Paradise Found

By Bob MacDonald

It is in the year of 1945 and Jack Martyn returns from the horrors of World War 2 to his hometown of Perth, Western Australia. Homeless and discarded by his dysfunctional parents, Jack spirals downward into near hopelessness as he indulges in heavy drinking sessions in an endeavour to kill the demons in his head.

 

Trying to break out of the self-imposed empty existence Jack heads north seeking employment. On his journey, he is befriended by two elderly women who had lost loved ones in the same conflict in which Jack had taken part. Their friendship and understanding set him on his way to recovery.

 

After casual jobs assisting a country based racehorse trainer and being a member of a shearing team, Jack finds himself working as a deckhand on a crayfishing boat based at the Abrolhos Islands.

 

But something sinister hides on that Paradise location. Skeletons of long-dead victims of a past mutiny began appearing. Jack is getting his life back in order but is frustrated by the hurdles that keep appearing in his path.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bob MacDonald
• Release date: Apr 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393715733

Bob MacDonald

Bob MacDonald is a retired West Australian Police officer of thirty years experience. Bob's last day at school was his 14th birthday - commencing work, the very next day, in a timber mill in his home town of Pemberton, West Australia.He later self-educated and enlisted in the West Australian police force, retiring as a superintendent in the Internal Investigations Branch of the Professional Standards portfolio.Since retirement Bob has been working at remote aboriginal communities in Central Australia, Papua New Guinea and the Solomon Islands. He also did a tour of duty on the island nation of Cyprus with the United Nations Blue Beret Peacekeepers.Bob, a keen sportsman continues with various sporting activities; which also includes fishing and camping trips. Writing articles for various magazines and now venturing into anecdotal short story compilations and fictional manuscripts ensures Bob leads a busy life.

Book preview

BOOK 1

The Returned Soldier

Chapter 1

Back home.

Seated on the well-worn bar stool Jack stared at the few coins in front of him. He idly drank from his schooner of beer, as he wondered what the future had in store.

Jack ‘Muffy’ Martin was drinking, in the company of an Army mate, in the front bar of the somewhat seedy Railway Hotel situated in Barrack Street, Perth – West Australia’s capital.

He decried the fact that he had blown most of his Army discharge payout and now only had four pounds in his pocket. Turning up his nose to the rank smell of stale cigarette butts in a nearby ashtray, he turned to his companion and said, Jeez Sully, I’ve gotta pull myself into gear. I’ve only got a couple of quid left. I’ve blown nearly everything on booze and bloody pros. What’re you gunna do?

It was August 1945 and Jack had served overseas for nearly five years, with the Second Australian Imperial Force 92nd AIF. He had reached the rank of corporal and probably could have prolonged his time in the service - he now feared he had acted hastily when he opted to leave the Army at the first opportunity.

John ‘Sully’ Sullivan and Jack had become close friends due to the ordeals they had jointly suffered at the time of their wartime experiences. Emptying his beer glass Sully replied, "Me? I’ve signed up again for another three years. I have to front up at the Francis Street barracks on Mond’y morning.

Bugger Civvy Street at the moment. I ain’t got no trade and I’d be battlin’ to get a job. I’m gunna do another couple of years in the service and play it by ear from there.

Yeah, good for you, said Jack as he doodled patterns into the spilt beer on the bar top, I sometimes wish I’d done the same. I’m starting to feel like a no-hoper.

Jack, along with Sully and many other servicemen, had arrived back home to the port of Fremantle, by means of a Liberty ship converted to a troop carrier. He had accepted the offer of an immediate discharge from the armed services and for the past five or six weeks had been on what his fellow Army mates referred to as a ‘bender.’

Sully, I’ve got no trade either, Jack spirits were sinking lower and lower as he lamented his position. And he resented now his lack of trade prospects. His mostly abusive/absent father had always said he was useless. Looking back on the jobs he’d had since leaving school, the one he’d enjoyed the most was his stint as a stable hand with a small-time horse trainer.

Even mucking out the stables was alright. He smiled to himself as he thought of exercising the horses and taking them to the river in the mornings for a swim.

