JOURNAL OF A COFFIN DODGER CHAPTER A

CHAPTER A

On a crisp November night, when this century was not yet five years old, fiendish cackles spat from a fire raging through a building.

I harkened to those uncaring chortles.

I whistled and sang as I watched forbidding flames consume the building.

But that was not the only fire in a building owned by a man. One of several men I got to know who had slithered their way out of legal responsibility for immoral activities.

Though their cleverness had removed them from the clutches of the law, that cleverness did not protect a particular prized possession.

Their value enriched buildings that fed the hunger of vengeful flames.

Fiery punishments at different times and places in the decades before that November blaze.

Awesome retributions I took part in. Just deserts for those arseholes who had dodged lawful and social penalties for the crimes they had committed.

In the 21st century, however, I wonder about the statute of limitations. Does it still apply to my participation?

I pray those statutes have now lapsed in the years since those fires.

Because an untroubled night's rest beckons. That's if law enforcement officers don't come knocking on the door of my house to question me about those fires.

But that's only one 'if' that disturbs my rest.

The other went beyond a box of matches and a fire in a building.

An incident linked to one of those blazes.

A fiery demon in the 1970s that raged through an abandoned building. An inferno that I ignited in a derelict asylum ward. A blaze where death reaped the soul of a man as the fire raged through that dilapidated structure.

A stunt that perhaps is a different kettle of fish for which no statute of limitations applies.

Law enforcement officers, therefore, may find that inferno interesting. A cold case because of the decades that have elapsed since the murder.

However, in the second decade of this century, what do I do if law enforcement officers question me about that murder? I have no clear plan to cover that possibility.

Therefore, now when I have more years behind me than in front of me, I am jumping at shadows.

Because my overexcited imagination generates scenarios in which law enforcement officers visit me at my house. Conceptualisations littered with nerve-wracking 'what ifs....'

But did I expect those jangled nerves to torture my sleep into a twitching, groaning companion? Nah! I never gave it a thought until I retired.

Therefore, now unburdened by the distractions of work, my mind receives the undimmed light of conscience.

A conscience that has wormed its way into my resolve to participate in that murder. So, what on earth were my reasons for taking part?

Well, that's why, some fifty years after that murder in the 1970s, I am writing this Journal.

As a coffin dodger, I feel it's time.

The occasion when my time-wasted body looks back over the decades of my life. Time, as I undertake that scrutiny, to set out in my Journal, the many occasions when relationships with men exploded into bouts of ugliness and horror.

Not only though to describe those immoral incidents.

But also to narrate the part I played in holding the perpetrators of those events to account. Why I whistled and sang as I watched their buildings burn.

Fire, though, was not the only means by which I exacted payment for heinous events which men initiated.

Like an event where the sole use of my wits came into play. A use of my intelligence to sabotage an act of bastardry.

An immoral act that started with a grim discussion during a 1960s June weekend. A morning conversation as grey clouds rolled across a sombre sky. A chat laced with wickedness as an icy wind rattled a sandstone building's roofing tiles.

Inside a room within that chilly building, a man's voice spoke a question.

'So, Chris, what's with the new chum, Charles?'

Adrian Bryce, with his back turned towards me, asked as he leant back against a table in the centre of Ward 29's Staff Room.

Beside Adrian, and facing the same way, stood Chris Carter, who blew cigarette smoke towards the dusty cobwebs sweeping between the room's crumbling ceiling cornices.

On the other side of the table from the men, I stood beside a cupboard at the beginning of a morning tea break.

Chris ashed his smoke and replied, 'A few nurses called 'Charles' have worked here over the last few months. Which one are you referring to?'

I opened the cupboard's ill-fitting, peeling blue doors as Adrian nodded and said.

'I know there have been a few new chums joining us happy little Vegemite’s at the asylum over the last six months.'

'But it's that Pommy bastard, Charles Francis, the charge nurse of Ward 2, once a TB ward but now the new Male Inebriates Ward, that I'm asking about.'

I reached into the cupboard and took out a yellow ceramic mug and closed the doors as Chris muttered, 'Right! I'm with you.'

