A Visit Of Condolence

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Title:     A Visit Of Condolence
Author: Henry Lawson [More Titles by Lawson]

"Does Arvie live here, old woman?"

"Why?"

"Strike me dead! carn't yer answer a civil queschin?"

"How dare you talk to me like that, you young larrikin! Be off! or
I'll send for a policeman."

"Blarst the cops! D'yer think I cares for 'em? Fur two pins I'd
fetch a push an' smash yer ole shanty about yer ears--y'ole cow!
_I only arsked if Arvie lived here_! Holy Mosis! carn't a feller
ask a civil queschin?"

"What do you want with Arvie? Do you know him?"

"My oath! Don't he work at Grinder Brothers? I only come out of my
way to do him a good turn; an' now I'm sorry I come--damned if I
ain't--to be barracked like this, an' shoved down my own throat.
(_Pause_) I want to tell Arvie that if he don't come ter work
termorrer, another bloke'll collar his job. I wouldn't like to see a
cove collar a cove's job an' not tell a bloke about it. What's up
with Arvie, anyhow? Is he sick?"

"Arvie is dead!"

"Christ! (_Pause_) Garn! What-yer-giv'n-us? Tell Arvie Bill
Anderson wants-ter see him."

"My God! haven't I got enough trouble without a young wretch like
you coming to torment me? For God's sake go away and leave me alone!
I'm telling you the truth, my my poor boy died of influenza last
night."

"My oath!"

The ragged young rip gave a long, low whistle, glanced up and down
Jones's Alley, spat out some tobacco-juice, and said "Swelp me Gord!
I'm sorry, mum. I didn't know. How was I to know you wasn't havin'
me?"

He withdrew one hand from his pocket and scratched the back of his
head, tilting his hat as far forward as it had previously been to the
rear, and just then the dilapidated side of his right boot attracted
his attention. He turned the foot on one side, and squinted at the
sole; then he raised the foot to his left knee, caught the ankle in a
very dirty hand, and regarded the sole-leather critically, as though
calculating how long it would last. After which he spat desperately
at the pavement, and said:

"Kin I see him?"

He followed her up the crooked little staircase with a who's-afraid
kind of swagger, but he took his hat off on entering the room.

He glanced round, and seemed to take stock of the signs of poverty--so
familiar to his class--and then directed his gaze to where the body
lay on the sofa with its pauper coffin already by its side. He looked
at the coffin with the critical eye of a tradesman, then he looked at
Arvie, and then at the coffin again, as if calculating whether the
body would fit.

The mother uncovered the white, pinched face of the dead boy, and Bill
came and stood by the sofa. He carelessly drew his right hand from
his pocket, and laid the palm on Arvie's ice-cold forehead.

"Poor little cove!" Bill muttered, half to himself; and then, as
though ashamed of his weakness, he said:

"There wasn't no post mortem, was there?"

"No," she answered; "a doctor saw him the day before--there was no
post mortem."

"I thought there wasn't none," said Bill, "because a man that's been
post mortemed always looks as if he'd been hurt. My father looked
right enough at first--just as if he was restin'--but after they'd had
him opened he looked as if he'd been hurt. No one else could see it,
but I could. How old was Arvie?"

"Eleven."'

"I'm twelve--goin' on for thirteen. Arvie's father's dead, ain't he?"

"Yes."

"So's mine. Died at his work, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"So'd mine. Arvie told me his father died of something with his
heart!"

"Yes."

"So'd mine; ain't it rum? You scrub offices an' wash, don't yer?"

"Yes."

"So does my mother. You find it pretty hard to get a livin', don't
yer, these times?"

"My God, yes! God only knows what I'll do now my poor boy's gone.
I generally get up at half-past five to scrub out some offices, and
when that's done I've got to start my day's work, washing. And then
I find it hard to make both ends meet."

"So does my mother. I suppose you took on bad when yer husband was
brought home?"

"Ah, my God! Yes. I'll never forget it till my dying day. My poor
husband had been out of work for weeks, and he only got the job two
days before he died. I suppose it gave your mother a great shock?"

"My oath! One of the fellows that carried father home said: 'Yer
husband's dead, mum,' he says; 'he dropped off all of a suddint,'
and mother said, 'My God! my God!' just like that, and went off."

"Poor soul! poor soul! And--now my Arvie's gone. Whatever will me
and the children do? Whatever will I do? Whatever will I do? My
God! I wish I was under the turf."

"Cheer up, mum!" said Bill. "It's no use frettin' over what's done."

He wiped some tobacco-juice off his lips with the back of his hand,
and regarded the stains reflectively for a minute or so. Then he
looked at Arvie again.

"You should ha' tried cod liver oil," said Bill.

"No. He needed rest and plenty of good food."

"He wasn't very strong."

"No, he was not, poor boy."

"I thought he wasn't. They treated him bad at Grinder Brothers: they
didn't give him a show to learn nothing; kept him at the same work all
the time, and he didn't have cheek enough to arsk the boss for a rise,
lest he'd be sacked. He couldn't fight, an' the boys used to tease
him; they'd wait outside the shop to have a lark with Arvie. I'd like
to see 'em do it to me. He couldn't fight; but then, of course, he
wasn't strong. They don't bother me while I'm strong enough to heave
a rock; but then, of course, it wasn't Arvie's fault. I s'pose he had
pluck enough, if he hadn't the strength." And Bill regarded the
corpse with a fatherly and lenient eye.

