Golah Sing

By David Vernon

Australian history is replete with drama, yet for many, Australia’s history from 1788 only consists of indigenous dispossession, convicts, gold-rushes, bushrangers and ANZACs. This book proves this view wrong — sure, we do include the old favourites – but there are many other tales to intrigue you. There’s the custom official with the ingenious way of detecting illegal immigrants, the escapee who enjoys the taste of homo-sapiens, a colonial governor with a penchant for practical jokes, an evil military secret and an insider’s view of a female mental asylum. Showcased here are thirty-three award-winning stories from Australian history, all based on real events, that shine a light on some of the lesser known corners of our past.

“Drop your breeches. There’s a good lad.” The ship’s medical officer barely looks at me. He has his back to me while he waits for me to oblige. A small mallet twirls in his fingers. I dunno what he thinks he’s going to do with that. “Strip, lad. That’s an order. What’s your name?”
“It’s...”
I can’t answer. Of all the ridiculous things I’ve failed at, forgetting to have a name is by far the most stupid.
— From “The Stowaway” by Catherine McGraffin

My eardrums shudder. The door erupts. A bag of flour flies across the room filling it with white fog. Noise reverberates around my skull, shatters the window. After the blast there is silence. For a few seconds I think I’m deaf. Then a thin wail pierces the paralysis; screams, thudding footsteps, shocked voices and the high-pitched terror of horses overwhelm the settlement.
— From “Never Again” by Rosemary Stride

“But, dear Elizabeth, you simply can’t accept it.”
“Of course I can, John.”
“Whatever will people think, a married woman accepting a gift like that?”
“They’d think lucky woman.”
— From “Worgan’s Piano” by Peter Long.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Vernon
• Release date: Nov 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005829698

David Vernon

I am a freelance writer and editor. I am father of two boys. For the last few years I have focussed my writing interest on chronicling women and men’s experience of childbirth and promoting better support for pregnant women and their partners. Recently, for a change of pace, I am writing two Australian history books. In 2014 I was elected Chair of the ACT Writers Centre.In 2010 I established the Stringybark Short Story Awards to promote the short story as a literary form.

Book preview

Golah Sing — thirty-three award-winning stories from the Stringybark Times Past Award

Edited by

David Vernon

Selected by Brett Jones, Stephen Senise and David Vernon

Published by Stringybark Publishing

PO Box 464, Hall, ACT 2618, Australia

https://www.stringybarkstories.net

http://www.stringybarkpublishing.com.au

Smashwords Edition

Copyright: This collection, David Vernon, 2020

Copyright: Individual stories, the authors, various.

These stories are works of fiction and do not relate to anyone living or dead unless otherwise indicated.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the editor, judges and the author of these stories.

Contents

Introduction

The Stowaway — Catherine McGraffin

Pandemic 1919 — Katrina Hasthorpe

The Silence After — Andrew Mickelson

Manna — Anika Kim

Never Again — Rosemary Stride

Kurpany — Dave Slade

Potions, Bay Leaves and a Red Ribbon — Rosemary Argue

Diminished Responsibility — Emily Paull

A Letter from Maria — Carolyn Eldridge-Alfonzetti

The Last Tram Home — Sherry Mackay

Nashe’s Air — Roger Vickery

Torres Strait at War — Bob Topping

A Beam of Light — Pauline Cleary

Their Day — Nicole Kelly

Golah Sing — Declan Melia

Truth Stick, Townsville, 1902 — Roger Vickery

Chosen by Lottery — Lilian Cohen

Par Avion — Stephen Knox

The Scorched Earth — Greg Bartlett

Once a Jolly Swagman — Jane Hall

Everything that Remains Unsaid — AZ Pascoe

Like Soft Dark Wings — Craig Cormick

Knowing the Trail — Hayley Young

The Malefactor Alexander Pearce — Everald Garner

The Shearer’s Wife — Juliet Blair

Blood on the Wheat — Helen Bensley

Transported — Victoria Mizen

The Female Side — Aimée Scott

Your Friend, Joe — Kay Spencer

Ends and Beginnings — Alan Hargreaves

Charlie Cake — Shannon Meyerkort

For Whom the Bell Tolls — Rod Flanagan

Worgan's Piano — Peter Long

The Stringybark Times Past Award 2020

About the Judges

Acknowledgements

Other titles by David Vernon at Smashwords.com:

Introduction

— David Vernon

This is the sixth historical fiction anthology published by Stringybark Publishing since 2010. It has been an intriguing journey observing how, over the years, contemporary affairs are reflected in the subject choices made by the authors. It should be of no surprise, for example, that in 2020 there was quite a number of entries about the ‘Spanish’ flu of 1918-1919. The judges worked hard to ensure that the best and most intriguing subjects were presented to you in this anthology. The fact that Covid-19 is ravaging parts of the world encourages the view that history repeats itself, and that we can learn so much from it, if only we care to pay attention.

