Tiger Men (19 page)

It had been Mick’s very first day on the job, and Jefferson had introduced him and Tim, his young forward hand, to the other teams milling about at Waterman’s Dock. It was early morning, but the wharves were already bustling with activity, and Jefferson had left Mick and Tim to get acquainted with the others before the day’s business got under way. Men talked more freely and bonded more quickly without the boss around.

‘I seen it once,’ another waterman said, ‘a couple of years back. Father and son team, it was. The dad had been doctoring the log, hadn’t he, and Jefferson’s waiting for him when he comes in. Dad climbs up onto the dock, and Jefferson says “Can you swim?” Dad says “No,” and Jefferson picks him up bodily and hurls him into the harbour. Then he says to the lad: “You better look after your pa: I think he’s drowning.”’

The men all laughed. They were big men, rough and tough and solidly built. Even the younger forward hands were more thick-set than Mick. He felt puny beside them and was thankful that Jefferson, in introducing him, had said, ‘Don’t be deceived by size, boys; when it comes to the bonus, Michael will give you a run for your money, you’ll see.’ Mick had a feeling that without the boss’s remark he might have come in for some ribbing.

‘What about you, Mick,’ the man who’d told the story asked, ‘can
you
swim?’ Mick had quickly let it be known upon Jefferson’s departure that he was a ‘Mick’ rather than a ‘Michael’. ‘Michael’ was altogether out of place with a bunch like this.

‘Not very well,’ he said. Then he grinned and admitted, ‘Actually, if the truth be known, I can barely stay afloat.’

The man, a hulking brute of a fellow, guffawed. ‘Half of us can’t, and that’s a fact. What a foolish mob of bastards we are.’

They all joined in the joke, sharing it with Mick, who’d clearly become one of them. They were a good-natured lot and, given the boss’s approval, Mick O’Callaghan was accepted as a new member of the Powell team.

‘Where’s the point in cheating anyway,’ the Welshman said. ‘Jefferson’s a fair man. He pays a fair wage, and the bonus is always worth working for.’

The others were plainly in agreement, although Mick later learnt that the comment was something of an understatement. As an employer, Jefferson Powell embraced a philanthropic approach that bred a strong sense of loyalty among his workers. He was a fair man not only to his watermen and the others under his employ, but also to their families. If a man with children could not work because of illness, then Jefferson lent assistance to that man’s family until he was well again.

Upon joining the ranks, Mick soon realised that Jefferson’s watermen worked for more than the weekly bonus and the proof that they were the top team. They worked for Jefferson’s personal approval, and he quickly found himself doing the same.

It was to be four whole months before he and young Tim were able to take out the bonus, however, and during that time Mick’s body grew hard and muscular. For the first month or so he relied as much as he could upon sail, avoiding the oars whenever possible. But the more he was forced to row, the stronger he became, until he found he actually enjoyed the physical exertion. He felt powerful as he hauled on the oars with a full boat-load of goods or passengers, the heavy wooden vessel ploughing obediently through the water. Ship to shore and then back again, he could row for hours.

‘Well done, Michael,’ Jefferson said. ‘Good lad, Tim.’

It was a proud day when they took out the bonus ahead of the other four teams. In fact twenty-three-year-old Mick, who had avoided hard work for as long as he could remember, had never felt so proud.

He had not, however, lost sight of his original purpose, nor had he lost sight of the fact that Jefferson, for all his admirable qualities, and indeed possibly because of them, could be manipulated.

Mick had long since recognised that the American was not the opportunist he’d originally presumed him to be. Jefferson wouldn’t know how to take advantage of others, which surely leaves him a little vulnerable to those who have such a talent, Mick thought. Not that he intended to take advantage of Jefferson himself – he admired the man far too much – but he certainly intended to take advantage of the situation. He wanted the top job, and he wanted the cottage. The only obstacle appeared to be Jefferson’s determination to employ a ticket-of-leave couple.

