PARCEL SEVEN
Linen-bound pocket diary (3‘ × 4¾‘ approx.) of 50 pages. On the endpapers there are 6 drawings of people, trees and fences, the quality of artwork somewhere between doodling and drawing. Dust soiling along edges. The small publisher ticket of “J. Gill, Jerilderie” is pasted to the address panel, which dates the composition after February 1879.
Although concluding with a rather wistful recollection of two years during which he was employed at the Killawarra sawmill, these pages concentrate on a few turbulent months in 1874, the time between his release from Pentridge Gaol and his celebrated boxing match with “Wild” Wright.
IN THE MIDDLE OF MY 1ST YR. as prisoner my mother were dealing with the difficulties of a widow’s life she were standing on a chair with a hammer in her hand attempting to affix a sheet of tin to deflect the cold rain from her back door. She had just hit her thumb the 2nd time when she become aware of a stranger standing by the horse paddock observing her. He were an old fellow in a terrible raggedy coat & raggedy trousers and my mother thought he were a swagman and took pity to beckon him over then she fetched a cup of flour so he might make himself a little damper. She give him the flour wrapped in a cone of newspaper and only then did she discover the object of her charity were a v. stinky old man his wool coat tanned with his own urine the smell of the process made worse by the rain. Just the same the old boy were as proud as a prince telling her she could keep her flour he had no use for it.
Then what are you needing uncle?
I wouldnt be sorry to get a drop of the brandy said he.
Brandy were threepence the slug my mother told him so.
But I have no more than tuppence the old man said.
If its tea you was wanting my mother said I’d supply it and sugar with it.
Said he The fact of the matter is I am a rat charmer.
Thats very nice but do you want the flour or not I can’t stand here all day discussing it.
I’ll give you my 2 pennies said the old fellow and also the benefit of my rat charming.
I have no rats.
Thats for me to know.
What do you mean by that you stinky old galoot do you think I do not know my own house and what is in it?
Never you mind what I mean my name is Kevin the Rat Charmer and that is a name you won’t be forgetting in a hurry I will send a plague upon your shebeen.
Will you now?
I will begob and ye will be praying to the Virgin that you had relented of your penny.
And with that he turned away. If he had a swag it were hidden somewhere up the track for my mother never seen it and if he had baby rats riding in his pocket they was cleverly concealed for my mother detected nothing astir on his person. He were just a stinky old man in a woollen coat he went off down the muddy track to the creek then cut down in the direction of Winton. She never saw him again but he were correct that she would remember the name of Kevin the Rat Charmer for many a day.
That very night the plague come into the hut with rats in the flour and inside the walls and over the bodies of the children they was screaming in the night it were a terrible business. The rats brung the diarrhoea that sickened our beloved baby Ellen she who were fathered by Bill Frost.
My mother sent her young children out to fetch the rat charmer to each she give a bottle of brandy so whoever it was that found him should make up for her offence. Away they went to the 3 towns Dan to Beechworth & Jem to Benalla & Maggie & Kate to Wangaratta but although Kevin the Rat Charmer were well known in them places they could locate neither hide nor hair of him.
Returning to Eleven Mile Creek that evening they found their mother praying to the Virgin with their baby sister lying dead and cold beside her in the basket. Next day the carpenter at McBean’s Kilfeera Station made a coffin whilst Jem and Dan dug the grave beneath the willow their sister were just a poor little thing 14 mo. old but still had to be dug very deep on account of the wild dogs.
That were not the end of it.
Jem fell prey to headaches so my mother took him in a pony cart to Glenmore where Aunt Margaret Quinn shaved his head then placed a mustard poultice on it he could never bear anyone to touch his head thereafter. There was many other afflictions there was warts there was boils that could only be drawn by a hot bottle placed direct upon the skin and then my married sister Annie had her horse stolen as a result of which she fell into the hands of Cons Flood.
