Dialogue Essays: The Murder Of Fitzpatrick

Those police, they’re all the same. Parcels of big ugly fat-necked, wombat-headed, big-bellied, magpie-legged, narrow-hipped idiots known as Officers of Justice or Victorian police. And that Fitzpatrick, he’s the worst of the lot. A real bludger to the core. I was out in Wangaratta when I heard of the incident. By the time I reached Greta, Fitzpatrick was gone. The house looked as if a willy-willy had swept through it; the stools were on the ground, the bookshelf had toppled over and the contents were strewn on the floor. Dan and Kate had rushed to explain what had happened, how Fitzpatrick had behaved and what mother had done to protect Kate. I was furious. “Dan,” I had boomed, “gather your belongings. We leave at dawn!”

The next morning, we had saddled up our horses and set off towards Wodonga. We had taken a quiet road and concealed
How dare they arrest innocent people! If anyone should be arrested, it should be that bludger Fitzpatrick!” I roared.

“Maggs, pack some food and grains in the saddle bags! Dan and I are going to the Wombat Ranges.”
We left in the dark hours, dashing silently through the twisted undergrowth. Once we reached the Wombat Ranges, Dan and I found an old abandoned hut and got to work immediately. I sent Dan off to begin building the still and planting the barley, corn, rye, and wheat. I walked on until I heard the distant shhhhhh of a stream, and began panning for gold. Our plan was to raise money for a lawyer.

Dan and I visited Maggs and the others every now and then, restocking our food supplies. Weeks went by, each day dragging on longer than the previous. Finally, after a miserable two months, someone came forward to pay mother’s bail. Mother came home the next day, overwhelmed with joy. Her trial’s in six months. Whatever happens, I’ll make sure that her trial’s successful. Whatever happens, I swear I’ll keep mother out of that filthy prison. Whatever happens, I will not allow my innocent family to become