The Pilbara Contract

By Dick Parry

The opening up of huge iron ore finds in the Hammersley Ranges in the nineteen sixties has led to the need for major new infrastructure, including railways to convey the ore several hundred miles to the coast. Having won the contract to build a vital rail bridge in the Pilbara, a remote area in Western Australia, Victorian based firm Richardson Constructions experience a number of traumatic incidents severely disrupting the early work and culminating in the death, likely murder, of a senior rig operator. Senior site engineer Jim Pike believes the incidents are being orchestrated by Bull Masters, boss of an old established construction company in Western Australia to try and force him and, ultimately, Richardson Constructions off the site. In confronting Masters at his nearby station homestead he encounters an unwelcome familiar face and events that threaten his return to the bridge site, now beset with strike problems, cyclonic weather and difficult geological conditions imperilling foundation operations using a new type of piling rig vital to the success of the whole project.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley
• Release date: Nov 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370737185

Dick Parry

A civil engineering graduate from Melbourne University, Dick Parry was born in England but brought up in Australia, where he worked in practice until taking up a lectureship in Cambridge University in 1967. He has consulted and lectured widely and written three acclaimed books on the history of civil engineering.

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About the Author

A civil engineering graduate from Melbourne University, Dick Parry was born in England but brought up in Australia, where he worked in practice until taking up a lectureship at Cambridge University in 1967. He has consulted and lectured widely and written three acclaimed books on the history of civil engineering.

For family

and

In memory of my mother

Dick Parry

The Pilbara Contract

Copyright © Dick Parry (2017)

The right of Dick Parry to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781786932358 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781786932365 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781786932372 (E-Book)

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First Published (2017)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.

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Acknowledgments

My many thanks to the editorial and production staff at Austin Macauley for making this book a reality

Chapter 1

Jim Pike, having finished his handwritten report, sat back in his office chair and surveyed the view from his top floor window of the ten-year-old two storey brick structure. An expansive yard of mechanical diggers, drills, pile driving rigs, cranes and a variety of other construction equipment gave him, as senior site engineer for Richardson Constructions, the same contentedness that others might derive from an idyllic view of nature: mature trees on grassy slopes perhaps or animals grazing beside languid streams. This eclectic collection of equipment presently in for maintenance and repair in the Melbourne yard comprised a small representation of the plant owned and operated by Richardson Constructions. It was, he knew, soon to be supplemented by a new, very expensive, piling rig, costing the best part of half a million dollars in the recently introduced new Australian currency, purchased by company boss, Lew Richardson, on an overseas visit six months previously to the huge International Construction Equipment Fair in Cologne. Lew, at seventy years of age, had ambitions to see that before he finally retired the emphasis in the company’s operations should change from its traditional activities, consisting largely of constructing office blocks, with side-lines in structures such as grain silos and water towers, to much larger and potentially more profitable infrastructure projects. Already the company had taken on and recently completed a contract building beef roads in the Northern Territory, with Pike himself as senior site engineer. In another departure from the company’s more traditional activities he had just returned from overseeing the initial stages in the construction of a wharf in New Guinea.

While harbouring his doubts about Lew’s new purchase, he acknowledged he had no experience of installing foundation piles using this type of rig and would have to reserve his judgement of it. Lew, on the other hand, clearly believed that being seen to embrace new technologies from overseas would help in securing contracts for large infrastructure projects. What he did know was that as the company’s senior site engineer the first use of this new acquisition would almost certainly be under his watch.

Away from the hot late November sun beating down on the yard, the handful of men employed there were at present enjoying their brief lunch break in the cool of the company ground floor lunchroom – with one exception, he noted, of a figure in shorts and tee shirt bent over the engine of a dust covered Land Rover which had just come in for attention and repair. He recognised the slight figure as that of Nobby Clarke, a £10 Pom, who had joined the company six years ago on arrival from England as a twenty-two-year-old motor mechanic and whose addiction to, and skills with, mechanical equipment had almost assumed legendary status. Now married to Joy, a girl whose Australian forebears stretched back to convict days, he was rapidly acquiring all the traits of a true Aussie including a liking for meat pies, cold beer in chilled glasses and Australian Rules football. And he and his wife had just been blessed with a one hundred per cent Australian baby girl. As Pike watched, Nobby closed the hood of the vehicle, retrieved his wide brimmed Kookaburra brand Aussie hat from the top of the cabin and placed it over his dark, neatly trimmed back and sides, before strolling over to join his workmates for lunch.

