Published: 16 Jun 2022

Early Tuesday morning and Fisk was knocking on Dev’s door. Ilene answered and showed him in, “Good morning Brian, I would think you are looking for Dev?”

“Yes Mrs. Gooding,”

“He is down the back and shouldn’t be long but keep the noise down as Jack is in bed. Would you like a cup of tea?” she offers.

“I would rather coffee Mrs. Gooding,”

“Sorry love but our money doesn’t stretch to coffee this week.”

“Nor ours,” Fisk admits as Dev returns.

“I’ll leave you two to talk, I have washing to attend,”

“What’s up?” Dev asks,

“Do you want a job?”

“Doing what?”

“My Uncle Ben Fisk has a fishing boat and needs a couple of hands for a day or so. He can’t pay anything but you can have some of the catch. Yet half of nothing is still nothing and the haul has been light on of late. Ben says it’s the weather.”

Dev doesn’t display enthusiasm but possibly a feed of fish would be a welcomed change. “How long is a day or so?” Dev cautiously asks.

“Until his usual men are up and about, one had a fall and the other is visiting a sick brother up at Bendigo. If you agree you will have to be down at South Wharf by four in the morning.”

“I’d never wake that early.”

“Then I suggest we both bunk over at Ben’s place, it isn’t far about half distance between home and here.”

Ilene returned with a load of clean washing to be ironed, “what’s this I hear about you bunking over at Brian’s?” She asks while testing the temperature of the flat iron from the stove. It had overheated so she placed it aside to cool a little.

“Staying overnight at Brien’s Uncle Ben, he needs fishing crew and it’s a four in the morning start.

“Fish would be a nice change,” Ilene says while trying to imagine the last time she could afford fresh fish, remembering it was when Jack won a large snapper as a Christmas prize at the pub a year previously. Even then it was on the turn from the heat.

“Will you be alright alone for a couple of days?” Dev asks.

“Jack is here but I do have a question for you both,” Ilene asks as the kettle comes to boil, “be a dear Dev and make the tea.”

“What would that be Mrs. Gooding,” Brian asks.

“Have either of you been to sea before?”

Both admitted in the negative.

“So you don’t know if you would become seasick?”

“What’s that?” Dev asks while scooping two meager spoons of tea leaves into the pot.

“It happens when you lose your land legs from the swaying and the tossing about of the waves.”

“It is only on the bay Mrs. Gooding,” Brian assures with some confidence.

“Very well, we shall see.”

Mealtime at Fisk’s uncle’s house unsurprisingly was fish with mashed potatoes and some beans his wife, Gillian tipped from a tin canister. Once empty Dev read the labeling on the can, Sizar Elliott, Charlotte Place Sydney but the part describing the contents had been damaged with the opening.

“What are they Mrs. Fisk?” Dev asked.

“Beans of sorts,” she says.

“Ben Fisk laughs, “farting material lad,”

“They taste nice. We have never had canned food,”

“Then Dev I’ll gave you a can to take home to your mother,”

“We don’t have a can opener,”

“It’s all the go these days, Brewster’s Grocery shop in Richmond has shelves full of all kinds of interesting things, even fish,” Gillian relates as she looks towards Ben for his input.

“Fish comes from the ocean not out of a canister,” Ben growls his disapproval.

“It comes from nowhere if you don’t catch any,” Gillian says.

“Very true but I have a feeling for tomorrow. I’ll bring you back a big snapper.”

“Even a small one would be nice,” Gillian concludes.

It was a novelty for Dev to share a bunk with someone other than Jack; that is if a straw mattress in a shed that doubled as a pony stall could be considered a bed, with the wind blowing a large tree branch against the shed wall until well past midnight. Then it was rain and a slow leak through the metal roof to drip into a bucket with a continuous plopping sound.

“That rain sounds heavy,” Dev suggests.

“It is but a squall it won’t last long, although I wouldn’t wish to be out on the bay tonight.”

“I hope it doesn’t last,” Dev nervously wishes as he had become quite excited towards their little adventure.

