DIARY OF A COFFIN DODGER CHAPTER I

CHAPTER I

'Here's my uncle!'

Anne exclaimed one afternoon in our house on Wentworth Avenue a couple of weeks after we left the farmhouse on the North Coast.

The newspaper she had been reading in the lounge room rustled as she carried the paper out onto the veranda.

As she walked along the veranda, gusts from an icy wind blew onto the green and white striped canvas blinds.

Like sails on a yacht, the blinds billowed out into the veranda. The cords holding them to the top rail of the enclosed section of the veranda stretched to a breaking point.

As Anne reached the cane table at one end of the veranda, intense white bursts of light from jagged lightning slashes obliterated the veranda's shadows.

A rolling roar of thunder shook a glass jug and a set of frosted glasses, clinking them together as they rattled on the table's cracked glass top.

Ripples flowed across the surface of the jug's iced tea as Anne pulled up a seat and spread the newspaper across the table.

I closed the journal I had been reading and looked up from where I sat in a creaking, rickety cane chair across the table from Anne.

I winced at a cannon like boom of thunder as I leaned over the table to look at the newspaper.

As rain belted onto the roof tiles and raged along the gutters, Anne pointed at an article.

'Look! A feature writer, doing the court and police rounds, has written about my uncle's life before he died in prison the other day.'

'This uncle was...?' I responded.

'The one who showed me how to set fire to cars. A bit of an odd thing to show a young girl. I was eleven at the time, but I was his favourite niece and he was very proud of his work.'

'What! That trick of unscrewing the petrol intake to the carburetor and dropping a lighted cigarette...'

'Yep!' Anne lowered her voice. 'The whole box and dice we used to set fire to Bill and Mike's brothel at the asylum.'

I cringed as a thunderclap shook the veranda.

'I've heard of uncles taking a favourite niece fishing or sailing. But an uncle showing a favourite niece how to torch cars...now that's getting a bit...'

Anne gave a cheeky grin and raised her voice above the roar of the rain's bombardment pouring onto the roof.

'Well! Same mentality, I guess.' Anne shrugged her shoulders. 'Blokes showing off in front of impressionable young girls.'

'However, be that as it may, it was exciting.'

'Sneaking out of my parent's house late at night and running across the road to my uncle's car.'

'He parked it just up from the road's one streetlight.'

'I remember moths pirouetting in the yellow pool of light flowing out from the lamp and over the pavement. The light glistened from the yards of chrome which decorated the front and back of his car.'

'I think it was some flash American job because of all that chrome work. And the engine made that noise that only a V8 can make.'

'Once I had opened the front passenger door, I climbed into an interior thick with the sweet aroma of the pipe tobacco he smoked.'

'As I settled onto the white bench seat and closed the door, we then set off on a pirate's adventure.'

'I was Captain Kid's First Mate, my uncle said, bound by a pirate's oath to die before revealing our secrets, as we sallied forth to take out an enemy's ship.'

'A car really, but as a child, I was too wrapped up in the romance of it all to be worried about that detail.'

'It was thrilling to take part in an adventure in the adult world that was beyond a child's wildest imaginings as we travelled to a vacant block of land.'

'My uncle never revealed who parked the car on those scungy eerie blocks with their oily, mouldy stench. Desolate weed infested acres on the shoreline of the harbour, miles away from any building, lit only by the light pollution from the city.'

'I remember rodents in the light from the headlights of my uncle's parked car scurrying away from the abandoned vehicle towards that harbour shoreline. They scampered into the rusty metal drums, wrecked vehicles, and other detritus littering the foreshore.'

'Hearing waves lapping that shoreline and smelling the salty air, in my child's imagination, added to the romance of a pirate's adventure.'

'After he switched off the headlights, and we had clambered out of the car, my uncle reached into the pocket of his coat as we walked towards the abandoned vehicle.'

'He took out a slip of paper on which was written a location, a date, a time, the make of the vehicle and its registration number.'

