The Noon Lady of Towitta (7 page)

We had become friendly with Mr Khan over a period of time, a man not only cannily informed but so charming. He would display lovely cloth, pointing out how it matched our eyes or our hair. One time he held red ribbon up to my hair, and I was left wondering what he meant when he called me a butterfly and put his hands together to copy the actions of the flitting creature. Mother put her hand to her mouth and gave me a worried look. I thought it an innocent comment and laughed. I asked him, ‘Mr Khan, whom will I marry?'

Shaking his head he responded, as he always did, ‘Sorry, Missy, I cannot tell you.' I noticed he couldn't answer my sisters' questions on this most important topic either. This was the one and only piece of information we were really interested in. Yet he never answered.

On the day Mr Khan was brazenly flirting with Pauline while showing her pretty ribbons, he had forgotten to tie up his hungry horse which wandered, complete with cart, into one of the barns where our meagre hay supplies were stored. It was there that father found the hungry animal tucking in for a feed and removed the horse by grabbing the reins and pressing down on the bit. Mr Khan was run off the farm at gunpoint. We were dismayed at Father's violent outburst. We couldn't understand his behaviour. Mother explained, ‘Your father is worried that the hawker will take Pauline away. He remembers what happened to his mother.'

Mr Khan's visit that day didn't end the matter for Father continued to curse and shout at him whenever they met on the road. Not long after, Frederick was returning from Sedan one afternoon when he saw Father and the Afghan feuding on the track leading to the farm. Father blocked Mr Khan's way and was trying to force him to turn back by aiming a shotgun at him. When Frederick arrived, Father retracted the terrible weapon and the hawker turned back. Father shouted after him, ‘Keep away from my womenfolk, or else.'

Four weeks later, about the time we next expected him to visit, Mr Khan was found dead with a fractured skull on the roadside near Sedan. It was decided at the inquest that he must have fallen from his wagon, there was no other explanation for the blow to his head. The weal on his arm and across his face, however, couldn't be explained. But we all knew Father was fond of using his whip.

When we heard of Mr Khan's death we were horrified and Pauline wept uncontrollably. I was rather surprised at this outpouring of sorrow and it made me suspicious something else had been going on. Mother kept telling the distraught Pauline to pull herself together, telling her, ‘My girl, he was only a hawker and you didn't really know him, a foreigner, not even a Christian.'

Such remarks failed to comfort Pauline. She would fly out of the door and into the paddock where she sobbed all the louder. Mother never told Father the reason why Pauline was always crying, she kept inventing other excuses such as her favourite lamb dying. We talked of Mr Khan's death between ourselves for months afterwards, but whenever Father was present we remained silent. We wondered why he refused to discuss the death. After all, Father was always free with his opinions and advice, yet when Mr Khan was concerned, Father remained silent.

Frederick also had his suspicions, telling us, ‘I know Father has something to do with this.'

Mother was shocked, ‘How can you accuse your father of such a terrible crime?'

‘Mother, you weren't there that day. When I came across them on the roadway, Father was pointing the gun right in Mr Khan's face and shouting at him to keep away from his daughters. Mr Khan just sat there bravely, refusing to defend himself, or budge.'

‘But that doesn't prove anything,' Mother answered.

‘Father threatened to thrash him. What are we to believe? And rumours abound at the pub.'

Startled, Mother asked, ‘Since when have you been going to the pub?'

‘I don't, my friends go there and they told me. They've been asking me questions about Father. They all know that he treats us harshly and sometimes whips us. And Mr Khan had unexplained whip welts on him.'

‘Surely not, son? Who is spreading such wicked rumours about what goes on in this house? What business is it of theirs?'

‘I'm sure no one is at all interested what goes on here normally, but when such things as unexplained deaths happen in this sleepy district, people will question anybody to get the answers they want. Look, I plan to leave here when I find a position on a cattle station up north. I'm not willing to put up with his whip and temper any longer. And if I can't find a situation soon, I'll go and live with Grandpa at Eden Valley. They've told me I can go there any time.'

