Caraher's Lane

By Peter Blakeborough

Young Polly Asker falls victim to ruthless business bully Sir Walter Glengyle, and he and his cronies are angered when Polly and a small band of Caraher’s Lane supporters fight back.
Caraher’s Lane is about the inhabitants of the most desperate slum in old Sydney Town. Murder, rape, prosecution, and persecution are all regular features of life in the Lane. But despite repeated setbacks, the Askers never abandon their dreams of a better life ahead.
Meanwhile, the warfare between the Askers and the Glengyles rages. Polly gives birth to Glengyle’s illegitimate son, and revenge is the motive for the Glengyle-ordered demolition of most of the still-occupied primitive shacks on Caraher’s Lane.
Caraher’s Lane is the ultimate tear-jerking suspense saga.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Blakeborough
• Release date: Nov 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005173128

Peter Blakeborough

About Peter BlakeboroughAuthor Peter Blakeborough was born in New Zealand in 1937, the eighth of eleven children.In 1954 he learned to fly with the Auckland Aero Club in de Havilland Tiger Moth open-cockpit biplanes and had completed several flying tours around New Zealand by the age of twenty-one.In 1958 he became a foundation member of the Piako Gliding Club, a volunteer glider tow-pilot, instructor, and chief flying instructor. He managed a fund-raising project that enabled the club to double its fleet size.Next, the author worked as an agricultural aviation loader driver in many parts of New Zealand before going to Australia, where he became a door-to-door encyclopedia salesman and sales manager.Back in Auckland in 1964, he drove buses, trucks, and taxis and started a business dealing in coins and stamps.His first non-fiction book, The Coinage of New Zealand, 1840-1967, was published in 1966 by Minerva. He was the founding editor of The New Zealand Coin Journal from 1966-1967, distributed nationally and internationally.The author joined the New Zealand National Party in 1970 and was a candidate in the 1972 general election. Later, he formed the New Zealand Liberal Party and was its leader in the 1975 general election. He joined the New Zealand Party and was a candidate again in 1984.Meanwhile, never afraid to rock the boat, the author operated a taxi business in South Auckland where, despite opposition, he is remembered as the person responsible for launching the first eight-passenger taxi-van service in New Zealand, a concept that changed passenger transport in New Zealand.Next, the author established Panorama Tours, a unique three-hour city tour with hourly departures throughout the day. He also escorted tours to Australia, Malaysia, and along the Silk Road from China to Pakistan.In 2001 and again in 2003, he went to America and drove long-haul trucks through forty states. From that experience, he published Highway America - the adventures of a Kiwi truck driver.Peter Blakeborough has flown more than fifty types of aircraft and, as a flight simulator enthusiast, has added another fifty virtual types. He has been an international yachtsman and has completed numerous walks in remote mountain areas of New Zealand.In 2009, he published the Asker Trilogy of Australian and New Zealand historical fiction. His most recent book is The New Zealand Tour Commentary – a handbook for tour drivers and guides. It has been revised and reprinted many times.The author has also had a long record of serving on committees, including being the founding chairman of Waikato Writers (a branch of the New Zealand Society of Authors) and recently the first president of the Thames Community Club. As a speaker, he frequently talks about writing and publishing, flying, travel and tourism, and climate change.

Book preview

Chapter 1

A gentle breeze drifted across the empty land where Polly Asker lay unconscious. As the sun dipped lower in the west, the breeze quickened, and she began to stir. At first, she felt only the cooling effect of the breeze on her face and limbs as a welcome relief to the hotness of her badly sunburned face, arms, and legs.

Then she felt torturous pain as she looked up to see a huge eucalyptus tree towering above her. It was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. Then the pain was suddenly gone. Guided by a brilliant white light, she floated up and away from the ground and into the tree’s uppermost branches. She was at peace. She looked back one last time at the wretched body she had left sprawled on the grass beneath the tree. It was a pathetically sad sight, and she was pleased to be freed from it. When she turned again, she saw a bearded old man and a stooped old woman with long grey hair hovering in the branches nearby. She had no idea who they were, but they smiled warmly and spoke as though they knew her.

‘Polly! Polly! Your time ain’t come yet, dear. Go back, Polly. Go back.’

She listened and watched the old man and woman. As they slowly turned away, she saw the gruesome, bloodied signature of the cat-o-nine-tails across their bare backs. Then they were gone.

When Polly regained consciousness, she tried to sit up and take stock of her surroundings, but moving was too painful, so she lay still and listened to the birds singing. Her throat was as dry as the Great Sandy Desert, and she had no idea how long it was since she’d had anything to eat or drink. She had no idea where she was, what she was doing there, or how long she had been there.

