All our instincts told us to say as little as possible, so we didn’t mention Gympie or Yeppoon, but the questions all seemed so mundane and nothing to do with our present situation that it didn’t seem to matter that much. Also, after our experience in Yeppoon we were definitely not going to tell another pack of lies. Eventually the constable was happy and made us sign and date the piece of paper he’d written it all down on alongside his signature, then he stood up and ushered us outside to the cells in the backyard.
“But we’re hungry! We haven’t had any breakfast!”
“I’ll try and sort you something out later,” he said and he shut the door.
What do they call it when something happens that has happened before?
Living in small towns in the middle of nowhere, where everybody knows everybody else’s business, might be one of the drawbacks for the residents of out-back towns, or maybe it isn’t; for us, it was a godsend. Within a few hours just about everybody in the town had heard about the two Pommie teenagers sitting in the cells who’d had a shower in the pub. As promised, the constable returned an hour or so after locking us up with two plates of sausages, fried tomatoes, beans and toast and two mugs of tea. An hour later he came back with our rucksacks, which he allowed us to keep in the cell, so when we heard the door being unlocked later that afternoon we just assumed it was him again. It was, but standing next him, much to our relief, was Dr Richards.
At first the constable was not too keen on the doctor’s idea that we be released into his custody. “I don’t know, Doc , I mean they stopped the train and they were trespassing. Reg wants to pursue the matter, and when I rang Sergeant King he told me I had to hold them until he gets back in a few days.”
“A few days! You can’t hold them that long without charging them, Ted! Besides, they’re minors. Look, I’ll have a word with Reg. In the meantime they can stay in the old nurse’s quarters behind the hospital. I’ll guarantee they won’t go anywhere until this is all sorted.”
Obviously relieved to be rid of the responsibility, Constable Masters agreed, warning us before we left of the consequences of running away.
The hospital was just a small wooden house of four or five rooms and attached to the back was an extra small room. It was an unlined weatherboard with a sink, a double bunk, a small wooden table, a couple of chairs and a window that looked out over the overgrown back garden. “Might be a bit musty. Nobody’s lived in here for awhile,” Dr Richards said as he opened the window. “But it will be more comfortable than the cell, I reckon.” He sat down and sighed. “Maybe you’d better tell me your side of the story?”
Twenty minutes later he left, telling us it might be best if we kept a low profile while he went and had a word with the landlord of the hotel. Just outside our little room, in the back garden of the hospital, he showed us an old fireplace where we could cook and he told us we could use the bathroom in the hospital. We didn’t see him again until the following morning, and then it was all in a bit of a hurry as he had patients to see. “Okay, I’ve spoken to Reg. He’s alright really, a bit gruff maybe, that’s all, but he doesn’t think you should get away with it scot-free so what I suggested is maybe you could do some work for him. How about it?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, do you want to come with me now and I’ll take you over to him?”
To our surprise, Reg seemed to have calmed down considerably; not that he was about to embrace us or anything! But he was at least reasonably amenable, so we didn’t feel too bad when the doctor left us with him. Our job was to paint a rust-proofing undercoat on the roof of the hotel. The roof had recently been repaired and several new sheets of iron had been laid along the front, and after the undercoat was finished, which Reg had been going to do that day himself, proper painters were going to come and paint the entire building.
“You don’t have to be too pretty about it,” Reg told us. “Just make sure you cover the whole roof, and try and keep it out of the gutters, okay?” And he handed us each a large pail of rusty red paint and an eight-inch brush. Positioned on the street corner, the hotel was L-shaped, meaning the roof area was broken up and fairly accessible so we weren’t too phased by the task, although it wasn’t until we got to the base of the ladder that Glen informed me he didn’t like heights.
“Just don’t look down.” I dismissed his concerns and we took our shirts off. The ladder was positioned around the back of the hotel where the roof was not as high as it was on the front street side.
