Jack & Harry

by Tony McKenna

  The police had turned up no leads other than that the boys had caught the train from Northam to Kalgoorlie, beyond that … nothing. She was even more distressed that a warrant had been issued for their arrest over the theft of the bike. William Munse had insisted that charges be layed, adamant that they had taken his son’s bike for a second time and abandoned it by the river.

  Jean talked with her every day and they both cried together on and off. Claude and Jack had driven to Merridin and Southern Cross making enquiries in addition to the police efforts but had returned on Sunday, their labours in vain. When Alice had been angry with her husband for not going directly to Kalgoorlie he explained, quite logically, that there was a chance that the boys had left the train en route and as those places were much smaller, it made sense to search them first.

  She heard the postman’s whistle in her subconscious, as he worked his way along the street delivering mail, but it didn’t register. Jack came out from the bathroom after showering. He had slept late that morning, tired from the driving and emotionally drained. He looked haggard, dressed only in grey trousers and a white singlet. He filled the kettle from the rainwater tap over the sink and placed it on the stove, looking up as he heard a knock at the door. Alice jumped at the sound but remained seated, a look of apprehension on her drawn face.

  ‘I’ll get it, dear.’ Jack walked quickly to the door.

  ‘Tom?’ Jack was surprised to see the postman standing on the front porch, his bike leaning against the front fence beside the gate.

  ‘G’day, Jack. Sorry, mate, but I couldn’t help thinking you may want to see this as soon as possible.’ He handed an envelope to Jack. ‘Figured from the writing it might be from your young Jack.’ Tom the postie had been delivering mail to the residents of the suburb for a number of years and knew everyone on his round. He had seen most of the kids grow up.

  ‘My God it is his writing. Alice, Alice …’ Jack called excitedly. He went inside, slamming the wire door behind him, forgetting about the postie standing on the porch.

  ‘What ever is it, Jack? What’s the matter?’ Alice stood up, alarm in her voice.

  ‘It’s a letter … from Jack.’ They stood side by side staring at the envelope with Jack’s distinctive juvenile scrawl on its face, both too apprehensive now to open it.

  ‘Go on, Jack, you open it.’ She was shaking, one hand to her mouth.

  He picked up a knife from the table and carefully slit the envelope, retrieving the single page of tightly written script Alice started to cry softly and Jack put his arm tenderly around her shoulders as he read.

  ‘Dear Mum and Dad’

  ‘By the time you get this letter we will be a long way away. I couldn’t stay home and go to jail for something I didn’t do and bring shame on you all. I want you to know that we didn’t steal that bike, never stole nothing in my life. Billy Munse told us that his dad had witnesses or something that we pinched it but that’s a lie.

  Sorry to cause you so much trouble but don’t worry about us, we’l be alright. We have met some beaut people and are off to make our fortune. Harry is writing to his parents too so they should get a letter about the same time.

  Sorry Mum that I lied about the lunch money. We put that with our pocket money and had ten shillings on Comic Court in the cup. It won so thanks Dad for the beaut tip. We been real careful with our money and still have quite a bit left. We bought some work clothes and hats and stuff so are OK.’

  ‘I will write again soon, don’t try to look for us as we don’t want to go to jail and don’t tell the police that you heard from us. I reckon I’m the luckiest kid in the world to have a mum and dad like you. Sorry again for worrying you so much.

  Love Jack xx

  Alice wiped tears from her eyes, noticing that Jack also had a catch in his voice as he read the closing lines.

  ‘There’s no address, Jack,’ She sniffled. ‘They don’t say where they are.’

  ‘It’s postmarked Kalgoorlie.’ Jack examined the envelope. ‘They’re not that clever, Alice. I don’t suppose they realised we would work that out from the envelope.’

  The telephone rang, interrupting their thoughts. It was Claude calling to say that they had also just received a letter from Harry postmarked Kalgoorlie. Claude said he and Jean would come around and work out what they should do next.

  Both parents read each other’s letters. The notes were essentially the same in content, both boys stressing their innocence about stealing the bike.

