Pat Ritter. Books

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'The Shearer' - Page 134:

They lived in makeshift tent-like camps scattered across a wide area. Hannah attempted many times to reach the camp to speak with Joe, however her presents weren’t allowed. Joe would fight to the end without giving in. Food, cold weather and nothing to do but sit around their fires became an issue among striking shearers. Shearers couldn’t hold out because the summer was unseasonably wet and the strike poorly timed for maximum affect. Something had to give.
Joe’s presence within the Cunnamulla camp kept others from deserting to return to their homes. By end of May, hungry penniless shearers had had enough. Many wanted to give up. Joe did his best to encourage his fellow strikers to continue their fight but alas in the end he too could see the writing on the wall.
On the final morning when Joe Ryan gathered his fellow strikers to speak with them, Joe Gibson met him at his tent. ‘Joe, I know you’ve done your best, but it’s time to give up mate.’ He’d seen how his friend fought for his fellow shearers since the strike began. ‘The police are coming to arrest you.’
Joe Ryan, now a weaker person with a full length beard, felt his shoulders sag beneath the weigh of his failure. ‘When are they coming?’ he asked his friend.
‘This morning. I heard in town they’ve been instructed to arrest you, break up the camp and send everyone home.’ Joe Gibson explained.
‘I suppose I deserve this.’ He dropped his head. ‘I honestly thought I would make a difference.’
‘I’ve got an idea,’ Joe Gibson answered with a twinkle in his eye.
‘What?’
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'The Shearer' - Page 135:

‘You and I are almost identical size in height and weight. Here, change into my clothes and you give me your clothes.’ They each changed into one another’s clothes. ‘Here is my non-union contract to shear, my personal documents and everything else you need to know about me. I won’t want these where I’m going.’ Joe Gibson handed his life to Joe Ryan.
‘What are you saying Joe?’ Joe Ryan’s mouth fell open.
‘From this moment on you are Joe Gibson and I am Joe Ryan. You go and marry your girl and keep her happy. Do this for me Joe.’ He pleaded.
‘Why – why are you doing this? You must know what’s going to happen when you’re arrested as me.’
‘You’ve got more to live for than I have. Here, give me your hat and stay here until after I leave. I’ll take your horse.’ Joe wrapped his arms around his cobber and whispered in his ear. ‘Thanks mate – someday I promise to repay you for what you’re about to do.’
Joe Ryan (previously Joe Gibson) left the tent, saddled the horse and climbed aboard. Constable Fitzgerald met him when he was leaving the camp, ‘Joe Ryan, you’re under arrest.’
They left the camp together.
After the ruckus ended Joe Gibson (previously Joe Ryan) walked to Ma’s Guest House and stood near the back stairs.
‘Who are you?’ Ma shouted holding her shotgun under her arm aimed at the intruder.
‘Joe, Ma.’ Joe shouted. ‘Where’s Hannah? It’s me Joe!’
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'The Shearer' - Page 136:

Hannah walked from inside to stand beside Ma.
‘You’re not my Joe! He didn’t dress like you. He didn’t have a beard and hat. Who are you?’ Ma pointed the barrel of the gun directly at the intruder.
‘Hannah, you must remember who I am. I gave you my ring to show my love for you.’ Joe said.
Hannah looked at the stranger, dressed in a neat pair of trousers, wearing a different hat to Joe always worn, ‘if you are Joe. What were the words you told me when you gave me your ring?’
‘‘Hannah, before you go I want you to wear my ring around your neck to show the world you’re mine.’ Joe muttered.
Hannah raced down the steps and wrapped her hands around Joe’s neck and kissed him.