When she later seen what the Constable were up to my mother brooded on his name asking herself were not a Flood also a plague? Flood were a tall man with bloodshot eyes they say the raven will bleed from the eyes when it mates. My sister were Mrs Annie Gunn but the Mr were in prison and Cons Flood were soon bleeding from the eyes and soon he got my sister with child.
Meanwhile her husband and I was breaking rock together in the outer yard of Beechworth Prison he had dark circles beneath his eyes his body bent as if he were carrying a millstone on his shoulders. When the priest come to tell me my sister died giving birth he didnt relate the precise circumstances but Mother always believed it were the stinky man’s curse that killed our Annie & left us with Flood’s child and for this she took all the blame onto herself. When Jem were convicted of cattle theft my mother said this also were the plague.
One morning in the summer of 1872 my mother were 42 yr. old she had 2 sons in prison also 1 brother & 1 uncle & 1 brother in law. 2 of her beloved daughters was buried beneath the willow tree and God knows what worse were on the way. On this bleached and dusty morning she and Maggie was staking tomatoes when a stranger come and asks her for a jar of brandy. This one were an American tall and wiry with a small beard hooded eyes and a little smile working behind the cover of his mouth as though he found the world so very droll but were not permitted to tell you exactly what the joke might be. Like the stinky man he claimed to have no money only a cheque he couldnt cash until Benalla.
Maggie began to act sarcastic towards him but my mother suddenly turned v. passionate against her. Listen to you girl said she anyone would think we had no adjectival charity. Go on said she and bring the gentleman his drop.
I am to serve him asked Maggie astonished her muddy hands upon her strong broad hips.
What would prevent you?
Well said Maggie do you mind that? But she done as she were told and my mother went back to staking the tomatoes. For a long time she believed the rats didnt depart until Maggie donated George King that glass of grog.
When 3 yr. had been cut out of me I were set loose once more into the world to see what I would make of it. Having no horse I walked the 20 droughty mi. from Beechworth down across the plains of Lurg and 8 hr. later I approached my previous life only to find it altered beyond hope the creek had changed its course and nature it now were no more than a chain of muddy water holes. The grand old black wattle had dropped while the big red gum at the bottom of our track were 20 ft. taller. There were also a new holding yard built with split rails the timber still new and yellow then I seen my mother come out of the hut with a newborn in her arms I thought it must be baby Ellen but then recalled baby Ellen were dead and buried beneath the willows.
Here was my mother’s 1st words to me.
You won’t cause trouble Ned.
I looked in her arms and could not understand what babe it was.
Don’t you worry about me said I looking back to the horse paddock where there were a number of v. fine horses also a tall young man he were no more than 20 odd yr. of age. How he stared at me never taking his eyes away not even as he removed a saddle and settled it across the top rail of the fence.
We had a plague my mother said her hair were showing grey she had on a bright new dress I thought were much too girlish for her age.
I asked her Who is that young fellow?
That’s George King.
Who’s he?
I couldnt marry him until you got here Ned I made him wait till you was arrived.
I watched George King climb the fence. It disgusted me to see his age he were young enough to be myself.
My mother fed George King’s new baby the same breasts had given suck to me 20 yr. before she were a young girl then the prettiest figure on a horse my father ever saw. Now she sat in a small chair by the window while the new incumbent stretched his great lanky legs from the table nearly to the hob his Yankee boots was yellow with higher heels than a Cuban more like a fancy woman’s shoe. Once she burped the baby my mother passed her to G. King and he lay a towel upon his chest so his nice yellow sweater would not be spoiled with vomit. My mother then sat there a foolish smile upon her face and watched how tenderly he played with the baby’s toes and fingers.
