Published: 18 Aug 2022

Spencer Street Station was the hub of country rail travel for the colony and as noisy and as dirty as a rail head could be. From Spencer Street a traveler could catch a service to Albury, then after changing trains and rail gauge, travel further north to Sydney, or to Echuca on the Murray River, or north-west to the goldfields and Horsham and south-west to Branxholme and Portland, eventually connection through Serviceton to Adelaide.

Intercolonial services were a strange affair, as each colony went its own way without foresight, laying down tracks to their own specifications. The railway companies in Victoria did conversed with those in New South Wales, with both colonies deciding on what was known as standard gauge.

Soon after agreement the aspect changed to suit the Irishman at the head of the main Sydney’s railway company, who declared it should be broad gauge at five foot three inches as it was in Ireland. Victoria therefore laid the first line from the city to the port back in fifty-four with broad gauge and six months ahead of New South Wales, in the meantime the Irishman departed and the company in New South Wales converted back to standard but Victoria had already laid down many miles of track remaining with broad gauge, losing the opportunity to unite all the colonies with a single simple service.

The other colonies went for a narrower gauge at three foot six, declaring it saved on sleeper cutting and they had many more miles to cover, especially Queensland with over a thousand miles from Brisbane to the new settlement at Cairns in the tropical north. So if one wished to travel from Adelaide in South Australia through Melbourne to Sydney then beyond to Queensland there was a constant changing of rail services and line gauges. As for Perth which was two and a half thousand miles as the crow flies west from Sydney on the Indian Ocean, there wasn’t a road or rail connection, they would be planned for much later and one would need to book passage by mail steamer.

If one wished to continue travelling east from Melbourne into Gippsland and the townships of Sale, Bairnsdale or Moe when arriving from northern or western departures, it would be necessary to take a Hansom cab from Spencer Street to the Flinders Street terminus as the proposed rail connection had not yet been established between those termini, displaying yet another example of lacking in foresight.

It had been a long walk from home to Spencer Street Station for Dev, leaving with the sun for his nine-thirty rail connection and meeting with Toby. Spencer Street was a quiet end of town and mainly business with rail connections and store houses. It also held the developing postal department’s letters and parcels depots for easier connection with the rail services.

Since the station’s opening some thirty years previously it had suffered much from smoke and coal dust, now standing as a black blotch against the western sky. Promise had been issued to upgrade the station, along with bridging the missing link between Spencer Street and that in Flinders Street, a legacy brought about from lack of cooperation between private ownership of the many lines. With the downturn in the economy the government took over running the railways but by then there was little money for extensions or improvements.

On his arrival the sound of engines gathering steam stimulated Dev’s eagerness for adventure. What would he discover beyond the limit of drab and dirty city walls, of rooftops and cobbled streets that smelled of everything from horse dung to discarded butcher’s offal? True there were occasions when he and his friends would travel to Yarra Bend for swimming but even Yarra Bend was becoming suburban and their favorite spots taken from their pleasure. Where children once swam naked and free, now gentrified women with pink completion, protected by fancy parasols took leisurely walks.

As Dev approached the entrance his face prickled with excitement and his chest filled with importance. He was to be a ticketed traveler of some value and not one needing to dodge overzealous railway inspectors with heavy hands and solid boots. He thought of the many times he had taken free rides, how he and his little band of so called larrikins would watch out for inspectors and give them temerity from the safety of distance.

The lads had become quite apt at recognizing the inspectors from the crowd, as they would have expressions of intent, while passengers appeared to go about their business somewhat dazed while crowding into carriages. He also thought of times when discovered and how they worked one with the other to break free from being taken into custody, also an occasion when he was taken and marched by his scruff towards a duty policeman but was saved by Jones who stole the man’s hat and tossed it onto the railway tracks.

The platforms at Spencer Street were a hive of industry, mixed with the happy conversation of travelers becoming a single noise with an occasional pitch of laughter, or the call of destination of goods to be transported, such as Ballaarat, Geelong and Bendigo and then Echuca. Dev then developed a broad smile that controlled his expression to such an extent it was most difficult to dislodge.

‘Platform three,’ he thought remembering Toby’s directions. He looked about and saw a small sign, Platform one. His eyes followed to two and then to three where a number of carriages and goods vans waited. ‘Where’s the engine,’ he thinks.”

