Published: 22 May 2023

Chapter 25

Owen arrived back from the base after his deliveries with a sealed envelope addressed to his father. Finding Alf tinkering in the shed he soon delivers the letter.

“What’s this then?” Alf says noticing the armed forces logo.

“The base commander asked me to deliver it to you.”

“They must be in a bad way if they can’t afford the postage.”

“It was quicker I suppose.”

“I can guess what it is about,” Alf assumes as he opens the letter. Quietly he reads then gives a disappointing huff.

“What is it about dad?” Owen asks.

“As I thought, they have cancelled our contract with the base.”

“I suppose it was expected as the Americans have already gone and our lot is moving further south.”

Alf pockets the letter and continues with his tinkering.

“Will it affect us much?” Owen asks.

Alf pauses and takes a deep breath. Before replying he gazes beyond the shed’s door to a fine crop of beans powering towards harvesting. “Of course it will as most of what we grew went to the base but like others about, there is always tobacco and I have been gearing towards growing it for some time now.”

“I don’t use the stuff,” Owen says in his usual uninterested tone when it came to farming.

“Others do and seeing at least a third of the population smoke up to a packet daily, it should be a sustainable crop for quite some time to come.

“You said you were going to question Ken’s dad on growing it.”

“I was but only last week he went into nursing and has cancer.”

“Is it bad?”

“Bad enough I should think; where is your brother?”

“Gavin is doing the watering.”

“No Jim.”

“The last I saw of Jim was riding Ruby along the road towards the Robinsons.”

“He was once sweet on Leah Robinson; possibly he is kindling a new spark.”

“I doubt it.”

“And why do you say that Owen?”

“From what I can tell he’s lost interest in most things including girls, even his mates at the rugby club.”

“Give him time,” Alf hopefully assays.

“Dad you went through the first big one but never speak of it. Would it have been similar to what Jim went through?”

“In all-out war son you witness things that a man should never encounter and you become numb to death, while your mates become nothing but exploded body parts, until eventually your mind is part of the mud you sleep in.”

Alf’s portrayal held more passion than he had ever before expressed and surprised Owen, “you paint a gruesome picture,” Owen confesses.

“I tell it as it was and will say no more on the subject. That is why I say give Jim time, what he encountered in the mountains of New Guinea would have been similar to that of the Somme.” Alf gives a frown and closes down the conversation, “what of you Owen what are you intentions?”

“I haven’t any. I think I’ll simply hold back for a while and see where the country is heading.”

“You said you were interested in flying?”

“I did and I am but with the war over and the boys coming home, there is an excess of pilots, who unlike me have flying experience.”

“Too true but all dreams commence with the first step.”

“I have enquired about training but at present there doesn’t appear to be any in the offering, not up here in the north, although Bush Pilots’ has listed me if they decided to give flying lessons.

As Owen spoke Jim was noticed galloping Ruby along the service road, bringing Alf to comment; “he shouldn’t be pushing Ruby so hard, she is getting a little old for heavy work.”

“There he’s stopped; it was only for a short distance.”

Soon after Jim returns and walked Ruby back to her paddock, without acknowledging either his father or Owen. Alf called after him, “Jim you shouldn’t push Ruby like that.”

Jim lifted his arm to acknowledge Alf’s concern before continuing on without speaking.

Sunday afternoon during a hot and lazy late summer, Winnie arrived with Rod and baby Gary for afternoon tea. As was accustomed when her husband visited the farm, he met up with Alf over a beer in the equipment shed, while Winnie remained with May, exchanging marmalade recipes and the best way of stretching the still enforced rationing.

After tea and scones Winnie found Owen enjoying a quiet beer on the verandah, “A penny for them Owen,” she says and joins him.

“None really Winn; or possibly I was up there in that cloudless sky.”

“Looking for rain clouds?”

“No, not clouds.”

“Are you still thinking of flying?”

“Umm yes but there appears to be a huge brick wall between that dream and reality.”

“Have you tried Bush Pilots?”

“I have; unfortunately they have a full training book at present although there is a glimmer of interest, as a mate of mine is friendly with Bush Pilots’ manager and promised he’d put in a word for me.”

“Did you receive further correspondence from Chip?”

“No, only the one letter, I would say by now he is back home and running the family farm.”

“As you should be here,” Winnie suggests.

“Farming isn’t for me Winn.”

“You will have to think of something,” Winnie says.