Dan arrived very excited to see me out of prison he were a man now or so he thought he were 13 yr. old with a smudge of hair on his top lip pimples on his nose his hair were wild his clothes was flash he preferred 2 shirts one atop the other and the straw hat he kept in place with a strap beneath the beak. No sooner had he shook my hand than he wanted me to ride to Wangaratta and meet his sweetheart. I told him I wanted a quiet life he said I had come to the wrong adjectival address for that then he took a swig of brandy from George King’s cup and George winked at him I could see they thought themselves the Lords of Misrule they had grown to be great mates together.
After teatime I politely asked King to take a stroll there were still some light in the summer sky the air all purple and malty so we sat upon the fence he had constructed on our land and I informed him I shot Bill Frost after he had abandoned my mother.
He rubbed his beard but made no response.
I asked him how he planned to support his baby.
At that he bared his white teeth at me saying he planned on having many children and he had a very fine scheme which meant he had no fear of feeding any of them. He asked me Do you want to hear my scheme?
I did not say nothing. The gloom come down around.
Would you prefer to shoot me?
I felt so sad I couldnt speak.
Ned do you know this squatter McBean?
Too adjectival well.
He’s got some pretty handsome horseflesh aint he? What say you and me escort said horseflesh across the Murray into New South Wales & then we get them impounded & then we buy back from the pound.
So my mother had chosen herself another flash talking b––––r he were no better than Bill Frost with his bolts of cloth.
Are you going to assist me said he or will I have to turn to Dan?
You do that I said and I really will shoot you.
Well I aint eager to be shot.
It were properly dark now the stars was glittering the 1st night sky I had seen in 3 yr. the air were hot and northerly.
If you want some advice I said I would not eff around with Mr McBean.
Fair enough says King you’ve just got home you shouldnt go exerting yourself.
But later that night when the littlies was all asleep I realised he were stalking me like an old goanna looking for a way into a chook yard. He scratched his beard he smiled a lot and my mother watched approvingly as he tried to reel me in.
I said to her You come with me outside I want to talk to you about the pasture.
I led the way out into the night she following obediently when we was almost at the creek I turned to face her I had been away 3 yr. there were so much in my heart not least that I had come home with plans to save our farm.
Ma you’ve changed.
I’m happy said she but I’m sorry if that aint to your liking.
Why would you want to sic McBean onto me? You know he’ll put me back again.
I thought my mother silent then but after a time had passed I realised she were weeping. When I put my arm around her she shook herself free. You don’t know nothing about my adjectival life she said you don’t remember what its like to live here with the adjectival squatters impounding every adjectival chook and heifer they can snaffle and the traps always knocking on my door hoping to take away my children. He pinched an adjectival saddle she said.
Who pinched what saddle?
Dan the silly little b– – – – r were trying to make some money for his ma. There is no future here she said I can’t make sufficient from the grog and now he’s stole a saddle and they’ll lag him for it.
I told her I were planning to breed some horses but she didnt seem to hear me. I said I would be at Eleven Mile Creek long after George had bolted.
For that she slapped my face. Shutup she cried and look around you. Look at his fences is they the work of a cove who plans to bolt?
The posts are grey box they’ll be eaten out inside 4 yr. Our da would not use grey box no road. It were only ironbark or red gum for him.
I could not endure it cried she stooping in the dust and scooping it in her hands and rubbing it in her hair and on her face. I would rather die than spend another minute with your precious da.
She run back to her boy husband as for me I remained a long time under the stars in the very place I so long imagined whilst locked in my blue stone cell but all the dreams which had comforted me in prison was now turned to manure beneath my boots.
By lunchtime next day I had found a job as a faller for Mr J. Saunders and Mr R. Rules’ sawmill near Killawarra some 20 mi. from home moving that afternoon to the men’s hut beside the log yard.
It were most relaxing to enjoy the freedom of the air the absence of threats and quarrelling.
All my life all I wanted were a home but I come back from Pentridge Gaol to find the land I had laboured on become a stranger’s territory. George King were welcome to it I didnt care but there was also 30 thoroughbred horses which was my rightful property so when I discovered they was missing I sent word to my mother asking what she done with them. I learned they was stolen and the thief were beyond the law he were Constable Flood of Oxley. That injustice put me in a rage nothing would ease but danger I now craved it like another man might lust for the raw burn of poteen.