  ‘Better let the police know, Jack,’ Claude suggested. ‘They’ll be happy to know the boys are OK at least.’

  Constable Bob Peters and his sergeant read each of the letters. ‘Seems like we need to have another talk with the Munse family, Bob.’

  ‘Certainly do, sarge, I’ll get over there straight away. Hope all their neighbours see the car out the front.’ He smiled wickedly as he left, placing his cap squarely on his head.

  ‘Don’t be too pushy, Bob,’ The sergeant called after him.

  ‘I won’t but I aim to get to the truth this time,’ he shot over his shoulder as he left the station.

  ‘You go home, folks,’ the sergeant said. ‘I’ll come ’round after Bob gets back. Will you be together?’

  ‘We’ll be waiting for you at our house.’ Jack glanced questioningly at Claude who nodded assent.

  William Munse Senior opened the door and was disconcerted to see the police constable in full uniform standing on the verandah. Munse looked past him and his expression tensed. ‘Did you have to park out there? … Bring the car onto the driveway, Constable, if you have to come here. What is it you want anyhow? You should have telephoned, this is most inappropriate.’

  ‘The car’s fine where it is, sir. Is young Billy home?’

  ‘William is studying, constable, you can talk to me if you have something to say.’

  ‘Let’s not make this more difficult than it needs to be, sir. There have been some developments and I need to talk to Billy.’ He was satisfied to see Munse scowl at the use of Billy rather than William. ‘Perhaps I should come inside?’ He inclined his head in a questioning manner and Munse reluctantly stepped aside and ushered the policeman through the door.

  Billy was summoned and came sheepishly into the room where they were waiting and looked fearfully at his father standing with the constable.

  ‘Now, Billy, I think we need to have an honest talk here about the bike episode and your accusations that Jack and Harry stole it. You know they’re missing?’

  ‘William has told you all there is to know constable. You’re wasting your time here, I’m going to call your sergeant now and complain that you are harassing my son. Everyone knows you are a friend of the Fergusons.’ Munse moved toward the telephone.

  ‘Good idea, sir, the sergeant would welcome the chance to come around to be a part of this interview Do you know the number? It’s …?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’ Munse was unnerved by the policeman’s attitude. ‘Just get on with it and be quick about it.’ He attempted to assert himself again, unaccustomed to not being in control.

  ‘Tell me again, Billy.’ The constable spoke quietly in a friendly manner. ‘Why did you say Jack and Harry stole your bike?’

  ‘Because they did, that’s why.’ Munse senior butted in. ‘What is the purpose of your line of …’

  ‘Sir!’ It was said firmly, the policeman holding his hand up to silence William Munse. ‘Let Billy speak for himself. Billy, answer the question.’

  Billy Munse licked his lips, eyes darting between the policeman and his father, unsure of what to say. He felt trapped because either way he was in trouble, if not from the police for lying then certainly from his father.

  ‘Billy … this thing has gone far enough.’ The policeman could see the conflict in the boy’s eyes. ‘There are two young kids missing out there somewhere and their parents are worried sick about them. They were your friends, Billy, why would they steal your bike? They’ve run away because
they were scared to death they would go to jail. Don’t you care what’s happened to them or if they’re all right?’

  Billy’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times but no sound came out. He looked at his father, tears beginning to well up in his eyes.

  ‘William, you don’t need to say anything. Constable, this is most irregular and I’ll have your …’

  ‘With due respect, sir …’ Bob Peters paused and turned to face William Munse. ‘…Shut up!’

  Munse spluttered, his eyes bulging but he remained silent.

  ‘Dad?’ Billy was visibly shaking with fear. ‘Dad, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Go on, son, let’s clear this thing up once and for all.’ The policeman gave Munse a sidelong glance.

  ‘I just didn’t want you to hang my bike away, Dad, you said you would and …’ He broke into sobs.

  ‘What’s this, sir? You were going to hang his bike up … what for?’ Bob Peters looked hard at Billy’s father.

  ‘Well, I … er.’

  ‘Yes, go on, sir.’

  ‘Dad said if I let any of the other kids ride it he’d hang it up in the shed and nobody would get to ride it. I didn’t mean to get ’em in no trouble, honest,’ Billy blurted out.

