Pat Ritter. Books

[patritter]

Welcome to a new book 'The Shearer'. A story of my great grandfather Joseph Ryan during 'The Great Shearers Strike of 1891' in Australia.
'The Shearer' - Page 1:
Chapter 1
A sliver of light crept through the crack in the wall and shone directly into Joe’s left eye, startling him awake. His throat felt full of cotton wool, his right eye swollen and unable to open; urine and excrement filled his nostrils. He coughed, tried to sit from a lying position, each muscle in his body tight and sore. His mind filled with wonderment–where am I?
A shearer’s stretcher where he laid, kapok mattress, thin blankets puzzled his mind. He couldn’t open his right eye. His left eye blurry, vision of solid wooden walls; faint light illuminated enough to fill the room. Steel bars positioned a third of the way to the ceiling told him that wherever he was, there was no escape. His head throbbed; fear enveloped his mind.
He pushed up upon one elbow and saw his surroundings through his blurred left eye. Where am I? Echoed through his mind, how did I get here? The stench of vomit, urine, excrement almost made him spew. He slowly swung his legs from the stretcher to the cold wooden floor. Each muscle in his body screamed in pain. His shoes, socks and belt discarded.
He gazed around the room, not much larger than a bush dunny with a steel door and small trap door positioned two thirds of the way toward the top. This is a bloody police cell. What am I doing in a police cell? Remember Joe.
‘You awake Ryan?’ a loud voice from outside echoed. A key turned in a lock. The steel door creaked on its hinges when opened. ‘Here’s your breakfast’. Joe couldn’t make out the voice; his voice sounded Irish with authority.
A steel tray contained a steel plate with two pieces of bread covered with baked beans and a pannikin with steam rising from black tea, filled the tray placed on the floor. ‘Enjoy,’ said the voice as the cell door closed and the key in the lock turned.
To purchase this book click onto this link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/395642.

[patritter]

'The Shearer' - Page 2:

Joe moved from the stretcher toward the tray deposited on the floor. He leaned down to pick the tray up, almost falling, regained his footing and returned to the stretcher holding the tray of food on his lap making certain not to spill any of the contents, his mouth felt dry, and his throat, as if a steel rasp had been shoved down his throat through to his stomach. He couldn’t remember when he last ate food. He devoured the bread and baked beans, using his fingers.
He picked up the pannikin of black tea in his right hand lifted the edge to his lips, ouch – hot – my lips are swollen. He slurped the contents. The golden liquid passed through his mouth, down his throat and into his stomach. Satisfaction overcame once his desire for food finished.
He needed to remember how he came to be locked in a police cell and why. His thoughts returned to the past couple of days. I’m certain I live in Cunnamulla. I’ve lived here for the past couple of years. What happened to land me in this cell?
Stench rose from a bucket in the corner almost making Joe choke causing phlegm to rise in his throat. He quickly placed a hand over his mouth and nose to stop the vapour entering his nostrils.
Come on – get back to how I come to be in this cell, he ordered his mind - nothing. I’ll need to wait for someone to come and get me before I know why I’m here. He pondered.
After finishing his meagre breakfast, he replaced the tray and contents on the floor near the door and returned to lie on the stretcher. No thoughts entered his mind. Apart from not being able to see out of his right eye, each muscle in his body ached as if he’d been run over by a mob of cattle.
To purchase this book click onto this link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/395642.

[patritter]

'The Shearer' - Page 3:

A noise alerted him. ‘You finished breakfast?’ A thick Irish voice echoed as the door opened to shine light into the small cell.
‘It was good.’ Joe had trouble getting the words out because of the soreness in his throat. ‘Why am I here?’ He choked on each word.
‘Don’t you remember? Last night you were pissed and your right eye came in contact with my right elbow. An accident. You were swinging your fists all over the place and called us all the names you could lay your foul tongue on. It was the only way to keep you down and took three of us to carry you from the pub.’
‘When can I get out?’
‘Now–if you want. We put you in here for your own safety. Actually thought you were going off your head. You’ve got to do something about your drinking or else you could land in here again.’
Joe dropped his head ashamed to have carried on like that. ‘Where are my boots, socks and belt?’
‘Over at the police station. We didn’t want you to hang yourself. Come with me I’ll release you.’
Joe followed him through the corridor of the cell block down steps and along a path toward the rear of the police station. ‘Up this way’, the officer beckoned. He followed him onto the rear veranda then inside of the police station.
‘Here’s your boots, socks and belt.’ He handed them to Joe who sat on a chair and put his socks and boots on. He fastened his belt through the loops in his trousers and tightened the buckle to hold his trousers in place. ‘Sign here and you can go. Next time don’t drink so much and get yourself into trouble again.’ The officer dipped a nib of a pen into the ink bottle, handed Joe the pen to scribble his signature in the property book. Joe scribbled something.
To purchase this book click onto this link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/395642.

