They're a Weird Mob

by Nino Culotta

  ‘Champion ready rubbed. The only smoke,’ said Joe. There was a howl of horror from the others, and they all began talking at once, each convinced that only the brand he smoked was any good. Some men standing nearby joined in, mentioning other brands, and the discussion spread, and became heated.

  Finally, I said loudly, ‘Gentlemen, I have arrived at a decision.’ They became quiet and looked at me. ‘Each of you will make me a cigarette and I will smoke them all and decide which I like best.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Joe. ‘Roll yer mine now. Good old Champion. Yer can’t beat ut.’

  ‘Yer got mine,’ said Pat. ‘But I gotta hand it to yer. Yer a shrewd bastard. That’s one way o’ gettin’ back the smokes yer gave us.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Dennis. ‘Never thought o’ that. Well, I smoke Log Cabin same as Pat, so that lets me out.’

  ‘Yer reckon Log Cabin’s twice as good as the other stuff?’ said Pat.

  ‘Course ut is.’

  ‘Well you roll ’im one too, an’ let ’im ’ave twice as much of ut.’

  ‘Reckon I’m bein’ got at somewhere,’ said Dennis. But he rolled the cigarette.

  I put them all in different pockets, and Joe marked the brand on each pocket with a pencil. ‘Now let’s ’ave some steady drinkin’,’ he said.

  With fresh schooners in our hands, we stood back from the bar, and Joe said, ‘Listen Nino. I been thinkin’.’

  ‘Did ut hurt?’ said Pat.

  ‘Pipe down,’ said Joe. ‘This is serious. Look, Jimmy’s gettin’ married on Saturdy. Him an’ Betty’s gunna live up at East Bankstown. Their own house. When they’ve paid for ut, that is. That’ll leave his room empty at our place. How would yer like to move in?’

  ‘Gees Joe,’ said Dennis. ‘Wot’s ’e done ter deserve ’avin’ ter live with you?’

  ‘He could do worse,’ said Joe. ‘He could live with you.’

  ‘Wot about ’im livin’ with Jimmy an’ Betty?’ said Pat.

  ‘Fair go mate, fair go. Wodda yer reckon, Nino? Four quid a week full board, an’ Edie does yer washin’?’

  I said, ‘You wish me to live in your house?’

  ‘Yeah, we got tons o’ room.’

  ‘That is very kind of you, Joe.’

  ‘No ut ain’t. We’d be gettin’ somebody anyway when Jimmy goes. Edie c’n use the extra dough. No favours, mate. She’s a business proposition.’

  ‘Who, Edie?’ said Dennis.

  ‘You know wot I mean,’ said Joe. ‘Four quid a week. Edie’ll cut yer lunch for yer same as she does now fer Jimmy. Are you on?’

  ‘Am I on?’

  ‘Yeah, will yer be in ut?’

  ‘Thank you, Joe. I will be in it.’

  ‘Good-o. Bring yer gear out Saturdy.’

  ‘Wot about ’im comin’ ter the bucks’ party Fridy night?’ said Dennis.

  ‘That’s an idea,’ said Joe. ‘We’re ’avin’ a bucks’ party fer Jimmy Fridy night. Cost yer ’alf a quid fer the grog an’ the present. She’ll be a good night.’

  ‘How c’n ut be a good night without women?’ Pat said.

  ‘There’ll be a coupla nines.’

  ‘Aw well that’s different. Women’ll keep.’

  ‘Be in ut, Nino?’

  ‘What is a bucks’ party, Joe?’

  ‘Bucks only. No women.’

  ‘A party for men?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘No women at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I will be in it.’

  ‘Good. Cheers.’ We drank.

  ‘Dontcher like women?’ said Pat.

  ‘I would like to meet the men first.’

  ‘Reckon ’e’s queer, Joe?’

  ‘’Im? Not ’im! ’Ad one workin’ for me once, but.’

  ‘Who ’aven’t y’d workin’ fer yer?’ said Pat.

  ‘You, yer bastard. Can’t say you’re workin’ fer me.’

  ‘Now I resent that. I’m just the greatest little worker this side of the black stump.’

  ‘Wodda they like on the other side?’

