True History of the Kelly Gang

by Peter Carey

  The common belief that Kelly has betrayed Harry Power provokes conflict in the extended family. He confesses to having tricked his uncles Pat and Jimmy Quinn into a fight with Constable Hall with dire consequences for Pat Quinn. A falling-out with Constable Hall. Author delivers an insulting note and package to a Mr and Mrs McCormick, is arrested by Hall and sentenced to three years.

  MY MOTHER KNEW I WERE NO TRAITOR but she were alone of all her sisters except the guilty Kate Lloyd and of course it were Kate with husband Jack who had most reason to spread this slander so wholeheartedly. Soon all my aunts and uncles hated me but Uncle Jimmy Quinn and Uncle Pat Quinn was easily the most upset they insisted I should be flogged.

  My daughter please understand I am displaying your great uncles in a bad light they was wild and often shicker they thieved and fought and abused me cruelly but you must also remember your ancestors would not kowtow to no one and this were a fine rare thing in a colony made specifically to have poor men bow down to their gaolers.

  Were I a fat squatter with his children safe asleep in bed I would have the time to tell you sentimental stories of the Quinns by birth or marriage and it is true that Wild Pat the Dubliner played the accordion at my ma’s shebeen that Uncle Jimmy had a beautiful voice it would make you cry to hear him sing the Shan Van Voght. This very man who now began calling me c––t and traitor had been very kind when I were a child.

  But them is stories to be saved for happy days and this was dark nights with Jimmy and Pat my constant tormentors for they was ashamed to think their own relation had betrayed the mighty Harry Power. Criminals by any code their horses was sleek and black they were pirate kings or so they thought Jimmy were the taller one he were a good looking b– – – – r with deep hooded eyes. Wild Pat were not so handsome his side whiskers grew fat as rosebushes his mouth were v. mean. This pair would sit on the veranda at O’Brien’s Hotel and barrack me whenever I rode past Ned Kelly were a fizgig a lying traitor he should be wrapped in barbed wire and rolled into the Winton swamp.

  Until Harry’s arrest I were well regarded in that district but now people was crossing the street to get away from me no one would employ me. At home it were very quiet no customers come to our shebeen no relations arrived to ease our poverty. I existed in a silent agony where my so called CRIME could not even be whispered. I were so lonely I wrote a letter to thank Constable Fitzpatrick for the lamb and blankets and I explained it were not the police who were punishing me for refusing the reward it were my own family.

  Needing an address I called by the new Police Station at Curlewis Street and I found Cons Hall behind his desk all 16 stone of fat and no more popular than me. He addressed an official envelope to Fitzpatrick and sealed my own letter within he would take no money for the postage.

  He said he had heard I were looking for work.

  I said no one would employ me to do so much as bury a dunny can.

  O I think we can do better than that he said then offered the job of constructing a split rail fence for a horse paddock it were 5/– a day which were v. good money.

  Going on the traps’ payroll made me fair game but I were already reviled as a turncoat I could not see my reputation disimproving but I were wrong. On my very 1st day of employment Harry Power were sentenced to 15 yr. hard labour and once this harsh punishment become known I were more actively sought out.

  One wet bitter Monday afternoon the wind were coming in squalls and the sky were black as dye bleeding from a widow’s weeds as Pat and Jimmy Quinn came along Curlewis Street they was full of harm in their long brown coats their hats pulled down across their eyes. At 1st they didnt cross the fence but sat on their horses watching me work and when the rain come back they turned towards the pub. I hoped that were the end of it but a few hours later they was back racing up and down Curlewis Street this were Furious Riding in a Public Place and the great 16 stone Cons Hall were on the veranda until he suddenly remembered he had pressing business inside.

  Seeing this cowardice Jim and Pat lifted the slip rail and ambled into the police paddock coming close to where I now were chiselling the mortises they circled me like wedgetails waiting for a beast to die.

