inside with Georgie’s large script.
A F ORGIVING S OUL
I n January of ’79, N. and B. Wallis brought in the wreckers to get rid of Charlie’s veranda. It raised a minor dust storm and a lot of talk, though not on Charlie’s corner. Few could believe that the new owners had got rid of that corner veranda. Through the years a lot of information had been passed on there. The Duffys’ dogs, grown accustomed to watering the many veranda posts as they wandered by, missed it. They walked with heads and tails down, mourning the loss of those leaning posts.
Then the painters came to town. They were followed by shopfitters. Then Charlie’s twin green doors gave way to one sliding glass door, and in place of his rusting cow bell’s familiar clang, an eardrum-blasting electronic buzzer now informed the town that a customer had walked into Charlie’s.
Old men keeping an eye on the destruction of a landmark, as old men are apt to do, had that door rumble open for them as they walked by, and even the stone deaf amongst them jumped when the electronic buzzer went off.
With the newly painted west wall now taking the full brunt of February’s afternoon sun, the Wallises and their new refrigerated cabinets sweated. Two weeks after the automatic door went in, a blast of cool air started coming out each time the door beeped. Cool air dies fast on sunbaked pavements.
Their green doors stolen along with their veranda posts, the Duffys’ dogs lifted their legs to introduce themselves to the glass door, and the unfriendly bastard beeped and disappeared. One of the more elderly, his bladder weak, hopped on three legs to the doorframe, and the sneaky glass bastard attacked him from the rear. What was a dog expected to do other than fight back? Duffy dogs, who fought in packs, attacked that door, the door beeped in dismay and the barkers, aware they had it on the run, urged the fighters on, while Duffy kids, dodging around and over dogs, got in and out with what they could. It was a self-service supermarket, wasn’t it? A full-page spread in the Willama Gazette had advertised its grand opening specials.
Given time and enough phone calls, the Willama dog catcher arrived to deal with the dogs. The local constable dealt with the kids – or didn’t deal with them. His predecessors may have manhandled them, controlled them with threats of dire punishment. Back in the old days, police had been expected to keep the peace. Let them draw their batons these days and screams of police brutality rang in the ears of television viewers for days. Kids thumbed their noses at police now. They called them Pig.
Until March that glass door rumbled open for every man, woman, kid, dog and magpie in Woody Creek, then the chap who had installed the thing came back to have another go at it. Thereafter, the door didn’t open as readily. He didn’t tone down its beep, but ears accustomed to screaming mill saws five days a week became accustomed to one more noise.
New paint, new door, new freezer cabinets and glass counter wouldn’t wipe Charlie White’s name from the collective memory of the town, nor could a cash register that spat out curled slips of paper with every purchase.
‘Nick up to Charlie’s for me, love, and get me a packet of Rinso,’ the women said.
Maisy drove to Willama twice each week but never shopped there. She attended the Weight Watchers meeting on Tuesdays, had lunch with Rachael, watched Days of Our Lives , then drove back to Woody Creek for afternoon tea with Jenny. On Fridays, she had lunch with Rebecca and watched Days of Our Lives there. On the other days, she walked down to Blunt’s crossing, then down North Street to the butcher’s, the newsagent’s, then continued on to White’s Street, over Charlie’s crossing and back to South Street where she picked up a few items from the supermarket, then walked home in time for Days of Our Lives .
Or that had been her habit until the B half of the Wallis duo called her an
A F ORGIVING S OUL
I n January of ’79, N. and B. Wallis brought in the wreckers to get rid of Charlie’s veranda. It raised a minor dust storm and a lot of talk, though not on Charlie’s corner. Few could believe that the new owners had got rid of that corner veranda. Through the years a lot of information had been passed on there. The Duffys’ dogs, grown accustomed to watering the many veranda posts as they wandered by, missed it. They walked with heads and tails down, mourning the loss of those leaning posts.
Then the painters came to town. They were followed by shopfitters. Then Charlie’s twin green doors gave way to one sliding glass door, and in place of his rusting cow bell’s familiar clang, an eardrum-blasting electronic buzzer now informed the town that a customer had walked into Charlie’s.
Old men keeping an eye on the destruction of a landmark, as old men are apt to do, had that door rumble open for them as they walked by, and even the stone deaf amongst them jumped when the electronic buzzer went off.
With the newly painted west wall now taking the full brunt of February’s afternoon sun, the Wallises and their new refrigerated cabinets sweated. Two weeks after the automatic door went in, a blast of cool air started coming out each time the door beeped. Cool air dies fast on sunbaked pavements.
Their green doors stolen along with their veranda posts, the Duffys’ dogs lifted their legs to introduce themselves to the glass door, and the unfriendly bastard beeped and disappeared. One of the more elderly, his bladder weak, hopped on three legs to the doorframe, and the sneaky glass bastard attacked him from the rear. What was a dog expected to do other than fight back? Duffy dogs, who fought in packs, attacked that door, the door beeped in dismay and the barkers, aware they had it on the run, urged the fighters on, while Duffy kids, dodging around and over dogs, got in and out with what they could. It was a self-service supermarket, wasn’t it? A full-page spread in the Willama Gazette had advertised its grand opening specials.
Given time and enough phone calls, the Willama dog catcher arrived to deal with the dogs. The local constable dealt with the kids – or didn’t deal with them. His predecessors may have manhandled them, controlled them with threats of dire punishment. Back in the old days, police had been expected to keep the peace. Let them draw their batons these days and screams of police brutality rang in the ears of television viewers for days. Kids thumbed their noses at police now. They called them Pig.
Until March that glass door rumbled open for every man, woman, kid, dog and magpie in Woody Creek, then the chap who had installed the thing came back to have another go at it. Thereafter, the door didn’t open as readily. He didn’t tone down its beep, but ears accustomed to screaming mill saws five days a week became accustomed to one more noise.
New paint, new door, new freezer cabinets and glass counter wouldn’t wipe Charlie White’s name from the collective memory of the town, nor could a cash register that spat out curled slips of paper with every purchase.
‘Nick up to Charlie’s for me, love, and get me a packet of Rinso,’ the women said.
Maisy drove to Willama twice each week but never shopped there. She attended the Weight Watchers meeting on Tuesdays, had lunch with Rachael, watched Days of Our Lives , then drove back to Woody Creek for afternoon tea with Jenny. On Fridays, she had lunch with Rebecca and watched Days of Our Lives there. On the other days, she walked down to Blunt’s crossing, then down North Street to the butcher’s, the newsagent’s, then continued on to White’s Street, over Charlie’s crossing and back to South Street where she picked up a few items from the supermarket, then walked home in time for Days of Our Lives .
Or that had been her habit until the B half of the Wallis duo called her an
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