pdf download - Westerly Magazine
pdf download - Westerly Magazine pdf download - Westerly Magazine
grand, final fling. His bright eyes searched for that little bit of an Air Hostess,but she primly looked the other way.With a sigh, John settled down to sleep. If I snore, he thought, so muchthe better. Serve them right.Dr Gratton darted a questioning glance from beneath his half-closed eyelids."On the run?""Hell no! Never been in trouble with the Police in my life."Dr Gratton stuck out his jaw. "People run away from all sorts of things,not necessarily the Police.""Not me!" John sat up straight in his chair, shadow-boxed, flexed his musclesto show readiness to face up to anything."Why then? Why do you want me to change your face?""I've got this twin brother, you see," John lied. "He's not the sort of blokeanyone would want to be mistaken for.""I see." Dr Gratton was dubious. "It's expensive." He paused, "and painful."John shrugged. "I can pay. And I'm tough.""Five hundred pounds?"John flinched. It would clean him out. In his hurry to leave Marion he'dmade no financial arrangement, but he did have his cheque book. On hisarrival in Sydney he'd drawn out every penny in cash and deposited it inhis new name, John Loftus. It was his stake in the new adventure, the newlife. If he had to spend it all on plastic surgery ."Make your money easy, don't you?" he said casually.Dr Gratton took it calmly. "Not at all. Years of medical school, years ofwalking the hospitals, overseas experience; long hours, not much pay, no sociallife. Anyone can do it, given the brains and the skill and the sense not to takea dead end job at fourteen for the sake of a few pounds a week."John bristled. "I'm a qualified electrician.""Good for you. You think your skill and experience are worth something?""But five hundred pounds!""Hospital bills. Theatre fees, anaesthetists, drugs, dressings, my work. Itwill take several operations over a period of some months. And as I said, itwill be painful." He stood up. "You don't have to go on with it."John gripped the edge of the desk. "Oh yes. Yes please. I must go on withit. It's my only hope."The next few months were a fog of blood and pain, agonising stitchesput in, and worse, taken out; the acrid antiseptics, the sickening anaesthetics,the uncontrollable impulse to rip off the bandages and escape from the coolwhite prison.The crescendo died at last and he was free; free to look for work, his moneygone."Sure, we need a senior electrician," The man in the blue overalls turnedtowards him. "Be here at eight o'clock tomorrow." He turned back to hiswork. Then he called after John. "Bring your tickets with you."John forced his suddenly flabby muscles to keep him walking. Tickets Allhis credentials were left behind in the house with Marion. They were in his12WESTERLY, No. 1 of 1967
own name, John Peters. The new John Loftus couldn't present them anyway.He was finished.Impulsively he walked to the Grange Hotel near Mrs McCauley's boardinghouse where he had a room. Over a lonely beer in the Bar he swallowedhis shock. He couldn't work as an electrician, that was plain. He'd have tolook for something else."You'd better look for something else." The foreman handed over theanaemic pay envelope. "You're just not fast enough on the machine. You'rea bit old to take up factory work."John walked through tbe gates of the box factory, stuffing his splinterspeckledhands deep in the pockets of his shapeless trousers.How many lost jobs did that make? He shook his head slowly. Near thebus stop he saw the sign, "Strong Man Wanted". He smiled wryly. He wasa man, anyway. The months in hospital had somehow sapped his strength.All the afternoon he loaded sacks of flour up on to a succession of trucks.Even with the hook they gave him he could scarcely lift them. Near knockofftime he fell and the bag he was carrying split. John looked up from hisbed of spilt flour, "I'd better snatch me time, mate," he mumbled.The huge foreman rubbed his hand down the front of his navy blue vestand nodded. He turned without a word to make out a pay chit.At the Grange Hotel that night John heard the rumour. "They are shortof barrovinmen at the new High School site." Barrowman! Wheeling concreteup a ramp. That was sinking a bit low, but it was still better than that jobat the Tannery he'd heard about.Next day Sam, the foreman, looked him over. "I'll take you on trial for acoupla days," he said between mouthfuls of liverwurst and tomato sandwich.John watched every bite greedily. Mrs McCauley served only breakfast anddinner. Her boarders were all workingmen and were not expected to be homeat lunchtime. John had been too stiff and exhausted to get up early and hadso missed breakfast and there had been no cut lunch for him, or if there hadsomeone else had taken it. Not much loss, he reflected; corned beef sandwicheswith a trace of pickle, a dusty sultana cake, perhaps a spotted apple."What time?" he asked."Start at half past seven—contract's behind. If you're late you're out."Sam looked at John again. "If you can get anything else, old