  ‘Never been there. Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  When I got back to Kings Cross, I had a meal at the Hasty Tasty, and fell into bed and slept for nine hours.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dennis was at the station when I reached Punchbowl the next morning. We walked to Bill’s place. It was a brick cottage, with big cracks in the brickwork at the front. ‘Subsidence,’ said Dennis. ‘That’s wot ’appened in all that rain we ’ad last year. We’re gunna put a new front on ’er. Two inch textures. All that timber up the side there’s fer the scaffolding.’ He shouted, ‘Anybody home?’

  A voice inside yelled, ‘Yeah.’ The front door, which was on a porch to the side of the house, opened, and a man came out. He was a big man, nicely dressed. He was not old, but he was completely bald, and he had no eyebrows. Dennis whispered to me, ‘Looks like a boiled egg, don’t he? But ’e’s a good bloke. Mate o’ Joe’s.’ Aloud he said, ‘Hi-yah, Bill?’

  ‘Hi-yah. Gunna make a start ter-day?’

  ‘Yeah. We’re gunna wreck ’er ter-day. Better start prayin’ ut doesn’t rain.’

  ‘Won’t rain ter-day. Paper says so.’

  ‘Gees yer better take yer umbrella then. They’re never right.’

  ‘They’ll be right this time.’

  ‘Ain’t yer workin’ ter-day?’

  ‘Yeah. Just goin’ now. Been doin’ the housework fer the missus. She’s crook again.’

  ‘That’s bad luck. We’ll be makin’ a lot o’ noise ter-day. Reckon we better come back ter-morrer?’

  ‘No, she’ll be all right. She’s in the sun room out the back.’

  ‘Okay, this is Nino, Bill, just started with us.’

  ‘Pleased ter meet yer,’ said Bill.

  I said, ‘How do you do? It is a very nice morning.’

  ‘He always talks like that,’ said Dennis. ‘He’s an Itie.’

  ‘I’ll keep ut dark,’ said Bill. ‘Gotta be goin’ or I’ll be gettin’ the sack. See yer later.’

  ‘Yeah, see yer later, Bill. Yer comin’ ter-morrer night?’

  ‘Bloody oath. Try an’ stop me.’ He drove away in a small car which had been standing in the street.

  Dennis put his canvas bag of tools on the lawn, and took out a large hammer, the head of which was flat at each end.

  I said, ‘What is that?’

  ‘Brickie’s hammer. Three an’ a half pound. Got a claw hammer here somewhere too. We’ll need that. An’ some three inch nails.’ He put them all on the grass. ‘You c’n start bringin’ round those four be twos, while I knock in a few bricks.’

  ‘Four be twos?’

  ‘Four be two timber. Four inch by two inch.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ I did some sums in my head, converting centimetres to inches, and saw what looked to be the size of timber he wanted. I carried a piece to the front. ‘Is this orright?’

  ‘Yeah, couldn’ be better. Course, yer’ve’ad plenty practice.’

  ‘This is the first time I carry such timber.’

  ‘Yeah. Thought you’d learnt ut at the Uni. Bring ’em all round an’ chuck ’em on the grass there.’

  When I had carried them all, I saw that he had made a line of holes in the wall just above the height of his head. He said, ‘Hold on a minute ’til I see wot I c’n dig up.’ Then he went to the back of the house, and returned with a short step ladder and a mattock. ‘We’ll want the seven footers first.’

  I did not understand.

  ‘Four be twos. Seven foot long.’

  I did some more sums and found the timber.

&nb
sp; ‘That’s right. Put one near each hole.’

  He had now made a small hole in the lawn opposite to each hole in the wall. He put the claw hammer in his belt, some nails in his pocket, and placed the ladder near the first hole.

  He climbed the ladder, and said, ‘Okay stand ’er up.’

  I saw what he meant and put one end of the timber in the hole. He took the other end and said, ‘Now dig us out a pudlick.’

  ‘I am to dig a puddle?’

  ‘Not a puddle, yer maniac. A pudlick. Don’t yer know wot a pudlick is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘One o’ these short bits o’ timber. The shortest we got.’

  I lifted a piece. ‘This?’

  ‘Yeah, that. Chuck ut up here.’

  I handed it to him. ‘Why is it called a pudlick?’