"My God!" she cried, "if I'd known this, I'd sooner have starved than
have my poor boy's life tormented out of him in such a place. He
never complained. My poor, brave-hearted child! He never
complained! Poor little Arvie! Poor little Arvie!"

"He never told yer?"

"No--never a word."

"My oath! You don't say so! P'raps he didn't want to let you know he
couldn't hold his own; but that wasn't his fault, I s'pose. Y'see, he
wasn't strong."

An old print hanging over the bed attracted his attention, and he
regarded it with critical interest for awhile:

"We've got a pickcher like that at home. We lived in Jones's Alley
wunst--in that house over there. How d'yer like livin' in Jones's
Alley?"

"I don't like it at all. I don't like having to bring my children up
where there are so many bad houses; but I can't afford to go somewhere
else and pay higher rent."

"Well, there _is_ a good many night-shops round here. But
then," he added, reflectively, "you'll find them everywheres. An',
besides, the kids git sharp, an' pick up a good deal in an alley like
this; 'twon't do 'em no harm; it's no use kids bein' green if they
wanter get on in a city. You ain't been in Sydney all yer life, have
yer?"

"No. We came from the bush, about five years ago. My poor husband
thought he could do better in the city. I was brought up in the
bush."'

"I thought yer was. Well, men are sick fools. I'm thinking about
gittin' a billet up-country, myself, soon. Where's he goin' ter be
buried?"

"At Rookwood, to-morrow."

"I carn't come. I've got ter work. Is the Guvmint goin' to bury
him?"

"Yes."

Bill looked at the body with increased respect. "Kin I do anythin'
for you? Now, don't be frightened to arsk!"

"No. Thank you very much, all the same."

"Well, I must be goin'; thank yer fur yer trouble, mum."

"No trouble, my boy--mind the step."

"It _is_ gone. I'll bring a piece of board round some night and mend it
for you, if you like; I'm learnin' the carpenterin'; I kin nearly
make a door. Tell yer what, I'll send the old woman round to-night to
fix up Arvie and lend yer a hand."

"No, thank you. I suppose your mother's got work and trouble enough;
I'll manage."

"I'll send her round, anyway; she's a bit rough, but she's got a soft
gizzard; an' there's nothin' she enjoys better than fixin' up a body.
Good-bye, mum."

"Good-bye, my child."

He paused at the door, and said:

"I'm sorry, mum. Swelp me God! I'm sorry. S'long, an' thank yer."

An awe-stricken child stood on the step, staring at Bill with great
brimming eyes. He patted it on the head and said "Keep yer pecker up,
young 'un!"

 

[THE END]

Notes on Australianisms

Based on my own speech over the years, with some checking in the dictionaries. Not all of these are peculiar to Australian slang, but are important in Lawson's stories, and carry overtones.

bagman: commercial traveller

Bananaland: Queensland

billabong. Based on an aboriginal word. Sometimes used for an anabranch (a bend in a river cut off by a new channel, but more often used for one that, in dry season or droughts especially, is cut off at either or both ends from the main stream. It is often just a muddy pool, and may indeed dry up completely.

billy: quintessentially Australian. It is like (or may even be made out of) a medium-sized can, with wire handles and a lid. Used to boil water. If for tea, the leaves are added into the billy itself; the billy may be swung ('to make the leaves settle') or a eucalyptus twig place across the top, more ritual than pragmatic. These stories are supposedly told while the billy is suspended over the fire at night, at the end of a tramp. (Also used in want of other things, for cooking)

blackfellow (also, blackman): condescending for Australian Aboriginal

blackleg: someone who is employed to cross a union picket line to break a workers' strike. As Molly Ivins said, she was brought up on the three great commandments: do not lie; do not steal; never cross a picket line. Also scab.

blanky or --- : Fill in your own favourite word. Usually however used for "bloody"

blucher: a kind of half-boot (named after Austrian general)

blued: of a wages cheque: all spent extravagantly--and rapidly.

bluey: swag. Supposedly because blankets were mostly blue (so Lawson)

boggabri: never heard of it. It is a town in NSW: the dictionaries seem to suggest that it is a plant, which fits context. What then is a 'tater-marrer' (potato-marrow?). Any help?

bowyangs: ties (cord, rope, cloth) put around trouser legs below knee

bullocky: Bullock driver. A man who drove teams of bullocks yoked to wagons carrying e.g. wool bales or provisions. Proverbially rough and foul mouthed.

bush: originally referred to the low tangled scrubs of the semi-desert regions ('mulga' and 'mallee'), and hence equivalent to "outback". Now used generally for remote rural areas ("the bush") and scrubby forest.

bushfire: wild fires: whether forest fires or grass fires. bushman/bushwoman: someone who lives an isolated existence, far from cities, "in the bush". (today: a "bushy")

bushranger: an Australian "highwayman", who lived in the 'bush'-- scrub--and attacked especially gold carrying coaches and banks. Romanticised as anti-authoritarian Robin Hood figures--cf. Ned Kelly--but usually very violent.

