Published: 11 Aug 2022

The weather was on the change, summer was turning into autumn with warm days and cool nights. Dev was helping to cut blackberry brambles that were choking out a number of fruit trees at the back of the orchard, when during the clearing of an unusually tangled lot Toby gives curse to a name, “Bugger von-Mueller,” he says loudly as one rather nasty length of cane rips the skin on his forearm.”

“What has he done?”

“He is the one who introduced blackberries to the colony and went about spreading the seed without thought of the outcome.”

“They taste nice, mum often makes a pie out of them when in season,” Dev says with an approving sound towards the memory.

“That was the problem with us lot,” Toby wraps his handkerchief around his arm to prevent further bleeding.

“You better do something about that or it will become infected.”

“I will when we finish here.”

“Jack says to piss on it,”

“That’s for lemon trees,” Toby laughs.

“You say us lot Toby, how do you mean?”

“We English and others and elsewhere; we come to a country like this with our northern plants and animals without thought for such a pristine country. Like the flaming rabbits.”

“I also like rabbit stew, mum gets them fresh from the Rabbito.”

“Possibly but go up country and even the grass is from other lands, brought in to feed sheep and cattle and the flaming rabbits.”

“I wouldn’t know,”

“I suppose you have to be brought up in the country to see the problem,” Toby pauses and looks to the south west as dark clouds gathered above the rooftops,” I reckon it’s going to rain.”

“Maybe,” Dev answers with indifferent tone towards the weather.

“We could do with a little, the roses out the front are wilting and if I let them die, I’ll be in for it from mother.”

“When are you parents returning Toby?”

“Possibly never,”

“Therefore why worry about the roses?”

“They are part of nature even so they should be looked after.”

“Aren’t they from somewhere else like the rabbits and blackberries?”

Toby laughs; “a good point given. I guess like most folk I am selective in my criticism.”

“What about the house, will it eventually become your home,”

“I would think not, it will be sold or go to my older brother and as I said once before, I’m a country fellow and have a small property up country but it is under management.”

“Were you born in Victoria?”

“No I was born in England but father had a position in the diplomatic service and we travelled a lot.”

“That would have been interesting,”

“I was quite young when we came here, so I don’t recollect much of the travelling only glimpses of memory.”

After a couple of hours working on the blackberries Toby called a drink break.

“Would you like a beer?” Toby offers.

“I wouldn’t say no,”

“You know where they are, off you go.”

Dev returned some minutes later with two bottles, he passes one to Toby who takes a swig from the bottle.

Dev laughs,”

“What is entertaining you Dev?”

“You drinking from the bottle, not very refined for a man of your status.”

“I don’t profess to be of any status.”

For a time there is silence while they enjoy refreshment. It is Toby who is first to speak, “I would say we will finish with the blackberries by mid afternoon. Then we could cool off in the pond – can you swim?”

“Of sorts, enough not to drown, mum said all animals can swim and we only drown because we believe we can’t swim.”

“A smart woman your mother but there isn’t any fear of drowning it only neck deep at best,” Toby assures.

Dev doesn’t answer but relaxes back, his gaze on the grandeur of the house, he releases a thoughtful smile.”

“A farthing for your thoughts Dev?”

“I was comparing your house to home with our two rooms, three if you call a cupboard in which I share a small bed with my brother.”

“Together?” Toby questions the sharing of a bed.

“No we rotate Jack works nights but once we shared the one bed when we were younger and still do on Jack’s night off.”

“I’ve never shared a bed, except when as a child my dog would sleep at the bottom of the bed but my mother soon put a stop to that.”

“Not even with a woman?” Dev asks.

“Not even with a woman;” Toby admits then before Dev could expand the subject Toby jumps to his feet, “this isn’t getting the blackberries cleared.”

It was mid afternoon before the clearing of the brambles was completed and stacked for burning but the weather was on the change. The storm that hung dark over the distant rooftops was now overhead and rumbling its thunderous mood.

