Kal

by Judy Nunn

  She and her mother, Iris, had been two of the first women to arrive at the goldfields. After the death of Iris’s husband, Bill, they had stayed on in Coolgardie and run a sly grog shop. Until the discovery of gold by Paddy Hannan and his partners in 1893. Then Iris and Maudie had sold up and joined the Kalgoorlie goldrush. But they did not mine for the precious metal. Alongside the other merchants, they set up their shop: a wooden-fronted billboard announcing their wares and behind it, serving as home and store, a simple corrugated iron hut. Soon, however, word spread that in Iris and Maudie’s hut, along with the sugar and tea, the flour and tinned goods, the kerosene and candles, the cheapest and strongest illicit liquor in Kalgoorlie could be purchased, but only on Sundays.

  Was that only six years ago? Maudie wondered. She looked down the long, broad boulevard which was Hannan Street and marvelled at the changes. Of course there were some things that never changed. The camel teams still paraded through the centre of the township bearing their loads of precious drinking water and provisions and the endless wood supply for the mines’ furnaces. In fact, the camels were the reason for the width of the street, the cameleers needing the space to turn their teams. And, of course, the dust never changed. The red, swirling, outback dust. Even as Maudie watched, a small willy-willy swept its way down the centre of the street. People stepped into shop doorways or turned their backs or simply stopped in their tracks and covered their eyes as the stinging funnel of dust swirled past. Then, seconds later, as quickly as it had ceased, the chatter and bustle of the street resumed and people continued to the relative comfort of the pavement and verandahs and shop awnings as if the willy-willy had never happened.

  But it was only yesterday, Maudie thought, that there were no pavements, no verandahs, no shop awnings. Just squat hessian huts and lean-tos and corrugated iron sheds baking amongst the red dust. All goldrush towns grew quickly, but Kalgoorlie’s growth seemed to have happened overnight.

  Across the street was the impressive Palace Hotel, heralded as one of the grandest in the country. In the airy shade of its wide verandahs well-dressed ladies were sipping tea and affluent-looking gentlemen were drinking cold beer as they watched the passing parade. On the opposite corner was the Australia Hotel, its balconies overlooking the huge intersection of Hannan and Maritana Streets.

  Maudie walked several blocks down Hannan Street. Past the confectionist and tobacconist. Past the barber’s shop with its hairdresser’s chair in the window. Past the drapers and the general stores and the Japanese-run laundry. She looked across the street to the newly completed York. Hotel with its silver cupolas and stone arches.

  Kalgoorlie was becoming an elegant town, thought Maudie as she pushed open the door to the main bar of the Lucky Horseshoe and breathed a sigh of relief at the movement of air from the two huge ceiling fans. The Lucky Horseshoe was hardly competition for the Palace or the Australia or the York, but it thrived. It was a miners’ pub and it catered for the hard-working man. Despite the emblem of the silver horseshoe on its facade it was known to all as Maudie’s.

  The four o’clock shift was over and the bar was crowded. Noisy. The air was thick with miners’ talk. Business was good. Maudie nodded to the two barmaids and acknowledged the greetings from the men as she passed.

  ‘’Lo, Maudie.’ At the end of the bar, near the doors which led to the billiard room and lounge and her offices out the back, a thickset man with ginger hair and a red bushy beard stopped her. ‘Got time for a chat? There’s something I’d like to put to you.’

  ‘Evan. Hello.’ Evan Jones was a Welsh miner with a lilting brogue that gave him away every time he opened his mouth. Not only was Evan’s beard red, everything about him was red. A reddish-brown. His face, his hands, his clothes. Evan was an independent miner who worked his own small lease for alluvial gold. One could always pick the men who mined their own leases. They were ‘dry-blowers’. The big mines, with their access to underground water, could flush the gold from the ore. But the dry-blowers still used the old-fashioned method of bellows, or they would shake the gold-bearing dust through mesh frames or simply shovel it into the air to separate the heavier grains of gold. Inevitably they ended up covered in red dust. Water being precious and bathing a weekly custom at best, the men took on the hue of the land.