  ‘I see. So you said they stole it to stop your father from taking your bike away did you?’

  ‘That’s enough, constable, can’t you see you’re upsetting the boy.’ Munse however had lost his belligerent tone.

  ‘No, Dad, it’s OK. I know I’ll be in trouble for lyin’ and you’ll probably take me bike away forever but that doesn’t matter now. I’ll probably go to jail now instead of Jack and Harry.’ He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of a hand, fighting to keep from sobbing.

  ‘Nobody’s going to jail, son, but there is a warrant out for the boys’ arrest. Do you think that’s fair?’ the constable appealed to Billy.

  ‘No, it’s not I guess. I made it up about them stealin’ the bike, they didn’t do it.’ Billy felt a great weight lift off his shoulders but shivered inwardly when he saw the look in his father’s eyes.

  ‘Good lad, Billy, takes a man to admit he’s made a mistake. Doesn’t it, sir?’ The policeman turned and faced Munse squarely.

  Munse didn’t reply immediately but then tried to regain command of the situation. ‘What about the time it was found down at the creek, on the Tuesday? They must have taken it that time and …’

  Billy went to speak but the policeman interrupted him. ‘That’s OK, Billy, I don’t think we need to go into that episode do we?’

  ‘I still insist that …’ Munse was blustering and the policeman spoke again, directly to him.

  ‘There’s also the matter of the costs you know?’ he said, pausing for effect before continuing. ‘Very expensive having boats and officers dragging a river for nothing. Serious offence really, but then you’d know that wouldn’t you, sir, being a solicitor?’

  Munse looked deflated as the policeman continued. ‘There’s also a little matter about some witnesses that were mentioned in the initial statement. I’ll have to investigate that also. I should go around and have a talk with them I suppose. Anyhow, must be off, back to the station to make out my report.’ He turned back to the young boy standing forlornly in the centre of the room. ‘Billy, thanks.’ He held out his hand that Billy took weakly after hesitating and glancing at his father.

  ‘I reckon you deserve a ride on that new bike, Billy, sort of a reward for your honesty. Take a spin down to the park eh?’ The policeman gave William Munse a meaningful glare. ‘I’m sure your father won’t mind as he didn’t mean it when he said he would take your bike away … did you, sir?’

  Munse said nothing so the policeman continued. ‘He just said it, son, to make you more careful with your bike that’s all. Bring it past the station one of these days, Billy, I used to race bikes once so I could maybe give you a couple of tips.’ He left, letting himself out the front door.

  Back at the station, the sergeant looked up as the constable entered. ‘What ever did you say over at the Munse’s, Bob? Munse telephoned a minute ago and said he wanted all the charges against young Ferguson and Turner dropped!’

  Bob Peters smiled innocently. ‘I’ll put it all in my report.’

  The sergeant had just left the Ferguson house after telling them and the Turners that all charges against their sons had been dropped and therefore the warrant would be withdrawn. He also told them he couldn’t officially list them as ‘missing persons’ either because realistically they weren’t as they had now made contact. He would let his colleagues in Kalgoorlie know to keep an eye out for them he said but beyond that could offer no further assistance.

  ‘Nothing for it then, Claude, we’ll have to go and look for them ourselves. They can’t be too hard to find as we know they’re in Kalgoorlie.’

  ‘Little buggers,’ Claude replied. ‘But at least we know they’re safe.’

  ‘Or at least were when they posted the letters on Thursday.’ Alice was unconvinced. ‘That was three days ago.’ She looked anxiously at the two men. ‘When are you leaving?’

  ‘First thing in the morning. That OK with you, Claude? I’ll telephone a couple of the Elders men there and arrange somewhere to stay for a couple of days. At least our trust in them has been confirmed, they’re innocent and now there’s no warrant.’

  ‘Yes, that’s a Godsend, Jack. Once they find that out they’ll be busting to get home.’ Alice tried to sound cheerful but failed.

