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    For a Bottle of Beenleigh Rum: Short Stories and Poems
    For a Bottle of Beenleigh Rum: Short Stories and Poems
    For a Bottle of Beenleigh Rum: Short Stories and Poems
    Ebook138 pages1 hour

    For a Bottle of Beenleigh Rum: Short Stories and Poems

    By Robert Menzies

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    About this ebook

    This is a book of stories and poems about people.
    The author has put together forty years of observations of children, adolescents and adults in situations of love, hate, obsession, conflict, harmony and disharmony - observations that have coloured his life and the lives of those around him.

    'His face was gaunt and cadaverous, and partly covered by an unkempt grey beard that sprouted out of his face like steel wool. His sallow skin hung loosely on his face, neck and arms where the weight had dropped from his frame. His eyes were bloodshot and hollow.'

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRobert Menzies
    Release dateFeb 6, 2014
    ISBN9781311668608
    For a Bottle of Beenleigh Rum: Short Stories and Poems
    Author

    Robert Menzies

    Robert Menzies is a retired school principal who now lives with Merilyn his wife of forty-two years at Hope Island on Queensland Australia's Gold Coast. Robert has a daughter Jacquie, a son Ben, a daughter-in-law Natasha and two grandchildren William and Isabella.

    Read more from Robert Menzies

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      Book preview

      For a Bottle of Beenleigh Rum - Robert Menzies

      For a Bottle

      of

      Beenleigh Rum

      Short Stories

      and

      Poetry

      by

      Robert Menzies

      A Bottle of Beenleigh Rum

      Robert Menzies

      Published by Robert Menzies at Smashwords

      Copyright 2014 Robert Menzies

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      PART ONE

      SHORT STORIES

      For a Bottle of Beenleigh Rum

      The Green Crystal

      Servants of the Republic

      A Lesson in Humility

      Rubber Tastes Better When You’re Angry

      Naked in the Creek Bed

      Strangers

      Running Away

      A Dish Best Served Cold

      The Ghost of Glen Isla

      Loneliness

      The New Tractor

      Jack the Rebel

      The Great Escape

      Brush With Sanity

      PART TWO

      POEMS

      Bobbadilla

      On a Train Bound for Nuremburg

      Written in Flam

      Flam

      Venice the First Time

      Venice the Second Time

      What If?

      These are The Things

      How Will He Spend His Day?

      A Prayer to Katy

      Bob Seeger Was a Winner

      For Merilyn

      PART ONE

      SHORT STORIES

      For A Bottle of Beenleigh Rum

      I was the first to see him. His emaciated and haggard form was partly camouflaged by a rusty old tin and timber shanty that was nestled amongst the bushes on the creek bank. His face was gaunt and cadaverous, and partly covered by an unkempt grey beard that sprouted out of his face like steel wool. His sallow skin lay loosely on his face, neck and arms where the weight had dropped from his frame. His eyes were bloodshot and hollow.

      Despite the heat of the day, he wore a dirty old beanie on his head. A string of coloured beads and what looked like tarnished medals, adorned his neck. He wore a coat that appeared to have been rescued from Sergeant Pepper’s throw-out bin. It was torn and tattered and covered with grime. On the bottom half of his body an old pair of bell-bottom jeans hung loosely from his wasted limbs. They displayed a few badly weathered sewn-on flowers, and some tattered tassels hung forlornly from the seams. His shoeless feet were almost black from the dirt and grime that encrusted them. He exuded an unpleasant odour that reminded me of the chook shed at home.

      He was slumped lazily on a broken old canvas chair, reading a tattered paperback through a cracked pair of John Lennon glasses.

      We stood staring at him, our mouths agape in surprise and disbelief.

      ‘What do you two want?’ He slammed his book down on his lap and stared at us through bloodshot eyes.

      ‘Uh, we were just exploring,’ I managed to say, trying unsuccessfully to prevent my voice from quivering.

      ‘Well, this is my place, so piss off!’ he snarled through yellowed, rotting teeth.

      As we turned to make our frenzied escape, he called, ‘No, wait! You can do something for me first.’

      We stopped and turned towards him, feeling trapped and frightened.

      ‘I need a couple bottles o’ rum – for medicinal purposes, you unnerstand? I’m not feelin’ well enough to go and get them for meself. Could you get a couple bottles for me? I can pay you.’

      He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled, dirty ten-dollar note. ‘This should cover it.’ He held it out for me to take.

