Warrigal's Way

by Warrigal Anderson

  “Yeah, but I couldn’t stay. They would have got into all sorts of trouble for harbouring me. I’m a ward of the State, whatever that means, something nasty anyway. They want to bung me in a home. You can still get into trouble you know.”

  “Stuff them, we’ll take our chances,” Colin said.

  “What are you going to do now?” Sue asked.

  “Go back to Melbourne and see if I can find Mum,” I told her.

  “Do you think you will find her?” Colin asked.

  “I don’t honestly know. Four years is a long time, but at least I might find someone who knows what happened to her.”

  “Well, you can only try,” agreed Colin.

  Colin and Sue wanted me to stay for awhile, but I wanted to get down to Melbourne, and they understood. So next day as the train pulled out they were on the platform to see me off.

  The trip back to Melbourne was pretty uneventful except that I ran into this real snake’s armpit, or should I say he slid up on me. Without doubt this was the slimiest piece of human garbage I have ever had the misfortune to meet. He was sitting in the seat opposite me and we sort of got talking, small things, such as did I have friends in Melbourne? Did I have a job to go to? Then he told me that if I stuck with him we could clean up. He told me he had all these collector’s cards and he went house to house, using these cards to hoon money off people. He explained how to put the touch on the local priest, the Sallies, St Vinnie’s, Treasure Chest, and get this, the poor box at the local Court House. I tell you, this greasy mongrel never missed a trick. He even had his head shaved to con people that he had leukaemia. As I said, the armpit of a snake. I politely asked him to move or have his body damaged. I’d have given him a hand out the train window, if I thought I could get away with it.

  When I landed in Melbourne I took a cab to the YMCA, got a room and left my gear. Then I went into town and got a tram to Moonee Ponds. I went back to the flat and asked at the deli, but they had never heard of Mum, of course. Dejected I walked down the main street towards the station, and a voice said, “Is that you, Mickey?” I looked up to see Auntie Milly. She was not my auntie really, but an old friend of Mum’s. They had been frightened kids in a home together. (The Mickey may confuse you. Mum was going to call me Michael before I was born, but then decided to call me after the old man. Everyone who knew her then and knew me from the time I was born called me Mickey anyway. That’s how that came about.) “Hello Auntie Min,” I said, giving her a hug.

  “You looking for your Mum? She married again, proper this time, and gone to New Zealand.”

  “Proper” meant another white bloke, and where the hell was New Zealand? I asked Auntie.

  “Gee Mick, a long way I think, overseas anyway. You know that bloody Department’s still looking for you?” she told me seriously. “Otherwise you could come home with me. But they watching my place for Ronnie. You watch yourself, eh!”

  “Nah, I’ll be right Auntie. I’m bigger and wiser and I can outpace those mob, and you’ll only get trouble if they find out I’ve been at your place. I’ll just float about keeping my eyes open. I’ve got a quid.”

  “Well, if you need help, you get in touch. Uncle Robbie and I still in the old house.” She gave me another hug. “You take care, love. I got to go.”

  I hugged her back. “Thanks Auntie. I’ll be alright.”

  I watched her walk away, then went back to the YMCA. I knew that all sorts of creepy departments of the government looked at the form you had to fill in for the YMCA, but I filled in Ted’s name and they weren’t looking for him.

  I was up early next morning, and I grabbed my gear and floated. I knew I couldn’t stay there. This was Department territory so I had to find a bolt hole. Lugging my matilda, I walked down Normanby Road towards the Port, Port Melbourne that is. I knew I had to get off the streets, boarding houses were out and if the police picked me up I had had it.

  I got lucky. I discovered an empty car crate half full of straw, tucked in alongside a fence on an empty section. I shifted in like lightning. The straw was a bonus as it was about July and as cold as stink at night. I rolled out my swag, then went and bought some tucker and tea from a corner dairy. I still had my quart pot and a small primus stove, so I cleared a spot and brewed a cup of tea. I was satisfied. This was pretty snug.

