Tiger Men (59 page)

‘They are very rare, Mr Slabodsky. We actually have two at the Zoological Park.’

‘I know.’ Haskel waved an imperious finger. ‘I want one.’

‘But . . . er . . .’ James looked about at the sea of dead animals’ eyes. ‘They’re still alive, sir.’

‘I’m fully aware of that. I want one, or better still both, when they die. I shall have them stuffed and put on show in the museum’s foyer. They shall be the shining light of the entire display. Who knows, perhaps we may generate enough interest and funds to save the poor creature from its imminent fate.’

‘That sounds like a wonderful idea to me.’

‘This venture must succeed, Mr Flood. I cannot bear the thought of dying without having attempted to redress, at least in some measure, my father’s wrongs.’ Haskel Slabodsky Junior’s shoulders suddenly slumped and he looked all of his fifty years and more. ‘I ask you, what makes human beings capable of such cruelty? Why are we the only species of life on this planet that is capable of killing purely for sport?’

‘I’m afraid I cannot answer that question, Mr Slabodsky.’

‘No, of course you can’t, my friend. Who can?’ Haskel looked up at his young guest and smiled wearily. ‘Would you care to join me for lunch while we discuss the project in more detail?’

James Flood returned the smile. He felt a sudden fondness for the strange little man. ‘I would be honoured, sir.’

I
n the European summer of 1914, the assassination of Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand resulted in untold chaos. A series of inexplicable political decisions, ineffectual diplomacy and the sabre-rattling of powerful royal houses quickly escalated into war and, within just two months, the deadly dance of empires had begun.

On the fourth of August, Britain declared war on Germany. When she called upon her dominions to take up arms against a common foe, she did not find Australia wanting. Indeed Australia was only too eager to heed the summons.

For the second time in its short history, the nation was to fight under its own flag, as it had in South Africa, but this time the fight was not for the preservation of a remote colonial outpost. This time Australians would be fighting in direct defence of the motherland. Patriotism ran rife throughout the nation and recruitment stations were overrun by adventurous young men eager to sign up and defend Britannia against the scourge of the Hun.

‘You’re what?’

‘I’m going to enlist, Father.’

Reginald leant back in his chair and glared at his son, outraged by the boy’s temerity. How dare Hugh stand there and make such a ludicrous announcement.

‘Don’t talk rubbish,’ he snapped, ‘you’re not even eighteen.’

‘But I will be in less than a month.’

‘What difference does that make? You’re still too young.’

‘Exactly. That’s why I need your signature.’ Hugh placed the registration papers on the desk in front of his father. ‘They told me at Anglesea Barracks that as I’m under twenty-one I have to have parental permission.’

Reginald stared down at the papers. His son had reported to the barracks without telling him? And if parental permission had not been required would his son have enlisted without telling him? What the devil was going on? Hugh had always been an obedient boy, obedient and respectful. Such an act of defiance was quite out of character. And his attitude, his composure: it’s thoroughly outrageous, Reginald thought. The boy’s manner was bordering on impertinent.

‘You surely don’t think I’ll sign that,’ he said contemptuously.

‘Yes, Father, I think you will.’ Hugh had known he would meet with opposition, and he was quite prepared to stand his ground. ‘I mean no disrespect, sir, but I
will
go to war, with or without your permission.’

‘Really?’ Reginald’s tone was frigid. ‘And how would you propose to go about that, pray?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Hugh appeared to give the matter some thought. ‘I could forge your signature, I suppose, but of course you’d find out and put a stop to it. I’d probably run away, sign up under a false name, lie about my age, I really don’t know. But I would find a way, of that I’m certain.’

Reginald felt a sudden stab of fear. The boy’s confidence was unsettling. He tried once again to assert his authority. ‘You would defy me, Hugh. This is what you are saying?’

‘I would prefer not to, Father. I would very much prefer you to sign the papers.’

The confrontation was becoming a clash of wills, and Reginald had the distinct feeling he was losing. I must buy time, he thought, I must reason with the boy.

