steam and go with you to the station. Right?”

“I suppose so.”

“You okay with that Danny?” Danny nodded.

Dom stepped back as detective and dealer walked towards the dining room door. It seemed to Blisters that everything was happening in slow motion: Dom a lone figure in the middle of the room; a sense of menace in the air; beers untouched. In the doorway, the detective placed a belligerent hand on Danny’s shoulder. Danny stopped and the hand was removed. They disappeared from sight.

The noise in the bar returned to its customary clamour. Dom walked back to his mates making no attempt to hide a small parcel in his left hand.

Blisters took a deep breath. “What a magician! That Dom should be on the stage. Don’t get that sort of entertainment every Friday. Look Gunna, I’ve got to get Lappy back to the stable.”

“One more?”

“Better not, and I reckon you’ve had enough. There’s a difference between scratching your bum and tearing your arse to pieces you know. I’ll catch you over the weekend.”

Blisters drained his schooner and stood. Gunna reluctantly followed suit.