As luck would have it I already had the correct employment a faller’s job were perilous it was slippery in the rain always very risky in the wind. 1st we cut notches in the trunk then fitted 8 in. boards into them to make a kind of staircase and here we worked 12 ft. above the earth. My work-mate J. O’Hearn were a married man so when the tree were about to go he jumped down and run off leaving the bachelor to deliver the final blows. The danger made me forget my wrath for a moment but once the defeated tree lay ruined on the forest floor then my black mood would flood back and I would brood on how my life and land was taken from me. Thus like an idiot I spoiled my own freedom brooding day and night and this were like a lathe for it shaped the thing that were brooded upon and soon enough the object of all my separate unhappiness had taken the single form of Wild Wright his thick neck his quizzical lopsided brows. I had a great passion to knock him in the jaw to beat him to the dirt it were he who had knowingly left me with a stolen horse. It were soon clear to me that I would have no peace until I seen him punished I begun to make enquiries regarding his whereabouts.
I continued to stay clear of Eleven Mile Creek but my mother come to see me bringing a tin of shortbread I knew how much butter she sacrificed to bake me that. We sat together on the steps of the men’s hut & when I asked if she seen Wild Wright she understood my reason and lied to me saying he were up in New South Wales.
My mother had such dark and lively eyes she were ever full of tricks but also laughter. We had always liked to argue about horses a subject reaching back before the ancient Romans my mother holding v. strong opinions of blood and breeding which was our normal field of conversation but on this particular afternoon she led the subject to the mighty bloodline of McBean’s thoroughbreds she confessed she couldnt keep it from her mind how much money would be made if they was stolen.
I told her she might as well go back to Eleven Mile if thats what she come for.
She held my hand to her lips saying it were her son she come for and she missed me very bad.
I did not trust her I told her Dan were her son too.
What you mean by that?
Don’t talk Dan into duffing them horses.
Faith what sort of mother do ye think I am?
You’re Mrs Adjectival King as far as I can see.
She rode away upset leaving her fancy biscuit tin behind while I went back to brooding on Wild Wright and all the damage that had resulted from my imprisonment.
Wild were a friendly enough cove when the sun were shining but he were a big b––––r and would kill anyone who looked at him 1/2 wrong. His brother Dummy Wright were as good as his name for he were a mute and when Dummy were mocked by others Wright would be murderous in his defence. I therefore began to make a habit of ridiculing Dummy to me mates at the sawmill it were a poisoned bait I lay out for my bear. In my sleep I dreamed of Wright I could feel my hands shattering as I crushed his jaw his brow his nose it were no pain but a kind of ecstasy. Tom Lloyd were my best mate then & ever and I confessed to him the pleasure of my dreams. He said I were lucky they was dreams since Wild Wright would kill me awake he were 5 stone heavier.
Tom were son to my uncle the traitor but he himself were plain as a brick & steady & serious. It was Tom who said we should build up a new herd to replace the stolen one it would all be straight and honest with nothing on the cross. And it were them horses that slowly brung me back to life God has made no other creature so beautiful there is no feeling to equal the surging of a good horse galloping across the plains.
I didnt wish to hear about what transpired at Eleven Mile Creek but as there were no escaping gossip I soon learned that G. King had found my mother an Arab mare I thought this a mistake for 2 reasons 1st that an Arab will turn a mob of thoroughbreds into time wasting scoundrels 2nd that the horse were certainly duffed and I feared my mother and her baby would be sent to prison.
I decided it healthier to leave the district and giving notice at the sawmill I travelled 200 mi. to a similar job in Gippsland but the forests there were damp and dreary my mood plunged even deeper into rage and gloom. My father and mother now appeared to me every night in dreams my father’s face lacerated with a 1,000 cuts I knew I done this then I saw that woman’s dress in the dreadful tin trunk in Beveridge and I cried out and woke my workmates with my horror.
