‘About four o’clock, maybe.’
‘There’s time, then. Come on, come with me.’ Throwing off her apron, she led him outside.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To spend some of your winnings,’ she answered without looking at him.
Toby soon guessed they were heading for the main street. When they reached the general store, the laughter of drunken men drifted across from Bow’s Hotel. He turned around to glimpse his mother’s back disappearing into the store.
What’s she so eager to buy, he wondered. And why did Toby have to come with her? He followed her inside to find out.
‘Shoes!’ he said, too loudly. He looked down at the boots on his feet. His toe poked through the top of one and they were stuffed with rags to stop his feet slipping about inside them. ‘These are all I need. What do I need new ones for?’
‘To wear in church,’ his mother announced.
‘Me! In church.’ He had more to say about this, but his mother cut him off.
‘Stop wailing like a cat, Toby. Let me explain. I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but Dr Ballow has found a girl to take my place. And now that we don’t have to worry . . .’ She stopped to check if anyone was listening, then decided not to mention the name at all. ‘What I’m saying is, Harry and I can get married tomorrow if we want and you’ll need shoes when you come with us to the church.’
When the Thompsons left the store half an hour later, Toby was wearing his new shoes. They were the right size for his feet, but stiff and already he could feel blisters forming at his heel. He was too pleased for his mother to complain.
‘Toby, there’s another reason you need those shoes,’ she said to him on the walk home. ‘Harry wants you to go to school.’
The next day was a Sunday. Toby was grateful his mother didn’t take him to church to try out his new shoes. The wedding was set for next week and he would wear them then – that was enough. Just to be sure, he left them at home while he waited for Robert outside the Anglican church. The two of them went down to the riverbank where the punt soon brought Sprout to join them, then all three sat on Queen’s Wharf to watch The Shamrock tie up after another voyage from Sydney.
‘There are a lot of new people coming,’ Robert commented, as the passengers disembarked.
‘More all the time,’ Toby replied. He hadn’t recognised any faces. Somehow he knew Beckman would be the only intruder from their past and he’d already gone back to the Darling Downs. He had left without Eagle, too – sold him quietly to make sure there’d be no fuss about ownership papers. Toby dreamed of buying him from the new owner. But Toby had other things on his mind, as well.
‘It’s not fair,’ he said, finally. ‘I won the race yesterday but I’m the one who’s losing out. Harry says I can’t ride in any more races and now I have to go to school as well. I won’t be able to roam around anymore, doing the things I like to do.’
‘At least I’ll have some company at Mr Wallace’s,’ said Robert. He hadn’t stopped smiling since Toby had told him the news.
‘Fine for you,’ Toby snapped in disgust. ‘What about Sprout, though? Next time he comes to town, he’ll have no one to do things with.’
Toby expected Sprout to agree, or to sympathise at least, but he had barely said a word since he stepped off the punt. Now he sighed and said, ‘I won’t be coming to visit from the Downs anymore. My parents are sending me away.’
‘What do you mean? Away to where?’ Toby asked.
‘To boarding school. There was a letter from the school waiting for Father at the post office. I have to use my real first name, too.’
‘What is it?’ asked Robert.
‘Montague.’
‘I can see why you prefer Sprout,’ said Toby.
‘You’ll always be Sprout to us,’ said Robert.
‘I start next year,’ Sprout muttered sadly. He nodded towards The Shamrock. ‘In a few months’ time, I’ll be on that boat, heading for Sydney.’
‘Moreton Bay used to be a prison,’ said Toby. ‘Now they send you to school for punishment instead.’
‘But you’ll still come home for holidays on The Shamrock, won’t you?’ said Toby. ‘That means stopping off here for a few days.’
Sprout’s face brightened. ‘Yes, that’s true. When you put it like that, I suppose we’ll get as much time together as before.’
‘Not too bad then,’ Robert concluded. ‘The gang will survive.’
Since The Shamrock now reminded them of Sprout’s fate, they left and wandered down the main street. Not that there was much for them to do there; even Bow’s was closed on Sundays.
‘What’s that on the wall?’ asked Sprout when they reached the hotel.
