Season of Hate (13 page)

"'Morning Harry, what can I do for you?"

"'Morning Sid. I'd like a dozen pair of 'Y' fronts to fit a boy about fourteen."

"Fourteen?"

"Johnny, come out here." Johnny appeared from behind a rack of coats. The colour drained from Mr Renshaw's face, as if he was going to faint. "And a pair of shoes and thongs." Where he'd normally talk Dad's ear off with his symptoms, trying to get a free consultation, it was clear Mr Renshaw was agitated about serving Johnny. Without a further word he quickly got the order together, keeping an eye out for any customers who might enter and see him fitting a black teenager.

"You better try the shoes on," instructed Dad, indicating for Johnny to take a seat. Mr Renshaw became very uneasy. "You have any old socks he could –?" Mr Renshaw quickly produced a mismatched pair he kept under the counter, for when anyone came in without socks to try on shoes. The shoes were a good fit. As Dad handed the socks back, Mr Renshaw began to stutter more than usual.

"No, you can k-keep them."

Dad looked him squarely in the eye.

"Thank you, but we couldn't," Dad answered politely but with a look that hadn't a trace of warmth. Mr Renshaw couldn't take the intensity of Dad's gaze, and turned away. "And you best give us a half a dozen shirts and socks in his size. Anything wrong, Sid?"

"N-nothing. N-n-nothing at all." Mr Renshaw spluttered as he saw Gwen Grady enter his shop. "W-w-won't be a m-minute, G-G-Gwen."

Mrs Grady just stood there in silence, observing the scene, with a look of outrage on her face, as if some stranger had just come up and pinched her on the bum. As the shirts were brought out and wrapped with the other things, Dad, flushed with victory over Mr Wood I guess, decided to tackle Mrs Grady's haughty demeanour head-on and introduced Johnny.

"Gwen, this is Johnny." Johnny gave a little nervous smile combined with a nod of acknowledgement.

"He's staying with us for the moment."

"Staying – with you. In the house. That's nice," she finished with a thin-lipped smile.

"'Til he fully recovers from the beating someone gave him. Johnny, show them your back." He did so, and for a moment they were lost for words as they winced at the sight before them.

"Of course you hear things, people will gossip, but that's terrible," she tut-tutted.

"Thanks son, you can put your shirt back on. Can you believe that in this day and age someone could do this to another human being?"

Dad settled the account and as we headed out the door, I heard Mrs Grady begin to natter with Mr Renshaw.

"A handout's one thing, but allowing them to stay in your
house
…"

The Parthenon milk bar was a totally different experience. Dad wasn't put off by the strange looks we got from two of the customers who got up and left without even finishing their food and drinks. He approached Mrs Pappas who was standing behind the counter.

"Eleni, will there be a problem of young Johnny here joining – ?" Before he could finish the question, Mrs Pappas interrupted, welcoming us all in with a wave of her hand. She let us pick whichever booth we wanted.

"I remember when I first come to Australie. 'Go home wog'. Please sit. Everyone welcome here."

While she filled our milkshake order, I flipped the pages over of our booth jukebox. Dad put in some coins and I picked one I knew he'd like. There were lots of strings and then Frank Sinatra started up with a slow 'Night and day, you are the one …' Doug didn't want his turn.

"Just leave him be." Dad declared. "You pick another." So I picked Bill Haley's
Rock Around the Clock
, and Johnny, who just pushed any button, came up with a band playing
Stardust
. My first choice ended up being not so good, as Dad went very quiet and distant until it finished while we slurped on our milkshakes. He'd settled for a short black from the strange espresso coffee machine that ground then bubbled and hissed, and some home made Greek shortbread.

After we'd finished, Dad called in to see Sergeant Farrar while we all waited outside. On our way home, Doug seemed still out of sorts, dragging his feet a bit behind the rest of us. I knew exactly what was on his mind.

