Story and Photograph by Warrigal Mirriyuula

 

Chook Fowler started the day at the Central School. Best to get it out of the way early. That way he wouldn’t be able to concoct an excuse to put it off again.

As he walked across the hall after his introduction, the children all sitting cross legged on the floor, his uniform was doing all the work. The children seemed caught up in an uncertain expectation. It wasn’t everyday that a policeman came to assembly.

He stood on the low podium in front of the children, his tunic buttons glinting under the lights. Using his best policeman’s serious voice he said in a rather too stentorian tone for his young audience, “You headmaster has brought a matter to my attention that I feel must be dealt with swiftly.” conveniently sidestepping the fact that he’d been putting it off for a fortnight as not germane to his current purpose.

“Some of you are behaving like guttersnipes!”

A crash of thunder shook the assembly hall. That seemed to surprise them. He fixed the Kinders at the front in his steely gaze and looked along the entire row. Several of the children squirmed uncomfortably and twisted their little fingers together, their mouths slackly open, their eyes widening as another crack shook the window sashes.

“There have been complaints that some of you, an untidy and irresponsible minority, are throwing your lunch scraps anywhere it suits you, including over Mrs. Bell’s back fence.” Fowler’s eyes immediately darted to the little group of fifth class students, already singled out as the culprits. “It’s unsanitary, encourages vermin and worst of all, Mrs. Bell’s cat “Tinker” fell ill!” Young cat lovers throughout the hall began to scan the room for the culprit but Fowler was now looking directly at young George Cassimaty.

“She had to take it the vet. Cats aren’t supposed to eat salami and fetta cheese. Nor are they likely to thrive on olives, or bread. It blocks them up and they can’t do their business.” The children began to snicker. The stern police sergeant was talking about cats pooing.

“This sort of behaviour has got to stop right away.” Fowler said forcefully.

The children, thinking he meant the snickering, all fell instantly silent. Fowler, surprised by the sudden quiet, having thought just a moment ago that he may have lost his audience to uncontrollable scatological sniggering, recovered and went on, “The school has bins in the playground for that sort of thing and if I hear any more reports of this thoughtless behaviour, I’ll be back, and it’ll be “Goodnight Irene” for the untidy little beggars responsible.” Another shiver of uncertainty rippled through the hall as Fowler covered the room with his hard policeman’s stare.

That should do it, thought Fowler as he turned, and with a wink thanked the headmaster for “this opportunity”. The good-natured sarcasm was lost on the Head who had replied graciously, “Any time.” as Fowler walked from the hall.

George’s guilt kept him thinking. Mrs. Bell was a cranky old stick. It was only the brave that went over her fence to fetch a lost ball. She’d fly out of her back door faster than anyone her age had a right to, swinging her straw broom and threatening mayhem if you didn’t get out of her yard. She’d even turned the hose on him a couple of times when she’d caught him and his mates stealing the nectarines off her tree; but he didn’t want to hurt her cat. George liked cats and Tinker in particular.

George Cassimaty hung his head. All the kids had been doing it, but his was the only lunch with the menu described by the policeman in what George thought of as “the evidence”. Well him and his younger brother Paul, but Paul’s lunch box always went home empty. Paul had an enormous appetite and after Mum had made and packed the lunches for the boys Yaya always packed a little more for Paul; he was a growing boy she said. His mother, the junior Mrs. Cassimaty, was hoping that he might stop growing, around the middle. Young Paul certainly wasn’t little Paul and her elderly mother in law wasn’t helping by packing his lunch box with extra sweet Greek treats.

George felt the beginnings of an uncomfortable obligation begin to stir in him. It wasn’t as if he could hide from his responsibility as part of his little gang of mates. It hadn’t been their lunch scraps that made Tinker sick. He’d have to go and apologise to Mrs. Bell personally. He heard his father saying, “A good man admits his mistakes and makes amends.” George would have to go and make amends with Mrs. Bell. Finding the courage to take the first step, that was going to be the real problem.

Downtown a shop assistant tore off a good length of brown paper from the roll by the big brass cash register and wrapped Beryl’s purchases, sticking the large package down with broad sticky-tape. Porky had promised to teach Little Bill how to swim this summer so she and Clarrie had decided to get the little fellow a new pair of trunks, some flippers and goggles and a snorkel. It would be his big gift from Santa at Christmas. Beryl pushed the package down into her shopping trolley and, standing up on tiptoe and turning, she spied Alice over in Ladies Apparel and Accessories. Alice wanted a new pair of walking out gloves to go with the new summer hat she had bought in Orange a few weeks ago. As Beryl came over Alice was adjusting and admiring some new seasons cotton gloves in a mirror at the counter. Beryl stood by wondering whether she too needed a new pair of gloves and as she tried to make up her mind her eye strayed to a display that featured an elegant clear perspex arm dressed in an equally elegant silk and lace opera glove. The wrist was dripping with sparkling rhinestones. Beryl began to titter behind her hand.

