Published: 14 Jul 2022

Dev was walking along Swanston Street and passing the library building when he heard his name called. It was Brian Fisk.

“Hey Devy’ me boy where are going?” Frisk swaggers up to Dev and holds out his hand.

Dev accepts the greeting, “nowhere in particular,” he answered not wishing his friend to know he was about to visit Tobias Nevis with reference to the offer of work given some time earlier. He had intended to do so two Wednesday’s previously but with Jones’ misadventure the time slipped by, now he concerned that the offer would be withdrawn in the belief he wasn’t interested.

“Yesterday there’s was a bloke asking about you in Spring Street,” Fisk informs.

“Who was?”

“I couldn’t say – it was Joseph Clark who told me.”

“What else did Clarky’ say?”

“Not much but he reckons he could have been a cop.”

Dev began to show concern.

“No need to worry he didn’t say anything but what have you been up to that would involve the wallopers?”

“Of late nothing,”

“How’s Jones,” Fisk enquires.

“Improving but if he was left for another day it would have been his ending.”

“Luck’s old man doesn’t want him back; he reckons he’s a bad influence on the girls,” Fisk says.

“Yes John came around yesterday and visited Doug, he said as much then.”

“What will he do?”

“For now mum has made the shed comfortable and he can stay with us,”

“Do you want to go for a couple of beers?” Fisk asks.

“I haven’t any coin,”

“No matter I’m sure there will be a few pockets needing lightening along the way,”

“I was chucked out of Young and Jacksons some time back,” Dev admits, “the barman there said he’d kick my head in if he sees me again.”

“What did you do?”

“I think my fingers aren’t as nimble as they were, I must be getting old but if you are going to the Phoenix bar I’ll walk with you.”

Fisk was never one to miss an opportunity and as the two reached Cathedral Corner at the crossing of Flinders and Swanson he solidly bumped into a gentleman coming towards the crossover.

“Watch where you are going,” the man growled as he righted himself from a half fall.

“I’m sorry sir – truly sorry,” Fisk falsely apologizes in brazen attitude.

The man pauses in readiness to give Fisk bother as he straightens his coat.

“Truly sir, it was an accident,” but by Fisk’s expression there wasn’t any apology in offer, only insolents as would be expected from the town’s larrikins.

The gentleman continued his crossing of the street and could still be heard complaining on approaching the Young and Jackson’s corner. As he reached the hotel’s door he could be seen feeling for his wallet. He abruptly turned and shouted; “hey you, kid get back here!”

“Quick get out of here,” Fisk says and with Dev close behind ducked down Cathedral Lane, then another before reentering Flinders Street closer to the Phoenix bar. In the distance came shouting and the sounding of a policeman’s whistle.

“That was close,” Fisk laughs and displays the man’s wallet. He opens it to find no notes and only a few shillings in the coin purse.

“It wasn’t worth your effort,” Dev says.

Fisk pockets the coins and disposes of the empty wallet, “but enough for a couple of drinks and a feed, come on I’ll shout you a beer.”

“Not today I’m not in a drinking mood.”

“Then suit yourself,” Fisk says as they reach the Phoenix bar. Fisk enters alone.

Dev walks on while assessing Fisk’s lifting of the man’s wallet. Oddly he felt guilt, what if the man had a large family to feed, or a sick child. What if he was going for medicine; how would he feel if it was his mother’s money, or that belonging to Jack? He glances back but Fisk had already entered into the Phoenix.

‘It will have to stop,’ he thinks, ‘I can’t live the rest of my life from the pittance I lift from other’s pockets.’

A few more steps, “I’m no thief,” he exclaims loudly, receiving a puzzled glance from an elderly woman as she passes.

She quickens her pace to be away from his influence.

‘No I’m no thief and that attempt last week at Young and Jackson was my last. I would rather starve than be thought of as such.’ The thought came strong and meaningful.

On reaching Jolimont Street Dev discovered the property’s heavy iron gates wide and a number of coaches parked along the drive, bringing him to think that possibly the Nevis family had returned from England. If so that would more than likely be the end of Tobias’ offer.

Somewhat disappointed he decided to return back into town and find Fisk and in doing so the lane beside the Nevis property would be the shortest way, cutting off one entire length of road. Approaching the side gate he was surprised to find Tobias alone in the garden, Dev paused uncertain if he could call but was without need as Tobias spied him.

“Devon,” Tobias called and approached the gate.

“Hello there,” Dev says.

“I thought you had given up on my offer,”

“No but we had an almost tragedy in the family,” Dev explains, meaning his street family and not his own.

“I trust all is well now?”

“Yes, as can be expected.”

“What of my offer?”

“Are you still offering?”

“I am,”

“I’m not certain what would be expected of me,” Dev cautiously answers leaning more to his worthiness than any ability, “also I notice the coaches is your family back from England?”

Tobias laughs, “I believe I told you about the main hall being used by the women’s group.”

“You did mention so,”

“Hubbard attends to them and I keep well away,”

“Hubbard?” Dev repeats.

