too, Sergeant,’ Winterson replied, meek as a lamb. Tomfool lurched off quicker than a West End tram, with Molly and Mick in tow.
‘Give my best to Mrs Kerensky – if you just happen to see her before I do.’ O’Hagen winked at Winterson, as he strode off down George Street.
Turning to chase them to the tram, Joe almost collided with a small contingent of police.
It never rains but it bloody pours!
He tried to get Mick’s attention but Molly had linked hands with him and they were all lovey-dovey and oblivious.
Tomfool ran back to circle the coppers, cutting a caper about their flanks like a hungry horse fly. Joe was curious. He wondered if they were going to the Domain, but surely it was all done there now … unless something serious had happened? Joe called Tomas and they ran to catch up with the others.
‘What was all that about with Hopalong?’ Mick asked. ‘What does Babushka have to do with him?’
‘I’m sure he’s a bloody nark,’ Joe answered. Molly smiled an easy smile.
‘He’s Babushka’s other new lodger,’ she said. ‘I saw him moving his things on Friday afternoon.’
‘It’s my lucky day!’ Mick shook his head in mock despair. ‘First I get stoned on my best mate’s behalf then, to add insult to me burden of iniquitous injuries, a copper and the bloke I just had a blue with both move into me sweetheart’s grandmother’s boarding house! And me not the jealous sort,’ he finished with the slightest menace.
Molly laughed. Everyone did except Tomfool who was too far ahead, muttering to himself as he skittered along.
‘What’s the story with all the coppers?’ Joe asked. Molly looked blank, as though she hadn’t seen them. Mick shrugged. The afternoon’s high emotion had worn away and they were tired. A tram lumbered up Queen Street.
‘Quick!’ Mick said, grabbing Tomas’ shirt. ‘That’s Uncle Vanya driving. He’ll give us a lift home for free!’
They ran to catch the tram, Molly holding hands with Mick and laughing. Joe watched. He remembered then that he’d been bleeding and his face hurt. He held the handkerchief his mother had used to his cheek and, on his day of triumph, the world grew small once more.
Chapter 4
Freedom on the Wallaby Our parents toiled to make a home, hard grubbing ‘twas and clearing, They wasn’t troubled much by lords when they was pioneering But now that we have made the land a garden full of promise Old Greed must crook his dirty hand and come and take it from us. So we must fly a rebel flag as others did before us And we must sing a rebel song and join in rebel chorus We’ll make the tyrants feel the sting of those that they would throttle They needn’t say the fault is ours if blood should stain the wattle. Henry Lawson
But no one rode Uncle Vanya’s running board across the bridge to South Brisbane. It was Tomfool’s fault again. It was his babbling.
‘We should just leave them alone to sabotage the presses!’ he panted. ‘Hughes’d be happy and so would we!’ That stopped them all. It was Molly who asked.
‘Who said that, Tomas?’ Tomfool almost stopped in his headlong rush to the tram to answer,
‘Cake for tea!’ before he hurried on.
‘You’ll be telling me this very instant, Tomas Madorsky!’ Molly stamped her foot. ‘Or there won’t be any cake, ever at all!’ Joe wasn’t the only one the afternoon had turned sour on. But Tom knew which side his bread was buttered. He dawdled back to Molly’s side. They heard the tram rattle onto the bridge and Joe resigned himself to walking home.
‘It was the coppers!’ Tomfool begrudged any longer answer.
‘What presses … and who’s sabotaging them?’ Mick asked, looking with sudden interest down the street after the coppers. But he turned to look quickly up the street again when he heard the tramp of another contingent, properly marching this time, not like the policemen’s lackadaisical stroll. They were AIF men, in uniform, the proper army, bearing sloped arms, maybe a hundred strong.
‘That mob don’t look like they’re out for a mooch around the city,’ Joe muttered. ‘C’mon Molly, let’s take Tomas home.’ They could see the wallopers taking up position on the footpath in front of the Government Printing Works, lined up in ranks three deep – freeing their batons, ominously, from their belts.
‘Whacko!’ Mick whooped. He legged it down the street, yelling back at the others when they hesitated,
‘There’s gonna be a proper ding-dong donnybrook, or I’m a scab’s bum! I’ll save yez a seat!’ In this new excitement Tomfool forgot his dinner and was raring to get after Mick.
‘I said I’d get you home by dinner time,’ Joe urged.
But Molly nodded to Tom and he was off after Mick like a dog from a chain. Reluctantly, Joe followed.
‘We’ll just take the littlest of peeks,’ Molly said. ‘But if it seems like trouble, we’ll go. I promised Babushka too you know.’
Joe’s tiredness left him as he stepped out beside her and his curiosity was piqued once more.
The army was quick-marching and they found themselves hard-pressed to keep ahead. By the time they got to the Government Printers quite a crowd was gathered, especially from the pub. Somebody must have organised runners to get the word out, as more blokes were arriving by the minute.
‘They reckon Billy Hughes is sending the Army against Premier Ryan!’ Mick called as he reached down to help Molly climb the side of the sandstone building footings at the entrance to the lane.
‘Apparently he read the No case against Conscription into Hansard so they have to print it!’ Mick laughed gleefully. ‘Ryan sent the coppers to see it done … but the army isn’t happy. Roll up, roll up and play the game!’
Tomfool hung shrieking like a drunk parrot perched as high as he could get up the wall,
‘The army isn’t happy! The army isn’t happy!’
O’Hagen wasn’t amused,
‘This is the second time I’ve had to speak to you this afternoon. My patience is wearing thin. Down! Now! And out of here!’
‘No bloody fear, sport!’ Mick taunted. ‘We wouldn’t miss this for quids!’ He knew that O’Hagen would have to force him and besides it was too late, the army had arrived. The contingent halted in the street and, still in their ranks, wheeled to face the footpath. Their Captain, a youngish man still in his twenties, ordered them to stand easy before he approached the police commander. O’Hagen stood before the door, his constables close-ranked beside him. It was like watching two opposing kings in a game of chess, except the coppers were outnumbered four to one.
‘Horatio on the bridge!’ Molly tittered. Joe assessed the crowd and the two opposing sides for trouble. It felt knife-blade tense and – important somehow. Joe felt it too but was more worried about Molly. Who knew what might happen? At least as long as Tomfool and