Watcha smiling about, Jack? Sully reached across and placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder, If you wanna talk and get it off your chest, go for it, mate. I’m a good listener and I’ll buy you another beer.

I was smiling about my time muckin’ out in a horse stable. Can you believe that?

I can believe anything of you Jack, Sully answered, And believe me I mean that as a compliment.

Yeah, well, I was recallin’ how much I enjoyed working with horses.

He had sometimes felt a tad sheepish when the boss’s wife had caught him talking to the horses. He was prone to having lengthy one-sided conversations with them but he didn’t care. The horses were better company than his family had ever been.

Jack’s reminiscing was interrupted by a couple of noisy RAN uniformed sailors entering the bar and taking up bar seats next to where he was seated. One, a young man of about eighteen to twenty years, looked to Jack as though to engage him in bar chatter; but on seeing the unwelcoming look on Jack’s face, nudged his mate and moved to the other end of the bar.

Sorry Sully, Jack apologised, but gettin’ back to where I was at; I was booted out of home at fourteen and have been on the bum ever since. If I don’t pull myself into gear I’ll end up a bigger no-hoper than what I already am.

Look Jack. You’ve been through a lot so it’s only natural you’d be feeling a bit the way you are. You were too stupid to dodge those bullets, Sully laughed, and copped a bit of led to carry around for a while. You were getting shot up while I was hiding my head in a foxhole. I should be the one down on myself – not you.

Jack knew that his friend was trying to ease his thoughts of misgivings by joking about the time he had been wounded during his time overseas and responded in kind, Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I was bloody stupid but that’s the story of my life. I’m outa here, mate. Best of luck to you. I now feel safe in the knowledge you are stayin’ in the Army and will be about to protect me. I’m off.

Ignoring the quizzical look of the bored barmaid, as to whether he required further service, Jack scooped up the coins from the bar counter and without a backwards glance left the bar. He had to do something, he was telling himself as he walked towards Northbridge, head down, hands in pockets and mind working overtime.

Jack never paid much heed to his personal appearance as far as his presentation to the opposite sex went as he was naturally a shy and deep thinking person. He could best be described as naive and in the past had not followed up on opportunities to better acquaint himself with pretty girls who had shown interest in him.

He stood just over six feet and his athletic build tipped the scale at thirteen stone. He considered himself to be of only average looks but his sun-tanned and rugged outdoor bearing was a feature that attracted the eye of many of the opposite sex. His ready shy smile and deep brown eyes added to his appeal.

On a recent visit, one of the Roe Street prostitutes had made the comment to him that he had ‘come-to-bed’ eyes. Jack saw the humorous side to that comment because that was the reason he, with money in hand, was calling on her.

Like many of his fellow servicemen, on discharge, Jack had frequented the Roe Street brothels. He was beginning to regret the amount of time and money he had spent on those pleasures.

Many ex-forces personnel were similarly situated and as a result was being arrested or coming to the attention of the local civilian police. Petty stealing and drunkenness were the main offences being attended by the law enforcement officers, but homeless ex-servicemen were also causing problems in their search for somewhere to spend the night. Their practice of sleeping in shop doorways, under rail carriages and in vacant houses, was a constant concern for the police and many of the constabulary officers were quite brutal when moving the vagrant men on.

He was now in the same position as those men but so far had avoided the attention of the police.

Jack was young, fit and healthy; surely he could gain employment somewhere. He’d been talking to a fellow serviceman in one of the bars recently and had been told that there was more chance of gaining employment in one of the country towns. Farm work or in shearing sheds being the most common but he had also heard that some of the fishing boats that worked the north-west coast area may be on the lookout for deckhands.

Yes, that sounded just like something that would suit him – a life on ocean waves! Far better than what he had been subject to these past few years of dust, sand, deserts, trenches, heat and the cold. He would find somewhere to camp overnight and then make plans to head towards (as his imaginative mind was picturing) pearly white soft sands and crystal clear water to take up a job on a cray boat. It had to be a cray boat he told himself – nothing else would suffice!