  I could not believe Hall would tolerate this flagrant trespass but there were no movement from inside the station and Jim and Pat got bolder making the circle tighter all the time taunting me as a defector and a spy. Pat said I should come down to the pub to take my flogging there were no escape and every poor woman married to a drunkard must know the foreboding those encircling men brung to my young heart it were not the prospect of pain itself but the dark sick feeling what comes beyond hope of self defence. Soon Cons Archdeacon returned from patrol he didnt say nothing to my uncles only slid a govt. rifle from his scabbard as he removed the slip rail. My uncles said nothing neither but ambled insolently past him heading once more towards the pub.

  When the coast were clear Cons Hall come out to pay me wages but would not look me in the eye he smelled of wine and had difficulty calculating what sum I were owed.

  He asked were I going to the dance in Oxley.

  I said I had to go down to O’Brien’s to fight Pat and Jimmy Quinn as they was slandering me.

  Until this moment Hall showed a great dull and greasy sort of lethargy such as derives from sitting on your backside with the blinds pulled down eating dry biscuits and drinking Millawa wine but when he learned I had to fight the Quinns his manner changed entirely.

  No cried he no that aint fair.

  When I seen his wet eyes shining in the gloom I could imagine how he must of felt caged in his office by his own fear. How often that afternoon he had come to the door only to find himself too afraid to take them on.

  O Ned cried Hall we can’t have this.

  I knew he were a liar and bent in every possible way but when he said this I liked and trusted him.

  Said he Constable Archdeacon is returned so now theres 2 of us and we’ll arrest them if they touch you I swear we will.

  I knew he wouldnt stand a chance of arresting them at the pub the crowd would not let him. Sharing the same thought he said You start something thats the thing to do.

  Its already started said I.

  Just start something then run back up here thats all I ask. Them Quinns is bullies but this will be their Waterloo. Hall had previously been inclined to treat me like his servant but now he picked up my axe carrying it up to the veranda.

  Constable Archdeacon he hollered.

  To me he said O we’ll teach them b––––rs a lesson Ned they can’t insult the Queen and walk away.

  As he went inside to prepare for battle I rode slowly down along the yellow puddled track to O’Brien’s it were dusk and a whole row of hurricane lamps was hanging from the front of the pub so I easily found my uncles Jimmy and Pat they was standing by the roadside drinking with a cove called Kenny. I rode my horse straight at Jimmy then I swung around and knocked him hard he did not fall but lost his balance and his beer.

  Why in the name of Jesus did you do that?

  Find out why don’t you.

  Jimmy then leapt on me dragging me off my horse but I escaped to remount Kenny got hold of my bridle I kicked the b– – – – r in the ear reining my horse away to set off full pelt back for the Police Station.

  Kenny and my uncles was in hot pursuit shouting they would tear off my bawbles they would have my guts for garters. I jumped down running into the station where Hall and Archdeacon was standing side by side their thumbs stuck in their belts.

  Go on said Hall get out the back.

  I went as ordered but didnt wish to miss the spectacle so I come out to the front veranda and I were witness to a mighty stoush. Cons Hall had pulled Jimmy off his horse and was struggling to handcuff him. Then Wild Pat rode down on Hall with a stirrup iron he unbuckled from his horse he were swinging it like a mace. I called out but it were too late the stirrup iron smashed down on Cons Hall’s head he fell like a bullock in the abattoir. Cons Archdeacon then attempted to f
inish cuffing Jimmy but Pat rushed him with the stirrup he were ready to phrenologise again.

  Stave in his effing skull cried Jimmy.

  I come up behind Pat as the stirrup iron whistled past my ear.

  Let him go cried Hall to Archdeacon he were staggering to his feet. Let the b–––––d go he shouted pulling me backwards by the shirt collar. Thus all 3 of us withdrew into the station. There were great chaos as the policemen attempted to find fresh balls and powder while all the time the blood were streaming down Hall’s porkish face upon the floor the desk the logbook and by the time they found the key to unlock the munitions cabinet my uncles and their mate was gone.

  It don’t matter said Hall they is up to their neck in manure for this.

