Chapter 14. The Chrome-plated Air Cleaners; and Swapping Thongs For Boots
A few days earlier – at about the time Tyler was visiting the Mines Department in Alice Springs – Jack Cadney had fired up his cobbled-together Holden Premier station wagon and taken his wife Angelica to the Community store for their weekly shopping. Until recently they’d been driving a Toyota Troop Carrier but now they were using their old Holden again, as a month or so prior to Tyler and Watts’ Marshall Bar trip Cadney had sold it.
In no way whatever was Angelica happy about this. She’d informed him of it, too, on finding him some four hours later – dozing out of sight as he’d been behind the Council workshop. It was older than they were, she’d screamed angrily, listing between hits with a mop handle both his own and the car’s shortcomings.
…Only a year older, he’d assured himself, fending off the blows. And sure it wasn’t perfect but it was usually pretty reliable – most of the time. Certainly it was nothing like she was trying to make out.
The car in question was, in the main, a 1977 six-cylinder HZ station wagon manual. Its engine and gearbox were to some extent original, while mismatched parts and multi-hued body panels comprised the remainder – all of which had been bought, swapped or stolen from various wrecks Cadney had encountered during his travels. But he’d never managed to sell it so much still needed doing for completion – even as a “Jack Cadney Bushmobile Special”.
On the credit side (as he’d tactfully refrained from pointing out at the time), were its excellent brakes and the chrome plated twin competition-type air cleaners he’d fitted after a trip to town.
Yes, its tyres were nearly bald and yes, the shockies were buggered – those still there, anyway – and the saggy front seats were padded up with old blankets. But all this was fixable, as was the oil leak and the constant whine from the diff. All in good time.
Also fixable in time was the interesting and clever arrangement of fencing wire Cadney had put in place as a means of holding the forward end of the engine in approximate position.
This had been fitted eleven days after the Troop Carrier’s departure, the result of an accident while out hunting. He’d been chasing a wounded roo through the bush at the time and in the heat of the moment missed seeing a sizeable gutter. The car had slammed to a halt but the engine kept going, torn from its aged engine mounts and propelled through the radiator by its own considerable inertia.
Wanting to have the car mobile again as soon as possible, Cadney had organized for its recovery the next morning ― after first walking the twenty or so kilometres back to the community and consulting the clinic nurse after hours.
Over the following days he’d raided a number of wrecks in the graveyard for parts to rebuild the front assembly, then patched-up his last half-salvageable Holden radiator. He’d also turned the Community upside down looking for useable engine mounts, but had only been able to find a rear one, so, as a temporary measure, he’d put the engine back onto the broken front rubbers.
To hold it in place he’d wound-in a length of wire each side then twisted each winding into a multi-stranded restraint. The results were pretty ugly but they worked surprisingly well, given he’d only wanted the car useable until acquiring new ones. And by the time he’d finished and the Holden was going again the stitches had nearly healed and most of his facial bruising was gone.
In fact repairing and rebuilding cars like this came easy to Jack Cadney. He’d been doing it since he was sixteen, initially by “acquiring” parts from roadside wrecks. Now it was his livelihood, with his rebuilt cars being their main source of income.
Most were sold via a deposit before completion, though periods between follow-up payments could sometimes be lengthy. This was a problem inherent to the business, however.
In between times Cadney kept food on the table by doing repair work for others. And when a car was ready he and Angelica would usually test-drive it until the buyer returned with the balance, something which sometimes ran into months.
Not so with the Troopie, however. That went inside a fort-night. This was long enough, though, as by then Angelica was in love with it. Besides being unstoppable it had status and a bit of class, and she’d argued loud and vehemently to keep it.
Cadney’s hands were tied, however. He’d taken a sizeable deposit when putting it together, and when the buyer returned unexpectedly with the balance he’d had no choice but to hand it over. —Hastily, too, while his darling wife was napping.
A short time later Angelica had woken to find the Troopie gone, and Cadney (not surprisingly), nowhere to be found.
Incoherent with rage she’d taken a steel fence picket to the Holden’s windscreen, then skewered the bar through the radiator a few times and left it there. Cadney had replaced the radiator and removed the shattered glass, but then came the accident.
Now it was going again (in a sense), but with no windscreen and a radiator retrieved from his scrap metal heap. His current problem, however, was Angelica’s seeming forgiveness of earlier. This had now become an on-again off-again affair, with today being a “cross and not speaking” day. Such being the case, he’d remained behind the wheel rather than joining her in the shop.
While Angelica was waiting at the checkout the store manager came out of the office with a portable phone. Margaret Papa was her name; there was a call for Cadney, she said.
Angelica went to the door and waved the hand piece, then gave it to one of the children to hold and returned to the queue.
On answering it Cadney found the Harts Range Policeman on the line. He’d be there around ten-thirty tomorrow morning, he said, and was making sure Cadney would be at home.