‘Sit down, Hugh,’ he said.

Hugh sat, and Reginald took a moment to compose himself before he spoke.

‘You seem so very sure of your convictions, my boy,’ he said. ‘I trust you have given the matter serious thought.’

‘Oh I have, Father, I have, believe me.’

‘And yet you have come to such a speedy decision. War was declared only a matter of days ago, why the haste to sign up so soon?’

‘
Everyone
is signing up, Father,’ Hugh said eagerly, glad now that his father was prepared to be reasonable. ‘Have you not been out in the streets? Have you not been caught up in the fever? The call to arms is everywhere.’

It’s true, Reginald thought. Australia had gone into a patriotic frenzy the moment war had been declared. It seemed to have happened overnight. Everywhere you looked shopfronts and lamp-posts were strung with red, white and blue bunting. Children ran through the streets waving Australian flags, and young men gathered in parks and town squares where brass bands and bugles and pretty girls urged them to enlist. There were queues at post offices, and already recruitment centres were springing up like mushrooms all over the land.

Reginald supposed it was natural that Hugh should become infected by such hysteria. The whole country it appeared was urging its sons on to war. But not
my
son, he thought. Please, dear God, not
my
son!

‘You’re so young, Hugh,’ he said, trying to quell a rising sense of panic. ‘I’d rather you didn’t rush into things. Why not wait a while – at least until after Christmas?’ The war will be over by then, he thought.

‘What would be the point?’ Hugh replied. ‘The war will probably be over by then. Besides, nearly everyone signing up seems to be young. At least that’s what it looked like to Wes and Harry and me. The boys queued up at the barracks all seemed to be around our age.’

‘So I take it Wesley and Harold also intend to enlist,’ Reginald said coldly. Of course, he told himself, that’s it. Hugh would never think to sign up on his own. It wasn’t the general patriotic fever that had infected him at all: it was the Balfour brothers. Reginald’s anger started to build. Those boys have been guests under this very roof, he thought, and without a word to me they’ve taken my son up the street to the Anglesea Barracks to enlist, the traitorous young bastards.

‘Oh my word, yes. Wes and Harry can’t wait.’ In his enthusiasm, Hugh hadn’t noticed the steely edge that had once again crept into his father’s voice. ‘We went up to the barracks on Saturday morning before the footie match. We’ve made a pact. We’re going to enlist together so that we’ll be in the same unit.’

‘I see.’ Reginald cursed his own lack of prudence. He should never have allowed Hugh to remain so involved with his cousins following their schooldays. He’d only suffered the connection because of family ties – there was no value in the friendship – and now look at what had happened. It was unforgiveable.

Every weekend for the past two football seasons, Reginald had extended his hospitality to the Balfour brothers. Wesley played for the North Hobart Football Club these days and each Saturday the brothers would come into town for the match, stay overnight and return to Pontville on the Sunday. Sometimes they even came in on a Friday, and Wesley more often than not stayed one night during the week, when he would travel to town for an afternoon’s training session. And this, Reginald thought, is how the young ingrates repay me; by inveigling my son to go to war.

‘So what does Edwin Balfour think of his sons’ plans to enlist?’ he enquired. ‘Or, like me, was he not told of their intention?’

This time Hugh recognised his father’s displeasure. ‘He was told, Father,’ he replied, looking rather shamefaced. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t wish to be hurtful in going behind your back. It’s just that I knew you would try and stop me, and I needed to convince you of the seriousness of my intent.’

‘Oh I am convinced, Hugh, rest assured I am. So tell me, please do, what was Edwin’s reaction to the news?’

‘He was proud. He gave Wes and Harry his blessing. Uncle Edwin said that whatever happened he was proud that sons of his should be prepared to offer their lives in the service of their King and country.’

