being sent home from the front maimed in body and mind. They should be here beside us, living in peace and prospering by their honest toil. Bring the living home. Bring them home … right now!’
‘This is sedition!’ screamed one of the agitators. ‘Treason!’
‘Mrs Chairwoman, does this rabble hold a permit for this assembly?’ a voice demanded.
Before she could answer, a hail of heavy road gravel peppered the stage and the roof of the rotunda. Joe and the official party all winced away. Some of the children behind the rotunda screamed. The gravel was jagged and hit hard. Molly threw up her hands to cover her face. In one movement Mrs Griffiths turned her back, lowered her hat for cover and grabbed Molly.
It was too late for talking, but this was Joe Hill’s crowd.
‘Peace!’ he yelled, his elbow thrown up before his face. ‘Comrades! Only peace will endure!’ Then he turned, running after Molly and Mick as another shower of rocks stung their backs and legs.
‘Quick!’ Segeyev commanded. ‘Out the fence!’ They ran down the wooden rotunda stairs, gravel rattling around them, biting where it hit.
Only Tomfool stood still, amazed, howling like a dog.
‘I’ve been robbed!’ he yelled.
‘Joe! Mick!’ Molly screamed as she ran back into the hail of stones to bring him with them. Tomfool stood bewildered, shoulders hunched, hands protecting his head. Joe dashed to Molly’s side.
‘Not now, Tom!’ he yelled urgently dragging at his friend’s arms. But Tomfool stood firm. He took his hand down, gazing at it. His fingers were stained from both the tomato and a gash to his head.
‘Billy Hughes has blood on his hands,’ he said staring first at his hand then at Molly and Joe, pleading for meaning. Real blood began to drip down his face. Molly produced a handkerchief from somewhere and held it to his wound.
Over his shoulder Joe could see Madorsky leading a mob of unionists, all bellowing like enraged bulls, as they surged through the crowd towards the offenders. Although he couldn’t see his father, Joe could hear him screaming,
‘Don’t hit ‘em! Wait till it matters! Pick a fight we need to win!’
‘I’ve been robbed,’ Tomfool repeated over and again. They dragged on his shirt sleeves.
‘Come on, you idiot,’ Joe yelled. Molly darted a fierce glance at Joe, but spoke urgently to Tomfool.
‘We’ll play later, Tomas,’ she whispered. ‘Come on,’ she cajoled. ‘Let’s be getting home now. Cake for afternoon tea.’
Tomfool followed her then, the idea of cake convincing him. He scowled at Joe for his trouble.
Segeyev urged them from behind, herding them forward like a cattle dog at their heels,
‘Go! Quick!’
‘Molly!’ Joe called as they reached the bottom. ‘I didn’t mean … about Tom.’
‘I know,’ she said, forgiving him in a breath.
‘Are you all right?’ Joe asked her. But there was no response as Kathleen and Mrs Griffiths and Miss Thorpe and a whole gaggle of women swarmed around her and the children.
‘The stupidity of violent men!’ his mother raged as she wiped at Joe’s face, her hands efficient with the handkerchief she’d whipped from his pocket.
‘As if there isn’t enough violence in the world.’ He took the cloth from his mother with a press to her hand. She nodded at him, so intense a look of fierce pride as he’d never seen shining from her eyes.
‘You’re all right. Nothing serious. Now you go straight home and stay there. Your father and I’ll be back for tea before tonight’s meeting. You get Molly and Tommy home safe.’ Joe nodded.
He caught sight of Molly held between Mrs Griffiths and Miss Thorpe. Mick was there too. Joe pushed his way over to her.
‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, expecting maybe blood or, imagining the worst, a cut on her perfect face. Before he could look Segeyev’s voice brought him back to the present.
‘You must go!’ he commanded. They could hear the Loyalists thumping up the front stairs of the wooden rotunda. The Socialist crowd surged behind them, forcing them to follow the Peace Army kids.
Segeyev stood beside him. His finger traced the faint blood track down Joe’s cheek,
‘“Their heart’s blood dyed its every fold!”‘ he said nodding his head almost imperceptibly. Then he turned towards the Loyalists who were heading down the back stairs.
‘Halt!’ he bellowed. The sound of his voice stopped them for a moment, but even Segeyev couldn’t hold them for long. At last Joe could hear real police whistles in the street.
‘We’d best leg it or they’ll arrest us!’ Joe grasped Molly’s arm dragging her with him. Her touch was electric. ‘Hurry or we’ll have to swim the river!’
‘Between the devil’s and the deep blue sea,’ Molly laughed, unrestrained and loud.
‘Go home!’ Kathleen’s voice counselled good sense above the tumult. ‘The little ones will be safe with us once you’ve made yourselves scarce.’ Joe nodded.
‘Mick, Tomas! Run!’ he screamed.
They ran like billy-oh. Not looking back. Out of the Domain and down into George Street. Shriek of whistles and din of voices in their ears. Bedlam in their wake.
Chapter 3
That’s the wrong way to tickle Mary,
That’s the wrong way to kiss.
Don’t you know that over here, lad
They like it best like this.
Hooray pour Les Français
Farewell Angleterre.
We didn’t know how to tickle Mary,
But we learnt how over here.
Anon. To the tune of ‘It’s A Long Way To Tipperary’.
A few slow buggies sagged up George Street after their turns around the Botanical Gardens, the occupants and their sweat-bathed horses all as limp as eucalypt leaves in the afternoon’s heat. Too hot to show any sign they heard the sounds of agitation echoing up from the Domain, or they were so used to the Socialists’ meetings they simply paid no mind. It was a slow Sunday afternoon in need of a storm. Verandah beds with mosquito nets would give only small comfort in the city’s houses that stood high on their spindly wooden crab’s legs, craning to catch the cool.
Running footsteps and relieved whoops echoed along the dull city street.
‘They were going to kill us for sure!’ Mick yelled as he ran.
‘No, it’s