Our plan was to do the back side of each leg of the L first, and then come back along the front side; starting at the top of the ridge and working our way down to the gutter in strips, like mowing a lawn. The pitch of the roof was not great so it was fairly easy to crawl about, placing our weight on the rows of nails holding the sheets of iron in place. As neatness wasn’t a priority we were able to go quite fast, and within two hours we’d finished the back of the roof. By this time heat was becoming the biggest problem. It may not have been a particularly hot day by Julia Creek standards — eighty two degrees Fahrenheit we learned later — but by midday just touching the iron with our hands was painful enough, especially the shiny new sheets. Kneeling on it or holding on for any length of time was almost impossible.
Because of this, most of our grip came from squatting sideways, one leg slightly lower than the other like a wedge. With hindsight we should have come down and waited until it got cooler, or started again before it got too hot the next morning; something the landlord should probably have insisted upon as well. To squat in the middle of an iron roof, in the middle of the day, in the middle of Queensland, even in the middle of August, is not the smartest thing to do. No doubt the landlord saw it as part of our punishment. However, we were getting it done and so we pressed resolutely on. Although Glen had gradually become more at ease, he was emphatic that if we went down he was not going to come back up again.
This meant I had to go down and replenish both our tins of paint. When I got back after the second re-fill I could see Glen was very anxious, being left up there alone with nothing to do but look down had not been easy for him.
“Are you alright?”
“No not really, come on let’s just get on with it!” he snapped, as if embarrassed I’d seen his discomfort.
I handed him his bucket of paint and together we clambered over the ridge of the roof onto the street side, using our brushes and tins to lean on. Whether it was because he looked down, or because the new sheets of tin were not only much hotter but more slippery, I don’t know; all I do know is that he suddenly yelped loudly and his feet were whipped from beneath him as if he’d been tackled by Johnny Raper. He crashed down, frantically grabbing the ridge with both hands to stop himself sliding off. His tin of paint thudding down beside him, some sloshing out but miraculously the tin stayed upright and I watched, mesmerised, as it slid slowly down the roof on its bottom, certain at any moment it was going to hit one of the nail heads and topple over. But it didn’t. Instead it came to rest in the gutter, tilted over very slowly and stayed there, paint pouring out in gentle gulps into the gutter and down the front of the hotel.
Shit!
By the time I could get down to right it, getting covered in paint in the process, red paint was everywhere. It was running along the gutter, down the front posts which supported the veranda, and dripped onto the footpath below — as luck would have it right outside the front door of the hotel. The wind was catching drips and flecking the door as well.
“What in the blazes is going on!” a familiar voice bellowed.
I turned to abuse Glen, and only then did I hear his whimpers and realise he hadn’t moved. He was lying flat on his stomach, hands gripping the ridge of the roof for dear life.
When I got to him I reached out and grabbed the ridge to hang on myself, only to cut my finger on a corner of the tin, my blood now joining the red paint. “Come on!” I urged. “We’ve got to get down.“
“I can’t let go! I can’t let go!�
� Glen cried out, and nothing I did or said would convince him to let go.
In the end it took about half an hour to get him down. The fire brigade was called and two men had to more or less prise his hands free, which they did with great care and concern. “You’re okay, son, you’re okay now.” By the time we finally reached the ground, even Reg was almost concerned for him … almost!
“For Christ’s sake, what have I done to deserve those two?” I heard him shouting to his wife, as the fireman helped us onto the truck to take us back to the hospital. It was only when we reached the ground that we realised Glen was quite badly burnt. His fingers and hands where he’d clung onto the hot tin ridge were very red, and there were three angry red stripes matching the corrugations of the roof running down his chest and stomach. It was only like bad sunburn and hadn’t broken the skin or anything, but it was pretty painful and the nurse at the hospital rubbed some soothing cream into the burns. The cut on my finger was not that bad either, but the doctor still thought I should have a tetanus injection.
