Angus McDougall Padric O'Toole

There would never have been a problem if the Sydney bureaucrats had allowed the good citizens of the one-dunny town of Ockerroo to draw up and formulate their own rules when it came to matters of pedagogism.

The bureaucrats argued that most of the citizens were seriously challenged when it came to filling out dole forms, let alone be entrusted with the fragile brains of the country’s youth.

So it came to pass that, one hot summer’s day, a living blob of sweat, flies and dust answering to the name of Mickey Dunn came huffing and puffing into the cop shop seeking an immediate audience with the senior authority for law and order.

‘Yer gotta come right away to Mulligan’s! I’m telling yer, Clappers, we are in the middle of a bloody crisis mate, and we need you to have it sorted, no risk,’

‘Why, has the pub run dry?’ asked Clappers, immediately assessing with his lightning-fast copper’s brain that a beer drought would be the only matter likely to be classified as a “bloody crisis” in a joint like Ockerroo.

‘Nah, it is worse than that, Clappers.’

‘How worse, Mickey? Give me all the details but leave out the blood and gore. I’ve just had me lunch.’

‘It is terrible worse, Clappers. I reckon you should know Joe Smithers is leaving Ockerroo.’

‘Well, last time I looked it was a free country, Mickey. No law that says Joe can’t go visit Burke if that’s what makes him happy.’

‘Geez, it’s much worse than terrible worse, Clappers, because Joe is taking his missus and six kids with him and he ain’t coming back.’

‘Constable Bent!’ roared Clappers, ‘Mickey and I are going to Mulligan’s. You set up a road block and if Joe Smithers and his mob try to leave town, hold them until we come to the rescue.’

‘Not necessary,’ yells Mickey. ‘The boys dragged Joe into Mulligan’s for a quiet beer and a chat then told me to go and fetch the law.’

Mulligan’s was not the only building in town, but was the most desirable if you wished to hold a meeting and not die of thirst in the process. Further along the one main street was the butcher, baker, School of Arts and cop shop, as well as a few other luxury establishments considered necessary for survival in Ockerroo.

Then, of course, there was the school of education, which was apparently the center of the crisis currently engulfing anyone over the age of five … discounting those citizens enjoying their second childhood.

‘Is it true, Joe, that you intend to leave Ockerroo and take your family with yer?’ asked Clappers.

‘Sure is, sarge. You see, me uncle Harry, he up and died like, and being a good-hearted soul he left me his farm in a place called Buninyong, down in Victoria. According to the solicitor it’s somewhere near Ballarat.’

‘Jeez, Joe,’ complained Clappers. ‘Would you trade beautiful Ockerroo for some Vicky dump that has trees, green rolling hills, a pristine creek, a bubbling brook polluted with crystal clear mountain spring water,traffic lights and bloody parking meters? Have you gone stark raving cuckoo, mate? Fair dinkum, tell me you are only joking and you are not going to leave our beaut bulldust, heat and flies for that dump in Victoria.’

‘Cripes, sarge, if it were up to me I’d be selling the farm and staying put, but me missus says it was time the kids saw how the other half lived and, being a democratic family, I was kinda out-voted.’

‘When are you leaving?’

‘First thing tomorrow, sarge.’

‘Jeez, yer know what this means, doncha …’

‘Yep, sure do, sarge. When me and the family move, the town will be one short of the necessary number for Ockerroo to qualify for a one-teacher school. But hell, I have done my bit for this town, sarge. It has not been all sunshine and happiness manufacturing six of them Smithers kids. All you have gotta do is make one more and you are home sweet.’

‘Yeah, Joe, it is the making one more, immediately aged six, that is the nub of the problem. Anyway, wish you good luck old mate and safe journey. Looks like you are about to score a farewell party.’

‘When does our paperwork have to be into the department, Clarrie?’ asked Clappers.

‘Was going to send it off tomorrow, but now it looks like we are stuffed.’

‘Worry not,’ says Clappers. ‘Shove an extra name in so it adds up to the required dozen. Any old Anglo-Saxon name will do, no risk.’

‘As president of the school Parents & Citizens do you want me to check with you first?’

‘Nah, Clarrie. Remember the old adage, “what the eye don’t see the heart don’t grieve”. And if we haven’t found an extra kid by the time school opens, we will cross that emu mound when we get to it … eh?’

There were times when sergeant Clappers Clarke should have questioned his generosity in delegating responsible tasks to well-meaning folks outside his immediate control. Clarrie, it turns out, was fond of the claret and it took several of Mulligan’s finest before the creative spirit produced an inspired name for the government school admission papers.