“That puts a damper on our swimming,” Toby says at the first drops hit heavily to the ground sending up dust devils from the dry earth and sending both for cover.

“Come on I’ll make a late lunch,” Toby offers with a quick dash to the house.”

Lunch was simple, fresh bread, roast beef and chutney that Dev found most tasty and made comment.

“The ladies from the woman’s Christian association make the chutney; I’ll give you a jar to take home.” Toby offers.

“I like being here,” Dev admits as if in a dream, his eyes fixed on the ever increasing rain drops as they join together and dribble down the window glass in rivulets.

“It’s only a house Dev.”

“No not the house but the garden and you can hardly hear anything from the street.”

At that instant a dog barks from far off.

“Well almost nothing,” Dev corrects.

“Is you home noisy?”

“That is an understatement Toby, firstly there is the noise of kids playing in the street, the constant passage of cart and cab wheels on bluestone flagging that are almost up to your front door and the woman two houses down is either shouting at the kids, or her old man, while the language she uses would curl a harlot’s hair.”

“At least it would be entertaining,”

“Then there is Mar Williams, our music is the sound of pots being hurled by the old biddy at her husband, not to mention Mrs. Fraser’s dog yapping all the time.”

“So you are close to your neighbours?” Toby suggests.

“Wall to wall close.”

“A plural row?”

“What is that?”

“Many houses joined together without space between.”

“They are plural alright; thirty of them wall to wall on both sides of the street and the walls are paper thin,” Dev explains.

“Do you have a garden?”

“Mum has a small plot of four feet by two but it is only weeds and only receives sun at midday, almost none in the winter, besides mum’s clothesline takes whatever sun there is. Other than that there is a washhouse, small shed and the dunny down by the rear fence. We have the night-cart come to collect the crap once a week,” Dev shares with wit as he continues, “not to mention the dunny-man catching mum sitting on the pan.”

“Now that all paints a bleak picture,” Toby says.

“It isn’t all that bad,”

“There is a pause in the rain, come on we’ll put the tools away but it’s a little chilly for that swim I promised: Possibly another time.”

The tools were put away but Toby appeared to have something on his mind. As they walked back to the house he paused, “Dev I’m going away for a number of days, my sister Veronica isn’t well and it is shearing time, so I’m going to give her hand on her property.”

“Then you won’t be in need of me for the garden,”

“That is true,”

“When will you be returning?”

“Why don’t you come with me?”

“What work would I be doing?”

“You could help me clean up her property and I would pay you in advance, so you mother has money while you are away.”

“Oh!” The offer came as a shock to Dev and well above his consideration of self worth.

“What is concerning you?”

“Only I’ve never been away, the furthest I’ve been is Yarra Bend swimming.”

“Are you concerned for leaving you mother without assistance?”

“No, Jack is home and at present a chum is staying, he could help and in doing so would go a long way towards his recovery.”

“What does he ail from?”

“Not sickness, he was bashed within a whisker of his life while down at the docks and since has developed fear of being around people.”

“Did he work on the docks?” Toby asks.

Dev releases a throat chuckle, “you could say that.”

Toby lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t enquire further and by his silence it was obvious he understood the connotation behind working the docks. “So what is your decision, will you travel with me?”

Dev hesitates, he thinks of his mother and Jack working nights, of Jones and his capacity to do his chores while he is absent but most of all there was that invisible barrier of self worth. He who most would consider to be on life’s rubbish tip, travelling with one of wealth and means?

An intake of breath to speak and still he remained in hesitation.

“Well?” Toby was obviously becoming impatient.

“I would like to,” Dev softly answers.

“What is preventing you?

Dev shrugged his shoulders.

“Then say yes?”

“I will potentially say yes.”

“Potentially,” Toby laughs at Dev’s use of language.

“Let me have a day or two to think about it and run it past mum.”

Jones was seated at the kitchen table peeling potatoes for the night’s pot; he lifts his eyes and he smiles as Dev returns from his work.