The next day, early in the morning, Sergeant King turned up at the hospital. I suppose both Glen and I had secretly been hoping he wouldn’t be the same sergeant we’d seen kicking the Abo, but we weren’t all that surprised to see it was, and when he came bursting into our room our hearts sank. He was followed by a nurse who was, obviously, unsure of what to do.
“I thought it must be you two! Right, get your gear together and come with me!”
Not again!
We were making our way out through the hospital to the police car parked in the street when Doctor Richards pulled up outside, stethoscope around his neck.
“Just a minute, Sergeant; what’s going on?”
“This is police business, Doc. I’d prefer it if you didn’t interfere.”
“I didn’t think it was police business any more. No charges have been laid.”
“Look, Doctor, these two are vagrants. I’ve already caught them loitering. They illegally stopped a train, and they’ve trespassed on private property. Also I’m doing a bit of digging and waiting for a report from the Townsville police.”
“But you just can’t go round locking them up while you ‘do a bit of digging!’” the doctor exclaimed.
“It’s called suspicion, Doc. If I suspect criminal activity, I can arrest who I like.”
“Criminal activity! What are you talking about?”
“You’ve got your job and I’ve got mine, Doctor,” and he made to leave, motioning for us to lead the way.
“Yes, and my job, Sergeant, is to look after my patients, and these two are my patients, and I say that medically they are not fit to be held in gaol, quite apart from it being a complete nonsense!”
By now another nurse and a patient had come out onto the little veranda and the sergeant was forced to consider his position, the veins in his neck standing proud as he fought to control his anger. But he didn’t say anything. He just slammed his hat on and headed for his car, shouting back: “If they abscond I’ll hold you responsible, Doctor!”
That evening the doctor joined us by the fire and for an hour or so we discussed our situation. “I had another run-in with Sergeant King this afternoon,” he told us. “It would seem he has it in for you two for some reason. You wouldn’t know why that is, would you?” He raised his eyebrows and Glen and I looked at each other and shrugged.
“We saw him punch and kick an Aboriginal the other day, just outside Hughenden, and he knows we saw him, but don’t tell him we said so! He warned us not to say anything.”
“I’ll bet he did!” The doctor pursed his lips knowingly. “I thought there must be something. I’m afraid such behaviour is endemic in some sections of society out here. Things are changing slowly, and a lot of people are beginning to challenge the way we treat Aboriginals, but it is a slow process.” He sighed, as much in frustration as annoyance, then he waved his hands as if to get rid of the subject. “That apart, is the sergeant likely to find out anything about you in Townsville? I mean, have you been in any other trouble? Anything at all, for your own sakes you need to tell me.”
So we told him the full story of our trip and our plans for the immediate future, leaving nothing out, and afterwards he smiled slightly.
“Quite an adventure, but I shouldn’t think there is anything the sergeant can use against you, even if he is able to find out about Gympie. By the sound of the constable in Yeppoon I doubt he would even have reported you officially, so I wouldn’t worry about that. As for working in Mt Isa, I suspect that will be much tougher than you imagine, but it’s the business with Sergeant King and the Aboriginal that is potentially the biggest problem.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll see you tomorrow night,” and he left, deep in thought.
The next night when he came back he didn’t look too happy. “As I suspected, Sergeant King is pursuing the matter, although he has accepted there is nothing to arrest you for with regards to the hotel. But he has rung your mother,” he looked at Glen. “No doubt laying it on thick! So I suggest you give her a ring,” and then he turned to me, grimacing slightly. “He has also contacted Epping police. It seems they have your fingerprints on file. You didn’t tell me that!”
“But that was ages ago! I didn’t do anything. I was never charged or anything!”
“Maybe, but you should have told me about the fingerprints. Now I think we are going to have to move fairly quickly.”
“What do you mean?”