The fool of a man had said
that
! Good God, the stupidity! But then of course Edwin had a third, older son whose wife, Reginald had recently heard, was pregnant. Perhaps the man feels secure in the knowledge that he can safely risk the loss of two sons without at the same time losing his family name, Reginald thought contemptuously. He could have strangled Edwin.

‘Leave the papers with me, Hugh.’ He stifled his anger. ‘You’ve rather taken me by surprise, I must say. Give me twenty-four hours. I shall let you know tomorrow morning whether or not I’ll sign them.’

‘Thank you, Father.’

The moment his son left, Reginald telephoned Amy in Pontville. He was thankful he’d insisted upon having the property connected. Amy herself hadn’t cared whether they had the telephone or not, but he’d told her it was imperative for business purposes.

‘Dear God, Amy,’ he ranted, ‘isn’t there anything you can do? You’re the matriarch; Edwin listens to you. Tell him that under no circumstances must he grant his permission. He must forbid his sons to sign up.’

‘They would enlist anyway,’ Amy replied. ‘They are determined, and nothing will stop them.’

The calmness of her voice down the line infuriated Reginald further. ‘But Edwin’s
encouraging
them, for God’s sake. The fool’s giving them his
blessing
! He said he’s
proud
of them, damn him. I mean what sort of idiocy is that?!’

Amy held the receiver an inch or so from her ear as her brother bellowed his rage. ‘He
is
proud of them, Reginald,’ she said when the tirade was over. ‘There are many who are proud that their sons wish to serve their country. But Edwin is not quite the fool you have always thought him to be,’ she added coolly. ‘He knows he is powerless to prevent his boys from enlisting. If he withheld his permission they would run off and join up anyway, and he will not have them go to war without his blessing. I suggest you follow his example.’

‘You approve?’ Reginald would have ranted on a great deal further, but he was halted in his amazement. ‘You actually approve?’

‘No, Reginald, I do not approve. But then I do not approve of the war. I do not approve of any war. It appears I am out of step with the whole country, for if I had my way there would be no enlistment at all, but as there is I believe that, like Edwin, you have no option but to grant Hugh the permission he seeks and give him your blessing.’

Reginald said nothing. He knew he was defeated. He’d lost the battle a good fifteen minutes earlier, he realised, when he’d seen the resolution in his son’s eyes.

Amy put his fear into words. ‘You might lose your son to this war, Reginald,’ she said. ‘Would you have him die without the comfort, at least, of your love and approval? Or would you risk alienating him and losing him forever regardless of what befalls him on the battlefield? The decision is yours.’

He hung up the receiver, and the following morning he signed the registration papers. He even falsified Hugh’s date of birth by three weeks.

On the fifteenth of August 1914, Hugh Stanford and Wesley and Harold Balfour, members of ‘A’ Company of the 12th Battalion, 3rd Brigade, 1st Australian Imperial Force, reported to Brighton Army Camp roughly fifteen miles north of Hobart, along with hordes of other new recruits, for a rigorous two months’ training.

The eight companies that would form the 12th Battalion were to comprise four from Tasmania, two from South Australia and two from Western Australia, and with the exception of the companies from WA all were to be trained at Brighton Army Camp. Of the four companies from Tasmania, ‘A’ Company had been recruited from the Hobart and Huon areas.

‘Well, blow me down,’ David said with his larrikin grin as the new recruits milled about on the parade ground awaiting instructions, ‘looks like the Hutchins School boys are off to war.’ David Powell, his cousin Gordon and young Max Müller, as it turned out, were also members of ‘A’ Company.

‘It’s Miller now though,’ Max explained after they’d clapped each other on the back and shaken hands all round. ‘Don’t you blokes go giving me away – I’ve been told it’s illegal to change your name on the registration form. “Müller” looked a bit German though, and I was buggered if I was going to risk being knocked back when Gordie and David were all signed up.’

‘It’s illegal to give a false date of birth too.’ Harry Balfour winked and pointed an accusatory finger at Hugh. ‘He won’t be eighteen for another two weeks.’ Harry himself had crept in by barely a month.