She sat up with difficulty, and the world spun before her eyes. She steadied herself with one hand still on the ground, and slowly, the day’s events drifted back. Or was it yesterday? She remembered the vile brute attacking her and felt the pain of her broken ribs and bruised and swollen face. Her vision was still blurred, and she knew that she had been left there to die. Nearby, she could hear a water sound, possibly coming from the Tank Stream where she had sometimes played as a child. The vacant land she was on must be the last remnant of Buckley’s old farm. She needed to get down to the stream for a drink. She was sure that her head would then clear, and she would have the strength to get herself to safety before sundown.

Her legs felt weak and unsteady as she stood up, so she leaned against the big tree for a few minutes and carefully made her way down the slope. The sun’s position reminded her of the urgency with which she must move. Had she already spent a night, or perhaps two nights, in the open? Polly had no way of knowing. In her rush to get to the water, she slithered the last few feet down the bank and landed clumsily in the cold, shallow stream. She sat on a rock with her feet in the water and scooped up handfuls of refreshing liquid.

As a bit of strength returned to her tortured body, Polly was overcome by acute feelings of shame and guilt. It was all her fault. She should never have agreed to work at the Sydney Daily Times. She’d had a perfect job at the clothing factory. She could never face Ben Bates again or her ma and pa.

She felt dirty, even after she had washed away the dried blood. She continued scouring herself, hoping to wash away the shame and obliterate the memory of the brute and what he had done to her. She removed her clothing, washing each item. She scratched her body with her fingernails until her flesh bled, but still, she felt ashamed.

She sat on the rock and cried. She felt dirty. She wanted her ma, but she didn’t know how she could ever face her again after what had happened. What could she do? It would have been better if she had died in Buckley’s paddock. Then there would be no pain or shame or dirtiness. She would be at peace. She lifted her head and looked at the soft wisps of cloud drifting gently along with the late afternoon breeze. She imagined her spirit floating with them to Heaven, which she thought must lie somewhere just beyond the deep blue sky.

A sudden drop in air temperature brought Polly back to reality. She gathered her torn clothes and eased them over her bruises and broken ribs as quickly as possible. The cool water had eased her sunburn, and she took another drink before starting up the bank again. But she soon found that she did not have the strength to make it all the way up. Nearby, she could hear the chorus of the birds in the trees and the rippling of the stream as it continued its journey down to Sydney Cove. Above, the last wisps of cloud had all but dissipated in readiness for a cold, clear night.

She’d been an innocent young girl tricked, beaten almost to death, brutally raped, and left to die. She wondered if he had done the same thing before. With renewed determination, she flew at the bank and scrambled to the top, where she collapsed on the grass, utterly exhausted and angry. Slowly, she calmed down and drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 2

The searchers started arriving at Caraher’s Lane before first light. Polly’s mother, Lizzie and Granny Ruby, kept up a flow of tea, toast, and porridge as they came in ones and twos. By six-thirty, everyone had been fed, and sixteen searchers had been assigned to four teams led by Polly’s father Freddie, Cedric Hill, a neighbor from Caraher’s Lane, Polly’s boyfriend Ben Bates, and Patrick O’Flynn from the newspaper office. Ruby and her mother Mary stayed at the house to care for the children who were too young to take part in the search.

Each group set out on a Sydney Habour shoreline search covering the whole harborside from Darling Harbor in the west to Bennelong Point in the east. Rose Petchell, who turned up unexpectedly at the last moment, went with Cedric, Lizzie, and Ellen Wilkinson.

They crossed the Tank Stream, where it flowed into Sydney Cove, and from there, they followed the shoreline, searching under trees and behind buildings. They took turns calling Polly’s name and listening for an answer. They moved around Bennelong Point and into Farm Cove, but their calls went unanswered.

Just before midday, they turned back as planned so they could meet the other searchers back at the Lane before setting out on an afternoon search of other localities. Cedric and his team spoke to numerous people as they moved in both directions, peering into every nook and cranny, behind rocks and backyards. But nobody had seen the slightly built, golden-haired teenager with lovely blue eyes and a friendly smile.

When they reached the Tank Stream again, they followed it upstream for a short distance and then returned to Caraher’s Lane through Buckley’s farm. Rose and Ellen walked in the stream carrying their shoes and checking the banks. Lizzie and Cedric each walked on one side of the stream, peering into backyards. At Bridge Street, Lizzie crossed over the rickety old bridge while the two girls continued to walk in the stream. When they reached Buckley’s farm, they threw their shoes on the bank and scrambled up after them. Their feet dried quickly in the warm sun, and they were about to put their shoes on again when Lizzie and Cedric caught up with them. Lizzie’s sharp eye soon noticed an extra shoe on the bank.

‘Oh! My baby’s shoe!’ She shrieked. ‘My baby! She’s been hurt!’

She held the bloodstained shoe to her bosom.