'He and I verified the car's details from that piece of paper in the light of the flickering flame from his monogrammed silver cigarette lighter. He burnt the piece of paper with that flame after we walked around the vehicle to be 'cremated.' His words, not mine.'

'The vehicles were left unlocked, so it was easy to pop open the bonnet.'

I flinched as Anne stopped.

She clamped her hands over her ears as thunder, like a cascading cannonade, burst into the house.

As the thunder died away, Anne took her hands away from her ears and continued.

'He would check to see if the keys were in the ignition and take them out if they were and put them in his coat pocket.' Anne shrugged her shoulders, 'I don't know why.'

'Anyway, I remember one night in particular.'

'Uncle had to 'cremate' a Rolls Royce.'

'I remember that silver thingy standing upright, so beautiful and proud, at the front of the bonnet. I was fascinated by how that object gleamed in the murky half-light from the city's light pollution.'

'Uncle shook his head and muttered, "how bloody sad. A Rolls Royce. What a bloody shame. But this one, this job, pays well, really flamin' well."

'My important task, as Captain Kid's First Mate, was to hold the torch uncle took from a pocket of his coat.'

'After I stuck my head under the bonnet, I shone the torch over the abandoned vehicle's engine while Uncle unscrewed the petrol intake tube.'

'When he had done this with the Rolls, we took our heads out from underneath the bonnet and stepped back from the car.'

'I switched off the torch and gave it to uncle, who put it back in a pocket of his coat.'

'We then walked away from the Rolls as uncle smoked a cigarette.'

'About half-way between uncle's car and the Rolls, we turned and faced that vehicle.'

'Uncle took one last drag on the ciggy, and, as he blew cigarette smoke out through his nostrils, flicked the glowing durry towards the Rolls.'

'With a 'boom,' fire raged through the vehicle and I watched that gorgeous shiny object disappear into the flames.'

'Anyway, my uncle's escapades have left me with a puzzle.'

'A puzzle?' I queried.

'Well, not so much about how uncle went about his business, but how you and I found the Buggy.'

Anne paused.

'Remember at the farmhouse on the morning after the storm, the air crisp and cool, sunlight glistening on puddles scattered across the sodden, muddy ground?'

'A pleasant, refreshing morning that lifted the spirits but, with a suddenness that was frightening, changed,' I replied.

Anne nodded.

'And how you and I were checking out the woodshed, and Jane and Samantha came behind us and scared the crap out of us?'

'Again! I'll never forget either occasion!' I replied.

Anne grinned.

'Well, while they went back into the house to pack, because we knew, whatever was going on, it was not safe to stay at the farmhouse, right?'

'Yep!'

'You and I then followed those footprints to the back of the woodshed, where we found cigarette butts on the ground and messed up car tyre tracks in the mud.'

'It looked like someone had parked a car, dropping cigarette butts out of an open car window onto the ground and the vehicle had skidded all over the place as they left.'

I nodded.

'We then doubled back and followed the footsteps to the front of the garage.'

'Still with you,' I said.

'And there we found that someone had lifted the Buggy's bonnet and left it up. So far, just as I would have expected things to be according to Uncle's modus operandi.'

'But nothing in the engine was touched. And that was not according to how Uncle did things. And that is why I am puzzled.'

'Oh! I assumed whoever did it was drunk,' I replied.

'They placed that jerrycan on the ground, opened it and stumbled over it. That's why we found it open and lying on its side between the Buggy's left rear tyre and the garage wall.'

'And not only did they drop a cigarette butt into a pool of water, but, I'd say, they were so pissed they forgot what they were meant to be doing and didn't complete the job. Thank Christ!'

'Besides which, I think, the earthen floor of the garage, soaked by rain water trickling over that floor, meant, if they had got things right, according to your uncle's modus operandi, the petrol would have leached away into the soil.'

'I take your point, but...'

Anne clasped her hands onto the newspaper, looked down at them, and, emphasising each word, said.

'I just hope they didn't plant some device that was timed to go off later, maybe when people were in the Buggy.'