  Evan Jones was one of Maudie’s favourites. Her father had given him his first job as a miner ten years previously in Coolgardie. In fact, Maudie had secretly set her sights on Evan when she had decided she should marry two years earlier. Like most men, however, Evan barely thought of her as a woman at all. She was just Maudie. Straight-talking Maudie. A good mate and a strong ally. So when Evan had returned from one of his regular trips to Fremantle with a brand-new wife, Maudie had heaved an inward sigh and decided that, if she was ever to marry, she would probably have to settle for Harry Brearley after all.

  Of course, Evan Jones had no idea that Maudie had ever harboured feelings for him beyond that of mateship, and he was never likely to either—Maudie Gaskill was not one to wear her heart on her sleeve.

  She looked at the clock above the bar. A good half-hour before the staff would line up at her office for the payout. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Come out the back. A couple of beers, Alice,’ she called to the wiry brunette behind the bar.

  She led the way into the lounge with its brand-new billiard table of which she was very proud. Maudie’s lounge certainly did not compete with the billiard rooms of the Australia and Palace hotels where full-time managers presided over championships and big-time gambling was promoted, but many a friendly wager was lost and won at Maudie’s table on a Saturday night.

  ‘Take a seat. What can I do for you, Evan?’ She had gestured to one of the comfortable armchairs away from the billiard table where a group of men was laying bets on a game in progress. Then she realised that Evan was waiting for her to sit first. He was such a mixture of a man, she thought. Tough, strong, a man respected by other men and yet, with women, a gentleman. A little lacking in humour perhaps, but as honest as the day was long. A good man.

  ‘How’s Kate?’ Maudie asked as she sat. ‘Must be getting near her time.’

  ‘Three weeks now.’ An involuntary smile sprang to Evan’s lips and the red beard twitched. ‘Do you know when Harry’ll be back?’ Gentleman that he was, Evan was not given to small talk.

  ‘Within a couple of months I’d say.’ Maudie nodded to the barmaid who placed two beers in front of them. ‘Thank you, Alice.’ She undid the strings at her neck, raised her strong arms above her head, and carefully removed her bonnet, smoothing back the sides of her hair although there was not a strand out of place. ‘He says he’s raised enough funds for a half share in a lease and now he’s looking for a partner.’ Coincidentally, a telegraph had arrived from Harry at the post office just several days previously. ‘Says he’ll be back as soon as he’s found someone to match his input.’ Maudie downed most of her beer in one draught.

  ‘By April, would you think?’

  ‘Yes, I reckon he might. Why?’

  ‘The lease he’ll be wanting to buy, do you think he’d be interested in the Clover?’ Maudie stared at him, amazed. ‘I said do you think he’d want to buy the Clover?’ he repeated.

  ‘You want to sell your mine?’

  Evan Jones? Selling out? It was unbelievable. Evan had been mining the Clover for six years, the last three of them on his own. His partner had opted for the security of contract work with one of the big mines so Evan had bought him out, and since then he had been the sole operator. A ‘loner’, as they were called. The Clover had had its ups and downs. A healthy yield one year, a poor yield the next but, amongst the ranks of the small leases, it was considered to have good potential. And Evan was a good miner who knew his business. The only mystery was why he hadn’t taken on a new partner with funds to extend the lease and develop the mine further. But Evan liked his own company, he preferred to be a loner.

  ‘Why?’ Maudie asked. ‘Why do you want to sell the Clover?’


  ‘Security. I’m signing up with the Midas. Starting April.’ He took a hefty swallow of his beer. ‘With the new baby I’ll be needing security, you see.’

  A tousle-haired five-year-old tottered up to Maudie and tugged at her skirts. ‘Maudie, I’m hungry.’ He reached up and grabbed at her beer.

  ‘Uh, uh,’ she said, rescuing the glass.

  ‘Just a sip,’ he begged. ‘Only a sip.’

  ‘All right,’ she relented. ‘Just one.’ She held the glass while the child took a gulp. He screwed up his face—he didn’t really like the taste, he just wanted to be grown up. ‘Go and see Dickie in the kitchen and tell him to give you two biscuits. And Jack,’ she called after him, ‘only two, mind, you’re not to spoil your tea.’

  Evan watched the boy go. ‘Harry must be missing him,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘He idolises the boy, even wanted to take him to Perth.’ She downed the rest of her beer. ‘God only knows what Harry gets up to when he’s out there “raising investment”. That’s what he calls it you know, “raising investment”. Gambling’s what I call it. And he wants to take his son along! I ask you! Jack’s only five! I wouldn’t have it, put my foot down. No good for the boy.’

