They're a Weird Mob

by Nino Culotta

  We laid six long pieces of steel across the two drums, and Pat told me to cut up some tie wire into six inch lengths. He said, ‘Now we gotta tie them stirrups on.’

  ‘How do we do that?’

  ‘Come over ’ere an’ I’ll give yer the drum.’

  He showed me how to double the tie wire, and twist it tightly around the steel by using a nail.

  I said, ‘Are you not going to give me the drum?’

  ‘Just gave ut to yer.’

  ‘No, Pat. The steel is on both of the drums.’

  ‘Showed yer how ter tie ut. That’s givin’ yer the drum.’

  I said, ‘That is yet another kind of drum. Are there many of these drums?’

  ‘Plenty,’ said Pat.

  We spent the day making these long open boxes of steel to fit all the trenches. Joe did not return. My fingers were sore from twisting the wire.

  Pat and I had two schooners of beer at what he called the ‘Bloodhouse’. He said, ‘Better turn in early tonight. Big day ter-morrer.’

  ‘Yes, to-morrow we make the concrete.’

  ‘Yeah. She’s a bastard. Them mixers are hungry bastards. Toss yer ter see who goes on the metal.’

  ‘You will toss me?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He took a coin from his pocket and threw it into the air. He caught it, and placed it on his wrist with his hand over it. ‘Heads or tails?’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘Ut’s showin’ a head or a tail. Which d’yer reckon?’

  ‘Oh. I reckon it’s a head.’

  Pat uncovered the coin. ‘Heads it is. You go on the metal.’

  I said, ‘Thank you, Pat.’

  He said, ‘That’s orright.’

  I did not realise how I had been tricked until the next day.

  It was very hot that next day. We were all there at half-past seven, and there was a chorus of ‘’Owyergoin’ mate orright?’ ‘Orrightmate.’ We all unloaded Joe’s truck. There were more shovels, a hose, and two large wheelbarrows with rubber tyres. A load of cement arrived, and we stacked it near the sand. Joe had an old wheelbarrow top, which he placed there also. He emptied a bag of cement into it. Dennis filled the drums with water by screwing the hose to the tap in ‘the old chook’s place’. The mixer arrived. It was disconnected from the truck which towed it, and we all pushed and pulled it into position between the metal and the sand.

  Joe said, ‘Who wants ter do wot?’

  Pat said, ‘Nobody wants ter do anything. Nino won the metal. I tossed ’im for ut.’

  Joe said, ‘Reckon yer c’n handle ut Nino? She’s a bastard. Seen blokes keel over on ’er on a hot day.’

  ‘He c’n start,’ said Dennis. ‘I’ll take over when he’s had ut.’

  ‘Orright,’ said Joe. ‘You an’ Jimmy on the barrers. I’ll ram ’er, an’ scram orf. You’re on the sand an’ cement, Pat, an’ Nino on the metal. Twelve shovelfuls, Nino, an’ no pikin’. Start ’er up, Den.’

  The mixer was petrol driven, and Dennis started the machine by ‘swingin’ the handle’. Pat threw in three shovels of cement, a ‘kero tin’ of water, and six shovels of sand. Then he turned the bowl of the mixer over to my side. I started shovelling metal. Joe stopped me. ‘No, Nino. Not like that matey. Yer don’ walk ter the mixer from the ’eap. Wear yerself out. Chuck ut in. Here, give us the shovel an’ I’ll show yer.’

  He took the shovel and threw the metal in such a way that it flew off the end of the shovel and into the revolving mixer bowl.

  ‘Like that,’ he said. ‘Straight inter the drum.’

  ‘That thing is also called a drum?’

  ‘Yeah mate. ’Ave a go. Bung in another three shovels.’

  My first shovelful missed altogether, about half of my second went in, then all of my third.

  ‘That’s the ticket,’ said Joe. ‘Yer gettin’ the hang of ut. Bung in two more.’

  I bunged them in.

  ‘Fair enough.’ He wheeled a barrow up to the mixer. ‘Show yer how ter work the lever. Pull ’er out like this, then let ’er swing down. But ’old ’er.’ The concrete ran into the barrow. ‘Not a bad mix, bit boney. Then yer swing ’er over ter Pat again, an’ ’ave a bludge while ’e’s fillin’ ’er up. Okay?’

  ‘Okay Joe, I will try.’