“Hello you have arrived at last,” a voice caught his attention. It was Toby.

“But a few minutes ago,”

“Where is your portmanteau?” Toby asks.

“Portmanteau?” Dev questions.

“Your travelling bag?”

“Oh,” Dev exclaims and lifts a small bag from across his shoulder for inspection.

“You travel lightly?”

“I don’t have a lot of clothes to pack.”

“Hubbard has already taken care of mine but seeing you have only one than we can go onboard immediately.”

“Where is the engine?” Dev asks.

“I should think it is taking on water and coal and should be along any moment,” Toby suggests and leads the way along the line of carriages and goods vans to first class. Dev continues towards those marked second class. “We are in here,” Toby says as a porter opens the carriage door.

“First class?” Dev questions.

“Come on, we don’t want to keep the gentleman waiting,”

As they enter there is a loud clunking and jolting almost sending Dev from his feet, he grabs towards the carriage wall to avoid falling. “What was that!”

“I would think it is the engine connecting.”

Then after a forward motion on the couplings the carriage again became still.

“Come on we are in three-b,” Toby says as he leads along the carriages narrow passageway. “Here we are,” he says on reaching their compartment and opens the door.

Inside there are two bench seats facing each other, on one neatly folded is that day’s Argus newspaper.

“Which one is our seat?” Dev asked.

“Either, it is our compartment for the journey,” Toby collects the newspaper; “do you read newspapers?”

“I do but usually those that are a week old or wrapped around our meat delivery, sometime I pick them up discarded from the tram stops and mum uses them for fire lighting.”

“Throw you bag up onto one of those racks, do you like facing where we are travelling or back to where we’ve come from?”

“I never thought of it, I’ve only travelled on crowed city trains and even then,” Del gives a weak blush, “well put it this way, I would be more concerned for railway inspectors that what direction I was facing.” Even so Dev takes the window in the forward direction, while Toby is seated opposite and commences to read the headline out aloud, “The Boy Jones died in Bairnsdale, they say he fell into the Mitchell River and drowned.”

“Who is The Boy Jones?” Dev questions.

“Edward Jones he was once headlines in social gossip. As when he was but a lad he broke into the palace and stole Queen Victoria’s underwear – and did so more than once.”

“He must have had a fancy for silk underwear,”

“You could say that,”

“Lucky they didn’t chop of his head,” Dev reckons.

“They do that in France – no they put him in the navy but he came back and broke into the palace again and it was never discovered how he gained entry.”

“Then what happened to him?”

“They deported him here to Australia and twice, for a while he was the town crier in Perth over in Western Australia before moving here to Victoria. Anyway I’ll leave that for later reading.”

A good quarter hour passed before the shrill of a whistle sounded from the platform outside their window, the whistle was answered from the engine and without further the straining commenced on the couplings. Forward motion soon took up the tension and the terminal was left behind.

Dev sat watching from the window as would a young child, his face broad with grinning, his eyes bright and his head filled with adventure. He broke away to speak, “that’s Arden Street football ground,” he says as the home ground to the Shinboners Football team slowly passes from view.

“Why are they called the Shinboners?” Toby asks.

“The team was founded by abattoir workers,”

“That makes sense. We will swing to the west in a few minutes before heading to the north,” Toby says.

“I’ve never been this far out before, mostly to the east and south-east.” Dev admits.

“There isn’t as much development here in the west, the land is stony and the soil is poor, although it is good for sheep,” Toby explains.

Within a short while they crossed a river, “that can’t be the Yarra?” Dev confusingly questions knowing the Yarra came from the north-east.

“It’s the Maribyrnong, and joins the Yarra before Hobsons Bay – did you have breakfast before leaving?”

“No it was quite dark and I didn’t want to light the lamp,”

“Hubbard has packed some sandwiches but we will stop for lunch at Bendigo,”

“Mum married Jack’s father in Bendigo, he was panning for gold at the time.”

“That must have been some years past,”

“It was sometime in the late sixties mum said.”

“That would make Jack, what twenty-three or there about.”

“Twenty-two and a bit,” Dev answers.

“Yes the bit is important,” Toby laughs.