Jack tried to boost his confidence with those positive thoughts but in his mind, he knew that it was more unlikely than likely that he could walk straight into a job on a fishing boat. He would strive to keep his mind buoyed and would try his utmost to secure such employment. A further option to enter his mind was to head to the state’s goldfields and try his luck there – and that was not a prospect that filled him with any degree of excitement.

What would Jack do? Would he fulfil his self-promise and lift himself out of the stagnation that he had allowed himself to fall into?

Chapter 2

Jack Gets Delayed.

Rising early the following morning, Jack’s intentions were good but sometimes the best-laid plans get disrupted. And his plans to leave Perth and start heading north towards the fishing fields were put on hold after he got talking to a couple of ex-service acquaintances.

These two men had utilized the same overnight sleeping accommodation as Jack, which was beneath the Horseshoe Bridge in William Street.

One of the men, Jack couldn’t remember his name, was keen to engage him in conversation, Hey Jack, did you hear about Eddie MacLeod? He’s up in court t’day for stabbin’ that bloke who was shaggin’ his missus.

Eddie MacLeod, a fellow serviceman, was appearing in the nearby Perth District Court to answer a charge of unlawful wounding. The case had been extensively covered in the local newspapers and radio news. Eddie MacLeod was well known to many but the mere fact that he was a returned soldier was enough in itself to have nearly every past and present serviceman in the city interested in the outcome of the court case.

Eddie, a commando, and a person that Jack had come to know and like; had suffered much hardship and was wounded while seeing action against the Japanese in Papua New Guinea. On his arrival back home he had learnt that his wife had been unfaithful with a man who had stayed home in Australia; one who had not volunteered to become a member of any of the armed services.

Eddie had brought a bayonet back as a souvenir and with this weapon had tracked down the man responsible for having the affair with his wife and had stabbed him three times. The victim had not died and by surviving the stabbing assault Eddie had only been charged with unlawful wounding.

It was of the general belief that the arresting detective had sympathized with Eddie and only charged him with that lesser offence rather than the more serious charge of attempted murder.

Word had gone around and every past and present serviceman who knew Eddie said they were going to attend the court hearing and give their support. Jack was no exception and early morning was outside the courthouse waiting for the public gallery to be opened.

Hey Jack, are you gunna go inside or are you gunna wait out here?

Jack’s daydreaming thought was interrupted by a familiar voice and looking about he saw the tall red-headed figure of a splendidly uniformed soldier striding towards him.

G’day Alex; I’m goin’ inside if I can find room. What about you?

Alexander MacDougal was well known to Jack through their service days. The dapper Scotsman had decided to stay on in the Army and had been promoted from sergeant to sergeant major as a sweetener.

Yes. I will go inside. I think a lot of Eddie and will give him all the support I can. He’s had a pretty rough deal of late.

Yes, very true. By the way, you look all spruced up, is that what promotion does to you? Maybe I should have stayed in the Army because if I’d done so I might not now be on the bones of my arse!

Ha ha, it can’t be that bad. You’re a very resourceful fellow and I can’t see you being in need for much longer. C’mon the doors are open. Let’s see if we can get a seat. I have been told the trial will finish sometime today.

Jack joined Alexander and the pair managed to obtain a seat in the public gallery area that provided a good view of the court proceedings. Eddie MacLeod was brought up from the holding cells by two uniformed police officers to take his place beside his court-appointed defence counsel. On his appearance, many in the gallery began whistling and calling out their support for him, much to the annoyance of the presiding judge.

On the threat of having the court cleared Eddie’s mates ceased their disruptive behaviour and grudgingly stayed relatively silent for the remainder of the court proceedings. Evidence had been presented during the previous day’s hearing and submissions to the jury, by both defence and prosecuting counsels, was scheduled for this (what was hoped would be) final day.

The grounds outside the courthouse were teaming with men – both serving and recently discharged soldiers, as the number of men who had gone to offer their support to their arrested comrade far exceeded the available seats in the viewing gallery.

When, at mid-afternoon, the jury retired to decide on a verdict Jack and Alexander spilled outside with the rest of the onlookers. Wondering how long the jury would be in their chambers, Jack asked, What do you reckon, Alex? How do you think he will go?

