The inquest was held at 10 a.m. on the Tuesday and lasted all day. There should have been a jury of three since it was I
a mine accident, but the Coroner had dispensed with this on the grounds of possible prejudice — in any case there seems to be a natural reluctance on the part of West Australians to have anything to do with the courts of law. But that did not inhibit them from crowding into the little courtroom. The heat was stifling, and after lunch most of the men were so full of beer they were half asleep. The verdict at the end of it was ‘death by misadventure’. That should have settled it, but the evidence had taken a long time, a lot of witnesses had been called, and the coroner, a conscientious lawyer, had asked questions that undoubtedly jogged the memories of many of those present.
Who started the rumour I have no idea. Probably no-one in particular. Prophecy, when we saw her after breakfasting at the Conglomerate next morning, told me it was suddenly all round the bar that same night. And Andie, when we called at Lynn Peak for petrol, said he actually heard it the day before the inquest, from an engineer taking equipment into Port Hedland for servicing. Personally, I think it was one of those rumours that just well up out of the ground, based on half-truths and hearsay and fed by the envy and malice that exists in every isolated community. And though nobody could accuse Ed Garrety of being evasive, his evidence, and the impression he had made on the Court, was certainly a contributory factor.
I don’t think he had been drinking, but his face was flushed, his voice barely audible as he told the Court what had happened the day the mine had collapsed. Several times the Coroner had to ask him to speak up or repeat what he had said, and all this time he stood with his hands gripping the wood of the witness box, leaning a little forward so that the stoop, the slight rounding of his shoulders, made him look older.
‘You say you knew what you were doing because you had been down the mine as a young man and had watched the reef ore being blasted out?’ The Coroner was a big, friendly man, but he liked his facts straight. ‘Surely they drilled short holes even then to take their charges?’
‘Not always. Not if there were crevices.’
‘And you used a crevice.’ The Coroner glanced at his notes and nodded. ‘The rock was faulted, in fact.’
‘It was only a small charge.’
‘Yes, you said that before. But what I am getting at is this — ‘ The Coroner leaning forward, his glasses in his hand, his face blandly enquiring. ‘You were in a gallery of the mine that had caved in.’ The glasses went on again as he peered at his notes. ‘That happened in 1939. On April 4, 1939, to be exact. The gallery caved in with the loss of five lives. Right?’ He looked up, noted Ed Garrety’s nod and said, ‘So you knew just how dangerous it was.’
I saw his hands tighten their grip on the edge of the box. ‘I took a chance, that’s all.’
‘Because you were short of money?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you knew it was dangerous.’
‘I told you, I took a chance.’
‘You heard the witnesses, their description of what your small charge did to the mine.’ The Coroner paused. ‘Did it ever occur to you that you ought to make certain there was nobody in the mine or in its vicinity who might get hurt?’ I could not hear Ed Garrety’s reply, but the Coroner did and he said sharply, ‘Never mind whether they had the right to enter the mine. That’s not the point. What this Court must be concerned about is that you were very well aware these two mining men were wanting to get into the mine. Alec Fall’s evidence shows that you knew about the concealed entrance in the old shearing shed. And we heard it from Weeli Wolli how you stopped them at the main entrance the previous night. In fact you pointed a loaded gun at them. Why didn’t you check that there was no vehicle around the mine before donating your charge?’
Ed Garrety shook his head, the sweat glistening on his forehead. ‘It just never occurred to me,’ he breathed.
And then came the question I had asked myself — ‘Can you tell us why Westrop was so anxious to gain access to the mine?’
Again the shake of the head, the stoop of the shoulders more pronounced.
‘Was it anything to do with his uncle’s disappearance?’
‘I don’t know. It may have been.’ His voice was barely audible.
‘You spoke to him twice — the first time when he and the aborigine were camped by the old shearing shed, and then again the night before he died. Didn’t he refer to his uncle’s disappearance?’
‘No.’ The slight hesitation was noticeable.
‘He didn’t mention the name Pat McIlroy at all?’
‘Only to say that he was related to him.’
‘Go on.’ The Coroner waited, finally asking him in what context the relationship had been stated. There was a long pause, and then Ed Garrety said, ‘It’s not easy to remember his exact words, but he seemed to think his relationship gave him some sort of claim to the mine.’
‘And did it?’
Ed Garrety’s head came up. ‘No, of course not.’ And then in a voice that was hard and high and trembled slightly: ‘You know what happened to my father, to everything he’d worked for all his life. McIlroy destroyed him utterly. After that how could he, or any relative of his, have the slightest claim?’
There was a long silence. Finally the Coroner nodded, and after glancing down again at his notes, he told Ed Garrety to stand down.
We were near the end then, but before giving his verdict, the Coroner asked Wolli to come forward again. The tall, gangling aborigine had a scared look on his face as he slowly took up his position on the witness stand. He, too, was sweating, beads of moisture glistening on his black face, the whites of his eyes showing yellow in a shaft of sunlight. The Coroner spoke very slowly, very distinctly. Had Phil Westrop ever said why he wanted to get into the mine? Wolli’s eyes shifted from the Coroner to Ed Garrety. Then he shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Your father was with Pat McIlroy when he died. That right?’
‘Yah. Thas wot he tella me.’
‘And did he tell you how the white man died?’
Wolli shook his head. ‘He don’tella me that.’
‘Did he say anything about Golden Soak?’
‘Yah. He tell me plenty bad spirits longa that mine.’
‘So you were afraid to go down there.’ Wolli nodded dumbly. ‘Did your father ever say anything to you about Mcllroy’s Monster? Did he tell you whether they found it before he started walking out of the Gibson on his own?’
‘He not say in.’
And then the final, inevitable question. ‘Why didn’t he report the white man’s death to the police?’
Wolli glanced round the courtroom, no other black there and the whites all watching him. His gaze settled on Ed Garrety, and though his face remained impassive, no flicker of an expression, I sensed hostility. But whether for Garrety, or for white men in general, I could not be certain. And then he was answering the Coroner in that slow uncertain voice.’ ‘Fraid’im speak. Boss whitefella don’want’im speak.’
The Coroner leaned back, blowing out his cheeks, dismissing the witness with an irritable wave of his hand, while the murmur of voices filled the room, a buzz like flies as the older men recalled the whispers of the past. And though the verdict exonerated Ed Garrety officially, it did not stop the men who had been in that courtroom talking.
In sparsely populated country rumour travels fast. We made Kalgoorlie in just over thirty-six hours, which was good going, but the rumour was there ahead of us, and it had grown with distance. Chris Culpin gave me the Kalgoorlie version in the Palace bar.
That was after I had taken the samples in to Petersen Geophysics for analysis. I was in a state of wild excitement then, for while waiting for the girl to list them, I had picked up a copy of the West Australian. I wanted to see how Lone Minerals were doing, not only because I owned shares, but also because, if the analysis was at all promising, I intended wiring Freeman in Sydney. I thought it might make a difference if his shares were a firm market. I got a shock when I found the quotation. The price was listed at 79, up 12 cents on the day.