I placed the mug, amidst pitted black cigarette burns, on a green bench. A wide length of worn timber that ran on top of the cupboard on the other side of the room from where the men were standing.

Adrian turned to one side and gave a hacking cough as I reached towards a battered lidless tin standing on the bench near a faded blue wall.

As I picked up the spoon standing in that rusty tin and spooned coffee from the tin into my mug, Chris looked around the room.

He gave me a fierce, piercing stare as I returned the spoon to the tin and picked up the mug.

As the coughing fit subsided, Chris turned back towards Adrian.

'Why? Have you heard something about him?' Chris said sotto voce.

A pause followed Chris's question as I walked along a cracked brown lino floor towards a small white urn.

A metal container mounted on the blue-wall and positioned above and to one side of a butt-littered sink set into the bench.

I reached the urn as Chris blew a smoke ring towards the ceiling.

He wore the blue tie, grey trousers, and black lace-up shoes of a charge nurse.

However, rather than the standard issue grey shirt, he wore a white one, which signalled he undertook some function within the Asylum Administration Office.

I saw him many times during the years I worked at the asylum, as he strolled around the grounds, visiting anyone of the fifty or so buildings scattered across the two-hundred acres of that Sydney institution.

And on this June weekend morning, he had strolled into Ward 29 to watch a footy match.

He stubbed out his smoke on the table as I reached the urn.

I put the yellow mug under the tap at the base of the urn as Adrian lit a cigarette and said,

'Well! What I have heard is that the Pommy bastard, Charles, finds pleasure in the arms of limp-wristed young men rather than a dalliance with pretty girls.'

Chris nodded and stubbed out his smoke on the table.

He dropped the cigarette butt into a rusty jam tin standing on the table as a reflective silence settled into the room.

Adrian blew a stream of smoke towards the ceiling as I pulled the lever on top of the tap and a cascade of hot water filled the mug.

I released the lever, and the aroma of coffee wafted around my face as Chris broke the silence.

'Yer, I've heard similar observations,' Chris remarked, 'about young Charlie's preference for the vices that poison the very essence of manhood. Unnatural practices that must be crushed.'

He paused and then said, 'But have you also heard that our Pommy friend fled New Zealand before a coroner started asking questions?'

Chris lit a cigarette as I took the mug to the far end of the bench near a tall stainless-steel fridge.

Adrian finished his smoke and ground the butt onto a round, rusty metal lid lying on the table and replied, 'That’s news to me. '

'Well,' Chris said, 'the rumour goes that Charley boy, as charge nurse of a male ward in an asylum over there, lost it.'

I placed the mug on the bench alongside the refrigerator, opened the fridge door and reached between cans of beer to retrieve an open carton of milk.

Adrian dropped the scrunched-up butt into the jam tin as I sniffed the carton of milk.

Chris continued, 'We all know inmates who pester us with their nagging about going to top themselves, right?'

The carton smelled fresh, so I poured milk into my coffee and returned the carton to the fridge.

'Sure do,' Adrian replied.

Closing the fridge door, I picked up my mug.

I walked away from the men to a far corner of the room.

'Anyhow,' Chris continued, 'the rumour is Charles got fed up with one inmate's nagging along those lines. He screamed at the bloke to 'fucking go and do it, will ya, for Christ's sake! Or just shut the fuck up!'

'And the bloke did it?'

Chris nodded.

I entered a corner with my coffee, as Adrian said.

'And Charles didn't cover it up?'

'Not a chance,' Chris replied, 'too many witnesses to Charley's little tanty.'

'What a bloody fool.'

Adrian shook his head before continuing.

'So, what? Charley then buggers off across the ditch before a coroner pokes his nose into asylum business?'

'And winds up here?' Chris finished Adrian's query as I stood in the corner and gazed at the cobwebs laced across the window at the far end of the room.

'Yep, 'fraid so. A pervert has joined our ranks,' Chris snarled.

'Any truth to the rumour?' Adrian said as I drank my coffee and stared through the window at a bleak, grey winter's day.

'Kerry's making a few phone calls to check it out,' Chris replied as he stubbed out his smoke on the tin lid and dropped the butt onto the floor.

'And if there is, we'll have young Charles by the short and curlies if he doesn't behave himself with young men,' Chris concluded.

