The Seeing Eye Crocodile

By Andrew Kepitis-Andrews

Born the son of a coal miner, Alfred Todd soon learns from his father that "honesty is best policy" fits only the poor, the weak and the stupid.
"Everybody cheats," he tells his son, "the milkman when he waters down your milk before he delivers it. The grocer when he puts his thumb on the scale as he weighs out your sugar. The government which lies to you and the courts who grant you only as much justice as you can afford to pay for."
Young Alfred or Freddy as he is generally known, start out in life, bearing these thoughts in mind as he sets out on a career of leading people into trusting him and parting them from their money.
Leaving a trail of destruction over two continents for some twenty years, his downfall comes about in an incredible way which nobody could have foreseen. His nemesis is of his own making although he could be forgiven for failing to spot it. One chance in a billion.
From insurance fraud to selling non-existent timber leases. From convincing people they are going blind to finding a miracle cure for them - emerging as a cult leader Freddy finally makes his billion-to-one mistake.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Kepitis-Andrews
• Release date: Sep 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370458363

Andrew Kepitis-Andrews

Following a lifetime of adventure, travel and intrigue, Andrew Kepitis-Andrews finally settled on the north coast of New South Wales, Australia, and opened a gourmet smokehouse. Always possessing the urge to write but lacking the time that serious writing demands, he retired from commercial food smoking at the age of seventy-four, and had his first book published the same year, 2014. The writing bug is now fully incubated, and Andrew says his writing has two simple, sincere and earnest goals: your pleasure in the reading of it and his pleasure in the writing of it.

Book preview

The Seeing Eye Crocodile

The Seeing Eye Crocodile

© Copyright 2016 Andrew Kepitis-Andrews

Smashwords Edition

This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or reviews, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part of this book may be reproduced by any process, stored in a retrieval system, or transmit-ted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the copyright holder. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

Kepitis-Andrews, Andrew, 1940 –

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Table Of Contents

1. In The Beginning

2. Young Alfred

3. Entering The Adult World

4. Developing The Taste

5. Getting A Real Job

6. Innovations In Insurance

7. Operation 'Interim Assurance'

8. The Paper Business

9. Money & Morality

10. Nothing Is Forever

11. The New Leaf

12. The Legal Con

13. Making Preparations

14. Plunder From Downunder

15. Following The Trail

16. Stealing America

17. Exposed But Still At Large

18. In The Meantime

19. Virgil

20. The Practice

21. A Cold Trail

22. The Practice Continues

23. Air Plans

24 The Orange Grove Garden Of The Third Eye

25 Family Relations At Their Worst

26. Epilogue

About The Author

1. IN THE BEGINNING

The small town of Cessnock in the Hunter Valley of New South Wales owes its existence largely to the massive availability of coal in the area and the small army of miners who risk their lives by going underground to dig up coal and bring it to the surface.

By the end of the 1940s the town had expanded to boast a number of pubs, two picture show halls, a few churches, two primary schools and one high school. Apart from that, it was a sleepy, dusty town, inhabited by miners and shopkeepers who serviced the needs of the miners. The surroundings offered little to get excited over. A few rolling hills and bits of bushland yawned indolently in whichever direction one looked, reflecting the predominant colour of yellowy, green grassland of farm holdings, running mostly dairy cattle.

The miners, by far the largest population of Cessnock, formed almost an exclusive community, not based on any form of snobbery but rather a lack of commonality. Almost, as if by some enforced and established tradition, the sons of miners followed their fathers into the mines, creating a closely knit community where outsiders seeking to work in the mines were almost always turned away by the mining unions unless some dire emergency, demanding more labour cropped up but this was not often.

Barry Todd had just turned twenty and already he had spent five years underground, working side by side with his father. His life until now had been very simple. Five days a week in the mine and then off to the pub for a few beers, then home for dinner and listen to a few radio serials before retiring to face the next day.

Weekends were spent in hitting a cricket ball or kicking a rugby ball, then back to the pub to either yarn or squabble with his contemporaries. The two local cinemas also provided some diversion and quite a bit of discussion in the pub afterwards, analysing the merits of the leading actress who was welcome to park her boots under his bed any time, or the stark realism of the gunfight in the canyon.

