ch 5-1 rose of norwood

a kid seeks the "beatnik" culture in australia.

CH 5 PT 1 " Rose of Norwood"  (1960 australia)

 

I'd wandered deserted midnight streets searching for a sign of "beatnik culture" but never found any. The only jazz joints in town required money to enter and the people coming out looked square. It was lucky I didn't meet some night crawling serial killer the city attracts. When tired I'd sleep in the excellent Victoria Park racecourse grandstand. There was no fence around it and no security guards so I felt secure. I didn't want to advertise I was trespassing so before 5 am track work began I'd wake up and leave.

 

 

Around 11 am I entered a Norwood wine bar to use the toilet. In the sixties all cities had these cheap bars. They got boutiqued up in the eighties, but ---back then they were rough as guts. I sat down to roll a smoke. A scruffy old thin bloke asked,

"Hey young 'un. Y' wanna charge?". I answered

"No thanks man, I’m cool. But thanks for asking." He went to the bar, got two 5 ounce glasses of cheapest brown Muscat and advised,

"Come on mate, get one in ya. You never know when you'll get another." I smiled and we clinked glasses. He sang,

"Over the teeth and past the gums,

get ready guts 'cause here she comes." The plonk made me shudder but I hid it from him. It was a friendly atmosphere. A faded sign on the window just said "Orlando's". The decor was 1940s. A bucket of sawdust waited near the swinging doors to cover slops. There were even spittoons and I hit one first shot with my Nicoloff spitting' technique. Another old bloke grinned and said,

"Good shot son." The average age seemed 50 and 20% of the drinkers were elderly women. By noon the saloon swam in bibulous conviviality. People shared flagons of red at tables and I gradually became pissed. Someone gave me a meat pie.

There were no homeless kids in those days so it was a novelty for these people to see a young bloke like me. An aboriginal lady named Rose introduced herself. She seemed to appreciate my innocence and told me about a soup kitchen on East Terrace.

"You go down there at 8 am and 12-30 and you'll get a good free feed. You need to fatten up" A bloke sneered,

--"yeah mate, someone will grab ya and use ya for a dunny brush." People laughed and I blushed. Later, when the barman was yelling for everyone to get out so he could close up , Rose asked,

"Wanna come to a party?" At 6-o'clock closing time groups pooled money to buy wine. We staggered out the door determined not to lose the warmth in our guts and planning to keep at bay the approaching cold night. Rose guided me a few blocks until we came to an old run down house.

Inside were 6 wine lovers, all men. I noticed a slight smell of stale urine and some other stink I couldn't place. We grogged on sponsored by a captain .The word "captain" implied a seafarer on leave who'd buy booze. It was our duty to keep the captain happy and spending his pay .When there were no seamen around the title went to any working stiff willing to spend. Although some captains were respected and treated as friends, they were usually seen as "suckers".

If the captain was a "gig" or a "mug", he was called an "Alf", (Alf being a suburban wage-earning bloke "big-noting" on pay day).

Rose impressed me. She was a slim koori about 35 who'd caused our captain to buy plonk and even part with money. During the grog session she needed to pee. Instead of going out into the cold winter wind she retired to a corner and squatted over the neck of an empty milk bottle and shot a stream of urine straight into the bottle without spilling a drop. We clapped our approval as she casually pulled up her --panties. I noticed they were clean and made of satin.

The captain began trying to chat her up so I subtlety butted in whenever he got overly familiar. Rose seemed grateful to have me as a blocker.

Around midnight I found out the strange smell. A bloke saw I was about to explore another room and grabbed my shoulder to stop me switching on a light.

"Don't turn on the bloody light! There are no blinds in there and cops’ll see we're here and we'll all get busted for vag. See son, the owner bloke used to let us grog on and last week he died so we been staying' here and if anyone finds out he's karked it we'll be buggered and get chucked out. Couple more days he'll start to pong-- we'll get out then."

Yorky, the old scarecrow who'd bought me that first plonk, piped up,

"not me. I'm not leaving' .Just going to put a peg on me snozzer ." Another quipped,

"I'll shove gorgonzola cheese up me nose. "

I showed I also had nous,

"y' just gotta breathe through y' mouth instead of y' nose. Then y' don't smell nothin'. It's all in the mind, man." I tried to show I had wit,

"to get rid of the dead body smell just plug yer nose with s**t." A couple of blokes thought it funny.

Old Yorky minced around impersonating Noel Coward,

"Oh no, dear boy. One could not ponder the aromatic subtlety of a robust classical Cabernet Sauvignon if a chap's boogie tubes were obstructed!" In good humour even when sober, he was 65 and came from Yorkshire. I liked him a lot: everyone did. I ran into him later in funny old Adelaide Gaol.

We laughed, told anecdotes and gradually drained all the flagons until --one by one we dozed off to our various lands of nod.