timer, take it,"he said kindly. "This is hard work and you have to be quick or the concretegoes rotten. Look," he said suddenly, "you can start now if you like, afterlunch. See how you go. If you can do the work, come back tomorrow."Old timer, John thought rebelliously as all afternoon he trundled barrowloadsof concrete up the ramp. The tricky part was tipping it neatly into theformwork for the columns. He was trembling with fatigue when the whistleblew."You're awful slow." Sam remarked as he was putting on his coat. "You'llhave to be faster tomorrow, we'll be pouring the first floor slab."At least he didn't tell me not to come back, John thought, more cheerfulafter a couple of beers at the Grange Hotel. "Anyone want to play darts?" hecalled.WESTERLY, No. 1 of 1 967 13
- Page 1 and 2: arc de triomphe
- Page 3 and 4: westerlya quarterly reviewEDITORIAL
- Page 5: westerlyNo. 1 of 1967CONTENTSSTORIE
- Page 8 and 9: "Oh, old Jack's morals are alright
- Page 10 and 11: were looking down on a face so scru
- Page 12 and 13: in the comfort of cars. Ellie and T
- Page 16 and 17: The rotting wood in the window fram
- Page 18 and 19: John lumbered up the steps of the G
- Page 20 and 21: night storm that flashed and twinkl
- Page 22 and 23: Quietly the young man left to fetch
- Page 24 and 25: "Bother, I've forgotten your aktavi
- Page 26 and 27: patiently as she hesitated. What wa
- Page 28 and 29: THEUNIVERSITYBOOKSHOPAT THE UNIVERS
- Page 30 and 31: PREFACE(Emaux et Camees)Pendant les
- Page 32 and 33: NOELLe ciel est noir, la terre est
- Page 34 and 35: LA DERNIERE FEUILLEDans la foret ch
- Page 36 and 37: LES COLOMBESSur le coteau, 1^-bas o
- Page 38 and 39: LA MONTREDeux fois je regarde ma mo
- Page 40 and 41: FUMEELa-bas, sous les arbres s'abri
- Page 42 and 43: PENDANT LA TEMPETELa barque est pet
- Page 44 and 45: PAYSAGEPas une feuille qui bouge,Pa
- Page 46 and 47: LE MERLEUn oiseau siffle dans les b
- Page 48 and 49: LETRILLAEnfant, pourquoi tant de pa
- Page 50 and 51: L'ARTOui, I'oeuvre sort plus belleD
- Page 52 and 53: ARTYes, lovelier do works of artEme
- Page 54 and 55: Some JOURNALS published byUNIVERSIT
- Page 56 and 57: But the two Town Planners did not j
- Page 58 and 59: The years 1963-65, therefore, were
- Page 60 and 61: COCD00(Moasu;-(a!CocP4Q
- Page 62 and 63: •OS. ^ " ^-«w" 1 a 1-1* r^^ril1
grand, final fling. His bright eyes searched for that little bit of an Air Hostess,but she primly looked the other way.With a sigh, John settled down to sleep. If I snore, he thought, so muchthe better. Serve them right.Dr Gratton darted a questioning glance from beneath his half-closed eyelids."On the run?""Hell no! Never been in trouble with the Police in my life."Dr Gratton stuck out his jaw. "People run away from all sorts of things,not necessarily the Police.""Not me!" John sat up straight in his chair, shadow-boxed, flexed his musclesto show readiness to face up to anything."Why then? Why do you want me to change your face?""I've got this twin brother, you see," John lied. "He's not the sort of blokeanyone would want to be mistaken for.""I see." Dr Gratton was dubious. "It's expensive." He paused, "and painful."John shrugged. "I can pay. And I'm tough.""Five hundred pounds?"John flinched. It would clean him out. In his hurry to leave Marion he'dmade no financial arrangement, but he did have his cheque book. On hisarrival in Sydney he'd drawn out every penny in cash and deposited it inhis new name, John Loftus. It was his stake in the new adventure, the newlife. If he had to spend it all on plastic surgery ."Make your money easy, don't you?" he said casually.Dr Gratton took it calmly. "Not at all. Years of medical school, years ofwalking the hospitals, overseas experience; long hours, not much pay, no sociallife. Anyone can do it, given the brains and the skill and the sense not to takea dead end job at fourteen for the sake of a few pounds a week."John bristled. "I'm a qualified electrician.""Good for you. You think your skill and experience are worth something?""But five hundred pounds!""Hospital bills. Theatre fees, anaesthetists, drugs, dressings, my work. Itwill take several operations over a period of some months. And as I said, itwill be painful." He stood up. "You don't have to go on with it."John gripped the edge of the desk. "Oh yes. Yes please. I must go on withit. It's my only hope."The next few months were a fog of blood and pain, agonising stitchesput in, and worse, taken out; the acrid antiseptics, the sickening anaesthetics,the uncontrollable impulse to rip off the bandages and escape from the coolwhite prison.The crescendo died at last and he was free; free to look for work, his moneygone."Sure, we need a senior electrician," The man in the blue overalls turnedtowards him. "Be here at eight o'clock tomorrow." He turned back to hiswork. Then he called after John. "Bring your tickets with you."John forced his suddenly flabby muscles to keep him walking. Tickets Allhis credentials were left behind in the house with Marion. They were in his12WESTERLY, No. 1 of 1967
Change language