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The Red Flag The people’s flag is deepest red, It shrouded oft our martyred dead; And ere their limbs grew stiff or cold, Their heart’s blood dyed its every fold. Then raise the scarlet banner high! Within its shade we’ll live and die. Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer, We’ll keep the red flag flying here. Ralph Chaplin
The marchers swam through humidity after days of rain. The last shower passed away only the minute before they began and now it steamed back up from the mud-churned footpath. Before them to the east, the khaki river crawled away, mud-swollen with storm rain, away from Brisbane, away from politics and war. For a sliver of a moment, Joe Hill wished he was going with it, or that he could evaporate with the steamy vapour and vanish. Unsure, he felt. Uncertain, unsteady.
‘A penny for your thoughts, Joe.’ Molly called from the other end of the Children’s Peace Army banner.
‘A penny?’ Mick Doyle laughed sarcastically, thumping Joe in the arm. ‘You’d be paying double what any of them are worth!’
Joe Hill was startled from his reverie and thumped Mick back. Mick bristled, like he always did when someone gave him a touch-up, even in fun, then laughed because they were mates.
Joe winked at Molly and answered,
‘Just dunno how I’m going to go, that’s all.’ He coughed nervously. Mick answered for both Molly and himself,
‘Cobber, you got a gob full of the biggest words in the dictionary,’ he added, ‘you’ll go as good as a cold beer on a hot day.’ Mick grinned his encouragement.
Joe wasn’t sure but he knew this much was true – Peace and Universal Brotherhood through non-violent action were the two greatest goals Mankind strove to achieve. Joe gripped tighter to the broom handle in his hands, hoisting it unintentionally. He dropped it down again just as quickly when somebody hit him in the exposed side of his ribcage,
‘Help! I’ve been robbed!’ A wild, wide-eyed face appeared no more than a hand’s width away from his.
‘You bloody galah!’ Joe burst out.
Tomfool recoiled like a frightened pup, unsure of what he’d done wrong. Joe felt ashamed at his temper.
‘Let’s save it for later hey, Tomas?’ he suggested. Taking no notice of Tomfool’s plea for help, Joe patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.
‘Besides, you’ll get nowhere with this lot, cobber,’ Mick agreed, adding a second calming voice to quell the young man’s agitation. He nodded back over his shoulder to the marchers behind them.
‘They all know what your game is, mate.’ The Peace Army children were bumping into them. It was Molly who started them again.
‘We’ll be playing the game later for sure, Tomas,’ she said taking Tomfool’s hand and leading him and the marchers onwards.
‘I promise we’ll play, directly Joe has made his speech and shown the world.’
Molly Pearce gave Joe a look of pride and hope that would shine until the end of time.
‘We’ll see if Joe Hill makes a seditious speech!’ Tomfool said, hunching his shoulders like a murderer in a music hall melodrama. ‘Then we’ll lock the damn-fool red-ragger up and throw away the key!’ They all turned straight to Tom.
‘Who said that to you, Tomas?’ Mick asked, almost nonchalant, so Tomfool didn’t guess it was important and act the ninny.
‘The man with the broken tooth,’ Tomfool answered. No one bothered to look around, half the men in the crowd had been in street fights, or at war, or kicked by horses, or played cricket or hockey or boxed. It was unbroken teeth that were at a premium.
‘Can you see him?’ Mick prodded. Tomas looked above the crowd.
‘Yes. I can see him. I can, but you can’t.’
Molly recognised Tomfool’s tone.
‘Now, Tomas,’ she said. ‘Don’t you be letting those other boys see where he is!’ She tilted her head coquettishly and a tress of hair fell across her face. Joe knew he would remember that tress forever, draped across her eye as she spoke sidelong.
‘But you’ll tell me. Won’t you, Tomas Madorsky? It’ll be our secret.’ They all loved Molly better than breathing with that look in her eyes.
‘Whisper to me, Tomas.’
Which he did, of course. Molly passed the description to Mick. He craned his neck until he could see.
‘Never seen him before,’ Mick said. ‘The bloke loafing by the streetlight with a head like a boarding house puddin’.’ He nodded without pointing.
Joe took a look.
‘Don’t know him either.’
Molly shook her head.
‘You go on,’ Mick said, ‘I’ll tell Ted.’ He handed the banner to Molly and darted back to look for Joe’s old man.
‘We’ll see if Joe Hill makes a seditious speech!’ Tomfool repeated, voice conspiratorial.
‘And we won’t be surprised if that bloke gets a kicking soon,’ Joe muttered, oblivious to the irony of such a thought from the leader of the Children’s Peace Army.
‘What are you all whispering about?’ one of the Army children asked them.
‘Look! We’ll almost be there next, so someone has to go and prepare things for Joe’s speech. We’re just deciding who,’ Molly fibbed. Then she began to sing, waving like a conductor to the crowd behind her, ‘The people’s flag is deepest red.’
‘Molly, dear!’ a quiet voice broke through the singing. Molly glanced down to the edge of the cobbled gutter. Obviously affected by the heat, Miss Thorpe sat with her head hung down between her skirts looking for all the world like a pile of dirty washing. Kathleen O’Donahue sat beside her fanning her hard with a folding lace fan as she mopped Miss Thorpe’s brow with a handkerchief.
‘Be a dear, Molly and run over to the pub and ask the barmaid for some cold melt water for Miss Thorpe. It’s hotter than the inside of a hospital laundry.’ Molly handed her banner pole to another marcher and ran, calling over her shoulder to Joe.
‘I’ll catch you up soon!’ holding her hat in her haste. Tomfool made to follow but Joe held him back.
‘Strike, Mum! Your revolution’ll be spent making sure there’s no stragglers and everyone’s fed and feeling all right,’ he said, even though he knew he sounded just like his father.
‘That is the all of the Revolution, Joseph Hill and don’t you forget it,’ Kathleen answered hotly, forgetting momentarily that her son was not his father.
‘Joe!’ her voice came again, gentler now, but still loud enough to carry above the motley of voices up and down the street.
‘Yes, Mother,’ he replied.
‘Don’t