“I’m sorry Alice. I’m not laughing at your choice,” Beryl said still chuckling, “they’re lovely.” she said indicating the gloves Alice was admiring in the mirror. Beryl flapped her other hand at the opera glove as she tried to explain and laugh at the same time, “It’s just that I can’t imagine for the life of me who in Molong would want opera gloves.”

Alice nodded assent but was still bound up in deciding between two different pairs of gloves.

While Alice tried to make up her mind the absurdity of the display got Beryl thinking. When it was all said and done gloves on women, particularly in the summer heat of Molong, was just another of those incredibly silly things forced on women by social convention. Out here in the country gloves were something you put on to protect your hands from the damage of hard work or against the bitter mid winter cold, not something to satisfy some unwritten social code. The Women’s Weekly idea that a woman wasn’t properly dressed if she appeared in public with out a hat and gloves and her handbag looped over the crook of her left elbow; well it was too silly; like the notion that only a certain kind of woman wore trousers. Beryl decided then and there that she’d never buy a pair of dress gloves again. Let the ladies at the CWA stare and tut under their breath. Beryl knew how good her scones were and her dark marmalade was admired at many breakfast tables around Molong. Beryl could hold her own and the CWA ladies would just have to get used to it.

Alice had been distracted all morning and finally decided she wasn’t in the right frame of mind for choosing gloves. She pulled them off finger by finger and handed them back to the assistant who enquired whether there was anything else she could help “Madam” with.

“Actually it’s Miss,” said Alice, as though somehow she had only just woken up to this seemingly incongruous fact, “and no, there ‘s nothing more I want.” though of course there was a great deal she wanted if only she could work out what it was and how to get it.

Alice turned to Beryl, “You know Bee, I think I’ve had just about enough of gloves for today. Let’s go and have our tea.” She turned and thanked the shop assistant who had already retired to lean on the cabinet at the back of the counter, her face assuming the bored teenage indifference of the universal shop assistant.

“Hhmmm.” said Alice disapprovingly, then hooked her right arm around Alice’s left elbow and they walked out of the store like two schoolgirls. Outside The Western Stores the rain was belting down on Bank Street so Alice and Beryl got out their brollies and dashed up the street towards the Telegraph, Beryl’s shopping trolley bouncing along behind.

Alice pulled on Beryl’s arm as they came under Jimmy Hang Sing’s awning. “Just wait a moment”, Alice said, indicating the two men sitting in the rain slicked, glistening green Humber pulled up outside the Telegraph next door. It was Doc and that funny German Gruber come for lunch. Alice pulled Beryl into Jimmy’s doorway.

Beryl saw the men and then turned to her friend and said, “You really must sort this out Alice. You can’t go on like this, you work with the man nearly every day.” Alice, embarrassed, turned her head away. Beryl gently laid a finger on Alice’s chin and turned Alice’s face to look into her eyes. “To be frank with you, I’m almost certain that you unsettle him as much as he does you.” Beryl smiled an encouraging smile. “Doc’s never going to make the first move. He thinks of himself as a lifelong bachelor, not the marrying kind. All that flirty ladies man palaver is just to cover his loneliness. I’m certain of it.” Beryl looked straight into Alice’s eyes. She was her best friend and apart from Clarrie and her Mum, Alice was the only other person Beryl felt she could share her most intimate thoughts and dreams with. If Alice and Doc could have a tenth of what she and Clarrie shared she’d be a lucky woman. “You really must tell him how you feel.”

Alice looked stricken. “But I don’t really know how I feel!” Alice exclaimed biting her bottom lip. She was disappointed with herself. A grown woman so discombobulated by a mere man; but then Doc wasn’t just any man. Alice let go a huge sigh.

The men got out of the car, jumped the streaming gutter, shook their coats off under the pub verandah and went inside, so Alice and Beryl stepped out of Jimmy’s doorway, finally entering the pub by way of the carriageway and the back stairs. In a few minutes the kettle was on in the kitchen and Doc and Gruber were seated in the Dining Room going over Mrs. Delahunty’s bill of fare.

This was going to turn out to be a very interesting lunch for them all.