The Roar‘s two fictional private detectives have been given their most formidable task yet: to track down a famous real-life sporting artifact. Mill Pharlowe takes up the story…
We met our client one night in a dark alley behind Circular Quay. He stood in an even darker doorway. Under the street-lamp I could just make out a head of silver hair. He spoke with an Eastern European accent, perhaps from Hungary. A lit cigarette drooped from his lip.
“Miss Danno, Mill Pharlowe,” he said.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Just call me The L-Man.” I’d heard his voice before – SBS maybe?
“I see you two have chosen your costumes – very good. Now we have arranged with the football gods,” – as he spoke he touched the badges of Maradonna and Pele on his lapel – “to create a bubble in time. It will last for only 2 hours. You must bring back the artifact. Miss Danno has the map and some rope in her rucksack. Your time starts now.”
We clambered into the bins at the end of the alley. There was a puff of purple smoke and when it cleared we were in the same alley, only it looked different. A page of a newspaper blew past. I put my foot on it and looked at the date – 1923.
“Interesting costume choice Miss Danno. I thought all women wore dresses in the 20’s. And why the umbrella?”
“They are ladies cycling trousers, and this is a parasol you dunce. I chose them for a reason. And why are you looking at me like that – do you think I look odd?”
As she studied the map she puffed out some air to blow away the strand of dark hair that had wriggled itself free from her cap.
“Not at all, you look … err…”
“This way” she said, running down the alley.
We gained entry to the gentleman’s club with surprising ease. “It was the trousers,” Miss Danno remarked. We came to a meeting room and when we heard voices outside we retreated into a large wardrobe and listened.
“Well here it is, this little metallic case has been through hell,” said the first man in a kiwi accent.
“A base of polished New Zealand and Australian timbers – it’s a beautiful object,” said the second man, an Australian.
“Let’s get a dram of Gaelic Old Smuggler to celebrate and we’ll come back and admire it some more.”
When the door closed Miss Danno and I got out of our wardrobe. I wedged a chair under the doorknob. As I picked up the object the men returned and rattled at the door.
“Hurry,” I said but Miss Danno had already thrown the rope out the window. I climbed down first and looked up to check if she was following.
“This is another good reason for wearing trousers,” she hissed.
When we got back to the alley I said, “quick Miss Danno, there are the bins, we’ve only got a few minutes before the time bubble bursts.”
“We would have had more time if you hadn’t stopped to drink and gamble at those pubs on the way.”
“I can’t resist a card game and besides I was curious about the Gaelic Old Smuggler. I seemed to have developed a taste for it.”
“Look Mill!” she cried, grabbing my shoulder.
The way was blocked by a hard-faced dame and a couple punks wearing three-piece suits.
“Mill!” Miss Danno whispered. “That’s Tilly Devine!”
“So those two lads aren’t razor salesmen?”
“You’ve got something I want,” said the woman.
I knew what to do. “Book them Miss Danno!”
“They are not the bookish type,” said Tilly. “Get ‘em boys.”
Miss Danno’s parasol cracked down across the wrist of the first punk forcing him to drop his razor. She then used the parasol as a pole vault to perform a somersault kick on the second. I checked the watch. There were seconds to go. We ran and dived into the bin just before the time bubble popped.
The L-Man was waiting for us. “Good work,” he said. “Let me see it.”
“Ooh, there is one slight problem,” I confessed. “Unfortunately I lost it in a card game.”
The L-Man dropped his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it as though it were a cockroach. “It was never meant to be,” he said. He stood there for a while then turned up his collar and walked out of the alley.
***
Hisorical Fact: After the New Zealand football team’s tour of Australia in 1923 a special trophy was created to commemorate New Zealand’s victory. A metal safety-razor case that footballer I.V. Fisher had taken with him to Gallipoli while serving in the AIF was set in a casket made of New Zealand honeysuckle and Australian maple. Inside the razor case were ashes from cigars smoked by the Australian captain A. Gibb and the New Zealand captain G. Campbell.
A silver soccer ball adorned the top and it featured a Kangaroo and a silver fern on a panel and the letters New Zealand in blue enamel.
This object that could have been one of the world’s great sporting trophies seems to have disappeared from memory somewhere across the Tasman. I’ll blame the Kiwis for losing it.
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