While we received many entries relating to the pandemic of 1918-1919, we also received stories covering many other diverse issues — from those that affect a nation, to those that only have a significant impact on an individual or family. Regardless of the story being told, however, there is always a clear message for our modern lives in these historical pieces. We can learn from how people responded to the events outlined, and ensure, that when such history is repeated and we are intimately affected, we respond well to the challenges imposed upon us.

Thank you to all the authors who submitted stories to this competition, both the winners, the highly commended and those who have not been chosen this time around. It is only through your involvement that we can bring such marvellous anthologies of contemporary writing to fruition.

I am greatly indebted to the judges who have once again chosen such terrific stories to share with you. Thanks too, to Stringybark Publishing which has once again provided the monetary awards to the competition winners.

Happy reading!

David Vernon

Judge and Editor

Stringybark Stories

The Stowaway

— Catherine McGraffin

Drop your breeches. There’s a good lad. The ship’s medical officer barely looks at me. He has his back to me while he waits for me to oblige. A small mallet twirls in his fingers. I dunno what he thinks he’s going to do with that. Strip, lad. That’s an order. What’s your name?

It’s…

I can’t answer. Of all the ridiculous things I’ve failed at, forgetting to have a name is by far the most stupid. Having no name is a problem. Having no identification tags is a problem. Having the wrong boots is a problem. The fact that I’m not a lad is the biggest problem of all, given the doctor’s request. My nervous habit of swiping the hair from my eyes is redundant against my short crop. I swipe anyway.

Now look, young man, no-one’s going to turn you back for being a few years shy. God knows, we need the help however we can get it. A healthy young lad like you can do your bit, but you’ve got to pass medical. So, come on… The doctor nods again at my breeches

I… I can’t. I’m, well… well let me just shoot straight with you. I’m a lass.

WHAT?!

It’s a bellow that reverberates around the cabin walls and scares the gulls hovering outside. The doctor staggers back, drops his mallet and rummages behind him for the doorknob. He twists it and without taking his eyes from me, he speaks to an officer outside from one corner of his mouth. Fetch the Captain!

Well, I ‘spose it was bound to happen, getting caught. It’s probably for the best. At least I might now get fed on the journey. I finger the lollies in my uniform pocket. They’re sticky. I lick the sweetness from my fingertips and gnaw on a nail. The doctor grimaces and I tuck my hands behind my back where my bad habits won’t tempt me.

When the Captain arrives, there is an air of seriousness that is undermined by the heads of men peering around the door frame. The word’s got around mighty quick. He nods to one of the officers with him and they shut the door. An eruption of animated chatter and hoots of laughter begins outside. The Captain circles me. He looks me up and down. He leans in close to my face and the lines at the corners of his blue eyes deepen as he squints.

Why, you’re nothing but a dear little girl! The Captain shakes his head and rubs a hand across the fine stubble of his chin. What on earth are you playing at?

Oh, I’m not playing, Sir! I become aware of my posture and stand up straight to attention. It occurs to me that this man’s my ticket. I mean to do my bit, Sir! Girl or not! It is precisely now that my empty stomach growls with such ferocity that the Captain takes a cautious step back.

Hungry?

Sorry about that, Sir. Won’t happen again. But my hunger makes a liar of me and roars again.

When did you last eat?

Wednesday. The day we set sail.

That was two days ago!

I’ll be right. I’ve still got these. I retrieve the disintegrating wax paper bag from my pocket, and twist it open to reveal two and a half barley sugars. I only suck them until the feeling of faintness passes and then I save the rest. Want one?

Officer Blake? A young officer enters the room and I get a brief glimpse of the men outside again. I smile at them and they jostle and rib each other. The Captain clears his throat. Please bring a plate from the mess and some tea for the young lady. The officer nods and closes the door behind him. The Captain turns back to me. Thank you, but no. Save your sweeties for your trip home.

Home? No! My voice is shrill. Oh, no! You can’t!

On the first ship back, young lady! This is no place for you, and I cannot but think how distressed your parents must be. I can’t fathom how you made it this far. Where did you attain that uniform?

I bought it in bits and pieces, Sir. I look over my costume. I bought the tunic and breeches from a soldier. It’s a bit tight around the middle; he was a wiry one. The putties I got in George Street and the cap in Bathurst Street. Got everything no trouble.

Except for the boots.

Except for the wretched boots! I looks down at the traitorous black of the non-regulation issue boots I am wearing. It’s them that got me found out. I’m so mad I could spit. The Captain’s mouth twitches and he turns to look out the porthole.

You should’ve got tan ones. Probably would’ve made it with tan ones.

I know that, now! I bury my face in my hands.

And what do you do for work?

I’m a waitress. I sound like nothing. But I could be so much more, given half a chance!