Angus McDougall Padric O’Toole was now officially nominated as the newest enrolment to the Ockerroo New South Wales State School.

Two days too late, Clappers checked his copy of the admission papers. ‘Clarrie, I okayed the full quota by phone, but what in creation possessed you to call the missing kid Angus McDougall Padric O’Toole?’

‘Hell, Clappers, you said give him a good old Anglo-Saxon type name so I called him after me dog.’

‘Your dog is called Angus McDougall Padric O’Toole?’

‘Yeah, he is half Irish wolf hound and half Scottish terrier, and before you ask, I do not know how it happened, it just did, OK? Me missus said we had to name him half Scotch and half Irish. Usually we call him just Angus, or O’Toole, or Bastard, whichever one of the three seems appropriate at the time, but on the government form they asked for names in full, so I just wrote the lot.’

‘Well, it’s too late now. The new teacher’s arriving tomorrow and I’ll have to hand her this list so she knows what to expect when the school opens for business.’

‘Does the new teacher have a name?’

‘Fortunately her parents did not have you around at selection time, so our new lady teacher only has two names … Miss Milly Centerfold.’

‘Nice name,’ says Clarrie. ‘We once had a pet goat called Milly. Well Silly Billy Willy Nilly Milly to be correct. I actually called her Billy but my wife said that was silly because he had missing bits that went willy nilly, so she renamed her Milly. She added all the other names because when she called the goat it made her feel happy.’

‘Clarrie,’ says Clappers, using his official exasperated copper’s voice, ‘I am warning you not to tell the kids about your pet goat, or we will have one new teacher packing her bags before she has time to collect her first pay. And if I hear any of those kids running around the streets making goat noises I will know the reason why. And you know what, Clarrie? You will be the first bloke I ever book for running a red light.’

‘That is not fair, Clappers. Cripes, we don’t have traffic lights in Ockerroo.’

‘Yeah and I don’t know how I sleep nights, Clarrie!’

..............................................................

The car was small, red and covered in dust.

The lady who emerged was small, white, hot, bothered and covered in flies

‘G’day,’ says Clappers,. ‘I reckon you might be Miss Centerfold, our new school teacher. I am sergeant Clappers Clarke, president of the Parents & Citizens Committee. I figure you might be needing a key to the school and a chance to freshen up before you come down to Mulligan’s Pub to meet the committee …’

‘Eeeeeeekeee! What is that monster head on your shoulder?’

‘Oh, that is Norman, me pet frill-necked lizard, but seeing as he is also the school mascot, he asked to come along to say hello. Norman always likes to greet the new teachers.’

‘I might be new, sergeant Clappers, but I am out of here as soon as I find a good enough excuse to pack my bags and fly. They told me back in Sydney that Ockerroo was a delightful town full of scenic wonders and back-to-nature citizens glowing with the joys of spring. What I find, sergeant Clappers, is a hot, dusty, fly-blown one-dunny town, with a sign that says “Welcome to Ockerroo, where the landscape is as flat as stale beer”. Still, seeing as I have driven all this way, I will meet your precious committee as soon as I have that shower.’

When Milly Centerfold waltzed into Mulligans she was handed a cold one before she was five paces through the front door, the traditional greeting for all new, stroppy teachers. The glass looked like it contained beer but it was actually a stiff creation called a “dog’s nose”. Two more of those and Milly Centerfold would imagine she was living in the middle of paradise and praying never to be transferred back to the big city.

By the time school was due to open for the year, Milly had received such a right royal welcome from the locals that Clappers was laying bets that the day-one roll call should be free of logistical problems. The kids all lined up, fully dressed and wearing their best bare feet. Miss Centerfold commenced the roll call …

‘Bernie Thomas Adams?’ ‘Here Miss.’

‘Lotte Mary Kinoffski?” ‘Here Miss.’

...and so on. right until she hit number twelve.

‘Angus McDougall Padric O’Toole?’ There was dead silence until a little voice piped up with ‘That’s him standing there wagging his tail, Miss.’

‘Angus McDougall Padric O’Toole is a dog? Are you telling me Angus is a dog?’

‘Yeah, well,’ says Clappers, ‘I should explain all about your missing pupil when you are having dinner with me and Sal later tonight. Meanwhile, it is no problem at all. Angus Mc Dougall Padric O’Toole is fully house-trained and knows all about teachers. He’s guaranteed to lick ‘em to death without even asking.’