'Oh! Come on! You've gone all James Bond!' I exclaimed. 'You're freaking me out. Change the station. Tell me some good news from the paper.'

Anne looked up and grinned.

'Well, I noticed in the newspaper column titled 'Police Notices,' that the police want to speak with Bill about an incident that happened on the North Coast last Friday night.'

My eyes opened wide in astonishment.

'You've got to be bloody joking!'

Anne shook her head and whispered, 'they may finally put that bastard away.'

Silence descended between us as the sound of rainwater gurgling in the gutters faded away.

The time between lightning flashes and claps of thunder lengthened until neither troubled Anne nor I.

Or the late afternoon shadows now lounging along the veranda as I poured Anne and I a glass of iced tea.

I sipped the cool, sweet tea as the veranda returned to a tranquil state as Anne and I sat still and collected our thoughts.

Anne broke the silence by saying, 'how far are you into Clare's journal?'

'The section where they have arrived at the farmhouse.'

Anne nodded.

'That section makes interesting comments about the asylum.'

'It's also interesting, isn't it?' I said, 'that we don't know who the person is who sent this journal, apart from a name at the end of the covering letter.'

'Which is the same as the name on the letter that Jane became upset over when we told her we had opened and read it,' Anne replied.

'And now a parcel has arrived for Clare, at our house. A parcel that contained one of her journals that you read and now I am reading,' I said.

'Mysteries upon mysteries,' Anne responded.

'How did the person come by the journal? Why return it now? How did they know the information set out in the letter that came the other morning when Jane and Samantha brought us fish and chips for lunch?'

'Well,' I said, 'there is no mystery about this address. We stayed here for a couple of weeks after Samantha and I rescued Clare and Jane from the asylum before travelling up to the farmhouse on the North Coast.'

Anne chuckled.

'Yes, I read about that little escapade in the morning papers while having morning tea at the private clinic where I worked before working at the asylum.'

Anne shook her head.

'That must have been a real hoot.'

'The papers had stories about the ghost of a murdered nurse wandering the asylum grounds at midnight unlocking ward doors.'

'Clairvoyants and spiritualists got in on the act and gave opinions. The police interviewed nurses working in wards with the unlocked doors and gave opinions. Reporters interviewed nurses and gave opinions.'

'People on the streets gave opinions as they spoke to reporters about 'escaped lunatics wandering around the dark, shadowy night-time streets of Sydney.'

I grinned.

'Yes, amongst all that hubbub, which we heard about on the radio and read about in the papers, no one came looking for Jane or Clare. They made a good recovery from their ordeal before we hopped on a train and headed north.'

I paused and looked across the table at Anne.

'However, there was an incident at Central Railway Station on the morning we caught the train that made me feel uneasy. However, I'll tell you about that while we have something to eat because I am feeling peckish.'

'Good idea,' Anne replied. 'So am I. Let's rumble round the kitchen and make some snacks.'

After we had eaten our snacks while sitting at the kitchen table, Anne and I returned to the veranda with a cup of coffee each.

Anne sat down at the glass toppled table and continued reading the paper.

I sat down at the same table and drank my coffee while continuing to read Clare's journal.

I started at the point where Clare and Rebekah arrived on a weekend at the farmhouse several days after they had first met at the milk-bar.

On that weekend, an overnight shower of rain at Danvers' abandoned dairy farm sprinkled puddles across the dirt road on the other side of the front fence of the farmhouse.

In the morning light, Welcome Swallows skimmed the shimmering surface of the puddles, glistening like diamonds in the morning sunshine.

Magpie Larks patrolled the muddy edges of puddles as a mob of Australian Mynas squawked as they took over a puddle while Rebekah turned towards Clare.

Clare sat on a sofa that rested against the wall of the front veranda.

With a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eyes, Rebekah said.

'That was a freaky introduction to the farmhouse yesterday afternoon. But now look at the soothing beauty and peace of this morning.'

Rebekah settled back into a lounge chair, standing at one end of the sofa.

She sipped a cup of tea as she turned and gazed over the lush green paddocks rolling away from the dirt road towards the distant purple hills.

