Published: 12 Dec 2022

Chapter 2

Mareeba was quiet for a Friday morning, except for the occasional passing of a military vehicle and local farmers in on their weekly groceries run. As soon as Owen had collected supplies from Pollard’s store he visited Jebreen’s drapery for his mother’s material.

“Good morning Owen, I see you have a little helper with you.”

“Not so little if you don’t mind Mrs. Jebreen,” Gavin rebuffs, as he brings up the rear behind his brother.

The woman ignores Gavin’s protest and addresses Owen, “tell you mother we could only get two yards of the blue she wanted but I have a little in a lighter shade although it is more expensive. I will keep it back in case May would like it,” she says and commences to wrap the ordered material in a length of brown paper. The paper only just fits the wrapping.

Owen smiles as the woman forces the corners.

“Have to be frugal,” she says while making the package fast with a length of green twine, “even paper is rationed these days, I can’t for the life of me understand why or how they use paper for the war effort.”

“News print doesn’t seem to be,” Owen informs.

“I suppose we need news, although it’s mostly bad.”

“I can imagine one use,” Gavin cheekily comments.

Both understand the lad’s insinuation on the alternate use for paper but the woman leaves it unanswered.

“I would think they are using the factories that make paper for making bombs and bullets,” Owen suggests.

“Bullets made from paper, now that would slow down the number of our poor lads that are being killed.”

“I guess it would at that, isn’t Pam in today?”

“She is running an errand for me. What about you Gavin, from what I’ve heard you are hell-bent in enlisting.” The woman’s words are strongly laced with disapproval.

“One day Mrs. Jebreen,” Gavin answers.

“With a little luck the war will be over by then, so lad don’t try growing up too quickly, as you are a long time dead,” The woman emphasizes the word dead as she passes Owen the package, “have you heard from Jim?” she asks.

“Mum had a letter but it didn’t say much.”

“No they never do and when so it is mostly censored,” the woman says with a gentle sigh.

“True.”

“Only yesterday we had such a letter from Bert,” the woman shares of her younger brother, who was somewhere in the sand of North Africa and by news reports under siege from Rommel’s Africa corps at some place called Tobruk, with the sea at their backs and German tanks and heavy artillery to the van.

“Fighting the Jerries,” Owen says but the women shares nothing further. A simple sigh was enough to explain her tribulation.

On their way to Sid Burrows, Owen pull up in front of the Dunlop Hotel, “I’m going in for a beer,” he says as Gavin commences to open the door to join with his brother.

“Where do you think you’re going kid?”

“To have a beer.”

“Not you,” Owen forcefully rejects.

“I’ll tell dad.”

“I’ll tell dad,” Owen mimics.

“I wouldn’t you know that,” Gavin retracts.

“Anyway I have enough of a problem buying a beer myself, so you stay in the truck and I’ll bring you out a glass and say it is for Winnie.”

It was agreed but Owen stayed for more than one and possibly by his condition when rejoining his brother, he had consumed a little more than intended.

“You’re drunk!” Gavin protests as Owen eventually returns displaying a slight stagger.

“You think so?” Owen responds and laughs.

“I know so.”

“I met up with Clancy Smethurst and he was buying, anyway what’s it matter you’re driving, so slide over and start her up.”

“Dad said I’m not to drive in town.”

“There has been a change to the rules.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“You’re pissed and you stink of grog,” Gavin loudly repeats his conclusion.

“Only a little and I can’t afford to lose my license.”

“What about me?” Gavin loudly protests.

“You don’t have a license to lose.”

On reaching Sid Burrows house, Gavin quickly departs company.

“Where are you going?” Owen demands.

“None of your business.”

“Then fifteen minutes okay, or I’ll bloody-well leave without you.”

“Oh yea, I’ve the keys and you are in no state to drive.”

“One of these days kid.”

“One of these days you’ll do what?” Gavin retorts as he makes his way towards his undisclosed destination.

Once home the brothers changed positions at the gate as Alf had bared Gavin from driving except in emergencies, such as if he wished to visit the pub on a Saturday night and became too drunk to drive home himself. A fact that Brian Craddick the town’s sergeant of police was well aware of but turned his head, as it was preferable for Gavin to drive rather than for Alf to have an accident.

As they reached the shed Alf approaches the truck. He doesn’t appear happy but neither of the boys takes notice.

“There is some sort of incident down near the airfield and they want everyone to check their sheds,” Owen relates what he had been told on their way to town.

Alf ignores Owen’s request and approaches Gavin, “You get inside,” he growls at his youngest.

“What have I done now?” Gavin loudly protests.

“Just get inside.”