  ‘How the hell would I know. Hang on ter that upright.’

  I hung on, he nailed one end of the pudlick to the top of the upright, the other end resting in the hole in the wall where a brick had been.

  He said, ‘Yer know them long bits o’ two by two oregon round there?’

  ‘No, Dennis. I have never met them.’

  ‘Well yer gunna meet ’em now. Them long light coloured ones. Bring ’em round. Want ’em for braces.’

  ‘Do not braces hold up trousers?’

  ‘Not that sort o’ braces. Bring ’em round will yer, an’ quit arguin’.’

  I brought them around. He nailed one from the upright to the side fence, and another from the upright to the front fence.

  ‘That’ll hold ’er fer the time bein’,’ he said. ‘Get the idea?’

  ‘Yes, I get the idea.’

  ‘Good. Well give us a hand ter bung up the rest of ’em.’

  We bunged up the rest of them, and he braced them one to the other.

  ‘Right round the back,’ he said, ‘there’s a couple o’ big ledgers. We want them next.’

  ‘For the book-keeping?’

  ‘Fer the wot?’

  ‘Ledgers for the book-keeping?’

  ‘No, fer the bloody scaffold. Gees you’re ignorant.’

  ‘Oh, what are they like, these ledgers?’

  ‘Bloody great hunks o’ five be twos. There’s two of ’em up there. Near the planks.’

  I did not know what a plank was, either, and realised that as far as these terms were concerned, Dennis was right. I was ignorant. These ledgers were very heavy. I carried one to the front, and together we put it on top and at the front of the framework already erected. He said, ‘Drag the other end around while I skew nail this bastard.’ I did so, and observing how he had fastened it, learned what skew nail meant, without having to ask questions. As we were lifting the second one into place, I thought out a sentence. I said, ‘Chuck us the hammer and I’ll skew nail this bastard.’ I was very proud of that sentence, and expected some praise for it. But all Dennis said was, ‘Good-o. I’ll go an’ dig up some tea.’ He handed me the hammer and some nails, and went to the back of the house. I skew nailed the bastard.

  Not knowing what to do next, I sat down and practised rolling cigarettes. When he returned carrying the tea in a metal container, I had destroyed many cigarette papers, but was able to make a fairly good cigarette.

  We had our tea on the grass. I was looking at the work we had done now. I said, ‘I think I understand what is to be done. We will put the things called planks up there, to become a floor on which to stand.’

  ‘We will do that, man,’ said Dennis. ‘After which we will take up positions upon the said planks, and remove the bricks from yonder wall. We will cast the bricks upon the grass, whence they will be removed at a later date. Dost understand?’

  ‘Indeed yes. When you wish it, you speak very good English, Dennis.’

  ‘Oh yes, old chap. In my youth I was wont to conduct a plawstics factory in Keenyah. At a later stage in my astonishing career, I became a Colonel in the British Army at Poonah.’

  ‘You are too young to have been a Colonel in the British Army, are you not?’

  ‘Why not at all, my dear chap. I will be sixty-four next Monday month. My father will be forty-nine. He closely resembles the grand elliptical cesilical oozle bird, which flies around in ever diminishing concentric circles, finally disappearing up its own fundamental orifice, from which lofty eminence it gazes with mingled scorn and contempt upon its pursuers. After which it decreases in age until it becomes an egg. My father will be an egg on the twenty-sixth of January, nineteen ninety nine.’

  ‘You will be over a hundred years old, and you will eat him for breakfast.’

  ‘Egad. How horrid. Nay, nay, good sir. I will preserve him for posterity in a chamber pot. He will be pickled, which will be a condition to which he is not unaccustomed.’

  ‘Pickles are very good with salami.’

  ‘Salaam, sahine, salaami. Wilt not partake of les biscuits?’

  ‘Thank you Dennis. I would like a biscuit.’

  ‘Wouldst enjoy another cup of this fragrant brew?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Well pour ut yer bloody self. Who was yer servant last year?’

  ‘Last year I had no servant. I was living in a room at Milano.’

  ‘How sad. Were not you lonely?’

  ‘Oh no. I was very busy.’

  ‘How doth the little busy bee improve each shining hour, gathering honey all the day from every little flower.’

  ‘That is a poem?’

