Jack & Harry (13 page)

‘She does seem like she's in need of some lookin' at, that's for sure, blows a lot of smoke,' Harry agreed. ‘He should take it to a garage for repairs.'

‘A garage! I don't think even the good Lord himself could be fixin' that beast of a car. Be sure to be takin' plenty of water with ye, lads, it's sure to break down out there somewhere on a lonely stretch of road. I'll be askin' the Lord to be takin' good care of yer on the trip.' He placed his hat back on at a jaunty angle.

‘I should be off then.' He stood hesitantly for few seconds. ‘You be lookin' after yourselves now, lads, stay out of trouble and keep in mind to stay in touch with yer parents.' He held out his hand. ‘It's been a pleasure meetin' yer, lads, hope we catch up again someday.' There was sadness as he spoke and the boys were moved by the genuine tone in his voice.

‘Paddy, we want to thank ya for takin' us to Father O'Malley and for all the help you've given us and …'

‘Nothin' at all, nothin' at all.' Paddy waved a hand to dismiss their gratitude then shook hands with each of them and turned quickly to walk away.

‘Paddy?' Jack called, after seeing Harry nod his head ‘Wait up.'

The little Irishman turned back to see his two young friends standing side by side and Jack holding a pound note out to him. ‘No, lads, I couldn't be takin' it from yer. You'll be needin' it down the track.' He turned again to walk away.

‘Paddy … please … we want ya to.' Harry called to him.

Paddy hesitated before walking back to the boys. ‘Well, I'll only be takin' ten bob then, have ye got a ten bob note?'

Taking the money he pushed it quickly into his coat pocket. There was a catch in his voice as he looked into their eyes. ‘You're good lads ye are and that's for sure. This is a loan and I'll be getting' it back to yer one fine day or me name's not Paddy O'Brien. God bless ye, lads.' He spun on his heels and walked quickly away.

Jack and Harry failed to see Paddy's eyes mist over as he left them standing in the heat outside the Palace Hotel on Hannan Street and went off in search of more of ‘the doins'.

Returning to the church complex they were not surprised to see that the priest's old car had the bonnet open and a grimy, shirt-sleeved Father O'Malley, sweating profusely and muttering under his breath, was bent over the motor.

‘What's the problem, Father?' Jack asked.

‘Not sure, boys, not sure at all.' The priest straightened and stretched his back, concern clearly on his face, ‘Seems the old girl has decided to play up a bit. Can't understand it, she's been tickin' over like a clock.'

The boys concealed their grins.

‘It seems I'll have to make some other arrangements for tomorrow's trip. It's too late in the day to be getting her looked at now and I'm sure it's a little more than a tune she'll be needing.' Father O'Malley looked soulful.

‘What sort of arrangements, Father?'

‘There's a mail run that leaves in the morning early. It gets to Mt Margaret but calls in to a few places on the way so the trip will be a slow one I'm afraid. Still, better than no trip at all I suppose and the mailman is a good bloke. We'll be a bit cramped for room but I best be off to telephone him and see if he can accommodate us. He takes passengers when there's room.' Father O'Malley took a final look under the motor, climbed into the cabin and pressed the starter. The motor turned over, coughed once then backfired loudly but refused to start. ‘Can you help me get her in the shed, boys, take your gear out first though and we'll take it up to the house.'

They unloaded the goods then pushed the heavy vehicle into the shed with Father O'Malley behind the wheel. The car smelled of burnt oil and the boys doubted it would ever get back on the road again.

‘Come on up to the house. You can have a bath and get ready for tea.' The priest picked up a swag and a parcel of clothes. ‘The young lad that's travelling with us will be here a little later in the evening to stay overnight so we can get an early start. You'll meet him then and I only hope the mail truck can fit us all in. I'll go and call now.'

‘Good news, boys,' Father O'Malley greeted the boys when he came to the table. ‘Ted Johnson, the mail truck driver, said he has a fairly light load tomorrow so can take us all. You three boys will have to ride in the back though but that's OK. It has a tarp over the tray and Ted never drives all that fast so it'll be safe. Just need to keep the dust out of your eyes is all.'

When they had completed dinner, the boys went out onto the verandah where it was cooler. They sat in two wicker chairs to watch the sun, a fiery red ball, sink behind the low hills in the west while they waited for the other boy to arrive so they could meet him.

They were sitting quietly, conversation exhausted for the moment, when they heard the crunch of feet on the gravel path. They peered into the gloom of the evening to see Father O'Malley's tall stooped figure walking toward them, accompanied by a shorter slim youth walking a yard or so behind.

‘Jack, Harry,' the priest called to them. ‘This is the young man I was telling you about.' He turned to the figure behind him. ‘Come on, son, no need to be shy, these are good lads and you'll all get on well I'm sure.'

The two stepped from the darkness onto the verandah into the dim shadowy light spilling from the window. ‘Harry Turner and Jack Ferguson.' The priest pointed to them in turn, ‘this is Reynold.'

It wasn't the unusual name that surprised the boys and caused them to hesitate briefly, a point not missed by the priest nor by the youth beside him, but the fact that he was Aboriginal, something they had never considered, nor had Father O'Malley mentioned.

Jack recovered quickly and stepped forward with his hand outstretched. ‘G'day, er … Reynold did you say, Father?'

The boy nodded slightly as he took Jack's outstretched hand in a soft grip. ‘G'day to you too. That's right … Reynold.' He pronounced it
‘
Rennol.'

Harry took Jack's lead also holding out a hand tentatively in greeting to the Aboriginal boy. ‘G'day.' They shook hands briefly.