A high chain link security fence enclosed the yard and separated it from the car park of the adjacent Rising Sun hotel, a forty-year-old, tile roofed, two storey, solid brick structure built in the 1920s. Richardson site operatives bringing in their equipment for repair or maintenance from construction sites out of town, and even out of state, regularly availed themselves of the amenities, which included half a dozen plain but comfortable accommodation rooms. The regular depot staff made good use of the establishment for a beer in the bar after work, the recent extension of closing time that had put an end to the six o’clock swill being much appreciated.

A shrill ring from the telephone, the only other item on his desk other than his report and his lunch sandwiches still in their wrapper, brought Pike back to earth from his musings.

Jim?

He knew the voice instantly. Yes Lew. Just about to ring you.

Bullshit!

Pike had no trouble envisaging the grin on old Lew’s round chubby face, his eyes crinkling behind heavy rimmed spectacles, as he made this rather over expressive riposte. Some underlings, he mused, might be a bit disconcerted by this abrupt response from their seventy-year-old company boss even, as in this case, a senior underling; but their relationship went back a long way, in fact to Pike’s infancy. His father and Lew Richardson had been close mates as kids at State School in Mitcham, an outer suburb of Melbourne They had both kept ferrets and on weekends and holidays ventured two or three miles out into the bush to catch rabbits. They had remained mates all their lives, so much so that Jim and his sister, Susan, two years his junior, had been honorary nephew and niece of Lew’s and close friends as children of Brian, Lew’s only offspring. Complications had arisen from his difficult birth rendering Lew’s wife, Mary, unable to have further children. Brian had died early in the war serving in the Royal Australian Navy, leaving behind a small son.

Okay, I was about to have a sandwich with the lads, Pike conceded, then ring you to let you know I have finished the wharf report.

It’s not what I was ringing about, Lew said, but I’m impressed. Two days back from the New Guinea site and already you have completed your report… couldn’t have done better myself! I’ll be interested to know how it’s going up there and particularly how that young grandson of mine is doing…

You’ve got no problems with Wayne, Pike assured him. He’s settling in like a natural running the job and should see it through to completion in three months from now.

Well I hope so. Lew’s reply didn’t exude a great deal of confidence. The young bugger’s sown a few wild oats in recent years, but Mary assures me he’s settled down at last and even has a steady girlfriend.

Well the next three months’ separation will put that to the test.

Yeah, it will, Lew agreed. Anyway, I’d like you at head office as soon as you can get here, but have your sandwiches first. I’ve got a couple of very urgent matters to discuss.

I’m not really dressed for head office visits today, Lew: casual shirt and jeans is all. Can nip back home and smarten up a bit if you like. I need a shave, too… and I was about to go for a haircut, he added for good measure. A quick glance in the mirror before breakfast had confirmed the need for a hair trim, his usual crisp mid-brown locks, still reasonably abundant in his late forties, now getting a little lank, partly concealing the signs of greying around the ears and neck. A visit to the barber was to be first priority after completing his New Guinea report. Shaving the stubble bedecking his face, permanently tanned from his outdoor life, could also wait another few hours in the interests of getting the report finished.

Home was a self-contained annex built onto his parents’ brick veneer house in Essendon, only two miles from the depot site close to Tullamarine airport. In fact his mother and father, now in their mid-seventies and with his father long retired from his senior post in the Department of Civil Aviation, spent most of their time on the small property they owned in the Dandenong hills, twenty-five miles out of Melbourne, his father tending his beloved rhododendrons and his mother heavily involved in the local Country Women’s Institute.

