(After Alan Marshall)

It is 10 a.m. and I have just finished a cup of black coffee with glucose. Alf recommended it. I have finished massaging my head with the hair restorer Bill gave me and have taken the cod-liver oil recommended by my grandmother.

In two hours I shall take four liver pills, a spoonful of powder and half a cup of olive oil, all supplied by my friends. I shall then lunch on nuts and raisins and finish up with a teaspoonful of my after-meals powder and a wineglass of tonic.

I shall massage my head for the second time and have a eucalyptus inhalation. By this time I shall be feeling pretty bad and I shall have to lie down. I shall have to get strength to go through it all again at dinnertime.

I blame my friends for my sad condition.

A few weeks ago I could eat meat and salad. Now a raisin gives me pains and the sight of a plum pudding makes me feel sick.

It is all because I wanted to "keep going".

George started it.

He said: "You look white. You must eat plenty of raw liver. It makes blood."

"I don't like the taste of raw liver," I said.

"You take it in pills," he said. "Each pill represents half a pound of liver, and you take four before each meal." I thought a little.

"That makes six pounds of liver a day," I said. "Isn't it too much?"

"Perhaps I am wrong," said George. "Probably each pill only represents half an ounce of liver. Yes, that must be it. Then you could take six."

"I think I'd better begin with four," I said.

"I think so, too," said George.

Next day I met Bill. I told him I was taking liver pills to keep going.

"I've got just the thing for you," he said. "Remember the tonic that my wife has been taking? I told you about it." "Yes," I said.

"Well, I've been taking it, too, and I've never felt better. It's a prescription from a very good doctor. I'll get it for you." He got it.

"There's plenty of iron and arsenic in it," he said.

"Good," I said.

"About your hair," he said.

"Yes?" I said.

"You're going bald as an egg."

"It's a fact," I agreed.

"I can help you," he said.

He went away and brought back a tobacco tin full of a yellow ointment.

"I made this myself," said Bill. "There's fat and sulphur in it. It has been handed down for years."

"What, that tin?"

"No, the prescription."

"The ointment smells as if it had been handed down," I said. "Never mind that," said Bill. "You rub it into your head three times a day."

"Before or after meals?"

"After," he said.

Alf came to see me one day. I explained how I was "keeping going".

"There's nothing better than black coffee and glucose," he said. "Take it in the morning and afternoon. Do you drink olive oil?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"Drink it," he said.

"I will," I said.

It was hard to keep going. I got indigestion.

George gave me the powder to take after meals and Alf the powder to take before eating. My grandmother recommended the cod-liver oil and the inhalation.

But the indigestion got worse.

At a meeting of friends it was decided that I should cut down my lunch to nuts and raisins.

"I'll never keep going on nuts and raisins," I said.

"It's a natural food," they said. "Look at the animals." But there were no animals to look at.

However, I followed the advice of my friends. Now I had to prepare for bed an hour earlier to get through all the things I had to take. Then I couldn't sleep.

I told George.

"I can't sleep," I said.

He took me aside and gave me some pills. They were the smallest pills I had ever seen. You've never seen such small pills.

"Take one when you get into bed," he said, "but don't tell anyone that I gave them to you. They are prohibited," he said. "I got them from a fellow that knows a doctor and they're only to be taken when you can't sleep at all."

I took two on Sunday night. When I woke up the house was full of my friends. There was a doctor standing by my bed and it was Tuesday afternoon.

Well! I must have slept.

All my friends had their hats off and they are the sort of friends who wear their hats anywhere.

Tomorrow I shall leave for the bush.

Keeping going in the city is too dangerous.

Sean Townes

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