  Sipping my tea, I flicked through a book Ted had given me as a parting gift— Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott Pommie bloke, Ted reckoned. It was a bit heavy going, but thanks to Ted I could read it. Skimming through, I got the idea Ivanhoe was some sort of hero ringer that wore iron all over him and his horse and slew baddies with a sword and a lance (whatever a lance was). I wondered what sort of a horse could carry a bloke dressed in iron. It must have been bloody big—a Clydesdale or some work horse like that probably. I hung in, reading until the light beat me, then turned in.

  Next morning I was up with the crows. I threw a towel, soap and teeth gear into my small port and mooched up the road towards town, having a wash under a tap at an Ampol garage, and brushing my teeth. I was still trying to swallow the taste of toothpaste as I came to a milk bar, dairy type place, which served light meals. I ordered baked beans on toast and a cup of tea. He gave me the tea straightaway and I was sipping on it when I realised the bloke a couple of seats down had asked me a question.

  “Did you front the seagull, mate?”

  I didn’t have the faintest clue what he was talking about, so I looked blank and said, “Eh?”

  “No luck at the wharf?” he said again, smiling.

  I think he thought I was simple, but by then I had caught on. “No, no luck,” I said, having a good look at him. I wasn’t going to trust anyone. This was Department heardand. I knew I would have to be pretty unlucky to be caught, but I couldn’t even afford to be questioned by the police. I was convinced they would know who I was. It sounds silly now, but I was scared as hell then.

  “Yeah, I got to admit that wharfs hard to crack. Mostly father and son, or they have a mate that gives them a knock down. Bloody hard alright. I’m going out to Strathmore after this, give the grain stores a go. Come out if you want. We might have a better chance as a team.”

  “Yeah, I might just do that. What’s it pay?” I asked casually. “Never done it before. I been out west ringin’.”

  “Pays two quid a day. All you need is a strong back and a weak brain. Two quid’s not bad for shovellin’ out the bottom of silos. Anyway, my name’s Barry,” he said, coming up and holding out his hand.

  I told him my name was Ed. I was a bit worried, as Strathmore was a bit close to Moonie Ponds. But there was only a handful of people who knew Mum or me, and they would keep stumm. They had no reason to love the Department either.

  We finished our meal and Barry said, “You ready? Let’s hop a tram. We want to get there before eight or there’s no hope.” He sort of gave me a look before we got on the tram, and said as we sat down, “You mind if I ask how old you are? They’ll want to know at the job.”

  I decided I couldn’t tell him I was not yet fifteen, so I told him I was going on for sixteen.

  “Yeah, I thought you looked young. Tell this mob you’re sixteen or they’ll hit you with boys’ pay, and that’s bugger all.”

  So all the way out there I was trying to work out a birth date that would make me sixteen. Being Aboriginal, I was never registered, and I only knew that I was born in March 1948. So seeing that sixteen was cropping up all over the place, I decided to make my birthday the sixteenth of March 1948, or 1946 for this job.

  “Hello Roy,” said Barry to the man on the gate. “They pickin’ up?”

  “I think there’s a nibble. Nick in and see Tom,” Roy told us.

  “Come on mate. Oh Roy, this is a mate of mine. Ed, meet Roy.”

  “How you goin’ Roy,” I said, shaking hands.

  “Alright mate. You stick with Bazza, he’ll see you right.”

  Tom signed us on and told us that there was no work in the silos, but that there were a cou
ple of rail wagons to bag.

  “No worries,” said Barry. “Lead the way.”

  I had no idea what was going on. If I had I might have run for my life. I had never worked so hard. We walked around to the back of this big tin warehouse, which had a hole in the wall with a conveyor belt coming out of it leading down to two railway wagons sitting on the siding. There were four other blokes waiting, all big and well built. Tom introduced us. Barry seemed to know them and told me he had worked with them a couple of times. “This is Blue, Jacko, Paul and Harry.” We shook hands, they had one last smoke, Tom turned the conveyor on and we were off.

  “You just watch for a few bags and you’ll get the idea,” Tom said. So I watched as the boys walked under the bags as they came off the end of the conveyor, took them on their right shoulder, walked over and sort of shrugged them into place on the wagons. Well, there’s nothing to that, I thought, and took my place in line behind Blue.