Returning to the North East I discovered Tom Lloyd now had 2 of our mares in foal that were the best thing to happen in a long while so I began to cheer up and think once more about the future. One Saturday I were riding across the plains at Laceby that is 1/2 way between Killawarra and Eleven Mile Creek. It were winter the clouds was grey and smudgy with distant rain the light were fading fast. In that melancholic landscape I seen a female on an Arab she were riding at full gallop. No woman on earth could ride like my mother it were thrilling to behold she rode with her back straight her stirrups long her skirts rucked up to show her knees. She made the girls at the Killawarra Races seem all milksop babes.
Mother always liked a race and now I chased her across the plains into the myall where she veered off heading for the Warby Ranges. In the low foothills she briefly disappeared beneath a rocky rise. The rabbits had made a great mess here the earth were riddled with their holes but since the rider would not slacken her pace her horse soon stumbled. When an Arab stumbles it does so properly standing on its head and rolling on its back and by the time the rider gets to his feet the Actress is out of sight and heading home for dinner. But my mother did not rise.
I dismounted and run towards her my heart racing I were sure I killed her.
But it were not my mother. It were a dark haired boy clad in a dress! This creature were no more than 18 yr. of age breathing hard his chest rising and falling but I were so riled I might of bashed him badly if he were not so small and dark and bandy legged. Once I had dragged him to his feet I did no more than slap his face. The dress were over the top of a shirt and moleskins there were mud on its breast and hem.
I told him he were a horrid thing and administered another slap he were not afraid he spat at me. The dress aside he had made no effort to make himself a female indeed he were doing his best to grow a beard. He had an old firelock in his belt and he were regarding me so fiercely with his possum eyes I thought I better retrieve the gun before he did us both a damage.
I asked him why he wore a damn dress he looked so adjectival ugly. Then I took his firelock throwing it some distance.
He said the firelock were his father’s and I should not do that.
I said his father would throw him down the well for dressing like a girl.
He dared laugh at me to spit blood at my feet then ask me were I still blowing about fighting Wild Wright.
Shut your gob you horrid thing you don’t know me.
You’re Dan’s brother said he and you shook my adjectival hand at the Wangaratta Races.
I remembered him then a little dark haired jockey his name were Steve Hart.
I told him I would let him off because he were Dan’s mate but if ever I saw him in a dress again he would be rendered into sausage meat.
Not looking grateful in the least he went to fetch his firelock and stick it in his belt.
Its Wild Wright who will turn you into sausage meat said he and I’ll be there to see it done.
Wild Wright has run away to New South Wales.
Wild Wright’s waiting for you at the Imperial Hotel in Beechworth he’s heard what you been saying about Dummy.
When I heard this the very blood in my veins must of secretly changed its nature turning dark and calm where it were previously such a painful froth. I helped the little creature walk down his horse which hadnt run so far after all. But even before he left my sight I had forgot him my thoughts were all about Wild Wright of how I would punish the mongrel for my ruined life.
Mr Edward Rogers were the publican of the Imperial Hotel and even if I knew him both by sight and reputation I were most surprised to learn he had any knowledge of me whatsoever. Yet my horse had not drunk his 1st mouthful from the trough when the man himself come down to greet me.
Ned Kelly said he.
Edward Rogers said I.
Though shocked that a mick had used his Christian name he recovered quickly and took my sticky sap stained hands as if they was the Duke of Gloucester’s.
Now heres the thing Ned said he and his manner were most regretful. We can’t have brawling here I won’t permit it. Isaiah Wright is a customer of mine and I’m sure theres a way you can settle this like gentlemen. Edward Rogers would not release my hands he turned them over to examine my knuckles handling me as tenderly as the Chinese herbalist who lays my ma’s hand upon his velvet pillow.
