Jamieson Whiskey

By Bob Leatham

Jamieson Whiskey is the old story of good versus bad, rich versus poor, country versus city, but it gets deeper and darker than that with three murders and a massive manhunt in the mountains.
There is a lighter side to things at times and a warm human side that brings the small community together in an effort to protect one of their own.
The characters are big and rich, and you don’t realize how attached you have become to them until one is gunned down at your feet.
All in all, Jamieson Whiskey is a fast moving, realistic, drama filled experience set in the High Country of Australia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bob Leatham
• Release date: Jun 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9780987541178

Book preview

Jamieson Whiskey

CONTENTS

JAMIESON  WHISKEY

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

EPILOGUE

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JAMIESON  WHISKEY

Bob Leatham

Chapter 1

I’m first in the bar. Its 12 o’clock Sunday. I sip a beer, attempting to cure a hangover after a big Saturday night. As I sip I study the framed photo on the wall behind the bar.

The Preacher has the church bells ringin’, annoyin’ the whole bloody town.   Two four wheel drives stop outside the pub, one loaded with dogs the other with a stag on the back.  Six deer shooters come in still in their huntin’ gear, two of them covered in blood. They wear it proudly. They’re thirsty, noisy and happy with their success.  My peace is gone.   I ask Tank, the barman, for the photo and even though he’s busy serving the deer shooters he gets a stool and takes it down for me, that’s the power of this photograph.  

I take it into the lounge with my beer for a bit of peace and quiet. I sit and study the faces in the picture and a black mood begins to settle on me. I curse myself. I should have done more. I feel I let them all down. Whenever I stop and reflect on the trouble I get like this and I know I’m not the only one in town with these thoughts.

I’ll explain.

This is a photograph of The Guards. They’re a local shearing team. There’s me, they call me Moondog. We’re big on nicknames ‘round here; don’t know how I got Moondog, had it since I can remember; doesn’t matter anyway.   There’s Flea, Blue and Pup; along with me they’re shearers. That’s Pavarotti, he was the wool presser, and silly bloody Eeyore, he’s the roustabout.   There’s our boss Hugo. His real name is Murry James. He got his nickname from that perfume, or clothes or somethin’; Hugo Boss. He’s the boss see. Anyway, it’s stuck to him.  

This photo’s taken at the end of shearing at Balaclava. There’s the owner, Ronald Johns, lousy bastard. We shear there for a fortnight every year, always in February, hot as buggery. We do six thousand sheep and at the cut-out he brings over a dozen bottles, stays and guzzles two himself, the rest shared between eight thirsty blokes. It works out to about an eggcup full a night over the two weeks we’re there; lousy prick!

Any way the reason the photo is so important, it’s the people in it. Twelve months ago they were fine, now one’s dead, one’s disappeared and one’s broken beyond repair, that’s Eeyore, the rousie. I could go on and on about it. Truth is, no one’s the same; won’t ever be; we lost too much.

I hear the deer shooters ask Tank for the paper. They want the race results from yesterday. Tank patiently explains to them how we don’t get the papers. Since the trouble they won’t deliver here, the closest they will come is Mansfield. That’s how much things have changed; we can’t even get a daily paper. 

Chapter 2

To understand it you have to go back twelve months or more, back before the Snake busted Blue’s hip, when the town was peaceful.   It was spring and a good season. The Guards were flat out. We had just finished shearing the lambs at Pikes and were set to start at The Grange for old Mrs Younger, or Mrs Y as she was known.

Now unlike Ronald Johns, Mrs Y was well liked and we loved to go there. When we cut out she always put on a big meal at the pub, all you could drink, wives and kids welcome, picked up the bill for the lot.   Good old shiela Mrs Y, very well liked in the town.

Blue and his wife Molly were living in the cottage at The Grange. When I say cottage, it was in fact a four bedroom house, bigger and better than most places in town, had its own sheds and drive way. Their son Pup, as he was known, had moved out and was living in town. There were too many young ladies visiting so Pup moved out to save embarrassment all round. Very considerate of him don’t you think?

Now Blue, Pup and Molly did everything for Mrs Y - cut the lawns, the wood, cleaned the spouts.  She employed a manager to run the farm side of things but was on her own, had been for years. Her husband was dead and her son Warrick lived in Melbourne and rarely came home.  In return for their help Blue and Molly got the cottage rent free and a paddock to run their horses and a milking cow. They also had full use of all the farm facilities, stables, cool room, chook house; it was a great arrangement all ‘round.

Blue thought he got the good end of the deal so when Mrs Y rang on Sunday afternoon to see if Blue could turn the water off as it was dripping through the ceiling, a busted hot water service, he went straight over.   Mrs Y had the step-ladder ready by the manhole when he got there. She held the ladder steady and apologised for bothering Blue on a Sunday. As he went up he pushed the cover aside, grabbed the beams on the edge of the manhole and heaved himself into the ceiling.  

