Lest We Forget (how to walk straight) || Wes

[Kyle Kirkland]

There were many ways that people paid homage to the fallen Diggers on April 25th. Some got out the full brass. They showed up for the dawn service at the War memorial, with Grandad’s medals on one shoulder and a bright red poppy on the other. Later on they would walk in the parade and would make speeches about things like “birth of a nation” and “mateship” without having the faintest idea of their meaning. Others chose to commemorate the ANZAC boys by having an all-day piss up and the local pub. They would talk about football and cricket and play many spirited rounds of Two Up, a betting game rather like an elaborate version of ‘head or tails’. If the fallen soldiers of the Great War were mentioned at all then it was the general consensus that they were “top blokes” who had been ordered by the “bloody poms” to the shores of Gallipoli to be killed by the “Johnny Turks”.


Kyle’s own practices were somewhere in the middle. He wore a red poppy as a mark of respect and took the day off work. Mornings were spent quietly in the house with coffee and ANZAC biscuits (the traditional kind). And evenings were spent at the pub losing a few dollars on a bet and drinking VB. This year was no different, except that he was in a pub on the other side of the world, with Wes.


Sure the kid might be underage, but it was only a few months until he was legal. And on April the 25th age limits were more of a guideline than a rule anyhow. In the interest of safe drinking practices they had brought along Matlida and Daffy as their sober friends. With these safety measures in place Kyle doubted that even the “Johnny Turks would be able to inflict much damage.


The barman had obviously planned well ahead for this day, this was Kyle’s sixth round of drinks and the supplies of imported antipodean beers were still going strong. The place was crowed, presumably with Australians, but Kyle still managed to get back to his table without spilling anything. “All righty, schooner of VB for me, stubby of Speight’s for Wes, packet of chips for Matilda, packet of pretzels for Daffy.” He sat down and picked up his drink. “Any last words Wes”

[Westley Walters-Kirkland]

Wes was rather tipsy after the fourth, the boy slumping a little in his seat with Daffy nudging him every few minutes to make sure he stayed up. He was trying his best to keep up with his cousin, yet it was his first time ever on the piss like this, a small glass of wine once or twice was the most he had ever encountered prior. Mum wasn't very fond of drinking, she found it slovenly and told him never to do it outside of special occasions. ANZAC Day certainly qualified.

He had done everything as he was supposed to, was wearing the plaid shorts and dress shirt his Mum had sent over because she had found them darling and wanted pictures, and the poppy he had been wearing in his buttonhole had migrated behind his ear out of Daffy's reach. Breakfast and lunch had been biscuits, he had eaten so many of them that he had thought Kyle's eyes would pop out of his head trying to figure out where they all went. Yet they were special, like Christmas pavlova only once a year did it taste so marvelous.

To be honest the kid had no idea what he was doing with the endless flow of alcohol, his head was swimming yet he couldn't let Kyle upstage him so he had to keep going. Every now and then he would grab a pretzel from Daffy and nibble away on it, nuzzling up against the fluffy creature and tugging him up into his lap to hug with a drunken snicker. Conversation between the cousins had been rather dry, Wes growing quiet after the second, save for some soft mumbling to himself and Daffyd. The six round though...the Kiwi started to grow chatty.

He giggled, a heavy flush in his cheeks as he reached out and gripped Kyle's stray hairs in his fist, giving a firm tug. "Oooh...they aren't glued on...I wondered..." This seemed to amuse him even more, snickering away like he had just told the joke of the century. "I think...maybe they're like...moth antennae...blindfold you and see if you can make your way around in the dark...."

There it was...the Kiwi was gone off to the clouds

[Kyle Kirkland]

At this point the responsible adult thing to do would be to assume that the Kiwi had reached his limit of alcohol intake, bundle the two of them into a taxi and make sure there was water and a bucket on standby before going to bed. That is what Kyle was meant to do, except a dare was a dare, and furthermore a dare from Wes was a dare from Wes.

“Bloody Kiwi. Think I can’t walk around with a blindfold on? Just you watch.” With much more dignity than was needed Kyle tied his jacket around his face and set off on his room wide circumnavigation, stopping at the bar to pick up some hot chips and ketchup for the two of them just to emphasise the point.

What the ignorant little sheep did not realise was pretty much a baseline for stupid pub dares and Kyle had become proficient at most of those by the end of his first year at uni. The trick for this particular dare was to keep your head low and watch your feet as well as the sides. The barman did not comment about his strange getup, he had obviously seen far stranger things.

“Now then, my turn.” Kyle considered the boy before him and went for a simple yet funny option. "Are you still any good at riding sheep?"

There was a very distinct part in Kyle’s memory that remembered when Wes, rather than wanting to learn how to ride a horse like any normal kid, set his heart on wanting to ride sheep. Being told that there were no “Sheep Riding Schools” in the area did not deter him. His mother had been terrified when she first saw her darling baby riding bareback on a giant ram. But it soon became apparent that he was a natural, and if he did fall it was always Kyle’s job to rescue him from being trampled by the heard. Kyle would never let Wes get hurt, unless  of course he deserved it.