Don’t worry about dress and appearance, Lew said. There’s not many ties and jackets being worn around here today. It’s too bloody hot. With the exception of Andrew, of course, who probably wears them in bed. Wouldn’t do much for his sex life, if he has one.

Pike allowed himself a quiet chuckle. Andrew Sykes, finance director of the company, was the bane of Lew’s life, constantly putting a brake on some of Lew’s over ambitious and questionable ventures. He had been appointed to the company by Lew’s sagacious, but now deceased, father some thirty years since as a fully qualified twenty-five-year old accountant with some basic experience, good references and considerable promise. The financial success of the company, even through periods when construction work was at a low ebb, attested fully to the wisdom of his appointment.

Pike felt further comment from him was unnecessary and confined himself to assuring Lew he would be with him at head office by mid-afternoon. With the phone back on its cradle he heaved his tall six foot plus frame out of his chair and took up his sandwiches to join the men downstairs in the lunchroom: a space adequate for the purpose, furnished with a refectory type table with bench seats, a refrigerator, sink and a table with a power point for tea and coffee making. He eased himself on to the bench seat opposite Bill Pearce, a husky figure in his mid-thirties, over a decade younger than Pike but, like him, a former Hawthorn stalwart, his football playing career as full back for the Hawks having been cut short a few years since by a persistent ankle injury.

Pike knew that having spent most of the past decade as a site foreman, Bill was anxious to get back on to a construction site; but recent aggravation of his old ankle injury while working on the construction of beef roads in the Northern Territory had seen him on medical advice having to confine himself to yard duties for several months. As the depot overseer had recently retired, and the company was engaged in looking for a replacement, they had installed Bill temporarily in the post, giving him time to recover sufficiently to go back on site and at the same time giving the company adequate time to find a suitable permanent replacement.

Storeman Norm (Bluey) Reilly and Pete Walsh completed the full complement of those at the table, and at present on site. Now fifty, with his ginger hair rapidly turning grey and with a nose that wandered across his freckled, lived in face as a result of youthful activities in the boxing ring, Bluey commanded the storeroom like a knight in his medieval castle. Even in the absence of a moat and drawbridge (an oversight in Bluey’s view) any person needing an item from the store wisely approached with some trepidation and certainly not without a properly signed chit. He enjoyed what he described as the perfect marriage, his talkative wife, Anne, having inherited a small house a thousand miles to the north in southern Queensland, and being no lover of Melbourne’s more bracing climate , spent a good part of the year alone there, interspersed with occasional conjugal visits, Anne to Melbourne and Bluey to Queensland.

Pete Walsh was half the storeman’s age, whippy in build, blond, fresh faced and unremittingly boastful about his success with the sheilas, and may have been prone to a little exaggeration, although the rather pretty barmaid at the Rising Sun had certainly been seen viewing him with interest on occasion. He doubled as a field operative with occasional periods in the depot, as now, on equipment maintenance.

The usual animated Monday lunch analysis of the Saturday football results ceased briefly as Pike sat his imposing frame down, but soon resumed with no less vigour. In fact even more rigour than normal with allegiances in the room evenly divided between Essendon and Hawthorn, who happened to have met on Saturday with a victory to Hawthorn, a source of considerable satisfaction to Pearce and Nobby, but not to Bluey and Pete, the latter claiming on occasion to having had a run out with Essendon in his teens. He was expressing his views on some of the umpire’s decisions in what could have been interpreted as a defamatory manner, when Bill Pearce, sitting beside him, leaned towards Pike and asked:

How was New Guinea, Jim?

Having not yet reported on the job to Lew he answered carefully.

Early days, but looking good. Thanks, he acknowledged to himself, in no small measure to the men he was sitting with now. As land access to the wharf site could only be gained by Land Rover along a primitive track through the jungle, nearly two hundred miles from the nearest airstrip, they had cleverly adapted a piling rig so that it could be dismantled into component parts, flown by a Dakota aircraft into Port Moresby, where it had been erected on a barge and then towed by sea around to the remote wharf site on the north coast. Pike’s responsibilities had embraced means of fixing the location and stabilizing the barge to allow the timber piles to be driven deep into the sea floor. Suitable trees for piles, cross beams and decking had been identified in the jungle, which stretched down practically to the waterline, and were being cut down, trimmed, shaped and stockpiled.