“You know Winn, in some ways I miss the war. Not the killing and fighting or rationing but there was purpose, a whole population working towards the same outcome. Now that it is over there seems to be a deep void in the country’s soul and everyone is back pushing their own agenda.”

“That is deep for you Owen.”

Owen laughs loudly; “deep and silly, I’ll find something I’m not totally useless. It was more like what Gavin would say, although of late he only speaks of running the farm.”

“What does dad think of that idea?” Winnie asks.

“He would prefer to hand it on to Jim, as Gavin is fine with practice but lacks management skill.

“Give him time, I do worry for Jim,” Winnie admits as Gavin arrives. “Where is Jim?” Winnie asks Gavin, as he had not turned up during her visit.

“He’s antisocial,” Gavin admits and pours himself a beer from Owen’s bottle.

“Should you be drinking,” Owen says.

“If I’m gonna’ run the farm then I think I’m man enough to have the occasional beer.”

“Point taken,” Owen admits as Rod and Alf come from the shed. Alf sees Gavin drinking but doesn’t comment.

“Righto girl time to go, say goodbye to your mother and we’ll be off,” Rod says

Over the following weeks Jim commenced to disappear for days at a time, coming home dirty and hungry to raid the refrigerator in the late of night, before disappearing back into the scrub along the creek, or after bouts of heavy drinking, sleeping off the effects in the shed. Each time Jim went missing Owen would check if the souvenired Japanese pistol remained behind in its drawer and each time he found it safely wrapped in an oilskin cloth. He thought of taking the single bullet wrapped loosely with the pistol but decided against, as doing so may cause a rift between him and Jim and further stress could be detrimental to his brother’s recovery. After a number of occasions Owen gave up looking for the pistol, while feeling Jim was working through his problems alone at his own pace.

It was some time before the Australian boys came home from the war, even longer for those held in the Japanese prison camps spread across South East Asia, some needing to be brought back from the brink of death from starvation. Others from Japan itself, where they had been used as forced labour, some in or close to Hiroshima and Nagasaki when the bombs were detonated. Possibly others met their fate in the blast but they would never be known, as the Japanese weren’t noted for keeping accurate records of those they held as prisoners, especially when they were in denial of the Geneva Convention. Also from what records that were found, it listed many of the American prisoners as Donald Duck, the Australian’s as Ginger Meggs.

Owen had been in town collecting supplies during the morning and as was his habit visited the Dunlop for a beer. He had only been at the bar for a moment when he was approached, “would you be one of Jim Parker’s brothers by chance?”

“I would, I’m Owen Parker and Jim is my older brother.”

“I would know you anywhere; you are a younger version of Jim, right down to your bootlaces.”

“Who would you be?”

“Stumpy Burns, I was in Jim’s platoon,” Burns offers his hand. “I’m’ come to Mareeba to look up me’ mate and guess what, five minutes in the bar, even before I have time for my first sip and ask the locals for directions and I meet his brother.”

“You do realize Jim was wounded,”

“I was there when it happened and the Fuzzy Wuzzys collected him carrying him back to Moresby. How is Jim?”

“Physically he is fine but he is still having nightmares.”

“As do we all lad.”

“Would you like to come out to the farm and visit Jim?”

“That is why I’ve come halfway across the country.”

“I can’t call you Stumpy.”

“Everyone does but if you like you can call me Eric,”

“Then Eric, finish your beer and I’ll drive you out to the farm.”

“You will have one with me,”

“That is why I came in.”

“Hey barman a beer for me’ mate’s brother.”

Terry Withers hesitates but had given up on Owen’s legality and pulls the beer, besides Owen is so close to age it no longer mattered.”

After finishing their drinks, Owen shows Eric to the truck, “you will have to forgive the transport, as dad has gone and bought war surplus and it’s a dog to drive.”

“That I know, I was once in army transport but I must admit they last forever.”

As luck would be at home, so was Jim and sleeping off a skinful of booze on a stretcher in the shed, as he didn’t like the confinement of the four walls of his bedroom. On entry Jim stirred and fixed his sight on the stranger, taking some time for recognition to establish. “Stumpy,” Jim quizzically says.

“Stumpy in person.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to visit you, ya’ old bugger.”

“All the way from Wagga Wagga?”

“Yep.”

It was then Jim burst into tears and couldn’t control his sobbing.

“Come on Owen leave them to their reunion,” Alf suggests.

An hour passed before either Jim or Eric come from the shed with Jim appearing more settled and May making fuss over them both. “How long are you visiting,” she asks.