Once beyond the city and its developing suburbs, the country opened like a patchwork quilt. Being late in the season the grass was long and brown but beneath the willowing stalks a touch of new season’s green followed from the recent rain.

There were many stops along the way but only momentarily as goods were unloaded and passengers departed or embarked, there was a wonder of strange names, Sunbury, Gisborne, Keyton, Harcourt, Chewton and one known to Dev in Castlemaine.

“If you don’t mind I’ll do some reading,” Toby collects the paper and opens it to the small financial section towards the back. He smiles, “Broken Hill is offering shares,” he says.

“Where is Broken Hill?”

“In western New South Wales and rich in silver and lead and to think I knew Charles Rasp when he worked for Veronica.”

“Who is Charles Rasp?”

“He was boundary riding when he discovered what he thought was tin but instead was believed to be one of the world’s richest deposits of silver and lead. To think he offered me partnership at a pittance now the shares are almost ten pounds each.”

Dev was more interested in a cartoon captioned on the back page; “I don’t know much about shares,” he truthfully admits.

Toby laughs and turns the page, “who does?”

“If I’m not being rude, do you have shares Toby?”

“Quite some but I’m a little cautious, mining is hit and miss as you have to trust those who discover the deposits.”

“Why so?”

“What some unscrupulous fossickers do is called seeding, they scatter mineral about to make the deposits appear extensive then either sell their claim at an exorbitant price, or issue shares in mining and almost before you turn the first shovel they are gone and the ground worthless.”

“So it isn’t only the poor who are screwed,” Dev gives a satisfying chortle.

“You know Dev I was once told there are two ways of becoming rich,”

“I would think the first is to acquire as much money and property as you can lay you hands on,” Dev offers.

“That is true and the second is to have few wants and needs,” Toby explains.

“I’ve already got the second but would love to have a go at the first.”

“If you came into money what would you do with it?”

“I would buy my mother a small house, not too big mind you as for the cleaning she would need to do and put a little aside for her dotage and give my brother Jack a fine horse to ride to the pub.”

“What about yourself Dev, what would you desire?”

“That’s a good question; possibly a warmer winter coat, a pair of shoes that don’t let in the water and a fine hat.”

“A fine hat?” Toby laughs.

“Maybe not a fine hat, otherwise I would need fancy garb to go with it.” Dev obviously remained in thought.

“And?” Toby continues.

“And I would like to visit my namesake; I would like to travel to Devon in England, only for a visit mind you, I don’t think I would like to live there.”

“And why not live there?” Toby asks.

Dev takes his time before answering, “I can’t say really, I suppose it would seem foreign and I would miss Melbourne.”

“Even miss the financial situation the colony is experiencing?”

“I should think even England is going through the same,”

“Was Dev but from what father writes it is improving and by his bragging he is growing wealthier by the month, while riding on the sheep’s back from his business here in Victoria.”

“On the sheep’s back?”

“One of his enterprises is importing wool and upping the price to the English mills.”

“Anyway all that won’t happen and as mum would say – if wishes were pound notes then we would all be millionaires, besides the thought of being rich is a little frightening.”

“Why so?”

“From what I understand those who have money spend most of their time trying to find ways to make more, or die of heart failure worrying about losing it.”

“Well spoken. I have been to Devon and have a house there I inherited from an uncle on mother’s side but I mostly know London and the Home Counties; the family has a house on the Strand and another in Surrey.”

“What is London like?”

“I was very young and remember it being busy, smelly and always raining,”

“If you parents don’t return, will you inherit the house in Jolimont?”

“You have asked me that before, I’m afraid not, there is an older brother who I’ve never met and lives in England, he will inherit everything.”

“Oh, I thought,” Dev was about to claim his friend as wealthy but thought better of prying further into Toby’s affairs.

“You thought I was wealthy?”

“Sorta’.”

“I am a man of considerable means, my parents made sure that my sister and I are well provided for, besides I have invested wisely over time.”

“Again my apologies I am overstepping,”

“Overstepping? I like that. I like the way you talk its refreshing from those I usually associate with.”

“It’s called street but I try not to use it,”

“You speak well enough don’t put yourself down, besides I don’t believe in class, I get enough of it when mother is at home and her so called lady friends from Richmond.”

“When is your birthday Toby?”

“I’ll be twenty-three in April.”

“And I nineteen in March.”

