Published: 27 Oct 2022

Monday the fifth of November Eighteen ninety-four and Guy Fawkes Night, a tradition held throughout the Empire since early in the sixteen hundreds. A night where people joyfully recited the stanza of remember, remember the fifth of November, gunpowder, treason and plot but in the most it was nothing but to reinforce the old religious divide between catholic and protestant and in some minds it wasn’t the Guy that was on the bonfire but catholics.

It was a night when bonfires were stacked high and set alight on every vacant plot of land around the city. The bonfire came from an old method of making fertilizer by burning bones, thus bone-fire in time became bonfire. In the main it was a way of clearing any rubbish and broken furnishing that had accumulated about one’s property over the passing year and make joyful gathering of neighbours and friends.

Not forgetting the effigy being representation of the man Guy Fawkes of York, who was caught ready to light the fuse and now proudly placed atop the pile to be burned like his intention to blow up the British Parliament, the king with his Scottish cronies and most of the ruling royalty and commoners of the British Peoples.

It was a night of joyful reunion of singing around the burning bonfire of lighting and throwing of crackers, sometimes into the flames, sometimes at each other. It was a night the dogs howled and ran for cover, a night when larrikins threw double bangers under the hooves of cab horses causing injury to man and beast alike. It was a night for the faint of heart to remain home behind closed doors and peep out onto the world through drawn curtains and languish at the aroma of spent gunpowder.

Dev had met up with a mate Trevor Lang from his work at Como house and had joined the gathering in the Fitzroy Gardens. After the burning of the Guy, they had intended to go to the Fawkner Hotel for a few drinks but after a short while at the bonfire Dev felt a little heavy headed from the excess of burning gunpowder smoke.

“I think I’ll be off,” he says as a large cracker exploded closed by his boot. He nervously laughed, giving the kid who threw the cracker a look of disquiet. The kid quickly disappeared into the crowd.

“What about the pub?” Trevor asks.

“I’ll give it a miss as I’m not feeling my best with all the smoke.”

“Will you be at work tomorrow?”

“Sure, it’s only a little heavy headed nothing more.”

As Dev departed he again turned to wave farewell to Trevor, instead catching a glimpse of a face in the crowd, although a second glance finds nothing.

‘I know that face,’ he unconsciously thinks as he walked through the Treasury Gardens towards Spring Street.

‘Imagination,’ he answered the thought but gives another glance back, seeing nothing but a crowd enjoying the last of the bonfire as it burned down to cinders.

The night was cool for November and a light mist is forming corona rings around the lamps on the steps of the treasury building. A lone Hansom cab pulled up beside. “Do you need a cab?” the driver asks.

“No thank you I’m enjoying the walk,” Dev answers.

“Suit yourself;” the driver says and moves away into the gathering mist, the sound of hooves clipping the bluestone flaggings slowly fading into the distance.

Towards the river the street lighting had failed while those on Princes and Hoddle bridges were uplifting against the dark sky. Reaching the river Dev diverted along the bank towards Jolimont but stayed a moment watching the reflection of the bridge lights distort in dancing ripples across the water. Ahead there is a stand of wattle trees still holding onto their spring flowering, the scent failing but remaining strong in the still of night air, even above the drifts of gunpowder smoke.

Coming close to the stand of wattle Dev is startled by movement, he quickly turns as a dog comes out passing him by at speed. ‘Poor little bugger,’ he thinks believing it would be one more stray that bolted from its security in fright with the excessive noise from the fireworks.

Dev turns back towards home.

A dark shadow distracted from the stand of wattle.

Dev swings around in defence but is struck full force by a fist to the head.

He falls to the ground dazed but retains enough consciousness to recognise his assailant. It was Tom Hadley.

“Gotya’ you little cunt!” Hadley cries loudly as he stands over Dev.

Dev can only think of one word, “Why?”

Hadley gives Dev a decisive boot to the stomach, then another and another before lifting a length of timber above his head. It hovers there for some seconds.

