Short Story 1 - There is always some one who will, Laddie - William (Bouncy Bill) Barker (1890-1963)

BOUNCY BILL BARKER

“THERE IS ALWAYS SOME ONE WHO WILL, LADDIE”

 (Short Story on William "Bill" Barker written by Warren Maloney oin July 2015)

William (Bill) Barker[1] died on the job! Well, it isn’t actually known whether he had just finished the job or was in the process. Either detail could be believed by his family. They understood that Bill had dedicated a significant portion of his life to the pursuit of women, their seduction and, in due course, the outcomes envisaged.

 Born in 1890 in a long-gone South Melbourne slum, William Barker was the eldest of a second family. His father[2], Mr. William Barker, had in 1888 moved down the hallway from being the paying lodger to comforting the recently widowed, Florence Maloney[3]; and, no doubt as a consequence of his comfort and his reliable income, the relationship endured.

 For some reason, William and Flo never married, yet she quickly took on the Barker surname to help their three children. Nevertheless, although the relationship lasted less than 10 years before his early death, William senior was always known and referred to in the family as “Mr. Barker”.

 So in 1898, young Billy, at 8 years of age and being the eldest of the Barker lot and now with no father, just tackled life in his own way. He laid down his own priorities.

  In addition, he was always a “flyweight” in build. This meant that he had to fight above his weight at school and on the slum streets of inner Melbourne. His best defence was to attack first, gaining a reputation of being “bouncy”.  Billy wanted to see the competition whether it was there or not. Little did those teenagers realise that, for Bouncy, the street bouts were early practice for later encounters with angry boyfriends and husbands.

 Bill Barker (Uncle Bill) was not one for Change. He was wont to say –

 “No need to change, Laddie? Then don’t change!”

  He  lived for all of his 73 years with his family – 57 of those years in the rented two-storey terrace at 238 Lygon Street Carlton - with his Mum, Flo, his siblings, half-siblings, their kids, and with the various paying lodgers.

238 Lygon St Carlton is the 4th terrace
from the left

Billy, from the age of 16 years, took command of the second bedroom on the right, and, apart from the times the room was wanted for births or deaths (5 of the former and 2 of the latter), it was his. The paying lodger had the front room. The other family members, as they came and went, spread throughout the remaining four bedrooms and along the front overhanging verandah.

Shortly before his eighteenth birthday, Billy settled into a printing apprenticeship with the major newspaper group, the Herald & Weekly Times, remaining with them until retirement 47 years later – “No need to change.”

 Bouncy Bill structured his week well before we realised that “structure” was needed or desirable. He developed a set routine. Work took up five and a half days, Monday to Saturday, where he was totally consumed with the movement of lead letters in endless off-set printing trays at a pace needed for the daily newspaper editions.

 Tuesday and Thursday evenings he spent with his “tabbies”[4]. Friday evenings were for watching the professional fighters, the “pugs”, at Festival Hall – as much for learning as for entertainment.

 Saturday arvos involved listening to the races and having a few bets with Old Sol, the Lygon Street barber/SP bookie[5], whilst absorbed in his only reading matter –The Sporting Globe.

  Sundays, after the 9am Mass at St George’s Catholic Church, were spent tending to and racing his beloved back-yard pigeons. It was indeed a structured and simple life.

 Uncle Bill did utilise the energy, enthusiasm and naiveté of the younger family males. They would assist with the racing pigeons, or running bets to Old Sol, or fitness boxing in the backyard.

 The most eager, dutiful, talented and accepting of the nephews was my Dad, Ray[6]. A couple of times per week, Ray and Bill would jog the local streets and then return to don the gloves for sessions of attack and defence.

 Ray, by nature, was reluctantly aggressive and hence was an ideal sparring partner for Bouncy, who could try out his Festival Hall learning of feints and hooks. Ray did learn through error to survive the onslaughts.

 “Less trouble Laddie” he would tell Ray “if you can obviously defend yourself against the husband. Everyone is happy then. Even the tabbies smile.”

 Back to those structured weeks now. Uncle Bill’s “tabby” Tuesday evenings were not inspiring in romance or expense. He would arrange to meet that week’s “Lady Friend” under the clocks at Flinders Street Railway Station. Then it was a hand-holding tram ride down St Kilda Road, alighting at the St Kilda Football Ground, a climb up the steps of the wooden grandstand and then the Gladstone bag was opened.

 Bill’s Gladstone bag was as important in the seduction as the magician’s cape and wand are to a gasping theatre audience. The bag, so much a part of Bill, showed his preparation and attention to the task at hand.

On those Tuesday evenings at the top of the grandstand, from the depths of his brown bag, Bill would produce a tartan rug (for comfort), a prepared plate of biscuits and cheddar cheese (for nourishment), and a bottle of cream sherry with 2 glasses (for encouragement). Bill would then pour a sizeable sherry for Her and a smaller one for Him. Alcohol was not his vice. Nature, conversation, fumbling took their course after that before the bag was re-packed and the returning descent and journey commenced.

 The evening of seduction does not seem appealing by modern expectations but the grandstand and its steps were climbed most Tuesday nights by various lady friends having a break from the monotony of children and hubbies. What excuses they gave at home before or upon their return are no doubt stories in themselves!