Adrian chortled.

'Smart thinking. New Zealanders might want to know where young Charley's fetched up, eh?'

Chris nodded.

There was silence between them while I watched a brown cockroach move out from behind the fridge. It scurried along the faded blue wall and disappeared behind the bench.

I shifted my gaze towards an insect wriggling in a dusty window web as Adrian lowered his voice.

'Speaking of friends of Dorothy,' he said, 'you know we have a fairy rostered to this ward, right?'

Chris lowered his voice as he replied.

'Yes, young Wayne. I had a look at the asylum ward rosters before I left the Admin. Office this morning. He's working a day shift?'

Adrian nodded as I watched a brown spider move across the web towards the squirming insect.

Chris lowered his voice and asked, 'And plans...?'

The insect ceased moving as the spider stopped beside it.

'Are in place.' Adrian replied. 'Myself as well as the other two, Ken and Clive, will be in the Recreation Room.'

'Therefore, if the little surprise I have planned for young Wayne as he keeps an eye on the psychos in the Day Room goes as planned, we won’t be…'

The sudden cessation of the dialogue caught my attention. I stopped watching the drama in the spiderweb.

A bloke carrying a carton of beer under his arm and wearing the standard grey clobber and blue tie of a Male Charge Nurse, strode into the room.

'Sorry to be late, gents,' he said as he plonked the carton on the table near another carton of grog.

'No sweat,' Chris responded. 'Relax; the main match hasn't begun.'

Adrian asked, 'You've been busy, Ray?'

'Well, that explains the late delivery of the necessities of life,' Ray replied.

'Much appreciated, no matter how late,' Chris commented.

'You see, had a rush job this morning,' Ray continued.

'I had the grey glad rags on, ready for work and the footy. I opened the front door, ready to head for the car. But wouldn’t you know it? The phone rang.'

'Wife took the call.'

'She yelled that a real estate bloke wanted to talk to me. There's a prompt payment with the real estate jobs, so I spoke to the bloke.'

I drained my mug of coffee as Ray slid his carton across the table towards the fridge.

'The man mentioned that, though he had made several phone calls, he had found it difficult to find a plumber willing to work on the weekend.'

Chris remarked, 'What a stupid comment.'

Ray chuckled.

'That's right! Laid himself wide open. I heard my internal cash register ringing multiple times as he said it. So, I jumped at the chance.'

Ray pulled a cigarette pack out of his trouser pocket and offered it around.

After Chris and Adrian had taken a smoke, and the three men had lit their ciggies, Ray continued.

'Anyway, a tenant's bathroom pipe had burst. So, wearing a boiler suit over my uniform, I went to the tenant's flat.'

'A gorgeous honey let me in and showed me where the bathroom was. If it hadn't been for the footy, I might have delayed my departure after finishing the job.'

Adrian gave Chris a cynical look.

'Anyway. With the job finished, I went around to the pub. I removed my boiler suit in the pub's toilets, collected the necessities from the bottle shop, and drove here in the work truck.'

'I'm looking forward to the game. Should be a good one. It's great to watch the telecast in the Recreation Room. No interruptions from the wife and kids. Peace and quiet while getting on with the serious business of sinking a few ales while watching the match.'

'That's for bloody certain,' Adrian said.

'It's the best way to spend a weekend shift,' Chris added.

They puffed on their smokes as Ray put his cigarette on the edge of the table.

He went to the fridge, opened the door, and started unpacking his carton of grog.

As he loaded loaded the cans into the fridge, he asked,

'Who’s the broad?'

He jerked his head in my direction.

He finished unpacking, closed the fridge door, and picked up his cigarette.

'The broad?'

Adrian replied without turning around.

'Oh! That's right. I saw her come in. I thought she had left. She's still here?'

'She's over in the corner,' Ray said as he walked towards Chris and Adrian.

'A broad who knows her place and when to keep quiet,' Adrian said as Chris chuckled.

'That's a plus.'

'Oh! Yer! Right! She's a ring-in registered nurse on an over-time,' Adrian continued.

'Here to work, with the young gay bloke in the Day Room to keep the natives quiet while we enjoy the game uninterrupted.'