  ‘Can’t ask more’n that,’ said Joe, and wheeled the barrow away, with many grunts. Dennis walked behind him. Jimmy was waiting with the other barrow. Pat soon yelled, ‘Right,’ and swung the mixer over to me. I put in twelve shovels of metal, and did not spill very much, but Jimmy said, ‘Hit ’er with another one.’ Then he put his barrow underneath, and I worked the lever as Joe had showed me. The ‘drum’ was heavier than I anticipated, and some of the concrete splashed out of the barrow, because I let it run in too quickly. Jimmy said, ‘Don’ worry about ut, mate.’ He shovelled most of it back in, and wheeled it away. I turned the machine over to Pat, and saw Dennis waiting with an empty barrow. I was panting, and perspiring heavily.

  Dennis said, ‘First seven years are the worst. Then yer get used to ut.’

  I said, ‘Seven minutes feels like seven years.’

  ‘Stay with ut as long as yer can. Then sing out an’ I’ll give y’a blow.’

  I began to hate that mixer. It was certainly hungry. The motor chugged along monotonously and Pat seemed to be yelling, ‘Right’ every few minutes. There was a growing stack of empty cement bags near him. Jimmy or Dennis always seemed to be waiting with empty barrows. Every shovelful of metal seemed to become heavier than the previous one. I took off my shirt. Perspiration was running into my eyes, and running down my chest and back. The waist of my shorts was wet with it. Small pieces of metal were continually getting inside my boots. Blisters were broken and sore on my hands. I was very unhappy. Then Pat turned off the motor, and the monster was silent.

  ‘Quittin’ time,’ he said.

  ‘Who sez, quittin’ time?’ said Dennis.

  ‘Ah sez quittin’ time.’

  ‘Well ah’s foreman. Ah sez quittin’ time. Quittin’ time.’

  They both laughed, ‘D’yer see that picture, Jimmy?’

  ‘Wot picture?’

  ‘Gone with the Wind.’

  ‘No. Missed ut.’

  ‘There was this mob o’ niggers workin’, see, an’ one of ’em looks up an’ sez quittin’ time. Another bloke sez who sez quittin’ time? This bloke sez ah sez quittin’ time. The other bloke sez Ah’s foreman . . . ah sez quittin’ time. Quittin’ time. Gees I laughed.’

  ‘Nothin’ funny in that,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘No sense o’ humour, that’s your trouble.’

  Joe came over and said, ‘Wotta yez all knocked orf for?’

  ‘Smoke-o,’ said Pat.

  ‘Gees, is ut nine o’clock already? Time flies when yer workin’ don’ ut?’

  Dennis said, ‘Workin’ ’e says. Squattin’ up there with a bit o’ four be two an’ a level, while we bust our guts.’

  ‘Somebody’s gotta ’ave the brains, matey.’

  ‘Takes real brains ter spread a bit o’ concrete in a trench,’ said Pat. ‘Yer gotta go ter the Tech. Takes five years.’

  Joe said, ‘You gonna take five years gettin’ that bloody tea pot?’

  ‘No sir. Get ut right away sir. I’d do anything fer you sir. Yer know that, sir.’ He climbed over the fence.

  Joe said, ‘’Owyergoin’, Nino?’

  I said, ‘Orright mate.’

  ‘Bring yer lunch terday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yer don’ want ter polish them boots. Waste o’ time. Grease the bastards. Mutton fat’s the best. Best stuff fer yer ’ands too. Work ’er in every night. Keeps ’em soft.’

  ‘You rub ut inter yer head every night, don’t yer
Joe?’ said Dennis.

  ‘No, matey, only inter me ’ands.’

  ‘Thought sure yer rubbed ut inter yer head.’

  ‘Wot would I want ter do that for?’

  ‘I dunno. Something’s keepin’ ut soft.’

  ‘Funny bastard,’ he yelled. ‘Hurry up Pat.’

  ‘Coming sir,’ said Pat.

  We drank about three cups of tea each, while Joe told us about ‘a bloke I ’ad workin’ fer me one time—this bloke,’ he said, ‘was a chemist, see. An’ ’e ’ad a beard. Reckoned ’e was trainin’ fer the Olympic Games so ’e could win by a whisker. Said ’e was sick o’ bein’ a chemist, an’ wanted the exercise. I give ’im a start. ’E was a good chemist, too. Fixed Edie up better’n a quack when she ’ad that poisoned finger. ’E stayed with me three munce, an’ then pissed orf. Dunno where ’e is now. But this time I’m tellin’ yez about we was buildin’ a garage. She was an excavation job, an’ we ’ad to underpin the bloody house. Clay, too. We’d ’ad the machine in ter take the guts out, but there was all this ’and diggin’ ter get under the foundations an’ tom ’em up fer the brickwork. So I get some planks, an’ make a run fer the barrer. Where was you then, Jimmy?’

  ‘Earlwood.’