I awoke later feeling cold and seedy. Snoring bodies lay about the room. Lady Rose was nowhere to be seen. Argumentative voices came from the next room and sounded like Rose and the captain. I hoped they wouldn't fight because I'd feel obliged to step in and protect her. My courage shrank at the idea .I was no fighter but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try .I heard a loud bang . Rose ran into the room and yelled,

"Come on! Let's go! Hurry!" By the time she got to the "hurry" I was out the door and almost to the footpath. We ran fast for a block then, seeing we weren’t chased, slowed to a walk and got our breath back. We began to laugh.

Rose explained,

"F****n' b*****d tried to get up me while I was out to it! Havin' a real good sleep I was. Then I felt something pokin' around trying to get in my little virgin bum. I thought it was a brown snake: but it was his white snubby nosed willie." We laughed again. Early morning squares were on the street heading to work and she slipped her arm through mine .I felt proud to be seen walking with this delightful gamin and proud not to be going to one of their boring jobs. I'd seen the movie "Jeddah" and films about black slavery, but Rose was the first koori woman I'd met.

She said we were going to her place.

"Oh boy!", I thought ,

"This is great. This is what life is all about. Adventure! Romance! This is why I left home." I felt so alive.

We walked and talked and joked and I was in love again. I'd walk through life with this woman.

A real "spade" as American beats called Negroes to cut through the hypocrisy of the word 'coloured '. I respected the guts and individuality of --"spades". Todays politically correct view the way negroes were portrayed in old movies as belittling. But what I saw made me think them heroic (Uncle Remus played by James Baskett), funny Mathew Beard Jnr, who played Stymie the kid in the derby hat, in "Little Rascals" and the ingenious Heckle and Jeckle.

I admired Heckle and Jeckle. When I was 12 my pal Fritzy and I used their 'walking backwards up the gangway' routine to stow away on the liner Orsova. The Marx brothers did it in "A Night at the Opera", so I figured we could too. A porter caught us trying to hide in a lifeboat and threw us off. Those magpies were so hip they had to be spades. Not to mention The Coasters and Chuck Berry: they were people I loved.

Rose took me to an old style suburban rooming house.

"We got to tip-toe along the passage, "she giggled.

"The old dragon don't allow no visitors but she can get stuffed." The entry corridor creaked even though we took long soft steps. Her key dropped loudly on the wooden floor and we held our breath listening for the dragon. so We entered the room and Rose whispered ,

"Sit down and don't make a noise. I've got to get my little darling." She left me .

I closed the venetian blind.

Her rented room was cheap and cold with a rug and a single bed that squeaked when I sat on the edge. I thought,

"Can't make love on that .Dragon lady'll hear us." There was some perfume on a dressing table so I took of my smelly shoes and sprinkled them. My socks had a hole in the toe. Through the hole I noticed grubby feet so I kept my socks on and dripped a drop on them as well. Rose returned cradling a small elderly terrier who hopped on the --bed and sniffed me thoroughly.

"He's called Wowser. He's my little darling." . From under the bed she extracted a tin bucket.

"If you got to pee in the night do it in this. Promise y' won't go outside to the dunny. It makes too much noise. OK?" I swore I would not, .I took off my blue jeans, folded them neatly "We better get some sleep", she said and undressed. I didn't look but when she crawled into bed she had on a slip. It was the first time I'd been in bed with a woman other than my mum. The dog settled between Rose and me except outside the bedclothes. Lying on my back I could feel Rose's body warmth and her exciting scent, although it was from my sprinkled socks .She switched off the light.

. Every tiny movement made the springs squeak so I kept absolutely still. I was expecting her to snuggle up to me: not for any sexual reason but just for the camaraderie of 2 rebels thrown together by Fate. Then I heard by her breathing that my angel was asleep. I turned to face her, careful not to squeak springs and I put my face next to hers aware of the infinitesimal distance between us. It was wonderful to be close to a warm living female, even if she wasn't aware of me. Despite my romantic idealism I became aroused. I though,

"If she wakes up and notices my stiffy rearing up against her satin skin she'll get the wrong idea of my body language." So I turned and faced some cold wall. Later I awoke and snuggled close. She rolled --toward me and we touched. I learned what old Archdeacon Gooden meant when he taught the C of E boys club about "control over desires of the flesh." I became a yogi master of blood flow control and went to sleep.

Sounds of slurping awoke me. The little terrier had made its way under the sheet and half way down the bed. It was lapping and licking like there was no tomorrow.

"Slurp, lick, slurp, suck, slurp." There seemed no end to it. For 5 minutes I listened. Surely Rose couldn't sleep through all that action. She had to be awake.

 

"The Art of Living" book I'd read had a chapter on 'the art of loving' so I was aware there was nothing about the body of a loved one that should be considered ''dirty". I debated asking Rose if I could give her a good sucking instead of Wowser. Then I thought about the dog germs that might be germinating down in the rose garden. If I caught some infection while living rough like I was, it would be hard for me to get better. I decided not to embarrass the lady by letting her know I'd heard. I tried to go back to sleep but it was hard with those sound effects. Eventually I slept.

