Published: 1 Sep 2022

Benny’s swimming hole wasn’t on the Murray as he suggested but where the Campaspe met the big water and close to a camp of the Yorta-Yorta, whose totem was the long neck turtle and the traditional owners of that length of the Murray and Campaspe Rivers.

As they arrived they found many of the younger boys from the camp swimming as naked as the day they were born. On the higher ground were a number of humpies, where women attended to cooking fires, the men attending to their hunting spears and nulla-nullas. Not that with the arrival of Europeans they had much use of nulla-nullas, as warfare was mostly the natives running from the white man’s guns and never close enough to use a club. All heads lift as the riders approach.

“Is this the Murray?” Dev asked believing the river was somewhat narrow for river travel.

“No it is the Yalooka but we white fellers’ call it the Campaspe,” Benny played on his white upbringing while ignoring his obvious mixed colouring.

As the two neared the camp a number of older men stopped what they were doing and stood upright and as silent as the tall eucalyptus trees that skirted the camp. Some of the boys commenced to approach with much jubilation on seeing the horses. “You wait here Dev, while I ask for permission.”

“Permission?” Dev curiously repeated.

“It is manners to do so, would you let someone walk into your house and start cooking or something without giving permission?”

“I suppose not,”

“There you go,”

Benny slowly approached the first of the men, while the children milled around his mount. Dev couldn’t hear what was spoken but it seemed to be in language.

Moments later Benny returned; “they said it was alright to use the waterhole,”

As Benny spoke one of the older men with a long white beard approached the river and appeared to be in deep conversation with no one but by his action it was almost an argument, as he pointed with long knotted fingers towards the water. The native lads in the water paused from their play while he spoke.

“What is he up to?” Dev asks.

“He is asking the long neck turtle for permission for you to swim,”

“Huh,” Dev voices as being unfamiliar with traditional ways.

“Don’t scoff Dev, you have your religion, they have theirs, who is to say which is right.”

“Point taken Benny – sorry,”

Benny dismounted and helped Dev down. On reaching the ground he discovered he had lost his land legs even after only riding for a short distance, feeling as if he was once again on the bay during the fishing with Brian Fisk and his Uncle.

Benny passed the reins of both horses to the native boys.

“Will they be safe with the horses?” Dev questioned.

“They have no fear of horses and most can ride and often help with the droving.”

“I’ve a lot to learn about the country,” Dev admitted.

“Even more about us blacks,” Benny suggested.

“You are a funny lad,” Dev says.

“What do you mean?”

“One moment you are white the next black,”

“It is safer that way, have a leg in both camps and only one leg will be bitten at a time.”

On reaching the water Benny stripped away his white clothing and after some chatter with a group of native boys he dove into the river. Dev was coy, wearing an old pair of trousers with the leggings removed to above the knee. He had kept the old trousers for that purpose, as their once naked swimming at Yarra Bend had been discovered by families for picnics and recreation. At first the boys had simply disregarded the newcomers and went naked but were soon reported to authorities and forced to dress or be issued a ten shilling fine, or a number of nights at her Majesties Pleasure.

The shearers arrived on the following day, which meant Toby’s promise of a visit to town would have to be postponed. Dev joined in the droving and penning of the sheep. Other than the droving there was assuring animals were ready when required by the shearers, or taking turn at tar-boy with a pitcher of tar for whenever a poor animal was nicked by the shears, also the baling of the wool, once the dags and refuse had been removed from the fleece. Even so there was downtime and after the day’s work was completed Benny would give riding lessons. By the end of the shearing Dev was, as in the words of Benny, smart enough not to fall off at a canter.

Most afternoons as the sun commenced to pass beyond the tall river gums there would be a regulation dip in the Campaspe at the native camp but by then the long neck turtle must have become acquainted with Dev, as the old men no longer asked for its permission.

Dev was warming to the native’s simple existence and had been accepted, especially by the children who mill around his mount on arrival, calling his name over and over. It appeared to humor them but what he eventually came to understand, his name was similar to an impoliteness in their language, which neither they or Benny would translate.

By the second week the shearing was over for another season and Toby kept to his promise to show Dev the sights of Echuca. It was the wharf that impressed most, being high above the level of the river and the riverboats, while using cranes to load and unload cargo. There were five paddlers docked for the wool clip and each towed a barge already loaded high with bales marked by stencil where the wool eventuated. The Wilson mark clearly stood out on a number of bales and was already loaded for departure.

Like all things, ending time must come and to Dev it was more distressing than he could imagine, although one more adventure remained, Toby had promised to ride with him and seeing the following day would be the last full day before departure it was arranged.

Dev had spent much of that night mulling over how he could remain in the country but what of his mother, he couldn’t leave her to further poverty to advantage his own pleasure. Possibly he could encourage Ilene to join with him but she would never leave Jack and knowing Jack he could never accept country life. He was much too accustomed to the bawdy entertainment of rowdy bars and the shoulder to shoulder atmosphere of the city to relate to the dreamy pace of the country.

The sound of magpie serenade beyond his bedroom window brought Dev from dreaming. It was late and moments later there is knocking at his door, “Breakfast in ten,” Toby called.

“Coming,” Dev answered.

“Don’t forget our ride this morning,” Toby reminds.

Dev quickly dressed and meets Toby in the hall.

“Are you alright Dev?”

“Yes fine, why do you ask?”

“You look a little, well flat is most likely the best description.”

“I overslept I guess, that is all.”

“I have some business to attend with Veronica after breakfast which will only take a short while and then we will be off.”

“Will Benny be joining us?”

“No Benny has his work to do.”