  ‘That’s right. Finishin’ orf that job o’ Smitty’s. I give this Beard Watson bloke a mattock an’ shovel, an’ we get stuck into ut. She was a bastard down that ’ole. Hot as ’ell. I’m trimmin’ the back face an’ chuckin’ the clay up the top, an’ ’e’s bullockin’ in under the foundations, an’ wheelin’ ’is lot up the run. Goin’ orright, too. Then I ’ear this bloody crash, an ’ere ’e is arse up under the run with the barrer on top of ’im. I thought ’e’d killed ’imself until I ’ear ’im swearin’. Pat thinks he c’n swear, but ’e’s only a starter compared ter this bloke. ‘E’s pickin’ ’imself up an’ callin’ the barrow everything, an’ I told ’im, I sez, never ’ang onto a barrer, mate, I sez. Let ’er go if she starts, I sez. Better a broken barrer than a broken neck, I sez. ’E sez—I tried to ’old ’er. I sez, never do that mate, I sez. ’E says I didn’ want ’er ter fall where she did. I sez don’ matter where she falls mate, let ’er go. ’E sez O.K. We was diggin’ fer about another ’alf hour, an’ ’e sez wot are yer gunna ’ave fer lunch Joe? I sez—I got me sandwiches an’ a couple o’ hunks o’ cake an’ a bit o’ fruit I sez. ’E sez—yer did ’ave. I sez wodda yer mean I did ’ave, I sez. ’E sez—ut was parked in the shade near the planks there where the barrer got away from me. I sez—yer meanter say ut’s still under that bloody heap? ’E sez—could be. ’Aven’t seen ut come out. An’ ’e just goes on diggin’ as if ’e didn’ give a bugger. I shift the clay orf ut, an’ y’ orter seen ut. Flat as Aunt Maud’s chest. Paper all torn an’ yer can’t tell wot’s sandwiches an’ wot’s dirt. ’E says yer c’n ’ave some o’ mine, I got plenty ’e sez. I sez yer know wot yer c’n do with yours, dontcher? ’E sez, I don’t like ut that way, ut gives me indegestion. I c’n see the funny side of ut now, but gees, I coulda killed ’im at the time.’

  ‘He was a good worker,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Good as anybody y’d get,’ said Joe. ‘Bit slow, but ’e kept pluggin’.’

  ‘Did ’e rub mutton fat on his ’ands?’ said Dennis.

  Joe said, ‘I’d a rubbed ut on ’is ’ead if I’d ’ad any that time.’

  ‘Like yer do on yer own.’

  ‘Sling orf as much as yer like, ut’s the stuff fer blisters. Keep yer ’ands soft, Nino. That’s the shot. They’re soft now, so you keep ’em that way.’

  I said, ‘Where do I get this mutton fat, Joe?’

  ‘Get some from Edie. Always keeps plenty in the house.’

  Pat said, ‘Y’orter eat ut instead o’ rubbin’ ut on yer ’ands. Then yer wouldn’t be so skinny.’

  ‘Who me? I ain’t skinny. Just in good nick, that’s all.’

  ‘Couple more nicks an’ y’d be a pipe cleaner.’

  ‘You can’t talk. If yer was in the army they’d use yer fer a pull through.’

  ‘How about a bit o’ work?’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Joe, rolling a cigarette. ‘Better get stuck into ut.’

  Dennis started the motor again, and we got stuck into ut. From time to time he and I changed work. He shovelled the metal, and I wheeled the barrow. Also I spilled some concrete when I ran over bumps. Joe said, ‘Like me ter shift the trench for yer, Nino?’ So I was more careful.

  We worked on, and the sun got hotter and hotter. Dennis would frequently hose us and himself with water. Joe was singing to himself as he worked. Pat and Dennis were swearing all the time. Jimmy worked in silence; so did I. I had no energy to spare for talking or singing. I could not eat my lunch, and went to sleep in the shade of the fence. So did the others, except for Joe, who was talking to ‘the old chook’ next door. He woke us, when it was time to start again, and there was much cursing and groaning. It was hotter. Much hotter. Soon we looked like zebras. Dust from the metal and cement covered us, and perspiration made striped marks in it. Dennis’ hosing kept us clean only for a few minutes. It was wonderful to hear Joe say, ‘Two more mixes’ll about do ut.’

  ‘Whacko,’ said Pat.

  ‘Bloody near time,’ said Dennis.