Pike told him, You guys did a really good job with the piling rig. It was working fine when I left…

What I can’t understand, Bill said thoughtfully, is why anyone would want to fund the construction of a wharf in such a remote place. What the fuck’s it going to be used for?

Chopsticks. Believe it or not… and lavatory paper.

Chopsticks… Chop fucking sticks? Bill’s bafflement was accompanied by a rise in his voice which even brought a halt to the footy discussion.

Yep. Believe it or not. It’s being funded by the Japanese to ship New Guinea timber to Japan to make chopsticks… and lavatory paper.

Well I’ll be buggered! Having relieved himself of this immediate reaction Bill looked away and contemplated infinity for a moment with pursed lips and squeezed eyes before saying more thoughtfully, But I guess it makes sense when you think about it. There must be a hundred million Japanese all using chopsticks and wiping their arses so that would add up to a lot of timber.

Yeah…one hell of a lot, Pike agreed.

Changing the subject Bill said thoughtfully, Conditions weatherwise and workwise must have been a bloody sight different for you there than what we had on the beef roads in the Northern Territory.

Hot, wet and jungle instead of hot dry and desert… and plenty of mozzies carrying malaria, Pike responded with feeling. But of course in the Territory we had the usual plagues of bloody flies to contend with.

With footy talk still temporarily on hold, Bluey, sitting beside Pike, queried, You were in New Guinea during the war weren’t you, Jim? So you were back on familiar ground, but the circumstances were a bit different.

Pike nodded. Yeah… you can say that again… building bridges for the army as we fought against the Japs in the jungle along the Kokoda Track through the Owen Stanley Ranges then; now, nearly a quarter of a century on, building a wharf so they can take out huge quantities of timber from the same jungle. He nodded his head slowly and reflectively. It’s a crazy bloody world.

A thoughtful silence at the table was broken by Bill Pearce telling Pike, Over lunch here the other day we were wondering about why the company has taken on some of these jobs, like the New Guinea wharf and the beef roads work in the Northern Territory. And we’ve just started work on a flyover out near Dandenong. We’re not complaining, as they are interesting and hopefully profitable jobs, but up to a few years ago we seemed to concentrate almost entirely on city office buildings. We are doing only one of those in Melbourne at the moment.

Well, company policy is determined by Lew Richardson… and the board when he chooses to take their advice. We will be starting on a six storey office block in Perth soon, our first and so far only job there, and it seems Lew is simply using it to try and get a foothold in Western Australia. There’s a lot of competition for office building construction and the profit margins for the work are not great… and too often, it seems, the architects pour money into decorative features and scrimp on structural construction costs as far as possible within the building codes and regulations.

I can’t argue with that, Bill observed. To get back to New Guinea, will you be going back up there?

Pike shook his head. No… no. As you know the boss’s grandson Wayne’s up there now. We had a week together before I left. So he’s running the show on his own now.

Pete cut in, We’ve knocked around together quite a bit, Wayne and me.

We know, Bluey chuckled, looking up from rolling himself a cigarette. Mums all over the country having had to lock up their daughters. And there were some very unhappy boyfriends from what I heard.

Yeah… yeah… we got into a few scrapes. Pete admitted, not without a hint of pride and he asserted with an impish grin, Some miserable bastards are a bit over possessive about their girlfriends. Tidily collecting up the remainder of his lunch wrapping he added more soberly, Wayne’s a bit like that now. He’s got himself a steady girlfriend. It looks a bit serious. I reckon they’ll get engaged when he gets back.

She was with Wayne when he dropped by here a couple of weeks ago, Nobby observed, but I think you blokes were somewhere else at the time, referring to Bill and Pete. He looked at the storeman. But you must have seen her, Bluey. You wouldn’t miss seeing a pretty girl

I did, the storeman confirmed. Nice girl. Real pretty. Well spoken.