  The bag hit my shoulder like the Hiroshima atom bomb—absolutely flattened me.

  “Geez, you alright mate?” asked Blue, lifting the bag off me.

  “Christ mate, you gotta take them high on the shoulder,” said Jaco. “See this,” he said, pointing to a green button on the side of the belt about six inches from the end. “This lifts the belt up and down. You want the bag about two inches off your shoulder. The buggers weigh about a hundred and ten pounds a go. This other button, the red one, stops the belt if you get into trouble. You be right now?”

  “Yeah, thanks Jacko, I’ll get it right this time,” I said ruefully and got back into it. It wasn’t easy, but I managed, and hung in until knock off time. I had had it. A hundred and ten pound, I thought. No wonder the boys all look like Charles Atlas’ brothers.

  “That’s it,” said Tom, turning off the conveyor. I have never heard a sweeter sound than that silence. I just flopped on a bag, totally worn out.

  “Want a smoke?” asked Barry, offering me his packet. Completely forgetting the lesson I had learned the hard way, I took one and lit up without really thinking. I took a great big drag, swallowed it, and Ted’s bloody hand grabbed me by the throat. I tried to cough, breathe or inhale, going green in the face trying to get fresh air. I thought I could hear Ted laughing but it was Barry and Tom killing themselves.

  “Jesus mate, you should have said you don’t smoke,” said Tom.

  “You’ll come right soon. Go and get a drink of water, that’ll help,” Barry told me with a grin.

  Geez, bloody smoking. I’ll never learn.

  “Come up to the office and sign for your pay,” said Tom, leading the way. I signed as Ed Robinson, and he never even turned a hair. He paid us three pound ten for the day, because he reckoned we’d done a good day’s work.

  “You on for a beer up the Brickies?” they asked.

  “Nah, I’ll give it a miss, I think. I want to get home.”

  “Righto,” said Barry. “Do you want to meet me in the morning and we’ll go out to Angliss’ in Footscray?”

  “Yeah, why not. I’ll see you in the same place about half six.”

  “We can grab the train,” Barry said.

  “Righto, see you in the morning. See you Tom.” I sort of staggered out and got the train into the city, and another one down to the Port. I had to waste a bit of time until dark in case someone saw me sneaking into the car crate motel. I was too buggered to go looking for a room and wasn’t too fussy. The car crate would suit me for now. God I was sore. That was the first heavy manual job I had ever done. I’ve done all sorts of jobs since, but I’ll never forget that first job, working as hard as that at fourteen.

  I started thinking about Mum and wondered if this new bloke was love or convenience and if he would belt her around every time he felt mean or trapped. I felt the mean rising up from my toes—those rotten government and political bastards destroying families, using the dirtiest weapon they had, churches, self-righteous bloody despots, running government slave labour camps. Australia called them missions. Germany was more honest—they called them death camps, which they were for some of our mob. At first some of our mob were hunted down and shot like animals, nowadays though they do it differently, they take us away from our families so that we don’t know who we are. They hope that we’ll grow up white. So me and other kids like me are lost to our mothers and families who we will never see on this earth again.

  I didn’t think I’d get to sleep, I was not only freezing, I was angry and had too many questions running around in my head looking for answers I couldn’t find.

  Up again with the crows, I took my port and bogey gear and had a wash and brushed my teeth at the service station on the way to meet Barry, arriving at the cafe at about a quarter past six. The bloke had just opened up. “I can do you coffee and a Sanger,” he said. “Nothing’s warmed up yet.”

  “Yeah, that’ll do me fine thanks.” Just as I started on it Barry turned up.

  “How you feeling?” he asked, sitting down.

  “I’m not too bad, just stiff and sore. I’ll come right.” Because he was coloured I decided to tell him the score. I thought he might get into trouble if he was with me and the Department rocked up.

  He took it in his stride. “They’re a bunch of low life bastards. They took my mum when she was little, and took my brother. I done the same as you, shot through four years ago. You stick with me, you’ll be alright. I’ll wheeze the blokes at the meatworks, they’re all pretty tight down there.”