[Westley Walters-Kirkland]

The Kiwi marveled at Kyle's mothlike abilities, clapping merrily as he walked about and picked up some chips. A ship of chips! America had ships of chips! So many chips...

For a moment his mind crawled off into the gutter, staring at the wall quietly as he thought of a ship filled solely with chips and mayo. That would be a sight to see, he just knew it. That was what they had to do next, fill up a whole ship with chips so he could take a picture and send it to his Mum! The thought made him grin widely, reaching out to take a handful and chew on it thoughtfully as he leaned down to share with Daffyd like Lady and the Tramp.

"M'mm gweet at wridin' sheeps" he mumbled through the mouthful of hot chips, the memory of his sheep riding days a fond one. His Mummy had thought it strange, silly, but certainly darling and she told stories of it proudly to the other mothers. Her little boy, so sweet to think that he could ride a sheep like one would a horse. That was one to save for the grandchildren.

He didn't even need to ask as for what the other wanted him to do for his dare, it was quite plane Kyle was still sore that Westley was far a better rider than he would ever be. Without waiting he climbed up onto Daffyd's back, drunkenly trying to sooth him and make him walk. Luckily Daffyd was a gentle little thing when it came to the boy that fed him towels and Kyle's dinner, ignoring the harsh tugs of his wool in the boy's ketchup stained fingers in favor of wandering over to the next table to chew on a wallet hanging out of a man's back pocket.

The gruff man himself turned around to yell at the little pickpocket, instead his mouth hanging over in surprise and confusion at the odd sight. He motioned to Kyle to get his attention and jabbed a finger at the Kiwi. "This one of yours?" he asked, slurring his words a little as he slumped back and took a good puff of the fag hanging between his lips. "Better keep a better reign on your little ones mate, wouldn't want the missus to be cross. And you'll be paying for m'wallet as well." The last bit was said with a warning, leaving no confusion on the fact that he damn well expected to be compensated for his troubles.

[Kyle Kirkland]

Watching the Kiwi trot elegantly around the bar atop his noble sheep was nothing if not funny and Kyle found himself snorting into his beer and almost suffering a coughing fit as a result. There were a few others watching the spectacle and muffled chuckles could be heard around the room beneath the singing and the chatting. The barman in the corner looked a little uncomfortable but didn’t intervene, no trouble was being caused and the sight was rather sweet. That is, until Wes and Daffy had a uh, mild confrontation.

Well, is was actually a pretty serious confrontation. Dafydd ate some guy’s wallet. Damn that sheep.

The man in question was bloodshot and beefy and had a bad case of heart-disease-just-waiting-to-happen going around his middle. He probably had a pitbull at home, an untrained and unexercised pitbull. Before heart disease man worked out to coordination to belt his cousin over the head Kyle wrenched what was left of the half-chewed wallet and handed it back. Apologises (and possibly another drink) were badly needed here
“Sorry ‘bout that mate. I think your credit cards are still intact, even if the wallet’s crook. Nice wallet, but, would you like a-” 
“And you’ll be paying for m’wallet as well”

“Ah”

Now when Kyle looked at the wallet he could see how nice it really was. Seriously? Who needed a wallet with an inbuilt nail care system anyway? Accessories aside it was worth way more than what Kyle had to his name.

Had he been sober (and possibly American) Kyle might have tried to argue it out with the man. As it was…he winged it.

“Uh sure. Alright then.” The man’s eyes widened, clearly he’d been expecting more of a fight. Kyle reached for his wallet with one hand and picked up Matilda with the other. “Hold the koala would ya? Cheers.” The man now had an unanticipated lapful of fluffy wriggling marsupial, with claws. Matilda knew what to do and climbed unmercifully up the man’s shirt, keeping him distracted with the pain while Kyle dragged Daffy and his rider over to the exit.

They were barely halfway across the room the man realised what they were doing and stood upright with a shout “Oi!”

Knowing that he and his cousin were inches away from becoming minced, Kyle said the first thing that came to his head.

“Working hard to make a living!*” He yelled out loud enough to be heard from all four corners of the bar.

Every Aussie in the room (and the room was full of Aussies it being ANZAC day) stood up and answered the call. “Bringing shelter from the rain!”

Good old Barnes, his songs worked better than the national anthem. By the time they got to “Oh oh oh he’s a working class man!” Wes, Daffy and himself were out of sight behind the crowd of bar goers signing loud and proud. By the time the wallet man had fought his way through they were outside and walking around the corner.
  Kyle’s hands were shaking with the rush of having successfully done a runner. "Wait a sec." They leaned against the brick wall until the sound of Matilda's claws clicking against the pavement signalled that she had caught up with them. "This is the last time I'm ever taking you to a bar Wes. Until Christmas." 

*Note: No this isn't some mythical chant to summon every nearby Australian to your aid, it's just a really good song.

[Westley Walters-Kirkland]

[Thread Complete]