As we walked, Johnny would stop every now and then and pick wildflowers that grew in clumps along the road until he had a good handful.

Mr Wood was lopping his trees when we went past his place, but on our side of the street. He didn't say anything or do anything, but I felt his eyes on us all the way home. I turned as I got inside our gate. Steve had joined his father in trying to stare us down. But I wasn't scared, not when I knew my dad had a knock out punch.

Nan was picking veggies from the garden for tea when we arrived home. Johnny presented her with his bouquet of flowers, his eyes warm with emotion. It was his way of saying thanks for her care of him during his recuperation. She kissed his cheek.

We all went to bed early that night, ready for Sunday morning Mass. Dad had tried to get Doug to talk, but he remained sulky, hardly touching his tea. When Dad came in for 'lights out', Doug turned away on his side. Dad sat down at the foot of his bed.

"Got anything you want to talk about boys?" I shook my head.

"Doug?" He didn't answer.

"Let me explain about today."

"Are
you
going to Confession?" Doug finally demanded as he turned to face Dad.

"You think I should?"

"You're always tellin' us to walk away. Everyone at school thinks I'm chicken."

"Today I did something I'm not proud of. And if I could've walked away I would've. Fighting doesn't achieve anything, son. Bob Wood didn't give me a choice. I s'pose that's not altogether a satisfactory answer, but when there are important issues at stake, like people's right to live their life in peace, or threats against your family, well sometimes you have to speak up and take a stand. I still would've preferred to have talked it out with him, but as you saw, some people only know one way of resolving a disagreement – with their fists. And when that happens well, it is okay to defend yourself."

This got both our attention.

"Now before you two get all excited, I want you both to promise me you won't start fights and that you'll do your best to avoid them if you can think of another way out. Promise?" We both hesitated, looking at each other then answered simultaneously.

"Promise."

"Standing up for serious things, like today, and when you have no other choice but to defend yourself, is the only, and I mean the
only
time you might get into a bit of a scuffle. Not over some idiot calling you names. Having said that, I think it's time you both learnt the basics of self defence. Just so any schoolyard bullies will think twice before they push 'round the McNally boys."

He touched Doug's leg through the bedding. Great, I thought. Now we'll be just like the good guys in the pictures, flattening the baddies in the saloon and saving the town from the outlaw gang.

"We'll start tomorrow. Goodnight, boys," and he kissed us both on the forehead, before tucking us in.

"Goodnight, Dad," we replied. Before he got to the door he turned, smiled lovingly at us both then switched off the light.

We heard him go into Johnny's room. He talked for some time. I couldn't make out what he was saying through the door and we were both too sleepy to get up and listen. My straying thoughts before sleep were of Dad and John Wayne having a huge fight in a saloon. Dad won.

I think Dad would've taken Johnny to church with us on Sunday and forced the issue of his right to be there as well, but when asked, Johnny didn't seem that keen anyway. He did join us in our boxing lesson with Dad afterwards, where we learnt the difference between a jab, a hook and an uppercut, as well as the importance of keeping your guard up. Dad partnered with Doug to demonstrate the punches to us. Johnny was my partner. It was all pretend boxing. Dad was teaching Johnny and me how to keep our guard up and protect our face, when Nan yelled out through the back screen door.

"When Jake la Motta and Sugar Ray Robinson have finished there, lunch is on the table."

It was shortly after this that Dad began his long campaign with the Shire Council to secure for our town a sports field. He believed that a sports field would help channel youthful energy away from bullying and other antisocial behaviour. He envisaged that fathers, instead of spending afternoons at the pubs could help train and referee the various sports. It would also relieve the boredom of living in a town with little to do beyond your own imagination. Everyone when approached by Dad agreed and signed his petition. It would be a long drawn out process with Council, but after a number of years of badgering from Dad we did get our very own sports field, complete with a modest spectator stand.