  ‘Harry’s got a real find in you, Maudie, you’re a good mother to the child.’ Evan took several swigs of his beer and grinned. ‘If the man has half a brain he’ll marry you quick smart before somebody else snaps you up.’

  Evan’s attempts at humour were always clumsy, so Maudie changed the subject. She didn’t like talking about herself anyway. Good heavens, she thought, it wasn’t as if Harry hadn’t proposed to her often enough. She’d been the one to set the ground rules. ‘Mend your ways, Harry,’ she’d said. ‘Give up the gambling and make a success of your life, then I’ll marry you.’

  But she knew she’d give in, and soon, even though she suspected Harry was marrying her for her money. She wanted to be Jack’s mother, she loved the boy deeply. And she wanted a child of her own. Yes, she’d marry Harry Brearley and she’d be carrying his child before she turned thirty. That was her plan. If Harry hadn’t changed his ways by then, Maudie would set about doing it for him.

  ‘Have you thought about taking on a partner?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I’ve thought about it.’

  ‘What about Harry?’

  ‘No.’ There was no hesitation in his answer. ‘No offence, Maudie. I know he’s your intended and he’s a good man, but he’d not be the partner for me.’

  Maudie was not at all offended, she’d known what the answer would be even as she’d asked the question. Harry was not a ‘good’ man at all and it was kind of Evan to say that he was. Not that Harry was a bad man but, for all his charm, he was definitely lacking in moral fibre.

  ‘No, I’ll not be taking on a partner,’ Evan continued. ‘I’ve made up my mind and it’s the Midas for me. Kate’s been living my life for eighteen months now and it’s no life for a woman.’

  Maudie said nothing. She and her mother had lived the lives of miners’ women for years. A humpy in Ballarat to start with, when Maudie was just a child. Then, in ‘88 when they’d come west to the Yilgarn goldfield, they’d lived in a bough lean-to in Southern Cross until the move to Coolgardie and the hessian hut. They hadn’t even had the luxury of corrugated iron until her mother had insisted on setting up a shop.

  ‘Listen to your cough, Bill,’ she’d said to her husband. ‘Your lungs aren’t going to see out the day.’ God, her mother had been tough. But so was Bill. ‘I’m no shopkeeper,’ he’d insisted. ‘I work under the ground, woman. It’s where I live and it’s where I’ll die.’

  Eventually Iris had stopped nagging. ‘So give me some of the money you pour into the mine,’ she’d said, ‘and I’ll do it myself. One day you’ll drop dead underground and who’s going to look after Maudie and me then?’

  It wasn’t that her mother hadn’t loved him. She’d loved him so much that when he’d died—underground as he’d said he would—she’d refused to take another man. And there had certainly been offers. Although she’d been well past her prime then, there were few women on the goldfields and Iris was a good cook and a hard worker. ‘We can do it on our own, Maudie,’ she’d said. And they had, until she’d died, two years ago. How Maudie missed her mother.

  Evan could sense Maudie’s criticism. ‘I know, Maudie. I know you and Iris did it. But you two were a breed apart. It’s not the life for Kate.’

  Maudie couldn’t help it. Fleetingly she thought, ‘If he’d married me he wouldn’t be giving up the Clover; if he’d married me he wouldn’t be selling his soul to the Midas.’ Then she stopped herself. Stupid thoughts. Besides, she persuaded herself, Evan would probably have bored her. For all his faults, Harry always made her laugh.

  ‘I’m going to work my way up to shift boss within the year,’ Evan continued. ‘And I’m going to rent a house near the mine. They’re nice houses those, Kate’ll like that.’ He rose from the table. ‘I’ll get you another beer.’

  ‘No,’ she said as she stood. ‘No, thank you, it’s payout time and I must get on with the wages.’

  ‘So do I wait and give Harry first option to make a bid then?’ Evan asked.

  ‘Yes. He’ll make a bid, and it’ll be the right one. I can guarantee it.’ It was a golden opportunity for Harry. And Maudie knew it. She also knew that Evan was making the offer not for Harry but for her. If Harry had a partner and funds to extend the Clover he could become a wealthy man and, as such, he would be an infinitely better marriage prospect. ‘I can pay some of the price up front if you wish,’ she said. ‘Cash.’