Mother put her hand to her mouth and gasped with dismay when Frederick reminded her that family matters such as Father's brutality were discussed, just as was everyone else's business in Towitta and Sedan.

For weeks after Mr Khan's death, Father was edgy and barely spoke, not even to Mother. Surely Father wouldn't be so stupid as to murder an innocent hawker. The inquest findings declared it a tragic accident, but each night after we went to bed we would discuss it as a murder, for that's what we believed it to be.

Pauline was more affected by his death than the rest of us. It seemed to trigger off some deep-held fears about our own situation, of our isolation on a dusty farm. Each day she spoke of her wish to be rescued by some young man passing through, someone like Mr Khan. She was older than me and her chances of marriage were slipping away, as were Mother's when she married Father. After Mr Khan's suspicious death, our storytelling included new tales of Arabian sheiks riding frisky white Arab stallions who rescued fair maidens from imprisonment. We shared our fantasies about Mr Khan, that he was really a sheik. Pauline told me she should have run away with him when she had the chance.

Not long after, Pauline fell sick with tuberculosis. During her fevers she fantasised about what could have been between her and the handsome Afghan. The doctor told Mother that such fantasies were part of the condition. He also told us she could have fits and have unusually strong feelings towards men.

Pauline made sure we did not forget Mr Khan, and she convinced us about Father's involvement in his death. Despite the chronic illness that made Pauline weak, she found the energy to be a good hater of Father. She blocked him from her life by avoiding him and never talking with him unless it was necessary. Mother was the natural buffer between us and Father. She soothed many blazing outbursts of blame and criticism.

At this point Sister Kathleen said she didn't want to hear any more of the story that evening for she was upset about the handsome and innocent Mr Khan. When I said I had more to tell her about Father and his violence she said she didn't want to hear any more for now, she needed time think about what I'd told her. It was nearly a week before she came to see me again. I hadn't seen her around the hospital and I thought maybe she was avoiding me, but she told me she had been ill for several days. She also told me she couldn't stop thinking about my family having to live with Father's violence, and that the story about the charming Mr Khan had so upset her that it made her cry as though she'd known him herself.

‘Honestly, Mary, I think if I'd been there, I'd have taken the shotgun to your father myself.'

‘I can tell you, there was never a day I didn't have those feelings. But you think these things, you never carry them out.'

8

When we sat down to talk, I asked if she felt strong enough to listen to more of the story that followed Mr Khan's death, for she was still clearly upset by what I had told her.

‘Of course I want to hear the story, all of it. When I went home last week I felt very sad about the Afghan hawker you spoke about and it took days to get over it. But I am ready.'

I was curious, ‘Where is home exactly?'

‘I go home to Angaston on the train when I have several days off together. That's where my mother and father live. My father used to be a publican there, but since he's retired, they live on the edge of the town where they raise poultry and a few animals.'

‘When you went home, did you tell them about me?'

‘Not Father, but I did tell Mother when we were alone. After you told me about Mr Khan I had to talk about it. I was very upset about that, Mary.'

‘I wish you hadn't but I understand your need to share this sad story. What does she think about you knowing me?'

‘She told me to be careful.'

We looked at each other and laughed.

‘Really …'

‘Yes, but I told her you were very sick and you had no strength to raise a carving knife to me.'

Again we shared laughter, the mood was almost lighthearted as I continued.

Not long after Mr Khan's death, Father demonstrated a serious act of violence on a neighbour's farm. It took place during a child's birthday party at Mr Blenkiron's house, less than half a mile from our house. I was invited to go with Bertha, August and Willy and while we were enjoying the party one Sunday afternoon, several Sedan lads appeared uninvited and started disturbing the peace by throwing stones onto the roof of the house and howling like wolves. It transpired that one of them hadn't taken kindly to being rejected by one of Mr Blenkiron's attractive daughters and wanted revenge of a sort. They went around Mr Blenkiron's property rattling the fences and shed doors, banging them with their long sticks, like a drum.