“This is why,” Hadley shouts but as he did so the shrill of a whistle sounds, then a second and before Hadley could swing his final blow he is set upon by three police officers who quickly dragged Hadley to the ground. One of the officers helps Dev to his feet. He is shivering in fright and hurt from both the blow to his head and the kicks to his body. He is confused while remaining buckled in pain from the boot to his stomach.

“Are you alright?” the office asks.

“I think so,”

As Dev spoke O’Keefe arrived carrying a lantern, he held it high for better observation. “Are you alright Mr. Gooding?” O’Keefe quietly asks and placed a reassuring hand upon his shoulder.

“Alive,” Dev says as he begins to shake and is obviously confused.

“I’m sorry about your bother but there was no other way,”

“I don’t understand,” Dev admits.

“We have been observing both you and Mr. Hadley for some days knowing it was only advantage that was lacking and you going to the park to view the bonfire became that final advantage.”

“How did you know I would be there?” Dev asks.

“Mr. Nevis told us that you intended to visit the park.” As O’Keefe spoke a final shadow appeared close by, it is Toby.

“Mr. Nevis I will leave Mr. Gooding in your care but I will need to take a statement from him tomorrow.”

Dev agrees while his head remained swimming in confusion.

“Come on lets get you home.” Toby says.

“I feel used,” Dev says.

“There was no other way, if we did nothing Hadley would have eventually found you and there wouldn’t have been anyone around to protect you.”

“But why, what does he think I’ve done?”

“That is still to be understood, possibly he believes you know too much and from what I’ve heard he has become a little deranged of late.”

Once home the full extent of the incident hit Dev. His head hurt and his stomach still held firm to the kicking he received. Toby ran a hot bath and after helping Dev undress sat with him while he soaked away the pain.

“Sorry,” Toby apologised while rubbing the ache out of Dev’s shoulders.

Dev didn’t respond.

“Sorry,” Toby reiterated, “I should have been more upfront with you but we couldn’t tell you any more, as we only had suspicion and no proof.”

“How did you know it would happen tonight?”

“Anonymously, we believe from one of Hadley’s lot, Mr. O’Keefe received a message from a young street lad.”

“What will happen to Hadley?” Dev asks.

“He will be charged for attempted murder on you and with a little luck will also be charged for murdering Stan Bryce.”

“Did he do Bryce?”

“Mr. O’Keefe is totally believing so but proving it could be a little more difficult, except for a badly written invitation that was found at Bryce’s house and almost definitely in the hand of Hadley he doesn’t have a great deal to go by.”

“I hope they give him the rope,” Dev hisses and holding his breath submerges under the water. Coming up he continues; “not that I think Bryce didn’t deserved what he got and possibly he killed Finn.”

“No it wasn’t Bryce who killed your friend, as he was in New South Wales at the time.”

“Bryce did say that but I didn’t believe him,”

“It has been proven beyond doubt.” Toby assures.

“Possibly he arranged for it to happen,”

“True but they can’t hang a dead man.”

“Toby,” Dev quietly says.

“Yes,”

“Whose idea was it to use me as a lure?”

“No one’s idea, it was simply decided to keep an eye on you and that was all. If it was anyone’s idea it was O’Keefe.”

“But you did encourage me to go to the fireworks,”

“Not encourage Dev but as you were leaving there was a police officer waiting to follow you to the bonfire. Mr. O’Keefe met up with me soon after.”

“Toby, did you befriend me only to help O’Keefe catch Hadley?”

“How can you think that?”

“It had to be asked,” Dev says.

“If you use that handsome head of yours you will remember I met you and invited you home long before all this occurred. It wasn’t until we returned from Echuca and O’Keefe visited you he came up with the need to keep an eye on you.”

“What now?” Dev asks.

“You will have to clarify that remark,”

“Us,”

“Have you heard of the saying, until death do us part. We can’t have the marriage but can have the long association.”

“Do you mean that?”

“I’m not answering that question as you should realise how I feel by now,” Toby says.

O’Keefe was seated at his desk while mulling over a number of statements. Firstly there was that given by Dev and the officers who apprehended Hadley during his attack on Dev. He taps the desktop with his fingers.

“So we got him,” Turner says as he stands close by awaiting further instructions.

