my mouth. I was ready to give up. I was absolutely rooted.
‘We lobbed back in Broome with a story to tell and me without a car. Nothing had changed but a familiar pattern began to emerge. I began to be a nuisance again and the police started paying me lots of attention. I went to gaol a few times for fighting and I was also arrested for cohabiting with the Aboriginals. That was a crime in those days. They were trying to stop a half-caste race from evolving but that was really a lost cause. I don’t know why they tried because half the blokes in the Top End and the Kimberley lived with black women. There weren’t very many white ones so, unless you became a monk, there wasn’t much alternative.
‘I’d earned a reputation as the “Kingpin of Broome”, which made me a target with the local coppers all the time. It also made me a target for any bloke full of booze or a blow-in who wanted to top up his own reputation by having a go at me. Eventually they got me before a magistrate, who looked at my long list of convictions around Australia and shook his head.
‘ “We can do without your type in town,” he said. With that he gave me the ultimatum of six months in gaol, or thirty days to leave town and never to return above the 26th parallel. That was somewhere around Carnarvon. I agreed to the latter. Never being good with directions, when I left town I went to Derby instead of heading south. There was still lots of country I hadn’t seen.’
It was a great night between Anne’s expertise in the galley and a number of beers thanks to Allan. I think they have more stars in the bush because I’d never seen more. The warm night air was so humid you could almost eat it with a fork so getting to sleep in my swag was going to be a chore.
Rest suddenly became important when Roy’s voice broke the ambience. ‘We’re catching the 6.30 tide in the morning. There’s a slab of horse meat in the meat-house to cut up for crab bait so if you don’t get an early start you’ll miss breakfast!’ The last part of his statement was directed at me.
Welcome to the real world, I thought. It wasn’t much fun being a slave!
A combination of heat and Roy’s orders had me out of my swag long before dawn. The horse meat was getting past its use-by date but I assumed the crabs wouldn’t care. The dogs didn’t either as they rubbed around my legs looking hopeful.
As I walked back to the main camp to wash my hands I spotted Anne’s shadowy form knocking up breakfast. What a girl! As we shared a brew in the darkness and waited for Roy to get out of bed Anne told me how her brother always loved his fighting. ‘Even as a kid he’d go down the beach and talk his mates into having a bit of a play fight. “Let’s have some fun and get a bit of exercise,” he’d say. He’d take on three of them playing around and sparring, but eventually one would accidentally clip him and he’d forget they were his mates. Next thing they’d be on the ground and he’d be apologising. It happened every time but because they idolised him they came back for more.
‘He eventually took up boxing in the amateur clubs during his teens and had trophies to show his success. This new talent, of course, made him a brawler around town. There were usually only two hits – he hit someone and they hit the ground! It usually meant that the police also became involved. Bad Roy!’
‘Who’s bad?’ Roy asked as he descended from his caravan. ‘You done that crab bait?’
‘It’s in the boat, Roy,’ I replied.
‘Those bloody dogs better not have eaten it or you’ll be in strife,’ he growled. He grabbed a couple of slices of toast and jam that Anne was about to eat and yelled, ‘Let’s get moving. No time to stand around gossiping when there’s work to be done!’ It seemed that Roy wasn’t a morning person. Once in the boat we took off flat strap, with his trademark Yeehah filling the air.
‘During this part of my Kimberley life,’ Roy said as we headed up the glassy Wearyan River towards the open sea, ‘I had a go in the tents for awhile. These days Fred Brophy is a good mate of mine but I never fought for him. I did, however, fight with Larry Dulhunty’s troupe at that time. I’d follow him around and help put up his tent. He went on to become a legend but when I first met him all he had was bucking horses and did trick shooting and whip cracking. Sometimes he had a country singer with him to entertain. I’d join his boxing troupe when he came to the Kimberley but you never made much money. You really only fought for fun, which was really all I was after.
‘I fought for Roy Bell from Darwin a few times. We’d do Derby and then Halls Creek on the race circuit. After that we’d do Broome and then back to Derby. He had a bloke fighting for him called the Brown Bomber. He and I would put on exhibition fights. It was all geeing. I’d give him an open-handed whack on the elbow and a hard smack on top of his bald head with the gloves. He’d duck his head and stagger back and then he’d – whack, whack – on my arms and I’d stagger back. It was all an act but the crowds loved it.
‘The proper fights would start when our play-acting got the locals all fired up and they’d step up out of the audience to make a name for themselves. They didn’t have a chance because we were fit and sober and had our own referee. They won a prize if they lasted three rounds but they never collected while I was fighting.
‘The rest of the time I’d help run his sideshows. He had all the usual con jobs with balls and stuffed toy prizes. No-one won much but it was all good fun and a highlight of the year for the people who lived in these isolated towns.
‘Later, when I got to Darwin, I had a real go at professional fighting. I only had two fights and lost them both. It was all shonky. The first time I had an old bloke called Vincent Rowe from Broome in my corner. At the end of the first round I was doing all right. I don’t think I was supposed to be doing so well. Anyway, old Vincent told me to drink this bottle of water. I was thirsty so – glug, glug, glug – I downed the lot. He didn’t tell me to spit it out. I came out for the second round and I was blown up like a poisoned pup and got killed. He apologised afterwards for not stopping me from swallowing the water, but I think it was all part of the plan.
‘The second time I was supposed to fight a bloke from Darwin but he didn’t turn up. In his place they gave me a fighter from down south who was way out of my league and really knew what he was doing. He sat me on my arse a dozen times before they called the fight off. That was the end of my boxing career. I think the whole scene was shonkier than me. I was more a street fighter and these blokes with technique had it all over the likes of me.
‘The worst place to hide is where there’s not many people. In the outback there’s a lot of space and a few people but they all know each other on a first name basis. A new boy on the block soon stands out and the bush telegraph announces to vast areas that he’s there. Especially if he has a reputation as an ex-con and a brawler.
‘When they ran me out of Broome I left Angie and Josephine behind and transferred operations to Derby. The same old lurk. I wasn’t working. Just selling sly grog to the blackfellas. A mate and I were living in a tent out by Myall bore. I got pounded by the coppers because my reputation had followed me from Broome. The Latham family lived at the bore as well. They were yella fellas. A nice mob but it was the same old story from the cops. “If we see you living with this known criminal we’ll lock you up for consorting.” That tended to make me a bit of a loner.
‘It all came to a head one day when an old police sergeant stopped me on the footpath in town. He said he was going to arrest me for fighting in the street. For backup he had a big young copper with him who was full of his own importance. They wanted me to empty