There was menace in Alf’s tone which neither brother dared question further.

“Owen put the truck away and follows Alf towards the house.

“What has he done?” Owen curiously asks.

“It is best you do his work and I’ll speak with you later.”

Gavin enters into the kitchen where he found his mother busy making jam from an old depression recipe and bulking it out using chokos from a vine that grew profusely over the outhouse and adjoining shed. Alf often gave reason for its extensive growth, being the smell coming up from the long-drop pit and the vine’s roots reaching down towards the slush.

May lifts her head as Gavin approaches but doesn’t speak.

Her eyes say much.

“What have I done?” Gavin nervously asks.

“Your father will speak with you.”

May wipes her hands clean on a cloth and leaves the room to attend to the washing, as the jam pot slowly spits and plops its way towards what may eventually represent something to spread on bread. On the table are more than a dozen small jars, washed and readied to be filled and a supply of wax to be melted to make a seal.

Gavin takes a seat, waiting for his father to arrive.

‘I’ve done nothing,’ Gavin thinks.

Firstly he recalls his morning chores, remembering he forgot to let the chickens out, ‘it can’t be that, he was much too cranky.’

‘Possibly he saw me driving the truck.’

‘It can’t be, he’s seen me driving when with Owen before and said nothing.’

Gavin attempts to shrug it away but the concern won’t budge.

‘I guess I’ll find out soon enough,’ he concludes.

May returns to check her jam but again departs the kitchen without speaking.

Eventually Alf enters into the kitchen and removing his hat, he runs his fingers like a comb through his graying hair; his thin lips are quivering with rage, “where did you go when Owen was visiting Sid Burrows?”

“Oh!”

“Yes oh young man, how many times have I told you?”

“What’s wrong with me visiting Uncle Teddy?”

“I’ve told you Ted is no good and I don’t want you or your brother associating with him. Is that clear?”

“Why so, he is your brother?”

“Never mind the why so and you are grounded from town for the near future.” Alf lowers his displeasure although his anger remains visual in his eyes. He takes a deep breath, “now get out and help your brother with the afternoon’s watering.”

“Good – then no school;” Gavin all but whispers.

“Except for school,” Alf corrects.

Gavin slowly walks along the rows of struggling lettuce as Sookie the farm’s Kelpie falls in behind, “what have you to be so happy about” he questions the dog.

Her tongue lolls in cheerful disposition.

“I should tell dad you were at the Joliffe’s chickens again.”

Sookie remains unconcerned as she quietly follows in Gavin’s footsteps.

In the distance Gavin spies Owen impatiently waiting for an explanation, for the outburst of anger from their father.

“Have you finished,” Gavin calls.

“Almost but what you gave them this morning wasn’t enough and I have my doubts they will come to anything.”

“I’ll get a couple more buckets.”

“No I’ll finish but you can put the sprinkler onto the cabbage patch down by the creek. I don’t think we will get rain for a day or two.”

“Doing it,” Gavin commences to depart towards the creek and the water pump.

“Well?” Owen calls after his brother.

Gavin turns sharply, “well what?” he questions.

“Gavin, do I have to spell it out? What was dad on about?”

Gavin retraces his steps towards his brother, “dad’s got the shits because I visited Uncle Teddy.”

“I thought that is where you went.”

“Did you tell him?” Gavin questions.

“How could I have told him anything? As he grabbed you even before I had time to kill the truck’s motor.”

“Who then?”

“Probably Meg Rush she lives across the road from Ted and is always on the telephone to mum.”

“What I want to know is what is wrong with me talking with Uncle Teddy?”

“Who knows, I can vaguely remember dad and Ted having a barney when I was about six or seven. Jim would have been twelve or so, possibly thirteen and you were but a little taker and still shitting you nappies. Anyway what did you and Ted talk about?”

“He mostly asked after Jim and warned me about trying to enlist. He did ask after you and Winnie.”

“Nothing else?”

“Like what?”

“Like what dad has against his brother.”

“No, it was mostly about how I am going with my school work and how bad he was with his schooling.,” a cheeky grin, “he said dad wasn’t much better.”

“I hardly remember Ted, although I do see him around town now and then and he waves but nothing more.”

“I like Teddy,” Gavin admits.

“Will you visit him again?”

“I don’t think so, not if Meg Rush is always watching,” Gavin then remembers the soldier’s warning on their way into town, “did you check the sheds?”

“I did but didn’t find anyone.”

“You say anyone?”

“Has to be some bloke,” Owen surmises.

Gavin is in agreement, “yea some bloke who has gone AWOL is my reckoning.”

“That is also my thinking,” Owen agrees.

“What will they do when they find him?”