“Did you work hard?” he asks.

“Not really it was raining for most of the day – where’s mum?”

“Washing, she has a new customer, that fancy woman from the big house on the corner of Roslyn Street but with this weather she will have to use the line in the shed to get it dry.”

“That will keep her busy the woman has five kids,”

“Also money, they have a brand spanking new carriage, it has gold trimmings and all.” Jones professes as the last potato is placed in a bowl of cold water.

“It is only gold coloured paint,” Dev discredits.

“Maybe so but it still looks posh.”

“I have something to put to you but firstly I must tell mum,” Dev says.

“What does mother need to hear?” Ilene asks as she enters the kitchen with her arms full of freshly washed linen for ironing.

At the sound of voices Jack wakes and comes from his room, “what’s all the jabbering about weed?” he greets with a yawn.

Ilene flashes disproval but says nothing.

“I may be going away for a few days,”

“Good no more sticky sheets,” Jack growls, “what’s for dinner?”

“Stew,” Jones says.

“Are you working tonight?” Ilene asks Jack as he appears in no hurry to depart.

“Not tonight there was an accident at the brickworks; a driver fell from the delivery dray and under the wheels.”

“Is he hurt?” Dev asks.

“How would you fair with the wheel of a fully laden dray crossing over your gut?”

“Oh,” Dev exclaims.

“Did you know the man?” Ilene asks as she puts the stewpot to the stove,

“Douglas have you finished the potatoes,”

Jones brings the bowl of potatoes to the pot.

“Yes I knew him; he was newly married with a kid. I think I’ll go and meet the fellers’ for a drink, we are going to see if we can do a collection for his family,” Jack says with a second stretch and yawn.

“You will be in for dinner?”

“Probably not, put some aside I don’t mind it cold,”

“Then no pay for the missed night?” Ilene concerns.

“There will be as Mr. Mitchell is good that way.”

As Jack departs for the hotel, Ilene returns her interest to Dev and his travel, “Now Devon what is this talk of travelling?”

“The boss wishes me to travel with him to help on his sister’s property up country,”

“Why so?”

Dev explains how Toby’s sister is unwell and they would be helping on her property and it was shearing time.”

“Where is this property?” Ilene asks.

“I didn’t ask,”

“I hope you don’t call your employer Toby, as that would not be proper.”

“I do, at his wish,” Dev then turns to Jones, “do you think you can help around the house while I’m gone?”

“What do you think I do now?” Jones asserts.

“True but -,”

Ilene cuts across the conversation, “Douglas will be fine; he is already delivering for me when you are working.”

“What of you mum will you be alright if I go?”

“It will be like a holiday not hearing you and Jack at each other all the time but I do question you working with this man.”

“In what way would that be?”

“You seldom speak of him, mostly only what work you do and it isn’t common for the well-to-do to be so generous. I hope he isn’t mixed up with any of the gangs.”

“Quite the opposite, he is twenty-two and his father is distantly related to the Queen.”

“So you are rubbing shoulders with royalty,” Ilene makes light of her son’s admission.

“Not at all Toby’s family made money in railways and his parents are living back in England, Toby is minding the house while they are away.”

“When will you be leaving for this country work?”

“I don’t know as yet, I haven’t really said I would.”

“I think it will be good for you,” Ilene agrees, “I’ve washing to finish, Douglas would you watch the pot and don’t let it burn like last time.”

Jones agrees and as soon as Ilene is out of hearing he quietly approaches Dev, “more to fact watch your arse, it seems to me your Toby may want to jump ya’,”

“He’s not like that,”

“Although in my thinking it would be one way of getting away from all the grime and shit,” Jones suggests.

“You know Jonesy, if he was like that and I you, I would most probably let him.”

“Is he that good looking?”

“Very,”

“Anyway you missed all the excitement this morning.” Jones says as he adds the potatoes to the pot.

“What excitement was that?”

“They hanged Frederick Deeming at the Melbourne Goal this morning.”

