by Tony McKenna
They worked on what they thought was a seam, scraping, chipping and digging clay and rocks that they hauled out to the mullock heap. They then shovelled it through the sieve and found opal but it was worthless ‘potch’ as it was known on the fields. Bruno had told them when they worked his diggings that finding it, however, was an indication that valuable or even precious opal could be nearby, but they didn’t find any.
Working through the dugout rubble in the mornings they did find a little more opal similar to the stone they initially found and decided to take it all to Bruno to see if he could sell it for them. They needed money for supplies and they didn’t want to break into their saving, so thought they might be able to get a little for what they had found.
Bruno examined their findings, a number of smallish stones and some chips that Reynold had fossicked around the fields. He pursed his lips a couple of times but made no comment on the quality except to say that it was probably saleable. There was a buyer due in town that week he said and if they trusted him enough he would take it in with his parcel and run it past the buyer. They readily agreed, telling Bruno that of course they trusted him, so he took a small calico bag with a drawstring, the boys commenting that it looked like a bag they kept marbles in at home, and placed their opal in it.
Working back on their drive the next couple of days seemed interminable, waiting for Bruno to appear, but when they saw him driving up in his Land Rover they became nervous. Bruno’s expression didn’t reveal anything and they knew that their opal was probably worthless or he had it sold for a pittance. At least, they figured, there might be enough to buy some more tinned goods and tea but they were hoping to get timber and nails to upgrade their dugout a little.
Bruno sat down on an upturned kerosene tin in their dugout and placed an envelope on the rough-hewn table. Putting a match to a candle he drew some notes from the envelope and started to count them in the yellow dancing light, placing each note carefully in a pile as he did so.
‘Ten a twenty, thirty a forty, fifty a sixty …’ He didn’t look up as he counted or he would have seen the expressions on the boy’s faces turn from ‘pleased’ to ‘stunned’ as he went on. ‘One a hundred anda ten, anda twenty, thirty anda forty…’ He continued counting, the boys numb with shock and when he reached ‘Fiva hundred.’ He paused taking a deep breath.
‘Fi … fiv … ah … five … hundred quid!’ Harry stammered.’
‘Shhh … you breaka da count.’ Bruno licked his fingers dramatically and continued. ‘Fiva hundred anda ten, anda twenty …’ He stopped at ‘Sevena hundred and twenty fiva pound.’ The Italian looked up from the pile of notes in front of him, a huge smile breaking out on his face. ‘Alla yours!’ He patted the pile of notes affectionately.
Jack tried to speak but it sounded like a high croak then coughing, he said hoarsely, ‘seven hundred quid!’
‘Anda twentya five,’ Bruno corrected.
‘It’s a bloody fortune, Harry, look!’ Jack stared at the pile in the centre of the table.
Harry said nothing and just stared blankly at the money, his mouth moving but no sound escaping.
‘Bruno, you’re a champion, mate.’ Without thinking Jack launched himself at the short, heavily-built Italian, throwing his arms around him in a giant bear hug.
Bruno, taken by surprise, stood stock still with his arms stiffly at his sides. It had been many years since another human being had ever expressed gratitude or affection in such a demonstrative way and he was self-conscious of this young man’s spontaneity but then he slowly brought one arm up and patted Jack on the back. His other hand surreptitiously wiped tears that had formed in his eyes.
Paddy O’Brien was in a gleeful mood when he knocked firmly on the presbytery door around ten thirty at night. There was no immediate answer so he persisted until a light flicked on in the hallway. ‘Yes, I’m coming,’ a voice said irritably. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me, Timothy. Your old friend Paddy. Are ye gonna let me in now or do I have to stand out here all the night long.’
Father O’Malley opened the heavy door and a beam of light from the hallway fell on Paddy, his hat placed at the familiar jaunty angle on his head and a smile dancing on his lips. ‘Good heavens, Paddy.’ The priest looked at the clock in the passageway. ‘Do you know what time it is, man?’
‘It’d be time for a little bit of the ‘doins’ that’s what time it’d be.’ Paddy waved a bottle in front of the priest who rolled his eyes despairingly.