“Don’t rightly know but at a guess latrine duties and a few days in the stockade – or shoot him.”

“Would they shoot him?”

“I doubt it. What else did dad say?”

“He’s bared me from going into town, except for school.”

“You know dad, he will have forgotten it before the week’s out, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“I dunno’ this time he was real cranky.”

Owen had been working alone for most of the afternoon. It was hot and his hands hurt with blisters forming from the rough hoe handle. Owen never possessed farmer’s hands and hated having soiled fingernails. Such displeasure arrived during his early school years when his school mates laughed at his grubby fingernails, declaring that one could always pick a farmer-boy by the condition of his nails.

Owen had attempted wearing gloves but doing so caused difficulty when using tools and the design of most workingmen’s gloves made close weeding impossible. As for his father, Alf would laugh at his son’s displeasure, saying soiled hands were the sign of a hard working honest man.

“Owen there is someone to see you.” The call comes from May across the rows of cabbages and beans from the kitchen window.

Owen placed a hand over his eyes to cut the sun’s glare.

“Who is it?” he loudly requests but May had already returned inside, closing the window against the building heat of the day.

Owen makes his way back to the house with the hoe resting across his shoulder. As he travelled along the furrows, Sookie falls in behind.

“Hello girl where have you been?”

“Who do you think has come to visit?”

Owen releases a weak smile thinking how surprised he would be if she actually answered. Even so, she usually returned a low woof when spoken to, in the form of Wo-wo-wo.

“Too hot for you eh girl?”

As Owen speaks the dog finds interest elsewhere and departs his company, to rest in the cool shadows beneath a large mango tree, its spread wide and overshadowing the living room roof, where in season ripe fruit fell on the metal roofing, blocking the gutters.

“Snob,” Owen calls after Sookie and casts his gaze towards the developing fruit. Come Christmas it would be chutney time and May’s mango chutney was renowned throughout the district, winning many prizes at the town’s produce fair. May’s chutney, not forgetting her melon jam was his favourites and from a young age, he found pleasure at chutney time, his job being to search out the many jars needed for the bottling.

Once inside Owen finds May has already offered tea and rainbow cake and immediately he recognizes their youthful visitor.

“Barney you old bugger,” Owen loudly greets while receiving a deep scowl from his mother.

Owen ignores May’s displeasure. “Whatya’ up ta’?” he asks as they exchange hand greeting.

“Visiting you – obviously,” Barney says, pushing back his long dirty-blond hair from his vision but with May remaining close by, he is cautious not to darken his salutation.

“Barney Jones, can’t your mother afford to give you a descent haircut?” May asks as she finishes the few lunch dishes remaining on the sink’s draining board.

“I don’t need one Mrs. Parker, it’s the new fashion,” Barney impishly answers, raking his fingers through his lengthily locks. May ignores his comment as she departs to attend to her washing.

“So Barney, what is the occasion, as it’s been yonks since you’ve shown your mug out this way.”

“Actually it’s Gavin I’ve come to visit.”

“Gavin isn’t home at the mo’ he is helping out over at the Joliffe’s.”

“OH,” Barney is obviously distressed.

“Possibly I may have an answer for whatever is bothering you.”

“I can’t stay long and it is Gavin who can help me.”

“Come on, I’ve known you long enough. Spill the prob’,” Owen offers assistance, while guiding Barney down the back stairs and away from May’s returns with a basket of washing for the clothes line. Alf is clearly heard working in the equipment shed, so they continue further towards Ruby’s paddock.

“Do you ride Ruby?” Barney asks and nods towards the grazing mare.

“Mostly Gavin does but that isn’t you question.”

“True.”

Owen halts their conversing, as Alf is heard cursing from the shed after obviously bashing a finger, or voicing disappointment with some project he is working on.

“How is Loretta?” Owen asks, while moving further away from the house.

Barney takes a sharp breath; “Don’t ask,” he says scraping his shoe across the hard surface of the yard. He kicks at a tuft of grass then folds his arms across his chest.

“Yet I am asking but you’re not telling.”

Barney continues moving away from the house, as he is obviously nervous of being overheard.

“She’s dropped you, hasn’t she?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

Barney whispers as if even the trees were listening and would condemn him for what he had to say, “She’s preggers’.”

“What was that you said?”

Barney lifts his voice an octave, “I said she is pregnant.”

“Pregnant – who to?”

“Who do you fucken’ think.”

Owen commences to laugh.

“It isn’t fucken’ funny Owen.”

“Sorry mate. She is only fifteen.”

“So.”

“And you have only recently turned sixteen.”

“So my prick works – obviously.”

“Why obviously?”