[patritter]

'The Shearer' - Page 4:

‘Ah…thanks.’ Joe stuttered and staggered from the police station, almost falling when his foot slipped on the top step. His head pounded as if a thousand drums were playing inside his head, his right eye closed, nausea surged through his stomach. He needed to get home and rest. Tomorrow was work, back to the only thing he knew how to do, shearing sheep.
Staggering across Stockyard Street toward the Railway Hotel, on the corner, he thought he’ll call in and have a “hair of the dog”. Walking from the street into the bar he spotted the barman, Alex.
He shouted and looked angrily at Joe. ‘Don’t come in here Joe you’re barred until further notice. After last night you’ll never be allowed in here ever again.’
‘Sorry, Alex, what’d I do? I only want one drink. I feel bloody crook, mate.’ ‘Sorry mate, after last night - you’re barred. You and those other bloody shearer mates of yours cause trouble each time you all land in here after being out-of-town. You’d think you lot owned this place the way you all carry on. It’s not on – out!’ Alex pointed to the door.
Joe left and wandered home. His lodging was Ma’s Guest House, where he rented a small room, large enough for a single bed, small wardrobe and kerosene tin turned upside down to use as a bedside table to hold his meagre belongings such as tobacco, Tilly lamp and matches. His room was only used when he was in town on a weekend after working in a shearing shed during the week.
To purchase this book click onto this link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/395642.

[patritter]

'The Shearer' - Page 5:

Ma looked after Joe like the son she never had. She washed his clothes, cooked and did odd jobs to make him and the other shearers comfortable in her boarding house. At different times she had room for up to six shearers or ringers from around town.
Mixing flour for her bread making, she heard a noise coming from the back steps. ‘Who’s there?’ She shouted and kept on mixing the dough.
‘Only me Ma – Joe’, he answered walking into the kitchen. Heat from the wood stove blasted across the small room as he entered.
‘What happened to you?’ She wanted to know.
‘I kind of run into an elbow Ma – I got locked up for me troubles.’
‘Were you drunk again?’ She asked, continuing to knead the dough to make bread.
‘I don’t know – must have been. I called into the Railway Hotel on the way home to have a “hair of the dog”. Alex barred me from the place.’
‘Good on him, serves you right.’ Ma blasted. ‘When are you going to learn you can’t always drink? You going out to the shed tomorrow?’
‘Yeah – I’d better have a bath.’
‘Waters hot in the copper out the back – help yourself.’ Ma returned to her bread making.
Joe walked from the kitchen to the outside yard. The copper, a cast iron stand about three feet high, held a copper tub filled with water. Beneath the copper tub, wood burned to heat the water. Once the water was hot enough, it was bucketed from the copper tub using a four gallon kerosene tin open at the top with gauge eight fencing wire, fastened on either side to use as a handle.
To purchase this book click onto this link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/395642.

[patritter]

'The Shearer' - Page 6:

A galvanised bathtub used to pour the water in before the person took a bath. This tub about three feet in diameter and half in height with two handles, one on either side of the tub to empty the water after use.
Placing the bathtub in a small room at the rear of Ma’s home, Joe poured two hot bucket loads of water into the tub from the copper. He filled the bucket with cold water drawn from a well at the back of the house to mix with the hot water.
He stripped off his clothes and jumped into the tub to wash with a cake of sunlit soap. Ma walked into the room. ‘Hey Ma. I’m having a bath!’ Joe shouted, trying to cover himself with a towel he laid across his lap.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve seen it all before. You’ve got nothing new to add to what I’ve already seen.’ She picked up Joe’s discarded clothing and let him take his bath.
‘I’ll give these a wash in the copper and they should be dry before you head out tomorrow. I’d better have a look at that eye when you’re finished.’
‘I think it’ll be alright, Ma, just a bit of bruising, it’ll go down in a couple of days, serves me right for being a goose.’
Joe felt his muscles relax with warm water wash over his body. His right eye still closed and bruised. Although he only bathed once a week, this time it was special because it soothed the pain of his muscles and gave him a feeling of being clean.
To purchase this book click onto this link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/395642.

[patritter]

'The Shearer' - Page 7:
After drying himself, he dressed in a pair of trousers and shirt, slipped on a clean pair of socks and pulled on his boots. He felt better. After emptying the water from the bath tub onto the back grass area he wiped the inside with a rag and hung it on nails hammered into the wall near where he bathed.
When he returned to the kitchen Ma had completed her task of making bread and placed the containers into the oven to bake.
‘Do you want any wood cut for the stove, Ma?’ Joe asked, feeling work would clear away the cobwebs from the night before.
‘Thanks Joe. There’s lots of wood out the back on the wood heap. Cut plenty because you mightn’t be back in town for awhile and those other lazy buggers won’t help me around the place. They reckon they pay enough board, so they don’t need to do anything else. I’ll fix you lunch.’
Joe left the kitchen, walked to the wood heap piled with mulga logs ready to be cut with an axe. Picking up the axe in his right hand he swung it over his right shoulder cutting into the steel type mulga. This was good fire wood to use in a kitchen stove to gain heat, but hard wood to cut and with constant cutting the blade soon lost its sharpness. Joe filed the blade, touching the edge with the inside of his right thumb to feel it was sharp enough to continue.
After a couple of hours, he’d cut sufficient wood to keep Ma going for two weeks. He gathered some in his arms and returned to the kitchen. ‘Here Ma, I’ve cut enough for a couple of weeks. You should be right.’ He placed the pile of wood from his arms next to the stove.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: I'LL BE ABSENT UNTIL 28TH. EVERYONE ENJOY A HAPPY EASTER. CATCH UP WITH YOU ALL ON MY RETURN. THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT. I TRULY APPRECIATE IT!
To purchase this book click onto this link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/395642.