As Hammers Fall. Mark Svendsen
any more talk of Conscription!’
At last his voice had come.
‘Comrades! We, the Executive of the Children’s Peace Army want two things,’ Joe continued, half-turning to acknowledge Mick and Molly and the children behind. ‘We add our voices to the tumult of dissent from around the world – Socialists, churchmen, Pacifists, people of good conscience all – to demand an end to this bloody Capitalist war! And we, the Children’s Peace Army, demand the Commonwealth Government repeal its legislation to hold this second Referendum on Conscription. It is immoral. It is unnecessary. And-it-is-wrong!’
From the corner of his eye Joe saw the black devils scribbling away in their notebooks to send off to their Commonwealth masters in Melbourne. He had just the thing for them.
‘Fellow-workers, the ruling classes must be held to account. War is when governments coerce us into believing that murder is right and to commit it is to do good. To compel more young men to die, beyond those brave souls who have already volunteered to do so, is a tax on our Nation conjured by the very Devil himself. Conscription is a blood tax. A blood tax, nothing more!’
Joe looked down to the field of faces shining like ploughed soil waiting to receive the grain. The reporters scribbled on.
‘Billy Hughes, the Prime Minister of this great nation of ours, already has blood on his hands! The blood of our brother-workers! Not content with that, he now wants to be able to conscript young men to send to Europe to fight for the Empire.’ He stared defiantly down at the nearest government agent.
‘But he has been directed! He has been told! No! He has been commanded by the first referendum of the people on this matter – we said NO then, we say NO now to conscripting the youth of our nation to his war!’
The crowd cascaded his vitriol.
‘Hughes the rat!’
‘Turncoat!’
‘Down with Hughes!’
‘Even after he lost the referendum, or should I say,’ Joe corrected himself, ‘even after we won it.’ He saw his father smile broadly up at that, smiled and tapped his finger down hard on the notebook of the reporter standing beside him, dislodging his pencil into the mud.
‘This misbegotten politician still bathes in the blood of your children, your sons, fathers, uncles and brothers.’ Joe lowered his voice to a stage whisper and pointed at the youngest Peace Army children for the effect.
‘This government must be stopped! Let’s conscript all politicians to go to the war!’
The audience broke into factions at this final remark, some baying for Hughes’ blood and some for Joseph Hill’s.
‘How much more of this slaughter? Will we all simply fall silent? We will never be so timid a people! Never! Speak, Comrades! We must speak or we acquiesce! Damn the talk of another Conscription Referendum! Damn William Morris Hughes! We will redouble our voices and – Vote No!’
The crowd cheered anew. Joe shuffled his notes.
A tomato, rotten by the stench of it, careened past Joe’s nose. Tomfool stretched out a huge hand to catch it in a spray of splattered juice. Joe glanced around quickly, reading the surprise on Molly’s face and the grin from Tomfool, he turned back to his crowd. Zuzenko and Madorsky, began to shoulder their way through the mob to the point from which the projectile seemed to come. Tomfool took aim and hurled the remaining mush in the Peace Army children’s direction. They giggled, skittering out of the way. Mrs Griffiths stood to move forward and take control of the meeting.
‘It’s bleeding!’ Tomfool laughed with joy. ‘Billy Hughes has blood on his hands!’
Segeyev’s hand clapped down on Joe’s shoulder,
‘You have alarmed the Capitalist lapdogs. You must be saying something right, Comrade!’ Joe thought quick.
‘Tomatoes remind us all of the life-blood that is spilled daily!’ he ad libbed weakly, raising his voice and arms above his head. A bit of movement often worked.
‘We will agitate until this madness is done!’ Joe continued. ‘We will educate, agitate and organise!’ he thundered, enunciating his words, ‘And-we-will-win!’
But the crowd’s attention was gone.
Joe turned to Mrs Griffiths.
‘A song maybe?’ he asked, lost.
‘Go on, Joe!’ Molly urged. His father looked at his feet.
Segeyev pulled out a pea-whistle and blew – hard and long. At its ghoulish shriek, the crowd cast about to see if the coppers were coming.
‘Comrades!’ Joe leapt to the moment. ‘Young men, some no older than myself, are daily being sent home from the front maimed in body and mind. They should be here beside us, living in peace and prospering by their honest toil. Bring the living home. Bring them home … right now!’
‘This is sedition!’ screamed one of the agitators. ‘Treason!’
‘Mrs Chairwoman, does this rabble hold a permit for this assembly?’ a voice demanded.
Before she could answer, a hail of heavy road gravel peppered the stage and the roof of the rotunda. Joe and the official party all winced away. Some of the children behind the rotunda screamed. The gravel was jagged and hit hard. Molly threw up her hands to cover her face. In one movement Mrs Griffiths turned her back, lowered her hat for cover and grabbed Molly.
It was too late for talking, but this was Joe Hill’s crowd.
‘Peace!’ he yelled, his elbow thrown up before his face. ‘Comrades! Only peace will endure!’ Then he turned, running after Molly and Mick as another shower of rocks stung their backs and legs.
‘Quick!’ Segeyev commanded. ‘Out the fence!’ They ran down the wooden rotunda stairs, gravel rattling around them, biting where it hit.
Only Tomfool stood still, amazed, howling like a dog.
‘I’ve been robbed!’ he yelled.
‘Joe! Mick!’ Molly screamed as she ran back into the hail of stones to bring him with them. Tomfool stood bewildered, shoulders hunched, hands protecting his head. Joe dashed to Molly’s side.
‘Not now, Tom!’ he yelled urgently dragging at his friend’s arms. But Tomfool stood firm. He took his hand down, gazing at it. His fingers were stained from both the tomato and a gash to his head.
‘Billy Hughes has blood on his hands,’ he said staring first at his hand then at Molly and Joe, pleading for meaning. Real blood began to drip down his face. Molly produced a handkerchief from somewhere and held it to his wound.
Over his shoulder Joe could see Madorsky leading a mob of unionists, all bellowing like enraged bulls, as they surged through the crowd towards the offenders. Although he couldn’t see his father, Joe could hear him screaming,
‘Don’t hit ‘em! Wait till it matters! Pick a fight we need to win!’
‘I’ve been robbed,’ Tomfool repeated over and again. They dragged on his shirt sleeves.
‘Come on, you idiot,’ Joe yelled. Molly darted a fierce glance at Joe, but spoke urgently to Tomfool.
‘We’ll play later, Tomas,’ she whispered. ‘Come on,’ she cajoled. ‘Let’s be getting home now. Cake for afternoon tea.’
Tomfool followed her then, the idea of cake convincing him. He scowled at Joe for his trouble.
Segeyev urged them from behind, herding them forward like a cattle dog at their heels,
‘Go! Quick!’
‘Molly!’ Joe called as they reached the bottom. ‘I didn’t mean … about Tom.’
‘I know,’ she said, forgiving him in a breath.
‘Are