‘Come in, Paddy, come in, before you wake the whole neighbourhood.’ He stood aside to let his friend enter. ‘I won’t be joining you in a drink though at this time of night and that’s for sure.’
‘Ahh, Father ye’ve got to be celebratin’ with me now. It’d be a fine thing if an old friend won’t share a man’s joy.’ Paddy tripped down the hallway toward the kitchen. ‘I’ll just be gettin’ a coupla glasses then.’
‘Well, just the one, Paddy, I’ve got a busy day tomorrow and what is it then that we’ve got to celebrate now that won’t wait until tomorrow?’
‘Aahh, lady luck she’s been smilin’ kindly on Paddy O’Brien tonight, Father. I was borrowin’ a coupla quid I was from a good friend of mine, little colleen that I know.’ He winked at the priest who tried unsuccessfully to hide his smile. ‘And as luck would have it there was a little two-up game on tonight and I managed with me usual skill to be makin’ a few quid profit.’
‘So you’ve come here from a two-up game have you, Paddy?’
‘Well … I have to be honest, not directly, Father.’ Paddy looked coyly at his glass before throwing the contents down in one gulp.
‘Don’t be telling me you’ve been around in Hay Street again and turning up here at this hour.’ There was a note of annoyance in his tone.
‘Father, you know me, I was havin’ to return the money I borrowed now wasn’t I?’
‘You’re incorrigible, Paddy, that’s what you are. Now how much ‘profit’ did you make then that’d bring you scurrying round here all lit up like a beacon.’ The priest looked at his empty glass, moved to put it on the table then shrugging, poured another nip from the bottle.
‘Enough for …’ Paddy pulled a wad of money from his coat pocket and peeled a ten-pound note from it and, placing it on the table, said, ‘… to be able to be makin’ an offerin’ for the plate.’
‘I’d prefer it if you put it in the offering personally during mass on Sunday, Paddy.’ The priest fixed his friend with a steely eye. ‘A little visit to confession wouldn’t be going astray either, y’know.’
‘Aahh the good Lord is knowin’ me heart, Father and besides …’ Paddy poured another healthy slug into his glass, ‘… how could I be tellin’ you me secrets, you bein’ me mate an’ all.’
The priest shook his head in despair. ‘It’d do you no harm to go to mass now and again on a Sunday, Paddy.’
‘It’s all right for you, Timothy, you go every Sunday ’cause you’re the praiste an’ all. You run the show.’
‘No, Paddy. I go every Sunday because I want to and because I’m a Christian, not just because I’m the priest.’ He looked closely at his friend. ‘Perhaps you should leave some of that cash with me for safekeeping, Paddy, otherwise you’ll be spending it all by tomorrow night.’
‘No, Father, I’ve got a plan for this money.’
‘And what plan would that be, Paddy?’
‘I’m goin’ to be buyin’ a train ticket tomorra. Time to be movin’ on a bit and I thought I’d be tryin’ me luck out in Coober Pedy.’
‘Coober Pedy, eh? Wouldn’t have anything to do with a Jack or a Harry being there would it?’
Paddy smiled and stroked his stubbly chin, head angled to one side. ‘Now, why would ye be thinkin’ that now?’
Reynold had busied himself outside while Bruno had counted the money. When Bruno’s old Land Rover had clanked off down the track, Harry called him in and showed him the pile of notes. It was beyond Reynold’s capacity to comp
rehend such a large amount of cash so he said nothing, just stared in awe. They had put a portion aside for Ishmo’s share and wanted to surprise Reynold by giving him a return for his efforts.
He protested by shaking his head and refusing to take the notes that Harry held out to him telling him it was his share. ‘No. Rennol not take no money, eh? Yu bin real good to me, tucker, place to live … you treat Rennol laik ’e one ’n the same laik you. Don’ need no money.’
When both boys insisted he take some money he eventually weakened. ‘OK, Rennol ’e take ten quid.’
‘You’ve gotta take more than that, Reynold,’ Jack pressed.
‘You deserve more than ten quid, mate,’ Harry said, still holding the notes out to Reynold.
