by Tony Wilson
‘I might stay here in the cool and enjoy a quiet coffee,’ Mum said.
‘You’re crazy, Mum,’ said Joel. ‘This is the actual silo Billy Brownless actually kicked a ball over!’
‘Take plenty of photos, Bryce,’ Mum said, settling in at the table.
Minutes later, they’d crossed the road and were standing beneath the famous silo.
Joel gazed up. The silo might as well have had snow on it. He tried to imagine a ball spiralling that far, that high.
‘Wow,’ Adam said, with his neck craned. ‘That’s some kick.’
The silos were like giant grey metal towers, each one beside the next. A railway line ran parallel to them. A grassy mound served as the kick-off platform.
Dad whistled.
‘Thirty-two metres tall,’ Brian said, scratching his grey hair. ‘They reckon to get it up and over you need to boot it sixty plus.’
Joel bit his lip. Sixty-plus metres. No ten-year-old kid in history had kicked the ball sixty metres.
Adam went first. Joel could tell from the moment he lined up that he’d try to kick it too hard. His body was too tense. Adam shaped for a torpedo but dropped it crookedly and the ball made a horrible contact with his boot. It shot off at forty-five degrees, and hit the base of a silo he wasn’t even aiming at.
Troy offered up a slow handclap.
‘Let’s see you do better,’ Adam hissed.
Troy made exactly the same mistake. He paced out a ridiculously long run-up. He charged in. He tried to kick the ball so hard that it was almost impossible for the kick to work. The mangled torpedo tumbled forward, straighter than Adam’s effort but still hopelessly short. It hit the silo five metres up.
Scott wanted a go, too. Most seven-yearolds couldn’t kick the distance across the grass to the base of the silo. Scott was better than most seven-year-olds. Even so, he just made it.
‘Oh no,’ Scott said, as if he’d expected it to magically transport to the other side. ‘Oh no!’
Now it was Joel’s turn. He tossed the ball in his hands. Relax, he told himself. If he tried too hard, it would turn out just like Adam’s and Troy’s attempts. He closed his eyes. Sucked in some deep breaths. Just kick a drop-punt and follow through. Don’t think too much. Don’t kick too hard. Relax.
He stepped forward. Whooooosh. It was the sweetest contact. The ball rocketed off his boot, climbing into the air. Dad snapped away with the camera. It sailed up and up and away and across and . . .
Made it about halfway up.
‘That’s unbelievable,’ Brian said, looking at Joel with admiration. ‘How old did you say you were?’
‘Nine,’ Joel said. ‘Ten on the twenty-sixth of May.’
‘We’ve got senior players with Ariah Park Mirrool who don’t hit it that sweetly. Are you a footballer, kiddo?’
Joel nodded. ‘I started playing matches this year.’
‘You want to come up here and play with Mirrool?’ Brian asked. He only seemed to be half-joking.
The twins rolled their eyes. Joel didn’t know how to respond.
Dad ended up answering. ‘We live in Bendigo, actually. We probably won’t drive the five and a half hours for Under 10s.’
‘Under 10s!’ Brian said. ‘There aren’t many who kick the ball like that! Who said anything about Under 10s?’
Joel grinned. He’d failed to clear the silo, but it sounded like it was an impressive failure.
‘Think about it, kid,’ Brian said. ‘Mirrool could use a player like you.’
The twins harrumphed, but the fact was that a nine-year-old had beaten them in the silo kick. Of course the twins could kick further than Joel. It was just that when it mattered, they hadn’t.
The group ambled across the road and back in the direction of the hotel car park.
‘We throw gumboots, too,’ Brian said over his shoulder.
‘Pardon?’ said Troy. ‘Gumboots?’
‘Yeah, at the Silo Challenge in October. There’s a gumboot throw as well. You line up and just throw a gumboot. Longest throw wins.’
The twins trudged back towards the car. Joel bounced the footy a little further back. ‘Don’t tell Joel,’ Troy muttered, loud enough to make sure Joel heard. ‘He’ll probably be good at that, too.’
FOUR
‘Joely, hurry!’ shouted Troy.
‘Quick, Joel! You’re missing him!’ yelled Adam.
Through the open door of the Royal Hotel, Joel saw the twins waving frantically in the car park. He’d been in a toilet cubicle, swinging his legs, thinking about his silo kick, wishing he could return the following October to give it another crack. Mum and Scott had made a toilet stop, too, and Dad was busy paying the lunch bill.