  ‘Hmm … that’s if they haven’t made their fortune.’ The four of them laughed, a little too loudly, at Jean’s attempt at humour.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jack and Harry were at a loss as to what to do in the Aboriginal Community of Warburton. They had again witnessed the turnout of what seemed to them to be the entire population, both human and canine, to welcome the arrival of Reynold and Nigel. The boys wondered how the people knew the two young Aboriginals were coming as they doubted there had been any contact from Mt Margaret but this was to be a phenomenon they would witness many times in the future. The ability of the Aboriginal people to communicate almost telepathically about many things, births, deaths, danger, comings and goings.

  Their two friends were enveloped in a mass of swarming relatives as soon as they had stepped from the truck. They were almost immediately whisked away leaving Jack and Harry standing alone beside the truck in the increasing heat, surrounded by hordes of small black annoying bushflies that blanketed their backs and explored their eyes and mouths.

  ‘Don’t worry, boys.’ George saw their uncertainty. ‘That’s pretty usual. Everyone knows you’re here and you aren’t being ignored but Reynold and Nigel are family and they come first. After things settle down in a while and the boys tell their relatives about you they’ll be back. Give us a hand to unload while you’re waitin’.’ He began to untie ropes.

  George was right. After about forty minutes an ancient vehicle came clattering up to where they were unloading boxes onto the verandah of a corrugated iron building that doubled as a post office, general store and, by the old rusty glass-bowl topped bowser, a petrol garage as well.

  Reynold and Nigel waved to them over the top of the windscreen from the front seat of what appeared to be an old Model T Ford. What had once been a tourer had been converted into a rough tray back utility. It had no top, the headlights were broken and the bonnet cowlings were missing. There were three young children perched on the wooden floor at the back.

  ‘This bloke ’ere me cuzin.’ Reynold pointed to the driver as way of introduction but ignored the kids in the back, the boys again noting the lack of name exchange. ‘Trow yer stuff on, we goin’ to meet me uncle Warri now. Got good camp out little way.’

  They climbed onto the back of the small tray, squeezing in with the kids who avoided looking at them, and the old Ford jerked to a start. About two miles down the red gravelled track Reynold’s cousin swung heavily on the steering wheel, hauling the old vehicle onto an almost invisible
trail toward a rocky red bluff. Before they saw any habitation the vehicle slowed and stopped.

  Reynold turned to them with a serious expression on his face. ‘Yu two fellas jump out ’ere, eh? Wait by that tree there.’ He pointed to a stunted mulga offering a little shade. ‘Rennol go in first ’n see uncle Warri. Come back for yu bloke shortly.’

  His tone left no room for argument and the boys were mystified as they watched the old car move off through the low scrub and disappear round an outcrop of rocks about half a mile away. They could hear the distant barking of dogs a couple of minutes later so figured that the camp must be just beyond the rocks. They sat on their swags and waited, swatting the ever-present flies from their eyes.

  Jack checked his pocket watch, then slipped it back in the pouch. ‘He’s been gone nearly forty minutes.’

  Harry was about to respond when they heard the old Ford coming and saw the dust cloud rising behind it. It passed, did a U-turn and pulled up beside them, Reynold alone and at the wheel.

  ‘Come on then,’ he shouted as if it was they who were responsible for being there. ‘Jump on, uncle Warri ’e waitin’ fer yu.’

  They rounded the bluff and drove for a few hundred yards to be met by three dogs running toward them. The boys thought that Reynold would run over them as he didn’t slow down but the dogs dodged aside and spun around to chase the car, barking furiously behind it.

  ‘This uncle Warri’s camp,’ Reynold yelled over the noise of the motor and pointed as they came into a clearing in the scrub. The ‘camp’ consisted of a large tattered canvas tarpaulin slung with ropes between four trees that had two wooden fruit crates with some planks on top as a makeshift table placed under it. Smoke curled lazily skyward from a campfire with an iron tripod over it. A blackened billy was suspended from it and there were three or four upturned kerosene tins doubling as chairs. An assortment of cooking pots and an iron frypan were dangling from the trees. A short way off to the rear, close to the bluff and under a rocky overhang for shelter, was a large fenced yard constructed from bush poles that held three horses.