“I was thinking,” Brian says.

“That could be dangerous,”

“About Jonesy’,”

“What about him?”

“Do you reckon he is into what he does with those he meets from the boats?” Brian asks as they settled into what comfort their bed had to offer.

“He said he only does it for money,”

“Yea sure thing,” Brian scoffs.

“I dunno’ what do you think?” Dev wasn’t prepared to admit his past pleasure with Doug, even if it could be considered nothing more than playful inquisitiveness.

“Have you tried it?”

“Not likely,” Dev lied.

“You know Jonesy tried it on me once,” Brian admits.

“What do you mean?”

“He grabbed me on the dick when we were having a piss after swimming over at Dights Falls.”

“I would have had a piss while swimming,” Dev admitted.

“Should have,”

“Then what happened?”

“Nothing really, I got hard and said fuck off, Jonesy laughed and we went home.”

“Did it worry you?” Dev asks.

“Not really, I was almost tempted to let him finish me off, instead I had to do it in the dunny at home and my brother almost caught me.”

“Why didn’t you let him?”

Fitch begins to laugh and rolls away from the conversation, “I’m not that kinda’ boy, anyway better get some kip; it will be four before you know it.”

Early morning and hammering on the hay room door, “you two awake?”

Dev’s eyes force open. He had been dreaming and the hammering on the door was thunder, he was in a wild storm and about to be washed overboard from some small craft with his cries for help silent in his throat, while the boat’s crew stood by without concern. His pulse was racing as he answers Ben’s call, “yes I’m awake,”

“The weather has cleared but we need to get a wriggle on,”

Dev shakes Brian, “come on time to go,”

“Ow, shit, whose idea was this?” Brian releases a low growl.

“Yours if I recollect, come on Ben’s waiting.”

It took some time but eventually the two stumbled out into the dark to find Ben already seated in his cart.

“The rain has stopped but with the clear sky the morning is a little nippy,” Ben forecasts.

“Huh,” Brian grumbles.

“I did warn ya’ it was an early start,” Ben says in his defense.

Neither lad answers but while shivering from the morning’s crispness they took their place in the cart as Ben hurries the pony to a trot.

“Firstly to Franklin Street,” Ben says as iron wheel rims echo along the stillness of the early morning streets.

“Why there?” Brian asks rubbing his hands together for warmth; it didn’t work so he places them under his armpits.

“Have to go to the James Harrisons Ice Company for a load of ice.”

“Ice?” Dev questions.

“For the fish, if we catch any – have to keep it fresh.”

“Oh,”

“In the old days the ice came from Boston in America by ship but now thanks to James Harrison and his associate John Bourke, they know how to freeze water locally.”

“They musta’ frozen the bloody night’s air as well,” Dev complained; his teeth chattering as he shook his hands about to circulate the blood flow.

Ben laughs; “as a fisherman you soon get use to it and much worse,”

“I’ve never been out of bed at four in the morning Ben,” Dev admits with a deep elongated yawn.

“Well there you go; a new experience for you.”

By the time they had collected the ice and reached South Wharf there was the first hint of daylight behind the city and the smoke from breakfast fires was beginning to taint the crisp air with a brown haze. Ben parked the cart and after placing a nosebag of oats onto the pony he directed the boys onto the wharf.

“What’s for breakfast?” Dev asks as they walk towards the docks.

“I have some sandwiches but best to be going first, we can have them on the way.

At the dock Dev notice two small crafts, one had two masts and sails, the other a steam engine, both no longer than thirty feet.

“Which one is it Ben?” Dev asks.

“Which one would you like?” Ben offers.

Dev liked the romance of sail and points to the sailboat.”

“Na it’s the other, The Brenda and may take a while to reach steam, so while you and Brian load the ice, I’ll stoke-up.”

In no time at all the ice was stored and the furnace stoked and with a quick release of steam and a sharp toot they were on their way.

“Why is it called Brenda?” Dev asks.

“That lad I couldn’t say, she was called so when I bought her and it is considered bad luck to change a lady’s name but you must admit the name suits her, short and portly.”