  When the following Thursday Jimmy and Pat was brought to the musty little redbrick court in Benalla I were witness for the Crown and my mother come to watch me give my evidence. On her left sat her worried sister Margaret the wife of Pat the Dubliner on her right were fierce Kate wife of Jack Lloyd the traitor. Blood is thicker than water so when it were time for me to speak I could not betray my family to the police not even if the mongrels deserved it. I therefore told the court that Cons Hall had asked me to provoke a fight so he could arrest the Quinns I thought this would get the charge dismissed.

  Instead the Judge threatened to put me away for perjury he said my Uncle Pat were a murderous swine he were guilty of the charge and would be taught a lesson.

  Aunt Kate rose to her feet calling out that the fight were incited by police.

  Shutup said the Judge or I’ll send you down to Pentridge too.

  She sat down after which the Judge sentenced her brother in law Pat Quinn to 3 yr. for the gash on Hall’s head at this Margaret began to bawl and my Aunt Kate rose again but quicker than she could speak the Judge give 3 mo. to her brother Jimmy.

  Outside on Arundel Street the crowds dissolved before me and even my own mother disappeared only Cons Hall came forward to seek out my company.

  I said I were sorry but could not help betraying him for family reasons.

  He smiled and patted me on the back it were only later I realised this were to make my friends and family hate me all the more. Speaking very whispery he said he could not help it either but before the year were out he would get me locked in Pentridge Gaol.

  Thus commenced a very poor time for us on our selection no more did my mother look up expectantly at the sound of an approaching horse her gaze darting out along the misty track to see if this were Bill Frost or that were Jimmy Quinn or Harry Power arriving with a new blue dress or a pocket filled with beer soaked currency. No more did I wake in the small hours to dancing and bagpipes and wailing big boozy men in oilskins boasting about their horses in the dark. The Lloyds did not visit no more our land were poor our purse were empty and many is the night we sat before the fire with no food other than what I shot. Once again my mother began telling stories as she done when our father were in gaol.

  I had grown the brave beginning of a beard but were not too old to hear the tale of Conchobor and Dedriu and Mebd or the one of Cuchulainn in his war chariot bristling with ripping instruments and tearing shafts and how I wished I had some equal defence against the world. My mother told these tales the firelight shining in her eyes and every space inside the hut were taken by a ready ear and beating heart. We was far happier than we knew.

  One morning looking out the skillion window I spied this little fellow walking up the track in mud thick gumboots a leprechaun could be no smaller he were roughly 5 ft. tall but broad of shoulder with a high forehead a spade shaped beard and a rolling gait you knew could carry him a 100 mile. While he stamped the yellow mud off of his boots I recognised him as Ben Gould the hawker the letter T were branded on his hand and his cart filled with bolts of cloth and dresses and hats and elastic sided boots in sizes 6 to 12. Now this cart were bogged on our land so he asked could he pay sixpence a day board until the ground were dry enough to pull it out. What a mighty sum that now seemed and Jem were sent into Greta with the 1st instalment he raced back with a pound of sugar and that may seem a strange thing to have 1st on our shopping list but I hope you have never lived without a grain of sugar. Sugar were just the thing it always cheered us up no end and so it did on this occasion. But Gould were even better. He were a very funny man and he come to us with what we needed his vim his verve his eyes was all creased he shut them every time he laughed.

  Had we looked deep into Ben Gould we would of seen a familiar fury at the centre of his soul for though he were not Irish he carried the same sort of fire I mean that flame the government of England lights in a poor man’s guts every time they make him wear the convict irons.

  On that 1st night he were the easiest fellow alive he were particularly friendly towards me but best of all he made my mother laugh it were a miracle that hawker caused to bring the tears of laughter to her cheeks once more. Even Dan lost that tight and pinched appearance his cheeks growing rounder Jem’s forehead smoothed and our little Kate who suffered from the bronchitis all that wet and weary month now climbed out of her curtained crib to rest her happy head against my chest.

  The following morning the clouds was gone all the sweet green earth were steaming like laundry in the sun. I woke to Ben Gould’s laughter he were standing on the veranda in his singlet and braces his toes was sticking out his socks.

  Roll up cried he roll up.

  I had not set the fire so there were not yet no boiling water but my ma arose in great good spirits all the children tumbling after. This were not how mornings started as a rule.