She’s okay, Pete said, not entirely convincingly, but a little serious for me. Went to Fintona, one of the best girls’ schools in Melbourne.

Bill smiled, Give you the brush off, did she, Pete?

Nah. She and Wayne hit it off immediately. I was never in the picture. Actually she and I are quite good mates now. But I haven’t seen so much of Wayne recently since they got together.

You’re not going to see him at all for the next couple of months, and neither will she, Pike observed.

Pete said gushingly, I’ve got my eye on another bird at the moment. A real grouse sheila. Great legs – she looks fantastic in one of the miniskirts the sheilas are wearing these days. Best thing since sliced bread it was… that Pommy sheila, Jean Shrimpton, turning up last year at the Melbourne Cup in a miniskirt.

Observing a lock of unruly blond hair falling across Pete’s face and obscuring one eye, Bluey opined, You’d better get a haircut if you want to keep the new girlfriend.

Putting on a shocked expression, Pete retorted, Not bloody likely. I’m like Methuselah, if I get a haircut I’ll lose my strength and virility. I’m going to need…

It was Samson, Bluey corrected him.

Samson?

Yeah, it was Samson who had his hair cut and demolished a building with one last heave.

It obviously wasn’t built by Richardson Constructions, Nobby interjected.

Methuselah spent a long time in bed, Bluey continued, airing his decidedly limited knowledge of the Jewish bible, and immediately sensing that Pete might not be entirely averse to a lengthy spell in bed, especially if accompanied, added, Alone. Asleep. And for nine hundred years.

Bloody hell, was the best Pete could come up with in answer to this.

Gathering up the remnants of his lunch for disposal in the trash can, Pike announced, I’m off. Head office beckons. By the way, Bill, thanks for looking after the Zephyr while I was away and sorting out that little transmission problem.

I handed it over to Nobby actually Jim, so he’s the man to thank.

Thanks, Nobby. I owe you.

Looking up at the standing Pike, Bill said, There’s a rumour going the rounds here of a big job coming up. And we’re expecting some new type of piling rig coming in to the yard shortly to be inspected and made ready for site use. Are the two connected?

Right now, I’ve no idea. But I’ll be at head office within the hour and no doubt Lew will put me in the picture then.

As Jim stepped outside the door, Bill followed behind him and placed his hand on his shoulder. Jim. A word?

Pike turned and faced him. Sure.

I didn’t want to say anything in there, Bill said, inclining his head towards the door into the yard they had just come through. My ankle is nearly right again and I’ll go do-lally if I can’t get back on to a construction site soon. That’s my life, not this yard stuff, maintaining and repairing plant. I don’t know if the brass have got someone lined up to take over here, but I would like them to give very serious consideration to Nobby. I know he’s a bit young, only twenty-eight, but he’s top notch on equipment and he’s been well respected by various blokes we’ve had through here from the sites. He’s got a baby daughter now and I reckon he would jump at the chance, because it would give him real stability.

Pike nodded. I hear what you’re saying Bill. Leave it with me. I’ll have a word with Lew.

Thank Jim. I owe you.

Chapter 2

Pike’s drive of just under an hour in the Ford Zephyr took him along busy Mt Alexander Road and Kingsway through the city itself to the head office of Richardson Constructions occupying a site in South Melbourne adjacent to Albert Park. The company headquarters comprised an unassuming two storey post war brick building with adequate parking and conveniently close to St Kilda Road and tram access into the city.

He was greeted with a big smile by Ruth Walters behind the reception desk. Great to see you, Jim. Back from the jungle I gather… and looking well on it too.

Nice to see you, too, Ruth, he responded grinning broadly. You’re looking pretty good yourself. This was no platitude. She really did look great for someone approaching middle age, her open smoothly featured round face framed by a bouffant of attractively waved dark hair.

Reg will be pleased to know you’re back, she said mischievously. He’s looking for someone he can beat out there on the golf course.