The gang was made up of Carl and Hermann Hartwig and their chums the three Radomi brothers. Their noisy behaviour frightened Mrs Blenkiron and terrified the younger children who ran indoors crying. When Mr Blenkiron strode out and faced the boys, shouting at them to go home, they laughed and jeered at him and threw a mass of little stones at the windows of his house. The gang of boys were well-known troublemakers in the district. They pulled up noticeboards, and removed and opened gates to let stock run loose. They rode recklessly through the streets of Sedan on half-wild horses churning up clouds of red dust. No one seemed able to stop their behaviour.

To start with we were pleased that Father could put his violent temper to good use to protect us all. But when he took the matter into his own hands, he went too far. The whole matter ran out of control and much to our horror ended up in the Adelaide Supreme Court.

One of the boys at the party crept out the back door of the farmhouse and ran over to our farm begging Father to come and help sort out the situation. He grabbed his loaded rifle and hurried over. When he stood in front of the larrikins they laughed in his face and threw bigger rocks. One thrown by Carl Hartwig hit Father on the side of his head and instantly drew blood. He never flinched as the blood streamed over his face and beard, but marched to one of the boys and poked him with the barrel of the rifle. When one of the boys ran to his brother's rescue, Father told them, ‘If you don't leave I will fire.'

One of the other boys dared him, ‘Fire away then, old man.' So Father did.

Although he fired at the ground to frighten them, the ground was so hard that the bullet ricocheted and hit Carl Hartwig in the leg. He fell to the ground groaning and bleeding heavily. ‘I've been hit, don't let me die,' he pleaded, but the four remaining boys, now frightened by the shooting, ran for their horses and galloped away. Father and Mr Blenkiron carried the still-bleeding boy onto the verandah of the house.

One of the children left to fetch Dr Pullen who came some hours later and attended the wound. But when he arrived so too did the local policeman who promptly arrested Father and took him into custody. When we went home without Father we had to explain to Mother what had happened. ‘What do you mean, Father has been arrested?' she screamed, wringing her hands and then babbling unintelligibly in Wendish. She knew well enough what Father's violence was like and though it was meant to be only a threat, she admitted that this time he had gone too far and could end up in prison.

But he didn't. A month later Father appeared at the Supreme Court in Adelaide charged with having ‘feloniously and unlawfully and maliciously at Towitta shot Carl Hartwig with intent to do grievous bodily harm'. Father was lucky, the judge recognised his attempts to protect a group of law-abiding citizens and was sympathetic. Nevertheless, he let him know that larrikinism must not be quelled with guns. He also stated ‘it was an unlawful act to fire off a loaded gun in a struggle, and if the jury believed the facts as presented then the prisoner, although a very respectable man, had no right to fire the gun, and was guilty of unlawfully wounding'. Although the jury found Father not guilty, the judge gave him a caution. ‘If Hartwig had been killed, Mr Schippan, you would be standing trial for his murder.'

Father was acquitted but he was humiliated for being arrested. He believed he had acted reasonably to protect innocent people in danger from a threatening gang. After he returned home, humiliation gave way to fury. Inevitably, he took out his rage on the elder brothers, Frederick and Heinrich. He saw the two elder boys as friends of the gang and cruelly stepped up his tyranny over them. He tormented them, delving out harsh beatings, but one day when attempting to horse whip them for a minor indiscretion they turned on him and whipped him instead. Before he had recovered from the thrashing they dashed into one of the nearby wooded creeks where they hid for some days before heading to the farm of Mother's brother in Eden Valley.

But the violence did not end there. Early one January morning, a few days before I went to live in Adelaide, another hawker, Fred Struckmeyer, was found dead in Sedan. On several occasions he had risked visiting our farm after Mr Khan's death. The policeman, William Burgenmeister, found him on the roadway and believed he had been killed in a fight for his skull was crushed in as though attacked with a blunt heavy object. The findings of the inquest were different. The cause was unconfirmed, but it was believed he must have fallen from his cart and been crushed by the wheels. At the time his cart was fully laden with new stock and this would have added to its weight making it capable of crushing his head.