When he saw the excitement on the twins’ faces, Joel rushed outside.
‘What?’ he said. ‘What did I miss?’
‘More like who did you miss,’ Adam replied.
‘Who?’ Joel asked, suddenly concerned. The twins were practically jumping out of their skins.
‘Billy!’ Adam replied.
‘Can you believe it?’ Troy cried. ‘Billy Brownless! Right here at his silo!’
Joel couldn’t believe it. ‘How come I didn’t see him?’ he asked. ‘I was only in there a minute!’
‘You took ages!’ Troy said. ‘How long does it take you to go to the toilet?’
‘He was in and out,’ Adam said. ‘He used the toilets himself. We thought you would’ve seen him!’
‘Yeah,’ said Troy. ‘He said hi to us — actually he said, “Howdy, boys. Just needed to take a squeege in the little boys’ room!” He’s so funny. Just like on TV.’
‘You didn’t see him?’ Adam asked.
Now Joel really regretted how long he’d sat in that cubicle. Maybe Billy Brownless had been in the toilets at exactly the same time. If only he’d been quicker.
‘We have to hurry now!’ Adam said. ‘He drove off one minute ago. He’ll be heading to Jerilderie. That’s where he’s from. If Dad drives fast, we can catch him!’
Dad wandered out the front door of the Royal and Joel practically shoved him into the driver’s seat. ‘Mum, Scooter, come on! Run!’ he shouted when they appeared.
Within a minute they were on the road. Joel was now a Cats fan on a mission. He couldn’t believe that Troy and Adam had seen Billy Brownless and he hadn’t. And at the Mirrool Hotel of all places! What were the odds? The very place Brownless had made famous.
Joel urged Dad to drive faster. He grilled the twins for more details. What car did Billy drive? What was he wearing? What else did he say? Why hadn’t they got him to wait so Joel could meet him?
The twins answered all his questions. Troy thought Billy might have already gained a little weight, now that he’d retired. Mum was asking questions, too, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. ‘It seems odd that Scotty and I missed him as well. And Dad.’
‘It was just soooo un-believ-able!’ Adam kept saying. ‘He’s really a very nice person.’
‘It’s one of the best things that’s ever happened in my life,’ said Troy.
‘Drive faster!’ Joel pleaded with Dad. ‘We’ve got to catch up to him! We’re not going fast enough!’
Joel felt his insides churning. This was so unfair! He was the Cats fan. He was the one who’d had a Billy Brownless poster on his bedroom wall. Why did Adam and Troy get all the luck? He thought about the Gary Ablett–signed footy on his bed at home. It was ancient now, and Joel didn’t let anyone touch it in case the Ablett signature he’d scored at Punt Road Oval rubbed off. Imagine if he had Billy Brownless’s signature, too! If only Dad could just catch up to him before Jerilderie! Why wasn’t he driving faster? Joel would get the old footy signed, the scuffed one Troy had found in Harley Street hard rubbish. It was in the back somewhere. Then he’d retire that ball as well.
‘Come on, Dad! You’re going so sloooow!’ Joel groaned.
‘I’m going exactly the speed limit,’ Dad said. ‘Have you seen the dead kangaroos on the si
de of the road? If we hit one of them, it could mean big trouble.’
‘For the kangaroo?’ Scott asked seriously.
‘Well — yes, for the kangaroo,’ Dad said. ‘But I guess I was mainly thinking of the Falcon. And us.’
Joel thought about roadkill for about five seconds, before his thoughts flitted back to the chase for Billy Brownless. They were only thirty kilometres out of Jerilderie. He was running out of time, and road. Then, a breakthrough.
‘That’s his car!’ Adam said, pointing at a green Commodore station wagon.
Joel felt his heart skip. They had him in their sights!
‘I thought you said it was blue?’ Mum said suspiciously.
‘Well, that’s sort of greeny-blue,’ Adam replied. ‘Whatever. That’s it!’
Joel leaned forward and was almost hugging the driver’s seat. ‘Stay on his tail, Dad! You can’t let him get away!’
‘I can’t just follow him up his parents’ driveway,’ Dad said. ‘That would be weird.’
‘Just follow him,’ Joel instructed. ‘I bet he stops at a shop or something!’
