a moment, Joe thought he might be able to get through the next hour – Joe Hill’s finest – he hoped. He smiled back at her and the crowd cheered. He knew the cheer wasn’t for him but he was happy to let himself feel as though it was.
‘Get on with you, then! You’re holding everyone up,’ Kathleen called. Joe attached Tomas to one end of the banner and together they marched back to the front of the Children’s Peace Army contingent.
‘Go on yourself,’ a partially revived Miss Thorpe half-smiled, pale with heatstroke, though warm with gratitude for Kathleen O’Donahue’s care.
‘And leave my Sister in the gutter? Never,’ she answered. ‘Look, here’s Molly with the water. Thank you, dear,’ she said.
Dousing a handkerchief in the enamel pannikin, she applied the ice-cold water expertly to the back of Miss Thorpe’s neck.
‘I’ll be off then?’ Molly half-asked with an anxious look.
‘Yes, dear, you go,’ Kathleen answered, squeezing Molly’s hand in thanks. ‘I’ll return the mug and, Molly, thanks already from my son. You’re a good friend.’ Molly could feel the redness invade her neck at the look on the face of Mrs O’Donahue. The older woman saw straight into her. Molly turned away quickly from those all-knowing eyes and hurried back to meet the boys under their banner. As she went she sang that old coquette’s song beneath her breath,
‘I know where I’m goin’,
And I know who’s goin’ with me.
I know who my love is …
But I don’t know who I’ll marry!’
Chapter 2
Go To The War, Toiler War is in Europe toiler, blasting the land; Workers facing workers, rifles in hand; Masters have quarrelled, toiler: hear their cannons roar, Slaying slaves in millions, toiler; go to the war! Chorus: Go to the war toiler, go to the war; Heed not the Socialists, but wallow in gore. Save not your helpless children, care for them no more; Leave your wife and family and go to the war! Heed not the sixth commandment, ‘Thou shall not kill’, Flout Christ like jingo parsons do, say, ‘Yes I will!’ Kill starving children’s fathers; fill them with lead. Cheer up, lad; don’t be downhearted, you’ll soon be dead! William Robert Winspear. To tune of ‘Click Go The Shears’.
A walloping big red flag and the flags of Australia and the Irish Republic hung from opposite sides of the rotunda, limp as warm lettuce leaves in the stifling air. Artem Segeyev glanced down at the upturned faces gathered around the Domain rotunda.
‘In conclusion, Comrades,’ he shouted across the assembled hundreds.’Governments serve one class and one class only – Capitalists.’
‘We need to stop Conscription!’ an interjector called. The crowd murmured agreement but Segeyev was not to be deterred.
‘As soon as any politician, Tory or Socialist, comes into power they become an honorary member of the Capitalist class and an enemy of the people. The working class must take the reins of power. Only then will we have a true dictatorship of the proletariat.’
Ted Hill had had enough of Segeyev too.
‘Put the kid on!’ he called from the centre of the crowd. ‘We’ve heard you on Socialism a thousand times. Today’s about the next Conscription vote.’
Sitting in the rotunda behind the Russian, Joe Hill studied the faces in the crowd. They looked ready to crucify him! Joe worked his tongue in his mouth trying to keep it moist. The palms of his hands were sweating. He rubbed them on his pant legs.
But Segeyev returned to his theme.
‘As Socialists we have won some concessions here at home. The eight hour day, meal breaks, a basic living wage, an industrial commission to hear our disputes, one week’s holiday a year. We win the battles, Comrades, but we do not win this war!’ he bellowed. Passion filled his voice until the air vibrated with it. Segeyev’s revolution-black hair fell across his eyes.
‘We will not beg like whining dogs for crumbs from the table of our masters. We must rise up and take power – by force if necessary! Only then will we stop this war!’ he bellowed, his voice like a pile-driver ramming the point home. At last the crowd cheered.
‘Soldiers of the world unite!’ Segeyev thundered. ‘You have nothing to lose but your chains!’
The crowd went wild. Scuffles broke out. The Peace Army Children huddled close to Molly and Mick and Miss Thorpe at the back of the rotunda.
Mrs Griffiths walked forward to stand beside Segeyev and raised her hand for silence. The fraças died down, though several angry voices could still be heard.
‘Ladies and Gentleman,’ she said loudly. ‘Please join me in thanking Mr Segeyev of the Union of Russian Workers for his stirring speech.’
‘Go home, Bolshevik!’ was the loudest response amongst more general applause. Segeyev waved a clenched fist to the crowd, before retreating to sit beside Joe.
‘Ready, Comrade?’ he asked. His dark eyes still smouldered with righteous zeal. Joe nodded and again tried to swallow as he rearranged his notes. At least the crowd had turned a bit more positive.
Joe jumped at the unexpected touch of Molly’s hand on his forearm. It was cool, her hand, cool and soft and calming. He turned, she smiled and …
Oh Gawd and little fishes!
Over her shoulder Joe caught sight of Mick, who nodded coldly at him. Joe jumped to his feet. Whatever composure he had mustered dissolved at her smile and Mick’s jealous look. He had to steady himself. This was no soapbox on some street corner. This was the proper business.
Mrs Griffiths was already introducing him. Joe could sense them both behind him. He couldn’t speak with them there. She’d hit him for six and he knew Mick was angry with him because of it. What could he do with the two of them? Joe gnawed his bottom lip so hard the blood almost came. Sweat dribbled down the back of his neck. Some of the Comrades, including his father, were already talking about him as a future leader. Joe Hill, Light-horseman to the Socialist cause, sweeping all before him to claim the Republic of the Australian Proletariat! He winced at the pressure the thought produced. If only they knew, Joe Hill only wanted peace: politics, Socialism, everyday fairness, were merely means to that end. Peace … and that’d do for now.
Mrs Griffiths finished her introduction. The crowd clapped. Joseph Hill stood alone.
‘Tell them what we stand for!’ Molly whispered at his back.
Joe gazed out, transfixed for a moment by the expectant faces that gazed back.
‘Tell them like you tell us! Make them understand,’ Molly urged.
Joe swallowed. He clenched his notes hard. Saying anything would be a start! He swayed like a flagpole in a stiff breeze. Joe opened his mouth, but no words came. A hand pushed him in the back causing his mouth to snap shut.
‘Tell them, Joey, or by the devil, I will!’ Molly hissed. The crowd’s sympathy waned.
‘Can he talk at all, Missus Chairman? Or is he