“I have a cousin Brenda and portly would describe her perfectly,” Dev shares while watching the dark water of the Yarra surge about from the boat’s passage.

“Have either of you been out on the bay before?” Ben asks as they commenced down river towards Hobsons Bay.

Neither had.

“Then it will be an experience but if the fish are about you will be too busy to see much.”

“How do you fish?” Dev asked believing the three would stand around all day dangling lines as he had seen many do from the river jetties.

“A net lad but not like the big boys, mine only needs three to cast and haul in.”

Ben had a thought and a grin, “I guess neither of you know what sea sickness is?”

“Mum warned us of it yesterday,” Dev says.

“Some words of advice, if you chuck you guts, then do it over the side and not on the decking.”

Motoring downstream was like transversing a millpond and crossing Hobsons Bay, the small inlet at the mouth of the river, was but a ripple. Off to portside were the wharfs of Port Melbourne with a number of fine ships in dock, some with sail others steam. To starboard and off Williamstown an intermitting flashing light could be seen through a light early morning mist.

“What is that flashing light?” Dev asks.

“Count the time between flashes,” Ben suggests.

“I can count up to four between each flash,”

“That will be Point Gellibrand pile light, warning where the reef is. We will head further out to the south where there is a sandbank that usually has good fishing and away from the main shipping lane.”

No sooner had Ben spoken the small craft past from the protection of Point Lonsdale and into the open waters of Port Phillip Bay then the calm water changed into choppy with a south easterly. Both lads reached for something to keep them to their feet.

“Oh,” Dev simply says.

“Are you alright lad?”

“So far,”

Ben began to grin as in no time at all he could see the lad’s faces turning from a youthful pink to a paler shade of white. It is Brian to first reach the side.

“I would say that is a record of sorts, we’ve only been in open water for five minutes.”

Dev joined Brian at the side.

“When you two have finish with chucking your guts, I need help casting the net.”

On reaching his favorite fishing spot, Ben killed the engine and allowed the small craft to drift about on its anchor above the sand bank. Oddly Ben’s theory that working takes away the effect was proven and with the progress of the day they forgot about their heaving stomachs but turned down the offering of a meal. “How would you be out past the heads in the real ocean?”

“I wouldn’t, Dev admitted.

“Out there even the largest of ships can come to grief, especially if there is a strong south westerly and the ship is attempting to enter through the heads, you turn her sideways into that and she would topple that’s a certainty.”

“Truthfully Ben a couple of days on the bay will cure any wish to travel further for all times.”

“Never say never lad,” Ben comically prophesized.

“It’s more a promise Ben,”

“I said that to my old man and look where I am now?”

“Granddad Fisk, I didn’t know he was a fisherman,” Brian admits.

“Earlier on he was Brian until he injured his leg, he got it caught in a net and it almost dragged him in. That was before you were born.”

After a late afternoon casting and coming up with little, Ben decided it wasn’t the right weather and a storm was building out in Bass Strait, so one more casting and they would call it a day.

“I saw your Jack at the pub last Saturday,” Ben says, “and he left with that good looking bit of skirt who works at Ball and Welch over in Carlton – any wedding bells dinging for Jack yet Dev?”

“I didn’t know he was stepping out with anyone, he can be a little secretive,”

“Possibly I shouldn’t have mentioned it,”

“No worries Ben, I won’t say anything about it, we don’t talk that often anyway.”

“Not a bad bloke your brother,” Ben says.

“Half brother Ben, Jack’s father was an American and cleared out before mum met my father and mum had to go to the court to obtain a divorce by abandonment.”

Ben laughs; “that reminds me of something.”

“What so Ben?” Dev asks.

“Half brother, I have one of those,”

“Who?” Brian asks as it was a family story he had never hear about.

“My old man also did a runner after giving the barmaid at the Anchor hotel in Bay Street a kid but he soon returned when she popped the kid out and she demanded money.”

“That I never knew,” Brian admits.

