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A Term of Circumstance

Through the static on a weary tape I listened to a man of age …...

In England on a certain street a son was born of the Scowen beat; Henry Alfred his given name born a true cockney in Westham…affectionately known as Harry. He was just seven years of age; this first memory he relayed where every morning he would play upon a heap of coal and Mother would grab a frantic hold when daylight raids from German planes invaded his playground…she was barely out of her teens. Father was one of the first to go World War I was calling them all he said. In those days times were tough for those left to go it alone; fear and uncertainty was the driving force; boarding children in an orphanage seemed the right thing to do for Harry and his brothers. Father came home on leave from the front and went to the place to collect his sons but a week of reprieve wasn’t enough to keep his family together. Fathers taken back again…. and so were his sons. And then he can’t say exactly when… the message came …Father would never return again and Harry’s sent to another school for boys in Surrey.

He turned the pages of that time Harry now fifteen years old stands in line at Tilbury docks waiting for passage . Six weeks on a boat the Scowen children all rugged up for the cold. George, Harry, Leslie and Charlie. On their own they will go bound for Australia where the Aussie wore shorts and sis was introduced to her first Minti. Mother had married again she was waiting in the other land with Alex, Anne and William…affectionately known as Bob.

In Auburn Harry got a job straight away started only after two days he said. Got a slap on the back by a fellow named Brew so Harry clapped him on the back too; as you do. His account of the melee continued in glee… “Well Brew swung and belted me on the mouth and so we were into it having a bout the leading hand pulled us apart but I came out on top!” Harry’s tone took on a knowing slant; seems he always had the upper hand. “In England we’re taught football and cricket to play but fighting is our bloody way!” His raspy chuckle captured my senses and I found myself imagining a fox jumping fences.

Left turn he's off that page and I strain an ear to catch his gauge. Had a desire for the country he said applied to the department head of agriculture for a job at Ardlethan. Harry headed for the inner west; no experience but Charlie showed him how. Stayed quite a spell with Charlie he said; herding cattle and milking cows. “Oh by the way! My brother said find the man with the double breast; bring the waistcoat back Bob said. "There’s a button for every fight he’s had sewn onto his vest.” Harry went looking for the prize but the locals were adamant and denied there ever was such a man.

Harry thought to better himself so applied across the line; well sixteen ‘n’ a bit was pretty old for an apprenticeship but the G.M gave him the time. Scored three months probation making switchboards and things for an English firm servicing trains with steam running the Metro Line between Central and Parramatta. Indenture papers cost fifty and nine pence in those days, took them home to Mum he says…..

Purcell Bros Harry’s working the drills but the Depressions bite was hard to fight contracts started running out and work was scarce. On the dole things got tough now ration tickets were divvied out; people asking for a hand just for a little feed. Then Harry met Fred on a particular day and it would seem travel was the only way to search for a job and the odd bob to pay so it was decided that it was best if they set their sights on the bush instead.

A horse was bought for three quid and held in trust in mother’s yard but it mysteriously disappeared; please note he looked high and low before acquiring another. Riding towards Windsor in the wee hours of the morning they had an unexpected encounter with a couple of constables who stopped to have a chat and asked where they were going. We’re headed North was their nervous retort and they wished them luck. Little did the constabulary know Harry’s fine upstanding show of horseflesh was the hottest mount in town. Okaaay lets move on shall we…. Finally they came upon a sheep station up north, sounded like Kolroy; well that’s what I thought. It ran one sheep to the acre forty five thousand to this station; hungry and beat they asked for a wee bit of tucker. Well they were offered a job instead five weeks work and a cottage bed. Now Harry had learnt how to milk the cow and herd the cattle but here he was to learn “lamb marking” was the battle. His description of the procedure was educational to say the least and I’m not sure I have the same flare to relay it step by step. Let it be suffice to say it was an experience of feeling; the word ‘purse’ took on a new meaning and grabbing acorns with ones teeth didn’t hurt and I suspect the spitting bit was done with speed. Not a job to brag of but it paid an extra ten bob a day and Fred; well he said no way mate! Later they came back for the shearing but he lost that job and regretted the fact after the act that got him into trouble. Oh well that’s how the cookie crumbles.

