When she announced, she was in love with Allen my pride was hurt and I felt insecure. After all, Christine and I had been together nearly 20 years. In the heat of the moment I told her to stop seeing him and she flatly refused. I became aggressive and threatened drastic action to break up their promiscuous relationship.
So, as I was setting off one morning and noticed her speaking into the phone in hushed tones, I knew Allen would be on the other end and it riled me. I drove fast to his place, switching off the engine to coast silently to his front door, and burst in. He slammed the receiver down in surprise and went pale. ‘Were you speaking to Christine?’ He guiltily denied it. ‘Look, I know what’s going on and don’t mind you having an affair with her. Just don’t interfere with our daily existence.’ I left after a few harsh words, feeling he didn’t give a damn.
Then I found more clandestine paperwork. The blue diary was only part of the story. How long, I wondered, had Christine been using the Potts Point flat? My PI had closed his business but a woman advertising in Wyong came up with far more for $200. The lease was in the names of Mr and Mrs Durrall and had run for eight or nine years. Christine was ‘Mrs Durrall’. Mr Durrall was dark-haired, tall and in his mid-forties. I was most angry, not from a moral viewpoint, but a financial one. If I’d been Christine’s ponce, we’ d’ve not been scratching and scrapping from one day to the next. The investigator calculated ‘Mrs Durrall’ would’ve earned at least $1/2 million, enough to pay off the farm and clear our debts several times over. I confronted her. She coolly told me Durrall was a man I’d met at the garden centre, James York. He preferred the flat to a hotel for lovemaking sessions, and it became the location for all her sexual encounters. But her offer to meet with him took me aback. We had lunch. James wanted to be sure I wasn’t concerned about their intimacy. I pretended to be friendly and amicable but I was burning inside. Christine’s secret financial arrangements with him niggled at me. I didn’t care less about their bunk-ups.
Dean, Guy and Troy had their own ways of registering their disappointment in the woman who had been like a mother to them since they were toddlers, and had betrayed them. Troy went into silent shock and didn’t speak to anyone for a couple of days. Guy also fell into an introverted brooding silence. Dean was angry and expressed his emotions openly. He couldn’t understand what Christine saw in a man like Hall. Before Allen was a horse breaker he’d worked at the local abattoirs. Dean knew a man also employed there, who told Dean how Allen would borrow money off co-workers and then, when they asked for their cash back, would contemptuously point to his cheek and say, ‘Take it from that.’ The only way they could get their money back was by fighting him.
Allen never revealed that side of his personality to Christine. I’m sure he was very considerate, kind, loving and generous. He shared her empathy for horses. She was the centre of his attention, rather than on the periphery as she’d been in our household.
The boys never said anything, but I felt they blamed me for Christine leaving. I’m certainly guilty of not giving her adequate personal or sexual attention. My life was focused on the success of my sons. Still, I’d never really felt that Christine minded doing her own thing. And she was not the sort of person to complain.
About 10 days after she left, she came back—with a policeman. The pretext was to look for some of her gear, though she had in fact already taken the items. This happened a couple of times, the search always fruitless. I think she may well have been seeking the blue diary. She had obviously told police I may be violent. Also, she may have wanted public knowledge of the volatility between us. She ran over and killed a dog on one visit and didn’t seem to care. Cluistine had changed.
I was driving in the valley when her car approached. We exchanged rude gestures. But when I got home the police called to say she had reported me for stopping her car and making threats. I denied her ridiculous allegation.
I went to Roblea Park to get a dog, Yogi, she’d taken and discuss a fair distribution of property for an out-of-court settlement. It was harmonious until Allen turned up and told Christine not to cooperate and go for all she could get, dictating to her what she should demand. I saw his game—using her for his own gain. Back home, I scribbled a letter to him:
No wonder you fail as a human being as you did a boxer. People like you, who have fed dope to the young and who use alcohol to excuse their gutless attitude to life, can only expect the worst from life. You are a loser for life and much more is to come. It is only a pity that poor soul has got to be a part of your self-destruction. You are scum with no respect for anything or anybody.