Toby saw that it was a notice of some kind. He left it to the others to read, because he couldn’t. He felt stupid not being able to read the notice. Maybe school wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
‘By order of Captain Wickham,’ Robert read in a voice meant to sound like a grown man. ‘Henceforth, horse races are outlawed in Brisbane Town. Participants will be liable for a ten pound fine or six weeks in prison.’
Toby wasn’t surprised. The constable had warned them this would happen. ‘Brisbane Town,’ he said with a sniff. ‘This place has always been Moreton Bay.’
‘Yeah, but that’s everywhere around here,’ said Robert. ‘I heard my father talking about it at dinner. The town needs a name of its own, so they’re going to call it after the river.’
To Toby, it was one more change that had crept up on him, without his even noticing.
‘Just as well you got to ride when you did, then,’ Sprout commented and Robert agreed, ‘Yeah, if it’s all banned from now on, then that makes you the winner of the last horse race, Toby.’
‘It won’t be the last race,’ said a voice from behind them. Unlike Robert’s, this was a genuine man’s voice.
Toby turned quickly to see Stan with his eyes fixed on the notice. Once he’d read to the end, he looked down at the boys. ‘That order just means we can’t run the horses through these streets anymore. Getting too dangerous, anyway, like yesterday, eh, Toby?’
‘The wagon,’ he said, smiling, even as a shiver of fear mixed in with the memory.
‘People have to have their fun, though,’ said Stan. ‘There was talk in the pub after the race yesterday. Some squatters want to build a course in New Farm. No more creeks and fences, then, and no more surprises when you gallop around the corner.’
‘Not much use to me,’ said Toby, with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘I’m not allowed to race anymore; my new father says so.’
‘Harry Kelso? Yes, I’d heard he was sweet on your mother. It’s a shame you’ll miss out, though. Those fat squatters will be looking for jockeys to ride in their place. Why don’t I speak to Harry for you? A proper course won’t be so dangerous.’
‘Would you?’
‘It’s a promise. Next time I see him in the street.’
With his words still playing in Toby’s ears, Stan set off. The boys did the same, but at a more leisurely speed, since they had nowhere in particular to go.
‘Did you hear Stan?’ Toby asked brightly.
His friends nodded. Sprout even slapped him gently on the back. ‘Maybe that wasn’t your last race, after all.’
‘What if Harry still says no?’ Robert asked.
But Sprout had an idea about this, too. ‘You know, Toby, we won’t always be boys. In a year or two, you’ll be your own man and not even a father can stop you riding then.’
Toby halted in his tracks, forcing the others to do the same. Sprout was right. ‘My own man,’ he whispered. ‘Sounds good to me.’ With a smile taking hold of his face, Toby Thompson starting walking again, towards a future that seemed more exciting than a few minutes ago. He was striding faster now, too, as though he was in a hurry to get there.
’ve lived in Brisbane for fifty years. When I was born my mother had only recently migrated from England and my father’s famil
y didn’t seem very interested in their history. They’d been told the first Moloney arrived in the 1880s to seek a better life, but whenever we tried to find out more we’d strike a brick wall. These days we think someone probably lied to hide a shameful past. Nowadays, having a convict ancestor is exciting, but until the 1960s it was something that people were embarrassed by and tried to cover up. The original Moloney might have been transported in the early 1800s and his grandchildren invented a ‘new’ family history to hide the truth.
If my great-grandfather did arrive in the 1880s he might have fled from Ireland owing lots of money, or he might have been escaping a wife he didn’t love any more. The best way to make sure no one found him was to change his name.
Because I haven’t been able to trace my own family james moloney’s adventures in history history, I’m really interested in the hidden stories of my hometown. As a boy, I can remember going to the cliffs at Kangaroo Point with a book of historical photographs taken of the city across the river. I tried to stand in the exact spot each picture was taken. Picking out the few buildings that remained among all the new ones gave me a buzz.
Only two buildings from Brisbane’s convict era still stand today, the commissariat and the tower of an old windmill. But after reading about the city’s past, I can never walk along Queen Street Mall without picking out where the original convict barracks stood or imagining Bow’s Hotel, where tough men challenged one another to horse races much like the one Toby wins.
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First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2014
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Text copyright © James Moloney, 2014
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Do You Dare? The Last Horse Race Page 9