..............................................................

‘You realise, sergeant Clappers, that you place me in an invidious position with the department?’

‘Why, who is to know? I won’t tell ‘em if you don’t’ says Clappers, handing Milly another prime strip of Sal’s speciality of baked goanna wrapped in desert oak and smothered in wild wattle seeds.

‘Ah, sergeant, you forget … last year they changed the rules for isolated schools. Too many phantom kids, or so it seems. Now, within four weeks of opening, this school will receive a visit from an education department inspector who, if he takes his shoes and socks off, is able to count up to twelve. You, sergeant Clappers, have one week in which to find a breathing, talking youngster who answers to the name of Angus McDougall Padric O’Toole.’

‘Yeah, well, couldn’t you stall him for a couple of extra weeks to give me time to borrow some street kid from Burke? I could offer the kid an all-expenses-paid holiday in beautiful downtown Ockerroo just to stand up and answer to the name when called.’

‘Sorry, sergeant Clappers, not even Buckley’s. You see, the inspectors run on a tight schedule. They inspect all schools on their circuit without any allowance for changes. They arrive, stay overnight and are gone before lunch the next day. Believe me, sergeant Clappers, it would take the plague to stop an inspector in his tracks.’

‘Shut yer earholes for a second, Sal,’ orders Clappers. ‘Milly Centerfold, I love you dearly and if I wasn’t already hitched I would give you a dirty big smackeroo, right on those gorgeous lips of yours. Fair dinkum, without knowing it you have just solved our problem. Come on, you two, no time to waste. We are going over to Mulligan’s Pub.’

..............................................................

‘Hell, I’m in a good mood tonight, Mulligan. Just the usual for Sal and me, and a dog’s nose for the wonderful Miss Milly Centerfold. And while yer busy filling the order have a think who amongst our mob of no-hopers walks and talks with a medically-inspired brain?’

‘Only one bloke springs to mind,’ says Mulligan, ‘and that’s a feller called Matthieu Daltonio. Reckons he studied medicine at uni but dropped out when he discovered the good life. Right now he’s decorating the bar over there.’

‘Yer worth yer weight in emu eggs, Mulligan. Give him another of whatever he’s drinking and drag him over with the order, because we are about to have a celebratory chit chat.’

Out of a transient population of around 250 white christian souls, it was well known that, should you scratch below the surface of the dole generating experts, you would find humans from every walk in life. Currently they were enjoying a lifestyle supported by the more industrious taxpaying society. This did not mean you could not tap into hidden skills should the occasion arise, and the missing Angus McDougall Padric O’Toole versus school inspector was one such occasion.

Once they were all seated and minds concentrating upon the subject at hand, Clappers said, ‘Tell me Matthieu, what do you know about psittacosis bacterium?’

‘Well, next to nothing,’ said Matthieu, ’ except I am sure I would not be drinking it, even if Mulligan offered it for free’.

‘And neither would I,’ confirmed Clappers. ‘Its more common title is parrots disease. Now, Miss Milly might think old Clappers is a stupid galah, but I am right into wildlife, see, and parrots disease is highly infectious without being terribly deadly, and it has just run rampant at the Ockerroo State School. On the day of the inspector’s arrival you, doctor Matthieu Daltonio, have just declared the entire school area to be a quarantine zone. No-one but you, Milly and the kids will be allowed admission or exit.’

Before issuing further orders Clappers lubricated his tonsils.

‘By lunch-time tomorrow the school will be located behind a ring of steel star posts and chicken wire. Constable Bent will be standing guard duty and we will be posting notices on the wire fence. You, Matthieu, will scrub up like it is Christmas. You’ll be wearing a beaut city suit and a clean white medical coat, with a doctor’s bag and a stethoscope decorating yer chest. Come back to the station I will show you my book on pet parrots so you can bone up on all aspects of the illness.

‘Hey, and the beauty of this is parrots disease isn’t restricted to just parrots. Heck, we can soon write this down to emu droppings. Apparently in humans it is a flu-like illness so we will have to fill the classroom with camp beds and have any walking kids looking sorry and dopey. Milly will be selecting the best actors from her dirty dozen. The inspector himself, being denied entry, will have to converse with you from a safe distance. It is incumbent on you, doc, to convince the inspector that the children are not in any danger but need to be isolated for the next fourteen days. The school grounds have been swept clear of any emu droppings that built up during the holiday period. The disease is not airborne so all should be sweet and dandy if full quarantine is maintained. End of story.’