Another journey ahead to a place called Dalkeith at Station Macmasters’s they craved more tucker and scammed some rations from boundary riders. Moving on now to a railway at Gulgong they camped down with some hobos; they were friendly enough rattle jumping was their fame. They got four rations a day travelling this way a portion from each town, half the time to get around. Seemed the better way so five pound two ‘n’ six crossed Harry’s hand for saddle horse and whip. Not bad for a nag with a seedy reputation. Right turn he’s off to another site in the centre of a town there’s a blue light. Was it Wellington I heard him say?….the blue light marked the centre of the NSW state.

The time had come as time does Harry and Fred would finally part; Queensland was Fred’s intended quest stacking hay ‘n’ sewing bags for the yellow harvest and Harry was alone again checking his favours. Well he jumped the train to a railway town – Dubbo was its name river was black he said…. must have been something that stuck in his head. Harry stayed a couple of days. Heard later …a slight digress … Fred had gone home to England Harry said. Now he’s off to Parkes and stayed two weeks working odd jobs around the yards. "Move on!" the local Sergeant said they didn't like vagabonds hanging around too long Harry said. I can only imagine how that would have felt but true to his good ole jolly self Harry counteracted the unwelcome force with a positive. "Travelling the train wasn’t so bad friendly drivers always good for a chat ‘n’ smoke let me draw hot water as well; most turned a blind eye… they were good blokes."

Harry met a man in Stockinbingal near Temora; didn’t mention his name. They were on the train headed for the wheat harvest when Harry acquired a nice pair of sand shoes seemingly left abandoned…most auspicious. Well they didn’t quite make the yellow harvest spent time in the lock up instead. Had the time of our lives! He said. Now the exclamation of such delight at doing time for fourteen days and thirteen nights defies explanation but I guess at best doing chores and going to the flicks two days a week wouldn’t be too hard to take under the circumstances. The Sergeant’s missus was very kind gave them needle and thread while they bided their time. So in between social engagements and working bees they washed their clothes and patched the holes on their garments. They looked pretty good in the end he said. Small mercies and a kindness to share for a couple of blokes with hard times to bear… made all the difference I would think. Now the Sergeant was keen to see Harry stay clean and put him on to a man named Fred Lang. Lang offered to pick him up when his time was done to work the wheat harvest on his farm three miles out from town. It would seem Harry redeemed Lang’s faith in humanity when he had to be left on his own for a spell to look after the family home; Lang’s missus was rushed to hospital for the birth of their first born . Proud as punch he said; I worked six weeks for Lang when it was time to go I got an extra five pound!" Thirty pound and Harry’s all cashed up Lang wished him well with a bit of good luck and advice on the side; how not to acquire his goods in the future.

Harry headed back to Temora the sergeant advised he go home instead of Melbourne, no problem he’s off to Auburn. Stayed two months but time again had its way and George and he hopped the train to Queensland. Jumped off at Woy Woy and stayed three days then on the tracks again to Newcastle and Grafton; changed his mind back to Melbourne. Now he’s in Mt Gambier riding blind baggage that’s the concertina bit in between the carriage. Down to Adelaide he said the hobos had a beautiful camp. The writer can’t possibly imagine that. Blessed is he twelve ration tickets were given out for a feed in the local restaurants Café Sunshine, Wattle and Express. All served the same meal he said and it was welcome.