  We got off the train at Footscray and walked up to Angliss’ gate.

  “Just follow me,” said Barry. “Come over and meet the boys. This is Tully, Mick and Stumpy. I gave you a build-up and gave them the mail on your problem. They’re top blokes. You’ll be okay with them.”

  “Stick with us,” said Tully. “I’ll tell the buggers you’re my cousin. That should put them off a bit.”

  The bloke came out of the office with a list and started reading off names. Geez—Tom Brown and Dick Smith must have the biggest families in history.

  “Robinson!” He called twice before I realised that was me. “Slaughter floor on the broom. Mick, Stumpy, first leg. You done mutton on the table, Barry?”

  “Yeah, but I got no mutton boning gear with me.”

  “Hang on then and I’ll give you a chitty for the store.”

  “Tag along with us, Ed. We’ll show you the ropes,” Stumpy told me.

  I followed along and we went into the store.

  “What size boot?” the bloke asked, putting an apron and hat on the counter.

  “Eight please.” The gear was standard issue the boys told me.

  “Grab the gear and I’ll show you the locker room,” said Mick. We walked across to a big building and went up a set of stairs and into the locker room.

  “New bloke for you, Dick,” said Stumpy to an old grey-haired bloke with a broom.

  “Hello young feller. Follow me. There’s an empty one just up here. Yeah, there we are, three thirty six. You want to remember that. I known blokes to lose their locker. You be right now?” he asked.

  “Yes thanks, Dick. Thanks very much.”

  “That’s alright, lad,” he said, going back to his broom.

  “Nice old bloke, Dick,” said Mick. “Top butcher in his day. Don’t want to retire. Another thing too, he’s one of the boys. You can tell Dick anything and that’s as far as it goes. Hitler’s mob be lucky to get anything out of him.”

  I changed my boots and put the cap and apron on and Mick said, “Just wander up those stairs over there, and when you get up to the chain, ask for Blue and tell him we’re just rubbing up a knife and we’ll be up directly.”

  With that, I nodded and went up the stairs onto the board. It was a bit like I remembered it from the time I was with Mike in Townsville, but these were sheep instead of cows. There was a bit of blood on the floor, and down one end were woolly sheep with their throats cut, hanging from hooks. Blokes on a stand were cutting open the back legs with sharp knives, and they went from
there to a big mob of blokes all doing something until they came to the other end, where blokes were peeling the skin and wool off them like peeling an orange. Another bloke was cutting the belly open and dropping the innards into a row of moving trays, another bloke was sorting out the different bits, and another feller was peering into the cut belly. Last of all a bloke with a spray hose was washing the whole sheep down.

  I was bug-eyed trying to see everything at once. A red-haired bloke in a dustcoat with a book in his hand came up and I held out my chitty and asked him, “Are you Blue? Mick and Stumpy said to tell you they will be up as soon as they sharpen a knife.”

  “Goodo, they know what to do. Come down the floor and I’ll give you a kick-off. Yeah, this will do.” He grabbed a broom that was leaning against the wall and started to sweep bits of fleece, meat and hide away from around the butchers.

  “Got it?” he asked, handing me the broom. “Don’t want these blokes slipping over with a razor sharp knife in their hand.”

  “I’ll be right. I get the point,” I said, giving him a grin. He gave me a tap on the shoulder and walked away. I started sweeping with gusto, working my way down the board.

  “G’day sport. New on the job?” one of the butchers asked me.

  “Yeah, never done it before.”

  “You’ll be right, son, as soon as you get the hang of it.”

  Good mob these butchers, I thought, as I worked my way down to the legging table. I found after a while that I had forgotten my queasy stomach, and the sight of the sheep being turned into roasts and mutton chops didn’t worry me too much any more. I was working too hard to worry about it.

  “G’day, Ed. Going alright?” asked Mick.

  “Right as rain,” I told him, feeling pretty good.

  A bell rang, the chain stopped, and Stumpy came up and said, “Coming down the canteen to get some tucker?”

  So, armed with a pie and a drink we headed for a group of tables.

  “Play five hundred?” asked Barry.

  “We have the world champs here every lunch time,” laughed Tully.