“I didn’t think a fella’ could get a girl pregnant until he was eighteen.”

“What do you think the jizz is when you wank?” Owen remains laughing.

“I didn’t think.”

As Barney answers Gavin is spied returning from the Joliffe’s. He pauses on the way to give Ruby a gently rubbing. The mare then follows him to the fence, nudging her head into his back as they go.

“What are you going to do about it?” Owen asks as Gavin climbs through the wire strands and approaches.

“That is why I want to speak with Gavin and ask where’s the best place to enlist without anyone checking your age. I’ll have to piss off outer here at a quick pace, before her old man finds out and he cuts my nuts off.”

Gavin arrives and Barney breaks conversation with Owen.

The friends greet and talk for some time.

Gavin folds his arms and appears intent in listening, then rubs his head and releases a laughing smile. It dies as he again becomes serious. He shakes his head then glances towards Owen. It is obvious Barney is explaining that he had already spoken to Owen.

They both return to Owen.

“Barney I hope you aren’t putting dumb ideas into the kid’s head,” Owen warns.

“Like what?” Barney demands.

“Like clearing out together and joining the flaming war.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Anyway your baby face and squeaky voice would never pass the recruitment officer.”

Barney lowers his head, “gotta’ do something,” he says.

“I don’t know how I can help,” Gavin admits.

“Why not be a man and face up to it?” Owen suggests.

“That’s not the brightest suggestion I’ve heard.”

“What else can you do?” Owen asks.

“If I can’t enlist, I’ll take off up to Karumba; I have an uncle who is a croc’ hunter in the gulf.”

“Can you use a rifle?” Owen asks.

“I can learn.”

“Do you even know what a crocodile looks like?”

“Like a flaming big lizard with teeth.”

“I suppose you are halfway correct.”

The conversation becomes stalled by May calling from the kitchen window, “I’ve a fresh batch of scones just out of the oven, would any of you boys like some?”

“No thank you,” Owen says.

“No thank you Mrs. Parker.”

“Not for me mum, I have to go back to the Joliffe’s, Mrs. Joliffe has a problem with the chicken yard gate and her old man is away until after the weekend.”

“Don’t you be long Gavin; I’m about to put the dinner on.”

“Won’t be,” Gavin agrees.

“Will you be staying for dinner?” May calls to Barney.

“No thank you Mrs. Parker, I’ll have to be going soon.

There is a dust devil close by the house, sending a whirl of twigs and leaves upwards. May quickly closes the window as Gavin releases a loud grunt.

“What was that for?” Barney demands.

“You – you silly bugger, next time use your fist.” Gavin says and returns back across the horse paddock. Again Ruby follows until Gavin reaches the Joliffe’s property.

“So what do you think I should do?” Barney asks Owen.

“Own up to your stupidity.”

“You make it sound simple.”

“Nothing in life is simple Barney. You have given your opinion on how Loretta’s father will reach but what about your old man?”

“He’ll more than likely give me a walloping.” Barney suggests as they walk around the house towards the path to the road, where he had dumped his bicycle in the long grass beside the gate.

On reaching the gate he picks up the bicycle and rings the bell.

“It works,” Owen says.

“Unfortunately so do other things,” Barney softly sighs.

“Isn’t your family Catholic?”

“Not mine but I believe Loretta’s mother is sorta’ Catholic.”

“There isn’t anything such as sorta’, once it’s in the head, no matter how you try, a little part remains lodged there for eternity.”

“You’re not Catholic.” Barney comments and spins the front wheel of his bicycle. It has a slight buckle. It rubs against the forks and slows down.

“No but I have seen what happens.”

“Mum won’t be happy,” Barney says.

“Would you marry Loretta?”

“If I have to.”

“Do you love her?”

“Shit no – it was supposed to be just a little fun. I don’t even like her, she smells of stale cheese,” Barney loudly proclaims as he straddles his bicycle and bounces the buckled wheel up and down onto the hard surface by the gate.

“That is how you buckled the wheel in the first place.” Owen suggests then laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“As I remember the same thing happened to your sister, except arse-about and your old man made her marry.’

‘Yes but she was going on nineteen when they married.”

“Toby Clayton wasn’t, he was just seventeen when he married your sister.”

“He had to get a special dispensation.”

“Now he’s just turned eighteen with no work and another kid on the way, while they are living in his parent’s shed. Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want Owen.” Barney admits and places a shoe onto the bicycle’s pedal. He hesitates.

“Well kiddo’ I can’t hang around talking all day. It appears you have but two choices.”

“What would they be?”

“Marry her, or clear out.”

“What about my third choice?”

“What enlist?”

“Yes that one.”