Having proved his value as a worker, the next step in Mick’s plan was to ingratiate himself on a personal level, which proved a remarkably simple exercise. In skippering the ship-to-shore boat that was housed at Battery Point, he did not work out of Waterman’s Dock like the other men, and it was easy to call by the house in Napoleon Street under some pretext or another. When he did he was always made welcome, for Jefferson enjoyed his company, although more often than not the American wasn’t there. Jefferson was usually at the shipyards or at the McLagan stables further up the hill, where the horses and drays were housed. His absence suited Mick’s purposes to perfection as Doris would invariably ask him in for a cup of tea, and it was Doris whose favour he most wished to court.

‘Dour Doris’, as he’d mentally nicknamed her, remained a mystery to Mick. He couldn’t tell whether she liked him or not. But she certainly liked the relationship he was building with her children, particularly with little Martha.

‘She’s totally enamoured of you; it’s quite extraordinary,’ Doris said as Martha dived past her and out onto the front verandah, where she stood beaming her radiant smile up at Mick. He automatically grinned back like an idiot.

‘The feeling’s mutual,’ he replied.

‘Jefferson isn’t here, I’m afraid. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘I wouldn’t wish to impose.’

‘It’s no imposition, Mr O’Callaghan. The children love to see you.’

The ritual was always the same.

He took off his boots, leaving them on the front verandah, and entered in his stockinged feet, Martha skipping on ahead of him.

Doris was now so accustomed to his visits that she led the way directly through to the kitchen where George was waiting, pretending nonchalance, having heard the Irishman at the front door.

‘Hello, George,’ Mick said.

‘Hello, Michael.’

They shook hands man to man.

For the next fifteen minutes, Mick gave his full attention to the children. He tried desperately not to display favouritism, but his heart was lost every time Martha smiled at him. For some strange reason, the smile appeared quite a lot today. She seems excited about something, he thought.

George produced the model ship that he was building out of light pinewood. For a boy of seven, he was clearly gifted. He placed the model upon the kitchen table as he always did in order for Mick to admire its latest progress. George was very serious about his work. He intended to be a shipwright when he grew up.

‘I shall not hire ship builders like Pa,’ he had proudly announced, ‘I shall build my own ships.’

‘Excellent work, George,’ Mick said as he sat on the bench and closely inspected the model. ‘She’s coming along a real treat. She’s a clipper isn’t she? Do you have a name for her yet?’

‘No.’

‘How about the
Maid of Canton
?’ He waited as the boy deliberated upon the idea, then he added, ‘you can call her the
Maid
for short.’

That clinched things for George. ‘The
Maid
she is,’ he said.

Martha, who had been patiently biding her time, decided that it was her turn. She climbed up on the bench and sat beside Mick.

‘Michael,’ she said. Her little currant eyes were deadly serious. She had an important announcement to make.

‘Yes, Martha?’

‘It is my birthday on Sunday.’

‘Really? And how old will you be?’

She held up the splayed fingers of her right hand.

‘My goodness me, a whole handful of years – that’s a mighty age.’

‘I will be five,’ she corrected him. It was obvious he had misunderstood her so she spelt the facts out as clearly as possible. ‘I will be
five years old
.’

‘And that’s a grand age, to be sure.’

As Doris placed Mick’s cup of tea on the table, Martha looked up at her mother with breathless anticipation.

‘Now?’ she whispered. ‘May I ask him now?’

‘Yes. You may.’

‘Will you come to afternoon tea on Sunday, Michael?’ Martha rattled the words out, and in order to prevent any possible refusal, she quickly added the major attraction, ‘Mother is making a
very, very big
birthday cake, and there will be candles.’

Mick glanced at Doris.

‘She’s been dying to ask you,’ Doris said. ‘Please do come.’

He nodded to Doris, but directed his reply to Martha. ‘I would be delighted to come to tea on your birthday, Martha. Thank you very much for inviting me.’ He was rewarded with a sea of dimples.

Mick never lingered over the cup of tea Doris made him: he knew better than to overstay his welcome. Once the tea was poured, he scoffed it as quickly as etiquette allowed and then left. The principal purpose of his visits was, after all, the contact he had with the children, which he knew delighted their mother. He always had some business pretext for calling should Jefferson be at home, but he no longer bothered to proffer any form of excuse to Doris.

She accompanied him to the front door, instructing the children to remain in the kitchen, which disappointed Martha, who always liked to wave goodbye. But Doris wanted to have a private word with Mick.

‘Thank you kindly for the tea, Mrs Powell,’ he said as he knelt and put on his boots.

