The Removalists

The Removalists

He was having a drink in the Westward Pub in Perth after a day at the football, watching East Fremantle thrash East Perth. Charlie Pratt, the Publican, mentioned more than once that he’d like some music, but what?

Leaning on the bar and perched on a stool, but with an ear tuned to whatever was around him, Uncle Zac suggested, “What about a jukebox, or maybe a piano for singalongs, eh?”

“What’s a jukebox?” asked Charlie.

“It’s a new-fangled record player.” Uncle Zac answered without knowing much about them.

“Nah. A pianna would be just the shot,” says Charlie. “Just the dog’s bikkies! We could have the Mal Thornton Trio here! He always said he’d love to play here, but there was no pianna. People love dancing to the MT Three!”

Uncle Zac was always a man of many parts, not all of them totally honest. He knew just where to get one or the other – or both. He was a Freo lumper, and he knew that the passenger liners often had a piano, and these days – in the 1950s – a jukebox, too. This was 1952 and the liner Bracora was in port, bringing a load of Poms to WA. Uncle Zac followed the tradition of pretending to dislike the English, colloquially known as Poms, but he was always polite, and, of course had mates who were from the Olde Dart. He said he once saw a fellow crying outside a shipping office in Freo. He asked what was wrong. The fellow said in his rich northern British accent that he was sixpence short for his fare home and they wouldn’t give him a ticket. Uncle Zac reached into pocket and gave the bloke two shillings and said, “Here, take three of your mates!” Now modern folk may wonder what this means: two shillings was the early equivalent of 20 cents in the days before decimal currency, and sixpence was a quarter of two shillings, which was called two bob. Sixpence, incidentally, was called a Zack – which is one reason why Uncle Zac got his name. But that’s another story!

As a boy, Uncle Zac used to frequent the Moonlight Milk Bar in Fremantle. It had a couple of pinball machines and was the coolest place in town. All the kids who were cool (or wanted to be) hung out there. These days, Uncle Zac and some his mates still hung out there, but these days it was home-made red wine disguised as a cup of coffee. The owner, Orlando, had told Uncle Zac about a new jukebox he wanted for his milk bar. He said he’d seen it advertised in a magazine at the barber shop. The magazine said the passenger ship, Bracora, had one of the newest ones that could play 50 records. Records had an A side and a B side, which meant it had 100 plays available. Orlando nearly swooned at the thought. Uncle Zac had a thought too.

At dinner break the next day, Uncle Zac wandered onto the ship and there in the entertainment lounge was the very thing, or things, actually. There was a handsome rosewood upright piano with the name Chappell emblazoned in gold. Uncle Zac noted with glee that it was on castors and mounted on a steel frame to keep it steady while at sea. At the other end of the lounge near the dance floor, was a gleaming jukebox called Seeburg M100C. It was indeed a thing of beauty. Its case was a shiny two tone of cream and maroon and its square sharp lines were the epitome of modern! It had glass tubes on the front, mirrors to reflect and replicate the display and even some animated images on the columns that turned while the records played.

There, inside the glass or window, was an array of 45rpm vinyl records, and on the front below the window were buttons, each with the name of a song and a corresponding number. There was also an array of button with letters from the alphabet. After inserting your coins, the idea was to select a song, then press the appropriate number and, voila! the machine selected the relevant record and played it before your eyes – and ears! Sixpence got you four plays. It was magic! Uncle Zac decided there and then that the old Westward pub up the river in Perth, should have the piano and the jukebox might find a new home in the Moonlight! For a price, of course.

So, the next thing to do to plan the heist, or heists. He knew he had the wherewithal and labour was easy to find. It was the planning that had to be first rate. And the price needed to be negotiated. He thought about 100 quid each for the piano and the jukebox would be fair, and the publican had plenty. Orlando never seemed short of a quid either! A trip up to the city on the train and a quick stroll to the Westward resulted in a handshake with Charlie the publican and the deal was struck. The milk bar was slightly more difficult. Dealing with honest people always had serious drawbacks.

Orlando listened quietly. Then said in his Portuguese accent, “How much this jukebox, then?”

“How’s a hundred and fifty quid sound?”

“Oh, too much for me. How about 75 quid?”

“Meet you in the middle then,” says Uncle Zac, a twinkle in his eye. “125?”

A hundred and it’s a deal. Where’s it come from?”

“Don’t you worry about that. Just hide it when the old Bracora is in port!”

Orlando nearly baulked at the thought of breaking the law and receiving what he was sure would be stolen goods. But the thought of a shiny Jukebox, the first one in town, was overwhelming! “When I get it, then?”

“Soon, just as Bracora leaves port. So next Saturday night.”

That was that. The sale work done and the details of delivery settled. That was the easy bit. Now for the lifts!

Uncle Zac thought he would use five of his mates, plus himself. He’d convince the crew that they were only removing the piano and jukebox for tuning and service. The mainly Indonesian and Chinese crew wouldn’t really care as long as they didn’t have to do the work. He asked the four blokes to meet him in the Beacy pub for a few drinks and a yarn. So, Friday afternoon they wandered in to join each other at a table in the beer garden. Uncle Zac always thought he’d chosen them well. Billy “Squat” Baxter and Snowy Black, came in first, then Syd “Septic” Horton with Roy “the Boy” McIvor. Late, as usual was Don “Doc” Dunkley.