When World War II broke out, Barry remained a miner as the government decreed that miners were essential workers, contributing to the war effort and therefore exempt from the armed services. Not all miners took advantage of this exemption and a number joined up anyway but Barry and his father Jim, decided that contributing to the war effort was far more important especially for their longevity. Jim had fought in the First World War and convinced Barry that in any war, the only winners were the top brass and the bosses. The common soldier was only good as cannon fodder, satisfying the blood lust of the artillery and bullets, no matter which side they were on and those who did manage to survive, were later treated like lepers.

Over the last couple of years, a new sensation was growing in Barry's loins. Girls and how to talk with them. Meeting them was the largest problem. There were a few milk bars in town, frequented by young ladies or Sheilas, as they were commonly known but establishing contact with them was difficult if not clumsy.

On the advice of a mate, Barry discovered a sure fire way of meeting some girls, The Church. Not the actual church services themselves but the church socials run by the presiding minister in the church hall. These were designed to attract young people to church dances and other social activities where young people could gather and get to know one another and also become exposed to whatever religious doctrines were popular at the time. The price to pay to become a member of this group was, regular church attendance, something Barry found boring but necessary if one desired entry to a church social.

These social events were not exactly a pushover in pairing up with girls. All dances and activities were closely supervised by the vigilant eyes of a church elder and any contact considered too close for public decency, was immediately terminated.

As it is with all rules, ways can be found to get around them or simply break them. Barry did not waste much time.

Edith Arnold had just turned seventeen when she first joined the Church social group. Not the greatest of beauties, she was of average height with a slim figure and long, mousy brown hair and a large nose which was out of proportion from the rest of her face. Barry was the least interested in that part of her anatomy. He was immediately drawn to her by her very large breasts. These were the singular and main attraction for him. He didn't quite know why. All he knew was that every time he observed them, a tightness and an unexplained excitement came over him, leaving him with almost a shortness of breath.

At first Barry thought he would have a lot of competition vying for Edith's attention but he soon observed that she was almost ignored by the other young men. This could be because Edith and her family had only recently moved into the area and her father was a farm day labourer, something the mining fraternity considered beneath them and often referred to them as, 'no hoper trash.'

Barry held no such scruples and began mounting his campaign of conquest. Following a few dances at the church social, he suggested to Edith that she might like to accompany him to the pictures in the near future. To his surprise, she agreed without any further questions.

In the cinema the movie had just started when Barry started his plan for seduction.

He first let his left arm wander round Edith's shoulder, pulling her much closer to him. Happily, Edith complied and snuggled closer to him. He waited a few moments and when he thought the time was right, he drew her face closer to his and placed his lips over hers, attempting a clumsy kiss. Again Edith complied without a murmur and soon they were smooching, oblivious to the other cinema goers around them and totally ignoring the movie. Barry felt most encouraged and put his right hand on her left breast expecting a protest but none came. By now Barry was more than excited and after a while of breast fondling, placed his right hand on the shin of her leg, slowly working it upwards under her dress. Edith reacted not quite to Barry's expectations. She quickly pulled his hand away from under her dress and returned it to her breast. This did not worry Barry in the slightest as he was surprised to have made as much progress as he had. One thing was sure though, Barry thought, it's only a matter of time and planning and the conquest of Edith, pretty much a sure thing.

On two more occasions Barry and Edith went to the pictures and behave much as they did the first time except that on the second time Edith allowed Barry's hand to creep up her dress, just that bit further before pulling it away.

On walking Edith home to her house after the film ended, Barry casually said to Edith,

What do you reckon that on Saturday arvo, we go down to the creek and do a little fishing and maybe have a bit of picnic? Barry suggested to Edith.

Yeah, that sounds quite nice. What time?

I dunno, about two or three in the arvo.

Yeah, that sounds OK. Shall I bring something?

Yeah, if you like. A sandwich or a cake or something like that and I'll bring the fishing tackle and a beer.

A beer! Edith exclaimed, what do you want with a beer?

Just one bottle, you know, to wash down the sandwich.

All right then but how do we get there? You gonna pick me up or what? Edith asked.

What say me meet up at the Post Office steps at two. From there it's only a half hour walk to the creek and a fishing spot I know.

Almost on the dot of two pm Barry was approaching the Post Office steps. Edith was already there, dressed in a flaring white skirt and a very tight pink blouse with a covered basket on the concrete floor, near her feet.