I aint got no plans to fight him here.
You miss my meaning said the licensee his eyes blue and most excited though for what reason I could not guess. Its brawling that causes the difficulty said he although the Marquis of Queensbury now that would be another matter.
I never heard of any marquis and I said so.
Don’t you follow London Prize Ring Rules?
We draw the line in the dirt its what we call the scratch and if you call that brawling its what I intend doing to him.
Thats bare knuckles?
If you’ll send him out I don’t need to even step inside your pub.
Edward Rogers stroked his beard.
I’m sure you know my reputation.
I knew no more than he wore a 3 pce. suit in the midst of summer.
You know I’m a great one for sport I’m for the quoits & the skittles & the cricket & the wrestling doubtless you heard it were me who got up that cricket match against the English circus did you see that?
I did not answer he did not care he took me by the elbow and seemed intent to push me down the lane beside the pub he were a rich man 20 yr. my senior so I did not wish to disobey but I pointed out that my horse had not quit drinking.
Dennis he called give Mr Kelly’s horse a feed of oats.
A boy led my horse up the street while I were bustled in the opposite direction Mr Rogers bashing my ear without relent. I believe you know a lad named Byrnes said he you fought him at the Oxley Show. You beat him in 12 rounds I hear he is a co religionist of yours.
Thats Joe Byrne I reckon.
Isaiah Wright is a mad bugger of course you must know that. He’s also got the weight advantage but Joe Byrne says I must not count weight too much in your case. Now come round here for I want to show you what I am proposing.
Walking back past the hotel rubbish bins the dunnies and the chook yard we finally come to a grassy plateau below which were Spring Creek.
So heres a spot what do you say? What could be 1/2 as nice for a proper fight between 2 gentlemen?
Well said I its very private.
That were the most simpleminded thing I ever said but Edward Rogers did not so much as blink.
Would August the 8th be agreeable he asked thats next week.
I said I were pleased to comply. As I were departing I seen Wright’s great ugly phiz through the open window of the public bar he held up his thumb suggesting that I sit on it. Though I did not take up the provocation I were surprised he didnt come running after me. We both waited the entire week to have that fight for my part I never thought of nothing else except how much better I would feel once I knocked the b––––r down.
By the time I arrived in Beechworth on the 8th of August the crowd were so large the Imperial could not contain it. Joe Byrne met me at the door escorting me to the residence upstairs where Mr Rogers awaited me with what appeared to be a green silk handkerchief.
Here said he throwing the item to me.
It were a pair of ladies’ scanties or so I thought.
These is your boxing trunks.
As he moved across the room towards me I seen through the window the full extent of this mighty crowd some standing some seated in dining chairs all gathered round the grassy plateau.
Rogers took the silk trunks from my hand and held them against himself but if he were intending to make the garment appear more manly then he failed. He looked a poon.
I fight in what I come in I declared.
For God’s sake this is the proper kit for London Rules. Wright is wearing some the same.
Thats his own affair I aint fighting naked.
Mr Rogers clucked his tongue looking mournfully down upon the assembly.
It aint naked he said its just bloody ignorant. Are you not proud to wear the colours?
It were only then I realised they had hung green & orange ribbons round the ring. To tell the truth I had forgot Wright were a proddy.
Come on son said Rogers you must show the colour. What are you wearing under your shirt?
He had his damn fingers at my shirt undoing the buttons I pulled away.
Long Johns he exclaimed thats the shot.
No!
Oh yes said he thats the very thing.
At that moment I heard a mighty roar Wright had come dancing out into the lawn 1/2 naked he had boots on his feet but he were barechested with no garment but a pair of orange silk shorts. He had legs like adjectival fenceposts big ugly looking knees and when he pranced around the ring I were shocked to see my mother Ellen Kelly occupying the best seat in the house. Wild performed in front of her swinging his fists and showing off and I were dismayed to realise the bulk of him the breadth of his shoulders his arms like thighs I had not made this picture on my brooding lathe.
