“It’s not here.” I finally admitted to myself after touching every car in two blocks. I’d known almost immediately because I’d remembered how lucky I’d been to get a park in the city so close to the pub only four days before Christmas. I liked those centre of the road parks. Just drive in, and when you’re ready to leave drive straight out. I’d only had one beer with my mates because I was driving and the cops would be out in force.
The ad said it was an HR Holden with a four on the floor. My first car, the same model as my parents’. The one that I had learned to drive in. The four on the floor was different from their three on the tree. Easier to drive and more my style.
On the test drive the owner told me it was one of only 250 that had been built as a production car so that this model could be raced at Bathurst and other race meetings. I certainly wasn’t one for having a hot car, but nevertheless, this car was something special. It wasn’t just the gears, the suspension was different, it held the road like it was on rails.
I was once pulled over by the police, as every young bloke is at some time, for no particular reason. A mate had told me that it was good policy to get out of the car to talk to cops, so that’s what I did. One talked to me while the other checked out the car. “Rare as hen’s teeth, this model,” I heard him say as his mate gave me a warning.
I had another mate who was really into cars, and he helped me do it up a bit, new tyres and a paint job. It went from a dull beige to gleaming white with matt black panels on the bonnet to cut down glare. I’d spent all my money on the car but not on insurance. I wasn’t going to cause an accident.
Stolen. Police. Where? I was in the centre of Melbourne. I’d watched enough episodes of Homicide to know about Russell St. It took a while to find it. Then the questions and the form filling. I was probably there for an hour before they put out the alert. “How far away could my car be by now?
Now what?
Catch a bloody train back to my flat in Clayton.
So Angry.
No one got in my way on the walk to Flinders St.
I picked the roughest looking carriage.
No one came near me.
A few days after Christmas Mum took me into Kyabram and bought me a bike, telling me I could pay her back when I could afford to.
Two cops came to my flat one night and told me to call Fitzroy Police. Over the phone I was told that there had been a mistake, it wasn’t my car. I never saw it again
John Holschier
August 2024
The ad said it was an HR Holden with a four on the floor. My first car, the same model as my parents’. The one that I had learned to drive in. The four on the floor was different from their three on the tree. Easier to drive and more my style.
On the test drive the owner told me it was one of only 250 that had been built as a production car so that this model could be raced at Bathurst and other race meetings. I certainly wasn’t one for having a hot car, but nevertheless, this car was something special. It wasn’t just the gears, the suspension was different, it held the road like it was on rails.
I was once pulled over by the police, as every young bloke is at some time, for no particular reason. A mate had told me that it was good policy to get out of the car to talk to cops, so that’s what I did. One talked to me while the other checked out the car. “Rare as hen’s teeth, this model,” I heard him say as his mate gave me a warning.
I had another mate who was really into cars, and he helped me do it up a bit, new tyres and a paint job. It went from a dull beige to gleaming white with matt black panels on the bonnet to cut down glare. I’d spent all my money on the car but not on insurance. I wasn’t going to cause an accident.
Stolen. Police. Where? I was in the centre of Melbourne. I’d watched enough episodes of Homicide to know about Russell St. It took a while to find it. Then the questions and the form filling. I was probably there for an hour before they put out the alert. “How far away could my car be by now?
Now what?
Catch a bloody train back to my flat in Clayton.
So Angry.
No one got in my way on the walk to Flinders St.
I picked the roughest looking carriage.
No one came near me.
A few days after Christmas Mum took me into Kyabram and bought me a bike, telling me I could pay her back when I could afford to.
Two cops came to my flat one night and told me to call Fitzroy Police. Over the phone I was told that there had been a mistake, it wasn’t my car. I never saw it again
John Holschier
August 2024
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