The following story was a contribution to my book TAILS by Brett.

I made the association after David’s brother Chris mentioned Brett being one of (Tomo) David’s friends.

Brett is a friend from the Melbourne Sharps’ days. We are trauma bonded after both Brett and my boyfriend Skeeta were attacked at Ringwood station one night by a young, strong, giant of a bloke. Brett was hurt after coming to our help when Skeeta and I were cornered in the ladies’ waiting room. The bloke then ran up the platform, deadlifted an iron and wooden railway bench over his head, and threw it onto the tracks. After the assault, we went to the copshop to make statements and to Box Hill Hospital, both boys had internal bruising to their lower torso. A couple of months later we all attended the offender’s court hearing where he received 3 months jail. One month for each kick. A few months later he was institutionalised after attacking railway employees at Belgrave Station. Anyway, back to David’s backstory.

Under the Clocks

A Memory by Brett – Melbourne Sharp 1977

My first experiences ‘Under the Clocks’. The first time I successfully ran away from home was as an eleven-year-old in April, 1970. With my best mate ‘Tomo’ we lived in a cave we made in the middle of the giant fruit and vegie crate stack at Victoria Market. We had Hessian bags for carpet, blankets and pillow, a portable radio and torches for light.

We were both from families that were a bit ‘hard’ let’s say. I had been knocked out by my father repeatedly from the age of six and by the age of nine had decided to plan my departure. I was kept out of school most of my primary years and learnt by reading the daily paper.

Our daily routine was first to steal our breakfast at the markets, we would have a selection of the best fruit you could imagine, easily stolen one at a time. After breakfast we would head to Myer or a similar store to steal a leather or denim jacket.

Then to The Clocks. Tomo would stand down the laneway opposite on Flinders Street with the goods and I would stand under the clocks to look for a ‘mark’. It would take anywhere between five minutes to about an hour for me to find a likely buyer. I would offer the jacket by description normally for $5 and if someone was interested take them to the laneway to complete the sale.

At times the ‘mark’ would realise what we were up to and just take the jacket or give us a dollar or two. We would spend the money on Coca Cola, pinnies, lollies and fish and chips and then… do it all again.

At times there were Sharps and Mods hanging about at The Clocks. The Sharps at the Flinders Street side, the Mods Swanson. The Sharps talked to us at times, told us to sell via the laneway, filled us in on the ‘Jacks’ and looked after us a bit. I wanted to be a Sharp from then.

Unfortunately, Tomo and I were separated one day, he got grabbed so I went home, until the next escape. Tomo and I had many incredible adventures, and always seemed to have an angel watching over us. RIP Tomo