Owen simply shakes his head in amusement.

Barney’s foot pushes hard on the pedal and he is gone. “Great help,” he calls back over his shoulder as he meets the road.

Owen remains at the gate gazing after the dusty figure of Barney as he made his way along the Mareeba road, the bicycle releasing a squeaking sound as the buckled wheel rubs against the forks.

‘How would Barney survive in the army?’ he thinks.

“He wouldn’t,” he sighs into the late afternoon.

“Well it’s not my problem,” he concludes and ponders what he would do if he had such a dilemma.

Owen lacked an answer and returned to his weeding.

During a warm Friday afternoon, while tuning into the news on the wireless the telephone rings. Both brothers ignored its ringing until the distraction brings a sharp response from May, “would someone answer that telephone please, I’m busy making dumpling for the stew.”

“Answering telephone for Megan-may,” Owen says as he lifts the receiver.

“Who is it?” May calls from the kitchen.

Owen ignores his mother’s request; “Hello,” he speaks.

“Who is it?” May repeats and comes to the lounge room door, her hands covered in flour.

Owen places the hand piece to the table top, “it is some bloke for dad.”

“You better call him; he is in the tool shed getting the cultivator ready for tomorrow.”

“You go,” Owen demands of his brother, “you’re closer to the door.”

Gavin is reluctant to associate with his father after the ticking he got for visiting his uncle and is slow in moving.

“Gavin, get your father,” May demands from the kitchen.

As Alf returns the brothers join their mother in the kitchen to allow Alf privacy with the call.

“Stew,” Owen says somewhat despondently.

“Yes Owen – stew; do you have a problem with that?”

“These days it’s always stew, through the pages of my life it has always been stew,” Owen poetically complains.

“Then Owen unless you can conjure a leg of lamb out of thin air, I’m afraid you will have to live with stewed leftovers, until this damn war is over.”

“Mum swore!” Gavin says and with a grin and points a telling finger at his mother.

May ignores Gavin and places the freshly made dumplings into the simmering pot.

“Why not add some Keens curry powder to give a little oomph. Owen suggests.

“Curry powder is also rationed. Was there anything on the news about the war?” May asks while wiping beads of sweat from her forehead, leaving behind a smear of flour from the dumpling mix.

Owen laughs but kindly clears it away with a cloth, “it’s always about the war but never anything in particular.”

“Was there anything about the fighting in New Guinea?”

“Not a lot, only that the Americans had landed at some place called Guadalcanal and were hopeful of a quick defeat of the Japanese.”

“Where is Guadaicanal?” May questions.

“Dunno’; somewhere in the Pacific I should think,” Owen answers.

“It is in the British Solomon Islands,” Gavin informs.

“How do you know that?” Owen demands.

“I do know how to read.”

Alf finishes his call and enters, “that was Mal Watson,”

“Who is Mal Watson dear?” May asks.

“He’s an electrician and works at the airfield. You met Mal and his wife Gayle at the fun raising ball in town a few months back.”

“I don’t remember him.”

“He’s a tall fellow, quite dapper with black hair and a central parting and a gap between his front teeth you could drive a tractor through.”

“Yes I remember he applied so much hair oil, it was dripping down the back of his neck staining his shirt collar.”

“I could tell you a funny story about Mal,” Alf pauses for a moment, thinking it possibly unwise to repeat but then again most knew about the incident so it couldn’t hurt, besides it was long ago when Mal was but a lad and Mal was prone to share it himself in exaggerated detail after a couple of beers.

The boys grow silent expecting some ripping yarn.

“Go on dad,” Owen encourages.

Mal likes to flutter a few shillings on the horses and at the time there was an illegal betting syndicate in town, run by no other than Trevor Coombs the sergeant at the local cop shop. What Mal would do was listen in to what won some southern race on his shortwave wireless, write down his bet on the winner and place it under Trevor Coombs’ door and it took Combs more than a month to realize what Mal was up to.”

“Why put it under his door Alf?” May asks.

“It was how Coombs took bets while he was at work. A sort of honor system, you wrote down your bet and the time you placed it under his door and seeing the results on the southern races weren’t broadcasted locally until towards evening, Trevor Coombs though his system was a safe bet.”

“What did Trevor Coombs do about it?” May asks.

“Not a lot, if it came out he would have been dismissed but oddly Trevor transferred to Forsayth soon after and since was killed by a cranky bull on Forest Home Station near Georgetown.”

“Nice story but has it anything to do with his telephone call?” May dryly questions Alf without displaying further interest in Mal Watson’s gambling inflictions.

“He said there was an incident with a young recruit this morning and we should give a quick search of the outbuildings as he may be hiding close by.”