I didn’t sign it; Allen and Christine would recognise the handwriting. A heavy load lifted from my chest when I posted it.
A few days later, I went to Wyong. On my way back, I called to see Allen. I wanted him to know there were no ill feelings. He was very nervous. I said, ‘There’s no sweat, mate.’ Allen looked relieved. That very evening I took him to McDonalds for dinner. I gave him $10 as he was broke; and I arranged to bring some bread round for his dogs the following afternoon.
Unfortunately the baker had no bread to spare, so I called to tell him. When I arrived, I tooted, and knocked on his front door and called out, but there was no response. Another vehicle swung into the driveway and pulled up in a cloud of dust.
Jim York sat in the driver’s seat and Christine, agitated, leapt out and reached through my window trying to grab my keys. She bit my hand when I tried to stop her. Next she wrenched the bonnet open and tugged at the ignition wires. I stepped out of my car and she threw a rock. It hit me in the ribs. Then she ran back to James’s car to zoom away. I was emotional and worried, so I rang the police from Allen’s house, saying I feared I was being set up and asking them to come round. Not 15 minutes later Allen and Christine, and James solo, drove in. As I walked over to Allen’s car, he told Christine, `Stay where you are. Do not get out of the car.’ What’s wrong with you, Allen? This is a change from last night. About the bread situation … ‘ Then the police arrived. They recommended leaving quietly as Christine was obviously trying to provoke me, and not pressing charges as publicity could hurt my sons.
Should it seem surprising Christine and James turned up at Allen’s, both men knew of the relationship Christine had with the other, and, to my understanding, accepted it. Apart from bedding Christine, I did wonder what the well-groomed businessman had in common with the rough horsebreaker. Christine later alleged in court that I punched her and tried to strangle her that day, but Mr York JP didn’t witness the events so her accusations were dismissed. She also alleged I made threats—`You’ve got a shock coming’ and ‘You’re both for it now, you’ll both go together, you’d better emigrate’ specifically.
Soon after; Christine went to live with Allen Hall. This was no surprise. I’d suspected she’d move in after the heat died down. I was beginning to come to terms with her absence. After all, our marriage had been under stress for a long time and it was a natural progression that she should eventually seek another more satisfying and fulfilling relationship.
It was harder to come to terms with Christine’s dishonesty and deceit. After she left, people wrote and phoned, saying I owed them large amounts of money. I couldn’t understand it at first. But I soon discovered these were debts run up by Christine while she’d been living with me. She’d been covering these up and part-paying them to pacify the shop owners. With all the money she’d been making through prostitution, it was unbelievable she had allowed such a situation to snowball. Over $4,000 with the feedplace down the road. A $5,000 grocery bill. Vet $6,000. I’m sure she’d been buying food for Hall, his animals and half the town and charging it to my account. Consequently I had to scrape and save to get money together because they were going to stick a ticket on my tractor and sell it. I had to fight in court to prevent some of my belongings being seized. Luckily, I won a reprieve.
Christine handed me an income-tax form every year to sign before she gave it to her accountant. I’d s
ign it. She’d take it away. When she left, I found she hadn’t submitted anything to the taxation department for four years. I couldn’t understand why the department had let it go so long. Then I found unopened letters containing income tax reminders and threats. I hired a tax agent who rough-estimated I owed the ATO around $150,000. I was thunderstruck. The agent said he’d see what he could do and kept the ATO at bay for 18 months while he unscrambled years of neglected paperwork. I was relieved when he told me I only owed $400.
Christine had lied about so much for so long. I remembered my mother’s words: ‘You can get to the bottom of a thief but you can never get to the bottom of a liar.’ But a lot of people were prepared to believe the tripe she was coming up with, and that hurt. She could assume a look of vulnerable wide-eyed innocence that gave no clue to her cunning and calculation. I was learning the hard way that she was dangerous to underestimate.