“The sergeant is angling for you either to be sent home as soon as possible or be placed in a young offenders’ institute because you’re homeless minors. If he makes enough noise about that he may well get his way. He is like a terrier with a wet rag when he gets going and he will not give in easily. He is claiming you are too young and don’t have the skills to work in Mt Isa, you have no experience of the conditions out here, you have nowhere to live and no relatives nearby. Of course there is no mention of Aboriginals, but I have no doubt what you witnessed is the driving force behind his actions. But he will say he is doing it for your own safety and the safety of the community, because he doesn’t think you can survive out here, or look after yourselves; at least not without getting into trouble or being a nuisance. They are powerful arguments, especially in light of you having had your fingerprints taken. The police usually only do that when they charge somebody.” Then he sighed. “Even if you weren’t charged, I’m afraid Sergeant King will paint the worst possible picture and I am sure the authorities will consider his evidence.”
Once more all our plans and dreams seemed to be crumbling before our eyes. The galling thing was that this time it wasn’t really our fault. Circumstances had conspired against us, and suddenly a rush of anger consumed me. “I hate being young! Everybody thinks they can push us around! We haven’t done anything wrong! What’s the matter with the bastard! Why can’t he leave us alone? We don’t give a stuff that he beat up an Abo. We’re not going to dob the prick in or anything!” I was close to tears and Dr Richards put his hand on my shoulder sympathetically, but I was on a roll. “We can look after ourselves and we can survive sleeping rough. We’ve been doing it for three months already, for Christ’s sake! And apart from that one time in Gympie we’ve worked hard for our keep. So we had a shower! Big deal, we’ll pay for the fucking thing if it matters that much!”
“All we want to do is earn some money!” Glen joined in, matching my desperation. “That’s why we’ve come out here. I can’t go home with no money, and I won’t go home with no money just because we saw some bastard beat someone up!”
The doctor was wise enough to know when silence was the best option, and for a moment he looked from one to the other of us, as if making up his mind about something. Then he completely surprised us by smiling. “Don’t get too upset, boys. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Personally, I have no doubt you can take care of yourselves and you could easily find work in Mt Isa, tough as it will be. My concern is that ev
en if Sergeant King is unsuccessful in sending you home now, he will, I am certain, make life very difficultfor you. Vagrancy is an ambiguous law. He could arrest you for it the moment you walk out of here, and every time he caught you sleeping rough! He does that a few times and you become repeat offenders. Couple that with being homeless minors, and you could end up in a young offenders’ institute, a place to be avoided I can tell you. The best thing we can do, I think, is get you out of his reach as quickly as possible, and I just might be able to help there.”
We were silent for a moment as we digested this, and then he continued. “It doesn’t apply to all of them by any means, but some of the police out here are what you might call old school, and the treatment of Aboriginals is becoming a really sensitive issue. Sergeant King is one of those fiercely opposed to any change in the status quo, and unfortunately he still wields a lot of power. He won’t rest until you two are out of the way, one way or another. If it wasn’t for him, I’d say go ahead, see if you can make a go of it in Mt Isa and I admire your spirit, but …” and he held out his hands.
“So, why don’t we just tell the authorities what we saw?” said Glen. “Maybe then he will leave us alone.”
“If only it were that easy,” the doctor shrugged. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea. It will be just your word against his and the police will close ranks, which won’t help the Aboriginals, and it certainly won’t help you at all.”
“So, he just gets away with it, like that prick at Yeppoon!” and the doctor smiled sympathetically.
“I understand your frustration, boys. Really I do, and I’m impressed by your determination. But as I said, I may be able to help; I just need a few days to sort it out. In the meantime I want you to stay here, or at least within the hospital grounds. Speaking of which …” He got up and surveyed the garden. “You could do a bit of weeding and clearing out here if you want to earn your keep. I have to go to Richmond for a surgery tomorrow, but I’ll be back the next day and then I’ll try and sort something out. Just promise me you won’t leave these premises. I doubt the sergeant will come here again, but if he catches you outside he may well arrest you.”
Once a Pommie Swagman Page 20