“I’ve already done it,” Owen says.

“What did he do?” Gavin questions.

“It appears he’s not happy in being in the army and fired his rifle into the air, then dropped it down and bolted.”

“What an American?”

“No, one of our lads, Stanley Moss and Mal said he is not yet turned sixteen.”

“I know Stan he is in my class. I did wonder why he’s been absent of late,” Gavin admits.

“Why enlist if you’re not ready to do what is expected of you,” Owen’s question is directed towards his brother and his wish to be part of the action.

“I don’t think anyone realizes what is expected until it is too late. It isn’t all beer and skittles,” Alf says.

“What will they do when they catch him?” May asks with concern towards the lad’s youthful years, while bringing to mind Gavin’s underage attempts to join up.

“I believe they will send him back to his mother,” Alf suggests.

“Shoot him for desertion more to the point.” Owen repeats as a further distraction towards Gavin’s wish to enlist.

“Don’t be silly Owen they wouldn’t do that,” May discredits without confidence.

“Owen walk with me I wish to speak with you,” Alf nods his head towards the door. Owen follows but nothing is said until they are outdoors and beyond the house.

“Did you and your brother finish the watering?”

“We did.”

“I heard the truck misfire as you returned from town this afternoon, we will need to have it looked at.”

“It’s the fuel from the depot; I think they do something to it.”

Alf reaches down and draws a tuft of grass from under the drip from the water tank. He breaks away the seed heads and returns it and the grass to the ground.

“What is it dad?” Owen questions while unconsciously picking up the grass tuft his father had discarded. He twists the long stalks around his fingers.

“Your brother, did you know he was visiting Ted?”

“No, he said he wished to visit someone and was only gone a short time, while I was visiting Sid Burrows.”

“Does he visit Ted often?”

“I couldn’t say. It was the first to my knowledge and I didn’t know about the visit until you mentioned it.”

“Except for school I’ve grounded him.”

“I’m sure he won’t visit in the future,” Owen says.

“What about you Owen, do you visit Ted?”

“No, besides I hardly know Ted except for an occasional hand wave across a street and even then I don’t respond.”

“Good.”

“Why are you concerned?”

“Simply to be sure he doesn’t visit Ted in the future.”

“Why so dad?”

“Don’t question me son.”

Father and son walk on until they reach the pig enclosure. Alf points to Sally his favourite sow, “she’s expecting again,” he says.

“Pork for Christmas dinner,” Owen flippantly responds.

For a moment there is silence then Alf returns to his displeasure with Gavin, “you would let me know if Gavin visits Ted.”

“No dad that isn’t my style but I would have something to say to Gavin.”

Alf accepts his son’s honesty as they return to the house. Nothing more is said until they reach the verandah.

“There is something else that is concerning me,” Alf says.

“What would that be?”

“You don’t appear interested in the farm.”

Owen gives a nervous laugh.

“Well?”

“The farm is for Jim, I have other interests.”

They part company but Alf isn’t happy with Owen’s response.

By the following weekend Alf had forgiven Gavin for disobeying his directive on visiting his Uncle Ted and on the Friday afternoon while collecting the mail Alf met Gavin as he returned from school.

“Is there anything from Jim?” Gavin asked, stepping away from the school bus.

One of the lads on the bus calls out to Alf. “Good afternoon Mr. Parker,” then half the children mimicked the caller, “good afternoon Mr. Parker.”

“No nothing son,” Alf says and acknowledges the lad’s greeting with a wave of his hand, as a cheeky young fellow towards the rear pulls down his khaki shorts and moons his skinny, hairless white arse through the open window. All on the bus become animated while the driver attempts to reestablish order.

“Put it away Wilson,” Gavin shouts as the bus moves on.

“Gavin, I hope you don’t behave like that while on the bus.”

“Me? Never.”

“Who was that?”

“John Carpenter.”

“I know his father,” Alf says.

“I hope you don’t tell on him or he’ll get a thrashing – is there anything in the mail for me?” It was a question without substance as Gavin hadn’t expectations.

“Only accounts and bills what would you be expecting?”

“Just something.”

“What is something?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You have always been secretive Gavin and not like your brother.”

“Ah dad, there lays the difference, Owen appears to be open and only tells you that what you would already know, or could easily find out.”

Alf ignores his son’s comment, “how was school?”

“The same as usual.”

“You have midyear exams soon.”

“Yes in a couple of weeks.”

“So it will be your Senior next year and then what?”

“Dunno’, the army I suppose.” Gavin suggested finding pleasure in riling his father on the subject of enlisting but Alf allows the comment to settle without comment.