Only twelve mile from port Harry had a little thought; as one does - to go overseas. Now somewhere between there and here a man called Slim had appeared Harry wasn’t alone at this point. It was ten thirty at night when they passed a town called Hindmarsh and I hazard a guess they were pretty tired. So when they saw a truck outside a fish shop conveniently parked the way they were going; well one can see how it would be deemed as an omen. They attempted a push start but it wouldn’t fire up so another opportunity was taken. Some quick thinking on the spot and they were eating a meal of fish ‘n’ chips in the park and to top it off a welcome ten bob in their pocket at the insistence of the donor… ….apparently in appreciation for saving the owners truck from the hands of an elusive bandit. Yes well let’s move on shall we….

Its two thirty a.m. after ten miles walk finally reaching the intended port they gazed upon a ship The King John…seemingly deserted. They went on deck looking for a bed and headed for the top of the funnel. There’s wire a little way in from the top a perfect hiding spot so they climbed in for the dreaming and that’s where they stayed for a couple of days; only sneaking out at midnight to acquire some scraps from the galley.

“The sun burnt all day long” He said emphasizing the endless heat in the drag of his tone. Yes well one can reasonably imagine it would in a ships funnel. However finally the siren blasts the engines rumble and they’re on their way; well that’s what they thought until a curious cat had a bow-peep over the side followed by another pair of eyes and they’re busted by the third mate with the tide. They were put ashore on the pilot boat and after a chat with the seaman well they were pretty relieved they were found coz India and China was where the mighty King John was bound and that’s not the place they wanted to be at all! I wish I could have asked where that place might be…my guess the Bahamas….. Heading back to Adelaide city they found the beautiful camp again. They got their stuff back and decided to hang for another three days. Slim says lets go to the sunshine state so he headed north again.

It’s the year Nineteen Thirty One; maybe Two. A spirit aged by the day and weathered from the dark Harry now just past twenty two years young….

Did you know syrup on paper masks the noise of breaking glass? Interesting bit of nothing in particular don't you think…okay here’s the thing….On the way to Peterborough they acquired shirts, trousers, socks… get the drift. Off to Broken Hill next stop Ivanhoe that wasn’t such a thrill this train held cattle and sheep so they stretched out in the pen to sleep with livestock accompanied by the usual band of hobos. Four thirty a.m. the train stopped and they were shunted off at a place 20 miles from Parkes. Not another train coming through for a couple of days so they waited.

Now Harry’s crossed the road, skipped a page; climbed over a myriad of days back to Molong where the police were mounted … leave it alone…. moving on Bathurst; Weirs Creek as I recall. A Sergeant there with a name not so tall; seems he wasn’t very popular at all. Well Harry could barely contain his jest as the ditty came tumbling out of his head……Oh Sergeant S the bastard The bastard born and bred The bastard born of a bastard May god strike the bastard dead….. His raucous laughter said it all; there was no real intent at all.

Grafton now is where they’re staked, there’s a petrol yard just near the railway and within the gates the yard holds petrol tankers by the load. It would seem circumstance got the better of their senses; a hundred quid or maybe not there must be a safe in the office block. In for a penny in for a pound Harry and Slim take a look around and purchase a time table. Now you would wonder wouldn’t you how Slim just happen to have on hand - wait for it – gelignite and fuse to blast the can. Apparently he was pretty up on these things…. well that’s a blessing!!.. Did I mention this was a petrol station?…..Well they got over the fence and slipped the latch; climbed through the window and that was that. There it was large as life a steel contraption with a mystery inside. With stealth and care they removed the plate; exposed a small hole for the gelignite to take. They had it all figured it out fuse takes thirty seconds a foot to burn out a few adjustments would see it through; rug and coat over the top put a chair under the latch and the safe door swings open after the blast. Heard the three twenty five coming down like a bolt lit the fuse and ran outside. Train came past two explosions inside….so far so good.