Pike and Ruth’s husband, Reg, at forty-five a couple of years younger than him, had been mates for many years, having met through the close friendship of their wives, which had stretched back to their school days. Ruth and Reg, the Two Rs to their friends, had been a tower of strength to Jim when he lost his wife, Gillian, to breast cancer now almost a decade ago. He owed them more than he could ever repay, including losing the occasional game of golf to Reg, whose handicap in the mid-eighties was several strokes less than his.

How is the reprobate? Jim asked. Behaving himself, I hope.

Ruth viewed him amusedly through oversized glasses. Of course… but I’ve got to keep a close eye on him as you know.

Yeah, I think you should, he said unconvincingly. Is he busy?

Certainly is. Big demand for electricians with all the house building that’s going on.

Well I hope to be around for a bit, so get him to give me a ring when he’s got a few minutes. We’ll get a game organised.

Will do, she promised. But right now the boss man awaits your presence.

Well I’d better go up.

Pike entered Lew’s spacious corner office through the door, which, as now, he commonly kept open, allowing staff ready access; closing it only when discussing confidential matters with clients or staff. As an alternative he also used on occasion for such purposes the adjoining boardroom, which had an access door to his office. Lew’s personal secretary occupied an office on the opposite side of the corridor to his own, Pike giving her a quick wave in passing through her also open door.

He found Lew with back to the door looking contemplatively out of the window, which allowed an excellent view of Albert Park and Albert Park Lake. Hands clasped behind his back, his squat figure in open necked shirt and partly rolled up sleeves exuded an air of solidity, which Pike found comforting, perhaps surprising, for a man now a septuagenarian. Hearing Pike enter he kept his gaze out of the window, observing thoughtfully, I don’t know if you’ve heard anything, Jim, but there’s been the odd suggestion that a Formula 1 race track could be built around this lake.

Haven’t heard anything myself, Lew, he replied, making to stand beside his company boss and towering over him by almost a foot. But it sounds like an idea some of the big money men around here would like to see. Pausing for a moment to take in the view, he added, Some of the locals may not be too thrilled. It would be bloody noisy for one thing.

Maybe not so big a problem. Lew opined. It’s largely commercial stuff around here: offices, other businesses, hotels and motels and apart from Friday practice it will be weekend noise, with qualifying on Saturday and the race on Sunday. The hostelries will make a fortune and be full of participants and fans, so they certainly won’t be complaining, will they?

I guess not. But do I detect an ulterior motive for you favouring the possibility?

Lew looked up at Jim, his florid rubicund features breaking into a grin. Of course you do.

Like lots of construction work creating the race track and associated facilities?

You bet. Lew walked back to sit at his generously proportioned desk indicating Jim to do likewise. But all that is way in the future, if ever, and right now we have more pressing matters to talk about. But firstly, fill me in about New Guinea. How’s the job going up there?

Settling into a comfortable visitor’s chair and facing Lew across a desk uncluttered except for a couple of telephones, folded copies of The Age and The Sun newspapers, a couple of construction journals and two opened, partly read files, he viewed a man he had known and revered all his life. But he also viewed a man who could be an uncompromising boss, expecting a one hundred and ten per cent effort when the occasion demanded it. Having taken over from his father some thirty years ago a small backyard operation, consisting of little more than two men and a dog carrying out minor domestic house construction and repair jobs, he had built it into a substantial firm capable of carrying out larger building and some civil engineering works. This had been achieved through a deep understanding of the men and women working for him and winning their personal respect, and having a shrewd knowledge of the business community and construction industry.

It helped to know the right people and Lew and his brother Harry between them knew most of them. It helped in tendering for contracts to have an inkling which of your competitors were likely to be bidding, and a judicious enquiry could sometimes winkle out an indication of a competitor’s degree of interest and even an idea of their tender price.

New Guinea is fine, Pike assured him. We’ve identified suitable local timber for the piles, cross beams and decking for the wharf and most of it is already felled, sized, shaped and stockpiled. The pile driver arrived safely as I am sure you know already and has started work. Driving the piles is not easy, but manageable with...

How’s young Wayne doing? Lew interrupted impatiently.

