Free Affection by Ian Townsend Page A

the problems we had arranging quarantine. Supplies had been slow in coming. There’d been a backlash from some doctors and many local authorities.
    I then told him about the Mayor’s request to free Dawson for the Bowen railway hearings.
    ‘Did he? Preposterous,’ blurted Humphry.
    ‘Keep your voice down.’
    ‘What did you tell him?’ said Turner.
    ‘I said I’d put it to you. He’s the Mayor.’
    ‘It’s simple. Anyone who tries to break quarantine will be arrested,’ said Humphry. ‘You can tell the fool that,’ and he shot a tight smile at the Mayor who was looking at us.
    ‘Keep it down,’ I told Humphry. ‘The man’s just asking.’
    ‘Just asking! Do you know why he’s just asking?’
    I had to admit I didn’t.
    ‘Sleepers,’ said Humphry. ‘Railway sleepers. From McCreedy’s sawmills. I suppose he wants the contract for the Bowen line.’
    I was wary of Humphry, the natural cynic.
    ‘Nothing to do with northern development. It’s business,’ Humphry was saying, looking pleased with himself as the implications occurred to him. ‘So Dawson wasn’t just whinging. When’s that hearing?’
    ‘Late next week. Several days before quarantine ends.’
    ‘Well, well. It seems incarcerating Dawson’s really put the wind up them. I’m beginning to think this plague is the Almighty’s punishment on the wicked.’
    Turner said, ‘Whatever the reason, if there’s one thing we can’t do it’s compromise the regulations. Once we start making exceptions, laws become useless and civilisation is in peril.’
    ‘Right. I’ll get us something to eat,’ said Humphry, happy with his theory.
    Would the Mayor of Townsville really jeopardise the city for personal gain? McCreedy prided himself on ‘doing the right thing’. I wasn’t sure.
    Humphry returned with sandwiches, took one and pulled apart the two slices of bread to inspect the meat.
    ‘I’m tired of sandwiches,’ he said then. ‘Can’t we do anything else with this stuff?’
    ‘Bread and corned beef? I think it’s rather good,’ said Turner.
    ‘You’ll be sick of it soon enough.’
    The lunch dissolved, Turner thanked the Mayor for his hospitality and Humphry took him to his new office.
    ‘It won’t be easy,’ I said. ‘Dealing with the council.’
    ‘I’ll manage. How are you managing?’
    ‘The Mayor’s stubborn.’
    He seemed to be examining my face. ‘I meant your family.’
    I said, ‘The summer was very hot. My wife is tired. I’m hoping the winter will suit her better.’
    Turner had been given a bare room that still smelled of ink and dust. It was across the hallway and down from my own.
    McCreedy had been generous to Turner. Large glass doors opened out onto a balcony over Flinders-street. The office was spacious. Someone had wasted no time in looting it.
    ‘I’ll find you some furniture,’ I said.
    ‘How far away are your rooms, Dr Humphry?’ said Turner.
    Humphry went over to the glass doors.
    ‘Down the street,’ he said, pointing. ‘The post office is next door here. You’re only a block from your hotel. You can just see the top of the Bellevue. The Prince of Wales is in front, around the corner there.’
    Turner undid the latch of the door. It opened with a kick on to the small balcony.
    ‘And a gas lamp, right outside,’ Turner said. ‘How wonderful.’
    He gazed up at Castle Hill, and when he turned around I noticed the man looked delighted. He clapped his hands like a child and Humphry caught my eye.
    ‘Well,’ said Turner, ‘there’s a lot to do. Tell me everything.’

chapter four
The plague scare has many advantages over the war-fever. Kipling hasn’t made any great songs about it. It doesn’t move any great crowd of idiots to sing patriotic songs every five and a half minutes. It leads to cleanliness.
The Bulletin, 31 March 1900
    THE WIND HAD SPRUNG TO TWENTY-FIVE knots overnight and now overtook the launch, pushing the smoke in front of us so that if anyone had taken a