“For the attack on Mr. Gooding yes but little more,” O’Keefe freely admits.

“Isn’t that enough?’

“If he has a good lawyer he can wriggle out of that. I want him for the murder of Stan Bryce but have little hope in him admit to it.

“What now?” Turner asks.

“Bring him up from the cells and we’ll give him a little pressure as in his present condition I think he may break.”

Hadley arrives in cuffs and chain to the interview room and is seated under guard. Eventually O’Keefe and Constable Turner enter into the room. Hadley remained silent, his head bowed while his right hand shakes profusely. For a time O’Keefe simply sits staring at his prisoner.

“What do you think you’re gawking at!” Hadley hisses.

O’Keefe remains silent.

“You do realise you won’t make it stick,” Hadley says.

“You do realise I am about to charge you with attempted murder Mr. Hadley?”

Hadley loudly laughs as he attempts to place his shaking hand into his pocket but the cuffs disallow progress.

“What is humouring you Mr. Hadley?”

“Attempted murder, it was but a scuffle,”

“And what about the club you were about to bring down onto the young man?”

“It was but a threat, nothing more.”

“Why did you attack Mr. Gooding?”

Another loud laugh from Hadley, “He tried it on with me.”

“What do you mean by tried it on?”

“He’s a deviant, a shirt-lifter and he tried to pick me up, even offered money to perform his filthy acts.”

“What is you meaning of pick you up Mr. Hadley,”

“Do I have to spell it out, who knows what those deviants get up to?”

“Do you believe your attack on Mr. Gooding is the only reason you are here?”

“What else,” Hadley barks.

“I wish to question you about the unlawful killing of your associate, Mr. Stanley Bryce.”

Hadley once again laughs but this time his tone is not so self assured.

“What have you to say about that Mr. Hadley?” O’Keefe quietly questions.

From the corner of his eye Hadley can see Turner writing what was being said. Each time he spoke the pen commenced to write, and with each pause in the questioning the pen also paused. Now it was the action of the pen that was driving Hadley’s anxiety, fraying his nerves almost beyond control. Hadley fort for control, he must concentrate on what he said, he must say nothing that would incriminate.

“What have you to say about the murder of Stanley Bryce, Mr. Hadley?” O’Keefe quietly asks as Turner’s pen hovers to inscribe his words.

“Nothing,” Hadley turns sharply towards Turner and back to O’Keefe, “and if you wish to believe I did him in, go ahead and show me the evidence – prove it!” Again Hadley faces Turner; “Go on you clobber write that down.”

O’Keefe continued his questioning of Hadley for more than two hours but even in the man’s erratic state he gives nothing away, not even when it was suggested that one of his own may have giving warning of his intended attack on Dev. Eventually O’Keefe changes tactics. “Take him back to the cells,” he demands, believing a little more time locked within four close walls may loosen the man’s resolve.

As Hadley is taken away he appeared to break and commenced to chatter incoherently while cursing without target for his profanities.

“I think he is loosing his mind,” Turner says.

“Yes he appears to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown, possibly we won’t get a confession from him.”

“What next?” Turner asks.

“I don’t think we will get anywhere with further interrogation today, only send him deeper into his shell but we will start again tomorrow nice and early before he is fully awake. I also believe a search of Hadley’s dwelling with him present, may prove helpful to our investigation but we will let him do a little soul searching in the cells for a day or two, there isn’t any urgency.”

“What about his business dealings?” Turner asks.

“From what I am hearing his associates have disowned our Mr. Hadley, thrown him to the wolves as if to speak and I think they will lay low for a while,” O’Keefe says from a measured grin of success.

“That solicitor of Hadley’s appears to be somewhat suspect,” Turner suggests.

“He is to be investigated at a later date, first we need to clear the matter of the attack of Mr. Gooding and murder of Stan Bryce and now I have another line of thought.”

“What would that be Mr. O’Keefe?”

“For the moment I will leave it unspoken but I would like to take Mr. Hadley to his house for further questioning and a search while the man is present.”

“How long can you hold Mr. Hadley without changing him?”

“As long as it takes Mr. Turner – as long as it takes.”

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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