‘I am well versed in the training of small dogs on the outside and Vietnamese and others in the jug’
ON Sunday, December 13, 1992, in the remand yard of Risdon jail, I am delighted to have the pleasure of viewing a spectacle of high comedy. It is the sort of thing which can only happen in jail, and a Tassie jail at that.
There are three Vietnamese in the remand yard. They are pretty rare down here, a little like Tasmanian Aborigines.
Any rate, for the sake of the story, I will call them Huey, Dewey and Louie. They are rice eaters from Western Australia, very quiet, peaceful and polite and no bother at all.
But, in jail, little annoying habits can really grind away, and the rice eaters had one habit which really got up a few noses. Every morning at breakfast they go through each slice of toast, feeling each slice with their fingers, picking out the choicest bits for themselves, leaving the much-mauled remains for the rest of the crew.
This happens for every prisoner, except for me, as I am well versed in the training of small dogs on the outside and Vietnamese and others in the jug. But for a crew of three local boys in remand trying to spread their Vegemite over the top of Asian fingerprints is all too much, and to cut a long story short, there are some heated words over the cold toast.
The three Vietnamese chaps revert to their old stock standard: ‘Me no understand what you say, me no speak English’. A punch is tossed and one of the Aussie boys cops a smack in the mouth.
Bread and butter knives are produced along with verbal abuse and threats flying on both sides of the breakfast table. It certainly wasn’t like this in the Brady Bunch.
Breakfast ends without any further harsh words or actions, but there is bad blood and, patron of the pugilistic arts as I am, I am keenly looking forward to round two.
The three local boys are set on teaching our friends Huey, Dewey and Louie a lesson in manners, Aussie style. Naturally, they plan a sound flogging for them. But they have never tangled with Vietnamese before. And they don’t know that your typical rice eater has no formal grounding in the gentle art of self defence under Marquis of Queensberry rules.
Huey is a tallish, slightly solid fellow, Dewey is an average size, slender chap, and Louie is a Vietnamese version of a Leprechaun, about four foot nothing and about five stone wringing wet.
The three local champions are average size for Aussies, so they have height and strength on their side. These local lads spend the morning trying to gather assorted weapons for the upcoming battle: rubbish bin lids, broom handles and so on. The Viets watch every move they make.
I try to explain, as gently as I can, to the local boys that a sneak attack is the only way to go, but when the shit is about to hit the fan, it is still a case of them turning into schoolboys. The lads stand there yelling things like: ‘Well, go on, do you want to have a go?’ I’m thinking one of them might add any moment: ‘You and me, behind the shelter shed after school, one on one’.
Obviously Huey, Dewey and Louie have done their education elsewhere, because they jump straight in and grab the assorted weapons the Aussies have spent all morning acquiring. The fighting is fast and furious, with flying kicks and Bruce Lee impersonations, and broom handles and rubbish bin lids flying everywhere.
The screaming Vietnamese fight tooth and nail as a team and the local lads are very much taken by surprise at the courage and violence of their opponents.
One local boy ends up on the ground with Dewey, who sinks his teeth into the Aussie’s neck and nose. A flying rubbish bin lid cuts the hand of another local lad. There are punches and kicks all round. The Aussie boys give a good account of themselves, but they are trying to fight fair in the face of total insanity.
Little Louie gets a boot in the mouth and all six cop each other a sound touch up. But in the end the team work, dirty tricks and violence of the Viets beats the strength and guts of the Aussies. It is the first Aussie-Viet battle in Risdon’s history, and it teaches the locals a valuable, if painful lesson. The next time around, it will have to be blood and guts all the way. I am much impressed with the efforts of the Viets. Two of the locals have to go to hospital to get patched and stitched up. All six end up around the corner in N Division, the Punishment Division, with the promise of revenge and the next round to follow.
I’m tipping that next time around the Aussies will win, for they now know it is all the way or not at all when fighting our Asian friends.
But the Vietnamese will keep coming back, and if they get hold of the right killing weapons, there will be bodies dropping.
Anyway, their little altercation was the high point in my time in the remand yard. I thought it was high comedy. A little bit of slapstick humor. Or should that be chopstick humor? Ha, ha.