I like what I see. I guess construction is in his blood. The blokes on the site seem to be happy working under his direction.

That’s bloody great to hear. I was more than a little concerned about how the young bugger would turn out a couple of years ago. But as you know, Jim, he has been in charge of a few smaller jobs around Melbourne recently and these have gone okay, so I thought it was time to try him out away from home, so to speak.

Absolutely right, Pike agreed. I feel a hundred per cent confident he will come through with flying colours.

Good, Lew said with feeling. Well let’s get down to business. What do you know about the Pilbara?

Well, I know it’s a region in Western Australia, the best part of a thousand miles north of Perth and it’s in the news because of the huge iron ore deposits which have been, and are still being, discovered there. Exploitation of these deposits and various other spin off activities will obviously require all sorts of civil engineering works, not least new roads and bridges. And I know that you have been preparing a tender for submission to construct one of these bridges, presumably a major one. I believe, too, that Harry had something to do with your being invited to submit a tender.

Pike knew Lew’s brother, Harry, probably better than he knew Lew, because Harry at fifty-six was only ten years older than he was; and some fourteen years younger than his brother. He was apparently something of an afterthought by their parents. Pike and Harry had even had an occasional game of golf together, allowing Harry with his single figure handicap to demonstrate his much superior skills. Although he didn’t display the same unquestioning dedication to the company as his older brother, their father, John Richardson, on retiring handed over control of the family business to Lew on the understanding that he would find employment for Harry within its activities in the future, if this was Harry’s choice. Which it proved to be.

Making the most of an unavoidable situation, Lew had spun off a small separate concrete fabrication company employing about ten people making concrete posts, slabs and the like. As a not too demanding responsibility, Harry had been running this small enterprise for many years, although it was acknowledged that in more recent times it had been Harry’s son, Justin, who was running the company, which had increased in size and output measurably under his watch. Promoted by Lew to the main board at the age of forty, Harry had found his true metier and more than earned his keep as principal contact’s man for Richardson Constructions.

Lew told Pike, "As you know we’ve done medium sized office blocks for the insurance company, Areal, in Melbourne and Adelaide and as you’ve probably heard they have commissioned us to build a similar block in Perth on a cost plus basis. They obviously want to get in on the bonanza they anticipate will follow for insurance companies with the exploitation of the big iron ore finds in Western Australia and they’re already renting office space in the city. I asked Harry to go over and look at the site, suss out the situation and decide what equipment and men we could hire or take on locally and what we would have to supply from Melbourne. I was just thinking about it as a one off job for us in WA.

Harry and Belle decided they could combine his business trip with a short holiday in WA doing some sightseeing south of Perth and playing a bit of golf, when they met up with some bloke who had just retired from Western Australian Government Railways. When Harry mentioned to him that he was a senior director of a Melbourne-based civil engineering construction company he went on about the fact that Albany Constructions, old Bull Master’s company, had a stranglehold on all the big civil engineering projects in WA.

He informed Harry that a major contract was about to go out to tender to build an important bridge in a remote area in the north of the state, as part of a major railway linking the iron ore mining areas to the coast. The client in this case was not WAGR, but a private organisation, HMG, the Hammersley Mining Group, and they would be putting it out to tender Australia wide.

They have retained Sam Watson’s Perth office, but as we both know, very well, Watson’s head office is here in Melbourne, and we also both know that Sam Watson and Harry are long time members of the Kooyong golf club and not infrequently find themselves in the same four ball group on a Saturday morning. You will not be surprised then that Harry put strong pressure on me and the rest of the board to tender for this job, and to tender competitively."

Good for Harry, Pike said noncommittally. Well I know you and Andrew were hard at it last time I was here in this office two months ago preparing a tender document. And I also know you had visited the area yourself with Arnold Grant to suss out the site.

Although he had only met him briefly, he understood Arnold Grant to be an experienced site engineer and a Westralian by birth and inclination, and so an obvious choice of person to acquaint Lew with the problems of building a major bridge in a remote area of Western Australia, some thousand miles to the north of Perth and nearly two hundred miles from the nearest major settlement at Port Hedland.