They slowly walk towards the house. “Stanley Moss was back at school today,” Gavin says.

“What did he have to say for himself?” Alf asks.

“Nothing much he was very quiet and appeared as if he had had a thrashing.”

“It wouldn’t have been from the army,” Alf assures.

“I guess not, his old man is a little heavy with his fists and Stanley often turns up with bruising. I reckon he only joined up in the first instance to escape his old man.”

“Kevin was once a prize fighter and held the state’s heavyweight title for some years,” Alf shares.

“Does that give him the right to take it out on his son?” Gavin quickly responds.

“I didn’t say that. Have I ever hit any of you boys?” Alf appeared somewhat hurt from his son’s words.

“You hit Jim once,” Gavin accuses.

“Once does not make it a habit.”

Alf remembers the occasion. Jim was playing in the yard which had a half acre of long grass leading into the adjoining paddock. Don’t go near the long grass Jimmy, Alf had warned but moments later Jimmy was thrashing at the willowing stalks of grass with a large stick. Jimmy’s screaming soon brought Alf to his side and in time to see a large brown snake disappearing into the grass some distance ahead. Didn’t I tell you kid, Alf shouted at his son, did it bite you? Jimmy held up the stick he had been carrying, saying it struck the stick. At that and through fear and frustration Alf struck the lad once across his face with a single slap.

“That was a different circumstance and I’m surprised you were old enough to remember,” Alf admits.

“I was.”

“Do you recollect why I hit Jim?”

“Not really, it was something to do with a stick.”

“No he was almost bitten by a snake and I only struck Jim out of fear he had been bitten.”

“I don’t remember seeing the snake,” Gavin says.

“That Gavin is often the problem with memory, as it doesn’t always go with fact. Alf passes the mail to Gavin, “take the mail up to your mother, I need to see how the new lettuces are holding up with the hot spell we are having.”

“We shouldn’t grow lettuce here it’s too hot and humid,” Gavin discredits.

“True but the base wants lettuce and by the time they pick them and deliver from further up the tablelands they have wilted beyond being of any use.”

“Where’s Owen?” Gavin asks.

“Planting seedlings up the top paddock he should be down soon.”

After the planting Owen returned to the house in time for the afternoon news on the wireless and as usual it was about the war and the landing at Guadalcanal but mostly reporting the difficulty of the terrain and how well the Japanese had dug in their defense. There was mention of a number of Americans casualties but more on how heavy were the losses for the Japanese, saying at least five thousand of their troops had been killed in the first three days after the American landing.

“At the rate the Jap’s are losing men there won’t be any left in Japan to fight on,” Owen says on passing by the lounge room door and hearing the news.

“They have over seventy million people,” Gavin offers from his store of useless information, of which he was prone to share more out of nuisance value than any sharing of fact.

“And we have but seven. It is well that America has lots,” Owen says.

“One hundred and thirty million,” Gavin brags.

“Where do you get all this useless information?”

“Unlike you brother I read books,” Gavin turns off the wireless.

“Are you two at it again?” May calls from the kitchen.

“No mum, I’m only giving Owen a geography lesson.”

“Nothing from Jim in the mail again,” May quietly shares as she arrives at the lounge room door while wiping her hands free from meat juices on a tea towel.

“What’s for dinner mum I’m starving?” Gavin admits.

“Chicken, your dad has killed a hen that’s beyond egg laying but she’s a scrawny old bird.”

“I’d love a roast leg of lamb for a change,” Own suggests.

“You will be lucky with rationing. See if you can find some happy music on the wireless.”

Gavin turns the set back on and changes the station. Soon the sound of jazz filled the room. It is a happy tune and while playing it took away May’s thoughts of Jim and the bother of the war.

“Tomorrow,” May says while returning to her kitchen and the music came to conclusion, being replaced with a commercial espousing Jebreen’s latest fashions, without admitting scarcity from rationing.

“Continue Megan-may,” Owen calls after her.

May pauses and smiles, she likes the way her son addresses her as it always arrived from a happy disposition, “Tomorrow I would like you to drive over to the Sheppard’s, I have arranged to swap a couple of dozen eggs for a duck, I’ll have your father kill and dress it for next weekend.”

“I’ll go,” Gavin suggest with vigor.

“I don’t think so young man; your father hasn’t forgotten your last visit to town as yet but you can go and get me a couple of onions for the stuffing of tonight’s scrawny fowl and some fresh sage from the herb garden near the water tank.”

With Gavin gone, Owen takes on a serious attitude, “mum what has dad got against Uncle Ted?”

“You will have to ask your father.”

“I have but he warns me off.”

“There you go,” May simply says and continues to prepare the bird for the stuffing.

