Mixed Stories for Boys

By Shirley Hassen

I am 78 yrs young. My life has been writing. Over the years, my raising eight children, I have managed to keep on writing. I have many typescripts in different genres. I have been writing for over fifty years. I love writing. Over the years I have been rejected many, many times. This will be my fifth year judging stories for, The Fellowship of Australian (Victoria) Writers. I have been printed many times in, BANKSNOTES, magazine, Padstow, NSW. I have seven other books (different genres) published with Xlibris. My friend is another of my stories EBook Strategic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: May 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499003673

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Shirley Hassen.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 05/13/2014

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Contents

Yours is Coming Fella

For Dad

I, Leif of Wessex

Jack and Ernie

Sammy’s Bucks Night Out

Service Requite

YOURS IS COMING FELLA

Written and Edited

By

Shirley Hassen

S AUNTERING ALONG THE gravel foot path towards the Centre-link door, the arm-swinging James munching on the last mouthful of his meat pie was in a tranquil mood. His morale was high… that is… until he reached the heavy mahogany framed door. His morale becoming suddenly low, James stood several seconds just outside the partly open door.

The voice behind him was gruff as it asked, Are you going inside, boy? Or are you just going to stand there blocking my way?

Stepping quickly to the side, James let the obese man step past him. The heavy door slamming, James was now hesitant to go inside. It seemed to James to be only a few seconds when the door was pushed heavily open and the obese man stormed out. The slamming of the door behind him had James jump nervously.

Knowing he needed to go inside, James entered the premises. The smallness of the room surprised him. His thoughts were deep as he strode dejectedly towards the ‘Positions vacant’ board.

After passing his leaving certificate and having left school, his parents were expecting him to get a job straight away. And where were the jobs the Headmaster had spoken so diligently about? Geez, he had his leaving certificate, didn’t he? . . . What more did he need, to get a job?

Deliberating the many cards… the majority were advertising for experienced or educational adults. James moaned aloud. Geezzz… I barely scraped through year eight… I was darn lucky getting that far… so how is a guy to get this so-called, experience? Unaware of the two giggling girls dressed in high school uniforms peering stupidly at him he scanned the last notice. The notice had been scribbled over and almost hidden under some kids art work. Easing the card to a readable position, his stomach lurched with excitement as he read… Urgently need male eighteen year old for one week for temporary live on the job. Start Monday, 7.30pm sharp. TELECOM.

Looking at his watch, it was 3.45 and almost closing time James, stumbling awkwardly in his haste to reach the high wooden counter he balanced heavily against the counter and held the card outwards. Resting his elbows on top of the thick bench, he stated matter-o-fact, I have come to get this job.

The woman looking irritably at James, and then at her watch, sighed heavily. Studying his young face as she held her hand held stiffly out for the card she asked. ‘Do you have your birth certificate?’ Strumming her fingers impatiently on the desk as James fumbled awkwardly in his wallet, she asked. ‘Are you registered with us? His vigorous nodding had her adding concernedly. Are you aware young man… that this is a live away from home job?

Nervously handing her his carefully folded birth certificate, he quickly answered, Yes Ma’am.

Looking again at her watch she took a form from under the counter and began filling it in. I’m reckoning that you need the job real bad, young man?

The name is, James. He volunteered and then added cheerfully, Yep I need the job… but I need the money more.

Smiling at James and as she handed him the form to fill in, she stated. Well seeing as it is Friday and almost closing time and nobody else has applied for the job… I would say it is yours. Sympathetically she added. ‘That is… if you meet the requirements of the foreman.

Looking sheepish at the woman and as he pushed the form towards her, he asked, Would you help me fill it out please?

Wanting to be going home, she thought that by her asking James the questions and her filling in his answers it would be much quicker. Finishing the questions she turned the form to James as she said, You need to sign here, James. Watching James saunter towards the door, she hurriedly placed his form in the applicant file and slipping from her stool, headed for the bundi cards in their slotted rack.

Walking jauntily from the Centre-link James flicked the card hard against the palm of his hand. Wow! I’ve gotten my first job. Still oblivious of the same two school girls who now pointed idiotic at him, his thoughts triumphant James hurried across the intersection. Geez… he’d only left school two weeks ago.

Monday morning was unexpectedly cold after the sweltering yesterday. His first day on the job, James turned up dressed only in tight jeans and a bright blue, thin long-sleeve shirt.

Summing up his young worker, the foreman shaking his head in disbelief at James dress sense studied the grinning boy who seemed oblivious; or was stupid, to the cold. It was obvious the kid was more than a little green. The foreman thought, Am I badly in need of the extra hand. Am I this desperate? The truth-of-the-matter is, he was this desperate? Hurriedly approaching the waiting James, he ordered, Okay kid… pile your gear into the truck!

Under the glaring stares of the rugged up men seated in the back of the truck, their arms folded tight against their chests, the unfased James answered, You betcha. Grabbing up his oversized dilly-bag he strode stilted over to the truck.

The foreman looking skyward, sighed heavily in disbelief as he studied James’s posterior his jeans being so tight; his bum looked like it was individually divided.

The mountainous drive up Kurrajong, and then along the ‘Bells Line of Road’ went unnoticed by the boy as he yacked nonsensically and continuously. and did you hear on the news this morning? A woman was found dead under the Sydney Harbour Bridge with a Weetbix box over her head and a spoon in her bum . . . ?

Bart, a real hard case, heatedly interrupted James, Will you shut up ya stupid idiot of a kid.

Ignoring Bart, James continued. The police say they are looking for a serial killer. Laughing loudly he waited for the others to join him. Hey man! . . . that was supposed to be funny.

Yeah? . . . Bart sneered.

James began opening his mouth to continue but seeing the dark look from Bart, he quickly closed it.

Concentrating towards the roadside, James began counting the trees but the speed of the council truck was causing the trees to materialise together making his counting to become a losing battle, James gave up. Slumping against the side of the truck, he looked daggers at Bart.

He guessed the broad shouldered Bart weighed at least twelve stone. Bart was yelling violently towards the truck window to the boss man. James could hear what he was yelling. Bart was disagreeing about hiring such an idiot kid. The wind from the speeding truck blowing upwards was tangling Bart’s long straggly grey-thin hair across his just as straggly bearded chin.

Seeing the scattered poles spaced evenly along the paddock the truck driver swerving the truck, drove jerkily through the open double wrought-iron gates and over the bumpy cattle-grill. Pulling the truck to a sudden stop in the vast paddock had the men jolting hard against each other. James’s head bumped against the wood panel. He rubbed irritably at the back of his head.

From his seat the foreman studied his surroundings and getting his bearings, jumped heavily from the truck. His loud hollering to the men, Okay boys we start here! went on deaf ears.

The men rubbing at their limbs were in no hurry to be unpacking the gear… The foreman’s louder yell got their lethargic attentions. Pointing to Bart, he ordered, Bart! . . . You start the backo from over there… ! Rambo! . . . You partner Bart! . . . The rest of you blokes come with me!" Leaving Bart and Rambo to release the chains from the backo and drive it down the steel rubble-tread ramps from