Strewth! Barry thought to himself, she's dressed more like she's going to a ball. Then on nearing her, he kissed her lightly on the lips.

You're looking bonzer, he addressed her, but we're only going for a picnic, not the Troccadero in Sydney.

Oh this! This is no ball outfit, besides I had to wear something.

And what's with the basket? What have you got there?

I told my mum I was going on a picnic with some girls from the church so she insisted on packing the basket. I don't think you'll be wanting much dinner after we get through this lot.

My thanks to your mum. Well we'd better get going and find a spot so that we can hoe in.

It was actually more like three quarters of an hour before they came to the spot Barry had in mind. It wasn't a spectacular location but pretty enough. A high grassy bank with copses of pine trees growing round it and the creek edge lined with large rocks.

What sort of fish do you catch in there? Edith asked as Barry was busy baiting some hooks on three fishing lines wrapped round empty beer bottles.

Mostly mullet but sometimes a black-fish and if you're real lucky you might score a river cod.

Good. When you're ready, come up to the bank and we can have something to eat.

When Barry came up to the bank he got quite a surprise. From her basket, Edith had produced and laid out on a tea towel, an enamel plate of sandwiches as well as some home baked biscuits plus a large bottle of cola. On either side of the tea towel she has spread a fluffy beach towel.

Strewth! That looks all right, Barry commented and reached for his beer bottle, flicking off the lid. Would you care for a sip, it's a bit warm but it's still OK?

I'll just have the cola if you don't mind.

They both sat down on the beach towels and began eating. They had nearly finished eating when Barry manoeuvred his beach towel next to Edith's and without saying a word, embraced her and pushed her shoulders to the ground and started kissing her. Receiving no resistance, he unbuttoned her pink blouse and then progressed to placing his hand under her skirt right up to her underwear. Still receiving no resistance, he started to remove her underwear.

Barry ... we shouldn't, Edith weakly protested.

Why not? It's only natural.

Someone might come ...

No one will come; you can rest assured of that.

That was the sum total conversation they had as they progressed towards the inevitable.

Almost immediately after Barry climaxed, he experienced an inexplicable feeling of revulsion towards Edith. Not that he hated her, he simply couldn't bear to touch her. The excitement of the encounter receded so quickly, it seemed like water escaping through a large, open plughole. Almost instinctively, Barry knew not to pass this phenomenon onto Edith and for a while, remained silent, pondering on what had just transpired.

In a few minutes, this feeling of revulsion almost subsided and half an hour later Barry was ready for a repeat performance but the afternoon position of the sun reminded Edith it was high time to head for home in order to avoid close parental questioning.

Later that evening, soon after supper, Barry retired to his bedroom and masturbated, reliving the arousing excitement of the earlier afternoon.

For over the next month or two, these sort of picnics took place as often as they could be arranged. Surprisingly, no one ever questioned Barry or Edith and neither of them made any mention of it to anyone else. They did however dispense with the picnic guise and made their way to the creek fishing spot, sometimes together, sometimes separately. For their comfort Barry had procured a canvass ground sheet which was kept wedged in a tree-fork close to their spot.

Barry never thought much about his relationship with Edith apart from the physical one, nothing further developed. He was not aware, or cared if Edith had any deeper feelings for him. Then a new arrival in town and the church social set, caught his eye.

Gladys Wilson moved into Cessnock. She was the youngest daughter of Donald and Mary Wilson. Donald, a mining executive and engineer, was transferred from Hexam to manage the mine in Cessnock.

Gladys, a tall redhead, had recently graduated from High School in Newcastle and lived with her family whilst contemplating her next move for her future.

Barry became immediately infatuated with her, not only because of her red hair and otherwise good looks but predominantly by her large breasts, rivalled only by those of Edith. Before making any move Barry consulted with a few mates in the pub, looking for background information.

Forget it, a couple of his mates told him, she's the bosses' daughter and way out of your league.

You saying she's too good for me?

You're not listening Barry. We're saying she's one of them, the bosses' daughter. Even if by some fluke she did fancy you, the bosses would soon put a stop to that. Shit and sugar don't mix.

You reckon eh? Barry retorted, we'll soon see about that!

What Barry did see was nowhere near to what he had expected.