‘The pleasure was mine, Mr O’Callaghan,’ she said, observing the customary ritual. But when he stood and was about to take his departure, Doris varied the routine.

‘As you have so captured my daughter’s heart, Mr O’Callaghan,’ she said, ‘would you mind if I called you Michael?’

‘I would be honoured.’

‘And you, of course, must call me Doris.’ She offered her hand and they shook. ‘I look forward to seeing you on Sunday then, Michael. We’ll have tea a little earlier than usual – shall we say three o’clock?’

‘Three o’clock it is, Doris. See you on Sunday.’

Mick congratulated himself on his success. He was well on the way to conquering dour Doris. In fact things were going splendidly all round. He was making inroads and enjoying himself at the same time. He actually looked forward to Sunday.

Sunday indeed proved a triumph.

The rag doll, a clown with yellow hair, a red nose, and big red smiling lips, which Mick had gone to great pains to purchase, was an unmitigated success. Martha decided, for some mysterious reason known only to herself, to call it Ben.

‘Why Ben?’ he asked.

‘Because Ben is short for Benjamin,’ she explained. He didn’t enquire any further.

They gorged themselves on the feast Doris had prepared, lit the candles on the cake and, once Martha had blown them out and her mother had cut everyone a slice, they gorged themselves further. Finally, the children went outside to play in the late afternoon summer sun and the adults were left to talk.

They adjourned to the front sitting room where Jefferson poured a Scotch whisky for himself and Mick, and Doris opted for another cup of tea.

‘The last of my father-in-law’s supply,’ he said, referring to the bottle. ‘I enjoy a glass now and then.’ He didn’t really. Jefferson rarely drank hard liquor, even of the finest variety, but today being a special occasion he wished to encourage a sense of camaraderie. The men toasted each other with their cut crystal tumblers – Hamish McLagan had drunk his Scotch out of nothing but the best – and Jefferson sat back, appraising the young Irishman.

‘Well, well, Michael,’ he said, ‘I had no idea you were so very popular with my children.’

Mick inwardly froze. Dear God, he thought, have I overstepped the mark? Did Jefferson find him presumptuous? If so, his plans had gone quite awry.

‘The fact that George named his model the
Maid of Canton
was something of a giveaway, I must admit,’ Jefferson said with a smile. He was not at all offended, but he was certainly intrigued. And of course Doris has told me of Martha’s great fondness for you. But now to see with my own eyes the bond that has been established.’ He shook his head admiringly. ‘It is obvious you have an extraordinary gift with children.’

Mick breathed a sigh of relief. ‘It is the children who offered me the gift of their friendship, Jefferson,’ he said. ‘I do not know why little Martha chose to adopt me as she did, but I think it was her example that led George to vie for my attention. I do not believe any credit is due to me.’ Mick realised all of a sudden that he was actually telling the truth. ‘I must say I envy you your family.’ He glanced at Doris, who was paying avid attention. He wasn’t sure that he envied Jefferson a wife like Doris, but he certainly envied the man his children.

The conversation had provided the perfect opener and Mick embarked upon his planned course of action. ‘It is my intention in the near future to start a family of my own, Jefferson,’ he said. ‘In fact I am currently seeking a wife.’

‘An excellent plan,’ the American nodded his approval, ‘you’re strong and fit and of a good age to marry. Don’t you agree, Doris?’

‘I most certainly do.’ Doris sounded surprisingly adamant.

‘Yes, I very much wish to settle down,’ Mick said, ‘and the sooner the better, I must say.’

Having sown the seeds for a future conversation with Jefferson when they were alone, Mick intended going no further, but things suddenly took a turn he could not possibly have anticipated.

‘Forgive my asking, Michael,’ Doris said in her customary blunt fashion, ‘but my husband told me some time ago you are an educated man. Is this so?’

‘It is, Doris, yes.’

She turned to Jefferson. ‘Perhaps, my dear, you should give some thought to employing Michael as your new ferry service manager.’

Both men stared at her blankly, Jefferson surprised by his wife’s suggestion and Mick dumbstruck by his good fortune.

‘I take it you would be interested in such a position, Michael?’ she queried.

‘Well, yes . . .’ Mick tried not to appear too eager.