Currawongs carolled from the grove of trees at the western side of the house as Clare replied,

'I really thought it was Bill kicking up that dust cloud as he drove towards the house.'

'But it wasn't Bill or the blokes going camping,' Clare laughed, 'but the local funeral director in his black hearse!'

Clare shook her head.

'Great Ceasar's ghost! My nerves must be so shot to jump to such alarming conclusions.'

Clare sipped her tea as Rebekah smiled.

'Someday, we must visit the lovely C of E church the funeral director was most likely headed towards,' she said. 'It's about ten miles up the road from here.'

'The church reminds me of those English village churches I have seen in travel magazines.'

'A gravel path leading from the front gate past grave stones to a quaint stone building with a slate roof and a bell tower at one end of the building.'

'I have been inside that church and sat on one of the Red Cedar pews and gazed at sunlight streaming through the beautiful stained glass windows.'

'It's quite a spiritual place.'

'Do they have a church or chapel at the asylum?'

Clare shook her head.

'Hence my response to Christ's call.'

'I felt its urgency one Sunday at church a few months before I entered the asylum.'

'He called me to witness in an ungodly place. I thought about overseas mission work. But then the opportunity came to witness in the asylum.' Clare's voice dropped to a whisper. 'And that asylum is a truly ungodly place.'

Clare continued, as the strength in her voice returned.

'There was no one at the church to seek spiritual guidance from at the time of Christ's call, as Satan's minions were tearing at the spiritual heart of my church.'

'Yes, we read about that assault in a newsletter we received and prayed that Satan would not triumph,' Rebekah responded.

She sipped her tea as in the paddock a few yards away from the dirt road, a newborn calf wobbled on its new found-legs as it stood beside its mother. She licked it as the calf moved its head while it peered at the world it had entered.

'On another topic, apart from Bill, you knew another male nurse who worked at the asylum?' Rebekah asked.

Clare nodded.

'Yes, Mike. A mate of Bill's who I met at barbecues at Bill's house in East Ryde.'

'And he died in a fire?'

'Hmmm,' Clare replied, 'that's right. But that fire business makes me feel uneasy.'

'For starters, Bill is cagey about it. Well, at least how it started and why he and Mike were in the building when it started. Or why he got out of the burning building, but not Mike.'

Clare drained her cup of tea and placed the empty cup on the coffee table beside the lounge.

She turned and looked at Rebekah as Welcome Swallows flew back and forth from a mud nest under the eaves at the far end of the veranda.

'And then,' Clare took a deep breath, 'I hesitate to say the following, Rebekah, because I am not a Pastor. Christ has not called me to that discipleship.'

'But I do wonder sometimes with Mike's death if the Divine Judge had passed a sentence on Mike's life and punishment was meted out. '

Rebekah's heart skipped a beat.

She had met a nurse several years before this discussion with Clare, who had not introduced himself. She only knew he was a nurse because of his grey uniform and blue tie.

But unlike Clare, however, she had no hesitation in stepping into a Pastor's role.

Rebekah was certain that when that nurse was punished, and she prayed for that day, the Divine Judge had passed a sentence on that nurse's vile wickedness.

Instead of opening up that chapter in her life, Rebekah looked at Clare and said, 'there's wisdom in what you say, Sister. As you are aware, Christ grants us gifts sufficient for the tasks he calls us to undertake.'

'And yes, the gifts to be a Pastor are not what Christ sometimes endows us with in our present journey of discipleship with Him. But what led you to your opinion about Divine Punishment for Mike?'

Clare leaned back into the sofa as she turned and looked over the paddock where the newborn calf was now lying in the grass near to its mum.

Rebekah drained her cup of tea and placed the cup on the veranda's weatherbeaten wooden floorboards beside her chair, as Clair said.

'Bill said nothing exactly, but he hinted that Mike's dealings with women were scarred by a gross wickedness.'

Rebekah turned her head away, so that Clare did not see Rebekah's eyes flashing sparks of anger as she wondered if Clare had a photo of this nurse, Mike.