“A pup I would say but again I am less than four years more – why do you ask?”

“No reason other than it puts things into perspective.”

“Things?”

“What I mean is -,” Dev wasn’t sure what he meant, or if Toby’s age was at all important. He thought for a time before continuing with his explanation, “I suppose it is like doing a jigsaw puzzle, each piece on its own isn’t important but when placed with others they display the full picture.”

“So how far have you come towards seeing the entire picture that is me?” Toby asks.

“That depends; as your employee I have possibly gone too far but as a friend the whole picture is important.”

“And which one are you Dev, employee or friend?”

“I would like to think I am both,” Dev honestly answered.

“Yes you are becoming more a friend than an employee but don’t look too deeply into that picture you are developing or you may see something you don’t like.”

Dev noted Toby’s warning but didn’t comment further although he did wonder why such a comment was spoken, was there some dark secret. Knowing Toby, even for such a short time, Dev believed such a secret would not exist, possible it is something to do with his extended family. Firstly he thought of Toby’s father and his time in diplomatic service. Had he been a spy? The thought did excite the lad’s perception.

It was past one in the afternoon when they arrived at Bendigo and its busy railway hub and interchange. There were branch lines and coach connections radiating in all directions, even a railway double-back that headed towards its sister city of Ballaarat then back to Melbourne but what interested most was the refreshment rooms at centre platform.

“Come on time for lunch,” Toby says and leads the way through wide doors adorned with leadlight glass of blue, red and yellow. Arched above the entrance a half circle luminette depicted earlier days of the gold diggings cast its brilliance onto the highly polished floor. Inside was furnished with polished counters and tables with gingham tablecloths carrying crockery declaring it was railway property.

Dev sounds a worrying breath.

“What seems to be the problem?” Toby asks.

“I don’t feel as if I belong in here,”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Quite so,”

“Come on let’s find a table,”

Although there was a crowd they found a small table to the back but close to the food counter. “It isn’t table service I’m afraid and we have only half an hour so what would you like and I’ll get it for you.”

Dev glanced towards the many glass containers and trays of cakes and pastries, “I pie would be nice,”

“A pie? You can have a pie at any time from a street stall, wouldn’t you like something different?”

“No a pie would do just dandy thank you,”

So a pie it was and quickly consumed, as no sooner had the last of the gravy been licked from fingers then a bell sounded warning of imminent departure.

The country from Bendigo was flat and rocky but well suited for pasture, with flocks of sheep taking shelter under golden wattle in full bloom, along the dry stone fence lines. To the north of Bendigo there was still gold fossicking and alluvial in the dry creek beds, although most gold now came from deep down, needing expensive equipment and more money than what was found in the average man’s pocket.

Each time the train crossed a creek bed, there would be a number of men panning for the yellow metal and as the train past by they would become upright and wave, as if those aboard were close acquaintances, in truth more to break the monotony of finding little and to stretch the stiffness from their backs.

“Wasn’t this the country where they caught Ned Kelly?” Dev asked Toby as they approached the township of Elmore.

“No that was on the inter-colonial line at Glenrowan some-ways east of here.”

“Although I was very young at the time, I remember his trial and hanging many years back, they hanged him on Melbourne cup day as most would be at the horse racing,” Dev recollects but by his attitude had more to confess on the matter.

“True,” Toby agrees.

“My brother Jack said they hanged the wrong person,”

“Why so?”

“He said they should have hanged his mother, as she was the one who set her boys on a life of crime by her hatred of the British.”

“Irish,” Toby simply stated.

“What do you mean?”

“The Irish get the blame for most things but again I guess the two police he murdered were also Irish and would have been happy enough if they had been successful to receive reward for Ned’s capture, either dead or alive.”

“One of our neighbours is Irish, Mrs. O’Donnell and as kind as one can be.

“In my opinion they carry their disdain towards anything English too far and should accept this country as their own and forget about the troubles back home.”

“You know Toby that is the closest I’ve ever heard you comment on anything political.”

“It is but an observation and noting political inferred. Look we are approaching Elmore; after there is only Rochester then on to Echuca.

“Is Echuca a large town?”

“Quite large and has become a busy inland port for paddle steamers and a crossover from New South Wales.”