  ‘Not necessary.’ He extended his hand. ‘Your word’s enough.’ She was a good inch taller than he was and her handshake was as strong as any man’s. ‘Do you want to come out and have a look at the mine? You’ve your father’s eye. You’ll be able to tell she’s a good buy.’

  Maudie grinned. ‘Are you willing to risk it?’ Most of the miners would not allow a woman underground—it was considered bad luck. As usual her grin was infectious. The stern face lit up and the slits of her eyes sparkled with mischief. Like everything about Maudie, her grin was impossible to ignore.

  Evan laughed, a short bark. ‘Put on those trousers you used to wear down your dad’s mine and nobody’ll know the difference.’

  ‘I’ll be there. Monday, noon? Mind if I bring Jack?’

  ‘Monday noon. Yes, of course, bring Jack.’

  ‘CAN I DRIVE, Maudie? Let me drive. Please.’

  Maudie passed Jack the reins and, as he leaned forward in the sulky, she tucked one hand firmly into the back of the boy’s trousers. ‘It’s not a race, Jack. Let the Princess go at her own pace,’ she said as he tried to urge the horse on, clicking his tongue and flicking the reins.

  Jack did as he was told but every now and then, when Maudie was looking out over the short dense scrub and he thought she wouldn’t notice, he gave a quick flick of the reins. He was incorrigible, thought Maudie. Just like his father. Incorrigible and wilful and downright irresistible. With his freckles and his unruly mop of curly hair flecked gold by the sun, he was a typical goldfields urchin, a ‘dappled’ boy. He looked up, caught her eye and smiled his baby-toothed, gappy smile. She couldn’t resist smiling back which only encouraged him and he started clicking the horse on again. She took no notice.

  They were just out of town, on the dusty track leading north, and the old white horse was trotting slowly and steadily, automatically avoiding the rubble and potholes. Maudie didn’t worry about the Princess. The Princess barely needed a rein at all, she responded to Maudie’s voice more than anything.

  ‘Good girl, Princess, good girl,’ Maudie said. The old mare took no notice of the boy.

  The Princess was over twenty now. She’d been an eight-year-old when Bill Gaskill had bought her in Albany, the first purchase the family had made after stepping off the steamship from Melbourne. Maudie could remember vividly the trek from Albany to Southern Cross. The Prin
cess pulling the dray laden with provisions, Maudie and her mother and father walking along beside. Mile after mile, day after day, through the saltbush and the spinifex and the hot, red outback dust. It was impossible to escape the dust, Maudie remembered. She could still taste it. It got in your mouth and your eyes and your hair. The precious water in their tank was reserved for drinking only, so they would try to camp whenever possible near a waterhole or clay-pan in order to wash. But even then the water was muddy with dust.

  ‘Look, Maudie, a camel team!’

  Jack was nudging her and pointing up ahead. ‘Give me the reins,’ she said. ‘Walk on, Princess, walk on, girl.’ She edged the sulky to the side of the track and eased the horse down to a walk. As the camel team approached, Maudie kept calming the mare. ‘Easy girl, walk on, easy.’ Like most horses, the Princess did not like camels.

  It was a small team. Twelve beasts harnessed in pairs hauled a massive, heavily-laden wood cart, urged on by three turbaned Afghan cameleers walking alongside. They were taking firewood to The Golden Mile, just south of Kalgoorlie. Most of the big mines were centred around the aptly named Golden Mile, where the rich gold-bearing lodes ran deep beneath the earth’s surface.

  The camels curled their lips, gnashed their teeth and spat as they passed by. ‘Whoa, girl, easy girl, good girl.’ Maudie eased the Princess to a standstill. The mare was snorting nervously.

  Maudie pulled her travelling veil down over her face as the wood cart trundled by and the dust swirled up. She wondered how long it would be before the camel trains were a thing of the past. Soon all the big mines would be bringing in their wood supplies by locomotive-driven steam trains. And as for water—much of which was transported by camels—well, if the government scheme was to prove successful, water would be supplied by pipeline from Mundaring Weir near Perth. They said that the dam was nearly completed, that next year they would start laying the pipes. And they said that the water would reach the goldfields by 1903. But, like many, Maudie would believe it when she saw it.