The next event Harry said had them shedding tears of blood. Where was I…lit the fuse ran outside; train came past; two explosions inside now all there was left to do was enter the establishment…. not…because the concussion of the blast had jammed the office door shut! Oh bugga! All they could do was take a wee captain cook through the window. Eyes peer longing as a kid would at candy; paper snowflakes floating down a king’s ransom covers the ground. A bitter sweet moment worth retelling. They hear running footsteps in the surround - no surprises there - time to split; no time to think how to get back inside so they walked away without the prize. Better I think than a long stint inside at her Majesty’s displeasure….. still not over Slim; gelignite; petrol…..

Murwillumbah is where they’re now at heading towards Coolangatta then Surface Paradise; Southport and Brisbane. Walked to Petrie and from there got on a train saw the Glass House Mountains and lots of pineapple terrain; stayed three days chipping pineapple and weeds. At Nambour he met Jack Conroy, Jack was from Surrey Hills. Jack travelled with them and a long friendship instilled. There was nothing more to be said about that but it must have been important for him to mention the fact. Gympie a mining town was next on the list then Maryborough, Bundaberg, Rockhampton. They were headed for Mackay but stayed a couple of weeks in a small town in between called Sarina.

Please excuse the reckless use in my taking poetic license; the telling of what was said in this instance is purely from the writer’s imagination.

H J Pearcy wandered into the camp he spoke real proper; a bit unusual for a tramp….

Gentlemen opportunity knocks in the most unassuming places and who am I to starve thee from the taking. I have a proposition for those who would listen….. There’s a game of chance being played; an opportunity there to alter the weight of your pockets by the mere throw of a dice. The game keepers making the Australian Mint look weak in comparison and I know how to beat the odds…interested? … Well they didn’t say not. First there was the matter of making a few crook two bobs; a recipe worth the attention of this motley lot. Now surely one can understand how a few well spoken words could easily persuade the three less versed into ignoring the gravity of the act and consequences after the fact should the plan go belly up….

Making a mould was the first rung; get the white metal from the railway line. Plaster of paris a couple of pound, a dab of pumus to rub it down. Choose a florin dated nineteen thirty one; pour the plaster over this one. Set, turn over take it out; fold cigarette paper, weight it down….well that’s what he said. Put the mould in the oven to bake and dry; melt the white metal in a tin for a while then pour into the mould and let it sit. Finishing touch they need to be aged, all into a bag with a bit of charcoal dust; another commodity from the railway trust - now shake.

The play is not all that clear to me; a numbers game by the throw of the dice something to do with the Ins and Outs a wager placed by the two at the beginning and end and one taking anything on the seven.. But I hazard a guess for them it would be good not to collect too many crook two bobs in the end. A couple of hundred tested their worth at a local pie shop he said.

Well that’s where the journey ended for me but not so for Harry there was so much more to be gleaned. He settled down in Nineteen Thirty Nine when he met a young lady - Irene Veronica Ryan. They were married later that year he was in Wollongong so I hear.

Five children they would bring into the world; Barbara, Yvonne, Terry, Tony and Michelle, seven less than Harry’s Mum had under her belt… Yes you got it right twelve children was her lot in life.

Through the static on a weary tape I listened to a man of age and as I gathered pieces of his life and placed them on a canvas in my mind, I saw a myriad of colours rich in hue; I heard him capture the rainbow under the shadow of blue and splay it out in the moment of truth. And in between the gaps of time the paradox of his tomorrow trailed each brush stroke in my mind and I wondered; can one really imagine what it would be like to be in limbo for what seemed a life. So how does one measure a mans life; how does one give a true account of a life? Perhaps there’s no such thing perhaps it’s left to the best of ones imagining…after all when all is said and done it’s in the point of view; a matter of opinion between me and you.

These were indiscriminate times Harry was one of a million men women and children who were forced into line. A War and The Depression tainted their Now; their Term of Circumstance was dealt out on the day and played in the spur of the moment. Their only promise was the promise of tomorrow and so the journey begins where it ends……how long is in between…. how long is a piece of string.

Henry Alfred Scowen 25th June 1909 – 10^th June 1992

Inspired for Terry Scowen

(Thank you for the privilege to listen)