His voice had an edge to it as he concluded.

Ray puffed on his cigarette as he joined Chris and Adrian.

'I don't think I've met that young bloke. Is he new?' Ray asked.

'Trainee nurse, been here, what, eight or nine months?' Adrian replied as he looked at Chris, who nodded.

Ray finished his cigarette, extinguishing it on the lid.

As he dropped the butt into the jam tin, he said,

'Right, then! I'm off to the Rec. Room. Any of the other blokes arrived?'

Adrian said, 'A couple of others, including Mike and Allan.'

'No sign of Bill?'

'Weekend detention at Long Bay,' Chris replied.

'I thought detention had finished?' Ray asked.

'Another stint,' Chris said. 'Friday night pub brawl. Up before the magistrate on Monday morning.'

Ray said, 'Well! Why am I not surprised? Anyway, I'll see you in the Rec. Room.'

Ray strode out of the room as Adrian finished his smoke.

Chris stubbed out his smoke on the table.

He dropped the butt into the tin as the sound of Ray's footsteps disappeared down the corridor towards Ward 29's Staff Recreation Room.

Raindrops sploshed onto the window as Chris, in a quiet voice, said, 'I caught your drift about Ray's "busyness."

'A necessary dig. Complaints are filtering through to the Admin. Office about Ray's frequent late showing up for work.'

Adrian dropped his durry onto the floor and crushed it under his shoe as he replied.

'Yer, the blokes are getting cranky about it.'

'Several times on their way to work, they've clocked Ray's green Chrysler outside one of the brothels up the road, when Ray's rostered on for a morning shift.'

'Now, I've got nothing against visiting a brothel,' Adrian continued.

'But to do it as often as Ray does on his way to work means he's letting blokes down. He's unavailable during the morning routines.'

'It's like they're working with one hand tied behind their backs, and it's pissing them off.'

'Agreed,' Chris replied. 'Complaints are also trickling in from junior staff.'

He added, 'Thankfully, the do-gooders haven't interfered.... yet … You think you could, ah, give us a hand to keep it that way?'

'Love too,' Adrian said. 'Do-gooders only complicate matters.

'Thanks.' Chris replied. 'I knew I could count on you.'

'Anyway, it's time for footy. Let's chat after the game.'

Chris moved away from the table towards the fridge and asked, 'Care for a cold one?'

'Sounds good,' Adrian said.

Chris reached the fridge and turned his head toward me.

His face twisted into a feral ugliness as he gave me a menacing look and raised a clenched fist.

He then turned back towards the fridge and opened it.

As a shiver went down my spine, he reached inside the fridge.

With his back towards me, he closed the fridge and, with a can of beer in each hand, walked back towards Adrian.

Chris then handed a can to Adrian, and the two men left the room.

I stood rooted to my spot in the corner, with tears welling in my eyes.

I did not know whether to burst into tears or to scream or to spew my guts out. Or even smash my cup against a wall as I struggled to control my feelings and get my mind around what I had just heard.

After I had taken several slow, deep breaths, I whispered, 'Get a grip on yourself, young lady,' as I took a hanky out from my uniform pocket.

I dried my eyes, blew my nose and muttered, 'Fuck them and fuck this for a joke!' as I rammed the hanky back into a uniform pocket.

'I'll fix that bastard Adrian's little red wagon. I'll boot that slimy cart to kingdom come by the time I'm through.'

His attitude towards Wayne and me was par for the course at the asylum. But leaving me and Wayne to look after the male inmates while he and his mates skived off to watch a footy match in the Rec. Room was something else. It pissed me off no end.

If I were to spike whatever the intended act of bastardry was that Adrian plotted to unleash on Wayne, I had to settle my state of confusion. I needed to clear my head.

'Time to find a place to sit and get writing,' I muttered.

However, I avoided the dilapidated grey vinyl chairs scattered around the red cedar table.

A glossy red wooden table sullied by the girly magazines strewn across its surface.

I grimaced at the salacious fantasies those publications aimed to conjure up. Degrading, dangerous delusions, which, along with the acrid pong from the jam tin, I wanted to keep at a distance.