It was a Saturday morning when Jim Todd answered a knock on his front door. He knew it had to be a stranger as friends and acquaintances always came to the back door.

Good morning, the stranger greeted Jim, you must be Jim Todd?

I am. How can I help you?

My name is Taylor Arnold. I'm the father of Edith Arnold, your son Barry's girlfriend.

Really, I didn't know my son had a girlfriend.

Believe me Mr Todd, he has and it's my daughter.

OK but my son's not here right now.

It's not your son I want to talk to, not right now. Right now I want to talk to you and your wife. Is there somewhere we can talk?

My wife's not here at the moment, she's gone to the shops.

Then I'll just talk to you if that's OK with you?

I suppose so, you'd better come in, we can talk in the kitchen.

Jim purposely chose the kitchen as to talk to a stranger in the sitting room would be too formal and give the stranger a greater feeling of respect and thus an upper hand. Moving towards the kitchen Jim thought of offering the stranger a cup of tea but decided against that, not until he knew what this was all about anyway.

Now Mr Arnold, you did say Arnold didn't you?

That is correct.

Well then Mr Arnold, what can I do for you?

It's not so much what you can do for me as it is what we can do for each other.

Strewth, you sound serious!

I am. Your son has been seeing my daughter for a couple of months now and last night my daughter told me and my wife that he's put her up her up the duff.

What! What do you mean, my son's put her up the duff?

Just that, up the duff, pregnant, impregnated, with child, take your pick, any one description will do.

How do you know it's my son?

There's no doubt about it, he's the one. There is no one else. I suggest you ask him yourself.

Jim fell silent for a moment as he digested this news and concluded that this must be true as once or twice he had noticed that Barry was up to something he didn't want to talk about.

OK, if this is what it is you're saying, what's that got to do with me?

You're his father and as I understand it, Barry's not quite twenty-one yet and therefore still your responsibility.

My responsibility! My responsibility! How about your responsibility in keeping your daughter in check and not leading young men astray?

You are quite right. It is also my responsibility and that is why I'm here. We both have a responsibility, we are both fathers and should join forces and work out what is best in this sort of situation.

Does Barry know about this? Jim asked.

I don't think so. We only found out last night after we questioned Edith following some changes in her, noticed by her mother. Even then it took some pressure to get her to come clean.

God, strewth! Give me strength, I don't believe it. If it's not one thing it's another. Look, would you like a cuppa tea and we can talk about it.

Thank you. I could do with a cuppa.

As Jim was getting the tea organised Taylor called out to him,

Does Barry do a lot of fishing?

Sort of, he's got a special spot on the creek where he goes quite often.

Too often it would seem. Edith told us about the spot.

The little bastard, so that's why he's been going there a lot lately and coming back with no fish. I'll kill the blighter, I swear I'll kill him.

I wouldn't do that if I were you, 'cause it would solve nothing. All that would do, would create another little bastard with no father and a grandfather in jail or hanged.

No, I suppose you're right, Jim agreed as he sat down at the kitchen table with two enamel mugs of tea, I guess there's only one solution.

I take it you mean abortion? Taylor asked.

What else?

That is one solution but it's an expensive one as well as being illegal.

Bugger the illegal bit but have you a clue what it would cost?

Not exactly but from what I've heard, you're looking at between eight hundred to a thousand quid to have it done safely and then there is no guarantee...

What! How much?

Eight hundred to a thousand.

Bloody hell! You can buy a car with that sort of dough! I can't afford anywhere near that.

Neither can I.

I will kill the bastard.

There is of course an alternative.

You mean a shotgun marriage?

Yes I do.

What sort of a life would that be?

What sort of a life would it be for a girl with a baby and no husband, who would marry tainted goods? And for that matter, what sort of life would it be for your son, having to pay for child support for the next twenty-one years. What sort of woman would marry a bloke who's got a bastard child to support? How would you and your wife cope for the rest of your life, knowing your grandchild's a bastard? And then, most importantly, there is the child. What sort of a future would he or she have going through life a bastard?

Jim rocked on his kitchen chair as he listened.

I guess there's a lot of truth in what you're saying. I agree but will the kids agree?

I can only speak from my side, my wife agrees and so does Edith.

Barry will agree or I'll break his bloody neck.

