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The Victoria Barracks

My first Employer in Australia

As a war veteran I soon found a position in the Records Department at the Victoria Barracks in St. Kilda Road Melbourne close to the city

 

I had not been inside the barracks before. After contacting the agency, they made the arrangements for me to start.

I had no difficulty in recognizing the destination. A typical military building with artillery cannon positioned outside. The cobblestone entrance led to a guardhouse, where everyone’s credentials were checked.

 

Approaching the guard, with my outstretched hand holding the pass provided by the agency, I experienced a sudden flashback of the dock gate at Gourock Scotland, and the problems I had there during the war, but it subsided as rapidly as it had appeared.

 

As directed by the guard, I entered the building and into another world.

The panelled walls and stone floors, coupled with the dim atmosphere were reminiscent of the medieval past, in contrast to the new and progressive buildings I had seen travelling around Australia during the war.

What was that smell? It wasn’t the usual musty odour that emanated from the old dwellings I had visited in England. Opening the large arched door at the end of a wide corridor I stepped inside. The origin of the smell was now apparent.

 

The walls of the room were stacked from floor to ceiling with cardboard files, supported by stained shelving, and I could see other offshoots, large, long walk-in cupboards, their walls also likewise stacked, seemingly at first glance with only enough room for one person to access. Similarly stained as the shelves, were a number of large desks, their tops scattered with folders and files.

To my immediate left I could see what appeared to be a high counter, approximately 8 to 10 feet long, fabricated with the same panelling I had seen on entering the building. It was at least 5 feet high with steps at either end, leading up to a raised floor level behind the counter.

 

Approaching the steps was the only person visible in the room.

He was a large, fat, rosy cheeked man, wearing a loose fitting, light grey pressed suit, collar and tie. He walked towards the steps with a bounce, as though to counterbalance his shifting weight, his highly polished shoes squeaking alternately with his gait.

 

I moved further into the room and the man, poised with one foot on the first step, and his right hand resting on the end of the counter top, turned his head in surprise. I noticed the array of rings adorning his fingers, and a gold wrist chain dangling from the end of his jacket sleeve. The signs were shouting out at me. The man spoke, in a shrill  female voice, he was Gay.

“Yes, what can I do for you?” The supercilious tone in his voice made me feel like something the cat had dragged in.

“My name is Will Bonner. I’m to report here this morning.”

The man turned back, renewing his efforts to mount the stairs, at the same time, giving the appearance of not wanting to be bothered, by waving his hand towards one of the desks.

 

“Sit over there, I’ll get to you later.”

 

I walked over to the desk and sat down. By this time the fat man had seated himself on a high swivel captain’s chair with only his head visible above the counter top. Feeling like a criminal in the dock looking up at the judge, as the room fell into silence, I observed his podgy cheeks and clown-like nose.

He had removed his hat and was smoothing his shiny, slicked back thinning hair, with his hand.

 

I felt uneasy, trying to suppress the inexorable feeling that I had done the wrong thing coming here, but before I had time for other thoughts the door opened and people started to enter the room, each in turn staring across at me. I just sat there suffering the exposure until practically all the desks had been occupied.

 

They were all men, about six or eight of them, young and middle-aged, conversing amongst themselves, but not one spoke to say “hello” or “good morning” or to ask who I was. The feeling of trepidation started to creep over me again, and as the seconds ticked by it was increasing to bursting point, but my dilemma was interrupted by someone coming through the door.

 

The young man entering drew my attention. Small and very thin, he was wearing a tight, but heavy textured serge suit with drainpipe trousers that accentuated his thin legs. The jacket had large lapels and a tight waist with pockets that appeared to bulge, giving the impression that they were filled with objects. His head seemed far too large for his body. It was round like a football, emphasised by close cropped hair and a passive face. He walked across the room with a stealth like action, as though not wanting to be detected. This young man had just jumped out of one of Charles Dickens novels!