‘She’ll be all right, Lizzie. We’ll soon find her,’ Cedric said, trying to sound cheerful.

‘Polly!’ he called at the top of his voice, and they all listened for a reply.

‘Polly!’ Lizzie called.

Silence.

‘Polly!’

Again, they waited for an answer but heard nothing other than the birds in the trees, the stream, and the distant sounds of the city.

‘Quickly! Let’s spread out and search the whole area. Rose, can you check further up the stream? I’ll check those old buildings over there if you two can check those paddocks,’ Cedric instructed.

They quickly spread out across the remnants of the old farm.

‘Polly!’

‘Polly!’

‘Over here!’ A new voice came from afar.

They stopped to listen.

‘Over here!’

A man’s voice was coming from a nearby housing estate, which backed onto Buckley’s farm, and the searchers raced towards the solitary figure standing near one of the houses.

‘We’re looking for my baby, Polly Asker,’ Lizzie cried as they drew nearer.

‘She’s here, missus. She’s in our house. Asleep.’

‘Is she okay, mister?’

‘She will be, but she’s had a bad time. She’ll need a doctor.’

‘My baby! My baby!’ Lizzie cried when she saw Polly curled up asleep in a bed. Her face was flushed and badly bruised, and some congealed blood was matting her golden hair. Lizzie sat patiently by the side of the bed while the others retreated to the parlor.

William and Mary Harper explained how they had been out for an early morning walk and found Polly on the bank above the stream. She had screamed at the sight of a man and pleaded to be left alone. They spoke reassuringly to gain her trust and helped her to their house, where they gave her food, drink, and a bath, and she hadn’t stirred since.

While Lizzie waited for Polly to wake up, Ellen and Rose went to Caraher’s Lane to bring Freddie and Ben Bates to the Harpers’ house.

‘Jesus, Mary, and friggin’ Joseph!’ Freddie exclaimed when he saw his battered little girl. ‘I’ll kill the bastard that’s done this.’

Ben stood by the bed, shocked and speechless. A few minutes later, he slipped quietly out the door.

It was late when Polly finally woke up again and had some hot soup. Freddie and Lizzie tried to get her talking but to no avail. She just wanted another bath and more sleep.

Chapter 3

The following day, Freddie hired a cab to take Polly home. When she woke up and saw the carriage, she gasped in alarm and refused to get on board at first. Eventually, they persuaded her to climb aboard, and they all rode back to Caraher’s Lane together.

‘Are you ready to tell your ma and pa what happened?’ Freddie asked as they settled in at home.

She looked at the floor for a long time.

‘I can’t, pa.’

‘Why, Polly, my dear?’ Lizzie urged her.

‘I’m ashamed, ma. I’m dirty and ashamed. Can I have a bath?’

‘You’ve been in the bath three times at the Harper’s. What’s with all the bathing, anyway? What’s that going to do?’

She looked at the floor again.

‘Polly, we know what happened to you. You were seen leaving the Times building with that Sir what’s his name that owns the newspaper, and you came home two days later all battered and bleeding, and we reckon it was him that did it to you.’

Freddie was choking with emotion as he spoke. Meanwhile, Polly rocked gently back and forth, and tears glided down her sunburnt cheeks.

‘It’s true, ain’t it, Polly?’ Lizzie asked as gently as she could.

Polly slowly nodded in agreement without meeting their eyes, and the flow of tears increased. Sitting one on each side, Lizzie and Freddie put their arms around her. Her body shook with grief for the next few minutes as she sobbed her heart out. It was some time before anyone spoke again.

‘We love you very much, Polly,’ Lizzie said at last. ‘And you’re always such a good girl. We’re very proud of you. You have no reason to feel dirty or ashamed. But now you’ve got to start fighting back like the Asker that you are.’

Polly nodded in agreement and started wiping away her tears. Then there was a knock on the door, and Freddie went to see who it was. While he was away, Lizzie put her arm around Polly again.

‘If you want to tell the police everything, we’ll back you all the way.’

‘No! No! I ain’t going to do nothing like that, ma,’ Polly said emphatically.

‘You’ve got a visitor, Polly,’ Freddie said as he ushered Rose Petchell into the room.

Polly stared at the floor in embarrassment.

‘You’ve got to go to the police, Polly.’ Rose spoke with conviction.

‘You don’t know what it’s like.’

There was a long silence as Rose stared at the floor too. She shifted her feet awkwardly before moving closer to Polly and taking her two hands in hers.

‘I do know what it’s like, Polly,’ she said gently. ‘He did it to me too.’

Their eyes met, and, in that instant, they knew that they would be friends for life.

‘I could have warned you, Polly, when you came to the printing works that night, but I didn’t have the nerve. Please forgive me. I just wanted to get out of there and get on with my life. When I heard you’d gone missing, I knew straight away what had happened, and I wanted to help right from the start, but I was scared, like you. We should go to the police together.’

