True History of the Kelly Gang (22 page)

Modesty were not the point no more I removed my clothing except for my long woollen combinations I pulled the green silk shorts on top. Though I felt a real dill what other choice were there?

Joe Byrne seemed amused but when I caught his eye he quickly developed a very sombre cast.

Very well said I lets do the b––––r.

On my way out the door I were informed that fighting barefooted were not permitted so I accepted a pair of slippers 1/2 a size too small I didnt care.

In a light rain we came out past the chook house Wild Wright were sucking on an orange but when he saw me he spat it out and stepped up to me.

You’re a dead man said he striking me across the head a mighty blow it knocked me down sideways I heard my mother crying foul foul foul I staggered to my feet in time to see Joe Byrne kicking Wright away. Eddie Rogers and my sister Maggie was holding my mother by the arms.

Blood someone shouted 1st blood.

As the liquid seeped into my eye so the scratch were made in the earth and the fight officially begun.

I do not recall nothing about the fight but it has been 50 times I heard Joe Byrne tell the story thus as follows.

We thought you doomed and rooned the minute you walked out past the chook house and Wild delivered that great sidearm to your head and you was on the floor before you even stepped up to the scratch. It were a proddy pub so no one give an eff what happened to a mick they planned to drink your blood. Wild had heard you had been mocking Dummy and now he were for the kill.

Wild cut your eye and your ma were screaming blue adjectival murder when Wild come in again he didnt even wait for you to rise. I barely knew you at this time but anyone could see that this blow werent fair I hollered for the referee but Eddie Rogers were both referee and bookmaker and he had all his money on Wild Wright. I were your only pickerupper so I judged it were against the rules for me to punch which is why I kicked Wright in the knees. Jesus! You should of seen Wild’s eyes he could not believe my cheek the crowds was going mad your ma were barracking me and the fight had not even begun.

Rogers made the scratch with his walking stick and both of you faced off across the line. You already had blood running down into your eyes. Wild had an inch or more in height and he had the weight he were the Fancy of the proddy punters of that there is no adjectival question.

Wright were as effing mad as a snake there were nothing he would not do to win he were the strongest but if the truth be told he were a mite slow and clumsy.

Rogers dropped his spotted handkerchief and then it were on you struck 3 blows in fewer seconds. Wright staggered back on his heels and you should of heard the proddies screaming to see their mighty hero fall it were an effing war. Old Rogers had organised green and orange ribbons thinking it would be a certain victory for the Orangemen. Your ma were 1/2 beside herself shouting to the crowd that her son would deal with them as well. In the middle of the fight you grinned at her that brought some colour to her cheeks. When you strolled up to Wright you was still grinning at your ma then you knocked the b––––r down as easy as if he was a sleeping cow.

Bill Skilling nearly wet himself he were so pleased he picked up your ma and shook her in the air.

Wild were trying to rise he knocked his pickerupper away and come back to the scratch. You got inside his reach again but this time he collected you underneath the chin and as your jaw clacked shut you fell but your eyes was still wide open. The pair of you went down together though you were up the 1st.

Wright’s weakness were his speed yours were your reach. In the 4th round you aimed a mighty blow at his bull neck but failed the length whereupon he struck you an adjectival whack across the brow. You fell.

Round after round it went with 30 sec. rest when either party was knocked down. The rain picked up but no one went inside. Soon you both needed the assistance of your pickerupper and you was heavy in my arms your woollen singlet were sodden with rain or sweat I don’t know which and Wild Wright were faring not much better. I never saw men so weary.

Eddie Rogers circled the 2 of you with his hands behind his back his nose stuck forward squinting like you was a balance sheet and he didnt know if he were rich or bankrupt.

Wild Wright come at you with his arms extended straight moving them up and down like an Eldorado battery he meant to crush you to the earth. You were watching him very wary indeed.

After you had ducked his punches 3 or 4 times Wild hollered to the mob that you was yellow. Dummy were pushing in and out of the crowd and now he begun to make an unholy din. This brought your ma back into it and she were screaming at you to kill Wild Wright.

The fight were slow the grass long since tore up and stirred to mud by this time and you were both bogged down in a heavy sort of punishment. When I picked you up your hands was a mess of blood and snot slimy and slippery like a beast just skun and slaughtered. Soon the wind came up and with it a dose of soaking rain Wild looked stooped and crumpled but to you the rain seemed a refreshment.

Wild were now slow and heavy while you was fast you hit his head he fell you hit his eye he fell again. The proddies’ cheering become fainter Dummy were whimpering but your mother looked very pleased sitting bolt upright beneath Bill Skilling’s umbrella her hands folded in her lap.

Wild’s pickerupper had to carry his man to the scratch but he done no more than stand there swaying.