“Don’t you think I’m old enough to be aware of family matters?”

“Yes old enough Owen and old enough to realize not to interfere in things that don’t concern you.”

Gavin returns with the sage and two large onions as the conversation dies away.

“Go on you two, out of here and let me finish stuffing this scrawny bird.”

“Leaving,” Owen says.

“Before you go there will be an American airman for dinner tomorrow night, so I want you boys to be on your best behaviour.”

“Why is he coming for dinner?” Gavin says.

“Local families have been asked to socialize with newly arrived American airman to make them feel a little less isolated from their families.”

“Is he one of Winnie’s fancy fellows?” Gavin jests.

“I don’t know about that Gavin. Your father was approached while renewing the contract at the airfield last week.”

“From what I hear they eat well at the base, so I don’t know how he will go on our rations,” Owen suggests.

“Don’t concern about rationing, as families who entertain will be given a food package in appreciation. It will be delivered from the base in the morning.”

“Anyway where is Winnie?” Owen asks.

“She is in her room trying to make something presentable for the occasion out of one of her old dresses.”

Gavin’s eyes commenced to glaze over as he drew a broad smile while capturing his mother’s attention, “what are you thinking young man?”

“Possibly I could join the air force and fly a spitfire.”

“There are three squadrons of spitfires in the country, two are ours and one in British and they are based in Darwin. You will have a long way to travel to enlist,” Owen quickly informs.

“I saw them here at the base some time back when I was making a delivery,” Gavin argues.

“What you saw here were replacements on their way to Darwin, only here for a couple of days, before rejoining their squadron.”

“How do you know that?”

“I asked about them when I was making deliveries.”

“Then I’ll fly a P-40.”

“I don’t want you pestering our guest, he will be here to forget about the war, even if it is only for one evening,” May warned.

“How is our guest getting here?” Owen asks.

“He will have his own transport,” May confirms as Winnie arrives to fashion her dress for the occasion.

“What do you think?” Winnie asks and does a pirouette on her bare feet, sending the hemline into dance but by her expression she isn’t too pleased with the dress.

“It is a bit drab,” Owen comments.

“What would you know about women’s dresses,” Winnie snaps at her brother.

“Enough to realize if I saw you at a dance in that old thing, you would remain seated all night. Besides most probably he will be fat, bald and forty and married and won’t notice what you are wearing,” Owen cruelly remarked.

“Mum!”

“He is only teasing you Winn, it will do fine.”

“Now I don’t know,” Winnie was having second thoughts about her dress, “I’ll go and ask dad.”

“Leave it with me dear and I’ll spruce it up a little with some colourful material I have in my sewing box.”

“Ask dad what?” Alf says as he comes in from tinkering in the shed.

“Winnie wants your opinion on her dress for tomorrow night.”

“The one you have on?”

Winnie gives another whirl on her toes, “yes this one,” she hopefully announces.

“I’ve always thought you looked just dandy in that dress,” Alf complements.

“Dad!” Winnie huffs and quickly leaves the room almost in tears.

“What have I done now?”

“You reminded her that the dress is old,” May explains.

“I’ll go and apologize.”

“No Alf leave off, or you will only make it worse.”

“I will never understand women, it was meant as a complement. I’ll make amends, Owen can drive her into Jebreen’s tomorrow morning and Winnie can buy a new dress, also I need to collect a part for the water pump I ordered some time back from Hinds plumbing.”

“I’ll take her,” Gavin quickly expresses a high measure of enthusiasm.

“I don’t think so lad, you are still grounded from Mareeba except for school.”

“While you are in town I’ll give you a list for Pollards, also take a dozen eggs and see if you can arrange a little more butter out of Jack Pollard, he owes a favour for the box of tomatoes your father gave last month,” May suggests.

“That could be considered corruption Megan-may,” Owen gives a sly wink.

“It is called bartering,” May protested.

“I am bartering, you are corrupt, to me it appears to depend who is wearing which hat.”

“Never mind the hat,” May says, “you can also go to the butcher and get some bones for the dog, you won’t need coupons, or bartering for the bones.”

“If you are giving me a list I’ll need the ration book,” Owen says knowing butter was one product that had become scarcer than most, even with the extensive dairy herds on the high tableland and even after his father’s previous gift of the tomatoes, old Pollard would remain strict on its issue.

On hearing Alf leave the house, Winnie comes from her room.

“Did you hear that love?”

“Did I hear what?”

“Dad has asked Owen to drive you into Jebreen’s tomorrow morning and you can buy a new dress for the occasion. I think you better go thank him,” May suggests.

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: Conder 333 at Hotmail dot Com

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