‘No, Rose. I couldn’t do it. I’m really scared.’

‘Did you try to fight him off?’

Polly nodded in the affirmative.

‘That’s because you’re a fighter, Polly. You’ve got what it takes, and now you have a chance to fight him and win, legal like. It was different for me. When he threatened me, I just let him have his way. One girl who tried to fight him off got herself murdered, but nothing was done about it because there was never a complaint laid with the police. It was just a case of a missing person and an accidental death. That could have been you, Polly. It could be the next girl that tries to stop him too. Polly, we’ve got to stop him afore it happens again.’

‘He’s got to be stopped. If the police don’t get him, I will,’ Freddie hissed.

‘No, pa. Please don’t do anything.’

The two girls held hands in silence as they stared at the floor. Polly thought while Rose waited patiently.

‘You’re right, Rose,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘We’ve got to stop him before it happens again. And, Rose, thanks for being here with me.’

‘You sure that’s what you want to do?’ Lizzie asked.

‘Yeah. Certain, ma, and I want to do it now before I get scared and change my mind.’

‘Good girl. We’ll back you all the way.’

Polly got slowly to her feet. Her limbs were still stiff, and she felt weak, but her resolve was firm.

‘I thought I was dying on that farm. I had a weird dream about floating in the trees and looking down at my body. There was a bright light and an old man and woman floating around. They knew my name! They said I had to go back. It wasn’t my time to go.’

Freddie turned as white as a ghost.

‘I had the same dream once. I was in Darlinghurst. I was pretty sick when I saw these two old folks floating near the cell’s roof. I saw the bright light, and I saw my own body. They told me to go back too. They were very old and stooped with weather-beaten faces and the trademark of the cat o’ nine tails across their backs. The man had a long white beard. My old mate, Joker Hammond, reckoned they were my ancestors, and the only ones I could think of were Nathaniel and Isobel Asker, who came here with the First Fleet. Anyway, they wanted me to stay and put up a fight for my life. I reckon they were a turning point for me. Darlinghurst was the place I fought back from, trying to make something of my life. I reckon they’d want you to fight too, Polly.’

‘I suppose if I let that brute trample all over me and ruin my life without putting up a fight, then I ain’t an Asker. Okay, Rose. I’m ready to fight.’

‘Good on you, Polly. You’ve got what it takes.’

Chapter 4

Senior Constable Albert Norman grinned.

‘You can’t lay a complaint on behalf of another person, Asker, unless you’re trying to tell me that someone has assaulted and raped you. But you don’t look any more disheveled than normal for you.’

Freddie Asker ignored the insult.

‘We need your help, constable. Please tell us what we have to do to get justice.’

‘First, the victim must come to the station with any witnesses. She will need to submit to a medical examination. She will have to identify the alleged rapist. The complainant must be a person of good character and morals and a virgin.’ Norman gave a sly grin before going on. ‘And that pretty much eliminates everyone in Caraher’s Lane, doesn’t it?’

‘That’s an insult to a lot of good folks, constable. I only want you to help my daughter get some justice.’

‘The best thing you can do, Asker, is go home, cool off a bit, and forget about accusing Sir Walter Glengyle. You’ll never win against his standing in the community. Apart from that, you don’t have to be clever to know that a woman with her skirts around her head can run faster than a man with his breeches around his ankles. Best just forget about it.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Freddie said defiantly as he strode out the door.

When Freddie spoke to Polly again, she wavered.

‘Don’t really know what to do now. If the police ain’t interested, I ain’t got much of a chance, and I don’t fancy some strange doctor looking at me. Maybe it was all my fault.’ She started to cry again.

‘It won’t be that bad, Polly. He’ll understand,’ Lizzie said, trying to sound encouraging. ‘And I’ll be with you all the time.’

Polly shook her head and looked at the floor. Rose Petchell appeared in the doorway.

‘You gotta do it, Polly. If you don’t, he’ll do it again and again until someone else gets killed. You don’t want that to happen, do you?’

Polly stared at the floor again.

‘No,’ she said feebly.

‘Come on then. Let’s go. If we waste time, the evidence will be gone,’ Rose said.

A few minutes later, Polly, Freddie, Lizzie, and Rose left the rented shanty in Caraher’s Lane.

At the police station, Senior Constable Norman took a statement from Polly while another constable went to summon Doctor Oswald Suckling. When the doctor arrived, he examined Polly without comment, wrote a report, sealed it in an envelope, and handed it to the senior constable.

‘Well, that’s all I can do for the moment,’ Norman said. ‘I suggest you all just go home and, if there’s a case, we’ll contact you in due course.’

‘So that’s it?’ Freddie asked.

‘That’s it,’ Norman said with finality.

‘Ain’t