After I put the mug in the sink, I glanced at the newspapers also scattered across the table. Newspapers whose headlines were littered with human rights issues like anti-war sit-ins and freedom marches.

I walked past the table and left the room.

I walked along a pale green, grimy corridor to the charge nurse, Adrian's office.

An office reeking of stale cigarette smoke, whiffs of testosterone and sweat.

I entered the office and scanned the room.

I looked across a brown, scungy wooden desk towards Adrian’s lop-sided, squeaky chair.

A black vinyl office chair pushed back against a peeling white window ledge, a short distance from the desk.

A ledge furrowed with pungent black cigarette burns.

On one side of the desk stood a lidless, battered metal garbage bin.

On the other side of the desk, propped up against a peeling green wall, stood two grey rusty metal filing cabinets with their drawers sagging open.

A stench of sour milk and mouldy bread wafted from the bin. A bin that overflowed with crushed beer cans, cigarette butts, newspapers, pie crusts and rotting fruit.

I curled my lip at the foul smell. I therefore grabbed the bin's cold metal handle and dragged the bin to a far corner of the room.

After I looked again at Adrian’s chair, I decided not to sit in it as it looked uncomfortable.

I therefore picked up a straight-backed orange vinyl chair from the far side of the room. I placed it where the bin had once stood.

After sitting down, I took out a notebook and pen from my uniform pocket.

I placed my notebook on the desk and began writing.

As I wrote, it became clear there was something odd about the way tasks were performed following the allocation of duties.

One task given to me by Adrian when I came on duty for the shift was to help Ken with the morning medication round. That occurred a few hours before I overheard the conversation between Chris and Adrian.

Another was to work with Wayne in the locked Day Room. To 'keep the natives quiet' while the three registered nurses, Adrian, Ken, and Clive, rostered for duty on that nippy June morning, joined the asylum's other alpha males in the Rec. Room.

My thoughts focused on an incident that occurred during the first of those tasks.

As Ken handed an inmate his pills from a pillbox, I checked the inmate's name off on a list as Ken called out the bloke's names.

However, at the end of the round, one inmate’s name had not been crossed off the list.

I double-checked the list, then told Ken, 'Garth hasn't picked up his pills.'

'Oh! Sorry!' Ken replied. 'I gave him his pills before the others as soon as breakfast was finished because he was getting toey. Sign him off the list as I forgot to do it, sorry. Again!'

I sat back from the scungy brown desk as I stopped writing.

I turned towards the office window and watched a black spider in a corner of the window bind an insect into a web.

As I stopped watching the spider and resumed looking at my notebook, my thinking about that discussion with Ken cleared.

As I ran through what I had written, I realised what Ken had said was dodgy.

Puzzled, I thought, 'Why did Ken lie?'

'It's time for a cuppa while I chew this one over,' I muttered as I stopped writing and put my notebook and pen back into my uniform pocket.

I stood up and walked out of the office.

However, I had only taken a few steps out of the office when a terrifying thought slammed into my mind. A thought that overwhelmed the need for a cuppa.

I therefore raced to the Day Room.

When I reached the Day Room, I unlocked the door, flung it open and stared at what I had imagined becoming real.

Wayne stood in the centre of the room with his back towards me.

Garth, with clenched fists, paced closer and closer to Wayne.

I stood in the doorway and yelled, 'Wayne! Run!'

Garth's eyes blazed with a psychotic fury as Wayne spun around.

I stepped back from the doorway as Wayne sped towards the open door.

Garth screamed in rage as he picked up a chair.

He hurled the chair as Wayne raced out of the room.

I slammed the door shut as the chair crashed into it.

I felt the door vibrate as I locked it.

My heart was fit to burst as its beats raced like the demented hands of a manic clock.

My arms shook and my breath came in short, rapid gasps as I leant against the wall on one side of the doorway.

Wayne slumped down onto the floor on the other side of the doorway and buried his head in his hands.

Garth yelled through the locked door, 'Get back here, you fucking cowardly poofter!'

He punched the door's small upper window.

I whispered to Wayne, 'Thank heavens that glass is reinforced with chicken wire.'

Wayne lifted his head and nodded.

'Are you okay to walk?' I asked.