‘Tell yu what …’ He thought for a moment. ‘I take ten quid for Rennol, yu send little bit more ’ome to uncle Warri. Warri ’e maybe need that money now ’e not drovin’ for a bit.’
Early the next morning the three boys decided they would walk to Bruno’s claim and thank him again for his negotiations with the visiting buyer on their behalf. They also wanted to ask his advice on upgrading the dugout and purchasing some more efficient equipment.
Arriving at the claim they were surprised not to be met by Bruno’s mongrel dog, Shaggy, that, regardless of how many times they visited, still ran barking furiously at them to warn Bruno of their presence and to show them he was guarding his master’s domain.
There was an unnerving silence about the place and they sensed, rather than knew, something wasn’t quite right. Walking to the shaft mouth they saw it was open and that the timber-planked cover that Bruno pulled over it at night to stop snakes or small animals falling in, was cast aside. Bruno was obviously working down his mine but then they noticed Shaggy lying on his belly staring at the open shaft and whimpering. The dog looked up as they approached and wagged its tail half-heartedly but continued to whine.
‘Bruno, you there?’ Jack called down the shaft. There was no response.
‘I’m goin’ down,’ He said. ‘Reynold, you run over to the shed and grab one of Bruno’s spare lanterns will ya?’
‘I’ll come with you, Jack.’
‘Righto, Harry, let’s wait for the lantern though.’ Jack reached down and patted Shaggy until Reynold returned with the lantern They lit the lamp then Jack swung his legs over the edge of the shaft onto the rope ladder. Harry waited until Jack was clear then followed, leaving Reynold peering into the shaft anxiously watching them descend into the blackness.
Stepping from the ladder, Jack held the lantern high to light up the base cavern but it was empty. Harry joined him and they looked around at the drives and seeing the barrow near the entrance to one of them and evidence of recent activity they decided they should investigate that tunnel first. Calling out again but getting no response they looked nervously at each other as they stooped to enter the drive.
Rounding a sharp bend some ten feet in they were shocked when the lantern lit up a wall of fallen rock and rubble blocking the drive that they knew, from previously working there, continued for another thirty or forty feet.
‘My God, Jack.’ Harry whispered for some reason. ‘It’s caved in.’
‘Bruno, Bruno!’ Jack started yelling then put the lantern on the floor and started frantically to pull at the rocks, scraping clay and dirt fruitlessly with his hands. ‘Bruno!’ he yelled, ‘can you hear me?’
‘We gotta get help, Jack.’
‘Yeah, and some more light and shovels. Hang on, Bruno, we’ll be back,’ He yelled at the formidable rock wall.
They relayed to Reynold what had happened telling him to go and get help while they started to dig but Reynold shook his head. ‘No good me goin’. Blokes take no notice of blackfella. They jus’ tink I lyin’ or somethin’. Yu go, Harry, ’n Rennol ’e ’elp Jack dig.’
‘But you won’t go down a shaft Reynold and Jack needs help.’
‘Rennol ’e go down ’cause Bruno ’e need ’elp quick.’
‘He’s right, Harry … you go for help.’
Harry ran to Bruno’s Land Rover that he had started and moved some short distances a few times before, and pressed the starter. The motor turned over slowly then thankfully fired into life. Harry crunched the gears and letting the clutch out suddenly, headed off in jerky leaps down the track, pressing the horn to gain attention; while Jack and Reynold, now with another lantern, followed the two shovels they dropped down the shaft.
The two boys dug frantically at the rubble. They found the shovels too cumbersome to make much effect so reverted to using their bare hands in a desperate attempt to reach their entombed friend. Dust clogged their eyes and nostrils and it was hard, cramped in the confined space, but they worked ceaselessly, breaking nails and ripping skin from their fingers as they clawed at the rubble.
They two boys, near exhaustion and sweating in the dust laden air, didn’t notice the men come down the shaft and move up behind them until a voice broke through their frenzied concentration. ‘All right, lads, have a break … we’ll take over for a while.’
