The Underbelly of Bowral on Sat. 19th of Jan, 2013
Things were a bit quiet in Bowral this morning. Small groups of decent people talked in hushed tones and gave furtive glances directed at kerbs, guttering and errant shopping trolleys. There was an eerie aura of foreboding in the otherwise very public ramrod private moral stance and confidence of this town. This upright Bradman cricket emporium of the world’ Bowral’. Things were different today. Even our dog Milo seemed somewhat subdued and given to an introspective way of walking. He took unusual short and hesitant steps forward and kept looking sideways too. He kept his tail down, most unusual for a Jack Russell.
Someone had been shot and at 7am too. Incredible, at the very time I had sliced the top of my three minute egg but before I had taken the toast out of its electric implement. I did not want to say ‘toaster’. Toast out of toaster sound silly. My domestic breakfast organizational skills are bad at that time. It would have been better to have taken the slice out before beheading the egg, but there you have it, change at this stage of my life seems unlikely.
On my way to the toaster, across from the table where I had just capped my egg, H shouted from upstairs computer engine room that the bush fires had calmed down and if I could close the windows. I followed H’s instructions with the piece of toast firmly gripped in my hand. I was determined not to lose my goal of eating the capped egg with strips of toasted bread dipped into the dripping yolk. It is one of those simple delights that add to life.
As it was seven in the morning, the TV was on SBS as I am fond of foreign news, no matter in what language. At my age, it is all I can do to retain my Euro-centric connection of the past before even those might well be swallowed up by a possible clouding over of future and past events. You just never know how things will pan out and I could well end up dithering with egg on my bib at the ‘Anglican Eventide Rest Home’.
It was after breakfast that I went upstairs to have a quick reconnoiter around the news when I read about the shooting at Bowral. “Police remain tight-lipped” it ended its article, but not before it gave the address where the shooting had taken place. There is nothing more that arouses curiosity than when something is sealed within ‘tight lips’, we all know that!
We quickly donned our gabardine overcoats with sunglasses and with Milo on the lead when we set off on an investigative journey to Short Street, where the early morning Police shooting had take place. Short street just happens to be a couple of hundred metres past St Judes Anglican Church, adding greatly to the mystery of this shooting. Even more enthralling was that Short Street happens to be a hop and a skip from the Police station. What intriguing circumstances? Had the police station itself been under siege? Of course with all the excitement of the Ned Kelly festival and re-burial the day before, things were already at fever pitch.
After arriving in Short Street, we were not disappointed. There was tape stretched around the whole street and cars with flashing lights were everywhere, even a police car with ‘street is now closed for traffic’ sign attached to its roof with special brackets and a solar panel. There were lots of police and white shirted men standing around with clenched mouths, showing their sealed-lips intentions. Not a word would be allowed to escape, no matter what. The media was there and so was someone serving coffee in those paper beakers. I overheard someone asking for ‘sugar’, momentarily unsealing lips…
We stood around but became none the wiser. The shot man had to go to Liverpool hospital by ambulance and is in a serious condition according to an ambulance spoke person, but… the police maintain strictly ‘tight-lipped.
Bowral remains very subdued.