By two o'clock that same Sunday, neighbours from all over started coming onto the verandah. There was Mr and Mrs Symonds and Susan, the Smith's and Raymond from next door, Mr Chang and Shen, Miss Bridget, Mr Horan, Ned Spooner from
The Echo
and driving up in his police car, Sergeant Farrar. Johnny sat in the circle with the others. Dad stood behind him, his hands resting gently on his shoulders. Raymond, Shen, Doug and I sat in the jacaranda tree, our legs dangling over the platform.

"Thank you all for coming. For those of you who haven't met him, this is the boy I spoke to you about on the phone, Johnny August," Dad began. At that stage, our front gate opened and Miss Kitty entered. Everyone was as surprised as me to see her.

"Kitty, you came," smiled her sister, as Miss Kitty made her way onto the verandah. Both Mr Chang and Mr Symonds stood up to give her a seat. She quietly sat in Mr Chang's chair, looking out toward the jacaranda tree.

"It's good to see you, Kitty love," Nan whispered.

"Please, don't let me interrupt."

She bent her head forward as she removed her sunglasses. Her eyes, full of apprehension remained downcast flitting from side to side as she straightened her head. Her hair was pulled back tightly in a bun and she wore makeup to conceal her white skin and birthmark. She clasped her gloved hands in her lap. It was the first contact most people there had ever had with her, at least for a long while anyway. She looked scared and vulnerable, but determined to be there nonetheless. The boys couldn't take their eyes off her the whole time.

"G'day, Miss Kitty," I called out. She gave me a timid wave. I smiled back to let her know she had a friend on her side, as Dad continued.

"As I told you over the phone, Johnny doesn't know his father. He took off when he was a baby and his mother died after being hit by a car. He has no living relatives that he knows of, and walked a long way to get here from up north. Only to be set upon by a bunch of drunken thugs. I'm sorry, son. I know how going over things upsets you. He's trying to block things out of his mind which is understandable. Anyway, there appears little we can do about bringing the perpetrators of Johnny's injuries to justice," Dad cast an insinuating glance to the Sergeant.

"But we can do something for Johnny. Last night I talked over with him some possibilities. We could help him rebuild his camp, but as you can imagine, he's a little scared he might be set upon again. So with Mum's blessing, we're happy to provide a room in our house. Johnny indicated he'd prefer that, but that he wanted to work for board, not a handout. This to my mind speaks volumes for the boy's character. I asked you all here because I know you all to be decent people, who may be able to help. Sergeant, I know there's resistance by a lot of people to having Aborigines around town and in the shops. And I realise you're just doing your job by trying to keep them out of the main part of town to avoid any confrontation, however, the fact of the matter –"

"The fact of the matter, Harry, is a lot of people have had already, or fear they will have, things stolen from their houses or shops by them. There just isn't any work around for them. And I can sympathise with that. I can."

"Has anyone actually seen a particular Aborigine stealing, Sergeant? Have you arrested any?" queried Mr Symonds.

"No, but it's fairly obvious that –"

"Well Sergeant, surely then it's all unsubstantiated rumour. It could have been a white neighbour, a disgruntled white shopper or white kids, and the blacks are being used as scapegoats. Well couldn't it, if there's no proof?" asserted Ned Spooner.

"Gentlemen," Dad interrupted. "If I can get back to why we're here. Johnny, have you got that bit of paper? I want to read you all something." As Johnny handed over the tattered note, I noticed for the first time that Dad wasn't wearing his wedding ring. Dad read the note out and as he did so, all eyes looked toward Johnny.

"Here's a boy, if he was white would be in school. I'm hoping that between us we can at least find enough work for him, so that he can support himself and not be seen as a vagrant or threat to anyone. I'm prepared to pay him to do my hedges, cut my lawns and chop the wood on a regular basis." Dad searched around the group for someone to match his offer. Ned Spooner kept making notes.

"I'm getting too stiff to do gardening, and we could use someone who'll mow the lawns and chop the firewood as well," offered Miss Bridget.

