A really Nice Bloke

Because of the floods, just after the bush fires, and the shearers strike, and me' old truck breaking down, I was holed up in a little town on the outskirts of the Barcoo River.

The fires were put out by the floods and the floods had gone down ,the sandflies had all gone somewhere else and a bloke fixed me' truck, but I rather liked the place, so I stayed for a bit.

There wern't much to do during the day, and less during the night, but ifn ya' want a quiet holiday, this place is the place to place yer sef.

One thing that did keep the local population a bit on their toes, was the mass of killings. They called them serial killings, which I think this was because every time a serial come on the radio, there would be more killings.

In a small place like this, there weren't much selection in who was doing the doings. I was a suspect, but I  didn't think they had enough evidence. I would'a owned up just to break the monotony, but they wouldn't let me. The local Butcher, an expert in dealing with dead flesh, was a dead cert, until the police finally arrived in the place from down in the city somewhere. The word wuz that they couldn't find the place for some time, as the place had not been placed on any map any place.

Well they searched high and low, which is hard to do on the flat black soil plains, but they did search. Eventually they put Old Bill Williams in custody which stuck to his feet until he could hose it orf'.

No one could believe that Old Bill could ever possibly hurt anyone. I won't go so far as to say he wouldn't hurt a fly, 'casue we wuz all guilty of Blowie Homicide in some form or other.

We wuz all sitting on the verandah of the Pub, come Post office, come general sore, come Chinese laundry, come Black Smith, come Baker, come Pool Room Dance hall and Recreation centre and of course the prime suspect the Butcher, who used to sell heaps of his snags until the killings started.

The cops come up and interrupted our general conversations, without so much as one iota of concern for the intellectual discussions wot where taking place, in the place.

"Do any of youse  sheilas and blokes know Bill Williams or his AKA name Old Bill Williams?"

"Jist as well you cleared that up, or none of us would have known who you waz talkin' about."

"Well do ya?"

Mary McGillacudy, the owner of the haberdashery store, wot I forgot to mention, spoke up.

"Old Bill Williams could not have anything to do with these dastardly deeds, and anyway, the deaduns' were only tourists so what's all the fuss about...But not Old Bill, he was a kind hearted bloke, he worked hard, helped people, was always ready to tell a story and help an old lady across the street even tho' there ain't nothing on the 'tuther side of the street, in this place, So I reckon ya' got the wrong bloke, and, as most of the single women in this here place know, was a good bed warmer in the colder moment of winter, but don't say nuffin' about that or every one will want to get some...warmth, that is."

"Anyone else got an opinion?"

"Yeah! Me" I sez. "Ifn' we dont' get rid of this government we will all be broke before too long."

"About the killings..." and the copper mumbled summit that I missed hearing.

"Look," sed the publican, who wuz owed a fair bit of cash at the pub by Old Bill Williams the bloke in question, who wuz being questioned, "Ya' got the wrong bloke, I can tell ya' Old bill was as gentle as a lamb in a good stew...I must admit  that his visitors used to scream and carry on a bit, but apart from that, nuthin', he never disturbed no one."