Barry did agree, eventually, but only after threatened of being thrown out of the house with the possibility of spending the rest of his life with a broken neck.

The wedding was very small, very quiet, almost secretive. Edith was quite happy with the event and Barry grew to accept it once he got over the thought that the red headed girl was now totally out of the picture.

Some six months later, in the Newcastle Maternity Hospital, Alfred Todd was unceremoniously propelled into the modern post-war world.

2. YOUNG ALFRED

The marriage between Barry and Edith started out, as can be expected, a little on the rocky side. Both were too young to be locked into a union where responsibility and common devotion to each other was the catalyst for it to succeed. The one bond they did have in common, was their son Alfred.

Both parents of Barry and Edith dipped into their small savings and scraped up enough money to put down a deposit to purchase a house for the young couple, not through any feelings of altruism but rather, practicality. Neither of their houses were large enough to accommodate another family and abandoning them in a relatively small mining community was, socially, out of the question. Small bits of vital furniture were scraped up thanks to friends and neighbours and the one second hand furniture shop in Cessnock. The rest was up to the young couple themselves.

Although Barry had worked in the mine ever since he left school, at the age of fifteen, he was paid only a junior's wage but soon after he married he turned twenty-one and qualified for the full adult wage, which by the average working man's standards, was well above that of the more common labourer. In time Barry was promoted to the position of, Leading Hand although this was due more to seniority as opposed to ability and it carried with it a generous increase in wages.

In his formative years young Alfred or Fred or Freddy, as he was generally called, was the glue holding Barry and Edith together. Barry in particular was overwhelmingly proud of his son, to the point of almost becoming obnoxious and boring as he broadcast his son's every tiny activity to anyone trapped into listening.

Edith mollycoddled Freddy as if he was her favourite doll and regaled at all of Freddy's childhood pranks and mannerisms as a sign of great achievements. Thus, apart from, 'please pass the salt,' Freddy was almost the sole subject of any conversation between Barry and Edith.

Throughout his years in primary school, Freddy was rated as a little above average. He excelled in only two subjects, English and mathematics and it was the latter which promoted him to above average status. His prowess in addition, subtraction, division and multiplication was unique, surprising both parents as neither of them demonstrated any great ability, or interest in that field. However, both were peacock proud of Freddy's dexterity with figures and were sure they were raising the next mathematical wonder of the world.

There were others who did not share this observation. Mainly his classmates who probably, mostly out of jealousy, labelled him a nerd and started bullying him. They soon found out the Freddy was not the submissive kind as when bullying situations arose, Freddy fought back with the ferocity of a wild animal, completely disregarding any rules of fair fighting. Whenever a fight arose Freddy would go straight for the jugular, kicking, biting, gouging, even to using rocks if there were any around. Soon his tormentors came to the realise that picking on Freddy was not a healthy option and in a short time gave up the practise. This caused Freddy to become a bit of a loner and he preferred it that way as he was not one for socialising, preferring his own company more than sharing it with others.

After a year or so of married life, Barry was becoming a somewhat bored and jaded. Although a moderate drinker there were times when he went over his limit and became quite drunk. This was bad news for Edith as whenever this did occur, he came home and started abusing her. Mostly he vented his spleen by criticising her cooking, housekeeping or any other of her activities he found worth reproaching. Edith did not fight or argue back, taking in the abuse silently and stoically. This enraged Barry even more and on some occasions he slapped her rather vigorously. When this happened, Edith made no utterance or protest, she simply ran out of the house and returned an hour or more later by which time Barry had already gone to bed.

Freddy was present at almost all of these occasions but could not make out any sense in why this was happening. Most times he either left the room or found a corner where he was least conspicuous, fearful that he too might get a taste of his father's venom. This never happened and in time Freddy worked up enough courage to ask, Dad, why did you do that? Mum's done nothing wrong.

That's what you think. Look son, I spend eight hours down the mine every day. I provide the money to put food on the table and clothes on her back. For this I think I deserve a little respect.

Respect! I don't understand dad. What do you mean by respect?

Just that. I give her plenty of money to have better food prepared for my tea and I expect her to do her job properly. That's what I mean by respect. A man's gotta get respect from his wife otherwise she's not much good for him, you understand that?

Freddy nodded his head in agreement although he didn't understand at all.

OK but why did you hit her?