"And the house could use a couple of coats of paint inside and out," added Miss Kitty in a jittery rush, hoping for and receiving Miss Bridget's smile of approval as she spoke.

"I think we've all got chores 'round the house for an eager lad," Mr Smith threw in. It was greeted by a lot of "yeses" and "mmms". Mrs Symonds whispered something to her husband.

"The missus was saying Harry, you've already got two boys to look after. What I mean is, we've got Esme's mum's old downstairs flat going to waste. We'd happily let young Johnny here stay with us, as a boarder – rent free. A few chores about the place will be payment enough."

"Well, what do you think?" Dad asked Johnny who gingerly agreed with a nod. Mrs Symonds looked on the verge of tears, even though she seemed very happy. Mr Symonds squeezed her hand.

"I need someone to help with new fences, if I'm ever going to get the missus off me back," smiled Mr Smith. "And as bank manager, I'm prepared to open up an account in Johnny's name so that he can deposit his earnings. I'll kick it off with two pounds." This was a very generous gift and it registered with those adults present as they looked about at one another.

"I give five shillings too," volunteered Mr Chang.

"Well Sergeant?" Dad asked.

"I can't see anyone having any grounds to object to the young bloke's presence in town, if he's employed and banking money. However, you'll always get those who just don't like blacks. You can't change people's way of thinking."

"Some folks always look to blame others when things aren't going their way. They look around to take it out on others less able to fight back – just like in the Depression. And some of us here remember that," Nan contributed.

"There's a bigger issue here, Sergeant," began Ned Spooner. "We're not talking about a theft. We're talking about a person, in this case a boy, being savagely beaten. What would the reaction of the good people of this town be if he was theirs? If he was white? You'd be out there interviewing likely suspects and maybe making an arrest or two." Sergeant Farrar was feeling uncomfortable and paced up and down on the spot several times. Everyone waited for his response.

"We need proof before we make any accusations, and unfortunately there is none, Ned. Look everyone, I'm on your side believe me, but it isn't easy being the only cop in town either – trying to keep law an' order and a lid on things. Sometimes it's best to let people blow off steam then move 'em on, just to keep the peace."

"This isn't some Saturd'y arvo dust-up at the pub, the lad's been beaten to within an inch of his life," argued Ned Spooner. Johnny looked like he wanted to take flight. Dad gave him a reassuring rub on his shoulder and he settled.

"The boy was ambushed. And from what I could make out from him, he didn't see who it was because they'd shoved a sugar bag over his head. We need proof before we start arresting people based purely on assumptions and then –" the Sergeant pointed out as Ned Spooner started talking over him.

"Exactly my point. We also need proof before we go around accusing the Aborigines for all the stealing in town. People see them with no belongings as such and immediately presume that they must be doing the stealing. If we have no proof, it's all assumptions and rumour. I bet half of what you hear is made-up anyway. But one thing we know for sure, no black man would do to another black man what's been done to this lad – for no reason."

"I'm sorry. All this is my fault. If only I could have made out their faces through the dust, but they were gone and far away by the time I got to him. But they were definitely white," an upset Miss Bridget tried to explain.

"Bloody cowards," interjected Mr Symonds.

"Johnny's confirmed Miss Walshe's suggestion, indicating that it was more than one, maybe three or four. What we don't need is different groups goin' off at each other 'cause they think so and so is responsible, and causin' more trouble. If there is any trouble, leave it up to me to settle. Don't go takin' the law into yer own hands," Sergeant Farrar emphasised as he looked around the group. "I won't stand for no breakin' of the law, and that applies to you as well Ned." He looked at Johnny, before putting his hat back on to leave.

"However," he started up again, "if you wish to write an article about this cowardly incident, by assailants unknown, and how these people here have responded in a positive way, that sort of action I would fully support. It'll highlight the matter, and hopefully, reach out to people's better side, so that it never happens again. Anyways, I've got police work to do."