Dev was pleased, as over their stay he had little time with Toby and something was playing on his mind. Deep in the soup of his emotions there was something he was attempting to understand, trying to place a thought into language, remaining as a shadow that gave an occasional glimpse without showing its substance and whenever the thought occurred it always appeared to relate to Toby.

Benny had already saddled their mounts and was out front as Toby came from his meeting with Veronica. Dev was waiting in the drawing room admiring the collection of fine china ornaments and many family portraits ascetically displayed in groups on burgundy walls. It had a calming effect, his mother would call it clutter, yet here it was pleasing to the eye and adventurous to the mind.

“Are you about ready?” Toby called into the room.

“Ready,” Dev answered and turned away from a painting of a man with a neatly trimmed beard dressed as if ready for battle, while proudly holding a rifle and staring out of the oil and canvas as if searching for something or someone to shoot.

“That is father when he was tiger hunting in India,” Veronica mentioned as she joined with Toby.

“India,” Dev repeated. He had heard of India of course but when spoken by Veronica it became more exotic to his ears and not just words in a school textbook.

“Have you heard of India?” Veronica asks.

“Only through schoolbooks,”

“Veronica was born in Lucknow in India when father worked for the Viceroy,” Toby admits.

Immediately a poem by the American John Whittier came to mind from stanzas Dev was forced to learn during his schooling, “then up spake a Scottish maiden with her ear unto the ground,” he quietly recited, “that is the most of my memory of it,” he admits.

“Ah you also Dev; it was the bane of my existence at school, unlike you and unfortunately I do remember the most of it.” Veronica admits.

“Come on Benny has the horses waiting,” Toby encourages.

“I have things to do; I’ll leave you to your ride, ask Benny to come in I have a little job for him.”

It was a pleasant day with a slight breeze coming off the water. In the orchid the fruit trees were in full bloom and the sound of bees most audible even from some distance. Veronica had cook prepare a picnic lunch of roast chicken and salad and two bottles of beer which were neatly secured in saddlebags.

“Where to?” Dev asked as they reached the gentle bank of the Campaspe.

“I thought along the Murray where the Campaspe joins and away from town and the native camp.”

It was some distance to the junction of the rivers and with Dev trailing behind the conversation was limited, in the most referring to the terrain and the names of plants and trees along the way. All of which were strange to Dev and forgotten once mentioned but not their design or beauty. Eventually they reached the river and dismounted.

“She is a quiet one,” Dev says.

“Who?”

“The Murray she is not what I expected and goes about her business almost in slow motion.”

“You wouldn’t think so if you were midstream, the current is quite fast and the water deep.”

Dev releases a long and gentle sigh.

“What is on your mind Dev?”

“All this,” Dev gives a nod towards the river, followed by a slow pass across the panorama with his hand, “you have introduced me to a life I couldn’t even imagine and now I’ve been here I don’t know how I can return to what I must.”

“You don’t have to do so Dev,”

“I must, firstly family and friends especially one who relies on me.”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that for you,”

“That I realize, I don’t know, I just don’t understand it all, I was happy being street, now it is so far from my thoughts I could shout.”

“Do you want to go for a swim?”

“Why not, it may wash away my mood,” a nervous pause, “is it safe you said there’s a strong current,”

“Close in to the bank there’s no worries we would be protested by the bend in the river,” Toby gives assurance as he strips down to skin.

Dev hesitates.

“What is the problem?” Toby asks.

“Being naked, you are my boss.”

“I hope I’ve gone beyond that by now,”

Toby turns away and slowly enters the water, “its a little cold,” he admits as the water level covers him to the waist.

Dev gives a slight shoulder shrug as he joins Toby in the water, “you’re not joking; it’s colder than the Campaspe,”

“It comes from the east off the snow and has more volume while the Campaspe is from the south. Toby ducks his head under the water and a laurel of gum leaves comes with the flow to rest on the crown of his head, bringing Dev to laugh.

“What?” Toby quizzically questions.

“Oh Caesar I honor you,” Dev bows his head in continuation of his merriment.

Toby laughs along with Dev while splashing him with a volume of water, bringing the lad to return the splash. Immediately and without thought a wrestle commences lasting all of ten seconds.

Both stop with hands resting on each other’s shoulders while becoming serious.

Eyes interlock.

Breathing slows to almost stop.

Dev’s face prickles with expectation, as a deep emotion rises.

He swallows at a developing blockage in his throat and gives a nervous cough while a question forms. “Toby,” he says.

Toby waits for Dev to speak.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You can ask anything you wish.”

“At the train station when we arrived, Veronica made a statement.”

“I don’t remember; what statement was it?”

“She said is Dev – and you quickly answered her with you only wish.”

“Did I say that?”

“It doesn’t matter; I shouldn’t be so bold – sorry.” But boldness was now beyond the lad and as hands remained resting on shoulders he was more than pleased the river covered the furnace that was building below the water.

Toby gives a deep and expressed release of air while his hands remained on the lad’s shoulders. Now the semi-embrace had lasted for such a period it was all but impossible to break. “Dev do you understand a man’s love for another man?”

“Mateship?” Dev suggests.

“Beyond mateship,”

“I do,”

“That is what is developing within me for you,” Toby nervously admitted.

“Oh,”

“Have I disgusted you?”

“No,”

“What then?”

“I don’t know how to answer. I’ve never lay with a man,” Dev releases a titter of reality, “nor have I with a woman,”

“Could you with a man?”

“I could under the right circumstances.”

“Could you with me?”

Dev gently takes Toby by the hand and lowers it beneath the water, “Does that answer your question?”

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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