About the Author

Pat Ritter lives on a property at Brooloo in Queensland Australia.
‘The Shearer’ is his fourteenth novel.
How this novel came to mind is a story within itself. Pat’s great grandfather is Joe Ryan, a shearer from Cunnamulla situation on the Warrego River in far south-western Queensland. His grandmother, Joe’s daughter, was a huge influence in Pat’s life when he was a child. His grandmother shared her stories about living in far western Queensland fighting the heat and flies.
One of the many stories she shared with Pat was about her father and how he became involved in ‘The Great Shearers Strike of 1891’. Her stories influenced Pat with his storytelling of the country where his ancestors were born and bred.
One of his grandmother’s stories alarmed his curiosity so much he needed proof to know the truth. His grandmother told him a story of when she was ten years old, living in Cunnamulla her mother died giving birth to her youngest sister Nellie. Her father Joe Ryan couldn’t take on the responsibility of raising five children, so according to family antidotes, he gave his children away to the townsfolk of Cunnamulla like a ‘little of pups’. Nellie went with a relative to Warwick a town far away from Cunnamulla. Pat’s grandmother never saw her youngest sister Nellie again.
Over the years of Pat’s writing career he wrote a story about his grandmother and posted it onto his website under stories. In January 2011, he received an e-mail from a person who claimed to be Nellie’s eldest daughter. Pat and Jan have kept in touch ever since their connection after ninety-nine years of separation.
Jan explained to Pat she knew about her mother being adopted and for forty years tried in vain to find her lost relatives. After she read Pat’s story on his website she realise her dream had came true. As they say in the classics, the rest is history.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This is the final page of 'The Shearer'. I want to thank you for reading each daily post. If you want to purchase this book please click onto this link: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/395642. 50% discount for the month of July. New book tomorrow. Thank you........Pat

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'The Proposition' - Page 1:

Chapter 1

Bundy Quicksilver is an alcoholic. His final drink on 13th January 1977, reminded him never to allow alcohol to pass his lips again. If it did – one drink was too many and a thousand not enough. His wife Ada threatened to leave with their two children if he didn’t do something about his drinking. His promise, he would never drink again, he kept.
After this declaration he never again allowed alcohol to pass his lips. After another twenty years, he understood why he was an alcoholic. Ada helped him rediscover a new life. With her help he changed from being a dry drunk to live an enriched life.
Sadly after thirty-one years of marriage he lost the love of his life to cancer and retired on a farm in the beautiful Mary Valley north of Brisbane. Until one day a visit to his local post office changed his life forever.

‘You have a parcel you’re to sign for.’ She pushed a sheet of paper toward him, ‘sign here,’ pointed to a spot beneath his name. Bundy signed and was handed the parcel.
On the rear were the words - Commissioner of Police. His eye brows lifted not knowing what to expect - twenty years since he retired from Queensland Police Service. Tearing the paper, he discovered a blue coloured metal case with the words POLICE SERVICE MEDAL clearly embroidered on the front.
‘After twenty years, the Commissioner decided to send me a medal.’ Stunned and excited, he shared his latest discovery with the Post Mistress. ‘I suppose, being the Post Mistress you could do the honour on behalf of the Commissioner to present me with this medal. Would you do me this honour?’ Bundy asked in a soft and sincere voice.
‘I’d love to,’ she replied - poked her chest out, a broad smile spread across her moon shaped face. Bundy handed her the case. She opened the lid, a large medal with the words DILIGENT AND ETHICAL SERVICE fastened with coloured stripped two tone blue ribbon and a bar with the figure ‘20’ pinned across the centre of the ribbon, held her attention. ‘Do I take them out and pin them on you?’ She asked in a concerned voice. A look of seriousness covered her face.
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'The Proposition' - Page 2:

‘I suppose you should. What’s the other medal?’ Bundy asked when he saw two in the case.
‘A smaller version of the larger one, I suppose you wear them to show you served twenty years in the police service. I’m privileged to do this, a proud and honoured moment.’ She said as she unclipped both medals from inside of the case quickly fastening them to Bundy’s shirt, ‘do I salute or stand at attention?’ She asked nervously.
‘No, I don’t think so – I’m overwhelmed to get them. I never believed I’d ever hear from the police again. I’m grateful to be remembered.’ A tear welled in his eyes, memories flooded back of twenty years he served his community as a law enforcement officer.