Well, he admitted to sticking him with his bayonet. Now it all goes down to what the jury thinks of a man who arrives homes from fighting in a war to find some free-loading malingerer having it off with his missus. I’m biased I suppose but I couldn’t bring myself to find him guilty.

Before Jack could respond they were alerted to the sound of shouting and the advice that the jury was returning with a verdict. The panel had been out for about half an hour.

The jury was only out for half an hour, declared Alexander, Just longs enough for them to have a cup of tea, I reckon.

Court attendants gave up trying to limit the number of those wishing to enter the public gallery section to hear whether Eddie MacLeod had been found guilty or not guilty. The ushers just shook their heads and allowed the weight of numbers to win over.

Much bedlam and noise were taking place but when the judge called for order things rapidly quietened down until it was nearly quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Everyone wanted to hear what the foreman of the jury had to say.

On hearing the verdict an almighty roar issued from the mouths of Eddie’s supporters.  Eddie MacLeod had been found ‘Not Guilty.’

Not waiting for the formalities of Eddie being signed out and officially discharged from custody a group of his closest mates vaulted over the courtroom's wooden railings, picked him up and hoisted him up upon their shoulders. Carrying him from the confines of the courtroom the men continued across the courthouse’s manicured lawns, over Barrack Street and into the front bar of the nearest pub – the Esplanade Hotel.

This was done while those doing the carrying, sang Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work we go, to the tune and beat of the song from the Walt Disney Film, Snow White, and the Seven dwarfs. As this was taking place the lead group were being followed by Jack, Alexander and the rest of Eddie’s supporters. A long night looked on the cards for all involved.

Had Jack sunk to a level of self-pity and degradation too deep to recover from? What did the next day have in store for him? Did he really care?

Chapter 3

Hungover and Broke

Another night was spent under the bridge and on awakening to the sound of trams passing overhead, Jack cursed his decision to spend another day in the city. Yesterday he had a couple of quid in his pocket but today he had nothing. God knows what he spent the money on. He probably did as he usually did whenever he’d had too many beers and became Mister Benevolent and shouted for all and sundry.

His head was thumping, he was thirsty and he had the foulest imaginable taste in his mouth. His yelling out of, "What the hell did I drink last night?" had a couple of nearby bridge dwelling wino warbs raising their heads and looking inquiringly at him.

‘Warb’ was an Australian slang term for a person who, generally due to the prolonged abuse of alcohol, lived the life of a vagrant. During his time overseas Jack had heard American servicemen pass derogatory comments about fellow squad members and say they either came from or belonged on Skid Row.

Skid Row was a notoriously well-known area of the American city of Los Angeles and was frequented by those considered to be ‘on the skids.’ And if Australia had a Skid Row, those frequenting the area would be referred to as warbs.

No, Jack told himself, he was not on the skids and he had not deteriorated to the level of a warb; maybe he was in the midst of an alcohol-fuelled bender but on the skids he was not. Though standing in amongst discarded empty wine and beer bottles and camping under a bridge like a homeless tramp was not something to be proud of

A near bursting bladder had him urinating against one of the bridge supports. He was in a lousy mood and felt somewhat better by directing a tirade of foul-mouthed abuse at the nearby warbs. The sight of them drinking a mixture of methylated spirits and water at such an early hour – or at any hour for that matter, nearly had him emptying his stomach contents.

On his discharge, Jack had possessed a kit-bag with the basic toiletries and changes of outer and underclothing but during one of his drunken bouts had left it unattended under the bridge at where he was camping at the time. Returning some hours later he was not surprised to find that someone had decided they had more need of it than he did.

Reaching the public toilets, situated beneath the town hall, Jack was further jolted into reality when he found he had to wait his turn before being able to have a wash-up in one of the restroom’s hand  basins. Ex-servicemen, in similar situations to him, had attended for the same purpose, along with several derelict homeless warbs.

Bloody old deros and warbs everywhere I go! he spoke out aloud to no-one in particular, and that was okay because no-one answered him anyway. All were otherwise absorbed in their own inner thoughts and troubles.