Because that's the only thing women understand. In any case, I didn't hit her, so much as slapped her, A good clip on the ear every now and again keeps them on their toes, you understand that? She's got to know who's boss. Anyway, I'm going to bugger off to bed.

Again Freddy nodded and again he did not quite understand but felt he should not pursue the matter any further.

When Edith returned, Freddy was waiting for her.

Why did dad bash you? he asked for the first time, what did you do wrong?

Nothing dear, I did nothing wrong, it's the drink. He gets that way when he's had a few.

Are you all right, did he hurt you?

No, I'm all right. I just find that it's better to get out of his way when he gets that way, otherwise he might get violent. Tomorrow he'll be OK again. You can understand that, can't you?

I suppose so, Freddy replied but when reflecting on the situation, he had to admit to himself that he really understood very little.

By the time Freddy got to high school, Barry was immersed in other interests. Horse and dog racing in particular and on many evenings, playing poker. Almost every Saturday afternoon, he and a couple of mates were off to Newcastle racetrack at Broadmeadow. He wasn't a very talented punter, relying mostly on tips and the favourites. When asked how he was making out at the races, Barry had a stock answer,

I'm still in there and still in front but only just.

In fact, he was mostly behind but on the few occasions when he did have a big win, he broadcast to anyone willing to listen that he was king of the punters. Once Edith expressed a wish to accompany him to the races but soon found out that this was not going to happen.

What the hell do you want to go for? You know nothing about horses and you'll only send good money down the drain, Barry admonished her.

Oh, I don't want to go and bet money!

That's just plain stupid! What's the point of going to the races if you're not going to place a bet?

No, I don't want to bet but just be around people, you know, look at the horses and all that.

You can see plenty of horses right here in Cessnock if that's what you want and besides that, who's gonna cook my tea when I get back?

That's about as close as Edith ever got to a racetrack.

One evening Barry returned home accompanied with two greyhounds on a lead.

There you go Edith, Barry burst out, what do you think of these two beauties?

What on earth are you going to do with them? Edith exclaimed.

Race them of course, stupid. What else do you do with greyhounds?

You're not serious. We can't have two dogs in the house.

They're not going to be in the house. The bloke I bought them from is coming round tomorrow and bringing two kennels for them. That was part of the deal. There you go Freddy. what do you think of them?

They look real beaut dad! Are they fast?

Don't know yet but the bloke I got them from reckons they've got good breeding in them and they're still very young and with a bit of training they'll bring in good money. The black one's called Lightning Rod and the brindle one's called Getting There.

The Todd family had expanded and its financial requirements, now stretched to the limit. The major item was transportation for the dogs. Up until now the Todds did not have a car nor had they felt any great need for one as Barry had a bicycle to get him to the mine and back but now the situation was changed. The dogs demanded something larger than a bicycle.

A second hand car dealer provided the answer by way of a deposit on a Holden utility with an enclosed back. When Barry drove the vehicle home to show the family, Freddy was most surprised but not by the car.

How could you drive it home dad, you don't have a driver's licence?

So?

So how can you drive without a licence?

Easy, you get into the car, start it up, put it into gear and off you go.

Didn't the dealer ask you if you have a licence before you drove it?

Yes he did and I told him I had one.

Didn't he want to see it?

I don't think he'd have dared to ask.

I don't get it. Why wouldn't he?

Look son and learn something. You must have confidence in yourself. When the dealer asked me if I had a licence, I looked him sternly in the eye and said. 'of course I do', like I was offended by his stupid question. He backed down straight away. Remember that son, always have confidence in yourself and make the other bloke look stupid.

This was the one lesson from his father, Freddy remembered for the rest of his life.

Freddy now was given the job to feed and exercise the dogs every day. A job he didn't overly care for but had to do anyway.

When it came time to see the dog's performance on the racetrack, the result was not all very encouraging. Lightning Rod finished somewhere in the middle of the pack and Getting There fared a little better by running third.

We have to get the dogs blooded, Barry told his son.

How do you mean, 'blooded'?

We have to give the dogs a taste of blood while they're on the chase.

I still don't get it,

It's simple. The dogs must chase another animal, catch it and kill it and then start to eat it.

What will that do?

Again, very simple. Once they get the idea they'll get a feed after chasing and eating it, they'll run faster 'cause they think they'll get a feed if they catch it, understand?