“Families can be like that young Brian and it isn’t a secrete but I wouldn’t go asking your old man about it, he’s a little touchy on such matters; yes Jacks a good bloke,” Ben repeated, “even if he is your half brother. I believe my half brother Greg is as crooked as they come. He’s as bent as Tommy Bent,”

“Do you mean the speaker in parliament?” Dev says.

“That’s the fellow, as bent as they come, someday I’ll tell you the story about the mace and a prostitute.”

“That sounds sordid,” Dev admits.

Ben laughs and points down the bay towards the heads. “There’s your storm, we better bring the net in and head back.”

“How long before it gets here?” Brian asked.

“It may not; it appears to be heading across the bay but best to be sure as this old girl couldn’t take a battering, besides the water’s to choppy to continue fishing further.”

As quickly as possible they drew in the final net, allowing the catch to flip about on the decking. There were a good thirty fish mostly Garfish and Flathead but there was a nice size Red Snapper.

“It will hardly pay for the ice,” Ben complained as he added the catch to their previous haul, “but don’t worry as you will still get a share young Dev but not the snapper, I have a customer who will pay good coin for that.”

“I thought your wife wished for it,” Dev contradicts.

“Wishing yes but she will be more than pleased with some coin.”

It was growing dark as the small craft steamed slowly towards its birthing on the river. Within reach Ben shuts off the blower to the firebox as Brian jumped to the dock and secured a rope around the closest bollard.

“Home and safe,” Ben says as the pressure drops to safe before blow down. He releases the valve allowing the excess steam to hiss about the deck. “Righto’ lads, what did you think of your first time fishing?” Ben asks.

“Except for chucking my guts, I liked it;” Dev surprisingly admits.

“It was fun,” Brian concurs.

“So you will be available for tomorrow?”

“Yes Ben but I don’t think I will ever make a fisherman,” Dev enforces as he notices a crowd gathered in serious conversation a little further along the jetty, “they appear troubled,” he says.

“They do,” Ben agrees and walks towards the gathering leaving the boys to tidy. Spotting Nobby Taylor within the group Ben calls, “hey Nobby what’s up?”

Nobby breaks from the conversation; “Ben haven’t you heard?”

“Can’t have I’ve been out on the bay all day,”

“There has been a boating accident down at Mordialloc and fifteen members of the Mornington Football Club are drowned.”

“When?”

“Last evening, there was a bit of a storm down that way.”

Ben took a backwards breath, “my young nephew Albert Lawrence plays for Mornington, what happened?”

Nobby took Ben aside, “the news had just arrived so not much is reported yet. It was last night after the game with Mordialloc and some decided to go back to Mornington by boat instead of waiting for the train service.”

“Whose boat was it?”

“Charlie Hooper’s skiff, the Process,”

“I know Hooper he is an old hand at sailing and well acquainted with the bay’s moods.”

“I’m afraid not this time Ben, they sent out a search party this morning and only found one body, a young lad caught up in the rigging.”

“How did it happen?”

“The only suggestion given being the Process was hit by a squall, John Bunn was out on his ketch Maggie in the vicinity of the Process at the time and said he was hit by a sudden squall and had to shorten the sail.”

“Oh,” Ben says while thinking of his young nephew, it was only the previous week Albert had contacted Ben by letter inviting him to his first game against Mordialloc but Ben’s commitments wouldn’t allow the time, now he wished he had gone.

“I should think it will be written up in the Argus tomorrow,”

“I guess so,”

“What has happened?” Brian asks as Ben slowly returns.

“Have you finished tiding?”

“Yes and the fish are on the cart,”

“Come on best be off, I’ll tell you on the way.”

It was quite late by the time Ben dropped Dev home with his share of the catch. He entered to find his mother awake and under lamplight mending some garment brought to her by a customer.

“How did the fishing go?” Ilene asks as Dev dumps a package onto the table wrapped in the previous Monday’s Argus newspaper. Ilene puts aside her sewing and peels away the newsprint, “what kind are they?” she asks while prodding one of the fish with a finger.

“Two are Garfish and three Flatheads, or that is what Ben called them.”

