Chapter 4: Changes

Henry spent several hours with Alice on Sunday, but refrained from divulging what Mick had said. By noon on Monday, perhaps a bit past, he’d see for himself.

Early on Monday, he told his driver to see whether they could average over 25 mph – without an upset. They didn’t ... but they came close. Henry walked to the east end of the station and looked in. Mick had been right! It reeked of urine and dust, probably a dead bilbie or a rodent. He closed the door. Mick was still by the engine. He waved. It was too hot to walk fast or run.

“You’re right. It’s awful and disgusting. What do you think I should do?”

“Well, yer gonna write to the boss in Brisbane, right?” Henry nodded. “Waal, tell ‘im the shack or whatever jes’ won’ do. Yer goin’ up ter the bank? Ask the manager about buyin’ an’ buildin’. He’ll know what’s up in an’ aroun’ town.”

“Good advice. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Henry walked for 10 minutes to the imposing, two-storey bank and asked to meet with the manager. Mr. Collins, an older man with a healthy grey beard, was happy to sit with him immediately. Henry explained that he would be “removing” to Charleville and that he was to marry before Christmas. He then mentioned that the drawings of the station and environs indicated a ‘Stationmaster’s house.’

“Well, Mr. Hollister, there isn’t one. They didn’t build one when the platform and goods shed were built in ‘88. And there ain’t one now. I came here in ‘88, right after the rails were complete, and I can tell you there ain’t never been one. Now, there’s an empty house just next to 99 King. And the railway owns the rest of the land down to Mitchell Highway. That’s right opposite the station. Nice place to put up a house.”

“I don’t know how much the Province’ll pay, sir. How much might that house cost?”

“Well. I don’t know. The MacAllisters had a mortgage for £250 from some years ago. They’ve moved further – Quilpie, mebbe Eromanga. He was gonna fossick for opals. Anyway, the Bank owns the house now. If you want, I’ll walk there with you.”

“I’d like to. I need to find out my balance and make a deposit, too.”

“Well, go ahead. The clerk’s not busy. Bradley! Take care of Mr. Hollister, please.”

The house at 103 King Street was about 30 by 60 feet, with the long side running east-west. There were several windows along the south and two facing the east, one on either side of the door. When they entered, it smelled a bit musty, but not bad. There were three rooms that seemed to be bedrooms, a parlor, a sitting room, and a kitchen with a hand pump.

“This actually looks fine to me, Mr. Collins. What do you think it would take to build a place on that land the railway owns?”

“It would depend on how big and how fancy. Something like this, perhaps £350 or £400, since they wouldn’t need to buy land.”

“Well, I’ll be reporting to Brisbane tomorrow. Have you had much demand for this?”

Collins laughed. “By the road and across from the tracks? None at all.”

“And I report I can get the house for no more than £300 and it might take £400 or more to build?”

“The railway’d pay cash? No mortgage?”

“Correct.”

“I’d do my best for you, Mr. Station Master!”

They shook hands and walked together to the Post Office, whence Henry was going to send a telegram. Collins headed back to his bank. Henry sent: Quarters inadequate. House nonexistent. Report follows tomorrow. He then walked back to the station, where he went across to the platform to look for Mick.

“I’m going to write a very depressing report,” he reported.

“So I imagined. Are ye gonna recommend anythin’?”

“I think so. Either the Railway can build over there. According to the banker, they own all that land. Or, they can buy up the small house at the end of the space. It’s empty.”

“Hmmm. C’mon. I’ll let ye buy me a pint.”

“By the way, when you’re here overnight, where do you doss?”

“In the goods shed, usually. The crew go ter Miz Cathey’s.”

“Hmm. Is there a decent place to eat?”

“Only the hotel.”

At dinner, Henry has asked Mick how long it would take to round up the driver and the work crew.

“Two of ‘em are in the bar, here. Two more’ll be at Miz Cathey’s [the local house]. The driver’s behind you, he nodded when we come in. He’ll know where his fireman is.”

“What do you say we try to get back by midnight?”

“OK. ‘Course we’ll need to watch for roos.”

“Can you send a message to Miss Cathey’s?”

“Sure. Give a sixpence an’ a half-crown.” Henry handed them over. Mick beckoned one of the serving girls. “There a boy who can take a message to Miz Cathey’s?”

“Sure.”

“OK. Bring him here.”

A young aboriginal appeared. “C’n you take a message to Miz Cathey’s?”

“Yessir!”

“OK. Tell Miz Cathey, to get the railway men down here soon.”

“Jes’ the railwayers?”

“Yes. Give this half-crown ter Miz Cathey. An’ when you get back, I’ll give you this sixpence.”

“Yessir. Right now.” He ran to the back.

“Thanks, Mick. Go talk to the driver. I’ll talk to the men in the bar.”

It took longer than expected, but by one, they were back on the siding in Muckadilla. In the morning, Henry wrote his report and put it into the mail sack.

Sir,

As instructed, I took the work engine and service car to Charleville. Together with gang-chief Michael O’Flahrety I inspected the vacant part of the roofed structure which it attached to the station platform. It was extremely dirty and reeked of both dead and decayed animal (or bird) and human waste. Mr. O’Flahrety said it “ought to be torn down.”

There are neither the “guards, enginemen and firemen’s cottages” mentioned on the sketch. Someone may have made a great profit 20 years ago, but it is too late to worry about it now.

I spoke with Mr. Thomas Collins, the manager of the Commonwealth Bank. He informed me that he had been stationed in Charleville since 1888 and that (despite the sketch on the surveyor’s chart) there has never been a “Stationmaster’s house” in this town. Mr. Collins pointed out to me that there is ample vacant land across King Street from the platform, should the railway with to build, and that the vacant land was bounded at one end by a vacant house (#103).

I have inspected this last, finding it sound, though in need of a cleaning and painting. The house was mortgaged at £250 several years ago, and was taken over by the Bank earlier this year, when it was abandoned and fell into default. Mr. O’Flahrety estimates that construction of a new house would cost upward of £350 to £400, as land would not have to be acquired.

I believe the Bank would be happy to sell 103 King for £300 and that it could run to one-and-a-half times that for new construction.

I await your decision and instruction,

Respectfully,

Henry Hollister

When he saw Alice in the afternoon, he told her his depressing news, but she knew how to cheer up her fiance.