‘You boys like some lemonade?' The priest stood up without waiting for an answer. ‘I'll go and get some and see if Mrs Lacey left any biscuits out. You boys can get to know each other. I'll be back shortly.' He left the three boys standing awkwardly together on the verandah each with his hands pushed deeply into trouser pockets and Reynold staring shyly at the wooden decking beneath his feet.

Reynold had not had a lot of exposure to whites having been born on the mission and grown up there. His schooling had been minimal, only briefly attending mission schools with his own people. Jack and Harry were in no way prejudiced and Jack's father spoke highly of the Aboriginal stockmen that he had met on his travels, but they had never been in close contact with Aboriginal people and were unsure of how to communicate. A distinct division existed between whites and blacks, particularly in the suburbs where they had been raised and there were no Aboriginal children that attended their school. They did play against them sometimes in the odd football match and were in awe of their prowess with a ball and their determination on the field, so they were a little intimidated by them. Reynold, on the other hand, was wary of the two white boys expecting, as he had experienced previously, to be ignored at the very least. He was therefore surprised after what seemed like an eternity of silence on the verandah, when Jack initiated conversation with a question. ‘You been crook, Reynold?'

‘Yeah, got throwed from a horse, broke me leg.' He still stared at the verandah beneath his bare feet.

‘You been in Kalgoorlie long then?' Harry ventured.

‘Nah, coupla' months.' He paused for a few seconds. ‘Yu boys, yu goin' out to the mission then?' he asked.

‘The mission?' Harry looked puzzled.

‘Yeah, Mt Margaret. I live there at the mission sometime. When I'm not out drovin' wit' me uncle Warri that is.'

It slowly dawned on Jack and Harry that where they were headed in the morning with the priest and Reynold was to an Aboriginal mission station. Up until then they had though that Mt Margaret was some ordinary outback mining town. They were confused and a little apprehensive. ‘What would it be like? What would the people be like, would they be friendly or not? Were they doing the right thing?'

Father O'Malley appeared carrying a tray with four glasses of fizzing lemonade and a plate of Anzac biscuits that he placed on a small low wooden table. ‘Here you are, help yourselves, boys.' He took a biscuit and bit into it.

Reynold hung back in the shadows so Jack picked the plate up and held it toward him. ‘Here, Reynold, better grab a couple before Harry here eats 'em all, he
loves
Anzac bikkies.'

Reynold smiled, his teeth flashing white in the light from the window. He took a biscuit and bit it in half.

That night, in the small room dominated by the large wooden crucifix on the bare white wall, Jack and Harry discussed the developments of the day and the inclusion of Reynold into the equation.

‘Seems OK, Jack, Reynold?'

‘Bit if a shock eh? But yeah, he's quiet, but seems OK.'

‘Do you think we're doin' the right thing headin' out to this Mt Margaret, Jack?'

‘Not sure but we don't have much choice now, do we?'

‘Suppose not. Anyhow, we don't have to stay there for long.'

‘No, that's for sure. I'm not too keen about spending time with a bunch of Aboriginals, Harry, regardless of how friendly Reynold seems. We'll just get there on the mail truck and then move on, get a lift with someone, eh?'

‘Sounds fair, Jack, maybe there's a train from there or somethin' do you think?

‘Sure to be, Harry.'

The boys examined their equipment again and went to sleep on the beds without getting undressed; only taking their boots off and removing belts for comfort.

It was a novelty for them to sleep in clothes because at home it was a fact that one only slept in pyjamas. ‘Only swagmen sleep in their clothes,' Jack's mother often said. Even on school camp they had had to put their
jammies
on. ‘Uncouth to sleep in your clothes and unhealthy,' the teacher had stated emphatically.

In the future, however, sleeping fully clothed would become so much a part of their lives that they never for an instant imagined that night that there would be many times when they would yearn for a hot bath, clean sheets, soft mattress, fluffy pillows and loose fitting pyjamas.

Father O'Malley knocked on the bedroom door to wake them. ‘Come on, boys, need to get an early start, the mail truck will be along shortly'.

After splashing their faces with water to wash the sleep from their eyes they packed their gear and went to the kitchen where Father O'Malley had a pot of tea brewed and toast buttered. Reynold was already there and nodded to Jack and Harry as they entered.

Breakfast completed they collected their luggage and went out into the yard as a large tray-bodied Ford truck pulled in, its lights dim in the pre-dawn half light. They could see that the truck was heavily stacked with all sorts of merchandise even though Father O'Malley had said it would be a light load that day. There were drums of petrol, oil and sheep dip, rolls of netting, coils of fencing and barbed wire, steel posts, wooden crates and cardboard boxes, all roped firmly into place. There was a moderately clear space directly behind the cab where the mailman indicated that the boys could sit and he took their bags and swags and threw them unceremoniously onto the tray.

‘Climb on, time's getting away. G'day, Father.'

‘Good morning, Ted, glad you could fit us in. My old car seems to have given up the ghost.'

‘What! The Chev? Never!' He grinned and winked to the boys.

The priest climbed into the truck's cab and slammed the door shut. After telling the three boys to ‘hang on' the driver engaged gears and drove from the yard.

Neither boy spoke as the truck drove through the awakening town. They could see the sun beginning to creep into view and already feel the promise of another blistering day as the streets and buildings slipped by and the truck began to gather speed as it hit the open road and headed toward Menzies.

It was noisy on the back of the truck with the engine hum, the whistling wind flapping the canvas tarpaulin and some piece of machinery that was also clanging rhythmically against a metal drum at the rear, so conversation was difficult. Each boy welcomed the noise that rendered talk unnecessary so they settled back as comfortably as possible in the confined area and dozed.

The truck slowing and changing down a gear stirred the boys. They woke to see ruined remnants of buildings, lonely chimneys pointing forlornly into the morning sky. There were some occupied cottages and old, but solid, brick town buildings, some boarded up and others seemingly tenanted.