Jack & Harry (7 page)

‘I bet it's got something to do with that Billy Munse and the bike.' Alice was angry as well as concerned. ‘Perhaps we should telephone them, Claude … the Munse's, they might know.'

‘They wouldn't be over there, Alice, I can assure you but I'll give a call anyhow just to put your mind at rest. They're up to something but I can't guess what it might be. Did you call the school?' he asked.

‘It was too late by the time I realised they weren't home.' Alice stood up from the table and began to pace around the kitchen. ‘If only Jack was here, he'd be able to help I'm sure. Not that you aren't a help, Claude.' She smiled at him. ‘Having Jack home would make me feel a lot better though.' She looked at the clock hanging above the stove. ‘I have to get back to the other children, Jean.' She walked to the back door. ‘Keep in touch and let me know if anything happens. I'll call you if they turn up at our place.'

‘I'll drive you home, Alice,' Claude offered but she declined saying that walking might give her a better chance of seeing the boys. There was no sign of them on the streets however and they weren't at her home when she got there so she busied herself getting tea for the other children.

The telephone rang. Alice rushed to answer it. ‘Hello, yes?'

‘Alice, it's Claude. Do you know if any of young Jack's clothes are missing? We've just discovered that Harry seems to have packed a bag of stuff as a lot of his gear is gone. Jean's awfully upset.'

‘Hold on, Claude.' Alice put the telephone receiver down and rushed to Jack's bedroom and threw open his cupboard. A cursory glance revealed that most of his ‘non-school' clothes were missing. The boots that his father had bought him to wear when he sometimes helped out at the saleyards were also missing from the bottom of the wardrobe.

‘You still there, Claude?' She picked the telephone up. ‘Yes some of his clothes
are
missing; what does all this mean?'

‘Not sure at this point, Alice, but don't worry over much until we find out. Jean and I are going to get the kids and come over to you for a while as Jack's away and you have the other children to consider. Jean can give you a hand to get them to bed, and then we'll get
our
mob settled.'

A short time later Alice heard Claude's car pull into the driveway and she welcomed their company. ‘Did you call the Munse's, Claude, any news there?'

‘I spoke to Munse Senior, he wasn't too chatty but said he'd ask Billy if he knew anything. I told him that it seemed the boys might have taken off somewhere.' Claude didn't tell Alice or Jean that William Munse had added that the fact that they had run off went a long way toward proving their guilt.

‘I'll call the Elders manager at his home, Alice, and find out if he can get in touch with Jack, get a message to him to call you, eh?'

‘Thanks, Claude, that would be good. I'm a little confused right now, not handling things too well.' She burst into sobs. ‘Where could they possibly be, Jean? They're so young and never been away before except for the odd school camp.'

Jean took her in her arms and began to cry too. Claude, embarrassed, hurriedly left the room to find the telephone and call Peter Forbes, the Elders manager.

The shrill whistle of the steam engine at one of the level crossings where the line crossed the road on the way into Northam jolted the boys back to reality. ‘The train, Harry. We gotta run, don't want to miss it.'

They grabbed their bags, threw the last of the bread into the water and ran up from the river toward the railway station, running panting onto the platform as the train pulled to a stop with a screech of metal brakes on steel wheels. The platform, deserted earlier when they had purchased their tickets, was now bustling with passengers as people said farewell to friends and family. The display of families hugging and shaking hands made the boys even more conscious of what they were about to do.

Harry looked about him and there was sadness in his eyes and his shoulders drooped.

‘You OK, Harry?'

‘Guess so, just a bit homesick I suppose, Jack.'

Jack was about to reply when the conductor blew a shrill whistle. ‘AAALL AAABOOOAARD,' he yelled.

‘Well, Harry …this is it, mate. We don't have to get on you know, there's still time to change our minds. If we get on we'll be in Kalgoorlie in the morning and even further away from home.' Jack looked at his friend who was fighting back tears and felt a lump begin to choke in his own throat. ‘Do you want to go back home, Harry?' His voice was croaky when he asked the question.

Harry looked him in the eye and straightened his shoulders as the train whistle blew, signalling its departure. ‘Can't ever go home, Jack, not ever, you know that?' There was a catch in his voice. ‘There's no turnin' back.'

‘You're right, Harry, there
is
no turnin' back so let's make a pact never to get homesick again.' They shook hands solemnly and leaped onto the train.

It was six o'clock on Wednesday morning. Jack Ferguson had driven through the night after getting a message from his manager and telephoning Alice to be told the news that Jack and Harry were missing.

He held his wife gently, caressing her hair as she sobbed against his chest.

‘There, there, Alice, settle down, dear. I'm here now and we'll find the little buggers. Can't believe they'd do this, so there must be a very good reason and a simple explanation. They can't have gone too far as they haven't got any money, so they'll be in the city somewhere with one of their mates, no doubt.' Jack wasn't to know that some five hours earlier, as he was driving through the night and had stopped at a level crossing in Merredin to wait for the ‘Kalgoorlie Miner' to pass, that his son and Harry were fast asleep in their carriage, just feet from the bonnet of his car.

As the train grunted and wheezed through the Avon Valley, the boys watched the sun set, then had tea in the dining car. They had both selected roast beef and vegetables that were served with rich dark gravy followed by apple pie and icecream washed down by a large glass of lemonade.

‘This is the life, Harry, eh?' They had returned to their compartment in the second class carriage toward the rear of the train and Jack stretched out on the comfortably upholstered bench seat.