cheque: wages for a full season of sheep-shearing; meant to last until the next year, including a family, but often "blued' in a 'spree'

chyack: (chy-ike) like chaffing; to tease, mildly abuse

cocky: a farmer, esp. dairy farmers (='cow-cockies')

cubby-house: or cubby. Children's playhouse ("Wendy house" is commercial form))

Darlinghurst: Sydney suburb--where the gaol was in those days

dead marine: empty beer bottle

dossing: sleeping rough or poorly (as in a "doss-house")

doughboy: kind of dumpling

drover: one who "droves" cattle or sheep.

droving: driving on horseback cattle or sheep from where they were fattened to a a city, or later, a rail-head.

drown the miller: to add too much water to flour when cooking. Used metaphorically in story.

fossick: pick over areas for gold. Not mining as such.

half-caser: Two shillings and sixpence. As a coin, a half-crown.

half-sov.: a coin worth half a pound (sovereign)

Gladesville: Sydney suburb--site of mental hospital.

goanna: various kinds of monitor lizards. Can be quite a size.

Homebush: Saleyard, market area in Sydney

humpy: originally an aboriginal shelter (=gunyah); extended to a settler's hut

jackaroo: (Jack + kangaroo; sometimes jackeroo)--someone, in early days a new immigrant from England, learning to work on a sheep/cattle station (U.S. "ranch")

jumbuck: a sheep (best known from Waltzing Matilda: "where's that jolly jumbuck, you've got in your tucker bag".

larrikin: anything from a disrespectful young man to a violent member of a gang ("push"). Was considered a major social problem in Sydney of the 1880's to 1900. The _Bulletin_, a magazine in which much of Lawson was published, spoke of the "aggressive, soft-hatted "stoush brigade". Anyone today who is disrespectful of authority or convention is said to show the larrikin element in the Australian character.

larrikiness: jocular feminine form

leather-jacket: kind of pancake (more often a fish, these days)

lucerne: cattle feed-a leguminous plant, alfalfa in US

lumper: labourer; esp. on wharves?

mallee: dwarfed eucalyptus trees growing in very poor soil and under harsh rainfall conditions. Usually many stems emerging from the ground, creating a low thicket.

Maoriland: Lawson's name for New Zealand

marine, dead: see dead

mooching: wandering idly, not going anywhere in particular

mug: gullible person, a con-man's 'mark' (potential victim)

mulga: Acacia sp. ("wattle" in Australian) especially Acacia aneura; growing in semi-desert conditions. Used as a description of such a harsh region.

mullock: the tailings left after gold has been removed. In Lawson generally mud (alluvial) rather than rock

myall: aboriginal living in a traditional--pre-conquest--manner

narked: annoyed

navvies: labourers (especially making roads, railways; originally canals, thus from 'navigators')

nobbler: a drink

nuggety: compact but strong physique; small but well-muscled

pannikin: metal mug

peckish: hungry--usually only mildly so. Use here is thus ironic.

poley: a dehorned cow

poddy-(calf): a calf separated from its mother but still needing milk

rouseabout: labourer in a (sheep) shearing shed. Considered to be, as far as any work is, unskilled labour.

sawney: silly, gormless

selector: small farmer who under the "Selection Act (Alienation of Land Act", Sydney 1862 could settle on a few acres of land and farm it, with hope of buying it. As the land had been leased by "squatters" to run sheep, they were NOT popular. The land was usually pretty poor, and there was little transport to get food to market, many, many failed. (The same mistake was made after WWI-- returned soldiers were given land to starve on.)

shanty: besides common meaning of shack it refers to an unofficial (and illegal) grog-shop; in contrast to the legal 'pub'.

spieler; con artist

sliprails: in lieu of a gate, the rails of a fence may be loosely socketed into posts, so that they may 'let down' (i.e. one end pushed in socket, the other end resting on the ground). See 'A Day on a Selection'

spree: prolonged drinking bout--days, weeks.

stoush: a fight,

strike: the perhaps the Shearers' strike in Barcaldine, Queensland, 1891 gjc]

sundowner: a swagman (see) who is NOT looking for work, but a "handout". Lawson explains the term as referring to someone who turns up at a station at sundown, just in time for "tea" i.e. the evening meal. In view of the Great Depression of the time, these expressions of attitude are probably unfair, but the attitudes are common enough even today.

Surry Hills: Sydney inner suburb (where I live)

swagman (swaggy): Generally, anyone who is walking in the "outback" with a swag. (See "The Romance of the Swag" in Children of the Bush, also a PG Etext) Lawson also restricts it at times to those whom he considers to be tramps, not looking for work but for "handouts". See 'travellers'.

'swelp: mild oath of affirmation ="so help me [God]"

travellers: "shearers and rouseabouts travelling for work" (Lawson).

whare: small Maori house--is it used here for European equivalent? Help anyone?

whipping the cat: drunk

[The end]
Henry Lawson's short story: Visit Of Condolence

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