'My legs are wobbling like jelly, but if I walk close to a wall, I'll be right,' he replied.

He stood up as Garth glared through the glass and yelled, 'I hears you, you fucking fairy.'

'Come on then,' I said, 'let's go to Adrian's office. The Staff Room will be busy with blokes getting grog from the fridge.'

We made slow, steady progress to the office.

After we entered it, Wayne slumped down on the orange vinyl chair at the side of the desk.

I dragged a lime-green vinyl chair across the threadbare beige carpet, away from where the chair rested against a light blue painted wall. I placed the chair at the front of the desk.

I sat on it and caught my breath.

After a couple of minutes I said, 'Like a cuppa?'

Wayne nodded.

'Milk and sugar?

'Yes, please. Milk and two.'

I stood and went to the Staff Room.

Undisturbed by male nurses entering the room, I made cups of tea for Wayne and me, then returned to the office.

We sat on our chairs and sipped our tea until Wayne asked, "How did you know what was happening in the Day Room?"'

I said, 'I finally worked out that Adrian, Ken, and Clive had wound Garth up. They twigged you are gay...'

'Well! I make no secret of that.' Wayne cut in. 'Sorry for interrupting. But I am proud of who I am.'

'And it's great you are,' I replied.

'Anyway. You were saying?' Wayne said.

'Going by what Garth said as you raced out of the room, those male nurses whispered in Garth's ear...'

'That I am a shit-packer, a fairy, an arse bandit, etc.,' Wayne said. 'The choice things and several more Garth yelled at me before you opened the door and got me out.'

Wayne took a deep breath.

'I am so glad you did.'

'I have never been so scared since school bullies beat me up at school.'

We both jumped as the black Bakelite phone on the desk rang.

As it rang out, I drained my cup of tea and placed the cup on the desk as Wayne said,

'What you say makes sense.'

'As I stood in the Airing Court after breakfast, I noticed Garth seated on a bench.'

'Adrian sat on one side of him. Clive was on the other.'

'I noticed they took turns leaning in towards Garth. I guess that's when they whispered things to him.'

The phone rang again.

And again, we let it ring out.

‘But what prompted you to visit the Day Room?'

I watched a cockroach crawl into the metal garbage bin as I took a deep breath and sat on my hands to stop them from shaking.

With a catch in my voice, I said, 'Ken omitted to give Garth his morning medication. I suspect Ken did that following an order from Adrian.'

'Oh! I feel sick! I feel so bloody sick!'

Tears welled in Wayne's eyes.

He whispered.

'That is so evil.'

'What? They deliberately used a patient to do a bit of poofter bashing?'

‘I’d say so,’ I replied.

'Oh! My God! Oh! My God! Poor Garth! Poor bloody Garth!'

Silence filled the room while Wayne finished his tea and then toyed with the empty cup.

He broke the silence by saying,

'You figured it out...?'

'Well, I only put the pieces together in the last ten minutes or so. You see, I was on medication duties with Ken after breakfast.'

'Now, according to the asylum grapevine, Garth gets angry so quickly there is talk of him having a lobotomy.'

Wayne grimaced and said, 'I have heard of that procedure.’

'Anyway, according to that grapevine, Garth is so volatile that all it takes is for him to miss one dose of medication ... Well, you've seen the results.'

'Now, when Garth missed taking his pills this morning, I asked Ken about it. Ken replied he had given them to Garth earlier because Garth had been 'toey.' That didn't jell.'

'How come?'

'You were in the Airing Court during breakfast, while Ken remained in the clinic.'

'Adrian, Clive and I were in the Dining Room.'

'The patients finished their breakfasts and left the room to line up outside the clinic for their pills. Except for three men. Garth was one of those men.'

'And a member of the Domestic Staff walked into the Dining Room, flicked them with a tea towel and snarled, "Get out! Get out!" Wayne responded.

I nodded and said, 'Adrian helped the woman by yelling, "Garth! Outside! The lady needs to clean the room."

'Unprotesting and without anger, Garth left the Dining Room and his unfinished breakfast.'

Wayne shook his head.

'I've only worked a few shifts here, so I'm new to the place. No one in the training school mentioned flicking patients with a tea towel. When I've seen it, what do I...'