You said Now we’re square.

Then you emphasised them sentiments with a punch that straightened Wild’s spine and sent him crashing to the ground.

A blind man could see Wild Wright were done as a dinner but his pickerupper were a proddy so he dragged his hero’s body to the scratch and lifted him up all 16 stone of him. Bill Skilling were crying for you to top him off but you only pushed and Wild Wright fell down most thoroughly defeated.

Then a great howl come from the crowd and Dummy broke into the arena to take a swing at you but his eyes was mad with disbelief and terror. He lay upon his brother fully clothed down in the mire and no one dare go near him.

Tom Lloyd were there that day also Bill Skilling and your ma and Maggie I didnt know Steve Hart at the time. Having placed no bets we had no winnings but we escorted you through the streets of Beechworth straight to Ryan’s Hotel. On that day you was Jesus Christ Almighty even Father Duffy come to worship you.

As a result of winning the fight I become what is known as popular which were even worse than being hated as a traitor though the conditions was in many ways identical. Now every drunken fool thought he must fight the Great Champeen and take away his crown.

There is no pleasure in fighting either drunks or pimply boys and I resolved to live very quiet indeed I done my labour at the sawmill drawing my weekly wage and keeping from the pubs and racetracks you can ask my workmates they will tell you what a retiring chap I were. This does not mean a complete hermit many is the happy hour I spent with Tom Lloyd as we bought and sold horses but everything were on the up and up and I maintained the receipts of every beast we purchased. I had also made a friend of Wild Wright though he were soon arrested for Receiving and earned 3 yr. in Beechworth Gaol.

Joe Byrne come calling as well and once he realised how peaceful I were living life he brung me tobacco and when I said I didnt smoke he give me a book. If you seen Joe Byrne in a Beechworth pub you would never take him for a scholar you might note instead his restless limbs his wild and dangerous eye it could cut right through you like a knife. This same Joe Byrne sat me down on a log and opened up his book his hard square hands were very gentle on them pages.

Shutup Ned and listen.

So were I introduced to John Ridd the hero of the book called LORNA DOONE. I sat on a slippery debarked log at Killawarra but my eyes was seeing things from centuries before I were witness to a mighty fight between John Ridd and another boy as soon as John won he discovered his father were murdered by the Doones.

John Ridd lost his da at the exact same age I lost my own. He were a champion wrestler but tired of hearing about it often longing to be smaller. So even before I met with Lorna herself I liked this book as well as ice cream ipso facto it is proven that Joe Byrne the so called CRIMINAL were a better schoolmaster than Mr Irving who taught me how to make the ink without the pleasure of its use.

In 2 blessed yr. of peace I read LORNA DOONE 3 times I also read some Bible and some poems of William Shakespeare. I had no interest in the world outside least of all my family. While George King prospered as a horse thief I would not go near Eleven Mile Creek. It were not until the spring of that year I opened my eyes sufficient to see what had become of my brother Dan and what happened then I will tell you at another time. It were the end of my quiet life that is for sure.

PARCEL EIGHT

24 Years

Eighty unbound quarto sheets of medium stock. Heavy foxing, stains and water damage, but still very legible.

Much of the material concerns an alleged slander by
Mr Whitty relating to stolen stock. Dan Kelly’s changed
character described, also his conflict with Constable Flood
and the ensuing flight to the Wombat Ranges, where an
outlaw gang incubates. Some background concerning Steve
Hart’s transvestism. Kelly’s meeting with Fitzpatrick and his
introduction to Mary Hearn, certainly the M.H. of Parcel 2.
Mrs Kelly’s hostility towards Mary Hearn and the author’s
explosive response to George King’s earlier behaviour. Pages
describing the shooting of Constable Fitzpatrick are much
revised by a second hand reliably presumed to be that of Joe
Byrne.

WHAT WITH BABIES & HUSBANDS
to keep Mother busy Dan had to grow himself up alone & soon found a 2nd family of young men they was known as the Greta Mob. He now travelled the dusty plains in a great noisy crowd he drank and he smoked though I don’t know how he paid for any of it because it is a fact he never worked for wages. He certainly could not afford to dress himself and he wore clothes previously abandoned by myself. Sometimes he persuaded Maggie or Kate to take up his cuffs or shorten sleeves etc. but as one year led to another they was ever more out of temper with him and by the time I come to pay attention my brother had become a scarecrow.

It were payday I were on the upstairs veranda of O’Brien’s Hotel giving Tom Lloyd £2 which was owed for the servicing of certain mares. Soon we heard a drumming of hooves then a great mob of riders racing down the main street from the direction of Moyhu they pulled up outside the pub with much hooing and hahing the horses was snorting and whinnying the riders dressed very flash like desperadoes their hat straps beneath their noses and coloured sashes round their waists. Their mascot were none other than 16 yr. old Dan Kelly they had provided him a new red sash to wear round his middle.