Yeah but how'll you do that?

We'll round up some cats and possums, then release the dogs to go after it. That'll be your next job. Get a hessian bag and find some cats.

Where will I get some cats dad?

Come on Freddy, there's heaps of them round Cessnock.

Yeah but how do I know they're not someone's pets?

You don't know and you don't care, they're cats, that's all they are. They're cats.

The 'blooding' was a somewhat grizzly business. The cat was placed in a hessian bag which was passed close to the dogs' noses so that they could catch the scent and then the cat was released with the dogs after it. It did not take long for the dogs to outrun the cat and tear it to pieces. The first few times Freddy winced a bit as the dogs pounced on the cat. Noticing this Barry justified the sordid business by saying to Freddy,

Stupid bloody things, cats. He could have run for the fence and then up it. Serves him right for being so stupid.

The first few attempts at blooding the dogs were not very satisfactory. When pouncing on the running cat, the cat would turn on the dogs, badly scratching them before its life expired. Switching to using live rabbits as bait the rabbit would zig-zag during the chase causing the pursuing dogs to crash into each other and often resulting in a bad shoulder injury.

Obviously Barry was doing something wrong. He knew about blooding but only in very general terms. Using quiet and subtle methods, Barry found out his mistake. To do the job properly, he had to take his dogs to the dog track on appointed days and above all, swear to keep the events secret. There he discovered that before the dogs were released for the chase. a cat was tied live to the lure arm at the track, where its claws would be broken so as not to injure the dogs. Then as the lure arm passed by the starting box, the dogs were released.

Following a few bloodings the dogs did improve their performance to the point where Barry proudly pronounced his 'working man's racehorses' a good investment although how good, Freddy never found out as dad held all the purse strings of his household's budget and never revealed the cash status of that purse. He did notice however, that Barry had purchased another four dogs.

At least one evening every week Barry played poker with some of his mates or anyone else for that matter, as long as they had a quid to ante up. The game was supposedly a friendly one amongst mates with a minimum bet of a shilling and the ceiling, one pound. The venues rotated house to house where the players brought their own drinks and the host supplied some nibblies. Barry enjoyed the game and even more so when he happened to win. The only thing he found frustrating in the game was when it came to bluffing. He could never quite master that art nor could he find anyone who would teach him. If only he could find a way to know what cards his opponent held. He mused on that for quite some time and then an idea came to him but it involved another party he could rely on. Who better than his son Freddy.

Freddy, I want a word with you, he took him aside one evening, what I'm about to tell you must remain a secret, just between you and me, do you understand. Now promise me you will do that.

Yeah sure, I promise.

OK, here's what I want you to do. Next time I go to play poker you'll come with me and when I give you a signal, you will walk around the room like you were a bit bored or something and try and see what cards my opponent is holding. Then you give me a signal as to what they are.

How do I do that dad?

I'll work out some signals but to give you an idea, if my opponents holding, let's say two aces, you will scratch your nose twice or three times if he has three. Then if he has kings, you will rub your eye two times. Get it.

Yeah, I get it dad but isn't that cheating?

Of course it is but who's to know. Just you and me.

I don't know dad, that's really cheating and that's against the law isn't it?

The whole game's against the law. If the coppers found out we were playing poker for money they'd arrest all of us.

Yeah but all the same, it's still cheating.

Sure it is but the whole world is run on cheating. The banks cheat you, the lawyers cheat you, the politicians cheat you even the milkman cheats you.

Come off it dad! How can the milkman cheat you?

I'll tell you how! When he delivers your quart of milk and puts a cup of water in it. That's cheating isn't it?

I guess so.

And what about the grocer when he weighs out the rice or flour and sneaks a four-ounce weight on the bottom of the scale. Then there's everybody who fills out a tax return and puts in claims for donations to charities they never gave a penny to. That's cheating isn't it? I could go on for ever. What I'm trying to tell you son is that everybody cheats so why not us. If you can't lick them, join them.

But what if I get caught?

How can anyone catch you? It's not like you're whispering something in my ear, you're nowhere near me. Look, all we have to do is work out some signals which only you and I will know about. It's a piece of cake.

OK but what do I get out of it?

The question caught Barry off guard, he hadn't reckoned with it.

What do you mean, what do you get out of it?