  ‘Excruciating my dear sir. Excruciating.’

  ‘I do not understand that word.’

  ‘Neither do I. Is it not excruciating?’

  ‘I know a poem in English.’

  ‘Say you not so? I am enchanted. Speak on.’

  ‘A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot.’

  He observed me in silence, sipping his tea. Then he said, ‘Wot’s the rest of ut?’

  ‘I do not remember.’

  ‘Just as bloody well. Yer could get shot fer sayin’ things like that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Stand out in the middle o’ George Street one day an’ say ut. Bet yer get run in.’

  ‘What is to get run in?’

  ‘Ah, me. There we go again, this could go on all day. How’s about bringin’ round them planks?’

  ‘The planks. Yes.’ I stood up.

  ‘Take the billy with yer.’

  ‘Billy? He has gone in his car.’

  ‘What the hell are yer talkin’ about?’

  ‘The man Bill. He has gone.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t has he?’ He held up the tea container. ‘See that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ut’s called a billy.’ He threw the tea leaves on the grass, and washed the billy under the garden tap, together with the two cups, which he put inside it. ‘Leave ut near the back door, an’ start bringin’ them planks around.’

  We put the planks up. Dennis showed me how to knock a brick out, and how to leave every second brick protruding at the corners, so that the new brickwork would tie in. The bricks taken out were thrown down on the lawn. I said, ‘This will ruin the grass of Mr. Bill.’

  ‘Yeah. Do ut a lot o’ no good. That’s his worry. You carry on, Nino, an’ I’ll go an’ build a bay fer the mud.’

  I carried on. I felt quite important working alone. Also I think there is in every man a hidden desire to smash something. It gave me a great pleasure to break up that wall, and send the bricks crashing to the ground. I was soon covered with dust. I was very happy. But I did not neglect to observe Dennis, in order to find out what was meant by a bay fer the mud. It appeared to be a three sided box made of planks, held up by wooden stakes driven into the ground on the outside. It was finished when I had exposed all the inner wal
l of the house, down to the scaffold.

  Dennis inspected my work. ‘That’s orright Nino. Bend them ties down, so Joe won’t poke his eye out.’

  ‘Ties?’

  ‘Them wires stickin’ out. Knock yer eye out on them. Bend ’em down.’

  I bent them down.

  ‘Now we gotta wreck the scaffold.’

  We wrecked it and stacked it. We continued to knock out bricks whilst standing on the ground.

  Dennis said, ‘She’s gunna be a bastard when we get under the dampcourse. Bloody cement mortar. Have ter use the point.’

  ‘Do not worry about it, Dennis,’ I said, having no idea what he meant.

  ‘I’m not worried about ut, mate. We’ll get ’er out. Be a bastard that’s all.’

  It was. We rolled up the dampcourse, which was a long strip of lead. Dennis said, ‘Joe’ll probably bung that back in again. She’s good fer another few years.’ The bricks under it were cemented together. Dennis gave me a point, an iron spike with a flat head, and showed me how to use it. My right arm became very tired hitting this with the heavy hammers. The bricks were most resistant. Dennis cheered me by saying, ‘She’ll be worse when we get down ter the foundations.’ However, it was lunchtime before we got that far, and the rest was most welcome. We washed ourselves under the garden tap, and Mrs. Bill came out in a dressing gown to talk to us. She was most upset about the great heap of bricks and mortar on the grass, and about Dennis’ ‘bay for the mud’.

  He said after she went back into the house, ‘Silly bitch. How c’n yer knock a wall down without makin’ a mess? Women.’

  ‘No woman likes to see her home in ruins, Dennis.’

  ‘No, they want ut all prettied up an’ smellin’ o’ polish an’ disinfectant like the Martin Place dyke. That’s the way they want a man ter be, too. ’Ave a shave. Change those dirty old trousers. Get yer hair cut. They give me a pain.’

  ‘They are very nice, sometimes.’

  ‘Yeah. Sometimes. Not bloody often, but.’

  ‘If all men thought as you do, there would not be any children. There would not be any people. The human race would cease to exist.’

  ‘Bloody good thing too.’

  ‘You would not have been born.’

  ‘Another bloody good thing.’

  ‘You do not really mean what you say.’