 

The afternoon sun coming through Venetian blinds woke me up busting for a leak. I used the bucket; careful to aim at the side so as not to make noise and wake Rose. She was asleep even though the sun shone on her face, so I carefully lay back down and stared at the decorative plaster ceiling pattern. I heard the noise again. Suck, lick, slurp, etc. I raised the sheet and took a subtle peep. The little dog was licking and slurping away at it , really enjoying --himself. I could see it all now. Wowser was sucking.. at himself !That was the sound I'd heard during the night and my imagination supplied the rest. Oh my wicked scenario making skill that I should conjure up such an image of debauchery between an innocent doggie and a pure maiden. Shame on me! Later Rose woke up with a headache and said it was time I left. I didn't even write down the address. I thought I'd see her again at the wine bar. I looked in there twice but never saw her again. She would never know just how much that skinny white kid loved her that night.

 

-After 2 winter weeks I knew I had to get another job so I admitted to granny I was broke and moved back home. After getting spruced up I became a menswear salesman in John Martin's department store.

I arranged for my pals Laurie and Joe to come in and I’d "sell" them a couple of classy suits off the rack. Instead of paying for them, they'd pretend to have an account with the store and I'd arrange "credit", sign the docket myself (saying I'd seen their account card), and wrap their suits up.

I worked for 3 weeks then had to leave when beaten up by 3 teenagers one night at Adelaide railway station. They must have thought me a "poof" sitting there for so long reading my Kerouac. John Martin's forced me to resign because my face was so swollen.

"--You might scare the customers", I was told. When my face healed, the posh Grosvenor Hotel hired me as a bell-boy. In my classy uniform I thought I was hot stuff. The pay was good: plus great tips. I tried romancing any teenage girls who stayed there but was not successful.

 

A 12 year old lived down the street who thought I was a real "bodgie". I enjoyed his hero worship and he began stealing money from his parents as well as neighbors’ milk money .I'm afraid I sort of encouraged him. One day he bought me 5 pounds and asked me to take him to the races and put bets on for him. I did. I’m not sure what it would be worth these days, but in '61 5 quid could buy 60 pints of beer. Next week he stole again and we went punting, buying milkshakes and eating candy. He had a ball at the track and I had one betting with his dough. We won about 10 quid and at day's end we celebrated with milkshakes and candy at our milk bar.

 

Pop Gibbs heard what I was doing. He lectured me about corrupting youth and threatened to tell the kid's parents. The kid cried when I told him I couldn't hang out with him anymore. I hope he turned out OK in life. I'm sorry young fella. Karma would catch up with me later.

A pommy bought Pop's milk bar. He heard I went to the races and asked me to put bets on for him. This was before TAB off-course betting. He’d give me dough every Saturday morning and I'd put it on. He usually lost. A month later he gave me 20 bucks --and told me

"back Wolf Howl for me Casbah, but only if you can get odds of 5 to 1."

At the track I studied the form guide and got creative.

"Wolf Howl ain't got a chance in hell. It's puttin' money down the drain. I’ll keep his dough and just pretend I backed it."

Of course the horse won. So now I owed milk bar man 120 pound. That was about 6 week’s wages. He wouldn't have beat me up and I should’ve paid him back 5 bucks a week, but I couldn't face him. I told granny I was taking a vacation to revisit relatives I'd met during our 1956 vacation. Grandpa bought me a train ticket to Sydney but I cashed it in and began hitch hiking.

-

In Melbourne on Cup day I won a massive 50 pounds on a cup double with Even Stevens. That amount these days would equal the cost of 500 pints of beer. I’d backed it because the jockey's name began with a "C". With all that dough I got a train to Sydney and used up my money staying in classy (to me) hotels and going to movies.

I was wondering whether to write to my grandparents in Adelaide and bullshit I had a job and could they send me some money to keep me going until payday. I didn't yet know any Sydney soup kitchens but I didn't want to ask granny for dough. I was --sitting around the old fashioned cavernous Central Station concourse wondering where I'd sleep that night. Unknown to me it was a place for homosexuals to meet.

 

A craggy-faced bloke about 60 invited me for a beer and said he'd get me a labouring job on the water board where he worked .Maybe he slipped me some drug or perhaps I was so lonesome he manipulated me but I moved in to his run down bed sitter near Central station. His name was Tom and he was big and ugly. A few days later he was sucking my c**k. I can't remember him f*****g me, but I know we argued about it. Maybe I wiped it from my mind. I was good at eradicating unpleasant memories and if I did give in he must've had a small c**k because I didn't feel any pain.

 

Labouring built me up and I worked hard because I was skinny. Pushing wheel barrows full of wet cement up planks and digging until the shovel gave me blisters, I wanted the other blokes to see my skinny self could handle the job as well as them. In fact after the first day, they told me,

"Slow down you b*****d, you’re showing us up. Take you're time. You'll bring us all undone!" Happy indeed was I to slow down and became the best bludger on the job.

I didn't like the image I saw of myself sleeping with that rough old yobbo , so as soon as I got a full pay packet ,I sneaked quietly out of his room as he slept, taking his wallet as payment for my sex work .

------end of chpt--------------