Cadney explained that he’d promised his mother a kangaroo, but assured the officer he’d set off early and be back on time. “Why? What’s it about?” he enquired.
“You’ll find out when I get there,” came the reply – a little ominously, Cadney thought. He reviewed the recent past. Nothing obvious came to mind. —Well, except for the…
Naaah. Frazier would’ve been here ages ago if it were that.
Sunrise found Cadney was on the move. After a quick mug of tea and some breakfast he’d fired up the old station wagon and headed for the Bonya Plain. Ten past ten saw him home again, a load of firewood in the rear topped by two fat kangaroo bucks. On the roof rack was more wood, roped down tight.
Near the back of Cadney’s yard was a claypan. After a successful hunt he often detoured there to do a few howling donut-wheelies, so heralding the return of the mighty hunter. This time he’d driven directly to his mother’s place, however – sedately, in second gear with the engine idling. And all the while from the car’s rear there’d come a curious crunkle a-crunkling sound.
The reason for this was the second flat tyre he’d suffered while returning home. His best spare had replaced the first one but the second spare was flat, so rather than stop to mend one he’d kept driving so as to be back at ten-thirty as promised.
By the time he’d arrived the tyre had been chewed to pieces and most of it thrown from the rim, after which the rim’s flanges had become flattened-out, much like a crude roller.
Cadney wasn’t overly concerned. The tyre had been bald anyway and there were plenty more rims. As a result he’d trundled through the Community trailing numerous dogs and small children, all barking or laughing at the tyreless back wheel and the strange sounding noise it was making.
In Magdalena’s yard they began to catch up. “Get out of it you ratbag kids or I’ll give y’se all a good flogging!” he shouted in language as he went to the rear of the car. Sticks, stones and assorted dry mud clods filled the air as the children scattered, shrieking with laughter.
He glared after them, dodged a couple of late-arriving missiles then dragged out the kangaroos and threw them onto his mother’s veranda – one each for her and Twofoot Jack. Magdalena would cook them both in the one fire pit, the reason for bringing so much wood.
Unloading completed
, Cadney reversed the Holden out onto the street then set off slowly back to his own house.
As he drove away Magdelena’s three dogs and a couple of strays began investigating the carcasses. Then a fight suddenly erupted and Magdalena burst from the laundry screaming abuse. She grabbed a piece of wood and hurled it into the melee. One of the dogs yelped and limped away; the rest scattered as she reached for another.
At ten thirty-seven the police wagon swung into Jack Cadney’s driveway. Cadney was waiting on his veranda, sitting back in a plastic chair watching a pair of hawks idly circling in a thermal. Frazier switched off the engine and stepped out. As he walked toward the house he noticed the Holden’s lack of windscreen and its dripping radiator, and on coming to the flattened-out tyreless rim he stopped to stare in amazement.
“Why don’t you give up on it?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief as Cadney walked over to greet him. “You could do a lot better than this old wreck, I’m sure.”
Cadney was trying to gauge the policeman’s mood. “HZ Holdens are tough as tanks, mate,” he answered brightly. “You can’t kill ‘em and there’s plenty of spares around. Course I might think different when I run out of parts. —So how y’ been keeping?”
Frazier waved his hand dismissively and muttered something Cadney didn’t catch. This seemed promising, he thought; the copper didn’t seem too unfriendly. His suggestion of boiling the billy was declined, however. Instead it was straight down to business as the policeman explained why he was there.
“Yesterday afternoon the pilot of a light aircraft travelling from Alice Springs to Mt Isa reported what appeared to be an abandoned vehicle in the desert country on west Tarlton Downs Station,” he said, “between the Jervois-Tarlton boundary fence and the Arthur Creek. She estimated it to be six or eight kilometres north of the Plenty Highway.
“The car was still there when she returned to Alice Springs later in the day, so she flew a low level circuit around it. When she saw no sign of activity she radioed Alice Springs Flight Service and asked them to advise the Police of its co-ordinates.
“My orders are to check it out,” Frazier explained, “but I’m on my own; my Aboriginal Police Aid is at Santa Teresa on tribal business. I just dropped in on the off chance you might take an honest job for a change instead of dudding half the bloody countryside with your clapped-out cars.”
This was vintage Rick Frazier, Cadney thought happily; just as he remembered the man. He’d put in three years as Frazier’s Police Aid cum Tracker and knew the officer’s style. They’d made a good team and had worked together well.
The extra cash would help, too, with buying parts for the Holden. He signalled his agreement then headed inside to swap his thongs for boots.
Frazier returned to the wagon. He needed to move his car fridge and tuckerbox to the rear cage. The fridge was occupying the passenger’s seat and the tuckerbox was on the floor.
By the time Cadney came out again the policeman was sitting behind the wheel, engine running and ready to go.
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