“Mr. Hubbard, he is I suppose the butler; or more to point he manages the day to day running of the house and accounts; also if the truth be given, he manages me as well.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t keep our appointment,” Dev admits.

“Don’t concern, come in,” Tobias offers.

Dev enters through the gate and follows along the crazy-stone path to what was considered to be the servants’ quarters.

“Have you thought more on my offer?” Toby again asks.

“Yes but why me? There are a thousand more fitted to such work and how do you know you can trust me?”

“I can by your very mentioning of trust; a lesser person would agree right away and never doubt his own trust or ability.”

There appeared to be wisdom in Tobias’ answer, removing any vacillation Dev may have had in accepting the offer.

“So what is your decision?”

“I do like the idea Tobias,”

“Therefore you are hired and as I said before, call me Toby, only stiff-shirts and toffs call me Tobias.”

“If so Toby, I’m known mostly as Dev,”

“Then it is agreed.”

That evening as Jack was leaving for his work he noticed changed within his brother and made comment.

“What have you got to be happy about?” Jack asks as he collected his work bag.

“Don’t forget your sandwiches,” Ilene calls from the door on her way back from the washing.

“I’ve got them,” Jack says and pauses long enough to hear his brother’s answer. Ilene enters and clears the table for ironing.

“I have a job – well of sorts,” Dev admits.

“Who would hire a weed?”

“Now Jack if you can’t say anything pleasing to your brother, say nothing,” Ilene warns.

“Well weed, I’m waiting?” Jack disregards their mother’s caution.

“Gardening,”

“What would you know about gardening?” Jack asks.

“Nothing but I can learn, besides it mostly helping in a garden rather than gardening.”

“Where?” Jack asks as he further stays his departure. He was late but would pause long enough to discover the identity of his brother’s intended employer.

“That big house in Jolimont Street,”

“I know the one; I’ve seen it on my way to the cricket,” Jack admits.

At the door he issues one final insult, “if you do work there I hope you keep your grubby little hands of the silverware.” The door closed behind as Ilene became interested in her son’s disclosure.

“How did this offer come about?” Ilene asks.

“I was passing after the cricket some weeks back and we got to talking,”

“We?”

“Toby,”

“Is Toby the gardener?”

“No his father owns the property but is in England, something to do with politics,”

“Are you sure love, people like that usually have other’s to do their hiring – besides,” Ilene issued the word without true thought of what was to follow. ‘Besides what,’ she thinks, ‘was this Toby making entertainment at Dev’s expense only to laugh in his face when he returned.’

“Mum if it doesn’t work out than I will simply walk away, it isn’t as if I’m joining up for the militia.”

“All I say is be careful,”

“Of what?”

“Men like that don’t usually associate with our lot without some alternate reason.”

Dev allowed his mother’s warning to drift away from his thoughts. Toby seemed sincere even as far as offering money in advance but Dev had declined. What worried him was his attire, how could he work the grounds of such a grand estate dressed in the gear of a street kid? Obviously it didn’t bother Toby or he would have said something. Dev took a deep breath and smiled broadly towards his new position and gently shook his head against his mother’s concern.

“You seem happy?” Ilene says.

“Yes mum happy but don’t worry, if it doesn’t work out I’ll still be happy.”

“When do your start?”

“Monday, Toby will not need my services until then,”

“So it isn’t full time?”

“I’d say not but even a few shillings will help,”

“True love and I would be the first to admit that.”

As Ilene spoke there was a shuffling at the back door, “that will be Douglas I told him he wasn’t ready to be about but he insisted if he didn’t use his legs soon, he may lose the ability to do so.”

Dev met up with John Luck and together they called in on Brian Fisk but he was away fishing with his Uncle Ben Fisk.

“Have you heard about Stan Bryce?” Luck asked as they walked through the Fitzroy Gardens towards Spring Street, passing a Chinese market gardener pushing his delivery cart, Luck steals a large carrot. He takes a bite, it is dry and woody. “Shitty carrot,” he complains and throws the carrot back onto the cart while receiving a barrage of foul language in Mandarin.

Laughing they both scamper as Luck feels a thud to the back of his head. Turning he discovered a potato of some size at his feet.

That hurt!” he shouted.

The market gardener again retorted loudly in Mandarin and broken English, his fists clinched and waving high.

“Good shot chow,” Luck commenced to laugh as Dev collected the potato and pocketed it.

They quickly continued before the Chinaman could further his displeasure with more missiles.

“What’s has Bryce been up to now?” Dev asks as they slowed towards reaching the next corner, where a small crowd had gathered to watch a man with a performing dog that was doing tricks for pennies. Luck pretended to place a coin into the man’s hat but instead removed two coins.

“Not a lot, someone topped him,”

“What he’s dead!”

“As a maggot,” Luck sneers.

“Who did him in?”

“Who knows, possibly one of the Richmond boys, he was always raiding their territory.”

“He offered me work you know?” Dev recalls.

“As well you didn’t take it,”

“I don’t think he was serious,”

“Work,” Luck says with a discrediting huff.