FIVE
On the outskirts of town, the speed limit lowered to sixty and the Selwoods closed in on the green station wagon. Joel thought he could see the outline of Billy’s head, but it was hard with the bright sunlight. Everything in the car in front was cast in shadow.
‘Ned Kelly went through Jerilderie,’ Mum said. ‘He wrote a famous letter, called the Jerilderie Letter. In it he confessed to his crimes but also wrote about corrupt police and called for a new government.’
‘I am a widow’s son outlawed, and my orders must be obeyed!’ Dad said, in his best Ned Kelly voice.
Adam said Dad was a dork.
Dad said, ‘Such is life,’ again in his best bushranger voice.
Now it was Troy’s turn to call Dad a dork.
There did seem to be a fair bit of Kelly Gang stuff in the main street of Jerilderie. There were signs pointing to the site of the bank they robbed in February 1879. And there was a bakery that was guarded by Ned Kelly in his armour, all made out of bread tins!
‘We’ve got to get a photo of that!’ Mum said, pointing at bread-tin Ned Kelly.
‘No!’ Joel replied. ‘Not until we’ve met Billy!’
A second later, Joel said, ‘He’s stopping!’ as the station wagon’s indicator started flashing. ‘He’s stopping!’
Dad followed suit with his indicator. Then he pulled in beside the station wagon, right outside the St Vinnies op shop.
Who knew that Billy Brownless was an op shopper?
Joel dived into the back of the Falcon, rummaging between the boogie boards and the suitcases for the old footy.
‘Got it!’ he yelled, and flung himself out of the car door. He’d intercept Billy before he got out of the car. Adam, grinning madly, threw a pen out the window.
‘You’ll need this, Joely!’ Adam said. ‘Say hi from me!’
Joel ran around the front of the green station wagon. He couldn’t see Billy, although the engine was still running. Maybe he was picking something up off the floor.
He strode for the driver’s side window. The year before, when he met Gary Ablett, Joel had been too shy to speak. Not this time. This time he’d ask clearly and loudly for an autograph. This time he’d say how much he loved the high-marking Cats forward.
Joel held out the pen and footy. ‘Billy,’ he said loudly, through the open window. ‘I’m a big fan. Will you sign this for —’
As he started speaking, a wispy-haired, bent-over old lady sat up in the driver’s seat.
‘I’m sorry, sonny?’ she said. ‘Are you lost?’
Joel could hear his older brothers killing themselves laughing in the next car. He was still holding out the footy to the old lady. He lowered his hands. ‘Um, no, madam,’ Joel said. ‘I’m . . . um . . . just saying . . . um . . . hello.’
‘Well, that is nice,’ the old woman said. ‘I’ve got a great-grandson about your age. I hope he’s as polite to strangers as you are.’
Joel listened to some stories about the woman’s great-grandson for what seemed like a long time. Eventually, Mum wandered around the side of the station wagon to rescue him.
‘How about we go get a photo of that bread-tin Ned Kelly?’ Mum announced.
‘Oh, you should,’ the old woman said. ‘My daughter knows the artist who made it. Do you know my daughter?’ The old lady was now looking at Mum. ‘She’s Denise. She lives just over there on O’Neill Street?’
Mum explained that they were from Bendigo, but that didn’t stop the woman telling them two long stories about Denise.
A quarter of an hour after not getting an autograph from someone who wasn’t Billy Brownless, Joel and Mum finally got away. As he opened the car door, Joel saw the twins doubled over in hysterical laughter.
He threw the footy at Adam, and the pen at Troy.
‘Was Billy everything you hoped he’d be?’ Adam asked, collapsing into laughter again.
‘He looks bigger on TV, doesn’t he?’ Troy joined in.
Mum got in the car and raised a stern finger at the twins. ‘Right. You two have some serious apologising to do.’
SIX
‘I heard a rhino!’ Troy said.
‘A rhinoceros?’ Scott sounded doubtful. ‘An actual rhinoceros?’
‘Yes!’ Troy said. ‘Listen!’
They were lying in bed at the Dubbo Motor Inn. Joel was sleeping top-to-tail in one of the singles with Troy. Adam was in the other single. Scott was crammed between Mum and Dad in the lumpy double bed. Mum had her eyes closed but wasn’t asleep yet. Dad was still trying to read.
‘I heard it, too!’ Adam said. ‘Hey, awesome! We’re going off to sleep to the sound of rhinoceroses.’
