Cluster lived across the street from us in Fitzroy. Fitzroy East, according to Cluster and if he could have arranged it, would have done away with Smith Street, and had us living in Collingwood!
He was a fanatical ‘Pies supporter, went to all the games, and training sessions! He had painted his fence pickets black and white, ate vegemite on de-crusted white bread in summer, and an infinite number of dog’s eyes and dead horse throughout the winter. He once explained his diet in terms of the pies and sauce, representing the defeated foes from Saturday’s match and the black and white sandwiches providing off-season “…encouragement to the lads!”
We loved Cluster, even though he was a bit of a mad bastard! There was a distinct whiff to him too, if you got downwind. He umpired our cricket games, arguments as well, if needed. He found us a set of wickets to replace the battered rubbish bins. He had stories too, of Squizzy Taylor and the local Push. He sold newspapers at the home games, and that got us into the ground, as assistants – we learnt to deliver “Heresya ‘erald, Inya ‘argus” like pros!
On Sundays, Cluster appeared in a collared shirt, Pies’ tie, a frayed, food-stained sports coat, shiny-arsed pants and a pork pie atop his balding pate! I followed him once. He kept to the narrow, cobbled laneways but eventually, with a knock at a side door, entered the Empress of India pub.
There, old Ma Harris maintained a knowledgeable Sunday trade with the coppers collecting a few bottles on the side. Everybody was happy, and Cluster emerged, clutching a paper bag with his couple of Richmond Bitters.
Towards the end of April, Cluster would go a bit funny. Late at night he could be seen marching up and down the street crying, screaming, ducking and weaving. On Anzac Day, with his chest of medals, he would be off early to St Kilda Road, comrades to meet, memories to relive, thirst to quench, coins to toss! We learnt to steer clear of him until early May!
With the footy season’s arrival, he’d cheer up and became Old Cluster again. He was our mate and thinking back on things, everybody in the street had a soft spot for Cluster. He put bins in and out for the neighbourhood, did unbidden odd jobs, ran the Cup Sweep in November and with his grizzled chin, was often called upon to don the Red Suit!
Twenty years later, Mum sent me a cutting – the Sun’s Death Notices. I was puzzled as I read “Members of the Collingwood Football Club are saddened at the death of Scott Maurice, son of Ian and Salome Trebilcock.”
Cluster finally explained!