“Only a day or so, I was about to book into the hotel when I met up with young Owen.”

“You must stay here.”

“Yes Mrs. Parker I would like that if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“It would be our pleasure, you can have Winnie’s room, seeing she has moved into town,” May enforces.

During the afternoon Jim and Eric appeared most comfortable in company and their laughter carried from the verandah to the kitchen where May readied the evening’s meal. She felt happy and gave joy that Jim appeared to be lifting from his blackness and when dinner was finally served Jim finished his plate and asked for a second helping.

With the evening at an end, Eric set up a second bunk in the shed. With the morning both came to breakfast in joyful mood, while those around the table kept their conversation to happier occasions without mentioning the trials of the battlefront.

“How long will you be staying?” Alf asked as buttered bread was passed around the table.

Jim’s ears pricked with Alf’s question.

“Real butter,” Eric says, “you don’t know how I longed for the taste of fresh butter while away, what the army dished up looked like butter but little more. I will have to leave on Wednesday Alf, as I have to be back in Wagga by the seventh.”

“That’s a shame,” May says then regrets making such a comment as it may cause Jim stress.

“What do you think Jim, how about coming with me there is plenty of work back home?” Stumpy suggests.

All waited quietly for Jim’s response.

“I don’t think so Eric, I have unfinished business here,” Jim says with a smile, giving May hope and concern concurrently but none question’s Jim’s unfinished business.

“What work do you do Eric?” Alf asks.

“I am a boilermaker by trade but for now I help on the folk’s property.”

“Cattle?” Alf questions.

“No Alf, sheep with a little wheat and the finest Merino in the district.”

“It is too wet for sheep here on the Tablelands,” Alf says.

“I would say so but I believe you have some fine dairy cattle.”

“Yes about Malanda, the climate is cooler up there.”

During the final day the returned soldiers were inseparable and spent much of the daylight wandering the farm or lazing beside the dam. During the hot of the afternoon Owen noticed both stripped naked and were swimming but he gave them privacy. Then it was Eric’s final evening and after a few drinks in the cool of the verandah Alf approached.

“So Eric, you are off tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately yes Alf but I could take to living up here,” Eric then again questions Jim, “have you had any further thought on coming with me?”

“I think it best I remain here.”

“Eric I’ll have Owen drive you into town for the train,” Alf suggests.

“No dad, I’ll drive,” Jim offers.

As Eric was about to retire and Jim had gone from company, Alf draws him aside, “Eric I have a question for you concerning Jim.”

“Yes Alf?”

“What is your opinion; is Jim improving?”

“That is a good question Alf. I’m not sure and as you would have experienced from your war, some eventually find peace, others never do.”

“You went through the same hell as Jim, why is Jim so different?”

“Who can say but what I think has affected Jim in the most, was seeing a young lad killed while under his care.”

“Even so as I remember responsibility is with the officers, not the enlisted men.”

“Some take such things personally and to Jim he failed his responsibility towards the lad.”

“What of his reoccurring nightmares.”

“You mean seeing his eyes, Jim attempted to shut the young lad’s eyes but his hand wouldn’t move and he can still see the lad’s dead eyes staring as if begging for help.”

“Is there anything you can suggest to help Jim?”

“No, only time but I would keep an eye on him.”

“Do you think he could self harm?”

“He could but Jim has a strong character, so I doubt it.”

Wednesday and it was departure time for Eric, then after appreciation was extended to May and Alf and a quick handshake with the boys, Jim drove Eric into town and his rail connection. Once at the station Jim parked close by, “I won’t come to the platform,” Jim says.

“I ask again, are you sure I can’t attempt you to come with me?”

“It’s a little late for that; your train will be here in a few minutes.”

Eric falters not wishing to break their reunion and even with the train in sight he remains in the truck.

“How long will your trip home take?” Jim asks.

“Huh, almost forever, the best part of five days or more. During the war most of the tracks were maintained to goods standard and not for passenger service and the rolling stock is so old it continually breaks down.”

“I won’t say goodbye,” Jim says.

Eric remains seated in the truck as the train arrives at the station.

“Jim,” Eric says and both men are close to tears.

Jim gazes directly to his front as Eric steps down from the truck.

He collects his bag and closes the door.

Jim remains turned away.

“You will write,” Eric says.

“Yes.”

“Righto’,” Eric says in a low distant voice.

“Righto,” Jim repeats with equaled emotion.

Eric is gone.

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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