Modesty were not the point no more I removed my clothing except for my long woollen combinations I pulled the green silk shorts on top. Though I felt a real dill what other choice were there?
Joe Byrne seemed amused but when I caught his eye he quickly developed a very sombre cast.
Very well said I lets do the b––––r.
On my way out the door I were informed that fighting barefooted were not permitted so I accepted a pair of slippers 1/2 a size too small I didnt care.
In a light rain we came out past the chook house Wild Wright were sucking on an orange but when he saw me he spat it out and stepped up to me.
You’re a dead man said he striking me across the head a mighty blow it knocked me down sideways I heard my mother crying foul foul foul I staggered to my feet in time to see Joe Byrne kicking Wright away. Eddie Rogers and my sister Maggie was holding my mother by the arms.
Blood someone shouted 1st blood.
As the liquid seeped into my eye so the scratch were made in the earth and the fight officially begun.
I do not recall nothing about the fight but it has been 50 times I heard Joe Byrne tell the story thus as follows.
We thought you doomed and rooned the minute you walked out past the chook house and Wild delivered that great sidearm to your head and you was on the floor before you even stepped up to the scratch. It were a proddy pub so no one give an eff what happened to a mick they planned to drink your blood. Wild had heard you had been mocking Dummy and now he were for the kill.
Wild cut your eye and your ma were screaming blue adjectival murder when Wild come in again he didnt even wait for you to rise. I barely knew you at this time but anyone could see that this blow werent fair I hollered for the referee but Eddie Rogers were both referee and bookmaker and he had all his money on Wild Wright. I were your only pickerupper so I judged it were against the rules for me to punch which is why I kicked Wright in the knees. Jesus! You should of seen Wild’s eyes he could not believe my cheek the crowds was going mad your ma were barracking me and the fight had not even begun.
Rogers made the scratch with his walking stick and both of you faced off across the line. You already had blood running down into your eyes. Wild had an inch or more in height and he had the weight he were the Fancy of the proddy punters of that there is no adjectival question.
Wright were as effing mad as a snake there were nothing he would not do to win he were the strongest but if the truth be told he were a mite slow and clumsy.
Rogers dropped his spotted handkerchief and then it were on you struck 3 blows in fewer seconds. Wright staggered back on his heels and you should of heard the proddies screaming to see their mighty hero fall it were an effing war. Old Rogers had organised green and orange ribbons thinking it would be a certain victory for the Orangemen. Your ma were 1/2 beside herself shouting to the crowd that her son would deal with them as well. In the middle of the fight you grinned at her that brought some colour to her cheeks. When you strolled up to Wright you was still grinning at your ma then you knocked the b––––r down as easy as if he was a sleeping cow.
Bill Skilling nearly wet himself he were so pleased he picked up your ma and shook her in the air.
Wild were trying to rise he knocked his pickerupper away and come back to the scratch. You got inside his reach again but this time he collected you underneath the chin and as your jaw clacked shut you fell but your eyes was still wide open. The pair of you went down together though you were up the 1st.
Wright’s weakness were his speed yours were your reach. In the 4th round you aimed a mighty blow at his bull neck but failed the length whereupon he struck you an adjectival whack across the brow. You fell.
Round after round it went with 30 sec. rest when either party was knocked down. The rain picked up but no one went inside. Soon you both needed the assistance of your pickerupper and you was heavy in my arms your woollen singlet were sodden with rain or sweat I don’t know which and Wild Wright were faring not much better. I never saw men so weary.
Eddie Rogers circled the 2 of you with his hands behind his back his nose stuck forward squinting like you was a balance sheet and he didnt know if he were rich or bankrupt.
Wild Wright come at you with his arms extended straight moving them up and down like an Eldorado battery he meant to crush you to the earth. You were watching him very wary indeed.