  ‘How yer goin’ Nino?’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Orright mate,’ I said. He grinned. His teeth were very white in his dirty face. I thought, ‘I like this Jimmy.’ We made the two mixes. Dennis wheeled the last barrow, and Joe called out, ‘That’s it.’ Pat climbed into one of the drums, and stood in water up to his chest. Dennis returned and got into the other one. Jimmy pushed it over, and the water and Dennis both spilled out and seemed to spread over the ground. It reminded me of fish being emptied from a trap. I laughed. Dennis said, ‘Wot are you laughin’ at?’ and began to throw handfuls of mud at me. I took shelter behind Pat’s drum. I thought I would push it over also. I did. Pat joined Dennis in throwing mud at me. I rushed at him and caught him and threw him down in the mud. Dennis dived on top of us, and we wrestled in a tangled heap, until Jimmy turned the hose on us. He had a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, and was not smiling. There was no expression on his face at all. We all laughed at him. Three small boys were standing on the street. They were laughing too. Joe came up, and said, ‘Gees what a mess. Who tipped the drums over?’

  Pat said, ‘Them bloody kids.’

  ‘Strong ain’t they?’ said Joe. ‘Clean up an’ I’ll buy yez all a beer. Y’ve done a good job. You too, Nino. Yer went orright mate.’

  I said, ‘Thank you Joe. You know what I reckon?’

  ‘No. What?’

  ‘I reckon I conk out. I reckon I bust a gut.’

  They all laughed. Joe said, ‘Mighta done too. But yer kept goin’.’

  Never before had I been so tired.

  He said, ‘You’ll be orright. Easy day ter-morrer.’

  ‘Wot’s on ter-morrer?’ said Dennis.

  ‘Gunna put that new front on Bill’s place. You an’ Nino c’n run the scaffolding up, an’ knock out a few bricks.’

  ‘Aw yeah,’ said Dennis. ‘Knock out a few bricks. Got an idea I’ve done that before.’

  Pat said, ‘Don’ drop ’em on yer toe this time.’

  ‘Droppin’ ’em on yer toe’s orright,’ Joe said. ‘Droppin’ ’em on yer ’ead’s the worst.’

  ‘Yeah. Try not ter drop ’em on yer ’ead Den. Wot are we doin’?’

  ‘You an’ me an’ Jimmy?’ said Joe. ‘Wheelin’ in a few bricks. There’s twelve thousand comin’ here ter-morrer.’

  ‘Gees,’ said Pat. ‘Drawn the raw prawn again. Face or commons?’

  ‘Face. Commons are comin’ Friday.’

  Dennis said, ‘Looks like you an’ me havin’ a good bludge ter-morrer, Nino. Away from the boss.’

  I said, ‘We wi
ll not be here?’

  ‘No, I’ll meet yer at the station quarter past seven. Show yer where ut is. Ut ain’t fur from here.’

  ‘Very well Dennis. I hope I am still alive.’

  ‘You’ll be orright, mate. Give us a hand to clean up, an’ we’ll go an’ knock over a couple.’

  ‘Wodda yer mean a couple?’ said Pat. ‘I’m gunna knock over a dozen.’

  ‘Oo, you drunken common labourer. Are you not ashamed of yourself?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m real crooked on me.’

  We hosed down the barrows and greased them, and cleaned the shovels. Then we loaded them into the truck and drove down to Belmore. The first schooners disappeared as soon as they had been poured. Two more each followed rapidly, and then we relaxed, and the others began rolling cigarettes. I had some tailor mades, and offered them. They each took one. Joe said, ‘Yer’ll ’ave ter learn ter roll ’em Nino.’ Pat took out his battered old tin and said, ‘Here. Have a go.’ They gathered around and gave me instructions. The final result was a cigarette very thick in the middle and very thin at the ends.

  ‘Chuck that one,’ said Pat. ‘I’ll roll yer one.’

  He did so very deftly. ‘There. Have a go at that. That’s better than those things you smoke.’

  I said, ‘You are not sincere. You are all smoking those things I smoke.’

  ‘Never knock back O.P’s,’ he said. ‘Get yourself some terbaccer an’ papers, an’ practise. Ut’s all a matter o’ practice.’

  ‘I will try,’ I said. ‘What is the best brand?’

  ‘Log Cabin fine cut,’ said Pat and Dennis together.

  ‘Balls,’ said Joe. ‘That stuff’ll kill yer. Ready rubbed’s the shot.’

  ‘Havelock,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘No, not Havelock. Havelock? Who the hell’d smoke Havelock.’

  ‘I do,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Yeah, I know, but who else does? D’yer ever see anybody else smokin’ Havelock?’

  ‘Anybody who doesn’t smoke Log Cabin fine cut’s not right in the head,’ said Dennis.

  ‘Well I don’t smoke ut,’ said Joe.

  ‘See wot I mean?’

  ‘What do you smoke, Joe?’ I asked.