      I didn’t know what to do. I knew if I took the money I’d feel obliged to buy his rum for him. If I refused to take the money, who knows what he might’ve done? My knees were knocking, my mouth was dry and I was shaking in fear of this frightening creature before me. I was unable to speak.

      Then Jenny did the only logical thing available to us. She reached out and took the money. ‘We’ll have it for you this afternoon,’ she announced. I glared at her in disbelief.

      ‘Thanks mate,’ he grinned, displaying a gap-toothed cavern for a mouth. ‘Make sure you bring my change back. And you’re not to tell anyone I’m here, understand?’

      My crazy sister blurted, ‘Can we have two of your empty bottles?’

      ‘What for?’ he asked, suspicion creeping into his haggard face.

      ‘I thought we could help you keep you place tidy, you know – put your empties in the bin for you,’ Jenny explained.

      He shrugged. ‘Whatever. Take what you want. Just bring me back a couple full ones.’

      Jenny picked up two empties close to her feet. ‘Give me your money and we’ll be back with a full bottle tomorrow.’

      His rheumy eyes lit up with the anticipated joys of a new bottle of grog as he handed another crumpled note over to my sister.

      We both turned and fled.

      When we were far enough away to be out of earshot, Jenny grabbed me by the shoulder. ‘I’ve got a plan,’ she said.

      ‘Not another one,’ I moaned.

      Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, Jenny and I sneaked like a pair of nocturnal rats into our grandmother’s dining room. We took two bottles of Beenleigh Rum off her mantelpiece. Jenny washed the two empty bottles that our friend had given her, then filled them both through a strainer with the cold tea from Grandma’s teapot. I found a couple of corks in the kitchen drawer, which we carefully pushed into the necks of the newly-filled bottles, then placed them on the mantelpiece, removing the genuine articles to take with us.

      We stood back and surveyed our clever handiwork with pride. The two bottles of ‘rum’ were both back in place, looking exactly as they’d done moments before.

      ‘Sis, you’re a genius,’ I whispered proudly. ‘No-one will ever know.’

      He was in exactly the same spot as he’d been the day before, this time rolling a cigarette with expert hands. A packet of Tally-Ho papers was perched in one hand and a packet of Champion tobacco rested on his lap. A lone cigarette paper stuck precariously to his bottom lip. When he saw us arrive with his eagerly awaited prize, a large, nicotine-stained grin broke out on his weather-beaten face, the cigarette paper momentarily forgotten. He allowed it to stay there, flapping in the wind on his sunburnt lip.

      He snatched the bottles from Jenny’s grasp and ripped the bag open, tearing the cork out of one of the bottles with his teeth in the same motion. He thrust the neck into his mouth, almost devouring it. He closed his eyes and drank deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. When about a quarter of the contents had disappeared, he withdrew the bottle from his mouth, wiped his face with the back of his filthy sleeve and let out a long deep sigh, the cigarette paper now permanently plastered to his lip.

      ‘Ahhhhh, Jeeesus, I needed that!’ A great sense of peace appeared to descend upon him and his bloodshot eyes glazed over like frozen lakes. And then as an afterthought, he suddenly sat up and muttered, ‘Where’s me change?’

      I reached into my pocket and clutched the handful of coins I’d prepared in readiness for this request. I poured them into his hand, making sure my skin didn’t come into contact with his, and hoping he wouldn’t count the coins.

      I was in luck – he just stuffed the coins into his trouser pocket and sat back on his tattered canvas chair, an expression of absolute bliss stretching from cheek to cheek.

      Jenny and I stood transfixed on the spot, breathless with fear and fascination.

      ‘Well, what are you looking at? Never seen a man ‘ave a drink before? On your way. Go on, git!’

      As we turned to go he spoke again ‘No, wait a minute.’

      He took a deep swallow of his precious nectar. We watched in awe as his whole body seemed to relax like a rag doll.

      He glared at us both. ‘You two think I’m a bum, don’t ya? Well, I aint! I got money and I got means. I choose to live here, you know. By the way, the name’s Charles.’

      It took us a few seconds to recover from this sudden change of temperament.

      Jenny, as always, was first to recover. ‘I’m Jenny and this is my brother Bobby. Why do you choose to live here?’ she asked, looking around her and wrinkling her nose in distaste.

      ‘Because I like it, OK?’ he answered, the irritation clear in his voice. ‘Do you know that I was once an army officer? I spent ten years in the army, then a year fighting the Viet Cong. I fought at Long Tan, you know – I still got me medal.’

      We glanced at each other in surprise at his

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