Wayne shrugged his shoulders.

'So, you knew...' Wayne continued.

'That what Ken said was bullshit,' I replied.

Silence fell as Wayne set his cup down on the desk.

He leaned back in his chair.

'The men in the Day Room will be just as scared as I was,' he whispered.

He looked at me and said, 'So, what’s next?'

'You leave. I'll talk to Adrian, ' I replied.

'What go?'

I nodded as Wayne stared at the window and took a deep breath.

'Adrian will make another attempt, won't he?'

'I'd guarantee it.'

'This abhorrent behaviour is not new for him, is it?'

I nodded and replied.

'That’s right. Though this is my first shift here, according to the asylum grapevine, Adrian and his male mates have a reputation for using Garth in this way.'

Wayne reached across the desk to a box of tissues.

He took one and blew his nose as I watched a mouse scurry out of the scabby garbage bin and down onto the floor before disappearing out through the doorway.

'I've had friends beaten up at so-called gay beats ... but this...' Wayne shook his head.

He scrunched the tissue in his hand and said,

'And what about those blokes in the Day Room?'

I replied.

'You and I cannot settle Garth by ourselves. Until Garth does that ...'

Wayne muttered, 'Bloody hell! Poor bastards! But you have a point.'

'So, you will talk to Adrian by yourself?'

I nodded.

'Gawd! That's brave. Dealing with blokes who have been drinking is one thing. But dealing with blokes who have been drinking and watching footy ...'

Wayne lowered his voice.

'My boyfriend, Steve, works as a nurse in an Accident and Emergency Department.'

'He has cared for women brought in by ambulance after their husband's footy team lost a match. What happened to those women left Steve in tears.'

'Yes,' I replied, 'I have heard similar stories in the women's groups I go to.'

I paused and said in a quiet voice, 'it scares me witless to think about approaching Adrian. But I will take a few minutes to think about ways to keep myself safe before I do.'

I took a deep breath.

'I will ...' Wayne said.

'No!' I butted in. 'But thank you. It’s not safe for you to be here.’

He paused before whispering, 'OK! I'll go.'

'Give us a ring, sometime.'

'I'd like to know how it goes. And maybe we can catch up. I'm in the phone book under 'Bailey' out at Coogee.'

'I'll do that,' I replied.

'But what do I do with the keys and the uniform?'

'Don't worry about it,' I replied. 'This asylum's been around for a hundred years. I am sure there are plenty of both somewhere in the place.'

Wayne sighed and shook his head.

I smiled and said,

'Now the next step,' I said, 'is to walk out of this ward and get into your beautiful Burnt Orange Volkswagen Kombi … '

'Parked beside your gorgeous British Racing Green Volkswagen 1300 Deluxe,' Wayne returned my smile.

'Yes, we pulled up together in the car park this morning,' I laughed.

'That's right.' He replied as he stood up.

'And thank you so much for all that you have done. Fingers crossed that you'll be OK when you talk to Adrian.'

'Thank you,' I replied.

'Bye for now,' Wayne said as he turned and left the office.

After everything that had happened, I struggled to keep my grip on reality and not let my sanity slip away.

But I steadied myself with congratulations for booting Adrian's little red wagon to buggery.

As well, I focused on how to help the thirty-five men in the locked Day Room.

To do that, however, I needed to speak with Adrian and his goons.

And so my Journal begins.

With the above incident that occured about fifty years back from my narrating of it. And as that incident concludes another unfolds when I interrupt the footy match in the Staff Recreation Room of Ward 29.

But before the Journal narrates the brutality of that event, there's the telling of a fire and a murder.

An escapade recounted after the next chapter, which continues to unpack the reasons I can't stand men.

Reflections triggered by an incident one morning a couple of weeks back while I stayed with friends in the north of England. Thoughts that start with a visit to a tyre workshop as my car needed new tyres.

Therefore, I drove to a tyre workshop a few miles away from my friend's house.

When I arrived at the workshop, I pulled into the car park beside the premises and hopped out of my car, holding a backpack in my hand.

After I closed the driver's door and locked the vehicle, I strode to the entrance of the shop.