By the Currawong's Call

by Welton B. Marsland

  ‘I could still arrest youse.’ Desperation was evident in George’s voice now. ‘On suspicion.’

  Jonah uncrossed his arms. ‘Ya know I won’t let ya do that.’

  George’s right hand twitched minutely closer to where his sidearm clung to his hip, and Matthew’s stomach turned all over again. Ugliness could be a mere heartbeat away.

  Smoothly, from within his jacket, Jonah produced his billy-club. ‘Won’t let ya do that neither,’ he added, nodding at George’s holster.

  A tense second or two ticked by, broken eventually by George letting his breath out in a frustrated whoosh and almost dropping his helmet from the crook of his arm. ‘You know full well I can’t take ya,’ he said in defeat. ‘Everybody knows the Hero of Ratty can take a bullet and still win a fight.’ He wiped at his nose. ‘Only one other thing I can do.’ And he started for the door, pushing his helmet onto his head as he moved.

  Matthew finally let his relief out, his mouth falling to immediate smiles, and he turned to Jonah to express his happiness. But Jonah was stony-faced, watching intently through the open door as the point of George’s helmet disappeared down the stairway. Then he set urgent eyes on Matthew.

  ‘Grab everything,’ he ordered in a hiss. ‘Now. We’re running.’

  ‘Running?’

  Jonah began grabbing up pieces of clothing. ‘Russell Street HQ’s only three blocks away. We gotta get outta here right now.’

  ‘You really think he would—’

  ‘Now, Matthew!’

  It was a whirlwind. Total panic. They raced about the room, throwing everything into Jonah’s duffel, Matthew’s carpet bag, and various shopping bags in which they’d brought back purchases.

  Jonah hauled the chest of drawers roughly away from the wall and grabbed up the Bible hidden behind it. He didn’t waste time removing the pounds from within, just shoved the whole book into the middle of his duffel and piled clothes on top. The chest of drawers stayed at its abused angle. Matthew retrieved their new hats from the ends of the curtain rail, pushing one onto each of their heads without breaking stride. The only movement Jonah didn’t perform in a roughened rush was to retrieve the cigarette Matthew had rolled, carefully sitting it on top of the loose leaf in his tobacco tin, before gathering up his smoking gear and stuffing it in his pockets.

  At any moment, Matthew feared, the hotel would be overrun with policemen at George’s command. At any moment, he and Jonah could be scuppered. He didn’t know in what time they gathered their belongings and fled, but his heart thumping in his throat told him that surely they’d taken too long?

  Myrtle Holland stood at the hotel’s front door, looking concerned and making hurrying gestures.

  ‘Yer a star, Myrtle!’ Jonah called to her as they barrelled up the hallway. ‘I swear I’d marry ya if me heart weren’t already gone.’ He kissed her cheek sloppily and pressed ten pounds into her hand. ‘I owe ya for a Bible. Take care, sweetheart.’

  ‘God speed you!’ Myrtle called after them as they dashed out the door and into the street.

  Jonah had got over his wariness of trams, it seemed, as they hopped one tram heading westward, then another heading south out of the city and towards St Kilda. They only stopped when the twinkling lights of ships on the bay became visible, as the tram trundled down gently sloping Fitzroy Street. Separate rooms, paid for up-front, at the George Hotel saw them through to morning.

  ***

  ‘I’ve barely slept,’ Matthew yawned, as their cab trotted along the promenade early next morning, carrying them the short distance to Port Melbourne.

  Jonah was slumped into the cab’s cushioned corner, coat collar up and hat brim riding low. ‘Me neither.’ He angled his head enough to peer out blearily. ‘Couldn’t get used to having a bed to meself again.’ He paused, and Matthew could tell he was smiling, even though his mouth was hidden. ‘Don’t like it anymore.’

  ‘I don’t think I ever quite did,’ said Matthew. ‘Always felt a little like something was missing.’

  The cab slowed and Matthew gazed out, getting his first look at the ship Eloise, sitting in readiness at Station Pier. She was a Pacific runner, her major ports Sydney, Manila, Pearl Harbor and San Francisco. She represented safety and freedom. Matthew loved her already.

  ‘Here’s our girl,’ said Jonah, when the cab had left and they both stood looking up at her, carrying between them the start of their new life in just a few bags.

