Mike Dixon

„We‟d been doing a bit of it ourselves,‟ Bill explained. „We
were getting the old folks to speak into tape recorders. Then
we found that the university had a similar project.‟
Humphrey was pleased that they had mistaken him for a
Canberra academic. He reached in a folder and produced a
photograph of Doris and her companion, with enough showing
to leave no doubts as to the nature of their employment.
He pushed it in Tom‟s direction.
„I‟ve something which might interest you.‟
Tom examined the print then handed it to Bill.
„There you are, mate! That should bring back a few fond
memories.‟
Bill‟s face lit up. „Rosie‟s place!‟
„That‟s right. They used to call her Chinese Rose.‟
„No, mate … Gipsy Rose.‟
Tom turned to Humphrey. „Don‟t listen to that old bastard.
He was just a customer there. I was in the police … I used to
raid the place.‟
They both laughed.
„Some of the local wowsers wanted to shut Rosie down,‟
Tom continued. „While the war was on, the pollies wouldn‟t
listen to „em. They knew Rosie was doing an important job.
But, afterwards, it was different. There was votes to be had
by taking a high moral stand … ain‟t that right, mate?‟ He dug
Bill in the ribs.
Humphrey removed another print from his folder. „Do you
recognize either of the girls? One of them was an albino.‟
Tom pushed the photograph to Bill.
„There you are. That should cast your mind back a bit – big
tits, blue eyes.‟
„Pink eyes,‟ Bill interjected.
„What was that?‟
162