  Roll up ye adjectival Kellys.

  I come outside discovering my brothers and sisters shivering in their nightgowns staring out through the mist to see what could be so amusing on that boggy track. On the other side of the fence were a broken old mare a mangy swaybacked creature perhaps 5 yr. old but she were being harried by a young gelding and she were frisking every which way as if she were the prettiest thing you ever saw.

  You know said Gould thats adjectival old McCormick’s cart horse I knew I recognised her.

  We never heard of McCormick but soon learned he and his missus was hawkers like Mr Gould himself.

  This rotten looking mare said Ben Gould is proof positive of the rule that a horse will end up like its owner or should I say the wife.

  I knew I should set the fire but there were a change in Ben Gould’s face that kept me waiting.

  McCormick were a keeper at the Demon said he.

  He meant McCormick had been a warder in the savage prison of Van Diemen’s Land. He said Mrs McCormick were a Derwenter she had been his prisoner.

  Then he turned to me saying You better take the adjectival mare back lad or they’ll have Cons Archdeacon here saying that you duffed it.

  I said the police knew me better than to think I would steal a bag of glue.

  Don’t be always arguing lad take the adjectival mare to the township. The McCormicks is camped there you’ll see their wagon it has the name wrote on the side.

  He aint going my mother said.

  Oh?

  Jem will go said my mother my Ned is staying away from Greta at present.

  Ah I see said the little fellow looking at me long and hard he made me most uncomfortable.

  So Jem took off on the horse while my mother and Gracie seen to the milking and I lit the fire so Maggie could cook our breakfast. The 1st johnnycake were not yet in the pan when I witnessed a couple come at a very fierce pace up our track splashing across the creek and when they reached our hut they both jumped down like the troopers in the song.

  McCormicks!

  Mr Gould leaped up to repel them his wide little body blocking the doorway me standing right behind.

  Nice of you to give my horse back said the man he were a lanky Irishman with blaming eyes his mouth were the size of a fish’s arse.

  Ben Gould said it were very nice of us indeed. He pushed slowly forward forcing the McCormicks to step back down onto t
he boggy ground.

  After you had worked it cried the Missus.

  No one worked your adjectival horse said Gould the boy just returned her free of charge. It were effing nice of you to let him walk back thats a nice lesson to teach him for his kindness.

  You worked it said Mrs McCormick She were a young woman she had small sharp teeth like a Murray perch. You worked it don’t change the subject.

  Why work your horse said I when we got 20 horses here as good or better.

  Now the perch teeth turned on me. We know who you is said she.

  Missus I never saw you in my life.

  You’re Harry Power’s mate and you betrayed him and is known to be a thief from here to Wangaratta. You worked my horse you adjectival larrikin.

  Ben Gould picked up a bullwhip which were hanging from the veranda. Well said he it is a great shame you can’t stay.

  We aint leaving cried Mrs McCormick.

  Gould become a total stranger his creased eyes went hard as stone and without once taking them off the McCormicks he laid the bullwhip out along the path. I’ll thrash ye he cried.

  And with that he leapt down to the earth when he cracked it the lash sprayed stones & wood chips threw them violently across the roof down into the chook yard there were a mighty cackling and rush of feathers.

  We aint leaving said Mrs McCormick but her husband had the better sense dragging her by the arm back to their horses and off they rode.

  My brothers and sisters thought this v. funny but the McCormicks had set off something powerful in Gould’s heart he strode up and down the veranda with the profanities pouring from him he could not stop. Soon he wrapped up a pair of calf’s testicles writing a note to say McCormick should tie them to himself before he shagged his wife.

  Here said he run these into town for me.

  I had promised my mother not to risk Greta but I set off anyway. As the McCormicks was not in their camp I left the gift where they would find it.

  There was now several respectable weatherboard cottages built amongst the flat and peaceful paddocks and in one of these lived Mrs Danaher an old Irish woman she called out she had a message for my mother. I therefore sat awhile with Mrs Danaher I ate her bitter tea cake and drank her strong black tea.