‘Yep! Really livin', Jack.' Harry sat opposite him. Both had window seats as the train wasn't carrying many passengers that day and they had the compartment to themselves. They were pleased at this stroke of luck as they didn't have to talk to anyone or explain why they were on a train travelling to Kalgoorlie alone without adult company.

‘We'll each of us write a note to our parents from Kal, Harry, don't ya think? Let 'em know we're all right.'

‘Good idea. That'll stop 'em worryin' but we won't tell 'em where we're headed but.'

‘No way! We'll just say we're off to make our fortunes.' Jack laughed and Harry joined in.

Much brighter in spirits now as the journey on the train had gotten off to such a good start, they were not to know that the luxury of the night on the train was something they should have savoured more. There were many nights to come when they would wish for the comfort and security of the rocking train.

With the excitement of the day, thoughts of what lay ahead and full bellies, they were soon fast asleep serenaded by the ‘clackety clack, clackety clack' of the wheels as the ‘Miner' steamed on into the night toward Kalgoorlie and adventure.

The train hissed to a wheezing stop and the screech of brakes woke Jack. ‘Harry?' He gave the sleeping form a nudge. ‘Wake up, Harry, we've stopped somewhere.' He stared out of the window trying to see where they were.

Harry was quickly awake and at his side. They depressed the metal catch at each side of the window and pushed it up to open it. Harry put his head out and could read the sign on the station building. ‘Some place called Southern Cross.'

Just then he saw a figure amble toward their carriage door. ‘Quick, Jack, some bloke's headin' to our carriage.' They slammed the window shut and sat hoping the man would find a different compartment. To their annoyance the door slid open and a man with a hat placed jauntily on his head and a large smile on his ruddy face stepped into the car.

‘Top of the mornin' to you, lads,' He bellowed. ‘Name's Patrick O'Brien but you can call me Paddy … everyone else does.' He held out his hand in greeting.

Each boy shook hands in turn hoping the man would just sit quietly and not ask any questions.

‘Hello, Mr O'Brien,' Jack said ‘Morning,' Harry mumbled.

‘Mister? I said to call me Paddy, lads. Mister makes me sound too old. And what are your names then?'

They said their names.

‘Headin' to Kalgoorlie then are ye, what's the reason for the trip then?'

‘Visiting our auntie,' Jack said quick as a flash. ‘We're cousins me and Harry.' He pointed to his friend.

‘Cousins ye are! You don't look alike but that's all right, I don't look like anyone in my family that's to be sure.' He took a flask from his coat pocket and took a long swig from it. ‘Arrgh, good drop that, me lads, mother's milk it is.' He chuckled and stretched his short legs out in front of him.

The boys looked at each other and giggled. It seemed to Jack that the man who had joined them looked just like a leprechaun that he had seen a drawing of in a book at school. They both began to relax though as there was something about the little man that they liked. He was jovial and smiled a lot even though he sounded funny.

‘So, Kalgoorlie is it? Been there before have ye?'

‘No, our auntie's just moved up to there and our parents thought it'd be good if we would go up and give her a hand settle in.'

‘Go
out,
lads, go
out
. Kalgoorlie is not
up
, it's
out,
' He laughed loudly and took another swig on the flask.

‘That's a funny lookin' bottle, mister … sorry, I mean, Paddy.' Harry pointed to the flask. ‘What's in it … tea?'

‘Tea!' Paddy roared with laughter. ‘It's whisky, lads, but not just
any
whisky.' He looked suddenly serious. ‘It's Irish whisky, the finest little drop of the doin's you can get, to be sure.'

There was silence for a time as Paddy seemed to reflect on the merits of fine Irish whisky.

‘You goin' to Kalgoorlie too, Paddy?' It seemed strange to Jack to address an adult by his Christian name.

‘That I am, that I am.' The boys thought it funny that Paddy always seemed to say things twice.

‘You boys ever seen a game of
two-up
?' Paddy said suddenly.

‘Two-up? No, what's that?' Harry asked. ‘Is it a type of footy?'

‘Football? Football?' Paddy roared again. ‘No, me lads, it's a bettin' game it is. You take two pennies and place 'em on a piece of wood called a kip.' Paddy took another swig from the flask then looked sadly into the neck, shaking his head before placing the cap back on it and continuing with his explanation. ‘The pennies must be placed on the kip tails up and then you spin them in the air and if they lands heads up like you called you win but if they come down as they went up, that's tails up, you lose. Simple it is, but a grand game, a grand game.'

‘Do you win much if they come, what is it … heads up?' Jack asked.

‘Oh, to be sure you do, lads.' Paddy shook the flask near his ear.

‘I'd like to play a game like that,' Harry said.

‘Me too.' Jack sat forward eagerly in his seat.

‘Aahh, boys, it's for adults it is, not for lads and you need to have money to play two-up.' Paddy looked wistfully out of the window at the passing bush.

‘We got money, Paddy,' Harry said.

Jack looked sharply at Harry. ‘Only two pounds.'

‘Two quid have ye, lads?' Paddy looked thoughtful then a smile spread across his impish features. ‘Tell you what, me lads, if you want to trust me with yer two quid I could take you to see a two-up game. You'd have to hide in the bush but it'd be a grand experience for ye both. And we, er … you, could make a quid or two as well if I won. But you'd have to be aware that ye can sometimes lose. You the types of lads that can take that sort of chance?' He gazed steadily at them.