This story must be read with the following translations. It is written using Australian slang common in the 1960's to retain its authenticity.
Glossary - Australian slang to American English
Greaser = spiv, playboy.
Sheila = maiden.
Punch-up = brawl.
Brewer's Droop = impotence from excessive alcohol.
Prozzie = prostitute.
Codswallop = nonsense.
Rogerred = fucked vigorously.
Arsehole = anus.
*****
Dirty old Uncle Harry creeps into the narrative, and creep he was!
Harry was Madge's younger brother, in many ways the antithesis of her. He was 28 years old at the time, tall, thin and quite handsome, a bit of a greaser. He had a predilection for young girls and other relatives of either sex.
I met first him at a boozy family barbeque on the following Saturday. Normally these are Sunday lunchtime events but the logic was that everyone could get roaring drunk and still have time to sleep it off. Coming from a family of drunkards it was all too familiar to me and a reason why I didn't like booze.
"Come here, boy!" Harry commanded in a drunken slur. Everyone was now calling me boy but it referred to my youth not to my sexuality. "You had a fuck yet?" Denise shuffled around nervously as they all awaited my answer.
"Course yeah. Many." I brazened.
"Yeah? Fucked yer right hand I bet!" he sneered. "Rosey Palm and her five daughters. Yer little shit." He sucked again on the brown 'West End' beer bottle. "Don't fret, mum'll see you right." They all laughed. The Gadds had class! "Denise is a good sheila, too. One of the best!"
That statement could be taken a number of ways. All afternoon I pondered it as the party became more outrageous. Madge danced topless on the table, the males present jiggling her tits as she did. A moronic lad simulated sex with the dog until it turned back on him - a male dog, lucky not to lose his member. A woman, a neighbour it turned out, kept disappearing into the outside toilet, shortly to be followed by one of the men. "Your turn again Bazza" someone said. "No, fuck that. Ya wouldn't know what you'd catch after you dirty bastards had her." Then Harry turned to me and said menacingly "be a man, boy," without contradiction, "Jean loves it." Jean, in the light of day, was a broken down alcoholic hag. In her better days she had been a prozzie, now reduced to sucking cock, anywhere, anytime, just for a beer.
Denise rescued me. "We have to go. I have to feed the goldfish." Never have I heard such a load of codswallop. A scream of laughter erupted. "More like he wants to feed the tadpoles to YOU."
And the party was just getting underway; the blood, bruises and sometimes broken teeth from the forthcoming punch-ups, and that was just the kids. The planned dick measuring competition had to be called off because of 'brewer's droop'. The inbred idiot hadn't shit his pants as yet but someone had vomited on the toilet floor; that could have been the drink or the food, or both. Males caught short had pissed on the door jambs like dogs but no one noticed, or minded, until the heat of the following day. Still to come was the random couplings of friends and relatives in the bedrooms punctuated by acts of alcohol fuelled jealousy turning to violence, and that was by the women. At pumpkin hour the police would have broken up the party. Like fireman dousing flames there was the occasional flare-up with increasing dire consequence to the survivors of fully deserved police brutality.
I was driving Denise to the nearby Wingfield rubbish dump. No fancy names in those days, not a 'recycling facility' to be seen in the many kilometres of tidal mudflats now covered in mountain ranges of materiels discarded after the war. I knew one school mate who salvaged a Vickers Machine Gun, no doubt the breech block was destroyed but what a treasure for a 14 year old?
Why was I taking Denise to this 'garden of earthly delight'? Because I had every intention of fucking her! The site had a maze of dead end tracks among the mountains of discard and the only other people in the area would have been fellow parkers. I backed the little white Morris Minor 1000 into a suitable canyon. In the clear moonlit sky I commenced my carnal approach with stealth.