“There is such a thing Johno’,” Dev laughs as they reach Spring Street in time for the politicians to break for coffee and cake, “and you know the old adage,”

“Adage? You and your fancy words, Jonesy’ reckons you musta’ swallowed some posh book when you were a kid.”

“It means a saying,”

“What saying?”

“If you don’t work you don’t eat, if you don’t eat you don’t shit and -,”

“Yes I know, if you don’t shit you die,”

“That’s the one,” Dev agrees.

“We should stand for parliament that lot call it work and from what I can make of it, it’s but a game that we pay for.” Luck points at the fat bellies on the group as they cross the road towards the cafés.

“I don’t pay for them, no money to pay taxes,” Dev admits, “as for work what would you like to do?”

“You mean an imaginary job that I could never have?”

“Yes of all work to be had in the world, what would make you the happiest?”

“A millionaire,” Luck shouts and waves his hands high above his head, causing an approaching couple to make a wide berth as they pass by.

“No seriously,” Dev calms his friend’s joyful outburst.

“Something to do with horses; possibly I could be a jockey and win the Melbourne cup, I hear the prize money is thirteen thousand pound,” Luck admits.

“The jockey doesn’t get the prize money.” Dev informs.

“Then I’d be a racehorse owner and win thousands,”

“It’s running next Tuesday on the holiday for the Prince of Wales’ birthday, so you better hurry.”

Luck laughs, “Dad always has a bet on the cup and this year he said he was going to put a shilling on Glenloth.”

“Why Glenloth?”

“He said the owner is but a milkman and he likes to support the working man and not the rich squatters with lots of land and the best horses.”

“Glenloth probably pulls his milk float,” Dev makes jest.

“True, doesn’t matter as I won’t be betting on any of the nags. What would you like as an imaginary job?”

Dev thinks for a time, “I think I would like to be a sea captain and visit all those far off countries, possibly even England and Devon.”

“Being named after Devon should be enough for you,”

“Anyway -,” Dev stalled, he was about to tell Luck about his new position as gardener’s help but decided to layoff until he actually commenced.

“Anyway,” Luck repeats.

“Anyway all the imagination in the colony won’t get us proper work.”

It was a fine sunny day, a little hazed from the developing industry and warm, possibly a little too warm for the attire of the dozen or so reverently gathered at the Melbourne General Cemetery, to pay last respects to their associate.

Three stood slightly apart from the others during the lowering of Stan Bryce’s remains into the ground. One in the group laughs, “Stan won’t like that,” he says, “and in his best suit,” he quietly continues as the grave commences to take in seepage from grown water.

They all laugh.

“Should we say a prayer or something?” One named Brian Griner nervously says.

Whispers of jocularity lift from the group.

“You can, you’re catholic,” was given in negative response.

“Only on the outside to please my wife’s lot,” Griner argues as the gravedigger commences to back-fill.

Once the grave was filled Hadley calls them to gather.

“What now Tom?” Lenny Worth asks.

“We carry on?”

“Under whose leadership will that be?” Worth quietly asked believing he already knows the answer.

“Stan made me his second, so if there is no complaint it will be me – any argument?” Hadley flashes a glare of conflict towards Worth who quickly breaks eye contact.

No one speaks,

“Then it’s settled. To the bar to drink away Stan’s misfortune,” Hadley says.

Two of the group appeared to be whispering displeasure.

“Have you a problem Brian?” Hadley questions.

“Not at all Tom.”

“Then as I said it is settled,”

“Who do you think did Stan in?” Bolt quietly asks.

“For my money I would say one of the Richmond lot,” Hadley suggested as he takes Joe Bolt aside.

“It appears that when misfortune strikes it is always the Richmond lot, even under the duress they are going through,” Bolt says, while his tone is tainted with a measure of irony.

“They are as good as any to blame,” Hadley laughs away Bolt’s obvious doubt.

“Who is to be your second?” Bolt quietly asks while Lenny Worth is preoccupied at distance.

“I should think you could do the job Joe but no more of this army ranking okay,” Hadley says out of hearing of the others.

“What about Worth?”

“What’s Worth’s worth?” Hadley laughs.

Bolt laughs along, giving Hadley confidence in his newly appointed second while capturing Lenny Worth’s attention, who also laughs being unaware of Hadley’s connotation.

“It was but a comment about Bryce and his fancy,” Hadley says and Worth nods his acceptance.

“His fancy?” Worth questions further.

“Lifting young lad’s shirts,” Hadley scoffs and turns to Bolt for support. Lenny Worth give a weak smile and a head nod without comment.

As the grievers leave the graveside they failed to notice a lone figure standing beneath a great Blackwood in full bloom, its brilliant yellow contrasting the silver of its leaves while throwing shadow across the man’s bearded face. One of those gathered gave the stranger a glance while approaching the row of Hansom cabs, waiting to convey them back to town. He was about to comment but lost the thought as another spoke to him about Hadley’s self appointed leadership.

‘That was easier than I expected,’ Hadley thinks as he entered into the leading cab with Joe Bolt.

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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