Lew’s interest in the site would not have been confined just to the proposed bridge. Recent explorations had confirmed vast quantities of iron ore in the region and one major mine at Mount Tom Price had already been opened up. Many more would soon follow and major railways would have to be constructed to take the ore to Port Hedland for stockpiling and shipping to Japan, to feed their booming car industry, and in the future to other destinations to the north such as Indonesia and China.

And it didn’t end there. Oil was already being produced on Barrow Island, just off the coast, and other explorations already in hand promised vast quantities of offshore oil and gas.

The Americans were in the area with their hush hush Very Low Frequency radio facility at Exmouth for maintaining contact with their submarines operating in the Indian Ocean. According to the sketchy bits of available information on that project it consisted of twelve guyed steel towers some one thousand feet high occupying a site four miles in diameter and with a central tower topping these by a further three hundred feet, and the whole array of towers supporting a vast copper grid.

Other enterprises he knew to be under consideration in the area included extensive coastal salt pans to produce top class sea salt, requiring the construction of a series of excavated and embanked ponds and associated structures, the sea water passing through the huge evaporation ponds one by one with ever increasing concentration of salt until the final pond yielding the much in demand pure sea salt.

Yeah, you got it pretty right, Lew confirmed. I did visit the site myself with Arnold Grant… and a bugger of a journey it was for a bloke of my age. About six hours on a Mickey Mouse DC3 Dakota to Hedland, a night in a none too clean poxy hotel room in the town, then several hours in a Land Rover with Grant driving over rough roads and tracks to the site. A bit hair-raising at times… if I had had any.

Viewing Lew’s smooth, almost polished, dome, Jim suppressed a grin at the older man’s use of the appellation often used by locals in Western Australia, usually with some affection, in referring to MacRobertson Miller Airlines. Deciding that no comment was necessary regarding Lew’s lack of hair he confined himself to observing, Sounds like there could, or certainly should, be some big road construction contracts on offer up there in the near future.

Could be, Lew agreed. But it might be difficult to compete with the local WA guys for that work.

Yeah… probably. Pike nodded thoughtfully. But I guess Grant could be invaluable to you if you were interested, with his knowledge of the area.

Maybe, Lew said unconvincingly. With lips pursed he studied Pike for a few moments before asking, How well do you know him?

Not very well. I know he worked for Costains for a year or two when he first came over here from WA a few years ago and I believe he joined us about three years ago. I’ve been away from Melbourne most of that time so I’ve just met him briefly a couple of times. Why do you ask?

Well he expressed considerable reservations, pitfalls if you like, about us taking on the bridge contract, not having worked before in Western Australia. I just got an earful on site about its remoteness from Melbourne, about logistics and staffing problems and how he had no confidence in the firm that did the site investigation and consequently we could have very difficult foundation problems. He was even suggesting it could be a site sacred to the local Aborigines, in which case they might try to disrupt the works.

Pike knew Lew was never one to back off readily from a challenge, but surely even he should have been daunted by the prospect of taking on this contract. Other board members, and Finance Director Andrew Sykes in particular, would certainly have advised caution in tendering for a job with so many problems, known and unknown. But to what extent had Lew confided in them? He had taken West Australian Arnold Grant to the site to get his views, which were that it would be a big risk to take on this job with no previous experience of working in this remote part of WA. But did this temper his enthusiasm for bidding on the contract? Pike’s momentary musings on what he was hearing were blown apart by an explosion from Lew.

"We got it!"

The contract?

Yes.

Shit! Pike’s response was accompanied by a grimace bordering on incredulity, followed up by a somewhat disbelieving, You actually did put in a competitive tender? And you’ve got the job? These rhetorical questions gave him a few seconds to ponder what he was hearing.

Well, all but. I got a phone call from the client to say we were the favoured bidder, and we would be given the job providing we could assure them in writing on a couple of minor issues. But that’s no problem.

"Were there any other serious bidders, or did the uncertainties of the possible problems in the remote