..............................................................

Robert McHarry absolutely hated the prospect of driving all the way from Sydney to outback Ockerroo, but it was number three on his circuit list and at least, they assured him back at head office, it was the end of the line.

As far as McHarry was concerned, Ockerroo was the end of the earth, a wart on the backside of the continent, but when you opt out of classroom teaching for administration you cannot complain when you cop the short straw.

Now when the bulldust settled and he could see through the windscreen he was confronted with a hands-up copper and a chicken wire fence where he reckoned his school should be.

‘What in the bloody hell is going on here?’ he said as he stepped out into the world of heat, dust and flies.

‘Ah, you must be the school inspector that we are expecting. G’day, I’m sergeant Clappers Clarke, and the lady you see madly waving from the verandah is your teacher, Miss Milly Centerfold, and a very dedicated teacher she is too, sir. The gentleman wearing a white coat and twirling his stethoscope to shoo the flies is our very own doctor Matthieu Daltonio and the school, sir, is at this moment in time under quarantine.’

‘Bloody hell, that’s all I need!’

’’No,’ says Clappers, taking a firm grip on the poor fellow’s shoulders and doing a 180 degree turn to face the pub. ‘What you really need is to be out of the heat and dust and enjoying a social, life-saving rehydration at Mulligan’s while I explain all the facts.’

..............................................................

‘I will have the usual thanks, Mulligan, and our friend, Bob McHarry the school inspector, has his tongue hanging out for one of your canine nostril specials, then come join us while I explain how come the good doctor Daltonio has quarantined the school for at least the next two weeks.’

‘Before I do anything I really should phone Sydney and have them fly in a medical team.’

‘Nah,’ says Clappers, ‘why get yourself into strife with head office? Doctor Daltonio has it all sorted, and if I allow you to go off half-cocked you will be out of the emu poo and into the dole queue faster than you can say “Miss Milly wears pink knickers knicked from Woollies”.’

‘What makes you think I’ll be in trouble?’

‘Because like I said, we have it all sorted. No kids are going to kark it. The only reason the school is under quarantine is to stop the infection from spreading, which would mean we would have to quarantine the pub, a move that is dead cert to cause a riot. And, more importantly Bob, just between you and me the reason why the school is now in quarantine is entirely the fault of the New South Wales Education Department, no risk.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, really. Now drink up while Mulligan and me explain the facts of life.

‘Just outside the walls of this pub are four million three hundred and thirty-eight bloody wild emus, mate. When the school is unoccupied during holidays, a mob of cruising emus will claim the school grounds as their very own sit-down-before-we-go-walkabout sorta place.

‘Well, they do more than just sit, see, and in amongst other activities they do one awful lot of crapping and, listen to me Bob, it is the latter that has brought about the dreaded psittacosis bacterium which has quarantined the school for the next two weeks.’

‘What has all that to do with the education department?’ asked Bob.

‘For the past ten years,’ says Mulligan, ‘I have personally been pestering the department to give our school an emu-proof fence, but they always cry poor, maybe next budget and all that bullshit. Look at you, Bob. You drive a late model air-conditioned departmental car, and those poor sick kids out there suffering from pistta … whatever it is, cannot be granted the hygiene protection of a government-regulated emu-proof fence.

‘Hey can you imagine what the Sydney papers will have to say about that? I can see the headlines now … “School Inspector Sanctions Emu Poo at Ockerroo”.’

‘You will have one before the end of the month,’ promised Robert McHarry.

‘Good one,’ says Mulligan. ‘Now let’s have another canine’s nostril to celebrate good common sense.’

The whole town, except those in quarantine, turned out to wish Robert McHarry farewell and safe journey to number four on his list. When Clappers received word that all was clear, the little town returned to normal.

Well, not quite normal. First of all they had to celebrate the great emu poo caper and have a wee drinkie to Angus McDougall Padric O’Toole.

‘I believe, Mr Mulligan, I will have one of your wonderful cat’s whiskers’, says Milly .

‘I think you mean a dog’s nose,’ says Clappers

‘Oh yes, of course I do! Fancy me saying “cat’s whiskers”. Aren’t I such a silly billy Milly?’

‘Tell me, Miss Centerfold,’ asks Clarrie, ‘did I ever tell you about my pet goat …’

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Tags:

centerfold, daltonio, disease, dogs, emu, matthieu, milly, mulligans, norman, nose, ockerroo, parrots, poo and quarantine