The Captain turns his gaze back to me. How in the devil did a waitress get aboard this ship? I can’t believe you were clever enough to get past the sentries. Or perhaps I can.

That would’ve been much more convenient. I climbed a rope.

You climbed a rope? The Captain exchanges a glance with the doctor, whose eyebrows seem in a permanent state of elevation.

Yes Sir, I did. Hand over hand. It was just dangling there. Thought I may as well give it a go. Wasn’t easy.

I should think not! The Captain cannot suppress a loud burst of laughter and I’ll admit I’m proud of myself. I rub the blisters on the palms of my hands. And how did you stay hidden for so long?

I hid in a lifeboat for a bit. Slept there, anyway. I’ve been watching the boys play cards and taking the sea air on deck. You’ve got a good bunch of lads with you here, Sir! Full of spirit! I’m just the same, even though I’m only a girl. The Captain steps forward sharply, making me take a step back. The laughter has gone from him.

You’re not the same. How long did you think you would hide your sex in the trenches? Do you have any understanding of the danger you were about to put yourself in? Never mind the Turks and the Germans.

All I want to be is a nurse! I just need to get to Egypt! I’ve tried every which way! I tried to join the Red Cross in Australia, only they wouldn’t let me on account of my age and inexperience. I say phooey to that! I’ll pick it up quick smart! I’ll make good, so long as I get there. What harm can another set of hands do, even if they aren’t trained? I’m smart. I’ll learn. The Captain’s stern face softens into something like sympathy. He cocks his head to the side.

I dare say you would.

And you can put me to any use while I’m onboard your ship. I could clean, I could peel potatoes, I could be your helper in any way you saw fit!

He places a light hand on my shoulder. What’s your name?

I didn’t think of one. I should’ve. That was an oversight.

What’s your real name? He smiles at me. I can feel my mission slipping away and a lump rise in my throat.

Maud. I’m Maud Butler, Sir. From Kurri Kurri.

Age?

Eighteen, Sir.

Age?"

Sixteen, Sir.

Hmmm. There’s a knock on the door and a tray of toast with jam, and tea is placed on the doctor’s examination table. I look at it with dread.

Let me stay!

You’re a determined little thing. I admire your pluck. You’re bright. He pauses for a moment and I hold my breath. We must get you back where you belong.

Egypt?

Melbourne. There’s a passenger ship we shall pass that can transfer you.

Oh, please! Not Melbourne! That’s further from Egypt than when I started!

I regret I must. He says it kindly.

At least it’s not Hobart, I suppose. The Captain and his officers leave me to cry into my toast. I’ve a mind not to eat it, but with only two and a half barley sugars left, I can’t be too principled.

I hold my head high as they take me to the deck, ready to lower me down the side to a rowboat and send me back. The soldiers crowd me and cheer me on. They laugh and applaud. They take photos with me and I smile in almost all of them. I smile because, here’s the thing: There will be other ships sailing for Egypt, and next time, you’d best believe I’ll be wearing tan boots.

The Facts

On December 22nd, 1915, sixteen-year-old Maud Butler from the Hunter Valley, climbed aboard the HMAT Suevic and concealed herself. She had spent the day sourcing a uniform, getting her hair cut and talking to soldiers by the dock in Woollomooloo. Her non-regulation boots gave her away two days later and she was promptly sent home where she faced court for her actions. While she would never make it to Egypt, this was not Maud’s last attempt to contribute to the war effort. A few months later, she tried again aboard the HMAT Star Of England.

Catherine McGraffin has a theatre background and has worked as an actor and voice over artist. She has a love of both writing and history. As a mother of two children (under two), she snatches time to write and has discovered an enjoyment of children’s books. Catherine resides in Sydney and can often be found stomping around Centennial Park with a pram and a head full of ideas.

Pandemic 1919

— Katrina Hasthorpe

January 28th

Tweed Heads

"Dear Ma, Pa and Eileen,

I will be in the Tweed Heads quarantine camp until Thursday next, after which I will be given clearance papers and be finally making my way home to you. I am very impatient to see you, but I know this border closure is for everyone’s good health and the added time will make my eventual return to Taroom all the sweeter."

He reread the final line and frowned over its sentimentality. He’d laid it on a bit thick perhaps, but he didn’t want to miss the opportunity to send the letter on today so he signed it as he had all the others, Much love, John, and hurried over to the coach driver to get it off with the supplies that were making their way across the border that evening. The camp marshal, Jim, caught up with him as he made his way back to his tent.

Bloody rotten luck, you making it all the way back from the front just to be holed up here, Jim commiserated.

John smiled and thought of the final line of his letter.

I’ve waited this long. I can wait another nine days.

Good lad. Come over for some tucker when you’re ready. We’ve had some grog in today as well. With a departing pat on the back, Jim headed off toward the canvas mess hall which was already filling with the sound of talk and laughter.

John wandered