The fat man’s shrill female voice broke the silence.

“You’re late again, Toby!” but the reprimand seemed to have no visible affect as Toby continued on his way, to the faint sniggers coming from the back of the room.

“Did you hear me Toby?”

The young man stopped and looked up at the fat man, the passive look still on his face. The fat man tossed his head to one side in disgust and pointed at me. “Show this man around and get him started.”

 

Toby sat down opposite me and proceeded to slowly and meticulously put away his lunch bag, at the same time placing the morning paper on his desk. Then taking out his comb he ran it through his close-cropped hair, finally making himself comfortable in a fashion that indicated an everyday ritual.

 

I waited patiently for him to speak, but this was not yet to be. His attention was concentrated on the front page of the newspaper, seemingly unaware of everything around him. I looked nervously at the others in the room but they were paying no attention, no one seemed to be working either. Toby looked up from his newspaper after what had seemed a lifetime.

“My name’s Toby, what’s yours?”

At last, things are beginning to normalize. “Will Bonner,” extending my hand across the table, but the responding handshake resembled that of a wet fish. His monotonic voice matched his appearance, and it was agonizing having to wait until he had finished a sentence before responding. The conversation continued at the same torturous pace and the prospects of getting work started never entered the dialogue. Eventually, feeling embarrassed, I asked Toby directly if he could show me how to get started.

 

Toby calmly looked at his watch.

“It’s only fifteen minutes to tea-break,” and with that remark took a small cloth from his drawer, laid it out on the desk, followed by a cup, saucer and flask, signalling that there would be no work done in the immediate future.

 

Nothing changed after the break, and as I took out my sandwich at lunchtime, he was finding it hard to come to terms with the fact that he had sat there all morning, without doing a stroke of work.

Looking across at Toby, who was now totally engrossed in his newspaper, and defying any form of intervention, I attempted to fathom a way in which I could evoke a response that would detach me from this ongoing boredom. I realized that I was not going to change Toby’s way of life in one day, and the way I was feeling I had no desires in that direction anyway.

 

A change of movement on the other side of the desk attracted my attention and what I saw was unbelievable. Toby’s chin had dropped on to his chest. He had fallen off to sleep, and he continued his nap long past the end of the lunch-hour. I looked around him, but no one seemed to be concerned, it was the ultimate embarrassment for me. At the same time, a mild anger and resentment was building up inside, and I felt like banging my fist on the desk with enough force to shake the whole room into some form of normality.

 

What if I did just that? I would then have to get up and leave, and what plausible explanation could I give to Dorothy for walking out on my first day at work? Eventually, Toby awoke, not abruptly as one would expect, one second his eyes were shut, the next open, without moving his head or body, and he was looking across at me with a vacancy that indicated he had no idea how long he had been asleep. Before any words were spoken, he reached for his flask and poured himself another cup of tea.

“Would you like a drink, Will?” he gestured with his flask.

“No thanks, Toby.”

 

Where would all this end? I was thinking, as most of the afternoon had now passed by. Toby stood up after finishing his tea and walked over to the fat man’s high counter and retrieving a folder from the end farthest from the door, returned to the desk.

“This is a request from a navy serviceman for a disability pension. We have to compile his record by researching the files,” pointing at the stacked shelves along the walls, “when the record is complete put it on the other end of the counter.” I nodded my head and waited for further instruction, but the activity in the office suddenly became alive.

 

Everyone was packing up to leave and I sat observing the only action of any consequence I had seen all day. Within a couple of minutes, the room was empty, even the fat man had gone, and the realization dawned on me that Toby was the only person I had met during the course of the whole day.

 

It was a relief to get outside into the real world, and as I walked over the River Yarra bridge to Flinders Street railway station my mind projected forward to the next day. I would have to somehow change the circumstances, and not allow a similar day to pass.