Rebekah focused on slowing her breathing while she watched other young calves gambolling around the paddock as their mothers got on with the serious business of eating grass.

'It's not only what Bill alluded to, however,' Clare paused before continuing.

'I was in the kitchen of Bill's house preparing desserts and salads one Saturday for that afternoon's barbecue about two years before I came up here.'

'I sensed someone coming into the kitchen.'

'I turned around and saw Mike, creeping up behind me.'

'He gave me a big cheesy grin as he kept moving towards me with his arms out-stretched.'

Clare paused and said a silent prayer for God to give her strength before she continued.

'From what I saw, he was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.'

Rebekah gasped as her eyes opened wide in shock.

'In Heaven's name! What did you do?'

'I dodged around him as he grabbed at me. I fled out of the kitchen and out of the house with Mike's laughter ringing in my ears.'

'My arms were shaking and my heart was racing as I walked towards Bill.'

'He was standing beside the barbecue a couple of yards out from the back patio.'

'Bill turned away from lighting the fire as I came up to him.'

'I said, in a shocked voice, "Mike's walked into the kitchen with a towel around his waist, and, and, he grabbed at me."

"Come on, Sis,' Bill replied. 'It's just Mike's way. A bloke being a bloke. Don't worry your pretty little head about it. Take it as a compliment. Mike finds you attractive."

"And of course, he's walking around the house with a towel around his waist," my brother continued after he put more fuel on the fire.'

"Mike finished a concreting job this afternoon."

"A bloke needed a driveway built. When Mike finished the job, he came straight here rather than going home first. He needed a beer and a shower."

'With my head in a whirl, I sat on the edge of the patio and looked at Bill.'

'I sat on my hands to control their shaking and said, 'A concreting job?' 'But isn't he a Charge Nurse at that ward, Banksia?'

'Charge Nurse?' Rebekah cut in.

'A nurse who is the boss of an asylum ward,' Clare replied, 'a male Charge Nurse wears a grey uniform with a blue tie rather than a red one.'

Rebekah bit her tongue and said nothing.

This was not the time to ask Clare about a photo of this bloke, Mike.

Rebekah wanted to turn her anger down a notch before asking that question. She did not want an angry outburst to damage her friendship with Clare.

'Anyway,' Clare continued, 'Bill said that Mike and another bloke, the Charge Nurse of the Male Security Ward, Ward 29, Adrian, ran a concreting business while working at...'

'Hang on!' Rebekah cut in.

'Mike and this other Charge Nurse operated another business while being paid to work at the asylum?'

Clare nodded.

'That doesn't sound right to me,' Rebekah said.

'The cops in town go to work and do the one job, the one they are paid to do. Teachers at the local school do the same. As do the blokes who work on the farms around here. No! This annoys me, Clare!'

'I felt the same way.'

'My feelings of annoyance increased when Bill stated that any day during the week, Mike took one of the two vehicles dedicated for the sole use of the ward, Banksia...'

'He left the ward, Banksia, that he was boss of?' Rebekah interrupted.

Clare nodded.

'The boss of Banksia, Mike, takes an asylum car and leaves the asylum to look after his own business interests. But he is being paid to work a shift at the asylum?'

Rebekah shook her head.

'I feel sick. This is not the way for an asylum nurse, paid to look after people, let alone a Charge Nurse, to behave.'

A cool breeze wandering along the veranda did little to assuage Rebekah's anger as the corrugated iron roof of the veranda creaked under the warming rays of the morning sun.

As Crimson Rosellas landed on the roof and scratched their way along the gutters, alarmed shrieks went out from the Australian Mynas. They fled from their puddles into the grove of trees.

A pair of Wedge-Tailed Eagles soared into the blue dome of the sky above the house as Rebekah muttered, 'this is unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.'

She shook her head.

'Anyway, go on.'

'So Mike,' Clare continued, 'drives over to a person's house and discusses the job they wanted done, whether it be a footpath or a driveway or a patio, for example.'

