Sand on the Gumshoe: a century of Australian crime writing

‘It won’t be much good waiting unless you’ve brought your blankets,’ said the operator, laughing. ‘Some crank up on the field has taken a ninety-nine years lease of this ‘phone. He’s sent half The Clarion up to now – all except the illustrations – and I suppose when he’s through with that he’ll start on Johnston ’s Dictionary and poor Doctor. Watt’s hymns. Sorry to keep you, but I can’t help it.’

‘I know,’ replied Billy. ‘It’s not your fault. Fire away. Give that lunatic asylum at the other end another chance.’

‘All right – you take it easily, anyhow – Hello! Are you there? Yes. Go on. What’s my last? ‘Repeat’ did you say? All right? Here you are – ‘Governor Denison writing to H. Labouchere of the Colonial Office, respecting the formation of the first New South Wales Ministry, said’ -

‘Can you hear that?… Can you hear that? Hello! – Shake your battery… Oh, damn!’

Billy Pagan looked at his watch. It was fifteen minutes past two.

At that moment I had climbed the tree and cut the wire.

***

In the early dawn I met him driving gaily through the dewy bush, and he stopped the buggy to pick me up, and laughed. And when he had me in the buggy he laughed again, as at an excellent joke, and called me his good mate and his blood brother and many other pleasant things.

‘Swainger will be on our track when they know of the broken wire. I’m game to bet that he’s been admiring through my window a dummy in the bed, supposing it to be me.’

The wire must have been repaired the next day, for twenty-four hours after we reached Coolgardie came a cable for Billy Pagan and its decodation said this:

‘Many thanks. We were on the point of paying. Please make complete examination Jindabine mines and cable report.

VINCE KELLY

Vincent Gatton Kelly was born on 26 December 1898. Formerly an editor with Smith’s Weekly in Melbourne, he came to Sydney where he worked for The Sun newspaper and became something of a legend among the city’s journalists.

In a professional sense, he was far better known as a political commentator than as a writer of fiction. On his death in April 1976, many of the state’s top politicians and civil servants, including the Premier, Sir Robert Askin, and a former Commissioner of Police, Norman Allan, publicly voiced their regrets while a special contingent of police escorted the funeral cortege.

Kelly is well known as the author of 15 books, many dealing with crime cases or famous police. These include The Shadow: The Amazing Exploits of Frank Fahy (Sydney, Angus & Robertson, 1954), The Bogeyman: The Exploits of Sergeant C.J. Chuck, Australia’s Most Unpopular Cop (Sydney, Angus & Robertson, 1956), Rugged Angel: the Amazing Career of Policewoman Lillian Armfield (Sydney, Angus & Robertson, 1961) and The Shark Arm Case (Sydney, Horwitz, 1963). He also edited a history of Woollahra Municipality and wrote a biography of the Governor-General, Sir William McKell.

Kelly’s fictional works are less well known. The Mail newspaper group in Adelaide published a number of cheap paperback titles, including All Sorts (1944). In 1943 the company released The Last Minute Clue, the hero of which, Inspector Price, returned the following year in The Sinister Street. The latter work, from which ‘The Passing of Pansy’ is taken, was a collection of stories with a common theme – the life and crimes of Hutchinson Alley, a run-down, crime ridden part of the big city.

Kelly displays considerable talent as a writer of fiction and many of his characters could well be drawn from life. Detective-Inspector William Price has the feel of the Australian career cop of the period, and his young partner is suitably wet behind the ears.

In 1958 Angus and Robertson published The Greedy Ones, another thriller with police as the central characters. Here Kelly utilises a crooked cop, Detective Porkreth, and a noble hero, Inspector Rogerson, as the protagonist. The Greedy Ones reads well after 30 years and it seems a shame that Kelly didn’t continue to write fiction.

Kelly worked with the New South Wales Department of Communications following his retirement from The Sun, although he was chief book reviewer with the newspaper until his death.

‘The Passing of Pansy’ best illustrates the diverse character of Kelly’s fictional output. The leading characters are sympathetic and well drawn and to some degree predate the English police detective exemplified by John Creasey’s Commander Gideon.

The Passing of Pansy

Old Pansy was a pathetic challenge to the disillusioned and patient social workers of other districts before she gravitated to Hutchinson Alley, after which they gave her up in despair.

Her blouse and skirt were ragged, and it would have seemed tidier had she worn no stockings at all rather than the remnants which revealed extensive areas of flesh where her legs vanished into the overrun and dirty shoes.

The aged derelict had lost all association with any other name than that by which she was known in Hutchinson Alley, that most unsavory street in the sinister and frowsy suburb where she did her drinking and managed to live, somehow or other.

On this late afternoon she was more drunk than usual, which as Hutchinson Alley would have admitted, was saying plenty.

When she tottered out of the hotel and swayed, blinking foolishly while she gathered her sense of direction, even her over tolerant acquaintances murmured that ‘old Pansy had a load on.’

They encouraged her with: ‘Goodnight, Pansy.’ ‘Whoops, Pansy, hold your chin up and don’t spill any.’

But the old woman was too sodden in drink to return their greetings. With eyes glazed, and retaining her equilibrium by some amazing instinct of the sozzled brain, she lurched tipsily away into the gathering shadows of the brownout.

She swayed perilously close to falling before she at last commenced her journey down the narrow alley which led to the room she called home.

In the minute or two before the group on the street corner forgot her, they speculated idly whether old Pansy would reach the squalid dwelling in which she had a room.

Most of them thought not.

But they were wrong! This was proved later when her dead body was found next morning.

It was Pokey Joe Malone who made the discovery. Pokey Joe had a marine dealer’s licence, but was more commonly known as a bottle-o.

It was only by chance that Detective-Inspector Price and Detective Richardson happened along just then and saw a uniformed policeman hurry to the hovel on the heels of an excited and grubby little boy whom Pokey Joe had despatched for help.

Detective-Inspector Price was sardonically amused to observe the rather strained look on the face of the uniformed man. The constable did not look happy. The uniformed police officers had taken a lot of beatings in Hutchinson Alley, and it was only natural that none of them liked entering it singly.

The C.I.B. chief and Richardson crossed the road just as Pokey Joe was explaining, ‘I only just poked me nose in to see if old Pansy might ‘ave an empty or two.’

There was a whine in the voice of Pokey Joe, a voice which was singularly harsh and unattractive from over