I recently met up with a mate in Sanctuary Cove on the Gold Coast after a long period of us going in different directions. Doctor Nick R. had studied medicine in Adelaide and was now in Sydney working as an anaesthetist. He had sailed up to Queensland in his million dollar yacht.
We chatted and laughed at the “old times” and “odd times” memories of life and situations we had shared thirty years earlier. It was well after breakfast and on our third coffee when he laughed and said, “One of the strongest memories I have of you was the day I saw a full carton of Johnny Walker Black label whiskey sitting just inside your front door. I don’t think I had ever seen a single bottle of Black yet here you were with an unopened carton.” I looked at him as though he was in need of mental help. “What are you talking about Nick? You must have me confused with ……” when I fell silent at my own flashback. And I realised that the past is always hovering and you can never escape it.
A slate coloured Mercedes slithered into the laneway dividing the Manuka shopping precinct. Two bulky, pasty faced men got out leaving the driver staring ahead but carefully checking the few people crossing the lane near the vehicle. They walked confidently with their suitcoats draped over their shoulders leaving their arms free in the European manner and went directly to the JFM menswear store in Thetis Court .The only people nearby were in the Restaurant and Coffee shop opposite and they were all in line for their coffees or just relaxing at the tables.
I was waiting in the menswear store that Tuesday morning but there was no fixed time. “Soon after opening” were the instructions. Boris and Grigor smiled as we shook hands like footballers on opposing sides. The deal had been done a few days earlier so this was just pickup and delivery. They carefully checked off the list of expensive clothing. Four suits, eight shirts, ties and belts. It took only one trip for them to load it all onto the back seat. Then the driver moved the Mercedes thirty metres along the lane to stop at the trade entry at the rear of the “M” restaurant. I waited at the door and knocked loudly when the car was beside me. “J” was the owner of the restaurant and the menswear store and I worked with him in both businesses. He opened the door immediately and I lifted up the first of six cartons of alcohol from the boot and disappeared into the storeroom. It was only a four metre carry so all the cartons were locked away within two minutes and the Mercedes snaked out of the lane with Boris and Grigor smiling behind the tinted windows.
The next day “J” asked me to take a carton of J W black label and keep it at my house as the storeroom was full. Some of the alcohol went directly into the bar at the front of the Restaurant. There was gin, vodka as well as whiskey. Months later the Russian Ambassador had enjoyed dinner and a late night vodka on the rocks in the restaurant when he asked about the vodka on display with an unusual label. “Where did this come from?” he smiled. “I do not think it has been imported for sale in Australia. I have never seen it before in this country.” Gentle mirth. A knowing smile. Then he added, “Apart from the Russian Embassy, of course.”
Ten years later and I was unhappily married and living on the Gold Coast. We had left Canberra for a new start but brought all the baggage and old resentments with us. I was enjoying a coffee by myself in Burleigh Heads when the old familiar face of Peter C smirked at me. “Wilson! Haven’t seen you since Canberra! Glad I caught you too as there is something I have to warn you about!” Here we go again with the bullshit, I thought. I knew Peter’s wife worked for ASIO and her father spent his whole working life with the same Dept. I had played tennis and squash with Peter for years and was well aware of this but I was stunned to hear that his Father in law had warned him about me. “I’m seriously advising you to have nothing to do with your mate John Wilson or you’ll end up having an ASIO file like him. We have photos of him associating with Russians, taking possession of diplomatic tax–free alcohol from them in the Manuka laneway. We know part payment was made in clothing. There have also been reports of unusual behaviour from Wilson made from the Thai and NZ embassies. He is trouble and you don’t want to be near that trouble"
I visited Melbourne last month and caught up with John S as I do each time I’m down there. He stared at me and listened carefully as I related some of the above. Ironically, just a few weeks earlier, one of his ex-neighbours from Canberra also had visited John at his Melbourne home. He also had worked for ASIO but John was never made aware of this. He warned John to be very cautious “as there is quite a file on Wilson and it is full of photos of him and Russians in Manuka as well as shots of him at Channel Seven and at four or five Embassies.” So now I’ve been warned by two separate sources.
All I know is that it seems ASIO has too many employees and not enough work to go around. The only reason I was ever at the Embassy parties and tennis days was because I 13 was invited. And I was invited back each time. Peter C and I were regular guests for tennis at the Italian, Thailand and NZ Embassies. We were there weekly at one stage. I also spent forty minutes talking with Sen. Susan Ryan at a cocktail party one night. I wonder if there is a photo of the two of us.
The next time I’m in Canberra I’m going to the ASIO office and I’m going to ask for access to my file under the FOI Act. I’d love a few photos from them as well so I can include them with this story.
Gold Coast, 1976
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