After he returned home, he wrote a personal letter to the Commissioner to express his appreciation and gratitude on receiving the medals. Words flooded his mind. Actual right words were difficult to find. He wrote from his heart.

‘Is that you Bundy?’ The voice didn’t sound familiar when Bundy answered the telephone.
‘Bundy Quicksilver here, who’s speaking,’ he answered the caller, only thinking might be another pest call from a call centre.
‘You can’t tell after twenty years - the Commissioner.’
‘Oh for goodness sake – how are you Commissioner?’ The Commissioner telephoned personally direct to his home, ‘thank you for sending me those medals – I thought I’d been forgotten.’ He muttered.
‘No – we never forget. How’ve you been since you left the service?’ The Commissioner asked in an official tone.
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'The Proposition' - Page 3:

‘Great - thank you. I was so overwhelmed when I received the medals I wanted to write to show my appreciation in receiving them.’
‘You are the only one who replied.’
‘I’m sorry no one else wrote.’
‘As I remember – you always wore your heart on your sleeve. Was it difficult when you left the job?’
‘For the first couple of years; each time I heard a crime committed on the radio or saw the report on television, I wanted to be back in the service chasing the bad guys but unfortunately with a pacemaker I understood I couldn’t in case I was injured.’
‘Bundy, the reason I telephoned is - I’d like you to come and have a chat sometime in the near future - here in my office. I have a proposition you might like.’
‘I’d be honoured Sir.’
‘Enough of Sir, you’ve known me long enough to call me Commissioner.’
‘What is your proposition?’ Bundy muttered not quite certain how to answer.
‘Something prompted me to consider after I received your letter. I think you will like what I’m proposing. Get back to me; I’ll give you my direct number. Ring me anytime.’
‘Yeah – okay,’ Bundy recorded the telephone number. ‘Thank you Commissioner, I’ll get back to you.’
They said their farewells. Bundy’s mind exploded in anticipation after considering the conversation. Why did the Commissioner want to speak to him at his office?

Nothing had changed since Bundy retired under medical conditions. Having a pacemaker implanted caused him to retire because of the high risk in being injured. Facing the front entrance of Queensland Police Headquarters in Roma Street, Brisbane bought back memories of being told, ‘you’re to go home and stay there and we’ll be in touch.’ Twelve months later he was medically discharged.
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'The Proposition' - Page 4:

Before he entered the main foyer of the building, his mind flashed to an incident - it was his second night on patrol in the criminal investigation branch; as a trainee detective, he saw a male person lying in the gutter. This person was drunk.
Police headquarters wasn’t on the corner; the Railway Hotel was there then. He remembered leaning down to take hold of the drunken person. His revolver, a 38 Smith & Wesson fell from its shoulder holster from inside of his coat and landed on the ground beside this drunk. He quickly retrieved the revolver and replaced it into the shoulder holster. This was a close call.
His mind returned to the present, confused why the Commissioner wanted to speak with him. He only sent a letter of appreciation to thank him for the medals.
‘Can I help you sir?’ A uniformed officer asked when Bundy finally arrived at the reception desk.
Bundy blinked out of the past, ‘sorry, my mind was in another place, I’m Bundy Quicksilver. I have an appointment with the Commissioner.’
The officer pushed a button and spoke into the telephone. After speaking he said, ‘Mr Quicksilver, the Commissioner is waiting. Turn right through the doors; take the lift to the thirteenth floor. A member of his staff will meet you.’
‘Thank you.’ Bundy replied and walked to the lifts. He felt excited as he entered the lifts. His last visit to Police Headquarters was a long time ago; he’d never been to the Commissioner’s Office. At the time the building was new; an atrium formed in the centre; the building was the latest design for its day. He always imagined after seeing the atrium for the first time someone, someday would jump from one of the thirteen floors and land on the bottom floor. To his knowledge no one had done so.
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