“I should think whatever they are called they will taste fine,”

Ilene smiles.

“What mum?”

“Were you?”

“Again what?”

“Sea sick?”

“Yea, as sick as a dog, so was Brian but once we got working on the nets I was alright,” he pauses and returns his mother’s smile, “sort of.”

“Will you go again?” Ilene asks.

“Tomorrow Ben is waiting in the cart so I’ll stay the night over at Ben’s but he has one of his crew back the following day and Brian will fill in for the other until he is well again.”

“Oh before I forget, you had a visitor this morning,”

“Who,”

“Douglas, he looked half starved so I gave him a feed, he said he has some news for you something about his father.”

“Did he say what it was?”

“No and I didn’t like to ask. Besides I’m sure he would rather tell you himself. He wants to meet you on the grass by the Library in Swanston Street.”

“When?”

“I said you would be working tomorrow so the following day.”

“I don’t like the sound of it; his old man can be a little weird at the best of times,” Dev admits.

“Will you be home the following day?”

“I should think so Ben only wants me for the two days. Why so?”

“I’ll need you to deliver a load of washing for me and I told Douglas you would meet up with him.”

“Deliver to where?”

“You have been there before Mrs. Robinson in Peel Street,”

“Dev released a cheeky smile,”

“What’s tickling you young fellow?” Ilene asks.

“I shouldn’t say but you do remember the speckled chicken?”

“I do and it was a lovely change, where did you get it.”

“Let’s say it came from near Peel Street,”

“Not the Robinsons I hope,”

“No not the Robinsons but quite near; I better be going as Ben is waiting.”

That night there was a heavy storm so the following day’s fishing had to be cancelled. As the decision to call off the fishing came late, Dev remained at Ben house. The storm had passed over by dawn and with a grey drizzle Dev returned home, arriving as Jack arrived from his work.

“The young fisherman,” Jack says as they met by the gate, his voice disturbing the neighbor’s dog that out of habit flew at the fence with its usual fury.

“Put your hand in and give Sally a pat,” Dev suggests.

“Not bloody likely,”

“Sally, come here!” Meg Fraser calls to the dog. A second demand is necessary to bring the animal to heel before she takes it inside. The woman was about to give Jack a verbal toweling but instead simply huffed and departs company.

“The fishing was called off for today,” Dev explains as they enter.

“Anyway I don’t like fish, it stinks.” Jack says.

“Yea it smells like -,” Dev cuts short as Ilene is within hearing.

“How would you know weed,” Jack laughs and comes close to Dev’s ear and whispers, “I hear you’re a bit heavy on the peg young fellow,”

“I don’t,”

“You do,” Jack teases.

“Does what love?” Ilene asks knowing full well what Jack implied.

“Nothing mum, don’t listen to the big Yank he’s disgusting.”

“It’s only natural for a lad to do so,” Ilene innocently suggests.

“Mum!” Dev loudly protests.

“Don’t bother about breakfast mum; I had something at work,” Jack says and again comes close to Dev’s ear, “seeing you were away last night I won’t have to worry about sticky sheets.”

“Mum can’t you shut the big dope up?” Dev complains.

“He’s only teasing love, ignore him.”

Jack passes his brother on his way to bed and gives him a gentle clip to the back of the head, “see ya’ kid,” He gives a friendly smile and wink and retires.

All through the day Dev concerned over Jones’ news and as his friend seldom spoke about his father he thought the worse. On a number of occasions he questioned his mother to relate exactly what Douglas had spoken but all Ilene could offer was Douglas mentioned his father and then changed the subject.

The following day after delivering the washing for his mother, Dev hurried into town as he was late for his meeting with Jones. On reaching the Library he discovered Jones had not yet arrived but he had barely settled back onto the grassy slope when he saw his friend coming from the direction of the river and by his expression quite stressed.

“Where have you been?” Dev asks.

Jones remained quiet but did something he had never done before, he offered Dev his hand.

Dev accepted the offer, “what’s the problem,” Dev asks.

“Come on let’s take a walk and I’ll tell you.”

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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