  ‘You do look a sight, Jonah.’

  ‘Eh?’ Jonah dropped a bag at his feet and swung his duffel onto his back, freeing his hands to retrieve his smoking gear.

  ‘We could use the bags under your eyes for extra packing!’

  Jonah shrugged and made his rollie, cutting surreptitious glances about them. Sizing up their surroundings. Of course. ‘Told ya I didn’t sleep much,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Did you at all?’

  Jonah licked the rolling paper. ‘Didn’t bother. Me and me Colt sat up by the door all night. Just in case.’

  ‘Just in case,’ Matthew repeated, his voice petering out. Aside from maintenance, Matthew had never seen Jonah even hold his revolver. Yet the image of Jonah sitting up all night, chair pushed against his door, Colt laid across his lap, all senses alert, was easy to conjure. ‘What would you have done?’ he whispered. ‘If “just in case” had come to pass?’

  Jonah worked his smoke into the corner of his mouth and spoke around it. ‘Whatever I had to.’ He met Matthew’s gaze briefly, looking away to the ship again. ‘To keep you safe.’

  His implication was unmissable. Matthew swallowed uncomfortably, a lump suddenly risen in his throat. He desperately wished he could kiss Jonah right then. He would never be able to, in such circumstances. What they were to one another would always have to be hidden, and would always have to be enough. Their trust in each other, in the strength of their feelings, would have to sustain them the rest of the time.

  There was a surge on the pier ahead of them, and passengers began stomping up the gangway. Jonah hefted his bags and took a step forward. Matthew blinked away emotion and walked forward with him, shoulder to shoulder as they awaited their turn to board. Bird song to their right gave him something other than Jonah to concentrate on.

  A currawong was telling a family of magpies something important, its orange gaze flitting between them and the ship.

  ‘I shall miss the warble of the magpies,’ Matthew suddenly announced, the realisation coming to him starkly. ‘And the comedy of the currawongs …’ His voice trailed off as he regarded Jonah from the corner of his eye. ‘Are you going to miss any of it, do you think?’

  Jonah raised a hand and flicked a spot of lint from Matthew’s coat lapel. A strangely intimate action. Then he rolled his eyes and let his lopsided grin out to play for the first time since before George’s visit the previous night.

  ‘I’m gonna miss the bloody footy.’

  EPILOGUE

  Transcript Extracts:

  Tiffany Alson episode of “Australian Family Trees”

  NARRATOR: … but Dinbratten was dying in the early twenty-first century, to all intents and purposes a ghost town, before Tiffany’s success put it squarely on the map. These days, fans from all over the globe make the pilgrimage to the tiny Victorian township to see the place that Tiffany, despite residences in London and LA, still calls home. Now Tiffany has travelled back to Dinbratten with the Australian Family Trees crew and genealogist Danielle Morris to uncover some family secrets.

  DM: This is a police report from 1892. It’s from the local Dinbratten police station.

  TA: We had one of those?

  DM: Oh yes. Dinbratten had its own police presence. Not huge, of course, it was still a small town, but it was certainly larger than it is now. It had a police station, with a permanent two-man team, one constable and one sergeant who was in charge. They also lived in town. In fact, the police station had its own policeman’s house alongside. The house still stands, actually. The old white house besid
e the park?

  TA: Oh, yes! Lovely little cottage.

  DM: The police station stood right next door there, where the park is now.

  TA: Right. Yes. That makes sense.

  DM: So, this police report. I think you’ll find this interesting. This was logged by the ranking officer in May 1892, a Sergeant Jonah Parks. According to this, there was an incident at the home of a local family called Alson.

  TA: My Alsons?

  DM: The very same.

  TA: What sort of incident?

  DM: We’ll let you read some of it, shall we? Sergeant Parks says the police were roused by the eldest daughter, Kitty. If you start reading here …

  TA (reads): Entered house to find Albert and Nelly Alson in kitchen, Albert pressing Nelly against sideboard with his body, squeezing hands about her throat. Nelly, nine months pregnant, was attempting to fight back but clearly unable to do so.

  TA: Oh my God! This is my great-great-grandparents he’s talking about?!

  DM: Yes.

  TA: My great-great-grandfather tried to kill my great-great-grandma? What a bastard! (laughs)

  DM: It gets even worse, I’m afraid.