Joel strained to catch a hint of it. ‘I can’t hear anything,’ he said. ‘What’s it sound like?’
‘Sort of like this,’ said Troy, and he pulled up his legs and let rip under the sheet.
‘Tr-oooy!’ Joel wailed, as his older brother flapped the sheet as a propulsion aid. ‘Mum, why do I have to sleep with him? He’s the animal!’
Soon, the pong reached the other boys and they were agreeing. ‘Tr-ooy! That’s so disgusting!’
After a while, they calmed down. Dad turned off his reading light and the motel room was finally dark. Joel could make out the shapes of the little fridge and the busted TV that hadn’t worked well enough to watch the test match from Perth. The tap in the bathroom dripped. The shower took an age to get hot. There was rising damp on the thin plaster walls, creeping towards the ceiling.
For all its faults, Joel loved being at the Dubbo Motor Inn. It was all part of the adventure. For supper, they’d had toast in the room and opened little packets of Vegemite and jam. And the old double bed had a ‘massage’ feature, a coin slot next to the reading lamp that made the bed vibrate for just one dollar! Adam had put his dollar in. Nothing happened. The bed just ate the coin. It was all so different from sleeping at home in Bendigo.
Joel felt too excited to sleep.
‘Rhinoceros again!’ Troy said into the darkness.
‘No!’ Adam said. ‘Hold it in!’
‘No — really,’ said Troy. ‘I heard the rhino again.’
‘I heard it, too,’ Mum said. ‘Do you think it’s a rhino? Or perhaps a hippo?’
‘I heard two rhinos and three hippos,’ said Scott, who wasn’t afraid to make an extravagant claim.
‘Well, it could be either,’ Dad said. ‘The Western Plains Zoo is about eight hundred metres away. It could be a hippo.’
‘Nah, hippos sound more like this!’ Troy’s backside let fly again.
Joel kicked him in frustration. ‘Stop it!’
The room went quiet once more. Joel tried with all his might to listen for the sounds of Africa. He really was having no luck.
‘Oh, that was a loud one. Did you hear it that time, Joel?’ asked Adam.
Joel hadn’t. ‘Yeah . . . sort of . . . um
, I think so.’
‘Oh, you’d know for sure if you heard it,’ said Adam. ‘It sounds amazing.’
‘Maybe that’s it,’ Troy added after a moment. ‘Maybe hearing is your kryptonite, Joel? You don’t seem to be able to do it very well.’
‘Which is a shame,’ Adam said, ‘especially if you’re ever camping on the African plains at night. You don’t want to be off with your rhino detection.’
‘And we wouldn’t make fun of people for any physical problem, would we?’ Mum said. ‘We’d be understanding.’ Then, sounding slightly worried, she asked, ‘Do you think your ears are waxy, Joel? You have been swimming a lot at the pool.’
‘My ears are fine!’ Joel said a little too defensively, and everyone went quiet. Then, one by one, they dropped off to sleep. First Scott, who had a little whistly snore as the result of a cold. Then Dad, who had a big bass snore, shaking the bed more than the one-dollar massage ever did. The twins snored, too, pitched somewhere in the middle, with a strangely even beat, and Mum made a soft throaty noise, like a distant wave. Joel’s hearing was certainly good enough to hear this racket! They’re a snoring orchestra, he thought. No, they’re a snorchestra! That made him giggle. Maybe they could go on tour and play the Sydney Opera House one day. The Selwood Family Snorchestra, featuring Bryce Selwood on bass. Joel wondered what snore sound he might contribute. He wished he could fall asleep to find out.
He nearly was asleep when he heard it. It wasn’t a rhino, or a hippo. It was a snarly male voice. ‘Over that side, Hammo.’
At first Joel thought it must be other guests returning to their rooms, but then he heard more rustling right outside their window. Why weren’t these people moving on?
Joel rolled out of bed and crept over to the thick orange-and-brown curtains that smelled as old as they looked. He pulled them open a crack and peered out. He saw two men, one on each side of the Falcon! One had a wire coathanger and was trying to wiggle it inside the driver’s side window! Joel’s heart pounded. They were thieves! They were thieves trying to break into their car!
Joel sprinted to the double bed. ‘Dad,’ he hissed, shaking the great snoring bear. ‘Dad, wake up! Thieves, Dad! Wake up! There are people trying to break into the Falcon!’