After a personal grooming of which he referred to as a ‘lick and a promise’ Jack left the washroom and wandered, for the next few hours, about the busy streets and shopping arcades of the main city block. A couple of the picture theatres were showing Hollywood war films but Jack dismissed them as being just propaganda, ‘Yeah, I know,’ he sarcastically mumbled to himself, ‘More pictures showing how the Yanks won the war by themselves.’

He ambled along, watching mothers with their children hurrying about; servicemen in uniform enjoying their leave and the normal hustle and bustle of a vibrant city. But on passing a pie stall in one of the arcades, the mouth-watering smell of the freshly cooked pastries brought to bear how hungry he was.

His stomach was rumbling and he realized he probably didn’t have anything to eat the previous evening. Well, he couldn’t remember eating anything but then again there was much of the previous evening that he could not recall.

Luck was on his side today, though and he spotted another of his Army mates, a man of similar age and who went by the name of Hector Gollan, seated on a bench on a grassed area of a church and who was eating fish and chips direct from their newspaper wrapping.

G’day, Hec. How’s things? Mind if I take a pew?

Shifting to make room on the bench, Gollan replied, Yeah, go for it. Jeez, Muff, you look like something the cat’s just dragged in. Have you lost your razor?

Nah, I’m thinkin’ of growin’ a beard and letting my hair grow. I got a bit fed up with all that spit and polish of Army life. I think I’ll just be a grot for a while. That’s unless I meet some pretty sheila who doesn’t like being tickled by whiskers.

Jack didn’t want to let on to his friend the dire straits he was in and tried to bluff his way out of the situation with a bit of bravado. The situation whereby he had no immediate family to call on was not altogether his doing but it was his fault, and his alone, that now saw him penniless, jobless and homeless.

The realization that he was now homeless took his thoughts back to the little old house at the end of Agnes Street. He winced as he pictured his father’s enormous hand swiping him across the head.

His friend studied him for a moment before offering the fish and chips package to him, Here do you want some chips? I’ve had enough and if you don’t want them I’ll feed them to the seagulls.

Being aware that Hec Gollan had picked him in one, Jack nodded his thanks and began tucking into the hot chips, thinking at the time that he was enjoying this simple fare far more than he had enjoyed any other meal for some time.

What have you decided on, Hec? asked Jack, Are you staying in the service or pulling the pin?

Off like a dirty shirt, replied Gollan, "I couldn’t wait to get out of the Army. I’m heading back to the spud farm at Pemby as soon as I get a few things finalised here in town.

The farm will be mine one day so it is in my best interest to help mum and dad out until they are too old and want me to take over. It will be good being more or less my own boss and not being tied down by army regulations. I’m heading off on the train this evening. What about you, what are you up to?

Oh, me? I’m heading the other way. I’m leavin’ soon for Geraldton.  I have teed up a job on a cray boat.

Jack hadn’t done any such thing about a job but his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit that he was at such a loose end. Maybe he would go to Geraldton and get such a job, so really he wasn’t actually telling lies. Well, that’s what he tried to convince himself. He’d heard that the government was offering War Settlement new land farms to returned servicemen, in the Wheatbelt and Great Southern areas of the state and had made some inquiries in that direction; but as he was unmarried he did not qualify for the offered package.

Bidding farewell to his friend, Thanks for the feed, mate; and the best of luck with the spuds. Don’t work too hard. If I ever visit Pemby, I’ll look you up.

With a look of determination on his face, Jack headed off towards the railway station and goods yards. The recent talk of train travel had put thoughts into his head and maybe he would be a passenger very soon.

Jack’s intentions were to get away from the homeless street person life he had been leading? Would he succeed or would he lapse back into his alcohol-fuelled existence of recent weeks?

Chapter 4

Stowaway.

Arriving at the railway station Jack casually approached and asked a platform worker, G’day mate, do you happen to know when the train for Geraldton leaves this station?

Nodding his head and indicating in the direction of another platform, the uniformed worker advised, "Yeah mate, that one’s due to leave at 5:00 o’clock today. But you won't get a seat on it as it