  TA: Oh dear.

  DM: If you read just over the page …

  TA (reads): … youngest Alson child, Harry, aged ten-and-a-half months (months! God!) had been thrown against kitchen wall and was deceased upon our arrival.

  TA: Oh my God. He’s dead? Their baby’s dead?

  DM: Killed by his own father, I’m sorry to say.

  TA: That’s terrible. That’s so terrible. And Nelly—it says she’s pregnant?

  DM: Just about due, yes.

  TA: (silence)

  DM: Do you know who Nelly was pregnant with, Tiffany? The baby Nelly was carrying, who that was?

  TA: No. Who?

  DM: Your great-grandfather Benjamin Alson.

  TA: Poor ol’ Benjamin who died at Ypres in 1917?

  DM: Yes. He was twenty-five when he died in the War, but as you can see from this police report, he was very nearly never born at all.

  TA: What was his name again? The policeman?

  DM: Sergeant Jonah Parks.

  TA: Jonah Parks. He saved us, didn’t he? He saved us all. If he hadn’t arrived when he did that night, if he’d got there just five minutes later, even four or three minutes later, maybe, Nelly would’ve been dead, and her baby, too. And that baby was MY great-granddad! I WOULDN’T BE HERE! Dear God. I’m sitting here talking to you right now because this Sergeant Parks did his job!

  DM: Would you like to see a picture of him?

  TA: You have one?

  DM: Here he is.

  TA: Oh, he’s handsome! (laughs) So smart in his uniform! How old do you think he was?

  DM: This photo is dated 1889, so I think he was about thirty then. He’d have been thirty-three when he saved your great-great-grandmother and your great-grandfather.

  TA: Same age as me. That’s a nice beard.

  (both laugh)

  TA: Can’t be a fine, upstanding Victorian gentleman without a great beard, can he? (laughs)

  DM: There are some interesting things I’ve found out about Sergeant Parks …

  TA: Yes?

  DM: Yes. I anticipated you might feel something for him once you’d found out about his heroics in your family’s history. So I took the liberty of a small divergence and did a spot of research on him. I hope you don’t mind—

  TA: Not at all! Tell me everything! (laughs)

  DM: Well, for starters, he was American.

  TA: In Dinbratten?!

  DM: Yes. Most likely born in Astoria, Oregon in 1859. His family probably came to Australia for the gold rush, as many families did at that time. He disappears from my rudimentary search for a while until 1879, when he enters the Victorian Police Force in Ballarat. I assume the family lived around the goldfields there.

  TA: Right.

  DM: He’s posted to Dinbratten in 1884, first as a constable and later as sergeant. Everything I could find about his time in Dinbratten paints quite a heroic picture. Clearly, his experience with your family wasn’t his first heroic deed in Dinbratten.

  TA: No?

  DM: Not at all. He’s involved in many adventures. He loses a constable in a gun battle and brings in a notorious murderer, he saves a young woman whose horse panics in the main road, he helps fight back a bushfire that threatened the church—

  TA: Gee, he really was a hero!

  DM: Indeed. But I think you might like this next thing I uncovered even more.

  TA: Even more than saving my family line?

  DM: Well, we’ll see. It appears that Parks left Dinbratten in June 1892, really quite soon after the incident with your family. He was called away to Melbourne to give evidence at a murder trial.

  TA: A murder?

  DM: Yes. A young Chinese woman called Lan Ling. Parks had found her body in the local creek. He and the local Anglican minister, a Father Matthew Ottenshaw, buried her in what’s now known as the Chinese cemetery just outside town.

  TA: Oh, I know that place. Lovely wattles.

  DM: Then later, Parks makes the arrest of the murderer, right here in Dinbratten, outside the Victoria Hotel, which was torn down in the Sixties. The murder trial is set in Melbourne and Parks, naturally, has to travel down there for it. At the same time, this Father Ottenshaw also travels to Melbourne.

  TA: Maybe because he’d helped Parks with the burial?

  DM: Perhaps. But neither of them ever return to Dinbratten again.

  TA: What? They disappeared?

  DM: No. Well, not yet they don’t, at any rate. I have the court transcript here from the trial in Melbourne. Parks attended all the days he was required. Gave his evidence. Helped convict the man who murdered Lan Ling.