“What the fellow who murdered his wife?” Dev suggests.

“That’s not the half of it. I’ve been following his trial in the papers.”

“So what is the other half?”

“He murdered his first wife and three kids in England.”

“Not nice,” Dev comments with a shudder.

“His second wife he murdered here in Melbourne, not far from here at fifty-seven Andrew Street in Windsor and is believed to have married a couple of others but they were lucky as he deserted them, although while he was living in Western Australia and waiting for his next intended wife to arrive from Sydney, he had ordered a couple of barrels of cement.”

“Why would he want cement?”

“To bury the body like he did with his wife and kids in England and his last wife in Windsor.”

“Oh well I guess we are best rid of him, how did you know about his hanging.”

“John Luck came by and went to the hanging.”

“What he actually saw him swing?” Dev’s jaw drops.

“Na, they only let in about eighty to watch but he was with a good thousand or so outside. Luck said as the bell rang after the execution there was a great cheer from those gathered.”

“It must be horrible to know the exact minute you are to die,” Dev says.

“In a way I know how it feels. When I lay half unconscious in the lane after the beating, I believed it would be my last but I guess that may have been different, as I felt so hurt I almost wished it would come soon.”

“Don’t remind me, when I picked you up you were so light that you could have been a twelve year old.”

“Look at me now.”

“You look fine Douglas but I still concern.”

“I’m back to what I was,” Jones assures.

“Mended in body yes but what about mentally, are you ready to mix with a crowd?”

“I think so.”

“You need to know so,”

“Yes I am,”

“What else did Luck say?” Dev diverts from his friend’s state of health and wellbeing.

“Only it was reported Deeming was shaking like a leaf and had to be pinioned to the drop.”

“Ouch I can almost feel the rope,” Dev places a hand to his throat as he speaks.

“It wouldn’t be a pleasant way to go,” Jones says.

“I would rather go in my sleep,” Dev admitted.

“Luck said some fella’ reckoned that Deeming probably blew the bishop.”

“I don’t get ya’,” Dev admitted.

“You know shoot a load in his pants as the rope took away his final breath.”

“That’s disgusting,”

“He also said you shit and piss yourself.”

“Jonesy you appear to be enjoying this. Enough and if you don’t mind at least give the dead a little decorum, even if they don’t deserve it.”

It had been raining for most of the night, turning into a damp drizzle with first light and Russell Street police Station was buzzing with the news of Deeming’s hanging, with officers gathered to read the reports in the morning’s paper. A number of those present when the lever was pulled, had been more than willing to give vivid rendition to the reporters at the Argus, who printed every gory detail in the first possible news-printing.

O’Keefe arrived early for work as he had a number of reports to finalize while not in the finest of mood, he had forgotten to take his umbrella and his coat was wet through. He removed the heavy garment and hung it on a hatstand to dry.

“Good morning Mr. O’Keefe,” Constable Turner greeted with even more reports for O’Keefe’s attention.

“Good morning Turner, It is a little wet,”

“It is. I have the report on Deeming’s execution here. There is also a confession in his hand and the Argus has requested a copy.”

“Have you read his confession?”

“I have,”

“Did he admit to the murders?”

“He did and said the ghost of his dead mother would wake him each morning with a touch of a finger and tell him to kill whoever he was with. It appears he was much into séance and speaking with the dead.”

“Yes and his solicitor Alfred Deakin attempted to have him deemed insane.”

“Was he insane Mr. O’Keefe?” Turner asks.

“There is a fine line between being sound and insanity Turner and I guess most of us cross that line on the occasion.”

“But we don’t kill,”

“True,”

“What should I do with his confession?”

“Send it up to the coroner’s office; they can decide if they wish to release it.” O’Keefe takes the report of the execution from the pile and reads; “what do you think Turner?”

“In what way Mr. O’Keefe,”

“Should we have sent the man back to England for trial and execution as many suggested?”

