Thelma Wilson was a slim septuagenarian with a precise manner of speaking that showed her refined education. She and her companion, Edith Law, had worked as English teachers in the New South Wales school system before their retirement. They moved to Lismore in the early nineties, enjoying the mild climate and ample time for gardening.
Their Tasmanian holiday was partly a reward for the hard work of fundraising for Camp Quality, for whom they served as tireless volunteers. The $25,000 they helped raise from Lismore businesses and residents would pay half of an entire one-week residential camp for children with cancer.
John Cresswell, retired from a career as a RAAF officer, was slightly younger than Thelma and Edith and also a Camp Quality volunteer.
Neither John nor the women realised on this lovely April day that John’s military experience and presence of mind would save all three of their lives.
Considering himself to be a man of action, John had had to work hard at mustering enthusiasm for the tour of the gardens he and his older friends had just completed. He was much more interested in the convict history and even archaeology of Port Arthur. Nevertheless, Thelma and Edith so obviously appreciated viewing such things as early 20th century flower and vegetable gardens and strolling the very same paths sauntered by the ladies and officers of an earlier era, that he was willing surrender to their tastes.
The threesome was worn out by the extensive sightseeing they’d done in relatively warm weather on a near-perfect Sunday afternoon. So they agreed to stop and have lunch at the Broad Arrow Café.
The restaurant was full of boisterous tourists. John, ever gentlemanly, steered the two women towards an empty table. Thelma and Edith chattered excitedly about the heritage gardens they’d just seen.
John queued in the buffet line to collect the women’s two Caesar salads and his own roast dinner. “It’s no wonder these two are slim and I’m portly,” John thought, looking down at the trays he was carrying.
As he began to settle himself comfortably at the table, he heard sounds that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Three large, loud bangs at close quarters occurred in quick succession. Instead of finding them alarming, Thelma commented, “That must be one of those historical re-enactments going on outside.”
But, John knew immediately, without having to look, that what he’d heard was a high-powered rifle. A longhaired pale-skinned man now stood at the entrance of the restaurant and was arbitrarily shooting the patrons. Because he was blocking the entrance, no one could escape and major chaos ensued.
Adrenalised and on gut instinct, John leapt up from the table, jumped on his friends and, in landing on top of them, rolled them to the floor. Shielding them with his big body, he whispered hoarsely, “Lay dead still!”
John could see the shooter’s feet as he walked around the room, targeting those who were still seated and those running for the doors. He then walked into the serving area, firing more deadly rounds.
The shooter then doubled back and saw John moving. At this moment, John was sure he and his companions were about to be killed. The shooter’s close-range bullet got him in the buttocks, but fortunately missed the two women.
Walking back and forth, never running, looking for those still alive, the silent shooter finally walked to the door, reloaded his gun and went out.
The gunfire was still exploding, now in the next-door gift shop, but John was already mobilising the two women to get them out the back door of the café. Edith and Thelma looked like they’d aged ten years just in the past few minutes. He managed to hide them in some dense bush, and returned to the café to see if there was anything he could do.
There were now only two people left alive from what had been a large lunch crowd, and John realised that he needed to take care of his own wounds and look after his friends who he'd so hastily concealed.
John left the restaurant and couldn't believe his eyes. He saw people running towards him. “They must think that this disaster is play-acting,” John thought. He tried to wave them away and then went to save his friends.
As it turned out, John and the two elderly women had just lived through a killing spree that snuffed out 35 lives and wounded 21 others, making it the scene of the worst mass murder event in recent Australian history.
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2 comments:
Heather says:
I'm wandering into your story, enjoying getting to know these three lovely old characters, when suddenly I realise that this is moving into The Tasmanian Nightmare and is not going to be a gentle little tale of old age. I begin to be very attentive to John in particular, to see if he is up to the challenge before him. The story picks up momentum in a hurry and races through the familiar elements of the tragedy.
I love how you tell it in simple, non-dramatic language -- the tale itself is unbearably dramatic and profits from your straightforward style.
The characterisations are wonderful.
Punctuation looks perfect to me (although writers seem to use quotes for TALKING but not for THINKING - ie. when John is speculating about the women's salads).
Re Point of View - I think this story might have even greater impact if it were told from John's PoV from beginning to end. Perhaps the story could start in the cafe with John reflecting on what he knows of his two friends. Actually, I'd love to see it expanded into a much longer story, with some of the back-story told through dialogue.
Anyway, forget all that! - it's a powerful piece that is perfect as it is.
This is a story about the Port Arthur Massacre and how John saved the lives of his two companions but jumping on top of them.
I enjoyed the characters that you created and could see the 3 of them strolling the heritage gardens and stopping off for tea at the café. Even though the description of them was brief they came alive as the story was told.
I’m far from an expert at punctuation but as I read the story I felt that there could have been a few commas included. Now I can’t find specific examples.
“Considering himself to be a man of action …………..”. I found this paragraph a little cumbersome and I had to read it a couple of times.
This is a completely different sort of story for you Eve. I enjoyed it but it didn’t grab my attention as you usually do.
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