  TA: Good.

  DM: Then there’s this next bit of paperwork I dug up. This is a passenger manifest for a ship named the Eloise. The Eloise was a Pacific-goer, carried cargo and passengers between Australia, Manila and the West Coast of the USA. Can you see Parks’ name here?

  TA: Mm, yes! Here he is! Jonah Parks! Destination, California.

  DM: Anyone else you recognise?

  TA: Oh. Oh! Matthew Ottenshaw! The priest?

  DM: The priest from All Souls in Dinbratten, yes. Who, for reasons unknown, was in Melbourne at the same time as Parks.

  TA: Hm.

  DM: Now, old USA customs sheets are starting to be digitised, and I found this voyage of the Eloise online. Notice anything?

  TA: They’re not here? Neither of them. No Parks, no Ottenshaw! Where’d they go ashore?

  DM: Far as I can find, they didn’t. After each of the Eloise’s previous landings this trip, Parks and Ottenshaw are still listed. When the ship lands in California though …

  TA: They’re not there.

  DM: Not there.

  TA: So we lose him? Parks just disappears from history?

  DM: Maybe not. Notice these two names? Two men by the name of Lanling?

  TA: Yes …

  DM: The passenger manifest never says where they board.

  TA: They … oh my. It’s them, isn’t it? Parks and Ottenshaw changed their names? Oh and Lanling—of course! Like the murdered girl! Lan Ling! Lanling. They named themselves after—hang on! Hold on! What does this mean? Were they … did they run away together?

  DM: I suspect they were attempting to start a new life.

  TA: A new life together, though? You think they were an item? Lovers, I mean?

  DM: I think it’s a possibility worth considering. Would you like to see a photo of Father Ottenshaw?

  TA: Oh yes, please! This just gets better!

  DM: Here he is.

  TA: He’s young! I mean, well, he’s probably about my age, I guess. But when you said “priest” I guess I thought he’d be older for some reason. Like, some staid old bloke, y’know? But he’s not at all. And he’s nice-looking too … So they could be … Hm. I wonder. I mean, you’ve really got me wondering now! Just
look at them. Can you imagine these two together? Being in love, even? I mean, they must have been in love, right? To run away to the other side of the world like that? (wipes at her eyes) And it was against the law and everything back then, wasn’t it?

  DM: Very much so. Yes. If these two were indeed in a relationship, they ran a very real risk of ruination. Their jobs, reputations, their freedom, their safety. Perhaps even their lives as well.

  TA: But they’re good men! This one’s a bona fide hero! And this one helps him bury some poor murdered girl. Obviously he’s a caring sort and does the right thing! God, it’s all so bloody unfair, isn’t it? So terrible! It’s just not right. (wipes eyes again) Just not right.

  DM: I have another titbit of information regarding Father Ottenshaw …

  TA: Yes?

  DM: There’s an unusual note in the All Souls church register. This is regarding the birth of Benjamin Alson, your great-grandfather—

  TA: Thanks to the heroic Sergeant Parks!

  DM: Indeed. The day after the domestic incident at the Alson home, Nelly, your great-great-grandmother, went into labour. Baby Benjamin is born just a day after the incident that came so close to ending him before he even got started. The church register records the birth, of course, but see here, Father Ottenshaw added a little note about it.

  TA (reads): Delivered by Mrs Violet Sutherland—is that “Sutherland”?—Violet Sutherland and Father M Ottenshaw.

  TA: You’re kidding me? He actually helped deliver Benjamin? My great-granddad?

  DM: That’s what it says.

  TA: (holds the photos) So this one saves us all. And this one helps bring us into being. God, just how much does my family owe these two men? These two beautiful, queer men?

  DM: More than just your family, too. Dinbratten was very nearly a ghost town before your success, Tiffany. Just think, if you didn’t exist, would this town even still be here? A lot of people think it unlikely. So, I’d say these two actually saved Dinbratten itself. That’s quite a legacy.

  TA: Legacy. Yes, that’s it exactly. We’re their legacy.

  Thanks for reading By the Currawong’s Call. I hope you enjoyed it.

  If you’d like to know more about me, my books, or to connect with me online, you can visit my webpage weltonbmarsland.com, follow me on twitter @wbmarsland, or on Tumblr weltonbmarsland.tumblr.com.