'Then Mike and Adrian do the work on the weekend if the person accepts the quote, Mike gives him. Weekends are Mike's and Adrian's days off, according to Bill.'

Clare took a deep breath and said in a quiet, shocked voice.

'He wasn't the only Charge Nurse doing another job.'

'A bloke by the name of Ray, according to Bill, runs a plumbing business while on duty at the asylum.'

'What sort of place is this asylum?' Rebekah turned with a puzzled frown on her face towards Clare. 'What's going on in that place?'

'That's apart from you getting locked up in a so-called 'Single Room.' Let's call it for what it is, a 'cell.'

'But you weren't charged with any offence, were you, right?'

'I mean, blokes get drunk on a Friday and Saturday night at the pub in town.'

'The local coppers can't lock them up for that.'

'The blokes have to have committed an offence like 'being drunk and disorderly in a public place' or doing something gross on the footpath. As a school friend of mine who now works as a secretary at the local courthouse puts it.'

Rebekah turned her head away and looked towards the front fence where a pair of Willy Wagtails boisterously darted along the fence line a few yards down from a Pied Butcher Bird engaged in the serious business of staring at the ground.

'But in the asylum,' Rebekah continued, 'there is no legal foundation for locking a human being in a cell. The only foundation is based on Rafferty's rules.'

Rebekah paused and, in a quiet voice, said, 'Which is why the male nurses locked you up.'

Rebekah's voice had a sad, lost edge to it as she concluded by saying.

'On top of the brutality and rip-offs and the illegality of locking you up, a male nurse shoves pills down your throat.'

Clare nodded.

She had a catch in her voice and tears in her eyes as she said,

'When the male nurses hustled me into a cell, a male nurse held the pills in a small plastic cup.'

'He stood in front of me and barked, "take these or we rip your jeans off and shove a needle into your..."

Clare blushed.

'I can't say the word,' she whispered. She took several deep breaths, and, with a quaver in her voice, said,

'I have seen Bill with a similar scary, angry look in his eyes as that male nurse's glare. But Bill is just one bloke.'

'But there were four men in that cell glaring at me with a similar frightening look. They stared at me as if I didn't have my clothes on.'

'I thought if they ripped off my jeans ...' Clare shook her head.

'Therefore, I had no choice but to take those pills.'

'But Rebekah! I was frightened. So damn frightened!'

Clare burst into tears.

Rebekah said, her voice gentle, 'may I sit beside you?'

'Do you mind?' Clare sobbed. 'And please, hold my hand.'

Rebekah took Clare's hand as she sat beside Clare, while tears streamed down Clare's face.

As the tears subsided, Rebekah asked, 'time for another cuppa?'

'Yes please! That will be nice.' Clare choked out a replied.

As Rebekah picked up their empty cups and walked into the house, Clare took a hanky from the pocket of her jeans.

She dried her eyes, blew her nose and returned the handkerchief to her jeans.

In the kitchen, as she waited for the kettle to boil, Rebekah took a tissue from a box on the kitchen table.

She dried the tears from her eyes and blew her nose, and discarded the tissue into the bin by the kitchen door.

'I'm going to swear,' Rebekah said after she had returned to the veranda and she and Clare had taken sips of their second cuppas.

'I'm so angry about what happened to you.'

'You said that, after you took the pills, you couldn't walk, you couldn't talk.'

Clare nodded.

'Samantha said that was what shocked her, apart from being illegally locked up, when she saw me in the cell.'

Rebekah's eyes blazed with fury as she said, 'Those horrible male nurses turned you into one of those zombie creatures I have seen in Hollywood horror movies.'

'But beyond that, what if you had an allergic reaction to those pills like my aunt did with penicillin? What those male nurses did to you was shocking and damn dangerous.'

Rebekah turned and looked towards the cows and calves, getting on with their undramatic business.

She took a deep breath and whispered as Clare gave her a quizzical look,

'after what happened to my brother Jason, I thought other asylums will be different. But I am grievously mistaken.'