Everyone sat there thinking for a moment, as Sergeant Farrar left and drove off. We remained quiet in the tree, waiting to see what would happen next. Eventually everyone seated stood up, and Johnny went around and shook their hands as a thank you gesture. His expressive face conveyed his pleasure at their show of support. Those left on the verandah then came up to Miss Kitty, including Mr Chang, and started talking to her like an old friend.

"I hope we see more of each other after this, Kitty," expressed Mrs Symonds and her wishes were seconded by the group. Miss Kitty seemed overwhelmed by the response.

"It was important for me to be here – for this lovely young man." She took both his hands in hers. "I know what it is like to be singled out and pointed at. I wouldn't want that to happen to anyone else. Never let anyone drive you away."

People started to make their way down the verandah steps and head on home. Dad moved to have a quiet word with Susan at the end of the verandah. While Shen and Raymond used the rope ladder, Doug slid down the tree so quickly he banged into Mr Chang.

"Dougal! Slow down! You could've knocked Mr Chang over," Dad reprimanded. I was still on my way down as Miss Kitty past by. She looked up at me and smiled, as she put on her sunglasses and followed her sister out through the front gate. I smiled back.

"Bye Miss Kitty," I called as I reached the ground.

When it was just Dad, Nan, Johnny, Doug and me left on the verandah, I mentioned to Dad as we helped him put the chairs back inside, that I really didn't want to see Johnny go.

"He's not going away, just across the street. You'll still see him as often as you wish." I felt a bit better. "Maybe you could still have a couple of meals here, eh Nan?"

"You're always welcome, ya know that," Nan indicated cheerily.

"When's he have to go?" asked Doug.

"That's up to the Symonds. Whenever they get the flat set up, I guess," Dad reasoned.

Doug gave me a thump on the arm then took off around the back.

"Owwh. Come on Johnny, we'll get him." And the two of us shot around the other side of the house.

"Play nicely you lot. No rough stuff," Nan called out after us.

Ned Spooner reported Johnny's beating in
The Echo
under the heading
COWARDLY ATTACK ON TEENAGER ENDS WELL
. The article went into detail and only near the end mentioned that Johnny was of Aboriginal background. It spoke about tolerance and having respect for every person in the community regardless of colour or other differences and that the men who committed the crime were no better than a pack of wild dogs. It ended with 'Police have several leads and are conducting ongoing inquiries.' Those who hadn't already heard about the attack via Mrs Grady's grapevine, greeted the article with mixed response. On the whole though, most people were outraged that this could happen to anyone in the community, 'right under our very noses.'

Within a few weeks, Mr Symonds had repainted the downstairs flat and Mrs Symonds had put up new curtains. Johnny moved in on a Sunday and insisted he start doing chores around their house on the Monday. Late the following Saturday night the Symonds' place was pelted with a dozen or so rotten eggs from two speeding cars.

In the weeks prior to him moving across the road, a roster was drawn up between the neighbours. Over the next few months Johnny would be doing lawns and general gardening some days with special jobs like fence repairs and painting the Walshe sisters' house in between. Dad had taught him basic handyman skills and the use of Poppie's tools, allowing him to use them when he wanted, as long as he took good care of them. If he was stuck on anything, all he had to do was let Dad or Mr Symonds know and they'd give him a hand.

It struck me that Doug and I hadn't done anything for Johnny. I suggested we give him some of our toys, as we had heaps. So when he went over the road with his belongings, he also took with him two Airfix planes on stands, some metal toy soldiers, the wind-up train set he liked which we rarely played with now, as well as a selection of our marbles.

He didn't work weekends, which meant we had an extra playmate and another member for the cricket team. He became our best fieldsman and wasn't bad at bowling either. Nan arranged with Mrs Symonds for Johnny to come over for tea once a week and lunch Saturday followed by our regular saunter up town with Dad for milkshakes.