In November 1987 Dean was misbehaving, going out frequently with Kelly, refusing to cooperate at training. Tempers often flared and there were thunderous clashes. Dean packed his bags and he and Kelly rented a place on the Central Coast. He told reporters he was breaking the ‘hold’ I had over him. I was terribly upset. He returned to the farm every day to train and do chores, but was gaining weight and off peak fitness, and he had a title fight against a strong British and Commonwealth champion in a month. If he won he’d be No. 7 or 8 in the world, close enough to contend the heavyweight championship of the world perhaps. The fight had another, personal, significance for me: it was to be telecast. Family, friends and associates, as well as Wagstaff and Perkins, The Shadow, screws from half a dozen prisons and others who’d criticised me and said I’d amount to nothing, might see it. I wanted to show England I was succeeding.
Dean, Ian Batty and I met Denny Mansini at Heathrow and took a taxi to our hotel. I was excited about returning but a sadness crept in when I saw some of the changes, even those from the taxi window.
As we neared the hotel, our taxi pulled up at some traffic lights. I noticed a collection of people sitting on boxes in a doorway, waiting for a bus in the freezing cold. One was a woman in her mid forties. Her dishevelled clothing reflected hard times. My heart skipped a beat when I recognised Joan, albeit an older version lacking the peaches-and-cream complexion that had once swept me, off my feet. I considered asking the cab driver to pull over but the lights turned green and I decided against it. My relationship with Joan had ended on a sour note; it was best to move on.
Returning to England this time was certainly a sentimental journey. It was still several days before the fight, so I showed Dean where he was born in Wilberforce Road, and spoke to a neighbour who said that almost every child over the age of 12 in that street had been in trouble with the police.
Remembering Dean’s childhood brought back strong images of Gloria and our struggle to raise a large family in impoverished circumstances. I took Dean round to his old school and met some of his teachers. When we came out, I pointed across the road to some flats and said that was where Gloria and her parents lived when I was first dating her. Dean was eager to find out if his grandparents were still living there, so we knocked on the door. Gloria’s mum appeared and stood looking at Dean with her usual deadpan expression, at first trying to work out who this tall good-looking young man was. Then she recognised me and tensed up. She called her husband to the door. When I introduced their grandson to them, the atmosphere warmed up considerably and they invited us inside for a cup of tea.
During our conversation, I was stunned to found out that Gloria was still alive! For 14 years I’d believed she was dead! They told me that Gloria was still using the adopted name of Joy Murphy and was working as a double-decker bus driver in London. When I recovered from the initial shock, I had a good laugh remembering what a terrified driving pupil Gloria had been. I told Gloria’s parents I’d return with a photograph of all the boys. They were very proud to hear what champions they were.
Later that day I did some shopping and when I arrived back and entered the hotel lobby, I was surprised to see a well-dressed middle-aged woman embracing and kissing Dean. She was slim, bespectacled, with short curly blonde hair. When she turned towards me I noticed she had quite an attractive face which beamed happiness. Of course, it was Gloria! Dean was overwhelmed to meet his mother again. No doubt Gloria’s parents must have told her where we were staying. When Gloria saw me, she had an expectant look on her face, not sure how I’d react after all those years of separation. I didn’t know whether to feel happy, sad or angry; I nodded a greeting and we sat down together.
When Dean went away to fetch Gloria a cup of tea, Gloria asked, `Did you get rid of me?’ I gave her a perplexed look, not knowing what she meant. She tried again, ‘Are we still man and wife?’ I explained that I had divorced her some years ago and married Christine instead. I caught a fleeting look of disappointment on Gloria’s face. Then, when I mentioned that Christine and I had now separated, I’m sure I detected relief and hope. Maybe she wanted reconciliation? Gloria went on to explain that she was living with a man who was very good to her, though their relationship lacked a certain something.
For the next couple of days Gloria and Dean went around sightseeing together. She showed him where he grew up and the parks and playgrounds he played in as a toddler. They got on so well together that we soon made plans for Gloria to come out to Australia to meet up with the rest of her family.