 

Dorothy and the Richardson’s plied me with the usual questions about my first day. A few white lies were in order, but I knew that dramatic changes would have to occur for me to look forward to any permanency at the barracks. In the meantime, I would do my utmost to try and settle down, at least for a reasonable time.

 

The following day I took the initiative. Taking a folder from the counter I struggled my way through its contents, and as each day went by the work became more tolerable. I also had time now to study the others working around me.

An older man, who seemed more amiable than the rest, although still somewhat detached, solved the occasional problem for me, but I remained reluctant to seek advice unless it was absolutely necessary.

 

A young man in his early thirties over in the corner, sat for hours with his feet up on his desk reading, very rarely doing any work at all. I learned later that he was studying accountancy at night school. Why wasn’t the fat man concerned about these abnormal goings on? I had my suspicions.

The young man was one of three other gays working in the office. As the week passed, I soon learned that I was the subject of discrimination. I would approach the counter for another case folder, and miraculously, a thick complicated binder would appear for my attention,

Alternatively, if one of the fat man’s friends approached, they would get a thin one. Far from being upset by these events, I considered them a light relief from the boredom of the work and my nondescript associates, as I devised schemes to counteract them.

 

I would wait until one of them got up to approach the counter, but being closer, could get to the counter first. The folders were quickly shuffled, but I would walk right by without taking it, leaving it for the fat man’s friend, following behind. Then, as though absentmindedly remembering, would double back and take the thin folder.

It was a delight to see the look on their faces! Other times I would get up from my chair as before, but after the folders had been shuffled would change my mind, pretending to recheck my present work, leaving the big case folder on the top to be picked up by one of the homosexuals.

 

Another facet of my work was difficult to comprehend, but it at least provided a brief breathing space from the office charade. The sheer magnitude of the paperwork demanded that records be located in other places around the city consequently, it was necessary to go wherever the information for a pension claim existed. I always remember the first occasion arising, dictating that I would have to travel to the other side of the city. I was told to pick up the phone and dial zero, then ask for a car. “It will be waiting for you by the time you get outside.”

 

I walked out on to the cobblestone driveway just as a highly polished, black Daimler sedan, pulled up. The chauffeur got out dressed in a light grey uniform and grey peaked cap, wearing grey cotton gloves. He saluted me. I stepped back expecting a General or some other official to get out, but the chauffeur opened the rear door and beckoned for me to enter. As I sank into the luxury of the back seat the chauffeur opened the sliding glass window and called from the driver’s seat.

“Where to, Sir?”

“The Flemington unit please.”

The glass door closed and I sat in royal silence as I was driven in style through the city centre.

 

The chauffeur waited 3 hours until I had finished the information retrieval, with the usual salute and opening the door for me before taking me back to the barracks.

The whole episode was enough to blow the mind. The extravagance overwhelming

This was an unreal working existence, and I knew that eventually I would have to leave, but it was going to be on my own terms.

 

I tolerated the situation for just one more week. Arriving early knowing that there would only be the fat man and myself present I approached him during his usual struggle to get up the steps to his office chair. He turned with that look of disdain on his face signalling that he did not want to be disturbed.

 

" Yes"

 

" I want to leave"

 

He struggled to get into his chair.

"You have to serve 2 weeks notice"

" No right now before the others arrive"

" Can't be done"

" Yes, it can. You and your gay friends have made my life a misery here, if you insist, I will make it known what sort of circus you are running here."

" You wouldn't do that"

" Try me"

He had a blank look on his face obviously trying to come to terms with the situation.

" You can leave my wages owing at the agency"

He nodded his head.

The others started to appear and I passed them in the entrance door with no verbal connection. As I was walked back along the driveway, I passed within a couple of feet from Toby who was obviously still in his dream world, so no "hello's". 

 

Out on the street the thought of not having to go back to that "menagerie" was over powering.

My next 20 years employed in the various fields of Technology as an Electronics Engineer in Australia were totally fulfilling.

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