As I watched from above my brother slid off his saddle and fell like a raggy doll into the dirt then a great cheer went up Good on you Dan good old Dan.

The tight faced boy saluted his admirers by throwing up violently in front of them. I ran down stairs and found him spitting and cursing and weaving round the road.

Then he saw me.

Kelly versus Kelly cried he roll up Kelly versus adjectival Kelly now.

If he was promoting this fight to keep his mates’ interest the effort were wasted for in the time it took for him to draw the scratch his companions had walked their horses into O’Brien’s yard.

To see him spoiled and abandoned it broke my heart.

I come towards him with Christian intentions but as I arrived at the scratch he swung a punch I easily ducked it but he irritated me & I clamped my hand firmly on his bony shoulder to escort him down the road. I had planned walking to old Mrs Danaher’s house that were safe territory for us but as we passed the Police Station he slipped out of his coat and begun ducking and weaving it were a very stupid place for such a dance. Not 10 yd. away I could see a pair of highly polished boots resting on the veranda rail. Hall had been transferred but a successor were now lurking.

I can thrash youse Dan shouted come on come on.

He suddenly swung and I blocked him gathering him by his scrawny wrist. Shush I said and I saw the copper’s boots withdraw into the shade. The traps is watching.

You b– – – – – d cried he what do you care what happens to me? Why don’t you eff off back to your adjectival sawmill?

Fearing we was both in danger of arrest I got his coat over his head and backed up against a gum tree he were soft and squirrelly like some big slippery fish.

I heard Cons Farrell call something then Sergeant Hogan come out the door and stood surveying us with his thumbs tucked in his braces. Fatnecked Farrell were running his hand through his ginger hair he made me think of a hotel cat with its tail swishing back and forth.

What is we doing here says Dan.

Shutup you just wait.

Mum’s the word said my brother turning his drunk attention to the sugar ants moving in and out of the untidy bark after a while he began to slowly unwind his sash.

O Ned said he I’m such a fool.

It took a moment to realise he were not apologising for his attack he were upset to see his precious sash were soiled with vomit. Now he unwound the whole 6 ft. of it he were as weepy as a girl with a gravy stain on her ballgown. I told him I would wash the damn thing if that would make him happier.

You’ve got a girlfriend he sneered.

Observing Cons Farrell’s broad grin I pulled my brother to his feet and guided him along the street.

I see said Dan thats why you won’t come home you finally got yourself an adjectival tart.

Shutup.

You got a donah.

You know I aint got any girl Dan.

True said he your ma is your donah as everybody knows.

Shutup.

Hubba hubba Mamma is your girl.

The traps behind us was enjoying this conversation it would be spread round the township by the morning.

You got a grudge against George cause he married your girl.

The coppers dropped about a chain behind us but that was close enough to hear my brother declare George King a better horse thief than I would ever be.

When I jabbed him in the ribs he put his vomit mouth against my ear. Don’t panic cobber they didnt hear.

Button your effing lip.

He put the mouth back on my ear I did not like the slippery feel of it. Said he George can duff an effing mob of 20 horses without effing touching them. The b– – – – rs follow him.

I drew away but my little brother were as persistent as a hungry kitten.

George King has stole 500 horses and never been in adjectival gaol not even the effing lockup.

Not caring what George King done I marched my drunk brother up through Mrs Danaher’s orchard leaving the smirking Constables to go back to their roost so then we cut across Horan’s pasture which brought us back on the road beside the pub.

I told him Dan had to keep away from the mob and get himself some occupation. Though his crow black hair was falling in his eyes I know he were listening v. careful and so I offered to take him in as a partner dealing horses with me & Tom Lloyd.

Ned?

Yes Dan.

Lend me 10 bob will you.

I should of knocked him to the ground instead I opened my pay envelope and give him a 10/– note.

Don’t pee it all away give some to your mother.

It were the 1st time he smiled at me all day. Thank you Ned thank you very much you’ll have it back before you can say Jack Robertson.

I watched him lurch up onto the veranda to join his mates his long sleeves flapping his trousers dragging in the dirt a great cheer issuing forth as he entered.

These mates of his all talked a certain way and although their mouths was foul they was not criminals just young lads galloping to and fro to kill the time but from that day it were clear to me and Tom that the squatters would not tolerate my brother’s friends for long.

