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The job of getting money together was more driven by Ernie to buy his ‘romance’ rather than my own lack of money. For me it was more of a dare and show of bravado and wanted to somehow make up for my well- known lack of spelling in swaggering around town with money in my pocket. Kelly would be impressed! Being young and having experienced the hot wiring of cars it wasn’t such a big career deal to step up to a next level. I should have stayed at school but they were confusing times and my younger brother had also been troubled by suddenly buckling while climbing the stairs to our bedroom. My parents seemed worried.
We took to climbing a fence of the factory where we knew electric fans were being made. Sauntering nonchalantly past the factory earlier, we had seen the truck being full of the fans. The padlocked gate was easily prised with the jemmy bar. What wasn’t so easy to prise open were the jaws of the Rottweiler which, soon after, clamped itself on Ernie’s jacket, determined not to let go till the guard arrived with gun drawn. This snarling monster-dog was trained to remain out of sight till a penetration was made inside its perimeter. I reckoned the Rottweiler took a fancy to Ernie, possibly could smell the Bull Terrier on him. How fortuitous for me! We were opening the latch of the truck and admiring the boxes of fans when the snarling dog came upon us. The temerity of the guard to lock us then up inside the truck with fans was an insult not lost to me while pondering the time inside.
Still, I did not lie in Court, confessed all and was duly sentenced. Mum crying on Aunt Bellum’s shoulder. Dad hugged me and said, “don’t add anymore to our worries, you brother is getting a wasting sickness…” “Do your best in jail and write to us”. “At least you told the truth, didn’t fib like Ernie”. Ernie’s plight did not bring him any ‘romance. Instead he got 3 years, no parole. He had pinched the pistol from his dad’s shooting club. Dad and Ernie used to go pig shooting at the back of Macquarie Marshes with the help of a totally disinterested and untrained bull terrier. Ernie used to run with the dog in his arms while dad trained his rifle on the wild pig. The bull terrier just refused to engage in pigs, preferred to get stuck into the German Sheppard across the road instead.
(to be continued.)
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 
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Such an engaging and moving story, Gez. This is linked with your previous yarn about spitting ripples, as I recall the expression and alegedly (leastwise for the purposes of the story) not being able to spell. Out of your genre as I am used to it that is, regards how far I have read of this massive amount of writing and art illustration assembled here.
I balked at f’ortuitous’, although have set it aside for further reflection, if it is more of the genesis of this story and its aftermath is told. I think a very successful yarn from the sensitivity of its telling, the ‘voice’ is so real, so sweet. I am standing in an alcove of the locked door of the public library with the laptop balanced on the domestic rubbish bin converted to a ‘Library Returns’, and you got me in so the sound of passing traffic and squeak of a parent catching the last light swinging their small child became far off as, eventually, Ernie ran with the dog in his arms.
Lovely experience. Worth the walk, well rugged up, to drop in for a look see. Many thanks, kind sir.
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I see.
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yog
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Mmmm…’the wasting disease’ surely Duchenne’s Muscular Dystrophy?
Buying romance, dogs that won’t do what they’re trained to do, kids gone orff the rails…too much like real life!
Nice assemblage of words, Gerard.
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You are right. A tragic story that afflict only boys and men but women are the carriers.
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Wise dog
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