After you had ducked his punches 3 or 4 times Wild hollered to the mob that you was yellow. Dummy were pushing in and out of the crowd and now he begun to make an unholy din. This brought your ma back into it and she were screaming at you to kill Wild Wright.
The fight were slow the grass long since tore up and stirred to mud by this time and you were both bogged down in a heavy sort of punishment. When I picked you up your hands was a mess of blood and snot slimy and slippery like a beast just skun and slaughtered. Soon the wind came up and with it a dose of soaking rain Wild looked stooped and crumpled but to you the rain seemed a refreshment.
Wild were now slow and heavy while you was fast you hit his head he fell you hit his eye he fell again. The proddies’ cheering become fainter Dummy were whimpering but your mother looked very pleased sitting bolt upright beneath Bill Skilling’s umbrella her hands folded in her lap.
Wild’s pickerupper had to carry his man to the scratch but he done no more than stand there swaying.
You said Now we’re square.
Then you emphasised them sentiments with a punch that straightened Wild’s spine and sent him crashing to the ground.
A blind man could see Wild Wright were done as a dinner but his pickerupper were a proddy so he dragged his hero’s body to the scratch and lifted him up all 16 stone of him. Bill Skilling were crying for you to top him off but you only pushed and Wild Wright fell down most thoroughly defeated.
Then a great howl come from the crowd and Dummy broke into the arena to take a swing at you but his eyes was mad with disbelief and terror. He lay upon his brother fully clothed down in the mire and no one dare go near him.
Tom Lloyd were there that day also Bill Skilling and your ma and Maggie I didnt know Steve Hart at the time. Having placed no bets we had no winnings but we escorted you through the streets of Beechworth straight to Ryan’s Hotel. On that day you was Jesus Christ Almighty even Father Duffy come to worship you.
As a result of winning the fight I become what is known as popular which were even worse than being hated as a traitor though the conditions was in many ways identical. Now every drunken fool thought he must fight the Great Champeen and take away his crown.
There is no pleasure in fighting either drunks or pimply boys and I resolved to live very quiet indeed I done my labour at the sawmill drawing my weekly wage and keeping from the pubs and racetracks you can ask my workmates they will tell you what a retiring chap I were. This does not mean a complete hermit many is the happy hour I spent with Tom Lloyd as we bought and sold horses but everything were on the up and up and I maintained the receipts of every beast we purchased. I had also made a friend of Wild Wright though he were soon arrested for Receiving and earned 3 yr. in Beechworth Gaol.
Joe Byrne come calling as well and once he realised how peaceful I were living life he brung me tobacco and when I said I didnt smoke he give me a book. If you seen Joe Byrne in a Beechworth pub you would never take him for a scholar you might note instead his restless limbs his wild and dangerous eye it could cut right through you like a knife. This same Joe Byrne sat me down on a log and opened up his book his hard square hands were very gentle on them pages.
Shutup Ned and listen.
So were I introduced to John Ridd the hero of the book called LORNA DOONE. I sat on a slippery debarked log at Killawarra but my eyes was seeing things from centuries before I were witness to a mighty fight between John Ridd and another boy as soon as John won he discovered his father were murdered by the Doones.
John Ridd lost his da at the exact same age I lost my own. He were a champion wrestler but tired of hearing about it often longing to be smaller. So even before I met with Lorna herself I liked this book as well as ice cream ipso facto it is proven that Joe Byrne the so called CRIMINAL were a better schoolmaster than Mr Irving who taught me how to make the ink without the pleasure of its use.
In 2 blessed yr. of peace I read LORNA DOONE 3 times I also read some Bible and some poems of William Shakespeare. I had no interest in the world outside least of all my family. While George King prospered as a horse thief I would not go near Eleven Mile Creek. It were not until the spring of that year I opened my eyes sufficient to see what had become of my brother Dan and what happened then I will tell you at another time. It were the end of my quiet life that is for sure.