In a very bad year even the richest farmers was cutting down saplings to feed their stock they was pressed hard themselves and so harsher than usual to their poor neighbours. Through his connections in government the squatter Whitty had been permitted to rent the common ground and as a result a poor man could no longer find a place to feed his stock in all the drought stricken plains. If you set your horse grazing beside the govt. road it would be taken by Whitty’s drones and locked away in the pound. I have known 60 head of horses impounded in one day all of them belonging to poor farmers who was then required to leave their ploughing or harvest and travel to Oxley and when they got there perhaps they didnt have money to release them & so they would have to give a bill of sale or borrow money which is no easy matter.

By this time there was men so enraged by these abuses that they put the squatters’ oats under the torch in revenge but I continued my labour at the sawmill keeping my head in the ground like the proverbial ostrich until they finally charged Dan with having stole a saddle. I will not say he never stole a saddle but on this occasion he were innocent and so I returned to the Greta Police Station to defend him.

I begun to furnish Constable John Farrell with the explanation of why my young brother should not be charged but he interrupted when I had hardly started.

The police are sick of your criminal activity.

Whose activity mine?

No one else is present.

You must of confused me with someone else.

Are you Edward Kelly of Greta? He opened THE POLICE GAZETTE that proved I were wanted for the theft of a mare which were property of Henry Lydecker selector.

I said I never done it any more than Dan stole that saddle he should leave the poor people alone and look instead how the squatters made a game of the law getting the best land for themselves. I pointed out how Mr Whitty had used dummying and peacocking to illegally gain his holdings on the Fifteen Mile Creek.

O I suppose we are picking on you he sneered. At that time I didnt know the policeman were Mr Whitty’s son in law.

As a consequence of this false accusation against me I lost a day’s wages while attending Oxley Police and another day’s wages when the case were brought to court in Benalla where Mr Lydecker swore I never took his mare. Of course they had no choice but to acquit me.

I were grateful to Mr Lydecker for his words on my behalf and when I found a wild scrub bull I roped it and brung it to him as a gift. Whitty heard about this bull and of course decided that if a Kelly had give away a bull then it followed the bull must be stolen furthermore the legal owner must be Mr Whitty. I heard from many people I had stole this bull and would soon be charged for it.

I continued my work at the mill never knowing what day I might be summonsed. No charge were laid.

When Dan come to trial I took the day off to go with him to court. After he were declared innocent we went to the Moyhu Races where Mr Whitty were pointed out to me he were in the company of R.R. McBean and others.

I introduced myself.

Am I meant to know you said he looking at me like I were nothing but a tinker.

O you must know me Mr Whitty. I were very polite.

No said he I don’t know you at all.

When the coward rudely turned away I continued speaking. But I hear you’re saying that I stole your bull.

Whitty revealed that wild mad eye you see the 1st time a brumby feels a saddle on his back. You were misinformed Kelly.

O I don’t think so Mr Whitty.

He then admitted he lost a bull which were later found but he had never blamed me for stealing it. He said his son in law Cons Farrell told him Ned Kelly had stole the bull then sold it.

I was happy to have cleared my name but next week I learned that Whitty were now accusing me of stealing a mob of his calves. I could of taught him a lesson then but did not.

Finally our mares in foal strayed onto the common land so the mongrel Whitty impounded them. Now Tom and me had fed them horses at great expense paid for the stallion and otherwise invested considerable funds. When Whitty locked them in the pound I decided to show him he did not own this earth. I didnt burn his oats or nothing all I done were break the lock at the Oxley Pound and take back what I legally owned this did not seem a crime to me not then or now.

The very next day my brother Dan were ambling peacefully through Oxley township he were dragged from his horse by Cons Flood then frog-marched into the laundry of the Police Camp where the cowardly Flood threatened to plunge his face into the boiling sheets. The same Cons Flood that seduced our sister Annie now tortured my young brother until he pleaded for his life he scalded his arm he thrust his govt. revolver against Dan’s empty belly saying he would arrest him for stealing horses from the pound.

Dan pleaded he were innocent.

Said Flood I will see those mares back in the pound by tomorrow morning or there will be an adjectival war with you the 1st to fall. Then he set Dan loose.

I did not know it yet but this were to be my last day of paid labour it were noon which is dinner time at the sawmill so I were sitting with my mug of tea while the cook laid out the tucker table that is a sheet of canvas spread upon the ground. I saw a mighty cloud of dust and at its lead were my young brother he come galloping right into the yard scattering bark and dirt across the fresh baked yeast bread there are few greater offences in the bush.

I rose to greet him steering him and his mount away from the meal but even before he spoke I could see his injury not only on the arm which were already red and blistered but also the eyes. All the bluster had been leached away it were a dreadful thing to see.

He explained his injury also reported Flood’s threat and I wondered who could be so stupid to think they could hurt my family without no fear of justice. Dan were my little brother flesh & blood I sat him on a log to dress his burn with butter then fetched a slice of yeast bread spreading it thick with golden syrup and finally I give him a good feed of lamb stew.