Unknown to Blue there lay a five foot ten inch Brown snake stretched out on a water pipe, warmin’ himself up.   The snake, a male, was seven year old, in his prime. He had lived in the roof for five years and only left in late summer when the urge to mate overtook him.   He had a constant diet of rats, mice, the occasional bat, and in spring, bird’s eggs, followed by smooth newly hatched chicks, followed by pin-feathered flappers caught before they left the nest.   In his world he was king, he had grown big and strong; he was as thick as a man’s wrist; his only imperfection that he was pale from lack of sunlight. Instead of an olive brown he was a creamy colour with black eyes.   He kept active all year. There was no need to hibernate as the hot water pipes in the ceiling provided the heat to charge his batteries. 

Now the hot water pipe the snake lay on ran along the beam at the edge of the manhole and as Blue shot upwards his fingers wrapped around the beam and the snake.   The snake reacted instantly, the front four foot up to where it was pinned by Blues strong fingers whipped into the air, repeatedly striking his shoulder and face.   Blue realized what was happening and in an effort to protect himself let the manhole go and crashed back down onto the ladder and Mrs Younger. The snake, which had struck again, was dragged through the hole to land on them all.  

Blue heard a scream and rolled over to see the snake reared up and about to strike a terrified Mrs Y. He reached out and grabbed the snake by the tail. It turned on him and struck him repeatedly on the arms but Blue with his big strong hands worked his way along the snake ‘til he had it gripped just behind the head. It thrashed about but could do no more harm and it finally died. 

Mrs Y watched all this unable to move; she had two broken legs. The ladder lay across her and next to her an unconscious Blue, who although out to it, maintained his death grip on the huge Brown snake.   This all happened in the space of a few seconds. Mrs Y was completely overwhelmed; she could take no more; her eyes rolled back in her head and she passed out.

That’s how they were found two hours later by Blue’s wife Molly. She had begun to worry as Blue had left a young horse tied up in the round yard and it was nearly dark.  She had walked over and nearly fainted herself when she saw them both on the floor. She steadied herself and rang 000.  

They were in the Mansfield District Hospital within forty minutes, both on the brink of death.  Mrs Y came out of it first, forty eight hours later.   Both legs were broken just above the knees where the ladder had hit them and she was trussed up on a frame in the bed only able to move the top half of her body.   Sitting by her was the Reverend Clive Grey, locally known as Preacher. He held her hand as she tried to focus. He was the only friend she had apart from Blue, Molly and Pup.   She was one of those people who is well known and respected, but was a very private person; she didn’t let many in.  

Preacher was telling her he had contacted her son Warrick. He was very busy and couldn’t come right now, but he wished her well and a speedy recovery.   Mrs Y didn’t comment on this, she licked her dry lips and croaked How’s Blue?

Preacher explained that Blue had been bitten eighteen times and had a large amount of venom in his system, but he was big and strong and was fighting. He was being monitored twenty four hours a day but he still hadn’t gained consciousness.   He also had a fractured pelvis from the fall.  The doctors, nurses and ambulance driver had pieced together what they thought might have happened and they got it pretty right.  They had to cut the snake up to get it out of Blue’s hand such was the grip he had on it.

Mrs Y turned from the preacher and stared at the ceiling for the next hour. The preacher sat patiently as preachers can, then he got his orders - Take me to him!  They looked at each other for a moment, he gently put her hand back on the bed and left to find the doctor.

She lay staring at the ceiling. Never in her life had any person performed such an act of courage and kindness towards her. Blue, with a broken hip and a dozen bites, had reached out and grabbed the huge snake that was about to strike her, knowing it would turn on him and his last conscious act was to throttle the snake. She could still see it in her mind, the look of grim determination on Blue’s face. Tears flowed down her cheeks. 

Within two hours Mrs Y had her bed in Blue’s room.   She called in a lot of favours that day; rules were bent, some broken; the cake stalls, raffle tickets, all the work she had done in the past, promises for the future, were all used up that day.   Being owner of The Grange helped. It was the top property in the district and that carried a lot of clout in our community, and Mrs Y clouted shamelessly and won.  

There was a curtain between them for privacy. This could be pulled back and her bed wheeled over to where she could touch Blue.   Blue was still unconscious and was monitored by a nurse twenty four hours a day. They were watching for blood clots. It was a very touchy situation. Only one visitor was allowed at a time and this was taken up by either Molly, Pup or the Preacher.  

The hospital had trouble keeping Blue’s mates away. You see, he was a real figure-head in the community, particularly in the pub, and around closing time, with a good few under their belts, his mates would head on up to see good ol’ Blue only to be turned away. 

Mrs Y told anyone and everyone the story.   She