The village of Elmore was little more than a dozen houses, some sheds and a small row of business premises along a dusty road a short distance from the rail line. There was a siding but the train slowly made its way through without stopping. At a crossing a cart waited, loaded high with hay and a number of children who merrily waved, two were mounted on ponies that took fright as the train approached and released three happy toots, yet both were experienced enough to quickly regain control.

“I wonder what it would be like to grow up in the country and have your own pony,” Dev asks as he waved back to the children.

“Relentless,” Toby answered.

“Why so?”

“Long days and early nights with nothing to do, I’m afraid I’ve always been city as much as my sister Veronica is country.”

“You said you were brought up in the country.”

“True but doing so doesn’t make you wish to live there for all time, although I’ve never lost my attitude towards a simple life but one with much activity about, even if I don’t join with it.”

“I think I would have liked living in the country. What of Veronica, you said she was widowed.”

“That is the country for you Dev, James her husband was bitten by a snake and died two years ago.”

“I don’t think I’d like the snakes,” Dev gives a shudder.

“I shouldn’t be unkind, I had some wonderful times living with Veronica and James when I was a boy.”

“What is Veronica like – will she mind me staying?”

“I sent her a letter saying I was bringing someone. She is fourteen years my senior and married quite young, Veronica has a happy disposition and laughs at everything. Yes you will get along with Veronica and even for one brought up with servants she has, as you call it, a dash of street surging through her veins.”

“Fourteen years older, what of your brother?”

“He is a year older than Veronica.”

“There is a big different in your age,”

Toby releases a light chuckle.

“What was that for?”

“I was what could be considered an unexpected surprise and in some ways mother never got over the fact, although farther considered me to be the spare.”

“Spare, what do you mean?”

“Like with the monarch they have the heir and the spare, the second male child is considered to be the spare.”

Dev laughs, “then I suppose I’m also the spare, although there isn’t anything to inherit.”

The afternoon sun was casting long shadows as Toby and Dev reached the platform having to make their way through other travelers and those to meet the train, avoiding a number of young lads weaving this way then that through the crowd in abandoned game. At the far end of the platform stood a slender woman, quite tall, somewhat weather beaten, her auburn hair now streaked with gray and held at the top in a bun. Her attire was more masculine than feminine, lending towards that of a working man but she managed to carry it with a measure of feminine flair, her slender throat was decorated with a sky blue bandanna.

At the woman’s side was a thin black lad of no more than fourteen but by his skin shading his father would have been white.

On seeing Toby the woman waved.

“That’s Veronica,” Toby says and waves back.

The woman gives a second wave.

“Who is the native boy?”

“That’s Benny he was orphaned during the flooding some years back. James found him as a baby abandoned in the long grass alongside the Campaspe River.”

“What happened to his family?”

“That was never discovered, so seeing they didn’t have children of their own, they adopted Benny and gave him a name, a home and education. You will like Benny he has a wicked sense of humor but watch him he likes to play tricks.”

As they approach Veronica gives the lad direction, “Benny be a darling and go get Toby’s luggage and take it to the cart.”

The lad quickly advances towards the baggage carriage.

“So you made it,” Veronica says.

“Yes and ready to work,”

“Is this the young man you wrote about?” Veronica asks of Dev and gives the broadest most welcoming smile possible. She offers Dev her hand, it appeared as calloused as would that form any working man but was warm and welcoming.

“Yes Devon is going to help you with the shepherding for the sheering, maybe if time permits learn to ride.”

Dev’s ears pricked with the suggestion.

“Have you ever ridden a horse Dev?”

“No never Veronica,”

“Have you ever shorn a sheep before?”

“No,”

“Never mind any help will be appreciated and I’m sure Benny can fix you with a quiet mount. So is your name Devon or is that a friendly name with your chums.”

“No it’s legally Devon but most call me Dev,”

“Then Dev it will be, have you been up country before?”

“No, only that what is close to home,”

“Therefore it will be an exciting new experience for you. I do hope we live up to your expectations.”

“I’m loving it already Veronica.”

“Could you help Benny with the luggage,” Toby asks.

“Sure,” Dev quickly agrees and advances towards the luggage carriage and Benny. As he goes he hears a question from Veronica.

“Is Dev your -,”

Toby quickly prevents Veronica from continuing.

“No – unfortunately,”

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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