Climbing the rope ladder to the surface was an incredible effort, their arms and legs feeling like jelly from the strenuous effort to dig Bruno out. When they reached the top they were blinded for some moments by the blazing sun as unseen hands hauled them out. When their eyes adjusted to the glare they were staggered to see the amount of activity on the surface.
There were vehicles parked all over the claim and men ran everywhere. A truck-mounted generator was located beside the shaft, two miners were bolting a steel ladder together and a motorised windlass was also being put in position to speed the removal of rubble from the mine. Trestle tables were erected under a canvass tarpaulin and a fire was burning to boil water for tea.
A stranger led Jack and Reynold to the tarpaulin shelter. Sitting them down he gave them a mug of tea each then brought a bowl of water, soap and towels for them to clean up. Seeing the cuts and abrasions on their hands from tearing at the rocks he walked to his truck and returned with a first aid kit. After they had washed up he applied antiseptic to the injuries that at first appeared serious but were revealed minor after the bloodied dirt was washed away. The two boys were in a daze watching the rescue get into full swing. As they sat there a number of men walked past and nodded to them and two actually came to them where they were sitting. ‘Well done, lads,’ they said, ‘bloody good effort.’ Reynold, being naturally shy, was embarrassed by the attention and stared intently into his mug of tea.
Harry joined them under the shelter. They told him they hadn’t been able to reach Bruno and the three of them watched the activity as instructions were shouted, curses filled the air and men worked non stop to reach the buried miner.
There was less frantic activity as the rescuers settled into a routine, working in shifts to reach Bruno, but as the hours passed, hope of finding him alive waned and a quiet settled over the workers. Father Shaun Logan arrived and after inspecting the rescue efforts and giving words of encouragement to the volunteers, came to where the boys were waiting.
‘You three have done a great job,’ he said quietly.
‘We couldn’t reach him, Father. We couldn’t bloody reach him!’ There were stinging tears in Jack’s eyes.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Father O’Malley drove Paddy to the railway station. He was convinced the night before that it was just the Irish whisky talking but Paddy was up early, his usual cheeky smile and good-natured banter giving no indication of the amount of ‘the doins’ that had been consumed. The empty bottle in the middle of the kitchen table the only evidence.
Purchasing his ticket, Paddy returned to the car to pick up his meagre belongings and to bid goodbye to his friend. The priest stepped from the car, walked to the boot, opened it and retrieved a brown Gladstone bag that he held out to Paddy.
‘What’s this then, Timothy?’
‘Don’t be offended, old friend, but I think your hessian sugar bag has seen better days and I thought
this’d come in handy for the trip.’ He handed the bag to Paddy. ‘There are a couple of things in there that might just come in handy for you too. Some shirts, socks, you know … basic things like that.’
‘Timothy, I never expected …’
‘Nothing fancy, Paddy.’ The priest interrupted him. ‘There’s something else as well.’ Reaching into his coat pocket the priest took a buff coloured envelope out and gave it his friend. ‘I’d like you to pass this on to the boys when you run into them.’
‘I’ll be seein’ them and that’s for sure, Father. I’ll pass it on.’
The two men stood awkwardly facing each other, both aware it could be some considerable time before they saw each other again.
The train whistle blew, signalling its departure, and they welcomed the sound that broke the self-consciousness of the moment.
‘Well, Paddy, better get on board then.’ The priest held his hand out. ‘You be taking good care of yourself now, you hear?’
‘You are a dear and treasured friend, Father.’ Paddy took the priest’s hand, shaking it warmly. He stood for a second looking into his friend’s eyes. ‘No use wastin’ this ticket is there by standin’ here then?’ he said suddenly with a quick smile and a wink.
Picking up the Gladstone bag he touched his finger to the brim of his hat. ‘Keep a glass clean for me, Timothy, I’ll be back with a case of Irish after I’m makin’ me fortune in Coober Pedy. Aahh, I can feel it in me bones. Be seein’ ya, Timothy.’ Paddy grabbed the handrail and leapt onto the train steps leaving Father O’Malley alone on the platform.
‘I’m going to miss you, you Old Rascal.’ The little Irishman had already vanished into the carriage and the priest’s words were lost in a hiss of steam as the engine pulled away from the platform.