Just that. You're going to make a few bob out of it but what do I get? I do all the work.

OK, what say I give you a share of what I win?

How big a share?

Oh I don't know. What do you say to 10%?

What about 50%, that's fair.

Not if I have to put the money up front in the first place. OK, here's what I'll do, I'll give you 25% but nothing if you give me the wrong information, that sounds fair to me.

OK, I'll do it.

Both father and son worked hard to develop signals which were subtle and meant nothing to anyone else and when these were committed to memory they put them into practice.

The results were better than satisfactory. The only problem was in finding a believable excuse for Freddy's presence at poker nights. They solved that one by floating a rumour that it was all Edith's doing to have Freddy by his father's side to curb his drinking. They even worked out a clincher where Freddy, seeing his father attempting to fill another glass, would quite audibly admonish him by saying,

Aw no dad, you're not going to drink another one!

On hearing this, Barry would put the bottle down.

With practice Freddy's ability increased in spotting cards and signalling his father their face value and number. He actually started to enjoy the deception as it gave him a feeling of superiority. The smug, 'I know something you don't' variety. He got to know the other players a lot better and set up a rapport with them, joking and exchanging ribald anecdotes with them, thus ensuring that he was regarded as a bit of a larrikin and even served them with drinks or lit their cigarettes. This gave him closer access to see the cards they were holding and avoided suspicion that he was up to something.

The law of averages suggests that sooner or later he would get caught or at least arouse suspicion but all the time Barry was playing poker with the boys, this never happened. Probably due to Freddy's suggestion to his dad that he makes sure that he loses sometimes. To make this look natural, Freddy worked out a mathematical scale of when and how much to lose but making sure that the losses never exceeded the gains. Dad was very proud of his son's skill with numbers, even if he could not share this pride with others.

Freddy too was delighted with the arrangement as now this put some money in his packet, not just the odd shilling dad slung his as pocket money but real money, pounds, sometimes with up to four of them concealed in his back pocket. This sudden wealth started to develop a feeling of power in Freddy. He could shout a school colleague a sixpenny bottle of Coca-Cola and expect favours in return.

After school and weekends, a lot of teenagers would hang around a milk bar where they were often joined by some girls from the girls' high school. Together they were feeding the jukebox with coins as they listened, ad nauseam to the latest recordings, mostly by Elvis Presley, now almost reaching the peak of his career. Girls shammed a swoon, listening to his honey- coated warbling and boys emulated his haircut and tried to copy his jelly- like movements. The Greek milk bar proprietor, Stravos, even created a special milkshake, calling it 'The Pelvis Punch' and increased the price by threepence.

Freddy hated Elvis, not for his music but more through jealousy of the piles of easy money Elvis was making and the electrifying, manipulative power he exerted over the teenage world. Despite his feelings of loathing, Freddy was still in his element. For the price of an ice cream or a milkshake, he became the centre of attention but he was shrewd enough to realise that it was not his personality which was the architect of his popularity and with the passing of time, he held his beneficiaries in contempt as he held the money card and was able to make his contemporaries jump through hoops for the price of sixpence.

The presence of girls never affected Freddy one way or another. He neither liked or disliked them although there were times when he found their giggling and chattering a little annoying. Not so with other boys or girls. They were feeling changes in their bodies as they entered puberty and sampled their first taste of puppy love. Embarrassment and coyness began to puncture their personalities, more so the girls. Freddy too noticed changes in his body but to him these were of a physical, sexual nature only, totally devoid from any form of affection.

Mavis, a fourteen-year-old from the girls' high school had developed a crush on Richard, one of Freddy's schoolmates but apart from making cow's eyes at him from a distance and acting shy and giggly whenever he was near her, she did next to nothing in exploring the possibility of any relationship with him.

At the milk bar Mavis sought out Freddy and shyly tried to pump him for more information.

How well do you know Richard? Mavis asked Freddy.

How do you mean, 'how well'?

You know! Does he like girls?

Sure, why not? Freddy asked surprised at the question.

I was just wondering.

You got a thing for him or something?

No, nothing like that. I just think he's cute, you know. Do you think he likes me?

How would I know? Why don't you ask him yourself, he's standing right over there?

I can't do that!

Why not? It's simple enough.

"No, I can't do that. He'll think