 Thursday evenings ran very differently and always had a level of danger. Thursdays were usually paydays and the “man of the house” consistently saw his reward for the working week to be a lengthy pub stay before bringing the wages home. On the other hand, Bill Barker felt that the good woman at home may need some company and he did (by prior arrangement) offer that. Of course, Bill’s knowledge of hubby’s habits and timing was most important.

 “If you get it right, Laddie, there can sometimes be two main events.”

On those Thursday visits, there was no magic Gladstone bag. But to ensure the welcome mat was in place, he often provided a couple of brown paper bags of Hillier’s chocolates[7] – one for the kids and one for the tabby.

 However, the timing did not always go to plan and then some “sorting out” needed to be done with an early or suspicious hubby before order was restored. Fortunately, Bill could rely on his boxing training and the likelihood that the bloke may have had a couple or more drinks before the confrontation.

Practice and preparation were Bill’s good friends. No-one in the Barker/Maloney family can remember an unhappy Lady Friend. By focusing on married women, he also lessened the likelihood of raising expectations of “white picket fences and red roses”. For them, he was a more than pleasant diversion, but a diversion nonetheless.

 And so we now come to the big night of the week – Saturday.

 

You will recall the morning at work, the afternoon betting with Old Sol, and maybe fitting in a little training with young Ray. But there was also the preparation for Saturday night – the Gladstone bag to be packed, the one suit brushed, the dancing shoes to be polished, the visit to the Exhibition gardens and the long bath.

 “Preparation, Laddie, preparation.”

 From the 1930s to the 1950s, the big Saturday night dance was at the Melbourne Exhibition building – big bands, good singers, packed with suits and frocks. Until well after midnight, the music covered all needs from jazz to swing to evening three-steps; and it was in the progressives from the barn dance to the waltzes that one had “a chance to meet”.

 The Exhibition Dance was also approved as it was respectable, up-market for the inner suburbs and no alcohol was served; and there you were more than likely to find someone who had the steps, understood rhythm and wanted to dance.

 Bill was a very good dancer. His flyweight build meant he could tackle the energies required; and his mum and three sisters delighted in teaching and practising at home with such an enthusiastic family member.

 “Why the Exhibition Dance, Uncle Bill?”

 “Well, it’s a numbers game, Laddie. So many go that sooner or later you will find someone who will!”

 It was as simple as that. Bill, dressed in his well-worn but clean suit, with his polished shoes and with a small bag of chocolates in his coat pocket, wasted no time at the dance. Not for him the peacock prance around the outer walls checking out the talent. No, straight inside the door and ask the first Lady on your left to dance. It didn’t matter what the music was – he had practised to be “pretty good”; and he kept the impetus up so that sometime during the first dance, he would reach into his coat pocket and offer a Hillier chocky to his dancing partner.

If that was accepted, during the next number he would ask if she wanted to walk outside for a “spot of fresh air”. If she declined, he would quickly move to the next Lady and begin the same routine.

 “It’s a numbers game, Laddie.”

 Inevitably, at some stage, this good dancer, clean, fresh and very focused on his dancing partner, would get a Yes and together they would take pass outs at the door and stroll into the beautiful Exhibition Gardens. There magically, from the branches of a large, overhanging, thickly foliaged tree, Bill would pluck down a Gladstone bag, produce the tartan rug, some cheese biscuits and a very naughty but nice cream sherry bottle. Mostly the evening took its pace for Bill and the Tabby to go on to enjoy a companionable time together.

 Sometimes of course the spirit was not willing. At which point, the bag would be re-packed, placed back on the branch and they would re-enter the dance, Bill moving off to find another good dancer. He sought no promises and he gave none, although many Saturday nighters later admitted they were not “actually single” and could get away on a Tuesday night for a couple of hours.

 And so Uncle Bill, oblivious of ageing, lived out his life, dedicated to his pursuits and handling successes and failures as part of a lifelong learning.

 When he died, he had no great stashes of money, no long list of assets, no albums of family photos to bequeath. He just left the Gladstone bag to my Dad who passed it onto me.

 P.S. Did Uncle Bill ever marry? Well, yes he was married for four years (1927 to 1931) to Elspeth Neta Drummond but that is another story.

 

Bouncy Bill Barker - 1951

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[1] William (Bill) Barker (1890 – 1963) was a half grand uncle of Warren Maloney. The blended generations of the family always referred to him as “Uncle Bill”.

[2] Also William Barker (1858 – 1898)

[3] Florence Amelia Chaplin (1856 – 1936) aka Florence Amelia Maloney and Florence Amelia Barker was a great grandma of Warren Maloney

[4] Tabby or Tabbies was his term for his “Lady friends”. It was probably a colloquial variation on Tabby Cat – a term now seen as derogatory, but for Bill it was endearing and affectionate.

[5] SP bookies were everywhere in suburban Melbourne up until 1960s. The SP meant “Starting Price”, the dividend you received on a winning horse. SP bookmaking, whilst illegal, was an extra income for many shopkeepers – the men’s barber being the most common.

[6] Raymond Warren Maloney (1913 – 2001)

[7] Hillier’s Chocolates were considered up-market for their quality, difficult to obtain (just from the 1 shop in Bourke Street) and a sign of being spoilt. Bill’s sister, Mary Barker, just happened to work there.