They all greeted Uncle Zac same with, “G’Day, Zac!” Only Doc had a different nickname for him. He always called him “Sweeny” (as in Sweeny Todd) because he reckoned he had a finger in every pie! The plans were soon on the table and discussed, dissected, and washed down with a lager or two. It was decided that while tricky, the plans were not brain surgery. Secrecy was demanded and agreed to.

The Bracora was due to sail on Sunday morning, so the evening before five blokes in white overalls boldly boarded the ship and manhandled the machine and piano onto the deck. No one asked what they were up to. But if they did, they were taking them off to be tuned and serviced. Uncle Zac was a winch driver and used the ship’s winch to offload the piano and jukebox onto a barge, conveniently parked next to the ship. Then the five blokes scrambled aboard the barge and off it went upriver, but only as far as the East Street Jetty. There were a few anxious moments while they had to wait while the Rottnest Ferry unloaded passengers before it too headed upriver. Uncle Zac had decided to off-load the jukebox there to avoid the security gestapo at the wharf.

Doc Dunkley was normally useless (and named so because, like the Freo Doctor, the local afternoon sea breeze, he always came in late), but he had a small truck and a hand trolley and kept his mouth shut. Snowy had nagged him into being on time and for the first time in his life, he was! The jukebox was carefully manhandled onto Doc’s truck, then protected with hessian bags and secured with ropes. Wharfies were good at that sort of thing! Snowy was to go with him directly to the Moonlight and deliver the machine. The orders were clear: take it around the back down the laneway, knock on the back door – where deliveries were made - then wheel it into the back of the milk bar and tell Orlando not to plug it in until the following afternoon.

The barge then continued upriver to the Barrack Street Jetty where the piano was off loaded using the barge’s winch. Then the hard part: wheeling, pushing, grunting, swearing the piano up Barrack Street to its new home at the old Westward in William Street. It was not without difficulties. Barrack street was up hill to the city area, and it was hard going for the three blokes. Lucky for the frame and its castors. They could lock the castors and rest for a few minutes now and then. Nosey policemen didn’t help either. But after Uncle Zac complained that their truck had broken down and they had to push the bloody thing by hand, the copper relented and held up the traffic so they could cross over St George’s Terrace.

It was thirsty work, and by the time they arrived at the Westward, they were parched.

Charlie appeared out of nowhere and grinned when he saw the piano and the three sweating blokes.

“Nice day for the race!” he smiled.

“What race?” Squat asked.

“The human race, of course!” laughed Charlie. “I never thought you’d do it, but here you are. Bring it into the lounge bar, boys and I’ll set up some drinks. You all look like you could do with one!”

With renewed vigour the piano was wheeled through the bar and into the lounge bar to sit handsomely next to the dance floor. “Now,” Charlie called, “we can have a band in on Saturday nights. Pianna, sax, and drums. Bloody perfect! Come and have a drink, boys!”

The four mates strolled to the bar and began to quaff the first of several beers.

“We better not get too shickered, boys!” Uncle Zac warned. “We still have another job to look after.”

“Fair enough too,” said Charlie. “You blokes would send me broke if you stayed any longer! Anyway, I want to get that piano Christened as a soon as possible.””

“Speaking of which,” Uncle Zac whispered. “What about a few notes of a different kind, eh? You know, the folding kind!”

An envelope appeared from Charlie’s pocket and after a quick handshake all around, they left.

“Shit!” Squat stopped in his tracks. How are we getting home?”

“The train, of course!” Uncle Zac grinned. “The station’s just around the corner.”

About an hour later, they were gathered in High Street outside the Moonlight Milk Bar. It was dark now and the three miscreants were soon joined by another two.

“All done?” Uncle Zac asked quietly.

“Too right!” Snowy’s teeth gleamed in the streetlights. “We said we’d come back on Monday for a cup of tea or something.”

“Or something! Is Orlando okay?” Uncle Zac queried.

“Sure is. Time for a heart-starter at the Beacy before we head home, eh? You can all jump on the back of the truck.” Doc said with purpose. “Then payday, eh?”

“I’ve got some now and the rest next week after I see old Orlando.” So, ten now and another ten next week. Okay?” Uncle Zac reached into his pocket and brought out an envelope, the one with Westward Hotel printed on it. “I reckon Doc should get a couple of quid extra for using his truck. That’ll come out of my whack. And I’ll pass the barge blokes a few quid too.”

Uncle Zac didn’t mention that he’d make a tidy little profit of 88 quid, then, he realised with a wry smile: a piano has 88 notes too!

The old Moonlight is long gone, but the Westward is still there. And in a corner in the lounge bar is an old Chappell piano, sitting quietly but with a story to tell, if its 88 yellow and black teeth could talk….

Glossary of Australian colloquialisms used

Beacy                         Beaconsfield – a suburb near Fremantle

dog’s bikkies             perfect, ideal (bikkies is slang for biscuits)

Freo                           abbreviation of Fremantle, the major port in Western Australia

lumper                        docker, waterside worker

Olde Dart                  England

overalls                     boiler suits

Perth                          capital city of Western Australia

pianna                       piano

Pom                           an English person

pub                             hotel, tavern, bar (short for public house)

quid                            a pound - that is, 20 shillings in pre-decimal currency. Sixpence was half a shilling; a zack was slang for sixpence

shickered                   inebriated, drunk, had too much to drink