The Other Side of the Trench. G. S. Willmott

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СКАЧАТЬ sprouts, cabbage and cauliflower with a pissy little piece of meat, all of which you hate. That’s hard work son!’

      ‘Well, Sir, I am keen and I will work very hard for you. By the way I quite like Brussels sprouts.’

      Bushy Beard frowned at Harry.

      ‘Do you? Well I hate the bloody things and that is all that matters.

      Mr Bushy Beard rose from his chair and strode out of his office. ‘All right, come with me and I will introduce to your new master. He hates Brussels sprouts too so don’t mention your love of them.’

      Harry followed the bearded giant. He did not tell Harry his name but he figured he would find out soon enough. They walked along the pier; well, Mr Bushy Beard walked; Harry had to half run to keep up. They walked; half ran, into a large shed with windows on the top of the highest roof Harry had ever seen. There were men everywhere pushing trolleys loaded up to the tops of their heads and there seemed to be a lot of yelling going on. Mr Bushy Beard, who Harry would discover was called Mr Worthington, introduced him to his boss, Mr Creighton. Mr Creighton was the opposite of Mr Worthington: he was quite short and very burly, and there would not have been an ounce of fat on his body.

      ‘This skinny little lad is called Daniel Harry or something, doesn’t really matter because I don’t think he will last more than today. However, he might surprise us all’

      ‘All right Daniel, let’s put you to work and see if you can prove us all wrong. said Mr Creighton whose nickname was Chook.

      ‘Thank you Mr Creighton but my name is Harry Daniel.

      ‘Is it? OK Daniel, I want you to take these orange boxes and load them all on this platform ready to be picked up. Do you have any questions?’

      ‘Where do I get a trolley Sir?’

      ‘Sorry, lad, no trolleys left. You will have to carry them. You OK with that?’

      ‘Yes Sir’ Harry said with as much conviction as he could muster eyeing the one hundred odd crates of oranges he had to move to the loading dock by 4 o’clock.

      Harry went about carrying each box weighing sixty pounds out to the truck loading dock. By the time 3.45pm arrived, he realised he was not going to make it. Chook came over and checked his progress.

      ‘Well Daniel you are not going to make it are you?’

      ‘No Sir, I don’t think I am, but I haven’t stopped.’

      ‘Stand aside.’ Chook grabbed a trolley loaded three boxes on to it and finished the remaining twenty boxes in ten minutes just as the truck pulled up to load them for market.

      Daniel walked two kilometres to the tram stop and arrived home in Bent Street Northcote at 5.30pm. His mum told him to clean up for dinner, which was always on the table at 6.00 pm, rain or shine. Harry did as he was told and by the time dinner was served he could not keep his eyes open. He barely could answer the few questions his dad asked about his first day on the job when he fell asleep at the kitchen table. He was absolutely exhausted. He did not even touch his beloved Brussels sprouts.

      The next day was easier as they allocated him a trolley. The first day was a test and Chook gave him a low pass. This meant he could stay and have his own trolley. Harry started to enjoy the work and the pay albeit puny was better now than in 1890 when the great strikes hit the Melbourne docks.

      He worked on the docks as a labourer until his twenty-first year. He was then was given an opportunity to become a Paviour laying blue stone pavers initially in the dock area and then all over Melbourne. Although the work was hard, just as hard as labouring on the dock, it paid well and he enjoyed the work. The men he worked with were generally good blokes and he quickly made some great cobbers.

      Harry was only five foot six but he was strong, stocky and fast. These attributes made it easy for him to become a champion Australian Rules footballer for Port Melbourne before he was recruited to play for Carlton in the 1901 season. It was at Carlton that he learnt the art of war; these were tough individuals who took no prisoners.

      Harry drank at the pub he had always frequented in Port Melbourne since his eighteenth birthday when the boys from the dock took him down to the “Exchange” and got him drunk for the first time. He came into the public bar at 5pm and, with only an hour to go before the pub closed, he ordered his first pot of beer. He knew all his Port mates would be there after the game.

      ‘G’day bluey how did ya play mate?’ Harry yelled across the bar

      ‘Fucking hopeless. Three kicks all day bloody useless.’

      ‘Never mind cobber, there’s always next week’ Harry attempted to console his old mate.

      ‘Hey Bluey I am back playing for the old Port next week…together we’ll kill the bastards! By the way who ARE the bastards we are going to kill next week?

      ‘Williamstown’

      ‘Bloody hell they are number one.’

      ‘Don’t worry Bluey we’ll kill em!’

      Next week came and went and Port got thrashed 16.10 to 4.2 Harry played well on the back line but nothing was going to stop the Williamstown forwards. Port ended the season in sixth place and did not play in the finals.

      Love and War

      Chapter 4

      Harry continued to play for Port Melbourne until he turned thirty, one of the oldest players in the league. Nothing really eventful took place over the next few years. Harry continued to live at home with his parents while all his old mates had married and had kids. It wasn’t that Harry would not have liked to follow the same path as his mates, it was just that he had not met any young lady who really took his fancy. Then he met Emma. She was ten years Harry’s junior with a pretty face, a little bit chubby and with a great sense of humour. Emma made Harry’s life fulfilled in many ways. The year was 1914 and the European war had just been declared. Harry did not quite understand what it was all about; some Duke got shot by a Serb and all hell broke loose. All Harry knew was that the Germans and the Austrians and Turks were at war with Britain and therefore Australia.

      Harry’s grandfather, a bloke called Conrad Iffinger was German born and raised in a little village called Neckargemund, just ten kilometres from Heidelberg. When he was just sixteen he stowed away on a ship going goodness knows where, to avoid National Service in the German army. The “goodness knows where” turned out to be Melbourne, Australia. The other side of his ancestry, the Daniel side, was English so he had all sides covered.

      As 1914 progressed into 1915 more and more of his football mates were enlisting for the “great adventure.” Harry was now thirty-six and he was deeply in love with Emma. He dreaded the thought of leaving her behind. Harry also felt a great compulsion to fight for his country and for Mother England so he really faced a conundrum.

      Harry walked the two blocks to Emma’s house to pick her up to go dancing at the Palais in St Kilda. He knocked on her door and her elder brother Tom opened it.

      ‘G’Day Harry. Where you taking my young sis tonight?’

      ‘To the Palais, mate СКАЧАТЬ