“I would believe London would be more than gratified we did so here, it saves them the expense.”

“Too true, although London did wish to investigate him further.”

“In what respect would that be?” Turner asks.

“Firstly for the killing of his first wife and children,” O’Keefe pauses, “do you remember reading about the murders of women in London’s Whitechaple back in eighty-eight?”

“Yes they named the offender Jack-the-ripper but what has that to do with our Mr. Deeming?”

“It is said he knew one of the women and was most impressed each time he read the details of the killings and possibly Deeming was the ripper.”

“What do you think Mr. O’Keefe?”

“I’ll leave the thinking on that one to the London Metropolitan, besides he is hanged now, so we can’t bring him back for further questioning. I do have a little job for you Turner.”

“What would that be?”

“You remember the young fellow who was suggested to have been in some way affiliated with our Mr. Stanley Bryce.”

“I do, Devon Gooding if I recollect.”

“I want you to find the lad and bring him to me.”

“What arrest him, on what grounds?”

“No not arrest, I only wish to ask him a few questions, I have no reason to think he has anything to do with Bryce’s demise, or that of his associate Marcus Finn, only he may be able to give further information but do so nice and quietly, I don’t want to scare him off, or let others here in Russell Street knowing what I am about.”

“Shall I register your request?” Turner asks.

“No Turner it isn’t official and as you know there are some in this building I have my doubts about. Keep it to yourself but arrange the lad’s visit for after Tuesday of next as I have too much on at present.”

Dev had arrived early morning and was helping Toby finish with the burning of the blackberries. With the last of the brambles fed to the flame they stood back admiring their work while dodging the drifting smoke and occasionally coughing from its effect.

“A job well done;” Toby admits while raking the ashes as the fire lowered to embers, “ and once it dies back a little more we will need it damp it down as the wind is picking up,”

“What next?”

“Not a lot, except for your final decision to come with me to Echuca.”

“Where is Echuca?” Dev asked.

“It is on the Murray River about a hundred and twenty miles north of Melbourne.”

“How will we get there?” Dev asks.

“So is that agreement?”

“Yes, I would like that,” Dev cautiously admits although he remained unclear what his importance would be during their travel and their northern stay.

“We will go by train and the journey will take most of a day,”

“When?”

“Early next week,”

“I feel quite excited,” Dev laughs.

“It will do you good – and broaden your horizons,” Toby says.

“Horizons, I didn’t know I had any,”

“We all have horizons Dev, some aspire towards them but never arrive, others find theirs too distant and give up.”

“What about your horizon Toby?”

“I set it lower not to become disillusioned.”

“I like that, I’ll mark it for use at another occasion,” Dev laughs.

It was early morning when a knock came to the Gooding house door. Jones was closest so he answered. Opening he discovered the caller to be policeman.

“Can I help you?” Jones cautiously asks while becoming somewhat alarmed.

“Devon Gooding?” the officer enquired in a matter-of-fact tone.

“No,” Jones cautiously answers without acknowledging his person.

“Is Mr. Gooding at home?”

“I’ll call his mother,” Jones says, not wishing to give the officer information on his friend.

“Ilene there is a policeman at the door looking for Dev.” Jones calls as Ilene returns from the washhouse.

“Mrs. Gooding?”

“Yes but Devon isn’t home at present, he has gone away for work in the country. He only left a matter of hours ago – who would you be?”

“Oh my apology Mrs. Gooding, I am Constable Turner from Russell Street Police Station.”

“What has Devon done?” Ilene cautiously asks.

“Nothing as such but my sergeant, Mr. O’Keefe wishes to ask him some questions about the demise of Marcus Finn.”

“Devon had nothing to do with poor Marcus’ demise,” Ilene assured.

“No, I again apologize it is merely procedural and nothing more. When will he be returning?”

“Possibly a week or two I should think,”

“Then don’t concern but when he returns have him contact a Sergeant O’Keefe but no other, again I assure there isn’t anything for him to concern.”

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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