It was soon time for Dean to step into the ring to fight against the black heavyweight, Horris Notice. Before the fight, I told Dean to cover up well during the early rounds and when Horris began tiring, to give him a thundering blow to the chin, like he did with Dave Russell. Hopefully, it would then be all over.
In the early rounds, Dean lent against the ropes and hid behind his guard which was his usual style, while Horns banged away at his elbows and shoulders, getting nowhere. The English referee came over after the end of the second round and warned me that if Dean didn’t start defending himself he’d stop the fight. I told the referee that Dean was defending himself! I knew then that the referee was looking for an excuse to give the fight to Horris, who’d been expending far more energy than Dean and would therefore tire faster.
Things don’t always go according to plan. Early in the fourth round, a hard punch from Horris left Dean dizzy. My heart sank when the referee stopped the fight after a compulsory count of eight. This was Dean’s second loss in a month and his third professional defeat. After the fight he was upset because winning was important to him too. Dean wanted so much to show me that he could succeed with Kelly in his life and me pushed as far as possible into the background.
When Dean and I returned from the UK, Christine and Allen had taken some of my horses to Roblea Park. When I visited the stud to reclaim them, my beautiful black stallion, Lord of Kulnura, had been castrated! I’d reared him from a good bloodline so he could race and breed. I was furious. I was amazed at Christine’s change of personality. Maybe it was her new-found freedom, perhaps the drugs. How could this woman who loved horses castrate a magnificent stallion?
I heard all sorts of gossip. I’d been ‘cruel’ to Christine during our relationship. Sure, there were the occasional angry flash-points which most marriages endure. But I always tried to give Christine respect, consideration and caring because she was like a mother to the children and I wanted their home life to be happy and stable. Christine had been spreading deliberate and malicious lies and it hurt me. She was turning her back on all the good years and happy times we’d had. I decided to put in an application for divorce.
I saw a 4WD pulling a horse float approach me at an intersection, Christine’s girlfriend driving, Christine as passenger. They turned up the steep Bumble Hill road, where I was headed. I wondered if the horse was mine, and overtook and braked, forcing them to halt. The horse wasn’t mine, and, telling Tina that Christine should be more truthful, I drove off. Christine rang the police, said I’d tried to force them off a cliff, allegations she rep
eated in the family court. As if I’d endanger a horse.
In February 1988 Christine and Allen’s house at Jilliby on the Central Coast burned down. Tragically, two dogs perished in the blaze; they were chained under the house. Christine and Allen were not home to set them free. Christine told the police I’d committed arson. The police rang me and asked if I could come down to the station to make a statement. I refused.
I found it distressing I should be accused of a crime that involved the painful death of animals. There was no way I would hurt an animal to get revenge on Christine; she just wasn’t worth it. If it was arson, I couldn’t have done it. I was watching a boxing tape at Ian Batty’s house at the time.
I met my solicitor and explained the situation. He persuaded me to stop off at the police station and tell them personally I had nothing to say about the incident. While I was in there, a policeman asked if I’d written ‘a threatening letter’ to Allen. ‘Threatening?’ Although I knew I’d written in October last year, I didn’t think it wise to admit it at this stage, so replied in a vague unsure way.
Christine never stopped believing I’d torched Allen’s house as an act of revenge. She’d lost a lot of personal possessions. Bitterly, she wrote to my solicitor ordering me to sell the Kulnura property immediately or she would go to the press to ‘denounce me for what I was. I assumed reveal my English criminal record, the sort of scandal she knew I was trying to avoid. The solicitor called it virtual blackmail. My respect for Christine plummeted further when she demanded 75 per cent of the proceeds from the sale, a most unfair division.
I saw Christine when I passed her on the road between her place and mine. She made a signal I found offensive. I swung my Datsun round and followed her Ford. Within moments she pulled over. We exchanged a few sharp words, then parted. She immediately reported to the police that I chased her and then forced her to stop.
Hellbent: Ces Waters & Me Page 30
